How often are you in the same room as Oprah and Liz Lemon?

Rarely, if ever.

Except I WAS, on Monday, when I attended the New York Women in Communications' Matrix Awards honoring outstanding women in obviously, the field of communications.

There were loads of interesting folks there, even some men, and I have to say: I left completely rejuvenated and excited about living and working in New York.

It's not secret- is it?- that I vaguely, or sometimes more specifically amongst my friends, threaten to move, but I'm still here. Obviously, I can't give up the city if I haven't yet shipped my boxes yet and had my last Levain's cookie.

Which, speaking of, I indulged in today. SWEET PEACHES. If there is a ever a cookie worth $4, this is it. And I don't make such proclamations lightly, by any means. I'm cheap to a fault but GOOD LORD, we could all use a dark chocolate chocolate chip cookie every now and then.

And now, I still have chocolate on my wrist, and I did everything but lick the inside of the paper bag about 6 hours ago. It should have been demoralizing and was borderline criminally vulgar how much I was enjoying that cookie, sauntering down Broadway. It fell apart in my hand, completely soft and warm, and I had no shame about making a complete mess.

I had to duck into Sabon for a complementary handwash. The saleswoman was helping someone else and briefly acknowledged my walking over the large sink in the middle of the store and offered me some new jasmine soap, completely understanding when I showed her my hand, and said: "Sorry. I just came from Levain's."

Truthfully, I looked a bit like this. In honor of two great New York days, full of inspirational and hilarious women and decadent chocolate cookies, I give you something unfortunately too close to home.

Goodbye to All That...Not Yet

"You see I was in a curious position in New York: it never occurred to me that I was living a real life there. In my imagination I was always there for just another few months, just until Christmas or Easter or the first warm day in May. For that reason I was most comfortable with the company of Southerners. They seemed to be in New York as I was, on some indefinitely extended leave from wherever they belonged, disciplined to consider the future, temporary exiles who always knew when the flights left for New Orleans or Memphis or Richmond or, in my case, California. Someone who lives with a plane schedule in the drawer lives on a slightly different calendar."

-Joan Didion, "Goodbye to All That"

If you ever want to know what it's like for someone my age and gender and of similar upbringing in New York -beyond my own self-involved moaning and virtual scowling- then it would behoove you more than I can ALL BUT SCREAM AT YOU to click on the above link and read Ms. Didion's essay about her decision to leave the city after eight years in her twenties.

The bold line (my own emphasis)- well, yes, I agree. Sometimes, okay, most of the time, I feel like I'm wasting my time here, that I have yet to make any substantial strides in my career, and that my living here has all been for naught. My time in NYC is a blip on the screen until I move onto something real, something worthier than online laments and nail-biting episodes.

But: my garganelli with three cheeses, lardon, and crimini mushrooms I ate last night here was VERY REAL INDEED. Or rather, the indelible mark they left on my hips is. My life has certainly improved, NAY, changed.

Sweet peaches, I cannot strenuously encourage you enough to partake in a meal at said restaurant, followed by a little Didion to cleanse the palette. And leave you perhaps just refreshed enough to dine on some king cake on the go the following morning. Just perhaps, rhetorically of course.

Gone Corporat'

Please be aware the following post contains A LOT of ALL-CAPS used to convey an elevation in pitch and increase in sound should this actually be spoken.

The receptionist I am helping out this week probably wonders why every time she looks over I am munching on a prepackaged bowl of Corn Pops (not the bowl itself, you understand, but the delicious, delicious cereal) or chewing a piece of gum or sipping on another cup of coffee or Snapple. This place has A FULLY STOCKED KITCHEN with every sort of carbonated drink you can fathom, zillions of types of coffee, scads of granola bars, and other snacks. AND I get to order breakfast AND lunch. She meanwhile delicately chews her watermelon or swallows her flax oil pill while I am ravaging another snack option, one definitely full of high-fructose corn syrup and most likely, trans fats.

I HAVE NOT SEEN THIS MUCH FOOD IN YEARS! YEARS, I TELL YOU! It's kind of like the kids you knew in high school whose parents were overly strict, and then they went to college with all this BOOZE and BOYS and ADDERALL and the next thing you know, there's a special on Oprah about What Went Wrong after a notable incident involving gardening shears, the neighbors' pet llama, and a vat of absinthe. It boils down to: LACK OF SELF CONTROL.

