iCovet Fridays, v.3

Here's what I'm coveting this week:

90's Music




I blame this on Something Borrowed, which features a scene with a great 90's cover band playing some of my absolute favorite childhood songs. Since seeing the movie (and listening to Hey Jealousy and Hows it Going to Be on repeat), I've spent way too much of my free time (read: the few minutes between when I finish work and pass out) googling "top songs of the 90's" and taking trips down memory lane.

Dates with the Girls

[Yeslan, Margaret (aka Maggie) and myself]

We don't really have the chance to do it often enough because of what I like to call "growing pains" but dates with the girls make my life feel fuller. There's nothing like Margaret's work stories (oh hey Maggie!), Yeslan's to-the-point questions, Laura's budgets, Larissa's side eyes, and Allie's vino. Side note for my girls: we need to do better at group pictures. #Wompwomp.

Pinterest

[via]

Entirely obsessed. Entirely. Pinterest is a "virtual pinboard" and community where people collect images across the web that are inspiring, amusing, or just a little weird. If you can't tell by the ruffles and flowers, my collections tend to be on the girly side. Looking to join? Leave a comment with your email for an invite!

Whats on you coveting this week?

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Oops! I Borrowed Your Boyfriend...

When I read Something Borrowed, I loved the book. I immediately bought Something Blue to finish the series surrounding my four favorite characters: Rachel, Darcy, Dex and Ethan. When it was all said and done, I felt so strongly about the Emily Giffin books that I started lending them out left and right. When someone mentioned they were reading it, I was immediately asking what they thought! I went Something Borrowed crazy.

Then, months passed and just as I was having trouble finding people to talk to about the book my life was changed by a trailer for the movie adaptation.




So you get the gist, right? Rachel borrows her best friend's fiance. If you are at all confused by this concept, just note that it is frowned upon.

Since the movie came out this month, I have managed to see it twice (once alone as a treat to myself) and once with my favorite group of girls. When the movie ended we erupted into a discussion about who's fault the cheating was. When I posed the question to the girls on either side of me, their answers were either "no one's!" or "Dex's fault!". When we passed along the same question to the rest of our crew, their answer was unanimous, "Rachel's!". You see, they subscribed to the school of thought that the female is to blame if she takes a guy up on his offer, even if he brings up the idea of something forbidden without any prompting from said female.

I personally happen to disagree. As a disclaimer, my thoughts have nothing to do with true love or romance (even though I love love). If Dex were my man and he proposed the idea of cheating on me to my best friend, even if she said no, I wouldn't forgive him for having (and attempting to act on) the desire to cheat! Regardless, we all agreed that Rachel, while quiet, nerdy, and slightly tragic as a character, was a trifling heifer. Dex, while devastatingly handsome and usually meaning well, was a disappointing, wishy-washy man unable to make his own decisions. Between the two of them, if this were real life, I'm not sure either would belong in my circle.

I think most ladies would agree that despite the storyline, it was enjoyable. Definitely a romantic comedy, the movie enjoyed some much needed relief by Ethan and his unfortunate faux-lover Claire. It featured both real and inspired New York hotspots, all of which I plan to visit if I haven't already. And a cameo by Giffin herself, who rocks some fierce white denim while reading her sequel, Something Blue (hello, movie #2)! And on top of that, some really great fashion, beautiful Hamptons shots, an awesome soundtrack, and a wonderful teaser at the end for the upcoming sequel.

Did you see the movie or read the book? What did you think? And who is to blame!?

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It's like that episode of Sex & the City...

It's an unfortunate discovery when you move to New York City and realize that life is nothing like the Sex & the City episodes that drove you to move to the city in the first place.

My life is NOT filled with the following:

• Relentless sexy-time with handsome men who drop stock tips upon orgasm (Samantha)
• Rich, loving, handsome, nice men - two of which have proposed to and married me (Charlotte)
• A bar-owning, bar-tending soul mate and a successful career as a lawyer (Miranda)
• A man with a driver who brings me red balloons & champers on my birthday (Carrie)

I do, however have a wonderful selection of women that I think of as my soul mates. Our lunches, dinners, and brunches revolve around the most no holds barred sex talk this side of the Hudson and we all love a good martini (cosmopolitan for me, please). And despite the harsh realization that the Sex & the City life isn't the norm for New Yorkers - I'm happy. 

