If you’ve been reading this blog long enough, you’ll know I’ve been bitching about losing weight for two years now.
But this time, I really am going to do it.
There is a bribe involved.
My dad has told me if I lose at least 15 pounds by April, he will buy me a pair of Manolo Blahniks to wear at his hospital’s garden party later that month.
That’s a huge fucking deal. My dad hasn’t bought me anything since I left home three years ago. (He’s still bitter I went out and got my own apartment. In his traditional Indian mind, women should live at home until marriage or death. Whichever comes first.)
To be honest, it’s not the bribing part that is most thrilling. I thrive on bribes from my father.
Each year of elementary school, I aced all my honors classes so I could receive a shiny new toy at the beginning of summer.
In high school, I got nothing less than a B all four years so my dad would buy me a brand new car after graduation.
In college, I got nothing less than a B all four years so my dad would pay my tuition and country club membership.
Now, it’s the shoes.
But for me, the most exciting aspect is the party. You see, I never thought I would get to go back.
Five years ago, when I was 96 pounds, my dad took me to his hospital’s Christmas party, which was being held at a gorgeous historical mansion downtown. He let me sit with his secretary and the nurses because he thought it would be good for me to sit with girls around my own age.
It was a brilliant idea. The girls were so much fun and we had an absolute blast. We ended up getting fabulously drunk and started dirty dancing to the Black Eyed Peas on stage and erupting into loud laughter every five minutes. I took it one step further and, wearing a little black dress and four inch heels, did a solo dance routine to Gwen Stefani’s banana song on a bar stool.
It was epic and to this day, people my dad barely knows at the hospital still stop him in the hallways to ask about me.
I’m not gonna lie. I kind of want to repeat that experience. In Manolo Blahniks.
So, here goes my weight loss routine. I’m a lot more optimistic this time because I can see the reward ahead of me. I am a greyhound, chasing the rabbit. I am a fashionista chasing a $900 pair of heels.
Wish me luck!
PS. If you’re looking for Oscar red carpet coverage, my hilarious friend Lauren has it here.
Well, it's that time of year again. The Academy Awards. Are you excited? I hope so!
I'm itching to see the gorgeous (and hideous) gowns glide down the red carpet. I'm anxious to see my favorite movie star and my future husband host the event together. I'm hoping a certain Harvard-educated beauty wins for Best Actress.
If you've been busy and haven't been able to catch up on what the Oscars are all about this year, here are a few things I recommend. A sort of Oscar 2011 mini sampler, I guess you could say.
First, familiarize yourself with how the Oscar nominations and voting process works. It's actually a lot more interesting than you think!
Let Tchaikovsky give you goosebumps...or swanbumps.
Rent the nominated documentary, Exit Through The Gift Shop. It is the most interesting documentary I have seen in a LONG time. Plus, if it wins the Oscar, Banksy may pick up the award in an outlandish costume...or not even show up at all.
Steal Anne Hathaway's style.
Get to know her co-host and Best Actor nominee, James Franco.
Celebrate with delicious food! The official Oscar website offers fun recipes, such as Deviled Eggs with Caviar and Chili Orange Kettle Corn. Or, make a toast to the winners with a Moet Starlet.
And finally, don't forget to have a glamorous weekend!
Pamela Des Barres was the most famous rock & roll groupie of the 1960s and 1970s.
When she was in high school, during the early 1960s, Miss Pamela worshipped rock gods, such as Elvis, The Beatles, and The Rolling Stones. The Southern California teenager used to fantasize about Mick Jagger in particular and even submitted a painting of his penis for a high school art class project. (She received an A).
A couple years later, by mingling hardcore with the rock music scene on the Sunset Strip, the stunning blonde finally got the opportunity to compare her painting with the real deal. Many times.
Her sexual conquests, in addition to Mick Jagger, included Jim Morrison, Jimmy Page, and Keith Moon.
When she wasn't busy befriending legendary musicians, Miss Pamela secured the position as a nanny for Frank Zappa's children. She became close friends with him and his family.
