my greatest romances

I fell in love with its energy.  Its yellow taxis and impatient natives.  I loved the smell of the streets until I realized where that smell was emanating from.  I fell in love on a barge-turned-bar named after a piece of cookware. I loved that a barge could be named after cookware and better yet I could enjoy a bucket of Corona on it.  From the tourists rushing its tallest building to the narrowest alley containing the best restaurant at which no one north of E 65th has eaten; I fell in love.

 And when my summer romance turned sour, it was a park bench under an arch that comforted me.

I fell in love with its overwhelming beauty.  I swore by goat cheese crepes on the street at any time of day.    I fell for museums as historic as the works they hold.  I came accustomed to looking up from wherever I was at 11 at night to search for the sparkling tower.  I wanted to know every charming man and be every pursed lipped woman.

And when I didn't know how to grieve, it was a seat in St. Paul's Cathedral that showed me.

I fall in love with locations.  Places can't break your heart...the decision to leave will always be yours.  

geek is chic

Geek is the new chic, and suddenly its “cool” to wear oversized, grandma glasses and love obscure art and British underground music.  In fact, the more obscure you are in your tastes, the cooler you are.  Do you have the latest gadget?  Have you paid $500 to waste away in the desert at a music festival lately?  How many cat pictures featuring misspelled WordArt dialogue have you laughed at today?  The anti-cool is now the longed after goal; which leaves us all scrambling and competing to be the snarkiest, the most old fashioned, the most ironic. The anti-cool is now the cool. This is a lot of work.

I find that I naturally hit the cool mark on some things right away - my claustrophobia somehow manifests itself when I don’t have the maximum field of vision resulting in huge glasses that I’ve worn in various shapes for the majority of my life.  Huge glasses are also in order as I’m legally blind and have chronic dry eye – a debilitating combo on the quest for sex appeal.  I love The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and Mumford & Sons really speaks to my soul.  I always have my SLR camera with me, even though conversely, and very uncoolly, I like to spend hours alone in the dark enlarging them.  I speak French fluently... which helped me name this blog post.

However, I also naturally miss the cool mark on MOST things.  I crave People magazine and I can’t get enough Bravo reality television.  I’m not rich enough to dress like I’m poor; my wardrobe consists mostly of black and beige and I hate wearing accessories.  I like that my ancient Dell laptop’s hinge is completely broken, tilting the whole screen to the left so that my head’s now permanently cocked to one side giving the illusion when you speak to me that I’m engrossed in whatever you’re saying.  I like my iPhone 3G, released circa 2009.  I have brown hair, but unlike Zoey Deschannel, my eyes are also brown; a thoroughly boring combination…that I like.  I’m addicted to social media - Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest - you name it.  I can’t get enough and I’ve wasted hours on these sites so now I sometimes even think in statuses.  I don’t like cats whether in real life or in funny poses on the Internet.  I take that back—there was one cat with a smushed-in face admiring himself in a giant pair of Dior sunglasses that I actually have saved on my phone…it kills me.

I would find it absolutely exhausting to eradicate all my nuances that make me too much of a girl or too neurotic or too shallow or too boring.  I like my tendencies, and why shouldn’t I?  I have no desire to be cool…even if that actually means being uncool in a very specific way.  Maybe someday it’ll all swing in my favor and everyone will be striving to be the short girl from the sticks of Pennsylvania with untamable hair, a refined taste for refrigerated mashed potatoes, inappropriate feelings toward most male news broadcasters, and a fetish for puns.

Confessions of an FNO Newb

My first Fashion’s Night Out was pretty memorable, and based on my experience, I’m here to give you a tutorial on how to survive this glamorous evening.

If you’re going to show your face on the streets of Soho on the one night where fashion so graciously opens its doors to us mere mortals, you better turn it out.  To a girl originally from the sticks of Pennsylvania, who most recently surfaced from the surf of Southern California’s coast, this meant New Yorking up a bit.  In order to fit in on Fashion’s Night Out as a woman, you’ll need to complete The Look.

First and foremost, you’ll need a killer little black dress.  Not the LBD you’d wear to a club in LA- the one that gives the “producer” lurking at the bar an impromptu audition for his next film every time you uncross and recross your legs.  With this dress on FNO, think more along the lines of your great aunt’s funeral mixed with something Lady Gaga might wear to the VMAs.  If you find this balance hard to strike, or if you’re a vegetarian, stick with a designer whose store you might be visiting that night.

Next, you need some bright red lips.  The color will liven up your otherwise morbid ensemble, and create a statement.  The statement being: I have a mouth… and it’s red…despite my otherwise very un-model-esque face. Since you’ll be looking so sexy on this occasion, the lipstick will also deter your many male admirers from spontaneously making out with you.  Just the thought of the clown-mouth aftermath that accompanies an encounter with your red smackers will hopefully keep the hoards of clambering dudes at bay and on their best behavior.  You haven’t time for such shenanigans.  There is free champagne to drink.

