lose the weight you’re about to gain, the holiday diet

Hi kids,

I know most of us are hungover, I bet the girl to the right of you can’t get those fake tats of her arms from her Amy Whinehouse costume from Saturday.  You probably have white makeup under your chin you missed while cleaning your face from your black swan costume.  I bet you still have glitter on your boobs and I bet you ate mac and cheese or pizza at least once during the snow that hit us too abruptly on Saturday. Take a deep breath, eat something banging for lunch and enjoy the fun sized candy bars HR put out today because after today I’m going to hold your hand through the next three weeks while we attempt to lose the weight we don’t want to gain on top of what your workin’ with right now during the holidays.

It just has to be done, because during Thanksgiving, I have no self discipline, then it’s all downhill after that until New Years.

So here is how we are going to do it, if you chose to do it with me, even if it’s just a modified version.

(Also I am reading Bridget Jones’s Diary if you could not tell.)

First, exercise:

We have to do it.

I’m not talking sign up for a half marathon, or anything nutso, but I pledge to work out at least three times a week for the next 3 weeks.  Make a schedule every Sunday of when you want to do it and what time.

This week I am doing Tues, Wed., Thurs. after work, no if ands or buts. If you see me on the street, ask me if I went, if I say no, you can punch me in the face.

Also, I will walk at least 10 city blocks a day.  That means I have to walk to the further subway stop at least once a day or walk down to the gym or walk to TJ Maxx at lunch and back.

This counts on the weekend as well. 10 blocks every day until Black Friday, Thanksgiving day included.

I pledge to not eat carbs past 2 PM at least 5 days a week.

By carbs I mean nothing white– no white flour, white sugar– you know the drill: potatoes, pasta, rice, bread, crackers, cookies, pretzels, none of that past 2 PM for at least 5 days a week for the next couple of weeks.

I’m not crazy, I know that you want to go out to dinner a couple times a week or maybe someone brought red velvet cake for your co-workers bday and that is your absolute weakness, I get it, we are human, but this little holidays diet is all about the choices, hunny and if you choose to eat that cake today, and you have a dinner party on Thursday, your weekend is going to be seriously hindered.

You can opt for some great low carb dinner ideas like these:

Spinach and Mushroom Frittata (you can use this recipe with pretty much any cheese or veggies)

my favorite pumpkin patch celebrity moments

I don’t know why, but halloween really brings out my fav celebriality fame whores and puts them into some pretty desperate punkin’ patch situations, like these.

I like to say heidz and spencer are the original fame whore couple, never have I ever seen a couple so insanity obsessed with being famous and pulling out all the stops to be famous than these two (except Courtney Stodden and Doug Whatever)

Check out this pic from a couple years back. 

I don’t have the right words, so Ima let the Eagles take it away with my sentiments.

What’s so insanity is that I haven’t heard about Speidi in the news since she changed her little hot Freshman lookin bod and face into the cat woman. Sad.

Last year, my girl Shauna Sands decided to show up to the pumpkin patch with her little girl wearing something I would think the pussycat dolls would wear in a music video they were filming in the desert.

classy

But then, she really didn’t think she took advantage of herself chilling like the little playmate she is in a pumpkin patch, so she went back, dressed even more ridiculous and this time with a hot dog prop.

which ways the pole? thhhhhhhhhat way

I wish I could see her shoes, wah.

This year she is back, and with a little more clothes.

that's where my left sock went

This year Pheobe Price brought her melons to the patch in this casual outfit.

christina hendricks with a weave

And last, but certainly not least when it comes to fame desperation, comes Courtney Stodden and her Grandfather, I mean, husband who got kicked out of a pumpkin patch this weekend for her dressing like an idiot slut.  Normally I don’t mind a scantily clad lady, I went through my little hustler phase and can certainly appreciate a lucite heel, but when it comes to dressing just stupid, I mean, what are those boots? I can’t get behind that.  Shauna Sands looks ridiculous, but at least it all works if she was at Freight Night at the Cricket Lounge, but Courtney is trying way too hard and it’s just not workin’ for me.

not staged in the least

GROSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

is he tryin' to smash that on her head?

