It starts out on a plane.

It’s bad, really bad when you write a blog post by hand in your personal journal since no computer access exists 30,000 feet above ground. However, I’ve managed to accomplish this task with relatively little harm to my ego. Here’s what I wrote:

Well, I’m on my way to San Francisco to visit my aunt and the family for part of my last Spring Break ever. For those of you who know me, you’re aware that I’m terrified of flying…so bear with me while I waste some air time and indulge in my utter nerdiness by writing this blog post.

First things first:
1) I HIGHLY suggest flying with jetBlue. My flight began with an episode of That 70’s Show followed by movie Juno on my personal TV screen. People: I have just experienced the 21st century and…It. Is. Awesome! I have copious amounts of leg room and even decided to get one of those baby bottles of wine to encourage my self-important nature.

2) On the way to the airport today I had a cab driver offer me two very interesting rules of thumb he says he swears by:

a) Never go to the doctor’s office for a physical. This man is sixty-eight years old and apparently healthy as a horse. Mazel Tov.

b) Never wear a condom. (FYI: I did express to him that this was an over share…c’mon folks, I do have some morals!) He said that this rule keeps him faithful to his girlfriend. I don’t care to go on.—Yeesh.

There is no level of ‘uncomfortable’ that shies away from me. These types of situations often find their way into my daily routine, and I’m just going to start recording them. For instance, I’m not really sure why some cab drivers feel the need to push the envelope that extra inch and completely cross my self-imposed comfort line. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I just talk too much–you know, too nice too quickly? On my way home from work last week, the driver asked me for my number to go on a date. Great. It’s uncomfortable moments such as this one which happen on a regular basis, that make me want to crawl under a large rock and hide forever.

A similar type of uncomfortable occurred a couple weeks ago at my internship. I was going on one of my many important errands at the magazine: a coffee run. I had gone out with one of the new interns who had decided to tell me that she no longer drinks coffee due to her IBS. I did not ask her if caffeine made her irritable. I didn’t even ask the girl if she liked coffee! My only regret is that I didn’t have a good friend of mine around at this moment to share in this heightened level of ‘uncomfortable’ with me. Instead, I have resorted to sharing this intern’s digestive ailments with cyber space. I’m sorry…

I’m not worthy.

The photograph of this little, Parisian fashionista can be found on one of my new favorite blogs, Style Sightings. The people photographed for this site are stunning, so much so, that everything in my closet could basically be compared to a burlap sack when placed next to the threads these folks are donning. Sure, some of the wardrobe choices are a little too over the top, their outfits screaming, “Today, I went for more of a train-wreck look,” but I understand the appeal of wanting to see something different. In America we generally tend to go for a more, “I’ll have what she’s wearing” approach to fashion. This can get really boring, especially when you live in D.C. and the dresscode happens to be an ill-fitting business suit with tennis shoes.

A girl home alone. A romance. A recipe for contemplation.

Ah, yes. After an extremely tedious and tiring day, what better way to enjoy a quiet evening at home than by watching Under the Tuscan Sun, featuring Diane Lane? It’s amazing how happy this movie makes me. I laugh. I cry. I think, yes! Someday I will move to Italy and find happiness, love, and write the next great novel! I will stroll through the villages of Tuscany and find an amazing mansion for a reasonable price. Sure, there will be hard times. But I’ll look so good doing it all–in fact, I’ll buy a blow-dryer and do my hair. Then all the Italian men will come a runnin’!

I am a such a sucker for a good romance/coming-of-age tale. But it got me wondering…how realistic are any of these romances? Do children in Italy really run around throwing rose petals at people, as opposed to the sticks and stones American kids manage to hurl? It’s a little unsettling.

Josephine Cox, a popular British author, brings up an interesting point: Love stories may be instilling some unrealistic expectations in many of us. Here are some key arguments she poses in an article from The Daily Mail:

1) Generally, all the main characters of a love story are really good-looking. (Not the case in real life.)

2) Often enough, it’s love at first site. (For those who say they’ve never noticed someone on the metro and thought–if even for just a second–that this could be the one, you’re lying. And probably no fun at all.)

3) If it’s not love at first site, it’s a childhood friendship that has developed into much, much more.

4) The stories end when the two characters end up happily together. Forget the baby diapers, cottage cheese thighs, and “first gray hairs” that come later.

Still, at the end of all this I say that storytelling is just storytelling. If novels and films were about how Paul and Lauren met their sophomore year of college and got married after graduation, I would cry giant tears of boredom.

Under the Tuscan Sun probably made me think a little too much. But I am considering a future as a divorcee who decides to start over in Europe…I just hope I have Diane Lane’s waistline.

People are real freak shows sometimes.

This will probably offer more insight into my character than I would like to expose, but I need to share a couple blog posts with the rest of the world.

 1st. This one comes from the beloved Jezebel. In a post titled, “It’s My Space. That’s Why They Call It MySpace,” we learn of former mayor of Arlington, Oregon and her revealing photo she refuses to take off of her profile page post-election. She claims, “I’m not going to change who I am.”

 -I say, “Ok lady. Great abs, but really?” I mean, I’m not one to be caught up in the minutia of election hoopla. For instance, attacks against Obama for not wearing an American flag pin and thus, not “really” caring about our country don’t really make me rethink my vote. I’m just not really sure how the citizens of Arlington, Oregon feel about their mayor looking like she should be on the cover of Women’s Physique World. (I’m as offended by that photo as you are.)

2nd. This post hails from New York Magazine’s blog, The Cut. In a nutshell, Supima Cotton is opening a store in Soho come March 14th. Great. What is noteworthy and kinda crazy here is that the promotional campaign for the store opening involves a “mock cotton field” on the corner of Broadway and Houston. A Supima rep is quoted, saying that employees will have, “actual bales of cotton and hand them out to people walking by. It will be a sight to see.” Uh—yea.

-I say, “There was nothing else they could think of to promote the store?” In all honesty though, this technique will definitely point people in the right direction, a commotion will be stirred, and talk is ALREADY going on over this promotional campaign before it has even begun.

Kudos to a job well done, PR.

Snap!

Well, I am happy to confirm that I will be moving to New York City post-graduating in May. Yikes. I mean, I’m terribly excited. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just, ah—what a change from my life here in the District.

Basically, this past Thursday I took a train up to New York with my dear friend Andrew to interview for yet another editorial internship for the upcoming summer. This one was for the awesome Nylon magazine, located right in Soho. I’m happy to report that I got the position and will be fulfilling what I plan to be my final internship!

The whole day was pretty great actually, despite a 24-hour snow storm that just had to happen during my whopping 36-hour stay. You see, I was actually a little freaked out to be going back to NYC. I have nothing but great memories from living there this past summer, but it’s a whole ‘nother ball game when you plan on actually moving there for no fixed time and have gotten it through your dense skull that you will soon be looking for a job in this incredibly competitive, intimidating market. Yeesh.

My thoughts on adulthood: I’m too poor to be independent and too old to steal from my parents’ liquor cabinet. Oh well, it can’t stay this way forever!

I haven’t posted photos in a while. Here’s a picture I took from my summer in the city. Enjoy.

If you can’t brag about the $$, then brag about the freebies.

You know its been a good day at the office when your editor assigns you to a project involving lavish spas in the DC area. It’s an even better day when one of those spas you call up (*cough*The Intercontinental Hotel*cough*)offers you a free signature facial. I mean, who am I to complain? It’s all part of my job folks– I’m an editorial intern! Sometimes that means carrying large bottles of unopened Absolut vodka 4 blocks to be returned to the liquor store, and sometimes my position involves a little R&R. I will, of course, keep you posted.

It wouldn’t be like me to close a blog post on such an uppity note. I don’t do that. (If Britney Spears were happy and normal, would anyone really care? No.) So instead, picture this: Me. Heels. A fifteen-minute walk from the metro to my apartment. Freezing rain. Black ice. –And no, that’s not a haiku.

We’ll try this. One more time.

It’s unfortunate when you have to write two very similar blog posts about how you’ll be this wonderful individual from now on who contributes to society in the only way she knows how (by entertaining one or two people, most likely her parents) through posting on said blog. However, it’s even more regrettable when these blog posts are nearly five months apart with nothing self-published in-between.

But, for the sake of consistency and tradition, here I go again. I will be a better person. I will post on my blog. I will, despite all odds, conquer.

Quick updates on life: I am currently interning with Capitol File Magazine in D.C. Literally, I am at work right now and am posting on my blog instead of other work which makes me churn out an impressive $1.25/hr. (That wasn’t a joke, but in fact the truth.) I also started hostessing at a nice, little Italian restaurant called Dino’s in Cleveland Park. If you’re in the area, don’t visit me at work–it will only make me jealous.

In other news: I seem to be developing a little bout of chronic insomnia, a light cold, and more importantly hypochondria. From here on out until my commencement ceremony, I am blaming all my downfalls on the stresses associated with graduating and being suddenly thrown into the “real world.” I’ll be using these two exuses in particular, as they sound legitimate and warrant sympathy. In all honesty though, if anyone out there knows of any non-habit forming sleeping aids that actually work, I’ll be the girl watching The Fresh Prince and George Lopez reruns on Nick-at-Nite well into 4AM.

