Blowin' a hammie

Now that I actually attend the gym on a regular basis and can honestly tell a health care professional that I workout 4-5 times a week, I feel I have earned the right to judge some of the other gym goers*. (*Some of these characters are more ideal types than actual people, but some really, physically exist.) Let the stone throwing begin!

• The contortionist - what physical activity are you about to engage in that you need to do a full split in order to adequately prepare? I didn't see any uneven bars or regulation-height balance beams on my way in. This is not a Bally's fitness, it's a school gym. Just go back to your dorm and dedicate your energy to hooking up with the baseball player down the hall. You know that's where you'd rather be.


• The smelly guy - This one deserves a gendered pronoun because I have never in my life experienced an odor like this emanate from a woman. Body odor is one thing. If you don't want to use deodorant, well I guess I can suffer a little - it is the gym, after all. There are probably some health benefits to getting it all out. The other odors drifting over from your treadmill...those we've got to talk about. You are clearly quite the runner, and maybe you are more accustomed to exercising outside where the wind and your movement whisk your wind away. Here, however, we are indoors. We are stuck next to each other for the next 30 minutes or however long our workouts may last, and there is no excuse for your flatulence. I mean, sometimes cardio stirs up my tummy a little bit. I'll admit, I've let the occasional foof slip out. I'm not proud of it, but farts happen. Your problem seems to be much more systemic. May I suggest some Gas-X as a side dish to your PowerBar?


• The holder-on-for-dear-life - Do you really need to be walking that fast at that steep of an incline? It looks dangerous. In fact, I'm not only concerned for you - if you want to power-walk your self into oblivion and your parents aren't going to force you to see an eating disorder specialist against your will, that's your prerogative - but when your arm detaches at the shoulder socket - and believe me it will - and you go flying off the back of the treadmill, all 78 lbs of you are going to smash into the poor girl unfortunate enough to have chosen the recumbent bike behind you. And no matter how much mass you don't have, remember that (according to urban legend) even a globule of spit at the right velocity can kill someone.


• The grunter/weight slammer - Okay, I get it. You're huge. You are gargantuan. Your muscles rival Sly Stallone when in prime physical condition for any one of the Rocky movies. Your shoulders are so broad and ripped you probably can't wipe your own bum after you go the bathroom. Women line up just to get a glimpse of your manhood. Testosterone oozes from your acne-ridden pores. You are a living Adonis. Etcetera, etcetera. I get it! Really, I do, but do you really need to make those noises? It sounds like you could use some more fiber in your diet. Aren't GI problems one of the side effects of prolonged steroid use? And if you're so strong, why are you dropping the weights? You're going to make smelly guy poo himself, and I'm scared the vibrations will propel holder-on-er into bike girl.


• The porn star - I tend to err on the side of prudishness in the locker room. Perhaps its an artifact of being on a swim team with lots of other white, suburban girls equally unhappy about their bodies (can't they design a racing suit that doesn't turn your boobs into under-arm pudge or, at the very least, diminishes your bum as much as it does your bosom?). I don't think everyone should have to work so hard at keeping all their bits covered with the teeny, fraying, prison-issue gym towel. If you are proud of your body, whatever form it may take, all the power to you. HOWEVER, there is a fine line between being comfortable nude in front of others and being an exhibitionist. Do you really need to dry your hair in nothing but a thong? Is it absolutely necessary for you to apply your make-up while the rest of you is au natural (and your mons pubis is resting on the sink counter)? Does the elaborate performance that is your moisturizer applying regime increase its absorption into your skin, or do you just want to show off how little your thighs juggle even when vigorously rubbed? (P.S. Please pass along the name of your waxer, she's clearly very talented, as I can see that she has removed hair from very difficult to reach crevices of your body.)

And anyone who doesn't wipe off the machine when there is excessive visible perspiration should have a 20lbs medicine ball dropped on his or her foot.

Random Thoughts

I watched Jarhead last night and was contemplating a thoughtful reflection on the effective war critique it offered without being too obvious or overbearing, but really what excuse do you need to watch a movie with Jake Gyllenhaal all-but-naked and Jamie Fox? Plus I'm not feeling inspired for a political rant at the moment. But it definitely did a good job of portraying the soldiers' perspectives - very "Support the troops, not the war," which I can get on board with.

So keeping it current but light, Paul tried to tell me the other night that Anna Nicole Smith was this generation's Marilyn Monroe. The only thing those two have in common is that both were bottle blondes and both are dead. I don't think our generation has a Marilyn. What would the criteria be? Affair with President + prolific actress + sex bomb + serial wife + troubled childhood + Playmate + premature death? Monika Lewinsky meets Julia Roberts meets Pamela Anderson meets Angelina Jolie meets J-Lo meets Drew Barrymore meets meets Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes of TLC? Yeah, not sure we have one of those.

The death of Anna Nicole is really sad and for many reasons. The woman was obviously a bit of a trainwreck, but she wasn't all bad. She inspired me to buy my first big-barreled curling iron - that was a good thing. She was a sexy Guess model, and I like potential wardrobe options modeled by women who look like they can an enjoy a nice piece of bacon and/or a brownie sundae. In her last interviews she looked like she was really suffering and deeply depressed over the death of her son and was clearly being sedated. Whether or not she was self-medicating, well...either way it's understandable. Now she's dead, and 3 men are claiming paternity over her baby girl. Good luck to that little lady. They should put aside a substantial portion of her potential trust fund for the copious amounts of therapy she's clearly going to need. Although starting out with a troubled childhood isn't necessarily a bad thing. Who knows, with a little luck and some strategic marketing she could be the next generation's Marilyn Monroe.

Overheard in the office

She used to have a sense of humor, I don't know what happened. She's a lesbian slam poet! You can't have a sense of humor when you're a lesbian slam poet - you have to get up there and talk about your cunt. And that's fine if that's what you want to do with your life, but I don't want to hear about your cunt all the time.

Dork humor

Sarah [entering office]: How you doin'?
Me: O.K.
Sarah: h'okay coach?
Me: h'okay coach.
[Sarah exists.]
Mon: What is that from?
Me: I'm not sure. I think it's from a movie The Bad News Bears. Sarah says it and I just picked it up from her.
[pause]
Isn't that the definition of simulacrum? A replication of a thing that is itself a replication without any knowledge of the original thing?
[Mon nods head yes.]
Me [way too excitedly]: Yay! I used simulacrum correctly in a sentence!
Mon: That would have served you very well in the late 90's.

I am retarded

Okay, I know it's not politically correct to use that word, but there's a time and a place. Especially if you grew up in the Boston area - certain things are just wicked retahded, end of story. It's the only way to describe them. Let it be.

