While he was working as a bouncer around town, he started visiting underground fight clubs, mostly in Chinatown. Legend says he would find himself in a basement surrounded by screaming drunks. Another fighter would enter the circle, and they would battle with no rules until one of them was unconscious. Legend says he’d leave the room with concussions, broken ribs, and maybe a couple of hundred dollars. “Those places, they only stop the fight if the crowd stops cheering or begins leaving,” he says. “They don’t really care if you live or die.”

Cool! Just as we always suspected.

But there was a publicity boomlet. The blog And I Am Not Lying wrote about the fights in May, other blogs followed, and crowds began to show up at Spartan fights. The Triangle enjoyed the spotlight in a charmingly time-delayed way. A printout of the And I Am Not Lying item arrived like a nineteenth-century transatlantic letter, three weeks after the fact. Legend carried it around for a while like a holy relic. There was one line he loved to quote: He kept asking the other Spartans, “Am I really ‘petite and diamond hard?’”

However, possibly due to the aforementioned YouTube antics, cops have been putting the heat on them lately, and they may have to take their act to Tompkins Square Park—as one fighter said, "“I told you putting this on YouTube was a mistake. We’re moving too fast. This wasn’t supposed to be about us getting famous.”

[Photo by Anya Roz via AndIamnotlying]

Spartan Warriors in the YouTube Age. [New York]

"Many of these new and temporary arrivals will never achieve full employment while in New York, taking a series of internships, volunteer positions and part time jobs to make ends meet before shuffling off to middle America, suburbia or Los Angeles. Despite this, they define the (cultural) economy of New York."

Yupres are like baby yuppies—small fish that may never get the chance to grow up. They might get eaten by a bigger fish on their way up, or captured by a tuna net. Or an $8/hour internship at O magazine.

[Ventriloquism NYC]

A.I. - 2001

Armageddon - 1998

Category 7: The End of the World - 2005

Cloverfield - 2008

Deep Impact - 1998

Deluge - 1933

Gangs of New York - 2002

Godzilla - 1998

I am Legend - 2007

Independence Day - 1996

Meteor - 1979

Planet of the Apes - 1968

The Day After Tomorrow - 2004

War of the Worlds - 2005

When Worlds Collide - 1951

Shake-activating the phone's search, Bruni finds that

"The Tasting Room, which was on this block, closed more than a month ago. Shortly before that, the restaurant Elizabeth opened across the street. With a few shakes, Urbanspoon nonetheless guided me to the Tasting Room. Even after many shakes, it never suggested Elizabeth, instead recommending Rialto, which was the restaurant that Elizabeth replaced. Rialto hasn’t been open for half a year."

UrbanSpoon: missing every restaurant that is actually important.

Where to Eat? Ask Your iPhone [NYT]

We, and no doubt the Times, wondered a month ago if architect Renzo Piano's "lace" skin shouldn't come down, after two ascents in one day, but the Times wanted to first try beefing up security. That clearly didn't work, but maybe this way is better: at least the paper can truthfully claim to have become not only more secure, but also a significantly more transparent organization than it was even a month ago!

[City Room]



(Photo by David Dunlap via Times)

Article I: Sidewalk Behavior

I.a.1 - Parents with strollers shall not occupy more than 66% of the width of a given sidewalk's walking area, except for periods of less than ten seconds when passing jutting storefront artifacts such as elongated entranceways, outdoor eating areas, or subway stations.

I.a.2 - As mothers, especially new mothers, are often hormonal masses of cluelessness, fathers will be responsible for a family's compliance with article I.a.1. Childless Individuals are urged to take special note of these characteristics of a mother's mindstate, and to factor this understanding into their reactions to violations of Article 1.a.1; a mother's failure to make room for you on the sidewalk does not derive from her arrogance, though it may easily be mistaken for such; said failure is merely motivated by obliviousness due to lack of sleep, individual freedom, and the chemical demand of continual and exclusive focus on her children.

We agree completely. Sometimes you just have to arbitrarily lay down the rules! (That's what being a parent is all about.)

Declaration of Codependence [Blognigger]

"A glass of beer," rasps the old man in a homberg shambling up to the counter. "God damn it, I'd like a glass of beer." Stefan the bartender motions to a sign that reading "NO DRAFT—BOTTLED BEER ONLY."

"Awww, shit." He coughs. "I been gone thirty years. They finally let me out. They actually let me out!" He surveys the place: "It's still a dump. It was a dump thirty years ago, last time I was in here, and it's a dump now."

The old bartender wheezes something in reply. "Where?" I'd guess he is saying. Let him out from where? Prison? Bellevue?

"I ain't tellin' you," the old-timer says, leaning across the counter until he is almost touching the bartender's face with his, a smile creeping across his face. "Old man! How old are ya, ninety-nine?"

"Eighty-nine," the bartender rasps. "Eighty-nine."

"Come here often?" the old guy asks in my direction; we're the only two people in the bar. "Is it Sunday? I just got out. Wasn't there a holiday this weekend?"

"Fourth of July."

The TV breaks into the silence: "The wild horses are beginning to ignore me, which is more than I ever could have hoped for," intones the narrator for a nature show.

This appears to be too much for the just-released man; he gets up and leaves in an cloud of cursing and invectives. "Fuck this," is the last thing heard before he hurls himself back onto the street.

A tourist couple comes in, snapping photos, loudly enunciating their words. "What. Do. You. Want. To. Do?" the girl asks Stefan the bartender.

"Sleep," he says, his voice barely audible. "I want to sleep."

[Photo: Urban 75]

"My friend picked the bar for her birthday party, so I was obligated to go, despite my usual strategy of avoiding places that get drooling reviews and publicity from New York magazine and the rest. I got there at around 10:30. The bouncer told me that I would have to wait a few minutes, which was fine. He was kind of rude, but no big deal—the real drama didn't start until a few minutes later.

"A girl who had been inside poked her head out to say hello to some of her friends who weren't being let in. When she tried to go back in (about 30 seconds later) he started screaming at her. She tried to explain that she was going to leave but just needed to get her purse from inside, at which point he started screaming at her. Granted, the girl was a dumbass to leave her stuff inside to begin with, but after 5 minutes of his ranting at her, calling her a bitch, telling her to just shut up and stop talking, and eventually reducing her to hysterical tears, you'd think he would have cracked enough to let her in for a minute to grab her stuff. But instead he made her wait outside for 10 more minutes, sobbing, while he let in a bunch of other people. And it clearly wasn't that he didn't believe her. He was just getting off on humiliating her. It was really disturbing, and it made everyone feel icky."

[Photo above: Down By the Hipster]

From: "Paragraph"

Date: June 30, 2008 1:01:37 PM PDT
To: Subject: Rules: Reminders & Addition

ALL MEMBERS KINDLY TAKE HEED

Because we have been getting a good number of complaints, we'd like to remind everyone of the following rules:

*Cell phones should not ring or buzz in the writing space.

*Do not answer your phone as you're leaving the writing space. (Dashing for the door in order to answer your phone is an additional disturbance.)

*Do not talk on your cell phone in the hall; your voice carries into the writing space.

*The café area is for eating, taking calls (under ten minutes), checking email, and *quiet* interaction. The cafe area is not for conducting business.

*Noise from the café carries into the writing space, so please keep your voice down.

*No eating is allowed in the writing space. Food attracts mice, and bags, candy wrappers and chewing make noise.

*While in the writing space, mute your computer before you turn it on, and while in use.

*When entering, leaving, and working in the writing space, please be as quiet as possible. Dropping bags and books onto desks, tapping pencils, getting up and down frequently to answer phone calls, and the like should be avoided.

A new rule:

*Newspapers should not be read in the writing space. They make too much noise.

A suggestion:

*If you're wearing heavy or hard-soled shoes, please bring slippers to wear in the writing space.

Thank you for helping to make Paragraph a peaceful place to work.

Lila & Joy

Inside, you'll find a low-ceilinged, mood-lit paradise, complete with a custom-carved ceiling, black-and-gold posters of a model in the nude and a fog-covered well in the center, in case the journey left you parched.

All this downstairs from Marcus Samuelsson's Merkato 55, one of the finest perveyors of kitfo in the tri-state area.

[via Jossip]

You got your David Letterman

Your Amy Winehouse

Your giant panda

...and Tiger Woods next to a penny.

