I don't know how to thrift properly. The last time I went to Goodwill was in June, and I did come home with a couple ugly/cool sweaters. As I looked at them, my imagination went wild with possibilities. But then I got home, put them in my drawer...and never brought them out. The farthest I got to actually wearing them was just thinking about wearing them. Like I said, the sweaters were pretty atrocious; they were candy bright, multicolored, and constructed with a carpet-like fabric. I used to have a "crazy" streak in my dressing, back in high school. I'm not sure where that part of me went. I'll go shopping now and see an amazingly crazy skirt that I know would be so cool, and I know I would look sickeningly cool in said skirt. But I don't buy it.
I wish I knew what happened.
I'm stuck on skinny jeans, sweaters from J.Crew, and flats.
I WISH I could thrift better, because Goodwill has half off the first Saturday of every month. What a steal.
For my 23rd birthday, my dad took me to see Alison Krauss and Union Station last night. Say what you will about bluegrass/folk music, but Alison and her band are extremely talented. They are definitely some of the most gifted musicians I've seen in concert. Just on the basis of Alison's voice, I'm inclined to believe that she's some weird hybrid alien-fairy mix, some creature not from this world.
I'm glad I went to the concert, because until last night, I'd forgotten how much I LOVE THE DOBRO. The dobro is one of the coolest instruments around.
Anyway, did ya'll look at the pictures from the Prada show? I seriously can't get over Miuccia. She designs really ugly things sometimes (like below), but you just know everyone's going to buy it somehow, either directly from Prada or from H&M or Forever 21 who'll surely knock it off. Somehow she makes ugly cool, and I have no idea how. Is it because she's become known as the ugly-chic designer? Because editors like her? I am just not sure.
I love having boobs. I was looking at her and despite that she always looks so awesome, I am reminded that I enjoy having boobs.
I love being single. It's wonderful to not be worried about how I'm affecting someone else. Why didn't I remember that I loved being single when I wasn't single?
I almost got a credit card to Nordstrom, but I decided against spending $400 on a pair of $200 shoes. I think I can be patient and just wait until I can afford expensive items.
Am I a "bad" woman for not wanting a diamond engagement ring? I'd be truly happy with a $12 antique ring. In fact, I'd be over the moon. Why not save the $2000 and put it towards a sweet couch instead?
I wore lipstick for the first time in a looooong while the other night. I kind of felt like the Joker, my lips were so red. And I kept imagining that it had gotten slathered all over my chin and cheeks.
My hair's getting stupid. I want to get it cut like this.
Just yesterday, I was driving from work, and I happened to get lost (what, I still haven't learned this city yet, and I have absolutely no sense of direction). On my roundabout way to a friend's house, the scenery I saw inspired me. I wanted to get out and take pictures. I wanted to call up my friend's sister and let her know that I wanted to play dress up and have her take awesome pictures of me playing dress up. I mention this, because it's a good sign my creativity is awakening again.
I don't particularly enjoy my creative droughts. I start to feel extremely indifferent, and usually I end up feeling stuck, so much so where I desperately want to run away and start anew.
Strange thing is, there isn't even a slight smile on my face at the moment, but my heart feels so alive.
I was listening to this slightly sappy song when my dad just texted me. And I thought, "I haven't prayed for you in, like, two months." I try to pray nightly, but I usually end up falling asleep in the middle of it. Still, I let God know about the people I love, the people I for whom I care, and eventually myself (that's not due to selflessness. I have a hard time praying for myself, 'cause usually I'm asking forgiveness for something, but I don't know what I've done wrong. I'm confused about what sins are, anyway, besides the really obvious lying, stealing, murdering acts. Maybe I am praying for my sins? I'm not sure. I ask for help about the things I'm dumb about). Anyway, I don't know. I don't know anything about God. I'm not being sarcastic.
MMMKAY, religious rant over. Now on to third grade writing.
I got three necklaces this weekend, and a bright blue Michael Kors tote. I love it. I got it at TJ Maxx. The necklaces I got were: a bottle of fairy dust that had a fairy dust in the bottle (a friend asked me if I was a proud coke dealer. I don't think cocaine is sparkly, though?), a silver cross, and a 90s bracelet (i.e. a bracelet from the 90s).
Oh yeah, I did go see Kaskade in Chicago two weekends ago. Yes, that ended up happening. It was fun, but it was SUPER DUPER loud. Like, I had to leave at 1 a.m. because I thought my ear drums were getting ready to burst. Okay, so I could've stayed and risked it, but I was tired and there were so many people and so much sweatiness.
Also, I've been MIA in the blogosphere for a while (besides random posts from me and a few comments on other blogs). I'm bored with it. I'm can talk and talk and talk all I want, but why? Why am I talking? This is not a self-deprecating, "omg, why? Is anyone even listening to me?!?!?" This is a legit "really, Erin, why are you talking?" "'Cause I've got opinions that need to be heard!!!!" That's really what I say but not really what I mean.
Lao-Tzu in The Tao Te Ching says to not talk, e.g. here #2: "Therefore the Master acts without doing anything and teaches without saying anything." (italics mine)
So I may or may not be talking for a while. I've yet to decide.
And here's a friendly lion from a zoo in Amsterdam in 2009.
Note: Complete and possibly utter useless self-analysis follows.
My schema when it comes to people is that they are puzzles. I meet someone, and if I find him mildly interesting, I want to figure him out. This rule generally applies to men. What makes him tick? What and who does he love? Is he passionate? What are his vulnerabilities? Why does he act the way he does? What caused him to have such-and-such complex?
Basically, I reduce people to a puzzle to be solved and end up treating them like a clinician, asking question after question in order to diagnose the "problem." When I figure out the problem, I want to fix it. It's like this when anyone comes to me for advice (most of the time the person only wants me to listen, but somehow I miss that memo) — friends, family, lovers, strangers, etc. My want to fix people also comes from a desire to control others. If I can't control myself, specifically my emotions, then I need to control something else. Controlling my eating habits doesn't work, but it must in some way if I still attempt to. Controlling others doesn't work, either. It rips relationships apart.
This is a horrible way to treat people. People have complex emotions, and oftentimes they don't even understand them. These feelings can't necessarily be reduced into smaller pieces that are able to fit neatly into a larger whole. A whole (person) cannot be reduced to the sum of its parts (emotions, judgments, personality, intellect).
I don't like being treated like a case study. I sincerely apologize to anyone I've ever done this to...which is basically everyone I've ever met.
This song has relevance to the topic (I am the verse, you are the chorus):
A picture of a picture of 18 year old me, a little shorter than 6 year old me.
Nineteen year old me; it looks longer than it actually was.
Nineteen year old me, after I got a haircut summer of 2007.
And then I decided to grow my hair out when I was 20. It was a normal brown.
Taken in Amsterdam summer of 2009. I'd had enough of "long" hair and cut it off.
And then I'd had enough of "short" hair and got it cut shorter that same summer.
And even after that, fall of 2009, I said "fuck you shorter short hair! I'm chopping you off!" (And I have no recollection of this girl's name...)
And as I'm doing this now, I'm getting really confused about the years I was in school. I went to three different schools and graduated in 3 1/2 years, so it gets confusing. But, this was a year after the aforementioned picture. Really, this is my favorite kind of cut. Not too pretty, not too ugly, just messy enough so I don't have to wash it every day.
Fall of 2010, the semester I graduated, I decided to go red. With a box. It looked like I had blood wounds on my scalp, and looking back, my hair looked unhealthy. But I do love this color.
And then I got my hair cut again, to a very similar cut I'd had before! I'm so creative with my hair cuts.
Awkward in-between stage. My hair was asking itself, "Am I long hair, or am I short hair? I AM SO CONFUSED." This was a roughly a month ago.
Finally I got my hair chopped off again and dyed chocolate brown last weekend. Don't cha just love it? I know you can see all the intricacies of the cut!
