Have Mercyyyyyy

What would Uncle Jesse do on a rainy New York Thursday? Why, he would stand in the rain and snap pictures of his alter ego, John Stamos, of course! After a summer of celebrity sightings ranging from Chet of the Real World Brooklyn to my girl Jill Zarin, spotting John Stamos in Bryant Park this afternoon was the icing on the cake. Granted, it wasn’t a coincidental run in; rather, he was promoting his role as Albert in the upcoming “Bye, Bye Birdie” as a part of Broadway in Bryant Park. (Make sure to check out the broadway.com interview. There’s a good chance my frizzy hair may pop into a few shots.) While squeezing into the press area, cramming myself in amongst other 20- and 30-something digicam-snapping women, I couldn’t help but feel like a legitimate groupie. (An impromptu chorus of “We love you Conrad, oh yes we do…” would have been the perfect audition for “Teenage Girl #3” in the musical itself!) I am certainly no John Stamos groupie. However, the man was ATTRACTIVE, despite being the size of my pinky! His famous hair is also THAT GOOD in person. (He had a personal entourage of umbrella holders. God forbid he frizzes!)

As I stood less than an arm’s length away from the man made famous for Elvis impersonations and Uncle-ly advice to the Olsen Twins, I couldn’t help but think back on how “Full House” really defined my childhood TV experiences -- from Michelle’s “Flintstone’s” themed birthday party that got spoiled by the birth of her twin cousins, to Stephanie’s first make-out soiree, to DJ’s rejection from Stamford, and of course, to Uncle Jesse’s famous cries of “Have Mercy!” Years later, with reruns that are yet to stop, “Full House” never fails to amuse me – though for new reasons now. Witnessing actresses in the prime of their innocence – before bouts with anorexia, methamphetamine addictions, and radical evangelist commentary on Christian websites – while knowing where they end up makes sitting back with San Francisco’s famous family all the more enjoyable. I kind of hope ABC Family will marathon all 193 episodes sometime soon… That was some quality TV!

A Blog about Blogging

Swine is to Mexico as blogging is to my friends: contagious. Yesterday evening, while chowing down on Long Island’s best Sicilian pizza known to hungry man, amidst discussions of frozen cocktails, ruffly dresses (to buy or not to buy?), and boots that would make John Smith swoon, the island crew and I constantly retreated to the topic of blogging. Blog reading extraordinaire ML is set to go once she finds a title that speaks to her. RJ’s musings on life as a teacher in NYC’s public school system (Read: “Today, I dodged three bullets while making the three-block sprint from school to the L train. Oh, Bushwick! You never fail to keep me on my toes.”) are a work in progress. Fashionista AC will keep us all fierce, ferosh, and fabulous with the fashion blog she should have been keeping long before she debuted this necklace that is way too wonderful for words.

After mulling over Monday’s post on the importance of keeping in touch, I couldn’t help but throw some props at myself for my way of maintaining contact. Despite addictions to Gmail, BBM, texting, phone calls, and Facebook, blogging has become the perfect way for me to add my own flair to communication in our current world that’s flooded by impersonal social networking. On a more academic note, blogging helps to maintain the steady flow of creative expression that is so crucial for English majors such as myself. Banging out a 12-pager come Fall doesn’t sound so daunting after my summer of – albeit fluffy, mindless, and sometimes unintelligent – prose. Professionally speaking, the CEO of Thomson Reuters keeps a blog (at his own domain, of course), so I like to think I have something in common with a man whose yearly income could buy me all the Brooklyn brownstones in the borough. His posts, though infrequent, allow amazing insight into the mind of truly powerful man, while showcasing his other roles of husband, father, and friend. It makes the man with the corner office seem like a “real person,” which is hard to grasp sometimes in Corporate America.

I highly recommend starting a blog. Aside from gaining personal satisfaction at your cyber accomplishment, you’ll improve your writing, strengthen your relationships, and enjoy the cathartic experience of “bearing all.”

The First Thanksgiving

From library stacks to rock concerts by way of Broadway we go to my next topic of conversation on this exceedingly verbal day: embracing your inner Native American. (Say whattttt!?) Though most of my readers know me in the flesh (ha, all 9 of you… technically!), those who are mere passersby in the world of web surfing have probably come to know that my daily ensembles combine traces of J.Crew, Lilly, Vineyard Vines, Polo, and whatever else I can scrounge up at Marshalls to create a look that’s not necessarily original, but one that is certainly my own (Read: I wear more fluorescent pink in winter than Elle Woods and I am completely fine with that!). Maybe it was my summer in the city, or maybe it’s just the heat (made ever worse by Times Square’s breeze-crippling buildings), but I am SO drawn to the following two Minnetonka items: I can already hear my dear roomie, JT, making fun of me for donning this pair of calf booties. There’s just something about these fringy ladies that makes me want to embrace my inner Pocahontas, sing about the colors of the wind, and rescue a John Smith of my own. While these mocs don’t make me want to stand on the edge of a Virginia cliff wondering how high a Sycamore can grow or what’s around the river bend, they do make me ponder the extra oomph they’d give a pair of skinny jeans!

I’m really going to miss these scrumptious paychecks come September. My spending habits need some serious reevaluation...

EDIT: Get ready, Squanto. In 3-9 days, I'll have my fringy footwear, fit for no one but an Indian princess!

We had nothin' but a good time...

Though I now refer to it as the dungeon, back in high school, the local library was home to several three-hour-long chunks of my week. As a seasoned “page,” which is just fancy library speak for “librarian’s assistant,” I answered phones, shelved books, organized materials, and, generally fought for my sanity between the stacks of silence. If not for my amazing coworkers, KW and KR, I would have jumped off the 2nd floor balcony into a pile of oversized non-fiction. No joke. Libraries, as public domains, are serious free-for-alls; the crazies call it home. In the way too many years I was employed there, I witnessed a man with cotton in his ears bathe in the bathroom; a woman scream about the Nazis capturing her children, whose pictures were silkscreened on her oversized beach cover-up, by the way; a man taller than that Asian dude in the NBA scare little children; and a grown Hispanic parade around in a bright pink bicycle helmet. And that’s just a sprinkling of stories!

Anyhow, the point of this library-heavy post is to introduce the evening I had yesterday. Despite our high school and summer jobs in the dungeon known for mousy types and boring people, we definitely know how to have nothing but a good time. And that is exactly what KW, KR, and I did last night while literally rocking out at the Brooks Atkinson Theatre to “Rock of Ages,” the Broadway musical set to 80s glam rock. I jumped out of my chair when Poison’s power party anthem opened the show, ex-American Idol finalist Constantine Maroulis’ sexy voice and killer charm booming throughout the theatre. I swayed my usher-provided lighter (a.k.a. laser pointer) to “Can You Take Me High Enough,” and danced in my chair to “Any Way You Want It.” I sang along with “We Built This City,” and fought from joining the chorus of scantily clad performers during “Wanted Dead or Alive.”

“Rock of Ages” wasn’t the type of show that would leave you speechless; it doesn’t scream Tony and it has very little substance (read: you don't have to think). However, with a few good friends in tow and ushers who deliver cans of Coors Light directly to your seats, it’s by far the most fun way to experience Broadway. If you wanna ROCK, do it up. Tease your hair. Wear spandex. Shed your morals. YEAH!

Staying in touch!

In my experiences, I’ve witnessed that, ever so sadly, a lot of people tend to lose touch with their high school friends as they move on to the bigger and the better. This occurrence, luckily for me, is pretty unimaginable, as I have only grown closer to my oldest pals as we’ve grown up. Despite moving on in our lives to careers, to medical schools, to Europe, to unemployment, to boyfriends, to graduate school, to the GREs, and to Upper West Side duplexes, we’ve managed to stay in touch through it all (God bless the Blackberry!). Losing touch with people is unavoidable; sometimes, your imminent life paths just aren’t destined to converge. However, staying in touch takes a well worth it effort. Like any relationship, maintaining contact is a two-way street. So, in an effort to urge you all to stay in touch with everyone you can, I’ve going to showcase a few of my friends who are total champs at maintaining their social networks, despite moving on and moving out:

The curly haired blondie who can make me laugh like no other, the glittering [other] KR (big sis to my favorite papillon, Ladybug) lived in Germany for a whopping 11 months. 11 months! I could barely handle three while drinking tea and eating scones for a living last Fall. She traveled the globe, she drank lost of Belgian and German beer, she took lots of pictures, and she made lots of new friends. However, despite the oversized pond separating KR from her home at home and her home at college, I still felt like she was right there with me, watching “The Soup” and cracking clever puns. Admittedly, KR kept in touch with the use of bumper stickers. Remember those? As with all fads, this Facebook variety was short-lived, but it was the perfect way for KR to send images of love across the ocean. When she arrived back in the US, far more cultured than any of us could ever hope to be, it was like she never left. I’m not arguing bringing back the Bumper Sticker. Like Pogs, Beanie Babies, Yo-Yos, Pokemon, Milky Pens, and Tamigatchis, the Bumper Sticker has sailed its course. Someecards, however, has not. To me, someecards will never get old. They just have a way of speaking to me in a way unlike any other mode of communication. So, have an old friend with home you haven’t chatted in a while? Send him or her a sassy saying and thank me later for the rekindled bond.

