It speaks for itself.
Every now and again I will get a request for an autograph or a photo. I’m still a bit shocked that anyone would want that from me but I’ll send a pic. Last week a woman sent me a note asking for a picture for her daughter. I stuck it in the mail and here is her response:
DATE: May, 18, 2007 10:14 AM
Yesterday was my first day at L.A. Fashion Week Fall 2007. I only went to see one show and ended up spending the entire day there. Front row at every show. The weird thing about L.A. Fashion Week is no real celebs actually attend. Yeah you get the stray Eva Longoria sighting but you are lucky if you get JC Chasez or Paris Hilton or Tara Reid. Sorry. Not really A-listers.
And you get the wacky Janice Dickinson… More on that later.
So first I saw 2(x)ist underwear. Boys in the they knickers! I’m all in. It was a hot show. Though it started with a marching band. And they were not cute and not in their underwear. Then it was a high-school dance troupe. Couldn’t dance. You know how the girls sorta have the moves but not really. Like they learned them from an Eric Nies hosted “Learn To Move” video from MTV. And then there was the Laker girls. Again not really dancers. And they wore hose with their shorts. Granny.
I am so having a moment right now. Have you ever lost something that wasn’t your’s to begin with? I’m sitting here on Xmas Day listening to Mariah Carey, Can’t Let Go, on repeat and I’m so depressed. I’ve been replaced by the past. You went back to the familiar and now I sit here with nothing. A bunch of text messages and 2 voice mails. 2 voice mails down from 3 because I’ve saved them so long the system is slowly erasing them. And that’s totally how I feel about us. Each day you slip a bit further away. But the further you go, the clearer I see you. Fuck. I know this was just a childish dalliance and it probably wouldn’t have worked but it was so all I had. Hundreds of texts. The 1st thing in the morning and the last thing at night. All those stupid late night phone calls for hours and hours. Talking about nothing. It was like being in High School again. And you are so sweet. Will I ever meet anyone as sweet as you again? I hoped we could be friends but that last phone call was so strained and weird. So not the way we used to be with each other. And now silence. Silence that’s worse than strained, not knowing what to say talking. How many more times can I listen to these voice mails before they disappear too? How do you mourn what could have been?
I’m crazed. Some of you are like, “Yeah, idiot. We knew that.” But right now I am. I met a really nice boy (gay guys are always “boys”, no matter how old they are). He’s very sweet. But aren’t they always sweet at the beginning until they rip back their skin and show that underneath they are a lizard creature like on the 80’s TV show V? Anyway he’s nice. Sexy. And I’m thrilled.
Janelle had to cancel and will not be doing the AIDS Walk with me this weekend. I’ll be doing it with my pretend husband, James and with my Erika. It’s a bit of a reunion. Of a few of my faves from this summer.
Hi! I’m shooting a new episode of How Do I Look for the Style Channel as we speak! So much fun! It’s one of my fave gigs. I’ve been a bit remiss in my posting so please forgive me!
Friend sites. 6 degrees of separation. Disable chat function. Otherwise random boys hit you up looking for cybersex. New friend request from Hector. No. I don’t know you, you can’t collect me. I’m not a Pokemon.
So I’m kinda seeing someone. In that L.A. way of “I’m too busy but can you stop by…” Or “I’ve got an event, wanna go?” way. It’s cool. Our agents, publicists and lawyers are hammering out the details. 😉 But in my dream I’m seeing one (or all) of these boys. And for the record, when I say “boy” I mean way over 21.
Without further ado, BOYS I LIKE:
Just missed the cut) KANYE WEST
Until the Rolling Stone cover he was #1. He is sexy in that “round-the-way boy” way. Those lips are hot. Love his style and his riffs is banging. That’s good. But Kanye wants it too bad. You know he’s gonna clown at the Grammy’s. You got the fame. & the money. Just chill baby.
This just in…
In a segment, I like to call “Damn! Why Isn’t That Me?”:
Ron Perelman, the owner of global cosmetics giant Revlon, is divorcing Ellen Barkin, the star of the movie Sea of Love and that terrible movie co-starring Laurence Fishburne. In a completely unrelated stream of thought, isn’t every movie with Laurence Fishburne bad? Yep, Mr. Perelman. He of the bad advertising campaigns that feature actresses instead of models is dropping his personal actress like a hot potato. But here’s the thing, he served papers on a stunned Ellen, whose prenup states she’ll get twenty million for anything up to five years but more if she hangs on longer. That marriage was like the ultimate, glam reality show; a married edition of Survivor or a real luxe Big Brother.