Russell Simmons, Leila Lopes. (PMc)

Though Uncle Rush has been playing coy with the rumors that he's dating the 26-year-old Angolan former Miss Universe, last night the couple showed up at the Waldorf-Astoria, all but confirming their romantic status's upgrade from "It's Complicated."

Leila Lopes, who had to give up her crown in June to her successor, was holding hands with Russell Simmons as they made the way down the red carpet for the South-South Awards celebrating e-government and sustainable tourism.

The night brought presidents and first ladies from around the world (who admittedly were probably there for this week's U.N. summit, but what the hey, if it worked for Bill Clinton's CGI, why not this?), though no one drew more looks than the gorgeous Ms. Lopes, who won an award for her work as the UNCCD Drylands Ambassador.

Though the two have been out in public before looking chummy, and they have the Twitter history to prove that they, like, like-like each other, it was the hand-holding that did it for us. After all, when was the last time a guy you were just casually dating let you hold his hand in public? Now imagine that scenario, plus a thousand paparazzi, and you've got a pretty smitten mogul.

Scroggins and Strolle in The Big Meal

What happened to Playwrights Horizons? Once a bastion of the best and brightest new plays in the New York theater, this noble company has turned into a wobbly showcase for the kind of experimental writing that lives and dies in workshop productions on college campuses in Vermont. Having barely survived a pointless farrago of office politics called Assistance, I have now squirmed my way through The Big Meal, a boring case history of family life as symbolically reflected through three generations of revolting looking menu items that six adults and two children must consume until their plates are empty. The play has been quickly erased from my memory, but the heartburn lingers on.

Four tables with bad tablecloths represent the stages of life in the relationships of three couples whose inconsequential lives and deaths are reduced to years of meetings in the same restaurant, all conveyed in 90 minutes without intermission. The people change, but, unfortunately, the tablecloths do not.

Couple No. 1 meet in the joint where she works as a waitress, fight and break up. A minute later, they’re on a real date, ready for a one-nighter but firmly dedicated to a resistance to commitment. Next, they’re celebrating a wedding anniversary. There’s an hour and 25 minutes left to go. Then the two spoiled brats who were making loud baby noises while the first couple were talking suddenly turn into the obnoxious children of Couple No. 2. Now there are four people yelling at each other at the same time. Then Couple No. 3 arrive. They’re the parents of the father of the two loudmouth kids. The tables separate. The man from Couple No. 2 is approached by the girl in Couple No. 1 and their relationship develops. Sometimes six people are talking at the same time. Then five people are whining and bellowing at the same time. I don’t know. Maybe the first couple is the same as the third couple, with a dozen years between. Maybe they’re all the same person. Maybe they’re all dead. Anyway, before the play mercifully grinds to an end, they will be.

Frankly, considering the bigger picture of life being acted out on stages elsewhere, I can’t imagine anything that matters less. Shifting seats, the characters marry, divorce, suffer, drink too much, bear children and grandchildren and talk incessantly about nothing. The actors switch roles, the old people become young, the young people grow old, and they are all so boring and one-dimensional you spend half of your time trying to figure out who is who and what is what, and the other half of your time looking at your watch. (Fortunately, I have one that lights up in the dark.) Suddenly the entire play stops in its tracks, everyone frozen in their seats, while the grandfather finishes off an entire plate of what seems like mulligan stew, bite by bite, and then drops dead. Tomato sauce plays a big role in The Big Meal, and it is literally as lethal as it looks.   

The plays goes on. The couple from the first scene reappear as the children of the couple in the second scene. Robbie, the screaming child at the beginning, brings in a fiancée named Stephanie, who previously played Robbie’s sister Mattie. The dead grandfather returns as Stephanie’s father, who takes an immediate fancy to Robbie’s grandmother. It’s all so confusing that the audience just sits and stares. This conceit drags on for an hour and a half, with every actor doubling as somebody else. There’s a musical number. People die, others take their seats in the restaurant as their children and parents. The action is interrupted from time to time by a surly, gum-chewing waitress who slams down another plate of ghastly looking food and throws the silverware around. Every character who eats the big meal immediately passes away, making way for another generation. They change chairs, and 10 years have gone by. You know this, because you can feel your hair turning gray.

One hour into the play, the waitress (the only one who never ages) takes away the tablecloths at last, leaving wooden tables in their place. But the same people are still sitting around babbling inane dialogue by Dan LeFranc. They yammer away in overlapping dialogue, like the soundtrack of a Robert Altman movie, about finding out about life, but one thing they never find is a better restaurant. The young girl in the first scene ends up a great grandmother and the young couple in the second scene end up with Alzheimer’s in the last scene, but so what? The play is so fractured and the fragmented vignettes are so brief that you never get to know any of the characters, and you’ve already lost track of all the generations anyway. “Where does it go? Where does the time go?” one character asks. It’s a good question because 90 minutes at The Big Meal is like 90 days of amnesia. The actors are fine, but what is the wonderful musical comedy star Anita Gillette doing playing a grandmother with dementia? The direction is by the overrated Sam Gold, who seems to have a passion about abusing food. In his recent dreary revival of Look Back in Anger, he threw around the stage and splattered the walls with rotting veggies and a tin of what looked like dog poop. This time, his communal meals send you out of The Big Meal desperately in search of an extra-strength Zantac.

rreed@observer.com

What you'll be saying about your new Craigslist friend!

Gross guys on Craigslist are nothing new...it's basically why Craigslist was invented by Jimmy Wales. (Well that, and to halt SOPA. And to clarify, yes we know that Mr. Wales founded Wikipedia, not Craigslist, but our sense of humor might not be translating as well after a 24-hour Golden Globes binge.) But today's listings have led us to a guy who could Mike the Investment Banker look sane. Or maybe it is Mike the Investment Banker?? We first noticed the ad reading "At Saks on Fifth Avenue - m4w - 50 (Midtown)," since 50 is kind of old to be trawling for babes on Missed Connections. (Casual Encounters, maybe.) Here's what it read:

Your were coming out of Saks with a friend as I was entering and I held the door for you both. You were dressed to show your best and I was in blue suit. We both looked back and clearly we were undressing one another with our eyes. We discreetly winked at each other but could do nothing further. Contact me and lets see if this plays out as steamy as the looks would indicate.

Notice the date...it was posted today at 11:41 a.m. . Now, just several listings down, we found a similar title. "At the MET - m4w - 52 (Manhattan)," posted at 11:35 a.m. today:

Your were at the MET with a friend and I was in the company of a lady. We ran into each other several times. At one exhibit it seemed as though we were intentionally trying to cross paths while pretending to look at the art (well at least i was). We discreetly winked at each other but could do nothing further. Contact me and lets see if this plays out. Put MET in title when you reply.

This gentleman seems to have lost two years in six minutes! How can it not be the same man, with the corny lines being so similar? ("We discreetly winked but could do nothing further. Contact me and let's see how this plays out.") Suddenly, we couldn't UNSEE this guy's Missed Connections, all of which targeted a certain class of New York lady. Check it out.

Lunch Today at Bergdorf Goodman - m4w - 52 (Midtown)

You were at Bergdorf's today having lunch with a girlfriend and I was having a business lunch. The tables were situated such that we were glancing for almost an hour and it was apparent we were connecting. There was an exchange of winks as I passed your table to leave but there are reasons which you know why I could not actually approach you. Hope you see this and reply. This will be discreet.

Starbucks on UES - m4w - 48 (Upper East Side)

Your were at Starbucks on Lex & 87th with a friend and I was at a nearby table with my laptop. You have long hair and were wearing workout or running clothes. Tables were aligned such that we were eyeing each other for over 20 minutes before you left with your friend. I saw your ring and you saw mine, but you clearly winked at me as you were leaving. Contact me and lets see what plays out. Put "latte" in title when you reply.

Dining on Saturday Night - m4w - 51 (Manhattan)

We were both out to diner with our spouses on Saturday night. We were with another couple and you and your husband were dining alone. But we were stealing glances all night. Clearly we were undressing one another with our eyes but could do nothing further. Contact me and lets see if this plays out as steamy as the looks would indicate. Put "Saturday Night" in title when you reply.

