Portrait of a Life

Sleeping. Eating. Reading. Working out. Playing with the dogs. Catching up on all the movies. Writing not much of anything. Thinking. Going to doctors—cosmetic, of course. Not shopping. Drifting. Wondering how the hell my life came to this. Boredom.

The excitement factor? None. Tennis lessons. Woo-hoo. Preparing for Italy. Reading 3, 4 books a week and watching all the bad TV my brain can handle.

I suppose I'm in a "funk" cause I really don't want to do anything save for sleep, eat, work out, watch TV/movies and read. If there were shopping, I'd want to do that of course, but the closest Neiman's is about 130 miles away.

Watched Babel last night. Ugh. I know this movie carried a powerful message about gun control and illegal immigration, and Rinko Kikuchi's performance was amazing. (I simply can't imagine novice actor Jennifer Hudson being any better than her.)
However, I just couldn't help thinking a couple of things as I writhed in my chair, wanting it to be over already.
1. Why would a Mexican writer reinforce such negative stereotypes about Mexicans? I mean, Gael Garcia Bernal's character was so idiotic that the Mexican storyline made you want to become a Republican and patrol the borders yourself.

2. Cate Blanchett—though I worship her style—gets an Oscar nod for lying prostate and moaning a few times? And, oh yeah, pissing herself?

3. Again, another movie that just makes you wonder about Muslims. Only this time, Moroccans? Why Morocco? That's the one Muslim nation I've actually always wanted to visit. Couldn't they have picked somewhere truly evil like Syria or Lebanon? I mean, I know why—b/c Morocco is not neccessarily a terrorist haven so they wanted to illustrate the point that even though the shooting was not terrorist related the international media automatically assumed this. But still.

4. American tourists are just idiots when they are in a truly foreign land. Why would they be on a tour bus ostensibly in the middle of nowhere? Tell me that. And without one cell phone between the entire group? Please. Now mom and dad understand my penchant for first-class travel.

My brother, on the other hand, is, as I type this literally in the backwaters of India with no means of communication. So as Cate was suffering in the mud hut, I kept thinking, "There's my brother. God forbid he gets hurt. He's miles away from civilization; probably does not have the number of the American Embassy or a first-aid kit, etc. Why on earth do people travel like this?

Anyway, this movie made me really mad. Maybe that's the point, but I'm certainly glad it did not win best picture.

For lighter fare, please see Fashionosophy.

Best- and Worst-Dressed List

Okay, my best/worst dressed Oscar list is now up on Fashionosophy. I know you are all peeing in your pants with anticipation.

Oscar Wrap Up

Okay, somehow my audience has become more international by like 10x over night, so hello to all you Swedes, Germans, Spaniards, Brits, Brazilians, Greeks, Chileans, Chinese, Czechs and Middle Easterners. I'm just curious how this lot found my little site.

Anyway, how utterly boring were the Oscars? Ellen was funny, natch, but oy, what a snooze fest. I couldn't be happier that Little Miss Sunshine won best screenplay and Allen Arkin best supporting actor, plus Forest Whitaker as best actor. But you know how disappointed Eddie Murphy was. Poor guy. Plus I kind of wanted Peter O'Toole to win, just cause he's like Peter O'Toole.

And let's just talk about the divine Helen Mirren for a moment. Sixty-one years old and her boobs are more vertical than mine. And she was wearing Christian Lacroix couture people. Couture, meaning the dress was designed specifically for her by Lacroix himself, hand sewn and embroidered in France and basically made to order for one Lady Helen Mirren. This divine dress probably cost, I'm guessing, around $40,000-$60,000.

For those of you out there not familiar with the correct definition of haute couture, as the term gets misused a lot—the French government actually decides which designers and houses of design can be labeled as haute couture. Lacroix is one of them.

Anyway, the dress is to-die-for. These pics are not the best, but were the only ones I could find right now.





I'll post my choices for best and worst dressed over on Fashionosophy later today.

And I'm outta here . . .

Oh, good lord. Reese, saved the best for last. Absolutely flawless. Love the extensions; love the dress. Love everything. Simply divine.

Wow. Meryl Streep just admitted she was a size 14. Women all over the U.S. are rejoicing and promptly gorging themselves.

This is Exhausting

I'm tired already. And the bigwigs haven't even arrived yet.

God, Cate Blanchett can do no wrong this award season. Again divine in Armani Prive and those stunning earrings. My god, what a year for her.

Loving Gywenth's Zac Posen dress. I think the lips could have been a little more complementary to the color of the dress. I'm never a fan of red lips. And she's reaching that age when the hair needs to be clipped by about 4 inches. She's as much of a fashion icon as Anna Wintour, so she should look flawless.

Okay, where is Reese? My hands are hurting. . .

Oh, Penelope Cruz, my abiding girl crush, clad in my favorite designer of all time (when he was alive) Versace. She can do no wrong by me; well, except for that minor Tom Cruise transgression.

Maggie Gyllenhaal divine in Proenza Schouler. My god, can you believe she was pregnant only four months ago? Jesus.

Oh, oh, oh, Jennifer Hudson, honey, your stylist should be shot. If she wins—and I think the odds are in on her—she's going to be looking back at the footage in ten years and thinking, "What the hell was going through my mind when I was talked into that hideous gold capelet?" The dress would be fab without that thing on top of it. And not a big fan of sideswept hair.

Cameron Diaz is always a mess, but I'm digging the new haircolor.

J. Lo. Ugh. The woman simply has no taste; never will. She is living proof that money can't buy taste. And, though I hate to sound like a Star headline, could she be hiding a baby bump?

Jessica Biel has arguably the hottest bod in Hollywood right now. Digging the simple fuchsia gown, with an uber-stylish belted waist. One cannot make a misstep in Oscar de la Renta, the king of dresses, or Valentino.

Harvey Weinstein's Phallic Mess

You know, as utterly senile as Joan is, at least she's acutally seen all the nominated films, even if she can't remember everyone's names.

I have to admit I haven't seen many of the nominated films, but I adored Little Miss Sunshine and am hoping that wins Best Picture. I think Abigail Breslin just may win too. And I think Forest Whitaker is a cinch, as is Eddie Murphy. Good year for the blacks; always a good year in Hollywood for the Jews. Oh, and the Brits. Helen Mirren is a shoo-in. You regular old gentiles are getting shafted.

Speaking of shafts . . . I think Marchesa will be a red-carpet fave this year, not only because the dresses are gorgeous, but because Georgina Chapman, 1/2 of Marchesa, is dating hideous mogul Harvey Weinstein.

Good Harvey Weinstein gossip? A couple of years ago, he was admitted to New York Hospital for a disgusting growth on his penis. Had a nurse friend who worked there. Ewww. I don't care how powerful you are, I think Marchesa could stand sans-Harvey and Georgina is simply beautiful. What the hell is she thinking?

Men, Glorious Men

Djimon Hounsou has been a favorite (and object of lust of mine) since his riveting turn in Amistad. He is simply virility personified. Sizzling hot. And I'm loving the salt and pepper beard and the sunglasses. Can't wait for that Calvin Klein campaign. He should have been Oscar-nominated for Amistad and won the Golden Globe. If you haven't seen Amistad, see it; it's one of Spielberg's finest works.

Have never been a Leonardo DiCaprio fan, looks-wise, he always was too boyish for me. But finally, he seems to have grown into his own. I'm digging the scruffy facial hair and the beefier physique.

Sacha Baron Cohen. Yum. Yum. Yum. And Kosher.

I'm now flipping b/t E! and TV Guide, and can I just say again what a moron Seacrest is. Hate, hate, hate him. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that when I was living in L.A. and we were both on the VIP line for the opening of the W hotel in Westwood, he literally pushed me out of the way with nary an "excuse me," despite the fact that I could take him down with one arm.

