On my mother, Patty Fox and how she wins at everything (except 90s fashion).

Good Morning Darlings,

Just about two years ago, I moved to Portland in an attempt to create a life for myself and le hubs outside of MY hometown. And of course, darlings, you know how I feel about my hometown. I’m just wild about it.

But of course, I have a wonderful life up here in Portland, complete with an amazing job that I thank the universe for everyday, so the chances of me moving back to the 215 any time soon are slim, which is fine. Except for one thing.

I miss my mom.

Really, the worst part about living in Portland is not being able to see the people that I love on a regular basis. Having to make the decision between driving 8-10 hours (with the distinct possibility of sitting in front of the George Washington Bridge in traffic with 25 different Spanish music stations on the radio, but not much else – for 2 hours – which feels so much longer, because you forgot to pee before you got to this standstill) or spending 600 bucks on a flight (a 50 minute flight) is an atrocious decision to make. Most of the time, I just wish someone would offer me their personal jet or hot air balloon, or mule or something. But that never happens, so I am quite often stuck in this predicament. This usually resolves itself by something coming up at work or at play that would make it near impossible to go home on a regular basis anyway, which is fine, but I can’t take being so far away from my mama for such long stretches.

Sure, we talk on the phone every other day. And she tells me her joke about having waited in line at the app store for 3 hours. And depending on the kind of day I’m having either laugh or get angry and tell her to get another joke. And we discuss all the goings on at SterlingDraperCooperPrice and she tells me how proud she is of me and that she misses me, but I shouldn’t come home because I have it made up here.

And that’s kind of how all of our conversations go, because once I am on the phone with my mama, I just want to be face to face with her. Drinking coffee at the kitchen table on Van Pelt Street. Getting pedicures, going to Ikea just for lunch and rummaging through the home section of Marshalls.

Look, PF is not your typical mother. And she didn’t necessarily instill in me things that I could write about in Chicken Soup for your Daughters Soul. I mean, it’s not like I grew up in a drug den, but the values and ideals that mama provided me with were much more than that of learning how to apply makeup, set a table, or bake a cake (I had  Seventeen, Emily Post, and 2 grandmas for those things, respectively). She taught me how to manage the world around me with balanced chakras, musical numbers, puffy paint and homemade halloween costumes.

So let’s start from the beginning. Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman named Patty Weiner:

PATTY LYNN WEINER age 3ish?

and she started working at an agency in Philadelphia and met this guy with great glasses named Scott Fox. They got married (partially I think PF just wanted to bank on Scott’s last name so she could make up for all the name calling her last name provided her as a child). And PF was the most beautiful bride you have ever seen.

By the way, who let PF&SF carry calla lilies as their wedding flowers? If I had been around, I would have knocked some sense into them. It’s the flower of death, guys. This almost guarantees divorce. And babies breath? COME ON PF, you’re killing me!

But wasn’t she the most beautiful bride like ever? Her dress was this baby pink color. She wasn’t trying to fool anyone (Sorry mom, But I know you sowed your wild oats before you married dad – it’s a GOOD THING).

Anyway, as these things happen, not so long after – PF was blessed with 70 pounds of a future lcf. Her and SF apparently decided that after they got married, they should get matching glasses with a sepia tint (we never really did agree on anything fashion related)

What’s in there? a 5 lb little baby named Lyndsey Claire.

Here’s why my mom and I are so close really. PF had to have an emergency c-section where (just ask her) she almost died so I could be born. And when I was born, she was so hopped up on pharma products that she thought that I was a frog. And a boy. And so she wanted to name me Peter, Peter the frog. Once she sobered up, she realized that she was actually blessed with a little human princess baby so she came to her senses and gave me an androgynous name spelled in a way that no standardized test or name keychain would ever spell correctly. But at least she didn’t call me Peter.

So anyway, she almost died having me. And then she had to put up with a little bratty princess child who from a young age probably provided way too much sass.

“Mom stop talking!” – I would also use this old trick whenever we were out shopping and PF started to sing and dance along to the music. There was NOTHING more embarrassing than that. EVER.

“Mom, I can’t believe you are wearing those glasses right now. You look like a hipster.” (I like to think I was ahead of the curve and could spot a hipster even back in the early 90s). BTW congrats to both of us on our tans.

“Mom, what is that SCHMATA you are wearing?” GEEZ, at least I matched my MJs to the detail of my fleece. It’s all about the little things.

“Mom, just because we’re whale watching – it doesn’t mean you have to dress like a fisherman”

She has taught me so many valuable lessons over the years (mainly not about fashion or singing in public).

Never pay retail

Always befriend your local 7-11 workers

Never underestimate the power of arts and crafts

Always sing along to “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” & “Rosalita” as if your life depends on it

There is a difference between hoarding and curating

You can never have too many coffee table books

Black is the new black

Expensive perfume is always worth it even if it means you have to eat ramen for a month

You’ll never be the prettiest girl in the room, but you can always be the one people want to be around

Having multiple chinese menus in the takeout drawer allows for more options (in life)

Never underestimate the healing power of coffee and cigarettes

There is nothing that Bill (clinton) can’t do.

Always appreciate the arts. On the stage and on the walls.

The Universe Provides.

I mean, darlings, this is a woman who is just entirely fantastic in so many ways. She has always been my biggest supporter, head cheerleader of the lcf fan club. She never let social norms get in the way of her daughters dreaming.  She let us do us. She let us stay home from school when we needed a break from life. She kind of just gets life in a way most people don’t.

Like – what kind of Mom has a Pageant themed Halloween Party when both of her kids are grown up and out of the house?

These are hand made sashes for her Pageant Themed Halloween Party.

My mother, “Miss Calculated”

Have I mentioned her philanthropic efforts? She’s amazing and sits on boards all over town trying to better and beautify the community that surrounds her. I don’t know how she does it all.

PF & LCF at graduation.

So mom, mama, PF – Thanks for everything. You’re an artist, a philanthropist, a lover and a dreamer. You’re one in a million and I couldn’t have done any of it without you. I wish I could be with you today on Mother’s Day, but you know what? To me, everyday is Mothers Day.

Love you.

Darlings. I hope you get to spend the day with your mothers or mother figures. Or your single dads that act as a mom or your coworker who invites you to sunday dinner or really anyone that you love like a mother. Tell them how much you love them.

xoxo

lcf

Why I love the summer or throw another empty bottle of Rose in the recycling.

Good Morning Darlings,

OMG YOU GUYS! It’s almost summer. The sun is out almost every morning and the other day I actually had to take my jacket off outside because the sun was so warm.

Darlings, you know that nothing makes me happier than summer. Sand, sun, tan, coral, flip flops, stripes, anchors, golden hues, all of it.

So I thought to celebrate (perhaps a bit early), I might compile a list of things I am most excited for this summer.

Sooo darlings, I have not rocked a bikini in quite some time. I guess as a measure of self preservation, I feel like if I am not exposed I don’t open myself up for criticism. And have I been able to find some really cute one pieces? Of course. But do I wish I could join the world of the bikini wearing? Um, like always. I don’t know what it is about a bikini that just screams summer and youth and exciting and all of the above. AND recently, I have been trying to make a truce with my body. This is it. My body. The one that I have created through years of dancing and tennis and swimming and sunbathing and smoking and binge drinking and eating sushi and burgers and quinoa and avocados. This is a body that I made with my life. And I guess I’m just recently (haha)  coming to terms with the fact that unless I literally starve myself I will never look like the girls on The Hills or on the covers of my magazines. But I guess that’s okay, because my livliehood doesn’t really depend on me being a size 2.

AND I just recently came across this gem.

http://www.xojane.com/fun/gallery/fatkini#1

I mean these girls are so confident, and they just don’t give a fuck. And I kind of love them for that.

And if we’re being honest, I don’t know that this, the summer of 2013, will be the bikini comeback summer for LCF. Buuuut if it were – this is what I would buy.

Marc by MJ – Stripey Mademoiselle Danger Bikini

Darlings – it is striped with LIP PRINTS. Now, I’m not usually an MJ fan ( I know, traitor to my gnereation etc etc etc) but this is so sassy. I love it.

Let’s get real for a sec. These are the suits I’ll probably end up rocking this summer. Which is amazing because they are beautiful too.

Badgley Mishka – Plunge Front

Candy Anchor Suit, J Crew

So here’s the thing, bikini or one piece, there is nothing better than a swimsuit on the beach. There is nothing better than the beach in general. Which is why I use the following products in the summer to emulate the feeling of being at the beach even when you can’t.

So part of the reason that I love the summer so much is because I can really rock the frizzy damnrightimjewish hair that I was blessed with and it looks awesome. For some reason in the winter you feel like you need to gloss things up (not that I do) but in the summer, the bigger and messier the better.

One of the ways that I really exaggerate the lioness that is my mane is with Bumble and Bumble surf spray. If you don’t own it, you should.

B&B Surf Spray

AND this morning, as I was surfing the interwebs for ways to clear my adult acne once and for all (I couldn’t find any winners – darlings, do you have any suggestions?) I found out that Bumble and Bumble have finally decided to create what probably will become my two favourite hair products of all time:

B&B Surf Foam Wash & Creme Rinse

First of all, anything called creme rinse  I am so into. I don’t know why – maybe it’s because when I was little we had this citrusy creme rinse that we always used after we went swimming (so every day of my life). And you guys know how sentimental I am right? Anything that harkens back to the early 90s on Van Pelt Street, I get teary eyed over.

BUT these two products promise to create an even crazier mane. And if LCF loves one thing when it comes to hair – it’s a crazy mane.

Crazy Sunday AM LCF hair.

