Get to the point...

Good Enough is Not Good Enough

2008-10-16T05:54:00.014-04:00

So it's been a while...more interesting stuff coming up, really.

For now:

1. If you have contacts in the fashion industry (any aspect) who would not mind talking to me, please let me know! I am specifically looking for opportunities in Fashion Public Relations - agency or in-house for high fashion brands, but I would love to talk to anyone in any aspect of the field. Spanks!

2. Two weeks after I quit my job, I began interning at a fashion PR firm (one of the top 3 agencies I want to work for!) that represents high fashion and luxury contemporary designers/labels, and I love love love it! God, it's weird to love going to work...not like, love. And even weirder to leave work before 7pm...slackers.

Among the other interns I have met:

-3 career changers (a former management consultant, a former auditor w/a Big 4 firm, a former investment banker)

-several people who graduated with degrees from reputable schools (many ivy leagues) that have nothing to do with fashion (Political Science, Art History, Economics, Finance)

-90% of interns have already graduated from college

What is significant about this is that the internship is unpaid - ubiquitous in many creative industries, but still mind-boggling to me. Working. For free. Crazy. Summer finance internships are usually paid starting salary (pro-rated) with perks like housing stipends, excessively lavish dinners, box seats at sports events, etc. But in fashion, there are A LOT of well-educated, well-spoken, personable, well-dressed kids in NYC who are willing and able to work unpaid, full-time, indefinitely, until they land the dream job. WTH?!?! That's my competition?!?! Oh, I forgot to point out that there is zero correlation between interning and getting a full-time offer. Ok, maybe like 2%, but that's it.

3. Just something interesting I came across:

Satisficers (yes, satisfice is a word, I checked) are those who make a decision or take action once their criteria are met. That doesn’t mean they’ll settle for mediocrity; their criteria can be very high; but as soon as they find the car, the hotel, or the pasta sauce that has the qualities they want, they’re satisfied.

Maximizers want to make the optimal decision. So even if they see a bicycle or a photographer that would seem to meet their requirements, they can’t make a decision until after they’ve examined every option, so they know they’re making the best possible choice.

Most people are a mix of both approaches. For example, one friend was a satisficer about renting an apartment, but a maximizer about buying an apartment. As a consequence, he and his wife are renting an apartment now, because they had to move, and they're still searching for the perfect apartment to buy.

In a fascinating book, The Paradox of Choice, Barry Schwartz argues that satisficers tend to be happier than maximizers. Maximizers must spend a lot more time and energy to reach a decision, and they’re often anxious about whether they are, in fact, making the best choice.

My mother is a good example of what I’d call a “happy limited maximizer.” In certain distinct categories, she’s a maximizer, and she loves the very process of investigating every possibility. My sister is getting married next year, and I know that my mother would love nothing more than to see her try on practically every possible wedding dress, just for the fun of it. But too often maximizers find the research process exhausting—yet can’t let themselves “settle” for anything but the best.

The difference between the two approaches may be one reason some people find a big city like New York overwhelming. If you’re a maximizer, and you live in New York, you could spend months surveying your options for bedroom furniture or even wooden hangers. In a smaller city, like Kansas City, even the most zealous maximizer can size up the available options pretty quickly.

From The Happiness Project

I'm a satisficer when it comes to trivial things (buying hangers), but with long term goals, I am the ultimate maximizer. Simply "good enough" is never good enough for me. So yes, this means that I too am determined to remain unemployed indefinitely until the perfect job at one of the top firms comes along. Um...again, email me if you have fashion industry contacts!

What are you, a satisficer or a maximizer?

And yes, I am writing this before 6AM. And no, I didn't go to 1OAK last night.

SO LONG SUCKAS!!!

2008-09-20T12:48:00.010-04:00

At 9am EST on Friday, September 19, 2008, I did the most amazing thing I have done in a long time: I quit my job!

It took every ounce of self control for me not to skip out of my HR Manager’s office yelling, “SO LONG SUCKAS!!!!” - but being the mature, poised adult that I am (stop laughing), I managed to, at least until I go to the elevator. I also may or may not have been humming the chorus of George Michael's "Freedom" on the way home...

Do his waxed eyebrows/precisely trimmed sideburns and facial hair scare you too?

That’s right, during a week of turmoil in the financial markets beyond what I could ever have imagined even a few months ago, I decided to resign from a perfectly stable, currently decently-paying-but-eventually-lucrative job at one of the world’s most reputable companies.

AND GOD IT FEELS GOOD!!!

This must be what those guys who have been wrongly imprisoned, and later released because DNA forensic testing proved their innocence, must feel like. Okay, maybe not the best analogy! Anyway.

It has been the most humbling experience to admit to myself that a job that once made me excited to go to work, that challenged me, that I took pride in, was now making me truly miserable. It was depressing to realize that I was working 16+ hour days with zero sense of accomplishment or satisfaction, that I was really BORED, that none of it was worth it since I knew I did not want to stay in finance anymore. But once I admitted this to myself, the decision was easy, and it was just a matter of time before I pulled the trigger. The next time I meet someone who asks me what I do (which in our society always means what one does for a living because we totally define ourselves by our jobs whether we want to/realize it, or not), I cannot wait to say, "Oh, you know, this and that. I'm exploring my options." And I love run on sentences.

Of course, voluntary unemployment entails a plethora of new concerns….how long can I live off savings before finding another job? How can I be sure that I’ll be happier in a new job/industry? How will I survive not taking cabs while in 4 inch heels? Am I going to have to rent forever? Will I have to start eating ramen (and not good ramen which I set out to do, but cheap, packaged ramen)? Will I be in agony when I can no longer afford to go to whatever new restaurant is opening? Opera season is starting soon – am I going to have to settle for the shitty seats in the back where you can only see half the stage (the botton half)? AHHHH!! But in the grand scheme of things, these are insignificant problems, and since I am self-confident to the brink of arrogance, I know I’ll be successful in my new endeavors. =)

So what are these new endeavors? Stay tuned...because I obviously now have time to write more crap, more frequently, for your entertainment.

Toodles!!!!!!!!

P.S. For all my friends who have doubts that I can live frugally with no income, I'd just like to say that I haven't taken a cab for over 48 hours. Baby steps...

I Can't Stand Regina Spektor

2008-09-04T05:00:00.007-04:00

Hey!

My lack of posts over the past three weeks was purely to elicit flattering inquires from you all as to why I haven't written anything, and not for lack of material...or laziness. Just the opposite actually. Since my previous entry, I have experienced the entire range of human emotion. And by entire, I mean that I've been largely frustrated, pissed, stressed, overworked, and wistful (friends moving away, shakeups at work, ex visiting from London, contemplating law school/career change, etc) but intermittently inspired and entertained (some entertaining and random happenings, meeting random creative people/entrepreneurs, a Boston mini-break, etc.)

