There's something about the end of the school year that always gets me a little nostalgic.
And when I say nostalgic, I mean my own personal brand of nostalgia. Not sifting through boxes of old photographs, a single delicate tear running down my cheek while singing "Memories" softly to myself with a sob in my throat
I mean my special interpretation of the stages of grief (eat that, Kubler-Ross)- stuffing my face, moaning about the diet I'm supposed to be on, watching Tyrant Banks attempt to Oprah her way in to the Benevolent Martyr Of The Year award show by doing her "listening face" (which was so clearly jacked from The Big Book O' Winfrey that I can't even handle it), finally trying to get out a stack of photos and getting a papercut, therefore leading me to run around the apartment for three hours screaming "MY THUMB, MY THUMB, OH SWEET MOTHER OF GOD MY THUMB", and of course, reflecting back on my childhood.

Look, even Nicole Richie is like, "Hello? Hello? Can you even HEAR ME? Or are you just MESMERIZED by the REFLECTION of YOU in my T-ZONE?"
In one of my junk-food-entrenched reflections on the days of yore, I remembered something that played a very integral part of my early life- fantasizing about my Dream House.

Surely somebody out there knows what I mean. Back in my Popsicle-stained, muddy-kneed, red-overalls-wearing (I didn't pick my own clothes out, okay? So shut up) days, my similarly sticky little friends and I would convene on the playground to discuss the houses we would live in when we were all grown up- you know, pink fuzzy towels, lots of animals, only candy in the fridge, Prince Charming hanging out on the couch, that kind of thing. But my idea of the Dream House has been tweaked a little bit since I was seven. Now, the kitchen is filled with kitsch accessories and I've scrapped the whole animal-jungle thing (I'm not really a menagerie kind of girl- it turns out animals require food, water and unwavering attention, and hello, I can barely focus on my own hand for more than nine seconds at a time), but at times I still catch myself daydreaming about the kind of place I'll live in when I'm on my own. Therefore, I give you...

Emma's Dream House! Or at least, some of the amenities I like to think would be in there-


Voila, I give you The Orange Room. Please note the shoe Rolodex, the painfully awesome chandelier made out of GUMMY BEARS (I don't completely understand how it works- surely the lightbulb would melt the poor little bears? But I'm glad it exists), the awesomely tacky Hawaiian pineapple pitcher and glasses, the so-ugly-as-to-be-awesome Rococo-but-gaudier desk which I so sorely crave (and costs about $3,000 at the Conran Shop, but whatever, this is my fantasy apartment), and the curtains which I will so totally be buying in the near future if I ever stop spending all my money on bronzing powders and muffins. Heh, look at the little fish in the funky tank! Hello, Mr. Fish. You are as close as I will ever see myself getting to having a real pet- after all, "fish" ranks about one step above "balled-up Kleenex" on the responsibility
scale.

Ah, the Game Room. Come on, who wouldn't want to lounge in those ridiculously comfortable-looking chairs (seriously, that red dish chair is from Urban Outfitters and is so shamefully comfortable that I end up having to be pried out by the employees because I'm lying there in a trance), basking under the glow of that funky chandelier and propping their feet up on the awesome Union Jack light-up coffee table (maybe I'm a poseur for wanting that table when I'm not even remotely British, but hey, I'm a wannabe about that stuff. Note- the Brit-speak that's been slipping into my speech, both online and off lately- my friends have been mercilessly mocking me about my exclamations of "Bugger!" and "Bloody hell!" lately)? Then maybe I could mix a drink in the drink shaker with the recipes scrawled all over it, and prop it on the Amish coasters- you can't really see them, but they have little Amish sayings and cartoons and they're F-N hilarious, especially to a self-confessed quasi-Amish non-iPod-having girl like myself. Then, we could engage in some good-old-fashioned parlor games...Vegas, perhaps? I can only imagine what a Vegas board game entails. "You landed on a toothless prostitute convention...go back five spaces! Oh, but you won some of your money back in a game of craps- move up three spaces?" Or perhaps we'll even indulge in some Shenanigans™, wink wink, nudge nudge. And OH MY GOD. The Bible Game. I hope no very religious people are reading this and getting mad at me (I'm not making fun of religion itself, I'm making fun of whoever created this game)...but is that not the funniest thing you've ever SEEN? I mean, wow. Who wouldn't want to come over on a Saturday night and play a rousing round of The Bible Game? "Congratulations, you have just parted the Red Sea. Advance through the pearly gates to receive your complimentary rosary".


When I get a headache from the gaudy tackiness of the rest of my Dream House, I will repair to this, my Semi-Classy Room Of Relaxation. I love the aubergine couch- it's called a fainting couch, and I can totally see myself coming in and throwing myself across it, calling out, "Eet 'as been such a horreeble day, come and rub my feet, Hans, et s'il vous plait, avec le bon massage oil, oui?" The first thing is a little at-home garden which I think is very pretty, as is the weird twist glass flower vase and the totally useless but lovely glass perfume bottle. The suburst clock is from Plaid Pony Vintage, as are a bunch of other things in this post. The funky lamps, pillow and Gothic-beautiful black candle holder are from the Conran Shop, and the print of The Bar At The Folies-Bergere is one of my favorite paintings. I would probably end up hanging it in my first apartment no matter where I lived, amongst all the Seventeen Locker Pinup pictures of Hayden Christensen's abs and "REMEMBER- YOGA SUNDAY! DON'T SKIP IT TO GO SIT ON THE ROOF AND EAT POP-TARTS! ALSO, FOR GOD'S SAKE, STUDY FOR EXAMS! " Post-Its littering my walls. Not that those things hang on my current bedroom walls. Well, maybe they do.



