happy birthday to ME

Dateline--One Year Ago:
Skinny dipping in Bermuda with a bunch of harmless but rowdy Canadians, forcing overwrought and nervous mom to contact Bermudian police to locate my 30 year old ass. (For the record, I was the only non-naked one; I'm a nice Jewish girl, I don't do that.) All was fine and fun; Natalie Holloway I was not. I made it home in one piece, escorted by security at 7 a.m. the next day. I was literally the talk of the town. Awwwwwwwwwww Yeeeah.



Cut to yesterday. Treated myself to a phat Tuleh dress from Neiman's Last Call ($1,650 to $350), punished myself at the gym and then attended a classical symphony and after party with good friends. Bermuda/South Beach? I have to say Bermuda. Though I am loving this dress.

Karma's a Bitch

My bad, it turns out that my beloved shrink had recently had hip replacement surgery and is now suffering from nerve damage. Jeez. It's pretty fucking bad when the doctor is in worse shape than you.

The Shrink is On the Mend

I feel a little bad about Tuesday's post, because as it turns out, the shrink had a hip replacement surgery recently and has literally been immobilized as a result of some nerve damage caused by post-surgical trauma. Oy, Dr. L., I feel for you. She sounds okay, but had to shutter her practice for many months, doing only phone sessions, so in the end, my case is not so unusual after all! It was good to talk to her again, get some fires lit under my ass, and I will def. be speaking to her more regularly now.

On a completely unrelated tangent, can someone please explain to me who Genevieve Jones is with regards to legacy/breeding? Is she related to Quincy Jones or some other African American star? And if not, why is she all of the sudden the token African-American society princess? Who is her family? Anyone? Bueller?

Shalosh Degrees of Separation

So my blog buddy Not Chosen, Just Posin' reviewed my real family friend's new book today on his blog. Jewtopia was first a play and is now a book. I haven't read the book yet, but the play will provide you with some giggles. Another Jacksonville boy makes good. Jewtopia.com

The Shrink Is In

I have been in therapy, off and on, for about ten years now. My personal philosophy is that everyone should be in therapy at some point in their lives in order to get to know themselves better and to facilitate a deeper understanding of the subconscious. It may not be for everyone, but it certainly can't hurt, right?

The key to successful therapy is finding someone you trust, relate to, respect and can confide in. I've chewed up and spit out many a PhD. The one who has stood the test of time, however, is Dr. L. After college, I lived in Los Angeles, and was referred to Dr. L. by a friend. Dr. L. practices in Beverly Hills, is smart, insightful and reminded me instantly of of the archetypal Jewish mother that I'd grown up around. It was a perfect therapeutic fit from the beginning; I was the slightly fucked-up-but-not-hopeless-Jewish daughter she never had, she was my second, nonjudgemental, Jewish mother on the West Coast. I grew extremely close to her, and she helped me through some major life events: my first real boyfriend, my first earthquake, my first job, my decision to move to New York and go to graduate school.

So when I left L.A. for New York, the thought of abandoning therapy with Dr. L. was just not an option. And seeing how she was used to the whole celebrity client thing, being jetted out to Vegas on private planes for a single session, the notion of phone therapy was not unusual. And so it went that I came to be strictly a "phone therapy" person for the past seven years. Jeez. Seven years. Our frequency of sessions varies with time and circumstance, but over the past seven years, from New York to Florida, Dr. L. and I have remained in steady contact. She knows my family, she knows my friends, my fears, my dreams, she knows Wally. There is very little she doesn't know.

But I digress. Our relationship has always been slightly unorthodox, a little more friendly than doctor-patient. In between sessions, it's not unusual for her to call my cell to check in. Or e-mail. Or, if she hasn't heard from me in a while, it's not surprising when she calls my parents to make sure everything is okay. And, over the years, as her hourly rate has increased with inflation, the cost of gas and the sticker prices of Beverly Hills Bentleys, she grandfathered me in at her 2000 rate, a substantial discount.

Since I moved to Miami, however, I've been negligent in keeping in touch, mainly because I'm working now and am just too damn tired at the end of my day to delve into the inner workings of my rotten brain. But also because therapy is only so helpful; it's effective for a couple of hours, maybe a couple of days, but then it kind of wears off, and you're just stuck with yourself again. Wherever you go, there you are.

Usually I'd call to check in every couple of weeks, but these past couple of months, I'd been a ghost. First, she called my parents and left a message for them at home, inquiring about me and my brother. I heard the message, then e-mailed her to say "I'm fine," and that I'd be in touch. Kept putting her on my to-do list, along with the dry-cleaning, returning phone calls, getting car checked out, etc. But before I crossed her off my list, she called to check in. Left me a message about Sept. 11 and my birthday coming up. Finally, we spoke last night and scheduled a session for this week, but she wasn't letting me off the hook that easy.

"I think, Stephanie, the time has come for me to start charging your parents, or perhaps you, if you are now paying, the full hourly rate."

Oh, how the mighty have fallen, eh?

"Oh, sure, of course."

I've never been one to haggle; the Bergdorf's shoe sale and Woodbury Commons are the only discounts I like receiving. So I took it in stride, for I think we should pay the normal rate; I'm not that fucked-up, and given the infrequency of our sessions, there's no real reason for her to give me a discount. But still, after all these years, I can't help but wonder the subconscious motivations behind this step, because, after all, therapists are people too. And they are not above being human. That's what makes them good.


The pic is unrelated, but I'm digging it, snapped by a photog at an IDF event Saturday night in Aventura. Go Israel.

Remembering Sept. 11

It sneaks up on us each year, but it's here again: September 11th. And as all these people are on TV and the radio sharing their experiences of that day, I can't help but reflect and remember. It's our generation's JFK-shooting--we will all remember where we were when we heard the news. It's the event that when I think about still makes my heart race and brings tears to my eyes, even five years later. I don't know if this is true of all Americans, or just for New Yorkers or only for people who witnessed it or knew people whose lives were lost.

Anyway, here's my Sept. 11th story, which I will never forget, and I know I've written about longhand somewhere, but god knows where that notebook went. And not that my story is special, it's not, but it's a valid memory, because, if nothing else, it's history.

I had been in the city for about a year, but I'd been visiting New York yearly since about the age of 10, and was always a New Yorker at heart; was living in midtown; attending NYU grad school in journalism in the Village; dating an Israeli who lived in Haifa; had returned from visiting him in Israel about a month and a half prior to the attacks. In general, life was pretty good. I was "in love," had a big apt., was with Wally, was going to NYU, which I'd always dreamed of, and was living in the place that I loved better than anywhere in the world.

My mom and two of her girlfriends were staying with me for their annual "girl's shopping trip." I had my only early class that morning, and, ironically, it was a "journalism ethics" class, taught by 'renowned' ethicist Todd Gitlin. Everyone talks about the weather that day and it seems silly, but it's true that on days like that, you remember every detail, salient or not. So as I left my apt. a little before 9 a.m., I remember looking up at the sky and thinking what a nice day it was, no clouds, no awful August humidity. I hopped in a cab, just as I noticed that Second Ave. was rife with fire trucks and ambulances. No big deal, a common sight. As we proceeded downtown, the ambulances and fire trucks grew in number, and the cabbie and I began to wonder, so we turned on the radio.

At that point, the world was still in shock, and was talking about the 'commuter plane' that had most likely hit the Trade Center. Details were still sketchy at that point, but we proceeded downtown, both of us, similar to the entire city and nation, in a state of shock. By the time we reached the Village, the second plane had hit, and we were just confused, I mean, terrorism just didn't happen in our country, what were any of us supposed to think until we saw? Until we saw. Because while most people saw it on TV, for me it didn't sink in until I got out of the cab near Washington Square Park and saw both towers aflame. Then, and only then, it sunk in. From that point on, I was plunged into that same surreal, dreamlike, post-traumatic haze that most New Yorkers found themselves in for several days, if not weeks or months. I walked to the corner where clusters of people just stood staring up at the towers. Some were openly crying or looked horrified; most just stood there staring, mouths agape. It really was like a scene out of an Independence Day -type movie. Everything else stood still. I think I must have tried to call my mom and the girls, but cells were probably down. I knew I would never make it back uptown, and was in shock, so I moved robotically into the school's building and went into class.

And though it was an "ethics" class, and though many of the students in it lived near Wall Street and hadn't shown up yet, and though we were journalists who should be out literally witnessing history and trying to get the story, our professor kept us in class the whole two hours without TVs, radios, phones, and forced us to debate the 'ethical' elements of jumping to the conclusion that this was indeed a terrorist attack being perpetrated by Arabs/Muslims/Islamic extremists. Perhaps he was in shock to and the mantra, "just carry on normally" was propelling him. I had just returned from Israel, so I remember the shock finally wearing off and my rage beginning to kick in, and getting into a heated argument with an Egyptian student, wherein I blamed this on the Arabs and she defended them saying it could be anyone doing this.

We finally got out of class and emerged from our time-warp bubble, and learned that both towers had gone down. In those two hours, the sky had fallen. No, it couldn't be, I thought. There's just no way, my brain rationalized, those towers? It had looked like two small fires when I'd gone into class, relative to the largesse of those buildings. But sure enough, I walked out to the corner where I'd watched them on fire earlier and the skyline was flat. Gone. Now, New York City was a quiet ghost town except there were hordes of people walking slowly, stoically. Just walking like zombies, standing in line for payphones, eerily calm. No traffic, just on foot. No transportation anywhere, save for emergency vehicles, but I don't remember hearing any sirens, any noise at all save for radios with news. Nobody yelling, no street noise, the most disturbing thing in New York City--a lack of noise. I walked all the way from the Village to my apartment; walked amid a crowd stunned silent for probably the first time in their lives. I tried to call mom repeatedly, but eventually gave up. I lived near the UN, and kept thinking that that would be the terrorists' next target, so I kept popping into shops and asking if anything else had been hit, because the fire trucks never stopped going downtown.

I wondered where my mom and her friends had gone, but knew that they probably hadn't left the house before the news was out, so I wasn't worried. The horrifying thing is that they had been at the store Century 21, which was leveled by the attack, the morning before.

I got home and they weren't there, so then I started to panic, no communication, an empty apartment, with a Wally who just knew something was up. I think I just fell on to the couch and sat there, mesmerized by the footage on TV. It was as if I were in a drug-induced haze, which you really can't describe accurately, but if you've ever witnessed a horrible accident or crime, you can most likely relate to. Mom and friends eventually returned home, having walked over to 57th street to see what it was like outside. Like I said, when in shock, you just go by rote, do what you know. Head into class, teach class, go to work, go shopping.

Eventually, maybe two days later, mom and co. rented a car and drove home to Florida. Damned if they were getting on a plane. Damned if I was, not for a year or so I think. And though I didn't lose anyone that day and wasn't connected to anyone in those buildings, the event itself had such an impact if you were living in New York, whether you were able to admit it or not. For me, it meant that each time I saw a plane outside the window of my new 15th floor apartment heading past the Con Ed towers in Queens, each and every time for a couple years after, my first, instinctual thought was, that plane is going to hit that tower; it meant that I didn't take the subway for a couple of years; it meant that I looked at cab drivers appraisingly and unconsciously eavesdropped on their foreign conversations; it meant that I didn't feel safe in my own apt., my own city, for many, many years. It meant living in fear for a great while, thinking how easy it had been for them to do it once, surely they would strike again.

And still, I'm kind of amazed that nothing else has happened in our country because, really, we're no safer now, are we? Soon, surely, the sky will fall again.

Nothing much new here; just working, trying to sleep and attempting to edit my second manuscript. Tonight I start my career as one of those "junior comittee" members, though not in the stuffy, New York-ish society type of way. Not that there's anything wrong with that. My good friend from college runs the events and fundraising depts over at the New World Symphony, and I've recently been appointed to her executive committee. She throws the grooviest parties in South Beach, so I'm looking forward to being a part of that. (And, natch, supporting the arts.)