Work Affair - m4w - 51 (Manhattan)

You are clearly flirting with me at the office. We work together and the perils of actually connecting with you are many. Add the fact that we are also both married and we would have one complex situation. So why? Is your tempting me real or just some amusement? You know we are attracted to each other. I often wonder if you can see my arousal (lol). If I knew you were sincere I would go for it because I do sense that we would be very hot together. So hope you see this and reply. Put "Work Affair" in title and tell me something so I will know it is you when you reply.

Read in a certain order, this story plays out like Philip Roth book about a lecherous old man stuck in an unhappy marriage to a UES WASP who spends his days ogling the pretty Jewish girls hanging out at Bergdorf and Starbucks. At the very least, someone should contact this guy with one of these titles (Except for "work affair" because we already called it) and see how this thing plays out.

Minka Kelly and Derek Jeter (Getty Images)

Several weeks ago, we reported on the oft-heard rumor that if you are lucky enough to catch the Yankee shortstop  Derek Jeter's penis and put it inside you, you would go home the next morning with a gifting suite worth of goodies. (Including but not limited to a signed baseball! How very Freudian.) The best part of all? There wasn't a cap on how many times you could pull the one-night-stand move on Mr. Jeter, since he apparently has the memory of a goldfish when it comes to the women he's bedded.

Sorry ladies, but your free ride is officially over.

That's right: Derek Jeter may be back with ex-girlfriend Minka Kelly, whom the baseball player split from earlier this summer. While the  word has been that Mr. Jeter has been running around the city like a bad little boy, the New York Post reported today that Mr. Jeter and Ms. Kelly have rekindled their romance in the city of love...having their own Midnight in Paris as they visited the Musée d'Orsay and took in the culture.

According to spies, the couple made no attempt to hide their fame...with Mr. Jeter even wearing a Yankees cap around town. (Un?)fortunately, they were barely recognized by the Francofiles. That's okay...here in America, we're still kind of unsure why Minka Kelly is supposed to be famous.

No friend, no true ally, would ask another state to put its very existence in jeopardy. But that is precisely what the president has asked of Israel. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu rightly said that the pre-1967 borders are "indefensible." So, too, is the president's proposal.

It's important to bear in mind that Mr. Obama's remarks were carefully thought out and discussed internally before they were issued on the eve of Mr. Netanyahu's visit to Washington. All the more reason to conclude that this administration simply does not appreciate the gravity of the security issues facing Israel. If Mr. Obama's remarks had been made in haste, if he had uttered them in an unscripted moment, they might be explained away as a mere gaffe. But this was no gaffe. This was an expression of the president's genuine convictions.

That's the troubling part.

Israel is surrounded by hostile, undemocratic states and an array of terrorist organizations that are nothing if not brutally candid about their objectives: they wish to wipe Israel off the face of the earth. They would do it, if they had the means and the weaponry. No other country on earth is so embattled. No other country's sovereign territory is so vulnerable to so many threats. Successive administrations in Washington have appreciated Israel's predicament, even if they occasionally disagreed with specific policies and tactics.

The Obama White House, however, has been an exception. Not long after Mr. Obama took office, Washington called on Israel to suspend new settlement construction in the West Bank, a pronouncement that did nothing to win Mr. Netanyahu's confidence in the new president's policies and attitude. The relationship between Washington and Jerusalem has been tense ever since, and, from Israel's perspective, rightly so.

Mr. Netanyahu apparently was caught off-guard by the president's proposal. Published reports said that he desperately sought changes in the president's remarks, but he was rebuffed and humiliated. These are not the actions of a true friend.

Mr. Obama's subsequent speech to the American Israel Public Affairs Committee has been interpreted as an attempt to soothe wounded feelings, even a slight pull-back from his original remarks. The president insisted that the U.S. and Israel continue to share the same basic values and reaffirmed Washington's commitment to keeping the crazed rulers of Iran from getting their hands on nuclear weapons. He insisted that Israel could not be expected to negotiate with Hamas, or with a government that includes Hamas, as long as the terrorist group refuses to recognize Israel's right to exist.

