Dear universe,

Please send me a job so I can start buying pretty, badass things again.  ::Le sigh::

uno // due // tre // quattro // cinque // sei // sette // otto // nove // dieci

Nasty Gal is a splendid site I've been spying with my little eye for a while.  In addition to their new stuff that reminds me off what Metropark would be if there ever was a time before it sold out, they have a fantastic selection of vintage goodies. 

This is weird.  But I like it.

My mother, God bless her heart, is on some super devout Christian shit.  Whoa, probably should not have cursed in that sentence, but hell, I don't look back!  Anywho, for whatever reason she fasts for a month at the beginning of every year.  I really couldn't tell you why.  The necessity of doing so may be discussed in a chapter of the Bible I neglected to study (see: all of them) or a missed episode of the 700 Club.  For the first week she doesn't eat at all and for the rest of the month she only consumes liquids like soup and, well, soup.

But enough about her.  The kicker is, I'm doing it with her.  Now you're probably all, "wtf, Tee?  You're crazy!  I mean you're not even religious like that!"  And to that I reply "psht, you don't know me!" all angsty-like even though that may be slightly true.  Thing is, my mom asked me to do it.  And I grew up in a super strict home where you just can't say no to your parents.  Even if they are requesting you do illegal activities.  It's just not done, I tell you.  And yes, I could lie considering we live in different states (albeit only NJ to NY) but I don't like to lie because I'm really good at it.  It's just not fair.  I think it may be since I'm half Irish on my Dad's side except that can't be true because I'm 100% not White and I was just trying to prove to you how amazing of a liar I am*.  See??  So I'm doing it.  But only doing it for a week and I have to tell you, it's not that bad

Again with the crazy looks?  Cut that shit out, I am serious! 

Plus, it helped me learn things about myself.  Like how I'm most likely to snack in the middle of the night, and that I'm overall pretty hard-fucking-core.  Seriously.  I threw back a Mike's Hard and a tall glass of Malibu on an empty stomach and frustratingly did not feel the slightest buzz.  Girly drinks or not, I should have at least let out an inappropriate giggle or two.

And you, looking at me with the side eye, no one said I couldn't drink alcohol!  Be gone with your judgments!

But yeah, the moral of my story is, I am hungry.  Also, my pirated wireless internet connection has mysteriously disappeared.  So if you don't hear from me for another week and half, do not despair.  I'm fine.  Just disconnected.  :( 

*I feel like I once read/heard somewhere that the Irish were notoriously good liars.  I could be dead wrong.  But it would totally be the first time.

[Image via We Heart It]

Sometimes I feel the only thing holding me to this earth are my magnetic shoes to these metallic streets.   In my head I float; in my dreams I soar; in this world I shuffle.  My music and my feet to the beat.  The chaotic bass beats to the nonsensical lyrics that tunnel its way through my earphones.

Spotted, innocent J rocking out Victoria's Secret style

I mean, you know, just in case anyone is into Gossip Girl.  Like me, me, me!

[Image via Photobucket]

Round 2

I wrote this for Mr. Condesending's contest.  Everyone should follow his blog and submit something your own.  There's a little writer in all of us.  Mine just happens to be a tad smutty sensual at times.  

EDIT: Sorry, my lovelys.  Looks like the author of each piece should be some what anonymous.  I'll re-post once the competition is over.  ;)

In other news, I was published. Tee hee.  I submitted that after trying to update my "about me" to something less lame and failing epically.  I'm just hard to define.  Nah mean?

[Image via We Heart It]


Uno.  Snow is so much prettier to look at than to be in.

Due. Watermelons are really big fruits. Like, it's legitimately intimidating.

Tre.  Is it obsessive behavior to fantasize about someone you've only met once?

Quattro.  Do you think infants cry when they're in the womb and we just don't hear it?

Cinque:  Meh.  Alexa Chung is so lame.

Sei: The only time it is appropriate to use the term "classy" is when you're trying to emphasize how something is not.


[Image via We Heart It]

Pretty Pictures

The newest additions to my inspiration wall:


I have a thing for fashion photography.  Some may say it's not "real" art.  I may say, omg nobody even asked youuuu

[Images via Google Images]

And in closing...

I heard this pretty epic mashup on the radio the other day and almost had a cow when I was able to find it on Youtube:

Tres impressive.  Learn more about DJ Earworm here.


