Golden Globes

I now have a new Hollywood crush: Sacha Baron Cohen. Was his acceptance speech not the funniest thing ever? Plus he's an MOT and British and went to Cambridge. And his fiancee is hot, but a non-Jew who's converting, but still.
Anywho, the fashion was kind of boring this year, no?

Best:
Sienna Miller in Marchesa. Though I'm usually not a fan of her BoHo style, last night she was luminous.




Penelope Cruz in Chanel ; I've always had a huge girl crush on her. She's simply divine.




Cate Blanchett chic in Alexander McQueen. Except the hair was awful.




Reese Witherspoon in Nina Ricci by Olivier Theyskens. Damn, the divorce has done her well; she's toned, glowing and trimmer than ever. Ryan must have really been a burden.



Emily Blunt vintage Herve Leger. Not many people can pull off Leger; Anna would be proud.




Ellen Pompeo in Versace. Love Grey's Anatomy. Love Versace. Love her.





Worst:
Hillary Swank. Ugh. That hairpin looked like it was about to eat her head.




Jennifer Love Hewitt. She looked like a copper factory vomited all over her and then someone brushed her in foil.



Meryl Streep. God love her, she's brilliant, but her outfit made her look twice the size she is. And when you're continually on Mr. Blackwell's Worst Dressed List, couldn't you just make a little effort? Steal something from the Prada set?






Beyonce. Ick. Can you say Scores? Can't she just once class it up a little?

Loving La La Land

Soo, now that my fate here in fugly Miami is all but sealed air-tight, I am thinking either L.A. or NYC. The whole L.A. thing opens up a whole other world of possibilities that NYC doesn't offer. And of course there's Fred Segal. . . .

And I know how New Yorkers love to diss L.A. but I lived there after college, and aside from the traffic (which is equally horrific here, even moreso since the other drivers curse at you in Espanol), there was nothing about L.A. I didn't like. It's beautiful, it's got a vibrant nightlife scene, there's art, music, fab shopping and culture (yes folks, there is culture). And did I mention its beauty? There's nothing like being on the top of a cliff in Malibu on a perfect balmy day.



So at the moment, I'm applying for jobs in both NYC and L.A., though I don't have a firm move date yet. My landlord can't seem to get a renter in this place. Perhaps it's because I take the potentials aside and surreptitiously tell them about my louder-than-elephants-stampeding neighbor?

If anyone has L.A. connections to send my way, please do so via e-mail.

I have to run, but ladies, check out Fashionosophy for my recommendations.

The Scoop on So. Florida "Journalists"

Soooo, I know I've been rather cryptic about my reason for staying in Miami after I quit my dreadful job for my uncle, but now I am finally able to reveal the truth. The second week of December, after I had hired the movers and done everything but pack, a family friend put me in touch with one of the managing editors of the online division of the largest (and only) paper in Miami.

He read my blog, loved it, loved my "voice," and suggested we do a "Sex and the City in Miami" type blog on this paper's web site. Well, hell, what writer doesn't dream of her own column for a huge paper? And this paper, although journalistically unfit to line you cat's litter box with—every day the front page headlines are either sports- or weather-related—has a huge circulation. This was a chance for me to establish this blog as a brand, basically.

Said managing editor gives the impression that this is a fabulous idea, a collaboration made in editorial heaven, and says he will speak to the right people, "get the ball rolling" and get back to me. I postpone my move based on his optimism and promises, for everyone agrees this is too good an opportunity to pass up.

Meanwhile, the holidays are approaching, so I know I won't hear anything definitively till after the new year. But, last we left it, it was, I would say a 90% done deal; semantics were all that had to be worked out. I came back from New York and had yet to hear from him. So I left the requisite "just checking in message." I get an e-mail back from him saying "this may not work due to budgetary constraints." (N.B. Managing editors are typically in charge of budgets, therefore he should have known about so-called budgetary constraints weeks ago.)

I write back saying the money isn't important—I'm willing to work within his budgetary constraints, and that given my knack for garnering national publicity, my blog would surely increase their traffic. No word back. I leave him another polite message on Monday. Finally by yesterday I'd had enough and e-mailed him (again, politely) saying that I needed an answer, because as he well knew, I'd put my moving plans on hold in the hopes of working with him.

So last night I received a nasty email from the festering asshole (Jenn's phrasing) declining my services. Natch, I, in kind, respond that I expect a certain amount of consideration from family friends, especially when I have been patient, persistent and professional. I thanked him for the false hope and the fabulous blogging material. I mean, this guy is like +50 and this is how he conducts business? I suspect initially he made it seem like he had more power than he does and his bosses nixed the idea, and he was too pussified to tell me. So instead he hid behind the veil of "budgetary constraints."

So there it is. Therefore, unless I can pull a rabbit out of a hat and land a gig at the one mag in this city, I'm definitely out of here for good.

Update: Sooo, the "festering asshole" knew about this before he even approached me. I don't know if this makes him more repugnant or less, but perhaps he was looking for a replacement for her...Thanks, anon.

meme

I spent another three hours at the Spa V today. So that makes two people who have seen me naked and fondled me this week, alas they are chicks and they are getting paid for it. Still, can't say I'm not putting myself out there.

I've decided to start my own meme, since I'm doing nothing but pondering my nebulous future, I've been thinking about what else I could've done.

So here's the question: If you could be something else than what you are now in terms of your career, what would the top five or six choices be and why would you be good at these professions?

1. Litigator: I'm pugnacious, fond of debating and arguing, persuasive, passionate and studious. I wanted to be a lawyer until about age 13, just like dad. Then I grew up and realized how boring it would be to wear a suit every day. But I still think I could have made one hell of a trial attorney.

2. Jeweler. For the most obvious reasons; I love jewelry, I have a good eye for it and know a lot about it.

3. Clothing and accessories designer. I used to sketch clothing in high school, but it was all mainly Versace-inspired. This was around the time of his heydey, '92 or '93 and he was producing some brilliant, vibrant, magnificent couture and pret-a-porter.

4. Artist and gallery/shop owner. I love to draw, paint and make crafts. I've sold some in the past, but with me it's one creative side of the brain at a time. I'm either writing or creating art. And since the writing isn't getting me anywhere, maybe I should go back to creating functional art.

5. Manicurist. I've always done my own manis/pedis and I always get compliments, even from Miss Kim at the Delano who does all the celebs. Of course I am kidding about this one, but I am really skilled at this. It all comes from having steady hands I suppose. My own mani was better than Miss Kim's. And guess what the Delano charges for a mani? $60!!!!!!!!!!!!

6. Personal shopper. Somehow, I'm going to make this happen. What with all the free advice I dole out to my friends and family friends, not to mention the mistakes I've saved them from, I should be getting paid for this shit.

OK, I'm tagging Miss Squirrel, Miss Kafka, Mr. Devil and Miss Life Goes On...

Random Celeb Dirt

After viewing Dirt again, it's almost impossible to believe that the show's producers or writers did not have a mole inside American Media. I mean, the reality is just mind-boggling. And the irony of Bonnie's Page Six denial statement? It was given to a now-Page-Six reporter who was a Star intern at the time I worked there. Hmmm.

I spent all day at the Delano spa on assignment. I know, rough life. Massages make me soooo tired though that I am now ready for bed. My mani/pedi lady, a funny, older Vietnamese woman, shared some celeb tidbits with me, as the Delano definitely sees its fair share of celebrities.

She did Paris and Nicky Hilton on Christmas day, and reported that they were "nice and quiet."

She did Queen Latifah (LOVE her), and said that she was on two cell phones the whole entire time she was getting her nails and toes done.

"She was on the phones saying, 'Ooh girl, I'm gettin my nails done, my toenails done, I'm really getting treated like a queen,'" Kim, the manicurist, said.

"How did she not mess up her nails if she was on the phone the whole time?" I asked.

"She messed up her nails twice!" Kim exclaimed. "Finally I told her, 'Queen make me proud and don't mess up the third time.'"

"Hahahahaha." I giggled.

"You're cute, I like your laugh, your funny. Most people I do are boring. Anyway, Queen [she pronounced it Kwen] told the person on the phone, 'the lady doing my nails just told me to make her proud so I got to get off the phone.'"

She also did Matthew McConaughey (YUMMM) and regularly did J. Lo and P. Diddy (BLECH).

I have another "assignment" at Spa V at the Hotel Victor on Thursday. So I am actually working, if you can call this "work." It is but it isn't. I mean I'm reviewing these places, but I'm the one getting worked on. Anywho, nice way to pass the time.

I still have absolutely no idea what the next couple of months hold for me. Absofuckinglutely no idea. This is not a good thing for a type-A, control freak. The bottom line is if I can find a gig down here that I like, I will stay. But given that The Miami Herald and Ocean Drive are really the only two options, it's kind of a long shot. I do have good connections at both places, yet that has never helped me in the past. Beyond help? Probably.

On another completely random note, I watched The Last Kiss with Zach Braff, who is one of my few abiding celeb crushes. A.) Because he's a jew and B.) because I am still kicking myself for not taking the opportunity to meet him before he was famous. I used to date this guy I knew from college who grew up with Zach and is still good friends with him. At the time we were dating, Zach was in the city and it was like the spring/summer before Scrubs was set to debut. R. invited me to his going away party, where, like, the whole cast was, and I said no. Why? No idea. But I have declined so many fabulous events/opportunities that I'm beginning to wonder if I don't have some kind of social anxiety disorder. Or maybe I was just tired. Or maybe I'm just a complete moron with the worst sense of timing ever. Likely, a combo of all of the above. Anyway, I still love Braff, but the movie was quite depressing, though very relatable if you are in your late 20s, early 30s and all your friends (or you yourself) are getting married and having the whole "oh, God, what am I doing moment."

Anyway, where I'm sort of going with this is that I think my family friend Sam Wolfson, of Jewtopia semi-fame, could be the next Zach Braff, if only someone would cast him in the right pilot or movie. He's cuter too. And I'm off to bed.

So I caved and bought the Brookstone seat massager thingy. Best $100 I ever spent, as I am now sitting for countless hours at the computer, writing, editing and job-searching.

I am in as big a state of limbo right now as one can get—I have no idea what the immediate future holds for me in terms of career or living situation. It would be nice and proper if one of the people in whose hands my fate is being held would get back to me, ASAP.

The editing thing is for an excerpt of Dishalicious that a magazine plans to run. However, if my lawyers think this will open me up again to litigation, I probably won't do it. The prospect of being sued again is not a fun one.

Tagged, Too

Wow, I wrote this before I saw this item in Page Six. So I guess I'm not the only one noting the comparisons between Dirt on FX and the Star/National Enqiurer. Let's just say that Courteney Cox has plenty of reasons to seek revenge on Bonnie Fuller. You go, Courteney.

I can't find the damn dog, though I went back to Publix again. I'm going to rescue this dog if it's the last thing I do. In the interim, I will participate in Jen's game of tag, revealing five little-known personal facts about yours truly.

1. This is pretty much widely known by friends and family, but not readers.
I used to be fat and ugly. And if mom tries to comment to the contrary, I won't approve it, cause it's so true.

2. I hated sleepaway camp and was forced to go for six years in a row. Related to the above, all the little, bitchy Japs made fun of me cause I was fat and ugly. I used to write the most vitriolic, curse-filled letters home to mom and dad begging them to let me come home, so miserable did these girls make me.

3. In grade five or six (whenever it was chronologically appropriate) I absolutely insisted on wearing only ESPRIT clothing. And somehow I got away with it. Now, my parents wonder why I'm so spoiled—gee, I wonder.

4. I have been shopping almost exclusively in New York since my junior year of high school. Though that does not mean that I was always a fabulous dresser. I have made some horrible, mortifying fashion faux pas.

5. My mom's mother Roxy, long deceased, she of the legendary fashion and jewelry collection, once offered me money to lose weight. I think we were in a Larry's Subs sandwich shop at the time (I had probably just ordered a yummy, disgusting, artery-clogging, meatball sub) and I believe she offered me $100 a pound. My response was something like, "Why would I do that? Grandpa will just give me the money for doing nothing."

So now, dear readers, perhaps this will offer you insight into my obsession with my own image. Once you're that fat, ugly girl, you always see yourself that way, no matter who is looking back at you back in the mirror now.

The summer after mom practically forced me to go on Weight Watchers and I lost all the baby fat, I went back to camp. The bitchy girls stared at me in disbelief and stopped making fun of me. The boys noticed me for the first time, telling me what "nice eyes" I had while ogling my breasts. I see these same boys and girls out and about in Miami now. And guess what? Many of them are fat, ugly and bald. It doesn't make me feel any better.

Dog Day Night

Update: On my way to engaging in some retail therapy and freelance research at Neiman's, I saw the dog at the gas station. She then pranced over to the CVS. I was going to get her, bring her into CVS and buy her some food. Alas, by the time the damn light changed, she was MIA again. So now, on my way home from Neiman's I bought a box of Milk Bones to keep in the car. I am going to stalk the Publix parking lot tonight. How exciting is my life? Sooooo very.

And Leandro, I have no idea who you are, but God bless ya' for the steady stream of free publicity. You hiring?

I cannot even believe this happened last night, but it is even further proof that people suck, 2007 is not going to be any better than 2006, and my timing is just God-awful.

I take off for Blockbuster to console myself with The Last Kiss. Naturally, they are out of it. On my way out, I see a Boxer-type dog, with no collar, looking lost and with those droopy teats that seem to indicate a recent birth.

As you may know, I am the doggiest dog-person of them all—big, small, smelly, ugly, cute—bring them on. And all dogs love me, they can sense dog-lovers. So I'm not shy about approaching strays. This poor, big, brindle-coated canine looked so sad and lost, I almost started crying, both for what I'd apparently lost (more on this later) and for what/whom she had lost.

"Come here, sweetie," I cooed, and started making kissing noises. She came right up to me, licked my hand and let me rub her ears. She did not appear to be malnourished or dirty. I pet her for a few minutes and looked around for a potential owner. She kept pacing in front of Blockbuster and looking in as if her idiotic (no collar, no leash) owner would emerge any minute.

Blockbuster is right next to the Publix (supermarket) I frequent. There is a cop, whose beat apparently is to sit outside on the bench outside Publix all-day, every day. Usually it's a certain cop who is very nice to me. Not last night though. I didn't know what to do; my cell phone was at home or I would have called the Humane Society, where I am a volunteer. But the cop was sitting right there, so I thought he might actually help.

I made kissing noises for the doggy to follow me and then I called to the cop, who actually sighed and rolled his eyes for having to get his lazy ass up off the bench. Jesus H.

"Sir, this dog doesn't have a collar and looks lost," I say.

The cop starts yelling at the dog and telling it to "SHOO!" I am horrified, I try to get the dog to come back.

"What are you doing?" I screamed at the cop. "Why don't you call animal control? I didn't want you to run him off!"

The dog scurries off into the packed parking lot and nearly gets hit by a car backing out. Then she hightails it out of the parking lot into the black void of the night.

"Why couldn't you have just called animal control?" I yelled at the cop. "She nearly just got run over!"

"Lady," he barks in his barely understandable English, "That's not my job."

"Well, you could have at least tried!"

"It's not my job lady, if you're so worried you take him home with you!" he yells, then returns to the bench.

I am fuming by this point. I would have taken her home but we all know the condo nazis policy on dogs in my bldg. Now this poor dog is probably dead thanks to me and the hapless cop. I walk back over to the cop, staring into the parking lot, sitting complacently on the bench.

"You know karma's going to come back and get you when that dog gets killed by a car cause you ran him off," I hissed.

"You think I give a shit, lady?"

"Well, you should!"

"I'm doing my job, thas' it."

"Yeah, I can see you have a real tough beat, sitting outside Publix all day." I fume and walk away. Today I'm going back and getting his badge # and lodging a complaint. I circled the dark lot a few times looking for the poor dog but could not find her.

And this left me yet again thinking that people are just the worst; even those whose job it is to help, really just suck.

Dirt

Nothing to see here today folks, so move on over to Fashionosophy, girls.

Oh, there is this: If you missed the season premiere of Courteney Cox's new show Dirt on FX, find a way to see it, if you are the type who wants to know what it's really like to work at a fictional tabloid. It's so close to home it's almost a documentary.

And We're Off . . .

Can you even believe it's 2007? Jeez, I'm getting old. So far, though, the year is off to a promising start.

I'm a little superstitious, a little optimistic, a little bit hopeful that 2007 will be better than 2006. I mean, in 2006:

I had my heart shattered, stomped upon and cut up. (Ahem, Asshole.)

My book was summarily rejected by everyone who mattered.

I left NYC; the city I love more than any other in the world.

I was jobless.

Basically, everything but my friends and family sucked ass in 06.

Seven is a lucky number in my family, so let's hope its luck holds true. Anywho, NYC was great as ever, despite the fact that upon my arrival, I walked into my parents' suite at The Regency to find a king bed and a military-style cot. Needless to say, the last time I slept on a bed that small was at camp. I promptly switched our rooms and then we were off to Del Posto, which, despite the mixed things I've heard, I thought was quite yummy. And the decor is flawless. Worth checking out.

After dinner I got to see almost all the girls, and we had a blast doing the usual: sipping cocktails, discussing men (or, in my case, the lack thereof), life in general, careers, our futures and the theory of relativity. (Deb, I have no idea what that spot on your shoulder is and I couldn't get rid of it.)


I got to spend the next two days at Bergdorf's, my happiest place on earth, Barneys and a little bit of Saks, though Saks was a madhouse, so we hightailed it back to the serenity of Bergdorf's. And I got the hair straightened at Momotaro, for half the price and twice the quality of the place in Miami.

Saturday night the family and the fam friends and their kids, also friends of mine, dined at Shun Lee, my fave restaurant in the city, and then had the misfortune of seeing Grey Gardens on Broadway. Ugh. Could've bought another shirt at Bergdorf's for the price of that ticket.

Sunday night we had drinks at the Four Seasons Hotel bar, my fave bar in the city, before our meal at Il Cantinori. That's me below at the Four Seasons, with my new 'do. (Above pics are before straightening; below are after.) I can't tuck the hair behind the ears, wet it, or pull it back until tomorrow afternoon, hence the whole hair in the face thing in the following pics.



Our New Year's Eve meal at Il Cantinori (below, with the folks) was delish, festive and fun.
Our waiter was more wasted than any of us. My ex-neighbors were seated directly behind us (weird) and in the front of the house was Eli Manning, whom everyone was bothering. Apparently he is engaged in some sort of athletic endeavor, of which I know nothing about. But my parents and their friends were quite taken with him. For those of you who care, he was dining with a willowy blonde, not all that cute.


And we ended 2006 back at the bar at the Regency, watching the ball drop on TV like most other Americans. I would've donned the hat, I swear, but you know, the hair.


You guys can view the rest of my photos from the holidays by clicking on my flickr link on the right side of this page. Ok, so the best beginning to 2007? I gave up my seat from LGA to JAX (I was booked on separate ticket from JAX to FLL) to fly first class on a direct flight to FLL. Got me in an hour earlier and with substantially less back pain and more leg room. The bad news? My luggage went to JAX. Delta says they are shipping it to me in Miami, but I'm a little nervous. Luckily, I always pack all my valuables in my carry-on.

I have some funny stories for you all, but they're mainly fashion-related so I'll post them tomorrow over on Fashionosophy. But the best news of 2007? Michael Jordan, my longtime crush, is finally cutting Cookie loose. Okay, so he's been cheating on her for years and may have a notorious gambling problem, but he's still my baby. MJ here I come. I know, I know, he's not Jewish, but he's the one I'd break the rule for.

OK, now for the requisite update and then I'm off to bed. As some of you know, I've quit my job working for a family member and have once again decided to write and edit, as it's my true passion, aside from fashion. I was planning on moving back to NYC, with a brief pit stop in Jax. to get my shit together, at the end of December. Welllllll, as is always the case in my life, fate intervened and I've extended my lease another month. I may have stumbled into an absolutely amazing career opportunity (hello dream job), and should it pan out, this girl's stilettos are staying firmly planted in the sand of South Beach.

Happy and healthy new year to everyone. And to all my family friends and family of friends who are ill—may 2007 bring you much better health and maybe even a couple of miracles.

Older Men, Younger Bitches

So, it holds true even in dogs.

I regret ever teaching mom how to text message, for this is what I received Monday night while walking along Collins Ave. with Schwartz:

"Tessie is no longer a virgin. I think she is now Wally's wife."

Eww.

For those of you non-dog owners, when they, um, make love, somehow in the process of doing it doggie-style, they manage to turn themselves around and get stuck together. It's pretty gross to witness, but as I've had dogs all my life, and as the beloved, dear, departed Betsy was mated with my aunt and uncle's dog, I'd seen this biological phenomenon before.

My parents (don't ask why) have chosen not to spay either Tessie (left) or Stella (right).

Now, Tessie is 1 1/2 years old; Stella is 5. They both go in and out of heat. Wally is 11; that's 77 years old in human years people, which should mean he's hit Viagra time.

But nooo. Apparently, he's still going strong. Tessie (below) is in full-fledged heat.


And Wally has been going after her like Hef to a Bunny. But, here's the thing. Stella (below) too, has been in and out of heat for years now.

But Wally clearly prefers Tessie. Why? My theory? Natch, you know I have one: Even in the animal kingdom, men go after looks and youth. Perhaps it really is a biological imperative. Wally sure seems to prove this theory.

Now, prepare yourselves, for if you are not a dog person, you may not want to observe the below pictures of Wally and Tessie, ahem, caught in the act.

Wally got a little bashful/guilty around mama, while Tessie rather seemed to be enjoying the action.

Nobody Does it Better . . .

Than my NYC girls. I loved having you all in town and partying like rockstars again. You guys rock and I miss and love you! I will see some of you next weekend. Manch, I cropped you out of the group pic cause your eyes were closed:( (But you're here in spirit.)





And I'm not sure quite what to make of this, but I guess it's always good to have a fan.

New York State of Mind

I'm a little curious as to why someone from the ACLU was reading my blog for 35 minutes today. Want to take up my case? Cause my lawyers are extremely brilliant but uber-expensive. Big fan of the ACLU.

Yay, I'm booked at Momotaro for my thermal reconditioning/"Japanese straightening" with Masato. I cannot tell you how excited this makes me. So excited it's pathetic. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Momotaro is the best. $500; $450 if you pay cash. Three-and-a-half to four hours, max. It's in the same building as Jimmy Choo and across the street from Saks, so after you are done and looking fab, you can glide through the stores knowing your hair is as stick-straight as any Shiksa's.

My plans are thus over the next week or so. Tomorrow my NYC girls arrive and Schwartz is here till Tuesday, when she flies back to NYC and I fly back to Jax. Then I am in NYC from Dec. 29th through Jan. 1st. So NYC peeps get in touch if you are around New Year's weekend. I'm doing the low-key family and family-friends thing for New Year's Eve.

I'm also psyched to dine at Del Posto, another Mario Batali venture, but I can assure you there will not be another Babbo-esque escapade this time. Probably won't be posting much in the upcoming days, but I got an awesome new digicam so will try to post some pictures.

Right now I am in PR hell trying to get stories lined up for next month's Juli B column, so I am off.

More JDate Observations

So apparently I made the presses again today without my knowledge, this time via Radar. So not cool. And FYI, the book is NOT on eBay, I am only selling directly on this site. Ahem.

I am actually busy between cleaning house for house guests, preparing for vacay and doing actual journalistic stuff, so I don't know why I'm bothering with this post, but as usual I feel the need to vent.

Some advice for JDating men:

1. Do not, under any circumstance, pose with your car.

2. Do not, unless it is an action shot—surfing, water skiing, boating, whatever—pose topless. If you have a hot bod, we can actually discern that through your clothing.

3. Do not read my profile and then send me bitter, mean e-mails. I have the courage to be myself in my profile, do you?

4. Do not use the "Flirt" option. JDate has these prefabricated e-mail lines that users can choose from instead of taking the time to actually write something personal. This is a bad idea and I rule out anyone who uses the "Flirt" option. I'm a writer; I want to know that you can actually express yourself via the written word.

These are the "Flirt" choices:

We seem to have so much in common, let me know if you agree.

I'm looking for a serious relationship, are you?

I'd like to start-up a conversation, can I write you sometime?

We've already "clicked", so why stop now?

All your imperfections are perfect for me.

I'm intrigued, feel free to email me.

I mean, how hard is it to type an e-mail?

5. Please check your spelling and grammar before hitting "send." I'm not the grammar police, but when you misspell even the most basic of words, frankly I don't think that bodes well for you.

6. Do not lie about your height; seriously, why do you guys do that? We know you're short, you're an MOT. So if you're 5'8 instead of 5'9 or 5'10, dude, just own up to it. I have heard from my boys that most women on Jdate post old pictures of themselves when they were thinner, but I do not. I always post pics within the past few months.

7. If someone doesn't e-mail you back after one shot, do not e-stalk her. You just give all other JDaters a bad name.

8. Keep it brief. I don't want to read an introductory e-mail that is 5 grafs long.

9. Do play Jewish geography; it will instantly put the girl at ease. If you know people in common, chances are you are not a freak.

10. On a totally related note that disproves #9, I've recently discovered that my first promising blind date I was set up on down here is, in fact, in rehab. I found out after we went out that he was a notorious cokehead, and I only found this out after the fact, even though our families have known each other for generations.

Googling JDate

So I have this theory about men and women and dating in this day and age. It goes something like this: I'm of the opinion that smart, uber-successful, attractive, Jewish men in their 30s are not looking for smart, successful, attractive, brassy, opinionated Jewish women (in their 30s, but age is irrelevant here). Meaning, I think most men under 40 are incredibly intimidated by an attractive, well-educated, strong, sophisticated woman who dares to speak her mind. Why get a gal who can string a sentence, let alone a book, together when they can just have a beautiful, not-so-smart babe who will do and say what they want? Translation: The men I'm interested in, the aforementioned smart, successful, attractive, Jewish ones in their 30s, aren't interested in me for the above (and below) reasons.

I'm not docile; I'm not domesticated; I'm not subservient; I'm not going to cook your dinner, run your errands or clean up after you; I'll be your arm candy (because we all know I love to get beautified and baubled), but I won't be silent while doing so.

To wit, I've conducted an experiment using JDate as my conduit. I have always taken myself on and off JDate every few months, because although it's a great time-waster, I have, in the past, not actually gone on many dates with JDaters. I always chicken out due to the serial-killer (or just plain old weirdo) factor, because an experience I had in New York was so traumatic, it put me off the process for a good long while. Plus, not so much down here, but certainly in New York, there is a stigma factor: I always think, would I really be able to stand up at my wedding and thank JDate?

But anywho, I put myself back on last night. Typically, when putting myself back on, I receive close to 40 e-mails within the first day or so. This time I decided to flirt with disaster. I included in my profile a hint that would enable guys to Google the name of this blog and arrive here. And in my profile I stated: You'll get the truest picture of who I really am by reading my blog. And they have read, in droves actually.

However, my point has been proved, because while I'm guesstimating that about 40-50 guys actually Googled "Dishalicious" and read my divine drivel, I've received a mere 18 e-mails. A record low for me. How interesting is that? Just proves my theory correct, and God knows I love being right.

JDaters who've Googled me and arrived here, please feel free to comment.

Sororiety Somnambulations

We've already established that I have very, very bizarre and memorable dreams. Largely a function of medications I am on.

However, I keep having this incredibly disturbing and unanalyzable dream about sororities. I was not in a sorority in college. I know shocker. But despite my many superficial fixations, I've always been a bit of a noncomformist, which, yes, in the Jewish world translates to: not joining a sorority, not becoming a doctor or lawyer, and remaining single well into your thirties.

So this dream. In it, I am invited over to this weekly sorority meeting in which grievances are aired and food is passed around. Perpetually, I am in charge of bringing over the salad, and it's always a wreck. (I don't, nor can I, cook.) Last night, the lettuce was wilted and there were chocolate chips in the salad. WTFuckingFuck? It was also in this huge, bright orange Tupperware bowl that I had apparently stolen from mom's house.

So I get to the meeting and my "sisters" are berating and belittling my "cooking" skills. And I seem to have been quite dressed up in jewels and stilettos and a dress as opposed to one of those T-shirts with the Greek letters on them. But the weirdest part(s)? I keep having the same damn dream with slight variations. Last night's twist was a beaute.

Ashton Kutcher was there. And he was asking me—referring to himself in third person, as if he were in fact not Ashton Kutcher and raather was some other regular college dude—what he thought he and Demi's chances were. I was the expert, cause, you know I worked at Star, and he seemed to know this. I told him I didn't see it lasting more than a few months. So you see, even in my dreams, I am completely wrong.

I know what prompted the dream, but I don't know what it all means to be quite honest. And I always think there are life-lessons to be gleaned from dreams.

1. Friday night at Hanukkah dinner, Dana, Faye, Daryl and I were discussing the fact that I was not a D Phi E at UF.

2. We were also discussing Ali Jablon, from last season's Apprentice, whom I grew up with and who was a cheerleader at UF.

3. I know this girl who went to college with Ashton Kutcher

4. The excerpt that Page Six magazine plans to run of my book, may or may not contain a character loosely based on Ashton.

Still weird though, no?

In other news, I was a bad, bad girl this weekend and made my first in a very long time treck to Neiman Marcus Last Call yesterday. I will post my findings tomorrow on Fashionosophy.

On a completely unrelated note. I am obsessed with Nip/Tuck and am dying to know what song it was that all the characters were lip-synching to at the end of the season finale last Tuesday. Any ideas?

Six Degrees of Depravity?

I've been "tagged" again, this time by Paige over at Life Goes On I Think. This time, we are supposed to confess six weird things about ourselves. Well, darlings, if you've been reading long enough, I think you already know most of my myriad eccentricities, but I will excavate the well for you once again.

1. I am completely, totally and obsessive compulsively maniacal about washing my hands and germs in general. I never leave home without Purell or Wet Wipes. And often, I wipe down things in public, e.g. the armrests, seatbelt buckles and buttons on plane seats and equipment at the gym. Plus my hands after I touch anything public. I think I go through a box of Wet Wipes a week.
I am convinced this is why I never get colds and why my hands are so dry they crack. Luckily I have a closet full of top of the line moisturizers.
So it follows that I never touch public door handles with my bare hands (per Oprah, door handles are where most germs live). The funniest anecdote I can think of regarding the door handle thing is this: The last time I was in Palm Beach with my parents' friends, Lynn, Alan and I were walking into The Grill. Alan was several paces ahead of us. Lynn is even more germ-phobic than me. So Alan rushes into the restaurant and the door shuts behind him. Lynn looks at me wide-eyed and shocked, "Now Steph," she says all exasperated and dramatic, "He knows we cannot touch that door handle. What is he thinking?"

2. I talk in my sleep. A lot. I often have full on convos with whomever I'm dreaming about. The other night I had a dream Alex Trebeck was hosting a celebrity Jeopardy tournament at my parents' house. God only knows what the hell I said to him.

3. Nothing makes me feel more powerful than running on a treadmill at a good clip. When I'm in that "zone" I feel like I can kick some serious ass. Though due to my tendonitis, I really can't run more than a couple of miles at a time per week, so there goes that theory.

4. The one thing I haven't done in my life that I would like to do very much, very soon is hop on a private jet. Mom and dad have enjoyed this luxury several times and don't see the appeal of it, so I say, "take me instead." They merely roll their eyes, but hey, I most likely wouldn't feel the need to Purell those seats.

5. I can't really drink anymore without getting sick and/or hungover. I suppose this isn't weird. Just a side-effect of becoming an old bag.

6. I heart therapy and I adore my therapist Dr. L. She rocks. And BTW, I do phone therapy as she is in Beverly Hills. Have been doing it for six years now. Don't think it's weird. Most people do.

Excuse all the errors but it's 2 a.m.
Okay, so now I've got to tag some others, sorry folks, but I think this is a fun one.
Always Double Back, Pan Kisses Kafka, Insomnia Haiku,
The Devil's Playground, Mimi New York.

Oh, and happy Hanukkah! I think I may have received an early, divinely bestowed gift that money just can't buy. More TK on that next week, hopefully.

The Price of Beauty

So I've written two columns for juli b, and this one came out today. It's difficult to do justice to treatments and products in so few words. But this is how I got to indulge in the super-terrific Holiday Breather treatment at the Mandarin Oriental spa Tuesday. This treatment is simply sublime and includes a wrap, exfoliation and massage. You can choose between the mud, algae or oceanic wrap. The algae one detoxifies, so natch I chose that. First they scrub your skin with a minty exfoliant using a brush that supposedly detoxes your bod and brings the toxins up to your lymph nodes so that they can be expelled. Then you shower in the private massage room you are already in. Next you get a fabulous aromatherapy massage. Finally you are slathered in algae—quite cool and refreshing, but not for those allergic to shellfish—wrapped in plastic and then covered in a heated blanket type thing. While you are in the wrap for 20 minutes, you enjoy a fabulous scalp massage with a deep-conditioning treatment applied to your hair. Then you shower again, and you're good to go, so relaxed though that you'll be moving at a snail's pace.

If you're in Miami and looking to de-stress before the holidays, I'd highly recommend this treatment. It's $290. And you get to take the brush home, which reminds me, I need to detox today. Mandarin Oriental Spa.

I also got to try the amazing ooh la La Mer Radiant Facial. This is an at-home facial brightening kit that lasts for about eight weeks. And as most of you know, la mer is the creme de la creme of skincare. This kit retails for $320. The results are quite good; your skin feels softer, silkier and definitely brighter. The only downside? This is what you'll look like while doing it:



Available at Neiman's, Saks and Bergdorf's.

Please visit today's Fashionosophy.

Spaaaaahhhhhh

I spent the majority of today at the Mandarin Oriental's spa, enabling me to reach the following conclusion.

Just as gold is the new black and 40 is the new 30, massage is the new sex.

For me anyway. And the best parts are: you can enjoy it whenever you want, you don't have to wait around for that dreaded phone call, you don't have to talk and at the end your skin is all smooth and silky and aromatic.

Hooray, I'm no longer a celibitch.

Housecleaning

So I am no longer a full-time employee, which means many things:

I can now indulge in my favorite things: sleeping, shopping, reading, going to Sports Club LA for hours on end, Pilates, thinking, looking at magazines, plotting my comeback, etc. etc.

But I also have serious stuff to do. Like moving. Is moving not one of the most loathsome tasks on earth? Ugh. The packing, the bubble wrap, the storage—it's enough to drive any somewhat insane persone completely insane.

And, yay, I get to be with my beloved Wally and other dogs in a few weeks. And double yay, I get to spend New Year's Eve weekend in NYC. I hope it's really chilly, as I haven't gotten to wear any boots, scarves, fur, gloves etc. in nearly a year!! This trip and subsequent move is the perfect excuse to take advantage of all the great sales at my most favorite stores.

And my brother has landed in India, which he says is pretty shitty, and if he says that, then I know my mom and I are in trouble, so it's now my job to convince him to meet the fam halfway somewhere cool like Thailand, Hong Kong, Vietnam or Japan. He's the only kid I know who would pass up an all-expenses-paid vacation that would probably include stays at the Mandarin Oriental or the Four Seasons. But I suppose that is what makes him interesting.

And it seems I have a rather ardent fan over at LeandroToro. She was, in fact, the first one to buy and read my book who is not an immediate family member or friend. I find her coverage of me and my misadventures both amusing and quite flattering. I actually have my own topic category. Cool. If only we could see ourselves as others do, we'd all have much higher self-esteems.

And I think I've made a decision regarding my future career, if such a thing exists and I'm not just to become a navel-gazing wastoid. Freelance writing is really where it's at. Especially if it involves travel, beauty, fashion and accessories. So that is where I will be focusing my energies.

And weird as it may seem, now that I am not working in an office full-time, I will have less time to blog. Oh, boo-hoo.

And for those of you who have complained that you cannot figure out how to buy my book: I will spell it out for you once again. Simply click the buy now button on the upper right hand side of this page below my profile picture. It's really not that hard, guys. **UPDATE: OK, SO STEPHANIE JUST INFORMED ME THAT ON NON-MACS, THE LINK IS ALL THE WAY AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BLOG ON THE RIGHT SIDE. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FIX THIS. IF SOMEONE DOES, HOLLER.
I'll get a notification that you bought it from paypal and then I'll email you the book. Much less effort than say, going to Barnes and Noble.

And if you're on my e-mail list and you haven't bought the book, well, then I'm afraid I'm rather disappointed in you. I'd buy your damn book. And in some cases I have. Doesn't mean I've read them, but I still made the effort. Ahem.

And Alec Baldwin? Soo nice to me when I approached him in Vegas. Though I was looking quite fetching and feminine that night. Guess these Gawkers weren't.

Well-heeled Travelers?

So my brother is in India and he says it's, well, shitty (duh). The fam and I are planning to visit, naturally, ensconced in the safety of a town car and a guided tour. The only luxury touring company I can think of that has programs there is Abercrombie & Kent.

Does anyone have any other suggestions? Has anyone been there in a luxury capacity? Basically, I want to go from resort to resort and site to site, with an escort/guide at all times. I know lots of socialites and wealthy folk do indeed travel there, and I know where they stay, but how do they organize the whole shebang? Please respond. Time is ticking.

eBay round 2

OK, it's officially up on eBay. There are three listings; my feedback has to reach 5 stars before I can sell multiples. What a pain in the ass. PayPal is much easier, so use that—plus it's a flat fee. I'm not eligible for "Buy it Now" status on eBay.

Unless of course you (NOT YOU, MOM) want to get in a bidding war, in which case, feel free. From now on, go to PayPal, cause it doesn't cost me anything whereas eBay charges for each listing.

Meanwhile, this chick must get her ass in gear to be moved out of Miami by the end of the month and in NY by Dec. 29th. Have I even called the movers? Um, no. Packed? No. Slept late, gone to the beach, the gym, the spa? You betcha. Not working is so great.

Oh, and for all you Jacksonvillians who feel the same way about this girl and her family as I do, you'll get a real kick out of this Gawker prize. And, sorry to say, she is about 33 or 34; was only two years ahead of me in high school. Let's just say though that while I visit the derm for facial rejuvenation, she visits the real surgeon, repeatedly and has for years.

PayPal is my New BFF

Well folks, apparently the whole PayPal thing does indeed work. I have just received my first official purchase of Dishalicious. So a big shout out to Leandro over at leandrotoro.

So right now, eBay is out of the picture until I get the kinks worked out, and you can indeed use the Buy Now button to go directly to the PayPal web site. I will then email you the non-disclosure agreement, you will fill it in and email it back to me, and then the book will be yours...

Oh, I just LOVE it when other non-NYC "writers" post about me. Esp. when they reside in the boondocks and call their site Suburbarazzi. Yeah. I'm sure there is a lot of action down there. So much so that they are writing about me.

Thanks, Gawker, but I hate that picture. Oh, well, you can't win 'em all.

Since I have some new eyes reading, in the tradition of my blogging buddy Mel, just the facts today:

1. I am 31, Jewish, straight and single.

2. I grew up in Jacksonville, Florida, where there are 794 churches and about 5 synagogues.

3. I currently live in Miami, where I moved from Manhattan seven months ago. I lived on the Upper East Side for about six years, and I plan to head back there as soon as humanly possible, which translates to about three months in Stephanie time.

4. I went to Emory University and the University of Florida as an undergraduate, and I got my master's degree in journalism from NYU. I'm certainly convinced that the NYU money would have been better applied toward a condo downpayment.

5. I've always known I wanted to be a writer and editor, and my first published "clip" (if you can call it that) was a letter to the editor in Vogue when I was 16. I followed that up with one in Interview and thus began my not-so-illustrious magazine career.

6. The most important elements in my life are my family, my friends, my family friends and my dogs.

7. There is no place like home: Bergdorf's, Barney's, 5th and Madison Avenues.

8. My favorite things include reading, writing, shopping, talking, sleeping, dreaming, watching quality TV and movies, going to the beach, traveling, being around dogs and just relaxing.

9. My least favortie things to do are flying (commercial), waking up early, being around lots of dirty people (e.g. riding the subway), driving and being told what to do.

10. More than once I have been labeled a pistol.

11. I have lived in Atlanta, Los Angeles, New York and Miami, and I'll take Manhattan any day of the year.

12. My true (superficial) passions are writing, reading, fashion and jewelry, and I would love to figure out a way to combine all of these things into a lucrative business venture. I seem to be the go-to girl when it comes to fashion concerns and advice amongst my friends and family friends, so I suppose that my dream would be either to author a fashion column or to be a fashion editor. Well, okay, my dream has always been to be a fashion editor, but I didn't have the patience to suck it up and "start at the bottom." Screw that. And since nobody wants to give me this dream job, I've created it: Fashionosophy. It doesn't pay very well.

13. I'm not afraid to break rules. In fact, I'm kind of unflappable when it comes to most things. When I was sued by American Media, I think that most people in my then-situation—unemployed, sans money, 28 years old—would have conceded defeat. I, however, put my dukes up, smacked their asses down in court, and though it didn't pay off in the form of a lucrative book deal, it was something I needed to do. The First Amendment was drafted for a reason.

14. I'm tough-talking and opinionated, but in real life, I'm a softie and play well with others.

15. I'm currently polishing up my second book, which be something along the lines of (no) Sex and the City meets the Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing meets Kissing in Manhattan.

16. My favorite book of all time is Confederacy of Dunces, with Gone with the Wind running a close second.

17. I'm like the Jewish, female version of Kevin Bacon. I seem to be connected to many, many people by less than six degrees, in large part due to my dad, who seems to know every person in the country in some way, shape or form.

You can learn more about me by reading some of my favorite posts:
On Dreams, On Cursing, On Registries, On Singlehood, On Rude Questions, On Happiness, On Leaving New York, On Rodents, On Sept. 11.

Thanks for stopping by.

eBay This Book!

Filed under the "Oh, Puh-lease Dept." from today's Keith J. Kelly Column in the NY Post
'ONE PARK'ING JOB ON STAR MAG'S REALITY TV SHOW

On a totally unrelated note: If you want to know what really goes on behind the scenes at a completely fictional, notorious, American tabloid, well, here's your chance, finally. I've decided to sell unpublished, individual copies of my manuscript Dishalicious on eBay. That's right folks. I know that most of the takers will be friends and family, but at least that will shut 'em up.

I'm not sure if this has been done before, but I'm sick of people asking to read the manuscript. So here's your chance. Buy It Now, or don't. Frankly, my dears, I just don't give a damn anymore. This is total, straight-up, American ghetto-style publishing. Purchase it, and I'll e-mail you the Word document. If you're really that interested, you can print it out yourself.


I'm having the confidentiality agreement drawn up now, which buyers will have to complete via e-mail once they've bought the book. So I should have this done by tomorrow, when I will post the link.

UPDATE: Man, eBay is a pain in the ass. eBay is taking longer than I anticipated. You can purchase Dishalicious directly through Paypal buy clicking on the buy now button on the right side of this page right above the flickr link. Er, so is PayPal. I should have this resolved soon; it has something to do with my slow ass Southern bank. You know, everything takes twice as long down here in the boondocks.

This is the summary I've posted on eBay, whenever they decide to move their asses and approve my PayPal account:

Dirt. Deceit. Dish. Divas. Sex. Drugs. Betrayal. Bribery. Lies. Paid
informants. All in a day's work at the country's most notorious
tabloid, Celeb. And it's research editor Serena Gold's job to make all
the stories seem legit. Except, well, they're so not.
The editor is an infamous demon; her second in command is a manscaped
albatross; her staff has a higher turnover rate than that of the Bush
White House; and the publication's unscrupulous methods of
manipulation are enough to drive any sane journalist slightly mad.
What's a nice, Jewish girl to do when she witnesses lie after payoff
after breach of ethics? Keep herself chained to her desk for the
14-hour-days required of the staff? Engage in retail therapy at
Bergdorf's and Barneys? Rely on her stable of delightfully eccentric
family and friends? Well, yes, but Serena must also show her bitchy
boss that you simply cannot claw your way to the top of the publishing
totem pole without getting a few scratches in return.
And as it turns out, Serena's nails are sharper (and better manicured)
than those of her editor.

And since I have a substantially wider audience with this post thanks to Gawker, please visit my sister sartorial site: Fashionosophy.

Bat Mitzvah Brouhaha

For those of you non-Jews out there who have never had the experience that is the bar or bat mitzvah, a primer. There are usually several de rigueur (sometimes conflicting) elements at work at the bar/bat mitzvah party, including: a cheesy band/dj combo; lots and lots and lots of food, most of which will remain uneaten; a whole lot of liquor; an abundance of glitter and glowsticks; goodie bags; the hora; diamonds and pearls and the town's finest baubles; blacklight; a dancefloor, whereupon the YMCA, the Electric Slide and the Macarena all will be massacred by our non-rhythmic tribe. So what this all translates to is this: a sea of drunk, young, sort of young, older and really old people thrusting their bodies around the dancefloor in celebration of a 13-year-old boy or girl becoming a man or woman.

It's a great excuse for a party, and I think that most of the time, at least in my family's circle of friends, the adults have more fun than the children. This past Saturday was such an occassion for the daughter of my dad's longtime best friend.

The 'rents and their friends were shaking their tailfeathers to the likes of everyone from Timberland and Outkast, to the Village People and whomever is the brilliant artiste behind "Hava Negilah." There's something about the sight of my parents, neither of whom have any rhythym whatsoever, doing the white man's booty shake that really cracks me up.




But what occurred to me most as I drank, danced and laughed too much at this party, is that nothing really changes in our cloistered little world. We Jews have been shaking our asses to the same perennial songs for the past 18 years, since my friends were anointed men and women: Unchained Melody, Shout, YMCA, Push It, Pump up the Volume, etc. We've been waving glow sticks, sneaking drinks from the bar, worrying about which boys will ask us to dance, watching our parents get drunk, throwing up in the temple bathroom, putting on our finest Manolos and then kicking them off by 11 p.m., for ages and ages. But still, there is something about seeing your loved ones hoisted up onto chairs that just gets you all verklempt.

It's silly really, but it's great fun.


I suppose a few things have changed though. After she was made to dance onstage with the band/dj/dancers, the bat mitzvah gal, a real pistol whom I have known since she was born and whom I adore, came up to me and said, "Omigod, Stephanie, I'm so embarrassed! I am so in love with the dancer, but he has a boyfriend!"

I used this horrible Kodak disposable digicam cause I forgot mine, so we all look like ghosts in these pictures. And I cannot explain why my dad's mouth is wide open in every picture.




And, the men in the sequined jackets?



My dad's frat brothers dressing up as the Four Tops and driving the crowd wild. Though they actually had some moves, so maybe some white men can dance.

Also, check out Fashionosophy, I actually managed to update it...

Gawker Does it Again

Required Disclosure: I know suicide is not funny.

But this sure as hell is. I'm in Jax., again, third weekend of traveling in a row. I will try to have some fun tonight so I can entertain all 12 of you with amusing anecdotes Monday...

On Beauty

Yay, I'm finally published again. And for the first time in very, very long, it's about material I'm passionate about: beauty products.

So check out juli b's Beauty Picks for Miami, written by yours truly.

Leaving Las Vegas and, oh yeah, Miami

Las Vegas was a good ol' time. Some of the highlights:

Love, the Cirque du Soleil show set to music by the Beatles. I am not a theater person, don't particularly like Broadway and am usually dragged to these type of things by my family, but I would highly recommend this show and even see it again.



My encounter with Alec Baldwin. I've mingled with my fair share of celebrities and am never one to approach or bother them when they are out in public. But upon seeing Baldwin in the giftshop of the Love theater, I just had to say something because I adore his new show 30 Rock. So I approached him and say, "Alec, I never bother celebrities but I just wanted to tell you that you are fabulous in 30 Rock and it's an amazing show. Congratulations." He was sweet and accepted the compliment and his son thanked me as well. They sat several rows behind us and left before the grand finale.

The shopping. I scored a classic, black Theory dress for about 40% off at Neiman's; a classic black Theory top for 40% off at Neiman's; a fab lacey black shirt by Roberto Cavalli for about 75% off from Nordstrom's; and a Spanx "body shaper" thingy. Now, why a size 2/4 woman should have to wear a girdle is another issue altogether, but there you go. Sigh.

Canyon Ranch. Words can't describe the inherent goodness and blissfulness of a good spa day. First came the haircut. Next the massage. And finally, my first facial, since of late my skin has been all over the place, probably from the Botox and Restylane experiments. The facial was nice, though I don't know that my skin is necessarily any better.

The classic Clark Griswold/Mark Green vacation comment. Our family vacays always turned into Griswold-esque misadventures when we were younger. Fittingly, it was Vegas Vacation this time. While eating at Spago with the fam, our aunt, uncle and cousins, who always go on international vacations as a family, I say to dad, "Well, we had never even been on a family vacation outside the U.S. until Bermuda, where I had to drag you kicking and screaming." We've been to Mexico, but that doesn't count.

"Uh, huh," dad says in his defense, "What about Hawaii?"

The Wynn resort is pretty, pictured below, but kind of a poor imitation of Bellagio from what I saw of it. You can view the rest of our Vegas Vacation pics by clicking on the Flickr link on the right side of this page.




This amazing leg massager from Brookstone, which my brother and I parked our weary asses in after dinner and drinks at Tao Sat. night. I think you can deduce from the expression on my face that it's pure heaven. The attached seat rest massager (only $99!) is divine too.



OK, now for the Big News: I quit my job today with about a month's notice. I am leaving Miami. This city just isn't my cup of coffee. I plan to go back to writing and editing full-time, first and foremost finishing my second book. I also plan on moving back to NYC soon, but am decamping to the family's pad in Fla. to finish the book and look for some freelance gigs. So holla if you've got some stuff for me. What? Why? When? More later, I am still jet-lagged.

Thanks

I am so thankful for the fact that mom didn't realize that her computer was logged into my blogger account due to my use of it over the weekend at the 'rents' house; otherwise she probably would've tried to post something. I'm thankful that I'm going to Vegas, which oddly enough is warmer than Miami right now. I am also thankful that I am flying out tomorrow instead of today. I feel for everyone traveling today, so good luck and Godspeed and all that.

And I'm uber-thankful that tomorrow's episode of Grey's Anatomy is extended, yay! After eating at one of Emeril's restaurants in Vegas tomorrow night, while my parents are at Celine Dion (oy vey), I'll be in our suite at the Venetian watching McDreamy. Yes, I am totally lame, and I don't gamble. I'll stash the cash that daddy gives me to gamble with and use it to shop, shop, shop.

But what am I most thankful for? Oh, yeah, you guessed it: the day after Thanksgiving sales, the fact that Neiman's is near our hotel and the fact that dad and brother will be occupied at Canyon Ranch while mom and I have retail reign.

Happy Thanksgiving and safe travels!

Savvy Sales Shopping

I basically posted this exact same thing on Fashionosophy today, but since nobody reads that site and I'm too lazy to keep up with it, I'm duplicating the post here. One of my 2 daily readers e-mailed me about this site he works for called Shop it to Me.

It's awesome; you choose your favorite designers--lots of good, high-end ones are listed--and then the site e-mails you sales these designers are having online. You also choose your size, so the e-mails you receive are specifically catered to your designers, sizes, etc. No more need to scour the web for deals. Why didn't I think of this? I eagerly await the post-Thanksgiving e-mail.

I'm off to Vegas, baby, for Thanksgiving. I don't gamble, but seeing as how Vegas has become both a foodie and fashionista destination of choice, I think I'll find some things to amuse myself with. Plus, Saturday I'm booked at the Canyon Ranch Spa Club, which is simply divine. Oh, and there's a Neiman's outlet a mere 39 miles away. . .

Are Rock Bottoms Solid/The Circle of Celebrity

I've had several moments in my life where I've thought, "OK, this is it, I've hit rock bottom." But then the mere fact that there have been several "rock bottom" moments implies that one of them really wasn't rock bottom, so obviously, the botom is porous and it's a sliding scale, especially for depressives. For a true depressive, I suppose that real "rock bottom" translates to thoughts of suicide or actual attempts. Anyway, my point is that I've had several times in my life where I've thought that "this is it; things just can't get any worse, how am I going to dig myself out of this whole and claw my way back to the top? (Or, the middle really.)

On Sept. 10, 2004, The New York Post ran a nearly full-page story about Dishalicious in the business section, accompanied by a photo of me and a photo of Bonnie Fuller. There had been previous items in Page Six, on Gawker and in Women's Wear Daily, but the business section of the Post? That got American Media's attention. Seventeen days later, Sept. 27, 2004, I learned that I was being sued by American Media. During all of this, the book was circulating amongst 10 publishers, and according to my then agent, prospects were good. Then I was served by AMI, and the bottom slowly began to fall out. The publishers' reactions went from "very interested" to "not interested, and I was once again unemployed.

Oct. 1, after I had a court date, after the press had both praised and vilified me and after the book was rejected by 9 publishers, my family and I went to the opening of our family friend's play, Jewtopia. Sam Wolfson, who I'd grown up with, is one of the stars and cowriters/cocreators. The audience that night was comprised mostly of family and friends of the stars. I was, as you can well imagine, an anxious mess that weekend. I was experiencing my first Warholian 15 minutes and was unsure what the hell it all meant? Would I challenge AMI? Would I settle? Would the book sell? And that night I was faced with a sea of Jacksonvillians I hadn't seen in years, so I had to do the whole 60-second-life story spiel about forty times.

I get through the pre-theater cocktail hour fine, doing the whole 60 second life story—book, press, lawsuit—several times over. Disconcertingly people seem to think that because I’m being sued, I’ve made it or I’m famous or I did something right. It’s bizarre.

Sam especially thinks this is cool. "Wow, you're being sued! How cool! Go get 'em Steph and let me know what happens."

In fact, this is pretty much everyone's reaction. The play is fantastic, and I’m so happy to see someone who deserves success finally achieve it. The thought that plagues me though is whether I’ll ever experience the joy that Sam is now, finally seeing his dreams come to fruition after struggling for so many years. I wonder if my parents will ever be as exuberantly proud as Denny and Arlene are of Sam. I have serious doubts they will.

After the play, at the small reception above the theater, my dad congratulates Sam's dad, Denny, with whom he grew up, saying something like, “I think your boy is going to make it!”

Denny, flushed with pride says something along the lines of, “It looks that way. Thank God, cause this is one difficult place to make it. You know, I came here after college to work on Wall Street and it was tough.”

“Well, you definitely have to be tough to make it here, otherwise the city will eat you alive,” I say, thinking, I wonder if I'll do the eating or be eaten.

Cut to two years later, this past Saturday night. Sam and Bryan are in Jacksonville doing a reading from their book. It's a funny book, and it was great seeing everyone again. But here we are again; two years later, a lawsuit, 30,000 edits of a manuscript, 500 pages of a new book and Sam, the actor, has a book and I, the writer, once again, have nothing. And once again, Sam's folks are laughing with pride, while my folks are, in answer to the question, "What is your daughter doing now," saying, "Well, she's in Miami, trying to figure things out."

Strangers or friends of my family I haven't seen in years, ask me what's going on and I have to do the 60-second-life-story yet again. "I'm in Miami, writing and working for my uncle."

"Do you like Miami?"

"No, actually, I hate it. I miss New York terribly."

"So what are you going to do?"

Good question.

Mercedes; The Ultimate Twatwaffle

10 hours in my car over two days does not a happy Stephanie make. Forced by the condo Nazis to "permanently remove" Wally from the premises, I drove up to Jacksonville yesterday, attended a patron's dinner for the JCC there wherein Sam and Bryan of Jewtopia were the featured performers, then drove right back down to Miami today. My back and neck ache, I've barely unpacked, and I'm off to Vegas for a true American Thanksgiving on Thursday. Funny stories from the weekend TK, from the Jewtopia event last night, but right now I must go stretch and hit the gym.
And, yes I'm bitching again, but if you don't like my bitching, then quit reading, because I tend to do quite a lot of it.