It's Very Hard...

...to write personal things about oneself in a public forum.

I've Changed My Mind

Stay here. Tumblr and I still have some warming up to do.

It's Not Goodbye.

Perhaps because I'm immensely proud of the fact that this is my second post in one day, I'm going to try a little experiment to see if I can get myself blogging more often.

There's a new, hip kid in town, and his name is Tumblr. I learned about it from Julia Allison who I don't know, but whose blog I read quite regularly. That said, I do know Rachel Sklar, who knows Julia, so therefore, I'm not that creepy. (Not that reading a blog is creepy, because that would totally imply that you, my reader, are creepy, and you're totally not.) Anyway, it looks very user friendly, with big fat Mac-like icons, so I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, I'll start posting more often.

So, without further ado, until I tell you otherwise, and because I said so, check me out at http://verenasays.tumblr.com.

Adios!

How Many Times Do I Use The Word "Awesome" In This Post?

I clearly am no good at updating my own personal blog. But I do have plenty of news.

First up: Last post, I said I'd do a "Guide to Judging" follow-up for the menfolk. Well, while I didn't do it here, or even on hair, for that matter, I did do it on Manners, and over here, aka HuffPo, aka my-non-employer-that-I-still-"work"-for-that-I-wish-was-my-real-employer. Wait, this is a public blog. I didn't say that! I love my job! Do you see that, Boss? I LOVE MY JOB. Whew. That was a close one.

But back to the post: apparently people like to argue about manners.

(Some friendly advice? Don't bash men in ponytails in a public forum, particularly on the internet. Makes for unhappy commenters.)

That said, I'm happy to announce that I had a RECORD number of commenters. So, happy or unhappy, commenters - I love you!

Second up: In addition to my Bi-Weekly (or Semi-Monthly, if that helps) Style Column, I am about to embark on a very public, very weekly, and very spiritual journey. No joke!

Story as follows:

I'm humbly working away at my desk, when out of nowhere, Arianna Huffington calls me from her car! (OK, that's not really how it happened. There were Editors and Assistants involved and it was a Pre-Organized Conference Call, but whatevs, she was still in her car and she was still calling me, so that totes counts.) And what is it that Ms. Huffington could possibly want with me, one of her 2,500 strong army of minion(ette) bloggers? She wants me to chronicle my "spiritual journey" as a young, hip, 20-something female in New York. Whee! I'm young! I'm hip! But I'm totes not spiritual (nor am I on a journey, of any sort, for that matter).

But apparently that's a good thing! So, every Wednesday on the HuffPo Living page I will be posting, for all the world to see, My Spiritual Journey*. (Working Title. That said, ideas would be much appreciated. Arianna, and yeah, we're on a first name basis, likened it to Sex and the City, a la "Spirituality and the City", but that doesn't quite roll of the tongue the way you want it to.)

First step in my journey? Interviewing Sister Wendy. The cutest, most adorable, most hug-craving inducing old woman I have ever seen. (She's also the photo that I used to accompany this post. She's that cute. I can haz Sister Wendy?) Besides being a nun (which is kind of awesome in that "really, nuns still exist?" sort of way), she's also a totally awesome art historian with PBS-style books on tape that a lot of people grew up listening to. And she also just came out with a book on prayer that's supposed to be kind of awesome and as non-religious as a book on prayer can be.

So, let's give it up for Sister Wendy, who will be answering all my "How do I start a Spiritual Journey" questions, and hopefully, being an AWESOME start to My Spiritual Journey.

*Author's Note: I, in no way, mean to imply that I will actually get anywhere on this spiritual journey. Author is not accountable for any non-spiritual and/or poor moral choices made over the course of the journey. Also: expect some mockery and judgment. I am a blogger, after all!

This Blogger's Guide to Judging People (By Their Hair)...

...can be found right here.

Since there's a slight chance that people who read this blog know (or think they know) me better than my oh-so-loyal HuffPo readers, feel free to judge away here as well. Although, I don't think many of you need an invitation. (Snarky C-Man lovers: I'm talking to you.) I'll even post a bigger photo, if you need it - just say so in the comments!

Also, due to OVERWHELMING DEMAND (ha!), there will be a follow-up to this guide, namely: A Blogger's Guide to Judging Men (By Their Hair). And that will happen over here, so, stay tuned for that.

