...Seeks... in the City

Ruminations on the New

2011-03-12T11:36:00.000-08:00

I have been in NYC for a year already.

As I have renewed my domain name, I am reminded of this and it is painfully evident of how quickly the time passes and tends to catch me at moments that are recalled so sharply it takes my breath...

Ruminations of this past year...hmm...I guess the 'newness' of New York City is wearing off (what's that little saying about the bloom being off the rose? well nevermind, it's not fitting anyway, I'll explain momentarily). I still feel like there is so much more to know and love and discover.

I have met and made beautiful new friends...people who constantly amaze and inspire me in all the ways they reveal themselves through their passions and goodness. I have taken in some riveting skylines, works of art floating in gallery spaces, and not, + carefully crafted libations that deserve their spot in said galleries. And I guess this feeling of still being a 'newcomer' comes with an incredulity--a fascination with the little moments that make up a 'New York experience' and reveling. Examples may include ordering delivery from the place whose ceiling may as well be the floor you just woke up on...a discovery of the too few points of separation to the girlfriend of the guy you're seeing...scrawlings of familiar names and numbers in the subway hub you're stranded on...

And I guess what I really want to say is that one should be and remain joyful throughout the exploration.

I was recently told that it was evident that I was not a native New Yorker due to the fact that I smile too much. And if that is the case, then I am thankful to remain a tourist. Humbled even. Because you can not successfully live in a city without a sense of humor. And irony...though I would advise to use this sparingly as it lends itself to a jadedness that makes you realize just how long you've been 'doing this.'

Be light. Enjoy your 'New York moments' wherever they may occur. And facial lines and risks of outing yourself as the NKOTB be damned, don't forget to smile.

Right now (& always), www.wearehunted.com...listen

TV-D-tox, just say 'NO' to HBO?

2010-07-17T10:23:00.000-07:00

What does one do when there's no Pamela sashaying across your boob tube in HD? When all the 'big bang', '30 rock' talk is all heresay? More often than not I have heard of Manhattanites that either do not own or do not watch their televisions. Cable can be pricey and with so much else to do when not at your 9-7 5x a week, it can become only an afterthought. Personally, I have an all or nothing approach. I want my particular shows (True Blood, HowToMakeItInAmerica, Family Guy, Kell on Earth, Project Runway when I have ample patience to tune the Klum out) and I want them when it's convenient for me. I was holding out for extraordinary cable. And in the meantime, I was attempting to re-familiarize myself with my high school language of choice: French.
Think of the hours that you watch television. Chances are one program runs into 2-3, especially if you're the type to leave it on as white noise while you cook/eat/half-ass chores, and sleep. Now think about the influx of productivity; the recipes you could be trying; re-centering yourself at mealtime and honing in on the flavors that you slaved over to make (or take-out). The extra thing-youve-been-meaning-to-do while you do the thing-you've-been-putting-off (as the screws I was meaning to tighten pop off with my purse hook grrr).
Now this is all well and good in theory, of course. One I was seriously testing until I realized HBO On Demand was being factored into my new apartments rent (may as well get my moneys worth right?) But if you have the opportunity and your roomie is amenable to the idea (aka hippie or tight-wad?:) TRY and do a TV D-tox and forgo digital cable for a month or so. Come to terms with and keep me updated with your new-found efficacy. In the meantime, I will be 'curb'ing my enthusuasm for francais and getting my Larry David fix as I dig out the duck tape and jury-rig these purse hooks for the time being...

Right now, Discovery, "Osaka Loop Line"

Seeing Red: The Rock-Bottom Line

2010-05-03T11:21:00.000-07:00

I avoided my budget all month like the plague: snacking on praline pecans, painting my nails and Polyvoring (see procrastination post) instead. (And yes, I have a budget, duh, my CPA boyfriend, Colin, made me). Now here I sit in bed, bundled up in a big, down comforter and April receipts, feeling anything but comfortable about my uncertain financial near-future. I have been in New York now for officially one month; this having been made abruptly clear two days ago by the cut-off of my unlimited subway card during morning rush-hour.

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me,” I said as the daily grind bumped their way impatiently into the adjacent ticket terminal. But of course it’s no joke the way time and money flies here in NYC; especially when you’re having fun (as evidence by the cringe-inducing sum in the “Entertainment” expense field).

