NonSociety – Live Differently. Julia Allison Media Personality

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Jan 08, 10 1:23am
Erin just posted this photo on Facebook, of me and my little brother after New Years last week. It might end up being my favorite photo of the evening, because it encompasses what I value most now in life: family, friends, love … spending time with the people you care about. It’s hard to write that and not sound … hmmm … how shall I put it?  (Thinking of terms, all of them inappropriate)  Like a bit of a Pollyanna.  Family values?  That’s sort of … boring.  Doesn’t everyone love their family?  Their friends? Well, we certainly all say we do.  But what do we MEAN by that?  Are we good friends, good daughters, good sisters?  Do we spend time with them?  Do we come through when they really need us? I try, but I can’t say that I always have. It wasn’t that long ago when I felt strongly Career should be #1, 2 & 3 on my priority list. But I suppose there comes a time in our lives when that just changes.  For me, that moment came this summer.  I had a date - a guy who I had known for years, who was fun, great, lovely, etc - but I just thought, “You know, I don’t want to spend a lot of time with anyone I don’t love anymore.”  There’s a time in your life for that, and then there’s a time for (I shudder to use this cliche) settling down.  Don’t get all riled up.  I’m not talking about marriage.  (Well, yet.)  I’m just talking about valuing the people we love by actually - I don’t know - spending time with them?? Then, last Tuesday my grandmother and I were at the pancake house for one of our three hour long epic-conversations-disguised-as-meals, when my father called.  He was on his way home from work and needed to be picked up from the train.  I negotiated back and forth with him, trying to buy more time to run a few errands, then finally agreed and hung up the phone.  My Grandmother was staring out into the distance with these huge yearning eyes, and said simply, “What I wouldn’t give to be able to pick up my father from the train. Just to talk with him for even 10 or 15 minutes.” That just floored me. The holidays are over, you’re all home, back to workworkworkworkwork.  That’s lovely.  But please don’t forget about the things that really matter - and people comprise pretty much all of them. One of my resolutions in 2010 is to continue to appreciate the people I love around me, to make more time for family and love and friends who are much like family (I consider Meghan, Megan, Jordan, CD, and Randi to be like sisters).  One evening, one dinner, one conversation with them is worth far more than a party, event, book signing or whatever nonsense get together I used to find Very Very Important a few years ago. I’m not saying abandon your career, abandon your ambitions.  I’m just pointing out that it’s moments like the one above - hugging my brother - that I’ll be glad I made time for, and not moments like getting the 80th business card at some conference. This sentiment might be often repeated, but in my mind, it’s never repeated often enough.

Erin just posted this photo on Facebook, of me and my little brother after New Years last week.

It might end up being my favorite photo of the evening, because it encompasses what I value most now in life: family, friends, love … spending time with the people you care about.

It’s hard to write that and not sound … hmmm … how shall I put it?  (Thinking of terms, all of them inappropriate)  Like a bit of a Pollyanna.  Family values?  That’s sort of … boring.  Doesn’t everyone love their family?  Their friends?

Well, we certainly all say we do.  But what do we MEAN by that?  Are we good friends, good daughters, good sisters?  Do we spend time with them?  Do we come through when they really need us?

I try, but I can’t say that I always have.

It wasn’t that long ago when I felt strongly Career should be #1, 2 & 3 on my priority list. But I suppose there comes a time in our lives when that just changes.  For me, that moment came this summer.  I had a date - a guy who I had known for years, who was fun, great, lovely, etc - but I just thought, “You know, I don’t want to spend a lot of time with anyone I don’t love anymore.”  There’s a time in your life for that, and then there’s a time for (I shudder to use this cliche) settling down.  Don’t get all riled up.  I’m not talking about marriage.  (Well, yet.)  I’m just talking about valuing the people we love by actually - I don’t know - spending time with them??

Then, last Tuesday my grandmother and I were at the pancake house for one of our three hour long epic-conversations-disguised-as-meals, when my father called.  He was on his way home from work and needed to be picked up from the train.  I negotiated back and forth with him, trying to buy more time to run a few errands, then finally agreed and hung up the phone.  My Grandmother was staring out into the distance with these huge yearning eyes, and said simply, “What I wouldn’t give to be able to pick up my father from the train. Just to talk with him for even 10 or 15 minutes.”

That just floored me.

The holidays are over, you’re all home, back to workworkworkworkwork.  That’s lovely.  But please don’t forget about the things that really matter - and people comprise pretty much all of them.

One of my resolutions in 2010 is to continue to appreciate the people I love around me, to make more time for family and love and friends who are much like family (I consider Meghan, Megan, Jordan, CD, and Randi to be like sisters).  One evening, one dinner, one conversation with them is worth far more than a party, event, book signing or whatever nonsense get together I used to find Very Very Important a few years ago.

I’m not saying abandon your career, abandon your ambitions.  I’m just pointing out that it’s moments like the one above - hugging my brother - that I’ll be glad I made time for, and not moments like getting the 80th business card at some conference.

This sentiment might be often repeated, but in my mind, it’s never repeated often enough.

Nov 29, 09 6:54pm
THIS GUY is Joey Lekas, whom I hadn’t seen in a solid decade. Who is Joey Lekas, you ask?  Who INDEED. Joey Lekas (who now surely goes by the less sophomoric moniker “Joe”) has the dubious distinction of being My Very First Date Ever in my now formidable 15-year Dating Career. (Mom: “You’ve now been dating longer than you’ve NOT been dating.”) We were both driven (separately?  together?  I feel like I would remember had I been “OMG MOM!” Totally Traumatized by being driven together. Then again, I may have just blocked this memory out.) to Old Orchard, which served as “The Mall” in our neck of the woods.  Upon reaching said Mall, we embarked upon the Purchasing of Tickets, a process fraught with peril.  Would he pay?  Did he pay?  I actually have no idea.  That I don’t recall whether My Very First Date Ever even paid the $6.50 (2 for $13!) disturbs me greatly.  I’ll just assume (for the sake of chivalry) that he did.  The movie?  POCAHONTAS. Oh yes, yes.  Poc-a-HON-tas.  As in, the G-rated animated Disney film starring a Native American Princess.  (Don’t make me sing to you about The Colors of the Wind!)  It seems I began subjecting the men I date to chick flicks from the very start.  Poor Joey Lekas. So, with popcorn in hand - and I do believe there was popcorn, although, again, I can’t be sure - let’s talk about what transpired on said First of All First Dates: Uhhh … Not much. No kissing, THAT’S for sure.  I was thirteen years old, in eighth grade, and I had never been kissed, not even by accident, like a friend of mine who bum-rushed a kid in fourth grade and licked him. First saliva exchange, CHECK!  No, no, there were no such brilliantly sordid incidents in my past.  I did in fact wish intently to be kissed, but I was exceedingly unclear about how to indicate such interest.  Did one discuss it?  Did one lean in and sort of hover?  Did one gaze longingly into the awkward eyes of a fellow thirteen year old?  That seemed like a very bad idea indeed. We did, however, HOLD HANDS.  In addition, I distinctly remember there was AWKWARD ARM DRAPERY during the actual movie part of the movie, awkward arm drapery which ended up - as awkward arm drapery is wont to do - being, well … awkward. As in, very, very uncomfortable.  Of course, I would experience much of this Uncomfortable Physical Intertwining in the succeeding years, as legs and hands and feet and even necks were contorted in repeated attempts at G-Rated, then PG, then PG-13 (where I obviously stopped, hahah) romantic unions. So.  How did My Very First Date Ever end?  Did we go on further Totally Emasculating Dates and experience Yet More Awkward Arm Drapery ? No.  I think he dumped me.  But again, can’t exactly remember the particulars.  Don’t really recall an actual conversation where he said specifically there would be no more Disney Outings.  Maybe it was an early version of The Fade?  The Fade Beta?  Sigh. Ah, 13 or 28, some things never change.

THIS GUY is Joey Lekas, whom I hadn’t seen in a solid decade. Who is Joey Lekas, you ask?  Who INDEED.

