more new england

We spent 8 hours in transit today from Boston to New York. I don't think you people with cars have a real appreciation for public transportation. You're welcome for the iPod. For this is the love child of mass transit and boredom.

Thanks to the Sheraton Ferncroft of Danvers, Massachusetts for the complimentary (plus $5 tip) shuttle bus to the shit mobile known as "The T". Sitting atop our luggage in shirt sticking humidity, we awaited the arrival of the Boston Commuter Rail. A big breasted woman donning a "Sox Fans Make Better Lovers" tank top crossed the platform to join us. Classy. I'm convinced Massachusetts' so-called "educated" population directly originates from the other 49 states. Boston got lucky.

Once we arrived in North Station, we navigated the cracker jack subway wanna-be. South Station brought Cosi for lunch and the Lucky Star Chinatown bus. Oh yeah.

A young Latino woman (and her son) (five-year-old son) (five-year-old son with a mom that looked like his sister) sat behind us. Aside from her charming (if loud) cell-phone Spanglish (no, seriously - she was purposely mixing sentences and interchanging words for some reason), we got to hear her son play with a toy designed and created by Satan himself. Then she bumped her MP3 player at full blast. I actually think she might have had a small jute box sitting on her shoulder back there.

I'm supposed to go back to Boston in 2 weeks. But after today, I think I'druther stay latched on NYC's locality leash.

nice day for a white wedding

My bags are packed and we're headed up to Boston for a weekend of wedding festivities. I'm hoping to visit my sister tonight, there's a floatilla during tomorrow day, and a clam bake/rehearsal tomorrow night. The wedding is Saturday, followed by Sunday brunch, and back to NY.

Yesterday I had to walk away from a Marilyn Monroe-esque BCBG halter dress with Valentino frills around the neck and bodice. There was one problem. It was white. I loved it on the rack. I loved it on my rack (or lack thereof). Seriously, it did wonders for my silhouette. I called my mom for reassurance of what I already knew all too well.

"Mom, I can wear white to a wedding, right?" (intentionally stated this way)
"Nope"
"It's 2008. Are you kidding me!? Those old fashioned rules are out the window."

This conversation preceeded a verbatim list of googled responses to the "white to a wedding" question. NO! NEVER! YOU'LL LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT! THE BRIDE WILL HATE YOU!

Sheesh. Okay, okay. I sadly took the lovely dress back to the rack.

And proceeded to purchase the black version instead.

i wanna be a kennedy

So Obama's biz pro battle versus Hillary has (finally) come to an end. Now that the fight in the lime-light is finished, we're all left with a panting, standing-on-a-precipice, sort of feeling. The battle scars are deep on both sides of the evenly torn Democratic party. Emotional opinions have flown high throughout this entire process. We almost forgot about McCain, didn't we? And now we have to question what happens next.

People are so passionate with their views on Obama and Hillary, that right now it seems doubtful that we'll have the mass crossover that the Democrats need. Hillary's voters have said they will either stay home on election day OR vote for McCain.

How is this happening? I honestly didn't think it was possible that America would let another Republican in the White House after the past 8 years.

It's time to whip out the first aid kit, Barack. Make good with Hil's voters before McCain is breezing into the Oval Office without even breaking a sweat.

little country girl

I've been working in my cube to the tune of a radio station from Augusta, Georgia.

For the last three days.

Time to start using summer as a verb.

brody jenner wasn't there

Oh, I forgot to tell you about the Men's Style "Women in Fashion" party. Among 200 or so guests, atop the Peninsula Hotel on 5th avenue, where the Veuve Clicquot was pouring more freely than I liked (the following morning). I waited downstairs for two girlfriends. I was already irritated to be standing in a hotel lobby, since they weren't letting anyone up to the party in Salon de Ning. I absent-mindedly sent a text or two. Pink and black shoes caught my eye. Looked up. Lindsay Lohan. God she's short. Those extensions. Lindsay Lohan. LiLo. I had heard (earlier that day) that she had RSVP'd. She kept walking by, back and forth. Samantha Ronson emerged from somewhere and joined her. A photographer (also waiting to go up to the party) stood next to me. "Lindsay Lohan, right?" I cast a sideways glance as if he had to ask... "yeah".

I should have just worn a sign that said "I WORK IN MEDIA". Looking back, that probably wouldn't have even been necessary. I'm sure everyone just knew. The rooftop views were great. I took cheesy pictures with my girlfriends and took in all the trendy labels that passed by. Designers, editors, NY socialites.

It was fun, but after an hour or so, I was ready to catch up with my friends who were in town from DC. I packed into an elevator down and when I walked with the group out of the hotel, I was surprised to see actual paparazzi on the street below the steps. Lights immediately flashed. I felt famous for half a millisecond, and then walked namelessly down to the subway - back downtown - where I belong.

Things that brighten my day...

Receiving a small stack of thank you letters from the USC maymester class to decorate my cube :)

bitter realization

I spent most of yesterday afternoon sitting in the cart on a manicured golf course in Connecticut. My mind preoccupied with the wherabouts of two bacon turkey wraps with french fries. Pollen visibly circled past us and taunted my sinuses. It wasn't a weekend in the Hamptons, but it was relaxing. A few things I wasn't missing. Young mommies in white, au pair's in tow, lazily/busily discussing plans and engagements and organizing pre-packaged meals. Political conversations (I should obviously be actively concerned with) over dinner. Business, work, summer camp, Ivy League schools, second homes, children, third homes, weddings, life, death, people I don't know. This is serious business. It must be discussed as frequently as possible. This doesn't seem all that abnormal, does it?

So why do I cringe when I hear these conversations? Why am I screaming inside for a mental/physical escape? I reached back in my memory for conversations from the pre-job era. Why don't I remember these topics? What the hell did I talk about? Grades, summer vacatation, part-time jobs, job hunting, boyfriends, graduation.

And then it occured to me. These are adult conversations. This is expected of me. I'm an adult and I'm hanging around with adults. What day did I grow up? I need to accept this and move on. There's such a huge part of me that still wants to sit at the kids table and talk about kid shit. The grown-up table is so boring.

I am so immature, it kills me.