Poetry Festival

Today, I headed over to the wonderful, wonderful Governors Island just off Manhattan to attend the New York Poetry Festival. Though I planned on going as just an attendee, when I realized they had a "vendors village" I decided I should try to sell some of my brooches from Faces and Faces at the event! I mean, if anyone wanted to buy a literary brooch it would be the folks who go to a poetry festival, am I right? It was a beautiful day spent chatting folks up, handing out business cards, and even selling a few (five! not too shabby) brooches. I had never been to Governors Island before, but now I want to go back as soon as possible. It's a magical little island that's just a huge public park. No one lives on it, and there are just beautiful fields everywhere. My sister and I honestly forgot we were a few minutes ferry ride away from Manhattan, that's how wonderful it was. I can't wait to go back with a picnic lunch and frisbee in hand. On our little lunch break, my sister and I walked around the island and even rented bikes! There really shouldn't be an exclamation point there, since it was sort of a disaster, since we're not very good at bike riding. I hope to improve someday, though. All in all, it was a lovely day. I even got to meet Walt Whitman.

Dress: Madewell, Hat: Salvation Army







A Walt Whitman impersonator came over, saw my brooches, and bought a Walt Whitman brooch. He subsequently had me put the brooch on the Peter Doyle (Walt Whitman's supposed lover) impersonator. It was definitely a highlight, and I just had to take a photo of that pair.





This picture is misleading, since I walked the bike back from this point on. I don't trust myself around pedestrians/trees/ air.







Until tomorrow,
Nicole

Don't Think Twice, It's Alright

When you're a kid, people are always talking about growth spurts - those sudden changes in height or the size of your feet or earlobes. The thing about growth spurts, though, is that you can never feel yourself growing. One day you're short, and the next, you're tall. You go to bed with baby feet and wake up needing to shop in a whole new section of Payless.

Lately, I have felt myself growing, and it has been so disorienting. Not growing in the physical sense, of course, but in how I handle myself, in what I do, in the sense that I'm becoming, possibly, a stronger version of myself. I have been stressed more this past week than I have been in a very long time. Nightly, I feel like I've got this medicine ball sitting in the center of my chest, with this anxious energy making my fingertips uneasy. I was just chalking it up to my inability to do enough at once, to control my feelings, to make the best decisions for myself. After a lot of (too much) reflection and a little bit of (too much) optimism, though, I think it's exactly the opposite.

That nervous energy vibrating in my bones isn't failure, it's growth. It's the feeling of me adjusting and changing, albeit awkwardly and uncomfortably, into a more capable, strong, wise, and for the hell of it let's just add charming, person. The girl who is terrified of people not liking her, of displeasing people, is turning into the girl who can confidently (read: with all the grace of a beached whale in a too small bowler hat, but still) tell a boy that she doesn't want to have sex with him, even though if she doesn't he probably won't talk to her ever again. The girl who is afraid to make phonecalls is turning into the girl who can confidently answer student questions over the phone and call up Robison Air TWICE to get a technician over to fix the air conditioner. The girl who was terrified of being alone for the rest of her life has been single (mostly) by choice for almost a year. The girl who didn't have a job this time last year is now taking on more hours and more work than ever (and, oh god, writing an entire grant proposal). The girl who thinks this all sounds vain still thinks this all sounds vain, but is in the process of trying to convince herself that confidence is not vanity. So yes, I feel this uncomfortable tension, but, I think, that's just the push and pull of my heart and my mind (but not my body because I eat too much ice cream) becoming better, and stronger, and more capable than ever.

Jumper: Thrifted, Top: Delia's, Sandals: Korks by Kork-Ease











Until tomorrow,
Nicole

Old Fashioned

`I'm not generally thankful for Sundays, but last week was ridiculous, so I'm pretty alright with welcoming in a new week. Thankfully, this weekend was a nice mix of fun and lazy. On Saturday, I went to the Pleasantville Music Festival with my friend Stephanie. It was so nice, guys. It was outdoors on a big lawn, so while we got a little sunburnt, we had a good time jamming out, sitting on the grass, and eating Italian ices. And quesadillas. And funnel cake. And lemonade. There were a bunch of bands there, but I really wanted to see Good Old War and Delta Spirit, who I've been listening to like crazy lately. The frontman of Good Old War had the best dance moves I've ever seen in my life, and the frontman of Delta Spirit had the best hair (and face, and everything else) I've ever seen in my life. Today has been the lazy half of the weekend, since I've just been brooching out some brooches for my brooch shop, and I got to hang around in Barnes and Noble drinking a frappecino.

This outfit is definitely something high school me would adore, and then poorly attempt to emulate. Grammar school me on the other hand would hate it, because grammar school me wasn't into anything that didn't show off my breasts/wasn't a pink velour tracksuit. I went through my slutty phase early, okay? Anyway, I've been trying to think of a way to style these chucks, because I got an urge to wear them again, so I ended up with a slightly older, cuter version of my every day look in high school.
Jeans: Levi's, Dress/tunic/shirt: Callie's








Oh, and for those of you wondering about the, uh, (non-) booty call mentioned in the previous post, it was kind of like this. Just replace the text in the first frame with "He wanted to have sex with me." WHY CAN'T TWO PEOPLE JUST MAKE OUT? WHY?

   

   


   



Until tomorrow,
Nicole

More Adventurous

Lately, I've been blogging only when I have something to say and show, not just show. Maybe show and tell would have worked better, since that's actually a phrase. Right now, the only thing I can think of to tell is the tragic tale of my first real "booty call," which, while I am way too open about my personal life on this blog, is probably a story best saved for another day. Or never. You know, whichever. Aside from that, the only thing that I've been sort of obsessing over is my Write Four Lines a Night Because Kurt Vonnegut Told You To Challenge. That was long winded. I mentioned it a few posts ago, that I was trying to write four lines of poetry every night, good or bad or really really bad, just to keep myself writing. There have been plenty of sleepy nights where I enter my room and the light's already out, and I'd rather go straight to bed, but instead I work for a few minutes by the glow of the computer screen. I've done it for two weeks now, and have mostly written really weird things, but it still feels so nice to be creating a very little something every night.

In other news, I appear to be channeling a scatter-brained art teacher from the 90's with this outfit. And I need to change my hair again. I tell you, I would chop it all off if I didn't think my face would be 100% nose without some hair to counterbalance it.


Skirt: Vintage, Vest: Salvation Army, Blouse: Macy's, Sandals: Korks by Kork-Ease













Until tomorrow,
Nicole

Looking For Food On An Empty Plate

Every now and then, I stumble across something on tumblr that sends me spiraling down the dark, cloggy, drain of harsh self-assessment. I don't generally read text-images, because to be honest, the main reason I go on that website is so I can look at pretty things for a little while and stop thinking so much about things. As I was scrolling through the other day, I saw one and almost kept on right past it, except that my eye caught sight of the word "plate," and I thought it might be about food (you know how I do). It was not about food. I don't remember all of it, but the last sentence was something like "It is hard to admit you have been looking for food on an empty plate." That phrase has been wedged in my brain for days. It's the kind of perfect analogy for my life at the moment that I wish I could say I came up with myself. I guess I could say it, but I would be lying, and lying is unfortunate.

I have been searching for food on an empty plate. This phrase can mean a lot of things, apply to a lot of things. For me, it's been prodding at my heart with a judgmental pointer finger. I have been smitten with a boy who has a girlfriend for an embarrassingly long time. It's so embarrassing that I won't even admit it (almost a year). I haven't been pursuing him, and wanting to date him something fierce has not kept me from pursuing or allowing myself to be pursued by (hypothetical) other folks. But the desire for him has been lingering, growing louder and louder at times, then shrinking again, settling into that spot just at the top of my back, the spot you can never scratch when it itches. On the many nights I found myself unable to fall right asleep, I reviewed our interactions, scouring every exchange, every touch, every awkward silence, looking for something to cling to. Maybe THIS means he secretly wants to bang me? Maybe? I was looking for something that wasn't there. I was, to drive the point home, looking for food on an empty place.

The thing about "looking for food on an empty plate" is that food could, hypothetically be on that plate.  There could be crumbs, traces of something, something like infatuation, but crumbs are nothing to cling to, nothing to build a big, dreamy hope on, nothing to get enveloped in. The thing about the empty plate is that we tell ourselves that maybe, someday, someone will in fact put food on that plate. Someday he will leave her for me. Someday I will like my job. Someday pie will rain down from the clouds in what will truly be "the perfect storm."It is a good thing to hope, and to have hope. It is a good thing to wonder and dream. But it is not a good thing to put your life on hold for that hope, to mope for that hope, to obsess over that hope. To stop exploring for an empty plate is a terrible thing.  Maybe someday we will end up together. Maybe someday you will like your job. Maybe someday pie will rain down from the clouds in what will truly be "the perfect storm." I want to have a little hope, tucked away where I barely know its presence, in a place where I can forget about it, but think of it rarely and smile to myself. I want that hope in a place where it doesn't determine what I do, or how I act or how I run my life. I want to work hard and explore and put food on my own plate to provide for myself, instead of looking for food on an empty plate.


Shirt: Cotton on, Jeans: H&M, Sandals: Korks by Kork-Ease, Cat tote: DIY









Until tomorrow,
Nicole

God Only Knows

It has been really hot here. Meltingly hot. Disgustingly hot. Lose five pounds in pure sweat hot (don't worry, though, I ate enough cake to make up for it). Unfortunately, I haven't been able to make my way to a beach, or pool, or ocean, or ocean-sized tub of ice-cream during the heat wave. Instead, I did the next best thing (it is a far second, let me tell you) and dressed how I would if I was going to go to the beach and listened to the Beach Boys. I picked up this seashell skirt at a thrift store in New Hampshire while visiting Callie for only five bucks. The day I bought it, I was wearing my shark t-shirt, and we had a little chuckle about my "nautical style."


blouse: h&m, skirt: thrifted, sandals: korks by kork-ease

 

Half Full

I am very good at not committing to things. People, I'll commit to - you can bet on that. But myself? No dice. Or deal, whichever you prefer. Whenever I start something, I hardly ever finish it. It's a terrible quality, really. When I was nine, I took piano lessons and quit after about four lessons. When I was 15 I tried again, and quit again. I've also been known to leave packs of oreos only half eaten. And it's not because I didn't want to become a master pianist, and it's not because I didn't want to eat the whole pack of oreos. I just seem to hardly ever want anything hard enough to fight for it, to work my hands to the bone for it. I'm honestly surprised I've managed to keep this blog alive for two years. It's terrifying to feel this lazy, impatient feeling creeping up again, but I do, I feel it, slinking it's way around me like a nylon rope trying to pull me in another direction before I've even spotted the shore I'm rowing towards. I started to feel it with my writing recently. I hadn't strongly felt the urge to write poetry since maybe early May. The desire to write was there, but not the drive. And I was honestly just letting it slip away. Poetry is probably the one thing I've cared about (besides friends, family and pizza) for as long as I can remember. It has been a constant for a very inconsistent me, and I was just allowing myself to lose it. Terrifying.

I do not want to half-do anything anymore. I am tired of half-doing. It is less fun to eat a half-baked cake than a fully baked cake. It is less satisfying to half-finish a 5k than to finish one. I care about poetry, so it's about time I stop half-caring about it. In an attempt to full-care, I've started writing four lines of poetry every night (thanks to an aptly timed KV quote). It's mostly been weird, sappy stuff (about gurkins?), but it's been something. It's been a commitment to keep writing. And then there's my etsy shop. I am so easily discouraged. It goes along right along with the impatience, I guess. I may have almost thrown in the towel because I wasn't seeing instant results. May have. Maybe. I thought about it. Maybe. But then I realized I was being a big idiot again, wanting to try something new just because my current endeavor was frustrating. No more of that. I am committed to my brooches. I am committed to my poetry. I am committed to bettering myself. Those are commitments worth having. I wouldn't have started on these journeys if I didn't think they would be valuable, and they have been valuable (even my 10 cumulative piano lessons).


Dress: Urban Outfitters, Sandals: Korks by Kork-Ease, Necklace: DIY













Until tomorrow,
Nicole