the world according to sherimaven

Good grief, Thursday. I'm trying all sorts of tactics to keep all balls in motion, but damn if I haven't dropped a few this week. Nothing major, just busy at work which is great and challenging but I need a a little time with you all. I crave writing this blog like candy. And since I stopped eating candy, I need a little treat. 

And since I'm strapped for time, I just wanted to give a bit of a shout out. To my New Yorkers. To a city that never stops intriguing me. I took a cab today to a meeting in Soho and looked around as everyone was rushing about in the cold winter sun- all colors, all creeds, a pair of dads walking arm in arm with their two kids. I always feel humbled that I get to live here. It has been my dream all of my life, and it is never lost on me. Even at times when I feel stuck for inspiration, there is always New York.

After what happened in Paris last week, I sympathized so much with the French not just for the obvious reasons, but because their city was terrorized. Their home.  The city they live in, work in, love in.  I imagine living in Paris is much like living in New York- endlessly beautiful, exciting, and comforting. Walking the streets of Paris you can't help but feel swept up in the charm, and that's how I have always felt about New York. And though the hustle of this city is next level and sometimes the collective energy of the subway forces me to take yet another cab home, I still love being here. I love the style, the attention to detail, the fast pace. I love the food, the inside jokes, and the banter that is always just a little too loud. I love my neighborhood, my pals, and discovering something new about New York almost every day. Come to think of it, New York is the longest love affair I've ever had, and although we took a break from each other, I just couldn't quit it.

I needed to put that out there because although the city is full of people wishing they lived in Miami right about now, I know all of us secretly love trying to find ways to survive and stay warm and get out jobs done when we don't have the comfort of a warm car waiting in the driveway or a radiator that does not make our skin flake off or clink and clank like a tin orchestra that doesn't know when to take a bow. I talk about Paris because I feel an immediate connection with the people there, that knowing look they are giving each other as everyone tries to get back to normal. That common bond that somehow things may never be the same. I just needed all of you to know how much I love my city and although it takes quite a bit of my energy and deep breathing to live here, it gives me so much in return.

I hope that wherever you are in the world, you feel grounded in your sense of home, or if you're more of a gypsy type, you're enjoying being right where you are, if only for a few minutes.  Love to everyone who wants peace and tolerance in their own hometown. Because even when I'm stressed and busy and have my nose buried in the phone, looking up at my beautiful city is something I always have time to appreciate. You all know this of course, but sometimes a good mantra should be shared, and my love of New York is worth repeating. I love New York, I love New York, I love New York. There. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Cause that's what's up this big city Thursday in the 212. Yours, in big, giant apples and getting along. XO 

Good morning, Monday.

It's a gloomy post Golden Globes day here in the NY and somehow I have managed to yet again sleep through my alarm and not go to the gym. Who could blame me with this weather really?

Anyway, as most of you reading this are my Facebook friends, you know how I do during the awards shows. I got scolded several times for using Facebook as a Twitter like object, and I find it funny how touchy people are about it. So let me get this straight- endless selfies with duck lips and kale salad porn is ok for Facebook but observational humor isn't? Noted. I even had one Facebook friend say "Don't you love how you can hide someone from your Facebook feed but still be their friend? I really don't care about what this one or that one is wearing to some stupid awards show". Lucky me to keep this person as a friend right? And clearly their contributions to social are way more highbrow, but perhaps be smart enough to realize that although you may hide me, I can still see your snitty updates mmkay? Yup. Thought so.

To be honest, I don't feel like giving a play by play of the festivities. There was nothing outrageous in terms of wardrobe and since everyone was either in red or silver, I'll say I adored the way Taylor Schilling wore red (red needs to feel modern so it doesn't feel vulgar) Ralph Lauren (red was simply everywhere), and Julianne Moore's silver dress with an ombre feather trim from Givenchy was simply stunning. I also loved Dakota Johnson's dress, designed by Chanel, who incidentally designed one of the biggest gaffes of the evening- the very unfortunate look of Keira Knightley's insane ruffly necked, embellished, hormonal haute couture explosion. Yuck.

