09|26|2008
dress, from Target; boots, from Payless; handmade headband was a gift from my sister.
I’ve been wanting a new dress for a while; a dress that was exceptionally beautiful, but not so beautiful & dainty that it couldn’t be easily paired with my black boots, adding some — dare I say? — manliness to it.
I don’t feel like this is the perfect dress for that description, but it’s pretty darn close; not to mention very functional & practical. I almost bought a grey boyfriend cardigan about the same length as this dress to go with it, but had to refrain, reminding myself that (apparently) Autumn weather in LA doesn’t begin until Winter starts. [note: sarcasm]
Also… I’ve been itching to show off the designer headband I got for my birthday — a present I certainly forgot to mention, but for good reason. Save the absolute best for last!
This designer headband, with black feathers (which blend in perfectly with the color of my hair, & makes for a neat little effect) & one single, elegant peacock feather, was made by my sister. She has been sporting these cute headband things for a while now, & I told her I wanted her to make me one soon. & she did, which made for a perfect birthday present. I absolutely adore it.
Obviously, you can’t wear this little gem with just jeans & a t-shirt; no, you’ll risk dumbing it down. You’ve got to find something that collaborates with it perfectly. & as soon as I saw this dress hanging on the rack, I knew that it would go amazingly with my peacock headband.
& the rest is history, I suppose.
09|25|2008
shirt, from American Apparel; shorts are vintage; vest & headband, from Target; shoes, from Ross; jewelry is miscellaneous.
[For the record, let me just say that I am terribly bored of summer fashions. I mean, practically bored to tears, if not death. I am desperately wishing, pretty much on my hands & knees, that the weather here in LA will mimic that of an actual Autumn season... right NOW. Not in December, but now. If not completely, then just a little. Anything would be better than this wretched 90 degree weather...]
This is what I wore yesterday, which just so happened to be Lover’s 23rd year. Unfortunately, the night ended up not going as planned & we went to bed at separate times, hardly saying two words to each other. Yes, a dreaded & oh-so-tearful quarrel transpired, all courtesy of good old Miscommunication.
The details of our emotional fisticuffs — which is putting it lightly — are not important. Who was right & who was wrong is not important either. All I will say, without divulging too much, is that men are utterly, completely & annoyingly complicated. I love, simply adore, my husband; enough to go to Hell & back with him a few times (& I have) but shessh… Why must men be so complicated?
Now, I’ve heard it said that it is the women who are the complicated ones, making small quibbles into big dramatic productions of a soap opera; I do not deny this. I can’t. I’ve perfected my own performance abilities in that area, so I would be a hypocrite if I said that this isn’t partially true. The keyword being partially. Women have an uncanny way of turning this reaction on & off at the right times. We know when this little trait is needed, depending on the situation. It’s an art form, really.
For instance: if I got pulled over by a cop & he told me that I was speeding & he’s going to give me a ticket for my reckless driving, you had better believe that I would squeeze out some convincing tears, explaining to him that my doggie, my re-incarnated first born child, just went into cardiac arrest at the veterinarian’s & she’s barely hanging on, & I have only minutes to say my goodbyes before she departs this earth. I would sniff & sob, & become so desperately vulnerable, while scrunching up my face in despair, that he would have no choice but to pardon my foolishness. Can a man do that instinctively, while be so convincing? I’ll never say never… but the chances are slim.
None of this really has anything to do with the fight I had with my husband; I suppose I’m just trying to make a point, although I don’t really remember in depth what that point was. Other than… men are complicated.
I’ll try to explain. My husband can be the simplest, most easiest man to please in this world. He’ll never want or desire anything but, well… me. (This is the truth.) He isn’t drawn to expensive things & he hardly revealed his birthday wishes to me at all. He can sometimes surprise me with his ability to adapt to certain situations, while trying to accommodate anyone that may be feeling left out or awkward. He’s got this… openness about him, that makes people want to know him. (I always tell him it’s because he’s so damn good looking.)
& then… he can switch gears entirely; his tastes become sporadic, forgetful, & cannot be convinced otherwise. For example: What was once a killer, jaw-dropping outfit on his very own wife, is now a questionable tone, a confused look, & a “Are you really going to wear that? Because it looks awful!” comment. It’s almost as though he had completely forgotten that HE picked out those bloody shoes & HE complimented me on them just the other day! But he insists that, no, he would never pick out something like that, EVER. (“I would never like something like that. You’re the one who likes it!” he says.) Confusing!
Men — or at least my man — always somehow manage to conveniently get a bad case of selective memory, not to mention selective hearing. If I wanted to give him some credit, I would say that that is a kind of art form; this selective memory & hearing stuff. But no, I don’t think it’s an art form. It’s strictly convenient & contradictory.
I don’t know if I’m making sense anymore. I think it’s because, at the moment, part of me fighting against him & fighting for him. He can grate on the half of my last nerve, but I just gotta love him. I can’t help it; I don’t know what else to do. Right now, I miss him & I hate that we had to fight over something a little silly, especially on his birthday. At the same time, I know making up right away doesn’t really solve anything. We need to talk.
Nevertheless, I’m not in the best of moods. Even more so that he couldn’t muster up enough “birthday spirit” last night to look at the card I handmade for him or open the presents I bought for him. He just went straight to bed.
Sigh; men…
“When women are depressed, they eat or go shopping. Men invade another country. It’s a whole different way of thinking.” —- Elayne Boosler
09|22|2008
Hundreds upon hundreds of people visit my little diary daily. To say that these statistics don’t make me curious would be a very big lie. I am a curious, curious girl & with this, I have no other choice but to wonder: who ARE you people? & why is it that you find my little musings, of all things on the internet, intriguing?
Another question I often contemplate is why don’t these visitors post a comment, if only to say hello? Not that comments even really matter; but a simple little note would suffice, just to acknowledge your presence. I certainly don’t have 200 comments on each post, so why is it that you don’t leave comments here? Is it because you’ve nothing to say? Is it because you’re just passing through? Is it because you’re more comfortable being a lurker than an actual known reader? Do tell! (Flying Saucer once did a post about this months ago, which peaked my interest. & because of this, I’m even more curious.)
I usually don’t prefer to do this, simply because I like to keep this diary separate from social affairs, but it’s been pressing on my mind so much lately.
So tell me…
- Where are you from?
- How did you find this humble little place?
- Do you like what you see here?
- & of course… how are you today? :]
09|19|2008
crocheted shirt, handmade from long ago; shorts are thrifted; tights & undershirt, from Target; jewelry is miscellaneous; sunglasses are Raybans (!!!).
While I would love to take credit for this lovely shirt, it was not made by me. No, it was handmade by a dear friend of mine named Elsie Embry. Elsie — at the time — was over 80 years old; & this is just a guess because she never quite told me her age. I met her while I was in beauty school (which is a story I have yet to tell, but will soon). As I was doing her hair in a roller set, we talked the entire time. She told me about her life when she was younger, all of her children & grandchildren; I told her about my family & gossiped about old boyfriends. After that one time, she came to me every other Friday for the rest of the time I was practicing in beauty school.
She is such a lovely lady, & I speak to her in present-tense even though it’s been over 2 years since I’ve heard from her; I haven’t a clue where she is now, or how she is doing. I shudder to think that she may have passed away. I wouldn’t be able to believe it if she did; Elsie is the type of lady you know will live forever. She has such a beautiful spirit; not once did she ever complain about being old or how much she was in pain because of arthritis or asthma. She was completely grateful for life, thus making her forever young. She has one of the best attitudes I’ve ever experienced. I was really inspired by her & only hope that I could be as nice & humble.
The last time I did her hair, she gave me this shirt as a graduation present. She was so happy about it; said it only took her a week to do. Just the thought of this little, old lady sitting & crocheting this shirt for me with her tiny trembling hands, brings tears to my eyes. Just look at the intricate detail! I couldn’t believe that it only took her a week to do. Heaven knows I’ve tried crocheting & it took me one full year to crochet a scarf; one of the easiest things you can possibly do with yarn.
Needless to say, I was deeply touched by her thoughtfulness. She & I both cried a little as I was doing her hair for the last time. I think deep down we both knew we wouldn’t be seeing each other again, though I wanted to try. She promised me that she was going to teach me to knit, & I had every intention to have her teach me. Time was never made, unfortunately, & I’m left wondering what has happened to her.