The human body is just amazing. I never thought I could work 16+ hours a day (8am - past midnight), five days a week, for over two weeks, without collapsing...but what do you know, I am still alive. Around 11PM every night, I start contemplating law school or being one of those perfume-spritzer girls at department stores who just have to stand there and smile.

So what do I do when I get out of the office at 9PM last night? Catch up on sleep? No, I went out, of course! At my friend's birthday dinner at Butter, three friends of friends of the birthday boy drop by. No one knew why the hell they sat down, but I made small talk to diffuse the awkwardness.

Party crasher girl 1: Talking to someone in Polish about perogies and her love for Polish Kitchen.
(I'm really amused that she's talking about the first two things that come to my mind when someone mentions Poland. Well, other than Belvedere I guess.)

Party crasher girl 2: Tells me she dabbles in music, film, writing, fashion styling for photo shoots, and hangs out at Freeman's Alley. When I ask for details (these dabblers fascinate me), she can't name a single source where I can see her work (or should I say "work"). When I ask her what kind of music she/her band plays, she tells me,

"...like hip hop funk pop electronic, retro, ya know?"

No, I do not know. Nor did I know what she meant when she said,

"I've known him (points to the guy she came with) for years. We randomly met one night at Freeman's Alley. But sometimes you know someone and sometimes you KNOW someone, you know? I like to really know people."

Verbatim, I swear. And no, I don't know or care.

But wait, it gets better. She proceeds to ask for an extra dirty martini (I'm rolling my eyes!!! ha ha hahahaha) and pull up a chair for dinner, and helps herself to my napkin (ew, but I will give her the benefit of the doubt and assume it was a mistake)!!

Party crasher Guy: Actually went to my high school freshman year, until he transferred after moving to the 'burbs.
He tells me he's into web design, but doesn't have a card and cannot name a single site he's created. Uh, make any sense to you? Can anyone say poseur?

All this (and several warm jelly donuts, almost as good as the ones at Stanton Social) gave me indigestion, and I was in bed early - that's 1am by my standards.

Only in New York, yup.

That's all I've got at 5am!

Men Require Patience!

2008-08-07T13:54:00.000-04:00

sidebar:
Sorry for the lack of posts! I know you all turn to me for shallow, mindless entertainment to help you get through the day at your unfulfilling jobs. Oh wait, that's just those of you who work in finance...ha ha ha

Anyway, I haven't been bothered to write anything lately as I've been busy with a lot of things - getting back on track with a few personal and professional goals, but balancing it with some amazing times with friends. Cue Toca's Miracle =)

The past three weeks have been an insane mash-up of mid-Saturday afternoon parties at Bagatelle, sweating it out at PS1 Warm Up, late night backgammon games at the lounge above downtown Cipriani (closed until Sept 2, tear), goodbye dinners, renting a ridiculous Zipcar to go Philly just for the Coldplay concert (and a cheesesteak!), happy/hookah hours, great reunions with old friends, breaking lampshades at Bijoux (it's too dark, I couldn't even take a picture with my BB!), rooftop cocktails, underground mixers, noodles (Momofuku, Ippudo, Soba-ya, Matsugen have been covered thus far!) picnics and naps in Central Park, surprises, disappointments, dalliances, run-ins...and much, much more! Now, I'm just craving some time at the beach with a book and one of those coolers with the cup holders on top!!

My dream is to fly...

Coldplay concert in Philly

Chris Martin is not just another punk from UCL!

The promotional (and cheap) Prius zipcar we rented.

You can't see me, but I'm behind the monkey...we got a few looks.

Perfect night

Perfect skyline from The Frying Pan

Isabelle, my friend who came to visit from DC

She's still recovering from that weekend b/c I'm an excellent hostess! =)

PS1 in Queens

(little known fact: AMAZING street meat truck by the entrance)

The crowd at PS1 for Au Revoir Simone

(or was this from LCD Soundsystem?)

I love Central Park Sundays

A random Tuesday night luau-themed party!

Laughing at "Bowery Lounge"

Rooftop

(You'd be that happy too if you were ON VACATION in NY

and LIVED in the Bahamas!)

Snow & sparklers!!

-----------------------------

A few weeks ago, I was digging through an old box of junk and came across a photo of my parents and me - I'm an only child, as if it weren't obvious - taken in Montreal in 1989. I was four at the time, my dad had just finished his Ph.D. and started teaching, my mom was still doing her residency in neurology. They were new to the city, and probably had no money and few friends - just a lot of hope for the future and especially for me. Since I pretty much look the same as I did at that age, and this blog is anonymous, I'll just have to describe the photo to you. It's a candid shot of them in a park, probably near McGill University. It was probably at some time in the fall since the foliage in the background is a wash of yellow, orange, and red. I had just broken my left arm, which is in a sling and pitiful pink cast. He and my mom are totally ignoring me (typical!!) and laughing about something - and not just laughing, but laughing-from-the-gut-until-you-cry-laughing.

I stole the photo from a family album because it's my favorite picture of my parents. Theirs is the most enviable relationship I know, not just because it's withstood difficult times, including a near-divorce when I was in fourth grade, but because they're never boring and always have fun together. They wake up everyday with a different attitude than most people I know - everyday, even bad days, are fun with them and they never go to bed upset at each other. They are each other's best friend; whenever I swear one of them to secrecy about something, the other finds out within an hour. The photo struck a cord with me because lately I have been so frustrated with dating in this city! I really just want to be single, but of course, my life is situational irony at its best (or worst?). When it rains, it pours. Everytime I meet a nice guy (yes, they exist in NYC!), I lose interest in about two seconds because I find him...boring. And there is nothing worse to me than being boring. Guess I just like the crazy/cocky/workaholic/alcoholic/model-aholic/player guys, and they sure do like me! Sigh...

But earlier this week, I got an email from I couple I met at Bagatelle that dispelled any cynicism my hopelessly romantic self may have developed recently. Bagatelle is a restaurant in Meatpacking, managed by the same people behind Kiss & Fly, the club next door. It is the only restaurant I've been to repeatedly where I have no interest in the menu. The chef is last in command there - after the DJ, the bartenders, the (mostly) cute waiters, and the energy on Saturday afternoons. Where else are people dancing on tables and chairs, banquettes and the bar, at 3pm?! Rain or shine! Where else are bottles of champagne delivered by a waiter in a Superman cape carried by six guys with sparklers?!

This Saturday, I was at Bagatelle, in the restroom line, when I met a really sweet woman, Viviana. She was probably in her late 50s/early 60s, not exactly the general demographic at these parties. Screaming over the music, she told me that she and her husband were in town for the weekend visiting their four kids who all lived in the city. When I got back to my table, I noticed she and her family were next to us - their kids had convinced them to stay after their actual (civilized) brunch, but they felt slightly out of place. It's akin to dragging parents to a club, except replace the strobe with broad daylight, and the vodka with magnum bottles of rose!

Bagatelle "brunch"

(a speaker caught had on fire, and no one stopped dancing or noticed it was removed)

Bagatelle champagne delivery!

Of course, I'm all about everyone having a good time, and somehow convinced Viviana and Andres, her husband, to dance on chairs while I took videos of their family. Turns out, they have been married for over 30 years, and were the liveliest, funniest, most interesting, successful, and chic-est couple over 60 I've ever met. (When I grow up...)

I got this email from them on Monday:

Dear CM:

We had a great time at Bagatelle on Saturday and were very glad to meet you. You are a very lively and lovely woman. You will find love when and where it is least expected. Men require patience my dear! I will upload the pictures from Bagatelle and send them to you soon.

I hope we can do it again sometime soon.

Stay in touch,

Andres & Viviana

To get to the point, uhhh...I'm not sure if this story had a point. If it does, I guess it would be that I just like hearing stories about great, fun relationships like my parents or Andres & Viviana have, even if it's far removed from my life! Also, men require patience!

One last pic for Bruce, who suggested more male-friendly content: Enlighten me as to whether or not these are the same...and why anyone would want two of the same?!

How to Pack for a Hamptons Weekend in 10 Minutes With 1 Regular-sized Longchamp Bag

2008-07-25T10:10:00.006-04:00

In case you were thinking this is just another blog of partying stories and existential crap...here's something useful for the girls :)
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Friends always on your case about over-packing for weekend trips?

Do they not understand that you need daytime/nighttime/dress/shoe/purse OPTIONS and cannot possibly predict what you will feel like wearing 48 hours in advance?

If so, I feel your pain, and after several weekends out of town, I (think) I can now survive an entire weekend with only the contents in a regular-sized Longchamp bag. The key is to be a leech off – uh, I mean, to share with - other girls going with you. Remember, don’t bring anything someone else will be bringing, which means you can bring more clothes with fewer annoying comments about how big your bag is!

He's ready for the weekend!

Here’s your to-bring list for a late Friday to late Sunday trip to somewhere beachy with nightlife, like the Hamptons (but also works for Miami and St. Tropez). You can pack this list in 10 minutes flat.

-havaianas
-flat, cute sandals you can walk in (not flip flops)
-heels, black
-2 dresses in minimally wrinkle-able material, in a style that does not require bras, which take up more space
-underwear (nude colored, in case you wear white clothes)
-2 bikinis
-2 daytime sundresses (again, non wrinkle, non-bra required preferred)
-1 slip to sleep in (extra points if it can double as a daytime dress for Sunday)
-evening clutch (doubles as a wallet)

-DO bring: toothbrush, mascara, lipgloss, safety pins, Advil, bobby pins, hair elastics, cash, credit/debit cards, ID, deodorant, perfume, contacts case, extra contacts (!!)

-DON’T bring**: jewelry (you will definitely lose it); shampoo, conditioner, face wash, toner, eye cream, floss, cell/camera chargers, body wash, toothpaste, blowdryer, sunscreen, any linen clothing (requires ironing)

-Wear: shorts, tshirt/tank, hoodie, sneakers, sunglasses, ipod, cell, camera, a book (the OCD girl will definitely bring magazines) and use your beach towel as a pillow in the car.

**There’s always an OCD girl who will bring everything you could possibly need. Remind her that sharing is caring.

Have a great weekend!

160 Characters or Less

2008-07-25T09:07:00.007-04:00

Just a few recent texts/bbm messages from my endlessly entertaining friends.

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Hey! Slight change of plan...I'm off to Cuba to learn salsa. Our dinner will have to wait another week I'm afraid.

-a friend from London who was originally going to be in NY this weekend
-----

Anyway, I was thinking Sunday night might not be the best time for us all to do dinner since Chris and I will probably just be having massive amounts of sex all night long.

-good reason to change dinner plans
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Can I get you PIN?

(ok this wasn't a text, but this guy asked for my BB pin instead of my number. Cultural milestone?)
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You're the kind of girl I'd try to talk to at a bar, but who'd turn around and ignore me.

-My boss, 10 minutes after we first met. He's cool, just extremely awkward.
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June 12, around 9pm:
Julie (Juuulie, French): Where are you?
Me: Going home, need to finish packing tmrw!
Julie: Boo! Smoking pot and cigar in backyard. Come!

June 11, around 9pm:
Me: I'm here...you're not coming?
Julie: Still in back yard. Guitar just brought out. Trying to get pot delivery. Bad news overall.
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Cain: A Retrospective

2008-07-24T10:53:00.020-04:00

I love my friends, really. Even when they tell me everything I write here sucks and/or is so boring they can’t get past three sentences. Or think it’s stupid I put up random photos, like Daphne Guinness in Alexander McQueen. When I was in middle school, while other girls plastered their walls with boy band posters (ok, I had a Take That poster), I had a wall devoted to Alexander McQueen. But mostly, HELLO, I work full time. In finance, where my creative writing skills put to the test daily by creating Powerpoint pitches that people never read (but do recycle – we are a green company!) Putting up a photo is kind of a cop-out to writing.

Take That (Back for Good video)

Doesn't Gary Barlow (2nd from left) look like Mr. Mazzoni (my high school Calculus teacher)?

Anyway, I haven’t gone out much recently…ok, I haven’t gone out much during the past two weeks. Let's take a moment of silence to regret not going to the Paper Mag party at Santos last Tuesday. The aftermath of moving and this past weekend's hyperactivity is overwhelming. But last night I put on my favorite dancing shoes (Sigerson Morrison peeptoe wedges…in a dusty rose color…sigh, beautiful) since Steve Aoki was DJing in NY for one night. At, of all places, Cain. I have a love/hate relationship with Cain and other Chelsea clubs.

Ooh, sponsored by Hypnotiq...I thought people were just tacky

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TANGENT ALERT
My introduction to the mess that is Marquee/Bungalow/Pink/Guesthouse/Home/Cain (and now Mansion and Suzie Wong's) was two summers ago, when I was a new and wide-eyed resident of NYC. I remember a friend of mine advised me that the best places to go in NYC were Double Seven, which I guess never reopened, and Cain, which he said was “the Rumor of New York.” Rumor is a club in Boston where some of my friends frequented a lot in college (*cough* spent the majority of their college career *cough*). I’m not sure if that meant a lot of our mutual friends went to Cain, or it was full of European/South American/Middle Eastern/other international kids with drinking problems and an affinity for sparklers – it was both actually.

