I'm still recovering. . .

. . . from Thanksgiving. This year's festivities involved nineteen (yes, 1-9) side dishes, a full day of family fun, and a four car collision on my block. The upside of that last bit was that it really gave us all time to digest dinner before dessert, and I got to chat with all my neighbors for a while. It felt quite like an episode of Seventh Heaven. Lovely.

Anywho, been super busy.... posts to come!

Thanksgiving Is Almost Here!

In honor of Turkey Day, I was just attempting to come up with a list of 25 things I'm grateful for. It was torture and I only came up with 5. Some of them were really dumb too, like hair products. I couldn't possibly publish that crap. Maybe for New Year's I'll try to be less of a pessimist. (Now, if I had attempted to list 25 complaints, I'd have it done in under a minute. I love to bitch about stuff. This must stop.)

Anyfreakinway, if (and this is a BIG if) I'm not in a carb/ champagne hangover on Friday, I will attempt to blog about my Thanksgiving. My family's pretty crazy and the Mamma goes WAY over board with the food (her record is 21 side dishes) so something worth writing about should occur.

Follow me on Twitter for live T-Day updates. I'm hoping to have pictures of food and memorable quotes posted up throughout the night. (twitter.com/Lauren_Vanessa)

Anticipation. . . of Bedazzling

Here's a little story for anyone not versed in Bedazzling and its history:

Sometime in the 1970's someone thought, "Hey, let's mass market a tool to fasten giant plastic gemstones onto clothing." The Bedazzler was born and flourished during the 1970's and 80's, because well, it was the 70's and 80's.



Enter the nineties and the world rebounded against the Bedazzler, mainly because of looks like this one:

Now, we all know that the Bedazzled sweater is clearly not the only thing wrong with this hot mess. The giant glasses, the weird poofy hair, the gold lame leggings, the ill-fitting (or non-existent) brassiere, and the sour expression all combine to create more of an eyesore than anyone could dream up. Maybe the Bedazzler takes the heat for this kind of thing because it really elevated bad fashion to a kitsch art form for a while.

But there's hope for the redemption of the Bedazzler. Just like a bad news boyfriend or the smell of Tequila, I think that enough time has passed that we can revisit the offender without anyone getting hurt. This rekindling of the Bedazzler love will be a modified version, however. Modified how, you ask? Well, for one, by ditching the gemstones altogether in favor of studs. Yes, STUDS!

Check out the fierceness the addition of studs lends to this Nanetter Lepore coat. Beyond wicked cute, this coat is almost to die for. Would I pay the $548 that Bloomie's is asking for it? Hell to the no! Will I acquire a Bedazzler at some point this week and attempt to work some magic on a coat I already own? Um, yeah! No brainer. (If you still aren't with me on this whole "studding" thing, just check out this dress, or this one, or these jeans. All intensely perfect but heinously overpriced, no?)

So, the procrastination special over the next couple of weeks is obvs going to be centered around me revamping my wardrobe with some mayjah studdage. Hopefully this will distract me away from shopping. I think I have a problem. Anywho, if I feel ambitious enough, I will attempt to videotape some of the Bedazzling tomfoolery and vlog it. That's right, people, I said vlog. Wish me luck.

Let's Talk About Manners For a Minute. . .

. . . or rather the lack of them I have been experiencing lately. Oy. Let's just say it hasn't been pretty. I've been bombarded lately with open-mouthed chewers (and the sounds they make--ew), a shortage of pleases and thank you's, and a complete absence of excuse me's.

But what I experienced today takes the cake. Get this. Before I had even clocked in this morning, one of the new supervisors thinks going "Psssst, pssst, psssst, pssst," is a good way to get my attention and ask me to go out onto the floor with him. I comically tell him that this is a great way to call a dog but I'm a human being, thinking that he'll get the hint. It seemed he did, until a few hours later. . . (insert ominous musical overture here) he did it again!

No, I am not shitting you, he actually did it again. Not cool. I had to then school this jerk on how that type of behavior is not only degrading, but also terribly sexist, and that it can't happen again. This entire interaction made me wonder: did this fool not ever have his mother/ sister/ aunt/ grandma/ random female relative teach him what is an appropriate way to catch a woman's attention? I'm sorry, but "pssst" is never appropriate, unless of course you are calling a stray cat over for a treat. If my brother ever did that to me or my sister, he would've immediately been smacked in the head or kicked in the nuts. He turned out kind of okay, so clearly this method of teaching manners works. Maybe a nut kicking would have been in order today? Hmmm. . . something to think about.

