Did you know...

That it would take 36 years to spend $1,000,000,000,000 (aka $1 trillion) at the rate of $1 a second?

That 'shrooms are made with cow manure?

That NYC is supposed to have a crazy blizzard tomorrow?

That I have my own Naked Guy now?



I was looking out from my window at the skyline, something I sincerely love doing. I was just staring when all of a sudden I saw this half naked guy in front of his window.

"B! There's a half naked guy!" I called out to the visiting B. When she turned to look, we saw a full moon.

"Oh my God, he's not just half naked!" B squealed.

And to top it off there was another half naked guy chilling in the apartment next to him. Did the building across the street suddenly become a nudist colony and no one bothered to tell me?

Labels: NYC

I am the Queen of Procrastinating. Seriously. I have a crown and everything. It's shiny and platinum (because gold is so passe). I was crowned back when I learned how to put off 20 page papers until the night before. Now, however, I procrastinate on the act of thinking. I hate thinking about what I still have to do merely because it overwhelms me. Tomorrow I leave for NYC. I'm both excited and nervous. And as a means to combat the tiring thoughts that are itching to take up valuable space in my head, I've done gone through my entire morning make-up routine.



Step One: Moisturizer
The air in the South is extremely humid. I'm talking days where it's literally 90% humidity in the air. After spending nine years in a place so wet, my skin's pretty used to being bombarded by liquid. So when I moved up to NYC last fall, I had no idea I was supposed to use moisturizer every single day. In fact, it seemed completely tedious and unnecessary to me. It wasn't until I had my make-up done at Bobbi Brown in Bloomingdale's that I realized that my skin was actually pretty freakin' dry.

Step Two: More Moisturizer
Full disclosure: I just started using this extra moisturizer. I haven't been back to NYC yet. I have no idea how it will work out for me.

Step Three: Foundation
I sometimes skip this step. My skin is surprisingly well behaved and doesn't really have a lot of blemishes. If I do use foundation, I'll often mix it in with my first moisturizer for a lighter feel.

Step Four: Powder
I want to marry this powder. I love it THAT much. It's my most worn item. I put it on even when I don't go the foundation route. Even when I'm not putting on moisturizer. Even when I'm being lazy as anything. It's fantastic when I'm putting on make-up after working out. I take boiling hot showers so I come out with crazy pink cheeks. Put on some of this stuff and your face just has this glow!

Step Five: Eyeshadow
I have a variation of this product. I couldn't find the exact combination I have online. If I wear eyeshadow, and that tends to be pretty big if, I'll wear some shades of brown. I'm not one for really bright make-up.

Step Six: Eyeliner
Again, something I only sometimes use. If I do use it, I love this one because it goes on so easy and smooth.

Step Seven: Mascara
I am a mascara lover. I adore long lashes and I'd kill for some like my cousin's or my ex-boyfriend's (which are so wasted on him). As a result of my devotion to the quest for those lusciously long lashes, I've tried many different types. I've done my research. Which kind is the best? Well, I've had the best results with Givenchy's, even though the name is hell to pronounce (Gee-von-shay? Gee-von-she?). Before I shelled out the money, which is a good bit, I put on DiorShow on one eye and Givenchy on the other. I waltzed up to an associate and asked which eye looked better. She had no idea what product was on which eye so it wasn't her attempt to point me toward the more expensive of the two. Givenchy simply did more for my eyelashes. My only complaint is that it sometimes rubs off but they're going to be releasing a waterproof version this summer so that should be taken care of!

And there you have it! All of the products I swear by and what I think of them. Now tell me what you use! I'm always on the lookout for some new product to try and I'd love to hear what ya'll love or hate!

I am a lurker. I read blogs and don't comment. I know it's a terrible habit and I'm trying to break it. Most of the time I don't comment because I don't feel witty or brilliant enough to leave a cool comment. The authors of so many blogs are just so fantastically intelligent and interesting. I read something, go to post a comment, and then feel silly when I reread what I wrote. One quick click of the delete button and I'm back reading other posts without saying a word.

