Moving On!

After 350 posts, I've graduated to a grown-up blog to match my [semi] grown-up life!

Head on over to TheProseOfKrose.com to follow my shenanigans.

Thanks for reading!

-KR

Accenting with Leopard

It's only natural that my 350th post involves my two favorite things: leopard & pink! This outfit epitomizes my love of wearing brights and neons, even when the temperatures drop. Thank you, J.Crew, for knocking it out of the park with a fall collection that's just delectable.

A word that's definitely never made it to the blog before now...

The only thing I’m more terrified of than a world in which Chinese dumplings, Magners cider, pink dye and Tory Burch footwear cease to exist is cats. Once upon a Brooklyn Heights jog, a stray ran out in front of me and spooked me so much, that I halted my run early. But let’s be real—I wasn’t really complaining about that. Maybe it’s because we’re just polar opposites—me, the blogging, open-book blabber mouth, and them, the sneaky, scratchy scavengers. Regardless, while I’ll never be a cat person, I can appreciate cat stories from my friends who, by some stroke of silliness, are actually fond of felines. Case in point, check out the text that I received yesterday evening from my Greek goddess of a gal pal, EK. Some background context: EK recently got her cat back after it went missing for about three weeks.

“I took ‘Pixie’ to the vet. She had testes.”

Oops!

Taste Bud Titillation

Since bringing lunch to work is equally cool as collecting Pucci scarves, I thought I’d share two tasty treats to titillate your taste buds this fine Friday. And by treats, I mean the two cheap and easy salads that I subsist on weekly.

Exhibit A: Combine arugula, diced peaches, walnuts and goat cheese in a Tupperware container. Coat with balsamic vinegarette. Pray that said contents do not leak and ruin your Louis Vuitton Speedy. Enjoy at noon.

Exhibit B: Rinse two cans of black beans in a colander while microwaving a bag of frozen corn. In a large bowl, mix with avocado, green onion and 1/3 cup of balsamic vinegarette. Let sit overnight. Spoon into Tupperware container. Pray that said contents do not leak and ruin your Foley + Corinna City Tote. Enjoy at noon.

On tap for me this weekend is a trip to Trader Joes and a birthday bash tonight, a day of sunning and Stonehill friends tomorrow, and a venture to the Brooklyn Flea on Sunday! Rest? Overrated.

Light Reading

Happy Hump Day! To be honest, I’ve always hated that expression, but it works for the rhyme I’m about to cue up: if you need some light reading to jump the hump (see that?), mosey on over to my new favorite blog, Brooklyn Blonde. As you can tell by the pictures below, this flaxen fashionista is as unafraid of color as I am (case in point: my dress today is a straight up mosaic!). And, she’s a fellow Brooklynite. Enjoy!

There are just a few Clueless references throughout this post.

While I grew up in a house where TV viewing was permitted before all my homework was finished (just not during—Mamadukes and Daddy-o weren’t that rebellious!), we were by no means a “TV-centric” kind of family. As such, having a DVR was a new phenomenon for me when I moved in with AD back in January. Eight months later, I debate how I ever survived without such a luxury. I also debate how I’m able to craft somewhat-witty semblances of grammatically gorgeous prose. Someone who watches as many episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians as I do should probably be in a vegetative state by now.

Where was I going with this? Oh. Franklin and Bash! Do you guys watch? It’s the best thing to happen to cable TV since the Housewives of Bev Hillz, except instead of Giggy the Pom and his (her?) bedazzled and British owner, you have the delicious twosome that is Mark-Paul Gosselar and Breckin Meyer. A.K.A. Zach Morris and the stoner dude from Clueless who thanked the crew at McDonalds while making a celebratory speech about his debate class tardiness.

So, here are two things for Tuesday: (1) if you haven’t watched F&B, get on it, and (2) if you’re a NYC resident who doesn’t plan to attend McCarren Park’s outdoor showing of Clueless tomorrow night, you are even more of a loser than Elton. Or the thug who held Cher up at gunpoint in the Valley. Or that full-on Monet of a failing fashionista, Amber.

But if you are, you’re as top a choice as the furry white backpack that Cher paired with her yellow plaid ensemble in the movie’s opening montage. Naturally, I will see you there, no ifs, ands, or whatevers about it!

