It’s Saturday, and I’m wearing next-to-nothing and standing a long line of people that seems to stretch into forever. My best friend stands next to me, and we glance nervously at each other in the hopes that we make the cut. The “regulars” are smiling and waving at each other but send looks of disdain my way. It’s clear that newbies are not welcome. I look further down the line at those behind me and see two girls emotionally arguing with each other over who is going to “get in.” I’m wishing that maybe I’d worn something a little cuter or pulled my pony tail a littler higher, because, if this place is as good as I’ve heard it is, I need to get in.
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Tassels and fringes and pasties, oh my! At Dr. Sketchy’s Anti-Art School, less is more. The twice-monthly art gathering is a destination for art aficionados and amateurs alike who want to move beyond the cold, sterile art studio and into a titillating drawing room right in the heart of Williamsburg.

Founded by Molly Crabapple, a Brooklyn-based illustrator and former life drawing model, the school started as an antidote for the “weird and dehumanizing” environment of your average academic life drawing class, says Molly. The Dr. Sketchy’s prescription? One part burlesque babe, a regular drip of saucy music and a couple injections of crazy contests that inspire the “art monkeys”—as Molly calls the sketchers—to incorporate items like tangerines and woodland creatures into their sketches. The winner is inoculated with a double shot of tequila that keeps the creative juices flowing.

I made my way through what I call “Tourists in America,” a.k.a. The Met on a Saturday, as I followed a gaggle of art-appeciators to the last weekend of the “Americans in Paris” exhibit. Upon stepping inside this temple I quickly muted my swagger to focus on the significance of the collections.

The exhibit meandered through several rooms, each with one painted wall outlining the thematic simliarities and periods of the work in standout white type. While know-it-alls walked by these walls without giving them a glance, I read every one, sucking up the nuances of the late 19th century.
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I ran as fast as I could to the 23rd C,E station off 8th Avenue and got there just in time to miss the train. I stood there looking at my watch leaning over the tracks to see if I could make out headlights approaching. Sound familiar? I was late. Like had been all week. I needed a break.

Exhale Spa was my destination. Exhale carries some of the best skin and facial products around. It’s set up like a small boutique, keeping Central Park South and Upper East Side women in shape. I, for one, took a core fusion class that gave me a new outlook on life. But today the business at hand was soothin’ not fusion.

A familiar scenario: You walk into a lounge in your cutest little black dress. You threw on some foundation and mascara while running out the door (15 minutes late if you’re on my schedule). Though the dress is slimming and makes your ass look fab, it contrasts against your post-summer-pale skin, which is practically begging for bronzer. Enter makeup artist stage left. Literally.

New York Girls Style + Beauty threw an invite-only event at Nikki Beach, a surprisingly hot Midtown spot, with New York magazine and Peroni as sponsors. Gracious hostesses greeted me and my +1 at the door of the VIP venue, which was the perfect size for the moderate group of fashionistas, photographers and press. Cabana beds were open for lounging and bottles of Italian brewskies went down like water.