2 Fast 2 Furious 2003: Live, learn and lingerie for 2004
January 4, 2004 | 12:00am
It was the year of the Friendster (moving at caterpillar speed despite an epidemic of DSL-powered households). It was the year of the iPod and iTunes championing against piracy. It was the year of lesbian (pseudos more like it) pop singers/media corned beef tongue hockey (ex: tATu and Magde and Britney). It was the year of the cargo pants. It was the year of Zac Posen.
It was the year of Saddamnit. It was the year of Kris and Joey. It was the year of Politicians Gone Wild. It was the year of the mini (car and skirt).
It was the year of Bennifer (Ben Affleck and JLo). The year of trilogies (Lord of the Rings and Matrix) and of tragedies (Gigli). It was the year (and quick death) of the metrosexual (just the term but the dandies are here to stay). It was the year of Reality TV. It was also the year of horrendous local rip-offs of western RTV. It was the year of Paris Hilton. It was the year of F4. It was the year of the terno. It was the year (as always) of Joe Salazar. It was the year of drug-free raves. It was the year of Greenbelt 2.
The year 2003 went by without much of a bang but certainly louder than a hush.
I started this year thinking I was going to get married to my then beau. I ended it with an Alka Seltzer, double espresso and a resolve to never get smashed again (I guess old habits die hard). Poignant beginnings, predictable conclusions. However, by far this is my favorite year yet.
From performing my own version of "O" (scandale, scandale) to shaking the hands of Sir Singlehood, to meeting my fashion icon forever, Mick Jagger, to, of course, YStyle – it has been fight, fight!
Feeling very much like a chic divorcee (a status I feigned for myself to affect the duende of a tragic romantic), the rocky delilah of romance past adumbrated to a life on the rocks (literally and jubilantly). Celebration of self came to order by drinking my weight in vodka resulting in diplopia, or worse, the eerie "Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore" brand of stupor. I was sailed to life, friends, career and fightness in general. Third quarter of ‘03, however, Ali was down and my George Plimptons (my crew) just shook their heads.
2004 is a year of condigned consequences of the bacchanalia that was. I intend to start it off with good intentions. Among my resolutions are:
1) Will not drink and smoke: Just for good measure. My standard token resolution.
2) Will not spend more money on clothes than food: Five pounds more, five less outfits – epiphany came when my dog mistook my arm for a milkbone.
3) Will be more open to romantic opportunities: Will be well-behaved and polite; no blowing of smoke animals to entertain thyself as date deconstructs the Venus and Mars difference between women and men. The difference is so obvious so quit it already.
4) Will apply lessons learned in charm school (1985-’87): I guess it’s about time.
5) Will not put the dead in deadline: The stress of lying your way out is not worth it.
6) Will vote: Whatever happened to the days of glamour when movie stars entertained us by wigging out in rehabs and sleeping their way to the middle?
7) Will build lingerie wardrobe: The Porsches of women
8) Will get DSL: Welcome to the future, delilah!
9) Will do belly dancing: Workout gear tres chic... talk about motivation!
10) Will not settle: For anything
Idon’t want to be cheesy and load on some pseudo inspirational crap. I guess the point of resolutions is not really to impose rigid standards to only further prove what a liar you can be. Rather, it’s a compedious list that becomes a reflection of your long-term aspirations. For me, 2004 is all about courting perfection. I’m pretty much sure that the ride from point A to B will be anything but a whimsical Audrey Tautou flick, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting the best for yourself. I used to think back when I was an idealistic college student that I could do with the bare minimum to be happy (OK lover, OK career, OK adventure...not OK!). I realized that Zen ain’t me at all. For me, life is going for baroque. I want hyperboles! I want it all! I’m shameless! I want it all! And guess what, each and everyone of us deserves that sort of gluttonous aspiration. If you don’t get it all this year, then try next year. You can have the Tropez tan while you ski in Aspen. It’s possible, so s*@t that being a settler. Don’t go for gold, go for platinum and diamonds, baby.
