Month: July 2014

Why New York City Is the Best City for Crying

New York, they say, is cruel. It’ll chew you up and spit you out. Quite often, “they” are dead on. Says the city: Sorry, you can’t have this apartment. Or that one. And don’t even THINK about that one there. The dating pool? That’s not for you, girl. That’s Chelsea. You jump in over HERE, right between the Ashley Madison guys and the Amish gentlemen violently allergic to cheese and shellfish. No, no, no, normcore. You’re too old, honey. You’re lucky, though. I’m sure you really like that cool job you have. You’re so happy I bet you won’t even see it coming when they downsize. Remember: Layoffs happen just before the holidays. Remember when it happens, we told you so. Sometimes it feels like this place really has it in for us. The other thing they say about New York? The people won’t bat an eye if they see something situationally askew. Naked man eating a banana in the Village? That’s not news. Giant bear bounding out of a Central Park West building? Meh. …

Something to Cry About (Even If It’s Over a Honeybun)

Keep crying and I’ll give you something to cry about. Whatever. I cried anyway. I was that kid. I was that teenager. I am that adult. I tend to cry. I cry when I’m microwaving an Entenmann’s glazed honey bun — it reminds me of high school, of my grandmother being young and mean, of thinking I knew my mom well when I didn’t, of distrusting my stepfather who I now trust with my life, and of my sister who I still shared a room with, and who knew every tiny thing about me. She doesn’t know every tiny thing about me now. I eat my honey bun standing up in front of the microwave, slicing it with the side of the fork. Tongue all sugar-burnt, and calories flourishing, I cry. I wipe my face. I take my ass to the gym. “Every once in a while, everyone needs a ‘good cry’.” But that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that crying for me is as regular as smiling. I don’t reserve tears. Reserve them …

The Last Time I Cried

I am a crier. I can’t sing the national anthem without getting that familiar knot in my throat. I’m not particularly patriotic, but I have to forcefully squash down my tears by thinking about something actually sad like an old dog dying. Seriously. I know that sounds crazy, like I should be crying about the dog not the dang flag, but it’s all those people standing together, the vibrations of humans in harmony, that gets me every. single. time. Of course there are the more depressing reasons I cry — a fight with a friend, the loss of someone close, the loss of many, seemingly far away. Thinking about the various times we weep, I’ve been curious about the mix of reasons for it — the momentary tear, the ugly cry, the long, sobbing jags. So over the course of a day, I asked some of our contributors and colleagues: when was the last time you cried? The answers are multifarious and give a glimpse into the big moments, strange triggers and little everyday things that move …

Front to Backlist

Books Don’t Make Me Cry, But These Two Did

Although I read voraciously, books seldom make me cry. I cry easily over movies, but somehow text does not elicit the rush of emotion I require for tears. So when a book does make me cry, I remember it. I don’t have the arrogance to claim that a book that makes me cry must be a great book; obviously, it could simply be triggering something emotional inside me. However, this week’s frontlist title truly is a great book, and I can tell you so because it recently won the 2014 PEN/Ackerley Prize, a British award for memoir and autobiography. Wave by Sonali Deraniyagala is the kind of searing story that breaks through all previous notions of what a memoir of grief should be. Deraniyagala, an Oxbridge-educated economist, lost her family — husband, two sons, and parents — in the 2004 Sri Lankan tsunami. She is honest from the get-go, detailing the sheer indignity of being pantless in the middle of disaster, but it was not her on-the-scene reportage that brought on my weeping. Rather, it …

My Mother’s “Gift of Tears”

My mom cries at everything. She called it “My Gift of Tears.” (She capitalizes it with her mouth.) She cries at commercials, displays of affection and a solid piece of music — she always has. I was profoundly embarrassed by it as a child. Naturally, I inherited it. In the past three days, my tears flowed at a wedding — the entire wedding. I wept when considering the pain my friends felt when they lost their baby. Yesterday, I cried imagining myself getting the news about my dog dying. My dog is not dying any more than any of us are. Yet, tears. The welling of feeling in my chest, the eyes filling up — it happens more frequently the older I get. I’ve learned tricks to manage it — like clearing my throat and turning my eyes skyward. They help occasionally — but in the face of a reconciliation, deep loss or commiseration, the tears still come. My six year old cried at that same wedding. I asked her if she was okay and she replied, “I’m …

