Nope. Nope. Nope.

My dog is 28 freaking pounds of fat and muscle. Sh*t's annoying to cart around. And I spend a good amount of time on trains and such escaping the city/humoring my parents so I know what it feels like to balance your overpacked bag and your fat dog and a large diet coke from McDonald's while navigating the subway system. BUT. I was leaving a certain coffee establishment this morning and some chick walked in pushing one of the above with her dog inside and I'm just going to have to say no to that. Ok? Thanks.

Amazing

You guys. Tracy Morgan—who I love and cherish and adore—was on Oprah yesterday which is amazing just inofitself. I mean I’m sure you all caught his Letterman appearance, where Dave asked Tracy who his “valentine” was and Tracy responded, deadpan, “Oprah” and then went on to b*tch about how Oprah spends too much time talking to Gayle. The man is a national treasure. And on top of it, this was like a comedian-themed Oprah because Tina Fey and Steve Carell were also on. So. I was all sorts of excited because to me comedians rank somewhere above God and give or take one step below Christian Louboutin, depending on the day. Anyway. Tracy and Oprah are just shooting the sh*t, you know, chatting about life and growing up in Harlem and the pressures of being a black comedian on SNL when Oprah asks Tracy about his relationship with Tina Fey and good lord I don’t think anyone saw this coming, but Tracy got CHOKED UP. I think a tiny tear rolled down his cheek and he said in a shaky voice, “She’s my friend.” After which I turned to my sister (I clearly spend a lot of time watching TV with my sister) and we both lost it. Like, tears streaming down omg did that just happen lost it. So the moral of that story is: Tracy Morgan is the most fascinating human being ever and my sister and I are losers.

Gossip What?

I started painting my nails during the final 15 minutes of “Gossip Girl,” last night (an amazing dark purple shade, similar to the above), which is never a good sign. I tend to paint my nails only when I am really bored and looking to waste time and also inhale some fumes, like at work. I think during the previews for the next episode I didn’t look up once except to say to my sister, “Who said that to Blair?” and she just glanced back at me with disinterest and replied, “They didn’t show his face.” Also there was another plot twist with the whole Blair/Chuck/Goatee Uncle situation and that is just illegal at this point. So that is how I feel about that.

Obscurity

As a person who went to a small liberal arts college that no one has ever heard of but was pretty effing hard to get into thankyouverymuch, I’d like to congratulate Patrick Dempsey for wearing a Bowdoin t-shirt on “Grey’s Anatomy” the other night. Don’t ask me how I know this, but Dempsey is from Maine and Bowdoin is to Maine what McGill is to Canada. Or something. So it was like a shout out to all of his peeps back home who probably stopped watching “Grey’s” two seasons ago if they ever watched it in the first place.

Charmed

Another movie I caught on demand this weekend: “New York, I Love You,” a collective work of 11 short films all strung together by the idea of love…and serendipity. The roster of stars is pretty impressive—Natalie Portman (who wrote and directed one of the pieces), Cloris Leachman (what what), Shia LaBeouf, Ethan Hawke and Blake Lively to name a few. My favorite featured Bradley Cooper and Drea de Matteo as the one night stand with possibilities. I’m not sure I quite “got it” before, but that Bradley is a true star, charisma oozing from the pores. He honestly doesn’t do it for me in pap shots and maybe I was distracted by the cockiness of his “Hangover” character, but PHEW! Someone’s gotta cast him in more "dramantic" roles.

Where Do I Start...

My adorable friend J who no joke looks like Winnie from “The Wonder Years” and is just as sweet and smart sent me a text last nite about these shoes (www.vibramfivefingers.com), mainly because she has seen them around and knows they would infuriate me. She is right!

That cloying Train song they keep playing on the radio, I’m pretty sure it’s called “Hey Soul Sister” except I’m also in denial that any song would ever make it to the radio with that title let alone become played out, is pretty horrific. But just in case you weren’t already annoyed enough by the fact that it’s Train and one of the lyrics includes a Sister/Mister Mister rhyme, they’ve added an extra bonus element where the singer talks about his heart beating right out of his “untrimmed chest.” Excuse me? Excuse you. Who makes decisions in this world? My creepy gay uncle?

Knuckle

Ya know that episode of "Sex and the City" where Carrie sidles up to a storefront, gazes with wonderment at a pair of Manolos and coos, "Hello, lovah"? That's how I felt when I saw this ring. Featured in the New York Times "Sunday Styles" section this weekend...genius, bad-a$$ and available on shopbop.com for $80.

Coco & Cutrone

This weekend I watched “Coco Avant Chanel” and also finished reading “If You Have to Cry, Go Outside” by Kelly Cutrone. The film is about the legendary designer Coco Chanel, a woman who was ahead of her time to say the least. The book is by NYC publicist Kelly Cutrone, who I imagine might have represented Mme. Chanel were they contemporaries. An interesting theme runs throughout Chanel’s life and Cutrone’s book: the pressure for women to live the “Disney fairytale,” to marry and settle down and live “happily ever after” and the ultimate reality that this fairytale does not exist. Both women choose instead to let their ambition rule, disregard societal pressures and ultimately carve out their own personal version of bliss. Which is not to say they don’t listen to their hearts, or experience the fulfillment of love and romance. In fact, I think, perhaps more so than most who choose a more traditional route. For those of you who have yet to experience one or the other, get on it.