When I go home to visit my family in the suburbs of California, I feel like I’m being slowly suffocated with boredom, that pure warm comfort has oozed into my lungs and drown me. Nothing I do is exciting enough, no where is “out” enough. I am I walking personification of FOMO. Too much peace chokes the life out of me with a golden lasso of tempra paint, sprinkler water and wall-to-wall carpeting.
In New York, I feel safe from that sort of pleasant, frozen yogurt asphyxia. Until tonight. I squinted and pressed my palm against the windows of the taxi but no matter how hard I looked, the lights seemed dimmer. The drinks taste weaker. The boys look shorter.
I realized it followed me to Manhattan, that feeling. I don’t even know what to call it, but if I did, it would sound like your name.
If unless I’m on drugs or drunk, I don’t feel alive. And if you’re not alive, can you die? Are you immortal? I wonder if I’ll live half awake, half sober, half restless forever in this semi satisfying city, living only portions of the life I dreamed of.
Undead and un-alive.
death becomes her...
I have never, never ever, been one of those tragic girls who fawn over gay boys, tumbling hopelessly in love with them because “They just get me in a way straight guys don’t!” I mean really, is there anything more pathetic? Shudder.
Well darlings, here we are. I’m fevered with Peter Brant Jr (or Peter Brant II, as he calls himself) (lame, but he makes it work) ho is the son of a publishing scion and supermodel Stephanie Seymour.
He is also the up-and-coming NYC socialite, the Chuck Bass of the new set.
Look at those predatory, heartless eyes–a great white shark in a Touche Eclat concealer and a Bergdorf’s manicure. Amazing.
Yes, he’s my newest society target..except that he’s gay. Well, sort of. In one interview he’ll say he’s “openly gay” then someone will spot him making out with a girl at RSVP and he’ll backtrack and say he’s not sure.
Ok fine, fine he’s obviously homosexual–FINE. I mean…he has a wasitline for crying out loud. Still, I don’t care. I want to get my paws on him before some male model named Sergio does and he never touches girls again. PS, that kid next to him is his brother, Harry, also a gay.
Check out this sick Vanity Fair shoot they did together. You can just hear Peter hissing “Pull yourself together, dammit, stop shrieking. She was just a whore, Harry, nobody will miss her!”
Ugh. I hate the generation of socialites I was born into. They’re so boring. While I have to keep company with aging hags like Tinsley “Cockeye” Mortimer and Olivia “Center Part” Palermo, I’d so much rather be at PB2′s table.
I’ve never been a big fan of brunettes/weird accents so clearly I don’t watch RHONY or RHONJ. But I can’t help but pay attention to the plight of Teresa Guidice, namely that she’s batshit crazy and attacks everyone.
Let me come to her defense.
"Whadda you mean there's no-a more-a pasta?!"
As a former reality TV star myself, I know all too well how hard it is to get a show on the air. It takes years from producers “discovering” you actually having a premiere party. And Teresa was there for every step of it. But then along comes her sister in law Melissa who joins the cast riiiiiiight at the peak of it’s success, effortlessly sliding into a corner of the TV market that Teresa and co. had spend years laboriously carving out.
So that made Teresa nuclear? Yes. Yes it did. What probably vexes Teresa is the same thing that vexed me when certain friends basically ignored my show until 1) it was actually happening or 2) they had a chance to be on it.
Melissa didn’t ask Teresa’s permission. Teresa is the Godfather and Melissa had a duty to kiss her ring, pay homage to Teresa’s hard work and ASK to be let onto the show.
How I see myself, basically.
The real question is: why doesn’t Teresa just say that? I had no problem telling people “Hey, this is MY show. You want on? You acknowledge that and give me some respect.”
It’s not like I needed people to sacrifice a goat in my honor—conveying that sort of deference is easy and unconscious, like the tone of voice or saying, “How would you feel if I joined the cast?”
But she really needs to get off this whole “Melissa was a stripper” thing. I mean who cares, right? Hell I’d be a stripper if I had the inner thigh strength to grip that pole. Dare to dream, Shallon…dare to dream.
Not all dreams can come true. Accept it, Shallon.
So, yeah, that’s my take on the Tersea G. sitch. She’s taken it way too far, but I do understand her motives. That hairline though…that I do not understand. Yikes.
I said I understood her, not that she's a Nobel prize winner OK?
I understand that not everyone could take off Friday to sit around and watch my cameo on Vh1′s Big Morning Buzz Live (actually I don’t but I’m trying to be sympathetic here–it’s really not my strong suit) so here is the clip!
In the green room, chatting with Tionna Smalls and Damien Lemon, I quickly realized that I had no home of out-funnying them and decided to accept that I’d merely be the random white girl giggling like a piglet in the corner.
Had SO MUCH FUN at the studio, Carrie Keagan (the lovely hostess) is just adorable so really sweet, much sweeter than a hot blonde with great boobs needs to be 
Can’t wait to go back!
PS what do y’all think of red lipstick as my fall look??
Hullo dieters! I’m on day 6 of the Digest Diet, which means I’ve transitioned off of the “2 shakes a day, one soup” phase into the “1 shake, 1 meal, 1 soup” phase. While it’s nice to be, you know, eating solids, I don’t do well with governing my own dietary choices. If I did, I probably wouldn’t have to be on this diet in the first place.
