September 30, 2003
the fabulous girl meets
the fabulous girl meets the queen of charm
when i first wrote the art of charm triptych, someone said in a comment that i should write a book about it. what a very charming idea, i thought, but i was sure it'd been done. turns out, i was right.
now, when shivlet first loaned me the book, i felt a twinge of regret and jealousy. after all, i had just come round to realizing the dizzying heights of my own charm, my effortless sense of decorum and fun combined... and someone had trumped me! but after reading Izzo's inspiringly true little gem, i've simply come to love the whole idea much more. decorum and charm - the art of getting it right and doing it with flair. when you're an FG, you know everything from how to properly invite someone to a party to how to dump a man with grace and style.
and while reading the book merely affirmed my own realization that i am, indeed, quite a fabulous girl, i learned a few new things along the way as well.
the FG and sex: did you know it's the height of rudeness not to offer some sort of breakfast to an overnight lover, even if they're leaving early for work or home? while i have always offered coffee or toast or even simply water to a morning-after paramour, i was shocked to realize that rarely had the same courtesy ever been extended to me. nor, it seems, had i ever taken offense to the lack of decorum. but gents - take note: if you've just shagged a marvelously fabulous girl, make sure you offer her coffee or tea or whathaveyou in the morning. or else, she'll eventually read her FG Guide and realize what an insensitive cad you've been.
the FG and entertaining: while i've thrown and been to scores of dinner parties in recent years of adulthood, there were some finer points i was unaware of. for instance, it's considered badly played to bring fresh cut flowers as a gift to your hostess. you make her run around looking for a vase and trimming the stems all the while attempting to get dinner on the table and entertain her guests. instead, either have the flowers delivered beforehand or offer to arrange them yourself. or simply bring a good bottle of wine, preferably one that complements the menu which as an FG, you've tactfully asked about beforehand. and of course, FGs absolutely always send thank you notes, no matter how informal the occasion.
the FG and friendships: a few tips from the ladies who lunch. never bring along a guest uninvited to a girls' event, even if it's your boyfriend. in fact, especially if it's your boyfriend. while your galpals may adore ___, if they've planned a girls' event in their busy schedule, it's because they want to dish about men. another friendship tip that hadn't really occurred to me: when you're in friendships of three or more, decide as a group how much the other galpals can discuss about absent members of your posse. i've been in several troikas of girl power, and we've never really established ground rules. but perhaps a certain friend will be more comfortable with boundaries, whereas the other two are the no-holds-barred type of gal. find out, before feelings get hurt.
all the fabulosity of the Guide has simply served to get me more excited about being a fun fearless female, has put a bounce in my step and a note of confidence in my voice. who says you can't love pashmina AND politics?
not the fabulous girl. she loves them both.
ta!
charming my way to
oh, my. i'm giddy as a school girl. i've got not one, but two of uborka's cherished and honored post of the month nominations.
who exactly do i have to sleep with to win this thing?
September 29, 2003
betcha ten bucks my
my weekend rocked the FACE off your weekend. after the week from hell, i was completely unstoppable. a veritable force of nature.
and now? off to be fabulous at a three martini lunch with the girls.
force. of. nature.
September 27, 2003
t minus seven hours..
to the opening party of the season. the fishnets are ready, the champagne is chilling, the tonic is bubbly, the fruit juices are fruity, the venue is being set up, and the troops are gathering. shiv and i concur: there's only one thing missing, and that's some kate.
September 26, 2003
fishnets and mayhem this
this weekend is the much planned, much anticipated Debauched Debutante Ball, cohosted by the spendiferous shivlet and myself. there will be fishnets and garters and strapless dresses and punch and flowers and boys in suits and flashes of lace and debauchery by the truckload.
all i have to say is - boys, look out.
it all works out
i'm so glad stephanie's mum reads my website from time to time. other than it being such a great honor that she thinks i'm funny, i can now say:
MRS BROWN YOU'VE GOT A LOVELY DAUGHTER!
a la carrie bradshaw
a la carrie bradshaw at her laptop
i'm having a very voice-over, inner-monologue kind of day.
September 25, 2003
charm goddess, rethunk... ....
.... then again, sometimes i'm such a complete hasty judgemental asshole when it comes to men, i think my self-appointed crown of Charm Queen of the Universe should be thoroughly and permanently revoked.
the Art of charm, part three
charm and love
unless you are a barbie or ken doll – anatomically outrageous and completely lacking in the reproductive bits – you’re familiar with the concept of romantic love. and while a lot of people use the word "charm" in relation to romantic love, what we all secretly know is:
love is a muddy horrible war zone filled with limping casualties, dangerous and completely unmarked landmines, constantly shifting enemies, and at the end of the day you’re lucky to be leaning back-to-back with one of your fellow soldiers, exhausted and scarred, passing back and forth a flask and talking about your childhoods.
however, all that unadulterated bollocks about love being fulfilling and spiritual has a point, because we all keep coming back from more like violent alcoholics, slurring our speech and demanding our fix. we come back time and again, even if its with the wrong person, at the wrong time, at the wrong place. that battlefield of love provides us with something we desperately need and want above all other things.
and much like sticking a daisy in the barrel of a gun aimed at your face didn’t much help that you had a gun aimed at your face, charm and grace can somehow make the agony of love prettier, lighter, more likely to cause good memories. and hey, maybe sometimes a daisy can stop a war, eh?
with that in mind, we’re going to take a trip through three stages of falling in love, point out the pitfalls and landmines, and show you how charm can help win a few scuffles here and there.
stage one: first date
atmosphere: nervous, exciting. he’s taking her to a restaurant, she’s wearing her lacy undies. these lacy undies will be an ongoing theme – keep an eye on them. not like that, you’re in class, behave.
pitfalls and landmines: you don’t know each other at all, essentially, and every word or phrase or joke you make is subject to about seven hundred thousand interpretations, all by the woman. and ladies, men simply don’t understand subtlety, so you think you’re showing him how gaga you are for him and he thinks you simply fancied a good meal and plan on mocking him later to your friends. two major pitfalls – how do we avoid them?
ladies: the key to being charming on the first date is really just be yourself. remember those guy friends you have that you can always flirt with and link your arm through without thinking twice? okay, be like that. because that’s really you at your flirty best. remember – there is barely any gesture too overt, short of taking your top off at the table and slathering your breasts with olive oil. men are dolts – show them you like them by actually flirting. radical, n’est ce pas? we usually do well on the date, so I will reserve most of the practical advice for the men.
gents: look, we know you’re a little nervous. try not to fidget, also, we know that you’re all essentially sweet creatures and you try and run around on the first date doing all the chivalrous things. don’t. it makes us feel like we’re being encircled by a pack of anxious chihuahuas. if you get to the door first, lovely, hold it open. if not, please don’t push a lady into oncoming traffic to hold the door/pull our chairs/get our coats/hail the cab. and when it comes to the check, if she says more than once that she insists on splitting it, FOR GOD’S SAKE let us pay for ourselves. most importantly - actually listen to her instead of fidgeting, opening doors, and fighting to pay the bill.
stage two: dating
atmosphere: ever seen two animals circling each other in the forest, unsure of their relation to each other? it's kind of like that, yeah. status of the lacy undies – lads, you shouldn’t be seeing the grannypanties at this point, she should still be trotting out her skimpy marvels. and women, he should still be making a relative effort to tidy up when you come over.
landmines and pitfalls: this is the time you will look back at with longing and nostalgia once you’re firmly entrenched in the relationship, although all you can think is how confusing and unclear it all is. the point is, this phase is quite fun when done right. some of the dangerous areas are: communication, meeting-of-the-friends, and sex.
communication: here’s the thing with dating – it’s violently unclear who calls whom, for what, and when. I’ve often bemoaned that there should just be a guidebook for this, because women end up fretting over whether or not THEY should call, email, or text and men end up having no idea when they should call or when they’ve called too much or what they said wrong and before you know it, it’s all gone to shit. so. the way to make sure this landmine is as charming as possible is – DROP THE RULES. if you’d like to see someone, call them. make it clear that you’re not simply calling for sex, like saying, "hello, I’d really like to see you, are you busy _____?" this is well-done and to the point. after half a dozen or so dates and/or you’ve slept together, it’s cute to slip in a little something sexy about the other person, to show them you’ve been thinking about them naked. yes, it’s bold. and yes, it always works. but the main point with communication is you spend more time fretting about what’s appropriate, when really, the other person es loco para ti, so just call them whenever and they’ll probably just get hot thinking about seeing you next. and that's charming.
meeting-of-the-friends: my, this one is dangerous. women think men compartmentalize too much and keep us as their "dirty secret", and men are completely freaked out because they know women keep few secrets from their girlfriends. the charmed way to handle this snake-in-a-basket is… get the friend thing out of the way early. the more it builds, the more nervous both parties are going to be. I’d say a month or so into dating at the very latest. pick a neutral kind of meeting, for instance, or if you have an enormous group of friends, try and filter it down, introduce him/her to some of the key members before you thrust him/her before a council of twenty five of your topshelf mates. also, especially if you’re very tight with your friends, avoid dragging your new love to every single friend-event, because while it’s great for you to have your mate along with your friends, it might actually be rather nerve-wracking for him/her. and if you’re the one meeting the friends – it’s sort of like being in the grip of a boa constrictor. just relax, don’t tense up, and maybe you’ll slither out intact. they will absolutely be sizing you up, make no mistake about it. if you can all just accept this and get to know each other, you’ll probably even like them – hell, you like your date, right? but if you tense up and wig out and act insecure and try and impress, her/his friends will see right through it and dislike you forever. no pressure, kids.
as for the secrets thing, lads – there’s simply nothing you can do but be charming and acknowledge that women tell their women friends everything. I suggest, to avoid conflict, that when you’re confiding in your ladyfriend something that really is quite personal, explicitly suggest she not tell ___ and ____, because otherwise, honestly, she will.
sex: sex while dating can be awkward even while its thrilling. you’re not really doing it often enough to really get into a rhythm, but you’re quite excited and eager. the other pitfall is that people are trying to impress each other, so they fall back on sex moves that worked with other people. sounds terrible, but it’s true. the most charming thing you can do in bed is be creative and original. forget everything you’ve done before – look at your new lover like an empty canvas. explore their body, find out which little bits work for whom and which should be avoided. this will make you far more memorable in the eyes of your new lover than simply switching on the "sex moves I know!" button and trying to fiddlingly align his/her machinery to yours. sex will get better – but then much later it’ll get worse.
stage three: the transition from dating to relationship
atmosphere: charged, wildly oscillating mood swings, but comfort and attraction combined. note, lads, she’s still dragging out the lacy undies for you, but not quite as often. girls, you've seen what his roommates are really like.
pitfalls and landmines: oh dear god everything. this is honestly, the most traumatizing and difficult because the notes played are starting to get serious. women and men choose to commit very differently. often, in this stage, the woman is thrilled with the level of closeness and comfort she's attained with you and wants to move closer, spend more time together, and exchange 'i love you's. men, often, are very happy staying crazy about you but the word love and time make them balk like untrained foals, mostly because they have some cockamamie notion that you're going to tie them to the bed and register them in your name forever. essentially, this transition is the gnashing rocks of a cliffside for a boat - they can be avoided, but they're deadly if you hit them at the wrong angle. frank, honest advice, and there's only two pieces of it:
talk, talk, talk: people often call this the three-six month mark crisis. it may seem incongruent and ridiculous, because for three months prior its been nothig but sex and fun, and now all of a sudden it's talky talky talky. but no matter how distasteful it may seem to say, "yar, i didn't like the way you did this," or "i'm sorry, what i need from this is _____", but because you're not used to it, it feels hard and unnatural and scary. or else you're trying to stall the relationship at permanent dating, and that's just not realistic. a few ways to be a charming discusser - always bring up a problem in a safe, non-threatening location. in front of a bar, on the way to a friend's house, and on the subway are all unacceptable, as is drunk or post-sex. another thing - don't use namby-pamby passive-agressive language. ever. say: this is the way things are, this is how i feel, how do you think?
listen, listen, listen: there's nothing less charming in the world than someone that's already made up their mind about you. this is the point in the relationship when you start to recognize someone else's flaws, weaknesses, and your own distaste for those things. so instead of resigning yourself to resentment over these things (which causes wrinkles which are distinctly uncharming) always remember to listen to him/her the way you did when you were gaga and gooey-eyed over them. ask them questions about what they're thinking, and then remember what they're not saying, as well - that they've made it this far with you, they obviously care about you even though the sexy undies are starting to slip and you've already cried on their shoulder. insecurities and demons will try and tell you that everything's going badly, bail now, cry now, doubt now. don't listen to them. listen to how much you like your mate, and how the best parts of you - the most charming parts of yourself - have been luminated by their smiles.
most important in this phase is that: remember to be the best person you can be, remember to keep putting that same charming dainty best foot forward that you did on your very first date. or else you'll just get bogged down in how hard it is to get serious about someone, and you'll completely forget why you're reaching for that goal to begin with.
and finally, as a quick bonus, remember this. relationships, no matter how passionate or serious or perfect or rocky or loving or tumultuous - they only go two ways: you stay together or you break up. and if the latter should happen, petit hiboux is always ready with a contingency plan.
the extremely abbreviated yet practical Art of Charm and Break Ups
1. take their number out of your phone.
2. call your friends.
3. drink, complain, cry, make out with a stranger, repeat.
4. thank your friends.
ETA the third, highly
the third, highly secretive installment of the Art of Charm shall be posted 'round three o clock. stop badgering the artist, yeah?
the art of ..
i just bumped into my eighth grade boyfriend in the lobby of my building. the self-same eighth grade boyfriend who has become iconically funny in my lexicon of Dating Bad Men. in fact, the eighth grade boyfriend who must have given me a TASTE for Bad Men.
in.
my.
lobby.
the eighth grade boyfriend that my mother still snarls about when she hears his name. the eighth grade boyfriend who was last living in california. this eighth grade boyfriend. also, the eighth grade boyfriend of infamous name-writing-on-steph's-door and answering machine fame. THAT eighth grade boyfriend.
my head is spinning.
white wedding? i'm just
i'm just wondering: do you get that smug self-satisfied look on your face when you buy the dress, or do you have to pay extra?
and do you really want bridesmaids who look like they want to fuck the priest?
don't ask me, i'm going to elope.
September 24, 2003
the Art of charm, part two of three
the Art of charm and friendships
you might be thinking, why do I need to charm my friends? I’ve belched national anthems in front of them and held their hair back while they chucked up half a bottle of vodka. but charm can be a delightful party favor and an effective way to keep your friends coming back for more. here are a few do’s and don’ts that will lead your friends to think you’ve sprouted charm virtually overnight.
1. DO make a mental list of 5-15 people that take a high priority in your life. if you’re not the Instant Messaging type, make sure you email/call them at least once a week to keep in touch. if you’re the scattered type, make little notes, like "E has a problem with her mother’s new boyfriend," or "make sure to remember F just started new job", or "listen to T prattle on about the new puppy". remember to ask them about their lives, not just ramble on about yours. this is what friends appreciate – when you call them and ask them specifically about the details of their life. it’s kind of like being some sort of celebrity. only with less paparazzi.
2. DON’T make plans you can’t keep, otherwise known as flaking out, especially with a friend you haven’t seen in a while. while it’s alright to flake out every now and then on your daily/weekly friends by saying, "dude, I’m seriously too beat / dude, I’m going to get laid / dude, I’m dead broke," it’s not okay to do this to casual friends or long-time-no-see friends. since these types of friends do not know your vie quotidienne, they will simply think you are a stupid flake who didn’t want to see them in the first place. this will set you back in their estimation. this is counter to our plan of charming the collective pants off the world.
3. DO play charming host/hostess any time your friends are visiting chez vous. simply flopping down on your couch, kicking off your shoes and turning on the telly is inappropriate when you have guests, unless your guest is the same best friend that watched you tinkle in the baby pool when you were three and break your teeth by biking directly into an oak tree at age fifteen. when you have friends over, DO make sure they’re comfortably seated, their thirsts are quenched and any other needs are satisfied. if they don’t know where your bathroom is, don’t simply send them in the general direction with a wave – walk them there. make sure you have food/drinks/ashtrays at your house, or else just don’t have your friends over, you lazy slob. DO tidy up a little if possible, because there’s nothing friends like less than sitting on a couch full of your dirty laundry and empty potato chip bags. if you’re like me, you’ll light some candles and make sure the bathroom smells fresh, as well as decorate the bedroom with fresh flowers [current rotation: orchids] if it’s that kind of visit. lastly, if you’re having a small get together, DO introduce one set of friends to another. there’s nothing more annoying that simply expecting complete strangers to mingle over punch. get off your lazy ass and exchange their names to get them started. as a side bonus, their chances of going home with each other will greatly increase and that means they’ll always think of you fondly. which, again, along with the global-pants-charming-off, is sort of the point.
4. DON’T be a sloppy malicious blabbermouth. no one likes a tattletale, and while it’s okay to discuss a mutual friend’s love life/job/slovenliness without malice over a pint, the rule is don’t say anything about an acquaintance that you couldn’t tell them to their face. for instance, the following conversation with a member of your circle is appropriate:
you: what do you think of B’s new boyfriend? I’m not sure about his dancing skills! (laugh)
friend: oh, I KNOW! we’ll have to tell B to give him some classes!
this alternate conversation is almost without exception, completely inappropriate:
you: what do you think of B’s new boyfriend? honestly, I think he’s
a consummate asshole and B deserves to be slapped for dating him.
friend: oh, I totally agree.
why is it inappropriate? because while your gossip-partner might agree with your casual dismissal of a mutual friend’s boyfriend, he/she may not necessarily care who else hears about your out-of-line assessment of someone else’s private life. she may be, in fact, one of those careless blabbermouths that bring down empires. this is where the "say it to their face" rule applies. if you could tease B about the boyfriend’s dancing faux pas, then it’s alright to remark on it to mutual friends "behind B’s back". otherwise, keep those juicy bits of gossip strictly limited to those two or three friends with whom you have an understood vault. then, by all means, luridly gossip away. I know I do.
5. lastly, DO remind your friends and loved ones on a regular basis how much they mean to you. not just in gestures, like remembering their birthday or rule #1, but also verbally. it’s a harsh world out there, always looking to give one a thrashing, so there’s nothing quite like hearing from a friend how great they think one is. so, when you see a friend you haven’t seen in a while, give them a big hug and a smile and tell them you’ve missed their friendly presence. make sure when a friend is down on themselves, you remind them how smashingly fun and wonderful you think they are. if you see a funny greeting card that reminds you of someone far away, send it to them for no reason. if you are one of those emotionally crippled human beings that has a hell of a time expressing any type of deep or caring emotions, and run screaming away from words like, "love" and "close" and "need", then stop reading this immediately – you may become successful, shrewd, wise, or rich but you’ll never be charming. for the rest of you, frequently reminding your pals that you think they’re a right-on group of individuals is both a nice way to perk up their lives, and thus a way to assure that people will be around for YOU when you need them. it’s a give and take, yeah?
those five brief tips should help you navigate the fun but often fraught-with-faux-pas landmines of the friendship world. that you’re a generally good person and not a complete raging misanthrope, of course, is essential to success. but even good people fail on charm, and so these five nuggets of charm should help you elevate your goodness to mythic levels. from now on, you will no longer be described as "yah, bob’s a good chap, I suppose" because no one can think of what you’ve done wrong, but rather, "man, that bob! such a good guy, always with a smile and a kind word. no get-together is the same without bob, eh?" which, of course, is your ultimate goal.
the Art of charm, part one
you might think that charm is simply a false, pandering method employed by politicians, ballroom dancers and martha stewart. you’re wrong. charm is an almost forgotten art, like the art of courting and sewing. the art of charm serves a delightful double purpose – while it manages to bring joy to the world around you, it’s also a ragingly effective way to get what you want, all the time. hence, "living the charmed life".
now - while I may be a simpering dilettante in many other arenas of life, I pride myself on being effortlessly, ruthlessly, and meltingly charming. as such, I’ll go ahead and call myself an "expert", since you’re more likely to listen to me if I have credentials. now, there are a few basic areas we need to cover, and then you’re ready to go into the world and emit charm. today, this panel will address …
charm and the stranger
let’s face it. unless you live in a tiny, particularly friendly village in the wilds of canada or some other godforsaken province, where you’re related to everyone and no one has grueling 9-to-5 jobs and mortage payments, chances are you’ve had unpleasant interactions with strangers before. I will use an important and universal example to briefly demonstrate how charm can come in handy in a pinch.
situaton: you’re standing at your local deli counter and you quickly mumble a grumpy tired request ciggies and coffee, like this: "mumble mumble camel lights and coffee black with sugar, three". you’re not particularly being grumpy to your deli man, you’ve got nothing against him. you’re just bloody exhausted and your mother was nagging you on the phone this morning and you couldn’t find your favorite black shoes so you had to wear brown ones that throw your whole outfit off-kilter. for whatever reason, you can barely stumble out a decent human greeting to the man providing you with two of your most treasured addictions. when you reach into your pocket, you realize you’re 50 cents completely short. your deli man shrugs, takes back the hallowed cigarettes, and dumps your cofffee. what’s it to him that you don’t get your fix(es)?
alternate situation: go back to the point where you come in tired and grumpy looking for your cigs/coffee. leave in the bit about the mother and the shoes, but this time, when you open the deli door and the deli man looks up at the jangly noise (for there’s always a jangly noise), do something different. smile at your deli man. you can smile ruefully, as if to say "isn’t it sodding early in the morning?" or you can smile cheerfully and imply "I am genuinely happy to see you, man who serves me coffee, even though I don’t know you". doesn’t matter how. but smile at him. open your tired, grumpy, spoiled mouth and say "hello!" when you walk up to the counter. now your deli man will respond with, "hello!" in return. now say, "I’d like a pack of camel lights and a black coffee, three sugars please." don’t simply mumble the product names and make the deli man feel like nothing more than a robot retrieving sellable goods. use the inbetweeny words as well. now - when you dig around in your oversized bag and realize you are fifty cents short, the deli man is more likely to agree when you promise him to swing by on your way home and give him the requisite small change which is admittedly not keeping his business afloat. you will walk out of the deli establishment with BOTH your fixes intact.
see how charm affected the situation? what has happened now is that the deli man understands that you are treating him like a worthy fellow human being. he stands behind that smelly counter all day, dealing with snippy horrible monsters of people who simply come in and bark their demands at him, even though they make four times what he makes and go to the shore on the weekends. but now the deli man recognizes you as someone who treats him well, and it never hurts to have a deli man on your side. my deli man even gave me a starburst when it was my birthday because I’m always so sweet to him and I ask about his wife who was ailing last month.
some other situations in which charm and interactions with strangers collide:
1. smile at people with whom you make eye contact on the subway. if you at least acknowledge that you’re both riding into the bowels of hell on a one-way train, someone might actually yield a seat to you, or not shove you into your own cup of coffee while trying to exit the train.
2. when talking to customer service people on the phone – paying a bill, reserving a flight, solving a retail dispute – be incredibly nice to them. speak full sentences, do not yell, and make it clear you understand that your ripped shirt/unsatisfactory plane seats/high bills are not personally their fault. these people, these disembodied voices, have been known to bend over backwards to help you if you apply the right amount of charm and understanding and speak like a decent educated human being instead of someone barking at a disobedient dog who’s just tinkled on the sofa.
3. don’t mock taxi drivers, their countries, or other taxi drivers. you’re in their car and the doors are locked. this isn’t a matter of charm, it’s a matter of stupidity. if you have a conflict with the direction the driver is taking or the way he drives, simply politely lean forward and address it to him. this will dramatically increase your chances of a. surviving and b. not being thrown in some karmic version of hell for being a nasty twit to foreign taxi drivers.
in conclusion: using simple methods of politeness, mutual acknowledgement of humanity, and a winning smile will take you miles when it comes to interacting with total strangers you’ll never see again. because even people that you may never see again can actually better your life and do things your way. when people do things your way, you're generally happier. this, in turn, will prove to yourself and the world that you do, indeed, live a charmed life.
stay tuned for: the Art of charm and friends, next.
calling all men boys.
calling all men boys. because let's face it. you're all boys.
i know this blog is so incredibly girl powered, your computer sometimes smells like sugar and spice and everything nice. well, it's time to turn the tables a little. boy, we have a question for you.
if you were offered a lifetime of beer, sex, television, food, and your buddies.... would you willingly give up the right to vote and work?
nb - this is in now way related to a plot to take over the world. any errant spy-penguins that told you that should be shot on sight.
September 23, 2003
jet setter once every
once every six months, i invent some flim-flam excuse to go down dixie way and soak of the polar opposite that is the lone star state. i spent my twenty-second birthday in austin, went to raychul's wedding in january, and spent memorial day weekend simply carousing around dallASS.
going home to texas reminds me of being younger, less complicated, more giddy. it also takes me back to four of the most necessary and amazing people in my life - my touchstones - and when i come back to texas, they crowd round whatever city we end up in and i spend the weekend soaking up their friendship and their laughter. between my brother and my three best friends from high school, they're the only people in my life that have really known me more than five years. which means, they know embarassing stories about me.
and it seems, i'm at it again. i've booked my next texas-bound voyage. when erin and i realized the weekend following the october LSAT was a holiday weekend, and i realized i had a mileage ticket, well... it was kismet, wasn't it? so i'm gleefully flying home to texas on october 10th, to spend three days and three nights carousing austin, playing with my brother's cats, eating at all my favorite restaurants, driving the wide texas highways with my girls, laughing until dr. pepper comes out my nose, and generally restoring my sanity.
on a related note, it's going to be a busy travel season, so pH might well be coming to a town near you. i plan on taking a weekend jaunt down to DC at some point in november to scope out the law schools and take in the town. december will hopefully find me celebrating drunken christmas and new years on the beach in brasil with my friends and family. january's escape to warmer climes will hopefully be a long-weekend-dash to sunny southern california, to gawk at LA and run screaming into kate's open arms. and finally, excitedly, i'm making rumbly prepared noises to touch down in foggy london town for a smattering of days in march, to visit old friends like stephanie [who apparently has prearranged me an in-town boyfriend already] and a handful of my old kenya pals. as well as, of course, the london blogging contingency.
all that leaves is february. anyone want to take me somewhere?
grumps, redux yesterday surveys
yesterday surveys the damage of his wrath and says, "man, there's no WAY anyone could top me."
today lets out a torrent of driving rain and screams, "WANNA BET?!?"
legs, jelly the upside
the upside to playing an hour and a half of squash: "take THAT, monday!"
the downside to playing an hour and a half of squash: ow. ow. OW.
five fold! seems like
seems like the key to turning my day-long frown upside down is:
secret wicked plans with kate.
squash.
leaving the office.
a bottle of chateaunuef-du-pape.
the possibility of a good night kiss.
five is the magic number, babies.
September 22, 2003
six little lines it's
it's hard to see his hastily scribbled handwriting on an envelope, an envelope containing what feels like the final divorce papers, borne from a stupid fight, fought with harsh words and harsher silences. it's hard to see the handwriting that once prompted me to save a voided check, simply because it was his [i still have it]. it's hard to see how he didn't even write out my first name, like perhaps it hurt to see it in print. it's hard to see our two names, our two lives once so intertwined, on one piece of paper but with such different addresses. it's hard to say his name in my head, because it still feels natural next to mine. i once said that this felt like losing a limb and then unwittingly trying to use it, only to experience the shock of loss all over again. seeing our names in print has flexed that lost appendage, if only for five minutes. while i know the way things went down, i find myself momentarily wishing they hadn't when i see those six little lines.
and although i am far past the weeping and consolation and cupcakes stage, although i explained the unravelling to myself and others in language that ceases to elicit tears from my eyes, although i have made my peace with the end of something that once seemed mighty and indestructible... it's still hard.
especially in print.
not even you can
not even you can make me smile.
you know when you're having one of those mornings when you want to blame everything else for your sudden desire to burst into churlish raging tears? like, for instance, the copy machine, the weather, your stapler, your mother, your computer, the government, and your very own dreams?
where you sit there bemoaning all those little things that are making you batshit insane, and it seems perfectly reasonable to launch vitriol at them?
and then all of a sudden, you realize you're hurling insults at a stapler, for the love of baby jesus, what the hell is wrong with you? and you realize, it's not the stapler, it's not jesus either, its not even your mother. it's just YOU, sucker. YOU'RE the problem. call it dopamine levels gone wonky, maybe its that time of the hormone chart, maybe you just woke up on the churlish side of the bed.
i'm having one of those mornings. twice, the copier has personally selected 11x14 when i stood there demanding Letter size. my internet has been slower than molasses dripping off a spoon. emails i've been waiting for won't come, while tons of emails i'm completely uninterested in have been flooding in by the boatload, making nail-grindingly annoying little *DING* noises every five minutes. the stapler - i can't discuss what happened with the stapler, it's too much. our office is so cold that my muscles are atrophying. irritation and tense muscles seem to be the order of the day.
i want my big cozy bed. i want a delicious meal cooked for me, IN bed. i want a book, i want some music, i want live music. i want a cupcake. i want three cupcakes and a vodka tonic. i want silence. i want company. i want to curl up on a big warm couch and watch a funny movie. i want to walk down an empty street. i want a warm hug. i want lots of warm hugs. i want to go shopping for vegetables on a warm sunny sunday morning. i want to fall asleep talking on the phone to people i love.
i want it to be tomorrow, yesterday, or tonight. i want it to be anything but now, to be anywhere but here, and to have any mood but my own.
you know?
UPDATE - 4:43 PM... the solution, it seems, is to make a squash court reservation so that you can anticipate SLAMMING A VERY SMALL BALL AROUND WITH A RAQUET for an hour. take THAT, stapler! take THAT, jesus!
how it is, with
lamb roasts are fun. especially when you spend two hours on the train to get there, being so ridiculous with four other people that you nearly clear out the rest of your traincar. then even more so when your girl picks you up in an old-school merc. then it gets better when her greek dad gives you big hugs when he sees you and lets you try a dominican cigar.
then it gets better when you eat the lamb. then it gets topped when you ask greekdad where he got a whole lamb, and your friend goes, "mary?"
then it starts to get crazy. jacob gnaws on jawbone. penni shows the lamb who's boss. inexplicably, a red cult is formed. people look at me like i know what i'm saying.
and even when everything's everything's copasetic, it still gets a little wild.
everyone's happy. except the poor little lamb. and mary.
much thanks to my new pal jP for being so snap-happy.
September 20, 2003
rolling with the proles
yesterday, i had a short-lived epiphany. running seventeen different errands all over midtown, i decided to be brave and take a bus. so i took a bus from 38th and 6th to 57th and 6th, then a crosstown to 57th and 8th.
and i'm thinking, DAMN! look at ME! riding the city BUS!
later that night, i'm leaving inwood, so i decide to continue my streak of gleeful bus-riding with supreme confidence. i take the A downtown from my friend's apartment and get off at 125th street, all set to take the M60 over the triboro into queens. why? because i have a NEW FOUND UNDERSTANDING OF BUSES, that's why.
bus rolls up. i get on it, giddy with plebian pride. sit down and start reading.
ten minutes later, i look up, since we've just crossed a bridge structure of some kind. then i see the road sign. willis avenue. sinking, gnawing feeling. i know where willis avenue is. DA BRONX.
desperate to cling to my faith in the city buses, i turn and ask the girl behind me if there's any damn chance this bus is going to queens. she lets out a howl. pretty soon, i've got six people, half of them drunk, trying to tell me how to get back to harlem.
the bus spits me out, chewed up and alone, onto willis avenue. and i'm thinking, i'm cool, i can handle this shit.
did i mention it's 3 in the morning at this point?
and here's where the spiritual tug of war begins. there's no problem,, my sarah lawrence educated brain told me, you're not like those people that's terrified of the bronx and the projects. i steel every inch of my 5'2" self with my LV handbag and my shopping bag from lord & taylor. i'm not a pansy, i swear. and then some guy drinking out of a paper bag tells me from across the street that he's SURE he can tell me my star sign, JUST COME OVER HERE BABY. then the other side took over.
OMG I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE HOLY CRAP THERE'S GONNA BE A DRIVE BY OR I'M GONNA GET RAPED AND MY POOR MOTHER IS GOING TO THINK, "WHAT WAS PUMPKIN DOING IN THE BRONX!" AND SHE'LL THINK DRUGS WERE INVOLVED, HOLY CRAP, TAXI!
i throw out my white-bread bougie arm at the nearest passing livery car, jump in, and pay $30 to get driven ten minutes over the triboro bridge to my safe little corner of queens.
i'm ashamed of myself. and i'm never taking the M60 ever again.
making it float. krissa
krissa and matt, thanksgiving, 2000.
happy birthday, matthieu. here's to coming into the gap to ask me out six long years ago. to afternoons at starbucks. to the freak dating the cheerleader. to driving down memorial seeing who could beat the traffic lights. to cafe artiste. to leaving notes on each other cars, to kudos bars, to formal dances, to breaking up and making up and making out. to letters from france. to late night laughter, to sudden cooling breezes, to IHOP. to smacking me in the face with your shoe, to volvos, to hellos and goodbyes, to all the times i swore it was the last time i'd stand on your curb and hug you goodnight. to misundersandings and awkward silences and pigeons who eat sweet'n'low. to breaking my heart, promising you'd fix it, and succeeding. to zoos and llamas and plastic penguins. to crying over your bullet wound and making my mother finally like you. to every time you've been the only person who could make me laugh so hard i can't breathe, and every time you've taken my breath away with your kindness and gentle spirit. to long drives, slow drags, sweet goodnights and durable friendship.
here's to you, matthieu. je t'aime.
September 19, 2003
cocktease seriously, men, back
seriously, men, back me up here. you take your date out, you listen to her drone on for three full days about storm barriers and tidal waves and flying debris her nails and hair and galpals...
you expect to SEE A LITTLE LEG.
case in point: tropical pansy isabel. don't take this personally, People Who No Longer Have Roofs, but i canceled half my evening's plans expecting to sit in my window and watch the storm roll in. i half-expected to not have to go to work tomorrow. and now i'm just going to get soaked by virginia's sloppy seconds and i'm not even going to SEE ANY ACTION.
if i were a man, i'd have blue balls.
September 18, 2003
pc, schmee see. if
if you* resist the urge to call your boss a "ridiculously incompetent cock-chewing dingbat who couldn't find his brain in an EMPTY PAPER BAG" two things will happen.
1. you will keep your job
but
2. you will fester on the inside.
* and by "you" i mean, "not me". i'd never want to call my higher-ups anything involving the word cock-chewing.
my solemate To: Kate
To: Kate
From: Krissa
Wednesday, September 17, 2003 10:49AM
Subject: URGENT TELEGRAM
I MISS YOU ALREADY AND YOU HAVEN'T EVEN LEFT THE STATE.
To: Krissa
From: Kate
Wednesday, September 17, 2003 12:22AM
Subject: Re: URGENT TELEGRAM
TELL ME ABOUT IT STOP ON ONE HAND I CAN'T WAIT TO GO HOME AND WRITE LOADS ABOUT HOW SPECTACULAR YOU ARE AND POST GORGEOUS PICTURES FOR ALL TO SEE STOP ON THE OTHER HAND I DON'T WANT TO BE SO FAR AWAY FROM YOU MY DARLING!
_______________________
seriously, she's the absolute fucking best there is. there's a lot of fucking good out there and she's the FUCKING BEST. all i can say is, when the Big Shit hits the Fan, i can only hope kate is at my side, swilling vodka and laughing at the chickens falling out of the sky.
yogahh. the best thing
the best thing about yoga is that it activates muscles you never knew you had. muscles that might later come in handy. you know, whenever.
September 17, 2003
fashionista! and how was
and how was the catherine malandrino show, you ask?
fabulous. fabulous, fabulous, fabulous, most fabulousest.
famouser than you you
you all know them. heather champ, derek powazek, kottke and megnut, anil dash. they're web royalty, whereas me, i'm more like a guard at some distant little-used side entrace. so i don't keep those ultra-famous denizens of the web linked up on this page. it'd be like finding a sign to peter luger's steakhouse on the menu at mcdonald's .. GO HERE! THEY'RE BETTER! i simply graze in my own pasture, and link to my own little circle of fellow bloggers.
but that doesn't mean i don't peruse the sites of the rich and famous. well, famous anyway. because i do. which is why lance arthur's recent foray into web-lebrity mocking strikes me as particularly funny.
yuppie, redux most mornings,
most mornings, i cringingly push myself out of bed, 20 minutes before i have to leave the house. i use these 20 minutes to carelessly get ready, apply and conduct the minimal amount of health/beauty regimens, and dash frantically about in jack-russell-terrier style, trying to find wallet/keys/cellphone/book/makeup/etc. then i trudge to the subway station, trying to find the joy in all of this, still half asleep until i get to work.
but this morning, i woke up at 7:45am. i ran downstairs to get the paper and listened to ten minutes of npr as i ate cereal in bed, then i took a hot shower and blowdried my hair. there was a stain on a new shirt, so i soaked it in woolite while i got dressed, then hung it out to dry while i gathered my things to leave. since i got to midtown five minutes early, having read the entire front section of the WSJ on the subway, i treated myself to a cherished double-tall caramel macchiato. look at me, i thought to myself on the sunny five minute walk from starbucks to the office. i'm all growed up.
then i realized i'd left the tag on my new pants and forgotten my work ID at home.
September 16, 2003
gagging on my silver
yesterday, i met up with a friend i hadn't seen in six years, and we went down to soho to have pizza at lombardi's followed by dessert at magnolia. today, i'm sitting front row at the catherine malandrino spring '04 collection, for fashion week. and tomorrow, i'm doing two hours of hatha yoga at the west side Y, wandering over to cafe mozart's and then the movies for a date.
i'm gagging on my own yuppie self. and i'm loving it.
September 15, 2003
ignorance was bliss apparently,
apparently, ben and jen were going to get married.
i didn't know this.
apparently, they split up the day before their wedding.
i didn't know this either.
this is why i love my life. because i didn't know anything about bennifer for two solid weeks.
monday. yeah. HI. i'm
i'm broke as hell until tomorrow and i made plans to show a friend the town tonight.
my lymph nodes are incredibly, mutinously furious with me.
my body seems to be malfunctioning.
YARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! it's monday.
September 13, 2003
monosyllabic breakdown of a
monosyllabic breakdown of a friday night:
fall clothes shopping spree: good.
not eating dinner: bad.
tickets to swanky ICP opening: good.
actual swanky ICP opening: bad.
hot date to swanky opening: good.
hot date ending early enough to go out drinking with other friends: bad.
having friends: good.
having friends that say, "bitch, come drink vodka with us!": bad.
drinking straight vodka: good.
doing handless shots: bad, bad, bad.
swearing you'll never drink again: good.
knowing you will anyway: priceless.
September 12, 2003
not that i actually
not that i actually believe in this stuff, natch...
"VIRGO: The largest meeting of world religious leaders in history was virtually unreported by the media. The top-secret event transpired in 2002. Leading representatives from every major faith gathered in Italy. They issued a "Decalogue for Peace," which denounced violence committed in the name of God and religion, and declared, "We commit ourselves to those who suffer poverty and abandonment and who have no voice." The media deemed other stories more important than this unprecedented breakthrough, like Mike Tyson getting his boxing license, John Walker Lindh making a court appearance, and the Enron hearings beginning. A comparable marvel is unfolding in your own life, and you haven't noticed it yet. "
from rob brezsny
... but having my life compared to a cataclysmic new global peace movement is pretty wicked cool. maybe it's a new pony.
drinks all 'round! i
i mentioned the beer. i mentioned the friends, and more friends, and i mentioned nookie [no, you fools, i'm not going to link to the nookie.]
but i didn't mention the fabulousness and fierceness and all around kitten-cub cuteness that was kate. my friends were all charmed. i was charmed. she's funny and witty and smart and she's got a GREAT set of legs and has this adorable non-smoking way of smoking a cigarette. she's now my reason to actually put on my jet-setting cap and fly out to california one of these days.
in short: "kate! making new york brighter since three days ago."
thanks, UNIVERSE. one minute,
one minute, i'm flying high from a night of beer, friends, and nookie. the next minute, a hero falls.
DAMNIT.
update: as everyone has pointed out to me every five minutes, i'm fully aware that john ritter also died. this is sad, since his erstwhile slumpingly-stun-gunned career seemed to be taking at least a half-hearted attempt at life, and he was younger than cash. however, this doesn't mute the fact that cash dying left me with a GIANT CASH-SHAPED HOLE IN MY HEART and ritter, more of a passing moment of concern that the world is now less rittertastic than it once was. capiche?
September 11, 2003
open love letter to the naked city
open love letter to the naked city
dear new york city,
i met you when i was a young child, too young to understand the immensity of your beauty, but i loved you nonetheless the moment i laid eyes on you. i remember the moment, at the age of seven, when my brother drove me over the george washington bridge. it was crisp summer day, an egg-fried-on-the-sidewalk day, and you looked pearlescent, shimmering like a dying man in the desert's famous last mirage. i looked at the zippertooth edge of your skyline and thought, one day that'll be home.
new york, i love your streets. i love the thumping beat, the continuity of the rivers of asphalt that connect every new yorker, that connect harlem to the upper west side to hell's kitchen to chelsea. the corridors that weave through downtown, then snake out of that jumble into the quaint lanes of the west village. i love the endless straightness of park avenue, when you look north and it seems that the end of park avenue must be the end of the world. i love the race-car curves of FDR, and the river promenade of the west side highway. your streets are your arteries, your throbbing veins, the constantly moving highways of your life force.
i love your buildings, new york. the majestic originals, sure - the chrysler with its delicate silver latticework and the almost coy way it deflects sunlight, the empire state building in all of its solid soaring thereness, nonchalantly ignoring all the other soaring buildings of new york, knowing it's been there since the beginning. but i love your other buildings, as well. the gorgeous gothic of the natural history museum. the white splendor of the met. the grumpy utilitarianism of the pan am building. the modernistically slanted citibank building. and the nameless buildings, as well. the line of wildly different facades that make up the west side of the park - like grandmamas jostling to watch their children in the park. the over-the-top quaintness of the west village brownstones. the whistling canyons of downtown, with their anonymous towering dominance. your buildings are the curves and peaks of your essence.
i love, most of all, your people. i love their tough shells and the kindness and humanity they think they're hiding. i love catching the flow on one of your streets on a crowded sunday, new york, and simply moving with the people. here, on your streets, i may walk ten blocks with a complete stranger and most likely never see them again, but we've shared a block of our lives. every interaction on these streets, however insignificant, comes with an unspoken contract. i live here, you say to your fellow stranger, and so do you. we may have nothing else in common, but we hold different parts of the same thread in this crazy life. people you may never want to associate with, you still rub elbows with on the subway. i have stood closer to people on the subway than i have to some lovers. does it matter? no. we're different looking parts of the same intricate latticework that is new york. sometimes i stand on your streets and watch your family go by, and my mind can't handle the beauty and complexity and sheer volume of this enormous tribe. your people, new york, are your crowning jewels. we stand here every day and say, "take away the rest and we're still new yorkers."
thank you, new york. for a girl who never left her bags in one place long enough for the contents to settle, this september makes five years that you've graciously let me call you home. sometimes i think i don't deserve you. and sometimes i think you don't deserve me. we're lovers that way. but all i need to do is leave the city, and then humbly cross one of your sprawling bridges, look at the zippertoothed, jagged beauty of you, sunning yourself in this inprobable, almost inhospitable bend in a river, and i know you've still got me hooked.
i love you.
wish, granted who's strolling
who's strolling through the park with a certain jet-setting blogdarling, followed by dinner at patsy's on the east side, followed by sloshy drinks in the east village?
why, i am, darlings!
jealous, mark?