While these sentiments are welcome, they are simply statements of the obvious. The U.S., threatened as it is by Islamic extremists who already have killed thousands of Americans, could hardly insist that Mr. Netanyahu's government engage with the would-be mass murderers in Gaza.

The AIPAC speech, then, changed nothing. It asserted obvious truths. It did not take the sting out of the president's earlier remarks. Former mayor Ed Koch, a lifelong Democrat, realized the enormity of the president's dangerous and incomprehensible new course. "If President Obama does not change his position, I cannot vote for his re-election," Mr. Koch wrote. The former Mayor spoke for many when he added that the president's AIPAC speech "did not reassure me."

Nor should it have. The pattern is clear. Mr. Obama has been shifting Washington's policy of unwavering support for Israel to a more confrontational posture. His position on borders and his formula for land swaps is more in line with the Palestinian position, not with Israel's. That is a significant and highly unfortunate change in U.S. policy.

Next on the Palestinian agenda is a United Nations resolution recognizing a sovereign Palestinian state in the West Bank, Gaza and East Jerusalem. The move is expected in September, when the General Assembly meets in New York. The Obama administration must do everything in its power to make sure the resolution dies from lack of support. Opposition from Washington isn't enough. The U.S. must work behind the scenes with allies in Europe and elsewhere to make sure that this effort to isolate Israel fails.

At this point, it is probably too late to think that the Obama administration will have a change of heart about Israel. The president clearly regards Mr. Netanyahu and his government as an obstacle to U.S. strategic interests.

Israel's friends in the United States have every right to be angry and sad. Like Mr. Koch, they may be inclined to look elsewhere next year, when the president will be up for re-election. Republican strategists already are trying to drive a wedge between Democrats and Jewish voters, but they won't have to work very hard to achieve their goals. Mr. Obama, in rejecting friendship with Israel, has done the work for his prospective opponents.

He does not deserve the support of those who continue to embrace Israel as a friend, partner and ally.

It started with "The Tricky Art of Sleeping Together," "Helping a Loved One Fight Depression," "Sick of This Text: 'Sorry I'm Late'," "Sorry? Really? Behind the Apology Gap," "Coping With Adult Temper Tantrums" and "She Talks, But Does He Listen?" among others. In December? "Better Relationships in 2011."

A few months later: "How to Tell a Loved One 'I'm Angry.'"

One possible answer? Writing a relationship column for The Wall Street Journal. The Transom recently heard that Ms. Bernstein and her husband may be getting a divorce, a sad personal development and a complicating factor for her relationship column.

Promoting her May 3 piece about online dating scams, Ms. Bernstein tweeted a link to the story, adding: "It's scary being single." In the "Real World" piece, she related an anecdote about meeting someone at a triathlon. She has not acknowledged a change in her marital status in print.

When contacted by the Transom, Ms. Bernstein asked what this item concerned, and then went silent. Whatever happens, the Transom wishes the best for her, her column, and her search for (as she put it) "Mr. Right." As fans of her writing, she is in Transom's [disclosure: committed] opinion, a catch. 

fkamer@observer.com | On Twitter

[See Ten Guaranteed Man Repelling Must Haves >>]

As she prepped for this season's Fashion Week--otherwise known as the Man-Repelling Olympics--Medine spoke to The Observer about fan mail, Shabbat and going "full-out jeg." 

You've spent your whole life in New York. Ever think about living somewhere else?
I was abroad in Paris and I absolutely loved it. I had the best five months of my life. And I visited a ton of cities--I went to Stockholm, I went to Spain, I went all over. But the only place in Europe where I was, like, Wow, I could see myself living here and being happy, was London. I would move to London if I had to.

