Sunday, November 28, 2010

Pretty Girl Swag

I came across these photos when I was searching for visuals and inspiration for my upcoming photoshoot... and I  was immediately taken by how dope homegirl looked. Everybody knows I think Asian girls are some of the best dressed women in this city, and this chick is no different. I had no idea who she was until a quick google revealed that she's Lee Hyori, a South Korean R&B and Hip Hop singer! As if I could love her any more. [Photos pulled from her Fall 2009 shoot in Blue Spirit - which I think is a magazine...]


Smooth Talk

Proof that Diddy is just another dude from the hood:


A hilarious one. "Going dutch is never smooth... Pay the bill man." I'm done!

Thursday, November 25, 2010

All Legs

I was never all that insecure growing up because compared to the women I'd see in magazines, I wasn't that far off. Granted I had a teenager's complexion compared to their porcelain ones, curly brown hair vs. their blonde waves and a taut expression vs. their constantly sexy pouts but the foundation was totally there. In my eyes,  [and in the eyes of weight-challenged envious women everywhere], models and I weren't all that different, as we appeared to be the same size, build and shape. Never mind the fact that I'm barely five foot four inches tall, and it could have been me strutting down the runway in a fashion capital overseas somewhere.

For example, when I came across this:

Friday, November 19, 2010

Oprah

Here is Oprah's Magazine [the current December 2010 issue that's out on newsstands now].


Here is the 'Letters to the Editor' page:


Notice anything?

Well, look closer:

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Lanvin


Genius video.
LOVE the "Oh. My. God!"s.
And apparel wise, I might have to cop that gray, slouchy trench.

Over it

I don't mean to screw up my good fortune as today was a pretty great day, but I started this post a few days ago and it cannot be wasted! So here are some things that Lady Blue is absolutely over. It's  a pretty long post which obviously means I can complain forever. Enjoy! 

Subway preachers:
There's an older, toothless, [possibly mentally retarded] man who loves to sing "Praise God" over and over and over again to the tune of "Michael, row your boat ashore" all the while haphazardly clapping. Although I'm never quite sure what he's doing, he surely doesn't bother me as much as the Afro-Caribbean woman who walks up and down the terminal in her head-wrap, long skirt and sneakers bellowing out "OOOOOAYYYY! We pray! Jesus saves! OOOAYYYY! We pray! Jesus coming for you ayyyy!" in barely distinguishable English. I'm like, this is what you came to this country for?!?! To spend your mornings hollering at strangers about God in the subway terminal? You haven't thought about volunteer work instead? Or possibly going to CHURCH? I mean really. And lets not forget the people who always stop me and ask if I believe in God in the female form "Mother". Luckily they are usually stunned into silence when I tell them I don't believe in God at all. You know they walk off thinking "But she looked so sweet!" Oh the hell well! Stop infringing upon my rights to walk down the street in peace! Don't even get me started on the dozens of leering men!

Fairytales and fantasies:
Women have a tendency to meet a man and think wayyy too far ahead into the future. We're thinking about what the kids will look like on our 3rd date. You think I'm lying? I'm not... cause sheiiittt even I've done it. We hear that a man knows a few moguls and once balled with LeBron and we already believe he's cooler than ice cold. What we fail to realize [often until it's too late] is that our idea of who he is, is MADE UP. We get far too carried away in how perfectly he'll fit into our life and what an asset he is because he opens doors, and forget to see the real man in front of us, who most of the time, is flawed in his own way. [Holy run on sentence.] We have to stop doing this ladies! These fairytale endings and fantasy lives we imagine in our heads are ruining us. We have to start breathing, being in the moment and pacing ourselves. We also have to stop believing that the current good dude is the last good man on earth. [WHY DO WE DO THIS?!]

Insecure pretty girls:  
File this under: things that piss me off. I had a friend tweet "All the flyest girls are the most insecure" to which I said, "You're not really fly then mama you're just a wannabe and prob a biter". I mean, why be insecure? Oh, people only want you because you're pretty? Well then read a book and change that. No one is feeling sorry for you, especially not with the flock of beauty-stunted women in the world. A dime who secretly hates herself is not someone you want to be around. That someone needs help especially since no one else can see their problem but them. Call me harsh... and then ask me if I care. 

And while we're on the topic of self-esteem... Fake humility:
Since we're being honest, I'm done dimming my shine so that others can feel comfortable. Oh you think I'm arrogant? GOOD, you're not on my level. 

And while we're on the topic of overt arrogance... Kanye West:
You whiny, egotistical creative genius. Shut the fuck up and just make music! For god sakes! As an aside, you're still not better than Lady Gaga. C'mon son, she's from New York City - whaddaya want me to tell ya? 