Switching to TV Guide Channel for Joan and Melissa. Joan cracks me up and Ryan Seacrest is such a pompous moron who never asks, "Who are you wearing?" Four words, Ryan, not that hard.

Live Blogging the Oscar Pre-show

Can someone please shoot Bobbi Thomas and Jay Manuel? These are fashionistas? Jay with his hideous bleach blond hair and Bobbi with her less-than-zero knowledge of fashion?

Getting to Know Me

I'll bet you thought there wasn't much you didn't know about me, but, ha! There is. I'm bored and can't sleep. So here goes. And, oh yeah, I'm going to live-blog from the Oscar pre-show on Fashionosophy, cause I'm. Just That. Lame.

What do I suffer from? Constant insomnia (trouble falling, but not staying asleep—it's 4 a.m. right now), which only began once I moved to NYC and begun having mouse problems, random anxiety, slight OCD when it comes to germs and cleanliness, clinical depression.

What do I want to do before I die? See the world by big, private yacht or big, private jet. Either one will do.

What do I not have, materialistically, that I would like? A fabulous full set of luggage, preferably T. Anthony or Goyard.

What is my greatest fear? Not being successful enough to satisfy myself. Given my impossibly high standards, my greatest fear will likely be realized.

What can I not live without, in terms of objects, on a daily basis? My SSRIs, lip balm, face cream, hand cream, my Filofax, a computer or mobile device with access to email, my cell, a book or two, a pen and note paper, contacts or glasses, Wet Ones or Purell, 64 oz of water, two cups of caffeine, either Diet Snapple or coffee, and my everyday jewelry—watch, earrings, dainty diamond necklaces and a diamond bracelet. This is a comfort-level thing, not a showy thing. I feel naked without my watch and jewelry. My friend Adam once was at my gym with me and said, "Are you wearing all those diamonds to work out?" I said, nonchalantly, "Um yeah, why?" "Are those real diamonds?" "Of course, I said. "So why do you wear them to the gym?" "Why not? I never take them off, not even to sleep; I always work out in them." "You're crazy," he said. "Why? This is my everyday jewelry." "Ha. Everyday jewelry. Your crazy."

Yes, maybe, but again, not being able to live without Purell is most likely crazier than wearing jewelry all the time.

What is my morning routine? Well, given that I have no office job, it's surprisingly basic. I really am not high-maint in that sense. During the day before leaving the house, I shower, brush my hair, let it air dry, brush my eyebrows—ladies, you know what I'm talkin' about—and put on moisturizer. That's really it. Obv. my evening/going out routine is a lot more complicated and time consuming. Luckily, there is nobody to impress right now. And I always do my own nails and toenails and always get compliments on them. I have very steady hands. Always French.

What is my fitness routine? I do about an hour of cardio 5-6 days a week, usually the elliptical. I stretch for 30 minutes each time, twice a day. I do weights/strength training 3-4 times a week. I like to run, but since my tendinitis, I can't do so without causing a flare-up, so I've stopped. And it's so bad for the joints anyway. Now that I am where I am, I'm going to start taking up tennis again. Lying in front of the TV at night I do core Pilates exercises for the abs. Though they don't seem to do much.

What are the most important things to me? My family, my friends, my dogs, my therapist and my life experiences. Also, my intelligence, my resilience and my sense of humor, which has pulled me through many a tough situation. I'm not an optimist, but a sense of humor and the support of my family have gotten me through the toughest situations I've been in.

What don't I have that I wish I did in general? The love of a good man and a job that I enjoyed and could be proud of.

What are my greatest regrets? I know it's unhealthy to have regrets, but I can't help it—I have a lot. Let's start with high school—I passed on an opportunity when the then-editor-in-chief of Mademoiselle, Gabe Doppelt, (who now works at W), invited me to visit the magazine and meet the staff, after I wrote her a heartfelt letter and she wrote me a very heartfelt one back. Then, in chronological order, not going to an Ivy League school or, at the very least, NYU, which my parents wouldn't let me attend, even though I'd gone to NYC every year since I was old enough to walk practically. Then not going to NYC for summer internships. Then going to NYU grad school—perhaps to spite mom and dad for not letting me go there undergrad—to get my master's degree in journalism when really I should have taken a job as the low person on the totem pole at a magazine I liked. See, all my regrets have to do with my career.