I knew I was going to come to grips this reality when I took a leap of faith; letting go of the suburbs and embracing a city where the skyline is the limit...(that, and your bank account, of course).

I didn’t want to see the numbers. Tearfully expressing this to Colin, I used the metaphor as someone who is gravely ill that doesn’t have much time left. If I were truly dying, I would not want to countdown the days I had to live out the rest of my life. Because life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take…ok whatever. I bucked up and did the damn thing and determined that my current inflow of cash & assets (minimal, but larger this month due to large lump sum of tax refund, thanks to darling CPA boyfriend), is considerably less than the outbound expenditures, i.e., rent, loosely classified “Entertainment” category, & Jeffrey Campbell rainboots (I won’t look back! Compliments and clearly envious stare-downs have solidified confidence in purchase decision).

I got three months*.

In the meantime, I will continue with an internship that enriches me, albeit mentally and emotionally; scouring real-estate ads for diamonds-in-the-rough at a grand or less a month (know of something, e-mail me here), and toying with the idea of selling my virginity on e-Bay (HA!)…ha.

Right now, Ingrid Michaelson, "Be OK (Live at NYC's Terminal 5)"

*This number is at best, an estimate that includes a buffer zone of roughly a couple thousand, give or take, just in case there is some unforeseen disaster, i.e., I really did have three months to live, or I had to visit a “specialist” of something or another which is not covered under my current indemnity health insurance plan which is not to get sick. (Falling off balcony/hit by cab, OK).

Full Disclosure: The Hush-Hush Shop Events of 9 undisclosed

2010-04-26T13:17:00.000-07:00

Tucked away, on a quaint NYC rooftop, there are fabulous women amidst Prosecco and ranunculus, slipping on Louboutins for 80% below retail. Who are these women and how can you be one, you ask?

They are among a very descreet and discriminating clientele; those that adore designer vintage but hate the consignment connotations, i.e., the musty smells and often stuffy, spaces up on a second level. No, no. These women prefer their 'gently worn' DVF on a penthouse with a side of lilac macaroons and the opinion of stylist and shopping extraordinaire by the name of Lindsay Burka. Lindsay is the mastermind and entrepreneur of 9 undisclosed, an exclusive, invite-only shopping event company. Lindsay, originally from Chicago, held her first 'party' on the corner of Bank & Washington in the West Village where she presides to this day. After doing a 'cleaning house' of her closet, she realized she had many designer duds that were either unworn or hardly touched, and knew that they needed to be in the hands of someone who would love and appreciate them. Having a background in fashion publications, Lindsay knew who to call about her pop-up closet shop, and soon she had swarms of women mad for Margiela buying up her stock. She found that she had many friends with similar stories to her own; racks of high-end clothing, shoes, and bags that do little but gather dust. Lindsay knew she was on to something.

This past event (on the 18th of April) was her largest, by far. It was co-hosted by LA Times fashion director, Keren Eldad, in her Hell's Kitchen high rise with breathtaking views of both the New York skyline and the Hudson River. In attendance were jewelry designer, Flavia Masson, and publicist, Jenny Talbott, as well as press from Pink Memo, and many others. Guests lined up to purchase such notable items as a Missoni knit dress, a Marc Jacobs timepiece, a Burberry Trench, and my personal favorite, a pair of silk, floral, Louis Vuitton hot pants! The items were impeccably wrapped and placed within a shopping bag stamped with 9 undisclosed's intentionally enigmatic emblem. Guests also left with a gift bag filled with special offers and samples from Amrita Singh, L'Artisan Parfumeur, and Kiki de Montparnasse. There were even a couple gift bags for the guys, with a travel shaving kit inside from The Art of Shaving. This event, like so many of her past ones, was an utter success, and so much so that Lindsay hopes to expand and bring her shopping soirees to L.A., and internationally to Milan and Paris, as well. But the question still remains, where will the next one take place? Your best bet is to invest in some binoculars; you may get a peek of their Pucci in a penthouse window near you!

Right now, Ellie Goulding, "Starry Eyed"

Zac Posen for Target Pop-Up Shopping Event: More "Pop" than "Shop"

2010-04-19T08:10:00.000-07:00

The latest designer to do a capsule collection for Target is NY-raised fashion darling, Zac Posen who has dressed such Hollywood heavyweights as Gwyneth Paltrow, Rachel Bilson, & Rihanna.

