It was only $22.50, but still...

I parked my car on U Street overnight on Friday. We had a cluster dinner at IH's and then I stayed over at APK's place. Kate noticed that someone had scratched off the paint on my BMW's front emblem. I called BMW to get a price check. It's only $22.50 to by a new one and takes only a minute to change the emblems out. It could have been worse. They could have removed the emblem entirely or keyed my car. I figured someone must have been drunk on their way back from the bars.

Then today, I had errands to run around Dupont. I noticed over 6 BMWs with scratched off emblems as well. My mind started to race with possible reasons for the vandalism. I came to the final panicked conclusion that a gang in the area had marked my car and others. They would come find my car later behind my house and murder me. Seemed to make the most sense. I would need to turn my alarm on every night and not stay alone for a while. Also, I should notify my neighbors I might be murdered soon. My mother calmly listened to my story. She suggested that I simply drive to the Arlington BMW and have them fix it quickly. Oh, yeah, that was a good idea. She also suggested that I call 311 and tell the police the story. Yep, another good idea.

So it was only $22.50, but if a mass murderer is suddenly discovered killing people who drive BMWs in Dupont, you heard it first from me.

Customer Feedback to Nordstrom

I am extremely disgusted with the aggressive selling tactics of the staff in your Men's Shoe Department in the Virgina stores. I have higher expectations for your stores as do most of shoppers. Most of us are highly aware that employees in the shoe department work on commission, but the repeated attempts make us feel like we are shopping in a flea market and discourage sales all together.

The first time this behavior occurred was about two weeks ago. I went shopping with my 24 year old cousin for a new pair of Pumas (priced generally under $100). The person helping us brought out a pair of Ferragamo loafers and started to put them on my cousin's feet. I told him very politely that we were not in the market for dress shoes. He then went into a speech about Nordstrom's cedar shoe trees and how much my cousin needed them. We were so put off by the aggressive tactics that we left and bought the shoes elsewhere.

Against my better judgment, my friend brought me to the Nordstrom in Tysons Corner, VA this past weekend. He was looking to spend money on a nice pair of dress shoes. He did actually try on some Ferragamos, but decided on a nice pair of still pricey shoes. When my friend said he was set to purchase the shoes, the Salesman went into the same speech about cedar shoe trees.

I spend quite a lot of money on my clothing. Having this sort of treatment at an upscale department store makes me uncomfortable and makes your store look feel like a used car lot. I would imagine that this type of behavior is not something you would encourage nationally, and I only hope that you are able to mend it before other customers are alienated from shopping at Nordstrom.

I will not be returning to your Men's Shoe Department, if Nordstrom, for quite some time. Please correct the issue.

I tried my best. I focused. I tuned out outside sounds. Unfortunately, I just could not get into Dancing with the Stars. It's lame. I knew that Drew Lachey would win without ever seeing an episode. He was the one all over the talk show circuit throughout the launch of the season. When Nick and Jessica first announced their divorce and Nick was rumored to be selling his story to some magazine, he denounced the gossip by stating that he was helping his brother train for Dancing with the Stars. There was absolutely no way George Hamilton or Tatum O'Neal stood a chance. Although, I wish Tia Carrere was on of the finalists. At least then I could have yelled Shhhhwwwing through the whole thing.

Short Stops-

Breaking Wind: I was physically assaulted by the wind this morning. I could barely walk up 18th Street. My ears are still ringing a good 30 minutes since I've been indoors. This is the third city in which I have lived (Boston, NYC, now DC) where city planners have not taken into account wind tunnels and patterns. I think we should pass a bill that requires city planners to include a meteorologist in the planning of city roads and structures. It seems that these architects and engineers (like L'Enfant in DC) spend so much damn time making the roads into organized grids that they fail to note the way nature will respond to their creations. Plus, meteorologists aren't taken seriously enough. It's a major scientific field requiring very specialized training, and most of us just think of Al Roker or Hillary Banks on the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.



CPK: At 26, I've learned to pretty much fend off the pressures of my peers. I'm still keen on joining them, but not just because I can't beat them. If I want to beat them, I've realized that I probably don't like them that much, and it's probably not worth my time to hang with them. But then there are the subtle suggestions toward incorporation within a group like going to California Pizza Kitchen with your girlfriends for dinner. I'm a meat lovers pizza, garlic and cheese foccacio, fried chicken when at Chick-fil-A, bacon, egg and cheese at brunch sort of girl. So last night while dining with SC & SG at CPK, I felt a bit uncomfortable ordering my chicken caesar foccacio sandwich while the two of them ordered half salads with balsamic vinegar dressing or dressing on the side. And I know it's just food, and I certainly don't watch what I eat, but that's the worst thing about dining with your girlfriends. When they eat healthier than you, it makes you feel like a complete fatty. Even if you're starving and don't watch what you eat at all.



De-Port the Bartenders: Went to happy hour at Porter's last night and was having a splendid time mingling with everyone. Two girls planned the evening and invited friends who invited friends who invited friends... well we all know how that goes. Turns out someone there who must have been a friend of a friend (of a friend of a friend, etc.) opened a tab with the exact same credit card and similar last name as APK. The bartender gave the chick APK's card and billed her tab to his card. Quite the buzz kill. No one who remained at the happy hour knew of this girl. We red flagged APK's card in the end. Some explanations of how this mistake could have taken place might be that this girl looks really manly or maybe the exact opposite is true and she's got Pamela Anderson caliber breasts that distracted the fraternity bartender types. Regardless, we had a Where in the World is Carmern Sandiego? game going last night... do you know AG? Does anyone know AG? Where do we think AG lives? Does the name AG sound familiar? Does anyone have a friend who was here with another friend that they didn't know? And so on. Sort of interested to see who AG might be. I've asked that once we find out we send a mass e-mail with her picture attached. I'm hoping less that she's wearing a long red cape and hat and more that she's wearing a red and white striped shirt and round glasses with black frames.

The Lunch Club

The Lunch Club in NYC has officially announced their coolest event to date. I am super jealous of all my NYC friends who could possibly attend! I wonder if we could get some group in DC to sponsor something so fabulous.

When: Thu May 18 9:00 am
Ferris Bueller's Day Off - The Experience! Just like Ferris said, every once in a while you have to stop and smell the roses or life will pass you by. So this is your day to play hookey! Or maybe you already have the day off. In either case, come and recreate Ferris' famous day with the Lunch Club. We'll head to the Met and have lunch at a French restaurant just like Ferris did. Then to cap it all off, we'll take in an afternoon Yankees game. Sorry, there won't be any Ferrari's but we may see Mr. Rooney pass by. Stay tuned for details!

