Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Stumble spreads joy again

Last night while (stoned) stumbling I came across Fashion Toast, a blog run by this girl from the Bay Area who also has an Ebay store called Treasure Chest Vintage. Her style is adorable and she does cute little composite graphics of her favorite looks from various designers' runway looks, like this Alexander Wang one taken from his recent Fall '08 show in New York:
Needless to say, this girl has impeccable taste. I'm still oohing and awwing over that Wang collection. Ankle boots with zippers and charcoal colored vests? Yes and yes.

As the New York Post might rave... Go take a bite out of Fashion Toast. (Had to be done. Sorry.)


Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Speaking of Depression...


I love birthdays

JOSH: consider this an early birthday present
JESS: ew
JESS: ew
JESS: ew
JESS: ew
JESS: ew


PS. The best part of this is obviously that the creator spelled "receive" wrong. Apparently really good orgasm givers are also illiterate?

Why you should not vote for Hillary Clinton this Super Tuesday

It's 5:40pm and droves of nine-to-fivers across the country are currently making their way to the polls to choose the primary candidate. Unfortunately, I have to wait until April to cast my ballot because Pennsylvania sucks like that. But the importance of this date is not lost on me.

I am here to tell you why you shouldn't vote for Hillary Clinton. I am not a political scientist and I am not even really a political aficionado. I flirt with feminism and I like this fine country we live in and I have experience campaigning for candidates I love (RIP Kerry/Edwards '04), and that is why I feel I have the authority to say:

If you vote for Hillary Clinton, I will no longer be your friend. (I kid, but still...)

It's not that I like Barack Obama. I mean, I do, but that's not why you shouldn't vote for Hillary. And the fact that she offends all ideas of what femininity is doesn't bother me either. If she used her womanly prowess and sexuality to her advantage I'd probably hate her even more. (See: Ann Coulter) Truthfully, if any of the male candidates in Washington acted the way Hillary does, most likely people wouldn't hate them. Hillary offends everything it means to be a woman: she is dirty and wears powersuits and asserts control and demands respect. But as a budding feminist, this doesn't bother me either.

I'm on the verge of copping out and just saying, You shouldn't vote for Hillary because she's goddamn annoying. But I won't, because this is actually important.

You shouldn't vote for Hillary because this country was founded on democratic ideals, ideals that shy away completely from monarchical concepts. Sure, African-Americans couldn't vote for years after the Constitution was drafted, and women couldn't vote until less than 100 years ago, but the fact remains that this country has a deep history of defending the little man and offending those in power.

If you vote for Hillary, aren't you kind of giving up and breathing new life into what looks like the new version of a dynasty?

Think about it: I was born in 1988, the year Bush Sr. was elected to office. My entire life, all I've known are the Bush's and the Clinton's of this world. If Hillary gets elected, we are feeding into that. If you vote for Hillary, you are again putting power in the hands of one of the two families that have more or less controlled the country for the past 20 years.

Obama's message is CHANGE. Ok, I like that. As a forward thinking college student that's extremely attractive to me. And when I look at Hillary, and see the way the media analyzes every wrinkle, every facial expression, simply because she's a woman, I just can't see her gleaning the respect she needs to keep a firm hand on this country.

I want to like her. The feminist in me wants to like her so badly. But I just can't. Because here's the clincher. I will say it, and I hate myself for saying it, but I'm saying it anyway: America is not ready for a woman president. With suffrage, we more readily accepted African-American males before any woman. And with this election, I truly think Obama has a better chance of beating out the Republican pundit than good ol' Hill. And isn't that the point, anyway? Taking back the White House after the cruel thievery of 2000, and the mass emotional manipulation 9/11 allowed in 2004?

As Democrats, we have to decide who we want to go up against the Republican frontrunner. I wish I could say I believe that's Hillary, but it's not. I don't care what the polls say. If Obama can win a state with as racist a history as South Carolina, then he can win this election.

So there. I said it. Obama '08.


Walking home from work

and listening to Blonde Redhead I am struck by the idea that they are Radiohead lite. They are Radiohead lite, with Emiliana Torrini as the lead singer.

It doesn't stop me from floating across the cobblestone streets where Crosby meets Houston, where the first New York slaves set up camp when the Dutch first settled here, where there now sits a BP that sells gas for $3.29/gallon. I am floating and I'm not even stoned.

Fuck I'm poetic. Go buy 23.


Josh has no conscience

JOSH: i just need to become friends with ugly-ass people
JESS: well you're friends with me
JESS: *fishing*
JOSH: yeah you're fugz.
JOSH: i will pay you 40 dollars if you sleep with antwan
JESS: LOL... he's waiting til marriage so i'd need more than that since we'd have to get married
JOSH: and i know you would consider it
JOSH: well just make out
JOSH: maybe a quick bj
JESS: i can't i have a boyfriend and we had a serious convo today about cheating
JOSH: nobody has to know
JOSH: quick london money!
JESS: i would know
JESS: shut the fuck up
JESS: you're an asshole


The comfort of being sad

In Paris before mah meds... Also, horribly into Boho Chic

Jezebel posted an article yesterday titled "In Defense of Depression." It covers the over-prescription of anti-depressants and the new tendency of both drug companies and society alike to deem typical moroseness as "depression," and thus produce a need to eradicate it immediately. But I agree with Jezebel: what the fuck is so wrong with being sad?

I've dealt with depression my whole life. My mother had it when I was younger, so I was exposed to crying spells and unnecessary lashing out at an early age. I was born with the predisposition, due to depression being genetic, but it truly reared its sadistic little head once I became a teenager. I literally lost the will to do anything; I would sit in my room listening to Dave Matthews Band and wallowing in a crushing pool of self-pity. But it extended beyond the typical teenage melodrama: I was a nasty little Sylvia Plath, taking out my sadness on everyone around me. I just didn't know how to cope.

The summer before I left for college my father took us on a trip to Europe. It was there that I admitted to myself that what was going on with me was far worse than simple teenage awfulness. It had taken years to come to terms with the idea that there might be something critically wrong with my brain; but in that Rome hotel room, after drinking a bottle of champagne and getting into a screaming fight with my father over something completely unimportant, I realized that, like my mother, I had depression.

I went home and immediately began my first course of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds. Ativan for oncoming panic attacks, Zoloft for my sadness. I changed slowly. I began to feel better. My family noticed a gradual shift in mood, and I no longer collapsed into a fit of tears if I couldn't get the top off of the jam jar.

But things were not as simple as taking that little blue pill once a day. Zoloft made me absolutely exhausted, and I soon realized that any creativity I had harbored in the darker stages of my life had all at once vanished the second I put that pill under my tongue. I couldn't write a damn thing. Every word I put down on the page was forced and contrived. The outlet that had kept me going those months when it felt like the whole world was crashing down had suddenly been rendered irrelevant. I felt better about life, and, without the medicine, I probably wouldn't have been as successful as I was my freshman year at NYU, but I had somehow lost touch with that pained part of myself that allowed me to write anything honest. That aching, hollow place in all of us that depressives seem to be in direct contact with: I could no longer get to it. It was buried beneath waves and waves of absolute non-feeling.

These days, I still sometimes feel like a zombie. I have to choose between the thing that makes me want to live (writing) and actually wanting to live. Sometimes I brashly choose to go off my medicine, and spend a week locked in my room chainsmoking and listening to "Videotape" by Radiohead and crying uncontrollably. I get a few good pages out of it, but in those times I also sacrifice my relationships, my desire to do anything but pity myself. It's a lose-lose.

I envy the people who don't have to take medicine and therefore are allowed to experience the full spectrum of human emotion, down to the harrowing sadness, the delicious anger. But my depression was worse than just feeling teary one night and watching romantic comedies and eating Ben and Jerry's. I was paralyzed by sadness. I couldn't progress anywhere.

So yeah-- being able to appreciate feelings other than happiness is extremely important (cue Bright Eyes). But for some people, maintaining the desire to live is even more so.


A virtual pat on the back to, well... us.

As I sit here listening to Vampire Weekend (pretentious) and drinking my morning coffee (it tastes like blueberries because my roommate buys delicious creamer) and waiting for my (other) roommate to get out of the bathroom so I can expertly apply eyeliner, I am struck with the lovely success of this big round number...


This blog has hit 5,000 views. My initial reaction: What the fuck? My second reaction: my mother must read this way too frequently. Josh's reaction: Who the fuck cares about me?

So thanks, oh faithful reader(s) for reading this little vanity project. I pinky promise to make it more interesting in the weeks to come. And if you know me, you know a pinky promise is as good as swearing on the Bible (okay better because fuck it I'm an athiest).



So Jess may be preoccupied with trifles like "schoolwork" and "having a romantic life" and "caring about mainstream events like the Super Bowl that fascinate 99% of the country," but I've just been mesmerized by this.
No, seriously. Like...I've actually practiced the move myself.
Also, I weighed myself tonight and discovered that all those cases of the munchies have indeed begun to take their toll. I'm not so ridiculous as to think I'm getting fat--I'm not trying to brag, it's just that I know some people think it's stupid that I care about my weight at all--but still, it gives me pause. During Fashion Week, no less! What is Tom Ford going to think? How on Earth am I going to fit into these leather rhinestone-covered skinny jeans by tomorrow morning? Maybe I should be the one spending the night with my head in the toilet.
Ha! Kidding. I hate throw-up.


Monday, February 4, 2008

We're alive, I swear!

Look, it's Josh and Jess!

I've been berated by people of all walks of life (ok, only a few walks of my life) to update this thing. It's not that I've lost interest, because honestly this is the longest-running blog I've ever had. Besides my Livejournal, but shh that one's a secret and is actually only to read Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen fan sites (or is it?).

The truth is that I've been buried in schoolwork. Up to my neck. No, up to the ends of my hair. It's getting ridiculous. I know last semester was nothing but poetry and cigarette breaks and sleeping in and having sex, but seriously, Spring 2008? Go fuck yourself.

So please don't forget us, oh lovely fan(s). I plan on some awesomely juicy updates once my brain starts working again.

A few things of note:

1) I am going to London to visit the (now on-again)bf. I've never been to London, and I'm absolutely terrified of flying, so besides the fact that I'm excited to see him, I'm actually more freaked out and paranoid than anything. Luckily he thinks my neuroses are cute (umm.... sike).

2) The Giants won. I'm pretending to care because a lot of people I know care, and I think it's nice to care about the things the people you care about care about. (Times I used the word care in one sentence: 5). I actually spent the better part of the night with my head in the toilet. Shouldn't have had that last Bud Light, bro.

3) My 20th birthday is coming up. (Feb. 13) Mail me cards and money and condoms.

4) Lindsay Blohan is on the cover of Glamour! Thom Yorke is on the cover of Rolling Stone!

5) Mmm, percocet.