My other problem is that I hate typing "lol" in posts. I hate typing it when I'm on AIM. I don't use it on Facebook. I just hate the expression. I didn't previously despise it. I'd use it online all the time. My Myspace page was littered with the random facts that were useless to read but fun to write. I wrote "lol" line after line.

Then, one day, I magically woke up and it disappeared from my vocabulary. It went poof! And I am so glad that happened.

One of my dearest pet peeves is when people type "lol" into their posts. It'd be okay if it was mildly sarcastic or an occassional thing but I've seen people with post after post using "lol". The worst thing is that these people have such wonderful things to say. They just negate them with the "lol". Maybe I'm just super sensitive but that type of thing drives me up the wall. Adding "lol" does not render your previous statement hilarious. It just makes it annoying.

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On a completely unrelated note, I hate packing. Passionately. I'm folding clothes so I can bring them back with me to NYC and it's driving me up the wazoo. I have far too many clothes. And the half-naked men on my Abercrombie bags are just weirding me out right now. You can't even see the jeans they're advertising. Or the kid's face. It's just his ripped body and a bit into his other regions. While he's seriously built, it's also somewhat creepy. "Let's just chop this model's head and legs off. We'll focus on those delicious six-pack abs." I wonder how many A&F models are walking around claiming that the banging bod is theirs?

Labels: pet peeves

Here's the deal: If you want to play, leave a comment on this post letting me know, and I’ll assign you a letter. You write about ten things you love that begin with your assigned letter, and post it at your place. When people comment on your list, you give them a letter, and the chain continues on and on. -Emily

Emily gave the me the letter B.

Image credits:
Beach, Bubble Bath, MARC by Marc Jacobs Bag, Blair Waldorf, 90210, Books, Boys, Beatles, & Beauty Bag

1. Beaches: I absolutely adore going to the beach, even if I don't go nearly enough. In fact, I went to Myrtle Beach today with my mom. The minute we got on one of the piers we saw dolphins splashing through the water. Unfortunately my photography skills are next to none so I didn't manage to take a picture.

2. Bad TV Shows: Are you ready for another confession? I really really really love stupid TV shows. Give me the Hills, 90210, the Secret Life of the American Teen, and American Idol and I'll be content.

3. Babies, specifically Fasolka: This is my niece. She's my Sunshine.

4. Bags: I am the world's worst shopper. I hate buying things. It's especially ironic because my chosen major is called fashion merchandising and one of the two careers I'm wavering between is called a buyer. Issues? I have them. But while I hate buying things, I love window-shopping. If I could go shopping knowing I have a few million (or billion) in the bank, maybe I'd love shopping but since I don't, I do my shopping through the window.

5. Books: Speaking of shopping, one of the few things I like buying is books. I'm a readaholic. Seriously. I have a list of 1001 books to read before you die and I'm working on it.

6. Boys: Who doesn't love them? Especially the goodlooking ones.

7. Bubble Baths: One of the things I most when I'm in NYC are bubble baths. My dorm room only has a shower and I miss the luxury of soaking in my bath for hours.

8. Beatles: When my mom would go on day trips, my dad and I would clean the house to surprise her when she'd get home. I'd go get cleaning supplies, my dad would turn on the Beatles. I'd dust in rhythm to "Yellow Submarine" or "I Want To Hold Your Hand". For Christmas one year, my aunt got my dad this huge book all about the Beatles. Instead of him reading it, I devoured it and succumbed to the sickness: Beatlemania. It's no surprise that I have 123 Beatles songs on my iTunes.

9. Beauty bags, or make-up bags: I love high-end make-up (how's that for dashes?). I adore buying new products from Sephora. The only problem is that I'm a college student (read: broke) and those cosmetics are for the non-college students (read: not broke). This is where my window-shopping skills come back in to play. While I'll sometimes splurge, I usually wait for my Sephora coupons to come in the mail. But one day soon (possibly tomorrow), I plan to devote a post to my beauty bag.

