watch my closet grow

After taking some time to think about my new life in magazine publishing I've decided that shopping for this job is going to be the best yet! I love shopping, but you knew that. I finally have a job where I have an image to maintain. Yes, yes I know it's lame to buy into an image, but what I mean is that magazine girls are suppossed to be uber glamourous and have wonderous wardrobes. I can't protest to either of these unproven theories.

Back to my point. I can't wait to start shopping. Unemployment has barred me from my usual amount of clothes purchasing so getting back in the swing of things will be nice. I can make purchases without having to wonder if I'll be able to afford the bus in three days (yes friends, i have a very poor relationship with money). So a few choice items I'm after:

-a gray cardigan from Anthropologie
- short/silk shift dress from In Lieu
-a Hermes belt (black)
-teal peep toes (damn me and those peep toes)
-a white pencil skirt
-A NEW BAG! (omg ya'll it's been 4 yrs. in the making, I deserve it)

I guess it goes without saying my salary has increased. Well, it doesn't really go without saying, because even at my most broke moments I was still shelling out my pathetic pennies on clothes I couldn't afford. The point is I have to be someone the sartorialist would take a photo of, I have to be someone Kim will blog about and say how fashion savvy I am, I have to be, "the hot slut of San Francisco." eww ok, not so much that last part...

Yay clothes

east end boys/west end girls

Amidst all of the insane excietment, I'm feeling a bit of angst over my trip to New York.

-I fear that I will not be stylish enough
-I won't have e-mail access for five (jesus), five days

Let us first address this whole issue of style. I visited the Sartoralist a few moments ago only to virtually relive the excitement that is Manhattan style. I've been stressing for about two weeks as to what I will wear. I have a giant fear of looking very L.A. Granted I haven't lived in Southern California for a few years now, so I've managed to sloth off the burning desire to parade around town in Juicy track suits, short skirts, all things hot pink, and flip flops at all hours of the day. But sometimes my SoCal casual cool will make an occassional appearance. I also fear seeing too "San Francisco"--we've discussed women and fashion in this city. Then I hope to not look too "touristy." I hate those types. Where you can tell someone pulled out all of their bests for the trip. They, in turn, end up looking insanly put together and the whole look falls apart. I'm sure I'll be fine. I bought a new pair of flats for walking. They are red! I love red shoes. I hope the NY sidewalk feels the same way.

Second point of contention--no emailing. Perhaps I am on my way to becoming a technology obsessed New Yorker. I've become a slave to e-mail and as soon as I score myself a new job, I'll be ditching my RAZAR phone for some obnoxious handheld internet device. I've been sending over 20 emails a day and receiving about the same number. I think this is bad as I've always claimed to enjoy speaking with people in real time. Whatever the case, I'm a little concerned that I'm so worried about not being able to read my email until Sunday when I see Noah. I'm going to stop typing about it, it's giving me chest pains. I never know who could be emailing...it could be the Pope Eggs Benedict for all I know! I think I'll be fine...I hope I'll be ok. Laura, what do you think?

So back to the excitement part--I really don't know where to begin. One more worry and this is a big one...I fear that I won't want to return.

*btw banker and i are totally dunzo! over. that's it. no more marina man. blah. this my friends, is why we never give the puppy a name. i didn't allow you to get to close to him. perhaps deep down i know it was never going anywhere but down in flames with the rest of the marina? hee hee

BUI (blogging under the influence)

I never blog after I'm fresh off of an evening of drinking. Things change, right? Well I had an eventful evening --so far i've made abou 10 mistakes, but managed to correct them all0--drunk blogging is not good.

I'm a little annoyed with our beloved Hottender...oh that reoccuring character (who has , I'm sure, somehow found a ink to my blog and now knows what i say and this could be the reasion for the demise of our date number two...whateves). He has successfully frustrated me as usual. This is no secret. I will have to touch on it tomorrow. I'm too sleepy. But you will all be glad to know that I have bangs again! yay.

