Gallery Girls

Yes, I live in LA, but there are certain things I love about New York. Gwyneth’s apartment, Leandra Medine, Gay Pride, all water bars. One of the things I kind of hate is the absolutely ridiculous art scene. Everyone’s skinny and wears great lipstick, but there’s also tons and tons of bullshitting and I went through my “artiste” phase like four years ago, so I’m over the whole thing.

But there’s this new reality show “Gallery Girls” that’s basically a time capsule to how oblivious and hilariously pretetious me and my friends were back then. Add in some fake TV drama and it’s the perfect thing to watch as you come down from three bumps of coke and seven cigarettes. Angela, the model/photographer/wannabe Babe/mistress, is unexpectedly semi-could-possibly-be-maybe-chic! And I used to hang out with Liz Margulies in Miami before we both went to rehab. Once she drew the most realistic portrait of Ryan Gosling on the back of my left thigh (at my request). Those were dark times for us both. These girls make being a girl seem stupid.

There’s also a completely unrelated but equally fantastic online “Gallery Girls.” It’s like a comic strip but instead of drawings there are bizarre photographs of pretty girls in wigs and lots of non sequiturs about prescription drug abuse.

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