am i blue?

Fifteen minutes until our editorial meeting begins. I am feeling a bit ragged. Yesterday, after work, SFR co-hosted, with BLU102, a cocktail, summer, Design Week party type thing at PACHANGA, which used to be La Tertulia and has been several things in between. Well, it was a beautiful night. The rain stopped, it was cool, the sky was orange and blue and the garden patio festooned nicely. Cubanish jazz was playing and artist Frankie Kong told me a very funny story about getting lost in Mexico. The restaurant, in honor KBLU, had made blue margaritas. Several people came up and told me the margaritas matched my eyes. The margaritas, for what it's worth, were the color of David Hockney swimming pools. I did not go to the bathroom mirror to check if this was true or not, although my eyes do change colors quite frequently. Right now, for example, they are red. This also is because of the margaritas. I realized I was suffering post California alcohol hubris syndrome wherein I return from sea-level and forget I can't drink very much here. In CA, I've noticed, I can have a few cocktails and I'm fine. Here, two blue margaritas and I'm subjecting everyone I see to a long lecture about Richard Florida (don't ask, I have no idea why Richard Florida was so on my mind last night. I had dinner after and was home by 10 pm, only to turn right around the minute Dan called and ride, three to the front, with him and Darius, to Bar B for hip hop. This was absurd as I had been fantasizing, for about 12 hours at that point, about going to bed. Also, word to the wise, never go to a club with two boys if you don't have your own car unless it's your idea of fun to have to act like somebody's grandmother and beg them to take you home. Well, they are good sports. OK, enough about me. Now it's time for the editorial meeting and when—IF—I return, I'll try to have something less myopic to say (myopic not right word, seeing word. What's the categorical parallel for myopia in regards to speaking?