Me, if left to my own devices
During the Fast Release Phase of the diet, I didn’t drop a ton of weight (3lbs, but now I seem to have gained one back, FML) but I did manage to nix my sugar cravings, which is HUGE for me. Like, huge.
Unfortunately, now that I have a modicum of carbs back in my life, I want more. I want ALL THE CARBS. I bought a box of gluten-free, high fiber crackers–not exactly the stuff caloric dreams are made of–and I cannot stop thinking about. I want them more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I literally woke in the night thinking about the crackers, whereas I’d normally wake thinking about Zac Efron.
Pathetic.
I’m kind of wondering what would happen if I just stayed on the Fast Release portion of the diet? Or at least, did 2 shakes and one meal instead? I guess I’ll stick to the plan but I’m still waiting for the weight to come rushing off. And for Zac to ask someone for my phone number. Call me, Z!
Warning: Real Talk Ahead!
Ok. I’m trying to be positive about this whole thing because I believe in this diet and in Reader’s Digest in general but I have not lost ONE POUND. Not one.
Remember my last update where I had dropped a tad of weight? Yeah, it’s back. And no, I haven’t cheated. Ok fine I had a vodka soda last night–but just one! And it was teeny! Other than that, I’ve stuck to this plan like a mofo and I’m really really frustrated.
Me, this morning at vh1 for an appearance. Not exactly super svelte 
Not only that, but I’m fcking starving, like, all the time. I have to double my dosage of Adderall just to keep me from gnawing off my arm and pacing around the vending machines like a famished panther. I don’t know how legitimately fat people are doing it. They’re used to taking in a ton more calories than I am daily so this must be pure torture. But I bet they’re at least losing weight!
Now this rant isn’t just some bitter, hunger-fueled diatribe. I’m saying all this 1) in the interest of telling everyone what being on this diet is actually like if you’re my size (5’5″, 135) and 2) because I am hoping and praying and assuming that this will turn around.
With boss lady extraordinare Tionna Smalls. Know what isn't small? ME.
Here’s the thing: yeah, some of the other bloggers have dropped 6lbs because they have more to lose. And it’s probably water weight–which still totally counts, btw–but it comes off far faster than actual fat poundage.
I’ve talked to other girls my size who have done various cleanses and most of them assure me that the first week was like “Um WTF nothing’s happening?!” but then week two saw a dramatic drop. So, I’m hoping that’s what happens.
Have any of you experienced this? Any words of encouragement/advice for me? I swear to God I’m thisclose to falling face first into a pile of cupcakes.
Have I lost weight? Have I set anything on fire? Yes. Both. Obviously.
Hi guys! I am stoked to say that as of today I have linked up with Reader’s Digest‘s–whose new book The Digest Diet is out soon!–to be part of their new 21-day weight loss challenge, Digest Diet: Blog It Off. The book is the newest from RD’s editor-in-chief Liz Vaccariello, author of the NY Times bestseller The Flat Belly Diet!
Lemme ‘splain.
I, like seemingly every human female between the ages of 20-30, am never happy with my weight. I work out like a mofo but I manage to eat (and esp drink) juuuuuust enough to keep me fat. Well OK not like fat fat, but definitely unhappy with my body. Full disclosure? I’m 5’5″ and weigh 135. God I hate saying that. This is me:
Me, Pre Diet: MEH.
Like I said, I’m not some beheamoth roaming the earth, but I’m bigger than I know I should be, which is 125, max. With my bone structure and muscle tone, I have a sick body just waiting to happen, just begging me to peel off this layer of blubber covering up the awesomeness!!
Me, last night: Thickness :/
So, I am THRILLED to be part of The Digest Diet: Blog It Off challenge. I’m going head-to-head (or, rather, love-handles-to-love-handles) with a handful of other bloggers to see who can look the foxiest after Reader’s Digest’s new 21-day fat flush. Check out this vid for a little bit more about who I am, my lifestyle and why this diet is my ticket to FoxyTown.
Want to blog it off with me?? Tweet at me @DowntownShallon or leave me a comment. Good luck to us all!!
PS and yes I’m still your go-to dating guru–that will never change babies
PPS, if you’re bored, check out my new gif tumblr, Hannibal Lester. Like #whatshouldwecallme, but sassssssy.
And even that’s probably way too many.
Long story short (I’m too busy/lazy to explain) I’m writing a new scripted TV show called Who is Maggie Davenport and I’m in the process of editing, editing, editing. Apparently, frantic to simply turn in the latest draft, I cut, copied and rearranged sentences with such abandon that I neglected to clean up this little gem of a fragment:
Off to the side, party, thrusting penis. Brooke is her retainer in.
Scarlett is having her own drunken dance a bottle of whiskey at people like it’s a curled up against the napkin dispenser with.
Amazing. It’s nonsensical, dirty and hilarious. Hopefully the show will turn out the same way. More later…
 This script WILL be my ticket to dating Zac Efron. Just you wait. |
| This show will be my ticket to boning Zac Efron. Mark my words. |
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