Scattered, Smothered and Covered: Why Waffle House Matters

I don't remember when my mom and dad started taking my brother and me to Waffle House on Saturday mornings. But I remember it being one of my absolute favorite things to do. The hard backed booths with their padded red vinyl cushions. The sticky, glass sugar dispensers and the sizzle of shredded potatoes thrown on grease that somehow magically transformed into a glorious, glistening, golden brown pile of hash browns that in my 20 some odd years on this earth I have yet to see properly replicated anywhere.

It was a staple of nutritional deficiency and a complete disregard for our arteries.



And it was heaven on a weekend morning.

As I've gotten older, Waffle House has become less of place to have a meal and more of a place to have a life. It's been the backdrop of 3am arguments and life-changing conversations with best friends. Its parking lot has seen the rise and fall of one of the most substantial relationships of my life, and when I came back from Jacksonville, terrified to go out into the world and do anything, I was still able to meet a dear friend at midnight at Waffle House and guzzle cheap coffee from the same iconic mug my mom and dad drank from when I was kid. Innumerable games of checkers have been played on grease-laden table tops and some of the most willing, listening ears belonged to the waitresses that worked the graveyard shift.

The waitresses, old and young, faces always deeply lined with a life of potentially poor decision-making, and voices invariably gruff from too many smoke breaks, are always willing to talk. Despite the fact that it's Christmas and they have to work. Despite the fact that your brain is shellacked with booze and you're just trying to consume enough fat and salt to stave off an inevitable hangover, they're always willing to chat. And Waffle House waitresses always, ALWAYS have a past. Whether you feel like listening or not, as soon as you saddle up to the booth, you're committed to hearing about pieces of it.

It's a place you can go and always feel like you have company, whether someone's sitting across from you or not. A little um, drunk? Come on in. Don't feel like getting dressed, or cooking for yourself, or showering? Fear not - at Waffle House, you're still likely to be the most attractive person there.

It's a church confessional for those of us who don't have dress shoes - just pajama pants and too many shots of cheap whiskey, and desire to talk to someone who doesn't know you at all. It's the cheat day for your diet.

And it's the absolute best cup of coffee you can get for $1.

Quintessential Depressing Break-Up Song List

Scour the internet and you will find no end to the break-up mixes. Songs full of angry lyrics about keying cars and being strooon-ger (Britney? Anyone? Okay). For those who are able to transition immediately into that phase of the break-up, kudos. You bypassed the crappy part completely. Count your lucky stars that you made a beeline straight into rage.

Unfortunately, for the rest of us, all that anger requires lots of effort, and when you've been blown apart by a break-up and every step you take throughout the day physically aches, sometimes you just don't have it in you to get there. All you have the energy to do is cry because everything else seems daunting and weird.

These songs my friends, all clickable and ready for your listening pleasure,  are for those moments.

These aren't meant to empower you to get up out of your sweatpants and face the world. These songs are your official permission to wallow.

Do What You Have to Do - Sarah McLachlan - So Sarah will reappear again on this list because her voice is stunning and beautiful, and it's able to capture the delicacy and desperateness of grief. And that's what break-ups are for some people - episodic, annihilating moments of grief.
Knee-buckling lyric: And I have the sense to recognize, that I don't know how to let you go.

Simple Together - Alanis Morissette - If you're willing to endure the gut-wracking sobs that this song will likely induce, it's one of the most accurate break-up songs ever written. It's about the precious, crystalline hopes you go into a relationship with, and how awkward, displaced, and empty-handed you feel when it's over. It's the way she sings the words. They're long and wailing. And let's be honest, if anyone knows about pain, it's Alanis Morisette. Prepare the tissues, ladies.
Knee-buckling lyric: I can't go to you for consolation, cuz we're off limits during this transition. This grief overwhelms me. It burns in my stomach. And I can't stop bumping into things.

Shadow of Love - She & Him - Alright, now that that's over, pull yourself up off the floor. It's gonna be fine. She & Him tend to make even the most depressing situations light and pastel. But this song, still in typical mid-century fashion, actually feels like a break-up song. It's haunting, but still soothing somehow, thanks to that thing Zooey does where her voice is perfect. It's also matter-of-fact. It's all the hard edges of an ending.
Knee-buckling lyric: We should have known, love's as brittle as a broken bone. 

Throw Me a Rope - KT Tunstall - This is just a beautiful song. The girl singing it isn't broken; she's lost and waiting for the time to pass. Which it never seems to do after a break-up. Because it's an asshole.
Knee-bucking lyric: So throw me a rope, to hold me in place. Show me a clock, for counting my days down. Cuz everything's easier when you're beside me. So come back and find me, cuz I feel alone. 
(Close second: And whenever you go, it's like holding my breath underwater.)

