WW07 Part 2: Pants.

Ed. note: Pictures are being added as I get them to my Yahoo! Photos at photos.yahoo.com/lesliegwinn (album Wedding Week 07).

After the rehearsal dinner on Friday night, the wedding party and friends went to the “quad” at our hotel to play a game of wiffleball (my stats: 2 runs, 3 RBIs. Kristin made me a baseball card). After about 6 long innings and losing all of our balls to the bushes, rooftops and dumpsters, we all ended up just sitting on the lawn drinking beer and chatting. Kristin and I ended up sitting and chatting with one of the best men: the groom’s 13-year-old brother, Kevin. Absolutely the coolest 13-year-old we ever met. We basically just sat in a group to the side joaning on people.

Mike (the groom) went to high school at State College High, the local high school in State College, PA (the location of Penn State’s main campus). Sarah, Kfo, Sham and I always used the term “SCAD Grad” (SCAD=State College Area School District) to refer to anyone who went to State High and subsequently Penn State- which was basically Mike and most of his friends. We even wrote them a SCAD! Theme song to the tune of “Fame!” (they hate it. Too bad.). As it got later and later Friday night, more and more SCAD Grads who had arrived in town to attend the wedding Saturday began showing up at the wiffleball field to drink.

One of those guys was someone we will here on refer to as “Pants.”

When “Pants” arrived, he dumbfounded me and Kfo on two levels: 1. How could a grown man be that skinny? 2. How could he get his pants on over his feet without sewing them onto his body? To quote Joe Dell: “There are only two reasons someone walks around looking like “Pants”: A.) He’s a rock star. B.) Heroin addict. We all know he’s not ‘A’.”

Me, Joe, Kristin and Kevin got into a really heated debate about what he was going to wear to the wedding the next day. Would it be something totally weird and edgy like his stretchy pants-wife beater-tight hoodie-emo hair combo? Or was he going to blow all of our minds and expectations by showing up in an Armani suit? We hedged our bets. “Pants” fueled a lot of our banter that night, which only escalated when he sat down on the field to chat with some other SCAD Grads. When he crouched down in those spandex knickers, we were all bracing for a split-pants incident:

Kristin: “If those pants come down any further his is going to shoot out of them.”

Leslie: “One rogue fart and those pants are gone.”

Kristin: “Ya and he would be left standing in only a nude man-beater.”

First of all, it took me a good two minutes to get that line out because I was laughing so hard I couldn’t speak. Second of all, the next day, “Pants” walked right past me before the ceremony and I didn’t recognize him.

Kristin: “He blew all our minds. He went with a great suit.”

Leslie: “THAT’S Pants?”

I should note, because it’s relevant to this blog and to the chronology of the weekend (but not necessarily this story) that when we got in the Limo to ride from our hotel to the church, there was a big screen playing a bootleg copy of Spiderman 3. Like I told Rachel when I got back: “I try to avoid Spiderman and he finds me in a limo in New Jersey. He webbed me.”

Anyway, the reception was everything I thought it would be and then some. Delicious Italian Buffet? CHECK. Open Bar? CHECK. Wedding party announced to the Bulls Theme? CHECK. Inappropriate dancing? CHECK. Leslie as the slutty bridesmaid with cleavage spilling out of her dress? CHECK.

After about 5 rounds of drinks, it was time for the bouquet toss. And yours truly caught it. The real question was which guy would get the garter? As I was standing up there with the bouquet:

Kristin: Look at Bob. He wants it.

Leslie: I think it will be Kevin It would be pretty funny if a13-year-old caught it.

And then we both saw, in slow motion, something that fate could not have better scripted: “Pants” LITERALLY jumping through the air and snatching it out from in front of everyone. Remember Macauly Culkin’s “AHHHHHHHHHHHH” face from Home Alone? Kristin and I turned to each other and replicated that face exactly to each other.

Luckily, the emcee and the groom didn’t pressure “Pants” to go up very high on my thigh with the garter belt. But after a few more drinks, I decided I wanted to draw this joke out even further, so I downed a drink, turned to Kristin and said “watch this.” Little did I know, the joke would be on me.

I went over to “Pants’s” table, where he was sitting alone:

Leslie: Thanks for going easy on me.

Pants: Huh?

