American Idol: The Birmingham Connection Part II

Okay, it was Vegas, not Seattle, but still....the biggest cokehead that I know is going to Hollywood and is now participant in American Idol. Ha. Fucking. Ha. Did anyone else think he looked like he was tweaking..just at bit?

FINALLY! Gainful Employment...

I got a jobbity job! So, it's not in magazines nor is it a traditional company, but coming from B&W, it's perfect for me. There are 3 employees (I'm one of them) and they operate out of a loft in Union Square. So, offically, I'm an assistant at a very very small literary agency who pushes cool art books, rock n roll biographies, and all things pop culture-fied. Also, Richard Brautigan is one of their top clients (he's dead..i know, but still!). Anyway, the pay is eeehh, but there's TONS of room to grow and learn the agency/management part of publishing. Surely this is a better option than the $10/hr Entertainment Weekly assistant position I just interviewed for...right? Whatever. I'm fine with it. And if I ever get the magazine/writing bug, there's always the awful world of freelance. Anyhoo, more details later.

American Idol: The Birmingham Connection

Yeah....so.....one of my guilty tv pleasures continues to be about the first six episodes of American Idol. The auditions continue to amaze me with their hilarity. Last night I was watching the preview for next week's show (Seattle auditions) and I saw yet another one of Birmingham's wannabe singers auditioning. I just find it extremely amusing because this dude is more known for his penchant for ummm...err...enjoying big piles of powdery snow than he is for that band that he plays covers in at Oasis every week.

Updates

I have none. Other than...I don't have gig so I'm left with nothing to do but smoke lots of drugs and watch too much of The Price Is Right.

I love the fuckin' British

My most recent television (well, DVD) addiction? Footballers Wives. Amazing. Trashy. Sexy. If you love a combo of Desperate Housewives and Nip/Tuck, I highly recommend checking out this show.

Debt: My life

As if the job search wasn't depressing enough, I just had to make the semi-annual phone call to my student loan company to gravel for forebearance again. But this time, they told me that I had to pay a monthly payment in full (plus a huge processing fee) in order to qualify to keep the fucking loans out of sight, out of mind for another six months. I feel like i might vomit. I hate being poor.

I actually know these people...

Does this make me a Gawker-mocked-hipster by association? Fuck...I hope not.

http://www.gawker.com/news/hipsters/name-something-you-go-out-of-your-way-to-avoid-149623.php

Celebrity Suckage

Wait...what? The Golden Globes were last night?! Where was I? Why wasn't I watching? Oh yes, that's right. I DON'T GIVE A FUCK! But, to be honest, had I been with my Bama crew, I probably would've participated in some major wardwrobe bashing. Props to Clare for her accurate criticisms.

The new assignment

Forthe next couple of days, I'll be helping out the market research department for the company that also happens to be the new broadcasting home of Howard Stern. It will be interesting to say the least. I also had a fantastic job interview today for yet another facet of publishing...the literary agency. The company has a total of 3 employees so if I do get the gig, it will completely hands on...both administrative and creative, plus I'll have great room to grow and move up if I want to. I kinda want it.

Weekend Food Orgy: The Long Island Edition

So the boy and I just returned from a 2 day eating/smoking/watching stoner films binge at his friend's house out on Long Island. There were sausages thrown on the grill, smoking apparatuses christened, homemade bbq sauce tested, bbq chicken and ribs to consume....oh and waffles, delicious, delicous waffles. I won't even start drooling over the cranberry sparkling wine mimosas we drank (or the cases of Rheingold and PBR). Now I truly know the meaning of gluttony. I heart food.

I'm in New York magazine!

Well, sort of. If you consider a microscopic pic of my drunken, dancing face on New Year's Eve--with disheveled hair -- (and the back of Joe's head) on the Table of Contents page part of the magazine, then yes. I am. Apparently a photog snapped a shot of us along with the other "revelers" at the Misshapes party. Amusing. I'll see if I can snag a copy and scan it in.

Reflections upon my inability to find a job

I have come to the sad conclusion that I am just an average writer, editor, journalista (or whatever the hell I am) in a city full of exceptionally talented people of the same profession who have Ivy league degrees and loads of contacts. I have neither. Either that or 1) I just don't care enough (which might not be too far from the truth since I am a fairly apethetic person) or 2) I'm going about the applying to these jobs all wrong without knowing it or 3) They say (ok, well, Carrie Bradshaw said) in New York you can't have all three major aspects of your life line up and work out at the same time...the great apartment, the great boyfriend, and the great job. I'm doing great on 2 of 3 so that could explain it or 4) I'm just not meant to do what I think I am and need to just admit defeat and move on. With those factors in mind, the boy and I have contemplated starting a smut site for quick and very easy cash... and you think I'm joking....I have $30 in my bank account.

If you don't recognize me in 3 months..

It's because I've puffed up like Mariah Carey (really, she has..) or * insert your fave fat celebrity here* . The boy is going to make me a fat cow because his fave hobby is cooking. And not only cooking but cooking extremely rich, wonderful, flavor-infused dishes that I absolutely cannot resist. This is what I have to look forward to...er, suffer through, every day now. Last night he attempted to make rissoto for the first time ever, and it was AMAZING. Portabello and sweet italian sausage rissoto, a fantastic side dish/dip of chevre, ricotta and lemon (served with crusty french bread) and an appetizer of fresh mozerella, tomatoes, and basil. Sweet Jesus. Pair that with 3 big bottles of cheap red wine and I was done. That's it. The crunches begin tonight. They must.

I want her hair...

It is a well known fact that I am not a fan of LiLo, Hohan, or whatever the fuck they're calling that anorexic bitch these days but have you seen her in the new Vanity Fair? I want her hair...like bad. Not the shitty color but the style. That is my goal..grow out the hair even more, throw a little curl in it, and BAM! That looks hot.

2K6 can suck it.

So far this year has not begun with the great optimism and sense of renewed spirit I had hoped. And to top it all off, I've just been canned from my temp gig. Well, they no longer need me around apparently. Lack of freelance budget..bleh, bleh. Good thing I asked for a reassignment. Now just getting one is the tricky thing. In the meantime, I have literally zero funds as my last day is next Wednesday....and I was forced to pay Jan rent in an apartment I no longer live in...so if you think you're going to get me out to the bars in the next couple of weeks, you better be prepared to buy me pity beers.

Here is the deal.

I am a nomad. I've only been living in NY for about 8 months and I'm already moving on to my 3rd residence...with a 4th just around the corner. So, for all of you who care (or don't care) about my whereabouts, I'm giving you the info anyway. Mostly because I'm bored here at work without any projects to do, and because I've been extremely lackadaisical with The Great Job Search of 2006.

Monday I spent all day helping the boy clean his apartment for my pending arrival...which will hopefully be finalized by Sunday. Closets are being cleaned out, drawer space made, kitchen floors mopped. Yep. I'm moving back to Astoria. Then, in March, I'll be moving with him yet again into a spacious (hopefully) 3 bedroom pad with 2 other dudes. It'll be the quartet of all drunken/perverted quartets I tell you. There has even been talk of installing a kegerator......i'm doomed. Or at least the thought of working off my beer gut in 2006 is. So why all the moving you ask? Why not I say! Plus, I'm poor and this is cheaper. Also, I get to see the boy every day. Adventures and shenanigans will ensue. Here is a fabulously drunken group photo of the future roommates and me.

I'm a Stalker....

and I post on Gawker. Yep, my Jack Osbourne sighting last week was posted on Gawker.com's celeb-obsessed Gawker Stalker: inaugural 2006 edition. Ha!

NYE Pics

Photos from the first portion of my new years evening can be viewed here:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=dh0eqo2.8y435zk2&x=0&y=-xjom8r



All images courtesy of Tim Leong, hot photographer and asshole extraordinare.

Photos from the second and final portion of my evening cannot be viewed because I was too busy dancing to Madonna and ogling the gay hipsters having an orgy on stage to bother taking pictures.

New Years Wrap-up

My splendid New Year's Eve went a little something like this: Wanna look hot at friend TJ's semi-formal NYE affair, hastily purchase a pair of cheap heels one half-size too small to wear with little black dress from high school senior prom (yes, it's that old and that classic), realize said black dress is a little snug these days, vow to limit beer consumption and do more crunches in 2006, fret about what to wear to look hot, arrive at boyfriend's house, realize (once again) that he has amazing style and ALWAYS looks better than me, throw a minor fit at the hotness of my bf and my lack thereof, listen to his excuse of his good style being the only decent result of working at Polo for three years, pour myself a stiff drink, eat a slice of pizza, watch three episodes of Arrested Development, fret some more about attire, pour another drink, decide on shirt, shirt decides to snag and rip a huge hole, fret more, begin consuming Sparks, loose interest in being hot, boy decides a tank top with exposed black bra is hot, I decide to agree, finally choose outfit, drink more Sparks, arrive at TJs, eat yummy foods, mingle with dozens of college friends, compare cleavage with college friends, drink more Sparks, take pictures, laugh at my Sparks mouth in said photos, drink more Sparks, leave for big gay hipster dance party, wait in line for 30 minutes, freezing, start to regret wearing the heels to a dance party, realize cover is $30 instead of advertised $10, curse the doorman, head to bar, squeeze past dozens of coked out hipsters, begin to long for illegal drugs, head to bar, discover Red Stripe is not free, begin to consume Budweiser, pick spot near front of stage, DJ spins some 80s, begin to feel great, dance, dance, kiss boy, dance, have photo taken, dance, "oh my god, is this CC Peniston?," drink more Bud, dance, drink, can't believe Outcast's Heya is the last song playing before the ball drops, ball drops, kiss boy, dance, drink, dance, stumble out of club, walk forever to find a cab, take heels off in drunken rage, walk more, hail cab, drunk frattie steals cab, walk more, find cab, go home.