This Wrote Itself

I have been remiss in writing. So much so that Mama Voth said I was "losing relevance."....Like, as a person? Or a blogger? As her offspring? She wasn't specific enough. And therefore I decided to dedicate this entry to her, and my crazy Irish-Catholic family, and the plethora of brilliant and insane things they actually say. Here's my suggestion for you biddie readers: if you are going to be around your family this holiday season, please PLEASE, I implore you to get a lil tipsy bout it and WRITE DOWN EVERYTHING YOU HEAR. Because this entry, truly, wrote itself. In respect to familial privacy, all names have been omitted but there are a few common references that you'll need to know to "understand" these quotes. So here is a lil lexicon of commonly referenced words/places/phrases that would behoove you to know going in.

THE FAMILY LEXICON

Holyoke: A city in western Massachusetts where my family is from. For a long long time I thought the only businesses in Holyoke were cemeteries and funeral homes. They have like, a disproportionate amount of both in Holyoke. Dyin' to get out. They DO have a drive-thru Dunkin and the third largest St. Patrick's Day parade in the country. Nay, the world.

chinamen:....I can't. An incredibly outdated name used for people of Asian decent....

B-12: A vitamin that APPARENTLY you can have shot into your body by people who have never been to medical school and are not licensed doctors.

Foamhenge: This weird place in Virginia where some idiot made a full-size replica of Stonehenge out of styrofoam.

turkey-fat fries: Actually the very best thing you will ever eat in your life. First you fry a turkey and then you put a whole bag of fries into the fat and oil leftover from frying said turkey and then you eat them and then you know God is real.

AND NOW that you are properly educated, here are some luxury, direct quotes from real conversations via Thanksgiving, green bean casserole, and an entire large bottle of Yellow Tail Chardonnay. You are all so very welcome.

1.) "Puerto Ricans Love me."

2.) "Would they be really mad if we just made another batch of these turkey-fat fries and stayed home and didn't go to Thanksgiving? Like, how mad could they really be."

3.) "I'm 19 and disillusioned."

4.) "Please pass the rolls! The good ones! Not the shitty ones we eat after the good ones are gone!."

5.) "Anyone want a B-12 shot? I can give em! I think I'm kinda good at it!"

6.) "Please stop talking to me right now I'm meditating."

7.) "No no no you're wrong there were TWO pairs of conjoined twins in Holyoke. And one one them were chinamen."

8.) "I just don't want this to be the Thanksgiving when..."

9.) "More gravy boo?"

10.) "One time whilst eating a cannoli in Italy..."

11.) "Everyone be quiet! I need to tell you about Foamhenge!"

12.) "#bluesweater #yellowundershit #nile #onedirection #cousins #brother #youdontknowwhoonedirectionis? #ignorance #familydisappointment"

13.) "Why are all the rolls gone always?"

14.) "Hey we have an extra seat at the table this year. OH! It's for Elijah right?!? Oh fuck, that's the other Jewish holiday."

15.) "Well you know what they say about four men beside a fire pit...well, you know."

16.) "Let me see your bangs up close....They are very short. No, give me a minute. I'm trying to understand why you did this."

17.) "And then I threw a bottle at him. BY ACCIDENT!"

18.) "Hey I think I have a stress whisker. Can you see it?" "No." "Do you even love me? Look at it in the light!"

19.) "...and he was smuggling drugs too, but he was smart. Never got caught."

20.) "A man goes into the jungle with a big yellow hat, lures a baby monkey, traps him in a bag, and takes him away! And we read this to our children? Not in this house!"*

21.) "Does it hurt when you run?" "Yes." "What do you do?" "I wear two sports bras." "Does that hurt?" "Yes." "...I don't understand. Why run?"

*Curious George reference, and such a legitimate point.

Relax...Well, Not That Much.

