Eggs of Inspiration . . .

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"How bold one gets when one is sure of being loved".

 - Sigmund Freud, Letter to fiancée Martha Bernays

Bird Books - "A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah"

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I think I've mentioned before how hugely impacted I can be by the books I read.  Often, I am so consumed by a story, character, or tone that it takes over my way of thinking and leaves me feeling a bit not myself for a few days (I find that the remedy is to read something strictly informational or comedic to shift myself back to normal).   Maybe that’s the reason this particular book has sat on my shelves for ages.  It is the true account of a child soldier fighting in the civil war in Sierra Leon.  And every time I was about to begin it I thought “this is going to be incredibly powerful and moving . . . and it’s going to completely screw me up”.  

Well, I was definitely right about the first part.  The story is every bit as horrific, emotional, and triumphant as I imagined it would be.  It chronicles a stolen childhood – riddled by death, fear, and war.  It is utterly unimaginable.  And for that reason, it didn’t affect me in the way I thought it might.  I didn’t dream about the characters or the setting, the narrator’s tone didn’t impact my thought patterns, I didn’t even find myself thinking about it all that much when I wasn’t reading.  This isn’t to say that it wasn’t a good book.  I found myself unable to put it down on numerous occasions.  The author’s prose is rich and descriptive, and I connected with his character (the younger version of himself) and his struggle.  But it was like reading about the Holocaust.  It can feel too cruel unreal.  And I, sitting in my warm bed, completely safe and comfortable, cannot accurately picture a life spent in the African jungle - deprived a sleep, food, family - high on a combination cocaine and adrinaline, with only the purpose being killing and surviving.  

I can sympathize.  I can be horrified.  But I cannot fully imagine that pain. Maybe that means I'm emotionally limited, or lacking imagination.  Maybe you should read this incredible book and get back to me on how it affected you.

Plumage - Blazing a Trail

Tank: American Eagle.  Jeans: Tommy Hilfiger.  Blazer: Thrifted.  Shoes: Thrifted.  Necklace: jewelry maker in West VA. 

So this is my first blazer.  Ever.  I found it in my favorite thrift store a few weeks ago (when my brother was visiting).  And I love it.  It's corduroy, with a soft, silky lining, and (as I hope this pictures illustrate) it fits me perfectly.  I also paid $12 for it.  That's a plus.  

Oh and the shoes are my first pair of loafers.  Ever.  Also thrifted.  I believe I paid a whopping $2.50 for them.   

I realize that I am bragging, and for that I apologize.  I just love thrifting so much now.  It saves me so much money, and I always have fun, new-to-me pieces to work into my wardrobe.  It's also eco-friendly and if you shop at places like Goodwill and SPCA Rummage, the money goes to a great cause.  I avidly recommend it to all of you . . . well all of you that don't live in the same town as me.  I don't want you picking over my treasures . . .

A-musings: Independence

Whenever I begin to write one of these posts I begin to doubt myself.  I worry that I will come across sounding dumb or inarticulate, or maybe just horrible naïve and cliché.  I am scared that I will be bad at expressing myself and not get my point across, or worse – my point won’t be particularly well-thought-through and I will wind up offending or simply disinterest someone who I would really admire and would want to impress.  It’s just that the blogging world is really intimidating.  On the style blogging front, there are so many beautiful women out there, putting together creative outfits, and capturing them in artsy photos in beautiful locations.  And beyond the fashion world, things get even more scary.  There are all these highly educated, intelligent, well-spoken people writing ingenious posts on everything from food to travel to feminism.  And I’m just me.  Trying to get my haphazard outfits and thoughts out there, partially for my own benefit, and in part to break into this amazing community and possibly make some friendships and connections.  But it’s daunting.  You all are just so freaking cool. 

But I shall carry on. 

Today, what’s on my mind (in part stemming from all that self-doubt I just referred to – hey, where is that ‘my butt looks awesome’ girl?  I think she needs to come back and give this present self a good talking to) is independence, specifically female independence in the context of a relationship.  I’m currently reading Gail Collins’ book “When Everything Changed” (a praise-gushing review will follow once I make my way through the 400+ pages) which is about the struggles and triumphs of the women’s rights movement from 1960 to today.  It’s got me thinking.  I’m one of those girls who has basically always been in a relationship.  I “dated” (by too-young-to-drive high school standards) several different guys briefly in 9^th and 10^th grade, before getting into a 4 year relationship that spanned the end of high school and my first two years of college.  Then I immediately jumped into another (partially long distant, on-and-off, and quite toxic) relationship for the final two years of college and the summer that followed.  I was single for a grand total of 2 months before I started seeing THE boy.  And while others out there may disagree, I don’t see this pattern as particularly detrimental to my overall development.   I did all the things single girls do during the ‘off’ times in my former relationship, and I have always been a very strong-willed, self-aware kind of girl in the first place.  I never felt that I needed to be in a relationship, I just always wound up “clicking” with people shortly after a previous connection “un-clicked”. 

Annny-hoo, even though I think I am a perfectly capable, well-rounded young woman despite my constant non-single status, I have noticed certain trends that I think may stem from always having a significant other (specifically a male S.O.) in my life.  Specifically, when I have never done something before, my first inclination is to ask someone to do it with me.  Even if said person has no expertise and can offer nothing else but moral support in the situation, I still typically ask for help.  But I’ve come to realize that this is sort-of silly (I mean it makes sense – but it isn’t necessary).  I’m using another person (usually my boyfriend) as a security blanket – which in and of itself isn’t so bad, but the problem arises when I have to take the plunge and dive into any given unfamiliar situation on my own.  I get freaked out.  I begin to doubt myself (ah-hah! Maybe that’s why this whole blogging thing is so scary – I’m on my own out here).   I worry that I will make a complete fool out of myself and not have any one to turn to and laugh with (which magically turns any embarrassing situation into a funny story/inside joke to share later).  The thing is though, I have done plenty of scary, new things on my own by now (take my car to the mechanic, apply/interview/land a new job, travel to France, and start this blog – just to name a few of the most terrifying) and for the most part, things turned out just fine.  I often make a fool out of myself (especially when calling someone I don’t know - if they call me, I’m fine, but if I’m the one doing the dialing, my tongue turns to gak [oooh gak – sweet 90’s reference – I tried to make a ‘gak hat’ on several occasions which always resulted in getting the green goo stuck in my hair and crying as my mom tried to get it out without chopping all my hair off]).  But, I just wind up laughing at myself, and sometimes share the story with a friend or S.O. later, thus creating the same funny story/inside joke scenario.

More often than not, I discover that I’m completely capable of doing anything on my own.  So, all the “security person” does is put off the inevitable – getting comfortable doing things solo.  It is incredible to have people (be it friends, family, or a S.O.) to lean on for support when things get rough, but I’m going to try (a mid-year resolution of sorts) to be more discerning as to when I actually need support, and when I’m just a little nervous.  It’s the difference between actual pain and mild discomfort.  Being uncomfortable is good for me.  It’s like working out – that slight ache means that I’m getting stronger.  Mental note, go to the gym . . .

Eggs of Inspiration . . .

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"Do I contradict myself?  Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes."

- Walt Whitman

Plumage - Ink Incognito

Although I really hate to play favorites, I have to say that this outfit is one of the best I’ve put together in recent weeks.  It includes my favorite cardigan, new shoes, a thrift find, and a remixed piece – what could be more perfect?

Cardigan: F21; Top: Anthro dress worn as top; Skirt: thrifted; Shoes: Limelight; Necklace: Gift.

I felt beautiful and feminine, yet still professional and mature.  And thanks to a few new pairs of shoes that cover my feet tattoos (I try not to show them off in the office, and have resorted to lots of tights, socks, and pants) I could rock bare legs on this warm Spring day. 

I just realized that even though I’ve referenced them several times, I have yet to show y'all pics of my tats.  So here they are in all their inky glory.

Clover, lower back, age 16.

