the rundown

Season Fabulous of Project Runway premiered last night. After a small tift with the roommate for programming control, I settled into my 9 o'clock appointment with an egg-white omelet and an open mind.

I think we all knew that Kelly was going to win, what with her bleach/dye job on vaccum cleaner bags. Amazing.

Overall, the cast leaves something to be desired, but it was nice to see Austin Scarlett's porcelain face and as always, Heidi is a stunning pair of legs.

yumminess

I can't stand either one of them and their United Colors of Benetton family. But they look like they'd be cool next-door neighbors.

Mmmm BEEFY.

Please go pick up the latest edition of People magazine. You will not regret it. Mario Lopez (newbie to Broadway's "A Chorus LIne") has been crowned "Hottest Bachelor of 2008" and is boasting more muscles than a fraternity's biceps-only workout. It's especially helpful if you're trying a new summer diet called bulemia. I present to you, exhibit A.



Mario Lopez as Burt Reynolds as Well We Know HE Shaves.

This is not the AC Slater I know and love. This is my Ken doll on steroids, dipped in baby oil. Help! I've been locked up in Equinox for the past 5 years!

Come back to the bell you chauvinist pig.

taking out the trash

Just in from those celebrity crack babies, the Olsen twins. (or at least one of them) The ever-trustworthy Gawker, reports someone has dug up a few drunken photo ops from some flannel party that screams "I'm so country, ya'll"!

I have a love-hate relationship with the twins. I hate that they wear fur. I love their style. I hate how they have nothing better to do than spend money. No, I'm not jealous.

It seems like a birthday celebration, but who knows with these screw-ups. I guess I'd have a few loose too if I was forced to play the same character as my twin sister, though. (talk about an identity crisis) Oh yeah, Nicole Ritchie and the guy from that shitty band were there too. Freaks I tell you!



http://gawker.com/tag/photo-gallery/?i=396874&t=mary+kate-olsen-party-candids

trailah

What is it with these Southern pop princesses and their affinity for trailah-ness? Jay Simps has gone way down in my book (long before, but greatly in part to her latest release of a half-ass "country" single). But this is just ridic.



As if her breasts were incapable of drawing attention on their own. I don't even know what this means. Dude, gimme some barbecue.

On the other hand, I'm loving this entire ensemble. Must.find.this.dress.and.bag.

we all know how i feel about JENNER

“The Hills star Brody Jenner has scored a new TV show called Bromance, a reality series from Ryan Seacrest’s production company.The six- episode stint will feature a group of “bros” compete to join Jenner’s entourage.

Contestants will have shots at a “group date” and “alone time” with Brody in every episode. At the end of every ep, a rejected “bro” will be asked to leave the bachelor pad dripping wet during a “‘Hot Tub Elimination Ceremony.”

Do you think when he was pitched this story line, that Brody's response was something along the lines of:

"Yes, Yes, and YES"!

brody jenner wasn't there

Oh, I forgot to tell you about the Men's Style "Women in Fashion" party. Among 200 or so guests, atop the Peninsula Hotel on 5th avenue, where the Veuve Clicquot was pouring more freely than I liked (the following morning). I waited downstairs for two girlfriends. I was already irritated to be standing in a hotel lobby, since they weren't letting anyone up to the party in Salon de Ning. I absent-mindedly sent a text or two. Pink and black shoes caught my eye. Looked up. Lindsay Lohan. God she's short. Those extensions. Lindsay Lohan. LiLo. I had heard (earlier that day) that she had RSVP'd. She kept walking by, back and forth. Samantha Ronson emerged from somewhere and joined her. A photographer (also waiting to go up to the party) stood next to me. "Lindsay Lohan, right?" I cast a sideways glance as if he had to ask... "yeah".

I should have just worn a sign that said "I WORK IN MEDIA". Looking back, that probably wouldn't have even been necessary. I'm sure everyone just knew. The rooftop views were great. I took cheesy pictures with my girlfriends and took in all the trendy labels that passed by. Designers, editors, NY socialites.

It was fun, but after an hour or so, I was ready to catch up with my friends who were in town from DC. I packed into an elevator down and when I walked with the group out of the hotel, I was surprised to see actual paparazzi on the street below the steps. Lights immediately flashed. I felt famous for half a millisecond, and then walked namelessly down to the subway - back downtown - where I belong.

two words: BRODY. JENNER.

my most recent work email:

"Hello lovely ladies,

I would absolutely love if you could join us to celebrate the Women of Fashion, from *******! Samantha Ronson will be the DJ - and we have a pretty impressive celebrity RSVP list including: Brody Jenner. YES, live and in person. Its going to be the most mega-fabulous party of the season, so dress to impress!

So Meagan/Hayley - I know we've never met, but if you are as fabulous as Miss Dia says, we're going to have a blast!

Let me know if y'all can make it!

******"

DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO ASK?!? Need I remind everyone of the last party we (Meagan and myself) attended where our girl Sam Ronson was the DJ? Mid-gyration, vodka-t in hand, we were literally winking and grinning, 3 feet away from her. It was the most hysterical/desperate thing we've ever done.

PINK

When I was 4 or 5, I lived in Boise, Idaho. I don't remember much about suburbia-land, except for unrealistically green grass, the neighbor boys with the cool names (Parker, Marshal and Barrett), and most of all: JEM - TRULY OUTRAGEOUS! But there was a serious problem. Jem had a Sunday morning time slot. This directly interfered with church. I used to fake stomach aches for viewing priveledges. I think we should have more shows like Jem. She embodied everything eighties. This by far, being my favorite decade. I think I've found this year's halloween costume, people.

betz

Betsey Johnson's offices are a few floors above ours, in our building here on fashion ave. It's common to see her once a week or so. This morning, she and I were walking towards the revloving door at the same time. However, a glass cleaner was tending to the revolving door. I went to the second. For some reason she just stood there, waiting for him to finish ...

i luuuuurve

Carrie Underwood. I mean we have so much in common. Both blondes. Both grew up singing in church. Both from the South. OK, well she's from Oklahoma. Close enough. She's like the new Reese without the adorable mini-me's. And she looked really great in the May '08 InStyle. Ahhh, keep carving your name in those leather seats, girl.

oh LiLo

I love her, I really do. But why can't she just be a raging actress who doesn't fall OFF the party wagon??

I laughed out loud when I saw this. Now THAT looks like a rough night.

she gets me every time

pumping this at work all day today

D-list celebrity sighting of the week

Since I moved there last October, I've witnessed a few movie filmings (SATC, etc) down below my building on the water. This morning as I hustled out my revolving doors, I brushed past the open door of an unmarked, white trailer. A woman with mousy hair and a broad smile was faking an intense conversation with, (peeks further while slowly walking) none other than John Stamos.

His hair is larger than life. Lots of secrets - for.sure.

dripping sweat

I was exposed to hairy men with beer bellies this weekend. My newest experience was taking a dip in the Russian baths on the lower east side. They've been around for over a century, and are a germaphobe's worst nightmare. (although I was assured of their cleanliness multiple times)

Faded pictures of celebrities and magazine reviews were absentmindedly plastered across the walls. A wrinkled woman sat behind a counter serving unpronounceable bottled beers and was curiously licking her fingers while she cooked soup. I wrapped a tattered navy tunic around (what I thought was) my very appropriate metallic gold bikini and joined the two boys who were seasoned veterans to this whole experience.

The first room was insufferable. I forced dramatic attempts to breathe and watched my skin glisten and moisten to the resemblance of a wet seal. The second room was dry and arid to the point where I felt my hair crisping like straw. I attacked our liter of water bottle and gulped with the ferocity of a Saharan nomad. Every minute. Replenish. Quickly. For every minute you didn't replace, your fluids were being sucked from your pores.