Amal Clooney was so beautiful in Dior, while J. Lo in Zuhair Murad was sexy in just way too obvious a way. She is such a bloody beautiful woman- why does she feel the need to bet the farm every time? Boobs out. Legs out. One or the other. Never both. Next.

Let's see who else? Hmm Hmm.

Naomi Watts's yellow Gucci felt out of place somehow in a show full of silver and red, while her Bulgari serpent necklace (last night I thought it was Cartier) had just the right amount of poison for me. I know it was a polarizing piece but I loved it.

I now see why Allison Williams wore red- after watching her graphic sex scene on the first episode of "Girls" last night, I'd be blushing too. Jeez. Bright red actually. Wow. Just wow.

And speaking of "Girls", Lena. Lena. Lena. Why oh why can you never get it all right? Your hair and makeup was stunning but that dress. Though less offensive than others you've worn, so so frumpy. When will the girl become a woman who knows her body and learns how to dress it? Come on now. Oh and Zosia and Jemima were there too, but no bueno. At all.

And while we're on the topic of bodies, Kate Hudson in that Versace had me mentally taping her pic to my refrigerator. That body shut it down on the red carpet. Amazing. Just amazing. 

And even though we love to hate Heigl, I loved the navy Zac Posen. It was elegant and lovely. I can't say the same about her. Well can you???

But two of my favorites of the night were Claire Danes in boho Valentino and my girl Lorde in custom Narciso Rodriguez. I love both of these looks because they speak to two sides of my very own aspirational personal style- a bit bohofor sure but also very modern and clean. I love how they looked- and Lorde's absence of that goth lipstick showed her true beauty. Very impressive, young, and confident. Speaking of young and onfident, I find myself on the fence about Emma Stone's Lanvin jumpsuit. Why that business in the back? I liked it so much  better without it, and perhaps as she grows into the style star she's shaping up to me, she'll see that less can indeed be more.

All in all, my winner is probably Taylor Schilling. I think her dress was fantastic, appropriate, and fully modern. Close seconds for me were Lorde and Dakota Johnson, and that's that. Special honorable mention to Sienna Miller, my eternal girl crush who can do no wrong- particularly when wearing Miu Miu and sporting a beachy bob. Love her. Oh and Kate Beckinsale in Elie Saab personified Hollywood glamour and sexiness. She looked absolutely gorgeous. I'm still saying Taylor Schilling was probably my favorite because it was simple and lovely. That is all. Oh there were men there too, but for the most part they wore navy tuxes. Boring.

And that's what's up this post globe kind of Monday in the big city. Yours, in unapologetic Facebook tweets and glamour. XO

Good morning from the icy cold tundra of Manhattan. It's full on around here. Khan is so not having it ps- he hates the cold, hates wearing his sweater, and despises his little balloon boots that protect his paws from the salt. Ugh. Winter is officially here and though I don't mind the cold, I hate the extra level of misery it brings to the morning commute. Oh how I hate bundling and suiting up. Which of course, makes me think of flip flops and sandals. Because I love those. Pretty much the only thing I miss about Miami is an exposed toe.

So I've been eyeing up these Marni grey felt numbers pretty much all season. When I first spotted these cuties at Barneys, I was immediately taken to a fantasy place where I would wear these to my very chic design studio, after pulling off my winter boots. You know, sort of like a very spendy office slipper, worn with a ribbed cashmere sock or such. I love the idea of these with tights and a dress too, or with cropped trousers like shown here. I love the thought of having them under my high design desk (this one will do just fine)  waiting for me as I begin a day of swatch reviewing, Instagramming, and power lunching. I just love the idea of them period. And if you're gloating on Facebook because you live in a place like Miami (you know who you are), then you can wear these all season sans socks, and get that coveted winter feel that one strangely desires when living somewhere warm. We always want what we don't have, don't we? 

But this chic design studio proprietress vibe comes with a price- a $540 one. For a winter sandal. No can do.

So it was with some glee that I found this more low rent version of said sandal, offered up on Free People's site and designed by Jeffrey Campbell, who really does make a cute shoe. And they're on sale for 70 bucks. And they come in beige too but I'd go grey because they rule. So if you're, say, just trying to survive your office and sit in a cube, you could have a touch of cool for your very own space, and channel the vibe of high end. 

And there you have it folks. The highs and lows of winter, when it comes to footwear anyway. And that's what's up this frigid Thursday in Manhattan town. Yours, in up and downs and designer dreams. XO

Good morning, Wednesday. It's going to be a very cold day today and sounds like tonight is going to be all about carbo loading and watching TV and fuzzy socks. Commence bundling at once.

So yesterday saw the release of yet another story to "break the internet", that of Joan Didion being the new face of Celine, replacing Daria Werbowy in the latest campaign shot by Juergen Teller. Sigh. The Guardian declared her Celine's new "cool girl". Double sigh.

I'm sorry to say I find the whole thing pretty flat. As my Facebook and Instagram blew up with the oohs and aahs of fans of Joan (aren't we all) and a dear friend of mine texted me about it as if Christ had just risen, I found the ad itself to be, well, boring. Unflattering. Unappealing. Next.

Vogue magazine, who seemingly wet their Hanro knickers when they heard the news had this to say: "Well, did you just feel the collective intake of breath shared by every cool girl you know? Did you feel the pulse-quickening vibrations of every recent college grad and literature fan? Did you sense the earth trembling beneath your feet? Do you have two eyes and a heart?" Um, seriously?

Which brings me to another thought, and it's something I've been pondering since before the new year when Kim K graced the cover of Paper and Jena Lyons was being whispered about as too "big" for her boiled wool J. Crew britches. Has the cult of celebrity become an almost dangerous place for brands to tread in? I'm talking mostly about the big celebs here, and to me, Kim was simply too big a name for Paper magazine, and though I'm not sure, I'm wondering if it's Paper who is at all lauded or panned for such a cover, of if people were simply too taken by Kim K's well oiled "machine" to even notice what magazine was promoting her? It could have really been any of them, and I'm not sure it did wonders for Paper's brand. It's simply because her star is so exceedingly bigger than theirs, and latching on to it may not have been such a great strategy and just seemed more sensationalistic than smart, because nobody cares anymore.

In the case of Jena Lyons contributing to sagging sales because she has simply usurped the brand she rules over, I'm on the fence. I think Jena has done wonders to make J. Crew very much a fashion brand, but her geek chic hyper stylized presentation has alienated many a core J. Crew customer, who is way more interested in a high quality twin set than oversized glasses and a men's oxford unbuttoned to the navel. I think she's done wonders for the brand, but perhaps she needs to take it down a notch and remember that sexy and preppy may not hold court together after all. (I think they do, but...)

Which brings me to Joan Didion, whose simple packing list is the stuff of fashion legend, and whose writing has long been a favorite of the intellectual set who likes their martinis dry and their literature much the same. I think Joan's brilliance far surpasses her sorry ad for Celine, a brand whose clothes and aesthetics I very much admire and covet. But to me, they diminished their brand by trying to capitalize on the sensation of photographing a well aged highbrow fixture hiding behind a pair of sunglasses, and all I could see was an old woman looking sad, non-triumphant, and from the looks of it, over it. I know that's Joan's ace in the hole by the way, but to me, the brand may have misfired by trying to celebrate an icon and the beauty of age- Joan is not a model. Joan is an author, albeit a very chic one. Joan indeed emulates a waifish silhouette and her icy good looks have always made her a fashion world favorite. But to me, the attempt was sad, pandering, and left me feeling weird. The cult of celebrity has turned us all into a sycophantic, sheepish society and although Joan stands for very much the opposite, I am so sick of celebrities in general, even the cool, culty ones. Didion's work has always been frought with an anxious sense of dread and despair- is that what Celine stands for? I guess I'm confused- are they in on it or do they not get it at all? I think they just care that at one point in her career, she wrote for Vogue. Joan, you're better than this. You just are. But of course as I read about Joan for this piece and also got swept up in that infamous packing list (it was the bourbon and cigarettes that got me), I too got a bit swept up in all things Didion, but can't that be enough? Do we really need to love her more because she shills for Celine? I don't. Maybe you do, but I don't.

So no, I don't love the ad and don't find it empowering or interesting or liberating. I just find it kind of silly. And that's what's up this over exposed Wednesday in the 212. Yours, in playing it as it lays. Agree to disagree.  XO

Good morning, snowy Tuesday. It's a whiteout here in the city and though it's not a full on blizzard it definitely fuzzes things up a bit on a early in the week workday. 

At this time of year when it's all back to it, one can't help but feel like there's many hats to wear- from solo doglife while David's out of town to worklife to apres worklife. Add to that some inclement weather and one feels the need for a cover up of the head variety. I am a major hat fan and although today feels more like a ski hat sort of endeavor, I thought I'd share with you some fabulous well hatted looks by one of the chicest women to ever live, Brigitte Bardot.

Sure some of these are taken in warm climates and on sunny days in St. Tropez, but you get my intent. I'm particularly partial to the one at the top of the post- love the boyish hat with the very unboyish hair peeking out and a well lined eye. So good. When it comes to hats, it's all about knowing what works with your head shape and hairstyle. Brig, however, can do whatever she wants because she just looks hot in everything. Ridiculous.

Well I hope you are warm wherever you are and if bad hair days threaten, you know you can make like Brigitte and cover up. Cause that's what's up this hat head of a Tuesday in the 212. Yours, in headstrong happiness. XO

Oh hey Monday I have so much to say to all of you out there in starting the workweek land, but alas- too busy. New project. New Year. New this and that. Needless to say, too much to do to write anything longish so I give you this fab pic of Jackie O. from my favorite book purchase of the new year, "New York Jackie", a photofest of Mrs. Kennedy Onassis in all of her Manhattan glory. Of all the eras portrayed in the book, I am of course partial to 70s Jackie- there's a cool easy breezy I can't get enough of and inspires my own dress to this day.

If this pic of Jackie in a simple skirt and top doesn't say "back to work" I'm not sure what does. Simple, to the point, and timelessly chic. It's all a girl can ask for when it's business time. I could of course ask for bare legs in January, but you get the intent. We can't always get what we want, but just love the cool ease of Jackie in all her unfussed fabulousness. NOW GET TO WORK. IT'S BUSINESS TIME.

I hope your commute was drama free and that first day back is more pleasure than pain. And that's what's up this workin' it kind of Monday in the post holidays 212. Yours, in back to basics. XO

Good afternoon, 2015. Happy, happy new year to all of you out there on this very beautiful first day of a brand new bag, baby. It's crisp and sunny outside and I'm relaxing at home and enjoying that feeling of settling in to a new year full of possibilities. It's a lovely time. A friend of mine once talked about that period between when an old job ends and a new one begins as immensely satisfying, and I think that after the holiday rush and the flutters I always feel on New Year's Eve, New Year's Day is a day to savor what's to come and leave the rest behind. What a gift.

And as long as we're talking about gifts, a rather stylish friend of mine posted that the next big Costume Institute Exhibit at the Met will focus on Jacqueline De Ribes, she of French socialite fame and card carrying member of best dressed list status since the early 60s. Though she stopped designing clothes some time ago, her status as one of the most stylish and glamourous women in the world remains unsullied. I love her over the top luxe and elegance. And although the past few years have been about a more spare, "norm" moment in fashion, I can't help but feel something else is on the way, and if art does indeed imitate life, the Met is very much ahead of the curve, or smack dab on trend. I don't think everything will suddenly top out as say the luxe of the 80s, but I do feel like many are ready for a bit of opulence- not necessarily in a vulgar way. I see a return to craftsmanship, individual style, and attention to detail like excellent tailoring, rich fabrics, and a focus on custom vs. mass. For some of us that will mean high designer looks, but for most of us that may be as simple as taking a piece from Zara or the Gap and getting it tailored or embellished with custom buttons. I am hoping for a return to a more individual approach to fashion that feels more polished and glam. I love my sweatpants, but perhaps it's time to step away from the elastic waist...And I think many of us are ready to step out of the gloom and surround ourselves with inspirational places, people, and things. 

