Today, the day that felt like we live in a pot of boiling water, was rather slow at the office. So what do you do when you work at a luxury magazine and there isn’t too much to be done? You read the green book.
For those of you who don’t need to know the who’s who of Washington for your j.o.b., the green book might just sound like a book that is green. And a-ha! It is. But it is also fuzzy and green, like snooty astroturf, and contains all sorts of information needed for established families to contact one another, for social climbers who want to do some scrambling up, or for stalkers who would like to track down the wealthy.
It has all the numbers for every senate and congressional office, The White House, the Department of the Navy (good if you’re drowing), the national holiday of every single country (Lesotho, Oct. 4th, FYI), the address of every embassy in Washington (if you need a visa for Micronesia you will want to head to N street), and then of course there is the social list.
The green book has been produced in Washington for 80 years. Back in the 30s, if you weren’t included “you were simply in Social Siberia. Quelle horreur! Death by shrimp fork.” And of course once you were on, you definitely weren’t always on. If you killed your lover, you would be removed (this actually happened).
Do people still care about the green book? Well, probably the people in it and not that many others. But it’s fun to read it aloud in the office in a pinched nasal British voice and chant about how pesky your race horses are being this time of year.
Ali holding a stack of green fuzzy society bibles!
Finally it really feels like Spring! After schlepping around town all winter in Uggs and scuzzy sweatpants, I am so happy to be able to finally break out my warm weather gear and reintroduce my legs to a razor. So to continue Karin’s “Dress like Blair Waldorf” post, I decided to chat about my favorite Spring trend (which isn’t much of a trend since it happens year after year) — the nautical look. I absolutely love sailor clothes.
If it was socially acceptable to wear my husband’s old Navy hats and anchor cufflinks on trips to the grocery store — I’d do it. I think I love dressing like a sailor as much (if not more) than actual sailing. The stripes, the anchors, the ropes – oh my! It’s so darn cute and classic.
In fact, last year, while attending the Annapolis boat show, several people asked me if I was in costume — as if I were some sort of maritime showgirl. It was one of my proudest moments. I wore yellow sailor pants, a shirt with little navy anchors all over it, top-siders, and giant seagull earrings. I was like a parody of a person attending a boat show. I even contemplated donning an eye-patch and peg leg for the occasion, but Grey told me that was over the top. Go figure.
So with fair winds in the forecast for the next week — I think I’m ready to bust out my salty suiting! Yay!
How cute is this skirt in the Boden catalog? My friend Laura sent me the link and now I must buy it!
One of my oldest friends from childhood decided to do the dirty and marry the man she loves. But before she slapped on the ball and chain, I decided to throw her a bachelorette party that would have us drunk and partially naked for 48 hours. Annapolis, Maryland, where the festivities took place, is a perfect town for such a weekend as it is teeming with virile Naval academy gents in spanking white uniforms. The odds are good and the goods aren’t odd.
If I ever grow a third eye and find myself really desperate to get some XY chromosome action, I am thumbing my way to Annapolis where the men are plentiful, patriotic, and very well-groomed. The bachelorette weekend had one of our attendees offering her services as a fluffer, a professional baseball player practicing his striptease for us, and a renewed love for tequila shots and the boys who buy them for you. Unfortunately, we were not arrested for indecent exposure, nor did we spend the night sandwiched between Midshipman, but we got darn close.
The bachelorette party goers take a rest with Captain Bob after mooning half of Annapolis.
Lauren Moore, the bride to be, with some lifelong pals. God bless the United States Navy.
I’m seriously considering a Baywatch theme for Ollie’s second birthday party. At the ripe age of 15 months, my son is a little Lothario; he loves women! He’s been flirting and batting his eyes at the fairer sex since he was two months old. He actually seems to have a thing for redheads, but will turn on the charm for pretty much anyone with breasts. He’s like a dirty old man trapped in the body of a midget.
The Navy football game was no exception when we sat front row to the Naval Academy cheerleaders strutting their stuff. He was enthralled! Literally — drooling! The funny thing was that the camera crew kept putting him on the big screen because he looked so intent on the game, but really, it was the cheerleaders he was watching.
I think I need to start cultivating dorky habits now. Maybe I’ll get him a rock tumbler or a science kit for Christmas. It seems like it’d be way easier to raise a nerd than some little playboy!
He was doing this the entire game. I swear he thought they were cheering for him!
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