Friday, November 18, 2005

Seasons Change

Ok, so many of you may know that I'm pretty obsessed with fashion models. Usually of the female variety. I prefer their visages on magazine covers (rather than actresses) and salivate when I see them tramping down the runways. While I don't tend to follow male models and their careers, this is unavoidably hilarious.

So, male model Brad Kroenig is probably one of the most recognizable male models right now (in terms of fashion advertising). To wit.

Well, you know how you're always hearing that modeling is a fleeting career path and that an intelligent model should consider an alternative career after the coke blowing, champagne guzzling days are over? Well. Check out Brad's... transition.

It's no joke. Apparently, you can call his cell (if your inner stalker is so inclined) AND you can visit him at an open house on Laffayette and Spring this Sunday at noon. Good for him, I guess??
[scoop via COACD]


Just gimme da light

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I'm totally pulling for Sean Paul and Wynona Judd. These kids can make it.


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So much better than my thug horsehead costume. Sigh.


Rock Out...

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I must be gettin' all Kevin Spederline on your asses because last night I got drunk yet again. At yet ANOTHER magazine party. Uhm. Not that I'm complaining, but what are these magazine parties about anyway? Free booze and people schmoozing, but do these things really increase circulation? Eh. Whatever. Like I said, free booze... so I won't complain.

My friend R invited me out to the party after I went to the gym. Shit was packed at first and then mellowed out towards the end. Really had fun with the open bar. Went to the "co-ed" bathroom and was practically assaulted by a girl guarding the facilities. Clearly sauced, the gatekeeper giggled and told me that I couldn't go in because her friend was in there and that it smelled "really bad." Uhhh. I laughed and then pushed past to use the urinal. Then Drunky McDrunk asked to see my "penis." Uhhh. No. Natch, Drunky McDrunk became a good friend the rest of the night. Drunky's friend (once she emerged from the crapper) and I bonded on looking like celebrities: I like Matthew Fox and she like Kate Bosworth AND Alison Lohman.

After that, I left the club with R and his friend. We smoked a cigarette on the FREEZING sidewalk whilst I witnessed a drunk girl literally collapsed like a giant redwood. Timber!!! Shit. Was. Fun. NY! She was OK so I didn't feel so badly for laughing uncontrollably. Oh what a night. I love New York.

Tonight, my friend M is taking me to see the new Harry Potter movie. I couldn't really care less about it, but a movie's a movie so I'm going. Then [wetting index finger and testing the wind current], I predict getting drunk will be in order.


Thursday, November 17, 2005

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It doesn't get much better than Lu.


Yesterday's Muse

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Oprah has struggled with her weight in the past. Ders. Let's get to the real issue, folks.

Contrary to popular belief, neither Beck nor Sienna Miller serve as the the inspiration for Hipsters and fashion victims from far and wide. It's Oprah c. 1985! Who knew?

Upon hearing the news, Sienna seriously wigged out...

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And, oh. dear. Lord. Talan (C-List) + Kimberly Fugbert (B-List) = a pretty damn mediocre B-


We can do it alright

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Why, oh why, did I choose to go balls to the wall on a Wednesday night? I'm just a little restless, lately. So I ditched my night class and went out with my best pal, Cool Brooklyn, and CB's beau (R) in my new 'hood.

CB and R tried to set me up with R's friend, M. Natch (because I'm too damn picky and destined to be alone), there was no interest on my part so I just got drunk and chatted it up. Until I saw someone in the bar that I had axed about six months ago because of excessive clinginess and claws-digging-into-me-ness (read: STALKER!). I got all stiff and scared when I noticed. I may have even asked CB to "hide me."

But. In light of my new desire to be totally mature about relationships, I said 'Hi' and then engaged in some catch-up talk. Oh, and then we made out. D'OH! Blasted tequila. You'll have me destitute before long, won't you? Sweet, sweet misery.

