J.C. Penney gets loose

I'm in complete shock over J.C. Penney's new ad. Sex has finally made it's way into the sales racks of Middle America. Now, I typically walk a fine line between my conservative, Southern up-bringing and liberal New York surroundings - but this has left me at a loss for words (almost).

The ad depicts two teenagers, speed dressing. They've gotten it down to 18 seconds (oh they're good). They call back to the unknowing parental unit with her ass stuck in the lazy boy. "We'll just be in the basement - watching TV". Wink, wink.

Because for J.C. Penney, "Every Day Matters" and "Today's the day to get away with it".



Really, people? What are we getting away with here? Hoping that teens will jump in their parent's Fords and head over to their favorite sex-charged department store to snag a wardrobe with Velcro and snaps? Better yet, the whole family could take a trip to the mall and each member could disperse to their appropriately sexified store sections.

I'm not denying that sex sells clothes (or anything for that matter). Abercrombie discovered this eons ago. (see figure 1) But honestly, I'd rather see old people in a sexified denture ad, than the depiction of awkward, pre-teen, sexual encounters.

sites from the bleecker street fair

The muggiest Saturday ever.



t-shirt stand.



pie in your face.



fresh fruit smoothies.



best gelato ever at grom.

the kind of thing only seen in scented, glossy magazines

I can see myself, back in the day, sitting on the 2nd floor of Patterson Hall (the all girl's freshman dorm at USC). My roommate, Leigh Ann and I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning almost every night. What were we doing? Watching some show about Tommy Hilfiger's daughter who had money coming out of her junk and sing/screaming Celine Dion and Barbara Streisand duets. Dude, do you remember that show??



*the rich girls*



*the p-hall girls*

I can also see myself, listening to John Mayer's "City Love" on repeat - daydreaming. I envisioned myself. For some reason it would be at night. Maybe a little rainy, for dramatic effect. Over a candle-lit dinner, I would sit. With my boyfriend, who probably looked something like John Mayer, and even had his voice. He would be a struggling singer, or maybe an actor. We'd have to share an apartment because we were so poor, but it wouldn't matter because we'd be so in love that we wouldn't have it any other way.

I was Lydia. I would have about 16 toothbrushes lying around all over the place, taking up tons of space. Of course my long, blonde hairs would be all over his personal possessions, because I shed like nobody's business. I'd have some job. Doing something. I'd even wear his clothes to work, because it would be the sort of job, where you can throw on a button down 3 sizes too big and maybe some boxers and just GO.

While at the aforementioned candle-lit dinner, we'd probably have too much wine or sangria or pabst blue ribbon. He'd think about proposing but instead, we'd just go home and spoon to the sound of sirens.

Yeah, that's how it would be when I got to New York City.

i'm taking crazy pills

Turbulent morning thus far. It's May and I'm wearing a turtle neck. Why is it sunny with 35MPH winds? I started my period so I'm DYING. And already this morning I've broken down crying and busted out laughing on the subway to strangers. The huge white envelope that contains my voters registration came back to me in the mail. It says something along the lines of "179 postage needed". What the feck does that mean? I weighed it at the post office on 38th. It said ONE stamp. ONE! That wasn't enough to haul it downtown? Instead, they had to carry it over or under the east river to LIC and give it back to me saying they NEED MORE MONEY?! That makes sense.

So then I started thinking, as I walked to work, enormous white envelope tucked under my arm. If stamps are 41 cents a piece, how many more do I need? It said I need $1.79. $1.79 more than the one stamp already stamped? Or a total of $1.79? I'm trying to do the math in my head while Dave Matthews is howling that "life is short". I suck at math. I am trying to divide and multiply and not get hit by a car. I'm just a block or two from the post office and I'm visualizing a quick little visit.

It involves me, busting open the door and causing a scene. The million and one people (who inevitably will be standing in line as if they have nothing better to do) will turn and look at me. They will wonder if I'm crazy, or if I'm a threat, or if they're getting to witness someone "going postal". Then I would slip a pair of reflective aviators from my enormous leather satchel and subsequently put them on my head. OHP, you thought it was going to be a weapon? REALLY? They all breathe a heaved sigh of relief. BUT THEN, with the corner of my mouth rising, revealing a singular dimple, I begin to reach BACK into my enormous leather satchel. A woman gasps and a small child begins to wail. I pull out of my purse, a bazooka. I get a crazy look in my eye (but they can't see it because of the aviators) and I look up at the ceiling and I begin to shoot holes. Huge, pot-hole sized, hole-puncher style gaps in the ceiling. I'm proving a point, and dammit, they'll listen. Sheet rock falls dramatically, spraying into my hair and billowing smoke and entering my mouth.

And then. Ever so slowly, someone, anyone who is a government employee, comes forward and relieves me of the enormous white envelope. And I say "thank you". Walk out of the door, back onto 7th avenue, and continue my walk to work.

sweet schooner

I'm SO ready for May 15th and our little trip around Manhattan on this schooner with one of our reps. They titled the invite "drinking and sailing". Get your Dramamime and Sperry's ready girls.

going on four hours

After flying in on the red-eye from Colorado this morning, I am struggling to keep my eyes open.

Having briefly lived in Idaho as a child, I was excited to visit out west, if anything, to remember what it was like.

I've had it set in my mind (and we all know, that's not an easy thing to dislodge) that I would only consider living in NYC or San Francisco - ultimately. But I have to say, I was impressed enough to add this city to my selective list.

At first, the mile-high altitude gave me a dull, persistent headache. So I drank liters of water while given the grand tour.

It is nice being close to the sun, and still having an amazingly chilly breeze. And while I am consistently turned on by towering, man-made city structures, I have to say that the mountainous backdrop is a close competitor.

Everyone there is active, and I love this. We went hiking and biking and running. We played golf and baseball. The night-life leaves something to be desired, but I have a feeling that it's not one of their bragging rites to begin with. It's official, NYC has made me a party snob.

All of this has turned my Statue-of-Liberty-Snow-Globe life upside down. I didn't anticipate being enticed by any place other than the climatic city in which I currently reside.

I honestly didn't think the grass could be greener, until it was.

where the beer flows like wine...

I'm going to Colorado, beeches. I actually have no idea where. I'll let you know when I get there. Be back on a redeye Monday morning.

dripping sweat

I was exposed to hairy men with beer bellies this weekend. My newest experience was taking a dip in the Russian baths on the lower east side. They've been around for over a century, and are a germaphobe's worst nightmare. (although I was assured of their cleanliness multiple times)

Faded pictures of celebrities and magazine reviews were absentmindedly plastered across the walls. A wrinkled woman sat behind a counter serving unpronounceable bottled beers and was curiously licking her fingers while she cooked soup. I wrapped a tattered navy tunic around (what I thought was) my very appropriate metallic gold bikini and joined the two boys who were seasoned veterans to this whole experience.

The first room was insufferable. I forced dramatic attempts to breathe and watched my skin glisten and moisten to the resemblance of a wet seal. The second room was dry and arid to the point where I felt my hair crisping like straw. I attacked our liter of water bottle and gulped with the ferocity of a Saharan nomad. Every minute. Replenish. Quickly. For every minute you didn't replace, your fluids were being sucked from your pores.

And then there was the water. Coming down over my head and bleeding through my tunic and making my breasts feel alive. I must have had an expression of complete horror, followed by immense relief, as bucket after bucket was poured over my thirsting hair and skin. The regular soakers sitting around me grinned and judged as they watched me learn.

When we emerged, a Russian man urged me to try the 45 degree pool of ice water. I succumbed to peer pressure and got in line to walk in, and felt the heat being sucked from my fingers and toes. He said it was good for the joints.

We replaced our drenched tunics with fresh ones and split a large bottled beer on the unkempt roof deck above. I instantly became sleepy as my newly detoxed body embraced the torturous temperature changes. Even the slight New York breeze sweeping through the cracks of the deck didn't seem to bother me.

If you get the chance to visit a Russian or Turkish bath, I would highly recommend it...especially on Sundays when Colin Farrell is there - sweating out his weekend antics.

