Adventures in Parentsitting

The chaos of fashion week preparation has managed to suck the life out of me like a big, fat, Louis Vuitton-embossed vacuum, leaving me with little time to attend to both my personal hygiene (joking, unless one considers dirt-lined fingernails and straw hair to be offensive) and my blog-child. My weeks of late consist of tending to the needs of my boss– soy latte runs included, inhaling sad turkey sandwiches during my supposedly hour-long lunch break (somewhere along the way I failed to learn that 12 minutes constitutes an hour), cutting out clothes for paper dolls until the scissor ridge has been imprinted into my hand like an aubergine tattoo, and dip-dyeing in vats of bleach until I’m convinced that the floor has switched places with the ceiling. Fashion is clearly glamorous, and at $0/hr, I am indeed, living the dream.


A self-portrait after I have been released from my work place on any average Friday at approximately 8pm.

My parents have made it their personal mission to prevent me from plunging off the ledge of the Chrysler Building (although it sounds like a perfectly viable option to me after a particularly abusive day at work), and have made it a point to visit me at any given opportunity. This frequent visitation may explain why my coworkers look at me like I’m the star of Breaking Amish when I explain to them that I have to leave work early on a Friday to hang out with my parents, rather than celeb-scout at the Gansevoort like every other NYC intern known to mankind. Parental visitation weekends have been my most anticipated weekends since I’ve arrived in the city, and no, I’m not just saying it because I know they’ll be reading this post in T-20 minutes. Hi mom and dad. I plan weekend itineraries accordingly, catering to the tastes of my mom and dad (and sister, who joined my dad on this past weekend’s visit) knowing that we will accomplish every single item on that list like it’s the ten commandments. 

My mom trekked to Manhattan for a ladies’ weekend to celebrate my big deuce-deuce in style. Highlights of the estrogen-themed weekend can be represented by activities that women generally do best:

No 1. Shopping. While 98% of this shopping was of window variety, we still managed to peruse our way down fifth and Lexington avenues, stopping in at the big B’s: Bergdorfs, Bendels, and Bloomies, and the equally big S: the 5th Ave namesake, Saks. While Bloomingdales never fails to disappoint, Bergdorf Goodman and Saks Fifth Avenue were both reminiscent of creepy clothing museums with the average age of consumer likely matching that of each historic site, the musky carpets evocative of Persian rugs, and salespeople trailing your toes as if you were planning to single-handedly anchor a grand heist.

No 2. Eating. Eating everything. When it’s your big T-Swift birthday and calories are negative, what else are you supposed to do? Is it wrong to hit up Magnolia Cupcake and Shake Shack for dessert on the same day? Is it wrong to very quickly locate the bottom of the cinnamon-sugar encrusted bag of heaven at the Doughnuttery? And is it really unjust to give the waitress at Alice’s Tea Cup a taste of sass when she fails to produce your triple-berry cream cheese-swirled scones to accompany your formerly piping hot tea? Hell hath no fury like a woman waiting on a scone.


No 3. Appreciating art like the cultured women we are, duh. We ventured to NY’s finest museums, scoping out the weird and weirder at the Whitney’s Jeff Koons exhibit, and some serious fairy princess gowns at the Charles James exhibit housed at the Met. 


Artsy selfies like artsy betches at the Koons exhibit.

After recovering from the joint retail/ sugar induced-coma that my mom’s visit left me in for weeks to follow, my dad and sister proved to be bona fide competitors– down to tourist hard and eat harder. Although my mom’s visit was undoubtedly efficient in terms of exploration, my dad and sister showed up looking to make NYC their bitch, and perhaps reestablish it as Selfienation. Yeah. While a challenge to make all of their wildest dreams come true in the scheme of two short days, I managed to milk two boroughs of New York and two little cities for all they were worth. Selfiegraphic evidence of our travels were documented in the following regions. 

No 1. The ambiguous waters of NYC. 


Sup, Lady Liberty.

No 2. Times Square.


Making frenemies with the aggressive Spongebob-clad gentleman in the biggest tourist trap in all the lands.

No 3. Little Italy AND Chinatown, where I enjoyed the joys of Snapchat. 



No 4. Brooklyn 


Selfie game wasn’t too strong by the time we got to Brooklyn, so here is a photo of our delicious pizza, which is debatably even better.



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