To Blog or Not to Blog...

Last night was an interesting evening. APK and I met KR and her friends at the National Press Club to hear Ana Marie Cox speak. She was reading from and signing her book Dog Days with proceeds going to fund the non-profit library of the NPC. The well-reviewed book, as she said several times in her opening, was "not at all based on [her experiences in] 2004." She wore a pair of black pinstripe dress pants with a black vintage MTV shirt that showcased the tattoos on her upper arm, and definitely looked and spoke exactly as we hoped she would, unpretentiously cool. APK thought she looked like Kirsten Dunst.

Funniest answers:

Question to Ana: Have you read Jessica Cutler's book [The Washingtonienne] and, if so, what did you think of it?

Summary of Ana's response: She's not read her book because she read Jessica's material for the book on her blog as it happened. She wished Jessica well. She's told Jessica is writing a new book, so perhaps Jessica is out there doing some more research.

Question to Ana: What advice would you give newbies to DC?

Summary of Ana's response: A mother once approached Ana to ask what advice she'd give her daughter who was coming to DC to be an intern. "Keep your legs crossed"... [then she answered the question]

After the NPC, we headed to Lucky Bar, because we had heard of a record 3 different groups holding happy hours there: Jewish group, AIDS group, Blogger group. So the blogger group... I'm a bit embarrassed to meet decent writers. People who actually have something interesting to say on a blog. When I started my first blog (Tunnel Light Bright) in July, I intended nothing. I am certainly not the greatest writer nor interesting and plugged in enough to have avid readership. I had recently become single after 3 years and was sick of telling the same stories to each of my friends separately. Plus, by having a place to write about the craziness of a newly single existence, I wanted to enjoy the drama. In addition, I felt that I was being unfair to the people who's blogs I read regularly and commented on. I was reading what they put out there without putting out a piece of myself. It felt a bit unbalanced.

I deleted my first blog and all it's contents in January 2006. I found out that my exfriend and exboyfriend were both reading it regularly. Mainly though, I felt that I was in a different place in my life... a new city, a new job, into a new guy, new friends... and it was a memory of my search to become the person I am now.

I like blogging, but I am definitely not the greatest blogger on the planet. That being said, I am a bit shy around good bloggers. Good bloggers are interesting people with a noticeable writing talent and edginess. I'm a conservative girl from Alabama with a penchant for Burberry and Chardonnay. I write this more as a personal journal than to have my voice heard.

So anyways, both one of the editor's of the DCist and Kathryn were both quite nice. I didn't meet anyone else.

APK and I left to go to dinner at the Daily Grill. Afterwards, I was ready for alone time with APK. Oh what a night.

Daddy's Little Girl

My Grandmother and I were chatting on the phone last night about how my parents raised me versus how my cousin Jeff's parents raised him. My Grandmother had two children. Her son is my cousin's father. Her daughter is my mother.

Jeff was raised with importance placed on academics. His father, a chemist, felt that life falls into place after one has excelled academically. His mother, a geneticist, felt that self-esteem is found by taking pride in one's accomplishments. My cousin is extremely smart, excellently gifted at problem solving, a great listener, and a truly compassionate human being. He's reached a point in his life where he has found self-esteem in his work and his friendships. However, he's begun to reexamine how he'll be able to show that off to the world. He'd like to figure out how to create a great first impression.

I was raised with importance placed on standing out in a crowd. My father, a surgeon, felt that life falls into place after one has properly marketed themselves. My mother, an occupational therapist with a master's in counseling, felt that self-esteem is found in taking pride in one's appearance and manners. I have a need to make everything in my life beautiful. I want my friends happy, my clothing without wrinkles, my hair coifed, and my apartment stunning. My father used to tell me that if I wanted to work in the field of marketing, I must first learn to sell myself. I've reached a point in my life where I have found my self-esteem in my work and my friendships. However, I've begun to reexamine how I speak to the world. I'd like to figure out how to create a lasting impression.

It's quite funny that my cousin and I came from the same family. Our common ground is that we're both constantly seeking ways to better ourselves and the world around us.

I have been sorting through the teachings of my mother and father in attempt to gain an understanding of who I am and how I got here. From my analysis, here are the top 8 things I have learned from my parents.

1. The 3 differences between man and animal are the ability to resist temptation, knowing the difference between right and wrong, and the awareness of a tomorrow. My father.
2. You cannot make a first impression twice. Market yourself to the world and people will listen to you. My father.
3. Selfish people will eventually have anger engulf them. My mother.
4. Class is something money cannot buy. My mother.
5. Always want the best for yourself, and you will attain it. My father.
6. Classic clothing will always look more expensive than trendy pieces. My mother.
7. Work hard to give the ones you love things they love. My father.
8. Nothing can compare to sharing an experience with someone else. No material possession can replace a memory. Both my parents.

As I'm writing this, I'm thinking about a quiz I took the other day which asked me to choose 2 words that other people often use to describe me. Caring and Polite. I suppose my parents must have done a good job. Funny enough, I'd use the words to describe my cousin too. And my Grandmother. My Aunt, Uncle and my parents all uphold most of the things I've listed above. Perhaps parents must show their children how to act. Perhaps teaching and preaching is not necessarily the only way to success. My cousin and I are both good people with good hearts and ambition. We're both flawed and seeking perfection. Neither of us is accepting of anything short of ideal. Strangely enough, we probably balance out one another in the same way as my mother and his father. I bring beauty to his life. He brings pragmatic thinking to mine. And I guess in conclusion, ambition to have perfection is the underlying theme in our family. Not such a bad thing. Not at all.

Almost Like Being A Real Adult

Part of the charm of living and working in DC is the conservative business culture that engulfs the city. I like dressing up for work. It makes me feel like a real adult.

I even bought female cuff links.

Call me boring, but I've got no desire to leave my 9-to-5 job for the open road. And even if some doctor could get me out of work by saying I was depressed, I'd be more upset if I ended up looking like Paul. I rather be working in an office my whole life.

On route to the Macaroni Grill in Silver Spring for dinner on Friday night with my cousin, got stopped in a road block set-up between 15th and 16th St. The purpose was unclear, but it was painless enough.

Jeff believed that this was meant to jack up the revenue the police pulled in that month by issuing tickets to unsuspecting unregistered drivers. He also assumed that they were out to catch the poor, who could not afford to register.

