In line with my fascination of extremes in human nature, I sat down to watch “17 and Counting,” the newest documentary style show from the Duggar family. Oh you know the Duggars, admit it. You know, the family with 17 children whose names all start with “J” from Arkansas. How can you forget the patriarch of the family, Jim Bob! And matriarch Michelle, with her long flowing mousy hair, House on the Prairie smocks and never ending pregnancies. To say I am fascinated by this hockey team of a family would be an understatement. Whenever I watch Jon and Kate plus 8, I feel a bit sorry that they have to deal with eight kids with sticky hands, snotty noses and crying. Oh the crying. But then, I remember Jim Bob and Michelle and the fact that this woman has had 17 squirmy bodies pass through her birth canal (BY CHOICE!) and I scoff at Jon and Kate for their measily contribution to society. Eight? Try 17, suckers! You don’t have anything on Jim Bob and Michelle.

The first and second episodes of “17 and Counting” featured the Duggar family going on a trip to New York City to be on the “Today” show where Jim Bob and Michelle were due to announce their 18th pregnancy. I almost fainted. That’s just because I think the idea of having that many children is inconceivable. I don’t mean to pass judgment on the Duggars because clearly, they have managed to raise all those children pretty well and by no means are they in need of any charity. If someone has the choice of never having children, I suppose others should have the choice of having as many as they want.

At times, I find it unfair on the children. Obviously, Michelle cannot raise all those kids on her own, and even with the help of Jim Bob, things could get out of hand, so more or less, the older kids are in many ways responsible for the younger ones. It just upsets me a little that their time is consumed by raising kids, when it should be consumed with teenager-type activities. They obviously don’t have any semblance of social lives, because let’s face it, every day is a social gathering in the Duggar house. That means they can only function within the confines of their family and perhaps town and are more or less unprepared for the real world, as evidenced by their trip to New York City. The family are conservative Baptists who follow the Quiverfull movement. The Quiverfull movement prohibits the use of contraceptives of any kind and endorses homeschooling and homesteading in a rural area.

To put it simply, the whole thing is just…strange. You can pretty much guarantee that I will keep watching, in between bouts of cringing.

Chopin, Ballade No 1. in G Minor. Ivan Moravec. Haunting song that might make you cry if you allow yourself to think deep enough while listening to it. Ten minutes long. Gifted pianist. My words won’t do it justice, you might just have to listen yourself. There are times when we don’t know what to say. There are times, that even as a writer, I can’t find the words to describe how I feel. This is why music was invented, so you can let the notes, so delicately strung together, speak for you.

National Stay At Home Week has officially begun and while I am so excited about Grey’s Anatomy and Desperate Housewives starting, I cannot believe I just sat through an entire two hours of Dancing With the Stars. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy this show a lot, especially the non-existent costumes, Bruno’s metaphors and Tom Bergeron’s humor – I just can’t believe it robbed me of two hours of my time. I think they should just hand the trophy to Cloris Leachman and call it a day. This woman made my life worth living. She put her leg on the judging table for crying out loud! And made Len Goodman call himself a boy toy! She is sheer genius. I think I even heard her call Carrie Ann Inaba a bitch for giving her a low score. Oh Cloris, I hope throngs of people vote for you. If I cared enough, I would.

Tom was back on his game after the Emmy’s last night, a hosting gig which didn’t quite go so well, mostly because of the fact that he had to share the stage with Ryan Seacrest and Howie Mandel.

I was getting excited about the show, until they put Samantha Harris on screen and I turned away, in fear that she would be mumbling inaudible, other worldly phrases that I did not have the mental capacity to understand. I just don’t understand why Samantha is there. We all know full well Tom could carry on the entire show without her. She is useless. She’s an utterly useless who wears utterly useless, distasteful and over the top I might add ball gown dresses. Don’t even get me started on the questions she asks. Most of time they’re not so much questions, as they are phrases, like “This must be so exciting for you to be here!” And then she sticks the microphone in someone’s face and expects them to respond to her comment. Ugh, Samantha, I think you’re hopeless.