Leslie: I’m Leslie. You just felt up my thigh.

Pants: Oh. Right.

Leslie: So you wanna dance?

Pants: I don’t really dance.

Leslie: It’s a slow song. You just go like this (motions slow dancing).

Pants: Where’s the fun in that?

Leslie: Are you kidding me? We’re at a WEDDING.

(Pants’s friend arrives at the table and tries really hard to get “Pants” to dance with me.)

Leslie: It’s no use. I don’t like your friend anyway.

...

Kristin: What was that about?

Leslie: I just got rejected. By Pants. (explains situation)

Kristin: (points to cleavage) Who says “no” to those? (Shamra and Jess concur.)

...

Bob: What’s wrong?

Leslie: I just asked someone to dance and I got shot down. Who says “no” to dancing at a wedding?

Bob: (rhetorically) Who would say no to you?

Leslie: Pants.

Bob: Oh. Pants. I went to school with him. He’s totally weird. Did you see what he was wearing last night?

Leslie (shouting down the head table): KRISTIN! Bob commented on the pants too!

Kfo (shouting back): Tell him about how we thought he was going to shoot out of them.

Leslie (to Bob): So do you want to dance with me?

Bob: Of course I do.

And that’s why Bob is my favorite SCAD Grad.

WW07 Part One of Three: Strip Club Island on the Hudson River.

As you know, for the past week I have been in New York and New Jersey for a hotly anticipated and much-hyped wedding: Mike and Sarah’s WW07 (Wedding Week ’07). I took the train up Tuesday evening and stayed with my friend Sarah (a different Sarah totally unrelated to the wedding). We had a lovely dinner at Patsy’s—a pizzeria in Midtown and then I crashed on her guest bed in Queens. (Thanks Sarah :) !!)

Wednesday morning I met up with my best friend, Kristin (KFo) at our hotel in midtown Manhattan (right next to the Waldorf Astoria. Schwing!). Kristin’s Dad (D-Fo) travels for work pretty much every week of the year and has accumulated a ridiculous amount of air miles and hotel points. So he graciously allowed us to use his “Royal Ambassador Hotel Status” to book a room for this trip. As part of the agreement, we were instructed to “behave yourselves and don’t disgrace my name.”

I believe in the literary world, that previous statement is what they call “foreshadowing.”

Wednesday went fine—went to the Met for the Costume Institute special exhibit, browsed a bit on Fifth Avenue, met Mike and Sarah back at the hotel and checked in and had our bags taken upstairs. At the special “Royal Ambassador” check-in desk, we were informed that as “Royal Ambassadors” we automatically received a 4pm check-out and COMPLIMENTARY MINIBAR.

This is when things started to get awesome.

Mike polished off every scotch and whiskey airplane bottle within the first hour of checking in. Kristin (who has a very low tolerance for alcohol) had no idea if her clothes even matched as we were leaving for dinner. And true to form, Sarah removed every Amstel Light can and Wine bottle from the minibar and hid them in her suitcase so that we could get a full re-stock when they came back to refill.

Sarah, Kristin and I had reservations at Nobu that evening. Mike and Joe (Mike’s brother/Best Man) decided to find a place nearby in Soho to eat so that we could all meet up at a bar afterwards. As we left Nobu, we called to find out where they ended up so we could meet them. Diva. They ended up at a restaurant called “Diva.” The rest of the evening was a bar hop of sorts from Soho to Midtown and a led to a very hungover morning—particularly for Kristin.

I was the itinerary nazi and made everyone get up in the morning so we could fit in the day’s activities. That included lunch at The Spotted Pig, shopping at Marc Jacobs, cupcakes at Magnolia, a trip to Sephora to get makeup for the wedding, and the last stop, which will here on be referred to as “Chinatown Pashmina Incident 2006.”

Our bridesmaid dresses were halters, so in order to cover our shoulders in the church, we decided to get matching pashminas for all the girls to wear during the ceremony. These run about four bucks a pop in Chinatown. However, after a day of walking all about downtown in 91-degree weather and rushing around in crowds, nearly all of us were about to snap—and we could not find 5 matching pashminas to save our lives. Finally, we got to a street stand where I am on my hands and knees pillaging as quickly as possible for a 5-matching-set of neutral/light pink/nude-colored wraps. For every color I found that worked, there only seemed to be 4 that matched. So I asked the lady at the stand if she had anymore that matched any of the many 4-sets we’d pulled out. She said that two of the sets matched. I said “no. they don’t.” Even though she seemed to disagree that the colors weren’t matching (THEY TOTALLY WEREN’T), she said “which color do you want me to find?” I said it didn’t matter as long as there were 5 of the same. Sarah (the Bride) said “at this point I would accept Gak Green if we could find 5 matches.”

The situation at this point is that I am standing there about to explode, while this little pissed-off Asian lady goes wandering around for a good 15 minutes to other stands trying to find a matching colored pashmina. I would have bet a million bucks she’d come back with the wrong color, but instead I just stood there impatiently, checking e-mail on my blackberry while waiting. She came back, I glanced up from my blackberry and looked and said totally non-chalantly: “That’s totally not the same color.” She said “Yes. It same.” I didn’t even look up. “No. not same. Totally different. They need to match exactly.”

“They same color!”

“NO! THEY NOT SAME COLOR! [still reading e-mail]. This is ridiculous. We’re going somewhere that knows how to match.”

The determination and fury that fueled our pashmina shopping for the next 5 minutes was unparalleled by any shopping phenomena I’ve ever witnessed. And in the end, we came out successful with five matching pashminas, a $20 tab and one relieving subway ride back to get ready for dinner and the bachelor/ette party.

For the bachelor/ette party, Joe and I booked a club that I’ve been to several times before: Ava Lounge on the penthouse floor of the Dream Hotel. The area reserved for us was directly overlooking Times Square and Kristin’s favorite Diddy (Sean John) billboard. This was the part of the weekend where all the groomsmen showed up—two of whom were majorly responsible for Shamra and I not remembering most of our senior year: Bob and Jeff—and we hadn’t seen them in three years. At this point, Shamra had also joined the group as well as two of the other groomsmen, Bruce and Greg. Bob’s sister was also there and a few other area friends. By 2am, management kicked us out of the main part of the lounge and onto the roofdeck. This is when and where we decided it was time to go to a strip club. So I started asking around the club for venue suggestions. The first strip club we ended up at had a cover that they wouldn’t waive for the ladies at the party, and before Jeff could get out money to cover the girls to get in (who all said “If I want to see boobs, I’ll just look in the mirror”), Bob’s sister suggested a place downtown. So we all got on the Subway and headed to Spring Street.

We walked around in circles downtown for about an hour and ended up at the Hudson River. 12th Avenue. As we were on the phone with another friend who was out, trying to tell her where to meet us, she said: “Does 12th Avenue even exist?” Indeed, it does.

I was fed up at this point and got in a cab with Sham, Sarah and Kfo back to midtown. The rest of the group followed us. I had the key and raced upstairs with Kristin because I had had to pee since the Subway ride. It was in the elevator that I am realizing that I’d lost my wallet. I knew I had it in the cab, because I paid the driver. But I am also inventorying the contents of the wallet: my ID, all my credit cards, all my cash and my ATM card...aaaaaaand I am having a panic attack. I sent Kristin downstairs to deal with the situation and find out what she could. What we found out was that apparently Sarah is autistic because she had memorized every number on that cab. This was very helpful, but still panicked, and thinking it wouldn’t be returned, I said: “I’d make out with that cab driver if he brought me my wallet back. Hell, I’D MAKE OUT WITH ANYONE WHO BROUGHT MY WALLET BACK!”

No sooner did I verbalize that than I hear cheering in the hallway and my panic quickly turns to jubilation. Jeff, who pulled up in the cab behind us, saw my wallet in the middle of 48th street and knew it had to be one of ours. This is me with my newly recovered wallet:


He however, was unable to collect his reward because Jeff, Bob and Bob’s sister had gone to find beer for the hotel room and sent the others up with my recovered wallet. Otherwise I probably would have jumped him. (I knew he wouldn't have a problem with that.) When they returned from the beer run there was beer leaking out everywhere because they had dropped it on the way. Beer all over the Royal Ambassador suite carpet. Awesome.

About an hour and a half later, around 5:30am, we kicked everyone out because we had received our first (but not last) noise violation of the week..

The next morning, Kristin found a slice of pizza behind the living room couch.

Kristin: “This better not go on DFo’s permanent record.”

At that, we headed to New Jersey for the rehearsal. That trip ended up getting us lost in the Bronx for about 10 minutes and a coining of the term “tool douche” as a general road rage expletive.

Coming up in part two: “Pants” and the bouquet toss.
Coming up in part three: Noise violation #2.

Hiatus.

I'm leaving town tomorrow for WW7. (Wedding Week 2007, not World War 7. Although it's been said that they might be on par with each other if we're rating each on the "shock and awe" potential.)

Weekend was great though. I'm short on time, trying to wrap up work before I head to NY for the week, but we'll play a little phrase association as a recap:

Friday Happy Hour--Lasted until 2am. Started at Irish Times. Ended at Big Hunt. Draw your own conclusions.

Saturday Morning-- Began at 1pm.

Movie: Little Children-- Felt physically ill at several points during the movie. Felt a bit violated after watching it. IT WAS GREAT! Jennifer Connelly is the hottest woman alive.

Dinner: Outside at Rosemary's Thyme Bistro-- Saw a woman in funny glasses stopped at the intersection by our table...She had her head lying outside an open car door window as if she were sleeping (wearing funny glasses and a fake mustache) cuddling a rubber chicken which was ALSO wearing a fake mustache. We all laugh. Except they sit at the red light for about 60 seconds. AWKWARD. Later, when I texted a couple people about this sighting, Rachel will instruct me to "specify that it was a fake mustache on the chicken so that they won't think I am referring to an excess of feathers." I also reach the conclusion that weenie dogs evolved from T-Rex's. SHORT, USELESS ARMS. C'MON!

Bar: Jen's Birthday--Typical bar music: Nickelback, Hinder, Kylie Minogue, FERGALICIOUS, the Brokeback Mountain theme. My Analysis, respectively: VOMIT. VOMIT. VOMIT. OK, sometimes I do work out to Fergalicious...but VOMIT. And, WAIT. What??? the Brokeback Mountain theme?

I wonder how you could make the Brokeback Mountain theme any gayer. Well, I guess you could turn it into a techno song.

WHICH HAPPENED.

Just when I thought we were in for a soothing gay movie theme, they took it up a level and decided to add backbeat, and I am pretty sure...acid.

All and all, the party was pretty fun. There was a Care Bear cake, a roofdeck, the music eventually remedied its reputation by playing Lily Allen's "Smile" four times, and then I was offered Cocaine by a questionable fellow who seemed to take a liking to me. All I could tell him was, "I am going to have to just say no." Aaaaaand, EXIT PARTY.

Sunday morning: Began at 2pm. Watched some basketball. Went to the movies (saw "Away From Her." Good movie, but a bit of a downer. Which, going into it knowing that it was a film about Alzheimer's, I didn't expect anything less.) Sat on my stoop and read outside for a while. Got bit by a spider. Didn't turn me into Spiderwoman though. Dang.

"Blam" + "Plot Twist" = Integral Elements of my Video Resume.

So a lot of you know I have reached a decision about moving--I'm doing it! New York. August. Getting an apartment with some friends. So begins the job search. I only recently started looking and applying, but I haven't heard anything yet. And I think I know why. It's because I don't have a video resume.

Video resumes "combine the excitement of a paper resume with the production quality of a home video." Well, just watch this report that Robbie sent me:



I think now is the perfect time for me to get started on producing my video resume. I’m feeling really creatively inspired after watching a movie this weekend. I know what you’re thinking: “It was Spiderman 3, wasn’t it, Leslie?” No, it was not Spiderman 3, reader.

And please know that when I say “creatively inspired” I mean “stupefied by the terribleness” of the movie. The film to which I’m referring is “Smokin’ Aces.”

I went into it knowing it was an action flick/mob movie—with a great cast, mind you: Andy Garcia, Jeremy Piven (OK, a lot of you might not think he’s GREAT, but I love him), Jason Bateman (I will see ANYTHING he’s in), Ray Liotta, Peter Berg, Ben Affleck, Matthew Fox….(note that Ryan Reynolds and Common are also in this movie but I left them out of the “great cast” list for a reason) Have you seen the commercial for the Smokin’ Aces DVD where they just quote the New York Times review? It reads:

“F.B.I.! F.B.I.!” Blam blam blam blam. “[Expletive]. [Expletive].” Blam blam blam. Spurt of blood. Plot twist. “F.B.I.! F.B.I.!” “[Expletive].” Blam blam blam blam blam. “[Expletive].” “F.B.I.!” “Hotel Security!” Blam. Exploding skull. Guy sits on a chain saw. Montage. [Expletive]. Plot twist. Roll credits.”

Well they were fuckin’dead-on with that review.

Oh, except the commercial failed to mention the other part of the review: “A Viagra suppository for compulsive action fetishists and a movie that may not only be dumb in itself, but also the cause of dumbness in others. Watching it is like being smacked in the face for a hundred minutes with a raw sirloin steak.”

Alright, well next in my queue is “Little Children.” I know Kate Winslet’s movies don’t feature a lot of “blam,” but they usually don’t disappoint.

On the previous episode of "The Office"

Back from my meeting (mentioned in previous post). I think I can sum it up with this phrase: “Awesomely exceeded my expectations.”

First of all, I feel bad. I mischaracterized the Science consultant guy as Dwight. He’s definitely more of a Kevin. Other than that, I’ll just go thru the meeting chronologically, referring to my co-workers by their “Office” character name.

Me: [setting up meeting supplies]
Everyone else: [sitting around]
Michael Scott: I could really use some scotch tape, Leslie.
Me: [glaring as I continue setting up while he just sits there watching]
Michael Scott: Okkkkkkkkk. I guess I can go get it. [Goes to get scotch tape, returns. Stands at the end of the conference table and says:] “How close do you think I can get it to the edge of the table without it going over the edge?” [No answer. Hurls tape into the air. Hits the center of the conference table.]
Me: [completely blank stare].


Flipchart is now set up at the front of the room—
Michael Scott: Ok, well, I guess I’ll be “El Scribo” [takes the marker].
Me: [mental aside] Told you. (see previous pre-meeting post for reference)
Michael Scott: [Talks for about 10 minutes on the situation, then wraps up by saying in ‘cool guy’ voice] OK, well that’s about everything I can download to your systems right now.
Me: [mental aside] Cancel or allow?

Brainstorming session begins.


Around lunchtime—
Me: Should we order lunch? Do you guys like Thai food? Michael Scott suggested “Bua Thai.” Or we could get sandwiches somewhere else or something.
Michael Scott: I can’t eat anything white.
Me: What?
Michael Scott: I’m on a “no white food” diet.
Me: Are you being serious?
Michael Scott: No rice or anything.
Me: What about yogurt?
Michael Scott: Yeah, that’s fine.
Andy/Drew: Milk?
Michael: Yeah, well what I mean is I eat brown rice or whole wheat products.
Me: So really all you’re doing is replacing simple carbs with whole grains, soooo not really a no-white-food diet.
Michael: Well, I guess if you put it that way.
Me: [Go around the circle asking everyone what they want, Michael Scott is last to order].
Michael Scott: Ok, I will….have….the….Pad Thai.
Me: Um, you know, Pad Thai noodles are made of rice. WHITE rice.
Michael Scott: OK, I GET IT. Very funny. Just get me the Pad Thai.
Me: [chuckling as I write down the order and then ask Michael Scott…] Do you have the number for Bua in your cell phone?
Michael Scott: Yes, I sure do-ah.
Me: [mental aside] Pam, please tell me you heard that.

Later that afternoon, Michael Scott handed over the floor (not marker) to Andy/Drew for a few minutes to discuss how we should order the Power Point slides. I was pretty much sitting there with my mouth open in disbelief over the trivialness of the whole discussion. So then they start going back and forth over how many slides we should have. 10? 12? Should we meet halfway at 11? Then Andy/Drew goes over to the flip chart and begins counting how many slides we have listed (at a glacial pace):

Andy/Drew: 1……..2…….thr-
Me: Eleven.
Andy/Drew: 3…….4…..
Me: [now whispering] Eleven. Eleven. Eleven.
Andy/Drew: …5…How many does this item represent?
Me: Three, like it says in parentheses.
Andy/Drew: ….8….9……
Me: Eleven.
Andy/Drew: …….10……11. We have eleven slides. Is that too many or two few?
Me: [mental aside] OH. MY. GOD.
Michael Scott: You know, it would be great if we could incorporate a podcast on one of those slides. Can we do that?
Andy/Drew: Absolutely.
Michael Scott: Yeah, Leslie. Just do that slide so that a podcast just pops out, and LOOK! There’s video!”
Leslie: [mental aside] You have no idea what a podcast is. Maybe you should Wikipedia that term.


I went into that meeting at 11 a.m. Got out at 2. I can’t believe I still have brain function. Have a nice weekend, everyone.

This week on "The Office"

I really hope I don’t regret posting this later. But a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in Rachel’s apartment watching a Tivo’d episode of The Office and something ridiculous was happening onscreen and I commented “How could anyone deal with having a boss as ridiculous as Michael Scott?” To which Rachel replied, “Um, isn’t your boss kind of like that?”

That is when and where I had a workplace epiphany.

It’s true, I am working for Michael Scott. It’s hard to explain in one post, but if you spent longer than a couple of days around him you’d totally understand. He swears by Wikipedia. He listens to island music. I wouldn’t put him past bringing in a steel drum for office morale. He gets totally hyped up on at least one new “idea” every week and can’t focus on anything but that. He won’t stop talking about it until it inevitably fizzles (which I saw coming from the get-go). He serial dates (basically) the same exact girl for about 6-9 months at a time, then amicably breaks up with her and ends up dating her clone in less than 2 weeks flat. He doesn’t see a pattern in that. He comes into my office and a just starts telling me completely un-work-related stories on the regular while I just kind of sit there awkwardly and nod my head. If there were a camera crew following me around, I’d be throwing in “little comments” and awkward looks right and left, a la Jim. Since I’ve been on Google chat, Rachel is usually the IM recipient of my “Jim asides.”

And similar to Michael Scott, once you get past all that ridiculousness, he’s generally a likeable guy.

So, that was epiphany #1.

#2 came during a conference call with our office president in Philadelphia. I wish I had a recording of the two of them interacting and could post it as an mp3 file on here, because those two have their own “cool guy” language. And by cool I mean “ridiculously lame.” Think Rob Schneider’s office copier guy skit from SNL. If I could post a recording of those two, you’d immediately be able to I.D. Philly boss as the Andy/Drew character from The Office. He likes to repeat things you say in a funny voice, speak in jargon, is always turned to "network," crushes your hand when he shakes it, and I’m pretty sure he wrote this line: “Just call me William Doolittle. AKA Will Do.”

Why am I telling you this? Because today at 11 I have a brainstorming meeting scheduled with Michael Scott, Andy/Drew (he’s commuting in for the meeting from Philly) and…Dwight Schrute. Yeah, that’s right. Today at the meeting, the Dwight character will be played by a Scientist consultant we bring in for some of our more technical projects. We met him through a science organization that my Company is a part of. I was forced to attend the Christmas party for this organization last year and it is made up of the biggest bunch of misfits I’ve ever encountered. Rather than mingle at the party, I decided to park it at the bar for the duration of the night where I spoke to a 50-something Scientist with an almost indecipherable stutter. This was the better alternative than having to face a crowd of socially retarded geeks rocking out to that night’s entertainment: a science jingle singing band. You think I’m making this up, but I assure you, I could not make this up.

Alright, so I've got an hour until meeting time today...in which I have to place a take out order for thai food (that's what Michael Scott has chosen for "catering"...Although I wish we were taking a field trip to Benihana) and find one of those big flip charts on a tripod. And markers- "Don't forget markers. That's important." (No, I didn't make that quote up either). I'm pretty sure no one but Michael Scott is going to get to hold the marker during the meeting.

Since I don't have a video camera or g-chat to record my asides, I'll be sure to write them down on a legal pad and scan that in. Wish me luck.

MET Gala red carpet re-cap

It’s MET Costume Institute Special Exhibit season again. I’ve gone to the exhibit for the past two years, beginning in 2005 with a history of Chanel and last year’s “Anglomania,” featuring works by the likes of Alexander McQueen and Vivienne Westwood. This year’s Vogue-sponsored temporary exhibit is “Poiret: King of Fashion.” I am going to the exhibit in two weeks with my best friend and partner in preventing fashion crimes, Kristin.

