Silver Fox

Roger Sterling could sell a ketchup popsicle to a lady in white gloves. And I'm buying.

The Cocoon

A friend of mine were talking yesterday about quarter life crises and becoming a better person and digging yourself out of a whole and stuff. Which is ironic because in comparison to last year, when I was falling asleep in wine bottles and treating my job like it was my own personal daycare, my life right now is considerably agreeable. But this sage, wise friend of mine brought up an idea that I find pretty insightful. She called it the cocoon. Basically you reserve a month for yourself - meaning you isolate yourself from certain vices - to flourish into a BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY. You know. Like Mariah! In my case experiments like this always come out half-assed and I end up looking like a moth that listens to Mariah Carey (by that I mean I wiggle to this song on repeat). However, I'm determined to make this go round work. I have several goals, all of which involve embracing things that would make me more presentable to a co-op board and less of a candidate for the Maury Povich Suze Orman show. Here are my goals for Yoo-lie:

1. Blog at least four times a week. I am an astute woman with an articulate voice and I will project it upon my community.
2. Do one crossword per day, preferably something that is released by Highlights-for-Adults.
3. Lose ten pounds - sans celebrating each pound lost with nine drinks and a trip to Crif Dogs.
4. Pay my bills. For real this time. I've learned I can't get by on life anymore by smiling and pretending to think store credit cards are the same as gift cards.
5. Go to yoga twice a week.
6. Finish each Jeopardy episode on my DVR queue at some point over the weekend.
7. Join a book club.
8. Stop eating every bit of my $100 grocery purchases in two days.
9. Strengthen my professional social networks. Yes, Twitter, that means I'll probably pay more attention to you, also.
10. In an effort to excel at Item Three, stop tucking myself into bed with a Diet Coke and putting myself to sleep with Paula Deen videos. The woman is deep-fried molasses Southern crack, y'all. WATCH HER SHE IS CLOGGING MY ARTERIES I LOVE IT MORE PLEASE.

Good mom?

Now that I'll be working from home, I have been very seriously (and very stupidly, I guess) considering the prospect of adopting a pooch.  Even though pets are contraband in my building, I know for a fact that at least ONE long-haired chihuahua is living there without a green card.  My mom is readying her [rental]nest for a little cockabichon named Olive; my dad owns a little fat dachshund named Boone; all this goggie business just makes me ache for one.  I have been trying to think of small breeds that are dynamic and easy to maintain, but still look idiotic.  I'm leaning toward a Scottish terrier - the one good thing that lived in the White House between 2001 and 2008.

I mean, really.  I dare you to watch ten seconds of these chubby little fluffy sacks of coal and not want to sell your soul.  Eye-melting preciousness particularly sets in around 1:40.  You've been warned.

Bromance

In an effort to prevent two blinky recap posts in a row, and after a very dull weekend, and not wanting to write an epic missive about this movie, I'm just going to say two things about "I Love You Man," which I saw on Friday and was pleased at how non-Judd-Apatow-y it turned out to be.

1. Paul Rudd is absolutely. adorable. Watching him play doting fiancé trying to be cool with slangy nonchalant COOL GUY sayings made me want to sew him a teddy bear stuffed with my tears and smiles.

2. I want to marry Jason Segal, spend 15 hours a day with him in bed watching Colbert and drinking Bud Light, and mother two of his awesomely funny, really tall kids. I remember this guy from the best show ever created and killed too soon, and I'm so pleased to see that he and his cast mates from said show are receiving awesome cinematic retribution. Segal was great in this movie - he was fun and uncensored and goofy and big as a boulder and had a puggle and wore Uggs and a scarf on Venice Beach with this outfit. Yum.

This is why you're fat

This blog will be my go-to scapegoat whenever I feel especially obese and guilty. It truly is an orgy of everything that leads to an early onset of type II diabetes. Or you know, a stroke. I'd laugh at most of it, except um, I'd maybe actually eat that meta-pizza (a pizza topped with pizza bagels, BUHLICIOUS).

"Making Scents of New York"

Whenever I'm in Sephora or the cosmetics area of a department store, the only thing I really enjoy perusing is the fragrance. Even though I'm religiously dependent on it, I don't consider make-up a particularly fun thing to shop for. When I started wearing make-up my mom bought it all for me, which meant it was all Bobbi Brown and it was all outrageously expensive. So to me, make-up is kind of like cable or a gym membership: I need it and it's fun to have and all, but it's a bitch to pay for. On top of that, I never feel good about myself when I have to physically scrutinize the one feature on my body that I can never change just to pick a foundation.

Fragrance, on the other hand, is such a joy for me to play with. I think perfumes are easy to sniff and assess based on your own personality, and thinking about when and where you'd wear a certain scent is always fun to imagine. I also tend to believe that every woman should sort of have a "signature scent," and searching for mine has been a never-ending endeavor. But I also keep some bottles on the side that I think accompany different outfits at different times, or different days and different moods.

Today I came across Bond No. 9 New York, which I had seen a billion times but never stopped to inspect. Mainly because Bond No. 9 is based at 9 Bond Street, one block over from where the most wretched woman who ever wretched lived, and seeing the bottles just brought up rancid memories. I, by the way, used to be a personal assistant for a NOTcelebrity who lived in Noho. But that's neither here nor there. Anyway, Bond is an exceptionally dynamic perfumery that bottles fragrances named after different neighborhoods and areas in NYC: ie, Chinatown, Central Park, Riverside Drive... So clever! I really, really love companies like Bond, who have a very clear vision for their brand, keep it clean, and remain totally loyal and committed to their agenda (Demeter, for example, is similarly true to their own aesthetic). Bond has gorgeously designed bottles and candles, and their logo is a sweet little homage and play on the vintage NYC Transit tokens.

