Sunday, June 15th, 2008
In the middle of my shorts crisis, I found the perfect pair of linen pleated shorts at Target (which I’ve shamefully been to 5 times in the last week). These shorts are adorable; they’re very light & flimsy, but unfortunately, they wrinkle way too easy. (I loathe ironing, so this should be interesting…)
I first paired the shorts with my black American Apparel deep-v shirt (see below) but thought it too casual for my initial mood. I decided to change, & break out my sheer lace top, which I hadn’t worn in a while. I was more pleased with that ensemble than the other, & will most likely wear this again soon.
pleated shorts, sheer lace top & black undershirt, from Target; shoes (the closet to heels I’ll ever get), from Ross; necklace, from my mother’s jewelry box.
Thursday, June 12th, 2008
(to see my hippie-style wedding dress, click here.)
hippie frock, from long ago; undershirt (so that I don’t flash anyone accidentally, because it’s really sheer) & wayfarers, from Target; shorts & sandals, from Ross; jewelry, from forever21.
My stimulus check (also known as “free money”) came yesterday. I squealed for joy because it’s about time! Lover got his months ago, for Heaven’s sake.
Naturally, I went shopping. I needed to buy new shorts, since my overnight weight spurt made me grow out of all the 8th-grade-old pairs I owned. I went to Ross & to my disdain, none of the shorts I tried on fitted the way I wanted them to. Apparently, “booty shorts” must be in, because every pair I put on showed more of my goodies than I wanted to — which is a lot to say, being that I don’t have much junk in the trunk to begin with. They were so terribly short & I was so mad! In the dressing room I would whisper “Are you kidding me? Another one? Are they all like this?!” at the sight of yet another pair of the scandalous looking shorts. I thought, Gee, is it just me & my string bean legs, or have shorts become a lot shorter lately?
When I told Lover about this, he was almost appalled that I didn’t buy the daisy dukes; saying that he would have loved the idea & that my booty would have looked “soooo good in them.” (Sigh; men.) I ended up sadly settling on a pair of dark wash shorts & the rolled up shorts shown above.
I wish I had the patience & know-how to sew my own clothes.
Tuesday, June 10th, 2008
One Saturday, after a spur of the moment shopping trip, Lover & I decide that we should go to Ikea. Neither of us know the directions on how to get there because it had been a year since we’d been there. But Lover swears he remembers & that we’ll figure it out on the way if not. We’re completely gung-ho, singing & joking around with each other. Little do we know what we were getting ourselves into.
After driving for 20 minutes, I am the first one to get antsy.
Me: Honey, do you know where we’re going? I really feel like this isn’t the right way.
Lover: I told you, Babe… we’re going in the right direction. I feel that it’s either the 2 south, or the 2 north. & I really think it’s the 2 north.
Me: [sighs] Okay, I won’t say anything.
Lover: What?
Me: Well, I just really feel like we should be on the 134 east. I don’t remember us going on the 2 anywhere! Nothing looks familiar.
Lover: Well, it does to me. Just trust me, alright. It’s the 2 north. [says something in Cantonese under his breath]
[10 minutes later]
Me: Honey… where are we? We’ve been driving forever & I don’t see Ikea anywhere! This doesn’t seem right.
Lover: Just keep going, Babe! I know it’s coming up.
[3 minutes later]
Me: Okay, you know what… I’m just going to turn around. I’m not going to be wasting gas on assumptions. We should have just stuck with my gut feeling because I knew this wasn’t the right way, but you wouldn’t listen to me…
Lover: Okay, okay. Fine. Turn around, but I still say it’s 2 north. [Pause] Or maybe it’s 2 south?
Me: Babe… are you joking? I don’t want to go all the way back to the 2 south. That’s in the opposite direction! We’ll have to turn around. I say take we take the 134!
Lover: No no no… I think it’s the 2 south. Yeah, now I remember! It is the 2 south. Babe, get on the 2 south. Get in the right lane! Hurry, babe! You need to merge. MERGE! BABE, you’re going to miss it!!! Merge!!!
Me: [after almost crashing & cutting off a diesel truck, I am pouting] This had better be the right way, Babe, because if not, we just almost died for no reason.