Happy Friday

fabulous/jobless (one in the same)

I must preface this entry by saying I have blogged...well I have about 7 drafts waiting to be completed. Thus I have not completely abandonded the world of chuntress.blogspot.

I believe that despite the fact that I'm jobless, per se, I've never been more social, more busy, and more excited about everything (except boys). I have successfully completed week 2 of joblessness and to be quite honest it's been so englightening. I'm starting to think more about my future, I've become more atuned to detail, I'm asking myself real questions about my life, and I'm meeting tons of new people. Last week was a whirlwinde of meetings. Not sure if you're aware, but I've taken on the exciting position of Campaign Manager for my friend. At 23, she has been nominated for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's 2007 Woman of the Year event (seriously, I think I type that phrase 43 times a day, yes, 43). I'm deep into it and working hard at helping her win, raise money, and pull off one of the most exciting nights San Francisco has to offer (tickets $50 see me if you want one and I know you do because you love card games and free booze).

Do you like my mixed in advertising? NO? shame on you!

So that's what is going on with me. Oh wait the banker has not called since 4/10 and I'm almost over it. Ego bruised, nonetheless. I met with this amazing pr woman last week, I met with an equally amazing creator of this high-end baby product (noodle & boo...go get it). For someone without a job I'm busy. I like this. I really do think that letting go of what felt secure was the best decision I've made all year! Join me in my celebration and let's get back to some real blogging--no more of this pumping myself up to be the HSL of the day.

c'mon, crack me a smile

I cannot believe I have gone this long without talking about that fateful night...the night when I saw Mickey Avalon in le flesh. God, save me.

Now I knew seeing Mickey would be great. I knew I loved Mickey. But I had no idea that his naked crack would make me so excited! Crass? Yes, but oh so true.

As Mickey paraded onto the stage at Mezzanine--which is one of the skaniest places in SF--he donned his signature skinny jeans & studded belt. Because it was a chilly evening in the city he was complete with a mesh tank top (blech), a leather jacket (very similar to the one I own), and a maroon beanie to cover his luxurious curly's. I was taken aback by his nasal voice, his cockiness and the way he moved his little body. Mickey is somewhat femmie, which i guess is to be expected considering he spent some time as a male prostitute. I'm usually not a girl who's into femmie guys, but this one sends me over the top.

As the show began he sashayed across the stage, strategically removing articles of clothing until he was down to his jeans and black Converse. This kid is appropriately
tattooed and doesn't wear any panties (my favorite). As he poured water on the top of his head and let it trickle down it was apparent that he was drunk (and blown out of his mind I'm sure. I had hoped to get much closer to the stage, but unfortunately the rude concert-goers were shoving, pushing, and the like--certainly not a safe place for a lady!

It goes without saying that I feel deeper in love with Mickey after seeing
him, and his butt, in the flesh. I still stand by my claim that he looks like an old Jewish lady, but there's something about his confidence and his crass behavior that makes him obnoxiously desirable. His eyeliner was thick and his sweat was dripping. Typically I'd say "ew" to a man who pulled this garbage, but he began singing So Rich, So Pretty...sigh and I knew I could never go back. Back to those days before Mickey Avalon. I'd totally hit that! 'ya just a boy Mickey, ya just a toy Mickey..

birthday backwash

As I made clear in Sunday's post, yesterday was my 24th birthday. I'm sure it goes without saying that I was excited for the annual event (kind of like a good sale). However the turned out to be less than exciting--it gave me some of the worst anxiety ever. I will say this while, I continued to describe my celebration day as "the worst day ever," that isn't true. I hit a major bump which really put a damper on my day. I think I will remember my 24th birthday as one of the most "emotional days of my life." I cried alllllll day. It's not fair for me to call it "the worst" because so many people did such nice thing for me. Let's reflect on it:

*large bouquet of sunflowers from Wendy Lohan & Jen (coworkers/friends)
*adorable and sweet card from "Blaura," David & Oscar
*ice cream party at work, complete with a very "Glamour Girl" b-day card
*email from Amanda aka Ray Wonder & W
*cupcake and sweet card from Kate (my current housemate)
*birthday story from Mommy (she tells it every year)
*calls from Aunt Lisa, Aunt Becky, Nanny (grandmother), Joseph (my brother), my Dad, Paul Batista, Christina, Melissa, Yuki, Vanessa, Chris
*and I saw Mickey Avalon on Friday with Shena

So amisdt what seemed like complete mayhem, I was still treated like a true queen (not a bitchy homo queen or a drag queen, but a queen with a crown and servants)! I actually believe that the day's trouble somehow managed to make everything stand out so much more. And that's good. Welcome 24 with new wisedom and a greater appreciation for the little things (they really do go far). I think yesterday's treats also helped me to realize how many good people I have in my life...and I must be honest, I often forget.

p.s. I have a dinner date tomorrow and I will be back in full regalia to report on that. I'm going out with le banker (you should know about him).

tomorrow tomorrow, i'll love you tomorrow

I didn't blog once the entire month of march. Oh well.

Tomorrow is my BIRTHDAY!!!! Wish me lots and lots of love (and presents)...

and the oscar goes to....

Coming to the realization that I have just spent the last 4 hours of my life watching "the biggest night in Hollywood," is somewhat disturbing. I've just used of 4 useful hours,that I won't be getting back, watching people collect naked, bronze statues. I decided this evening, about half way through the program, that the Oscars are boring. They are boring in a Saks Fifth Avenue sort of way. It seems glamorous, people always rave about it, it's a big deal within it's world, but at the end of the day it's dull.

I didn't see very many of the nominated films this year, so I prided myself on watching for the fashion. It was much better than the 2005 Oscars...gasp. Cameron Diaz looked a dream and Reese was a gem. I'm sure my gossip blogs will be all about the Oscars and the drama of post-ceromony parties (Vanity Fair) tomorrow. I have nothing to say about winnings. I though they were fair and rightly distributed. Actors work hard--they also play hard, get paid well, and rack up loads of free stuff in the week before the event.

The Oscars bore me. I'll watch next year, comment on the dresses, the movies and no doubt, complain that I have waisted four (or more) hours of my life. The end.

choice language of champions

I'm convinced that a short month robs bloggers of the will to post---makes them lose motivation. That drive, that deep burning desire to blog is somehow lost...or bloggers are too busy boozing and bitching verbally to scribe all of those fascinating things going on in their lives, non?

So anyhoo (mmm), I'm back, in full force pulsating with positive (ha) energy. As you, my dear readers, know I am absolutely taken by the opposite sex. I love the manipulate my situations with men, laugh about them, cry about them, analyze them, and go on about how things "could've happened." And as most of you know I like to give most of the men in my life pseudonyms---It makes things more interesting. Real names are boring and I hate boring.

That said, real chitter chatter with men is on the edge of boring. Thanks to carefully studying the language of guys I have decided to adopt that language and begin talking to them they way they talk to me (or us if you've ever experienced this). A few choice phrases include (but are not limited to):

a) You're so yummy (smile)
b) Get your sexy lil' ass over here (with a somewhat disgusted look on your face--as though you're annoyed)
c) You don't even know what you're doing to me right now, it's fuckin' crazy
d) I'm just so into it (said while biting lip)
e) Ugh. I just love your face
f) Yeah I bet (to follow a statement that he's made...make him seem really special and be sure to cut your eyes at him when saying this)
g) Let me look at you
h) --silence-- (it's so very male and so very golden)

*feel free at any time to add "right now." this makes everything so in the moment and they will love it.

