Tag Archives: dreams

new york city ta-da! list;

yeynyc

if you’re reading this, i finished up my trek to my new apartment in manhattan.

i’ve got a small litter box clumsily stuffed into my suit case. my lucky mustard yellow flats. men’s evergreen-scented deodorant.

which is to say, i’m ready to rumble.

 

i’m a huge fan of to-do lists. buuuuuuut they sound so dreadful.

ergo, the birth of the “ta da! list” which i think just sounds a lot nicer.
{and subconsciously i like to think it makes me more productive.}

 
…let’s get started, ya’ll.

*eat all the big gay ice cream.

*take a class at upright citizens brigade
*henna-dye my hair.
*swing dance allllll over
{the most fun exercise because you can talk while you do it.}
*eat lots of german food.
{boston only has one german restaurant, so this maedchen needs to get her schnitzel on.}
*doughnut plant!
*learn how to read crochet patterns.
*grow my hair to stevie nicks a la rumours status.
*find a yoga place under $35 a class.
*coney island (!!!!)
*go to momofuku milk bar, please. i daydream often of cereal-milk flavored goodies.
*read lots of german children’s books. yay!

 

{did i miss anything?}

blog is getting a juice cleanse;

IMG_4621

hey ya’ll.

if you couldn’t tell already, this blog has been needing some serious r&r.

it needs a face lift of sorts. maybe a tummy tuck. maybe a juice cleanse. who knows, but i’ve been thinking about doing it for months.

inspired by my dear friend jenna’s recent blog overhaul, i realized i can re-brand this space as much as i want. whenever i want. often i’d think i had something to “owe” to someone, but that’s a bunch of baloney. and uber self-righteous. and i’m not down with that.

—-

 

if anything, i feel like i’ve outgrown this little space like an old, dried out cocoon. or one of those shells that $5-side-of-the-road hermit crabs live in.

 

in a way, i feel like i’ve outgrown “personal” blogging. “lifestyle” blogging. whatever you call it, i can’t seem to get a handle of it.

in short, i’m not very good at lifestyle blogging, because i’m not very good at lying or fabricating perfection out of my normal days. which, in their own ways, are perfect to me, but odd or dysfunctional seeming to the outside world.

i’d rather tell stories about how i once made two dogs so excited they peed themselves at the same time. or how i dated a guy who ended up dumping me because he thought he was allergic to me. or how i made the most horrible cake ever. or how i dropped out of college once. or met swedes in san francisco hostels. that’s the stuff i thrive off of; those are the stories i want to tell.

—-

in short, my life doesn’t look like a j.crew catalogue, and it’s all too easy to make your blog life look like that, i know. and i’m feeling the need to step away from that sort of world. or at least back off for a bit.

i’m also too private for that. you know how people in the olden days say photographs steal your soul or something? i feel like blogging about various experiences that i treasure so much would make them less of my own memories and more of something that people could critique or strive to have happen in their own lives.

and guys, i don’t want any of you to strive to emulate any one else’s lives. whether it’s the stationery they use. or the pug they have. or the damn duvet cover they have. i feel like it’s very easy to fall down the rabbit hole of self-perfection. and i think i have the responsibility of presenting reality to you all.

with that said, i’m taking the next few weeks to create a new space that will not only be a good place for me to share things in, and i hope you all stick around for it.

i want to go to there, a reading list;

IMG_1848
{old orchard beach, maine}

basically, ya’ll, my wanderlust is going crazy enough to make me want to say “ya’ll”. luckily, a one bedroom in manhattan is my destiny this summer, so thankfully i have some place to walk my new mom-ish shoes around {baby girl loves sensible shoes, even if they age me ten years}.  never have i been more excited to kiss my little floridian weiner dog, or buy mass amounts of mangoes in crates on a street corner in new york. these books are helping homegirl in the meanwhile.

