tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34643005435166816432024-02-07T16:33:41.922-08:00Fleur JauneAmeliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-31177558428519379892011-10-02T10:32:00.000-07:002011-10-12T14:08:58.941-07:0013.7.6I 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.<br />
<br />
I wish I knew what happened.<br />
<br />
I'm stuck on skinny jeans, sweaters from J.Crew, and flats.<br />
<br />
I WISH I could thrift better, because Goodwill has half off the first Saturday of every month. What a steal.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZmyE8ci8JvJO-JtLTUppV8yqMGOuyk_SwWAzAIIrH9hD_CkGLKZ4G_wdmfar5d8IAS-cKE5GnQMtH099iZRETAriLomyDxSPkFNIgz83t1Lntohbjq8Lf8YBRMINYXGrzXEYigF35Ddq/s1600/Carola4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZmyE8ci8JvJO-JtLTUppV8yqMGOuyk_SwWAzAIIrH9hD_CkGLKZ4G_wdmfar5d8IAS-cKE5GnQMtH099iZRETAriLomyDxSPkFNIgz83t1Lntohbjq8Lf8YBRMINYXGrzXEYigF35Ddq/s640/Carola4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(fashiongonerogue)</span></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-7681897001413362882011-09-24T09:34:00.000-07:002011-09-24T09:34:58.910-07:00Hello, hello again.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 <i>extremely</i> 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.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/EvKtxTsVoMo" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JAkY3R6lxXk" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12zjv_9IHtERGNlZObYugfIjjV-Wly-Ykt-VCpFpvQMfWgprndZ-jyfMAz0I_Zq7PGJrm_j74izY3KSmAz_SA5ASI0UUegBR_bKMC2WfVNUDUhtaPmgFF6mfDY8Fp_tOueFITfm97Dh3U/s1600/pradauglypurse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12zjv_9IHtERGNlZObYugfIjjV-Wly-Ykt-VCpFpvQMfWgprndZ-jyfMAz0I_Zq7PGJrm_j74izY3KSmAz_SA5ASI0UUegBR_bKMC2WfVNUDUhtaPmgFF6mfDY8Fp_tOueFITfm97Dh3U/s400/pradauglypurse.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-12860019425497230632011-08-01T19:44:00.000-07:002011-08-01T19:46:15.159-07:00A few inconsequential thingsSo can I tell you something?<br />
<br />
I love having boobs. I was looking at <a href="http://atlantic-pacific.blogspot.com/2011/07/summer-soiree.html">her</a> and despite that she always looks so awesome, I am reminded that I enjoy having boobs.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScR0Mp9IqG5nGZ-CW9wGcBOG1ACuCj6L_TPWomf7WEG6jA8fPIF4ZEF8N-7OGbbZN_RwoYJiRw00wjBdBnCLOV3-KvAhFL0nYR6G545LJyEJKySsIkJ6sVLDZeRGggVOFIhziQD7Vz8-M/s400/254615_10150322667768982_546443981_9350864_1824555_n.jpg" width="400" /></div><br />
My hair's getting stupid. I want to get it cut like this.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbiVSqH8vJFIE2sXh4bbbmZOHtW8q_vIjS0wcPlKF4_P41JkjuHz9JqkJo7ExGxH6LZaU2_yuvN8d1P6Vr6OSLrMN2u73rqnakkrQmHZOX3jdBKOkP4EMoPcU7SpU_e_ghDBpUWl8gpwY/s1600/tao-okamoto6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbiVSqH8vJFIE2sXh4bbbmZOHtW8q_vIjS0wcPlKF4_P41JkjuHz9JqkJo7ExGxH6LZaU2_yuvN8d1P6Vr6OSLrMN2u73rqnakkrQmHZOX3jdBKOkP4EMoPcU7SpU_e_ghDBpUWl8gpwY/s640/tao-okamoto6.jpg" width="468" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(via fashiongonerogue)</span></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-979201130509308892011-07-12T20:17:00.000-07:002011-07-12T20:17:55.616-07:00#97I feel like this right now:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0D8Hz6CYq8NwtY6cloczLftM_V8ZI_uWxA5dBLUH79vK4MM7iCprW9rArAoWoC4SbEP9VSm-5A3k2ioaz0I4J8EivzDSxinLU9LVI6KSmVFGvg6qDROdRDW3L98RK75pxWKGM9_MHPOS/s1600/flavia9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0D8Hz6CYq8NwtY6cloczLftM_V8ZI_uWxA5dBLUH79vK4MM7iCprW9rArAoWoC4SbEP9VSm-5A3k2ioaz0I4J8EivzDSxinLU9LVI6KSmVFGvg6qDROdRDW3L98RK75pxWKGM9_MHPOS/s640/flavia9.jpg" width="484" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Strange thing is, there isn't even a slight smile on my face at the moment, but my heart feels so alive. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(photo via fashiongonerogue)</span></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-62877566540245027422011-06-09T05:50:00.000-07:002011-06-09T05:50:12.335-07:00Scatter-brainedI 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.<br />
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MMMKAY, religious rant over. Now on to third grade writing.<br />
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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). <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Lao-Tzu in The Tao Te Ching says to not talk, e.g. <a href="http://academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/core9/phalsall/texts/taote-v3.html">here</a> #2: "Therefore the Master acts without doing anything and <i>teaches without saying anything</i>." (italics mine)<br />
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So I may or may not be talking for a while. I've yet to decide.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56QCFhMbH6j5IFj3NpydVCtvqotHMcinVwKB5XMnnmfUN7JBDxfTMsU0HH5os_v-8XDcy1LLbfw7bd9IxT_fOaEITJ6S-cYO4RmwiJsqtBNZvYC-sUjkcwqzDUIkzERmHy_0Qg_05mYaI/s1600/P1010166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56QCFhMbH6j5IFj3NpydVCtvqotHMcinVwKB5XMnnmfUN7JBDxfTMsU0HH5os_v-8XDcy1LLbfw7bd9IxT_fOaEITJ6S-cYO4RmwiJsqtBNZvYC-sUjkcwqzDUIkzERmHy_0Qg_05mYaI/s400/P1010166.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
And here's a friendly lion from a zoo in Amsterdam in 2009. Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-57021385691030654152011-05-20T05:44:00.000-07:002011-05-20T05:44:59.747-07:00Boxes<div class="fbChatMessage fsm" data-jsid="message" id="msg_35804789_undefined">"You feel like you are in a box that is unrecognizable in many ways. It'd be a good box if you could see it more clearly, and you would know what to freaking DO," said my friend <a href="http://thefairestofall.wordpress.com/">Laura</a>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVwLkFElGkBPgBZvc83f96G4Z5MWtNCAX0K8DW1vec4rfEz7s8sqcJsiu4h23PXNPXnWHObXynDpQ1ZSbI1Jc6cuVzUM22b12BVz24nsOgm7Q6D1OVQ5v9JmBGapw_H9FyvORqt_MUCU7/s1600/byun1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVwLkFElGkBPgBZvc83f96G4Z5MWtNCAX0K8DW1vec4rfEz7s8sqcJsiu4h23PXNPXnWHObXynDpQ1ZSbI1Jc6cuVzUM22b12BVz24nsOgm7Q6D1OVQ5v9JmBGapw_H9FyvORqt_MUCU7/s640/byun1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBsnNrAOaHKjeuzq_tCe_xUMQRMWA0Q9CwmsDhI5AeDhD2yiXgi5dRiwxqWfGafbNtbi7RzyY8EAKrAw53mKu0uVgsoaowpzHM5HpZZ1gCsCR6DGc9RLgFCDm-9v3gukLQi4m8DIqAwJ1/s1600/natalia-vodianova2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBsnNrAOaHKjeuzq_tCe_xUMQRMWA0Q9CwmsDhI5AeDhD2yiXgi5dRiwxqWfGafbNtbi7RzyY8EAKrAw53mKu0uVgsoaowpzHM5HpZZ1gCsCR6DGc9RLgFCDm-9v3gukLQi4m8DIqAwJ1/s640/natalia-vodianova2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUBOJjXlz8aewtXQG3pSeid42iDi9O9MX8XRI2YbTgrAgwHeRJdSsfZmjTW0OLzHqyaPxVIP5jWdlobY4uIt-YK7DO-xGw1_THhyphenhyphengHPbK-C_1HZCqP9gWGrLjFgPLhHl-8sY3r2FvHAyz/s1600/merethe-hopland2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUBOJjXlz8aewtXQG3pSeid42iDi9O9MX8XRI2YbTgrAgwHeRJdSsfZmjTW0OLzHqyaPxVIP5jWdlobY4uIt-YK7DO-xGw1_THhyphenhyphengHPbK-C_1HZCqP9gWGrLjFgPLhHl-8sY3r2FvHAyz/s640/merethe-hopland2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1a6oF6nQr_7wZIDTPPkVRSdU8wErPaNVd7GWJYlxymCT8039-riyP8K9-k2EEJfPbbZ9GI1EqXfpwr8d_Eo7EeSQjSc75gNAHzmdk-FD2vmjF88kt51hRXl5-NSWpyCOh7D-3D6-rObO/s1600/street4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1a6oF6nQr_7wZIDTPPkVRSdU8wErPaNVd7GWJYlxymCT8039-riyP8K9-k2EEJfPbbZ9GI1EqXfpwr8d_Eo7EeSQjSc75gNAHzmdk-FD2vmjF88kt51hRXl5-NSWpyCOh7D-3D6-rObO/s640/street4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(via fashiongonerogue)</span></div><br />
</div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-31262087077084553132011-05-14T06:47:00.000-07:002011-05-14T06:47:39.685-07:00I don't know where this blog is going or what it's doing. It doesn't matter.Note: Complete and possibly utter useless self-analysis follows.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
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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.<br />
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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). <br />
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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.<br />
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This song has relevance to the topic (I am the verse, you are the chorus):<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/6-O_h-BKY2k" width="425"></iframe><br />
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I'm done trying to change anyone.Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-62791525791706620732011-05-08T17:33:00.000-07:002011-05-08T17:33:32.696-07:00The evolution of a twenty-two year old's hair.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUToKSi1X_bv4SU5Nfzj4vRi73y3rOBSBMtTVEOKVVzPsumZ4DKLLSlPJWQH6dFBwiYrrEdYpJ9xH0DbYQF6uNg_egvcjNi-56MZS0gr66ddIKTCl0GXf490QVbetTBXZ4a8XQtOQQjN3z/s640/n37710982_31938119_8886.jpg" width="640" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Six years old, the longest it ever was.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdCr416GYwRMwiqIHOxwYzfrInVfTKXDvjgVrDjGpQI_RD7QEfxWfsWYKNtyB6_jNdamXx7fbxahIApgYgtBBEygwzmlYWGqqjL2p5QAJfZWIXT6m8XzNrYFe7yhP38zz4Ov0BQpi57is/s1600/197563_1002462779027_1148550046_30008336_6593_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdCr416GYwRMwiqIHOxwYzfrInVfTKXDvjgVrDjGpQI_RD7QEfxWfsWYKNtyB6_jNdamXx7fbxahIApgYgtBBEygwzmlYWGqqjL2p5QAJfZWIXT6m8XzNrYFe7yhP38zz4Ov0BQpi57is/s640/197563_1002462779027_1148550046_30008336_6593_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">A picture of a picture of 18 year old me, a little shorter than 6 year old me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxlBWyEOm5c3GJ9oud1JJl4-b0mVwlKaI2yRYu7w-d9h0tS8JGCaFeeR5pnQHZlR_70ZZ6H9KFPMiMmwlTFuP3zt_IWPT1IK4KlSIHkFpNX7kTaRd4e0A1hLyAVS9cnsRy5ZvXkLgf2YB/s1600/n37710982_33981986_844987.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxlBWyEOm5c3GJ9oud1JJl4-b0mVwlKaI2yRYu7w-d9h0tS8JGCaFeeR5pnQHZlR_70ZZ6H9KFPMiMmwlTFuP3zt_IWPT1IK4KlSIHkFpNX7kTaRd4e0A1hLyAVS9cnsRy5ZvXkLgf2YB/s640/n37710982_33981986_844987.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Nineteen year old me; it looks longer than it actually was.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPitVg2MLzpPa_z5faHeXOknB7G5Nub8axmvxYXQlRmm_6lc_FCj8fI8u__aNXO2KCk-scEgFsYMAKZemRv39VsV4lC_VzqTkgG3HF21l1kA_AYgOCPsrjJLEUpr2TxJ_8TrUx7gPMjj_/s1600/n505747956_1242756_879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPitVg2MLzpPa_z5faHeXOknB7G5Nub8axmvxYXQlRmm_6lc_FCj8fI8u__aNXO2KCk-scEgFsYMAKZemRv39VsV4lC_VzqTkgG3HF21l1kA_AYgOCPsrjJLEUpr2TxJ_8TrUx7gPMjj_/s640/n505747956_1242756_879.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Nineteen year old me, after I got a haircut summer of 2007.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyILhxSJ18-wVjZb2LMxNBVHrfdZxaWr-xdlZSRQeAOJkbjhLTGdvmpLZ5CyyvA2y5KZ-4ymD2-tG18rYIbH39D8_Hyh1zPL-f6JMRQ0a_n87epoP97ADCxRHu-UEnI3bLkE0PblTHkFE/s1600/34801_480607437956_505747956_6035368_8047121_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="592" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyILhxSJ18-wVjZb2LMxNBVHrfdZxaWr-xdlZSRQeAOJkbjhLTGdvmpLZ5CyyvA2y5KZ-4ymD2-tG18rYIbH39D8_Hyh1zPL-f6JMRQ0a_n87epoP97ADCxRHu-UEnI3bLkE0PblTHkFE/s640/34801_480607437956_505747956_6035368_8047121_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And then I decided to grow my hair out when I was 20. It was a normal brown.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHCg3re2Fc3Tnb3AQztE1J8LzwaRNHUXNYTIPb32t7tMbkZwvjf-S-eKUWviIDugcROKdATnm121Q541l8dSblKy6mFf1S9UsgguMsXsx79lCsxUpkVee8i25a7ZrFGDSH-oVccSGwdNo/s1600/22256_314188082956_505747956_3611307_7876339_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHCg3re2Fc3Tnb3AQztE1J8LzwaRNHUXNYTIPb32t7tMbkZwvjf-S-eKUWviIDugcROKdATnm121Q541l8dSblKy6mFf1S9UsgguMsXsx79lCsxUpkVee8i25a7ZrFGDSH-oVccSGwdNo/s640/22256_314188082956_505747956_3611307_7876339_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Taken in Amsterdam summer of 2009. I'd had enough of "long" hair and cut it off.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdusOJEIrGdzfHVb21IXBcLQ2OE1tRWaYQ2gK142X11gcFZpq_8Sw98FSSaAt6B4bbnL_FW-Y4pSd9jmOgcUhNvnXjuwgyhieUX5r3PY5g8LiAxnx3OTEH7Sj6J-_kuHvsrZIcBaVHftUt/s1600/9317_586738080398_37710982_34488044_538169_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdusOJEIrGdzfHVb21IXBcLQ2OE1tRWaYQ2gK142X11gcFZpq_8Sw98FSSaAt6B4bbnL_FW-Y4pSd9jmOgcUhNvnXjuwgyhieUX5r3PY5g8LiAxnx3OTEH7Sj6J-_kuHvsrZIcBaVHftUt/s640/9317_586738080398_37710982_34488044_538169_n.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And then I'd had enough of "short" hair and got it cut shorter that same summer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-H4TaQ5YoRiwapyuegTslZy3hnX7t7JSj55UaoCQy6Vuw0tyHv49Q-zGRWWAESgvOUjkCzjXSWP6zxntMb6vp8wJKvnCgE0PgVIXnrqRfR0DBQfeERguq_GCvTXwRlnuuazEdTuaX7aa/s1600/18940_603054432298_37708409_35056912_6481800_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-H4TaQ5YoRiwapyuegTslZy3hnX7t7JSj55UaoCQy6Vuw0tyHv49Q-zGRWWAESgvOUjkCzjXSWP6zxntMb6vp8wJKvnCgE0PgVIXnrqRfR0DBQfeERguq_GCvTXwRlnuuazEdTuaX7aa/s640/18940_603054432298_37708409_35056912_6481800_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">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...)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkBCIvBtRsa7XvGFGaHzHI6eZZU1AaqGyiVCU6BNlM7v1zzlZJYkGdbxQ8BXrT9IzLJz-ULuTfDK-aLS6L8H-J9mdYgCaGziwm0bxZOuEAC26SZV-2G0w7SwdKjHf1F1mTNjVFg5xRmgk/s1600/59477_429028382956_505747956_5165336_1022283_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkBCIvBtRsa7XvGFGaHzHI6eZZU1AaqGyiVCU6BNlM7v1zzlZJYkGdbxQ8BXrT9IzLJz-ULuTfDK-aLS6L8H-J9mdYgCaGziwm0bxZOuEAC26SZV-2G0w7SwdKjHf1F1mTNjVFg5xRmgk/s640/59477_429028382956_505747956_5165336_1022283_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxaJw71tw-kcFj1emD4ZC_IZNAFRMQwNq3oZLTK1Y_mpXPhTtb8pV_FAbzNUsNmcwWpEofLoXfw23qYdkjKuyPcJxR-jDdfdel5_ePXYmdkM7Qpxga306NS53y4CXW68Vo8uiC8SWjMTO/s1600/75141_446353142956_505747956_5489803_5162083_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxaJw71tw-kcFj1emD4ZC_IZNAFRMQwNq3oZLTK1Y_mpXPhTtb8pV_FAbzNUsNmcwWpEofLoXfw23qYdkjKuyPcJxR-jDdfdel5_ePXYmdkM7Qpxga306NS53y4CXW68Vo8uiC8SWjMTO/s640/75141_446353142956_505747956_5489803_5162083_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEKiRtWTp4L-q42MXNANY3TyBAMfxH3TdQvZSW3-cURUNgkva5plaTorPQjq73HcBh6yPVDNQn0GhTmPwabgUutL6JpeC4HkBRxLhBUZTuZmu4LvM9zjZDuu5JK7y58nuj2_vwC6V_-CCq/s1600/45895_418803692956_505747956_4940988_2850820_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEKiRtWTp4L-q42MXNANY3TyBAMfxH3TdQvZSW3-cURUNgkva5plaTorPQjq73HcBh6yPVDNQn0GhTmPwabgUutL6JpeC4HkBRxLhBUZTuZmu4LvM9zjZDuu5JK7y58nuj2_vwC6V_-CCq/s640/45895_418803692956_505747956_4940988_2850820_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdDELR1ByGP33emTbZlSu63vM6tzanKxSESbpzAeVIC2ecutx8mmYgr6Z5Iu63u75IWDh0i5bpeIP18ocx4wT9eaEqfNR7xuRl-8bOy8qyQGBTmSrIOrxF14cUD_0EnwwvVhIKnKHIWXx/s1600/205038_10150153523402957_505747956_6738957_3107976_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdDELR1ByGP33emTbZlSu63vM6tzanKxSESbpzAeVIC2ecutx8mmYgr6Z5Iu63u75IWDh0i5bpeIP18ocx4wT9eaEqfNR7xuRl-8bOy8qyQGBTmSrIOrxF14cUD_0EnwwvVhIKnKHIWXx/s640/205038_10150153523402957_505747956_6738957_3107976_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLhgd1eU2X_1puOgQbYjcGULpOcW_dB7xc76drPyi-771n3Ii0O0503vrdXWEqjiXtUy4BrBiX91frKMSlk3dSqQycUQJCZjHeQiaKR0LaWAkt1w4oRf6gNoNuYZCk2yoX1c10brmmclP/s1600/222132_10150164387342957_505747956_6846072_7863227_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLhgd1eU2X_1puOgQbYjcGULpOcW_dB7xc76drPyi-771n3Ii0O0503vrdXWEqjiXtUy4BrBiX91frKMSlk3dSqQycUQJCZjHeQiaKR0LaWAkt1w4oRf6gNoNuYZCk2yoX1c10brmmclP/s640/222132_10150164387342957_505747956_6846072_7863227_n.jpg" width="580" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> 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!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Just kidding.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7hZaJjWFiEQVcV8epkKyheGsNA6owCsHS5UK81gzGmK_twNBaoAb584s9rwvNuKpDrJ2U76ulp4vDfTCo1oRHz98CooVQ17pRB678wULiAANz33qO6GyAINFuTRYvzmBLW8gtaxMrYgXg/s1600/Photo+on+2011-04-30+at+15.58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="566" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7hZaJjWFiEQVcV8epkKyheGsNA6owCsHS5UK81gzGmK_twNBaoAb584s9rwvNuKpDrJ2U76ulp4vDfTCo1oRHz98CooVQ17pRB678wULiAANz33qO6GyAINFuTRYvzmBLW8gtaxMrYgXg/s640/Photo+on+2011-04-30+at+15.58.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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And look! I got this killer watch today, for $23 bucks. The brand is Flüd. Ever heard of it?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaduZBb8mKn-xAsEb53VJbAK7d9mj9txGbV4XfT1s4BGlemBrffbEPRm01T_eLSRZjHf4xETUfO2EztYZmW13aUH1_2bzgKEFfB21Fn-MHuGteS_f0iNsOi6JmfwTKW_vVzvcXNnleIrFr/s1600/229626_10150171839432957_505747956_6912256_7749749_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaduZBb8mKn-xAsEb53VJbAK7d9mj9txGbV4XfT1s4BGlemBrffbEPRm01T_eLSRZjHf4xETUfO2EztYZmW13aUH1_2bzgKEFfB21Fn-MHuGteS_f0iNsOi6JmfwTKW_vVzvcXNnleIrFr/s640/229626_10150171839432957_505747956_6912256_7749749_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Happy Mother's Day to all the would-be could-be should-be mothers! (And actual mothers, too.)</div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-6368505835178458452011-04-28T12:53:00.000-07:002011-04-28T15:45:11.275-07:00Sexy time at the beach!<i>A lot</i> 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. <a href="http://thefashionistoimages.com/rogue/2011/4/3/daria-werbowy3.jpg">here</a> - 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!<br />