And really as I look at these amazing photos of this potent fashion force of a woman, I can't help but feel that it's not just the clothes I want to embody, but the vibe of these incredible looks. I'm hoping 2015 is a bit over the top, in the best of ways. A year where I can fully express myself and indulge in what's truly luxurious about life- great friends, living in this beautiful city, and opening my mind to all of the fabulous experiences sure to come. Let's hear it for, hmm, a mindful decadence if you will. It's all about indulging in the things that make us feel alive and great and don't destroy us.  I love how the above photo is not at all about clothing, but about the beautiful profile of a true individual, who even when stripped down to her essence exudes the powerful luxe of being oneself. And what a fab self it is. I feel like we've talked so much of late about wanting some peace and quiet and although the next horrible news story or superstorm will most likely send me under the duvet, I'm ready to have a good time and step out while the dew of 2015 still sets.

Here's to a glamorous year, pussycats.

And that's what's up this dressed up New Year's Day in Brooklyn. Yours, in champagne wishes. XO

Good morning, Monday. I'm working today but have had a fabulous few days off- I really enjoyed the holidays this year- from a very funny night at the White House to numerous parties with friends and family, it's been a great couple of weeks. As we all know, the holidays can go either way and I somehow feel relief that they turned out well- nothing worse than the holiday blues.

And during all of the festivities, I found myself in Rag and Bone, as I often do, staring at a monitor where a video of Winona Ryder was playing on a loop from the Fall campaign. Sigh. I MEAN. SO GOOD.

No matter how much I grow up and how much reality bites, it's hard to shake my undying love for Winona, one of my favorite style inspirations. Like me (or am I like her?), she is a true fan of short hair and manages to rock a tomboy chic thing that is always on point (unlike me). I also never dated Johnny Depp or got in trouble for stealing, but no matter. I'd still like to channel Winona today, tomorrow, and perhaps forever.

She just transcends and I felt inspired to share some lovely photos of her in case you are debating your next haircut or flirting with a new look. She's the best and that's that. She has an ageless appeal in the way French women do- chic, youthful, and sexy in a cool way vs.a vulgar one.  J'adore.

And that's what's up this Heathery, scissorhanded Monday in the 212. Yours, in girls interrupted. XO

Good morning, everybody. I want to thank you for the wonderful response I got to my piece yesterday. It was truly an experience and I was so thrilled to share it with all of you. Glad you enjoyed it.

So I wanted to send out a holiday card this year and never got around to it. I wanted to thank all of the great agencies I've freelanced with this year, as well as all of my incredible friends and family that helped make this year spectacular. I met so many great new collaborators and mischief makers this year and looking forward to reconnecting with them and making some new friends too.

I am planning on focusing on my writing career this year- I will still be producing projects but I'm putting it out there loud and clear that my heart belongs to my writing and I am determined to redesign my blog and see where it all takes me. 

This is the image I wanted to put on that holiday card that somehow never happened. I am not sure of who the artist is but I really love the image, and as we turn our back on another year, moving forward towards something rich and meaningful is my true aim this year. Hopefully, I'll do it with style just like the girl in the sketch. And perhaps a leopard can change its spots, because many of us want to wear a new coat and try out some fun things for 2015 when it comes to career, style, or any little thing you want to manifest.

I hope you have a wonderful holiday and looking forward to a few days off to regroup, snuggle up with Khan and David, and enjoy those amazing friends and family of mine. I urge you to be compassionate, kind, and generous as the season and year winds down. It's the only way. Cause that's what's up this forward thinking kind of Friday in the holiday happy place of New York. Yours, in warm wishes, good tidings, and happy new years. XO

Good morning, everybody. I am completely knackered and punchy because I went to the White House last night for a Hanukkah party with a dear friend and his family who were kind enough to invite me and we all got home on a rickety old Amtrak at about 2 am and went to sleep and then went to work. Allow me to paint you a picture and wax you a tail.

It goes without saying that poetically, no party for a bunch of Jewish people could be without suffering. Suffering lives deep within our loins. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind we are not. 

So it was not surprising to me that after a day of primping and preening (Glam Squad a homerun- though makeup was better than the hair) and obsessing about how I would speak to the President and First lady the suffering started the moment I had kitten heels on the ground in front of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

First of all, what was at first a balmy day turned into a blustery evening. After a quick trip down on the Acela from New York, we could see the line forming around the White House and our stomachs dropped a little. The party was to begin at 6:30 and we queued up around 6:15 amongst our fellow Jews and their Gentile pals. As I surveyed the crowd through the steely darkness with the glow of the Washington Monument behind us, I began to quickly realize that this would not be the star-studded event I had hoped for.

There would be no Jessica and Jerry Seinfeld, no Howard Stern, no Barbra Streisand. Instead, there would be Mr. and Mrs. Schlumpenstein from Temple Emmanuel. In Peoria. Oy. And although I was honored to be going at all, I began to feel some buyer's remorse. 

Behind me was a contingent from what was surely Great Neck, hemming and hawing and cackling in a way that makes me very much wish I was born a Wasp. Listen, I adore my people, but a sense of restraint is one of many things we lack (in addition to many other things like good genes, slim hips, and natural blonde hair). As I stood there in my very restrained navy knee length dress and red lipstick, I realized that being a Jew, even when invited to the White House, is almost always about suffering. We wait, we freeze, we kvetch. It’s just our way. Here I was thinking I'd be hobnobbing with the Jewish elite and sharing latkes with Larry David, and here I was, waiting on a line that felt like Black Friday at the mall, freezing my toes off with a bunch of hungry Jews. Once in the shtetl...

And the suffering went on. And on. For well over an hour.  I kept picturing what were once my toes, and if hypothermia was setting in and if I would have to have my toes amputated at the White House. Oh the suffering. Apparently there was some sort of security issue, which does not surprise me considering it was a Hanukkah party at the President's house, but seriously, would it have killed them to bring out some hot cocoa or at least put us under a tent of some kind?  Or at least tell us why we were at a dead stop in the freezing cold? ALWAYS SUFFERING. AGAIN WITH THE SUFFERING.

Finally, we got to a heated tent full of White House interns whose combined age was 11.  Now before you think that the (supposedly) most modern and civilized country in the world would have some sort of high tech system to check people into the most important house in America, think again. I kid you not- they were literally reading names from sheets of paper. There was not even an iPad. Or scanner. Or anything of the like. No wonder the Salawis had no problem getting in. But couple the luddite guest list with the freezing cold Jews and you have a recipe for disaster. And then I found out my first name was misspelled on the list. And then, at 7:45, with 45 minutes left of the party, I got exiled to another tent as they took my ID and texted and called to some secret place to clear me yet again. MY NAME WAS SPELLED WRONG, PEOPLE. Could there be a more rookie gaff? 

So in the exile tent were me, an overly bubbly moonfaced Washington local who told me this was her second time in this holding cell, because they got her birthdate wrong last year too, and a woman who looked to be about 90, who came all the way from Chicago to meet the President. That one nearly broke me. Any thoughts of strangling the moonfaced girl in the fake Chanel left my body as I pictured this poor little old lady, anxiously awaiting her return home to regale all of her friends in B'nai Brith about the time she spun a dreidel with the President and First Lady. Can't we Jews catch a break? Can't we just?

At this point, my producer blood was boiling. I began adding up the expense of the day- the Acela tickets, the dress, the hair, the makeup. If I was going to miss this party, I was going to feel completely gutted.  But of course, a small part of me felt that this was fitting- because my self-deprecating Jewish nature was whispering in my ear that I had no real business being there in the first place. But seriously- there was no production value at this soiree. My producer friends out there- I see big opps for you down in DC. Seize that day.

And as my lovely friend waited for me outside the exiled tent, my name was called and I was allowed to go to yet another line and enter yet another tent, where a policewoman with a hugely made up smoky eye was noting very loudly that "there were too many long names to pronounce" and then proceeded to ask me how I pronounce my last name. Um. ROSENBERG. If you can't pronounce Rosenberg at a party full of Jews perhaps it would have been better to spend less time on that smoky eye and more time GETTING A CLUE. Unreal.

Finally, we made our way to our final line that led us into the house. Scarily enough, I could really no longer feel my feet. I was paranoid that I was walking on frozen sausages, and I had very little control of my gait. And in that last line, at 8 pm, we ran through the barricades like Rocky, the last Jews to enter the White House and completely miss Barack's speech and candle lighting. We missed the Jewish rabbi who was apparently Asian. We missed a lot of things, but here's what I didn't miss- the fact that Jews at a buffet table is a vulgar sight- we may as well have been at Josh's bar mitzvah in Boca Raton. Here we were, at the WHITE HOUSE, and all these lunatics could do is completely demolish the buffet table like it was the last supper. 600 cold and hungry Jews. Double Oy.

As I made my way to the latkes (sweet potato- only a Gentile would try to modern up one of the best classic dishes of Judaism), a zaftig woman bumped into me and caused me to spill some sort of white liquid all over the front of my pristine dress. At this point I was delirious, so exclaimed, "it's only food people. Relax". To which she then whispered to me with crusty lips, "that's what people do in New York". Um, what? 

"Well I happen to be from New York", I said, as I dabbed at my dress with a napkin, "and WE don't do that at all, particularly at the White House".  I then did my best attempt at a Kate Middleton eye roll, which caused my mascara to run.

That shut her up, but did not stop her from loading up her plate with brisket, pastrami salmon (not bad), and loads of sushi rolls. And then the band, a large group dressed as what appeared to be Nutcrackers, played an instrumental version of every song from The Jazz Singer. ˆNeedless to say, surreal. And then as the Jews continued to feast, a beautiful arrangement of "I Feel Pretty" played on, which I found ironic since the scene of a bunch of old Jews munching on lamb chops was anything but.

So after catching a glimpse of Michelle's head (hair pulled back tightly) and a glimmer of Barack leaving the room, my date and I decided to tour the House, which was epic. I was completely obsessed with Nancy Reagan's amazing portrait in a red gown, of Nancy climbing a ladder to top her Christmas tree, of Ronnie's big face. I saw Jackie's portrait which happens to be right by the ladies room (a surprising portrait because it feels a bit dark and less Jackie at Tiffany's), and a highlight for me was seeing Bo, the first dog's portrait, as he frolicked in the snow during Snowmaggedon, knowing very little what his owners were dealing with. Or those trying to enter the White House for that matter.

It was indeed lovely to see the White House in all of its festive holiday glory, but the party itself was squarely mediocre, full of fellow fiddler on the roof types who also come from families that cry whenever they hear "Sunrise, Sunset". I'm sure there were some mega donors in the house, but I couldn't help thinking- hasn't Obama pissed off the Jews enough lately? If he was looking to get back in their good graces, this may not have been the place.

As we exited the White House and ran to catch a non Acela (snails pace) iron horse back to New York, we were in step with an older couple leaving at the same time. His eyes were filled with tears as he said "who would ever think a little pisher like me would ever be at the White House?" I thought the same thought, but then thought I would rather be at a party not so firmly set in Moscow on the Potomac.  I bet this kind of crap does not go down at the Christmas party, and that's all I have to say about that. Oh, the pinot noir was delicious. Definitely not Manischewitz. Well done.

In terms of schwag, we got a lovely little children's book about the White House Winter Wonderland as well as a program of all the festivities we missed while we froze outside in the cold. I hear there was another party earlier in the day where they gave out yamulkes with the Presidential seal. That would have been a better get than some salty lox and some frostbite. And the cocktail napkins with the Presidential seal I put into my bag. I'm sure others took much more, namely sweet potato latkes for the long trek home and perhaps some pastrami salmon should the blood sugar dip with the temperature.

And as we boarded our very crowded train, we put my friend's parents into their seats and headed straight to the bar car. Over custom crafted vodka and sodas (custom made by pouring an airplane bottle of Finlandia into a glass with some soda), we had the most fascinating conversation of the night. With our Amtrak attendant. Who happened to be an extraordinarily smart middle class, working woman who schooled us on everything that is wrong with America and how we needed to get back on track.

I couldn't agree with her more. As a woman of the people, I found the party to be a great barometer for all of the things we need to do to make this country something we can believe in again. They can start with getting my name right.

And that's what's up this post game Thursday back in New York. Yours, in great expectations. XO

 For those of you needing some visuals, I've posted a few photos on Instagram...but none of me, because you know, it's me. I looked good, don't worry.

http://instagram.com/sherimaven