None of the dances particularly struck a chord with me and many of them were quite unmemorable. Case in point: the only thing I remember from Lance Bass’ air time was when his professional dancing partner Lacey Schwimmer commented on how she wanted to once marry him, but now that wasn’t going to happen, most likely due to the fact that Bass would probably like to dance more with Maksim Chmerkovskiy.

Then there was comedian Jeffrey Ross, commenting on the fact that he could only see half of Kim Kardashian’s booty because of an eye injury earlier in the day during practice. Which brings me to my Reality TV princess, Kim. I can’t hate her. I think I tried once, but I can’t. It’s not so much that she’s gorgeous, and believe me she is, it’s that she’s one of my own, for better or for worse.

It was also refreshing hearing Carrie Ann tell Soap Queen Susan Lucci that she needs to gain weight. Yes Susan, gain some weight so that Tony Dovolani’s chest doesn’t blow you away. I swear that boy got into ballroom dancing just so he could have the ability to wear shirts and leave them open down to his crotch.

Between the craziness of this and America’s Next Top Model, my head just might end up combusting.

I’m a firm believer in quality versus quantity, in most aspects of life. The one area where this isn’t stressed enough is fashion and style. There was a period in recent years when I though the newly vamped and redesigned Forever 21 was the end all be all of clothing. I could walk in, get three shirts, five pairs of earrings, a bag and a dress for $50. Could it get any better than this? I thought. Little did I know, it could. In about six months time, all of those items either broke, came apart or disappeared into trend hell. That’s when I realized that the cheap and disposable route to fashion was a dead end.

I was never into Forever 21, to be honest. When classmates in high school would rant and rave about it, I would call it “Polyester Emporium.” I remember taking shopping trips to United Colors of Benetton and Nordstrom with my mom. When I was a toddler in Tehran, she would dress me in the best that European fashion had to offer. I had never even stepped foot in a Walmart until a couple of years ago.

My mom taught me a valuable lesson when it came to clothing: when shopping, quality always overrules quantity. You have to think of clothing as an investment, not something you can wear for a couple months and then throw away. Of course, disposable basics are always permitted, but when it comes to big things (wool coat, boots, dress shirts), the best thing to dispose of are idealogies that allow you to grab items feverishly until you can’t walk anymore just because everything is $20 or under.

I made a decision a couple months ago that as long as I could, I would buy myself one quality item a month – this would stop me from overspending in stores like Forever 21 or H&M and also leave me with pieces in my closet that can be worn again and again for years to come.

So every month, I’ve been sneaking out of the office and using one day’s lunch time to enhance my closet. My location: Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. My targets: J.Crew, occasionally Banana Republic and the heavenly paradise that is Anthropologie.

While J.Crew has been a long time favorite and on the top of my list for many years, Anthropologie has been slowly looking to take its place for quite a while. Putting the luxurious, one-of-a-kind clothing and accessories aside for a second, when I walk into an Anthropologie store, all of my troubles just melt away. It’s as if, I’ve walked into my dream living quarters. The marketing geniuses of anthropologie rummaged through my brain while I slept and intercepted my dreams and then came back and created the inner workings of their stores. I’m convinced that this is what took place.

Part of the reason I probably feel that way, is that Anthropologie is not only selling clothes, its selling a lifestyle. A lifestyle that I am gobbling up like there’s no tomorrow. Established in 1992, Anthropologie has managed to bring in 50 percent of Urban Outfitters, Inc., their parent companie’s revenue, without the use of advertising. And I like that.

It just goes to show you that there is quality in their product. It’s the same with dog food. You can either go buy some Iams from the supermarket, or you can do your research, and find kibble from healthy and organic companies like Innova or California Natural.

I ventured over to Anthropologie on Monday and thought about never leaving. The smell of the candles, the colors of the clothes, the light shining through the second floor on dark brown parquet, the calm atmosphere, the not-so-many people, the way the sales people just leave you alone to shop and breathe, I cannot find one bad thing to say about this store. Except the prices, but those aren’t necessarily bad, they just come with the territory.