Alright so I betrayed myself, this is cheesy. However, bathetic ambitions aside, this is another year to put on those boxing gloves because this year the theme is fight! As for last year, Mary Prieto says it best – "No regrets."
E-mail me at ystylecrew@yahoo.com.
It was the year of Saddamnit. It was the year of Kris and Joey. It was the year of Politicians Gone Wild. It was the year of the mini (car and skirt).
It was the year of Bennifer (Ben Affleck and JLo). The year of trilogies (Lord of the Rings and Matrix) and of tragedies (Gigli). It was the year (and quick death) of the metrosexual (just the term but the dandies are here to stay). It was the year of Reality TV. It was also the year of horrendous local rip-offs of western RTV. It was the year of Paris Hilton. It was the year of F4. It was the year of the terno. It was the year (as always) of Joe Salazar. It was the year of drug-free raves. It was the year of Greenbelt 2.
The year 2003 went by without much of a bang but certainly louder than a hush.
I started this year thinking I was going to get married to my then beau. I ended it with an Alka Seltzer, double espresso and a resolve to never get smashed again (I guess old habits die hard). Poignant beginnings, predictable conclusions. However, by far this is my favorite year yet.
From performing my own version of "O" (scandale, scandale) to shaking the hands of Sir Singlehood, to meeting my fashion icon forever, Mick Jagger, to, of course, YStyle – it has been fight, fight!
Feeling very much like a chic divorcee (a status I feigned for myself to affect the duende of a tragic romantic), the rocky delilah of romance past adumbrated to a life on the rocks (literally and jubilantly). Celebration of self came to order by drinking my weight in vodka resulting in diplopia, or worse, the eerie "Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore" brand of stupor. I was sailed to life, friends, career and fightness in general. Third quarter of ‘03, however, Ali was down and my George Plimptons (my crew) just shook their heads.
2004 is a year of condigned consequences of the bacchanalia that was. I intend to start it off with good intentions. Among my resolutions are:
1) Will not drink and smoke: Just for good measure. My standard token resolution.
2) Will not spend more money on clothes than food: Five pounds more, five less outfits – epiphany came when my dog mistook my arm for a milkbone.
3) Will be more open to romantic opportunities: Will be well-behaved and polite; no blowing of smoke animals to entertain thyself as date deconstructs the Venus and Mars difference between women and men. The difference is so obvious so quit it already.
4) Will apply lessons learned in charm school (1985-’87): I guess it’s about time.
5) Will not put the dead in deadline: The stress of lying your way out is not worth it.
6) Will vote: Whatever happened to the days of glamour when movie stars entertained us by wigging out in rehabs and sleeping their way to the middle?
7) Will build lingerie wardrobe: The Porsches of women
8) Will get DSL: Welcome to the future, delilah!
9) Will do belly dancing: Workout gear tres chic... talk about motivation!
10) Will not settle: For anything
Idon’t want to be cheesy and load on some pseudo inspirational crap. I guess the point of resolutions is not really to impose rigid standards to only further prove what a liar you can be. Rather, it’s a compedious list that becomes a reflection of your long-term aspirations. For me, 2004 is all about courting perfection. I’m pretty much sure that the ride from point A to B will be anything but a whimsical Audrey Tautou flick, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting the best for yourself. I used to think back when I was an idealistic college student that I could do with the bare minimum to be happy (OK lover, OK career, OK adventure...not OK!). I realized that Zen ain’t me at all. For me, life is going for baroque. I want hyperboles! I want it all! I’m shameless! I want it all! And guess what, each and everyone of us deserves that sort of gluttonous aspiration. If you don’t get it all this year, then try next year. You can have the Tropez tan while you ski in Aspen. It’s possible, so s*@t that being a settler. Don’t go for gold, go for platinum and diamonds, baby.
Alright so I betrayed myself, this is cheesy. However, bathetic ambitions aside, this is another year to put on those boxing gloves because this year the theme is fight! As for last year, Mary Prieto says it best – "No regrets."
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