Zzzzzzzzz

This weekend was a blurry smudge. I worked all day Friday on a presentation for our client in LA and it ended up getting moved to later this week. Naturally, it was drizzly/snowy out when I escaped the office at 5:45p. I made it to LIC, showered, made myself presentable, and ran downstairs to the car service (thank you, Z) - only 15 minutes behind. Traffic was tragic but I finally made it to the West side and into the small, 20-something-table restaurant that is Po'. Joining Z, his Aunt & Uncle, college friend & cf's girlfriend, we sipped bottles of Pinot Noir and talked about - relationships mostly...I'm just remembering that. Doppio espresso - coat check - farewell and many thanks to A&U - back to Z's apartment.

He has a fabulous hookah with blackberry tabacco. CF made us vodka tonics and we aptly decided Patron shots might start our evening off right. We ventured down the four flights and poured ourselves into the first cab that took us to one of my favorite lounge/clubs - Room Service. I love it for its drumming house music and fabulous VIP areas with enveloping curtains and the hotel-like amenities of a snack drawer, mini bar, and chocolate covered strawberries. DJ AM was performing, and that's really why we were there. Tiny bottles of UpShot (energy drink) overflowed from decorative bowls along the bar, and we took a few for fun. Something, something, something - and the night closed its arms around us.

Z and I maintened a lazy Saturday and I had my hair chopped off on Sunday. I love my new bangs and blond(er) locks! We went to the Rangers game last night, followed by the Oscars (thank God for DVR) and I was invited to see Eric Clapton perform at the Garden tonight. But to be honest with you, I'm just too tired.

The Great Molasses Flood of 1919

It doesn't make much sense to have a blog about New York and be talking about Boston - but I'm visiting my sister (Lindsay) here until tomorrow morning and I found myself pondering why they call this place "Beantown"...

Back in colonial days, a favorite Boston food was beans baked in molasses for several hours. Back then, Boston was sort of awash in molasses - it was part of the "triangular trade" in which slaves in the Caribbean grew sugar cane to be shipped to Boston to be made into rum to be sent to West Africa to buy more slaves to send to the West Indies. Even after the end of this practice, Boston continued as a big rum producing city - until the Great Molasses Flood of 1919 (which killed 21), occurred when a tank holding molasses for rum production exploded.

Today, Boston baked beans are something of a rarity - there are no companies in the city making it and only a few restaurants serve it.

Well, that settles it. I'm finding a restaurant that serves BBB by the end of the day. Any product that results in a Molasses flood has got to be worth hunting, finding, and trying.

Now we just have to get through the snow that started last night and hasn't stopped since...

see how they run like pigs from a gun

Someone PLEASE mail me a chick-fil-a sandwich.


I've been on the dreaded NYC apartment hunt for the last week or so. It's very difficult and time consuming. Craigslist and Facebook Marketplace can be sketchy and are riddled with broker listings. You really have to differenciate. I've looked at several options thus far. I've seen a no fee place that reminded me of College of Charleston dorm life - meh. Also looked into brokers and found a phenomenal place with a small brokers fee around $4000. (riiiiight) The search continues...........



The upside to this (there's always an upside) is that I'm learning the city areas. It was easy in Columbia: the Vista and 5 pts. I now know that I'd like to live on the Upper East Side, the East Village is hip and young, Harlem is just scary (Spanish Harlem included), Andy wants me to live in Inwood, Hoboken and Jersey City are also younger and I know the most people there, Meatpacking is trendy, and the Upper West Side is ideal. That's just a few. Sighs.



I don't want to give the misconception that my life here is filled with $1000 meals, trips to the theater and sleepovers at the Waldorf. I am seeing every side of New York. I've been lost. I've ridden a bus filled with Mexican construction workers. I've opened the subway door for a leg-less bum. I've walked through the Bronx in patent leather Tory Burch ballet flats for God's sake. I'm also learning Spanish slang from my Puerto Rican coworker. YES!

