Julia Allison, Who Wishes A World Without Cameras Existed, Gives Away Ticket To Award Show To Some Dumb, Foppish Fool So She Has Someone To Take Her Picture

Julia Allison, who gets smacked around by the internet when she interrupts football with her fucking bitching and whining, recently complained how difficult it was to live life with a gun always pointed to her disproportionately gigantic head. You may not have known this, but she exists under the ceaseless threat that some invisible force will pull the trigger unless she glues in her pelts and clomps around in her hooker hooves while wearing the very latest from David’s Bridal Crack Whore Chic bridesmaid collection. Even worse, that same iniquitously maleficent and execrable being (thanks thesaurus.com!) torments our poor donkey by coercing her to pose for and publish photographs of herself, lest she chooses to be violated by dark green vegetables in some sort of painful experiment.

She has to live with this unfair burden. Why else would she give away a ticket for an award show to a complete stranger and ask that he take pictures of her all night in return?

Note: This is a long one, and it reads as if it were written by some anthropomorphic cat that dons a top hat and carries a pocket watch. I mean, seriously, this dude is a total loser. He wore a green shirt, with SHEEN. And his sentence structure and word choice makes it seem like this lengthy and overly-formal donkey tale was written by  Colonel Pickering or Henry Higgens for a high school creative writing class, right before they traded blowjobs underneath the bleachers by the cricket field.

A Night With Prom Queen

Hear the name Julia Allison and a constellation of words likely spring to mind. Journalist. Blogger. Pundit. New York City. I began to follow her on Twitter at the behest of a friend who bent a sympathetic ear toward my kvetching about my recent move back to Los Angeles from NYC. I knew very little about her, personally or professionally. In her tweets, Julia requested style feedback concerning celebrities I held little regard for: Justin Bieber, Nick Thune, Blair Fowler. Who are these people? I felt somehow out of the loop, especially considering that I am Ms. Allison’s senior by exactly eleven days.

Still, like many people who have called NYC home, I was happy to hear the occasional snatch of gossip from someone who appeared, on television at least, to be an authority on such matters. Julia Allison remained among the 150 or so Twitter accounts that I followed and kept up with on a semi-regular basis.

Several Sunday mornings previous, having little planned for the day, I reposed in my bed and scrolled through my Blackberry, checking email, Facebook, and, naturally, my Twitter feed. I noticed a tweet from Ms. Allison, roughly 30 minutes old.

Hey LA denizens – I have an extra ticket to the Streamy Awards – anyone want it?

The Streamy Awards (this, their 2nd annual) are a well-funded, corporate-sponsored, unfortunately named attempt to confer legitimacy on the mostly free, occasionally profitable, streamed content programming that makes up today’s Interweb.

Walking up to the Orpheum, I felt a bit antsy, the more I considered my odd twist of fate. The internet, whether it be a blog, Twitter handle, website, or Facebook page, has a way of making web-surfers feel as though they “know” a celebrity by gleaning information from posted content.

Honestly though, I had no idea Julia Allison even existed until a few weeks previous. I knew she owned a pocket dog. I knew she recently broke up with her boyfriend whom she referred to, in previous tweets, as Prom King. I also knew she appeared to be beautiful. Beyond that, the whole situation seemed nebulous and alien. Part of me felt like a Make-A-Wish foundation recipient, malignant cancer cells somehow allowing for an otherwise un-grant-able desire.

After a volley of concise text messages, I located Ms. Allison, who was queuing up to walk the red carpet. She was, without question, haltingly beautiful. I asked a few stock questions.

“What brings you to LA?”

She wore a pink, high-waisted, strapless dress accompanied by hefty bling around her neck.

“Where did you go to college?”
-unintelligible- (I thought I heard her say Deutschland)

She fidgeted with her black leather purse and generally seemed nervous.

”Oh,” I responded, sarcastically, “and where’s that?”
“Um, in Washington DC.”

I later discovered she answered Georgetown. In my defense, I have disproportionately small ears, Ms. Allison is about foot shorter than me, even in heels, and the crowd around us was, well, a crowd. Noisy.

I was asked to hold her purse and camera, and then politely instructed to meet her “on the other side.” BRB, I believe, considering the event, would be the appropriate vernacular. Clearly, my red carpet debut was not going to occur this particular evening. I waded through massive lengths of high-bandwidth cables, shoulder-to-shoulder press figures, celebrity wranglers, event staff, security guards, and the occasional autograph-seeking fan. I spotted Justine Bateman and Illeana Douglas while waiting for Julia, who made it through fifty feet of red carpet in roughly ten minutes.

Observing Ms. Allison walk this gauntlet, I would imagine its something like what a lab rodent feels in the presence of experimenting, semi-sinister scientists. Flitting from camera to camera, posing regally in Plasticine perma-grin until asked to stop for an interview.

Once through, Julia thanked me graciously for waiting, apologized for seeming nervous, reporting that she had to present an award tonight, her first time doing so. We were whisked away by event staff, a female celebrity wrangler wearing a headset and microphone tethered to a hip-holstered walkie-talkie, who unloaded a dearth of event paperwork, all of which was given over to me. I now held my camera, Julia’s camera, four tickets, four party passes, and two official programs.

Julia kindly introduced me to several well-dressed male and female acquaintances, who in turn, trained all of their attention back to her. I felt like celebrity arm-candy or a professional escort, but I remained chipper, obliging Julia’s every request. My only unvoiced concern was that we had sped past the lobby bar without stopping.

Now inside the auditorium, I used the opportunity to snap a few photos. The interior of the Orpheum is a lasting tribute to the Downtown Los Angeles of decades past. Unlike most other relics downtown, the Orpheum remains remarkably up-kept, authentically preserved. Three columns of opera boxes straddle each end of the lower mezzanine. The balcony, seats several hundred additional people and twin twenty five-foot cranes were afloat, to “stream” the event, over the Internet.

Next to our ticketed seats, sat three vacant spots. Like a drug-fueled wave of profound realization, my position in the evening’s proceedings became unflinchingly clear. Here at my arm, introducing me to haute couture-encased blondes and skinny-jeaned hipsters was a beautiful female comet of pure ambition, whose trajectory, orbit, and velocity did not rest long enough for the inclusion of friends, not at events like this.

Flanked by empty seats, Julia asked me repeatedly if I was having a good time. No, I thought, sitting next to an attractive celebrity is really taxing. Do you have any prescription pills? To me, this was an horrifically good time: a chance encounter with an individual who’s relative A-list status allowed for line-jumping, red carpet walking, and placard-secured seating. I felt oddly notorious, like a spy or a foreign dignitary.

The Streamy Award Host was comedian Paul Scheer, largely of Internet notoriety, who navigated as best he could through poorly written masturbation, vaginal rejuvenation, and porn jokes. Technical snafus saw video projector miscues occur repeatedly and without correction, despite audience boos and hisses.

Julia turned to me, “Is this bad? This seems bad?”

I shook my head. “Terrible.”

A pair of male streakers managed their way onto the stage, performing two naked laps, before it became clear that there was no security to shoo them away. Eventually they covered up their previously flopping genitalia and shirked awkwardly away, off stage. Crass, perhaps, but, LOL, I believe, would be an appropriate response.

Julia then sprung from her seat with little explanation, a case of apparently jangled nerves, in order to prepare for the presentation of her award. I was left to chat with whom I assumed to be a seat filler. After the technical hiccups began to reach an astronomical level, I leaned over to “Sib,” as his business card denoted, and mockingly blamed him for the fiasco. He smiled with worried eyes and said nothing in reply. Later he mentioned that he was a voting member of the Streamy academy.

