Good Enough is Not Good Enough

So it's been a while...more interesting stuff coming up, really.

For now:

1.  If you have contacts in the fashion industry (any aspect) who would not mind talking to me, please let me know!  I am specifically looking for opportunities in Fashion Public Relations - agency or in-house for high fashion brands, but I would love to talk to anyone in any aspect of the field.  Spanks!

2.  Two weeks after I quit my job, I began interning at a fashion PR firm (one of the top 3 agencies I want to work for!) that represents high fashion and luxury contemporary designers/labels, and I love love love it!  God, it's weird to love going to work...not like, love.  And even weirder to leave work before 7pm...slackers. 

Among the other interns I have met:

-3 career changers (a former management consultant, a former auditor w/a Big 4 firm, a former investment banker)

-several people who graduated with degrees from reputable schools (many ivy leagues) that have nothing to do with fashion (Political Science, Art History, Economics, Finance)

-90% of interns have already graduated from college

What is significant about this is that the internship is unpaid - ubiquitous in many creative industries, but still mind-boggling to me.  Working.  For free.  Crazy.  Summer finance internships are usually paid starting salary (pro-rated) with perks like housing stipends, excessively lavish dinners, box seats at sports events, etc.  But in fashion, there are A LOT of well-educated, well-spoken, personable, well-dressed kids in NYC who are willing and able to work unpaid, full-time, indefinitely, until they land the dream job.  WTH?!?! That's my competition?!?!  Oh, I forgot to point out that there is zero correlation between interning and getting a full-time offer.  Ok, maybe like 2%, but that's it.  

3.  Just something interesting I came across:

Satisficers (yes, satisfice is a word, I checked) are those who make a decision or take action once their criteria are met. That doesn’t mean they’ll settle for mediocrity; their criteria can be very high; but as soon as they find the car, the hotel, or the pasta sauce that has the qualities they want, they’re satisfied.

Maximizers want to make the optimal decision. So even if they see a bicycle or a photographer that would seem to meet their requirements, they can’t make a decision until after they’ve examined every option, so they know they’re making the best possible choice.

Most people are a mix of both approaches. For example, one friend was a satisficer about renting an apartment, but a maximizer about buying an apartment. As a consequence, he and his wife are renting an apartment now, because they had to move, and they're still searching for the perfect apartment to buy.

In a fascinating book, The Paradox of Choice, Barry Schwartz argues that satisficers tend to be happier than maximizers. Maximizers must spend a lot more time and energy to reach a decision, and they’re often anxious about whether they are, in fact, making the best choice.

My mother is a good example of what I’d call a “happy limited maximizer.” In certain distinct categories, she’s a maximizer, and she loves the very process of investigating every possibility. My sister is getting married next year, and I know that my mother would love nothing more than to see her try on practically every possible wedding dress, just for the fun of it. But too often maximizers find the research process exhausting—yet can’t let themselves “settle” for anything but the best.

The difference between the two approaches may be one reason some people find a big city like New York overwhelming. If you’re a maximizer, and you live in New York, you could spend months surveying your options for bedroom furniture or even wooden hangers. In a smaller city, like Kansas City, even the most zealous maximizer can size up the available options pretty quickly.

From The Happiness Project

I'm a satisficer when it comes to trivial things (buying hangers), but with long term goals, I am the ultimate maximizer.  Simply "good enough" is never good enough for me.  So yes, this means that I too am determined to remain unemployed indefinitely until the perfect job at one of the top firms comes along.  Um...again, email me if you have fashion industry contacts!

What are you, a satisficer or a maximizer?

And yes, I am writing this before 6AM.  And no, I didn't go to 1OAK last night.

I Can't Stand Regina Spektor

Hey!



My lack of posts over the past three weeks was purely to elicit flattering inquires from you all as to why I haven't written anything, and not for lack of material...or laziness. Just the opposite actually. Since my previous entry, I have experienced the entire range of human emotion. And by entire, I mean that I've been largely frustrated, pissed, stressed, overworked, and wistful (friends moving away, shakeups at work, ex visiting from London, contemplating law school/career change, etc) but intermittently inspired and entertained (some entertaining and random happenings, meeting random creative people/entrepreneurs, a Boston mini-break, etc.)


