Yes yes y'all! I'm back, and currently searcing for an answer to the question "How many sweets does it require to reach happiness?", for which the answer is not approximately two Girl Scout cookies, a third of a bland Le Pain Quotidien and a temper tantrum in the middle of SoHo over just wanting a decent cookie but not knowing how to say no.
I'm actively atempting to conquer the dark arts of dieting after hitting a new low — going back for a second Passover brownie despite hating chocolate and, you know, it not being Passover — and woke up planning a fresh start, full of restraint and turning away bread baskets and free dessert snacks, but lingered in Dean & Deluca too long and now can't get the idea of carbohydrates out of my head to the point where I just went back to that bland muffin and now it's all over my hands.
Is there such a thing as diet panic? Because I think I have it. And a newfound respect for people who try to quit drinking, because saying no, ever, at any time is never an easy thing. Especially when you inquire thirty hours in advance of a friend's wedding if there will be mozzarella sticks as appetizers or not.
I think not exercising for a week means I'm losing my brain. But, if not, I'm going to need a new excuse for why I keep talking to stuffed animals and found it beyond acceptable to stay in all Friday night watching Shark Tank. Actually, I take that back – the Scrub Daddy is a genius invention and I cannot wait to get my hands on one.
I needed to wake up very early this morning and didn't, because I'm not a suburban mom nor a psychopath, but the second I saw that glistening piece of golden pasta in my e-mail inbox, I was out of bed, wiping old mascara off my face and sleepily plunking credito card numbers into their database.
My relationship with Of A Kind is kind of like that of a teenager working at Abercrombie & Fitch, because the entirety of my profits from them go directly back into buying shit from their ahead-of-the-curve site every single time. But, there are only so many opportunities that you can be one of only 75 people referring to their fine golden jewelry as "tricked out arts & crafts" or "Kraft chic", and I'm beyond pleased to say this is one of them.
I was researching artists for a work project earlier this week, and stumbled across the glorious Jing Wei. Her art's fine, no judgement, but her bio pic of her swimming in a sea of nachos is what ALL my life dreams are made of. Just a reminder of anyone looking to plan an extra early B-day gift for me that my dream of diving into a room of cheese waffle fries Scrooge McDuck style is a lifestyle choice, not an exaggerated hope.
Everyone's freaking out over Amanda Bynes and Lindsay Lohan, but I'm putting out a celebrity 911 on Shia LaBeouf, who insanely went to dinner with his girlfriend at the Olive Garden. In Times Square. No one goes to Olive Garden that isn't on vacation from inner Kansas and doesn't trust streets not lit with neon billboard signs . If you happen to want to eat through an endless bowl of cafeteria pasta with a side of butter-flavored oil-drenched breadsticks — which, no judgment, happens from time to time — you go to the one on 7th Avenue, not one that's in the devil's center of hell on earth. But, then again, I walked past Jonah Hill in front of a Duane Reade singing Drake to himself this morning, so anything is possible.
If you have two tits and a hole for babies to fall out of, you probably had a stern reaction to Vogue's inane engagement slideshow. I, apparently on my own island of feelings, in that I loved it. I've never been able to experience in print the one-uppity-ness of their hallowed halls, and this read like a vouyeur's roundtable of trying to make their husbands sound better than everyone else's, while we get to step away and laugh at the end. Also, the one who sheds light on how fucked up their brains are towards food?!?: "I was walking really fast in attempt to burn off some of my dinner." You dont admit that shit out loud, doofy! Nice to know even the most memorable moments of your life can be plagued with thinking you're fat.
Spring Break has never been my jam, because for a pale girl who values eating beachside snacks more than stumbling upon sexy Floridian lifeguards, I'm perennially out of place. Luckily, my DJ wonderpals The Jane Doze made an incredible '90s mega-mix that's sure to be your month-long jimmyjam, even if the thought of neon bikinis and jungle juice makes you want to throw up all over yourself.
I read this NYMag story a week ago about street style stars before and after the art exploded and I still can't stop thinking about it. Ever-fascinated by how people change once they realize the cameras are on them, I love the nerdy as fuck outfits these women used to wear when, you know, being an editor meant slaving at your desk and not trying to look sexy on a sidewalk. Also: officially shutting down all photos of me before I get to that daily-blowouts-and-massages-at-home portion of my career.
Hold up — when did Vanessa Hudgens become my favorite human alive? I always thought her place on this earth was to keep people from questioning Zac Efron as to him potentially being gay, but this clip of her skanky ass-dancing on The Tonight Show is a game-changer. I thought she'd stay that glossy pristine tween for a while, but I'm loving her coming into her own as, well, a back-it-up-able human.
Somehow, I found myself in a Lululemon legging establishment last Sunday with...a Girl Scout Cookie in my hand. Let me repeat: in a castle of high-end workout clothes, with one of the notoriously fatties treats in the world collecting crumbs on my face.
In case the ridiculousness of that statement doesn't set in, let me arrange the scene for you a bit further. I'm dragged in by my mom, mid-cookie, greet the neon legging-wearing staff, stop to tell them (with cookie in hand) about where I got my glasses, follow my mom to the sale rack, still have a cookie between my fingers, browse through some tank tops, still have a fucking cookie in my hand, then shove the rest of it in my mouth to explore a new pair of exercise pants.
I'm a Gemini, but this is taking that split-personality thing a little too far.
Just a little thanks for bearing with me through the crazies of last week. There should be new posts up here all this week, if I just decide not to sleep and can crank them all out. I'm on a contracted gig for the next month, so things are a little hairy schedule-wise, but if I've learned anything from this past week, it's that I can make inanimate objects into my friends and power through late-night writing with a monkey tot in tow. I'm losing my mind, but I think we're in love.