So why am I retarded? Well, as you may have noticed, I couldn't figure out how to label my posts. Not such a big deal, but have the fun is in the title. In my first year of grad school at NYU I co-wrote a statistics paper with another graduate student - my roommate Ashley - entitled "What have you got to do to get a female CEO around here? Commercial Corporations and Glass Ceilings: Institutional Mechanisms and the Public/Private Divide." The paper's not that great, but if you just saw the first page you might want to read it. Our clever use of word play might pique your interest. Similarly, we have an informal contest going on in the department to see who can get the most creative form of punctuation into his or her dissertation title. Sarah's got a head start with her article "Bioethicists [Micro]Sort® It Out: Sex Selection and the Maintenance of Authority."

Beth had e-mailed about the laptop bags (a search which continues to vex me), so I asked her to share her wisdom. Turns out a title box just pops up for her. So I had a gander on the "settings" tab and after looking for, oh, about 30 seconds I found a field called "Show Title field". The drop down menu next to it has 2 options - Yes and No. Quick fix. Now my archives won't look like word jumbles.

But on the retarded issue. It should never be used as a derogatory label for someone who has an actual mental disability, if for no other reason than because it lacks imagination. I hope that one day the mentally challenged can reclaim this slur, much in the way some lesbians have reclaimed "Dyke," and someone can walk into special education classroom and ask, with deep affection, "Where my 'tards at?"

Anaphylactic Shock

Ohmygawd. I'm having difficulty breathing. I just found this website. It led me to a list of lots of other accessory shopping sites. With coupons. I immediately called Jane to give her the coupon code I found for lunaboston. And I stayed on the phone with her until I was assured that she had purchased the bag she wants - reminding her that I am an online-shopping GENIUS and that with my help she procured her laptop bag for $76.50 rather than $150. And then I found this amazing travel accessory website, which is perfect for me because IloveaccessoriesandItravelalot! And they have Orla Kiely bags - on sale! And then a few more clicks, and I ended up looking at this gorgeous bag. But how sexy is the white leather tote?!?!?!

HELP!

I'm the coldest lady in all the land

After my trip to the No-no Doctor this morning (you know, the one who touches you in your no-no special place), I tottered down Broadway, wrapped up like Ralphie's little brother from A Christmas Story ("I can't put my arms down!"). A big debate was raging in my head - should I splurge on a scrumptious Starbucks beverage and treat, or should I go straight to my office and have a more sensible cup of tea and packet of instant oatmeal? Of course I went for the corporate breakfast, because if you don't deserve a treat after going to 3rd base with a metal crank and a latex glove, then when do you? Really.

[T.M.I. warning: Incidentally, my doctor told me my cervix has a tendency to "deviate to the left." I've never heard such a thing before. Even my cervix is deviant - who knew?!]

I must say the tallnonfatnowhipcinnamondolcelattewithsugarfreesyrup was a little disappointing. Simultaneously too sweet and a little bland. The Reduced-Fat Cinnamon Chip Mini Loaf, however, was a delightful surprise. It would have been perfect paired with a cup of sweet, milky PG tips tea. (God bless those little flavoroid pyramids - I get them imported from England. What can I say, I'm a tea snob. I got spoiled learning to drink tea in the UK.)

But when I got to the office and checked out my favorite blog, I realized there's something else to make me all warm and fuzzy inside - Fashion Week! - or, more specifically, the commentary! I live for vicious fashion critiques. The people that write for MSN Undressed are clearly of above average intelligence and have a pact with Satan. I can get on board with that.

If I could have attended one show, it would have to have been the Heart Truth Red Dress show. What a great idea?! Get celebrities to wear gorgeous red frocks and raise awareness about heart disease, the leading killer of women in this country. It is totally worth checking out the video to see Betsey Johnson, also a breast cancer survivor, channel Cindy Lauper and bounce down the catwalk. Kim Catrell is ravishing. Rachel Ray apparently left her neck backstage. Spring chicken and recovering Idol finalist Katherine McPhee also held her own against some more seasoned celebs (Billie Jean King and Felicia Reshad, to name a few), showing off her amazing gams (and did she get implants?) in a Swarovski-studded mini. Now don't get me wrong, she looked smokin', but I was a wee bit worried about her no-no special place. One wrong move in that smock and her va-ga-ga might catch a McPhever.

The Hunt is On: Update

Jane has just purchased a matching laptop to mine, so she's joined me on the quest for the perfect computer bag. We found some beautiful carrying cases today in the Bag store on 8th, confirming that Jane and I have fantastic (read expensive) taste. Jane has fallen for the Highway Bird Tote in Red (HW-08), whereas I'm leaning towards the Acme Trixy in Chocolate Brown. Convinced that you can always find things cheaper online (CONFIRMED: Jane's was $150 in the store and on the designer's website, $90 on lunaboston.com), I did a new search and stumbled across this little gem! Here's a site I can get on board with - these people clearly share my affinity for accessories/containing devices. I also got to see the Timbuk2 Marina Computer Handbag in person, and I must say on the less-expensive end of things I do like it quite a bit. It's made of the ballistic material most messenger bags are, so it's still decidedly techy, but in the right color it could be quite cool. The Talene Reilly bags are amazing, but sadly I'm not looking for something in the $300 price range. Okay but now I'm in lurve with this Lodis bag...

Decisions, decisions...

Cracking the code

I think I have deciphered the Starbucks formula:

f(x) = # of shots + size + dairy + specialty beverage + shots

Examples:

a double venti non-fat americano

-OR-

a tall soy no-whip mocha

-OR-

a grande non-fat cinnamon dolce latte with sugar-free syrup

I'm onto you, you green-aproned imps! No longer will you feign superiority over me by haughtily re-arranging the words of my order, verbally excluding me from your clique like some upper-class country club members chuckling at their less couth guest's ignorance of fish forks!

Hello, my name is Lazy, and I'm a gamer

Things that I should have worked on today:

• Grading lab assignments
• Reading for my comprehensive exam
• Learning more about my potential dissertation topic

And here's what I did instead:

Thunder Plunder Borg the Viking has a liking for plundering.

Play this free game now!!

Addictive. Almost as bad as TextTwist.

If I had to make a list of "Store's Amy should Not Visit Unaccompanied," Sephora would have to be in the Top 5 (joined by Target, The Container Store, Papyrus or other similar purveyors of fine stationary and greeting cards, and Cold Stone - not that I ever walk out of the last one having inexplicably spent $80, but really it's just sad to go there alone.)

If you have never visited a Sephora, I cannot begin to explain the experience on which you are missing out. If you are anything like me, and millions of other women (and women-identified persons), and hold on to Clinique bonus items you'll never use, collect sample size body products from hotels, hoard eyeliners and mascaras in an array of colors way past the time frame recommended by most dermatologists and generally delight in "products," a trip to Sephora will impart on you the feeling of the proverbial kid in a candy store.