Anybody who knows me knows I fucking love New Year's Eve because I fucking love to party.  And that night is the only night everyone is partying at the same time for the same reason.  The energy in the air is amazing.  But enough gushing about NYC.

My evening was... eventful.  It involved an aborted search and rescue mission for one of my girls constantly on the search for more kicks; a tag team mission involving taking turns doing toilet duty, pulling back the hair of two girls who were having much more fun than the rest of us; eventually (and I would add inevitably) being kicked out of the club by a security guard and EMT because "by law" we can't occupy a bathroom stall for that long (??); being separated from the group because of it; not being able to get in contact with the group due to completely dead phones; dragging an acquaintance I made just 2 hours ago that night back to my Brooklyn apartment via the always pleasurable mass transit; attempting to sober her up while charging my phone enough to call out; picking up my car and driving back to the city to pick up the stragglers the rest of the group; driving to Jersey to drop them all off; taking a 45 min nap so I could make it back to my apartment in one piece; and losing some personal belongings and sensation in one of my toes.  So not kidding about that last part.

In case you weren't clear on the fact that NYE was created for bad decisions, this was the only advertisement plastered on the mirrors in ladies' room

It was one of those nights that are so bad, you can't even really be mad because you're so glad it's over.  I remember chatting about the epic-ness of it all over 24 hr Subway sandwiches at 5:00 AM and being highly amused.  It was almost fun.  Kind of like an adventure.


Here's where I'm supposed to reflect on the past, right?  Well I was all gun ho to document how shitty the past year has been as on par with how the rest of the world apparently feels... but I can't.  Eff a recession, my year was pretty pops.  I turned 21 and madness ensued, moved out to NYC, went on the best vacation of my life (Meh-hi-co!), got my first film credit, took Italian and fell in love with Italy, started blogging and fell in love with the blog world, and lots more awesome shit.  Sure a lot cool people passed away and I'm almost dead broke but I can't say this year was a complete bust.  I mean, again, I turned 21!


Out of the many newsletters I'm subscribed to, I got this little gem I thought I'd share:

Old Acquaintance, Soon Forgot
End-of-the-Decade Fill-in-the-Blank

Dear ___ [name of frenemy],
After reflecting on our ___ [Freudian term] relationship, I realized that you suck the energy out of me like ___ [2009 vampire protagonist]. My therapist told me to get everything off my ___ [body part], so here goes:
Truth is, I never liked going ___ [trendy retro leisure sport] with you. I’m not your personal ___ [pathetic reality TV sidekick]. And it’s no secret that you ___ [past-tense verb] my boyfriend. I’d ask if you were on ___ [prescription drug], but I already know the answer, since you stole it from my ____ [aging relative].
Of course, there were magical times (guzzling whiskey cocktails at ___ [favorite NYC gastropub], charging clog boots at ___ [favorite indie boutique] on your mom’s credit card), but I want to move into 2010 as a healthy, ___ [positive emotion] person.
I do blame you for my ___ [sign of aging] but otherwise no hard feelings. Here’s to making 2010 as drama free as ___ [PBS documentary title].
___ [your name]


Here's to making 2010 even more kick ass.

[Image via we heart it]

When home isn't home anymore.

Blogger never posts my posts in the order I want them to appear in.  I've tried numerous techniques; drafting first and posting in different, various arrangements, positive thinking, etc.  But this shit is about as agreeable as my stomach the morning after a night of contributing to the depletion of a handle of Svedka.  Anywho, my point is this post should be on the top as it is the first in a series of holiday related posts.  If it's not, blame Blogger.  ...Or me.  Everyone else does.

During this time of year, or the time that has just passed rather, all the blog posts are the same.  Tales of our journeys home and how royally weird/fucked up our families are.  But amongst people my age, I noticed another trend.  Tales of how home doesn't feel like home anymore.  When does that happen?  When does the sparsely furnished, always void of food tenement apartment you're currently shacking up in until the lease expires becomes more comfortable than the room you grew up in?  Maybe it's when you come back and see that slowly even more boxes of junk have crept into your old room.  Or when you when you notice that Toys R Us isn't where it used to be, that they switched out all of the old exits signs with shiny new ones, or that you can no longer make a left where you used to always make a left.  Or maybe it's when there is no longer a trace of old traditions and it's apparently no longer necessary to come home for every holiday and every birthday.

For whatever reason, I've always felt that I changed while everything stayed the same.  But in reality, it looks like I changed and just stopped paying attention. 

[Image via we heart it]

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