The human body is just amazing. I never thought I could work 16+ hours a day (8am - past midnight), five days a week, for over two weeks, without collapsing...but what do you know, I am still alive. Around 11PM every night, I start contemplating law school or being one of those perfume-spritzer girls at department stores who just have to stand there and smile.


So what do I do when I get out of the office at 9PM last night? Catch up on sleep? No, I went out, of course! At my friend's birthday dinner at Butter, three friends of friends of the birthday boy drop by. No one knew why the hell they sat down, but I made small talk to diffuse the awkwardness.


Party crasher girl 1: Talking to someone in Polish about perogies and her love for Polish Kitchen.
(I'm really amused that she's talking about the first two things that come to my mind when someone mentions Poland. Well, other than Belvedere I guess.)


Party crasher girl 2: Tells me she dabbles in music, film, writing, fashion styling for photo shoots, and hangs out at Freeman's Alley. When I ask for details (these dabblers fascinate me), she can't name a single source where I can see her work (or should I say "work"). When I ask her what kind of music she/her band plays, she tells me,


"...like hip hop funk pop electronic, retro, ya know?"


No, I do not know. Nor did I know what she meant when she said,


"I've known him (points to the guy she came with) for years. We randomly met one night at Freeman's Alley. But sometimes you know someone and sometimes you KNOW someone, you know? I like to really know people."


Verbatim, I swear. And no, I don't know or care.


But wait, it gets better. She proceeds to ask for an extra dirty martini (I'm rolling my eyes!!! ha ha hahahaha) and pull up a chair for dinner, and helps herself to my napkin (ew, but I will give her the benefit of the doubt and assume it was a mistake)!!


Party crasher Guy: Actually went to my high school freshman year, until he transferred after moving to the 'burbs.
He tells me he's into web design, but doesn't have a card and cannot name a single site he's created. Uh, make any sense to you? Can anyone say poseur?


All this (and several warm jelly donuts, almost as good as the ones at Stanton Social) gave me indigestion, and I was in bed early - that's 1am by my standards.


Only in New York, yup.



That's all I've got at 5am!

Men Require Patience!

sidebar:
Sorry for the lack of posts! I know you all turn to me for shallow, mindless entertainment to help you get through the day at your unfulfilling jobs. Oh wait, that's just those of you who work in finance...ha ha ha

Anyway, I haven't been bothered to write anything lately as I've been busy with a lot of things - getting back on track with a few personal and professional goals, but balancing it with some amazing times with friends. Cue Toca's Miracle =)

The past three weeks have been an insane mash-up of mid-Saturday afternoon parties at Bagatelle, sweating it out at PS1 Warm Up, late night backgammon games at the lounge above downtown Cipriani (closed until Sept 2, tear), goodbye dinners, renting a ridiculous Zipcar to go Philly just for the Coldplay concert (and a cheesesteak!), happy/hookah hours, great reunions with old friends, breaking lampshades at Bijoux (it's too dark, I couldn't even take a picture with my BB!), rooftop cocktails, underground mixers, noodles (Momofuku, Ippudo, Soba-ya, Matsugen have been covered thus far!) picnics and naps in Central Park, surprises, disappointments, dalliances, run-ins...and much, much more! Now, I'm just craving some time at the beach with a book and one of those coolers with the cup holders on top!!

My dream is to fly...

Coldplay concert in Philly

Chris Martin is not just another punk from UCL!

The promotional (and cheap) Prius zipcar we rented.

You can't see me, but I'm behind the monkey...we got a few looks.

Perfect night

Perfect skyline from The Frying Pan

Isabelle, my friend who came to visit from DC

She's still recovering from that weekend b/c I'm an excellent hostess! =)

PS1 in Queens

(little known fact: AMAZING street meat truck by the entrance)

The crowd at PS1 for Au Revoir Simone 

(or was this from LCD Soundsystem?)

I love Central Park Sundays

A random Tuesday night luau-themed party! 

Laughing at "Bowery Lounge"

Rooftop

(You'd be that happy too if you were ON VACATION in NY 

and LIVED in the Bahamas!)

Snow & sparklers!!