And then there was the water. Coming down over my head and bleeding through my tunic and making my breasts feel alive. I must have had an expression of complete horror, followed by immense relief, as bucket after bucket was poured over my thirsting hair and skin. The regular soakers sitting around me grinned and judged as they watched me learn.

When we emerged, a Russian man urged me to try the 45 degree pool of ice water. I succumbed to peer pressure and got in line to walk in, and felt the heat being sucked from my fingers and toes. He said it was good for the joints.

We replaced our drenched tunics with fresh ones and split a large bottled beer on the unkempt roof deck above. I instantly became sleepy as my newly detoxed body embraced the torturous temperature changes. Even the slight New York breeze sweeping through the cracks of the deck didn't seem to bother me.

If you get the chance to visit a Russian or Turkish bath, I would highly recommend it...especially on Sundays when Colin Farrell is there - sweating out his weekend antics.

Zzzzzzzzz

This weekend was a blurry smudge. I worked all day Friday on a presentation for our client in LA and it ended up getting moved to later this week. Naturally, it was drizzly/snowy out when I escaped the office at 5:45p. I made it to LIC, showered, made myself presentable, and ran downstairs to the car service (thank you, Z) - only 15 minutes behind. Traffic was tragic but I finally made it to the West side and into the small, 20-something-table restaurant that is Po'. Joining Z, his Aunt & Uncle, college friend & cf's girlfriend, we sipped bottles of Pinot Noir and talked about - relationships mostly...I'm just remembering that. Doppio espresso - coat check - farewell and many thanks to A&U - back to Z's apartment.

He has a fabulous hookah with blackberry tabacco. CF made us vodka tonics and we aptly decided Patron shots might start our evening off right. We ventured down the four flights and poured ourselves into the first cab that took us to one of my favorite lounge/clubs - Room Service. I love it for its drumming house music and fabulous VIP areas with enveloping curtains and the hotel-like amenities of a snack drawer, mini bar, and chocolate covered strawberries. DJ AM was performing, and that's really why we were there. Tiny bottles of UpShot (energy drink) overflowed from decorative bowls along the bar, and we took a few for fun. Something, something, something - and the night closed its arms around us.

Z and I maintened a lazy Saturday and I had my hair chopped off on Sunday. I love my new bangs and blond(er) locks! We went to the Rangers game last night, followed by the Oscars (thank God for DVR) and I was invited to see Eric Clapton perform at the Garden tonight. But to be honest with you, I'm just too tired.

gossip girl

I may have missed last night's episode of Gossip Girl, but I still got to watch some UES socialites. Plans change quickly sometimes. After I left work, an acquaintance of mine sent a text inviting me to the Dominique Cohen jewelry store opening - 65th and Madison, across from Valentino. Among the short guest list of 50 or so, swanky upper-east-siders was the co-host Gillian Hearst Simonds (of publishing giant, Hearst). Impressive.

I've been thrown into a lot of brilliantly diverse environments with equally diverse classes of people here in NY. The VIP lounge of a dark, pounding night club with about 30 Soprano-esque Italians who LOVE to party - hey where's Vito? A Latino dance club over-looking the river, with incredible music and oh can they dance. Then of course, we have the intimate loft party with a buffet of ethnicity's and accents (see a few posts back). However, I must admit, I had been looking forward with great anticipation to catch a glimpse of the snobby socialite scene that is portrayed on one of my favorite shows - Gossip Girl.

The store is by far, the most luminous corner on Madison Avenue tonight. Coat check, velvet ropes, chitter chatter, snapping photographers. Dominique Cohen creates beautiful designs with the most intricately delicate patterns. Draping gold necklaces adorn the headless decolletage in suffocatingly small glass display cases. We brush past an almost-beautiful redhead who is more slender than my left pinkie and 6 feet tall because of her patent leather bootie/pumps. She is surrounded by five or six well dressed admirerers. Our eyes meet, and she smiles with an intensity that seems to stem from curiosity or blow - or both. I'm later told that she is a diamond dealer heiress and has graced Page Six with her addictions. How should I know?

Similar to wild animals in their natural habitat, you wouldn't want to get too close - because they look crazy and who knows what might happen. Okay not really. I was complimented on my Tory boots by a short lady in a short dress. There was a cool-as-a-cucumber DJ spinning in the back near the bar. Yummy waiters - in all black - slid in and out of the crowd with hor'dourves. And then I saw him...

Slender like a model. A young Johnny Depp with a baby face. Thick, black rimmed eye-glasses and a shy smile. We locked eyes and I immediately told him he was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. (I was a drink or two in at this point and it was acceptable) He grinned, looked down, and I took an artichoke tart from the tray he presented me. Yes, he was a waiter. I was intriguied by no other for the remainder of the evening. Of course he kept moving, but he came back. We passed eachother, and smiled. He winked. I tried not to stare and pathetically scan the room every five minutes to find him. I would take this man over a Park Avenue Prince any day.

The party is ending and I become frantic. I have nothing. No card, no pen, no time to store a number in my cell. Talk about being unprepared. I tug on the waiter nearest me. "The man with the glasses, is he gay or straight?". I can't even believe the words that are coming out of my mouth. Is that even the question we are supposed to ask first? What about single or taken? I have no idea what I'm doing. He smiles kindly and tells me he is straight - and taken. Damn damn damn. There is no point in pursuing. We take our coats, our gift bags (which contain a scented candle, custom Dominique Cohen black bowtie earrings, and two chocolates), and leave. I can't stop wondering if the other waiter knew exactly which "man in the glasses" I was referring to. *sighs*

We go across the street to a small French restaurant called Paris Match and have dinner with my friend's friend - who is a fashion designer. We have hummus, and sushi, and french fries (I'm wondering the same thing now). At the end of the night, I hop into a cab .. accidentally leaving my DC gift bag .. and McDreamy .. on Madison Avenue.

welcome to the land of audi's and beamer's

literally, every other car here is an audi or bmw. i'm completely fine with that. they say it's because they have all-wheel drive or something. i think it's because everyone is flashy and self-absorbed. ;) i can't wait to trade in the ol' QX4 and join the masses. wait, i think my car already has all-wheel drive...

people don't truly realize how expensive this city is. sure it's a "known" fact - but do they really understand it? you count $6 tolls and parking a car at $10-15 an hour in a garage while you shop/party ($5 extra if it's an SUV) and gas at $3+ a gallon and $10 drinks (we're talking GG vodka/water - p.s. hangovers are significantly reduced here since everyone drinks premium vodka - goodbye $2 drinks from Sharky's!) alas, it is a very expensive and exciting place to live. there's good news. if you're going out in the city, you're surrounded by people who can afford this lifestyle. if you are out in the trendy clubs, ordering bottle service ($300-400 a bottle), you're surrounded by people who are accustomed to this. i hope my acclimation to this lifestyle parallels my bank account, the longer i live here. i'm really banking on that - pun intended.

transit in nyc has done great things for me. for one, i'm forced to walk almost everywhere. this has benefited my sense of direction, as well as my waistline. i've decided that any form of transit in the city (whether subway, train, or bus) is directly reminiscent of the flashing images/racing boat scene in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. (actually, i'm going to add "riding in the car with david" to this transportation list) it's actually quite fun. i am growing accustomed to driving in the city, myself. i am really very good at it. i took the girls (kristin, jenna & emily) on a tour this saturday and they said i proved to be an excellent tour guide and that my driving skills confirmed that i was "born to live in this city". okay, i'll stop tooting my own horn. i just said tooting. mmkay...

i'll leave you with this picture of Ivanka Trump and i...(at the Stuff Magazine Cocktail Party) in person, she's very tall and has huge boobs. (both available at Bergdorf-Goodman) ;) x's and o's