How do you compare Paris to New York through the lens of man repelling?
The entire concept manifested itself while I was in Paris--that's where I really realized I was a man repeller. Like, in the middle of Fashion Week, we're leaving one of the after parties and I'm with two of my friends and we're looking for a cab and it's impossible to find a cab late at night in Paris. And I look at myself and I'm like, "I'm wearing high-waisted denim cutoffs with ruffles on the bottom and a shoulder-padded shirt that would put Pierre Balmain to shame. What is wrong with me?" I think I took a lot more creative license with the way I dressed over there--I think anyone does that when they're not in their own hometown. I wasn't afraid to run into people that I knew.

Do you ever wake up and think, "I just want to be conventionally sexy for today?"
Not really. You know what the thing is? It's not that I necessarily want to man-repel, but I stray away from being generic. To me, adding layers and not looking like a mannequin turns out to repel men because it's not easily comprehensible.

You must occasionally find yourself in a situation where you have to dress conventionally.
Well, I mean, this past Saturday night I had a wedding at the Plaza, so I wore a silk Peter Som skirt and a plain white tank, an open-backed tank. A ton of girls I didn't know rushed over to me and they were like, "You're not man repelling! Oh my god! Is that a man next to you? What's going on?" I'm like, "Relax, that's my brother, number one. Number two, we're at The Plaza."

Is there anything that you see girls wearing all the time that you just wish would go away?
I mean, a lot of fashion I wish would just go away, although I don't take it so offensively. Like, I don't have clogs, I've never bought clogs, I never really gave into the clogs. But I never hated it so much that I wanted it to go away. I don't know, I try to see the positive motive behind every trend. I think Crocs are insulting. I think it's offensive when people wear Crocs and Snuggies, but those aren't really trends.

What's your position on jeggings?
I like the name. I own a few pairs, but I think they suck. I think they're so stupid. Just buy a jean with a little spandex in them, you don't need to go full-out jeg.

And leggings as pants?
I guess that's a trend that I wish would go away. You know, it was cool for a minute in, like, 2008, but then it became--it looks like you forgot to get dressed on the bottom. It's like going out unfinished. I do hate that trend, actually. I hate it so much, especially now, because tailored trousers are so in. Leggings are just so off from what chic could be, or is.

Turning the tables a little bit, what lady-repelling looks have men adopted?
People keep telling me that I should start a Woman Repeller, but dissecting men's fashion is just not as interesting. There aren't very many men's fashion blogs, and there's a reason for that. But I would say that that I hate sneakers with formal wear, square-toed shoes, athletic socks with dress shoes, ill-fitting jeans, boxy jean jackets. I don't like cowboy boots on men, I hate short-sleeved button-ups.

What celebrity is most your type?
Ryan Gosling.

He's so cute.
He's adorable.

Do you ever get any creepy e-mails from guys who've seen your site?
Yes! Yes, I do. I actually just got a funny one from this guy in Canada. He was like, "I think you're super beautiful and even though you're a man repeller, I wanna date you." I answer all my e-mails, so I just replied, "That's really flattering." And so he wrote back, "It seems like you're interested, so let me tell you about myself. I'm a 29-year old aspiring teacher living at home with my parents in Toronto." I was like, all right!

You're like, "I'm moving out there immediately."
Yeah, right. And sometimes I get e-mails from men saying, "How could you do this to my girlfriend?" That's also funny. One guy even proposed to me via Twitter.

So are you dating anyone?
I don't comment on my relationship status vis à vis the blog.

Do you think of Man Repeller in political terms at all? 
I didn't neccesarily aim for the blog to make any sort of feministic statement, but I did want it to serve as an open forum for women to draw their own conclusions, whether it be something as simple as "This is what I want to wear tomorrow" or a more complex millennial statement about women, fashion, men and feminism.

What's the garment that you think men hate the most?
I think that the harem pant is particularly offensive. That has to be the worst, because pants are usually a really good way to show a woman's silhouette. If she has really nice legs, you can see them in her pants. That alone annoys a man, because he'd rather see her in a short skirt, and so for the pants to be harem-style--with a crotch so low that, from the back it looks like she's wearing a dirty diaper and from the front you're like, "Is she wearing a long skirt or is she wearing pants?"—it kind of confuses them. And it makes her look 15 pounds heavier.

