love the wang

i hate breakfast. i LOVE breakfast food, but i hate breakfast. it’s one of those meals where you don’t have time to sit down and ENJOY your food, and even if you do, it’s like lunch is right around the corner, so why bother?

in college, i could count with one hand how many times i actually ate breakfast, it was such an expendable meal. (we’re obviously not counting the times when I’m eating a grand slam at 5am after a frat party.) but again, as age has a great sense of humor, i can no longer function when hungry. truthfully, i get something like a hunger tremor where my hands start to shake if my sugar level is too low. it’s generic, so thanks dad!

i’m a savory breakfast eater. there’s nothing more comforting than a good salty Italian frittata or chili cheese omelets to say to my tummy “rise and shine!” the exception is side street café’s extraordinary sweet, fluffy, french toast, which i eat once a week at the minimum (shut up wobbly thighs!) but really, even with my leisurely schedule, who the heck has the time to SIT DOWN and eat this stuff during the weekdays?

when i worked 9-5, i tried every solutions to the breakfast dilemma: cereal, toast, pop-tarts, yogurt and granola, smoothies- all of which had me STARVING by 10:30. sometimes, i did the “eat my dinner leftovers for breakfast” thing, only to end up screaming at every co-worker that walked by “YES, I’m eating a t-bone for breakfast! STOP STARING!”

now, i have a more leisurely morning schedule, but i mean really? am i going to dirty 4 pots and pans just to get some hash browns? so recently, i checked those Jimmy Dean breakfast croissant sandwiches (they looked really good and the commercials are really damn cute,) but the “lite” version holds 12 grams of FAT, 18% of your daily intake and that’s if you eat 2000 calories a day, which most of us are trying to AVOID.

OH, and what about those people who work out IN THE MORNING? (you’re sick, i tell you, SICK) what the heck are you people eating that’s not causing you to throw up? because it’s impossible that you’re not eating before your workout!? i get hungry just holding up my SoniCare in the morning!

so friends, share the breakfast secret. what do you like to eat for breakfast? end up eating? and what’s your solution to the ever-enigmatic dilemma? because at this rate, i’m pretty much open to just sleeping until noon and eating lunch to start the day.

(ps. i find that my writing skills are on the decline and it’s getting harder and harder for me to compose my thoughts in an organized and concise matter; therefore, i am trying to post more in an effort to hone those skills. i apologize if any post finds you asleep or 10 IQ points dumber after reading.)

yeah, yeah, the economy is bad. sure, i picked up the morning paper for the first time in two months and pretty much cringed at the thought of not being able to retire until i’m 89 years old. but what’s a girl to do at 27 besides look fantastic?

as shopoholics go, i’m in the club. j’adore the “i’m put together but i didn’t try hard” look. and i pretty much will wear ANYTHING. (okay, NOT CLOGS/CROCS but pretty much anything else.)

so here’s the “already purchased” list:

the boyfriend jean (darker wash)

blanket stripe cardigan (in gray)

stretch acres cardigan (in beige AND gray)

pique cross-front jumber (in navy) (okay, the model looks like a skank in this picture cause her ass-cheeks are hanging out, but mine are perfect hidden thankyouverymuch.)

oversized fleece sweatshirt (in galaxy)

gatta love the basics!

and now, the “wanted” list: (feel free to be generous

orquidea dress

caraday dress

trellis flats

CL Ron Ron pumps (love those red soles)

dolce vita ellie sandals

marc jacobs love story tote (this is rediculous, i would never spend this much, but isn’t it cute in this gawdy way!?)

so economy!? screw you! my closet shall prevail despite your pessimism!

yesterday while i was busy shoving myself into a pair of high-waisted Marc Jacobs jeans that i SWORE fit me two months ago, i started to lament on how it was that i had managed to gain so much weight in eight simple weeks.

that’s when it happened. a knock on the door. i heard it loud and clear. i went to open it ,and guess what? thirty was there. it handed me a “save the date” card, laughed at my unbuttoned jeans and walked away, leaving me haunted.

how did this happen? i never agreed to get this old! sure, i still have two good years left to savor my 20’s, but let’s face it, 30’s hanging out like that annoying piece of fat that falls over the top of your waistband and rubs against your shirt.

and yes, the usual questions apply here in this post: wasn’t i suppose to be married/cure cancer/beat stephen hawkings at chess by now? i mean, wasn’t i suppose to be GOOD at LIFE by now?

they teach you a lot of things growing up, but someone missed scheduling the class where they teach you that life is a constant struggle….whether that struggle be small or large, emotional or physical. (for some of my friends that never left home, that class should have included lessons on how to use the washing/drying/dish-washing machines, and maybe how to boil water..) but i find i still fumble the basics: dish-washing (SUCKS!), paying my bills on time, saving money, not eating 15 fruit roll-ups consecutively in lieu of dinner, etc. and i definitely struggle with the big ones: goals, determinations, confidence, oh yeah..i suck in the romance department too.

so i guess the point of this pointless post is when does it get easier!? *whining* i admit i’m a lot more evolved than my peers in certain departments, but they have definitely beat me in the others. but we’re all sitting here struggling with the same insecurities. (no really, they should think about adding a course in college to warn us.) 

what happened to all those ambitions in college? i was friends with revolutionaries, people with lofty ideals and plans to execute. what happened to MY fight? i feel like i got beaten by reality. and i more often than not find myself sitting at coffee with my very smart friends lamenting our daily struggles- slaves to the cycle, prostitutes to the money.

the newest twist to this sick demise is that my physical being is being beaten down by my looming 30’s. i use to eat salads for a week and BOOM! flat tummy….not so much now.  it’s like my skin’s elasticity gave up and instead of holding the fat in, it’s just letting it ALL hang out.

and my energy level…where did it go? the sorority sisters and i use to party like rockstars, crash for a two hours and be up at the breakfast table bight-eyed the next day discussing Nietzsche and heading off to take mid-terms and finals. now, it takes four days and about 10 mugs of tea to recover from a hangover.  not to mention, any day that i ddn’t fulfill the necessary 8 hour sleeping cycle finds me asleep at 8pm on the couch passed out with the TV on.

so thirty, stay away. i am ill-prepared for your arrival and effects. after all, they tell me it’s only down-hill after you…or wait…are you suppose to be the 20’s? i’m confused.

every little girl had a favorite disney movie.

the true romantics loves snow white for its pure dame-in-distress-saved-by-a-kiss heroism.

the down on their luck dream of cinderella for the way a man can change their life and lifestyle.

the drama queens enjoy the little mermaid for its ability for two people to overcome differences and end up together (very romeo and juliet with scales.)

my favorite was and always will be Lady and the Tramp (yes, Michelle: crazy dog lady.) the tramp was the baaaaad boy, the rebel, if you will. he lured lady away from her cushy middle-upper class properly groomed lifestyle and took her through the slums. she got dirty, ate spaghetti, kissed inappropriately and even landed in doggy jail. i mean seriously, imagine snow white doing all that! but tramp introduced lady to a way of life she was never aware existed, kind of like a cultural education. lady, meanwhile, took it all in stride and eventually put away her manicured puppy-tail and learned to enjoy the experience.

i think that’s what a better half is suppose to do for you. help you experience something new so that you can strengthen yourself.

this is not my valentines day single gal rant (since technically it’s the 15th), but rather the fruit of being inspired by a string of random events all shining their spotlight on my singleness: two, count them, TWO engagement parties this weekend, being forced to watch ‘he’s just not that into you’, and being asked at the trader joe’s what i was cooking for valentines day dinner. (what the fuck do you think the can of organic spaghetti-o’s are for idiot!?)

when natasha was in town this weekend, we had several discussions regarding relationships in our stage of life. (all over really ridiculously good meals, btw.) i’m an alpha personality, and i will always be attracted to alpha personalities. sparks usually fly fast and furious but it usually overheats into a giant molten mess. i have fought my whole relationship life to allow anyone to “take care of me,” and yet now it seems all of my friends who are settling down (or marrying) are doing it with the men who are the “taker-carers.” they use to date the life of the parties, the funny guys, guys with personalities and edge; now the boyfriends seem….vanilla (don’t get me wrong, they’re all likable people.) and now i’ve been plunged into one of those confused contemplative states regarding my ever-single self.

i HATE men who try to take care of me. for fuck’s sake, i can buy my own damn groceries! i like to bicker and jab a little- okay, a LOT (maybe i might have spent too much time in the men’s locker room.) i want someone who’s gonna push me to experience something i never thought to try. (and not in the my boyfriend loves the bears, so i totally love the bears kind of way.) but obviously my current path has lead me to flick off gennifer goodwin in the middle of ‘he’s not that into you.’ so what’s the alternative? find someone who wants to “take care of me” and then be all excited and gitty mistaking serenity for boredom? (sorry, was that cynical?)

SO, is ANY companionship better than none? should i lay off the spark-flying flaming hot cheetos and try a nilla wafer? ultimately, is it price charming or the tramp?

yea me!

this is my secret santa Chanelle, and her daughter Madison. since Nelle asked for all these kitchen things on her wish list, i bought her a flour sifter from one of my favorite stores William-Sonoma and i MADE her and her daughter matching aprons! yes, that is her daughter’s face on the apron. score one for my crafting gene. YEA FOR ME! CRAFTING QUEEN!

here’s a better shot of Madison and her teeny tiny apron.

here we go:

-stop procrastinating (i was gonna write this list last week…but i procrastinated.)

-exert more will power (stop at 2 fruit roll-ups instead of 5, commit to going to yoga/trainer etc…this resolution emcompasses many aspects.)

-keep a better (ahem..cleaner) apartment

-keep better touch with your friends (i swore i got all your emails/christmas cards, i promise i’ll write back…some day.)

-take my dog out more.

-work less and have more fun! whoo! (new orleans, china and possibly new york and costa rica on the books this year, how’s that for a start?)

-maybe get a new job, but at least redo my resume.

-decide on business school, law school or art school   or eternal mediocrity slinging alcohol in a bar.

that’s it, that’s all. happy new year everyone! (five days late

no really. i dislike her. i’ve never seen a movie of hers i enjoyed. i think she’s got like ONE facial expression and every time the american express commercial comes on about her and her mom, i wanna throw the tv out the window. so here’s a list:

1. she ruined coldplay. how good was coldplay’s first album? do you remember when you first heard yellow in the radio? it was simple, beautiful and chris martin’s voice sounded so sincere. now, on whatever god-awful viva la vida loca album they came out with, all i hear is synthesizers.

2. the woman’s never made a good movie. sorry. this is my blog and my opinion counts. no, shakespeare in love was NOT good. it was boring. and not even a finnes brother in tights could save it. (and never ever let ben affleck do a period film again.) running with scissors? contrived. shallow hal? stupid.

3.  she has ONE facial expression. ONE. i can’t tell if she drank cat piss or her son learned to walk. her face is like a drone on botox. ONE. STALE. EXPRESSION.

4. she claimed that she never wanted to use her mother’s success to her advantage. (see AmEx commercial that makes you want to destroy tv,) and yet every interview since Emma talks about Blyth Danner.

5. she named her kid Apple. like she thinks her child is going to be exempt from getting her ass booted from the playground because she has famous parents. right, kingston’s pulling her pigtails and giving her a swirly as we speak.

yeah. that’s it. i just don’t like her. and you’re bored anyways since you’re reading this. so i hope i’ve provided you with a good 5 minutes worth of entertainment from the deep dark depths of my thought process.

theodore roosevelt made famous the big stick ideology of american foreign policy with the term “speak softly and carry a big stick.” on sunday, i coined the new female bartender term, “giggle softly and demand a big tip.”

women are great tippers if you make them feel great. compliment their hair, their outfit, buy them a round of shots, etc.. women are more likely to compensate your friendliness with the generosity of money. this technique works not only for me but for my male co-workers. to go one (politically incorrect) step further, if you are a male bartender and you make a kinda chubby chick feel good…they will TIP the living bejesus out of you.

men. suck. men want the world from you. they want you to think they’re funny, they want fast service, they want you to flirt with them, they want you to pretend you don’t see their receding hairline/acne/short stature/fat belly. and they don’t ever get the hint. you get a drink from a chick bartender, it’s cause they’re being nice. that’s it. sorry. we don’t want to do you, we don’t need dinner. it’s a free drink. it costs us nothing. and most likely, we’re buying you the drink so we don’t have to keep talking to you during the monetary transaction.

this is the venting session. my title is “bartender.” i serve you alcoholic beverages. sure, if you’re a complete alcoholic and i see you four days a week, we might be on a first name basis, but i am not your friend. i don’t give a FUCK about your problems and i sure as hell am not going out with you (quite frankly if you’re at a bar enough for me to know your name, you’re a looooser.) now, there are occasions in which i meet people i give a general shit about, in which case, i’ll ask THEM about their problems, i don’t need you to voluntarily regurgitate your entire life story while holding on to my hand and keeping me hostage. (we call these people hand molesters. they hold out their hand like they’re giving you a high-five or a handshake and when you extend your paw, they grip onto it, caress it in a creepy manner  and refuse to let go.)

now, lessons learned? i’m a smart ass. i’ll pop off to anyone and everyone, regardless of how much money the supposedly have. (AmEx black/plum/red- seen it all!) i’ll give you a great drink at the fastest speed possible and give you a generally polite salutation. but if i’m in a degrading, work-enforced, football outfit (pleated skirt, football jersey and pigtails. yes, PIGTAILS) and someone is staring at my chest telling me they like my outfit, they will be getting a smart ass comment thrown back into their face. cause that comment is not a compliment, it’s a perverted insult.

BUT, when you work a night shift? it’s a lot easier to make the tips. smile, giggle at everything and once you’ve turned your back, say everything you need to say. since the music is loud, they’ll never know. got a 25 cent tip? smile, give it back to them and walk away. but be sure to make a big gesture when giving them back their quarter, that way every girl at the bar knows he’s cheap. got an asshole waving and whistling at the bar for service? serve every chick at the bar first and when you get to him, smile and say “ladies first” and move on to the next girl. some drunk is asking you out? boyfriend! and point to some other member of your staff and smile (pick a large-statured co-worker…) once in a while you get the fat asshole. and i do mean fat asshole. they are generally caucasian, 250 pounds+ and just a damn fucking asshole. they’ve been lacked love in their life and therefore feel entitled because they have $6 to spend. ($5.75 for the beer and that fantastic quarter left to tip you with.) feel free to fight them. or rather, pretend to fight them. they’ll call you every name in the book and you just laugh in their face. (please, i’ve heard it all.) and then, with a very large security person in front of you holding you back, just LUNGE like you’re a fucking ninja to his fat bastard. they’ll keep talking shit, but fat guys? are always cowards. all talk, no fight (applies only to white guys.) you’ll make their day cause they get to spend the next week talking about how they put you in place (remember, lack of love, no life?) and you get to have them removed from the bar for pissing you off.

i used to get pissed almost every night at work by some random asshole. the reality, i’ve learned to temper my temper. a giggle and a smile will get lots of tips, but never forget to keep the big stick beside you.

it’s that beautiful time of the year. the weather gets colder (or as it translates in the OC, 70 degrees,) the stores are bustling,  the Christmas music is pumping, the people seem to be generally in a happy and giving mood and very importantly, you get to eat fatty foods without people judging (fudges and cupcakes and hot chocolates with teeny tiny marshmallows, come all!)

BUT, there is one place and one place only where the *enter Holiday celebration of your denominational choice* spirit enters and pukes like a giant Rugby player who’s had one too many pitchers of Michelob Ultra after a winning match. and THAT place is….*drum roll please* THE CRAFT STORES.

oh yes, Michael’s and Joanne’s and Tall Mouse. oh my! every one of these stores are bursting with holiday goods in various forms: unfinished wreaths, various ornaments, craft papers/punches/glues/cutters, fabric embellishments and etc. they’re all calling out to you….”make me!” “craft me!” “take me home and make be GORGEOUS!” especially this time of the year, all the stores are enticing crazy martha-stewart wannabes like me with 40% offs and 3-for-$5’s or (my favorite) Joanne’s crazy and kooky Coupon Commotions! and i can’t help it, i’m a crafting sucker. so a normal trip to Michael’s to pick up ribbon and glue usually costs me about $100 and leaving with anything from grommets to a 10,000 piece vellum pack to mountains of yarn.

there is a unexplicable satisfaction to the completion of a craft project; a sense of accomplishement that is so easy to come by. three hours in front of a tv with two sticks and two skeens of yearn and voila! scarf! don’t even mention the soaring sense of pride when you wear it out and someone just HAPPENS to ask you where you got it. you get a certain glimmer in your eye and you pause for dramatic effect before you say, “i made it myself!” and you wait for the gasps and compliments and request for tips.

you can’t really blame me, it’s in my blood. my mom is the craft queen that could give martha a run for her money. she makes intricate Japanese shadow boxes, owns her own mat cutter and can finish a full length waffle-weave scarf in italian wool during a viewing of Mission Impossible 3. the woman doesn’t have to LOOK at her needles, she just kinda knows when to switch from pearl to knit. she once finished a market scene shadow box that required her to cut out each GRAPE in one of the fruit stands. then there’s the vintage beaded clutch i carry during special occasions that EVERYONE keeps asking where i got, the answer? “my mom made it when she was in her 20’s.” the woman BEADED and entire clutch! there’s the sewing and the cross-stitching and the gardening- the woman’s a tour de force a la craft. and i’ve got half her DNA!

unfortunately, the other half of my DNA belongs to my father…the impatient one. so what you end up with is ME. the one with boxes and mountains of craft supplies, but not so much completed projects… during college in the sorority house, i was the go-to gal if you needed emergency craft supplies or some instructions during a mishap (i was VERY popular the night before big sis revealing; arrow-boards and sweaters always seemed to made at 3AM.) but if you looked at my room, you couldn’t tell my dirty little secret. even now, in my apartment, you wouldn’t be able to tell my craft obsession. that’s because like a shameful bulimic, i hide all my binge craft supplies in boxes tucked away behind cupboards and under beds. and there’s a whole section dedicated to half-finished projects…three half-finished scarves, one throw-pillow, one unfinished scrapbook, a collection of unfinished bracelets and a couple of sewing projects i never found the inspiration to continue. they all at one point or another originate from the desire to MAKE people their presents.

and so we matriculate to this point of the year: the hunting season. the season where craft supplies are so cheap, it doesn’t matter that i already own a good 2000 pieces of various glittery designer heavy-weight archival craft paper, the sight of aisles of MORE at 40% off makes my palms sweat and knees weak. i want to buy them, take them all home, roll on the ground with them and admire their beauty…and then hide them in a box like they never existed so i can go out and buy MORE! *maniacal laughter*

but as this blog is to help me self-improve, i am trying to show restraint. this year, i vow not to try and knit a scarf for every person i need to gift (i don’t have my mom’s speediness and/or skill,) i won’t try to make a 26-piece hand-crafted holiday card for everyone i know and i won’t try to bake 14 dozen cookies for all my co-workers and guests(you laugh…but little do you know the truth.) i will limit my trip to the craft store to ONCE a week and resist the temptation of glitter. and i will no longer be a secret crafter, i shall come out from the darkest corner of the closet and yell from the top of south coast plaza: I, THE WANG, AM A CRAFTER. AND I AM PROUD TO BE ATTRACTED TO PAPER, YARN AND ALL THINGS ASSOCIATED WITH THE GOODNESS THAT IS CRAFT AND THE WONDER THAT IS MARTHA STEWART, HER HOLINESS.

it is here though that i must ask my friends for their support and intervention. events that may occur that signal trouble 1. if i ever turn down a trip to anthropologie to go to Michael’s 2. if i ever wear a knitted BIKINI 3. if i ever give YOU a knitted bikini 4. if i ever give you a homemade scented candle and finally, 5. NO HOLIDAY SWEATERS. EVER. if any of the above should occur, i give full permission to admit me to the nearest crafters anonymous rehabilitation locations. should no vacancies be available, lock me in your closet until my hands stop mimicking knitting motions.

thank you for your continued support and love as i embrace and explore my life as a (trendy-non-cat-lady-like) crafter.

the econmy is bad. that’s why it’s important to save as much money as you can when spending. and that’s why this weekend’s warehouse sale craziness is PERFECT for those in need of checking gifts off their christmas list…

1. RVCA- 919 sunset drive, costa mesa, ca

2. obey- 3500 west carriage drive, santa ana, ca

3. vestal- 730 west 16th street, costa mesa, ca

and more (paul frank, atwater etc.) so if you have lots of loved ones in need of gifts, it’s wise to make a list and get cracking. or if you’re like me, bake everyone some goddamn cookies and go shopping for yourself.

see…SAVING.

on another note:

my dog is a genius. she g-chatted with michelle today. some might say it’s crazy! to let a dog type. but i say it’s freedom of expression. i mean there are things i’m certain my dog’s dying to express. and though we migh not comprehend the vocabulary my dog is typing, it’s likely to be understood SOMEWHERE in the universe. it’s just my job as the owner to let it out.