if you can't think of anything nice to say...come sit here by me

If These (Male) Models Could Talk...

2007-12-13T17:21:00.000-08:00

"Oh my God. Oh, GOD. Am I seriously doing this? Is this really happening? As if all my friends weren't giving me ENOUGH shit for trying to make it as a male model. Am I seriously posing in a belly shirt? I look like an Arizona Wildcats cheerleader. Okay, shhh, calm down, Greg, it's not that bad. Just...pick a spot on the wall and focus on it. Oh my God, when I go home for Christmas my brothers are NEVER GOING TO LET ME LIVE THIS DOWN. I feel faint. HOW AM I EVER GOING TO GET ANOTHER WOMAN TO SLEEP WITH ME AFTER THIS? You can see my BELLY BUTTON. Jesus, I understand now what it's like for all those poor objectified girls who have to pose in bikinis. When I get out of this hell-hole, I'm going to burn all my porn and subscribe to Ms. Magazine. Oh, GOD. I cannot believe this. I look like I borrowed this shirt from Paris Hilton's DOG. I look like a contestant in The Ultimate Coyote Ugly Search. I may pass out. Is that the floor? *THUD*"

"WHAT? What is your problem, dude? You think I look gay? You think THIS is gay? You wouldn't know gay if it stabbed you in the arm, BITCH. You ain't even SEEN gay. I will BRING THE GAY." "WHAT NOW, BITCH? Yeah, it's a V-NECK SHORTIE ROBE. You know who wears these? CLASSY LADY HOOKERS ON PARK AVENUE. And ME. I am representin' right now. Shit, man, I know you're jealous of my slender thighs and smooth chest. Who WOULDN'T be? Look at this hot-ass tat. LOOK AT THESE PUFFED SLEEVES, BITCH. ARE YOU LOOKING? I DON'T THINK YOU'RE LOOKING. YOU WANT I SHOULD CALL MY BOYZ?"

"Ah, bliss. Another day of just me and my manly, chiseled jaw out on the town. This espresso is simply exquisite. I think I will just let it linger here in front of my perfectly sized nostrils for a few moments to bring my nose to the highest level of olfactory ecstasy. My GOD, I'm smooth and handsome. My hair is like a buttered biscuit and even my cuticles scream with the passionate voice of l'amour. Oh, how flattered I was yesterday on the street when I passed that group of schoolchildren and they ran away screaming "THEY'VE COME TO LIFE! THE MANNEQUINS HAVE COME TO LIFE! SOMEBODY HELP!" Is there any higher earthly praise? I think not. Good Lord above, I'm jawdropping. As soon as I finish this coffee, I shall go buy a quill and some ink- my love for myself is the sort which must be forever preserved in the eternal beauty of a sonnet."

"MY HANDS WEREN'T IN MY PANTS. Jesus. The world is so cruel to me, you know? Just because I occasionally like to lug dead bodies to alleyways and stick them in dumpsters doesn't make me some kind of MENACE TO SOCIETY. What was it that cop was muttering about when she was stuffing me in the backseat of the squad car? Something about "Makes Kevin Federline look like Humphrey Bogart...pathetic pube 'stache...poor man's B.J. Novak..." blah blah blah. Them bitches, they never shut up, do they? Jesus, I wish this stupid mug shot was over with already. How the hell am I going to duck out of jail time? I KNOW! I'll win over the jury with my MUSICAL TALENTS." "I feel pretty! Oh, so pretty! I feel pretty, and witty, and briiight...and I pity, any convicted-felon-facing-five-to-ten-years-with-possible-time-off-for-good-behavior who isn't me toniiight!"

"DUUUUUUDE! Whazzap, my brotha? It has been TOOO LONG, man. TOOO LONG. Yeah, nothing's new with me; just, you know, playin' the FIELD, my man. I got the hos lined UP for a taste, know what I'm saying? Yeah, man, I got this sweet-ass gig at my dad's law firm, you know how I roll...drivin' the BMW, smoking up and getting WASTED, just like in college. Yeah, man, those were crazy-ass times.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN, WHO IS THIS? HAHAHAHAHAHA!
IT'S JARED, MAN! We were FRAT BROTHAZ at Duke! C'mon, man! What the hell? We hung out ALL THE TIME, man! Hittin' the TIZZOWN, BAMF-style!
What do you mean, you HAVE TO GO?
Oh, okay, what's that you say, you're in a tunnel? Yeah, man, tunnels can lick my...
HELLO?
Okay, man, catch up with ya later, then. PEACE, HOMEZ."

"Oh, my, look what's happened. Somehow, inadvertently, I seem to have wandered out into the garden in only my tight-fitting, ass-hugging board shorts. What a terrible coincidence! Well, I guess since I'm out here and all, we might as well admire my splendid areolae. Those things are GOOD. I mean, come on. Look at the PECS. Suck it, DAVID. Yeah, I wonder which one of us is more ripped? Hey, let's ask the audience. GUESS WHAT, DAVID, IT'S ME. YOU GONNA CRY ABOUT IT? Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an Abercrombie ad to shoot and then I have some fat girls to ignore at the mall. Time is money, Dave."

"Hi, ladies. My name is Mario. I drive a monster Harley and I like steak dinners and pomade. I'm looking for a lady with a refined taste in dudes, who loves romantic candlelight beach dinners and hardcore S+M. This shirt right here? One of my favorites. I think it says that I'm a caring and sensitive individual who likes women in bunny ears with huge breasts. What's that you say? You want a closer look at the goods? It's okay, all the girls do. You like? Of course you do, you are only human. My role models are Hugh Hefner, Fonzie and, of course, that dude who made the sex tape with Paris Hilton. Mad props. My forearms are sinewy, my cheekbones are pronounced and I can go all night. So call 1800-HUNK to talk to me now! Big girls need not apply. Actually, scratch that. I like a whole 'lotta woman."

"Sigh. Jesus, I'm so tired right now. I was out all night last night doing hipster stuff- you know, shoplifting skinny jeans, leaning against chain-link fences in headscarves waiting for my picture to be taken, graffiti-ing obscure references from every poorly reviewed art-house classic ever made all over town, all that sort of thing. This isn't even my shirt, is it? This shirt belongs to some chick. Some chick left this at my house and then I put it on and came here. At least my chest hair is nice and patchy, like an enchanted forest of hipsterdom. Oh my God, how much longer am I going to have to stand here? I have to go to lunch with Cory Kennedy in an hour. We're having a competition to see who can go the longest without bathing. She's totally beating the pants off me. It's embarassing. Watch it, Kennedy. I will take you OUT. I just have to finish up here first. Okay, I guess I should grimace in barely contained agony at some point. Maybe I'll land a cologne account. That could be kind of sweet, if it was, like, a super-ironic cologne account. Irony is the new dreadlocks. I love cocaine. Somebody call Cory, tell her I'm going to be late."

"Oh, YEAH! I am looking FLY. Future MBAs of America, in the hizzy! This sweatervest is pimp. In fact, I think this whole Brooks Brothers spit-shined thing is completely working. I am going to out-Duck-Duck-Goose the other kids to the millionth factor. I fully expect to take over the family company by sixth grade, at the latest. I am going to divide and conquer with this new look. If I play my cards right this year in the third grade, this could be my future. God, if only."

And now, for a new feature I like to call- Heh! As in, "Heh! That's incredibly odd/amusing/thought-provoking. I can't believe that exists. Wacky!". Or, "Heh! That guy in the apartment across from mine is wearing a lampshade on his head! Oh, those drunken neighbors and their hijinks...Wait...wait...now he's climbing on top of his kitchen table and performing a choreographed dance routine to "It's Not Right But It's Okay." Oh. Oh, dear. I should not have seen that."
Or, you know, something normal. Wherever your mind happens to go when you hear the word "Heh!"
Without further ado, I present to you this week's Heh.Yes. That is correct. Your eyes do not deceive you. It is a gigantic crocheted hamburger dress. All I know is, somewhere out there the Hamburglar is totally aroused and doesn't know why.

THE MOVIE, MUSIC, TV & BOOK CORNER- So, I think it's been pretty well affirmed that a) I am a snob and b) I have innate bad taste in almost everything, which I usually manage to suppress in polite company. Therefore, it is a secret I will be taking to my grave (and sharing with, er, everyone who reads this blog) that I sometimes (often) listen to the song "Chelsea" by Stefy in my room and bob my head poetically (dance like a wild biscuit). Listen, it is the most atrocious song ever. Case in point- it was apparently used in the movie John Tucker Must Die, which looked so bad and embarrassing to all parties involved that I didn't even see it. Still, I don't know what it is. Maybe when we were all Early Humans we did instinctual Rain Dances in packs or whatever and now whenever we hear a certain beat, no matter how atrocious the song is, we must dance. All I'm saying is that if you listen to this song, you will be Lost In The Catchiness. You have been warned.
All right, just so you don't all completely disown me for Lack Of Taste, I've also been listening to Regina Spektor's "Braille." Somebody (and I've been reading back through old posts trying to figure out who for the last three hours, but I CANNOT FIND THE COMMENT AND IT IS DRIVING ME BONKERS) once commented here asking me what my favorite Regina Spektor song is. It fluctuates constantly, but right now it's Braille (and you have no idea how long I've been waiting for someone to ask me that). It kind of gives me shivers. Thanks for asking, Anonymous Amazing Person!
Movie-wise...Jesus. I don't actually think I can handle the Sex and the City movie. I, like every other double-X-chromosome in the universe, have seen every episode of SATC, but that doesn't mean I don't want to hurt Carrie Bradshaw. I'm not going to say anything about how she looks like a foot, because I think Sarah Jessica Parker is probably a nice lady. But I hate Carrie too much to pay eleven dollars to look at her for two hours.
Get ready for me slinking back and admitting that I saw it two months from now. But for now, the official party line is "I Don't Want To See It, Ever."
Book-wise, I have two papers due this week and and a test to study for, so naturally I've been doing a lot of Reading For Pleasure. I just finished Memoirs of a Geisha, which was fantastic, and now I am secretly allowing myself to work backwards through the Harry Potter books because I can't sleep and God this is so totally embarrassing. Wow, I...I am saying a lot of things.
As another part of my Master Study Plan, I've been spending a lot of time on the "Are You That Person Who Bugs Everyone With 30 Rock Quotes?" thread over at TWoP. And, yeah, I am that person.
It's after six, what am I, a farmer?

SIGHTINGS- Well, like every other good American in the world, I was watching Gossip Girl, sighing over Rufus Humphrey (the always-awesome Molly just mentioned on her blog that he is, as the kids say, super-majorly-extremely-finger-lickin'-good-hot. Well, I think she used more normal words. But...word, Molly) the other week and trying to figure out the best way to silence Dan (SHUT UP, Dan. I don't find you cute, like, at all. You're even worse than Chuck "Large-Mouth" Bass and Nate "I'm A Pretty Little Girl" Archibald, because if you at least squint really hard they're attractive(ish) and Chuck is hilarious. You? You're just ANNOYING. Why don't you just take your "AWESOME" friend VANESSA and go sublet a loft in AWESOME-OPOLIS?) when I noticed that the dress our girl Blair was trotting around in was none other than the bitchin' Marc Jacobs I professed my love for here just a few short months ago. You know. This one. You see, I am like a prophet for our modern times. Perhaps I should invest in some stone tablets. And a beard. Yes, a beard.
I also saw a woman on the subway with the most intense weave I've ever seen in my life. I'm mentioning it here because I feel I need to transcribe it so that I Never Forget. It was half strawberry-pink, half bleach-blonde, with dark roots. It curled slightly at the temples, then graduated into a stick-straight thing down to the ends. It was...kind of magnificent, to be honest. I can't even do it justice within the confines of the written word. I would need to do a watercolor of it or something.
Oh, and to the four-hundred-odd people trawling New York City clad in Ugg boots? Look, I get it, I do. I've been kind of sort of maybe wearing my own fleecy fuzzy sheep-y wonderfully warm pair lately too, because they feel like a kind gentle hug for my feet and they are pretty much the embodiment of all that is good and true and I LOVE THEM, OKAY? GOD, IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR? I AM OFFICIALLY COMING OUT AS AN UGG-WEARER. I LOVE MY DEAD GAY UGGS.
However.
If you are wearing special studded/adorned Uggs, I will scoff at you. I'm sorry, I have to. I'm having enough trouble dealing with colored Uggs right now. Look, Uggs are supposed to be a necessary evil, like tax-paying. You don't DRESS THEM UP with jewels and studs. It's like if you had an extra alien head sprouting out of your stomach. Maybe you wouldn't want to remove the head, because let's say the head is really comfortable and keeps you warm in horrible Arctic polar bear conditions or something. But you don't need to go sticking, say, a hat and a bunch of pearls on the head. Just...leave it be.
Do you all see my point? Let's recap.

SATAN.

Current Attire- Jeans, cute navy three-quarter-length-sleeve top, funky dangly necklace and my sparkly shoes. This is legitimately one of my favorite outfits ever. I also have my big purple Uniqlo jacket to top it all off with. It makes me look like a grape/Teletubby hybrid, and I love it.

My next post will probably involve all the things I'm craving for Christmas, like these

Mary Green underpants. God, so pretty!

Auf Wiedersehen, lovely readers.

If You Can't Think Of Anything Good To Write...Do A Survey!

2007-11-28T18:53:00.000-08:00

Writer's block is a cold cruel bitch of a mistress, isn't it?
Usually I would do my best Buck Up Little General and soldier on through the fog and do my best to churn out something halfway decent and non-redundant.
But...no.
Has it become really transparent yet that I fill out quizzes when I can't think of anything else to write about?
I mean, what? I mean...nothing.
You are getting sleepy. Very sleepy. My ideas are original.
Here goes. I'll do my best to make it as painless and amusing as possible for you.

SURVEY
1. What’s your favorite children’s book? It's a draw between Eloise and The Roald Dahl Treasury. The latter, because Roald Dahl was the first author I ever really loved; when I was five my dad gave me a big old burgundy-bound abridged copy of his stories. I pored over it for hours at a time, and I would recite whole chunks of The Twits and Matilda and The BFG until my parents probably wanted to sell me on eBay (if it had, er, existed. God, can you believe eBay and Google and even our own sweet Blogger didn't exist at one point, like, fairly recently? It makes it sound like the generation before ours were practically Austrolopithecines and had to carve their witticisms into hunks of stone with flaming pokers. By the way, there is absolutely no way that I spelled Austrolopithecines correctly. My fifth-grade Human Evolution teacher is spinning in her Talbots sweater set right now). Back to my original point. This book contains a recipe for Snozzcumbers (yum yum) and hundreds of perfect illustrations, and every time I look at it I get a cozy feeling in the pit of my stomach and I just want to curl up in front of a stone fireplace somewhere in the British countryside draped in a tartan blanket, eat wine gums and read, perhaps smoking a pipe, as orange foxes and geese and sheep run around in my backyard while the sun rises.

Eloise, because...the girl is just cool. She lived in a hotel, and wrote on the walls, and she fed her turtle bonbons. She had a firm British nanny and an exotic mother who sent her fancy hats and a rocking hair bow. She's exactly the kind of quaint, brilliant kid we all knew (or wish we knew) at some point in our lives, the kind adults raise their eyebrows at and other kids want to be.
I still have both of these books on my shelf now. On either side of Catch-22, a totally important book that I will never read because I am too busy being jealous of Eloise and wishing I lived in a Roald Dahl story (in particular, the story Boy always made me want to be a young British schoolboy growing up in the 20th century, which I can tell you is generally not high on my list of day-to-day fantasies).
What a Catch-22, huh?
Or is it? Stuffed if I know.

2. What’s your favorite type of cake? Honestly? I especially like the really cheap, frantically iced kind from Gristedes in the plastic container with the colorful circles on top. You know, the uber-sugary kind where you start feeling as if your teeth are being drilled and your stomach is being stabbed with a piece of rusty metal after about three bites, but you persevere?
Like this little frosted madam right here. Mmm.

3. What is the last song you listened to? "Rose Darling" by Steely Dan. Don't judge me. I don't care if Steely Dan gargles Seth Rogen's balls- I love them. I listen to them in the car.

4. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says- “By this time Jude and I were going ‘Shhh, shhh’ out of the corners of our mouths and sinking down into our coats- after all, there is nothing so unattractive to a man as strident feminism”.

5. What are your 3 best qualities? I can be quite amusing, or so I am told (...by my mother. Shut up.) Also, I'm a pretty good friend and I make a delicious stir-fry.

6. Do you think you're a kind person? Dude. What is this blog called? Think about it, and INFER, as my science teacher would recommend (she's big on INFERRING, and likes to shout this word at us accompanied by bright and spastic hand motions, as if to inspire us to go forth and learn. We mostly just sit there blankly).

7. What color is your toothbrush? Purple. What color is your parachute?

8. Who was your first TV crush? I think it was Uncle Jesse, actually. How embarassing! Especially in light of this picture. AHAHAHAHA
Da-na! Da-na! Dude looks like a lady! Or, more accurately, dude looks uncannily like my eighth-grade gym teacher. Who was a lady, I guess, in technical terms (although there were many of us who were of the opinion that she was the possessor of...how can I put this delicately?...man parts). STILL. This makes me feel a little better about my ardent prepubescent passion for him, I guess. I also think I had a crush on Jordancatalano (remember how you always had to run his first and last names together so it became Jordancatalano?) because I guess I had a thing for "pretty boys" in my naive youth. These days, however, Jared Leto is not so much pretty boy as "Please do not suck my blood! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU! Where did I leave my garlic clove?"

9. If you had to choose one celebrity couple to hang out with for the holidays, who would it be? Amy Poehler and Will Arnett, in a heartbeat. They seem like they'd be fun to go out with and make fun of everyone you know and drink delicious Christmas beverages, and I am kind of in love with both of them in separate but equal ways. This Gap ad makes me want to marry the both of them right here and now in some kind of kooky Three's Company/bigamy arrangement. Is that legal?
P.S. Speaking of Gap ads, it is a testament to my love for John Krasinki that he is still my imaginary boyfriend even though he looks like SUCH a WOMAN in his own ad. Gaaah! What the hell IS that tucked-in scarf/sweater deal? Stacy the perky new Kappa Kappa Gamma pledge wants her cowlneck back.

10. What's your all-time favorite, most-repeated movie quote? Oh, don't do this to me, you saucy little minx of a survey. Why? I am not going to be able to choose one and my brain will blow a synapse from overstimulation and I will start twitching uncontrollably and my blood will be on YOUR HANDS. Do you think you'll be HAPPY THEN? DO YOU? Fine.
I find myself using "Lick it up, baby, lick it up" a lot. My favorite is constantly fluctuating, though.
The whole confrontation between Heather Chandler and Veronica after Veronica pukes? I have, on more than one occasion, recited it in a public place (i.e. the 59th St. subway station) with my friend. I must say, there's something awfully satisfying about shouting "Nobody at Westerburg is going to let you play their reindeer games" in front of a lot of busy and harried New Yorkers who all want to shoot you in the eye. It's very cleansing. I recommend it highly.

11. What was your least favorite class in school? Oh, sweet God. Computer science. If you enjoy being so bored that you start crafting elaborate plans to impale yourself in the eye with a fork and be rushed to the hospital just to avoid the rest of the class, then by all means take it. Sorry, if any computer-science aficionadas are reading this and plotting my death. But God. You sit there, and you make SHAPES. Out of NUMBERS. And if your shape comes out wrong, everyone speaks very softly and understandingly to you as if you belong in the Special Girls' Class where they wear helmets.

12. What was the last thing that made you laugh uproariously? The postcard I brought back from Florida for my friends with a picture of a tanned, extremely toned long-haired Fabio-type male model in a Speedo reclining on a beach. We named him Fabrizio and left him secretly on our teacher's desk. Trust me, it was extremely amusing at the time.

13. If you had to choose between a million bucks or the ability to fly, which one would you choose? Is this even a question? Who wouldn't shell out a million bucks to see a FLYING GIRL?

14. Where were you when 9-11 happened? School. I remember little pockets of it, like how incongruously sunny and beautiful it was outside, like the weather was playing a cruel joke, and how they started sending kids who lived far away home early that day, and nobody knew why, and how my dad picked me up in a town car, which he’d never done before. Memory is weird.

15. What do you do when vending machines steal your money? I cry for a while, crumple into fetal position, kick the machine vehemently and with blind, unbridled rage, retreat back into fetal position, seek help from a mental counselor, manage to collect my thoughts, and start to deal with what’s happened one day at a time.

16. Name three things that you have on you at all times? Hans, Roderigo and Lars. Quiet down, boys, I’m trying to fill out a survey here. Go dance in the other room- the scented oils are still in the bathroom cabinet. Frolic, Roderigo, frolic! [Ed.- when I was searching for this picture, I came across quite a lot of screensaver shots of shirtless guys. Sexy, yes, but most of them were just incredibly amusing. They all seem to be playing a little game of "You caught me putting on my pants! Oh dear! I guess I should SLOWLY BEND OVER!" with the camera. Also, more than one of them appeared to be Smell-The-Fart Modeling].

17. Can you change the oil on a car? Well, I never have. But in all honestly, probably not. That’s what I have Hans, Roderigo and Lars for. Boys, go change the oil on the car. Then convene back in the living room, and get ready to dance- I’ll go put on “It’s Raining Men.”

18. What did your last text message you received on your cell say? “Emma, you are the most stunning creature my eyes have ever beheld, your body is a temple and I want to worship at it, please let me take you out for a drink tonight- Christian Bale”.

19. Do you like to cook? I like making extremely simple and delicious food items- i.e. chocolate chip cookies, grilled cheese- because barring any smoke-alarm-setting-off incidents, they always come out well and I can dance around to Journey in my kitchen while they're cooking. I also like laboring for hours and hours and hours over a ridiculously complicated and overachieving dish that could be completely destroyed were I to add a pinch too much saffron or salt (and I always do, and the dish is always ruined and I hate myself for like a week). There is no middle ground (except for the stir fry I mentioned earlier in this little roller-coaster ride of a quiz). FYI- this lady is Paula Deen, and she has a strangely entertaining and hypnotizing cooking show that you should always watch while you have stuff in the oven or whatever, because she says things like "I wish I was an octopus so I could cook a million things at once" in an adorable Southern accent.

20. Would you rather wake up after surgery and find that they’ve accidentally given you Barbra Streisand’s nose or Dolly Parton’s breasts? Dolly Parton's breasts, for sure. I can then go to another, back-alley plastic surgeon and bewitch him with my Astrodome-sized hooters into doing a breast reduction. Voila. Plus, it might be kind of a hoot- no pun intended (well, okay, pun kind of intended) to have boobs that are roughly the size in square footage of my entire graduating class. Dolly certainly seems to enjoy it.

21. What shampoo/conditioner do you use? Herbal Essences Clairol, "Rose Hips" (doesn't that sound like a corny pickup line? Like "Hey there, Rose Hips, you must be tired 'cause you've been running through my mind ALL day heh heh heh big dirty chuckle"). NOT the stupid new cylindrical-bottle kind, the old-school kind with the dark green top. It smells so completely good and clean that I wash my hair like eight times a day. However, it's practically the Holy Grail in terms of availability in my neighborhood, so I have to search for it for about three lifetimes at various different locations until I can find it.
I'm looking at the back of my shampoo bottle right now, and much like those perfume and wine ads that spew about 93849328432 adjectives without ever actually telling you anything, it is completely incomprehensible and amusing. I'm going to transcribe it. "Enter a world of botanical bliss and unleash the power of your naturally beautiful hair. Embracing you like a meadow of fresh flowers, this luxurious shampoo, blended with 100% organic botanicals and essence of coconut and palm oils, will take your hair to a place it's never been before. Deeply quenched, radiantly restored and naturally flowing." Who writes those little blurbs? And how do I get that job? Let me tell you that tomorrow, if a gorgeous guy does not sit next to me on the bus, take a whiff of my newly quenched locks and promptly blurt "My God, your hair is like a MEADOW of FRESH FLOWERS. RUN AWAY WITH ME," I will be suing Herbal Essences for all they're worth.

22. What are you wearing? A barrel. It's very slimming.

23. What kind of bear is best? BLACK BEAR. [Ed.- the actual question was something stupid like "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" so I changed it. IDENTITY THEFT IS NOT A JOKE, JIM. MILLIONS OF FAMILIES SUFFER EVERY YEAR.]

24. What do you think of this quiz? I know what you're doing. You're seeking my approval by asking me semi-veiled question meant to hide your own innate insecurity. Shhh, shhh. It's okay to doubt yourself sometimes, Survey. But you have to love yourself from within and nothing I say can help you on that journey of self-love. Okay?

25. What’s the last book you finished? I actually just finished Lolita for the first time over Thanksgiving. I spent my Thanksgiving in Orlando, Florida (don't ask. Just don't ask. It was pretty great, though; lots of sun and IHOPS and Tony Roma's), and I tend to carry a book in my bag and whip it out when I'm bored, so I guess I must have looked like a New Yorker cartoon or something- sullen Manhattanite in black reading Nabokov in line for Splash Mountain at Disneyworld. My aunt took many pictures, and actually captioned most of them as "Sullen teen reading Nabokov at Disneyworld and hating her family- HOW ORIGINAL. GO SLAM A DOOR" on Facebook. Gotta love that.

26. What fictional character is most like you? Oh, this is a tough one. I'm going to have to really craft my response. Okay, here goes. In terms of my writing persona, I like to think I'm a strange hybrid of Kelly Kapoor (MINDY KALING SHOUTOUT. I was actually typing a first draft of this post that basically went "Mindy Kaling is sooo cool and I wish we were friends and I really like her blog and makeup and stickers and ponies and Myspace.com!", but luckily, Winona already talked about Mindy's bad-ass-ness in a much more coherent and interesting fashion, so you're all spared the agony. Suffice it to say that she's a whole lot of awesome), Liz Lemon and Georgia Nicolson. I got the Kelly Kapoor/Liz Lemon thing from some writer at TWoP, so don't flame me with righteous anger for stealing. It just works really well in my case too. Oh, and throw in some extra crazy/ranting/where was I-ness as well and serve on a platter of Nutbag with some curly fries on the side. Wait, some of those things are not fictional characters. Oh, I don't care.
ME

27. Do you like to dance? "If anyone ever saw me dance, they’d have trouble taking me seriously”- Christina Ricci. That said, yes, I do like to dance, but only when nobody is watching. And I don’t mean “dance like nobody’s watching even though you secretly know that everyone IS watching and is in awe of you.” I do sometimes dance in my room though. Shut up. I can dance if I want to, I can leave my friends behind, ‘cause my friends don’t dance and if they don’t dance then they’re no friends of mine.

28. What did you have for dinner LAST NIGHT?  STEAK AND RICE! WHY ARE WE YELLING?

29. What’s your favorite painting?

30. If you could have any hair in the world, what kind would you want? Long, shining red curls, please, the really pretty ringletted kind. When I was a kid there was a girl in the Betsy-Tacy books (it might have been Tacy, come to think of it) who had this kind of hair, and whenever they described it I was always so jealous. Especially since my own hair looked like a mushroom cap.

FILL THIS OUT. Please do. Come on, just do it.

