Thing(s)of the Day: My Last Name/The King of Pop

My darling roommate Lauren decided it would be funny to send me this, and I figure if you can't beat them, join them. Enjoy free smoothies till July 12, compliments of Jamba Juice and my ridiculous last name. As Lauren was kind enough to point out, at least this Bogo joke grants one free smoothies. Unlike this one, sent by less kind friends, which grants free Payless shoes...seriously, Payless? You might as well be free anyway. Its not my fault my last name happens to coincide with the term for "Buy One Get One (Free!)" But I'll be damned if I don't have at least five free Jamba Juices by this time in two weeks.

In other food-related news, I have discovered vegetarianism is not half bad with the veggie burger at brunch this weekend. I am fairly certain that I will change my mind about this come 4th of July weekend barbeques, where I will be eating Luna Bars out of my purse and looking moderately anorexic with a plate of condiments, lettuce, and chips while staring hungrily at all the deliciously grilled animals I am not allowed to eat. In more food related news, I have just acquired my first restaurant week reservation! Darling roommate Lauren, in addition to g-chatting me with mockeries of my fine Russian roots, has just informed that me, her, and a few other select humans will be dining at Jean Georges' Perry Street in several mouthwatering weeks. I can't wait until the reservations officially open (tomorrow!) as to snag a table at several more fine eateries. Suggestions from fellow fatasses/foodies always welcome.

In surprisingly non-food related news, am I the only one who doesn't buy this Michael Jackson shit? Farrah Fawcett makes perfect sense, the woman had been struggling with cancer for years. Ed McMahon, despite being one of the snuggliest TV personalities I have encountered, was just plain old. Billy Mays, who the hell are you? When I heard that you had died I wasn't sure if I should mourn a classmate never-known or some long lost Russian relative. Upon Googling (or, you know, Perez-Hilton-ing) you I learned you sold Oxi-Clean and various other obnoxious products. That makes you less of a celebrity than Whitney Port, who is so much non-celebrity that I have already seen her twice at/around DVF and have not even texted a friend to report the sighting. Now DVF herself would be quite the celebrity sighting--she's married to the chairman of my company (who aside from being a really fun and scandalous person to Google, also owns the largest yacht in the world! When can I play?). I have already had the chance to make small talk with him in the elevator, and can only hope she will one day stop by and the two will be wow-ed enough by my charm and business cas. to invite me on a sailing trip around the world...

Anyway. Michael Jackson. I'm not buying it. The man(?) may have been crazy, but he wasn't old and didn't have any reported physical health problems. This morning, The Sun reported that the King of Pop was in a horrific state when he died, weighing 112 pounds, with numerous injection wounds and a stomach empty of anything but prescription medication. Three hours later, TMZ is reporting that this autopsy was completely fake and contrived. And to top it all off, MJ's doctor is now claiming that he had a pulse when he was found, and was not DOA as previously reported. Point in case: I don't believe this shit. Something smells fishy around here, and I suspect when all is said and done quite the Law & Order episode could/will be written about MJ's suspicious passing. That being said, proper RIPs are in order. Thriller.

Thing of the Day: The Kindle

This morning on the subway, among the company of your usual batch of commuting crazies (aggressive Asian lady ready to push you into the tracks for a seat, African man singingly intensely to himself under his breath, couple that makes out at his stop so aggressively that I am pretty convinced he was leaving for the army rather than the office, thirteen year olds sharing I-pod headphones and texting each other ("OMG do u thnk ppl know we r txting each otha?" "Hehe obvi bcuz we keep riting stuffz + looking @ each otha + LMAOing" "ROFL")), I looked over at the seemingly normal girl with cute shoes sitting next to me and found her to be using an overly large mobile device. My Blackberry 8830 is pretty large, but this thing was the size of my head. Upon second glance, I saw that it was not an iPhone on steriods after all--it was a Kindle.

I am normally technology's number one fan. I read the Apple blog regularly, nearly peed my pants when this baby came out, can name my favorite ten iPhone apps quicker than I can name my favorite ten friends, and will respond to any message sent to my Blackberry--text, email, or BBM--within ten minutes. But the Kindle is absolutely where I draw the line. This electronic reading device angers me for several reasons, the most important of which I will list here:

1. I love books. I love the feel of cracking open a new book, rifling through the crisp pages, reading the front panel for a summary, checking the back to see if the author is hot. I love folding down pages of the book where a sentiment rings particularly true or a ridiculous thing occurs. I love organizing my books in order of like on my bookshelf. This impostor robot book can be used for none of the above purposes.