[via Best Week Ever]

Sadly, it didn't. Also, the Department of the Interior claimed such arrests never happened; that assertion was "happily quoted" by gay magazines. Meanwhile:

So out in the Meat Rack, the federal forest between Cherry Grove and the Pines, I met a man who described his "flavor" as "Blatino" and who suggested, unprompted, for himself the pseudonym of "Max." He reported that he had seen a timid, anxious three-way taking place in the bushes that afternoon and not much else—but that the Meat Rack had, last night in the wee hours, been hopping. No one expected the park rangers to have the budget for night patrols.

...And the following day, Sunday, things were pretty quiet; no cops of any stripe. Everyone had heard that the new park rangers put on staff at the Fire Island National Seashore had been informed by their superiors that arresting gay men for lewd behavior was not a priority here. How that might have been put to them was not explained.

Promises In the Park [Radar]

New York Eccentrics 26-50:

26. Newspaper-Wrapped Guy - A man completely wrapped in newspapers on 6th Ave., who floats between 14th and 18th Streets. He is said to have "an innate grasp of all sorts of witty profanity laden combinations and turns of phrase." Known to sometimes sport an aluminum foil helmet and hang outside of the Hollywood Diner on 16th. May be a surly guy called "Don" known to local businesses. Via commenters Unnatural Axe, maevemealone and winniemc.

27. "SIGN THE PETITION" lady - She was often on 6th Ave near Barnes and Nobles. She sang a "SIGN THE PETITION" song for the animals and shrieked it for the humans. Was anti-porn, pro-animal rights. Via commenters shutupitsmine, WireMommy and Helman.

28. The Yarn Couple - The couple in Central Park who "look like they skinned 1000 stuffed animals to make their clothes," which are composed of knitted, rainbow-colored, full-body outfits "with yarn strings dangling off them." A white lady and a black guy. They make and sell colorful bracelets that they forbid anyone to touch or photograph. Via commenters Clarence Rosario and snocone.

29. Fake Homeless Lady - The "homeless lady" who wears only a garbage bag in the summer. The tourists fall for it hook, line and sinker. She can usually be found on 57th Street on a hot summer day. Rumor has it that she owns a brownstone in Harlem. Via commenters kokotaylor and rina.

30. The Alien Man - He wears multicolored clothes, has green, purple and yellow pipe cleaners woven into his cornrows and even has an antenna. He plays a crazy saxophone solo and says he needs fuel to get back to his home planet. "EXCUSE ME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! I AM FROM PLANET-X! YEARS AGO, MY SPACESHIP CRASHED AND I AM TRYING TO RAISE MONEY TO REPAIR IT SO I CAN RETURN TO PLANET-X! ON MY PLANET, MUSIC SOUNDS LIKE THIS! IF YOU WILL DONATE, I WILL STOP PLAYING!" Via commenters IS_IT_THE_SHOES!? and Allison571.

31. Mrs. Purple - She has purple hair and clothes. She sings beautiful arias in the subway, sometimes in the 14th St corridor. She is African American, a bit older, heavy set and plays an electronic keyboard. There were two "Purple People," male and female, around 1976-1978 who wore all purple and rode purple bikes, so it's possible she and Mr. Purple were once an item. Via commenters DogwoodBark and ShevantiDelphi.

32. Mr. Purple - Walked around Upper West Side in the 70s and 80s with a live boa-constrictor wrapped around himself. Via commenter rubyriver.

33. Subway Curse Woman - On the F train there was an Asian woman who would issue curses to everyone. Not swearing but actual curses. "Oh I see you reading that bad Esquire magazine! 48 curses on you! You go to hell now! That look you gave me is good for 1000 more curses! You have 45,000 curses on you now!" Via commenter inseptiv.

34. Subway "Ain't No Sunshine" Performer - Rides the F Train with a guitar autographed by Ziggy Marley. Also carries a little portable amp. He only knows how to play Bill Withers' "Ain't No Sunshine", though he was once heard playing "Redemption Song." Via commenter UnnaturalAxe.

35. Subway "Sorry" Performer - A scrawny African American guy, who rides the 2,3 train. He wears leather pants and has an amp strapped to him. Plays electric guitar and constantly sings Tracy Chapman's "Sorry, Is all that you can say." Via commenter DogwoodBark.

36. Subway "Girl From Ipanema" Performer - An older woman with large glasses/sunglass and a mini-keyboard playing the "Girl from Ipanema," usually with stuffed animals around. Via email tipster.

37. Tennis Racquet Guy - A black guy, found usually at South Street Seaport, who folds himself up and then puts himself through a de-stringed tennis racquet. Via commenter sassypants.

38. Doowop Time - Older black men subway performers who start their act by asking somebody what time it is. They then respond by yelling, "No! It's Doowop Time!" Via commenter collegecallgirl.

39. Black Flintstones Guy - He wears a brown sweater/dress with a fleece, leopard-print scarf as a belt, and he carries a large bag of magical surprises. Via commenter ITTYKNOCKERS.

40. Goth Ben Franklin - He lives in Williamsburg and apparently, he coat checks at Studio B to earn a living. Via commenter werewolf.

41. The Rubber Band Bum - He used to always be in Nolita. He would cover his entire body first in plastic grocery bags and would hold these in place with hundreds of rubber bands. Looks somewhat like a plastic marshmallow man. Via commenter werewolf.

42. Garbage-Bag Man - The man on Broome street who wears a whole garbage bag outfit AND reads the newspaper upside down. He has been known to spit on passer-byes. Via commenter soul_sundays.

43. Polka Dot Lady - She paints dots on all her clothes or any baggage she might have with her. Seen in both Manhattan and Brooklyn. Via commenter lasertronic.

44. Metal Mike - Often seen hanging around Bowery in the early nineties. Claimed he was "Everybody's favorite Bum." Carried a cell phone and business cards. Via commenter gringuitico.

45. Good Morning Guy - The man in Union Square who walks around holding a hand mirror in front of his face saying "Good morning!" repeatedly in a thick New York accent. Via commenter Lonesome_George.

46. Pizza Polisher - On weekdays and only in the summer, a homeless man rubs discarded pizza slices on the arms of Segal's lesbian statues in Sheridan Square. Via commenter Hamud Ibn Hamud.

47. Red Makeup Lady - The crazy bad dye job redhaired bob lady who makes 'blush circles' and wears Kabookie lipstick. Via commenter DinaRonson.

48. Keith Richards on Wheels Guy - An old frightening bike messenger who wears a vest and a top hat and who curses violently at anyone within sight. There is a skull and crossbones on his top hat. Via commenter DonPardoCalrissian.

49. Tatoo-Covered Old Guy - An elderly super skinny man who is covered head to toe in tattoos who marches up and down first avenue in a leather hat and plaid golf shorts. Via commenter meglantine.

50. Tattoo-Face Office Worker - Muscley-man in suit with tattooed face. Almost every morning he gets on the subway at wall street. He has a fully shaved and tatted head and face and stretched earlobes. Other than that, however, he looks like every other person headed to midtown corporate offices and he even rocks a bow-tie. Via commenter hypocriteoath.

This gallery will be kept updated, so send us pointers to photos, video or fresh entries, either in the comments below or at tips@gawker.com. Thank you for all your suggestions!

Credits: Intern Nicola Gherson worked heroically to compile an initial list, which was then revised, expanded and converted into what you see below.

"I found a home! I dropped off the deposit last night, so it's all on the level now. It's in Brooklyn, at the 15th St. Prospect Park stop; it's under $700 (actually a great price, but I don't want to publicize that widely). It's a great brownstone with two cool roommates, Haiyen and Lindsey.

I didn't have to look at many places, either. Here's how it went down:

My first two places: the buzzer didn't work at the first, so I stood around looking a tourist or something, wishing I had a pink cake to cry into...

Then my friend was having lunch at some restaurant, and the waiter told him that there was a room avail in his building. We saw it that night—a GORGEOUS loft in Bed-Stuy, right off the Morgan stop, I think... The rent was something that came out to just over $500 for 4 people (and we had 4 people), so I said, "We want it."

This I said in front of someone we'll call "Blustafson," a very good-looking but quiet guy sitting playing on the computer. The person leaving the apartment said that "technically it's Blustafson's call, because he's here now..." And I had to whisper, "Is that Blustafson?" I think he finally looked up at this point, and the temperature dropped 20 degrees in the room.