And lastly - to those of you that find themselves (or others) in my descriptions: You're probably right. Except those of you who are offended. Then, no, you're most definitely wrong.

Why I Might Not Hate Angelina Anymore

I used to have a serious vendetta against Angelina Jolie. (And I hesitate to use the past tense there because I'm pretty sure I'm still not sold on her.) But then I read this Esquire article (that I highly recommend you read before going any further, as otherwise I think you'll just be lost, because I'm too lazy to even try to summarize it for you), and it kind of changed my life. Not really. But, it did make me kinda, maybe, sort of like Angelina (a little bit).

Read it? OK.

Besides the relatively awkward and uncomfortable fawning the author does over her "moistness" (eeek...), the whole thing was really, really interesting. And well written, and refreshing. And really, the fact that she did that whole thing with the Asian tigers and the Asian Elephants (and the subsequent creation of the "largest elephant migration area in Asia"), and the Asian Millenium Village (which includes ten villages, 6,000 people, and 72 employees), all of which is directly paid for by Angelina and Brad, well, that stuff was pretty awesome.

Whew. Who knew? (Probably the bajillion people that actually read, or read about, this article back in July when it was published...)

In any case, I might have to retire my Team Aniston shirt. But don't worry, I won't be picking up any Team Jolie shirts (or any other Team shirts for that matter; I'm notoriously non-competitive. Unless we're playing Monopoly, or Connect Four, or Taboo, or any other board game really, but that's a whole other blog post.), because what I'm trying to say here, is that while I don't officially love her yet, I don't hate her any more.

And to boot, my whole "OMG, I, LIKE, TOTALLY HEART AJ NOW" moment was a little bit tempered by this Slate writer who apparently hated the article, [and probably hates Angelina, though to be fair, I did (do?) too.]

So, there.

Oh, and thanks to Jezebel for opening my eyes to this whole thing, and also writing about it in a far more original and coherent and interesting way.

I'm out.

Question:

Am I the last person on the face of the earth to realize that Razorlight is kind of awesome?

I'm In Desperate Need of Your Help (And Approval)

I've got news, people. BIG. NEWS.

I now have my own HuffPo Style column (a bi-monthly / every-other-week / whichever-one-sounds-more-frequent occurence), which, in my humble opinion, is quite shocking considering the Holy War I managed to start over this dude. (And no, it's not who you think it is! I told you: No More C-Man Posts.)

But, dear readers (and haters, and anona-commenters), I need your help in deciding the title of my column. So, send me your ideas, and in the meantime I'll pretend to do some brainstorming on my own, and to round it all out, I'll narrow it down and have a reader poll to decide what title wins. Kapish? Kapish.

Congratulations, me! Congratulations.

Also - feel free to throw out ideas for posts as well. I'm feeling pretty lazy.

Adios.

Say Hello To My Little Friend

Psst! I've figured out the secret to blogger fame:

Write about Constantine Maroulis.

But, since I have not had any more C-Man encounters, nor do I have any (apparently) recent photos, and, more importantly, I have neither enough admiration nor disdain for the man himself to warrant another post, I have dedicated this one to my favorite OTHER greek: Peter K. I'm not giving you his last name, but trust me, it's Greeker than yogurt and goats and My Big Fat Greek Wedding all rolled in one.

Also: He's cuter than C-Man, and a way better singer.

Peter loves Pete Wentz and hearts Ashlee, but only slightly less than he loves his BlackBerry Pearl. He's the hippest 'ster to have graced the streets of Chicago, and can bounce you past a line at Debonaire faster than you can say "Who? Me?". He gives great hugs, drives a Volvo with no A/C, and is true Hollywood royalty. On a more related note, he's also a fan of the Guest-Blogging genre, which is the point of this post, as I will be hopping on board with an appearance on his blog, Peter's Second Thought.

But most importantly, and less relevant to anyone who's not me, he's coming to visit soon! And then he will be mine! All mine!


This is Peter.

And this is Love.

I Spy, Part Deux:

UPDATE: And finally! The piece de resistance!

Constantine Maroulis, with a mystery blond, in line at the Pinkberry knockoff on 30th and 3rd. (Yes, Murray Hill. Rub it in, why don't you?)

Note: I have two fantastic and, more importantly, hilarious photos to post in here, but since Blogger has decided to call it a night (unlike the rest of us) and give me error messages like they're going out of style, the photos will have to wait. (Ugh. I can feel the comedic value decreasing exponentially as I type this. Although, some might argue that there wasn't that much to begin with. And those "some" might be blind. Have you seen the guy? Comedy gold, my friends, com-ed-y gold.)

UPDATE: Below: My raison d'etre. Am I laughing at him? I'll never tell.

I Spy:

Stacy's Mom / Rachel Hunter at the Gramercy Park Hotel. With fab hair.

...

And yes, I am aware that isn't exactly a photo of "Stacy's Mom", but she is wearing a red dress, no?

Back to the Middle (And Around Again...)

Regardless of my unabashed adoration for Rebecca Taylor, I did have the most fun backstage at her show. Amidst the expected chaos (that I did not witness at BCBG) were the usual suspects: celebrities, paparazzi, and late-to-the-show models.

After waiting patiently - and I say "patiently" only because relative to some model's hirsute and drunk (think poor-man's Cisco Adler) boyfriend, I was meeker than Ghandi - for my press credentials (credentials!) outside of the tent, I was whisked in for a quick interview with Rebecca Taylor herself.


(No, I don't work for BTE, nor is that my hand.)

Besides being the sweetest thing since FunDip, she was also gracious enough to ignore my awkward fumbling and answer a few of my poorly-posed questions. (Note To Self: Buy aforementioned IPOD recorder thingy. Notebook and pen not working. Note To Self #2: Become less awkward). And those "really great, high, sexy shoes" (in seriously awesome colors)? Voila!


I only had a few moments before Rebecca was (graciously) whisked away, and the backstage area got mobbed by paparazzi. Carmen and Emmy had arrived! Observations: Carmen is smaller than I expected. Emmy is taller. Both wore remarkable amounts of make-up, which, while not looking so hot in person, clearly photographed remarkably well.




More observations: Models have an uncanny ability to completely ignore the utter pandemonium surrounding them. Must be something about being in "the eye of the storm"...Either way, they still look pretty:


Also, straight from the pages of UsWeekly: MODELS: They're Just Like Us! (Translation: They like to stick their tongue out and make funny faces in photos, too. They just look better doing it.)


And on a final note: the model with the sunglasses on? She was, unfortunately, a perfect and highly cliched example of someone suffering from Bitchy Model Syndrome. Apparently, it was absolutely imperative that she have her sunglasses on in the photo, regardless of the fact that said sunglasses were still being unpacked. Woe the poor intern that received her wrath and dove through the mob to retrieve them!
The best part of it? At the afterparty later that night, while the show was being screened and I was pointing out Ms. I-Must-Have-My-Sunglasses to my friend, the girl next me gasps: "I'm the intern!"

What can I say? It's a small (fashion) world after all.

Like Leftover Stuffing

So, I totally get that the appeal of blogs is directly related to the immediacy of the medium as a whole, and that my complete and utter suckness at posting promptly is kind of like a black mark on the face of BlogLand and all it's inhabitants, but honestly, sometimes I think that, like leftover stuffing, a late post is better than no post, exponentially more delicious, and without a doubt, best nestled cozily between two slices of bread, alongside some carved turkey breast and cold mashed potatoes.

Also, anyone notice how "Stuffing" is a total play on the word "The Middle" (see BELOW if you're confused)? Because it is. And if you want to mock me for a) pointing out my own sucky pun or b) how sucky the pun is that I have to even point it out, go ahead. MOCK ME. At least I'll get a little action in the comments. Speaking of which, I know there are readers out there, and while I am most appreciative of those readers' silent appreciation, readers that aren't commenting aren't really readers at all. Comment people! To be or not to be? That is the question. And it's answer is: Comment, dammit! And I'll respond with more delicate witticisms and probing factoids and we can have a cyber-land utopia! (Um. Not reaaaaaaaally. But if that will get you to come out into the open, then so be it. Well, that or, I'll send you free stuff. Nothing like a little bribery, eh?)

And speaking of Canada, all you invisible peeps out there should check out my Emmy Red Carpet LiveBlog with two other AWESOME Canadian chicks, who have a much cooler and waaaaaay funnier social life than I do. We were all LiveBlog virgins, but I think we pulled off the "I've totally done this before" vibe quite nicely.

