If a blogger neglects to post for months but realizes the error of her ways and returns to her faithful readers, is she still a blogger? Survey says…yes! So sorry for the extended delay, but I guess I’d found it difficult to take time away from my busy schedule of doing nothing to write on this here site.

So where were we? Last we spoke, momma was playing the role of Captain Find-A-Mirror, special to the Fashion Police Emergency Services Unit. Things have not changed much. The seasons have shifted, and with them the wardrobe atrocities committed on the streets of New York and beyond are fall-focused. Whereas summer apparel issues usually take the form of scant pieces in desperate need of further coverage, fall and winter present a much graver issue. It seems, despite the lack of tundra in the Big Apple, that people remain committed to pelts and the promotion of murder. See, e.g. Exhibit A:

Where’s a gallon of red paint when you need it? It’s quite possible that this coat is as faux as baby girl’s lips, but that still promotes the image and concept of fur as fashionable. But let’s cut a ho a break for just a moment. Clearly, the girl has bigger problems:

One should never resemble Donatella Versace so closely, but when you are 23 and could be DV’s stunt double, we’re talking official rock bottom status. Dios mio, girl. Do you need any more bad karma on your head? Methinks you don’t.

In all seriousness, I just do NOT understand the draw of fur. Unless you are a huntress (or a hunter, because I ain’t sexist) and using the whole animal for foodstuffs as well as your trousseau, I simply don’t get it. The food chain is one thing…raising creatures for the sake of “luxury” accoutrements is quite another. Aren’t there viable options for keeping warm that don’t involve slaughter?

I realize that this is a controversial issue, and that is why I am opening up this dialogue. If you’re a fan of fur, what is it that attracts you? I’d honestly like to know. Comment away…

*(images courtesy of Socialite Life and Gawker, respectively)*

I realize that we all come across wardrobe atrocities on a daily basis, but the one I saw today and choose to highlight here was particularly egregious, and it took one of my pet peeves to a whole new level. As I was waiting for my breakfast in the cafeteria at work, a guy came up next to me to place his order. This dude, no doubt a wet-behind-the-ears summer associate, was wearing pants with a grid print, a tri-colored striped shirt, and a patterned tie. I consider it a personal victory that I didn’t whip out a notebook and issue him a fashion police summons right there on the spot. I’m told that I often make facial expressions that I don’t realize I’m making (i.e. eye rolling), so I can only imagine what kind of stink eye I shot this fella. The issue boils down to this: what gives with the pattern-on-pattern-on-pattern stylings of so many gentlemen in this day and age? Clashing colors I can understand; color blindness, after all, is an overwhelmingly male impairment based on genetic freakiness and cannot be helped. But lo, there is NO SUCH THING as design blindness (at least in terms of a medical condition). A sophisticated and subtle combination of textures and colors is one thing, but looking like every day is laundry day is quite another, and is, in a word, unacceptable.

Ladies, if you’re dealing with this at home, I implore you to step in. Help him out. Hell, lay out his clothes if you can get away with it. Do what you have to do. If you have a friend in this predicament and aren’t privy to his closets on a daily basis, make some recommendations in a constructive way. If you’re unwilling to step in and help out the men in your life that clearly need the guidance, send ‘em to me. It’s my (burgeoning) bidness. But know this: friends don’t let friends over-pattern.

So tired and ready for bed, but wanted to post this before I forgot. The end-of-night rolly shoe is finally here. It’s a concept I’ve actually cultivated for a long time (in flip flop form) but never did anything about. Well, some entrepreneurial Brit beat me to it, and I just hope he brings the business to this side of the pond. I certainly never thought of selling them in vending machines (genius!!!), but us Yankee gals could certainly benefit from these gems too. It’s like the socks you used to bring along to bar mitzvahs, in which to dance and play “Coke and Pepsi”, only for adults and inspired by too much boozing. A lost innocence, perhaps, but a damn good solution nonetheless.

Well how-dee-do! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Momma’s been busy, but she’s back to entertain you lovelies. Just dawned on me that it’s been about 2 months since my last post, and that’s way too long. I still haven’t fully unpacked the new place (can I still even call it new anymore? Jury’s still out on that), and am looking forward to the day when it gets accomplished. Unfortunately, there’s no ETA on that since it involves getting my lazy ass up and doing the work. Meh.

Since my last post, I’ve been bored at work, gone to see Phish a bunch of times (!!!), and, well, nothing else really sticks out in my mind. I beg of you, don’t be too jealous of my uber-exciting life.

So let’s pick up where we left off and pretend that my little hiatus never happened. Random and/or obscure movies that you so need to own. My list starts with the following, in no particular order:

Center Stage: the story of a girl and her journey through the hard knock life of NYC ballet. Campy delicious goodness.

Troop Beverly Hills: Phyllis Nefler. ‘Nuff said.

Love Story: maybe not so obscure, but sweet jesus this is the best PMS film ever put on celluloid. Bonus feature: rough and tumble college hockey!

Death Becomes Her: star-studded ridiculousness, featuring Meryl Streep, Goldie Hawn, Bruce Willis and Isabella Rosselini. A cult classic.

Mother, May I Sleep With Danger/Death Of A Cheerleader*/Friends ‘Till The End: Never heard of them? Well, shame on you! The Academy snubbed these three gems, which are Lifetime Originals starring the illustrious former stars of the greatest show ever aired on television. I speak, of course, of “Beverly Hills, 90210.” The first two feature the most radiant natural beauty America has to offer, one Victoria “Tori” Spelling. The third flick is headlined by none other than Brenda Walsh herself, the thespian goddess that is Miss Shannen Doherty.

*Ummm, holy crap. A commercial for “Death Of A Cheerleader” just came on while I was writing this very section. It’s an obscure enough movie to make that reeeeally creepy. My DVR might reject it like a bad transplant organ, but I’ll be damned if that isn’t going to be on my watch list for the weekend.

Your turn, in the comments.

There have been so many comments and gripes about Facebook recently that I feel as though there’s always one around every corner. This person hates the new format, that person loves the new format and is squawking at the folks who despise it. Others hate the onslaught of “What kind of…?” quizzes that seem to have infested the site, others take them every day, all day and publish each result like some scientific study. We, as a scociety, have gotten to the point where we now have entire websites devoted to FB bitchin’. Say what you will about it being overly negative, etc.: it’s hilarious. Allow me to introduce you, via the suggestion of a friend (thanks, and here’s your very own shout out, E!), STFU Marrieds and STFU Parents. Now, if you know me, it goes without saying that I want to be both married and a parent (sooner rather than later if I have it my way), but I hereby give you official license to kick me in the head if I become as obnoxious as these people when I do take the plunge(s).

I can’t complain too much about FB though, as it has sent some of you lovely readers my way. It’s a great way to procrastinate (which could be a good or bad thing), and it really is an amazing way to catch up with people who you forgot existed. I just find it amusing when folks (myself included) get peeved when people DON’T have Facebook. Sign of the times, I suppose.

Don’t have much time to write today, as it’s time to get crackin’ on the packin’. However, I leave you with this: next post will focus on the random and/or obscure movies that you know you need to own but somehow hold a void in your collection. Put ‘em in the comments, and we’ll forage through some cinematic glory together.

Well, boys and girls, FOREVER took a lot less time than I thought, as I have found an apartment and signed a lease!!! There are so many wonderful features about this place that it is hard to figure out where to begin. Actually, it’s not so hard…the place is less than 3 blocks from work, which means “Sayonara MTA!!!” I cannot, repeat, CANNOT wait to flip that fucking system (and my heinous daily commute) the bird in just a few short weeks. Someone told me that there was a study which found a direct correlation between short commutes and overall happiness. I haven’t even moved in yet, but I can already tell you that I’m near certain that htis will be the case for me. No more unwashed masses, no more throwing elbows before I’ve had my coffee, no more seat face-offs. Serenity now.

I have to give a big shout out and thank you to Lauren Dulberg, my wonderful broker. She knows her stuff and will make sure you’ve got your shit together so that you can get into the perfect home. I highly recommend that you trust her with your realty needs .

Now onto some shopping goodness: if you’re into Juicy Couture, do yourself a favor and print out this coupon, which is good at the Juicy factory outlets. Just one caveat: please make sure you write “Mary Horan” on the page before you turn it over to the cashier so that she gets credit for the sale(s). Thanks, and happy shopping!

As you well know, it is the rare occasion on which I find myself speechless. However, I had one of those moments today when I was sent this link and asked to blog about it (thanks, K!). Having gotten home from work at 12:30 am, I am running on fumes, but I couldn’t let this one go.

Bottom  line: I can’t get out of this neighborhood soon enough!

This here blog got a record number of hits today, so thank you!!! I still find it kind of surreal that you want to hear what I have to say, but I’ll keep on truckin’ as long as you keep reading

As I’ve said before, I love topic suggestions, and one was sent my way today. The request, which arrived via text, was as follows: “Why do homeless people like Starbucks? Can you blog about that?” Well, J…your wish is my command. Unfortunately, there is a pretty short answer to that query (at least as far as my theorizing goes). People who pay $5 for a cup of coffee are likely more apt to have some spare change in their pockets than the peeps buying a cheap cup of joe from a bodega, so I imagine that the more entrepreneurial residentially-challenged folk would set up shop at the ‘Bux. You go where the money is, and it isn’t just the less fortunate members of society who abide by this approach.

On a completely different note, here’s my take on a topic of my own choosing based on a very interesting experience I had this evening. After meeting with some hardcore Orthodox pro bono clients in Boro Park, my colleague and I went for a quick dinner. Being both a Super-Jew and a dude, my colleague felt right at home. I, however, did not. When I got dressed this morning, I thought my attire was professional, tasteful and appropriate, but the fact that my suit involved pants really bit me in the ass tonight.

Have you ever gotten the stink eye from children in strollers while their parents whispered about and stared at you like you were some sort of exotic animal? I have. I made my co-worker go pick up my dinner because I didn’t want to face the awkwardness of getting up and revealing my trouser-wearing ways.

Now, I realize that I was an outsider in their community (despite my own technical Jewiness), but I have to take issue with the fact that while I was being treated like some sort of sideshow act, the male cashier was rocking a yarmulke/muscle shirt combo. What gives? After consulting the only uber-Jew in my inner circle, the only response I received was, and I quote: “guys and girls…not the same.” Well, thank you Captain Obvious. I’ve sat through “the talk” and at the tender age of 30, know enough about the birds and the bees. What I don’t understand is the raging double standard that no one seems able to explain to me. As such, I am officially calling BS on the freakshow treatment. That isn’t meant to offend anyone (at least not any more than I was offended by this experience). If you are in fact offended, I welcome your comments, and more so, your explanations. I’d particularly like to hear perspectives on how “judge not les ye be judged” kicks in here. I may be rusty, but I’m pretty sure that’s in the handbook. Have at it.

I’m going to go ahead and borrow a line from one of my favorites to express my feelings on the NYC real estate market: “Rat farts!!!” Let me rewind and say that I have indeed found a wonderful broker whom I trust and know will help me find the perfect place (thanks for the suggestion J, and thanks for putting up with me L!). Now with that being said, I need a kick in the ass. I’d do it myself, but I’ve got a bad knee.

Allow me to share the chronology of my latest hunting experience (note: looking for apartments is the only kind of hunting real New Yorkers do). Found the cutest place. Went back to see it three times. Displayed a stunning lack of decisiveness. Finally decided to go for it. Picked out paint colors and furniture. Gathered all of the necessary paperwork (including application, tax returns, second grade report card, 500 word essay on why I am the perfect renter, and photo ID). Paid the credit check fee. Waited, fairly impatiently, for the application decision. Found out that apartment had been snatched out from under me within a matter of hours. Got really annoyed. Re-ignited futile Craigslist searching.

Moral of the story: don’t be a pussy. Had I sacked up and made a decision when my instinct told me that I would be happy in this place, I could have signed a lease today. Had I spent less time choosing acoutrements and decorations than taking care of actual business, I would be toasting to my new 3 block work commute. I’m telling myself that this apartment wasn’t meant to be for me, but that’s just so I don’t stay up all night pondering what might have been.

So it’s back to the drawing board. If you need me, I’ll be out hitting the pavement. FOREVER.