Otherwise, just gearing up for New York in two weeks--my hair needs a good cut, I need some quality time with my NYC girlfriends and I need my Bergdorf's fix, stat. It will be the first time visiting the city since moving away, and I'm guessing that it's a whole different experience being a tourist in a place you used to call home. I don't know quite what to expect or what my reaction will be, but I've always been kind of funny about visiting places where I used to live ...

Has Hell Frozen Over?

Because I am a Godmother, lord help this baby. It was my first bris, and though I asked the mohel (the snipper) for the easiest job, he flatly refused and assigned me the task of holding the bottle filled with good ol' Manishewitz and Pedialyte in the baby's mouth while he was snipped.

Breathe in, breathe out, focus on staying vertical. I am terrible with medical stuff and doctors; was sleep deprived; a little hungover; sore; exhausted; and shocked that I'd be responsible for dispensing the meds. But as my friend, who is also a Godmother and had performed the same task, pointed out, it's appropriate that we are giving the kid his first drink. L'Chaim! My mom said I looked like I was having difficulty, um, breathing. Hell, I'd never even been to a bris, let alone bottle-fed a baby, and now I was doing it in front of 30 or so family, friends and strangers. Some serious retail therapy was needed and had after that, let me tell you.

So now, I'm completely spent. The parents, the family friends, and my crazy ass friend were all in town in addition to all the baby stuff. And last night I couldn't sleep at all, so I'm a total zombie...

I'm off to the airport to pick up my crazy ass friends, then it's food, fun and fashion with the fam and family friends. Happy Labor Day to all.

Another Day, Another BS Story

I love how other "writers" just pick up on stories, reword some things and then craft little more than the original story. It seems this has been done a lot with the Page Six scoop.

There's this odd little place called Celebrity Cafe, which penned this story. Star magazine editor may star in former employee's tell all book It's actually better than the one in Page Six.

Anywho. My spirits have lifted, as the Lexapro has kicked in (evidenced by very bizarre, vivid, memorable dreams, constant dry mouth, and the fact that I don't want to kill everyone anymore), my family is coming in town tomorrow, which means fabulous shopping, great restaurants and wine and a fun time in general. I'm also playing host to my crazy-ass friend Nicole, she of the Crazy Fun Weekend fame.

But what I am most excited about is the fact that I finally joined the BEST GYM IN THE WORLD, The Sports Club LA. To call Sports Club LA a gym is such a misnomer; it's really a day spa with some gym equipment thrown in. And this one happens to be inside the Four Seasons. Ahhh. And, being a former member of the NY eastside one, I get such an amazing discount: Initiation fee: $113 Monthly dues: $110 Knowing that I'm paying about the same price as those of you sweating it out at those nasty New York Sports Clubs: Priceless.

Haters and Lovers

Haters
Though I give no credence to the haters, for we have all been guilty of it at times, I have one message for them, specifically 'reality check': stop reading. I mean, honestly, if you hate me, why the hell are you wasting your time reading me? Get a life, or get your own blog, or scurry back into your rathole. Enough said. Didn't your mom tell you that bitterness and jealousy cause wrinkles?

Lovers
I thought I'd post some of the comments that my friends and family made in response to this dreck: Stephanie Green's Remnants of a Bonnie Fuller Tell-All / Jossip
Good friends always have your back. If only Page Six accepted comments. Love you guys!:

Fourth time's a charm (by which I mean, your comment boards suck):
Average looking? Damn, you guys must be getting some seriously fine ass to think this girl is only average. And if so, where are you going to be hanging out this Friday? said: Not Chosen on August 22, 2006 10:44 AM

This had to happen so that when you are on Oprah talking about your "fabulous life" as a published author, the audience will have sympathy for all of your struggles.
GOOD KARMA WILL PREVAIL!
said: Stacey on August 22, 2006 3:27 PM

As most educated people know, whether a book is published or not has nothing to do with the quality of the writing. Case in point: Confederacy of Dunces and Memoirs of a Geisha, rejected by nearly 50 publishers before becoming international bestsellers.
said: nancy on August 22, 2006 7:23 PM