Joey Lekas (who now surely goes by the less sophomoric moniker “Joe”) has the dubious distinction of being My Very First Date Ever in my now formidable 15-year Dating Career. (Mom: “You’ve now been dating longer than you’ve NOT been dating.”)

We were both driven (separately?  together?  I feel like I would remember had I been “OMG MOM!” Totally Traumatized by being driven together. Then again, I may have just blocked this memory out.) to Old Orchard, which served as “The Mall” in our neck of the woods.  Upon reaching said Mall, we embarked upon the Purchasing of Tickets, a process fraught with peril.  Would he pay?  Did he pay?  I actually have no idea.  That I don’t recall whether My Very First Date Ever even paid the $6.50 (2 for $13!) disturbs me greatly.  I’ll just assume (for the sake of chivalry) that he did.  The movie?  POCAHONTAS.

Oh yes, yes.  Poc-a-HON-tas.  As in, the G-rated animated Disney film starring a Native American Princess.  (Don’t make me sing to you about The Colors of the Wind!)  It seems I began subjecting the men I date to chick flicks from the very start.  Poor Joey Lekas.

So, with popcorn in hand - and I do believe there was popcorn, although, again, I can’t be sure - let’s talk about what transpired on said First of All First Dates:

Uhhh … Not much.

No kissing, THAT’S for sure.  I was thirteen years old, in eighth grade, and I had never been kissed, not even by accident, like a friend of mine who bum-rushed a kid in fourth grade and licked him. First saliva exchange, CHECK!  No, no, there were no such brilliantly sordid incidents in my past.  I did in fact wish intently to be kissed, but I was exceedingly unclear about how to indicate such interest.  Did one discuss it?  Did one lean in and sort of hover?  Did one gaze longingly into the awkward eyes of a fellow thirteen year old?  That seemed like a very bad idea indeed.

We did, however, HOLD HANDS.  In addition, I distinctly remember there was AWKWARD ARM DRAPERY during the actual movie part of the movie, awkward arm drapery which ended up - as awkward arm drapery is wont to do - being, well … awkward. As in, very, very uncomfortable.  Of course, I would experience much of this Uncomfortable Physical Intertwining in the succeeding years, as legs and hands and feet and even necks were contorted in repeated attempts at G-Rated, then PG, then PG-13 (where I obviously stopped, hahah) romantic unions.

So.  How did My Very First Date Ever end?  Did we go on further Totally Emasculating Dates and experience Yet More Awkward Arm Drapery ?

No.  I think he dumped me.  But again, can’t exactly remember the particulars.  Don’t really recall an actual conversation where he said specifically there would be no more Disney Outings.  Maybe it was an early version of The Fade?  The Fade Beta?  Sigh.

Ah, 13 or 28, some things never change.

Nov 12, 09 3:29pm
Someone just wrote me an email about the “I’m sorry I was a tool about my weight” post, saying: I’m just not buying it.  It’s your slant on what’s politically correct, vs. what Julia actually thinks. No. It really was what I actually thought.  Think, rather. The photo above was taken in the New York Public Library over the summer.  It hasn’t been photoshopped.  I weigh exactly 138 pounds in it, and I am 5 feet and four inches. I think I look damn good, if I do say so myself.  Comfortable.  Happy.  Secure in my appearance. That I lost this feeling - as women are wont to do for a variety of reasons (boyfriends dump us, stress invades our life, we see a gorgeous woman on the street who can actually pull off skinny jeans, whatever) - is the tragedy. Let’s not lie to ourselves: we want to feel beautiful.  But different women feel beautiful in different ways (duh) - and feeling beautiful is all in your mind, anyway.  For me, it’s a giant gown and soft lighting.  Although sometimes I’ve felt just as beautiful in PJs and no makeup.  (And yes, sometimes - I will admit it - I’ve felt beautiful when I’ve been told by a man I love I look beautiful.) I would guess Meghan feels most beautiful when she’s rocking a short jumper and heels.  And I know Jordan felt beautiful on her wedding day. Excuse the cheese of this question, because I’m genuinely curious: when did you feel most beautiful?

Someone just wrote me an email about the “I’m sorry I was a tool about my weight” post, saying:

I’m just not buying it.  It’s your slant on what’s politically correct, vs. what Julia actually thinks.

No. It really was what I actually thought.  Think, rather.

The photo above was taken in the New York Public Library over the summer.  It hasn’t been photoshopped.  I weigh exactly 138 pounds in it, and I am 5 feet and four inches.

I think I look damn good, if I do say so myself.  Comfortable.  Happy.  Secure in my appearance.

That I lost this feeling - as women are wont to do for a variety of reasons (boyfriends dump us, stress invades our life, we see a gorgeous woman on the street who can actually pull off skinny jeans, whatever) - is the tragedy.

Let’s not lie to ourselves: we want to feel beautiful.  But different women feel beautiful in different ways (duh) - and feeling beautiful is all in your mind, anyway.  For me, it’s a giant gown and soft lighting.  Although sometimes I’ve felt just as beautiful in PJs and no makeup.  (And yes, sometimes - I will admit it - I’ve felt beautiful when I’ve been told by a man I love I look beautiful.)

I would guess Meghan feels most beautiful when she’s rocking a short jumper and heels.  And I know Jordan felt beautiful on her wedding day.

Excuse the cheese of this question, because I’m genuinely curious: when did you feel most beautiful?

Nov 12, 09 2:02am

I'm sorry.

So … I wasn’t going to write this tonight, namely because it’s so important, and I’m so tired and really want to go to bed, but I’ll try to do this quickly.

I owe every woman who reads this website a massive apology: I. was. very. very. misguided. when I wrote that stupid post about my “stupid weight.”

Honestly, I realized it almost as I was writing it, which is why, towards the end, I asked rhetorically whether the sentiment was patently ridiculous:

“Although, frankly, part of me thinks this whole thing is really stupid, anyway.  Who cares about an extra ten pounds in the scheme of things??  It’s so irrelevant.  And almost embarrassing when people have real medical issues.”

Yeah, well, that was the right direction.  Although I’m not the first person to say it, I find “rational thinking” embarrassingly difficult in the sea of bodily/diet obsession in which women now unhappily drown.

Here’s the truth: I’M ABSOLUTELY FINE AT 138.  If I stayed 138 for the rest of my goddamn life, I’d be more than okay with it.  I’m not even remotely fat.  My waist measures 26 inches.  I wear a size 4/6.  Where in the HELL did I get the idea I wasn’t good enough as I am??  Oh, you know … the usual.  TV. Movies. Magazines. Other women.  And yeah, I guess when people on the internet call you fat, you start to wonder if you are.  Well, excuse my language, but that’s bullshit.

I eat quite healthy.  I never, ever, EVER drink softdrinks.  I don’t eat fast food (Chipotle burrito bowls notwithstanding), I don’t eat meat, and as much as I talk about cupcakes, I probably only consume them once a month. My biggest indulgence is the occasional tuna melt and, of course, my beloved dates. (Not the kind you want to marry, the kind you want to chew.)  I rarely drink, and when I do, it’s in moderation.  I never smoke.  I should probably exercise more, but I’m working on it - and that should have nothing to do with the size of my thighs or my ass.  I want to exercise because it makes me FEEL good, because it’s good for my body, and by extension - yeah, yeah, barf, cheese alert - my soul.

And so, you know, if I’m meant to be 138 pounds, then goddamnit, that’s what I’m meant to be.

The (fat) bottom line: I am LITERALLY the only one in the world who really cares.  And obsessing over something that matters that little is just pathetic.  So I’m - to the best of my ability - going to make a conscious choice NOT to care anymore.  Because it’s ridiculous that we - we meaning WOMEN - spend our time, our precious, beautiful moments on this earth, reviling ourselves for what is absolutely and positively IRRELEVANT.  A few extra pounds?  THAT’S what we want to contemplate endlessly?!?

Are our bodies healthy?  Do they bring us joy?  Can we walk and run and make love and eventually (dear god, very eventually) have babies?  THEN GREAT.  Why the hell are we complaining??

