The Cream Theory

This evening, Susie and I were discussing a topic near but far from dear to my heart; this is a conversation that has been had by all women, of all ages, from what I'm assuming is the beginning of time. We was t@lkin' b0yz. 

The conversation was, as per usual, a dissection of the active (or, perhaps more accurate, complete lack of) female to male relationships as it pertains to the lives of one Julia Patton and one Susannah Ashkenas. Although conversation with a friend such as Susie is always warmly welcomed, our dialogue on the subject was brief and unoriginal at best, no thanks to the complete lack of changes since the last time we had this exact discussion (estimated at roughly one week ago). 

As I've briefly mentioned before, bringing boy talk to the blog is always something that I shy away from for a few reasons (one main whopper being due to the fact that there is not much to write about on the subject besides "me lonely. me want boy. me eat feelings." over and over and over again), but as I've briefly mentioned before (or you've had the immense pleasure of hearing me complain about this in person (...sorry...) ) Savannah is a complete, desolate, dehydrated, wasteland for available guys ...but, hold on-- that's not completely true. As I've taken to local coffee shops as my laboratories of observation and discovery in the last three years in this fair city, it has come to my attention that it's not just the lack of men keeping us from this mythical adventure called dating. Oh, no. There are boys alright. Everywhere I freaking look, they're there. What's really keeping us ladies from evenings of lipstick, small talk and chivalry (you didn't know that word still existed, did you?) is what I call the "SCAD Funnel." Let's walk through it:

Take 100 SCAD students

Now take out all of the girls

You're left with 30 boys

Now take out all of the boys who like boys

You're left with 17 boys

Call me picky or old fashioned, but now take out all of the boys who have, in the past year used illegal drugs. 

You're left with 7 boys

Call me prudish or intolerant, but now take out all of the boys who don't share the same religious beliefs as me, and just to save them the time, let's drop the ones who we both know I have absolutely nothing in common with. 

You're left with 2 boys. 

Cool! Options! 

Oh, but before we get all home-wrecker up in here, Do either of you boys have girlfriends? 

Thought so. 

Ok, I'm left with 1 boy.

1 boy who, we're assuming, isn't a total arrogant jerk thanks to the fact that he knows he is 1 available boy out of 30 boys in a city teeming with 70 female piranhas lurking around every corner.

1 boy who's chances of meeting me are highest either literally bumping into me as I walk down the street or in class (which, let's not forget, are classes in which I study... wait for it... fashion design.)

1 boy who, and I know I'm shooting for the stars here, but is... dare I say... attractive...?

1 boy who has to like me back.

May the odds be ever in your favor. 

This brings me to my next point. 

I think about all of my close girl friends. And how, completely objectively speaking, of course, THEY ARE ALL THE GREATEST. Fun and smart and creative and caring (not to mention totally beautiful) girls who are all undesirably single. I'm reminded of something that I learned in high school physics (I know-- I'm as shocked as you are). Newton's third law: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. So, from what I understand about physics, shouldn't this mean that for every amazing girl that I know, there should be an amazing guy somewhere out there? But where are they? I refuse to believe they just don't exist. That's too easy. And I have way too much faith in the mom's of the world to believe that they've all raised they're sons to be total duds. I've been thinking and I've come up something: The Cream Theory. 

Allow me to explain. 

Throughout high school when it seems that teenage boys today get nearly a free pass from society to behave in a manner with absolutely no real expectations, limitations or consequences put on them, I came to terms with turning a blind eye. It's just a phase, they said. Boys aren't ready for you, they said. They literally have the emotional capacity of a lima bean, they said. Wait until college to date, they said. Well, call me naive, but I thought that by the time they hit their 20's and the bright light of life after college started to glare deep into our eyes, the creamiest of boys, the best of the best, would have risen to the top, ready to join the ladies in taking on the responsibilities of life and the joys of a (far from perfect) maturity that comes with growing up. 

Let me just take this moment to clarify. I'm not looking for Don Draper. I am SO so far from the expectations of marriage and a salary to depend on. What I am asking for is a date. A date with a boy who can carry a conversation (about basket weaving, for all I care) and who compliments my hair. In return, I promise to laugh at most of your jokes and pretend to care about your favorite sports team. 

This, my friends, is the Cream Theory. 

I'm not complaining. Ok, maybe I am a little. But I definitely don't want your pity. All I'm asking for is for guys to show up. Boys, it's time for you and all your little creamy friends to pack up your comfy spot in the middle of the milk that you've all been hanging out at for the last 20 years and get moving. Us girls are ready. As Ghandi once said, "Be the cream you wish to see in this world."

RISE TO THE TOP.

PLEASE.

BEFORE YOU TURN SOUR.

Call Me Jefe

Last night, after a particularly filling meal at our local Sunday night favorite, Barberitos, I was sitting in the living room with the ladies and one of our two guy friends, Jeff and our conversation traveled back to a reminder of a time over a year ago when I had interviewed Jeff as a part of a this series I did with all of the roomies. (Remember these? Spencer, Frances, Claire, Oli and Me) I had to confess that I had completely forgotten about Jeff's unpublished interview and had absolutely no idea where on earth it could be so we decided to re-do it. After we finished with Jeff's, we re-read all of our own answers and were shocked/ laughing at some of the ridiculous answers we'd given (Fog in Africa, Frances?). I mean, it was only a little over a year ago, so you'd think most of the answers would still apply, but there are admittedly a few embarrassing moments that may have read a little different in our own heads to how they sound when read out loud.

All this to say that I think it's time we did an update. In the next few weeks, I'll be holding some new interviews with some updated (and more relaxed!) pictures of these crazy people. And maybe we'll be adding some new faces to the roster? We'll have to just see about that. 

In the meantime, here's what Jeff has to say about it all. 

Editors Note: Funny how inherently different a boys answers to these questions are than all five of us girls, right? 

JP: What are you most looking forward to in the near future?

JO: Money.

JP: Finish this sentence. Nobody appreciates me, but someday, I’ll even the score by…

JO: Climbing the corporate ladder to success.

JP: Name one piece of clothing you can’t live without?

JO: Bucket Hats.

JP: Which are you: Crazy, Sexy, Cool?

JO: Yes.

JP: What word always makes you laugh?

SM: Fart. But said like you’re from Boston. “Faaht”

JP: What is your favorite Pandora station?

SM: Huey Lewis and the News

JP: Are you more excited about the arrival of Kim and Kanye or Kate and Will baby?

JO: Kanye and Kim. To see if it really is the second coming.

JP: What is on the top of your Summer to-do list?

JO: Werk.

JP: Don’t you mean twerk?

JO: No, I twerked the other day.

10 things that make you terribly happy:

1. Bucket hats.

2. Friends. Mainly girls. Guys are just too much drama.

3. Thrashing on the drums.

4. A perfect chord progression in a song. And I don’t even know what it is. But it’s just like “Boom.”  And  you’re just like “Yeah.”

5. Shoes.

6. Thunder.

7. Design. All of it.

8. Fly fishing with my dad.

9. Yoga.

10. Food. All of it. 

11. When you’re driving into a mountain town and you crack the windows and you get that first smell of mountain air. 

Naked, Wildflowers

The other day I was at the library looking through SCAD's amazing archives of Vogue magazines. They have almost every single issue since the magazine's inception in 1892 (and whether you are a fashion person like me or not, seeing all of that history and culture for the last 100+ years is pretty awesome to look through).

ANYWAY, I was on the hunt for some reference images from the early 90's for a project I'm working on and I got sidetracked by an interview of Bette Midler. I was skimming through it and turned the page to see in big, bold letters, the perfect summation of my current emotions wrapped up in a sentence.

I literally could not love or identify with this quote any more right now. Bette, I feel ya. Let's be naked furniture together.

Spring

It was one of those Southern Spring nights where it is almost rude to stay inside. The kind of weather where the breeze is so warm that it feels like you're being wrapped up in the most perfect kind of blanket. 

I don't think I'll ever get tired of walking around our neighborhood; with every house I pass, a new potential of history lingers in my mind blooming stories upon stories upon stories of the families that live (or have lived) in them. I love these streets so much that it already makes me sad to think about a time when I won't be surrounded by such stately brick and wise tree branches.

Have you ever really looked at an old house? I'm talking about studying it for so long that you feel almost like you're untying its walls and challenging its roots in a staring competition of its merit. At first, the house will stare back and stand up tall wondering why you are daring to intrude on it's privacy. Don't be intimidated. Old houses like these just aren't used to this type of flirtatious attention.  After a few minutes though, it will begin to trust your subtle pressure and it will lean into you out of its own pure curiosity. You will show it your face and an earnest furrowed brow so it will show you it's toothiness and it's knobbed knees. The cracked paint and the muscular columns. It will share all its secrets with you as long as you share one too. It will smile. Or it won't. It may growl. Or scream. But you and that house will know each other forever. 

Swanson on Skim

And here, ladies and gentlemen, we see just one more reason why the character of Ron Swanson is based entirely off of Donald Wood Patton. Mustache and all. 

Mobile Uploads

Spring quarter always has a way of rushing up on me. One day it's Winter and life feels chilly and well paced and then suddenly, I wake up one morning to find a layer of pollen on my car and sandals on my pale feetsies. I'm a winter person (nothing suits me better than layered clothing and bowls of hot risotto), but there's something about Savannah in the Spring that makes you want to drive for hours with the windows down and the sticky breeze on your face. That, and the flowers. You guys. The flowers. They're unreal. 

Also, what better way to welcome in warmer weather with a set of cornrows? Oli had those bad boy braids for a solid week after her trip to the Bahamas for Spring Break. She knows how to rock a row. 