Second-Time Travel: Santorini, Greece

I love the Mediterranean Sea. Ever since I visited for the first time as a high school foreign exchange student, summer has never felt the same without a trip to this part of the world. The brilliant sunshine, chill attitude of the locals, delicious food and long summer nights are my idea of paradise. A visit to Greece is a magnificent way to experience the Mediterranean. The amazing cliffside architecture is a marvel — the dizzying, white washed buildings glitter brilliantly at different times of day. (Given the rocky terrain, it’s not for young children.) Find a favored travel partner who is comfortable just relaxing and appreciating the scenery, or visit on your own. The breathtaking views, delicious food and warm Greek hospitality make it hard to leave. Since a flight transfer from Athens is essential, spend a couple of extra days in one of civilization’s capitals to see history for yourself. Where to Stay This is the most important decision of your trip. Every part of the island is beautiful, and it is possible …

I’m Still Learning How to Cry

Last week, my first nephew was born. I didn’t expect this, but when I saw my sister holding that beautiful boy for the first time, I started to sob. And I did so once again when I held him in my own arms. I hadn’t experienced tears like this in ages, and those salt-water runners felt like a magic elixir. And the little boy nestled in my arms? Pure beauty. Pure bliss. He was one day into this life and already I knew I’d love him deeply for the rest of mine. On the way home from the hospital, as I practically skipped down the street with an enormous grin, I started to think about the act of crying. I mean, there’s nothing like a good, cathartic cry, right? You know, those let-it-all-out sob-fests that leave you feeling oh-so-much better once you’ve purged yourself of pent-up emotions. I remember having such soothing feelings of calm after one of these, as I wiped away those purposeful tears, like I’d just cleaned a ton of icky gunk …

Margit’s Note: We’re Getting All Emotional

Over what? The national anthem. This commercial. That time you truly didn’t hear what I said… Crying heals the soul. It uncorks the pain. But even in tears of joy, we feel spent and exhausted; a piece of us remains gutted, on the carpet.  So it is with trepidation that we ask you to join us in a good cry this week. (We’re feeling a bit like Barbara Walters.) I asked 19 women — when was the last time you cried? Danyel Smith might give you something to cry about. Susan Linney is still learning how to cry. Helen Jane shares a glassy-eyed gift from her mother. Jennifer Hill takes a Second Time Travel trip to Santorini, Greece. It’s so beautiful, she might just cry. Jody Jones maps the top places to cry in NYC. And Bethanne Patrick shares two tear jerkers in Front to Backlist. Handing you a tissue, Margit

6 Cool, Handmade Gifts For Your Bestie

This past week we’ve been celebrating our very best buds — the people who will lend a hand, an ear, or that long-coveted halter top. If you want to surprise your gal pals with unique gift options, our BFF collection on GREAT.LY is just the ticket. We’ve gathered handmade goods by artists dedicated to finding the beauty in the everyday.     Simple Dot Necklace Peggy Li is a San Francisco-based artist whose jewelry line is both feminine and whimsical. We love this simple, tasteful dot necklace. Surprise your pal with this elegant, everyday bauble (and buy yourself a matching one while you’re at it).   Hello Friend Tote Bag Why, hello friend. Here’s an easy, breezy tote bag your bestie can lug anywhere. Reasonably priced and adorable, these bags and other printed goodies are made by New Zealand’s Liora Saad and her company Toodles Noodles. She describes her items as “colorful and cheeky” and we’re inclined to nod our heads.   March — Original Mixed Media LA-based artist and illustrator Shelley Kommers describes her artwork as “collage-based, textured, and …

The TueDo List: BFF Edition

My best friend is on vacation this weekend, so I’m going to need to live vicariously through those of you who can snag some quality time with your BFFs. And if you can’t? At least schedule a phone date. A good phone gab can go a long way. Talk The coolest thing about best friends is that you can talk to them about anything. And photographer/actress/writer/producer/director and mom Amanda de Cadenet seems to agree. Her new live talk show Undone premiered Thursday on Lifetime, and she promises to share her take on news, pop culture, entertainment and life in general. Amanda’s last Lifetime offering was the 2012 interview show The Conversation, produced with Demi Moore, which she says was her attempt to “capture the essence of women through our universal language of shared experiences and solutions.” Sounds like best friend material to me. Tag Team a New Activity Trying something new is more fun with company. This week, I discovered an activity called Stand-Up Paddleboard Yoga and e-mailed a friend to ask her if she’d try it out with …