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I've decided - from this point on, I'm never wearing clothes again. Bye bye clothes, hello naked body! Hello jail time!<br />
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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.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLek_vlc7DM_dBtZGZo8wEKNlic8iQxRAGSQeTcGLLBLZxNaqJUnRWuBEhCBl9pYHp-EwKGnJF-RKlBQzPvhasanJLh24tR1jyhmpuEQhLGT9ynyLC_7ABwODpp9g0X56Z7-Cl4bDpPX3_/s1600/cameron-russell9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="409" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLek_vlc7DM_dBtZGZo8wEKNlic8iQxRAGSQeTcGLLBLZxNaqJUnRWuBEhCBl9pYHp-EwKGnJF-RKlBQzPvhasanJLh24tR1jyhmpuEQhLGT9ynyLC_7ABwODpp9g0X56Z7-Cl4bDpPX3_/s640/cameron-russell9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ukP5Kjvr1-mmeBz2IW9m2D55i0r9CGF6FBhPTk0RA0TLODLeMaV3RYeRlP_VHB1zX-nn0eT3To10CbM9uiP5Yxzh1rslfhv6ICIIAifPJSlLpTyLVcL4oMcx6KCzMs1ewBuWRSU1U6hv/s1600/daria-werbowy5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ukP5Kjvr1-mmeBz2IW9m2D55i0r9CGF6FBhPTk0RA0TLODLeMaV3RYeRlP_VHB1zX-nn0eT3To10CbM9uiP5Yxzh1rslfhv6ICIIAifPJSlLpTyLVcL4oMcx6KCzMs1ewBuWRSU1U6hv/s640/daria-werbowy5.jpg" width="488" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzC15M2bL5ngqyKAUGRf0EuJBnJNwIGQKRdZMsnrbBFQXpkCkb1jYFA3wuFf52OF_cP2lb0DLTYHQauMs4HG78mfuhtKqqzkx2sJUYcYIjFRPtqEDKkxsoWlJQrFlqA64bvdw_2-a3142_/s1600/wonderland5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzC15M2bL5ngqyKAUGRf0EuJBnJNwIGQKRdZMsnrbBFQXpkCkb1jYFA3wuFf52OF_cP2lb0DLTYHQauMs4HG78mfuhtKqqzkx2sJUYcYIjFRPtqEDKkxsoWlJQrFlqA64bvdw_2-a3142_/s640/wonderland5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPt8NTBwmlLEwbDpvr0MLi46qwF0fPwuoizWRbam-6r2yIhXdEzJuOhJLAVqtFK6drarX0WMACNJSxwE3fz8df7G7Vl5JaEIUu2IiBFLXJIaMXAE0SGZvDGfqAUmhsF9KdzAm1rxV5togL/s1600/edita-vilkeviciute9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vBBaIpTvcR0r999rqJcUh3ZQwnnc2sW3MYHuAYfBeqG75lUVGY6ZYIMi2uoTPG7y7DJsqo98kOCvpBLXn1D8o637vqDwbZ-oCNM9f58EdwFqY09_P3I_zGa0kAcMFCOVCmTg-KX_OISl/s1600/natasha-poly11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vBBaIpTvcR0r999rqJcUh3ZQwnnc2sW3MYHuAYfBeqG75lUVGY6ZYIMi2uoTPG7y7DJsqo98kOCvpBLXn1D8o637vqDwbZ-oCNM9f58EdwFqY09_P3I_zGa0kAcMFCOVCmTg-KX_OISl/s640/natasha-poly11.jpg" width="462" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1ltwAfBWUxn1rZ6ai9pEdVyWT-ddWzsDjz86VpajBDlvorPRFhDAow4T-lxq_2dJanH7yDhjBMgyRBikPwzwyz6llYaBe432tdtlYtfhrf5Q7PvCldneJf8xrdipDwp_FLNAEUhXnpww/s1600/sigrid-agren6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1ltwAfBWUxn1rZ6ai9pEdVyWT-ddWzsDjz86VpajBDlvorPRFhDAow4T-lxq_2dJanH7yDhjBMgyRBikPwzwyz6llYaBe432tdtlYtfhrf5Q7PvCldneJf8xrdipDwp_FLNAEUhXnpww/s640/sigrid-agren6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9LpbvTHdcopfjoJYbVW36gYambq8lzydcNQBSkQX0-loowDXyDl6T0XhFFV7bBYGHQoxCmhE4omjz_e7xIL0oEJfeIxJPj2uCPen3z9D4ltxBP7oYl3RN6WX0dzO_5EohwymYgaEJUGN/s1600/tanya-dziahileva10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9LpbvTHdcopfjoJYbVW36gYambq8lzydcNQBSkQX0-loowDXyDl6T0XhFFV7bBYGHQoxCmhE4omjz_e7xIL0oEJfeIxJPj2uCPen3z9D4ltxBP7oYl3RN6WX0dzO_5EohwymYgaEJUGN/s640/tanya-dziahileva10.jpg" width="486" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvVAd2aUR6bFJhWodf8BwemzY63XQ5Iqe2EvVcjlkwNPEWxumn8lF5__I9HKcI4NtjncoI5WjWT-U01RjvIXyAxc5RVMra7m8DcRkUxy3TUCebMHKR6u90J4cUdG7IluhG2uoSvZxH0HW/s1600/daria-werbowy6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvVAd2aUR6bFJhWodf8BwemzY63XQ5Iqe2EvVcjlkwNPEWxumn8lF5__I9HKcI4NtjncoI5WjWT-U01RjvIXyAxc5RVMra7m8DcRkUxy3TUCebMHKR6u90J4cUdG7IluhG2uoSvZxH0HW/s640/daria-werbowy6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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 <i>voilá, </i>we are hot, desirable, skinny bitches. <br />
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Seriously, though, there are some wonderful beach editorials out there. They're not all like this, thank the Ten Commandments.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-WaiMBi9PGy0TZJN9hZg1Juz-e5M9zWSUgNSfZR2ieLJ2r5isOo9w3N8U1Qkv7_tqI7xa7WaupSUOAAmNATQCydKdygUPx9kEqyXRbFjDy2LfCj4qCZA9f1jqiDk8EIz7EovP65o5OBbO/s1600/wonderland7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-WaiMBi9PGy0TZJN9hZg1Juz-e5M9zWSUgNSfZR2ieLJ2r5isOo9w3N8U1Qkv7_tqI7xa7WaupSUOAAmNATQCydKdygUPx9kEqyXRbFjDy2LfCj4qCZA9f1jqiDk8EIz7EovP65o5OBbO/s640/wonderland7.jpg" width="488" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>This</i> photo appears more sexy and alluring to me than the others. I want this dress; I do not want those swimsuits.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>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 <i>same swimsuit that I wore last summer!</i> That would simply be a <i>catastrophe</i>!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(all photos via fashinogonerogue)</span> </div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-44295841197160914412011-04-24T16:55:00.000-07:002011-04-24T16:55:27.921-07:00Ooh la laThe 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:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiimgKGq9BAXQq3RyoQB4IG-3OIKHeXlbjYJfQCiumtZ5rW5ZWHvvNYpm29wW_jHNeHRWKOF3Hvtk1iRFJtRhkwCnyHXtMl2J4aj3NUj_usQTBUQbymHL9sYVj00Qr4D5Gc8QTppntCUVAq/s1600/DSCF0773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiimgKGq9BAXQq3RyoQB4IG-3OIKHeXlbjYJfQCiumtZ5rW5ZWHvvNYpm29wW_jHNeHRWKOF3Hvtk1iRFJtRhkwCnyHXtMl2J4aj3NUj_usQTBUQbymHL9sYVj00Qr4D5Gc8QTppntCUVAq/s400/DSCF0773.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I love them. I'm thinking maybe she'll get tired of them and then give them to me.<br />
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<b>AND BREAKING NEWS!!!!!!!!! I HAVE A PICTURE OF AN OUTFIT I WORE, INCLUDING MY BODY IN THE ACTUAL OUTFIT!</b><br />
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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).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWK29CiDPRSAHnQt5947v8S4dPPKCxx3T1lpGARfdesn_QqIh52wIvzbku0_9OJmpBkMECEzM4oqpziWPCcm29HZupOcJAkcdbgJMJ4pxYDlij8ys8gg7zAajQy6RuqwBLW_nmGKQcCmF4/s1600/DSCF0779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWK29CiDPRSAHnQt5947v8S4dPPKCxx3T1lpGARfdesn_QqIh52wIvzbku0_9OJmpBkMECEzM4oqpziWPCcm29HZupOcJAkcdbgJMJ4pxYDlij8ys8gg7zAajQy6RuqwBLW_nmGKQcCmF4/s640/DSCF0779.JPG" width="313" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>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.<br />
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Last night, we went to a friend's house to play boardgames, and we played some ridiculously long and simply <i>arduous</i> games. (I'm reading Auntie Mame, so I feel the need to make everything sound <i>terribly dramatic</i>.) 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 <i>a lot</i> 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.<br />
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And today, I slept until <i>10:30</i>. That's a looooooooong time for me to sleep in. I also took a picture of Boy and a<i></i> picture of some flowers on a tree. These photos are <i>very promising</i>; I just know they're going to impress all Important Photographer everywhere!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioaXKJpunS0FqsFEVZW3DWQ-G96QsRRMnaIHXbTaM58uaCvfbPZOrmoQdISw8avopCIkyyqZ5XV1mJWwK1EL84qf0yu8YC11iTP_ZpiBJiviU0Gz6vOSVXtMdz-93GXFSvc7deKLrPqZR3/s1600/DSCF0786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioaXKJpunS0FqsFEVZW3DWQ-G96QsRRMnaIHXbTaM58uaCvfbPZOrmoQdISw8avopCIkyyqZ5XV1mJWwK1EL84qf0yu8YC11iTP_ZpiBJiviU0Gz6vOSVXtMdz-93GXFSvc7deKLrPqZR3/s400/DSCF0786.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3wj3cWe_ZzpIKGJFI5qzvGGJ-AgRIjNIkHNGoYbKzRxw9OZEaDzj3a5wvvVgmt6K8b3UQl_zd_8kknBTR57liVD1DYBVnQwYnh1Dnejbi5cCHtSEyn6vx_qQh9V16wXZMVjx_Mg4EFTn/s1600/DSCF0790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3wj3cWe_ZzpIKGJFI5qzvGGJ-AgRIjNIkHNGoYbKzRxw9OZEaDzj3a5wvvVgmt6K8b3UQl_zd_8kknBTR57liVD1DYBVnQwYnh1Dnejbi5cCHtSEyn6vx_qQh9V16wXZMVjx_Mg4EFTn/s400/DSCF0790.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>See?!?! Isn't this photo just full of life and love and joy and raw energy and spirituality?!?!<br />
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Hope ya'll had a lovely Jesus Rebirthday Day!Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-33850347820484556212011-04-20T20:16:00.000-07:002011-04-20T20:22:41.169-07:00There's a way, I knowOkay. I'm having a complete freak out over here. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaskade">Kaskade</a>, 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.<br />
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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!<br />
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GUYS, I'M SERIOUSLY GOING TO DIE.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">That was a little dramatic.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here are some of my favorite songs in dedication of his Chicago show:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="480" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/fFYnhDGBUNw" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/9blSYZrT8lo" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe> </span></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/o3iKnlxSYQk" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br />
(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)<br />
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BLUGHHH ARGHGHGH. (That was my existential moan for the day.)Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-37880847479786691262011-04-16T18:01:00.000-07:002011-05-02T19:25:02.904-07:00Something Kinda Funny - my first and certainly not last Spice Girls referenceA 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.<br />
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The more I think about it, I find freedom is a state of mind. Like <a href="http://www.andthisispeak.com/">Lydia</a> said in a comment <a href="http://amelie-fleurjaune.blogspot.com/2011/04/scream-and-shout-my-times-never-cheap.html">here</a>, 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.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-Yzndf4pmQgr5yPlGlwoWaU11HQvvuWWXCCFdBo5z0TM-ek-RUSGAoUkdC5Xgiqt8NrLxUZbJLeI3FeL-2kR2xmfeaZ7hBp1ixTbbDudhXNicuBZE6wG7jhFLHiInlfVfddJDSHWcTZE/s1600/regina9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-Yzndf4pmQgr5yPlGlwoWaU11HQvvuWWXCCFdBo5z0TM-ek-RUSGAoUkdC5Xgiqt8NrLxUZbJLeI3FeL-2kR2xmfeaZ7hBp1ixTbbDudhXNicuBZE6wG7jhFLHiInlfVfddJDSHWcTZE/s640/regina9.jpg" width="488" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRs9xZrxCJFn8dkoscA2I8POgTw49-IgCsJaAAOq5PV4HpNTLHFqJoyBvDkOZ0tpj8c1RkmnGKBBfXw321pwl3Pya8lXXhrl8ZViCdrDVaQcF-WmeCVu0jrByvIx2y_qmEb9xj_5aNtyF/s1600/coutequecoute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRs9xZrxCJFn8dkoscA2I8POgTw49-IgCsJaAAOq5PV4HpNTLHFqJoyBvDkOZ0tpj8c1RkmnGKBBfXw321pwl3Pya8lXXhrl8ZViCdrDVaQcF-WmeCVu0jrByvIx2y_qmEb9xj_5aNtyF/s640/coutequecoute.jpg" width="442" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(coutequecoute)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfLb77TPnKYsFK3rGgYcIYh1j5IF0DdOUHT-9R0aTeNPWS_dj_I3GbmG0T5ezjdtGSLJLCJ7_gIrm1-dng3rI_csUCdAndyCycL02-7XS8WJ17hYlcBvpu9PEgXAlI6zr-uyTYJbfc4Ph/s1600/guinevere-van-seenus2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="548" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfLb77TPnKYsFK3rGgYcIYh1j5IF0DdOUHT-9R0aTeNPWS_dj_I3GbmG0T5ezjdtGSLJLCJ7_gIrm1-dng3rI_csUCdAndyCycL02-7XS8WJ17hYlcBvpu9PEgXAlI6zr-uyTYJbfc4Ph/s640/guinevere-van-seenus2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our society's lack of accepting who we are and being totally cool with ourselves stands in the way of feeling free. We "need" </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">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 — <i>not </i>taking a break).</span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> But when it comes down to it</span><span style="font-size: small;">, the things that hold us back from true freedom are just a bunch of hullabaloo. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(other photos via fashiongonerogue)</span></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-16893611646236338342011-04-12T17:40:00.000-07:002011-04-12T17:40:23.773-07:00<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/nB6XDsZDXMM" title="YouTube video player" width="460"></iframe><br />
<br />
Firstly, I love the lyrics of this song. It reminds me of how I felt in high school: cynical.<br />
<br />
Secondly, I'd like to address one of my questions in my previous post. Flirting.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
Here are the scenarios where I generally experience flirting (that is, when I do it, and when I am the recipient of it):<br />
<br />
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 <i>maybe</i> I'll give you my number." He went away after my resolute "no."<br />
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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"?<br />
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Yes, I've thought a lot about these drunken scenarios. <br />
<br />
3) Male-friends who are currently the platonic type but have the possibility of being something more. In these situations, I've noticed it <i>really</i> 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.<br />
<br />
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? <br />
<br />
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.<br />
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But, you tell me. What do you consider to be flirting, and what does it mean?Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-51294998433385139482011-04-09T08:46:00.000-07:002011-04-09T08:46:51.932-07:00Scream and shout; my time's never cheap.It's pouring outside. I have a large hangover. I'm listening to Air and Sneaker Pimps. But not simultaneously. <br />
<br />
There are two questions on my mind at the moment, but I'm too hungover to flesh out any semblance of an answer.<br />
<br />
1) What does it mean to be completely free? Is it a way of being or a lack of physical constraints? Or both?<br />
2) Why do we flirt? And why does it always feel so meaningless when the flirtation game is over?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsantiG5z9RkDvCDZVg3yCU0OLeH4xT97_dJb3ASjG7W7RNWKb7cX6iMiKvS5vauNLTiZQW2dmc5ateuT-xvRl0hLqQtLmqjrcu9mMiwaH5mreNpQj_DMZq9KhxfmdhTYMK2rW04oX_Mnx/s1600/kendra-spears1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsantiG5z9RkDvCDZVg3yCU0OLeH4xT97_dJb3ASjG7W7RNWKb7cX6iMiKvS5vauNLTiZQW2dmc5ateuT-xvRl0hLqQtLmqjrcu9mMiwaH5mreNpQj_DMZq9KhxfmdhTYMK2rW04oX_Mnx/s640/kendra-spears1.jpg" width="496" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">(fashiongonerogueeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee)</span></div><br />
And I'm going to get answer to those questions...once I can think in a more linear manner.<br />
<br />
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)Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-38381929577863217072011-04-05T05:53:00.000-07:002011-04-05T05:53:19.171-07:00Spin spin sugarWouldn't you love to sleep here at least once in your life?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7corJ3HoUQUhp9JBRP29vxLAsPDLagSd3L3fWNGeIikckZITpvKgsn1hyphenhyphen9D7dXveZKepZlv79xyGYFM-n99IX6cZTyG2qTAJbW0vsfyVj88KBNvf1nttgZ3S3p6vTgMiHOhZYtVdaTExw/s1600/http-_www.stumbleupon.com_su_9ltQjs_www.zadan.nl_pics_underwatersuite_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7corJ3HoUQUhp9JBRP29vxLAsPDLagSd3L3fWNGeIikckZITpvKgsn1hyphenhyphen9D7dXveZKepZlv79xyGYFM-n99IX6cZTyG2qTAJbW0vsfyVj88KBNvf1nttgZ3S3p6vTgMiHOhZYtVdaTExw/s640/http-_www.stumbleupon.com_su_9ltQjs_www.zadan.nl_pics_underwatersuite_.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(found somewhere in the stumbleverse)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">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. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">That got personal. Not my intention for this blog, but hey, </span>sometimes I get really ego-tastic and decide to talk solely about myself. Yay, me!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">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. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">(Yeah, this photo doesn't really have anything to do with the above post. I do that a lot...) </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Bi6iMfeThWlIjvtzOTaclH1b_ueJ__4Q4scAh1qJKl35VOqnSrL87WbWMl2ptAIvjcBsxWArwnpeAt90YGuxttRoHeYE-ZmQkFNnsMHYkNtpCUBWnX6KzCqqGYIzle_JE3jBQ7be4RXZ/s1600/dree-hemingway2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Bi6iMfeThWlIjvtzOTaclH1b_ueJ__4Q4scAh1qJKl35VOqnSrL87WbWMl2ptAIvjcBsxWArwnpeAt90YGuxttRoHeYE-ZmQkFNnsMHYkNtpCUBWnX6KzCqqGYIzle_JE3jBQ7be4RXZ/s640/dree-hemingway2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(fashiongonerogueeeeee)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">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...</span></span></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-86372964932529903642011-04-03T12:59:00.000-07:002011-04-03T12:59:12.896-07:00Half-LifeSo 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.<br />
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All I needed was a manicure and a pedicure.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpWFMoP34rIJv0yA0W6bs6O__ijPod6y4ZEcjeNS_8ZIodqJhjkGCi8YFgAAavpBa-_1qk65N7vsxVX9cuCWCS8criThiqnCYxuhneYjS8a4TJUC9I4DzsuNWQhUsQDjH44sC2ETxRfBeA/s1600/DSCF0774.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpWFMoP34rIJv0yA0W6bs6O__ijPod6y4ZEcjeNS_8ZIodqJhjkGCi8YFgAAavpBa-_1qk65N7vsxVX9cuCWCS8criThiqnCYxuhneYjS8a4TJUC9I4DzsuNWQhUsQDjH44sC2ETxRfBeA/s400/DSCF0774.JPG" width="386" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHMJS29VcsYskitUw9eS5Qoee-Mcy9eEKJMUiDLh6IDCIrCST9TnNu01K-D9LQqcaGBOnR2lxerP73QmsFjak0Q0QfRHMTXA9mYIMW5ZZ17Fk6vxNz5lUvQy7NtrDDJBsYcjy8XZo2GTw/s1600/DSCF0770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHMJS29VcsYskitUw9eS5Qoee-Mcy9eEKJMUiDLh6IDCIrCST9TnNu01K-D9LQqcaGBOnR2lxerP73QmsFjak0Q0QfRHMTXA9mYIMW5ZZ17Fk6vxNz5lUvQy7NtrDDJBsYcjy8XZo2GTw/s400/DSCF0770.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKxW1oWjTeg36b8SJKAHGBZElmnKFiLhhqd3sdKtBeUCqrTwcq_3JBzOWXzlBKwK-vP-YObU0LFVYG_ed6l97w4W-8iD7Ggt-_eQjfFl29ncAi-64lcdPB2uAk4Sw-Uw5nn_w3FQKxJ2Ni/s1600/Tblood13_EVSS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKxW1oWjTeg36b8SJKAHGBZElmnKFiLhhqd3sdKtBeUCqrTwcq_3JBzOWXzlBKwK-vP-YObU0LFVYG_ed6l97w4W-8iD7Ggt-_eQjfFl29ncAi-64lcdPB2uAk4Sw-Uw5nn_w3FQKxJ2Ni/s640/Tblood13_EVSS.jpg" width="484" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www4.images.coolspotters.com/photos/298177/alexander-skarsgard-profile.jpg&imgrefurl=http://coolspotters.com/actors/alexander-skarsgard&usg=__3vV90JVHWjwAmM3S8mHtSY1XTb8=&h=450&w=300&sz=34&hl=en&start=0&sig2=MVmygFa0wjRLVV3b9SABWQ&zoom=1&tbnid=qSVqmQcPvaJ4EM:&tbnh=130&tbnw=85&ei=C9GYTa_xCrO80QHrvsT5Cw&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dalexander%2Bskarsgaard%2BGQ%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26biw%3D1440%26bih%3D748%26tbs%3Disch:10%2C264&um=1&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=969&vpy=264&dur=324&hovh=275&hovw=183&tx=112&ty=128&oei=C9GYTa_xCrO80QHrvsT5Cw&page=1&ndsp=37&ved=1t:429,r:34,s:0&biw=1440&bih=748">here</a>)</span></div><br />
I mean, <i>seriously.</i>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-1245367854273923922011-03-30T20:36:00.000-07:002011-03-30T20:36:01.720-07:00Humble MeOkay, 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.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jDd_eQdd4A">this</a> song, that whenever Miss Lambert sang about livin' in an airstream with homemade curtains, she specifically thought of me. <br />
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Today, while on my lunch break and listening to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wiG-TgYjHP8">this</a> song, I fully realized my inherent gypsy qualities. However, I must note that I am not the kind of <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=gypsy">gypsy</a> 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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
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Does anyone else feel this aching desire to keep moving on to something different?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsKo-c6JJj14bYBBeu1XU-j1APFJzKTsGlx6ZVwKq8pypQzRUNQKR_h-SJKnCleVAs4f6KXJ1uqQFLd6Pwv_3LA76ypoNfq1vSFXXlyFd5llS2ATpZDiMBNTKwpjTkVhxcQiBTybwui5A/s1600/isabeli-fontana4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsKo-c6JJj14bYBBeu1XU-j1APFJzKTsGlx6ZVwKq8pypQzRUNQKR_h-SJKnCleVAs4f6KXJ1uqQFLd6Pwv_3LA76ypoNfq1vSFXXlyFd5llS2ATpZDiMBNTKwpjTkVhxcQiBTybwui5A/s640/isabeli-fontana4.jpg" width="484" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(via fashiongonerogue)</span></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-80711139468821488122011-03-26T10:20:00.000-07:002011-03-26T10:20:14.077-07:00Foo da fa faAll 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.<br />
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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...?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF6BHlJzI3kYEZKTFcLuRWTjL9S4C6SOAaKqXHihBOgd77s2fDNfFe42CCfkBWV7BnbWIEktqhkL6j0oaEhHTB0LA8V3eRLNIsZ1-LaZBh5KgZpIjiTD2Q27oromff7EafIXBvtxUVH6Iy/s1600/haircut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF6BHlJzI3kYEZKTFcLuRWTjL9S4C6SOAaKqXHihBOgd77s2fDNfFe42CCfkBWV7BnbWIEktqhkL6j0oaEhHTB0LA8V3eRLNIsZ1-LaZBh5KgZpIjiTD2Q27oromff7EafIXBvtxUVH6Iy/s640/haircut.jpg" width="464" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm thinking about this, too:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_wWpd3teSi_at9CFbVZbHav7ttQGxCPN3MqJG6hILraFU0bxGn0pJh9Lb8v0HO1Ncau55GLfcXfmWDmVLxEN0mf9XLBY9EIaJzxtATO7Xg5S-h8SjOvR9554Yq4dOSUpK4IssJWu8qXD/s1600/hair2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_wWpd3teSi_at9CFbVZbHav7ttQGxCPN3MqJG6hILraFU0bxGn0pJh9Lb8v0HO1Ncau55GLfcXfmWDmVLxEN0mf9XLBY9EIaJzxtATO7Xg5S-h8SjOvR9554Yq4dOSUpK4IssJWu8qXD/s640/hair2.jpg" width="502" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(photos via fashiongonerogue)</span></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-55541563360212151612011-03-19T15:40:00.000-07:002011-03-19T15:40:29.194-07:00I like chocolate.For the first time on this blog, I'm going to give a rundown of my day...<i>without</i> pictures of any of the activities I did to accompany them. You'll just have to use your imaginations! <br />
<br />
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.)<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Then, after I brought the groceries inside, I put them away.<br />
<br />
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.)<br />
<br />
Then, I cleaned up my sister's cat's puke stains.<br />
<br />
Then, I vacuumed.<br />
<br />
Then, I attempted to wash the walls. I wasn't successful.<br />
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Then, I brushed my sister's two cats ("boy" and "girl") for about thirty minutes. They are fluffballs.<br />
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Then, I thought about baking a pizza, but decided not to.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Then, I cut up a banana and an apple and put a dash of sugar in the bowl, and <i>voila</i>, FRUIT SALAD! (If you want the recipe, let me know. It's a very detailed and lengthy method.)<br />
<br />
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! <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Then, I denied Boy and Girl a second bowl of food.<br />
<br />
Then, I put electrical tape on my mac's power cord, so the wires would stop poking me.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
Then, I talked on skype and emailed some people.<br />
<br />
And then I wrote this blog post. <br />
<br />
Oh, I forgot. I got gas, too. Twenty dollars worth. It's cheap today, at $3.38. <br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
