Last night began with an "oh no, am I in the wrong location again?" I peered into the window of Andaz, a Hyatt boutique hotel, and saw a couple of couples spotted about at somber-looking tables, sipping red wine and futzing with their ties. I grimaced. Either this was about to be the most boring party ever, or once again the location had moved and the nightlife reporter covering it wasn't notified. Or, in a more logical path, it was on the 2nd floor.

Ah yes, one of those amazing nights where, just before you enter a party, the awning dumpers inside push up the awning over the Maritime Hotel North Cabanas, releasing a ridiculous roof tsunami of pigeon guano soup and rat pellet tea directly in front of you. Oh, ha, and by you I mean me. And before that maybe you (me) went to a party that didn't even exist. On hopstop directions to trains that don't exist.

Okay, the 2010 OMMA Awards took place last night, and I was there, and if you WEREN'T there, you totally missed out on GREATNESS. It was awesome! (Don't worry, though. This recap will make you feel like you WERE there, except without all the drinks and dinner.)

It is a beautiful Monday out here in Advertising Week land! The 2010 version has launched with a weak "this is a poor excuse for rain" deluge intent on lasting the full day. I saw more wet tourists on my way to Best Buy Theatre than wet rats back stroking through the subway. But I don't have a care in the world because this year The Stars of Madison Avenue Luncheon delivered a roundhouse kick of pure New York into the eyes and ears of their guests.

I love the New York Television Festival (NYTVF). Because I love television. And I love how the festival is a platform for independent writers, actors, and those considered "a little off" by IFC. Last night at the premiere viewing of "The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Todd Margaret" I discovered that I'm definitely a little off, but maybe not that much. Certainly not as off as SKINNY NYC's Matt Van Hoven.

What a cast of characters. I feel like I'm writing an IMDB bio for a new sitcom on Pix11 featuring a teacher/mommyblogger without child who once played Annie Oakley at Cedar Point, a magician who uses the same "hilarious" line that he used on you in front of you, a real-life member of the babysitter's club, and, bringing up the rear: three tattooed metalheads with a soft spot for meat. I managed to meet all of the aforementioned characters within a two-hour time span at the opening of brgr (no additives, not even vowels!) on the Upper East Side.

Do you hate the sound of a little plastic ball hitting a strange, green, sort of soft, but not really, table? Do you despise mini burgers so much that you would rather roll around naked in a pile of dead squirrels than be near one? Does the thought of miniature wedges of grilled cheese make your stomach lurch in "Imma have an alien baby!" explosive bursts? Does free beer and wine make you want to pierce your ears with an Airstream trailer? Then you would have been miserable last night.

Last night the sky could not have been more gorgeous. I'm sad that the sun has already begun to set earlier, but the upside is that those lingering rooftop parties that begin at 6 p.m. get to view some beautiful pre-autumn sunsets. The first party last night was one such viewing event, a joint hoedown between StockTwits and CNNMoney atop Highbar.

Strap on your beer helmets and start snorting that milk thistle, because these next two weeks are going to be one sleepless late night after another, broken up by an all-day music festival and wrapping up with the week-long event that brings out all the Mad Men wannabes, gonnabes, and alreadybeentheres: Advertising Week. If you haven't started planning, you're in serious trouble -- but if you're lucky, I'll share my Red Bull.

Fresh off of chicken wings from McKeown's on the UES, my gaggle and I headed to Scoop after the Moves magazine party. Spinning at Scoop was none other than DJ Nithya Rajendran, wrapping a warm layer of beats around the launch of jewelry designer Candace Ang's new fall collection.