This is what my hair looks like on a Sunday morning. Okay, let’s be honest – this is what my hair looks like most days of the week. CUHRAZY. Also – again, I ask you darling readers – what do I do about this adult onset acne?!

Anyway, enough about the hair. What about the skin? I really love love the smell of Coppertone Waterbabies and so usually that is what I use as my spf. It used to look like this:

I loved this packaging. In recent years, they have changed the packaging to make it look “more modern” but I just think it looks dumb. I still use it though, because you guys – sun protection is tres important – like who wants premature wrinkles? I can already see some fine lines forming around my eyes from many a summer spent getting burnt and drunk off light beers. Bad choices. Always. But that doesn’t mean I’m staying out of the sun. The thing that makes me the most happiest in life is the sun. So for me, especially now that I live in Maine, when the sun comes out, it’s like being reunited with your favourite old friend. 

So even though I know how important sun protection is – I do love the immediate effects of the sun. I love being tan more than I love pretty much anything else. And you, darling readers, know my tricks to pretending to be tan. But –  don’t you think that being tan has a certain smell? Being tan certainly does not smell like No.5. It smells like Bain de Soleil and Bobbi Brown’s beach oil. 

Both of which I use instead of traditional fragrance during the summer.

Mama always used to wear this, so it smells like her in her sarongs. And I usually just wear a little bit of this behind my ears – really as a replacement for the fragrance.

My bestie once said this about BB beach oil “It smells like sunscreen and it makes you greasy like sunscreen, but it doesn’t protect you from the sun like sunscreen.” And he is right. But omg. It smells so good. And it makes my legs look as much like Giselle’s legs as they will ever look (full disclosure: my legs will never look *like* Giselles, but if we were trying to measure…)

But darlings, beauty products and the beach aside, do you know what my favourite part of summer is?

It’s appropriate to drink Rose! And Lillet on Ice!

Domaine le Grand Rouviere Rose – my new fave!

 

Everybody makes fun of me for my undying love of Rose. But I gotta tell you, there is nothing like a good glass of rose. You could be on an asphalt beach and you feel like you are on a yacht in Cannes (or so I hear). It doesn’t stain your teeth and it is not as sweet as most whites.  It is absolutely fabulous. And there is no reason not to drink it. But haters are going to hate, yes?

And of course, you can’t have a glass of rose without a fabulous playlist. And here darlings, is my summer 2013 playlist. Please add to it!!!!!

FLF Summer 2013 Playlist

1. Blurred Lines – Robin Thicke

2. Proceed – The Roots

3. I love it – Icona Pop

4. Jungleland – Bruce

5. Waltz (Better than Fine) – Fiona Apple

6. You Only Live Twice – Nancy Sinatra

7 Don’t Leave Me (Ne Me Quitte Pas) – Regina Spector

8. Young and Beautiful – Lana Del Rey

9. Je T’Aime Moi Non Plus – Serge Gainsbourg & Jane Birkin

10. Jersey Shore – The Promise Ring

11. Bang Bang Bang – Mark Ronson & The Business Intl.

12. Live & Die – The Avett Bros.

13. Going to A Town – Rufus

14. You Don’t Have to Say you love me – Dusty Springfield

15. Dancing on My Own – Robyn.

You can share it on spotify here: spoti.fi/YnXvaN 

Add your tracks.

And darlings, enjoy the sun. There’s nothing quite like it.

And darlings, one more thing: Come visit me this summer. Seriously. We’ll eat lobster and drink rose.

xoxo

lcf

Empty bottles of champagne and why a good shave changes everything.

Good Morning Darlings,

Remember how I told you how much I hated taking showers? (see: http://foodlovesfashion.wordpress.com/2013/04/17/why-i-loathe-showers-or-how-my-time-could-be-better-spent-musing-on-drugstore-bath-products/)

Well I still do. I mean, I still feel like they are a waste of time and disallow me from the constant content consumption my generation so desperately needs.

Buuuut I gotta tell you that a new razor and a serious hangover yesterday made me reconsider my complete loathe to take showers. 

First of all, yesterday I woke up feeling like a completely strange person had taken over my body. That’s right, I woke up still drunk. Which, darlings, is not a good look for a lady like myself. But I giggled my way through the first couple hours of the day. 

And, I just want to make sure that you are aware that Ido not make a habit of drinking so heavily on school nights, but I was celebrating my first Philadelphia friend coming to visit me in my new home (and yes, this is meant to make all of you feel guilty) . And celebrate we did. 

All I know is that we started the night (well it was day at that point) drinking beer. I, of course decided on this gem that I have recently started to enjoy: 

Dieu de Ciel – Rosee d’Hibiscus

This beer is an amazing mix of greatness. It is kind of pink (so Barbie Beer), not quite sweet and just plain lovely. Anyway, when I started the day drinking a few of these fairly light (5%) beers, I had no idea what the night had to offer. 