...The next place I looked at was a $500 room... It was also in an interesting neighborhood, right on the Nostrand stop on the A, which felt in some ways like a Caribbean version of Canal St. I went into some great sneaker store and got these awesome sneaks for $19.90. A lot of great sneakers for uner $20. Don't know how they do it—don't care.

Then I went in one of those cheap stores that sell everything, and they had deodorants that I'd never seen marketed in mainstream stores and shorts for $5 and the like. Then I went into this oil and candle shop—because I'm a scent nut—and I was looking at the large selection of oils, and I asked if I could smell them. The guy said they were "not for perfume; for special purposes." But the perfume oils, of which there were a MUCH smaller selection, were on the other shelf. I turned back to the "special purposes" oils and he reiterated his previous point, adding that they were for "religious purposes." Oh. I should have known, considering one was called "voodoo."

The next day I saw the place I got—a gorgeous brownstone on the outskirts of the Park Slope area."

[From: These Are My Memoirs]

Few details are known—the National Park Service has not yet confirmed the arrests or said why they have now begun patrolling the land. On the weekend of Friday, June 13, at least one gay man was detained in the small wooded area popularly called The Meat Rack, which is both a cruising ground and also a thoroughfare between the two gay towns of Fire Island, Cherry Grove and The Pines. The following weekend, at least two were arrested.

This coming Saturday, June 28, one Cherry Grove resident is proposing—via posters around the towns—a day of action, what he is calling "a circle jerk for freedom" around the park service's (abandoned) building in the Meat Rack at the edge of the Pines.

on friday night i was out in sheepshead bay for
a fishing trip birthday party thing (don't ask). on our way back i saw this
dude sucking face with a girl in a shiny yellow dress under the entrance to
the subway. i said, "oh, that looks like serial womanizer/[alleged attempted] date rapist paul
janka, but it couldn't be, because he never leaves his house for dates!"
minutes later, as we waited on the platform, said face sucker bounded up
the steps and my friend gasped. it was paul janka! he sat down next to us.
the group of six of us began whispering excitedly at our douchebag siting.
janka began squirming, stood up and moved several meters down the platform.
apparently he's been forced to the outer reaches of brooklyn for pussy
these days!

Ugh. At least the woman in question wasn't lured into an enclosed space with Janka.

James Franco was at The Whitney Art Party last night with a surgically attached girlfriend and literal hangers-on. Watching him carry the weight of those four people all night was exhausting. In my memory it was like they all had their arms draped around his neck and he was just dragging them along like some kind of human cloak. I was drunk though.

The city has shut down all but two bathhouses and every known sex club in Manhattan, as well as citing bars, clubs, and private parties where inspectors find any men-on-men action. The few entrepreneurs still out there complain about apathy and different priorities among younger gay men.

"These things are ending because people don't want them anymore," [naughty-party organizer Daniel Nardicio] says. "People are spoiled, petulant, uninteresting. I've been throwing outrageous parties again and again for years, but the only time I was busted was at the Slide."

Other theories posited for the steep decline of raunchy sex parties: gays fighting for their right to marry and serve openly in the military rather than party, coming out is "easier than ever" (is it??), and gays are not as "marginalized" in society.

Maybe everyone should spend the next few years working on their careers, until the pendulum inevitably swings back in the other direction.

Village Voice

[Village Voice cover outtake by Nikola Tamindzic of Home of the Vain]

Novelist (and dude) Nick Antosca, 25, saw a girl reading a galley of a forthcoming book by Chuck Palahniuk, and "I was like, ‘Oh, shit, I want to get that!’ I wondered whether she was a reviewer or if she worked at the publishing house."

Another man, former literary editor Tom Meaney, claims carrying a galley three months before publication is hotter than "the right jeans or the right purse or whatever... it's just an incredible selective object."

But the women, not so m... oh wait, here's one who is totally into galleys! "Reading galleys on the subway is the closest the publishing industry comes to having a standardized mating call" said Karan Mahajan! Score! But the spelling is a little funny there... Wikipedia... ya, that's actually a guy.

Real women are polite, but unimpressed. Liz Maples, an assistant editor at a Farra, Straus & Giroux imprint, told the Observer she actively hides, on the subway, any reading material that gives away her status as a publishing insider, because she doesn't like being approached by strangers.

And then there's editorial assistant Ali Heifetz, at Norton:

“If and when [I saw] a cute dude reading a galley on the train,” she said, “he would be more attractive to me than same dude not reading a galley.
But less attractive than the same dude carrying a guitar case."

D'oh. But you know what? When the right girl comes along, she'll totally be impressed with your advance gallery. So keep carrying them around, publishing types, and holding them visibly at important mixers, just in case. But also try initiating conversations yourself, on even the barest of pretenses. Like, say, of writing a trend piece on literary hookups!

[Observer]

(Image via Lex in the city on Flickr)

When he first contacted me I told him I was busy, then sick, then I ignored him. A few days ago I saw a Gawker post and realized that Paul was Paul Janka. Naturally, I wondered what it was like to hang out with a pile of shit, so I said we should hang out. I make bad decisions sometimes. And, in the spirit of poor judgement I agreed to go to his apartment. It wasn't like I was going to fall for some line and have sex with him. Gross. I found out too late that Paul Janka is not sweet talker, he's physically aggressive and refuses to acknowledge the word "no."

We sat on his couch talking - he only wanted to talk about sex and dating - for 30 minutes. He spent the entire time trying to put his hand on my leg only to have my brush it off. Finally he said, "You don't like me, do you?"

"No, not really." I agreed.

He told me that we should either have sex or I should leave. I said I would leave. I started to stand up and he pulled me backwards and pinned me against the couch. I tried to push him off me, but couldn't. He started touching my breasts and between my legs. I told him to let me go as I tried to deflect his hands. After a few minutes he let me up. I gathered my things. As I was putting on my shoes he came over and grabbed my face, he squeezed until it hurt and I couldn't move my head. The he shoved his tongue in my mouth. I pushed him off, went to the door, and was trying to unlock it when he came up behind me and wrapped one arm around my arms, making them immobile, and shoved the opposite hand down my pants. He tried to fucking finger me (unsuccessfully, I fought like a dog). I told him to stop. I struggled to get free. His only response was, "You're turned on, aren't you." He wouldn't let go. I managed to grab an umbrella propped against the wall next to me. I hit him and he backed off. I rushed out the door and I heard him laugh a little and call "bye" after me.

Either Paul Janka didn't understand that someone was seriously telling him to stop or he did and chose to ignore it. Both options are scary. Showtime might base a show on this man? Men take advice from him? He is disgusting and pathetic and potentially dangerous. Joking about this guys being an asshole is all fine and good, but if he's using physical force like this, damn it, that's not funny. There are so many amazing men running around, but it's always the worst examples of the male sex that tout themselves as experts with women.

Even less funny was Janka's reply when we asked for comment:

"I'd say going on a date under false pretenses is pretty underhanded, wouldn't you? I'm not interested in disputing her account, tit-for-tat. Suffice it to say she's spun it to serve her interests."

Says Tionna, pictured with Ed, below: "Ed and I definitely know each other. That picture is from his amazing Christmas party he had in NYC. I think you should definitely feature this on Gawker. Everyone is looking for a roommate and he would be a fabulous one especially because he is a talented musician. He is definitely fabulous."


Cool! In case you are also looking for a new place, here are the things Ed likes to read: "Let's have a look at some of my books and DVDs now (you'll notice that I'm an Amy Sedaris fan; hopefully that means that we have a similar sense of humor.)" Also (not pictured): "Here are some bloops about my show and CDs and a snapshot of a column I wrote once upon a time for a Swiss newspaper."

Won't somebody help him out? He has references!

[Craigslist]

"So last week, a fashion friend of mine sent an event e-mail for "Fashion Meets Finance," presumably mocking my earlier attempts that week to get around paying rent. It's an event created specifically for "the young men and women of the fashion and financial industries" to get together and pro-create the next inspiration for Gossip Girl 2025. One could RSVP on their website and include point facts such as salary (take note, JDate).