2. It looks dumb. Kindles look really stupid. They are ugly and gray and nobody can judge you on the subway based on your choice of New Moon vs. Freakonomics.

3. It costs $359! Thus the only reason one would purchase one--for convenience and to save money on books--is eliminated. According to the Washington Post, the median number of books read by Americans last year was 9. (27% of Americans hadn't read a single book last year. America--WTF). At 9 books per year and an average of $15 per book, it would take the average American 2.5 years just to pay for the Kindle. You will probably drop and break that shit before it pays for itself. And that's not even counting the cost of books--Kindle books cost approximately $10, so you would have to read over 60 books for the cost to make up for what you are "saving." 6 and a half years of looking like a douche, here you come!

Looking away from the girl with cute shoes, I noticed TWO more people in my subway cart with Kindles, and immediately proceeded to judge them. I would rather sit next to the African singer, beating an invisible drum on his knees and shaking his head to his muttered melody, participate in a three way text session with the 13 year olds ("OMG! Kindle sux" "Ugh tot" "WTF who r u?!"), risk death by beating the Asian grandmother to a seat, and be the Deanna to the makeouters' Jon+Kate than sit next to the Kindle user.

And she WAS reading New Moon. Judged.

P.S: Whoever said sex sells was right. Or maybe my its just my friends--I know you sluts read this, I post one picture of a burger blow job and all of a sudden you're all commenting? I better see equal enthusiasm on my posts about books. Oh and, ADJ, you're right as usual--Wikipedia places the average at 5.1-5.9.

Thing of the Day: Sexual Innuendos

I had a difficult time deciding what I should write about today. Topics ranged from possible ways to split up Jon + Kate's 8 (1 twin and 3 sextuplets each? twins to Jon, sextuplets to Kate? by gender--5 girls to Kate and 3 boys to Jon?), to updates on the many meals I ate this weekend (if you are in the East Village and in the mood for perfectly flaky halibut and a $22 dollar bottle of white, please go here), to commentary on the weather--(Al Roker. You have promised rain for two days now. I have worn ugly shoes. It has not rained. I am starting to think you a corrupt trickster, a la the weatherman on Curb Your Enthusiasm. If not for the Speidi interview and your general chubby cuteness, I don't think I could forgive you).

Until this. The ADD fluttering around my head was rapidly halted when I saw the above newly released Burger King advertisement. "The BK Super Seven Incher. It will blow your mind away."Open mouth, insert phallic sandwich shaped and sized approximately like the average male genitalia.

WTF. This ad does not make me want to eat a Burger King Super Seven Incher, or a penis. Yes--even despite the small lettering on the bottom that reads "Fill your desire for something long, juicy and flame-grilled with the NEW BK SUPER SEVEN INCHER." Who has a desire for something long, juicy and FLAME GRILLED except for some sick sadistic pyromaniac S&M-ster? And WHO is writing copy for Burger King these days? Paris H? Kimmy K? Heidi M? Miley C?

The ad does, however, remind me of a favorite similarly sexually inuendo-ed one passed around the Zoom Media office last summer:

If possible, the above lemon looks even more like a female sexual organ than the Super Seven Incher does a male one. "True taste comes naturally." Come on, Absolut. My fellow intern and I quizzically discussed whether such advertising is supposed to make you want to go buy vodka (or a sandwich) or call your ex boyfriend, and I'm curious again. I can't wait till the feminists get their hands on this one.

And just because I hate feminists, the following outrageously innuendo-ed ads (thanks, Google image!) for milk come from my very own Mother Russia.



These make Heidi Klum and Hayden Panneteirre's Got Milk ads look like demure. And like they're actually meant to sell milk.

Thing of the Day: Swine Flu

If you are one of my many devoted readers (Hi, five sorority sisters, three fellow study abroad students, and two family members who read my blog)!, you may have been wondering about my recent hiatus in posting. The above title may lead you to believe that this was because I had become one of the 1300 New Yorkers who had contracted the H1N1 virus. Spoiler Alert: I didn't have swine flu...but I might have.

Last Tuesday night, I went to sleep with a le miserable fever, and woke up feeling even more like le crap. This brought about a huge milestone in my life--my first visit to an adult physician! I had been moderately sick when I first came home from Denmark, but refused to seek treatment because Margarita refused to get me an appointment with anyone other than my pediatrician. Don't get me wrong--I love my pediatrician. He looks exactly like Vladimir Putin, if Putin's mother had hugged him more as a child and he spent his days surrounded by cuddly Russian children rather than fellow chain smoking politicians. The walls of his office are covered with pictures drawn by said cuddly Russian children and depict all sorts of land/sea creatures frolicking in the land of wellness. He gives me lollipops after shots AND blood tests, and sometimes even when I have come in for nothing but a checkup and a chat. He knows my medical history and has an entire file dedicated to my steady and quick increase in weight (not quite as steady and quick in height, we've found) and vaccinations and illnesses and etc. But these wonders aside--his secretaries are mean and wear overly tight Juicy jumpsuits, and when I call to make an appointment, they always make snide comments about the older Bogo sister still going here, and make a point of asking if I am still a full time student and on my parents insurance and applicable for a pediatrician. Last time I was in the office, a girl who looked my age walked in and my heart jumped with joy...until her husband walked in behind her with their infant child.

The possibly-teenage mother at my pediatrician's office was really the final straw, so on Wednesday afternoon, I found myself feverish and in a waiting room with bare walls unadorned with pictures of/by Ruski snugglers and boring awful magazines like Men's Health and Women's Wellness rather than TIME kids and Highlights and (most importantly) Teen Vogue. My adult physician was moderately interested in my illness and much less awkward to describe my sexual history and alcohol and cigarette use to than Dr.V had been, and after taking my temperature and other vital measures, drew blood without giving me a lollipop or a pretty bandaid, gave me a prescription for TamiFlu and instructions not to interact with other humans until my blood results were back because I may or may not have contracted the H1N1 virus. See you tomorrow!

I promptly hurried home to Google and WebMD everything I could about swine flu. It would be just my luck to have it, since I made fun of everyone in white masks a few months ago and make a point of telling people I don't believe in swine flu and don't understand what the big deal is--it's just the flu.

36 hours and no non-familial human contact later...I don't have swine flu! It's just regular flu. Oops.

Nonetheless, the flu sucks, especially as a week-in vegetarian because you can't have chicken noodle soup. But I am now all-strains-of-flu free and officially have an adult doctor! Yay for the former, meh for the latter.

Thing of the Day: NYC Prep

I'm not a huge reality TV fan. I loyally watched the first 5 seasons of The Real World, have seen every Project Runway and Top Chef, like to keep The Hills as background eye candy (on mute, of course), and will occasionally be sucked into a marathon of My Super Sweet 16, but I would say I prefer scripted drama more than the "unscripted" kind.

Until now. Bravo's new reality show, NYC Prep, has been marketed as a "real life Gossip Girl," following the lives of six elite New York high schoolers as they go about their good looking ways. This kind of obnoxious glitzy tv show set in my hometown on my favorite TV channel would have probably made it to my TiVo anyway...but I have recently learned that one of the six bratty teenagers it stars goes to my high school.

Meet Taylor. She "has an active interest in politics" and "is horrible at relationships, so expect some boy drama." In the first episode of NYC Prep, Taylor giggles here way through a dinnerparty, goes to a runway show at Fashion week and sits next to Paris Hilton while flirting with "Upper East Side Bad Boy" Sebastian, and excessively twirls her long brown hair.

Taylor! W. T.F. Stuyvesant High School is no Constance Billard, and you are no Serena Van Der Woodsen. Sure, we had the occasional sex in the bathroom at Friday night dances, and senior year someone got arrested for dealing drugs, we're pretty sure there were some student/teacher sexual relations (hello, Ms. Nolan!) and we even had a New York magazine article published about my grade's promiscuous and sexually ambiguous ways, but I'm fairly certain Taylor never accidentally induced someone's overdose during a sexy video, and Ms. DiGiovanni doesn't have an illegitimate lovechild with Taylor's on and off boyfriend, and she will not get into Yale just for being voluptous and having a magnificent pout.

Bravo...I'm disappointed. I can think of at least 10 people in my homeroom who would have made better reality TV stars than this character. I can provide you with the email addresses and phone numbers of at least 5 current Stuyvesant High School students who can do something more dramatic than blink repeatedly at a fashion show and joke about "having a really rich husband one day (hehe)."

Nonetheless, a TiVo fave for the rest of the season. Expect updates.

You know you love me.

XOXO

Thing of the Day: Vegetarians

Pop Quiz: What do the above humans have in common, other than being stars of a moderately mediocre TV series and bronzed demi-god/esses of perfection?

If you guessed vegetarianism--well, duh. It's literally in the title of the blog post. That was a pretty easy quiz.

Last night, after a grueling session of lifting 3 pound weights with my new wonderfully Guido-ed out trainer, Tony (I don't have a picture of Tony, because that would be creepy, but he very closely resembles this guy, except even darker in fake-tan pigmentation), I decided to take the next step on my summer get-life-in-order/become extremely fit plan.

Until I get back to Vanderbilt, I have decided I will be a vegetarian. I've always been the type of person who doesn't eat red meat or pork, except for the occasional late night hot dog, and starting yesterday, I have decided to give up meat for good and not eat chicken, turkey, bacon (ugh!), or other meat products until August 20th. I am slightly cheating, as usual, in that I will still eat fish and shellfish, but all animals with feet and feathers and fur are officially off limits.

I don't think I have ever actually given anything up before-Jews don't celebrate lent, bad Jews don't fast, I don't have any allergies, I've never smoked enough to feel the need to quit...this should be interesting.

Veggie burgers and Kristen Bell's abs, here we comeeeeee.

Thing of the Day: The Vanity Fair Summer Guide

How I've been waiting for this to make its way into my email inbox! Thanks to my super hip and trendy friend Maggie, who's interning for MTV Networks this summer, I present: The Vanity Fair All Access Guide: Summer 2009.

Last summer at Zoom Media, the hot co worker who I had all sorts of girl crush on forwarded the Vanity Fair All Access Guide to the entire office. Armed with my fake id and her suggestions, I hit up all sorts of rooftop bars and outdoor eateries. One of my favorite summer events listed in the guide was the Bryant Park Summer Film Festival and the Metropolitan Opera in the Park. Armed with boxed wine and a variety of cheeses, my girlfriends and I laid out and enjoyed fun flicks and beautiful music. This summer, with practically all of my friends living in the city, I hope to make extra use of the guide. The Hudson River Flix schedule looks phenomenal, airing two of my favorites: Vicky Cristina Barcelona and Sex&The City. Similarly awesome is the PS1 Warmup, which I meant to make it to every Saturday last summer. Finally, as you might expect due to my frequent ramblings about food, I can't wait to check out the outdoor and rooftop dining suggestions!

A few I'm particularly excited to try:
-5 Ninth: Pictured above. I plan on going here with visiting friend next weekend!
-The Park: So gorgeous and across the street from my internship, I pass by every day and will go in for a happy hour cocktail eventually.
-Habana Outpost: perfect for day-drinking (Which is absolutely of my top five favorite things. If you must know, the other four are reality TV, great books, greater shoes, and outdoor naps).
-The Met Rooftop Bar/Restaurant: Also pictured above. Because look at the view.

Looking forward to a weekend of day drinking, delicious appetizers, and dancing under the stars. Because who doesn't love New York summer?

Thing of the Day: Craigslist

Despite all of the negative hype recently about Craigslist (first the "Craigslist Killer" and now the Baby Thief), I've gotta say, I remain a huge fan of the site. This post comes in celebration of the fantastic sublet of a fabulous party pad to crash in with my visitor next week. Since I am making some well deserved mon-ay this summer at my internship, I decided to spare my visiting friend the commute to Brooklyn and long Russian style dinners with my family (Margarita and Felix of "you have a drinking problem" fame), and rather than getting a shitty hotel room (hotel prices in Manhattan are absurd!), found a perfect East Village studio to sublet. I'm looking forward to having friends over to the temporary place...granted that the several hundred dollars I just forked over on PayPal actually go towards an apartment, and not into the pockets of some Craigslist scammer.

In addition to providing me with a party pad, Craigslist always proves an excellent procrastination tool at work. My favorite is the missed connections section--the picture above is a pie chart of locations of NYC missed connections.

A few gems from today:

M2M: Very Cute Very Fat Young Boy on Uptown 6 this morning - m4m - 48 (23rd St Station)

M2W: Blinds left open! - m4w - 37

M2W: Guy who made fun of the fake homeless donations collector on the 4 - m4w - 28 (Financial District)

Last summer, I could have sworn I saw something about myself on there (M2W: 6PM Downtown N Train...you were wearing a red dress, reading The New Yorker and laughing out loud at a message you had received on your BlackBerry). When I told my fellow missed connections reader Emma about this, she flashed me a dirty look and informed me that I was one of the most self centered people she knew.

