I got home late tonight. My last frantic moments at work today involved calling 84,000 cab and car service companies to try and get my colleagues to a mansion for an event I wasn't attending. (Despite a great deal of peer pressure for me to attend for "just one drink" or to " pop by for a second" and "mingle for a few minutes" etc.)

I myself attempted to catch a taxi to get to my hair appointment .9 miles away, but there were no taxis to be found, and so I hoofed it the entire way, showing up 20 minutes late, sweat upon my brow, breathless. God bless my stylist, for he swooped me with reassurance into his chair and regaled me with stories of Autumnal surfing whilst perfecting my fringe.

After that, I bounced out of the salon with the kind of self-satisfaction that comes with a head of meticulously cut hair, hopped into a taxi snagged from a guest checking into the Hotel Triton, and it whisked me off to Cask at 3rd and Market. There I picked up some orange bitters, a bottle of Combier, and enough Bulleit to warrant an officiously stamped carry-along cardboard box.

You know what else all that warranted? A bloody taxi home.

You know what else I did while I was there? I hung out with Tom Bulleit, the great-great-grandson of Augustus Bulleit, and the man behind the revival of the brand and the bourbon. He was a real treat - a gentleman through and through - cheerfully waving his handlers away to linger over an old barrel conversing with me about everything from the wonder of Gaudi architecture to NOLA to Cool Hand Luke and then some, and not only indulging my request to take a photo, but insisting on taking ones of his own to "beam to the Facebooks" and such.

I had him sign a special bottle for M. She adores it, and ran it right into the bedroom to place on her shelf reserved for only her most handsome, manly things.

So that's why I was late. Late enough to miss all the day's light and late enough to miss my turn to take the dogs out, almost too late to cook dinner, but that's why God invented casseroles. M & the petite came with me to take some HIGH FLASH photography of this outfit at a mini-park nearby. The petite fell off a swing. I mangled myself on the monkey bars. The tomboy employed some rather interesting engineering for just the right lighting and hilarity ensued, and when we all came barreling back through the front door, the house smelled of our smoky Havana candles and of dinner baking in the oven.

Blazer: Banana Republic Blouse: H&M Pants: Silence + Noise Necklace: Betsey Johnson Oversized Clutch: Vintage Boots: Lamica Hair: Paul @ Elevation Salon