How long until they find Cara Delevingne pissing in one of the CBGB toilets in the Met exhibit.
I waited in the SUV outside of the first rehab I tried to enter.
That number shouldn’t be necessary. I shouldn’t have to number my rehabs like they numbered the reasons why they sent me there.
I sat in the car while a person I sort of know and a person I never met decided where the next ninety days of my life would play out.
“Play out” is the wrong way to put it.
It doesn’t matter how I describe the time I would have spent there because the person I sort of know got back into the SUV and we drove away.
The first rehab had lost their license so I couldn’t stay there.
“Me too,” I said when he told me the news.
The person I sort of know asked, “What?” and I responded, “I lost my license too.”
The person I sort of know did not laugh at this, and he did not agree with this, and he did get on his phone, and we did keep driving.
I did not get on my phone because anyone contacting me would not have the key to get me out of this and they almost certainly helped me get into this. I’ll have to thank them for their help.
The first rehab… lost their license. I think about that. Everyone knew where I was going. Did no one think to mention this small detail until I was at the front door? Did they not care? I arrive at forgiveness very quickly because I didn’t care when I lost my license either. Now I know why people got so frustrated. Now I know what the right choice was.
When I was told to stay in the car, the person I sort of know told me that if I went inside the first rehab, they wouldn’t let me out. I asked why and he asked me, “Why do you think?”
I imagined it playing out. I would’ve walked into rehab- just following directions. I would’ve given up my time- just following directions. I would’ve set out the small suitcase of items I was allowed to bring- just following directions. Then the warrant would be issued, and I would be out of rehab, again. Back in jail, again. I would be told all of this happened because I didn’t follow the judge’s directions.
The person I sort of know finally got off his phone. He turned to me and said, “You’re in luck.”
“This is luck? A SUV to rehab? That’s ‘luck’?” I asked him. He ignored my questions and said, “Shawn is going to bail you out of this mess.”
When he said, “bail you out” he meant she was going to help me. I had already been bailed out, literally, by Shawn, again and again and it felt like it would happen again and it did happen again, but that time she wasn’t there. That could have been my fault, I’m told. I’m lucky, I’m told.
We kept driving. More calls. My phone stayed off. The person I sort of know never stopped talking. He said only four sentences to me after leaving the first rehab.
“You’re going to Betty Ford. Everything is fine,” the person sort of know told me, then smiled.
“Betty Ford, like the place where I assaulted a woman?”
“No, Lindsay. Betty Ford, the place where you allegedly assaulted a woman.”
We arrived at the second rehab. I prepared myself to stay there a second time.
“Is it safe to get out this time?” I asked.
The person I sort of know assured me it was safe.
I think that’s how this all started in the first place.
Me at PRADA AW13 Photography by Luca Campri
Yes, guys, that is me backstage at Prada.
I have finally lived my dream.
It was a cold New York City day in February as I arrived as an EXCLUSIVE for Prada.
As soon as I walked into the tent, there was an energy around me.
“I’ve finally achieved my life-long goal. Glee was right, it DOES get better!” I said to myself as I poured a bottle of Smartwater on my head, then removed the bag from a nearby trashcan so I could wear it as a shirt.
There I was, backstage at Prada. I think everyone would agree, I was incredibly inspiring. It was a living testament that, no matter what anyone says, if you have a dream you must do everything you can to achieve it… and it will come true! Unless the dream has to do with time travel or whatever.
Even as I was experiencing this amazing triumph, I still had ~-~haters~-~. People around me said things like:
- Who is the wet homeless guy?
- Girls, you cannot bring your dad backstage! Get him out of here!
- You’re not a model, and this is womenswear, and you’re a man, sort of.
- This guy looks worse clothed than Lena Dunham does naked.
- Code blue. Repeat. Code blue. Get Daphne to the safety checkpoint. This guy could be dangerous.
I closed the show by having the guards chase me while I yelled, “Stop immediately! I am a close relative, my name is Tom Miuccia!” and they argued back,”Miuccia is her first name, not her last name.”
It’s just like my girl Coco Rocha says, “I’m Coco Rocha, a model. Look at me. I am Coco Rocha. Please acknowledge me. Don’t look at my age on my drivers license Please acknowledge me. Please. Please. Please.”
I totally related to that iconic quote since I was finally a model!
And, yes, to address the rumors I AM banned from New York City now (it happens to the best of us, CC: Jenny Humphrey), but the good thing about fashion week is that it changes cities! On to Jersey City fashion week I go!!!!!
~-~CU on Da Runway~-~