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A few weeks ago, I was digging through an old box of junk and came across a photo of my parents and me - I'm an only child, as if it weren't obvious - taken in Montreal in 1989. I was four at the time, my dad had just finished his Ph.D. and started teaching, my mom was still doing her residency in neurology. They were new to the city, and probably had no money and few friends - just a lot of hope for the future and especially for me. Since I pretty much look the same as I did at that age, and this blog is anonymous, I'll just have to describe the photo to you. It's a candid shot of them in a park, probably near McGill University.  It was probably at some time in the fall since the foliage in the background is a wash of yellow, orange, and red. I had just broken my left arm, which is in a sling and pitiful pink cast. He and my mom are totally ignoring me (typical!!) and laughing about something - and not just laughing, but laughing-from-the-gut-until-you-cry-laughing.

I stole the photo from a family album because it's my favorite picture of my parents. Theirs is the most enviable relationship I know, not just because it's withstood difficult times, including a near-divorce when I was in fourth grade, but because they're never boring and always have fun together. They wake up everyday with a different attitude than most people I know - everyday, even bad days, are fun with them and they never go to bed upset at each other.  They are each other's best friend; whenever I swear one of them to secrecy about something, the other finds out within an hour.  The photo struck a cord with me because lately I have been so frustrated with dating in this city! I really just want to be single, but of course, my life is situational irony at its best (or worst?). When it rains, it pours.  Everytime I meet a nice guy (yes, they exist in NYC!), I lose interest in about two seconds because I find him...boring.  And there is nothing worse to me than being boring.  Guess I just like the crazy/cocky/workaholic/alcoholic/model-aholic/player guys, and they sure do like me! Sigh...

But earlier this week,  I got an email from I couple I met at Bagatelle that dispelled any cynicism my hopelessly romantic self may have developed recently.  Bagatelle is a restaurant in Meatpacking, managed by the same people behind Kiss & Fly, the club next door.  It is the only restaurant I've been to repeatedly where I have no interest in the menu. The chef is last in command there - after the DJ, the bartenders, the (mostly) cute waiters, and the energy on Saturday afternoons.  Where else are people dancing on tables and chairs, banquettes and the bar, at 3pm?! Rain or shine! Where else are bottles of champagne delivered by a waiter in a Superman cape carried by six guys with sparklers?!

This Saturday, I was at Bagatelle, in the restroom line, when I met a really sweet woman, Viviana. She was probably in her late 50s/early 60s, not exactly the general demographic at these parties. Screaming over the music, she told me that she and her husband were in town for the weekend visiting their four kids who all lived in the city.  When I got back to my table, I noticed she and her family were next to us - their kids had convinced them to stay  after their actual (civilized) brunch, but they felt slightly out of place.  It's akin to dragging parents to a club, except replace the strobe with broad daylight, and the vodka with magnum bottles of rose!

Bagatelle "brunch"

(a speaker caught had on fire, and no one stopped dancing or noticed it was removed)

Bagatelle champagne delivery!

Of course, I'm all about everyone having a good time, and somehow convinced Viviana and Andres, her husband, to dance on chairs while I took videos of their family.  Turns out, they have been married for over 30 years, and were the liveliest, funniest, most interesting, successful, and chic-est couple over 60 I've ever met.  (When I grow up...)

I got this email from them on Monday:

Dear CM:

We had a great time at Bagatelle on Saturday and were very glad to meet you.  You are a very lively and lovely woman.  You will find love when and where it is least expected.  Men require patience my dear! I will upload the pictures from Bagatelle and send them to you soon.

I hope we can do it again sometime soon.

Stay in touch,

Andres & Viviana 

To get to the point, uhhh...I'm not sure if this story had a point.  If it does, I guess it would be that I just like hearing stories about great, fun relationships like my parents or Andres & Viviana have, even if it's far removed from my life! Also, men require patience!

One last pic for Bruce, who suggested more male-friendly content: Enlighten me as to whether or not these are the same...and why anyone would want two of the same?!

Cain: A Retrospective

I love my friends, really. Even when they tell me everything I write here sucks and/or is so boring they can’t get past three sentences. Or think it’s stupid I put up random photos, like Daphne Guinness in Alexander McQueen. When I was in middle school, while other girls plastered their walls with boy band posters (ok, I had a Take That poster), I had a wall devoted to Alexander McQueen. But mostly, HELLO, I work full time. In finance, where my creative writing skills put to the test daily by creating Powerpoint pitches that people never read (but do recycle – we are a green company!) Putting up a photo is kind of a cop-out to writing.

Take That (Back for Good video)

Doesn't Gary Barlow (2nd from left) look like Mr. Mazzoni (my high school Calculus teacher)?

Anyway, I haven’t gone out much recently…ok, I haven’t gone out much during the past two weeks. Let's take a moment of silence to regret not going to the Paper Mag party at Santos last Tuesday. The aftermath of moving and this past weekend's hyperactivity is overwhelming. But last night I put on my favorite dancing shoes (Sigerson Morrison peeptoe wedges…in a dusty rose color…sigh, beautiful) since Steve Aoki was DJing in NY for one night. At, of all places, Cain. I have a love/hate relationship with Cain and other Chelsea clubs.

Ooh, sponsored by Hypnotiq...I thought people were just tacky

-----
TANGENT ALERT
My introduction to the mess that is Marquee/Bungalow/Pink/Guesthouse/Home/Cain (and now Mansion and Suzie Wong's) was two summers ago, when I was a new and wide-eyed resident of NYC. I remember a friend of mine advised me that the best places to go in NYC were Double Seven, which I guess never reopened, and Cain, which he said was “the Rumor of New York.” Rumor is a club in Boston where some of my friends frequented a lot in college (*cough* spent the majority of their college career *cough*). I’m not sure if that meant a lot of our mutual friends went to Cain, or it was full of European/South American/Middle Eastern/other international kids with drinking problems and an affinity for sparklers – it was both actually.

One random night, a girlfriend of mine and I were out, and in the unfathomable days before I had internet access on my phone, I was at a loss as to where either Double Seven or Cain were. I think we just kind of knew there were clubs in Chelsea and just wandered around. My phone was dead and I couldn’t call anyone, but we found our way to the 27th St strip. Rachelle only liked to dance to hip hop, so we quickly exited Guesthouse (and Pink as well?), frightened by the identically suited bankers inside, and by the old French doorman in the purple/blue/80s tracksuit – anyone else remember him?

We explored further down the street until we stumbled upon an oasis in clubland: Cain. The music was good, the people were hot, and the place just had a good energy. Mostly I liked that it was small and not crowded. I also ran into a few kids I knew, and a good time was had by all. But like many clubs, Cain has since suffered an undeniable slide into trash-dom (aka Phase 2). I won’t comment on the people who you’ll find there (that’s not my style), but let’s just say it’s not as full of eye-candy it used to be. The upside is that if you’re with a lot of friends (read: guys), it’s pretty easy to talk your way in sans hassle or bottles.
TANGENT FINISHED
-----
Anyway, back to last night. The last time I went to Cain was also when Steve was DJing, in late May.

Why are these parties (Wednesday nights at Cain) called Bunny Chow? Is that someone’s name? Huh? The music and crowd were awesome that night, but unfortunately I had dallied away my time at 1OAK and Tenjune, and didn’t get to Cain until 2am, nearly my weeknight-if-going-out-bedtime.

So last night, I decided to arrive early, midnight-ish. My friend Gemma (she of the Noodle Review – a post soon) told me that the night before she had a dream (nightmare) that we were at a club, but it was so empty we were helping the staff polish glasses. Funnily enough, that was pretty much the scene at Cain when I got there. It was so empty the photographer was taking still life shots of glasses and ice buckets. How sad. I attribute it to the rain and not me being lame for getting there so early. Luckily my friends soon arrived and we all had a good time. It’s not where you are, but who you’re with, right? =) I think Aoki came on around 1:30am (not 12:30, as promised), the music was good, the energy was great, but the crowd was just terrible. Too many people, and too many trashy people. I especially loved the crazy drunk girl who tried to have a heart to heart with everyone at our table, one at a time.

So, to get to the point, Bunny Chow Wednesdays are fun if you 1) go with a group of friends (that's my fun factor anywhere) 2) get there after 1:30, and 3) when a DJ you like is spinning.

Btw, I felt pretty bad for him. His father, Rocky Aoki, passed away recently. Clubs must be either a good distraction for him or the worst possible place to be when you are grieving.

Tonight…Matsugen. I might even write about the noodles...

The Cooler Carrie

Carrie Donovan

photo by Jesse Frohman

There's actually a Wikipedia entry on "Meaning of Life"

Part II of my champagne induced jaw break story is coming up...

