Darlings, I Am Telling You, Diva Was NOT Divine!!!!!!!!!!!!

Girls, when you live my life new experiences are de rigeur. So, when Monsieur Davide informed me that last night we were going to gather with two gents named Frank and Mark a t a place in SoHo I never heard of called Diva, I thought, "What the hell?" The staff at Diva had better damn well just be ready for me!"

Now, one place I do not frequent that much in Manhattan is SoHo. For one thing, my life just does not take me there; for another it is like no other nabe in the borough--so convoluted you can easily get lost, and I swear its inhabitants are more provincial than those from Goat Alley; I am convinced that those who reside in SoHo never stir from it.

Nevertheless, we arrive at Diva, with its charming, if pretentious dark, murky that passes for romantic atmosphere and lighting that gives everything a perpetual orange and black effect, Halloween or not!!! We meet Frank and Mark--Frank a Byronic wannabe from Kendall Park, who may now reside in Gramercy, but as far as this queen is concerned, has lost none of his Kendallism. Nice and all, darlings, but limited. I mean, he actually LIKED "Bloody, Bloody Andrew Jackson," and when I mentioned "The Corrections" by Jonathan Franzen, he never blinked. I had to wonder whether he had ever heard of either. We DID hear about his "country house " (uhm-hmmmmm!!!!!!!) in Stockton, New Jersey, hardly the Hamptons, where I am sure the two Edies had never been to or heard of. I am sure it is charming, as much as charming can be if it is New Jersey. As for Mark, he was so pale he verged on corpse like, but he had a sweet, sensitive nature to him that said to me two things--a passive poet soul, like Emily Dickinson, and, a BIG OLD BOTTOM!!!!!! Believe me, I can tell!!!!!!!!!!!!

All of this was fine in its own way. But when it became apparent that the music was SO loud it was impossible to think, let alone hold a conversation, so I could not learn more about Frank and Mark like I wanted, I knew Diva was less than divine. And when Monsieur Davide asked our waiter to kindly lower the music, he was flatly refused, whereby I asked if he required me to be a bitch, because, believe me, girls, I was ready!!!!! We even had a small window of opportunity where we could have gone someplace else, and in retrospect, we should have taken it, because the food was OK, BUT when the best part of the meal is the salad and appetizer (in this case a fabulous bruschetta) you know the place is in trouble. My pasta dish was so spicy it would have passed muster at the Indian places on East Sixth Street, and I drank so much water I knew I would be up half the night peeing. But it was so lackluster; with a name like "Diva" you expected a fab dining experience, and this certainly wasn't. Would you believe, girls, this place has been in business for fifteen years??? How???? I'd like to know who they are paying off? If my Aunt Anna were still alive, she would have closed down the joint in a flash. You have heard about places that live on their past reputations???? Not only could I not figure out what reputation they once had, as Monsieur Davide said, he could not figure what they were trying for. The atmosphere was SO faux hetero, meaning it was designed to look like a gay place, but the lineup at the bar seemed to be straight. I say SEEMED, because while I am sure most were, I was equally sure that if I had walked up to a few they could have told me, right off, who played Georgia James in the movie version of "Funny Girl." Honey, we did not even wait for desert or coffee, but then our incompetent and rude waiter did not even ask us if we wanted any. See why I adore Cody at the Commune???? We took the check, and ran!!!! If it had been me, I would have left a quarter as a tip.

Once outside, I thought we might go somewhere to talk and get to know one another better--but not THAT better, I am telling you--but we just drifted into the night--Monsieur Davide and I to Irene's ice cream place on Hudson Street, really the best part of the evening, and Frank and Mark to the cozy contemplation of themselves at Gramercy Park. My, how they lOVE to name drop places and locations. OK, Frank does. Mark barely said two words. But he seemed sweet.

Girls, do NOT frequent this hellhole!!!!!! The service was better at the HellFire Club back in the day!!!!! And let me tell you, from now on, when it comes time to pick a place to dine, The Raving Queen must ALWAYS be in control, because otherwise, look what can happen!!!!!!!!!

So, make sure all your dining experiences are divine, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!