I believed that this precaution was meant to catch potential terrorists and car thieves. I was polite to the police officer and wished her a wonderful and warm evening as we leave.

Typical of the way we both think. I believe that the government is good and that the rich should be allowed to stay rich. Jeff believes that the government is bad and that the rich should use their ample resources to not only feed the poor in the United States but also to feed the poor in third world countries.

I remind him often that in the jungle the weaker animals are dinner for the lions and tigers and bears.

I did get him into a pair of Puma's today. He's been wearing Chuck Taylor's since back when they first resurfaced as stylish within his lifetime. So, even though they're still a mainstay within Indie crowds, now that he's opting to frequent venues with less sweat and more swank, he's realized it is time to leave the Chucks at home. For bar hopping evenings, at least. Or just to appease me.

I pulled for the newer design in Puma's.

We compromised.

Pretty great shoe. Actually, possibly cooler option on second glance. A little more original. I also treated him to a cotton track jacket. Harder than expected to explain what that was exactly. I came up with the following equation: Members Only Jacket + Zip-Hoodie - Hood= Track Jacket. Use as layer over vintage tees.

Tehe. Members Only jackets still make me laugh.

Oink Oink

I'm a bit bored today. Sort of anxious too. Not really sure why. Maybe the weather has something to do with it. Started off warm and sunny, and now the wind is so violent that a piece of dirt almost took out my eye. Going to dinner with my cousin tonight. Should be a good time. Good times all around. Here's a pretty picture called American Heart by Alfred Gockel. I don't really like him, but APK's a big fan. Like this picture though. So...Enjoy.

The Destruction of Relationships

I've learned to tone down my "art talk" over the years. First, I've realized that I don't know anymore than anyone else who's done well in an art history class. Secondly, I've also realized that nothing sounds more pretentious than discussing contour lines and brush strokes. Mainly though, while once upon a time I was able to disguise my age by commenting on art, I've realized that the smartest adults I know don't discuss how smart they are all the time.

APK took me to the opening of the Degas, Sickert, and Toulouse-Lautrec exhibit at the Phillips Collection last night. I've always thought that there are two types of people who go to art openings- those who truly enjoy art and those who want to say they truly enjoy art. I was amazed to learn that I'm finally falling into the first group. With everything in my life consistently changing, my comfort zone has become art. I get excited being able to recall that Degas' statues were cast in bronze only after he died or that Toulouse-Lautrec was a deformed alcoholic. I don't even need to tell anyone this information anymore. It's like a box of Mac n' Cheese. It's easy for me to remember, and I can enjoy it without having to share it.

I wish the curator had included more detail on the change in society's attitude towards marriage and relationships at the turn of the 20th century. While pieces were included throughout the exhibit, I found the influence of a changing culture the most disturbing and interesting aspect of the show. The Rape by Degas, which was possibly drawn from the book Nana by Emile Zola, possibly illustrated a male character in Nana who kills his lover's wife to be with her. These artists were painting our world's slowing ability to commit to nothing. Today, we're familiar with hearing about divorce and falling out of love. Here's where it all began.

From a discussion on The Rape:

"Degas highlights the somber room with a bright light shining on the open box on the table and the back of a woman crouching, her dress torn to expose her left shoulder. Some sources suggest that this painting was not about a rape, but about a novel published by Zola, in which the woman asks her lover to kill her husband, so that they can elope. "




APK was interested deeply in L'Absinthe by Degas. The Curator had chosen to display the critiquing of the painting from international newspapers circa 1876. Other than that, the main discussion was about the "unconventional perspectives, intensity of psychological expression, and blurring of social class distinctions." It's a popular painting entwined in our culture. One review described this woman as a slut. Today, this is not an uncommon sight. This is a woman left alone to drink away her heartbreak. Sadness in her eyes. Her years aged by heartbreak. Her face hardened by emotion. I view this painting as the recognition of love becoming a game people play. This is the beginning of the end of relationships.



From Wikipedia:

"Sickert's interest in Victorian narrative genres also influenced his best known work Ennui, in which a couple in a dingy interior gaze abstractedly into empty space,as though they can no longer communicate with each other."

This is the fear of any early-20s guy I know. Fear of becoming an old married couple. With no more love left to share. This is when that fear began to surface.




Couples in front of the fireplace with their five children and nicest clothes on were no longer what painters wanted to depict. In that regard, they must have felt that the image was too far from reality. Much as Woody Allen gave us movies in the 1970s about real people living real lives, as I would have liked to see the exhibit, painters of the late 1800s were showing a changed world full of hollow relationships and an increasing restlessness with finding a higher love.

So that's my depressing view of the show.

Personal Space

You know who you are. You get what you're doing. I'm an American. We don't talk to strangers. This is the perimeter of Dupont Circle, the Cirque du Soleil of traffic circles. There are a million freakin' pedestrian crossing clocks on a million different timers, and there's no where to go. I know you don't look like you'll steal my bag. But those obnoxious twins on American Idol did not look like identity thieves (although they did look like complete tools). So how do I know you aren't going to grab my purse and run? I don't even need this damn cigarette. I'm smoking it right now so I can burn you if you get too close. Yeah, maybe I've got issues, but you've got issues too. This is America. We're big on personal space. Back-off. K?

Went to Ozio last night for a Tu Bish'Vat happy hour. Tu BiSh'vat is a Jewish celebration of trees. I can't understand how people make fun of Valentine's Day and yet no one says a word about the celebration of trees.

Tu BiSh'vat or the "New Year of the Trees" is Jewish Arbor Day. The holiday is observed on the fifteenth (tu) of Sh'vat. Scholars believe that Tu BiSh'vat was originally an agricultural festival, marking the emergence of spring. After the destruction of the Temple in 70 A.C.E. this holiday was a way for Jews to symbolically bind themselves to their former homeland by eating foods that could be found in Israel. In the sixteenth and seventeenth century Kabbalists created a ritual for Tu BiSh'vat similar to the Passover Seder. Today, Tu BiSh'vat has also become a tree planting festival in Israel, in which both Israelis and Jews around the world plant trees in honor or in memory of a loved one or friend.

Not really sure how my Coco Chanel Martini (vanilla vodka and white creme de cocoa) has anything to do with celebrating the planting of trees, but I guess any reason to celebrate is fine by me.

