les potins, part I

"Yes, and I used to say 'I have to go, I have to get up in the morning' but the truth is, nothing's going to happen and who wants to be around the girl always worried about going home. Stay out, have fun, who cares, it won't matter."

French girl N, March 19th

subway soiree

I am standing on the platform at 23rd street eating a rose macaron, my favorite flavor from my most adored cafe. Whenever I have something to celebrate, I turn to this particular rose macaron. I find myself visiting this cafe quite often, dedicating a macaron to relationship milestones, personal achievements such as making a new friend or even bad days, the irony of honoring the survival of a particularly hellish 12 hours. 

I finish my macaron and shift my bag from one shoulder to the next, careful not to crush the neat stack of papers that signify a new professional beginning. The bottle of champagne, a gift from a colleague, was not intended for this particular celebration but just maybe. It’s cold enough that I can see my breath but not cold enough to make me want to hibernate. However, It’s hard to tell when my body is pulsing with equal parts of excitement and fear. 

The news is sacred and precious to me in this moment. I am doing normal New York things but I feel anything but normal. I look around at others standing with me on the platform thinking somehow they know what’s in my bag and understand that I’ve just been handed a fresh start and a new aspiration. The train pulls into the station and I step into my car wishing for one more rose macaron but quickly reminding myself not to overdo it, not to jinx my ambitious undertaking.

you can't always get what you want

I have a bad habit of not getting what I want. I know, it sounds ridiculous but here’s what usually happens. 

• Step one: I order a juice at my local bodega.
• Step two: I get my juice and take a sip.
• Step three: It’s not what I ordered, not only that - it tastes really bad.
• Step four: I don’t say anything, I leave the bodega both unhappy with my bad tasting juice.
• Step five: I drink my bad tasting juice and regret it for hours and wonder why, I didn’t just ask for a new juice.

Does this happen to anyone else? You can apply it to any part of your life and maybe sometimes you just go with something and it’s not even what you want. The worst part is it’s always in my control, always. But rather than saying, “Excuse me, this is not what I ordered. May I please have a new juice?” I walk away feeling regretful and upset at myself for not speaking up. I’ve done this so many times that I’ve lost count. Most recently on a trip to Bloomingdale’s to purchase a new skincare product where I ended up with a different product than I went in to purchase, something I did not like, spent more money than I wanted and ended up with the same terrible regret. WHY DO I DO THIS?

Part one of the conclusions I've come to: I’m worried I’m going to hurt someone’s feelings.

I go see the bodega guy everyday. He is so happy and sweet. It gets very busy in there and sometimes people make mistakes. I also have witnessed people being so utterly rude at this place that I’m fearful that I too will look rude if I return my juice. Because they will then dump it out, waste all those vegetables and fruits, and next time I come in, I’ll wonder if they will then think of me as “the woman who returned her juice.” This is so beyond ridiculous.

Part two of the conclusions I've come to:  Everyone hates that picky, pushy person in line.

I’ve witnessed my fair share of people while living in NYC that are so beyond picky that it holds up the line and makes everyone else uncomfortable in a 10 feet radius. I know that by saying to my Bloomingdale’s beauty advisor, “No thank you, I came in for this product and am not interested in that product,” that she wouldn’t hate me or find me picky but at the end of the day, she’s supposed to be the expert. However, she is also a sales woman.

So here’s what I’m doing. 

I returned the skincare product and I’ve made a pact with myself to no longer expect bad juices. I trust that you can read between the lines here but if not - I won’t accept or allow people to talk me into things I do not want or did not ask for just because I feel bad or am worried about what they will think if I correct them. Because in the middle of the day when all I have time for is a juice, I do not want it to tastes like celery - I want carrot and I’m sure the bodega guy will understand.

what's up, wrap up

Oh hey, didn’t see you there.

Before I come back and just dive into some random post about this or that I thought we could start with what I’ve been up to lately and why maybe I’ve been M.I.A. 

On love: well, I feel into it. Actually I got up and looked for it and happened to find someone doing the same thing. We shared pizza with an egg on it, potatoes and exchanged phone numbers. That was 7 months ago. Additionally, my sister got married. It was beautiful and I’ll never be able to not tear up when I think about her dancing her heart out swinging her dress from side to side and us screaming lyrics out loud at her reception. 