Celtic cross, right foot, age 18.

Lily, left foot, age 20

Deceased Grandfather’s initials, right foot above cross, age 21.

I have plans in the works for a fifth and perhaps final piece on my side/back.  I am having my little brother draw it up for me.  And what is it going to be?  What else?  A magpie :)

Flight Report - Turn the Page

Well my roommate has officially moved out, leaving a very empty apartment (I didn’t realize how much of our shared spaced she had furnished), and a very sad puppy in her wake.  I will still get to see her once more before she embarks on her 2 year Ecuadorian adventure, so the utter devastation has yet to begin (although I did spend quite a bit of time crying my eyes out on Friday as I rearranged my sparse furnishings).  Caleb was also out of town visiting family, so my weekend was quiet, a bit lonely, and appropriately rainy.  I powered my way through a lengthy hulu queue and spent a lot of time curled up under covers reading. 

I gave him a bowl of ice to cheer him up.  He loves crunching up the cubes – it’s very convenience that I can use them as “treats”.

I did grab breakfast with one of my close friends on Saturday.   She is returning to live with her parents this summer and is headed off to law school in the fall (seriously, people need to stop leaving – immediately) so I had to say a temporary good-bye to her as well.  Luckily, the boy returned home on Sunday morning.  We had an epic card game over a leisurely brunch which did wonders at improving my mood. 

All-in-all it was a nice weekend and I was grateful for some solo time, but it is going to take a while to get used to this whole living alone thing.  It really makes me appreciate how lucky I am to have such amazing friends, and how special this past year really was. 

Now, on to a new chapter.  Maybe I’ll take up painting?  I definitely need something  to hang on the walls. 

A-musings: Body Love

A very nice woman in my office made a very off-handed comment yesterday that for some reason lodged itself in my brain and is still on my mind today.  Here’s the simplified version of how the convo went down:

Very Nice Woman (VNW - in reference to our company’s new intern):   “She is just way too cute for us”

Me (joking):  “Hey! I think I should be offended by that  haha”

VNW:  “Haha noo, you are adorable!  She is just one of those 2-dimentional people ::holds up pinkie to indicate how skinny said girl is:: that makes us all look bad”

Now I wasn’t actually offended by her comment, it has just lead to a lot of self and societal reflection (the extent of which I haven’t really delved into since my college sociology and gender study classes) and I thought it might be best to get some of these tangential thoughts down in order to help me clear my head.    

I am one of those American women who isn’t actively trying to lose weight.  Sure, I am getting back in the habit of going to the gym, and I am trying to cut out processed foods from my diet as much as possible.   If I happen to drop 5 or 10 pounds from doing this I would be pleased, but my motivating factor is my health and well-being, not my dress size or the number on the scale.  In fact, I think about what it would be like to lose 20 pounds, and at first I am intrigued.  I would still be within my healthy weight range, and I would definitely be able to wear certain fashion trends more confidently (I’m talking to you bandeau tops and see-thru lace), but then I think about how none of my clothes would fit properly anymore . . . and my butt.  I can’t tell you how much I adore my rear end.  I realize that sounds completely conceited and more than a little weird, but there it is.  I have a great ass, and I definitely don’t want to lose it.   

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I started developing curves around the time that big butts became a big deal.   Bootylicious was not just a hit song (and eventually a dictionary-defined term), but a coveted compliment.  Sweat pants with “juicy” written across the back side became a trend (admittedly, a tacky one, but a trend none the less).  And although the whole idea of “fashionable” body specifics is itself a huge problem (particularly since it is usually derived from or applied to attracting a man), hitting puberty at a time when curvy women were “in” did marvelous things for my self-esteem.   I love my body.  Particularly my lower, thicker half.  Sure, we have had our fights (usually under the poor lighting of a dressing room and involving a pair of skinny jeans that looked soooo chic on the mannequin), but then I see my butt and legs in a pair of cut-off shorts and all is forgiven.  I’ve also come to realize that absolutely nothing in my life is going to change if I wake up one day and suddenly my thighs don’t touch.  If anything, I am going to generate a lot less friction heat in my day-to-day activities and be even more cold-natured than I already am.    