Men who think they're Gods:
I have dropped many men before - usually for just little reasons [I never denied I was a picky bitch] and they are usually left flabbergasted because they apparently believe women are supposed to think that they're the second coming of Jesus. *side eye* Maybe they're right and maybe that's who the subway preachers above are referring to. I better act like I know! 

Reggaeton:
I am a proud Latina but Jamaican reggae is degrees better than that wack ass reggaeton. Why do I hate reggaeton so much? Probably because it reminds me of all the guys I'd never date. With that being said, I will shake my tush to some "Rakata" [bringin it back!]

Marriage bashing:
I had some man once try to convince me that marriage is only for people who want/have kids and no one else.  After I told him to save his breath, I explained that he's a class A possessor of a jaded point of view. Marriage turned into a joke because people made it into one. So people are hating the game instead of the player [as they have been instructed to do by many a rapper]. I think if all is great in the relationship and people are honest then that's the next logical step. There should be no fear or doubt there. The desire for a family is a good reason for marriage but it certainly shouldn't be the only one. [I'm certainly not opposed to marriage, all I need is a legit pre-nup and I'm straaaight.]

Conspiracy theories:
If I spent my time thinking about how the world is gonna end I'd never get anything done. I'd sit home in a cold sweat googling shit and mercilessly refreshing my browser while my body atrophies because I haven't eaten or slept in 6 days. All while I'm shitting myself. Fuck that noise. I'm living life right now. Drakey Drake!

Excuses, complaining, and more excuses:
So you're unhappy with your life or who you are. Take some personal accountability, and accept your surroundings or who the hell you are! And if you don't want to accept it, then fix it and in the meantime shut the fuck up about it!!! Stop complaining and stop making fucking excuses. America is great for that. It's never America's fucking problem. Grow some balls and own your shit and be gone already. Ugh. I fucking loathe complainers and excuse makers. Shut the fuck up! Ask yourself this, who's calling the shots on your fucking life you dimwit?! Fuck fuck fuck and more fuck. I even get annoyed with myself when I complain too much... so with that being said, I'm wrapping this up.

[Edit: How could I forget? Models/Singers/Actors: Everybody's trynna sing and dance all the time. It's like a fucking circus in this bitch. I'm all for creatives but e-noughhh alreadyyy!!!]

Remember to be smart and keep the bitching to a minimum.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Three

“Your friend doesn’t know how to take a compliment.”

“She sure doesn’t,” Sarah said, spinning a straw in her cocktail. Sex on the beach, it was. She’d wanted something sweet.

I sat there, still blushing. I hadn’t meant to blush; he’d only said I was cute. But he stood there, with a hand on my back, leaning over the bar, smiling in a way that does things to a girl’s stomach. It didn’t hurt that he was movie-star handsome. Will Smith but Hitch or I Robot Will Smith. Not Fresh Prince.

I offered to move so that he could collect the half-dozen cocktails he’d ordered. No, thanks. He’d rather lean over me. It was his way of flirting -- innocuous flirting. I smiled when he said innocuous.

“Good word.”

“You like that?” His hat tapped against my forehead as he made a final pass for drinks. He leaned close, a free hand sliding down my back. “I like smart girls.”

He disappeared into the crowd and Sarah, Caryn and I went back to our drinks and chatter. Ripple had been nearly empty when we arrived, but now it was pulsing and grinding with music and bodies, and we were glad to have seats. Later, as I made my way to the bathroom, a woman bobbed through the crowd wearing the familiar tan derby.

“Hi. Again.”

There he was, behind me in line, bareheaded.

“Someone’s got your hat.”

“That would be my girlfriend.”

“I assumed.”

The line shifted and we stepped forward. Introductions were made. Rob. Heather.

“She’s actually pretty into girls.”

“What?”

“Listen, you’re intelligent, curvy -- just what she likes. What we like.”

I laughed. A dry, Bette Davis kind of laugh. His hand went to my lower back.

“I’m tempted to push you in there right now,” he said, motioning to the now empty bathroom. “But she’d feel left out.” He pulled me close, quickly.

It was one of those kisses that curls your toes and flutters something very low in your stomach. My mind was blank, paused, as he lingered on my bottom lip. “Think about it,“ he said. And with a quick slap to my ass, he moved back into the crowd.

I did. I thought about it as I giggled with Sarah and Caryn. It was really a shame that I don’t share well with others. That’s the kind of experience that collectors, like myself, would have stick-pinned to Styrofoam with great pleasure.

I thought about it again, later as we moved through the bar, heading for the door.

“It was nice to meet you, Rob.” I stuck out a hand.

“Heather, this is Joy.”

Joy was exotic. Gorgeous. But we were on our way out. And I had never really learned to share.

My favorite post ever from This Fish. [Click the link! There's a follow-up!]

Sunday, November 14, 2010

77

Hit this magical jam and then check out these pics of the [now closed] meatpacking lounge The Double Seven. That's the kinda mood I'm in tonight. 

 

If anyone knows of a sleek, sexy lounge like this [+1000 if they play smooth tunes and/or R&B] holla atcha girl! I'm on the search...

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Frenchie


This is sooo dope!!! I'm a big fan of purple [the color of royalty] and I love spins on anything considered classic. Although french manicures always start to chip a day in, I love this twist on the traditional pink and white nail. This manicure was done with OPI's Lincoln Park After Dark Suede as the base and Lincoln Park After Dark Matte on the tips. You can see more of this young lady's nail artistry at her blog: http://chloesnails.blogspot.com

Friday, November 5, 2010

Dear John

Attention all you ambitious, well dressed, charming, city dwelling males!

*waves* Heyyy sexyyy ;)

I see you. You're fly. You have a nice smile and... is that a tailored suit? Oh shit. Nice shoes you got there. Gucci? Is that a Rolex? My, it's shiny. Oh you're offering me a drink? I'll take something sweet please. How sweet of you.

What a gentleman. Now we're chatting. About you, of course. You know so many people! And my, just look at what you've accomplished! So many degrees and awards and accolades. And you're fiiine at that? Sign me up!

But wait.

It's been a week now and you're becoming a bit of an asshole. A self centered, condescending, three piece Zegna suit wearing braggart. You zealously approached me first and now I'm not even good enough for a few moments of mindless chit chat? Let's not even talk about the fact that I could co-author your life story yet you don't even know my last name. [Even though I just did.]

I mean... wait. a. minute!

You're a great piece of work and all but I pass 16 men of your kind a day [or in some cases, in a 10 block stroll down Broadway]- you're just the one who happened to be in the same room as me when I decided to prowl.

And okay, you may not be exactly like all the other swoonworthy, double-edged sword carrying bachelors, but you sure don't act like you're not an irresistible bottle of poison either.

So much for being a specialty.

That's why it's so easy to identify and disarm your type. Your type? Oh well... you're all charming and persistent in the beginning. Later, you start behaving aloof, disinterested and are suddenly, very very busy. You're afraid to fall in love. Why? It's not your money you think I'm after. You knew I wasn't interested in your Italian leather wallet and what was in it seconds after our very first glance. Besides, you know a real golddigger wouldn't dedicate more than one night to a man who doesn't seem all that interested in wining, dining and outfitting her. You believe I'm after your heart, which to you, might be worse. And you're scared shitless of that. Of love. Which is ironic, because that's probably what someone like you needs the most.

But I digress.

So you fall into a type homeboy. Did you guys all read from the same playbook or something? Did the same heartless, gorgeous wretch run through the millions of you?

I'd like to know because I'd like to help. Lil ol me, ever the saint!

Because truthfully, the last thing I wanna do is send another spoiled, spineless, swashbuckler who routinely takes women for granted back out there into the world without a proper spanking.

Someone has got to set you fellows straight, since it damn sure wasn't your momma.

Sincerely,
Lady Blue

p.s. - Yo Momma failed you. Try to forgive her.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

The Latest II

So I'm now a certified brace-face/metal mouth/train-track owner. The inside of my mouth is already cut up, but in the end I'm gonna have a beautiful smile! I got my braces on Sunday - Halloween! and I'm set to look like a gangly teenager for at least the next year and a half. What a life. In order to minimize any further embarrassment, I opted for plain gray/silver braces with silver bands. None of that lucky charm bullshit up in my mouth. What I look like?!

Speaking of Halloween, it was mostly a let down. I was invited to a hotly anticipated Masquerade Ball which unfortunately didn't live up to the hype. No one was really dancing, I didn't know anyone and didn't really want to get to know anyone, and the host who invited me didn't even have five minutes to look in my general direction. I understand you're running the show but I can't get a lapdance in the corner when no one's looking at least? Acting like I'm not cute... Sheeeit. [And I was dressed as Barbie! Who wouldn't love that?] That night ended in a culmination of fuck yous between us whilst I fought off swarms of wanna-be rappers/ballers at the hellhole better known as Greenhouse [I hate that place]. The only thing that redeems that place is that fine ass doorman: Craig. I see you boo!

I spent the next day being a nerd, reading article upon article in bed, hiding under my covers, shielding myself from the bitter cold that just kicked up last week. After I got my braces on Sunday, I checked out some new shops in SoHo. I attempted to hit up the Halloween Parade but left by the time I saw my third Lady Gaga costume. Besides it was suffocating, 6th ave was crowded and swampy as fuck and I had on my new converses. Don't play. Anyway, people seemed to take Halloween really seriously this year. A lot of people dressed up and the 2010 parade was certainly more crowded than 09's.