For those of you who don’t know, every year from May through August, Vogue sponsors a fashion exhibit at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. And every year, they host a celebrity/socialite-saturated red carpet soiree for the unveiling of the exhibit. Every year I log onto Style.com the next morning to check out the dresses worn to the premiere. Because it’s a fashion industry event, the clothes are always even more exciting and, well, “fashion-forward” than other red-carpet events.

This year’s event was no exception. There were dresses ranging from the marvelous to the despicable. Without further ado, my picks:

FAVES--
Stella McCartney (center): Sparkly vegan minidresses get me every time. Shamra (my token vegan friend), take note: just because you drink soy milk and eat tofurkey doesn't mean you have to do so in hemp birkenstocks and burlap jumpsuits.



Sophie Dahl: LOVE the dress. Fix your GD hair & makeup, though.



Liv Tyler: You know…I probably wouldn’t love this dress standing alone. The color isn’t my favorite. But with her hair and lipstick and styling choices, I think she looks fantastic. Liv’s one of my favorite style icons in general. She can pull off most looks, in my book.


Cat Deeley: Didn’t know who she was til this picture, but I really like the dress and the way she styled the look. She’s pictured here with Burberry designer Christopher Bailey (whose date last year was Sienna Miller in the gold sequin mini dress...which made it OK for people to wear gold sequins again).


Best/Worst Border
Hey- remember a few months ago when I said Cobalt blue is all the rage? Well, I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but “toot toot!” However, there is a right and wrong way to wear it. Kudos to 30 Rock’s Emily Mortimer for getting it right. And as usual, Kirsten “Snaggletooth” Dunst is a HOT MESS.




DISAPPOINTMENTS (besides Dunst, she takes the cake):

As many great dresses as there were, there was an equal amount of terrible (if not more). There are some people I expect terrible from (cough Snaggletooth Dunst coughcough). But the terrible bar is raised when people who normally do right by fashion completely miss the boat.

Shalom Harlow: She was always my favorite MTV House of Style host (I never much cared for Cindy). I sure hope she can explain this debacle by having signed some sort of contract as a spokesmodel for a haunted house chain.



Parker Posey: At first I thought she just had a hot glue gun and black lace scraps lying around and decided to go D.I.Y. on our asses. But then I read the caption: “Parker Posey in Marc Jacobs.” In theory, there’s no way that couldn’t be more perfect. In reality, total disaster.



You know, if you're a dude, it's so easy to just go "Armani Tux" and look fantastic. Even if you want to be a bit more fashion-forward, like Paul Bettany did for this event, go with a classic suit by a more avant garde designer. He wore a nice, modern Balenciaga suit. The guy pictured below, however (and whoever that lady is) just took it to the next level. And its completely inexcusable. Aside from the suit, he beat Donald Trump, who also attended the event, for most ridiculous hair:


And by the way, another thing that was totally inexcusable was this Dunst getup from the Stockholm premiere of Spiderman 3 last week. Yeah, that’s right I am going to keep talking about Spiderman and you all are going to keep thinking that I love that trilogy.


Dear Kirsten Dunst, I don't web you or your dress.

Dear Soft Taco Supreme: I Webbed You.

Last night I went to this event called “Shecky’s Girls Night Out” at DAR Constituion Hall. It’s a fashion/beauty/shopping event sponsored by a vodka company and a wine company. So for the $14 we paid to get in, you get a bag full of freebies, unlimited cocktails, and however long you want to shop at the various boutique vendors. Daily Candy was promoting it a couple months ago and tickets were cheap, so Rachel and I signed up. (Good thing, too—because it sold out quickly).

First complaint: Lots of girly cocktails, no food. All I wanted was a beer and some fucking Nachos. When is guys night out? Sign me up for that. They’re lucky the event didn’t coincide with a Mavs game (who by the way are STILL ALIVE. Thank you, Dirk). Anyway—you’d think that if you’re cramming a bunch of girls into a venue with unlimited alcohol I could at least get a Luna Bar or something. Martini olives? Water?? Seriously, I hit Taco Bell with a vengeance after that thing and inhaled a soft taco supreme drenched in Fire Sauce when I got home.