Suffice to say, after a pub crawl consisting of gin gimlets, champagne of beers, 2 shots of tequila, a Washington apple shot (ew, what the fuck) and a shot of SocoAmarettoLime (also, wtf – except that it reminds me of being 19 and dancing dancing dancing all night long and that amazing brand new song that can still make 27 year old lcf break down and cry  into her argyle socks like the emo child she once was). AND THEN. AND THEN. AND THEN we got home, apparently polished off a bottle of Cava AND one of these. 

We did not have the garnish and Im pretty sure that we ate this like water ice out of crystal wine glasses not like a beverage from Margaritaville. Not that it matters. It’s still grosser than the scene where Hannah pops her eardrum with a qtip.

And that is why I woke up drunk. In fact, the late onset hangover didn’t even hit until around 3:30. And then something amazing happened, I was responsible. I went to Zumba and sweated out some of my ridiculousness. And then I came home and ate Kale for dinner. And went to bed at a reasonable hour. And when I woke up this morning, I felt like a million bucks. Except for the binge drinking pimple that is emerging smack dab in the middle of my chin.

Anyway, I digress. The reasons behind my newish feelings toward showers come from yesterday when I sweat out enough booze to get Sigma Delta Nu at least a little buzzed (omg LCF – how crass!) and MY NEW RAZOR.

Yesterday, I got this sparkling gem in the mail. 

The Winston Set
Harrys.com

So I know, I know. It’s a mans razor. So what? I use mens deodorant, love mens cologne and would rather wear a mans shirt than pretty much anything else every day of the week.  Even Garance (http://www.garancedore.fr/en/2013/04/15/borrowed-from-the-boys/)  agrees.  I pretty much hate womens razors because I think that companies spend too much time figuring out the exact right shade of pink/purple to make it and don’t spend enough time on making sure that the razor itself will ensure silky smooth legs that make you feel like Giselle if only for a moment. Men’s razors are meant for smaller areas, therefore they are designed to be more precise, more able to really work hard for you. 

And ladies, I am here to say that I am a Harry’s convert. The razor set I purchased, The Winston,  at $25 for a handle, 3 razors and a tube of cream (will get to that in a sec) is way cheaper than a venus. AND darlings, it just looks so cool. 

Le Winston Razor.

The one bad thing about the razor,  just the one , is that since it’s not really manufactured for use in a shower,  is that the handle gets really slippery. But I will figure out a way around that because the razor itself is so amazing. It’s such an easy shave. And the shave cream that comes in the set is amazing. It’s kind of a minty-tobacco-y scent, very masculine and delicious. I never really use shave cream, but I will start because this is fabulous. When le hubs gets back from Cali, I am sure that I will have to defend it as MY RAZOR – NOT YOURS! 

So of course, the idea of having a new product in the shower is amazing, but to have a new product in the shower when you are so entirely hungover and sweaty from trying to sweat out your hangover is quite another. So my feelings toward the shower have moved slightly toward the “well I guess this is okay” side of things. I still would rather be singing along to this in front of my mirror instead: 

In closing, I would like to say a few things: 

1. Binge drinking really should be illegal after the age of 25.

2. Never keep pouches of frozen cocktails in your freezer. Not even the bottle of Veuve  in your fridge can make up for the lowbrowness of it all. Not to mention, nothing good has ever come from ingesting things from a packet. 

3. Go buy a Harry’s razor. Seriously. Go. Now. Harrys.com

xoxo

lcf 

 

I want a new pair of Doc Martens or Let’s talk a walk down (an incredibly narcissistic) memory lane

Darlings,

As you know, I have been feeling entirely nostalgic lately. And while I was at work this week, I had to do a little look into the Doc Marten brand – you know, how they’ve kind of rebranded themselves as a mainstream fashion brand – and well, I got to thinking…

I used to love my doc martens. I got my first pair for Hannukah when I was in 6th grade. 

Yup, I had these. And I loved them. And I wore them all the time. All the time. And reading about the brand reminded me just how much I loved my docs.

And that got me to remember the second pair of docs I ever had:

 

 

I bought these in 2007. Halloween to be exact. I had always wanted a pair of Doc Marten boots, but I never got them. I wanted these, to be exact:

 

I STILL WANT THEM. And I wanted to wear them so I could look like this:

 

Obviously, I will never look like Liv Tyler. And I will never wear a belly shirt. Especially not an Angora sweater belly shirt. But I still hold out hope that one day I will be back to fighting shape and be able to rock that skirt and doc situation like Liv Tyler circa her Rex Manning Days.

ANYWAY, I finally bought those red docs for myself in order to really cinch the world’s best (well, when you are in college anyway) halloween costume. Courtney Love. (With my darling bestie as Kurt of course).

Let’s be honest, who cares about the costume? You can’t even see the boots. BUT LOOK AT THAT THIGH DEFINITION.

