This film is important.

I recall, growing up, my Mother telling me that we were the most apathetic generation she had ever seen. "Iraq is your Vietnam," she'd said. "Why aren't you in the streets?"

Because we protest in different ways, I argued. 

We write Op Eds.

And blog posts.

And seethe silently about our governments robbing us of our freedoms and destroying the human rights of civilians in countries we wrongfully invade.

This film reminded me of just how grossly inadequate our reactions have been to public evidence that our nascent democracy has already crumbled.

It reminded me that my mother is right; We should be in the motherfucking streets.

This article on the cognitive dissonance women experience between their animalistic urges and the social conventions of dating is top notch.

 Even female rats have it figured out more than us, you guys.

Things I am thankful for

Bellinis at Cipriani & Whisper walls in Grand Central,
Strolls up 5th & photos of one another beneath the Rock Center Tree.,
Sampling enough coffees to give ourselves coronaries,
strolling Christmas Markets in Central Park,
settling in for Sunsets at Stone Rose,
and eating bad Chinese.

That was Day 1.

The second day was Christmas.
I baked a cake. He brought Rugelach and jelly donuts,
we cocktailed all afternoon,
and danced our way down to Cafe Noir.
Our numbers doubled, and over pitchers of punch we laughed and laughed.
Onto the Standard, and our ranks tripled,
over Kirs and burgers and games of ping pong,
there were stolen kisses and face slaps,
not betwixt who you would think,
lots and lots of arm wrestling
and old faces that I long to see all year.

There was a stop at the Jane,
so packed for Christmas night that our jaws dropped
(there were more odd balls like us than we'd realized in New York)
and finally a late night stop for Chicken Tikka and bread.
Holy fuck this is spicy! He joked
as I stole the last piece.

I was apprehensive about Christmas weekend here.
Would I be lonely?
Without glowing fir trees and christmas carols
family and obligations to be jolly?

But it was amazing.
and I realize more as I grow older,
that it isn't just a cliche:
friends are the family that we choose,
and they are fucking delightful.

I am grateful for many things this year-
my big, boisterous family,
my father- who melts my heart with every call,
and mother, the smartest woman I've ever known,
my siblings, the biggest blessing in my world
and their children; who are angels in our midst.

But when I can't go home,
when work calls and flights are steep
and I say, fuck it, I can survive a weekend alone-
(maybe that's what I need after a year of tomfoolery)
It is really nice to know that I don't have to.

And beyond that?

That the adventures will continue.

I am a proud American/Human about 10% of the time. The other 90% I am justified in my belief that we are all dumb dumbs.

Let all the others dress like bonafide professionals for Halloween. I'm drawing back in my childhood unibrow and going as motherfucking Frida Kahlo.

Man oh manischewitz there is a lot going on in the world. Ghaddafi was captured and killed today, the images of his crushed and bloodied face splashed on every second rate blog around the world. Tunisia and Egypt have wrangled freedom from their respective dictators and the heroic people of Yemen and Syria have been fighting for same. Steve Jobs has died. A man in Ohio released 51 captive exotic animals then committed suicide- resulting in the murder of some pretty majestic members of the animal kingdom: bengal tigers, giraffes, monkeys, bears, and lions. And Occupy Wall Street has gained unbelievable steam in the last few weeks- resulting in a 20,000 person march on Times Square this weekend.

And your correspondent? From whence do I emerge after such a long time? And why?

A little update since you last knew me is in order, I suppose. I spent the last 2 years attending Business School, that pantheon to capitalism and self-importance. Did I enjoy it? Well my friends, I traveled (South America, Europe, the Middle East, Africa...only Asia missed the cut) and enjoyed two years of sleeping in- but I'm happy to be back amongst the people, in the working world, where my account balance is finally moving in the right direction.

I accepted a job on Wall Street.

I've learned a lot. I've realized how little sleep I am capable of, and felt the small seed of emergent cojones whose growth only a substantial paycheck can offer. I've upped my shoe game. I've rid my homestead of the Ikea coffee table (next up- the chairs and bookshelves I've scavenged over the years from neighbors). I've read a lot. I read 2 newspapers every morning before your momma's had her coffee. I am woman, hear me RAWWR.

But I've always loved to write. So I'm going to lay it down on you from now on. I need an outlet like Kim Kardashian needs a stepping stool to kiss Senor Humphries.

I may touch on some serious topics. I may be frivolous. But I have never been happier to come back to something, and wanted to say hello.

Day 1 of the rest of my life.

Fuck the police.

That's an absolute lie. Rich girls want your money too, we just don't need it as much.


via

French fashion blogger-slash-freelance illustrator (now there's a mouthful for a profession that almost certainly yields no paycheck) Garance Dore took this photo of a baby... at Fashion Week. And posted it on her street style blog.

This poor (beautiful) child.

If the "help me escape" look in this poor bebe's eyes and the handwoven artisinal wizard hat weren't enough to scare the bejeezus out of you- look closer: her nails are motherfucking painted.

Kids in New York.

Hold up, here's another one:



I'd be impressed if every striving young "Gallerina" from Connecticut wasn't carrying that purse at Brinkley's Saturday night.

All I'm saying is, tell your stylist to up her game.

Fairy Tales are for Assholes

via

Wow.

Growing up with 3 sisters, Mayonnaise was a dirty word. It was unconscionable that the substance should end up on our refrigerator shelf and, by proxy, our asses. Mayo was, quite simply, a substance ugly people put on their sandwiches, paired with mystery ham and Kraft cheese.

That is, until I recently found myself on business in New Jersey. On business, and hungry in New Jersey. On Business, hungry, and with very limited options in a place that made even the shadiest New York deli look like Bouley. The options were limited, and apprehensive though I was, I opted for the Turkey wrap. Bracing myself for the worst, I took one bite: and it was heavenly.

It was the Mayo. That creamy substance that I've since learned could transform rat food into finger licking scrumptiousness. That gelatinous substance that quivers to life between two slabs of carbohydrates: my one true love, Mayo. I'd been waiting all this time for that special someone, and it dawned on me that that someone was something, and that thing was mayonnaise. Mayo was so goddamned good I want to marry it in a special ceremony and have Carrie Prejean speak out against us.

And then something else clicked for me. Something so monumental it made everything else before it meaningless:

This must be how heathens feel about eating Bacon.

The More Things Change the More they Stay the Same

"That's the thing about WASPs, they'll take you out on a proper date and call you the next day, but they'll just as readily fuck a hooker in the backseat of a towncar."- My Brother

(For the record, the lady in this photograph was one of the first "Playgirls", so I reckon that is somewhere in between.) Via the Life Archives

A preliminary Guide to: The Phase Out

I've never been a big fan of the phase-out myself, but when executed correctly I have been convinced as of late that it can be a beautiful thing.

Just so we're clear: the phase-out is that oft used dating mechanism to dispose of someone who you always suspected was rather worthless (but dated anyway because you are bored and require constant stimulation). Those little things they do that struck you at times as charming, become anything but.

Example 1: The gentleman in question lets you buy him a beer; at first it seems charming and Dutch-like. You're a modern woman, one who is gainfully employed and ballerific to the extreme, I mean, it's cute to return the favor sometimes. Then you offer a second time and he accepts. Before you know it you are in a truly nightmare scenario that requires you not only look the part of a trophy girlfriend (an expensive feat, I assure you) but contribute to all dates equally. Call me old fashioned, but this is grounds for immediate phase out-age.

Or consider example two: You decide to broach the topic of current affairs over dinner; he turns out to be not only conservative but dim as a 70's lightbulb (one might venture that these attributes go hand in hand, and really I wouldn't oppose you if you did). This is grounds for outright dumping but I find that the phase out is a more charitable approach.

Three: He goes commando and insists on lounging around on your couch- naked- and smoking a cigarette- post coitus. A girl's upholstery is precious and any man that doesn't recognize this is not worth his salt. Phase Out.

And so on and so forth.

The phase-out can be broken down into a relatively simple science.

For instance, one is encouraged to begin with excuses about work, as this is unanimously relatable. A simple "Sorry babe, so busy today/this week/ forever!" works wonders. When the gentleman in question offers to gallantly fight your boss for caging you in like a rabid monkey, it is upon the lady to escalate the phase-out. Cold and calculating, the move here is to cease response to all forms of communication. This will invariably beg messages of the below variety:

"Are you okay?"
"...."
"I JUST WANT TO KNOW YOU"RE ALIVE"
"You're a real bitch, you know that?"
"I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, I'm just so worried about you."

Stay strong, ladies.

Even when he shows up outside your door with a guitar and a long stemmed red rose, with a song he composed for you titled "Your Love is a Disease" (worthy of another post but needless to say this DID happen), one must crack her door ever so slightly (leaving the chain ON) and re-iterate one's intention to phase the pursuer out.

Even if he cries and threatens suicide (and he will), don't relent.

And for all the pain and suffering that will be caused over the course of your Phasing Out careers, know this. 1 time out of every 10 this is performed, the gentleman in question will be trying to perform a phase out of his own on you. And there is nothing more satisfying than sharing a genuinely mutual contempt for the person you have been unenthusiastically boning for the last 2 months.

And this makes it all worth it in the end.

xoxo
Girl

Something Beautiful

A few summers ago I found myself in Amsterdam. It was one of those dreamlike days where there is the faintest breeze and slightest chill to the morning. My family and I took 3 tables at an outdoor cafe, facing the few cyclists who had emerged at that hour. We shared coffee and Dutch apple pancakes, criossant and eggs. Afterward we strolled down to the Van Gogh museum.

On arriving, we each dutifully fell into our own pace, some walking briskly through the galleries, others floating between the pieces. My sister turned right on entering a room, my father, to the left. We were stunned that the sunflowers were actually so small, and at the depth and rainbow of colors used to create each piece. As I entered the last room, something caught my eye and I cut straight to the middle. There were the Almond Blossoms; the most spectacular painting I had ever seen. The colors evoked that day so crisply, and the effect was one of overwhelming tranquility and beauty.

I stood before it for an hour before I was ushered on to leave. I could have stared at it for years.

Today, I saw a photograph that immediately harkened back to that perfect day.


Proof that there is continuity in beautiful things. That the memory of such simple and incredible days can carry us through dark and cold ones alike.

Have a lovely weekend,

Girl

Bye Bye Bushie

And on that note, Happy Inauguration Day.

I'll be watching the Inauguration from MSSSC (My Super Sweet Subsidized Cafeteria). It's a big day so I thought I'd do it up large and get the Healthy Station chicken wrap, the indiscriminate "indian flavoured" chick pea side, AND Baked Lays. Fuck the calorie po-po's.

Congratulations to Barack Obama and his family for realizing the hopes of so many.

God Bless,
Girl

Amazon is a wealth of funny shit far cooler than anything i could ever think up of

It's true. For all those who have been complaining about my lack of blogging (Yes D and EricM, I am addressing you, but I'm sure there are many others quietly seething in the background and pricking their Girl Voodoo Dolls), I have good reason. In no short order, my friends have started to imply that they don't really enjoy my exposing their sexual exploits (I can't imagine why), guys reallly don't want to date a girl who is remotely funny (even if they say they do, they are secretly unbearably uncomfortable about the whole "thing"), but most importantly, because I have realized Amazon commenters are funnier than I am and it gives me hives.

Legit.

Check this out- commentary on PlayMobils fun little Security Checkpoint Toy.

Allow me to give you some highlights:

By
Gwen P. (Douglassville, PA, USA) - What better way to teach the next generation how to behave in a police state then with a toy such as this? I'm really hoping that they come out with a toy in which the kids can play "interregator". Think of all the fun the little folks can have waterboarding those who "hate our freedom".

By

Delia (Eugene, OR)- I especially appreciated the enclosed signed photo of Michael Chertoff and his letter explaining how necessary it is to start educating today's youth early with toys like these, especially as their elders just don't seem to be taking the whole thing seriously

By
Gen. JC Christian, patriot (Tremonton, UT United States) -
Durability: Fun: Educational: I like the basic idea. I applaud Playmobile for attempting to provide us with the tools we need to teach our children to unquestioningly obey the commands of the State Security Apparatus

There are more. Needless to say, I've been brutally unseated from my snarky throne. I'm going to brush my shoulders off and try to recover this week though- fingers crossed my Darling Minions.

"Why he hasn't called in a week": the Definitive Guide

I either won or lost the game, depending on your view of things

This morning, I was reminded of this story by a young man (we'll call him S) with whom I attended Analyst Training 2 years ago. He had a wicked sense of humor and was stuck with shouldering the dumbest group in the class. This endeared him to me immediately, as I too am wickedly hilarious and was shouldering the burden of a German playboy, a gentleman from the Johannesburg office who had a penchant for leaving the room to refill on free cookies every 10 minutes, and a Southern girl who twirled her hair so much I thought it might fall out.

For those of you who haven't experienced the sheer pleasure, Analyst Camp is alot like Band Camp, except with exceptional catering, private rooms, and the myth that you are being evaluated. Some people just live in their apartments and attend class during the day, but my company actually sent us to a lodge in the middle of nowhere. It heightens the beer goggle effect, I believe.

On the first day, they tried to cajole us into believing that the classroom portion might be fun.

"Ve going to play, two truuth and Liiie," Sventlana, the Russian Director and our terrible instructor went on. I shot S a look and he burst out laughing.

"Eeets ice break," she continued, and I died a little inside. I hated this game, even more so when people were being evaluated because it converted the usual nonsense (e.g. "I have a red car, I have a blue car, I have a green bicycle! Just try and guess!), into failed attempts to impress others ("I climbed mount kiliminjaro on my hands, I run a hybrid orphanage-school in rural India, Warren Buffett is my godfather!") . But I went along with it and wrote mine down like everyone else, waiting patiently until at last, my turn came.

"Hi. Okay:," I stuttered. "1) I left home at 13, 2) I used to have blonde hair, 3) I was a clown travelling with the circus."

My fellow students immediately started deliberating which item, as a team, they would designate as my lie (Yes, we were already "working as teams"). I saw the table next to mine, write down their answer, then feverishly scratch it out and replace it with another. When time was called, one of the tables was forced to write down an answer which I could tell they hadn't agreed on. Were these people serious? They actually think that, not only might I have been a clown, but that I was a travelling clown? Who has now decided to go into financial services? I could feel the laughter boiling up inside of me.

Every team picked #2.

"So, vich vun it eez?" Svetlana cooed.

I laughed so hard I cried. "Are you guys serious? You think I was a clown?!?!" I challenged.

"Well," my Analyst -camp fling from the London office spoke up, "your being blonde just seems utterly silly!" The room nodded in agreement.

First impressions are funny like that.

On the Horrible Affects of the Downturn, Part I

GM: Bartender! I'll take two shots of the cheapest tequila you have.

Girl: Sorry, he meant 2 shots of patron.

GM: It's a recession, Sugar. I can't make it rain like I used to.

Girl: I think your newly depleted net worth can spare me some Patron.

GM: Just close your eyes- it will all taste the same.

Yuppie Angst

Dear Big Brother Big Sister of Manhattan,

Thanks for your rejection note. I understand that you are overstaffed with Big Brothers and Big Sisters in Manhattan at this juncture. How could you not be? People in New York are so goddamn giving of their time and energy, not to mention obsessed with children, you can just see it on their faces. I'll bet I inappropriately brushed up against at least 16 Big Brothers at that bar last night alone. I hope their little "siblings" appreciate their company as much as they would have appreciated mine.

