Beverly Hills Hippie

I'm getting really tired of hearing people around the office call me a hippie. Look, just because I don't eat red meat, consider myself a liberal who supports environmental causes and yeah, so what if I believe in strong social institutions that benefit all Americans, that doesn't mean I don't shave my pits and play the damn didgeridoo in the park! Okay, so I went to India. Fine. But I hate the smell of patchouli and I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to tie dye. I don't know how many other hippies these days shop at Barneys and love to gab about the amazing powers of restylane. And let me tell you, if I could afford it, I'd run out and buy a puggle, name him Channel and I'd carry him around in the sickest Luis Vuitton carrier you ever did see.
And honestly, the closest I've ever wanted to get to a commune was the Farmers Market on the 3rd street promenade in Santa Monica.

And while I'm at it, when my friend V and I relax on the weekends with our lattes, tofu scrambles and organic fruit, we like to read US magazine, In Touch and Ok! and talk smack about Paris Hilton's dead-eyes, so there. I think I've made my point. I don't really have a funny way to end this ranting and raving, so how about just another suggestion for a good blog. If you like celebrity gossip, here's a great one: Celebitchy or Perez Hilton's site Celebrity Juice, Not from Concentrate.