Blast from two weekends past. Random list of things I did and places I went (mostly in the company of Jess Gold):

* Drinks and late snacks at Continental
* Dual spa treatments at Jean Madeline Aveda Institute
* Saturday brunch at Marathon
* Day trip to New Hope, Pennsylvania with Jess, Arielle, and Mike. Found great boutique A Beautiful Life where I picked up this kickass “Cocaine Blows” tee. Dinner at Karla’s.
* Sunday brunch at Rx (probably the best brunch I’ve had in the history of brunch). Ordered french toast brioche with blueberries and chorizo frittata. It was amazing and everything on the menu was under $10. Pretty incredible.

Sunday brunch at Rx in Philly, originally uploaded by lenachen.

So I get a lot of heat for spending too much on clothes (not justified since I work year-round during college and every summer since age 15!) But beside the fact that this is my money I’m dropping, I should also be redeemed by my bargain-hunting tendencies. I may have $300 shoes, but I also own $30 blazers. Really. Here’s a significantly more affordable edition of Anatomy of an Outfit from a night (11/09/07) in Philly:

* Tristan & Iseut Denim Blazer ($30, from a consignment store)
* Express Zelda Skinny Jeans ($27 down from $60, on sale + a $25 off coupon + a pal’s employee discount)
* Henri Bendel Cashmere V-Neck Sweater in Black ($120 down from $300, on sale for 60% off. Kind of a splurge but I wear it all the time)
* Element Knit Tank in Cream, layered under above sweater (gift)
* Urban Outfitters Button Fingerless Gloves in Charcoal ($16)
* Audrey Brooke Kitten Heels in Brown ($25 down from over $60, on clearance at DSW)
* Leather Tote Bag with Gold Hardware in Medium Tan ($30, off a street vendor in NY. Mistaken for designer by a reader.)

Going out in Philly, originally uploaded by lenachen.

Skiing (or attempting to) with Tara and Tiffanie over intercession. I was deciding between this and the safer choice of San Francisco. Decided to hell with it and just bought the ticket. I’m so psyched!

Earlier this week, I lamented that I had no Thanksgiving plans, but I actually liked how low-key it turned out this year. I spent the holiday with Tara, my British blockmate who doesn’t celebrate for obvious reasons. Nonetheless, I forced her to make a list of things she’s thankful for this year (she’s never done it before). Our respective lists:

My Thanksgiving List, originally uploaded by lenachen.

Tara’s Thanksgiving List, originally uploaded by lenachen.

We took a long walk from her apartment in Harvard Square to Newbury Street. After we had linner and dessert at Sonsie we walked back to our home turf for dessert part deux. It was a lot harder than anticipated. Most restaurants were serving prix fixe menus only (or Thanksgiving-themed desserts like pie, yech!). After hopping from about five places, sitting down at three and leaving, and pissing off maybe four bartenders and hosts in the process, we finally ended up at Legal Seafood with chocolate mousse and hazelnut lattes (just what I wanted).

Tara at Sonsie on Thanksgiving Day, originally uploaded by lenachen.

A vibrant Boston on Thanksgiving Day 2007, originally uploaded by lenachen.

Tara walking down Mass Ave toward Newbury, originally uploaded by lenachen.

A walk in Boston on Thanksgiving, originally uploaded by lenachen.

I’ve been living out of my blockmates Tiffanie and Tara’s off-campus apartment for the past couple weeks. Tiffanie is off to California for the holiday so I’ve hijacked her bedroom (no hanky-panky allowed though!) I’ve turned into a huge homebody as a result. For example, I wanted ice cream all day today but I’ve been too lazy to leave the house so I just finished sweet-talking two MIT men into bringing it over. Like most difficult things in life (shelving, problem sets, tech help), if I ask nicely, I can get a man to do it for me.

And that is something I’m very thankful for.

I DON’T WANT to fall in love right now. See, I have always bent to the will of others, be they my mother or 11-year-old girls or men who cried love. And this year, for the first time in twenty, is the year of Me. I learned how to say no guiltlessly, do what I want, and care less about what people think. 2007 has taught me what it means to be myself and to be by myself. It is an amazing night at this one-woman party and I am in no hurry to end a damn good time. I love myself too much to compromise on how I want my life to look.

The sexual front is not unlike the romantic. I haven’t had sex in weeks, and the last time was such a blur that I couldn’t tell you what it was like. Drunk on two glasses of wine and more than one drug, I finished off the evening’s irresponsible cocktail with doggy-style and a blowjob. Lips numb and breaths short, we came in the pitch dark on my standard dorm-room twin, first me and then him. I remember straining for it, both of us, but not much else.

My new favorite activity, in lieu of sex and dating, is flirting. It doesn’t really require anything but a casual acquaintance, and I’ve discovered that it’s sometimes the best way to get to know someone. No ulterior motives, no end goal in mind, no games but the ones you make up as you go along. There is something freeing about embarking on a mission to unravel another person, without personal agenda or incentive or even established attraction. I don’t want to sleep with you as much as I want to challenge you for the sake of provocation. I don’t want to kiss you, but I wonder about what it’ll take to get your lips on mine.

This is significant. All of it is significant if only because I am looking at the same life through a different lens in a frame I’ve grown fond of. I used to be terrible at solitude, used to rely not just on men but also on my friends to an unreasonable extent. I was an extrovert because the alternative scared me. I don’t ever want to forget what I feel right now, how I got here, and why I’ve come to like it. I don’t want to forget how to be happy by myself.

