The store itself is rather lovely, what with the chandeliers and whatnot.


In fact, if Santa wants to bring me this chandelier — and an apartment to put it in — that would be great.


The more champagne I drank, the more I wanted to shoplift.


People! Cluster around the booze, why don't you!


Some of the jewelry is gorgeous. Pearls are so very now.


Also very now: Gloves. Someone working the party told me these are "big in Japan."


The bling mesmerized me with its sparkleosity, not that that's a word.


It's by Kimora, of course.


Hello Kitty Mary Janes! As the kids say: WANT.


Luggage, sneakers, everything "luxe," everything Kitty-covered.


This silver stuff was in the kids' section, but I found it very attractive. As in lust-worthy.


One of these bling-covered Pez dispensers was in my gift bag. Delightfully impractical!


Here's a shirt for Malia and Sasha Obama: Presidential pound puppy for the win!


The legendary Lady Bunny was the DJ of this event. She played Britney's "Womanizer," Beyoncé's "Single Ladies" and some Deee-Lite.


Hello Kitty arrived on the scene!


So did Heatherette's Richie Rich. There used to be Hello Kitty/Heatherette mashup stuff, maybe he'll so some again?


The Bunny and the Kitty had some kind of vogue-off.


I think Hello Kitty won.


Lisa Loeb showed up, and was frickin' adorable.


Seriously.


Tinsley Mortimer arrived. She is no bigger than a newborn fawn.


Are the Japanese into her or something?


She's totally starring in Bambi 2:Electric Boogaloo. Tinsley was there very briefly, and I decided: If she's leaving, then so am I. But first:


Goodbye Kitty!

The party was on the fourth floor, but there was a backup and they only let up ten people at a time. This is the second floor.
This is pretty much all there was to eat: petits ecoliers, the biscuits with chocolate schoolboys on them. There were also some cinnamon-dusted cubes of congealed, deep-fried macaroni and cheese, but these disappeared too quickly to photograph.
A Moon Warrior! The photographs were displayed around the floor. They were all shot in moonlight.
The venue: Juniors.
I don't do well in big crowds.
With Real Housewife of New York City Alex McCord. She is the one from Brooklyn. I really had to pee by this time and my big bags were really heavy! Sorry to whine.
Nigel Barker was really nice, even though it took us two tries to get the shot and I said something strange about 'burdening him further.' It took me over an hour to work up the nerve to ask for the pic. Oh, and wanna look even more unphotogenic? Stand next to an insanely handsome former model.

Earlier: Ruby Slipper Party: Celebrities, Booze & Shoes, Oh My
I Think I Hate Fashion Week

While waiting outside, this Dorothy walked around and checked out the crowd.

You forget how much of fashion week is just spent waiting in line. It's like an amusement park. After half an hour I forgot what I was waiting for. At least I was in the shadow of Rockefeller Center and St. Patrick's Cathedral.

There were Ruby Slippers on the sign in the elevator!

Once inside, I was mesmerized by the shoes. The special Ruby Slippers were all under glass.

You can see the "yellow brick carpet" here.

These shoes were going to be in The Wizard Of Oz but… Oh, just read the text:

Okay so, on to the partying. So weird to be drinking around shoes. Expensive designer shoes. Gucci, Louboutin, Dior. But! It's all about the celebs, right?

Josh Radnor plays Ted on How I Met Your Mother. When I realized that this picture had no flash, I asked him if I could take another. That's when the mini burgers went by.

So when I did get a better shot, he was gleefully holding a mini burger. Josh was there "with" Lindsay Price from Lipstick Jungle. I say "with" because it was less like a date and more like she was the only person he knew there or they had the same publicist or something.

This is Paige Davis from Trading Spaces. I forget why we were so psyched.

Next I saw ProjRun alum Santino Rice, who insisted on taking this picture himself and declared it "sweet."

Another ProjRun alum: Kevin Christiana. He questioned whether he should be holding the crabcake in the photo but I said it was fine.

Again, from ProjRun: Jack Mackenroth.