The happy hour was actually packed full of people looking to meet other people. I love those types of events, where everyone is really out looking to expand their social circles. I met a Ukraine-born Physicist. I pretended that I knew what he did. Since I've been living in DC, I've looked up more occupations than I ever even knew existed. Here's what a Physicist does.

A physicist is a scientist trained in physics. Physicists study a wide range of physical phenomena spanning all length scales: from the sub-atomic particles from which all ordinary matter is made to the behavior of the material Universe as a whole. There are numerous different branches of physics and each has its corresponding specialists, such as astrophysicists, geophysicists, or biophysicists. Employment as a professional physicist generally requires a doctoral degree. Physicists are employed by universities as professor(s,) lecturers, and researchers, and by laboratories in industry. Many people who are trained as physicists, however, use their skills in other parts of the economy, in particular in engineering, computing, and finance.

Uh, yeah. If you say so. Well, at least we know he's smart. I also ran into one of APK's friends who works in International Development. I didn't even pretend to know what that was, and I'm not even going to try looking it up. I've just now figured out what APK does. I don't want to cloud my brain with too much new information.

APK is the gum machine in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Here's the analogy he offered me:

The individual ingredients are produced by farmers all over the U.S.
-Businesses do business for the year-

The ingredients are sent to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.
-Final numbers on profit, employees hired and fired, and other statistics are sent to the U.S. Census bureau-

The ingredients are put into a machine.
-APK and his team take all those number from websites and reports and such-

The machine combines everything together and pops out one single piece of edible gum.
-APK and team then report, "The recreation industry grew by 10% in 2005." Or something like that.-

I understand now. Don't you? Suppose I should stick with any guy who can get me to understand something like his job.

Complicated Kisses

Because nothing is simple anymore. Not even Hershey's Kisses. Kisses are now available in 8+ main options. And you thought it was just difficult deciding whether or not to indulge your chocolate craving. Now you'll have to decide between Milk Chocolate, Dulce de Leche, Filled with Caramel, Hugs, Milk Chocolate with Almond, Rich Dark, Limited Edition Cherry Cordial, and filled with Peanut Butter varieties. Goodness. I have trouble choosing which of my five Banana Republic black, almost identical, skirts to wear each day to work. Damn Hershey if they think I'll be debating over this one. That's it. I'm protesting too many options. Moving to 3 Muskateers.

Baggage

It's amazing to me that as I become more mature, more adept at handling heartbreak, more secure in who I am, more assured that I am a great catch for someone... that no matter how much I've grown and changed and sculpted myself into the person I've always wanted to be... I've acquired a certain pessimism that can only be described as serious baggage.

I don't know where it all started. I don't know how I became less adventurous and more proactive. I don't know why I assume that anyone I care about will eventually hurt me. I have managed to build a concrete wall around myself, and I am not crazy about the outcome.

I like APK. I like being with APK. Nothing about APK turns me off. I trust APK. I think about APK when I'm not with him. So why on earth would I push APK away? I wish I could answer my own question.

From here, I need to devise a plan. A lesson plan.

Lesson 1: Accept my baggage, but upgrade it. Make it Louis Vuitton luggage instead. LV luggage is something you take on a glamorous trip. It's filled with all of your favorite things. Ferragamo shoes. Mink coat. Diamond studs. A double-strand of freshwater pearls. Baggage is what you throw in the back of a pick-up truck on your way to a motel. Luggage is different. So from now on, I'll stop trying to be who I was. I'll appreciate the things I've learned and pack them away into who I am. And I'll take them with me on my trip to the Homestead.

Lesson 2: Men and Women have different takes on what constitutes intimacy. I asked APK how he would "private time" more fun. I'm thinking dressing up and trying new places, like the beach or the back of a car. He's thinking different positions and different "private time" actions. Cosmo didn't make up these repeated articles about "How to Please Your Lover" afterall. So in the name of compromise, I will try and loosen my inhibitions. I know he'll be there when I wake up, and I've already tried some of the stuff he's suggested with fabulous reviews. It's all about compromise, I'll dress up in my fantasy outfits and do some of his fantasy acts... well some of them... it may take me a couple Valium to try out all of them.

Lesson 3: A little less talk and a little more action. Geez, when did I become the serious conversation type? You can tell someone cares about you from the way you wake up next to them. When they pull you toward them, stroke your back, kiss you... there's no need to hear "You're the best, I really like you." You can tell. Reassurance is in their actions. How they grab your hand or stare out you across a crowded room. Talk just gets in the way of moments. I'm dating an Economist not a Politician.

Lesson 4: Arrogance is okay. Relationship experts constantly emphasize being humble with your partner. The truth is, it is more important to think you're a catch. If you believe it, your partner will believe it. Happiness is living in the moment. Living in the moment is knowing that if they don't see what you know to be true about yourself than that is their problem and their loss. Selfless and self-conscious are not the same thing. Give your partner a present with the money you would have spent on something for yourself, but do not give them the ability to make or break you.

Lesson 5: Enjoy. Enjoy your time together. Enjoy your kisses. Enjoy seeing their reaction to one of your favorite movies. Enjoy meeting people they feel are important in their lives. Enjoy learning about their favorite food. Enjoy watching them across a room. Enjoy every single moment, and you won't regret anything.

So there you have it. I can and I will and I must succeed. Luggage in tow, I'm off to the French Riviera.

The Thanksgiving of Love

I love love.

I woke up this morning smiling. A day to spend thinking about love. I consider February 14th the Thanksgiving of Love, a day to count all the elements that truly make life worth living. I even brought Hello Kitty Valentine's Day cards and Hershey Kisses in for my boss and coworkers. I guess my quirkiness for loving the idea of Valentine's Day must be something I've learned from my family.

My father likes to buy those appalling stuffed animals you see in drugstores. He once told me he buys the ones he knows no one else will take because he feels badly for them. He generally buys the cheesiest, largest, sometimes scariest cows and teddy bears and hippos. He especially loves the ones that sing or dance. My mother woke up this morning to a box of chocolates, a nice card, and a huge stuffed gorilla. I remember going with him to Service Merchandise back in the 80s to get my mother her annual Valentine's Day gift. Usually it involved a singing kitchen appliance of some variety. I believe singing cookie jars were always a favorite. My fondest gift from my father was an alien dressed in black and white stripes singing "Jailhouse Rocks." He always remembered. He always prepared. Mainly though, he always made us laugh.

My mother likes to buy every piece of candy the grocery store has to offer. She still sends my brother and I a package about a week before Valentine's Day stuffed full of calories. This year, she even put together a package for my roommate. I protest that this is a waste of money, but I do adore the sentiment. She usually buys my father cologne. He's only particular about two things in his life, socks and cologne. The socks must be Birkenstock. They cost $15 a pair. He has no reasoning as far as I can tell for this obsession. The cologne must be screw top. I don't know that he's ever gone looking for a screw top cologne. This may explain why he's so adamant about having something so hard to find. Luckily, he has no brand allegiance to a particular cologne, and my mother gets some sort of pleasure out of scouring the department store counters for a new scent with a good free gift. She generally cooks a simple dinner and gives him his gift afterwards. They don't do anything fancy or special. But as far back as I can remember, they so always spend the night together.

My brother and I both never gave one another Valentine's gift. We're from incestuous Bama, so we thought that would be a bit weird. In college, I used to send him Baby Christening or My First Communion or Happy Valentine's Day Grandmother cards. We both thought this was laugh-out-loud funny. Indeed, my brother and I have the same and most unusual sense of humor. I sent Josh PeeWee's Playhouse Volume 1 for the holidays. I assumed he'd return it to Best Buy for something better, but I knew it would make him laugh. He laughed so hard that he kept the DVD set. He intends to watch it while drinking. He sent me a DVD of Grease (we had laughed to one another over the phone about I Love the 70s which observed that Sandy became a slut to get Danny). Josh and I talk regularly on the phone. Mainly when something nostalgic reminds us of one another. Sometimes it's the E True Hollywood Story about Saved By the Bell. One time it was a fat Girl Scout coming to my door with chocolate all over her mouth. He called last year when he was given a Clarissa Explains It All boardgame as a graduation gift. He called last month when he won the entire Salute Your Shorts series on EBay. I definitely don't have the same relationship with anyone else. I don't think I could. We've shared the same Valentine's Day mornings with my father's famous stuffed toys waiting for my mother, and the same care packages from my mother stuffed with every variety of chocolate sold at CVS.

I suppose you learn how to love from your family. In my eyes, love is having a relationship with someone else that you can't duplicate. It's "getting" someone. Understanding. What means love in their eyes? My family has never been about showing love by dancing under a full moon with glasses of champagne. We've never been about long notes written on meaningful cards. Love to us is laughter. Remembering someone else. Love with a definite pattern that makes them realize your unique relationship. I guess my family has always celebrated what love brings to life. Laughter. Memories. Simply put, Valentine's Day is about spending one day thinking of how much someone means to you.

So Valentine's Day to me is my time to be thankful for the people I love the most in my life. Especially my family, who have taught me to love however I think I should.

Valentine's Day

I know Valentine's Day is a commercial holiday smothered in over-priced price-fixed meals at restaurants and over-hyped calories contained in cheap paper hearts, but I still wake up on Valentine's morning thinking that it is in fact Valentine's Day. I don't believe anyone who says they forgot it even happened. That's complete b.s. It's like forgetting your own birthday or Christmas. Almost completely impossible...

Regardless, I still like the holiday, or the principle of the holiday. I like walking into CVS and seeing hearts all around. I like smelling fresh roses when I enter Safeway. I like grabbing a bag of chocolate at the register in Target and nibbling on it as I drive back to my apartment. I like owning Valentine's Day socks to wear all year round with little Cupids throwing arrows. I like how Never Been Kissed and Sleepless in Seattle play on cable repeatedly during the weeks leading up to Valentine's Day. This isn't to say that I've always had excellent luck with romance on Valentines Day. Quite the contrary. I've just learned to love it for what it is. So my fondest memories of this splendid/ depressing/ ridiculous holiday, in a very particular order:

One memory- Freshman year of college. I was living in the sorority house. The guy I was dating at the time was a complete a-hole. Didn't know at the time that he was also dating someone else. I went out to dinner with an "art class" friend who had multiple piercings and preferred women with tattoos. He paid. That was nice. Later on that evening my roomie and I got a tub of icecream and took to the downstairs television room. All the single girls were out at the bars. We both thought that was pathetic. A-hole shows up around 10pm with a rose and a friend for my roomie. So that was V-day 1999.

The following year, I was totally into MG. We had decided it wasn't working about 2 weeks before the big day. In typical college Fraternity boy fashion, he had already started dating some blonde chick on exchange from a foreign country. I went to a Screw Valentine's Day party at a friend's apartment. I drank too much. I passed out around 10pm.

It wasn't until Senior year of college that I learned how to properly spend the evening of February 14th, with or without a boy. I bought Bagel Bites, Ben and Jerry's, and Velveeta Shells and Cheese. I bought a sweatshirt with a huge heart on it. I watched Sliding Doors, You've Got Mail, and Sleepless in Seattle. I didn't leave the house. 'Twas a good night. Pretty much every other year has followed that idea.

Jerk was the first guy I ever really spent time with, happily, on Valentine's Day. One year, Jerk and I got really dressed up and went to the Washington Square Diner. One year, we rented a hotel room a block from my apartment and spent the night watching Love Actually and eating Chinese Food. Last year, well last year we spent the night fighting, but that was pretty much how I spent most of 2005 with Jerk.

So this year, tomorrow, APK and I will be picnicking in my bedroom. Eating pizza. Watching no one putting Baby in a corner. Sounds like a groovy evening. And I've sent Valentine's Day cards out too. Hello Kitty cards. In pink.

And what's so wrong with enjoying a day purely dedicated to making each of us long for a little love in our life. Taking a day to be depressed or happy or sad or drunk in recognition of human relationships... and allowing me an excuse to eat nothing but chocolate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Suckers on Saturday Night

What sucked on Saturday night?

- No matches at Nooshi. Running to Smith & Wollensky in the snow to get a book of matches. Crappy wine at Nooshi. Yes, when one picks the cheapest bottle on the menu, perhaps one should not expect Veuve Cliquot, but certainly not Sutter Home either.

- Snow. And not the pretty, day after, beautiful blue sky and white ground sort. Wanted to go out and got stuck in one area slipping around in my stilletos because of snow.

- People in DC who don't know how to properly salt their sidewalk. Seriously, saw a guy this morning cleaning the sidewalk with a hose. Water freezes. Even I know that. I might very well sue someone if I fall on my butt.

