Here's the good news though. I come bearing useful information because, if you're even remotely in my age range, you probably have several friends who are getting married or are engaged and you're waiting to get another invitation in the mail.
With this comes the conundrum of trying to figure out what to wear to a wedding...and how to not blow tons of money doing it...while simultaneously making smart purchases that are of decent quality so as not to feel like you wasted money. We've all purchased a cheap dress that basically disintegrated after one night of use...it's time we stop doing that. We're all adults here, right? (As I turn off my PS4, finish my afternoon bowl of cereal, and sit down to have a serious conversation with you...)
Assuming you have several friend circles, you'll likely end up at several weddings that may not be attended by the same people which means you can get away with wearing the same outfit several times in a row. (Insert fist pump here.) In a pinch, changing your hair and lip color will usually throw people off enough to assume your outfit is different if they've seen you in it before. Sartorial trickery...it's all in the details.
Back to the story at hand though...
Well, no crisis today, folks...oh, wait...except that it's still in the 90's here in LA. As if having a drought wasn't bad enough, autumn has also been stolen from us like so many fuzzy bunnies being gifted and then un-gifted to a 5 year old child. The mornings are still magical here...in the 70's, a tad humid, with a comforting chill in the air...but that very quickly dissipates and in its place is a plague of heat.
It's the type of heat and sun that instantaneously demolishes your will to do anything outside for more than 2 minutes...and if you do do something for more than 2 minutes (say, walk your dog down the street and back), you'll end up half passed out on your couch for the rest of the afternoon, in and out of sleep, only scraping together enough energy to test just how cold you can get your AC while praying that there won't be a blackout.
So, I've become much more physical as I've gotten older. (Listen to me. I'm talking like I'm a corpse.) I'm not sure why it happened, but gone are the days of chain smoking, eating every heavy carb under the sun...and moon every day of every week (most notably bagels, burgers, waffles, and other delicious fare), and barely moving aside from lounging around with fellow college-age-melodramatic-"philosophers" at a diner, discussing prose and plays and the latest indie band on little to no sleep and a lot of coffee refills.
Actually, I totally know why. Because I realized that if I kept up that behavior, the chances of aging gracefully like my mom would be about 0.000000001%. I would end up looking like Iggy Pop by the age of 40 even with my awesome Asian genetics...and 40 is less than 7 years away at this point. I had to stop being so irresponsible. I mean, babies are a plan after all and being a haggard mom before the mommin' (yes, a made up word) even starts would be no bueno.
For better or worse, over the last few years, I've quit smoking (again), trained myself to execute some form of exercise 7 days a week, and have gotten to eating much healthier. (I'm now a burger a week type of gal and feel sheer panic when there isn't fruit in the apartment...I love fries, but I love yogurt and berries just as much.) Needless to say, college Nami would be completely horrified if she met adult Nami. The fact that sleep is so important to me now alone would send my former self into a tailspin.
On the day-to-day, despite feeling like there are never enough hours to fulfill all the to-do list items, from a health and well-being perspective, I'd consider myself one of the lucky ones. I haven't gotten sick in a while and usually only suffer minor aches and pains which are, more often than not, caused by my own stupidity. (Slamming my shoulder into a doorway - common occurrence, falling asleep in a weird position on the couch - nightly, trying to do too much physical activity in one day - please refer to my fitbit obsession here, and so on.)
So, where am I going with this story? Well, I had to share an experience I had on Tuesday night...one that I still haven't quite recovered from.
So, my company is all about our well-being and one of the ingenious programs they began was the Fitbit program. This is the part where you ask me what a Fitbit is. Well, lemme take a minute to tell you...
A Fitbit is the most precisely-named thing I've ever met. It's a small device that does things like calculates how many calories you've burned or how many steps you've taken. It is, in fact, a "bit" that should keep you fit if anything just by its sheer power to guilt you into walking more. For the David Sedaris fans out there, he wrote an amazing piece in the New Yorker about his new tech exercise (TECH-ERCISE?!) device.
Now, on to my new addiction...
I can't even just say I'm enthusiastic about it. I think I'm actually addicted. When it first arrived at my door, I forgot I had even asked to be part of this new fitness program, but after opening the box, charging the device and syncing it with my laptop and phone...I realized what this device held.
You must be wondering why this Sunday Styles doesn't feature a particular outfit, but my husband's handsome face instead.
Well, it's because this Sunday was a particularly harrowing one. The kind that makes you think about life and priorities.
The morning started off as Sunday mornings usually do. I was off early to the gym and got back in time to start getting the apartment in order and ready for the day while Charles woke up a little later after a slightly insomnia-riddled evening. I gave him a "good morning/go get 'em" kiss as he left for his own gym session and I hopped in the shower.
All good so far. The morning was shaping up to be a good one.
I got ready, did some dishes, fed Merlin and started our walk. (Figured I may as well get the pup some extra exercise before brunch) and was enjoying the post-drizzle morning humidity when the phone rang. Just Charles informing me that he was on his way home. Fantastic.
So, Merlin and I decided to prolong our walk so we could greet Charles upon his return...which is when the phone rang again.
Peculiar. It was Charles.
I feel horrible about the fact that I don't read nearly as much as I used to. Sometimes I have a feeling (it's not even a feeling, it's more of a fact) it has a lot to do with living in LA now and not having as much hands-free, public-transportation, commuting time where I can choose to stuff my face in a book rather than zone out at some other commuter's face or be disturbingly aware of my hot, sweaty, uncomfortable surroundings including someone's armpit two inches from my head.
Nope, LA just doesn't afford you that kind of situation...but maybe I'm just making excuses.
Truthfully, I can make time to read even though I sometimes (as in always) get swallowed up by the oh-I-should-clean-the-apartment-and-run-to-get-toothpaste-and-Merlin-probably-needs-a-walk-oh-look-it's-time-to-make-dinner-wow-I'm-sleepy-time-for-bed hole. (Don't we all?)
But every few years there is a happening. I get a piece of news about a new book by one of my favorite authors and I make an effort to seek out this new tome of dreams and hole myself away for many hours at a time...which is what happened with Haruki Murakami's latest book: Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage.
Bleaching my hair a pale, buttery blonde was something I'd always secretly fantasized about. In fact, I did it once back in high school. The initial results were stellar. I was a skatery-punky-indie young thing with a pixie cut. All I did was get my hands on some Manic Panic bleach and plop it on my head.
My parents? HATED IT. Me? I LOVED IT. My boyfriend at the time? I CAN'T REMEMBER WHICH DUDE I WAS DATING. (Horrible, I know. I might have been caught in a love triangle or square at the time.)
Yep. I was left with almost-white hair that I, unfortunately, didn't take very good care of because it was during one of my "I'm young and resilient and I don't have time to think about upkeep" phases. (Cue the endless cheeseburgers, cigarettes, sleepless nights, bottomless coffees, late-night drives to far away places and all that philosophizing over who knows what all day, every day in diners all over northern New Jersey and the dark alleys of Manhattan. How am I not dead?)
(a.k.a Nami Returns to the Land of the Living Once More)
Wow. So, it's literally been over a month since I blogged.
There are lots of reasons for this. Back to back business trips, the continued decorating of the new home, my 3 year wedding anniversary, a dog with major allergies, AND New York Fashion Week.
I just returned from the latter this last weekend and after running as far away from social media as possible for a few days, have returned to give you a recap.
As you might know, I work with TRESemmé (their the official hair care sponsor for Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week) as their social media person and, because of that, get access to shows every season to capture the hair and the looks from the runway...and this season definitely didn't disappoint. TRESemmé did the hair for 7 shows:
Seriously. I never thought the day would come where I would go out of my way to purchase a huge, honkin' tube of gel, but that day came and now all I want to do is wear my hair insanely slicked back every single day.
So, what brought on this sudden enthusiasm for a shiny, rock-solid helmet of hair? I heard the sirens of summer singing a song. That tune we all know so well (you know the one): "Humidity is a Bitch." The summer sirens sing that one pretty consistently during the hotter months and I had found myself in Miami for Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Swim in all its damp, heat-wavy, neon glory.
Oh, hey there. Sorry I've been completely MIA, but you'll learn why in a second…
Welcome to my first installment of "The Frontiers of Adulthood" where I, a supposed adult, will discuss things that are going on in my life that are things adults are supposed to do…even though I really don't feel like one.
This series will be especially relevant for all of us living in high-priced cities where, if you're not a millionaire, things are difficult and you often question your quality of life because you know if you lived somewhere else, you'd probably have several acres of land, a huge house, and a life outside of your occupation instead of the studio apartment you've been in for 10 years (which you're still renting) and the job that haunts you on weekends and weeknights in the form of a plague of emails. You often scoff at Sex in the City because you know there's just no way Carrie could've afforded living in that apartment in the first place. (However, you still watch re-runs because of your expert ability to suspend disbelief…also, you will always love that show.)
Today's subject is about home ownership. If you've been following along on the blog, you might have noticed me mention here and there that we've been on the market for a home.
Well, ladies and gents, I'm proud to say that we just moved into condo a few weeks ago, which would explain why I basically fell off the Earth and was orbiting Pluto (which technically isn't a "planet" in our solar system anymore, but has enough gravitational force to keep me away from you for a month.)
Now, back to the subject…
I've gotta say that home ownership has really shed some light on parts of myself I never knew existed. Here's a list of things I've discovered about myself: