GOOD For You.
So, GOOD, a magazine founded by a rich kid with a soul, had its New York launch party, which I crashed last Thursday evening, ostensibly for "work purposes."
Video proof below (note seconds .31-.33.):
The (Ex) Boyfriend says I look like I'm "on a large dosage of crack." This is obviously not true, because A) I would be a lot skinnier and B) see A.
For the record, I was just showing the studly videographer how I pose for photos. Usually I don't move my head around so frenetically, but you know, I don't get out much and I DID have one (imported) beer and ... well, whatever.
The point is, I was NOT dancing to "Hip Hop Hooray," no matter what slick editing those gawkerettes do. In fact, during the entirety of the time which I was at the More-Hipster-Than-Thou party, I didn't see ANYONE dancing. Just admiring each other's messenger bags.
And trying not to care that Al Gore was standing next to them. Shockingly, and perhaps because they were so cool (too cool to push & shove, even for an environmentalist), there weren't many people crowding around the should-be sagamore, so I had no problem waltzing right up and introducing myself as a "New York dating columnist." Like he gave a damn.
Anyway, because I didn't anticipate actually having a conversation with The Gorester, and because the last memory in my head was of him and his bizarre VMA appearance, the only thing I could think of to say was:
"Mr. Gore, I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you bringing Sexy Back. We missed that around here."
He laughed uproariously ... then he said I had a "nice outfit" as we posed for a photo together.
If by "nice outfit" he meant "your boobs are falling out of your shirt," he was accurate.