tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21253158548202626662024-03-13T17:36:44.757-04:00Coco MariaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.comBlogger479125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-57229521268481511092014-11-04T09:24:00.001-05:002014-11-04T09:24:56.927-05:00The Allergy Chronicles<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/15090080093" title="foods by nicole testa, on Flickr"><img alt="foods" height="526" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5603/15090080093_aa3a27fb29_o.jpg" width="620" /></a><br />
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That sounds sort of like a teen book series, and I guess that's appropriate because I kind of feel like I <i>am</i> in a teen book series right now. In like, the drama-ridden way, not like, the vampire and unrequited lust-ridden way - just for clarification. If you've been a reader of this blog for any decent span of time, you'll know that I have a near romantic relationship with food. It's one half of the descriptor in my instagram profile, for pete's sake, which obviously means a lot. My family has always been passionate about food, and it's been instilled in me, potentially to a chubby fault at times. I made it a point to try as much ice cream as I could when I went away to Cape Cod this summer, and let me tell you, I tried very, very hard. Like, multiple cones a day hard.<br />
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On that same trip to Cape Cod, I had my first allergic reaction to food. It was shellfish - clam chowder and crab cakes to be exact - my first foray into shellfish in my entire food life, and our first meal on the Cape. My grandmother has a shellfish allergy, as does my sister, but of course this was the one time I was actually like yolo and I decided to try it out. It was scary, the whole experience. The physical stuff, the being in a strange emergency room, the starting vacation off at the hospital - but I was okay, and I had Justin with me to boss nurses around while I tried not to pass out from all of the benedryl.<br />
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I was fine for a while, and then, I wasn't. If you've been reading this blog for any decent span of time, you will <i>also</i> know that I deal with a lot of anxiety. It's just like this little creature that burrows its way into your chest and grows and grows its home in you the less you fight it. And fighting it is no easy feat, let me tell you. Long story short, my food fears culminated in my first panic attack in a car on the drive home from Maine (it has truly been a year of firsts, guys).<br />
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And for the first time in my life, I didn't want to eat. Anything. Seriously, anything. It was a struggle for the first week or so to even have toast, or plain pasta. If the physical implications of not eating weren't sucky enough, I couldn't stop feeling the emotional ones. Food is my comfort. It's my go to when I'm stressed, or happy, or tired - whether that's good or bad, I don't know, nor do I care. And now, it's my main <i>source </i>of stress. The (dinner) tables had turned and I was essentially at a loss.<br />
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Long story not so short, I ended up getting a full food panel allergy test and found out that the only other food I am severely allergic to is Brazil nuts - a nut that people only seem to eat at Christmas parties, in my experience? I have sensitivities to a few other nuts and also, like, mackerel, but those are not as severe. everything else on the panel was fine. But nuts, like shellfish, have the ability to cause a pretty severe reaction in some folks. While some of my fears lessened, new ones grew. The little monster in my chest cozied up for the autumn months.<br />
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I'm writing this from the middle. This is only half a "looking back on it" story. It's been a couple of months. In that couple of months, I've slowly (snail status) grown a small group of things I feel sort of comfortable eating. It's a journey. A really weird one that just a few months ago I was eating whatever I wanted with essentially reckless abandon. I don't want this blog to become an anxiety journal or a food journal or whatever. But, it's always been about what's going on in my life. And as I try to get back into the swing of this blogging thing, I thought it might help me (and maybe someone else?) to write this out, to force myself to not be alone in it. I also plan on showing some more of my doodles, like the one above. I have to say, the main thing keeping me sane, other than Justin, is making. Poetry is tough right now, but sewing, painting, and drawing have really helped to take my mind off of things, or rather, channel and transform my fear into something I like. If you have stories like this, you know I'd love to hear them.<br />
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-NAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-18612106215917751432014-06-24T21:34:00.002-04:002014-06-24T21:35:30.560-04:00Creature of Habit<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/14501572265" title="june191 by nicole testa, on Flickr"><img alt="june191" height="908" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2928/14501572265_f7feb21c46_o.jpg" width="620" /></a><br />
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In some ways, I'm very much a creature of habit. I once ate brown sugar & cinnamon oatmeal for breakfast every morning for four months. I have been known to listen to a favorite album for days on end until I am sick of it, and then, once I'm sick of it, I restart the process with a new favorite album. Heck, if inew life, I got a new wife and the family is fine - OH. Okay, so not all of that is true. Most of that is a Billy Joel song (inserting Billy Joel lyrics into regular conversations is also a habit of mine). I did get a new job, though, and along with that has come new people, new places to hang out, new scenarios, new new new. And new is good! And change is good, and I am very thankful for the new in my life in so many different ways.<br />
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In all of the new, though, there's a little itch in me for habit. Something to cling onto as I tread my way and get my footing in the newness of it all. I haven't written, crafted, or blogged very much at all in the past few months. I have the consistency of a job that I love, but personally I feel disorganized, or discombobulated, which I am so thankful is a real word. This blog post, taking outfit photos, putting on this outfit to begin with, may be a little step towards habit again. I'm also in a poetry workshop now with one of my good friends, so maybe that too is an attempt to reconnect with another old habit I don't want to lose.<br />
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A new habit I see starting? Wearing this shirt every day. I'd been hearing a lot about <a href="https://www.everlane.com/">Everlane</a> clothes, about their transparent business practices and their cool, easy look that I so badly want to embody all the time. This shirt is a lil cropped, real comfy, and pretty great for summer. Heck, if it wouldn't be weird to wear this shirt to work every day, I probably would.<br />
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Shirt: Everlane, Jeans: Levi's via Kohl's, Sandals: Saltwater, Bag: Gift from my dear <a href="http://www.mothspeaker.com/">Elanor</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/14501408505" title="june193 by nicole testa, on Flickr"><img alt="june193" height="930" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3917/14501408505_bd59cbdeac_o.jpg" width="620" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/14498012311" title="june192 by nicole testa, on Flickr"><img alt="june192" height="998" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2933/14498012311_a5e26e129d_o.jpg" width="620" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/14314951257" title="june195 by nicole testa, on Flickr"><img alt="june195" height="413" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3921/14314951257_bdfc415e67_o.jpg" width="620" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-60018662996626236132014-04-08T14:01:00.000-04:002014-04-08T14:01:18.971-04:00What to Wear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't think that casual Mondays are a thing in practice, but yesterday was a casual Monday. I went tromping around a cemetery - that sounds really bad now that I read it back, like I was kicking things, which I wasn't - which you'll see pictures of in due time. I've been in sort of a style rut for a while now, in that I really just don't know what I want to wear most of the time, so I just keep wearing the same clothes over and over. This felt like a problem, you know, like I was refusing to eat anything but cookies, but in the visual clothing sense. Then I read<a href="http://happyhoneylark.blogspot.com/2014/04/wardrobe-makeover.html"> this post </a>by Kallie of Happy, Honey & Lark, and started to think that maybe this is actually the beginning of my real, adult wardrobe - which is cool, and also kind of daunting. Maybe it's less of a crisis and more of an "I like what I like" situation. Right now, it's looking like a ton of stripes, a ton of jeans, and a ton of stuff from the Madewell sale section. I haven't taken a lot of outfit photos lately for a ton of reasons - laziness, pudge-liness, coldliness - one of them being that I don't know what I'm doing clothes-wise some of the time. This outfit felt very casual and very me and made me feel good, and the lighting was decent, and it wasn't tundra weather, so I decided to take some photos.<br />
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A lot of things have been changing lately, and a lot has been going on - a lot of good things, and exciting things, and gut-churning things, and I'm looking forward to seeing how my style (ani-) morphs along with everything else. And look, you can see our backyard a little bit. We're hoping to plant some sort of garden this spring. Right now, there are potted tulips dying on the steps leading up to it, though, so we'll see how that goes.<br />
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Shirt, Cardigan: Madewell / Jeans: Gap / Sneakers: Keds / Hat: Asos / Purse: Fossil</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-35672548453947549442014-03-15T14:13:00.003-04:002014-03-15T14:13:53.079-04:00Photography & Poetry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last Tuesday, I went into the city to go to a cool reading called Photography & Poetry. Now that I'm not in school anymore for the time being, and no one is forcing me to read a book of poetry per week and write one poem per week, I've been trying to make more of an effort to push myself to read more and write more and <i>especially </i>attend more readings. One of my biggest college regrets was not going to more readings on campus, and I forreal don't want that to become one of the biggest regret of my twenties, so off to readings I've been going. It's always kind of intimidating, the thought of entering a room full of writers to hear even better writers read, and the thought of potentially <i>speaking </i>to some baller poet - forget about it. But I always always always feel so happy after a reading and excited to get home and try to write something new, so whenever I'm feeling doubtful I remember that.<br />
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This particular reading was pretty cool because it wasn't just a poetry reading - it was also a photography exhibit. This cool photographer Lauren Henkin had the idea to pair three photographers with three poets. The photographers would sent three of their photographs to the poets, who would write a poem inspired by each of the photographs. As someone who likes to dabble in other arts and mediums when writing becomes way too difficult, this was something I could totally get on board with. Though I missed the first two readings in the series because I am the worst, I was glad to make it to this final one, featuring the poems of Lynn Melnick and the photography of Ashley Stohl. Lynn's poetry was painful and strong, focusing a lot on the past and growing up in LA. Ashley Stohl, also from LA, takes a lot of photographs of the young skateboarders who take over the LA beaches. What I really loved was that the poetry inspired by the photographs, was very loosely inspired by them. There weren't poems about skateboarders or watching boys from afar, but rather the poetry and photographs both relayed this sense of how initial experiences with men and boys influenced the art of each artist, which Ashley Stohl explained as the primary similarity she saw between her and Lynn's work. I'm always skeptical about poetry inspired by other arts because of the possibility of too literal a translation, but this collaboration helped me see that a lot of great poetry can be written with the right approach to a painting, or photograph or sketch, and now it's something I really want to try!<br />
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All of the photos in this post are by <a href="http://www.ashlystohl.com/skate-or-die/">Ashley Stohl,</a> from her "Skate or Die" collection and below is one of my favorite poems by Lynn Melnick that wasn't a part of this collaboration but which is still really great. Have you been to any interest readings or art shows lately?<br />
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<b>Everybody In!</b><br />
by Lynn Melnick<br />
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It’s not much of a lie to say I hate the outdoors.<br />
Something about discomfort.<br />
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But it’s a lie when I say that I don’t, spitting<br />
on my arm to rub off the layers, what failed to wash.<br />
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Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t,<br />
but if I were asked again I’d say, Let’s skip<br />
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the hot drive down, the mockingbird, the digging,<br />
cold coffee with radical strangers, fellow Americans,<br />
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wrong-headed love, dunes, rocks, retro round eyewear,<br />
nudity, big ideas, destitute children,<br />
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overwhelming stucco suburbs, dubious rafts,<br />
cold waiting, makeshift dinners, communal bathrooms,<br />
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piles of quarters, and all the lying.<br />
I spent one hundred dollars on a camera that would document this.<br />
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Is there a California I don’t know about?<br />
Smaller, I finished a day floating after everyone left the pool.<br />
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There was barking and laughter. I can’t tread water,<br />
but I can master flotation to save myself.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-7324972229257649822014-02-25T12:29:00.000-05:002014-02-25T12:29:19.994-05:00City Sidewalks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There are many things to be said for openness. One of those things is that I, myself, don't have a particular tendency for it - for having an open mind, being open to the possibilities of a situation. I am one of those "door is half closed" people most of the time. Embracing the good things about a situation isn't my strong suit, to put it as lightly as anyone could possibly put anything. It's not a great quality, but it's how I've been for as long as I can remember.<br />
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I've been reading a lot of articles and blog posts about living in New York lately - how it's a world of magical unicorn dreams, how it's a place whose existence is built around completely WRECKING people, how it's just not the place for creative people anymore. I have been in all three of these - and innumerable other - camps during my life here (really just "my life" since I've been here for all of it). After a long week of work and empty job searching, I was probably just in the "where is my alcohol and where are my cookies camp." Walking around the lower east side the other day, though, I began to think about it again.<br />
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I've been against this city for a very long time. I've been bitter about the fact that in a city of millions of competitive, money-needing people, it's hard for me to find a job doing something that I even remotely want to do for enough pay to split my rent with my boyfriend. I've been resistant to the lifestyle I know I need to adapt if I want to live in a city that I don't completely want to live in, and the fast-paced nature of things that I can't seem to keep up with. I've been very closed, is what it comes down to, to everything about this city. I don't love it enough to justify its demands, and that's overshadowed my relationship with it lately.<br />
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Justin and I were getting dinner at this tiny hole in wall Italian place with the word "Lil" in its name the other night. It was cheap, simple, and delivered some of the best pasta I've potentially ever had in my life, for real. Justin was telling me about a movie he'd seen earlier in the day when a man at the next table turned to us to shake his hand. The man was the main actor from the movie Justin was talking about. Now, talking over bread and lemon pasta, he was a real life person. If there was ever a "New York Moment," it was happening at our cramped, dimly lit table that night. And as much as people say, "only in New York," and as much as I hate the myth of "only in New York," I looked up at Justin and said, through spaghetti teeth, "only in New York."<br />
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I don't love New York, and it's okay that I don't love New York, I've decided. The important thing, I think, is finding the things to like. I don't like a lot of big things about New York. But I do like the little book stores I'm always finding, and the Lil restaurants with delicious pasta, and that poets I love are constantly reading here for free, and seeing actors from Orange Is the New Black in the Urban Outfitters sale section (this happened that same day, btw) and that I get to explore it with someone who make a place I've lived my whole life feel entirely new. It's not about being perfect, I guess, but about finding the ways to be happy - and not letting the big overshadow the Lil.<br />
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Skirt: American Apparel, Top, Jacket: Thrifted, Sweater: Zara, Boots: Docs</div>
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-Nicole<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-47753538258685412592014-02-17T12:06:00.001-05:002014-02-17T12:06:57.438-05:00Foxhole Print Shop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am one finicky lady, let me tell you. As much as I go on and on about how much I want stability ("give me a full time job! give me a life plan!" - excerpts from all of my previous posts), I have a tendency to move around a lot, from thing to thing to thing. I've always had a little bit (ahem) of trouble finding my focus. A while ago, I got an idea to start making literary brooches, and then I made literary brooches, because I wanted to make literary brooches. And that was fun, and brought some great opportunities to me, but eventually, honestly, I got bored. I wanted something new.<br />
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In the interim, I've tried a little bit of sewing, a little bit of clay working, a little bit of pillow making, a little bit of day drinking. Nothing really stuck for more than a little bit, though. If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that poetry is essentially the one thing that's stuck for me. However, writing is not always easy, and it is not always fun, and it sometimes makes me want to burrow into a hole under my desk with a tray of brownies because, man, it can really kick your butt.<br />
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This is where my new endeavor comes in - <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/FoxholePrintShop">Foxhole Print Shop</a>. When I couldn't write, but needed to be creative (because that need is a true, real need) I began to doodle. And then it became that whenever I got frustrated with my writing, I began doodling - so much so that I felt myself develop a little bit of a style. Now, I've decided to turn my doodles into prints and start up a little etsy store called Foxhole Print Shop. I'm very excited about this new endeavor, to see what comes of it and where it takes me (and what new doodles I'll spit out...of my hand...?). I think it will at least help me figure out what trajectory I want this blog to have in the future<br />
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As a little thank you for all of your support, I'm offering all of my readers a free shipping discount code - "FREESHIP". So <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/FoxholePrintShop">take a look around</a> - I hope you like what you see!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-42705874544155887572014-01-09T20:12:00.002-05:002014-01-09T20:12:46.256-05:00Movin' Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On Saturday, I officially moved out of "the big city" into "the much smaller city" (they don't really call Pleasantville "the much smaller city"). I say officially because I have essentially been living with Justin for the past few months, just without paying rent (alas) or contributing to buying toilet paper (alas alas). I'm excited and so happy, and not just because this life change gives me the opportunity to sing a particular Billy Joel song every time someone asks me what's going on in my life (but you all just KNOW I am doing that every chance I get). This is my first experience living on my own. Unless you count the one night I lived in a dorm room before I very literally went crying home to my parents. But, no, we're not counting that.<br />
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I'm excited about developing a new lifestyle - learning how to manage my time and creativity in this space, finding favorite places in this small town, meeting new people. I've even already done a bit of the latter two. It's been nice to ease myself into this change because, as we all know, I am a fan of little baby steps. And anything that makes the gigantic Jack-and-the-Beanstalk-giant-sized monster step of moving out of my parents' house (dramatics) is quite welcome.<br />
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One of the most exciting parts about the move (aside from not being able to see out of my rearview mirror the whole drive up and my desk LITERALLY falling apart piece by piece as we [my parents] carried it into the house) was the prospect of decorating the place. I have to say I was a little worried, though. Buying an apartment together is one thing, but moving into someone else's is different. I was worried there wouldn't be space for me. That this home, that was for so long only Justin's home, would be difficult to transform into our home. It has been an actual joy, and a very easy one at that, making this place feel like my home, too. It has also been an actual joy rivaling Justin's porny movie posters with hand-drawn motivational Tolkien-inspired doodles, let me tell YOU. I'm planning on doing some other posts featuring particular areas of the apartment that I love the most (like my desk nook and our little library) as the place comes together (and as I try to figure out what this blog even is anymore?), so those should be popping up soon. As soon as we vacuum. And as soon as we buy a vacuum. The photo above is a little slice of our living room - including my beloved desk and less than 1/8th of Justin's beloved movies.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-28794949633253245972014-01-02T23:43:00.000-05:002014-01-02T23:43:04.994-05:00Old Year, New Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cLePUl7CdIM/UsY-daHhWCI/AAAAAAAAAZo/1cCmsdIV7K4/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cLePUl7CdIM/UsY-daHhWCI/AAAAAAAAAZo/1cCmsdIV7K4/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" /></a></div><br />
This time last year, I drew up a list of resolutions I hoped to accomplish in 2013. Some of them were vague ("put myself out there!!") and some were specific ("focus on getting my poetry published!"). Like a lot of people, I get caught up in the emotional meaning of the new year, the planning and goal making of it. There are a lot of things on that little marker-written list that I did accomplish in 2013. I learned that to spend time by myself is invaluable, and necessary, but that to talk to people I don't know is also essential. I got my first poem accepted for publication and proved that I can write outside of an educational environment. Not long into the year though, I learned that my lists and plans were, well, sort of irrelevant.<br />
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This year was not at all the year I expected it to be, which is sort of how all years go I guess, unless you're a psychic medium/time-traveling magician from space. There were the changes I expected: graduating from college, finding new jobs. And then there were all of the things I could never have seen coming. Change is usually the sort of relative that doesn't text you that it's on its way, or even that it's waiting in the car outside to take you to Smashburger. It just sort of knocks your door down and asks to sleep on your couch for a week or two (or longer), especially on the days when your couch is covered in a bunch of clothes and junk you've been meaning to put away.<br />
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At the end of February, I was invited to a concert by my friend, who was really only a friend of a best-friend-from-New-Hampshire. I went, surprisingly enough, ("put yourself out there!!") and met his friend, who tbh I hardly even spoke to. Three days later we were dating. Ten months later we're still dating, I'm moving into his apartment, and we're buying toilet paper and 50% off bags of holiday chocolate together. I know more about film projection, Martin Scorcese ['s eyebrows] and how to love and grow with someone than I ever thought I would. I'm in a relationship where I am encouraged to push myself, but also nurture myself, and where I'm able (for the most part) to reciprocate that encouragement. I'm in a relationship with someone who has faults too, and who can work with me to improve both of our failings. I get to be with someone who makes me happy (except when he is farting on me) and that makes me so, so happy (except for the farts because, come on).<br />
