Saturday night was no exception. The gorgeous party at the over-the-top home of Jillian (no relation to The-Booster-Jillian) Manus and Alan Salzman would have simply been another million dollar black tie fete had it not been for the groovy gyrations, talking Nixon holograph, Brain Drain cocktails served out of the ears of an ice sculpture of George W, the Romneywitz Bar Mitzvah room, the afro-clad band and Melissa Rivers wearing that same-ole-same-ole dress she wore to the Golden Globes.
I donned a delightful, one-shouldered Marc Jacobs number. I believe it was from his pre-rehab 2007 resort collection. In any case, it was as fabu as a baggie full of coke. In fact, it may be the most fabu piece of clothing I own.
And…I’m also getting more and more inquiries as to my what’s, when’s and where’s…so, okay: I’m writing, I’m rewriting, and re-re-writing, I’m sword fighting, doing ballet, kickboxing, pole dancing and organizing my eye shadows. Somebody’s gotta do it, right?