Wreck of the Day - Anna Nalick - If you are dealing with the end of the relationship, I'm just going to go ahead and recommend this entire album. It's really good. But this song is about a girl that is exhausted. And discouraged. And has thrown her hands up in the air, because seriously, what the hell else are you supposed to do? It's not crippling, but it's honest.
Knee-buckling lyric: Desperately close to a coffin of hope, I'd cheat destiny just to be near you. 

Foolish Games - Jewel - If you're sensing a heavy 90's theme here, it's because there kinda is one. But only because that seemed to be a decade where a lot of grrrls were getting broken up with and writing songs about it. I guess they're still doing that now, they're just all really shitty. This one is a classic. It's so good, so sad, so 90's. So everything you need to walk you through your misery. Also, the video is ridiculous and amazing.
Knee-buckling lyric: Well, excuse me. Guess I've mistaken you for somebody else. Somebody who gave a damn. Somebody more like myself.

Full of Grace - Sarah McLachlan - Welcome back, Sarah. We've missed you. This song is so, so sad, but so incredible. Another 90's staple, I first heard this song on Buffy (see: Joss before The Avengers, best writing on TV ever). This is rock-bottom, ladies. She wrote this from a dark well of despair and somehow managed to turn it into beautiful music. I'd only listen to it once though, because you do have to stop crying sometime.
Knee-buckling lyric: I feel just like I'm sinking, and I claw for solid ground. I'm pulled down by the undertow, never thought I could feel so low.

Shine - Anna Nalick - So if you've made it through the list and you're aren't too teary-eyed and wine (or whiskey, whatever) drunk, get up and listen to this. It's Anna Nalick again, because I love her. And also because she's asking you to get over it, in a way that's poetic and empowering. Honestly, I know it hurts. Everywhere. All the time. Blind-siding you in the car and the shower and everywhere else. But you're kinda not serving the world by staying huddled up in your house mourning over a situation/a person/a life you just weren't meant for. So cry and cry and scream and don't get dressed and hate him and ache and grieve. But then stop. And listen to this.
And because now you're up off the floor: And I think you need to stop following misery's lead. Shine away, shine away, shine away. And isn't it time you got over how fragile you are? We're all wait, waiting for your supernova.

So. Before I go. Let's review.

Don't think it's okay to spend forever in this deep hole. Do allow yourself to be sad. Don't fight it. Let it be. Ride the grief. And one day, out of nowhere, you'll wake up and feel like yourself again.

That's what I hear, anyway.

Sex Sells to Women

"So much of what makes good writing is rhythm, the stop and start of a sentence. That's also what makes good sex."

-courtesy of The Daily Beast

Cool your jets, guys. It's not what you think. Well, I guess it kind of is.

I was reading my copy of Elle last night (because I have time to do that now!) and I ran into a tiny little insert announcing the release of Adult by founder and Editor-in-Chief Sarah Nicole Prickett - a new magazine labeled as 'female erotica' because it features sexy ladies in various states of nakedness. Not unlike Playboy, it's also slated to feature poetry, essays and interviews. But unlike Playboy, those things are slightly more likely to be read. Also it has recipes. Does Playboy have recipes? I dunno.

"The first issue of Adult," she says, "has such a retrospective feeling because it's full of all the things I was concerned about this year—surveillance, [the government] reading e-mails, censorship, Florida, which was a trending topic for half the year." She warns (and laughs), "It's incredibly dense and takes forever to read… you can't flip through it, really." -courtesy of The Daily Beast

While Elle seemed genuinely excited about it, it's getting mixed reviews online in terms of whether or not it should actually be considered transgressive and feminist. And since I don't happen to own a copy, I can't really say for sure whether I agree or disagree with this statement.

What I do know is that its feminist slant is slightly skewed by the 'male gaze' under which the photo spreads are shot. The images circulating online show examples of women essentially waiting to be taken or tied or untied - waiting to be acted UPON rather than the opposite. This is probably because the photo editor is male. I'm also a little confused as to why a magazine of female erotica or porn or whatever features so few penises and so many lady bits. Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate a woman's body and the power that can come from owning your sensuality, which I'd wager is kind of at the nucleus of this magazine.

But I also feel like it should be recognized that women enjoy taking part in voyeuristic bedtime reading just as much as men.

Image via The New Republic

Adult doesn't really seem to cater to women anymore than Playboy does, minus a few pictures of dudes.

On the flip side of all this is my annoyance at the fact that because the women in the magazine do seem to be in mostly submissive positions, they can't also be seen as feminist.

Ok, stop. I know that submissiveness isn't used as a way to describe feminists, like, ever. But feminism is marginalizing enough as it is without shaming an entire category of fetish/fantasy. Some women just get more turned on when they feel submissive. I don't think it necessarily makes them less empowered as women if it's how they feel most comfortable expressing themselves sexually. 

I guess I've just always felt a little uncomfortable with this all or nothing bullshit when it comes to what it means to be a feminist. To me, women making the decision to trust a man enough to be submissive, IF IT'S WHAT SHE WANTS, is feminist. The inverse of this would also be true. It's the woman's ability to DECIDE what she likes that gets the feminist stamp of approval.

And hopefully in upcoming issues of Adult, all sides of female sexuality - the dark, the sweet, the fucked up, the typical - will be explored and exposed in a way that honors the fact that ladies like getting some, too. And not because it sells something, but because it satisfies them.

Image via The New Republic

As a woman and consumer, and also as someone who hasn't actually seen the inside of this magazine, I'd like to hope it features pieces that stand leaps and bounds above the giant, not at all literary, pile of crap known as Fifty Shades of Grey, instead featuring commanding, curious and empowering pieces written by women of the same type.

Oh - Other noteworthy features of Adult (courtesy of The Daily Beast): an aphrodisiac breakfast recipe and an exploration of Erica Jong's 'zipless fuck' concept by Katharine Bernard.

So ladies, what say you? Would you read Adult? 

*It should be noted that at the end of the review in The Daily Beast, it was stated that the editors of Adult don't define the magazine as solely for women.

Fall Semester is Like that Horror Movie with the Girls in the Cave

I feel like the girl in the (almost)last scene of The Descent - you know that super claustrophobic movie where the girls go explore the cave and all the scenes are of them in suffocating crawl spaces, super close-up? Well, after like 2 hours of zoomed-in, can't-breathe shots, and drowning in a thick, mucus-y vat of blood, the main girl claws her way out, drives her hands up through the glorious Earth, all dramatic-like, and finally breathes in fresh air, taking in the vast blue sky.

I feel like that girl. Except this semester has been the shitty, dank cave with monsters in it, and my geology class was the gross blood pool, and the feeling of submitting my last paper was not unlike taking a breath for the first time 4 months.

It's a beautiful thing.

Me at the end of the semester

25 Things for My 26th Year

So my birthday was yesterday and I was lucky enough to ring in another year of my being on the earth with ferris wheels and raspberry cake and sparklers and best friends and rice krispy treat fondue and American Horror Story and fall weather and my favorite people in the world. Pretty dope, no?

sparklers. and raspberry cake.

For whatever reason, my birthday always feels like more of a new beginning than New Year because it's right at the start of a new season, and I'm a year older which means a part of me is actually, new. I'd like to think so anyway. I'd like to think that over the course of a year I've morphed into a more functional, emotionally stable, financially secure person. People in hell want ice water though, so I guess we can't have everything.

What I DO have is this fresh, dewy hope that the next year of my life will be full - of love and learning and more rice krispy treats.

And if I'm really lucky, I'll get to cross some of these things off, too.

25 Things for My 26th Year

1. Get outside - These days, I go from my bed, to sitting in my car to get to work, to sitting at my desk, to sitting back in my car to get home, to my other desk to do homework, then back to my bed. My life right now is just transitioning from one little box to another. I need fresh air, I need dirty bare feet. And bike rides and camping trips and long walks.

2. Forgive more quickly - I've had this thing about me for pretty much my whole life where if you've hurt me at all, I don't forget it. And in fact use it as a reason to stagnate and not trust and do all sorts of other psychologically damaging activities. But I think I'm over that now. I'm ready to feel light and open. And I can't do that if I'm white knuckling every bad thing that's ever happened to me.

3. Hold on to nothing - see above. Life is this ephemeral, slippery thing. And nothing lasts at all. It's taken me a long time to figure this out. But I'm starting to get it. It all tastes sweeter because you know it's gonna be gone.

4. Do drugs before I'm too old to be reckless and irresponsible - I'm not talking about heroin and meth guys. Jesus. But I need to tune in and drop out before I'm like, 30 or whatever. Free yo' mind, man.

5. See the West coast - Ugh. Seriously. There really is no excuse for my being in my mid-20's and not having visited the other side of the Mississippi. None. It's actually embarrassing to type. I want to see Oregon. Or Washington. Or California. And I will.

6. Leave the country - This is a big one. I want to go somewhere where I'm completely uncomfortable. Where I can't lean on language and familiarity to navigate myself. I'm of the firm belief that travel, the big kind, is required for the growth of the soul. Call it hippy-dippy if you want, but it's true. I want to feel small. I want to be forced to recognize that the United States is but a teeny speck on this vast planet.

7. Turn my internship into a paid writing job - aside from being absolutely necessary for all the aforementioned trips I'm apparently going to be taking, I'M TIRED OF WRITING FOR FREE. I want to make a living doing what I love doing. And I'm still under the delusion that that's a possibility. I'm young and free in America. And I will follow my destiny. Even if that means writing for a teeny newspaper or editing a community magazine or being a writing/literacy tutor.

8. Write. Everyday. Like it is my job - This is self explanatory. Writers write. It's that simple. People who wait around for a reason to write aren't writers. They're waiters. (That's not mine. I read it somewhere. But it's awesome. And true.)

Not a waiter.

9. Visit my dad more - I can't run from it forever. And I have so many things I need to tell him. Even if I'm just talking to stone.

10. Be patient with myself - I hold myself to the most impossible expectations. And then subsequently let myself down when I don't live up to them. It's not healthy. And I wanna spend the next year knocking that shit off.

11. Move - This one is mandatory. If I stay in the apartment I am in now, I will start inflicting property damage on the place. It's a horrible, tiny space filled with negativity and bad memories and it's time ta-go.

12. Go back to yoga - More specifically hot yoga. Aside from running, hot yoga is the most amazing, relaxing, painful, challenging, rewarding workout ever. I miss how I felt when I used to do it all the time.

13. Volunteer somewhere - so it turns out that sometimes I can be a pretty self-centered bee-yotch. We all can be actually. We all spend most of our time operating under the assumption that our problems are the biggest, most awfulest, DEFINITELY most important things going on in the whole of the universe. They're not. And the best way to be reminded of that is to go and spend time with people who could use your help, your time, your love, your hands. I want to help. I want to step outside myself and give something back. Maybe at a women's shelter, maybe for a literacy program. Just something.

14. Finish another semester of school - because this freaking degree isn't gonna earn itself.

15. Read Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace - it's just a thing, ya know? Like the Mount Everest of the literary crowd. Or the Himalayas. Or Mt. Kilimanjaro. Or anything off of Man vs. Food.

16. Hike a piece of the Appalachian Trail - I only live a few hours from the damn thing. Someone come with me.

17. Karaoke - this has more to do with learning to not care what people think about me than just marking something like this off a list. I tend to get paralyzed by people's perception of me. So this is a call to arms friends, let's do eeet.

18. Go to a professional hockey game - I've just never been to one. I wanna see ice and violence way up close.

19. Study French - cuz why not. I think it sounds kinda beautiful.

20. Practice kindness - as far as Audrey Hepburn and I are concerned, this is one of the best anti-aging regimens there is. I never feel better or healthier than when I've done something for the sheer sake of being kind. And I want to make it a point to do it more.

21. Foster female friendships - so for most of my life, most of my friends have been of the penis-having variety. It's not because, "oh god, girls just don't like me. I hate drama lolz." It's just the way the chips fell. I ended up with a handful of amazing guy friends who I adore to the ends of the Earth. But that doesn't mean that I don't crave time with my girlfriends. There's just this innate understanding between girls. You immediately feel less alone. And there's power in that. I don't spend enough time with the smart, strong, inspiring, wonderful women in my life.

22. Not be such a raging asshole when I'm driving - mostly because I'm getting closer to the age where I could just start having heart attacks. Something happens to me when I'm driving. Something dark and evil that only comes out when I'm face to face with such profound stupidity that I really believe I could inflict violence on someone. Turns out it's not that healthy. So I'm working on it.

23. Listen to my grandmother's stories - God, my grandmother is the coolest, best person I know. And she tells the best stories. One of my favorite things to do is to get in the car with her and go somewhere and listen to her tell me about how she grew up, what the 60's were like, how my mom was when she was little. It reminds me where I come from. And I never want to forget that. I don't do it enough. But I'm going to start.

24. Cook more - it's therapeutic. And healthy. And I'm good at it. I just need an adorable kitchen in a little loft apartment to do it in.

25. Stop apologizing - Gah. Women are so good at this. And it's sooo lame. If I have nothing to be sorry about, I'm not apologizing. If I don't have time to hang out or I don't feel like making the drive or I don't want to see you or I simply say no - I do not have to apologize for it.

Here's to 26.
xo.

2 Things You Absolutely Need to Know About Right Now

I am having to dig deep down into the wells of my energy reserves to pull up whatever bit of gumption I have left to write this blog for you guys. But I'm willing to do that. Because I love you. And I love that you actually read my blog.

I really am so attractive right now.

My exhaustion cocktail is made up of equal parts sleep depravation, horrifying geology homework - hours and hours and hours of topography and dendritic streams and wanting to off myself to justmakeitstop - and regular homework, and an absolutely amazing internship that requires I wake up nearly 3 hours before I have to be there because Atlanta traffic is that bad. Most of the time I don't know what day it is. And the only reason I can keep up with all the things I have to do is because I make my to-do lists in the shower.

But just know that despite all that, I am like, really happy - oh what a gorgeous day it is happy. For the first time in what seems like months. And ya know, I'm grateful for the stupid geology and Atlanta traffic that I sit in knowing I'm going to do something I absolutely love.

Oh and also, I'm really grateful for these 2 things.

Dr. Lipp Nipple Balm for Lips aaaand
The Artic Monkeys new album AM. 

See below for details.

Image courtesy of Smoochblog

Let's just go ahead and start talking about the nipple balm. It's not actually for your nipples. Or well, I guess it is. It was originally formulated for nursing moms and their sore, er, nipples. But by some twist of fate, someone decided to rub it on their mouth and discovered what an amazing lip balm it is and marketed it.

No, I'm serious.

Anyways, I suffer from the debilitating affliction known as chapped, peel-y lips. It's not just a winter thing. I deal with it all year. And I've tried about a jillion different balms and salves and this is the ONLY ONE that's made a difference on my perennial wind-burn mouth. It's not sticky or pigmented, so guys can use it too, and it doesn't cause tiny strands of hair to stick to your lips if you want to drive with the windows down. It also just does this thing to your lips where it makes them the perfect color for your complexion. It's a mystery of modern science that you're just going to have to learn about for yourself.

But I absolutely recommend that you do.

Secondly....

Oh those English boys. I didn't ever think I had like a type or anything. But apparently, musically, I do. And they are it. It has nothing to do with the above photo. But it totally helps.

I was a little behind jumping on the Artic Monkeys band wagon, but it turns out there's a reason why people love them so much. They're really friggin' good.

I cannot stop listening to this album. I'm not a music reviewer or anything, but I know what music is supposed to do to people, and the songs on AM do it. They crawl and lag and ache and when I listen to them in my car with the windows all the way down, the world suspends itself for a little bit and all I can hear is Alex Turner singing "wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust..." on I Wanna Be Yours. Please, Alex, be my vacuum cleaner. Or my dishwasher. Or my Swiffer. Or anything you want.

Other standouts that you absolutely must go listen to right now? Arabella. Do I Wanna Know? Knee Socks.

But definitely Do I Wanna Know.

Let it lull you to sleep like I'm about to. Because my eyes are barely open and I don't have the energy to correct my typos anymore.

Goodnight, loves.

xo.

Zoya + You Knew Me When

Photo courtesy of Nylonmag.com

Every time a beauty product helps endorse literature, an angel gets its wings.

Maybe not, but a blogger definitely gets fodder for her blog.

For all intents and purposes, I tend to consider myself an intellectual. I gorge on books and information and spend most of my days in a never-ending pursuit of knowledge. I seek to constantly expand my perspective.

That doesn't mean though, when the new issue of Elle comes out that I don't run to store and pick it up and proceed to read it cover to cover immediately. Because I totally do.

But these 2 parts of my personality tend to remain distinct and distant from one another on a day-to-day basis.

Unless something like this happens. Natural nail polish brand Zoya has teamed up with author Emily Liebert to create a line of nail polish colors inspired by characters in her new novel You Knew Me When. 

Don't even act like that pine tree green isn't supah chic. Because it is.

Not only does this make me want to buy all three colors, but it also makes me want to buy the book. Someone's marketing team knows what they're doing.

Have you guys read the book yet? Thoughts?

Totally unrelated question: If my occupation is technically student, and I develop carpal tunnel as a result of taking SO MANY PAGES OF NOTES OHMYGOD, shouldn't I be able to file Worker's Comp? University of West Georgia, I'm lookin at you here.

xo.

Here's Your Damn Blog Post, Joe.

I am trying desperately not to neglect this blog. Clearly, I am not desperate enough.

I've been all over the place since the rug was pulled, but I'm starting to feel some semblance of normal again and I feel like that's worthy of documentation.

As it turns out, crying all the time is exhausting and makes your eyes puffy. Locking yourself in your apartment alone is lonely. And binge drinking Jameson and eating Cool Whip make you fat.

Ain't nobody got time for that.

So I've started doing this thing where I care about my life again. I started focusing on my career, and as such have secured a pretty amazing internship that's going to make me absolutely thrilled to get up in the morning. I'll get to write and be around people that create something everyday.

But not before having to quit a soul-numbing cubical job in which I apply numbers to spreadsheets and contemplate the various ways someone could gauge their eyes out with staples. And not the tiny, regular, good for like 5 sheets of paper staples. The huge ones that go in a stapler with a handle designed for leverage in case you have to staple say, The Bible.

I'm going to walk away from money, and a 401(k), and GASP! health insurance, to work an internship that will barely pay my bills but will make me so happy that for the first time in maybe my whole life, I don't feel like I have to justify making that decision to anyone at all. I haven't second-guessed myself one single time. I guess I'm just not in the business of doing that anymore. Although maybe we should talk again when the bank starts calling about the car payment.

School's also started back which gives me this strangely masochistic sense of purpose. It holds me accountable for something, and that's important when it comes to recovery from apathy and sweatpants. I'm drinking coffee and making myself breakfast every morning and sitting down and working my ass off because I have to. Because I have plans and goals for myself. And I forgot about them for awhile.

I'm writing for a teeny little magazine but I get to open the mailbox and see my story on the cover and it is beyond fulfilling. Because it's what I meant to do.

The magazine is also partially why I had to get up off my ass and post this - they mentioned my little corner of the internet and I'd like to give people something to read that was published after my tiny little bout with my life falling apart.

It's obviously not all the way together. But I don't know if it ever will be. I'm learning to let go of any notions I may have about what I think my life is supposed to look like. Turns out, there aren't milestones I have to hit. I don't have to get married by this age and pop out kids by this age and have an IRA and a mortgage. I don't have to do anything that I don't want to, that feels inauthentic. I don't have to stay in relationships that don't work because I'm in my mid-twenties and shouldn't I be AT LEAST half-way to a mini-van by now?

Instead, my life is filled right now with the most incredible friends a girl could ever have, who tolerate whining and take me out to dinner, and drag me to roof-top hotel parties against my will, and make me feel really super duper cared about. I have a family that is so unconditionally accepting that let me take up couch space and complain. They force me to go grocery shopping because mustard and tea bags and cereal do not constitute a full pantry.

So yeah, in case you guys were wondering. I'm alright. And I'll keep being alright.


xo.

An end.

So before you read this post, I'm gonna say a couple things. First off - the crickets over here are getting really loud. I know. And I'm sorry. When life decides to be a complete dick, it's hard for me to arrange my thoughts in a way deemed worthy of an audience as amazing as you people.

Secondly, you should know this was written awhile ago. I didn't want to publish it because it's pretty much spotlighting the weaker, more unattractive parts of me and that's uncomfortable and hard because you feel split wide open in front of people who know you (and some you don't). 

But as things get better and the universe begins to level itself again, I feel like it might be a good idea to have that kind of pain documented. It's easier to grasp, hold onto, and learn from if it's concrete. So I decided to share it.


I'm going to level with you. Shit sucks right now. Really bad.

Actually, let me just put it in the words of the incomparable Carrie Bradshaw:

After a break-up, certain streets, locations, even times of day are off-limits. The city becomes a deserted battlefield, loaded with emotional landmines. You have to be very careful where you step - or you could be blown to pieces.

So yeah.

It's not rainbows and lemonade and happiness over here. It's mostly lots of crying and and wearing sweatpants. And to be honest, I didn't think it'd be something I wanted to write about. It feels like such a private situation. But writing is the only thing I know to do in a painful situation like this. One that threatens every single day to pin me to my bed and suffocate me with its limitlessness.

Most of the stuff you see about going through a break up reads like a bad self-help book shoved into the half-off bin a la Dr. Phil. "Take time to feel your pain. Be honest with yourself about your emotions. Exercise to release endorphins. Talk to a professional. Channel your pain into pottery."

I come from a very different school however and have been coping using the following methods and ideologies. WARNING: It isn't pretty.

1. There is no time of day or situation where it is inappropriate to drink. In the shower. At a christening. Before and after grocery shopping. This may sound a great deal like the very real illness known as alcoholism, but it's inherently different in that eventually, I know I'll be fine. Also, I'm already getting really tired of the 3 day hangover. High school senior, I am not. It does help though, to keep my mind off of the fact that a very huge, important, meaningful part of my life has fallen apart. And it's been bridging the gap between the now and the part where I'm okay again quite nicely. 
2. Filling my body with pizza and cupcakes and preservatives and carbs and grease. Turns out, being healthy and functional takes a lot of energy. When all that energy is spent on screaming into your pillow and sleeping, there's just no time for quinoa and grilled vegetables. And all water does is force me to pee out the alcohol. So obviously, I'm not interested in any of that. 
3. The masochist in me demands that I watch movies that remind me of all the things I feel like (at this moment in time anyway) I'll never have. Oh you know...The Notebook, Titanic, Walk the Line, Love Actually, Sleepless in Seattle, Top Gun, Transformers - movies about love overcoming impossible circumstance and logic only to prevail in the end. This is what I'm currently missing out on. And for whatever reason, I'm forcing myself to remember that everyday.

It's not pleasant, I know, but it's real. And that's important to me. I can't ever heal or learn from any of this if I'm not honest about where I'm at right now. Even if where I'm at right now is a tiny apartment decorated with shit that was supposed to be the backdrop to a life I'm apparently not destined to have.

Also, it's not to say not I'm doing other things, too. Things that make the pain less, slightly dull, bearable. For one, I'm writing. All the time. It's the most cathartic, freeing feeling to dig into a real piece of paper with a real pen and say everything I could never say. It helps me to sort out the bad, to have some kind of control over it again.

I'm running, too. And while I know that it's a bit counterintuitive in terms of stuffing my face with garbage everyday, it keeps my mind quiet. It's the only part of the day where all I can do is feel my feet pound pavement. I'm literally moving forward in the only way I can right now and it's helping me sleep.

I'm spending insane amounts of time with my family and a few very good, supportive friends. They've offered up couches and beer and have never asked a single question. Their support is the only thing that's making the world feed solid right now. And I wish that I could find some way to thank them adequately.  

I'm scared everyday about what will happen next because my idea of what my life will be has been blown to hell. And I know I'm making some of this sound glib. But in reality, everyday hurts right now. My body physically aches because I can't get the emotional pain out. My cells are full of it.

But I have to trust that even as I'm typing this, the universe is righting itself. The hurt of it all is a leveler. The ground's been burned so I can try and grow something else. And even though I might not think so, whatever laws that govern the natural order of things have decided it's what I need.

So all I can do is accept that and drag my ass out of bed everyday and try for something better. Very very slowly.

xo.

My First Bonnaroo Experience

The first thing I want to say is, if you've ever contemplated going to Bonnaroo - do it. Just to say that you did. Just so you can say you were there; you were part of this dirty, beautiful, musical mess.

The second thing I want to say is, if I never have to use a friggin porta-potty again in the entirety of my life, it will be too soon.

Bonnaroo is a place like nowhere else. It's an adult amusement park, a modern-day Woodstock, a playground where everyone is your best friend and where you can whole-heartedly buy into the notion that music changes lives, makes families of strangers, and alters the way you see the world.

You can be whoever you want, wear whatever you want, do whatever you want without repercussions or judgements. It's a freedom so rare in the modern chaos of our lives that you feel like you've entered a foreign country beyond the limits of laws and normalcy. It's incredible and moving and like nothing else you've experienced.

Now, to be fair, it's also harsh and dirty and loud and overwhelming. The most extreme variants of the human condition are on display unapologetically and you are, in fact, sharing portable bathroom facilities with 100,000 of your best pals in 90 degree Tennessee summer heat. I was uncomfortable and anxious a lot of the time.

But there were other times, like when I was standing in a crowd of tens of thousands staring up at Paul McCartney singing Hey Jude, swaying and watching people raise their lighters (actual lighters, not cell phones), that I felt just how vast we all are. How vast music is. It sounds so...existential...but I felt so connected to everything. And I wasn't even under the influence of narcotics. I was just under the influence of the music and the people and the sky. Tiny lanterns floated above all of us as the show was going on and it was just so beautiful. And I felt so lucky to be apart of it.

I mean, Jesus. It's Paul McCartney. The Beatle. Best buds with Clapton, Hendrix, and Dylan. I heard Blackbird. Live. It's an experience I'll never forget as long as I live.

Paul's show also provided a stark and welcome contrast to the over-abundance of electronic sounding, synth pop, techno dub step manufactured music created by DJs that sound like same hour-long track over and over that took up most stages after 11. I've been informed by my much hipper friends that this is what's cool now. And I'm sure it is, especially if you dig glow-sticks and day-glo paint. But that part of the festival just wasn't for me.

Other highlights included Local Natives and Cat Power, laughing harder than I have ever laughed in my life around our campsite with new friends, and being reminded that people en masse are still capable of being kind, open-minded, welcoming, and good. Positivity is a force that's too often squelched by traffic jams and jobs we hate and the constant pursuit of money. Breathing it in was as refreshing as cold water in the middle of the day.

So in conclusion, I got to spend 4 days re-learning the idea of being completely present, of what community means, and how powerful patience and a sense of humor can be.

I learned how much I hate sleeping on the ground, but if I'm tired enough, I can actually sleep anywhere.

I learned I don't mind heat half as much as I mind sweat. And that make-up and showers aren't as necessary and crucial to my building relationships as I thought.

I'd say that makes me pretty fortunate.

Happy Bonnaroo!

xo.

Some of the Things I Should've Said at Your Funeral

Dear Daddy,

Two years ago, just a few days before Father's Day, my world cracked open and you were gone.

I don't remember the last time I talked to you before that. But I remember the last time you called. I didn't answer the phone.

I miss the way your feet shuffled across the floor when you walked, usually in the middle of the night, up to raid the fridge. It never occurred to me then me the reasons why night after night someone wouldn't be able to sleep. All I know is that I felt safe knowing you were standing guard over us.

I miss that one time on Christmas Eve when you walked out of the bathroom with your face covered in shaving cream, trying to get out ho-ho-ho, and our laughter making it impossible. I know that's the dad you wanted to be all the time. And I also know how hard that was for you, now, looking back on it.

I miss that time you danced with mom in the garage as the sun went down, me watching from the tailgate of your red Chevy pick-up truck. Now every time I hear “Brown-Eyed Girl” I smile and kinda cry because it reminds me that despite everything, you did love mom more than anything. Or you tried to at least.

I miss the deep scruff of your voice and your crappy handwriting and I think sometimes about how scary it is - the notion that I may one day forget how you sound.

Most of all, I miss the things we'll never get to do. The things I'll never get to tell you, the aisle you won't walk me down, the advice you'll never give me.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still mad at you. One day I hope I'll figure that whole forgiveness thing out. But today I'm still mad. I fight the thought that you gave up because it makes me white with rage and I try everyday to trust that you truly did the best you could and that the other stuff was just too big.

But regardless of everything, I miss having my dad. I miss you, today and everyday. There are still moments that buckle me out of nowhere. The world is field of land mine memories. But I'm strong and resilient and wise and tough. And at least some of that is because of you.

So just know that I love you. And I always did. Even when you were an asshole. And I hope wherever you are, your feet don't shuffle in the middle of the night anymore.

I hope you're still.

Forever and always,

Your little princess

"In the happiest of our childhood memories, our parents were happy too." -Robert Brault

Parachute Pants Revisited

While I do spend waaay too much time putting outfits together and trying to look as cute as possible while maintaining the appearance of effortlessness a la Jennifer Aniston, one fashion rule I always follow is this: comfort.

I don't care how much it costs, how amazing it makes my ass look, if I can't move in it, if it can't withstand the inevitable wrinkling it will endure in my car, I'm not interested. A little intentional slouchiness never hurt anyone. In fact, if there was a way to justify pajama bottoms as interview wear, I'd be the first on the bandwagon.

Alas, I doubt Conde Nast would be at all interested in my shiny resume if I showed up to their offices sporting my softest pair of Joe Boxer PJ pants*.

Thank GOD that the fashion world has finally decided to merge the  two concepts (comfort and style) and create what I think may be the best variant of sweatpants/bellbottoms/skinny jeans ever in the history of time.

Ladies, gentlemen, lovers and friends. I present to you ... the harem pant. Am I going jogging? On a date? To a concert? To the DMV? MET Gala? You don't know. And that's the beauty of these bad boys. Ultimate versatility.

All these can be found at Urban Outfitters.

And these are available at Free People.

Now, before you say anything, I do realize that the cut of these pants is a little hard to pull off if you have the hips of anyone over 12 and you're under 5'10. However, I also know that life is short...inso facto, we should all feel free to wear whatever the hell we want. Inso facto, I'm buying some.

Proportions be damned.

Bring on the Parachute Pant 2.0.

*Thanks to my grandmother every single Christmas Eve, I own at last count, 15 pairs. Oy. Love you, Maw.

Cheers dears.

xo.

Memorial Day Recap

There is something euphoric about waking up on Monday not to the sound of your alarm clock, but instead to the drum of a peaceful highway, the chirping and chattering of birds and squirrels, and the smell of coffee brewed slowly, instead of in a haste of trying to get ready for work.

So naturally, I'm a HUGE fan of any holiday that falls on a Monday.

Aside from the fact that Memorial Day reminds us to take a minute in gratitude and remembrance, it also conveniently gives us a three day weekend to spend doing all the things our brave military men and women fought to keep free for us.

Things like getting drunk with your parents, playing ladder ball in the backyard, stuffing your face with watermelon, laughing with your brother, taking a long bike ride, setting shit on fire, drinking cheap gas station icees, planting something to care for and watch grow, and being grateful for every simple thing.

Have a look.

Hope you guys had an amazing weekend. I did.

xo.

oh, and obviously these are my personal pictures. So don't be a dick and take them without permission.