With sulky badface, thighs made for mini-skirts, and tart putdowns that shoot from slick lips and piercing nails, GG’s can be first-class carriers of the trash-talking backstab gene. But after spending enough time amongst the boys, I conclude that they are indeed mightier at the shit-swapping game. Be still my heart, though…ain’t no bitch more deserving of their secret notebook than Harriet The Spy…

This Shit Is Sexist

Manny-men will dispense with the gossip sauce every chance they get, provided their romantic interest is not in the room. Being bros with enough males has given me a diverse sample, and I’ve observed that they are talking shit about all of you with fervor. It’s not the women who are passing me artfully folded notes filled with dirty laundry, cheap shots, and the most scorching invectives known to schoolyard recess. This rumor mill is being largely operated by the men. 80% of my sources are male. Should this concern me, as long as the hearsay is sifting through the air? It wouldn’t if girls weren’t falsely portrayed as the tabloid mafia supreme.

Still and all, I’ll be tuning into Gossip Girl next week, if only because gorgeous, thin, ruthless people are my porn du jour. And they’ve got plenty of merciless stags in the cast.

More gender disproportions. WTWB at Arts Garage, Philadelphyinz at Medusa, and Next Level at Liquid Charm were dude-high bro-zones. That’s no trouble if you’re looking for a room full of dick, all deep in discussion and navel-gazing. You want me to stop using the hyphen? Why don’t you just take my heart away with it? Oh, go on, I can subsist on salt water burned as fuel.

On the way to L’Etage for Tramp, a party that will flourish on name alone, we found a pizza box, ajar enough to reveal the remnants of a feast, and that it was the most interesting thing I have spotted all week is perhaps a reminder to you that you’re not nightlifing to your potential. So it was relieving to find that ladies were alive and moves were approaching ballroom-ready at Tramp. The classy crowd did not contain a single dour face. I think I was the only person wearing sneakers, but that’s what the Vans room at Ubiq does to me. I believe heavily in Wednesday.

Boys, this weekend, let us discuss.

Confessions On The DanceFloor

“I can’t find the other half of my Twix bar, that was supposed to be my dinner.”

“Blogger, please.”

DO WANT/DO NOT WANT

The White Building/Emerald City
Oreo Dessert Pizza Mustache/Beer Storage ‘Stache
Women Wearing Bowties/Men Wearing Fedoras
Seasonal Ale/Seasonal Allergies

TrendFucking

Stealing England

Not only is all of the best music imported straight from the U.K., but we swipe their culture and fashion like we’re starved for a directional clue. Maybe we never should have left the motherland. After you go see the movie This Is England, go out for tea with your mates, follow that up with some pints at the pub, and go to a twee dj night, because we totally have one. In your Vice/guide to life, you will be introduced to British Bin Parties, the new gang high meth. we’re all going to adopt from the Brits if we want to at least appear like we’re keeping up.

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 13th, 2007 at 12:27 pm.