Confessions of an Imperfectionist

Cleaning Ladies

2005-06-28T11:47:00.000-04:00

I can't help but feel a little uneasy whenever the cleaning lady comes. For instance, when I walked into my room a few minutes ago, I couldn't help but notice that all of my books were dusted and perfectly placed in an organized manner on the shelf. Including the self-help titles which I bought on impulse - or desperation - maybe both. I find it a bit odd and uncomfortable that a complete stranger (although better that than someone I know or socialize with) has unlimited access to every nook and cranny of where I live. Heavens knows what she could find. And am I comforted by the fact that she speaks Spanish at home? Not really. Sigh.

Amusing Phone Call Messages

2005-06-27T18:52:00.000-04:00

Just seen written on giant chalk board on the kitchen wall next to refridgerator: "Dad, call Kumon guy." No name, no number. Simply, 'Kumon guy.' Well...at least my brother gets right to the point. Shrug.

The Kite Runner: "For you, a thousand times over."

2005-06-27T13:59:00.000-04:00

I'll be the first to admit that I might sometimes appear to be a bit of shallow, vain, partying young thing, but I must say that - after just completing The Kite Runner - I feel as if my life has been changed, and even though I did post only a little while ago, I couldn't wait to share with the world what I had learned. If the world is even reading. ;)

At the risk of sounding like a New York Times book critic, I'll use the "brilliant." I'll use the word "profound." I'll even use the word "phenomenal," although I know none of these statements could possibly justify the writing talent of Khaled Hosseini. Like the place I go for color and highlights, he's just that good. I don't think I've ever been more affected by a piece of written work; although I rarely wonder into the 'Compelling Section' at Barnes & Noble and normally prefer to stock up on the latest issue of Vogue and some hot new juicy-looking beach read they have on display next to the brand name truffles and coffee mugs on sale.

For the first time in my life, I wasn't transported into the shoe department at Barney's, or some New York soiree where the wives of billionaires sip on apple martinis, or whatever is trendy at the moment - like how I was when I read Bergdorf Blondes or The Right Address - but some place I had never wanted to go, yet at the same time found it impossible to leave. I read the entire thing in one day, cover to cover, from 4 o'clock in the afternoon to 1 o'clock in the morning. I devoured it like a sundae; I couldn't put it down. Perhaps it is because he tells you his story in a manner that can only be compared to the most intimate conversations. Pardon my sounding like a "school girl," but until The Kite Runner, I had never read anything so emotional that wasn't by a woman (and the only one that comes to mind is Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.) Unarguably, it's the type of book every household should own. Go buy it. Immediately.

Better yet, go pick up 15 copies and give them to everyone for Christmas. Friends, former lovers, hell, even ship a couple off to your old friends from boarding school. You don't even have to wait until Christmas; this book is a gift in itself, and is so tremendous that you there isn't the need for an occasion to pass it along to someone else. I'm so glad it was referred to me. So glad...so glad.

P.S. I was quite surprised when I googled Hosseini and found his picture! I suppose what you'd expect...

...is not always accurate.

Does this make me prejudice? I certainly was before I read the book, if I had all along envisioned someone resembling Osama bin Laden's second cousin, simply because he was from Afghanistan...in spite of the fact that no one in the bin Laden line could be capable of the depth, guilt, and emotions Hosseini expresses in his book (and if he looks like anyone, it's a lovable version of Jack Berger from Sex & the City...or a normal one, when he isn't suffering from the paper chase) ; I simply want to run up and put my arms around him, and give him the most sincerest of "thank you's" for what he has shared with me, and what he has shared with the world - although when you read The Kite Runner, you feel like he is telling the story to you alone, and not the masses.

Oh, also...I found some pictures of the Hazara people who were brutally targeted in Hosseini's Afghanistan as an ethnic and religious minority and one of the lowest caste's there.

And they haunt me. "For you, a thousand times over."

Fendi Found

2005-06-27T13:29:00.000-04:00

Oh for the love of God, I don't think I've ever been more relieved in my entire life. For three or four days now I had been missing my mother's $800 Fendi purse which I typically pass off as my own (why not? She has so many other fancy things that she barely uses it) and was punished severely with mini panic/anxiety attacks by the hour. I even awoke in the middle of the night, petrified I had left my debut card in one of the handbag's side pockets because my wallets are too bulky to fit. I had. Thankfully though, the beloved Fendi had been stashed in the back of the coat closet next to the radiator where I usually toss bags, keys, etc. when I get home from somewhere. Oh, I feel truly blessed today. Never again...

Oh, bugger.

2005-06-25T17:12:00.000-04:00

I decided to nix the fasting idea. It just doesn't work, and too aggrivating to stick with; especially when you have an undescribable craving for Cheerios with strawberries and innocently meander into your kitchen for an unintrusive glass of water, only to discover a brand new box in the cereal cabnet (you *KNEW* you shouldn't have peaked), and a delightfully cream-cold carton of fresh strawberries in the fridge...right next to the water purifyer. New method of fat attack:

Breakfast...Teacup of Cereal
Lunch...Large glass of orange juice
Dinner...Salad with Non-Threatening Dressing (Italian, Olive Oil, etc.)

Also, three 20-minute treadmill sessions at 3:30, 5:30, and 7:30. Starting: Sunday, first day of the week (well, technically.) I want to enjoy the rest of my hazy, lazy, and uneventful Saturday and maybe check out the left overs from last night's Thai take-out. :) More very soon I'm sure.

The 3 Day Doldrums and the Following Fatty Attack

2005-06-25T12:36:00.000-04:00

Now...please don't say anything, because the gossip mongers within my particular region of fancypants friends and charming companions are as ruthless as the National Enquirer, and - worse - gullible as it's subscribers, but I have a wonderfully nasty little secret that has managed to stay below the radar by some means or another. Thank goodness this blog is written anonymously...if anyone knew it was me, I'd be getting text messages by the minute desperate for more details. So it is in the world I inhabit. But at least I don't pretend to hate scandal. I'm just careful when it comes to that sort of thing, because you never know who They will be talking about next. And this is certainly something that would be a topic of interest among the people I know; an eating disorder is the chicest and most terrible item on the agenda, and they love speculating who might have one.

I've been subject to suspicion occasionally, because I've allegedly lost 10 pounds since C's April party, although I truly don't see it. I'm not bulimic, or anorexic for that manner - but anyone who would accuse me of either wouldn't be that far off topic. I have a little...fasting fetish. I honestly really enjoy cutting off the food supply for a few days, because I feel almost euphoric, like I am Super Person or something. I know, it's awful. But it's also addictive. Last Saturday, I weighed 153. By Thursday, I was down to 146. And Friday...well that was when the 3 Day Doldrums kicked in, and the Following Fatty Attack, when I managed to polish off half the box of Frosted Flakes, a full Thai take-out dinner, and a monstrous caramel Kit Kat bar.

Enter problem. I call it this the 3 Day Doldrums because - every time I fast - I can never managed to make it past the 72 hour mark, which is terribly frustrating because once you achieve going for 4 days, not 3, your body will be accustomed to fasting and not feel hungry anymore. This is the final straw. I've GOT to overcome this and actually complete a fast for gosh sakes, instead of caving in the middle and gorging down king-size Twix ice-cream bars. I'll judge where I am by next weekend in relation to my goal (133 à la Nicolette Sheridan) and decide whether or not to go gallivanting about town. This weekend is certainly going to be lazy, hazy, and completely uneventful (although I haven't gone lounging about in my pajamas in ages) because so many people are still in exams, and have to study for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc. ...therefore preventing the possibility of any sort of merrymaking. Sigh.

Anyway, I still have a week to go, and really anything can happen. I suppose I'll just have to wait and see.

Beauty School Drop In

2005-06-24T17:16:00.000-04:00

So...pardon my vanity (or better yet: get used to it! :P ) but I've just returned from the most wonderful afternoon at the hair salon! It's was over 200 dollars for color and highlights, but they make you feel like a celebrity, look like you've just stepped off the set of a whirlwind Garnier commercial shoot, and sound like a modern, and incredibly chic metrosexual Confucius on Prozac. For example, "love life and life will love you back!" and "life isn't about finding yourself, it's about creating yourself!"...all thanks to the scribblings on the gorgeous and inescapable Italian imported tiles expertly positioned next to the colorist's station.

I swear, a girl can get so wrapped up in envisioning these rehab-esque philosophies (although the hair salon, like the spas, arguably could be an actually form of rehab...especially for jaded inhabitants of the North American urban empires) that she hardly notices when she has miraculously gained 5 pounds in aluminum foil and gucky highlight goop. It was a serious mission; I arrived at around 2 o'clock and didn't leave until quarter to five. By the time I finally made it out the door (although I can't imagine anyone rushing to leave such a place), I had been transformed from my usual state to a medium/light brunette with sunkissed gold streaks throughout every single tress, and a sharp layered "city cut" that barely skims past my shoulders.

I actually feel completely light headed (pun most certainly intended) and utterly wicked - thanks to the fantastic works of F and M, both of whom I was overjoyed to see because they are simply beyond what any colorist or stylist should be. This is why you go to the same spot, over and over again. I wouldn't be surprised if I even booked my wedding day blow out there, however many years later. It's just that good 'a hair place.
P.S. Read a rather horrifying article in the latest Marie Claire while I was waiting and have come to the conclusion that there truly isn't a clearer form of statement to the world that you were never hugged as a child than by paying 30 dollars to go spooning with total strangers.

Blogosphere: Enter Princess, Imperfections

2005-06-24T13:29:00.000-04:00

Welcome to My World!

"I am a fun-loving, free-wheeling fashion maven, a true blue adventure
junkie, and a first-class mischief maker. This is my scintillating [blog]
documenting my adventures (and misadventures) and my incredibly unique
perspective on the universe. It's an amusing assortment of: incriminating
evidence of my late-night gallivanting, slightly scandalous snapshots of my
shameless merrymaking, tales of trips, travels, and other snafus I've
survived. A fascinating glimpse into the lifestyles of the not-quite-rich
and not-yet-famous; a pee-in-your-pants funny narration by me, yours truly,
at my uncensored best; a saucy account of my anything-but-cookie cutter
life."

- Miss Adventures, © Avalanche Publishing, Inc.

Who could have summed it up better? I received Miss Adventures: Build a Book of Memories as a present last year, and have since developed a sort of minor obsession for it. In fact, my Book of Memories is now probably thicker than a double stuffed Oreo, so I figured: why not take the fabulousness one step further, à la blog? :)

Welcome to Confessions of an Imperfectionist. Although - I'm quite sure - you will find I'm much much more.