New Yorkers Say the Darndest Things

in conversation 2

“Did you hear that guy? How do you think he knew I was Catholic”

“Probably your sweater.”


“Ugh do you know where the convent house is? I’m running late.”

“Do you mean the…Covenant house? Because if you’re looking for the convent you may be on the wrong side of town.”


“Am I going to call in to work on my day off? Seriously? I have more important things going on in my life. Like I need to figure out what’s going on with Walt and Jesse.”


“It’s not mean if you don’t say it to their face.”


“Ugh, I didn’t get that email. Maybe it went to my junk [mailbox]…”

“Speaking of Mandy’s junk, have you seen this picture!?”


“Why do ‘some’ girls take so long to get ready? I’m not saying you, because look at you. But why do others?”


“If you’re going to break the rules, break all the rules”

Project: Help Mandy Pick a Fall Jacket

I have the epitome of first world problems: I need a new fall jacket and don’t know where to begin. According to the local meteorologist’s weekend forecast, the cool weather is finally here to stay. With the combination of the [sad] fact I’m not in college anymore (see ya around, Northface Denali) and the [kind of cool, literally] fact that with my new job, I’ll be doing a lot of walking outside, I need to have something stylish to sport outdoors for the new season. There are a lot of trends out there right now: boyfriend pea coats, oversized parka, leather-infused military styles… so many are viable options. I picked a few of my top contenders below. Any thoughts/advice are welcomed. What’s your go-to outerwear look for the fall?

Fall Jacket Picks

Urban Hipster Style

Soooo I start a new job today! It’s basically a glorified version of my old job, only for a new brand targeting a youthful, hip demographic. I’m so lucky and excited to be doing a job I enjoy, with some kick-ass people, in the city I love. Here’s a Polyvore (I’m a little obsessed) showcasing some of the looks I’m hoping to rock in my first few weeks, now that wearing jeans and fashionable pieces is not permissible, but encouraged.

Urban Hipster

A Summer in New Rochelle

As I’ve mentioned only a million times prior, I spent the better part of the past four months in Southeast Westchester. I’ve definitely had my ups and downs there (not enough lunch options, I tell you), but overall, I’m glad I was able to spend a significant potion of my summer outside of New York City. From the gorgeous views of the Long Island Sound, to having a coffee shop that knows my name and order when I walk through the door, I’ll definitely miss this weird little city and all of the adventures it brought me. Thanks for an unexpectedly good time, New Rochelle.
New Roc 3New Roc 2

To Gen Y, With Love

Some really dumb things have been making their rounds on the internet lately about Generation Y. Specifically, this load of horsesh*t. If I read another sentence on how lowering my expectations is going to make me happier, I’ll wad all of my massive expectations up in a ball of duct tape and chuck it at the next Baby Boomer that passes me on the street. Millennials have no work ethic, set unrealistic expectations, mistakenly believe they can “have it all”, take too many selfies, blah, blah, blah. As a member of this generation, I feel it’s my duty to get in on some of this.

The resounding theme in the aforementioned article explains how our blind ambition does not align with our vast inexperience. Technically speaking, maybe that’s correct. Many of my associates have been working in my industry and/or with my company for over a decade longer than me. Just as I don’t discredit their loyalty, don’t discredit my drive and willingness to apply the knowledge I acquired from my [expensive!] education. Shouldn’t companies foster new ideas and relish at the opportunity for adding fresh perspectives to their team? On a related note, why shouldn’t we be compensated accordingly for contributing new industry knowledge and innovative POVs? It’s actually offensive to assume that after digging ourselves into trenches of debt and serving as active employees that we wouldn’t be rewarded in normal (yet competitive) entry-level compensation. To suggest that we’re too eager for our own good and don’t deserve even that is a disservice to everyone.

On average, Americans today will have six career changes throughout the course of their lives. COUNT EM – SIX. Both of my parents are hardworking individuals who have dedicated decades of their lives to their respective careers. They both serve as excellent examples of hard workers, and I feel that from them, I know firsthand how much blood, sweat and tears are valued in a professional environment. I’m all for putting in that hard work; I’ve had three unpaid internships, worked my way through college at a job where I was paid minimum wage and as a result, am now five digits in debt. I know that isn’t exactly “hard knock life” worthy stuff, but my parents didn’t do any of that. Let’s just acknowledge that things change over time. Dinosaurs, land lines, iOS 6, 25 to life jobs: they’re all relics of yesteryear at this point. I will continue to put in that hard work, but it will most likely be with a few different organizations throughout my career. This circles back around to why our education — and honing those transferable life skills — is overlooked by our predecessors. We know how to adapt, to learn, to teach, to grow. And if we stay in one place for too long that can’t stimulate that kind of development, we move.

Lastly, establishing the perfectly envious social media life isn’t always our endgame. It’s hardly our fault Twitter and Instagram are our generation’s drive-in movies and getting pinned. We pass our time in ways that makes us feel gratified and successful, so sue us. Making comparisons and establishing healthy competition is only human, and while maybe we could stand to spend less time in front of something who doesn’t have a brightness adjust button, a lot of the times we use these tools for good and not evil. If you haven’t already checked these out, here’s some words that prove our generation isn’t so horrible:

Here’s to us, Gen Y. We’re educated, socially conscious, politically in-tune and entrepreneurial. We’re passionate, awkward, witty and kind. We’re not afraid to stand up for what we believe in, or make a change when we need to. We live, laugh, and love fully and with abandon. And we rightly believe that we will leave the world better than we found it. We’re a bunch of ambitious fools, and there’s nothing wrong with it.

But maybe we should lay off the selfies.

Have what you want, because Beyonce does.

Well, hellloooo!

I recently read something that spoke to me: I think ‘having it all’ is a phrase I don’t particularly like. You need to have what you want. […] As women, we should be able to decide what we want, how we want it, and [how we] get there. That means it won’t be perfect, there will be mistakes, but that’s fine; that’s human. ‘All’ should be a determination of what we want, not what somebody else or society says.

Close; not Sheryl Sandberg. Christine Quinn. Either way, I’ve had a busy summer. I’ll detail the highlights in a later post, but I have been doing some research *cough* reading Lean In *cough* and it got me thinking about the aforementioned “having it all.”

You can't sit with us. Oh, wait
You can’t sit with us. Oh, wait..

I am fully aware that this is a phrase most commonly associated with professional women (sometimes men) figuring out how to balance family life with work life. Because I’m nowhere near that milestone, but I AM super-selfish and have to make everything about me, that’s not how I’m interpreting it. Instead, I’ve related it to how I’ve been pretty much overwhelmed with work on work on work on commuting on work and classes and hanging out and traveling and writing and reading and catching up on the entire Breaking Bad series and subsisting almost totally on takeout and oh, what’s that you’re saying, Pinterest?


Yes, that is a huge reality-flavored slap in the face to any human, because IT’S RIGHT. As if I even have to further explain, Beyonce does A LOT. But she also has a lot of help. She has Jay to help her with Baby Blue, her girlfriends Solange, Michelle and Kelly to vent to when she needs a break from the family, and let’s not even act for one second like Tina isn’t all over/up in Bey’s biz, scheduling her every second of every day. [I’m exploring a world where Beyonce solely hangs out with her sister, and Destiny’s Child is still together — just go with it.] But seriously, Beyonce has help. Beyonce prioritizes. From the outside, sure, Beyonce “has it all”. Maybe she does. Or maybe she does what she can, with what she has (a lot more than most of us have, but hey, no judgement).

In hindsight, when feeling down about yourself multitasking, jumping in bed with Beyonce comparisons isn’t a road I would recommend going down too far. HOWEVER, if Beyonce can be a world superstar/wife/singer/fierce dancer/mom/superhuman sometimes all in the same day, I can surely balance a job (which I am fortunate enough to have and actually love), some classes (they’re good for me, after all), some volunteering (that’s good for others), a dash of socializing (every now and then) and make a valid attempt to clean up and regularly maintain this blog. I make no promises, but for now, HEY WORDPRESS HEY, I’ve missed you!

Even in the land where I’ve magically mastered all of these things, I wouldn’t be close to “having it all.” But Quinn made  a valid point. All of the aforementioned are the parts of my life I prioritize. Realistic goals I’ve set. Things I want. I can’t “have it all” by anyone else’s standards, but maybe I don’t want to. I’d like to focus on what I can do — which is make the best choices for myself, and someday I WILL have what I WANT.

And because I can’t resist a hilarious, empowering woman (what’s a feminist?), we’ll end on a relatable Nora Ephron quote: It will be a little messy, but embrace the mess. It will be complicated, but rejoice in the complications. It will not be anything like what you think it will be like, but surprises are good for you. And don’t be frightened: you can always change your mind.

A Case of the 23s

“Um, I’m 23.”
“Ohhh, I’m sorry.”
That exchange happened today.

“Damnnn white girl, back dat ass UP.”
So did that. I digress…

Today was a bad day. I broke out into hives around 1:30am last night and woke up every hour on the hour after passing out around 2am. At 6am, I thought it was time to get up so I hopped out of bed and started getting ready. Twenty minutes of makeup and number-crunching in my head, I realized I didn’t need to be up until 7am, so I took a cat-nap and frantically re-awoke around 7:45am. I managed to pull myself together and was two trains into my commute when I whipped out today’s amNewYork. The entire paper was less than stellar, which was gravely disappointing, but it wasn’t until I saw my daily horoscope rating of a 6/10, that I knew I was in for trouble.

I have been reverse commuting a few days a week for the past two weeks to a lovely small town I like to call New RocHELLe. In efforts to not make the description longer than need-be, it hasn’t been awesome. Every day gets a little better, but the work I’m doing almost feels like an entirely new job and the additional commute is honestly treacherous (P.S. I’m up to three unintentional Taylor Swift song references so far, if anyone’s counting).

I get to work and blah, blah, blah. *Cue almost mental breakdown* I go to lunch. I call my mom and complain. I come back to work and have a real mental break down. *Cue embarrassing crying session at the new job* It gets a little better. I call my mom on my way home and have yet another mental breakdown. I travel home. I make dinner. I receive encouraging text messages from my boss. *Cue ugly-crying* *Cue calling mom* *Cue ugly-crying about my boss’ niceness to my mom* I work-out, it relieves some endorphins and I come to my senses about all the crying. I come home and blog. The end.

Excerpt from my last cry-session with my mom:
“I don’t know, we all have those days. Are you on your period?”
“Are you still….getting that?”

That was my mom indirectly asking me if I was pregnant MID-BREAKDOWN, MIND YOU. Like I said, It was a bad day.

As you may have noticed, nothing of extreme importance happened today, but it was MY BRAIN/BODY’S INHERENT MISSION to make sure I had a terrible time doing all of it. I had no control over my emotions, and nothing pisses me off more than A) lack of control and B) having emotions. Why was I so miserable when nothing was actually wrong? Why was I completely hysterical all day and WHAT PART OF MYSELF allowed CRYING in the workplace?? The only sensical answer: I had a contracted a case of the 23s.

Against common belief, 23 is NOT that age BETWEEN the time you’re young and crazy and the time you’re old and wise–it is the age you are BOTH. At 23, you almost constantly tell your 30-year-old friends, “your skin looks great!” while mumbling under your breath, “for a 30-year-old.” At 23, you hang out with your friends who just graduated college, and think, “a 40+ hour work-week is going to slap some sense into that lazy idiot.” At 23, you look at your peers who are married and with children and think, “I couldn’t imagine being with one person for the rest of my life.” At 23, you see someone who brings a different person home each weekend and wonder, “how many STDs must that guy have by now?!” At 23, if you are anything like me, you are hard-working, a little judgmental and mind-numbingly afraid that any small decision you make might impact the big-picture of your life. At 23, it might; but it also might at 32, at 45, or at 71.

What was wrong with me today? I cannot directly answer that question. Was it because I forgot my coffee in my apartment upon leaving for work? Or because yesterday was my best friend’s one-year wedding anniversary while my latest hookup was in a hallway of a piano bar with a Fios salesman? Or because I’m 23 and if life had gone my way, I would have been the world first Popette (female pope, duh) by 25? I can’t rightly answer the question. I do however, know deep down that my 23ness is both the problem and the solution.

I am 23, but I am also ONLY 23. I don’t have it figured out just yet, and I can only hope that with some more time, I will. I am only 23, and I live a pretty good life. I have a fantastic job with an amazing mom who puts up with my 35 phone calls of hysterical crying-fits per day, a pretty cool boss who at the very least pretends to care about my well-being and some amazing friends who never hesitate to lend a shoulder to cry on–even from three time zones away. Some days, being a 23-year-old girl creeps up on you, and being a 23-year-old girl just plain sucks. But as long as what the LGBT community tells me holds some truth, it gets better.