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tinder

Posted on March 19, 2013 | Leave a comment

Everyone’s been talking about it, so I downloaded Tinder. And my lesson? Guys are clueless. Because if they weren’t, they wouldn’t post photos like these to try to attract the ladies:

Jus’ sayin’.

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Posted in dear diary

I forgot to blog again

Posted on March 16, 2013 | Leave a comment

OVERDUE PHOTO ROUNDUP | A man gave me an Altoid. The next day, I sent him an email: “I found the Altoid in my back pocket today, and I couldn’t be happier. Thank you again!” The next week, he sent me a box:

Monika took me to the North Fork for a weekend. It was a freezing-cold version of the perfect impromptu getaway. Her artist grandfather sketched us:

I made a Beddie pillow to go with my ALB one:

Lex and I fought people to get into a photo booth:

I made some awesome raspberry oat bars – you know, for my coworkers:

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My name appeared in newsprint:

Central Park warmed up:

And some amazing roses came home with me for the weekend:

xALB

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Posted in dear diary

busy bee

Posted on February 12, 2013 | Leave a comment

Work is a shitshow. But I love it.

Feb 8, I wrote about a party.

Feb 11, I wrote about a model.

Feb 12, I wrote about a week.

I tell you this because I just realized that there’s something else coming from my byline on Feb 13, Feb 14, and Feb 15. Man, I’m exhausted. And the writing is the easy part.

Is anyone else crying over Obama’s poetic end to the State of the Union? Ughhhh innocent people getting shot makes me sob every time. (This GOP rep sucks.)

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snowed in

Posted on February 9, 2013 | Leave a comment

Where have I been? Judging by the sink full of dirty coffee mugs and XL dirty laundry pile, I’d say not around.

Last week’s shortlist: watching my art director friend’s band play at Bowery Electric, and eating a free (boozy) dinner at Blaue Gans while Food Network filmed a new episode of “Chef Wanted.”

When the “Chef Wanted” episode airs, you’ll probably see me and Meg complain about not getting our entrees for what felt like a decade. The producers all but begged us to look pissed off. Reality TV just isn’t what you think it is. And yes, Chef Anne Burrell’s hair is just as crazy in person as it seems on TV.

This week’s shortlist: Showing my coworkers my “Let’s Have a Kiki” dance Monday night at a bar (the bartender loved it), meeting Christian Louboutin and John Derian and Hugo Guinness, learning Twitter for the sake of @tmagazine and #nyfw, covering our T launch party at Oyster Bar, trying a juice cleanse and only lasting half a day, and (my favorite) skipping home in the snow at 1 a.m. after a late fashion week party celebrating a designer’s show that a friend styled.

It’s been a couple of weeks full of late nights at the office, meeting models and important people whose names and faces I can’t remember, and writing/editing my face off. Couldn’t be happier. Or busier. Or tireder. Or more reluctant to trek through the many inches of snow to the grocery for lunching things.

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cow

Posted on January 23, 2013 | Leave a comment

My new favorite yogurt (well, tied with my old favorite: Emmi grapefruit yogurt):

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Posted in dear diary

trains suck

Posted on January 22, 2013 | Leave a comment

“Hi! I’m so sorry, but I’m running late for my appointment with the dentist. The E/M trains aren’t running to 5th Ave/53rd.”

“Ohhhhh that suuuuuucks.”

“Okay, well my name’s Alainna, and I am in a cab. I’ll see you soon.”

“Man that really sucks about the train. But okay, I’ll let the dentist know.”

Healthcare front desks in NY are a unique experience indeed.

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Posted in dear diary

name game

Posted on January 20, 2013 | Leave a comment

In 2004, I went to prom with a guy named Wythe (pronounced “with”). Last night, I met a guy named Guy (pronounced “guy”). Here, the problems those milestones presented:

PROM

Friend: “Who are you going with to prom?”

Me: “Wythe …”

Friend: “With … who?”

Me: “Wythe Horbal.”

Friend: “Huh? You’re going with Horbal? Who the hell is that?”

Me: silent

LAST NIGHT

Friend: “Who’s that guy you were dancing with?”

Me: (pointing) “Guy.”

Friend: “Yeah, who’s that guy?”

Me: “A guy named Guy.”

Friend: “What guy?”

Everyone: drunk and confused

This morning, Monika, now less two wisdom teeth, called a remote meeting of the Bryant Park Lunchers club at Franklin D. Roosevelt Four Freedoms State Park on Roosevelt Island. Cultural Sunday at its finest included a much-anticipated ride on the Roosevelt Island tram: