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.)
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.
One of my guy friends said tonight, “I want to pull out the stops for someone. I want to sweep someone off her feet. I want to slow dance on a roof with someone. I’m itching to do that stuff. Life’s too short to play games.” I’m just posting it here because I don’t want to forget it (it’s so sweet). And because I want my single girlfriends to know that there are guys out there like this (not that I’ll ever tell who).
I forgot to take pictures of our cookie terrarium assembly line last night, so I stole Monika’s.
We set up shop in Deborah’s apartment to fill 60 Ball jars with layers of dry cookie ingredients. And we left covered in flour and ready to drink (more):
It was so so so fun. But 24 hours later, I’m still tired. Meanwhile, Brekke and Monika and Deborah have all left the city … so I have no one to commiserate with.
If you’re planning a kiddie birthday party, too, I’ll help you make some terrariums. I’m a pro now. Will work for wine.
The recipe is live! Check out how to make your very own caramelized coconut macaroons here and thank me (er, Charlotte, er, Gillian) later. Martin’s photo is way better than mine:
Last night, I had a tough time convincing a 22 year old that I am four years older than him. He thought it was okay to kiss my forehead and put his arm around me. But he was 22. So. It was not okay. Gorgeous or not, Mama said no more little boys. Plus, he called me a cougar at one point. I am only 26! This reminds me of the time I got carded to sample cheese at Sam’s Club in Virginia. The cheese lady smacked my hand away, “I need your parent’s permission!” “Um. I’m 24.”
A very adorable, very young-looking guy tried to chat me up at a bar last night. I made him show me his identification card to prove that he’s 32. That wasn’t awkward or anything … He totally understood my being annoyed at having met five 2011 grads in the past two weeks. He has a girlfriend, though, so it’s not gonna work out. #fml
I think I’m too old for half of this Nars nail collection. Yikes.
So Monika picked five bottles and let me paint each of her nails a different color She’s cute, so it’s okay. That was after our Bryant Park Lunchers date with Bill, of course, where Monika got drunk on Vitamin D in the park. It got awkward when she started photographing little girls rolling around on the AstroTurf …
It never gets old. And neither do photos of its big windows, especially not when I’ve managed to capture my friend Justin, who was in town from LA for only a few days yet agreed to walk with me in 30F anyway (bribed by drinks at 5 Ninth after our High Line walk), in one of the panes:
It was a crisp day …
I can’t wait for spring. In anticipation thereof, I’m drinking lots of Rose and Gruner Veltliner and Gewurtztraminer and Vinho Verde. But no, I wouldn’t call myself an alcoholic. Just finding springlike things to do to pass the time until I can read books in Sheep’s Meadow on weekends without freezing to death.
Quite possibly the best part of going out on the weekends = the morning after emails. If you had come out with us last night, you’d be a part of something like this:
To: emily, meghan, lauren
Subject: “compared to WHAT?” (10:01 a.m.)
1. I wish those tater tots from PDT would materialize in my apt right now.
2. Remember when Lauren bought us tequila shots, and I sipped a little and then spit it right back into the shot glass (/onto Lauren’s shoes)? hahahah
3. Remember how we were convinced that the guy who tried to tell us Thomas Jefferson had autism was a moron? Welp, I Googled it … turns out TJ may have had Aspergers. we = morons?
4. Our poor cab driver. First, we were all yelling. Then, we were cooing like Marcel the Shell. Was that before or after the other cab driver professed his undying love for Em?
5. Remember when I called Meghan “Lauren”? That was fun.
6. I still feel really dumb for getting stuck in two different bathrooms with sliding doors …
Somebody bring me pancakes with little sausages … xo
Funny responses to this will include: “I woke up covered in 20 Hershey’s kisses wrappers.” and “I love you, come come.” and “Guess what I wear as a hat? A lentil.” “Hello, this is me. What? Yeah. Well, it would be my pleasure.”
aside: Good news! The photo of the brazil nut cake made it into the paper, so all was not for naught: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970204136404577209104030725444.html?mod=googlenews_wsj