Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Status: Approved

'I have to tell you, your Dad was nearly in tears last night. He said he hasn't seen you look so happy or healthy in years. And... Jim's soooo cute.'
This is an authentic representation of what he wore.
My stepmom whispered all this in my ear upon mine and Jim's arrival to my cousin's wedding over the weekend in Los Angeles, the day after Thanksgiving.
My dad then hugged me, and told me so himself. He told me I looked beautiful, which I don't remember him ever saying, but I'm sure he has.








Jim met (99% of) my family this past weekend.
You can guess how that went.

Smartest. Family. Ever.

White Elephant.

Kat Moss is totally invited.
I'm in the mood to throw a party.
A fete of sorts, ifyouwill.
Cozy, easy, post-Christmas yet pre New Years.
Every time I get the urge to throw a something-small I inevitably end up going back and forth back and forth about whether or not to actually throw it, because I get afraid that even if I did throw a party, no one would show up.

I imagine me, alone on the couch, metallic party hat on, curtains drawn, a single sad balloon hovering halfway between the ceiling and the floor. 

No one's coming to your sweet sixteen party, Louise.
Pathetic Party Kazooooooooooooooooo.

It's silly, really.
Then I go back and forth, trying to figure out who exactly I would invite, and I get overwhelmed at editing an invitee list (I always end up inviting some rando at the last minute anyway for fear that no one'll show) and then I end up deciding not to throw a party because it's too much of a headache (egoache), but the urge doesn't go away.

I'm in the mood to throw a party.
The internal fĂȘte battle rages on. 

Thursday, November 15, 2012

I Just Google'd How to Spell 'Bored'. 'Happy' I Know By Heart.

They opened a Crossroads Exchange across from mine and Jim's house.
My life is complete now.
No, but seriously. I feel that way.

Also, is it just me, or if the dude in a picture (or life, or whatever) is too good looking, the whole thing comes off as contrived?

Your chiseled good looks are ruining the shot, man. 
Also, maybe this is why I love Jim's crooked bottom teeth.

I'm addicted to eBay.
I'm the highest bidder on a Galliano fan (as in, 'the vapors!') at the moment


I'm happy & bored & having a dinner guest tonight.
Which reminds me, Jim's parents saw the place for the first time last weekend, and it was so nice to see them so happy for their son. There was such a sense of pride in the way they looked at the place, and it was fun to watch them walk through and seeing it through their eyes. It also, and  this is weird to say, but I feel it, it made me feel like they knew that I am 'taking good care of their son'. Like somehow the outside reflects the inside; the happiness, the love, the care. I know the above is a bit of an antiquated concept, 'I'm taking good care of him, over here!' but it still made me feel good to sense that it was coming across. That and his parents think I have very good taste, so that was pretty awesome too.

Speaking of taste, what am I going to make for dinner?

Friday, November 9, 2012

Just a Friendly Reminder.

Never skip mascara.
Seriously. 

Say thank you.
Mean it.

Remember that other people's shoes will never be as comfortable as your own.
Which makes walking a mile in them really hard.
Try to imagine doing it anyway.

Learn how to politely decline.

Learn how to apologize when appropriate.

Learn how to not apologize when you don't need to.

Remember that we are all human; we're all doing the best we can.
Not one of us is always going to be perfect, or perfectly understanding; but, that doesn't take away from the fact that we're all trying our Goddamn best not to fuck up.
We're all trying to keep the yarns moving smoothly through the loom. 
Repetitiously.
And no matter how much you practice, you're never going to get it right one hundred percent of the time. There are going to be imperfections; there will be mistakes.

You can't take them back, but you can most certainly learn from them, and move forward with less of a chance of making the same mistakes again.

Learn how to forgive.
Yourself, most importantly.

But don't ever skip mascara.
Even if it might run.
Seriously.









Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Sunrise, Sunset.


Here I am, like I am most mornings - prework, or day off - I've made a point to wake up around the time that Jim leaves and enjoy my morning (or whole day, but not today) in Our Space.
Yesterday, I went to the market and bought what I usually buy - flowers and house knick knacks - nail polish, hand soap, a vintage looking edition of Pride & Prejudice that will inevitably never be read, but will look pretty on my dresser.
I arranged the flowers in my many many vases & blast Bon Iver on Pandora all day (or morning, as I am now.)
Then I peruse --- eBay, Pinterest, Facebook, you name it, I am in engrossed in it.
Yesterday, in particular I spent an inordinate amount of time looking at a photo story entitled, 'Rihanna's Sexiest Tweets' until I stopped, and thought, 'What the fuck am I looking at?'

And I feel whole.
I love finding a Rebecca Taylor dress for $15 as a surprise for my sister on eBay, helping my Malibu Bad Ass find a Minute Clinic in Denver, making plans for next Sunday with two of my old shop cohorts, responding 'Yes' to evites and generally just feeling helpful and happy, all while being surrounded by fresh flowers and feisty cats in a House with a Green Door.
On the couch or in the bath.
On our patio, with the furniture I picked.
I like my mornings.

But, I still have problems falling asleep.
I hate those moments of pre-sleep where my subconscious sneaks up on me, and I start thinking nonstop about the 
'What if's...'
Of memories I've willed myself not to remember.
Of things I could have done differently.
What if Jim dies... What will happen to me... How long would I be able to stay here in this house... It's not mine... Could I afford the mortgage... Could I get out of bed...
The moments in the interim of sleep and wake have been an Enemy of mine for a long time and I tend to stay awake as long as possible, doing anything possible to avoid the interim, until exhaustion hits - like a child with barely one eye open - and I just pass out without the actual falling part...
And the only moments of discord that Jim and I ever really have are when he's threatening to close his eyes before me, leaving me alone with my sleepy scary thoughts.
I get huffy, like a tired child up past her bedtime.
It's frustrating. For both of us, I imagine. Left alone, usually I wrestle with my fears for awhile and fall asleep, only to wake in the morning with only a vague memory of their existence  They're there, but only in those in-between moments, those moments I have trained myself to avoid with terrifying accuracy.
Last night was no different & and even though I had made the decision not to try & stay awake until the night just faded to nothing, I still lay there thinking the aforementioned what ifs -- and like many nights, I curled up in a panic to Jim, waking him from his new sleep, in tears. What if... How long...?
He's so sweet; when I am able to articulate the fears that have amassed cancerously in my tired brain,
he doesn't brush them off, he just holds me.
He asks if I want him to call his lawyer.
No, I just don't want you to die. 
He squeezes me and assures me that he doesn't want to either. He tells me of something he read about  in his own daily perusal of the interwebs, of a girl and her boyfriend falling asleep, where the girls tells the boyfriend she hates falling asleep because she gets so fixated on her next days' to-do list, and the boyfriend is confused because when he falls asleep, he thinks about things like rocket ships made of french fries. 
I envy that boy. 

Its so odd, being alone with my thoughts all morning, I am happy and whole and looking around at a warm space of my own creation, complete and happy.
But alone with my thoughts, on or around 10:30pm most weeknights, I am greeted by an old enemy - I am tired, and scared and sad.
The dichotomy of it - the two parts of Me - the day and the night, the happy and the sad - they are what make me my Whole-est, I guess. 
That I do not run, or attempt some other form of running away, that is a miracle in it of itself.
That I go to bed, or at least agree to try, on a regular basis, is new to me.
That I wake up as happy as I do is new as well.

It's an even trade, I guess.
Fears are fears, we're all going to have them.
Lucky for me, I get to wake up to a comfortable & blessed existence come the sunrise.

I'm always going to be afraid of what I cannot control. I'm always going to have memories that I wish were never made.
I'm always going to wrestle with my own propensity towards sadness and fight for my happiness.
I am always going to be working for a balance.
I am finding a balance.




I Like This Girl.

Eat The Damn Cake.  (Thats a link. Click it in a sec.)



I just fell into her Love Story.
I've read her work before, and she's articulate & she's deprecating & self aware. Its refreshing, and makes me feel like I have a friend in someone's words. (Imagine that.) I especially recommend following the hyperlinks to her first date with her now-husband.
I like her style.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Balloon.


I feel like... 
I finally have what I've always wanted; and have been asking the universe for - demanding from it, really... 
A couch, a bathtub & a Boy. 
A love that grows for that Boy; that has a ever expanding charge - like the universe is ever expanding. 
Sometimes, I feel as though maybe it's hit its stride; I have a moment of 'This is it. This is a Whole Love.' 
And then it grows more. 
And then, again. 
It matures. 
We've hit points of melancholy, or fits of giggles, and It grows yet again.
I wake up and tell him I love him, and I mean it more than I did yesterday.
Even though, yesterday I did not think I could love him more.