11 + 1: How I’ve Kept the Same Group of Pals Since Preschool

  Most women I know have drifted away from their childhood friends. Not me. My childhood friends are my partners in crime, my trusted advisers and an eternal source of laughter in my life. Remember the Pink Ladies in the movie Grease? Well, my group of girls has a name, too: We call ourselves 11 + 1. (We don’t have pink satin jackets, though.) Some of these friendships formed as early as preschool, and one was cemented as late as high school (she’s the +1). But this group of a dozen women fused together and we all love each other like sisters. We live in three different time zones — and eight different cities — so getting everyone together (with 25 kids among us!) is nearly impossible. Instead, we gather at the virtual water cooler known as Facebook, where we can share life’s joys, including a baby’s first steps, family trips, college acceptances, and, most recently, the birth of twins via a surrogate. We’ve also encountered plenty of the heavy stuff, too: divorce, miscarriages, alcoholism, …

Can We Still Make Best Friends After 40? Hell Yeah

In the past few years, I’ve flown past quite a few milestones, ages by which such-and-such and so-and-so would supposedly happen. I can handle the thinning eyebrows, the slower metabolism, the death of my fertility. But did I hit my sexual peak at 35 and start an inevitable decline? Umm, no. Definitely not, is all I’ll say here. And the old trope that it’s impossible to make “true” friends after 40? To that I say “bullshit.” I would need another hand or three in order to count out the truly deep and meaningful friend connections I’ve made in the past five years. And that’s not because I think I have some kind of black belt in awesome-friendness. But it’s because, for me, friendships changed from being situational to being intentional. I wasn’t spending my friend capital on people who just happened to be around me — say, parents of my son’s friends — but was instead seeking out and bonding with women who connected to something vital in me. Knowing myself better — which of …

On Being the Friend Who Doesn’t Like Friends

I am the introvert. The recluse. The one recently described by friends and family as a “hermit.” “Maybe you should leave the house?” said a friend gently. I could sense the concern, even over her text message. “I just have so much to do,” I lie. I do this a lot — the lying. And here I am now telling you all of my secrets in case you, too, have a friend that requires a bit of prodding. For the record, I’m not exactly terrified of people, though I had to chuckle when I read this quote via blogger Luvvie Ajayi: “I was a people person until I met people”. I just don’t particularly like leaving my house and interacting with the outside world. I pride myself on being able to go entire weekends without speaking to another human being. Enthusiastically, I eventually tell others about my 72 hours without actual conversation: “And then I went for a run — ALONE. And I did some writing —ALONE. The only person I spoke to was the …

Real-Time BFF: A Blissful, 20-Something Bond

I met Emma during a pop raid at a Wisconsin girls camp. Camouflaged in black, we crept stealthily toward the vending machines. I don’t remember what movie line I whispered, but it prompted Emma to ask shyly, “Isn’t that from Garden State?” Instant connection. We talked for hours that night on a tiny twin bed. I admired her bottomless cheer, compassion, artistic skills, cheekbones, and spot-on impressions. We were attached at the hip for the next three summers. The staff referred to us as “Shira n’ Emma.” They commissioned our antics to write songs and emcee talent shows and didn’t question our schedules when we attended every activity together. Emma played with the worms as I fished. She laid on the tennis court as I practiced my backhand and whenever a ball hit her, she said, “thank you, may I have another” to no one in particular. In the arts and crafts building, I haphazardly slid beads onto string as Emma made intricate lanyards and stunning paintings. Saying goodbye after each eight-week session was painful. …

Front to Backlist

Buried in the Sand: 3 Novels Explore Fraught Friendships

In Front-to-Backlist, we take one or more present-day titles (sometimes bestsellers/buzzed about, sometimes not) and tell you why they’re terrific — then share another book from the past that you might enjoy too. There are so many angles to friendship, which really means there are so many sharp places on which to injure one’s self. Good friendships, from the kind that are purely fun and superficial to the deep, lifelong ones, feed us and help us to grow, while bad friendships, including nasty frenemies and toxic hangers on, can lead us to the brink of madness. Emily Gould’s new novel, Friendship, talks about the stuff of modern friendships. Thirty-something besties Bev and Amy have seen each other through some tough times, but are now in such different places they might not recognize each other’s Instagram feeds. Referring to a social-media site is deliberate, of course; much of former blogger (Gawker, etc.) Gould’s life has been lived out loud online. While this book shows her still yakking (there are many thinly veiled references to her real …

Margit’s Note: Will You Be Mine?

