The Biore Style Swap is founded on the idea that one person’s trash is another’s treasure. If you think about it, it is true that your favorite tee came from a thrift store… and those hoop earrings you came to hate are now your little sister’s faves. Fortunately, Cosmopolitan and Biore recently teamed up to bring you the first national Biore Style Swap tour. It’s the largest clothing swap to date, which will travel to 10 major cities in the U.S. I just so happened to be on hand for the tour’s NYC kick-off at an indescript loft in the Garment District.

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Last year, two days after my birthday, I got a tattoo. I’d always been intrigued with body art and decided that it was high time I got in the game. Why get a tattoo now and not, say, ten years ago? Because ten years I lived in Minnesota, not New York City, and I figured that if you’re not willing to buck up and take a risk here there’s really no hope.

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So, a few days ago, I went to get cash out of a Bodega’s ATM machine. Little did I know, some skinny blonde bandit was eating a tiny salad on a bench, and the whole while, plotting against me. I had my earbuds on (Shure E4C’s, fantastic, you gotta try ‘em) with my 60GB iPod, and I went to take 60 dollars out of my account to buy, surprisingly enough, another electronic toy.

A phone, people! Get your head out of the gutter.

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This weekend I grabbed my Powerbook, some shorts and flip flops and my non-spf tanning lotion (sorry, Lauren) and headed to Tampa, Florida for some overdue R&R. Luckily, exactly one day after the British-American bomb scare, so I regretfully remove any anti-bacterial gel, lipstick, or H2O from my purse so the TSA posse doesn’t give me a vapor test, liquid pat down, or whatever else they do take preventative measures to keep us safe each day.

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As I watched floats full of go-go boys gyrating to the latest remix of “Hips Don’t Lie” at the 36th annual Gay Pride March, I decided to get myself some pride-appropriate apparel and show those banana-hammocked hunks a thing or two about how to wear a G-string.

On this sultry Sunday, with sweat dripping from my ample bosom, I knew that the West Village was no place to scope out intimates for the discerning lady, so I schlepped down to Soho in my rainbow flip flops and began my quest for the town’s most talked-about unmentionables. I sauntered into the neighborhood’s newest upscale sex shop Kiki de Montparnasse and immediately began fingering the frilly frocks, nearly all of which I would have gladly used to top a camisole for a night on the town.

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The other morning, I actually woke up before the sun. Usually I only see this time of day when I haven’t gone to bed and I am stretching whatever good time is left of the night to its last nanosecond. But this day was a different story. And what, pray-tell, did I break my sleeping record to go do? Head out on that sunrise run? Go to work like the rest of the corporates? Nope! I went to go wait in line…for the unreleased Sidekick 3. I plan to be the first one of my friends to have the flying car…so I certainly must be the first one to have this crack-like gadget in my grasp!

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