Category — I've got chops

You’ll have to forgive me.

I had many, many deadlines and movies to see and debates to fall asleep during and books to read.

I’m an excellent reader. Did you all know that? It’s kind of my “thing” or as Melissa Lion would put it, “It’s my signature.”

I started reading when I was two and never looked back. My mom even took me to one of those genius doctors where they make you put the squares in the holes or whatever but I wasn’t genius enough I guess or maybe, just maybe, the holes were TOO GODDAMN SMALL…but I digress. Anyway, my performance was disappointing to my mom – probably because she is a genius herself and also because what kind of moron can’t figure out which side of a three dimensional square is the bottom?

After the failed doctor visit my family stopped referring to me as the smart one and would say things like, “Kiala is really, very clever” or “she’s got good legs” or “Kiala has a lot of common sense”.

So I’m not a genius. I’m just what they call “smart” and I’m telling you this in order to justify the fact that I spent a good two hours yesterday trying on my fall shoes with different “smart” outfits and taking pictures of them for you because I know you find pictures of me to be FASCINATING.

So now I can go back to responding to emails (sorry Erin! I’m doing it now!) and chatting with Intern Meagan (where are you anyway?) and making up to my best friend for EFFING FORGETTING HER BIRTHDAY ON SUNDAY (Happy Ladyhawke Sy!)

And here is the gallery of me that is about me on my blog about me and my shoes that are mine because we all revolve around and subsist upon the sun that is me and my shoes. Mine. Thanks.

Last night we went to a special party for a special band hosted by our special friend Dave Allen. I was there to interview the special band for the Mercury. That sounds exciting, doesn’t it? As if my life is a whirlwind of chic cocktail parties, intimate dinners, fashion shows, and rock star parties, right? And, well, I guess it is, isn’t it?

JEALOUS?

Except, here’s the thing. I am AFEARED of people. People totally freak me out, so THANK GOD Justin and Megan and Dane were with me, otherwise I probably would have spent the whole party hiding in Dave and Paddy’s bedroom, re-lipsticking and organizing the pens in my purse.

So Justin (thank you, Justin) led me through the kitchen (after making sure I’d had the requisite two glasses of wine necessary for me to form coherent sentences outside the four walls of my apartment…and the internet) and then positioned me near the band – then left (omg). Lucky for me, a nice girl in a pretty dress happened to be standing behind the band and also next to me, so I said to her, “I’m sorry, are you trapped there? Did I trap you in there with my standing right here?” and she responded with a funny something about not knowing anyone at the party except her friend who was talking to my friend Jon (Jonny) Ragel (we go way back on the intertubes) and after that we were bffs. And her friend happened to be Jenny Tatone who is a music writer (and has written many, many more things than I have for the Mercury) and they took me in hand and introduced me to the band. Yay! Bravo for Kiala the Insecure Journalist.

I’m thinking of having that made into a placard. I have no idea what the difference is between a placard and a card but one sounds more impressive, doesn’t it?

I think I should also mention that those boys are very good looking and the way I handle talking to good looking boys is I pretend that I am a supermodel and everyone knows how well supermodels and rock stars get along, am I right? Also, supermodels are not required to speak much. Or be intelligent, in any way. Or eat. Being a supermodel is surprisingly relaxing. Until somebody (DAVE) sticks a video camera in your face and asks you questions and then posts the vimeo on the interweb and you realize that you are not a supermodel. Do you know what you do then? You go to Taco Bell with your friends for a Fourth Meal.

Still, I’m very pleased to have been thrown to the lions and come out smelling like roses.

Or like lions.

I don’t get similes.