Category Archives: The object of my obsession

The Boys Are Back In Town

By nopasanada | Published: August 1, 2008

“Football is, after all, a wonderful way to get rid of your aggressions without going to jail for it.” ~Heywood Hale Brown

The other night, G called to tell me that he saw Plaxico Burress in Best Buy. After I stopped convulsing and telling Metalia & J that oh my fucking God, Plax shops at Best Buy and I shop at Best Buy and perhaps I’ll run into him at JCREW; I asked the all important question: What did he buy? Like 20 DVDs and he used a Black Card. Then G told him that this was Cowboys country and I told G that perhaps he shouldn’t disrespect our guests.

Also posted in On Happiness, This side of the Hudson | Comments closed

Pink and Green*

By nopasanada | Published: March 27, 2008

“The J.Crew catalog is aspirational- that’s why. It’s like maybe, just maybe, if I buy the Jackie twinset and the Susan pants with the Bohemian print peep toe heels, I live in the whatever house that is on the cover of the latest one, and my yuppie kids and husband and I will travel to Maine in our vintage Mercedes and eat lobster, while our son Rowan runs around in his lobster critter Crew Cuts chinos.” – Slynnro

Once upon a time a very cute boy told me that I looked ‘amazing’ in pink and so I spent the better part of four years looking as if I took a nosedive into a bottle of pepto bismol. Is it in poor taste to say that well, damn, I do look great in pink? Because I do. I love it in all of its various hues my favorite being a bright pink cashmere sweater dress procured from JCrew. Recently I was digging around through a bowl of jelly bellies and remarked that the pink jelly bean tastes just as one would expect pink to taste like: light and sweet and the ability to cause even the world’s oldest living curmudgeon frown to turn upside down. I find it impossible not to smile when I see the slightest hint of pink.

I’m caught up in the bright for as we speak I am covered in gray. A light gray wrap sweater and a darker gray skirt with pockets and tights (again from Paris) with a black and gray pattern. The outfit looks lovely but I still feel drab as I have spent my entire weekend running from Banana Republic to JCrew and back again looking for items to spruce up my spring wardrobe. To add to my long, long list of flaws, I am a shopper and have continuously found myself in the precarious position of having too much clothing but nothing to wear. Hence the reason for why I gave up that habit for 60 days and didn’t touch the stuff. It’s time to throw a little color into the wardrobe and lately green has been ‘speaking to me’. For the record, the other week Purdue was ‘speaking to me’ and it turns out that it was saying “We’re going to suck your soul and your money” but I digress.

I willingly let JCrew take my money because they are so kind about it. They also have provided me with preppy bright chinos and ruffle tops that are excellent cleavage boosters. When your ass to waist to shoulder width ratio is all kinds of awesomely fucked up, then you are forced to focus on one part of your body that you really, really love. For me it’s my cleavage hence the constant obsessing. In the end though it’s all about the dresses. The perfect dresses that amplify the top half and minimize the bottom half with the perfect amount of frill and flow. Anything with pockets causes me to rub my face up against it because I adore pockets. I need a girly dress with ‘manly’ pockets with which to place my ‘manly’ hands. Men don’t understand this obsession with pockets or the need to convulse and flail about excitedly because OMFG POCKETS! I tried to explain this to Brian when telling him about my favorite skirt. He looked at me as if I had just announced my discovery of the Internet because really? More excitement over pockets than vodka? What can I say? They’re a rare but hot commodity. But my God, Give me a dress with pockets and a hood and I’ll give you my first born and other sundry collateral.

Anyway that’s where things are right now, greens and pockets and a ‘puke if you dare!’ sunny dispostion. I just have this good feeling about Spring.

*I know, I am reposting this for various reasons like it was magically lost and that is how strong my love is for pink and green and spring and JCrew: I must tell you about it again.

Also posted in On Happiness | 4 Comments

I never said one should expect quality from me

By nopasanada | Published: March 6, 2008

“The time to enjoy a European trip is about three weeks after unpacking.” ~George Ade

While writing about The Other Boleyn Girl* I got a little giddy. This might be because I was writing at 3:30 AM and slightly delusional, possibly hallucinating even but I will chalk it up to getting to write anything half pertaining to European history. That shit makes me do a little shimmy and get all bouncy in my bed because the Tudors! Oh the Tudors. Not that I was writing great prose based on actual historical accuracy but I still felt invigorated. I mentioned in the comments that I have never been a House of Tudor fanatic but I have spent days absorbing the plights of the Habsburgs and Bourbons. There is some (though completely odd) sense of joy that I get whenever Martin Luther or John Calvin comes up in a conversation. Which would be practically every single day because everyone I know discusses the Protestant Reformation daily. Of course.

I am such a nerd and it is something that I would have shunned from once upon a time but now I wholeheartedly embrace it. Sometimes in conversation it’s fun to bust out random facts about Huguenots. Which can be a slightly refreshing change from all that discussion of the great merits of Gewürztraminer or the kick ass sample sale that Kate Spade is having. Mostly I just want to prove that vodka hasn’t completely robbed me of all functional brain matter. So yay!

Anyway, I was writing and had this light bulb go off in my rather dim brain. One that said, hey dumbshit (it speaks!) you have never written about France. Which is funny because whenever anyone mentions Paris I get this look of sheer confusion on my face as if that entire walk up the Eiffel Tower never happened. I don’t know why or how I keep forgetting but to bring things full circle here because it’s 6 AM and I have a flight in four hours and my ass needs to make its way to a gym post hast; I will say that I find it difficult to make casual conversation about Europe because I end up getting wistful and booking flights for destinations across the Atlantic. I love Europe. If I could procreate with a continent I would probably have 14 babies with that place it is just that spectacular. It’s the history that gets to me (I’m getting wistful as we speak. Oh, now a heavy sigh…) and that toe tingling, heart soaring sensation that made its way through me when walking through El Escorial (twice. Once for class the other time for the sweet, sweet joy of it) and Versailles.

If I could put my finger on the exact feeling or cause I would because I am always mesmerized by the things that I have ended up interested in because my parents seriously are all WTF when I happily announce that I’d like to move to Belgium (long story) some day. And speaking of random shit I’m interested in, like online content and community building, I am leaving for Austin in a few hours and my plan is to have a good buzz the entire time to make up for those three weeks that I had nary a sip of alcohol. So don’t expect too much from. Then again after this post, I doubt anyone will. Be good.

*Yes. I write there. Yay! Every Wednesday at 9AM. I have an excel spreadsheet full of movies that I would like to see. Planned out from now until July. If there is anything that any of you all are DYING to see but won’t feel justified to spend ten (god damn) dollars on until you know it’s worth it, then let me know and I will probably go see it for you. But then I might stalk you if I end up losing two solid hours of my meaningful life to watch some crap ass movie about stock car racing. You’ve been warned.

Posted in The object of my obsession | 10 Comments

I promise not to speak of this again. At least not until July.

By nopasanada | Published: February 5, 2008

“Football is, after all, a wonderful way to get rid of your aggressions without going to jail for it.” ~Heywood Hale Brown

Actually “Boring as Shit. But Frankly, My Dear, I Don’t Give a Damn” would have been a little more apt. A collection of text messages that Metalia has sent me during this football season. This will surely send me to some special blog hell but I cannot help it nor can my phone continue to be 98% full of text messages. Also OH MY GOD do people not use the phone to talk anymore? I have text messages that say “OK”. Someone spent 47 cents to be in agreement with me. The hell? Anyway, that is not the point yet sadly there is no point except that I feel compelled to save these messages for posterity’s sake and because Metalia is fucking hilarious. It’s good to know that I have a friend who can appreciate my screaming “Go fuck your mother” at some 200lb man who can’t hear me while chain smoking because the nerves, people. The NERVES. And really, I have nothing more unless you want to hear all about Potsdam, New York. Also; look forward to all of your burning questions being answered. The ones about my hair, my makeup, and why I think drinking two bottles of wine is acceptable (see: POTSDAM). Riveting, my friends.

*******

Haaa! Was literally going to my phone to text you about the game…and boobs.

I can’t believe they’re going to win this BOOBS I’m so happy BOOBS (Yeah, I’m using “boobs” like “stop” in an old-tyme telegram)

I know! My ass is clenched. I’m so stressed. That may have been too much info. but I can’t help it! This game is making me crazy!

I am honest-to-God PACING THE FLOORS.

“FUCK!” Works…so does “You big bunch of Green Bay twatsicles!*” (Apropos because of the frigid temperatures you see)

I actually cannot breathe.

They should take Tynes out back and take care of him, like an old racehorse past its prime

Me too; he’s just so dashing and…wholesome.**

Things I may or may not have done this morning; Went to your Flickr set of Giants training camp. Specifically the pic of u and Plax…and kissed the screen for luck.

Fuck yeah!

Maybe I’ll name my unborn child Steve Smith.

I’m partial to Tyree…or Tynes now.

Fucking Pats.

I keep telling myself that Plax is due for a big play.

I TOLD YOU MY BOY WAS DUE!

Are you watching? My secret boyfriend Spitzer just ripped on Boston and now YOUR lovah Schumer*** is kissing the Giants’ collective ass.

*Borrowed from Danny

**In reference to my not so secret crush – at least not anymore – on Mitt Romney. Just because I’d rather have my eyelashes removed with a plier than have him as President, doesn’t mean I can’t find the man good looking. So there.

***I was joking when I mentioned Schumer. Seriously. Mitt’s the only man for me.

Also posted in Humdrum, On Happiness | 13 Comments

The 50MM Story

By nopasanada | Published: January 23, 2008

“I think a photography class should be a requirement in all educational programs because it makes you see the world rather than just look at it.” ~Author Unknown

Once upon a time, in a land far far away there was a girl named Heather (And boy did she have some kick ass eyebrows).

Heather had recently procured a lovely Sony Alpha DSLR camera for her 24th birthday. A camera that she would make sweet, sweet love to if it had all of it’s parts. With the purchase of the camera, Heather did what any aspiring (but completely shitty for she knew that she wasn’t Ansel Adams or a Shutter Sister.) photog would do; she took it on a trip to Paris to give it a good work out. With her trusty 18-70mm and handy 70-300mm, she took some semi-quality shots.

Upon reentry, Heather learned from her friend Angella something about aperture and f-stops and so her lust with 50mm lenses began. So one day, Heather decided to take a trip to the famed B&H photo warehouse of love. It was here that she decided to give up her first born child for a lovely new lens to play around with.

Later that day she put her new lens to the test by showing off her lunchtime drinking skills.

Then she drank some more as she was apt to do.

Each time she was impressed by the 50mm’s depth of field and she subsequently fell in love. Heather carried that 50mm with her everywhere to practice. And like any good love story, there were some minor setbacks and difficulties, mostly on her part. For the lens and camera were doing what they were told to do and still Heather felt like something was missing. She longed for another trip to Paris which would bring ample opportunity for vacation and photography practice at the Tuileries Gardens and perhaps a jaunt down the Champs Elysees. But since Hell had yet to freeze over and lotteries had yet to be won, she instead went to Oklahoma City.

When she returned from Oklahoma City she still felt unsettled. For Heather was a neurotic girl and longed for a quality capture. But because life had caught up with her, she was unable to give her camera and 50mm the attention that it deserved. And that my friends is what eventually leads to the demise of any relationship: lack of communication. Heather finally picked it up again during a trip to Washington, DC and at first she was feeling rather bad ass. For she had the perfect subject(s).

But remember Heather’s drinking and her lack of communication? Well Heather drank some wine and then had some more all the while ignoring her camera in exchange for the sweet nectar of Primitivo. She didn’t communicate with her camera. She didn’t change the settings. She might as well have been at a kegger with a disposable point and shoot. Which is why when Heather’s friend Amy said “Please, oh please, take a picture of my darling, beautiful boy” Heather made faces and laughed and took photos with a fuzzy head and a pissed off camera whose settings were not in order and produced this (shield your eyes).

When Heather finally uploaded the photos and noticed that Amy’s sweet, sweet boy was the same exact color as Bert, she got upset. She cried and threw herself on the floor and gave up on dreams.

But thankfully Heather (shockingly enough) had friends; Lori and Angella. And Lori and Angella both helped to bring Heather and her SLR – the one that she gave her second born for – back together. Deep down inside Heather’s friends new that despite their respective faults, that Heather and her SLR were meant to be. And with a little communication and editing that they were meant to be and with a little communication and editing Heather and her SLR – Buddy – could do anything. For love, really does conquer all.

The End.

Also posted in Fotografias | 24 Comments