10. Blair Waldorf: The not-so-nice heroine of Gossip Girls, her fashion sense is impeccable. Her outfits are always put together and stunning. I love seeing how she dresses week after week! Oh and her actions? They put others to shame.

I have a secret. It's one of those feel-so-ashamed-I-can't-stand-it secrets. It's gnawing at me, keeping me awake at night feeling awfully guilty about the whole thing. I've got to get it off my chest.

I watch American Idol.

Except I don't even watch the entire season. I only watch the Auditions Process, because I am a cruel and heartless person. I watch them online here (I am hopelessly addicted to that site) and even... fast-forward through the good ones. I only like the terrible, awful, gut-wrenchingly* bad auditions. I couldn't care less about the talented singers. Give me the bad.

Maybe it's because I love hearing Simon criticize them. There's something liberating about hearing the cold, hard truth from someone. I'd much rather listen to Simon tell someone that they "look like one of those creatures that live in the jungle with those massive eyes" than hear Paula tell them that there are other shows out there for them; it's just American Idol isn't the right fit.

Either way, I'm an American Idol junkie during the Auditions Process. Any other time? You can have the show. I won't forgive them for butchering the Beatles with those horrific covers. But give me those Auditions.

I have exactly 1134248908147 thoughts running through my head on what I want to write about. I've attempt to about ten different posts, none of which I like. And so I leave you with a picture.


(Courtesy of the The Chicago Tribune).

I told my robot to my biddin’
He yawned and said, “You must be kiddin’.”
I told my robot to cook me a stew.
He said, “I got better things to do.”
I told my robot to sweep my shack.
He said. “You want me to stain my back?”
I told my robot to answer the phone.
He said, ‘ I must make some calls of my own.”
I told my robot to brew me some tea.
He said, “Why don’t you make tea for me?”
I told my robot to boil me an egg.
He said, “First– – lemme hear you beg.”
I told my robot, “There’s a song you can play me.”
He said, “How much are you gonna pay me?”
So I sold that robot, ‘cause I never knew
Exactly who belonged to who.
-My Robot by Shel Silverstein

When I was in first grade, my teacher read to us from Shel's books. We'd gather in the story corner, on the bright red rug, and listen as the rhythm of the words carried us away. I don't remember any of the other poems or stories she'd read but I remember My Robot, probably because I have a technologically obsessed brother.

As I grew older, my parents bought me Shel's books. I'd read them every night before bed. There was a sense of comfort as I grew up.

And then, one day, I read Annabel Lee.

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me -
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud one night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we -
Of many far wiser than we -
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling -my darling -my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea -
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
-Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe

I was hooked. In class we read The Telltale Heart and The Raven, which I obsessively tried to memorize. I think I got halfway through before moving on to memorize the Sorting Hat's song from Harry Potter. Don't judge me. It was the summer and I was bored.

After memorizing the Sorting Hat's song, I went back to school. Classes began, same old schpeal. Until we got to Emily Dickinson.

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us — don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
-I'm Nobody by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 't is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
-The Chariot by Emily Dickinson

Then, I watched Because I Said So. I have this compulsive habit of reading the trivia about nearly everything I watch. When I read it for this movie, I learned that the girls were named for a poem by e.e. cummings.

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
-Maggie, Milly, Molly, and May by e.e. cummings

(From Little PeopleDon't you wish you were this tiny?

Whenever I ride the subway, I get iPod listeners and readers. He gets all the good gossip!

The Constantly Dramatic One is also very informative when it comes to the anatomy of snakes.

She has a new picture and a whole slew of links. Many many more than me, and many better. She's also funnier and is nominated for the Best Fashion Blog award so go vote for her here!

If I had to choose someone to be when I grow up, it'd be her.

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On a completely different and sobering note, please keep B in your thoughts. She was robbed this morning and it's been a pretty traumatic experience for her.

Starting this Sunday, I'm going to post one secret from Post Secret. No accompanying text. Decide for yourself.

Labels: secret sunday

There are certain people that I recognize at the Store. We have, mostly, the same people running in and out. I remember zip codes; I remember names; I remember actions. I'll especially remember your name if your parents decide to name you March April May.

We had a group of kids wander in and out when I closed with Manager on Thursday. The boys had the long hair currently in vogue with the tween generation. The girls were decked out in all those famous A brands... Abercrombie, American Eagle, Aeropostale. They giggled as they sauntered in and out, ruining our conversion with every chatty step. But it didn't really bother me. I remember when I was that giggling girl, learning to flirt with the same boys I still call when I come home. The mall in our town was the only thing to do, ever. We'd spend hours roaming it, learning all the hidden corners and secret places back when hanging out at the now-nonexistant fountain was the thing to do. Back before Barnes & Noble deemed our mall important enough for a location. When there was no Starbucks in the entire town. Now we have two.

The boys needed hair cuts, just like the lead singer of the band being broadcast on our TV. The girls were still waiting on growth spurts. They sauntered over to the jeans wall, where the boys proceeded to pull out pairs and pretend to try them on. After watching them destroy a few stacks, I walked over and began straightening. I was the rain on their jean parade.

They walked out of the store, but not too far. Then, they came back in. The blonde girl, confident in her popularity, plopped down upon one of our tables. No one said anything. It was nearly closing time.

It was like watching a yoyo. Up. Down. In. Out. In. Out.

And In again. Only this time it was two of the long haired boys who tried, unsuccessfully, to flirt.

"Guess how old I am!" The taller, blonder of the two cried as I escorted them to the already closed doors.

"Uh... no idea." I shrugged.

"Guess!"

"No clue, really."

"Come on. Guess."

"I'm really bad at guessing ages." And what I didn't mention was that insulting him by telling him that I thought he looked about 11 wasn't high on my to-do list.

"Fine," he stared at me. "I'm 13."

"That's great. Have a good night." And I pulled shut the door.

Goodnight 13 Year Olds. Goodnight March April May. Goodnight.

Labels: Store

I am, quite literally, battling to keep my eyes from shutting. Yes, I am painfully and bitterly aware that it is only 9:42 PM. But in order to reinstate a "healthy" sleeping schedule, I've taken a Tylenol PM to cure my sometimes insomnia. Only I don't really have insomnia in the full sense of the word.

What I have is trouble brain overload. My brain overwhelms itself with stress. All the things I haven't done yet, all the things I want to do, all my fears, all my dreams, every single thought I've ever had, crammed in to one relatively small head.

Add to that my unfortunate talent of assigning myself psychological disorders I don't have. My disease du jour is schizophrenia, mostly because I watched House yesterday. Warning: DO NOT WATCH HOUSE IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH. I used to be deathly afraid of blood and couldn't bear to watch anyone in pain. It was so bad that whenever I came into the living room and my brother was watching surgeries, he'd flip the channel within seconds. But then again, it's also probably his fault that I've become desensitized to the gory since he used to come home and regale us with tales of carrying amputated limbs through the hospital while we, naturally, were eating chicken drumsticks. Mmhmm good.

Since blood proved much less scary that I'd originally thought, I needed to find myself a new neurosis. That ended up being a complete and utter fear of failure. Which, in turn, prevents me from sleeping. And so the cycle continues.

Sorry for being such a Debbie Downer. You should hear the thoughts I didn't put in to writing. Whoops. There I go again.

Added on 01-09-09 at 12:51 AM
Tylenol PM hates me. And refuses to work.

I've realized why I fight falling asleep. It's because, in my demented and nervous state, I hold on to the silly delusion that if I refuse to go to bed, another day does not pass and I am no closer to my failures than I was that morning.

I never knew I was so afraid to fail.

Labels: debbie downer