Frankie Says… Tina Fey is my idol. When I first started writing, I thought of myself as a very young Carrie Bradshaw – all gumption and glory, no consequences or catastrophes. But through the last two-and-a-half years there have been a few consequences and some minor, but significant catastrophes in my freelance writing world. I am a more cautious and thoughtful writer now. Moreover, I use a pseudonym so that I can, when necessary, write like a complete jerk who doesn’t have to deal with consequences or catastrophes. Nowadays, I see myself more as a Liz Lemon (nee Tina Fey) than a Carrie Bradshaw. Two years in and I don’t own any Jimmy Choos, I don’t have an awesome East Village apartment, and I definitely don’t have a stream of good-looking men I get to sleep with and then throw away. Instead, I have a modest apartment in Los Angeles, a tiny closet full of Nine West shoes, and I wear sweatpants and t-shirts about two-thirds of the week. Like Liz/Tina, I have nasty habits that include eating breakfast standing up in my miniscule kitchen wearing only underwear, cutting my toenails in bed where I find bits of nail sticking into my side about a week later, and wearing inappropriate outfits to either get me in to something or out of something (think Liz in full Princess Lea gear to get out of jury duty). The guys I end up dating for very short periods of time are a) crazy (Matt Damon aka “Carol Burnett”), b) losers (Dean Winters aka “Dennis Duffy”), or c) possess weird quirks that even quirky me can’t get over (Jon Hamm aka “Drew Baird”). But don’t be fooled by me ripping Liz/Tina apart and putting myself on that same...
Love Affair with a New Purse [Secret Life of an Expat]
posted by Gudrun Cram-Drach
Before I got to Paris, I was never much of a purse person. I liked something with good pockets and a nice shape, and the most I remember spending on a purse was $50 for a marked down Nine West at Macy’s. In Paris, I made a friend who had a beautiful purse collection, and I got bored with the Nine West. Mandarina Duck was the only cool company I knew of, so I bought my first semi expensive (i.e. more than 100 euros) purse from them. It was functional with good pockets and enough leather to look a little bit fancy. It made me feel like a grown up. We were happy together. But then… I don’t know. The little swath of suede became polished and small rips appeared in the fabric. The purse was letting itself go, and my eye started to wander. Gerard Darel, I thought. It’s what all the ‘it’ girls have, and I’m an it girl, right? Well, no, but once I got the Gerard Darel 24 hour bag under my skin, it wouldn’t let go. I could be working through a perfectly normal Tuesday afternoon and then find myself staring at the Gerard Darel website without knowing how I got there. I would spend hours examining the colors and prices, even though they never changed. This went on for months, but the bag cost twice the amount of Mandarina Duck. Not expensive for a designer leather purse, but not cheap either. We finally met and had coffee, me and the Gerard Darel 24 hour bag, but it turned out we didn’t click. The blue looked better online and the bag didn’t close at the top. I would have been settling. To console me, my friend introduced me to...