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gothamwhore

Monday, August 21, 2006

Stream of Consciousness

So today was pretty random, fraught with twists and turns of no consequence whatsoever.

I met a good friend for lunch at Coffee Shop, which I like because of the salads, but hate because of the models and actors who work there. If they weren't so busy with their lines (either snorting them or practicing memorizing them) then maybe they'd have some time to take my order. But I digress...

We were sitting there having a cute little lunch when I look over and see a fairly famous (ok, not so much now, but going to be really famous soon) actor guy I met a month or so ago, eating at a booth across the way from us. He's a very handsome guy, but he was looking a little umm... 'dressed down' today, so it was hard to recognize him. Plus he was talking on the phone, so I only saw the side of his face. I had called and left a voicemail a week or so ago, but never heard anything back from him. Whatevs. But I was glad to bump into him today. When I was about 80% sure it was him, I kinda leaned out and waved, to which he (thankfully!) waved back with a "Hey!!". When he was off the phone he stopped by to say hi and chat. I asked him if he was going to the MAO Magazine party, and he said he wasn't sure. So naturally I invited him along, since it'll most likely be a good time.

Fast forward to later tonight, when I get an email from a designer friend of mine (that means she's a designer, not a brand-name friend... although that's a nice idea.. I gotta get me one of those!) who mentioned that another friend's group will be performing at the MAO Magazine party on August 26th and needs more clothes from her.

So this is the part where I panic because I seriously have NO idea when this thing is and apparently I didn't get an invitation in the mail, which alarms me since I know the guy who runs the company. Because I'm mental, I send out a slew of text messages and emails trying to find out when the fuck this party actually is. Because I'm mental, I also have to go into a whole diatribe in blog form just because I can't deal with the paradox before me. I thought the party typically kicked off Fashion Week, hence it would be in September, but maybe I'm wrong. But I don't want to be wrong because that would just fuck up my plans.

There's no real conclusion to the story... yet. It's just yet another insane rambling that, much like a brand new pencil, is long and pointless.

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