I know I have about two million things here, but I LOVE KITCHEN CRAP. Mainly because it makes food, and we all know how I feel about food (I like it. A lot. Gluttony is the new black). In my Dream Kitchen, I would have appliances in all different pretty colors- aquamarine oven, apple-green mixer, red microwave, orange juicer, pale yellow toaster, pink dishwasher. I would also have a kitsch retro bread bin, fake Amy Sedaris cakes (they would totally taunt me, just like that Philosophy body lotion that smells like cinnamon buns taunts me- every time I take a shower it smells so good I just want to swallow a big gulp but then I remember that it's not, well, edible, per se- still, I love those cakes. And I use the delicious-smelling little tease of a body lotion), a cotton-candy machine, a CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN (Oh God, I want that to appear in my bedroom right now), an awesome weird egg contraption that is both an egg timer and an egg cup, according to Suck UK, the off-beat company that carries it, heart-shaped measuring cups, a funky "Coffee-You'll Sleep When You're Dead!" coffee mug and of course an awesome fifties-diner-style straw holder. Also, in my Dream Kitchen (or should I say, Kitsch-En? Oh yes, I went there) I would eat everything and not gain any weight. I would just run around baking things in that '50s slip-dress-like apron from Ballyhoo Vintage.

In case you can't tell, this is my Random Awesome Stuff category. That washing machine is GOLD-ENCRUSTED, which would really take the sting out of having to do my own laundry. The Absolut Salt+Pepper Shakers are there because...heh. The pink flamingo lawn ornaments will surely be adorning any future lawn of mine, and that weird cumbersome lime-and-pale-green studded thing is a cute dresser. I generally hate sleep masks (I mean, come on, can't you just turn the lights off?) but this one is just so damn cute. Speaking of so damn cute, look at those Fred Flare patterned folders! They actually give me an urge to be the OCD kind of girl who turns in all her projects a month early perfectly folded and laminated. The little mod sewing patterns are perfect for me, a wannabe seamstress who's been trying to make her own clothes for awhile but usually just ends up sewing her jeans to her top or something stupid like that. If I ever make anything worth showing, I'll post a picture of it.

MUSIC, TV, + MOVIE CORNER- I'm writing this post from up on my roof; I recently figured out how to get up here, and it's really cool and comfortable in the sweltering NYC heat to have a place to "study" (blog, eat, listen to music). Anyway, I've been rotating between my "Old-Times Playlist"- Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Fred Astaire ("Strange Fruit" by Billie Holiday and "Satin Doll" by Ella Fitzgerald are so fantastic, and of course listening to Billie always calls to mind that quote from Clueless- "Do you like Billie Holiday?" "Oh, I love him!" Is it sad that I can quote that movie in its entirety? Probably. But not as sad as the fact that I could literally perform Heathers in its entirety if asked to do so) and my "Regina Spektor Playlist", which features- you guessed it- Regina Spektor. The songs I'm currently stuck on are "Music Box", "Baobabs" and "That Time". The latter, particularly, so perfectly embodies what I'm feeling right now in a way I can't explain. Her voice is so weird and freaky, but also beautiful. I also entertained myself the other day with...oh God, I hate myself- an SATC marathon on HBO. I hate this show so much, I publicly deride Patricia Fields' Quaaludes-fueled sartorial "brainstorms", and I personally find Carrie Bradshaw to be one of the most loathsome characters concocted in recent TV history, but I can't help it. It's a DRUG, I tell you, a DRUG. What woman (and maybe men too, though they won't admit it) doesn't occasionally have a guilty renaissance with this show?

SIGHTINGS- My friend and I were walking along enjoying Mr. Softee cones when our eyeballs were attacked by the sight of a girl in ankle boots, metallic blue leggings (STILL? REALLY! GOOD GOD! SWEET MOTHER OF THE APOCALYPSE! I FEEL LIKE MY EYES ARE GOING TO BLEED. ENOUGH NOW. PLEASE. PACK IT UP, LEGGINGS FIENDS! AM I GOING TO HAVE TO THROW PAINT ON YOU BEFORE YOU FINALLY PUT THEM AWAY? I'm sorry, that was involuntary), a tiny tee-shirt and a vest. Basically, Sienna Miller's bastard child. It wasn't good, to say the least. We shuddered briskly in a manner that is reserved for when we see gruesome car accidents, or Justin Timberlake. Also, on a happier note, this girl at my school was wearing totally real-looking, very funky retro cherry-shaped earrings which I really coveted. And I saw this very Face Hunter-y guy downtown in a pair of misguided black "slim-fit" hipster trousers which I did not care for, but he redeemed himself by being very cute and crisp in a Thomas Pink shirt and a refreshingly offbeat polka-dot tie (but not in a nerdy bio-teacher way, in a funky way).

CURRENT ATTIRE- Little printed sundress, wedges, bright-red vintage bangle bracelet from some shop in London, my usual Strand bag.

Arrivederci!