I'm tapping out

Hey friend, would you like to come over tomorrow night for an "impromptu" dinner party?


I'll be serving tap water.


God, what was my life before Sweatercups "perfected the art of casual dining?"

"Over the haul" is the new old

Oh no.

You guys.

Help.

I just made the mistake of watching another haul video.



And just like before, I'm left feeling old, disenchanted and like I might migraine at any second.

What is it with young girls these days and their need to "haul?" Can't they just be happy that they bought some cute shit at the mall? Why do they feel the need to point out very last nuance of their purchase in front of the world? I've never looked at anything I owned and had the desire to point out the "leopard print detailing." Does that mean that I don't truly appreciate the little things in life? Am I too moldy to notice details like the awesomeness of "Love" and "Piiiink" on my basic black hoodie?

And then there's the fact that she went to the Victoria's Secret Semi Annual Sale TWICE IN ONE DAY!!!! If that's not the stamina of youth I don't know what is. I can run a half marathon but any time I step into a Victoria's Secret I become instantly fatigued. Do you think her secret is chia seeds? Is the Pink line carrying them along with body spray and zebra print water bottles?

I think this video is particularly disturbing to me because last night I dragged my poor friend Sarah to this very same sale. After 45 minutes of pushing and pawing through racks of neon bras and thong panties we were both so wrecked that we had to find solace in cappuccinos and a Nutella crepe.

Pretty sure this is how menopause starts.

Sparkly Sunday Sloths

On gloomy Sunday afternoons like today, I often find myself reading trashy magazines and mindlessly snacking on whatever junk is in the cabinet. Thanks to the Internet, I've learned that that I'm not alone in this practice!!! Such a relief!!! Cue the Oprah reruns!!!

I don't know about you, but when I'm acting like a sloth, I dress like one. Why take off your pajama pants before noon if you don't have to? While CouldIhavethat shares my love of Sunday snacks, last weekend she wore this because...



"...it made the day feel just a little bit fancier."

Oh.

I was totally kidding about the pajama pants.

Could you hold my peanut butter? I'm just gonna go change.

Thanks to this apartment, I now need therapy

I read this post a few days ago and it's been haunting me ever since. On any given day Apartment Therapy is intimidating, but this particular home tour really messed with my head. I think it's the way the author framed it:

"A few weeks ago I was hanging out with some friends at the building across the street from Il Borghese. I was admiring the building and told one of my friends that I would love to see the inside of one of the units. I had no idea that my friend, Bill, would actually approach someone coming out of the building, which would lead me to meeting Kristin. Il Borghese and Kristin's apartment did not disappoint!"

Wait, stop right there... You're telling me it's now kosher for strangers to approach one another on the street and ask to see their interiors? I'm just getting to the point where I shower before running my errands, my house is certainly not ready for unexpected photo shoots!

Here's just a smattering of what they saw at Kristen's house:

Kristin's dining room


Kristin's bedroom


Kristin's bath


And here's what they would see in mine if they rang my door bell today:

My dining room

And you know what? It's normally messier. (The table cloth is paper and left over from a bridal shower I hosted 3 weeks ago.)

My bedroom

Does a cute dog make up for the fact that I forgot to make the bed?

My bath

It's pretty when the cabinet is closed... which let's be honest... is never.

"Fuck it" indeed Kristen. "Fuck it" indeed.

Some days...

There are some days I really wish I was a super beautiful fashion blogger with really expensive Karen Walker sunglasses.


And others when I'm really glad I'm not.

Headscarves hurt my head

I think girls who wear headscarves are a different breed. Like the girls who can pull them off are also the type to party on private yachts, show up in July wearing fur and/or are one of the Olsen Twins.

Watching this video (for the 5th time) I began to wonder if the key to happiness is simply the ability to go out in public looking like kind of an asshole and not giving a fuck.

Or maybe it was just the music.



Do you think anything is wrong with the bottom of her face?

Oh crap, it's Coachella

Today on Twitter, Whitney Port asked me (and her 654,067 other followers) what we thought of her "festival style." It was lunch time and I was bored. I clicked on the link ready for some glossy gloss. But then my stomach dropped. How had I not realized this? Coachella. Is. Here.


Every year around this time, I find myself out to brunch in Silverlake wondering why I didn't have to wait for a table at 11:15 am. Then I realize it's because half the city has made the epic trek to desert.

(Secret: I've never been to Coachella. I know it's crazy. I'm like those girls who thought saving their virginity for marriage was a good idea. In college it made them different, something to flirt with guys about at parties. But the older they get, the weirder it becomes. Suddenly, they're 35 and have missed out on this HUGE aspect of life and guys are now scared to date them because they don't want the pressure of being the "first.")

Anyway, after my quiet brunch, I inevitably logon to Facebook and spend the rest of the weekend looking at "artistic" pictures of my extended acquaintances dressed up like sweaty (albeit attractive) hipster assholes.


I wish I could eloquently express why Whitney Port's Coachella Style Guide made me feel so strange. I think it's because she seems to take going so seriously. I mean a "Style Guide?" This isn't a trip to Paris, you're traveling to a town who's name sake is a grapefruit.


Whitney writes "For first time Coachella goers, packing can be a painful and confusing experience." What? No! My virginity metaphor was a joke!! It's a music concert. It shouldn't be painful or confusing! Whit, I love you! Stop confirming all my past judgments about Coachella! I don't want you to prove that it's totally not about the music anymore and it's just about what you look like and what VIP tents you can get into.

But then I ask myself why I'm getting so hot and bothered about this? I've never been. Who am I to use phrases like "it's not about the music anymore?" I need to get a life. Or buy a ironic T-shirt that has that printed across the front. Hey, that gives me an idea..

Because Ikea wasn't enough for her

Secret: Recently I've been feeling particularly vulnerable/single and thus have been curtailing my blog viewing as a way of incubating myself from all the Internet gloss that most days seems so unattainable. That's why you must understand that it was totally by accident that I stumbled onto The Swede Records. I honestly thought it was going to be a blog about about indie Norwegian rock bands or something equally obscure. But of course it's not. It's totally another blog about a totally cute girl (Jenny May) and her totally amazing marriage to her totally cute (and very Swedish) husband.

**It's worth mentioning that I totally have a thing for the Swedes too. But really what girl doesn't like a tall, friendly,blond haired, blue eyed man? I've only dated one and now he's happily married and living in France while playing for the national lacrosse team. His life may sound idyllic but I'm sure he's totally misses me too. :/

Anyhoo, like she could feel my insecure eyes lurking, yesterday Jenny May posted this lil' surprise:

"This is what I came home to last night after my spin class..."



I get it Jenny May, your life is happier/prettier/better than mine!!! Not only do you have a totally thoughtful/perfect husband, you're also going to exercise classes at night!!! Thanks to you and your flickering lights, I now really regret letting my Swede (and every other man I've ever dated) go. Maybe if I had stuck with one of them, I wouldn't have spent my Monday night drowning my sorrows in an extra large bottle of Hefeweizen and then somehow losing my blackberry. I swear the two activities were unrelated.

But please Jenny May, don't mind me. Go back to your beautiful Nordic love making. I'll just be over here creating my profile on swedishdating.net and cutting myself.

Just another beautiful blogger!

Which came first? The model or the blog? It's honestly getting harder and harder to tell these days. I'm totally late to the party but a fun friend just introduced me to the exotic beauty that is fashiontoast.

Not only is this girl Blogger of the Year, she's going to hot fashion parties, has actual model representation and was sent free clothes* to be part of the new Rag and Bone ad campaign. Have you seen this ad spread yet? Basically they sent clothes to pretty people with blogs, aka "models," in the hopes that they would take cool pictures of themselves and give the brand more real world approachability.

Do companies like Rag and Bone think they're pulling one over on us? It's very clear that none of the people featured are "regular folks." R&B, I have news for you, just because the Toaster can pose with a cardigan on a counter or effortlessly done floppy felt hat, I'm not about to attempt either. Just look at her model-ish thighs, they are skinny enough to pull off anything!!!!

*Similarly yesterday at the Bagel Broker I was offered a free dessert. Of course this gratis gift was probably more related to the fact that I was the only non wig/hat wearing female in the place (take that Rag & Bone!!!), and less to do with my beauty or certainly my blog.

**Please also note that I am aware that eating at said establishment is probably not doing my thighs or potential modeling careers any favors... But after consuming that slutty chocolate strudel, I'm pretty ok with that.

It's Friday night, do you know where your brain is?

So you probably think that reading girly blogs is a fun, harmless way to waste a few hours at work. Just a little junk food for the brain, nothing more. Well I'm sorry to burst the beautiful bubble, but today I had a scary revaluation... America is no longer home of the free. Our brains are being taken over... one blog post at a time.

In the beginning I too thought this blog stuff was all fun and games. It's no secret that I've been ashamed of my daily unwashed hair/yoga pant daily dress code and after spending too many hours staring at pictures of cute outfits, I'd decided to amend my sloppy ways. I've become a big girl who gets dressed in real clothes before running out to do errands. Today I even managed an accessory. An accessory I thought I was wearing for me... Oh, how wrong I was.

So there I am, ridiculous chunky scarf tied around my neck, when I decide to stroll over to CVS to pick up a tube of the lipstick. Now sure, Sweatercups was wearing it yesterday but I've been coveting coral lips for a while, unsure of what colors are actually coral out of the tube. I was happy that someone had finally told me what color to buy and that it would only set me back a few bucks. Much to my chagrin, CVS was out of the glorious Blase Apricot! All the other colors were neatly stacked but there was no blasted Blase! Knowing that my east side CVS is never thoroughly stocked, I was disappointed but told myself to move on, I had grocery shopping to do.

Oh yeah, I should mention that I'm making soup tonight. Sweatercups endorsed soup to be exact. Now in my defense again, I had been on Martha Stewart yesterday debating soups and thinking about how good sausage and kale soup would be. But if I'm really going to be honest, my mind wasn't made up until Sweater's recommendation. Boy was I surprised when I got to the produce isle of Ralph's and saw the gaping hole where the kale used to be. It was just like the lipstick, the surrounding chard and collard greens were plentiful but the kale bin was bare. Friends, I have never seen this. There has always been kale at the Ralph's. There's no other answer...

Sweatercups is taking over my brain and maybe even yours. What's next our mother's? Our (unborn) children? The world.??!!

I'm serious.

But keep this on the DL. We don't want any more executives finding out about her powers. Not only did she make a Coach bag, get to see the BHDLN line before any of us; now she's trying to sell us Madewell too. Resistance is not futile. We cannot keep giving in!!!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to make some graham crackers.. from scratch. Because they really are that much better.

Why wasn't I invited?

Have you ever logged onto Facebook and seen pictures of a bunch of your friends at a party you definitely weren't invited to and didn't even know about? Suddenly you're pouring over the images, obsessively tallying which of your acquaintances were there, what amazing outfits they were wearing and then coming up with terrible scenarios of why you weren't invited. Then the next time you see them you casually mention the party hoping for more details but they play it off like it was no big thing... even though you all know it was THE BEST PARTY of the year and it's super pathetic that you weren't invited.

Well that's exactly how I felt today when I logged onto the the blogs and saw that a whole slew of my daily reads were at an exclusive unveiling party for Anthropologie's new wedding line BHLDN. Not only are they cool girls, with cool clothes, great hair and the ability to create/eat an endless variety of cute snack foods, they also got to go to this super cool party thrown by every girl's favorite retailer!!!

They ate fancy lady desserts!


And drank champers with dresses!

And got a private runway show!


And were surrounded by these thingies!


I'm going to try to play it cool but I know it's going to be a little awk next time I leave a comment on their blogs.

Beautifully Depressed

I hate to admit it, but I was actually relived to read that even fashionistas sometimes "fall apart." They may be featured in Vogue but they have bad days just like me. Unfortunately, our similarities seem to end there. When Liz of Late Afternoon has a bad day she takes pictures around her apartment during "a lazy Sunday."

A chair covered in lace.

A stack of her favorite diversions.


Her beautiful tousled mane.


Ummm, I wasn't depressed until I started looking at her gorgeous images. How can her life be so bad when she can call other fabulously dressed friends on her pretty, vintage telephone? Not even on my brightest Sunday has my world ever looked so lux. Trying to prove myself wrong I decided to try to copy her images. Here's what "falling apart" looks like in my apartment.

A chair covered in lace.


A stack of my favorite diversions.


My beautiful tousled mane


Maybe we're not so different after all.

C'est la vie GP!

And here I was thinking that just because I'd upped my olive oil intake and committed to monthly bikini waxes I was on par with a french woman's beauty regime. Thank God I opened my Goop newsletter today so I could see how wrong I've been. GP took great care to boast about all the fancy french pharmacy essentials she loves to pick up when she's in Gay Paree. And by the length of the list, it looks like she's gettin' gay a lot. The whole newsletter was quite bittersweet.... Until now I didn't even know that these fanatic products existed or how life changing they could be. To bad it takes the Transatlantic flight to purchase them. Here's what's missing from my vanity table (also something I apparently need to buy):

Avene Eau Thermale Water Spray. GP says it "helps set makeup." I've been wearing makeup for over 15 years and have yet to ever set it with water. The only time my makeup and water mix is when I'm washing my face off. Am I missing some huge secret of the universe that pretty girls smugly keep to themselves?! I guess this means my make up will for ever be unsettled. It's not that surprising.






Decleor Aromessence Baume Spa Relax- Apparently it helps GP sleep. I'd sleep well too, secure in the fact that I was rich enough to afford $55 an ounce skin cream. Or maybe I would just be lulled to dreamland by the knowledge that I was hot enough to be sharing a bed with a rock star.






Alfalux Baume Levres- I really have no idea what this is. Not only is this product not linked to a web page (like ALL the others were), the only description GP gives is "I always pick this up at the pharmacy when in France. It has an incredibly silky texture." WHAT? How do you endorse something and then not endorse it at all? Am I just supposed to be so international that I'm already in the know? I'm not!!! GP, I have the beginnings of crow feet and eat gluten every day. You are supposed to be helping us ugly American gals, not taunting us with your silky secrets!




Somewhere GP is laughing menacingly while she coats her toned body in "huile."

Pretty as a picture...

I'm sure it's easy to guess how I feel about street style blogs; not only am I intimidated by what some gals can afford to put on their bodies, I'm also floored by the idea that a person could be seen out running errands, looking that good. Sure I can throw on a pair of cute (but uncomfortable) shoes for a party, but to traverse around the East Village? I'm usually the asshole in sneakers. This is all a long winded introduction to Miss Moss, which I am totally intimidated by.


Not only does it feature chic gals-about-town wearing high waisted pants that I could never pull off, but sometimes it beautifully pairs them with corresponding artistic images. Smart and glossy! Double blog whammy!


It kills me how good Diana is at this and how extensive her art knowledge must be. My only saving grace is that these aren't pictures of her, though she too is very pretty. Can you imagine if Sweatercups did this? I'd literally put a gun to my head.


Trying to make myself feel better, I wanted to figure out what painting I could be featured with. But because I only minored in art history, this is the best I could do:













Someone please hand me a gun.


Photo credits:
1. citizen couture / cecilio pla y gallardo
2. citizen couture / edgar degas
3.stockholm street style / henri de toulouse-lautrec4.
4. me/alice neel