Last night was drinks with friends and then dinner and then a club that shall not be named but all I will say about it is that I still hate the fake boobs/overly-tanned/Bebe outfits/knock-off Louis Vuitton bag crowd and then to cleanse our sins, Kim & I went to Old I and listened/told dirty (literally) stories with Bobby J and we laughed so hard that my cheeks and jaw hurt and I was crying/howling tears and as we left the club I felt so, so, so much better because really it is both about my insecurities (I snark on the outside because I - sniff- hurt on the inside) and also just wanting to feel at home with those who make you comfortable, those who make you laugh and those who reserve their judgements for the fake boobs/overly-tanned/Bebe outfits/knock-off Louis Vuitton bag crowd that deserves them.

Oh and last night I dreamed I was on a reality show that combined America's Next Top Model and The Apprentice and it involved flying through the air trying to get to the costume tent in time to pick out the right accessories (thanks to Bjork for pointing me in the direction of the Italian designer who in turn pointed out the white Paul Frank chopsticks to put in my hair). But then Shandi got sick on the bathroom floor and I was trying to help her out and then some rich Armani suit-wearing jerk who'd turned the Trump Tower into a posh dining hall for bigwig money guys wasn't any help when I got lost (and hey, just where was Tyra Banks during this whole mess) and so I was late to my photo shoot with Donald Trump and well you try explaining all that to him.

That's right, I'm fired and no longer in the running to become America's Next Top Model.

Bummer.