Speaking of sweet misery, "Stank-up Ho's" time's up on Top Model. You'll be sorely missed. Can't wait to hear what Midwestgrrl has to say on this development. Guess it goes to prove that not always do the love-to-hate-'ems prosper. Hm. Bye, Lisa.


Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Certifiable Heartmelter

Today's Dog of the Day, Mister, is so f***ing cute:

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... and also happens to bear (no pun intended) a striking resemblance to the teddy bear from the worst piece of never-ending crap movie ever (aka A.I.):

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Ambivalence = Sexy

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So just call me sexy, ok? I'm in kind of an eh mood. Nothing's bad, per se, but I'm sort of craving a... relationship. M hm. It doesn't help that, after I cut ties, my ex- called me two nights ago sounding lonely and interested in me. C is a very sweet human being but really caused me some hurtin' when we ended things. To get back into that or even SEE C would be a bad thing, I decided. Well, last night at the gym, who should I see working out with a trainer...but C.

Grrreat, I thought. Should I be mature and say Hi or be a schoolkid and scuttle off? I did the former. Literally tapped C on the shoulder with my water bottle and said, "I'll let you get back to it... Just wanted to say Hi." Uhhhh. Life is weird sometimes. So we don't talk, speak, or run into eachother for over a month. I'm feeling great about myself for not really caring. Then C calls me AND we run into eachother in a span of two days? What the F? Not that I run my life according to some foolish belief in Fate, but it's a weird and cooincidental series of events to say the least.

I recently cut the fat from my dating routine. All potentials have been nixed but the cut and sweet J(o). We're going to dinner on Saturday night. I'm still not sure exactly how I feel. It's a third date which, for me, means I have to make up my mind if I want to go further or just end it. Dating is so f***ing exhausting. And, to be honest? I just want to meet someone that makes my stomach do that fluttery crap and makes my head mull over every part of them... AND have that person return that kind of affection. Lately, I seem to be 'plagued' with feeling eh about people who seem to get fluttery over me. Bew, Fate. Bew. Not nice.

Anyway, last night I met up with three friends from college for dinner. I hadn't seen them in over a year, so it was really awesome to catch up.

Read the funniest story about how *Jason Lewis* hearts Lindsay Lohan.


Monday, November 14, 2005

Weekend Recap

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I know all thirteen of you are just DYING to know what I was up to this weekend. Right, well let's get to it.

Friday night was ridonkulous. I went to a magazine party where I drunkenly approached and conversed with Naima of America's Next Top Model fame. So hilariamous. She was surprisingly tall and entertainingly diplomatic. I tried to get the lowdown on who was mean and such...

"I don't believe that people are mean... they merely respond to their inner selves."

I think I uncontrollably chortled out loud after a pregnant pause. Thanks, alcohol. Luckily, the club was loud and so packed that I don't think good ol' Naima understood that I was laughing at her ridonkulousness. Immediately texted Gina and informed her of my siting to which she replied:


Rightly so. Moving on, I was led to another nearby club with my friend M.

Once there, I ran into tons of people I knew from various aspects of life for whatever reason. Extremely random and funny. Ended up getting more and more drunk off of drinks that people were buying for me. Then. I spotted and began talking to the hottest-meets-intelligent person I've ever seen in my life. For real.

I was so puppy dogly infatuated that my sole ambition for the night became to make sure that I talked to said person now and in the future. True to my dumbass form, I played it cool and only managed to give my number to said hottie at the end of the night. Why I didn't demand the hottie's number is beyond even me. I'm an idiot; that's why.

Anyway, after that I shared a cab home with a friend J who I accidentally ran into at the club. We both live in the same vicinity, so it made sense to share the fare. What didn't make sense was when J tried to make out with me upon exiting the cab. Again, I uncontrollably laughed mid-kiss, not knowing what the hell was going on. Alcohol tends to bring out the giggles in me at inappropriate moments. After I laughed, J sort of scuttled away--embarrassed, I presume. Did I mention that I only know J because J was going out with my ex's best friend? Take a second and think about that. My ex (C) has a best friend named C. THAT C and J were together when C and I were together. The four of us used to go to dinners together and even went on a beach vacation together. Just so wrong on so many levels, I think. Oh, well. Just another weird moment... continuing along with the seeming theme of the night.

Saturday consisted of indentured servitude to my cell phone. Ring, I thought. Come on, RING. RING!! I am dying for hottie to call me, but I'm doubting it's going to happen. I'm just a pessimist like that. Saturday night, I went out with J(o) for our second date. We had a great meal near the window of said restaurant when I noticed my drunk friends outside waving to me and making faces from across the street. As I was facing the street and J(o) was facing inward, only I could, thankfully, witness the drunken antics of my friends. Luckily I wasn't drunk at that moment or else I probably would have, again, uncontrollably laughed out loud. Let that be a lesson to us all: never tell your friends where you're going on a date! Oh how I love my carousing New York pals.

J(o) is very cute and nice and, as I found out on Saturday night, an awesome kisser. So J(o) is as high on my list as it gets for now.

Sunday consisted of hiking with friends in upstate NY. Check out ViaGina for details (and my backside).

So I officially ended things with the "beautiful yet intense" J(u). I am also phone phasing out the hot and sexy A. Just bad news and not what I'm looking for right now. In the meantime, I'll hold my breath for the hottest person I've ever met to call me. Somebody please stand by with reviving paddles when I pass out from asphyxiation.


Friday, November 11, 2005

Wanna annoy Paris?

Do the obvious. What else? GET MARRIED! I'm done. [You can't see me, but I'm throwing my hands up.]

And, in related news, Lindsay to set foot in an actual school without camera crews and scripts.


When it rains, it pours.

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Such is my life, as friend A so rightly acknowledged via E-mail this fine Friday morning. I experience a major dry spell and then all of a sudden get laid and have two separate dates with two separate people.

So, as you'll recall, J(u) and I have seen eachother four times or so and done the nasty. I'd be up for going down the serious path, but like I said: I'm not counting any chickens. So, last night I had a first date with A. A is hot. Very hot. Not beautiful. Not pretty. But hot... and pretty damn sexy. A seemed totally confident and cool but by the end of the date I had A in the palm of my hands. Literally, I suppose. No, not like that. Like on A's cheek while we were 'making out' goodnight. So there was that. Now, A wants a second date. I ALSO have a second date with J(o) on Saturday night. Ahh!

A is hot and sexy [but probably bad news], J(o) is cute and sweet [but maybe too boring], and J(u) is cute and beautiful [but is pretty intense and high maintenance]. We'll see.

Been going to the gym like a maniac, so I'm feeling pretty good about myself in that respect. Basically, I'm ready for this jam packed weekend:

Tonight: Party #1 and then a Magazine Party with Gina and friends.

Saturday Day: Brunch with an old friend from college.

Saturday night: Dinner Date #2 with J(o) and then maybe something else with friends if date sucks.

Sunday: HIKING! with all my friends on a trip that my friend Cool Brit coordinated.

Sunday night: Date #2 with hot A.

I'm tired just thinking about it. I need a nap. Happy Veterans' Day.


Thursday, November 10, 2005


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Ahh. The work morning always feels so much more manageable when you get laid the night before. Yes, my loyal tens of readers, the Drone was up until 3AM making devious with with his newest... date?

J and I've hung out four times or so. It was about time and was pretty good. Still not too sure how I feel about J, but at least I know I like the goods. See, I don't really tend to get physical unless I'm interested in a relationship. Call me a square. Call me a prude. Call me a square prude. A spade is a spade. So, I guess my subconscious is willing to go there with J. No expectations, though. Ever the pessimist, I'm expecting the worst and excited if something contrary surprises me. In keeping with that mindset, I'm leaving my options open and going on a drink date with new person A tonight.

Ok, enough of being thankful for what I have. Moving on to the greed-filled holiday of Christmas: Gimme. Gimme. Gimme!


Time Goes By... So Slowly

From FourFour, "Congratulations, ANTM. You're still in the running towards becoming the gayest shit I've ever seen in my life." A hahahahah.... hahahaha [choking laughter accompanied by a tear rolling down cheek]. So true. So true. The only thing that would make that scene from ANTM better were if it had Madonna's Hung Up playing in the background with go-go boys in thongs.


Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Giving thanks

In honor of the impending holiday, I'd like to phone in this blog post. Things for which I'm thankful:

*Walking to work from my new kickass apartment in three minute's time
*Anna Nicole Smith

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*The beggining-of-the-end of Jessica Simpson's fame-for-nothing

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*Text messaging
*Gainful employ (ok, simply employ)
*Physical health (I don't have AIDS either! Rock.)
*Friends Gina, A, Cool Brit, Cool Brooklyn
*Tara Reid

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*The Clash
*Annie Lennox
*Brunch with booze
*Mean Girls on Showtime On-Demand

PS: To all those clotheshorse females out there, Stella McCartney's work for H&M debuts tomorrow ("at 10AM")... Sans ads featuring Ms. Love Me Lines Long Time.


Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Don't Funk With My Wardrobe

Hi, I'm a poser. Pleased to meet you.

Oh. My. GOD. Today's Lookbook feature, one "Sam Masters, High-School Junior," makes me--in short--want to hiss and spit like a venomous cottonmouth defending its young. Oh, Sam. I don't even... I mean...

* ...I’m at Browning but I’m also very much into acting [read: I'm deep]...
* We’re just a big hippie [read: UPPER EAST SIDE OVERPRIVILEGED] family, really.
* I definitely like to funk it up. [no no no no no no no no no no no]
* I like things very deep and very complex... [read: unlike my style]
* I guess I just really love tight clothes.
* ...I fall in love very easily. I have a girlfriend named Destine [read: I'm not gay... I swear.] I met her at one of my best friends’ sweet sixteens. She goes to Dalton, and she’s a big David Bowie fan. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

Oh, Sam. So young to be so banal and, as you say, trademarked. Barf. Yack. Vomit. Dry heave. I need to go lie down. [Thanks to A for the heads up.]


Monday, November 07, 2005

"Do people always tell you..."

Uh. It happened AGAIN. At lunch today. On my way back to work from lunch with friend B. Not one, but TWO Matthew Fox misidentifications. The first thought I just looked like him while the second began to compliment me on "[my] work" before I stopped her and explained. Oh, brother.

And, just because...

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Home, Sweet Home

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Well, it's final. I've moved in to my new place, and I walked to work this morning. What a weekend. First of all, major doting goes out to G. Gina was my knight-ess in shining armor.

Early on Saturday morning, I get a voicemail from two friends saying that my best guy friend Cool Brooklyn (CB) has fallen in a bar and cracked his head open and that they are at the hospital. Whether or not they'll even show up to help me move is called into question. At first my mind goes to, 'Gosh, I hope CB's alright!' but then pretty quickly segues to 'You know you have to do heavy lifting to help your friend move, so you go get wasted the night before?'

So Gina and I go to collect the sketchy UHAUL from the skecthy Russian hardware store owner when we are informed that they do not have the small UHAUL truck but rather a larger version that, at first, made me want to cry at the thought of driving it. Nonetheless, I took the keys along with a big gulp and lurched towards my apartment.

Turns out, G and I were the only ones to move me OUT of my place. Gina guarded the van while I literally lifted and carried every single material possession out of my place and into the van. Just as we were finishing, my friend B showed up with coffee and sympathy. B was supposed to be on the downtown leg of the move (under the assumption that my two other friends would be coming for the uptown leg). B rushed uptown and was awesome. Then, after many cigarettes and a break, CB showed up with a Frankensteinian stitchline across his cranium and a huge bandage on his head. I felt horrible at that point, so all was forgiven.

So then we all went downtown and met my friend S. At full count, we were six getting me moved in. That part was awesome and fun. After that, G and I drove the van back to the Russian sketchbomber and then met up with my friends for food and booze. Post meal, G and I went back to my place so that I could unpack and arrange everything. I did it, true to my OCD form, in about two hours flat--pictures hung and all.

