Strap on your beer helmets and start snorting that milk thistle, because these next two weeks are going to be one sleepless late night after another, broken up by an all-day music festival and wrapping up with the week-long event that brings out all the Mad Men wannabes, gonnabes, and alreadybeentheres: Advertising Week. If you haven't started planning, you're in serious trouble -- but if you're lucky, I'll share my Red Bull.

Fresh off of chicken wings from McKeown's on the UES, my gaggle and I headed to Scoop after the Moves magazine party. Spinning at Scoop was none other than DJ Nithya Rajendran, wrapping a warm layer of beats around the launch of jewelry designer Candace Ang's new fall collection.

Perpetuating stereotypes for snarking is too easy. It's lazy, if you think about it. I told myself I wouldn't light upon the "hungry models" and "they served low-fat air at this party" and "scent of weight management" joke -- but Friday's party made it impossible since the lovely Moves magazine hosts must have thought we were all trying to fit into that size 00, thus saving guests the pain of turning down party food by simply not providing any. Or, maybe it was a clever tie in to their support of the Food Bank's "Hunger Awareness" campaign.

Leading up to last night's event I lathered myself up into a stomach-curdled, head-exploding, cesspool of anxiety. Why? Because I don't usually do fashion events -- 90% because that's not really the theme of this column (although really, it's pretty flex these days), 10% because the fashion crowd intimidates me (I have no style and I can't walk in stilettos). This year I thought "Cripes! I could be dead tomorrow and I've never taken advantage of these Fashion Week-themed invitations, what if I regret it wherever it is I land in the afterlife?" Yes, I have these conversations in my …

Oh, Labor Day, I waited so long for you and now you are gone. So many things happened before Labor Day, launching everyone (at least evetryone I follow on Twitter and am friends with on Facebook) into an Earl-induced tizzy before heading off to something resembling rehab, or even sticking around for a little homebound happiness (I refuse to use that word that rhymes with vacation, but employs the antonym of go). I don't know about you, but I needed the run-around respite, and now I am back, excited to tumble face-first into autumn.

Town & Country magazine reminds me of my early childhood in Mentor, Ohio, where my family lived in a perfect new house, in a perfect cul de sac with perfect neighbors with perfect children. Softball games, block parties, running for cover under shrubbery at the bus stop when flocks of Canadian geese flew over - bombing us with whatever they ate earlier. The works. Comfortable living. Of course, then my parents got the perfect divorce and I ditched Town & Country living for Sheep Fancy. It looks like Town & Country is still aiming for the crop and polo crowd, …