Thursday, April 17, 2008
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.
Friday, April 11, 2008
if you like men who like money
As I bee-bopped to Bloc Party on the pod this morning, I kept getting the strange feeling that I was seeing everything for the first time.
"But everything seemed different and completely new to me.
The sky, the trees, houses, buildings, even my own body.
And each person I encountered, I couldn't wait to meet."
Thank you Bright Eyes. You should read the words to that song if anything else.
So although this was unusual, it was an experience I've had before.. specificially on mornings after a "night on the town". (Note: if someone happens to find my self-respect and dignity, please let me know - as I seem to have lost them both last night) Let's revert back a dozen hours.
We started with 96 ounce Blue Moon "pitchers" (this word does a severe injustice to the actual container's size) at House of Brews in Hells Kitchen. A few beers, super-sampler platters of fried food, car bomb, something, something, something, fruity shot, let's go. Cabbed it down (up?) town to 230 5th. You know, the overcrowded rooftop bar where the only pre-requisite to get in is to work in finance. The thing about finance guys is that their powertrip button is always activated when in circles of their own kind. (as a friend of my pointed out) Sort of, Gladiator meets SAT Prep.
My friend Megs and I found her roommate and then made our way to the bar to purchase $15 drinks in fake plastic rocks glasses. After quite an arm-twisting, Megs ordered two lemon drops. Naturally, we were served Patron. Whatever.
The first set of financial d-bags told us what they did. I chuckled and stuck my strappy Tory Burch in my mouth. "Well not for Bear Stearns I hope! HA!" They meekly replied, "Well actually, we did. Until we got fired. But we have new jobs as of last week." Side-step escape. But they were everywhere. Like a live scene from CNBC.
My boyfriend and his friend finally returned from their trip to find food, and saved us. Needless to say, I'm taking it easy today - only giving my brain bits of information to process at a time. I'm really going to love that mani/pedi at 5...
"But everything seemed different and completely new to me.
The sky, the trees, houses, buildings, even my own body.
And each person I encountered, I couldn't wait to meet."
Thank you Bright Eyes. You should read the words to that song if anything else.
So although this was unusual, it was an experience I've had before.. specificially on mornings after a "night on the town". (Note: if someone happens to find my self-respect and dignity, please let me know - as I seem to have lost them both last night) Let's revert back a dozen hours.
We started with 96 ounce Blue Moon "pitchers" (this word does a severe injustice to the actual container's size) at House of Brews in Hells Kitchen. A few beers, super-sampler platters of fried food, car bomb, something, something, something, fruity shot, let's go. Cabbed it down (up?) town to 230 5th. You know, the overcrowded rooftop bar where the only pre-requisite to get in is to work in finance. The thing about finance guys is that their powertrip button is always activated when in circles of their own kind. (as a friend of my pointed out) Sort of, Gladiator meets SAT Prep.
My friend Megs and I found her roommate and then made our way to the bar to purchase $15 drinks in fake plastic rocks glasses. After quite an arm-twisting, Megs ordered two lemon drops. Naturally, we were served Patron. Whatever.
The first set of financial d-bags told us what they did. I chuckled and stuck my strappy Tory Burch in my mouth. "Well not for Bear Stearns I hope! HA!" They meekly replied, "Well actually, we did. Until we got fired. But we have new jobs as of last week." Side-step escape. But they were everywhere. Like a live scene from CNBC.
My boyfriend and his friend finally returned from their trip to find food, and saved us. Needless to say, I'm taking it easy today - only giving my brain bits of information to process at a time. I'm really going to love that mani/pedi at 5...
Monday, April 7, 2008
heart broken?
Fall in love all over again...
The new Christian Louboutin's. They come in BLUE PATENT LEATHER. YUM.
Send my heart, and a grand, to this mind-reading Parisian.
The new Christian Louboutin's. They come in BLUE PATENT LEATHER. YUM.
Send my heart, and a grand, to this mind-reading Parisian.
get your daily dose
I brought up Daily Candy in casual conversation with a girlfriend of mine the other day. I was astounded to discover she was unaware of this gold nugget of fashion/lifestyle/beauty.
Please do yourself a favor...
Love, H
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
why we don't give men diamonds
The wedding conspiracy. Girls dream and plan their engagement ring/wedding/marriage from the Barbie beginnings. Guys don't do this. Because honestly, what's in it for them? No dramatic surprise and a fat diamond - that's for sure. Little or no involvement with the wedding planning process (to generalize for a moment). Why? Because it's the GIRL who's been dreaming about it since day 1! And if WE keeps up these "Bridezilla" shows, the guys are REALLY going to catch on and none of us will have a chance...
So my point is - the cave men started these ridiculous traditions long ago to keep the wedding predicament under control. The divorce rate is already insane. We really don't need men giving diamonds and women giving diamonds and everyone actually WANTING to get married. That's incentive. My God, the engagement ring and wedding ceremony are two valid reasons to avoid the situation altogether!
I'm envisioning a world where lesbians can be legally wed. What a mess. I'm becoming a wedding planner.
So my point is - the cave men started these ridiculous traditions long ago to keep the wedding predicament under control. The divorce rate is already insane. We really don't need men giving diamonds and women giving diamonds and everyone actually WANTING to get married. That's incentive. My God, the engagement ring and wedding ceremony are two valid reasons to avoid the situation altogether!
I'm envisioning a world where lesbians can be legally wed. What a mess. I'm becoming a wedding planner.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Chanel #461
I just picked up the LAST coveted bottle of Chanel's Le Vernis Blue Satin (number 461) nail polish at Saks. (the sales lady told me so) After dreaming about it all last night (comparing and contrasting the new navy spring color made by Chanel and Dior), I felt sure I might have a breakdown if they didn't have it this morning. I was so happy with my new purchase that I pranced out of Saks Fifth, splurged, and hailed a cab back to work. Can I expense that?
I'm taking it to my nail appointment tomorrow night at Dashing Divas (they serve martinis while they paint) in preparation for my upcoming wknd in South Carolina - where I'll be joining my beloved LT at the horse races. Now all I need is a hat!
I'm taking it to my nail appointment tomorrow night at Dashing Divas (they serve martinis while they paint) in preparation for my upcoming wknd in South Carolina - where I'll be joining my beloved LT at the horse races. Now all I need is a hat!
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
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.
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.
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