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Lucky Girls

Great wall of Lucky covers! Ultimate Lucky Girls.

Great wall of Lucky covers! Ultimate Lucky Girls. (Screencapture Google Image Search)

When I was a bright-eyed college student, one of my roommates always bought Lucky magazine.

I’d read hers, and eventually I was hooked myself.

In the beginning, during the college years, I would marvel at all of the great clothes, shoes and handbags I couldn’t afford.

But what seemed to get me the most were the women they featured. Not the celebrities, but the “regular” women they called “Lucky girls.”  They really inspired me. Especially the ones who were editors and writers and gadget queens.

*Sidebar, I don’t know what the hell happened over at Lucky, but they have really stepped it up in terms of diversity. There are way more women of color in there now and I’m loving that they are doing features with plus sized and regular sized women with curves. They have made me fall in love with them all over in a very real way.

They weren’t much older than me, but they wore the awesome clothes, shoes and handbags and they had great jobs…IN NEW YORK and other ridiculously expensive places.

I wanted nothing more than to one day be able to attain enough professional success, and effortless, classic style so I could land in Lucky’s pages.

I’m 30, and I look at those pages in a different way. I’ve managed to work my way up from grinding as an editorial intern, a metro desk reporter, to a web editor, and I guess you could say, hey throw on an outfit and Lucky, where’s my close up?

But, I look in the pages and now I see these uber fabulous women who are younger than me. I’m jealous again. But knowing fabulous women personally, and being one myself, it’s hard. It’s lonely. It’s frustrating and difficult. The expectations fabulous women place on themselves are enough to cause permanent scoliosis. There is pressure, there is wanting to stay ahead of the curve and the fear of falling behind and never being able to catch up. There is keeping up the appearances. Making others happy, staying sane, proving you deserve everything you’ve got and everything else you’re trying to get. They are duty bound to their loved ones, they are leaders in what they do.

I take nothing from the gals who grace those pages. I’m certain they had to work very hard, but as I reflect on my career, and my closet (which doesn’t have that many luxury brands, but is still friggin fab) , I’m wondering, am I a Lucky girl?

Did I do enough? There are some over 30’s in the magazine, don’t get me wrong. But seeing 27-year-old powerhouses who still have early 20’s bodies and dream jobs, luxury apartments, etc. it makes me feel some kind of way.

When you feel like you’ve hit a rut, even the most supportive people in the world like me tend to lose it when they see people who are too fabulous to be true. A friend emailed me an amazing article in Apartment Therapy about this stunning woman who had an insanely awesome apartment in a chic area of Northern Virginia. Something about it kind of sent me in a funk.

Then, one of my best friends, who was in a funk, just whisked herself away to a resort out of the country for the last 7 days.

I am jealous of these people. I just am. Keep in mind, in comparison to other people I know, I’m blessed beyond ridiculous belief. I can afford to live on my own, and even though I had to suffer a pay cut last year, I’m still able to pay my bills comfortably– something I could not do two years ago, for sure. I’ve rebuilt my credit. I actually have a credit card again and I know how to use it properly now.

I don’t have to take care of any children or anything like that.

I know with more money or with more anything, one has even more stresses and responsibilities, but there are days where being the Lucky girl seems so far away.

On the flip side, the current economic climate isn’t a joke. I’m well aware, which makes my bellyaching sound so self-indulgent and insensitive to the millions of people who are unemployed and working very hard to really get their lives going. There are so many young people coming out of colleges and universities to a very bleak situation. I have friends with multiple degrees, struggling.

Ask any of them, and I’m sure they’d slap me for this woe-filled post of rambling.

Bi*&^, you are a Lucky Girl. Shut up.

I am a Lucky girl. I don’t need a fancy title or to be a 20-something with a multimillion dollar startup and $500 pumps.

I am where I am right now. And that needs to be ok. It’s fine to keep dreaming and to keep striving, but to keep beating myself up, because I drive a 13-year-old car, I rent an apartment in an area that is increasingly annoying me (the smell of weed wafted into my place last night), or going nuts over and over about my current job. It’s exhausting.

And the college girl who looked at those magazines and dreamed would probably be in awe of the 30-year-old writing this post right now. She’d probably be thrilled that we actually made it this far and not figuring out which relative to ask for money this month because she asked so-and-so last month.

I’ve come a long way, and for that and nothing else,

I am a Lucky girl.

Post Game Report: Tommy, You Ain’t Got No Job

Hey everyone.

