Category Archives: LOLz

Hillwood Estate, Museum, and Gardens – Fun Things To Do In DC

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Today, my friend and I toured the Hillwood Museum & Gardens Estate in Washington, D.C. — the personal home of one Marjorie Merriweather Post – a rich heiress to the Post Cereal fortune. You probably don’t know much about Marjorie, which is why I am going to take you into her home and world and tell you all about Hillwood as part of my ongoing Guide to D.C., because visiting this place is my most favorite thing I have ever done in D.C. Ever. And I was born and raised here. Literally I have 28 years of D.C. under my belt, and this was my favorite thing I have ever done.

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The first thing you need to know about Marjorie was that she was the original boss-ass bitch. The woman was a BAUSS. CRUSHED life. 4 Husbands, billions of dollars, 3 homes, a pet cemetery to end all pet cemeteries, and basically financed the Cartier business. Casually owned like half of the art of czarist Russia. Entranceway boasted 18th century painted portraits of Catherine The Great. And would drop like 4 thou on a 2-inch miniature dog relic from the Ming Dynasty. Literally she was a legend.

You know how people always use & make fun of the term “summer” as a verb, and how bougie it is, to like “summer in Montauk” or reference people who “summer on the Cape”? Well Marjorie WINTERED places. She fucking WINTERED in Palm Beach, Florida. That right there is about the APEX of wealth, when you Winter some place. She summered and wintered and falled and sprang while the rest of us trolls simmer in one damn place for 12 months of the year like peasants.

Hillwood, a 25-acre piece of land overlooking Rock Creek Park in Washington, D.C. was her Fall & Spring property. She also had Mar-a-Lago (a name that is so fantastically sensory and fairytale-esque — take me to Mar-a-Lago, it sounds like something lovers would whipser to one another in Casablanca, or the scene of a great crime novel), her Palm Beach property where she wintered; and a third place in upstate New York where she summered.

Hilwood

Hillwood is the most incredible place I have ever been. It is so impressive, and so full of historical gems that it feels impossible that it’s real; and especially that someone could have THAT much money. Which is bringing me closer back around to my earlier point about Marjorie being a boss-ass bitch. I love any woman who had 4 husbands. Do you know how much balls that takes? I guess it takes the balls of a billionaire. But she gave 0 fucks. Just like, tried that, did that, on to the next one. And in like 1930’s and shit too.

Before we talk more about old Marj, let’s talk some about her house. Hillwood. The kitchen! I absolutely died when walking into her kitchen. It opens with a long, impressive Butler’s Pantry (I fucking love Butler’s Pantries – want one badly), and the first thing I said upon taking it in was…..oh my god it’s….just….so….1950’s. I hadn’t realized yet that she had purchased the place in 1955, so yes, the Butler’s Pantry and Kitchen were indeed just that. So VERY 1950’s.

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I couldn’t get over the kitchen and spent the most amount of time in the kitchen by FAR. It was dreamy in a way I really could never find the words to describe. It was a beautiful, crisp, clear, sunny October day – and the kitchen gets so much good natural light, with big sunny windows overlooking a little garden patio. And the place had very few visitors in the middle of the day Wednesday, so I was in there completely by myself (Anna had already moved on to the dining room and like 3 other rooms while I continued to marvel at the kitchen). And I just wandered around literally FEELING in my core what it felt like to be in that kitchen in 1958 and 1961 and ’63, as water simmered and pots and pans clanked and clamored and staff cooks plated food.

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Being in it felt like time travel. It gives me butterflies even to think about. All of this original 1950’s equipment (hugggeee freezers — I later learned her husband (of the time) was some kind of freezer magnate – he would be), and getting to see the dinner party menus on display. One of the menus that had been saved and was on display was from a dinner party Marjorie threw on October 17, 1963; and because we were visiting in October, so it was the same time of year, and same kind of light, and same time of day that they would have been cooking, it just felt like you could really feel what it was like. How could you not feel like that – everything was the same! You’re IN the kitchen, as it looked, as it was, when the cooks were cooking for that very dinner party in October of 1963. Except it’s October 2014. But everything is exactly as it was.

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The menu was my version of heaven. Although I am obsessed with all history and everything about America, I have realized that without question I am MOST enthralled with mid-century America. Post-war, pre hippy. Bobby and Sally. Refrigerators. Jello molds. Ham. Chevys. Kitchen Aid Mixers. Airplanes. Pan Am. Televisions. Microwaves. Wedge salads. Bar ware. Red wagons. And house wives doing French/foreign things and saying French/foreign words related to home & garden like “jardiniere” and “chinoiserie” —  THAT. SHIT. GETS. ME. GOING.

So to see a dinner party menu with the words: “caviar and blinis” to start, and ROAST BUTTER BALL TURKEY with sweet potatoes, marshmallow, vegetable jardiniere, APPLE JELLO RING WITH ASSORTED FRUIT, FILLED WITH BALLS OF STRAWBERRY SHERBERT. That is like fucking POETRY to me. That is like a beautiful man singing love poems into my ear. And to know that it’s not a caricature, it’s not an oversimplified thing we’ve come to stereotype of a decade, it’s not {just} from the mind of Mathew Weiner for a Hollywood TV show, nor a myth; no, it was the real-life, actual, dinner menu from people’s real lives in 1963 — from a woman who was as cultured and wealthy as they come, and quintessential AMERICAN (a fucking CEREAL HEIRESS FROM ILLINOIS) — and in her billion-dollar mansion she is serving her esteemed guests jello with balls of sherbert and butter ball turkey. COOL ME DOWN, cool me down, because I am HOT. With passion. For how fucking cool that is.

I don’t know what to tell you it’s just my own particular brand of crack. I love mid-century America.

(NOT TO MENTION THE VODKA AND DOM).

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As we continued to explore the ground floor, I could NOT. GET. OVER. JUST. HOW. WEALTHY. THIS WOMAN WAS. I mean you’ve never seen so many ITEMS — things, pieces of furniture, that must be worth MILLIONS individually! In and of themselves! And there are like 10,000 items in the place – tables, chairs, sculptures, figurines, plates, dishes, PAINTINGS. So many paintings. You’re looking at some Asian quartz sculpture and it’s probably from like 200 B.C. Bitch collected art from Jesus of Nazareth. She owned a casual two DIAMOND-STUDDED-monogrammed Faberge eggs that the last tsar of Russia, Alexander II, gave to his mother for Easter in1896 – a practice his father, Alexander III had started within the Romanav family (giving commissioned Faberge eggs as gifts) that they continued until THE FUCKING RUSSIAN REVOLUTION IN 1917 WHEN HE AND HIS ENTIRE FAMILY WERE EXECUTED BY THE BOLSHEVIKS, MARKING THE END OF IMPERIAL RUSSIA AND ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT EVENTS IN THE ENTIRE HISTORY OF THE WORLD. Yeah, Marjorie just owned some of Alexander II’s personal family gifts (by Faberge). Casual.

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Also, I loved the contrast between the kitchen and the rest of the house — because the kitchen, at the time, was literally THE most modern, of-the-times, state-of-the-art 50’s thing ever; but ONLY the kitchen. The rest of the house is as 18th century as it gets. So you go from this like, tile-floored, starburst-design, green-and-yellow AS-1950’S-AMERICA-AS-IT-LITERALLY-GETS-kitchen, to….Versailles. To as 18th-century-France as it literally gets. Post cereal and bread boxes to Louis XIV and Marie Antoinette. It’s kind of amazing.

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When we got upstairs, and got to a room that displayed some of Marjorie’s original receipts from transactions at the Cartier store in Paris, is when I really began to digest the sheer magnitude of her fortune. One of the receipts, was for 11,000 dollars, for two. Cartier. Picture Frames.

PICTURE FRAMES.

IN 1931.