I imagine that most men will be put off by this language and will, in turn feel challenged (which I guess is ok). But just think of how much fun it will be to watch a man react to this shit? I mean they want us to swoon (Clueless speak) over this sort of thing, so are we ladies wrong for wanting the same thing? I'll report back and tell you how my "sexylil' ass" is doing with this new "venture."


*do you think this kind of behavior explains why i'm still single? i vote yes...hahaha

yeah girl...

I strolled into work today after a very eventful weekend. A part of me is still riding the weekend wave. I had a visitor--Shena. I've spoken of her in the past, you're familiar.

I haven't had that much fun in San Francisco since...ever! As always we brought the crazy in high doses. Going to a bar in blonde wigs and false eyelashes had to be most notable event of the weekend...that is if you don't include calling Shena's ex (who we secretly believe is God), having a cuddle night with Hotender, Fag Friday's at the End Up, singing Mickey Avalon incessantly, photo shoots in the bathroom of that Ambassador, Pulp Fiction and Coronas, delirium at the sight of Saturday morning cartoons, considering a GG Bridge jump, and talking enough shit to fill the sewers of San Francisco. Below are a few photos for your enjoyment. I must say, I was really sad for her to leave. You know that I get sad when my guests leave. But this time I felt like a "liddo" piece of me was gone. I love my friend...because she's a "not a Marina gal!

scrub scrub

While I was certainly suffering from a case of the Monday blues yesterday, I managed to find some solace in the spa with a full body scrub and mask. As a result of my new freelancing gig, I've been awarded with lots of free product and tenement.

Upon my arrival I was delightful greeted by a nice woman who instantly offered me a glass of champagne. I gladly accepted the offer. I slithered out of my clothes and my skivvies and into a plush terry robe (haha..see previous post). I made my way to the ladies waiting room where there sat brie and crackers, sliced cucumbers, grapes, and brownies! After a few moments of noshing, Rhonda my specialist arrived. She greeted me and gave me a run down of how things would work...this is the exciting part...

Rhonda guided me into a room that was much like a cave. I positioned myself face up on a platform (draped, so my goods were covered--no Britney moments here). I was then slathered with a cranberry scrub from neck to toes. This was followed by a warm rinse and application of a pomegranate-honey mask. Rhonda then left the room and I sat alone as my cave filled with steam. So, knowing this treatment was all natural, I opened my eyes, looked around to make sure i was alone and had a taste of the mask..hahahaha. I felt a bit silly, but soon the ceiling began to rain (it lasted for 3 minutes) and rinsed me. After my rinse, I made my way to an alcove where warm towels, my robe and citrus shea butter waited for me. Rhonda arrived and offered up another glass of bubbles, I said, "yes, please." So, while most of Monday was dismal, it came to a pleasant end. I am now an even more firm believer in the power of a good scrub and a spa day.

FUTURE ADVICE: Invoke your inner "rich, white lady" and make your way to the nearest spa as soon as you feel your Monday blues approaching.

cow branding

i'm not really into cow branding, although if it helps someone pick out a better piece of steak than let's do it. i'm kidding!

i'm the cow, and i need to be branded. i don't know who even reads this blog anymore, but if you know what's been going on with me as of late, you are well aware of some of my outside projects and my hope to become a big name in the mktg./publicity world. so i'm currently doing some freelance work for a style website, and i've also adopted (not black babies) some freelance publicity projects. i'm a girl on the go--attending events, sucking down cocktails, and networking. and regardless of my pathetic checking account, i'm seemingly fabuloous (tooting of the horn...awww beep beep awww toot toot).

any who, i need to be branded. i'm sticking my butt out so stamp a seal on it! i need a website, i need a logo, or a sexy design, a treo, and a new handbag (my bag is so tired). ok, maybe i don't really need the last two that badly, but i need to up my contacts list and get recognized. if i want prime san francisco property, a winter condo in palm springs, and a black AMEX i need to get on this. if you have any ideas for branding, please send them over. this is my new project and i want your help, cuz i luuuuuh you!

black babies are the new birkin

If this is true than I can get rich pretty easily. Black babies seem to be a hot comodity in Hollywood. So, if I pop out a few does that mean that I'll reap the monetary benefits of well tanned offspring? Probably not, because at the rate I'm going my children won't be pure breed, since I don't date very many black men. They'll be muts, so I won't get as much money for them...damn.

This brings me to my next topic of discussion. I've been dating more. I've been going out more. Which means, I've been drinking more (my liver runs marathons). But back to the first point. I've been dating more. Now I had a date back in August and the follow (or lack thereof) was wretched. However, I met a gem--Southern Hottie--and we reconnected last weekend. Exquisite, I tell you. I also managed to sneak in a dinner date on a school night with "Apple." Apple is cute and, despite Nicholas's contempt for Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Apple resembles him (J.R.M, not Nicholas). Any who, while I have had no shame in expressing my wish for a boyfriend, I like dating right now, it's fun.

My mother thinks this is obsurd and I should, "wait on God" and that SF is filled with weirdos. I came back at her by stating that people in Riverhell do the same thing, only they meet at TGI Friday's. To be honest, I don't really care if she thinks dating is crazy. Someday, my date will become my claim to fame. Because he will assist me in producing an impure blood line and we'll get rich off of it. While black babies are the new birkin, half black babies well become the new vintage chanel.

dining in fantasyland

New methods are always welcomed if you ask me and that is why I took Bart to work (that and I can't afford gas). Taking Bart isn't exactly new for me, but it never ceases to refresh. Over the weekend my October issue of Elle arrived so I toted it along today for riding reading material.

After reading this article about "not-so-perfect" wifery, I came across a really cool Q&A with CFDA Womenswear Designer of the year, Costa del Soul. They asked him "Who are your fantasy dinner party guests?" What a great question. I marveled at this. His answer: Picaso, Maplethorpe, Diana Vreeland, Elizabeth Taylor, Harry Potter, Louis Armstrong, and Diana, Princess of Wales.

All day I've been thinking of my fantasy dinner party guests...I think I have an idea of who I would invite.

-Truman Capote (that's a given--damn he was a partygoer & he could hold his liquor)
-Audrey Hepburn
-Mary Shelley
-Billie Holiday (for sassy entertainment)
-Diane von Furstenburg
-Johnny Depp (he's nice to look at)
-Coco Chanel
-Andre Leon Talley
-Humbert Humbert
-Yves Klein (i love blue)
and
-a few of my refined friends (but that's not fantasy)

Before meeting in a grand dining room--the one with 12 ft. ceilings, brocade dining chairs and a table fit for a queen--we'd lounge around the sitting room on decade sitting poufs, drinking Campari, sidecars & manhattans--maybe even Veuve Rose, while enjoying canapes for hors d'overs, and talk about two of my favorite things--literature and fashion! Tres magnific...Can I move to fantasy land?

baggage claim

I've just finished packing for my weekend "get away." It's not much of a get away, but another one of my listless trips down south. It seems that lately I have had some trouble with packing. What was once my favorite part of trip preparation, I now dread.

I've packed the essentials: bras, panties, p.j.'s, tolietries--shorts, a few tops, and some dresses, and sandals. I've also packed an option for going out, accessories, heels, jeans. And despite what I see in the mirror, I mustered up the courage to pick a swimsuit and my big floppy hat. When I placed those two items in my bag, I sort of wished that's all I was bringing. I would have loved to fill a carry-on canvas bag with tunics, swimsuits, sunscreen, a dress, the essentials, a floppy hat, my journal and two good books.

