01|28|2010

karma.

{all of these photos are mine.}

— — — —

“Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.”

— Unknown.

01|25|2010

chocolate/vanilla.

After I posted Jonathan’s interview, a small discussion was started in the comments section. One person in particular wanted to know more about the “interracial” aspect of our marriage & how that affects us & our families.

This is the comment that sparked the discussion:

“wait; no interracial couple questions? as a mulatto product of a biracial couple, i call bullshit. there’s no WAYYY this topic hasn’t been brought up, in your relationship and from outsiders. and if it hasn’t, it certainly needs to be discussed. start this over so I can ask the real questions.” — Alexis

While I admit that this comment seems very irate, I’m going to respond to it with as much kindness & understanding as I can muster. Because I don’t know Alexis, & I don’t know what she’s gone through. She might have experienced terrible kinds of discrimination to a degree that makes her feel so passionate about this subject. & I am going to keep that in mind as I respond to her comment.

Perhaps I am a square, but I was rather pleased that people didn’t give that topic (my interracial relationship) the time of day; that people focused on our love, rather than something as narrow-minded as the color of our skin. I think it’s amusing how people make such a big to-do about a subject so insignificant on the surface. Jonathan & I don’t really give our interracial relationship much thought until other people make a big deal out of it. We are just two human beings, desperately in love with each other. It’s a small trait in our relationship that I am black & he is white.

I feel that this is a subject that has been beaten into the ground to the point of irrelevance. I also consider it trivial in a lot of ways, simply because when I look at Jonathan I don’t see that he is white, just as he doesn’t see that I am black. We see love, we see commitment, we see compassion. The color of our skin & the “trouble” it might stir in others is the farthest thing from our minds, & it has been ever since we have been together. & even if it did cause a commotion, it wouldn’t change the way I feel about him, nor would it change the way I show the way I feel about him.

People might call our passivity & nonchalance to the “race issue” naïve. I call it wise. I call it mature. I call it positive thinking.

So Alexis, I’ll answer your questions, but only because you are curious. Please know that I am not trying to feed into the “hype” surrounding interracial relationships by answering your questions. Also know that if it seems like I am singling you out by seemingly addressing this post to you, it’s not directly my intention. Your questions — though filled with agitation — were good ones, & I feel like they could be easily shared by others. You were just brave enough to call them out.

(continue reading…)

01|19|2010

Q&A with an illuminated mind; my husband.

Well, my dear readers; you asked, & he answered.

I think it’s only fair to note that this interview almost didn’t happen, due to my presumptuousness. Jonathan wasn’t too happy that I signed him up for an endeavor without his permission. But, after some convincing he relented. & I’m very grateful to him for being such a good sport & putting up with my antics.

I had intended for this little Q&A to be done on camera. I felt that taping him answering your questions would give you a better idea of who he is, what his mannerisms are, his sense of humor, & so on. But, it happened that writing out the answers worked better for his schedule. (Because unlike myself, Jonathan actually has shit to do, & important shit at that.)

So without further ado, I’d like you to meet Jonathan, my husband.

— — — —

[personal]

Do you like to be called “Jon”?
I don’t mind if someone does on accident, but I don’t prefer it. I like all of my name — Jonathan.

01|14|2010

apricot’s closet: acid & stripes.

striped shirt/dress & purse – RBFM; acid-washed pants – Target; combat boots – Forever21

(What I wore a few days ago. I found this killer striped shirt/dress at the Rose Bowl Flea Market. It only cost me $10, & the bag $15. I could’ve haggled the price lower if I chose to… but I didn’t. This shirt has been exactly what I’ve been looking for, as is the purse.)

— — — —

To my dear & lovely readers,

I want you to do something for me, if you don’t mind. I want you to help me interview my husband, Jonathan.

I want you to ask him anything you’d like — no holds barred! — in the comment section of this post. Maybe you’d like to know more about his blog, or how he feels about being married to me, or what the tattoo on his back means, or what color underwear he’s wearing currently.

Whatever it might be, he’ll answer it, we’ll record it, & I’ll post it here.

I figure since I talk about him so much, I might as well formerly introduce him to all of you beautiful people. It would also be nice to have him in the hot seat for a change.

So… what would you like to know about my husband?

comments are closed! thanks for your questions.

(Oh, & I think it’s only fair to mention that I pretty much signed him up for this without his knowing it. Boy, won’t he be surprised.)

01|11|2010

apricot’s closet: flea market apparel.

Yesterday, I went to the world renown Rose Bowl Flea Market with a few stylish ladies: Lucrecia, Annabel, Jazzi, & Taghrid (who are total gems, by the way). I’m rather ashamed to admit that it was my first time ever going, in spite of me having lived in Pasadena for almost 3 years. Of course, I kicked myself later for that. I don’t know why I had never gone before, but not one month will go by that I miss out on it again.