My Aunt Mary (tied for top position of "Amy's Favorite Aunts") gave me a giftcard to Sephora as part of my Christmas gift (along with a subscription to Real Simple - it's ying and yang.) I am desperately in need of a facial moisturizer. The recent drop in the temperature, the nursing-home grade heating in my apartment over which I have no control - these things have not made my dermis happy. The skin on my face is flaking off like saliva-crusted sugar crystals from a jelly donut on the face of a 5-year-old. I've been trying to hydrate from the inside out - drinking the recommended daily 64oz of water. I've taken to sleeping with a humidifier on, which doesn't seem to have helped my skin but has reduced the dead-squirrel-in-mouth feeling I was getting in the mornings after nights that didn't involve any alcohol. I found a sample size tube of Vaseline intensive moisture lotion and was slathering that on, but it makes me smell like an old lady. I have also stopped washing my face (I don't regularly wear foundation so this isn't quite as gross as it sounds), but I'm pretty sure 3 day old mascara crumbs under my eyes don't help my pores. Last year I ran into a similar problem and bought Shiseido's Bio Performance Advanced Super Revitalizer. It definitely worked, it was like the cashmere of face creams, but it's so over-priced (this, too, was purchased in part with a gift card).

I decided to go with Philosophy's Hope in a Jar for dry and sensitive skin. I planned my course of action last night, made sure the gift card was in my wallet, and on the way from the gym to the department I decided to "pop" into Sephora. All empirical evidence suggests that it is not actually, physically, humanly possible to "pop" into Sephora. You can't even do a quick run through (and this is coming from a girl who can be in and out of a Marshalls in 15 minutes, having thoroughly investigated shoes, handbags, the clearance racks and the homegoods section). Before I even got to the Philosophy section, I stopped in the Stila isle to see if they had come into any more of the limited holiday Gift of Glaze set. SCORE - 1 left! I've already bought this gift set for 2 friends; it's just perfect. All of the colors work on an array of complexions and they are super-cute mini size. They also happen to be a bargain for $28 considering the individual glazes (of which I own 3 - Plum, Watermelon, & Apricot) sell for $14, and I'm sure I will never make it through any of the full-size tubed before losing them.

Then I decided to single-white-female RKG and picked up the Stila Jade Blossom roll on perfume - I already have the 1.7 oz but this is ideal for gym, travel, etc. And, low and behold, there was a little gift set that came with a bonus matching jade-blossom lip glaze! I know!!! I mean, when you think about it logically, it would have been wrong not to buy it.

I finally made my way to the back of the store, picked up the face cream and then just skimmed through the Bliss products (I'm eyeing a pair of Softening Socks, even though I know I could probably achieve the same desired results by slathering my tootsies in cream and putting on a pair of tube socks). I probably wasn't in the store more than 10 min, but when I left felt what I can only imagine parents experience after leaving the Build-a-Bear Workshop - I could actually feel my bank account depleting. Still, it will all be worth it when my skin drinks in the delicious quenching moisture of my new product and my students stop looking at my face wondering what it was that I was eating before class and have on my face. [Smartfood popcorn? White-cheddar Cheez-its?]

And as a closer, I'd like to give a shout-out to some of my other favorite beauty products that are helping me maintain my fairly high-maintenance self during these harsh winter months:

• Burt's Bees Lemon Butter Cuticle Creme - I rub this stuff into my nails before bed and it works wonders for hangnails!


• John Frieda 100% Shine® glossing mist - smooth, soft, lustrous and NO static


• Dirty Girl Lip Balm by Blue Q - I have lots of others, but I always come back to my favorite, and great under lipstick or gloss


• Stila Sheer Color Tinted Moisturizer - Like I said earlier, I usually don't wear foundation, but when my complexion needs some evening out this does the job. Plus it's got SPF 15, protecting my skin from the harsh elements of urban life. In the summer I use a slightly darker shade.

"A woman who cannot be ugly is not beautiful." ~Karl Kraus

Not like beating a dead horse, actually beating one

Not to be insensitive but...I'm about to saying something many people will probably find insensitive. That's what the phrase "not to _" sets you up for. Other popular ones are "Not to be mean, but __", but you're ugly. Or, white people love this one, "Not to be racist, but __," but minorities should just stop being poor. [And as a sociologist I've found going into a detailed history of race relations and social policy in the United States isn't a particularly effective rebuttal. I've switched to, "Not to say that you're ignorant, but..."] The "not to" part is a lie we tell ourselves before we say something socially unacceptable. Just own up to it.

So not to be a bitch, but I don't get what the big deal with Barbaro is. I had never even heard of this horse until I accidentally watched the news the other night, too lazy to change the channel after Numb3rs ended. Now all of a sudden the country is mourning, and headlines everywhere are eulogizing him like he was a war hero or a baby in a well.

Now let me be clear about something: I don't hate animals. I eat meat and wear leather, but I think fur is unnecessary. I have lots of respect for the discipline it takes to be a vegetarian (with the exception of my friend Jess who claims to be a vegetarian but eats bacon because "it's lovely.") In sum, I will agree to disagree with just about anyone on the place of animals in the food chain. But excessive animal rights fanaticism drives me nuts. Again, it's not that I'm for cruelty to animals. I don't need lip plumper that badly that you should have to burn off the lips of a bunny to test it first first. On the other hand, if it's between a person and a mouse popping a new pill to see if it causes anal leakage or bleeding from the eye sockets, I'm going to volunteer the mouse.

PETA people are the ones that really drive me nuts. I got on the subway once and some guy entered the car and began to speak. Thinking he was asking for money I took off my earphones - while I don't usually give to people I try to treat them with dignity and respect (because they are human beings contrary to some popular beliefs). He had something the size of collapsible camping chair in a large black plastic garbage bag, but that didn't strike me as odd (I was a seasoned New Yorker at this point). Then I heard him say, "In this bag I have the carcass of a dead fox, raised on a fur farm..." I'm sorry, you've got a WHAT in that bag?!? While I hold no certifications from the NY Department of Health I'm pretty sure that's got to be a violation of some code. And please explain to me how bringing a dead animal in a Hefty Cinch Sack onto public transportation helps the cause?

This is the thing with PETA people - they are clearing putting a lot of time, energy and resources into their crusade. I respect the commitment, but I just think their priorities are screwed. Why don't you put down the rotting, furless fox and pick up a book to read to a child. Imagine if that time and energy went into ending poverty, or increasing literacy, or ensuring that all pregnant women in America saw a doctor before their babies are born! Radical for some, I know, but really it's just common sense.

So go ahead, mourn the horse. But mourn a dead Iraqi child while you're at it, just for good measure. Now, not to be lazy, but I'm going to need a latte so I can continue musing on politics and charity from the confines of my swank SoHo deparment office...

Irony for 400 please, Alex.

During recitation the other day I noticed one of my students had difficulty speaking continuously. It was as if his brain knew what the rest of the sentence was, but his mouth wouldn't let him get there - like a stutter, but with phrases rather than specific letters/sounds. He's clearly smart, and I was proud of him for speaking up. Then, when I went over to help him, I noticed he was wearing this tee-shirt. Please please please please let that have been on purpose. I will cry if I was laughing at him and not with him. Bless.

Text conversation with MMR from Wednesday night during Idol.

