Unexpected Perk of Having a Roommate #8: Roommate makes earrings, confections of fancy in sparkle and fun. Hence, for a night out, sneaking earrings, which, hey, she left, like an invitation, on the kitchen counter. No, really. Well, okay, no, I mean, she did leave them on the kitchen counter, but I asked. And she said, “Of course, and you didn’t even have to ask.” You see?

The earrings are three strands of thin gold dangly, one of which ends in a translucent pink star, and—dangling themselves way past my concerns that I looked like a Joan Jett wannabe with the star and the spiky hair—said earrings rocked it at dinner last night at Public.

What did not rock at Public was the fact that since the last time I was there, the place has apparently become a NoLIta hotspot. Used to be Kat and I’d pop over for a meal, and it was a perfectly lovely way to pass an hour or three, chill, just chill.

Last night, among the guys with the large-check buttondowns and the laydeez in the one-shoulder tops, we could hardly hear ourselves bitching about how noisy it was. Certainly the waiter couldn’t hear us at all: “Are you done here?” “Uh-huh.” “Are you done here?” and, later, “May I clear this?” “No.” “May I clear this?”

In the Marisa Acocella illustration of my life, last night would be a line drawing with bla bla bla in cursive in the space above our heads, getting more and more cursive till it all became just swirls of dark ink, and all you’d be able to see would maybe be the pink stars on the ends of my earrings.

“It’s like this place’s turned into Republic,” Kat said, referring to the Union Square noodle bar with the spicy duck broth noodles and the cavernous echoing dining room. “Think noodles!”

Over the herby lentils with green beans, avocado, and pecans; the steamed snapper and shrimp dumpling; the artichoke-aleppo mash; the mini chocolate-ginger brûlée with sliced pears; the honey pannacotta and fig crackers; and the coffee bread pudding with sour cherries—can’t you just taste the words?—we yelled at each other across the table. Kat had to badmouth someone three times before I realized she was calling him an asshole. “You have to swear louder,” I said. “Think noodles!” she said.

Later, it was quiet outside, and quite nice. Sometimes the earrings brushed against my neck, fleeting and chilly like fairy dust. I walked the girl to Houston and then she walked me to First.