The RBFM is filled to the brim with extraordinarily unique items, & equally extraordinarily beautiful people to look at. It seems as though every gorgeously eclectic hipster in the LA area come to this spot for fashion, food, & frolicking. I felt rather out of place in a sea of perfectly put-together ladies & gentlemen, with tattoos on their arms, cigarettes in their mouths, & Raybans blocking the sun from their eyes. Simply put, if you’re an amateur street style blogger/photographer — or perhaps you like to people-watch fashionable people for inspiration — the RBFM is where you’ll need to be, if for nothing else.

As I was traipsing about the flea market, you can imagine my surprise when a girl quietly asked if she could take a picture of my outfit. She told me that she loved my style & that she works for Style Sight & the photo will be on their blog. I’ve never been “street photographed” before, so I was rather giddy & stupid about it. But I did my best to contain myself as she snapped the pictures, knowing that a goofy-grinned snapshot wouldn’t be very chic.

what I wore:

lace shirt – Target; polyester trousers – vintage; sandals – Nordstrom; accessories – miscellaneous.

Here are some pictures I took of the RBFM. They don’t quite encompass the flea market’s awesomeness, but get pretty damn close.

(continue reading…)

01|08|2010

learning to be thrifty & DIY-y, in spite of my wants.

Before I started this blog, I was an avid thrift store shopper. 90% of the clothes in my closet were either pre-owned or hand-me-downs, & I was very proud of that. Having people compliment me on an outfit that cost under $10 — including accessories — was such a thrilling feeling. What’s even more thrilling is telling people where I got the item they’re gushing after, & then watching their eyes bulge a bit at the idea of it being “used.”

& then I started working, which produced such a prideful feeling within myself that I felt that I was too deserving of new things, rather than sticking with my old habit of buying used. It’s taken three years, & the process was a slow one, but my entire closet is now only comprised of a few used items. Everything else has been bought brand new; some have only been worn several times.

I am not proud of this. I want to change.

So, I’m combining my 2010 rule #13 of shopping mostly at thrift stores, as well as my never ceasing feeling of “OH MY GOD, WANT!!!”, so that I’ll come to a rather happy & less painful medium.

Allow me to reason with & convince myself of this…

(all images from polyvore.com)

(continue reading…)

01|04|2010

hindsight.

I am twenty-two years old, & I’ve been married for two years.

This sounds absurd, even to me, as I’m living this life of wedded bliss.

Being married is an adventure. It’s a companionship that never ceases. It’s inside jokes & late night laugh-fests. It’s small, seemingly insignificant gestures of adoration — like putting toothpaste on my toothbrush or rubbing lotion on my back or letting me have the last bite of chocolate cake. It’s inescapably intimate, almost to the point of madness. It’s explicit, aggravating, euphoric. Really, there is no difference from marriage & a very best friendship between two individuals.

I deeply enjoy the life & love I have with my husband… but I sometimes find myself wondering what it would have been like if I had met him just a few years later. Just a few years. Enough time to let me find my own way. Enough time to allow me to explore myself, my wants, my needs.

But it wasn’t up to me. I met Jonathan with no intention of getting lovingly wrapped up in a relationship. I wanted him to be a fuck-buddy, if anything at all. I wanted him to be a guy that I could wrap around my finger, keeping him there as a reminder just in case I felt lonely or needy. But no… it didn’t turn out that way. It all happened so fast. We met & we fell in love at the very first sight of each other. We were inseparable, & love fueled us to keep going, to keep trying.

I couldn’t have stopped the quickness of our relationship even if I wanted to. & I tried; I really did. I tried because I kept asking myself if this was what I truly wanted; a committed relationship, not shortly after a three year dependence on someone else that practically stunted my growth. My mind said, No. Stop. This is happening too fast. This isn’t what you want. But my heart melted at the sight of him. I was absolutely smitten.

A year & a month later, we were married.

I look at women who are my age — older than me, even — & I see them single & living their lives sufficiently, & I wonder what that’s like. Sometimes I imagine myself in their shoes, slightly envious that they’ve had these chances to do things that I haven’t done. Like living on their own, going on blind-dates, kissing strangers, calling the shots, being free.

& then I start to wish…

I start to wish that I would have gotten the chance to live on my own, in my own place, with my sister. A place we could decorate together with our equal tastes. A place to have dance parties in our underwear & entertain handsome boys until dawn. A place for our memories.

I start to wish that I would have gotten the chance to explore sex. To have more partners, to have more experiences. I start to think that perhaps I would have truly owned my sexuality, rather than be afraid of it, if I had the chance to be just a little promiscuous.

& after these thoughts have steeped in my brain long enough to have me feeling confused, I think, Well do it then.

But that’s absolutely irrational. It doesn’t work that way, I say. You can’t just pause your life now & go on to a new one.

& then I laugh to myself at my foolishness & go about my day as a twenty-two year old married woman.

I don’t regret a thing I’ve done in my life. Not one single thing. But I do wonder. I wonder all the time.