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Two weeks later, my sister went for a CATscan. Later that day, we learned something was wrong. Later that month we were in a hospital emergency room waiting for a surgeon to tell us that the surgery was successful, and what the mass on her brain really was. I don't really know how to talk about learning that my sister has cancer. I still have trouble talking about it to anyone who isn't my mom, and sometimes even that doesn't work. What I can talk about is how amazing my sister has been, and how I keep learning to love her more even when I think I've reached the maximum level of love (that sounds like an 80's album title but I'm not even sorry about it). It has been strange and so difficult and in some ways amazing, seeing my family morph and grow, seeing my sister struggle and win. She is doing great, and she is strong, and we are going to run a 5k in the spring together.<br />
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In 2013 I broke down. I was strong for other people, and learned to let other people nurture me. I loved more than I ever have before. I was lazy. I worked hard. I hurt other people because I couldn't deal with my own emotions. I soared. I learned. I saw my family change. I became a better, louder, more honest, more passionate person. It was not the year I expected, but is it ever? It was worse than I anticipated, and better than I could have ever dreamed.<br />
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I have a lot of creative and personal goals swimming around in my head for 2014. To be honest, most of them mirror my 2013 goals, and I like that. I feel like I have a direction, and a solid grip (I actually keep picturing one of those weird tubes filled with shimmery liquid goop that were really hip in the 90's, which is probably more accurate) on the kind of person I am becoming and want to become. Writing, making, growing, loving - that's what I want in 2014. And pizza, always pizza.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-65G2TRQP0qk/UsY_dund0qI/AAAAAAAAAaM/eWb4zFn-lik/s1600/PicMonkey+Collageee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-65G2TRQP0qk/UsY_dund0qI/AAAAAAAAAaM/eWb4zFn-lik/s1600/PicMonkey+Collageee.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-48053919273962941522013-10-16T18:14:00.000-04:002013-10-16T19:16:23.048-04:00The Bulldog on the Corner<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/10317909884/" title="oct 16 5 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3666/10317909884_c1ee32455f_o.jpg" width="600" height="400" alt="oct 16 5"></a></center><br />
A few weeks ago, (meaning it must have been mid-July) I was hurrying through the 80's to meet someone at the Met. My train had run late, making me run late, and I was very nearly running to the museum. On the corner of 84th and Lexington, though, I had to stop. Plopped down, like a dollop of cream, was a bulldog, tan like milky coffee, belly pressed to the sidewalk. His arms and legs stretched out on either side of him, and his tongue bobbed gently in his mouth. I'd never seen anyone more content than that puppy.<br />
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I've noticed about myself, for my whole life, but mostly since I graduated, that I have a very rough time with appreciating where I am right now. If I have a part-time job, I need to be working on getting a full-time job. If I'm home on the weekend and I'm not writing, I'm wasting my time. If I'm spending my time doodling or messing around with watercolors instead of writing, I'm a failure who will never get published. If I'm not at a poetry reading, I'm clearly not committed to my future or meeting people in my field. There are so many things that I think I should be doing, that I almost feel like I shouldn't feel happy when I'm doing anything other than those things. And that makes for a heckofalot of feeling sorry for myself and fretting about where I want to be.<br />
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But back to the bulldog. I smiled, and other walkers-by smiled, as his owner tugged and tugged at his leash, sweetly saying, "Come on now, let's go, let's go" but he wouldn't budge. He laid, he looked around a bit, she continued to coax him, or try to. But everyone was smiling, even the bulldog looked as happy as anyone ever could. He was lazy, and he slowed us all down a bit, with the way his belly rested on the pavement.<br />
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I have an awful tendency to create metaphors out of everything, or try to. Most of the time, they don't work (think, "I am the last brussel sprout on the plate") but here, I like to think I've gotten at something, or at least the bulldog has. Am I applying to many jobs? Nope. Am I constantly writing and creating? I try to write at least once a week. Am I making any art that is good enough to sell? Probably not. I am very good at focussing on what I don't have, and latching myself to the idea that what I have is not enough to be happy. Right now though, there are so many good things in my life. I do not have a salaried job in my field. I do not know what my "field" is, or why it is even called field, like are we playing soccer or what. I am not published. People are not knocking down my door (e-mail inbox) asking me to write for them or be their own personal poet laureate or whatever. Most of the time, this is all that I see, and I overwhelm myself to the point of saying, "Oh boy, what's even the point of trying ANYTHING?" I have a flair for the dramatics. What I have the hardest time remembering is that I just graduated. That I am only 21. And while I love plans and shit, and while in my head of course I wanted my entire life to come together in a beautiful Disney-movie-esque way right after I got out of college, the idea of having my life absolutely set at the age of 21 is sort of terrifying.<br />
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I have a part-time job and get to work with some people I really like, I'm in a poetry workshop and have gotten started on a project, I'm meeting more new people, creative people, that are inspiring and who I want to work with. I have a lot of time to do whatever I want. Some days, it will be lying around in American Apparel hot pants and watching Supernatural from the time I wake up to the time I leave bed to go to the bathroom and the kitchen, and then again until it's time for more sleep, and other days it will be going to a poetry reading in the city, or writing a poem, or submitting my poems for publication, or drawing some really hip spooks. Now is a time where I actually have time, time I will regret wasting with wishing for something to fill it with once I do actually have that full-time salaried job (positivity!).<br />
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But back the the bulldog. After dallying a bit on the corner, I left him there to go meet my friend at the Met. I don't know how long he laid there, but I have to imagine it was for as long as he wanted to. I always feel that if I'm not moving, then I'm not doing. If I'm not creating, then I'm wasting. But really - and this is the hard part - If I'm enjoying whatever I am (or am not) doing, then that's all that matters right now, said the bulldog on the corner.<br />
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<i>Blouse, skirt, tights: Uniqlo, Jean Jacket: Salvation Army, Shoes: Dolce Vita via Marshalls, Hat: Newbury Comics<br />
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<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/10318092403/" title="oct 16 2 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2870/10318092403_119186abc5_o.jpg" width="600" height="926" alt="oct 16 2"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/10317931195/" title="oct 16 3 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2867/10317931195_fedb5b66f0_o.jpg" width="600" height="862" alt="oct 16 3"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/10318004355/" title="oct 166 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7402/10318004355_4d95c92146_o.jpg" width="600" height="911" alt="oct 166"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/10317952716/" title="oct 16 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7359/10317952716_12178eb916_o.jpg" width="600" height="896" alt="oct 16"></a><center>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-23986034076611380882013-08-27T21:44:00.000-04:002013-08-28T21:27:11.404-04:00Philadelphia<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/9612652960/" title="phila 1 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5473/9612652960_a3427b0afb_o.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="phila 1"></a></center><br />
Last week, Justin and I journeyed down to Philadelphia for a much deserved overnight trip. I'd never been to Philadelphia before, but assumed it was a city I'd like well enough. I have a tendency to get excited over historical tourist attractions, so Philadelphia seemed like the right place to head. I didn't realize just how much I'd love the city though. I'm not sure exactly what it was. It probably had a decent amount to do with Reading Terminal Market and it's warm 99 cent blueberry fritters and the fact that Benjamin Franklin's head is mounted all over the place. It might have been the old brightly shingled buildings and the brick sidewalks. Maybe it was the uncrowded streets, and the little restaurants tucked into the corners of every side road we walked down. It could even have been the sidecar a bashfully talented bartender made for me at midnight. This is all just conjecture, of course.<br />
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Honestly, most of the time, when I visit a new city (and it's pretty rare that I do), I tend to idealize it. Whenever you're on vacation anywhere, you take a break, you set out to enjoy everything positive a place has to offer. Traveling to a place is just much different than living in a place. And honestly, I think because I don't know where I want to live or be or like, do with my life or whatever, seeing a new place just makes me excited. I know that I don't want to stay in New York, so everywhere I visit just becomes a possible future I guess. Philadelphia just feels like a place I could see myself living, happily (employed-ly?) in the near future, and that makes me happy despite all of the "WOAH WHAT AM I DOING WHAT'S GOING ON" uncertainties I got goin' on right now.<br />
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Here are a few of my favorite snapshots from our trip. Spoiler: They are mostly of food.<br />
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<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/9609420515/" title="phila 11 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5443/9609420515_a36b531190_o.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="phila 11"></a><br />
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<i>Photos by me, Justin, and a friendly security guard</i></center>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-70895320635566346752013-07-17T23:28:00.000-04:002013-07-17T23:28:26.533-04:00New Tricks<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/9294113911/" title="8152 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3744/9294113911_f0eb10edd2_o.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="8152"></a></center><br />
I have a lot of problems with the phrase "laid off." Obviously, it's a major bummer, but my main problem is that it sounds like it shouldn't be such a let down of a thing. "Laid off" makes me think of "lay down" which makes me think of reclining on a mega comfy bed while I watch marathons of Breaking Bad and have someone feed me bites of soft pretzels.<br />
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On Sunday night, I got unexpectedly laid off from my new internship. They didn't even buy me a soft pretzel or anything. I've mostly gotten through the soul-sucking self-doubt/crying on the floor while listening to Neil Young records/eating gouda while mumbling Gotye lyrics to myself part of this whole thing (mostly), which means beginning the much more difficult task of facing what to do next.<br />
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I've heard a lot of really wonderful supportive things, like "It isn't exactly what you wanted anyway," "Now you can take the time to apply for what you really want," "take this time to focus on yourself," and "At least you don't have bills to pay, this is a good time for this to have happened." And these things are all true. But the problem sometimes is that even the advice with the best intentions, said by the people you love the most, doesn't always exactly...help? Oh shoot, did that make me sound like a dick? What I mean is that it helps, it all helps. What the problem really is, is that I want someone to make it clear to me what I should do next and how I should do it, what my dreams are and how I can work towards them. I DON'T ASK FOR MUCH.<br />