September 10, 2003
autumnal today is a
today is a brisk, sunny day in the big apple. it feels like autumn. so i've celebrated by pulling the tried-and-true clompers out from hibernation, and am turned out full quirky-new-england-prep-school style. studious and sexy! complete with kick-pleat jean skirt, sweepy bangs, and wholesome smile.
now all i need is a late-afternoon walk in the park with a cup of hot cocoa! care to join?
reason i love fulminous
when i say something incredibly emotionally healthy, that he's been trying to get me to face for months now, this is the conversation we have:
fulminous: CUE THE BAND!!
ful: TOOT TOOOOOOOT!
petithiboux: band?
ph: what band?
ful: And the PARADE!!
ph: i get a BAND?
ph: and a PARADE?!
ph: will there be CONFETTI!?!?
ph: PLEASE, LET THERE BE CONFETTI.
ful: SO MUCH CONFETTI and YOU'RE IN A CONVERTIBLE!!
ful: WOOT HOOOOOOT!
ph: HAHAAHHAHAH
ph: DO I HAVE A CROWN?
ful: The BIGGEST CROWN!
ful: And the clowns are ALL doing CARTWHEELS and the TROMBONE PLAYERS are all DANCING and the GIRLS WITH FLOWER PETALS are throwing all their FLOWER PETALS.
see, people, this is the kind of positive reinforcement that makes my friends BETTER THAN A THERAPIST.
banners of... YORE! as
as i contemplate the upcoming redesign [autumn '03], i went trawling through the old banners that used to grace the pages of your beloved pH.
head over to the ever-useful deuxieme hiboux and check it out.
September 09, 2003
artsy fartsy one of
one of the best things about autumn is new york is all the fantastic art shows that crop up in chelsea and around town. if you live in new york and you don't spend at least one fall saturday wandering from gallery to gallery, you should move to iowa where they don't have free art exhibits by daring and exciting artists.
since photography is my bread and butter as well as my passion, here are some shows i'll be trooping to this month.
for that cutting-edge feel, try:
jeff brouws at robert mann gallery
bertien van manen at yancey richardson gallery
timelessly amazing artists:
constantine manos at leica gallery
pl dicorcia at pace/macgill gallery
bruce davidson at the new howard greenberg gallery [midtown]
hip retrospectives:
berenice abbott at laurence miller gallery
paul himmel at keith de lellis gallery
other cool stuff:
some amazing sculptures by richard stankiewicz, at the zabriskie gallery
frederic brenner's jewish journey at the BMA
and just so those california types don't accidentally realize that the world revolves around new york, pH commands you to catch shelby lee adams at fahey/klein gallery.
department of redundancy department
department of redundancy department file #4523:
telling your bed-partner to "fuck me, baby!" while engaged in makin' whoopie.
the mating game as
as a rule, i don't buy into the whole soulmate charade. this comes from my deep-seated fear of anyone telling me that life is predestined [see: pH's early disenchantment with organized religion]. i think it's the most frightening depths of laziness to assume that there's one other person, aimlessly floating around the cosmos, waiting for you to walk into the pet store and snatch him/her off the shelf clearly marked "____'s soulmate".
love isn't a one-stop shopping trip. love isn't looking into a complete stranger's eyes and seeing your future generations, i don't care what those snivelling morons at ABC tell you. spending the rest of your life with someone is a matter of conscious choice, it's an effort, it's a wonderful but complicated decision. choice is the key word. soulmate-theory implies that you'll effortlessly bump into your destiny as long as you keep walking forward. what depraved laziness.
no, i don't believe in soulmates.
that said, josh lyman, you know where to find me.
September 08, 2003
and on the seventh
...planned to study, do laundry, clean house, bake yummy goods, and generally be productive busybee.
...ended up reading salman rushdie novels all day and listening to NPR, only stopping to drink tea and eat cookies.
and she saw how it was, and said, it is good.
September 07, 2003
no longer krafty today,
today, i grew up a little more. feeling nostalgic and lazy while perusing my local deli, i decided to buy some kraft mac'n'cheese. [the original, not the deluxe, you philistines.] excited for my ezfood trip down memory lane, i switched in rumpled pjs, popped in a season 4 buffy tape, and curled up on the couch with my cheesy bowl of goodness.
i ate three bites, looked down at my food, and thought, "what the hell is this crap?"
then i went into the kitchen and cooked up a quick stir fry.
looks like i'm getting old.
September 05, 2003
bring me the love
see how it's a sunny day for the first time all week here in the big apple?
that's because the universe tends to align itself to my wishes.
and my wish today is to attend my media seats in a swanky skybox at the US Open, complete with tasty catered treats and free alchohol.
and i always get what i want*.
*including andy roddick. so back off, mandy.
September 04, 2003
busy signal law school
law school is something that's been pushed to the back of my mind for the past month. other than duly attending my mind-numbingly boring kaplan classes and warding off my father's nagging questions, the rest of my life has taken precedence over my plans for the future.
well, it's back. full-force attack of the law school admission hives. scribbled to-do lists get abandoned five minutes after their creation when faced with improved, longer and more frantic to-do lists. sharpies, overworked from all the scribbling, are committing suicide by leaping into my trashcan. there's so much to do, i need a palm pilot, or a drill sargent, to make sure i get it all done.
there's the law school forum this weekend, that fifth ring of hell where desks, frantic prospectives, bunches of paperwork, and nonchalant recruiters collide in an overstuffed, chandeliered banquet hall and do battle with each other.
there's a recommendation i have to write about myself because my law professor is too busy to write each student's rec himself, and thus requires that you draft your own inflated praise. needless to say, i'm on draft #435 and have yet to say anything remarkable about myself. does rampant egotism come over-the-counter these days, and where can i purchase a short-term supply?
there's the All-Important Personal Essay. also, currently in draft #i've-lost-count. do i write about my passion, the furthering of gay rights through legislation, even though it's so tres chic these days to be behind the gay movement that everyone and their chowpuppy will be writing that essay? or do i write the wrenchingly difficult bullshit that starts with "ooh look at me i'm such a cultural treasure i GREW UP IN AFRICA" and thus sell out my childhood and experiences to the highest bidder?
there's the money. oh, the money. the financial aid packets, the loan packets, the here's-a-knife-from-sally-mae-why-don't-you-off-yourself-and-sell-us-your-eternal-soul packets. there's the hundreds of dollars in application fees, $70 bucks a pop, plus the money i pay LSAC, and the money i pay Sarah Lawrence for transcript-mailing. my family and i are going to hemmorhage money over something that's going to give us all hernias.
there's the sheer organization TOWER of it all. the timeline of sending my application, my financial aid packet, my transcripts, my recommendations, and my LSAT scores all at the appropriate time. some before each other, some simultaneously, some after. WHERE IS THAT PALM PILOT?!
and there's the LSATs. in a month. again.
but really, what's at the heart of this is the fear. i know something those law schools, all nine of them, don't know. i know i belong there. wherever there ends up being, i know that's where i'm meant to be. i'd be good, i'd be damn good. i see this path - but will they? or will they only see the numbers, which for some of the schools on my list, will merit a flying leap to the trashcan before they glimpse the potential human being buried somewhere under slightly-above-average GPA and LSAT scores. will they see her? or will the numbers prevail?
have i bored you yet? well, good. take that boredom, add five doses of hysteria, followed by two valiums of "take this one day at a time" wisdom, fall asleep and wake up in a cold sweat. now you've approximated the next 2 months of my life.
but if this is what it takes to transform a plucky little owl into a formidable legal eagle, i say...
bring it ON.
September 03, 2003
grrooowwlll. Dear Comment-Providing Company
Dear Comment-Providing Company Which Inexplicably Shut Down Over my Birthday Weekend, Thus Making It Impossible For Anyone to Leave Me Witty Birthday-Related Effusive Compliments,
DRINK LIGHTER FLUID AND DIE.
Sincerely,
Krissa
Dear Anyone Who Knows How To Make My Own Comment System of Any Kind and Would Like to Help Me Do That, Probably Because You Think I'm Hot/Funny/Worthy/A Goddess/Loaded:
HI!
Sincerely,
Krissa
September 02, 2003
ten things about my
ten things about my weekend you don't know unless you were there.
10. the best thing you can do on a friday afternoon is leave work at three pm and take a nap as soon as you get home. the only way to top that is to wake up, splash on some perfume and a pair of jaw-dropping high heels and hit the town.
9. i did everything on my birthday list [below]. and then some.
8. i spent the day before my birthday indulging in self-love. you know - the kind where you hit soho and absolutely don't deny yourself whatever it is you want to buy. victoria's secret, dean and deluca, unique pieces of jewelry from little boutiques... if i wanted it, i bought it. now that's self-love.
7. my gorgeous new bed kicks your bed's ass. without breaking a sweat.
6. the shivlet and i had a pajama party on saturday night where we drank wine and ate pizza [a distinctly shiverous idiosyncracy], alternately kvetched and swooned about boys du jour, and actually watched return of the jedi. and then she gave me a birthday morning concert, rockstar that she is.
5. my cell phone rang 34 times on my birthday. hurrah!
4. i should stop underestimating my friends. sunday night's gathering, though smaller than many of the apartment's notorious past fetes, was still a chattery, libation-filled success. there was raunchy discussion as well as gossipy alma mater updates, standing-on-chair silliness as well as serious emotional discussions, margaritas as well as beer and cigarettes and late-night rambling. in short, my friends rock the casbah, full-out.
3. after heartily relapsing for my birthday into the consummate smoker i once was [all of a month ago], i woke up on monday morning sounding like patty/selma of bouvier fame. although i was consoled by reliable sources that it was sexy, i've rid myself of the desire to smoke another cigarette, ever.
2. now, i don't kiss and tell, but if i did, you'd know how much fun i had last night. i'll just say that rain makes a charming soundtrack and the perfectly rakish gentleman is always a nice way to cap off a birthday weekend.
1. and now, to recap twenty-two in twenty two words: job, apartment, adult... goodbyes, hellos, friends... love, heartbreak, strength... laughing, crying, blogging... decisions, disappointments, hysteria... trains, bars, brunches... good, bad, rollercoaster.
twenty three, bring it ON.
2:53pm UPDATE - one thing you probably could GUESS about my weekend, even if you weren't there.
1. that i'm going to have to reschedule tonight's lsat class for tomorrow or thursday, due to the fact that i got eight hours of sleep over the course of two nights and am currently crashing like the titanic.
end update transmission
entertain yourselves... i posted
i posted this a while ago, and then quickly took it down in favor of the lying game post. i have tons of little stories and minor hilarities to recount from my birthday weekend, but right now i'm flushed, lazy, and still living in the fun of the past few days and nights. so content yourself with this, mmm?
what is this thing, this date thing?
i have a confession to make. i've never actually dated. i know this may seem foreign and strange to you, you must think i'm lying, a girl as flirty and cosmopolitan as me, n'est ce pas? but alack, it's true. i've never dated. by dating, of course, i mean an interaction kind of like:
"hello, i'm dating you, we met _______ [some common options are: on the subway/on nerve/in a coffee shop/through friends/through work/at a bookstore]. i look at you, you look at me, there's a spark. we kissed on the first/second/third date. we slept together on the second/third/fourth/fifth date. we see each other 3-5 times a week, have met each other's friends, and have memorized each other's cell phone numbers. we are capable of making coffee at the other's house without asking for assistance. if/when we break up, it's mildly painful but politcally correct and we probably don't see each other anymore."
you all know that routine, right?
instead, i have some travelled some less-beaten paths while playing le jeux d'amour.
there's the PNG dates [Perfectly Nice Guy]:
"hello, i tried to date you. it ended after a few dates, where you were either predictable, arrogant, or boring. i probably gave you the closest response to honesty that i could about why we wouldn't be seeing each other anymore, but the balls-to-the-wall truth was that i wasn't attracted to you. you were probably perfectly nice, posessing one or more seinfeldian traits that made it easy for me to make up a nickname for you [Cigarette-Stealing Man, Roly Poly Sensitive, or Finger Gun Guy] and harmlessly mock you, exploiting our date to get laughs out of my friends. sorry, but that was the way the cookie crumbled. don't worry, i've had my heart karmically squashed to balance the scales."
there's the painful Fuck-a-Friend variety:
"hello, i've known you for ____ years, let's fuck because we suddenly realized we like each other very, very, much. and then things will be awkward and we might even hate each other for a while but the thing is, i won't be able to get you OUTTA MY HEAD and i'll mask it like i'm trying to save the friendship but really i've just fallen like a ton of bricks for you. It probably ends badly, unless the sex wasn't mind-blowing, at which point we'll become comfortable friends."
rarely, we find the Scumbag-Fuck...
"hello, i can tell you're crazy right off the bat. how about i just sleep with you without forming an emotional attachment? and then when you just get too bat-flyin' crazy for me, i'll walk away and we'll remain frenemies."
there's also the True Love Gone Horribly Wrong variety:
"hello, i think i'm in LOVE with you even though i've known you for five minutes and being that we're both eighteen it's statistically unlikely that you're my soulmate, but what i'll DO is: pretend desperately that we're in love until it becomes painfully apparent that we have almost nothing in common and you like FOOTBALL AND CARS while i like POLITICS AND QUICHE and we break up and never talk to each other again."
Notice how none of these are successful? Notice how none of them are the ward-and-june-cleaver version of dating that we all hear about? you know the 1. girl meets boy, 2. boy and girl like each other, 3. boy and girl date model?
this explains that when i find myself turning a corner and suddenly looking head on at the foreign beast that is The Dating World, i suddenly feel like i'm in a foreign country without the requisite language skills or currency.
hello? do you speak english? can you tell me the way to normalcy?