On the other hand, is there anything that seems man repelling that you think they secretly like?
I thought that red lipstick was a definite man repeller, and though men say that it gives off this bitchy, unkissable vibe, it's really sexy to see. So that was interesting for me.

You're 22. What's your typical weekend like?
I don't go out that much. My family's Jewish, so I do Shabbat dinner with my family on Friday nights. Saturday night I'll go out--I'm a big fan of the Jane. I'm not a club-goer, although I do like to dance. But definitely more of a go-to-the-bar, have-a-drink, go-home type of girl. I haven't lived with my parents all this time. I had an apartment the first two years of college, and my friends used to make fun of me. They were like, "Why do you have this self-inflicted two a.m. curfew? No one is telling you to be home by two." And I'd be like, "Guys it's getting late, I have to go home, I have to go home." Because nothing is worse than a hungover Sunday when you have so much stuff to do.

What's your go-to drink?
Always a tequila with lime juice. Gets you drunk really fast.

So you live on the Upper East Side—not exactly a hotbed of man-repelling outfits. What neighborhoods do you frequent for inspiration?
I was at The Smile yesterday for brunch and I was like, "This is where man repeller meets hipster meets 'I shouldn't hang out anywhere else.'" So I would say, that exact spot. I think it's on Bond between Lafayette and Mulberry? Something like that. Because of that restaurant, The Smile--and it's right next door to Oak--I feel like that neighborhood has a really high concentration of super stylish, unique-personal-style girls. It's beautiful.

What about Bedford Ave. in Williamsburg?
I guess I'm not that familiar with it, because I don't venture to Brooklyn that often, even though every time I go I'm like, I have to hang out here more often. But from what I've gathered, it's not that different from Lower East Side fashion, which is sort of what I try to incorporate into my look. Because even though I live uptown, it always annoys me when people are like, "Oh, you're not a hipster, you're not supposed to be dressing like that." I'm like, "It's my life, I can dress however I want, 'k?"

You've got one semester left at the New School. Has it been hard to keep up with classes?
Yeah, last semester, especially toward the end, I felt like I was hanging on by such a loose thread. I literally did enough to get by, and that's it, you know? I'm so nervous that I'm not going to graduate on time, and I only have one semester left, so it's totally outrageous if I can't. I just have to finish my senior thesis and then I'm done, but I do have to remind myself that my education comes before the blog.

What are your plans for Fashion Week?
I was invited to be on this Teen Vogue blogger panel in Vegas that's smack in the middle of Fashion Week. And I spoke to a few of my friends who are immersed in the industry, and every single one of them was like, "You cannot go to Vegas for this panel. This is a huge Fashion Week for you." I've already been receiving some Save the Dates and such, so I'm going to stay. But I mean, I've realized Fashion Weeks are like the two weeks out of every year when Style.com gets a million page views and my blog has like, no hits. Last year, I was like, "Oh my god, no! People are sick of the Man Repeller!"

They'll come back.
Hope so. Also, I forgot to mention--I'm styling a friend of mine's Fashion Week presentation. So that's probably going to be the highlight of my week. 

[See Ten Guaranteed Man Repelling Must Haves >>]

I must have been really engrossed in The Jersey Shore while booking my trip to St. Barth's, because rather than flying directly home I had somehow agreed to an itinerary that had me connecting in St. Martaan and then again in Antigua. Upon my arrival in Antigua, I was informed that my flight had already departed for Newark and that my bags had never even left St. Martaan (I can't blame them). So with nothing but the clothes on my back, I was shuttled to the ghetto of paradise--my safety-barred window looked out on a quaint, pastoral scene of raw sewage and stray dogs. Being the good little WASP that I am, I responded by drinking heavily for a full 24 hours. And drunk-dialing my boyfriend.

Yes, my former one-night stand Goody and I are, against all odds, dating. And, as is so often the case with women who find themselves in new relationships, I have fallen prey to the temptation of calling him every time anything goes even slightly awry. What can I say? When safely ensconced in the honeymoon phase, it is easy to believe that you are charming and funny when you call to tell your new beau that you nearly set fire to your apartment while trying to make breakfast. 

I'm sure that men don't mind the occasional call to arms, but I'll admit I'd been abusing my newfound "in case of emergency" number. A week earlier, when I'd run out of gas on 86th Street with what seemed like all of Manhattan honking behind me, I bypassed AAA in favor of Goody. As I placed the call, my mother (regrettably my co-pilot for this misadventure) informed me that if I wanted to find a lasting relationship, "you need to get it together." Of course, by the time I reached Goody, I had already procured gas with some assistance from a passing good Samaritan. I know that I can handle these things myself, but I can't seem to resist making the SOS call. (For the record, Goody was no help at all, responding to my roadside disaster with a baffled "What's wrong with you?")

So, while my mother's words of warning were harsh, I have to admit that she has a point. No woman wants the sight of her name appearing on her boyfriend's Caller ID to prompt an eye roll. Which I'm sure mine did, as I had also recently phoned Goody, my voice shrill with rising panic, to complain about an unidentifiable beeping noise filling my apartment. "Did you check the batteries in your smoke detector?" he asked drily before I'd even finished. He was right. And he sounded so sexy while problem-solving--no wonder I lunge for my phone at the slightest provocation.  

I can't remember exactly how I worded my airport greeting to Goody; given his reaction, it couldn't have been terribly articulate. But seeing he had wised up and ignored one or two of my calls, I was in dire need of someone to whine to, and saw myself as a fair maiden in sassy distress. (Never mind that no Disney princess, to my knowledge, has ever mainlined mojitos for seven hours prior to wooing her prince, or that I was hardly in the condition to have a level-headed catch-up chat, being so drunk that I actually heckled the young Antiguan boy sitting next to me when he refused to let me play with his Nintendo DS.)

Lesson learned: No guy, however helpful, wants to be on the receiving end of your crisis speed-dial, let alone your weepy drunk-dial or your sloppy airport reunion rant. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't find it hugely fascinating that you've just missed the dry cleaners or that, thanks to the trusty airline, you have no underwear and, on top of that, your hotel room has no mini-bar. New Year's resolution: I will try to refrain from dragging poor Goody into all my life's trivial disappointments.

That said, though he did vow never to travel with me, Goody has, for the most part, remained generally good-natured and understanding. Maybe he's a keeper.

editorial@observer.com

Cue the crashing glass ceiling sound effect, because it is too perfect. TMZ is reporting that the couple has separated. As of now, there are no news of how the divorce will play out. Messy probably!

People, which has it from a source that the pair split six months ago, has given us the boilerplate no-hard-feelings joint statement.

"After long and careful consideration on both our parts, we've decided to end our marriage," it reads. "We entered our relationship with love and it's with love and kindness we leave it. While privacy isn't expected, it's certainly appreciated."

Good luck with that whole privacy thing, guys!

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234

Check out Scandal Report: The Tao of Ryan and Scarlett, Homecoming King and Queen.>>

Mayor Bloomberg's daughter gave an exclusive interview to the New York Post in which she revealed that her boyfriend, Joey Cheek, dumped her four days after she was injured in a nasty equestrian accident Nov. 5. 

"The guy I was totally in love with decided that now would be an appropriate time to break up with me, which took me by surprise … I'm really surprised anyone would be so insensitive as to do it while I am down and out," Bloomberg said.

Cheek, 31, is a speedskater who medaled at the Winter Olympics in 2002 and 2006. He currently attends Princeton University. 

Bloomberg is currently healing from both her physical and mental injuries. She told the Post that she was taking a brief "mental-health break" in Manhattan for a night before returning to the Bloomberg family farm in Westchester County. In spite of the "insensitive" circumstances of their breakup, Bloomberg seems to be on relatively good terms with Cheek. 

"We'll probably be friends at some point down the line," she told the Post.

Cheek would do well to make nice with Bloomberg. It's never a good idea to anger a woman who has the ear of the tabloids. 

As of this writing, Cheek has not responded to a request for comment from The Observer.