I'm shallow.

Guys I will never date…

The guy who needs to go to exclamation point overusers anonymous

The guy who not just wears, but worships his Oakley sunglasses

The guy who says “that’s what she said” in a serious attempt to be humorous

The guy who takes pictures of himself in the mirror with his iphone

The guy who uses the “rock on” hand sign

The guy with a tribal band tattoo

The guy who doesn’t vote

The guy who waxes his eyebrows and thinks no one notices

The guy who counts Nickelback/Daughtry/Creed/Heinous lite rock as quality music

The guy who poses with cars in pictures

The guy who takes his fraternity reeeeeally seriously

The guy who quotes “Boy Meets World”

The guy who wears: visors, fitted t-shirts with or without messages on them, hemp and/or puka shell necklaces, white sunglasses, knit beanies…especially when it isn’t cold, live strong bracelets, cubic zirconia

Sasha Fierce Lives in a Pagoda

Today is officially day 2 of Bridget Gets Healthy. That’s what I’m telling myself at least, that I’m trying to get healthy. Sure I want to be able to run along the Hudson without an asthma attack (more importantly because I don’t have asthma) and live to be a 100, but let’s be real. By “Bridget gets healthy” I mean, “Bridget won’t die obese, bloated, and alone.” I want to fit into my skinny jeans and not feel the need to suck in just like every other girl who has a little extra pudding in her pouch. I want to rock a strapless Shoshanna without internally crying about my arm flab. The point is I want a hot bod. I want to look better physically and if I just so happen to feel better health-wise, well then that is just the organic cherry on my sugar-free, low-carb, frozen yogurt sundae.

Diet
Bottom line: stop eating like an asshole. Seriously. Sometimes after a meal I’m fairly certain the ghost of Chris Farley has invaded my body. Worst of all, this isn’t always after an actual meal and happens when I’m not even hungry. This can occur when I’m just bored at home or walking down the street and I hear a seductive soft pretzel whispering “come-hither.” Let’s not even start with the post-bar hopping binges. That is when every idea of dieting goes out the window. Who cares I’ve just downed 500 calories worth of vodka tonics; it’s time to inhale a pizza!
This behavior stops here and now. No, I’m not going to follow a hip fad diet that excludes one major nutritional component or only includes one random ingredient like cabbage. Like I said, I’m just going to stop eating like an asshole. I’m also turning in my membership card to the clean plate club. When I’m no longer hungry I will stop eating…what a concept. The one thing I won’t completely give up however is alcohol. We all need a few vices. It’s not like I’m pounding a six-pack on a daily basis anyway, I only drink socially. And come on, I’m a 22-year-old single girl living in New York. A weekend cocktail is kind of part of the uniform. Diet cokes don’t really match my outfits.

Exercise
They say our bodies are our temples. If this is the case, mine is currently more like a crummy church basement with fluorescent lighting than the Shwedagon Pagoda. No one is worshipping at the foot of this altar. Therefore, I must convert to the church of exercise. And I mean actual exercise not forgoing time at the gym because I walked .8 miles to Whole Foods. Living in New York may mean my legs are my primary source of transportation, but I can’t let this be my primary source of exercise. So I’m committing myself to one hour of cardio 7 days a week. I’m doing 7 instead of the usual 5 because as previously mentioned, mama loves her Saturday night vodka and that can pack on the cals. I’m also going to be lifting weights so I can finally be able to open a pickle jar without feeling sweat form on my wrist.

Dear Regina….Kindly Shut the F*ck Up
We all have that voice in our heads. It’s the voice that tells us things, makes judgment calls, etc. Some call this their inner voice, their ego, their inner child. I don’t call mine anything I just know she is a real bitch (if you’re a young lady out there, can I get an amen?) While psychologists say this voice should be telling us positive thoughts mine sounds more like Mel Gibson requesting a blow job before he threatens to burn down his house. Geneen Roth touches on this inner dialogue concept in her book, “Women Food and God” and it kind of hit me. That bitch in my head is actually me and I have the total ability to tell it to shut the f*ck up. I’ve named this bitch Regina (one because I hate the name, I mean seriously…Regina? Two, because it makes me think of that slut Regina George from “Mean Girls”). So whenever I put on a dress and I’m tempted to think to myself, “do you have a traction control system to go with that spare tire?” I will tell Regina to kindly take a hike.
This part may seem a little Oprah-esque but Roth and many gurus will tell you that this voice inside our head can play a vital role in our lives, both good and bad. In my case, I think the negative talk in the past gave myself low expectations, which in turn led me to never fully carry out an actual diet and work out plan. Not this time kiddies. This time it’s out with Regina George and in with Sasha Fierce.





Starting Weight: Right, like I’m actually going to tell you.
Weight Lost: Stay tuned…

Need.

I know I'm much more of an indoor cat but lately I've been craving a mountain.

Breathe, ponder, and let go.

I think I was born making plans. Literally. While most newborns probably thought, “Eh, this womb thing is getting kind of cramped, I guess I’ll peace out of the vagina today,” I’m sure I had a well-crafted itinerary for my exit (whether or not to slide out head first, how much force to use on the cervix, the exact date, and of course the perfectly pitched birthday cry). Hell, even my Barbies had plans. My Barbies weren’t frolicking on beaches in Malibu or rocking their glitter-streaked hair on stage, my Barbies had goals. My dolls were usually in college getting a degree in something with plans to go to law school. That hot pink dream house wasn’t going to pay for itself after all.

For the past 22 years, I’ve been mimicking my Barbies by constantly setting goals and keeping myself focused. I’ve known what I want and I’ve kept my eye on the prize. Therefore, you can imagine the anxiety I must obviously be feeling now that I find myself for the first time in my life without a concrete plan. I have no specific life map I’m following, no x marking a spot. But au contraire my faithful reader. I’ve never been happier.

If you would have asked me a year ago what I wanted to be when I grow up, I would have answered, “well if I can’t be Blanket Jackson’s nanny then I suppose a career in politics will do.” For the past four years I have been anxiously working towards fulfilling my political ambitions. I’ve been fueled by a desire to deal with the issues that I am the most passionate about. Health care reform gets me aroused, gun control trips my trigger, and gay marriage gets me giddy. While these matters and many others still get me fired up, I seem to have fallen out of love with the political part and the idea of this being my career.

I think it’s the current political environment that has caused the breakup between politics and me. I fully believe in the idea of having a two party system and that foundation seems to be fizzling. No matter how strongly I feel that I’m right and no matter how much I think I know I always want to hear an opposing idea. These are how the best solutions are made. Unfortunately that’s not what is happening in Washington these days. One party is trying to carry out its agenda but seems to be distracted by oily corporate money and pushy special interests. The other party…well…that party has officially checked into a special white room with padded walls. This party has stopped advocating for its positions and has simply started being against everything. The political arena has changed from a civilized two-party debate to a bloody battle royal between teabaggers and tree-huggers, birthers and border control, O’Reilly and Olbermann. Participants fight until they are the last one standing and rely on their emotions before the facts. So as enticing as that fracas sounds, I really don’t want to be a part of it anymore.

So what now? What should I be when I grow up? Considering I’m officially starting the “grown up” stage of my life, I should probably get on it. But not too quickly. For so long I was so hardcore with my aspirations that I lost the ability to just sit and do nothing or stray off course for a little bit. If I wanted to read a book I only let myself read non-fiction and political books because in my mind, doing anything but acquiring more information that would accelerate my career plans was simply a waste of time. I was a knowledge fiend, a learn-oholic and it eventually stopped being fun. So this time I think I need to take time to just breathe, ponder, and let go.

The good news is I’m in New York City, which makes the whole letting go part much easier. I’m not good at sitting still so frolicking around this concrete jungle constantly keeps both my legs and brainwaves in motion. For instance, the other day I walked to Central Park to sit and read a book and before I knew it, I had been there for two hours. The old me would have looked at that situation and said, “Get off the ground you hippie loser.” The new me thought, “A cupcake would really make this situation even more ideal.”