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I'm so pleased that flares are back on the fashion scene.  I never traded them (or my trusty boot-cuts and widelegs) in for these leg-huggers anyways.

I understand that this post sounds like little more than me bragging about my body, and if that bores you to tears, I’m sorry.  But these are all the things I wish I could’ve said in response to that comment yesterday (without coming across as the office crazy).  And we should all be bragging more.  While we’re at it, why  is it only “acceptable” to brag about the parts that seem to break beauty standards?  I have a great, toned stomach, and big, brown eyes which I also love.  And any thin girls out there with thick hair and big boobs should feel free to brag as well!  I guess that’s my point.  There should be more body love and bragging out there, whether we match the current body standards or not.  The new intern is beautiful.  She is short and petite and rocks a sundress and tiny ankles like nobody’s business.  And the VNW in my office is also beautiful.  She walks every day on her lunch break and has some seriously toned legs that I hope she is very, very proud of.  But neither of these women “make me look bad”.  I look awesome.  Especially from behind :)

Plumage - Uniform

So I am adding “awesome camera” and “tripod” very near the top of my “must haves” list.   In the meantime, I figured that it was better to make use of my laptop camera to record my outfits rather than rely on recruiting the boy snap my pics for me. 

Here is my reasoning:   Having C take my shots means that I can only take photos after I get off work, before the sun sets (his camera is kind of wonky for indoor photos), on days I see him (granted, that is most days).  This also means that I can’t go to the gym or take Jake to the dog park after work, and I have to ask my sweet boyfriend to go outside and take pictures of me after a long day (he never complains, but I always feel bad for asking).  So, even though this is inevitably going to lead to less interesting photo shoots (say hello to my kitchen, you will be seeing lots more of it), and to shots of my upper half (good bye shoes), lower half (good bye head), close ups (for detail), and awkwardly held up shoes – this is the best I’ve come up with so far.  I’m sure future tweaking (the editing kind, not the meth addiction kind) will follow. 

Anyhow, this outfit is a pretty good example of my daily “uniform”.  Substitute a green corduroy skirt in for the shorts, and you have what I wore to work yesterday.  I changed into something a little more comfy for a dinner/drinks/cards date with the boy at our favorite beer spot.  I typically wear a button up shirt + some sort of layering + belt + either shorts (weekend/evening out), a skirt, or slacks (work) + funky heels and jewelry. 

Shirt: no idea – Christmas gift from an ex’s father years ago.  Shorts: Old Navy, also years ago.  Belt: thrifted for $1.00.  Shoes: Livewire, half off.  Earrings: jewelry maker in WV.

Easy enough, and it gets me comfortably through my day while still looking put together.  

What do you consider your "uniform"?

Flight Report - Off to the Races

Happy Tuesday lovies!  This weekend and last were overflowing with friends, family, food, festivities, and . . . horse racing.  I wanted to share a taste of it with all of you.  

First of all, last weekend was the Spring Foxfield Races.  It is a big tradition at my school to dress up and spend the day at the races getting heavily intoxicated and sun burnt.  I actually never participated during my college years (mainly because I didn't feel the need to pay 50+ dollars to go get drunk with my friends in a field - I did that enough in high school for free).  But this year, many of my friends who moved away from our dear college town, came back for Foxfield, and since I have since exited the starving college kid part of my life, it was a great opportunity to catch up with everyone and finally participate in the festivities.  

And it was wonderful.  I spent the day drinking mimosas, laying on a blanket and watching the races, and dominating at corn-hole (granted - that was only because the boy is such an amazing player).  I was too busy enjoying the sun and champagne to snap any pictures, but I'm hoping to steal some from the other attendees, so stay posted.   

That night, my boss had the entire administrative team and our husbands/fiancés/boyfriends over to her house for dinner in honor of “Administrative Professionals Day”.  Her husband made the most incredible Moroccan food and she gave us all potted petunias.  Earlier in the week, one of the other admins bought me another beautiful plant and the accounting team gave me flowers.   I am so lucky to be surrounded by such lovely people and pretty blooms.  My desk feels like Spring!