[Crazy crier, who at least admits she’s not a singer]
M: This girl needs paula’s meds
M: Mom make it stop!
M: She is from here I think. Somewhere on the upper west side a shriek pierces the air through a zabar’s
A: Oh my god. She was in the city. Our lives were in danger! And we had no idea
[47 Frank Sin…notsomuch]
M: New yor, new yor?
A: I’d rather ride the subway with my molester than half of these contestants
M: Seriously!
[Canadian girl]
A: Okay the broach on her shirt is bigger than her breasts
M: Bigger than her head
A: She’s definitely got Canadian teeth
M: Bigger than her head
[Opera girl]
M: If she had one more bracelet she’d have to put it in her pocket
A: I’m having a flashback to the 5th grade.
A: But I don’t think my eyebrows were ever that bad. I’m sorry does she have a dream catcher in her hair?
M: I was just about to write that.
A: We’re psychic AND brilliant
M: We deserve some sort of salary for this
A: Let’s be bitchiness consultants
M: We could be sponsored by elder bitches like an apprenticeship. Maybe there is a segment of AARP
A: Let’s contact Joan Rivers. She will guide us
[Nicholas, last season’s bow out]
A: but if he succeeds Hoboken will be robbed of one of it’s finest
[Isadora coming up]
A: I feel like I should insert a diaphragm before watching this next girl
M: I can’t wait yet I’m scared to death
A: Are there more auditions next week? Please say yes. Let’s do this with champagne and hors d’oeuvres
M: Def
M: The family of birds living in carole’s hair are like ‘fuck this frightening shit we’re heading south’
A: Not to state the obvious but if she’s a clairvoyant shouldn’t she know how this turns out?
[scenes from next week]
A: oh yeah, we’ll need alcohol
[large woman decked in yellow flashes her mid-region]
A: I’m blind
M: more like heroin
A: I’ll bring a belt. Safe travels my evil & witty partner in commentary
M: Until next week!

Idolatry

I fucking love American Idol. Auditions for Season 6 are being aired, and I am relishing in every second of it. Some nay-sayers are saying the criticism has gone too far and is just play mean. I say bring it on. If you’re delusional enough to come on this show with your crap voice that sounds like a banshee being eaten by a cow being run over by a truck you deserve whatever humiliation you bring upon yourself. I am geared up for the next American Idol to be discovered before my very eyes.

But I’m not sure how much more Paul Abdul I can take.
First of all, that girl is either seriously over- or under-medicated. Honestly, what the fuck is wrong with her? Get her a Zoloft and a Caffeine-Free Diet Coke.
Secondly, she is a flat out pedophile. Any remotely good looking underage guy comes in and she is sliding off her seat. Get her a change of panties and electronic ankle bracelet to go with the meds.
Point # 3 – she claps like a seal. Almost by definition one must cup one’s hands to clap. Paula’s hands are so straight they’re actually convex, and then she holds them perpendicular to her body and moves them together and apart on a perfectly horizontal plane in front of her chest. Who doesn’t know how to clap correctly?
If we’ve got to deal with her every week I think we should at least have MC Skat Kat as a guest judge one week.

Being mentally exhausted from yesterday's, I thought I'd blog about something light and fun that doesn't require a lot of thinking. [Seriously, try and think of 6 weird things about yourself - it's not easy.] I'm all jazzed up on dextrose right now because I just polished off a bag of Haribo Frogs. That was an easy way to wipe out those 25 min on the treadmill this morning! I've had a serious craving for candy lately, so I thought I'd pay tribute to some of my favorites.

• Swedish Fish - sure, the red gelatinous coating on your teeth probably isn't recommended by the ADA, but they are delicious! I like the big ones that you can really bite into. Shockingly, the Swedish people I've met, while clearly neither a random nor representative sample of the Swedish population as a whole, had never heard of them.


• Gummi peaches - yum!


• Gummy bears, but only Amazing Fruit. This writer has really captured their essence.


• Peppermint spears - eat sparingly, you can overdue it really easily


• Chuckles - I loved these as a kid, and I like to pick up a pack every now and then. (I really need to watch my candy intake considering I don't have dental insurance.) The order in which I eat them is Yellow, Orange, Green, Black, Red.


• Twizzlers - you're walking a fine line when you tackle these red licorice twists. Makes mouth happy? Of course. Tummies, on the other hand, not so much.

Chocolate candy I'm less interested in at the moment, but I'll just give a shout-out to Twix (I of course instantly start singing the theme song from The Secret of My Succe$s with Michael J. Fox - "mmm boump boump, mm chicka chickahhh"), KitKat (although Nestle's business practices are heinous) and Peanut M&M (infinitely superior to their Plain brethren) because they really are men among boys when it comes to candy bars. York Peppermint Patties also have a special place in my heart for being a low fat food and so refreshingly minty. I like to enjoy them with cold water, inhaling deeply through my mouth to really enhance the mint-tastic experience.

And as a nod to my global compatriots, I'd have to say that Kinder Bueno is probably my favorite foreign candy discovery, followed closely by Chomps (a thing flat sick of caramel, coated in chocolate) which, last time I was in the UK, were still only 15p.

Tagged

Oh dear, I knew I was getting in over my head with this whole new-fangled blogging thing. I have officially been tagged by Beth, my blogging muse, former college classmate and fellow cosmopolitan urban feminist. Here I go with 6 weird things about me:

1. I use Q-tips to clean my nose. Gross, I know, but they are so effective! When you don’t have a roommate around to check that there are no green men hanging or you’ve got something not released by a good blow, a Q-tip is your answer. It’s especially good to do right when you get out of the shower. Try it, you’ll thank me.

2. I went to Bible camp one summer (it wasn’t sleep away, and only for a week) and did a reading at my confirmation.

3. I organized the packets of sugar and sugar substitutes in my department one weekend. We always have them left over from conferences and talks, so I sorted them – Sugar, Sugar in the Raw, Splenda, Sweet’N Low, Equal. I put them in paper bags and stapled a packet corresponding to the contents to the outside so people could easily identify their preferred sweetener. When I see a mixed container I’ll sort them. I also do this with the plastic forks, knives and spoons.

4. My pinkie toes are triangular (or, more accurately, they are pyramid shaped – 3-dimensional and all). The bottoms are very pointy.

5. I can’t whistle and can only snap with my left hand.

6. Paul’s nickname for me is “the mole.” It has nothing to do with espionage. It has everything to do with how sleepy I always am on the phone (there’s a 3 hr time difference) and the ease with which I can fall asleep. Once when he called I woke from sleeping to answer the phone. When asked if I was sleepy my (alleged) response was, “Are you a pirate?” Apparently I tried to argue that it was an equally valid question. I have no memory of this conversation.

I hate to think what people I know would also include in this list. Then again, the sociologist in me doesn’t think any of these things are particularly weird. This is weird.

I used to think having a camera on a cell phone was unnecessary and even a little ridiculous. What on earth did I need a camera for? Besides, it was just one more thing to break. Now that I have a phone w/ a camera, however, I've found lots of occasions to use it. I was able to capture my favorite gingerbread person design before gifting it at Christmas. I have a pic of Kiley and Matt's adorable son Parker to look at when I need a little pick-me-up, and my wallpaper is an extraordinary view of the south rim of the Grand Canyon from my trip this summer.

On the less aesthetic end, I have also been known to use the camera feature for shopping advice/bragging rights on more than one occasion, but this did result in Kat getting a great leather bag for $50. (After seeing mine in burnt orange she asked I go back and buy the only remaining one which was a cool metallic grey/green). This morning, I sunk to a new low. While walking down Broadway I spotted a woman in front of me with an outfit you would have to see to believe. I think you know where this is going. I wouldn't say I chased after her, but I did pick up the pace a little. Unfortunately, I'm not sure that I can upload the image from my phone to the computer. Hmmm...

Sorry to be such a tease, but I'll give you a little taste of the outfit. It involved boots not unlike these, but mangier and in leopard print. Think leopard printed skin of the hyenas from The Lion King. With a matching coat, also not looking brand new, but not in a vintage kind of way. More in a "I-hit-this-thing-on-a-safari-so-why-let-the-skin-go-to-waste?" kind of way. The best part, however, was what was filling the void between the coat and the boots: olive green pleather pants. I kid you not.

I'll let that mental image carry you through the day.

A little too bootylicious for the gym

What underwear does one wear to the gym? I just can't seem to get it right. I was going with the standard 5/$25 Victoria's Secret cotton bikinis, but I do my cardio first, then weights, and as my ever wise gym buddy Bec put it, I don't like to have my special parts 'marinating' in sweat. It can't be healthy. I splurged and bought a pair of Under Armour briefs. They definitely do the job of 'wicking' away the moisture, but $16.99 for a pair of underwear? C'mon. For that price they better do more than wick.

Then there's the thong/brief debate, which is where I'm really stuck. I don't think I've ever actually worn a thong to the gym. I've got a lot of junk in my trunk, so the thought of wearing a thong doesn't make me so comfortable. Just picturing the view from the bikes behind the treadmills...I imagine it would be like driving behind a car that's got the trunk open or barely tethered with a bungee cord. You're just afraid something's going to fall out at any moment. But the problem I'm having lately with briefs is that my junk is, well, spilling out of the trunk. I've got 4+ cheeks going on. It's like when women wear ill-fitting bras and their cups runneth over (this is one of my biggest pet peeves, b.t.w. I love it when Trinny and Susannah go on Oprah and grab women off the streets to save their distraught bosoms.) My bum looks like a freshly popped can of oven-ready biscuits. I hate the thought of having to go out and buy granny panties for the gym. Maybe I should just revive my old swimming tee shirts (all size L obviously) that covered my caboose. If I looked like Jane Fonda this wouldn't be an issue.

What's a fat bottomed girl to do?

Look what I rescued

Alright Ladies, what do we think? These were an impulse buy during a quick run through the DSW clearance racks last night. I was lusting after their white suede sisters this summer, but those shoes, however beautiful, are even more impractical for a city dweller than a white winter coat. (Not to mention the phrase "white suede" throws up mental warning flags - I think I connect it too intimately with the infamous party outfit Amanda Patterson wore in Can't Buy Me Love - I cannot believe I can't find a picture of this outfit online, but you know the one I'm talking about, with the fringe.) Should I keep them?

Shopping math: Originally $80; I paid $56 = 30% off original price. Not great, but not bad either when we factor in their versatility.

Addendum to my new goals:

• Not be duped by mascara advertisements

They always get me! But after going through my make-up last night and throwing away 4 different tubes, all different brands and shades, I'm going to stick to what I know. Although, I do like the new rubber brush some have. It reminds me of Sonic the Hedgehog, but no clumps!

Ladies and Gentleman, Hobos and Prostitutes, Hipsters and Investment Bankers, the time has come. Winter has officially arrived. That's right, in the span of 48 hrs we went from light-fall-jacket weather to down jacket-scarf-hat-gloves-shit-I-should-have-worn-thermals-I-think-my-hands-are-bleeding-but-I-can't-feel-them-so-I'm-not-certain weather. Bundle up.


The recent drop in temperature, however, does not excuse these heinous excuses for footwear. As if Uggs weren't bad enough (I could go on a coast-to-coast campaign to ban those frickin things), these are like Ugg's sick, animal torturing cousin from rural Maine.I hate these shoes with all that I am and all that I will ever be. It’s not that I’m against comfy-cozy footwear, quite the contrary. On a November trip to Bob’s with my sister I tried on a pair of faux-fur lined slip-on Skechers, and even though I would have been adding to my lesbian line of footwear, I probably would have bought them if this wasn’t my last winter for an undefined stretch of time. (No boots, coats, sweaters, scarves of other winter paraphernalia – that’s the new shopping rule. Although people do whip out the parkas once it drops below 50 in SoCal. Weaklings.)

I hesitate to even classify these as shoes. They are vermin. It's as if someone slaughtered a mongoose and fashioned the hide into winter footwear, hanging the castrated testes on the side as a warning to other members of the order Carnivora. Seriously, why the pompoms? They're like two little bacteria spheres dangling there, dredging up street mung for you to bring home, possibly infecting your other shoes! Are you happy now? Are you?! You are a bad shoe owner, and you deserve to be punished for these monstrosities. There, I've said it. Although if you own these muklucks you probably just purchased a pair of these for the warmer weather, which clearly indicates a general lack of compos mentis. If your favorite pair of patent leather mary janes grow mold, don't say I didn't warn you.

Dear Fresh Direct,

I am writing with regards to Order #1660924281, delivered Monday, January 15, 2007, at approximately 8:00 AM. In general, I am quite a fan of your company. You provide a great service for the residents of Manhattan (and select areas of the outer boroughs). Grocery shopping is difficult without a car – you have to carry everything you purchase – and fresh, good quality produce is pricey. Fresh Direct provide high quality food with reasonable prices.

Having been a customer since 2004, I have been reasonably pleased with your services. There has been the occasional broken egg or moldy lemon, but that’s to be expected. Moreover, you’ve been adding lots of great features lately. There’s the one-click recipe shopping, the President’s picks (I thoroughly enjoy this week’s reduced price roast turkey breast), and I’ve been pleased with the fresh dining meals I’ve tried.

Until last night, that is. I bought two meals – grill-marked chicken breast with snow peas and brown basmati rice and chicken teriyaki with fresh pineapple. Each under 400 calories and ready in about 4 minutes, I thought they’d be perfect for this week (I’m really trying to stick to healthy habits but am a little crunched for time). First I pulled out the chicken teriyaki, but something didn’t look right. The meat was pink. Either it is actually sushi grade tuna –OR– it’s raw chicken. Next. The grilled chicken looked great, until I cut into it. Raw – at least 50% of it is not cooked. Lest you think I exaggerate I have included a picture. Frankly I just consider myself lucky that I didn't ingest any of the raw chicken flesh. I've never had salmonella poisoning, but I can't imagine it's much fun.

