When I was 12 I had thick bangs, giant braces and a wardrobe that consisted of my brothers’ yellow-crusted-arm-pitted-hand-me-downs. I wore Umbros – one leg green, one leg purple – and maroon reverse fit jeans (read: mom jeans). I thought I was super stylish when I threw on one of my brother’s flannel button downs…and only buttoned the middle one!

I realize times have changed and fashion is a lot more accessible to the youngsters, but this girl is really making me feel like sh*t. Even now. And I really love my wardrobe. Or, I did, until I started seeing hers.

I don’t really know who this chicadee is and I totally question who is really behind the writing of this blog (because there is no way in hell a 12 year old could write this way….and if she can, I hate her even more), but none of that really matters. This little fashionista clearly exists…and obviously does so just to make us normal people feel bad about ourselves.

The whole thing is just crazy. She struts her chic NYC style down the hallways of her middle school. She rocks vintage frocks as she jumps the swings on the playground. And she can rock a look like this without looking totally ridiculous. Read More »

I have a subscription to New York Magazine. I like to read it because the cover articles tend to be edgy and intelligent, and the publication as a whole tends to be more pop culture friendly than their slightly stuffy counter-periodical, The New Yorker. If you don’t live in NYC or around it, you might not have heard about NY Mag, which is fine. It’s a little inside-jokey. A little self-referential — cultivating a between-the-lines feeling that the New York publishing world is the center of the universe.

But like that slightly snotty friend who turns around and buys everyone a round of drinks at the bar, I just can’t seem to break up with NY Mag and read my weekly copy faithfully. There’s only one thing about the periodical that really bothers me, and it usually can be skipped over quite readily…unless of course, you’re me, reading it last night.

You see, yesterday I had a long day. The bus ride back from work was so packed it induced claustrophobia, and two people decided to get into a screaming match that included gems such as “SHUT UP, RETARD!!”, “YOU’RE THE RETARD!!”, “ON YOUR MOM!!”, “ON YOURS, MINE’S DEAD!!”. When I got home, my internet and cable were still not working…a problem left over from the weekend, and it was probably around 105 F in my apartment. Pouring myself a bowl of cereal, I sat down and decided to spend the evening reading, and my new copy of New York Magazine was the first thing I got my exhausted hands on. Read More »

Put this under Things You Should Not Do If You Want To Remain A Happy Person: finding out what your ex is up to now.

To preface, I’m not talking about the person you dated for a month who you kind of cared about but never enough to commit and / or introduce him to your friends. If you want to look through that guy’s Facebook or Myspace, go ahead. Seeing him with his arms wrapped around another girl will probably do nothing but make you kind of glad you’re no longer seeing someone who thinks weird neck tattoos of skulls are cool.

But look, if you loved the dude (or chick), and it kind of ripped your heart out when things ended, do yourself a favor let them remain a mystery. Don’t try to find them on Facebook if you’re not already connected, unfriend them if you are, don’t ask mutual friends about who they’re dating, and for the love of god, DON’T GOOGLE THEM.

I am a naturally nosey person, but after The Big Ex and I split up years ago, I refused to seek out information on the girl he started dating a mere few weeks after our 4 year stint ended. I knew my friends had info, I could tell by their eyes whenever they tried to jump away from the subject, but I never pressed them. And when information was accidentally spilled to me, I made a conscious effort to change the subject and told people “I really don’t care to know”. It was hard, because I did care to know, but I knew that need for knowledge was coming from a macabre place in my brain that loved to torture the rest of me. Read More »

Oh man. Wednesdays kill me. Yes, it’s the middle of the week, but it’s only the middle of the week!  2.5 more days to go. And no good drink specials at the bar. What I wouldn’t give for a Boxed-Wine Wednesday right about now.

But wait! There is good news. Finally, something to be excited about on a sad, sad Wednesday morning:
Happy Endings.

Yeah, you read that right. And no, I am not talking about a giant piece of carrot cake (with extra frosting) after a great meal. I am talkin’ about happy endings. You know; the kind that every man dreams of when he goes in for a massage. Those infamous acts that are quite popular in East Asia.

I am talking about ORGASMS, people. Orgasms that you don’t have to get dressed up for. Orgasms that you don’t have to wear heels for. Or work for. Or bat your eyelashes for.

Orgasms you can just….order. Read More »

More and more people are looking for love online these days and I’ll admit, I’m one of them. I honestly don’t know where else to find a date besides the typical bar/club scene, which seems much more conducive to finding a one night stand than finding love. I don’t work in an environment where I meet eligible bachelors, I pretty much know my friends’ friends so getting set up isn’t really an option. So where else do you look? People tell me I should do something I enjoy; a cooking class, hanging out in Barnes & Noble, join some sort of sports league and I’ll meet a guy who shares similar interests with me, but as social as I am, I’m not one to go to a cooking class alone, and I have yet to meet a guy in B&N. So that leaves me with the internet.

Sure, it’s scary and I’ve had my fair share of weirdos or guys who were several inches shorter than what they claimed, or sent pictures from when they were 10 years and 50 pounds lighter, but I’ve also been taken on some pretty amazing dates and met some really cool guys, some of whom I’ve remained friends with. Obviously, my prince hasn’t come along, but maybe the timing just hasn’t been right. I’ve tried a lot of the sites out there; match.com, Plenty of Fish, okcupid, Craig’s List, eHarmony and even Jdate (yes, I’m a shiksa who likes Jewish boys). Thus far, I’ve had the best luck on Craig’s List and the worst luck with match and eHarmony (the one that claims it’ll help you find your soulmate), but as I’m still single, I haven’t had the luck I’m really looking for, so I decided to try out a new site, it’s called crazyblinddate.com, and yes, it’s crazy. Read More »

Fact: exercise is boring. I know, I know: it clears your mind, gives you an endorphin high, keeps you from dying young, and so on. Still, at the end of the day, you’ve wasted valuable whiskey money on a gym membership so that you can run for hours on a treadmill that takes you, by my latest calculations, nowhere.

This is why I like bicycles. They actually take you places - useful! - while providing you with the toned leg muscles and mighty forearms of a god. Also, if you ride in the city, biking can totally kill you. That’s always exciting.

I’ve just started biking in New York. This weekend, I rode from 125th Street to the South Ferry. That’s right: I traversed pretty much the entire island of Manhattan. You may all bask in my accomplishment now. (Note: I am aware that some people ride much harder, and for much longer distances, than I have. I don’t want to hear from them! Get your own blogs, hippies.)

By the end of the trip, I was sweaty and exhausted, I looked like hell, and I was riding a wave of pure giddy euphoria. This, for those keeping score, makes biking exactly like sex, except for the fact that your bike can’t give you chlamydia. I highly recommend it.

Here are some tips. Read More »

I’m not really into drugs and don’t know a whole lot about tripping. However, you mention the words flavor-tripping, and my ears might perk up a little. I am, after all, very into food and cooking, and while I’ve had many meals that make me feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven, I’ve never actually tripped off my food. Is that even possible?

Apparently, there is a berry that will make Tabasco sauce taste like glazed doughnuts and vinegar like apple juice. It’s a West African berry called the miracle fruit and The New York Times reported on a rooftop party last week that featured this little berry. Once you pop it in your mouth, everything you eat will taste sweeter and a bit more delicious. Read More »

Living in New York City is great. And I mean that. I’ve been here for the last six or seven years, and before that I lived in nearby Long Island (with frequent visits into Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, and Staten Island to visit my family, and sometimes Manhattan to take in a show or go to a museum).

The problem is not living in New York City. The problem is living in New York City AND being a girl.

For some reason, this is THE city of catcalls and bad pick-up lines. It doesn’t matter what you look like, who you are–if you have (or even might have) a hooha, you’re gonna be harassed.

So now, for your reading pleasure, I’d like to present you with a scene from last night in My Life As A Girl In NYC.

This is verbatim. I kid you not.

Enjoy.

(10pm Thursday night. After four hours of tech rehearsal at a local theater, SARA, 23, heads up to Union Square, where she sits down on the steps to wait for her BOYFRIEND, 26.

To Sara’s left sit two HIPSTERS. Sara casually witnesses a seemingly NEW JERSEY GUY in a douchey leather jacket ask them for a cigarette.

Sara goes back to waiting. But something is wrong. Sensing this, she turns around to find Jersey Guy and his two JERSEY FRIENDS staring at her. And Jersey Guy is pointing right at her. Sara quickly turns back around.

But it’s too late. Jersey Guy approaches, unlit cigarette in hand.)

JERSEY GUY: I just wanted to say thanks for looking all pretty. Read More »