What is my point again? Oh, yeah, manners are important. If you got this far into my blog post without rolling your eyes, you know that already. My question to you then is: what the hell is wrong with everybody else lately?

My Heartfelt Apologies. . .

. . . for not blogging much lately. Times are crazy and the stress of beginning a new semester and the loss of the last Kennedy brother were just too much for me. New blog posts before the end of the week, though! Cross my heart!

In Memoriam: Eunice Kennedy Shriver

"You are the stars and the world is watching you. By your presence you send a message to every village, every city, every nation. A message of hope. A message of victory. The right to play on every field? You have earned it. The right to study in any school? You have earned it. The right to hold a job? You have earned it. The right to be anyone's neighbor? You have earned it."

--Eunice Kennedy Shriver at the 1987 Special Olympic World Games

If you don't know much about the life and work of this amazing woman, read this short article.

And please consider becoming involved in or making a donation to one of the following organizations which so beautifully carry on Mrs. Shriver's life's work: The Special Olympics, or Best Buddies International.

Do something good for the world today, folks. It's not as hard as it seems. Sometimes simply treating someone with kindness can change their whole day, and it doesn't take but a second of your time. Let's all try to make the world just a little bit better today, and honor the legacy of the remarkable Eunice Kennedy Shriver.

Please, Summer! Don't Go!

No, I'm not wallowing after some hippie chick, I'm bemoaning the inevitable end of the season. Summer is rapidly coming to a close, and this makes me all sorts of weepy-sad. While my wardrobe options will clearly be better come September (Hello cute boots and trenches! How I've missed you!) real life begins again. I'm really not looking forward to having to once again juggle classes, work, grad school aps, and what little bit of a social life I have time for. Tis no fun for me. No fun at all.

Which is why I've decided to indoctrinate my autumn days with a teensy bit of summer, by way of. . .



Fla-Vor-Ice. If you don't know what Fla-Vor-Ice is, you need to run out to the nearest supermarket or junk store and pick up a box. And don't let the word "ice" in the name fool you, and look in the freezer section. You won't find Fla-Vor Ice there. You'll find these boxes full of long plastic bag-like tubes filled with brightly colored sugar water right in the regular grocery aisles. Part of their charm really is the fact that one must wait hours for Fla-Vor Ice to freeze before you eat them. This is not about instant gratification, people. This is about summer. In. Your. Mouth.

Now, just in case you are from another planet, and have really never heard of Fla-Vor Ice, I'll give you a quick tutorial for maximum enjoyment. First of all, make sure they are laying flat when you freeze them. If they're bent, you're screwed. Now, once frozen, snip off one end of the tube, and squeeze the bottom a little (I'm smirking, because that sounded dirty). The Fla-Vor Ice should pop up out of the open side of the tube, about two inches at a time. Now there are two schools of thought on Fla-Vor Ice consumption. Some poor uncreative souls just bite off bits of frozen goodness and have at it. No fun, I say. The young at heart amongst us (um, me. duh.) prefer to suck all of the color out of the ice, then eat it. You go with your gut, and eat your Fla-Vor Ice however you feel. Just know that my way is the right way.

Come Fall, I am stocking up on Fla-Vor Ice. Whenever the weather or random sources of extraneous stress gets me down, I can simply open the freezer and have a little eightiestastic taste of summer to calm me down. As good as antianxiolytic drugs? Def not, but tastier than a stress ball.

Gettin' my Jersey on. . .

Born and bred in northeastern New Jersey, I've always had an issue with being branded a "Jersey Girl." Chances are, when someone calls you one, it is not in a complimentary fashion. To avoid fitting this stereotype, I've tried for years to be the antithesis of the Jersey Girl. And lucky for me, my tiny corner of Jersey is close enough to Manhattan (approximately one mile, to be exact) that I could easily avoid most Jerseyisms in favor of Manhattanisms. Such as my accent (this may mean I'm screwed either way, depending on how you look at it), love of real-not-mall-based department stores, and affinity for only the most authentic of ethnic cuisines.

Recently, a television phenomena has completely and utterly changed my view of my own Jerseyness. What would this be, you ask?



Why, yes. It is none other than the Real Housewives of New Jersey. At first, I was certain that this hot mess would be nothing more than an embarrassment to my state and a way for the rest of the U.S. to perpetuate negative Jersey stereotypes. After watching the entire season, I had to reevaluate my feeling on the Housewives. I was shocked at how much I related to them (with the exception of the sociopath and the pushover, that is). Scary, huh?

I have to admit, this revelation caused me to do a bit of soul searching. Was I more Jersey than even I knew? Have I been denying my roots and tri-state heritage all these years? Should I embrace my inner Jersey Girl? The answers are: yes, yes, and yes.

While I have no plans to run out and get acrylic tips and a spray tan, as some of my Jersey sisters do, I will embrace my Jerseyness proudly and wear it like a badge of honor. My recent acquisition of a patent leather leopard print Marc Jacobs wallet is my first step in embracing my inner Jersey Girl. Deep down, she loves animal prints. (In small doses, obvs. I'm not quite that Jersey yet.) I've even given up my normally sleek do in favor of hair that's a little messier, and yes, a little bigger. After all, it is summer and I am a Jersey Girl, with a newfound acceptance of herself and her Jersey.

Thank you Real Housewives, for making me realize that I should be both feircely protective and immensely proud of my state. After all, we've given the world so much to make it a better place: taylor ham, the light bulb, DSL, baseball, FM radio, The Boss, Bon Jovi, and Frank Sinatra.

I'll leave you with words of wisdom from my favorite table-flipping Jersey Girl: "People make fun of Jersey girls, but I think they're just jealous." I dare think she's spot on.

My Life Has Been Changed. . .

. . . by the Kindle 2. I've been on the fence about the device since its inception. You see I love books. The knowledge they behold, the worlds they open doors into, the feel and smell of the paper, the crispness of a book's spine in my hand, the way they look on my bookshelf*, the ability to reread a book and look at it in an entirely new way. I felt that electronic versions of the tomes I loved would never feel like books to me. I feared that reading on an electronic device would give me the type of cross-eyed pain I received after staring too long at a computer screen, or drinking far too many mojitos.

Holy crap, was I wrong. The Kindle is amazing. A-MAZ-ING! The screen really does look and read just like paper. I felt not even the tiniest ounce of eyestrain after reading for hours. So much like paper, that one point, I raised my hand as if to turn a page. Since I've been Kindled, I've read more than ever. It's so incredibly easy to browse and buy books. Of the twentyish books I've downloaded, I've only paid for three or four.

Yes, you heard right. . . there are FREE books out there! Mostly very old books, of the Jane Austen/ William Shakespeare variety (which fall under Public Domain-- yippee!) and the trashtastic romance novel ilk (which normally, I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, but since several were free, I've discovered they're not nearly as bad or as cliched as I first thought).

Now, the Kindle is clearly something I would never have bought for myself. Obvs, my three hundred buckaroos would have been spent on dresses I don't need, shoes I'll rarely wear, or high-end accessories I already have too many of (via online sample sales, of course). Which is why I must thank the Mamma, for providing such an awesometastic birthday present, as well as the sister who suggested it to the generous mamma. I now wonder how I ever lived without a device I had no idea I needed.

Now, don't get me wrong, I still do (and always will) love books. Not just the ideas they hold, but also the physical presence of paper and ink. While the Kindle is defs enabling me to read more books than ever before, and more easily, there are just some volumes that I will still have to buy actual physical copies of. Kindle-worthy and bookshelf-worthy are two different issues in my mind, with the latter being held to a much higher standard than the former.

Long story short? (Is there such a thing with me? I think not.) If you're on the fence about the Kindle as I was, fear no more. Give in. It's worth it.

*With the exception of my chick lit collection, which lies hidden behind more pretentious and intellectual titles.

A Second Attempt at Blogging. . .

. . . is now underway.

Will it be successful? You shall just have to read and see. In an effort to make it so, I deem this a general-whatever-thoughts-pop-into-my-head-stream-of-consciousness type of blog. Verbal (or in this case, manual) diarreah, is much more up my alley than anything involving any type of specialized interest, and/or the attention span of anything other than a gnat.

What, you ask, has suddenly sparked my suddenly renewed interest in blogging? My little sis, mocker of all things she deems inferior. You see, she often would viciously mock me, her boyfriend, and anyone else who blogged. She just never seemed to get why anyone would view themselves as important enough to share their thoughts with the world, via web.

Then one glorious day, she was overwrought with schoolwork and looking for an escape. Whence reading some of her favorite blogs, a lightbulb went off inside her head. "I read blogs daily, why on earth don't I write one?" And Smart on Paper was born, just like that. The student had now become the teacher, and I must scramble to catch up, blog-wise.

And so, off we go. . . (Oh yeah, I also have a great love of ellipses. Deal with it, 'kay?)