Me vs. the Big City: A Lesson in Humility

This is my home now

This is my home now

I’ve never met a challenge I couldn’t spin some way or another into me coming out on top. That is, until now. And I’m sure that’s only because I’m too tired to be over confident… At least I hope that’s why…

Whelp! I’m officially a big kid! I finally moved away from the comfort of mother’s breast and into mine and Frank Sinatra’s city of dreams New York, New York. And with this dream come true came a level of humility neither I nor anyone who’s ever come within 6 degrees of separation of me could have ever imagined.

New York is kicking my poor little rich ass straight back into reality. I got a low key job at a financial product start up along side of the two co-founders and – no one. I wanted the start up life and good Lord Jesus I got it. The three of us work side by side in a 9×9 white-washed closet 11 stories above Madison Avenue. I know what you’re thinking – Madison Avenue! Fancy right? Not fancy. We’re sandwiched in between a pawn shop and an oriental rug warehouse, across the street from a brothel, down-wind from what I can only imagine is somebody dying a thousand deaths after eating Taco Bell for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I casually make an appearance in the office 10 hours a day and then bring work home most nights and weekends… Apparently this is the real American way… Although for the longest time I held on that free-loading off my good looks and charming literary wit and maintaining hope that under the hot garbage juice and asphalt the streets really were paved with gold, and that I would make it by doing absolutely nothing. Sadly no. Reality came a’smackin’. Which makes me even sadder that Kimmie Kardashian is the exception and I am the rule. I could make a sex tape with a black man and get someone to propose to me and then divorce me probably… And if I can’t, well, then I just don’t belong in society.

So here’s to you Kimmie K, New York City, and the job I am surely about to lose!


I’ll just be here… Collecting unemployment. At least I’ll be skinny…

Xoxo a very hungry, poorly dressed, not-so-gossipy girl


My Worst Enemy


Let me tell you people about a little something I like to call my worst enemy.

Every time I am forced to partake in involving myself with my worst enemy I swear it’s the last time. But it never is. I’m still poor and therefore must be reunited with my worst enemy on a regular basis. Because I’m also 23. And I like to party. My worst enemy makes me nauseous. It’s unsteady. It smells like a mixture of Burger King and the people who eat at Burger King plus 25 year old carpet. Which means I now smell like that. When I finally get away from my worst enemy I will forever smell like that. I will feel filthy until we meet again which I swear will be never – but it’s usually about a month.

I’m talking about the bus people.


The dreaded, evil, “coach” Peter Pan, goddamn bus. Peter Pan flew to Never Land first of all. And I’m pretty sure that’s not fairy dust in that guys pocket. Every time I buy another bus ticket I die a little inside. I took it every freakin’ weekend in college and I swore that once I graduated I’d never take it again. It’s a hard knock life because I spend a lot of time in New York but I live in Boston with my Ma and I like to keep freshly manicured nails and an updated wardrobe… So you better believe there’s no $200 to splurge on the Amtrak.

So here I sit in the Devil’s lap. Stuck in traffic and trapped in Hell. And you know the first thing you do when you get on the bus is take a seat and offer the one adjacent to your bag and or feet and stick your headphones in to look as uninviting as possible but someone always sits next to you.


“Is this seat taken?”

“Uhh yes it is. You can tell by my menacing stare and the size of my carry on, thanks!”

And it’s funny too because on a full bus what do you do? You look for the seat next to the most non-threatening person you can find – which is usually not much of a selection. So here I sit, all 115 pounds of white meat with my clean blonde hair and Macbook and the fat smelly guy looking for a seat just hit the jackpot. I’m doomed. And what the hell is that smell by the way? Because I’ve never smelled anything more horrific than the smelly guy on the bus and I’ve been to the bathroom at Six Flags.

The guy sitting next to me now is ok though. And I’m not just saying that because he’s reading over my shoulder…


But since you are… Hey…


An Ode to Magnolia Cupcakes…

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Dear Sweet, Playful, Cupcake,

What trickery your invisible peel can be. It’s almost cruel to have something so time-consuming blocking something so scrumptious, yet serving such a special purpose. As I peel you from your paper cup I notice the tiny detailing in your very being: your sugar daisy placed ever so gingerly atop the peak of your mountain of frosting. Such luscious, decadent frosting that has generously smudged onto your perfect, white baker’s box for me to flick a taste with my finger. What heaven the first taste is, as I release you from your papery prison and send you to my lips – pausing just long enough for your perfume to fill my nostrils. Then my teeth sink in to your frosting swirled top and down through your perfect soft vanilla core and release it in a bite so satisfying, I can hardly wait to take one more.

I know I just posted an Ode but this had to be done. I’ve tried desperately to talk about things other than food in this blog, but I can bear it no longer.

I went on a trip to NYC this past weekend and no trip to the big city is ever complete without a nice big cupcake from Magnolia Bakery. None of that Baked by Melissa stuff. I always feel so ashamed when I go there and I get a dozen cupcakes for myself. I don’t care if they’re bite sized I’m still cramming a dozen cupcakes into my face hole. I much prefer one nice light, fluffy, perfectly iced cupcake from Magnolia.

Magnolia is such a New York staple they should start calling the city ‘The Big Cupcake.’ I have yet to see an apple that can measure up…

I went to New York for a few reasons… Firstly, it’s the best city on earth. Second, the Belmont Stakes horse race was this weekend and you can’t call yourself a true fake Southerner unless you dabble in betting the house on the ponies (also wearing big hats.) And lastly, my incredibly talented Director friend and I planned a lovely photo shoot to showcase my 5’4” cupcake loving model bod, and get some fun pictures for my blog.

I thought that as a ‘thank you’ there was nothing better to bring him than a six-pack of Magnolia’s finest.

I was right. There was nothing better because he’s on his way to LA and has already crossed over to the dark side of cutting out carbs and wouldn’t eat them. I enjoyed three Magnolia treasures; one red velvet and two vanilla, while my hungry director captured World War Cupcake on film.

Here’s lookin’ at you cupcake! Let the montage begin…

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