All this food is marvelous to have around, particularly since my main physical exertion these days comes from standing up in the shower, but I am so sluggish from the sugar coursing through my veins that my neck lolls back, and I'm standing there slack-jawed under the water.

So praise the Lawd that this place has A GYM! WITH ELLIPTICALS AND DUMBBELLS!

Of course, I won't be visiting said center of physical activity, but it's nice to know these larger companies have options. Options that nourish me and then help me burn off excess calories. It's enough to make me want to go corporate.

See ya, deepest ambitions and creative aspirations. Who needs you when I've got Cocoa Puffs and the inner thigh machine that makes me feel like I'm at the gynecologist?

Let's file this under "Another Reason Why I am Like Liz Lemon"

Let the Wedding Season Begin!

I'm headed back down south this weekend for a good friend's wedding, and let's be frank, my share of Sonic happy hours, Chick-fil-a milkshakes, driving as much as I can, and I would say relaxing but seeing as how I am technically unemployed, I might need to work on elevating my heart rate.

The wedding is undoubtedly my first priority as the occasion marks a reunion of not only my Memphis friends but also my college friends. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that people (those not living in New York) expect us (those living in New York) to somehow become more stylish, more self-possessed, able to pull off foolish trends with remarkable aplomb.

Thankfully, I won't be wearing harem jeggings (if there are such a thing, I'm sure only Kate Moss can pull them off) to make what is essentially, my post-collegiate debut. But I still haven't found anything.

Except this:

{via Roberto Cavalli}

Pink! Leopard print! One shoulder! And, the one I really want (and couldn't find a photo) but would have to live in Grand Central for a couple of months is loooonnnggg, to the floor.

But isn't it Pretty-with-a-capital-P? The long dress really brings out the inner-grandmother-in-Boca in me who would like nothing better than to lounge around in floor length caftans and red lipstick while listening to Marvin Gaye, sipping on gin and tonics while neglecting the household duties.

In the meantime, PRESSURE ON. And: heart rate elevated.

Everything's Fried Here in Memphis*

*like this:

{not sure this is what The Hold Steady meant}

what I will soon be consuming with great relish and frequency

MMMMMM...

This time tomorrow, I will be in Memphis. I'm headed home for a quick jaunt of a long weekend. 

Hurrah. I can't wait to see my friends, family, even dog, visit this new spot by my house, eat here, and of course, transition my winter wardrobe into my remaining spring clothes that are still in my closet at home.

Here's to me making it back in one piece. Cheers until then!

How Much Do You Want for the Golden Goose?

I was somehow voted "Most Likely to Be Famous" by members of my college graduating class. I'm still bewildered, but it seems my peers' prophecy has come true. Check it out:

photo: Chester Higgins, Jr./New York Times

Yes, that's me, and my friend, Amy. She's the super chic one in the khaki trench, and I'm the one to the left pointing out the 17 varieties of M&Ms at Economy Candy. [The toggle coat adds 25 lbs. Or rather, I am probably carrying a little extra bulk on account of my sugar intake.] But look who made the front page of the "New York Times": this girl!

We were interviewed a week ago Sunday about the increase in candy consumption during the recession. How appropriate! I seem to continually circle back to my one-sided affair with anything sugar-related on this blog.  Apparently, I'm not the only one preoccupied with my sweet teeth these days.

Theories vary on exactly why. For many, sugar lifts spirits dragged low by the languishing economy. For others, candy also provides a nostalgic reminder of better times. And not insignificantly, it is relatively cheap.

“People may indulge themselves a little bit more when times are tough,” said Jack P. Russo, an analyst with the Edward Jones retail brokerage in St. Louis. “These are low-cost items that people can afford pretty easily."

And thanks to all who have texted, emailed, gchatted, facebooked, called, harrassed, poked, telegrammed, sent a messenger owl, etc. to me to alert me of my newfound fame. As Amy said, "this must be what Angelina Jolie feels like." 

