La Vie En...

So I was stalking my journalism professor the other day and looking at her blog. My favorite teacher is currently in Jordan and Turkey with a group of 20 students on a Middle East journalism dialogue. I was reading the students' blogs too, soaking up all this imagery and living vicariously through their hot summer adventures.

And then today, motivated by a conversation with my dad, I was looking at some Peace Corps information. I was skimming through the photos of these far-off places and looking at the requirements and doing a fancy little tango with the idea of "what if..."

And then I got thinking about Paris next fall and looking up Rosetta Stone (because I fail at French) and thinking about how "exscary" (exciting + scary) it will be to fly someplace even further away, but how amazing it will be to eat pain au chocolate every morning and Nutella crepes and gain 20 pounds.

I tend to think that I've got every second of my life planned out because much of it is. Color-coded with stickers. But the parts that I don't have planned--like what I do after I graduate (Peace Corps, law school, grad school, job?), how I'll manage when I'm abroad, where I'll be in 5 years--fascinate me.

I was looking at all those pictures, all the imagery and beauty of the world and I'm giddy with it. I'm high on beauty. I'm fascinated by the potential and by my opportunities. I'm swimming in this pool of color and sound and glory and it's all so sensual. I want to roll around in it and smother myself with all the beauty that surrounds me. Is that insane? (I don't care).

I see these pictures and hear these stories and can't help but think about everything I haven't experienced yet, everything that can't be planned. I think of all the undiscovered food and music and festivals and cobblestone paths... I think about the smells and the breathtaking views and the people in the world that I have yet to meet. I think of all the beauty I've experienced and the excesses of beauty that I've yet to experience and I'm absolutely giddy with happiness. It's fascinating, this.

I'm giddy with beauty. And it's like I'm seeing the world through acid-spiked glasses. Everything is colorful and overwhelming and quintessentially sublime. La vie en acid. Now isn't that something.

This Is Why I'm Single

Sexurity guard's name is Steve.

My name is psycho-chick-that-tries-to-break-into-the-Hearst-Tower. FML.

I'm been beating myself up for a while about this whole sexurity guard thing. The angelic (ha!) side of me figures that in real life, he won't be anything like I would like him to be and he's so much better to admire from afar. But then the devious little part of me says something along the lines of "Try it! What if he wants to take you for drinks! What is there to lose?"

What there is to lose is my dignity. Today, I was walking outside to get my boss her tall skinny vanilla latte, decaf, and I saw he was working the front. We caught eyes. I looked away and walked out. The entire time I was in Starbucks, I was talking myself into talking to him, praying that I had the guts, and daring myself to do it (I don't say no to dares). So when I pushed through the revolving doors, I was a woman on a mission.

Unfortunately, I was so single-mindedly focused on him that I forgot to scan my security card, ran straight into and through the bars and basically tripped into him with my hand out saying, "Hi, I'm Marian." Fail.

At least I can take comfort in the knowledge that I didn't spill the latte on him.

He looked at me like I was insane (because obviously I'm a sociopath) and I said something like, "I'veseenyouaroundyou'reverysmileyIthoughtI'dsayhi." And he said, "I'm Steve. Do you actually work here?" And to demonstrate, I went back to the gates and made my key open them. He said, "Nice to meet you, Marian."

I was probably beet red (thank you, undiagnosed rosacea) and stumbled past him mumbling "Nice to meet you too, Steve."

And ran up the escalator.

The good news is that since my internship is over in two weeks, I only have to hide my face for eight more days.

This, ladies and gents, is why I'm single.

Let's assume the blurry figure on the escalator is me.

Today's Obsession: Michael Kors (2)

On a ten note, I ended up getting myself that Michael Kors watch finally. I had budgeted spending more money on the Bahamas than I actually did, so I spent the remaining (and my grocery money from this month) on it, got it sized, and am the proud new owner of a watch I’ve been eyeing since probably September.

And then on my “buy high,” I treated myself to a two-tone sterling silver ring covered in gold. It’s no David Yurman, but it will suffice until I can scrounge up enough for a Yurman. Can’t wait!
I think the best feeling about tens is knowing in my heart of hearts that I am going to get them. I know that I will do it for myself because I can’t imagine it any other way. That’s very new age philosophy-y, but great nonetheless.

Next on my list is a DSLR camera for my photo class this summer. Price and quality-wise, I’ve settled on a Canon Rebel T1i, a downgrade from Laura’s (no video) and a double downgrade from the one I featured months ago as my daily obsession. Nonetheless… gorgeous. Obsessed (but somehow that doesn’t cover it enough).