Oh, and to get back to the stuffing. This was supposed to be the post where I filled you in on my Fashion Week happenings (all two of them), but instead it meandered into a vaguely metaphorical and simile-full ramble. So, I'll get back to the stuffing later. Adios!

Somewhere in the Middle

I just noticed that there is a glaringly large gap between my "And It Starts..." beginning of Fashion Week post and my "Fashion Week Limbo" end of Fashion Week post. I'll fill in the details tomorrow (with photos!), once I'm off this plane and slightly more rested, and also at an actual keyboard, since I'm pretty sure I'm slowly but surely giving myself carpel tunnel.

Fashion Week Limbo (also known as JFK-British Airways Terminal)

There's nothing like an airport full of models (on their way to London from NY Fashion Week) to make a gal feel good. Particularly when said gal is in particularly grubby travel clothing covered in a particularly large amount of dog hair, nevermind the fact that due to both time and location limitations, said gal is on her second McDonald's meal of the day. If you haven't caught on yet, said gal is me and I am currently testing out mobile blogging as well as starting to curse the BlackBerry Pearl's double letter keys. This would be so much easier if I had a Sidekick.

Back to the models: A table full of them, laptops out (think they'd let me borrow one?), also chowing down on McD's, but looking exponentially more glamorous and glow-y while doing so, are less than ten feet away. It's like seeing exotic animals in their natural environment, or maybe like seeing exotic animals in a crappy airport terminal, but whatever. If I wasn't so certain that after this hell-ish week they were more tired and sick of camera's than I, I'd sack up and snap a few pics to add to this feeble post. Maybe snag some names and shows walked, but as it stands, I'm going to leave them alone. Models need time to eat and blog too, and far be it from me to separate anyone from their Big Mac.

A more potential prospect would be Noot Seear, who was in line ahead of me at McDonald's, and who I actually have a mild connection with, having gone to junior high with her cousin and having fond memories of using a bottle of Joico spray-in conditioner to detangle Noot's (then known as Renata, and what's up with model names anyway?) seventh grade tangles, one summer prior to her discovery in a mall in Bellingham. But, same rules apply as above, and though I have a tendency to hold random childhood memories close to my heart, most (especially now famous) people do not, as I've learned when running into former elementary school classmates who have no recollection who I am, while I could list their birthday, snack of choice, and desk location in class. Back to Noot, though: I am definitely friends with her cousin (my seventh and eighth grade friend) on Facebook. Does that make the connection more legit?

Ugh. Looks like it's time to board, and no, I'm not going to London for fashion week, so don't rub it in.

And It Starts.

Spent the morning yesterday backstage at BCBG. Yes, you heard me. Backstage. I'm that girl.

But before you get all these lofty images of me in your head, know that I showed up to Bryant Park about 30 minutes early, and did a thorough lap of the tents just to establish where exactly the Front was. (6th Ave, but seriously, it's not that easy.) Passed Rachel Clark coming around the South side of the tents looking far more certain of her destination than I was.

Met my friend Poppy Harlow, who was covering the show for CBS's ShowBuzz, as well as Forbes.com. We also had an interview scheduled with Merrill Greene, Creative Director of Style Sight, an online fashion resource site and trend forecasting company. Poppy whisked me backstage, where it looked exactly how you would picture it to look, minus about 10 degrees of pandemonium. I browsed the racks, trying to look as "I'm supposed to be here" as I could, and Poppy did her "HI! I'M POPPY HARLOW WITH CBSNEWS SHOWBUZZ.COM! AND WE'RE HERE, BACKSTAGE AT BCBG's SPRING-", you get the point.

I saw a couple of models (although, no Stam sightings, unlike Fashionista), and watched Poppy do her awesome thing with Max Azria himself:



Then I did my thing, which was a little less professional, a little more awkward, and involved me scribbling furiously in a notebook so that I might actually be able to use some of the quotes. (Note to Self: Get tape recorder. Or cool Mac thing that plugs into top of ipod and works as tape recorder.) Merrill Greene was insightful and gracious and gave me some wonderful fodder for a follow up to a previous post on the current hubbub going on about copyrights in the fashion industry.

And then it was 8:55 and I sprinted (I do actually have one of those day-jobs, that I do actually like, and hope to keep) out of the tents, passing Faran Krentcil on my way out, and in recognizing her face, thought I actually knew her, smiled and waved hello. She was polite enough, although slightly confused, so Faran, if you're reading this, that was me, nice to meet you, and yes, I'm usually this (that?) awkward.

All in all, an awesome, if early, morning, and check out my more official (and professional) post about the collection itself over on HuffPo.

Happy Fashion Week and Adios!

If I Were Cool, I'd Be Cooler About This.

But I'm not, so here goes.

You are now looking at (reading? looking at the blog of?) HuffPo's newest Roving Reporter for Fashion Week. Yes, I abitrarily capitalized Roving Reporter. And no, it's not really official. And yes, there will be about 98923749238742 billion other people posting about Fashion Week on HuffPo alone, but still! Let me have my moment.

What I'm trying to say is: keep your eyes peeled for my posts on the goings-on and the happenings-at this season's NY Fashion Week. I will be stealthily and intrepidly infiltrating the toughest door lists and coolest shows. (And by toughest door lists and coolest shows, I mean, a show here and there, and maybe a party that I snuck into through the kitchen entry. And if I do actually make it anywhere cool, it's all thanks to my actually cool and actually in-the-know friend, Poppy.)

Enough self-deprecation. I suppose this is one of those times where I'm supposed to create (or live up to) some sort of blogger persona. You know, where the blogger is actually a much cooler and more confident, and more or less fictional version of their real selves? Well I say, Nay! I will not! I will be myself. My own super-self-aware, hyper analytical, moderately funny, almost-cool-but-not-quite-but-really-it-depends-on-who-you're-talking-to-and-what-night-and-what-outfit-and-how-many-drinks-deep-i-am self. Whew. Did you follow that? Congrats.

What I'm trying to say is that the posts will be ME. And funny. And original (I hope). And I'm also hoping that maybe someone will actually use the word "irreverent" to describe them. Only because I like that word and am usually quite jealous of people who get described by it. And yes, I do know that it doesn't necessarily mean something particularly complementary (especially if you're talking to anyone particularly religious), but it sounds cool. And funny. (Both of which are my goals), so, THERE.

Here's to irreverence!

I heart Excel

So, I'm not sure if this is cheating or not, but since my HuffPo blog references this one, I don't see why this one can't reference HuffPo.

I guess that really I'm just trying to make this look less "relatively sparse".

A while ago, (a solid 2 weeks, if you will), I had my debut entry on The Huffington Post or HuffPo for short. It was my version of a social commentary on Nicole Richie, and how I kind of love her, and by love her, I mean obsess over her headscarves and then mock her mercilessly to my co-workers. Oh, and the social commentary part comes in when I start mocking the rest of young Hollywood. Take a look.

HuffPo blog post Numero Duo is my other version of a social commentary (hmmm...do I need a new theme?) on fashion, and by that I mean, I mock Courtney Love, Karl Lagerfeld, and George W. all in one post. Don't believe it? See for yourself.

Told you!

In any case, before this all gets a little too self-referential (and I'm pretty sure that if this was in Excel, I'd be getting a "CIRCULAR REFERENCE" error message right about now), I'm going to stop, and play some Rummikub.

I'm on vacation in Florida, people! And, as they say, when in Rome...

El Posto Numero Uno

Gracias, yo se mi Espagnol es awesomeo.

I have never taken a lick of Spanish, and I'm pretty sure I just made that up, but if it was even close to right, you can thank me later. De Nada. And at this point I'll have to give thanks to my one and only illustrious Mentor de Espagnol, Lindsay, and credit her with my first lesson:

"El Safe-o, Spanish for 'The Safe'".

Having concluded the educational portion of this post, I guess I'll start it now. (See what I did there?! I tricked myself into writing. I'm so sneaky. And really now, I'm pretty much in the middle of this post, so I just have to figure out a way to end it.)

Except, now all this self-awareness and post-modernism and tricksy writing tricks have given me a bit of stage fright. But at least I got the first one out there...somewhere. (I love "An American Tail", and were it not for aforementioned stage-fright, I would probably burst into song, right here and now.)

And on that note (ha!),

Adios.