Hello Friend. I miss you. We were attached at the hip for over a decade. You were my “plus one” at rock shows. I learned to love camping (even if I just couldn’t get with the rainbow hacky sacks). You had a kid, I didn’t. I stayed in the city, you moved to the ‘burbs. “Remember that time your cat projectile vomited on that guy who stayed over?” It still cracks me up. I see you every day over on FacePlace. But I haven’t talked to you in six months. Still, I know you’ll be there, and I’ll be here, after everyone else has left the party. This week we take a minute to celebrate our BFFs — the women who we’ll always be latched to, who own a large part of us, even if we’ve drifted away from each other and into our own little lives. This week on TueNight: Lauren Young shares the lifelong crew of 12 friends she’s maintained since preschool. Stacy Morrison is still making best friends in her 40s. Go figure. …

Summer Second Hand Bonanza: Fleas, Vintage Garb and More

If it’s true that one person’s trash is another’s treasure, this is good news for humanity, indeed, because there sure is a lot of stuff changing hands all over the place. From stoops to yards to your Internet browser, there are year-round, 24-7 opportunities to buy and sell everything vintage, used, left behind and repurposed. Here are some thrifty opportunities you can check out this weekend.  The World’s Longest Yard Sale For the most part, you can shop yard (or stoop) sales every weekend no matter where you live, but if you’re hardcore into this classic American commercial enterprise, a trip to the 127 Corridor Sale, a.k.a. the World’s Longest Yardsale, should go on your life list. Headquartered at the Fentress County Chamber of Commerce in Jamestown, Tennessee, the sale runs 690 miles long, on rural roads from five miles north of Addison, Michigan, to Gadsden, Alabama. You could spend this weekend prepping a trip to — and your wish list for— this year’s sale, which runs from August 7-10. Second Hand Online  If you’d …

9 Things You Must Know to Thrift Like a Pro

Ever since I was little, I have been singularly obsessed with Other People’s Clothes. I say this as a proper noun because, well, it’s a proper little obsession. I love new clothes too, but there’s nothing that makes me happier than buying something that’s already been broken in. This, of course, makes my mother practically apoplectic. She grew up in poverty, was adamant that I have brand-new clothes for every occasion so that I looked crisp and clean. My unrequited love for vintage and thrift was confounding and concerning for her. I can see her plight: a single mother working multiple jobs to give her child the things she never had, and yet the child insists on second-hand everything as the main source of her wardrobe. It’s nothing personal, Mom. I just prefer that lived-in look. My love for these items took on a life of its own in college, where I discovered the joy of “borrowing” my boyfriends’ items of clothing. I pilfered college sweatshirts and created quite the stash of broken-in denim; I’ve …

Day in the Life of a Brooklyn Stoop Sale

A few weekends ago I stooped to conquer… the clutter in my home, that is. It almost didn’t happen. Our Brooklyn co-op’s summer stoop sale was scheduled for Saturday, aligning with our basement clean-up, so that we could really get rid of some crap. We placed an ad on Craigslist. We created an event on Facebook. We made flyers. We boxed up our unwanted junk. There’s nothing like a stoop sale to force you to go through every inch of your home, dividing and pricing your life’s accumulations into: 1. A few rare, ‘80s new wave albums that, unless someone gives me $100 for them, are heading back into my collection. You never know, I still might listen. 2. A printer that still kind of works. Someone might want it for $30. 3. Dresses, shirts and shoes. $1 each. No problem. 4. Old baking pans. If someone can haul these away, my karmic load will lift and I will be able to live life unencumbered. 5. Trash. I was hoping to get rid of said stuff …

Saying Goodbye To Creepy Baby

As a teenager, I quickly learned that in my household there wasn’t a lot money “just laying around” (unless you happened to find a $20 bill just laying on the ground). Unfortunately, a scarcity of cash was in direct odds with my innate love of new things that, to this day, is the reason my alcove is usually filled with packages. But this isn’t an anecdote about the emotional highs and lows of online shopping. Childhood trips to the mall were pretty much off the table (no funds = no fun), trips to Marshalls were on an as-needed basis only. But thrift stores were like a Supermarket Sweep gold mine, minus the heavy turkeys, cat litter and ticking timer. Nothing was off limits, and quantity was key. A life-long love of 25-cent vinyl and old-man golf pants (to think  — I wasted my thinnest years in plaid grandpa bottoms) and ironic tees began, as did a steady collection of lunch boxes, Avon figurines and ‘70s macramé basement castoffs, as well as beer signs that would …