This blog is a load of CRAP!!!!!!! Have you met Stephanie Green? She is talented writer. Also she is beautiful, interesting company and is usually dead on with her observations. SHE WILL BE PUBLISHED.(No, I am not her mother...just someone who knows Stephanie and realizes that this blog is a load of CRAP)
said: Lynn on August 22, 2006 10:33 PM

As an observer, I am quite impressed with Ms. Green and her observations. This puts Devil and Bergdorf Blondes to shame. Let us not forget that this is a few years old. If there was never a lawsuit, than I am convinced these critics would be shining Ms. Green's shoes. Well Done Ms. Green..I look forward to Dishalicious 2...
said: F on August 24, 2006 4:44 PM

Anyone who has read Anything Stephanie has written knows that She Will Absolutely be published! You obviously don't know her if you think anything will stop her from achieving her goal. And she actually HAS the talent to get that accomplished! Her Style and looks will make her bookcover Fabulous! Get Ready!
Can't wait Stephanie! Lynn C.
said: Lynn C. on August 29, 2006 9:30 PM

Are you nuts? Have you ever read a decent book in your entire life? Why don't you post a picture of your mug up here and let us comment. Boy, did you miss the mark on this one.
said: Lee Ann on August 30, 2006 12:17 AM

Hunkering Down, In More Ways Than One

Hurricane Update: (OK, tropical storm, but still.) Shiiiiit. I've never been through one despite growing up in Fla. So now I am trapped in my apartment, loaded up on food, water, wine, flashlights, books, books on CD, batteries and 250 pages of my manuscript to edit by candle or flashlight. My condo is shuttered, which is quite good because most people down here do not have hurricane shutters—these things that look like accordians for windows. But the winds are a blowin' and the shutters make this creepy noise. Thank God for Klonopin


I live in Miami, right on the water, and since there is an actual hurricane coming, I have limited time for damage control today. But, before I go out and buy food, water, alcohol, and DVDs, a few things.

Thanks to all the new readers and passersby who have offered encouragement. I truly appreciate it, especially from other writers, and people like "Gary Worth," whom I greatly admire and respect and know will prevail;)

Page Six blindsided me, as is its style, for a few reasons: 1. I left the NY media willingly about a year ago. 2. I won the lawsuit last April. I guess in gossip there is no old news. 3. I did not publish the excerpt of Dishalicious for publicity, rather I published it b/c I am a nice, Jewish girl who wanted to get her nice, Jewish, friends, relatives and family friends off her back and make them stop asking me, "When can I read the book?"

This time of year, perhaps because it's near my birthday, has always been when everything always hits the fan. It was around this time two years ago that I first made Page Six, Women's Wear Daily, Gawker etc. It was around this time two years ago that fugly Sara Nelson wrote her fiction about me in the biz section of the Post, which later got me sued. And, it was around this time two years ago that I was served by AMI.

For those of you non-NY media types, a few facts: There is nothing a media grunt likes more than delighting in the downfall of his/her peers. If you were chained to a desk for 12 hours a day, doing work that was essentially without merit, wouldn't you be resentful, jealous, wondering whether the grass was greener?

Working like a slave was never for me. I'm a strong personality; I'm spoiled; I'm opinionated; I'm used to getting what I want, when I want it, and not being at the mercy of tactless bosses; and I have morals made of steel, thanks to being raised by parents who are paragons of strength and virtue and sheer coolness. So, I admit it—I never had what it took to claw my way to the top of the magazine heap. 70 hour weeks are not for me. I like doing things at my own pace and believe that life is waaaaaaaaaaay too short to work for other people if you don't like or respect those people. So I said good-bye to all that.

