Today, I innocently opened my August issue of Glamour, anticipating a lovely hour of procrastination perusing the usual ampersand-obsessed mix of "Fashion & Beauty," "Health & Body," "Dos & Don'ts" and the occasional "My Sister/Mother/Female Dog Had Cancer & Survived" piece.

And what did I get instead??

FIVE. PAGES. OF. FABIAN. FRIGGING. BASABE.

Fabian smiling. Fabian dancing. Fabian blowing out his birthday candles. Fabian dipping various long-maned women while simultaneously posing for photos (hello, he practices in front of the mirror at home!). Fabian wondering if his butt looks big in these jeans.

My first thought was "Oh god, they've done a puff piece on Failed Former Sorta-It Boys Who Might Be Gay and Also Maybe Not As Rich As They Insinuate They Are." And then I saw it.

"It" being ... Fabian's byline. Fabian, apparently, is now a writer. Like every other New Yorker (except me), he's "working on a novel" about his favorite subject. Um, Fabian, obvi?

Wait, actually, let's think about what Fabian's favorite subjects might be ... you know, if he were to write them out all by himself.

1. FABIEN FABIAN.
2. Eyebrow Waxing.
3. Making sure Martina doesn't gain any weight. Ew, fattys!
4. Hair gel.
5. Fabian.
6. Pretending to like sex with (female) models.

Lest you think I'm being too harsh on the poor little supposedly-rich boy, please consider the following direct quotes from the Glamour article, mind-numbingly titled "Confessions of an Ex-Playboy" (Although I'm going to give Glamour a pass on this one - Fabian probably thought of the name):

- "I became a momentary national news item when I was spotted with President Bush's daughter at a nightclub ... the whole thing looked slightly debauched. It wasn't ... I know debauched." (Yeah, Fabian was BADASS! Weren't you, Fabs?)

- "I used to be a player;" (Then he helpfully defines "player" for us) "one of those guys who have a different beautiful woman on their arm every weekend." (Wait ... what's a player again?)

- "Even playboys have feelings. Even playboys change." (Ohmygod. I can so totally see this as a film! I think we get Johnny Depp to play you. No? Too sexually ambiguous? Okay, fine. Tom Cruise.)

- "When I was 11, I was given a ridiculously expensive Swiss watch that most adults could never afford. At 16 I got a BMW, which I promptly wrecked, along with my next three cars." ("And after that, my parents insisted I take driver's ed. Can you BELIEVE it? SO unfair!")

BLAH BLAH BLAH, he was a womanizer at the age of 19, then he met Martina, whom he wooed with a giant "bottle of Patron tequila." He knew she was the woman for him when she "took me shot for shot." Damn, that's romantic. After a year-long courtship, during which he "stripped down and pumped gas naked to amuse her" (Casanova has NOTHING on Fabian), he realized that he hadn't yet fucked enough bony women. "I wasn't ready for redemption." Um ... right.

Anyway, he gets kicked out of "college," goes to Cancun, and finally ends up in New York, where he blames his "loneliness" for being "addicted--not to drugs, but models." It was downhill from there.
- "I went shopping for leggy 18-year-olds with knockout cheekbones."
- "I liked to be surrounded by sexy bodies because desire was the only feeling that could overwhelm the loneliness that plagued me."
- "I was miserable. I didn't even have a job to distract me during the day." (Will nothing go right in Fabian's life?? WHY MUST HE CONTINUALLY SUFFER?!)

Blah blah blah, it continues, with no shortage of additional ridiculous quotes, but I'm bored of this subject already.

Conclusion? Fabian "wanted to do something that mattered" (in ITALICS damnit!) and the only thing he could think of was coercing poor size 0 Martina into marriage. WHEW!! Now he can spend all his time waxing his toes or whatever it is he does when he's not writing articles about being "debauched."

I think I need a nap.