We Real Cool

How cool are we, you ask?

We went to a fashion show during fashion week. Wearing jeans. We had invitations and seats. We got to go right in. We got goody bags. We saw Oksana Baiul, Kurt Loder, Brandy, Nick Cannon, and a whole lotta transvestites. We watched Paris and Nicky Hilton, Mya, Kelis, Theodora Richards, and Mena Suvari model. We saw lots of hot, oiled up male models. We sat with people who work at Blackbook and who did a photo shoot with Theodora Richards (yes, that is Keith Richards's stunning daughter) last week. We got free magazines and bottles of Aquafina on the way out. Then we went back to our East Village apartments, secure in the knowledge that we're cooler than everyone else because I work at Maxim and got us tickets to the Heatherette show.

Ah, Maxim. As if it wasn't enough that you kindly provided me with 10 copies of the Cindy Crawford issue at my desk, or that the hazelnut coffee in the kitchen is awesome, or that the food in the vending machine is cheaper than at Simon & Schuster, or that I get free men's grooming products that are inexplicably valued at upwards of twenty bucks.

If only Advanced Russian wasn't making me wish I were dead, my life would be so much better than yours...

P.S. In case you're wondering about the questionable grammar, "We Real Cool" is the name of a rather awesome poem by Gwendolyn Brooks. G'night!