Beach Reading

Skip the Us Weekly! With Washingtonians heading out of the super humidity every weekend to get some R&R oceanside, now is your perfect chance to catch up on all of that reading that you always wanted to do but didn't have the time. An avid reader myself, but also suspect of having a mild case of ADD, the following reads are easy, fun, thought-provoking, and definite page turners, that won't have you popping Aderol in order to finish. Whether you're rocking your jorts and tramp stamp in VA Beach (pronounced: vah) or whistling to the cabana boy in Bethany, forget about where Angelina Jolie did her charity work this past weekend and escape into one of these phenomenal reads:

• Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden: If you haven't heard of this one, you've obviously been living under a rock. But escape into old-school Japan and prepare yourself to be startled by this unbelievable culture that shaped the narrator's life. And don't pop in the movie 'til after you've finished.
• The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho: Originally written in Portuguese, this modern-day fable has been translated into over a hundred languages, and carries a message of love that is easy to read and will touch anyone (not to get mushy on you). Not exactly the type of beach reading for Dewey Beach, FYI. More for a soul-searching family vaca.
• How to Make Love Like a Porn Star by Jenna Jameson: Though I doubt Her Highness actually wrote this, this autobiography is fun, fast, long, and will take you into a fantasy world of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. You won't be able to put down this peak into the adult industry (I read this in India, ironically enough).
• Choke by Chuck Palahniuk: Totally something to read if you want to sound intelligent around your boyfriend. Just don't completely destroy his copy like I did and haven't heard the end of, since. Nevertheless, a creative read that totally captures the Palahniuk-essence that he uses in each of his works. 
• The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald: I don't know if you'd call it beach reading, but it's by far one of my favorite books of all time. Sneak into prohibition America and enjoy the flapper parties and cigarette holders all from your towel on Rehobeth Beach. 
• The Washingtonienne by Jessica Cutler: You will be blown away by this former Capitol Hill intern's anonymous sexcapades with prominent DC figures, all captured through her blog (don't get any ideas). After being caught, Cutler documents all of her wild adventures into this non-fiction guilty pleasure read. 
• The Beach by Alex Garland: Before Leonardo DiCaprio went shirtless through Thailand on the big screen, Garland put together a New York Times Bestseller that stole the hearts of people everywhere. Go on this adventure, and pretend you're in Phuket instead of Seaside Heights. 
• Weetzie Bat by Francesca Lia Block: Yes, it is a Young Adult read, but it's incredible. Enter a parallel universe known as Shangri-L.A., and get ready for all hell to break loose in this psycadellic tale of love, homosexuality, glitter, and witch babies. 
• The Kite Runner by Marc Foster: I love this book so much. Though the movie is great, skip it, and enjoy this super-descriptive story about friendship
• The Watchmen by Alan Moore: I never thought the day would come that I would like a comic book. But Moore's graphic novel is one that I've read multiple times and have continued to develop new interpretations with each read. Though the movie was weak, this book is one of my favorites ever. 

I could go on and on, but these are my top ten favorite easy reads. And while I love looking at pictures of Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale in the playground with their children, I do force myself to step it up a little when I'm laying on the beach. At least for a little bit. 

World Cup=The Bomb

Although I mentioned two posts back about my hatred of sports and athletics, being the hypocrite that I am, can’t help but be enthralled by the FIFA World Cup 2010 (gotta love that corporate sponsorship in the title). Regardless of the fact that my boyfriend, Cristiano, is playing this year and need to watch in his support, soccer is a fast, exciting game, and is especially suspenseful when it is on a global level. And while everyone says they want the US to win, you can’t help but develop a fanfare for one of the foreign teams. And for some reason, I’ve definitely seen a pattern between personalities and fan bases of each of the World Cup teams. Below is my list of what kind of person you’ll be seeing with pom-poms for each soccer team:


• France: The power-hungry CEO who doesn’t let anyone get in their way and could give a crap about anyone. They’re a type A personality, orderly, and when they make a mistake, just can’t seem to admit ownership for their wrong doing.

• Brazil: The funny person who loves potty humor (Hello? Their lead player’s last name is Kaka. Let’s be honest).