 

Anyway, it started me thinking about all the outfits and pieces of clothing that I have become sentimental about these days. And how for my entire life, my clothes have so much help define who I am. And how I feel and what I want to say to the world. So the following list may not be my favourite outfits of all time, but they are some of the most sentimental. And I’m sorry I’m not sorry. Sometimes I need to be narcissistic and sentimental and all of the above all at the same time .

So let’s take a trip down memory lane to some of my favourite lcf fashion moments.

when i was 19, this was the most european thing i could think of taking a picture of Me. In the blazer. Lighting a cigarette. With Barcelona behind me. Oh, did I mention that I’m sitting on a moped? kthanks.

 

Just a 19 year old LCF with her first grownup hangover hanging out with THE blazer at Park Guell. NBD.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THIS BLAZER.

I wore it pretty much every day of my 19th year. I wore it in Spain (see above), I wore it over dresses, with jeans, as a coat, as everything. In fact, I loved it so much that after making a particularly stupid decision (oh there were plenty of stupid decisions, but this was particulary stupid) (sorry mom and dad) one night in college, I made le bestie (aka Kurt) stalk out the boy whose house I LEFT THE BLAZER at until he gave the blazer back to him. That’s why we are best friends.

In the case of that night, I was wearing the blazer with a party dress and a ton of emotional baggage that only a 19 year old could carry in 6 inch heels after 6 martinis. But that blazer reminds me of the smell of Stella McCartney perfume, of cheap wine and cheaper jokes. It reminds me of Boston and silly nights and good friends. But most of all,  although there were blazers that came before it, that was the blazer that lit the flame of my love of blazers, which almost 10 years later has not worn off and is showing no signs of wear.

16 year old LCF in vintage.

THE BARBIE DRESS

So I wish I had a better picture of this dress. It is literally the barbie dress. I mean, I’m no Barbie. But in this dress I felt like one. And I wore it to a senior prom when I was a mere sophomore. (Whatever, not that’s it a big deal or anything, but I attended upperclassmen proms every year of highschool. But like I said, NBD) And I have to tell you that when I wore that dress,  I felt like a million bucks. There was nothing like wearing that dress. Nobody had a dress like it. How could they? This was 2002 and the dress was from 1950. I think that this was my real fashionista moment. And I haven’t had many that rival it. When I stepped out of the car, I felt like a brunette Grace Kelly. NOTHING COULD STOP ME IN THIS DRESS.

This was on the Berklee College of Music Booze Cruise to which I was so generously invited to by le bestie.

THE GREEN DRESS.

I bought this green dress (you can’t really see it and I can’t really find any better pictures) after a semester of literally eating 500 calories a day and working out for like 3 hours every day. I felt pretty much like Kate Moss. I didn’t say I looked like Kate Moss, but in terms of genetic disposition, this was as close as I probably will ever get. Anyway, this dress went on dates with a guy who had an “italian stallion” tattoo. This dress had a great and unexpected spin factor to it. It moved like a circle skirt, but looked like a straight skirt. This dress was a tiny size. This dress got me to the fronts of the lines at bars. This dress was only with me for a short time because I bought it towards the end of that semester and left it in my old apartment when I moved out. And somehow it was never returned to me. But OH what a month I had with that green dress.

THE ANCHOR DRESS.

Look, I don’t remember wearing this dress. What I know as true is that this entire picture shows a 3 year old lcf foreshadowing her future life. A sailor collar with an anchor on it pretty much describes my entire summer wardrobe. The look of sheer stress, urgency and terror on her face kind of sums up the only faces I ever make. And well, the cupcake in hand more or less is the reason why I will never wear that above green dress again (well that and the abyss that is a college apartment) . I’m so in love with this dress, that it makes me want to create an adult version. So I might.

 

Me, mom, dad and Shelli Segal

How could I not include my sweet sixteen dress? An asymetrical shouldered black Laundry dress. I felt like a grownup in this dress. With a bob. Nobody had a bob. All of my friends had long flowing hair and here I was with this silly bob. But I thought it was fabulous. I fancied myself a brunette Margot Tenenbaum. And also, my mother is so beautiful and my father is so handsome. And really, I just kind of love this picture.

 

Darlings, thanks for taking a walk down memory lane with me. Do you have any articles of clothing that still give you goosebumps?

xoxo

lcf

 

Why I loathe showers or how my time could be better spent musing on drugstore bath products

Good Evening Darlings,

Can I share a secret with you?

I hate taking showers.

Okay, okay. Before you go dry heave in a corner somewhere, let me quantify my above statement.

When you are a woman, it’s not just taking a shower. It’s taking a shower, and then figuring out how you want to style your hair, choosing products that will enhance said style, lotioning up your skin (which is looking more and more like a desert out of the Aveda commercials by the second), and drying your hair.  Doesn’t sound like a lot? Well how about this….

After working out, it’s even worse. I don’t know why, but after working out and taking a shower, I  think I look worse than I would have if I had just shown up at work sweaty in workout gear.

