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This whole living under the poverty level thing is suppose to ween out after your early 20s right?
Obviously this doesn’t apply if you’re a lucky bitch with a trust fund. I don’t mean bitch. In fact I want to be said bitch with a trust fund.
What prompted this was an apartment viewing that both Colette and I went to last week in which there was a 5-floor walk up and a shower stall in the kitchen.
What??? I know, I dont’ even…
God please help a sister out and grant me some pesos. I swear I’m worth it.
But seriously, a shower stall outside of the bathroom?
Clearly I’m still having my reaction.
When anxiety/stress/diets kick in, an organized space helps. I hope.
While it seems like an outrageously long time since I’ve been out on a Sunday morning (afternoon) for brunch, today we got together to celebrate a birthday.
Birthday brunch = mimosas and bellinis plus cake. The way I see it, calories don’t exist during birthdays.
B Bar definitely tops the cake for most spacious outdoor terrace around the greenwich village area. Too bad they’re waffle maker was broken (the birthday girl had to settle for cinnamon french toast). Quite frankly there was no loss. After scampering off to light a few candles (and ultimately failing) on a small cake we purchased at the Financier we settled ourselves in to enjoy a cloudy but boozy breakfast.
Conclusion: Bread is good for the soul.
So is champagne.
1. Zara kitten heels 2. BCBGeneration romper, vintage plaid shirt, Tory Burch loafers, C Wonder sunnies 3. Henri Bendel gold bead bracelets (from the beach shop)
In which we frequent the Time Warner building a few too many times, peruse through Bergdorfs and fall in love with Luke’s lobster roll.
But seriously, the Plaza food hall is hiding a gem and its mad to think it took us this long to finally try it.
Because lets be honest, growing up just means more responsibilities without the praise and compliments.
But for all of us who still feel like kids in big people clothes, NYC sympathizes. And it gives us boozy pops.
Rooftop hunting (the summer equivalence to bar-hopping) only ends when the weather says so and while the sun is still on full swing let’s meet up at Loopy Doopy bar and talk about our hopes and dreams over alcohol and popsicles. Because as one friend reminded us, we have so many hopes and dreams.
Below are a few examples:
1. Co-collaborate with God (in life in general) the way Kanye collaborates with him in Yeezus (also speak Swaghili). Where are our stacks of millions?
2. Cut a croissant, stuff in a donut, figure out how to acquire a trademark and viola! I present you with the Doissant™, the cronut’s (more refined in name but less so in appearance) enemy. Because New Yorkers are crazy and wait in line for HOURS to dish out $5 for what really is a buttery, flakey donut. Actually, that sounds pretty good…
*Leandra of The Manrepeller puts it in the best terms: “I continue to wonder why New Yorkers become so damn obsessive about anything that seems limited edition, novel, highly regal, cheap or all of the above. You’d think Isabel Marant was already in-stores at H&M.”
What do you think??
A relentless and furiously hot afternoon left us no choice but to seek solace in a cafe far, far away on the Upper West Side.
We didn’t actually need the food and drinks. Just a change of scene (with wi-fi and AC).
Helmut Lang tanktop, Uniqlo Men’s plaid shirt, AE shorts, Michael Kors watch, Mango necklace, Tory Burch sunnies
Patriotism congregates around watering holes and BBQ grills.
July 4th usually means beaches, BBQs and copious amounts of stars and stripes. If you’re stuck in the city, it means rooftops.
We found a new favorite spot to soak up the sun only blocks away from Bryant Park at the new Refinery hotel. Day drinking turned into (goood) pizza at Tavola which was followed by beer and fireworks from a west-side apartment and ended with a panini and beer in the Tippler.
That pretty much sums up what freedom tastes like.
Club Monaco black/white bag, Topshop purple sequined clutch
Both Colette and I have grown to have a certain fondness for a particular Belgian chain.
Our bank statements tell us it might be getting pretty serious.
p.s. Colette’s legs are endless!!