A Faux Glow

I promise I did more in July than add to my ever-growing collection of leopard print attire—but when the month in which I blogged a grand total of zero times brought me animalistic items in the form of a fabulous Calvin Klein dress, a slight splurge of a J.Crew pencil skirt, an impulse buy of a faux leather satchel, a bargain blouse from Century 21, a pair of powerhouse pumps, and a new piece de resistance for my closet in the form of leopard jeans (I’m not kidding), it’s hard for me to even grasp the fact that I spent most of July most definitely not shopping—and I have the “tan” to prove.

While my faux glow is more Jergens than genuine, I made sure to milk my weekends with jaunts between Cape Cod and Long Island, where I soaked up equal amounts of Vitamins D and C—though the latter usually involved limes, ice, and, when feeling motivated, a blender. You know how I roll! ;-)

This past weekend in particular was one of Stonehill reunions, with JT and KA’s visit to NYC. In typical fashion, JT had hyped up a surprise for her two favorite K’s, and oh what a surprise it was! Only JT would trek through the concrete jungle with a box of 350 photographs, chronicling college moments that we could respond to with nothing but laughter in between burrito bites at Blockheads.

August arrived quickly this summer. While I welcome the fall for its flavors and fashions, I’m sad to see summer go, and can promise that for the next month, I’ll be making like Sheryl Crow and soaking up as much sun as possible. I hope you'll all do the same!

Until next time,
KR

I'm Not Blogging Just Because I Want You to Hear about my Pucci Skirt.

Remember me? You know, I'm that Legally Blonde-obsessed, leopard print-wearing Reva flat aficionado who let her dear blog slip through the cracks for the past few months. But the past few months were far from boring--there were Pucci purchases, Cape Cod vacations, Tennessee trips and new career paths paved. Here's a top five-style summary of the past few months in my vida loca:

-In what was the most surreal shopping experience of my 23 years, I exited the East Village's Tokyo 7 mid-May with not only a pair of black peep toe Christian Louboutins, but a flowing swirl of an Emilio Pucci silk skirt. It was like the thrift store gods delivering my dream garments to me as a thanks for keeping the bargain shopping business... well, in business. It was materialistically magical.

-While keeping it cool on Cape Cod for Memorial Day weekend, I was privilege to attend a party in which the beverage of choice was Nicholas Feuillate champagne, served straight from a bottle so enormous, that two people needed to pour its precious posion into our flutes. All champagne, I've resigned, should be served as such.

-Throwing back to the days when JT subjected me to the eternal playing of country music, AC, ML and the infamous JW hightailed with me to Nashville, where we donned cowboy boots at the Country Music Fest in the city of southern superstars. Trip highlights included a surprise appearance from Shania Twain, finding the one bar in all the city to serve cider and stuffing my face with the Loveless Cafe's meat sampler--country ham, fried chicken and meal loaf marvelousness, I tell ya!

-True Blood came back. 'nuf said.

-And finally, I began a new job at Thomson Reuters! I left my job at ELLE with a happy heart (and a great crew of new friends!), bound for an exciting new role on the Recruiting Operations team, where I'm working now, learning and loving it every day!

Happy long weekend to you all...
KR

Table Flipping at Dinner. Bird Flipping at Christenings.

Here are five things on my mind this Monday night, inspired by watching the "Real Housewives of New Jersey" in real time for the first time since moving into a DVR-equipped apartment. Let's discuss book club-style.

1. Theresa's daughters dressed as Katy Perry, Lady GaGa, Ke$ha and Sue Sylvester for Halloween. Which of these is unlike the other? What does this say about Theresa's [lack of] parenting ability?

2. As she stated on Watch What Happens LIVE!, Theresa is changing the pronunciation of her last name from Jew-dice to Jew-dee-chay. Do we think this will have a positive effect on the sale of her books, Skinny Italian and Fabulicious? Do we think it's a bit ironic that her cookbook title employs the thin synonym that recently turned ex-housewife (but eternal Bravolebrity) Bethenny Frankel into a a millionaire 130 times over? Who would win in a cute-off: Bryn on Gia?

3. Evidenced by a strut into Jacqueline Laurita's Franklin Lakes castle, Theresa owns knee high Christian Louboutin boots. Do we think she bought these prior to filing for bankruptcy, or after? Does the fact that she owns these boots make you desire a pair a little bit less?

4. Kim G. demonstrated her 54-year-old sassiness at the Poshe Fashion Show at the Brownstone. In a strictly verbal war, on which "G" last name would you put money: Granatell or Jew-dee-chay?

5. Theresa let an s-bomb drop on Andy's live after show. Did you catch that? Did you love it?

Check me out!

Head on over to welovestonehill.com where yours truly--and this here blog!--is featured in this week's testimonial!

Here's to May, mini skirts, margaritas and Memorial Day--
KR

Just A Nomal Lunch...

There's nothing like a normal lunch in Times Square... with Mark Salling (and Chord Overstreet and Cory Monteith in the background!). Our inner Gleeks were in full swing yesterday afternoon as RA and I watched the cast film their journey to Nationals near the TKTS booth. Check out that MOHAWK!

Rosa, azul, amarillo y verde.

While I may not have made it to Mexico this Spring, at least I can bring some south-of-the-border-inspired fun into my wardrobe with this lunch time find from the Anthropologie sale room. Best of all, I work from a building connected to the Rockefeller Center Concourse, so I didn't even need to brave yesterday's rain to bust out my wallet! JT's response to my dressing room picture text: "I gasped. I can't even handle that." Some things never change! I, however, am loving the idea of pairing the top with some jorts and gold Navajo Jack Rogers to complete the look. Cancun (a.k.a. Cape Cod) here I come!

"I got it from my mama."

The second the temperatures drop to a balmy 60, I strive to stay outside as much as I can. So, naturally, the greater portion of my weekend was spend out of doors doing what we Brooklynites do best: bounce between neighborhoods. With ML in tow, I returned to DUMBO, and enjoyed a stroll over the bridge. Accompanying my prim and proper pal on her maiden voyage across the New York landmark, it was only natural that we walked flat into a girl about our age, who was enjoying the sun on her morning run, while singing along with her iPod at the top of her lungs. It's NYC, so NBD. We sing in public, too. But the lyric that graced our eardrums: a deafening proclamation that "[she] got it from [her] mama.". A-mazing.

And we really do sing in public. Case in point: since a stroll over the bridge always deserves a rewarding trip to Century 21, ML and I chimed in with back-up vocals to Britney Spears while getting hypnotized by, quite possibly, the softest sweatshirt that has graced the planet. And now our bods. Thank you, James Perse, and oh dios discounts!

A Victory for the Blondes

This is not a post about essay writing or feminism (while I truly enjoyed the former in college, I know nothing about the latter), but it is a post that will touch upon the topic of a paper I wrote as an English major with an insatiable appetite for alliteration (that I assume you know by now?). While studying Critical Theory at my dear Stonehill, I took a class with a polished and pop culture-savvy professor who let me write about Legally Blonde. And Clueless. And Barbie Dolls. And Paris Hilton. The common link of the aforementioned? Sun-kissed strands. So, in my brunette glory, I wrote a twelve-page, semiotic analysis on the cultural significance of blondness in the media. But instead of bashing Hollywood and Mattel’s famous and flaxen sisters (I think that alliterative line just might be straight from said paper) for their stereotypical ditziness, I applauded them. Look at my idol, Elle Woods! It’s her blondness that took her to the top! While I have no plans to take the plunge and "go blonde," I have mad, mad love for my lighter-haired sisters, especially the one actually related to me. Damn, does she have perfect hair! How cute were we?! Love you long time, AR!I’m not exactly sure what my exact point was with that trip down academic lane, but I think it had something to do with my most recent nighttime read: a collection of critical essays on Sex and the City. Alas, the English nerd never sleeps—which is semi-true, because this book is so friggin' great, I've been sacrificing sleep to read "just one more page!"

Love and let's go Rangers,
KR

Belated...

A little late... but here's a fabulous shot from my birthday pre-game! Note that this was taken after I changed out of The Leopard Dress.

Oh yes. That dress. The dress I wore while parading around as a pouf-sporting Snooki on Halloween. I couldn't decide what to wear, so I curled my 'do while rocking the ferocious frock, and changed out of the animalistic attire before my gorgeous guests arrived. Clockwise from the blonde: JT, KR (me!), AC, [the other] KR, ML, AD (the roommate!) and MS. What cuties!

