When I moved to New York City in 2000, I started a list of things I have wanted to do. Nearly seven years have passed, and the list never stops growing. From only-in-New York stuff to touristy things that I have never had the chance to do, I am taking this moment to make a mid-year resolution: check off the list one item at a time. Number one: Sailing.

Learning to sail has been a goal of mine since I was a child. To make my dream a reality last weekend, I embarked on the Shearwater Sailing yacht, an 82-foot, double-masted schooner built in 1929. Taking advantage of the perfect, sunny 80-degree weather, I grabbed Glamourites Lauren and Tracee and headed for the horizon, with a detour at the Statue of Liberty.
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The forces of the universe conspired to lure me into a dark hotel with strangely masked men as November expired. To clarify, JuliB.com lured me to the Night Hotel with complimentary Rioja wine for a Masquerade party. AKA; A not-so-well disguised orgy of event planners and party-hoppers.

Given the night’s mysterious vibe, I was not surprised to catch lingering glances exchanged through decadant masks. As the deep bass pounded, more and more men arrived in charcoal suits and the number of women in litte-black dresses increased. Slowly, the world seemed to evolve into a monochromatic underground layer for VIPs only.
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The holiday season has begun for me, and I know exactly what I want…not that that should be any surprise. I want a nutcracker—but not just any nutcracker. A well-hung, jaw-chiseled, tall nutcracker. My nutcracker needs to dance, have nice posture and speak only when spoken to—except to shush me when I’ve been naughty! He’s out there, and though you may not touch him, you can watch him. He resides at 55 E. 59th St., in the New York Theater Ballet production of The Nutcracker. This isn’t the New York City Ballet and it isn’t at Lincoln Center…but neither is he.

“This winter everyone gets to be an 8-year old again, unless of course you’re a 7-year old,” encourages a banner above the newly opened Bryant Park ice skating rink on 42nd street between 5th and 6th avenues. In an anti-aging effort I evited a few friends and glamourites to take a lap around the ice slab and turn back the years on a bright Saturday morning. Surprisingly, a group of early twenty-somethings showed up at 11am sharp (excluding this glamourite) without a promise of free credit cards or kamikaze shots.

New York is a place with so much going on and so many choices that sometimes it’s easy to feel like you don’t quite know where you belong. Yet people still find themselves trying to fit their life into a cookie-cutter lifestyle, never to venture out of it.

How fucking boring.

Sure, it’s easier to stay in my comfort zone, especially if, like me, you feel great in your own skin and know what you like. But sometimes everyone needs a little touch of color in their lives… I just happened to get mine with a sassy pair of sneakers on the side.
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In the past month, it feels like I have seen more musical performances then a Rolling Stone journalist. Surprisingly, not only were they all fantastic performances, but they were an eclectic mix from different genres, venues, and attitudes.