Goodbye Again

This New York summer is almost over and I officially have three days (this post has taken me a few days to write and every day I come back to it, I have to change the number) left in the city before I get my booty on over to California and spend some much needed time in good ol' Newport Beach. Scratch that-- My parents just moved and so technically I'm more of a 714 girl than a 949-er, but between you and me, I'm going to hold on to my elitist Newport mentality for as long as possible. 

Truth be told, this summer's farewell to the city will not be a difficult one. I'm quite ready to go. Although, give it a few weeks and I know I'll be jonesing for a good, long ride on the subway and the fantasy of the city will once again be elevated and glamorized in my memories. Just like every other time. This place has a history and a hold on me that is only deepened little by little and ounce by ounce with every day that I spend here. And between my tantrums and stubborn cold shoulder, it understands and sees a part of me that no one and nowhere else can.

It is with extreme confusion and thankfulness that I can call this the end of my third summer spent in New York. How in the world has that happened and how in the world am I so blessed? And man oh man, I cannot believe how quickly time flies by. Yesterday, I had some time to think and reflect on the opportunities that brought me to this city to begin with  four years ago and what exactly has brought me back again and again. Each summer and each experience so completely different, special and growing in their own way. I am in awe of it all. It is completely and only God who could have planned for such a vastly changing and remarkably timed life such as mine. There is just no other explanation.

This summer, with all of it's ups and downs (and more ups than downs, I must say), has had  a constant tension. And I'm sitting here trying to figure out what I mean by that and how to explain it so I don't completely lose you... but nothing's coming to me. (This is where I stopped blogging and left this saved on my computer for two days until I could figure it out.)

Alright. I think I have something. But bare with me because I'm about to lay down an a phatty, half developed analogy. And it probably makes no sense. Ok. So you're a kid. And you have this rope attached to you, right? It has tons and tons of slack and so you can wander from place to place, moving forward in your life and the rope barely affects you because it's tied to some sort of safety-- your home, your parents, going to school, just the general processes of a young life. Somewhere around high school you look behind you and notice that all of those safeties look pretty far away. The rope is still pretty loose, but there isn't too much more to mess around with. It's really time to start making smart decisions. So you finish high school and you go to college and you don't notice the rope for a while and then one day you look back and WHAM! There's absolutely no more rope to play with. There's not even a pile of rope on the floor anymore. All of the excess rope kind of just hangs there, slightly off the floor. Each day the rope gets tighter and tighter. Just enough to get you to finish college and graduate. Finally, one day the rope snaps. And it'll probably be about a week after college graduation. And suddenly, you are tied to nothing. You're fine-- nothing really changed about you in the seconds between when the rope was there and then when it wasn't, but there's just no more rope. And although your safeties are all still there and you can walk back to them whenever you want, you're no longer tied to them and you never will be. Everyone tells you that this is a good thing and that having no rope allows you to walk wherever you want and do kartwheels and go through doors and climb mountains and all that jazz that you couldn't do with a rope tied to your waist. But you just kind of want your rope back for like just two more days. Yeah? No? I told you this was half developed.

And so leaving this summer is causing a bit more pause than usual because I think it is the end of a significant time in my life and the mark of another one. The rope getting tighter. I can't wrap my mind around the fact that I'm starting my senior year in college. It blows my mind. And in less of a sentimental way and in more of an unavoidable car crash because I was too distracted eating a burrito while driving and not realizing that I was heading off of a cliff kind of way. This has (hopefully) been my last summer interning and if I ever spend such a long time in New York again, it won't be with a suitcase, but moving boxes in tow, ready to be up here for quite a while. I think I just felt my chest tighten. I still can't even really decide if I like it here.

MW for LV

In case chopping off all of my hair wasn't a big enough indicator of how much I love anything and everything Michelle William's, let's just take a moment to fawn over these new shots from her ad campaign for Louis Vuitton.  That bag. That lip. THAT HAIR. Flawless.

And in case it wasn't super clear what I was  ever really going for by routinely wacking off all of my hair approximately once ever 3 years, it's this. This exact hair situation. I mean, her hair is so perfect, it might just be making me consider grabbing a pair of scissors right... now...

No. Stop. Someone stop me.

I'm just, like a big fan, ok? 

These guys.

Tampon.

This is hilarious and so true.

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!

Still Here

Hello, all! Definitely still alive up here in toasty NYC. I've been taking an accidental blogging break, but I just wanted to check in and say hi. 

I was talking to a friend the other day who was asking me why I hadn't blogged lately and I told her that if I could be blogging, I definitely would be blogging. 

There are these annoying weeks of conflicting silence and noise that go on in my head every so often and unfortunately I seem to be in the middle of one right now. The times when I have the most to write about are when I find that I have nothing really to say. Situations like living in New York city, my mental highway of thoughts on my future, what a weird, weird place the fashion world is, friendships,  ay, caramba, friendships, approaching the gnawing reality of my senior project. Believe me. They're all there in my mind. Very impatiently jumping to be dealt with-- processed in my own over sharing prone, typo riddled, online closet of storage boxes. 

But I find that it is most hard for me to write things down is when I am fearful. And unfortunately right now, it seems that a lot of the situations in my life are currently rooted in fear. To me, words feel concrete and when I see them in black and white, posted (somewhat) permanently in front of me, those thoughts then feel permanent too. Which is quite ironic (and quite frustrating) because sometimes the only thing that helps me sort through something for myself is to write and write and write and write until there is not but one run on sentence left unturned. 

Simply put, this:

I will write about my life when I know what to write about my life.