Julia sent me a few text messages from backstage, commenting on a duo of presenters known as the Ed Hardy boys, who she found funny. Absolutely, I replied, Best yet. Time wore on and the audience thinned considerably. I heard murmurs of the lobby being more crowded than the auditorium.

Julia’s presentation went smoothly enough, in comparison to the rest of the debacle. She stumbled briefly with one line, but by that time, the audience had thinned to loose rabble, feet propped on seatbacks, little cliques of conversations in the aisles. No one seemed to notice.

I snapped the requested photos and once Julia exited the stage, made a b-line for the lobby, intent upon imbibing as many cocktails as I had I had cash on hand to afford. Not that I wasn’t having fun, but, in my estimation, my role had come to fruition and the time to drink had arrived.

Astutely sober, I was devastated to see that the bar had shuttered early. A quick once-over proved that the crowd in the lobby had indeed exceeded that of the remaining audience. I found a lanky Swede, whose Ja I mistook for German, to take a photo of Ms. Allison and myself. Julia remained gracious through the bitter end, and we parted with a nice hug and the promise to remain in touch, during any future LA visits on her part, or future NYC trips on my part.

The next morning found a boyish grin unable to depart my face, bad jokes, daft organization, and forced sobriety notwithstanding.

Just my kind of weird. Given the choice, I’d do it all again, though next time, I’d likely pack a flask.

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90 Responses to Julia Allison, Who Wishes A World Without Cameras Existed, Gives Away Ticket To Award Show To Some Dumb, Foppish Fool So She Has Someone To Take Her Picture

  1. Our Lady of Bray says:

    Oh, fuck, me, now.

  2. XX says:

    This poor, dumb schmuck. There are so many gems, but I really enjoyed this contorted logic:

    “Next to our ticketed seats, sat three vacant spots. Like a drug-fueled wave of profound realization, my position in the evening’s proceedings became unflinchingly clear. Here at my arm, introducing me to haute couture-encased blondes and skinny-jeaned hipsters was a beautiful female comet of pure ambition, whose trajectory, orbit, and velocity did not rest long enough for the inclusion of friends, not at events like this.”

    Actually, re-reading that I’m now convinced this is parody.

    • juliajane says:

      He’s marveling that Julia didn’t bring any friends to the event? Dude, Julia doesn’t have any friends. That’s why she invited a stranger to accompany her and take her photograph.

    • Midget Wrestler Legs, Thundercalves, She Are Drink, Delusions of Bradshaw, Mad Yoga Skillz, Super Saggers & Creepy Daddy Issues says:

      His writing is about as bad as hers.

  3. IamLA says:

    Holy, shit, it’s, the, donkey’s, soul,mate,!

  4. Simmons says:

    It’s hard to determine whether he’s mocking her or being serious. Overall it sounded like a depressing and amatuer event in itself.

  5. Sacred Scrapbooks says:

    The circus is short a clown.

  6. DirtyLakeMichigan says:

    What made this guy look in the mirror and say, “I’m SMOKIN’ in this headband!.” ??

  7. Can-Swiss says:

    If you check his photography website he now lists “NonSociety” as a client.

  8. "Pilot" is the new "keynote" says:

    “Dearth” doesn’t mean what you think it means, you pussy.

    Seriously, holding a stranger’s purse and being excited to buy her drinks (except she NEVER drinks!)? I can see why he finds JAB “beautiful” — this guy definitel owns a Real Doll.

    • idiotbox says:

      The first sentence is such a win I want to never stop hugging you.

    • Stalker is the new Empurpled Pity Polyp ♪ ♫ says:

      [misused] WORD. To your mother your sister and your brother.

    • Nickelodeon Chic says:

      “volley” does not mean what he thinks, either, unless he means one person sent a batch of short texts all at once to the other.

    • flotsam says:

      Two words: “halting beauty.” I mean, come on. He is a fucking idiot.

      • flotsam says:

        Shit, I misremembered. “Haltingly beautiful.” Even worse, unless he means she’s foundered in the pasture and gambols with a limp now as she shakes her mane in the sun.