In other irrelevant news, I finally found a hairstylist [thank you makeupalley!] and got a sick haircut from her at a discounted rate. I was so pleased with the final result though, that I felt a duty to  hook her up nice on the tip. [I take pride in being an excellent tipper! Just today I tipped the guy who made my Mexican food 60%.] So my hair is now this cute, choppy, angular-ish bob - similar to the A-line cut that started my short hair love affair back in December 07. Now that my hair is in shape doesn't mean I'm taking the time to actually do it though. Me and my comfortable ass. Don't even get me started on the fact that I still haven't started yoga, and that mat that I so hurriedly scrambled to get is now collecting dust under my coffee table. And don'ttttttt evennnn get me started on the fact that I still need to find a decent manicurist, waxer, personal chef and driver.

Okay?!

And now, a few things I have learned these past few weeks:

Some things [ie: opinions] don't have to be totally true to resonate. I learned this from blogging and various other bloggers. We all just wanna be understood, you know?

"Dream jobs aren't a gamble. Dream jobs are a hustle." She says some crazy shit some most of the time, but CokeTalk had a point there. Who else thinks she's way older than 30 though?

Being an entrepreneur takes a lot of hard work and a lot of time and people don't always see that - they see the end result, the oohs the ahhs, the accolades, the whip, the clothes, the watch, the shoes, the accomplishments, the clout! They don't see the blood, sweat and tears. I had a girlfriend that I usually go dancing with open up to me about the hard work that entrepreneurship entails, and I said to myself, 'May I never superficially envy anyone again.' It's long hours and it's often lonely ones [which can be rough stuff for some]. I mean, they call it a hustle for a reason. Why is it so hard? Well I assume because doing your own thing means going against the grain. Going against the grain always proves to be difficult. We're supposed to go to school, get jobs, work our way up and slave our asses and lives away in order to put big money in the pockets of the big guy. That's considered the easy, safe, normal way. If you think that's not what we're doing, you're highly mistaken. It's okay to work for these huge corporations - what choice do we have in the beginning really? But it's also important to know the inner workings of places like that, and what your role and value really is. The sooner you realize that, the quicker you are able to get out. That or whenever you come across enough funding for your next venture.

Man I can certainly go off on a tangent, can't I?

And some things I always knew: 

I'm disgusted by cigarette smoke and smokers, but more so, I hate people who smoke in clubs. Like damn, it's a confined space man! Fuck up your own health, gracias! I went to LeSouk last night for some last minute dancing with my buddy and the smoke was just killing me. I'm here trynna dance and instead I'm coughing up a lung. EFF YOU! Yes LeSouk I did just air out your dirty laundry... Now do something about it. [And yes, I know it's a hookah bar, and a dope one at that, but the hookah smoke doesn't irritate me for whatever reason. Still won't smoke it though, nuh-uh.]

Good girlfriends are priceless. A handful of them listened to me whine and piss and moan this week more than all the men in my life combined. Bless their spirits for that!!!

I like to smell like cake. I scampered into Sephora and copped a perfume and body butter that makes me smell like the divine holy baby jesus trinity and warm vanilla cupcakes all swirled into one. Pacifica's Indian Coconut Nectar, you own me. Lord have mercy!!!*

I cannot lie. A dude said some funny [see: trifling] shit to me and I couldn't even say fuck off,  [at least not until I meant it] because I actually liked him. Soon enough he'll be lucky if my eyelash even points his way.

I cannot stay quiet about something that's making me unhappy. I lasted 3 days at a potential second job of mine because the conditions were just so ugh. And the money wasn't making up for it either. At the end of the day, I want success and financial happiness but not at the expense of my damn dignity. I need that paycheck, but I don't need it that much. I am conscientious of never letting myself get in a position where that's the case.

Speaking of new ventures and money and all that usual bullshit, I have something up my sleeve. Of course I do. 2011 is a mere two months away, and let's just call it 'The Year of the Hustle'. It took me a long time to realize that I'm in an ideal position in life and nothing is really holding me back - so it's time to soar and show this world that I'm hungry. Hungry and muthafuckin magnificent!** Call me a rapper why don't you!

This would usually be a perfect moment for a "Whip My Hair" sentiment but like my new pal said "You let a 9 year old [Willow] control your body movements and how you carry yourself. #IMGOOD." She told it like it was and I had to be with it. I luh da kids but c'mon son. We grown.

Remember to be smart and keep it gully.

*I am surely going to hell for my incessant, inappropriate blasphemy. It kinda gives me a rush though.

**I'm probably the only girl you know who can rock diamonds and heels; do brunch, the club, and an exhibit [Chaos and Classicism at the Guggenheim anyone?], mingle effortlessly with businessfolk and still keep it real and tell a muthafucka off like his Momma never did. It takes a certain mix of pride and lack thereof to fully commit that way. Welcome to my world. It's a whole lotta fun here.