But it was my brief encounter with Brian McKnight, just outside Saks Fifth Avenue, that I wish I would have handled differently. I saw him approaching on the sidewalk, carrying a shopping bag and staring up at the buildings. And then before I knew it, he had passed me and disappeared into the crowd.
I can't believe I missed my opportunity to deliver this letter to him.
And you thought I was the only blogger in the family.
Wasn't it just yesterday I was complaining about the heat and peeling off my pants the minute I walked in the door? That link doesn't really go to a photo of me peeling my pants off, I just wanted to see if you'd click it. Fall really snuck up on me and I'm fine with that.
I'm looking forward to making more casseroles and knitting more scarves. I even thought about branching out and trying to knit something a little more interesting, like a scarflet or neckwarmer. But it turns out (I have no idea why I'm surprised about this, given my past experience with online research), a search for "free scarflet pattern" results in some really terrifying imagery.
If the movie Life Is Beautiful were re-shot on location in 1992 Portland, Oregon, this could be a still frame.
Also, this is dead serious:
This angora neck cuff for men is priced at $165, which is pri-tty spendy, considering I found a whole OUTFIT for $51.99. I sort of feel bad driving traffic to their website, knowing they are not kidding around about their angora, but you have to admit it's ridiculous. And not a little bit creepy. It's moments like this I wish I wasn't such a visual thinker.
I never intended this blog to be a collection of sarcastic product reviews, but somehow it just happens. Forgive me?
Lisa recently posted about the irritatingly persistent skinny jeans phenomenon, and since I live in what is arguably the skinny jeans capital of the universe, I definitely share her views. Some of you can really pull them off (Lacey, Natali, I'm looking at you), but my personal experience with them has been less: "pulling the look off," and more: "pulling the pants off (immediately, please)."
Skinny jeans are so ubiquitous in New York, it's almost weird to admit I dislike them as much as I do. It's a bit like saying you're not so sure about those cellular telephones everyone's using. Whatever. My cellular telephone has never made me look like this:
I guess I just feel like, no matter what the current trends are, I can usually identify with, or "get into" some part of them. If fashion is a radio station, even if most of the music is lame, there is bound to be a song I like every now and then. Like a little while ago, when it was all belted dresses and boot cut trousers and platform shoes and hourglass shapes? It was like Casey Kasem was dishing up hit after hit JUST FOR ME. Now? I walk through stores and feel like my radio is BROKEN. Not a single familiar or friendly tune. Tented, pillowy tops? Cropped, boxy jackets? Stirrup pants. STIRRUP PANTS? Those beasts from my adolescent past, who maintained neither their stretchiness, nor their shape, making them dangerously susceptible to slipping off during recess? I remember thinking if I just bent a little at the knees, I'd effectively shorten my body and be able to wear them safely for another month... if I also wore a really long t-shirt.
Even accessories are weird right now, you guys. I saw two girls in my neighborhood today wearing this look: 
Not only does this headband look incredibly painful, but it's almost guaranteed to slowly... slowly... creep higher and higher up her head, gathering a bubble of hair in its grip.. and finally shoot straight up in the air, leaving her a disheveled mess with a raging headache.
This is the state of our fashion union, people. I have a feeling this is going to be a controversial entry because... well, some of you (Lacey, Natali) probably own stirrup pants (and totally pull them off). But I have to believe there are others out there who agree with me. Unless you're 19 years old, weigh 89 pounds, or play tambourine in an indie band (or all three), how do you pull these looks off? Is anyone else walking through H&M (or Mervyn's or wherever) and thinking... "I hate this song?"
I just received an email, letting me know a position I applied for has been filled and thank you for your interest and we wish you all the best and here's a promotional code you can use on our website! It's like having an employee discount, but without the pesky employment! This is a lovely gesture and I appreciate hearing SOMETHING back, but here's the thing: I applied for this job over a YEAR AND A HALF AGO when I was still in Utah. Who waits eighteen months to send a rejection letter? It reminds me of a story I heard about a girl who got broken up with years after she stopped seeing the guy.
I'm so tempted to write back and let them know about all of the things I've been able to accomplish in the time it took them to write me back (ie: accepted an offer at a different company and WORKED THERE FOR A YEAR, got engaged AND married, moved to New York, grew my bangs out and cut them again, finished offshore drilling, bore TWO children and earned a Master's Degree). Okay, the last three are fake, but I totally COULD HAVE DONE ALL THAT. In the time it took them to write an email.
Okay, I'm done.
Also, I got a job. :)
I'm still learning what it means to be a New Yorker, but so far I've found that despite their differences, they all have one thing in common: they love living here, but approximately one day per month, they just want OUT.
Perhaps they are exhausted by the prospect of spending another week (or two? or three?) looking for a job and feeling like a little fish in a big, huge, giant (did I mention big?) pond. A pond that is teeming with larger fish who have more experience and better connections than the little fish. Also, did I mention the pond is experiencing a sharp economic downturn?
Or it could be that in an attempt to experience some good old fashioned Warehouse Club grocery shopping, they wound up spending FIVE hours just trying to get to Costco and back. And when they got home, they realized they had no where to put a giant box of Raisin Bran.
I miss Salt Lake. I miss being able to get in my car and drive to the Maverick. I crave comfort and potlucks and familiarity and convenience stores and uncomfortable shoes and evening strolls that include a limited, yet predictable array of scents. Tonight, I hope I dream about grocery stores with aisles wider than my elbow room and a kitchen big enough to hold a fridge.
I love New York and I love living here, but today is my day to want out. Tomorrow will be different. I'll talk to you then.