Let's just say I enjoyed my birthday a bit more than Ms. Frankel did during Monday's Bethenny Ever After. Sister's unstable, I tell ya!

Lusting for Clusters (& Kings County)

For some lovely ladies, the idea of "setting up home" brings enough joy to last a lifetime. I experience such a feeling while gazing lovingly at my multi-tiered shoe rack--a transient joy, however, as I'm quickly reminded that my double-digit Reva collection could have been a solid start to a studio apartment down payment. But I digress. As you can see, setting up home doesn't put fire in my belly. However, after three bare-walled months in my Brooklyn bachelorette pad, it was time to trek to Target (pronunced tar-jjay, obvi) and pop some personality onto the plaster.

Always a fan of clustering, I framed a collection of colorful shots from my travels abroad above my bed, a trio of floral photographs beside my doorway, a hodge-podge of friends and scenery atop my dresser, and a trio in tribute to NYC above my bookshelf. While there's no real rhyme or reason to my hanging art, the room looks tres, tres chic! Once my new bed frame comes in, my boudoir will be complete. Maybe that will teach me to make my bed every morning...In terms of weekend updates, my vida lacked loca, which is probably a good thing. I did, however, enjoy Sunday's balmy temps with a walk through DUMBO, the neighborhood home to my first--and might I say quite cultural--internship back in 2007. Now, it's home to Sartorialist-magnet Olivia Palermo, a plethora of snapping photogs, several small boutiques and the coolest looking Mexican restaurant I've ever seen on this side of the Mississippi (I've been to Arizona, and the Guadalajara Grill's authenticity, coupled with its literal proximity to the border, wins out on this one).
These photos, snapped essentially from my backyard, are just a few reasons why I celebrate my 718 snobbiness: honestly, with this view as an option, it boggles my mind to know there are yuppies out there who consider a Murray Hill address the be-all and end-all of their twenty-something existence.

Brooklyn 4eva,
KR

This is Not an April Fools.

With the advent of April, I hope that I can beat the "blogger's block" that plagued me for the month of March. So let's start with a confession on this April Fool's Day: I, KR, lover of all things pop culture, am yet to listen to child star (and probably soon-to-be has-been) Rebecca Black's "Friday." This is not a prank: I have truly never witnessed the YouTube sensation that Lady GaGa considers a genius, but Miley a lazy, lazy girl. Perhaps I'm missing out? Either way, I just thought I'd put it out there. (TGIF, regardless!)

You see, I've been far busier listening to the musical stylings of an era during which Rebecca Black's parents probably weren't present. That's right: for the month of March, I was "dancing to the music" of Rod Stewart and acting like I was "on the edge of 17" a la Stevie Nicks. Last Saturday, aside my gay-in-command CM (happy birthday, boo!), I joined the throng of music lovers just a tad older than Mr. Fabulous and me for the "Heart & Soul" tour's Madison Square Garden performance. And it. Was. Amazing! We rocked out like we grew up with Rod and cheered as if we saw Stevie through her dark past. Many thanks to my hip cousin MR for the ticket. I wore black leather and lace like the edgy fashionista that I am. Rawrrr!

But enough about YouTube celebs and pink-suit wearing pop stars. If we're going to talk about music, let's discuss Katy Perry's E.T. music video, which dropped yesterday. In all honesty, I probably hopped off the blogging bandwagon for a bit because I was too busy listening to this megahit on repeat for the past month. Do you LOVE it?!?!

On tap for me this weekend: some BYOB sushi tonight (amen to Fridays in Lent!) and some 10k training tomorrow (I'm really doing it this time!). Enjoy it, everyone--and to close out this music-themed post, please refer to Elton John's sassy song for a summary of what's to come! I'm baaaack!

March.

March means many, many fabulous things are upon us, so I'm going to jump right in!

-As ML once put it, "It's almost Burberry quilted jacket weather!" Though it's technically a tad chilly for rocking them as of yet, both my trench and black quilted coat (my two best impulse buys of all time!) have already gotten a workout--and it's only March 3rd!

-Um... BRIGHT COLORS! Hello! I don't even care that I'm over doing it in a ruffly lime green chiffon top and pink pumps today. My black commuting flats and quilted coat help me "blend in" to neutral New York while braving the concrete jungle, while the bright hues keep me awake and sane throughout my ELLE-ish (ha, what a witty a pun!) 9-5.