The goods!

The Perfect 10 Ham Sandwich

So this whole yoga thing has been amazing. I went to my first Bikram session on Saturday and was pleased to find that I chose the best time ever to come; this whole week is free to new members. And on that note, we got started.

The one rule to Bikram is that you can’t leave the room. I managed to break that rule my first session. I basically started to pass out (I’ve passed out enough times before to know that losing sight and hearing are not great signs), so the instructor grabbed me a coconut water. Coconut water is high in potassium and natural electrolytes and it hydrates the body super quickly. I felt better in seconds.

But then I had something in my stomach. Something that came up. Yes, I vomited in the yoga studio. Super sexy. Into a towel. And then, when they let me leave the room, into the toilet.

But I went back into the room and I survived, albeit barely. Turns out I was far more dehydrated than I could have ever guessed.

Since then, I’ve gone every night (except Tuesday. There was a free concert to take advantage of) and the benefits are incredible. I’m sleeping faster, harder and dreaming about everything from cruises to robot T-Rexes. Yoga is my current drug and the high lasts for days.

At least that’s what I tell myself as I stretch myself into impossible positions with names like “Awkward” and “Japanese Ham Sandwich.”

The only problem is that my free week runs out this Sunday. And then I have another week of different yoga (more feelings and music, less heat). And then… DVD yoga? I have no clue, but I can’t afford an actual plan. Choices, choices.

Then again, I deserve it right? I mean, if I’m this excited about it? Off to my 8 o'clock class now!

Japanese Ham Sandwich

Today's Obsession: HRH Emily Post

As stated before, I don’t how people typically celebrate Hooray for Buttons Day, but there’s something more to celebrate. This week is National Etiquette Week, and to honor the occasion, today’s obsession is what should basically be considered the Etiquette Bible.

Emily Post, likely hailed the queen of etiquette, was born in Baltimore in 1872 and educated by governesses and at private schools. She had a formal debut, where she met her soon-to-be husband, and later had two sons (whom, of course, she sent to boarding school). While she would likely find me brash (Gasp! I’m a female with a job), she does know a thing or two about class.

She wrote a couple of romantic stories before publishing her first non-fiction, “Etiquette.” In 1942, she founded The Emily Post Institute with her son. According to her website, the EPI acts as a “social civility barometer,” and “elucidates new manners for today’s world based on core values of honest, respect, and consideration.”

Emily Post on her honeymoon. Check out that corset! Wowza.

After Emily Post’s death, her family continued to keep the Post name active. They maintain a collection of 25 books, columns in several nationally-acclaimed publications, and even put on little seminars and training sessions (Hint: My birthday's in a month!).

The Emily Post website is a great resource, too. There's a handy Etipedia to search whatever keywords you're looking for. And they have various pages tailored to people of different ages and walks of life. Personally, I love the College and Beyond page, which covers everything from roommate troubles to library behavior and cell phone usage.

I've long been fascinated by etiquette because I think it's such an archaic (but still relevant) art. It's grace and composure. It's "My Fair Lady." It's a means to making oneself a ten. It's class.

SureSister.com, a sorority-themed site meant for potential new members interested in recruitment, recently released a blog post about suggested summer reading and I was thrilled to see that Emily Post’s Etiquette (17th Edition) was on there, along with various student leadership books. I’ve thumbed through the book before and it’s both comprehensive and easy to navigate. But I never bought it (damn you, nonexistent income!). Maybe Etiquette Week is reason enough to splurge! Obsessed.

Emily Post's Etiquette (17th Edition), $24

Bermuda, Bahama, Come on Pretty Mama

Yesterday was legitimately Hurray for Buttons Day. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to celebrate that. Soooo I’ll talk about something else.

I got back from the Bahamas on Saturday and spend Sunday with the lovely Laura Max before she left to return to Boston. The trip was fantastic… morning coffee and relaxation, five hours at the pool or beach, afternoon shower and Law and Order marathon, dinner, bed, repeat. And rum, lots of rum.

We ate conch (pronounced “conk.” Insert sexual joke here.) fritters and fried conch and various fruity beverages. We swam in the gloriously beautiful water. We rode jet skis. We shopped. We read. We talked. We laughed. Oh, and we also discovered guava jam, which is the definition of heaven.

We also burned. I started the week with sun poisoning and ended it with a prickling-ly painful sunburn. But it was splendid. Book review to come on Kim Barker’s Taliban Shuffle, which I spent my afternoons devouring.

In all, I feel refreshed and relaxed and spoiled rotten. It was so good to spend time with my family and catch up on all the months we manage to spend apart. And I couldn’t have asked for a better travel partner in Laura. She is my big sister in so many ways.

Yes my face looks something like a war zone what with all the peeling. But I’m tan. Nothing makes me feel prettier than ditching my porcelain complexion and looking like a Californian for once.

Enough gloating. Picture time.

Laura loves the close-ups.

The water wasn't photo-shopped. Incredible.

Book nerds :)

We had to take a photo at Senor Frogs.

Jet skiing!! So much fun :)

The original Woof (center) and my momma.

What I'm Reading: Hilary Winston

I'm writing this post in the middle of April, but won't be publishing it until I'm in the Bahamas (wahooo!!) due to publicity issues and the minor, minuscule detail that the book I'm talking about doesn't come out until May 3. Be jealous.

It's been a goal of mine during co-op to read a lot more than I have since I've been in college. The unfortunate truth about being in school is that academic reading--and just about everything else--comes before reading for pleasure. I keep an ongoing list of books on my computer desktop that I want to/plan to sometime down the road read.

As it turns out, my lack of television, Internet, radio or any other means of cheap entertainment (besides people watching) means that I have been reading a lot since January. Admittedly, some books I don't bother to finish, for a variety of reasons. Some are crap. Some are difficult to read quickly, so I put them off till a later date. There's just something so addictive-ly satisfying about reading a book in a weekend. I feel accomplished and educated and witty. And when that same book makes me laugh until I tear up, all the better.

For anyone who's ever had anything shitty happen in their life, please oh please pick up a copy of My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me by Hilary Winston. I literally just finished it and then hopped on a (borrowed. Sorry, Lloyd) computer to write about it.

I mean, anyone who can incorporate "It looked like I shit out an alien shitting out an alien" into a published work has got to be either genius or psychotic. Or both. Either way, I looked psychotic as I was reading-slash-laughing-hysterically in a Union Square cafe yesterday.

Winston recounts the most hilarious anecdotes about her single and dating life, including the humiliating true story about the fact that her ex-boyfriend, Kyle (you can cross that name off of my future potential husband list) wrote a "fiction" about her. Given the content of his book, the only thing that was fiction was a minor anecdote about how he may have once jizzed in Winston's color treatment conditioner bottle. Classy.

Winston starts with her elementary school crushes and the boys who crushed on her, recounts her numerous gay ex-boyfriends, her first loves and her ongoing love of her cats (R.I.P. Emmett). Her stories are both hilarious and instantly familiar. And her background in comedic writing makes this book come off like a raunchier David Sedaris. Maybe funnier. Though I've never spent a night in applying Proactive and cold presses to my cat's chin acne, I get it. And I've probably done worse.

She keeps boxes of her exes stuff, like any self-respecting, emotionally-cutting girl would, and lists (yes, mine are color-coded) of ex-boyfriends.

Winston makes me think back on the hilarity of those first boyfriends, on the we-think-we're-so-grown-up talks over pre-teen sleepovers, on those awkward, post-breakup lunch dates. I would love to sit at a table with this woman and share horror stories. Maybe even start a support group. Or a chat room chain. Something. Someone needs to appreciate the retrospective humor of my life. But I could never tell it like Winston does. Nor would I necessarily feel comfortable using the poor kids' names. She's got to be the coolest fat-assed cat lady ever.

She ends on a sweet tone though. Her book, though full of details and lingering bitterness, is no Taylor Swift revenge ballad. It's just fact. Funny, outrageously uncensored fact. And unlike Kyle's scam, you can find her book in the non-fiction section. If it hasn't sold out already.

Greetings from the Bahamas!

It's quite the week this week :) Not only is it National Scrapbook Week (and Month), but it's also Send a Postcard Week!

So how perfect that I'm in the Bahamas, too cool for school to actually blog (I'm writing this the week before. Muahaha). Don't you worry, though. I'm taking plenty of pictures with Laura's glorious camera, The Hulk. There'll be plenty to scrapbook with to truly honor the holiday. Heck I might even send a postcard.

But, as always, I don't need the reason to celebrate. Why would I need any reason when I'm already sprawled out on the beach reading and drinking cold something-tinis? Ahh! So excited :)