model behavior

I'm Moving Please Wait a Moment - You Are Being Redirected to my New Site SelfAbsorbed.me

2008-11-21T10:25:00.005-05:00

If you want to read just my posts on the new site SelfAbsorbed.me select "Miss Model Behavior" from the drop down "read by author" tab. All my archives have been transferred as well. Please update your links! Thanks and enjoy!

Doesn’t moving stink? The painful sound of sticky packing tape, the boxes, the lugging, the temporary feeling of homelessness? Forcing things to fit in your trunk?

Well, this move won’t involve any of those things.

Model Behavior is moving to a new address and a new format. Don’t freak – it’s going to be great, and this domain will automatically be forwarded to our new location. That’s right, I said ‘our.’ I’ve joined forces with four other talented girl writers and we’re pooling all our archives at a new site starting Monday. You’ll still have the option to just read my posts, although I’m guessing you’ll fall virtually in love with all of us. The quality of writing will stay the same (or who knows, maybe go up – five brains are better than one!)

This is a big change and in the coming weeks, we’re really going to need readers’ support to

1) spread word of the new site and

2) update our new address on your blogrolls, feeds etc.

More news on how to do that next week. For now just sit back, relax and let the magic happen this weekend. I’ll see you all at the other side on Monday! Have a great weekend.

-- mb

Gone in 60 Seconds

2008-11-20T10:27:00.004-05:00

When I wrote about my first date with Marquee a few weeks ago, I failed to mention that I returned to the club the very next night. My pride only just got out of rehab.

This time, I was there for another event. I’ll be honest: I don’t even know what the specifics were--only that it had something to do with the empowerment of women in the workplace and that a friend of a friend hooked us up. The crucial detail of the night: for one hour, there was a vodka fueled open-bar.

We arrived promptly at 10:15 p.m. At 10: 30, the bouncer gave me a coy wink as he unhooked the velvet rope to let us in. Or was he reacting to the close proximity of a hair toss from the carefully straightened mane of a supermodel in front of me? Either way, the outcome made me feel a little special. I couldn’t help but feel the promise of this Friday night.

One hour’s worth of free drinks...and my friends and I intended to take advantage of the alcohol. We’d paid $25 to attend the event, so we had to drink more than our money’s worth in order to consider the evening worthwhile. Economically efficiency is always a first priority. Continue here.

Delayed Out of Nowhere Depression

2008-11-19T10:20:00.002-05:00

This past weekend I was a victim of DOND (Delayed Out of Nowhere Depression). I’m still not entirely sure I’ve survived.

DOND takes a sneak-attack, python-strong grip on your being. You often won’t know what hit you. All you will know is that words like ‘rehab,’ ‘a straight jacket,’ and ‘mental clinics’ suddenly sound like a good idea. Releasing the disease’s venom from your system can take anywhere from days to weeks.

Primary Symptoms of DOND:

Things that haven’t bothered you for months (loss of job, difficult break-up, death of a grandparent) possess your mind resulting in tears, the fetal position, and staring at walls.

Your bed becomes a protective fortress and subsequently the only place you feel safe. It also becomes the lair in which your already active imagination runs wild, spinning hypothetical scenarios that only exist in Lifetime movies.

Hallucinations in general. Make sure to close all your windows and pad sharp corners in your apartment that have the power to stub your toe.

Intense flashbacks, usually around whatever you’re upset about. These can seem so real you may want to force yourself to look in the mirror to get a grip on reality. This however, presents you with your own blotchy, tear-strewn face, complete with Kleenex- attached-to-cheek, which may result in you crying harder.

Feeling sorry for yourself. You just can’t help it.

Strong anti-social tendencies. Cancelling prior plans. Finding it difficult to pick / use the phone. Click here to continue reading

Ten Reasons to Check Out Bijoux

2008-11-18T11:23:00.005-05:00

I was one of the last people to get on the Bijoux bandwagon as the club’s launch coincided with my temporary retreat from society. Too bad, because the place is a lot of fun. Several new locales have launched in the past months including RDV and Greenhouse, both of which I’ll be formulating written thoughts on soon, but neither of these places got me excited the way Bijoux did.

What’s cool here?

Well, it got me revved up enough to do a top ten list, so here we go:

1. It’s hidden! Nothing gets me more excited than hidden La Esquina-esque places. I think it has something to do with my childhood longing for a secret fort. If I have to traverse a kitchen, scale a secret stairwell, knock three times on an unmarked door, and creep through candlelight down a sketchy hallway, my happy going-out energy starts pumping -- and you have to do all these things and more to get into Bijoux.

The club’s in Meatpacking in the basement bowels of Merkato 55. The entrance is a black door and after negotiating your way inside, you slither through a long hallway, down a staircase (making lefts and rights in sharp sequence), and down another long hallway to a seemingly-standard door at the end marked ‘Employees Only.’ In opening what appears to be an electrical closet or staff bathroom, you reveal a sprawling underground party lair. Continue

50 George Bush Quotes

2008-11-17T11:41:00.003-05:00

I don’t like putting political stuff up here, but since I’m in no condition to write anything original or coherent and his presidency is soon ending (along with opportunity for comedy about his presidency) here are 50 funny quotes from George W.

Rodrigue Tremblay, a professor emeritus of economics at the University of Montreal and a frequent contributor to Global Research, can be credited for compiling these verbal slips. He’s also the author of the book, 'The New American Empire,’ for anyone who’s into that kind of stuff.

A man lost in his geography:

1 -- "We have a firm commitment to NATO, we are a part of NATO. We have a
firm commitment to Europe. We are a part of Europe."
George W. Bush

2 --"It's time for the human race to enter the solar system."
George W. Bush

3 -- "The vast majority of our imports come from outside the country."
George W. Bush

A man lost in his logic:

4 -- "It isn't pollution that's harming the environment. It's the impurities in our air and water that are doing it. "
George W. Bush

5 -- "Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream."
George W. Bush

6 -- "These people are trying to shake the will of the Iraqi citizens, and they want us to leave...I think the world would be better off if we did leave..."
George W. Bush

7 -- "I know how hard it is for you to put food ON your family."
George W. Bush

8 --"If we don't succeed, we run the risk of failure."
George W. Bush

9 -- "Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never
stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither
do we."
George W. Bush

10 - "Well, I think if you say you're going to do something and don't do it, that's trustworthiness.
George W. Bush

A man lost in space:

11 - "For NASA, space is still a high priority."
George W. Bush

A MAN WITH HEAVEN ON HIS SIDE:

12 - "I believe God wants me to be president."
George W. Bush

13 - [I was] "chosen by the grace of God to lead at that moment."
Ge orge W. Bush

14 - "God told me to strike at al-Qaeda and I struck them, and then he
instructed me to strike at Saddam, which I did, and now I am determined to
solve the problem in the Middle East."
George W. Bush

15 - "I trust God speaks through me. Without that, I couldn't do my job."
George W. Bush

A man lost in his vocabulary:

16 - "Quite frankly, teachers are the only profession that teach our children."
George W. Bush

17 - "The problem with the French is that they don't have a word for 'entrepreneur.'"
George W. Bush

18 - "One word sums up probably the responsibility of any Governor, and that one word is, 'to be prepared.'"
George W. Bush

19 - 'There's an old saying in Tennessee - I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee - that says, fool me once, shame on - shame on you. Fool me – you can't get fooled again.'
George W. Bush

Thoughts coming straight from George Orwell's '1984':

20 - "Iraq and Afghanistan...are now democracies and they are allies in the cause of freedom and peace."
George W. Bush

21 - "Ariel Sharon ... is a man of courage and a man of peace."
George W. Bush

22 - "See, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda."
George W. Bush

THE DECEIVING PACIFIST:

23 - "I just want you to know that when we talk about war, we're really talking about peace."
George W. Bush

24 - "This notion that the United States is getting ready to attack Iran is simply ridiculous. And having said that, all options are on the table."
George W. Bush

25 - "Free nations don't develop weapons of mass destruction."
George W. Bush

26 - "Governments accountable to the voters focus on building roads and
schools - not weapons of mass destruction. " (N.B. The U.S. has 10,000
nuclear weapons)
George W. Bush

A Theologian:

27 - "Islam, as practiced by the vast majority of people, is a peaceful religion."
George W. Bush

28 - "The Islam that we know is a faith devoted to the worship of one God, as revealed through The Holy Qur'an. It teaches the value and the importance of charity, mercy, and peace."
George W. Bush

A Flip-Flopper:

29 - "I favor leaving up to a woman and her doctor the abortion question."
George W. Bush

30 -"I am pro-life."
George W. Bush

31 - "The most important thing is for us to find Osama bin Laden. It is our number one priority and we will not rest until we find him."
George W. Bush

32- "I don't know where Osama bin Laden is. I have no idea and really don't care. It's not that important. It's not our priority."
George W. Bush

33 - "We found the weapons of mass destruction. We found biological laboratories ...for those who say we haven't found the banned manufacturing devices or banned weapons, they're wrong, we found them."
George W. Bush

A forecaster of things to come:

34 - "Oh, no, we're not going to have any casualties [in Iraq]."
George W. Bush

35 - "We are ready for any unforeseen event that may or may not occur."
George W. Bush

36 - "I have made good judgments in the past. I have made good judgments in
the future."
George W. Bush

37 - "Many Iraqis can hear me tonight in a translated radio broadcast, and I
have a message for them: If we must begin a military campaign, it will be
directed against the lawless men who rule your country and not against you."
George W. Bush, (speech of March 17, 2003)

38 - "To the "C" students, I say you too can be president of the United
States."
George W. Bush

A astute observer:

39 - "A low voter turnout is an indication of fewer people going to the polls."
George W. Bush

40 - "Brownie (Michael Brown of FEMA), you're doing a heck of a job."
George W. Bush

A man and his environment:

41 - "I know that the human being and the fish can co-exist peacefully."
George W. Bush

The double-talker:

42 - "There's a lot of suffering in the Palestinian territory, because militant Hamas is trying to stop the advance of democracy." (N.B. The Hamas government was elected)
George W. Bush

4 3 - "We look forward to analyzing and working with legislation that will make-I would hope-put a free press's mind at ease that you're not being denied information you shouldn't see."
George W. Bush

THE WOULD-BE DICTATOR:

44 - "In a time of war, the president must have the power he needs to make the tough decisions, including, if need be, the decision to grant himself even more power."
George W. Bush

45 - "I'm also not very analytical. You know I don't spend a lot of time thinking about myself, about why I do things."
George W. Bush

46 - "If this were a dictatorship, it'd be a heck of a lot easier, just so long as I'm the dictator."
George W. Bush

47 - "I'm the commander - see, I don't need to explain - I do not need to explain why I say things. That's the interesting thing about being president."
George W. Bush

48 - "I will not withdraw [from Iraq], even if Laura and Barney are the only ones supporting me."
George W. Bush

49 - "I'm the decider, and I decide what's best."
George W. Bush

And, last but not least, CONSIDERING THE MESS IN IRAQ:

50 - "I don't have the foggiest idea about what I think about international foreign policy."
George W. Bush

Experiencing Bagatelle

2008-11-14T10:46:00.005-05:00

For people who want a side of club music with their dinner experience and can actually afford to pay for their meal instead of attending promoter charity dinners like the ones I’ve written about at One, Bagatelle is the place to be. It’s a meatpacking block away and while One and Bagatelle have nothing in common except for excruciatingly loud dinner music and being the brainchildren of club owners, I find myself comparing the two because they’re the kind of restaurants one frequents pre-going out.

Haters describe restaurant-hybrid-disco Bagatelle as ‘an overpriced, overcrowded clubhouse for Guidos and women with a lot of mileage.’

Fans describe it as ‘the best food and social scene in the city.’

Obviously, getting a reservation’s close to impossible and even if you do, an hour long wait while you suck down outrageously over-priced martinis in a body lock at the bar is mandatory. The best word to describe this restaurant: Crowded. The runner up word: Euro.

While one guy did sport a donkey rope, the rest of the crowd was the slicker, elegant Euro type who knew the brand name of the shoes they were wearing off the top of their head and kept colorful kerchiefs in their suit breast pocket. The ladies that accompanied them were decorated accordingly. Continue

Objects in the Mirror May Be Larger Than They Appear

2008-11-13T10:45:00.006-05:00

I was having a good week. It wasn’t so much that things were going my way, but my demeanor was partly sunny with a very low chance of precipitation. I’ve been concentrating on a more care-free attitude, an attempt to perspire less over life’s minor details. The fact that I’m actively working on setting my spirit free probably doesn’t bode well, but this week had gone surprisingly well.

Monday: After dinner, I enjoyed eating Ben & Jerry’s Peanut Butter Cup Ice Cream without the usual feelings of 1) guilt for such a late-night indulgence and 2) resentment towards my normal, hum-drum, puttering metabolism.

Tuesday: At the gym, when some girl ran in front of me to snatch the last available elliptical machine, I didn’t have the impulse to grab her ponytail and drag her off.

Wednesday: Despite already running late for work, I did not feel frenzied or frustrated as I sat on a W train at the 34th Street stop for 10 minutes and watched not just a Q, but also an N come and go on the opposite track. I was getting off at the next stop. The hurried debate of whether or not to switch trains just didn’t make sense. Besides, there was a couple, a girl in her mid-twenties and a guy in his mid-thirties, displaying unfathomable amounts of PDA. As a witness to such an abhorrent crime of passion, I felt a certain civic duty to stay and make sure business didn’t get too risky.

When I finally arrived at 42nd Street, I got off the subway, somewhat disheveled with my coat unbuttoned and my bag hanging on my elbow, and proceeded towards my office. That’s when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a gleaming black skyscraper window.

Hold up.

That was not how I looked in my mirror less than thirty minutes ago. What was once a form-flattering A-line skirt now had me looking at my hips saying, I don’t think I can handle this... Whoah...I don’t think I’m ready for this jelly. My body’s too bootylicious...

Self-consciousness interrupted my broken-down version of the Destiny’s Child song as I realized that I was standing still on a very busy street, obviously gawking at my reflection in a window. I hurried on.

I don’t usually look at myself in window reflections. People could notice that I’m checking myself out. Or, someone on the other side of that window might assume I’m making eyes at them. But in this instance, my reflection caught me off-guard. Maybe I’d just happened upon a particularly distorted sheet of glass. No need to panic. Yet.

I got to the office and went straight to the bathroom to see the real me. Someone was in there. I waited. None other than arch-nemesis Sushi Girl emerged a minute later, looking dressed to impress, as usual. She waved at me with her fingers and then dramatically rolled her eyes as she said, “Ugh, that mirror is like, the biggest skinny mirror ever. Don’t you hate knowing you’re like, twice that size?”

“Uhhh. Yeahhh...” I said, trying to think of an adequate response as she brushed passed me. “Actually, it made me worried I’d involuntarily developed an eating disorder or had a tape worm or something. I was so relieved to figure out it was just a skinny mirror and not my real body wasting away!”

“Good for you!” she called back in her sweetest of tones. “Real women have curves!”

Great. A skinny mirror--and I had to hear it from Sushi Girl. I went in and looked at myself anyway. There I was, just as I had looked at home...which meant that my mirror at the apartment was ALSO a skinny mirror. I felt surrounded! Ambushed!

How did I let this happen? Where else do I look at myself? The apartment, the office, and the gym. The gym has walls of mirrors and harsh lighting--a reality check if there ever was one. But I’m not one of those girls that wears spandex yoga-fits to work out. My uniform tends to be loose shorts and big t-shirts, hardly grounds for judging one’s figure.

I was a little rattled by the realization that weeks, perhaps months had passed since I’d actually seen my body in its true form. Since purchasing my skinny mirror in mid-July, who knows how many unflattering outfits I’ve unabashedly paraded around in? I’ve been living a lie.

Partly sunny demeanor rapidly turned overcast with an 80% chance of thunderstorms. Perhaps you think this shallow of me. I agree. But it’s fundamentally unsettling to be unable to trust what I see. It’s also quite unnerving to struggle over these trust issues with an inanimate object.

Still, I’ve come to see this self-realization as nothing more than an existential bump in the road. Speaking of mountains vs. molehills, the good news in all of this: my boobs are bigger than I thought! And so, amidst the overcast conditions, there emerges a silver lining.

Dating by Hair Style

2008-11-12T09:55:00.003-05:00

Most of us can admit to having ‘a type,’ an ideal of what we think we’re attracted to. No matter how much we hold onto it, we’ll all at some point surprise ourselves by being attracted to someone who doesn’t fit our ‘type’ definition. Obviously. Because its actually scented pheromones that govern the laws of attraction, not our eyes.

Nevertheless, some women always seem to date tall men. Some guys always date blonde girls. Things can get switched around and changed up, but it seems these variables rarely apply to hair. Meaning that if your type is dark skin, dark eyes and longish hair the scenario in which you’d most likely date an albino is if they had longish hair as well.

Why?

I think it has to do with the fact that hair represents someone’s overall fashion sense and lifestyle choice, making it a powerful identifier for the people you’re romantically drawn to. Your man’s hair is also a huge reflection on you. For example, my friend serially dates men with receding hairlines I find loathsome and she deems handsome.

Diagnosis: She admits to having daddy issues and therefore is after a more mature, caretaker kind of guy. This got us making a whole list… Continue reading here

Cain Now With a ‘Luxe’

2008-11-11T10:40:00.004-05:00

I was flabbergasted when Jamie Mulholland and Jayma Cardosa announced they were gutting and redecorating 27^th street nightclub Cain. Sure, 27^th street isn’t what it used to be, but from what I could see, safari-themed Cain wasn’t suffering. The music was always preppy, the promoters plentiful and the dance floor consistently full – maybe with tourists and out-of-towners – but it’s in Chelsea! That’s where hotel concierges tell these people to go.

I have fond memories of when Cain used to be one of the most exclusive clubs in the city. Their chic Italian door people would stare you down with what felt like daggered icicles shooting out of their eyes until you felt too insignificant to even try getting in. Cain’s always been a fun, familiar friend, even if no longer in its prime. I mean, Marquee’s not longer in its ‘prime’ and remains by far the most profitable nightclub in Manhattan. I didn’t think Cain’s owners would want to ‘mess with success,’ but someone got bitten with the rebranding bug and Cain Luxe was born.

Upon hearing this news last month, I started feeling bad for Cain. Had things plummeted to such a low that they needed to add an abbreviation of the world ‘luxury’ to their name just to make the point they were still classy? What was once a hot club now sounded like a child of divorce with a hyphenated surname. I decided I’d have to do a quick swing by and check the place out of myself. Continue

The Rambling Road

2008-11-10T09:02:00.007-05:00

Friday Evening, 9:00 p.m.
Port Authority Bus Terminal

I am sitting on a Greyhound Bus. We were supposed to leave an hour ago. The girl behind me starts to lose her composure.

“Can’t we just, like, leave?” She says to no one in particular. “We’re like an hour late.”

She has one of those grating voices made to command a clique of mean girls.

Thirty seconds later, “Oh my GOD. This is so ridiculous.”

One minute later, “Why haven’t we left yet?!” She releases a sigh-whine that lets everyone know how she must be the most inconvenienced by this situation.

