A gossip girl life

February is like the girl at that party I threw when my parents took a "second honeymoon" in Cabo last week (I know: sad). You remember -- the girl who puked all over the Spanish marble floor in the guest bathroom and then refused to leave? We had to trow her Dior saddlebag and Oscar de la Renta embroidered sheepskin coat into the elevator before she finally got the message. Unlike most places in the world, though, New York refuses to fall into a February-induced depression and become a cold, gray, dismal wasteland. At least, my New York does. Here on Upper East Side we all know the cure for drearies: one of Jedediah Angel's crazy-sexy party dresses, a pair of black antin Manolos, that new "Ready or Not" red lipstick you can only get at Bendel's, a good Brazilian bikini wax, and a generous slathering of Estée Lauder self-tanner, in case your St. Barts tan left over from Christmas break has finally faded. Most of us are secondsemsters seniors--at last. Our college applications are in and our schedules are light, with double free period every day during which we can catch a Fashion Week runway show or head back to a friend's penthouse apartment to drink skinny lattes, smoke cigarettes, and help pick out the evening's screw-homework party outfit.