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Almost every time I look at the clock, it says 9:11. Every single day, sometimes twice a day, I see this number. As if I would ever forget. I will NEVER forget.

image

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phobia

From the Grammar Diva who has a fondness for phobias, here are some entertaining ones that may ruin your social season.

FEAR OF…

Alcohol – methyphobia [Understandable, just don’t hang out with me.]

Anything New – neophobia [Change is always hard.]

Church – ecclesiophobia [The structure will not hurt you unless it collapses on you.]

Cooking  – mageirocophobia [New York-area people: What is cooking?]

Dolls – pediophobia [Oh, so true. If you didn’t watch the ventriloquist or mannequin episodes of The Twilight Zone, check out this book I loved as a child that my mother just got out of her storage unit. Disturbed would be a mild reaction. WTF are adults in charge of childhood entertainment doing? And furthermore, why did I like this damn book?)

Eating – phagophobia [Another excuse for anorexia.]

Holy things – hagiophobia [A friend went home with a guy who had shrines/ relics to the Holy Lord everywhere. How can you Marvin Gaye and Get It On with that staring at you? #sinners]

Home – ecophobia [I get it if you only had terrible memories.] I am still very much a “home is where the heart is” and, like, my family is EVERYTHING. My own home is EVEN BETTER. I’m a homebody?

Ice or Frost – pagophobia [I have a medical condition and totally relate.]

Kissing – philemaphobia [TRAGIC. Completely TRAGIC.]

Laughter – geliophobia [Again, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?]

Light – photophobia [Most people I know are opposite. Does that mean we’re optimistic?]

Memories – mnemophobia [We all have bad ones…]

Religion – theophobia [no need to be afraid unless it’s corrupting your life. I mean, we live in a free world where you do not have to believe in anything.]

 

My current truth.

Lyrics here for reference.

Thanks @nicki_lo for introducing me to all of @sarabareillesI would have forgotten the music of that night if you didn’t cover this song like a boss. Ed. update: And was reminded how much I love you singing this song when you did a late night cover 11/6/16.

monogram-etiquette

Welcome to the UES, where old money gents are mellow yet insecure because they didn’t earn it themselves, or, even worse, it is from their wife’s side of the family and hurts their di(ck)nity.

Moving down to other generations, like mine, which I think have a slightly better grasp of the real world, I am still bothered by the double-kiss, or the improper way of not switching hands (fork only in your dominant hand; knife down resting diagonally on edge of plate) once you cut something while dining. If you are not from Europe, why are you following European etiquette?! One kiss, and switch hands.

Seriously, for everything old-money privilege buys in education and smart connections, you should know better. I am always appalled to see how the most wealthy are so dumb when it comes to proper etiquette and manners. Simple things like introducing people or being able to connect with new people through the art that is known as conversation.

I think it is safe to say that many children of old money are ill-trained in manners and the value of hard work (I mean very hard work with long hours, not doing community service for your current DUI or coke-induced altercation). I don’t know if your parents encouraged you to pursue anything you wanted, or just told you you could do anything you want. There is a difference.

This isn’t necessarily about a sense of entitlement, but being raised with a sense of how to speak, how to act around others, and how to treat other people, no matter from where. I’ve found that many of the 1% don’t get it. These are invaluable lessons that will hold you back from pursuing your dreams, no matter how connected you are. If you cannot connect to people, they will not be connecting back.

I feel sorry for you fortunate enough to have a few generations of inherited money, because often that means you were not encouraged to develop inherent people skills.

Anyway, my two-kiss lover from Europe…well, I just found out he has four names! So now I really can’t make fun. Except for those table manners 😉

But take a moment to think about every aspect of your public persona, as well as your audience in any setting.

And behave accordingly FTW.

us-flag

If you’re itching for a cocktail a little more fun than the standards on this holiday, look no further. This blue (yes, there’s curacao) concoction should do the trick.

1½ oz. white rum
1 oz. blue curacao
3 oz. Lemonade Sparkling ICE
Garnish: blueberries

Combine all ingredients with ice in a blender. Blend on high until it becomes slushy. Pour into a glass and garnish with blueberries.

 

Kent School_laundry

I picked up my clean and perfectly folded laundry this evening from “panty-man” (my name for Felix) and he informed me that he packaged my belongings in a new bag because mine (my Kent School laundry bag) was “falling apart,” and “Gia, no charge but that one is just…done; it’s not working out for you.”

But I don’t use other bags! Every other laundry bag I’ve bought is terrible and could be called a “dumb-bag,” so I rely on my Kent one.

I’ve already had to retire my Camp Seafarer laundry bag (reserved for whites) because it really did have too many holes to function. Rock it, North Carolina.

While not emotionally attached to anything made out of material, I realized these bags happen to be the best and have lasted decades. Other laundry bags have just not been good to me. They are too long; I am too short. I do not like synthetic blends, the list goes on, etc.

(BTW, I recently saw a Kent laundry bag in my BFF’s apt. I am not the only one who still relies on it, and therefore feel OK admitting this.)

I think my issue with panty-man Felix is “Why didn’t you ask before replacing it?” But to him it was a matter of, “Darling, I’m doing you—and your devoted team here—a favor. We cannot work like this.”

Well, I cannot carry some no-name bag that has no functionality. It’s my Kent laundry bag and is still the sturdiest (yes, with a few holes) perfect package and I want to use it.

Rip my soul, then. If there will be no bag, I welcome you to arrange everything in my closets and drawers as well. I cannot walk a block carrying anything else, even if you fold everything as perfectly as you do.

Change is always difficult, *sigh.*

bow tie prep

The popular (senior) boys in high school were called The Crunchies. They were a mix of highly preppy, privileged stoners with major sideburns and long hair, though this was not the seventies, just 1998.

They listened to The Grateful Dead, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd, Cream (and Eric Clapton on his own), and developed a love affair with Phish that they’ve sustained for life. They preferred bow ties and Nantucket Red pants.

The Crunchies were an interesting type of bad boy, and all of the freshman girls, including myself, were fascinated. The Crunchies, in turn, were fascinated with us. While we had the youth card to our advantage, we were our own off-the-cuff breed that diverged from previous generations of our prep school’s girls. We were loud and opinionated (and maybe, yes, cringe-a-little tacky), but we ruled.

Perhaps part of the appeal was the opposition. They brought introspective chill into our lives and we brought the festivity & flair into theirs.

The Kent Crunchies in their photo glory…

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