What is my greatest aspiration? To be successful—so successful that I am slightly famous. 1% famous. Or famous to the people who matter. You see, I never aspired to marry and have kids. I aspired only to be successful. I do want to get married, but I want success even more and would choose the latter if it was an all-or-nothing decision. I want to leave my legacy on the world not with a child, but with a great body of work.

What has been my biggest disappointment? Not getting my book published, obv. This was such an earth-shattering, gut-wrenching, publicly humiliating disappointment that this is the reason why I cannot bring myself to actively pursue publication when my agent failed so miserably. I cannot put myself through it again.

What has been my biggest achievement in recent years? Kicking the shit out of American Media Inc.'s ass in court; working at a job I loathed just to prove I could be (semi-self) sufficient and as a result coming to the realization that writing and editing is the only thing that truly makes me happy job-wise.

If I was stuck on a deserted island, what would I need? Books, water, lip balm and a dog.

What is my philosophy? Life is short. Do what you want. Be real. Have fun. Be yourself. People either love me or hate me and that is fine by me because I'm always real. If I don't like you, you'll know it and vice versa. Life is too short to hide from who you are. If you're gay, be gay and come out of the closet; if you're an idiot, be an idiot; if you never want to work and just need to travel the world, travel; if you don't want kids, don't have them just because society thinks you should; if you don't want to get married, don't; if you waste 12 hours a day at a job you hate, quit. You could die tomorrow; in the words of my new mantra and RENT, "no day but today."

What have I always known about myself? Since about age 11 or so I have always thought three things with certainty about myself: that I would be famous, that I would die young and that I would never marry. Of course, these things are ludicrous, at the same time, they are all self-fulfilling prophecies. And I still kind of think all three are true.

And finally, the most important question of all, What are your favorite TV shows? This has been a good year for TV and I'm sorry to say, I'll watch just about anything when I'm bored or lazy. But my never-misses are: Curb Your Enthusiasm, Entourage, Extras, Ellen DeGeneres, Grey's Anatomy and Friday Night Lights. If I'm home, I'll watch Gilmore Girls, America's Next Top Model, The Apprentice, Lost, Without A Trace, What Not to Wear, all the Law and Orders and any sort of celebrity oriented reality show. Now that I have DVR, I'm kind of in trouble.

I think I'll try to go to be now; meaning I'll toss and turn and then sleep until 1 p.m. tomorrow.

There are several job openings at Star magazine. Wouldn't it be a kick if I jokingly applied for one of them to see how long it took them to catch on. I'm so bored and in need of a good laugh that I'm almost tempted to do it. But they'd probably sue me again.

On a totally unrelated note, can we just discuss how amazing Ellen Degeneres is? I love, love, love her talk show. I know most of you work and therefore cannot watch it at 4 p.m. every day. But I love her show so much that I plan my workout schedule to coincide with it every day. And let me tell you, she makes the time go by a lot faster. If you've never watched Ellen, watch it. No matter how down you are, it will lift your spirits.

And how fab does she look in this month's W? Ellen rocks.

I am finally almost unpacked and organized. Now I'm just hoping I will find a gig that will require me to repack and relocate ASAP. With Wally in tow natch.

Finally, look at this amazing pic my brother snapped in India. He's there for an indeterminate amount of time and is about to embark on a 10-day meditation retreat wherein he cannot speak or communicate in any way. We are just a little different. But our ideas of paradise are strikingly similar, like the place below.

My Boyfriend's Back

And he's no trouble at all. He's petrified of camera flashes, tall men and people in uniforms. On the plus side, he loves to kiss, cuddle and snuggle—and he's Jewish. So he's a little short and hairy, but I can deal. He thinks I'm the greatest woman on the face of the earth. What more could a girl ask for?