Don’t let my favorite ginger’s red hair and freckles fool you – CO’s brain is better than Cam Jansen’s. (Remember those books? She was the kid detective with a photographic memory.) CO’s life, as she likes to remind us, is in constant shambles. Always straining to empty her gmail inbox of requests, plans, stories, and spam, CO manages to get it all done simply, due in a large part to the fact that the girl doesn’t sleep -- which will be especially useful when she starts medical school this fall in the Windy City. Need a ride from a remote train station at 4 in the morning? Call CO. Need to vent while munching down on a midnight snack? CO will answer. Want to stay out a few hours later than the rest of your entourage? CO will open a new tab and “Cheers!” to an extended evening. Now, as someone who absolutely cherishes her shut-eye, I could never condone a lifestyle that’s not sleep-resplendent. I must, however, highlight two staying-in-touch methods that are the product of the genius’s mind: firstly, mass e-mails. A literal gift from god, the mass e-mail system that’s been in effect since my group of friends hopped from our island at home to our colleges of choice has been the saving grace of many of my high school friendships. Sending an e-mail to a huge group and receiving responses replied to all is the Internet equivalent of sitting on a couch, eating Smartfood popcorn and extra chocolatey brownies, and listening to MTV hits. It brings us all back to our high school hang out -- the living room sectional couch of JT -- though without removing us from our desks, beds, floors, library nooks, or wherever we have managed to prop our MacBook Pros. The idea is almost more genius than CO herself. Almost. The girl is untouchable.

Secondly, CO is the proud organizer of a little thing we like to call Lakeside. This concept is a common one, but to me, it will never get old and will always feel unique. With each new memory made, Lakeside will always remain near and dear to my heart. There’s just something about escaping for a weekend with your entire group of friends that takes you to a totally different world – one in which all drinks come with umbrellas, in which all orange juice is spiked with champagne, in which all trampolines float, in which time stops. This upcoming Friday marks the umpteenth version of Lakeside, and I am absolutely stoked to lie on CO’s refurbished backyard dock without a care in the world. The idea of a weekend trip always reassures the fact that touch will be restored with new things to laugh about once the weekend passes. The pictures, of course, are always priceless. Below is a group shot taken during our last debaucherous trip to dear Athens, NY in 2007. (The summer '08 extravaganza was a bit of a fail -- schedules colided and exploded.) After our one-year hiatus, I'm excited for our tradition to reinstate. The umbrella drinks are a-calling...



KR is rocking the Mickey t-shirt, Ginger is the ginger all the way on the top right, and I, of course, am the one posing in a pink dress. =)

why use raisins?

Despite hailing from Long Island, home of mean girls more vile than Regina George, I like to consider myself a pretty sweet girl – though not as sweet as the batch of cookies I baked last night could have been! I am far from skilled in the kitchen. While I dabble in sautéing, since its more of a creative art than an exact procedure (I hate the idea of measuring and always opt for extra garlic), I never dare attempt the science known as baking. Until now. As a part of my internship, I had to create a movie outlining my experiences. Along with a team of an Indian, a Sri Lankan, an Italian, and me, the Irish, we created what was a pretty fantabulous film, made all the more better due to some minor assistance from the Reuters news team. Working their magic with their fancy FinalCut software, they took our collection of clips to the next level, making my team and I very pleased with the end product. So, I thought there was no better way to thank the duo than by whipping up a yummilicious batch of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. From scratch.

What was I thinking? I can barely handle slice and bake! (RIP Tollhouse? I do hope we can all bask in the glory of raw cookie dough again some day, sans salmonella.) Upon arriving home, the mother hen and I trekked out to load up on ingredients and bonded over Brooklyn real estate while we shopped for vanilla extract, light brown sugar, and other cookie staples. When I finally got home to begin the baking process, I was dangerously close to mistaking powdered sugar for flour, and was about to add the fine powder to my pasty mixture of butter and regular sugar before my baketress of a sister literally pulled my hand away from the bowl, just seconds before I would have make the cookies far too sweet for their own good. Thankfully, they came out in delicious chunks of oatmeal chocolate chip goodness, making me a true hit at the office today!

Have a splendid weekend, everyone! I'll be BBQing poolside with my shades on!

buh-bye...

How it happened, I do not know. They may have been victim to my marathon Wednesday evening in the Meatpacking district, or they may have been killed on my commute. As I sit here at my cube, watching the last 45 minutes of my corporate Thursday tick by, I am terribly heartbroken: my favorite pair of summer pumps, a gorgeous set of nude-colored Marc Jacobs Mary Janes, round toed to perfection, fell victim to a stiletto’s nightmare. Those dreaded subway grates are EVERYWHERE, and as a ferosh female who has finally perfected her high heel strut (ow ow!), I am so sad to see my patent leather ladies retire to my closet. I’ll never give them away. They’re far too cute. Anyone know of a good shoemaker? Maybe he can breathe some life back into these babies…

"My parents are immigrants."

No, not my parents. Mine are definitely of the Irish-American persuasion. However, if you’re in the market for another blog to add to your reel of daily procrastination and relaxed perusal, check out “Pieces,” a recent creation of the sassy SA, the Indo-Rican princess who wants you to “forgive [her] for…fragments and run-on sentences. [She doesn’t] know any better; [her] parents are immigrants.” (Excuse the brackets.) I’ve known SA for many moons, and let me tell you a-something: modeled around the idea that its author can provide “pieces” of her life, rather than the whole cake (since, like eating an entire cake, that would just make you sick), this online musing will sate your blog-reading appetite with hearty scoops of blunt commentary, iced with rants and sprinkled with stream of consciousness. Enjoy!

countdown to moving out?

I figured that an afternoon stroll through the Brooklyn neighborhoods I hope to call home mere months from now was the perfect way to christen my bodacious new rain boots, so Sunday afternoon, without a care in the world, I armed myself with an umbrella and took on the monsoon for a hike through Fort Greene, Boerum Hill, Downtown Brooklyn, Cobble Hill, and Brooklyn Heights. With no map in hand, I relied on my non-existent fear of talking to strangers for directions, and made may way to Fort Green Park, my first destination, in no time. Stopping in an indie artist’s outdoor art show that was unfortunately rained out (there was supposed to be live music!) before making my way in and out of the side streets, I snapped too many pictures of the beautiful brownstones that dot the neighborhood. I have a serious obsession with the charming and character-filled houses, and would potentially sacrifice a healthy lifestyle for a diet exclusively of Cup o’ Noodles if it meant I could boast a brownstone address.

Moving on from Fort Greene, I powerwalked through Boerum Hill and Downtown Brooklyn (eh…), bound for more brownstones. Taking a break to dine at Osaka, the Cobble Hill sushi eatery that is usually packed due to its gorgeous outdoor seating and to die for lunch special, I recharged, dried off, chowed down, and prepared for more mindless wandering through the bricks. Somehow, five hours had already passed when I found myself on the Columbia Waterfront, gazing off at the Statue of Liberty, totally envious of the property that borders it. What a life… Best of all, after I got over my jealousy, I booked it to Clark St., where a 12 minute subway ride wizzed me back to Penn Station as I prepared to re-enter reality. I can only handle so much mindlessness!

While my Brooklyn extravaganza took up an entire lazy Sunday, the rest of my weekend was also of the relaxing variety. In need of some detox, I spent my Friday night doing some friendly bonding without ever leaving CO’s life-altering recliner. No joke. Despite the packed room, I could feel my eyes start to close before 11 PM, and for the first time in what has to be years, I was in bed before midnight on a Friday. After relishing in my surplus of sleep, I spent my Saturday sun-soaking in H-Ton with BT before KR’s BBQ. We flipped some cups like the champs that we are before making it another early night. After this non-stop summer, I really needed some extra time to get my life back in order. With just three short weeks to go before I bid farewell to Thomson Reuters, it's hard to believe how much I need to squeeze into the next few days of summer: morning mimosas in Upstate New York, kayaking off the coast of B-Port, an evening performance of "Rock of Ages," thrice-weekly happy hours, hotel stays in the heart of the city...

Oy.

a little cape action

I never wanted the weekend to end! The Cape is too perfect for words.

AC and I prepped out before the L family BBQ. Corn on the Cob... Mmm!

This point-and-twist dance move encompasses everything about ML that weekend... ;-)

i definitely like restaurant week too much

Yesterday, in another marathon trendfest, I joined 14 of my closest pals for dinner at 5 Ninth, the meatpacking district brownstone-turned-eatery that serves rabbit. Yes. Rabbit. Thankfully, the poor bunny platter did not grace the restaurant week menu, which left room for a good chunk of obscure yet delicious dishes to select from. Choosing between an anchovy-draped romaine chunk, a bowl of corn chowder, and veal and duck pate for my appetizer, I dreamt of my Speedy, and, remembering that cellulite is one of the main ingredients in corn chowder, opted for the pate, despite the other KR’s description of it as something her darling pooches Milo and Ladybug chow down on. Fueled by a pre-dinner cocktail drunk at the fabulously relaxed Art Bar (thanks for the suggestion, NB, I’ll definitely be back!), I dared to order the pate. Our kooky waiter whose ‘70s-style hair was begging for a make-over looked thrilled at my courage. When it arrived on my plate, looking exactly like a fancy feast for Fido and friends, the table of onlookers could not help but stare as I spread the meat mush on a piece of toasted bread, ready to either indulge or regurgitate. I definitely did not do the latter, but rather scraped my plate of pate clean, just a little more gracefully than the aforementioned papillon and long-haired daschund.

As the courses continued, our meal only got better. From sweet pepper glazed salmon, to juicy steak, to pork and chickpeas, the restaurant week-sized portions (read: three bites that would leave even a ballerina starving) were simply scrumptious. We devoured our plates as we discussed dessert: a chocolate concoction that tasted even better than raw brownie mix. Topped with a dollop of whipped cream and whole chunks of delectably dark chocolate, the treat was the perfect ending to a perfect dinner.

But the madness did not stop there! As a group of fierce females (and one ever fiercer male!) obviously obsessed with those crazy NYC housewives, we couldn’t help but walk a bit down Little West 12th to the Brass Monkey, where the other KR, ML, RJ, and AC contemplated re-enacting the season two scene in which Kelly Bensimon and Bethenny Frankel duke it out like middle school mean girls in one of the Irish bar’s booths. No slaps occurred, however. We’re a bit classier than the skinny girl chef and model has-been.

Missing out on the collection of what SA called a “collection of Irish lads,” as I made a fashionably early exit so as to be in tip-top shape for work the next morning, I couldn’t help but think about Manhattan’s unique neighborhoods. Each enclave has a personality that is as distinct as my collection of friends. (Despite hailing from LI’s most impenetrable bubble, we’re actually a pretty diverse group!) The Meatpacking district is the girl who wears black shorts over black tights with an extra-long white button down -- a look tied together with patent leather peep-toe pumps and a men’s wear blazer, despite the 85 degree heat made worse by subtropic humidity. In short, it’s a neighborhood that is almost too trendy for my pearls and Jack Rogers to enter, but one I enjoyed immensely nonetheless. And speaking of that outfit -- which AC, ML, and I most certainly passed an envied while heel-toe-ing it to the subway -- it just might drive me to channel my inner meatpacker... once my soon-to-be better looking bod is Speedy worthy, of course!

Speedy loss to... a Speedy?!

After my yaya weekend of massive bonding by way of poolside chats and aboard-yacht pinot, I am back home in full-swing, feeling fully refreshed, relaxed, and rested, despite the fact that the yaya bonding made sleep an essential non-occurrence. In between beach towel yoga, underwater photographs, shopping dates in Chatham, and over-easy eggs washed down with big gulps of chocolate milk, my dear friends AC, ML, and I formed what we like to consider a weight loss system that is far more effective than crash diets and overdone exercise: the secret to sexified success is simply the support of your friends! In a motivated discussion that took place as we departed the Cape, monsoon (a.k.a I-95) bound, we made a little road map to our dream sizes. The map features three “mini” stops along the way that reward each time we reach minor milestones. (A facial, a massage, a bonus pedicure, a sushi date… The list is endless!) Then, once we reach our final “destination,” we will reward ourselves with the dream purchase of our choice. AC’s is a chic LV Speedy. Mine and ML’s are TDB, but the Speedy sounds nothing but dreamy… So far, in its two-day trial (hehe) the system has been tres effective. Picturing myself enjoying a delightful massage makes a decadent chocolate treat seem far less appetizing; an extra chip too greasy to touch. It makes an extra five minutes on the tredmill of death a bit more lifelike; waking up 30 minutes earlier for an AM run worth the while.

Chic shapes and chicer bags, HERE WE COME.

Unliiiiiiiiiiiiiiimited

With Thomson Reuters’ midtown office located just a hop, skip, and sprint over the subway grates away from Bryant Park, afternoon dining under the shade of a tree is one of my favorite things about working in Times Square. It’s the perfect way to escape for an hour in the middle of the day, away from work and out of central air conditioning. Today’s park-side lunch, despite the cloudy sky, was especially excellent, as it completely resurrected the theatre nerd within me that flourished during the height of my high school years, in which my live viewings of Rent and Legally Blonde reached double- digits. Broadway in Bryant Park is a precious little afternoon treat. Today’s set made me want to rock out to Rock of Ages, re-add the masterpieces of Wicked to my shower-singing repertoire, and become the nanny to Mary Poppins’ supercala-whatever babysitting charges. With less than a month to go before I resume my role as a Stonehill sasspot, I MUST MUST MUST make my way to the following shows:

Rock of Ages, if only to sing along with amazingness that is a cover of Poison’s “Nothin’ But a Good Time.”
Jersey Boys, if only to relive my first JB experience with my favorite Jersey Girl and fellow blogger, SA.
Hair, if only to [vicariously?] rock some tye dye and bathe in peace, hope, and love.
Next to Normal, if only to feel better about the insanity that is my own life. ;-)

I think it can be done! I’m a slave to TKTS!

In other news, the new Raybans I so fancy are IMPOSSIBLE to find in the flesh. Both Lord & Taylor and the Marquis Sunglass Hut offered to sell me the floor pair, but that so does not fly with me! I plan on making an appearance at the Herald Square and K-Town locations post-work to continue my hunt, as I planned on debuting the new look for my weekend trip to the Cape, where, I must add, the forecast is for a sunny 75 all weekend long!!! Here's to lobster bakes and evenings on yachts... Le sigh!

Duck Under the Punch

My hamstrings hate me, my arms are angry, my legs loathe life, and my quads want to quit -- but all in the name of getting fit! My summer of happy hours and weekend getaways has not been a friend to me where clothing sizes are concerned, so in an attempt to breathe some life back into garments that are approaching the too tight and trashy look of a Jersey Girl’s jeans, I have put myself on a strict exercise regimen for the remainder of the summer, since – let’s be real! – I enjoy thrice-weekly happy hours and restaurant week dinners far too much to “cut back.” Breaking into my collection of clippings from Fitness and Shape magazine, I have been testing out some new moves, designed to “whittle that wasteline,” among other things, in addition to making appearances at P-Fit whenever possible. But gym and magazine moves aside, I have come to love the convenience that stems from a good work-out video. While Denise Austen’s enthusiasm is a tad over the top (“Yeah! You can do it! You’re gonna look GREAT! Keep it up! One more rep! Yeah!”), and Mari Windsor’s possee of Pilate-ing back-up exercisers dangerously jealousy-inducing, Keli Roberts’ Kickbox Bootcamp is far too fabulous to complain about. A DVD of five 10-minute workouts designed to shape and sculpt while burning fat, the program is truly great. Basic Training, Washboard Abs, Ultimate Buns and Thighs, Arm and Shoulder Sculptor, and Fat Burning Blast, the five quick sessions that compile the DVD, all leave me feeling extra energized, albeit dreadfully sore and sweaty. Who doesn’t love getting a serious work-out in just ten minutes? It’s like a fitness miracle. And at a sweet $7.99 on Amazon, buying it is a no-brainer. Plus, with Keli’s crazy kicks and punches, you’ll be armed and ready in your fight stance if an attacker approaches! Pow! Just embrace the “I can’t walk” feeling that will follow. I imagine fitting into the Lilly dress and Joe’s Jeans I purposefully bought too small… Here’s hoping!

trendy? ha.

As much as I try to be trendy, I always fall back to my old favorites, hence the seersucker explosion that has demolished my room thanks to credit card overload on rubgy.com. Granted, I do get a slight rush when I embrace my inner NB and rock my outrageous brown boots, fresh from a Florence alleyway leather shop, with some sort of crazy scarf, but my comfort will always lie with popped collars that expose tie silk or embroidery and any and all items under the umbrella of prep and pink. This little intro, aside from plugging NB’s new role as a Pronto fashion blogger, is meant to highlight a good post I read on Teen Vogue blog this afternoon. Check it out.

Here’s my commentary: In today’s economy, it is the responsibility of the recessionista to rummage the racks of vintage and thrift stores to sate the desires of the label lover within. In my times and travels, I’ve scoured a few hotspots, braving even the locations known for true homeless chic. Lilly gingham found me at a random Housing Works thrift shop; $10 Tory Burch flip flops were a sight for sore eyes (and feet) after braving a hike to 1st Avenue’s Tokyo 7; a no-name pink flowy number, perfect for days more bloat than bodacious, graced my presence at Cheap Jack’s. While dedicating another Sunday afternoon to thrift shopping this summer, I hope to visit Madison Avenue’s Encore, if only to touch a Chanel bag in the flesh while imagining which Upper East Side hotshot toted the bag in its previous life: the mistress of a high-profile laywer? The spoiled high school junior who is still cursing her failed casting call on NYC Prep? Ruth Madoff? I think that’s the most enjoyable part of a good second-hand piece: it had a life before you. Well, that and a drastic discount! No matter how hard I try to speckle my closet with accessorized ensembles more vintage and Vogue than Vineyard Vines, it’s rarely a successful operation. However, the fun in browsing makes for a tres enjoyable afternoon!