For 24-hours the pop-up shopping party was set up on a corner in the fashion district as a sneak preview before the line ships to stores and is available online on 4/25. Tuxedo-clad security and candy-touting cocktail waitresses sashayed through the luxe-lounge-inspired space. Walking in I felt like I was going V.I.P. past velvet ropes to a nightclub for cocktails--low overhead lighting and hot pink neon lights lit up silver beaded pan

els. Baroque chairs angled just so encouraged shoppers to take a load off after their bargain hunt. It was a good 12 hours since the sale began (11PM on 4/15), yet the place seemed dead. Racks boasted several styles (at the most) with multiple size XS's. A nearby shopper who stopped on her lunch break said she heard that they're nearly sold out, which accounted for the fact that much of the collection I had spied on New York Magazine's The Cu t had yet to make an appearance that afternoon. I was disappointed in the fact that I was more inspired by his chic, pop-up packaging than I was in the collection itself. It strips the glamour when you water down great design by cutting back on thread count, seaming, and hardware. Posen is known for impeccable tailoring; body-skimming silhouettes, structure, and creative use of color and shape. Robbed of his signature stylistic elements, the pieces that were left seemed bland and lacking in ambition. Evidently, there must have been enough early-bird fashionistas that disagreed and were more than happy to snatch up a ZP frock for under a bill. Highlights included a bright crimson leather motorcycle jacket for $200, black slim tuxedo pants with contrast navy detailing for $40, a strapless two-piece removeable-ruffle cocktail dress (cool concept) for $80, and the multi-tier floral topiary at the entry-way. As Posen dates architect and interior decorator, Brian Callahan, one can only assume that he is the one responsible for dressing the space. Perhaps he follows suit and does a discount line for Tar-jay? A frugalista can only dream.

Right now, "Fancy Footwork," Chromeo

Brooklyn Brings it Home

2010-04-05T12:27:00.000-07:00

Although I was not able to bus it down to see my family (and partake of my mom's homemade mac 'n' cheese) for Easter, I was able to be downright at home with some fabulous friends to celebrate, in a couple of Brooklyn's trendiest neighborhoods.

My girlfriend, Ashley, lives in Greenpoint, which is not too far from the first stop into Brooklyn on the E/W-running

L line (or "gray", for DC metro hoppers; just don't get caught referring to colored trains here). The menu included my fillo-wrapped asparagus with parmesan and walnut fruit salad with honey dressing (thanks, Paula Deen), various types of homemade pierogies and sausages (you can find the best ones here in Greenpoint, a historically Polish neighborhood); marinated ham steak from acclaimed butcher shop, the Meat Hook; and mac 'n' cheese with broccoli (got my fix after all).

Check out her cute shelving; what a great way to utilize a small kitchen space, hooks under shelving with coordinating steel utensils and containers. She said she got the look straight outta Ike a; check out their style pages and see how their schemas and organizational tips might

work for your own lifestyle.

Meanwhile, a mile down the road in Williamsburg, a buzzing backyard barbecue was in full swing. I pushed open my buddy, Tejas's, back door to reveal a colorful agglomeration of boho-hipsters enjoying the hell out of the beautiful day. Amp wires and clotheslines full of thrift-store finds weaved around the crowd like streamers, a flatmate roller-skated by in a tiny neon romper, others, barefoot, swayed to the music from the self-made stage and touted yellow solo cups full of bloody mary. In the yard next door, what could only be described as a red and white lotus tree, was in full-bloom (later, the band would request a moment of silence to admire it in all its splendor).

I drank in the scene with the gusto of a culture-starved suburbanite and helped myself to one of those bloody mary's. I bought half a box of candy-colored Indian bangles for $20, and shook 'em around as I moved to the sounds of the Desert Stars, a multi-talented group of girls based out of Brooklyn. At one point, the lead singer, Janelle, clad in a string bikini and Janis Joplin shades, pulled out the cello and rocked. that. thing. out. Up there with one of

the coolest things I've experienced in NY yet. Something else that made the list that day? A little ragtag group of neighbors from across the

street complimenting us on the noises they heard. We invited them in to enjoy them at a closer view.

Right now, "Home," by Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros

Hanger Snobbery & the Butler Table Breaks

2010-03-30T17:32:00.000-07:00

After a day and a half at my new UES abode, I must confess that I have discovered some unforeseen truths about NYC apartments, in general, and myself in the process...

1. There are 15 steps between each level.

At least in my walk-up. But it's steep enough to be equal to a leisurely-sloped 30. Especially when carrying luggage that would not get the green-light at the baggage claim.

2. It's OK to be a hanger snob.

I unsheathed my Ikea wooden ones (cheap but uniform) only to discover that my closet was filled with (generic Halloween scream) a mish-mash of blue, rust, white, & seafoam green plastic hangers. I'm not sure about you, but when my closet is opened as often as mine is, I don't want to open it to find my garments draped across racks reminiscent of a ball pit (talk about a scary shared space).

3. Filth is inevitable, but that does not mean an extreme drop down, drag out, balls to the wall cleaning is necessary.

Yes it was brown & crusty before. It's still brown. But now it's more of a Pantone sienna with a burnout of where the crust once existed. Deep breath (mmm Comet). My work here is done, thanks to a fervor for hygiene and a whimsical, old Cinderella toothbrush.

4. Fresh flowers make everything better.

After I scrubbed-till-my-cuticles bled, I decided I needed some fresh air to get the bleach from my lungs. That, and, as you will read below, I needed to venture out to find a hardware store that had mini-hinges. Hydrangeas, white ones, are classic, and look good in almost any makeshift vase. They are also Michael Kors's favorite. No decor is as chic without fresh flowers (as in "living", leave silk to Kors).

5. Something's gotta give.

That something in my case was the butler table, proudly rigged by a previous renter. And in the efforts to retract it to sweep beneath its sole leg, the hinge snapped off as if it was a plastic bread bag tab. I don't care where you're moving, when you do, something will break and those odds triple if you're in a city. So have your tool set readily accessible, and bring the odds and ends with you to the hardware store. Bonus points for those that call ahead to ensure that the parts are there, 'cause if you're like me, you'll go to three before you find that damn hinge. In the rain. With bloody cuticles.

Right now, (but actually yesterday, as it came on "shuffle" while installing the new butler table hinge) "That's Life," by Frank Sinatra

The Big Move!

2010-03-16T15:01:00.000-07:00

My last day of work was yesterday. The day rounded out quite nicely, actually, complete with an entire Cheesecake Factory White Chocolate Raspberry cheesecake (which might very well require a dolly to transport). If I could have sent out my remove-me-from-the-listserv e-mail with flower and sunshine doodles in the margins, I surely would have.

I found the place (Manhattan UES duplex, 92nd & 2nd), I made the first deposit for my two-month sublet, I even e-mailed my new German roomie, Janine. Now comes the hard part (next to actually finding an income).

In my previous position (feels so good to call it that) as a luxury boutique's Operations Assistant & a keyholder, I was required to prioritize the exorbitant number of tasks that cropped up from day to day as efficiently as possible. This required making lists. Which I was OK at, the problem now lies in the fact that a) I'm a horrific packer b) I get distracted easily c) I'm sifting through teenage-hood memorabilia that may/may not still hold relevance in my current 'hood d) I'm equally horrific at establishing relevance in the broader scheme of things.

Sooo, I decided to paint my To-Do list. It was one of many fleeting ideas I have right before I pass into a pre-REM slumber, and at the time I'm all "Yeah, that sounds cool, I'll revisit that." Mind you, I had not painted in about 3 years, so I had to scrounge up some supplies, throw out all my dried up paints, and strategize, i.e., what DID I have to do, besides make this damn list... (refer to line item (b) above).

I painted blue lines across the canvas mimicking notebook paper, and came up with the following:

-look into independent health insurance options (which is actually a lot cheerier in violet oil pastel)

-go through old magazines & organize files

-renew domain name

-taxes

-finish portfolio projects and then

-print them

-lose 5 lbs.

-mend clothes

-pack

It looked shitty. Which I was bummed about, but that I decided I couldn't dwell on because the point was that when I completed all of these tasks, I will gleefully paint through each task with the gusto of Jackson Pollock. A masterpiece I will make once I've made peace with the fact that all is in order for my Big Move. Will post a pic of the completed "piece" (if it's any good), and keep you updated with what still needs doing.

Oh wait, domain name renewal: check! I'll be 'Seeks'ing for at least another year. Though hopefully not for a paycheck by the time I send over the second deposit...

