All day I moped and cried and slept. In the afternoon I was prepared to hit the library for research, but spent an hour looking for my research materials that were hidden under a pile of clean clothes.

I left an hour late, and arrived at Lincoln Center when the library was near to closing. I stomped my foot outside of Avery Fisher Hall like a child, and tried to think of something to do instead.

So I walked to Time Warner Center, where I usually take my Friday evening strolls. Upon recalling that the Museum of Modern Art was only a walk away, I started toward midtown.

The walk was pleasent, if not for my presistent crying. I spotted Megan LeCrone, but even spotting a City Ballet dancer was not enough to cheer me up.

I thought MOMA was on the wrong street, so I walked to 5th Avenue to shop at Bergdorf’s. I only spent less than thirty minutes there on the 5F floor scanning contemporary designers. I got to see the Elizabeth and James line for the first time.

I exited Bergdorf’s and headed to MOMA. It was crowded because it’s free every Friday night from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m.

The galleries were amazing. Every painting in their collection was something I’d seen before, which lets you know just how famous the artwork is, big names like Warhol, Roy Liechtenstein, Willem de Kooning, and Monet.

I hadn’t done any reading on MOMA to find out what pieces were in their galleries. So as I wandered, each room was like a small but pleasing surprise. Then suddenly, I turned a corner and there it was. A work by one of my favorites: Franz Kline. I’ve always loved his work, viewing my first Kline in the pages of Vogue Living hanging on a wall. His work is simple, but for some reason it means so much to me. It is twisted and complex, speaking without speaking at all.

I stood starring at his “Chief” for five minutes of more, and when I had exhausted the paintings returned for one more glance. I smirked my way back to the first floor. I had just seen a Kline in person.

I hit the MOMA store, where some toys by a new designer aquaintence of mine, Goran Lelas, were on sale. I wished they had a print of the Kline to purchase.

On the bus ride home I looked at my reflection in the mirror to find I’d had a bug squished on my face all night long. I cried and ate hot dogs for dinner.