Yesterday I stuck to my "no day but today" philosophy, and it substantially lifted my spirits. I worked, I unpacked, I took care of business, I went to the gym, I figured out DVR for the first time, I applied for a job, I ran errands, I finally finished moving in, I assembled a desk from start to finish, I went to the eye doctor—all things considered, I accomplished a lot in one day. By the end of the night I was exhausted in that good way, pretty relaxed and ready for bed.

Lying in bed, I looked down at my arms and discovered hives. Lots and lots of them. Um, yeah. No idea WTF they are from, but I'm in a heavily wooded area, there are tons of bugs around etc., but I don't recall rubbing up against anything unusual. And I'm more relaxed than normal, so I don't think it's an anxiety thing.

Isn't it ironic? The first day of my new found spiritual quest ends with me covered in hives. So me.

Symphony in the City

You guys should all try to go to this event for the Friends of the New World Symphony, of which I am on the executive committee. It's being thrown by my uber-fab college friend Stacey (holla!) and she throws amazing parties that attract cool, eclectic crowds. You should also think about joining the NYC or Miami group, Friends of the New World Symphony. I can't make this event in NYC, but I go to all the Miami ones. For information or to buy tix/RSVP, get in touch with:
stacey.glassman@nws.edu

The NYC Executive Committee consists of Marco Acerra, Chris Barnicle, Raphael Bejarano, Jacqueline Bush, Craig Bruck, Justin Davis, Anand Dutta, Kara Dutta, Samantha Epstein, Rena Fischler, Michael Friedland, Jona Genova, Jim Hayes, Katherine Herring, William Kangas, Elizabeth Katcher, Jette Kelly, Sara Link, Guelay Mese, Stratis Morfogen's, Pavan Pardasani, Max Ramirez, Shaun Rose, Amanda Roth, Jonathan Rubenstein, Seth Ruthen , Lisa Sayfie, Christine Sonu, Tony Theodore and Zak Zaidman.

The Miami Executive Committee is led by Chairman Aaron Resnick and Vice-Chairman Dan Grech and consists of Corina Biton, Dr. Darren Bruck, Jeffrey Feldman, Lauren Funke, Lindsay Glassman, Jason Goldstein, Hemley Gonzalez, Stephanie Green, Calvin Kohli, Denisse Lemos, Tomas Loewy, Lisa Maister, Ellen Marchman, David Martin, Shoshanna Mehrpouyan, David Restainer, Brad Rosen, Amy Rosenberg, Alan Roth, Michael Sheehan, Dawn Toroker, Dindy Yokel and Alison Zhuk.

Ommmmmmmmmmmmmm

I spent a lot of time this weekend with a family friend who has lived an interesting life, has endured some very trying times, yet has emerged triumphant and supremely balanced. I am an old soul at heart, so it's not unusual for me to hang out with my parents' friends. Often, I have more fun and more meaningful relationships with them than with people my own age. I suppose it's because they have more to teach me, but I don't know. Maybe I am just blessed with great family friends?

This weekend with this friend, we spoke of our mutual experiences with therapy; I explained my clinical depression to him and the fact that I have accepted my need to be on some form of SSRI antidepressant for the rest of my life. (A matter that I am fine with, btw.)

Somehow a discussion of therapy diverged into his practice of meditation, which he does daily, wherever in the world he may be. Most often, he is out on his magnificently serene, sprawling, waterfront patio with an unobstructed view of his boat, the turquoise waters and other people's estates.

"Do you have any kind of mantra you chant or anything like that?" I asked, thinking of that episode of Curb Your Enthusiam where Richard Lewis lets Larry use his mantra, "Jai-ya," that turns out to mean "fuck me."

"No," he said, "I just sit out there, look at the water, go to 'that place' and think, basically, 'Look at all this I have; it can't get any better. All I have is today. I don't know if there will be a tomorrow and that's essentially what I focus on; living in the moment instead of thinking or worrying about the future."