Finally, we depart. I think she’ll shut up. But since we’re finally out of the bus terminal, it means that she has cell phone service, which means she can talk to her boyfriend about how upset she is:

“Hi. We just left. I’m going to get there so late. Oh my god, this is so unfair. It’s just so hard. Why does everything have to be so hard?” Starts crying. “This is just so annoying. You don’t know how annoying it is. You don’t have to take the bus. What? What did you say? Uhhh. I can’t hear you! Stop mumbling. No. No. I’m not thinking about other guys. No. What? I can’t hear you. Oh my god. I can’t talk to you right now. I have to go. What? Bye. I said, ‘BYE.’ BYE. What? Fine. BYE.”

And yet, despite all of the goodbyes, the conversation continues on into the night...

Meanwhile, two female passengers are giving the driver directions out of the city. Apparently, he doesn’t usually drive to Boston.

There’s a guy sitting in the front seat who’s training to be a Greyhound bus driver. He used to work for a hedge fund.

That’s what he told the grandmother sitting right in front of me. She’s traveling with her grandson, who can’t be more than five. I’m hearing her recount her days as a truck driver to the little tyke. With her short spiked haircut and her over-sized heart-shaped hoops, she may be the most bad-ass grandmother I’ve ever seen. She keeps encouraging the driver to “kick butt.” He’s flooring it under her guidance.

The backseat drivers are telling him, “not to get cocky.”

I’m currently on my way to Boston, the city of tea-dumping and d-bag sports fans. When I hate on Red Sox fans, I’m not speaking as a wannabe New Yorker or a fair-weather Yankees supporter. Please. I grew up in the greater Boston area and my aversion to Sox fans (not the Sox themselves--just their fans) comes from the bottom of my heart. A better portion of my life has been spent vying for control of the remote. My brother was always the incumbent couch potato, glued to every game. My sister and I would demand change. My brother would tell us we couldn’t watch Dawson’s Creek. My sister and I would shout, “Yes we can!” But we usually lost the battle, mostly because our parents were far too apathetic to take sides. I’m glad that things worked out better for Obama this week.

Yeah, I’m pretty excited about Obama’s victory, not just because I’ve been supporting him since before the primaries, but I’m also thrilled at the prospect of a new First puppy arriving at the White House--one of the first changes he promised in his speech on Tuesday night.

It’s hard to believe the election is finally over. It was a historic race, and though I don’t feel any sympathy for the McCain/Palin ticket, I can’t help but wonder how Bristol Palin is doing these days. Poor Bristol. Now everyone in the world knows she had careless, indulgent, unprotected sex with her hockey boyfriend and for what? So her mom could lose the election. That must be true teen angst. I wonder if she’s having some Are You There, God? It’s Me, Bristol moments. I’d read that book. It would be a great sequel to Margaret’s menstruation musings.

What are she and Levi going to name the baby? Denim. Rifle. Ice. Pog. It’s kind of a fun game to play. I’d love it if they named the baby Pog, like that game I used to play in third grade.

The burden of naming a baby strikes me as a daunting task--it’s so permanent, like deciding to get a tattoo. It’s a seemingly superficial matter, yet you’ll be reminded of the decision for the rest of your life. A name is one of the few features of an offspring that, at least initially, you have control over. Until, of course, your son or daughter finds some new age religion, renames him or herself Tree Bark and never speaks to you again. I’m really enthusiastic about the prospect of raising a family.

This trucker granny and her grandson are pretty inspiring though. He’s sleeping now. She stares off out the window, her heart-shaped earrings silhouetted in the orange highway streetlights. Also dimly lit: the abnormally large chin of the guy sleeping across from me on the bus. I can’t stop glancing over at it. Funny, because MMB also encountered a chinormous man on her bus ride a couple of months ago.

I love the haywire train of thought that public transportation always inspires. My mind generally tends to dwell and obsess but, under the influence of strangers’ appearances and behaviors, it becomes scattered, haphazardly leaping from topic to topic. In New York, I’m constantly surrounded by people, whether I’m walking down the street, buying groceries, or working out at the gym. But within each of these activities lies a sense of individual purpose and direction. While on a bus or a subway car, I relinquish that individual movement, settling into a perfect stillness that allows me to think, reflect, and observe on another level.

“Oh my God!” the girlfriend screeches behind me. “I like, can’t even talk to you anymore. BYE. BYE. BYE.”

Then again, nothing is ever perfect.

Halloween Decor Winner & Political Fun

2008-11-07T11:30:00.006-05:00

The thing about Halloween landing on a Friday this year is that it gave people the excuse to make it a weekend long event. For some, face painting and sugar-highs started as early as Thursday.

I’ve written in the past about how I’m not a huge Halloween fan. I created a cop-out excuse last year about how ‘every night in New York is Halloween’ (it’s true, every night you can wear anything you want) and ‘going out is hard enough without specific wardrobe requirements.’ These excuses, while nicely crafted, are lame.

The truth: Horror movies make me cry. I get scared easily. I still have horrific memories of supposedly fun haunted houses terrifying me into months of insomnia as a child. I just don’t like dressing up. I really like things to pretty all the time. I’m anal about my skin and can’t imagine putting yucky face paint on it. I so hate being scared myself I can’t even fathom dressing up as something spooky and scaring others.

In short, I’m a Halloween loser. But this doesn’t mean I didn’t go out to do a full investigation of Halloween events taking place in the city all weekend long. I realize Halloween is over, we admired the costumes and hopefully ate a year’s worth of candy corn, but before everyone forgets about Halloween completely and refocuses 110% on their idle mind time on New Years, I wanted to put in my quick two cents on the club with the best Halloween decorations.

And my winner is… Continue

On a separate note:

I really enjoyed this.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

SARAH PALIN:
Well you know, that chicken was crossin' Main Street because the gosh darn economy is so bad that Joe Six Pack and Hockey Mom were chasin' it for dinner.

BARACK OBAMA:
The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a change! The chicken wanted change!

JOHN MC CAIN:
My friends, that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road.

HILLARY CLINTON:
When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure right from Day One! That every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.

GEORGE W. BUSH:
We don' t really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

DICK CHENEY:
Where's my gun?

COLIN POWELL:
Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.

BILL CLINTON:
I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your definition of chicken?

AL GORE:
I invented the chicken.

JOHN KERRY:
Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.

AL SHARPTON:
Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens.

ANDERSON COOPER, CNN:
We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.

NANCY GRACE:
That chicken crossed the road because he's guilty! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks .

PAT BUCHANAN:
To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.

