“Talking to Myself, Naturally” on Lady Clever

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The following is an excerpt from my piece “Talking to Myself, Naturally” as seen on Lady Clever:

I’ve been talking to myself a lot lately, probably because I’ve been quite sad over the last few months, and you can only burden your friends with the same old story so many times before they start ignoring your calls and opting to brunch with a more reliably chipper friend. My tolerance for myself, however, is, as one would imagine, remarkably higher. This habit, which I myself recognize as being slightly bizarre, can be blamed specifically on one thing: Living alone. If I had a roommate, I wouldn’t be crazy enough to show myself as the real lunatic I am. And if I had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t be experiencing these things that cause me to talk to myself in the first place. Is this what they call a Catch 22? I don’t know. Probably not. I don’t trust 50% of myself at the present moment.

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“The Spectrum of Effort” on Lady Clever

Screen shot 2014-02-01 at 9.04.38 AMThe following is an excerpt from my piece “The Spectrum of Effort” as seen on Lady Clever:

Sweat pours from every inch of every body in this smelly, disgusting room. The towel on my yoga matt is drenched, slate blue where it once was gray, soaking up to the best of its ability while my vision floats somewhere between the ceiling and myself, unfocussed and unstrained in a restorative shavasana. We get thirty seconds here. Thirty beautiful, empty seconds.

“Go from one-hundred-percent effort to zero-percent effort,” the instructor says, a disembodied voice somewhere in another corner of the room. “Do it so quickly and so fully that everything in between disappears, like it never happened.”

I started taking Bikram yoga over a year ago to deal with some Hurricane Sandy-induced cabin fever, which was so significant it trumped all my years of humming and hawing over the aforementioned sweat and stink that was previously a workout deal breaker. The first class sent me out the door reeling in an exhaustion-induced, dehydration-riddled high that has since become more manageable in the year since I began practicing. But I don’t come for the highs anymore; I come to have my brain rewired within my skull, the thought processes altered in a way I cannot exactly describe. I come here for seemingly meaningless instructions that pertain to a pose that actually pertain to your life.

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“One of Many: Dimes and Dozens” on Lady Clever

Screen shot 2014-02-01 at 9.01.17 AMThe following is an excerpt from my piece “One of Many: Dimes and Dozens” as seen on Lady Clever:

There’s no sign-in sheet. Which is bad, you know, because there’s already about forty-five girls here, all in roughly the same make and model: thin, tall, mostly blonde and usually Russian. A familiar hum of all-too-familiar conversations buzzes in between walls the color of radioactive tangerines. “It’s from Miami,” someone says. “What did you do last night?” asks another. “We’re not that young anymore!” quips a blonde on the couch, at least six years younger than myself. All the girls around her laugh in dumb chorus.

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“Gripes from Singleland” on Lady Clever

a-boy-standing-aloneThe following is an excerpt from my piece “Gripes from Singleland” on Lady Clever:

As each month passes, my kind becomes increasingly obsolete, a species on the verge of extinction. Our numbers dwindle, slowly at first and then more quickly towards the end, an insidious but expected decline, until, all of a sudden, you look around and you’re the only one left, the lone surviving cockroach after the asteroid strikes. Yes, that’s me. The last single girl in the room. The incidental holdout. The persistent proverbial roach.

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“Your Boobs: There’s Hope” on Lady Clever

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The following is an excerpt from my piece “Your Boobs: There’s Hope” as seen on Lady Clever:

I stand in vague, slightly embarrassed shock. For the first time since I turned 12 and started shopping (entirely needlessly) for bras, I have been complimented on my breasts. “Jenny,” some young girl says, “you have nice boobs.” Another young lady chimes in behind her in agreement. I eek out a sheepish and confused “thanks,” because I don’t ever remember having boobs and, if I currently am the owner of a nice – if not incredibly modestly sized — pair, it has crept up on me like those three ungainly inches I grew over the summer of ’95. In keeping with my inability to take a compliment, I deign to accept her fawning carte blanche. I tell her I never had boobs until maybe recently. “How old are you?” she asks. And then I blow her mind. “Almost thirty,” I say. She yelps in delight. “There’s hope for me yet!”

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“Piecing It Together: Having It All, Means Not” on Lady Clever

Vintage_Family_Photo_9_by_spicorder_stockThe following is an excerpt from my piece “Piecing It Together: Having It All, Means Not” as seen on Lady Clever:

Three years ago I dated an ambitious young train wreck who, along with whispering creepy nothings into my ear into the wee hours of the morning, told me something unsettling that would keep me up at night long after the relationship had terminated: Either everything is going great with your career, or everything is going great with love; you can’t have both. (Given that he was crushing it in the career department at the time, I had to make the grim deduction that I was representative of a depressing love life. Guy really knew how to charm a girl.) Having immediately dismissed the comment as being the drunken musings of a sad and lonely man, I believed him to be wrong. And, with the optimism only a 26-year-old fresh off the boat to New York City after an LA-breakup could be capable of, I rebuked him. Nay, cynic! I argued. You can have it all! Dream it all! Be it all! Of course, I kept this naïve proclamation to myself, since his shifty eyes and chain-smoking proclivities scared me a little bit.

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“Inside Llewyn Davis: A Man’s Journey” on Lady Clever

134The following is an excerpt from my piece “Inside Llewyn Davis: A Man’s Journey” on Lady Clever:

We’re sitting at the bar talking about Inside Llewyn Davis, the Coen brother’s latest movie, nominated at last night’s Golden Globes’ for Best Motion Picture in the comedy/musical category. In my opinion, it’s a small and quiet film, and one that I liked in a measure it demanded — in a small and quiet way. But, despite critical acclaim pointing towards the contrary, I found Inside Llewyn Davis to be almost too small, so subtle and nuanced that its miniature details might sing in a different medium, a moralizing short story, perhaps, one filled with brooding internal dialogue, foreshadowing, and occasionally unrealistic coincidences that stretch the truth towards parable.

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“I am the Real Hannah Horvath”… and other stories from the GIRLS premiere

BN-AZ777_GirlsH_G_20140107003941The following is an excerpt from my coverage on the GIRLS season 3 premiere as featured on Lady Clever, titled “I am the Real Hannah Horvath.”

“Is it fancy?” I asked my friend last night, trying to figure out what a layperson wears to a premiere. After Googling “GIRLS premiere season 2” as a frame of reference, it had become clear that celebrities wear things like Valentino jumpsuits. Despite evidence of at least partial fanciness, my friend tells me it’s not. Which is good, because I don’t have any Valentino jumpsuits on account of my having to pay for things like groceries and health insurance.

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“Too Much is Never Enough” on Lady Clever

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The following is an excerpt from my piece “Too Much is Never Enough” on Lady Clever:

Four years ago, a friend of mine was going through relationship troubles with her then-boyfriend. Struggling with the idea of letting go of a person she loved very much, she, like many models tend to do, sought the advice of another half-naked coworker, an older Brazilian girl with whom she had often been trapped in a closet with for long stretches of time, alternating between trying on clothes for strangers and talking about life. Before the break-up that inevitably came, the Brazilian, in her deep, sexy Portuguese accent told my friend, “Girl, do not worry. You have too much sand for his sand truck.”

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“A Different Kind of Mile High Club” on Lady Clever

1960s-man-woman-airplane-cabin-stewardess-suits-vintage-photo-aluminum-can-advertisement-sodaThe following is an excerpt from my piece “A Different Kind of Mile High Club” on Lady Clever:

By the grace of the travel gods I have been upgraded to business class and am currently sitting next to a successful art director wearing very expensive sneakers and a pair of well-cut jeans. We bonded when he handed me, without even saying a word, a copy of Interview Magazine. Soon after our dinner accompanied by actual silverware was delivered, we became good chums, toasting the good life with plastic wine glasses filled with cheap Chardonnay. This is the type of stuff that occurs in the forward of an aircraft, unlike what routinely happens to me in coach, which is to be harassed by oafs for pieces of gum and starved out for about six hours. Apparently, getting upgraded isn’t just about the cookies; it’s about the company.

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