Please don’t take this the wrong way: I am absolutely, 1500% in favor of being as healthy as possible.  If you can eat tons of veggies and fresh fruit and avoid caffeine and sugar and any sort of processed food, please, please do!!  But let’s separate that from this obsession with pounds and weight and inches and sizes and the absolute nonsense crap we feed our souls.

So I owe each of you an apology for - a minute there - buying into The Skinny Industrial Complex.  It’s too damn easy, which is no excuse, but I promise you that from today on, I’m going to do my best to keep my mind in a GOOD place, and that place is NOT counting calories.  Let’s love ourselves a little more!!  We’re all being way, way, WAY too hard on ourselves.  If I wouldn’t want my daughter thinking this way, I don’t want me thinking this way.

And believe me, I never thought I’d say this, but even guys care a lot less about the supposed imperfections in our bodies than we do.

Be healthy.  Exercise.  Make good choices (oh, thanks Mom!).  ENJOY DESSERT EVERY NOW AND AGAIN!  But for godsakes, let’s stop thinking about our thighs.

Okay, I’m done.  And, really, I’m sorry.

Love you all.

Nov 10, 09 2:03am
Several ladies have asked me about my makeup routine, which is, as you might imagine, somewhat … uh … formidable. Now, I must preface this whole discussion by saying, point blank: I do NOT enjoy wearing makeup, so I won’t put it on unless I absolutely have to.  In my case, “absolutely have to” means the following: tv shows, photoshoots, tv photoshoots, photoshoots near a tv, prom, dates, prom dates, weddings and breakfast with my grandmother. Pretty much any other time, I’m wearing none.  I’m not really a “dab of blush, bit o mascara” kind of girl.  It’s Tranny or Nothing, baby. It also bears repeating that I’ve honed my makeup technique from years of working with the best TV makeup artists in the business.  TV makeup, by definition, is just heavier than your average makeup (even photoshoot makeup, although I suppose it depends on the shoot.)  Plus, I started before the networks had HD cameras, which meant the norm was more makeup than what you might want for, say, “work” - unless your work involves thigh-high boots and the Reg-Bev-Wil, Viv. I tease.  Honestly, the easiest way to look ten pounds lighter with a perfect complexion is proper makeup application.  I’ll frequently catch “before and after” photos in some tabloid mag that alleges a star had work done, and I’ll think, “No, you idiots - that’s just “before makeup” and “after makeup.” Okay, enough.  Let’s talk products here: Foundation: Chanel Pro Lumiere (20 Clair)*Foundation Brush: Stila 27Eyeliner: MAC fluidline (Blacktrack)Eyeliner brush: MAC angled eyeliner brushShadow: Stila (Kitten), Nars (Night Snow), Nars (GalapagosEyelash Curler: TarteMascara: Lumene Blueberry Curl **Brow Pencil: Lancome (Brunet)Concealer: Chanel Correcteur Perfection 10Blush: Tarte (True Love)Bronzer: Nars (Laguna)Powder: Chanel pressed powder (20 Clair)Lip Liner: Chanel precision lip definer (Nude)Lipstick: Almost Lipstick Black HoneyGloss: Clinique (Black Honey), Chanel (Spark), FlirtPlumper: DuWop Lip Venom * If you’re going to spend money on ONE THING, it should be your foundation.  This is the single most important part of looking perfectly finished, and if it looks crappy, so will you.  Also, please, please, please don’t forget bronzer!  That’s where you do all your shading/contouring, and that’s how you leave the house not looking like you’re an extra in New Moon. ** Best mascara I’ve ever used.  I would supplement this with individual fake eyelashes, which I talk about here. I would also highly recommend Revitalash (which I’ve used for the last four months, thanks to them sending me a sample tube, and which works like you’re taking horse vitamins or something.) Although I’ve never tried it, I would assume Latisse works similarly well.  That said, please be aware that you should not use either Revitalash or Latisse if you have blue or green eyes, as they have been known to cause the adverse side effect of, uh, turning your irises brown.  Given that I already have brown/hazel eyes, this isn’t a problem for me, but I do think that would be a most unwelcome result for most of my fairer-eyed friends. *** If you don’t get the reference, “Awesome makeup great job” please go here, now. Kevin Rose tortured me with this show about two years ago, and it’s sort of … tough to forget.

Several ladies have asked me about my makeup routine, which is, as you might imagine, somewhat … uh … formidable.

Now, I must preface this whole discussion by saying, point blank: I do NOT enjoy wearing makeup, so I won’t put it on unless I absolutely have to.  In my case, “absolutely have to” means the following: tv shows, photoshoots, tv photoshoots, photoshoots near a tv, prom, dates, prom dates, weddings and breakfast with my grandmother.

Pretty much any other time, I’m wearing none.  I’m not really a “dab of blush, bit o mascara” kind of girl.  It’s Tranny or Nothing, baby.

It also bears repeating that I’ve honed my makeup technique from years of working with the best TV makeup artists in the business.  TV makeup, by definition, is just heavier than your average makeup (even photoshoot makeup, although I suppose it depends on the shoot.)  Plus, I started before the networks had HD cameras, which meant the norm was more makeup than what you might want for, say, “work” - unless your work involves thigh-high boots and the Reg-Bev-Wil, Viv.

I tease.  Honestly, the easiest way to look ten pounds lighter with a perfect complexion is proper makeup application.  I’ll frequently catch “before and after” photos in some tabloid mag that alleges a star had work done, and I’ll think, “No, you idiots - that’s just “before makeup” and “after makeup.”

Okay, enough.  Let’s talk products here:

Foundation: Chanel Pro Lumiere (20 Clair)*
Foundation Brush: Stila 27
Eyeliner: MAC fluidline (Blacktrack)
Eyeliner brush: MAC angled eyeliner brush
Shadow: Stila (Kitten), Nars (Night Snow), Nars (Galapagos
Eyelash Curler: Tarte
Mascara: Lumene Blueberry Curl **
Brow Pencil: Lancome (Brunet)
Concealer: Chanel Correcteur Perfection 10
Blush: Tarte (True Love)
Bronzer: Nars (Laguna)
Powder: Chanel pressed powder (20 Clair)
Lip Liner: Chanel precision lip definer (Nude)
Lipstick: Almost Lipstick Black Honey
Gloss: Clinique (Black Honey), Chanel (Spark), Flirt
Plumper: DuWop Lip Venom

* If you’re going to spend money on ONE THING, it should be your foundation.  This is the single most important part of looking perfectly finished, and if it looks crappy, so will you.  Also, please, please, please don’t forget bronzer!  That’s where you do all your shading/contouring, and that’s how you leave the house not looking like you’re an extra in New Moon.

** Best mascara I’ve ever used.  I would supplement this with individual fake eyelashes, which I talk about here.

I would also highly recommend Revitalash (which I’ve used for the last four months, thanks to them sending me a sample tube, and which works like you’re taking horse vitamins or something.) Although I’ve never tried it, I would assume Latisse works similarly well.  That said, please be aware that you should not use either Revitalash or Latisse if you have blue or green eyes, as they have been known to cause the adverse side effect of, uh, turning your irises brown.  Given that I already have brown/hazel eyes, this isn’t a problem for me, but I do think that would be a most unwelcome result for most of my fairer-eyed friends.

*** If you don’t get the reference, “Awesome makeup great job” please go here, now. Kevin Rose tortured me with this show about two years ago, and it’s sort of … tough to forget.

Oct 29, 09 3:44am

The Strange Boomerang Law of Happiness

So, I just sent the adorable girlfriend of one of my exes a facebook message (we’ve talked many times before, so it wasn’t a first time thing) congratulating them on moving in together.  When I reread the note, I realized it was a bit … well … “overly nice.”  I mean, why would I be so happy they moved in together? (He did, after all, dump me for her.)  But actually?  I was.  I meant every word.

I sat there and thought about it for a bit, trying to figure out why I wasn’t just cool with it, but actively excited.  It pretty much came down to this: I think she’s pretty amazing (not to mention tiny and cute), I think he’s pretty amazing, and I also think - by the transitive property, and also by the property of I’ve-hung-out-with-them-as-a-couple - they’re pretty amazing together.  They make each other happy.  And I love that!  (Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t love it a year ago, but I definitely do now.)

In fact, when he told me they were moving in together, I actually squealed with joy.  I really like to see good people in love and coupling up and … (yes!) getting married.  And (perhaps the most important point) she’s been really sweet to me - so I felt the same way I would if a girl friend of mine were moving in with her bf.  Really, hysterically enthusiastic.

I pretty much said as much in the quasi over-the-top nice FB message.  Which got me thinking, “God, I hope she doesn’t think I’m being fake.  Maybe I should tone this down a bit?”  Obsequious isn’t a good look.

And then I realized this:

Fuck that!  I *LIKE* being nice.

It made me feel GOOD to write those things to her.  It made me happy to send that message and it makes me happy thinking that she’ll be happy reading it.

I wonder why people don’t do more things like this?  Tonight, a guy friend of mine, knowing I’ve had a hard week month, drove into the city, took me to dinner, and gave me the most beautiful present.  It was so thoughtful, so kind, and so unexpected, I almost cried.

This world is filled with a lot of crap and quite a bit of disappointment, much of which we have no control over.  But we can control how we treat other people, and if we treat them with kindness, if we share their joy, if we genuinely wish them well and very much want the best for them - well, I’ve found it’s fairly contagious.  I was actually happier after telling her that I was happy for her happiness! Crazy, right?

Try it.  You’ll see …

Sep 28, 09 4:52am
This is me, at age 23, exactly five years ago this month, in Newport Beach, California, where I lived with my then-fiancé. The photo was taken by him.  I don’t talk about that time in my life much, because, well, it’s a painful subject. It strikes me that I look so young in this photo … like a baby, really.  Probably because I was.  So naive, so unbelievably clueless about how I would make a life for myself. I had just graduated from college a few months before, and I spent the summer in Chicago while M (not his real name, obviously) studied for the bar from my parents’ guest bedroom.  In August we drove across the country in his Jeep to our new place in Newport Beach, where he had a great job as an associate in a law firm.  What would I do while he concerned himself with his lawyer-y duties?  Start my writing career from my new “office” in our second bedroom, of course.  I figured that I could write from anywhere - and (bonus!) I’d always wanted to live in a beautiful climate.  Especially after growing up in Chicago, a winter in Newport Beach sounded like heaven. So M would go off to work every day, leaving me alone in our sunny apartment, which I had lovingly decorated with IKEA, in our sleepy gated community. The novelty of living in a gorgeous location wore off in about four days.  I knew no one. I had no friends.  I felt isolated, alienated, completely cut off from the rest of the world.  I have never been so lonely and lost in my entire adult life. Every day I would look out at the beautiful weather, in my pretty home, and go sit in my painstakingly organized office, staring at my computer, and I would die a little. I kept thinking, “Is this it?  Is this going to be my life?”  He was so good to me, such a good man, a great human being, and so kind. I kept asking myself why I couldn’t be happy with that - what was wrong with me that he wasn’t enough? But the truth is, there wasn’t anything wrong with me.  It wasn’t his fault, but neither he - nor Newport Beach - were the right fit.  I needed something else.  And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to get married. I visited New York frequently during the year I was engaged.  I had never really been before my senior year of college (as hard as that is for me to believe), but M took me there for the first time that March (2004).  And yes, on that very first visit, I posed for a photo in Times Square.  Someday I’ll have to find it … I’m wearing a pink coat and pointing up at the sign as if to say, “See? I’m DEFINITELY A TOURIST.”  And I was. I remember being simultaneously overwhelmed by and drawn to the city.  There was just … something about it.  I suppose that’s how most NY neophytes feel, right? I wish I could say that was the end of the story, but of course, the biggest lessons in our lives don’t often come from “clean breaks.”  These endings tend to have jagged edges which hurt, and conflicting, confusing - often contradictory - emotions attached to them. So it was with this.  The truth is, I fell in love with someone else. The details are relatively unimportant - he was twelve years older, and I’d never met anyone like him, with his energy, his worldliness, his genuine joy for life.  Our love was very, very sudden (I honestly knew the first time I laid eyes on him), but it was real.  As the months went past and I grew increasingly despondent back in California, he was sometimes the only source of light.  The overlap wasn’t a large one - two months, as I recall - but it was painful. I struggled with my decision, but I knew I couldn’t stay.  I couldn’t do it. I broke it off with my fiancé that October, and I shipped all of my things to New York - with no job and very few friends - by early November, 2004. I moved into a little rundown apartment on 23rd and Park with two roommates I met off of Craigslist (one of whom, Krystal, I’m still close with), and proceeded to try to start my life again.  It was the opposite of easy, that’s for damn sure … but as difficult as things were, as many rejections as I got, I never gave up.  I know that much of my strength in those first really tough years came from Alex’s unconditional love.  His belief in me gave rise to my own self-confidence - and saw me through the next two and a half years. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here today. When I look at this photograph, I see a young girl so naive, I almost don’t know her.  Part of me wants to protect her from what awaits her.  Because for as much joy as I’ve experienced in the last five years, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to go through some of it again. I’m certain, five years hence, I’ll look back at photographs from this year and think the same thing. File under: Life, That’s.

This is me, at age 23, exactly five years ago this month, in Newport Beach, California, where I lived with my then-fiancé.

The photo was taken by him.  I don’t talk about that time in my life much, because, well, it’s a painful subject.

It strikes me that I look so young in this photo … like a baby, really.  Probably because I was.  So naive, so unbelievably clueless about how I would make a life for myself.

I had just graduated from college a few months before, and I spent the summer in Chicago while M (not his real name, obviously) studied for the bar from my parents’ guest bedroom.  In August we drove across the country in his Jeep to our new place in Newport Beach, where he had a great job as an associate in a law firm.  What would I do while he concerned himself with his lawyer-y duties?  Start my writing career from my new “office” in our second bedroom, of course.  I figured that I could write from anywhere - and (bonus!) I’d always wanted to live in a beautiful climate.  Especially after growing up in Chicago, a winter in Newport Beach sounded like heaven.

So M would go off to work every day, leaving me alone in our sunny apartment, which I had lovingly decorated with IKEA, in our sleepy gated community.

The novelty of living in a gorgeous location wore off in about four days.  I knew no one. I had no friends.  I felt isolated, alienated, completely cut off from the rest of the world.  I have never been so lonely and lost in my entire adult life.

Every day I would look out at the beautiful weather, in my pretty home, and go sit in my painstakingly organized office, staring at my computer, and I would die a little.

I kept thinking, “Is this it?  Is this going to be my life?”  He was so good to me, such a good man, a great human being, and so kind. I kept asking myself why I couldn’t be happy with that - what was wrong with me that he wasn’t enough?

But the truth is, there wasn’t anything wrong with me.  It wasn’t his fault, but neither he - nor Newport Beach - were the right fit.  I needed something else.  And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to get married.

I visited New York frequently during the year I was engaged.  I had never really been before my senior year of college (as hard as that is for me to believe), but M took me there for the first time that March (2004).  And yes, on that very first visit, I posed for a photo in Times Square.  Someday I’ll have to find it … I’m wearing a pink coat and pointing up at the sign as if to say, “See? I’m DEFINITELY A TOURIST.”  And I was.

I remember being simultaneously overwhelmed by and drawn to the city.  There was just … something about it.  I suppose that’s how most NY neophytes feel, right?

I wish I could say that was the end of the story, but of course, the biggest lessons in our lives don’t often come from “clean breaks.”  These endings tend to have jagged edges which hurt, and conflicting, confusing - often contradictory - emotions attached to them.

So it was with this.  The truth is, I fell in love with someone else.

The details are relatively unimportant - he was twelve years older, and I’d never met anyone like him, with his energy, his worldliness, his genuine joy for life.  Our love was very, very sudden (I honestly knew the first time I laid eyes on him), but it was real.  As the months went past and I grew increasingly despondent back in California, he was sometimes the only source of light.  The overlap wasn’t a large one - two months, as I recall - but it was painful.

I struggled with my decision, but I knew I couldn’t stay.  I couldn’t do it.

