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O.J. is being paid $3.5 mills to write a hypothetical account of the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman, tentatively titled If I Did It. That's funny because I'm going to buy an entire brownstone in Park Slope with the money I'm getting to write If I Were a Whore.

Speaking of not-chick-lit, I've had the lovely Elizabeth Merrick's This Is Not Chick Lit: Original Stories by America's Best Women Writers on the nightstand for the last fortnight. So far, the glaring absence of Jimmy Choos and UES girls has been illuminating and not unlike the effects of a Calgon bath. Or, so I imagine as I've never actually taken a bath with Calgon.

Elizabeth also sent me two T-shirts in the mail, one for her novel Girly. I sported the other tee on a magical Sunday during a low-key, high-fun, 4-day stay in upstate New York. Or, I should say, if I had been in upstate New York having a euphoric Sunday afternoon, I might have been wearing said tee. Hypothetically, I'm wearing it both under and over the influence in this picture. So, I guess, big ups to women writers, gay BFFs, pretty second hand frocks, and prosecco in the afternoon, y'all. Hypothetically.