danhum: i thought we were gonna do stuff over spring break. my friends are all away.
hairlesskat: what friends?
danhum: ok my 1 friend. I already filled up that notebook with poems. I'm bored.
hairlesskat: my whole mag is ur poems and my pics bc the girls in my school are hopeless
danhum: my sister goes to yr school.
hairlesskat: shes not hopeless—her art is in it
danhum: so do you want to see a movie?
hairlesskat: I prefer films to movies. Warhol Sucked opens at the Film Forum next Thursday
hairlesskat: hello?
danhum: ok i guess, if you can't make it before then.
hairlesskat: im worth the wait
danhum: huh?
hairlesskat: nevermind
GOSSIPGIRL.NET
hey people!
greetings from paradise
I write to you from an undisclosed location, beneath a palm tree, the barely there breeze wafting over my perfectly tanned, barely bikinied form. It has occurred to me that I needn't ever return. I can do what I do best—write this column—from anywhere. And I do so hate the idea of ever wearing clothes again. There is the problem of missing the final, important years of high school, and college would be out of the question, but I'm sure in ten years or so some wise Ivy League institution will bequeath me an honorary degree after being amused and informed by the wisdom of my words for so long. There is one small problem, though: I miss you all terribly. And if I'm not where you are, I honestly don't have much to write about. Still, you've been ever so good about keeping me informed. . . .
your e-mail
Q: Dear Gossip Girl,
So my family has a condo in Sun Valley and it's right behind the lodge. You can see the heated outdoor pool from my bedroom. I'm not a stalker, but, I'm sorry, I watched that boy you call N do the backstroke for an hour smoking this huge joint. These other girls started showing up at the pool because he was there. His girlfriend had better watch it, because we are all crazy about him.
—skibetty
A: Dear skibetty,
Yes. And the thing that makes him even more delightful is that he has no idea how completely smitten we all are.
—GG
Q: Dear GG,
Okay, so first of all I'm a guy, so it's kind of embarrassing for me to be talking to you. But I figure, if you can't help me, who can? I saw this girl's picture on the Internet and I think she's really cute and I want to meet her, but I don't want her to know I know who she is, because I don't think she meant to, like, put herself out there. You know?
—bud
A: Dear bud,
It's hard for me to tell how creepy you are or aren't without meeting you, but I will venture to say that if you saw this girl's picture on the Internet, she did indeed mean to "put herself out there"—it's just a matter of how far. With her best interests in mind, I'd like to suggest that you leave your meeting in person up to fate. Got it? Good.
—GG
Q: Dear GG,
I was getting to be friends with this girl and now she's kind of acting like we're online dating or something. No, that's not it . . . but she's being weird. I know she likes me, but I just want to be friends with her and hang out. Do things have to be so complicated?
—insomniac
A: Dear insomniac,
She likes you, but you "just want to hang out." I believe you've answered your own question.
—GG
sightings
B and N in the mountaintop lunch spot in Sun Valley with their ski boots off, playing footsie under the table. S flirting with a tall blond male ski instructor in the line for chili dogs. You know what they say: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. B's dad and his French boy toy, also playing footsie under the table. B's little brother, T, surrounded by admiring eleven-year-old girls as he skipped lunch to catch a few more runs wearing only a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt and brown leather pants care of Hermès, Paris. Another stud in the making? C in Rome, slathered in extra-virgin olive oil and sunbathing topless on the steps of the Coliseum. Is he trying to lure back his extra-virgin Italian countess? You know what they say—when in Rome . . . K and I skidding down the slopes in Stowe, trying desperately to make a fashion statement while freezing their little tushies off in denim short shorts and black legwarmers. Sorry dears, but Vermont and Sun Valley just do not compare. D at the main branch of the Public Library on Forty-second and Fifth in the Romantics section. Aw. And finally, yours truly, glorious as usual in the latest white Eres bikini, lying prone on a white sand beach, lazily tap-tap-tapping the keys of my laptop. . . .
campari is not as harmless as it looks
My cure-all for too many days sipping too many bottles of champagne has always been a nice tall Campari and soda with a fresh wedge of lime. However, the reason I lie here, quite unable to swim or read or disengage myself from my batik-print chaise lounge, is that four or five Campari and sodas will quite do you in. Campari, after all, is alcohol. And I thought it was a bitter sort of cherry syrup. Hiccup! Oh well, live and learn. Or maybe I should say, live well and learn.
Enjoy the rest of your holiday, darlings. Whether you're on the slopes or in the surf, I want to see every one of you dressed in a to-die-for tan when we return.
You know you love me,
gossip girl
YOU ARE READING
Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You
Teen Fiction'Welcome to New York City's Upper East Side, where my friends and I all live in huge, fabulous apartments and go to exclusive single-sex private schools. We aren't always the nicest people in the world, but we make up for it in looks and taste.' Ent...