MUSINGS- I think Ashlee Simpson might be in the Witness Protection Program. Seriously, I got CosmoGirl in the mail today (look, I had a subscription to Ellegirl, okay? And then when it ceased publication, they started sending me CosmoGirl instead, and I didn't want to make the effort required to stop the arrival of the CosmoGirls, so month after month they come to my door and I sneer at them for a minute or two and then they're instantly sucked up by the old-catalog-and-magazine vortex that is my bedroom floor), and she was on the cover- I think. I say that because were it not for the enormous "ASHLEE-PLEASE CARE ABOUT HER!" headline, I would have absolutely no idea who she was. I mean, Jesus. This girl bears absolutely no resemblance to the Ashlee we were forced to tolerate for so long. Like, not even a little. She's not unattractive, but WHO THE HELL IS SHE? Is this her plan, to simply morph her face and hair whenever she realizes that the world is increasingly tired of her raspy little schtick? Which face is next? Jessica- Part Two? Marge Simpson? Sidney Poitier, for God's sake? "Cosmogirl Christmas Issue 2008 Exclusive- Ashlee's New, New Look!"

THE TV AND MUSIC CORNER- Oh, writers' strike, why? I mean, I get it, and I totally support you all, but...oye. How am I supposed to get through the holiday season without Very Special Christmas Episodes? EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT THE WINTER HOLIDAY EPISODES ARE THE BEST ONES, BECAUSE EVERYBODY IS ALL PROMISCUOUS AND DRAMATIC AND DRUNK ON EGGNOG AND THERE IS MUCH SHENANIGAN-ING AND TOMFOOLERY TO BE FOUND. Why must we be deprived of watching this joy unfold?
If you haven't watched Arrested Development yet, why are you reading this? Go. Go now. There's not going to be anything new on for some time, it looks like, so it's the perfect opportunity to hang out with the Bluths. Dangling my final carrot here- Liza Minelli totally guest-stars. That's all, folks. Enjoy.

SIGHTINGS- Florida was like one big massacre for my retinas. Leggings and fanny packs as far as the eye could see. There were some stylin' old dudes in pork pie hats, though, as well as some amusing Baptists on retreat with whom I shared a hot tub and a whole mess of hilarious old Jewish ladies in the hotel elevators who kept clucking at my hair. Really, they did.

CURRENT ATTIRE- A barrel. Didn't we already discuss this?

Bye, kids. Enjoy this ridiculously long post (I hope you do!)
-Emma

2007-11-10T13:32:00.000-08:00

Let me ask you, the assembled, a burning question (what a weird expression. Do questions burn? A question is not a sexually transmitted disease or a scalding cup of coffee; ergo, how can it burn?).
Do you ever feel like you've been rambling on about something for decades and nobody's been paying the remotest bit of attention?
Sure, at times this happens to all of us- you launch into a "super-funny" and "brilliant" anecdote and realize ten minutes in that everybody around you is not listening, and is in fact wrapped up in their own thoughts while mindlessly nodding at everything you're saying as if you're a mildly interesting episode of E! True Hollywood Story that's really too much of a pain to turn off, so you just leave it on and vaguely absorb a word or two here and there.
But I'm talking about a more specific rant, one you launch into constantly and regularly.
My own personal Perma-Rant is the dicey topic of leggings.
I have stood atop my soapbox and preached endless sermons about the evil that is leggings. I have drawn diagrams, I have given mini-speeches, I have hyperventilated hysterically at the mere sight of a friend's legs shrouded in the evil things...to no avail whatsoever.
Look, I get it, okay? Sometimes you want to wear your cute little H&M dress, but it's a length that would look weird and disproportionate if you wore jeans under it, or you're a little insecure about parading your half-naked legs around town, or you don't want to risk an embarrassing Marilyn-Monroe-gone-wrong subway-grate fandango and show the world your undies when you're getting off the A train. Sometimes, you will need to wear a pair of leggings under a skirt or dress.
The operative word there being "under".
UNDER. Leggings, if you're going to wear them, go UNDER things.
Leggings.
Pants.
Two SEPARATE entities.
Pants are worn solo. They are loners. They are Lone Rangers. They traverse the desert alone, with only a didgeridoo, a hip flask and a trusty steed for company. They are single and proud.
Do you see where I am going?

Leggings need a COMPANION. They need something over them; some type of skirt, dress, shirtdress, really long sweater (but that last one applies only if you happen to like the whole Brenda-Walsh-goes-to-cardio-funk-class look). Otherwise, you are trotting around town in an extremely unflattering pair of thin pants facsimiles that announce to the world, "HEY WORLD! COME HERE AND LOOK AT THIS CELLULITE! AND PLEASE NOTICE EVERY SINGLE POCKET OF FLESH AND FAT THAT I AM DOING A REALLY BAD JOB OF MASKING!" I don't care how proud you are of your butt. Even the most Thumbelina-esque little Minnie McSkinny can't get away with Leggings On Their Own.
Anyway.
My point is that sometimes you can just rant on and on and on about something and all you get is a slightly sore throat and perhaps a headache from listening to your own voice blathering on for an hour and think, God, has my voice always been that high? I sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks going through pubescence.
But I digress.
In order to help the world at large grasp hold of a few simple fashion concepts that I believe everyone should be aware of, I have created some nifty little rhymes. And, yes, I just used the word "nifty" for the first time since the Crimean War.
DR. SEUSS'S GUIDE TO FUGOSITY, or TEN SIMPLE RHYMES TO HELP YOU NOT COMMIT CRIMES AGAINST FASHION.

1. Girls who wear leggings are cruising for eggings.

2. Formal shorts are like gross fabric warts.
=
3. I take a firm stance
Against harem pants.

4. When I see Uggs with a skirt
My eyes start to hurt.

5. If you think cankles are neat,
get some ankle boots, tout suite!

6. If it's rompers you crave
You might just be depraved.

7. Bra not providing the boob warmth you need?
By all means, wear a tiny vest; classy, indeed.

8. Extra! Extra! Read All About It!
Jaunty caps died with Marissa Cooper
So unless you're a newsboy from 1913
Kindly flush them down the pooper.

9. By the beard of Zeus, Nabokov, do you see what you've started?
These tiresome shades should be dearly departed.

10. High-waisted overalls are always hits
If you want to punish your lady bits.

Next time you open your Hideous Crap drawer (and, honestly, don't we all have one? Mine includes such couture garments as the "SAVE A ROMAN CAT TODAY" t-shirt with the decal of the big fuzzy kitty on it, the drab green pilly turtleneck that would make Gisele look like Danny Devito, and the mysteriously stained navy yoga pants that will never look either remotely flattering nor completely clean, no matter how many times they are washed) and think "Wow, these shiny leggings definitely need to be worn RIGHT NOW with my newsboy cap and tiny argyle vest", I hope you'll remember one of these mantras, resist the temptation and go put on something wholeheartedly fabulous.

This cat=adorable.
This cat on a T-shirt=creepy and unattractive and smacking slightly of Old-Woman-Who-Lives-Alone-And-Leaves-The-Apartment-Once-
A-Week-To-Buy-Cat-
Food-and-Bunion-Cream.
Nobody really wants that, do they?

THE MUSIC, MOVIE, BOOK AND (TODAY) OTHER RANDOMOSITY CORNER- I like the song "I Wanna Take You Out In Your Holiday Sweater" by Pas-Cal. It's just cool. And it makes me think of holiday sweaters, which makes me think of the fact that the holiday season is rapidly approaching, which makes me think of the fact that I have negative money and have to come up with gifts, which makes me perspire, which makes me need to purchase my favorite Secret Asian Pear deodorant (FYI, Asian Pear deodorant is amazing. I have not as such smelled an Asian pear and don't know if it smells different from a regular pear, or, for that matter, if a regular pear even has a smell, but it's still yummy. Much better than Jasmine Orient. Who wants to smell like Jasmine Orient?), which poses a problem, because like I said, I have no money. So that's an annoying little train of thought. But still, the song's good.

I, like so many others before me, refuse to get over The Princess Bride. In fact, I have now seen it...let me just tally up here...yes, officially too many times. Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!
Look, I realize that's not funny anymore. But let me have my moments, okay?

You know what's super annoying and insulting to my intelligence?
I was watching Gossip Girl (and, okay, some could argue that my love of this show is slowly draining me of said intelligence, but it is AD.DIC.TIVE) on the CW website and every time a song played, the site quickly told me exactly what it was and who sang it. Not so bad, you say? Maybe even convenient? Yeah, that's what I thought. Until the site also started telling me just what each character was wearing and how much it would cost me to obtain it. If the show had its way, I would have spent $540-plus after watching the first episode.
Nice try, SHOW. I've seen Josie and the Pussycats way too many times to call myself a fully normal human being. I know what you're trying to do.

A good book to read if you're sick of all the pink-jacketed, trite, loser-is-actually-beautiful-but-just-doesn't-see-it-until-the-hottest-guy-in-school-
points-it-out books is Meg Rosoff's How I Live Now. It's got relatable aspects mixed in with an absurd, yet not-at-all-cheesy storyline. I mean, I'm as much of a sucker for chick lit as anyone,
but eventually it just gets ridiculous. It's really refreshing to read a well-written book
about a teenage girl that isn't written entirely in italics and hyperbole and peppered with
self-deprecating comments and anecdotes about super-hotties.
Not that this here blog reads like Tolstoy, but, you know, I'm a teenage girl and there is only a very finite amount of years in which it is societally permissible for me to be a twit. I wouldn't want to waste them on intelligent thought, or anything. How gauche!

The cover's actually very nicely representative of the book- girlie elements mixed in with a much deeper, darker, magical thing.
I recently got in touch with my craftsy, hippie-girl, street-fair-beaded-smock-selling arty chick and endeavored to create earrings from these mini cassettes.
Result- or, as they say in warmer countries, Resultio! (I, taking French, do not know if that is correct Spanish. I hope it is, but I doubt it). Ta-daaa! I think Flower Desert Moon would be really proud (that's what I've named my crafts-fair alter ego). The other one is being fixed, so it's just the one on its owney for now. Still, I'm quite happy with myself, since everything else I've tried to make ends up looking like the aftershock of a glue tsunami. What do you all think?
I also need some bloggerly advice on this pair of shoes. My fabulous godmother snagged them for me at Annie Creamcheese, and they're vintage Marc Jacobs (phwoarrr) with the prettiest pale lilac soles you ever saw. However, shoes cannot be cute by soles alone, as the saying goes. They are much prettier in person, all sparkly-jeweled and fabulous. Still, is the pointed-toe cool or too Wicked Witch of the West? I don't want to start frightening tiny children away from me or cackling "I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too." It's one thing to take fashion inspiration from Dorothy (The Narcist, your comment about your "Naughty Dorothy" shoes was awesome. That's how I've started to think of my sparkly shoes as well! And, FYI, your World Erotic Arts Museum post made me pee with laughter). Do I really want to embrace the witch's style as well? One thing's for sure, I'll take Wicked Witch over Glinda any day. That cheery pink puffball always gave me a cavity.

What'chu smiling at, Glin? YOUR CROWN IS RIDICULOUS.

SIGHTINGS- A girl on the subway in a brown plaid mini-coat, dark brown leggings, Uggs and a pink-and-brown O'Neill backpack inspired my little ditties. JESUS. I am about three seconds away from having an apeshit, cuckoo-bananas rage blackout.
"NO...SPANDEX...LEGGINGS! EVER!"
I was also passionately jealous of a girl I saw in the halls wearing a gray dress similar to my beloved Suzabelle one. She wore it with a black turtleneck, tights and shiny black boots, which actually looked pretty great.
A boy I saw outside the Apple store was wearing one of those handmade tote bags you get on some specific website. It said "Bears, Beets, Battlestar Galactica." I fell a little in love.
And here I thought only girls made those bags!

CURRENT ATTIRE- Actually wearing clothes that aren't made of sweatshirt material for once. Purple tights, black boots, black vintage BCBG dress, darker-purple long-sleeve shirt under dress, indigo waist-cinching belt, black doctor bag. I feel a bit like a particularly moody purple Crayola, but I'm embracing it.

Ciao, bellas.

2007-10-24T18:42:00.000-07:00

I KNOW.
I'm such an enormous tool.

I pull the blog equivalent of a one-night-stand morning-after Walk Of Shame- bolting out the door without so much as a Post-It stuck to the refrigerator- and now here I am begging forgiveness? Well, any women's magazine will tell you that if a man ever does this to you, you must knee him swiftly in the "downstairs department", as my aunt would call it, and move on. But, please, do not kick me away because I'm a bad, negligent blogger! Blog-wise, I'm sitting in the back of the trailer in a wifebeater T-shirt sipping a beer and belching while I watch dog shows on TV; THAT'S how much of a Deadbeat Dad blogger I am.
But now I'm back! From outer space! I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face, I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have...NO. Look, this is not supposed to be about me singing Gloria Gaynor.
I have returned, and although I really can't say my posts will be at all frequent- I'm sorry, I really hate to postpone blogging and I promise I'll try to use downtime to concoct some good old-fashioned crazy just like Momma used to make, but I'm just so busy these days with extracurriculars, work and the like that I think most of my blogs would go along the lines of "FNAAARGH FIFTEEN THINGS TO DO FOR TOMORROW IT'S FOUR A.M. AND NOW I REALLY NEED TO GET DOWN TO BUSINESS OH LOOK THE SUN IS RISING HOW PRETTY I THINK A BIRD JUST FLEW BY...ZZZZZZZZZ". Honestly, my study schedule has basically comprised of drinking three iced coffees per day, staying up all night to do work and ending up out on my fire escape at sunrise with glazed-over eyes cramming candy corn into my mouth and watching The Office on my laptop.
To make up for two months of NO posts, I am going to write The Longest Post That Ever Happened In The History Of The World So Help Me God.
THINGS I AM ABSOLUTELY FREAKING LOVING THAT I REALLY HOPE SOME OF YOU CRAZY COOL CATS OUT THERE ARE LOVING TOO (AND YEAH I DID JUST SAY CRAZY COOL CATS. MY BRAIN ISN'T LIKE THE NORMAL PEOPLES' BRAINS.)
*In no particular order
*Not tested on animals
*Asterisks are kind of fun to look at, aren't they?

1. The Met.

You know, that big building with all the art inside it with all the hipsters smoking on the steps?
I've never been a rabid museum fan- in fact, my family and I do this thing we've invented called Culture On The Run, in which we spend as little time as possible within a museum, absorbing just enough to make us feel cultured and give us good fodder for pretentious chitchat ("Oh, yes, I just caught that marvelous Dan Flavin installation...so brilliantly minimalist, yes?") and then quickly retire to the nearest cafe/gift shop. It's pretty awesome. But I'm starting to discover that actually wandering around inside a museum for an hour or three is amazing as well. I went recently to do research for an art history project and ended up spending the day there, wandering from the Art of the Near East wing to the famous, gargantuan Damien Hirst shark (and, seriously, am I the only one who, upon seeing this piece, immediately sings in their head, "It's my shark in a box!"? Just me? Really? Okay) to Lichtenstein's Stepping Out, an insanely cool piece which I had to sketch as an assignment for my class. I wrote bad poetry and people-watched by the faux river in the Egyptian room, sprawled on the floor of the modern art wing for hours sketching (badly, but still) until my butt went numb, and felt incredibly smug and intelligent writing down observations about the reliefs of the Palace of Ashurnasirpal (and by "writing down observations", I mean "doodling my name surrounded by little flowers in the margins of my art history notebook"). Museums- not only do they allow you to walk around with a sense of entitlement and arrogantly undeserving intelligence for days after you visit them, it turns out they're actually kind of cool. Who knew?

2. Feist.

Drum roll, please. I am about to let you all in on a little secret that ABSOLUTELY NOBODY EVER KNEW UNTIL JUST NOW.
Ahem...
Feist.
Is.
Fantastic.

I KNOW! GROUNDBREAKING OBSERVATION! Nobody's EVER thought of that before right now, right?
Right?
Sea lion woman
She drink coffee
Sea lion woman
She drink tea
And a rooster crows

Don't ask why that song thrills me so much, but it really does.

3. My fantastic hand-me-down vintage D&G plaid shoulder bag.

I am IN MAD PASSIONATE LOVE WITH THIS BAG. Words can't even express it. Suffice it to say that each morning I wake up, look at it sitting pretty on my desk chair, and think "Today, D&G Shoulder Bag, I will go out into the world and try to make you proud." A little odd that I'm answering to a plaid bag? Perhaps. After all, it does say in Harry Potter, the Bible of us nerds (who may or may not have freakishly resembled Harry Potter in third grade, right down to the round glasses), that you shouldn't take orders from anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain. But this inanimate object is telling me to be the best that I can be, and also to wear my purple turtleneck sweater-dress with funky tights and boots and The Bag itself for as long as the weather permits me to. And I am A-OK with those instructions, cap'n. Besides, half the time I can't even see where I keep my brain.
Oh, and The Bag is exponentially cuter in person.
Notice how I'm standing, like "Yeah, I was just chilling casually against this bathroom wall here with my fabulous bag next to some towels and light fixtures...OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS IS THAT A CAMERA?"

4. Tuco and Blondie jewelry.
I believe we have already discussed my profound affinity for tacky jewelry, yes? So is it any surprise that I favor necklaces with tiny moon boots, old people, gums and toothpaste tubes hanging off of them? And oh, the earrings! PHWOARRR. I need to own all of these, STAT.

5. Cadbury Creme Eggs.

I'm pretty sure the baby Jesus made these to lead me into temptation. They are the Delilah to my Samson, the snake to my Eve, the...delicious creme-filled chocolate egg to my chocolate-egg loving taste buds.
So I ran out of steam there on the metaphors.
My POINT is, on my trip to the beautiful London a couple of years ago, I lived on these shits. They made my trip. No, really, they did. I remember furtively packing a Buick-sized carton of delicious creme treats away in my bag, looking over both shoulders as if the Fatty Police was going to come and cuff me right then and there for Crimes against Cellulite. They're just...so good. Too sweet for some, but perfect for moi.
Anyway, I got back to NYC, quaffed my carton of eggs, and then...a long, tedious egg-free dry spell happened. Just recently, however, my mother paid a visit to la belle Londres and promised to bring me back some. However, she came bearing gifts (hello, fabulous Topshop blouse! How I needed you...) and bad news...apparently the eggs have been DISCONTINUED? I am still not sure if this is true (i.e. I am in denial). I'm hoping maybe some Cadbury eggs will make an appearance here in the U.S. of A. this Easter, but until then, any lovely British friends who may be reading this, have the good grace and decency not to tell me if my beloved eggs are no more.
Here we have the brilliant BJ Novak, a man after my own heart, debating a worrisome shrink in the size of Cadbury eggs...which brings us to...
6. The Office

I've always loved The Office in a sort of noncommittal way- I'd watch an episode here and there, you know, nothing major. But lately I've signed over at least a couple of my heart's chambers to the brilliance that is The Office. I know this season's been kind of a letdown so far (even at its worst, though, The Office is still better than 90% of everything else on TV in my opinion), but I hope the return of the half-hour episode will help. That said, this show is absolutely genius. There's really nothing else I can say, because there's TOO MUCH GOOD. Okay, I'll just say this. Fashion show! Fashion show! Fashion show at lunch!

There ain't no party like a Scranton party, 'cause a Scranton party don't stop.
Oh, and much like my esteemed colleague Maddy, I LOVE John Krasinski. Watch this show and see why. By the way, can we all be in agreement that a certain movie we'll call...Schmisence to Schmed with a certain young actress we'll call...Candy Floor, never happened? Great. Thanks.

7. This pretty, pretty underwear set.
I believe it was the ancient Latin philosophers who said "Wear-us every day a set-us of expensiv-us underwear-us and thee shall conquer the minotaurs and defeat the three-pronged beasties of the sea".
Was it not?
Seriously, though, I think if every woman in the world was allowed to own this extremely funky neon blue boy-shorts-and-bra set, there would be so many less cases of seething ex-wives running their ex-husbands' mistresses down in their pickup trucks and stuff. Women would probably just exchange friendly handshakes and be like, "Hey, win some, lose some. Put 'er there, pardner. Now let's go cure cancer."
Well, maybe the underwear isn't quite that healing. But still.
By the way, the boy shorts are actually called "lady pants," which for some reason has made me laugh madly for the past five minutes. God, I am four years old.
But...lady pants! Hee!
8. Vynl.
If you live on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, or even just frequent it for Sunday brunch, you know that from approximately eleven to two on weekends all the chic little cafes and family-style diners around the tree-lined 70s become screaming masses of writhing children and beleaguered parents, punctured by bumper-to-bumper stroller traffic. Not exactly a peaceful environment. Last weekend, after walking from restaurant to restaurant in futile pursuit of a calm environment, my friends and I finally stumbled across Vynl. We had our doubts, at first, but it turned out to be the coolest place. Everything is sparkly and lava-lampified, my menu had Duran Duran on it and our waiter looked like Mick Jagger. In short; eat here. Now. Do it now. Now. Now. You won't be sorry. Oh, and get the milkshake. It's otherworldly.
9. My sparkly shoes!
These don't look that fabulous in the picture (perhaps it's the proximity to the towel?) but I assure you, they are quite mesmerizing. They're so beautifully sparkly that I can't stop staring at them- yesterday I wore them to school and became so entranced by the glittering of my own feet that I almost plowed down a tour group of prospective students. Oops. If you don't own a pair of glittery shoes, you should really invest in them tout suite.
10. HEE!!! I found this little picture when I Googled "raspberry beret." I don't really think any more needs to be said. Sometimes, God bless it, the funny just takes care of itself.
11. Arrested Development.
It's as Ann as the nose on Plain's face...this show is pure, unadulterated genius. I still fly into sporadic rages over the fact that it never got the acclaims it deserved. Honestly, much like "Little Miss Sunshine," this show hits a little close to home re. my insane family. It's PERFECT. I'm even in a Facebook group called "Addicted to Quoting Lines from Arrested Development." Then again, I am also in a Facebook group called "Steak is KICK ASS." But, come on...steak is pretty kick ass. And I bet you never even stopped to think about it, did you?
12. Regina Spektor.
Is it getting predictable and weird yet that I mention her in every post? Probably, huh? I DON'T CARE. She played at the Hammerstein Ballroom this month. AND I MISSED IT. Anger. Much anger.
I've taken to doodling the lyrics to her songs when I'm bored in class, and you know what? The lady is a real poet.

SIGHTINGS- This girl at my school who always turns up in fantastic outfits was wearing a funky silky blue dress, brown leather Frye cowboy boots and blue knee socks today. It sounds ugly, but it was startlingly cool. Needless to say, I will now be hero-worshipping said girl for the rest of the year. Also, I've been seeing a lot more fabulosity and atrocity since I started taking the subway more. Good- girl in a knit bright yellow minidress with mustard-colored tights and fawn-colored suede boots. Okay, that sounds bad too- maybe because in no conceivable way, shape or form can the word "mustard" carry positive connotations- but it was stunningly cool. Bad- girl of ten or so in a rhinestone-encrusted miniskirt with a "Little Princess" tee and black leggings with sneakers. Any parents reading this; the fight against leggings starts at home. I realize that when you are a kid you can wear what you want and be footloose and fancy-free and frolic in the meadows wearing footless tights and such, but lines have to be drawn somewhere. OH, and speaking of Footloose...which we were, kind of...I TOTALLY SAW KEVIN BACON AND KYRA SEDGWICK ON THE STREET.
'Twas awesome. I was too afraid of annoying them to go up to them (God forbid), but it was still cool.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Simply enormous sweatpants. SO COMFORTABLE. Can't even imagine changing back into real pants anytime in the near future. They're so large that they actually act as slippers; they blanket my feet. Red Old Navy tank top. High ponytail. Tired. So tired.

XOXOXO,
Emma (notice how I didn't say Gossip Girl, because that would be toolish? But I wanted to. God, that show is like some mystifying television version of Peruvian cocaine that's been smuggled into the country and intermittently foisted upon us sweet unsuspecting viewers. It is ABSOLUTELY ADDICTIVE. And it's on in, like, two hours). Adieu pour le moment, sweet readers!

2007-08-28T15:26:00.000-07:00

I went to Barneys Co-Op today.
Perhaps that sentence evokes images of a perfect, waif-like Park Avenue princess striding regally through the store, tossing buttery-soft silk and cashmere and leather into her obedient whipping-boy Franz's arms whilst the sales staff groveled at the very sight of her and fought each other to be the one who got to bring her an ice cold bottle of Evian and a bag of mixed nuts.
Heh, mixed nuts.