It is impossible to deny that the episodes are relate-able. It's impossible to go to out with the girls and not hear at least twice "it's like that episode of Sex & the City when..." because they always come full circle in our real lives. Is that to say we're living recklessly, or forcing a correlation? Who cares? But it's the reason why we love the show.

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See Ya, 2010. Oh hey, 2011.

It's been a hell of a year, hasn't it?

The ups and the downs.
The smiles and the frowns.
The happy faces and the side eyes.

I'm thrilled for the new year. 2010 ain't got nothin' on what 2011 is about to be.

I've got a good feeling.



See you in the new year!
xoxo,
MJ

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A History of Dating: The Manitus and O - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 in the series A History of Dating. Click the link to catch up.

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She was home.

She decided she needed some time, despite having gained perspective and accepted the break up. She needed to pick up the pieces, and reassemble them into something whole so she declared a Man-Hiatus, or Maniatus for short.

[via]

She filled her time with work, with books, with movies and friends. With Sex & the City episodes and 2-for-1 martinis.

She didn't go out much on the weekends, and when she did, she stayed huddled in the circle of friends she came with. She as afraid to branch out. She was afraid to stop the progress of working on rebuilding herself.

It was positive. And positively tragic... Until she met O.

Her night began assembling an outfit inspired by Madonna for Halloween. With leggings, three too many pairs of legwarmers, an oversized t-shirt, and numerous vodka sodas, she was feeling invincible. She went out with friends with no intentions of meeting anyone. Just some lighthearted flirting – this was maniatus time after all.

After a bottle of Prosecco, some old school jams (read: Jodeci), a house party that came to a rousing end with a visit from the police, more drinks, a cab ride downtown, then back uptown, and then an open tab at a bar where Miley Cirus played more than Beyonce... she was feeling ready(?).

She’d just finished doing the running man in a circle of random people when she noticed a man at the bar starring at her with a smirk.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" she slurred through the cocktails.

“I'm just admiring the view" ... maniatus was officially over.

O was everything she needed. An extra large chunk of muscle that loved to cuddle and coddle. He was sweet, though not necessarily smart, but he as a model so it was okay. She couldn’t go anywhere without receiving a text asking how her day was. She was beaming... And ignoring the unfortunate bits.

She wasn’t looking for more than he was offering, and she used him to regain her comfort spending time with men. But with every use of the word “baby” and “honey” and “sweetie” she was falling further and further in to the vortex called rebound.

Until one morning he attempted a real conversation that began and ended with one phrase from him: Did you really read ALL those books?

She glanced at her bookshelf, which housed only a small selection of her recently read pieces of literature and mumbled something quickly about having a brunch date and that he should go.

She never saw him again.

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A History of Dating: Getting Over... Wait, Who? - Chapter 2

Take a moment and refresh your memories - I wrote this with the intention of starting a series. Here is Chapter 2: Getting Over... Wait, Who?

---

On the corner of 56 & 6th, she watched him dart through traffic, feeling her hands shake.

She hopped on the uptown train and met her girls for the debrief. As she told what she now refers to as "the tale of 56th & 6th", she watched them all drop their jaws in disbelief.

You don't need him! One would interject.
What an asshole! Another would add.
Wait, what's his name again? Another would slip in with a smirk, thinking it was helpful.

And it was! She left dinner slightly drunk and a little empowered.
Until she got home to the smell of his cologne on her pillows.

[via]

She cried for days.

She found herself at brunch the next day at the beginning stages of the motions of a break up.

Step 1: Sadness

How do you feel? Her girl asked her at brunch the next weekend.
Look at her. She's miserable. Another answered before she could.

Her eyes were dark, watery, and swollen. Her nose red, her purse filled with a jumbo pack of travel sized tissues. She cried over brunch, she cried over drinks, she cried when her roommates were cooking in the kitchen across the hall.

Step 2: Denial

She began to think he would call, that he'd facebook her, that he'd text or show up at her door. She would wait for silly things that don't adhere to her generation - like a hand written love letter. Or even a love email. She was convinced it'd come. She didn't care that it never would.

Step 3: Hatred

True to form, she began to hate. It wasn't because of the words he said or the actions he took as he darted across 56th & 6th. It was because in this melodramatic state of a break up, hatred was the only way she felt she could stay alive.

Step 4: Acceptance

Acceptance was not something she came to knowingly or on her own, but by surprise with the help of her girlfriends. She glanced at herself in the mirror one day and recognized her face. It was lacking the swollen eyes, it was lacking the red nose, and it had a trace of a smile.

She was home.

[via]

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Everyone goes through the motions of a break up differently. But usually, everyone ends up looking like this chick and experiencing some form of the above.


It's never pretty. But what comes next usually is...

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You Can't Have It All

It's Saturday morning, I'm on the train platform, waiting for the N, listening to Zeyi's Working for Bill*, and hoping for inspiration so I can dust the blog off with some fresh writing when it hits me. Hard:

You can't have it all.

Now, this is a shock. And a bit concerning. And totally disheartening to me. I whip out my notebook and scribble down the idea before I head out on my errands for the day, all revolving around work.



You can't have it all? Really? I suppose it's hard to accept, or grasp because it's the opposite of everything I've ever been told. As an only child and single woman, I grew up thinking I could have whatever I set my mind to. Wanna move to NYC? Done. Wanna get a new job? Done. Wanna get that boy at the bar? Done. Wanna get those shoes? Charged.

But then I got online and did a little research, and the results were so depressing.

Uh, what's that?

You can't have it all.

Oh. Okay.

At the beginning of 2010, I did not have it all. I was incredibly single and incredibly sad. I was grateful for one thing: a job that kept me so busy I had no time for thoughts or friends. My days circled around events and industry parties; and it was exactly what I needed to get by.

The summer changed everything. I was making time for friends, making new friends, and trying my hardest to enjoy my 20's. At the same time, I was working harder than I'd worked before. The most epic day was my birthday, where I clocked at least 12 hours at work before heading off to Fashion's Night Out (an important evening for my industry), and then celebrating my 25th. I was on top of the world. Did I have it all? I considered it a possibility but they say hindsight is 20/20 and I now know that's not the case.

Flash forward to December and things have reversed from where they were almost a year ago. I have almost everything I've ever wanted in a solid group of friends who preoccupy the majority of my time when I'm not working. Yet, I feel unfulfilled in other areas.

So wait, you can't have it all?

Hm. Do you think that's the case? I mean, what does "all" really entail when it comes to your life? Love, happiness, a great career, wonderful friends to lean on? Does one always suffer to allow you to achieve the rest?

I suppose I'm on a blind journey to see what's true; throughout which I've been keeping this gift from my mother on my wrist (in the form of a bracelet with the following inscribed)

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding, In all your ways, acknowledge Him, and he will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:5-6

I'll let you know where I net out. Where did you?

---

*Note, Working for Bill did not inspire such a sad little post. It inspired me to be creative because it's a work of art. If you're not listening, you should be.

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Scary Age No More

I used to be terrified of the age 25. Seriously, 25 was my extra scary age. I used to think, “ohmygah*, 25?!!”

Every birthday celebrated felt like a minor death sentence. It was all very dramatic – like, Elle Woods breaking up with her boyfriend dramatic.





I didn’t even celebrate 24. I worked and went to bed instead (ahem, the 25 year old me thinks the 24 year old me is super-lame).

But to be clear, I cemented 25 as my Armageddon back when I turned 18. I had the coolest girlfriends, I was in a super hot a cappella group, and I basically thought I was the shit. What could get better than being 18 and extra hot*? Clearly, I was blinded.

If I could give my 18 year old self a side eye* I would. Now, that’s not to say I don’t have the occasional “eep! I’m 25!” moment. The most clear being the time I wouldn’t buy candy for some boy’s “basketball team” on the street and he called me an “uptight old head*” .......... iCant.

That said, being 25 (I celebrated my birthday in September) is so rich and ripe.

• It’s like being a teenager, except you're 5 years from 30.
• It’s like being in college except you live in the city, pay rent and big girl bills, and have lots of sex.
• It’s like being a foolish hot mess, except for when you’re at the office, because then you’re buttoned up and super fly.
• It’s like being version 2.5 or 3GS (but not quite 4G because I’m not quite 30).
• It’s like being “MJ Fadeaway” + “Maiah on Fiyah” + “Ms. Johnson (if you’re nasty)” all the time.

...and I love it.


What was your scary turned favorite age?

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*"ohmygah" - copyright 2003 – 2010
*I was actually fat with a pretty face. But still. Confidence is a hell of a drug.
*What’s a side eye? Click here.
*What’s an old head? Click here.

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On Connectivity: Facebook, Twitter, & Everything In-between

My dear friend, Larissa of The Ella Project, wrote a brilliant piece on technology and how it allows us to be too connected without actually connecting. You see, we live in an age where we are all Facebook and Twitter babies. We exist behind a series of emoticons and "like" buttons; retweets and hashtags.

Personally, I'm okay with it. I hate talking on the phone unless I'm talking to my mother. Why? Because I am convinced I can NEVER hear anything you say. When I get confused I just say "okay" or laugh in hopes that you'll think I know what you're saying instead of having to ask "wait, WHAT?" for the 5th time. Especially living in New York City, where people are shouting expletives on the street and ambulance sirens are the normal background noise. Why go through the "one second, a police car is going by"when I could just text you a simple "see you in 5."

This mystery gchat couldn't have come at a better time.

Moreover, I love a good emoticon conversation. When words get in the way, there's nothing like a quick emoticon stink eye or wink face to get straight to the point. And a hot, smoking poop instead of a civilized "no thank you." in an email? I'll take it.

That said, there is something so necessary about human to human contact. Larissa notes:

There is something about human contact. Something about actually hearing someone laugh rather than see an “lol”. [...] Let’s meet each other for drinks, dinner, laughter and hugs.

Wait! Lets! Because a well wishing tweet or the happiest of emoticons can never give across the same feeling as a hug. There is a reason why we say things like "I have the greatest story for you, let's catch up over drinks or dinner." And there is nothing like seeing those reactions in your friend's eyes as you tell it.

So, where do you draw the line? Apparently, it's getting blurrier as we get further in to this technologically advanced world we live in.

AM New York felt it was front page worthy to note that more and more people are getting the axe from their employer due to writing inappropriate things about their bosses or jobs online. This generation of kids growing up on twitter are learning to express themselves in 140 characters or less. When I grew up, I couldn't leave the dinner table before talking in full paragraphs about my day and finishing all the broccoli on my plate.

There must be some middle ground. I feel lucky enough to know where to find my plateau. It starts with some cosmopolitans at Pazza Notte and my favorite girlfriends telling those great stories that we save for the reactions.

Where's yours?

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On Being A Black Cat, part 2

To clear up any confusion: I was, indeed, a black cat on Halloween. 

[via]

 And just because I've been a black cat [almost] since birth does not make me uncool. And contrary to popular belief, it certainly is not like still dressing up as the Black Power Ranger at the age of 25. The Black Power Ranger is awkward, and no longer cool, and being a cat for Halloween is classic, like the 1950's... (thanks for the reference, Dushane)

 From left to right: Pilot Larissa of The Ella Project, Allie the Devil, Me aka the best black cat in the world, Crystal aka Nicki Minaj & Vicky Lee aka Major Bombshell.

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Suburban Girl Reflects: A History of Dating - Chapter 1

She met him one hot summer day in Central Park for a picnic. She was brought by a friend who was brought by another friend to attend his picnic, which was a mishmash of random people and their... friends.

She'd heard about him before. "You're going to love this guy," they told her. And they meant it in the scary way, not in the new best friend way. She was nervous and excited and skeptical. She spotted him right away: tall and handsome with a beautiful smile and a full laugh.