NINETEEN

THIRTY

ONE

Do you have any concept

Of how opulent it is

To spend

11 THOUSAND DOLLARS

ON TWO PICTURE FRAMES

IN THE YEAR

NINETEEN THIRTY ONE

?????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s outrageous to spend 11,000 on 2 Cartier Picture Frames in the year 2014. 1931????!!!!! That must have been like a million dollars at that time. ON TWO PICTURE FRAMES!

Then we made our way around to the CLOSETS.

The closets were my other favorite part besides the Kitchen. Just so………historic in there time period-ness. They smelled pink and girly and magical and American. Girlfriend did NOT shy away from extravagance, in her dresses, jewelry, property, and items. Everything.

The estate has 2 original dresses on display in the closets, and they were CAPTIVATING to look at.

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One was from her daughter’s coming-out in some British Royal court (literally half the shit she and her daughters were ever doing made no sense, but of course, #wealth), and it gave me CHILLS. The first thing I thought was that it reminded me of the style of 1920’s dresses, and the display card said that she had worn it in 1929. To look at a real dress, that was PRESERVED from 1929, a real dress from Bergdorf Goodman, that a real life girl in 1929 picked out, and wore, and has just been kept in the family and handed down and now EIGHTY years later is in front of my eyes, is thrilling. For someone who loves history, and fashion, it’s truly thrilling.

MMP Cartier Necklace

After touring all of the house, and some of the gardens outside, we made our way to a separate structure on the property that currently has a Cartier exhibit showing some of Marjorie’s most incredible Cartier pieces and their back story. There was one necklace (above!) that I literally could not even conceive of a price on. It is absolutely massive – and an original commission that she worked with the Cartier bros to design. It is like, detachable into a brooch and multi-layered with a GIANT sapphire and like 400 billion trillion diamonds surrounding the center piece and cascading down into waterfalls. I literally was like………this necklace has to be worth 3 billion dollars. I mean I just don’t know how you could price an original Cartier commission, that large, that beautiful, with that many diamonds, from like 1940. Somebody tell me what that’s worth. The exhibit did not.

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I also couldn’t believe that her 3 daughters wouldn’t want these things…to own them. Personally. To WEAR them. And pass them down in the family. Not have them on view for strangers. Anna explained inheritance tax to me. She also said they probably already own something BETTER than even what’s on display. And that they probably already got (money-wise, property-wise) way more than what’s at Hillwood – that they already got theirs. But I just kept being like, DON’T THEY WANT TO LIVE HERE? Don’t they want to OWN Hillwood? How are they cool with this just being a spot for history weirdos like myself to have religious moments in the kitchen of? And like wander the halls of fantasizing about their mom’s 1950’s jello molds?

Also the exhibit said something about how some of the Cartier items were on loan. So maybe those 3 daughters do get to wear those necklaces around their ski chalet on Christmas or wherever they Winter nowadays. Literally, one of the emerald rings was the biggest, most awe-inspiring piece of jewelry I have EVER LAID EYES ON. I can’t conceive of a person being wealthier than Marjorie Post. I think she is the richest person that has ever lived. I think I just stepped foot onto the home and grounds of the richest person in humanity. Because I’m not wrapping my head around owning porcelain urns from Alexander The Great’s reign over Russia and Cartier sapphires the size of a baby shoe. That’s just………that’s where my brain says “cannot not compute.” The woman had more plates – just….PLATES…than all of the industrial kitchens in Russia. And they were like NEXT LEVEL plates too, like crystal-encrusted patterns from imperial Moscow that like Peter The Great used to entertain his enemies. I don’t even know. Everything she owned had some back story and connection to like the most famous people that have ever lived in Russia and France – and they worth a LOT today let me tell you.

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After checking out the Cartier exhibit, we walked all around the outdoor grounds of the property. There is a SUPER cool little Japanese garden with mini little bridges, stone paths, and rushing water. It was impressive and fun. Then there’s a putting green that’s very relaxing to sit and chat near. And there’s a whole bunch of winding paths through gardens and woods. But my FAVORITE part. Was the unabashed pet cemetery. That clearly stole the show even over the most dazzling Cartier diamond necklaces you’ve ever seen. Stones 3 x bigger than the necklace in Titanic? That shit had nothing on the grave stones of her 42 dogs, with names like “skampi,” “petite chou,” and “CREME DE FUCKING COCOA.” SHE HAD A DOG NAMED CREME DE COCOA.

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Marjorie

Marjorie Post was a badass, 4-husband, Russian-art-dealing, Cartier-comissioning boss, who built a pet cemetery for her fallen dogs named things such as Creme De Cocoa. I have never loved someone as much as I love Marjorie Post. She threw BALLER dinner parties, bathed in Dom Perignon, dressed for every event like she was the queen of fucking England, DRIPPED in diamonds, and ran a billion-dollar business like the boss-ass bitch that she was.

That’s my favorite picture above. She legit dressed like she was the Queen of England. As Anna said to me when I said this: “she was.”

She’s basically a gay man’s dream – in addition to everything mentioned above (let’s just reiterate real quick here – cartier,  4 husbands,  Romanav art collection, dog named creme de cocoa), the tag line of the Estate and Museums is “Fabulous – Where Fabulous lives”, and each visitor is given a name tag that says “Fabulous.”  Coolest. Woman. E-V-E-R.

Marj and Scamps

Seriously though, she inherited her father’s cereal business at age 27 and crushed it as the head of Post Cereal. Instead of doing idiotic things with her billions, she was smart, and tactical, with an eye for design, quality, and craftsmanship, in art, interiors, and jewelry. So much so that she knew to collect Cartier and Russian art. And husbands.

She is truly a feminist icon and my idol. Nobody but Marjorie told Marjorie what to do, least of all the men she was married to. She wasn’t EXACTLY living in a time when women were bosses (of companies, of themselves, of ANYTHING), husband-collectors, and the money-makers in the marriage. She wasn’t some twee heiress who sat around in her castle of billions and catered to her man. She was too busy BUYING ART FROM THE FUCKING ROMANAVS. And patronizing Cartier before they were Cartier. I literally fucking love her.

And most importantly, as my friend noted, all of THIS (Hillwood, the very green grass we were strolling on, with its 25 acres and unfathomable art and jewelry collection) is here. MANY people, Thomas Jefferson included, don’t manage their estates and affairs well enough to, when they die, not only be able to give things to their children and family, but have their possessions and estates and affairs so well-managed that they can leave them perfectly-preserved to the public, to view in all their glory, decades after they die. THIS, this place, in all its grandeur and glory, is proof of her business acumen and capabilities. That’s there’s even this left, today, says what we need to know about Marjorie Merriweather Post.

I. love. her. And Hillwood is the most wonderful place I have ever been in Washington, D.C. I feel honored and lucky that this wonderful woman chose this place to be where she falled and sprang.

And the city she chose to bequeath her billions of dollars worth of land, diamonds, and Russian art.

Boss.

Ass.

Bitch.

You do you, Marj. We love you.

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Filed under Good Shit You Should Know About, History, Inspiration, LOLz

28 Random Things About Me In Honor of My 28th Birthday

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I haven’t had time to write one of my usual longer form blog posts, including a recap of my 28th birthday, so I sat down to ramble-out 28 random facts about me.

Here ya go!

1. I am COMPLETELY addicted to chewing ice. It is new – it started this year. I had a friend in high school who was addicted to chewing ice and I thought she was INSANE, and our other friend had an ice machine in her kitchen and the one friend used to like, fiend out for it and not one ounce of my brain could comprehend it. It just didn’t compute. It was incomprehensible. I thought she was so weird. And this year, I became addicted to chewing it. I take big cups out every morning and night and just chew little pieces of ice. I live for it. I’m like a drug addict. I love. chewing. ice.

2. Second only to ice is my strange addiction to pretzel crisps. I go through bags a day. I wake up in the middle of the night craving them. When they are in the house, they are what I eat for breakfast.