Frank Zappa even made her a member of his all-girl group, the GTOs, which was his opening act. The act was mostly performance art, since none of the beautiful young women could sing or play instruments. Eventually, the group disbanded because some of the members were arrested for drug possession.
The group only propelled her fame and lust for attention even further. In the 1970s, Miss Pamela began an acting career, appearing in movies, commercials, and a soap opera.
In the late 1970s, Miss Pamela began to grow up. She married musician Michael Des Barres in 1977, and they had a son a year later.
In 1987 she went on to write the best-selling memoir, "I'm with the Band: Confessions of a Groupie." It was followed up by the best-selling "Take Another Little Piece of my Heart: A Groupie Grows Up" in 1993. The acclaimed author also wrote pieces for Cosmopolitan, Rolling Stone, The New York Times, and Playgirl.
Miss Pamela is currently an ordained minister, who performs rock and roll weddings around the US. She also teaches creative writing workshops around the country as well.
Right now, HBO is creating a comedy-drama show titled, "I'm With the Band: Confessions of a Groupie" which is going to star Zooey Deschanel as Miss Pamela. It is based on her best-selling memoir of the same name.
For the past couple of weeks, I've been waking up with a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. A feeling so unusual, it really did take me a long time to figure it out. The feeling is hope.
No matter how many bad things happen to me, I can't keep wallowing in misery like I've been doing the past two years. In order to create a positive change, I need to make it happen myself.
I want 2011 to be about ME. While I don't have a job, I want to use this time bettering myself. Making myself more beautiful on the inside and out. Educating myself on things I have always wanted to learn, but never had time.
I want to be content with life.
I want to have fun without consequences.
I want to feel free and careless.
I want to be a stronger person.
I don't think I'm asking for much. And if I make an effort, I don't think my results will be hard to come by.
I don't know where this feeling of optimism came from. It magically appeared this year. Maybe I'm just sick of being overcome with misery.
But I do think happiness is on my horizon.
God, I really hope I don't look back on this post next year and cry.
No, it's not my boyfriend, my father, or James Franco. But you're close.
It's my mechanic.
My car is dying a slow death and this magical mechanic, JD, had been keeping me afloat for the past two years.
He has given me priceless advice which has literally saved me thousands of dollars.
He has been extremely honest with me. For example, two years ago I had a rubber tube in my engine that was leaking. The dealership wanted $400 to replace it. Five other auto shops quoted between $300 to $500 to replace it. JD took one look at the tube, laughed, and then cut the part that was leaking. He then reattached it. "Never let these places rip you off," he told me. "You don't need a new tube at all."
He has also had my back. A year and a half ago, my air conditioner blew out. It cost me $600 to replace it.
Six months later, my air conditioner stopped working again. It was under a year warranty with the auto shop. I took it to the shop where JD worked. His boss smirked and told me, "I think a rock hit the air conditioner, so that isn't valid under our warranty. It's gonna cost you another $600, honey." I was dumbfounded. JD was pissed as well and he actually chewed his boss out for me. I could hear him in the back room yelling, "that's wrong! You're cheating this girl! She shouldn't pay for NOTHING!"
In the end, JD didn't win over his boss completely, but I did only have to pay for labor, not the air conditioner. He saved me $300.
Well, this morning I discovered the brakes were not working properly on my car. I took it to the shop. JD wasn't there. Normally when I bring over my car, JD looks at it for free and then tells me what needs to be done. This time, a scowling girl at the cash register told me I had to pay $80 for an inspection fee.
I told her I wanted to speak to JD. She smiled meanly and told me JD didn't work there anymore
"He was giving advice to people and doing practically free labor for customers without our knowledge," she said. "He totally got fired. He was a terrible employee. You're the fifth person to ask about him today. He really had a fan base with his shady little deals. We're SO glad he's gone." And then she threw her head back and cackled like a witch.
I was horrified.
And that's when I realized I had lost a very important person in my life. An honest mechanic. Someone I could trust with my car. Someone who truly did not want to rip me off. A mechanic with a heart of gold.
If you ever become friends with a mechanic, do not let that person go. Cling to them. You will never regret it.
Now I'm going to spend this weekend searching for JD or someone like him. There is a good chance I will surface with no results.
The luxurious, colorful handbags glistened before my eyes as I stared in awe at the inexpensive prices printed on the tags. A Coach purse for only $50?! I traced my finger over the C's. But wait...they were O's. And that Prada bag...why was it plastic? I thought it was leather from a distance.
I was 14. I was in New York City. I was surrounded by designer knockoffs.
Over the next several years, I would find myself exposed to more knockoffs. Not purses, but people. Religious people.
When I was in high school, I was religious. I was extremely involved in my church. I chose to get baptized again. I believed. It was a pleasant time in my life. I was surrounded by wonderful Christians who were amazing friends.
But not all religious people are good.
Every religion has them--the knockoffs.
The people who pretend to be religious, when they really have their own agenda.
For example, people who use religion as a shield to hide their own ugliness. Ever seen Saved? That shit is real. There are self-proclaimed Christian girls who will seriously get all Hilary Faye on your ass. I've seen it.
When they feel threatened by another girl, who may be prettier or cooler or nicer than them, they panic.
They play mind games, they vandalize property, they spread rumors, and they physically hurt you. All when nobody is looking. Who will believe you? Not their pastor. Not their parents. Not their friends. Because these girls are perfect. Their souls have been saved, after all. They quote the Bible. They say they love Jesus. How could they be so evil?
Obviously, religious hypocrisy doesn't linger just in high schools or amongst the Christians. Like I said earlier, it's everywhere.
My ex-boyfriend was Egyptian.
When we were together, he drank like a fish, did drugs, stole whatever he could get his hands on, slept around, never prayed, and then eventually got put in jail for three months for robbing a house. But there he would be on our college campus, giving speeches on what it was like to be a "dedicated Muslim." It was hard to swallow.
When you're surrounded by these people, it is beyond frustrating. It opens your eyes to what the world is truly like. It's ugly.
It's frightening to realize that many people use religion as a mask or a weapon, just for the sake of justifying their own hatred or hiding their own mistakes.
I hate to sound preachy, because I don't usually stand up on a soapbox, but I have to beg you:
If you're going to stand for something good, try to be good.
Nobody is perfect. We all make mistakes or do things that cause shame. But at least own up to it. Otherwise, nobody can save you from yourself.
Kerrie and I recently held a Valentine's Day Tea party.
We came up with the idea a month ago when we were shopping at a Victorian tea shop and stumbled upon their gorgeous tea room. When we found out it was available for rent, we immediately started planning.
We had a sleepover the night before and made cupcakes, finger food, sangria, and gift bags for our guests.
The party was a lovely success. It was sweet to see 20 of our closest friends all together for the first time. Everyone got along splendidly. Our favorite part was when we all discussed our worst dates ever. Many of them were hilarious! We all voted on who had the worst date. The winner received a giant gift bag, which included a scarf made by Kerrie, gourmet chocolates, and a beautiful picture frame.
(My Jonny was the only gentleman invited to the party. He wore his vintage 1950s Cary Grant-inspired outfit. Isn't he dashing?)
(FYI: My adorable friend Robin is actually a fashion blogger I met on this site! We were blogging buddies for a really long time until we realized a year or so ago that we lived in the same city. We've since become good friends! You should check out her awesome blog Carrie Bradshaw Made Me Do It. She also won our Worst Date giveaway at the party. Hehe.)
Kerrie invited the little girl who she nannies. So cute!
(I invited my little half-Indian mini-me. Her mama and I were college friends before she was even imagined.)
Oh, and by now you might have noticed Kerrie and I wore matching outfits. Aren't we cute?!?
Yesterday, Kerrie and I spent the afternoon in a beautiful random church downtown. We were bored and figured it was better to spend our time in a church rather than on the streets, where we would most likely get mixed up with thugs and hooligans.