I left with Frenchy-looking perfume that smelled delicious and some grey cotton linen pants that fit me so perfectly, you would not believe. As I’m sure any woman knows, shopping for pants and jeans is a full day marathon that is likely to end in disappointment, tears and possibly ice cream. So imagine my excitement as these wonderful pants, that were on sale might I add, fit me as if they belonged to my body. Do you know how amazing it is to go shopping for pants and look at yourself in the mirror, all alone in your dressing room, with clothes scattered everywhere, under the most horribly unflattering lights ever and realize that you actually like how you look? It is a revelation beyond compare. An amazing moment, where all of society’s rules and regulations about body and image are thrown out the window and what remains is an incredible feeling of self-satisfaction. Thank you, Anthropologie. See you soon.

Photo via Anthropologie

I am a mug collector. Some people collect stamps or pens. Not me. I collect mugs. I think it stems down to the fact that I not only love the various designs on mugs, but they’re something I use in my daily life, unlike stamps that you hide away in a scrapbook. Since tea is so important to me, collecting mugs are just natural. Whenever Keeg and I travel, I can’t resist buying a mug.

The one on the left, if you didn’t already know is a quote from The Smith’s “Reel Around the Fountain,” courtesy of Keeg. The one on the right is a standard Ikea mug I bought for 69 cents on which I drew a matryoshka doll on with ceramic paints. It was my first attempt, so it doesn’t look all that great. You really need a steady hand to be able to draw on mugs with paint.

That’s my Democrat mug from Urban Outfitters. It’s a great size and it’s got people I like on it. The second one was bought at I believe TJ Maxx. If you’re into mugs, Marshall’s and TJ Maxx are great places to find quirky and unique ones. It came with a tea bag holder in the shape of a bee.

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To be beautiful, all a woman needs is a black pullover and a black skirt and to be arm in arm with a man she loves.

It’s a lovely name isn’t it, Yves Saint Laurent. Some names are just destined to be known all over the world. Yves Saint Laurent was one of those people. Yesterday news broke of his passing and for the first time in a really long time, I was affected by the death of someone I personally did not know. I can’t remember the last time I felt so strongly about the passing of someone who was not my own. Maybe Heath Ledger, but most of that was shock. When I heard YSL had died, at the age of 71 from brain cancer, I was truly upset. While I was driving to work this morning, I listened to an NPR report about him and how he revolutionized the fashion world. How he popularized “ready-to-wear” in an attempt to democratize fashion and was the first designer to use black models in his shows and created “Le Smoking” suit, a tuxedo suit for women that created a lot of buzz in the fashion industry. Be became the first living fashion designer to be honored by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1983.

I was reading that after he was put in charge of running Christian Dior, he had to serve in the French Army during the Algerian War of Independence and after 20 days of hazing, he had to be institutionalized in a French mental hospital for a nervous breakdown. This is really upsetting and disturbing.

How could anyone do this to the man that once said “A woman who has not found her style, who does not feel at ease in her clothes, who does not live in harmony with them, is a sick woman.” Truer words have never been spoken. Or that “fashion isn’t just to decorate women, but to reassure them, give them confidence.”

In 2002, Saint-Laurent retired from the world of fashion and became reclusive. I don’t blame him really. From what I’ve read and heard, he was quite a gentle soul.

After his hospital stay, Saint Laurent launched his YSL fashion label with former partner Pierre Bergé. The house was sold to pharmaceutical company Sanofi in 1993 for $600,000,000. Try to just imagine that amount of money. Then in 1999, Gucci bought the brand

It’s Thursday night in Los Angeles. The weather is a bit on the hot side and I’m trying to recover from a very long and stressful week. So, let’s talk about my new found fascination for country music – something I never ever ever thought I would ever grow fond of in my life.

I think it boils down to one of my favorite people in the world: Dolly Parton. I love this woman. She can do no wrong in my eyes, no matter how big her breasts get, or if she teases her blond hair up until they reach the high heavens. She’s fantastic.

I think I’ve listened to “Jolene” and “When I Sing For Him” a million times in the last two weeks. And she was on American Idol as a mentor a couple weeks ago. God I love her.