Right now, "I Need a Dollar," Aloe Blacc

Procrastination Inspiration

2010-02-23T06:50:00.000-08:00

Attention scrapbookers & mood board-makers, there's a site that satisfies those with a fetish for tear sheets. Polyvore lets users create groupings of digital objects, products, even stationary to create a unique "set" for inspiration and to satisfy a shopping sweet tooth; everything is linked to a site that allows users to buy online. You can even post your own pics and find images online to add to your own personal image library. Add to blogs (i.e. comme moi), e-mail sets to friends, and post to Facebook so others can view your artistry. Kill your time with style, but beware, this site is extremely addictive...all the fun sans glue-sticky fingers!
Find me on Polyvore
Right now, Sean Hayes, "Time"

Fall 2010: Textures, & Pumpkin, & Fringe, Oh my!

2010-02-20T19:53:00.000-08:00

Nanette Lepore's Fall 2010 collection was a swirling palette of rich, rustic hues and texture. Her "dolls" sashayed down the runway with delicate, touseled, curls, a dab of color at the cheeks, fuschia lips, and lightly kohl-lined lids. The beauty look was young and feminine; a grown-up gamine.

Tweeds, henleys, and lace were layered with textured non-chalance and charcoal, ribbed tights (by Hue) and various-sized fringe bags completed the casual looks. For evening, models were swathed in artfully draped velvet, taking turns exposing single shoulders, low backs, and legs. Highlights included a hot pink cocktail dress with princess seams and various tanks and tunics with heavy sequins and beading. All in all, I got the feeling of woodland fairies flocking to Woodstock, sipping kir royales & gimlets.

Those in attendance include president of IMG, Fern Mallis, Kelly Osbourne, stylist, Robert Verdi, & John Slattery ("Desperate Housewives" and more famously, I think, the guy Carrie bed with the pee fetish on S.A.T.C. Season 3)

The EMU Australia show was "off-Bryant", if you will, located several avenues away in a chic, loft warehouse. EMU is sold in Macy's and is known for their UGG-stremely familiar looking shearling boots. They have recently launched their women's apparel line, full of cozy layered knits. Cables & henleys zipped and buttoned up the models that hung out in designated spots on the rectangular runway. With their pursed coral lips, cocked heads holding crops of long, straight layers, the models looked more like they were standing in line for the Sacramento cinema, than showcasing a collection from a commercially-successful label. High notes included the Cut Copy sound byte, striped button-down sweater boots and pops of cheery tangerine; the orange knit bolero worn over a gray hoodie was especially note-worthy. Also worth noting: the tragic reality that the only comfortable models on the runway this season were stationary, and strutted not a step.

right now, Cut Copy, "Far Away"

Make a Smilebox slideshow design

Tent Virgin: My NYFW Experience

2010-02-18T07:20:00.000-08:00

Bleary-eyed and boarding the 5:30 Regional to NY Penn I didn't feel so fabulous. Nor did I when exiting and getting freight-trained by a linebacker-sized woman who asked if I was "Ow-kay"..."Ow" is right, I was just a little to jostled to articulate it at the time.

But somewhere in between the fluttering of WWD and Sample Sale fliers, flashbulbs at Anna Wintour b-lining out of Tory Burch (not a hair out of place), and flashing my scrapbook-worthy invitation, I ended up 2nd row at The Bryant Park Promenade awaiting the Nanette Lepore Fall 2010 collection.

Pretty f-ing fabulous. So much so, that I am inspired to renew my domain name and dramatically plunder on with my "autobliography" in the name of Fashion, and any design house/company/faction of passionate & savvy eclectics that may be willing to pay me to contribute to their vision. ("Cane Sugar or Stevia in your Green Tea Latte anyone???")

Stay tuned for my thoughts on the Nanette Lepore & EMU Australia shows Fall 2010 plus pictures/video.

Author's note: I have no penchant for bad penmanship, so feigning naiveté, I interpreted that row# to absolutely be a "2"...

right now, Passion Pit, "The Reeling" remix by Bubblegum SciFi

Losing It

2009-04-16T07:28:00.000-07:00

You know that saying, "She'd lose her head if it wasn't attached to her shoulders"? I never liked it. I can't say, though, that I really dislike one cliche more than another, except when its truthfulness is cruelly self-evident, as the aforementioned one is.