{berlin} berlin stories by robert walser

{berlin + france + boston}  my berlin kitchen by luisa weiss
{the happiest places} the geography of bliss by eric weiner
{britain + america}  i’m a stranger here myself by bill bryson
{ireland}  irish journal by heinrich boll
{europe} neither here nor there by bill bryson
{actually, just read all of the bill bryson: appalachia, britain, australia, small town america}
{paris} the dud avocado by elaine dundy
{italy} la bella figura by beppe severgnini

 

a montreal itinerary;

{this past valentines day weekend i got myself on a greyhound and traveled all the way to montreal. for other itineraries, click here.}img_4083

get to south station at 7am after a valentine’s date of romantic egg sandwiches eaten under the glow of subway lights and alfred hitchcock, which is to say i was under a pretty hefty bagel coma.

promptly down the largest mcdonald’s coffee and delight in all of the artificial sweetener, fake cream, and ambiance. then, take two melatonins.

but actually don’t, because that’s like a big LOL to your body. if you feel the need to shake your right leg in place and scratch your head, but also fall asleep, you’re doing it right.

allow seven hours of talking to patchouli-scented busmates and buying $9 maple syrup at a sunoco in white river junction, vermont to pass. this is very important. do not question me.

Screen Shot 2013-03-20 at 4.45.09 PMScreen Shot 2013-03-20 at 4.45.28 PM

gallivant the city of montreal solo hell-bent on trying new things like poutine and maybe use some high school french (french club president 08-09, hollaaaaaa), but end up speaking english and ordering a fast food tofu green curry on styrofoam plates almost immediately. it happens.
extra points if you accidentally shout “I’D VOUDRAIS A  VERT TOFU CARI S’IL VOUS PLAIT?” when you get nervous.

that also happens.
img_4166 (1)
IMG_4167
IMG_4108

delight in the dreamboatiness of josh ritter and fantasize about him noticing your glance across the room, prompting him to say “you want to pull on my suspenders, don’t you? come on over. don’t be shy.”

what actually happens:
1. you forget to get cash out for coat check and the canadian bouncer is really not jiving with you holding your puffer coat the whole concert, but your card shuts down before you can because you’ve only just crossed the canadian border abruptly and are buying erratic things like ear plugs, sketchy hostel reservations, and $9 bottles of maple syrup. you are essentially a terrorist.
2. also, get a nose bleed in the middle of the concert.
3. get one of those delightful chronic uti’s is also a plus (tmi, but i need you all to really understand the gravitas of this comedic display of sad). go to the bathroom eight times, strategically placing the bathroom door cracked so you can still sing along to “bright smile”.
4. forget to pull your skirt down when you return from the bathroom for the sixth time. don’t notice that everyone can see the butt flap on your sweater tights until you go back for time #7.

even so, fun was had.
home girl doesn’t play around. she plays for keeps.

IMG_4251IMG_4330IMG_4164Screen Shot 2013-03-20 at 4.45.21 PM

spend the next morning prancing around mont royal imagining how on earth montreal hospitals and public parks can be sexy. they’ve taken it to an art form, ya’ll.

eat a burrito-sized crepe filled with nutella and raspberries on a stoop near mcgill because you really don’t feel like tipping anyone.

pretend to your instagram followers that you went into museums, because you truly can’t afford it. but pretty pictures outsides and selfies in gift shops count for something.

realize that your southern accent is coming back the more you go north on this continent. it’s probably been at least 11 hours since you’ve spoken to someone, so you spend two hours laughing about “montre-ya’ll” as a pun. this will help in hiking up mont royal, somehow.
this is how you solo travel, ya’ll.

IMG_4329

if you’re ever in the market for a porn version of “dude, where’s my car?” or some disney channel original movie (i’d be all for a “luck of the irish” version personally), fear not; montreal has already done it and it’s playing right around the corner.