Second complaint: Really, I went to check out the fashion. And most of the booths there were clothing or accessories, with a cosmetic company or birth control promotional stand thrown in here and there. (Yeah, there was a stand for birth control. I guess if you’re going to liquor up a bunch of single city girls and not give them food, its really the only responsible thing). However, there was one stand I did not appreciate. As I was waiting for Rachel to finish looking at some earrings, a person from the next booth over approached me and said “Can I interest you in an orgasm?” Since it wasn’t George Clooney or James Spader doing the asking, and it was in fact some strange lady handing me what appeared to be a coaster of sorts, I looked at her silently as if she had just asked me if she could enslave my firstborn child. Then I just turned to Rachel and pointed. Anyway, the booth was for “Slumber Parties,” specializing in lingerie and “romance enhancers.” If you’ve ever been in a discussion with me about those silly parties, you know its not my cup of tea. And I roll my eyes at the people who throw them. Its not cool with me to sample sex toys at a group party like your sampling a fucking cheese tray. I love Sex and the City as much as the next single girl, but I like to keep my business to myself. And I request you do the same when conversing with me. You want to tell me about your love life, fine. But the only place I want play-by-play is on Sportscenter.

Third complaint: Too fucking crowded.

Other than that, the event was pretty cool. I ended up buying a silver fortune cookie charm necklace. So, event planners: Add nachos, add space, and eliminate people that ask you inappropriate questions in public.

And on a totally unrelated note, Spiderman 3 comes out tomorrow. I have no idea why, but my friends seem to think I am some sort of ultimate Spiderman fan. This is actually totally false and I have no idea how the rumor got started. I enjoyed the first movie, despite an utter loathing of Kirsten Dunst. I saw Spiderman 2 on an airplane flying back from the west coast. I turned it off mid-movie. Just to clarify, I turned off the only entertainment available on a 7-hour flight. You draw your own conclusions. I actually have higher hopes for the third, but only because Topher Grace is in it and I find him pretty amusing. I won’t see it opening weekend or anything, like some superfans I know (cough Levi cough cough), but probably eventually…

The BEST tie-in commercial I’ve seen though (actually the best commercial I have seen so far this year):

A Change of Address?

Well, I was going to write all about my weekend-won our football game in the last 4 seconds; went to see Paramore at the 9:30 Club and hung out with some friends I haven’t seen since high school at the show; attended closing day of DCFilmfest, which featured a screening of Paris, Je T’Aime.

But all of that has been overshadowed by my roommate telling me last night that she is moving out June 1st. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be a big deal—I’d just find a new roommate and sign another lease. But some of you know I was considering a move to New York City this fall. And this roommate news is really forcing me to weigh my options (I’ve pretty much been weighing them all night long and am running on little-to-no sleep—please pardon any typos):

1. Stay in my apartment and find a new roommate (really, there is like a 0.05% chance of this happening)
2. Stay in my apartment and keep it all to myself (probably about 30% chance)
3. Stay in DC and find a cheaper apartment for myself (4.95%)
4. Move to New York in the July/August range (35%)
5. Move to New York in the October/November Range (30%)

I have a phone date tonight with a close friend of mine who is living in NJ and working in the city and might be looking to move to Manhattan in August. MY main concern at this point is not finding a place to live. It’s finding a job. And then there is my job here- which is so flexible and laid back-and I am pretty sure my boss would be devastated if (when) he finds out. Do I tell him I’m looking or keep quiet? Especially since I’ve written nothing in stone yet.

My motivation for moving wouldn’t be work, I’ve just always wanted to live in New York. I am at a place in my life when I CAN. And for several months I’ve been feeling that I’m not “happy” in Washington- just content. And I’ve always lived in this general area, I think I would really regret it later in my life if I didn’t make a change.

I am a relatively laid-back person. But things like major change are known to give me anxiety attacks. Like what if I move to NY and I absolutely HATE it? Will I be able to afford it? I’ve heard nightmare stories about people working from like 7am until 10 at night- Will that be me?

I hoping that after talking with some of my friends there this week and with my mom (I don’t need a yes or no from her, and I’m sure she’d support whatever I choose, but I do need to hear that she thinks it’s a smart move—even if she doesn’t particularly like it).

I also just bought plane tickets last week for 10 days in Maui in September (for Jessica and Robbie’s wedding). By the time that rolls around, I think I will definitely need a break from life. Now I am just regretting I didn’t book 2 full weeks.