Blonde moments

I really love living in my own little world, but on some days it just doesn't work out well.

I just found out one of my very very nice readers decided to give me props on his blog. He says "Nicotine Queen, a witty and feisty gothamite".

How amazing?! Someone likes me! I feel special.

Anyway, having never heard the word gothamite (bare with me, I never claimed genius status) and thinking it sounds really "cool" I look it up on urban dictionary and this is the definition I get:

1. gothamite
The younger generation of the so called "Goth". Originated in the late 90's with the sudden popularity of psudo-goth bands Maralyn Manson, Orgy and the like that dressed vaguely similar to the post-punk goth, lots of black, but with less style. Mostly what the ware are black jeans and t-shirts and dye their hair black. They tend to have less insight into themselves and those around them. Basically kids that want to play dress-up to look dark, brooding and mature.

(don't ya just love how they misspell Marilyn Manson? hello! You are obviously not a fan)

That would NOT be a cool definition and I'm confused. I really could have sworn this guy liked my blog. He's always commenting and saying nice things to me, why would he call me something like that? That does not sound like something I would want to be considered. From this definition, it sounds like a hipster who wears more black. I mean, I talk about having a little goth in me all the time but I don't think I necessarily AM goth. I do wear more black nowadays (but I'm a New Yorker! and it's just so easy) I dyed my hair black (I can't help that I look better with dark hair! I'm Italian and Lebanese for chrissake.) I don't really have much insite to myself right now (I am definitely in the full blows of another quarterlife crisis- or maybe I never came out of it) So. . .me being the over analyst that I am freaked out. Holy Hell! That IS me.

So I proceed to write him an email asking him if he meant to insult me and exactly what is his definition of a gothamite is. I don't want people thinking that about me if I try to damn hard to cover that up! At this point I'm confused enough to ask my NGBF if he would consider me "Goth" and he looked at me like I was stupid. Then I asked him if he would consider me a "Gothamite" to which he replies YES. omg. That's more insulting than being considered a goth (NOT that that is an insult, continue to bare with me) because if I were to be considered anything it would be the real deal, not some pseudo-goth thing.

And this is the point where I find out the true definition of a Gothamite. . .

It's a person who lives in Manhattan. You know, from Batman and the nickname Gotham City? Yea, everyone else reading this figured that out already and I'm the only dumbass on the planet. I get it.

East Coast Dweller (poor guy! I feel terrible about the email even though he was SUCH a sweetheart about the whole thing) has now edited his post to call me "a witty and feisty dweller in Gotham City, aka the Big Apple, aka New York." But I can guarantee I'm the only idiot who would make that mistake.

Buyer's Remorse.

really sucks.
I hate hate hate this feeling. But it got to me. It sucked me in and it's not my fault! I'm blaming the overwhelmingness of Macy's at Herald Square. I had to do it.

Now I have this Coach purse I don't love that cost wayyyy too much and Im going to have to brave the insane crowds risking another panic attack again.

But riding the wooden escalators was soo worth it.

I call bullshit, Sally Hansen.

LESS than 12 hours after painting (WITH a top coat)



And people wonder why I like chipped nail polish. It's easier to maintain. No matter if I spend $1 on a bottle or $8 with OPI and Essie (oh!! Does anyone else remember the craze with Chanel's Vamp? God, I loved that color), it's chipped within the first few hours.

Anyone have any good tricks on how to prevent this? You know, for one day when I care about being classy. (yes, according to the bible- Cosmo- chipped red is the tackiest thing imaginable). But I do think chipped or not, it's a good change from the black (for now).

Uppers and Downers.

I feel like I just pulled 2 all nighters in a row. Not even coffee is working when you're this exhausted. It's times like this I curse my heart condition because an energy drink would totally cure this- but I really don't feel like having my heart explode just for my eyes to open properly. My body is screaming at me for making it function and my bed is crying from neglect. And the saddest part? I have had 7-9 hours of sleep each night. It's just the in between time that had me on my feet or running around the entire city like a crazy person.

And speaking of crazy people, have I met my fair share of those this weekend! I don't know what it is about the movie industry but it seems like that is the mothership. I spent the majority of the weekend making sure I didn't make any sudden movements and trying to dodge them like that plague but apparently I am a magnet for them. They flock to my beauty and want to tell me all about the things that go on in their insanely fucked up heads. Luckily I did not have to listen to a Bush conspiracy theory (that occurred in Union Square around 3am, but I easily avoided it and he sucked a bunch of drunk chicks instead into listening)

I did, however, have someone try to lecture me on smoking (yea. and not just a "hey those are bad for you. haha" like "I care about your health. you shouldn't do that"). I felt really bad for her. She didn't know what she was getting into but at the same time what kind of person lectures someone they don't know on that?! It has been a long time since someone was actually dumb enough to try to engage in an argument with me over this. At first I was willing to humor her (it had been awhile since I had gotten nice and heated over this subject) but I got over it quickly and ended with a suggestion to never do that again to someone you don't know and if you insist on continuing to discuss this with me I am going to be forced to ignore you.(Yes, she happened to be one of the crazies. . and I think she was hitting on me but it was hard to tell with all the socially retardedness going on).

I made a lot of friends with the security department, we seemed to have a lot in common, being that we were pretty much the closest you could get to normal and all. We had fun making fun of the clueless movie-goers together. But, surprisingly I did meet a lot of people that weren't in the industry or trying to break into it. I got along with them really well also. Hope I run into them at the Wrap Up Party! (Yes, a party is involved. How much more amazing can this get?)

What did I do you ask? Well, Saturday I handed out ballots and tallied All Access Passes as they came into the theater. Yesterday I stood outside answering questions and directing traffic (which was my favorite job so far. It reminded me of Disney, with less stupid people. Plus I got to wear a cool red jacket that made me feel important. The sorority girl definitely won the battle this weekend- which was a good change, I was starting to get scared the goth girl killed her). I don't have anything scheduled for the week- I will be working again next weekend, but I might pick something up depending on how tired I am and if I want to forgo my duties and just go to a movie.

Oh! And yesterday I met Isaac Mizrahi. I told him I really like his clothes, but I don't buy them because I think they are too expensive for Target.


kidding!
(about actually telling him that, anyway.)

The 27 club

Before I pass out and die (I am recockulously tired but I will blog about my experiences later), I wanted to share this amazing movie with everyone. I saw it last night at the volunteer screening and was blow away. A-Fuckin-mazing.

The 27 Club.

This is the description on TriBeca's website:

"When Kurt Cobain died in 1994, The New York Times reported that his mother Wendy O'Connor said, ""Now he's gone and joined that stupid club."" That would be the 27 Club, the exclusive domain of rock stars who shuffled off at age 27. Its charter members-Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Jim Morrison (Robert Johnson, ex officio)-have been joined by members of Badfinger, Big Star, Canned Heat, The Grateful Dead, Hole, The Minutemen, and The Stooges, among others. Now Los Angeles rock star Eliot Kerrigan (Joe Anderson of Across the Universe and Control) is dealing with the overdose of his partner Tom Wallace (James Forgey) at the age of 27 by dodging the fans, buying a case of drugs, and hiring a square young grocery clerk (David Emrich) to drive him home to Joplin, Missouri to deliver a note left on a Post-it to Tom's strict military father (David Sherrill), who holds Eliot responsible for his son's death. Along the way they pick up a hitchhiking Irish student, Stella (Eve Hewson), who recognizes Eliot but keeps it to herself. After a run-in with a homeless man (Jimmy Hager), the trio continues on to New York City. Told with economy and restraint by writer/director Erica Dunton (Find Love) and with austere cinematography by Stephen Thompson (Hounddog), The 27 Club is an engaging spin on the road picture that humanizes a familiar tale without psychobabble, reimaging the American highway as an avenue for mourning and forgiveness. "

I cannot rave enough about this movie. It was compelling and moving and funny and heart wrenchingly sad. I cried. What can I say? When I like something I get really involved.

(have I told yall Im on a rockstar kick right now? yea. this totally fits into that category)

Emo- not just a trend.

Coming back from a long day at Tribeca, I saw this ad in the 4 train and risked looking like an asshat to take a picture. It made me giggle. Vandalized on the baby's belly says "he must be emo".

Not many celeb sightings to note (probably b/c I hardly recognize the ones I do know let alone some D-lister) but I did talk to Laura Bell Bundy (for those who aren't hip to broadway, she is Elle Woods in Legally Blonde the musical) I told her I needed her ballot. Yea totally exciting stuff.
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The downfall of moving 1200 miles away from home.

When you suddenly get light headed and nearly pass out on 34th street. At first it feels like a really big panic attack (I mean, you have been bitching there are too many people on the streets at lunchtime) but it doesn't stop. Figuring you need some sugar and a fountain diet coke would be amazing, you wander into a McDonalds sipping your delish drink and realize even after the sugar and the sustenance, if you choose to stand you will in fact pass out because there is no way in hell you can walk the avenue to your office. This is when you realize just how much it sucks to be alone in the city.

The only people you think to call are those in New Orleans who can do little more than tell you to go to the ER (which you flat out refuse- knowing your insurance sucks and knowing you already have a health problem and knowing you don't want to go unless someone holds you hand through it) and in the process you freak them out even more by calling them instead getting into a cab and going straight to the ER (which heaven only knows where one is) or back to work because maybe they would know what to do.

And hours later as you lay in your bed with the room continuing to spin and your head feeling like a fishbowl, you are a 26 year old with no one to cuddle with and make you feel better even if it is just laying next to you.



PS- If I die, someone please make sure Tori Amos makes it to the funeral to sing 1000 Oceans. Thanks!