MARTHA STEWART:
No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.

DR SEUSS:
Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY:
To die in the rain, alone .

JERRY FALWELL:
Because the chicken was gay! Can't you people see the plain truth? That's why they call it the other side. Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay, too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the
liberal media white washes with seemingly harmless phrases like the other side. That chicken should not be crossing the road. It's as plain and as simple as that.

GRAND PA:
In my day we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.

BARBARA WALTERS:
Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its lifelong dream of crossing the road.

ARISTOTLE:
It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.

JOHN LENNON:
Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.

BILL GATES :
I have just released eChicken 2008, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your check book. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken 2008. This new platform is much more stable and will never crash or need to be rebooted.

ALBERT EINSTEIN:
Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?

COLONEL SANDERS:
Did I miss one??

Latest Obsessions: Lollipop Lollipop

2008-11-06T12:20:00.007-05:00

No, not the song. Lil’ Wayne went out with white capris and bikinis at the end of the summer. And I think the candy’s just tacky. I’m talking about the new hottest bag on the market, the latest release from designer Evelina Zdunczyk’s Vegan Queen line – the lollipop.

The strap comes off so you can use it as a clutch, although I love nighttime purses I can wear crisscross across my body so I don’t have to worry about ever putting my bag down (risking it subsequently getting lost / diapering into a vortex of heaped up coats). The coolest part, aside from the variation of ways to wear it (double up the strap and you can use it as a shoulder bag too) is the lollipop’s very secret hidden pocket which can be used to store, well, whatever your vice is. It’s also a great place to tuck away your keys or an extra roll of cash – not to mention an aspirin or two, or any um, personal items. This feature is what makes the lolli the ultimate going out purse. Apparently, men have taken an acute interest in the sexy bag too, admiring it to the extent that Evelina’s thinking about making them for guys too!

I’ve written about Evelina before, mainly because I so admire her effort to fuse ecological values and high fashion. She calls it ‘eco-luxury.’ I think when most of us hear the word ‘vegan’ we start thinking about oatmeal, grunge, knitted caps and dreadlocks. That’s all well and good, but Evelina’s decided the principles behind vegan philosophy shouldn’t exist is such a limited sphere. With her slogan ‘The Queen Goes Green,’ Evelina has proven that fashion conscious women interested in luxury can embrace veganism too.

Vegan Queen’s handbags are eco-friendly, recyclable, non-toxic, organic, sustainable, cruelty-free and made in the USA. A goal of Evelina’s has been to introduce a Queen Goes Green tote bag at a lower price point. She’s accomplished this and the canvas tote has now become a social statement for a sustainable future. It’s carried by celebrities from Madonna to SNL actress Kristin Wiig.

I just got one along with a Vegan Queen t-shirt, which is made out of the kind of cotton you want to make babies with. As the gift-giving season approaches, join the mission for a sustainable future by tossing flashy labels like Gucci and Marc Jacobs out the window and start helping friends showcase their values through their handbags.

Why Do Losers Always Win?

2008-11-05T11:39:00.002-05:00

Last week, my friend and I were complaining about how the guy she's been dating never wants to take her out anymore. Dinners and a movie, yes. But the kind of wild nightlife fun they used to have with their friends when first dating, no.

His point is that going to a club with a girl you're seriously dating is pointless since real conversations are impossible and the entire nightlife wooing process is no longer necessary.

Her point is that she'd still like to have a social life and that the wooing should never stop.

In an effort to get him out on the town more, she tried the "Why don't you want to go out with me? Are you ashamed of me?" tactic, which while ridiculous and over-the-top, I thought might work. I told her to pull out all the stops including, "Is it because I'm not pretty enough?"

This didn't work.

My friend went on to rant:

"It drives me nuts. Like, because I'm not some model and I can have a coherent conversation, he only wants to show me off to his parents. When I'm away, he's partying his pants off with the kind of girls he wouldn't let within thirty feet of his mom and dad. Yet they're the ones that get to have fun-filled nights out on the town with him while I'm subject to imprisonment."

She continued:

"He's said himself that he's been with girls in the past who have meant far less to him that he's taken on amazing trips and showered with gifts and what do I get? Sometimes I pay for dinner! Moral of the story: Be worthless."

Which got me thinking…is being worthless the way to win? Click here to continue reading

Voting, Whoooo!

2008-11-04T12:30:00.003-05:00

OK, confession. I voted last election, yet today when I entered my polling booth after surviving a verrry long line, I had no idea what to do.

There were so many levers!

I felt like I was in front of a crane-operating machine.

I glance at restaurant menus multiple times just to locate which section is entrees and which section is drinks. I can only complete standardized tests with extra time. Standing in front of what looked like an interactive, mechanical excel spread sheet, my knees started to quake.

Buttons of any kind freak me out. I use an iPhone. I don’t even like buttons on my clothing. Suddenly, I had dozens of twisty levers in my face within what appeared to be a chart (I hate all charts except pie charts, you have to be truly moronic to fail in understanding those).

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I have a college education, and therefore should be able to figure this out.

“Top row. Side row,” I chanted to myself, attempting to fully analyze the structure in front of me. Or wait no, at the top they're called ‘columns.’ …

Unlike at a restaurant where your indecisiveness and inability to focus on reading can be soothed with bread and starter drinks, at a polling place, there’s time pressure. A hundred and forty people waited in line behind me.

Were they wondering what was taking me so long?

Would they hound me with devil stares when I walked out?

Would I have to wear a dunce cap?

I shook these negative predictions from my mind and attempted to push my first lever. It didn’t move.

Jesus, I’d broken the machine. The entire polling center would have to close because of me. I could already see myself roasting on a spit in the center of City Hall Plaza with chanters cursing my name.

I tried again, this time in the opposite direction, and an X appeared next to my pick for president.

Wooo! I could do this.

I made the rest of my selections quickly working through the columns from left to right, then pulled the really big lever and left praying I had done it right.

I think so.

This evening is a night of election parties, so I hope everyone has a friend’s house or venue they’re planning to eat and drink at while watching the results.

General note of warning: Make sure you understand the party you’re attending’s political persuasion.

You don’t want to be the only McCain cheerer at an Obama party or vice-versa. I realize this may seem obvious, but last year I found myself in this very situation. Once everyone had four beers in them, I was being attacked by an angry mob of former friends trying to get a word in edgewise to defend my political beliefs. I made it out alive, but scarred.

Happy voting!

Nightlife Crazies: Halloween Madness

2008-11-03T11:25:00.004-05:00

This is how I feel every morning when my alarm goes off:

Photos via Kilroy Cafe

Wow. Can this guy breathe? And we have a human calculator.

