5:00am dilemma...
Bake cupcakes, watch Project Runway, or return to livejournal after months of...well, nothing?
For once, livejournal has actually won out. However, this is usually how my nights off play out three days out of the week. My other four nights are spent getting people into nightclubs, sending flowers to Paul Galliano (oh god, best night ever? Almost!), providing support to Rolling Stone at 3am (because homeboy really, really needs that soft box light), and generally doing all sorts of things that we're all much, much too poor to do ourselves.
I can officially claim ONTD!, Vogue, and NY Magazine as work research, and my god, some days it does't get better than that.
Admittedly, I've given up any semblance of a social life for nightly conversations with the best restaurants in the world (except you el Bulli, you litle scamp), and getting on a first name basis with reservationists (rip Jean Paul at l'ami Louis) and club hosts alike.
Mind you, all of this supposed glamour comes with a destroyed sleep schedule, an intimate knowledge of anywhere that delivers food in Burlington, and way too much time to watch horrible movies that can only be run after 2:00am, lest they offend anyone with an ounce of cinematic appreciation.
Hopefully I may stick with updates, but probably not in the next week and a half. I've got four days of preparation until Drunk Week '08 officially commences: work until Sunday, then Flogging Molly Monday, wherein a lovely punk boy and his diminutive friend have promised a blinding hangover for Tuesday's flight to Vegas.
Yes yes! The girl who said only Cher would get her to Vegas is going on a three-day jaunt for a boys weekend...in the middle of the week (with one girl). Free suite at the Venetian, VIP treatment all the way, and then strip clubs and Showgirls references until my throat is hoarse? Good fucking times ahoy.
Next post rocks with pictures, or none of it happened.
For once, livejournal has actually won out. However, this is usually how my nights off play out three days out of the week. My other four nights are spent getting people into nightclubs, sending flowers to Paul Galliano (oh god, best night ever? Almost!), providing support to Rolling Stone at 3am (because homeboy really, really needs that soft box light), and generally doing all sorts of things that we're all much, much too poor to do ourselves.
I can officially claim ONTD!, Vogue, and NY Magazine as work research, and my god, some days it does't get better than that.
Admittedly, I've given up any semblance of a social life for nightly conversations with the best restaurants in the world (except you el Bulli, you litle scamp), and getting on a first name basis with reservationists (rip Jean Paul at l'ami Louis) and club hosts alike.
Mind you, all of this supposed glamour comes with a destroyed sleep schedule, an intimate knowledge of anywhere that delivers food in Burlington, and way too much time to watch horrible movies that can only be run after 2:00am, lest they offend anyone with an ounce of cinematic appreciation.
Hopefully I may stick with updates, but probably not in the next week and a half. I've got four days of preparation until Drunk Week '08 officially commences: work until Sunday, then Flogging Molly Monday, wherein a lovely punk boy and his diminutive friend have promised a blinding hangover for Tuesday's flight to Vegas.
Yes yes! The girl who said only Cher would get her to Vegas is going on a three-day jaunt for a boys weekend...in the middle of the week (with one girl). Free suite at the Venetian, VIP treatment all the way, and then strip clubs and Showgirls references until my throat is hoarse? Good fucking times ahoy.
Next post rocks with pictures, or none of it happened.