Crotchless Spanx, is that an Oxymoron?

I had to get my end of week out my system. Wednesday evening, first experience of the Brixton gym. Terrible. I can not even tell you about it out of pure annoyance, but legs bums and tums it was not!! Outfits planned for my outing to the Indesit launderette PR party in Brick lane on Thursday after work and assuming a hangover rush to work Friday morning, outfit 2, to travel home looking slightly good, as new boy will pick me up from the station.

...So Thursday, my black, too expensive for something that is put in my hair every now and again, American Apparel bow, that was safely placed in my bag to be accessorized for my evening out later, decided to somehow jump out the closed pocket and run and away. Down one bow and when you have very little to last you till pay day, yes this does turn me into a little girl who is throwing her toys out the pram. Onwards and upwards though, I will be drinking free cocktails with a fantastic Pr friend and the world will not end if I am bow-less. Off Brick lane at the Dray Walk Gallery, an array of colour, washing machines, press and celebs filled a retro room. Catching up over very free flowing pink coloured cocktails, that going by my head on this Friday morning were stronger than they tasted, we got on to the important stuff right away, love lives.

Fantastic Pr friend had called it quits on a 10 year relationship and was breaking into singledom with a fashion week fling that had developed into two official dates. We drunkenly discussed restraining from any bedroom activity so soon after the ex (note this) and my recent trip away with a boy I met only 2 months ago. We danced with Paloma Faith very nearby, looking much cooler of course than us, visited the posh portacabin loos far too many times and chatted with well-dressed pretty people.

Fast-forward to waking up this Friday morning. I remember the MacDonald’s with guilt I grabbed on my way home and discover I lost my pink rose ring (second loss, what is wrong with me?). Fantastic Pr friend on the other hand, swapped my fast food option for a stop off on the way home to fashion week (now extended) fling's house, only to sleep with him after removing her don’t let you breathe Spanx, which must be added, were crotchless. Worse still she is now at work with worry having left them on his bedroom floor. Sexy reminder. Crotchless Spanx, huge oxymoron! I can’t believe they even exist!

I am happy to report she feels just as hungover as me going by the hoola-hoop image she sent me of her breakfast. We agree all in all the delayed catch up was more than worth it, but thank God it’s Friday!

And here goes Brixton and not my dream job...

No longer living in the un-London like of Parsons Green, after arriving back from Ibiza (my first time to the White Island, which has developed a need to return before the season ends) I had to make a swift move to a spare room in Brixton. No knife's needed anymore apparently! Although I have been advised to walk home without my phone attached to my hand, a hard task I admit.

New area, new room mates and all without the dream of becoming Junior Press officer at Browns, which I was interviewed for 2 weeks ago! I may not be perfect but don't ask me to call or email with further questions and then not give me the job, that gave me way too much confidence I was in with a chance. I am upset. About the short 20 minute tube journey it would have been, working for a brand I have admired for years, but mostly because I changed my flight costing me £200 so I could attend the interview. That's how much I wanted the job.

...So I still live 40 minutes away from work, which consists of admin tasks for an Italian construction company (to pay the rent) and the only joy I do have at my career taking off is the freelance projects I am doing, of course for free! Finding Your Feet Fashion show will be on again this November with new talent and beautiful established designer's collections and I will hopefully be wishing Kerry Nixon off with a smile as she heads to Paris after our successful launch for the debut collection.

Onwards and upwards...if all else fails, to New York it is in March when the rents up, along with my three years of experience at magazines and newspapers and recent progression into Pr and press officer work that was most recently tested at the Matthew Williamson office (Everyone is lovely there by the way)!

Big Apple Move or Blight bound?

I flew to New York in the hope of a week being introduced by our very charming big shot family friend to people in the fashion and media industry. The idea was to meet people that could shed some light on the opportunities open if I move my London city ass to the big apple. Within two days I am sitting in Kelly Cutrone's office, the biggest powerhouse Pr in New York being told straight that there are no fashion journalism jobs that will pay me anything worthwhile. My three-year degree out the window there then. But she gave me the advice to look beyond that title; there are more places I could push my way into other than magazines and newspapers. Hey if they won't have me maybe someone else will, I’ll make them if it means I can dance in Soho every night and still get a kick out of drinking afternoon Cosmo’s. Carry Bradshaw eat your heart out. Kelly is a reality TV star and her schedule between managing the firm and appearing on MTV as well as dashing in between hot spot cities for designer friend funerals actually found time to give me 5 minutes of no bullshit Cutrone trademark talk. Read her book. You’ll feel the fear. She never wears make-up and always dressed in Black. It’s as if she doesn’t need to do any of that shit, she works her butt off and just to really make you feel like you don’t try hard at all, she has a 7 year old daughter she independently puts through private education as well as everything else she has to list for the trophy cupboard.

Flash forward to Zac Posen’s party, not the glam celeb hoard that it could have been but reality? He needed publicity and he needed it mainstream. The shopping event filled a Target store with red carpet, instant Polaroid photographers and the reality cougar tv stars as well as Zac’s mother and father, two miniature people who didn’t have a ‘my sons a celebrity’ bone in their body and lots of other long limed and fashiony crowds.

In between trying to make myself sound worthy of being paid to work rather than continue another year interning for the good of my career, I met my new best friend, Emily, assistant to Mark baker (my charming family friend big shot). Working in nightlife we had the cheap luxury of spending evenings at clubs people would pay unreal amounts to get into and sampling menus of lobster and the best beetroot salad to name (in Juliet’s, Mark’s Supper club). We have drunk the hours away with champagne, cocktails and I wish I could say the occasional tequila but no drinking on this trip was occasional. I can feel the American cuisine stretching my new 7 for all mankind jeans I bought in Bloomingdales, that I must add, were so much less than we pay back home, another point to NYC.

Oh know! Stranded in New York due to Volcano eruption in Iceland, all flights cancelled for everyone heading back to London. Could you dream up a more idyllic place to be stranded? With the company of new friends, familiar faces who were also over in this adrenalin junkies paradise what more could I want. I still have a list that is most likely longer than the length of Manhattan with things I must do and see. Possibilities are endless and any fear of being a little Brit in a big city was whisked away with the incredible architecture and constant movement of the city life.

Now back to good ol' Blighty. Well after a de-tour stop first to Misanapolis, god help me if I had got stranded there. Back to the real world. Back to finishing a degree, putting clothes in the washing machine and eating in! I am sad to have left, I feel like I am leaving something behind. Have I forgotten something? Other than my entire savings that New York ate in 8 days of course. If I move their I will be leaving London and be back to the starting line in another city, but as Kelly Cutrone would advise, follow your intuition and as I sat in that overpriced bar at JFK airport it definitely told me that the fact I even have a shot to live in New York City is enough to take up the chance.

I have four months..