You can never go wrong with Teletubbies / Trolls...

I want to make this face of shock and disgust all the time when I go out. Inappropriate? Yes.

Continue here

Additional fun Halloween photos available via facebook here

Yes Marquee Can

2008-10-31T06:51:00.006-05:00

After being in New York for nearly three months, my social scene remains somewhat limited. While MMB tends to frequent the most exclusive nightclubs in the city, her little sister is reluctant to venture out of the East Village. I’m comfortable in the scene I refer to as NYU.S.A.—an address that’s a fusion of college life and New York. Such a combination makes me feel somewhat at home.

But I can’t remain a village idiot forever. When MMB had to leave town on a business trip, she asked me to attend an event at Marquee in her place. She had to talk me through the whole arrangement several times, very slowly, as terms like “nightclub” and “business trip” are somewhat foreign concepts.

How could I say no? It was time to venture out of my comfort zone and discover what a club had to offer.

I had two concerns about going to Marquee:
1) Running into fellow intern and arch nemesis Sushi Girl, who frequents Marquee like a bad case of herpes.

2) Being obviously out of place in a crowd of people exactly like Sushi Girl: impeccably dressed, subtly judgmental, effortlessly bitchy.

But if Marquee’s the most famous club in Manhattan five-years running, I decided it must be worth seeing. My sister wouldn’t feed me to the wolves! Besides, who am I kidding? I rely on subtle judgment and bitchiness in each blog post I write.

How out of place could I be?

I put on a little black dress and very high heels. My headband stayed home. I was ready...I guess.

The event at Marquee was hosted by TruthThroughAction.org, an organization that “brings independent filmmakers together to create edgy film and video content to support the Democratic Party, its issues and candidates.” I think it’s both commendable and effective when people use their own creative energy and channel it towards a greater cause. Be sure to check out the viral videos on the website. While surfing the world wide web, you may also want to take a glance at McCain’s crazy faces. That should be a real push towards “political monogamy”--a status that Truth Through Action promotes through its “I only sleep with Democrats” shirts. Sex doesn’t just sell; it also votes.

Continue here...

Burned

2008-10-30T08:53:00.002-05:00

Last weekend, I ventured skeptically back to Lit. A previous post about my first night at Lit was a rather glowing review, but don’t assume that I’ve been spending most my life living in a hipster’s paradise (yes, that was a Coolio reference). My second encounter with the bar left me burned.

It was a Friday night around 2:00 a.m. I’d just come from a delightfully dull bar--perfect for a few drinks and conversation with a couple of friends. But now we were looking for something less low key. We met up with two other friends and our party of five approached the bar’s dark exterior, IDs in our hands, alcohol in our veins, and a fire in our hearts.

“Private party,” the bouncer told me.

“What?”

“Private party. You can’t come in.” Even from his seated position, the burley guy managed to remain taller than I. New to the notion of an exclusive bar scene, it didn’t occur to me to argue. Nor did I realize that the 2:3 ratio of guys to girls might be a problem. Apparently, having guys in your entourage is a ballsy move (literally) that could impede bar-hopping ability.

I was pissed. In August, Lit welcomed us with open arms.

What had changed?

With NYU back in session, maybe Lit could afford to be a lot more exclusive.

Also, in August, Ed Westwick--aka Chuck Bass of Gossip Girl--had been spotted mackin’ it with some anonymous girl. Such a celebrity sighting may have also upped the exclusivity of the bar.

These notions make me gag. First of all, the idea that all of these little underage NYU ragamuffins can go to Lit whenever they want, but that as an old, haggard 22-year-old, I get turned away...well, that’s just humiliating. Continue Here...

What’s the Deal with Online Dating?

2008-10-29T08:45:00.006-05:00

This is a question I don’t have the expertise to answer, rather a quandary that’s buzzing through my group of friends. I don’t know if it’s the changing weather, the financial crisis, an across-the-board craving for stability, or the fact that we’re all just getting older, but in the past few weeks I’ve heard suggestions from friends ranging from professional matchmakers to Yentas to online dating to assist them in their search for a significant other they can stand. These ideas are always presented with a side dish of humor, since there seems to be some sort of stigma attached to finding the love of your life through a professional service or online.

Why?

I suppose there’s an outlook that people who resort to the net for dates are freaks unable to find someone in real life. From my understanding, society dictates that we’re supposed to find the love of our life:

Through work (weird, because it’s also ordained that getting romantically intimate with someone you work with is a major no-no.)

Through friends (this also never made sense to me, because if one of my friends was lucky enough to find the Holy Grail of a fantastic, relationship-ready guy she wouldn’t be moronic enough to pass him off to me – she’d date him herself. The large pool of men any of your friends dated, touched, eye-flirted with, or kissed is also off-limits.)

In social situations: weddings, bars, clubs, friends parties, birthdays, random city events etc. (here, you’re dealing with complete chance. By the time you make the effort to get to know the person, grounding them in things you can relate to like common friends or similar education levels, you’re so thrilled to have found a non-freak in your social stratosphere that you somehow end up dating them without taking the time to analyze anything else.)

Which leads me to my main point: Continue

Interview & New Years, Already

2008-10-28T10:27:00.004-05:00

Last week, I got in a healthy debate with one of my friends about if nightlife was a worthless whirlwind of debauchery or a powerful networking tool. I argued that anyone you met in a club was probably sleazy and untrustworthy. Only regrettable activities resulted from frolicking around New York at night. She argued that she's built her entire PR empire off of clients she's known through the party circuit, and that powerful alliances ensued.

Granted, nightlife and networking have always gone hand-in-hand. But how often do these relationships actually result in solid business deals? Can we really use business advancement as an excuse to party until the wee hours at Bijoux? To what extent is professional advancement justification to party?

To get some answers, I decided to ask real estate mogul and New York scencester Jaf Glazer. As Managing Director as Conquest Advisors Real Estate Firm, Jaf acquired an impressive network of entrepreneurs, celebrities, and socialites with whom he is frequently spotted at the hottest events around the world. Over the years, he’s become the go-to source for all things real estate by his A-list social circle. Jaf closed on some impressive deals finding the perfect Hamptons Estate for Tenjune in SagHarbor, NY for Mark Birnbaum and Eugene Remm, and finding Australian Supermodel Miranda Kerr her dream New York City condo. Glazer cannot disclose details of many of his clients due to respect of client confidentiality, but sources reveal that he’s been spotted around New York showing apartments to actorJoaquin Phoenix, a member of the Versace family, and a certain Celtics basketball player. If anyone could tell me exactly how business and late-night clubbing intermingle, it was this guy. You can check out the interview I conducted with him here.