If you have any further questions, would like to inquire about public appearances, or are interested in signing me to a candy endorsement deal, then all future correspondence will here on out be directed to my publicist, Lorraine Hornswaggle.

When Economy Sours, a Tootsie Roll Can Still Soothe the Soul [New York Times]

In Which Our Protagonist Decides to Give up Sugar:

I realize most of my entries heretofore have regarded food- not New York or the south, nor my quest for employment, nor my deep interest in pop culture. My one-sided love affair with sugar is well-documented, my slavish adoration of the thigh-thickening additive noted. And so, yes, I have a problem, and before my rarely-visited doctor tells me I'm prediabetic and I need hypnotism, let's nip this in the bud. Healthy choices and changes from here on out, more fruits, more vegetables, less hot chocolate at work, less candy, and less cereal. 

And so in honor of Lent which incidentally happens to coincide with the time space in which I am considering jumpstarting some sort of heavy detox, let's devote some final moments to my favorite piece of sugar: the Girl Scout cookies.

Like Detroit carmakers and Wall Street Bankers, the young troops are also in financial straits. 

So do your part for the economy and buy some tasty treats from your local troop. Should you reside in the greater Manhattan area, follow the link to get your sugar fix.

This is Why I Might Have to Get Gastric Bypass

My lack (often perceived, I admit) of funds has mainly impacted my eating habits insofar as I don't keep a lot of food around (because I'm not buying it), I've become much more inventive with the available edibles (sweet potatoes and syrup: gluttonous or brilliant? Delicious!), and I tend to become preoccupied to an unhealthy extent with certain foods.

Last week, I may or may not have contacted the Girl Scouts to determine where I could purchase some tasty Samoas during the off-season. 

Thanks to this gluttonous? brilliant? blog, no longer will I research any and all recipes incorporating bacon with goat cheese. No more will I neglect my continuous employment investigation to create a color-coordinated excel spreadsheet to help a friend determine what New York restaurants she and her parents will enjoy when they visit- in 3 months. 

As Lizzie McGuire once sang, this is what dreams are made of, if your moments of nocturnal bliss involve salivating over sloppy joes atop a Krispy Kreme doughnut. Or if you can't wait until the day when you, too, finally, can start monitoring insulin injections, then here's a blog for you.

Thanks to this, my craving for tasty Girl Scout cookies may have passed, even though the higher ups still haven't responded to my query for Tagalongs in January.  

[This is Why You're Fat. Where Dreams Become Heart Attacks]

IAQ- the Anniversary Version

It's official. I've been in New York four months as of yesterday. So in celebration of my being clothed, fed, and housed, here's another installment of reader mail.

What's the best thing you've eaten yet?

Just give a minute, sorry. I have a very visceral response to food. It's a tie: Macaroni and cheese with lardo and truffle butter or the Marzipan Nutcracker doughtnut. Oh gosh, I have to stop thinking about it. 

And the worst?

Easy. Whatever gave me food poisoning in October. Traumatic.

Who's the best celebrity you've seen yet?

Kristen Wiig. She's no Tina Fey, but she's hilarious nonetheless.

Moment you most felt like a New Yorker?

Last week when I walked through the sewer steam thinking it would help me warm up only to smell like evaporated urine. I also felt dumb.

For further inquiries, have your people contact my people. Inane publicity requests will be ignored, but gifts of Cadbury eggs and Skittles help your cause. 

Are you Hungry Tonight?

I haven't purchased any necessary groceries since before Christmas so my the pickings from my pantry are slim, and usually I suffer through the hunger as I'm not really inspired to demonstrate my culinary prowess using only balsamic vinaigrette, peanut butter, and pancake mix. Except tonight. I'm crawling into bed, nearly comatose from my Crumbs 'King' cupcake. It's January 8, and any good Memphian knows what today is: why, it's Elvis's birthday of course! In commemoration of the late, great jumpsuit-wearing, cloud-moving, hip-swiveling King of Rock 'n' Roll, a favorite bakery of scads of New Yorkers is serving up a specialty cupcake of his favorite staples: peanut butter and banana. No bacon though. It's probably for the best. I might end up looking a little bloated and sweaty, much like this: