There's only one thing to do on a rainy Saturday in Manhattan.

Go out for a walk and people watch. I personally don't find it imperative on such a gross day to so much as get out of my yoga leggings. So down 5th I went from 97th to 60th clad in a tshirt, black yoga leggings, and 2 years out of season J Crew flip-flops. Because nothing says diva like an ensemble that makes my shoulders look huge and my ass look fat. Awesome.

The most memorable character was a delightfully tacky septuagenarian wearing too much makeup and worn out plastic surgery. Nothing made me giggle like her 30 year old face lift. The skin itself looked like it had been put through a paper shredder, but the eyebrows were still much closer to her hairline than her eyes. She also had the pointiest little poorly crafted retrousse nose I have ever seen. I mean it could probably break skin. All of this was, of course, capped off with lips that were three times the width of her nose and featured shimmery coral lip colour.

The other most memorable character was . . . me. I was only really memorable because in my haste to get out and people watch, I didn't think before putting flip-flops on and marching on my journey. Given that probably 40% of the sidewalks down 5th are slate and are slippery as hell when wet given proper footwear, the added treat of dealing with my wet flops sliding around the soles of my feet made for several (hundred) balance checks and a few near face plants. Glad to see those yoga pants did any good imparting coordination by diffusion to my feet.

Also, I cooked up some chicken with the leftover Panang Curry sauce from Osha tonight. It was just as good as the first time. Umm, there's a joke in there somewhere - I'm leaving you to figure it out :).

UNspiration

Hi friends! As this is my first post, I would like to share my UNspiration for starting this blog. This story is a direct copy of an entry from my old blog (which I have taken down because It. Bores. Me. To. Tears.) and illustrates perfectly well how clueless I am about being a social chameleon, particularly as attire is concerned.

"Last night Sam's good friend from college had a DJing gig down in alphabet city. What I didn't know was that a bevy of underground brooklyn rappers would be in attendance for an endless freestyle hiphop show afterward. Needless to say I felt like a TURD wearing a white cardigan with non skinny regular bootcut jeans and black ballet flats. Usually when I go downtown I wear the same things as I wear uptown but I do funky makeup and hair and accessories. So I did have those going for me - but seriously? A white cardigan in a room full of underground hiphoppers? uuuuhhhhhhhhhh."

I hope for this to be a space where I can express my love for dogs, random stuff I see or hear on the streets, and likely most frequently my lack of understanding "designer" or avant garde clothing and couture, or even common trends.

Like yesterday when I saw a 60 year old otherwise very Muffy looking woman (she could be a Kitty too, I suppose) walking on 5th in Midtown wearing an Ed Hardy t-shirt over her khakis. Just picture it. Nice.

That's all for now. Signing off as probably the only person in Manhattan that admits to being clueless about clothing . . . and pretty much everything else.