On life: Yoga, meditation, healthy and clean living. New trending eating habits and then falling back into eating an average of 10-15 mini candies a day. I mean I don’t do drugs and I rarely drink so what’s a few candies a day and a 2-3 cups of coffee. There are worse things. I also had my hair cut very short and colored ‘mocha’ and have been eating approximately 4 avocados a week.

On work: Where… do… I … start…. 

So that’s a snap shot. I’ve been reading, perfume designing and smelling, drinking lots of coffee and slicking back my hair. I’m going to try to get back to writing. Because I miss having this outlet for thoughts. Plus I think my guy would appreciate if he could have one moment of silence from me. Especially when I request he sit in the bathroom with me while I shower and spill my guts about all the things bouncing around in my head. This usually ends with, “Tone I have to open the door, it’s so hot in here.” What am I supposed to do, I have a lot to say.

cheese please

At picnics when I was younger, you could always find me in one of two places. The first, the pool and the second, at the meat and cheese platter. Since I can remember I’ve never turned down a piece of cheese. The only other thing that comes close to cheese is chocolate and that’s a whole other therapy session. This past weekend I took the Cheese 101 course at Murray’s. If you live or plan to visit New York, I highly suggest this class. If not a class, stop in to the melt station and get yourself a Murray’s Melt.

As I was well in over my head with cheese knowledge, I took a few takeaways that would come in handy if I were ever to share my cheese at say, a dinner party or more likely, attend a dinner party.

1. Your cheese should be plated about 45 minutes before serving so that it reaches room temperature which is when cheese is at its peak for flavor and texture.

2. If you find mold on your cheese (blue, green or white) you can safely cut it away and eat the rest. 

Don’t eat it if the mold is red. Side note: I always knew this but all along thought my dad was trying to poison me.

3. The holes in cheese come from bacteria.

4. Cheese that releases a lot of oil has more fat content.

5. That subtle crunch in your cheese means it was aged for a longer period of time (thumbs up). It’s the breakdown of the protein you’re tasting.

6. The blue in blue cheese is activated by oxidation.

7. Cheese can be left out 5-6 hours and then put back in the fridge for later use (or if you are me, a late night snack).

8. From lightest to darkest or whitest to more yellow in hue: goat, sheep, cow.

9. When making a cheese plate, arrange your cheese from most mild to strongest in a clockwise rotation.

10. Don’t know what to choose to bring to a party or stock for your own? Think: something old, something new, something stinky, something blue.

adventures of standing on your head

So, we all are more than aware of my trip into the yoga universe. I've been practicing for 1.5 years and just about daily for the past 6 months. Yoga came into my life (as every person who practices yoga claims) when I needed it most. It "found" me and I "found" it. Clichés aside, it really did save me. A place to go everyday, poses to focus on and breath that didn't feel like a constant heart attack. I healed and while I was at it, lost some weight, gained strength both physically and emotionally and calmed the hell down. I realized, more than anything, that I couldn't solve the problems of the world or mine in a day. That everyday I needed to start fresh and work a little more. That there was always work to be done and that's okay because there is no deadline for growth or love. Then I went upside down into my daily headstand.

Then I fell, really hard. Every knuckle cracked, along with my neck. My body knew how to tuck and roll from years of falling out of tricks in gymnastics and horseback riding but my mind at that moment screamed panic. I'd like to say that the man next to me practicing scared the living daylights out of me and it's why I fell.  He came down out of his shoulder stand so fast I was sure I was doomed, however it wasn't really the case. What happened was, I got too cocky. I had been practicing for a few months for just about every single day and I had gotten so used to headstands that I got ahead of myself.  I forgot that I was standing on my head and that I needed to focus and breathe. My ego got the best of me and in turn, I almost broke my neck.

Instead of the normal annoyance that would come over me and gripping that waves over me when I do something imperfect, I calmly went into child's pose. I was however grinding my teeth so hard that I had to open my mouth for a few seconds so that I wouldn't chip a tooth. And then I laughed.

Because here I was thinking that I was golden. That I, Antoinette Marie, had basically conquered sirsasana and therefore all of yoga and I had done it in 3 months. Go deeper. My emotional self was walking around saying, "Oh I'm fine. That breakup? What breakup?" But the truth is, it'll always be with me. I'll always be working. On both my fears and concerns of love and headstands.