I lied. I'm going to post pictures of the kitties.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLA0WGXvhQWu6fl19VQUFUMvitovjU6aNWE2esf18_WZ2p1uYg2CWSEMXF3-vxXS1oYHE6ITtqhnNVXPYPJQdRuTWb16_lQ7nEaTOsevS5R-oVOmNt1Kso1q18k3WdtpqP48dxdN_c3tu/s1600/DSCF0711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLA0WGXvhQWu6fl19VQUFUMvitovjU6aNWE2esf18_WZ2p1uYg2CWSEMXF3-vxXS1oYHE6ITtqhnNVXPYPJQdRuTWb16_lQ7nEaTOsevS5R-oVOmNt1Kso1q18k3WdtpqP48dxdN_c3tu/s400/DSCF0711.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Here is Girl.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6HnYN1lWGHygvc7aqgPgxO3rSd47y0ghU5c0RCMC3pSkPnVoapQ1bLRRke6z5Q2ySB2oxpdiwu9sJXC-Gy963ydkUwzsdr4uYjFiu9uPZgyZ8hBHVj8miT7gSiFPS4B9-SzvAwHYU-B3/s1600/DSCF0734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6HnYN1lWGHygvc7aqgPgxO3rSd47y0ghU5c0RCMC3pSkPnVoapQ1bLRRke6z5Q2ySB2oxpdiwu9sJXC-Gy963ydkUwzsdr4uYjFiu9uPZgyZ8hBHVj8miT7gSiFPS4B9-SzvAwHYU-B3/s400/DSCF0734.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Here is Boy.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGXZFfdrgdCp7riAhXOLB92z5GKgdFjlj1HZH7veWOZQnvwswY7MA7pr2-KMOgwVi3Ll2pgXvsfEhj5D6CZ6PvovIqgYqb-KNXSN0UZ_XbTkIGKohPFqS6EIRxwbn3sd3ay0iLcY214H2/s1600/DSCF0737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGXZFfdrgdCp7riAhXOLB92z5GKgdFjlj1HZH7veWOZQnvwswY7MA7pr2-KMOgwVi3Ll2pgXvsfEhj5D6CZ6PvovIqgYqb-KNXSN0UZ_XbTkIGKohPFqS6EIRxwbn3sd3ay0iLcY214H2/s400/DSCF0737.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-42442951962881941362011-03-09T19:24:00.000-08:002011-03-09T19:24:14.033-08:00We could take what's good to golden.I just watched the most recent episode of House, and I realized that House, M.D. is not about an intelligent doctor who happens to be a giant asshole; it's about a drug addict who happens to be a doctor. I'm glad the show makes me cry again, because that means the writers are doing a damn good job. (Does that make sense to anyone?)<br />
<br />
In other news, I'm in love with these stills from Armani's video for <i>Interview</i>. Karen Elson, seriously, girl, seriously.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVeOm_WB25ojEM7poVY4UD3Sfg44cF0dlO75RvAn-5O42Jtod1SDS52Nl4xF_20jJVNUnJgvIoYN3HFkLyRMbI_AZcsBp94EEPaQrPkL1NUWmPGcVBbABvw7Bp8SQ_37fGqcCjNYcUxHyX/s1600/armani1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVeOm_WB25ojEM7poVY4UD3Sfg44cF0dlO75RvAn-5O42Jtod1SDS52Nl4xF_20jJVNUnJgvIoYN3HFkLyRMbI_AZcsBp94EEPaQrPkL1NUWmPGcVBbABvw7Bp8SQ_37fGqcCjNYcUxHyX/s640/armani1.jpg" width="470" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfW-pVAaq1ps13aQcmACNOUzoP5GZSDSs_WWuCEpzje0Xg0Jun1jz09jMFZnzKbJGGFierhPcgIL5MGKCQzexwN1kPfpCySfzpAvPhPAWZ3ny51qQM54xP-od907l5mz_yKg-74ER2daw/s1600/armani2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfW-pVAaq1ps13aQcmACNOUzoP5GZSDSs_WWuCEpzje0Xg0Jun1jz09jMFZnzKbJGGFierhPcgIL5MGKCQzexwN1kPfpCySfzpAvPhPAWZ3ny51qQM54xP-od907l5mz_yKg-74ER2daw/s640/armani2.jpg" width="470" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ahUPtr2EhIJydFdhl-KxuJqLfW27P5bfE9X-IysGU1cZBif2UI4TrRS4eA1Zth9HnutpGhADYVL5t9Y2MBwU2JaZ01k8YpJUyBxtOuNa2UXnNuA1OX1MU-jhJaljMzvC4RMO3pr7vHeK/s1600/armani5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ahUPtr2EhIJydFdhl-KxuJqLfW27P5bfE9X-IysGU1cZBif2UI4TrRS4eA1Zth9HnutpGhADYVL5t9Y2MBwU2JaZ01k8YpJUyBxtOuNa2UXnNuA1OX1MU-jhJaljMzvC4RMO3pr7vHeK/s640/armani5.jpg" width="470" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The video is <a href="http://www.interviewmagazine.com/media/video/25968">here</a>, if you haven't seen it. The fabrics are stunning. I think I would feel like a large, billowing tree in that first dress. I'd like to feel like a tree in the wind.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(via fashiongonerogue)</span> </div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-48693413492753436592011-03-04T19:45:00.000-08:002011-03-04T19:45:11.240-08:00I'll try not to let you down until the siren come calling...Two things, but background on number one first.<br />
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1) I worked at the newspaper in my hometown when I was 19, and I had opportunities to write stories for the paper when I wasn't being instructed to do something else (e.g. type up letters to the editor, put the court report together - which everyone in my small town loved to read, apparently - type up other random stuff, make copies, take pictures of ribbon cuttings, and fail to make coffee). So, I was legit published (I can say that, because my name was under the title) in my 8,000 population town. I didn't write about anything terribly exciting...I remember writing about a sort of "thrifty threads" store moving across town...but everything else eludes me.<br />
<br />
SO, background over. Now I am published in Indianapolis (and, again, I can say that because my name is under the title - whoo!). <a href="http://www.fashionwrapup.com/2011/march/buzz/bloggers-era">Here</a> it is. If you feel like learning about something you probably already know about, you might be interested in this three paragraph piece.<br />
<br />
2) I thought I might as well delve into the realm of advertising, soooo I now have an advertiser...I think. I'm not quite sure how it works, but I have the banner on my blog and a confirmation email, so I'm assuming I'm good to go? Anyway, it's shirt.woot.com (which is a subset of woot.com), and they sell t-shirts from established artists, and ...well, non-established artists can submit their t-shirt designs, too. If they're good, they sell them. I'm not a huge t-shirt person, but they've got some interesting designs.<br />
For example:<br />
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"Oh God, being a zombie is worse than I thought."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJ9lLNxvMNrKiXDO7u9yHK2XNoaC-1DoqLVzpX8E02lxq0JC3KbQpmLafPxc52QZf82NZEltFdpa9OKawpzz481Fh6toUUY5LLO61wGOgD7GrdPMxl1n10ySeK97_QoU8CSpJY8VUP6T_/s1600/Acquired_TasterpwDetail.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJ9lLNxvMNrKiXDO7u9yHK2XNoaC-1DoqLVzpX8E02lxq0JC3KbQpmLafPxc52QZf82NZEltFdpa9OKawpzz481Fh6toUUY5LLO61wGOgD7GrdPMxl1n10ySeK97_QoU8CSpJY8VUP6T_/s400/Acquired_TasterpwDetail.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="http://shirt.woot.com/friends.aspx?k=17741">here</a>)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">In other news, my e key is not working too well; it's rather sticky. And I have an ominous feeling about my computer, that it's going to kick the bucket on me. DON'T DIE ON ME, COMPUTER. WE'VE HAD ALMOST FIVE GOOD YEARS TOGETHER. WE NEED EACH OTHER. RIGHT?!?!</span> </span></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-31209449618814318272011-02-27T17:13:00.000-08:002011-02-27T17:13:10.500-08:00PearlI've been feeling very uninspired lately. London fashion week flew by me, and I haven't even gone back to look through the shows. I've barely looked at Milan, too. I hate my unimaginative funks. There's not supposed to be snow this week, so maybe that will help. I think when my hair grows out and I dye the bottom of it pink, I'll feel 100 percent. (My reasoning for bleaching my hair to get it to look pink is this: After I grow out my hair and dye it, I'm going to want to chop it all off again. So, I'll just cut off all the hair that's pink! I know my logic is perfectly sound.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvM76PiWi89Jh6xa3AEBmZkZBUNOdqjQ8LgjTlekaLpgRYhZPgHWowf84FSPDbPrn4Q6JlIFlEevOmmmU-yH1mTRKequRnZnyRjPuEyqEe3NGQeq1oPdy2kH7itW4Yy8bKiyZiKRe-qn3H/s1600/malgosia-bela3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvM76PiWi89Jh6xa3AEBmZkZBUNOdqjQ8LgjTlekaLpgRYhZPgHWowf84FSPDbPrn4Q6JlIFlEevOmmmU-yH1mTRKequRnZnyRjPuEyqEe3NGQeq1oPdy2kH7itW4Yy8bKiyZiKRe-qn3H/s640/malgosia-bela3.jpg" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhouYcmddBBj-TgFhoFBhYRVzGwwdP69wFogFCSMBOStuRlQ5XdLZeiSZfcp12CuMmS7QPjUpnPy9F9ThbEmdvoVd46N8blXT0EdolQcaKq4HV0hIzmGq_l4i8eWx_T6tbVPgCjCRrdymLZ/s1600/amanda-seyfried4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhouYcmddBBj-TgFhoFBhYRVzGwwdP69wFogFCSMBOStuRlQ5XdLZeiSZfcp12CuMmS7QPjUpnPy9F9ThbEmdvoVd46N8blXT0EdolQcaKq4HV0hIzmGq_l4i8eWx_T6tbVPgCjCRrdymLZ/s640/amanda-seyfried4.jpg" width="454" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXtTl_BZWjzTQl0Coc89AVstRddypafW92doirl60zkWG3gFApVhljb7IW20MKcnKtkUDaDLlkjVstvxlEL3hLAvsgN9PSnJyPHbdefhF-f_VQe7ygUs8Qk0BRlKTCaCHBNDpfSrWN2dKY/s1600/melissa-tammerijn2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXtTl_BZWjzTQl0Coc89AVstRddypafW92doirl60zkWG3gFApVhljb7IW20MKcnKtkUDaDLlkjVstvxlEL3hLAvsgN9PSnJyPHbdefhF-f_VQe7ygUs8Qk0BRlKTCaCHBNDpfSrWN2dKY/s640/melissa-tammerijn2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(via fashiongonerogue)</span></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-13527159447153812382011-02-22T21:02:00.000-08:002011-05-02T19:44:39.420-07:00How 'bout stopping eating when I'm full up?I've been holding onto this post for a while, as it's very, very personal and a really sensitive subject. But, it's an important story to tell.<br />
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There are many kinds of eating disorders. You've got anorexia, bulimia, food "problems," etc. Reasons why eating disorders develop are definitely not always the same with each person, but in my opinion, it usually boils down to insecurity.<br />
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If anything, I had anorexia in high school. My reasons for wanting to be thinner than I already was (which was thin) were 1) I developed a love for high fashion, and I wanted to wear those beautifully constructed clothes I saw in Vogue; 2) I was unable to afford $2,000 dresses made by Zac Posen or a pair of $700 Louboutins, therefore I would have to be a model. Somehow I had it so ingrained in my mind that I actually thought I could do it, despite knowing about the modeling industry's standards (i.e. at least 5'9", 115 lbs, flawless skin, and brilliant bone structure); and 3) being a high-fashion model would surely universalize the fact of my beauty. (No, I do not deny that I am vain.)<br />
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So, I started counting calories. I ate salad with tuna for lunch. I freaked the fuck out when I ate too much, debating whether I should throw up the food that I thought was going to make me gain a million pounds. I never threw up, because I knew that I would seriously have to get help. I didn't want help. I wanted to be at least 5'8" (still only 5'7", a height I am completely content with now) and weigh 105 pounds. Skin and bones, skin and bones. That's what I wanted. I thought that was beautiful. Trust me, it's hard to not think it's beautiful when you're bombarded with photos of models whose legs seem to never end, like roots of a tree. It was a dream, a silly pipe dream. Anyway, I didn't talk about it to anyone. Well, maybe that's not true. I do remember once asking a friend if she'd ever thought about throwing up her food. She gave me an odd look and said no.<br />
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My senior year of high school, it reached its peak. I counted calories every day. I obsessed over food. Food was my love and my enemy. Then, one day, it stopped. I had plans to go see this modeling agent in Nashville or something. I told my mom what I was doing, and she gave me a resolute no. (I think that may have had something to do with my sister giving a try at modeling. It didn't go anywhere for her.) After that decisive no, I just gave up. I ate normally again. But that year, I did lose weight. I don't remember how much. I do remember thinking it wasn't enough.<br />
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My food obsession lay dormant for a while, due to boys coming into my life and paying me compliments about my body. For the first time, I felt desired and sexy. But I noticed that I tended to eat a lot when I was upset. I remember going to McDonald's around 11 p.m. after a "traumatic" experience and ordering a double quarter pounder meal. I went back home, sat on the chair in front of the tv, and ate it while I cried. I didn't finish the whole thing. I think I was too emotionally drained. Sometime later, food really took on its enemy role. Anytime I messed up, anytime I felt bad about myself, I gorged myself with food.<br />
<br />
The spring semester of '10 was particularly bad in terms of food-abuse. Really, it was masochism. It was not rare for me to eat five cookies four or five times a week, in one sitting. It was not rare for me to pig out on junk food. I can't even begin to explain how irrational the cycle is. My logic usually goes something like this: "Shit. I just did that. I really just did that? What the hell is wrong with me? (continued self-punishment in the form of words) I need to eat. Scratch that. I <i>want</i> to eat. I am angry, and I want to hurt myself some more." And ate I did.<br />
<br />
My food "problem" still remains, but it's not as bad. I don't think about it as much. But, it's still there. Certain friends can attest to that. I don't actively publicize it, because it's not a part of myself that I particularly like. Er, but here I am actively publicizing it... <br />
<br />
What was — and still kind of is — missing in me is self-love. It's what's missing in every person who struggles with eating. And eating disorders are not for women only. Why are men working out every day in the gym? Why are they running 3 miles a day? For some, it's about health. For others, it's about attaining the "beauty" standard for men.<br />
<br />
And if there's anyone to blame for eating disorders, it's society. We're bombarded with photoshopped images of celebrities, we're told that we can lose 10 pounds in one week, we're told that we can stay young forever if we just do x, y, and z. In the end, the media is telling us we're not good enough.<br />
<br />
Well, darling media, you can fuck off. Does this include me? Should I fuck off? I post pictures of beautiful models. Isn't it ironic, don't you think?Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-31898790245188594792011-02-20T18:41:00.000-08:002011-02-20T18:41:56.262-08:00The space betweenI live in Indianapolis, a city that's clearly not known as a hub of high fashion. Indiana leans towards not just conservative, but extremely conservative. (On a scale from 1 to 10 - 10 being very conservative, 1 being very liberal - Indiana, as a whole, is an 8.) Because of this, most people who live in Indianapolis don't spend a lot of money on high end clothes. We have a Nordstrom, which really is nice. They carry Burberry, Zac Posen, Donna Karen, Ports, and a few other labels that I can't think of at the moment.<br />
<br />
I knew all of this before I popped my fashion show cherry last night (I don't remember what the show's title was, but fashion design students from the Art Institute of Indianapolis were the designers), so I wasn't expecting sophistication or CRAZY-done-in-a-unique-and-good-way.<br />
<br />
I was not let down. I'll let the clothes speak for themselves.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">WARNING FOR YOUR EYES: I am not a photographer.</div><br />
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The last designer constructed a wedding dress right before our eyes! It was very boring, so I didn't bother snapping a picture. I'm not going to go on and on about what's horrible about these clothes, because I think we can all tell. <br />
<br />
One thing I did notice — and I should have realized this when I went to a photoshoot for a local magazine last weekend — that my eyes are accustomed to designer goods. I was 16 when I took an interest in fashion, and I went straight for the expensive, extremely well designed clothes. It's what I like and what I prefer. <br />
<br />
The designers who "make it" in the fashion industry, for the most part, don't try to be daring or whatever adjective they're using for a particular season. They just are. They are daring. They are chic. They are sophisticated. They are beautiful. The above designers are only <i>trying</i> to do what the greats have done. (And, I must say this, fashion has its geniuses just like literature, science, music, and classical art.)<br />
<br />
This type of thinking translates to real life. In a perfect world, if I want to do something, I don't <i>try</i> to do it, I do it. <br />
<br />
On a whiny note, if I see another pair of Jeffrey Campbell shoes, I think I'm going to vomit. Don't get me wrong, I actually like them, but EVERYONE in the blogosphere has at least one pair. I am just plain sick of seeing them. /rant over<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rSahdf1P9ZVS06e5WvjuZM9lhQwRC0MxYU3qTPwvmnP17L1wrFRRdNlWAIZcOTAIkkWFag0I97SFVrK57HXo9QJGJPkfyFlUhJ7qpZ9_zYf8Bk1mbIoGAZzgBJ97DhLzHPblvrmJCLAV/s1600/DSCF0723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rSahdf1P9ZVS06e5WvjuZM9lhQwRC0MxYU3qTPwvmnP17L1wrFRRdNlWAIZcOTAIkkWFag0I97SFVrK57HXo9QJGJPkfyFlUhJ7qpZ9_zYf8Bk1mbIoGAZzgBJ97DhLzHPblvrmJCLAV/s400/DSCF0723.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
See, they're really cute! But I vow now to never buy a pair! Never! I will save my money and buy these Alexander Wang fall 2011 shoes. Right...? Right.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNGSz6uSZo-4AOR9JLI_wZTWz-ddxoEF03QEoInXT49MV7p7jUZzPx32HDdCVw6lLiVNlhXx_RxIQVKpldKjMyncNCwvfd_6PX0-qvwK0WxOy8wUDoJG2IBwR-_VyjAwJS4gjVJNx7EOoG/s1600/alexanderwangfal11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNGSz6uSZo-4AOR9JLI_wZTWz-ddxoEF03QEoInXT49MV7p7jUZzPx32HDdCVw6lLiVNlhXx_RxIQVKpldKjMyncNCwvfd_6PX0-qvwK0WxOy8wUDoJG2IBwR-_VyjAwJS4gjVJNx7EOoG/s400/alexanderwangfal11.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(style.com)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464300543516681643.post-51482022069333789132011-02-14T15:33:00.000-08:002011-02-14T15:33:15.987-08:00Move for me, I'll move for youI have writing fatigue at the moment, so let's look at some photos once again, shall we?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmIUyQflegpB9HXRXfV3QUH4On2SPJy9m7B9uKQuWHrDOzDnnsnByDqxqb0NyOzXyRzZmSCLDPawqq5jDnm12jb9BlQ3l0MEClHIWd0WwIabWi_9o2Ff9Rf34GSwDPsI_OvWVFTfIqsMjy/s1600/ocean1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmIUyQflegpB9HXRXfV3QUH4On2SPJy9m7B9uKQuWHrDOzDnnsnByDqxqb0NyOzXyRzZmSCLDPawqq5jDnm12jb9BlQ3l0MEClHIWd0WwIabWi_9o2Ff9Rf34GSwDPsI_OvWVFTfIqsMjy/s640/ocean1a.jpg" width="492" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDEHhXtqM_iwrPgGmoA94-YisXYi_OAL0ZtrfK1kbOFJf_NA1pbCxoUQ5H2DtVVsLGnWfoM3oUYsM2qu7-0wqw3uMQqW-cjnr-sZji50NHrr6uERz81VeIQa5WuU3bQwivJO8p5Kt21eGd/s1600/jacquelyn-jablonski9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDEHhXtqM_iwrPgGmoA94-YisXYi_OAL0ZtrfK1kbOFJf_NA1pbCxoUQ5H2DtVVsLGnWfoM3oUYsM2qu7-0wqw3uMQqW-cjnr-sZji50NHrr6uERz81VeIQa5WuU3bQwivJO8p5Kt21eGd/s640/jacquelyn-jablonski9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuL1fU30fgtlF7rerhxX_42kWCk-MtW1qSxlKZ00wilHuRHNN2kM-3LR5YOxsMJDgy1BlkZZBOyXUXKnYMERPOaEEkgVa_AhDpHURqO_w_37qAw9hEzj8bJHj8aveXG91JqyLq9s5PA7-V/s1600/sarah-stephens1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuL1fU30fgtlF7rerhxX_42kWCk-MtW1qSxlKZ00wilHuRHNN2kM-3LR5YOxsMJDgy1BlkZZBOyXUXKnYMERPOaEEkgVa_AhDpHURqO_w_37qAw9hEzj8bJHj8aveXG91JqyLq9s5PA7-V/s640/sarah-stephens1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTr5XwzCQ_XI2WwO726HYf99BgnX7cxQMwDcB6d16viQYMsIUujpGd4Wveb7pWn28DslWqE8-UFBxyNhJJLuUeczo__7ELG6TzKaCVYdEr6-_V1-YqrNDLD-zxPUvlE5DQ5-E3hxPHE41I/s1600/constance-jablonski1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTr5XwzCQ_XI2WwO726HYf99BgnX7cxQMwDcB6d16viQYMsIUujpGd4Wveb7pWn28DslWqE8-UFBxyNhJJLuUeczo__7ELG6TzKaCVYdEr6-_V1-YqrNDLD-zxPUvlE5DQ5-E3hxPHE41I/s640/constance-jablonski1.jpg" width="436" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgknGKZBHBglF8ZHeUVHORFzrBFkxzlYJeI1hhM1oer2kEry3RdrUzONA6UulUZaggMzwAwso9OgeRF2jjtXCqe0UgrrmTF2KwM4Hz1H4RZGmgnDjxKDUK70EWH-yeA0P469XKw_TFZmV47/s1600/thisisnotnew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgknGKZBHBglF8ZHeUVHORFzrBFkxzlYJeI1hhM1oer2kEry3RdrUzONA6UulUZaggMzwAwso9OgeRF2jjtXCqe0UgrrmTF2KwM4Hz1H4RZGmgnDjxKDUK70EWH-yeA0P469XKw_TFZmV47/s640/thisisnotnew.jpg" width="440" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://thisisnotnew.com/">here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfe2GWCDM4Fvq4xkvT3O4g4DF-SAdBKMkS3exlBfNAHp75WlZRcySGy8YNh-DVeYxDhMbuSpbJroh93BthZuJF1mZcUET8mVAwLBfI63aQph36mCDFVV96dlLfwSLqSLvQHS4uwH0Iq08/s1600/michaeldonovanphotography.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfe2GWCDM4Fvq4xkvT3O4g4DF-SAdBKMkS3exlBfNAHp75WlZRcySGy8YNh-DVeYxDhMbuSpbJroh93BthZuJF1mZcUET8mVAwLBfI63aQph36mCDFVV96dlLfwSLqSLvQHS4uwH0Iq08/s640/michaeldonovanphotography.com.jpg" width="532" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://michaeldonovanphotography.com/">here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMZVfVR_uYTUwH_8wKTE3se0xBCcpB1Ia7c9zO5_cbl-YmHRaxQc9X6UHwpgWOeTmGF6l-CIGAWtlSyQdg43An64de9IkE12N2F_Hu45j4WdKtDxCD7KqwXXNNPWwpyEAOWSodPtagEYh/s1600/flesh10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMZVfVR_uYTUwH_8wKTE3se0xBCcpB1Ia7c9zO5_cbl-YmHRaxQc9X6UHwpgWOeTmGF6l-CIGAWtlSyQdg43An64de9IkE12N2F_Hu45j4WdKtDxCD7KqwXXNNPWwpyEAOWSodPtagEYh/s640/flesh10.jpg" width="532" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R41NR1rVt8Ht-d5cMASmxn0Tmp5SLhjD4uWBBzK43tL6Df963pD5smjPfjjfWiw8YAF6kf5gjoT_92Xx6P9svKIqotFhwTMlCiOXjKrzXy5UYI5UQ09sRagThmlkdITdy0fFIxTSFB2G/s1600/thisisnotnew.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R41NR1rVt8Ht-d5cMASmxn0Tmp5SLhjD4uWBBzK43tL6Df963pD5smjPfjjfWiw8YAF6kf5gjoT_92Xx6P9svKIqotFhwTMlCiOXjKrzXy5UYI5UQ09sRagThmlkdITdy0fFIxTSFB2G/s640/thisisnotnew.com.jpg" width="608" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://thisisnotnew.com/">here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkI9vu9A9FsZ7oBfqsV3wqy3MEAEwXX8qYvIdn-3LWoU5U7dCwh4Yne8QI903SiGknhRN9u_5FWyS2Rj5bYeyooy6iqdcWp7F3u5nM6ihODD6TcqiqpvH99SY8C8xVkrT_wqWWgWvosY8M/s1600/jazzimcg.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkI9vu9A9FsZ7oBfqsV3wqy3MEAEwXX8qYvIdn-3LWoU5U7dCwh4Yne8QI903SiGknhRN9u_5FWyS2Rj5bYeyooy6iqdcWp7F3u5nM6ihODD6TcqiqpvH99SY8C8xVkrT_wqWWgWvosY8M/s640/jazzimcg.com.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://jazzimcg.com/">here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOxvUZEaXMNcnsw6f2iqjz26AJCrICY6xE8VjJpkz0b1402ZGEHq-lNzwtA_NnbXmrAjSuAZTdEx8tt4BnIl8P-U4fUIls94glO4lyB0x253ZarGG3zqRiPxJO2hwb6ZOTkzuwDNQpO8X/s1600/MichaelDonovanphotography.com2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOxvUZEaXMNcnsw6f2iqjz26AJCrICY6xE8VjJpkz0b1402ZGEHq-lNzwtA_NnbXmrAjSuAZTdEx8tt4BnIl8P-U4fUIls94glO4lyB0x253ZarGG3zqRiPxJO2hwb6ZOTkzuwDNQpO8X/s1600/MichaelDonovanphotography.com2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://michaeldonovanphotography.com/">here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Q6qBiZm-sgClmATN48G3YPcYHf5IvFcdsBi0hTBiBiwA9vW5Ig2SoWTpKbCvRCJ6kTjGvfu30Y9LyAXrDqy3gJvi_PuwzCf6muS4jS1rZY5jWK0eSPEL6ZsWFnN81nxNzxiHuuYRsEJ5/s1600/wink.nixone.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Q6qBiZm-sgClmATN48G3YPcYHf5IvFcdsBi0hTBiBiwA9vW5Ig2SoWTpKbCvRCJ6kTjGvfu30Y9LyAXrDqy3gJvi_PuwzCf6muS4jS1rZY5jWK0eSPEL6ZsWFnN81nxNzxiHuuYRsEJ5/s640/wink.nixone.com.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://wink.nixone.com/">here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3czNtxl8SVlsILr9saVvqCFHRrEYiQelNzwUm6YIWasc2Yp1rwCdJag9oAGLlo9reqn6qCUK0pIMIPzHj2z19rBTaGiCKnL6RA6Qk2i-Qu1myp_iEHX2n97PXde97gxivtSBf2sR5mpYl/s1600/thisisnotnew1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3czNtxl8SVlsILr9saVvqCFHRrEYiQelNzwUm6YIWasc2Yp1rwCdJag9oAGLlo9reqn6qCUK0pIMIPzHj2z19rBTaGiCKnL6RA6Qk2i-Qu1myp_iEHX2n97PXde97gxivtSBf2sR5mpYl/s640/thisisnotnew1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://thisisnotnew.com/">here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5OgIzSOZjxf6INwmRTnxBJtkADHcXcuMQJsyhyphenhyphen4wYE5maM_Nbum_eXlqze45Z-11-S6RCOHihqxY39A3Vcx94mE7rGjQ6gvzDM6pFQXcPXZcAIigOC25QOGfOywu6MDgNLwH0QSLSi0d/s1600/MichaelDonovan-1354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5OgIzSOZjxf6INwmRTnxBJtkADHcXcuMQJsyhyphenhyphen4wYE5maM_Nbum_eXlqze45Z-11-S6RCOHihqxY39A3Vcx94mE7rGjQ6gvzDM6pFQXcPXZcAIigOC25QOGfOywu6MDgNLwH0QSLSi0d/s640/MichaelDonovan-1354.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://michaeldonovanphotography.com/">here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9d5nTkmWeYSH9bCEZrEd9TarlJdEjEzNLoGgxazylv5IBWJLBsYPc0ceAQZSlFCTq69NMF7t3Aq57eS9Zo9Ozn-8nT1_B84nhAOapHyqKQ0EKAAXxk8B6-iwROmOUbnhPmUHrN3V6E6X/s1600/monsooncampaign4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9d5nTkmWeYSH9bCEZrEd9TarlJdEjEzNLoGgxazylv5IBWJLBsYPc0ceAQZSlFCTq69NMF7t3Aq57eS9Zo9Ozn-8nT1_B84nhAOapHyqKQ0EKAAXxk8B6-iwROmOUbnhPmUHrN3V6E6X/s640/monsooncampaign4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think this photo is Valentine's Day appropriate, so Happy Valentine's Day!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"> (<span style="font-size: x-small;">As always, photos not cited are from fashiongonerogue. Yes, I love me some fashiongonerogue.)</span></div>Ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330935955003647425noreply@blogger.com0