I also hate the fact that she says the reason she was kicked out of the pumpkin patch was because women are jealous of her.

No, bitch, we aren’t.

They really just don’t want their little kids who are on a family trip to go pick pumpkins exposed to your fame whore shenanigans prancing around a pumpkin patch showing your va jay from the back and weird belly button, wearing thong jeans.  No thanks.

Already can’t wait to see what Shauna wears next year.

Happy Halloweener!

xoxo,

wcw

#goodtuesdays on a #goodfriday

I’m trying to be a goth girl for halloween so I haven’t put any bronzer or fake tan on for a week, but, this morning, when I woke up and saw my face in the mirror without fake tan on it for the first time in about two years looking like I already was in costume with my black eyeliner from last night smeared on my face, I couldn’t take it anymore and had to put a quick mist over myself.  I can always go paler in a pinch with powder, but I can’t always go tanner, so for that, I am sorry.

Glad I got that off my chest.

Now here are some songs.

This song sounds like deadmau5 in the beginning, the girls voice has that are you from LA are you from Russia? sort of tone that we crave and I play this at my boyfriend’s favorite wing bar in his little town of Doylestown and people get so mad, but I’m so happy– breaks at 1:29 and you might just start running in place.

This song is pretty old I think, but I heard it on a video from a production reel this week at work and I made my friend kazaa it or whatevs to figure out what it was.

Good trance song to do your make up or timesheets to. 5:15- the end will just fade out and make you bounce your head.

this song will make you want to walk around the LES in knee high boots and some sort of knit hat smiling and twirling to the beat.

Glad we’re back, are you?

xoxo,

wcw

dudes on the subway blowwwwwwww

Yeah, you heard me.

All the men that ride the subway suck.

All of them.

It might go just with the New York City mantra that all men here are assholes, but on the subway it is even more apparent and this is why.

They take up two seats always when riding on the train. The only time this does not apply is when you are coming to and fro from the Williamsburg because these dudes are so skinny even though they have their legs spread apart, I can still squeeze myself in between them.

News flash, men, there is no way your twigs and berries are that big that you have to sit with your legs spread 4 feet apart.  I’m not saying you have to sit cross legged, assholes, but just have your knees almost touching so I can sit down.  When you spread your legs a football field apart, only two people can sit comfortably, when you keep ‘em together, 3.  That’s a big deal in the city.

Also, they never stand up for the elderly or pregnant women.

This doesn’t go for all men, because you just don’t know everyone’s story, someone could have just broken their leg and under their work pants is a big old cast, so I would never make a spectacle about this on the subway like a crazy person, but for the most part, you dudes have no regard for that little old lady coming on the subway in the East Village and almost knock her over when trying to grab a seat.

Also, you might not want to mistake a lady with being just a little chubs and being pregnant, I get that, but if it is ever so apparent, or you don’t know for sure, just stand up and let her sit.

Also goes for when someone, man or woman, who has a lot of bags.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten on the train with a suitcase, my purse and another thing to carry and been the only person among a sea of men to still stand up when an elderly woman or child walks on the train.  I once stood up to let a 4 year old sit and a man took my seat and almost knocked the kid down.

Seat wasn’t for you, sir, it was for the baby that didn’t even have a handle bar to hold onto.

Men also suck on the subway because they are generally the ones to be reading newspapers whilst standing up smacking the editorial section in your face and drink coffee without lids.

Exhausting.

xoxo,

wcw

I want to be Aunt Kyle

As we all know I am so obsessed with Aunt Kyle, aka, Kyle Richards on Real Housewives BH.

Although BH isn’t my favorite edition, I am more partial to the insanity that is the real trannies of the OC and of course the lunacy between Caroline, you are NOT white Oprah bitch or Dr. Phil, so cool it on the advice mama, and of course Theresa Gui-are-so-crazy, I love me some Aunt Kyle.

Obvi I call her that because her nieces are Paris and Nicky Hilton, the original Kardashians.

She has the best style out of any of the housewives:

She is hilarious.

you crazy for this one!

