Thursday, September 29, 2011

so very, very right.

okay, so.

it is now late september.


and i am writing to you from the lawn chair in my backyard. shorts, tank top, tanning lotion and all.


it’s eighty-eight degrees out.


and yes, it is fall.


does anyone else see anything wrong with this picture? i mean, yes--i am out here. shamelessly soaking up some rays. attempting to salvage any remaining glimmer of my rapidly depleting tan.


but still.


setting that aside, i am willing to admit that it is not right.


my sweaters are feeling neglected. and bored. just hanging there on my portable clothing rack.


and my tall leather boots are seriously suffering in their dark corner of my stairwell closet.
it is almost as if my breezy summer wardrobe is mocking them. taunting with the fact that they are the pieces that are still being pulled out and worn...even though technically it is no longer their turn.

but it is not my fault.
and it is wrong.

oh-so-very-wrong.


you know what else is wrong?


coming home to find your family dog has passed on.


wait.


correction. you know what else is wrong? coming home to a longtime family dog that is now dead and watching your little brother tear up as the news is broken to him...


hold on. one more time.


you know what is wrong? coming home to a dead family dog, and listening to your bad-a-tough-football-playing-never-shed-a-tear-little-brother and your father--who you have seen tear up maybe a total of four times in your entire twenty four years--both earnestly cry over your lost family pet of thirteen years.


and within moments. you find yourself in tears.


not sure if you are breaking down in mourning for the death of your dog or if it is a side affect the overwhelming sadness of seeing both your brother and dad cry.


wrong. so wrong.


and you know what else?
that's wrong....?

how bad things happen to really, really good people.


see, i know a lady. we work together. and we are friends. and she doesn’t know this...but she is one of my hero's in this whirlwind of a life.


this woman is truly one of the most genuinely kind, loving, and optimistic people i have ever met. seriously, ever.


this woman will smile through any heartache. through any trial. through any ass-kicking circumstance that life throws at her.


and unfortunately
, this week was not good to her.
enough that hearing about it made me want to cry. and yet, she remained as if nothing...absolutely nothing could make her think less of this life. and of all the blessings she has been given.

i can’t even express how humbling this has been to me. me--with problems that basically revolve around me. me--the girl who is not married, has no children, no house payment and no other mouths to feed.


me--the twenty-three year-old that lets herself get distressed over the ‘potential’ of her future not going the way she wants it to. and gets all twisted up about ‘possibly’ having her heart broken again.


i deserve the problems my little friend is facing more than she does.


and that is the truth. that right there is not wrong.


yup, that is why she is my hero. and that is why seeing bad things happen to insanely good people feels so wrong.


eh-hem.

also, wrong. seven dollars for a loaf of gluten free bread.


ha. hell, no.


let me explain.

see, i get this call from my doctor (after having a series of allergy tests done again. and after waiting two weeks for the results because dr. so-and-so decided to take a crazy long trip to the caribbean) and he tells me that in fact, i do not have celiac disease (a complete allergy to gluten) but due to low antibodies-yada-yada-yada-something-i-didn’t-really-understand, have a gluten intolerance and would probably do better if i stayed away from it.


so, being the good girl that i am. i decided to give it a test run. two weeks without gluten. perhaps it would improve my stomach condition.


and then bam.


there i am. standing in the ‘gluten free’ aisle and my favorite grocer--smith's marketplace (oh yeah, and for those of you who aren’t familiar with the ‘gluten-free-scene’. everything. and i mean pretty much EVERYTHING but unprocessed fruits and vegetables--and some dairy--have gluten in them. and being that my body can’t break down lactose, that pretty much leaves me eating rabbit food and whatever the ‘gluten free aisle’ has to offer. which is basically nothing at outrageous prices).


$6.99 for a loaf of gluten-free bread.


i mean, come on doc. i am a pick-up-whatever-muti-grain-wheat-bread-is-on-sale-that-week-kinda-girl. for seven extra dollars of bread every week, i can suffer through a stomach ache or two.


plus, i really don’t want to be ‘that’ girl. the one that is so annoying to take out to any restaurant because i have to drown the waiter with questions of what ingredients are in what dishes and after twenty minutes of deliberating, end up ordering a plate of raw vegetables and a side of fat-free, gluten-free, everything-good-in-this-world-free vinaigrette.


no. no. no.


i just can’t be that girl.


besides. with my new goal to be like my optimistic co-worker, i figure it would be unhealthy to give up my weekly trips to kneaders for a hearty chocolate chip cookie.