So maybe I don’t *hate* taking showers, I just hate the amount of time taking a shower entails. Because you know, I could be using that time doing important things like…writing blogs about how much time I spend hating taking showers.

And this is not a new secret, but it is a secret that I feel like I can share now because recently my hatred of showers was validated by two other women. Women I like a lot and admire a lot. It just kind of came up – the time it takes to commit to a shower. It’s actually kind of crazy. We’re all hard working women and the idea of having to take a good 40 minutes before we head into work and make the commitment to take a shower and all of the things that a shower entails. All we really want to do is watch the Today show for a few minutes with a cup of coffee like they do in all of the coffee commercials from the 80s. But instead, I have to take a shower.

blech.

What I will say is that while I hate the time commitment, I love all of the products.

So without further adue, I bring to you the FLF hates showering lists of favoured showering accouterments.

*I have to say that there are a few products that I have literally been using since I was a teenager that I just won’t give up. When you find something amazing (a beauty product or not,) you’ve just gotta run with it.

Bumble & Bumble Surf Spray – for those days when you are feeling like a beachy mermaid princess, this gives you fantastic texture only rivaled by a dip in the med.

This is the most amazing product ever. Way back when I had a “cool” haircut, this was the best texturizing product. ever.

This is a great smoothing lotion even for this head of Eastern European descented hair.

The second layer. It’s the smell! It’s smells like clean!

The first layer of moisture for skin that is becoming dryer than the Negev by the second.

Mane and Tail has been my go to shampoo and conditioner since I was about 20. Something about using a horse’s shampoo is very Bryn Mawr to me.

I don’t really want babies, but apparently I love the products designed for them.

And darlings, I’ve got to tell you. I just ordered this kind of fab shaving kit just in time for spring. Of course, I haven’t received it yet, so I cannot attest to the efficiency of it, but it looks gorgeous.

I hate pink razors, so why not try the mens shaving company currently taking over the social medias?!?

So is this so gross? Or is it so glam? Who knows? Who cares?

Do you guys have favourite bath products that you have used forever?

I will leave you with this little gem, because as le hubs is away for three weeks, I have started an Ally McBeal marathon on Netflix to kickstart my 90s female TV lawyer diet consisting solely of string cheese and martinis. And because I love this song, but I love this cover of it even more.

“But how do you thank someone who has taken you from crayons to perfume?”

xoxo

lcf

Jacob Dylan’s heart ached over 6th Avenue like Mine aches over Van Pelt Street or why the Mummers ARE NOT the Muppets.

Good Evening Darlings,

I have been trying to find a spare second to write a bit about my trip home, but my days have been tied up with work, moving (into a new apartment in Portland – out of the hood) and grilling/gardening at said apartment.

My favourite part of the new digs: The (not quite finished) Reading Room

Darlings, I have to say – my trip home made me even more homesick for the 215 than I’ve been since we moved up to Maine.  I can’t explain exactly why, but I do know that some days my heart aches for certain people and parts of the city that I left behind. You have to admit, it is not often that someone my age moves from a rather large metropolis to a smaller seaside town (well city technically). And with that comes a slight switch in the amount of stimulation that occurs outside of the office (because, heello, still love my job !) that kind of bums me out.

When people ask me what I miss the most about Philadelphia (aside from the fam, duh) I often reply with the fact that I miss seeing people (lots of people) when I walk to and from work. One of my favourite parts of living in the city (which I only realize now that I’m gone) was my walks to and from work. The things I saw, the people I bumped into, the traffic lights and the noise. In the most general sense, that’s what I miss about the city.

Otherwise, even at my advanced age, I miss the random nights out until 5:30am. I miss not being able to leave the house without bumping into someone I’ve known since I was little. I miss the landmarks and the pride that comes with being a Philadelphian. I miss the way you can say Mummers without people asking you if you mean Muppets. I miss sitting in the park for hours and people watching and only getting up to use the dirty bathroom at Barnes and Noble (what a novel idea! A bookstore? Still Standing!) I miss the memories that rush back when you walk into your favourite local bar.

Darlings, I even miss the long O. You know the one. The accent? The one I hated and hated and hated forever. Darings, did you want some wooder?

But I hate to dwell. I have such a lovely life up here in Maine (general acceptance of danskos as a shoe appropriate for black tie events aside) and it’s not like I hate it. I just have a lot of hometown pride. What can I say?

So without further adue, I present to you the FLF list of things that only Philadelphians (and sometimes south jerseyites, and delawarians) GET.

WAWA  - Because where else can you order a cheese and mayonaisse hoagie at 4am via an electronic kiosk thereby disallowing any kind of obvious judgement from employees of said establishment. Add a cup of blue jello squares and maybe a milkshake and your night is complete. But don’t forget to pick a little something up for the driver of the taxi that you realize you need to get home as soon as you leave the premises. SIDEBAR: When I was a senior in highschool, I would get a 24 oz coffee and an apple every morning for less than $2.

