Last week, my boss at the internship told me that she was very excited about my turning 21 because it meant that she would be able to send me on "real" assignments. What does that mean, you wonder? It means that I could go to "celebrity events". I put this in quotation marks now, but I didn't then, because I hadn't experienced the night yet. I was very serious about the Celebrity Event. The GAME was on the tip sheet (The Tip Sheet is where the people who put on the event send out a cheat sheet of who's going to be there and so-on), people. THE GAME. It was supposedly hosted by Kim Kardashian (of "OMG isn't she Paris Hilton's BFF?" fame) and the Pussycat Dolls. The "confirmed guest list" included the Gastineau Girls, Jaime Kennedy, and Chamillionaire. Granted, these are D-List celebrities at best, but here are some of the names who really did deign to show their faces at Republic last night: Brian Peeler, Tisto Chapman, Johnny Blazer, Willie Macc, Chelsea Handler, Brandi C, and Shane Sparks. Don't recognize those names? Don't worry, neither did I, and neither did anyone else covering the red carpet.
After the majority of the "celebrities" showed up, Scot (the photographer for the magazine) and I gave up and went around the corner to the Press Line (which is the line where the press went to get into the club: Open Bar!), where we proceeded to watch members of the big-breasted public get let into the club ahead of us for about two hours. It was pretty infuriating, and I don't mean to sound like a snob already, but I was on the list! Last night was the first time I've ever felt bad about the size of my breasts. I mean, the first time since I hit puberty. It was pretty shitty. I don't know what the club or the magazine thought they were going to accomplish by pissing off all the magazines and newspaper, but they did a fantastic job of it.
All in all: Unimpressed.
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