Anyway, you could not be farther off.
I slink in wearing my extremely conspicuous bright yellow thrift-shop trench coat (but I was also wearing my one nice pair of Wolford tights, and I wanted to scream "LOOK! I'M WEARING EXPENSIVE TIGHTS! BE NICE TO ME!" at the employees so they would stop evil-eyeing me) and try to avoid the suspicious eagle eyes of the fabulous salespeople (why are all Barneys employees cool? How do you become cool enough to work at Barneys? Is there a tutorial class? Can I enroll?) whilst covertly fondling expensive fabrics and imagining my alter ego, Amme (It's Emma backwards. But surely you got that) swathed in the stunning gowns and absurdly cute minidresses and shiny patent stilettos, being adored by pasty yet intimidatingly cool male Gucci models. Like him.
I spend a few minutes stroking sumptuous, stunning stuff (do I win the alliteration prize? And can the prize be one of these things?) like this Marc Jacobs lace dress which should totally have a passionate, raunchy affair with these vintage Frye boots (not from Barneys... they hail from Mirror Mirror vintage), and it would be a total Baby-and-Johnny,
upper-class-Marc-Jacobs-minidress-and-vintage-tough-bad-ass-Frye-Boots-from-the-
other-side-of-the-tracks secret-lovers kind of romance, and the dress's father (or in this case, Marc Jacobs, the dress's designer) could disapprove and the boots would get fired but would show up at the end-of-year dance and say to Marc Jacobs, "Nobody puts Dress in a corner" and then they would dance together to "(I've Had) The Time Of My Life" and it would be really hot and amazing and...I may not be mentally stable. If any psych majors are reading this, tell me- is it psychologically questionable to personify a dress and boots into the main characters from Dirty Dancing? It may be that the dress and boots together would be less adorable and more insufferable, pretentious Mischa-Barton-esque hipster, but...LET ME BELIEVE IN LOVE. I HAVE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE. ThisDVF pencil skirt frankly makes me want to grovel and suck up to the wearer (or in this case, the mannequin) like a Gretchen Weiners. "You know a year ago she told me I couldn't wear DVF pencil skirts anymore? She said DVF pencil skirts were HER thing? So, for Hannukah, my parents got me this really expensive DVF pencil skirt, and I had to pretend like I didn't even LIKE it, and...it was so sad!"
However, on a more painful note, this 3.1 Phillip Lim double-breasted coat goes for a hefty $645. This is completely and totally reasonable. After all, it's not like this exact flannel shirt (perhaps minus the kicky little belt-bow thing) has been hanging in my grandfather's closet since 1972.If there is one thing my long and painful bout with the Lanz nightgowns I used to favor as a young girl during my "I am Anne of Green Gables" delusion taught me, it is that you can't sex up flannel. And correct me if I am right, but haven't these Marc Jacobs jelly flats happened every year for about four years? Isn't it time for them to QUIETLY SLINK AWAY TO THE ISLAND OF LOST FLATS THAT WOULD HARDLY FLATTER ANYONE WHOSE LEGS DID NOT APPROXIMATE THE WIDTH OF COCKTAIL STIRRERS, BECAUSE, COME ON, THEY'RE WEE LITTLE SEE-THROUGH SHOES AND THE WHOLE WEE-LITTLE-SEE-THROUGH-ANYTHING THING SHOULD REALLY BE COMING TO AN ABRUPT HALT BY NOW?
So, after I'd viewed all that Barneys had to offer and become increasingly more and more depressed about the barren state of both my closet and my wallet, I slunk out of the store and drowned my sorrows in a) gelato and b) online shopping.
Although my alter ego, Amme, was still happily swaddling herself in $500-a-yard fabrics and feasting on Russian caviar (while retaining her perfect figure), I decided to say "Screw you, Amme!" by showing you all these little gems which are both fairly affordable and will make you look cool enough to earn an approving smile from the demons at the Jeans Bar at Barneys (no offense to any Barneys workers reading this. It's not you, it's me- I'm a jealous shrew who envies your perfection and employee discount. Can we be friends? No, really, can we?)
First, from the fabulous Suzabelle...
Good googa mooga, that is a hot little sweater. The crotchety, cat-having, eyeglasses-wearing, young-whippersnapper-hating English teacher inside me loves a good cardigan.
I love it. I don't own it. As Liz Lemon would say, "Blergh." Blergh indeed, Liz. Blergh indeed. P.S. Still searching for ONE BLOGGER WHO WATCHES 30 Rock. Come on, out with it. SOMEBODY? ANYBODY?
Do you even KNOW how good this georgette top would look with that DVF pencil skirt? Or slim black pants? Or scrub pants, for God's sake? Okay, so it's not quite that versatile. But if I had this shirt, my reputation as "that girl who has bits of food on her shirt and falls asleep in public places" would be instantly replaced with "that incredibly classy, gorgeous girl with the perfect hair who is always alert and awake in public and never drops her obscenely messy tote and screams expletives whilst scrambling around on all fours trying to get all her stuff off the street on Madison Avenue".
I got the pleasure of seeing this dress in the flesh at Le Frock in Seattle, and was going to buy it (it is, to date, the only satin/silk garment that hasn't given me an extra phantom ass) until I realized I wouldn't wear it as much as the tunic top I DID end up buying. Still, whenever I look at the picture I kick myself in the shin. Which is painful. Maybe someone will leave it on my doorstep in a wicker basket with an adorable little baby blanket and a note saying "Take Care of Me". You know, like in the BSC book where the baby turns up on Abby's doorstep and it turns out it's, like, her long-lost cousin. Not that I remember anything about the Babysitters' Club books. I'll just say this- Claudia Kishi is my cult goddess. Did anybody out there NOT want to be her?
I lust after this dress like every heterosexual male in the world apparently lusts after the girl from Fantastic Four. Even though her head is disproportionate to her body. But whatever. Hey, dress? Call me sometime. Maybe, you know, if you're not busy, we can get a beer. Or something (wiggles eyebrows suggestively).
God, waist-belts are flattering. Not the huge tacky shiny Pussycat Doll ones from Mandee's (I've christened them "the anti-chastity belt), but cute ones which emphasize your cleav, downplay your stomach and make your legs look thinner in proportion. I feel like the belt on this stunning swing dress would serve all 3 of those purposes. Plus, me likey the color. Midnight blue. Rawrrr. You know what shoes would look hot with this dress? These Miu Mius. I feel like a footwear pimp.
Now, this could go either way. It could be either your diabetic Aunt Edna who thinks men and women should ride on separate city buses and gives you the evil eye when you turn up at her house in- horror of horrors!- a TANK TOP, or it could be a painfully cool and stunning Parisian outfit that you wear on a rainy Sunday to visit art galleries solo, because you're that cool and aloof, while men throughout the city fall in love with you. Let's all hope for the latter.
Meanwhile, over at Popgloss...
When I find a gray vintage "scooter dress" online for $13, I do a little dance of joy in my computer chair. Especially since the model actually looks happy, and not like she's having sewing needles jammed into her cornea.
Can you think of any occasion in which these shoes would be declasse or inappropriate? Okay, maybe. But my God, I want them anyway. I would wear them with my vintage black BCBG dress and the dark purple belt I got at a thrift store for $2.
This is supposedly called a pill bottle dress, which I find perplexing, but not enough so that I stop imagining myself wearing it with various stunning shoes. It is entirely possible that it could make the wearer resemble a poorly upholstered sofa, or, indeed, a duvet cover (because who hasn't had the horrible experience of being stuck with that ugly couch/duvet cover/armchair that is utterly without charm and makes the entire room it inhabits look like a holding cell, yet is shamefully comfortable/a valued family heirloom and therefore Not To Be Removed/too cumbersome to drag out the door? And so it lives on and on in your house, slowly sucking out the appeal of every piece of furniture you subsequently buy). But I like to look at it anyway.
God, I love cute tote bags. They cost nothing, they hold everything, and when you own one you can legitimately excuse carrying around four different hardcover books, three dog-eared copies of Elle, an instruction manual for an espresso maker you don't own, assorted beads, sparkly things, dots of glitter and shards of glass (ow), multiple pairs of "just-in-case" socks, a random green flip-flop, the receipt for everything you've ever bought, enough business cards to build a new Space Needle out of paper, random Chinese food takeout menus, wind-up toys, assorted Jelly Belly beans, a burned CD of "Begin To Hope" in case you are in a place where you need to hear Regina Spektor and there happens to be a CD player lying around, and the odd spoon or two, because hey, you've got the room.
A bag shaped like a telephone! A RED telephone! This excites me in a way that only a girl who has 9384923843 bottles of red nail polish, more red lipsticks than any woman should ever own, red socks, red miniskirts, red hair pins, red chopsticks, red coffee mugs and, as a child, watched The Red Balloon over and over in a trance could ever be excited.

Popgloss.com is pretty much the niftiest little website ever. And when I use the word "nifty", you know I mean it. You can find anything from Christian Louboutin pumps to hats made of Lego. Visit it RIGHT NOW. I found this little Chloe dress on the site, and the part of me that's longing to wear my hair in braids and listen to Joni Mitchell is saying, "Save up for it! You know you want to!" as well as this Vivienne Westwood sweater- very the '80s meets Sonia Rykiel in Paris. What a pretentious sentence. But it's true.
But the number-one expensive item I would sell my internal organs for are these Miu Miu patent pumps. I saw a pair in a much more attractive dark swirly black-red shade and literally spent a full half hour looking at them. Then I searched for the shoes in that exact shade for TWO full hours online, but alas, it was in vain. I really, truly think I would be a better person with these shoes on my feet. And I'm not just saying that. So if some wealthy millionaire is reading this with his bifocal, stroking his Monopoly-guy mustache and saying "Hmmm, I need to get rid of $415", well, you know who to make the check out to. I promise I'll start doing charity work. Or something. "Hmm," he thinks, "I must reward Emma for her mediocre behavior with a fantastically expensive pair of shoes. And perhaps a Jacuzzi filled with hundred-dollar-bills and Crunchie bars. And a diamond pony. And Paul Rudd with a gift ribbon tied around his head."
Have you ever had an item in a shop that you fell swiftly in love with and started visiting in the store, murmuring sweet nothings until your friends start to worry that you have actually lost your last tiny shred of sanity because you are making a hajj to a pair of shoes/bag/coat/whatever? Tell Mama all about it. What was the item? Did you ever buy it?

THE MUSIC, TV, & MOVIE CORNER- I went to see Superbad. And I walked out. No, ne me quitte pas...wait. I have no problem with bawdy humor (in fact, I love it- not for nothing am I the only girl I know who watches Reno 911), but it should be just that...humorous. I just got tired of the constant penis jokes, you know? It was like paying twelve dollars to hang out at a frat house. Maybe I'm getting wiser in my old age, I don't know. [REDACTED- SUPERBAD IS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED]. Anyway, the only other movie I could sneak into was Stardust, which is so not my thing, but I liked it. Sort of. Jeez, I want to look like Michelle Pfeiffer when I am Of A Certain Age, even though she does spend most of the movie looking decomposed. Am I the only one who was rooting for her to get her youth back throughout the movie? Screw Claire Danes. Why do I like her again? Oh, right, My So-Called Life. Shut up, you watched it too. Some of my fondest memories are renting every episode of this show from Blockbuster when I was nine and feasting on the only good ABC show ever made.
"So how would you describe Anne Frank? " "Lucky." "Is that supposed to be funny, Angela? How on earth could you make a statement like that? Hmm? Anne Frank perished in a concentration camp. Anne Frank is a tragic figure. How could Anne Frank be lucky?" "I don't know. Because she was trapped in an attic for three years with this guy she really liked?" - Angela ( in a bad mood ) & teacher
Wrong. And awesome. Oh yes, they went there.
I just discovered Kate Nash. She's kind of Lily Allen 2.0. Well, I don't really want to decide which one's better. But I like Kate a lot. This is one of her few songs that I actually love, but the video is lovely.

Tila Tequila should be killed. I mean, if she ever is, I didn't do it. But God, she makes the skin under my fingernails itch.

SIGHTINGS- Conan O'Brien's taffeta boxer shorts, is it hot in NYC right now. Accordingly, the people are dressing somewhat skimpily, which sometimes works (girl in Sheep Meadow wearing airy little blue cotton minidress, assorted vintage-looking bracelets, and white espadrilles which I coveted) and sometimes, well, doesn't (woman at Island Burgers and Shakes in tiny gold tank top and white vinyl micromini with clunky black gladiator shoes, I'm talkin' to you). I, myself, need some good suggestions for places to buy really cheap and cute tights. I will be switching to a new and uniform-free school this upcoming school year, and I plan to debut the Tights-And-Dresses-And-Boots thing to celebrate my freedom from itchy wool kilts.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Purple cap-sleeved top from Buffalo Exchange in Seattle, darker-purple belt cinching it at the waist, short black vintage BCBG skirt, violet tights (actually...they're LEGGINGS. I was so pissed when I bought them at Urban Outfitters and despite the fact that they said "Low Rise TIGHTS" on the front, they had no feet, meaning that I can only wear them with boots from now on. Hence, my need for a new tights shop) and black suede boots. It's actually cool enough outside to wear this outfit. And I love it.

Auf Wiedersehen
<3

P.S. Do we likey the new header?
P.P.S. Where the hell did Touche19 go?

Back-To-Drool! Was That Lame and Immature? Oh Well.

2007-08-21T19:17:00.000-07:00

FFFFNNNAAAARGHHHHHHHH.
That's the noise I make when I am livid. Really, it is. Ask anyone.
If I see one more commercial about "BACK TO SCHOOL! BACK TO SCHOOL! BACK TO SCHOOL! PARENTS, IF YOU TRULY CARE ABOUT YOUR CHILDRENS' EDUCATION, BUY THEM OUR PRODUCT! DO IT RIGHT NOW!" I will eat my head.
When did the world decide it was okay to push Back To School down our throats in early-slash-mid-August?
Look, I KNOW I have to go back to school. I REALIZE that all good things must come to an end and eventually my carousing in the sun will have to give way to napping in chemistry class. But do I really need to be reminded of it every thirty seconds?
Don't get me wrong, I like school okay. I am not exactly Hermione Granger, but I'm at least awake and lucid for a fair portion of my classes (strike the napping-in-chem comment from the record, Your Honor).
STILL.
Every two-bit company in North America is using the inevitable commencement of school to hawk their shitty, two-bit product. "Kids, start back 2 (why always the infuriating number-as-word? STOP INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, COMMERCIAL!) school in STYLE, with our backpack/cellphone/notebook. And all we ask for in return is $39.95! And your parents' credit card number! And your SOUL!"
Basically, it's been like this.
"Hey, want to start off the new year in STYLE? Well, swing by our store and buy the new TEAKETTLES! Studies show that families with teakettles are 78% more likely to have their children go to Ivy League schools than families without teakettles! So run, don't walk, to pick one of these back-to-school beauties up for yourself!"

So very necessary.
"Hey, kids, guess what? A NEW SCHOOL YEAR IS STARTING! And I bet you're sick of your old, run-of-the-mill pirate hats, right? Cool kids wear the new and improved SUPER-SAUCY SCHOOL YEAR PIRATE HATS! The new pirate hats now come in three new styles guaranteed to fit your head in a sleek, chic and studious way, so c'mon down and check it out! Start the year off sassy with the new pirate hat."

"I know what you're thinking. Why should I buy oranges right now? Well, we at the Orange Corporation will tell you why. We're running a special deal on BACK-TO-SCHOOL ORANGES™! Oranges will boost your little tyke's brain for his or her return to school. Seriously, buy our BACK-TO-SCHOOL ORANGES™ today. Go. Now. Right away.

"Your kid is probably smarter already, just from looking at a PICTURE of the BACK-TO-SCHOOL ORANGE™.

"The only back-to-school commercial (and I'm actually not even sure it IS back-to-school, which makes me love it all the more) that hasn't made me want to hurt someone is this one.

I mean, come on. Kids in backpacks dancing SHOULD annoy me, but "We Want the Funk" by Parliament is playing. It's okay by me. In fact, it makes me laugh so hard I nearly unseat myself every time it comes on TV (Yup, I'm THAT dynamite. Don't be too jealous).
By the way, I could have discovered a new continent, hiked the Himalayas and grown a full beard in the time it took to upload that video, so please enjoy the dancing children and Parliament. In fact, please watch it more than once, so I feel like I've gotten my money's worth.

Anyway, back to my point. If you are a commercial for jeans or cars or cellphones or what-have-you, just SAY THAT. Don't do all this "Fall is here! School is starting! WHOOPEEE! Now buy me!" shit. I am, while perhaps not MENSA-level in the brainpower department, not stupid enough to fall for your transparent schemes. In fact, it for some reason brings to mind an old Mitch Hedberg quote which I heard whilst suffering through the five-decades-long act of a misguided stand-up comedian who thought it would be awesome to retell EVERY JOKE MITCH HEDBERG EVER TOLD in a fist-eatingly dull monotone. “I hate turkeys. If you stand in the meat section at the grocery store long enough, you start to get mad a turkeys. There's turkey ham, turkey bologna, turkey pastromi,.Some one needs to tell the turkey, man, just be yourself."- Mitch Hedberg.
It's not like I'm totally DREADING the new school year, but the constant barrage of reminders makes me feel kind of panicky and boxed-in, kind of like on Sunday night when you've done no work and you have mounds of things due tomorrow morning and you've chosen to spend your evening inhaling empty and completely unnecessary calories, talking on the phone about nothing, watching TiVoed Top Chef episodes and wishing you could trade your crappy sorbet for smoked scallops in truffle sauce.
It's just a stressy, fidgety feeling that hangs just out of reach at the back of your mind like a particularly annoying mosquito you can't quite swat. "Only a week to go! Have you shopped yet? Are you prepared? Are you ready? Do you have your stuff yet? Do you? DO YOU? DO YOU?" And the incessant commercials really only exacerbate that general on-edge nerviness. Keep in mind that I am not a person who deals well with pressure- the night before a big paper is due, you are most likely to find me running in circles in my room screaming and drinking caffeinated beverages and drafting mental plans to escape to Uruguay, far, far away from papers and responsibilities. I'm trying to get my mind off the nerves by looking at amusing pictures such as this one (heh. Animals are funny) but it's not working.
You know what, I'm going to get my inner Crazy Mumbling Lady on the Street Who Throws Wine Bottles on and say that it is all the GOVERNMENT'S fault that back-to-schoolsiness is being forced upon us. Can we all be in agreement that it is the government's fault? Thank you.

In other news, I am totally coveting this little mod coat from Popgloss for back-to-...Oh God, now I'M doing it! FALL, I meant. I'm coveting it for FALL. I know mustard yellow flatters nobody, but isn't it sort of adorable? These earrings would put me nicely in touch with my inner vineyard-owning, wine-tasting gutter lush. I also have a deep, infinite, passionate, Mr. Darcy-and-Elizabeth-Bennett-style love for these pumps. Oh sweet God. They make me want to be a better woman. I think they would look so great under sheer or opaque tights, and even though I tend to shy away from backless in fall I would completely make a grand exception (that is, if some kind fairy godmother were to get totally high and decide she needed to buy these for me). Oooh, in spite of my annoyance with BTS merchandising I must say fall is one of my favorite style seasons. I'll probably do a post about my fall wish list soon (so think of this as the preliminaries, if you will), and I am fairly excited to go FALL shopping. Just fall. Not the dreaded BTS-word. Or perhaps...AUTUMN shopping. Does that have a nicer ring to it? I think it does.

THE MOVIE, MUSIC, TV & BOOK CORNER- So I have a problem. I have a deep, long-running loathing of the show called The Hills. Surely you know it. Cat-fighting, club-hopping bitches bond over boys and rip each other apart over rumors. I mean, really, I hate this show. I think the world would be a better place if it didn't exist. And I know what you're thinking- "If you don't like The Hills, just STEER CLEAR OF IT. Christ." But it's not that easy. I'll be on the treadmill or reading a magazine and info about The Hills will just plant itself into my brain in a way that info about World War I never did, and before you know it I know exactly who Audrina Partridge is and who she lives with and who she's dating. It's embarrassing for me, a professed Hills-hater; I'll be ranting about the annoyingness of this show, and whomever I'm talking to will mention mildly that I seem to know an awful lot about it for someone who hates it so much. And I'm left to turn purple, mutter something under my breath, and slink away in shame like a...shamed slinky. Do you see my paradox? It's not like I'm saying people shouldn't WATCH The Hills if they're so inclined- I am hardly a map of good TV taste myself (I have seen every episode of Saved By The Bell ever made, as well as Full House, and I'm a sucker for that gloriously, painfully tacky "is-this-what-our-country's-youth-is-coming-to" show My Super Sweet 16. And I have been known on more than one occasion to sit through a made-for-TV Lifetime special starring Nancy McKeon). And I know if I REALLY didn't want to know about the show, I could stay as far away as possible. But our damn culture makes it so hard to remain cool, aloof and ignorant about bad TV! Damn you, pop culture! So, to sum up...The Hills sucks, and I'm a hypocrite.
Being the world's biggest Jane Austen fan, I decided to swallow my misgivings (i.e. Anne Hathaway annoys the crap out of me, and she looks like she'd be really smug and obnoxious if you met her in person) and go see Becoming Jane. My verdict? Ehhh. It's not that Hathaway was awful- she actually wasn't half bad-but the whole thing was sort of...I don't know. Succinct, aren't I? Basically, I don't claim to be an expert on Jane Austen's life, and I have no problem with cutening up history to sell movie tickets, but it all felt a little fake and fluffy. I didn't hate it, though (in fact, at times I really liked it), and I am now predictably in love with James McAvoy. They did have good chemistry, even if the whole thing felt a little bit farce-like. When I got home from the movie, craving more Austenization, I watched the original version of Pride and Prejudice, with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. Awesome.
Being a literary scholar of extreme proportions, I am reading a little-known tome called Uncle John's Curiously Compelling Bathroom Reader, which I (sadly enough) recieved as a Christmas gift. It is kind of curiously compelling. Do you know the origin of boxer shorts? Well, I do. And it is juicy.

Ooh, and I just read a little book called Back Talk, by our own ALEX RICHARDS! SQUEEE! It was great, and I was flipping out over the coolness of the fact that SOMEONE WHOSE BLOG I READ WROTE IT! Happy days indeed. Everyone read it, you won't be sorry. And I'm not just saying that because there's a good chance A.R. will read this- it's a really cute, funny, well-written book and the author doesn't condescend to you the way teen-lit authors usually do. Plus, quotes from Heathers!

In music news, I just discovered Carole King. Why did nobody tell me how great she was before?

SIGHTINGS- I finally saw someone walking around in a House Of Holland tee. It was the "Cause Me Pain, Hedi Slimane" one. Oh, and by the way? The new "Cum Again, Christopher Kane" shirt? Naughty! And kind of gross, actually. But mostly, naughty! And I also saw a girl prancing around in the sparkly blue equivalent of Maya's inexplicably amazing pink glittery shoes (I don't know if they were actually the same shoes- they didn't have the rockin' bow that Maya's do, but they were still le sex). What is it with you girls and your amazing footwear? I'm wearing straw flip-flops with a hole in the bottom right now. They're embellished with koalas eating bamboo. Seriously. This is why I'm hot.

CURRENT ATTIRE- The aforementioned straw koala flip-flops, funky graffiti-printed Smack boy shorts, soft, comfy white V-neck tee. The sort of thing you can only wear with a coffee and muffin in the bliss of solitude.

Oh, I almost forgot! I didn't announce the winners of my Bratz caption contest in my last post, so after careful deliberation, here goes...

What is this Brat thinking?
In 1st place is the fabulous Dilemma, with "Note to self-must remember to fill Valtrex perscription ASAPZ. These crabs are so itchy! Bee Tee Double-U, what is this femininininsm? Is that itchy too?"
AWESOME. Dilemma, as a prize for your supercalifragilistic wit you will win the following mention of how rockin' and hilarious you are. I know it's a lame prize but we at the Emma Corporation are cheap. If I was craftsy I could send you some funky Etsy jewelry like Ambika does, but...I am not craftsy. Sorry. But really, people, Dilemma's blog is frighteningly well-written, hysterically amusing and she basically never does a bad post. So check it out if you haven't already.
In 2nd place is the lovely Mrs. Fashion, with " " Yep, that's right. She's not thinking anything.
At. All.
Her brain is empty.
Have I won?
Why yes, Mrs. Fashion, you have, because I laughed out loud reading this. By the way, those are quotation marks with nothing in them, as in to indicate that the Brat's mind is blank. But you all probably got that.
In 3d place is the brilliant AmyLiz with "Oooh, furry zebra print purple patent clogs falling from the sky? A giant blue and pink teddy bear to complete my lovely lovenest? Oh, no, a..." *CLONK as a large safe smashes her flat on the sidewalk*
Brill. Check out her blog, people, it's muy cool.
BONUS- Maddy's "This is my pensive face." Simple, yet hilarious.
By the way, you are all so farking funny that it was INCREDIBLY difficult to select just a few winners. Stop being so witty, you b!tches! No, don't, really. Me likey humor.

до свидания, забавные люди
(I'll leave you to figure out what that means in Russian)

2007-08-16T18:32:00.001-07:00

At this particular moment in time, I'm living in that delightful midsummer limbo during which it's not quite time to be panicking and itching and frothing at the mouth about another year of school soon to come, yet not quite at that point where it's hot and sticky and every day the New York streets are sweating with too many boiling, tired people vying to make it home in time to collapse in front of the air conditioning all afternoon with a cold beverage and the latest "ANGELINA AND BRAD ARE HAPPY...OH WAIT, NO, NO, MY MISTAKE, THEIR MARRIAGE IS OVER, THEY ARE LIVING A SHAM OF A FARCE OF A LIE, THEY ARE TWO BROKEN HALVES OF A WHOLE, BRAD HATES ANGIE AND IS PLOTTING TO TAKE OVER THE LOST CITY OF ATLANTIS WITH JENNIFER ANISTON, ANGIE IS TAKING THE KIDS AWAY FROM BRAD OH WAIT NO MAYBE THERE'S HOPE YET FOR BRAD AND ANGIE NOW OH AND BY THE WAY BUY THIS SHIRT AND THESE SHOES BECAUSE THEN YOU'LL BE COOL AND FAMOUS TOO" magazine.

I must confess to perusing many a sand-encrusted copy of InTouch or Us Weekly while lying on the beach or sitting on an infernally hot subway, but at least I can say that have little real interest in Brad and Angie's relationship, or, for that matter, exactly whose pants Lindsay Lohan squires cocaine around Los Angeles in. I hereby wash my hands of the whole sordid matter.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
There.
Anyway, where was I before my brain ran off without me?
Oh yes.
My summer has been filled with all the regular idyllic things like the ocean, the smell of honeysuckle, iced coffee, et cetera, but that sort of thing is boring to write about and even more boring to read about. So, I've compiled for your reading entertainment the Emma's Schizophrenic Summer Playlist and Movie List. Enjoy!

"Alison" by Elvis Costello.
Now, I don't know if anyone else is familiar with this phenomenon, but sometimes you'll be driving around and a certain song will come on the radio and you can't help but scream out the lyrics and bob your head energetically from side to side in a way that is disturbing both to your fellow passengers, general passersby, and/or street-corner hoboes stealing banana peels from garbage cans whom you might drive past. "Alison" is one of these songs.
AAALLLISOOON, I KNOW THIS WORLD IS KILLING YOOOOOOOUUUUUU...
ALLLISOOON, MY AIM IS TRUUUUUUUUE...
MY AIM IS TRUUUUUUE...
MY AIM IS TRUEEEEEEEEE.

"Swallow" by The Wailin' Jennys.
I'm generally not a folksy person- I have no interest in prairie skirts (with the exception of one misguided, on-sale ankle-length Kenzo tent-masquerading-as-skirt I once wore out for a full four hours before running home in shame) or grinding my own maize or whatever it is folkspeople do.
But I think The Jennys (we in-the-know hipsters are permitted to shorten the band's name from The Wailin' Jennys to simply...The Jennys. Avant-garde, yes? Yes.) could convert even the grittiest, concrete-jungle-loving, sunshine-and-happiness-hating Nuuu Yawker.

"California" by Joni Mitchell.
I don't think you really need to explain this song.
I'll just say that it has been the soundtrack to many an Emma Mini-Road Trip.
And while we're on the subject of road trips, and, therefore, on the subject of greasy food chains one might need to stop at whilst taking said road trip, try the Baconator at Wendy's.
SIX STRIPS OF BACON.
Joni Mitchell and bacon. 'Nuff said.

"Raspberry Beret" by Prince.
Whenever I type the word "Prince" on this blog, I feel like I should pay a royalty to The Molly (I was going to write The Princetastic Molly, but then I decided that was stupid, and I deleted the "Princetastic" but forgot to delete the "The", and then I thought this could be kind of a cool nickname for Molly if she's into it. I always wanted to be called The Emma. God, I need to be put in a group home somewhere).
THIS SONG IS THE MOST DANCEABLE SONG OF 2007. And that is coming from a girl who has sworn off dancing in public, because when she dances she looks like this.

God, I miss that show sometimes.

This last one is a double feature...
"That Time" and "Summer In The City" by Regina Spektor.
I felt I had to include "Summer In The City" because, well...come on.
It's summer.
I live in a city.
It's a beautiful, haunting, exquisitely worded song.
Blah, blah, blah.
"That Time" is one of my all-time favorite Spektor songs.
It is best suited for sitting out on my fire escape with cold, milky coffee and a plaintive, fast-paced, caffeine-induced mood.
It bounces off my walls in a way I very much enjoy.
God, in my next life I want to be Regina Spektor. Is that possible?
So, those are the songs that have been governing my summer.
Next up, my new favorite movie...
"The Talented Mr. Ripley".
An almost-perfect movie, as far as I'm concerned.
Tom Ripley: I always thought it would be better, to be a fake somebody... than a real nobody.

Whenever I watch the jazz club scene, I miss Italy so much. Americano, Americano!
I was going to use that as the title of this post, but I thought everyone who hadn't seen The Talented Mr. Ripley (poor misguided souls) would think I was insane.
Honestly, it was extremely odd to watch this brilliantly crafted movie filled with interesting plot twists, amazing fashion (all the women in this movie are dressed in a way that makes me crave a life of red-lipped, full-skirted privilege in the fifties) and gorgeous men (yes, I'm a teenage girl. Yes, I love Matt Damon and his nerdy glasses in this movie, even if he is incredibly creepy. I couldn't help rooting for him anyway, which I think is part of the genius of the plot. P.S. Not to be declasse, but...Jude Law's ass.
When he was still attractive.
You're welcome).
Anyway, it was odd to watch this movie, because the night before I'd gone to see "I Know Who Killed Me."
I, and everyone I was with, spent the entire movie alternating between hysterical laughter and begging one another "Please, let's leave, while we're still young. I can't do this anymore! SOMEONE, PLEASE, TAKE ME HOME!".
I mean, are you supposed to take that movie seriously?
I find it impossible that someone picked up the script, read through it and said, "Wow. We have to make this happen. Someone find me Lindsay Lohan and a pole and a bunch of prosthetic limbs".
The simple contrast between the two movies is mindblowing. They're at completely opposite ends of the spectrum.
I can barely wrap my mind around the fact that they're both referred to as movies, and I am NOT exaggerating. If you think I am, go catch the matinee of "I Know Who Killed Me".
Voila, end of list. Fairly short list, huh?
I guess it was more like a mental Post-It note of random jottings.

