Trevor-I met Trevor working the door Tuesdays at Cinespace. (Steve Aoki later fired me for “not collecting any money and just talking to boys.” He then had to pay me to just socialize upstairs. So I talked to boys upstairs and they collected more money downstairs, apparently. I got to talk to Trevor more. He was part of the beginning of Hush Hush aka “my first party,” and most others involved. Trevor DJed and made our flyer each month for free. Other DJs who were getting paid, bitched and wrote me crazy emails demanding insano amounts of money that we were not making. Trevor never asked for a thing. Finally, we started to make enough money to pay more of the people involved. The first person I knew deserved it was Trevor. When I say, “pay” maybe I gave him a hundred bucks. He could have cared, which was awesome. That’s Trevor. He’s just an awesome dude, not fronting at all. I talk to Trevor/have something I need to talk to Trevor about at least once a day. I have no idea how that happened. I think it might have been one too many trips to Cactus.

Russ-I woke up hung over one Wednesday morning, after some Tuesday night that ended when it was light out. I check my voicemail and I have this bitchy ass message from some dude who I deemed “Steve Aoki’s intern,” but later became know as “Russ.” The message is super serious and accuses me of stealing some dumb Dim Mak collection sample shirt or hoodie or something, I would never want. Apparently, I “stole” it from Steve’s office the previous evening. I call Steve furious, bitching about his intern accusing me of stealing some dumb ass shit. He tries to defend himself saying “Russ” was told to call everyone from the previous evening. He kept trying to explain that he did not think I/my friends stole the item, but he just needed to scare everyone to find the person who did. I am pissed/offended/hungover and keep interrupting his dumb explanations by swearing at him. I finally scream over him, “I was wearing a 400 dollar dress last night. I didn’t steal your dumb-ass dinosaur print shit” I then hung up, decided I hated Russ, and went back to sleep. “Russ” introduced himself to me the next week. He was neither a 17-year-old intern nor asshole. We have been friends ever since. I have screamed at Russ and “cried at” Russ, when over stressed. One afternoon at Cinespace after crying/yelling at Russ on the phone, I told him to hold on while I could scream at Stuart. Stuart wouldn’t speak to me for two hours. I finally apologized to Stuart. He made me call Russ to say “Sorry,” too. Russ loves me “even though I am crazy.”

(Oh, Trevor gets the same credit for the yelling/crying crazy toleration of me. Both these boys are legit and I love them to death.)

Rony-Rony starts like Trevor. He came to Cinespace Tuesdays. The door dude would “confiscate his camera equipment. I would “hold onto it.” I would go grab a drink upstairs and give it to him. Like Mark, Rony made fun of me everytime he took my picture because I always looked the same. Rony got mad at Julie and me for leaving him at the boring ass Nylon crap and going to “fun places” at SXSW. He then seemed angrier at the fact we returned drunk. He would sort of get mad when I showed up to events; he was in need of Julie’s help on. He had this huge line of drunken dessert of weirdos, in line waiting for their photos at the Filter thing at Coachella. We had just gotten there from LA. He had a mirror, in the corner behind all his stuff. He was too busy too notice I was lying on the ground in front of it, using it to do my make-up for at least fifteen minutes. He should have yelled at me earlier.

Le Disko-Le Disko was one of those kids I saw everywhere, talked to, and had no idea who the hell he was. I had no idea about the DJing or whatever else homeboy entails. We made strange conversation everytime we saw each other. I seriously did not know his name until the last month I was in LA. Frankie Chan told me who he was. I nodded to Franki, realizing i was completely retarded, “That totally makes sense. I should really ask people their names.”

Katy Perry-Never met her. I don’t think she lived in LA, until recently. I secretly hate her. Actually no I actually hate her, no secret. All her Myspace photos are of her and her cat. They are like BFFs. Its like Katy in formalwear with her cat. Then Katy and her cat in matching Pajamas. This used to be me. It is not anymore. My cat died. My roommate killed her/let her out. She got hit by a car. She was my best friend in the entire world. Katy makes me think about that, cry hysterically, and then remember how awesome it was to find my cat dead in the driveway. Thanks Katy!

Cisco Adler-My attorney has suggested I type “pass.”

I ignored everyone else, on said list. I will presume, they are prolly like um sorta famous people Trevor forced to realize they were “born to be writers.” They prolly got busy with thier Facebook’s and bailed.

This week I watched Gossip Girl. Through the entire 13 hours, all I could think about was how bad I wanted to make out with Chuck. I kept telling myself it was “cool.” These teenage actors are always 35. Um he is barely 20. I am officially creepy.

missbehave valentines semi-formal friday night!

jacket required.