Her hair is to die for

I love her house and want a pool:

And, this is her closet.

Who has a crystal chandelier and live orchids in their closet?

Someday, when I write a book, and all y’all bitches buy it, I will have that closet filled with things other than Old Navy, H & M and Lord and Taylor Clearance and I will have parties in there, and you will all be invited and we can laugh over the fact that I can’t count my Chanel quilted bags until we cry.

But for now, my room is a closet.

Sighsies.

xoxo,

wcw

Lohan to go full frontal in Playboy

There is an uproar on the blogs today about people bashing out little Lohan for going forth through the double doors of the Playboy Mansion and stripping down to show her cookies and milk to the world.

Let me be the first to say who gives a shit?

If my rock bottom came with 1 million dollar opportunities, I should be so lucky.

What has living my life,  being a good samaritan, staying away from the nose candy and on the good girl side of those jail bars done for me?

Certainly not anything that comes with that price tag.

So while I think Lohan should focus on other things like staying clean, brushing her teeth, and maybe holding down an acting job for the first time since Mean Girls, I can honestly say that I don’t blame her for doing it.

We’ve already seen her boobies during countless nip slips, her butt is meh and well, even Kim Kardashian has bared it all for the Heff, so why not?

Her lifestyle is getting expensive and someone’s gotta pay for it, might as well be her own boobs.

xoxo,

wcw

New Yorkers have terrible hair

 I remember when my high fashion close friend at the time decided to move with me to New York– now I realize that was a terrible decision considering she was a narcissistic, crazy horse that drove me to the brink of insanity, but none the less, she had a great point back then and I still agree with it.

“New Yorkers have terrible hair.”

Its not so much a want or desire, but more of an acceptance to just walk around with curly, greasy, unruly, unwashed hair.

Sure you have those fortunate girls that work in beauty PR that get their hair blown out at least once a week– but for the majority of us, and let’s face it, the majority of us have at least a wave, our hair most of the time looks like shit.

And even those with straight hair, have a little kink in the back or some fried ends.

I blame a couple things here– mostly the fact that our commute require at least 5 blocks and the weather has been recently leaning toward gloom.

I blame work– we have little time in the morning to get ready and less time at night between fitting in an elliptical jaunt with our sushi with our girls to dry and straighten our hair to perfection.

Witch brings me to my next point. KYS, working out. We have to schedule our blow outs around our yoga mats, because sure we can go a day or two without washing our eastern euro unruly locks, but not after Tegan is yelling at us to climb those hills during spin.  I have actually skipped the gym for a couple days after a hair cut to avoid ruining the blow out. (slashies, any excuse to skip the gym)

I was just standing next to five girls on the train, four had wet hair and the fifth looked like she just woke up under a rock on Mars.

Even myself included just straightend the ends and put it half up because we can’t deal.  Especially when it rains. Forget about it.

So we just cant- we are exhausted. We are hungry. We are bored with the weather and our commutes.  We are bored with our mothafackin’ jobs and we just don’t have the time to look like Giselle, O.K?

And in the event that you do see someone with perfect hair she’s either blessed with that silky South American or Asian blue/ black hair that grows straight like weeds and “Ohh. I Just blow dry the roots and let it air dry!” she says like you have been reading in Teen Vogue and Cosmo since you were 15 that the secret to beach waves is to “just spritz with Mary Kate and Ashley Beach Waves Spray, scrunch and go!” when in actuality you try it you look like Equinox filled their pool with Crisco and you just went for a dip after blow drying your hair without a brush. OR  the reason your friend’s hair looks so good is because your friend is manic and you should probably back out of the room slowly still facing her saying you have a client call.

Happy Thursday.

xoxo,

wcw

And this is why I love Ellen.

I cried during this, so be careful.

Jesus I love Nicki Minaj, she’s just so great.

xoxo,

wcw

my dream of writing for Jane

I, like every single girl with aspirations to move to New York who grew up in the Sex and the City era, wanted to move here to work for a magazine.

Not just any magazine, but the one and only Jane.

Jane was perfection– a snarky yet uplifting Daria meets Hilary Clinton meets Pam Anderson (she actually had her own column it was that cool!) mag for us 15-35 year-olds that cared about the election and if we looked hot– it had everything to make you feel like a sexy, empowered woman like a Russ Meyer or Michael Bay chosen chick, but one who can also read, admit to masturbating and spot an Alaïa dress from a mile away

My plan was all figured out– the summer after my senior year in college I would move down the shore to work at a bar for a couple months, save enough money to at least start looking at apartments in New York and hand write individual letters to every single person on the Jane masthead begging them to let me work for them.

August of 2007, when the summer was winding down and my tips were decreasing to the point that I knew if I stayed at the beach longer than through September I a.) may be working as a waitress in Maryland until I was 82 or b). would end up leaving Maryland with less money than I came with I decided to buy a Jane so I could start researching the people I was about to sell my soul to work for.

I still remember the cover of that month, Eva Mendes– naked, holding some flowers over her tatas.

August 2007 was the last issue of Jane ever made.

And just like that, my dream of working for the only magazine I had ever truly loved blew up in front of me.

Looking  back I guess I could have tried to work for another magazine, but to be honest, there was nothing that fit my personality– to work for Vogue, my mom warned you have to be fiercely thin, to work for New York Magazine, as my recruiter told me, you have to at least know how to navigate a subway with your eyes closed and at least have graduated from Harvard.

A friend of a friend who worked at the New York Times told me I had two options– either move to Albuquerque, New Mexico and write obituaries until you have enough bylines to try to come back East or sign up for the night reporters shift in the Bronx until you have enough bylines to move into Manhattan or you are killed.

I had no fashion background or internships, so that was out–the only other way in was to be an assistant.  An editor’s right hand man.  But even that took connections beyond the handful (one or two max) of people I knew in the fashion industry.   That took connections like you went to Sacred Heart with Ali Hilfiger or your high school boyfriend’s aunt worked at Self.  I was up against people who’s fathers would support them while they interned at Teen Vogue, lived in a 1 bedroom in Williamsburg and had the newest Jeffrey Campbells each season and that wasn’t my reality.

My reality was if I wanted to make it here– I had to start small and anywhere.  So I did.

And here I am, some four years later, doing bigger things in my 9-5 ( I work in advertising in the art department,) but nowhere close to where I want to be as a writer.

I know I am definitely on some sort of path, but I can’t just seem to start running.

I am happy that I didn’t try to starve myself to work at Vogue or move to New Mexico to write obits.  I am happy that I can write this blog and bring it to my readers and I have faith that after just a couple more months he or she is going to find me and give me the break I have been searching for.  People are born with certain traits and I was born to write.

And Jane Pratt, if you are reading this out there– thank you for inspiring women and writers to speak what’s on their mind and that there are such things as hybrid opinions.  That it’s ok to like fashion and not be a size 2.  It’s ok to highlight your boobs and legs with shimmer and fake tan before you go to a club and still listen to artists from Lilith Fair and quote Latin philosophers.

Listen, I wouldn’t settle for writing for any other magazine but yours back then, and I wouldn’t still today.  Ok– maybe if the money was right.

Now will you please hire me to write for xojane.com?

xoxo,

wcw

New obsession: Merkley???

His videos are slightly intense, so if you have a 22 inch’ mac monitor at work you should probably not be watching them full blast, but this dude is incredible.

I met with his rep yesterday and I love everything about him, he’s just fucking fantastic.

This song rules too.

He only wears custom made corduroy suits, is from San Fran and they are comparing him to LaChapelle.

I’m obsessed with his creativity, his use of color and I think it’s really refreshing to see an artistic genius who doesn’t look like a complete asshole.

You will be seeing him everywhere, he’s the number one looked at photographer on Flikr.

Picture below is the richest man in America right now photographed eating a burrito on a mattress stuffed with cash and an American flag as a turban on his head.

You might recognize him from these pictures with Lindsay Lohan, doing weird stuff in his hotel the Dream.  By his hotel, I don’t mean the room he was in for the night that he got off Groupon, but his hotel as in the one he owns.

Love this dude.

Chicago tonight.

xoxo,

wcw