Most of my wardrobe is not considered very high-fashion. It’s pretty convenient because I don’t want to spend my time getting ready. I am not very fashionable and I don’t care to be. Visiting clothing stores is always very stressful. The 12-year-old children who work at Forever 21 always suggest

These are my resort-themed Mom capris: They’re covered in colorful hibiscus-print, and have the names of exotic locales like “Martinique” and “St. Lucia” stamped all over them, in a font that can only can be described as “Tiki-esque.”  They’re high-waisted and saggy-legged and cut at the most unflattering part of

Recently, I plopped down onto my couch to watch the Martin Scorcese documentary about vintage babe George Harrison, titled George Harrison: Living in the Material World.  I noticed two things, the first of which being that my dad looks scarily like Eric Clapton:              

My babysitting days were the richest days of my life. Okay, so maybe I only babysat the 4-year-old down the street every once in awhile– whenever his mother decided that she wanted to change out of her San Diego Chargers Ryan Leaf jersey into her San Francisco 49ers Jerry Rice

Lots of people get off the A/C at Nostrand Avenue,  a hazy divider between Crown Heights and Bed-Stuy-Crown Stuy, my super punk hairstylist/realtor called it.  Its home to a variety of stores, especially variety stores, and an astounding collection of roti, hipsters, church ladies and couture-tacky jewelry.  And you should

I know that NYC hasn’t been disgustingly cold this season, but someone’s still got the wintertime blues (that “someone” is me). This time of year, I always turn into a humongous B– cackling at any poor soul who dares approach me as I perform my cold weather rituals of swaddling

The holidays have officially passed, and New Year’s Eve is just a few days away.  You know what that means– it’s almost 2012.  2012– the year that The World As We Know It is supposed to end, according to the Mayan calendar.  2012– the year that we’ll apparently be punished