 

THE 700 CLUB – Now, only a certain sect of Philadelphians will understand this. But if you grew up in the 700 club, you can’t shake it. I started going to the 700 club way before I turned 21. In fact, in some ironic foreshadowing, I owned a fake Maine ID which allowed me entre into all of the bars in my wheelhouse. When I was home last, Mama proudly asked “Do you think the doorman at 700 will ask you why your new Maine ID looks so much different than the old one?”

100 points for Mama for knowing that the bouncer at 700 has been the same grouchy guy for the past 10 years. AND 100 points for Mama for remembering that I had a fake Maine ID. AND another 100 points for Mama for not giving a shit that I had a fake ID.

But here’s the thing about the 700 club. It’s a tiny place in a part of town I rarely frequent. On the ground floor is a soccer bar. Seriously like premier league shit. They have craft beers and European men. Would I ever come here to sit at the bar and watch Man U take on FC Barca? No way. The real magic happens upstairs.

Upstairs at the 700 club is like no place you have ever been. As you make your way up the last step, you are basically in your grandmoms living room. If you’re grandmoms living room had a dance floor, with a DJ booth in a bathtub and a kitchen turned into a cash only bar that specializes in bottled beer and soco and lime shots.

On Friday night (the only apropriate night to go) the DJ spins a ridiculous mix of 80s new wave, 90s pop, top 40 and some rando punk and motown thrown in for good measure. It is a great place to make bad decisions. It gets really sweaty really fast, but if you get there early and have enough courage – you can literally be the first one on the dance floor. Getting the party started and taking names. I have so many ridiculous memories of nights at the 700 club interpretive dancing before anyone else gets there.

Water Ice – It’s kind of like a mix of italian ice and a snow cone. But IT IS NOT ITALIAN ICE. It’s different. And it’s delicious. And though many trendy flavors come through the pipeline, there are only two real flavours of water ice. Lemon and Cherry. Lemon should have lemon rinds in it and Cherry should turn your mouth red. It is eaten with a spoon, not like a cone. When mixed with custard, it’s called Gelati which I guess is like a lowbrow gelato. It’s a genius dessert that accompanies all summer events in Philadelphia.

 

The Mummers Parade – I don’t even think I can describe this, but it is a Philly tradition. It happens every New Years day. Grown men dressed in flamboyant costumes “Strut” ( a weaving, comical dance/walk with pumping arms held out to the side) down Broad street playing their string instruments starting all the way down in South Philly (like where Rocky is from). The whole city comes out in the freezing cold to at least watch part of the parade and get drunk in public.

 

Philadelphia Sports Teams – Look darlings, I will be the first to admit that I know nothing about most sports. I don’t understand how they are played or who is playing them or why they get paid so much money to play them. What I do know is that in Philadelphia, their fans are the best. Or the worst. But they are unwavering. When the Phillies have a shitty season, there’s always the Flyers, when the Eagles fuck up, there’s always the Sixers. And when none of these teams have a good season, well have another bottle of Yuengling, cause next year will be better.

 

 

“LAGER”. All you gotta do is go into a bar and ask for a lager. This is what you get. A $2.05 bottle of gold. Maybe it’s not that good, but to me it tastes like home. And it’s America’s oldest brewery. And it comes in a green bottle. And it’s cheap. And it tastes best accompanying  laughs and/or tears.

 

RITTENHOUSE SQUARE – Growing up just a few short blocks from the square itself, I spent many a misspent afternoons just sitting. Sitting and chain smoking. Sitting and chatting. Sitting and watching the guy who raps the bible. To this day, I can rarely walk through the park without bumping in to someone I know. I guess when you live somewhere for 25 years, it’s easy to say that. Rittenhouse is a mecca for so many people. An urban oasis in the summer months. Everybody’s got their own stories about Rittenhouse. Just the other day I bumped into my (real) first kiss in the square – The Philly Fanatic.

 

Darlings, I could go on for hours with this. But I won’t.

The thing I miss the most about home? The people. Philadelphians get a bad rap for nothing being so nice, but I think they are just keeping it real. My family is made up of proud Philadelphians. I think they are pretty great.

 

To all my lovely Philadelphian readers, what have I missed?

To all my other lovely readers, what do you love most about your hometown?

xoxo

lcf

My bracket is a bust or how my grandmothers only taught me about the important things in life.

Good Afternoon Darlings,

You know that saying, “It Takes a Village?”

Well today it took a village.

We have made some wonderful new friends during our stay in Portland who graciously invited us over for seder on the first night of Passover (this monday night). And so, I decided to endeavor to create some homemade gefilte fish.

Yea, that’s right, everyone loves to hate on the gefilte. But I truly think that most of these haters have never even tasted it. Because they see it in the weird (read: kosher) aisle of the grocery store which they are only in because at 28 they still need to get their ramen noodle fix, and pass by this jar of gelatinous goop with blobs of “Fish” floating around in them. And that’s their first exposure to the wonder that is Gefilte Fish.