-Easter egg nail enamel becomes acceptable! The pastel purple shade on my baby-sized nails is eons better than a subdued greige.

-Fat Tuesday! Though I treat every one of my Tuesdays as "fat" (well, and my Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, too, for that matter), I enjoy any excuse to eat mozzarella sticks without judgment. But not that I ever really care, actually. I love mozz sticks!

-Lastly, and most importantly, March is the month home to the most important day of the year: MY BIRTHDAY! Enough said.

Keeping My Digits Flexible

As a professional of the mobile industry, I'm supposed to retreat from the ramifications of using RIM technology. For those of you who are technologically unsavvy, RIM manufactures our fair-weather friend, otherwise known as the Blackberry. Just like that mean girl at your lunch table in middle school (though for a total dweeb such as myself, there were quite a few mean girls--I think one of them actually works at the mall now, oh such is that fabulous thing called karma!), the Blackberry is supernice sometimes, but downright awful just as often.

Case in point: BBM is God's gift to stalking your friends (how else can you call them out for not responding to your messages when you're alerted that they've already read them?), but taking your Berry's battery out to restart the damn device 700 times a day is soooo not the new black.

Android and iPhone users speak volumes about the merits of each device (omigod did you get the new Twitter app?! it's totez fab!), and since following the Engadget, Gizmodo and MobileCrunch is basically a part of my job, I could tell you a million reasons why we should all bid buh-bye to BBM and saddle up with the technology of the future. But, alas, no matter what the tech bloggers tell me, and no matter how many times I'm going to have to smack my pink-encased device against my desk in resuscitation attempts this afternoon, I still can't bid with my beloved keyboard.

...the keyboard upon which I write just about every blog post while commuting to work in the morning. How's that for a Tuesday morning Prose of Krose fun fact?! I'm a hop, skip and finger brace from having perpetual carpel tunnel!

Such a Twitterlebrity!

Proof of my Twitta fame (ha) amongst the Real Housewives of NYC. Ch-ching for KR. Seriously, it takes, like, nothing to make me insanely happy. (Side note: @cirbanchez is an old college pal of mine who could totes be a housewife twenty years from now, so I consider that Tweet a win, as well!]

Nuts for Nutella. And Chevre!

It's not too often that I feel a very literal need to take a half-day from work to try out a new recipe (lie #1), but this find, courtesy of my co-worker, MS, has me doing the Friday Foot Tap far more anxiously than I normally tap. I'm not sure if I'm yet to mention my love of Nutella (lie #2), but in my book, when it comes to culinary perfection, the chocolately, hazelnut spread sent straight from the Heavens is the name of the game. This recipe combines the only other semi-solid food that can, to me, hold some semblance of a torch to my addiction: goat cheese. I am totally making this buttery, cheesy and chocolatey concoction tonight (lie #3--but tomorrow, perhaps)!

Hot and Dangerous.

Let's set the scene: Thursday. 6PM. Long line. Line so long you contemplate skipping the super hyped roller coaster.

Wait. Wrong scene. Let's rewind: Line so long you contemplate skipping the fashion show. But wait. Enter trusty ELLE ID. Cut line. Enter throng of stiletto-wearing, leather-sporting fashionistas. Casually stroll through sponsor booths. Notice that no noshies are available (just Trident and Monster--figures.). Get escorted to seat in sixth row (It's not the last row now, but it's not the first, either.). Spot Simon van Kempen, Alex McCord, Mario Something and Ramona Singer of the Real Housewives of NYC in the Front Row. Make mental note to capitalize "Front Row" in requisite first fashion show blog post. Tweet the Bravolebrities. Anxiously watch Blackberry during pre-show performance by no-name guitar player. Receive Tweet from Simon asking your opinion on Ryan Star's performance. Realize singer wasn't actually a no name wannabe, but in fact the dude opening for Bon Jovi on their Spring 2011 tour. Tweet back that he was FAB.

Notice that models start to come out. Feign a tiny tad of sympathy for the Snooki-pouf sporting models who have definitely never experienced Nutella, veal, or mashed potatoes, among some of God's other gifts to gluttony. Make mental note to call Ke$ha: this line is SO her (But how could a line called White Trash Beautiful not be?!). Spy Ramona of both Bravo and the Front Row snapping furiously with her digicam. Make mental wish that [the other] KR and JB were there to make jokes with. Watch the crowd more than the actual strutting.

Gasp to self, perhaps even audibly, "OMGZ is that Richie Sambora?!" Notice that show is over as the 80s guitarist, designer of the WTB show you just witnessed, struts out behind his entourage of tall Snookis (points for greatest oxymoron ever?). Realize that Richie is actually pretty hot. Wonder why Denise Richards left him for that gem of a gent, Charlie Sheen. Beeline from seat to try and come within a few inches of the RHONYC and their husbands. Fail.

Get on subway (ugh) with Snooki Lookalike #13. Contemplate saying, "Nice job!" but decide she's probably too hungry, and therefore cranky, to deal with a superficial compliment, just like you are after going eight hours without a scoop of Nutella. Return to the squalor of Brooklyn. Notice you've been Tweeted back now by both Ramona and Alex McCord! Tap yourself on back for a successful cyber hobnob with the Bravolebrities. Microwave some ultra delish and ultra fatty Trader Joe's Lasagna. Say your prayers, making sure to thank God that you're not a starving model, and hit the pillow by 10 PM.

Success? I think so!

It's okay that I can't really stand in my shoes.

Well Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukkah to the clotheshorses of New York City. Fashion Week, the biannual event for which runway models starve themselves, publicists exhaust themselves and magazine publishers prepare themselves to tell all of us what we should be wearing six months from now, has been upon us, which means the hallowed halls of ELLE were a bit empty the past week. With every editor off gallivanting the tents of Lincoln Center (enter KR's jealousy), we commonfolk are the ones left holding down the fort of our fair glossy.

But not today! I, KR, have scored my first job perk with an exclusive invite to Fashion Week (enter your jealousy, perhaps?)! Accompanying one of our vendors, I'll be privilege to the gowns and glitz of Style 360, a conglomerate of shows with which ELLE is affiliated.

So, in preparation for my first fashion show (safe for the birthday fashion show I had when I turned 6, in which I paraded down a makeshift runway in my basement, while decked in a neon striped top and chunky-heeled mary janes), I did what I learned from years of watching Bravo, MTV, VH1 and any other cable network that preaches trends and praises the insanely (insanely!) hard and utterly (utterly!) backbreaking work that goes into pulling off fashion shows without a hitch: I went shopping.

But, alas! My pint-sized, rent-paying, Trader Joes-eating budget is no where near down with wearing the designer's look head-to-toe when attending "a show." Instead, I went shopping from my closet, made a teensy purchase from Forever 21, and am currently rocking a wild look that took nothing from my February "discretionary spending" but ten measly dollars.

So, for those of you wondering about this wild look, it involves mustard colored tights, a leather jacket, and shoes that I can't technically stand in comfortably. But it's sure worth it! RAWR.

A real life...

Google Analytics is tres addicting, despite the fact that this here blog's daily page views are less than a century old. Oh well. You see, it's cool to know that there's a rando in Turkey (HEY!) who frequents my prosetic (witty play on "poetic," right?) ramblings quite often, that I have hits from just about every United State, and that I'm the most optimized Google result for the search phrase "real life Elle Woods."

Yes, you read that right. My loyal handful of readers, I am the numbaaaa oneeee result in Google when one begins a cyber hunt for the human embodiment of Reese Witherspoon's Delta Nu prez--which is actually somewhat often! I should add, however, that I'm as brunette as they come, so do you wanna know what this means?

This means I just totally outsmarted Google. Which means I am totez going to take over the world some day. Which means I'm thisclose to becoming the female Mark Zuckerberg. Which means that this time next year, it'll be ME, brown hair and all, on the cover of TIME's "Most Influential People" issue.

I plan to wear this skirt and put my hand on my hip for the photo shoot.

to the windows, to the wall.

Call me crazy, but I actually enjoy Valentine's Day, despite being one of the lone (but not lonely!) New Yorkers who won't be sipping from the same milkshake, dining on a prix fixe Lover's Menu, or enjoying a carriage ride through Central Park with a hot date post-work tonight. No, I'm happy because Valentine's Day marks the one time each year that I can don an ensemble that screams "pink overload" without attracting "what ARE you wearing?" stares from the rest of New York's charcoal-clad population. Because if there's one True Love for me out there, it's definitely pink. So, on this Valentine's Day, a day dedicated to that mysterious thing known as L to the OVE, here is something I absolutely L to the OVED this weekend:

In honor of ML's 24th birthday on Saturday, we took a break from the hip-hop blasting speakers we usually frequent on the LES and trekked to Murray Hill for a blast from the past. While NYC's frattiest row does not make my Love List, the music played at Joshua Tree does. From the Material Girl's anthem about only dating men who can raise her interest (maybe this is why I'm going to the gym tonight...) to Bonnie Tyler's tale of total eclipses, and from Jefferson Starship's song of not letting anything stop you to the iconic Journey ballad of a small town girl living in a lonely world, throwback jams never fail to set the soundtrack to a superb evening. And, oh what a superb evening it was.

However, nothing against Cher, but turning back time in the musical sense can't replace the soft spot in my heart for Sweet Beatz like Lil John's "Get Low", Luda's "How Low," and Flo Ridas plain old "Low."

Hobnobbing with Harvard

In keeping with my senior year mission to attend just about every Stonehill event, both University-recognized (i.e. casino nights and gymnasium dances--and yes, they were really in the gymnasium) and Underground-chic (i.e. Senior Week pool parties and Civil War battles), I attended the on-campus performance of Boston's Improv Asylum last April (ish). This turned me on to the spontaneous hilarity of improvisation comedy, which made my past Friday night one of the better ones I've had in New York in a while.

After dominating quite the competitive game of Cranium at RA's FiDi studio wit ML, RJ, KM, LF and a bottle or two (ha) of California's gift to non-rich winos (otherwise known as Two Buck Chuck), we cabbed our way to the People's Improv Theatre to see the Harvard Sailing Team. Known best for their a-mazing "Boys Will Be Girls" and "Girls Will Be Boys" sketches, the troupe had us in stitches the entire night. And by entire, I mean we spent the hours after the show mingling with the cast, drinking wine by the glass and thinking of how many Trader Joe's bottles we could have bought for the cost of a mere sip.

For those of you who are interested (and by who are, I mean should be), they perform every Friday at 9:30. Harvard Sailing Team, I'll be back!

Quote of the Week

After RJ broke his totally trendy shoe while instructing us how to Douglas at last Saturday night's Upper East Side pre-game (let's just say he was really getting into it and got seriously sad on Sunday after hearing he left the watering hole just seconds before the Cali Swag District's dance phenomenon blasted through the speakers of B Bar), he spoke this absolute gem of a statement: "Okay, so this might be one of the gayer things I've ever actually said, but you look very Anne Hathaway in Devil Wears Prada right now." He claimed it was my blazer-and-bangs combo...and he was probably right. It was a pretty good outfit.

Need I list another reason why fabulous girls need fabulous gays?

I'm Back.

Just because my January blog posts were as present as females over size 2 are in my current place of employment (read: I’m definitely the sole employee who has ever experienced the life-changing qualities of Nutella, non-Diet Coke and the general art of snacking), that sure doesn’t mean I have nothing to say. As per usual, I in fact have lots and lots to say about some important things going on in the world:

I disagree with most that Anne Hathaway was the best dressed at the Golden Globes (Catherine Zeta Jones absolutely rocked the house in her perfect gemstone green Monique Lhuillier gown); I support the United States getting disgraced when Snooki, The Situation and the rest of the tan team invade Italy to film Jersey Shore season 4, as it will make for insanely amazing reality TV with which I can overload my DVR (I’m a DVR newbie and—HOLY COW—how did I go 23 years without one?!); I’m incredibly amused by advertisers pulling their campaigns from airing during MTV’s “Skins” (safe for the Real Housewives of DC (zzzzzzz), the pilot was quite possibly the worst TV I've ever watched); and I have finally admitted to myself that my friends (besties who are perfect and amazing and seriously so fun!) and I literally have far too much in common with this list.

Any debate on the above? Let’s dialogue.

Hopefully February will be more “my month” in the blogosphere. Until then, I’m closing out January with board games and an improv comedy show tonight, some Dougie-ing Saturday and some sleeping Sunday. And let’s not forget Le Cirque on Monday! Oh food. Oh how I love thee. God bless us everyone, and God bless Restaurant Week.