- 18th Street Lounge's jacket check policy. It's 2 degrees and snowing. BG loses his coat check ticket. Offers $20 to the girl to give him his coat. He paid $3 to park it there in the first place. We're 4 people... number 808, 807, 805. Obviously, he's 806. They have a sign posted... can't get jacket back till next day if you lose your ticket. They're closed until Tuesday apparently. They still won't give it back. Make him leave in the freezing cold snow without it. Shitty policy. Really wrong.

I'm allergic to artichokes. Officially. Which sucks. I really liked them. Damnit.

My Big Fat Embarrassing Bar Mitzvah

That's my hair, uh I mean that's me (hello big hair), and my brother 13 years ago at my Bat Mitzvah. According to Judaic tradition, I was supposed to become a woman that day. But nature had other plans for me, and I was the last person in my grade to develop boobs. Not until the summer before Freshman year of high school did I even sprout an inch. But I showed them. I left as a training bra at the end of 8th grade and came back as a full size C. And no, that's good genetics not a good plastic surgeon. So let's just say most of the guys dancing with me at my Bat Mitzvah were doing it more for good manners than for interest in my hot looks.

But the good news for me is that tonight, with my straightening iron being put to good use, I will get to relive Bat Mitzvah time. Nope, not a rebirth, a 21+ party being held at Sixth & I with a Bat Mitzvah theme. My Big, Fat, Embarrassing Bar Mitzvah Party. $15 gets you in and 3 drinks. APK has promised that he'll make out with me to all 7 minutes of "November Rain", and he'll still date me even if I decide to turn my shirt around when "Jump Jump" comes on... The Electric Slide will also be danced, with the Bus Stop dip, and this time around, no Keds are required.

Tehe-ing

I'm an offender of over-"tehe"-ing in e-mails. It's my way of indicating that something is giggle worthy without being laugh out loud funny... plus "haha" and "lol" are overused.

Things that make me tehe include when spell check changes a word accidentally to something that makes no sense. My keyboard at work is a bit ghetto. The letter M and the letter N are scrubbed off. Most of the time, I'm fine. I figure it's a non-profit afterall, and I'm working on a brand-new leather and mahogany wood desk, so I shouldn't say anything about the keyboard. So today, I e-mailed with the word "And" but misspelled it "Amd". Spell check changed it to "Mad". So the e-mail read, "Mad here's the response." CG just sent me back a "?" response. I e-mailed back, "tehe, I meant-And here's the response."

I tehe often at the idea that in order for a sign to be posted somewhere for you NOT to do something, someone had to have done it at some point. Once in a church I saw a sign that said "No Spitting". Someone spit in church. That made me tehe.

I tehe that FedEx Express envelopes state in large, bold text "Do not ship liquids, blood, or diagnostics in this package". Which means they've had a problem with people shipping blood. Which brings to mind a bunch of vampires FedExing to one another... "Dracula, you've got to taste this West Coast stuff. Higher quality. Totally organic".

I tehe when someone sends me a funny joke that makes me blush. Or a compliment that makes me smile. Or when they suggest we get obscenely wasted that night at happy hour.

I tehe sometimes when I e-mail a boy and ask if he;s "coming" to an event or dinner or whatever. I especially tehe when I send an e-mail to someone I'm seeing and thank them for "coming last night". I'm tehe-ing right now thinking about what would happen if my letter U and letter O were rubbed off on my keyboard instead. That could make for some very "?" e-mails. "Are you cuming with us tonight?" Geez.

My Shirt is Too Sexy For Me...

My new JCrew tuxedo shirt is so cute! I am wearing it today with a light blue cashmere shell and a black wool skirt, and I just feel so special.

Last night, we went to David Greggory for Happy Hour which lasts until 10pm on Tuesdays. The pizza was definitely the only filling appetizer on the $5 special menu. Three deviled eggs for $5 wouldn't kill the appetite of even a Barbie Doll.

We had much to celebrate. SG's birthday is today, and she just got an awesome new job in DC. Currently she's working and living in Virginia.

Interviewer: So why do you want to come work for Company X.

SG thinks: Well, the location of Company X in downtown DC makes for a much better commute for my after work social calendar. It's difficult commuting from Virginia for happy hour.

SG says: Company X has excellent opportunities for growth, and the work that I'd be doing at Company X seems like something I'd really enjoy doing for many years to come.

APK came to the happy hour last night and highly impressed the crowd. I know it's a bit high school to still care what your friends think about someone... but seeing as AW thought my ex was "total tool" the whole time we were together, I get concerned now that I'm not seeing something someone else does. But SG thought APK was very cool. Good. And we decided, APK and I, that we look a bit like a Brooks Brothers commercial together, which also makes me happy... seeing as it took me almost 2 years to get my ex out of acid wash denim circa 1985.

Tonight, I'm off to Cloud for a 25-30 year old Cluster through Gesher City. IH is coming with me. We figure that even if it sucks, we can down a couple $5 Appletini's and make it a fun time afterall.

What's Going On

Going on in my life right now:

• Happy Hour until 10pm on Tuesday's at David Greggory. Going out for SG's birthday tonight for $5 appetizers and $4 glasses of wine.
• Cosi in Dupont Circle sucks. CG wanted a Chicken T.B.M. today at lunch. The man making the sandwich rolled his eyes at her and then proceeded to take about an hour to make the damn thing, while I waited hungry, because she asked him to put Basil on the Chicken Tomato Basil Mozzarella sandwich. It took them about 10 minutes to pour me my diet soda. They call the medium size soda a "Grande" (which isn't even cute at Starbucks). My sandwich and soda cost $9.00. I went on-line to e-mail their corporate customer service center, and they're overly designed and slightly pretentious webpage has no way to contact them. No wonder their stock price is falling. I don't care how good the bread tastes, that place is a no go for me.
• Hammond-Harwood House has been called "the most beautiful doorway in America" by architectural historians. I love the symbolism of a beautiful doorway. Welcoming. Warming. Allowing others to imagine what lies on the other side. I want a beautiful doorway someday. I want marble detailing and one of those gold lion knockers.
• I overheard the life story of a future rapper (FR) in the bathroom at Nordstroms. Will hear about this kid's traumatic childhood in about 10 years.

FR: [crying] I didn't mean to go. I didn't mean to go. I didn't mean to go.

Mom of FR: Stupid boy. Pissing on yourself. So stupid. What are you crying about? I'm the one who gots to change your stinky pants.

FR: [crying] Not stupid. Not stupid.

Mom of FR: I told you hold it til' I bought the stuff. You gotta learn to hold this. I'm gonna stop changin' you and make you wear the stanky clothes around if you do dis' again.