• Greece: The guy who breaks all of the rules and doesn’t understand why people get mad when they do. Their debit account is totally empty and getting audited is an expectation during tax season. Anyone who supports Greece is also usually very good looking (usually).

• North Korea: Do you pay for your friends? Like to eat dukbuhka? Are a commi? If you answered yes to any of these, you’re probably a North Korea supporter, and we probably know very little about you.

• Paraguay: The person who never finishes a task until it’s done. They’re super fast, very high energy, and will do what it takes to get the job finished. Think marathon runner. They also love rocking out to Daddy Yankee.

• Italy: They’re probably from Rhode Island and cried when they won last year. They gel their hair, drive an old Lexus with an Italian flag emblem, and did laps around Federal Hill after their glory four years ago. They then got hungry, and proceeded to sit down for a full meal at Gepetto’s at midnight.

• Slovenia: No smiles for this fan. They’re rigid, straight, and probably some sort of chemist.

• Portugal: Also probably from Rhode Island and cried when they lost (if you watched the news, they actually lowered flags in Bristol and Fall River, funny enough). If you’re watching this team, you love hot guys. But, sorry ladies, the boy is mine.



And while everyone is debating who will take the Cup this year (is there literally a cup?), I think it’s a safe bet to say that Brazil is going to kill it. But, don’t worry, I’ll be there to comfort Cristiano.

"He's SUCH an Alejandro!"

Okay, okay. I’m obsessed. And, yes, I know it’s a little bit of a Madonna rip-off, but lately, whenever I need a little pick-me-up in the office, I take an eight minute break and immerse myself in this piece of visual art. Yes, like her or not, but Gaga has done it again; this time, saluting gay pride in a habitat that is a combination of winter in communist Eastern Europe, The Matrix, and the Catholic church. In as little as eight minutes, you’ll see Your Heighness wearing the coolest binoculars you’ve ever seen, march in a KGB-esque army, pose suggestively with the gay community, and, of course, don a red habit and swallow a set of Rosary beads (Sr. Faith would not be happy, BVA girls). Though I’m not crazy about her lack of fake eyelashes and very unflattering bowl cut, she makes me fall in love with the second track of ‘The Fame Monster’ all over again. Telling a story that makes little sense with a beat that definitely sounds like it was stolen from Ace of Base, I rock it every day on the way to work (despite the dismay of the boys I drive with), and encourage all of you to do the same. A complete contrast to colorful and cartoon-y ‘Telephone’, check out ‘Alejandro’ if you already haven’t and prepared to be in a visual ecstasy. Ten points for you if you actually know an Alejandro, which I have turned into a noun for every hot Hispanic man I know (i.e., “He’s such an Alejandro”).

I Don't Like Sports

So sue me. In a working environment that consists of mostly an upper-middle class Caucasian demographic, I’m constantly invited to happy hours and social events revolving around sporting events. And, unlike those other girls who pretend that they know what a ‘tip off’ is (which I had to ask someone what that meant today) to look well-rounded and down to Earth in front of guys, I will openly admit the unbelievable: Hi, my name is Angela Milas, and I don’t like sports. I hate watching them, I get ADD, I loose my patience, and would rather be enjoying myself elsewhere. There are exceptions, however; I LOVE the World Cup (Let’s go Portugal!), competition cheerleading, and surfing, of course (hello, Ocean State?). And although I will rally when a championship game is on and act like I’m a diehard fan for one night, I truly could not care less about sports, and here’s why:


• I hate wieners, I hate beer, and just about everything at a sporting event triggers IBS (which I know is TMI, I’m sorry, but it’s true. What idiot thought it would be a good idea to put a Ben’s Chilli Bowl AND a Five Guys at the Nationals Stadium?).

• I don’t want to see boys sweat. It means that they smell poorly so I’ll forever associate them with B.O.

• The seats always hurt my butt by the end of the game.

• Sporting events give people an excuse to act stupid. Just because you’re at a basketball game does not give you a license to walk around shirtless with your not-so-hot midriff and be a drunken slob.

• I’ve never seen anyone want a t-shirt, towel, banner, or whatever miscelleneaous item they throw into the audience during half time more in my life.