THE SCREEN OF my cell phone reads “Just woke up, babe.”

I hit dial at the number. We were supposed to go to brunch three hours before.

“It’s 2 p.m,” I tell him when he answers. My cab is already tumbling toward Center City. “I’m leaving.”

“Man, I wanted to see you.”

“Too late.”

“Where are you?”

“Getting the hell out of here.”

“Really?”

“I’m in a cab. You just missed me.” I am heading to the Greyhound station, rushing back to Boston and to real life. He is barely out of bed.

“Oh,” he says. Then a pause as it sinks in. “That sucks.”

“Your fault, not mine,” I respond matter-of-factly.

“I know, I know,” he says. “Are you mad? You sound mad.”

“I’m not mad. I just don’t like it when people don’t do what they say they will.”

The truth is that I could stay for another day, but nothing — not love and certainly not lust as it is in this case — can compel me to turn around. The previous night, my best friend called and told me in an eerie, even tone that his boyfriend had broken up with him. I almost cried at the news. Fourteen months balled up and thrown out. I have to leave. There are pieces to pick up, a person to worry after.

“When are you coming back?” he asks me.

“Darling, no offense, but Philadelphia is ugly,” I say. “There’s no way I’m visiting again before spring.”

I tell him to come to Boston instead, to be spontaneous. He lets out a sigh, a groan, a whine about how far it is.

“Oh, come on,” I urge him. “We’ll play. It’ll be fun. Just take off for a weekend without a trace. It could be like a movie.”

“Maybe,” he says, non-committally.

“Think about it.”

I hope he seriously considers my invitation, but I don’t expect him to. And I don’t actually care if he comes or calls or likes me or wants to fuck me. I am not even over the Ben Franklin Bridge and my mind is already racing along the Charles.

Out there somewhere, maybe not in Boston or Philadelphia or even New York, but out there somewhere, there is probably true love. Or at least something like it. But this boy isn’t it and even if he were, you know what? I don’t want love. Not the romantic kind, not now, not yet. I can stand to wait. For the moment, my relationship with myself is finally hitting a sweet spot. And besides, if all the movies are right, if there really is a one and only for each of us, then I think I’ve already found mine. She is more beautiful than I could’ve imagined.

Today’s the first official day of snow in Boston and I’m playing hooky from both lecture (Molecules of Life) and work (an internship assisting the editor of a beauty trade mag). Tara, Jason and I* are currently hiding out in Tara and Tiffanie’s apartment, situated off-campus on Mass Ave near Putnam. Jason is finishing up extracurricular work. Tara is engrossed in a romance novel. I’m online, naturally. Work is not getting done today. I’m not even going to try.

* This winter, we’re going to forget about pseudonyms for my friends. The boys — for the most part — will remain anonymous.

I wanted to volunteer at the local homeless shelter on Thanksgiving Day but they’re all booked up for shifts. Does anyone have suggestions for places close to Harvard Square where my friends and I can help out? (It can’t be too deep into Boston considering the weather!)

In honor of a magnificent day off from life, I’m going to NOT write a blog entry and instead link to stuff I think my readers would find interesting:

A 13-YEAR-OLD GIRL, Megan Meier committed suicide after her ex-friend’s mother pretended to be a MySpace admirer, wooed her, and then harassed her. Jezebel reported on the saga all of last week. Probably the worst example I’ve recently encountered of what humanity has degenerated to.

IS BRITNEY FUCKED UP because someone swiped her v-card at age 14 (according to the most recent Us Weekly) and she didn’t wait for true pop love with JT? Jezebel says nay, and I tend to agree. Sure, sex can screw you up, but I’m going to have to go with the theory that paparazzi, young fame, and scrutiny from like oh, the entire world might’ve done her in.

(BITTER)SWEET STORY: an Arizona news station reported that former Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor is happy her Alzheimer-afflicted husband “has regained some joy in a life so profoundly altered by the disease” by starting a romantic relationship with another patient. Apparently, nursing home romances are not uncommon for those with dementia.

SPREAD EAGLE IN NYC wrote yesterday about the complications that arise when current loves jump to conclusions about her based on her website. She says, “This blog has taught me deserve to be with someone who will take the time to understand the whole package.” Kind of exactly how I feel about SATI.

THE BRANGELINA of Gawker Media go all in with a blog of their own. Great entry from the less culturally knowledgeable half on privacy vs. openness: “I *DO* value my privacy - quite a bit. There are all sorts of things I’d never contemplate posting. But I also value openness, and that’s what this experiment is about - delving into the inner-workings of a real relationship, with all its flaws.”

COLLEGEOTR, the blog network I helped manage this summer, just moved to their new offices in Tribeca.

CAMBRIDGE RESIDENTS should choose the new bus service, Vamoose, over any Chinatown bus to New York this holiday weekend. It boards conveniently by the Charles Hotel and delivers you to Penn Station. I took it for the first time two weeks ago. They also supposedly have free wifi but I didn’t check. Only downside: limited schedules. Bostonist sticks by Fung Wah as the best bet for Thanksgiving rush.

Last but not, least …

THE 9TH ANNUAL TRANSGENDER DAY OF REMEMBRANCE is today. It is a day to remember those who have been harassed, killed, excluded, and hurt because of their non-normative identity.The Harvard community can tune into Quench Zine to check out thoughts, prayers, and discussion. The BGLTSA will be holding a candlelit vigil in front of Matthews dorm at 8:30 p.m. tonight, followed by readings and singing.