That really resonated with me, as I am such a control-freak, type-A planner who, if I don't have a plan for "the future," completely freaks out. Like now.

"You know," I mused, "I think I'm going to try to do that. I get so wound up in thinking about the future that I forget to live in the moment."

You should, he said, because most people get so wrapped up in their day-to-day BS that they can't appreciate the now.

"Well, if I lived where you lived, I'd be out on that patio all day, just staring at the water and living in the moment, that's for sure."

"That's the funny thing," he said. "Whenever I'm out there, I look at everyone else's homes around me and nobody is ever out on their decks; nobody is appreciating these amazing things they have."

So then I quizzed him on whether he was coached on how to properly meditate, breathe, etc., and he said no, that he just went to 'that place,' cleared his head and told himself something along the lines of, "Look at what you have; you have life; you have this great home; family; friends and you have today. That's all you need. Just focus on today."

I suppose it all falls into that "one day at a time" philosophy, with a more positive twist. I often say that to my therapist, when I am really down, that I am just taking things "one day at a time." But yesterday it ocurred to me that I could turn that around into a positive. Like as they say in Rent, "No day but today."

So today, just now actually, I did it. I meditated for the first time in my entire life. I found my "place," and though I have been to many, many beautiful, spiritual places, this is the one that came to me: Lord Byron's Grotto, a scenic overlook on a cliff in Portovenere on Italy's Ligurian coast (Cinque Terre region). Lord Byron often wrote there and went there for inspiration. Apparently this site is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

It's next to the Church of San Pietro, and the beauty and awesome energy of this scenic overlook is indescribable. (These pictures don't do it justice, but, hey, I've got shit to do.)

I think this will be my "place" and my mantra—if I feel the need for one—shall be "no day but today." So make the most of it, girlie.

Where in the World is SG?

Where in the world is Stephanie? (Friends and family friends, please do not play!)

Pick Your Pretty Poison

After seven- and one-half hours in my packed-to-the gills car yesterday, I could use any one of these treatments: Juli B Beauty Picks for February.

Happy fucking valentine's day people. I am out of Miami manana, and I didn't even have to learn Spanish.

"No habla Espanol" was pretty effective in warding off the beggars. I realize I have not told my readers where I am going, suffice to say that given the open-book quality of my life, I think it best that a few things remain private.

Promises Malibu? Sierra Tucson? Bellevue? Nothing that exciting, so I probably won't be posting as much in my new locale. Thank god for Klonopin, family and dogs; not necessarily in that order.

Shoes, Glorious Shoes

Last night I had a dream that I went back to Israel and packed about 7 pairs of my best shoes. Somehow they got lost along the way and were substituted for someone else's more practical pairs. So I'm in Eilat wandering around the beach and the pool asking (yelling really) if anyone's seen my Manolos or Guccis.

Yes, I am sick, but this dream did not come out of nowhere. I'm moving Thursday, and the past couple of days I've focused on handbags and shoes, which I will take with me in my car. Behold the bags of shoes and handbags littering my floor. And these are just spring shoes and handbags. Can you say problem?

Testosterone Top 5

Again, this stolen from Jen. She doesn't care (I hope) that's how we roll.

Five qualities of a perfect man?
1. Handsome, but not too handsome. Slightly askew or odd, to balance out my extreme oddness.

2. Funny, sarcastic, wry, witty, appreciating Larry David, Arrested Development, Entourage, Woody Allen and Seinfeld.

3. Well-read and enjoys reading.

4. Highly intelligent and well-educated, coupled with extreme ambition.

5. Jewish, from a "good family" and appreciates Jewish women, with all our eccentricities.

Ladies?

Fw:

I am posting this for lack of anything more scintillating. It landed in my inbox thanks to Jen. Feel free to comment with your additions.