Last night and every night since I fell, I go into and come out of my headstand with absolute respect. I now understand that I can fall, and hurt myself at anytime. That no matter how many times I do any pose that I may lose my balance. I understand that this reflects me and the outside world. That I need to respect the love that I'm given by those around me because it can be taken away or betray me at a moments glance. I remember to breathe, I remember to stay focused. To not place blame on the person next to me because god knows there's always someone next to you doing something sort of stupid and scaring you. To have respect for all situations you find yourself in, good and bad. Accept that you will fall and don't take it so seriously. I will never be able to go into a headstand again without being a little bit afraid that I will fall. I try to ease my nerves with my breathe and build my strength by continuing to practice, regardless of my fears. I'm sure I'll fall again and again but isn't the most important part to know how to get back up? I'm getting back up.

just think

  "It will be great."

 

Amanda, March 4th

morning rambles

This morning I had a thought.

It was a pretty standard morning for me. What used to seem like the great unknown of a new neighborhood and space, now feels comforting and peaceful. I pulled up the blinds to let what little winter light there was in, got ready, buttoned up, settled on an album to listen to and walked to the subway. My subway stop is above ground and goes over the WIlliamsburg Bridge. It's one of the best ways to start the day. I stood on the platform with my headphones in, gloves on, waiting for the train when I thought about my upcoming birthday. I ran down a list of sorts.

27. Female. Single. Average Height, Average Weight. Never been married. No Children. Can touch my toes. Cannot do a handstand (yet). Happy, yes.. I am happy. Brooklyn, New York. Blonde. Black boots. Overall comfortable.

And then I thought, how many of those things will change once I'm 28. How many will change in 5 years, 10 years. I remembered turning 27 and thinking about the year ahead but predicting nothing that had happened. There were some amazing things that happened and then there were some that I would have liked to fast-forward through but maybe not. 27 was a year of growing pains. Maybe it's a superstition but that odd number always did seem challenging to me and it did prove itself to be. I gained friends, I lost friends. I let go. I moved, twice. I ate too much then too little. Changed teams at work, changed again.

Someone recently asked me how I am.

"I'm well. I feel good. I'm trying to push myself a little more. Speak up, challenge myself. Go outside my comfort zone and be more daring."

They probably were just wondering if I was in a good or bad mood but hey, you asked.

Usually I make a list or goal for the year ahead when my birthday comes around. This year there won't be one. I want to live. I want to experience everything that comes my way. I want to open myself to everything that is coming. To not grip. To not wish and want but to be. Be happy and then be sad and then be happy again. Whatever comes will no matter what. I can't wait. 

Photo by Kate Diago

first position

Sometime late summer last year (which in this weather feels like a million miles away) I had my hair cut off. I always was attracted to women who could wear their hair short and slick and maintain a feminine and graceful appearance. It was a simple way to shorten my time in the morning, as well as, keep my hair from aggravating me on humid and hot summer days. While home a few weeks ago I was on the edge of keeping a bit of length versus bringing it back up short. I went somewhere in between and then enter Jennifer Lawerence photographed by Patrick Demarchelier for Miss Dior.

Needless to say my hair went from a soft blow out to a unfinished tasseled 'I woke up like this' look. I used Toni & Guy Casual Sea Salt Texturing Spray because it was the only thing I could find this morning but plan on investing in Bumble & Bumble's Texture hair undressing creme. The sea salt spray smells amazing but doesn't quite hold shape. While I'm out I also need to pick up Clinique's even better dark spot corrector which I used several years ago but haven't used since. This winter has been particularly hard on my skin and has left a few uneven spots where blemishes came and went.

Last week I was gifted with Roses de Chloé which has snapped out any chance of the winter blues creeping in. With the fresh top note of bergamot, a heart of rose and a trail of musk and amber, I feel completely buttoned up for the day. The beautiful spot "Blowing Roses" makes me wish I had never quit ballet. Speaking of the ballet, my mom and I attended À la Française on Saturday here in NYC. We were both swept away in the grace and beauty of the dancers. Their dedication and strength was inspiring. I left feeling like I should put a bit more effort into my own work, personal and professional.

So with that note, I'm off to work on this hazy, gray Monday. Have a good week!

a rosy future

Who do you love? Your mom, your sister, your best friend, yourself? No matter what your relationship status is this February, I say take the time to celebrate those around you. Romantic or not, indulge in the pinks, reds, lavenders and everything fluffy and cheesy. I arrived home Saturday afternoon to a craft table and wonderful friends and roommates making Valentines for loved ones. If you aren't the crafting type you can always stop by your local stationery store OR hell, just draw a little wonky heart on a notecard and sign your name. The smallest notions go the furthest.