I think we can say, as a family, that we all put our bodies through some insane things. Like four to five cup coffee days. And drink the brown liquor like it's water days. And eat raw brownie batter because it's been a week already days. I am not proud of this but during my second Freshmen year of college I was feeling all kinds of sorry for myself because well, Boston was real cold, I had no friends, and I spent the majority of my time binge watching Nip/Tuck that I developed a serious addiction to butter and brown sugar. Yes. You read correctly. If you take a stick of butter, melt it a little bit and add about a half cup of brown sugar and mix all that together you are living a dream. Not THE dream, but something close. Suffice to say my body was not pleased with this snack vice of choice, and it took a winter break home with my loved ones politely saying, "get it together" and a few months of Weight Watchers meetings in Copley Square with a gaggle of supportive middle-aged Bostonians for me to realize things needed to change. And they did! I learned all about the point system and eating to be full and that white wine was NOT a basic food group! And I discovered yoga, and started running races, and swimming again. And it's from this springboard that I have become that girl who will try any workout, class, competition, challenge, cleanse, holistic practice, meditation. Expect p90x. That shit looks crazy. Which brings me to a weekday in the not so distant past in New York City. My luxury managers offer Reiki healing to their clients as a means of utilizing the practice while auditioning. Reiki is based on the idea that there is this "life force energy" that flows through us and when that energy is low, we get sick or stressed, or unfocused. I. Love. This. I drink the Kool Aid for stuff like this. "Why not try it?", I think to myself. It's complimentary, it's offered to me in a calming environment, and it's gotta be safer than that time I got sketchy acupuncture next to a transgendered heroine addict. So, I sign up for a time and eagerly await the next way to give BACK to my bods.

I show up at my assigned session overly caffeinated but also excessively hydrated. The Reiki healer lady (who is the epitome of earth-mother-goddess luxury!) had suggested we drink a lot of water before the session because it can take a lot out of you and you're never fully aware how your body will respond. I took that to heart. It was 2pm and I was on my fourth (read: probably more like second) full 2-liter bottle of water. I had to pee. But just a little bit. And I was so SO excited about what Reiki was all about that a bathroom break would have to take a back burner to my spiritual energy awakening.

So here's how Reiki went for me. You lay on a table and try and breathe through the bottoms of your feet. That sounds impossible? But it's not and it feels INCREDIBLE! Try it. Try it right now. Breathe through the bottom of your damn feet and tell me that doesn't feel kinda cool. And if you feel nothing take a minute to laugh at the fact that you just tried to breathe through your feet. Because that's funny, too. Ok, so after feet breaths are established, the healer starts touching you and applying delicate pressure with their hands all over your body....Now you wanna try it. Be real. It feels...it feels like the healer's hands are glowing and radiating light all over you and your body and your muscles are taking all this energy and relaxing. Like, RELAXING. I felt like what I assume a a B-list celebrity feels like after a Betty Forde stint. I was so relaxed I could feel myself melting into this table. I couldn't hear anything besides the healer's voice and my own breath...through my feet. If magic is real, it goes by the name of Reiki, that's how quickly I became a converted believer.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over. But I was different. Like, all my neck tension was gone and I was standing straighter and I could breathe fully. I was so relaxed. There was a slight buzzing in my ears. I decided not to worry about that. I thanked the healer as I guzzled the half bottle of water I had left and exited the building. Life was good. I felt like my whole body was vibrating and all was right in the world and I could vaguely taste the color blue and everything in my life was going to be fine and I would win that Teen Choice Award and somehow I'd be able to pay my rent this month and the hole in the Ozone Layer was fixing itself and Heaven was real and OH MY GOD AM I PEEING? Am I PEEING a lil baby bit on the corner of 28th and Broadway IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY??? Yes. I am. I was so relaxed and focused on my breathing feet and vibrating body that I guess, I forgot to pee. And so I guess my bladder was like, "gotcha." Because here I was, peeing. So then I do what any normal person would do. I start to lightly jog down Broadway. After peeing a lil bit. On the busy streets of the New York of Cities. Just a solid, healthy afternoon jog...with a big-ass bag carrying my rep book, heels, and the giant water bottle that got me into this mess in the first place. I proceed to jog all the way to 14th and 8th, then cross town to the east side, through Union Square, all the way home to 14th and Ave A. Like a lady.

What I want to say is this: Reiki healing is still awesome. I'm just clearly challenged. Most adults have the ability to be entirely relaxed and reap the benefits from healing practices and still remember to, you know, use the bathroom. Not me. But NOW I know. And have your own opinions about Lululemon as a company, but that "moisture wicking" component to their clothing is the REAL. DEAL. When you get home after your pee jog of shame you'll be glad you wore wonder unders. You'll make yourself a butter and brown sugar snack and all will be right in the world. Take a deep breath. Through your feet.

How to Be a Diva: Lessons from a Three-year Old

These last few days I had the awesome pleasure of a lil mini vacation in Charlotte, North Carolina with my faux sister Wes and her beautiful, kind, hysterical, smart children. Willow-cat is six months and perhaps the chillest baby ever. She rarely cries, she smiles on command, and she understands the serious importance of accessorizing. Her future is bright. Chase-times is brilliant, sensitive and kind, and filled to the brim with imagination. Chase is also three, and therefore feeling all the things. Now fortunately, I find the hysterics of a three-year old little guy not only ASTOUNDINGLY FUNNY but also, informative. Three year olds get it. They play a saucy game that rivals the genius behind Sorkin dialogue. They do what they want. They are the purest divas and divos I have ever met. Let me teach you. Nay, let Chase teach you. He knows. HOW TO BE A DIVA(O): Lessons from a Three-year Old

1.) Just say "No." -This seems to be the crux of how to live the diva(o) luxury life. For example, if someone asks you to do something you really REALLY find unnecessary that is putting a cramp in your style, just calmly look into their eyes and say, "No." It's quick. It's to the point. You're not being mean, per se. You're just simply stating that what they've asked you to do or adhere to is not in your agenda for the day. Here is a successful scenario.

WES: Chase, please get in your seat. CHASE: No. WES: The car is moving, please get in your seat. CHASE: (perhaps with a bit more insistence, and eye contact) No.

See? Brilliant. No explanation. No attitude. Just straight forward luxury with insistence and intention. Boom.

2.) Don't ever wear pants. -Yeah. This one I should've though of myself YEARS ago. Pants are so stupid. Why is not okay yet to just hang out like, everywhere in your underwear?? I don't get it either, Chase! Life is comfy sans pants! I truthfully think I do my best work without pants on! And yeah, it's fall and getting colder but a true diva or divo need not wear something so constricting. Social standards will say that pants are necessary. But what if society is wrong? These are the things that Chase has brought to my attention. MAYBE we are only thinking straight at three years of age, whilst pant-less. Let's all stop wearing pants, my friends.

3.) The Turn-Around Technique -This, my biddies, I saw in action a few times and it is the epitome of brilliance. A true diva or divo need not apologize for their behaviour when it reaches a certain unfavorable melt-down state, but the best of them know how to "turn it around" in their favor so as to keep their loyal subjects. Picture this. A COSTCO in suburban North Carolina. A small divo who has reached the level of "over it." A toy that was indeed promised to him but then must be taken away due to a saucy tantrum moment. A three-year old in hysterics, legs and arms flailing all around, tears galore to the point of snot running down front of face. Loud (yet impeccably supported) screaming, "I WANT MY TOY! WHERE DID THEY TAKE MY TOY! YOU ARE BEING SO MEAN TO ME!!" Now here's the brilliance right here. After the melt-down, the trick is to turn it around so fast that perhaps, the regular humans that take care of your basic needs think they imagined the whole thing. Example:

WES: Are you feeling better now that you've calmed down, Chase? CHASE: (accompanied by a hug and smile) I love you Mom. Best family ever.

...WHAT? THAT IS GENIUS! Not only did you deflect from your questionable melt-down, BUT you've complimented your caretakers about the work they do for you, and their "family." It's simple, it's direct, it's deflecting in the purest form. Bravo, little one.

4.) The Single Tear -Every once in a while even the most legitimate of divas and divos feel remorse and regret. It's natural. They are humans too, allbeit the more advanced and entitled form. And truthfully, sometimes they do the wrong thing. Not often because they usually do what they want (refer back to "Just Say No" above, please), but when it happens it is important to show the correct amount of guilt and remorse. Did you throw something? Did you kick a ball in the house? Did you break a glass bowl from the dining room? Did you tell the babysitter you were trying to give away your younger sister? Okay, fine. We all make mistakes. But the trick is to give your loyal subjects ONE SOLITARY tear of remorse. No more, no less. Mostly because giving more would exert serious energy and you need to stay hydrated. But also because, a three year old diva(o) really understand that less is, in fact, more. Leave them wanting more biddies. Works. Every. Time.