It was really hard to get close to Nigel Barker. He was swarmed, then a whole bunch of young kids wanted their pictures taken with him. I think he thought I was with the kids. Anyway. My pic of him turned out crappy.

But he was very gracious and very tall.

The truth is, some of the best people at events like this are the non-famous peeps:

(Well, Patrick McDonald is regionally famous.)

Eventually, something was telling me "There's no place like home."

As I left, I made sure to get a shot of the store windows…

Then I clicked my heels three times… and took the subway.

Earlier: The Power Of Ruby Slippers
Patricia Field For Payless: Shoes, Booze & Drag Queens

Party animals — in this case, asses — should watch themselves this week, as we've got some spies watching them. Our main Mata Hari is the "Unconventional Conventionaire", a convention goer who cares less about The Party and more about the parties: she's got her eyes and ears at the ready, her ass on the dance floor and her laptop back at the hotel just waiting to sell out what all is being sold behind the scenes at the DNC. In this edition, she hits up the weekend's pre-convention parties with a couple of balls, a couple of drinks and one very big eye-roll at what little it takes to inspire fangirl giggling in Denver.

Greetings from Denver! It's the weekend before the Democratic Convention and I'm out here already because everyone knows that it's never too early to start the party. (Except when it's definitely too early to start the party. But I'll get to that part later.)

The first thing you should know about me is that I don't do politics as much as I do drinking. It's a sad but true fact and I'd feel worse about that if Megan didn't already have those bases so very clearly and capably covered and if it weren't so patently impossible that I would and/or could do something as much as I do drinking. (Though, to be fair, I do read a lot.) The second thing you should know is that while I'm out here in Denver for a variety of reasons, the most important is that I have made it my goal to hit as many parties in one week as humanly possible. (What can I say? I make up in RSVP's what I lack in credentials.) And, lastly, you should know that I am ready to spill.

And so: my Saturday night began at the Media Welcome Party held at Six Flags Elitch Gardens, ended at Salon's house party, and involved the home-state Senator Ken Salazar, a surprising amount of alcohol, some thinly veiled sexism, and a half-eaten testicle.

I arrived at the kick-off party late and at exactly the same time as Senator Salazar and his spectacular cowboy hat, which would prove fortuitous in that he (and his hat) ended up being the only bold-faced name Elitch Gardens had to offer. I made my way immediately to the Molson Coors beer tent where I helped myself to a wristband, a Coors Light, and a Rocky Mountain Oyster. Now, there's only one other thing you need to know about me which is that I'm originally from a coast, which means that when you say oyster, I say a dozen, and which also means that after exclaiming, "Yes, please!" to the server and daintily dipping my deep-fried aphrodisiac into the proffered sauce, I popped the whole goddamn thing in my mouth. Which, luckily, is precisely the moment a good Rocky Mountain Samaritan tapped me on the shoulder and stage whispered, "That's a testicle," which, in turn, was no more than 3 seconds before I swore loudly, spat the offending organ into my hand, chugged the rest of my beer and decided to get the hell out of there.

I caught a ride with some Washington Post people who's names I didn't catch and who were undeniably un-fun, but who, at the very least, were headed in the same direction, which is to say the Salon-hosted house party, which is where I filled a plate with blue cheese, artichokes, and slightly stale bread, poured myself a hefty glass of wine, and wandered outside. A quick survey saw Time's Joe Klein in conversation with CNN cutie Jeff Toobin, and, separately, Pennsylvania's Governor "Ed" Rendell, surrounded somewhat unsurprisingly by a bevy of beautiful bloggers, one Fox news producer, and Joan Walsh, Salon's Editor-in-Chief, all of whom were offhandedly described as "groupies" by the unrecognizable guy next to me to his equally unrecognizable friend next to him. I half-heartedly took offense and glared because, seriously, when was the last time a group of well-known media men surrounding a female politician were ever labeled "groupies"? But then I saw the way one blogger positively kvelled when the Gov'ner touched her inner elbow to emphasize a point, and I decided I was far too sober to be making any sort of judgments on anyone.