SIGHTINGS- Oh, the glory. A gorgeous red-haired couple, the girl in one of those Indian beaded shift things that look good on nobody except for gorgeous slim girls, the guy in fitted, long dark denim shorts and a white mens' tank with white Converse. They looked fantastic, like some sort of annoyingly, simply perfect ad for annoying, simple perfection. A pixielike Asian girl with idirescent yellow eyeshadow, a small black canvas miniskirt, a purple, red and pink block-print tee, and those much-coveted shiny Christian Louboutins. And it all worked. Lucky bitch. A gorgeous guy with an Afro in a simple white button-down and khaki pants, with vintage penny loafers and an amazing chocolate-colored man bag. A girl in a sparkly silver bikini and gunmetal silver flats which for some reason I completely coveted. She managed to look neither like a disco ball nor a Miss America Reject, and it turned out very chic.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Red-and-white floral-type knee-length skirt, tight white tank top, red shiny ballet flats, red vintage bangle. I feel like a fire engine, but I like it.

<3

Oh, The Humanity!

2007-08-04T21:00:00.000-07:00

Up until a few days ago, I had no particular vendetta against Bratz! dolls (except for the fact that their name comes with an exclamation point. This is unforgivable in my book). They were just those oddly slutty dolls with the smushed faces and the faux fur miniskirts and the lips the size of Jupiter. Vaguely disturbing, but that's life.
However, I just discovered that the Bratz! are starring in their own personal MOVIE. Is that okay with the world at large? Because it's not okay with me. What's the tagline? "Lobotomiez R Supercute!" "Brain Removal Is So Totally SQUEE!"? They remind me of trashier versions of the Aerie Girls who used to talk about Gilmore Girls on the CW. You know, "OHMYGOD OHMYGOD I LOVE LORELAI'S SHIRT SO MUCH AND I REALLY LIKE THE GUY RORY IS DATING HE IS SO PRETTY I LIKE WHEN BOYS HAVE, LIKE, HAIR AND EYES AND TEETH IT IS SO HAWT OHMYGOD DOES ANYBODY HAVE ANY OXYCONTIN?"

This is a picture of a Bratz doll. WHY ARE HER LIPS 90% OF HER FACE? WHY ARE HER JEANS EMBELLISHED WITH DIAMANTE? WHY IS SHE WEARING A CROPPED RED TUBE TOP? Do we seriously want the six-year-olds of today running around showing the world their vajayjays? I'm not some insane no-fun stickler who frowns upon young women who dare to expose their kneecaps and thinks Barbie is Satan spelled backwards (Barbie, although hardly a positive role model, at least seems like she would know how to spell CAT if she were a person), but buying your children Bratz can only encourage a love of recreational Robitussin and driving around in enormous Range Rovers with boys named Gregg and Chadd who are so thoroughly baked that they can't even see you.

Oh my God. When I have kids, I'm putting them in a convent. Who looks at this toy and thinks, "Hmmm. We should market this to children"? It looks like a tiny plastic sex slave. It is wearing a minuscule pleather skirt which is only SECONDS away from an unfortunate chocha-airing (Winona, your thoughts on this?), hooker boots, a little belly-exposing jacket, and a face full of makeup and hair extensions which frankly scream "I am a miniature porn star". I ain't no Quaker (I'm a big fan of the leather skirt and boots, except my leather skirt actually CLOAKS my REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS, and my boots don't have secret compartments in them to stash one-dollar bills in), but surely this can't be normal? And people WONDER why the youth of America keep putting their vaginas on display and passing out and ODing on cocaine and getting arrested? The answer lies in the Dolls aisle at Toys R' Us. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer the dolls that gradually make children develop eating disorders- these Bratz are just so blatantly disgusting.

She looks like a tiny extra from the set of "Greasy, Skeevy Porno- Part IV". It makes me want to go fetal and cry for awhile (tiny formal booty shorts! LEOPARD PRINT! Pancake makeup! Is someone out there trying to KILL ME?). If the only alternative to Bratz (and while we're on the subject of the name, can we talk about how not EVERYTHING HAS TO HAVE A Z IN IT? Try these on for size- Skankz? Prostitutez? Dirty Homewreckerz? Venereal-Dizeaze Carrierz?) is those prissy American Girl dolls, I will gladly devote my life to manufacturing them and sewing their little gingham aprons by hand. If you gave a Bratz doll a gingham apron, she would fashion it into a backless thong evening gown in a nanosecond. And then she would paint "SEXXXY" across the ass in rhinestones. And then she would splatter two big glitter handprints over the tetas.

I'm not even going to talk about the fact that this Sporty Spice Brat is wearing a HOT-PINK PLEATHER JUMPSUIT. It was okay for the real Sporty Spice, because it's not like she actually played sports. But presumably Sporty Brat would, you know, PLAY sports, and not just drop her pleather jumpsuit for the lacrosse captain. Whatever. My main problem is that the box says, Bratz Play Sportz. SPORTZ. No. Just...no. JUST SAY SPORTS. MY GOD. I need a cold shower, and a nap. Sweet Jesus.

Apparently, some forward-thinking, trenchant young intellect at the Bratz! corporation has decided to give the girls the one thing missing from their lives...
Their own personal brand of Pimpz. In Mac Daddy sunglasses, with air guitars. Haven't you heard? Brothel(z) are totally the new pink.
Bad enough that mothers are actually BUYING THEIR CHILDREN THESE TOYS- do we really need a MOVIE? It makes my head hurt. Times like these, I understand the appeal of Maria's abbey. I would have locked myself up in that shit FOREVER, and prayed so hard even Mother Superior would have wanted to take me out for a stress-relieving cocktail. To satisfy the need for a more...chaste children's toy, but still with a dash of sex appeal for those more promiscuous nine-year-olds, I have devised a toy which I like to call...Nunz™ !

Nunz™ are a stylin' nine-and-a-half inches from top to toe. They come with personalized rhinestone-encrusted wimples, and their flowing floor-length robes can be customized to read "Fraulein #1", "Sister SEXXXIE", or "Your Monk Thinks I'm Hot". They are also required to wear the traditional black slip-on loafers- however, there is a new alternative hot-pink faux-fur-covered loafer that can be substituted for the black ones.
Nunz™ are still in the development stage, but to get the main idea of their super-sexy (yet surprisingly chaste!) look, picture this...
+ = your average Nunz™ doll!
Order fast, because I have a funny feeling these babies will sell like hotcakes. Speaking of which, the first two hundred people to order a Nunz™ doll will also get their own personal Bible embroidered with their choice of slogans- "HOTCAKES", "BAPTIZED BABE" or "JESUS HAS MY CELL #". Call us now! 1800-Nunz, or you can email at TheNunzShallInheritTheEarth@msn.com.

Now, I'm really not a fan of any childrens' doll currently on the market (I was never a very dolly person. I did have Barbies, but I ended up tattooing and eyelinering them beyond recognition), but Bratz are the only doll that sends me into self-righteous flames of feminist anger. I hate to agree with the religious right on anything, but seriously, these dolls are not healthy. Why can't it be like in the old days, when our parents would just let us play with knives and guns and Advil in the sandbox? See, I turned out fine. Right? Right?
RIGHT?

I thought so.
To end this post, I will give you lurvely readers a little challenge.

Caption this Brat's thoughts. What is she thinking? The most amusing submission (i.e. the submission that makes me spit out my drink in unattractive snorting laughter the farthest) will win a SPECIAL GIFT!!!*
*The Special Gift will most likely involve a little message-mention in my next blog post about how cool you are. Also, I'll send you a Nunz™ doll when they're done being manufactured.

MUSIC, BOOKS, MOVIES + TV CORNER- Okay, I didn't get to make this joke in my last Potter-related post *takes deep breath and prepares blogosphere for extreme hilarity*
Pretty deathly, those hallows, eh?
*collapses in fit of mirth, snorting and cackling with glee at own wit*.
Shhh. Let it wash over you and enjoy it.
Anyway, I definitely did not read the book AGAIN, so be quiet. The fabulous Shelby pointed out in a comment last post that J.K. Rowling must have totally ripped the epilogue off from, like, fanfiction.net. True! So true! For SHAME, Rowling! Oh well, you wrote 7 perfect and amazing books so I forgive you.
I was just thinking about an episode of a TV show I saw at the beginning of the year, where all the characters conspire to rob Mick Jagger. It was odd, and awesome, and it made me think about which celebrity I would want to rob, you know, if I rolled that way.
I would rob Lindsay Lohan BLIND, so maybe she would stop spending all her damn money on BLOW.
I'm sorry, I felt bad for her at first because she is at least marginally more talented than most, and could one day be a decent, maybe even better-than-decent actress if she just stopped being such a cokehead, but suck it up. Keep your damn nose clean, kid. If you want an avalanche of white powder, go to Aspen.

Music-wise...um, embarrassingly enough, I've been listening to a lot of Journey. She's just a small town girl...living in a LONELY WO-ORLD...she took a midnight train going aaannnyyywheeere... speaking of which, did everyone else see the Bill+Hil campaign-song Sopranos spoof? I swear to God, it made my month. Doggone it, I kind of love those Clintons, I cannot lie.

Even though I'm completely rooting for Obama. Hopefully, he'll make an entertaining campaign video soon. And hopefully, it too will star Bill Clinton.
Also, I just discovered Guster's "Carol of Meows" and am already looking forward to shaping my Christmas around it.
Of course, the Beatles' "Rubber Soul" has been enchanting me. I've also been listening to Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed", and it blows my mind. As does "Blackbird"- single most lovely lyrics of any Beatles song, in my opinion. Although that's a tough contest.
TV-wise...it's August, nothing is on. Oy. I'm going to have to better myself...through LITERATURE. Blech! Reading! Just kidding, I am a complete book whore.

SIGHTINGS- Your mom.
Yeah. I made a "your mom" joke. I saw your mom.
Look, there is NOTHING, all right? I saw a woman in a SCRUNCHIE yesterday. At the risk of sounding like the episode of SATC where Annoying Bradshaw rabbits on for two hours about how nobody in New York wears scrunchies and her poor, beleaguered new boyfriend finally sees the light and slowly starts to hate her as much as I did, scrunchies should be burned alongside Crocs in a communal ritualistic bonfire. Perhaps the Fug Girls could preside over it.

CURRENT ATTIRE- My new electric-blue T-shirt dress, with a waist-cinching belt, a white tank underneath, and my navy wedges. This will be my new summer standby outfit, I believe.

<3

2007-07-29T12:28:00.000-07:00

OY!!!
Yes, it's me! Pick your shattered spectacles up from the kitchen floor and wipe off your computer monitors (no, I don't know), for it is I! I am so excited to be rambling off on one of my sunny midmorning rambles (actually, it's two-thirty in the afternoon and pouring rain. But, as usual, go with it). As Brick Tamland would say, LOUD NOISES! Personally, I don't think I needed to add that link, because any person of true soul and strength of character would implicitly understand that Anchorman reference without the help of Wikipedia. Still, I do what I can for the soulless among us.
It has been a crazy month full of long, steaming, fry-a-sausage-on-the-street summer days and carefree, halcyon summer nights. In fact, I wish this amazing month of belly-dancing classes and bad haircuts and freshly cut grass and faraway sojourns wasn't behind me, but it is, which means it far past time to get cracking on Blogger and churn out some fresh insanity for you loyal readers.
I have just bid adieu to the beautiful Seattle, WA and resignedly returned to the tri-state area. So, as an homage to my completely amazing week here I want to do a little photo post. Be warned, ye townspeople and villagers- don't prepare yourself for traditional holiday photos. There will be nary a frightening beaming blond child in sight- obligatory Hawaiian shirts and bunny ears are replaced by enormous stuffed hot dogs and scads of vintage clothing. Enjoy!
My first stop on the Emma Tour de Seattle was the Sculpture Garden.

For something that was vaguely educational (or at least, not detrimental to my education) it was a lot of fun. Yes, that's an Alexander Calder...er...odd pointy orange sculpture thing, and yes, I think that tree is wrapped in cellophane. I also got to try out my rebellious new personality at the Sculpture Garden.

Yup. Despite the "Thank You For Staying On The Path" sign, I declined to stay on the path. I touched the grass with my toe. I veered off the path. I am nothing short of a fierce, troublemaking hellion. Perhaps I am even a scoundrel. Who can say for sure?
Next up...the Pike Place Market! Lots of noise, and tourists, and angry T-shirt vendors and such.
Yes, that is an enormous stuffed hot dog hanging from the ceiling. Even in New York, street dog capital, we have not such miraculous inventions. I expressed some interest in buying it to adorn my room, but according to the oddly smiley clerk (EVERYONE is oddly smiley in Seattle. After three days, I was positively longing to see the familiar scowls of the sullen, inattentive waitresses working at my favorite NYC haunts) at the hot-dog store, it is Not For Sale. Shame.

Now, the below picture may just look like an innocent furry-boots-and-mukluks stall. However, if you look closely you will start to see the shape of a scary, glowering old man amongst the boots. That is mostly because there IS a scary, glowering old man amongst the boots. He seriously looks like he is about to jump out of the computer and do me bodily harm, and when I took the picture (not realizing he was there) he grumbled and groaned loud enough to wake the dead. Well, as Andy Warhol says, Mr. Mukluk Man, we all have our fifteen minutes of fame...

I like this below T-shirt picture. It says that It is All Good. I choose to believe the gospel of the T-shirt.

After Pike Place Market, there was...

Now, this is the kind of bookstore I wish I could live out the rest of my life and afterlife in. I, being the biggest reading nerd this side of Hermione Granger (HP reference #1. Seriously, if you have an ounce of coolness within you, do yourself a favor now and exit my blog. I may slowly but surely suck it out of you. God knows I could use it), expressed a distinct desire to be buried in the fiction section (always my favorite section of any bookstore).

Shelves. But you probably got that. Yeah, no, I totally knew it was a book before it was a movie. Knew it the whole time (awkward laughter and knee-slappage to convey familiarity with important global warming tome). You can never have too many copies... New Yorker cartoons are a Manhattanite's A-B-Cs. Surprisingly excellent short stories when you get past the...ahem...assertive cover. Finally answering the age-old question, "What to get your stoner friend for his or her birthday/the holidays". Perhaps Emily Post should make note of this in her next book. Or maybe Miss Manners. I once read an entire Miss Manners book when I was eight and bored. It was actually quite fascinating in a car-crashy way, and now I know how to politely turn down a panhandler on the subway. A cute retrosexual boy and I reached for the same copy of this at the bookstore, but unfortunately since my life is not a chick flick we did not partake in exchanging witty pleasantries and exchanging contact information in order to meet up at a dimly lit bar and flirt over Cosmopolitans. He just gallantly let me take the book and then took the copy underneath it. Ehh. What're you gonna do.
And now for the stuff everybody seems to find the most interesting...the CLOTHES. Seattle has a fantastic shopping area. I got to go around to vintage stores introducing myself to the owners as a fashion blogger (so pretentious! So snotty! So much fun! I felt like the Queen of England, if she deigned to leave the palace and make a pilgrimage to the Emerald City vintage scene) and taking pictures. Therefore, consider me your guide to thrift/vintage/cheap shopping in Seattle!
1. Synapse Clothing
The supercool owner, shown here holding up an amazing pink vintage raincoat, let me wander around and take photos of the shop.

She also told me that she salvaged these funky tiger-print stools from an old Seattle nightclub. The store was kind of pricey and maybe a little too offbeat for me, but it was great and she was really sweet.

2. Le Frock

This was the most amazing store, practically a shoe haven which was fine by me seeing as I completely adore vintage shoes (a little skeevy, you say? Nah, not so bad once you've Lysolled the crap out of 'em). There was a whole staircase dotted with sporadic shoes on each step. There was also a Local Designers rack featuring mainly the fantastic Suzabelle. I bought two things, which I will show off at the end of this post with my other purchases. Basically, if you only have time for one vintage shop in Seattle...go to this one.
And finally...
3. Red Light Vintage

So, quite obviously, I want to live here, if not for the awesome clothes and shoes and storefront mannequins, then at least for the Elvis bust.
Check those stores out if you're ever in the Seattle area.
And now, for the feature presentation...all five bajillion of the clothes, etc. I bought in Seattle (before you get the impression that I'm loaded and rolling in the dough and such, you should know that I am, not to brag, a supreme bargain shopper so this was all fairly cheap)!!!
My gray, black and white eye-pattern minidress, which is so much cuter than it looks in the picture. My funky striped rugby shirt which looks great belted at the waist with my purple cinch belt and blue skirt. It only cost $3! My standby new electric blue T-shirt-dress which I will pretty much be living breathing eating sleeping walking reading blathering foaming raving and generally existing in for as long as the weather permits me to. My belts! My prides! My joys! Two dollars each at a thrift shop near my hotel! My pretty gray skirt, fairly nondescript but I needed some new skirts. Little vintage canvas bolero such as an army dude might wear, only perhaps not so cropped (it'll be cute with a sloppy tank and jeans, I think). I love this skirt, especially since it cost $6 and it goes with everything and it isn't a Predictable Denim Mini (although I have a few of those in my closet as well, including one mysterious size-00 one from Abercrombie which has been there forever and I know isn't mine as I haven't been a size 00 since the doctors cut the umbilical cord and probably not even then). This is the skirt I want to wear with the rugby shirt. This shirt is like a normal shirt on acid. It makes me want to wear neon and run about splattering canvases with lead paint and having affairs with artists and so on. This is the Suzabelle tunic top I bought, but since the website's picture of it is better than my own, there you go. I plan to wear a tank under it, for modesty's sake. New favorite shoes. 'Nuff said.
I also got a purple shirtdress which isn't photogenic and an Emma Brite charm bracelet and a purple tote bag which inspired the dippy salesgirl at the store I bought it from to expound for twenty minutes upon the unadulterated cuteness of bunnies (the bag has a cartoon bunny decal on it, you see), but I am on picture overload so you'll just have to trust that they exist and are currently making me very happy with this embarrassment of riches. Seattle was seriously one of the coolest places I've ever visited and I can't wait to go back.
Oh, by the way, TOUCHE19 YOU LUCKY THING I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE MOVING TO SEATTLE HAVE A CUP OF COFFEE FOR ME AND PERHAPS A BLUEBERRY SCONE BECAUSE DAMN THOSE PASTRIES ARE GOOD IN SEATTLE AND WHAT WAS I DOING? OH, RIGHT...

The Music, Movie & Book Corner- HARRY POTTER HARRY POTTER HARRY POTTER. Good lord. The one thing I pride myself on is that I wasn't camped out at the store when it opened on the night it came out. I just. Er. Sped down to the Barnes & Noble as early as possible the next morning to get that 398439483-page book in my hands and Complete The Journey. Being a confessed Potter nerd, I spent the next 12 hours in a wizards' reverie- 6 reading, 6 contemplating. It wasn't my favorite in the series, and don't even get me STARTED on that crappy epilogue what the hell was THAT J.K. Rowling but it was really good and oh God it's over now and I may need to go boil my head. I used to wear a Harry Potter backpack. Sad, but true. And now it's the end of an eraaaaaaaaa...At least Ron and Hermione ended up together. Also cheering me up is the Hairspray movie, which I disturbingly enough kind of enjoyed. What can I say, I like John Travolta as a woman, I like dancing, I like integration. So all the core parts are there. Right now I have the Rolling Stones on heavy rotation (I bought a Stones tee at the Experience Music Project, which was perhaps the most incredible experience of my life in Seattle. It's a music museum which was featuring a Jimi Hendrix exhibit when I went there, and I would have taken pictures except you aren't allowed and the guards get all pissy and take away your camera phone), as well as, oddly enough, Rihanna's "Shut Up and Drive". Rihanna's not my favorite (so help me God, if I hear about her damn umbrella-ella-ella-e-e-e one more time I am going to STAB SOMEONE WITH IT), but this song is so helplessly catchy.

SIGHTINGS- Instead of doing a traditional Sightings log, can I scan in some cool pictures that didn't fit in anywhere else? Great. Thanks.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Stones tee, black terrycloth shorts, knee-length stripy socks, flip-flops (ONLY AT HOME, mind you. Only at home are socks and sandals permissible, and not even then, really. I'm just feeling jetlagged and lazy) I'm BACK, baby!

Insane, inappropriate amounts of love (and apologies for jumping ship for a month),
Emma!!!

If These Models Could Talk...

2007-06-19T09:48:00.000-07:00

"Mmm, the inside lining of the pockets of this romper is amaaazing. Seriously, it feels like lanolin. You know. Lanolin. SHEEPS' WOOL? God, you models really are stupid. Didn't anybody else go to night school? But honestly, this is the most supple romper lining I could ever imagine. It's like hearts and stars and moonbeams and the Baby Jesus's top hat and my landlord's beard all rolled into one. Come feel this pocket, you guys. No, FEEL IT. No, I am not coked out, I am the FUTURE OF AMERICA. Look at me. I am a shining goddess. And what is THAT supposed to mean? ARE YOU SAYING I'M GREASY? Stop throwing tweezers at me! I'll pluck when I DAMN WELL WANT TO! You guys! Stop! I thought we were friends! What are you DOING? I don't WANT a Pond's wipe! I happen to LIKE my face with a little MOISTURE! You guys! You guys?....Fine. I don't need you anyway. I'll just play with my LANOLIN."

"What up, BITCH? Yeah, that's right, I called you bitch. I called you OUT, man, what're you gonna do about it? I am STRAIGHT UP HOOD. Westchester County, REPRESENT! Holla to my playaz! I am so hood that I should be wearing a HOODIE. Yeah! Das RIGHT! That's what we call STREET HUMOR! No, fo' real, dawg, I can't believe those chicks in the bathroom at Hyde last night were clownin' me like that. What were they saying? They were all "You have BOY PARTS, get out of the GIRLS' ROOM, no TESTES allowed" an' shit. They be crizzazy, because CLEARLY I am a CHICK, and not just a chick but a STRAIGHT UP G of a chick. Just because I like to adjust my crotch once in a while, and I have a penis, don't mean I don't have FEELINGS, yo. The sensitive always be getting DOGGED, yo, straight up DOGGED.
Are you looking at me wrong, foo? What's that you're whispering about? Did I just hear you say HERM?
Oh, it is so ON. I am going to BRING IT. I am going to SERVE IT UP, CAFETERIA-STYLE, with BISCUITS. I am going to SMASH YOU LIKE AN EMPTY CAN OF COKE ZERO WHICH I SMASH BEFORE THROWING IN THE RECYCLING BIN BECAUSE I CARE 'BOUT THE ENVIRONMENT, SUCKA. Let me just roll up my MAD STREET SLEEVES, bitch, and we will GO. It will be ON. It will be BROUGHT. Yeah.
No, wait, dude, NOT COOL. You gots to let me roll it ALL THE WAY UP 'fore we start this up. I is not crazy 'bout no wrinkles, dawg. Shoot, this cost me MAD DOLLAZ at the Westchester County Mall. RESPECT THE SLEEVES, dude. You gots to respect the sleeves."

"Hi. My name is Tracey. Yes it is. Yes it IS! What? What are you TALKING about? I am not the Dark Lord! My name is not Lord Voldemort! It is TRACEY JOHNSON! What is the MATTER with you? Of COURSE I'm not on a mission to take over the wizarding world and destroy the half-blood boy who thwarted me sixteen years ago when I tried to kill him to prevent an ancient prophecy from coming true! I'm a MODEL! I live in Passaic, New Jersey. I commute to work on the PATH train. I have a Springer spaniel named Ulysses. No, for God's sake, I do not use Horcruxes to gain immortality! Look, STOP COVERING YOUR EYES! I am NOT THE DARK LORD! I know my eyes are a little slitty, but GOD. This is actually pretty rude of you. I'm just going to go HOME, okay? I DID NOT KILL ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, NOR DID I INSTRUCT SEVERUS SNAPE TO DO SO, so just SHUT UP.
No, look, I am not going to harm you. Seriously. I don't speak Parseltongue, and I don't have a trained killer snake. You're starting to PISS ME OFF now, you know that? Fine! Well, if that's the way you're going to be about it, then AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"Sigh. Hey, guys. Yes, it's me. Again. At least I'm out of that romper suit. That thing was starting to chafe. But you probably didn't need to know that. God, I hate this job sometimes. I should have just taken that job at Applebee's. At least I would be HELPING people. I mean, nobody here even knows my name, they just refer to me as "the third sister of those fugly twins from ANTM", which I don't think is very neighborly. And people on the street keep coming up to me and patting my back and asking me if I want a sandwich. No I do not WANT a SANDWICH, for God's sake I am at a perfectly fine and healthy weight. And on top of that, people keep trying to ADOPT me, because apparently I look LOST and my eyes look DEAD or something, and that's never really flattering to hear. I just need a niche or something, you know? Something to make me STAND OUT, besides the fact that I could cut someone with my collarbone. Seriously, the other night my roommate wanted a piece of pie and all our silverware was in the dishwasher so we just used my collarbone. It was very improvisational, you know? I should probably tell Martha Stewart about it."

"Maybe I'll grow dreads. I mean, I haven't washed my hair in like three weeks so that's a good start, right? Dreads would TOTALLY make me stand out. Yes. Here is the plan. I will grow dreads and start wearing big horn-rimmed glasses and paint my face kabuki white and only wear coconut shells and maybe some insane designer like that Lagerfeld dude will adopt me as his muse and I will become the new Ikeliene...Iliekene...Ielekine...well, you know, that Dutch girl who dresses all different. This is going to work out SO WELL and once I am a famous model I will be UNTOUCHABLE and I will absolutely be the most famous member of my graduating class back in Montana, even famous-er than that girl who does the traveling cat circus shows, AND that dude who makes all those late-night water-bed infomercials. God, this is so EXCITING!"

"Yeah, no, okay, that was embarrassing for me. I'm so humiliated. I went and told my friends about my dreadlocks plan and they laughed for like two hours and then they forced me to wash my hair, which makes me think that they are not really my friends because real friends love you unconditionally and don't make you bathe. But anyway. I'm just going to have to keep brainstorming. With my face turned to the wall, because I'm too ashamed to face anyone. DREADLOCKS? What was I THINKING? God, I want a Slurpee."