One random night, a girlfriend of mine and I were out, and in the unfathomable days before I had internet access on my phone, I was at a loss as to where either Double Seven or Cain were. I think we just kind of knew there were clubs in Chelsea and just wandered around. My phone was dead and I couldn’t call anyone, but we found our way to the 27th St strip. Rachelle only liked to dance to hip hop, so we quickly exited Guesthouse (and Pink as well?), frightened by the identically suited bankers inside, and by the old French doorman in the purple/blue/80s tracksuit – anyone else remember him?

We explored further down the street until we stumbled upon an oasis in clubland: Cain. The music was good, the people were hot, and the place just had a good energy. Mostly I liked that it was small and not crowded. I also ran into a few kids I knew, and a good time was had by all. But like many clubs, Cain has since suffered an undeniable slide into trash-dom (aka Phase 2). I won’t comment on the people who you’ll find there (that’s not my style), but let’s just say it’s not as full of eye-candy it used to be. The upside is that if you’re with a lot of friends (read: guys), it’s pretty easy to talk your way in sans hassle or bottles.
TANGENT FINISHED
-----
Anyway, back to last night. The last time I went to Cain was also when Steve was DJing, in late May.

Why are these parties (Wednesday nights at Cain) called Bunny Chow? Is that someone’s name? Huh? The music and crowd were awesome that night, but unfortunately I had dallied away my time at 1OAK and Tenjune, and didn’t get to Cain until 2am, nearly my weeknight-if-going-out-bedtime.

So last night, I decided to arrive early, midnight-ish. My friend Gemma (she of the Noodle Review – a post soon) told me that the night before she had a dream (nightmare) that we were at a club, but it was so empty we were helping the staff polish glasses. Funnily enough, that was pretty much the scene at Cain when I got there. It was so empty the photographer was taking still life shots of glasses and ice buckets. How sad. I attribute it to the rain and not me being lame for getting there so early. Luckily my friends soon arrived and we all had a good time. It’s not where you are, but who you’re with, right? =) I think Aoki came on around 1:30am (not 12:30, as promised), the music was good, the energy was great, but the crowd was just terrible. Too many people, and too many trashy people. I especially loved the crazy drunk girl who tried to have a heart to heart with everyone at our table, one at a time.

So, to get to the point, Bunny Chow Wednesdays are fun if you 1) go with a group of friends (that's my fun factor anywhere) 2) get there after 1:30, and 3) when a DJ you like is spinning.

Btw, I felt pretty bad for him. His father, Rocky Aoki, passed away recently. Clubs must be either a good distraction for him or the worst possible place to be when you are grieving.

Tonight…Matsugen. I might even write about the noodles...

The Cooler Carrie

2008-07-23T10:24:00.013-04:00

Carrie Donovan

photo by Jesse Frohman

There's actually a Wikipedia entry on "Meaning of Life"

2008-07-21T12:20:00.013-04:00

Part II of my champagne induced jaw break story is coming up...

----------------

Last week I received this email from my good friend Claire:

I was talking to Gemma.. and I've come to the conclusion that I want to be you for a day.. no stress, I can get away w/ anything by smiling, people won't blame me for most of my actions "cause, it’s CM"...want to be stress free in my own little world!! hahaha.. ahhhhhhhhh!! I've reached my limit today.. and could easily kill someone from sprint through the phone!

Ha! So I apparently live in la la land, and my life is all butterflies and red velvet cupcakes…I wish! Actually, my sunny disposition belies my serious concern that I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING WITH MY LIFE. OMG, I’m almost 24. I know this is all pathetically cliché for people my age, but I can’t help but think - Shouldn’t I have accomplished more, traveled more, seen more, learned more, done more by now?!

Lately, I have been a little disturbed by how hedonistic my and my friends’ lives are. Don’t get me wrong, I love (love love love) New York, and I’m proud that despite a hectic work schedule, I’m always doing something new, fun, or interesting. But it seems that recently, my biggest concerns everyday are so self-involved and trivial – Should I go to the gym or get drinks with so-and-so? Should I go to this concert or to that party? Where should the girls & I go for dinner? When will this horrific haircut grow out?

Unlike a normal person who would be grateful to be free of problems, I actually feel guilty about it. Like maybe because I’m happy and healthy, have great friends and family, I should be doing more with my life. While I was moving, I came across a few books I read a while ago that collectively made me feel like an utterly worthless waste of space. The list includes Giving, Leaving Microsoft to Change the World, Banker to the Poor, and The End of Poverty (Jeffrey Sachs' new book Common Wealth is pretty good if you're an econ geek...guilty!). Avoid reading these if you find yourself wondering how your career makes any difference in the grand scheme of human existence, because it probably doesn’t.

Anyway, I guess I have just been lost the past few months. The intellectual challenge and sense of accomplishment I used to get from my job has been eroded by stress after my boss left my team in March and my new, inexperienced boss stepped in. I’m all about working hard, but not when I don’t feel my efforts make any difference and aren’t appreciated. Outside of work, I have not been motivated to follow through with many things I’ve started, which is really disappointing because I have never been a quitter. Learning Spanish didn’t happen, taking the CFA didn’t happen, even running on a regular basis has been spotty.

So I decided last night that now is the time to make some changes! I’m joining a new team at work in two weeks, and from what I know about them now, it’s going to be great, personally and professionally. I also made a list of other things I want to accomplish in the short and long term. Overall, I like who I am now and I’m anxiously excited to see who I become.

So basically this was a pep talk to myself. Awesome.

P.S. Hi dad, it's kind of creepy you're reading this! =)

Beauty and the Beast

2008-07-18T06:48:00.011-04:00

Daphne Guinness/Alexander McQueen/Michael Roberts

Vanity Fair August 2008

I stared at this for about five minutes straight, love it.

The aforementioned flamingo mirror/bar in my living room. I know, wow.

Somebody orders pancakes, I only sip the sizzurp - Part I

2008-07-17T09:49:00.005-04:00

Yesterday I received this text from my mom:

When can you come home for plastic surgery? Tell me asap so I can schedule. Love you Mom!

Actually she texted me that four times – texting is the new way to nag, apparently. For the past two years, she’s been bugging me about fixing a large, but completely non-visible scar under my chin that resulted from an accident three years ago.

I just need to preface this story with this: I am not a lush, as my friends can all attest. Yea, I go out (a bit) more than average, but I keep it under control and respect my health.

Back to my story. It all began when I was interning in Atlanta during the summer of 2005. I had landed the internship I really, really wanted (beat out 20+ guys during last round interviews...yeaaa), and the job came with perks like free housing at am amazing corporate apartment complex with two pools and four tennis courts. I also had my car with me (summer tally: 1 accident, 3 speeding tickets, and multiple would-be tickets I talked my way out of) and a pretty good fake ID that I had already tested out in Boston, where I went to college. My mom actually found it once and complimented me on the high quality of the forgery. She’s a funny one.

It was a pretty idyllic summer…my team at work was great, the interns and Atlanta were so much fun (real world Austin), and I was being paid starting salary. It was kind of like summer camp, minus the arts and crafts. My fake ID held up to doubtful bouncers, black lights, and even scanners…until the stupid bald little doorman at eleven50, a popular club at the time, went on a power trip and TORE UP MY ID right in front of me. One of the other interns, Brad, was in a similar fix. Although I think when his ID was taken up at some bar, a bouncer threatened to have him arrested.

Brad probably had a drinking problem, although I never knew for sure. After quitting the lacrosse team at school because he didn’t get along with a new coach, Brad found himself with a lot more free time. Sometimes, when he was bored, he liked to down a few Bombay Sapphire & tonics and go shopping…but only at Lacoste. After each of these sprees, he’d wake up in head-to-toe Lacoste tennis gear, including matching terry cloth head- and wristbands, a substantial credit card receipt, and no recollection of what had happened.

Needless to say, Brad was my and everyone else’s favorite intern. Drinking problem aside, Brad was charismatic, intelligent, handsome, and funny as hell. He’s in law school now, and a fine lawyer he will make one day.

Shortly after my ID confiscation, all the interns were going out one night. There was a half-hearted offer to do something that the little 20 year olds could join in on, but I half-heartedly insisted that everyone should go out and have a good ol’ 21+ time. So Brad and I, left to our own devices at home, decided that underage or not, we’d hit the town in style and celebrate 1) Brad’s decision to not take the job offer at the end of the summer and 2) my decision to study abroad in the fall.

We decided we’d go to a trendy restaurant/lounge that was open late and wouldn’t card if we were disgustingly well dressed. He put on his best seersucker suit – this kid took preppy to another level – shirt open one button too many, Tod’s loafers, and mirrored aviators. He was probably the only person who looked natural wearing aviators indoors, at night. Brad accessorized with a cigar that he carried, but never smoked. I was wearing a knee length peach-colored skirt – six tiered layers of the beautiful sheer silk, a sheer navy and white-striped camisole, and the most beautiful satin heels. Sigh. While waiting for a cab to come pick us up, we enjoyed a (few) gin & tonic(s).

The cab took forever to arrive because there was a thunderstorm that night, so by the time we got to the restaurant, and were seated, Brad was hammered and I was not far behind. Being both finance majors, we analyzed the menu and decided that ordering more cocktails was not economical. A bottle of Taittinger would be a much better choice! A short while later, our friend Seth joined us for a bit before we all left the restaurant together. Brad and I were as happy as could be at that point.

Seth was our designated driver on our way home, and I sat in the passenger-side seat. When we pulled up to my apartment, it was still raining and thundering, and I opened the door to make a run for it. Somehow, my right heel got tangled in the seat belt, I fell, and my hands slipped on all the water on the street when I tried to catch myself. Basically, my chin bore the entire impact of the fall, and broke in three places, and I blacked out. When I gained consciousness again, I was spitting out chipped teeth, blood, and rainwater. Seth and Brad were freaking out, running around me like chickens with their heads cut off, not knowing what to do. They called 911 and a few minutes later, 2 FIRE TRUCKS, 2 police cars, and an ambulance showed up. Yes, fire trucks, sirens blaring. It was all very dramatic.

To be continued…

I Don't Smell Bad

2008-07-15T10:12:00.006-04:00

Will add pictures later...

Moving is probably one of the few things everyone in NY can agree sucks – including movers. My previous moving mishaps have included 1) attempting to drive a UHaul the same day that 150,000+ college students were graduating (in Boston) 2) SLEEPING in a UHaul truck overnight – don’t even ask, and 3) having to have my friends pack my stuff for me to put into storage, while I ran to the airport after missing two flights home.

This time, I actually thought I was pretty on top of things. While my friends were at the beach/at PS1/in the Hamptons/picnicking in Central Park/at the Made in Italy party/at Bagatelle “brunch” (a future post)/etc etc, I was at home like a good little girl, packing away. Yet somehow, I STILL ended up in a frantic state when my movers (surprisingly) showed up on time, and I had to resort to the throwing-shit-into-boxes approach. Thanks CK for the last minute help, and thanks girls for helping me unpack and clean!

Anyway, my new place is sweet, although the two guys who already live there have a unique sense of décor. The first words that come to my mind are “frat house basement” – but that’s why they really need a girl like me to live there. Baby steps, though – I’m painting next weekend, and then I’ll deal with the flamingo mirror/bar (seriously).

So last night, after unpacking/organizing/cleaning for two hours, I completely gave up and went to Stanton Social. I really like the place, and not just because the kitchen closes really late (3am Thursdays to Saturdays, 2am on other nights) – I like a lot of things on the menu, which consists of only small plates meant for sharing (wasn’t there something in Times about entrees being passé). Ambiance is nice too, although the acoustics are terrible – the walls are all stone/concrete, so noise just bounces off them making it really, really noisy. Anyway, avoid the ‘special’ Monday night menu...it’s…well, it’s just bad. Someone decided to pick the worst things on the menu and put them together. Sweet & sour chicken & cashew spring rolls (ehh), braised short rib soft tacos (ok), grill apple & brie quesadilla (yuck), crostini w/a spectacularly gross crème fraiche concoction, goat cheese croquettes (not on the regular menu, it was ok). and wok charred edamame (soooo good). Just order off the main menu – i.e. the kobe beef sliders, my favorite! Oh, and the warm donuts, which are served with a warm dark chocolate sauce. For some reason, the staff REALLY wants the tables turned over quickly on Mondays. Don’t get distracted talking to your friends because the waiters/waitresses have no problem removing your plate whether you’re finished eating or not!

I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed this before, but there was this AWFUL smell in the main downstairs room last night. I couldn’t put my finger on it until today and then I realized – hemp necklace, the kind that was popular in elementary/middle school. Anyway, at first I thought this smell was coming from the guy sitting to my right. When he got up for a smoke, and the smell was still there, I figured it must be coming from the guy sitting to my left. Then he got up to make a phone call. Since everyone else was sitting either down the table from me, or across (far), I thought – oh shit, maybe it’s me!! But I don’t smell (except of Serge Lutens A La Nuit - best jasmine perfume ever), plus I just showered and was wearing a dress I took out of a dry cleaning bag. For a good half hour, I was very disturbed that it might have been me causing the stench. It wasn't until we left that I realized the entire restaurant smells like a wet hemp necklace.