Which was exactly the problem. The altitude ("mile-high" sounds a lot more fun on an airplane) and the fear struck in all of our hearts by an adversely affected tolerance meant that everyone (including myself) was incredibly and disappointingly sober. So, after listening to Walter Shapiro - Salon's Washington Bureau chief and a veritable convention legend (he's been attending since the 60's) - recount a near miss on Wynkoop with a Hefner-emblazoned limo – Hef's daughter Chrystie, no doubt, I hear she's in town – I managed to catch a cab home and put myself to bed, because this time, this weekend, it definitely felt too early to start the party.

Got tips of your own? Send sightings to us!

There were shoes everywhere. Literally everywhere. The hired help was encouraging you to try them on.

Moe kicked off her Marxist-issue flats and tried on some gold pumps.

They looked good.

This young lady encouraged me to try on the mules she was wearing. I told her I wore a 9. "You should go one size down, it looks better," she said.

Maybe it looked good, but it did not feel good. By the by, this pic is fuzzy because Moe has no focus. Kidding!

Yeah, I need a bigger size. Please do not look at my cracked heels.

This is Theo from the Lunachicks (now of Theo and the SkyScrapers) trying on the pumps. The woman assisting her had on the cutest little retro swimsuit.

Theo is kind of gorgeous.

The pumps also come in electric blue.

There are also flat sandals which maybe would hurt less.

And glittery ballet slippers.

We ran into Claw Money. Moe asked about her eyeliner and Ms. Money informed us that it was Wet N Wild. "That seems appropriate," Moe nodded.

OMG Andre J! He was willowy and gorgeous, making me feel like a large troll next to him. You may not be able to tell, but I was thrilled to be in his presence. Moe asked him what size shoe he wears and he was like "Honey!" with a raised eyebrow that meant he would never tell. Moe said, "Well, at least they have it." And he said, "Exactly. I love you."

He embraced me.

Pat Field was in the center of this clusterfuck.

Please note the crystal-covered kitty attached to this gentleman's shoulder.

The legendary KennyKenny worked the door.

Patrick McDonald. He's always in the New York Times.

You can't see it in this photo, but this woman had dark, thick, bushy, luxurious armpit hair which she pretended to lick for some guy filming.

This is what party people eat.

The after-party was at Pat Field's house down the block. I want to live here so badly. Like, on a scale of 1-10, my desire is hovering around 37 million.

Yes, it does have a bar.

This is Pat Field's Emmy!

There was sparkling vodka at the party. Sparkling. Vodka. WTF.

These girls were cute and had cute accents. We've seen this shirt before.

I don't know where to begin. So many things, starting with the knee-high boots.

Patricia Field is so awesome. Sure, she's the woman responsible for the damn flowers Carrie always wore. But she's also a gay woman of a certain age with Manic Panic hair and a fierce career. I wish Sex And The City were about her and her glam tranny friends instead. That would be amazing.

As we left, Moe and I found an abandoned wheelchair on the street. We could have left it there, or we could have drunkenly pushed each other home. What do you think we did?

Patricia Field For Payless [Payless Shoesource]

Earlier: Period Sex: A 'Do' Or A 'Don't'?
Ten Days In The Life Of A Tampon

"One word I heard again and again, oddly, was 'confidence,'" writes Daum."'If I can be considered hot here, I'll be hot anywhere,' a rather morose woman sitting on a bar stool in a bikini and high heels told me. 'I'm here to get confident.'"

As they psyched themselves up for wet T-shirt contests or debated whether a given guy was worth flirting with, a lot of women told me that they saw spring break as the proving ground for their attractiveness.

Confidence has become an easy catchall-excuse for everything from dyeing hair blonde to nose jobs and breast implants. We're living in a world with so much pop psychology and issues related to self esteem that it's almost as if, as long as you feel better, whatever you're doing to get there is okay! But what of confidence gained through intelligence, talent, skill or bravery? Isn't there intense pride in working with what you've got (small nose, obesity gene, flat chest, mousy brown hair)?

And, seeing as how most of these women are working with liquid courage, aka alcohol: What's the difference between being "confident" on Spring Break and being plain-old drunk and promiscuous?

Raunch Is Rebranded As 'Confidence' [LA Times]