My repotted lovelies and gorgeous flowers.

Now this weekend was the Kentucky Derby.  And for some strange awesome reason, this is Caleb’s favorite day of the year.  It also happened to be our 6 month anniversary, but I think he was significantly less excited about that (** he did get me a bouquet of my favorite flowers (white roses) which he somehow remembered were my favorite even though I only told him once – ages ago - so he’s still golden).  He wanted to have his parents and a bunch of our friends over to celebrate the big day, so we spent Friday night getting ready.  We wound up with 9 people (quite a lot for his 1 room apartment) and a huge spread of food.  His mom cooked bacon tomato cups and stuffed mushrooms (which I am still mentally drooling over), Caleb made mac & cheese, pulled pork barbeque, and mint juleps, and I baked two derby pies with homemade whipped cream.  The company and the food could not have been better, and even though the race lasted only about 2 minutes, it was still really entertaining (I was enjoying scoping out the fancy hats and rooting for the only female jockey – which leads me to a whole other tangent (and possibly future post) about why in a sport that values short, skinny, petite frames, there aren’t more female jockeys?!).   But all in all it was an amazing day.

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Here are some pics of our prep work and the finished products:

Prior to the festivities, I also snuck in thai food with the boy and a used bookstore/tea house date with the roomie.  

Even the thai house cat knew what a bad hand he had. 

Gorgeous doesn't even begin to cover it. 

This is her last week at the apartment  . . . (Amanda, please stop crying on your keyboard and finish this rambling post) . . . and we had yet to peruse the amazing downtown shops together.  I found so many great books (including a copy of Lolita and the Slaughter House Five!) and enjoyed spending a quiet morning with my best friend.   Sunday was spent as all Sundays should be spent: doing laundry, quietly reading, drinking thai tea (which I just learned how to make and have yet to perfect, but is still AH-mazing), and challenging the roomie and our boyfriends to a Wii sports tournament.

Thai tea from a mason jar.  Too delicious/cool for words.  .       

I lead a charmed life.

Eggs of Inspiration . . .

I screamed.  He heard, but did not listen.

I wispered.  He would have listened, but could not hear.

Now I sit quietly.  And he listens without having to hear.  

So it is with love

-me

Plumage - Tie Dye and Smoke Swirls

Hmm does this background look familiar?  Well, I gave you fair warning.  This was outside the art gallery my little brother and I attempted to visit last weekend.  It was closed, which gave me the perfect oportunity to snap some photos in front of this awesome mural painted on the outside wall.

Dress: local boutique.  Scarf: F21.  Belt: thrifted.  Boots: Belk.  Earrings: Anthro

I wasn't too sure about this outfit when I was putting it together.  I've always been a fan of the belted scarf look, but never actually tried it out myself.  But when my roommate saw it and said "I hate you.  You're too cute.  Put that on your blog"  I knew I had a winner :)

In other news, this roommate I speak of, who also happens to be my lifelong best friend (since the first day of kindergarten) and soul mate (yes, that term is entirely accurate since I believe that it means one soul, two bodies, and that describes our friendship perfectly), is leaving (the apartment, the country, and most importantly, me) in less than a month.  In fact, she will be moving out in about two weeks, and will be headed to Ecuador at the beginning of June to serve in the Peace Corps for two years.  I expected to be inconsolable at this point, but instead I am blissfully ignoring the fact that my life is about to take a major shift.  Anytime someone brings it up I just give them a sad, surprised, confused look - like if they had just told a joke about killing kittens.  Of course, the other night I did burst out crying for no apparent reason while sitting on Caleb's couch (seriously freaking him out since I rarely cry, especially without motivation), so I feel like it's probably affecting me more than I realize.  So hopefully you all can cut me a little slack when my posts dip into more serious/sad/self-pitying tones (and my outfits consist of all black and mourning veils . . . kidding - but not by much).  