I broke it off with my fiancé that October, and I shipped all of my things to New York - with no job and very few friends - by early November, 2004.

I moved into a little rundown apartment on 23rd and Park with two roommates I met off of Craigslist (one of whom, Krystal, I’m still close with), and proceeded to try to start my life again.  It was the opposite of easy, that’s for damn sure … but as difficult as things were, as many rejections as I got, I never gave up.  I know that much of my strength in those first really tough years came from Alex’s unconditional love.  His belief in me gave rise to my own self-confidence - and saw me through the next two and a half years.

If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here today.

When I look at this photograph, I see a young girl so naive, I almost don’t know her.  Part of me wants to protect her from what awaits her.  Because for as much joy as I’ve experienced in the last five years, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to go through some of it again.

I’m certain, five years hence, I’ll look back at photographs from this year and think the same thing.

File under: Life, That’s.

Jun 10, 09 3:55am

Hi. I'm Julia.

I am, as I say in my bio, personally & professionally, a handful. Also?

A rambunctious, inquisitive, sometimes over-enthusiastic “machine of happiness and non-sickening positivity in this cynical city.”

I’ve been a columnist at Time Out New York for the past two years, where I covered dating and Fashion Week, and before that, I was the editor-at-large for Star magazine, where I would go on tv (mostly MSNBC, CNN, FoxNews & Vh1) to talk about entertainment news.  Now I co-host a fun chat show called TMIweekly, which you can find here, or on NBC’s new channel, “New York NonStop.”

I pretty much like any conversation encompassing sociology, biology, psychology, philosophy, architecture, media, technology, feminism, personal growth and the absurd machinations between men & women otherwise known as “dating.” Yeah. I said it. I’m into that crap.

Of course I adore my family, my six-year-old shih-tzu Lilly and my girl friends … but on the shallower side?  I love Twitter, the color pink, headbands, tutus, ballet, fleece pajamas, bubble baths, mascara which doesn’t lead to raccoon eyes, tennis gear as daywear, tech conferences, the tv shows Gossip Girl, 30 Rock, and The West Wing, the musician Justin Vernon (Bon Iver), that incredible tension-filled moment before a first kiss, 50s style fashion, the Lacoste alligator, 5 inch heels which don’t hurt, DVF, Betsey Johnson, Lilly Pulitzer & Oscar de la Renta, “Sunday check-in” voicemails from my dad, bathing suits which flatten my stomach and A-line skirts which cover my derriere, girls who wear ribbons in their hair, my iPhone, my laptop, my digital camera, the blogging platform Tumblr, men who pop their pink polo shirt collars un-ironically, families who wear matching outfits in their Christmas card photos, spicy tuna rolls, 4 am, Starbucks hazelnut lattes, Martha Beck, PotteryBarn for Teens, chamois sheets, dresses as wall art, quilted Chanel bags, pearls, the silence that comes when it snows, flowers sent by boys, emails from my mom, and rap music.  And I am absolutely obsessed with cupcakes.

I also don’t mind handwritten love letters, although no one has sent me one in years - except my Grandmother.

I love her, too.

May 14, 09 4:21pm

So ...

An interesting thing happened after I posted “We Need to Talk” - I was flooded (ish) with kind emails from readers.  Which made me feel good.  Which made me want to post more.  Which is exactly what I shouldn’t be doing.

Wait … Why?

Here’s the deal: it’s fantastic to have the approval of others.  It’s a high.  I want people to like me.  I crave it!  I think many of us do.  (That’s certainly what Ariel is saying in the Authenticity vs. Attention post.)

But that high comes with a downside: “The very thing that gives you pleasure today will give you pain tomorrow, or it will leave you, so its absence will give you pain.” (Eckhart Tolle)

In other words: I have your approval now - but what of tomorrow?  What if I do something you dislike then?  If I lend credence to your positive emails, then, unless I establish some sort of false construct, I must by definition lend credence to the negative commentary, as well.  Either way, I’m allowing someone else’s opinion to establish or influence how I feel about myself.  It’s a dangerous - and unwinnable - game, isn’t it?

Okay, all that having been said, I honestly have NO IDEA how I’m going to change years and years of my kneejerk reaction: to please, to perform, to make people laugh, to entertain them (often at my expense).

Hmm.

May 13, 09 2:54am

Hi. We need to talk.

So, I’ve been getting a few emails recently from “concerned readers.”  What were they concerned about, you ask?  Well - ostensibly - me.

Why am I not writing so much? they wanted to know.  Why have I not tried therapy? they wanted to know.  When will I apologize publicly to Jakob Lodwick? they demanded.  (Um?  Wha???) What will I do now that I’ve “lost my looks”? (Yes, I got an entire email which used that very phrase.)

There were some positive questions too (So what’s up with all the posts and info about your weight?  Have you looked at yourself in those dresses?  Did you even need to wear Spanx?) … but the really fun ones used caps to indicate their displeasure “I am MAD!” and then wondered, “Why should readers care about seeing you pose with famous people? “

Um … I don’t really know.  Maybe they shouldn’t!  Maybe they don’t!

Listen, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that I’ve disappointed you (even the guy who fake-worried about my looks).  I hate disappointing people.  I want you to be happy, and I want you to be happy with me.

But the truth is, I’m starting to feel like trying to make other people happy is a pretty sure recipe for my own unhappiness.

I thought I could do it all … and I can’t.  As I wrote back in January:

This site is supposed to be light entertainment.  Maybe it’s break in your day, maybe it makes you think or smile or laugh or feel less alone, or maybe it’s just your [cliche alert] “guilty pleasure” - I don’t care why you read it, to be honest, as long as it makes you feel good.  And if it doesn’t?  If you don’t like my content or you feel it should be different?  Then - and stay with me here, because this is complicated - don’t. visit. this. website.

I’m sorry if I’ve over-promised and under-delivered - especially recently.  I’ve already slowed the frequency and depth of my posts, so instead of blogging until 4 am, I’m actually sleeping at night (mostly).  It’s sort of nice, actually.

The truth is, attempting to live your life - while recording it - is not actually as fun or easy as it looks (and believe me, I get it: it looks very easy indeed).  It’s a math problem, actually.  Let’s assume you have a fairly light 8 hour day, but you need to “cover” it.  Assume that even the least competent/witty coverage takes 50-200% of the time of any given activity.  That’s a potential 4 to 16 hour addition to a NORMAL day.

When blogging is not your only responsibility - and it’s not - that can quickly become overwhelming.  Add that to my overzealous travel schedule from the last six months, along with filming and more behind the scenes drama than I care to revisit - well, I’m astounded I’ve managed to record as much as I have.

And sometimes - I know, this will shock you - sometimes I just don’t want to document my life.  I don’t want to take a photo.  I don’t want to talk about what I’m doing.  I don’t want to sit down and write a recap.  And yes, other times I will want to write something - and then I’ll think to myself, “you know what? I don’t want to be judged.”

The truth is, I’m tired.  Really tired.  But not in a bad way … or a sad way.  Not in a … okay, wtf. Why does this sound like a Dr. Seuss book right now?

I just - I need some time to think.  I need space - and distance.  Time for a lot of the thoughts I’ve been having to percolate.  I think one of the biggest problems with blogging is that - almost by definition - it allows very little time for percolating.

Look, I didn’t like politics because of the incessant sucking up, the glad-handing, the constant and obsessive and inherent need politicians had to please their constituents.  But lately, that’s what I feel like I’ve created - this tiny microcosm where everyone has an opinion on my life.  Imagine sitting in a room with forty people all yelling simultaneously about what, exactly, you should say, act, feel, do - and how, exactly, you’ve screwed up.  Except these aren’t people who care about you.  Mostly they’re people who DON’T care about you.

It can get a little … overwhelming.  And yes, the negativity does get to me - I’m a positive, optimistic, and generally sunny person, and I try to avoid reading the “haters,” if you will, but a single nasty comment can still upset me.  Yeah, I’m human.  Unfortunately.  ;)

Have I made mistakes?  Um … absolutely.  No one’s debating that, least of all me.  I’m still trying to figure this whole “life” thing out.