I dropped by Butter with Bridgette for a little bit since she's going to be out of town for the three weeks. Yes, Mondays at Butter are still very fun - good music, good crowd, and not too crowded while I was there...although, as always, I left "early" so I could GO THE GYM THIS MORNING. Yeaaa!!

This was only 665 words. Brevity is the soul of wit, as Hamlet/Mr. Georgandis used to say.

BTW, I used College Educated Movers . Yea, I’m totally elitist…no, actually, I saw their ad on Craigslist – their sales pitch was something along the lines of “Wouldn’t your rather support aspiring writers/filmmakers/starving artists than some 15 year old punk who’s going to break all your stuff?” Yea, I totally would! I had imagined two skinny hipsters who wouldn’t be able to carry much, and would take excessively long smoking breaks. But they were great! Punctual, efficient, and professional. And they charge a flat rate, so I didn’t really care when they took excessively long smoking breaks.

Ok, 779 words.

Matt, Shut up! =)

2008-07-11T14:19:00.019-04:00

1) FINALLY MOVING!
I’m moving to Kiehl’s at 13th & 3rd, from my lovely home in East Village.

I’m sad to be leaving Back Forty, Westville East, Mercadito, The E.U., Max, Kasadela, East Village ice cream, B Cup, Panifico, Café Mogador, and much much more. Oh, girls across the street – I’ll miss you two, too. Sad!!

2) Text: Hope you are having a great day at work!! I enjoyed your blog :) Although I was looking for the hot sexy bicycle museum guy story!!!!

Haha…here’s your shoutout man! This is the only text/email I'll transcribe, because this whole writing about my life for random people to read thing really weirds me out. Aside from my Street Date post (BTW, I'm Winnie), I am going to avoid writing about guys I go out with unless it’s particularly funny/embarrassing/cute/ridiculous or completely in the past.

Like the time I got yelled at by this guy I was seeing, Peter, for not knowing that Donald Trump’s second oldest son was turning 24 years old. Eric Trump’s birthday party invitation said “Come to sweet 16 ice skating party!” and I told Peter, no thanks. How was I supposed to know it was a joke?! Ivanka, Donald Jr., fine - I’ve watched the Apprentice and they are in the media, so the average person knows roughly how old they are. But who the hell knows who Eric Trump is?! Or how old he is?! Eeesh. If you thought you were being invited to a sweet 16 ice skating party, wouldn’t you laugh/scoff too?! Peter, who I quickly realized is crazy (and I mean CRAZY), decided to give me the silent treatment for a few days, then cancelled plans to go to Fuerza Bruta….an hour before we were supposed to go. His way of getting back at me…for not wanting to go to a sweet 16 birthday party...for a 24 year old. He’s writing a book now…a memoir, at age 27. Whaaaa? Exactly.

3) Late bloomer

I am 23 years old and cannot ride a bike, no joke. But I’m going to learn this this month, even if I can’t find training wheels big enough for me. My friend Valerie, who's 24, used to not be able to ride one either, but she learned during the long weekend - traitor. Come to think of it, I’m a late bloomer with a lot of things…hmmm…

I imagine bike riding to be like this (Audrey Hepburn and what appears to be Toto from the Wizard of Oz)

or like this (X GAMES!)

but realistically, I will probably end up like this =(

4) Blog news

After coming across this blog from Down by the Hipster, Miss Model Behavior (entertaining, irreverant, funny) contacted me about a possible future project! I actually went to a party in East Hampton last weekend that she wrote about, so I’ve probably seen her before. I got another email from a Josh Beckerman, who writes nycfoodie and was at Rose Bar last Wednesday, the night I wrote about. It’s a small, blog-filled world out there. I'm like a blog groupie...

Also, while I can’t claim to be the entire cause of the ruckus between two popular NY nightlife blogs, I’m tickled to have been mentioned. I like stirring things up…

WTH

2008-07-10T12:55:00.009-04:00

I was running late to work this morning, and in my flustered state, I somehow confused:

travel-size Soft & Dri deodorant (not that I sweat, I only glow) with travel-size Michael Kors Leg Shine, which is a deodorant-looking stick that you "glide along legs, knees and ankles for a sleek, sexy shimmer that makes bare legs look healthy and glowing."

THEY ARE ALMOST THE EXACT SAME SIZE, SHAPE, AND WEIGHT. wth!

Now I have nice, shimmery, glowing underarms that smell of Michael Kors - just awesome.

Noodle Bar Review - Intro

2008-07-09T07:30:00.007-04:00

sidebar:

Who actually knows the words to Earth Wind and Fire's "September"?........yea, I didn't think so! The chorus goes:

ba dee da say do you remember

ba dee da dancing in September

ba dee da never was a cloudy day

You're welcome.
---------------------------------------

I'd love your feedback on this...email me or leave a comment! Thanks!

What:
(Attempt to) review (almost) every single noodle bar in New York City....and by every, I mean only the places I feel like reviewing.

Why:

1) I really want to write about food, but something different from what's already out there. Is it just me or are most food/restaurant review blogs/sites, including some really popular and well-respected ones, BORING BEYOND BELIEF?!! Sad, since being a food critic has to be one of the most enviable jobs, but it's true. They review the same places, say the same things about those same places, and are generally unenthusiastic.

But as far as I know, no one has ever written a comprehensive review of noodle bars in NYC. Some places on my list have gotten a lot of hype (Momofuku, Matsugen, Ippudo, etc.), but a lot of others have never been reviewed at all, so this little project will be something fresh.

2) Noodle bars are a restaurant category just small enough that I can cover most of them, and just large enough that a review will hopefully be interesting and worthwhile. Plus, it's a noteworthy genre - it's made otherwise nameless chefs into celebrities (David Chang), and celebrity chefs jump on the bandwagon (Jean-Georges Vongerichten).

3) Soba, ramen, dangmyeon, udon, etc - I love it all!

Who:
My friend Gemma, who has an exceptionally discerning palate, and is never timid to say what she really thinks, is going to join me. Thanks girl!

When:
We are aiming to visit, and I aim to write about, at least one spot a week...until we're totally sick of noodles, get (noticeably) fatter, or finish with our list (see below). If I didn't have a life, I would try to go the same night each week, for consistency.

Where:
NYC only, with the exception of that place in NJ that is apparently the best noodle shop outside Japan.

--------------------------
Grading Criterion:
Gemma and I will rate each noodle bar independently out of a total of 100 points, allocated as follows:

35 points Noodles - texture, taste

25 points Broth - flavor, temperature

15 points Toppings

15 points Overall taste

5 points Service

5 points Ambiance

The List
There are 31 thus far, which means we'll be done in 8 months...which means this list needs revision. Am I'm missing any places worth reviewing? Or including places you hate? Let me know!