----------------

Last week I received this email from my good friend Claire:

I was talking to Gemma.. and I've come to the conclusion that I want to be you for a day.. no stress, I can get away w/ anything by smiling, people won't blame me for most of my actions "cause, it’s CM"...want to be stress free in my own little world!! hahaha.. ahhhhhhhhh!! I've reached my limit today.. and could easily kill someone from sprint through the phone!

Ha! So I apparently live in la la land, and my life is all butterflies and red velvet cupcakes…I wish! Actually, my sunny disposition belies my serious concern that I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING WITH MY LIFE. OMG, I’m almost 24. I know this is all pathetically cliché for people my age, but I can’t help but think - Shouldn’t I have accomplished more, traveled more, seen more, learned more, done more by now?!

Lately, I have been a little disturbed by how hedonistic my and my friends’ lives are. Don’t get me wrong, I love (love love love) New York, and I’m proud that despite a hectic work schedule, I’m always doing something new, fun, or interesting. But it seems that recently, my biggest concerns everyday are so self-involved and trivial – Should I go to the gym or get drinks with so-and-so? Should I go to this concert or to that party? Where should the girls & I go for dinner? When will this horrific haircut grow out?

Unlike a normal person who would be grateful to be free of problems, I actually feel guilty about it. Like maybe because I’m happy and healthy, have great friends and family, I should be doing more with my life. While I was moving, I came across a few books I read a while ago that collectively made me feel like an utterly worthless waste of space. The list includes Giving, Leaving Microsoft to Change the World, Banker to the Poor, and The End of Poverty (Jeffrey Sachs' new book Common Wealth is pretty good if you're an econ geek...guilty!). Avoid reading these if you find yourself wondering how your career makes any difference in the grand scheme of human existence, because it probably doesn’t.

Anyway, I guess I have just been lost the past few months. The intellectual challenge and sense of accomplishment I used to get from my job has been eroded by stress after my boss left my team in March and my new, inexperienced boss stepped in. I’m all about working hard, but not when I don’t feel my efforts make any difference and aren’t appreciated. Outside of work, I have not been motivated to follow through with many things I’ve started, which is really disappointing because I have never been a quitter. Learning Spanish didn’t happen, taking the CFA didn’t happen, even running on a regular basis has been spotty.

So I decided last night that now is the time to make some changes! I’m joining a new team at work in two weeks, and from what I know about them now, it’s going to be great, personally and professionally. I also made a list of other things I want to accomplish in the short and long term. Overall, I like who I am now and I’m anxiously excited to see who I become.

So basically this was a pep talk to myself. Awesome.

P.S. Hi dad, it's kind of creepy you're reading this! =)

I Don't Smell Bad

Will add pictures later...

Moving is probably one of the few things everyone in NY can agree sucks – including movers. My previous moving mishaps have included 1) attempting to drive a UHaul the same day that 150,000+ college students were graduating (in Boston) 2) SLEEPING in a UHaul truck overnight – don’t even ask, and 3) having to have my friends pack my stuff for me to put into storage, while I ran to the airport after missing two flights home.

This time, I actually thought I was pretty on top of things. While my friends were at the beach/at PS1/in the Hamptons/picnicking in Central Park/at the Made in Italy party/at Bagatelle “brunch” (a future post)/etc etc, I was at home like a good little girl, packing away. Yet somehow, I STILL ended up in a frantic state when my movers (surprisingly) showed up on time, and I had to resort to the throwing-shit-into-boxes approach. Thanks CK for the last minute help, and thanks girls for helping me unpack and clean!

Anyway, my new place is sweet, although the two guys who already live there have a unique sense of décor. The first words that come to my mind are “frat house basement” – but that’s why they really need a girl like me to live there. Baby steps, though – I’m painting next weekend, and then I’ll deal with the flamingo mirror/bar (seriously).