Even after all these lessons were made so clear and apparent to me, there is still so much more to learn. And so many tricks of the trade that I fear can only be learned through close observation and study. I'll have to do with this direction for now. These, and the ladybug Chase gave me the day I left, accompanied by, "Good luck in DC Bligh. I love you." I'll say it again. Fucking brilliant.

I Have Always Depended on the Kindness of Strangers

Sometimes a lady pursuing luxury must endure some not so luxury things. Like, for example, the MegaBus. Don't even get me started. Even after the time (read: every damn time) the WiFi refused to work, to the time the AC refused to work, to the time the outlets (shocker) refused to work: I always decided to try once more. The MegaBus is like taking a jaeger-bomb, or going outdoor camping: it seems like the ONLY idea worth doing/committing yourself to in the moment. And then the next day you're like, "I'm an indoor cat! Where is my shower! And also, my body feels like bad choices and I smell like second Freshman year of college!" But once in a while, you bite the bullet and ride...that's what she said. Last week I decided the very best of ways to get myself and two months worth of clothes from NYC to DC was the MegaBus. Actually to be fair my bank account decided that, but, bygones. So I downsized and arrived at 34th and 11th (beaauutiful country over on that side of the island) with four suitcases, two Lulu bags, a hat box, and a prayer. Yes that was for two months. You guys, I really like hats. I get in the line that (I pray) is marked correctly going to Washington DC. Well, you know, DC and White Plains. Wherever the hell that is. I'm sorry native White Plains-ers, everyone going all the way to DC resents you like a Baldwin brother bringing down the family name. But I digress.

I get in the line and begin to wait untill my bus decides it's time to arrive, angrily and quickly shuffle people on, and perhaps leave at the designated time. It's right around now that I realize there is NO WAY I'm getting let on this bus with as many suitcases as I have in my possession.Time to make friends and play a little game called "Blanche it Out." That's when you Blanche DuBois your way into meeting strangers, and HOPING one of them likes you enough to perhaps show some kindness and pretend one of your suitcases is theirs. Always rely on the kindness of strangers at a MegaBus stop. You will not be disappointed. I scan the line. The girl behind me is crying. "Girl, you good?", I ask, genuinely concerned. "Yeah I'm just saying goodbye to my sister for six months while I travel to Portugal ." "Why do you only have that one bag?", I ask, genuinely concerned. "Well," she says, "I am backpacking."...blank stares back and forth as we begin to understand that we do not understand one another. Silence. "Would you maybe pretend this gray baby suitcase is yours?", I say. "Yes of course," she answers. One down. Three to go.

"Hello sir, would you mind pretending this cheetah print suitcase is yours while we board this bus?", I say to a small Buddhist monk feeding a hotdog to a one-legged pigeon. Now , at this point I should've remembered Buddhists live a humble life void of many earthly possessions. But all I could think was he didn't have a suitcase of his own, he could feasibly take mine, and a pigeon eating a hotdog was silly. He obliged though, and I felt certain I would get on this bus!

That's when the line started moving. The bus was here. Well, not my 2pm bus but the 1:40pm bus. And since it was now 2:15pm someone decided to just join both buses together. Time was running behind, but out, simultaneously. WHAT IS A BIDDIE TO DO!?! My dear friend Derek from college had been waiting for the 1:40pm and we had been chatting. He could now take a suitcase. Boom. Done MegaBus, you saucy minx! You can't rain on my parade!

