uh oh

dear marc,

thanksgiving is tomorrow and i’m getting kind of depressed. oops. things i’m looking forward to: THIS WEEKEND, because friday i’m seeing lykke li and saturday BRITTERS will be at the infamous club heaven. you KNOW i’m going to shove some fags outta my way to get close enough to smell her sweaty boob sweat sweat. look for pics of me in US weekly.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING.

xx

FREE PRESS. LIKE, TOTALLY

dear marc,

this has been a pretty low-key week. i partied it up with my fellow REISS employees for our supervisor’s sad departure from the great flagship store on barrett street. don’t worry, marc, i kept it all in my pants and my tummy. i managed to down a whole bottle of red wine and two pints of beck’s without vomming or ending up on aga’s couch. AND i even made it to work at 8 AM the next morning. are you so proud? it’s like i’m becoming a real person, or something. unless you don’t like hiring real people to be in your ads. if that’s the case, continue to consider me a mythical drunk vixen with nothing to give except a fierce pose and maybe a sassy remark. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

the real news of the week just kind of sprung up last night. david and i were re-kindling our friendship in a soho bar when i got uncomfortable with the way david was staring at some 12-year-old farmhand. i picked up the latest issue of OUT in the city magazine when i stumbled upon some party pics from the beloved trannyshack night at soho revue bar…

here’s the spread:

yes, i know all those trannies and even got kissed by justin bond on that very night. and YES, i realise this is a shitty photo, but baby can’t afford a scanner so…

okay, now let’s take a closer, burier look at this fine piece of photojournalism, because i think there’s something you might really want to see when considering who to put in any upcoming ads…

THERE. right there, under that pirate tranny hooker’s elbow and that seemingly straight guy’s beer bottle. do you see? IT’S ME. well, my left ear, anyway. i know you think i’m reaching, but any press is good press. this also proves that i am SO recognizable that not even a fat, one-eyed, man-bitch squeezed into a fishnet jumpsuit can upstage me or my ears.

WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED? clearly i can’t think of anything.

okay, if i don’t write you before next week, have a fab thanksgiving for me. is it weird that i feel kind of sad that i won’t be able to gorge on my mom’s delicious tofurkey and watch old episodes of the OC for 2 days? i’m sure i’ll get over it. it’s probably best anyway. remember, girl: a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.

stay pretty. i’m serious.

xx

poop poop bashoop

dear marc,

last week was a BIG one and my balls still hurt from it. i got to see the SS ’09 line at reiss and LET ME TELL YOU it’s a gem. i finally want to start wearing the clothes. too bad i’ll be gone by the time all the good shit comes out.

the real drama/splendor of the week comes from the event we had with GRAZIA magazine on wednesday. everything was great at around 745–people were coming in, having a few free cocktails and spending drunk dollars on okay-looking things. great. THEN at around 930, when all the customers had left, my co-workers and i discovered that there were about 30 bottles of unopened champaign just sitting around, waiting to be guzzled down. AND GUZZLE WE DID. after i drank my weight in champaign, i headed out for a smoke, but not before drinking from a random bottle of vodka…that’s where it gets blurry. things i remember doing/saying:

–‘let’s get the fuck outta here, motherfucks’

–moving to the bar down the street and falling a little bit

–‘oh my god, i love you guys so much’

–‘NO VALERIE, I DON’T WANT FUCKING MCDONALD’S. I’M PRETTY’

and then…NOTHING. the next day i woke up on my polish supervisor’s couch.

AGA(in a robe):Matt, darling, we is leaving in an hour.

ME(in my underwear):oooooooooooooooooooh my god

i thought i had sex with her for a minute. then i looked at my clothes from the night before and realised that aga just took pity on me because CLEARLY i was vomitting everywhere. and then i had to go to work, which was just awful. i was throwing up all day and randomly passing out on piles of clothes. i haven’t been that hung over since i got kicked out of kappa kappa gamma’s formal for throwing up on people. ug.

but really, it was all worth it. despite the fact that everyone keeps asking if i feel better and keeps giving advice like, ‘maybe you shouldn’t drink. ever’ i think i really bonded with my co-workers and made some flimsy friendships that should last until i leave london in february. and isn’t that what partying is really all about?

’till next time, darling.

xx

oh, oops

i also just love this picture. use it on Page 6 for my obit when i die of awesome-itis (aka exercise-induced asthma).

just a quickie

dear marc,

this is going to be a quickie update. imagine this update to be on par with that time you were horny at your friend’s party and banged some B+ bystander on the laundry machine, just to clear the pipes. that’s this update.

reiss is going well. this week i have 2 things that you should look forward to hearing about: first, my store is having an event with GRAZIA magazine, which means a lot of drunk kind-of-celebrities and me getting yelled at for being drunk when i’m supposed to be working.

also, i get to preview the spring/summer ’09 line in david reiss’ penthouse. when i get there, they MIGHT JUST SNATCH ME UP and ask to be apart of their ad campaign, so you better step it up, be a man, and call me. i don’t know HOW you’re going to resist any longer once you see these:

okay, i think these clearly demonstrate my ability to style a shoot, because that outfit is RAGIN’. i know i kind of look like a witch in the second one, but you can LITERALLY see the swivel in my hips in the first one. i don’t think yellow tail wine could find a better ad campaign. god knows i’m gonna be buying more.

okay, this update is a little longer than i expected. it’s like, now you’ve banged the B+ and they want your number and you’re all, ‘god shut up, i just want some cheese and crackers. or to bang again.’

awkwaaaaard.

xx

fine craftsmanship

dear marc,

i’m sorry for not writing you lately, but who the fuck knew retail was SUCH a time consumer? i just hope you appreciate how hard your people work for you, marc. here are some things i’m getting tired of saying every day at reiss:

oh, that’s such a good color on you.

sure, wear it however you like.

can i put these in a fitting room for you?

sir, could you please pull your pants up, i’m getting uncomfortable.

sorry henry, i’m just really hung over. i swear i’ll be better tomorrow.

speaking of hung over, i often stumble into reiss with my hair a mess and tranny lipstick on my cheek, which usually means they throw me in the basement to fold shirts until i’m sober enough to deal with customers. i’d say i’m downstairs folding and organizing about 1/2 of the day, which is fine. it really gives me the chance to work with the garments and makes me appreciate their fine, chinese stitching. when a little asian girl is being raped on a conveyor belt by her supervisor and thinking, ‘god i just want to get back to sewing, i hope people appreciate my work,’ i can finally say back, ‘i do, honey. stay strong and keep that cross-stiching FIERCE.’

all the running up and down stairs i do every day is really helping with my modeling, marc. it’s toning my ass up nicely and really helping with my action poses. take a gander at this tasty lick:

the recipe for this photo is as follows:

2 parts cigarette ad

1 part marc jacobs ad

2 tsps of vintage 90210

1 tbsp homeless outreach flyer

and a dash of pro-choice pamphlet

LOVE IT.

okay marc, hopefully i’ll be able to write you soon. until then, stay thin and get legal to write me up a contract for your spring/summer ’09 campaign. hell, i’ll even model for your fragrance line.

xoxo

oh, PS, the bangle and bag in that photo were donations from the marble arch foundation for fierce skanks. thanks bitch.