“In Jelled Broth”

 

THE FOX FAMILY 

My first exposure to gefilte fish was of course, on my Bubby’s passover table. Bubby used to tell stories of how her mother kept the fish she used to make Gefilte in her bathtub until it was time for the slaughter. My Bubby was one of the most wonderful people ever in the whole wide world. She had so many great qualities, but one thing that people who maybe only even met Bubby once remember about her is that when she fed you, SHE FED YOU. And really, she is the one that sparked the cooking flame in the young lcf. I remember the first time she let me cut something. With a REAL knife. I stood on a chair in her tiny kitchen that somehow produced enough food to feed the IDF, and cut a cucumber with a tiny paring knife on a heavy plastic cutting board. When those cucumbers ended up on her famous smoked fish platter, well, I don’t think I’ve been more proud since. And for that and so many many many other reasons, although she is no longer physically with us, I like to think that a part of her spirit lives within me everyday and makes me strive to be better in everything that I do.

Anyway, I don’t ever remember thinking of Gefilte Fish the way other people think of Gefilte Fish. I ate it and I loved it. I still do. In fact, on any given day (not just Passover) you might find some jarred Gefilte in my fridge. It makes a great protein rich snack and at 60 calories a pop, you can’t really go wrong. And  so with very little words, I would like to take you through my journey into the wonderful world of Gefilte, which took a village to get to. You see, I have a wonderful friend/coworker up here whose husband is the most applauded fish guy in Portland. And because there are so few tribe members up here, I thought that he of anyone might be able to get me the necessary fish to get the job done (because while I was dedicated to the cause, modern hygienic norms mandate that I cannot share my sole bathtub with fish). So here’s the story as told by my coworker:

“But it takes a shtetl…And GP wanted you to know about all these righteous people in the seder chain. George called it in to a kosher fish retail shop in Boston, Wulf’s Market. His guys at Red’s Best (owned by nice Jewish boy Jared Auerbach of Newton — grew up with Andrew Taylor   – named his biz after no-relation nice Jewish boy Red Auerbach) picked it up and put it on a truck to Browne Trading (no transport charge), who held it for Niles to pick up, all to help a nice Jewish girl (as George was telling these dudes). It’s the pay-it-forward Passover mitzvah. Take a gefilte pic and post so George can share the results! Xoxo.”

And here, GP are the results:

I ground the fish.

I made a stock to poach the fish. With the heads, tails, bones, and skins!

 

I made filets with the ground fish, carrots, onions, matzoh meal.

 

This is the end result! The bed of carrots will hold a healthy heap of Keltchners Red Horseradish.

 

So Bubby, this one’s for you. I hope I made you proud. 

THE WEINER FAMILY 

I am entirely lucky to still have a Grandma. Grandma is mama’s mom. And Grandma instilled in me my love of literature and the arts. You see, my Grandma was an art teacher (and in her later life, started one of the most loved and fabled shops in all of Philadelphia) and sees the beauty in everything. She appreciates the sounds of voices, the outlines of faces and the texture of raw oysters. Her home is a museum of photographs, paintings and things collected from across the world.

Grandma was featured in a LIFE magazine feature on this amazing “Jabberwocki” themed party. Her title? Pleased to Meter.
Get it? And yes, she is still just as beautiful. 

My grandma and grandpa lived next to my house growing up and I would sleep over most Fridays. I would sleep in bed with my grandma, and before bed, we would take a journey through her jewelry box which lived at the head of the bed. I remember she had (still has) this golden fish pendant which moved just like a fish. I loved that piece. And once we were done playing dress up, she would read “The Velveteen Rabbit” to me until I fell asleep, which was usually around page 3. Grandma to this day makes fun of me because she doesn’t think I know how the story ends, because I never stayed up long enough to hear it. In the morning, we would wake up and eat oatmeal or challah toast (which was toasted in a toaster over and pulled from the toaster oven with these little bamboo tongs, which I just adore). And then we would play with the closet of scarves she kept or outside in her garden.

Her (and my grandpa, who was an Art Director who worked on, what else, De Beers and created award winning screenprints) artistic sensibility has worn off on all of the women in the Weiner family, my mother, my aunt, my sister and myself. It has manifested itself in different ways in all of us.  I cannot imagine a day without knowing that we are laughing at the same line in Seinfeld or answering the same questions right on Jeopardy.

Grandma is still quite the artist and for my birthday this year sent me the most beautiful gift I have ever received.

The tag reads: I love you forever GM Reba 9-21-14

A hand crocheted blanket. In my favourite colors. And my favourite pattern. And it smells like her house. And it is the most special thing in the world from the most special woman in the world.

Anyway, am I bragging about my family? Perhaps. But it’s just because I am so proud and humbled everyday to know that I have such amazing Matriarchs to live up to.

Happy Passover everyone. Do me a favor and tell everyone you love that you love them.

xoxo

lcf