And now? Now, as a non-member of the snarkiest club in the land, I don't give two shits about what Page Six, Gawker, Mediabistro thinks of me. I do what I want when I want. I work from 9-4. I have a fabulous apartment with a balcony on the bay, and I spot dolphins and manatees daily. I have great friends and family nearby. I go to the beach whenever I want. And I write whenever I want. I still have the "fabulous" life—the closet full of designer duds, more Manolos than I can possibly wear, more jewelry than any 30-year-old deserves. So go ahead and hate, for I probably would too, if I were still chained to a desk, working for nasty, marginally talented people with no hopes of earning a sustainable living. But ask yourself this, Conde Nasties, Wenners, Hearsties, in the end, is it worth it? I didn't think so.

I think these are the things in life that matter, that upon your deathbed you shall review and smile about—family, friends, truth, integrity, fond memories of fun, living a life that is true to what you want. Below are the people who matter to me, cause it does come down to people, not print, either black or white or green.

I will always write; I always have. I have been writing stories since the sixth grade. I published letters to the editor in Vogue and Interview when I was 16. I started publishing in national magazines at 19. I've written (a lot) for free. Because it's not about the money or the fame or the book deal or Page Six. It's the fact that writing is like oxygen to me, like cooking for a chef, like painting for an artist; it nourishes me. And whether you like it or not, well, frankly my dears, I just don't give a damn.

Now I'm going to buy food, water, batteries and close the hurricane shutters and bring the furniture inside. Here are some pictures of the calm before the storm. Wish me luck...

Back in the Six Six Six Saddle Again

Shit. I am always the last to know and only realized I'd made Page Six again when I saw the site traffic triple. Oh well. Media Bistro picked up on it too. Ah, the sublime cruelty. Let's take comment bets on whether AMI tries to sue again...Anyone? Bueller? In light of all the new readers, I guess it can't hurt to shamelessly self-promote. My agent: JENNY BENT, TRIDENT MEDIA GROUP

My attorneys: Law Firm of Cowan, DeBaets, Abrahams & Sheppard (David Wolf)

And, I've been Gawked again, first inaccurately, but then they were kind enough to correct it. Thanks, guys.

• Former US WeeklyStar writerresearcher wins right to finally write book no one wants to read. (Sorry, our bad. Still, we feel the heart of the joke was in the right place.) [Page Six]

Gawker

Page Six, Round 2

From Page Six:
HOLLOW VICTORY
By RICHARD JOHNSON with PAULA FROELICH, CHRIS WILSON and BILL HOFFMANN

August 28, 2006 -- FORMER Star magazine scribe Stephanie Green has won her court case to publish a book a la "The Devil Wears Prada" - overturning a confidentiality agreement she signed - but no one's interested. Green spent more than $30,000 winning her case, but no publisher is jumping to sign a deal, much to the relief of Bonnie Fuller and Star editor Joe Dolce - who come off pretty badly in the excerpts of the "fiction" we read on Green's blog, Dishalicious. It could be that, with the exception of "Prada," no one's interested in tales that excoriate former bosses or co-workers.



From Mediabistro:
No Takers For Another Prada Book (Page Six)
Former Star magazine scribe Stephanie Green has won her court case to publish a book a la The Devil Wears Prada — overturning a confidentiality agreement she signed — but no one's interested. Green spent more than $30,000 winning her case, but no publisher is jumping to sign a deal, much to the relief of Bonnie Fuller and Star editor Joe Dolce — who come off pretty badly in the excerpts of the "fiction" on Green's blog, Dishalicious.
mediabistro.com: jobs, classes, community and news for media professionals

More JDate Sociopaths

Um, the blog is getting a little too personal as of late, now that more than just friends and family are reading. And it's kind of creeping me out again. So I will just continue with my pithy observations about human nature in general and mercilessly mock the deserving dimwits. Onto JDate.

This dude had this picture posted—from like high school or his bar mitzvah, riiiiiiight???













And he emailed me, and though I had no interest, I had to ask about the picture. So I wrote:

Subject:
RE: hello

Message:
OK, I have to ask, is that first picture a bar mitzvah or high school pic? It looks awfully old...

And he responded, within a couple of hours THREE SEPARATE TIMES:

The first:
Subject:
RE: RE: hello

Message:
SG19:

Bar Mitzavh to match yuor Bat Mitvah pic...how about you come see me and find out for yourself?

We can start with your tel #.

(This makes no sense, as I clearly look my age in my pics; they are all within the past six months.)

The second:
Subject:
RE: RE: hello - reply #2

Message:
I just purchased a large piece of Wild Salmon. Now I just talekd to a chef and I must go back and get Sesame oil, Wasabi Powder, Garlic, Ginger, Tereaki Suace, Lime/lemmon and honey mustard. If yo9u want you can come over for dinner. Do you like that? What else do you like? I will get it if you say yes.

(Jesus H. What the hell?)

The third:
Subject:
RE: RE: hello - reply #3

Message:
19:

Better yet, as I will prob not be back to the computer -- call me at if you have the daring to do so.
Jonathan
please introduce yourself as SG19 so I know who you are.


And to that last one, because he was just a LITTLE too fucking psycho, I responded:

Subject:
RE: RE: RE: hello

Message:
you have serious issues.

I HONESTLY cannot believe that people meet their mates on this site. These guys are total nutjobs.

It's official: I'm an insomniac again and I'm an auntie. No, catch your breath, not Michael. My BFF has spawned a son. I will post Silver-approved pics of me and the little booger later.

And in case you're wondering, which, obv. you are since you are all still reading my gibberish:

I'm finally running again, albeit slowly and carefully.
I have been discharged from physical therapy, which means I will now have to pay for massages by the masterful Mike.

And finally, I have a couple new, interesting, writerly projects in the works. So, Daryl, if you're reading, hop to it and get me that info. And if anyone has friends/contacts at The Miami Herald, send 'em my way. That paper is in desperate need of fresh voices.

I will be back in NYC Sept. 21-24th to do some liver and wardrobe damage and to see family and friends. And, miraculously, I have secured reservations at Babbo and Gramercy Tavern, neither of which, shockingly, I've ever been to. Girls, check your schedules and check in with me...

Oh, and in the dept. of the narcissicistic: It seems that those bitches over at Jossip Jossiped again just can't get enough of me. Though I don't understand the inchoherent ramblings of this post, I'm honored to be lumped in with Toby Young, whose memoir How to Lose Friends and Alienate People is freaking brilliant, and Jeff Bercovici, who is a sweetheart who penned the WWD Women's Wear Dailystories about me and now works at Radar Radar.

More Minor Musings

I've got a long-distance crush, and though I'm sure nothing will ever come of it, it's worth exploring right? I have the perfect geographic excuse to meet mom in the city that he just happens to reside in, sooo, should I stay or should I go?

The second book I've written, and I use the term book loosely, because it's essentially 400 pages of a very stream-of-consciousness first draft, is a memoir of what happened before and after I worked at Star. Lawyers? Can it be a memoir, or must I claim it as fiction?

My new hair looks FAB. And I can't wait to have my stylist in NY do her magic in September. For those NYers out there looking for a good stylist, go see Lauren at Oscar Blandi. Oscar Blandi
She rocks. Though she's only there on Tuesdays, she will come to your apt. hotel, whatever.

I really miss my NY friends and am anticipating a very emotional visit in September. Though I'm not considering moving back, I do so wish I could be a younger-than-average snowbird.

My BFF Dana, appears to be going into labor as I write this, something about a mucus plug. Blech. I am SO not a baby person, but I suspect I may be doing some time at Mt. Sinai this weekend. Maybe I can cop some Valium from a friendly doc or nurse?

Wow, It's weird being written about by retards

Keep in mind that the book is fiction and I only stumbled upon this link through a function of my site tracker. This is pretty unbelievable dreck, but worth some shits and giggles. BTW, this "writer" takes offense at the fact that I use expletives in my writing. Um, OK, what can I say? I have the manners of a Miss Porter's graduate and the mouth of a sailor.

Some random girl's regurgitated crap
BONNIE FULLER'S THE JOYS OF MUCH TOO MUCH -- INSPIRING IN SO MANY WAYS


* * * * *


Here comes bits of a story about a former research assistant at AMI who has attempted to sell a "tell-all" book about how difficult it is to work for Bonnie Fuller.


But this former employee giave a six-week notice when she left AMI.


How difficult could it be to work there, if you give a six-week notice?


And how bad can it be if they let you give a six-week notice?


In many places, upon giving any notice you immediately might be "out the door."


The author mentions that near the end of her eight-month tenure, she brought information to further substantiate the Jennifer-Brad-Angelina rumours to Bonnie Fuller -- who appeared not to recognize who she was (one of her employees who works as a research assistant).


If the person about whom you are writing a "tell-all" doesn't even recognize you, how much actual first-hand information could you have about this person?


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And yet, Stephanie Green did work in some way in the same firm as the great editor, and the book "The Devil Wears Prada" was a big hit, and it would be reasonable to wish to write a similar best-seller,


From the New York Daily News on 5-7-05, "Green, who worked at Star from Nov. 17, 2003, to June 18, 2004, ... earned $40,000 a year, according to court papers....


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Wonder how Stephanie would feel if a co-worker wrote a "tell-all" book about her? (Note from author: I would lurve it!)


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(source: www.starmagazine.com)



THE SEDUCTIVENESS OF GOSSIP


Of course we would read this supposed "tell-all" book avidly, who wouldn't? Yet we are tempted to say -- another whiny employee "writes" a book about a female boss, this time, our favorite editorial director, hard-working, risk-taking Bonnie Fuller?


We did read "The Devil Wears Prada," but found it slightly annoying. Someone attempted to lend us the book in CD form. We picked a CD at random, and listened for a bit, but it was just too annoying -- worse than the book.


This is like being trapped with that hostile person who is always full of poisonous gossip about other people -- you want to hear the gossip, yet at the same time, you wish they'd just go away, but it can't happen because you're in a situation -- school, work, whatever -- where you are required to "get along."


And yet, it is about Bonnie Fuller -- let's face it, the good gossip part is irresistible.


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THE DOUBLE STANDARD ISSUE


Would this book even be written if Bonnie Fuller, acting exactly the same as she acts as a "boss," were a man?


Bonnie Fuller writes about (in other contexts) "The Double Standard and Other Unfortunate Realities" in "The Joys of Much Too Much," and how she deals with it (page 112 on).


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Here's how it feels from the boss' point of view:


In her book, Bonnie Fuller compares some gossipers to the creator of a black hole -- someone who sucks all the joy out of a place and brings other people into the "black hole."


It must be difficult trying to get a job done, to meet goals, and have some angry underminer around. It's almost impossible to avoid. If the gossiper is a truly malicious person, and you're the boss with all the boss' pressures, it could be hell.


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The background:


The following is from www.jossip.com:

(You've already read this part.)


Here are Dishalicious author Stephanie Green's comments from her web site "www.Dishalicious.blogspot.com":


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A "tell-all" is usually a "tell only negative things."


This interesting excerpt is compelling reading, and is actually about how Stephanie Green got one of the scoops (and a cover-story by-line) about Brad and Angelia.


But what's the advantage of obtaining such a cover by-line, if shortly after this you will be shopping a "tell-all" book about a famous, succesful editor who was your boss? How is that byline going to advance (what's left of) your career?


In the original text, Stephanie Green uses so-called four-letter words, and mentions using illegal drugs.


Also, although people nowadays can use four-letter words with impunity, how wise is it to include such in your book? And also, to include information about illegal drug use? Surely that can't be good for one's career?


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In addition to other experience, Bonnie Fuller was chosen and trained by famed Cosmopolitan editor Helen Gurley Brown, so she has a solid background. She went on to distinguish herself, took risks to increase circulation.


For all this we admire her (and we love her book "The Joys of Much Too Much").


But now -- after reading Stephanie Green's "roman a clef" or whatever it is, we are in total awe of Bonnie Fuller.


WHAT a tough and high-stress job she has! Working late into the night. Struggling to get gossip.


And the deadlines are weekly, in real time, not monthly, in advance.


For her to take on this job -- what inner strength she must have!


Wow!


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