My husband and I tipped our favorite server well, while she rolled her eyes in acknowledgement, and we retreated for the quiet environs of home and hoped for a quiet nightcap on our rooftop deck. Which was interrupted by a neighbor's noisy bash, complete with more squealing drunk girls and booming music.
So we walked down the stairs, shut the windows, brushed our teeth and crawled in to bed. At 9:30 p.m. This my friends, is the real life of a weary publicist: