Sneakers and Pearls

Being a little fancy

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Highlights from March 25th NYMag: Cool Pony thrift store/music venue in Crown Heights,"Faces and Phases", portraits of African lesbains by Zanele Muholi at Yancey Richardson Gallery, this friggin article about the feminist housewife that drove me insane, Questlove in 1978, rutabaga fries

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Away with the Pixies

So this happened.

I had to. It was either give my poor, over-processed hair a fresh start or return to my natural color, and I'm just not ready to go back. And I love it. I really do. I've always had short hair and I feel more like myself now. 

But I actually had a moment of mourning for my hair. And it didn't deserve it. It was unhealthy, limp, dry and breaking off. I constantly had nightmares about going bald and my stomach filled with lead every time I saw those stringy white hairs in my brush or on my clothes. And yet, when I brushed it off my collarbone or twisted a strand around my finger while lost in thought, it did make me feel feminine. I've never been someone who found my sexuality in my hair, I mean for most of my life I've rocked a bob, with bangs. But apparently all of our cultural images of what it means to be a desirable woman, did in fact, quite literally go to my head. 

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No Matter

No matter how many times I was wrong. How many times my heart got pushed around. No matter. I’m so glad that I was never afraid to smile at handsome strangers and dream about our future together. Because recently, one smiled back.

Jeans: JBrand Sweater: Benetton Vest: Levi's Shoes: Vintage cowboy boots

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A Crew

When I was in high school I had three really close girlfriends. They were the ones I'd meet at the cranberry bog and smoke cigarettes with on our lunch break, the ones who knew all my fears, my favorite things, my family. We had a secret spot in an attic, we shared holidays, and all the hours in between the rare class we didn't have together or the obligations that somehow didn't include us. When we were together it felt magical, powerful, like my best self tripled. And when we were apart, it felt empty, lacking and totally boring. 

We're still in touch, barely, all living really separate lives in distant cities. After college, I assumed I would never have a crew like that again. It seemed a thing of childhood where adulthood seemed to be defined by career and romance. 

But last night, something wonderful happened. I looked up at the eight laughing faces around the table and then saw the look of envy on the strangers standing nearby. There we were, a solid crew. I have it. For the first time since I was an awkward teenager, my life is once again filled with intelligent, funny, creative, interesting women with whom I gather my strength, my ego, my confidence to step out into this crazy world, the best version of myself amplified. 

Silk shirt: Madewell

Weird rocker jeans: H&M

Denim jacket: 90s vintage

Necklace: Target

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Shelter

I hardly ever get bummed out about being single. Usually I relish my independence and the freedom I have to build my career, strengthen my friendships and indulge in total selfishness. But in times of impending natural disasters, it's really hard to be single because you realize that you're in it alone. 

Or so I thought. I survived Sandy with my friend Joanna. We hunkered down with wine, card games and baked goods. And as the night wore on and the storm had little impact, I received numerous messages from friends inviting me to join them in their hurricane survival parties. It was the best reminder that I'm far from alone. 

Weird rocker jeans: H&M

Vest: Vintage Ralph Lauren

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It's been a week since I officially changed your name in my phone to "Do Not Text."

And you haven't.

You've never really shown me whether you care if I came or went in your life.

So I'm going. 

Shirt: from Buffalo Exchange

Vest: Levi's

Pants: Gap

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Summer in November

This actually is a picture from the summer, but it's so warm today, I almost could be wearing this. 

Skirt: Laundry

Tank: Gap

Ring: Gift from an ex. (whatever. I like it.)

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"And we all want to belong to something more than ourselves 'cause you can't always do it alone."

Heartless Bastards

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My room is a total mess, so I tried to blur the edges. Clearly, I'm not fooling anyone. 

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Photographs by Jason Zucco. Clothing provided by Ball and Buck and Gretta Luxe.

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It's cold. Ugh.

Wearing socks with summer sandals helps me with the transition.

Faux fur vest: A find at Second Time Around

Sandals: Franco Sarto

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Remember when it was summer again randomly last week?

Shorts: from Haley Thompson-King, of Banditas fame, when she was manning a booth at the Davis Flea this summer. They're legit vintage, the label is so old.

Tank: I actually scooped this off the dusty floor at Old Navy, a completely abandoned clearance item. Although it makes me look like I'm 12, I love this tank because it has an elastic bottom, always a great feature in a top.

Shoes: Clark's from the sample sale at Garnet Hill

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A Tortured Cycle

Sweater: Robbi + Nikki, Jeans: Paige, Shoes: Loeffler Randall, Snake Earrings: Gift from Mom

Knowing I would see him on Friday night, I made up my mind to just pretend he is my gay friend. And maybe I'm in love with him, but he's totally off limits. This way, this time, I will have no expectations. But then...

The night turns to late and there is walking in a quiet city in an air that's not still summer, but not quite fall. Late becomes early dawn and there is laying in the grass and looking at the receding stars. And when the sun finally rises, I am again sleeping in his arms.

But then...

Morning is snugly and comfortable and no awkwardness interrupts our laughter. We fall back into an easy, synchronized step and the day passes with strolling and nachos. When we finally part and go back to real life, a life that doesn't really include an us, the texting once again begins. We inform each other of every step we're taking without the other, how we're passing our days and how the rest of the weekend was spent. In the sleepy Sunday hours our texts devolve into a funny banter about his fake band called Digmama. Very few people can go down a text banter road with me like this. And then...

I'm back and full of expectations.

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Hating/Loving Hip Creatives

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people refer to themselves as "a creative." "Well, as a creative...," "she's a creative, like us!" "all of my friends are creatives too." Puke. 

Although, when I wore this dress to a "hip" coffee shop, employed by what could only be called "creative types," the emaciated boy with spacers in his ears and a shock of green in his hair said he really liked my glasses and my dress and I was more flattered that I would have been if some dude in khakis told me that. So. 

Dress: Dallin Chase. I bought this and another dress in a boutique in NYC, that I thought was called "nipple" but spelt with a shout-out to NY in it, like NYPL. Although I Googled that to no avail. I know the boutique was on St. Mark's Place. I'll have to look for it one of these days...

Booties: Frye. I bought them at Nordstrom rack and they are amazing! One of my favorite purchases for fall. I'll feature them again often. 

Glasses: Warby Parker, Roosevelt frame in Cedar

The belt is a shoelace I got at Converse one day. Heh heh. 

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With or without you...vest.

Dress: Urban Outfitters (the back is pretty awesome in a kind of slutty way because it clasps at the top and then is open to the lower back. woot woot. I looked crazy trying to photograph my own back.)

Denim vest: Levi's

Leopard booties: Impo? They were a Marshall's score

I wore this dress to the Middlesex in Cambridge the other night to see my friend Mariami (http://mariami.bandcamp.com/) perform.

At the show I was reminded of one of my biggest regrets; I was never in a band. I can carry a tune enough to not make a total ass of myself at karaoke, but I do not have the musical ability required to do much more then snap and sway as a back-up singer...in a wedding band. ..playing a bar mitzvah.

But every time I go and see really talented musicians perform, I am so envious! What I wouldn't give to be able to stand in front of a crowd and belt out songs I had written about some shitty ex-boyfriend who broke my heart and see the crowd singing those lyrics back to me?! I cannot imagine what a high that is and what a purge every time you're able to perform. I even long for the ability to pick up an instrument while angsty, alone in my room and play until my fingers are cramping up, my voice is hoarse and my sadness has subsided. 

I have to take comfort in that fact that I do have a creative outlet. I can write. And while I’ve not come close to even writing one solid chorus, I do feel expunged every time these fingers play this keyboard. 

And I'm really really good at being a groupie.