So last night, after unpacking/organizing/cleaning for two hours, I completely gave up and went to Stanton Social. I really like the place, and not just because the kitchen closes really late (3am Thursdays to Saturdays, 2am on other nights) – I like a lot of things on the menu, which consists of only small plates meant for sharing (wasn’t there something in Times about entrees being passé). Ambiance is nice too, although the acoustics are terrible – the walls are all stone/concrete, so noise just bounces off them making it really, really noisy. Anyway, avoid the ‘special’ Monday night menu...it’s…well, it’s just bad. Someone decided to pick the worst things on the menu and put them together. Sweet & sour chicken & cashew spring rolls (ehh), braised short rib soft tacos (ok), grill apple & brie quesadilla (yuck), crostini w/a spectacularly gross crème fraiche concoction, goat cheese croquettes (not on the regular menu, it was ok). and wok charred edamame (soooo good). Just order off the main menu – i.e. the kobe beef sliders, my favorite! Oh, and the warm donuts, which are served with a warm dark chocolate sauce. For some reason, the staff REALLY wants the tables turned over quickly on Mondays. Don’t get distracted talking to your friends because the waiters/waitresses have no problem removing your plate whether you’re finished eating or not!

I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed this before, but there was this AWFUL smell in the main downstairs room last night. I couldn’t put my finger on it until today and then I realized – hemp necklace, the kind that was popular in elementary/middle school. Anyway, at first I thought this smell was coming from the guy sitting to my right. When he got up for a smoke, and the smell was still there, I figured it must be coming from the guy sitting to my left. Then he got up to make a phone call. Since everyone else was sitting either down the table from me, or across (far), I thought – oh shit, maybe it’s me!! But I don’t smell (except of Serge Lutens A La Nuit - best jasmine perfume ever), plus I just showered and was wearing a dress I took out of a dry cleaning bag. For a good half hour, I was very disturbed that it might have been me causing the stench. It wasn't until we left that I realized the entire restaurant smells like a wet hemp necklace.

I dropped by Butter with Bridgette for a little bit since she's going to be out of town for the three weeks. Yes, Mondays at Butter are still very fun - good music, good crowd, and not too crowded while I was there...although, as always, I left "early" so I could GO THE GYM THIS MORNING. Yeaaa!!

This was only 665 words. Brevity is the soul of wit, as Hamlet/Mr. Georgandis used to say.

BTW, I used College Educated Movers . Yea, I’m totally elitist…no, actually, I saw their ad on Craigslist – their sales pitch was something along the lines of “Wouldn’t your rather support aspiring writers/filmmakers/starving artists than some 15 year old punk who’s going to break all your stuff?” Yea, I totally would! I had imagined two skinny hipsters who wouldn’t be able to carry much, and would take excessively long smoking breaks. But they were great! Punctual, efficient, and professional. And they charge a flat rate, so I didn’t really care when they took excessively long smoking breaks.

Ok, 779 words.

Matt, Shut up! =)

1) FINALLY MOVING!
I’m moving to Kiehl’s at 13th & 3rd, from my lovely home in East Village.

I’m sad to be leaving Back Forty, Westville East, Mercadito, The E.U., Max, Kasadela, East Village ice cream, B Cup, Panifico, Café Mogador, and much much more. Oh, girls across the street – I’ll miss you two, too. Sad!!

2) Text: Hope you are having a great day at work!! I enjoyed your blog :) Although I was looking for the hot sexy bicycle museum guy story!!!!

Haha…here’s your shoutout man! This is the only text/email I'll transcribe, because this whole writing about my life for random people to read thing really weirds me out. Aside from my Street Date post (BTW, I'm Winnie), I am going to avoid writing about guys I go out with unless it’s particularly funny/embarrassing/cute/ridiculous or completely in the past.

Like the time I got yelled at by this guy I was seeing, Peter, for not knowing that Donald Trump’s second oldest son was turning 24 years old. Eric Trump’s birthday party invitation said “Come to sweet 16 ice skating party!” and I told Peter, no thanks. How was I supposed to know it was a joke?! Ivanka, Donald Jr., fine - I’ve watched the Apprentice and they are in the media, so the average person knows roughly how old they are. But who the hell knows who Eric Trump is?! Or how old he is?! Eeesh. If you thought you were being invited to a sweet 16 ice skating party, wouldn’t you laugh/scoff too?! Peter, who I quickly realized is crazy (and I mean CRAZY), decided to give me the silent treatment for a few days, then cancelled plans to go to Fuerza Bruta….an hour before we were supposed to go. His way of getting back at me…for not wanting to go to a sweet 16 birthday party...for a 24 year old. He’s writing a book now…a memoir, at age 27. Whaaaa? Exactly.