Continuing along the fashion front, I have a growing wishlist that also happens to lie dangerously in a Nordstrom.com shopping bag, tempting me to click "BUY" with each second that passes...

Damn paychecks... They're too tempting!

EDIT: I hit buy...

they pay us the big bucks to chill on the beach

Stonehill's Executive Board for the 2009-2010 school year -- don't we look just precious?! I bet you can't guess which one is me... ;-)

RUFFLES.

The additional 25% off sale items at RUGBY today was the distraction I needed to keep me from an eight-hour daydream about Quidditch matches, luck potions, and vicious villains. Three oxfords, one seer sucker top, and one rugby dress later, I’m just a few bucks poorer. The sale is incredible and saved me some big bucks! I am especially psyched for the seersucker top, pictured left, that will be a perfect compliment for white shorts and gold Jacks. After spying and having a subsequent love affair with it’s size two variation down in Union Square yesterday, I never though I’d reunite with the ruffles again, but alas, I will rock them proudly as soon as the package arrives!

Now for the Butter play-by-play:

Appetizer: Shrimp bisque. Whole chunks of shrimp made for a life-changing soup. Yes. Life-changing soup exists.
Meal: Though there were only three, the dandelion and spinach ravioli were filling as anything. Swimming in a parmesan “creme fraiche” sauce, they were nothing but delectable.
Dessert: The richest chocolate cake of my life. Y. U. M.

Upon exiting, the promoters for the Crunch gym across the street offered me a free pass… Oh well. The family and I had a blast, chatting it up and relaxing as if we were on vacay, far, far away from the city, work, stress, and humidity. Mom and Dad felt oh so young among the tables of girlfriend posses and hot twenty-something dates. How precious!

trading babies for iPods?!

Following the “I Saw Jill Zarin” high that never seemed to end (even still, I’m Cloud 9-ing it) was my wonderful weekend on Cape Cod. With the Falmouth sunshine came all the things that color a relaxing weekend, despite the fact that Residence Life forgot to leave me a key for my one-night-only Stonehill stop-over. Now, I love Stonehill just about as much as I love dear Jill, but I do NOT love the night shift secretary who said there was “Absolutely nothing she could do,” about my missing key, and that I, the 21-year-old Irish lass, fresh from nine hours at work and five hours in transit, would have to find another place to sleep. OK, Lady. It’s just about 11 PM, thankyouverymuch. I am stranded on a pitch black, semi-deserted campus that, despite knowing like the back of my hand, should not be the place to set up camp for the night. I showed her, though, and went where no one wants to go: I found a police officer myself and had him personally escort me to my room. No one messes with KR -- especially at Stonehill! Pow.

Moving on from my rant…

Falmouth brought sun and sand for the KR who needed to relax, go carts for the KR who needs to learn to drive, bumper boats and jumpy castles for the KR who needed to embrace her inner kid, team leading and goal setting for the KR who doesn’t know how to relax, kayak excursions for the KR who pretends to be outdoorsy, lobster ravioli for the KR who loves to indulge, and Bruno for the someone who does not want to admit to actually being KR. Sun, sand, and whole chunks of lobstery goodness aside (they were all perfection), Bruno put an uncomfortable (to say the least!) tone on the weekend. If you’re into obscene and excessive male nudity and jokes that cross one too many borders, definitely check it out. If you have any self respect or dignity, however, pop your own kernels and throw in a DVD. You’re missing nothing. All in all, it was an awesome weekend in which we planned in the morning and played in the afternoon. As the leaders of Stonehill’s Student Government, I can confidently say that we’re a diverse and skilled bunch that will definitely work well to make a difference for our school.

Following the non-stop weekend is this non-stop week. Yesterday’s SushiSamba dinner was delectable, and I imagine tonight’s trip to Butter to be so, as well. But spicy tuna and “gorgeous” soups aside, nothing compares to tomrrow’s 7:45 PM activity: HALF. BLOOD. PRINCE. I’ve already warned my co-workers that I’ll be doing laps around the office in preparation. Thursday will leave me time to hit the judgment free zone and run off the 20 pounds I’ve probably gained this summer, but of course that will go to waste, since OF COURSE another one of my friends won a free happy hour at Calico Jack’s.

I’m thinking of subletting a studio next door to the 2nd Ave. gem. Wouldn’t that just make life so much easier?! Psh. In another world...

I SAW JILL ZARIN.

If you’re one of my loyal readers, you might recall an older post that detailed the “famous” people I’d like to meet. It was a pathetic list ridden with reality stars, but a list that brought me joy nonetheless. SO. This afternoon, while booking it down 43rd Street by way of 7th Ave. while wearing my favorite ruffly green top, black capris, and sky high pink heels (I was feeling colorful), who do I cross paths with but Woodmere’s most famous redhead: the hottest housewife of the Upper East Side, JILL. ZARIN. Strutting in black pumps, a black skirt suit, and gi-normous black sunglasses, the unmistakable red locks disabled the Bravo star’s attempt at disguise soon enough for me to literally stop in my tracks and stare the woman down. The tiny little thing walks like a true New Yorker at a pace so fast that you’d never know that her heels were elevated four inches above the ground. It was the best three seconds of my week, which says a lot after yesterday’s epic-in-length Happy Hour. Now I can only hope that the Twitter-addict doesn’t tweet something like, “Some starstruck girl in fluorescent footwear looked at me like I had eleven heads while I was walking towards Times Square this afternoon.” Keep your fingers crossed.

Of course, upon seeing her, I proceeded to BBM, call, and carrier pigeon anyone and everyone who would appreciate my sighting, which thankfully happens to be the majority of my security blanket’s phonebook. Squealing to AC and KR and JB and SA that I SAW JILL ZARIN did not help me make friends as I headed towards UBS to dine with BT and friend. People looked at ME like I had eleven heads. But I don’t care. I SAW JILL ZARIN. Next mission: TALK to her. Shopping trip to Zarin Fabrics, anyone?

I’m Stonehill bound in a few hours and absolutely can’t wait. Have an amazing weekend, everyone!

PS, I SAW JILL ZARIN.

children of Thalidomide

For anyone who actually enjoys a good commercial, print advertisement, or way out-of-the-box method of promotion, this “ironic” post on The Consumerist will add a little light to your Thursday morning. (It’s freezing in New York. Wah!) Showcasing the top ten most ironic ads of “all time,” the post recounts the “wonders” of asbestos and the “saving powers” of Distaval, to name a few. Just take a look at what was promoted back in the day! Yikes!

thanks for the trip, Stonehill =)

Reservations for restaurant week are just piling up, making space in my calendar impossible to find for the month of July. But I thrive on being over-booked, so I say bring it on! So far, I’m up to three nights of three-course dining! While I’ve already been to SushiSamba and Butter before, they were both too good to visit just once. SushiSamba is drenched in colorful mosaic wall prints and draping; its basement bathroom is like a jungle safari. Butter mysterious and dark, with a cave-like atmosphere that takes you out of the city and into a futuristic world of beautiful people and prettier pastas. They're polar opposites in terms of ambiance, but equally fabulous. (Thankfully, the ‘rents will be picking up the tab at Butter. Phew.) Finally, a 14-person reservation at 5 Ninth will close out my dining experiences. 5 Ninth, the meatpacking district brownstone townhouse turned trendy eatery, was once the home of tranny hookers and heroin addicts. Our loud and fabulous group just might outshine the stories that lie within the bricks. I like to think that’s a good thing, though! =)

Back-to-back four day weeks are the best. After a weekend of funning and sunning on various parts of geographical Long Island for the 4th (side bar: when I move to Brooklyn, I can still call myself an Island girl!), I am now headed to Cape Cod for a Stonehill-packed weekend of kayaking and beyond. I’ll pretend to be outdoorsy, and then be the first to shower after getting all icky in the bay. Beach-side sessions are planed, too, of course, with the fun times mixed in with the official reason for the trip: as Stonehill’s Exec. Sec., as I like to say, I get treated to a weekend-long “retreat” on the Cape, in which the waterfront hotel stay and lobster dinners are both paid for, assuming the seven of us E-Board-ers do our professional duties. I packed pens. I’m all set.

Don’t you just love where your $42,000 a year are going? =)

my 100th post!

We've been from Zoom to Thomson Reuters; from atop horses in Wales to canal-side in Amsterdam; from the steps of the Eiffel Tower to the dungeons of the Cabinet War Rooms; from the statue of David to the graffitied walls of Manhattan; from a closet of an room in Canterbury to a Stonehill house filled with too much personality.  A blog that was once my connection to home during my three months of "studying" abroad has now become my little escape as I pack my summer days with almost too much to handle.  If you read, you're fabulous.  If you comment, you're better.  100 posts later, I'm still blogging strong, and far too hooked to stop any time soon.

Who LOVED this long weekend?!  I had an absolute blast crawling through pubs with an entourage of family members, a relaxing time at the annual rooftop gathering in the Brook, and a sunny afternoon at yesterday's poolside BBQ.  Today marks an afternoon at the beach.  I plan on falling asleep in the sun and coming home with a little more color, and a little less snow white.  I wish it could be the 4th of July every weekend! 

