The incoherent rambling of a wannabe writer

Magazines have always been a favorite outlet of mine. Their glossy pages and giant letters called to me and encouraged me to pay the $5 for the random issue that stood out in front of me on the newsstand that day. That’s how I knew I wanted to write. I wanted to be one of the people whose names were printed in small black letters under a grand article title. I just didn’t know how to get there. So I interned. I spent every summer from the age of 16 to the age of 19 working in the editorial office of KIWI Magazine where I did everything from fetch office supplies to research holiday gift guides in June. It was not what I imagined. So I went to college.

In college I studied communication, focusing on journalism. I pretended I knew what I was doing when writing essays at 4am or when researching for an article about “BENNYs” for the school’s newspaper. But I could never say my heart was fully in it. I never felt complete after turning in a mock article. But I remember loving the research. I loved being given a topic and thinking of only that topic for 3 days straight; spending hours in the library researching and printing, I practically had my own computer there. But this was school. Life would surely be different. It was this thinking that lead to a new internship. My cousin’s girlfriend was working in the advertising department for a beautiful food magazine. She sold advertising space to mom and pop shops on the East Coast. She told me her friend in the marketing department was looking for an intern to help out for the summer. I decided to give it a go.

That summer was one of the best I’d ever had. I was almost an adult, I worked in an amazing office, I made a few friends, but was only allowed into the editorial office when dropping something off. Apparently there is a hard line between the business side and the creative side of a magazine. And that summer I was on the wrong side. So instead, I took home back copies and studied the glossy pages. I worked on their summer events and followed the magazine’s publisher around as if she were a god. I don’t think she ever actually took notice of me, though. Didn’t matter, I was where I needed to be at that time.

Next summer I graduated college. I was given the opportunity to intern there again, but turned it down in favor of a paying job… One I did not have yet.

July 2013 I was offered an advertising coordinator position at one of the biggest newspaper publishing companies in the country, so I took it. It really is all about who you know. I assumed I would work at the newspaper during the day and write at night. And that is how this blog was born. My first post was sent from my parents house in Naples, Florida the day before I flew back to New York to start my first real job.

But as days passed into weeks, and weeks into months my writing became almost nonexistent. By the following February I had sunken into a full blown depression. I wasn’t mentally prepared to work in a windowless office in a position that required absolutely no creativity. I was miserable and couldn’t even hide it anymore. By March I had booked a trip to Europe. My favorite place in the entire world was Rome, I thought it was about time I had gone back. After extensive googling and convincing, I bought a slightly sketchy groupon for a 6 day trip that would bring me to Paris for three days and Rome for another three. That November, with my boyfriend of a year in tow (much to my parents’ chagrin,) I touched down in Paris and squished the two of us into a train with the morning rush hour traffic.

The next three days we met Paris.

I visited museums and ate croissants. I was dumb and hadn’t researched enough, but it was fine. I was in Paris after all! We walked around the city eating crepes and ogling  fancy stores. On the fourth morning we woke up early and left our Moroccan themed hotel for the last time. We shuffled our way into Charles de Gaulle airport with sleep in our eyes and pillows in our hand. While walking to our gate, I passed the French version of the Winter issue of my old magazine, and it definitely caught my eye. Snowflakes covered the magazine name and every headline was in French, bien sûr. I needed it.

I have only ever bought magazines on the stand. I enjoy having the ability to buy whenever I please. I don’t feel rushed to read it and can take a month or a year if I so choose. But today something was different.

This afternoon, while reading the beginning of The Art of Editing No. 3 I was given the option to continue reading if, and only if, I subscribed to the Paris Review. I had always enjoyed the Paris Review but hadn’t been a loyal reader. But I was entranced by the article. The interviewee had my total and complete attention and I wanted to be her. I wanted to know everything there was to know about her life and her work, her career and her current whereabouts, so I subscribed.  I was given the option to subscribe for one year of four issues, or two years of eight. Each option gave me a “free gift” of interviews from over the years and neither was cheap. I have spent the last two years deciding whether I want to spend the $6 to subscribe to Conde Nast’s Traveler even though I check their site weekly, but this morning, I deep dove into a $95, two year subscription of a literary magazine that I rarely read.

Is this what a stroke feels like?