I proudly show my ticket to the MegaBus employee, gesture towards my ONE suitcase and three bags with pride beaming from every part of me. "Ma'am," he says, "You have too many carry on items. You can only take one suitcase and one carry on bag. You'll have to pay an extra $40 per extra bag."...how dare you. How dare you MegaBus when I am so close to a triumph of preposterous, over-packing feats! "Wait over on the side ma'am. We'll figure this out after everyone gets on." Sweet sweet Derek boards the bus and saves me a seat. "Will you get on?", he mouths through the window. I do not know, my friend. But I do know it's time for the big guns. Blanche needs to become a Stanley for a minute. "Sir," I say in my sternest don't-mess-with-me voice, "I don't mean to be a bother, but I don't think I I even have $40 in my checking account. Additionally, most of those people on our bus are running drugs and therefore not traveling with a suitcase. I think I can bring these on without a big problem, don't you?"...silence. He winks. I wink. He turns his back to me, no more discussion. I BOARD THAT BUS.

What is the moral here? There isn't one really, aside from the fact that I need to learn how to pack less. And maybe that the MegaBus sometimes isn't all that bad. They people one can meet are fascinating and kind, the workers hate the process just as much as you do, and apparently pigeons eat meat. If that's not enough of a moral I don't know what is!

If Daisy from Downton Tells You To Buy a Dress, Just Say No.

Strangers like to talk to me. That's fine, because I talk right back which just makes me a stranger talking to a stranger really, if you think about it. And I think most people in New York are fairly lonely so if you want to talk to me about something, hey, I'm gonna listen! Like, yesterday when leaving work at 10pm, an incredibly inebriated woman in the elevator thrust her cell phone into my face and said, "Oh fuckkkk I think I just sent a text to my boyfriend's ex-girlfriend." I take the phone and all I can tell at quick glance is that she can't spell and she uses aggressive punctuation with reckless abandonment. I'm just saying: if you have to use more than three exclamation points/question marks/a mix of both to get a point across via text, it's probably best you not send that text. I learned that one the hard way. But she doesn't want my lecture on phone etiquette, she wants me to listen so I just say, 'Oh girl. Been there."

I guess this is kind of how one Sunday morning a few summers back I went shopping with some of the ladies from Downton Abbey. More specifically with Daisy, Lavinia (God rest), and Sybil (oh holy GOD, God rest). Now, I know I am in love with my little neighborhood to a seriously biased level, but, you guys, if you want to vintage shop ANYWHERE in NYC the secret is to shop in any damn store from East 9th to East 7th between Avenue A and 3rd Avenue. My favorites are:

TOKOYO7: I just went there recently but they have coats FAH DAYS! It's far too expensive for clothes that kinda smell like my Grandpa, but everything is in mint condition. Boom.

DUSTY BUTTONS: Are you a lady? Are you busty? Are you a fabulous man who can get to a busty place with the right padding and contouring? You should probably buy a dress from this store because the buyers here are on POINT. I have never felt sexier than when I'm wearing (read: trying on obsessively without purchasing) a dress from this store. My 2014 goal is to unabashedly buy a dress from here. Save ya pennies, this place is expensive!

MATIELL CONSIGNMENT: The small asian man who runs this place makes me so mad. Every time I walk in I say, "Sir, are those t-straps in the window a size 7?" And he will invariably say, "Yes, but you are at least an 8 1/2." Biddie, I have small feet! Stop being so sassy bout it! But...he really does have a sick supply of t-strap heels, plaid skirts, and vintage blouses. Go there if you are auditioning for CLUELESS, the Musical. You shall not be disappointed.

...but the piece de resistance, for me, is Cobblestones. Biddies that's where I met my girls, Daisy, Lavinia, and Sybil. There were looking at vintage umbrellas and I was mad at them because they were blocking the headscarves. But then I heard Daisy, in her distinctively piercing voice say how "lovely" this specific umbrellas was and I knew...I knew that everyone's favorite kitchen maid was in my neighborhood, shopping on my favorite street. And I was going to love on them so hard and make them feel welcome in my country, NAY, in my shopping mecca because that's what any good Christian woman would do! So, I decided to follow them from store to store....

Two more fancy vintage shops later and here I am at Archangel Antiques trying on a stupid parisian print white silk shift dress WITH ACCORDION PLEATING...with Dowton. I come out of the dressing room, you know, just to see what the other ladies think of my frock when Lavinia says, "Oh well don't you look lovely!" ...I do? I DO! "Should I buy it?" I say to my new British best friends. "Yes," says Daisy in her small, dwarfish voice. And so I do.

