Lately

One of these days, my mind is going to stop being a total blogging wasteland and I'll have something more interesting to say here, but until then, I will resort to long posts full of pictures of a bunch of weirdos I know pretending to be cool kids in New York City.
Even though in reality, we are walking around with sweaty armpits, eating way too much Chipotle and talking about boys.

Olivia. Empress and representative of New York City corner bodega flower stands. 

When I was in 5th grade, I read Dr. Laura Schlessinger's 10 Stupid Things Women Do to Mess Up Their Lives. Clearly, self improvement and self evaluation was important to me from a young age.  That, and my greatest wish in life was to one day be able to pick up the phone and say "Hi, my name is Julia and... I am my kid's mom." (You either get it or you don't). But I digress. 

Recently, it has come to my attention that aspects of this summer greatly remind me of several chapters in this book. New York City, in this case, is the man described in Schlessinger's book while as main character in the center stage, we have Julia Patton starring as "the Stupid Woman." For example Chapters 2, 3, 5, and 6 hit conceptually close to home. 

Chapter 2 entitled Stupid Courtship is described as: "I finally found someone I could attach to. Desperate to have a man, you become a beggar, not a chooser, in the dating ritual."

Chapter 3 entitled Stupid Devotion is described as: "But I love him and more stupid romantic stuff. You find yourself driven to love and suffer in vain."

Chapter 5 entitled Stupid Cohabitation is described as: "The ultimate female self-delusion. So stop lying to yourself! You're not living with him because you love him. You're living with him because you hope he'll want you!"

Chapter 6 entitled Stupid Expectations is described as: "First you commit to him, then you hate him!?Using marriage as a quick fix for low or no self-esteem."

OK, so now replace "him" with "New York City" and "dating" with "finding a home" and you see my predicament. 

Cold beer. 85 degrees at 9:00 pm. Sweating and smiling. Summer 2013. 

This job may be quite frustrating at times, but just look at all those ruffles! 

I played hooky from work the other day. (Hopefully none of my co-workers have found they're way on to my blog yet... oops) (But, in case one of you is reading this, may I kindly remind you that I am not getting paid a dime for my services and therefore am allowed to fudge a little bit when it comes the the phrase "sick day"). And what a sick day it was. Gladly spending most of my summer surrounded by friends this year has resulted in plenty of pictures of us eating and being dweebs, but not as many pictures of quiet New York observational moments. But where this summer lacks in still life's, it makes up for in laughing. A fair trade, I am sure. This Upper West Side pack of pups was the best I could do. 

It has been said that the only two guarantees in life are death and taxes. I'd like to propose adding the Senior Project to that list. Just like the slow identity change of my hair from natural-blonde to girl-who-used-to-be-blonde-but-is-now-just-pretending, the same is true for my relationship with my fast approaching senior project. I can't deny the sad reality that there are no more gen-eds, no more art history electives, no more college training wheels to hold on to. You can run, but you can't hide. The big bad wolf is here and ready to party. 

Step one is acceptance. This weekend Susie, Spencer and I ventured into the hallowed halls of B&J fabrics to begin the year long process that will most surely result in blood, sweat, tears, and fashion. Don't believe the smiles. I was there for an hour and did absolutely nothing but walk around and complain. 

If you're ever in New York, go to the Pearl River Mart in SoHo. They have everything. Everything. 

When one tires of Manhattan, one must take to the sea and find oneself in Brooklyn. And while you're there explore local wonders such as their indigenous flying blue horses. 

Sometimes, I'm all, "I need to minimize all of the clutter and frivolous wants of this world in my life. Having too much stuff is rooting a deep element of Antoinette-esque frivolity in my life!" And I do something like throw away a pile of paper on my desk or give clothes away to friends. And it feels good. But then there are times where I'm all, "I like stuff." For example: beds. As a young, college student navigating the tricky but respectable world of budgeting, you may find yourself interning in an expensive city for a summer. And you may think to yourself, who needs a bed all to yourself! I can share one with a friend for the entire summer-- night sweats and all! And then you wake up to this. A friend you thought you knew, precariously holding a hot, dried oatmeal filled velvet bag over her eyes. And you find yourself wondering what married life will be like. 

Finally, this morning, Whit co-worker, Alessandra and I celebrated the return of the Twinkie. In uncertain social, political, and economical times such as now, it is important to remember that America is nothing if not a country based on the truths of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness that may be found in the creamy center of a golden Twinkie. Forget the 100+ year shelf life of these babies. Down the hatch, I say! Better yet, Twinkies for breakfast with a side of Redbull!