I’ve also been listening to some of Tim McGraw’s stuff. I can’t believe I just wrote that sentence. It’s like a guilty pleasure or something. I mean, I shouldn’t feel too bad about it, after all, Elvis Presley and Johnny Cash had their roots in Country music, and I loved them while I disliked most of Country music.

And let me just say, I do love me some “Urban Cowboy.” I remember seeing it the first time in my cousin’s cramped room. There must have been about 8 of us at some kind of family gathering or another, trying to escape adult conversation. So we watch Urban Cowboy instead. I must have been no more than 14. I’ve also been to Barona Resort and Casino when I was 18, which is endorsed by Country star Kenny Rogers. It was my first taste in gambling and it didn’t hurt that Kenny Rogers was the face of Barona, I don’t particularly like his music, but his kitschy qualities and squinty eyes were enough to win me over.

Even the guy on the right can’t resist his white bearded charm.

I also do love watching “Reba” starring Reba McEntire. She’s not only hilarious, but I can’t get over her thick accent and the fact that no one else on the show ( except her ex-husband’s wife) has the same southern drawl. God knows how many times I’ve sang along to Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” and I totally stood up for the Dixie Chicks when the Bible belt was crucifying them for saying they were ashamed of our President. When will it be 2009? The comments they made should have been enough to get him impeached.

But anyway, I digress. What I’m trying to say is, I guess in some form or another, Country music has always been subliminally a part of my life, whether I like to admit it or not. I’ve always loved snippets of it, but this year I realize I’ve come full circle. So now, If I meet someone who scoffs at mere idea of country music, I can explain that Dolly Parton is perhaps the greatest woman in the world and that I’m sure they totally love the Dixie Chick’s cover of Stevie Nick’s “Landslide.” I’d dare them to listen to “Suspicions” without singing along. It’s impossible. Also, if you listen to it once, you won’t be able to stop. Fair warning. In the end, I am just a city girl with a country heart.

Summer is most definitely here, at least in Los Angeles any way, then again when is it not here? Shoes, in my opinion are the most important part of any outfit. So here, I present my top picks for all the Summer shoes that I want and many that I most probably can’t have.

Smoke Tree Sandals: Anthropologie : $88

Matika Filigree Thong: Urban Outfitters: $98

Jeffrey Campbell ‘Roman Beads’ Sandal: Nordstrom: $70

Ever since I can remember, I have had a fascination with Russian Matryoshka dolls. I first came across them when a relative of my Russian-born grandmother’s brought them when he came to visit from Moscow. At 10 years old, I thought they were the greatest thing since sliced bread. I still have my first Matryoshka set on display in my room.

There’s been a recent trend that’s reintroduced the Matryoshka into mainstream products. They’ve cropped up everywhere, from bed spreads to pillows and even as jewelry. Here are some of my favorite Matryoshka products.

Russian Dolls coin purse Matryoshka purse

Matryoshka bedspread, $32                      The Littlest Matryoshka, $10.33

“Matryoshka” actually derived from the Russian female first name “Matryona”, which is traditionally associated with a fat and robust Russian woman. The first ones date to about 1890 and are said to be have been inspired from Japan.

Folk dessert plate set, $28                                         Nestina doll bank

Today is the 111th day of the year. How in the world did it go so fast?

It’s also the anniversary of Nina Simone’s death. Aside from “My Baby Just Cares for Me,” which is one of my all time favorite songs, I have been listening to “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl” nonstop for the past couple weeks. Apparently, her version of “I’ve Put a Spell on You” inspired the Beatle’s hit “Michelle.” Quite impressive, Ms. Simone.

She’s actually really interesting, because she breaks the mold when it comes to female singers of her genre and era. She had incredibly strong views on race, civil rights and homosexuality.

She once said, “I think the rich will eventually have to cave in too, because the economic situation around the world is not gonna tolerate the United States being on top forever.“

I really don’t know when she said this, seeing as to the fact that she was around until 2003, but it’s a bit ironic that it’s come true, in a sense.

Lord have mercy on this land of mine

We’re all gonna get it in due time

I don’t belong here

I don’t belong there

I’ve even stopped believing in prayer…