La Vie En Rose

{April 27, 2007}   Oh no s/he didn’t.


 In December, I experienced this phenomenon personally. Last night, I experienced this phenomenon vicariously through my aforementioned roommate.

It goes a little something like this: “La la la, life is good, busy, busy, busy, personal growth, la, la, la, BLAM!” The “BLAM!” being the spectre of the Ex, rising up of his/her own volition into your otherwise calm life.

From whence the Blam? Wherefore the Blam? What’s up with the Blam?

In my case, in December, the BLAM! manifested itself in a…wait for it…MySpace message. Not an e-mail, not a phone call, not a drop-by, not even a MySpace COMMENT, but rather a MySpace message. After four months of dating that ended in the “dropping off the face of the Earth” method, and then another four months of zero communication on either of our parts, Homeboy decided to use a “Hi” subject line by way of opening gambit. He then proceeded to start his message with “Hi, I’m a jerk. I know you already know that, but I just wanted you to know that I know it, too.” Which, all things considered, was not a bad line on his part. We ended up getting a burger, talking on the phone once or twice, sending a few e-mails, and then…dropped off into nothingness gently again. It was nice to know that he did on some level care, and knew that he had treated me unkindly. But all in all? I didn’t really “need” it, and it didn’t really affect me all that much. I know look back on my time with him as fun, a bit odd, and generally wish him well, and know he wishes me well.

 So all in all, a BLAM! of the gentle and pleasant variety.

Last night? Was a BLAM! of “What to the what-what?” proportions. My roommate’s ex, D.B., came uninvited to a charity event that she organized, claiming that “he happened to be in the neighborhood” and “heard about it from a buddy” and he would be so big as to “leave if it was a problem.” Theirs was a loud, sudden, and dramatic breakup; they had had coffee a time or two after but then he abruptly stopped communicating after HE had said he wanted to build a friendship. Then, about a year later, he…just shows up? And…tries to chat up her and all her friends? And…he has a girlfriend, but she wasn’t there? And…he was wearing a suit and tie? It was bizarre.

 My roommate handled it gracefully (with the help of some wine and some Journey), and the dust has settled but. Man, that was a BLAM! right there.

Has anyone out there been the BLAM!er? Have you been a BLAM!ee?



This post secretly goes out to one of my roommates.

Invitations. We get them all the time–via word of mouth, e-vite, text message, or even beautiful old regular mail. Invitations are issued when someone (host, girlfriend, roommate, random dude from college, man of the moment) has taken the time and effort to come up with A Plan of some sort for spending time with you in some way, whether that is attending a wedding, going to the movies, or going out to eat.

Invitations require a prompt answer and deserve a two-word answer: “Yes, please” or “No, thank you.”

In some cases, one might have to say, “Thank you for asking me, I will have to check my schedule and get back to you soon.” Or perhaps a counter-time to let them know you do want to see them, but can’t at that particular time: “Wednesday is bad for me, but I’d love to see you some other time next week–is Friday good for you?” But other than that: “Yes, please” or “No, thank you.”

NOT: “Wouldn’t it be more fun to see that new Tarantino movie?”

NOT: “I hate Rosa Mexicano. Let’s go to Matchbox instead.”

NOT: “I’m on a diet and I’m not sure if I want to go out to eat. Can I think about it for a little while? Or maybe we can cook at home instead?”

NOT: “I’d love to come but I have to bring my ten friends from out of town and we’ll all need to crash at your place because nobody wants to be designated.”

STOP THE MADNESS. There’s nothing wrong with politely turning down an invite that–for whatever reason–you don’t wish to accept. But so often these days, invitations turn into negotiations or a pissing match of “No, really, I’m the busiest.”

Yes, please. No, thank you. Didn’t we learn this in kindergarten?


I would like to preface this post by saying that any and all trips I have made to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway have involved police escorts and sitting in one of the more luxurious skyboxes. They also have involved meeting hot French guys who made sure I had plenty of sunblock and bellinis. I also would like to point out that “any and all” visits mean “one visit.”

But basically, I’m an Indiana girl who has been out here for about five years and is venturing to Gold Cup for the first time in a few weeks. I already have my dress and shoes, and have decided that maybe I don’t need a sun hat, because that’s not really “me.”

 My only Gold Cup experiences thus far consist of reading The Washingtonian and various DC Blogs. I’m still not quite sure, exactly, what to expect, but it should be fun. After all, I am taking a flask. But I have to admit there are some things about NoVa/DC living that I just don’t GET, and this may well be one of them.

Any Gold Cup veterans out there?

{April 23, 2007}   Tim Gunn makes it work for me


On Saturday, my roommate and I fabulous-ed ourselves up in summer dresses and flitted up to Politics & Prose to meet the one, the only, the incomparable, TIM GUNN.

I love me some Project Runway, and one of the best elements of that fine program is resident cheerleader, sounding board, and element of sanity, Tim Gunn. He was at P&P to promote his new book, which is actually quite charming and worth a read.

He spoke for a few minutes about his book, his co-author, the show, and style in general. AND THEN he signed copies and took pictures. I do have a rather lovely photo of me with Le Tim, however I am not a brave enough blogger to post it.

But I do raise my virtual glass to a very elegant, kind, and intelligent man of style.

{April 20, 2007}   Going Commando


It’s a lovely spring Friday, and coming off a pretty “mixed review” date last night, I didn’t much feel like gussy-ing it up today. So, for the first time in probably a year, I headed to work without makeup.

Now, I don’t look like a total schlep. My clothes are clean and wrinkle-free, my hair is stick-straight, and I have on some white gold jewelry. So it’s not like I’m channeling post-meltdown Britney.

But still…is going to work without makeup “acceptable?”

My skin is not perfect, but it’s not all THAT bad, either. I don’t have any blemishes, but I do have a few acne scars, and there aren’t any circles under my eyes, but there IS that ever-present blue vein under my left eye. (That vein is the bane of my existence.)

Throwing it out there…have you gone commando to work? And/or, when you see a lady sans makeup at work, what do you think?

Have a great weekend!

{April 19, 2007}   Sing it anyway


This song has touched my heart for a lot of reasons, most recently for the tragedy at Virginia Tech. At first I thought I shouldn’t post anything about it, because I’m “new” and all, and it might seem cheesy to those who don’t know me. But I just feel like this is appropriate.

 This is for the Hokies.

Anyway by Martina McBride

You can spend your whole life building
Something from nothing
One storm could come and blow it all away
Build it anyway

You could chase a dream
That seems so out of reach
And you know it might not ever come your way
Dream it anyway

God is great but sometimes life ain’t good
And when I pray
It doesn’t always turn out like i think it should
But I do it anyway
I do it anyway

This worlds gone crazy
And it’s hard to believe
That tomorrow will be better than today
Believe it anyway

You can love someone with all you heart
For all the right reasons
And in a moment they can choose to walk away
love them anyway

God is great but sometimes life ain’t good
And when I pray
It doesn’t always turn out like i think it should
But I do it anyway
Yeah I do it anyway

You can pour your soul out singing
A song you believe in
That tomorrow they’ll forget you ever sang
Sing it anyway
Yeah sing it anyway

I sing
I dream
I love anyway


In advance, I’d just like to say, “You’re welcome.”

 A few weeks ago, my friend and I finally threw our hat in the ring for the big ol’ Pillsbury bake-off. Grand prize? A MILLION FREAKIN’ DOLLARS.

Our entry–which might catch the judges attention by the witty manner in which we wrote it, with directions including “Gaze longingly at the rolls for two minutes before attempting to frost”–goes basically like this:

 You take some Pillsbury cinnamon rolls.

You un-roll them out so they are straight and flat.

You lightly fry some bacon so that it is crispy yet pliable.

You lay the bacon on the rolls and re-roll them.

You bake them.

You frost them.

You eat them.

Salty and sweet. Naysayers, I ask you: Do you like bacon? Do you like cinnamon rolls? Then trust me. This is a worthwhile thing to do on a Sunday morning.

{April 17, 2007}   Candles and conversation


Like many of you DC and VA dwellers, I lost power in my apartment last night. I rolled home from grad class at about 9 p.m., to find my roommates freaking out and packing up. One made arrangements to stay with her ex/friend, the other was off to stay with her college pal and her husband. They wanted me to make arrangements to stay somewhere else as well, but I thought losing power for one night was no big deal.

 In fact, it turned out to be a really nice night. Not only did I have the place to myself, but I got to light candles and start reading a book I’ve been meaning to get around to. A few pages in, the phone rang, and it was a guy I’ve just started seeing. We talked for two and a half hours, and the candles and conversation were very nice and even a bit romantic.

I love little surprises like that, when something inconvenient or negative turns into something unexpectedly good.

 Hope you’re all weathering the storm well.

{April 16, 2007}   Hello, my name is…Elle

Post-brunch at Cafe Bonaparte in Georgetown, it occured to me that my life–working, studying, boyfriendless, friendful–is pretty fabulous after all, and could be more so if I would just…show up and pay attention. Less overdrive, more observant. And while I’m at it, a little less observing and a little more action.

 After all, it doesn’t take a lot of cash or connections to enjoy something as simple as a French vanilla latte and catch up with an old and dear friend. The more I thought about the things that do make me happy–my family, which will soon include a New! Improved! niece or nephew; walking past the White House with my iPod; polka dot dresses–I realized that I need to stop worrying so much and just enjoy my life.

 One thing I enjoy immensely is peeking to the personal and social lives of DC and NoVa dwellers via their blogs. These writers make me laugh, think, and explore the city. Maybe I’ll enjoy adding to the discourse.

And so, the blogling, she is born. I’m Elle, a 27-year-old admirer of all things intellectual, inspirational, beautiful, and fun. This blog is my home base for all my online interests, and I hope to turn fun surfing into fine living. And by “fine living” I don’t mean $300 Absolut table service or paying retail for luxury jeans. I mean truly living every day; making smart choices with my time and money; and maybe even creating a forum for some cultural conversation.

Que hiciste, y’all?

Que hiciste, y’all?

et cetera