Please refund me the price of these two entrees ($7.99 each).

Sincerely,
Amy LeClair

P.S. Please pass along my gratitude to Healthy Choice for providing me with a quick, tasty alternative.

I'm not a big fan of resolutions (I'm just setting myself up to fail), but getting back to work after a nice long break has definitely inspired some goals I'd like to achieve in the near future:

• At least once a month:
  o Read a non-sociology book
  o See a movie – in a theater
  o Write a letter to someone
  o Mail that letter
  o Swiffer


• Put the same effort that I do into procrastinating, trolling for shoes and planning baking adventures into my sociology


• Be more financially responsible

And in an effort towards achieving the last goal I will NOT be buying these adorable little wedge sandals...even if they are on sale...and they do have them in my size...and I am moving to a warmer climate where I will need more open-toed footwear...and they are a perfect casual/dressy mix...and a reviewer said they were comfy...

Nope, not going to by them. Not today. Can't make any promises about tomorrow. Like they say in AA, one day at a time.

No sleep til Lower Manhattan

I have had such a hard time falling asleep the last 2 nights. This is an incredibly rare occurrence for me. I'm mildly narcoleptic, I can fall asleep anywhere. So why the insomnia? Stress? Anxiety? Jet lag? The last one would make sense except that 2 nights ago I was still in San Diego. Anticipatory jet lag? I do like to get ahead of the game...

So I stopped fighting, turned on the light, and continued reading the book I'd started that morning. And at 12:47 am I felt a tickle on my arm, only to look down and see a mosquito, or as I like to call them, vampire bug. (Mosquito is such a euphemism. Call it like it is. Like when people say if a cockroach is over a certain size it's actually a water bug. F that! I know a roach when I see one.) What the HELL is a MOSQUITO doing in my APARTMENT in the middle of JANUARY?? I live in New York - there should be a permanent 17" snowbank on the shady size of the street. I think Al Gore might be on to something...

Mosquitoes remind me of being little, because we had a veritable tropical forest in our backyard and, my sister and I would get eaten alive in the summer. When the red welts all over my body kept me awake I would go downstairs to my parents in the TV room, calamine lotion and cotton ball in hand, so that my mother could sponge paint me into a little pink polka-dotted freak. I imagine that's what plague victims would have looked like in the land of Strawberry Shortcake.

The little blood-sucker managed to elude my grasp not once but twice. The upside is I got to finish Dry and, courtesy of my academic schedule, sleep in until about 2pm. But tomorrow I've got to teach so I'm going with a tried and true sleep aid. Plus it's moderately classier than Tylenol PM. Cheers!

The wonders never cease!

Erasable permanent marker tabs for hanging file folders - - joy!

I love doing fashion show when I get home from shopping, reviewing all the purchases and seeing how they fit in with what you already own. And now that I'm blogging I can share with everyone! Lucky you...

And in addition to my fun stuff (Valentine's Day cupcake stencils - can't wait to bake!) Li'l Spin (my niece to be) got an outfit to grow into. Fleece lined jeans w/ an elastic waist (how good would those be in my size??), a red bodysuit and a pink cable knit zip up cadigan with a hood. Receipt total - $10.00! Shopping for baby clothes is unbelievably statisfying.

Paul and I also survived a screaming child in Borders - seriously, how long was that going to go on before someone acknowledged the human car alarm - and walked out with 2 very large and boring programming books, Dry by Augusten Burroughs (which I will have to look forward to tomorrow on the plane) and David Sedaris' Barrel Fever.

Public Service Announcement

One of the exciting things about moving to California is that I'm going to have a car! I've never owned my own car. Begrudgingly my parents insured me on their cars, including the ill-fated Volvo (r.i.p. magic toaster). Buying a car was going to be one of the big stressers moving here, but Aunt Mary came to the rescue. She is selling me her limited edition 2000 Toyota Rav4, and last weekend when Paul and I went to visit I even got to do a little test drive!

Here's a great action shot of me pretending to back up:

I was a little nervous because I haven't regularly driven a car for the past 4.5 yrs (in Cambridge I had a bike, and NYC is as comprehensive as it gets for American public transportation), and it's been ages since I drove stick (and the Volvo had a push-button 5th gear you didn't even need to clutch to enter). Fortunately, it's just like riding a bike - it all came back very quickly (much to the relief of Aunt Mary and Paul who made sure I had safely backed out of the drive-way before getting in - apparently thinking "which one's the clutch and which one's the brake" out loud didn't make them feel very safe).

So today, while I was searching for desk-top file folder systems to help get myself organized, inspired by an article on organizing style, I perused the section of car accessories, which brings me to my Public Service Announcement.

EVERYONE who drives should own one of these:

The Container Store calls is a "life hammer," although I'm not sure that's the technical name. (Interestingly you can't buy it on their website, only in store. My guess is hardware and auto-parts stores would also carry this item). I first learned about these years ago in my Lifeguard/CPR training. This hammer is used in the event that your car becomes submerged in water. Electronic locking systems and windows often cease functioning. This tool is designed so that you can punch out the window with the little hammer points, and there is a razor blade at the other end should you need to cut the seat belt. Now you might think, "what are the chances of me careening into a body of water in my car?" Not good, hopefully. But now think about the chances that you'd be prepared to handle such an emergency. To complete this P.S.A. I'd like to review the protocol for such an emergency:

1. Try to get out of the car as soon as possible.
   
2. If you can, 0pen the window as soon as you hit the water; the door will have too much pressure against it.
   
3. If you can't open the window, break it with the handy gadget above, your foot, or some other heavy object.
   
4. If you can't break the window, you'll have to wait for the pressure to equalize (i.e. the car to fill with water). The car will sink engine first, so move to the back of the car where an airpocket will form. Take a deep breath and try to open the door.

See, you really don't want to get to Step 4. This scenario was accurately depicted on an episode of CSI: Miami not too long ago. Thankfully, the scene did not contain David Caruso, so it's actually watchable.

Safe travels!

The hunt is on...

Okay, now that I'm blogging in the public sphere (yes, up until today I had pretty much blogged for myself, which may seem strange or pathetic or even insanely narcissistic, but I had performance anxiety) - I'd bet my funding package Habermas did not envision this - I'm putting out the call. The hunt it on for a cool, not boring, chic, not bulky, laptop bag. So far top contenders are:

• Timbuk2 Marina bag


• Clark & Mayfield Metro-Express Laptop Tote in Green Geo (doesn't the pattern look a little Kate Spade-ish?)

This laptop bag by aGaiN is adorable, and I would love to support an independent, eco-friendly, nyc-based business, but it's strictly a laptop bag and I need something more multi-purpose.



This one is also super-cool, perhaps a little too-cool. Too hipster, not enough prepster.



This website had some goods leads, but still nothing perfect.



And while I clearly don't need it, I covet this bag from mobileedge:

The exterior hidden cellphone pocket is a dream for someone obsessed with containing devices like myself. Come to think of it, this just might be the accessory I need to kick-start my career as a professional organizer...

I think I've officially made it as a T.A. I'm not sure what the criteria are (if there are indeed any), but being blogged has got to be one of them.

Although, not to be nit-picky, I believe I am misquoted. I always use yellow when I give this example.

I know I might be biased, but I'm pretty sure my sister was one of the most beautiful brides ever.

And now she's going to be a hot mommy, which will make me the super cool aunty. Again, pretty sure I'm going to be the best aunt ever. Let's review my qualifications:

• I love babies



• I'm not married/don't have kids of my own



• I've got great Aunt role models



• I love shopping and have great taste, which means my niece is going to be fabulously attired (she's still in the 5 month gestation period and already has 6 great outfits courtesy of yours truly)



• Her other aunties already have a kid/nephew, so their joy won't be as pure



• I have been aching for a baby girl in my life



• Shortly after she's born I'm relocating to the east coast and have enormous guilt about this and you can TOTALLY buy kids' love

Auntie Amy rules.

Prayers = answered.

Okay, to be fair I haven't exactly been praying for this which made it an even greater surprise when I walked into Borders books and saw Paperchase!

It's somewhat ironic because Saturday I dragged Paul on a mission to find a Barnes & Nobles because I wanted to look at their sale calendars, and, being a B&N card holder, I get an additional 10% off. Paul said he preferred Borders, having found B&N to be a little pikey. Used to the stores and Manhattan I generally prefer B&N, but upon visiting a San Diego one agreed with Paul's estimation that it left something to be desired.

And then, today, on a quest to purchase Imperial Life in the Emerald City, I strolled into Borders on the corner of G and 5th in San Diego to see a whole section of Paperchase, the fine British purveyor of stationary I fell in love with in Cambridge, England. Even better, Christmas stuff was 50% off. Glee!

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Entirely Miss Reverend Lady Amy the Discombobulated of Wallop upon Deane Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

I love it! Now I just need shoes to match...

Things I found while clearing the dining room at my parents' house for Christmas Dinner:

• A decorative storage box containing 3 pairs of flip-flops and a pair of hot pink faux Crocs
• Bridal troll
• Slotted serving spoon, plastic
• Dust
• Santa Cruz acrylic drinking glass
• My sister's 8th grade school picture
• A seemingly important looking piece of paper with my deceased maternal grandfather's writing on it
• Fake floral center pieces

If you ever want to understand my penchant for organization, take a spin by 151 Prospect St. It'll all make sense.

Monika: "Is it good?"

Amy: "Yes. It's light and crisp and refreshing."

Sarah: "It's the white wine of colas."

P.S.A.

Let's be really clear about something - tights aren't leggins. Let me repeat: tights are not leggings. Tights are NOT leggings. Tights are not leggings. Is the message coming through? I hate to be so pedantic but there seems to be a pervasive misunderstanding about what constitutes a pair of tights. On what evidence do I base this claim, you might ask yourself? (particularly if you're one of my sociology friends or one of my research methods students whom I'm constantly haraunging about the difference between "normative" and "empirical" statements). I've just returned from a shopping trip in SoHo, one of New York City's most well-known shopping districts. What was meant to be a jaunt turned into a man hunt. I wanted a pair of tights to go with the corduroy skirt I was wearing and the navy shirt I purchased to go with it to complete the ensemble so that I might look spiffy at dinner on Thanksgiving. Prep-chic. The confusion began at the cash register when I asked the sales lady if she new where I could find tights. She informed me that they carried them downstairs, so after finishing the transaction I popped downstairs to look, figuring I had missed them before. Not seeing tights, I asked a sales guy. "We don't have tights, just leggings." Ah, I see. Crucial, practical difference.
Off I went, figuring one of the next two shoe stores would have tights. Not so, my friend. Aldo, Nine West, Guess, H&M, Banana Republic, Express, Ann Taylor Loft, Steve Madden, Zara. I'll spare you the details. Now in all fairness, some of the stores did have tights, but didn't have the color I needed. More than once, however, I was told that they did have tights but then directed to leggings or, on one occassion, trouser socks. SO...hoping to spare others of a similar shopping fate I thought we could do a brief vocabulary review:
tights - leg coverings, usually from waist to toes, although you can have foot-less tights, that fight tightly to the body. they are usually made of nylon, cotton, spandex or some combination there of, but can also be wool. they can be more or less opaque and come in different colors, patterns, and textures. tights are also what ballerinas and figure skaters wear.
pantyhose, also called nylons generically, are tights of 40 denier or less (thank you wikipedia, I did not know that), meaning they are more sheer. pantyhose are generally what a woman would wear with a suit or a dress. both nylons and tights come in a variety of figured-fixing/enhancing forms. trouser socks are made of tight material and come to just below the knee. they are mean to be worn with pants or slacks and dress shoes. not to be confused with knee-highs, which are pantyhose that, you guessed it, only come knee-high. note: it is not okay to wear knee-highs with something other than trousers unless you are someone's grandmother and/or are from eastern Europe. you can also have knee-high, or over-the-knee socks. then there are stockings, which are like nylons but need to be held up with a garter-belt. these are best compared to thigh-highs, which can be tights or nylons but have some form of elastic or gripping-strips so that they stay up on their own. finally, we get to the bane of my shopping trip, leggings. leggings can be made from a variety of fibers not unlike tights, but they are thicker and more opaque than tights. leggings were very much in vogue in the 1980s, and often came with stirrups, but generally are foot-less. leggings are often used as a substitute for pants, although this is not advised, unless you are a professional or high-grade althete. leggings can be ankle length but more frequently stop just below the knee or mid-calf, often with a lace trim.

So I hope we've cleared things up, and that you can now fully appreciate my aggrevation at being continuously directed to leggings, when I wanted tights. I mean, look at me. Do I look like I do leggings? I'm not saying I wouldn't if I was about 4" taller and/or weighed 10-15 lbs less, but in my current state my style is much more "I'm going to read in a coffee shop" than "I'm going to a loft in TriBeCa to see an indie-rock band". Tights complete the preptastic look by adding a splash of color and practical leg covering when it's not exactly skirt weather. They say, "I love in NYC, and I'm a graduate student." Leggings, paired with a denim mini skirt and ballerina flats, say, "I'm staying at my artsy, heroin-chic skinny boyfriend's loft in Williamsburg tonight."

"I'm not fat, there's just more of me to love." "I'm not fat, I'm fluffy." These are just two of the many lines I've given myself over my lifetime. Sometimes I've been overly hard, but, truth be told, the dial on the scale has been creeping up on me over the past few years. While I've always yo-yo-ed a bit, since starting grad school just over 3 years ago I have slowly but surely gained about 15 lbs. I'm an adult, I can control what I do with my body (unless I've had too much to drink) and I understand the fairly basic math of calories in minus energy expended = weight. So, in that light, I've been trying to take a more moderate approach to food and couple it with increased exercise. The problem is that I'm thwarted at every step! I make a healthy, fiber and protein rich whole-wheat pasta dish, and look what jumps out and smacks me in the thighs. I love ice cream, but usually I'm a Ben & Jerry's devotee. Haagen-Dazs really isn't my thing (I could go on and on about ravines of chocolate versus swirls and whole cookies versus chocolate chips - I don't like cold chunks of chocolate in my ice cream, they become too matted into the surface of my teeth - but that's not so important right now), although, like B&J, it comes in it's own hand held cardboard bowl that I really enjoy. But last week while my local heinously over-priced Gristedes, I saw this little beacon of joy and puggy-dom gleaming behind the frosted glass. It's a special edition "Sticky Toffee Pudding" flavor. S.T.P. STICKY TOFFEE PUDDING!!! Can we think of anything more delicious? Being a shameless Anglophile made it that much more irresistable. Fortunately, I polished off the pint last night so that I could get back to my more health-conscious ways...

Babydolls for grown-ups

I don't know what caused me to think of it today, but as I was walking down Broadway this morning the recollection of one of the few positive experiences I had when I worked at Victoria's Secret brought a smile to my face.

Guys came in all the time to buy gifts for their wives/girlfriends/whatevers. Some were painfully shy, and I took a great deal of pity on them, usually directing them to the cotton pajama nightshirts. Others were way too enthusiastic (if you want to buy her that lace bodysuit in turquois for your 3 month anniversary be my guest) and some were just so sleazy I wanted to shower after talking to them ("I'll take 2 - one for my wife and one for my girlfriend!" Oh, how I envy the woman you're going home to...). However, there were a few rare jems that seemed likely genuinely nice men. Again, rare. Very rare.

One such gentleman came in one day and wanted help purchasing something for his pregnant wife. I suggested a pair of soft pink fleece pajamas - they were popular with the new moms because the button front shirt provided easy access for breast feeding. No, he said, she was feeling bad about her new body with the weight gain, and he wanted her to know that she would always be sexy and beautiful to him. I suggested a sexy, yet classy, black tie-front babydoll. It would accomodate her growing belly but still be wearable post-baby. Perfect.

Part of me wanted to be there when she opened the present to see the look on her face, to watch them hug and cry and spill "I love you's" all over each other like a DeBeers commercial. Part of me wanted to ask the guy for his number, but while I have many less than desirable character traits I don't fancy myself a homewrecker. Instead I just wrapped the gift, in awe of this incredible man. Sometimes I use this memory as immaginary ammunition against boyfriends (real and potential). But will he think I'm sexy when I'm pregnant. Maybe I should just be happy knowing that those type of men do indeed exist and hope that it just contributes to some overarching cosmic balance of appreciating women's bodies.

Hot off the gossip mill from a Conde Nast intern...

Apparently a pair of Christian Louboutin's (average price tag ~ $700) went missing somewhere between their store and the Vogue fashion closet. A CL employee called Vogue and demanded return of the missing pair. The Vogue employee checked, said 'sorry, we don't have 'em.' The CL employee insisted she had a signed sheet blah blah blahblah blah..."Well every Vogue girl wearing CLs out on Friday and Saturday night should have her feet checked until the missing pair is found." No she did-n't! Anna Wintour (whom you all know from Glen Close's recent silver screen portrayal of the 'Ice Queen'), defending her girls, sent back every pair of Christian Louboutin's, informing them that their shoes wouldn't be featured in the pages of any Conde Nast publication until an apology was issued and the offending employee was fired.

The Devil may wear Prada, but we know what she's currently not wearing...

For better or worse, there are people out there like me. People that, despite their better judgement, love fashion, live for sales, and breathe in the sweet smell of bargains like a sea captain inhaling the crisp, salty, morning air. People who know that it's not the cost of an item that counts - it's the percentage of the original price you paid.

As evidence, I present to you personalshopper.com. Here are people who have designed a website dedicated to helping you find the stuff you don't even know you need yet! It's nothing short of genius. It's literally only been a few hours since I made this discovery, so I don't think I've been able to fully grasp how amazing this is. Fear not, sweet cyber shopping companion, we have all the time in the world.

This has been rolling over in my head for quite some time, but I'm feeling a little slumpy* today and thought some sarcastic blogging might cheer me up a bit.

*(slmpi) adj. used to describe one's mood when in a bit of a slump, feeling down, and/or suffering from a case of the blahs

Why 'ex-sex' is like McDonalds:

• Sometimes, you just get a craving
• You know it's not good for you, but it sure hits the spot
• You're not after it because it's amazing, you're seeking something predictable, reliable and consistent
• Although you know a high % of people do the same thing, you may be embarassed to admit to it in certain company
• Afterwards, you feel kind of gross and remember why you haven't had it in a while

Thank you to Nellie for pointing out that "the world is catching on to your shoe thing."

I've come to realize that I'm a single mother to my inner child. I have to embrace her, pull her in, give her the attention and love that she needs. I hate her because she needs love and attention, but I need to remember that she's a child and all child need that. When I bring her in and heal her I'll be able to reclaim all her good qualities - her playfulness, her sensitivity, etc.

That's all well and good, but right now she's on a time out. I'm contemplating sending her to boarding school. My therapist said I can do that, but she'll just come back. Do you think DFS can come after you if you harm your inner child?

Right, back to pretending I'm not crazy.

I'm a bit of an attention whore. I didn't get enough 'healthy attention' as a child. That's what my therapist tells me. She's a very nice, polished, Jewish woman in her 60's. I'm a recovering Catholic, but I'm very Jew-y.

My sister got married this weekend. I became accutely aware of my attention-seeking antics because a) I talk A LOT, b) I talk even more when I'm nervous, and c) the content of what I say can frequently be described as woefully inappropriate. Take, for example, when my sister's friend and bridesmaid Lisa, a mother of 2, came to my room. I asked her if my present, a gift basket swaddled in a sheer, blue, gossimer fabric, looked like a giant blue abortion. Or, consider me drinking outside the bar with my sister's friends until 2:30 am after the wedding. The sparkling white I was drinking (straight from the bottle, of course) was giving me a tremendous amount of stomach gas, so I kept belching and deflecting the blame onto other people, saying things like, "Goodness, Flavia, you're a mother. Conduct yourself with some dignity!"

After years of searching, I had given up on my hopes of discovering the sweet, strawberry scented puffed breakfast treat that was Strawberry Shortcake cereal. That is, until I purchased Special K's fruit & yogurt the other day on a whim (I also picked up the Life vanilla yogurt crunch, which doesn't remind me of childhood but is quite tastey). It's the adult version! It even turns the milk pink! I clearly wasn't as devoted as these people to bringing back SSC, but thank you, General Mills, for putting the taste of childhood happiness back into my cereal bowl.