"I don't care what all those modeling agencies who didn't sign me said. Lazy eye is SEXY, because I MAKE IT SEXY. God, that one agency who told me that I resembled a "Eastern European cafeteria worker named Maude" was so totally out of line. I am kind of an inspiration to all those girls out there with twitches and beards and moles who dream of being on the Shopbop wrap dress page, aren't I? I should probably go on Oprah and tell my story. They could call it "Lazy Eye, Busy Schedule," and it could talk about all my achievements in the field of modeling. Maybe I could even go on Ripley's Believe It Or Not, or, hey! I could write a TELL-ALL NOVEL! It could be a SCATHING EXPOSE OF THE FASHION INDUSTRY'S HARSHNESS TOWARDS DISABILITY! And then I could have a BOOK SIGNING, and I could TWITCH A LOT during the reading and people would be SHOCKED yet AMAZED BY MY RESILIENCE.
But, what was I doing? Oh, yes, my big break in front of the Shopbop cameras. Okay, steady, I'll just make my come-hither face. Yeah, yeah, that's right, I know you want this, I'm a maneater, make you work hard, make you cut cards, I'm your dream girl, boys, I'll make you happy, (yeah-yeah), I'm too sexy for my twitches, too sexy for my twitches, so sex-y it itches...Oh my God, I just came up with that on the spot and now I think maybe I should have a MUSIC CAREER. Lazy Eye Records. But first...gotta finish the photo shoot. Okay, time for some Method Modeling. Remember what my old modeling coach said- tell a story with your face. Okay, here's my story. There's a horrible smell right under my nose...yet I'm kind of turned on by it, in an eye-twitching sort of way. Vogue! Vogue! Vogue! I'm ready for my close-up!"

"Oh my God. Oh, my GOD. OHMYGOD. I am going to KILL MY AGENT, and then I am going to BRING HIM BACK TO LIFE AND KILL HIM AGAIN AND STOMP ON HIS TOUPEE. "Oh, don't worry, sweetie, androgynous is sexy." "Oh, don't worry, sweetie, everybody loves a good tank top dress. It keeps 'em guessing! Dress? Shirt? Who's to know? It's all part of the mystery!" I will SHOW YOU A MYSTERY, HARVEY, and it is called NANCY DREW AND THE CASE OF THE MISSING PANTS. You can practically see my COOTCHIE! I'm just going to breathe...breeeaaatheee...and keep my legs squeezed together really tight and clench my fists and pretend I'm on a tropical island. Wearing BOTTOMS. When I see Harvey it is ALL OVER FOR HIM. I am dead serious. God, I look like I was sleeping at my boyfriend's and left my skirt there and decided it would be fun to show up wearing HIS OLD WIFEBEATER. Steady. I must calm myself. What would Jesus do?
At least HIS robes COVERED EVERYTHING THAT NEEDED TO BE COVEERED, if you know what I mean. I am up a creek without pants, so to speak. I am the girl who cried pants. I am the Pantsless Wonder. Yeah, I know it doesn't make sense, but I am VERY STRESSED OUT RIGHT NOW and it is actually pretty CHILLY IN HERE if you're not wearing CLOTHES, so SHUT YOUR FACE. Oh my God my mother is going to see this picture and have a fit. Maybe if I just edge away verrry slow-like...step by step..."

"All right. There is NOTHING degrading about this at all. It is...art. It is a work of art. It could be called "Still Life With Silver Lame Tube Dress". I will just splay out my hands on the wall like so, and "tooch that booty", as Tyra (my cult goddess) would say, and all will be well. As for the face...BLUE STEEL.
Are you smirking at me? You know, in my country we had a word for people like you. JEALOUS OF MY SILVER LAME TUBE DRESS WHICH IS A WORK OF ART AND WILL PROBABLY HANG IN THE LOUVRE ALONGSIDE THAT OTHER PICTURE OF THE GIRL. You KNOW. THIS ONE. She smiles, but you can tell she's thinking "This gown sure is constricting. I wish I had something really classy, like a SILVER LAME TUBE DRESS."

THE TV & MUSIC CORNER- Since I've been spending a very unnatural amount of time at the gym (i.e. actually going), I've been watching a bunch of VH1 while I'm on the elliptical, and I am falling into a deep and disturbing love affair with Charm School. It's so, so, so bad. It's like ANTM's bastard child with Flavor Of Love. But it is INCREDIBLY entertaining. 54th and Crenshaw? I know that actually happened on FOL, but still. I have the lovely Dilemma to thank that ever-entertaining link. Bitch, I don't live in Compton! I'm worried about our future as a society, if this is the relic we will leave behind for future generations. But on the other hand... I think Saaphyri might actually be a genius.
Okay, I haven't discussed the Paristitute's incarceration yet, but basically...people with AIDS are in jail and don't get let out for "panic attacks". I do feel bad that she got let out and then had to go BACK, that sucks, even for her, but basically, to quote the fabulous Boob Lady, "Hey Wonky Eye, don't drop the soap." I swear to God, though, if Nicole Richie goes to jail I will be PISSED OFF. I have to admit, I love her. We're all going to end up working for Nicole Richie one day, you'll see. Music-wise, I know it's been said before, but Regina Spektor is so far beyond amazing. She's the kind of musician who really gets into your soul because the lyrics are as good as the singing.

SIGHTINGS- A really, really cute guy in the street asked me for a lighter. Of course, I didn't have one, and instead of just saying that I practically choked over my own tongue because he was so gorgeous. He was like Holden Caulfield, only not such a whiny pain in the ass. I'm sorry, I loved The Catcher In The Rye but I never warmed to Holden as the "underdog whom every girl loves". But back to the guy- dark jeans, black suit jacket (you know, the fancy ones guys wear to dinners) over a bright purple T-shirt. Vintage-looking sneakers. Very much my type. And I am pleased to say I was out around NYC for three hours today and saw not ONE pair of Tory Burch flats. Progress, no? Last, I was walking in Central Park and caught sight of a girl wearing the most amazing eyelet white minidress (sort of Miu-Miu-esque), fab vintage-y purse and gladiator sandals which I am actually not fond of at all but I let it slide because of the amazingosity of the dress.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Two H&M tanks, Pucci-print boxers.

<3

2007-06-14T13:10:00.000-07:00

So, when we're bored and feeling bitchy (ergo, a LOT of the time) my friend and I like to engage in rapid-fire IMs where we send each other pictures of the clothes and accessories we adore/abhor and exchange positive feedback/bile. For example, she could send me a picture of her younger sister's "My Boyfriend Is Out Of Town" T-shirt and I could snark back "What, attending the 'My Girlfriend Is A Style-Free Tramp With No Dignity' convention? Oh, BURN!" And I would probably write the "Oh, BURN!", because that's just who I am. Or I could send her a picture of these incredible green patent-leather Christian Louboutins, and she could say, "Sweet God, those are STUNNING, when you win the lottery you have to buy those immediately." And then we could have a five-hour conversation about what we would do if we actually won the lottery, and how much money would we have to automatically give to charity in this fantasy so that God will smile upon us at our act of altruism and actually someday let us WIN the real lottery. You know, like when those kids on daytime television donate all their fancy Christmas presents to the local homeless shelter because even though they're rich and privileged they're still selfless and noble and have a social conscience, and then it turns out some wealthy friend of the family is completely blown away by the kid's act of generosity and buys the kid like sixty NEW Christmas presents and they get left under the tree anonymously, and the kid is all "Wow, there really IS a Santa Claus!" And the parents exchange knowing looks, and chuckle and ruffle the kid's hair.
By the way, I would just like to state that this is not how it works in real life. If you donate your Christmas presents to the needy kids' toy drive...those presents are gone. Nobody is going to buy you a state-of-the-art computer and a mountain bike and a chocolate fountain as a reward for your good deed.
Anyway. What was my point? Oh right...
So the other night my friend and I were engaging in this IM discussion. We started out making fun of the shiny gold bike shorts (!?!) over at the American Apparel website, then gradually worked our way over to the canvas ankle boots (designed to swallow your calves and plunge you firmly into cankle territory, if you don't already reside there) at urbn.com. But then, a horrible thing happened. I came across these pink skinny jeans from Urban Outfitters. Of course, my instinct reaction was nausea followed by mocking. But as I attached the picture into the conversation and prepared to send it to her, an awful thing started happening. I began to...maybesortofkindof like them.
I will now transcribe (more or less) what happened after I pasted the picture in.

Me- So what do you think of these pants?
Her- Oh my God. It looks like someone painted two fire hydrants fuchsia, hollowed them out and stuck legs in them (Ed.- it doesn't make sense, but then, if you look at the pants and blink, it kind of does).
Me- But you don't even think they're kind of cute?
Her- Surely you jest.
Me- Je ne jest pas. I think they would work kind of well with my funky pumps? No? And that black shirt?
Her- No. Just...no.
Me- But how about in a different color, like blue? They have them in blue and light green, too.
Her- Do you actually not see the front-crotch-crease camel toe thing they're doing to the model? What is up with Urban Outfitters and camel toe lately (Ed.- I showed her the picture of the romper from my last post)?
Me- But you really don't think they'd be cute AT ALL? Just for when I'm bored with jeans?
Her- Who are you?

So, after that I went off into a little bit of a huff, as I am wont to do (I'm a sensitive girl). However, after careful consideration I realized that these pants are Those Pants. The ones that look relatively innocent and cute in the store, like you'd see them and think "Hmmm, those would inject some funky color into my wardrobe without making me look like a Crayola", but then when you try them on, your ass instantly becomes the size of the Grand Canyon and your thighs are twin giant Sequoias and you have to stand there miserably in the dressing room trying to sluice yourself out of them while gorgeous thin girls prance around in the same exact pants looking like the proverbial Carefree Skinny Bitch. It's not just that they wouldn't look good on me (although I don't think they would)- I'm just not sure if they're that cute in general. I don't know, though- they might be really nice on those super-slim, waify body-type girls. Feedback? Don't worry, I haven't bought them or anything, so you won't be offending me. Bitch away! Or alternately, tell me if you love them. But the bitching is always more fun.

Speaking of bitching-

I hate these shoes. I'm sorry if you own them (you probably do, since everyone in the English-speaking world appears to). But I hate them. In fact, I hate them so much that I have personified them.
If these Tory Burch flats were a person, they would be an Upper-East-Side-of-Manhattan version of Regina George. They would have violently blonde hair, and toast-colored skin straight out of the Clinique Radiant Bronze bottle, and their cashmere sweaters and calfskin stilettos would cost more than the average down-payment of a small three-bedroom house in Westchester County. They would spend so much time frantically stabbing at their Crackberry, you'd think it was providing them with oxygen. They would laugh at you, and whisper things to their bitchy brunette friend, and date milquetoast guys from good families and intern at upper-crust fashion publications. Le sigh.
I've seen the shoe phenomenon before, but is it really necessary for every girl in New York City to own these shoes? If I see one more toe-medallion, I don't know what I might do but I promise you it will not be good and ieui2jcfhe89qruw9djh8934239jchr7eqwryeiureqw8ruewijiojejdshjssaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh...
*Breathes deeply*
I'm sorry.
I'll be fine.
To get my mind off this very pressing and disturbing shepidemic (shoe epidemic. It's been a long day, okay?), I will be posting some pictures of stuff that I would give a firm online thumbsies-upsies to.

What is it about this Temperley London dress that makes me crave it so? It's so simple, yet it looks like it would befit a simple, beautiful milkmaid who wears it out to collect the day's milk with braided hair (only not gross trendoid Sienna Miller braids, real braids) and a glowing smile, making the hearts of cute lederhosen-bedecked farmhands everywhere churn for her. I just want to get my inner Fifi Lapin on and wear it with some funky wedges. The better to yodel and climb mountains with.

I am going to share with you all a story about a young girl of perhaps eight or nine years of age who owned a pair of cow-printed pants from Benetton. The young girl treasured her cow-printed pants above all other earthly possessions, so much so that she desired to wear them with everything, from her puffy Land's End vests to her The Children's Place sherbert-colored turtlenecks to her "My Grandma Went To Barbados And All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt" shirt. Please don't judge me, sweet readers, but- the young girl was me, and the Benetton pants were mine. It is not something I am proud of, but merely a fact. Personally, I don't understand how I went through two years of my life in those pants without at least ONE person shouting out "I could've used a little more cowbell!" or "You're gonna want that COWBELL on the track!" If I saw someone in cow-printed pants, the temptation would be too great. I eventually stopped wearing them, after repeated suggestions from loved ones that they were just not...well, not quite right. But they had great sentimental value. You know on "What Not To Wear", when the toothy bitch and the bitchy, somewhat awesome queen are raiding closets, and the fashion victim du jour is all, "No! Not my stretchy cougar-print tracksuit with the rhinestone enamel! I was wearing that when I met my boyfriend! It has PERSONAL VALUE!" That's what my pants were like. I was just a wee young thing, but I implicitly understood the value of a Favorite Pair Of Pants, even an ill-advised cow-printed pair.
The relevance of this story to the shoes is...er...oh, right. When I first saw these Stella McCartney wedges, my heart started to beat faster as I thought "Oh my God, are they COW-PRINT?" Alas, they are simply black-and-white floral print, and therefore bear little resemblance to my Late, Great Cow-Print Benetton Trousers. However, they are wickedly amazing, cow-print or not, and I want to wear them with a simple white cotton sundress and look all effortless and chic. I think they would be a fitting tribute to The Pants That Got Away.

This "Journalist" dress from Modcloth may look drab, dull, even frumpy. HOWEVER. It is nipped in the waist and the little keyhole opening at the top, combined with the sexy silky belt-facsimile, make it the epitome of Le Sex. If I for some reason decide to become a journalism major, I will wear this dress to class and feel very film-noir. In fact, even if I decide to major in pancakes at The University Of Nothing, I will still wear this dress ALL THE TIME. For it is a jolly good dress, for it is a jolly good dress, for it is a jolly good dre-ess, which nobody can deny...

There is only one passable reaction to shoes like these Miu Mius, and it is "Hot damn" followed by a sharp intake of breath whilst one admires their glories. They are both sparkly and shiny and T-strap and New-Years'-Eve and silvery and they are actually making me a little bit weak in the knees. I want to be married- and buried, as a matter of fact- in these shoes. I want to MARRY these shoes. I want to surgically attach them to my feet. You think I'm exaggerating? I will go and GET A SURGEON RIGHT NOW. And also, I'll need about three zillion dollars to buy the shoes themselves. And to pay the medical bills.

Gaah. Gaah! I must have this dress. It's one of those rare items of clothing that would appeal to both me and my mother. It looks like a sexed-up version of something that American Girl doll would wear. You know, the one with the grosgrain hair ribbon and the unwittingly chic flat velvet hat? Samantha, I think it was. I never liked her much. I liked the feisty one with red hair. Actually, I think she would probably wear this dress nicely as well. It would go great with that hair. I've always wanted red hair, and been so jealous of redheads- I once attempted to color my hair a L'Oreal Pulse shade of "Cherry", but let's just say that was not a time which anybody really needs to remember.

Pucci swirly cardigan-coat. Need I say more? Okay, I'll just say this- with dark gray opaque tights and black boots. Le fin.

Insert your own obligatory hacky joke about "I'm seeing red!" or "Red scare!" or "Scarlet fever"! I think we- and by we, I mean the fashion magazine industry- needs to come up with some better color-themed cliches. How about- "Red, you go to my head"? I think that's from an old M&Ms commercial, actually. God, this advertising business is no easy feat.
I very much want to be the kind of girl who wears red monkey earrings and ballet flats, maybe with an LBD or just a plain old boring pair of jeans. And I definitely, DEFINITELY think these two items should be sold together. Then there could be some embarrassing, hacky joke about "Double trouble!" or "Double the fun!" God, I hate the modern world of advertising sometimes.

Being somewhat anal-retentive and obsessive and controlling about clothing, a few years ago I went so far as to devise for myself a Rainy-Day Outfit- purty flowered hippie green tank, dark jeans, awesome Wellington boots, string of faux costume-jewelry pearls. However, I could never find the right umbrella...until today. C'est merveilleux, non?

Phwoarrr. Marc Jacobs, you incorrigible man, you. These shoes are the most perfect flats I have ever seen in all my born days. It's a little disturbing, how easily I am unhinged by a good pair of shoes. Especially ones that actually look like you could wear them without feeling like a tiny army of elves was digging a pickaxe deep into your heel and winding up sitting in the corner in a comfortable chair by the end of the evening, swearing like a fisherman and holding rapidly melting ice to your swollen feet in a most unladylike manner. Not that this happens to me. Much.

This Biba bishop-sleeve printed smock dress seems like it's one of those little dresses that look fabulous on skinny little sylphs, but do odd things to those endowed with a larger chest and stomach and whatnot. Still. It is perfect for wanton indulgence and basking in the sunshine listening to the Beatles.

No, your eyes do not deceive you. It is a Devo wallet. Whip it. Whip it good. When a problem comes along. You must whip it. Before the cream sits out too long. You must whip it. When something's going wrong. You must whip it. Now whip it. Into shape.

THE MUSIC, TV AND MOVIE CORNER- I have sinned. The other night I was sitting idly in front of my TV, and I found myself sitting through sixty full minutes of...brace yourself, boys and girls...ONE TREE HILL (cue the horror-movie thunder-and-lightning effects). It is disturbingly bad, and I find Chad Michael Murray as well as That Other Guy On The Show Who's Not Chad Michael Murray to be boring and vaguely unattractive, but there was kind of a sick fascination about it, like I HAD to find out what it was in order to loathe it appropriately. I also viewed a classic- Pretty in Pink- on the elliptical at the gym tonight. I think everybody was actually pretty freaked out by how my face looked when Molly Ringwald cut that f/n dress up into a sack. I mean, why? Just...why? Why, Molly Ringwald? Why? Why would one take a perfectly pretty- if overly pink- dress and unleash scissor hell upon it? Did you think it made you look good, Molly Ringwald? Because I'll tell you the truth, Molly Ringwald- it made you look like you were trying to hide a scoliosis brace under layers of pink fabric. And while I'm as much of a Deenie fan as any other girl, and I have nothing but utmost respect for scoliosis sufferers and Judy Blume characters in general, I'm pretty sure that's not the look you were going for, the whole scoliosis thing. So, in conclusion- shut up, Molly Ringwald. It's one thing to cut up your dad's old T-shirt in the hopes that you will concoct a stunning and avant-garde minidress and you can tell everyone offhandedly that you made it yourself from an old tee "lying around the house" and actually end up ruining a perfectly good tee. It's another to destroy a prom dress that doesn't belong to you. In non-John-Hughes-related news, I have discovered Goldfrapp and have been playing "Ooh La La" at top volume for twenty-three hours straight. My neighbors are probably starting to get pissed. Well, you know what, aging hippies? I have to listen to YOU blast AC/DC ALL DAY, DON'T I?

SIGHTINGS- Six hundred pairs of Tory Burch flats. And the demise of individuality and style as we know it. Also, I have an Overheard In New York worthy of the overheardinnewyork.com website. I was in Ricky's for sparkly false eyelashes (don't ask) and I saw a girl hold up a "Hebrew School Dropout" T-shirt and ask her friends "Am I Jewish enough for this shirt?" And one of the friends shook her head sadly and responded, "No." You can't make this shit up. Ooh, and some girl came into Cool Vintage Store wearing an excellent little veiled hat. It wasn't aggressively Carrie-Bradshaw-ooh-look-at-me; it was just sort of quietly amazing.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Feeling pretty good with my outfit in a pair of green opaque wool tights (not Peter Pan green or lime, sort of Kelly green), black flat slouchy boots, and a long-sleeved pale-green-and-white top under a short vintage black BCBG dress. It sounds weird, but I think it's cute. And it's been cold as hell here lately, so I can get away with the constant tights.

So, exams are over! And I somehow passed everything! I know my posting's been sporadic, but I'll work on it. And yes, I learned the definition of that word from Clueless. When are you people going to figure out that I learned everything worth knowing from Clueless?

Ciao, Roma.

P.S. Lipstick Lady, I'm sorry most of your blog got deleted! :^( That is a little sad emoticon man being sad for you.

2007-06-06T09:27:00.000-07:00

So, like the true scintillating femme fatale that I am, I went to...wait for it... the dentist today.
An hour and a half of the dentistry nurse lady who takes sadistic pleasure in my agony doing incredibly painful things to my mouth while asking me, just like she has since I was five years old, what I think I might be when I grow up. I swear one of these days I'm going to turn to her, beam a big smile and say sweetly, "Well, I'm considering getting into the Internet softcore porn business, I hear there's good money in that."
But seriously, who makes small talk with you while there's a DRILL STUCK IN YOUR MOUTH? And then after the whole cleaning-probing scenario, she had the NERVE to ask me, all annoyed-like, what was wrong (I wasn't crying! Shut up. I have no pain threshold. The day I got my ears pierced I tried to bolt, and my best friend had to hold me down). You just spent the last hour STABBING me in the GUMS with a TINY SPEAR, lady, what do YOU think might be wrong? My teeth were incredibly sore from Crest Whitestrips, so when I first sat down I politely asked if I could get a little bit of numbing stuff before she started cleaning them.
She looked at me and said "You'll be fine".
WILL I, NURSE RATCHED? WILL I BE FINE? BECAUSE MY SORE AND BLEEDING GUMS BEG TO DIFFER.
And I know nobody reading this blog really needs to know about my sore and bleeding gums, but, yeah, I overshare when I'm pissed.
On top of all that delight, it's exam week, which is like a personal little vial of hell in itself.
I will refrain from talking about how a)tired, b)hungry and c)overstressed I am, for the sake of you nice people who deign to read this blog. You don't need any extra profanity in your day.
But please know that I am.
AND, I recently found out that THIS exists.

This was in the "Shorts" section of the Urban Outfitters website.
Not "Sleepwear", or "Heinously Ugly Things You Keep In Your House For When You're Running To Get The Mail Because Even Though They're Hideous They're Easy To Put On".
"Shorts".
There are a lot of things I could say about adult romper suits, but I believe the proof is in the pudding, or in this case, the model.
Look at her. She's totally bored and mortified. And not in a cool, haute couture, heavy-lidded I'm Best Friends With Cocaine way. In a "Maybe if I slouch enough and hide behind my bangs nobody will notice the camel-toe, oh my God if this picture ever gets back to the kids in Montana I will NEVER LIVE IT DOWN, they think I'm in New York being a cool tall model girl with long bangs who goes to parties, not Tired Girl In Romper Suit On The Urban Outfitters Website. NOBODY MUST EVER KNOW. And also, my crotch itches," way. I mean, who enters a store and thinks, "God, I need to buy something to take my mind off my troubles. EXCELLENT! The new line of ROMPERS is in! I'll take ONE IN EVERY COLOR!"?

Needless to say, the combination of tooth pain, exams and romper suits has left me desperately in need of a pick-me-up. And I know most of the readers of this blog will appreciate it as well, at least if your taste in men is along the same lines as mine...
without further ado, I give you
EMMA'S LIST OF THE TOP 5 SEXIEST/CUTEST/GENERALLY HEART-PALPITATION/INDUCING MEN IN THE WORLD
*Editor's note- results are not guaranteed to be scientific, and are not in any particular order
**If a certain guy is listed with this asterisk *, that doesn't mean I necessarily think the GUY is that hot, but rather the character he played in any particular movie/TV show- for example, Colin Firth is not on the list, but Mr. Darcy of the wet white shirt most definitely IS. I'm not going to list him again since I just explained his main form of appeal (wet.white.shirt. I think freeze-frame was invented for that particular scene), but je love him anyway.

1. Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You*

In stress-filled times like the one I am currently enduring, I am apt to turn to my DVD of "10 Things I Hate About You" and just sort of watch it and watch it and watch it until I'm reciting Julia Stiles's immortal sonnet-list at the end with her.
In case you can't tell, I'm a dork.
BUT. If you are telling me that you don't kind of fall in love with Heath Ledger in this movie, you are a bad liar. I'm going to quote a very smart English teacher I once had on the subject of guys like this. We were discussing Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights during class and she told us, "I always envy the girls who don't seem to fall in love with Heathcliff when we read this book, because I know those are the girls who are going to have stable marriages with good guys." Deep, eh (yes, "eh". I'm Canadian now, apparently). I once spent an entire four weeks at summer camp besotted with a tattooed boy named Derek because he reminded me of Heath Ledger in this movie. But that's not the point. The point is, Heath Ledger is not one of my man-candy delights in real life- I think he's cute but not THAT CUTE- but in 10 Things he is Australian, and has a really great smile, and...phwoarrr, as Georgia Nicolson would say (Katie from Girl + Style once left me a comment telling me my blog sounded like the Georgia Nicolson books, and except of course for the always-charming "Hey, baby, how you feelin'?" I get from the crusty, gross ogler construction workers near my house- hey, what can I say, I'm a sucker for eloquent prose- it is the greatest compliment I have received to this day. Georgia Nicolson is pretty much my idol). So, yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Phwoarrr.

2. Adrian Grenier

Dear Adrian Grenier,
I love you. Not in a creepy, stalking, Fatal Attraction, camp-out-outside-your-house, bake-you-cupcakes-with-Emma+Adrian4Ever-written-on-the-top-in-frosting way (although, incidentally, on a totally unrelated subject, what do you like better, rainbow or strawberry sprinkles? Let me know, there's no hurry).
Just in a healthy, normal, love-you-on-Entourage, see-everything-you've-ever-been-in-including-that-awful- movie-where-you-were-neighbors-with-
Sabrina-the-Teenage-Witch way.
I mean, look at you. You have such pretty eyes, Adrian. Do you expect to have those eyes and NOT attract stalkers? You little eye tease, you. Also, I love your hair.
And in that above photo at The Devil Wears Prada premiere (I'm assuming. Not that I was there in camo and binoculars, tracing your every move.), you appear to be holding out your arms for a hug. You big adorable suit-wearing pretty-eyed hugger, you.
So, to sum up- I love you. A normal amount.
Best Wishes, Emma
P.S. I was serious about those sprinkles. I NEED to KNOW, Adrian. I HAVE MY REASONS.
P.P.S. Call me.

3. Christian Bale

Some of you may know that I have a fondness for (obsession with) Christian Bale. Some of you may also know that I mention him in some (all) my posts. APPARENTLY, he has an alleged wife and an alleged daughter. Hmph. I bet they have beards or something.
Scroll up and look at that photograph.
Sweet GOD.
Almighty Jehovah.
Good gravy on a biscuit with a dollop of marmalade jam, that is one GOOD-LOOKING MAN. He's BATMAN, for God's sake. I'm going to refrain from saying the things I really want to say about him, because this is Not That Kind Of Blog.

But...did you know he is literally the ideal man?
Not to be alarming or anything, but he WILL be mine one day. Not that I'm implying...anything. Certainly nothing to do with kidnapping, or secret marriage in the woods miles away from where anyone can ever find us, or anything. I'm just saying- be on your toes, Bearded Wife. When you least expect it...expect it.

4. Gael Garcia Bernal

I'm actually kind of glad I don't know him in person, because guys this hot make me nervous and I would undoubtedly, upon introduction to Mr. Bernal, a)spill something on myself and start shouting expletives in not so much an endearing, charming, girl-in-Love-Actually-who-says-"fuck"-to-Hugh-Grant-and-they-fall-in-love way as a does-she-have-Tourette's way, b) stammer something about nothing while trying to reattach my jaw to my face, or c) start blabbering "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou who said that? My sister, my daughter, my sister, my daughter!" and slapping my own face. None of those options are very sexy, per se. I mean, you never read womens' magazines with cover captions like "How To Twitch Your Way Into His Heart!" or "Top Ten Sexiest Nonsequiturs To Shout Upon First Introduction To That Special Someone".
But, back to the point. He's very, very, very hot. And whenever I see pictures of him he always looks kind of cool and geeky (but not in that I'm Such A Geek But I Love Myself Anyway, Worship At My Feet way, for which we have the insufferable Adam Brody to thank. I'm sorry, I just do not get his appeal). Ah, the wonders of Gael Garcia Bernal. Remember how hot he looked at the Oscars?