There, that's a little better. I talked it over with photobooth, and we decided to have a spur of the moment photoshoot to honor my "new" hair.
And look! I got this killer watch today, for $23 bucks. The brand is Flüd. Ever heard of it?
I hope that journey wasn't too boring. If it was, I'm not terribly sorry. Besides, I highly doubt I'll ever post this many pictures of me ever again. Also, I love it when bloggers post their pictures extra-large. It's easier for me to see all the detail.
Happy Mother's Day to all the would-be could-be should-be mothers! (And actual mothers, too.)
A lot of fashion editorials that come out in the spring and summer are located at the beach. Most often, they are "sexy" shoots, usually involving sand, water, and nudity. But do I have to be sexy at the beach? Why do I have to waltz around naked or — if not naked — with half a boob poking out (e.g. here - and that's NSFW, by the way)? I mean, I wouldn't necessarily mind if I were at a nude beach. But why is it desirable? Oh yeah, 'cause nudity is always desirable!
I've decided - from this point on, I'm never wearing clothes again. Bye bye clothes, hello naked body! Hello jail time!
And here is a tribute to all the annoyingly confusing sexy-beach editorials in fashion mags (who are mostly read by whom? That's right, women and gay men! I suppose we do want to look better than every other woman when we're in a swimsuit, so maybe sexy-beach editorials give us inspiration to somehow become super sexified. But that's not at all a solid theory.)
So, now we know exactly how we should look at the beach. All we need is a skinny yet toned body, bedroom eyes, sand all over our skin (preferably because we've just had a romp in the sand), water around us, and voilá, we are hot, desirable, skinny bitches.
Seriously, though, there are some wonderful beach editorials out there. They're not all like this, thank the Ten Commandments.
This photo appears more sexy and alluring to me than the others. I want this dress; I do not want those swimsuits.
And I must admit, I am the girl who has to have a new swimsuit every summer, mostly because my friends can't see me in the same swimsuit that I wore last summer! That would simply be a catastrophe!
The Mother came to visit my sister and I this weekend for Easter, and I must display what she wore. I convinced her to buy these pants from JCrew:
I love them. I'm thinking maybe she'll get tired of them and then give them to me.
AND BREAKING NEWS!!!!!!!!! I HAVE A PICTURE OF AN OUTFIT I WORE, INCLUDING MY BODY IN THE ACTUAL OUTFIT!
So, this is what I wore before we went to see Win Win (which was really good. Go see it...or rent it...or don't see it, whatever is your preference).
Um, I think I have to say where I got everything...? Scarf, some hippie store somewhere; shirt (as well as camisole underneath it that you can't see), Gap; sequined shorts, Forever 21; shoes, Target; purse, Goodwill. I'd tell you where I got my underwear, too, but I don't remember what I was wearing. Actually, I think they're from Victoria's Secret.
Last night, we went to a friend's house to play boardgames, and we played some ridiculously long and simply arduous games. (I'm reading Auntie Mame, so I feel the need to make everything sound terribly dramatic.) I hate board games, especially if they're long. Give me Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders, and I'm a happy camper. Give me some kind of strategy game (think Risk but a lot more complicated), and I end up zoning out and making random plays, usually. So I ended up eating a lot of junk food that was there to cure my boredom.
And today, I slept until 10:30. That's a looooooooong time for me to sleep in. I also took a picture of Boy and a picture of some flowers on a tree. These photos are very promising; I just know they're going to impress all Important Photographer everywhere!
See?!?! Isn't this photo just full of life and love and joy and raw energy and spirituality?!?!
Okay. I'm having a complete freak out over here. Kaskade, my favorite DJ/producer since I started listening to house/trance/electronic music, is going to be in Chicago — THAT IS, 3 HOURS AWAY FROM ME — on May 27.
HOWEVER, the venue's no longer selling tickets online! This means that I'd have to buy at the door and THAT means that I'd have to stand in line (maybe there won't be a line?) and risk NOT getting in!
GUYS, I'M SERIOUSLY GOING TO DIE.
That was a little dramatic. So, I am currently not sure if I'm going to go and try to get in, anyway. I really, really, REALLY want to. I want to dance my ass off to the wonderful melodic sounds that only Kaskade can provide with house music. I'm not kidding. He is the BEST at creating melodies that actually fit with the backing music.
Here are some of my favorite songs in dedication of his Chicago show:
(Get past the first 40 seconds or so, and it gets good. to be honest, I can't stand beats without any sort of melody going. Drives my ears crazy. Also, this is not the album version...it's a tad different)
BLUGHHH ARGHGHGH. (That was my existential moan for the day.)
A lot of times I feel constrained by my job, by my attachments to whoever I might be seeing at the time (or not seeing), by society's expectations for me as a woman, etc. Sometimes these restrictions are valid and realistic, and other times I let them stand in my way when I could rid myself of them instead. I could get a new job, or I could just change my outlook on the job I have.
The more I think about it, I find freedom is a state of mind. Like Lydia said in a comment here, as long as what a person does feels authentic, a sense of freedom comes naturally. More than what a person actually does, it comes down to a person being authentic in the first place, to staying to true to one's self. I'd think if someone wants to do authentic things, then he'd have to be an authentic being first. (Side note, if you want to know more about authenticity, most of the existential philosophers wrote about it, like Kierkegaard, Heidegger, and Sartre.)
Our society's lack of accepting who we are and being totally cool with ourselves stands in the way of feeling free. We "need" plastic surgery to look better, we "need" to like the right music/movies/food/clothes, we "need" to constantly search for love, we "need" to be busy all the time ('cause if not, we're just lazy — not taking a break). But when it comes down to it, the things that hold us back from true freedom are just a bunch of hullabaloo.
Firstly, I love the lyrics of this song. It reminds me of how I felt in high school: cynical.
Secondly, I'd like to address one of my questions in my previous post. Flirting.
Flirting has always kind of confused me, and that's usually due to the fact that I have no idea what flirting means. Because it's so dependent on the situation, I find the whole act of flirting to be annoying (even though I still do it and I'm still occasionally on the receiving end of it).
Here are the scenarios where I generally experience flirting (that is, when I do it, and when I am the recipient of it):
1) At a bar. Sometimes guys are very direct at bars, and sometimes they're totally skittish. I remember one time I was at a college bar with some friends, and this guy who'd been blatantly staring came up and told me, "You're fucking gorgeous!" I was put off by the adjective...what's wrong with just saying a woman is gorgeous? Anyway, after he says that and I thank him, he asks me for my phone number. I decline, thinking "what the hell? why don't you buy me a drink first and then maybe I'll give you my number." He went away after my resolute "no."
2) Drunken escapades - not necessarily at a bar. The really drunken flirting is the most confusing. Is it only due to the lowered inhibitions? Is it "hey, I think you're pretty/funny/intelligent/something interesting"? Is it "I'm lonely, and you're alright, let me touch you. I need physical contact"? Is it "I like this other girl in the room, so I'm going to try to make her jealous by paying attention to you instead"?
Yes, I've thought a lot about these drunken scenarios.
3) Male-friends who are currently the platonic type but have the possibility of being something more. In these situations, I've noticed it really depends on the man and how he is with women in general. As we all know, some people flirt like it's their job. Anyway, flirting still happens with the platonic friendships, but in my experience, it's usually not the touchy-feely kind; it's more of a joke-around-make-fun-of-you kind of thing.
Woooow. Okay. Now that I've got that out of the way, I still don't know what flirting is and what it means. Clearly I take it too seriously. Honestly, if a man has only platonic feelings for me, I'd prefer absolutely no flirting. When I flirt, ninety-nine percent of the time it means I have some sort of interest in the guy. Of course, not everyone acts like me, so I'm kind of coming to the conclusion that flirting is like a sport; can I get you to like me or not? Will I win in this battle of vanity and egocentricity?
And I just thought of something. Let's say I'm talking to Man Z, we strike up a conversation, blah blah, blatant flirting. Maybe the only reason we're flirting is to validate the others' intrinsic value. Surely we're more secure in ourselves than to resort to flirting as a means to feel worthy. I hope so, at least.
But, you tell me. What do you consider to be flirting, and what does it mean?
It's pouring outside. I have a large hangover. I'm listening to Air and Sneaker Pimps. But not simultaneously.
There are two questions on my mind at the moment, but I'm too hungover to flesh out any semblance of an answer.
1) What does it mean to be completely free? Is it a way of being or a lack of physical constraints? Or both?
2) Why do we flirt? And why does it always feel so meaningless when the flirtation game is over?
And I'm going to get answer to those questions...once I can think in a more linear manner.
Oh, and thank you, commentors, for being really nice and cool. I appreciate it. Merci! Gracias! Auf-weidersen. (too lazy to look up that spelling)
Wouldn't you love to sleep here at least once in your life?
(found somewhere in the stumbleverse)
Sometimes sleep seems to cure everything. I woke up this morning with a huge sense of calm. Usually, I have to will myself to calm down (calm down as in to feel peace instead of negative emotion), but this morning's been different.
I don't live in that awesome aquarium bedroom; I live with my sister in a one-bedroom apartment. And that's just fine for now. I don't need fish swimming over my head at night to be happy, do I? No.
That got personal. Not my intention for this blog, but hey, sometimes I get really ego-tastic and decide to talk solely about myself. Yay, me!
Okay, semi-sarcasm aside now. Isn't it strange how we associate a person with a particularly happy or meaningful song, and then that particularly happy or meaningful song no longer holds its significance with that person? I guess what I'm trying to say - but failing to do so - is that people come and go out of our lives. Friends come, friends go. Boyfriends come, boyfriends go. A few friends will be great friends forever, but others fade away. It's sad, but it's a part of life. And those friends/boyfriends who were once in our lives affected us - sometimes in a really big way. So I know I will never regret any friend I've ever had or any guy I've dated or done whatever with. They've influenced me in a way some will never know.
(Yeah, this photo doesn't really have anything to do with the above post. I do that a lot...)
And, heya, Dree Hemmingway! Next time you go down to the beach for a photoshoot, give me a call! I'd be glad to hang up your wet clothes and what not! Just let me smell that salty air again...
So I've been sort of bummed lately, for various reasons. And, you know, I thought getting a more interesting job, traveling to all sorts of exotic locations, or becoming a nun would bring me out of my funk. Apparently, I don't need any of that. Yet.
All I needed was a manicure and a pedicure.
Also, can I just geek out/be a fan girl for a moment? I am so ready for June to start so I can see this lovely specimen again.
Okay, I want to know how bloggers post at least every other day. I cannot seem to keep up with it. I come home from work, and usually I turn into a vegetable — specifically a carrot. Anyway, I just can't find the energy to post everyday, and since I don't do outfit posts, and I don't want to do "inspiration" posts every day, I wait until I have something I deem significant to talk about.
As I've mentioned before, I've been told I'm a gypsy (though not exactly the Esmeralda-type from the Disney version of Hunchback of Notre Dame; I don't wear harem pants or belly shirts). A friend pointed out to me, after making me listen to this song, that whenever Miss Lambert sang about livin' in an airstream with homemade curtains, she specifically thought of me.
Today, while on my lunch break and listening to this song, I fully realized my inherent gypsy qualities. However, I must note that I am not the kind of gypsy described on urbandictionary.com. I am the forever unsatisfied gypsy. For example, when I want to play the piano, I'm not near one. When I desire to go to the beach, I've no vacation time to get away. When I lust over a pair of affordable shoes, I don't have the money to buy them. And most importantly, when I want to set the gypsy in me free, I feel so constrained that I don't now how to let it out of its cage.