3) Late bloomer

I am 23 years old and cannot ride a bike, no joke. But I’m going to learn this this month, even if I can’t find training wheels big enough for me. My friend Valerie, who's 24, used to not be able to ride one either, but she learned during the long weekend - traitor. Come to think of it, I’m a late bloomer with a lot of things…hmmm…

I imagine bike riding to be like this (Audrey Hepburn and what appears to be Toto from the Wizard of Oz)

or like this (X GAMES!)

but realistically, I will probably end up like this =(

4) Blog news

After coming across this blog from Down by the Hipster, Miss Model Behavior (entertaining, irreverant, funny) contacted me about a possible future project! I actually went to a party in East Hampton last weekend that she wrote about, so I’ve probably seen her before. I got another email from a Josh Beckerman, who writes nycfoodie and was at Rose Bar last Wednesday, the night I wrote about. It’s a small, blog-filled world out there. I'm like a blog groupie...

Also, while I can’t claim to be the entire cause of the ruckus between two popular NY nightlife blogs, I’m tickled to have been mentioned. I like stirring things up…

The grass is always greener...

Why do we always want what we can't have?

Guys always seem to find nothing more attractive than a girl who's unavailable, unattainable, or uninterested.  Interested in a guy?  Tell him you're unavailable and you will be magically and immediately inundated with calls/emails/texts/carrier pigeon messages/singing telegrams/whatever. Curly-haired girls spend hundreds of dollars and hours of their lives blow drying, straightening, and otherwise frying their hair in hopes of getting in stick straight, while I have actually purchased multiple sea water (seriously) products in hopes of getting the wavy hair I can only get from a day at the beach. BTW, I recommend Bumble and Bumble Surf Spray.

This wanting-what-you-can't-have is true in the bigger scheme of things too. Having had a relatively unstable childhood, I have always craved stability and familiarity. Unstable isn't the right word (it's 5am right now, diction is not my priority) - my parents, in treating me as an adult/peer instead of a child, and relocating our family several times, taught me the importance of being independent and strong-willed; sociable and empathetic; cosmopolitan and curious.  And I'm so grateful for that.  But the constant moving around, always leaving friends and making new ones, really took a toll.  I wanted to start my adult life in one city, with one group of friends, to have just one life.  But after finally having that stability in college (and even that involved a year abroad, different groups of friends, a myriad of extracurriculars), I realized that I only craved it because I never had it. I actually cannot stand consistency!  Another reason to love the big apple.

I honestly have no idea where I will be this time next year, and the uncertainty doesn't bother me in the least.  I signed a year's sublease recently with the peace of mind that, should I move within a year, my new apartment is great enough of a place that I can easily find a subletter to sublease from my sublease. Ha ha...

This week, two of my best friends in NY decided to move out of the city (...and country...and continent...and hemisphere!), leaving me sadly wondering with whom I will share my time.   They haven't left yet and I already feel that I will miss them so much.  Another good friend is, as a result, without a roommate, leaving her to realize that friends have moved in and out of the city so much that she has not lived with the same person for the entire term of an apartment lease.  It's so easy to meet people in NY, and I am lucky to have a lot of friends here, but really good friends worthy of my time/energy/trust/friendship are so rare.  I only say "rare" because, again, it is 5am and I cannot think of a better and more extreme word.   

So now I've realized I like the ambiguity that being a 20-something-year old with no idea of what I really want to do with my life (let's be honest here!) - it's great! What I really want now is what is truly unattainable. INFINITE TIME! Haha, really, isn't that the answer to all our problems in life? Friends moving away? No probs - infinite time means I could get a second job as an incredibly successful day-trader, make ridiculous amounts of money, fly my friends on a Citation X, and it'll be like they never moved.  Infinite time would mean that I wouldn't be limited to 168 hours per week to be a superstar at work, to spend time with my friends & family, to read everything ever printed, to work out until I am Madonna-toned but not so manly-looking, and to do everything that makes life beautiful. Now isn't that the dream? 

To get to the point, sometimes we are troubled by not getting what we want.  But it's probably not even what we want, because what we want is something we don't even realize we want because we are too preoccupied with wanting what we don't actually want but think we want.  So don't be sad if you don't have everything you want in life.

Huh? WhaaAAaA? This was an excellent use of 25 minutes of my life at 5am.  Time for bed! Or iChat with someone in another time zone!

Word count: way more than 250, oops.