It's not news that whats in your bag sort of determines where you are headed. But I think if my bag included the latter (and just that), I'd be in for a much more relaxed weekend. I guess this isn't much about what's in my bag, but my hopes that my weekend is not an on-going party, or 4 days of get togethers. I really hate that. Then I come back just as I left, tense. So here's hoping that by startegically placing the swimsuit, tunic, and floppy hat into my bag, I've won favor with the get away gods and I can enjoy a few days at their altar of nothingness.

what say you?

Don't you love how no matter which of Shakespearian plays you choose to read someone says, "what say you"? I find it rather endearing...I think I'm going to borrow it from Willy for a while.

So what say you to this...

I have begun giving some thought to my high school reunion, despite the fact that it's 5 years away. I plan on going. I know most people choose to sit theirs out, but I feel mine will be worth attending (I just hope people show up). I'm looking forward to hearing everyone's stories about what they've done, where they attended college, how many children they have, their jobs etc. In high school I was rather bitchy and didn't care too much about other people unless it meant my trumping on their happiness and seeing them wallow in disappointment because I was right and they were wrong. I've changed....a little. Regardless of the circumstances I'm going to wow the pants off of those kids with this story.

I will waltz into some dingy hotel ballroom, clad in a Zac Posen frock and a pair of Loboutin's. I will have a date no doubt, but he won't be a boyfriend. Rather, my date will be some fantasical being who does cool things like design websites, indulge in chi chi chocolates and tell me that the term "maven" is not gender specific. After collecting my name tag and a glass of champagne--it won't be Veuve Clicquot, Dom or Perrier-Jouet, so I won't be pleased, but will sip anyway--I will make my rounds. Then in all of my splendor I will begin to tell the story of how I went to Madonna's tour (Vegas, Memorial Day Weekend, 2006). She saw me because I had floor seats and invited me (and Ralph) to come on the stage with her and dance. We gleefully accepted her invitation but where soon taken away by a skinny (but hot) circuit queen wearing purple hotpants, dancing boots and wrist cuffs. "Circie" as I called him took us backstage and outfitted us both in purple leotards, flesh colored footless tights and glittered round-toe pumps then pushed us back onto the stage. We sang all the classics--Vogue, Like a Prayer, Frozen, Secret, Like a Virgin, Burn'in up. Madonna then announced that we were her biggest and most sexy fans. We would be touring with her for the remainder of her career and we operate with a caliber like no other. After that, we made the front page of all the celebrity ragazines and we've been reaping the benefits ever since.

Now, What say you?

...this is bat country

I'm really not loaded with things to say today. Although it seems bleak weather is in my future. I'm sure my desert soiree will still go over well, but without as much sunshine (vitamin C) as I would have liked. I know that I will at least have the chance to play "paparazzi" for two days, go out for a Vogue-like black & white photo shoot and get all of my stress carefully kneaded out of my shoulders!

Now, I'm sure you are wondering about this "paparazzi" thing. Well it's quite fun...I once asked Arty if she had played. To my dismay she said no, but seemed intrigued by it's potential joys. Paparazzi is a game that I and "the peanut gallery" (R &S) like to play. It involves dressing like your favorite celeb, running from the camera's demon flash, holding up your hand to the lens, imitating celeb poses and giving the beloved pouty lip. Yes, I'm probably too old to be doing things like this, but somehow my girlishness (or just down right ridiculouness) take over my body when I'm with "the peanut gallery."

S has managed to pack her entire closet. She gave me the run down last night via AIM: a few pairs of shorts, a few pairs of pants, a skirt, 2 dresses, a couple of tops, 2 swimsuits, a tunic, a juicy suit, scarves, headbands, cosmetics, jewelry, capri cargos, p.j's, panties, 1 sweatshirt, 1 coat, some hats and 6 pairs of shoes. Yes...I thought the same thing. Is she moving to Palm Springs? Whatever the case, it only adds to my exciting tale of our desert adventure. I'm hoping to come back with some great photos of old people and a tacky sweatshirt that I can turn into a haute mess!

I have a plane to catch.

P.S. I LOVE YOU!