My mom and her friend Bonnie came to the city this weekend, so everything I did between Friday evening and now has been with them. I'm not complaining. My mom is great. I'm not sure what happened, but a few years ago we just started getting along really friendly-like. Our relationship is based primarily on movies, shopping (esp. purses, about which I know nothing), gossip, weight loss, and the hot guys at the makeup counter at Saks. (But she's still my mom. Emotional support and nagging are also major themes.)

Still, there's something unnerving about feeling totally at ease with such a high concentration of social interactions with middle-aged women. Everyone I work with is older than me. Everyone I date is older than me. This is how it's always been. But when I can hear Bonnie say "Hey, I used to Jazzercize to this song!" and not even blink, it might be time for me to go hang out with someone immature.

But even so, it was a great weekend. We helped Bonnie find a new winter coat because the zipper on hers had broken, so she had to step in and out of it, which was hilarious. Mom splurged on a little Louis Vuitton purse that she proudly showed off after threatening me with a painful death if I told my father. And most importantly, we totally cheated on our Weight Watchers diets with pastrami sandwiches from Katz's Deli.

Ok, I'm not on Weight Watchers, but I still played along with the feigned guilt.

Oh, we also saw Hairspray and Les Miserables, which were what you'd expect. Hairspray was super fun, and Ashley Parker Angel is taller than he looks based on his head shot. He's the guy from O-Town. I think I might have to make him my husband. Les Mis kinda bored me, and Daphne Ruben-Vega was horribly miscast and should never be allowed to sing Fantine again unless she realizes that she's not Mimi anymore. No offense or anything. K, thanks.

In conclusion, I am your number one source for Broadway news and reviews. To leave a voicemail comment or to invite me to a premiere, call 1-800-JAP-LIKE-MY-MOM.