Me and Susie at the Library. No one loves the fashion reference section of Jen more than this gal. 

Me and the bros on our front porch on Easter. We're all looking so ladylike, aren't we? Nothing calls for dresses and manners quite like Easter brunch. 

Our delicious Easter bounty. Some cherished family recipes. Some new ventures. But all ridiculously good. (I made potatoes gratin with bearnaise sauce). Eating meals like this gets me excited for days in the future when hosting holiday dinners will be my responsibility to tackle. 

 Spencer's turned 21! We celebrated with dinner at Local and I made chocolate chocolate birthday cupcakes with sea salt. Remember: the best way to ring in a new year of life is with mountains and mountains of salty chocolate.

Baille Younkman can be blamed for this pic. She's trained me to see accidental art on the walls of my own city. There's so much around when I take a second to look. 

I love these people. Even just hanging out on the couch watching marathons of Nashville is an absurd amount of fun. Sometimes I can't believe that I've only known them for three years. Sometimes I can't believe that I've already known them for three years. Can time just please slow down a little bit? Especially on weekends? K. Cool. Thanks. 

Blog Lite

I think I've run out of things to say. Or maybe I've forgotten how to say them. Have you guys noticed? 

This blog is one of my greatest treasures. Like a best friend. Or a secret clubhouse. In the past, nothing was easier than opening my computer and just typing. And typing. And typing. About anything. About my fears. Or my excitement. Or even about a block of cheese, if the moment so deserved. I mean, take for example, the time it took me over 2,000 words to describe the beauty of a newly purchased rice cooker. It wasn't excessive. Or difficult. I wanted to talk about a rice cooker for a while and so I did. Swells of writing came easy and came often. But lately, the thought of writing pages and pages of wordy mish-mosh has left me stagnate. I feel stuck before I even start. 

Nothing is inspiring me to write and on most days, I wouldn't even know how to write about it if there was something interesting to begin with. And this makes me feel guilty. A testament to the cliche 'It's not you; it's me.' I am also finding myself censoring myself. (That sounds like I'm over here writing Clockwork Orange or something...) (For the record, I am definitely not writing Clockwork Orange...) but it just feels like this vast unknown of the internet when it comes to my thoughts on life is scary. I mean, who really is reading this thing anyway? My mom (a given). A professor (I was totally kidding when I was complaining about you). A future boss (hire me?). A boy (call me?). 

I read the other day that the best way to improve your writing skills is to write. And write. And write. And write. So, I suppose this is simply a slump in creativity or drive or maybe the want-to. But I think this is more than just writers block. I think things are changing for me. I want those changes to be collected and catalogued here. I just need to figure out the best way for me to do that now. 

I think I'm thinking too much. 

Vera

We can file this one under "Exciting Life News." Or maybe even "Landmark Life Moments"?

I've been keeping this semi-under wraps for the past few weeks (unless I've seen you in person and you've asked me any question regarding this summer in which case I totally spilled the beans and told you everything) that I was in consideration for a design internship at Vera. Freaking. Wang.  

Wait.

Let that rest for a few seconds.

Ok.

Keep going.

It's been a few weeks of back and forth emails but after interviewing yesterday afternoon with the head of their design department, I got an e-mail from Vera Wang (the company, not the lady) offering me a design internship for the summer. I blinked. And then read the e-mail again. And then I screamed. And danced a little. And laughed. And my face got hot. And I panicked that I had read the e-mail wrong. And so I read the e-mail again. And I'm pretty sure that it wasn't a typo. But they offered me a design internship. With Vera. Freaking. Wang. 


Wait.

Let that rest for a few seconds.

Ok.

Keep going.


Let's just take a moment to rewind about 15 years to a little girl who was watching Parent Trap at the movie theater and saw for the first time that there was a job that existed in the world where you got to live in London and design beautiful dresses for women with perfect teeth who felt and looked great. I remember looking up at the screen in wonderment, extremely jealous of Lindsay Lohan in her very put-together blue suit, dancing around the design studio with a gorgeous model wearing a top hat and thinking to myself that that is what I wanted to do with my life. I was sure of it.

And then I wasn't so sure of it. And then I was again. And then for a bit I wanted to bake cupcakes for the rest of my life. But then I realized that I was more of a fan of eating cupcakes. So I returned to design. And then college happened. And in case you're a little behind on your Bushka history, I wasn't so sure again. But things have happened in the past 15 years that keep pushing me in a direction that I'm always surprised at but never disappointed in. And come on! Who's to say that I'm still sure of ANYTHING in my life right now. But I know this is a good thing.

And let's be realistic here. My chances this summer coming even close to a Lindsay Lohan moment of blue suited greatness are slim (especially because the dress code at Vera is all black)(and my main responsibilities will be less about dancing fun 90's music and more about coffee orders), but I cannot wait. And maybe for the first time ever I feel ready. And confident. And steady in myself and what I have to offer. And I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait!!!