Dish's Dream Comes True

What a day/trip New York turned out to be. I woke up at 4:30 a.m. Tuesday, was in the city by 10 a.m.; at Norman Landsberg by 12; and eating lunch at Bergdorf's by 1:30. Then it was dinner with the girls at Dos Caminos, where we had a grand old time as usual.

It was a fabulous New York day that was made oh so much better with the knowledge that I—after dreaming about this moment for almost 16 years—had an appointment at Conde Nast the following day.

I have been a Conde junkie for more than half of my life; it was Vogue and Allure that inspired me to want to write for magazines. My first clip was a letter to the editor in Vogue when I was 16; my cake at my high school graduation party was a mock-up Vogue cover, replete with headlines I wrote. Yes, I'm a total magazine geek.

For those of you outside the media, 4 Times Square—the Conde building—is Mecca for most aspiring magazine journalists. It's Jerusalem to me. And Wednesday I sat outside the offices of Vanity Fair, just breathing it in, wondering how the hell I got there after all these years. Sixteen years of dreaming about that very moment and six years of living in New York and not getting even a toe into the company's door, and there I was. Finally.

But let's back up and start at 10 a.m. that morning, when I had my hair Japanese-straightened at Momotaro. My dress, heels and makeup were in my Bergdorf's shopping bag. (Thankfully, I had found out about the appointment as soon as I arrived in NYC, so I had time to buy a dress.) After I finished with the hair, changed and did my makeup in their bathroom, it was early. So I went to Saks for lunch.

On my way out, on my way to Mecca, er, Jerusalem, Ted Koppel got into the elevator. Holy shit, I thought. And merely by his presence, my pre-interview nerves were settled. You all know how I believe in karma and coincidences. So there I was, on my way to the journalistic pinnacle that I had always strived to reach and one of America's most legendary journalists was literally standing in front of me. If that's not a sign, then, hell, I don't know what is.

He held the door for me on the way out. I said, "Thank you sir. You do great work, and I am a big admirer."

"Thank you," Mr. Koppel replied.

And then I hailed a cab to 4 Times Square. It was a true Mary Tyler Moore moment. If I wasn't wearing four inch heels, I think I would have jumped for joy. Moments of pure happiness like that are so rare.

Now it's back to reality; sitting at my desk, punching out assignments while my parents are leaving for their friends' home in the Bahamas on a private jet tomorrow.

I get the distinct pleasure of watching the mutts and the house in this craptastic town while they get to sun themselves in the Bahamas.

Then again, they didn't get to go to Mecca, and to breathe the same air that Anna Wintour breathes, so I guess it all evens out.