Bo-Ky Restaurant
Chikubu
Eastern Noodles
Food Shing
Goubuli
Kampuchea
Kelley & Ping
Ippudo
La Cascade
Matsugen
Mee Noodle Shop
Menchanko-Tei
MenKuiTei
Minca
Momofuku Noodle Bar
New Chao Chow
Nooch
Noodle Bar
Noodles on 28
Ollie's Noodle Shop & Grill
Omen
Onigashima
Rairaiken
Ramen Setagaya
Saburi
Sapporo
Santouka Ramen (This is in NJ. Yes, we are very dedicated to this project)
Soba-ya
Soba Koh
Soba Nippon
Udon West

"Left is right and right is wrong"

2008-07-08T09:48:00.007-04:00

Some random guy asked me if I was making a political statement with my shoeslaces.

"No sir, it ain't that deep."

Street Date: Blog-style

2008-07-07T00:56:00.029-04:00

Sidebar:

Hope you all had a great holiday!

1) Thanks for the feedback/questions/comments/date requests! You 2-3 readers really make me feel like I'm not talking to myself...=) My second favorite comment thus far (#1 being an email from DownByTheHipster!) was from my friend John, who said, "Wow, I thought your blog would be more cultural, not Sex and the City on drugs." Obviously, you overestimate me!

2) I will hold off from telling you about my weekend, so I don't sound like some out of control party chick. Actually, nymag.com has already stolen my thunder...but more on that another time. I met Steve Aoki, who is totally cool and so down to earth. Sorry, my only name drop!

3) The photos on this blog are from my crackberry. I like being able to take photos without anyone knowing that I'm doing so...

----------------------------------------------

Onto my story...

About two weeks ago, my coworker/friend Matt thought of a little project with which he could amuse himself. Ryan, a friend of Matt's, writes for Single-ish, a blog on Glamour.com about his dating life as a young, single, straight guy in NYC.

Matt thought that Ryan and I meeting up was a particularly brilliant idea, as it would mean that 1) he would be amused to read about Ryan writing about me (...especially amusing if it was unfavorable), 2) I would get a honest description of the first impression I make on men, with no risk since Ryan is a tactful writer and does not use real names, and 3) Matt assured me Ryan is cool, so I might end up getting along well with him. Since I couldn't recall being set up before, and I can't say my own instincts with guys are stellar (the sniper, the train guy, etc etc), why not? Worst case scenario is that he's psychotic, which is no problem. I have dealt with a grown man sobbing into a Bellini in public because of me, so I can think I can handle almost anything.

Unfortunately, Ryan asked Matt if I knew about his blog, so incentive #2 was off the table. After performing some due diligence (Facebook profile analysis, naturally), I agreed to have Matt email Ryan a picture of me along with my contact information.

So, Ryan and I met up early Thursday evening, at a bar in LES. I have this rule that you should never look your best on a first date. Of course, this is assuming you were looking great when you were asked for your number prior to the first date, which is not the case if you are being set up. However, I think getting three hours of sleep the night before, then running around all day in extreme heat and humidity, and not having time to change isn't exactly putting the best foot forward. My bad! Although I could care less because as I was going to meet Ryan, I found out this blog was linked to nymag.com; I freaked out since I was originally writing just for a few friends, so I had to figure out how to take this blog down ASAP. If that's not a good excuse for tardiness, I don't know what is!

Anyway, Ryan seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Sorry, nice is a lame descriptor - we chatted for maybe an hour and a half, and he seemed interesting, fun, friendly, and has a really good sense of humor. He's cute and has a tattoo on his forearm - hot! As for what he thought of me, we shall see (uh, read). I have to admit though, I felt a little uncomfortable talking to him, which is really unusual for me. Not to worry, a friend of mine who works for another Conde Nast magazine mentioned she can hack into Glamour's site and edit, if need be. Not sure if she was kidding, but how sweet of her to offer! haha...

This reminds me of "Street Date", a feature in the Oxford Student I never missed when I studied abroad. Two random students would be set up, then each person would describe their perspective of the date, and their opinion of the other person. The best part is that the parties involved had to quantify their date's looks - must have made for some pretty awkward run-ins at the Bod, no?

------

L.P.N.

July 7, 1984 - March 9, 2006

Happy birthday, I miss you so much!

May God bless you and keep you always,

May your wishes all come true,

May you always do for others

And let others do for you.

May you build a ladder to the stars

And climb on every rung,

May you stay forever young,

forever young, forever young

May you stay forever young.

-Bob Dylan

I'm afraid of the internet

2008-07-03T21:13:00.006-04:00

I'm famous, what are the odds? [nymag]

I removed a few things I've posted before, but I think I'll continue writing. Thanks for the encouragement, neighbor! =)

Meet me at the club, it's goin' down...turf war at Rose Bar

2008-07-03T08:03:00.033-04:00

bathroom wall at 1OAK

Last night I left the office at 6:48pm Eastern Standard Time. Momentous!!!

Seriously, I was jumping down the street, a la Mary Tyler Moore. Not only that, but I have the day off today (Thursday), and it's July 4th (US Independence day, for my international readers) on Friday, so a four day weekend awaited me. Unfortunately, however, my plans to sit on my butt and read all night, which seriously is my idea of fun - sometimes, were quickly dashed by - surprise surprise - none other than my annoying-as-all-hell roommate.

Right on cue, Jason, a promoter/friend (the only promoter in NY I will party with, occasionally...and that is including the one I dated briefly...) calls me to see if I was interested in going to dinner and 1OAK later. Upon inquiry as to who else would be in attendance, I find out two girls I know and like are joining, so off I go. Dinner was at Bocca (19th St. b/t Broadway & Park) - the pastas were pretty good, especially the lobster ravioli. Chunky lobster meat. Dinners like this really amuse me, as all the other girls are full-time models who eat virtually nothing, leaving plenty of food for me. Sweet!

Post-dinner, we pile into Rose Bar where the action goes down. For anyone reading this who does not live in NY, Rose Bar is probably the best bar in the city, at least in terms of decor. That is, unless there's another bar with a Picasso sprucing up the walls. And since I'm not the only one who thinks highly of it, it's kept really exclusive, although I am not sure if places like Rose Bar are exclusive because they're great or great because they are kept exclusive. (LOGISTICS - we were at the table directly in front of the fireplace.) The place is relatively empty when we arrive, and aside from the tables of hot guys a few tables over, I am just enjoying the music, my lavender and cucumber fizz, not listening to my roommate, and the Keith Haring painting on the wall I'm facing. More people begin arriving and the place fills up.

Then BAM!