Anyway, the lady at the counter sent me home with Andy Warhol Union Square (the original scent that caught my attention), Nuits de Noho, and the Scent of Peace. This week will be my trial phase and I will promptly make it known which little piece of candy I prefer (the samples are wrapped like taffy!). And then all of my friends can pool to buy me a really well-designed bottle, since only one would set an individual back $195. See, even the prices are true to New York!

Bling

Ohmygodyouguys. This is how I spent my time at work today. Learning how to make blingees. Expect to see a lot more of THIS glory beautifying up my blog soon. My new resolution is to recap every RHONY episode with a distinct blingee, starting with last night's. Recap coming veeeeeery soon! In the meantime, let's get down with Gay Brad and Ramona at the Hampton's Tea Dance!

Total knock out

My new favorite beauty product (which is rare for me to have because I rarely spring on cosmetics before I spring on alcohol/shoes/coffee) is KO's nail polish. This stuff is BUH-MAZING, guys. It's what they call "flatte," and what we call ultimate matte. It's really chalky and soft kind of how you'd expect house paint to dry on your nails. Sounds unattractive, but it actually stays well on the digits and (although it can chip easy) doesn't look any different than a good manicure. It only comes in black, white, and frosty pink. Which is all I wear. And since these babies are $22 a pop, I'm OK with that.

Quantumz lolz

Since I am very late to embrace cultural phenomena, I decided on Friday to go see Quantum of Solace, the latest Austin Powers installment. It was a little adventurous on my part, namely because I sort of eschew both the Bond franchise and Daniel Craig. I'm dodging stones here, but I had a very low opinion of them as overrated, boring, and pretentious.

That is, until I saw Quantum. I think it should speak to how good a movie really is when I didn't understand 70% of the plot but still loved the film itself (that should also speak to how much the movie might, like, suck). A: Daniel Craig looks damn fine in a tux. And he doesn't resemble the jacked-up five-year-old British bloke that he seemed to play in Casino Royale. B: I kinda like stiff drinks, fast women, and shiny cars... I guess I need to reconsider my opinion of Ian Flemming when his stories are an orgy of all of those things. C: the best part of the movie, in my opinion, was the title track "Another Way to Die" by Jack White and Alicia Keys. Of all the Bond songs, I think it's the bondiest. It reminds me of going to a high-profile cocktail party in a sexy rexy dress, drinking fancy cocktails while my studly date kills druglords on the terrace with his bare hands, and then getting away with him in an Alpha Romeo. That is probably stolen. And then doin it on 5000-count Egyptian cotton. And then dying a stylish death by getting soaked in liquid gold. Mmmm I want to go to there.

Hey economy: STFU and put on a scarf.

OMJ you guys, have you seen the new Gap ads? The holiday ones always make my heart a little more toasty, and this year they're inundated with celebrities that simply make me giggle. In a year when Wall Street almost canceled Christmas, Gap makes me wanna spend my American money! For one, Jennifer Hudson greenlit her own shots despite the wretchedness in her life, and for that my heart really goes out to her. Also, the SOS Dreamboat comes sailing into the Gap in a button-collared beige sweater: Jon Hamm (swoon!). To top it off, as I noticed gliding up Third Avenue on an MTA bus, the dudes of the finally-funny-again Saturday Night Live faux-male-model some striped crew necks and look pretty fuckin loveable doing it. Ohmigawd. Also. Jason Bateman + adorbz daughter. Also. Dwight Schrute. Ohmigawd. Cool celebrity overload.

Also. Has anyone noticed how SNL has once again become hilarious? I actually would no longer be ashamed to forego a night out on Saturdays just to stay in and watch. Naturally the most interesting and bizarre election in history lent a lot to the show's boost in ratings and credit, but I'm both impressed and pleased that this show can hold its own and entertain without making a satire of the political circus we call American government. I can't really do it justice in words, other than to say the rotational skits (Surprise Lady, Two A-Holes, etc) are pretty damn funny, but even the new randoms carry enough novelty. This one is my latest fave.

When men was men and dames was dames

I haven't paid any heed to this blog in so long - I'm a terrible parent. And then I choose to steal away to it during work. Shame on me!

But. Speaking of mixing leisure with work, I have a new obsession. And it doesn't come from a bar well or the Gawker media network! No, lately I have been fully ensconced in AMC's beautiful confection Mad Men, an ode to the sexist, elitist, Kennedy-era executive kingdom of skirt chasers and four-martini lunches. (As per usual, I am once again slow on the latest brilliant pop culture uptake, as Mad Men has already been lauded by publications like Vanity Fair and graced the cover of Entertainment Weekly.) It's funny, because as misogynistic and philosophically concrete as the time was, there's something still so appealing and captivating about the gloss of it all: the economic optimism, the epicurian habbits of wining(scotching) and dining(smoking), and the impeccable approach to sex and how to sell it. I remember stories of my grandfather (though not in advertising, a thirsty member of Washington's lawyer crowd after he was swiftly ushered out of Kennedy's State Department) spending more time guzzling down lunch than inquiring about his wife and four children. Sure, it sounds a little irresponsible, but as the alpha female of Mad Men, Joan Holloway, says of the behavior, "isn't it the best?"

To sum up the mantra in one scene, here's SterlingCooper's resident slimeball, Pete Campbell, musing for the non-con, ambitious secretary Peggy Olson his idyllic vision for existence:



Fucking hurrah for chauvenism.

Guess what I had for lunch today. And yesterday.

...and the day before that and the day before that and the day before that and also probably tomorrow.


Avocado roll!!!