Soft blush bouquets are always appropriate, check out Saipua in Brooklyn for the most lovely arrangements EVER. Carven's semi-new fragrance is a graceful blend of Neroli, Mandarin Blossom, and White Hyacinth. Plus the bottle is simplistic and modern yet feminine. Diptque's Rosamundi is their Rose, re-imagined without the sharpness it typically carries. Restock on Dior's creme de rose smoothing plumping lip balm which has been my go-to since last Valentines day. If you're feeling like a million bucks, Nora Kogan Jewelry will deck you out. Moonstones for everyone. Lastly step into the holiday with Alice and Olivia's Hilary heart print canvas d'orsay flats. Sending love to everyone. xoxo

tea for one, plus one

I woke up to my alarm and a cool gray sky. I put on my favorite dress and traveled up to the Guggenheim. It was my first time there. I made my way up and back down the spiral, stopping for an overpriced coffee along the way. It was over-roasted and mostly bitter, no matter how many sugars I added. I chalked it up to all the time going into the museum's exhibitions and not into the coffee, fine by me. I left and strolled down Madison Avenue. I took the subway downtown to the West Village. I stepped into Tea and Sympathy on Greenwich Avenue. I was alone, had been alone all weekend. I was looking forward to a table for one. I sat outside in the brisk January air. I called my Dad, glanced at my phone a moment and settled in to wait for my table of one. 15 minutes later a mass of people exited and seating began for the cold souls waiting outside. The woman next to me commented that we'd all need warm tea for having to wait outside in the cold. I mentioned it was well worth the wait. She was seated a moment later, another table for one. Then I heard her call back out the door, "Are you one? I'm just one if you'd like to sit at my table."

The waitress offered me another table right away but I took the table with the woman I had exchanged words with moments before outside. We liked the same tea (Chai) and settled in to chat about New York, my career, her family, theater and art.

It was lovely to have tea with a woman I didn't know. It was nice that someone else who was looking forward to tea for one happened to share tea for two. It never came up if we had been waiting for someone else, we both just seemed happy to have a table by the window and a shared teapot of chai and scones.

When I first moved to New York I would often get questioned about the people. My tea guest had lived in New York City most of her life and while she traveled and relocated a few times, she always came back. We both related to not having to drive and how you can step into a different museum or cafe any given day and experience something new. I thanked her for asking me to join her, she thanked me for being open to the suggestion. This is my New York City.

Tea had and to be had:

Lady Mendl's

The Carlyle

Alice's Tea Cup

Russian Tea Room

The Palm Court at The Plaza

wanderlust

I have an interesting case of wanderlust. I often lust for the very city I live in. Whenever I leave New York, even for the weekend, I dream of coming back - coming home. However each year with the change of the season my mind wanders a bit west and then very east.

I wake up wondering what it would be to exchange my view of the Empire State Building and Williamsburg Bridge for an ocean view or the Eiffel tower. I imagine salt water hair, I imagine buttery croissants. California and Paris, for completely different reasons.

California for the ocean. Not the shore or the beach but the ocean. Big Sur and hiking above the clouds. The feeling of weightlessness being that high in elevation and the anxiety of having to go back down eventually. The sun on my arms, salty lips and hair. Cool nights and a fire. Driving along the coastal highway listening to whatever is on the radio because it really doesn't matter as long as the windows are down and you know the words.

Paris for the escape. Some days I miss the feeling of not knowing a city so well. Stepping off the subway platform with butterflies of a new adventure in a new part of town. Seeking out your favorite cafe, finding the best bookstore. Falling in love with a park or a certain building. Being a fish out of water and then finding your gills, finding your own heartbeat in a place you've never known or been. I'm constantly mesmerized by New York's lights but I crave new shapes and spaces. Carving out a home in a new place that feels similar but wholly different.

Sometimes when I cross the bridge on my bike and I'm heading downhill into the lower east side I take my hands off the bars and spread them wide. I stretch my arms and fingertips. I pull in the entire city and for a minute feel like it can actually fit within the width of my body. I love it here more than anywhere I've ever been. It's home but when I woke up this morning I wondered what Paris looked like in the snow and how nice it would be to take a walk along the ocean during a sunny November California morning.