Is it true though? Or are the tabloids just running exaggerated fantasies to harpoon mass appeal? It’s hard to know because these grandiose lifestyles are perpetuated by the attention drawn to them (unless the celebrity is actually talented). Case in point — the Kardashian sex tape.

Bad publicity is good publicity, I suppose… especially for the venues that become associated with celebrity attendance (who doesn’t want to go to places where you might see a rockstar in a bar fight or catch Paris Hilton stripping down to… well… a slightly more naked version of her usual self?).

When talking about club publicity, nothing turns up the temp on a particular venue more than the drug habits of the celebrities. The scandalous behaviors of one Miss Britney Spears has made headlines for a variety of clubs in New York including an all time personal favorite, Marquee. Yes, she has been caught using drugs in the public bathrooms all around town and she’s not the only one. The question then becomes, of course, how many drugs are being done in these places? Certainly you run a high risk (pun intended) of being caught abusing drugs if you are a celebrity, but what about us ordinary folk? Are drugs swimming through the clubs as the tabloids would have us believe?

The answer is YES. I would never consider myself a drug abuser, but I know first hand that almost every club I have been to has it’s own underground microcosmic drug scene. Club Stereo was closed last year after several cocaine busts, though this came as no shock as Stereo was known for being “pot friendly” and leaving the club was like opening the Scoobie Doo van (smoke pouring out). Tenjune turns the other cheek when it comes to smoking the reefer in the VIP section and won’t ask why there are so many girls leaving the bathroom with runny noses. The real shocker comes from Le Souk where I witnessed some special k being snorted in the wide open.

I have also witnessed people getting arrested. Again, Club Stereo, you win in this department with flying colors. On two — no three occasions I witnessed drug raids there, but in the end, drug use was far far more frequent than the arrests that were made. This can probably be said true for almost any club and can be said especially true for celebrities. Amongst my celebrity encounters few involved sobriety (or much respect for, I dunno… THE LAW). Indeed, the Studio 54 mentality lives on in places like Bungalow 8 (where you might just order “a rum and coke.. hold the rum”).

These scenes are often under the radar of the public because of tight security. It’s nearly impossible to get in unless you know someone, ARE a celebrity or (at the very least) have your very own assistant. Places rarely have to answer to the law because undercover cops simply do not fit the demographic of these super-dooper (more like super-doper) high-end venues.

This doesn’t mean that the celebrity lives we read about aren’t embellished to perfection, but it certainly adds validity to the stories. The truth of the matter is, we aren’t living lives so separate from those we read about and if anything can be learned from the tabloids, it’s two things: 1) where the drugs are 2) where people get caught doing them.

Anyway. I feel a little weird being around all these quasi – famous and ultra rich young hipsters. I can easily pass for one of them, but deep down I’m nothing but a simple farm girl. Which makes the prospect of dating a pseudo – socialite tricky. I automatically assume that all the Blackberry boys are wayyyyy out of my league. I mean, all they need to do is look at my cell phone to see I’m nothing like the other Kirsten Dunst clones.

Strangely, though, fancy suitors are competing for my attention left and right. But I’m having trouble letting down my air of mystique for fear that they will discover my true identity and deem me below their league.

In high school, social castes worked for you and against you. Maybe you weren’t in the popular clique, but at least your role was defined in one way or another and you didn’t really have to worry about social movement. I found true happiness in the dorky halls of the drama wing and couldn’t care less about my social rank.

But now, everything is muddy. I have no idea where I stand, and apparently, I’ve been underestimating myself. Which is a scary — not to mention depressing — prospect.

So what do I do? Obviously, I’ll continue to be my weird self because I’m not sure I know any other way, and intrigue is the greatest boon to romance. But to be league – less is not to care at all, which I’m not sure I can do… although I can definitely pretend. I mean, I’ve got more important things to worry about than $14 martinis and snagging the attention of avant – garde “artistes.” I have crops to rotate and cattle to herd.