Here’s the response I just sent to a reader:

Julia,

What exactly is going on with you these days (refer to your latest IM with Dan)???  People think you are sad/rundown for a reason—your posts and tweets. You don’t come across as very happy (or even near) at this point. Maybe I don’t know what you are going for. I think we have some of the same issues— you just always gloss over everything or pretend you’re so.so.happy (I’m not trying to be ugly, but let’s get real). You’re like EveryWoman.

What is it you want to do? What do you want to accomplish? What is the status for nonsociety?

I’m doing a major lifestyle rehaul for my cousin’s wedding (the 1st week of June, I know this is near the same time as your Georgetown get together). What are you doing to prepare?

Are you really doing anything? Do you care at all about readers? there’s no way to post this on your “community” website (disappointment).

Please don’t send me another form email.

thanks

And what I wrote back to her:

I’m definitely at a crossroads, but they’re not unhappy … that’s the thing.  I don’t really know how to explain it, but I *AM* quite happy - I just feel very … quiet.  And that’s not normal for me.  I guess I just want some privacy!  hahah  oh, the irony.

With regard to your questions … I don’t know what I want to do, which is why I’ve said nothing about it.  I’m not sure what I want to accomplish, which is why I’ve said nothing about it.  I don’t know what the status of nonsociety is, which is why I’ve said nothing about it.

I can’t speak to these things, because I simply don’t have the answers.  I don’t really feel the urge to document my life much lately, but I also know that I’m way, way overdue for a non-blogging vacation.  So … things may change after that?  I don’t really know, to be honest with you.

I’ve been working on a post about it, but it’s hard to find the right words to explain what I feel in my heart - which is - I’m at a fork in the road, but it’s not an unhappy fork, you know?  I’ve accomplished most everything I set out to accomplish when I graduated from college.  And now I need new goals … but I’m not sure what those goals are yet.

As I said to Dan last night, I wish there were a more positive term for “quarterlife crisis.”  I don’t feel like I’m in the midst of a crisis - I just feel as if some of the things which used to make me happy, no longer do.

And so it’s up to me to take the time to figure out where I’m going next.  If I lose you, if you decide not to come back as I’m taking time to figure out my next steps, I understand.  But “life hands us whatever experiences we need for the evolution of our consciousness” - or so goes an Eckhart Tolle quote I repeat to myself frequently.

And right now, life is telling me to slow down and think a bit.

So please forgive me if that’s what I do.

May 12, 09 12:00am
No one has all the answers … and sometimes the best we can do is just apologize, and let the past be the past. Other times, we need to look to the future and know that even when we think we’ve seen it all … life can still surprise us. And we can still surprise ourselves.
Gossip Girl made me tear up tonight.  Yeah, I admitted it.  I’m not ashamed.
May 10, 09 10:01pm

Questions to ask your mom this Mother's Day (or, er ... tomorrow)

1. What’s the one thing you would have done differently as a mom?
2. Why did you choose to be with my father?
3. In what ways do you think I’m like you? And not like you?
4. Which one of your kids do you like the best?
5. Is there anything you’ve always wanted to tell me but never have?
6. Do you think it’s easier or harder to be a mother now than when you were raising our family?
7. Is there anything you regret not having asked your mom?
8. What’s the best thing I can do for you right now?
9. Is there anything that you wish had been different between us - or that you would still like to change?
10. When did you realize you were no longer a child?

Credit for these insightful queries goes to author Judith Newman, who wrote a lovely article about the subject in the May 2009 issue of Real Simple

Mar 30, 09 5:55am
First Date Postmortem! So … I don’t usually do this, but I got the okay (actually, although he was fine with me sharing them, I’m going to keep his name and visage off, just in case.  When it comes to the internet, I’ve learned that people don’t always know what they’re getting themselves into, and I’d rather error on the side of caution.) Anyway!  As those of you who read this little site know, I’ve been going on a lot of dates recently - at least one or two a week, when I’m in town.  Most of them are pleasant enough, some turn into second or third dates, but no one’s made it past a third date since Ben - and that was last July!!  (I say this to give you a bit of context.) In any case, this wasn’t a blind date, exactly, because I had seen his Facebook profile (ah, modern love), but I had never met him in person.  Actually, he emailed me sometime last year, maybe in the fall?  I don’t really remember.  Hmm. It may have been a facebook message, now that I think about it.  In any case, I found myself glancing at his profile, which I thought was a parody, at first.  Why?  His CV sounds a bit … well … it’s ridiculous.  Harvard undergrad (physics major), Cambridge masters (physics), Princeton phd (yep … physics), UChicago professor (guess?).  Lest the whole “professor” thing throw you, he’s actually not much older than me, which makes him all the more impressive.  Savant-like.  I do love a man with a good education. That said, most people with his background would be - how shall I put this?  Uhhh … pretentious douchehats.  From his writing, I could tell that wouldn’t be the case.  He could banter (check!) and he had quite the sense of humor (check!).  Plus, he was confidant and cute, in a nerdy way (check! check! check!).  Nerd hot!  You know I love that. He was in the process of moving from Chicago to a nine month research stint in Japan, so he would be in New York for a week.  “Multiple faculty at UChicago and assorted flagship state campuses have suggested that it is impossible you will go on a date with me.  I suggest we challenge this at will; 7 pm, March 28, Fig and Olive?” (See complete exchange here.) That was the exact right thing to email me: I love a good challenge. Intrigued, I agreed to a date. Of course - as you can see from the exchange - this was a few weeks ago, and as I have a memory like a rusty sieve, I only barely recalled our exchange at 5 pm - today.  Yipes!  Dinner at 7? In the East Village?? (after I scoffed at Fig & Olive, he had volleyed back with Hearth, on 12th Street.  A decent choice, but pretty inconvenient, especially on a rainy Sunday.)  I texted him around 6, asking if he wouldn’t mind moving it to 8 pm, and … um … on the Upper West side, maybe?  He texted back that he wouldn’t (mind, that is). At 7:30 it occurred to me that I wouldn’t be ready by 8.  Could we move it to 8:30, I asked?  We could, he texted back.  At 8, still in my workout clothes at the gym (yes, the gym, people.  I went there.), I texted him something along the lines of “Don’t kill me, but could we make it 9?”   He told me later that he thought I wouldn’t bother showing up. I did - show up, that is - around 9:15.  I wouldn’t say I’m renowned for my time management skills, that’s for sure, but this was a bit egregious, even for me.  I apologized profusely, and I think by the time he dropped me back at my place around 3:30 am, I had made up for it.  But - yikes!  What a terrible first impression. In any case, since he’s not a New Yorker, I picked Blue Ribbon Sushi on 57th street, which is a safe, solid - but a bit boring, because I’ve been there quite a few times - choice.  I didn’t have time to think of somewhere more creative!! (BTW, if anyone has a great sushi rec in the UWS, let me know!) [Okay, now I remember why I don’t do postmortems, aside from the fact that most guys aren’t that into them … it takes so damn long!  It’s almost 5:30 am and I’m exhausted. I really want to go to bed, but I haven’t even gotten to the good parts yet.  Dammit!!  Argh.  I’m just going to speed this up a bit.  Sorry.] Super fast bullet point version: He was personable, charming, witty - and needless to say, intelligent.  But most of the guys I date are intelligent; the difference with this one was his particular type (brand? ha) of intelligence.  Much more academic than the guys I’ve been seeing in New York for the past five years.  Reminded me a LOT of Dan. I enjoyed talking with him more than I expected to … not that I didn’t expect to enjoy it, I just got that feeling - which doesn’t happen THAT often - that I could talk to him for hours.  Which is exactly what we did. Earlier that day, David Karp had texted me about doing dinner.  I told him I was going on a date, but he should just stop by!  I guess that’s a little unconventional for a first date, but I don’t really care about conventions.  That said, when I got there, I did tell D to wait until after dessert.  He ended up staying for about an hour and a half (he took this photo), until 12:30, when my date and I decided to “get a drink” at Whiskey Park on Central Park South.  (I put “get a drink” in quotes because I didn’t drink any alcohol tonight.  Although at one point - I think around 2:30 - my date said to me, “It’s amazing. I think you’re drunk on air.”  Take that as you will.) Okay, so I clearly enjoyed the conversation enough to continue on, which I don’t normally.  But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea: I wasn’t swooning.  (No offense, date!)  I just liked talking with him.  It wasn’t that out of control feeling you get when you’re like, “OH MY GOD, I want to HAVE THIS MAN’S BABIES.”  Or whatever.  Ladies, you know what I mean.  I’ve definitely gotten that feeling before (a few times) but not recently.  Or even semi-recently.  God.  It’s been a long, long time, now that I think about it. Anyway! Whiskey Park closed at 2 am, and we still weren’t ready to call it a night.  But it’s not like I was going to ask him to my apartment!  So we decided to take a walk in Central Park, which, in retrospect, maybe wasn’t the smartest idea (??)  I don’t know, I always feel ridiculously safe in New York, but there was NO ONE in that park.  Seriously, we walked for an hour and didn’t see a single soul.  NOT ONE PERSON.  Do you know how crazy that is??  Eh.  Whatever, alls well that ends without a mugging, right?  (And aren’t Central Park muggings so 1992?)  So.  He *did* kiss me there, which was terribly romantic and carefree and reminded me of my younger self (my younger self was always doing terribly romantic and carefree things, or having terribly romantic and carefree things done to her.  But my current self … well … that just doesn’t happen as often.)  In any case, it was lovely. Mainly because for a few hours there, I forgot myself - and all of the stress in my life - and managed to live entirely in the moment. Around 3:30 am I started to get a bit delirious, and he walked me home and kissed me goodnight (sort of in front of my doorman.  Awkward!). This whole postmortem sounded a lot more giddy than I intended.  It was a solid date, an enjoyable date, but don’t get me wrong: it’s not like he swept me off my feet!  Here’s the most interesting part - I think it might have been such a good date because I KNEW he was moving to Japan next week, and it would never be more than just one date.  Does that make sense?  It took the pressure off.  There was no need to think, “Where is this going?”  It was just “Hey, you’re interesting! Let’s have a five hour chat and kiss at the end!” I think more of us should view dates like that, instead of the way we usually look at them: excruciating auditions until we get to the “good stuff” (namely: the relationship). I know - don’t ask me how, I just do - that I’ll be single for the foreseeable future.  I’ll date, of course, but I doubt I’ll have an official boyfriend in the year 2009.  It’s just something I sense, and my gut is pretty accurate. ;)  That proclamation doesn’t come with a value judgment, honestly.  It’s not that I don’t sometimes want to fall in love, but I’m very serious when I say that I’m pretty content, especially because being single allows me to spend as much time as I want - doing what I want - and then, a few times a month, go on dates like this! Life is filled with such intriguing people.  Honestly, it’s hard not to be excited when you think about it that way!  (I know I sound so cheesy right now.  I don’t care!) And with that, good night to you all.