I will always retain the memories of those items whose displacement caused me the most anguish.
-My rabbit (More specifically rabbit head with a most pleasant, silky blanket body). Approximate Age of Displacment: 3. My poor, poor mother.
-Diamond earring. Approximate Age of Displacement: 11. Really fricken small but my grandfather gave them to me, and I haven't had a man give me diamonds since. Probably for the best.
-Emerald cut citrine and sterling silver ring obtained on my 22nd birthday among other vintage costumey treasures. AAD: 22. On Halloween. In NYC. At 4:45 AM. I remember why and how, but not much else. Could possibly track down their wherabouts, but my humility prevents me from doing so.
-Red rimmed aviator Ray-Bans. AAD: 23. I still have the case in my bag, and I seethe everytime I run my fingers over its bumpy, faux leather.

Oddly, as I get older and wiser, the extrinsic value of these items seems to increase. Which makes you wonder if you have a habit of losing track of your posessions, is it worth investing the money in them when you could be spending it at, oh, say the Container Store? What is the opportunity cost of organization?

These thoughts are especially salient as of late, for I purchased a replacement Blackberry wall charger last night, and upon returning home, I realized that a generic shopping bag packed with my laptop charger and my boyfriend's wireless mouse and USB drive was picked up, along with numerous other parcels left out for a local charity making the early morning rounds. I'd like to think that aging veterans need my tech accessories more than I do, but inevitably the 'wincing' sets in.

Really, I should be thankful I'm looking for computer parts and gemstones, and not, say, a hacked off appendage, invisible aphids, or God forbid a small child, but let's not forget the axiom upon which this whole blog was started: finding my dream job.
So ironically, my habit of losing things is just something I can't seem to rid myself of. In the meantime, I'm gonna buy the biggest, cheapest sunglasses I can find, and comparison shop for those large-format TV remotes. Who knows, maybe those veterans will make an even trade.

right now: Girl Talk, "Smash Your Head"

"Budget is the New Black"

2009-03-28T08:42:00.000-07:00

You know you shouldn't have.

But you did.

Our economy's as steady as the Titanic, three(+) of your friends have been "let go", and you hear they're talking smut about the Jones' lavish upgrades in the Hamptons this year. Budgets are the new black; at least according to Jean Chatzky, in her recent article for USAA Magazine.

But you've got a job (still), and your social calendar isn't letting up any time soon--especially with Spring biting at the heels of your Hunter boots. It will eventually stop raining (if not for anything else, because you're optimistic). And when it does, you don't want to be standing in last year's cardigan you've loved through a hole in the armpit. Especially since there are SO many great deals out there that be unequivocally justified.

As if you couldn't get enough at your guiltiest mall haunts; here are a few of my online favorites:

Overstock.com. Get it while supplies last. If you seek something in particular (sheets, watches, sunglasses), check here first.
ShopItToMe.com. Like your own personal e-sale shopper. They e-mail you weekly with the latest and greatest deals in your size, price range, & preferred brands. Brilliant. (Careful, this one can be dangerous...)
ShoppingNotes.com. If you see something you gotta have...at half price, register it here and they will e-mail you once it goes on sale.
RealSimple.com. The magazine's website. I'm a fan of their fun, unfussy editorials and corresponding photos. Have received some wonderful and helpful tips and tricks from them that are bound to save money and time in the long-run.

Recession Confession#1:

I signed up for a BananaRepublic credit card. To buy a fabulous ruddy-tangerine leather tote for half off. And then I went online and used one of the little tear off 10% off-your-online-order offer because I'm a fresh and dewy, special new customer. And because I was blessed/cursed to have the height of an above-average full-grown male, and the hot new thing in retail is to only have longer inseams available in cyberspace warehouses. And I bought a (sale)top too to go with it.

Recession Confession #2.1:

I'm vain.

Recession Confession #2.2:

So I take biotin-infused hair/skin/nails vitamins and Evening Primrose oil (that oddly doesn't smell like flowers) every day and have been for the past several months solely for aesthetic purposes.

Recession Confession #3:

I have started taking halves of my other medications. 'Cause it's expensive ok? And so are razors. So contrary to statement made in 2.1, I've stopped shaving as often, too.

And if budgets really are the new black, then I don't have to worry as much about my stubble poking through my new (severely)opaque H&M leggings, now do I?

right now. "I'm Good, I'm Gone," Lykke Li.