Yes ok, that was dramatic of me to say. But I feel different. As I get older, more of me is looking to become the elegant literary buff I wanted to be as a kid and less of me is looking to write. My book collection has grown 10 fold just from last January, and I haven’t even read half of them yet. I think it’s funny that now I dress in mostly black, with dark sunglasses and avoid eye contact with strangers so that I seem more mysterious. None of this is intentional now. Now it is just me, the way I react to being here, in a job that requires no creativity. I guess I’ve accidentally decided to let myself sink into invisibility so that when I do let out my creative ideas people are surprised, instead of expecting them the way they used to.

Reading and writing have always been my hobbies, they were my wheelhouse, so to speak. They were where I was most comfortable. But now I tend to gravitate to words that are already written; concrete ideas that don’t need me to develop them. I shy away from writing and it makes me sad. But writing isn’t something you’re just good at all of a sudden. You need to practice. I just wish I had more motivation to.

Yes, I really did buy myself a pen in the shape of a baguette

I might have lost weight with all of the walking we did in Europe if we didn’t eat 3 dinners a night while there.

While the food in Paris wasn’t my favorite, the Roman food was killer. But besides food, here is what my European adventure consisted of…

We flew into Charles de Gaulle airport at 8am Wednesday morning and scoured the airport for a info booth. We bought the museum pass and train tickets and took the B train into Cité Universitaire. We came out of the metro and I started to get nervous because I had no idea where I was. Thankfully, I found a little bit of wifi and mapped out our way to the hotel. The entire 15 minute walk I stayed nervous because, at that point, God only knew if we were going the right way.

Finally, we found the hotel, only to be told we couldn’t check in yet. Luckily, Nick and I were both in comfortable enough shoes to start our adventure immediately.

First stop, the Eiffel Tower… Obviously.


Next stop, the aquarium… Accidentally.


After walking randomly, finding bad food and walking around aimlessly again, we finally made our way back to the hotel (after I got us lost a lot and had to give up the map)



We passed out at 6pm that night.

The next morning we started museuming in Paris with the Louvre.










That night, we got to see the Tour Eiffel sparkle and had the best dinner in France.



Our last day in France was spent in Versailles and D’Orsay. I injured myself in Versailles (I’m still limping, kinda.)





And then we went to Rome! As sketchy as Rome is (we ended up at the wrong hotel accidentally) it was great. Our first day began at the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain (which is under construction – total bullshit,) the Pantheon, and ended at Piazza Navona, where we had gelato, risotto, espresso, and hung out.




Our second day, we went to the Colosseum and the forum and then got stuck in the pouring rain and wanted to cry. Our site seeing for day 2 was cut short when we had to walk a few miles to find our bus while it poured continuously.






The rain was miserable but we made up for it the third day with a tour of the Vatican.

Here I am all squinty eyed. Obvs awesome.



That night we had 3 dinners and a lot of tiramisus and it was all delicious.



Tuesday morning we woke up and finally came home. Our first flight was from Rome to Paris, which landed way after our second flight was done boarding. All I wanted to do was shop in the airport in Paris and I couldn’t even do that. I was not happy. After 8 and a half hours we landed in New Jersey. Customs was a little annoying, our bags were spot checked, I hugged my dad, he got us coffee and we froze our asses off trying to find his truck. Finally, we drove home.

20141123-220341.jpgI feel like I used the word “finally” a lot as I discussed the last leg of our trip. That’s because I missed my family and my routine and not having to wake up at 7am and walk around for 12 hours.

As much as I love to travel and see new things and experience different cultures, cuisines and people, I missed being home. I missed people speaking English and not getting dirty looks on the Metro. I missed my bed.


I loved my trip but thank God I’m home.

*After Thought:
My boyfriend managed to eat 4 onion soups during the 3 days we spent in France. I just wanted to add that in. I found it funny. Maybe that’s why the French dislike Americans.

Buongiorno principessa!

It’s 6:30am and I’m sitting in the airport in Paris with a bum ankle dreaming of bacon and a bed.
It doesn’t even have to be my bed. I’m just so tired and want to pass out in a pile of pillows. I was nervous about the ride from the hotel to the airport this morning that begins the second leg of our groupon trip so I went to sleep after 11pm and woke up at 2:30am. I couldn’t sleep for the next hour so I just stared at the wall. At 3:30 I got up and got ready. I just walked around the room a bit until it was 4, then woke nick up. At 4:20ish the taxi guy got there and that’s how I’m here. I don’t know how I hurt my ankle but I looked like an idiot limping around Versailles yesterday. I thought I could sleep it off but that didn’t work. I have no idea what I should do about it but I’m definitely not a fan. Walking around Rome is going to be a giant pain if I can’t fix my ankle a bit.