A Typical Day for Me....

How can I ever compete with Ms. Hwang's stories? I will never be able to obtain Gold Status on Northwest Airline, therefore, will never know the joy of sitting next to a pervert. But I suppose my life is not that shabby.....


Today was like any other day in the life of Howard Lee. I woke up in my spacious 4 bedroom, bi-level penthouse located in the newly renovated Plaze Hotel overlooking Central Park. The smell of sweet French Vanilla coffee and fried eggs and ham omellette gently woke me from my deep slumber. I slept so well that my 1200 count Egyptian cotton sheet around my body barely had a crease from when the maids made the bed the morning prior.

"It doesn't get better than breakfast in bed," I tell myself, as my butler, Fernando, carefully set the well prepared breakfast in my lap. I turn on CNN to see what's going on in the world not because I care about the world, but to see if current affairs will interfere with my daily routines, such as terrorist attacks that may disrupt the usage of my personal helicopter, for example.

I finish my breakfast just as my personal trainer, Thor, arrives at my doorway for my daily workout regiment. The clock shows 8:30am. "Right on time," I said to the muscle bound 25 year-old Columbia Law Student. He takes me to the rooftop where we start our workout with a much needed meditation then Yoga. He has Yani playing in the background fading in and out to Enya. After half an hour or so, he gently rocks me out of my deep state of nirvana and we head into the rooftop gym that I had designed tailoring to my needs. We run on the treadmill for 15 mins then onward to lifting. After an hour or so, we're done; Thor goes home, and I head into the shower.

At 10:00 my mom meets me (wow, alliteration, exciting) downstairs at the Palm Court for morning tea prior to our fitting at Dolce & Gabbana and Dior by John Galliano for some fashion show tonight. We attend so many of these a week it all starts to blend in together. We don't complain much as it is the duties of Manhattan socialites to attend any and all invited events for media spotlights; I, however, attend for entirely different reasons; I go for the free watches, free cellphones, free wardrobe upgrade, and the occassional free spa visits, oh, and of course, watch Paris Hilton make an ass of herself along side of Tara Reid. Life is good.

After our fittings (it went amazingly) we head down to Frederick Fekkai for our weekly spa manicures and pedicures. It's pure heaven just to be able to sit back, close your eyes and enjoy the fruit of of American foreign policy - the immigrants. They sure know how to work those hands. Just as I'm about to climb into the heated chair for my pedicure, I run into Lindsay Lohan & Co. whom I fake air-kiss and swap a few superficial exchanges. "Oh, I just love your outfit! What do they call it? Sweatpants....ohhh, and they're valour, what? they didn't have it in felt?! haha, oh I'm such a kidder. You look fabulous darling, can't wait to see what you'll be wearing tonight! ciao ciao Lindsay!" I air kiss one last time and turn to find my mother absolutely abhorred by my interaction with Ms. Lohan. Not because she disapproves my fakeness, but rather of a human being best described as a rat and the fact that I actually took the time and energy out being fake to a human corpse. I assure my mother that such atrocity would never happen again. Finally appeasing her, I sat down for my pedicure, which was heaven, to say the least.

Walking out of the salon made me feel like a whole new person and I can finally understand (I have the realization on a weekly basis walking out of the salon) why my dear mother insist on going once, sometimes twice, a week. So, with ourselves all refreshed and ready to take on the day, the driver comes at exactly 3:45 and takes us to the Rotunda so we can make the 4:00pm High Tea located at the Pierre Hotel. It has always been our daily ritual to meet here so we can catch up on gossips, such as who did who, who has the latest fashion and who's snorting the most coke. We live for moments like this. Had I been born a girl, we would have been the ultimate mother/daughter team toppling even the mightiest of giants, Joan & Melissa Rivers. (The Gastineaus don't count, those bitches can't even count correctly...fuck them). As we sip our tea and munch on our cucumber and tomato sandwiches stuffed with procuitto, we realize that we had dinner reservation at Cipriani's so we call the driver and race towards the restaurant. It's never polite to be late to dinner when the owner of the restaurant invites you.

Around 9:00pm we finish dinner. My mother and I go our separate ways, I take my Dolce and she takes her Dior, to get ready for the fashion show. Of course my sister is late coming to my place; she claims that her pilot didn't know the way. How hard is it to set a 4 seater plane on auto-pilot? Flying from France is not exactly far. I don't know what she's thinking sometimes. And of course being as absent-minded as she is, she had forgotten to go for her fitting at Jean Paul Gaultier so I had to beg Andrew Goodman to open up his store just so my sister can find herself a dress, a request he happily obliged. My sister picks out a vintage Chanel Couture and it is just heaven on her. Bergdorf is so pretty at night.

Finally, an hour late for the fashion show, we arrive just in time for drinks before everyone heads down to Bungalow 8 for the after party where the real fun, for me, begins. Brushing elbows with the stars has always been a favorite of my pasttimes. I love it not because I'm star struck, but I do it so that my mother and I, along with a few thousand of our friends, will have the opporunity to hear stories like "Paris fucked some ugly ass guy," or "Nicole Richie and I totally purposely tripped Lindsay Lohan and Heidi Klum walking out of the Marquees". I live for those moments and tonight was not to be an exception. Almost immediately upon my grand entrance, my eyes dart for the nearest drunk ccelebrity. And of course, who do I see? Kimberly Stewart. I see her dancing on top of a table in her cheap ass Juicy Couture outfit and what looks like Payless stiletto heels. For 5 minutes straight, she keeps gyrating with a force so strong, her body could have been mistaken for going into Epileptic seizuer. Just I was getting bored, I hear Ms. Janice Dickinson (a bitch I worship) telling Kimberly to "Get your slutty cunt off the bar before I bust a bottle over your head!" My attention is instantaneously crabbed and my eyes fix on Ms. Janice to see what that crazy bitch had in store for Ms. Thang. Sure enough, like her verbal promise, she grabs a bottle of Cristal, chugs half of it and then proceeds on sending the half drank bottle sailing towards Kimberly's head.....

Just as the bottle is about make contact, I feel a certain pain in my right eye and in an instant, all the glittering lights, all the expensive dresses and the bottle flying towards Ms. Stewart's head was gone and I woke up with Jonathan's elbow in my eye. Laying in my 2 bedroom apt in Rockville, MD, with my dog licking my feet, I contemplated calling out sick from work; I hate taking the metro.......