Sweets Sorrow

2009-03-15T17:51:00.000-07:00

I'm one week into my low-carb diet. Yes, I'm dieting, no I don't diet, and frankly, I don't like to talk about it.

But I will, of course.

I'm 5'10", so not every calorie tattoos itself to my t-shirt for the world to see, and I'm fortunate in that sense. However, I have noticed recently that my waistbands are getting a bit too intimate for my comfort level. It is also a bit hard NOT to notice the painful indentations on my fingers from the death-grip it takes to zip up my knee-length boots. I used to think it was just because I drive a manual car and my calf was just rock-hard from my left foot riding the clutch from day-to-day. That might have worked, except, the right zipper is just as sticky.

It started when I stole a hot pink book from my mother's credenza in my dash to leave for my most recent trip to NYC. It was Neris & India's Idiot-Proof Diet, and it was written by two women from the UK. The progressive-sounding names of the authors and the fact that the book was, duh, hot pink, intrigued me to dig further; plus I could read it in my British-narrator voice (in my head, of course.)

Their holistic approach to eating and their candid, witty cantor kept me reading. Plus they used words like "arse" and "flibbertigibbet." Nice. They were, apparently, two "real" women who picked through the fad-diets Neris had dabbled with throughout the years and put together their own plan for dropping pounds--140 of them, to be exact. They chose to go the 2-week, high-protein, low carb route, not unlike the South Beach Diet, and others that are similar. They kept journals of their progress, and discussed the strange, often dysfunctional, relationship that women of all shapes and sizes have with food.

Everyone has their weaknesses. I, for one, have never met a pasta dish I haven't liked. And attempting to use smaller plates to limit my portion size just inevitably moves me to seconds. Buffet, beware! Miraculously, though, I am successfully through my first week of no sweets, no muffins, buns, fruit, or (gasp!) caffeine or alcohol. (OK, I had some vodka and diet tonic on Saturday night, but let's get real here, I'm not Ghandi. Or, uh, trying to look like him.) I'm usually one to crave something sweet to eat after every meal, but surprisingly, I haven't gotten any dire, cut-your-throat cravings. Sugar is just like any other addictive substance; if you have a bit, you want a bit more. And you think about it later and how it felt pulsing through your bloodstream, and what it would be like with crushed up Oreo's on top this time. But if you cut it out and stick it out, it's no longer such an urge.

Randomly reminded of the best Halloween ever: freshman year of college as Elvira from Scarface; me an' Tony kept a ziploc stash of confectioner's sugar nearby all night, mostly, on our noses, and definitely in photo ops. Thus, the death of my security clearance.

True, workouts, are a bit of a pain-in-the-arse now; I'm fagged out by the second set of reps, and I just don't have the same ol' bounce I used to have on the elliptical. But I feel it will all be worth it in June when I'm smiling on the back of some tourist trap in sunny Cancun. (Yes, the upcoming family trip, definitely helped to motivate me to tip(back) the scale). I certainly won't be missing my my morning "workouts" of the aforementioned boot zip, the knit shirt torso-pull, or, my personal favorite, the jeans-out-of-the-dryer stretch (I don't even need a description, here, you know you know it well).

right now: "Peanut Dreams," by Grand National

Gridlocked

2009-03-11T14:20:00.000-07:00

So I'm not the worst driver in the world. Let me preface it by saying that. However, I have had my share of headaches from honks and headlights heading my (wrong) way down the one-way street.
Ever been stuck a traffic circle? You KNOW where you're supposed to be, but can't quite break away? It ain't centrifugal force, my friends, it's poor planning.

Most of these obscene traffic offenses I have committed have been in DC. It. Just. Doesn't. Make. Sense. To me.
But I drove into the District last night anyway for an event, armed with a Google Maps printout and a GPS-laden Blackberry. Needless to say, while Bb was searching for satellites, I was reversing out of dead ends, fighting back tears and the urge to flip the bird at some cabbies out for blood. I took a few breaths, and some Xanax (just kidding), and Bb finally put me back on the map, literally.
I'm really glad I stuck it out too, for the event was lovely, and the company was, well, "Lovey" (Haha, Tross).
Side story: The waitress kept pulling up a stool and getting hands-y with us. When she referred to us as her "loveeys" I was all, "Does anyone know her?" Nope. Had to be there? Yeah, maybe.