Here's a little picture of me on the day I got paid to go visit "Top of the Rock."  Sweet life!

broad stripes and bright stars

With a weather forecast that predicts more sun for the 4th of July weekend than June saw altogether makes me happy as a clam for the upcoming celebrations the next few days will hold. Tonight marks the long awaited R family pub crawl. But best of all, after far too many sprints back to Penn Station after nights on the town, I need not worry about catching a train before the dreaded 4:14 AM choo choo. It pays to have relatives with hotel connections: the young and fabulous members of the R family will be shackin’ up in Midtown Manhattan for the night! This marks my first official slumber on the New York island I dream of calling home some day. With festivities that begin at 5 PM, I already foresee the day dragging a bit, but am confident that the evening will make up for it!

With back-to-back barbecues for the rest of the weekend, I won’t have as much time to dedicated to crucial weekend errands, such as catching up on Weeds and organizing my shoe collection. (HA.) I can’t complain, though. I will be rocking the aviators, sitting in the sun, and celebrating anything and everything my favorite summer holiday is about!

…and that is a perfect transition to my next topic of discussion: my current outfit. After weeks of waiting, I am finally rocking my new Vineyard Vines white button down that is accented on the cuffs and collar with flag-printed silk. I had to save it for the special occasion. With red shoes to match, I feel like Betsey Ross. How friggin’ patriotic is that? God Bless America. Make sure to rage the weekend away.

PS, this was my 99th post. Yowza!

...is not my lover

I think I've heard more Michael Jackson in the last two days than I've heard in my entire lifetime. I was never a huge fan of the King of Pop (his bleached skin and arguably skeevy ways turned me off big time), but after yesterday's marathon dance session at Calico Jack's, I have a new found appreciation for the late moonwalking performance machine. As I write this with Billie Jean blaring through my speakers, I can't help but agree that the dance beats he popularized really set the bar for pop music in today's music scene. I'm still creeped out by the dude, don't get me wrong, but in the tradition of Elvis Presley and John Lennon, Michael Jackson is sure to join the collection of artists whose premature deaths help to repopularize their musical talents and enhance an already established legacy.

wine and dine, your money is fine.

Wining and dining at the most fabulous places is a must for me. I live for exploring new nooks and crannies in the city, from small and adorably affordable cafes downtown, to bank-breaking bistros for a selective splurge. This morning, a relative of mine, who is very well aware of my recent increase in indulgent dining, sent me this great guide to recession dining. The deck includes listings of BYOB restaurants, weekly specials, happy hour recommendations, and general tips on maintaining a life of fabulous dining despite dips in the wallet. Check some of the places out, and use the money you save to do it all over again! And of course, don’t forget about restaurant week, which has been announced for July 12th-31st. Last year, I visited Butter and Il Cantinori for two beyond amazing meals. Butter was worth 500 more trips, so I definitely plan on making an appearance there again. Head to OpenTable ASAP to score your top picks! I hope to land a spot at Mesa Grill! The menu looks divine, but the reservation process resembles the wait for a Birkin bag circa the Lucy Liu episode on the show whose front woman just had twins via surrogate. (I love you, SJP, but those names?! Come on, honey.)

Continuing the sail on the Sale Boat that is my life, I have been one of the lucky ladies to win a free happy hour at the very place where AC hosted her fabulous evening a few weeks ago. What excitement! I’ve got a new dress ready to go, so let’s just hope it matches the magic bracelet that will feed me freebies all night…

Never Enough NARS

My newest obsession is NARS make-up. Yesterday evening, with a little time to kill before what was one of the best meals I’ve had in a while, I did a quick errand at Sephora. Since I work in Touristville, NY, the make-up boutique calls my name each time I enter the famous Square between 7th and 8th Avenues. While I’ve never been one for fancy and expensive make-up, I have my select splurges: an Urban Decay compact of colorful shadow that is far to fun to fiddle with; Clinique bronzer that is pale enough for the blushing Irish girl in me; MAC lip gloss that’s grossly sticky but perfectly long-lasting. Until yesterday night, I never had a nice eyeliner before. I tend to lose things a lot, so I always settled for the dollar variety from CVS. It did me fine for a while, but with my first paycheck burning a serious hole, I decided to splurge. I tested a few out on my hand, and after removing the rainbow of shadows that I also couldn’t help but sample, I settled on a NARS Liner in “Black Moon.” It is a perfect shade of black that glided on this morning like buttahhhh!

Uncharacteristically, I was also victim to an impulse buy. (I’ve usually got much, much better self control!) I’ve been on a serious hunt for the perfect purple shadow, and NARS came through yet again. The combo pack called “Jolie Poupee” did the trick, so let’s just hope it “brings out the green in my eyes” like my magazine bibles promise. After browsing around on the Sephora website at the other duo compacts available, I know this won’t be my last purchase. Make-up shopping is just FUN! It put me in the best mood for the rest of the night. Not only was the sushi at Aoki divine, but the conversation about NYC real estate with the (potentially!) Brooklyn-bound BT was even better! I hope that she’ll be living large on a new side of the island come December… and not just so I don’t have to deal with the LIRR during my final Christmas break from Stonehill!

In terms of approaching buckets of fun, the Fourth of July is coming up quickly, and after reading this post, I have caught the homemade tortilla bug and just have to try this recipe. Homemade tortillas, GUACAMOLE, and mojitos?! That’s a perfect 4th to me. Throw in my new VV button down that has a silk flag-print collar (Thanks, Filene’s!), and it’s even more festive. My 4th of July weekend plans already include a marathon R family pub crawl through Manhattan and the annual Brooklyn terrace party! The tortillas will just have to find a home among the accumulating plans. No excuses!

a quick recap

It's Saturday night at 9:37 PM and I couldn't be happier about taking the night off. I feel like I've been having too much fun lately -- though that is definitely a good thing! I don't think I've ever enjoyed myself more during the summer! Here's a little recap of my weekend so far:

-Wednesday and Thursday marked my week of double happy hours. The double dose might have to be a new tradition...

-Friday, I hopped on the fastest train home I could and was welcomed with the longest and snuggliest hugs from my precious cousins D and L, who are approaching ages 5 and 3, respectively. They really are the cutest kids in the world! After not seeing them for over a year, I was simply giddy!

-After Friday's BBQ, ML alerted us that she hooked us all up with some sa-weet Brit Brit tickets for her August show at MSG. I haven't been to the circus in a while, and am definitely looking forward to watching the reinvented pop princess in the center of the ring... ;-)

-Friday night also hosted some bar hopping on a new part of the island, via the instruction of the AZ relatives and some other friends and family who joined for the journey. It was so encouraging to see how well my island ladies meshed with the 1/5467th of my family that was present. It was the best! =)

-Also on Friday, while gallivanting through the RVC beer garden (which will be frequented again quite soon), I ran into one of my favorite pieces of Stonehill fabulousness, JE, who was back from Newport for Father's Day! I love surprises, so seeing her was a little extra bonus to the already perfect night out.

-My yoga towel came in the mail. I far too enthusiastically opened the package upon my arrival home Friday night. I celebrated with chips and salsa. (Bad decision, but oh well!)

-I marathoned at the gym with Mother Hen and AR this morning. It was very, very necessary.

-Father's Day tomorrow marks another several hours that I can surround myself with my two favorite bundles of cuteness. I couldn't be happier!

Happy Weekend! =)

per-fect-ion.

When a brogue-speaking bartender hands you your pint, it taste so much better – and that is coming from a girl who can’t even stomach the smell of even the classiest beer (If classy beer even exists, that is; I’m a cider gal!). For the past two evenings, I spend my post-work hours at The Perfect Pint, which is seriously a boys dream. Over 30 beers on tap and a slew of appetizers that go a few steps beyond pub grub, this place certain certainly does serve the perfect pint – a pint enhanced by good company and conversation.

Wednesday marked an evening with fellow and fabulous blogger, SA, and her posse of friends and family. A Stonehill graduate, SA made her mark on our fair school back when the child M.D. was the hottest doc on TV. After meeting her in NYC during a networking event, we then reconnected over Busch lights during Stonehill’s Spring Weekend (Oh Nostalgia.). Upon her exit, my housemates KA and DT vowed to grow up to be “as cool as SA” when they hit their 30s. I certainly hope we can… I’d say we’re on the right track! ;-)

Yesterday night, in full celebration of fellow intern (but not for long!) CA’s promotion to a full-time, benefits-receiving employee, TPP was the perfect spot. But what was even more perfect was that CA picked up the tab with his fancy new salary. I’m tres jealous. Though I also received my first intern pay check yesterday night, and was happier than a Jersey girl in a jewelry store upon opening it! Seeing the rewards of hard work and motivation keeps me plugging through the days!

This weekend (READ: a delayed DESTINATION THURSDAY) marks the birthday of the lovely LS, so knowing her love of Manhattan antics, we’ll be gallivanting somewhere fun and fabulous! It also marks the arrival of the Arizona relatives. My aunt, uncle, and their too-cute-for-words son and daughter arrived last night in a rainy JFK, so I’m taking the earliest train home so I can in order to see and squeeze them all ASAP tonight! Aww, so much family LOVE!

Closing remarks: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LS, and an even HAPPIER FRIDAY to all!

A budding Uptown Girl?

Those who are fabulous and famous need to learn that when there is a 33 year age difference, marriages are bound to fail. Long Island’s favorite Piano Man and his 27-year-old cookie, Katie Lee (who is a creepy FOUR years older than Alexa Ray, who is the spawn of Mr. Joel and his old Uptown Girl), have waltzed their way into Splitsville. I’m no polytheist; to me, Billy IS God. If I had to listen to only five songs for the rest of my life, at least four would be classics of his -- songs he reserves for his second and third encores, songs he no longer sings, but rather holds out his microphone, allowing his screaming fans to sing the chorus as he hums along on his harmonica. You know which ones I’m talking about! (Side bar: The fifth song on my list would probably be Lily Allen’s “Not Fair” because, with lyrics like that, how can you not be perpetually amused?) Anyhow, despite my love of all things Billy, I have always felt tres iffy about his situation with his third and most wife. A man who dates and marries a girl who could be his daughter is downright disgusting. But alas, that does not change the fact that the three hours I spent with my parents and sisters (well, BT was essentially a part of the family for the day!) rocking out at Shea Stadium (RIP, tear, tear) last summer were the best three hours I have ever experienced. Hearing about Brenda and Eddie’s divorce, even from the nosebleed section, never sounded so good.

This brings me to my rant of the summer: Mr. Joel, while I have gotten over the frustration of not getting to see Sir Paul McCartney last summer, as I was one of the lucky few who was able to score tickets to the ORIGINAL last play at Shea, why are you failing to perform in NY this season with your ol’ pal Elton? NY is your home! We love you on Long Island! Come back to us. MSG can squeeze you in. Don’t let the divorce get you down. Love, KR (and the rest of the island you call home)

I just don’t get it.

Now, travelling to Katie Lee’s side of the divorce, I have to say, I kind of sympathize with the gal, but for a very specific reason. While the supposed cause of the spilt is the brunette’s budding “friendship” with an Italian designer, I’m sure the Piano Man’s constant touring didn’t help, either. The girl was a nobody before, but now has a collection of cookbooks and her own column in the bible of trash, Cosmopolitan. The column is great: each month, it features a fun recipe that makes my mouth water at first sight of the headline. My only hope is that she gets through the paperwork in time for the next issue. The walnut-crusted tilapia was too good to be true.

Alright. Maybe I don’t sympathize. There’s a good chance she was only in it for the fame and book deal... =) Hey! Maybe now that Katie Lee is out of the picture, I can be his new Uptown Girl. I’d deal with his balding and beer belly if it meant front row tickets every night.

Jeez, who am I, Katie Lee? Rock on.

This is not a post on "Rock of Love."

This is not yet ANOTHER post on “Rock of Love,” but in true KR style, it involves a small but oh so memorable element of the fabulously trashy show’s premiere season. Of course I’m talking about the busty and brazen Rodeo! I’m not sure if it’s too soon to admit this on my public blog, but I may or may not have dressed as Rodeo during my Winter ’09 “Rock of Love Bus” costumes-not-optional premiere party. I use the word “party” lightly – it was really just my posse of paradise: my collection of friends who unfortunately didn’t follow my instructions to channel their favorite groupie. (I was really hoping KW and JT, the resident blondies, would tease their ‘dos a la Heather.) While I sat in my basement surrounded by cable sweaters, Ugg boots, and skinny jeans, munching on pita chips and the heaven that is Trader Joe’s artichoke dip (fatty deliciousness!), I wore my cowboy hat and boots proudly, relishing in the fact that, after you’ve been friends with the same guys and gals since high school, there’s too much love in the air to judge... and that’s just perfect!

Pardon my tangent. Anyhow, after catching up on a new must read blog that’s perfect for any New Yorker whose either been hit hard by the recession or savvy enough to admit an undying love of freebies (because honestly, who doesn’t love a good freebie?), I was turned onto Rodeo Bar, the 3rd Ave. hotspot that provides free wings and nachos with your drink purchase(s?) between 4 PM and 8 PM on weekdays. I hope this new bargain boozefest brings a little extra happy to your hour! (If you love this kind of stuff as much as me, make this fabulous blog one of your daily must-reads. Each day features something new, free, and fabulous, from aesthetic and artsy afternoons, to morning kayak rides in the Hudson.)

Moving back to the topic of reality TV, who watched the finale of “The Real Housewives of New Jersey?” Who is already counting down the hours until Bravo’s special airing of “The Last Supper” on Thursday. Who is woman enough to admit that you are as (unhealthfully?) obsessed as me? As I watched with the aforementioned posse in ML’s sports bar of a basement, judging was in full flow. As Teresa flipped the table and as Caroline's husky, Jersey drawl spoke the long awaited line, “Let me tell you a-something about my family: we are as thick as thieves,” we all sat at the edge of ML's leather couch in such deep concentration that you would have thought the most suspenseful and plot-twisted murder mystery movie were finally making sense.

But no. It was just some big-haired Jersey girls getting their cat fight on. Which is so much better.

check her out!

Anyone who calls me Elle Wood’s twin deserves her own post. (While I’m too Irish to go blonde, I must agree that it’s a pretty accurate statement in all areas besides my brunette coif!) My intern pal from my days at Zoom has started a long-awaited blog that you should all check out! I’ve mentioned her before: NB, the feisty and fabulous Brooklynite with style to impress and stories to tell, kept me consistently entertained and in the know of all things fabulous in NYC every day during the far less rainy summer of 2008. Her blog theme is really clever: she’s posting a “thing” of the day that ranges from a specific blog or news article to a delicious pair of heels or a lethal new cocktail (By the way, she’s Russian.). Check her out!

another reason to love YTTP!

Not that I really need another reason to love my beloved Yoga to the People, but after yesterday’s class, I am officially obsessed: somehow, when poses are instructed in an accent that I placed as either Scottish or Aussie, the class becomes astronomically more enjoyable. He whose name I do not yet know (but certainly plan on learning!) was a tough instructor, urging us to challenge ourselves rather than relax for the hour. Despite my aching abdominals and throbbing thighs, however, I made it through the entire sweaty hour, taking zero breaks to relax in child’s pose. He was very encouraging, telling us to be fearless with each new contortion, which was especially helpful when I reached an – albeit wobbly – dancer’s pose. I can’t wait to go back, and am considering upping my attendance to twice-weekly. Once my brand-spankin’ new Yogitoes mat towel comes in, classes will involve less slippage -- a definite necessity to which I look forward to immensely! All in all, while there were no MK Olsen sightings, the Scottish/Aussie (or maybe he was Kiwi?) dude sure made up for it! Today’s entry includes my first pose of the week: the camel. I was a huge fan of it, as it took pressure off my ready-to-fall-off shoulders.

For those of you out there who have been debating the idea of hot yoga, do it, do it, do it! Yoga to the People is Vinyasa-style, a fast-paced flow that links movement with breath. It’s a style I recommend over Bikrim, which is a stricter practice. Just follow these rules: (1) Drink at least three full Nalgenes on the day you’re taking the class. I drank one in the morning, one in the afternoon, and one between 5 and 6 PM. (The class was at 6). Then take a full bottle into class with you and hydrate throughout with little sips as opposed to giant gulps. (2) Since you sweat a LOT, up your sodium and potassium intake on class days. I drank a can of V8 with breakfast and lunch to ensure that I was sufficient in my intake. I also took a multivitamin with lunch, though that’s a daily occurrence. (3) I learned this from my new yoga friend, E: If you start to feel light headed, refrain from pushing yourself. Retreat to child’s pose and concentrate on breathing to slow your heart rate back down instead of bursting out of the room. The drastic temperature change isn’t healthy.

Good luck, enjoy, and tell me how you like it!

Spotted (again)

Now, for all you “Hills” fans out there, let me tell you a-something: Kelly Cutrone looks as terrible in person as she does on TV. I made my second “Seventh Ave. Spying” of the summer this morning while booking it to work after my train in from the isla was cancelled. The bi-coastal B*+$% of People’s Revolution, the fashion PR firm that “employed” cast members LC, Whitney Port, and -- very briefly – Stephanie Pratt, was dressed quite unfashionably in jeans and a baggy blue t-shirt. I hope she was coming from a jog at the gym or, better yet, a yoga class – the woman needs to chill! I always felt that for someone whose career revolves around appearances and aesthetics, Kelly looked a bit too unkempt during each episode. And after this morning’s sprint to work, my suspicion was oh so confirmed. I wonder who I will spy next week… or today, for that matter! Apparently, MK Olsen frequents Yoga to the People (I don’t know why. The Michelle Tanner in her could afford much, much more than the “charming” but still very fabulous 6th Ave. studio.) Maybe I’ll have a story for tomorrow after this evening’s hour of downward dogs and king pigeons!

Once upon a time...