3. I have a *REMARKABLE* talent for noticing people’s hair cuts — even T-H-E- most subtle trims ever. It is not relegated to people I know very well, like friend, boyfriend, coworkers, family etc. Any human being whom my eyes have ever seen, I will know if that person has gotten a hair cut. I NEVER miss it, and I am never wrong. Random people I’ve met only once before, or just people you wouldn’t think I’d notice if they got a haircut, like one of the security guards at work or a waiter at a restaurant — I know. I always say “did you get a haircut” and the person is ALWAYS like “uh….yeah…I did…” ?? It’s weird.

4. The other strange talent I have like this is zero-ing in on EXACTLY which drawer contains the silverware in people’s kitchens. It’s FREAKY. Like legitimately weird. I just sense it. I feel it. And it’s NOT ALWAYS like “where you’d think”, for those who are hating on this talent thinking it’s pretty obvious like it’s always next to the sink or something. It’s not. TRUST ME, the drawers / cabinets / vestibules people keep their silverware in are RANDOM AF and all over the place in kitchens, and I will walk into a new kitchen, feel it, reach for it, and be right. 100 percent of the time. Actually I’ve been wrong once. It really threw me. I’m still reeling.

5. I am not “crafty” in the traditional sense, like I can’t sew or fix things the “right way.” But I can cobble things together with nothing. I get/got that from my dad, who can fix a car with a jump rope, string a set of lights with a nail clipper, and fix a broken suitcase wheel with a piece of chalk.  It is some s-e-r-i-o-u-s Macguyver/resourceful shit.

6. I RUTHLESSLY chew my nails, bite my lips, etc. Like until they are raw and bleeding. My friends and boyfriend haaaaate it. It’s literally like………bad. I will literally drip in blood and am never without band-aids / almost always have them on my fingers. People are always horrified and I’m like, oh this bleeding appendage? That’s nothing.

7. I RUTHLESSSLY check out other women in a pseduo sexual way. Alex is so funny teasing me about it when I’m out with him in public. He says I check out girls’ bodies in a more offensive and flagrant way than his grossest male friends. I will barely realize I’m doing it, and there will be a pause and he’ll just be like “so……….I’m just wondering how it felt to rape that woman’s ass with your eyes.” And then I burst into laughter. Like I actually get into trouble with my staring. I am basically a flat out creep. All my friends make fun of me for it. I will just stare when I see a pretty woman. I appreciate beauty and the female form, sue me.

8. If left to my own devices, I will put off eating and peeing for as long as I possibly can. I love love love love food but only when it’s already part of the schedule, or an effortless passing act I can do while continuing to do what I was already doing. Like if I’m meeting someone for dinner, great. If I am walking PAST a Cinnabon stand ,and can purchase and eat a cinnabon in under one minute, great. But if I’m in the middle of cleaning, or shopping, or writing, or studying, and I have to STOP to fucking FEED myself? Bitch PLEASE.  There is nothing I find more annoying and intrusive. And same exact thing with peeing. Like I always joke how demeaning it is. Like you get cocky, in a flow doing something where you’re feeling super-human and awesome, like I’m in the middle of writing a really great piece and I’m on a high and I’m crushing it and then my stomach is like “UM UM, EXCUSE ME, UM, HEY, UM, REMEMBER ME, HEY HEY FEED ME I NEED FOOD” and then I’m reminded that I am nothing more than a machine, a vessel, that can’t fucking go longer than 3 hours without needing fuel, like a little BITCH. Like really? I have to STOP WHAT I’M DOING TO PUT A STRING CHEESE AND CARROT STICK IN MY MOUTH RIGHT NOW JUST SO I CAN CONCENTRATE AGAIN? AYFKMRN??! I HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO!!!!!!!

…..Than like, “fix” a plate of food. I wish, if I had to, that I could just like honk a little horn and it would give my body the fuel/energy it needs to keep going and then that’s it. I hate that eating involves like, opening packages and sprinkling almonds onto things and like, decanting cereal into a bowl and pouring the milk and having to spoon small portions of it into your mouth one spoonful at a time. Literally are you kidding me. Am I a child in a high-chair. And then having the fucking dishes when it’s over. Ugh. And chopping. And like simmering and pans and tools and temperatures and time. No. Just no. That’s why I like croissants. Just buy it, eat it, walk. Boom, bye. Nothing. No opening, no sprinkling, no dishes, just food in your hand. Bagels with cream cheese are even too much effort because the creamy cream cheese can smear and get all over things. Croissants have crumbs and flake everywhere but at least they like, blow away in the wind. Cream cheese like…sticks to things. Croissant is my ultimate food. Literally done in one bite.

Likewise with the body needing to empty itself. Don’t even get me started on peeing. When you’re like having the best dinner conversation EVER and you’re vibing and the jokes are flowing and then someone has to STOP the flow to literally……get up and go to a bathroom and PEE? And then they come back to the table and it’s like…..awkward and no one knows what they had been talking about or remembers where they were and all of the smooth vibes of earlier are gone and forgotten and it’s like “heyyy so…where were we…………..should we get the check or something..?” Peeing is one of the most insulting acts we have to do as humans. I hate it. When I’m laying out SUN TANNING at a park, feeling it, feeling the sun, reading a book, on a blanket, and then 2 hours go by and I have to literally SHUT THE ENTIRE OPERATION DOWN, because I have to PEE (!!!!!). Like there are no bathrooms around, and I can’t leave my stuff lying out at a park, so I have to literally P.A.C.K. up my bag and speaker and towel and phone and book to DRIVE to a nearby CVS so I can fucking P.E.E. There is nothing more interrupting.

hahahahahahha I am laughing out loud right now — I just realized that between the addiction to chewing ice, hating to eat, and ruthless chewing of my nails that I am REALLY making myself out to be a crack addict. ……………don’t know what to say here……Alex made me add that I am currently doing all of the above. (That is, putting off dinner, chewing ice, and chewing my nails. It’s true).

9. I read magazines backwards (I think I’ve said that somewhere on this blog before??? Have I? I don’t know).

10. I know the lyrics to basically every song ever written.I think people comment on this more than any other single about me, other than my energy. That’s the thing I hear most from people is that I have a really really good energy. I like and appreciate that. Both types — the kind of energy that is like…..alive / full-of-life/ feeling-it/living-it/loving-it, and also the kind of energy that’s aura. Several strangers who aren’t even saying it because they’ve spent time with me have come up to me out of nowhere on the street to say “I can feel your energy, and it’s amazing.” I’M NOT KIDDING. MULTIPLE TIMES. Friends can attest to this. Maybe they’re mentally ill but whatever, I dig it. But it’s validated from loved ones, friends, family members, and people who have worked with me, who say the same thing, that I have an infectious energy that makes people feel good and happy and it’s clear how much I love being alive and I make things fun and lively and hype people up just from my the energy I give off. That’s 100 percent true.

11. I have an INSANE memory. I remember everything. Which I guess explains the former point, about the song lyrics.

12. BIGGEST PET PEEVES – 1.) When people are slow turners. When they are turning, whether left or right, and don’t just GET THEIR FUCKING CAR OVER, and it’s like they’re nonchalantly taking a stroll into the other lane, my entire body is overcome with a physical rage at their inability to just GET THE FUCK OVER IF THEY’RE FUCKING TURNING ANYWAYS, WHAT ARE THEY STILL DOING IN THE LANE, TURN BITCH, FUCKING TURN YOUR CAR, WHYALDJFKLASJFLSJFLKSAJFSADLKFJSDLKFJDSKLFJSALFJSLFAJSFLASJFLSJAFALJFSALKFJASLFJASFJASLFSADJFSKALJFSADLFJSDLFJSALFJSA ALKFJDSLJFALK THE MADNESS.

2.) When technological devices die and I have to plug them in. Simply finding, picking up, untangling, and plugging in a cord, to charge a phone or computer, makes me irrationally furious. We can text with someone in Japan, travel to the moon, fly jet planes to different countries, face time with people hiking in Alaska while we’re in the middle of the ocean on a boat, and yet OUR FUCKING COMPUTERS AND PHONES NEED TO BE CHARGED EVERY 3 HOURS. WHAT.

WHAT.

I just realized it’s exactly like the food/peeing. Having to re-ful/charge things, whether bodies or devices, infuriates me. Everything should always just work non-stop forever with no refueling. Just work. Always. I hate being interrupted.

13. I scream when it’s cold. E.V.E.R.Y. single time i get into a cold car, it can be 4 x a day, if it’s cold when I get in, I scream. It’s really weird and I do it unconsciously. It’s like an energy that needs to be released. I do not know how to get into a cold car and not scream. I don’t know when it started. It’s weird.

14. I am the greatest parallel park EVER. Like I am SICK. SICK. NASTY. DIRTY. RUTHLESS. at parallel parking. I will MURDER you at parallel parking.

15. I take almost 4 baths a day most days. A bath to me is hopping in for 10 minutes to get warm and then get out. Sometimes I’ll get in, get out, live life for an hour, and then get back in. This also goes hand in hand with another random fact about me which is that I am always cold, unless its 75 degrees and above. If it is seventy degrees, I’m still cold. People are like “omg this weather is beauuutifulll!!! So happy it’s 65 degrees” and I’m like “that’s fucking freezing.” 80 is basically my minimum. Miami, New Orleans, and yes D.C. in the summer, when it’s oppressive muggy heat, is like perfect to me. I love being bathed by warm air that stays in the air even at 4 in the morning. Walking outside in the middle of the night in Miami, D.C. and New Orleans and feeling that heat is one of my favorite sensations ever.

16. I hate spring. It’s a bullshit joke of a season that doesn’t own up to anything and is summed up by me as watery ,muddy, worms. It’s like watered-down tea. That’s what spring is to me. Metaphorically and literally. Like a watery cup of earl grey tea that’s been sitting out for 7 hours. Spring is a joke.

17. Every time a Drake song comes on the radio when I am driving, I think to myself “yes, Drake is my favorite rapper.” I don’t mean a new Drake song, I literally mean A-N-Y time any Drake song comes on, whether new or old, or the 4th Drake song I’ve heard that day, something about having the time and mental space of being in the car, alone, driving, where I can really sit back and listen to every word he raps, and relish in the hilarity and cleverness of his lyrics and his sexy voice, affirms that he is my favorite rapper. This is subject to change but without fail if a song of his comes on the radio in the car, I think it.

18. Something about female heroines in movies that are right, about where or who the killer is, or whatever truth, and people not believing them and making them out to be crazy, drives me CRAZY. I can’t handle beleaguered movie heroines who nobody believes and brushes off as crazy women. Rosemary’s Baby is one of my top 5 favorite movies, but/and when she’s right about everything but everyone makes her out to be “a hysterical woman” and puts her in a hospital and no one believes her, I was crawling out of my skin with anger, frustration and rage. I was SCREAMING at the screen. I hate it. I hate the era, and feel like it still kind of exits (?!?!?!?) when women were right about things, or alternatively, passionate about them, or just plain old…BEING HUMAN, like having thoughts and feelings and expressing sexuality or a range of emotions, or fear, or sadness, or anger, everyone acts like they’re crazy ass hysterical bitches who need to be in a padded cell under supervision. The Yellow Wallpaper KILLS me. Like it causes me legitimate stress.

19. I’m super independent. I enjoy doing things alone and frequently do, mostly because I don’t have time to sit around waiting for someone else to come with me. If I want to see a museum exhibit, I go. If I want to try a new coffee shop or restaurant, I go. When I studied abroad in Barcelona, I traveled to Paris, Rome, and Portugal alone – I eventually met up with and stayed with friends, but in Rome I spent every day alone. I toured the entire city by myself, including the Vatican, Coliseum and ruins. Just straight up…me myself and I, on a bus to the Vatican, wandering through the ground floor and taking in the Pieta, up and around every level, and the roof and everything, just moi. I especially love spending days in cities wandering and shopping alone, like Brooklyn and LA.

20. I love buckets, bowls, and chairs. Every time I go into GoodWood, what tempts me is the bowls, buckets, and chairs. I love chairs of every style era shape and size and color, and same with bowls and buckets. Deep and shallow, silver metallic and gold metallic, wood, metal, marble, engraved with Native American designs, standing on duck feet, wide, deep, shallow, circular, square, tall and narrow, what have you. And same with boxes. Boxes buckets bowls and chairs. Oh shit and baskets. Boxes buckets bowls baskets and chairs.

21. Salted butter is one of my favorite things on earth. Butter that isn’t salted is an embarrassment/a non-thing.

22. I am extremely passionate about customer service. When I have good customer service in ANY industry, I am genuinely filled to the brim with gratitude and appreciation. I will tip someone 400% when they do good work and are an awesome person. I do not care about math, percentage, standards, or my income. I will give my last 50 dollars to an awesome service that only cost 10 if I feel like it. I have and I do and I give zero fucks. I will always be compelled to monetarily thank someone for their talent and attitude. When I have bad customer service, I am enraged to my core, to the brink of tears sometimes.  I hate being treated poorly as a paying customer and it shakes me on a cellular level.

23. I change my mind every. single. day. (sometimes 3 times in one day) on whether or not I want to have kids.

24. I give zero fucks about tap water. I have all these bougie friends who will only drink filtered water and think it’s gross to not, and only drink from a Brita and nothing has ever phased me less. People are always apologizing for their tap water and I like, laugh. Basically if it’s a state in the United States, I will drink from the tap. I will drink from a water fountain, I will drink from anywhere that has water basically unless it’s like somewhere sketchy in Mexico. But I’m weird about other health/germ things. Like I hate door handles and buttons on elevators. But door handles are the worst. I always open them with my shirt. Almost always.

25. I sleep with a noise machine. I love white noise. Fans, air conditioners. It’s soothing and reminds me of summer.

26. I’m such a good shopper I think I would make an excellent buyer as an alternative profession.

27. I love and drink regular Coca Cola. I laugh in the face of diet drinks. A fresh ice cold coke poured over ice is one of my favorite treats.

28. If I love a new song, I will listen to it to a number of times in a row that you actually wouldn’t believe. Like 600. Like just over and over and over and over and over and over again. The most recent one I did this with was Iggy Azaela’s Fancy, which I am now sufficiently over, since I listened to it so many times over my birthday weekend, and the next one I’ve borderline ruined is Doc Hollywood & Ya Boy’s I’m at my Palm Springs Beach House.

And a 29th for fun: LA is my favorite American city and Barcelona is my favorite European city. They’re tied as my favorite cities on earth.

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Thomas Jefferson wanted to be an expat but couldn’t be because he was the President and wrote The Declaration of Independence

monticello

So………..although it is only a 2 hour drive from the center of Washington, D.C., I had never been to Monticello, the home of 3rd President of The United States Thomas Jefferson.

monticello2

Having lived in D.C. my entire life I thought maybe I MIGHT have been as a kid on some kind of school field trip, but no, it was confirmed as 100 percent fact that I had never stepped foot on those grounds until today.

monticolleo pretty

grounds 2

monticello 3

Alex and I woke up really early and made the trek out to Charlottesville Virginia for what seemed like a quintessential FALL experience. Hills, mountains, leaves, and the grounds of a former U.S. President’s plantation mansion….vineyards and gardens and a graveyard and apple cider donuts in the country along the way. So fall.

drive

graveyard

leaves

monticello view

It was indeed the most gorgeous day, and quite an experience.

Mostly because via the tour I realized that Thomas Jefferson was the world’s biggest douche. Just like grade-A, hilarious, insufferable douche. Like he was the original hipster. The highbrow hipster. Not the hipster that wears neon beanies from Urban Outfitters and thrifted Air Force Ones and  loves the Beastie Boys and is actually poor and hops the subway rails ’cause he’s out of money.

Thomas Jefferson’s modern-day people are the highbrow hipsters that read The New York Times over their rooibos tea and love “the french cinema” and feel like their dicks grow a little bigger every time they use the word ‘raw;’  love new “farm-to-table” restaurants popping up in the neighborhood and live in a 4-million dollar Brooklyn Brownstone but think they’re down with the people. He’s  THAT dude that won’t listen to a band once they “sell out” and only listens to what the critics consider to be “music.” Thinks he’s cultured because he has Morissey and Beatles records and just name-drops the shit out of everything.  If he lived in 2013 he’d always be asking people if they’d seen what Banksy had done last night and mentioning “this great little cafe” he’d been to in Paris or Warsaw. Actually DEFINITELY Warsaw. In 2013, Paris would probably be 300 years too overused so he’d be into Warsaw and how like, “the quality” of the glass from the old Polish factories is unparalleled and no other type of glass reflects light quite like it.  HE WAS THE WORST. 

This realization started because the tour guide takes you through every aspect of the house and give you details on the architectural and decor aspects of the house based on FACTS. Like Thomas Jefferson’s own journals, and other people’s journals DOCUMENTING that “he imported the french doors from France because he liked the doors and wanted them.” Period.

So our tour guide, Rita, is taking us through and literally EVERY thing she said made me laugh out loud because I progressively began realizing he was THAT dude.

Let me give you a few examples.

She’s showing us these fancy doors with insane glass that like “magically” open because some wind tunnel from the front entrance makes it so that when you start to shut the left one, the right one also shuts even though you never touched it. Rita, all eager with her granny voice because 9 out of 10 tour guides at Monticello/everywhere are retired grandparents, is like, “Mr. Jefferson saw these doors once in London, and loved them so much that he had to have them!”

Strike 1. I’m processing the information, but not offended yet.

Then we walk into the room off of his bedroom and Alex notices this amazing skylight like 400 feet above. As if on cue Rita says, “Now Mr. Jefferson first saw a skylight in France, and loved how they looked so much (!) that when he came back to his house, he had his [architect slave] REDESIGN THE ENTIRE HOUSE WITH LIKE 8 ADDITIONAL ROOMS AND 40 FOOT SKYLIGHTS IN EACH.”  BECAUSE THE FRENCH HAD SKYLIGHTS.

Then we walk to the dining room.

Well what the fuck do you suppose Rita says about the dining room.

“Mr. Jefferson loved the crown moulding in Alexandria, he was very inspired by the Romans, so he had his [architect slave] install crown moulding JUST exactly like they had in Rome!”

I am literally laughing out loud at this point. After the second reference to Mr. Jefferson just “having to have” something he had fallen in love with while in Europe, my entire schtick was turning to Alex and being like, OMG HE WAS *THAT* GUY. HE WAS THAT GUY who when you come over for dinner, you have to sit through 2 hours of him telling you how the last time he was “on the continent” he met a “fascinating little Italian cobbler” who was the descendent of the marble-worker who laid the marble at the Sistene Chapel so naturally he HAD to have that marble shipped overseas and installed in his kitchen in the same manner in which the Italians did it 400 years ago because he likes to keep the process authentic. And you’re like “cool dude, cool, kill yourself.” He’s THAT guy who has a wood burning stove – the original foundational brick for which was one that was excavated from Roman Ruins and the piece of wood that adorns his fireplace was a recovered slab from the fucking cross that Jesus was crucified on. And you’re rolling you’re fucking eyes being like “this bitch.”

Every fucking thing in that dude’s house had a story about how Mr. Jefferson had just been strolling down the street in London and saw a fancy ass glass door he liked and had it sent to his house. So also apparently MR. JEFFERSON had a fucking spending problem because it SOUNDS like all Mr. Jefferson did was shop. Thomas Jefferson was our President and wrote the Declaration of Independence and was a shopaholic. He had an uncontrollable impulse for fine European furnishings.

And the thing is: if you take the level of how douchey it is to be alive in the year 2013 and be importing marble from Italy and France, take that douchiness and raise it ONE T-H-O-U-S-A-N-D levels to when doing that wasn’t REMOTELY convenient or practical or cost effective. Because when Thomas Jefferson did it, it involved a 4 MONTH SHIP JOURNEY ON WHICH LIKE 25 PEOPLE RISKED THEIR LIVES, 4 DIED, AND 2 GOT DYSINTERY AND ENDED UP WITH LONGTERM BRAIN DAMAGE. SO IT WAS *THAT* MUCH MORE OUTRAGEOUS to be getting your doors from churches in London.

Oh but we’re not even remotely done. I am laughing as I type this because it’s TOO rich. I want to write a comedy skit for Portlandia or SNL on how much it must have sucked to have dinner at Thomas Jefferson’s house because everyone was probably just rolling their eyes being like OH MY GOD THOMAS, WE GET IT. YOUR KITCHEN WAS MODELED AFTER THE FRENCH DINING STYLE. OUR BREAD IS BEING CRACKED THE SAME WAY THE FRENCH CRACK THEIR BREAD. NO ONE FUCKING CARES.

His wife probably cut him off multiple times and was just like “Thomas, if you love France so much then why don’t you marry it. Why don’t you just FUCKING MARRY FRANCE IF YOU LOVE IT SO MUCH.”

OR WHY DON’T YOU JUST *MOVE* THERE. Oh right, because you wrote the Declaration of Independence.

Rita continued to explain that the house kitchen was built “in the French style” and that every night dinner was served “in the French style” because Mr. Jefferson was very “taken” with French cooking.

Also, he had the douchiest fanciest art — “religious stuff, because THAT’S WHAT WAS ‘BIG’ in Europe” and like the fanciest paint on his walls because that’s what they did in Europe. Basically if he’d seen that it was “en vouge” to smear pig blood on your walls in France, HE WOULD HAVE DONE IT.

The reason I found this all to be so god damn hilarious, aside from the inherent comedy, is because like……….HE WROTE THE FUCKING DECLARATION THAT DECLARED AMERICA’S INDEPENDENCE AND SEPARATION FROM EUROPE.

Like  THE document, the DEFINING document being like “LISTEN ASSHOLES: We’re our own thing now. WE DON’T NEED YOU and your religion and douchebaggery and fucking monarchs and non-separation of church and state, and ostentatiousness and PALACES and corruption — WE DON’T NEED YOUR SUN-KINGS AND VERSAILLES’S, WE GOT THIS NOW. WE GOT OUR OWN COUNTRY, WITH ITS OWN RICHES, AND OUR OWN GOVERNMENT, so just go hang out in your gold mansions while we bestow the gift of religious freedom on our humble people.”

And ALL THAT THOMAS JEFFERSON PROCEEDED TO DO WAS GO BACK TO FRANCE AND BE LIKE “omg I love this wood! Can I get this back at my place? Ugh you’re the best Pierre! Tell your grandfather I say hello,” and then brag about it to all of his guests. HE WAS A SPOILED LITTLE WANNA-BE EUROPEAN.

Like every fucking person that ever talked to him wanted to PULL THEIR HAIR OUT at the detailed degree to which they knew about every single one his French friends and that one time in Autumn 1803 when “Marcelle made this INCREDIBLE French Onion soup that just…MELTED in your mouth.” It’s all he talked about.

He wrote the Declaration of Independence and then was like ‘fuckkkkkkkkkkk but France is so good though.’

Also, Rita had some other hilarious anecdotes that further revealed how little fucks he gave about anyone but himself.

She was like “So Mr. Jefferson only lived on the ground floor – he did not use or go upstairs ever. SO, when designing the house he didn’t want to WASTE any space on staircases because…it was a waste of space. But all of the other 23 people who lived in the house had to use the 1-foot wide staircases! And they really hated those claustrophobic staircases. That Mr. Jefferson sure was silly!”

So like………EVERY person (all his family members and like grandchildren and guests and sons-in-law ALL had to use the staircases multiple times every day but because HE didn’t and he didn’t want to WASTE THE SPACE, he made them 1 foot wide. So every fucking day Martha and Sally and his DISTINGUISHED guests had to like, shimmy up the stairs being like “god DAMN it Thomas, really?” They sat down in their beds at night and wrote journal entries about how frustrating the narrow staircases were. And Thomas was like, well I don’t use them so……..suck it.

The other hilarious detail exactly like that was the alcove beds—-hahaha I’m laughing as I write this because he was basically a sociopath. He DID NOT CARE what anyone else wanted if it interfered with his aesthetic European desires.

So alcove beds are those beds that are built INTO the wall. So as Rita explained, NO ONE WANTED THE ALCOVE BEDS. Not only were they clausterphobic and difficult to get into, people would complain of like, indigestion and headaches and nightmares while in the alcove beds, AND THE ONLY BED IN THE ENTIRE HOUSE THAT WASN’T ALCOVE WAS HIS!!!!!!!! hahahah HIS BED was like out in the shining sun and air right near one of the French-inspired skylights, and every bitch in the house had to climb into their alcove bed being like that mother FUCKER.

Also, he banged his slaves, and also, he wrote “all men are created equal” and then had slaves.

So basically what I learned at Monticello is that Thomas Jefferson was THAT douchebag that imported everything from Italy France and London and if he were alive today he would have extension knowledge of beatknik “zines” and alienate everyone with his obnoxious importation of European stones and clothes and architectural ideas.

And that he is the biggest hypocrite ever. He INDEPENDECED us from Europe and then proceeded to make every single aspect of his life European. In an obnoxious way.

OH, and SIDENOTE, he also like actually didn’t pay for a lot of things and just “put them on his tab” and left his family in a lot of debt……………………..after fathering like 14 slave babies.

But hey, father of our government!

He is officially my favorite historical joke.

monticello house

His gravestone:
tj gravestone

Thomas Jefferson, author of the declaration of independence, and desperately wished he lived in Europe. “no like, America, America, I’m so about it, I LOVE America George, you know this is my shit, but…………have you tried the chocolate croissants in France? I’M JUST SAYING. I’m just. say-ing.”

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Super Bass by British Child

Um.

You’ve seen this right???

This is the most incredible thing I have ever seen.

#1–she sings the entire song with a darling little British accent. Rap done in British is the CUTEST. All of her words have their hard edge taken off by the fact that they’re said in a British accent which makes them seem polite and proper, even when she’s saying “somebody please tell them who the EFF I IS.”

#2 SHE HAS A HYPE MAN. This like, 4 year old girl, legit has a hypeman. And didn’t even realize it. In her mind, she wasn’t like “I need a hypeman for this performance,” because a toddler can’t understand the concept of what a hypeman is, but yet she has this bitch on the side, who doesn’t say a single word the whole performance, and just, hypes her up and jams out and riles up the crowd. Like, she knows her role. She doesn’t try to upstage the real star, she doesn’t even speak. She just busts moves and silently mouths the words. She mimes the action of beating the ‘superbass’ drum, she pops and locks it, and she’s just the sidekick, and it’s AMAZING. If she talked, she would be doing what Diddy did in every single one of Biggie’s songs for like 5 years: grunting “yeah.” “yeah.” over and over again in between rap pauses. And she’d fucking KILL IT.

#3 She introduces herself in the sweetest, most darling British voice, “Hello! I’m Sophia Grace Brown Lee, LET’S HIT IT NOW!” And then starts rapping obscene lyrics. She is dressed in a fucking princess costume, with a British accent. And then starts rapping “he might sell coke.”

SHE HITS EVERY SINGLE BEAT. THE GIRL DOESN’T MISS A FUCKING THING IN THAT SONG. She OWNS it. My favorite part is towards the beginning of the song when she lowers her voice kind of sexily and goes “That’s the kind of dude I was lookin’ for.” I have watched this 11 times.

Everything aboutt his is utterly and completely REMARKABLE. I am not like, trying to be funny…this girl is a ONE IN A MILLION star. She is a female, 5 year old version of Justin Bieber. SHE HAS SO MUCH FUCKING SWAG. The attitude she gives in this performance!!!! Her HIP pops!The way she ends the video!!! she is a STAR. She was born a star. This is un.fucking.believable. I want you to look back on your childhood, and weep at how pathetic and ordinary you were compared to this. Look back in your life, think of your cousins and nieces and nephews and everyone you’ve ever known or babysat for– and zero out of any of them have this kind of swag and talent. Imagine doing this at that age.  She is a star.

AND I HAVE NOT YET MENTIONED HER ACTUAL VOICE!!!!!!!!!!!! RAPPING ASIDE, when the first verse of rap breaks, and the actual song-song chorus comes in, she is so passionate and dedicated and just BELTS it out, and the quality of her voice is insane!! At times, she sounds like a legitimate adult singing. SURE, there a few “notes” she could hit better, but notes at that age are irrelevant, the actual QUALITY of her voice is like…husky and amazing. She BELTTTTS that shit!! Such passion!

Look, if you have seen Justin Bieber’s biopic, “Never Say Never,” you know what I’m talking about. Every record producer, talent scout, songwriter, etc. EVER in the history of the music world has said that when they met Justin Bieber, or Britney Spears, or Usher, or Justin Timberlake at age like 5, they just KNEW. Because you can tell when a kid has that special thing that is not measurable or explicable in words. Something extraordinary, beyond the realm of what 99.9 percent of most people have. It’s just IT. Justin Bieber was pounding drums and being a star, with confidence of a level wayyy beyond what a kid his age should have had, at like age 3. That is this girl. The way she ends the video with that OOMPH, it’s like “take THAT BITCHHHH.”

I’m just in shock. Justin Bieber’s manager Scooter Braun is calling this chick up AT: NOW. The video’s already gotten a million and a half hits and it’s going to get millions and millions more. She’s probably going to end up on Ellen and with a record contract. With the right management, this girl could be DYNAMITE.

And now I will go watch it 14 more times. We’re all so talentless compared to this.

Bye.

Oh and I forgot one thing:

THERE’S A FUCKING KEY CHANGE.

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Conan Dartmouth Commencement 2011

Conan just delivered the commencement speech for the 2011-graduating-class at my alma mater and I am devastated, just…devastated that it was 3 years too late. I am not happy for these graduates. I’m legitimately pissed. Haha my insides hurt. It hurt to watch him stand up there and talk and make hilarious jokes, and recognize the whole set-up and be 3-years-gone. I want to go back. Here I go again, with my nostalgia for golden ages of the past….

My time at Dartmouth was one of my golden ages, thus far in my 25-year life. Oh god the memories. I learned so much from so many brilliant professors, made amazing friends….studied in a musty old tower-room, at the top of our library, in an upholstered armchair, reading about El Greco and Velasquez and Goya, memorizing my Art History flashcards as it snowed. I mean literally. I would trudge from my dorm in the snow, to this room at the tippy-top of the whole building, that was dark and masculine and so very cozy, and stake out a chair, and get LOST in the history of..ART…get lost in ancient Greece and Rome and Madrid and Paris and Holland, while snow coated the whole campus, and fellow studiers sipped tea and coffee and quietly learned. It was a dream. I was never bored. I didnt’ WANT to be in bed or watching Keeping up With The Kardashians. I kind of go along with what I’m supposed to be doing at a given point in my life; and at that time, I was there to learn; so I wanted to cozy up in the eaves of the library and read. I mean….who wouldn’t? That campus and my years there are TRULY the quintessential, cozy New England, liberal arts college experience.

You must visit Hanover one day.

Little quaint bookstores; cozy New England restaurants with New England things like pumpkin soup and lobster ravioli and all kinds of flavored ales from the different local breweries. Hikers and skiers; rockclimbers; rowers…people would walk down to the Connecticut River and rent canoes in between classes. You could walk over a bridge into a darling little town in Vermont and check out the gorgeous foliage and farmer’s markets and inns and cottages. Ugh I SWOON when I think about my years there.

Everything I know about the cinema, historically, contextually,…Fallini and Bunuel and David Lynch…I learned in my Freshman “film 101” class. It was the first time I saw Mullholland Drive and I was batshit for him. Every monday afternoon, we would have screenings in the little theater, of all the movies on our syllabus. It was so fun to watch the movies there with my classmates and then chat about them afterwards. If I close my eyes, I can FEEL what it felt like to be in the cool dark movie theater, with my curious little freshman brain, as I watched Mullholland Drive unfold for the first time. I remember staying up until 7 am, full all-nighter, to write my first paper for that class. I was thrilled…like, adrenaline running through my body, as I got to analyze a film, and put down my thoughts on how the director used editing to contrast the old and the modern. It was the 1978 movie Days of Heaven with Richard Gere by Terrence Malick. That movie was pretty life-changing too. And the paper on it had to be in by 7:00 a.m., delivered to the dropbox at his office. I wrote until 5, edited, printed it, and left my dorm at 6 to put the paper in his box. And 7 years later, I remember looking around the campus as I walked to his building– the hills and mountains and buildings and trees, as the entire tiny little college community slept, and the way the sky looked, and how it smelled, like the way air smells right before Christmas–firewood and pine trees– and feeling so happy and fulfilled. And I remember studying for that final exam during one of the first snowfalls I’d ever experienced up there, and being like “this can’t be real.” Studying FILM in a cozy lodge-esque college with a hundred people I know and like, with hot drinks at my disposal, as it snows? Nahhh.

My dorm was this tiny little old dorm that was one of the un-rennovated ones from like 1910, haha but it had character. I liked it. Everything is old and beautiful there. There are tunnels that connect the dorms because it’s so cold. I miss being in sweatpants in one of the common rooms of the dorms at 3 am, and always, there was someone there with you. There’s such an unspoken sense of camaraderie in college. You may not know that person, or what they are studying, or what they are up in the wee hours of the night writing a paper for, but you’re both doing it, so you feel like you aren’t alone, even if you never talk. It never felt lonely, to me. There’s just always people around, with books, reading Capote or Tolstoy, always someone to meet, and talk about thoughts and ideas..always someone to help you with something you don’t understand in your linguistics class (I met so many of my friends-to-this-day in Linguistics! ha because it was such a different way of thinking and I always learned better by talking things out with groups of people so I would see someone I knew from class in the library and just be like “dude…you’re in my class…what’s with this shit?”) You learn so much from your peers…they had such good ways of explaining things and using humor and pop culture to make me understand examples. I loved studying with pepole.

I would go over to my professor’s houses for dinner when they invited us. I remember going over to this one eccentric Russian prof’s house and talking about human nature…just whether people are inherently good or bad or how much of life is nature versus nature and are we blank slates, are we taught compassion, are we taught empathy, or are we born with it; those kinds of things.

When it got warm, all the little college kiddies would sit out in wire chairs in front of the dining areas, or on the green (our little grass quad in front of the library and in between the dorms) and talk about class and this paper or that paper…you could find one of your peers on a blanket with some snacks, and in between reading your poems for your “The Romantics” poetry class, and studying Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein or one of Eugene O’Neills horribly depressing but horribly brilliant plays for American Playwrights with Don Pease (yep), you would throw a football with the boys or just lay there and soak up the green.

This is not nearly what a tribute to Dartmouth or Hanover should be. I can’t find the words, ever. On beautiful fall and spring weekends we would hike….to the top of the firetower in this little town in Vermont, and get PANORAMIC views of all of the Upper Valley…the hills and trees. There were so many things to do in the Upper Valley…hikes and pumpkin patches and apple picking and farms to visist, but I studied. I pretty much just studied. But Hanover was enough. Our little bookstore on Main Street with Starbucks…our one boutique coffee shop, The Dirty Cowboy. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I’m in PAIN I miss it so much.

Conan’s speech makes me so happy and proud to be an alumni of Dartmouth. I wish I’d been there to see him deliver it. There are so many inside-jokes that people who didn’t go to Dartmouth won’t get haha, like FSP and blitz-jacking and tubestock and our obsession with Dr. Suess being one of our alumns, hahaha, but my favorite parts, that anyone can laugh at are these:

“Of course there are many parents here and I have real advice for them as well. Parents, you should write this down:

-You will spend more money framing your child’s diploma than they will earn in the next six months.

– Many of your children you haven’t seen them in four years. Well, now you are about to see them every day when they come out of the basement to tell you the wi-fi isn’t working.

– If your child majored in fine arts or philosophy, you have good reason to be worried. The only place where they are now really qualified to get a job is ancient Greece.

And this:

“Eleven years ago I gave an address to a graduating class at Harvard. I have not spoken at a graduation since because I thought I had nothing left to say. But then 2010 came. And now I’m here, three thousand miles from my home, because I learned a hard but profound lesson last year and I’d like to share it with you. In 2000, I told graduates “Don’t be afraid to fail.” Well now I’m here to tell you that, though you should not fear failure, you should do your very best to avoid it. Nietzsche famously said “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” But what he failed to stress is that it almost kills you. Disappointment stings and, for driven, successful people like yourselves it is disorienting. What Nietzsche should have said is “Whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you watch a lot of Cartoon Network and drink mid-price Chardonnay at 11 in the morning.”

And this:

Your school motto is “Vox clamantis in deserto,” which means “Voice crying out in the wilderness.” This is easily the most pathetic school motto I have ever heard. Apparently, it narrowly beat out “Silently Weeping in Thick Shrub” and “Whimpering in Moist Leaves without Pants.” Your school color is green, and this color was chosen by Frederick Mather in 1867 because, and this is true—I looked it up—”it was the only color that had not been taken already.” I cannot remember hearing anything so sad. Dartmouth, you have an inferiority complex, and you should not. You have graduated more great fictitious Americans than any other college. Meredith Grey of Grey’s Anatomy. Pete Campbell from Mad Men. Michael Corleone from The Godfather. In fact, I look forward to next years’ Valedictory Address by your esteemed classmate, Count Chocula. Of course, your greatest fictitious graduate is Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner. Man, can you imagine if a real Treasury Secretary made those kinds of decisions? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Now I know what you’re going to say, Dartmouth, you’re going to say, well “We’ve got Dr. Seuss.” Well guess what, we’re all tired of hearing about Dr. Seuss. Face it: The man rhymed fafloozle with saznoozle. In the literary community, that’s called cheating.

And this:

Today, receiving this honor and speaking to the Dartmouth Class of 2011 from behind a tree-trunk, I have never believed that more.

Haha oh I love you Conan. The tree trunk thing was hilarous. I always truly love the simplicity of his take-away message. Work hard, be kind, and amazing things will happen. Love that.

PS- in elaboration of his fictitious-characters point, the entire plot of Superbad was about whats-his-name going to Dartmouth; hotty Nate from Gossip Girl’s dad went there and it was a point of contention if he didn’t; and IT WAS REVEALED LAST NIGHT THAT SENATOR RICHMOND ON THE KILLING, went to Dartmouth! #proudalumni.

That’s all I guess. I’m gay for Dartmouth.

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Portlandia Pug Crawl

Jesus fucking christ. I am losing. my. SHIT. OVER. THIS. My friend sent this to me and I went NUTS. Like I can’t handle something this hilarious. Here is the thing about pugs, okay?— you don’t have to be a pug owner, to appreciate their UTTER. AND COMPLETE. RIDICULOUSNESS as living beings on this earth. They look…like…FREAKS. Bug eyed. Fat. Wrinkled. Weird little curly-q tails that make literally zero sense. Smushed noses. Snorting and huffing. They are total freaks of specimens and their personalities ARE. HILARIOUS because they have NO idea how ridiculous they are and think they are as big and as able as a German Shephard. Anyone with a pug will tell you that they have absolutely ZERO self awareness. They are the antithesis of anything that should exist in the chain of life on planet earth, and have absolutely nothing to do with natural selection or Darwin because these dogs are JOKES. God put pugs on this earth to be my breed of choice because they could NOT. BE. QUIRKIER or more absurd.  Their expressions are absoultely priceless. French Bulldogs are cool. Like when a French Bulldog walks down the street, you take shit seriously. They command respect. Bulldogs (not the french kind) are badass. Golden Reterievers are sweet. Terriers are smart. Poodles are assholes. Pugs…are pathetic. Pugs THINK they are the hot shit, and have no idea what they look like to the rest of the world. And now I will take you through my favorite pictures from the parade.

Hahaha ballerina pug is so over this shit. It did one plié and was like ‘fuck it I’m out.’

HAHHAA while ballerina pug is ‘so over’ this shit, Banana Split pug is ALL OVER this shit. He is MEAN MUGGIN’. Yeah I’m in a red-and-white checkered banana suit, and…what’s your point. Don’t fuck with banana split pug.

Ewok pug is so earnestly disillusioned. He literally doesn’t know what he did to deserve this and just looks sad and repentant.

Stroller pug is my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE. IS THIS A JOKE?!?!? I CANT. STOP. LAUGHING. LOOK AT HIS FACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HE IS LIKE “HEY GUYS! IT’S ME! STROLLER PUG! I’LL BE HERE THROUGH SEPTEMBER, CASH AND CREDIT CARD ACCEPTED!” hahahha he is SO HAPPY AND JOYFUL. THAT DOG IS LOVING THIS FUCKING SPOTLIGHT. LOOK AT IT’S BACK TOE POINTED!!!!!! HE LEGITIMATELY IS PUSHING THAT STROLLER LIKE ‘BITCH I OWN THIS SHOW.’ oh my GOD. Also like..where is his human? Every other picture from the parade shows at least like a human leg or arm or leash in the picture, but stroller pug is legit on his own. Like he registered himSELF for the parade and walked his ass down to the show, with stroller in tow. He literally is alone.

HAHAH OKAY WHEN I SAID TWO SECONDS AGO THAT STROLLER PUG WAS MY FAVORITE, I LIED. Greek. God. Pug. I mean this is comedic genius. HAHAHAH THE MEN in their togas and wreaths, with that alien pug up there on the pedestal, with it’s like throne and ivy. I mean that pug legit looks like a king. It’s puffing its chest out proudly. He looks like he was born up there on that pedestal. Total joke.

HAHAHAHAHHA THE EXPRESSION ON THIS “PUGBR”. (Instead of PBR..get it). HE IS STRUTTING. HIS. SHIT. Like the PUGBR that he is. Unreal.

Pug with Cherry on Top. Stop. Dude is on a MISSION.

Pig Pug. I mean, I can’t. I can’t.

HAHAH MAD-MEN PUG. They have on suits and ties and are all chic and shit. The best part is the handler. She is dressed up like Joan and looovvvinggg it. This was about her, not the madmen pugs. Don’t think for a second this was about Pug1 and Pug2.

Very clever, anonymous Portlandian. Very clever. I-pug.

LadyPug instead of Ladybug! Presh.

And that concludes my commentary on the 11th Annual Portlandian Pug Crawl. I WILL attend the 12th annual next year. TRY to think I’m kidding.

Photo Credit And Original Source Here.

UPDATE: MOTHER FUCKING UPDATE: I was just talking to my friend who sent me the link telling him about how I think we should do a ‘stoner pug’, all chilled out with like, a white costume shaped like a blunt or something else ridiculous with like dreads and shit, and he goes “NUGPUG.” UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM TRADEMARKED. HERE. AND. NOW. NUG-PUG. WILL BE DEBUTING AT THE 12TH ANNUAL PUGLANDIA PUG CRAWL NEXT YEAR. SEE YOU LATER PUGS.

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AT&T Flash Mob Commercial

Haha my boyfriend and I just saw this ad on tv for the first time and we were laughing so hard. It’s nerdy but I love it. I rewound the commercial with the DVR and watched it twice more and then again on youtube. His dance moves are hilarious and I love when he screams “WE.ARE” in such earnest, and the chick and the bro at the end who give him such looks of condescension as they watch him carry out his one-man flash mob. The entire concept of a flashmob is so hilarious and weird, and I love that they did a commercial making fun of it. Love this.

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HAHA oh I LOVE this so much

Hysterical perfection. They couldn’t have picked a better picture to put the text over. Genius. It keeps making me LOL.

The only thing I would add is “My B.” I would make it :

Sorry it took so long to get you a copy of my birth certificate.

I was too busy killing Osama bin Laden.

My b.

There is something so funny about heads-of-state and important, serious people using super-colloquial language & phrases. It’s why all those fake Twitter accounts for heads-of-state are hilarious, because they tweet these pop-culture-related one-liners, that the person they are pretending to be would never say. Like the fake one for Muammar Gaddafi. It’s just hilarious to scroll through your twitter feed and see:

Muamar Gaddafi: “oh shittttt Jusin Bieber ‘baby’ just came on the radio. That’s my jam!”

or

Hosni Mubarak: “I texted this girl I like and she never wrote back….#whatsupwiththat?” 

(I made both of those up. That’s what I would say if I were pretending to be them)

This one was real though:

Osama Bin Laden: “Watching live coverage of the Met Ball….I like Ana Wintour’s ensemble but personally prefer Andre Leon Tally.”

Thank you Teresa!

PPs- in case you’re 49 years old or don’t know anything, ‘my b’ means my bad. Are there people who don’t know that? Worse, are there people who don’t even know what ‘my bad’ means? I think there are. I think I’ve said that to someone before and they were like “what does that mean?” I have a vague recollection of that occurring in my lifetime. #whoarethesepeople

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Oh Goodness…this really is too cute. MINI Alexander McQueen Armadillo Boot Ornament for sale @ Met

I mean….what’s next. I am going Gaga over this cuteness. Get it. Cause she wore the famous McQueen shoe in the Bad Romance Video & to the MTV video music awards? Anyways. Why is anything cute in small proportions. This shoe is weird. And creepy. And reptillian. But I want to own it, in miniature version. It’s $25.00 @ The Met, and you can even order it online! The perfect gift for your savy, Avante-Garde-appreciating friend. Don’t give it to anyone BUT that friend or no one will know what’s going on. Happy Mother’s Day Mom! It’s an ornament, but if it actually stands up it could make a cute little paper-weight or book-shelf-trinket. If you are into armadillo shoes.

I’ve GOT to make it to the McQueen Savage Beauty exhibit at the Met before it closes.

The shoe in normal proportions on the runway:

Via: Refinery 29

Update: Appuuurrrrently they’re on backorder…ya snooze ya lose.

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Photo Love: Aziz Ansari & Brooklyn Decker at Met Ball After-Party

Love me some Aziz-Crazy-Eyes. Funniest dude around. HAHA he is so expressive. Wonder what she’s whipsering in his ear.  Tom Haverford, Raaaaaaaandy, Aziz, I love all his characters. And yeah, in case you were wondering, I’ve been following his shit for years, since Human Giant, a sketch comedy show that was on MTV back in 2007. I have my brother to credit for that. I find out all the new music; and he finds out all the new tv shows/movies/comedians and we just exchange new shit.  He was watching Louis CK when he was noooobody. He always finds a way to download shit (illegally?) so he had me over to watch the Pilot for True Blood LITERALLY 3 months before ads starting running on HBO. Haha. I’m trying to think of what other shows he watched before they were airing….Breaking Bad, Six Feet Under, The Sopranos, oh- It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Summer Heights High, Shameless (he was watching it when it was in England and not even on Showtime yet)….like literally everything. It’s an inside joke. I don’t know how/where he finds it but he does. I guess we are just a family of scouters. We love discovering new shit. And then bragging about it when 2 years later everyone’s like “omg have you seen this new show It’s always sunny in philadelphia, its so funnny!” Bitch please.

From Vogue’s Met Ball After-Party slideshow. 

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