I got an under-the-table contract gig from a friend this week, bless her heart. She works for a market-research company and basically, I'm cold-calling every major fashion company trying to get the name and title of someone so they can send them junk-mail.

I picture what's going on on the other side of the phone as I talk to them. I picture the hot little secretary, dressed to the nine's in the most fashionable, trendy outfit, in an office full of pouty little models. I see Kristal flowing everywhere and either hip-hop music or techno music is constantly playing in the background. The people who walk by the front desk are all probably wearing outfits that cost more than the amount of money I made last year. Maybe P. Diddy is walking by, or at least Beyonce or Jay-Z. Everything on the other end of the line is Fabulous. And there's schlubby little me on the other end, somehow, for just the few seconds I'm on the line with the receptionist, part of the scene.