Magical Birthday Evening of Super Awesomeness

On July 6th it was my birthday. It was on a Monday. Being that I wanted as many of my friends to be able to make it to my party i decided to do it on that following Saturday, the 11th. I decided to do it at the one place I knew I would have an amazing time at.(Do I really need to state where? its a little obvious by now)It was probably the best birthday I've had in a while.A lot of my friends showed up and it was a really good night.Until I realized that I had burnt my own dress. At first I thought it was someone smoking that had done it, but alas no one in sight with a cigarette.It turns out that as I was standing on the bench for a mere of 2 seconds that created a couple not so subtle rings on my adorable little dress.I am devasted!!!!

On another note, I recently acquired these sandals on ebay due to the fact that my black ones were absolutely demolished(what's with me and ruining all my sandals?)I scoured Ebay in hopes of finding these out of stock pieces of heaven for your feet.The only thing was that they were only available in this pewter color.I would have preferred them in black, but beggars can't be choosers. I'm so happy with my decision to buy them because they were made for this dress and they kept me dancing all night without so much as an ounce of pain at the end of the night.

Dress:Lavender Chiffon "Prom" dress(f21)
Shoes:Forever21 Pewter Lattice mini wedge Sandals(ebay)
Bag:Vintage Faux crock Brown Satchel(thrifted)
Bow:Purple Satin Hairclip(Ann Belen)


Some photos taken by my friend Tamar(who if you notice is wearing my "Kelly Kapowski" dress. I gave it to her to keep, because she loved it.)

Home is Where the Bar Is

Alexa Chung: 'The rule is that no good bars or restaurants are on the beaten track'


New York Doll

I've been given my own office in the MTV building in Times Square. It has made me realise this is all very real now, very real and very serious. Back in England when I worked on Popworld, Alex Zane and I used to pen our links in the dusty corner of a tape storage room before progressing to the more dignified surroundings of the local Irish pub. I liked it like that, I was used to it. From 23 floors up, if I crane my neck I can see all the flashing neon signs on 42nd Street from my window, it's ridiculous, I feel like I'm about to be found out.

Now that I've settled in a little (I have two sofas, a lamp and tomato ketchup in my fridge) I've started to enjoy the vibrant nightlife New York has to offer. I've also fallen into the trap of visiting the same bar pretty much every single night. It's underneath an innocent looking pizza place that is impossible to find unless you know it exists, once there you can spot most of the "Briteratti" (I did not coin this phrase, sadly) and at least one representative from every cool band huddled up in dim corners and redundant fireplaces guzzling down Jack 'n' Coke.

It seems to be the general rule in this city that no good bars or restaurants are ever obvious or on the beaten track, you always have to ring a buzzer or push a wall to get in. In the case of my favourite Mexican, La Esquina, you have to walk through a bustling kitchen and down a narrow corridor before being seated in a huge open cellar featuring every kind of tequila known to man.

On Friday Night I went to a bar called Home Sweet Home which weirdly contained the same stuffed stoats and tatty-looking sofas as, erm, I've got at home. A DJ played Sixties' girl group records about broken hearts and pining after somebody, and some bright spark instigated an impromptu limbo competition, using only his tie as the bar. I definitely haven't thought about the limbo since the Nineties.

That night I took on the role of limbo mascot and made it my job to encourage others to join in and get bending. I also began cheering on strangers in my booming voice. But I regretted it the next morning, when my sore throat rapidly developed into a full-blown cold, which makes it even harder for people to understand my accent.

I've taken to sporadically adopting an American accent at the tiniest hint of a problem, just to make sure things run smoothly. Hopefully this won't become a permanent habit.

In keeping with the ongoing saga of too many cooks (dogs) spoiling the broth (apartment building), yesterday I saw another grumpy looking canine fall down a flight of stairs. I didn't know dogs ever fell down things. I felt so sorry for him and it made me rethink my resentment of living in a building overrun with man's best friend. Maybe I'm just jealous because I don't have one; a dog, not a best friend. Although once my mate Tennessee leaves next week, best friends will be a bit thin on the ground. Oh God, time to get a TV...
The Independent via the fashionspot

I really love that bar!!!! If I had to have a relationship with a bar, it would be that bar!!!
Also that dress needs to be in my closet, by September.