On a separate note, I have a question for inhabitants of the universe: It’s not even Halloween, therefore why is everyone freaking out about New Years?

Yes, the New Years madness has begun. The question’s being tossed around left and right, leaving me dizzy and about to fall over. Those of us who don’t work in finance can finagle a nice chunk of time off for the Holidays. So the pressure’s on to do something FUN. And unless you’re what I call a ‘ski-Nazi’ (someone who enjoys the feeling of their extremities morphing into icicles as they hurdle down a mountain at life-threatening speed), chances are you want to go someplace warm, preferably with a great party scene.

Here are my New Years vacation destination requirements:

1. Warmth, by ‘warmth’ I mean tropical level heat

2. A beach with a ‘swimable’ water, by swimable I mean no scary waves, no fish, actually minimal marine life of any kind, and a transparent ocean so I can be certain there are no sharks

3. A great party scene that isn’t too immature, by ‘too immature’ I mean I don’t want there to be frat boys and rowdy college kids puking in the pristine ocean I just described

4. That it be in the realm of affordability, by ‘affordability’ I mean as cheap as possible without resorting to pitching camp on the beach.

So what options does that leave us with? Continue

Market & Election Funnies

2008-10-27T14:32:00.004-05:00

Hey, so I had a bad posting day. Sort of like a bad hair day. Sorry for the confusion. Here's some fun stuff to make up for it:

On the markets

CFO -- Corporate Fraud Officer

BULL MARKET -- A random market movement causing an investor to mistake himself for a financial genius.

BEAR MARKET -- A 6 to 18 month period when the kids get no allowance, the wife gets no jewelry, and the husband gets no sex.

VALUE INVESTING -- The art of buying low and selling lower.

P/E RATIO -- The percentage of investors wetting their pants as the market keeps crashing.

BROKER -- What my broker has made me.

STANDARD & POOR -- Your life in a nutshell.

STOCK ANALYST -- Idiot who just downgraded your stock.

STOCK SPLIT -- When your ex-wife and her lawyer split your assets equally between themselves.

FINANCIAL PLANNER -- A guy whose phone has been disconnected.

MARKET CORRECTION -- The day after you buy stocks.

CASH FLOW -- The movement your money makes as it disappears down the toilet.

YAHOO -- What you yell after selling it to some poor sucker for $240 per share.

WINDOWS -- What you jump out of when you're the sucker who bought Yahoo @ $240 per share.

INSTITUTIONAL INVESTOR -- Past year investor who's now locked up in a nuthouse.

PROFIT -- An archaic word no longer in use.

On the election

Swift Bar Education: Do’s and Don'ts

2008-10-24T10:52:00.003-05:00

My efforts to check out the New York bar scene have been contained to swanky places like Sway. Realizing this wasn’t hardcore enough, I decided to double my efforts, stepping way out of my comfort zone to check out a traditional Irish pub. This is how I ended up at Swift on East 4^th street between Bowery and Lafayette, known as one of the best places in the city to down a Guinness. Swift is just far away enough from the SoHo zone to attract a truly diverse crowd, without the tribal feel of the East Village places. The space is the definition of an old-time alehouse. You enter to see a long, winding bar, exposed brink, antique booths, beer on tap, comfort food on a black board and chalk menu, and most intriguing, an intricate wall mural of books and ghosts that looks like it could’ve been painted in the 1700s.

The pub’s named for Irish Jonathan Swift (you know, the guy who wrote Gulliver’s Travels, a book which gave my bizarre dreams about being in a world of tiny people from age six to eight). There’s the rowdy front room which the bar jaggedly sprawls through and a larger back room with picnic tables, ideal for parties of six or more. The bar’s renowned for its antique feel but not-antique sound system. Post-midnight, music was blasting at that perfect level – loud enough to dance wildly but not so loud that you couldn’t carry on complex conversations. In short, I discovered that bars were good places for meeting people. Shocker, I know. Here are some of the other bar etiquette ‘do and don’ts’ I picked up along the way: Continue

Lunch Break (Part II): Close Encounters of the Bird Kind

2008-10-23T08:02:00.007-05:00

In my previous post, I described the less than desirable circumstances of lunch at the office with my less than desirable co-intern, Sushi Girl. The series of events led me to Bryant Park where I encountered the Bird People.

Bird People appear completely normal, with the exception of their giant signs that proclaim, “Stop Bird Porn!”

What?

One of them handed me a flyer as I walked by. There’s no point in summarizing the content of the flyer. You should hear the whole thing, verbatim:

BIRD WATCHERS ARE VOYEURS!

According to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife service, 48 million people watch the birds. A private research group, the Good Conduct Society, has discovered Bird Watchers are more sexually active than others.

The elderly find that Bird Watching is not strenuous. And this erotic experience can be enjoyed privately through binoculars.

“Most disturbing,” said the Society’s Director, Anaida Krok, “are the groups of Bird Watchers seeking vicarious sexual gratification in the woods. Shamelessly, they blatantly observe God’s defenseless creatures mating.”

LEAVE THE BIRDS ALONE!

What.

The.

F*ck.

One of my most treasured childhood memories is sitting with my grandmother, watching the robin redbreast that lived in her birdhouse. Apparently, that puts me in league with Usher and David Duchovny.

I had to share this with someone. Immediately.

Upon my arrival back at the office, I put the flyer down in front of Sushi Girl.

“Look at what these people in Bryant Park gave me.”

She was silent as she read the flyer, though the more she read, the more distorted her carefully arched eyebrows became. Finally, she erupted into the most unexpectedly infectious laughter. I couldn’t help but join her.

“Oh my God,” she said, after gasping for breath. “I used to be obsessed with blue jays. They were my favorite animal. Does that mean I’m, like, a sexual predator?”

“I know!” I said. “It made me feel like a repeat offender because I used to bird watch with my grandmother.”

And just like that, Sushi Girl and I were...friends?

Once you find yourself swapping (bird) porn stories, friendship seems imminent. Maybe I’d been too hard on Sushi Girl. Blinded by my own insecurity, I hadn’t even given her a chance.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, suddenly remembering life before bird porn. “Greg stopped by while you were out. He wanted to know if you’d finished crunching those numbers for the first week in October.”

“Shit. I forgot to email that to him before I left.”