I want to be a writer! I want to be a professional arguer! (No, not a lawyer.) I want to be an anthropologist! I want to be a bartender in St. Thomas! I want to travel everywhere and meet everyone (at my convenience and when I feel like talking, of course)! I want to be a physicist! I want to be a college professor! I want to be a singer! I want to be a dancer! I want to be a theologian! I want to be a model! I want to be a stylist! I want to be a philosopher! I want to be a muse! I want to be a hairstylist! I want to be CEO of a large company! I want to be a cowgirl! ...that's seventeen "wants" for you right there. And that's not a comprehensive list.
Does anyone else feel this aching desire to keep moving on to something different?
All I have to say is that I'm in a fantastic mood despite the winter weather. Winter can go ...you know, stick it to itself, 'cause I'm dressed like it's spring, anyway.
Also, I want to cut my hair like this. Didn't I just say that I was going to grow it out a few weeks ago...?
Amber from Parenthood had a haircut similar to this in the last episode I saw. I'm digging it. BUT, are those bangs going to stay flat? I think if I got short bangs like that, they'd decide to go every which way, even if I did use product.
I'm thinking about this, too:
I really just need to make a decision and go with it, instead of talking about it. But, unfortunately, I've had some short haircuts that did not turn out the way I planned, so I am a bit wary.
For the first time on this blog, I'm going to give a rundown of my day...without pictures of any of the activities I did to accompany them. You'll just have to use your imaginations!
This morning I woke up at nine, and even though my body wanted to go back to sleep, my brain wanted to watch America's Next Top Model and eat mint Milano cookies in bed. So, that's what I did; I ate half a bag of cookies and rolled my eyes at the faux drama on ANTM. (Plus, whoever actually picks the girls didn't do a good job of casting this season - I can't imagine any of those girls fitting in in the pages of Italian Vogue.)
Then I went to Wal-Mart and bought groceries like a big girl. I actually bought chicken this time, which means I'll have to cook it. I'm attempting to force myself to get over my dislike of cooking, because eating turkey sandwiches every day doesn't satisfy the food neurons in my brain, though it does fill my tummy.
Then, after I brought the groceries inside, I put them away.
Then, I picked up my shoes and put them under my bed. (I need to fix this, as I prefer to have all my shoes right in front of my eyes when I get dressed. I thought about getting a door hanging shoe thing at Wal-Mart, but it looked so cumbersome. I should probably go to Target.)
Then, I cleaned up my sister's cat's puke stains.
Then, I vacuumed.
Then, I attempted to wash the walls. I wasn't successful.
Then, I brushed my sister's two cats ("boy" and "girl") for about thirty minutes. They are fluffballs.
Then, I thought about baking a pizza, but decided not to.
Then, I called the apartment complex to get the dishwasher, kitchen sink, balcony door, and bathroom mirror fixed. They said they'd come Monday or Tuesday.
Then, I cut up a banana and an apple and put a dash of sugar in the bowl, and voila, FRUIT SALAD! (If you want the recipe, let me know. It's a very detailed and lengthy method.)
Then, with the help of my sister, I fixed the cable box. Jersey Shore was seriously the only thing on TV. Not kidding. All the other channels were black! What d'ya know!
Then, I threw out our old bathroom rug (which happened to be sopping wet from my attempt to wash it last night. It threw the washing machine off balance), and replaced it with the one I bought from Wally World.
Then, I denied Boy and Girl a second bowl of food.
Then, I put electrical tape on my mac's power cord, so the wires would stop poking me.
Then, I cleaned the mirrors. I only did this so I could stare at myself for hours on end without seeing waterspots strangely appearing on my face.
Then, I talked on skype and emailed some people.
And then I wrote this blog post.
Oh, I forgot. I got gas, too. Twenty dollars worth. It's cheap today, at $3.38.
WHAT I WORE: Sweatpants that have "NAVY" on them (from a friend who's in the Navy), a Paris Metro t-shirt, a green zip up hoodie from Target, and some European looking shoes from Nordstrom (I don't remember the brand. I do remember convincing my mother to get them for herself, and then she just gave them to me).
I lied. I'm going to post pictures of the kitties.
Here is Max. He is a manx, which means he has no tail. He lives at "home" with my mother. Here we are chillin' in my bedroom at "home" back in...October of 2010, I think.