YOUR REAL NAME?
Stephanie Diane Green, nee Greenberg, pre-Ellis Island

YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (first 3 letters of real name plus izzle)
Ste-izzle (lame)

YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (fav color and fav animal)
Pink Dog

YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, and current street)
Diane Brickell

YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first
2 letters of your first name, first 3 letters of mom's maiden name)
Grestpav

YOUR SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
Blue Fuze

YOUR IRAQI NAME: (2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your
last name, any letter of your middle name, 2nd letter of your moms
maiden name, 3rd letter of you dads middle name, 1st letter of a
siblings first name, last letter of your moms middle name)
Tedamme (heh)

YOUR WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mothers maiden last name and fathers
middle name)
Paver M.

YOUR GOTH NAME: (black, and the name of one your pet)
Black Wally

PORN STAR NAME (very first pet, very first street name...that
you can remember)
Corky Pickwick

And I have one more to add: FUTURE HUSBAND/WIFE'S NAME (first name of first person you kissed, last name of your most abiding celebrity crush)
Scott Jordan

The Annas, Big and Small

I am totally obsessed with the death of Anna Nicole Smith. Her life in the past year has been its own unscripted E! True Hollywood Story and now this? Sooo bizarre and tragic. And it happened here? That hotel is like 5 minutes from where I worked and I've stayed there before. Anyway, in her last interviews with ET + The Insider (What is with those two shows now anyway; two separate shows with the exact same content? Why don't they just create an hour-long entertainment news show?), Anna seemed even more unbalanced than ever. It's certainly left me wondering what exactly she was on aside from the Valium that the above story says was found in her room. And did you notice the horrible dark circles under her eyes? That coupled with the oddly plumped lips made her look even more unusual than ever in the days leading up to her death. Very very sad indeed, esp. for her little baby. I don't know about you, but I'm eagerly awaiting the press conference at 3 p.m. cause I'm so cool and have nothing better to do, aside from like packing and moving and stuff like that. But that can wait.

And speaking of Annas, the original, the best Anna—Wintour that is,—has, I'm afraid committed a major fashion faux pas. Sometimes she's the most fabulous thing on earth and sometimes, she just misses the mark completely. Today was one of the latter times: Fashionosophy: Fur Catastrophe.

Fashion Week

Please see Fashionosophy: Ode to Vogue.

My latest journalistic endeavor: Juli B February Picks. Now if only I could somehow turn this writing thing back into an actual career . . .

Superbowl wha?

So apparently this big football game was in town and everyone was, like, totally excited and spent all this money and clogged up traffic and then just like that it was over. Yawn. Why do they bother with this silliness every year? I'm glad the Bears didn't win though—ha.

I'm out of this cesspool of a city in a little more than a week. It's honestly the only city I've ever lived in that I didn't love aside from Jacksonville where I grew up, but I don't consider that to be a city. And it certainly wasn't my choice to grow up there. Anywho, I loved Atlanta, where I went to college. I loved Los Angeles where I moved after college. And, it goes without saying, that I love New York, which has always been my home even though I didn't grow up there.

So what to look forward to after the move? Well, I'll be reunited with my beloved Wally, first and foremost. And then we are going on a truly fabulous family vacation to Italy in early spring, to meet up with brother who will be joining us from India.

Believe it or not, we have never been on a European vacation as a family, and I think it's high time. We're doing two nights in Rome, three in Positano and three in Amalfi. I had a say in all the hotels—my first job out of college was as an editor at a travel magazine—so I'm super psyched for all the destinations and the amazing hotels. I love nice hotels, I mean, who doesn't—but I really love nice hotels. I'd gladly give up half my wardrobe to travel in style. Check 'em out: St. Regis Grand Hotel in Rome, Il San Pietro in Positano and Santa Caterina in Amalfi. Sigh. I'm so there already.

I haven't been to Europe since before Sept. 11, so thanks to momsy and popsicle for the vacay and thanks to brother for being his enlightened self and going to India and providing us with an excuse to leave the country. Now that I think about it, I bet I could bring Wally too . . .