FR: You stupid. You stupid. [laughing] You stupid. Ma stupid.

Mom of FR: Boy, you gonna get beat you keep talkin' to me that way.

I'm picturing a loaded hand gun in that kids backpack in a year or two. Well, if he doesn't piss on himself and end up being sent home for stinking.

My Intuition Was Right.

Think of your intuition as Caller ID.

Most of the time, the calls you receive are from people from who you know and want to hear. Your Caller ID generally lets you know if you missed the call of someone you already know and care about.

On hopefully less occassions, your Caller ID allows you to avoid calls from people for whom you don't want to talk. Perhaps when you are too busy, too angry, too sad, or too tired.

Perhaps during certain phases of your life you've even made a rule for yourself not to answer the phone without checking Caller ID, most certainly during periods of time when you know you would be no good to anyone you care about.

But the problem with relying on Caller ID occurs when you meet someone who you aren't 100% sure if you trust or like or want to see again. You give out your phone number thinking your Caller ID will allow you the time to decide if that person is someone you'd like to have in your life. And perhaps that someone isn't the type you'd want to call. Perhaps that someone is well aware of how to use *69 on their phone to block their number on Caller Id. Or perhaps that someone has paid the $2.50 extra a month to have their phone number appear as "Restricted".

Yes, it is true, you could simply choose not to answer the phone. You could make another rule for yourself to never answer the phone for someone who's number doesn't appear on Caller ID.

Perhaps you don't answer the phone when this someone calls. But you're polite and well-mannered, as most of us are, and you return calls when unanswered callers leave you messages.

You do wonder why this person would want to have their number appear unavailable on Caller ID. You tell yourself that, like your Grandmother who chooses to have her number restricted because she is 85 and lives alone, this someone must have a legitimate reason for blocking their phone number.

And then one day this person yells at you over the phone. They scream at you for things you would not have done intentionally. They tell you you're a bad friend and a bad person. They make you cry. They make you doubt yourself. They make you regret actions you didn't regret.

After you get off the phone, you start to think about what you could possibly say or do to make this person like you again. You wonder if you apologize a million more times would they be ready to make you their friend again.

So you try to think of times they were there for you, and you realize there just weren't that many times. And you try to think about how much they brought to your life, and you realize there just wasn't that much brought. The memories are not overly plentiful. The miracles are none to count. The dozen photographs you own don't even make up half of your album.

Your tears begin to dry. You spot the phone number of your close friend out in San Francisco on your Caller ID. You race to grab the receiver. You break down and tell her all the awful things this person has said to you. And she reminds you of how you felt about that person when you met them. She reminds you of how good a friend you've been to her. She reminds you of so many memories the two of you have shared.

Suddenly you recall how that other someone's number didn't show up on Caller ID. You recall that you always felt disconcerted by this abscence of their number. You recall how you were hesitant to call that someone back.

You realize you made a mistake. Afterall, you pay good money for Caller ID. If you don't use it properly, why do you have it in the first place?

Because my intuition was in fact right. That someone was a bad friend. I only wish I had listened to myself. I knew this all along.

Duck Tape Couture

Here's a way to ensure that your daughter can't take her clothes off too easily on prom night. Wrap her up in Duck tape.


The 2006 Duck® brand duct tape Stuck at Prom® Scholarship Contest challenges high school students to create and accessorize their prom formalwear with America’s favorite fix-all – duct tape. Rather than throw hundreds of dollars into a dress that another classmate might also wear to prom, students can invest a few bucks into some rolls of duct tape to craft one-of-a-kind outfits that are sure to steal the spotlight. read more

Weekender

Went out Saturday night with SG, JM and company to the Velvet Lounge to hear several bands. We only stuck around for 2 if by Sea, a Baltimore band.

Danny's comments: I've never seen a bunch of guys in a band who looked so much like a bunch of guys in a band. The lead singer is wearing Keds. How cool that he's actually wearing Keds.

Me: The lead singer looked like Adolf Hitler.

Right?

SG and I after several minutes of giggling at Adolf: Hot guitarist would be divine in bed. Hot guitarist has great ass. Hot guitarist has no wedding ring. Hot guitarist sweating is sexy. (Well these were really my reviews, which SG agreed upon.)



The music was circa-70s and 80s. Certainly catchy enough. The acoustic music was excellent (and not just cause the hot guitarist was playing this element), but the voice of the lead singer kind of sucked (and not just because he looked like Adolf Hitler.) Then again, I was too busy staring at the guitarists cute tooshie...

Last night I spent Super Bowl Sunday at APK's friend's place. How does one tell a chef that there Guacamole had too many onions in it politely? Especially since the chef hasn't been able to eat avocados since she was 16 due to an allergic reaction and made this dish purely for the pleasure of her friends. I suggested that there's no polite way. Best option is to tell her that you feel bad having her make something she can't enjoy and that from now on you can bring that dish. Dilemmas dilemmas... I bet soldiers in Iraq are feeling the same level of anxiety that we are about guacamole having too many onions.

Woody Becomes Foxy

Friday night's conversation:

Woody: It's weird to read "I woke up with Woody next to me" on your blog and take it seriously.

Me: Oh. Yeah. That's a bit strange I suppose. But it's an Annie Hall reference.

Woody: I remind you of that guy? He's neurotic. I hope I don't remind you of that guy.

Me: I find him endearing. Besides, that's one of my favorite movies. When I say Woody, I mean the character Woody plays in Annie Hall… not the Woody who married his step daughter.

Woody: Either way. Not good.

Anyways, I'll call Woody something else now. It is a bit strange having relations with someone you've nicknamed Woody. I think I'll go with Alex P. Keaton. While I'd like to go with Alvie Singer, I'd hate to have you all think he's neurotic or the type of guy who would sleep with my step daughter. He's adorable and smart and cute… so APK it is.

Dressed up for Success

Went to the Pentagon City Mall on Wed. evening to help with the monthly Dress for Success clothing drive. Dress for Success is a non-profit that helps women find jobs by giving them monthly support/ networking group meetings and by giving them suits to wear on interviews and to the office. The concept is based on the concept of giving someone in need of food a fishing poll rather than a fish. One fish will last one meal, but a fishing poll will allow someone to eat for the rest of his life. It's a great organization, and I adore volunteering for them. Here's what I learned from helping with sort the donations:

1) I will never again think I am overweight. I hung a skirt, size 34, on a hanger. I'm a size 4. That's almost 9 of me.