She knew they were right when she slipped in mud and dirtied her favorite ballet slippers. He jumped up, held her hand as he tried to brush away the mud while she balanced on one foot. Damsel in distress was her specialty, and it always worked wonders.

As the crowd settled and people began to drink, she watched him intently. He was everything she thought she needed and boasted a brilliant accent to boot. She was smitten, and later found out he was too.

ffffound via lelove

"See this picture?" he said to her in bed a month later.
"Oh my gosh, is this from the picnic?" she sounded genuinely surprised.
"I look at it every day" he smiled as he wrapped her up into his arms.

She was warm with feelings for him, though unclear exactly what they meant. He had infiltrated her group of friends and she did his as well. She and he were inseparable through the summer, into the fall, and cuddled up through winter; giddy about the new year.

Then, things started to shift. "I hate I'm smaller than you," he would say under his breath, cursing his naturally thin physique. She loved that about him - he was tall and lanky with long arms that fit perfectly around her.

"I hate that you have a job and I'm unemployed," he would say after drinks at dinner. She, feeling the need to protect him, would say she'd give anything for his freedom. She'd help him forget through kisses and hugs. She'd change the subject to something else.

"I'm actually just a big asshole. You really have no idea." She just stared at him; not sure how to respond at all.

On New Years Eve they had separate plans, which she was grateful for. "I need to be more grounded in my girlfriends," she told one of them as they dressed for a house party. She hid behind that excuse, but she was anxious and uncomfortable. A feeling in her stomach told her there was something more.

They broke up in January after several tearful phone calls and a screaming match on 56th & 6th during rush hour foot traffic.

Heartbroken, she ran through a list of all the things she'd done for him during two and a half seasons together. "YOU did those things because you wanted to!" he shouted back, leaving her both speechless and confused. As she stood there, wide (and dry) eyed, he just walked away. On the corner of 56 & 6th, she watched him dart through traffic, feeling her hands shake.

ffffound

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Editor's Note: I've been doing some reflection on my previous relationships - remembering what I've been through, what I've grown from, what was entertaining, what was heartbreaking. Still very poignant for me, I thought this could be a nice series for the blog. I hope you enjoy. Xx.

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Suburban Girl Laments: Post Long Weekend Blues

Exactly.

I have two favorite parts of vacation:

1. The moment you drive out of the city on the ever fancy Greyhound bus.


2. The moment you have your first decadent appetizer (in The Cape, it was black truffle infused cheese).

I have one least favorite part of vacation:

1. The moment you finish packing your Polo weekend bag, and zip it up to leave. Some may call this the "Vacation Blues"*

This past weekend was the loveliest of weekends. I spent two nights in my lovely little suburb with Mom and Dad. Our days consisted of coffee, shopping, talking, and acting like the Cosby Family. Unfortunately, there was no soul train this time, as my father reserves that for Christmas. Following my two beautiful nights with the fam, Mom dropped me off at my friend's apartment in the South End (read: my dream neighborhood after Beacon Hill), where we said our tearful goodbyes (okay fine, tearful on my part) and I headed to The Cape.

While on there, I found myself relishing an unexpected silence: the lack of cell phone service and, as a result, the lack of that little "bing!" that sounds on Sunday evening to remind me it's time to go back to work. Rather than my usual stance of clutching my iPhone, I found myself leaving it on the table and enjoying the holiday with friends and family.

Monday afternoon rolled around after too much lobster, too much black truffle cheese, and too many blueberries, and I found myself dreading** everything that I was set to come back to. Tonight, as I reflect on my day and consider the following, I have concluded one thing: thank goodness for four day weeks and summer fridays.

Footnotes:

*Vacation Blues is apparently a scientific term, as defined by Wikipedia. This fact makes me feel awkward.***

**Alexander Kjerulf, the self-titled Chief Happiness Officer, has drawn out this handy little chart for understanding Vacation Blues.

***WebMD also offers a number of tips to "bounce back fast". Yikes.

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