Whatever I’m meant to do, it will come to me. I’m confident in that. I’m told most people change their career objectives multiple times throughout life, which I suppose is a comforting thought. I mean, look at my beloved Barbie. She has been a teacher, a doctor, a singer, a lifeguard, an ice skater, a cowgirl, and even a McDonald’s cashier. Talk about a renaissance woman. So maybe I’ll imitate this severe career-ADD, maybe I won’t. However, just like Barbie, whatever career I stick with I will have the perfect outfit and accessories to match it.

iCook

So my inner Julia Child got frisky the other night and I made quite an epic meal. It has been my experience that food tastes better when being cooked around good tunes so I would like to share my ultimate cooking playlist here...

"At Last" -Etta James
"Crazy Love (Live)" -Ray Charles & Van Morrison
"Dream a Little Dream of Me" -The Mamas & The Papas
"Game for Fools" -Jamie Lidell
"How Deep is Your Love" -The Bird and the Bee
"I like the Way" -Kaskade & Colette
"I Want a Love I can See" -The Temptations
"It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over" -Lenny Kravitz
"It's Amazing" -Jem
"Kissing" -Bliss
"The Look of Love (Madison Park vs. Lenny B. Remix)" -Nina Simone
"My Girl" -The Temptations
"New York State of Mind" -Billy Joel
"Sara Smile" -Hall & Oates
"Sideways" -Citizen Cope
"A Sunday Kind of Love" -Etta James
"Yellow" -Jem


Bon Appétit <3

The Lost Art of the First Kiss

I hate the movie “Hitch.” The plot is dull, the acting is atrocious, and Will Smith’s array of pastel shirts are far too tight. However, in the very beginning of the movie there is an interesting quote. Smith, playing a “date doctor” proclaims, “Three dates, and I’ll get you here, to the high-stakes medal round where eight out of ten women believe that the first kiss will tell them everything they need to know about the relationship.” Yes the movie’s plot is corny and a touch unrealistic (like any good romantic comedy), but I find this line to be the most at odds with reality. It seems to me that it doesn’t take three dates for the guy to get a kiss from the lady, but 3 apple martinis instead.

Like many twenty something females living in the U.S. circa 2010, my girlfriends and I discuss the many stresses (both good and bad) of dating. At this point I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it all; the awkward fourth date attempt at PDA, breaking up with guys over trivial things like tacky facial hair, and attempts to spice it up in the bedroom gone horribly, horribly wrong. However it occurred to me the other day that I honestly can’t say I’ve heard a story about a first kiss in a relationship. I mean, a real first kiss. Sure I’ve heard my share of “OMG I can’t believe I made out with that guy last night. I’m never doing patron shots again” kissing stories, but I can’t recall a story about an authentic, meaningful first kiss in quite a while.

Hollywood is all about the first kiss. These kisses usually entail the leading man gently stroking the leading lady’s face, uttering some positively faint-inducing line, then sealing the deal with a delicate yet perfectly passionate kiss. Often times there is some sort of precipitation involved or maybe even a full-scale natural disaster. Maybe they’re involved in a messy tragedy, maybe not. Perhaps they were recently reunited after being torn apart by war or maybe they’ve known each other for years and the geekier one of the two has finally confessed his or her love. First kisses are what woke Sleeping Beauty and Snow White from their comas after all. First kisses are the basic climax of every teen movie. No matter the situation, Hollywood seems to have gotten in right. Unfortunately like many things that come out of Tinseltown, the first kiss doesn’t seem to have that same magic in real life.

The typical scenario of the first kiss these days is much more “let’s get liquored up and get our sloppy makeout session on” than “let’s gaze at fireworks after our date on the boardwalk and you can plant one on me.” Maybe it’s just a sign of the times. Maybe just like the ipod, social networking, and reality television, the lost art of the first kiss is simply a product of my generation. While I consider myself a socially progressive person, if there is one thing the cohorts of the past had going for them it was the first kiss. I mean, it used to be a big deal to hold hands at the malt shop or my favorite phrase, “go steady.” I’m not saying we trade in our Prada platforms for poodle skirts but come on now. The first kiss just seems to have lost its importance.

In his book, Studies of Savages and Sex, Ernest Crawley discusses the origins of and concept of kissing. He writes that touching is “the mother of the senses,” and the kiss is a tangible and specialized form of that intimate contact. I couldn’t agree more. We’ve all had that happen, haven’t we? The touching that makes you think things along the lines of, “holy shit this is the mother of all senses!” I’m sure we’ve all also had the same types of kisses. The kinds of kisses that make us close our eyes so tightly our eyelashes get tangled. The kinds of kisses that make us think, “holy shit this is the mother of all senses!”

So I guess my point in all of this is, why do we waste this intimate contact on weird guys at a grungy bar? Call me crazy, but a random guy I met five minutes ago attempting to be a substitute for my Crest dental floss isn’t very appealing. Especially when he tastes like stale bourbon and not minty freshness. Why has kissing gone from something cherished and personal to something that makes me think of Brett Michaels and a groupie who may or may not be transvestite? As women we spend hours choosing the perfect ensemble or the perfect cupcake on “eat what I want Sundays,” so why not the same pickiness with the men we choose to and the settings in which we kiss? As Hitch described, it should be a high-stakes medal round. It shouldn’t be an all-you-can kiss buffet, a lip lock free for all. Albert Einstein sums it up best with the statement, “Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.” Bingo. Thank you Albie for completely getting my point. And we thought that whole theory of relativity thing was groundbreaking….

Congressional Chronicles

Last fall I took a class focused on a senate simulation where we all played U.S. senators as well as newspaper reporters and lobbyists. I played the sexy senator from Wisconsin, Russ Feingold and wrote the following op-ed piece for the class newspaper, "The Congressional Chronicles." While I was technically writing it as if I was him, I was really speaking my own mind...


In last week’s issue of The Congressional Chronicles, Senator Thune wrote an op-ed about the American Moral Crisis. Thune wrote, “More dangerous than the economic meltdown and the instability of healthcare, I contend, is the rusting of our nation’s moral compass” and went on to talk about the perils of pornography and menacing postmodernism. Senator Thune is
correct, America is facing a moral dilemma. Yet, I argue the direction of his compass needs a bit of resetting.
I would like to argue that the economic meltdown and what Thune called “instability” of (I would put it more like “the travesty that is”) health care, are two of the iron oxides contributing to the rusting of our moral direction. We live in a country where the very rich have been getting richer and the very poor are becoming even poorer with the top 10% of American incomes collecting 48.5% of all reported income in 2005. We have become a nation that tells its citizens they have to pick themselves up from their own bootstraps...even if they don’t have boots at all.Thanks to the disastrous Bush tax cuts, the overall tax burden has been shifted from the wealthiest Americans, to a struggling middle class.
A financially strained middle class as well as pretty much the whole country has also been plagued with rising health care costs, something Republicans never made a substantive effort to fix when they were the majority for 12 long years. Current attempts by the Democratic majority to actually reform the health care system have been met with Republican yelps of “socialized medicine” and “government takeover.” Where have we heard that battle cry before? Oh yes, 44years ago, when Republicans were complaining about the creation of a little program we like to call Medicare, a program millions of senior citizens now rely on for healthcare needs. Similar howls were heard with the creation of Medicaid and Social Security.
Senator Thune also complained about how our culture has been hijacked by devilish ways and pangs of immorality. According to Mr. Thune, the more tolerant society has become, the thinner the line between right and wrong. I wasn’t aware that teaching tolerance meant sacrificing basic moral behavior. If anything, I find tolerance to be one of the most moral-
inducing virtues. What’s more moral than accepting someone for who he or she is? Look up the word tolerance in a thesaurus and words such as “acceptance,” “open-mindedness”, and “understanding” blanket the page. Are these really nouns that harbor deviant behavior? Then again, this idea is coming from someone who voted in favor of taking away a basic civil right
from 10% of the population because of his own personal convictions. I ask you Senator Thune, during the part of the Pledge of Allegiance where you say, “with liberty and justice for all,” are you secretly crossing your fingers?
I understand Senator Thune is passionate about his beliefs and that’s something to be admired. I don’t mean to be harsh with my words, I simply mean to be direct. There is a moral crisis in America and it’s a little more dangerous than a copy of “Debbie Does Dallas.” What’s immoral is 46 million Americans without health care. What’s immoral is millions of Americans
sleeping on the streets. It’s time we take real steps to redirect the moral compass and move it towards progress.