It seems to target only men in Finance and only women in Fashion, making advertising and blogging undesirable careers for the Ivy league class of 2008. Although I, a man, could say I work in fashion, I RSVP'd listing my previous life as a Wall Street tool in order to be accepted into the event (yeah, you read right; many people RSVP'd and were rejected. Trannies, geighs, and midgets need not apply).

It was being held at Taj on 21st between 5th and 6th. I arrived at about 6:30 with 3 of my fashionista co-workers and got to mingling. After making an immediate visit to the bar swarmed by hedge-funders and dolled-up fashion buyers, I decided to pull out my cash fan of $49 and pose with my friend Christine (who by the way came to this event with NO intention of being "Carrie-d" away, but likes to have fun nonetheless).

We then caught the eye of a Post reporter who interviewed us for next week's Page Six and snapped a few shots of me flashing my cash fan adoringly at Christine, and then turned away when he realized I very much preferred to flash my $49 adoringly at him.

The crowd was pretty tame at first; there were way too many single guys moping around with their $12 drinks and glittering girls gaggling, presumably, about how boob tape is the new black. After dancing a bit (what was a gay supposed to do at an event like this, network?) a strapping young man in red skinny jeans caught my eye.

My Radar [magazine]-savvy friends pointed out that it was none other than Neel Shah, and better yet, on assignment! The pencil in ear and small white notepad should've tipped me off. After hitting him up for some magic berries, I went to the bar and took a conscious note of how every single suit who had been moping just an hour earlier had already been coupled off with their mannequin for the night.

After 8pm, it got real raunchy with a DJ spinning 90s dance hits and drunk I-bankers douchebagging away with their fashion girls on the dance floor. After witnessing one guy do the twist, and another suit shimmy to the ground, I knew it was time to leave. (Although at some point, I shimmy-ed as well, although I did so ironically!).

Sufficiently wiping off the couple sucking face atop by handbag on the couch, I made my way outside for a last cigarette and had Christine snap a Cash Fan shot circa last week Gawker. The bits of conversation we caught outside could very well epitomize this event, or rather, the entire heterosexual Manhattan night scene:

Blonde Fashion Wench in white dress: "Hi, What's your name again?"
Suit who was Gellin': "Bill."
Blonde Fashion Wench: "Oh! I have an uncle Bill. Can I call you Uncle
Bill?"

And the next minute, another couple:

Brunette in a strapless red cake dress, walking out with her future
divorcé: "Oh! Shoe store! Shoe Store!"
Hedge-funder: "Um, so where do you live again? I'll get the cab."

Needless to say, my friends went home and I left alone. My rent check will be mailed first thing the next day."

It was hard finding the appropriate candidates to feature, seeing as how the site is flooded with fake people, entering as a joke. But we think we found some attractive candidates—there's still time to sign up and meet them yourself!

Ladies, meet Aaron McCann! He works at Ackman-Ziff, makes between $200,000 and $299,000 a year was featured in Gotham magazine's "Guide to Gold Digging" in 2007.

Gentlemen, here's Gracey! As you can see, she's cute, blonde, and is a creative coordinator at the Wall Group fashion agency. She only makes under $50K a year though—she could really use your equity!

And finally, here's Bill. He's VP of "Compliance" for Citigroup—maybe he'll find a fashion lady to comply with him tonight.

DAY TWO 9:22 a.m.: Stop at Duane Reade to pick up bottle of Advil and wander by shelf of pregnancy tests. Consider picking one up. My two neuroses: I am constantly convinced that I either have cancer or I am pregnant — neither at the same time. 9:25 a.m.: Find Advil. Skip pregnancy-test purchase. Karma dictates that I will probably get my period the moment I purchase a test. Therefore, a waste of money. 10:55 a.m.: Blog about complications of phone sex with Band Dude. 11:15 a.m.: Friend replies to blog post, "What don't you share with the Internet? You are turning into Julia Allison." 11:52 a.m.: Ahh! Co-worker who I have a crush on is organizing things near my desk. Desperately search for something to say. I come up with, "It smells like beer in here. Do you smell that?" He doesn't. Cringe in horror and text several girlfriends to relay bad interaction with crush. 9:15 p.m.: Text from Band Dude: "Hey lady. How are you on this fine evening?" 11:17 p.m.: I take a pic of my cleavage with my phone and send it to him.