5. Paul Rudd

I know there's a lot of people out there who claim that Paul Rudd is their imaginary boyfriend and nobody else's. To them I say- hush your mouth. I have loved Paul Rudd since I was a wee girl watching Clueless and aspiring to be Cher Horowitz (except with better clothes- sometimes I can't believe the '90s actually happened). Then came The Object Of My Affection, with Jennifer Aniston (remember when she wasn't bland, and had a movie career?). I saw him in Anchorman (which only made me love him more, because that movie has more quotable lines than any other one of its sort), and in The 40-Year-Old Virgin. And I can firmly state that he is, in addition to being hot, a good actor and HYSTERICAL. And I just saw Knocked Up (more on that later), which plunged me even further into my Paul Rudd obsession. Movie ticket- $10. Bucket of buttery popcorn- $3.50. Paul Rudd high on 'shrooms at Cirque Du Soleil- priceless.

So, that's my list, make of it what you will. I was contemplating putting in that puffy-lipped Italian singer kid, Paolo Nutini, but then I thought better of it because I realized who he is. He's That Kid. The one who's really funny and does random stuff like smoke cigars and invent The Price Is Right drinking games, but is actually kind of an asshole and a poseur and knows exactly how cute he is. Or at least, that's kind of how I see him.

TV, MOVIE AND MUSIC CORNER- So, as I said, I saw Knocked Up, and I LOVED it. It's not, like, on my Top Best Movies Ever list, but it's very, very, very funny, and it doesn't bash you over the head with the whole "babies, babies, babies!" thing. It's one of those movies where you leave not only laughing but actually...feeling something, and you're like "How the hell did that happen?" There were so many good lines and moments, but...my favorites were "You weren't chosen for a reason", the whole Cirque Du Soleil 'shrooms thing (seriously, don't eat or drink anything during that scene, you'll be laughing too hard to swallow), and Kristen Wiig as the slyly bitchy Underminer who works with Katherine Hiegl's character- it was subtle, but HIGH-LARIOUS. I totally want to see this again. TV-wise- does anybody else out there love Ab Fab reruns as much as I do? No? No takers? Okay. My mother and aunt instilled a deep love of this show in me. Best line EVER- ''One snap of my fingers and I can raise hemlines so high the whole world's your gynecologist.''

Thoroughly awesome. Also awesome is Catherine Tate as Lauren Cooper. I just discovered these sketches (they're on British TV, I think) and they're awesome. "I ain't bovvered!" is my new catchprase. I don't know if anyone but me finds them funny, but... here's some anyway. Lauren Cooper English Class (with David Tennant),
Lauren Cooper French Class
For some reason it's not letting me load the other 2, but if you like those, Youtube-search "Catherine Tate Field Trip" and "Tony Blair bovvered". They're vair, vair amusant. In the second one, Tony Blair makes an actual cameo!

Seriously, Lauren is my idol. "Suis-je bovvered?" "Have you got Jesus in your heart, miss?" "Are we your flock? Izzit that we are your flock, miss?" "D'you fancy Billie Piper, sir?" "Amest-I bovvered forsooth? Be-eth this the bovvered face thou seest before thee?" Oh, and in case you don't know, David Tennant is Doctor Who. I didn't know until I Wikipediaed it.

Music-wise...

SIGHTINGS- I think I saw a drag queen wearing the same top as me.
Also...

Obviously this picture of Jenny Lewis doesn't count as a Sighting, as I, shockingly enough, did not attend the CFDA award thing. But I just wanted to stick it in to send a positive message to the community, and that message is- things that would make one person (i.e. Lindsay Lohan) look like a crackhead, can look really cute on another (Jenny Lewis). And I covet those shoes.
Speaking of Lindsay, which brings me to the question of rehab, which brings me to the question of alcoholic beverage consumption which of course leads me to Paris...I saw the Sarah Silverman thing on Youtube, and while I have no problem with Paris getting bitch-slapped, I just didn't think it was all that funny. I much prefer The Sarah Silverman Program. I thought she seemed stilted onstage (perhaps because the MTV Movie Awards are a widely-renowned piece of crap).

CURRENT ATTIRE- Da-Nang silk cargo shorts, fitted pale gray tee, colorful bangles, white wedge-type shoes.

XOXOXOXOXO,
Emma

2007-06-02T17:22:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-05-26T13:19:00.000-07:00

Blogtopia! It's so good to see you! Look how you've grown! Come here and let me pinch your face and slobber all over you, dahling, for I have returned.
That was me being a washed-up diva (possibly in a glitzy turban, stirring a martini with a diamond stirrer and picking bonbons out of a heart-shaped tray a la Joan Collins or Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard, because I AM big, it's the blogs that got small ) and announcing my somewhat delayed return after a little hiatus where I was suffering from a) having lots of work to do, b) blowing off my work to go enjoy the end of the school year, and c) writer's block. I don't want to be the absent Deadbeat Dad of bloggers, but I can't help it at this time of year, I'm terribly afflicted with flakiness right about now (when aren't I?)
So to make it up to you...I'm going to do a totally random post about the things I like!
It was supposed to just be a post where I took pictures of my favorite cosmetics, but it degenerated into a big steamy-hot bubbling crock pot o'insanity. Hope you all enjoy!
These are my blue Seychelles shoes. I don't know if you can tell how lovely they are in the picture, but I absolutely adore them. I wore them to my graduation ceremony with a pretty pale-gray-and-navy Victorian-style dress (which sounds dull, but I think it looked pretty nice), and then because they were so comfy I stupidly thought I could walk through the park in them, shouldering a bookbag. My rationale was, if French women walk everywhere in heels and are drop-dead-gorgeous knockouts, why can't I? My rationale was proved to be very wrong, in the form of about sixty blisters.

This is my Benefit Realness Of Concealness concealer case. It is the single greatest cosmetic I own. I'm one of those girls who is very easily swayed by pretty things (you know that Greek myth- wait, was it Greek? Was it a myth? Oh I don't know, ask me later- about how the woman who was running the race and then the gods dropped golden apples in her path and she got distracted and lost? Hideously antifeminist and insulting, but I completely identify with her. They're GOLDEN APPLES. If nothing else, they'd probably make a nice chunk of change on eBay.), so naturally I am in mad passionate love with all Benefit cosmetics, as their packaging is so blatantly adorable that I find myself buying things I don't need, or even particularly want, just because it's so pretty. However, this concealer is not just attractive but functional- it works very, very well. And look at the ironic-cute polka dots! No, really, look. Are you looking?

This is the Regina Spektor CD my friend kindly lent me when I was whining about how high my iTunes bill is, so that I could transfer the songs onto my playlist. Needless to say, I am deliriously happy and considering nominating said friend for sainthood.

This is the rubber duck which lives in my bathroom. He wasn't so happy about posing for my blog, so in exchange I had to promise to stop singing in the shower. Apparently not even plastic toys enjoy my rendition of "Sexyback".

You can't really tell, but this is the cover of The Virgin Suicides, which I am currently reading and loving. I haven't seen the movie yet (something of an anomaly for me, reading a book without seeing the movie first...I'm really bad about that. I'm also a total spoiler whore, but ONLY WHEN I WANT TO HEAR THE SPOILERS AND SPECIFICALLY REQUEST/RESEARCH THEM. I missed the last episode of the second season of Grey's last year, back when it was still good, and when my friend told me what happened I cried and hit him for about six hours, which he just laughed at, and then gave him the silent treatment, which I do not recommend as a good method of showing your guy friends your fury because it doesn't work on them) but I will when I finish.

This is my Palladio rice paper, inherited(cough-stolen-from-her-makeup-bag-cough) from my aunt. I'm not sure it actually does anything, but I like it anyway. And it makes me look like less of a shiny oaf on my shiny-oaf days. By the way, if anybody has incredibly good vision and spies that the little geisha lady has half a mustache drawn on her- 'twasn't me, my friend drew it with a thin-line Sharpie once when I was in the shower, then got bored and didn't bother finishing. Nice.

This is my Smith's Rosebud Salve. Addictive. Pretty much the caffeine of lip balms in that respect. Also, it's not too glossy, which is good because I don't like lip gloss except for my sheer red Neutrogena stuff which makes my lips tingle. I used to practically cake lip gloss on, but now I think mostly I just looked like a sad girl with too much lip gloss on.

These are a container of Dean & Deluca "Springtime" cookies in interesting shapes which I am currently devouring. They were a party favor from my friend's swank end-of-the-year thing. They're kind of difficult to eat, but mmm. Icing and unrefined white flour and butter and sugar, oh my!

These are some cookies from the aforementioned container of cookies. Cute as the proverbial button, right? Small iced adorable things just make me happy. Especially when they're shaped like butterflies and daisies and tulips. I'm actually pretty easy to please. You know, just the simple things- some cute cookies, a bright summer's day, and lifelong omnipotence. The usual.
But really, don't you just want to smile at these cookies? How could you not, you cruel and soulless shrews? Sorry, I'm passionate about the things I love (especially the sugar-iced ones made in ovens).

This is my patterned scarf which I got from a vintage store in Cambridge for $5 some time ago. I love it. It has become my "mostly companion", as Eloise would say. Well, obviously not literally- it's not as if I go around whispering to my scarf like a crazy scarf lady. Are there crazy scarf ladies? Surely there must be. Are they like cat ladies, but with scarves? Anyway, what I meant was that in the terms of wearing-it-constantly (usually as a belt or headband or tied to my bag, not as wrist-bow, but I needed a way to display it for all its glory), it is faithfully by my side. Also, you have no idea how often a silk scarf comes in handy, for anything from holding together the fragmented pieces of a broken-strapped bag or instantly belting a fug shapeless top.

This is the best eyeliner in the whole world (Benefit, naturally). Eye makeup can be tricky- what's that little ditty our mothers and grandmothers used to recite to us and sew into samplers? "If you wear too much of it, you will look like a bowling-alley prostitute and never find love." Ah, wise words indeed. But in all seriousness, this stuff is the perfect balance between being a cosmetic-free little Quaker girl (do Quakers wear makeup? Maybe they do, I don't know. I was just thinking of them as very fresh-faced and pure, but I could be wrong, maybe underneath it all they're wild lascivious succubi or something) and propositioning sailors. Also, it doesn't give you what my friend and I have termed ACS (Alice Cooper Syndrome)-i.e. it doesn't make you look like you were just taken to a goth makeup artist who did your eyes and then punched you.
This is my Franz Kafka button, which I got at the Kafka Museum. He doesn't look so happy to be making a guest appearance on this blog, does he? Why so sad, Kafka?
This is...well, it's undefinable. They are shoes. They are definitely shoes. And before you start, I WOULD NEVER WEAR THEM OUTSIDE. Not even on Halloween, because I generally don't like being mistaken for a lady of the night (that's a polite term for "giant hooker", by the way), and also, geez. Those heels are no joke, and let me just say if that's what strippers have to contend with, it's possible that society might be a little bit too hard on them. But aren't they hilarious and awesome? They were actually gifted to my mother as a joke present, but I loved them so much I gave them a home on display in my bedroom. And in case you were wondering, yes, those are tiny goldfish down there in the heels. You're speechless, right? Because I kind of am every time I look at them.

This is my Clinique gel blush. I already talked about my little lip-gloss-is-Satan-spelled-backwards breakthrough, but after that happened I realized I couldn't just go around bare-lipped- I am not gifted with the ability to look great without makeup (I don't like to slather my face in paint, it makes me feel itchy and prostitute-like, and to quote my friend Matt when I asked him this past summer about the subject of girls wearing a lot of makeup- "It's really freaky when you touch a girl's face and you come away with half of her cheek." Well said. Kind of gross, but also poetic, I think- but I am not about to pull a "Ooh, yes, I just roll out of bed and take the cucumber slices off my eyes and go about my day, all the while stopping to spoon-feed broth to orphans and let the homeless bask in my glow of natural beauty" thing. ) . This stuff gives me, the palest girl of all the pale girls in Pale City, a nice cheek-and-lip color, sort of Renaissance-y and pretty.
This is my chunky silver vintage cuff, which makes me feel kind of bad-ass and Wonder-Woman-esque at the same time.
This is my Metrocard. Oh, the places I'll go with my little slice of metropolis. Uptown, downtown, the city is mine! Until I need to renew it. Or lose it, which, to be honest, could happen at any moment now.

This is my Las Vegas key chain, which is not only resplendently tacky but also practical- it doubles as a pen! Hey, I never pretended to have taste. It could be worse. At least it's not neon. Oh God, I wish it were neon. Maybe the letters could blink on and off...Dare to dream.

THE MUSIC & TV CORNER- Hear that sound? That's me hopping on the bandwagon re. Amy Winehouse. I used to sort of dislike her, and think she looked like the slutty waitress in a Greek restaurant, but I am thoroughly addicted to her now. Rehab and You Know I'm No Good are great, but I think my favorite is Pumps, a sarcastic ode to skanky footballers' wife-wannabes which makes me laugh and dance a little bit in my seat when nobody is looking. It's not available on iTunes, though, most likely because of all the F-bombs she drops. Stupid censorship. The Man is at work again. TV-wise, everything is gone, gone, goooone...Lost, 30 Rock, Scrubs, ANTM, Ugly Betty, my soooooul...only joking, it's not like I'm THAT obsessed with TV. Probably. Hush. Anyway, I guess I'll give this miniseries with Debra Mess (too easy? Meh, still fun) a try. Le sigh. Hurry back, television of yore. I'll miss you over the summer, but probably not that much, because it's SUMMER! Still, though.

SIGHTINGS- Ooh, this girl outside my school was wearing the most fantastic white really soft-looking cotton sundress with mint green shiny wedge heels, which might be a bit Summer 2006 but are still pretty cute in my opinion, and...this is the only part of the outfit I didn't like- a lime-and-pink, clearly J.Crew ultra-preppy headband. Oye. But other than that it was so cute. And I am suddenly finding myself to be in love with this guy who attends my gym. And I might sort of be stalking him. Well, I've been noticing that our workouts overlap a lot lately, and let's just say it's maybe not a coincidence. I've only seen him twice though, but I made a point of coming back the second time the exact same time I was there when I first saw him, and there he was in a red T-shirt over washboard abs and a pair of board shorts that were surprisingly tolerable (usually I hate when guys in NYC wear board shorts, it looks pathetic), doing that thing where you press the thing with your leg or lift the thing with your muscle (I don't know gym terminology. So sue me.) Oh, and why are old ladies so unwittingly stylish? An elderly woman on my block was wearing fantastic round-toe pumps that I coveted. Unfortunately, though, she paired them with support hose and a scowl. Yes, I am jealous of old peoples' footwear. WHAT?

CURRENT ATTIRE- Oh my God, my feet have been through hell lately, I've been walking in heels, dancing a lot at assorted end-of-year-parties, and going to the gym both to tone up and hopefully see Hot Gym Dude. So since I'm on virtual house arrest this long weekend for a final exams-review session, I'm using the opportunity for foot therapy. My monkey socks are not coming off ALL WEEKEND. I'm wearing those, a pair of baby blue shorts which I am pretty sure are the dreaded Soffes I used to wear obsessively before I realized I was not in fact a gymnast or a perky cheerleader and had no need for athletic baby-shorts (I think that was around the same time I was slathering myself in Ultra-Sexy Shine On Glossy-Rave Party Girl Glossage, or whatever my tweenybopper Wet&Wild lip gloss was called). Still, they're comfortable, and with them I'm wearing a T-shirt that my crafty and remarkably leftist friend Katie made for me for my birthday reading simply "BUSHISMS" and then has three Bushisms written on it- "Make no mistake about it, I understand how tough it is, sir. I talk to families who die.", "Those who enter the country illegally violate the law.", and "People say, how can I help on this war against terror? How can I fight evil? You can do so by mentoring a child; by going into a shut-in's house and say I love you." It is, I must say, a fairly perfect and amusing shirt, and almost as much of a conversation piece as my hooker heels with the goldfish, which live on top of my magazine box and are commented on by nearly everyone who enters my bedroom. Anyway, I'm also wearing my silky patterned scarf as a headband, and oh my God I just realized how skanky my hair is. Off I go to shower off the day's injustices!

Peace <3

2007-05-18T18:08:00.000-07:00

1. What's your middle name?:  Sex bomb.
2. Is your cell phone a flip phone?  Yeah, actually, ‘cause I’m retro like that. And because it was the least expensive phone available.
3. Have you ever been to New Jersey?: Mais bien sur. I go to the Paramus mall every day-before-Christmas-eve with my uncle to buy last-minute gifts (we’re both kind of spacey about present-giving- we usually end up giving everyone horrendous tacky novelty pins and the like) for everyone in our family. I also have some dear friends who live in Joysey, but I usually make them come up and visit me because (and I’m not pulling a Sienna Miller here, I don’t mean this bitchily) I get kind of bored there. I’m very ADD, so I need lots and lots of urban distraction.
4. What's your favorite soda?: I don’t drink soda. The last time I drank a Coke was when I was five years old in an art gallery in Russia with my mother. I have a vague memory of throwing up in the coatroom.
5. Do you have satellite?  Say what? I have…cable, I think. Is that the same? I don’t know, I’m not technologically blessed.
6. Where did you go to college?  Harvard. I majored in BAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh man, that’s hard to keep up. I have not as such attended an institution of higher education yet. But I fooled you, didn’t I?
7. What's the longest road trip you've been on?  I took a three-day road trip once with my aunt and some friends, armed only with our (not-so-full) wallets and the Road Food guidebook my aunt gave me for Christmas two years ago. We all ended up screaming at each other, losing maps and eating a lot, but it was crazily fun. And so very Jack Kerouac, yes?
8. Did you go to a private school?  Yeah. I’ve actually attended a bunch of schools but the one I’ve attended for the longest time is private.
9. What's your favorite smiley? 
The pirate smiley. And the old-school vintage smiley with a twist…it’s a Magic-8 Ball! And this weird, yin/yang-but-not snarly/smiley which I love with all my heart.
10. Do you buy lottery tickets in hopes of winning?  The lottery is evil, dude. In fifth grade when we were studying probability, and, by association, the New York lottery, I had this breakthrough- “Where is the money that people pay to buy Lotto tickets GOING?” I was a total idiot- I thought maybe it was going to some illicit crack den or something and I’d totally cracked the code and nobody had ever thought of that before me. I told my teacher my theory, and she laughed. Hard. It was mean, actually. I was like TEN. No need to squash all my delusions of grandeur.
11. What year were you born in?  The year of living dangerously.
12. Do you like the smell of Sharpies?  God, no. I love Sharpies, especially miniature sharpies, but I hate the smell.
13. What does your screensaver look like?:  Leopard print. Grrr. It used to be a picture of me and my friends in amusing hats, and then before that a picture of a constellation of stars, which always used to distract me because the stars had some technology to make it look like they were moving around and shooting, and I would sit down at my computer ready to do work and an hour would go by and I would realize I’d been there transfixed by the shimmery-glimmery stars and hadn’t begun whatever it is I was meant to be doing.
14. Do you have an iPod?:  No, I’m practically Amish. I don’t have a Myspace/Facebook or a cellphone that was made in the twenty-first century, either. If it weren’t for my blessed computer, upon which I listen to music, watch TV and pretty much do everything, I would probably be a) filling out this survey on a banana peel, and b) doing really well in school.
15. What's your biggest pet peeve?  DO NOT GET ME STARTED. I can’t list just one! But, top 5- people who come into Cool Vintage Store and don’t put the clothes they try on back on the racks, people who sneeze on me in the subway or bus (really, it’s like they seek me out. SNEEZE INTO YOUR HAND. Don’t you know that’s how the plague got started? Oh, wait, or was that rats? Whatever), condescending people, people who EAT YOUR FOOD and then pretend they didn’t know it was yours (I’m generally not a physically violent person, but I am vicious about food) and coleslaw. I don’t know why, but coleslaw just angers me. It always has. Ugh...
16. What shoe size do you wear?:  8 ½ to 9.
17. What's your favorite kind of cereal?: What isn’t my favorite kind of cereal, would be a better question. I’m trying to be slightly more healthy (read- lose weight for the hell of bathing suit season) so I’ve been eating disgusting bran-type stuff lately, but nothing beats a classic bowl of Lucky Charms, with or without milk.
18. Do you ever listen to Classical music?  Meh. Sometimes it’ll be playing in the background of a room I’m in and I’ll kind of like it, but really, I’m not a fan.
19. What kind of instruments do you play?   Guitar. I used to take piano in third grade, but I quit.
20. Do you like Girl Scout cookies?  Who doesn’t? Bring on the Thin Mints. I’m furious that Girl/Boy Scouts don’t peddle here in NYC. If you think about it, they’re kind of the drug dealers of the cookie world. Maybe somebody should mention that to the Scoutmaster.
21. Have you ever ridden in a limo?  No. But I have stared wistfully at huge tacky white limos and thought “What I wouldn’t give to be the tacky suburban teen couple passed out in that magnificent vehicle on their way back from the senior prom. Oh, to be clad in lurid ruffled chiffon and dance the night away with a wasted stoner in his big brother’s lurid white tuxedo!”
Because nothing says "Romance" like ruffled puff sleeves and a mullet.
22. Do you like Hummers? NO. NO. NO. It’s one thing to have ginormous cars for BATTLE, but come on, every generic New York tanorexic mother who’s practically run me down at crosswalks because you were too busy screaming at your staff from your Crackberry to watch where you were going, do you really need a frickin’ MILITARY TANK CAR to squire your two blond children to soccer practice?
24. Are you scared of horses?  No. I like horses. I never really had a horsey stage, and I loathe My Little Pony with the white-hot fire of a thousand screeching rockets, but I like real horses. They’re very gentle and peaceful. Unless they’re, you know, bucking you. Plus, I really like riding outfits.
25. Do you like milk chocolate or dark chocolate?: Milk chocolate. I wouldn’t refuse dark chocolate, but if I got to choose I’d take milk chocolate.
26. Do you wear glasses?:  I’m supposed to, but I’m too vain to wear them outside of class.
27. Does it annoy you when people misspell things?:  I’m a total grammar Nazi. It’s actually pretty obnoxious. I try to stop myself from correcting people’s spelling, but it’s hard- sometimes I have to bite my lip to keep from blurting out, “ANDROGYNOUS IS SPELLED WITH A Y!”, et cetera.
28. Do you like the beach or the mountains:  Why do I have to choose? Why can’t I spend my summers frolicking on the beach and my winters holed up in a shack in the mountains like some crazy old shut-in? GOD. No need to PIN ME DOWN, SURVEY.
29. Have you ever taken cough medicine when you didn't have a cough?:  No. Why? Are you subtly trying to figure out if I’m a druggie? I’m onto you, Survey. Don’t you lie to me.
30. Have you ever been to band camp?  Well, just this one time…Okay, I don’t feel good about that. That was way too easy. I apologize to you all.
31. Do you know any guys with a receding hair line?  Unfortunately, yes, but I wish I knew Stewie Griffin (I still prefer The Simpsons to Family Guy, but Stewie makes it a semi-difficult decision). Well, I guess his hairline isn’t so much receding as not grown yet, but still…
32. Do you know what Chacos are?  Do you know what a phylactery is? No, me neither.
34. Have you ever watched Room Raiders on MTV?:  Actually, I don’t think I have. I mean, I’ve never sat down to watch an episode- it’s possible that it has at some point been on in the background in some room I was in and therefore has seeped into my consciousness and I will soon randomly get a flash of knowing what the show is about, like an out-of-body experience. Is it sort of like Trading Spaces? No, I don’t know.
35. What's the best Christmas present you've ever got?: I would have to say my knitted monkey toe socks. Shut up. I love them.
36. What's your favorite Popsicle flavor? All Popsicles taste the same to me.
37. Did your parents give you an allowance?: They used to give me a regular one. Now they give me money for food, Metrocards etc., which sounds weird but I end up eating most of my meals out of the house. I still think of it as an allowance but it’s really not.
38. Did you ever watch Rugrats when you were little? Yeah. I liked Angelica. I saw a lot of myself in her. And I liked Suzie Carmichael too, and Chuckie. It is NOT sad that I know the Rugrats so well. It’s NOT. Okay, it is. But honestly, I have a photographic memory- not for anything relevant or useful, like peoples’ phone numbers or European history, but for little facts and TV characters in particular.
39. How many myspace groups have you joined? I already told you, I’m nearly Amish. I don’t have a Myspaz. By the way, no offense to the Amish…but hey, it’s not like any of them are reading this! HAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAAHHAHHAHAHA Oh God, my head hurts. Laugh with me. LAUGH.
40. What do you think of standardized tests?:  In theory I hate them- they’re really oppressive and I don’t think they’re an accurate measure of intelligence or how much you deserve to attend a certain school- but I actually like the vocab sections. I hate the math ones, though, and I’m not such a big fan of the ones where you have to read a huge passage and summarize it or whatever- I’m not that kind of reader.
41. What's the craziest thing you have ever done?  Well, the other day I went to Starbucks and bought a piping-hot coffee, skim milk and Splenda, as per usual. HOWEVER. I knew that the coffee would not cool down for at LEAST five minutes or even more, yet I raised the cup to my lips…and with no regard for my safety or the possible burning of my tongue…I took a sip.
I know. I’m wild.
42. Have you ever cheated on a test?:  What’s your pants size? Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were asking each other awkward questions.
43. Is tomorrow your birthday?:  No, but I plan to eat cake anyway.
44. Have you ever choked on your own spit?  Ew! No, not that I know of. I’ve choked on my own laughter, and almost all kinds of food as a result of hysterical laughter. My friend told me a story today and I thought I was going to choke on my cinnamon bun. People shouldn’t tell me funny things when I’m eating, it’s hazardous to my health.
45. Do you like roller coasters?: YES. Bring them on. I always have a nervous breakdown waiting in line to go on, almost chicken out, get dragged on by my friends, and end up being glad I went on. At the risk of sounding like a “You don’t need drugs!” commercial, there’s something about that exhilarating fear right before the ride lurches down that makes me feel very…alive, you know?
46. When was the last time you went roller blading?  Two summers ago. I fell down in Central Park and skinned my knee in front of about sixty tourists. And I used to belong (IN MY YOUTH, like my very very young youth, like fourth grade, so shut up) to a…God, I hate to say it…rollerblading league. And you know you are jealous. But I jammed my finger one time during an intense game of Rollerblading Steal The Bacon, and I remembered that I am prone to bodily harm. So I quit. Just like that bitchy girl in The Cutting Edge, after she got injured. I love stupid movies, but I could only stomach that one for twenty minutes. I wonder what happened to her after she met that cute guy on the beach?
47. Have you ever wished you had a twin?:  Every single day of algebra. And physics. And floor hockey.
48. Do you have a caffeine addiction?: God, yes. Seriously, don’t talk to me in the morning before I’ve had some form of caffeine or artificially sweetened pastry topped with pink icing. I happen to be drinking really bad coffee at this very moment. And eating a Pop-Tart.
49. Do you get claustrophobic easily?:  Yeah. I don’t, like, hyperventilate in elevators on a regular basis, but when I get stuck in elevators I FREAK OUT. And I just don’t like very enclosed spaces in general.
50. Would you ever kiss on the first date?:  I’m offended! Remember, Survey, that I am a lady. If this was an old movie, I would be wearing a petticoat and slapping you daintily right now. And then storming out with my parasol.
But yes, if I liked the guy.

Please fill this out! I want to see you guys' responses. And don't feel obligated to add in pictures- that's just how I roll. ;^) Yeah, I said that.