2) People have lousy taste in clothing. We had over 7 bags of clothing not suitable for work or anywhere else sent to another charity.

3) People are lazy about donations. Clothes came in pilled, smelling of moth balls, covered in cat hair, and full of stains. I guess they feel like people in need should just be happy to have clothing.

Last night I went out with IH and her friends to Helix Lounge. Half-priced burgers and peach martini's. When you walk into the hotel lobby a curtain is hanging in the doorway. Everyone goes to move it, and doh! it moves itself open. Then you feel like a jackass. A group of middle-aged random men were congregated in one corner with name tags. They kept asking the whole bar to be quiet. If they didn't want noise, they should have either rented out their own bar or found somewhere less trendy with less desirable happy hour specials. Anyways, JL came for some drinks too. We were guessing what they were all doing together. We decided it was either a prep-school class reunion from 1949 or a business happy hour. Turns out it got even stranger. The mismatched group all began dancing with one another. Ballroom dancing. To Madonna songs. And then this Drew Carrey look-a-like was making out with this Val Kilmer look-a-like. I stopped trying to figure it all out and continued to drink.

That's all to report. I am resting right now. Half sick and half tired. Must not let this ruin my weekend!

My question. If we can create bug spray that smells "country fresh" or "outdoor fresh" or even "fragrance free"...

And we can create bleach that smells like "wildflowers" or "lemon"...


Then why the hell have we yet to find a way to make moth balls smell better?

Modern Day Fairytales

EG's friend met her husband while in college. They dated briefly. Hooked up here and there for years afterwards. He lived on the other side of the country. She said to him that she wanted more. He said to her that he wasn't ready. She ended all contact with him and married the first man that came her way. She worked on the marriage, because she wanted to stay married. But the marriage dissolved. She sent a letter to her current husband saying that she didn't know if it mattered. She wasn't sure if he felt the same way. But she loved him still. She had always loved him. She shouldn't have gotten married, she said. She should have waited for him. And he felt the same way. And they are now married.

I hear stories, and I search inside myself to see if there's someone for whom I still carry love. But my life is too much about chapters. I resolve to easily. I seek closure to often. Yet I still adore this sort of story. In fact, a friend recently e-mailed me that she got a message from her college ex as she was about to move in with her boyfriend of 3 years. While I liked her new boyfriend, I felt the need to mention in my reply that I'd always seen her with her college ex. Because that's just the way I think. The best make-up kisses take place in the rain. The best ice cream sundaes are shared with someone else. And soulmates do in fact exist.

Someone meets a foreign man while on a trip to a wine festival. They spot each other over the crowd. The can't keep from talking once they start. They share wine, and they venture off to dinner. They snap photos and exchange business cards and phone numbers. They don't even kiss. But they can't stop from talking even as they stand in different parts of the world. They can't help but glow everytime they e-mail each other. And they make plans to meet somewhere tropical to see if this could really be love.

I did fall in love at first site once. He was a painter. At the time, I wore a beaded necklace, a gift for my 18th birthday from my mother, every day. And it was so cliche. He painted my necklace into every one of his pictures for years afterwards. He's married and happy now in his hometown in Texas. Yet every couple of months, I still get a text message saying "Love U". Because even though we've tried again without being able to capture what was first there(before he was married, of course), we both have a basis of measure to compare every other romantic moment to for the rest of our lives.

Its all about the story. No matter how it will end. MG says I could never meet someone at a bar with no story. It's true. I do need something to make me believe kismet exists.

My story as of now.

I was fighting horribly with BG. We do this more often than I'd like. And I was feeling a bit sad and questioning my move to DC for the first time. He suggested that I join a cluster. A Shabbat Cluster. To meet people. I was crying that day about not knowing enough people in DC. He said we'd do it together. But he's always so busy. So I decided to go alone. The dinner was on a Friday evening. I was going on my second date the next afternoon with a boy I was somewhat interested in pursuing. I wasn't crazy about him, but I was entertained enough to try for another shot at chemistry.

I wasn't sure if Woody was dating the girl with whom he came. I wasn't sure if he was dating the other girl who was supposed to meet up with him, but didn't beforehand, but kept checking her cell phone until he got there. I wasn't sure, and honestly, it wasn't what I was looking for that night, so I didn't care. My cousin was supposed to come to the dinner. He ended up needing to meet up with a prospective new roommate. We were made plans to meet up for drinks afterwards. Dinner was great. Everyone was interesting. I could see myself becoming friends with a girl there, IH, and I was right. Then something changed. Woody and I realized that he went to high school with my cousin. And then I was interested in talking to Woody. Then he ended up walking with me to meet my cousin at the Brickskeller for drinks. He asked me a million questions, bordering on being an asshole, but still intrigued, I complied and answered with great energy. I felt like Annie Hall. So I was interested, intrigued, but he ended the night with "I'll see you in a month at the next cluster dinner."

I called my cousin the second I got home. He said he felt like the third wheel. I said I didn't think Woody was interested in me. My cousin disagreed.

I couldn't bring myself to enjoy my date the next day. The boy came back to my apartment, and I was awkward as only a girl can be. I told my roommate the story. She thought I was making a wrong move. But all the same, I didn't allow myself to enjoy my date. I had someone else on my mind.

Behold Friendster. I Friendstered Woody. My cousin was new to Friendster and really into it, like everyone else, for about a week. So he Friendstered Woody from my Friendster friends list.

I got an e-mail the next day titled "Coincidence". Read something like... "Coincidence or conspiracy that your cousin and you both Friendstered me on the same day." And thus the story began. It's still nowhere to report yet. But it makes for a blog entry, so perhaps it has the ability to develop into a greater story.

Today's fairytale is really just a happy romance story. Who even knows if Snow White and the Prince worked out after all was said and done? Who cares if Ariel and Eric lived happily ever after? Did Cher and Josh get married? She was only 16 when they got together in Clueless. The conclusion is that a modern fairytale is just a really good story that gets you from point A to point B with emotion and romance and perhaps even a text message here and there forever afterwards. Because if you live your life as if it's a fairytale, the good guy always wins, and you may even get to kiss someone in the pouring rain.

Clueless

"She is litterally the polaroid of perfection."




What was so wrong with the fashion of the mid-90s? Why hasn't it come back in full force yet? Three-piece plaid suit? Headbands are back at JCrew. I love love love the collared shirt under patterened vest. Just put together. Like totally.