IMG_4331

IMG_4332
IMG_4214IMG_4213

meet up with lovely blog soul-sister, emily. and delight in all things kitschy and dairy-filled (foreshadowing*~).

suddenly your mind is filled with all kinds of exclamation points: accordion players! french things! kitschy thrift stops with clear coffins with a dead jesus inside of it (really, this happened. it was right below the cash register)!!

bike baskets outside of erotic movie theatres! erotic bookstores! erotic lingerie stores! i was significantly disappointed on not finding an erotic bakery, but you win some you lose some.
IMG_4107
IMG_4333IMG_4215

IMG_4211

and then the inevitable happened. seeing as emily and were those types of girls: the kinds who ordered virtually ordered all the same things at all the restaurants we went to, we got lactose-sick off of a plateful of omelet du fromage, sadly enough.

we hobbled from shop to shop, through creepy jesus-sarcophagus-filled thrift stores to  shop-dog-filled shops, but realized a nap in our hostel bunk bed was what the doctor ordered.

IMG_4212IMG_4219

seeing as we had been calling out things as “so0oo0o instagrammable” (you know what i’m talking about: lattes, cats, flowers, clouds, anything fluffy/sparkly/alcohol-induced) all around the city, we decided to strike the most instagrammable poses; that of us crouching in pain inside a metro station. we tried to make a statement and i think it worked.

img_4168

all the happy tears;

5a205044784411e299af22000a9e29bc_7
{josh ritter at cabaret du mile end, montreal. february 2013}

we interrupt this blog of corgi lovefangirling, and nerdy gifs to bring you an overly dramatic post about the first love of my life, josh ritter.

guys, i got to see him the flesh this weekend in montreal. my years of adoration and dreams of one day touching his suspenders are over. i was ten feet away from him for two hours of my life, and it was all i could dream of and more. if anyone cares to know, he was only singing to me. it’s whatever. sure, i didn’t get the butt pinch and suspender grazing night i was planning for due to the montreal metro, but i will still tell my grandchildren that i got a handful of his goofily-decorated suspenders and he complimented my silly glasses and he gave me a wink or four from the stage. please don’t tell them otherwise.

i remember hastily listening to him in german class my senior year. one ear bud shoved in my ear, the other in my lovely friend estefania’s earbud. we listened to “the temptation of adam” with half the sound but all of j-ritt’s signature manboy charm. i’ve since watched live at iveagh gardens in 28 awkward parts on youtube, and am always in the process of just can’ting (as in “no, i just can’t”) whenever i maniacally spend hours just staring at him smile so gleefully in his signature vests and schoolboy smile. i should have been conjugating verbs, but instead i just got smitten. it happens.

guys, i’m still sobbing inwardly over how i got to see this man in the flesh on friday. i’m still shaking with the words of “new lover” and running past bouncers to get out of checking my coat for two canadian dollars, because i am the cheapest person on the face of this earth and hellbent on getting a good spot in front of my lover boy before everyone else. and it was worth it to hold my puffer coat to see those man-boy dimples, so big you could hide something inside of them. and he’s still the only man who can make me cry about a puppet romance.

he was perfect. i just, ugh. i just still can’t. i will be over to the side in a dark corner, just beside myself with the same schoolboy smile on my stupid little face.

post-grad reading list;

362431108359087215_12204824

the other night i had the pleasure of meeting a really kindred spirit in the unlikely place of a new frozen yogurt shop  where i was attending a babysitters-parent networking event (feel free to laugh. this is my normal.) we hit a lull in the event, the other babysitters really weren’t talking to other babysitters and hardcore ENFP that i am, i just couldn’t handle not talking to other human beings.

i ended up talking to the girl next to me, a nice, bubbly post-grad and we shortly began gabbing to our hearts content about work, preferred take-out restaurants (indian food court restaurant @ the pru/ chili duck) and the like. admittedly, she met me on a rough day of realizing hey, i don’t think i want to work a job in my major (which tends to happen when you just got finished with a two hour lecture on paper.) and hey, maybe i want to do this one really “unpractical” thing that i’ve always wanted to do since i was eight. and hey, i’m graduating this year and i’m very scared i might have to work at a quiznos. 

the girl was the best part of the event. since my post-grad woes had been distracting me all week (and also the coordinator of the event mistook me for a mom as soon as i walked in the door, grumblegrumblegrumble) i was feeling a bit disgruntled and distracted. “you don’t have to work in your major!” she said, calmly. “you can literally do anything you want,” she said after hearing my questions about post-grad life. and then i thought about all the books i’ve read in the past few years or so that said the same, stupidly simple little reminder that i’ve heard a million times, both in books and by multiple elementary school teachers. once again, i’m nope-ing to doing a job in my major because it’s “practical”. i’m nope-ing to working at quiznos. boom.

so for your reading pleasure (and because i hope/know i’m not alone in this feeling) here are some “hey, you don’t have to work at [insert fast food establishment here]“ book list for post-grad survival

100 demons by lynda barry (a coming of age omic book!)

great gals: inspired ideas for living a kick-ass life by summer pierre

the artist in the office: how to creatively survive and thrive seven days a week by summer pierre

i was told there’d be cake by slone crosley + my boyfriend wrote a book about me by hillary winston  + the new york regional mormon singles halloween dance by elna baker    (the three women who are essentially doing what i want to do, no biggie.)

the happiness project
 
by gretchen rubin (reading this right now and my mind is bubbling over with ideas, ya’ll.)

what i know now: letters to my younger self by ellen spragins (one of my dearest friend’s mothers gave me this book when i graduated high school and it is actually the best little nugget of wisdom i’ve ever received.)

 

{what are your favorite reads for the post-grad-i-don’t-know-what-i’m-doing-but-i’d-like-to-still-have-money-to-eat group?}

{berets and bongos} 95;

IMG_0221

{tampa. january 2012.}

“a thousand doors ago
when i was a lonely kid
in a big house with four
garages and it was summer
as long as i could remember,
i lay on the lawn at night,
clover wrinkling over me,
the wise stars bedding over me,
my mother’s window a funnel
of yellow heat running out,
my father’s window, half shut,
an eye where sleepers pass,
and the boards of the house
were smooth and white as wax
and probably a million leaves
sailed on their strange stalks
as the crickets ticked together
and i, in my brand new body,
which was not a woman’s yet,
told the stars my questions
and thought god could really see
the heat and the painted light,
elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.”

-anne sexton, “young”.

{yah i know, i’ve been hard core anne sexton binging, but can you blame me? girl’s got style, ya’ll.}

{berets and bongos} 93;

{columbia university. january 2012} 

“december 1st

as we kissed good-bye
you made a little frown.
now christ’s lights are
twinkling all over town.
the cornstalks are broken
in the field, broken and brown.
the pond at the year’s end
turns her gray eyelid down.
christ’s lights are
twinkling all over town…”

-anne sexton, “eighteen days without you.”

the girl crush is back;

because of this video.

guys, i don’t think you understand how complete i feel right now. because of the existence of this video. it has everything i’ve ever asked the universe for:

more st.vincent in my life (girl crush is at an all-time high). david byrne from the talking heads (which is just perfect, because i’ve been listening to this classic for days.) freakin’ HORNS(!!!) goofy white people dancing. black and white music video. sweet harms (harmonies).

i am literally beside myself. i’ll brb. i have to go breathe heavily into a bag right now. i’ll be in a dark corner if you need me.

werewolf bar mitzvahs, or “i can’t believe i get to write this stuff”;

so, as i have stated before, i’m kind of smitten with my internship. exhibit a: i got to write a blog post and compile a playlist  for halloween jams. i got to use bad puns. i got to use the rac remix of “werewolf bar mitzvah”. i talk about pelvic thrusting. this has been the rule of three.

like, guys, i didn’t even have to suggest this. i was told to. anyways, it’s been a good semester. anything that allows me to comment on missy elliot’s absence in the 2010s is enough to keep me content (but really, missy, come back to us).

if you’d like to read the article(and cringe at bad jokes), you can click here. and i’ve also compiled the list into a snazzy little spotify playlist for convenient ghoulish dance partying.

now if you’ll excuse me, i’ve got to see some boys become men, men become wolves, and women become she-wolves.