THE TV CORNER- Oh, how to do this? So much to discuss, so little time. I know! I'll do this.
RANDOM MUSINGS THAT POPPED INTO MY HEAD DURING THE LAST EPISODE OF ANTM
1. Renee's parting shot- "I'd rather have wisdom in my eyes and thoughts in my head than a blank and empty mind" was awesome, but would really make so much more sense if she wasn't, you know, an evil bitch queen from Hades.
2. If the camera ADDS ten pounds, what the hell is Jaslene on? And can I have some? Girl is skinnier than the love child of Ellen Pompeo and a Twizzler.
3. Did it ever cross anybody's mind that maybe Tyra sort of has a thing for The Nige? He is fine, y'all. And he's always like, foisting her off. It's somewhat amusing.
4. God, I am such a loser for caring enough about ANTM to actually talk about it- in all seriousness- on my blog.
5. No, you know what? We live in a time of poverty, and disease, and George Bush. If I need to discuss America's Next Top Model, so be it.
6. "Battle Of The Accents"? Oh, Tyra. You're too much. No, really, you are. Go away now. Just go and sit down over there. Thanks.
7. I wonder if there's any truth to the rumor that the J/Jays are joined in the act of love? It's v. highly unlikely, but I hope it's true. In the words of Tracy Morgan on 30 Rock, "Freaky-deakies need love too."
8. When I saw Jas-queen win and was raging to my friend over the phone, I heard myself say, "IT'S SO UNFAIR THAT SHE WON JUST BECAUSE SHE'S A BETTER MODEL!" Hmm. It's true, though. I love Nata! I hope we haven't seen the last of her, but we all know what happens to runners-up on this show. They slink off into the vortex of anonymity like shamed pregnant teens at the prom- not that the winners exactly achieve much outside of a "My Life As Tyra's Lapdog" commercial.
9. Sass + Bide? But that's, like, a real brand. A respected brand, even. A brand I like. Tyra! What have you done? You've mistakenly BOOKED A GOOD DESIGNER! That's not you! You book Payless Shoes and Sears! What the hay-ell? (I kind of miss Dionne).
10. "When I had a baby, I thought my life was over." Too bad Renee didn't win (never thought I'd say that, even though she totally did have the best commercial)- she could have put some of that money towards her child's future therapy. Trust me, he'll need it. Also, "win this for the mamas"? Dude. One episode ago you didn't even believe Natasha HAD a baby.
That's all, folks! Can't wait till next cycle...God, this will probably always be my hate-to-love-it show.
Ugly Betty...did anybody else get a sudden bad attack of "allergies" during the finale? It was so sad, y'all! HENRY! NOOO! CUTE NERD! WHY? Why did he go back with Tiny Pregnant Hippie Whore? GOD. I was totally screaming at my TV. Why don't the people in my TV ever listen to me?
But anyhow. It was a very good episode, I thought. And I'm of the opinion that Tranny Get Your Gun had kind of outlived her usefulness on the show. But still, it was great.
The Office- I TiVoed it and haven't had a chance to watch it yet. But the great thing about The Office is that it hardly ever slips, so I know I'm in for something hysterical.
Scrubs- what is there to say, really? I'm glad it's coming back next year. It's not my appointment-TV, die-if-I-miss-it show but I love it anyway.
Oh, and even though I'm sad about all my shows ending, I'm kind of gleeful about The End Of Grey's. I know, I know, it's coming back next season, but just for tonight let me dream of a world without Grey's Anatomy, a world where I am free. Everyone at school talks about it ad nauseum and really, I hate the show so much now. What happened? Did it get really bad or did I accidentally develop taste in TV?
I think it's the former- after all, I do love ANTM and all that hideous MTV crap i.e. My Super Sweet Sixteen (although I just get a kick out of laughing at the kids, if I think about it too long it hurts my head).

SIGHTINGS- Nice leather bowling bag, Girl With Leather Bowling Bag. It looked designer but I just couldn't tell. I liked it, though. Also, excellent madras shorts, Sexy Boy In Madras Shorts. See, I think you were wearing them ironically, which makes me happy. Certain things should only be worn ironically, such as madras and plaid.
Oh, and hello, All-White Pantsuit Lady Who Looked Totally Classic And Timeless In An Isabella Rossellini Way. Why can't I be you? I bet keeping that suit clean on the subway is a bitch, though.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Vintage pale pink slip dress from Cool Vintage Store, ballet flats in a shocking shade of fuchsia (I hate matching), tacky bangles, Strand Bag.

Ciao, Roma
<3

2007-05-13T05:19:00.000-07:00

Happy Mothers' Day, all. To celebrate this day of motherhood and family unity and general love, I will be attending a "candlelit mother-daughter spinning class set to eighties music" with my mother. Don't look at me like that. You can't make this shit up! I know. I KNOW. What could I do? She gave birth to me. But I also bought her a lovely Williams-Sonoma potholder that I HAND-SEWED to read "The critic roams through culture, looking for prey"- Mason Cooley. Because my mother- much like myself-likes to criticize things and bake a lot. AND, I got her this lamp from Cool Vintage Store. I know, I'm a perfect daughter. So obviously now, to get my mind off my outrageous and uncharacteristic niceness, I will be posting pictures of the fabbest clothes I have seen in a long, long time, and that's including the fantastic black-onyx-bead-embroidered miniskirt at Cool Vintage Store that I've been lusting after (and hiding behind the register) for three days.

All this stuff is by my new FAVORITE designer, Basso+Brooke. Well, here, style.com says it better than I-"Who knew that Donatella Versace and John Galliano once eloped to Rio and secretly gave birth to a pair of love twins?"

This stuff is all from the 2006 line- they get much more demure after this- but I think it is my favorite collection. I mean, LOOK. Oh, the tulle and houndstooth and floaty angel-wing sleeves and crayon necklaces and big hats and oh my God, that LAST DRESS! It actually hurts my throat a little bit, that's how much I love it. Why can't I have it? Why? Why? I feel like I'm about to throw a giant screaming fit like a child in a grocery store who can't have candy.

I like to think of this as the "Daisy Buchanan on acid"collection. Everything is all cool and fringed and flapperesque and beaded and whatnot. I LOVE the first outfit- I think I would actually wear that, if I could get up the nerve- the second outfit, and the awesome shiny fourth outfit. And the third beaded dress. And the last pale yellow dress. Why do I do this? I always just end up saying I love everything, so why not just say that? Really, I'm a mystery. It always puzzles me when I say something random and people look at me inquisitively, as if they expect me to know what I mean.

It was so hard to only pick five outfits from this collection. Honestly, it was like when you're packing for a trip and resolve to be really firm and organized and not take anything you don't need and just bring a few key nice things and wear them all the time the way Frenchwomen do (although personally I don't think this theory of "capsule dressing"- you know, having like four Chanel suits and wearing them all the time- really works, because a) what if you spill, and b) how depressing would it be to put the same thing on every day? I think if you're going to do it you have to be really committed to it, and a fashion schizophrenic like myself is just not made for capsule dressing) and you end up frantic at four o'clock in the morning trying to shove your sixth pair of boots into your bag alongside the aromatherapy pillow and inflatable inner tube. But back to the clothes. I don't know what I love the most, but I do know that the first dress=perfection, the second dress...I love it, but I don't think it would look very good on me, it's still fantastic, though, the third dress- I usually hate the little collar-neck thing but here it totally works, and the geometric multicolored last minidress and the fourth shiny dress and hat are beyond the Valley of Amazing and veering into Must-Own-Them-Now territory.

So, I challenge you to tell me you didn't love at least ONE of those outfits.
In other news, people are rude and evil. I was working at Cool Vintage Store yesterday, manning the register, doing my usual thing of smiling at people when they walk in as if to imply that I am a caring and helpful staff member whilst covertly skimming through Elle underneath the table, when two of those girls you just have to hate on sight flounced in, expensive designer bags aplenty, laughing in that "We're so much better than you" way. Luckily, they weren't wearing Uggs with skirts or I would have ejected them from the store right away. But anyway, they picked out some boring jewelry and brought it up to the register, and one of the girls (we'll call her Bitch #1) asked- when I say asked, I mean rolled her eyes and demanded- that I hold her fug necklace for her at the register until she was done shopping. When people ask us to do this, we're supposed to write the person's first name on a paper bag along with the price of the object and put the object inside the bag. I asked for the girl's first name and she snottily told me, "Emma." So I observed idly, "That's my name too,". Now, when salespeople tell me things like that, I nod politely. I mean, it's not like I expect people to break into song at my extraordinary salesgirl prowess. But she was just RUDE. She flipped her stupid hair, rolled her eyes at me and GIGGLED and WHISPERED SOMETHING TO BITCH #2. I was just standing there like, "Really?" I mean, does this bitch think she has made my day by strolling into my shop and deigning to buy something? Let me remind you all that I don't even get PAID (well, except in clothes, which to me is actually better than money because if I were getting paid in money my dad would probably stop giving me an allowance and I would just end up spending the money on clothes anyway, and this way I get the best of both worlds.) Also, I am not known to be a warm and friendly person who just strikes up conversation randomly, but since I got this job I've been trying to speak politely to people, because if I'm nice to people they tend to buy things, and if they buy things my supervisor is in a good mood and therefore more inclined to let me hide stuff behind the register until I have enough money to buy it. So when I try to be polite to a customer and they treat me rudely, it enrages me.
EMMA'S LIST OF WORKING RULES
1. Don't be rude to me. If I tell you to have a nice day, I am being FACETIOUS and FALSELY POLITE and there's no need to look at me like I just told you to EAT TURDS.
2. Put your FRICKING clothes back on the FRICKING racks. Is it so hard? Clothes. Rack. Hangers. GOD.
3. If you're going to annoy me for six hours about a purchase, please buy it, or buy something, because if you don't my supervisor gets annoyed. Apparently, when people buy things we make money, and when we make money that's good for the store or something. Who knew?
4. This is a message to all the old men out there. None of whom I hope are reading this blog. Not that I'm anti-old man or anything, but...you know what I mean. STOP ASKING ME TO TRY ON NECKLACES "FOR YOUR DAUGHTER", because we have "similar measurements". NECK measurements? Ick. Stop lurking about the store telling me riddles about the sphynx and ogling me while I sort donations. It's not pleasant.
5. Every single overly Botoxed (oh my God, I just watched one of those totally hilarious Botox commercials on TV where the voiceover waxes rhapsodic about how much more joy you'll get out of life while dead-faced women dance around the screen, all wearing the exact same expression. It is my greatest dream for a bunch of Botoxed Park Avenue moms to one day throw me a surprise party. Picture it- a bunch of expressionless women shouting "SURPRISE!" in deadpan voices without so much as a crinkle crossing their foreheads) cliched New York power-walking whiny mother and their fifteen overscheduled children needs to STOP BOTHERING ME. Really, it's like they seek me out. I don't KNOW if the couch is hypoallergenic, lady, ask someone else.
6. Stop angering me. It's my JOB to be nice to you, so quit provoking me. Also, when I am on my lunch break, that is my BREAK. For LUNCH. That is not the time to accost me with questions as I try to slip out the door. Ask someone else.

THE TV BOOK & MUSIC CORNER- Furthering my love affair with Sufjan Stevens avec The Man Of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts and The Dress Looks Nice On You. The latter is my favorite song du jour. I finally finished Jane Eyre, and...I just didn't like it. I much prefer Pride + Prejudice. I was disappointed because I expected it would be amazing. I'm also sad because ALL MY SHOWS ARE ENDING FOR THE SUMMER :^( But then again, it is summer, and I am giddy, and there are reruns.

CURRENT ATTIRE- I'm trying to de-rage myself with therapeutic healing, i.e. painting my nails (by the way, the brick in the background is my fire escape. I'm sitting out here, and it's v. nice and sunny and whatnot) and eating this AMAZING cookie. The cookie doesn't look so delicious, I know, but OH MY GOD. It is crack wrapped in fudgey molten deliciousness. I mean, not literally, but they are ADDICTIVE. And there are bits of peanut butter is it, which is what those chunks are. I have to stop eating these! It's disturbing how good they are. Anyway, such activities require my light purple bohemian top with the lace edges, my Good-Butt denim knee-length shorts, and my brand-new shoes. Plus a string of chunky beads around my neck as well as my perennial amber necklace.

SIGHTINGS- Rien. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Come on, people, it's summer, let's step it up a notch.

<3

2007-05-09T12:39:00.000-07:00

What's your instinct reaction when you hear the words "summer suits," "bathing-suit shopping" or "bikini"?

A) "Oh, lovely, is it summer already? Now I can go purchase my favorite brightly colored string bikini that hangs about ninety percent off my perfectly toned ass and traipse luxuriously around my private beach, pina colada in hand, designer sunglasses perched firmly on my coiffed head with deliciously toned, tanned Boys Of Summer following me around like puppy dogs in manner of Victoria's Secret Swimwear ad, stretching my six-miles-long legs and applying shimmer body lotion to my already tanned skin. God, I love myself sometimes, I really do."

B) "WHAAAAAT? CRAP! Didn't I JUST bloody go swimsuit shopping? Every year, no sooner do I escape into the anonymous burrows of winter and hide myself in layers upon layers does the stupid shiny sun pop up again and I'm forced to go desperately from store to store, miserably catapulting myself into tiny, embarassing bathing suits that only serve to make me look oddly chubby, pale and deformed whilst whippet-thin saleswomen smirk behind their talons and offer pityingly to "get me the next size up" in a just-between-us-girls, I-promise-I-won't-tell-anyone-you're-such-a-fatty tone until I just want to crack something over their heads and shriek, "I AM NOT AN ANIMAL! I AM A HUMAN BEEEIIIIING!" But the sad thing is, I can't even blame the saleswomen for my deficiencies. Who can I blame? Myself? No, never. I know! NUTELLA!"

I'm probably just a tad closer to B than A. Lately, though, I've been wishing there was a C, a middle ground, a "Yes, I am not the size of a golf pencil, but I am also not grossly obese and wish to purchase a swimsuit that makes me resemble neither this
nor this

but simply a normal-shaped person." Not that it's not normal to be fat or thin, I hate when people are all "Skinny women are not really women, but rather female impersonators, because REAL WOMEN HAVE CURVES." Curves are a lovely thing to have, but just because you don't have them doesn't make you any less of a woman.

Anywho, I was perusing my old friend the Internet in a quest to solve my little bathing-suit problem. It's very risky to purchase suits online, because more often than not when they arrive at your house they are either mammoth or minuscule and you spent about three hours either trying to bolster yourself in or fasten them around you without falling off. But I was just using the 'Net (look how hip I am! I shortened the word Internet! I know, I'm totally wild, aren't I?) as a jumping-off point and here are the sort of things that appealed to me.

^This, as you may be able to tell, is the category of bathing suits that are monochromatic (mostly) but hopefully not dull. I especially like the peacock-feathered one because it just seems awesome, the polka-dot 1980s vintage one, the white vintage Retrodress pinup one, and the white Marilyn-Monroe-esque "swim dress". Oh, and the zebra-striped one. The first, semiboring one really just looks like it would look good on. The last one is from Shopbop, by some expensive designer, and costs about a hundred million dollars for basically a few strips of waterproof fabric, but it's nice, you have to admit.

^Pretty colors! I love all these suits, in large part because they look like they would actually stay ON. I hate when bathing suits that are supposedly one-piece end up totally going up your butt, as if the masochist, evil designers are sending the message to all the Type-A, perfect-body girls- "Yeah, we had to say that these suits are built for "a curvier physique", but don't worry, they end up showing off your entire booty anyway." I am just not the kind of girl who can get away with that- I need all my bottoms to stay firmly on. And tops as well- nobody likes a nip slip. The first and last suits are from Anna&Boy, this incredibly funky swimwear line- Google them, they're worth checking out. The second and fourth suits are from Retrodress, and aren't they sweet? Particularly the second one? Actually, I can't decide which one I like better, 2 or 4. The third one is from vintagevixen.com and is just UNBELIEVABLY PERFECT, I covet it with every fiber of my being. And I do not say that lightly, the last time I did was when I was watching Batman Begins with friends and sighed lustily, "I want Christian Bale with every fiber of my being, I wish I could bear his children, do we have any more disgusting fattening food around here?"

^All right, I know there are two-piece junkies out there, so here you go, feast yourselves. I like the first one- it's not really my style, as I have no need for athletic swimwear (you know those lovely active girls at the beach who are always organizing marathon games of volleyball and gigglingly tackling adorable collegiate boys like they're in a Playtex ad? Yeah, so deeply not me. I'm usually laying out in some ratty vintage caftan and big shades, checking out the hot lifeguard and pretending to read.), but it's cute for the sporty chicks.
The sea foam green Shopbop bikini is pretty. And kind of bland, but nice. It's hard to find really distinctive swimwear. The last three are all from Raisins and reasonably cute- I especially like the last one, it's got this great decal on the bottom back and the top that you probably can't see very well in that small picture, but it's adorable.

^God, I love sunglasses. I just want to collect them, like a crazed butterfly collector collects...er...butterflies. I lost my favorite pair recently, so I'm on the prowl for a new one, considering that all my other backup pairs are broken and my all-time FAVORITE real Chanel shades that I saved up for for approximately my entire LIFE have been residing at the bottom of some lake in Pennsylvania since last summer. True and long story involving rafting and a particularly brisk wind...and my sheer, utter, unfathomable stupidity. But anyway. The second-to-last ones...sparkly cat's-eye glasses make me smile and think of librarians and times gone by. And the T-shirt- I feel like I would just wear it around town giggling to myself, "You think these sunglasses on my shirt are real. But they're FAKE! I'm PSYCHING YOU OUT! I'm pulling your leg! THEY'RE NOT THERE! THEY'RE AN ILLUSION! CLAP IF YOU BELIEVE!" On second thought, maybe it's not wise to give me, a person so clearly straddling the fence of total insanity, a device for excessive craziness like that tee. It's cool, though, right?

^I'm mentally matching these crazily awesome summer-themed earrings to the sunglasses and swimsuits already. I would wear the luau-themed ones in the middle with the cat's-eye shades for a very Gidget Goes Hawaiian feel. The pink feather drop earrings would be amazing with the pink sunglasses and maybe a Basic Black Bathing Suit. The peacock feather ones? All I know is that I would never, EVER wear them with the peacock suit. Too much matching makes me want to cry and then go beat up Avril Lavigne for a while (my cure for everything). The first ones would kind of go with everything and nothing, simultaneously. And I can't even talk about the last, completely amazing ones- it would be like wearing Carmen Miranda's head on your ears.

^I know those things were kind of random. But I really wanted to throw in that Diane von Furstenburg beach towel- dude, if your TOWELS are designer you've got it made- and the Oleg Cassini vintage "beach jacket." I beg you, kids, HAVE AN OPEN MIND. I know at first glance it's Le Fug, but the facts remain that a) it is an Oleg Cassini vintage beach jacket, whatever the eff that is, and b) it is kind of awesome, if you picture it unbuttoned over some awesome suit and huge vintage-y shades. Whatever, I love it. The last thing is just an Urban Outfitters tube dress that I think is cool to throw over a suit. That's the nice thing about tube dresses, they're good for getting dressed on the run- even though I rarely wear them because if you are not flat as the proverbial board they do weird things to your chest.

So, enjoy those little pieces of lovely. They should aid the transition into summer nicely for kids who, like myself, fare better (fashion-wise, at least) in winter. I mean, I love summer and all, but it feels like there's this constant pressure to be all thin and happy all the time, which is an alien concept to my pale, snarky self. Bitchy contrarian that I am, the other day I bought like four pairs of opaque tights on a day when everyone else in the store was buying sunglasses. I'm like the Grinch Who Stole Summer. I do like warm weather, though, and no school. Oy, school...I've been so buried under essays and papers and finals-studying and trying to write a decent grad speech for my class, along with being in charge of the Reunion page for the yearbook- don't judge me, it's FUN and I get to be as bitchy and witty as I like- well, witty in my own head, which...EVERYTHING is funny to me. I'm kind of an idiot- working at Cool Vintage Store, attempting to go to the gym...er...well, THINKING about going to the gym, anyway (I find that's the best part of having a gym membership, the way you can just slip it into conversation, like "Oh, yeah, I'm going to work out tonight", because it's not like the person you're talking to knows that the staff at NYSC actually E-MAILED YOU asking why you never show up. Needy much? Because I was BUSY, assholes. Well, more like lazy, but the point still stands. I think.) and all the rest of it that I've been neglecting my corner of Blog Village. A thousand times sorry! I will now prostrate myself at the feet of the blogging community and beg pardon.
Can I get up now?
Thank you.
So I was reading New York magazine today...it might have been an old issue, I don't know...and splat-bang, what do I find but a little article on the world's most fascinating subject...SOCIALITES! I swear to you, usually I will gorge on any gossipy trash story in any paper and hate myself for it later, but I had to put down the magazine because I was bored into a stupor after the first six words. Now, I bitch about real celebrities a lot but the fact is that obviously I am INTERESTED in their lives, at least in the "Hey look, a car crash!" way, but honestly...I don't know any socialites so I can't make this judgment that they are all pure undiluted evil, but Christ almighty. If I hear the words "Olivia Palermo" or, God save me, "Tinsley Mortimer" one more time I am going to CUT A BITCH. Well, not really. But doesn't that make me sound intimidating?
Really, when I read the endless streams of crap about this Muffy and that Gigi attending so-and-so's oh-so-marvelous luncheon at Generic Million-Dollar Restaurant- wait, no, it's never referred to as something so gauche as a restaurant, it's always a "hot spot" or an "eatery" (what the hell is an EATERY? Is the place where I go to get my pain au chocolat-or three- and coffee in the morning a...oh, wait. I'm an idiot. It IS a bakery. But is the place where I go to buy lipstick called a MAKEUPPERY? Is the place where I go to look at little baby puppies-aw! I love animals, when I don't have to clean up for them, I'm too self-involved for that- called a DOGGERY? No. So there's no need to be so pretentious.)- it makes me want to punch a wall. Being preppy is one thing, but...oye. Trust me, no matter what course my life takes, I don't think you will ever find me in a neat little satin headband and pearls, doing the lady-who-lunches thing with a million blond nanny-raised children all decked out in Bonpoint.

After graduation, all my school shirts are going in the trash bins. I understand the polo shirt thing, if that's your look...but it is just not mine. As God as my witness, I'll never go Lacoste again!

I have a question. Who thought, "Hmm. What's sexy, what's sexy...not Paris Hilton, that's been done,-and how-not bowling-alley prostitutes, not salsa dancers...I know. GRANDMOTHERS. Brilliant."?

Now, see, these amuse me. I probably wouldn't wear them, but they amuse me. Besides, if I wore these to school with my regulation polo I would look ridiculous, like I'd found them in a store and mistaken the skulls for little preppy hearts and decided they would go just swimmingly with my Lacostes.

If you have not seen Tea Partay yet...oh God. I both pity and envy you. Just go to youtube and type in "Tea Partay." Thank me later. Maybe with a bouquet of roses? And a Cadbury Crunchie? Those things are damn good, y'all. I wish I could live in a giant hot tub full of them.

Okay, I don't know why either, but it makes me happy. So ignore the randomosity and just love it for what it is.
I don't mean to sound condescending here...I'll probably be some weird "satirical avant-gardist" or something like that, playing the guitar for chump change at shitty bars- and not making any money, because I suck-and accompanying myself on the electric kazoo or something. And I'll send lots of angry letters about the fractured state of our society to the New York Times under an assumed name, and I'll keep cats. Not just have cats- KEEP cats. There's a difference, as any self-respecting crazy cat lady will tell you.

TV CORNER- I'm sad because 30 Rock is over until next year. Hey, at least it got picked up for a second season, unlike Studio 60! I can't believe I haven't found a likeminded 30 Rock lover in the blog world. It's HILARIOUS, people. So many good throwaway lines...to quote Liz Lemon, "I'm going to go talk to some food about this." Just watched ANTM, and all I can say is...to quote Dionne (byebye, Dionne. I used to like you a lot but...whatever, I'm not too torn up), "What the HAYELL?" Okay, when has Natasha ever been anything but nice? Maybe she's a crazy Russian mail order bride who nuzzles phones, but she's a sweet girl and she did NOT deserve all that shit the others foisted upon her. I'd like to say that's not how women really are, but...I think everyone's been in that situation, of having girls band against you for no reason. I love Nata! Shut up. It's possible that I just feel kind of connected to her because I'm part Russian and speak Russian fluently(unlike my waning skills in Italian, I still remember how) and can actually understand her, but whatever. She's funny! And me likey humor. Oh, and can we talk about the Aboriginal dance challenge? I was laughing so hard that I spilled my water, and then choked on a sip of it for like four hours. Worth it.

THERE WILL BE NO BACK TALK ABOUT NATIZZLE. She OWNS.
SIGHTINGS- Really cute guy in my doctor's office. Thankfully, he was NOT wearing khakis- the preppy spell is BROKEN! For now, anyway. We made some pretty sizzling eye contact and I would've gone over to talk to him, but the doctor called my name. Besides, what if he was there to treat his nasty case of herpes or something? Also, on 40th street the other day...or somewhere like that. God, I should know New York better, but it was a place with office buildings- the best-dressed woman in the city was hailing a cab. For real, she was one of those hardcore women who are not afraid to wear fifteen thousand-inch stilettos and rock them proudly with a feminine/firm business suit. Oh my God, I sound like Tyra. When I'm trying to describe something, I like to go to the inner Tyra Mail monologue running through my head...you know,how she always sounds so hilariously dramatic and retarded (not necessarily in that order) on the little Tyra Mail cards. Like, if all the girls are hanging out at the house bitching at each other, Tyra wouldn't just say, "Bitches hate each other", oh no, no, no. She'd say, "Get ready to sharpen your claws on the diva runway! Meow! Catfight!" Or something else reminiscent of a drag queen/ cat fashion show. I don't know.

CURRENT ATTIRE- My nice jeans and pretty pumps with a slobby white tank top encrusted with bits of rice- I was wearing the shirt during dinner, and now I'm trying to decide if I should go out, and remove the tank top and put on a decent shirt. Nah, I'll just hang here in my usual post-ANTM comatose state, sitting out on my fire escape in fugly clothing, maybe listen to some Arcade Fire. And definitely stuff my face a lot. God, I love Dulce de Leche. I mean really, I do.

Hasta la vista, babies.

Because Blogging Really Is The New Crack...

2007-05-04T14:24:00.000-07:00

Correct me if I am right, but didn't I make a big emotional announcement in my last post about how much work I have to do and how I won't be posting at all for three weeks or more and I will miss all my bloggers a lot and you are very dear to me and blah, blah, blah?
And yet here I am again, rambling away?
DAMN YOU, Internet, you scandalous vixen minx, luring me back into your traps! Just when I think I'm out, they pull me back in! Now I know how Michael Corleone felt.
But this isn't REALLY a post, because if I were to actually post, that would mean that I am procrastinating, when I am meant to be BUCKLING DOWN, and PULLING UP MY SOCKS, and FIRMLY HOISTING MYSELF UP BY THE BOOT STRAPS, and all that other painful-sounding stuff you're meant to do before final exams.
So don't think of this as a post, I implore you, readers. Think of it as a...a what? A schmoast? A roast? A toast? A fauxst- fake post? I've got it, a POSTLET. It is a baby post. A Melba Post, if you will. HAHAHAHAHAHA.
Hey, at least I make myself laugh. But really, wouldn't my posts be better if they were topped with melting cheese? Mmm, I do love me some Melba Toast.

I'm actually kind of adamantly anti-Hello Kitty. But I would make an exception for this toaster. Or at least just a baby-pink toaster. It's my dream to someday live in a house with all-pink kitchen appliances, and a gumball machine in the living room. Basically it would be Barbie's Dream House, except I would substitute Ken for Christian Bale and a team of male strippers. Or possibly Christian Bale moonlighting as a male stripper. I would call it Emma's Swingin' Bachelorette Pad. I would probably wear turbans and fluffy slippers like a washed-up diva, and watch the Home Shopping Network while eating bonbons...wait, what was I doing?

THE BEST WAYS TO PROCRASTINATE WHEN YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE STUDYING FOR EXAMS

1. Talk about toasters, and male strippers, and the Home Shopping Network on your blog.

2. Sit out on your fire escape and listen to the Beatles while eating noodles in peanut sauce and watching the sun set. Note- that picture is not my fire escape (if I tried to photograph my fire escape I would fall off and break my face), but it is a fire escape. Pretty, right?

3. TiVo Saved By The Bell. Oh, God, I'll just admit it now, shall I? And then you can all flee from my blog in horror (except Alex Richards, because she admitted she likes it too. I'M CALLING YOU ON IT, RICHARDS). I LOVE SAVED BY THE BELL. I love it. Now be quiet while I tell you WHY. Screech. Zack Morris. The Max. The gang's "confrontations" by their lockers. Principal Belding. "I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so...scared!" I quote that ALL THE TIME, especially when I hug people, and none of my stupid friends get it because apparently they don't exist on daytime television. WHATEVER. Their loss. God, Tiffani (formerly known as Amber) Thiessen is annoying. NOBODY CARES HOW MANY NAMES YOU RENOUNCE, WE STILL DON'T LIKE YOU. Shut up, Kelly.

4. Read good blogs. I can't possibly list all the hilarious/interesting/fashion-savvy blogs that have been keeping me distracted, but just an example- La Vie Compliquee, Alex Richards, Crazy Eddie, The Boob Lady, Lipstick Lady, Ashcan Rantings, The Apathist, Rebel Fashion, WAT Central, The Vehement Lovely, Countrygirl_Citylife, The Fray, Blue Floppy Hat...oy, there's too many. You know what, just go to my links list and visit every single blog there. They are all awesome and have posts that make much more sense than this one.

5. Shop online for a graduation dress, even though you know you won't order anything because you had the foresight to buy a dress last summer and will realize the night before graduation that your miraculous dress has a) spaghetti stains in some very noticeable spot even though you've NEVER EVEN EATEN SPAGHETTI ON IT, so how did that even HAPPEN???!!!??? b) magically shrunk (or else I've grown. No, it shrunk. That's my story and I'm sticking to it) or c) somehow turned hideously ugly during its months of hibernation at the back of the closet and now renders you in tears just THINKING about wearing it. So you end up hauling ass at midnight to the store at which you work and have a discount, furiously screaming obscenities while you flip through the racks searching for some nice dress that won't make you look like a hooker who is with child.
Not that this sort of thing happens to me a lot.
Which sweet little Betsey Johnson dress should I blow my money on? I mean, assuming that I manage to bypass the aforementioned vicious cycle and actually purchase a dress that I like, on time.
I know they're all semi-boring, but I can't wear the sort of funky, loud, tiny vintage dress I actually want to wear to my graduation. It is a time of reflection, and self-examination, and grandparents.

^This? Picture it with pretty shoes and some funky accessories to make it less prissy. I think it could be cute if I wore it sort of ironically, like "You want me to dress up and be fancy? Fine! I'm wearing RUFFLES! In your face!"

^This? I'm worried I would look like a handkerchief, but I don't know- I kind of like it. Thoughts?

^Or this? I LOVE this dress, but I'm worried it might be too lingerie-chic for graduation.

6. Drink a lot of iced coffee, lie out in the park and attempt to get tan (er, armed with a SPF- 38473847373 bottle of sunblock. Me no likey melanomas. Besides, looking like the deep-fried biscuit that comes with the fried chicken at Mama's House Of Chicken (that is actually a real restaurant, I ate there a long time ago) is not attractive, in my opinion.

^Yes, I'm a Starbucks kind of ho.

7. Read for pleasure. No, don't throw things at me. I'm a really bad reading nerd- right now I'm feasting on Anywhere But Here, Jane Eyre, the first Bridget Jones (for the nineteenth time- that book never gets old) and I'm planning to start Homecoming by Julia Alvarez.
P.S. Did you know that Charlotte Gainsbourg played Jane Eyre in the movie?

8. Four words- Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Bueller...? Bueller...? Bueller...?

9. Incessantly painting your toenails with cheap dollar-store nail polish. By the way, don't mind the blue ink stains on my hands- my stupid pen exploded earlier.

10. Debate whether dresses like this one below
should be bought or burned. On the one hand I love it, but on the other I'm going "Is it really time for a flannel renaissance? Didn't we just bury the nineties?" I think this might be the only cute thing in flannel in existence, besides rugged, well-toned lumberjacks of course.

Anyway, now I'm off to try and (insert your own gasps of shock and horror) ACTUALLY STUDY FOR PHYSICS. Does anyone care about the periodic table of the elements, REALLY? I mean, do you think my future career, whatever it may be, will entail me having to know the atomic number of unununium? Or even what unununium is?

TV CORNER- Bye-bye, Britt Of The Mysterious Surprise Amnesia. I would be sadder if you were likable or attractive or interesting in any way whatsoever. Nata? Dionne? Renee (who is growing on me)? Jas-Queen? I'm torn, y'all.
But male models! Yum! Oh, and I must admit, Renee pulling out those photos of her son to get that job was shameless and I loved it. If you're going to do back-handed, evil things, that's the way to do them.
Did anybody watch the SUPER-SPECIAL TWO-HOUR PLEASE WATCH OUR SHOW episode of Grey's? I meant to, because it had Taye Diggs, but I went out instead. Should I start watching Grey's 2.0? Ooh, I so envy all those friends across the pond (Lipstick Lady, Maya, etc.) who are only on season 2 of Grey's and still have good Grey's times coming to them.

SIGHTINGS- There was an annoyingly whippet-thin, six-foot-tall salesgirl in Tani whose outfit I completely coveted. It was a white lacy top, navy blue knee-length vintage-looking skirt, five-inch Perspex stilettos (I wish I could do the heels thing, but it just hurts my feet too badly). It all worked a lot better than it sounds. Oh, and hello, Boy In Starbucks Wearing Heart-Shaped Glasses And A Beatles Tee That Matched My Own! I do think I love you! I don't know why the heart-shaped glasses, but they made me smile. Oh, and this woman on the street was wearing very sparkly fairy-princess Repetto ballet flats that I loved. Unfortunately, she wore them with a charcoal-gray business suit that basically made her look as mannish as the day is long. And it just looked BAD. BAD. BAD. Oh, and OH MY GOD, you guys, does anyone know where Chandra Wilson lives? Because I'm ALMOST positive I saw her at the gym. But I do that a lot- I think I see celebrities and it turns out to be some random nonfamous person. I mean, I saw her getting on the elliptical thing and I wanted to run up and go "Ohmygod ohmygod Bailey I love you Bailey I'm sorry your show sucks now Bailey I wish you had your own show Bailey and maybe McSteamy could guest star on it and not have any lines and just stand there shirtless in silence while you yell at people Bailey." She is the only thing about Grey's Anatomy that is good anymore. But it would have been really embarassing if the woman hadn't been Chandra Wilson. Okay, in my mind it was Chandra Wilson.

CURRENT ATTIRE- My pretty new cranberry-colored ballet flats, dark denim knee-length shorts, a vintage Pucci-esque silky scarf in my hair, and a very ripped-up white oxford (I replaced the plain buttons with onyx beads) over a teal lacy camisole.

Is this a good yearbook quote? "Time you enjoyed wasting was not wasted- John Lennon".
If it isn't, I'm kind of buggered, because I already submitted it.
<333333
Ciao, Roma

2007-04-29T17:18:00.000-07:00

Buon giorno tutti.
Sad, really, that I used to be fluent in Italian and now all I know is "hello all," "with cheese", and "I love you". Ah well, my talents lie in other areas. Such as...er...
Anyway.
I loved all the suggestions for my future career, especially Alex Richards' author idea and Meg's weathergirl idea. Meg, it sounds fantastic and I'd love to point at clouds and kibbitz with Chad the overly-tanned news anchor. Unfortunately, I don't have the spare cash in my account for collagen and silicon boobs right now, but once I scrape the $ together I'll definitely get on it.
For now, though, I think...I HAVE FOUND MY CALLING.
I must...nay, SHALL...be one of the Fug Girls. I know that right now I do not posess even a fragment of the wittiness of Heather and Jessica at Go Fug Yourself, but I can only pray that after taking some time to hone my bitchery chops I could be the Anne Hathaway to their fashion-goddess Meryl Streep, running about fetching them coffees and walking their dogs while they further master the art of online fugging.
So, in the name of all that's not fit to wear outside, here it is. My pathetic attempt to ingratiate myself with the fugging community. Enjoy!
THE TOP TEN MOST ANNOYING/BADLY DRESSED/GENERALLY IRKSOME CELEBRITIES DU JOUR, AS COMPILED BY A WANNABE FUGSTER.
(note- don't yell at me. If one of these people happens to be your style guru...well, sorry. Go have a nice sandwich or something, or maybe some Nutella. Or maybe Nutella AND a sandwich. And then see if you feel a bit better. I guarantee, you will. Nutella=miracle cure. Just got all your teeth knocked out in a bar fight? NUTELLA. Failing all of your courses? NUTELLA. Forced to tap-dance on the street alongside an organ grinder called Guido and his monkey for spare cash because you're a destitute mess? NUTELLA.)
And choirs of angels on high sing the Hallelujah chorus...

1. Mischa Barton.
The Good-
Great shoes. Dress that shouldn't look good but it does. Hair that...well, it's ATTACHED TO HER HEAD. So that's something. And it appears to be her own, and not purchased from Tyra's House O' Weaves, so that gets her some points too. Snaps all around for La Barton.
The Bad-
To quote the greatest teen movie the world has ever seen, "She's a full-on Monet. From far away it's okay, but up close it's just a big old mess." The combination of "I sleep with rockers!" bangs + sinfully ugly boots + that DRESS, oh, that DRESS...is not good. Leopard is lovely in small doses. Shoes. Bag. Etc. Or, if you have the personality to carry crazy-ass full-on leopard well, go for it. But Mischa? YOU HAVE NO PERSONALITY.

The Should-Be-Fugly But Kind Of Works...No, Never Mind, It Blows-

When I first saw this, I thought "Cool." And then I thought, "Ankle boots? No." And then I thought "Drop knowledge, not bombs. That Mischa Barton girl is one smart cookie." And then I thought "No, really, I like that tee shirt." And then I thought, "But look, even her dog is scared of that skirt." And then I thought, "But she wears it well." And then I thought "But does she, REALLY?" And then there was some sparkly object waved in front of my face and I got distracted. True story. So we're resting on, a big "nyet" to the whole ensemble. Oh, and the high-waisted trend? Sweet Cletus, what is up with that? MOM JEANS. FRONT BUTT. Am I the only one who gets it?

But her sartorial choices aside, the reason I cannot stomach Mischa B. is her "acting." Yeah, I saw The O.C. And the only thing that kept me hooked was gaping at her in wonder and saying to myself, "Who cast her? WHO? Who cast that girl? I mean, in all seriousness...is this a cruel joke? Are they toying with the viewers? Is this a litmus test to see just HOW much lack of talent the general public will put up with in exchange for a pretty girl the width of a string bean, with hair about the same consistency?"
But they were serious. And that's why I stopped caring about the O.C. a long, long time ago, boys and girls. And now it's dead, and so is Marissa Cooper. So I think we've all learned something today.
IF YOU'RE GOING TO TAKE A JOB ON A TELEVISION SERIES, MAYBE TAKE AN ACTING CLASS FIRST. And eat a corn dog. Jeez. Maybe she's naturally skinny, but there's naturally skinny and then there's naturally skinny.

2. Justin Timberlake. I think I've made my feelings toward Justin abundantly clear in some previous post (I don't feel like sifting through my landmines of crazy, so I can't tell you exactly which one). Just in case, though.
JUSTIN.
This is you back then.

This is you now.

I'm sure you're sorry for the fedora. I HAVE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU FEEL AS BAD ABOUT THE FEDORA AS I DO. I HAVE TO. In fact, you probably go into your Walk-In Closet of Shame sometimes, look around, cringe, see the fedora perched jauntily on your revolving hat rack and think "Thank God I ditched that thing. Oh, and good thing I extracted myself from the Britney canon as well. Bitch crazy".
But still. I don't care that you now make music videos with Harlot Johansson (who was surprisingly amusing in that prom dress SNL sketch). You are DULL. You are a DULL MAN. You look like a weird cross between ogre and potato, and you have sporadic clumps of beard hair, and...I'm running out of reasons why I don't like you. I know I'm supposed to like you now that you've staged your comeback. But you're going to have to work harder to win me over. Dance shirtless more. We girls like that, or so I've read.

3. Fergie Feeerg.

I don't say this often about celebrities, but I hope she's on crack. What other excuse does she have for this outfit? There is a way to show off your abs that does not involve a) Barbie's Dream Skirt, made exclusively for Kmart (actually, I kind of love Kmart. It's so cheap and convenient! It's like the slutty sister of Target. And Target is the bastard child of Bloomingdale's, and Bloomingdale's is of course the hick cousin of Barneys/Bergdorf's. Ah, the circle of life.), as reimagined by Paris Hilton's dog groomer, b) legwarmers on tube socks, or c) a tee shirt clearly borrowed from the wardrobe department of the summer tour of Toddlers Gone Loco.

I like to think of this outfit as a little argument between Fergie's better self and her legwarmers-over-tube-socks-wearing, abs-displaying self.
Here's how I think it would go.
Scene- Fergie is standing in front of her full-length mirror, contemplating her outfit choices. A little red demon in a tube top and a white, glowing angel in a shirt of appropriate length rest on each of her shoulders.
GOOD ANGEL- I really like that outfit on you, Fergie. I especially like how your shirt doesn't have any veiled reference to your lady parts on it. Sure, the pants make you look a little stumpy, but all in all it's nice.
BAD ANGEL- Don't listen to that wench. Tuck the top of your sweater up to display your dynamite abs.
GOOD ANGEL- Fergie, no! You'll look weirdly top-heavy and out of proportion!
BAD ANGEL- Come on! You're Fergie Ferg! You can wear anything! Aren't you the girl who wore legwarmers over tube socks? Come on, show us your humps! Your humps! Your lovely lady lumps!
GOOD ANGEL- But...I...
BAD ANGEL- You know you want to.
GOOD ANGEL- But...uh...
BAD ANGEL- Do it.
GOOD ANGEL- Bu...h...
BAD ANGEL- Hush. Now. Tuck the sweater up.

*Good angel gives up and flies off to implore some other celebrity to listen to their better style self. Too bad everybody ignores the good angel, huh?*

Fergie seems totally crazy. And not really in an awesome, I-want-to-go-drinking-with-her way. In a "please don't boil my bunny, or eat my newborn baby" way.

"Dang, y'all, can you believe I made this necklace out of my old nose rings? And how great is my hair right now? I invited my friend Miss J over to do my makeup, so I could look as g-l-a-m-o-r-o-u-s as (s)he does.
Trannies give the best advice, y'all! (S)he had some great tips for masking my Adam's apple! That's it, you guys. From now on I only hang out with transvestites."

4. Pete Wentz.

"Whatsup, dudes? I'm Pete Wentz! Yeah, I know, you're in awe of my cutting-edge style. I WEAR EYELINER. And I'm not, like, a chick. I'M A DUDE. So me wearing eyeliner is like...a chick wearing a Rock Out With Yo' Cock Out hat. Or a masculine Seiko watch. But back to me. Yeah, I'm in this mad cool band, and you should really listen to us. All our songs sound exactly alike, but it's cool because I WEAR EYELINER. And not in a gay way. In a TOTALLY HARDCORE WAY."

"Check it, peeps. Who do you know who looks that angsty in a vest? Yeah, I totally borrowed it from my high school trigonometry teacher. Who is so NOT HARDCORE AT ALL, so what does he need a vest for? Pshh. MY TATTOOS MAKE IT EDGY. SO WHO'S LAUGHING NOW, MR. SMITHFIELD? ME. HAHAHAHAHA. ME."
"Even this MONKEY knows I rock super hard. Look at it, all up on me. It's thinking, "God, Pete, what manly and rock-star-like pores you have." Because I DO. My pores rock. Hard.
The monkey is taunting me, guys. It THINKS it can be as awesome as me. It THINKS it can wear makeup and sing unintelligible words. But IT CAN'T. So suck it, MONKEY. Because only a PRIVILEGED FEW are born with my BEAUTIFUL VOICE and my LYRICAL ELOQUENCE and STAGE PRESENCE.
And my PORES. Oh God, my PORES."

P.S. I'm not knocking "emo" music- if that's what Fall Out Boy is. I don't like to say "emo" because it makes me think of "emu." And I'm kind of afraid of emus. But anyway, if you worship at the Sacred Altar of Pete Wentz, as I know a lot of people do, don't leave a furious comment, because it's mean and it makes you look stupid because really, mean comments are humorous. Actually, scratch that, leave a mean comment if you want. I could use a good laugh. Or better yet, scroll up on this post. NUTELLA= THE SECRET TO A HAPPY LIFE. Eat that, Rhonda Byrne.

5.

Look! Hark yonder! I have spotted the elusive Leather-Belted Poshbot!
This is a truly rare breed of celebrity.
It hasn't been in anything or done anything to deserve its fame since a certain ill-fated girl group many years ago.
It has since married an undeniably hot but somewhat boring soccer player, and gone on to make beautiful babies (cough, in her laboratory. Cough. WHAT PERSON WITH THAT WAISTLINE HAS PUSHED OUT KIDS, I ASK YOU?) and befriended the Hapless Scientology-Spouting Child Beard...er, of course I mean Bride (no, I actually feel bad for poor Katie Holmes. Didn't Tom Cruise make her give birth on a ship or something? Without screaming? If Scientology is your thing, then whatever, but she just seems like a sweet kid who fell in love with the wrong cyborg. Here's how Tom probably proposed to Katie- "My sweet darling. Just put the stupid ring on and kiss me on the Eiffel Tower, then I can go cruise for dudes and you can go play Barbies in the corner or whatever the hell you were doing before I found you." Their baby is damn cute, though. Poor Katie. I wish she could just be that pain-in-the-ass, perky poster child for America again. Ah, well. They're beyond old news now, Tom and Katie, but I just wanted to rant a bit anyway.).
The Leather-Belted Poshbot has been seen scuttling around the world in various fashion mags. She enjoys dining on hearty meals of birdseed and water (to quote "Donatella Versace"- "Jumpin' Jehosaphat! You need to ACTUALLY EAT! You look like a pencil with two blood oranges glued to the top!"), vogueing for the cameras while pretending to be really bothered that the stupid paparazzi are bugging her for photos even though she's actually a total fame whore and LOOOVES the attention (dude, who doesn't? I never said I wasn't a fame whore. But at least be honest about it. Sheesh.), and generally being a particularly spiky thorn in my side. She just bugs me a lot.
And that belt wasn't even a good idea as a skirt, so why would you feel compelled to slide it up a few inches?
Christ, Victoria. Suck in your cheeks a little more. I'll call the miners- I'm sure they'd love a day's outing spelunking in the hollows that are your cheekbones.

6. Sienna Miller.

Yes, Sienna, we get it. You are young and free and lovely, and you can wear your hair up on your head like the love child of Maria Von Trapp and a drunken goatherd. Not that you possess ANY of Maria Von Trapp's awesomeness. But I digress. You are aglow with the light of a million faeries, and you can run across green lawns and throw your head back in laughter whilst the early morning sun bounces off your freshly purchased hair. I understand. You're everything we're not. You wear crocheted boots. You're too cool for school (and, apparently, too cool for PANTS). "Suddenly I See" by KT Turnstall plays constantly in your head, because suddenly you see, suddenly you see, this is what you want to be. You played Edie Sedgwick, and as a direct result, I no longer like Edie Sedgwick. Can we get a slow-clap for Ms. Miller?
I receive the message, loud and clear. You're the Princess of Narnia. You're the summer sun in a bottle. You're a magical creature and should be treated as such.
WILL YOU GO AWAY NOW?

7. Oh, Britney.
Britney, Britney, Britney.
Shall we chronicle your life through photographs?

Look how prepubescent and happy you are. Look how smiley you are in your ugly shoes with hair and whatnot. You're probably thinking about Justin. Ah, innocence. I'm not saying I wouldn't have smirked and whispered mean things about you if I'd seen you in the cafeteria- you look entirely too wholesome to just skate by without any bitchy remarks. But you seem normal here. And yes, that might just be the image your various handlers/hair brushers/leg humpers forced on you. But I prefer to imagine that at one point, Britters was a regular, functional human being. And you know what's scary? This wasn't even THAT long ago. I was alive. I was conscious. I might even have been impersonating Britney in my bedroom and singing into a hairbrush in front of the mirror.
Maybe.
Look, I was young, okay?

And here's where it starts to get a little wild. Little Miss Musketeer Britney is all gussied up in her Catholic schoolgirl attire, chanting suggestive lyrics. Still, though. It's not that bad. Well, it could be worse. I mean, it DID get worse. Who would have thought that someday I would look back on Britney's pubescent kilt-and-halter days and think wistfully, "God, I miss that good-girl phase."?

You know what's classy?
Body jewelry, glittery makeshift pants, and writhing with a cobra.
Isn't that what Betty Friedan meant by "the feminine mystique"?

Okay, so then more stuff happened. Britney had an InstaMarriage in Vegas and Frenched Madonna and so on. But that's relatively boring, and Brit-Brit is really only interesting when she's self-destructing. Wait, did I just use "Brit-Brit" and "interesting" in the same sentence? And it wasn't "Brit-Brit's choices when it comes to personal hygiene can best be described as interesting?"

Ah, the Age Of K-Fed. This is a startlingly groomed photo of the two of them, so I can only imagine they were at a charity ball or a state funeral or something. I mean, their hair has been washed in recent memory! It's so stylish! It's so avant-garde!
Don't feel bad for her, guys. SHE HAS THE GOLDEN TICKET. K-FED'S SEED IS THE GOLDEN TICKET.

Ah, you crazy kids, you. Hot tip- when your reality television show makes Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey look like the zenith of all that is sophisticated, classy, romantic and captivatingly interesting, it's time to wake up and smell the Hot Cheetos. Might I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more tacky and more illiterate.

Yeah, so then she had like sixteen babies and got a divorce and shaved her HEAD, and I would really respect her for that so much more if it hadn't been such a sad publicity stunt. I'm not even going to post a photo of Baldney Spears, because it hurts my eyes a little. In all honesty, though, I don't loathe Brit as much as I loathe some. I just feel sad for her,that's all. I'm glad she went to rehab and got help. But that doesn't change the past.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case.

8. Travis Barker.
vs.
Can you spot the difference? Me neither.

9. Ellen Pompeo.

See Barton, Mischa. Add on twenty years. Well, Pompeo is MARGINALLY better-dressed. Now, there's a real Herculean feat, out-dressing Mischa Barton, Princess of Keds.

10. Evan Rachel Wood.

I know, Evan Rachel Wood. You're thrilled. You're living your goth fairy tale. When you were starring in movies like Thirteen, which basically served as a catalyst for parents of teenage girls everywhere to have nervous breakdowns and bolt the doors of the house (thanks, Evan. Really, from all of us. Thanks), did you ever dream that one day your nauseatingly old and possibly transsexual prince would come for you? Maybe you guys should just have a big three-way with the devil himself and call it a day.
GIRL, YOU ARE TWELVE YEARS OLD. AND IF YOU'RE NOT, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU ARE. You should be miserably skulking around the "Goth" section of Contempo Casuals in your local mall, listening to death metal and moodily painting your fingernails black and hating everything, because you are SO NOT THE AVERAGE TEENAGER. You are BAD, and DANGEROUS. You are a FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH. But really, there are ways to stick it to the man and assert your pubescent independence that don't involve taking up with men literally NINETEEN TIMES YOUR AGE. And by the way, take it from me- hating everything doesn't mean you have to be so aggressively unstylish. The shining example of everything ERW WANTS to be, but simply is not, is Christina Ricci. I love her, y'all.
RICCI would never enter Marilyn Manson's love dungeon and be his angsty gothic slave, now would she?
I think little Evan would do well to learn from Ricci's example. It could be like a Big Sisters, Little Sisters program. WAIT, a wonderful thing just occurred to me. Perhaps...Marilyn and Evan are not joined in the act of love, but he is simply fulfilling a community service debt by taking her under his disturbing wing as part of the Big Brothers Who Give Children Nightmares, Little Sisters Who Need To Wash That Eyeliner Off And Stand Up Straight (oh my God, I'm my mother) program? If only.

So there's my list, make of it what you will.

THE MUSIC/TV/BOOK CORNER- I've been obsessively listening to Whoo! All Right...Yeah Uh Huh, by The Rapture. I'm a sucker for music with exclamation points in the title. Oh, and Neutral Milk Hotel= the best thing EVER. I'm listening to the EP of Everything Is right now. Next up- In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. TV-wise- If Alec Baldwin leave 30 Rock because of this screaming phone message deal, I will be MURDEROUS. Yes, it was bad, but he makes that show. He MAKES it. In between all this lovely music and television, I've been reading Anywhere But Here, by Mona Simpson. It's fantastic, and I totally recommend it.

SIGHTINGS- Mysteriously Attractive Train Boy, Part Deux! Except it was a different guy, and it wasn't a train, it was the nonfiction section of the Barnes & Noble in Union Square. He was all preppy, yet somehow more rugged than Mysteriously Attractive Train Boy #1. He had facial stubble an' all. Yes, he was wearing...ugh...khakis. What is with all the prep boys floating about these days? Making me love them and whatnot? Also, I saw a really cute boy and girl outside of some movie theater, I forget where- they looked like college kids, and the boy had adorably untended sideburns and a completely awesome navy and white striped long sleeved shirt, very Parisian, with some cool five-pocket jeans (he Made It Work) and funky street sneakers. The girl was wearing...er...something. No, wait, I remember- a fuchsia slip dress with high-heeled garden sandals that laced around the calves, with this really dark blue puff-sleeved short twill coat over it. Oh, and the other day in Central Park this woman was wheeling around a baby in THE SWEETEST OUTFIT EVER. A little ruffled green-and-yellow dress with tiny yellow sandals. It was adorable. I'm not really a baby-gusher who falls apart at the mere sight of an infant, but even my cold heart was melted a little.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Off to work- on a Sunday, no less! I'm so virtuous- at Cool Vintage Store in v. old, fitted white cashmere sweater I found in a thrift shop years ago with just one small hole in the right sleeve, black jeans, bright colored pumps, Strand bag.

I know this post was probably the longest one I've ever written, but I felt it should be, as I have to take a cue from the perennially fab Molly over at Ashcan Rantings and take a SHORT sabbatical of maybe three weeks or so without posting. You see, I've got finals coming 'round the bend, and it would really not be good for me to fail them. I'll still try and comment as much as possible on my lovely blogger pals' posts, but I just won't have time to crank out anything good for a bit. I promise to get back on track- er, as much on track as I ever am- after the hell of finals is dunzo. Before I go- shoutout to Alex Richards, one of my all-time FAVORITE bloggers who has perfected the blend of blogging about her own life and the things happening around her, and injects it all with HILARITY, to boot. She said really nice things about little old moi in a recent post. You're too kind, A.R.! Me so flattered, me love you long time.

Be back soon!
<3<3<3