The last time the Patriots won the Super Bowl, I feared for my life. The second the game ended people started running out their doors, beers in hand, screaming obscenities in Boston accents. They seemed unclear what to do with all their energy. Neighbors who had never even spoken to one another, clashed their beer cans together, and became brothers. Their arguments about who shoveled out which parking spot and who was responsible for the abandoned mattress on the sidewalk were long forgotten. The Patriots has just won the Superbowl. Everything was forgiven.

Together they would attempt to tip over every single car in Boston together, as one.

We watched the whole thing from our seemingly safe second floor window. Together our drunken neighbors chanted the cars description i.e. “Green car Green car, “ Then ten of them would drunkenly attempt to tip over the green vehicle, unsuccessfully. They moved onto to their next target “Gold sedan Gold sedan,” again with no luck. The whole debacle continued for close to a half hour. It climaxed as they approached a white 15-passenger van. My roommates and I grabbed another drink and marveled as they chanted “Big Van Big van.” They gave up and headed down to Fenway at this point, where people were actually trying to kill one another.

I spent Sunday evening, driving from Boston to New York. I listened to the game on the radio. At that 2-minute mark, part of me wished I had stayed to witness what mayhem it seemed was about to ensue. When that game ended, I will say I was glad I wasn’t there.

I certainly hope Tom Brady’s car was not parked on the street

-”Do not date DJs”-They were losers in junior high. They want hot boring girls, that would not have given them the time of day in high school. They initially are attracted to you in you designer dress because you are handing them wads of cash. They think they want to fuck you. They may once. In the end they want a girl who doesn’t judge them for playing their Um-ber-ella remix twice. They want a girl who totally just went to the Rihanna concert, like in a bra top, with a belly ring.

-”LA will never make you famous”-No one cares how many times your picture has been on the Cobrasnake. There is no section for that on a resume. Unless, you are a DJ or aspiring CW star leave LA now.

-”Once you have lived in LA you will never live anywhere normal again”-Try moving to Philadelphia. Seriously try it. You will want to die.

-”Do nothing for free”-If people “need” you to do things, they are things that make them money. They are asking you to do these things so they make MORE money. They are asking you to do things for free because they are cheap assholes and are using you. Oh and btw “Intern” is just another word for slave.

-”Girls look cute in glasses”-My eyes are getting worse and I am wearing my glasses more and more. I have been debating about contacts, but due to the fact I lose/break everything this seems like something that does not fit my “lifestyle.” Everytime I forget to take them off and walk in somewhere with them on, some boy tells me how cute I look in glasses. (This does not pertain to you weirdos in glasses with no lenses k thx)

-”Pills are boring”-I snort every pill I take, regardless of how classy I have appeared to become. Snort it. It is way more fun.

-”Edie Sedgwick died at 28″-I was under the presumption it was much earlier. So get it together girls. Wednesday morning photos on the Cobrasnake won’t pay your rent.

And for the love of god never make out with the DJ.

xoxo gossip girl

There is some sort of strange intern war going on in Los Angeles. The employed “regular” girls are demeaned by Dim Mak interns. Dim Mak interns wish they were Cobrasnake interns. Cobrasnake interns want to have sex with Mark. The whole thing is oh so strange and non-sensical, girls. American Apparel starts at 9 dollars an hour. Dov Carney will takes photos of you half dressed for at least a couple hundred dollars. Minimum wage later, you have a billboard. Plus, you get a 50 percent discount on all those bootie shorts.

I don’t have interns because it is ridiculous. You have probably met them. They walk up to door guys calling themselves “Sarah Morrison’s intern” and walk right in. They don’t fold t-shirts or update my Myspace. I just suggest they actually save babies in trees or animals from single parent families. If they really want to “volunteer.”

You are not a big deal because you can get into Cinespace. My interns are there before you even start collecting your emails. They spent their day at some job getting paid. They rush somewhere after cashing their paycheck to rescue a hamster out of a tree. They grab whatever dress they shouldn’t have spent their entire paycheck on, slip it on, and are out the door. They count their drink tickets out, as you glare at them behind your email clipboards. They drink their Svedka/tonics to lil hampsters survival.

Grab a unitard, save a something.

K thx.

Heres some crappy photos from my blackberry to illustrate the story below.

they look worse any bigger.

I rolled into the Big Fun/Mad Decent testosterone fueled DJ power struggle at 205 Sunday night, around midnight. There were at least a hundred kids outside and it was maybe 10 degrees out. I tried to tell some girl who seemed to know what was going on that I was on a list. She asked my name, checked the list, and then lied and told me I wasn’t on it. I stood there fake waiting for five minutes, before asking her again. I watched her field other people’s requests to get in by simply fake looking at a clipboard and saying “no.”

Trevor is on it, you probably are not.

Go read it and make fun of me over there.