First Date Postmortem!

So … I don’t usually do this, but I got the okay (actually, although he was fine with me sharing them, I’m going to keep his name and visage off, just in case.  When it comes to the internet, I’ve learned that people don’t always know what they’re getting themselves into, and I’d rather error on the side of caution.)

Anyway!  As those of you who read this little site know, I’ve been going on a lot of dates recently - at least one or two a week, when I’m in town.  Most of them are pleasant enough, some turn into second or third dates, but no one’s made it past a third date since Ben - and that was last July!!  (I say this to give you a bit of context.)

In any case, this wasn’t a blind date, exactly, because I had seen his Facebook profile (ah, modern love), but I had never met him in person.  Actually, he emailed me sometime last year, maybe in the fall?  I don’t really remember.  Hmm. It may have been a facebook message, now that I think about it.  In any case, I found myself glancing at his profile, which I thought was a parody, at first.  Why?  His CV sounds a bit … well … it’s ridiculous.  Harvard undergrad (physics major), Cambridge masters (physics), Princeton phd (yep … physics), UChicago professor (guess?).  Lest the whole “professor” thing throw you, he’s actually not much older than me, which makes him all the more impressive.  Savant-like.  I do love a man with a good education.

That said, most people with his background would be - how shall I put this?  Uhhh … pretentious douchehats.  From his writing, I could tell that wouldn’t be the case.  He could banter (check!) and he had quite the sense of humor (check!).  Plus, he was confidant and cute, in a nerdy way (check! check! check!).  Nerd hot!  You know I love that.

He was in the process of moving from Chicago to a nine month research stint in Japan, so he would be in New York for a week.  “Multiple faculty at UChicago and assorted flagship state campuses have suggested that it is impossible you will go on a date with me.  I suggest we challenge this at will; 7 pm, March 28, Fig and Olive?” (See complete exchange here.)

That was the exact right thing to email me: I love a good challenge.

Intrigued, I agreed to a date.

Of course - as you can see from the exchange - this was a few weeks ago, and as I have a memory like a rusty sieve, I only barely recalled our exchange at 5 pm - today.  Yipes!  Dinner at 7? In the East Village?? (after I scoffed at Fig & Olive, he had volleyed back with Hearth, on 12th Street.  A decent choice, but pretty inconvenient, especially on a rainy Sunday.)  I texted him around 6, asking if he wouldn’t mind moving it to 8 pm, and … um … on the Upper West side, maybe?  He texted back that he wouldn’t (mind, that is).

At 7:30 it occurred to me that I wouldn’t be ready by 8.  Could we move it to 8:30, I asked?  We could, he texted back.  At 8, still in my workout clothes at the gym (yes, the gym, people.  I went there.), I texted him something along the lines of “Don’t kill me, but could we make it 9?”   He told me later that he thought I wouldn’t bother showing up.

I did - show up, that is - around 9:15.  I wouldn’t say I’m renowned for my time management skills, that’s for sure, but this was a bit egregious, even for me.  I apologized profusely, and I think by the time he dropped me back at my place around 3:30 am, I had made up for it.  But - yikes!  What a terrible first impression.

In any case, since he’s not a New Yorker, I picked Blue Ribbon Sushi on 57th street, which is a safe, solid - but a bit boring, because I’ve been there quite a few times - choice.  I didn’t have time to think of somewhere more creative!! (BTW, if anyone has a great sushi rec in the UWS, let me know!)

[Okay, now I remember why I don’t do postmortems, aside from the fact that most guys aren’t that into them … it takes so damn long!  It’s almost 5:30 am and I’m exhausted. I really want to go to bed, but I haven’t even gotten to the good parts yet.  Dammit!!  Argh.  I’m just going to speed this up a bit.  Sorry.]

Super fast bullet point version:

  • He was personable, charming, witty - and needless to say, intelligent.  But most of the guys I date are intelligent; the difference with this one was his particular type (brand? ha) of intelligence.  Much more academic than the guys I’ve been seeing in New York for the past five years.  Reminded me a LOT of Dan.
  • I enjoyed talking with him more than I expected to … not that I didn’t expect to enjoy it, I just got that feeling - which doesn’t happen THAT often - that I could talk to him for hours.  Which is exactly what we did.
  • Earlier that day, David Karp had texted me about doing dinner.  I told him I was going on a date, but he should just stop by!  I guess that’s a little unconventional for a first date, but I don’t really care about conventions.  That said, when I got there, I did tell D to wait until after dessert.  He ended up staying for about an hour and a half (he took this photo), until 12:30, when my date and I decided to “get a drink” at Whiskey Park on Central Park South.  (I put “get a drink” in quotes because I didn’t drink any alcohol tonight.  Although at one point - I think around 2:30 - my date said to me, “It’s amazing. I think you’re drunk on air.”  Take that as you will.)
  • Okay, so I clearly enjoyed the conversation enough to continue on, which I don’t normally.  But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea: I wasn’t swooning.  (No offense, date!)  I just liked talking with him.  It wasn’t that out of control feeling you get when you’re like, “OH MY GOD, I want to HAVE THIS MAN’S BABIES.”  Or whatever.  Ladies, you know what I mean.  I’ve definitely gotten that feeling before (a few times) but not recently.  Or even semi-recently.  God.  It’s been a long, long time, now that I think about it.
  • Anyway! Whiskey Park closed at 2 am, and we still weren’t ready to call it a night.  But it’s not like I was going to ask him to my apartment!  So we decided to take a walk in Central Park, which, in retrospect, maybe wasn’t the smartest idea (??)  I don’t know, I always feel ridiculously safe in New York, but there was NO ONE in that park.  Seriously, we walked for an hour and didn’t see a single soul.  NOT ONE PERSON.  Do you know how crazy that is??  Eh.  Whatever, alls well that ends without a mugging, right?  (And aren’t Central Park muggings so 1992?)  So.  He *did* kiss me there, which was terribly romantic and carefree and reminded me of my younger self (my younger self was always doing terribly romantic and carefree things, or having terribly romantic and carefree things done to her.  But my current self … well … that just doesn’t happen as often.)  In any case, it was lovely. Mainly because for a few hours there, I forgot myself - and all of the stress in my life - and managed to live entirely in the moment.
  • Around 3:30 am I started to get a bit delirious, and he walked me home and kissed me goodnight (sort of in front of my doorman.  Awkward!).