  9. Fred Grott says:


  10. Weekend at Lily's says:

    Is that foreheadband serious? Like he wore that all night? I can’t comprehend. It’s like a bandana rolled up and tied around his head. With a button down shirt. Did he have a pimple on his forehead or something? That’s the only slightly logical explanation. I really am flustered by that thing.

    • High Status Markers and Narcissistic Crayons says:

      Douche. *snap* Tacular. *snap*

    • Scooby Don't says:

      He had to wear the headband. He was working for the weekend.


    • bingaaaaaay says:

      I think it’s his tie. Some of the more immature boys I went to high school with would remove their ties and knot them around their foreheads (ninjas!) after formal events. Like, “don’t worry girls and other boys. I’m still cool! My mom totally made me wear this outfit, which I’m extremely uncomfortable wearing. Check out this cool original thing I did with my tie!”
      This is probably what Julia’s date was thinking.

      • bingaaaaaay says:

        also that means what’s around his forehead was once around his neck. he coordinated a paisley tie with his green sheen shirt. that might be worse than wearing a foreheadband.

      • Kimbo Slice says:

        No…sadly it’s not. If you look at his blog he has pictures of him wearing headbands all the time.

  11. Naansociety says:

    I thought this guy was a decent writer until I got to “reposed.” Unless this is a parody of the mannered 19th century way of writing (“I say old bean, how shall with celebrate St. Swithun’s day when it arrives tomorrow morn?”) then he’s trying way too hard to sound clever. And if we thought JA’s comparison of herself to a battered woman was pretty bad, this guy comparing himself to a cancer patient is even worse. Plus, if the second question out of this guy’s mouth to someone he doesn’t know is “Where did you go to college?” then he’s just as much of a phony as she is.

    • Our Lady of Bray says:


    • Limited Watercress Experience says:

      I really think after age maybe 23 you should stop asking people where they went to college. Like, if it comes up in the midst of a longer conversation, fine. If your dating the person or they are new friend, fine. But it’s such a weird small talk question. Whenever some douche asks me this I always respond “Undergrad or grad?” It is a really effective way of upsetting social climbing USC/NYU grads. FYI.

      • My nostrils are TOTALLY symmetrical! says:

        The last person who asked me where I went to college now hinges on that for all of our conversations. ALL of our conversations. “How many days until Hawkeye football starts?!”

        Uhm, who knows? I’m busy not giving a shit.

  12. ElGuapo says:

    So Julie Albertson trolls the internet for a valet/lady in waiting to hold her belongings while “strolling the red carpet” and take pictures of her, under the guise of giving away a ticket to a fun event?

    If this is not a perfect example of her lonely, self absorbed, egomaniacal and selfish person, I dont know what is.

  13. I Haz a Kyron! says:

    [S]itting next to an attractive celebrity is really taxing.

    So he and Donkey didn’t sit together?

    [“Sib”] mentioned that he was a voting member of the Streamy academy.

    What are the odds “Sib” drops this little nugget of into the lap of the one person at the show who actually thinks that’s really something?

    Julia’s presentation went smoothly enough, [but no] one seemed to notice.

    But…but…but it was the Streamys! [gob]COME ON![/gob]

  14. ShesJustStupid says:

    So she posted her upcoming travel schedule…what I want to know is what’s going on with the Boston stuff? It’s got to be some guy.

    • juliaspublicist says:

      Of course it’s some guy.

      • ShesJustStupid says:

        I’m guessing this mythical Boston guy who was going to fly her to Italy for a wedding? Now they get to go on a regular date.

        Maybe all these trips are centered around dates and not jobs.

    • vom in the shower says:

      She is running away from turning 30.

      • LLFOOLJ says:

        Also, word to this. Since she has already left NYC, the old “has Julie left New York yet” blog should be changed to “has Julia Allison turned 30 yet”. It’ll last longer and be just as entertaining, if not more.

      • Bepelted Braying Barnyard Animal with NPD says:


        she’s flying to all the same, well-tread places she’s been going the last 8yrs (since graduating college). with no *real* paying work lined up, just couch surfing and “meetings” LOL.

        ya, great work julesie.

        also, what 30 yr old woman lets her 26 yr old brother and his new wife treat her to dinner? shouldn’t she be treating them? bc britt is still a student and allie is “only” a teacher–whereas julesie is a celebrity, Sony spokesperson, and important fashion journalist?

    • LLFOOLJ says:

      I thought it was a pointless pit stop to accomplish a few things:

      1. Avoiding going back to Baugherville, Chicago and most certainly NYC and LA (two cities that do not like her).
      2. Harassing BRITTNALLIE since the wedding debacle wasn’t nearly enough.
      3. Imposing on college friend CD, because naturally she doesn’t have anything better to do.
      4. Last minute crashing a tech conference #whilst having no reason for being there whatsoever.
      5. Missing BFF Shannon Elizabeth’s party and crashing at her apartment, which, um. er. oops. must’ve just fell RIGHT through!

      Next we’ll hear – after publicly and quite stupidly dissing her manager, Rachel Zoe, and reality TV – that she’s off to *groooooan* shoot a pilot in LA. Such. hard. work!!!

    • shamoolia says:

      Dear god woman, for the money she (dad) spends on flying to lame domestic hubs, she could buy a ticket to an international destination and have an awesome trip. When are her “friends” going to get tired of her crashing on their couch and being a shitty houseguest? When is she going to realize that the Find A Man Tour 2010 will end up exactly like the Find A Man Tour 2009? Julia Allisons’ reruns are just getting sad at this point.

    • Naansociety says:

      Here’s REALLY her travel for the next month:

      Wed Sept 22 – Fri Sept 24

      Fri Sept 24 – Sat Sept 25

      Sat Sept 25 – Thurs Sept 30

      Thurs Sept 30 – Tues Oct 5

      Never Never Land
      Tues Oct 5 – Thurs Oct 7

      Thurs Oct 7 – Fri Oct 8

      Rydell High
      Fri Oct 8 – Mon Oct 11

      Mos Eisley
      Mon Oct 11 – Fri Oct 15

      Sat Oct 16 – Thurs Oct 28

      Airstrip One
      Thurs Oct 28 – Tues Nov 2 (ish)

  15. Sausage Snappers says:

    And how about her updated travel schedule? Keep running away from yourself, Donkey.

  16. Brianna says:

    Eh. The writing wasn’t great, but I’ll bet Julie was hoping for a gushing writeup, and the tone I got from this was ‘trying to be polite’.

    He said she was pretty, and was impressed by the red carpet thing.

    But there were no drinks. And nothing went smoothly. He mentions she flubs her lines. And everyone leaves way before it’s over. And the bar closed early. And he was hauling around all her crap. And at the end he was like ‘ok, see you…sometime. I guess.’

    Far from a glowing ‘omg Streamys with THE Julia Allison SO AMAZING kiss kiss!’ that I think she was hoping for from a giveaway recipient.

    • My nostrils are TOTALLY symmetrical! says:

      “Lane, see you around sometime. Maybe”

      • Records Custodian says:

        I could be wrong here, but I think you have the wrong Cusack character. I think you mean “Lloyd.”

        But damn, stellar nonetheless.

    • NorseHorse says:

      It was ultimately a really depressing read. A probably nice guy taken advantage of, a bit naive, and not having a drink, a laugh, or meeting someone interesting to interact with, except clinically interesting Julia, who used him a s a flunky and purse-carrier. At a crap lame event. Pathos.

  17. shamoolia says:

    Self soothing with some 3 am shoe shopping … the mania is ramping up, bunnies!

    It’s also almost hoarders-esque how she buys so many of one thing but in different colors (nasty sweatsuits, shoes, etc.) There’s something very off and unhealthy about it.

    • Stalker is the new Empurpled Pity Polyp ♪ ♫ says:

      she’s on a perpetual hamster wheel of doing the same thing over and over. She’s Neitszche’s Eternal Recurrence made horrifyingly real.

      • Stalker is the new Empurpled Pity Polyp ♪ ♫ says:

        ps yeah I can’t spell the name of the dude i wrote my GROUNDBREAKING THESIS on, um, oops, that was a long time ago.

    • Learned Paw says:

      But they are OMGSOCHEAP! Only $80 a pop! Way to spend $320 on cheap fake suede hooves, idiot. Stabbies.

      • diluted brain says:

        I know! Rather than get 3-4 look alike pairs for $80 each, just buy the real brand. Those shoes are cheesy. Bakers is still a little young IMHO.

      • shamoolia says:

        “Rather than get 3-4 look alike pairs for $80 each, just buy the real brand”

        YES! She could buy one really great pair of REAL YSLs with the money she wastes on cheap, shitty shoes and clothes. And this is why she’s a tacky, trashy hick with no taste. Hell, you could even find a pair of higher end shoes at a damn Marshall’s for $80. I see Kate Spade, Tahari, etc. there all the time.

    • None Society says:

      i think the repitition speaks more to the fact that she has no original tastes/desires, so rather than try 1 thing she knows she like and 3 new ones she’ll go with the 4 things she knows she likes.

  18. BTW, love the picture of the dandy-cat, JP. I would take him as my husband.

  19. Sausage Snappers says:

    Loving the “battered woman” meme.

  20. Rambo says:

    It’s so cute he brought his mom.

  21. HaHaHa says:

    Why do you know seat fillers at the Streamy Awards?

  22. LLFOOLJ says:

    She did the same thing during Fashion Week. In as much as this one photographer (whose work looks nice, so she shall remain nameless) is no MDM.. I KANT..


    whyyy Julie would’ve given away the tickets/passes to shows she decided she didn’t want to attend under the pretense of being SO NICE. Strange! Worrisome!

  23. Sausage Snappers says:

    My favorite part: When she has to get her opinions validated by him because too insecure (or stupid).

  24. SO. Blessed. Greatful. says:

    I want dibs (or Sibs) on haltingly beautiful.

    • SO. Blessed. Greatful. says:

      Rather, halterly bootyfull.
      I replied to myself because I LIVE DIFFERENTLY.

    • fuck camping! says:

      Haltingly Beautiful High Velocity Comet

      • SO. Blessed. Greatful. says:

        I was reposing in my bed whilst reading your response. It amused, nay, brought about, a case, of, mirth.

        I wish I had a British accent so everything I said would sound smart. Instead I’m in a basement knitting sweaters from pet dander.

  25. Bepelted Braying Barnyard Animal with NPD says:

    the guy who wrote that stuff is so fucking stupid. ugh. hate hate hate.

  26. ShoppeTheFrockUp says:

    I know this might criticized but think about it this way.

    He gets tickets (FREE) to an event he wants to go to. He meets Julia, who if you didn’t read about all her crazy, would just seem like the same annoying socialite. Annoying, but not worthy to go and trash online.

    And maybe he did hate her, but it’s possible she was tolerable and he was just trying to thank someone who did something nice for him.

    I dunno, I feel weird about attacking a guy who took someone up on an opportunity to do something cool. Unless someone was horrible to me, I’d be courteous when reporting the story on the internet.

  27. JA: Running Joke of LA says:


    I’m going to New York in a few days for a week (my first time off in years!). Hooray.

    I was about to start researching compiled lists of places that are interesting and restaurants that are new/exciting/delicious, but then I remembered the kind of people who write said lists… Julio… Mario… Jordo…

    We KNOW how good their opinions are. How will I know who to trust?

    I know my fellow catladees can give me a hand. Any suggestions?

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