After a shower and nap, all my friends came over with booze and more booze. Had an awesome little party there and then went out in the new 'hood for a maniacal rampage of booze and partying on the Lower East Side. So much fun. Best weekend ever.

And the kicker? I walked to work today. In five minute's time. Subway? Are you listening? It's been swell... but we're through.


Friday, November 04, 2005

Gone With the Wind

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It's official. I'm moving tomorrow. East Village-bound, I am:

Bright and early, Gina and I are picking up my UHAUL from the sketchy franchise manager in midtown. Then five of my closest pals are coming to help load in and load out. I'm actually looking forward to driving at 10' high truck in the City. Slow-moving pedestrians, watch your asses. Or else.

Speaking of Gina and being 'gone'... my lovely has once again parted ways with a job that is not worthy of her brilliance. My move-in will double as a celebration of her moving onward and UPWARD.

By the by, if you happen to be moving from Abbeville, Alabama to Manhattan, prepare for the crime. Sweet: find out how much you would need to make in order to move to another city.


Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Happily Never After

Get your hot, single self to the MoMa store and buy yourself an engagement ring to... proclaim your independence? Er.


Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Suddenly Stupid

Now, I'm not quite sure what I was expecting when I went to for dating advice; nonetheless, I've had it up to here with these so-called instructional articles not offering any real advice that I can use. Hey, Laura J. Schaefer? Your $.50 a word isn't just to see how many words you can write. I think you're getting paid to actually, you know, instruct.

As you all may or may not have extrapolated, I'm having a little bit (read: a lot) of difficulty getting over my ex C. Imagine my interest when I saw the article Getting over it: Is there any way to speed it up?

'Alright I'll bite,' I thought to myself.

*Work it, work it, get up and move that body. There’s nothing like a rush of endorphins to wash that man (or woman) right out of your hair. [Uhm. One? I already do that. And, two? C and I actually enjoyed doing that toGETHER, so that only reminds me of C. Gooh. Next!]

*Distraction, distraction, distraction. Be kind to yourself after a tough breakup. Indulge in frequent matinees at the local Cineplex... [Oh, yeah. Nothing like a good movie by yourself, reminding you of your solitude and being forced to watch couples hold hands and whisper to eachother, to wash that ex right out of your hair.]

*Face the pain; stare it down. Some days you may just have to acknowledge that you’re feeling sad. [Uhm, OK? I don't really have a problem with realizing this instruction. But... what defines "some days?" When is it not a "some day," and when do the "some days" end?]

*Get out of town. What better way to justify a nice vacation than “getting away from all those painful memories?” How depressed can you be if you’re sitting on a beach or by a pool with a margarita in hand? [How depressed can I be to go on vacation alone? To hit a warm destination where I used to sip share that margarita with C from one straw? Let me count the ways. One one thousand, two one thousand... Didn't Laura J. Schaefer ever hear that it's not too healthy or even realistic to try and run away from your problems?]

*Next! Once you’ve done all that good work above (and yes, taking that healing vacation counts as work), it’s time for you to start dating again. Even if it’s nothing serious, a night out with an alluring member of the opposite sex is the wonder drug of post-breakup recovery. [Hurray. I've done this one and, still, not found anyone I consider suitable. Sure, maybe I'm too picky. But, according to this advice, I'm basically a failure if I can't even find a "night out with an alluring member" to distract me from my ex. Plus, every time I go out with someone who I don't think is right, I go right back to the thought that noone will compare to C and thaat I'll forever be alone.]

My main issue is with these writers and their topics. So bland, boring, and monotonous. I'm always hearing how difficult it is to 'break into' the world of magazines and OpEd. Uhm. Why? Seems like any idiot could pull that crap right out of their cornhole. Can these writers please defy me and actually, you know, offer one piece of sage advice for once?

And, yes, a nice piece of cheese would go very well with my whine.