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Haven't yet given to a charity this Christmas?  Consider me.

Reasons You Should Donate:

• So I don't have to run ugly ads.
• Because I pretty much qualify for food stamps.
• So I don't have to start selling drugs.
• Because as of January, I'm officially homeless.
• So I can one day afford health insurance.
• Because I'm not really in the mood to "write a book."

And yes, I got the idea from my friend Jessica Cutler, who's always maintained a button on her site with the tag: "Donate so I can Buy Slutty Clothes and Drugs!"  When I asked her a few months ago if people ACTUALLY sent money, she said "yes - but they sometimes want my panties too."  Um ... sounds pretty reasonable to me.  If anyone wants my panties, we can make a deal.  But you're not taking the comfortable ones.

(Update: Um, you do know that, like most things on this blog, I'm kidding.  Right?  Kidding.  Well, not about the donating part.  But about the panty selling.  That's a joke.)

Posted by Julia Allison at 05:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'll be on Hannity & Colmes tonight examining the douchebaggery of Donald Trump in the Trump vs. Rosie War of Moral Compasses.

Basically, my point will be this: Donald Trump is a bloviating 'tard, and arguing back with a personalized version of the "Yo momma's so fat" insult is just fucking lame.  "You're so fat, my friends could steal your girlfriend!"  Oooh!!!  I'm sure Rosie's really worried now, Donald!

UPDATE:  Watch an (edited) version of my comments here
 

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I couldn't be bothered to put on makeup last night, so there will be no photographs posted of the actual evening (just a Slutty Santa stock photo, done up Perez Hilton style).  I'm in the home stretch of holiday party crashes, and suffice it to say, I'm very close to NEVER WANTING TO GO TO A PARTY EVER AGAIN.

In the meantime, enjoy my reviews of last night below, and on New York mag's website.

EATING - AND EATING! - WITH THE 'DAILY NEWS'; DRINKING AND DANCING WITH 'STAR'

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Will be on FoxNews today at 11:35 discussing the pressing issue of WILL MISS USA BE DE-THRONED FOR DRINKING AND MAKING OUT WITH OTHER HOT GIRLS???

The whole thing's been keeping me up nights, so I'm glad that an opportunity has presented itself to just get my real thoughts and feelings out.  Like, for example, "Who the fuck cares?"

Posted by Julia Allison at 07:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

While you were at your classy upper east side / swanky downtown / anywhere but Times Square holiday celebrations, I was hanging out with 8,000 News Corp proletariat.  And the Hilton security guard who snuck me in, then wrote me an email saying he was glad he met me, but that he realized he was "just one of your pawns in your pursuit for gossip."  Busted.  I would feel guilty, except that he was the only thing standing between me getting in, nabbing some quotes, and then collapsing into bed after going to EIGHTEEN PARTIES IN ONE WEEK, and well, I really freaking wanted to sleep.

Read complete review below, or on New York mag's website.

RUPERT MURDOCH WISHES YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS HAPPY HOLIDAY

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ughghhhhhhh ... no moreeeee media partiessss

***LAST NIGHT'S REVIEWS***

Will post the reviews for last night's events when I get around to writing them, sometime between now and 10 am.   In the meantime, enjoy a little good-natured three am bitching.  And no, I haven't had anything to drink.   (Hmm ... maybe that's the problem??)

3 Reasons I Do Not Like Attempting to Interview Other Reporters at their Holiday Parties:

1. No one ever wants to be quoted, which I find generally inexplicable.  It's a freaking holiday party, not an expose on your recent divorce.  WTF?  fuckers.
2. Those who do talk, proceed to narrate for what feels like hours, only to conclude with "it was a great party."  AWESOME.  YOU REALLY THINK I'M GOING TO USE THAT?  IT'S A RETARDED QUOTE AND YOU KNOW IT.  again, fuckers.
3. The final few - those who don't want to be quoted, but still want to talk - just try to interview you back.  I almost always fall for this trick, but I'm wising up.  See expletive in previous two points.

At least Nick Denton consented to a slutty-santa photo at his gawk-festivus last night.  Note my adoring gaze.  In general, those are reserved for gift-wielding boyfriends or people who defend my right to be an (amusing) publicity whore.  Denton is most definitely the latter.  Awww.

So I've got that going for me ....  Which is nice.

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EGGNOG WITH FORBES LIFE

The Forbes company likes its parties on home turf.  Whether that turf is the yacht, the townhouse, or their venerated Forbes building, if they’re hosting a party, it’s probably going to be at one of them.  So when Forbes Life, the “lifestyle supplement” with glossy ad pages headed by the cheerfully sardonic editor in chief Christopher Buckley, invited us to crash its holiday celebration last night, we weren’t surprised to read “60 5th Avenue.”  And when we walked up to the offices, it seemed incredibly appropriate that, instead of a Christmas tree, there sat a shiny white Rolls Royce with an enormous red bow.  Merry Christmas from the Capitalist Tools!

Inside the garland-and-tinsel-laden lobby, the 12 person editorial staff mingled with the business side, and both chatted up the advertisers.  (Unlike most magazine’s holiday parties, they were warmly – shrewdly? – invited to join in the festivities.)  A four-person brass band played from the stairwell, and the two front rooms held upwards of 60 guests, as well as a silent auction to benefit the Salvation Army, an ornament engraver, and a magician who did tricks with a dollar bill (of course).  The building’s revolving doors were shut off to hold a makeshift bar, and the red-tablecloth’d buffet looked like a slightly bigger version of your family holiday party – carrot & celery sticks with dip, crackers & cheese, a ham, and a big tray of red and green sprinkled Xmas cookies.  We almost missed the sushi station with fresh sashimi and California rolls because we were too busy staring at the eggnog.  It was the first party we’ve been to that actually had eggnog, although it didn’t look like anyone’s actually sampled it.  “I’m told it sits like a bowling ball in your stomach,” confided associate editor Taylor Antrim.  “This is my third Xmas party and I’ve never had it.”  Buckley thinks he knows why. “We put polonium 210 in there.”

Sartorially displaying holiday cheer with his bright red Christmas-tree tie, Buckley admitted that he’s been doing this whole “Forbes holiday party thing” for a while, and, he told us, “If I die tomorrow I want it on my tombstone: ‘I made it through 16 consecutive Forbes Christmas parties in the temple of capitalism.’  That’s enough for a posthumous bonus!”  “This party is very calm,” said one staffer who we’ll refrain from naming, “The one that’s really good is facilities – security, kitchen, IT.  It was on Monday and apparently it was WILD.”  “You really can’t compare it to other outside parties,” explained senior editor Thomas Jackson.  “You have to compare it to other FORBES parties. This is like a house party – it’s a known quantity.”

Just then we spotted Bob Forbes, President of Forbes Life (and brother of Steve and Tim and Chris).  So, we asked him, why choose to have the party here instead of … “going to a really cool hotel in Singapore?” the eavesdropping Buckley interjected.  “No,” we insisted, turning back to Forbes.  “Instead of, you know, another space?  Here.  In New York.”  “Well,” said Forbes, pretending to muse philosophically, “the reason is very simple: Scottish thrift.”  Ah.  That explains the Rolls!  We snagged a gift bag on our way out – Amstel light glass, a Thank You for Smoking DVD, and Armani code cologne.  Sometimes we love capitalism.

Verdict: Food: 2.5; Drink: 3 (If you like eggnog: 3.5); Venue: 2.5 (If you don’t work there: 3.5); Debauchery: 1.5; Exclusivity: 2

Posted by Julia Allison at 08:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Four parties, five hours of sleep and $40.50 in cab fare later, I'm exhausted.  is this how Tinsley Mortimer feels?  ugh.  Actually, she probaby has a driver, so I'm guessing not.

Anyway, here's a recount of Evening 3 of my holiday party crashing ... (the Forbes Life write up was rejected as "not important enough" Read the review here! )

Re: the Marc Jacobs fete, really, nothing I write can possibly describe it.  I spotted Mel Rose from America’s Top Model, who gushed, “this party is insane - a picture is worth a million words.”  If she fucked up that axiom on purpose, she had every justification.  In this case, I think she's right.  Witness the below photo:

Posted by Julia Allison at 12:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

For Day 2 of my Holiday Party Crash, I actually smuggled myself into The New Yorker bash over in Soho.  Didn't even bother to try to get in at Allure at Double Seven; I'd rather spy on Gladwell and harass the poor kid who has to sort through 5,000 reader cartoon captions every week (hi Zach!)

You can read the account of last night's crash here, or below ...

One part I left out (for their sake) - asking two inebriated New Yorker cartoonists, "Are you comedians who can draw or artists who can make jokes?"  Their answer?  “We’re losers who can drink,” one cackled, and both dissolved into giggles.  Uh ... you said it, not me.

*******

SUSHI WITH THE NEW YORKER, PAD THAI WITH ALLURE

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So, it was my bright idea this year to do Holiday Party Crashes for New York magazine's Daily Intelligencer.  (Last night's parties: Hearst, Vogue, and Ken Sunshine PR.)

My thought process was more or less like this:

I like parties.
I like the holidays.
I like New York magazine.
Therefore, I would like to write about holiday parties for New York magazine.

What I failed to realize was:

I would not be invited to (most of) these parties.

Oh well.  It wasn't cold, so skulking outside for quotes produced only mild discomfort.  At Hearst people were nice enough to talk, although "How was the party?" invariably ensured a host of really bland platitudes like "it was fun!"  Great.  You had a good time.  I'm really happy for you.  Now tell me who you schtupped in the bathroom after one too many white cranberry cosmos.

Vogue, on the other hand, was like The Cult of the Cigarette Smoking Bitches.  I've been treated pretty rudely before, but never, ever, have I seen anything like that.  (And I wasn't even wearing my Slutty Santa suit!)  They didn't deign to acknowledge my presence with EYE CONTACT, let alone and "I'm so sorry" or "Anna Wintour will skin my alive like her minks if I talk to you."  Even for the type of women bitches drawn to Vogue, that level of insolence takes serious practice.

In other news, the PETA people were really nice.  Sigh.

Posted by Julia Allison at 12:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Feeling badly about getting a framed photo of Jon Stewart for Chanukah?  From your boyfriend??  At least no one got you a freaking deer head.  See today's AM New York article about really shit xmas gifts, below.

Also, please do not send me stuffed animals of The Clap.  No matter how funny you may find it.

HOLIDAY GIFTS GONE TERRIBLY WRONG
AM NEW YORK – “THE DATING LIFE”
DECEMBER 11, 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON

One Christmas, almost a decade ago, my then-18-year-old-boyfriend surprised me with a large, unwieldy package.  Enthusiastically I tore off the crudely taped snowman wrapping paper and giant red bow to reveal … a mounted deer head.  Yes.  You read that correctly: A Mounted Deer Head.

Did I mention I was President of my high school’s Animal Protection Club?

So, yeah, that present took first place in my Top 10 Most Inexplicable and Heinous Gifts of All Time, a list which also includes the war novel “All Quiet on the Western Front,” a vacuum cleaner, a dentist appointment, and yes, a cardboard dolphin mobile.

Although one almost expects disappointingly banal gifts from grandmothers (socks … again?  Wow.  Thanks!), we justifiably raise the bar for our significant others.  In other words, a war novel from a boyfriend does not a romantic holiday make.

There are worse gifts, of course.  Like the one broker Chris Cullen, 28, got from the girl he started seeing “two days” before Christmas last year.

“I replied ‘thanks, but I got you nothing,’” he says.  “I would also like to point out that the gift she gave me was shoplifted.  I realized this while trying to put the shirts on and the security tag almost ripped off my nipple.”

Unsurprisingly, “that relationship ended quite badly.”

And speaking of badly-ended relationships, try the gift Gridskipper blogger Joshua Stein sent his ex after she not-so-gracefully dumped him this year, just before the holidays: an iPod with 600 photos of them together, along with one uplifting song called “Tears of Rage.”  Adding to the cheer, Stein had it laser engraved, “You’ve made a terrible mistake.”  Just proving there’s more than one way to say “Merry Christmas, bitch!”

Of course, sometimes it’s the gift YOU give that stinks.

Angela Casolaro, 22, wanted to get her boyfriend, “a total guy’s guy” who “loves football, gambling, cars, and meat,” something "special but not overboard.”

After deciding to buy him a personalized teeshirt, she wracked her brain for days about the appropriate slogan, first considering “Meat Loving Frat Boy,” then reconsidering (“I was told by several friends that a shirt like that would NOT go over well,” Casolaro said, “I didn't really get why not – I thought it was cute!!”)   She settled for an olive green tee with fuzzy blue letters that read: “I Heart Meat.”

She wasn’t sure that was enough.

“I wanted something more flippant,” she explained, “so I got him a stuffed animal of The Clap.  Like the STD.  He’s a Chemistry person, so I thought it was fitting and sort of funny.”

It didn’t really work out as she had hoped.

“Suffice it to say, he’s never worn the shirt, the Clap sits in a drawer, and I was mortified when I actually had to give it to him.  It was the weirdest gift I've ever given, and I don't know WHAT I was thinking,” she said, still cringing over the memory.

“He got me white tulips and wine.  At least one of us is normal."

Posted by Julia Allison at 09:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

SINGLE & SSAD DURING THE HOLIDAYS
AM NEW YORK – “THE DATING LIFE”
DECEMBER 4, 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON

This being my first holiday season spent single in several years, a thought occurred to me as I listened to Christmas music sans significant other last weekend.  The thought was: “this sucks.”

I really liked the idea of being single when I had it back in August.  Going on first dates (even unmitigated bombs) amused me; there was no pressure to have a late summer or early fall evening filled entirely with love.  Lust – or a good war story (“And then he humped my leg!  No.  Seriously.”) – would suffice.

But the same leg humping that was so entertaining in September is just depressing in December.

Why?  SSAD – Single Seasonal Affect Disorder, of course.  In my haste to trumpet the joys of bachelorette-hood, I forgot all about it.  You know, that ineffable casual-dating malaise that begins just in time for Thanksgiving and lasts through the New Years hangover (at least).

You feel it when you buy a wreath – alone – or a tree – alone – or venture bravely down fifth avenue on Black Friday – alone.  You feel it when you go to holiday parties minus one.  You feel it when you think of your New Years plans.  Or lack thereof.

It’s not that it’s harder to find dates.  It isn’t (hello, holiday parties?).  But really, who wants to ‘grab sushi after’ with some random guy when it’s (supposed to be) snowing and you’re (supposed to be) snuggled with your true love under a blanket and he’s (supposed to be) thinking of ways to take you ice-skating or egg-nogging or Rockefeller-tree-gazing?  (Or, er, diamond-ring-buying?)

Sushi suddenly seems anticlimactic.  Unseasonable, really.

And then there’s the Holiday Hibernation, a theory espoused by my friend Christine.  “If you’re single on Thanksgiving, you’ll be single through Valentine’s Day,” she says.  “If you’ve got someone to curl up with at Thanksgiving, you’ll hold on to them through February.   Of course, then Spring Fever sets in and who knows?”

Great.  So if you’re sans S.O. and SSAD now, get used to it.

In spite of that, many people insist there are upshots to avoiding serious relationships during the holidays.

“That’s one less person you have to worry about getting a goddamn present for!” says Jennifer Chick, 23, a paralegal.

Good point.  Of course, that’s only if you’ve gone on a date or two.  What if you’ve gone on four dates – do you get a present then?  Send a card?  Dress up in a Sexy Santa Bikini Suit and do holiday-themed role play?  Do you invite them to Christmas dinner?  What are the RULES??

Actually, I think I can answer those: yes (a small one), if you want, absolutely, no and as far as the “rules” of holiday dating go, see below.

“One rule and one rule only, derived from bitter experience,” writes college professor Jeremy Mayer in an email message, “Do not, under any circumstances, short of physical abuse or voting Republican, break up with someone on Dec 31st.  MUCH better to break up on January 3rd, or even Jan1st, as some sort of twisted New Year's Resolution (‘Sorry, I resolved to stop dating psycho hose beasts’).”

If you haven’t yet entered into such a relationship (with psycho hose beasts or anyone else), Sean Smith, 39, has an idea.

“There should be a “New Relationship” time requirement where it’s understood that ‘hey, we just met and I really like you so please don’t be offended but let’s have a holiday ‘time out’ and I’ll see you on New Year’s Eve’… How’s that?”

That, my dear Sean, would probably not go over well with the “Santa, baby” crooning ladies.

Those are the types of ladies another Sean, Sean Evans, 25, seems to date.  “You always end up with someone who thinks the relationship has become more serious than you do,” he explains via email.  “This leaves you in a lovely predicament as she will inevitably invite you home to her house for the holiday, or out to dinner with her parents when they come to the city.  Then you stand there, with your mouth slightly agape, quickly trying to come up with an excuse to bow out.”

What sorts of excuses work in this situation?

“I’ve used such past beauties as ‘My mom needs help stuffing the turkey so I have to go home’ or ‘My dog has separation anxiety and cannot be alone for that long’ and my personal favorite: "What?  And miss the 24 straight hours of ‘A Christmas Story’ on TNT?  I think not, woman.”

Of course, some people think there’s nothing that makes the season brighter than a little casual holiday sex – enough sex to make the SSAD go away, perhaps.

“The holidays are gruesomely bleak and the only thing that can pick them up is a deliciously regrettable holiday hook-up,” says writer Jim Behrle.  “They expire in early 2007, no need for holiday gifts, and love should be made at least once during Snoopy’s Christmas or It’s A Wonderful Life.”

Hmm.  You could even make a game of it.  You know, “every time a bell rings …”

Merry Christmas, everyone, indeed.

Posted by Julia Allison at 10:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

• Horsebacking riding on Dominican Republic beach in bikini = good.
• Bruises covering my butt and thighs from galloping frantically past startled tourists = bad.
• Not ever posting the photos I took on the ATV / topless sunbathing = priceless just a smart all-around idea.

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