This whole postmortem sounded a lot more giddy than I intended.  It was a solid date, an enjoyable date, but don’t get me wrong: it’s not like he swept me off my feet!  Here’s the most interesting part - I think it might have been such a good date because I KNEW he was moving to Japan next week, and it would never be more than just one date.  Does that make sense?  It took the pressure off.  There was no need to think, “Where is this going?”  It was just “Hey, you’re interesting! Let’s have a five hour chat and kiss at the end!”

I think more of us should view dates like that, instead of the way we usually look at them: excruciating auditions until we get to the “good stuff” (namely: the relationship).

I know - don’t ask me how, I just do - that I’ll be single for the foreseeable future.  I’ll date, of course, but I doubt I’ll have an official boyfriend in the year 2009.  It’s just something I sense, and my gut is pretty accurate. ;)  That proclamation doesn’t come with a value judgment, honestly.  It’s not that I don’t sometimes want to fall in love, but I’m very serious when I say that I’m pretty content, especially because being single allows me to spend as much time as I want - doing what I want - and then, a few times a month, go on dates like this!

Life is filled with such intriguing people.  Honestly, it’s hard not to be excited when you think about it that way!  (I know I sound so cheesy right now.  I don’t care!)

And with that, good night to you all.

Mar 28, 09 2:32am

I think that Matt may well have learned the secret to happiness.

I just spent the better part of an hour reading about Matt - as in “Where the Hell is Matt?” - whose first dancing video I had seen years ago - in his FAQ.

It’s exactly what I needed.

You probably know the whole story, but in case you don’t …

Matt was just a guy - a guy who wanted to travel.  And so he quit his job as a video game developer, and with his meager savings embarked upon a trip around the world.  At one particular spot, he was about to take another touristy type photo, but on a whim, his friend asked him to do his signature jig, which they filmed with their inexpensive digital camera.  Matt did the jig in a few other places, got home, edited it together and put it online.  Over 30 million people eventually watched.

The rest is “quasi-famous” (his own words) internet history.  Stride gum contacted him with a sponsorship opportunity for two further world tours (and two amazing “Where the Hell is Matt?” videos).  Now he’s sponsored by Visa, gave a talk at TED and is writing a book.

All because he did what he loved.

He is truly living differently.  If you read his writing, you’ll see he doesn’t give a shit about what people think.  He never went to college, but he’s seen more than 98% of us ever will. He’s allowed the world to open up his eyes.  It’s inspiring.

I think if we lived a little more like Matt, we’d be a little bit happier.

I’m going to try it.

Mar 27, 09 2:09pm
So, I’ve lived in my tiny “pink palace” since October of 2007, and I’m starting to think about the next steps: namely - moving somewhere where I can own, say … a couch.  A girl’s gotta dream. Things I love about my apartment: 1) It’s brand new, so it never feels dirty, even when it is.2) It has a balcony.  The balcony was under construction for the first 17 months, but it has one.3) It has a washer/dryer, with which I am obsessed.4) It has the biggest bathtub in the entire city of New York.  The bathtub is the size of most people’s cars.  It is obscene and I love it.5) There is a gym in the basement which is small, but no one’s ever there, so I can do crazy dance moves while pretending I’m Britney Spears on tour.  You know. Hypothetically.6) The doormen are really, really nice.7) Lilly is welcome here.8) It’s totally silent.  I never hear ANYTHING through the windows.9) My downstairs neighbors Georgie & John are super sweet, and they love watching Lilly when I travel.  I’m not a neurotic mommy because I trust them so much.10) There is a health food store two blocks away!! I couldn’t live without them!11) Central Park is five blocks away!12) It’s all mine. So … there are a lot of really great things about my apartment. The one negative? It’s. so. goddamn. small. And totally awkward when people come over.  It feels like they’re walking into your bedroom.  Because they are. Plus, it’s expensive.  I probably shell out close to $2800 by the time all is paid for (rent, cable, electricity).  That’s just … a lot. So my longtime girl friend Judy & I are thinking of moving in together.  We were 7th grade science partners, 10th grade debate partners and stayed friends over the past decade, as she accumulated degrees in various regions of the country (Johns Hopkins, London School of Economics, now Columbia Law) the way other people accumulate shoes.  She’s graduating in May, and although we both live alone now, we were thinking it might be nice to see how far our respective rent budgets could get us in this new economy (yes, the rents are actually FALLING here in Manhattan).  Besides, we admitted to each other … it might be nice to have someone to watch Gossip Girl with … :) I told her that as long as she’s okay with tutus hanging from the ceiling, it’s a deal. This is a girl who once had an apartment with a wall painted entirely orange, so I think she might be fine with it. We probably won’t be able to move until September, realistically, unless we find subletters for both of our places, in which case we would move in May. In the meantime … the search begins.

So, I’ve lived in my tiny “pink palace” since October of 2007, and I’m starting to think about the next steps: namely - moving somewhere where I can own, say … a couch.  A girl’s gotta dream.

Things I love about my apartment:

1) It’s brand new, so it never feels dirty, even when it is.
2) It has a balcony.  The balcony was under construction for the first 17 months, but it has one.
3) It has a washer/dryer, with which I am obsessed.
4) It has the biggest bathtub in the entire city of New York.  The bathtub is the size of most people’s cars.  It is obscene and I love it.
5) There is a gym in the basement which is small, but no one’s ever there, so I can do crazy dance moves while pretending I’m Britney Spears on tour.  You know. Hypothetically.
6) The doormen are really, really nice.
7) Lilly is welcome here.
8) It’s totally silent.  I never hear ANYTHING through the windows.
9) My downstairs neighbors Georgie & John are super sweet, and they love watching Lilly when I travel.  I’m not a neurotic mommy because I trust them so much.
10) There is a health food store two blocks away!! I couldn’t live without them!
11) Central Park is five blocks away!
12) It’s all mine.

So … there are a lot of really great things about my apartment.

The one negative?

It’s. so. goddamn. small.

And totally awkward when people come over.  It feels like they’re walking into your bedroom.  Because they are.

Plus, it’s expensive.  I probably shell out close to $2800 by the time all is paid for (rent, cable, electricity).  That’s just … a lot.

So my longtime girl friend Judy & I are thinking of moving in together.  We were 7th grade science partners, 10th grade debate partners and stayed friends over the past decade, as she accumulated degrees in various regions of the country (Johns Hopkins, London School of Economics, now Columbia Law) the way other people accumulate shoes.  She’s graduating in May, and although we both live alone now, we were thinking it might be nice to see how far our respective rent budgets could get us in this new economy (yes, the rents are actually FALLING here in Manhattan).  Besides, we admitted to each other … it might be nice to have someone to watch Gossip Girl with … :)

I told her that as long as she’s okay with tutus hanging from the ceiling, it’s a deal.

This is a girl who once had an apartment with a wall painted entirely orange, so I think she might be fine with it.

We probably won’t be able to move until September, realistically, unless we find subletters for both of our places, in which case we would move in May.

In the meantime … the search begins.