Sometimes, we all need a little kick in the ass. What, no?

My blogging suddenly came to a halt after my last post on September 11th, over two weeks ago. I wish I could say I had some decent excuse like, I was diagnosed with carpel tunnel syndrome…I was discovered and had to move my life to Hollywood…I was too busy finding the cure for the common cold. But, no.

The reality of the matter is that when school starts, I tend to have a one-track mind. I’m going to try and be better about this in the future. In fact, it’s on a list of things I’m trying to be more conscious of, in an effort to stop feeling guilty and unproductive… Either way, it’s that same old tune, “You are your own worst enemy.” Blah, blah, blah.

But, it’s Friday. And I think we all deserve to take it a little easy on ourselves. If Sunday is supposed to be the day of rest, (which is completely untrue for me and everyone else I know) then let Friday be the day of elation. Let go of your worries, your To-Do lists, and your overreaching goals. Do as Epicurus did (this philosophy class is really paying off), and set your aims a little lower today. ‘Cause the man said, if you set your sights low…you’re going to be really pleased when something surprisingly good happens. Amen.

Love quotes, suck.

Being that it is September 11th, I thought it appropriate to reflect. I could ponder over the state of affairs in Chechnya (not great), scientific discoveries (a species of fish with two sets of jaws…so sci-fi), or the current book I’m reading at work (How I Became Stupid by Martin Page). Instead though, I think I’ll look at life in my apartment.

Yesterday evening went a little something like this:

Montana: I need a title for my paper.

(The paper is about a book on love. I haven’t read said book, but was told it was quote, “sappy.”)

Me: Love hurts.

Montana: No.

Me: All you need is love.

(Clearly, not putting much effort into being creative. For that, Montana…I apologize.)

Montana: No.

Me: Uuuummm, Love is blind.

Montana: No!

Me: Love makes the world go ’round.

Montana: Seriously…no.

(I’m sitting on the couch, getting ready to watch Ugly Betty again on abc.com. )

Montana: Before you watch that, listen to this.

Me: Listen to what?

Montana: My inspiration for the title of my finished paper.

Me: I don’t want to. I just want to watch Ugly Betty.

Montana: No! Listen, it’s a classic.

(At this point in time, “What’s Love Got to Do With It” by Tina Turner is turned on full blast.)

Me: I don’t want to listen this. I’m putting in my head phones.

(Ugly Betty starts to play on the screen. I watch for a minute, and then proceed to take off my headphones.)

Me: Hey, can you please turn that down. I can still hear it.

Montana: No.

Also, I thought it would be clever to title this post with some love quote I found on the Internet. Fortunately, or unfortunately…this did not happen. However, I still wanted to share what Danielle (I don’t actually know this person) posted on www.best-love-poems.com: “I love you. 3 words. 2 people. 1 meaning.” Aww. Reflect on that.

Textbook smart. Internet saavy. Technologically…special.

Today I learned about technology and information. Particularly, about the storage of information. The hugely, gross number referring to precisely how much information produced each year is roughly 5,426,903 terabytes. That probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but it’s a lot. And to borrow from my professor’s notes: if someone were to read one book every week from the Library of Congress, it would take them 365, 385 years to read every one, which…unless they’re drinking from the magical fountain of youth, is just not going to happen. So then I think about these numbers, and the amount of information available, and how little I truly know. And yea, I’m taking philosophy; so I’m really considering the whole idea of a life filled with contemplation and knowledge and virtue…and all that other stuff. Thank you Aristotle. And my pee-wee brain is going, “Don’t you just want to go check out what’s new on Jezebel.com, instead of reading Theories of Intrastate and Interstate War?” Well, yea. I do.

So now I’m chewing over a life of pleasure versus a life of knowledge. Which I’ve been told, is just excessive. I’m still a good person. I still care about the world. I’m still going to read Concepts of Peace and Violence. It’s just that I’m going to take a break every ten or so pages and update myself on where Anna Wintour was just seen, why Ben Affleck looks like he’s wearing blush, and how journalist, Jody Paterson quit her job to become-gasp!-a madam at a co-op brothel (thank you, thank you Jezebel).

Bottom line: I have senioritis (also, Wikipedia…you’re not so bad yourself). It’s not fatal, but it is making my attention span sort of equivalent to that of a particular, skinny, female celebrity on speed. So as I take down a spoonful of sugar, here’s to hoping it passes!