Ecuador stole my best friend.  Future post title?  I think yes.  

A-musings: Painting my Feathers part deux

So this is a delayed continuation of the rambling post I wrote sometime last month.  It was inspired by the hair cut I got a few nights ago. Random? Maybe.  Silly? Perhaps.  Meaningful? Definitely.  

America's Next Top Model isn't a show I follow regularly, but back in the days when I had cable (and didn't have to run over to Caleb's to watch Biggest Loser and the premier of The Voice - which was wonderful by the way) I used to occasionally take a "personal day" and blow off all of my prior commitments to watch one of the all-day ANTM marathons.   ::Completely random side tangent - "Caleb" spells "cable" if you rearrange the letters.  I think the universe is condoning my mooching::  Anyhow . . . during one of the early seasons, Tyra decided to cut one of the girl's hair into a boyish pixie cut a-la Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby.  Tyra kept saying how the girl had the face to pull off the look.  And she did - cute, angular features, a pointed nose and cheek bones, and a strong, but feminine jaw line.  Post-cut she looked just like a gorgeous, elvin badass.  A girl who I would definitely want to be friends with if I wasn't so intimidated by her cool factor.  From the moment she unveiled her new 'do I wished that I had the kind of face that allowed me to chop all my hair off.   But I was convinced that I didn't.  And maybe I don't.  My cheeks are round (boardering on - okay maybe fully qualifying as - 'plump'), my nose is balled rather than pointed,. and my face as a whole suggests more cherrub than pixie. So that was that.  I was destined to have long hair - at least until the point in time when I was old enough to dye it blue without anyone really caring.

And then last summer came.  I had just graduated from college, had no job prospects (aside from the nannying gig that had supported me for the previous 2 1/2 years), was subletting an itsy-bitsy one bedroom apartment in a questionable neightborhood with no central air during the hottest months of the year, and was in the midst of a roller-coaster relationship that was rapidly becoming derailed.  I needed a change.  Fast.  And while I took steps to attempt to remedy the direct source of many of these problems, change was slow, and partly out of my control.  So I did what many women do in times of loss, angst, or unbearable heat - I chopped off my hair.  But even with this driving urge for drastic change, I was too scared to go full-Farrow.  I opted for more of a 70s grown-out pixie look, that fell at the nape of my neck in the back, and was shorter in the front.  It's taken almost another full year of going gradually shorter (and the inspiration of Emma Watson, Michelle Williams, Mia Wasikowska, and the original Mia) to finally take the plunge and get the cut I've always wanted.  And guess what?  I love it.  I still don't think I necessarily have the face for it (although my lovely stylist said otherwise), and I certainly don't look as edgy and stylish as the aforementioned mega-star hotties, but I feel amazing.   

And this just brings me back to the same point I made in the last post on this subject:  I am slowly but surely creating the life I want and becoming the woman I always dreamt of being.  Certainly one hair cut (no matter how drastic), tattoo, or outfit can't single handedly change your entire life - but for me these little steps have changed the way I view myself.  I'm no longer the girl who's not badass enough to have a tattoo, or who doesn't have the face to rock a pixie cut - because now I'm all tatted up and pixied out. And that gives me courage to take other risks - like starting this blog.   I'm sure there are plenty of people who think my tatts are ugly, my hair is unflattering, and that this blog is stupid - and to them I shurg my shoulders and say "eh".  Because they could be right.  But I've gotten way more compliments on all of these endeavors than I have criticisms (so either I rock, or the naysayers out there are just introverted quiet types - either way, my ego appreciates it).  Besides, no matter what anyone says or thinks, I'm still doing all of these things that I always thought I couldn't - maybe I'm making myself sound stupid, or look unattractive in the process (it certainly doesn't feel that way so that thought doesn't really bother me), but I'm doing them - can't is out of the equation.

So today I signed up for a month of hot yoga classes, because the girl I am becoming apparently does yoga in a 120 degree room, plus I got the membership half price (and I have always been the kind of girl who loved a deal).