Factual, but a girl can dream.

Thing of The Day: Free Shit

One of the best things about living in New York is that you have a frequent and constant access to free shit. And I'm not talking about the "best things in life are free" free shit, but actual tangible, edible, drinkable, appreciate-able (sp?) free food, drink, and events. I discovered FreeNYC several years ago, and have since then been receiving a constant flow of free shit in my inbox every morning at promptly 9am. (Ever since I got my BlackBerry, this prompt 9am email has also had the dual purpose of reminding me to stop whatever I am screwing around with and leave immediately or I will be late for work--such a convenient little "ping!")

Today I am writing about free shit because of the sheer quality of the past two days' free events. Yesterday my friend Sam had a wonderfully free afternoon. We first attended our usual 6pm class at the magnificent Yoga to The People. Technically YTTP is donation based, not free, but my $2 donation had such a meager effect on my wallet that I will allow myself to think of it as so. (For fellow yogis out there--I highly recommend YTTP--the instructors are incredibly talented, and payment is optional. They have 3 studios in the city). After a sweat-drenched workout during which a man named Reggie aggressively roared when encouraged to "release his emotions" during our downward facing dogs, Sam and I headed to the FreeNYC-recommended Taste of Times Square festival. For 10 $1 food tickets, we gorged ourselves on decadent mushroom ravioli, delicious lump crab cakes, heaping plates of mussels, cheesy eggplant parmigiana lasagna, grilled salmon sliders, tuna tartar with salads of pickled beets and grapes, grilled vegatable skewers and warm brownie dessert. Over 40 Times Square restaurants served their fare for $1-4 over the course of two New York avenues, bringing plethoras of cheap foodies. Sam is one of the types of friends that I mentioned in my previous posts--the kind that despite being a perfectly healthy and non-culinary educated individual, keeps her TV constantly tuned to the Food Network, and we both had a ball with our large selections of free-ish food.

After a wonderful $12 dollar evening, I woke this morning that this second Tuesday of June marks the annual Museum Mile Festival! The Museum Mile Festival is an epic display of free shit--the many museums among the Mile, including the Guggenheim (photo above) and the Met are open to free-shit lovers everywhere. From 6-9, anyone is welcome to enjoy art and refreshments at the 9 museums participating. And to top it all of, thanks to the Thrillist listserv, I've scored an invitation to a three hour Absolut Vodka sponsored open bar for me and a +1 tonight. My best friend, Rachel, has just gotten back from Italy and I can think of no better way to celebrate her arrival in the land of the free and the home of the brave than with gratis cocktails (or you know...shots) and complimentary art.

Thing of the Day: Celebrity Chefs

As I laid in bed last night watching my third consecutive hour of the Food Network (Iron Chef America: Battle Octopus),I found myself thinking about several things.

1. Why the f was I laying in bed eating grapes and cold pasta when there were delicacies like fried octopus calamari with papaya sauce, octopus seviche with fresh salsa, octopus carpaccio, braised tuscan octopus, pressure cooked octopus with rock shrimp, and slowly grilled octopus skewers to be had?

2. Octopus sausage? Really? I don't know, Chef Kaysen.

3. When did obsessing over food, food preparation, and the chefs who prepare it become a socially acceptable thing to do, a hobby reserved not only for trained culinary specialists and the morbidly obese but also for your average, normal BMI, unskilled college student?

I first discovered my immense and inappropriate love for food via the Bravo hit Top Chef, which I caught by accident after a Project Runway finale and have ever since seen every episode of. Since that fateful moment two or three years ago, I have further expanded my food interests to include a personal (read: non family, delivered to my dorm room) subscription to Food and Wine magazine, frequent perusing of FoodNetwork.com recipes, ending every weekend in Kitchen Stadium, stopping to read every single moderately interesting menu I see on the street, daily research of new lunch spots on Citysearch (today's pick: The Green Table), watching Rachael Ray re-runs on mute (her voice makes me want to slit my wrists, but the woman can cook), and reading famous menus the way many people watch famous pornographic films.

And I am not even close to most fanatic of my friends. In the past decade, avidly following celebrity chefs, culinary reality TV, and "designer" restaurants have become a huge phenomenon in popular culture. Names like Rachael Ray (ugh), Wolfgang Puck, Paula Dean, Alain Ducasse, Mario Batali, Anthony Bourdain and Bobby Flay have become as well known as those of Paris Hilton, Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears. Ray, the highest earning celebrity chef, makes $18 million a year on her Network show. Puck, Dean and the rest follow with similarly unbelievable numbers.

Any why not? If Americans can watch a show about a brain-dead couple and several other D-listers fighting it out in the jungle, and another about a fame-whorrific couple and their adorable plethora of half-Asian children, why wouldn't we watch a show--or a dozen--about a crictical life need--food?

Lucky for me, the Food Network's glorious headquarters are just around the corner from my summer internship. And in between "working," perusing menus on the internet, and g-chatting with stunning speed, I will continue to camp out in the Chelsea Market basement until I get the opportunity to seduce Bobby Flay into becoming my personal chef/husband.

Thing Of The Day: Blogs

Several months ago, inspired by my lovely friend Stacy/Sloane, I decided I absolutely positively had to start a blog. I excitedly signed up for Blogspot, chose a moderately clever name, and since I was living in Copenhagen at the time, decided to start writing about my travels and the cultural differences i encountered in Scandinavia.

I put the link to the blog on my Facebook, posted a total of seven times about my drinking experiences in Europe, and shortly received a concerned and appalled email from my mom. It read as follows:

Privet, Kuzik ("Hi muffin" in Russian),

Nu kak u tebya delishki ("How are things?")? Did you get your grades for the midterm? I heard from Galina that you are going to Prague this weekend? Good for you! Enjoy your time in Europe and see as many places as you can see. This is your life time opportunity to see Europe.

Now on a very serious topic, and you might get mad, but I think I need to talk to you about that. Ira (my aunt) read your blog (an I think you could've send a link to it to me too), and it said that you left your wallet in the bar because you were too drunk! It is not good… I told you to start counting signs that you are developing an alcohol addiction. Now it might seems that all of them are funny anecdotes and you will be in denial at first, but look closely. The bruises that I saw on you, origin of which is unknown to you, forgotten wallet, and probably a lot of other facts that I don’t know. You get me worried. You get drunk more easily, and lower tolerance is one of the symptoms. You should not drink so eagerly and so much. I personally knew women who drunk often in their 20s and at first they were ok, and were dead by their 30s. And I also knew a woman who started drinking heavily in her 30s and in 5 years became a low class prostitute. And I personally know many less dramatic but still very bad examples, like ______'s mom. I want you to reconsider your drinking habits.

How is your new boy? What phase your relationship are on now?

I love you and miss you!

-mom

Alas, my life as a blogger ended and my life as an alcoholic began. This time will be different, for several reasons:

1. I will ensure that my mom does not get ahold of this URL. Perhaps I preemptively will block in on her computer to be positive this will be the case.
2. I am home in New York for the summer, and working a full time internship for a legitimate adult company, thus I am going out about 5 days per week less than I did last semester. Since I will not spend the vast majority of my time drunk/hungover and instead will spend it sober at a computer, I will have far more time to blog.
3. I am setting rules. The title of this blog, the daily, implies that I will be posting daily. Clearly this is too much to ask, and I will set the very reasonable guideline of five days per week. Additionally, this blog has a theme. I will be posting about the Thing of the Day. These Things will range from news pieces, to anecdotes, to physical things: clothing, accessories, electronics, decor, etc. I will also occasionally be highlighting actual blogs as Things of the Day. Shit might get crazy. Well see. So after much delay:

Friday, June 4th's thing of the day is weblogs. How genius! Ever since I acquired a full time internship, I've really come to appreciate blogs. I am reminded of that feeling when you have had a really shitty/really awesome day and all you want to do on your way home is tap the person sitting next to you on the shoulder and tell them all about it. Blogging is like that, but you get to tap ANYONE. And if they decide they don't give a crap, instead of telling you to f off, they will simply say the words to their computer screen and go back to Facebook stalking their ex boyfriend's little sister's best friend's cousin.

Here's to blogs. A few I'm currently following:

Today's Big Thing (inspiration for this blog)

Cupcakes and Cashmere (this girl has the best clotheeessss)

Swank Heights (her too)

The Daily Beast Cheat Sheet (the best way to read the news)

MoneSplye (my two Fratty Mcfrat friends traveling through Europe. Hi-lar-ious.

The Prose of Krose (my co-intern/Elle Woods twin's musings on sales and happy hours)

Perez Hilton (duh).

Back tomorrow with a considerably shorter Thing of the Day. Happy Friday. Time to party. If you're reading this, mom, time to party in moderation.