East End Bound

Bon Voyage, readers! I'm off to the Hamptons for the last weekend of the summer. Happy Labor Day!

This one's for my female readers...

I was dancing (read: twisting) to the new Danity Kane song, Damaged, when I really stopped to listen to the lyrics.

"Damaged, damaged
Damaged, damaged
I thought that I should let you know
That my heart is
Damaged, damaged
So damaged (so damaged)
And you can blame the one before
So how you gonna fix it, fix it, fix it?"

Be it the dating experiences I've had in the past year or the accidental studying of the male species I've done since I've been single, I have learned a whole lot about the opposite sex. I've grown up. And I know that unsolicited advice is the junk mail of life, but I can't not write about this. Forgive me.

"I thought that I should let you know". There have been many moments in my life where I thought to myself, perhaps I should let him know that my last boyfriend ripped out my heart and stomped on it. I'm delicate. Ladies, don't let him know. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. If you're still single, it's apparent that you've been hurt. If he wants to know, he'll ask. I promise.

"My heart is damaged." Whose isn't?

"And you can blame the one before." They don't want to blame the one before. In fact, they don't want to know anything about the one before. Guys want a clean slate! Shouldn't we?

"So how you gonna fix it?" Call me regressive, call me an anti-feminist, call me whatever you want. But I don't think this is fair. Why do we expect the new guys we date to make up for whatever the last guy we dated did wrong?

I understand and appreciate that this song is supposed to speak to girls who are hurting. But if we don't change our thought processes soon, we're going to keep bitching to one another in cyber space about how we can't find a good man. Well, you know what? They're out there. We just have to stop expecting them to be so damn perfect. Why should they be? We're not.

This is me formally accepting that men are men and women are women. I may never understand why they are the way they are, but I fully intend to try. All I can do is keep giving them a shot and let go of the hope that they'll try to peel the band-aids off of my heart. Frankly, I'm beginning to realize that I'd rather do that myself.

Dear Woody and all of my male readers... a penny for your thoughts?

I can sum up my affection and appreciation for neurotic Jewish men in two words: Annie Hall.

I love all things Woody Allen: his books, his movies, his silly articles in the New Yorker. I love that he stutters. I love that he rolls his credits before the movie begins and that they are always in the same typeface. I love that Scarlett Johansson is his muse. (Isn't she just absolute perfection?)

The last two movies of his that I've seen, Vicki Cristina Barcelona and Match Point, are quite reminiscent of one another. Both films encompass love triangles with two vastly different women and one man, who, for lack of a better term, is having a hard time keeping it in his pants. It really got me thinking.

I'm realizing more and more that there are two types of women in this world: the kind that men want to be with and the kind that men want.

I need to know... Is it possible to be both at the same time?

Good news travels fast...

I came home yesterday to receive this:



This is the note that was attached:



I'm not sure who the sender is, but it would kill me to not be able to thank them! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I know that "Secret Admirer" implies that the sender wants to remain anonymous, but a gal can't help but wonder!


On another note, Happy Birthday to my Adventures in Argyle!



I love you Sassy!

JGIWC = 9-5?

My dear readers,

I have come to two conclusions. Either you're wildly curious about what it is that I actually do with my life, or you're perfectly happy with the amount of information that I reveal. I read many of your blogs, and I often find myself somewhere between the two. I understand and appreciate the need for anonymity and privacy, but a gal can't help wondering.

Until very recently, I worked full-time for a well known and highly regarded luxury magazine. It's a great book and I'm proud to have been a part of it. Unfortunately, I was not in an editorial capacity and therefore, did not have the chance to write. At the end of the day, it has always been a dream of mine to have my name in a masthead and I can now cross that off my "bucket list".

While I'm sad to leave this publication, I'm comforted in the knowledge that I'm meant for something more. Writing is my passion, and this blog brings me more joy than I could ever properly convey. Thank you for the continued comments, emails, and support. You have no idea what it means to me that someone other than my mom actually appreciates my writing.

Since moving to the city a little over a year ago, I have dreamed of living my life in a Carrie Bradshaw style. I want to freelance, to work from home, to meet new and exciting people, to be adored, and to really soak in New York. All while in Charlotte's wardrobe, of course.

I finally have this opportunity. I'm thrilled and I'm terrified.

Here I go... Wish me luck!

Anchors Aweigh,

TAG xxx

The Preppy Picks - Menhattan

Why break away from this week's theme?

I received this email yesterday...



We all know of my my torrid love affair with these people. I cannot wait to check it out. Well done.

Here are some of my favorite things lately: (AKA, if I had a boyfriend, I'd buy him...)


Lilly Pulitzer boxer shorts in every print...


The Proper Polo from Southern Proper...


The Vineyard Vines 10th Anniversary Tie...


Visionaire No. 54...

The title of this post refers to one of Carrie's books in the Sex and the City movie. Did anyone else find themselves wishing that this was real?

My runner up:



Oh, well.

Wherever you're going, I'm going your way

I've been thinking about Sex and the City a lot lately. I wonder how many people who call themselves fans have considered the true beauty of the show beyond the Dior dresses, Fendi baguettes, and, of course, sex: the writing.

My whole life, I've been drawn to things because of how they are written. I can look past a story I'm not crazy about if it's crafted well. "Rabbit, Run" is a perfect example of this. Hands down, one of my favorite books, but not because of what it's about but rather because how it's written. Updike is undoubtedly one of my literary heroes, but that doesn't mean that I always agree with his content.

Sex and the City defined a generation - mine. And not just because we are searching for the two L's (which in all honesty, is dead on), but because of its preciseness and its need to come full circle.

I watched one of my favorite episodes last night. I Heart NY. You know the one. When Carrie finds out that Mr. Big is leaving New York and they dance to Moon River (and yes, I cried). It seemed even more appropriate because I had dinner with my "Mr. Big" just hours before. It got me thinking about my life and how much I've changed. Sometimes the greatest love affairs are the ones that end. And maybe that's alright.

I used to think that if I wasn't married by 23, the age my mother was married, that something would be wrong. My parents' marriage is the one thing in my life that I've always been sure of, and it only made sense that I followed exactly in their footsteps. It almost worked. My parents met under a tree during undergrad; I met someone at my Southern university. They were engaged shortly after graduating; I tried on rings at Tiffany during my senior year. And then, on a cloudy day in November, it all unraveled rapidly before my very eyes. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. You have the time to yell out, "STOP!" but it doesn't make a difference. It's inevitable.

One of the true significances of Sex and the City is that they're all, until well into the series, single. And in their thirties. And don't need to be defined by marriage. And it wasn't until very recently that I really began to appreciate that.

I used to believe that I was put on this earth to be a carbon copy of my father, to emulate his goodness and to be the kind of person that he is, full of life and kindness and lightheartedness. I still believe that, but for the first time I see it in a new light. My parents are everything to me, and I'm so much like them, but I'm different. I have things that I need to do before committing my life to someone else. I need to write. I need to be published. I need to dance in the rain while waiting for the sunshine. And that's just fine. It will all happen.

I'm comforted by the knowledge that I'm always ready to fall in love. I stand armed. With my heart.

And I'll have you know that I listened to Moon River while typing this and didn't shed a single tear. Looks like someone's growing up.

Boys will be boys will be boys

And yet, I'm still crazy about them.

Always have been, always will be. You have to admit that no matter how infuriating the male species is, they're also wildly intriguing. It's a web that I can't help getting tangled up in. I've never been one of those girls who hung a "Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them" poster in my room. I don't think they're stupid; I think they're different. And I like them. I love them. Can't get enough of them.

I love the way they can make you cry just as easily as they can make you laugh. I love the way they surprise you. I love the way I hold my breath when my text message alert sounds, hoping it's 'him', whomever 'him' may be.

I love how they're so easy and yet so complicated. I love their camaraderie. I love the way they all dance together haphazardly in a circle, not caring who is watching. I love that girls cannot do this because we're too busy adoring them.

I love that they are absolutely clueless to the amount of power they hold over us, yet completely aware of the power we hold over them.

I love that they wear the Gucci loafers that their mother both chose and bought for them.

I'm not asking for Mr. Right. I'm not even asking for Mr. Right Now. I just want to hold my breath every now and again. Is that so much to ask?

And the winner is...

PREPPY SUE!

Please email me at jgiwc.tag@gmail.com to claim your prize!

A sincere thank you to everyone who entered. This was lots of fun and I look forward to hosting many more giveaways in the future!

Have a wonderful weekend, readers!

The Preppy Picks - The Paper Caper!

In honor of my giveaway. And because this is what I live for.

First and foremost, I would be remiss if I didn't mention Boatman Geller's clever new note tote, Carrie and Tuck.


I plan on treating myself to one of these very soon! You can find all colors, refill packs, and the rest of the BG collection at www.boatmangeller.com.


Kate Spade and I have more in common than our sorority membership. Among other things, we share a love of fine stationary.


My mom gave me this set and I simply adore it. Five of the cards have a devil graphic embossed on the envelope flap and the notecards are embossed with, "How the devil are you?". The other five cards have an alligator embossed on the envelope flap and the notecards are embossed with, "See you later, alligator". Kate's paper products make excellent gifts (I gave AEG the planner for her birthday last year and gave my mom several of the books a few years ago). Bottom line? Klass act. Make someone's day at www.katespade.com.


Here in the Big Apple, we have many fine purveyors of paper at which to browse, including but not limited to Kate's Paperie and Papyrus. But what I really wish we had is Paper Source.


I stumbled into this store last weekend in Northpark Center. This gem has TAG written all over it. The perfect mix of cards wallpaper the walls. Visit www.papersource.com for an endless selection of goods.


I'm also a big fan of Preppy Cards. Check their Where to Buy section for a location near you.


I will have to have several more Paper Caper installations. I simply cannot fit all of my paper love into one post.

Don't forget to enter the giveaway before 12:01 AM tomorrow! A winner will be drawn (out of a Lilly hat) before noon.

214 vs. 212

I could wax poetic about Dallas for days on end. It's a wonderful city and I feel blessed to have lived there. There will always be a little Texas-shaped hole in my heart. Here is a re-cap of our weekend through photographs.


Before seeing "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2" at the new Studio Movie Grill.


Our brownie sundae at SMG.


Our old house.


In the lobby of the Westin Galleria.


The Melting Pot.


Fondue.


Fon-don't.

Once again, my flight out of Dallas was cancelled and we were stuck in Dallas an extra night. I revisited my good friend, the Hyatt Regency DFW.

My Neiman Marcus card got a good workout.

I got back to NYC just in time to celebrate AEG's first real night as a New Yorker. We celebrated by attending a big launch party at the Empire Hotel.


Amazing cosmo.


Amazing view. (This photo doesn't do it justice!)


Amazing night!

Last night, we had a little preppy blogger party at, where else... the preppy mecca of bars, Dorrian's!


Jewish Girl in Wasp's Clothing, Adventures in Argyle, and The Preppy Vegan

I sure do miss the South - the food, the hospitality, the tradition and the charm. But after the last few nights, I must say...

It's good to be home.

GIVEAWAY! (All dressed in Madras, of course!)

I've paired up with my favorite paper company, Boatman Geller, to do a giveaway for JGIWC readers!



The giveaway includes a notepad in an acrylic holder, set of 2 luggage tags, and 10 gift tags, all in Pink Madras.

To enter, please leave a comment on this entry by 12:01 AM (EST) on Friday, August 15. I will draw the winner on Friday morning. Comment can be what you love about BG, the gift set, or of course... the blog. :)

Happy entering!

The Preppy Picks - Some like it Southern!

In honor of my weekend trip to the big D. Yee-haw!

I think we can all agree on Preppy having two mascots: the alligator and the whale. In my mind, the whale is representative of Northeast Preps and the Alligator is fitting for all of us sweet tea sipping G.R.I.T.S. below the Mason Dixon line. Imagine my excitement when I came home to this package yesterday evening:



The wonderful Julie over at Boatman Geller sent me this fabulous notepad. I LIVE for BG paper products, and I had JUST ran out of this same exact notepad. Luckily, I also have the Madras Patch Blue so I was never without a preppy pad to jot down my thoughts. I wouldn't want you all to worry. This and much, much more at www.boatmangeller.com.

And speaking of sweat tea sipping G.R.I.T.S.



How much do all of my Southern Girls love the G.R.I.T.S. books? If I weren't so committed to the Torah, G.R.I.T.S. Guide to Life would just about be my bible.

I own this t-shirt and love it. Deborah Ford is one of my favorite authors. Sure, her series may not be thrown into the literary canon anytime soon, but the piece of the South that she's managed to capture is priceless in my eyes. Visit www.gritsgifts.com to see the full collection.

Speaking of Southern t-shirts...



Oh, how I need this to add to my collection! It says, "Celebrate the South... Y'all Spoken Here!". If you would like to order one of these darlings, please email barefootbird@gmail.com.

I have never before included men's apparel in TPP, but after yesterday's response, I'm discovering that I do have male readers. I think it's about time!



Few things in life get me going like a boy in a bowtie. I love this "Boots and Shoes" one from Southern Proper.

Alright, Y'ALL. It's yet another 4-day week in the JGIWC world. I'm off to Dallas, Texas tomorrow with the Baby Fashionista. As many of you know, we lived there for five years and miss it dearly. I'm looking forward to celebrating our Southern heritage for a few days.





Have a wonderful weekend, readers!

Keeping the faith

When I started dating my freshman year of high school, my dad only had one unbreakable rule. I was not to fraternize outside of our religion. "Why date someone you can't marry?" was his reasoning.

In ninth grade???

As usual, he was right.

I've done it before but I won't do it again. If you know me at all, you're probably aware of my mixed feelings on the subject of interfaith relationships. I think people should be happy but I also know that Judaism is already small and we don't need to diminish it further by bringing different beliefs into the mix.

Jewish guys have it made. They have the reputation of being good, solid husbands, which is often true. This is why it's more likely for a family to consist of a Jewish father, a mother of Christian descent, and children who call themselves half-Jewish. Nothing in life irritates me more than this. There is NO such thing as 'half-Jewish'. You either are or you aren't. We go big or go home over here in Yidville. In the immortal words of my beloved Ari Gold, "There are no asterisks in this life, only scoreboards." Oh so true.



Jewish girls don't have it as easy. We have a reputation for being hot in Neiman Marcus and cold in bed. Did you know that this is actually the definition of the word JAP? Materialism beats intimacy. What a horrible rumor! Even though I've decided to temporarily halt the search for my Mensch in Madras, I'd still rather have love than the new Louis Vuitton Monogram Watercolor.

Here are some of my favorite Shiksa Goddesses:


Come on Mandy, give me some candy! Even though I think she needs to stop dipping into our pool, I love this girl. If I ever met her, we'd be fast friends for sure. She dated Zach Braff for two years. He's second in my life only to Jeremy Piven.


I've always adored Rachel Bilson. She dated Adam Brody, who is even less Jewish than Zach Braff. They were my favorite Hollywood couple of all time. I have loved Adam Brody since he played Greg in that Docu-drama 'Growing up Brady'. Rach is now dating Hayden Christensen. Most defintiely not a Jew.


Charlotte York Goldenblatt. At least she converted. Way to keep it in the family!


CJM. Wants to be Charlotte York Goldenblatt when she grows up. (Looks just like her too! Lucky duck.)


AEG. Not yet a Shiksa Goddess, but hopes to be one someday.

And then there's me...



The girl who wears Lilly Pulitzer to synagogue.

I once said that I'd choose a sundress over a Juicy sweatsuit every day. I'm not like other Jewish girls and I still can't figure out if it's working for me or against me. I don't think any guy has ever really understood who I am, but I'm not worried. It will happen, and he, whoever he is, will agree on the equal importance of polos and Passover.

My male counterpart is out there somewhere. With a monogrammed tallis.

Jesus saves. But Moses invests.

I still miss Crunch.

Most people, I would imagine, go to spin class for one or more of the following reasons: to lose weight, to get shape, or to make friends.

I don't need to lose weight, I'll never be in shape no matter what I do, and the gym is the one place in NYC that I refuse to socialize.

Why do I go to spin? Because I get my best ideas on that damn bike.

I had never been to spin on Monday night before yesterday. The instructor was reminiscent of Jack McFarland from Will & Grace. He did little dance flourishes when we had to switch from position 1 to position 3. It was delightful.

He played the song Shake It and asked if anyone knew that it was actually sung by Miley Cyrus' brother. I was the only one who nodded. Oops.

Let me preface this for you. I'm the most unathletic person ever to be born. I look absolutely ridiculous in my coordinated Nike bra top, shorts, socks, sneakers, and headband. Preppy gym attire doesn't seem to have made a breakthrough yet; the least I can do is match.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. I hate the gym.

They only reason I even joined NYSC is for spin class. I don't use any other piece of machinery or take any other sort of class. I get on the elliptical and have to get off five minutes later. I'm tired and bored. Please. I'm spent just climbing the stairs from the ground entrance to the second floor. How I'm able to stay on that bike for 45 minutes and still have energy when I get (not FALL) off is truly beyond me.

They re-did the locker room. It looks the same as it did before. I would have preferred the money and effort go toward a snack bar. Isn't that half the fun of going to the gym, anyway? The food? No? Just me?

But, in any case, if there is a way to get me to go to class it's the guarantee of a flamboyant teacher and crappy pop music.

I'll be back.

Writers unite!

Two Saturday nights ago, I was standing in line to pay at Bookhampton for In the Hamptons, Dan Rattiner's new book.



Dan Rattiner is one of my personal heroes, but that's another story for another time.

The baby fashionista hobbled over to alert me that someone else in the premises was indeed wearing the same Alice + Olivia dress she'd been pining for earlier that day. Oh, the audacity!

After paying for my purchase and pouting about having to tote it out a paper bag (I purchased this the day before - I'm going green in style) I realized that the space had gotten eerily quiet. My dad leaned in and whispered, "Isn't that the girl whose book launch you went to?"

I looked up and there she was! The perpetrator in the Alice + Olivia dress. The adorable Jasmin Rosemberg, author of the fabulous How the Other Half Hamptons!



Readers, if you haven't picked this up yet, you absolutely must! It is the quintessential summer read and Labor Day is only a few weeks away!