Lastly, you need to master The Face.  The Face is the most important part of The Look.  To practice, you’ll need some expired milk and a mirror.  While looking into the mirror, slowly raise the milk carton to your nose.  Memorize the way the muscles in your face feel when whiffing the bad dairy, and replicate once you are in a mob of fashionistas.

After I personally felt I had completed The Look to the best of my ability, I got in the elevator to begin the 18-floor descent from my apartment to the street.  Around floor 12, an elderly woman boarded the elevator with her equally ancient bichon.  She gave me a once over and declared me “stunning”.  Despite the fact that this appearance-based complement came from a senile woman wearing a floral muumuu and bunny slippers while toting a pink-skinned dog with cataracts, I felt stunning.  I felt empowered.  I felt ready for battle…I mean FNO.

I also suggest having a kickass itinerary for the night.  Just like with The Look (grandma-approved), I had this detail covered as well.  I had the privilege of meeting Outasight and seeing him perform at French Connection.   As he sang the anthem to my 23rd year, “Now or Never”, I suddenly felt just fine among the who’s who in fashion...LBD or not.  FNO was just another example of making my own luck in my own way in the unpredictable string of events I’ve created as my life.  And you know what?  I don’t care what the people say and I don’t care what they wanna do and I don’t care about them anymore because I do what I want.

So go ahead - venture out on the most intimidating evening of the year with confidence.  Whatever that evening may be for you in your life.  If all else fails, bring a flask and a cheeseburger in your clutch.

in loving memory of Marley.

"Good dogs are with us for a little while to teach us how to love like it's our job..."

Two days ago I probably couldn’t tell you just how much of my life was aligned by him.  How I was his moon, and not the other way around.  He was more than a pet, he was more than a family member; he became an instinct.  Waking up to take him outside, attributing any noise to his wandering the house, expecting his enthusiasm upon returning home - like a reflex hammer to the knee, his pervasiveness in my mundane daily thoughts was second nature.  It's only after his absence that the (now useless) habitual reminders have left an unimaginable emptiness and ache.  I owe him so much.  A source of comfort and unconditional love, I will always miss my running partner, hogger of my bed, and best friend.

Diary of a Former Wimpy Kid

Every Labor Day weekend, the good people in my neighborhood gather together for a block party.  I've been MIA for the past 4 of these occasions as I've been at school in California, and so I was really looking forward to the event.  I spent my time answering questions from neighbors about my painfully dull life at the moment, eating various pasta salads and an assortment of shredded meats, and failing miserably at the water balloon toss- a white dress was not a good choice.  And suddenly, it happened.  A finger poked me on the shoulder as I sat trying to remember if the brownie in my hand was number 7 or 8, and before I knew it I was being escorted to the backyard of a neighbor's house by a 6th grade girl.  There in front of me sat The Cool Crowd of Nittany Ct.

The Cool Crowd consists of 4 boys and 1 girl, some in third grade, most in sixth.  It dawned on me as I stood before them on a patio away from the adult folk that I was being invited to join their 12 and under gang.  Despite being on the precipice of my 23rd birthday, I couldn't help but desperately want to prove myself worthy of such an invitation.  And so began the initiation.  I don't know if it's because I'm going through an almost-quarter-life crisis, or if it was because the most nutritious thing I'd eaten all day was a barbeque potato chip, but I was prepared to do whatever it took to gain their miniature approval.

I have "Call Me Maybe" on my iPhone. Yes, this is an actual iPhone, not just an iTouch.  Yes, I do know who Weird Al is - "White and Nerdy" is my jam. I've been known to watch Spongebob from time to time; I agree, Squidward should pop a Percocet.  Did you hear about the "Finding Nemo" 3D rerelease in theaters??  I laughed at 12 year old boy YouTube cult classics with titles like "Chicken Nugget Biscuit", I commiserated over gross school lunches, and I didn't once over think anything.

This fitting in thing is a breeze.  So what if my witty quip about Dr. Dre was met with blank stares? Who cares because I have REAL iPhone (a non-phenomenon that never seems to gets old with this crowd).  Within me all this time were the key ingredients to being cool, and I'm just now discovering them.  One of the third grade boys even drew a life size chalk replica of me on the driveway...complete with my phone in hand and dimples.  And I gotta say...I look damn good on pavement.  There was an ease to hangin with this crowd, and I can't remember the last time I had so much fun.  These kids are comfortable with themselves; they're surprisingly well articulated, and have no other agenda apart from having as much fun as possible.  I am drawn to their unjaded, carpe diem attitude, and really think we should all attempt to integrate ourselves into their silly world for awhile if only to just remind ourselves of how carefree life should be.

Maybe I should be concerned that I mesh so well with preteens...and prepreteens, but who doesn't want to be immortalized in chalk...until it rains?