“Yeah, he didn’t seem too thrilled when I told him you’d dropped everything and left after being hard hit with some sort of, like, sweet tooth craving.”

Of course. I’d told Sushi Girl I was going to get a chocolate-chip cookie because my speedy metabolism allowed me to eat anything and everything (lies, lies, lies). The result: Sushi Girl presented our boss with a portrait of me as an impulsive five-year-old. I’d turned around and she’d stabbed me in the back with her chop-stick.

To think that a minute ago I’d contemplated a blossoming friendship with this girl. Friendship between two competing interns is for the birds and, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to leave the birds alone.

The Book

2008-10-22T08:14:00.005-05:00

Your entire approach to dating can change overnight.

For me, it happened on a night like any other. I came home from work typically bedraggled and sank into my broken, once-white sofa. As I put my feet up and summoned the strength to get through the rest of the evening (cooking? television? recreational reading?), my roommate approached wielding a book the same size as our kitchen counter. It rivaled a Random House hardcover Collector’s Edition dictionary in size and weight, and she managed to dump it in my lap without permanently injuring my abdomen. My roommate then threw on her Burberry coat, waved, and left me with the instructions:

“I’m going out, but look up your, (exes names), your mother, everyone you know. It’ll blow your mind.”

This is how I got left home alone with ‘The Book.’ It’s actually called ‘The Secret World of Relationships’ or something ridiculous like that. We’ve abbreviated it to this powerful nickname ‘The Book,’ since it rivals the Bible in both length and authoritative tone. Continue

Lunch Break: Food Fight

2008-10-21T08:56:00.005-05:00

I work in Midtown West, a mere five minutes from Bryant Park. These warm fall days are perfect for eating lunch in the park. Fresh air and a breather from my fellow intern, Sushi Girl, do wonders for my physical and mental health. On Wednesday, this proved truer than ever:

“LOOK!” Sushi Girl waved a plastic container in front of my face as she plopped back down at her desk. “I bought these California rolls from Whole Foods this morning with BROWN RICE. I feel so healthy.”

It was 1:00 PM: sushi time.

“That’s...Wow, that’s really something,” I said as I pulled out my crushed peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“What is that?” Sushi Girl asked. “Did that guy passing out sandwiches give it to you on the subway?”

“No! Those sandwiches are for homeless people!”

“I know, but I thought maybe he had extras or something. It looks so used.”

“What do you mean ‘extras’? Like, ‘whoops, I counted an extra homeless person. Hey girl, want this leftover PBJ?’”

Sushi Girl shrugged, indifferent to my incredulous attitude.

“Whatever,” she said breezily. “That sandwich totally reminds me of the time in fourth grade when Adam Stein dropped his peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the floor and then Harry Tingsley stepped on it, but Adam totally ate it anyway, even though it had, like, the tread of Harry’s Samba on it. I, like, shudder to think of it.”

“Well, mine just got a little compressed in my bag. I’m sorry if it brings back such frightening memories.”

“I heard that you’re not supposed to eat peanut butter with bread,” Sushi Girl told me as she diligently mixed a tad of wasabi into her soy sauce. “The peanut butter clings to the bread and makes it harder for your stomach to digest. Then you get this thing called ‘carbo constipation’ where your body has an immensely hard time burning the peanut butter-coated carbohydrates. It’s like, really cutting-edge diet stuff.”

“Wow. I’ve never heard of that before. Or anything remotely like that. Ever.”

“It’s a recent study. Just, you know, food for thought, I guess.” She looked at me and smiled before feeding herself a piece of sushi with her custom ceramic chop sticks.

Her best friend gave them to her for graduation.

They are pink.

Her initials are carved into them.

I’m not joking.

“Well, I’m going to go buy myself a chocolate-chip cookie to go with my sandwich,” I proclaimed with the utmost confidence. “I love eating whatever I want. I just never seem to be able to gain a pound! Weird, right?”

With that, I walked out of the office and headed for Bryant Park.

Just so we’re clear, I did not buy a cookie. In fact, I threw out half of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My appetite was utterly ruined with all of that disgusting talk of carbo constipation.

It was at that moment--as I sulked and plotted to replace Sushi Girl’s personal bottle of low-sodium soy sauce with prune juice--that I encountered the Bird People.

To be continued...

Party. Pamper. Beautify.

2008-10-20T13:07:00.003-05:00

Who has time to take long chunks out of their work day for necessary beauty maintenance?

Not me.

That’s why I always find myself bribing salon receptionists for the coveted Saturday afternoon appointment. A lengthy color treatment is now eating my weekend, but at least I’m not biting my nails, staring at my watch to make sure I’m back in the office for a 2pm conference call.

This is why I jumped at the opportunity to check out the Xac Anthony Salon in Chelsea, fabled to be a party and beautification palace all in one. Friday the salon is open till 10:30pm and the drink is expertly mixed margaritas. On Thursday, Cosmos and martinis are passed around so you can and primp and pre-game simultaneously till midnight.

Talk about spicing up the typically boring, magazine-flipping visit to the hairdresser!

I stepped in the 2,200 square foot salon on a Friday evening and felt instantly relaxed. Maybe because I was instantly offered alcohol and chocolate bon bons. The salon’s DJ mixed lounge-like beats and ladies walked from pedicure appointments to blowouts to make-up application with drinks in hand. In short, this is a sophisticated one stop service for all your beauty needs with a focus on fun. In the summer, you can even have your hair cut and colored outside while sunning on the furnished rooftop. There’s a spa offering facials and five different types of massage downstairs. And if you want to get really crazy, the celebrity tattoo artist Friday Jones can give you ink.

Xavier Cruz, celebrity stylist and trendsetter with an impressive resume, gave my hair a deep conditioning treatment. For me deep conditioning treatments have always consisted of getting my hair lathered with a thick chunky substance and being left under a dryer for forty minutes.

Not here!

Cruz gave my head an intensely pleasurable Japanese massage, healed my highly damaged scalp, and conditioned my hair with a wonderfully orange smelling substance, methodically, section by section. Instead of passing me off to an assistant, he took me to the sink himself. After filling the basin, he lapped warm water over and over again on my head for ten minutes, explaining that the conditioner absorbed into my hair best if left submerged. I felt like a mermaid. Oh, and the Japanese massage continued with my hair under water. By the time I was getting my hair blown out and styled, my scalp was tingling with happiness – and it wasn’t because I was on margarita number four.

I left the salon feeling empowered to hit my Friday night running. And if you bring two girlfriends, the three of you get 20% off all services.

I resisted asking Cruz if I could move in with him.