• The songs they play are awful. If I hear “We Are the Champions”, “Sweet Caroline”, or any of those jams one more time I will blow my brains out. I just don’t understand why they can’t play Lady GaGa to rev up the players.

• The tickets are so expensive. Let’s be honest, I could have a phenomenal dinner and get bottle service at Fly after for the price of a Redskins tickets.

• The bathrooms always smell like urine no matter what the arena so I always end up holding it for the whole time and being entirely uncomfortable for the whole game.

• You can’t wear heels or you’ll look like an idiot. I’m 5’4 and 140 lbs; if I wear no heels I look plumpy, so I always look fug and short when I subject myself to sports.

• Everyone gets unnecessary agita. It’s not the Apocalypse if they loose!



I’m sorry for my rant, but with the NBA Championships on tonight (is that what it’s called?), everyone is going into total freak out mood and I’m not going to front and act like I care a whole lot. But being the hypocrite I am, I’ll definitely be at Chef Geoff’s tonight, in a full green outfit, Blue Moon in hand, and cheering for the Celtics. In some sort of heel, of course.

Pleasure Doing Business

Want to look sexy but still be able to eat a grilled cheese late-night at Georgetown café? Avoid that unsightly fupa and get a Pleasure Doing Business skirt. Everyone hates it when they wear a sexy outfit, only to become a drunken slob with late night eating and then have bloating in all the wrong places (especially if you’re going to meet that stud afterwards). After deciding that I would indulge in foie gras French toast at Norma’s in Le Park Meridian but still wanting to look phenomenal when visiting girlfriends in New York City this past weekend, my friend Lal introduced me to something that I will forever swear by; A bandage skirt in black, thick in fabric, that sucks you in like a pair of Spanx but doesn’t make you feel like a Nana. Immediately after putting her black one on, I went from Queen Latifah to Queen Noor of Jordan in the mid section (and sucked in my fupa after eating more sushi than I can count at Shang). Though a bit pricey ($80-$120), these skirts are not only flattering and scream hotness, but are basics that come in about any color one could imagine (because you never know when you need an aquamarine mini). After my pay check comes this week, I’ll be purchasing three, but definitely consider Pleasure Doing Business the Eucharist of skirts. Because Spanx are for old, farty people.

Stuff Your Face for a Cause: Brainfood Grill Off 2010

Not that I need anything else to make my thighs any larger than they already are. But on June 10th, I attended Michelle Obama's spectacular Brainfood Grille Off, an event sponsored by herself and several Food Network chefs, promoting a charity that educates America's children in eating properly and exercising (which, let's be honest, I am all for). Pouring wine alongside DC's famous sommelier Andrew Stover, I was able to mingle with restauranteurs from across the city, while witnessing an Iron Chef competition with some of DC's top (and very attractive, I might add) chefs. I tasted some of the best salmon and quinoa that have ever glazed my lips, and was able to compliment my meal with a glass of Shindig Pinot Noir, a light blend developed by Stover himself. After witnessing the iron chef competition, guests then were able to bid on excellent culinary-related prizes, ranging from private dining experiences at top restaurants in the city to a private dinner with THE Tom Sietsema (who wouldn't even come to the event to  protect his anonymity...too bad I googled his face from my phone ten minutes later), food critic to the stars. Not only did I personally taste each of the chefs' creations, indulged in some really expensive wines that I wouldn't be able to afford otherwise, and saw friends who I hadn't seen since graduation (hi, Lauren Kasman!), but I supported a cause geared towards ensuring the health of American kids who are addicted to fast food (Precious, anyone?). Being someone who is constantly dissing "the fattening of America", the Brainfood Grill Off definitely advocated a great philanthropy....while forcing all of the guests to do everything opposite of what the program stood for. Oh well, Michelle's hot, and I had a good meal.

Miss USA 2010: An Applaud to Muslim Women or a Shrug?