...8:56 AM was an ungodly hour. For most of my college career, I've never spied such an hour, strategically scheduling my classes and commitments for no earlier than 11 AM. Now, though, 8:53 is my new 11. After waking up at 6:15 AM every day (and hitting snooze only once!) for two weeks, this new and early hour doesn't seem so ungodly, which I kind of like! In some sick way, it's almost like sleeping in.

the aftermath of smoky eyes

It's mornings like these when I really miss my crazy college roomie, JT. Waking up to a sleeping family is just not as fun as re-entering reality with a recap of the previous evening done without ever getting out of bed. Additionally, the aforementioned family failed by allowing me to stroll my house for the entire morning with total raccoon eyes -- a look that is only acceptable between the hours of 10AM and noon in college dorms, when everyone else sports the look, as well. JT always warns me, nonetheless. After getting home from such a fabulous night, all I could do was fall into bed. The eyes had to stay.

I can finally say that I've experienced the hyped hangout that is Calico Jack's. An awesome crowd (definitely bridge and tunnel! Go us!) and lethally cheap drinks combined for an evening of fun with my best friends in the universe. Despite us all attending different colleges and choosing opposite paths in life, we're still an inseparable entourage. I feel bad for the couple who sat with us on the train in. Our loudness was unparalleled. I feel like the luckiest girl to have them!

Aww shucks, look at me being so sappy... XO.

Tweet Tweet... It was inevitable.

I did it. I joined Twitter… but strictly for the purpose of following Jill Zarin and Lily Allen. Though they fall among what has grown to be a slew of additional reality stars and hot mess musicians, plus some Twitter-ettes I actually know, a few news sources, and a handful of gossipy goodness. While I don’t know why my own mindless musings would be follow-worthy (my verbose wit (ha.) needs a bit more that 140 characters to make its mark), follow me if you wish. I can’t promise to amuse in the style of Demi and Ashton, or inform a la Perez, but I’ll try nonetheless! Who Twitters out there?!

The Times Could Tell

FUN FACT (and loyal intern plug)!

______ Reuters, media giant.

This clue appeared in the infamous crossword of the most recent Sunday Times. It makes me feel so official! =)

a free pizza to go with your beer?!

Tell me something is free, and I am there in a heartbeat. Free happy hour? Please. Free bike tour through Manhattan? I’m already spinning. Free food? Um, have you met me?! According to this NY Times article, all you need to do to get free food in New York City is buy a beer. Make mine a wine, and it’s just music to my ears!

While visiting Florence last Thanksgiving, I couldn’t help but fall in love with appertivo, an Italian tradition in which you buy a drink and enjoy a buffet of fresh pasta, cheese, salad and the like as you imbibe. It’s sort of the Italian version of Happy Hour. Of course, since the bar was in Italy, the food was more than mouthwatering, but the skinny Europeans didn’t overindulge. As I dined with two fellow Stonehill students, we certainly went up for seconds. Ok. Thirds, too. And all I bought was a bellini! Ok. Two. I thought that this concept would never work in our country of obesity and over-eating, but apparently, the idea has traveled across the pond and into some of New York’s most frequented watering holes. A free pizza to go along with a post-work brew? Good thing it’s Thursday. Cheers!

DESTINATION THURSDAY: CJ'sC

This guide to all things fabulous for a summer in the city could not have come on a better day, as it’s my first DESTINATION THURSDAY. Let’s all golf clap. Ms. Happening Hotness herself, the pint-sized BT, never fails to pull through with creative plans. With this Vanity Fair guide, we too can be just as savvy! The list of Hudson River Flicks looks especially promising. Watching The Wizard of Oz or Sex and the City riverside, on a blanket, under the stars, after work, wine in hand, friends in tow? Precious.

Now, since my GC crew and I have successfully convinced ourselves that we’re socialites for this weekend (but probably not this weekend alone; that’s just how we roll… ha.), I can’t stop myself from shamefully plugging the happy hour that the blue-eyed AC is hosting at Calico Jack’s Cantina. As a weekend destination that I’ve flocked to once before, Calico Jack’s is the type of place you have to visit if you’re newly legal like us. After years of hearing stories of LS’s essential sister-in-law’s Calico Jack’s debauchery, we couldn’t help but feed our intrigue. Upon entering, the air smelled of Fake-ID Heaven, but the mix of dance floor and people-watching lounge made it a spot with tons of potential. The bar also run these “free” happy hour specials all the time, so why not take advantage? Try a fishbowl margarita and see if you make it home in once piece. I’ll let you know how it goes… ;-)

SPOTTED!

SPOTTED: Black wayfarers. Skinny jeans. Hipster headgear that was not exactly a hat. Squealing tourists.

In Times Square, people photograph the craziest things that, to me, have become relatively unexciting after 21 years. Just this afternoon, as I exited the lobby ready to alleviate my beckoning stomach, I barely gave a second glance to the cluster of people taking a photograph outside the doors that I enter and exit every morning and evening. It’s a good thing I did. You have probably learned by now that I am a reality TV addict. From “Rock of Love” to “The Real World,” I can’t get enough of entertainment that is embarrassing to admit to watching religiously. When I realized that Chet of “The Real World: Brooklyn” was posing with two fans whose own attempts at hipsterness were blinded by the MTV mormon’s signature style, I couldn’t help but stare at the man who is now my fourth real-life “Real World” sighting. With no camera to capture the moment, I creepily watched him turn from 7th to 42nd, on a very clear mission for new wayfarer sunglasses to add to his already overflowing collection.

As for the cast members that I’ve met, I chatted and took a picture with Willie of the Philadelphia season outside the Nederlander Theatre on 41st St. after seeing the Broadway gem Rent for the 3rd time. I took Rachel and Shane of “Road Rules: Campus Crawl” to dinner in my college cafeteria (pathetic, I know) during the spring of my sophomore year at Stonehill. They visited to encourage us to “Rock the Vote,” but it was clear that the presentation’s attendees were just like me and in it for the Q and A session at the end. (We learned some serious dirt on Tanya!) They were both fabulous, crazy, and everything I expected. It’s a shame that Shane is gay. He was too cute for words… ;-) Chet, therefore, marks my fourth MTV “star” sighting, and as long as my obsession (and apparent luck) continues, he surely won’t be my last!

Now, since Shane was the only one of the above four who makes my unofficial “Top Five Reality Stars to Meet” list, I’ve decided to share the remaining four.

1. Rodeo of “Rock of Love.” None of Bret’s romancing hopefuls compares to the cowgirl whose laugh could take over the world with one swift karate chop.

2. Bret Michaels. My friends have threatened to send in an application with my name on it if the rocker attempts to find his “rock” again. Though that means no more “Rock of Love,” since my preppy clothes and corporate summer obviously fit in with his rocker vibe.

3. Shane. DONZO!

4. Jill Zarin, the ginger-haired housewife of NYC and fellow Long Island native.

5. Teresa from the housewives of New Jersey.

And as an unofficial 6th, Brody Jenner. How could you not want to be in his presence?

Yours in patheticness,

KR

minus A

I doubt that anyone who is not a fan of Bravo’s “The Real Housewives of New Jersey” could tolerate my blog. I talk about the show so -- or more like way too -- much! Last night’s episode, watched in my movie theatre of a basement (ha.) with a posse of Jersey-girl impostors, was entertaining as ever without bring much of anything new to the table. Danielle still caused drama; Caroline still couldn’t stop talking about her family; Teresa finally got the long-awaited bubbies; Dina went tanning; Jacqueline contemplated the friends vs. family debacle. But what was most amusing about the hour of marvelously mindless television was the show’s final 20 minutes, in which all the housewives (except Danielle, of course, as she’s got more drama than Franklin Lakes can handle) accompanied Teresa on her departure from the valley of what she referred to as “Minus A.” Of course, this enlarging experience was preceded by a conversation between Danielle and her “juicy and delicious” husband at an (obviously) Italian restaurant, in which the “entrepreneur” himself debated his wife’s potential plastic surgery with his wannabe showgirl daughter, the scene-stealing, seven-year-old Gia. I don’t know what I’m going to do after next week’s season finale. I might have to take up knitting or something…

giveaway galore!!

Fantabulously Frugal is hosting a tres fab giveaway. Head on over to try your luck, and please mention that I sent you! =)

rah rah for routine

As much as I am a fan of the “big things” in life, the little things [almost!] please me just as much. Getting the elevator door held. Hearing a stranger say “Bless you!” after I sneeze. Reading a comment on my blog. =) Having a routine. (Key word.) As much as my two weeks in limbo between final exams and my internship were relaxing and enjoyable, I prefer my time to be a bit more scheduled. By no means am I the anal retentive type, but an organized life means a happy KR. Therefore, I’ve decided to give a little “routine” to my blog. I’ve noticed that a few fabulous bloggers out there have some “routine” posts, and I think the concept really helps to enhance their blogs. (Check out Yellow Brick Blog’s “Forever Frugal Friday,” a charmingly alliterative notification of her favorite cheap finds of the week.) So, in an effort to hopefully up my readership, but mostly for my own enjoyment, I’m going to start two little routine “columns” within my blog:

1. In light of my new Monday night yoga class, I’m going to post a weekly posture that I find particularly awesome, challenging, confusing, fun, stretchy, etc. Maybe you’ll all consider trying them out!

2. Since I live for my weekends, “Destination Thursday” will review or discuss a place I’ve been or plan to go, from bars to cities and from restaurants to beaches.

I’m really looking forward to this addition. Thursday marks day one of my new little “routine,” so keep posted!

9:34 AM is messing with my head

It was a dark and stormy night… or so you would think! The only word to describe New York at the moment is ominous! With the recent spike in subway fare from a manageable $2.00 to a not-much-more-but-still-crazy-irritating $2.50, I start every morning with a brisk walk from Penn Station to Times Square. On a sunny day, I find myself almost instantaneously settled in my cube, since, if necessary, I can make my stroll in about seven minutes. This morning, however, that was certainly not the case. By the time I hit 36th St., I was already cursing myself for not taking the subway. “It’s only one stop! Make the walk,” said one side of my head. “It’s a friggin’ monsoon, KR. Swipe your MetroCard and look presentable.” I should have listened to her. Currently, I am drenched from head to toe. My pink raincoat majorly failed, leaving me with a saturated white (white!) button down. My black pants (yeah, I’m dressed kind of boring today, but it’s raining!) are still sticking to me. I dumped two puddles from my Reva heels. The contents of my tote have seen better and drier days.

I really need to dry off.

On a happier note, I'm a few posts from 100! =)

sweat.

The next time I head to Yoga to the People for an hour of power yoga, remind me to bring a change of clothes. Not wanting to force my sweat-drenched body into my work dress, I made my way from the studio to Penn Station looking a tad indecent in gray yoga pants and a striped tank -- two articles that looked like they accompanied me and my dripping hair at the SoHo House for a post-work rooftop swim. (If only!) Indecency aside, I highly, highly, highly recommend this place, though it was certainly packed to the max. I ubitasa-ed along with about 50 other yogis in a 105 degree room. The extra body heat made it the toughest class of my life, but that helped me feel all the better as I proudly exited, toxin-free. Best of all, I only counted one yoga snob among the crowd! Students were both male and female, and all seemed to be in their early 20s. What I also loved was that leaving mid-class to get some air, or taking a break from downward dog to relax in child's pose was completely encouraged. I was especially thankful to escape for a few minutes to down three bottles of water when the heat took its toll. (Nurse, aunt, and avid blog reader KK is probably freaking out right now... I made it out alive, though, didn't I?!) Lightheadedness aside, I loved the class, and plan on making it my Monday night ritual for the rest of the summer.

This Friday marks the infamous Calico Jack's happy hour. Apparently, a simple name drop at the door is all that's necessary, so we have all been spreading the word, pretending to be socialites, and planning a party better than Jill Zarin. On the topic of the most fabulous New York City housewife, I am in an insufferable state of jealousy for the fact that my dear friend JB MET Jill yesterday when he partied like a rock star at the Tony Awards. But even worse than that is the fact that he got to see BRET MICHAELS! Granted, the Poison frontman was clotheslined by a piece of descending scenery, but STILL! I have a really strange obsession with the bandana-wearing, STD-ridden, love-rocking musician and reality TV personality, and have sent my genuine condolences for his speedy recovery out into the universe. Oh jeez...

Have a great week, everyone!

those flashing lights

Here's a little taste of where my name was flashing for all of Times Square to see this Monday, right on the corner of 42nd St. and 7th Ave. (All of the New York interns' names were listed and scrolled through marquee-style during the morning! How cool is that?!) Of course, I had to go inside to submit paperwork before I could see my actual name, but I imagine it was oh so awesome! (Photo credit to my fellow 3rd floor intern, Vineet!)

On the topic of interns, it's quite a crazy adjustment to go from interning with just one other person, to a group of 130. Last year at Zoom, I was always entertained by the fabulous Brooklynite NB. As irreplaceable as she is (can you tell she reads this blog? xoxo), it's a really interesting experience to work with so many incredibly diverse and intelligent students and recent graduates. 30% are international, and probably the same percentage (or more...oy!) are Ivy leaguers. Mad props to all of them, but I still wear my Stonehill spirit proudly! =)

I just can't seem to stop blogging today... XOXO

a post with more of a point

[[Disclaimer: Following my last bit of mumbo jumbo, here's an entry with a little more depth!]]

Following my first work-survived Friday, I decided that celebrations were in order, so where better to do so than at Clothingline for the Tory Burch sample sale? I had zero time to shop 'til I dropped earlier in the week, so I beelined out of Times Square, bound for 36th street, just as the five o'clock hour hit. Still in stilettos, I made it to the second floor space in less than ten minutes, and wasted no time to begin searching the racks for some ultra bargains. While the items were certainly picked over, as is only acceptable during the sale's final hour, I still exited with two fabulous finds: a military-style navy blazer with 3/4 sleeves (tres cute!), and a hippie-print blue and purple dress with a ruffly hem at the knee (tres cuter!). At full retail value, my credit card would have suffered and unsufferable (and perhaps unswipeable) $700, but in true KR style, I paid a sweet $179 for both! It was such a successful purchase, and definitely my next ensemble for a post-work happy hour!

For you New Yorkers out there, I am sure you have just loved the weather this week as much as I have. Psh! The rain really spoiled my Friday night plans, as my hometown throws a fantastic festival the night before the Belmont Stakes. However, my friends and I worked with Mother Nature, substituting a night of drinking wine on a closed-off street with a sushi dinner and girly movie... with wine still present, of course. While it kind of drives me insane (well, just Ginnifer Goodwin's character), He's Just Not That Into You still oozed charm and one can't help but find it to be a precious story in the end. I had fun, though my exhaustion set in, made very clear by my -- unbeknown to me -- toppling onto AC's shoulder in a deep, deep sleep. It was a good nap, what can I say!

This weekend marks the marathon weekend of graduation parties, and thankfully, Mr. Sun decided to bust out from hibernation. I'm wearing my new Lilly shift -- a "goal" dress which essentially fits -- to AC's this afternoon. I'm as excited for my new dress as I am for the party. Is that bad? Tomorrow is DA's event, and the fact that I don't have to wear "work" clothes will continue to carry my lifted spirits throughout the duration of the weekend.

Though as exciting as this weekend is going to be, I can't help but dream and pray over what will be happening next Saturday night. While barhopping with my single ladies a few weeks ago, we all entered to win a free happy hour at a Murray Hill bar. The darling Miss AC won, and she now gets to reel in an entourage to participate in the debauchery-filled festivities. Hello! We never win anything, so this is definitely going to be an all-out night!

Happy Saturday!

heels, puddles, and no more qualms

Alive and kicking, yes. That is still my current status, despite my brief, first-week-of-work-induced hiatus from bloggyland. My internship is faaaabbbbulous; the only thing I can’t stand is the fact that my ID card won’t work (it can take up to a WEEK to activate!), which therefore leaves me stranded in the elevator bank on the 3rd floor until someone enters or exits to let me into the department. The security guys at the desk pretty much know me by name already, as I give them a knowing wave each morning, to which they subsequently buzz me through to the speediest elevator known to man. My stomach drops with each journey. I love it.

Here’s a little list of what I’ve been up to/what things are like/etc. I’ll start with the fun stuff.

This morning, I successfully commuted in heels. It began with a two-legged sprint to the train, and ended with a 10 minute strut down 7th Ave. in which I avoided puddles like the plague and played with fire as my heel got caught on a vent. My darling little nude colored Mark Jacobs Mary Janes (my most recent Century 21 purchase, which I love, love, love!) suffered a slight bruising, but it’s nothing my mom’s trusty shoemaker can’t fix. I was really proud of myself for making the trek without a pair of flats on call. Granted, my tootsies are bandaged to the max so as to prevent blistering, but I still made it. Go me!

On day four, my boss hosted a 3rd floor happy hour. The wine was delish, but my tiny dragon roll of a lunch limited my intake. I was told my cheeks had their characteristically rosy glow. Also, in a miraculous visit, the CEO attended. I almost said hi. Imagine that? I would have been the coolest intern. Damn.

I’m pretty much the only girl on my floor. By day three, I figured the gents were ready for some pink. Upon entering, my boss said, “Kaitlyn, you look like Elle Woods.” I had to tell him about my obsession.

To kill time between work and BT’s birthday bash dinner at Caliente Cab, I made an appearance at Laughing Lotus Yoga. The attendees were a little too yoga-snobby for me, but the teacher was great and I had a nice, relaxing, and hip-opening time. The nakedness in the dressing room was a tad overkill, however. I’m trying out Yoga To the People on Monday, which is closer to my office and therefore a little more convenient.

After work happy hour, I took the train home and reconnected with my high school entourage after four days of separation, which is a lot considering our inseparability over the past few weeks. We discovered Jack Duggan’s, and relished in their “Recession Thursday” special of $1 domestic drafts and $3 well drinks. Yummilicious.

The Housewives of the dirty jerz never fail to amuse me. I’m hosting a wine social for the finale.

There is so much more to tell. Keep posted!

Love, heels, picture frames, and my very own cube,

KR