instant happiness in $1.25.


i’m telling ya.


overall, i guess we could find a lot of things ‘wrong’ with this fun-little-spastic-world.


like fifty-seven-year-old creeps with overly tanned skin and pearl-like, razor-sharp, slightly-frightening veneers. and stares that honestly make you wonder if you’ve been raped or can still get away if you run fast enough.


w-r-o-n-g.


like the surprising numbers of douche-bags you can catch staring at themselves in
the mirrors on the gold's gym walls.

kind of entertaining. but wrong.


like this photo. and the story to go along with it.


it gets me every time. seriously, just started crying while looking at it.


wrong.


wrong, like how this story popped up on my front page of cnn today. front page news people. this world, really?


so, yeah. there a lot of things that are not right.
and sure, i could continue to point them out. ha.

but. more importantly.


there are so many, many things that are right.


and if we ca not understand the bad. we can never appreciate the good.
a lesson i learn repeatedly.

and there are times, like this week. when i am feeling a tad-bit overly emotional. and find myself questioning over and over again...why so many things seem bad or wrong...(and no, beautiful weather during the fall doesn’t really count--and expensive gluten-free food really doesn't matter--that is just me being my sarcastic self.)


and then i remember the words that president gordon b. hinckley once said...

“It isn’t as bad as you sometimes think it is. It all works out. Don’t worry. I say that to myself every morning. It will all work out. If you do your best, it will all work out. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future. The Lord will not forsake us. He will not forsake us.…If we will put our trust in Him, if we will pray to Him, if we will live worthy of His blessings, He will hear our prayers.”

yeah. that pretty much sums it up.


i'm going to stick with that.

because it's true. it isn't always as bad as it may seem. and if our heavenly father is on our side. then at the end of the day--when all is said and done. it'll work out.

and it's all going to be so very, very right.


right?



p.s. i'm obsessed with this song right now. thanks george ol' boy.


Sunday, September 25, 2011

like having a giant chalkboard wall.

"...allow the world to live as it chooses, and allow yourself to live as you choose."
-richard bach


p.s. this will be me one day. take my word for it.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

shell-bell.

i’ve never been much of a dancer.

the words ‘look at that little white girl try to shake-her-thaaaang’ are ones i will never forget. eh-hem. but. but. stop for a second, because in my defense miss-mad-hip-polynesian-dancer-woman--i dare you to try to find another white girl on that dance floor that could pick-up the mad game i was throwing down that night (sidenote: this was years ago. when i actually used to go to dances and parties and such)
.

i mean, come on. puuuuhlease.


however, even with my desire to be the graceful dancer...the one who is muscularly-toned-in-every-possible-direction and can can move like a mixed breed of beyonce’s hips and the sex appeal of patrick swayze and jennifer grey. the truth is--i’m just not.


i am just a little white girl attempting to shake her ‘thang’.


however, when i was little--i would have never known i was bad. nope. never.


for all i knew, i was the most gifted six-year-old dancer the world had ever know. in my mind, i was going places in the world of point shoes and tutus.


why?


no, i was not delusional. i don’t think.


no, i was not in denial. that i know of.


the reason for my overload of confidence and zest for rhythm that i simply didn’t have, was my world-class mother.


and when i say ‘world class’ i am not just saying that. because my mom is actually in the top ranking of all mothers on this planet. past and present.


let me paint a picture for you. of the type of woman she is.


back to the topic of my dancing career.


when i was in kindergarten, i wanted to be a ballerina. my neighbor catherine was one. and she was just about the most beautiful girl in the world. at least in my eyes.


i’d watch her spin. twirl. wrap her hair back in perfectly slick buns. she had long legs and a swan-like grace about her.


yes, that was my dream.


and one day i decided i didn’t just only want to be a ballerina. i wanted to be in the california ballet company’s production of the nutcracker for that upcoming season.


ballsy, right?


i mean, we’re looking at a girl with very little--if any--dance/ballet experience. suddenly wanting to join a very prestigious group of performers.


now, a lot of parents might kindly and affectionately encourage their child not to reach for such extreme and seemingly impossible goals. they might get them in lessons and find them a more moderate performing group to begin with.


others may laugh in good humor. tease. banter.


all good things. i enjoy some good old’ fashion sarcasm.


who doesn’t?


but my mom. she’s different. she took that dream of mine. and made it happen.


i soon found myself in the backroom before auditions. i started thinking about what was happening. actually letting it absorb. letting everything around me sink in--the sounds, smells, people, everything.


it was then that it hit me.


the fear. the panic. the realization that i know next to nothing about ballet or the nutracker or anything of that category. my extent of dancing experience was a couple months of tap dancing and a few-weeks-max of learning how to point my toes behind the girl with the dried up skin peeling off her back.


seriously--i’ll never forget that little gal’s back. must of had some sort of skin disorder or something but her skin was always peeling off. like it had been sun-burnt or something. i spent the majority of class thinking about how i wish i could pull it off for her. and whatever time remained trying to figure out what a 'plie' was.


whoa. anyhow. back to the story.


at this point, i pretty much tore off my dance slippers and began sprinting for the door.


okay, not really.


but i was about to--when my mom asked me very sweetly if i was ready? i shook my head nervously. and she could see the self-doubt in my eyes.


keen
, she said her most calming, loving of voices. you just go out there, with your biggest smile and show them who you are.

she smiled.


she made it seem so much less dramatic. so much more simple.
she's always been good at that.

feeling a renewed sense of confidence, i turned the corner with attitude and disappeared around the curtain. you better believe i did my thaaaaang. with probably the largest-known-smile-on-record spread across my face.


call it luck. call it charm. call it stupid. but three months later i found myself jumping out from under mother ginger’s massive skirt (who was actually a man coated in ridiculous amounts of make-up with hairy legs) and dancing around with eight other little taffy-girls and plastic gingerbread men in front of thousands and thousands of people.


yeah. sure thing, i was in the nutcracker. and yes, i was the smallest. i was the least experienced. i was probably the worst one out there.


but you better believe that i made my dream come true.


and the truth of the matter is, i would have bailed on that dream if it hadn’t been for that loving, encouraging, confidence-instilling mother of mine.


oh-how-i-could-go-on about all the things my mother has done. i could tell story after story of my mother supporting and encouraging her children. making us believe that we truly were the best at anything we did. making sure that we had every possible experience that we could have.


and honestly, i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to truly-completely thank her for that.


but today, i want to try.


because it is her birthday (yes, happy birthday shell-bell).


and a big thank you is in order.


a thank you, because you have raised three girls that are all-so-completely-different and all so strong in many similar ways. and a son who is one of the most respectable little dudes that i know.


a thank you. because i rarely walk into any unknown, frightening situation with self-doubt. i walk in with confidence. with a head and standards that are kept high.


a thank you. because your kids have good, smart, kick-ass heads on their shoulders.


a thank you. because we know how to make fun of ourselves. we know how to laugh. and we know how to love.


a thank you, mom.


because never would we have received such love if it weren’t for you.



in any situation. if i ever let insecurities start eating away at me. if i ever let doubt start creeping in. i remember your loving words.

just go in there...with the biggest smile on your face, and show them who you are.

happy birthday shell-bell.

we love you.




p.s. i'm in need of some new reads. any suggestions?

Thursday, September 15, 2011

a lost pearl in a lonely sea.

it's september.

again.

my lighthearted summer wardrobe of shorts and breezy tanks has officially been replaced by large, comfy sweaters with long sleeves that wrap down over my always-and-never-not-icy-cold-hands.

already sporting the brown leather boots and missoni for target leggings (seriousy--wanna know more about the altered-and-italian-designer-line for one of the worlds largest retailers that crashed their website and caused havoc in target stores around the world? read here). oh and already indulging in one-too-many chocolate chip pumpkin cookies. mmmgh. so-num-num.

the air is becoming crisper with every day that passes. which are seriously flying by. i can't believe it's been another year.

i've got some crosby, stills & nash, james taylor, and bill withers playing in the background.

and yesterday i saw a line of trees with red, orange and vibrantly yellow leaves.

fall, welcome.


oh, and i guess i should say hello as well. being that i recently returned from a small trip to the world of panem. district thirteen. and the capitol. (eh-hem. yes, i literally just spent the last three days reading the hunger games trilogy. it was like heroin or something. once i started i was absolutely obsessed.)

really though.

i honestly feel like i just returned back to earth. and even then, i often find my thoughts wandering to president snow, peeta, gale, and the district rebellion.

but then i remind myself. that is not real life dear kristen. get back to reality.

you see, i am kind of a nerd.

while growing up, reading was my favorite thing to do. i excelled at it. and whipped through just about any series that i could check-out quickly enough from the school library.

my elementary school worries would get lost in the mysteries and adventures of nancy drew. the ease and simplicity of little house on the prairie. the blunt, growing-up-as-a-girl details of the alice books. the beauty of the secret garden.

my high school days kicked off not with the homecoming football game (with the exception of making fun of the cheerleaders and pretending to be school spirited with my student council sweater on) but with the dark and sacred truth behind the scarlet letter. the tall grass and meaningless details of my antonia'. the life changing principles behind the chosen. and the enjoyable and frightening reality behind the days of olive kitteridge.

and now. i escape my obsessively-independent-and-difficult-mindset in the political struggles of a post-apocalyptic world, beginning with a story of a girl sent into an arena with the one and only purpose to kill. filled with emotional struggles and the fight to keep others alive. understanding ones own darkness and own good. ending with a bleak, life-shattering victory. left--with a defeated evil--with conquered love--and also a wounded soul that may never fully heal.

uh-huh.

tell me about it.

i'm an obsessive creature, i am.

once you get me liking something. there is no turning back. i will take it and run. and run. and run some more. it is good. and bad.

there is a point when this characteristic begins to frighten me.

case and point: running.


for me--running became the greatest mental game of my life. and once i realized how much of a mind game it was, i became obsessed. full-on-nicotine-addict-obsessed.

not a cute obsessed.

we're talking like out running in the early winter mornings while sick with strep throat kind of obsessed.

stupid obsessed.

yes, that's me. the-stupid-obsessed-girl. let it be known.

then again, maybe it is also passion.

yeah?

the fact that i cling to certain things and not others.

why is that even?

like how out of my entire childhood of dandelion-field-kinda-memories, i cling to the memories of running around the salty ocean side with chicken pox. coming home from school and watching full house. playing 'no bears are out tonight' with grandpa hiding in the closet ready to jump out and scare us. and riding in the back of a mini van, cuddled up with my siblings in our pajamas, slowly drifting off to the serenity of christmas lights intertwined with icicles...and frosty windows reflecting off dim light from the street lamps, and an acoustic version of silent night softly playing over the car stereo.

why do we do that? latch on to certain memories? hold them much-too-close to our hearts and then block out others?

like how i seem to have effectively erased from my memory the first year i moved to utah. a year when i felt very alone and lost in this little world.

a year when i cried myself to sleep. and prayed for friends to find me.

and how that one line. the one line out of so many that were said. after talking for hours, until three in the morning. that one string of eight words that seemed so insignificant at the time. those are the words that randomly come to my mind when swiping my credit card at the gas station or standing under steaming hot water at 6 a.m.

why?

sometimes i swear life seems to make less and less sense as you go along.

you'd think it would be the opposite way around.

but instead, i stand here listening.
listening to the words that this stranger is hesitantly releasing for me to absorb, analyze and file away. realizing how different our experiences are.

i don't know this person.

and they don't know me.

and yet, my stomach churns at the thought of someone causing them pain. of this moment passing and our lives continuing on. of what the future means for each and every one of us.

then there is that little girl that always comes to mind.

the one with the blonde hair and big blue eyes. the one that reminds me. reminds me of the world i live in. the world i'm scared to let her venture off into.

i don't want her heart to be broken. i do not want others to tell her things that are not true. things that will eat away at her. and possibly cause her to doubt.

in fact, at this moment. if i had one wish. i would wish to hold this small angel forever and make sure no one hurts her in anyway.

as of now, she is perfect.
unharmed. untainted.

one day. that will change.

she'll grow up to be beautiful. she'll have men that give her things and tell her things and make her wonder. they'll flirt and use their abilities to persuade. people will tell her she's great. just stay the way you are, they'll say. some may be genuine. same may not. and then--in her lowest moments--she'll hear whispering from behind the door. telling her to be prettier. to be skinnier. to be more than she is.

to be perfect.

no, i won't be able to stop the world from getting to her. i'll have to face that. i guess. i guess, we just have to hope that she'll be strong enough to face it herself.

eh-hem.

the stupid-obsessed-girl with the nancy drew novel. who will just have to figure it out for herself.

and perhaps, she'll end up writing.

writing to express her feelings. even in the most scattered, unruly of ways. honesty will ease and haunt her at the same time.

she'll tap at her black keys. with a cup of hot cocoa to her side. dreaming of all the beautiful things that are out in the world. skipping over the dark and cynical things she doesn't want to know of. or deal with.

fall nights will come. she'll find herself running through corn-mazes with frightening masks appearing behind her. laughter will fill her life as pictures are taken and words that mean very little are spoken.

it's september again.

and fall is one of her favorite times of the year.

her coat will be buttoned and layers of decorative scarves and necklaces draped around her neck. she'll lace up her boots and take a quick glance back at the mirror.

then--at that momnet--she'll be taken back.

to a september years before.

a day past when she sat in front of a glowing fire. a fire that was made by her indian friend. made from practically thin air and dead grass.

the smoke follows her. they joke of her beauty and long blonde hair.

innocently laughing at things she can no longer remember.

and then, from across the flames. in the darkness of a early autumn night. her cherokee friend with the leather ropes tied around his wrist, leans over to whisper in her ear. she shivers as his long black hair brushes over her bare hand.

the girl remembers the warmth of his breath against her ear as he sighs, leans in just a bit closer...close enough for her to hear over the crackling flames.

'you darling, are a lost pearl in a lonely sea.'

their eyes met and then the world went on.

the fire continued to pop. and the other conversations never even stopped.

she didn't know what he meant then. wasn't sure whether to be appreciative or offended. but for years, she never let the memory escape her. she held onto it for no reason at all. she latched onto the words like they were some key to a future puzzle. some sort of riddle that would one day provide an answer.

and now. as she looked at her reflection. twenty-three. lost. fragile. unique. one-of-a-kind. and often confused.

the words of the cherokee boy.
yes, they suddenly had meaning.




so, when the evening comes.

she'll sit down at her computer. the stupid-obsessed girl and she'll type.

because it's how she proves to herself that she understands.

it is how she makes sense of things.

and she'll begin.

eh-hem.

"it's september. again.
"


Saturday, September 10, 2011

dear future children of mine. this is for you.

i know, right?

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

letting the heart say its piece.

when i was eighteen, i fell in love with a boy.

almost exactly five years ago. goodness, time is a bizarre phenomenon.

yes, he was a classically good guy.

admirable in his life choices. understanding of pain and suffering. quick and impressive sense of humor. planned on doing respectable, intelligent things with his allotted time.

had a fluffy-white dog. like every boy should.

yes, he was good.

our story didn't begin like the fairytales. and i was okay with that.

at the beginning, he didn't love me like i loved him.
though he found me smart, entertaining and beautiful, he simply couldn't commit to what i hope and prayed and dreamed of for oh-so-long.

but i was eighteen. and quite smitten.

so, i decided to fight.

and when that didn't work. fought some more.

years passed. and i kept up the fight.

and so did he.

toxic. yes, toxic may have been a good word to describe the breath of our relationship. an inconsistent heartbeat. blood boiling in desperation with a solemn understanding. despite our strengths and 'good days'. our love failed. plain and simple.

failed (kind of an ugly word, eh?)

time and time again.


and it broke my heart. and it broke his.

we let this go on. and kept scraping at every inkling of hope that we could. we fought.

damn, we fought.


why won't it work?

i would whimper through my sobs.

please. oh, please. i would beg in my prayers. (this gets happier i promise. stay with me...)

and in the end.

in the very end. it ended with a soaked pillow case. a deep black hole in my heart. with a lost breath. a lost hope. with an aching in my gut. and a hatred for such pain and for things that would cause it.

i promised myself that i wouldn't fight anymore.

and for a while. i did just that.

my heart became chilly. and the depth i once lived for became shallow.

i didn't try.

i didn't let myself care. i kept things surface. i kept things safe. i didn't allow myself to feel more than a good night out, a flirtatious dinner and a meaningless kiss goodbye. and i forbid myself from losing the upper hand. whatever that entailed, i made sure i did not care more than the other (i'm guessing that this is when my pride issues began ha ha).

i began advocating the ideology that 'you should never care the most'. caring more is for the weak. care. but only to a safe amount.

fun, right?

but here's the thing.

and seriously...i am about to throw my ridiculous pride right out this shattered window of all the bull that i convinced myself to believe....

because i was so, so wrong.

yeah, it sucks to fight and lose. those who agree, say 'i'.

nobody wants to endure pain, give time and exert energy that end up being about as worthless as having a data plan with a cell phone as ghetto as mine. seriously, hate t-mobile.

and not a soul in this world wants to be left high and dry after getting their ass kicked by something that was supposed to be so innocent and beautiful.

it's like losing a wrestling match to your little sister. okay fine, losing every wrestling match ever...even when you were six and she was four...to your little sister. (seriously, for some reason i am the worst. it's so weird. i blame it on my weak arms.)

and i know for a fact, that nobody wants to be left in the dark.
left behind. left feeling like they have absolutely no idea where to go or what to do next. or how to make sense of what hellish-like-blur just whipped the shiz out of them. left wandering in a world that they really don't understand. (kind of like me in a health food store. yeah, i went into good earth the other day for some vitamins and tea that is supposed to help me be stress-free-and-easy-lovin'. and i happened to be starving and on my way to work. so i walked over to the food aisles. thinking i could easily grab a snack. and honestly, i probably wandered aimlessly for a good ten minutes. confused about everything. i mean, i consider myself a fairly healthy eater. but really? it's freakin' rabbit and hamster food that place has got going on. needless to say, i ended up leaving with nothing but a bottle of mult-vitamins and valerian passion flower compound.)

thank goodness for protein-style in-and-out burger eh?

confusion is a cruel form of torture.


do they love me? do they not? do they kind-of-love-me? do they sort-of-hate me? do they like me at all? do they wish i was dead? crap.

now all i need is a flower with some hearty petals.

let's play this game. shall we? (don't even say anything aubry. i know what's coming.)

he loves me.

he loves me not.

depends on the day.

depends on the night.

depends on how long this flower lasts really.

fun game. best game ever, eh?
who even invented that? i'd like to talk to that individual. one troubled little girl. or one very malicious little boy.

we've all played it.

and my point is--no one likes to be screwed.

no one likes losing a game that they put everything down on. trust me, i'm a competitive player.

but sometimes it's what has to happen. because if we don't put something down....we will never--and that is a fact--never get anything in return.

because you're going to try. and inevitably you are going to fail. not all the time, but a good chunk of the time.

sometimes it will crash and burn. and i mean burrrrrrn.

maybe it will go terribly wrong. or maybe it will just kind of fizzle. or perhaps he just won't call you back. or maybe you'll try for years and years and then one day have to suck up the wasted time, eat the losses and just move along.

sign the papers. delete the number. ignore the e-mail. throw out the old hat. whatever it is. but you move along. because you tried. and you fought.

but in the end. it failed.

sad day. (pop out the friends episodes and gold fish crackers because it's time to be depressed)

and then (imagine this screen pouring light out on you and magical-disney-like-music-beginning to play) there is that one.

ta-da.

that one time. when it won't fail.

when you will fight. and he will fight. and you will fight for each other.

and this time, you will realize how blessed you are.

you'll come sprinting. you'll come knowing that you're willing to give just about anything. you'll come in humility. you'll ready to forgive and be forgiven. learning from your past mistakes. you'll come in eagerness.

and for no reason at all---things will fall into place.

and you will win.

yes, you will win. and because you know the pain of losing. and because you know the pain of making mistakes. and the heartache of letting love be lost. your appreciation will be heightened. and you will hold tighter to this individual that you ever knew was possible.

i've seen it.

and though i honestly believe that there has not and will not ever be a 'perfect couple' who has all it all figured out. that will be okay, because you will know it is right. and despite the imperfections, you will have a strong and lasting desire for it to work.

you will depend on one another because you really, really can't imagine your life without them.

nice, eh?


eh-hem.

i'm not sure why i felt like writing on this today
. i guess it comes from what i'm seeing and experiencing and feeling. and this week, i've made up my mind to speak the blunt and honest truth.

see, i know a lot of people right now that are in different situations regarding love.

some are struggling. some are kicking-butt. others just don't really know.

but this is my praise. this is my advice. this is my measly two-cents from whatever-the-h. experience i do have (which really isn't very much).

that i know we will all win eventually.

and despite the lost, lonely, confused, robbed, stationary stage you are currently in. don't give up.

i don't know everything.

but i do know this.





and until then. if you're looking for some 'cinematic make mac-and-cheese in your sweats while watching old re-runs of your favorite 90's tv show' music. then check out this song.


Friday, September 2, 2011

here's to september.

"i want to be alone. and i want people to notice me...both at the same time."

-thom yorke


happy september everyone.
i'm so glad it's here.



p.s. i did a little guest post on the lovely mandy's blog today.
check it out here.
and see her post on 'from keen' here.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

warwick. that's our name.







oh-how-i-love-them.


"At the end of the day, when it comes down to it, all we really want is to be close to somebody. So this thing where we all keep our distance and pretend not to care about each other, it’s usually a load of bull. So we pick and choose who we want to remain close to, and once we’ve chosen those people, we tend to stick close by. No matter how much we hurt them. The people that are still with you at the end of the day, those are the ones worth keeping. And sure, sometimes close can be too close. But sometimes, that invasion of personal space, it can be exactly what you need."
Grey’s Anatomy Monologue