On May 17th, 2010, Miss Michigan USA 2010 beat out fifty one beautiful (and obviously carb-deprived) contestants in the Miss USA pageant, to win the title and the "you're hired"-ness by none other but the Donald. But despite winning a gorgeous crown, a beautiful penthouse apartment across from the Trump Towers in the Big Apple, and an all-access pass to some of the most fabulous events throughout the country and beyond, Miss USA immediately signs a contract with Paula Shugart and the Miss Universe Organization, pledging to support a philanthropy and make media appearances at the disposal of the organization. In the midst of all of the fabulousness, Miss USA must also continue her ridiculously strict pageant regimen, in preparation for the Miss Universe pageant in the coming August (which, for the first time, is in the United States this year). And who would have been more proud to do all of this and more than Rima Fakih?
But aside from tripping on her evening gown and declaring her craving for pizza as her first thought post-crowning, Rima takes the honor of being the very first Arabic and Muslim woman to hold the title of Miss USA. In a time in our country when, for some, the very sight of a burqua in an airport leads to the quick need for a Xanax, nothing is more exciting than showcasing the acceptance and adoration for the Muslim culture by Americans. But are Muslim-American women actually proud of Rima's accomplishments?
Though she aligns herself with a philanthropy and considers herself a role model, it must be reminded that Rima was also modeling in a scantily clad manner onstage (an ideal that completely contradicts one of the biggest cultural aspects of Islamic culture) and definitively suggested the need for birth control to be covered by insurance companies (also something totally contradictory).
But what we also must remember is that Rima Fakih is a Muslim, but also an American. She celebrates her Muslim spirituality, but also commends herself in being her best self by showcasing pristine physical fitness in a moderate swimsuit and displaying poise in an evening gown fit for a queen; two qualities that women not only strive for on a daily basis, but consider positive ideals.
I wish Rima Fakih an amazing reign as Miss USA 2010, and as an enthusiast for all cultures, am beside myself to see an Arabic woman take the crown. Does she align with Muslim values? Is she a positive role model for Muslim women? In my eyes, who cares! She looks damn hot in an evening gown and has a down-to-Earth appeal that makes her shrine in all interviews. Because why really try to intellectualize a beauty pageant?

(And what about those photos of Rima Fakih pole dancing that circulated weeks later? For your information, haters, Rima Fakih was at a charity benefit, with all women, in which participants were allowed to try pole-dancing exercise moves on stage. Leave home girl alone.)

Single Ladies: The Mean, The Meek, and The Man-Eating

"Are you happy about that?" most people ask who haven't talked to me in a while, after finding out that I'm not in a relationship nor have any potential suitors for the time being. And while they're normally astonished about my apathy on the situation, I've truly accepted singledom and haven't really thought twice about it (of course, forgetting those occasions where I've had to assemble a piece of Ikea furniture or needed someone to stay in with me on a Friday night, eat Five Guys, and watch The Office). Frankly, I'm so fed up with others seeing those as being single as having some kind of issue, or it being an issue altogether. I'm over the countless conversations with others who are trying to figure out who "the latest guy is". Well, guess what? The latest guy is my Washington Sports Club membership, the Patron Anejo sitting on the banquet in my kitchen, and the blog I write on occasionally that I think people actually read.
I'm not saying I'm anti-boyfriend; I would turn over every piece of David Yurman jewelry I owned if Christiano Renaldo came knocking at my door, or if someone very special decided to move to DC (hint hint). But in my current situation, I tell people I'm not looking, I'm just living. Crazy situations present themselves when you least expect them to and you don't know the future. For all I know, I could be a Bethesda housewife next year at this time, making cookies, getting Botox facials, and taking care of a bulbous husband (actually, I'd rather die). But I do commend myself in the regard that I do NOT fall into the category of just about every other single girl on the planet. And, if you do, now is the time to recognize and start making some lifestyle changing. Just thank the Leopard:

• The Mean Single Girl: She hates on everyone's boyfriend and fiance and picks on them for being too ugly, poor, or fat. Phrases like "you're obsessed with him" or "get a room" come out of her mouth frequently. She's so bitter that she's alone that she tries to prey on happy couples, making content girls rethink their relationships and start stupid fights with their boyfriends that the Mean Single Girl fueled. Aside from making good couples feel bad about themselves and having a permanent stink eye, she thinks every guy is Tiger Woods and Scott Disick, and gets way too excited when 'Single Ladies' starts playing in the club. 
• The Meek Single Girl: She's so annoying and purposely tries to make other people feel bad for her that she doesn't have a boyfriend. She always complains about being a third, fifth, or whatever wheel and looks like she's going to break into tears at any moment when she's hanging out with a group of friends and there just happens to be a couple present. She'll leave nights out early and alone just to prove a point, and probably goes home, binge eats, and watches The Notebook (sorry, girl, but that's why they call it a movie). You know those weird single people who go to a wedding alone when everyone else is bringing a date just to prove a point? Ugh, that's her. 
• The Man-Eating Single Girl: And I don't mean that as a compliment. I'm talking about the girl who throws her arms up after her third kamikaze shot and yells "WHOOO-HOOOO! I'M SINGLE!" She has a strand of lovers that she's damn proud of, and finds some sort of feminist ideal in what she's doing, when really, the only think she's going to be finding is some chlamydia in her underpants. She doesn't understand the point of having a boyfriend when she can hook up with all of Adams Morgan in the mean time and is constantly going on "trips" with girlfriends- AKA explwhoreations. 

Okay, so I'm sure you know a girl that matches each one of these descriptions. And, I'm sure, at one time or another, you may have been mean, meek, or man-eating. But anytime you're sad, and about to chant the typical, "ohmygawd everyone has a boyfriend but me" when you have no one to take you to CityZen for dinner, buck up, take yourself, and remember; there's nothing wrong with being single. And there's nothing wrong with being taken. I think everyone just needs to stop thinking, characterizing, and over-analyzing, and do what makes you happy. Whether you're engaged and underage or middle-aged and single, cheers to you.

In the midst of my hoop earrings and Narragansett Beach sunburn, I decided to see Sex and the City 2 for the second time with my mother this past weekend. Although I saw it opening night with a large group earlier in the week, watching it a more serious atmosphere then the estrogen-filled AMC Lowes in Georgetown, I had a revelation to me that didn’t occur the first time around; “OMYGAWD, this movie is slightly offensive”. And I’m not talking about the erection that Samantha’s Danish lover had in the chicha lounge. No, as liberal as I’ve always considered the film, Sex actually dabbled in the annoying, naïve Americana flare that’s almost as bad as George W. (I haven’t heard of that name in months) creating a “homeland security” branch of the US government (did he REALLY have to call it “homeland”, Mr. Tejas USA 2008?). With a large theme of the of the movie poking fun at Middle Eastern culture, their constant confusion by burquas and Arabic pronunciation pissed me off to no end. Though I love ethnic jokes, these were not executed in the intelligent way that surrounds most of the sitcom’s humor:


• Miranda’s foul pronunciation of “shukran”: It sounded like a New York Jewish mother saying shoe-kraaaaaaan at the Middle Eastern market. It’s not that hard to roll your ‘r’s and say a two syllable word.

• Samantha’s declaration of her love of sex: While I’m sure there isn’t a person on Earth who doesn’t agree with her, it’s entirely inappropriate to dry hump the air in front of a crowd of twenty Muslim religious leaders and throwing condoms in their faces. There’s nothing feminist about this; it’s just disrespectful to their religion that lays in a culture of thousands of years. Period.

• Poking fun at the head scarves: “I just don’t get the head scarfs”, Carrie scoffs, as if someone just vomited in front of her. They take it even further, ignorantly watching a Muslim woman eat French fries, lifting her face scarf for every bite, not understanding the point.

• Dressing inappropriately: I love belly shirts and cleavage, but when I was in Morocco, I was wearing a Lauryn Hill-esque head wrap and my mother’s polo shirts. Though I can’t hate on Samantha for dressing sexy at their gated resort (Miranda was a bit too up tight to yell at her), it’s entirely inappropriately for her to be walking around the market place in short shorts and stilettos.

• Carrie talking to the shoemaker like he was deaf: Although I’m sure she was trying to annunciate with English being his second language, he wasn’t hearing impaired. She spoke to him as if he was mildly retarded, and enough to make her be perceived as a pompous American.

Though I did take offense to these flippant gestures to the Islamic culture, the movie is still worth seeing. I’m already saving up money to have Liza Minelli perform Single Ladies at my wedding, if that tells you anything.