...that dress was $295.00. Don't ask if I checked the price tag before I bought it. I hadn't. I was too entranced, living on a faux English countryside high, hanging with my favorite show's actresses. The silly thing about THAT was I couldn't really so much pay my rent because of it. That was stupid. What we learned here was when a dead character or a character named after a flower tell you to buy something, YOU SHOULD THINK BOUT IT FIRST. Because some of these vintage shops do not have a return policy. Sometimes the best they can do is give you store credit. So, you keep your parisian print silk dress. And you wear it because you look good. But always remember that Lavinia and Sybil are dead and if you take their advice in regards to financial choices you're gonna have to pay the price too...literally.

I'm Hungry, Let's Plan a Dinner Party

Tonight was a normal Sunday night. My roommate Josh and I went to a luxury bar and had a peach situation drank that did the trick and tasted like the best parts of high school. Then we went home, but not before stopping at the Trader Joe's Wine store in Union Square. Or what we call, "Church." Two hours later we've finished our soup and skinny cow ice cream sandwiches..and the first bottle of two buck chuck. We are still hungry. But the goal is to NOT spend any more money so that I can save for a fancy time birthday celebration tomorrow at Apotheke! So Josh and I do what we do best to deflect from the sadness of hunger. We plan a faux dinner party. ME: Josh, where are we with the guest list? JOSH: Ok. Oprah is confirmed. ME: Who else is confirmed? JOSH: Gayle. ME: Ugh, ok. Who else we got? JOSH: Lena Dunham is coming but only if we serve your Coq au Vin that she likes so much. ME: Josh, she's a vegetarian I think. JOSH: News to me! She's out. Oh, and Barbara Walters is confirmed IF she can sit by Nora Ephron becau--- ME: Josh, honey, Nora's dead. God rest her so hard. JOSH: That goes to show how little you know. She's confirmed. She's RSVP'd Bligh. And this is a fake game. Let me have this. ME: Ok ok ok, fine I'm sorry. JOSH: It's fine. Don't do it again. ME: ...can we continue? JOSH: Yes, now let's talk about the Andy Cohen issue... ME: Issue? JOSH: Well here's the thing. Andy said he would LOVE to come to the party but only if he could invite Rosie of RHONJ as his plus one, but Oprah wants to deflect lesbian rumors with Gayle and therefore will NOT attend if Rosie is present. ME: Wait, Josh, I actually don't follow that. Why would Oprah care if Rosie was there? She hasn't been rumored to be in any kind of relationship with Rosie I really don't foll--- JOSH: BLIGH! WHAT DON'T YOU FOLLOW??! If Rosie is there and the press finds out (which they invariably will) then they connect Rosie to Oprah and Oprah to Gayle and ugh, this is so ridiculous you can't follow a train of thought here but just know she can't come! So Andy is out. Which is cool because then it'll be ok to invite Mike. ME: Mike hates Andy. JOSH: He doesn't hate him. He just thinks he's gotten shady. ME: Isn't that the same thing? JOSH: No. Drink ya juice Shelby.

Here are the basic rules of planning a fantastic faux dinner party: 1.) There are no rules. 2.) You must have enough knowledge of current events to create a guest list that will be interesting and eclectic. All the guests must have enough differences to keep the conversation flowing. So like, watch Hot Topics on THE VIEW and pick the first three people they discuss. 3.) Spend a great deal of time thinking about what cheeses you will serve. 4.) Do NOT even attempt to go on Gwyneth Paltrow's sassy-times and aggressively Type-A blog "Goop" and think you can replicate any aspect of any party she has thrown. She's better than you. She will always be better than you. She doesn't eat bread. 5.) Drink wine.

This game. This game my biddies will keep you occupied fah days! Well, not so much days but for a few hours at the very least. You'll get to giggle with a friend, drink a bottle of wine you purchased with laundry quarters, and forget for a bit that perhaps you're not where you wanna be with your life quite yet. But you're getting there. And when it all happens to fall into place, you'll be one step ahead because you'll know President Barack Obama is left-handed so don't sit him next to right-handed Barbara Walters. They'll bump elbows too much as they eat your gazpacho. Also, Nora Ephron might be dead, but she also hates a dull floral arrangement. Plan accordingly.