Another group of models/hipsters/pretty-young-things arrive and take up the table on my left. Two girls from this table, most definitely successful full-time models, come to our table to talk to Blake, Jason's friend. Jason doesn't promote anymore (he's a full time fashion photographer now), but is still riled up.

He tells me, "ChippingMademoiselle, you have NO IDEA the politics of this situation right now! You are so naive, but sh*t's going down!"

Politics? Who the f- cares? I want another lavender and cucumber fizz, dammit, and keep 'em coming! Where's the cocktail waitress?! The bottle of Veuve is near empty!

So apparently the turf war was such: who has the best girls (more famous models) at their table, and who can convince more girls to "switch sides" The Hendricks might have been going to my head because I thought this was all f-ing hilarious!! FYI I do not model.

So Chris, this very sweet guy I met at Tenjune, a club, a few weeks ago, is part of this "enemy group." He texted me after we met, but sadly I responded, "Who is this? How did you get my number?!" - oops! But he models, and I have told myself to avoid male models at all costs - no offense. Anyway, Chris comes over to my table to chat, but before I could exchange two words with him, Jason taps me on the shoulder.

"CM, I know this seems ridiculous, but you're my homie and I reeeeeeally need this favor. Those promoters are pissed that their two best girls are at our table talking to Blake. So they sent that kid (Chris) over to talk to you. Pleeeeease can you just talk to him when we leave here. PLEASE, I am begging you."

Champagne is coming out of my nose at this point because I'm laughing so hard. This is so high school! But fine, whatever.

So I turn to Chris, "Chris, dude, my friend is buggin' out. He forgot he's not a promoter anymore. Let's talk to later, k?" Smile.

Chris is obviously a very nice guy. Cute too, actually...he winks and goes back to the enemy table.

Bridgette, one of girls at my table, tells me that she knows the promoters next to us. Yet, because she is at another table, they refuse to acknowledge her existence when she says hi!! But had she not been with a group of models, they would have been very, "Oh, hi dAHrling" with her.

Hahaha...calm down people! But whatever, the music and drinks were great. Bridgette and Alaina are fun, and have good senses of humor. The other girls are nice too, although I can't really talk to them. On to 1OAK (a club, one of the newest "good" places in the city), where they were celebrating Independence Day with red, white, and blue balloons, fire eaters, scantily clad women in Uncle Sam outfits walking on stilts. If I were American, I'd be so proud...

guys juggling/eating fire

dancers on stilts

Future posts: why Chilean sea bass will stay on the menu at BONDST, dating misadventures, street photos, and nutrition

The grass is always greener...

2008-06-29T04:50:00.012-04:00

Why do we always want what we can't have?

Guys always seem to find nothing more attractive than a girl who's unavailable, unattainable, or uninterested. Interested in a guy? Tell him you're unavailable and you will be magically and immediately inundated with calls/emails/texts/carrier pigeon messages/singing telegrams/whatever. Curly-haired girls spend hundreds of dollars and hours of their lives blow drying, straightening, and otherwise frying their hair in hopes of getting in stick straight, while I have actually purchased multiple sea water (seriously) products in hopes of getting the wavy hair I can only get from a day at the beach. BTW, I recommend Bumble and Bumble Surf Spray.

This wanting-what-you-can't-have is true in the bigger scheme of things too. Having had a relatively unstable childhood, I have always craved stability and familiarity. Unstable isn't the right word (it's 5am right now, diction is not my priority) - my parents, in treating me as an adult/peer instead of a child, and relocating our family several times, taught me the importance of being independent and strong-willed; sociable and empathetic; cosmopolitan and curious. And I'm so grateful for that. But the constant moving around, always leaving friends and making new ones, really took a toll. I wanted to start my adult life in one city, with one group of friends, to have just one life. But after finally having that stability in college (and even that involved a year abroad, different groups of friends, a myriad of extracurriculars), I realized that I only craved it because I never had it. I actually cannot stand consistency! Another reason to love the big apple.

I honestly have no idea where I will be this time next year, and the uncertainty doesn't bother me in the least. I signed a year's sublease recently with the peace of mind that, should I move within a year, my new apartment is great enough of a place that I can easily find a subletter to sublease from my sublease. Ha ha...

This week, two of my best friends in NY decided to move out of the city (...and country...and continent...and hemisphere!), leaving me sadly wondering with whom I will share my time. They haven't left yet and I already feel that I will miss them so much. Another good friend is, as a result, without a roommate, leaving her to realize that friends have moved in and out of the city so much that she has not lived with the same person for the entire term of an apartment lease. It's so easy to meet people in NY, and I am lucky to have a lot of friends here, but really good friends worthy of my time/energy/trust/friendship are so rare. I only say "rare" because, again, it is 5am and I cannot think of a better and more extreme word.

So now I've realized I like the ambiguity that being a 20-something-year old with no idea of what I really want to do with my life (let's be honest here!) - it's great! What I really want now is what is truly unattainable. INFINITE TIME! Haha, really, isn't that the answer to all our problems in life? Friends moving away? No probs - infinite time means I could get a second job as an incredibly successful day-trader, make ridiculous amounts of money, fly my friends on a Citation X, and it'll be like they never moved. Infinite time would mean that I wouldn't be limited to 168 hours per week to be a superstar at work, to spend time with my friends & family, to read everything ever printed, to work out until I am Madonna-toned but not so manly-looking, and to do everything that makes life beautiful. Now isn't that the dream?

To get to the point, sometimes we are troubled by not getting what we want. But it's probably not even what we want, because what we want is something we don't even realize we want because we are too preoccupied with wanting what we don't actually want but think we want. So don't be sad if you don't have everything you want in life.

Huh? WhaaAAaA? This was an excellent use of 25 minutes of my life at 5am. Time for bed! Or iChat with someone in another time zone!

Word count: way more than 250, oops.

B-L-O-G is a four letter word

2008-06-26T23:20:00.004-04:00

This is really just more junk floating around on the internet, but I have zero opportunity to write, so I'm making an outlet for myself. I'm going to try to write stuff on a somewhat-regular basis. If someone reads it, great. If not, great. If someone wants to give me a book deal so I can semi-retire before I'm 25, great. I'd just like to say WTH, this girl got a book deal about the dumbest topic ever! Her book party was at 1OAK, but of course. Back to me - I haven't decided if I will be writing anonymously or not. For now, yes.

By the way, the name of this blog is so lame, I know. EVERY goddman name imaginable on blogger.com was already taken when I tried to create an account. EVERY. Mademoiselle is the name of my favorite nail polish, made by Essie. And I really love to chip it, so that's that.

Comments, suggestions, questions - all are welcome!

Oh, in an effort to get to the point, and to write more coherently, I'm going to limit each post to a maximum of 250 words.

Word count: 160