FYI, the get-together was at Urbana in Northwest. It is off of the Hotel Palomar, whose parent company, Kimpton Hotels harbors beautiful, modern restaurants and boutique accommodations. Cruising the interior of downtown sister hotel, The Hotel Monaco is like stepping into the pages of Alice in Wonderland by Jonathan Adler.

After sharing a few laughs with the girls and griping about my map mishaps, one brought up the fact that DC was shaped like a grid: letters going one way, numbers perpendicular, and the state names zig-zagging diagonally in no particular order. This is crazy. In NY (the city to which every city should be compared), there is ONE diagonal street, and that's Broadway. The way it should be.

I can see how some artistic type engineer with crayons and graph paper of how the country's capital should be: White House in the center with number and letter streets, as well as some of the better states' namesakes, meandering around like they exist solely to aesthetically frame the President's domicile. If you don't believe this, just check out the metro map. You'll find the White House where all the colors of the rainbow meet.

Yes it's patriotic, and somehow kind of cute, but practically speaking, it works only in theory, not in practice. Like Communism. (Ironic, no?)

One thing is for certain; nothing's changing anytime soon. So in the meantime, you can find me on the orange line, dreaming of places where the only letters that matter are either local or express, in Alphabet City, and soup.

right now: "Roundabout," Axe Riverboy.

"Swap Till You Drop"

2009-03-09T10:17:00.001-07:00

Swap it to Me! Renew Your Wardrobe in a Down Economy - FOXBusiness.com

Ever have one of those "Wish I'd thought of that" moments? This was one of them. After reading this, it got me thinking about all those ill-fitting high heels and corduroys that are never in the shuffle between my parents' and my boyfriend's place. True, there are those few items that exist in my closet solely for the joy I bestow in just viewing them (a magenta, raw silk mini jacket I made in college for example). However, I would much rather take someone's (faux)diamond-in-the-rough item, than some pawn man's word that I won't get more than $20 for my gently-worn Steve Madden's. Plus, you think about hawking your old goodies for cash, but do you ever really get around to it? I'm sure I'm not the only one who would genuinely say no, never.

There's something kind of creepy and wrong-feeling about getting rid of your clothing and jewelry for cash, too. There are memories and emotions that accompany these items; not to mention, they are intimate. You wear them around the neck, the waist, the mall you used to frequent in high school, your old crush (who gave it to you in the first place).

But heck, if you're getting something better in return, giving to charity, and munching and socializing with fabulous ladies, I'm down!

Now, if I could only find out where the woman on the corner with the shopping cart got her shabby-chic shawl-collar sweater.

(OK, that's kind of messed up. But you know you see some people on the street with new Nikes and headphones on and start to wonder...)

right now: "One Red Thread," by Blind Pilot

"S.W.F. Seeks Job in the Big City..."

2009-03-03T20:14:00.000-08:00

...not quite so single as my S.O. might say, but nevertheless, White, Female and Unemployed. Or let's just nix the race thing altogether and say Female, Unemployed, and Eager to start (F.U. Economy).

It's interesting how people 'advertise' themselves. For our fashion show in college, they wanted the designers to write a 'synopsis' about themselves for the program. How the hell do you do that?

Here's what one designer had to say:

"[I] have always been interested in fashion, the ability it has to be in one day, and out the other, and eventually come back with a a modern twist. As a designer, [I] constantly look for inspiration in everything and anything that exists in [the] world"...

Damn. That's a lotta lookin'. And now, like me, she's probably looking for a job. Hopefully not as an editorialist.

Enough hating already. Of course everyone wants to look their best (why do you think everyone in Hollywood has been freaking out about HD broadcasting?)

But whether you're out to get an interview, a date, hot pics of you posted on Facebook, or, God forbid, hooked up on Live Links, chances are, you're gonna hyperbolize a bit. Or at least untag yourself from those less-than-flattering photos (6+ alcohol units, give or take).

Not that there's anything wrong with that. But what's a recent grad to do to stand out in the cutthroat industry that is fashion right now?

For now, this one will keep typing rhetorical questions into cyberspace and working part-time to pay for her Adobe Illustrator lessons.

Anyone looking to talk to a hot, local, single in your area? *wink*

right now: "Hotel Song," Regina Spektor.