When I graduated beauty school, I promised her that I would keep in touch with her, regardless of how “big” I got in the industry (her words, not mine). We wrote back & forth for a few months, right when I was about to take my state exam. The last I heard, her eldest son had tragically passed away from a freak accident & she was just heart-stricken with grief. Since then, I have written her, but get no replies. I pray that she is doing well, wherever she is.
Nevertheless, this shirt has never been worn, simply because I view it more as a sentimental piece, a kind of treasure of sorts, than an actual garment that should be worn. I don’t know why I picked today to wear it; maybe it’s because it’s the perfect weather outside for such a shirt. Maybe it’s because I miss Elsie & I miss our little chats. But I think it’s because I promised her I would wear it… & I never forget a promise.
EDIT; I had a lump in my throat the entire time I was writing this; so much that I couldn’t bear to wear the shirt at all. Yes, I snapped pictures of myself in the getup, & I had every intention to wear it for the rest of the day, but I couldn’t get myself to prance around in this shirt. It means far more to me than some silly fashion statement. So I took it off. I think this shirt is better off never worn; I think it’s better off being admired for the background story without my wearing it. It’s just too much for me. & while I am happy to have featured this look, I’m okay with the decision to keep it solely as a treasure.
09|16|2008
I woke up this morning, thinking to myself, “My goodness; you are twenty-one.” While I am overwhelmed wih that thought, I’m starting to get used to the idea of this new age. I like the sound of the number twenty-one much better than the number twenty. But I do think that twenty looks better written that twenty-one. 20… 21. Yes, I like the way 20 looks much more. Besides that, I am terribly sad that my birthday is over. I wish it could last for a few days more.
Lover & I went to the mall yesterday afternoon, just to browse & kill some time. I had only planned on looking — just a simple glance, I told myself — at the Rayban sunglasses, since they’re horribly expensive & I am a self-proclaimed tightwad. We started in Nordstrom & found my beloved Raybans. Naturally, they were priced far too high. I sighed & walked away, forlorn, but desperate to search every damn sunglasses store/hut in the mall, just to suffice my curiosity. Lover was patient with me as we inquired within several stores & several other side stores.
Finally, at the last possible store, we went inside & there they were. I swear, I heard angels singing as I picked up these delightfully flattering sunglasses. I tried them on — perfect fit, mind you — & looked at Lover, who was smiling. He liked them, but I was simply lusting after them.
After a few minutes of back & forth conversation about whether or not I/we should foot the bill for the sunglasses, it was settled: I was going to get them. Because, afterall, it IS my birthday. & as Lover said, “It only comes around once a year.”
Yes, I am completely aware at how gluttenous this purchase was. Not to mention, how spoiled this makes me. & every time I begin to feel badly about how much money was spent ($120, for a pair of sunglasses!) I just put them on & the logical side of my brain shuts up. There is nothing more that I could ever possibly want or covet… except for world peace.
After my extravaganza, I was feeling more than content. I didn’t want to do anything else but relax with my husband & call it an evening indoors. But I didn’t want my birthday to pass without doing at least one “newly-legal” thing. So, without much enthusiasm — I really didn’t want to go, but felt like I HAD to, for my birthday’s sake — Lover & I headed to his favorite bar. I ordered a 7up (which was free! Lover later told me that all soft-drinks are free & that made me very happy), while he drank a bloody Mary, & we sat in the bar together, talking a little, but mostly people watching.
While I enjoyed being in the presence of my husband, I didn’t enjoy being at a bar as much I thought I would. There was a football game on, & every man seemed to be clad in his favorite team’s jersey. These rambunctious men were shouting, yelling & semi-feuding with each other about which team is the best, while drinking beer & smoking cigarettes incessantly. I just giggled, while sipping my soda, realizing that all of this seemed to be going over my head; I was completely out of my element. After one more drink for each of us, we left. I was a bit disappointed at the bar experience, but at least I did something twenty-one-ish; just in case anyone were to ask, of course.
We went home & spent the rest of the evening lounging. We watched reruns of CSI: Las Vegas & played old school super nintendo video games until about 10pm, where we finally went to bed. The last remains of my birthday was pretty typical… except for the immaculate dinner I made myself:
Belgian waffles, covered in organic strawberries & powdered sugar, dripping with syrup & buttery goodness.
So, yes… my birthday was pretty perfect.
Also, a few people have asked me whether or not my wrist tattoo had hurt. I will not lie, since I am amongst friends: yes, it hurt like the dickens. There were certain parts where he (the tattoo artist) was carving that hurt so terribly, I was wincing & scrunching up my face really ugly like. Eventually, after at least 15 minutes of digging — because that’s what it felt like, not to mention, that’s what it is; a needle digging into my flesh — I hardly felt anything at all because I was numb with pain. Of course, it was all worth it in the end, but yes… it bloody hurt. & I highly recommend it, pain & all, for you only live once.
09|15|2008
Today is my birthday; I am 21-years-old (finally, for heaven’s sake!) & desperately hoping to get used to this new age. It’s strange when you’ve been a certain age for so long. Really, I’ve only been twenty for one year (obviously), but why does it feel much longer? As though it’s been three years? I’ve grown quite accustomed to being twenty; so much that it’s become a part of my outer identity. But really, inside of myself, I feel much older. Older than 21, younger than 25. It’s always been this way. I always feel a few years older than what I chronologically am. My mother says it’s because I am “wise beyond my years.” I concur.
Even though today is my 21st year, I’ve been “celebrating” since Friday (the 12th). & while most newly-legals go hogwild with their new [drinking] privileges, I’ve opted for quiet evenings at home. Not one sip of alcohol was/will be consumed, & hardly any “partying” was/will be done. Does that make me boring? Probably. But am I content? Absolutely.
This has been one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had. Except for last year… when Lover proposed to me on my twentieth birthday. Yes, I’ll never forget that birthday; although… I must admit that the memories of that day almost slipped my mind. His proposing seems so far away now; again, like it was 3 years ago. Strange.
On Friday, I wore this…
shirt, leg-warmers, fishnets & cardigan, all from Target (bought at different times, of course); shoes, from DSW; jewelry is my own.
… while getting this early birthday present:
It means“breathe” in Sanskrit. I’ve been wanting to get this tattoo for years & woke up with the hankering to get it on Friday. & I did. Originally, I was going to do the word in plain English, but decided against it once I saw how beautiful it looked translated into Sanskrit.
I admit to knowing that this idea has been done before by somebody famous, which I feel is slightly irrelevant. I, personally, have wanted to get this tattoo as a simple reminder to “breathe”; because I do forget to breathe sometimes & our breath is the most important thing we can do to bring us back into the present moment.
While dealing with bouts of severe anxiety, my therapist would remind me of the importance of my own breath, & how that can benefit me if I was ever having a panic attack. During those maddening times, I would often forget to breathe, which would bring me deeper & deeper into panic & despair. Just thinking about all of that again makes me quite sad.
Today I feel like I’ve come full circle. While I don’t feel anxiety as often — except for the occasional, very normal butterflies in my stomach — I feel like this tattoo is still very important for me to have. Not just because breathing is a beautiful, powerful thing, but because it reminds me how much I’ve grown as a person, as a woman, in these last few years.
I’m not sure what else I will do today. Since I’ve been “celebrating” since Friday, I feel like my birthday has already been rejoiced. I don’t have a need for more good wishes or to be the center of attention.
I’m just happy to be alive today; happy that my husband took the day off so that we could spend my 21st year together; & happy that I finally go to the bar with him to watch UFC pay-per-view fights.
09|09|2008
tank & beanie, from American Apparel; shorts (which are not made of denim, but some sythentic material, to my dismay), from Ross; boots, from Payless long ago; jewelry is miscellaneous.
EDIT: I haven’t been feeling like myself lately. I’ve been inarticulate, melancholy & over thinking things; I am feeling a bit blue. Nothing is particularly spurring this on; it’ll pass within days, I’m sure. But, I’ve come to the conclusion that when I’m filled with such inexpressible feelings, it’s better to keep quiet & let the emotions dwindle on their own, rather than ramble/write on & on about nonsense in the heat of the moment.
As the saying goes: “If you’ve nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” & I really don’t have anything nice to say.
Come to think of it, I may be having an early quarter-life crisis. My 21st birthday is next Monday, after all…
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