Reading, 'riting & 'rithmetic in 2011

Thanks to 99.9% of New Yorkers resolving to “hit the gym more” in 2011, my evenings at Chicquinox have become a little less relaxing in a gym packed to the absolute brim with ladies and gents decked in designer spandex—yes, ladies and gents. Nonetheless, while my goals for the new year do not involve making it onto a treadmill or spin bike thrice weekly (I’m happy to say that I’m already doing that!), they aren’t nonexistent, either. Here’s what I’ve got:

Reading: When I started working in my town library at the ripe age of 14, I wrote my ticket to nerdville. For a total bibliophile, it was a pretty decent gig, and it funded my teenage social habits, such as going out for slices of pizza and seeing a PG-rated movies (Like I said, I was kind of a nerd.). Anyhow, while my love of books never waned—as a proud English major, I have quite the obsession with anything Charles Dickens or F. Scott Fitzgerald composed—my time dedicated to reading, and solely reading, certainly has. As such, I hope to dedicate a little bit of time each day to reading books for pleasure. And by books, I mean both brain cell-killing chick lit (Snooki’s most recent “novel,” anyone?) and a smattering of classics.

‘riting: Thanks to a team effort by the skinniest foodie I know and my roommate, I can now consider myself a freelance writer! I’m committing myself to write three 500-1000 word stories each week, and as a celebration for shedding my nerdiness and becoming a pretty happening gal about town (ha), plan to put the pennies made into the piggy bank whose sole purpose is to fund my stacked social calendar! You can check out my stories here (just please refrain from judging me on my first topic)!

‘rithmetic: Though I have a very solid business education, I still need to learn what the heck is going on the financial markets. Well, maybe not learn (I’m not dumb!) as much as I should gain a greater understanding...

Here’s hoping!

As always, have a happy Friday, and make sure to stay fabulous.

Top Five: Why Fabulous Girls Need Fabulous Gays

Inspired by the Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys website, but not totally sold on the reasons listed, here are my own top five reasons why every straight and fabulous girl needs a gay and fabulous guy. Or, in my case, quite a few gay and fabulous guys. Here goes:

1. They make insane gym buddies. Prior to becoming one of the Lululemon-clad gym bunnies at Chicquinox, I attended a zone known more for it's bargain than its bombshell clientele. However, what the purple and yellow equipment-filled gym lacked in brand name, it more than made up for in my workout buddy, RJ. During the summer of 2009, we would sweat our brains out, treadmilling and toning in tandem.

2. They know how to use a camera. Back in September, after bidding BT bon voyage on what I hope is just a temporary stint in Beantown, CM and I passed the time during a gorgeous day in the Meatpacking District by taking pictures in quite fierce poses in front of some interesting guerilla art. No one else would have really "gotten" the glam of the graffitied wall. But CM did!

3. They. Can. Dance! During my junior year of college, I visited ML at Notre Dame, and was privilege to have met her own army of fabulous gay guys. Her number one, NW, was truly divine, drinking his drink straw-style through a pitcher, in between showing me his best Usher-esque moves and getting lower than low.

4. They know how to host a smashing soirée. When RJ started dating RW, it was music to my BWLB-loving ears. The adorable Ginger from Long Island not only brings a perpetual smile to my dear friend's face, but he's also become as much a member of our circle of friends as RJ himself. And, to top things off, he is the best party host I have come across in a long time. I'm telling you: his mulled cider is the winter beverage equivalent of Manolo Blahnik's Urban Shoe Myth.

5. And finally, but not most importantly, because I hold all these reasons for having a posse of fabulous gay pals on call equally necessary and important, they can serve as insta-boyfriends in an absolute pinch! Also, in most cases, they will also dress better than every other gentleman at whatever "plus one" event you attend as a pair, hence making you the most A-plus bombshell in the room. Voila!

So, to all my fabulous gays out there, this one's for you. Thanks for keeping me company at the gym. Thanks for taking pictures of me on my good side. Thanks for the non-stop booty-shaking on the dance floor. Thanks for understanding that Natty Light does not a party beverage make. And, of course, thanks for being my date when I need one. XOXO.