There is always an advenure - that's for sure. I feel like everyday I wake up, I am in store for something unexpected and crazy. I went into the city last Saturday to apartment search and meet Melissa at HillCountry for BBQ and the Texas game. I left from the Port Authority and was waiting in line for the bus forEVER. There was a nice looking man in a suit waiting with me and we eventually struck up a conversation. He had just flown in from the West Coast and was running an hour late for a 4 o'clock wedding in Nyack, NY. (a place he'd never actually been before) We sat near eachother on the bus and when I wasn't catnapping, I saw him take out a leatherbound journal and write entries. He had no idea where the church was in Nyack and he asked if he could bother me for a ride (right as I was about to offer the poor man one) and I naturally obliged. He was so upset about being late that I told him we could run to my car. And we did. We literally RAN to my car once we stepped off the bus. As we were running, I made a comment about how "it's times like these I wish I worked out more" - and he said I was going "way above and beyond the call of duty". When we departed - he thanked me profusely, and I assured him that I had been helped NUMEROUS times by New Yorkers in the past 3 months and it was my pleasure to finally return the favor to someone. =)

Oh, and GO SEE "ACROSS THE UNIVERSE" - BEST MOVIE EVER.

the resilient ones

Here you go, Mom - my number one fan.

As I was coming into work today through the usual throngs of people, I realized that this particular Tuesday was just another day in the city. New Yorkers are a fascinating and resilient group. However I still haven't adopted the semi-ridiculous words they use at times: nosh (snacking), shlep (dragging), woof (who knows...) and the pronunciation of the word huge (said youge). Still - I admire their patriotism and have never seen anything like it. I was in O'Malley's Pub and two men dressed in Army fatigue took a seat at the bar. I watched them. They didn't pay for a drink the entire time. As if on cue, fellow customers came up to them one by one - sincerely thanked them for what they do and proceeded to buy their drinks. The men hadn't just gotten back from overseas or anything - I think they were actually in the reserves. It was quite a stark contrast from the south.

Although some people became anxious over the Bin Laden video released a few days ago, it didn't stop the buses from running or decrease the inevitable waiting line to get to work.


I watch as a bum walks past a bus and gives the driver a wide grin and tall thumbs up (whilst holding a brown bagged can in the opposite hand). I can't help but laugh out loud at this. I walk under the scaffolding that shields me from the misting rain and into a huge crowd - side swiping and dodging - determining the best clear path to get through. Little red ipod in hand, pumping 50 cent and Justin's "Ayo Technology". (really great by the way) I say hello to the Jamaican security guard in my building and ride the five floors up to the place I call home for 40 hours out of the week.


Last night we had a company "event" at a place called Stitch. It was to watch/celebrate the air of Ameriprise's new commercial on Monday Night Football. So it was everyone who works on the account from MindShare (us- the media agency), Saatchi (the creative agency), and of course Ameriprise (the client). It was a nice time and the commercial was good and it aired when it was supposed to and I met the group and had some nice appetizers and cocktails. I love my job. I took a car service home and still got to bed before my self-enforced 12 o'clock curfew.

I just took my boss the car service receipt - was walking past the lounge area while passing a random coworker at the same time. I turned after we passed to look back at the flat screen TV against the wall, airing today's Memorial at Ground Zero and completely caught him turning around to look at me. Teehee.

My friend Andy and I snuck into Fashion Week last Thursday. It ends tomorrow. We walked the few blocks to Bryant Park where the tents were set up. We decided we would be assistants or hair stylists running late. Our original attempt was quickly shut down by the security guards who instructed us to go to another entrance - check for our names on a list and get a pass. So - our names were certainly not on that list. As we stood - dejected - on the sidewalk, deliberating - we noticed a man yank hard one time on a side door that blended in with the white tent building. Naturally, we followed suit. By this time, we had a model-wannabe who had joined us in our attempt to crash the show. We all three found ourselves in a tiny side room with a curtain and a cart laid out with cokes, sprites and bottled water. We finally gathered the courage to walk out into the room (we had no idea who or what was in it) and immediately were confronted by two ladies who asked us where we had come from/what we were doing/that sort of thing. Andy took charge and explained that we were late assistants. She told us to go out in the main room because it wasn't time to be backstage - or something. Whatever - we made it. It was pretty funny. We drank for free and mingled with models and even saw Nigel Barker (hottie British judge from ANTM). Fun times. I left early, but Andy went into the Gottex show. Deece.