March 14.

'Tis almost 'the Ides of March.' You're probably wondering what rock I've been under. Let's call it Paris. I've been living 'la vie du luxe.' And I've been cheating on the view. You know how it goes - life can get in the way and before you know it - BAM! - a calendar month or two has flown by without a post. And then the words just flow. Or so one hopes. I'll be back soon. Have much to tell. Many views to share. x

But for now, my most favorite view ever. The one from my rooftop.

Well, that happened.

Pulled out the old puffy coat for the first time this season. As it's not my most figure flattering outerwear, I attempted to counterbalance its bulk with wool tights and a pair of heels that I wouldn't want to chuck out the window after walking 15 blocks to the office. (Long blocks; avenue blocks.) It is here that I should thank my true friend Jennifer for convincing me not to get the ankle-length down coat my cold weather-averse Mother suggested. I believe her exact words were, "Do you want to look like a sleeping bag?" Point made. I'm not totally convinced today's puffy/slim combo was successful as I was 1) Sweating like a whore in church (Thanks Dad for that gem) when I arrived at le office and 2) Still wanted to send my Sigerson Morrison booties out the window. But there's Bon Iver on my iTunes (can't deal with Spotify's commercials + connectivity) and leftover collards in my lunch bag. So, the [immediate] future is pretty bright.

Happy New Year y'all.

For auld lang syne, my dear

It's no big secret that on the last day of the year you practically wake up in reflection. What was done, what was seen, what was felt over last year. Remember this... I'll never forget that.... It's human to at least glance back as we go forward. And there's nothing quite as 'forward' as the turn of a new calendar year.

I've always loved New Year's Eve. Less for the 'pomp and circumstance' and more for the 'tabula rosa.' It's another year - a new year - to experience the things we want, try the things we've always thought about, make goals and cross them off our lists. It's a new beginning. And what holds more promise?

When I moved to New York I began naming each year. 2010 was The Year of Anticipation. I wanted to be open, ready for what may cross my path - and excited. I was in a new city, new home, new lifestyle - anticipating what was to come. 2011 was The Year of The Real Thing. I set out expecting to find it in one place (and maybe did for a New York minute), but just as that year slides into the past, I know what the 'real thing' was for me this last year, and that I'll always have it. That's the thing about the 'real thing' it hits you just when, and maybe where, you least expect it.

The countdown's begun, 2012 is hours away. I'll be with my urban family, in the heart of my city, celebrating in style. Waiting to turn, fully, towards 2012 and all that the year will be.

Bonne anneé!

We are always running for the thrill of it.

I've been dreading this countdown.

Saturday (as in four days) I'll make the second - no, third - most significant move of my life (to date). I'm saying so long to my gorgeous roommate, one of my dearest friends and probably my closest confidant, Jackson Hodges. And. It. Might. Kill. Me. (He will for sure be racked with grief, I'll tell you that much for free.)

We've been friends for ages, but live-in besties for the last two years and life may have never been better. From the scary-exciting move to 168 Henry and starting work, making friends - making our way - to "Jack Special," Clandestino stop-ins, Octomom light fixtures and discovering our 'hood, we made the Jewel Box (JB, if you know) home. While it will always be my (and Jackson's) first home in NYC, it won't be our last. And Saturday, I'll make my way on to the next with a heavy heart, a pretty packed moving truck, a mind full of memories and anticipation for what's to come.

So, here's to the last 24 months with jmh. (Who never once wavered, left my side or failed to make me at least crack a smile.) My MAJORLY edited Top 5.

5. BBMK. (Covers a multitude of, well, sins.)

4. Confusing people on the streets with our coupledom.

3. Cast-iron skillet cover-up. (A recent but poignant add.)

2. Single-handedly gentrifying the street even WITHOUT a sapling.

1. Sunday cuddlefests with Stop One runs, Sunday gravy and robes.

And here's to unconditional love. (That's also JMH.)

Moving day, October 4, 2009

Yeah, that happened.

MoMA and Kanye would have been just fine. But add Jay-Z into the mix and. mind. blown. Just another New York Night I suppose.

Or was it?

MoMA Garden Party, May 10, 2011

A little bit of old home in my new home.

You know those moments that stop you in your tracks? I'm talking about when you feel someone miiiight get you? Like, get. you.

Had one the other night when I was gifted the video below of The Rosebuds, Raleigh's indie darlings, singing my very favorite song. That could have been all it was, and that would have been more than fine. But wait for it. This video was shot in my neighborhood - in New York - and features a rare, raw, acoustic version of Blue Bird. And. It. Slays. Me. So now "more than fine" becomes "amazing," and the video moves to my daily to watch list.

Because I love layers - in life and fashion - there's more. I'm homesick. For Carolina. So this video of friends from my old home performing in my new home, well it hit home. And just when I needed it.

The Rosebuds - Bluebird from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

To, from

Dear Spring,

Thanks for showing up.

Love,

New York City

(Well, sort of.)

One of those nights.

There are New York nights. Then there are New York Nights.

Last night was one of those Nights.

How could it not be when it begins at The Modern (err, my "local") and ends at Blue Ribbon, with TV On the Radio at Radio City Music Hall thrown in the middle for good measure? Good drinks, great food and even better music in one of New York's storied landmarks.

Walking into Radio City you can't help but feel as if you're walking back in time, to a grander era. But when TVOTR exploded on stage, you were right there in the present; immersed in a New York Night.

Radio City 4/13/11, photo courtesy of Brooklyn Vegan.

A look, a smile, your daily cup of coffee.

I have learned that living in New York City you find "intimacy" in some of the oddest places. Take my relationship with my coffee man as an example. Of course he knows how I take my cup, but he also misses me when I'm not there and thinks "I'm magic." His words, not mine. He was also quite stunned to see me walk in one night rather than morning, hinting that he knows my routine. Bet he would report me missing if I went an extra-long stretch before returning.

The city is a veritable playground of missed connections (just look online) - people in cabs, sharing a platform, queuing up to gain entrance to a bar, even trains passing on separate tracks. And to think who you meet-or don't meet-could also be influenced by your neighborhood. . . It's enough to send the cosmos reeling.

So intimacy - or closeness - both in proximity and that feeling you get when a spark transmits pops up in surprising and unexpected places, yes. I'm not saying it's between me and coffee man, but I am saying it exists.

It still exists.

Making the most of an early-morning calendar mess-up, I traveled into the East Village for breakfast. Stopping at B&H, a kosher diner with a quaint counter, I had two eggs over medium, their special home fries, homemade challah (back) bread, coffee and the cutest, tiniest cup of Orange Juice. Delicious. And even better for $4.25. So, it still exists.

Afterwards I stopped into the UPS Store to ship a package. The box I purchased cost $5.80. Maybe it was my 1950-priced breakfast, but I had a little sticker shock. Never fear, I'm back in the New York City of 2010 with its Food + Sex erotic readings satiating guests with Crif Dogs (might be worth going for one), Yoga in Central Park and yes, $20 glasses of bubbly. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Mmmm. . .

It's not necessarily a bad thing, but I can buy a fifth of Bourbon (though not Basil Hayden) before I can buy a stamp. Any day of the week. Seven days a week, in fact. Thank you New York. Who shouldn't enjoy a pull on the way to the Post Office?

Not that I have.

Baby it's cold outside.

So I now know what 17 degrees feels like. Another discovery of note: Tights fit under leggings, which then fit under jeans. Maybe not the best look my J. Brand's have offered, but I'm warm. In the spirit of staying on the plus side of freezing, I'd like to send a huge thank you to my sister, who actually lugged an ushanka all the way back to the United States FROM RUSSIA for me. That thing, which is both impossibly glamorous and warm, has never worked so hard. It's winter's work is hardly over, and that's worth mentioning.

Now, off to visit my coffee man who has yet to forget me despite one week of Theraflu, apartment-made press pots and a morning coffee uptown. Nonplussed, he set my coffee with cream down on the counter with a smile. Life is good.

I'll be home for Christmas.

Today during the morning rush that is 7:45 - 8:30 at 168 Henry, Jack and I readied ourselves for the day with a medley of Christmas tunes."Let it snow," "Wonderful Christmastime" and "Happy Xmas (The war is over)" were some of the few we heard courtesy of Jack's clock radio. He remarked that because of now living in New York the meanings of some of these songs have changed for him - for us. While he spoke of the fact that we are more likely to get snow - in fact we're slated for some precipitation this weekend - I began to think about how these songs I know by heart and sing in my heart each year might mean something different - something more to me this year.

"I'll Be Home For Christmas." That never was a question for me. In all my 30 (almost 31 + yes, I still have many (half) of my list to check off) years was I expected or expecting to be anywhere else but North Carolina. That is still very much the case, but an almost-$400 plane ticket has a way of giving pause. At the same time, the very minute I purchased that ticket (Merry Christmas to the fam, by the way) I had the biggest (to date) surge of homesickness wanting to be there in my parents house, in the kitchen laughing and cooking immediately.

When I was a little girl, I remember being seized with panic that one day I wouldn't get to come home for Christmas after hearing this song. Why, "if only in my dreams" I asked my Mother. She quickly assured by I could ALWAYS come home for Christmas. She then set about showing me, and my sister that "home" is truly where the heart is, where the love is and wherever family is. More than a framed piece of art that hung on our kitchen wall for years, my Mother made that idiom a way of life.

So, "Christmas Eve will find me, where the lovelight gleams." And on my first return visit to my childhood home since moving to my newest adult home. And. I. Can't. Wait.

A portrait of how Christmas looks in my mind, and in my heart.

Grandma + Papa, December 24th, 1963. Their 25th wedding anniversary. (My sister would be born 19 years later.)

When Coco Chanel + Jay-Z come together.

I went to Paris last week. Paris Theatre, that is. My friend (and urban family member) Jen and I went to see "Coco Before Chanel", something we've had on the calendar since we arrived in New York. It. Was. Amazing. I have to admit, I'm STILL moved by her inspiring and intriguing life. Her will to move forward (as progress does) and her fierce sense of self and self-determination. And am in total (renewed) awe of her simple, elegant style marked by confidence.

After our film, which was celebrated by champagne POPS, we stopped into the Plaza Hotel for a cocktail. Being in Midtown, we decided to make it a "classic" New York night. Entering the hotel, is like walking back in time to a more gilded, gorgeous era and I was struck by the beauty of its grand interior.

Warmed by a delicious Manhattan and good conversation I headed to the train; iPod in and on shuffle. That's when Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind" filled my ears. "Concrete jungle, where dreams are made of. . ." Maybe only Sinatra could have said it better, but I think in 2009, Jay-Z nailed it. For Coco it was Paris. That's where she always longed to be, where she felt called to, where her dream would come true. For me, it is (and always was) New York. For the energy, the excitement, the reinvention. For the dream.

There's nothing you can't do, now you're in New York.

These streets will make you feel brand new, Big lights will inspire you.

The Commuter train.

Since I work out of my very large (even by outside-NY standards) apartment, I don't often - as in never - take the train to work. In the spirit of trying something new, I took the uptown 6 with my roommate (and talented architect) jmh this morning. We got off at 68th + Lex, got coffee from a cart and he walked into his office. I walked down Madison, then crossed over to Fifth, picked up "Mrs. Dalloway" (I know, it's a shame I've just now cracked it open, but her "life epiphanies" are quite juicy and relevant at this time to me) at The Strand kiosk and sat in Central Park (on a bench) reading.

It's certainly Fall in New York, and every tree that wasn't yet bare had brilliantly colored leaves. It was cool, brisk even and there are holiday lights and decorations being thoughtfully hung. Next week brings Thanksgiving - my first in the city. I look forward to sharing a table with new friends, and with old. I look forward to giving thanks for many, many things. The morning commute being one of them.

Dinner with a friend.

Last night took me to Williamsburg for dinner with my dear friend rob! (The exclamation is his signature, and there couldn't be a better-suited description of his ever-cheerful disposition.) Amid the wine and "seafood bonanza" (rob!'s words), there was great conversation and laughter. It was how I had always imagined "dinner in the city with friends." We talked about work - successes and challenges - weekend plans, recaps, "have you been to _____ yet?" and the like. It was intimate and low-key.

You see, in New York visiting someone's apartment is kind of a big deal. They're so small and so packed that often it can be more of a frustration than fun. Not the case last night. Just when I thought the evening couldn't get any better, rob! walked me to the end of his block (N. 8th St) and showed me the most spectacular (cross-river) view of Manhattan that stretched from the East Village to the mid-50's. It took my breath away. We admired that view for 20 or 30 minutes.

Then I walked to the train and returned to my place in the view.

Fall in New York.

This one's for GS.

Small victory

The world - or at least my neighborhood - is getting smaller.

Today, as I stepped up to order my small coffee with only cream, the gentleman behind the counter had it ready for me. He nodded with a smile. I smiled so hard my face nearly cracked. I love my neighborhood.

Some delicious inspiration from my afternoon walk. Treats from the Kosher Pastry Shop up the street.

In the future, fashion will be ___________.

It's no secret I'm enamored with Ashley Olsen. Though I can see this is a recent development in affection. I am not one of her "loved you since Full House" fans. My admiration stems mainly from her sartorial influence, her unabashed love for fashion, inherent personal style and just how damn cool I imagine her to be.

Last night I went to hear her and a panel that included Robin Givhan and Isaac Mizrahi, moderated by Cindi Leive Editor-in-Chief of Glamour, speak about The Future of Women's Fashion at 92nd Street Y. What an interesting, insightful evening made entertaining by a lively, fashion-centric panel. Hats off to Robin Givhan who with her witty responses stole the show. Perhaps the biggest surprise to me was Cindi Leive - the person I knew least about. "Knew" being a figurative term and concerning only things I have read in the media or opinions formed by collections, taste, etc. Cindi was clever and captivating and dressed in killer Louboutins. She epitomized everything a magazine editor (in-chief, that is) should be with a dash of approachability that was welcome.

Ashley Olsen, who second to only subject matter (and a close second it was) was the reason I got tickets, did not disappoint. Her dress (a production sample from The Row) was effortlessly chic and her. Shoes. Were. Fabulous.

On top of her outfit, her answers and commentary on fashion, her process and the road she's traveled were thoughtful and earnest and many resonated with me for personal reasons. She spoke about now being a great time for new creatives and entrepreneurs to go after their passion and dream. Couldn't we all stand a dose of optimism in the form of "go out and chase af

ter your dream"? She spoke about her boutique, deliberate process at The Row and her desire to keep it small and manageable. Refreshing! A designer (and a sought-after one) doesn't want to exponentially expand?

Ashley also cited her sister as her "no. 1 team." Ashley, the same goes with me. In life and now in work, my sister is my no. 1 team.

Thanks to 92Y for producing such an inspiring and informative event. Thanks to Cindi for rocking those sky-high stilettos and acting every inch the fashion magazine type. And thanks to a diverse and sartorially-brilliant panel.

In the future, fashion will be fashion and that's "exciting," "democratic" and uplifting.

Photo courtesy of Glamour.com

To the city I love.

Every Moment. . . Love Begins

Here begins my live-in love affair with New York.