I can't help feeling hurt though. I would have made a great big sister- I even had a whole list of things planned to show her. I was going to take her to Indochine to try the amok cambodienne, then to Pegu to try this amazing cocktail I love- it has raw egg in it, but kids aren't really at risk for salmonella anymore right? That's what I thought.

Another idea was to take her to get Japanese thermal reconditioning on her hair. In my dreams it was sort of curly like mine, but 6 hours later i imagined her walking out of the salon with that tell tale swish of silk. These were my short term goals for her, and you just tore them away from me. It isn't fair.

I suppose it wouldn't have hurt so much if the Soho Partnership had returned my calls. Before that, it was rote rejection from Gods Love we Deliver.

But this isn't about my failure to fill the gaping void dug by my utterly shallow existence, this is about us, and where your rejection has left me.

I just thought you should know.

Its left me considering joining the Young Lions of the New York Public Library. What's more, this Saturday, I'll be accompanying my plus one to Ralph Lauren to have his tuxedo fitted. No matter that the price of said tuxedo or my gown could feed an entire zip code. He says it seems like the sort of charity we should be supporting, and after I dabbed the vomit from the sides of my mouth upon hearing that, I felt inclined to agree.

Cordially,

Girl

"What are your short and long term goals?" and other pick up lines overheard at Business School Receptions

“Hi, I’m James.”

He popped up behind me, and before I had a chance to pull a mock exit, he would hold me captive in conversation. I hoped, at the least, that he was a current student at Business School A, to whom I could direct the ass kissing that I’d rehearsed in advance of the information session turned cocktail hour.

“Oh, hi,” I beamed.

“I’m a prospective student, by the way,” he said, as though reading my thoughts. “Been working in Houston for my dad, he owns an oil company out there.”

“That’s lovely for you,” I replied. 6 pm was rapidly approaching, and I was annoyed that if I stayed any longer, my favorite treadmill would be occupied for the rest of the evening. Like cocktail parties that only serve Pinot Grigio, this was the sort of thing that really got my blood boiling.

“I want to be an Investment Banker,” he went on. I don't know if he was looking to me to express surprise here, but I wasn't having it. He was wearing a power tie when the invite had strictly noted “Business Casual,” for fuck's sake. I, on the other hand, was wearing my slutty-secretary pencil skirt, which is really appropriate for any occasion (in which I enjoy being hit on).

“Sounds like fun."

“I would agree,” he replied. He’d just agreed with his own fucking statement. The guy already had the heart of a banker. This was, pathetically enough, starting to resemble approximately 68-99 percent of dates I’ve been on since moving to New York (lack of sobriety accounting for the statistical range).

“Sooo, it’s pretty clear you and I have a lot of common. Do you have a card or something?” he asked. I stood up and smoothed aforementioned slutty skirt.

“I’ll be right back,” I cooed, and turned around to leave.

As I snaked my way through the crush of eager bodies, I had a realization. This is how cruel New York had made me; I’d actually started to mock people, even cute people, whose dreams I found indelibly shallow and stupid. For a brief instant I felt, not exactly badly, but numb in that way you feel when you take a friend’s Wellbutrin just for kicks then have 4 gin and tonics without thinking about it, like a dumbass.

I was halfway into the hall when another voice came up behind me.

“I think we sat in on the same class.”

I turned around to face him. “Oh, we did. Hi,” I said.

“Do you have, like, a phone number or something?” he said, taking out a pencil. A Pencil.

The kid had balls. Not just for busting out a pencil, which was so second grade it made me cry laughing, but because he thankfully hadn't felt the need to precede the request with bullshit. And after surviving my million and a halfth "deep talk" about the state of the markets (Stock conversation: "crazy day at work eh", "yeah, just crazy", "um, so what else") I'd hit a tipping point.


So even though he looked not a day over 19 and a half, I gave it to him.