wishful thinking

D: Um, yes. We are the worst bloggers ever.

A Lady: Sigh. Agreed.

D: Let’s ignore the fact that we are absent and disappointing bloggers and jump ahead like we didn’t accidentally hiatus for, like, three weeks.

A Lady: Yes! Exactly! Let’s get greedy.

D: AKA wishlisting time. This is the best part of holidays: pretending that it’s not a little sad that I, at nearly thirty years old, am still making wishlists.

A Lady: Plus, the Christmas-adjacent birthdays thing. Was this always a pain for you, or a bonus?

D: Oh, always a bonus. My birthday falls three weeks after Christmas, so I’d take the handwritten list off the fridge, carefully cross off all the things I got, leave the un- acquired gifts on the list, and retitle it “Birthday List”. It was all kinds of efficient.

A Lady: Ooh. That’s so clever. My problem has always been of the eleven days prior variety. No, I never know what I want for either holiday. The more important concern is What Do You Want To Do For Your Birthday, and, to be frank I’ve more or less decided to throw in the towel. People are always writing papers or taking finals or already gone home for break and god I resent the academy sometimes.

ANYWAY. What do we want this year, pray tell?

D: I think I can speak for both trollops here when I say “scotch”. Delicious, gorgeous, expensive scotch.

And a table saw would be nice. But probably not recommended to enjoy at the same time as the scotch.

A Lady: And a pony! A Tom Ford-approved pony!


D: And a first edition of “What Shall I Wear”, of course. One must have a well-selected library, naturally.

A Lady: I could always do with a Rothko and a Twombly.

I also feel like either of us would go for the Visionaire boxed edition of Diana Vreeland’s VOGUE memos.
I saw it at Art Basel Miami and pined for a few minutes. The last copy they had on hand was $160 or so. (Which, crap, I should totally have gotten as an investment because on the site they retail at $250 WTF. Not. Worth. It.)

D: Ooooh. That packaging. Swoon.

(I can’t believe you don’t keep a running wishlist through the year. My acquisitiveness knows no bounds: I have a specific list on my calendar just for Things I’d Like To Have Purchased For Me. Sadly, the list only gets longer, not shorter ever. Magpie tendencies.)

A Lady: (I mean, I did, for a hot second, have a running email I was sending to myself to keep track of everything I wanted, but then present time came around and I, um, forgot about it. Because what’s more fun than making life difficult for everyone?)

D: Passive-aggression is everyone's favorite gift.

A Lady: Another thing I could use, since Boswell ate mine, is a new pair of ballet flats. (The
Delmans are dead, long live the cheaper version?) Like these, but in my size.

D: V nice. I can’t believe I haven’t put Improbable Shoes on my wishlist yet. No, my wall of shoes is not quite full yet, and I must remedy that.

FUCKOFF HEELS!
These are insane. And so am I, and thus, it is perfect.

We are so easy to buy gifts for, really.

vigilante

A Lady: There’s a Vera Bradley sale on Rue La La today. I am torn between buying and burning all the stock, and slitting my wrists.

D: Bonfire of the uglies!

dress-up

Between bouts of popcorn eating, Lip Service watching, and flea marketing during my long weekend in New York, A Lady and I went to East Harlem to swoon over the Notorious and Notable exhibition at the Museum of the City of New York.
(Pro tip: getting anywhere in NYC on the day of the marathon will be an exercise in patience. Oops, bad planning.)

A Lady is still dying over Isadora Duncan's dress in the show; my little heart goes pitter-patter for Marian Anderson's blue dress. So, um, if these pieces mysteriously disappear from the museum anytime soon, we had nothing to do with it, promise.

thrifty

A quick scene from this weekend:

A Lady and I are scoping out various flea markets in New York, with the following exchange was muttered between us whenever a particularly attractive item was noticed.

Person One (interchangeable): "Hm, this is quite nice, but..."
Person Two: "You know, in Midwest Hometown, this would be found for $4/free/in immaculate condition."
Person One: "When I go back for Christmas, I am thrifting the hell out of Midwest Hometown."

domestic

You guys, A Lady is making me breakfast right now, and I am wearing a pair of her fuzzy slippers.
Yes, awesome.

ahem hem

baggage

I am sitting in my apartment, looking over my "things to spend money on while in New York" spreadsheet, and avoiding making eye contact with the pile of clothing I have considered and rejected packing.
(Is this pile as tall as my bed? Yes, perhaps, it may be.)

What does one weaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar for a long weekend with one's most sartorially splendid friends? I chafe at the idea of not having my full closet full of Options for outfit re-thinking and re-tooling. (We will ignore the fact that I am very likely to buy a whole bunch of clothes in NYC, which could solve the wardrobe dilemma right there, but one can never count on this. I mean, what if the only clothing I buy ends up being, like, two pairs of boots and seven sweaters and no pants?)

BAH. This is sending me into a spiral of "I have nothing to wear, and I hate all my clothes, and I should just wear a bathrobe and never leave the house again because hey that worked for J.D. Salinger, right?". Which is objectively silly, considering I have two closets full of lovely clothing, but THERE IS NO REASONING WITH CLOTHING PANIC.

Truly, what does one wear? Because I am staring at one black knit dress, one pair of black boots, and one black cardigan, and I feel this is somehow inadequate for four and a half days.