Better

And here it is - the end of another year that has flown by in what seems like far less than 365 days. It's crazy to think it's been four years since I finished school and could have actually repeated college in the time since. When I think back to the first half of my 20s, it's all very blurry. I attribute this to working jobs that were unfulfilling (blogger says this is not a word, but I'm keeping it. You understand, yes?) and that left me frustrated and unappreciated. Each morning began with dreadful emotions and contemplations of calling in sick. As the day passed, my time was spent doing a mixture of several things: work (but of course), visiting the usual blogs, counting down the clock until 5:30, pug picture research, plans for the weekend, lunch, and the number of days until the next paycheck. Now at 26, much poorer and financially unstable than I was even just a year ago, I am interestingly more satisfied with my life than I was in my early 20s. Although I still fight with this often, I do feel it's true when they say certain sacrifices are worthy of all the troubles endured to get where you want to be.

I'm not participating in Christmas this year. Post-KCD, I returned to California and am residing in the same apartment I left to go to New York. Before leaving, I set up an interview with WhoWhatWear for an internship and interviewed immediately upon my return. A month later, I started work as an editorial intern in the most stylish office I've ever held employment - unpaid or otherwise. And so it goes without saying that as with most internships, this internship is unpaid -- leaving me with very little cash to do any kind of shopping. I'm strangely okay with this, maybe partially due to the fact that Christmas shopping can be so stressful. I only have one gift to worry about this year, and that's boyfriend's.

An unexpected benefit to being a broke intern is that it forces me to be creative with what I already own in my closet. Since I cannot easily go out and purchase the newest and hottest trend, I must repeat existing clothing pieces in new and different ways to prevent those paranoid thoughts of "Oh she's wearing that again? Doesn't she have any other clothes?" I used to do this when I was younger (with less dough), but once I started making my own money, I felt there were so many new items to be had and didn't bother wearing each dress/shirt/skirt in more than one or two ways. Each piece would be relegated to the back of the closet when it was replaced by another quick, of-the-moment item. So even though there are the obvious drawbacks, there is some light in my state of financial suffering.

I'm finding pleasure in the things I've long taken for granted. I don't know where this revival comes from, but I'm grateful for it.

Sex and the City

I've posted one of Candace Bushnell's quotes before, and today found myself thinking back to it again. I looked it up and was led to an Elle Decor story on her Greenwich Village Manhattan apartment. I loved the supposed story behind it so much I thought I'd share a piece of it here, even if it may be old:

I'm the kind of person who would have liked to have lived at the Plaza. I love crystal chandeliers and gold leaf, velvets and mirrors, Oriental rugs and marble. I love things that are old and glittery, that come with layers of glamour and past lives. So the moment my husband and I walked into our apartment for the first time nearly two years ago, we knew that this was it.

Built in the 1920s, reputedly as bachelor pads for well-heeled young men who were making their fortunes on Wall Street, the apartments in this Greenwich Village building had sunken living rooms, woodburning fireplaces, 11-foot ceilings, and arched windows (some even had “Juliet balconies” from which, I imagine, the bachelors could yell down to their friends on the street). Back in the 1920s, I suppose the building was considered to have every modern convenience, as there were servants’ quarters on the top floor, and, in the basement, extensive kitchens from which the young men could order dinner which was sent up in a dumbwaiter. It was all very Jeeves & Wooster, reeking of late-night parties and illicit affairs, bathtub gin and jazz. To this day a house rule exists that no musical instruments are to be played after 8 P.M.

You can read the rest of the story and see more photos here.