A Gemsbok Named Velvet Or Why I Love Taxidermy

It may sound strange — perhaps even stranger than strange — to have a five-foot tall piece of taxidermy in a 500 square foot apartment. Well, I guess I’m stranger than strange. I’m not a big fan of vintage. I don’t like popping tags. Smelling like mothballs and failed deodorant is not my idea of fashion or fun. Yard sales? Meh. Someone else’s crap is generally going to be my crap as well. I will not dumpster dive. You tend to get what you pay for. But based on my love of taxidermy, I guess you could say that I have an affinity for things that used to be something else, which is, I suppose, the same as the adoption and renovation of found items. [pullquote]There she was, right between the piglet and the jackalope. Glorious, glorious Velvet. She was exactly what I wanted.[/pullquote] To me, there’s nothing more beautiful than majestic animals — especially mammals. So why wouldn’t I want to have one as part of my home’s design, assuming the creature is not endangered …

Turning Around an Old Thrift Shop

It wasn’t really hard to convince me to volunteer at a second-hand shop. I’d been a thrift-shop/flea market/garage sale junkie ever since I scored the best wagon ever at a neighbor’s garage sale for a buck. Not chump change for an eight-year-old. But what I didn’t realize was how a once-a-week job to consign clothing would become an all-consuming passion. It started with a weekly lunch date with a friend who worked at a charitable consignment shop. The shop is in a well-heeled area of suburban Philadelphia. Downstairs the store sold household items, jewelry and art, and upstairs they sold clothing. My friend wasn’t always ready to go when I arrived so I’d hang out, peruse the jewelry cases and eventually I started volunteering. I discovered I really enjoyed it: I’d scoop up great vintage pieces I could rework for my own handmade jewelry line and found pleasure in sprucing up messy displays. Plus, I was “giving back” in the process. The store’s profits were equally divided between local charitable organizations — from a school for autistic children to a …

How to Find the Best Second-Hand Culinary Items

Occasionally, I fantasize about getting out of the incredibly competitive racket that is food writing. I’d put my second-hand shopping gene into high gear and hang a different kind of shingle — as a local merchant. The shop would stock gently used kitchenware and cookbooks. There might be a small lunch counter serving strong coffee, grilled cheese, soup of the day and a really good cookie. First person I’d hire is my mom, a former antiques shopkeeper and the subject of “Confessions of a Garage Sale Addict,” an April 1973 story that ran in The Philadelphia Inquirer. Susan wasn’t much of a cook (I’m working on it), but she was and remains a master at spotting the choicest relics from a second-hand/vintage haystack. It takes a special kind of crazy to bring home a 500-pound oak icebox for display in the living room. Together, we’d comb the world of fleas, estates, garages, attics and basements for all things culinary and kitchen-y to fill the shelves. But we’re a picky pair; we’d buy as if outfitting …

Creating Quality Time With My Son and a Power Sander

I love junk. I like old stuff. Interesting shapes. Putting together odd combinations and using items for something other than what they were intended to be used for. I was also an obsessive flea marketer and garage saler before it was considered stylish. (Is it considered stylish?) I was an upcycler before upcycle was a word. My husband, Andrew, is an enabler like no other. He humors me on early weekend drives while we follow signs to the next sale or as I pull out my phone to scope them out using iGarageSale and Garage Sale Rover. My teenage sons? They tolerate it. Sometimes. My oldest son just finished his freshman year of college. He’s an art major. He’s quiet and he likes his solitude. But I really wanted to figure out a way to spend time with him — something that involved a shared goal. And then it came to me! This kid has the best taste. He’s always decorating his future home in his head, and I am often the delighted recipient of …

Margit’s Note: I’ll Sell It To You For a Dollar

Hey cats, We’re out haggling for great bargains this week, so just a quick note about our fabulous Second-Hand issue. We’ve stocked this ish with thrift shops, sidewalk sales, vintage sparklies and even a giant gemsbok. Here’s what we have for you to rummage though this week: Kristin Booker helps you thrift shop like a pro. Tamar Anitai says goodbye to “Creepy Baby” (and oh is it creepy). Shelly Rabuse shares how she revamped a consignment shop from ho-hum to humming. I write about Brooklyn’s finest — a Stoop Sale. Kim O’Donnel will find you a good second-hand spatula — and many other kitchen items. Wendy Goldman Scherer finds quality time with her son through power sanding. And Jody Jones explains her love for taxidermy. Love it two times baby, Margit

Blister in the Sun: Goth Girl Goes to Puerto Rico

I hate summer. Heat and humidity make me feel physically ill and I’d far rather shovel my way through a snow bank than feel as though I’m being roasted from the inside out. Pastel clothing is an abomination, and even at my skinniest I could never pull off sleeveless or crop tops. Don’t even get me started on mandals. Men, unless you’re going to invest time and money on regular pedicures, keep those toes out of sight. But more than any other awful aspect of June, July and August, I loathe the sun. It’s just so bright. And hot. It wasn’t always this way. Growing up, my family would spend a week or two in Wildwood, NJ, and at first I tried to embrace the sun, sand and sea. I’d dutifully slather on some Coppertone and spend the morning baking and then jumping in the Atlantic to cool off. But my McHide wasn’t built for sun tanning and no matter how much sunscreen I’d use, I’d go from lightly freckled to giant sun blister within …

The TueDo List: Swim, Lounge, Jam Out & Suit Up

The beach. Ah…. I have little else to say besides “take me to one, immediately.” If you’re headed to the shore this weekend, or just wish you were, here are some things to do, buy and wear. Swim Swimming may seem like an obvious must for the beach, but not everyone knows how. Do you? I don’t, and according to the CDC, “many adults and children report that they can’t swim.” Often-quoted, although somewhat dated, research from NIH found that 37 percent of American adults report limited swimming ability. I can paddle around some, and float, but as far as real deal swimming? Nope. And while the beach is good for lounging, if you’re going to go into the water — ever — you should have some skills. Finding a class for adults near you is as easy as googling “adult swimming lessons in (insert your town here).” In my area, the YMCA of Metropolitan Washington offers four adult swimming classes that range from Level 1 (for those who are afraid of the water or have never …

Second-Time Travel: Bermuda

One of the best things that I’ve discovered about living on the Eastern Seaboard is that Bermuda is only a short 90-minute flight from most of its major cities. Depending on the season’s flight schedule, one can be up at dawn and on a Bermuda beach by noon. (This is far faster than battling it out in Montauk or planning 18 months in advance for a summer share.) The warm balmy weather, crystal blue water, gorgeous scenery, impeccably polite locals and delicious cuisine all beckon. Bermuda is an easy-going place where one can swim, snorkel, dive, hike, sail, golf and find many other enjoyable ways to pass the time. The evenings are Hollywood-perfect with just the right amount of humidity and breeze for dining al fresco followed by a moonlit walk as the tiny tree frogs serenade you. From the moment one spots the tiny island with the multi-colored houses from the plane, Bermuda is instantly relaxing. Over the past several years, my husband and I (and, now, our toddler son as well) have been …

Serious About SPF: Expert Tips & Busting Myths

By now we all should know that the days of tanning oils and silver sun reflectors are dunzo. As good as the warmth may feel on our face, as lovely as it may make our skin look (at first), the fact of the matter is that the sun emits ultraviolet rays that are incredibly harmful to our hides. It wasn’t that long ago that the majority of sun-lovers were blissfully unaware of this. But as science began delivering the unhealthy news, and as the sun-is-bad-for-you stats got worse and worse, so did the myths and misinformation. Which still continue today. “No sunscreen is 100% effective in protecting the skin from the sun’s ultraviolet rays,” says Fayne Frey, a 20-year board certified dermatologist and founder of the resourceful skincare site FryFace.com. “Sunscreen use should be the third line of defense against the sun; the first two being seeking shade and wearing protective clothing when outdoors.” Now if your main intention is to hit the beach and bake, we know you’re thinking, “Yeah right, like that’s going to happen.” …

I Wore a Bikini. That’s What I Did.

“It took me a long time not to judge myself through someone else’s eyes.” – Sally Field Do you watch Girls? If so, do you remember the episode where the girls of Girls head to the North Fork for some R&R and Hannah spends the entire day in that green bikini? I have watched that episode from start to finish 19 times. It was around the 11th viewing when my friend Ali posted to Facebook: “I cannot stop thinking of Hannah’s green bikini”. I popped up out of my constant recline (What? Whenever I’m home I lose all ability to sit up straight) and said “YES” which deserved all caps.  I realized that I had to watch that episode over and over, not because of the writing or the storyline or empathy on the progression/regression of friendship as an adult, but because homegirl wore a green bikini for an entire episode. Never mind my questions on comfort and chafing, but a woman who is not a size two rocked that bikini all over Long Island and I wanted to …