Welp, I’ll give an update. So far in the last four days, I’ve managed to go on two dates and visit my fam and friends in New York and I’m exhausted.

Seriously, I’m strongly considering hoisting up my eyelids with toothpicks, if this coffee I picked up on the way into the office today won’t do the trick.

Your girl is tired.

But, I will say even though I had a lot of venom for the online dating site after the first debacle, I’ve met three nice guys.

(Why do I have the tune of three blind mice in my head?)

The crazy thing about these dates is the fact that they have really been impromptu, out of the blue, hey let’s go out, ok, let’s go. So I never had much time to prepare myself and get crazy, super glammed up, which I’m kind of happy about.

I mean, if you are going to dig me, you’re going to dig me right?

So date one was with what my mom affectionately calls an “airman.” That’s right people, God Bless America and the troops! I had snagged me a good ol chap from the U.S. Air Force.

I thought he was a nice guy. I thought he was pretty good-looking with a nice smile, when he did smile or laugh (I made fun of his serious face).

Did I feel major sparks? Eh, not so much. I can’t call it.

He may be the kind of dude where we’d have to go out a few more times before he’d really loosen up. I haven’t heard from him since the date, and I was a bit disappointed that he didn’t ask me to text him to let him know I arrived home safely. He did give me a nice hug. But throughout the evening, I really couldn’t tell if he was interested.

But date number two, oh.

That was last night and this man had no problem expressing that he thought I was gorgeous, and interesting and different I was and how he wanted to know what my ring size was.

Now, he was good-looking too. The convo was absolutely excellent and I never had that good a time in Chipotle to save my life. We were talking so much, that I didn’t finish my burrito bowl (a first) and it got cold.

We even continued the night shooting a little pool and getting more acquainted.

Here’s the rub.

There was a popular running joke/storyline for a character on the comedy t.v. show “Martin.” One of Martin’s best friends, Tommy, was well-dressed, well-spoken, but no one ever knew what he did for a living and he never disclosed what he did.

Well, this guy seemed to have done or is doing it all. In the span of our convo, he’s had a number of jobs, almost made the 2004 Summer Olympics, and aspires to get his pilot’s licence (but doesn’t want to be a professional pilot), wants to own his own plane by 40, is a musician, and the final gut punch was when he said he lived with his sister. I know a lot of people can’t afford to live by themselves. It’s a huge luxury.

Case in point: I was watching t.v. with my parents this weekend and a news story mentioned how more and more home builders are building homes for three generations and folks are snapping them up. My father asked me if that is something I would ever want to do with my future family and he and my mother.

I let out a huge laugh. And said, well you did it with your folks until you could buy a home, and I’m sure my kids would love having you two just a few steps away and it would save me money on childcare.

My father being so astute, laughed and said, “you didn’t answer the question.”

Anyway, it shouldn’t have surprised me that he didn’t have his own spot because he gave a long answer about what he did. So it seems, being a gifted musician, he does piano lessons, but that’s about it. And when he said he goes to the gym at 11 p.m. every night, it clinched it even more. “Tommy, you ain’t got no job.”

My heart sank as I walked to my car. There was something genuine and sexy about him. He seemed to be a dreamer. He told me that he liked to fix cars, and take things apart and challenge himself to fix it. He told me he could cook.

So for someone with all of these skills and talents, I guess he just can’t seem to do the 9-5 thing, and it’s not for everyone, I guess, but sheesh, I don’t know, yall. He’s highly interested.

Of course.

So I think the lack of for real solidified employment is what is preventing this seemingly nice, interesting man from having a serious relationship. But, it’s a big, friggin, deal.

Bachelor number three is tricky.

He is a New York City police officer. He is also good-looking. What I like about him is, he seems sensible and he makes his contact with me count. I missed having a phone convo with him Friday, because I was on my way to my date with the airman. So it will be interesting to hear his voice. He already has a tough job in one of Brooklyn’s most difficult neighborhoods, so I’m sure when he wants to chill, he wants to chill and have no drama in his personal life.

I said before that I hate NY men. However, I like texting him.

I’ve always said dating a police officer would give me chronic chest pains because I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I know he made it home safe every night.

I am quite interested in hanging out with him, when I go home for the holidays though. So yes, I am on my Carrie Bradshaw right now and of course, Kyle Barker hits me up asking how I’m doing…

But all-in-all this is actually turning out to be fun and it’s getting me out of the house.

I still refuse to take any of this seriously, but I do think it’s helping to open me up to new situations. So that’s a bonus.

Stay tuned. I’m sure it’s about to get interesting.

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