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Not having an income is scary, and not having a schedule is also scary. But the scariest thing of all, at least for me, is not knowing what I'm doing. Having a part time internship/job that paid me was a good distraction from a lot of grander, more important things. Yes, I was still applying to jobs, but half-heartedly. I jotted a few lines of poetry down here and there, but nothing too substantial. Now, though, I uh, have nothing to distract me from what it is I want to do or even, more importantly, figuring out what it is I want to do.<br />
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This is a good thing. Did you believe me when you read that? For real. I'm being serious. Not that I've completely convinced myself. Like, at all. But I'm trying to think small scale here, not like, what do you want to do with THE REST OF YOUR LIFE??? Thinking about that makes me want to dig a hole just big enough to fit me and a bag of marshmallows so I can mourn my lost youth and eat marshmallows. <br />
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So, what do I want to do with this (hopefully not gaping, huge, and/or mega-extended) window of time in my life? That's the hundred dollar (zero dollar, tbh) question. The number one thing I don't want to do? Mope over my joblessness when I'm really being presented with an opportunity to grow. I want to write more, and journal more seriously. I want to get back on the ball with my 365 poetry project. I really want to make a zine, possibly about erasure poetry and possibly about what classic works of literature would be like if they were pasta-themed (if you guys are interested in collaborating in some form email me, for real). I want to apply to jobs that I care about until it becomes evident I should settle for something less than what I want, and even then I don't want to settle completely. I want to put together my Hobbit LEGO set. I want to go to the Museum of Natural History enough times to actually learn the layout. I want to make more watercolors, because I needed even more craft hobbies, right. I want to figure out another etsy shop idea that I can get excited about the way I got excited about Faces and Faces. I want to read! What I guess it comes down to is that I don't want this to be a stagnant point in my life. I want to grow and get excited, and make things that make other people excited. So I suppose that's just what I'll do.<br />
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These are the first outfit photos I took in a long time, so I like, forgot how to pose. I thought it would be like riding a bicycle, but then again, I'm not very good at riding bicycles.<br />
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<center>skirt: vintage, top: H&M, sandals: Madewell<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-26150961297310180222013-07-10T19:48:00.001-04:002013-07-15T23:23:33.624-04:00That Never Sleeps<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Recently , I read <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/06/09/opinion/sunday/how-not-to-be-alone.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0">this wonderful article</a> my friend Callie posted to Facebook. While it’s not required reading for this post or whatever it is suggested reading for life, btw. In case you’ve decided to forgo my sage, elderly wisdom, the article is essentially about how we, as a people, are using our mobile internet devices to distance ourselves from people, as a means to justify not interacting with people in person. That is a terrible summary. This is why I am not a professional summarizer, though I would one hundred percent be a professional summarizer because for real I need a job if anybody’s, uh, looking for a professional summarizer. But, I digress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I think part of the reason I was so affected by the article was because it verbalized (textualized? Sexualized? Not sexualized) a lot of the things I had already been mulling over. I’ve been thinking an awful lot lately about the city that I live in – which happens to be New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there’s nothing you can’t do, let’s hear it for New York New York New YORK. Since I started my new internship, I’ve been commuting into Manhattan three days a week, which means I’ve been taking the subway an awful lot more. The 6 train has rapidly grown into my favorite place to observe and think. I generally ride at its most crowded hours, and find that being wedged between a bunch of fascinating, tired people lends itself greatly to looking closely at a bunch of fascinating, tired people. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">My feelings for New York are probably the most fluctuating, unsteady feelings I’ve ever felt towards anything, or anyone. This time last year, I would have told you I was eager to pack my bags and get the HECK out of this cruel, urine-scented world in favor of the west coast. But then I started to do more. To explore more. To spend more time by myself. To spend more time with people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then I started to warm up to New York. “Maybe I didn’t give you enough of a chance, NEW YORK!” I yelled, to myself, in a crowd of concerned onlookers. It was like that boy that you just don’t give the time of day, not because there’s anything wrong with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">him</i>, but because you’re just so into yourself right now, and not ready to be with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anyone</i>, so you blame your problems on this one guy when REALLY you’ve got to you know work on yourself. It’s, uh, like that, sort of. The thing about New York, though, is that it’s a fickle lover, and sometimes it is, in fact, the problem. There are days when New York has made me feel so lonely and discouraged that I had to sit on a park bench and cry about it. But then, there are days when I walk by a man playing beautiful accordion music in front of a dirty Walgreen’s and everything seems infinite and possible.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">But again, I digress. Though, in my defense, this digression is more relevant than the last one. You’ve probably all read that infamous, motivational “Wear Sunscreen” article that’s always floating around on tumblr in bits and pieces. One of the pieces of advice is something like, “live in New York, but leave before it makes you hard.” There are a lot of New York stereotypes – one of the most common being that we are all a bunch of dicks who will kick you when you’re down, after putting you down in the first place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The article I mentioned at the beginning of this post, coupled with my spending so much more time exploring and working in Manhattan these past few months got me to thinking – what is New York doing to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me? </i>What am I doing here? Do I like who I’m growing into in this city notorious for changing people?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">In that article about technology, Jonathon Sanfran Foer, talks about how using our phones in a social situation creates this thought gap in us. Our instinct to react instantly to help someone is delayed and kind of muddled by our ability to use our phones or tablets, to distract ourselves from the situation long enough for it to end without our intervention. While my concerns aren’t really technology based (I mean, like, right now, for this blog post. My concerns are uh, pretty generally technology based tbh, but anyway), I have been thinking about how I react to things. Things are always happening around you wherever you are, but on a crowded downtown street, you can find yourself in a new potential situation with every few steps. Over the past few months in particular, I’ve noticed my reaction time quickening its pace, in good and bad situations. A few days ago, a lady was walking past me holding a bag of food, and the bottom gave out, and her napkins and receipts all started flying away, so I leapt – almost literally? – to help her out before she lost all of her paper products to the night wind. Last night, I was in Grand Central,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and this drunk young guy was walking down the up escalator to be obnoxious, and then he started running up it, right as I was reaching the top. I said to him, “Okay, you need to CHILL OUT” to which he responded “Don’t fucking tell me to CHILL OUT” to which I responded “You’re running up a friggin’ ESCALATOR while I’m on it, it’s DANGEROUS” to which he huffed and puffed and moved his arms like a freshly harpooned octopus.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">What I’m trying to say is, I’ve noticed this quickening, that I’m reacting when I want to react, instead of considering my options for so long that by the time I make up my mind that I should, in fact, be sassy, the situation, and my opportunity to sass, has passed. I’m not quite sure how to feel about it honestly. Sure, it’s a good thing that I’m my response to help people seems more immediate, but is it a good thing that my fuse can be short enough to get into an altercation with a drunk bro that I really should have just ignored? I’m tired of taking a backseat to things, tired of certain people feeling more obligated than other people to do what they want, but I think there’s a responsibility, a need for check, that comes along with this sort of following of gut feelings. Now, I don’t know how much of this is New York. This city is fast paced. This city has a tendency to be self-involved. I have lived in this city my whole life, but feel like this is the first year I’ve really been <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">living </i>in it, with it. I know that I feel myself changing, as I have every day for the past few years, but now that change feels directly linked to this city, that is, for now, my home.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-19516153032296749592013-05-20T00:02:00.000-04:002013-06-02T11:36:58.067-04:00Facing Forward<style>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And here I am, one week from graduation, sitting at my desk.
My bangs are messily but artfully clipped back into a Johnny Bravo fashion. I
have been staring at my resume for the past two hours wondering if it is jazzy
enough, after a prior two hours of staring at jobs on idealist.org like “gurl
is this all you GOT? I know this ain’t all you got for me, gurl. I thought we
were CLOSE??” I have become a little delusional. I blame the Johnny Bravo hair.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The truth is, I feel like I should have something interesting
to say upon my impending graduation. HECK, I had something to say about my high
school graduation, which wasn’t even important, but we don’t need to revisit
that. You guys don’t need to hear about me missing my teachers and things
“never being the same AGAIN.” I recently read a short piece I wrote right
before I graduated high school and was struck by how different I feel now, four
years later, graduating from something else. I feel ready to leave in a lot of
ways. I don’t feel clingy. I don’t have a chronic fear of losing connections,
maybe because I’ve seen the connections I’ve kept and lost since high school. I
just feel very weird about it all. Note: It will probably be worth my while to
keep a tally on the amount of times I use the word “weird” in this post.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Whenever someone congratulates me on my upcoming graduation
I have the tendency to say something like, “CONGRATULATIONS FOR WHAT? FOR
MAKING IT TO THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS THAT IS MY FUTURE? OH, THANK YOU. THANKS SO
MUCH.” Then I growl and foam at the mouth a bit and steal away to a hovel a la
Gollum. Not really. But I really have used the word “abyss” in the past two
weeks more than I have in my whole life. The truth is, I am excited about the
possibilities of “the post-graduation abyss” as I will now lovingly
(unlovingly) call it. On the other hand, it is, uh an abyss. And an abyss is an
inherently scary thing because of its mystery, its cool unknowability. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">It is a terrifying thing, for me at least, not to have a
planned next step. I am very good with planned next steps. They are something I
like a whole lot, in fact. Go to high school after grammar school, and then
college? YES! Keep my current job until I find something new to move on to?
OBVIOUSLY! Plans are cool. I dig plans. Right now though, the world is my
metaphorical oyster. The problem is I’ve never tried oysters. And they seem
kind of slimy and off-putting, tbh.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">As I’m sure is not at all obvious at this point, I’ve been
doing a lot of dwelling and not a whole lot of celebrating (though there has
been plenty of beer involved). In fact, if you’ll recall the beginning of this
post, I was being super broody about everything (particularly my floofy hair).
Then, I decided that now was a good time to write a blog post and take stock of
what’s really going on versus what my anxiety says is happening (“THE ABYSS!”).
With school ending and my work coming to a close, I’ve had some increase in
free time lately, all of which has been filled with a very satisfying mix of
good food, lots of (you have no idea how many) movies, late night talks, family
time, frantic reconnections, and ideas. Good things. Now is a weird time, where
my obligations are quite fewer than they’ve been for a long time. It’s a time
where, well, I have more time. Or, the same amount of time but differently
allotted. Now is a time where I can look back at projects I forgot, and create
new ones. Find focus. Learn. I can look at the abyss as a bottomless pit or a
road that takes me somewhere new, a place where I’m falling and can’t ever find
footing, or a place that allows me to sit and rest for a while as I figure
things out. Would I like to have a plan? Yes. Would I like to have a job lined
up? Of course. But it’s important to look at the reality of things, I think (it
is also worth noting that I am terrible at looking at the reality of things) in
order to move forward in a way that is productive and makes you feel good. So,
I might not have any advice for you, or for myself, on graduation and the “real
world.” But I can say, or hope, that maybe the post-graduation abyss isn’t so
scary when you look it right in the eyes.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">As for what I've been wearing - frankly, it hasn't been all that interesting. Having a personal style is a lot harder when you feel your sense of style changing but can't buy new clothes because you don't have an income. Also, laziness. I decided I really wanted overalls, and then dug these gems out of a drawer of hardly worn bottoms. Maybe summer will bring back my ability to dress like a cool dude?</span></span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-19375798514745009102013-03-28T12:24:00.003-04:002013-03-28T12:24:40.920-04:00Odds and Odds<center>
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This is weird. Is this weird for you? It's a little weird for me. Right as I started typing a red bar popped up on Blogger that says that there was some sort of error in my post, but I'm going to go with this anyway. This past month since my last post has been...a lot. There have been wonderful things, terrifying things, all sorts of long nights, sleeping in waiting rooms, not sleeping in beds, crying in hospital elevators, trying new beers, seeing new things. There has been a lot of new, a lot of adjusting, and a lot of unexpected. I mean, though, I guess our lives are mostly unexpected moments, right? I mean, no one expects a piano (metaphorical or literal) to drop onto them from a rooftop. No one expects to meet a boy through a long series of wonderful people from New Hampshire. No one expects their 20-something year old sister to need brain surgery. Life is full of a variety of unexpectednesses, and I suppose it's more about how you deal, how you do, what you do. I've been eating a lot, laughing a lot, walking around Manhattan a lot, using ghetto slang a lot, talking to Cheryl and Mike a lot, writing and failing to write poetry a lot, being selfish a lot, being thankful a lot, sitting in bed wondering how I got here a lot. I apparently have also started taking my camera out to play again, after not using it for weeks. Not a lot though, just some of the time. I ain't no photographer, bros. I'm on spring break right now, sort of, and I thought it might be nice to pop in, drop some photos, drop some mics, write a little about what's been going on, and show you a little bit too.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8598372242/" title="march 28 7 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="march 28 7" height="413" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8375/8598372242_c98f7a37f6_z.jpg" width="620" /></a><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">p</span>hotos by Justin and me</span></i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-44206775793433406142013-02-19T18:25:00.000-05:002013-02-19T20:10:02.192-05:00More Adventurous<center>
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Woah, woah, woah - hold the metaphorical phone. Is this a post? I guess this is a post. From me? Yes. You might have noticed that there have been no posts up in here lately. Or maybe you haven't, no one's judging anyone here (though you may be judging me for not posting ever but whatever, no one's judging anyone here). There is a very good reason for that, too. That reason being - I don't really like blogging anymore. THERE, it's out in the open - be free, icky little thought. Well, really, I don't like blogging about my clothes, or a lot of the atmosphere of blogging about clothes anymore. Ugh, that may be an even ickier little thought.<br />
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I've thought a lot about this (SURPRISE SURPRISE) and I realized that fashion blogging has a tendency to make me feel bad about things I would never feel bad about in "real life," or whatever. I don't feel bad about not having a QT photographer boyfriend or lacking photography skills. I don't feel bad about whether or not I have new clothes. I don't feel bad about whether people think my yellow-y teeth are gross or that my calves are more like COWS (see what I did there? See it? I capitalized it). I don't feel bad that I don't go to cute cupcakeries on the daily (though I would like to, sure, because cupcakes). I don't feel bad about how the colors of my clothes look in photographs as opposed to real life. I don't feel bad! When I get caught up in blogging though, I do feel bad about these things. Now, I still enjoy reading fashion and lifestyle blogs. I love seeing what pastries people are eating and their really cool, inspiring outfits and their fun adventures. However, when <i>I'm</i> blogging, and participating, and putting my own content out there, I can feel like my life/clothes/melodrama are all just not good enough, not for myself, but for the blog world.<br />
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I decided a long time ago that this blog was not going to be for anyone but me, and if people wanted to follow along - great! I've met innumerable amazing people through this blog. And a good counter-argument for the previous paragraph is "DO YOUR OWN THING, GURL, DON'T CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK." And I appreciate that. But frankly, there's something about blogging that makes me care <i>more</i> about what other people think, rather than less, and I'm not too down with that. There's also just the fact that I don't feel inspired to carry on with posting outfits of myself. I told you guys that I'd been feeling weird about my body, and that's true. I've also been all over the place with my personal style, which is nowhere near what is was this time last year, and has toned down significantly. And by "toned down," I really mean "I wear the same striped shirt and jeans every day." I've always been "busy," but blogging was something I was passionate enough to stick to. Now though, I don't enjoy taking outfit pictures. I don't enjoy putting together interesting outfits as much as I used to. I still like writing, but I've been trying to gear that drive more towards my poetry, so the content I would put here has been steered elsewhere (sometimes).<br />
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I guess this is a very long-winded way of saying what has probably already become super apparent - that I won't be blogging as much. I'm sure there will be blog posts because I am no good at saying goodbyes or letting anything I care about or have once cared about alone (the second part of this sentence is definitely about blogs and not men). But you guys have shared your stories with me countless times, and have let me be honest with you just as many times, and I figured I should share my thoughts about blogging. I have a lot of things I want to do. I have a lot of thoughts and plans and fears and hopefully donuts. Maybe this blog will turn into something different. Maybe it will peter out. Maybe I will embarrass myself and decide tomorrow that I actually love fashion blogging and return back and better than ever. Maybe this post will self-destruct after you read this. I don't know, really. But I do know that you guys deserved to know what's been going on up in this here noggin, because you've been so supportive of the goop that it has previously dispelled. That was disgusting. Thank you for the journey so far, and for seeing where this whole thing goes next.<br />
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Dress, bag: UO, Shirt: Madewell, Tights: Hue <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-70249643510215789292013-01-27T19:12:00.001-05:002013-01-27T19:12:22.547-05:00Hard To Get<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8421031665/" title="january 27 5 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8090/8421031665_619e1588bc_b.jpg" width="620" height="994" alt="january 27 5"></a></center><br />
I was talking (which means, complaining) to a friend the other day (which means, back in September) about relationships and dating. "WHY can't people just tell each other how they FEEL?" I lamented. "Why are there all these tricks and "codes" and signals and secret handshakes and "blink twice rapidly if you want to go on a second date" things?" He was sympathetic. "How did you meet your girlfriend? Was it simple?" I asked. <i>Oh, she wouldn't even TALK to me at first, let alone date me.</i> Hold the phone. I was aghast and not even because I had a crush on the guy at the time and was like "you should let me love you, let me be the one to, give you everything you want and need." That was definitely not why I was aghast. <br />
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Something about the whole thing bothered me, and, apparently, still bothers me. I know that if I was attracted to some guy on a basic level, but he was purposely treating me like I didn't exist, my friends would say something along the lines of <i>Forget about him, gurl. He doesn't know what he's missing! Now lets drink.</i> They wouldn't encourage me to pursue him as a challenge-mode to be felled (and seduced). The opposite seems to be true for guys, though. I mean, I can't count how many movies show decent guys falling for emotionally unavailable or just downright uninterested girls. Of course, there's generally the trusty best friend, a girl, who secretly loves the boy but SHE'S JUST TOO NICE FOR HIM. The lack of interest is viewed as an obstacle to overcome, not a deterrent. <br />
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From my impressively-extensive television and movie-watching experience, I've been taught that I am supposed to be hard to get, a tough cookie, aloof. Now, if you know me, at all, even slightly, you know that I am not aloof. A loofah maybe, but not aloof (No, I'm not going to apologize for that). I've always been of the mindset that feelings should exist outside of your head and heart - they should be shared and voiced and poem-icised and turned into simple, bad ukulele songs. If I like someone, why should I pretend not to? That's never made sense to me, but it seems to make sense to so much of the world. I came across this quote on tumblr (I know, I know) that was by, I think, good old F. Scott Fitzgerald, and was something along the lines of, "The girl really worth having isn't going to wait for anyone." And hey, I almost reblogged it. That sounds good, you know, I am a strong independent woman, I WAIT FOR NO MAN. But then I found something nagging me about it, the same naggy discomfort I felt when my friend told me his girlfriend wouldn't even talk to him at first. The girl who doesn't give up on someone she cares about, on something she believes in, is for some reason less valuable than a girl who isn't willing to "wait" for it/him/her, whatever "waiting" means? Though a little different, it was the same idea from the romantic comedies I grew up watching, repeated in a story written by someone writing in the 1920's. WHAT?<br />
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Obviously not every relationship starts with one person pursuing someone who has flat-out turned them down, and not every person who's turned down is going to be like, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. But <i>for the whole of my "romantic" life people have been telling me how to "hook a man": play hard to get, unbutton the top button of your blouse (that was my grandmother, btw), chew like you have a secret, don't give too much away, don't kiss him on the first date, don't ever SAY that you like him. </i>I've never understood all that much of it, though. Not that I have, uh, much authority here, but I think some of the last things that should be involved with feelings and relationships are games and tricks and sorcery or whatever. Some strategy? I get that. I've pulled a Ted Mosby or two, and you probably shouldn't tell someone you love them on a first date. But liking someone and telling them, and showing them? Shouldn't it be as easy as that?<br />
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According to my blog, I only wear this sweater. I'm alright with this depiction of myself.<br />
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<center><i>Dress: Madewell, Sweater: Urban Outfitters sale, Belt: Some pair of pants, <br />
Shoes: Ruche, Bag: Elanor, Sunglasses: Target, Eventual hat: Dad's</i><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8421031769/" title="jan 27 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8224/8421031769_14c90bf0d7_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="jan 27"></a><br />
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Until tomorrow,<br />
NicoleAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-79971112638033741632013-01-15T18:09:00.001-05:002013-01-15T18:09:41.066-05:00Old School<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8385242126/" title="jan 15 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8084/8385242126_1c21d2b6bb_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="jan 15"></a></center><br />
I spent yesterday afternoon with my good pal <a href="http://heyjohnlennon.tumblr.com/">Kerri</a> (who some of you internet folk may know) at a rehearsal of a John and Hank Green show, that also included a guest performance by Kimya Dawson (I know, I know). Before hand, though, we decided to grab some lunch at whole foods. Amidst fawning over Thorin, Fili and Kili, discussing a mutual distaste for loud chewing and our inabilities to sleep at night, and more fawning over Thorin, Fili and Kili, we stumbled onto the topic of my writing. Or, rather, she just asked me about. I mentioned in my last post that I was trying to write a sonnet sequence, so I started to tell her about it, too. As I was talking, though, I kind of rambled my way into a fear-laden rant about whether or not anything I do creatively "matters." "Does anyone even CARE if I'm writing a heartfelt sonnet about a lobster? Am I ADDING anything meaningful to the world of poetry?" I was about ready to dramatically throw my prosciutto panini at the loudly chewing man behind us (ya'll know I'd never actually do that, I love food too much to just waste it like that) when she was like, "GURL." And I was like, "I am bereft." But then she was subsequently like, "Of course it matters. Are you just not going to make a movie because someone else in the world's made a movie? NO. You are going to put your spin on an idea, and that matters." <br />
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I think she's right. Well, CORRECTION. I know she's right, I just fully haven't convinced my naggy little neurosis gremlins that my work matters. But it does. One of my favorite things about literature is its ability to remind me that the human experience transcends time or culture. Homer was writing about longing and love way back in ancient Greece. Lord Byron was writing about wanting to bang all the fine-ass ladies of the 1800's. Emily Dickinson struggled with the themes of death and anxiety long before I did. So, why should I <i>not</i> write love poems, or any other sort of poem, just because people have been doing it forever? Why should I not write for the exact reason that I love writing and reading so much? I think that being passionate about something, whether it's a person, a dwarf, or a creative outlet, requires vulnerability. There's something about writing that makes me so scared, and so uncertain, and so fearful that I'm doing it wrong, or that I'm not "worthy" of being a writer, like I'm doing an injustice to Homer, Lord Byron, and Emily Dickinson if I even <i>try</i> to write a sonnet. And it's because I care so much that I know I have to keep going.<br />
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This tale is from yesterday, but these photos are from today. I've been wearing these jeans pretty much non-stop, and this back-pack was a Christmas present I'm very excited to use. I just feel like a cool prep-school punk in this outfit, and I really like it.<br />
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Oh, and by the way, you may have noticed a new link in my sidebar. <a href="http://catchapoembythetoe.tumblr.com/">Catch a Tiger By the Toe</a> is my 365 poetry project, that I started to keep me on my toes about this sonnet sequence. I try to write at least one line a day. Follow along if you like.<br />
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<center>Jeans: JCrew, Blouse: Old Navy, Sweater: Urban Outfitters sale, Backpack: Herschel<br />
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Until tomorrow,<br />
Nicole<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-14103653874803738932013-01-06T21:59:00.001-05:002013-01-06T21:59:24.567-05:00The Wanting Comes in Waves<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8355315241/" title="jan 6 2 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8509/8355315241_a62f04d18a_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="jan 6 2"></a></center><br />
You guys are great. Really. I'm not just trying to flatter you or anything. You're really great! Over the past year especially, I've wanted this blog to become a safe place for me to overshare, and for you guys to share your stories if you feel inclined. So, I just wanted to thank you for your kind words and inspiring stories on my last post. I mentioned in that post that my main goal for the new year was focus. I haven't been all that focused lately, but I have been thoughtful about what I want, and that's at least something. Around the end of December, I came up with this silly idea for a sonnet sequence. I think I was, like, on the express bus coming home from a day in the city when I thought of it, or something very ordinary like that. One of the many things that makes writing difficult for me is this idea of "inspiration." I'm in no position to declare what the "most important" thing you need to have in order to be a real deal writer is, but I will say that I've learned discipline is at least on par with inspiration. Maybe I'm just inclined to say that because it's also one of the most difficult parts about writing for me. As convenient for me as it would be for "inspiration" to just happen, there's work to be done. I think my brain always needs to be turned on to poetry. It's got to be searching for and recognizing what can be a poem, a first line, a metaphor. It's hard work, and I forget that (or ignore it) too frequently. So, giving myself this project, and not "waiting" for something to "speak to me" (oh my god that was like the worst thing I've ever typed), is terrifying. I'm not giving myself any sort of deadline, and even if nothing comes of it, it's something I need to try. It's easy, or at least easi<i>er</i>, to write something when you're in a class, and it's required. There's a push there, and it's nice to have a force of motivation. But, I'm graduating (very very very, oh my god, very) soon, and I'm going to be the only person there to push myself. So, here goes a test run!<br />
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Another goal, like I said, was to get comfortable with my body, and figure out how to use my old clothes to dress myself in a way that feels good. I used to be more into experimenting with my clothes, spending late nights putting outfits together in front of my mirror. And while that's not too much my thing anymore (that may be a lie), I think a bit of creativity could come in handy in figuring this out.<br />
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<center>blouse: Levi's, Tee: Threadless, Skirt: H&M, Shoes: Clarks<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8355315101/" title="jan 6 5 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8323/8355315101_662824d10d_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="jan 6 5"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8355315335/" title="jan 6 1 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8096/8355315335_da46f875e1_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="jan 6 1"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8355314885/" title="jan 6 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8323/8355314885_6134a7fe31_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="jan 6"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8355314945/" title="jan 6 7 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8226/8355314945_a0087c347f_z.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="jan 6 7"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8356376992/" title="jan 6 6 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8357/8356376992_87fcda2d97_z.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="jan 6 6"></a><br />
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This is how I dance (not really) (really).<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8355315163/" title="jan 6 3 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8514/8355315163_3f95b79190_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="jan 6 3"></a></center><br />
Until tomorrow,<br />
Nicole<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-73610292281343296622012-12-31T01:16:00.000-05:002012-12-31T01:16:51.823-05:00Body Talk<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8328997652/" title="dec 30 1 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8075/8328997652_b4e0459569_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 30 1"></a></center><br />
I was going to do one of those yearly round-up posts, I really was. But then I was like, "Noooooooooo." I actually said that, really. Aloud, to myself. You see, I did the work of it. I went through a year's worth of blog posts and picked my favorite outfit from each month. But, as I went further and further back, I got glummer and glummer. It had nothing to do with the year itself, as I've had a wild and crazy and wonderful and adventurous 2012. No, it had to do with, as is the tendency with fashion blogs, how I looked. As I scrolled into the past, all I could see were smaller breasts and smaller thighs (I was apparently a chicken for most of 2012). And who wants to start off a new year reminiscing about the size of their thighs? Not me, no sir.<br />
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So instead, I want to talk a little about my body. You guys may have noticed that I've dropped off the face of the flat blogging world like it was the time of fashion blogger Christopher Columbus. Sure, I've been busy, and yes, it's been the holiday season (so hoop-dee-doo, and dickory-dock, and don't forget to hang up your sock) but I've always been busy, and it's always Christmas (if only, am I right). The truth of the matter is that I don't have the same body I had a year ago, or even, heck, six months ago, and I don't really know what to do with it.<br />
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Because I enjoy coating my misery in a delicious layer of light-hearted humor, I've been telling my family and close friends, when it comes up, that "MY BODY'S JUST GOING THROUGH A LOT OF CHANGES RIGHT NOW," like I'm 13 again. But honestly, my body <i>is </i> going through a lot of changes right now and I'm just sort of like, WHAT IS THIS PUBESCENT SORCERY?<br />
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When I started this blog, I also started a "weight loss journey." I kind of like that dumb phrase, because losing weight is this journey where you have to sort of machete your way through things and fall down cliffs and chart new territory and try not to eat all of the cupcakes. But, I digress. This past summer, I was at my lowest weight, and had just finished training for and running a 5k. I had finally figured out how to dress myself in a way that felt both flattering and reflective of my personality. <br />
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Since then, I've gained about 10 pounds. But this isn't just a weight thing. My breasts feel <i>huge</i>, you guys. I don't even know. My <i>bras</i> don't even fit, which means it's going to be a long sojourn through jiggle city until I fork over the money for a new Victoria's Secret bra. I've got stretch marks in a whole lot of areas I'm already self-conscious about. A thyroid problem I've had for, probably, my whole life has been causing a lot more body hair to grow, and I already have plenty. I've always been self-conscious about it all, and have struggled a lot lately with the wondrous world of hair-removal products and techniques, shaping and trimming, bleaching and tweezing. I have very mixed feelings about female hair removal, but I can't deny that all of mine makes me feel more than a little self-conscious (mostly in the "but will boys think I'm GROSS?!" way, which is probably the worst way). And this is going to sound weird, I'm sure (because going on about body hair for a paragraph isn't weird), but I feel like my <i>face</i> looks different. Older. Wider? Wiser? Just different. And frankly, I'm a little overwhelmed by it all.<br />
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A big part (the biggest part) of having a fashion blog is taking photos of yourself as frequently as possible, saying, to an extent, look at me and what I'm wearing. And frankly, I haven't been wanting to extend that invitation very far lately. It's not an "I'm ugly and I hate my body" situation, though I have plenty of days where I just glare, gut extended at my side profile in the mirror saying LOOK AT THE MONSTER YOU'VE CREATED. Really, it's more of an "I have no idea what the hell I'm doing" situation. I don't know what I'm doing, and I feel a little, well, wrong, saying "look at my style, be inspired," when I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what shapes work best on my new boxy hips and larger waist, I don't know how to be both a lumberjack and a JCrew model, I don't know what cream concoction gets rid of stretch marks best, I don't know how the hell to "landscape" my body hair, but at Christmas my cousin was going on about MANSCAPING and I wanted to punch him in the FACE because I am a WOMAN and I am supposed to KNOW what the HELL to do with my BODY HAIR, not my MAN COUSIN who is a MAN and doesn't have social pressures to be a HAIRLESS PORCELAIN GODDESS.<br />
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Hoo. Got a little carried away there. Let's bring it back down. Let's think of kittens. Kittens in little boots. And hats. Ahh, there we go.<br />
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I just finished up a, probably incomplete, list of new year's resolutions, and while one of them is "become comfortable with my body," whatever that entails, I think my main goal for the year is to focus. Focus on writing and getting published. Focus on getting healthy. Focus on what I really want for myself and how I want to achieve it. I don't think that losing 30 pounds and going hairless is going to make me "comfortable with my body." I think there is a way for me to be comfortable, though, and I just need to focus on what that would be, <i>how</i> to be comfortable. I took these pictures with my mother this morning and stopped halfway through, saying my outfit made me look fat, and that I probably should stop fashion blogging altogether. After thinking about it, I realized quitting probably wasn't going to help anything. So, instead, I decided to put up some of the photos from today, because after looking at them again I realized I was probably being a bit hard on myself (surprise, surprise). So, let's raise a metaphorical new year's eve toast to focusing on what we truly want and how to achieve it, to having body hair if you want it, and to realizing there is beauty even when you're sure there isn't.<br />
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<center>Shirt: Delia's, Denim shirt: Madewell (gift), Jeans: Urban Outfitters, Boots: Dolce Vita (gift)<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8328998128/" title="dec 30 5 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8357/8328998128_c67e1f0247_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 30 5"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8328998062/" title="dec 30 4 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8078/8328998062_a69d48105e_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 30 4"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8328997930/" title="dec 30 2 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8216/8328997930_3f2be06199_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 30 2"></a><br />
playing the accordion on my shirt, apparently.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8328997234/" title="dec 30 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8222/8328997234_d165d81606_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 30"></a></center><br />
Until tomorrow,<br />
Nicole<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-14026852183298019022012-12-19T20:03:00.000-05:002012-12-19T20:15:03.872-05:00Litte Bits and Big Changes<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8289941760/" title="dec 19 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8071/8289941760_ce444cc4f5_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 19"></a></center><br />
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This is Nicole Testa here, reporting to you live from beneath three blankets, a pile of dirty laundry and roughly 47 books. The only false thing about that sentence is that I'm not a news reporter. I've just finished up my work for this fall semester and am very slowly (think baby sloth) burrowing my way back to reality, one Sufjan Stevens Christmas album at a time. It's so strange to me that I've managed to neglect this blog for so long, especially since things have been changing a bit up in here, up in here. One might even say these changes made me act a fool up in here, up in here. I'm sorry, I couldn't help it (I'm not sorry, but I couldn't have helped it).<br />
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You might have read my post, "The Giver," a few days (weeks, months, YEARS? Okay, definitely not years) ago, or you might have started and been like screw this after a few sentences. That post felt weird didn't it? Ew, that post. Let's just put it behind us. Except for that jumper. Let's put that jumper on me. The problem, I think, is that last week, I had a lot of things I wanted to say, but I wasn't ready to say them. I was jumping the gun on saying things that I really couldn't talk about at the time, and what resulted was this weird, sort of self-righteous, not even completely honest post that made me go "yuck-o, buck-o" (I probably didn't actually say that). <br />
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The main change I'm talking vaguely about is that I quit my part-time job last Friday. There were a lot of reasons, most of them personal. This was no easy decision, no-sirree Bob. Or, the Christmas version, "no-sirree, Parson Brown." This semester was difficult. I had too much on my plate to be happy, and the problem was that it was all voluntary. I put that stress-food on my plate myself. And let me tell you, stress-food is gross, like liver or brussels sprouts or Flinstones vitamins. Next semester will be my final semester of college, possibly my final semester in "school," and I want to participate in it. I want to find new opportunities for myself, experience new things. I want to spend all morning dissecting an Emily Dickinson poem while that is still part of my job as a student. I want to at least try to be social (???) and do some silly and not so silly college things while I still can. I want to graduate with as few regrets as possible.<br />
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One of the wisest people I know told me repeatedly over the past few months that if you're not happy at your job, if your work doesn't make you feel good, then there's no reason to stay. I know that it's not that easy, but it is very, very important. It is important to feel valuable, and safe, and productive, and excited - especially when you're still young and figuring things out. And I was neglecting my itch to "expand my horizons," to seek a new happiness when the old one had run dry. But now I am determined to scratch the itch (literally and figuratively, btw). I am so excited to have found an amazing internship for this spring at a place called Figment (some of you folks might remember I entered a poetry contest there last year and asked for you to help by voting for me. Thanks for that, again). I'll be doing a lot of work that I care about, and learning a lot of new things, and traveling to the city and probably drinking too much flavored coffee. It just feels like a right decision in so many ways, and that is a swell feeling.<br />
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This semester has been one of so many goodbyes, of so many instances of me feeling like time was running out on me while I scrambled to find my balance, to find the right words to say to the right people. I know everyone is, like, stereotypically "bad at goodbyes," because honestly, if you met a person who was excellent at goodbyes you'd probably think they were a real jerk. But, I am especially bad, because I cling, and don't see the point in any relationship (with a few exceptions) being final, which is not a viewpoint everyone shares, as I have found. But as I say goodbye to friends graduating early, co-workers with superb facial hair, old jobs, old classes, old pairs of tights, I take pride in knowing that it is possible to move forward without losing the things you leave behind, that you can take leaps and do new, exciting, scary things, and only have to say "but I'll see you soon, because I love you." Now, let's all raise the hypothetical Caramel Brulee Lattes we all wish we had and toast to progress without forgetfulness, and the good selfishness that can be really hard sometimes, but is necessary if we want to grow and find out how wide our arm spans can really be.<br />
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I know that indoor photos are a no-no, unless there's like, daylight, and a white, blank wall or whatever, but outdoor shots were just not happening today (or yesterday, or the day before that), and hey, at least there's a Christmas tree?<br />
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<center>Dress: Vintage, Sweater: H&M<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8288882117/" title="dec 19 1 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8496/8288882117_9f01359efb_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 19 1"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8288882173/" title="dec 19 2 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8504/8288882173_e25c7f1797_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 19 2"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8288882419/" title="dec 9 7 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8358/8288882419_5a14389850_z.jpg" width="620" height="377" alt="dec 9 7"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8288882373/" title="dec 9 6 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8221/8288882373_906b0343d9_z.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="dec 9 6"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8289942024/" title="dec 9 5 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8353/8289942024_edab56f0f6_z.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="dec 9 5"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8288882269/" title="dec 9 3 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8357/8288882269_89c0de128f_z.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="dec 9 3"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8288882215/" title="dec 9 4 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8356/8288882215_4ae7cb3866_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 9 4"></a></center><br />
Until tomorrow,<br />
NicoleAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-560106503104489232012-12-13T17:18:00.004-05:002012-12-13T17:21:04.304-05:00Doodle Do<center>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8271069630/" title="d 4 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="d 4" height="872" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8359/8271069630_e70d3a2bbc_b.jpg" width="620" /></a><br />
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So, let's just put it out there that OH HEY, I really shouldn't be on blogger right now because OH HEY, I have eight thousand (give or take 7,990) final projects to do, but OH HEY, here I am. Things have been wonk-central over here, personally and school-ally. I'll have a post where I talk about some exciting things soon, but for now, I wanted to put up a little post to say hi, and maybe grab a quick cup of coffee with you guys, before I dash out the door to write 5 final papers. Some of you may know that I love poetry, though I'm very shy about sharing it here. Someday, maybe. Something that's been really calming this semester, though, is doodling. Back in high school, we didn't have creative writing classes, so instead I tried out visual art. I'm not so good at it, but I still enjoy it. So, I thought it would be fun to just share some doodles I've done lately with you guys. Someday, when I stop being a big ol' wimpity wimp, maybe you'll get some poems, but for now, DOODLES!<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8270005037/" title="d 9 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="d 9" height="423" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8363/8270005037_883c9bb20b_z.jpg" width="620" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8271069782/" title="d 5 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="d 5" height="413" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8354/8271069782_e63961d45a_z.jpg" width="620" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8271069212/" title="d 2 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="d 2" height="450" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8361/8271069212_a3f5c63e53.jpg" width="300" /></a> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8270004179/" title="d 3 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="d 3" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8344/8270004179_0214b08701.jpg" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8271069920/" title="d 6 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="d 6" height="450" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8501/8271069920_36925b7673.jpg" width="300" /></a> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8270004797/" title="d 1 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="d 1" height="450" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8490/8270004797_6df36b8273.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8271070510/" title="d 10 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="d 10" height="428" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8223/8271070510_6d8850f805_z.jpg" width="620" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8270004891/" title="d 7 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="d 7" height="850" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8079/8270004891_de09fa4f4a_b.jpg" width="620" /></a></center>
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Until tomorrow,<br />
NicoleAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-51225945459756238912012-12-05T23:30:00.000-05:002012-12-05T23:30:17.232-05:00The Giver<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8247540127/" title="dec 5 2 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8341/8247540127_e70c92a46e_b.jpg" width="620" height="929" alt="dec 5 2"></a></center><br />
No, no, no. Not that <i>The Giver.</i> Though, Lois Lowry certainly is an author worth talking about. I'm more so talking about myself, but I'm inclined to delete this sentence because WOW, does that make it seem like this is going to be a disgustingly self-glorifying blog post about how freaking charitable I am or whatever. But fear not, that's not my intent. At all. In fact, there's probably going to be a good deal of self-<i>deprecation</i> in this post. Here here!<br />
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What I really want to talk about is giving and giving and getting attached and becoming a semi-endearing host for a whole bunch of sometimes attractive but often not completely worth it love leaches. Got it? Cool.<br />
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I was talking to a friend tonight night over an abundance of Mexican food about a current crisis I'm dealing with (I'll just let you guess at it based on your current knowledge of my life, it's more fun when posts are interactive). I was sort of (read:very much so, in a high pitched whine) going on about how I feel guilty and responsible for making a good, solid decision that benefits me but inconveniences someone I care too much about. As I fretted, she sighed and said, "Nicole, you are a giver." I stared into the abyss of Mexican rice on my plate and took a very long sip of sangria.<br />
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Here is where I attempt to define what a giver is, not at all ever based at all on my personal experience. Because what do I know about that. A giver is a special creature who is pretty bashful and sometimes lives in a small hovel type dwelling, a la a fox. Maybe they just spend a lot of time in their bedrooms. Wherever they are, they are generally spending at least some of their time thinking of sweet things to say or creating thoughtful gifts to give the people they think are really swell. They are known to try too hard, harder than the person they think is really swell, and often they inconvenience themselves for people who sometimes deserve love and warm gestures, but plenty of times so totally do not even deserve a low-five.<br />
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Okay, I lied, that definition is 100% solely based on me. I've always been a fan of gifts. Now you're saying to yourself/me, "Nicole, that's such a dumb thing to say, who doesn't like gifts?" But what I mean is, I like the <i>idea </i>of a gift a whole lot. I love the idea of getting someone something meaningful just because you like them. Just because you like them! That's all. You think to yourself, "I really think that person's swell, and I want to make them happy, so I'm going to do/make/find/buy/carve/cook this for them, and they're going to DIG IT." That makes me happy. It is also a huge part of my personality (to a fault?) to show my like, and speak my like, for other people. Often, though, I've found that the sentiment isn't reciprocated. That doesn't stop me though. Because you are still my friend, someone I like a whole lot, and by gum, I'm going to keep at it.<br />
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I'm not saying here that, oh wow, I am a very sweet person and it is such a problem because I am just TOO SWEET. No, sirree Bob. It's more of an argument that I have an insecurity that folks won't love me unless it is known, and known via expressing it early on, and loudly. How does this tie in to my lamenting over making a decision that benefits myself? PERFECTLY, I THINK. This need to make others happy and insecurity that if I am not proactively being like LOOK, LOOK I MADE YOU A SWEATER MADE OUT OF APPLE PIES BECAUSE I KNOW YOU LOVE SWEATERS AND APPLE PIES, then that person isn't aware that I care. And making a decision that benefits only me and has a side effect of inconveniencing another person, any like or love that person felt for me must hypothetically fly out the hypothetical window, right? <br />
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Wrong. One of the quotes I've most frequently heard in my life is something along the lines of "If someone was really going to drop you that easily, then they're not worth your time." But that's also one of the hardest things for me to remember. Sure, a person isn't a good friend, and is likely not worth having in your life, if they're going to lose their like of you at the drop of a hat. Unless it was a glass family heirloom hat that you angrily threw on the floor to break and insult them. That's understandable. <br />
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It's one of many things I'm working on, and can be categorized under the broad umbrella heading of knowing your own worth - something I seem to always come back to. Lately I've noticed more and more reciprocation in my life. And honestly, maybe it was always there, or always trying to be, but I was too insecure to see it. But now I'm starting to see it. Here here, am I right?<br />
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Oh, and I'm wearing an outfit I like.<br />
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<center>Jumper: Beacon's Closet, Top: Levi's, Shoes: Dolce Vita via Marshall's, Coat: Lord & Taylor<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8247540171/" title="dec 5 4 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8339/8247540171_298db20254_b.jpg" width="620" height="927" alt="dec 5 4"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8247540293/" title="dec 5 5 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8477/8247540293_b701f958c3_b.jpg" width="620" height="924" alt="dec 5 5"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8247540401/" title="dec 5 7 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8200/8247540401_00f64f5de1_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 5 7"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8248608088/" title="dec 5 3 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8200/8248608088_8bc88774f3_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="dec 5 3"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8247540553/" title="dec 5 11 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8490/8247540553_335a124856_z.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="dec 5 11"></a></center><br />
Until tomorrow,<br />
NicoleAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-47548667312007371952012-11-25T20:17:00.000-05:002012-11-25T20:17:38.914-05:00A Blue Raft on The Blue Sea<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8218942006/" title="nov 25 7 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8339/8218942006_6734588fde_b.jpg" width="620" height="846" alt="nov 25 7"></a></center><br />
My first inclination in writing this post was to do one of those cheesy "long time, no see"/"hey, remember me? I USED TO BLOG" opening jokes, but you people are better than that so I won't. Instead, I've decided to JUMP AT YOU GUYS.<br />
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I'm going to be honest here (surprise, surprise), and say that I haven't been feeling completely up to snuff this semester, or, more specifically, completely like myself, whatever that means. Since summer ended, I haven't felt in control of my life in the way I would like to. And I mean, obviously we're all only "in control" of our lives to a certain extent, but let me try to explain. I've been busier in the past few months than I've ever been in my life. I've been working more, teaching a class on the weekends, internship searching, and trying to, like, "enjoy" my senior year of college while trying to do my best to keep my grades up to my own standards (and, let's be honest, "enjoying college" for me is really just like, being able to keep my grades up to my own standards). But since September, I've been feeling increasingly like I'm on a treadmill, and someone's raising the speed at an absurd rate, and instead of being able to keep up, it's like I'm in a cartoon, and I just got sucked up into the machine and am just stuck in the treadmill going at hyper-speed but not even being able to get up, let alone run. Got all that? Okay, cool.<br />
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It's been scary, to be honest. It feels an awful lot like one particular part of my life has absorbed the rest of it. I've been really bad at making time for things I care about - friends, blogging, writing for kicks. By the time I come home from work, I have school work to do, or, if it's been a particularly rough day, I'll go do something mindless like scroll through tumblr reblogging cats in bow ties until I pass out.<br />
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Two weeks ago, I had my first Friday off in a very long time. I woke up guiltlessly late, and spent all morning working intently and thoughtfully on an Emily Dickinson paper, sipping coffee, criminal minds on very low volume in the background. I went to the track and jogged a very chilly mile as the sun started to dip below the tallest buildings. I got dinner (and a very large piece of tiramisu) with a very good friend, came home, and fell asleep watching more criminal minds. That entire day, I kept thinking about how happy I was, how my head was finally above water (or that I had finally unwound myself from the treadmill? Are we continuing on with that metaphor?) and how I felt in control of my life again, if only for that day. I've been trying to channel that day to get me through the coming weeks of the supreme grossness that is the end of a semester. Life is a lot of flux, a lot of things coming and going, but currently, I feel like I'm on some especially shakey ground. It's exciting too, though, you know? That excitement of like, standing on a precarious beam while walking across a river, where you could fall, and that's terrifying, but there's also something exhilarating about not knowing exactly what comes next, or how wet your pant legs will be by the time you get there. Right? Okay, good.<br />
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This outfit required me to learn how to tie a bow tie, so I did. I think it makes me look like a wacky old english professor, which is the look I'm generally going for. Also, almost everything I'm wearing is from Uniqlo, which, as a store, freaks me out, but while in the city last week, I braved it for the flannel. Alternate post title: I Did It All for the Flannel.<br />
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<center>Top, skirt: Uniqlo, Shoes: Vintage<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8217859603/" title="nov 25 6 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8344/8217859603_efe0de6a9f_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="nov 25 6"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8217858951/" title="nov 25 8 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8203/8217858951_235d325ff3_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="nov 25 8"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8218941900/" title="nov 25 9 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8067/8218941900_dff8ed47dc_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="nov 25 9"></a><br />
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Until tomorrow,<br />
NicoleAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-65776766221308912592012-11-24T06:00:00.000-05:002012-11-24T06:00:05.007-05:00Small Business Saturday at Faces and Faces!<center>
<span style="font-size: large;">Hi folks! I know things have been slow around these parts lately, and that is because I am busy busy busy (and bad at prioritizing?) BUT, I wanted to let you guys know that all weekend, <b>I'm offering 25% off any brooch purchase from my etsy shop <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/facesandfaces">Faces and Faces!</a></b> So, <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/facesandfaces">take a look</a> and see if there's a face you like. And oh goodness, expect a mildly exasperated, very full life update soon, promise.</span>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8212031339/" title="etsy banner 1 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="etsy banner 1" height="101" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8068/8212031339_60bec5a509_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8213127750/" title="walt by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img alt="walt" height="400" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8057/8213127750_7e253bcc6b_z.jpg" width="600" /></a><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125315854820262666.post-61144956258172842612012-11-03T18:27:00.001-04:002012-11-03T18:27:36.635-04:00The Coffee Shop Chronicles<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8151798316/" title="nov 2 10 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8197/8151798316_4863492151_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="nov 2 10"></a><br />
</center>That sounds like a bad teenage, possibly paranormal, mystery series, am I right? But sorry to disappoint - I'm just talking about my own life, which is not teenage, or paranormal, though it is mysterious sometimes. You know me, always jib-jabbering on about baby steps and progress and giving yourself pats on the shoulder with not one but both hands because you deserve it. So, when I tell you "Hey, I almost feel silly talking about this in a blog post," you know things are getting pretty serious. I'll even excuse you for a moment while you recover from the spit-take that I just caused you to have.<br />
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There is a coffee shop up by my job that is hip and happening and always full of regulars, and also puppies. The puppies are also regulars, as if the situation wasn't intimidating enough. See what I just did, though. I called a situation that involves puppies and coffee intimidating - and I love both of those things. The problem is, if you haven't already guessed at it, that I am very easily intimidated. If you've been checking into this blog for a while, you know this, and you know that, while it is easier than before, it is still hard for me to do things on my own without feeling like everyone's watching my every move, waiting for me to screw up my coffee order, or spontaneously throw up on the pastry case. Even though no one gives a gosh darn hootin toot about what I'm doing, I feel like everyone cares, and that is enough to make me want to walk right past the coffee shop.<br />
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So I did walk past it, plenty of times. TOO HIP, TOO INTIMIDATING, TOO MANY JUDGMENTAL SMALL DOGS, are just a sampling of things I heard in my head. I'm sure I've mentioned before that I had a pretty decent-sized struggle with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I did this thing my psychologist called "evening out" where an even amount of my body parts had to be touching or, I was convinced, something bad would happen to me. This was my worst "behavior," but there was others. During my first week of college I had a breakdown so fierce I didn't verbally communicate with people for days. I don't think I've told more than three people that fact in my whole life, oops. I've pretty much had anxiety "COMIN' OUT THE EEYUZ!!," as my grandmother would say, for a very long time. It's been a process, but I'm WOW so much better about it all now. I still have plenty of moments though, like, oh hey how convenient, the coffee shop.<br />
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A few weeks ago I went into the coffee shop and got a cappuccino. A victory cappuccino, as I am apt to call it. I was nervous and awkward and forgot to put a splenda in it but, by gum, I got it. I went again today, and was, once again, sort of clumsily awkward. Don't you just hate when it's not clear where you're supposed to stand, or where the line forms? Ugh, but minor issue. This time, though, I did remember to put splenda in my latte. HUZZAH. And even though I didn't know where to stand, and the cute barista guy had to say "for future reference, the line forms over here," that latte was delicious. The latte was delicious. Isn't that the point it all comes down to?! The latte was delicious! I am getting ahead of myself (and wishing I had another latte). Sure, I was fumbly and (charmingly?) awkward and uncomfortable, but I ended up with what I wanted. Because I asked for it. Because I made the decision to do something, albeit microscopic in that fantastically vague "grand scheme of things," to make myself uncomfortable to achieve the result I wanted.<br />
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Now maybe you see why I felt like I was bordering on silly by writing this post. I'm sure at least one of you has been like "Omg, JUST SUCK IT UP AND GET YOUR GODDAMN COFFEE IF YOU WANT YOUR GODDAMN COFFEE, UGH YOU DISGUST ME but your blazer is cute." Though, I think you're probably barking up the wrong blog if you in fact do not want to hear me attempting to encourage you (and me) with baby step successes. The truth is, this is my life. Maybe it does sound absurd, and maybe it is, but these are the things I deal with, the choices I make, or don't make, or regret not making, and though I absolutely don't put a positive spin on them all the time (trust me, you can often find me covered in 30 blankets feeling sorry for my coffee-less self while listening to the slowest sad-jams I can find, but never Bon Iver because I just cannot, sorry guys) but in my posts, I like to clear my head and think as rationally and triumphantly as I can. I think I and every other good person, spend too much time beating ourselves up, so if I can lessen that for me, and you, then by gum plum dooby dooby dum I'm going to try it out.<br />
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Now, an important note about my outfit: I am wearing a blazer.<br />
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<center>Skirt: H&M, Sweater: TJMaxx, Shoes, Shirt: Thrift, Blazer: Gap<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8151772409/" title="nov 2 1 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7126/8151772409_5da0c5dae4_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="nov 2 1"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8151772147/" title="nov 2 6 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7117/8151772147_8036e594f6_z.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="nov 2 6"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8151797940/" title="nov 2 7 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8485/8151797940_0ea83ba7d1_z.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="nov 2 7"></a><br />
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This is my face:<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8151771295/" title="nov 2 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7127/8151771295_68c834d48f_z.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="nov 2"></a><br />
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This is my face when ordering a latte:<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8151772001/" title="nov 2 8 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8344/8151772001_8ec8637c8a_z.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="nov 2 8"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thoreausneckbeard/8151771409/" title="nov 2 9 by Coco Maria, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8487/8151771409_c33315a908_b.jpg" width="620" height="930" alt="nov 2 9"></a></center><br />
Until tomorrow,<br />
Nicole<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13238461790610178211noreply@blogger.com17