Lover: No… seriously, I definitely know that this is the right way. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. We’re going the right way now, Honey. [pause] I love you. (he says this because he knows I’m fuming at almost getting into a wreck & him not knowing where we’re going.)
Me: [mutters, not meaning it] I love you, too.
[20 minutes later]
Me: Babe…
Lover: Don’t even say it; just don’t even say it. This is the right way, Honey. Okay? Can you trust me? Can you just trust that I know these freeways?
Me: I trust you babe, but I don’t trust your navigation. I really don’t think you know where we’re going. I think you’re just guessing. & I still think we should be on the 134! I don’t ever remember getting on the 2, ever. None of this looks familiar. I bet we’re heading toward Mexico, or something.
Lover: Babe… Mexico isn’t even in this direction. Ay yah.
Me: Oh. [pause] Well, you know what I mean! [pause, again] Babe, look… we’re coming into (unknown town). See, I told you!! We’re not going the right way! Here I am wasting gas & you don’t even know where you’re going. You know, now I’m starting to get really mad…
Lover: Okay, okay! Do whatever you want, turn around; but I swear to God it’s on the 2 south. You just don’t have the patience the see that. & now we’re about to turn around & waste more gas, when we’re like… right there! But whatever.
Me: We are not right there! We’re no where near “right there.” We’re in Timbuktu! I’m turning around. If you don’t like that, you can get out & go down the 2 south yourself & call me when you get to Ikea, but I’m heading back home!
[silence; both of us muttering obscenities to ourselves. It's growing dark & we're both starving. We're back on the 134, seemingly going the right way.]
Me: See, babe?! See? I told you! Look at those buildings! Look at them! I remember those buildings. We should have just gone my way the whole time. We would have saved an hour & gas!
Lover: Whatever; I still don’t think this is right.
Me: [I pretended to not hear him] Look over there; look at that flag, babe! I remember that flag, Honey, the last time we came here! I remember saying to myself, “Man, that is an ugly flag” so I know we’re going the right way. [pause] Feel free to sing a few versus of “How great thou art” if you’d like.
Lover: Whatever.
[20 minutes later]
Lover: So… Babe? Where are we going, huh? Do you know where we’re going? I don’t see Ikea…
Me: Shut up, Jonathan. I know where we are… it’s around here somewhere. I’m sure we’re about to come up to the off ramp. [long pause] Okay… I think we’re lost.
Lover: SEE?! I told you! We’re not going the right way! YOU don’t even know where we’re going! Just exit, babe, & lets go back home. Exit, Honey. Get in the right lane. Babe, get in the right lane!!! Merge, babe… merge! Honey, it’s coming up! Babe, you’re about to miss it! BABE! MERGE!!!
Me: BABE! Don’t yell at me!!! You don’t have to yell! You’re stressing me out!
Lover: Well… you weren’t merging.
We end up exiting on an unknown off-ramp, even though Lover still insists he knows where we are. I am using the f-word every other exclamation, & Lover has quieted down. Nothing looks familiar & we’ve now been driving for an hour & a half, trying to get to Ikea.
Lover: You know what, just stop… lets get directions.
Me: [bursts into laughter]
Lover: What? Why are you laughing?
Me: We just wasted all of this time & NOW you want to ask for directions. It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?
Lover: Just pull into that store, Honey. I’ll ask for directions. [mutters something in Cantonese]
[5 minutes later; Lover is getting into the car, with a smirk on his face]
Me: Well? Did you get directions?
Lover: Uh huh.
Me: And?!
Lover: We were both wrong. We take the 134 to the 5.
Me: [laughing] Oh my god, are you serious? Wow. We were way off! That’s crazy.
Lover: Yeah, I know.
Me: Aww, Honey. I’m sorry I didn’t think you were going the right way. You were almost right; the 2 resembles a 5, so that’s probably what you meant. I’m sorry Baby. [I give him a kiss]
Lover: It’s okay, Baby. You were right, too, though. If we just would have stayed on the 134 we would have made it eventually. We just didn’t know which freeway to get onto. [gives me a kiss]
Me: Alright, so lets go home.
Lover: Are you kidding? We made it this far, we know the right way. We’re fucking going to Ikea!
Me: I don’t know, babe. Are you sure? It’s awfully late… & I’m hungry.
Lover: Babe… we’re GOING to IKEA!
Me: [laughs] Alright, alright. We’re going to Ikea!
We finally make it to Ikea, without anymore screaming. By the time we get there I exclaim in relief, “We made it! We’re finally here! We’re here!” Lover looked like he was about to cry in sheer happiness. “Man, I’ve never been so happy to see Ikea in my life.” “Yeah, I know,” I say, “I feel like we’ve just arrived at Disneyland.
We stay at Ikea for another hour at most. By then, we are so exhausted from driving nearly 2 hours & so hungry since we hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. We are weak & nearing deliriousness. Lover & I browse through rooms & rooms of furniture, bumping into crowds & screaming children. We’re both so out of it that we’re not even shopping; we’re just there to claim to ourselves & our pride that we finally made it to Ikea.
We went in with the hopes that we would walk out with a sofa chair, a desk chair & a desk lamp. After almost getting into argument out of pure irritation & weakness of being hungry, we literally say “fuck it” & we leave, empty handed.
The moral of this story: if you are going on a spontaneous adventure, at least know where the hell you are going. Furthermore, it’ll help your state of mind if you at least have something to eat before you go, otherwise, when it’s all said & done, you’ll be a zombie once you get to your destination.
Sunday, June 8th, 2008
Polka dot shirt & black shorts from Ross; dress/vest thing from Angle; shoes are thrifted; jewelry is miscellaneous.
This outfit was spur-of-the-moment. I needed to get out & go fast & that’s precisely what I did. Thinking about it now, I was a bit too warm in this outfit; the temperatures have slowly been increasing, so it’s back to shorts, flip flops & American Apparel tees for me. Goody.
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about products that are being tested on animals. It was brought to my attention (yet, again because I’ve been contemplating this before) by my husband, who noticed that I was buying a product by Neutrogena, who still test their products on animals. I never quite understood animal testing. Why not just use a bloody human? Why put an innocent animal at risk for something that doesn’t involve him?
As much sympathy & passion I have for dear little animals — I am the epitome of an animal lover — I can’t bring myself to stop buying these animal tested products; simply because… there are far too many! To quit these products would mean transitioning into a life of — dare I say? — deprivation & inconvenience. I may be vegetarian; I may bring reusable bags when I grocery shop; I may recycle & contribute to my Lover’s compost, but I am certainly not perfect. I would love (& I mean this, truthfully) to stop buying these products. If not that, I would love to lessen how many products I use that test on animals, if only I could.
I did some research to prove that, without my knowing it, my whole world evolves products that test on animals. I listed the items I use below. I was a bit disgusted with the results, as I didn’t know that so many of my usuals were included.
- Arm & Hammer
- Ban roll-on deodorant (I don’t use the roll-on, but I’m sure it’s based on the same thing.)
- Clairol
- Clorox
- Colgate-Palmolive
- Cosmair (which hosts L’Oreal, Maybelline & Lancome.)
- Covergirl (I winced at this one.)
- Fendi (only listed as a reminder to myself. I don’t own designer anything, for the record.)
- Glade
- ISO
- Johnson & Johnson
- SC Johnson & Co.
- Kimberly Clark Co.
- Kleenex
- Lysol
- Max Factor
- Mead — as in the paper.
- Nair
- Neutrogena
- Olay
- Pantene
- Pine-Sol
- Playtex
- Pledge
- Post-It (what could they possibly test?)
- Proctor & Gamble (one of the biggest companies in the world that seem to produce every popular item on the market, from dog food to cosmetics.)
- Sally Beauty Supply
- Sally Hensen
- Scotch; as in the tape.
- Suave
- Unilever (another big company brand.)
- Vaseline
- Vidal Sassoon
- Visine
- Windex
- Woolite
- Yves Saint Laurent (another harsh reminder; may he rest in peace.)
All of these items I either have in my house, or buy frequently. The vastness of this list leaves me breathless. What could possibly be left? Nothing seems to be without animal testing. It’s quite sad & completely unforgiving.
Thursday, June 5th, 2008
My equilibrium is off today. I feel as though my thought processes are trying to evolve into something a bit more, something rich; but my inhibitions keep them from resounding loudly into open space. Moreover, my head is swimming in memories that I’d really rather not recall, but it’s as though it is happening without my control.
My sister will be turning 19 in a few days; this thought makes me feel older than what I am & reminiscent of younger times. Visiting her a few days ago was lovely & I miss her as though she is still in Texas, but she isn’t. I sometimes wonder if it would be easier for my emotional state to have her back in Texas, rather than now being 45 minutes away. Because then… I wouldn’t be so tangled up in the feelings of our relationship. When it comes to her, I am very overprotective & defensive. I feel like she is the only innocence left intact in our ridiculously fallen apart family. & this is why I am protective of her: I feel like it is my duty to keep her young & free & happy, even though in her eyes, I am sure this could be farther from the truth. More than likely, she doesn’t recognize this in me & that’s fine, because it would be too complicated to explain it to her or to anyone else. Matter of fact, it’s complicated even writing about it to seemingly no one. I don’t know why I do this, regardless.
It won’t be long before I am protecting Lover from his own personal demons, battling them off for him, without his even asking me. No one ever asks me to give a shit; no one ever asks me to carry their heavy & often inconvenient burdens. It is done out of the kindness of my own heart & the pits of my anxiety surrounding our relationship. It sick, but it’s the only way I show that I care, without them really knowing just how much I am willingly sacrificing.
Every time I get like this — low, melancholy, contemplative, deep in memories & filled with tangible sorrow for no other reason than just needing to feel sometimes — I take a shower. (I prefer baths, but unfortunately, we don’t have one in our little apartment. This brings out a terrible longing feeling inside of me, because I miss feel enveloped by water. That floating feeling, the quiet, the bubbles & the candles. There is nothing like a sensual bath.) I heard it said once that when you are feeling blue, it’s sometimes best to take a long, hot shower & allow the water from the shower head to beat onto your scalp, onto your shoulders, onto your face, because it awakens the senses; it reminds you that you are, indeed, alive. You can feel water between your fingers, sliding down your back, wetting the hair behind your neck. It’s the perfect sensation & it requires nothing but running water. Whether it is true or not — that it chases away the blues, I mean — I take showers for this reason. To remind me that I have these feelings trapped inside of me, & that these feeling do not have me.
What I really wish is that I could be someone else for a few days; the kind of someone I wish I already was. Or, better yet, I wish that I could possibly just tweak my personality around so that I can become this kind of someone. Sometimes I feel like I am so positively boring & too wrapped up in my own thoughts. Maybe I am too old-fashioned. More than likely, I am. I also with that I had a bad influence friend, but not necessarily to that extent. I wish that I could make good friends with a girl who has the same emotions as I, but a different thought process. She & I would be polar opposites, & she could teach me how to grab onto life a little more daringly, & I could teach her how to be okay with holding back sometimes. It would be the perfect match, & because she is a girl, I wouldn’t feel as though she is judging me for my impotence.
I wonder if there is anyone who is feeling the same way as I am, right now at this very moment.
Wednesday, June 4th, 2008
I have decided to put down “The Good Girl’s Guide to Bad Girl Sex” (hallelujah, because it was really boring me) & have started to reread my most favorite book “Entre Nous: A Woman’s Guide to Finding Her Inner French Girl;” a book that has made me feel a little less abnormal & more of a lovely little rarity. This book is simply perfection, causing me to pay close attention to every sentence & every description of the oh-so-spectacular French Girl. So much, that I actually took a highlighter — despite my being strongly against defacing a beautiful book — & traced significant paragraphs, in hopes that I will forever remember the wonderful notions this book has provoked within me. Quite frankly, this book is fucking amazing.
It was given to me on my 18th birthday (or could it have been my 17th?) & since then, I have always held it as such a treasure to my heart. I used to carry it with me everywhere, feeling as though the French Girl is a power that is manifested somehow through this book & that keeping “her” with me at all times, she would create a Parisian out of me, consistently. Now that I have started reading it again, I keep it in my bag, referring to it when I begin to feel lost or out of place, reminding myself that I am a that girl. Why, when I was reading this book for the first time, I couldn’t believe what I was actually witnessing: a lot of these “traits” of a French Girl I already have! Not just because of this book, but because it is simply me.
The French Girl wears her discretion like a filter or a screen, & every decision in her life passes through it: what she wears, how she spends her time, who she lets into her life, what she says (& does not say). Her discretion is an ongoing act of self-editing. The French Girl understands that even the smallest gesture is a choice, a purposeful selection of one path over another, one outcome over another, one impression over another. There is nothing random or haphazard about her. …The French Girl’s discretion is often most apparent in what she chooses not to say; she is private & nonconfessional. By not revealing herself easily — her secrets, her inclinations, her inner life — she can sometimes appear self-centered.
This portrayal of self control & shameless perfectionism in everything (which might be borderline OCD); this secretive, closed off, partially introverted & misconceived snobbishness is me. Through & through. To read these words & not hear a negative thing about them made it okay for me to identify with them. Because, for a long time, I thought of myself as a weird kid; I was never the typical kind of girl, so to speak. I wasn’t one to blab here & there about my business, big or small. I was never one to kiss & tell. I was never one to make friends with just anyone, to trust just anyone. It’s taken some time, but I have embraced the rarity of these traits. Because, in my opinion, everyone talks far too much; everyone reveals things they probably shouldn’t. We have reality shows, for Heaven’s sake! I prefer to continue standing alone in my stubborn discretion & closed-off-ness; seemingly stuck up & all.
Now, not everything about this book exudes me. By reading this book — & rereading it — I have come to understand that while I embody parts of the French Girl, I’ve still a lot to learn.
There is a lovely, dreamy paradox about the French Girl, & it is this: in having a strong sense of self, she’s able to let go of herself; that in being self-contained, she’s able to be vulnerable… all without unraveling at the seams. The French Girl so fully & unequivocally inhabits her own space, & with such individualistic flair, that it seems as if even from the earliest age she has always been sure of who she is & where she is going. …The French Girl is brought up to be polite, but she is not necessarily brought up to be a good girl. Her culture exalts the iconoclast, the nonconformist, the artist & original thinker… all of which makes it more natural for her to say No to prevailing pressures.
Oh, how I wish I was born knowing just what I will do in my life & oh, how I wish I knew just where I am going. I wish that I would be polite with out being the “good girl” (here we go again!). I wish that I could exude confidence within myself, so much that people stand up a little straighter & speak a bit more eloquently while I am around. I wish I could inspire & seduce people with just one smile.
I could speak like this forever, which would be fine & dandy, but it will not get me anywhere. What matters most is that all of these things get me thinking. I find myself asking, How could you improve yourself, Ev’Yan? How could you change your ways of thinking so that you can be happy & natural & free spirited? What would it take for you to not worry so much, to be more sure of yourself, to believe in yourself? & because of these questions — that never manage to get answered — I am able to at least see what path I should take. & that, of course, is better than nothing.
Borrow A Page From the French Girl’s Book: Discretion
Think before you speak. Leave some things unsaid. Respect secrets, Consider your life your personal currency — & invest it wisely. Resist the impulse to turn over other people’s stones. Cultivate the art of saying No with mindfulness. Make decisions from your own center. Be wary of shoulds. Exercise deliberateness in all decisions. Stay on the high road but make room for compassion. Bring unconventional wisdom into your life. Go gently against the grain.
Monday, June 2nd, 2008
Dress is thrifted; belt is from long ago; gold granny shoes from Payless; headband from Target; jewelry is miscellaneous.
This is, by far, the best dress I have in my bulging closet. I am deeply infatuated with everything about this dress: the peekaboo holes/flowers (which, if I’m not careful, could expose way more than I would like); the cream — or maybe it’s khaki — color; the detail around the neckline; the length; the pockets, oh! the pockets. I adore this dress. It makes me feel very much like a young woman in the 1920s who flaunted her unconventional conduct and dress; the definition of a flapper. I think the description is fairly accurate for a girl like me.
Also, I’ve been wearing a lot of stretchy headbands lately. I felt like my short hair needed a little more pizazz, so I bought a few in neutral colors & have been wearing them quite often. I have to say that this outfit wouldn’t be half as cute without that cream colored headband.
