It is very early in the morning and I am re-entering the Tri-State area with the following nonsense cluttering my head: I forgot to mention last week in my Mariahlogue that there were several occasions during her concert where she would be telling us lambs a story and step over to sip some water (out of a straw).
The water was placed on a stool in front of one of several massive fans in front of the stage, so when she stood there talking she was in a wind tunnel and didn't realize we could hear the wind Mariah more than Mariah Mariah. But her hair did look great so I guess it didn't matter.
I had breakfast with the inimitable new Bravo superstar Jackie "Work Out" Warner at the Four Seasons this morning. When she ordered fruit, cottage cheese, and absolutely no melons on her plate, my Bravo co-workers Cori and Frances and I all froze with glee that we'd been surreptitiously given powerful new info about the dangers of melons. Alas, when we asked Jackie what was wrong with them she told us that they're great but that she hates them. Ma-ha. Joke was on us. Jackie looked great, her business is booming and I don't know how she keeps it all together. She gets $400 bucks per session now. Good for her!
Buckle up for a joyride on the Runway tonight because episode 308 is fun, fun, FUN for the whole family! Then again, I said that last week and almost had a hit taken out on me. Well, I watched it again on the plane tonight and enjoyed it all over again!
Yesterday I alluded to having been talked into an impulse buy at Fred Segal without really telling the story. You deserve more. This has happened several times, but the worst occasion was in 1999ish when I was actually convinced that I looked amazing in, and that it would be perfectly acceptable for me to be seen in, a faux fur coat with what I would consider Joan Crawfordy shoulder pads. I mean to tell you that I looked like a million dollar bill on that 78 degree day inside that store.
I should've known that it was a trap because I'd been conned by this person several other times, but on smaller purchases. Needless to say, the minute I put the thing on in my apartment in NYC I freaked. I cannot convey how many levels of wrong this coat was.
Hilariously, a few weeks later I was telling a magazine editor friend the story of the impulse buy and he asked me who had sold this thing to me. I told him who it was and he went crazy because he'd been hawked the same fur by the same guy but they had just sold my pal's size a day before... to me! I told my friend that he should absolutely have this jacket -- that it was meant to be. Is it wrong that I sold it to him? (I didn't mark it up!)
Why do I feel like I have spent much of my life in the new American Terminal at JFK? Is it because I hate the terminal so much that time goes by so slowly for those who wait? Was I born in St. Louis or in Terminal 9 at JFK? I also invariably get into a spat with the TSA person by the electronic doorway thing about taking my flip-flops off because they don't ever beep and I don't carry explosives in them and if I did they would beep and I don't want to be barefoot on the floor of JFK, let alone that terminal. But it's all my problem for wearing flip-flops and for letting this terminal get the best of me so I shouldn't bring you all into my own private mess.
Someone named Cool27 from SPAIN posted on Monday's blog about "Charlie's Angels." Yo Coolio, who are you and how in the universe did you find the Bravo website in Spain?