Holiday From Real

Whenever I'm planning a trip to California, I can't help but think of the song Holiday From Real by Jack's Mannequin. Tomorrow, I leave for a short trip to the west coast, the bay area to be specific, to visit my sister and her girlfriend. I'm predominantly excited, slightly nervous, and very behind on packing. I'm mostly relieved to be getting a short but necessary change of pace. A little time away from work, a little time away from home, is just what I need at the moment. It's my first plane trip by myself, which is making me a little anxious, but I know I'll be alright. I mean, I can watch the Muppet movie on the plane, so that should keep me occupied, right? Right. I was thinking of asking for guest posters, but I'll probably put up a post while I'm away, because my computer and I are sort of inconveniently attached at the hip. As I've been assured by my boss, there's "a lot of fashion in the bay area." Of course. This outfit feels super summery and vacation-y to me with the bright colors and gingham. Pay no mind to the freakishly brown apocalypse sky in my photos. Editing skills at their best. I mean, just look at my bottom in that last photo. It's simultaneously glowing AND disappearing. MAGIC!


Jeans: Urban Outfitters, Blouse: Goodwill, Sandals: Madden Girl via Marshall's







Until tomorrow,
Nicole

Gruyere Girl

Things around here have been quite lazy lately. This weekend was spent doing a little bit of shopping, a little bit of hanging out, a little bit (a lot bit) of Doctor Who watching, and a little bit (a lot bit) of eating. I was planning on seeing a friend today, but when that fell through, I stood in bed for an extra hour listening to the rain rapping at my window. Let's all take a moment to reflect on how awesome rainy mornings are. Okay, good. Something about the stormy weather awakened the urge within me to cook. That and the fact that I've been reading Julia Child's My Life in France, which is all around delicious. So, I got dressed and headed to Fairway to do some grocery shopping. I have an irrational like of grocery shopping at that store by myself. It's nice to be able to stroll through rows of fresh fruit and vegetables, ogle cased pastries, and attempt to pronounce foods in the many international aisles without anyone around to rush you. Or judge you. I ended up baking a savory bread pudding, with bacon and gruyere and arugula. It was pretty good, if I do say so myself. So good that I ate too much of it. And smell like bacon and gruyere. The signs of a good meal?

Dress Forever 21, Sweater: Urban Outfitters, Boots: Vintage













(Bread pudding, not me)


Until tomorrow,
Nicole

Green Bean

I've been staring at this computer screen for a long time. It was bright when I started choosing my photos for this post, but the sunlight faded from the walls a few minutes ago, and I had to get up and turn my ceiling light on. Long time. The problem has been that I didn't know what to write. Or, rather, the problem has been that my mind has been preoccupied with something I initially didn't want to write about. Maybe I should write about how I match the scenery? Maybe I should write about the fact that my legs aren't shaven in these photos (spoiler alert)? Maybe I should write about records or lakes or the weather? That's been my dilemma. But my head isn't wrapped around those things right now (though it's rapidly growing concerned about the not-shaving tidbit I just shared). Instead, it's in this satellitic orbit around a glowy ball of change and future and wondering. To be Captain Obvious for a moment, I'm not one to shy away from over-sharing, but for some reason, I felt kind of reluctant to dive down into the muck of it, but lucky (unlucky) for you, that brief moment of normalcy seems to have passed.

Last night, I caught about a three minute segment of Glee (ugh, I know, I KNOW). I don't know if it was a current episode or older, but what I gathered from the three minutes was that Coach Beiste had decided to leave her abusive husband. They got into this argument as she threw her wedding ring onto the table. He said something like, "No one's going to love you like me. Who's gonna love you now?" and she said, "Me." Familiar. I cried a little bit, which isn't saying much for a sappy sap like me who has wept over Ghost Adventures, and possibly, Sir Walter Scott's gothic novel Waverly. As much as Glee isn't my thing, something about that scene made me simultaneously really uncomfortable and really comforted.

I have talked about my past enough on this blog, and don't need to go there again tonight. A question I've been asking myself a lot lately, and have been getting asked, is "Are you ready to start dating?" I was talking with a friend yesterday about someone, and she asked me, "If he was single, if he asked you out right now, would you say yes?" Hmm. Humm. Well. "No." What a strange thing for me to say. I don't even know how that word got there, into my mouth, out into the open air. I was a girl who needed to be in a relationship, who, after breaking up with her first boyfriend, started dating another a few weeks later. For for years. Now, I don't seem to be a girl who needs to be in a relationship. Right now, that is. And it's weird. It's a weird feeling to like being alone sometimes. It's a weird feeling to be able to say that I'm afraid to date someone right now. Maybe the word isn't "afraid," maybe it's reluctant, tentative, hippopotamus (it's probably not hippopotamus). As I explained to her, I know what I want, but I don't know if I'm ready to have it, strong enough to stick to my convictions and longings, confident enough to have expectations, recognize that they haven't been met, and act accordingly. She assures me that I am. I laugh and look at my hands.

The truth is, I've been comparing myself to other people again, which is a terrible and pointless thing to do. Thoughts like, "Well, she broke up with her boyfriend four months ago and has started dating again!" had been chilling out, maxing, and relaxing all cool in my brain. "Why not me, too?" This is why not me. There are a million reasons, and all of them have to do with me being myself, me being in the exact situation that only I have been in, and me needing to access myself. I still think part of me is afraid to admit it, that I'm okay on my own. That it's possible for me to exist and thrive as an individual. How weird is that!

If you want a segue that leads into a discussion about my outfit, I guess I could say that green is the color of growth. Or maybe I could say that making my own decisions extends into every aspect of my life, even something as simple as what do I want to wear today. Or maybe I could just talk about how my legs are unshaven in these photos.

Skirt: Aunt's, Blouse: Macy's+scissors, Shoes: Korks by Kork Ease













Until tomorrow,
Nicole

Daydream Believer

I've always been a big day dreamer. Sitting in a late afternoon lecture, sitting at my desk and blurring my gaze out the window, laying on the slatted wood of my back porch and staring up at the aluminum ceiling, driving a long stretch of monotonous highway (I should probably stop that last one). Sometimes it's nice to imagine, to let yourself get a little bit lost in what isn't real, but what could be. Lately my daydreams have been stuffed with summer day trips, chance encounters with cute boys at Barnes and Noble, lovey chit chats I'd like to partake in, flower picking and wide fields. Today I was at work by myself, and I'm not going to admit that a lot of day dreaming was happening, but I'm certainly not going to deny it. Though I wore this dress yesterday, it makes me think of dreaming and imagination and all of those delightful things. Oh, and I'm probably going to be wearing my hair like this every day now that the weather's warm and I've figured out how to braid this teensy hair of mine.

Dress: Asos, Shoes: Vintage













Until tomorrow,
Nicole

Lion Heart

Yesterday was the last day of my spring semester, the last day of my junior year. This semester had honestly been kind of run of the mill. I enjoyed my classes, sure, but I just felt like I was going through the motions most of the time. By Thursday night, when every paper was written, (mostly) every book was read, I didnt't feel relieved. I didn't feel accomplished. I didn't feel all that excited, either. I felt like I had throughout most of the semester - content, with a tinge of residual stress. Yesterday morning, though, I woke up with this good feeling that sort of enveloped me the whole day. I dropped off my books at the library, I slid a final paper under my professor's office door, and I sat outside for a little while before my english lecture started, enjoying the breezy sunlight. After class, I strolled through campus with a good friend I hadn't spoken with in a while, but was hoping I'd run into before we parted ways for the summer. I got to work and hopefully made my boss a little less bummed out. He gave me the high five I was secretly hoping someone would give me upon revealing that I had finished the semester, and turned on the old boombox we have in the office, playing the Star Wars theme song as performed by an all female accordion orchestra. I found out I had to work a lot more than I thought I would be, that night and next week, but I was happy. My mother came up to Tarrytown and we met for dinner at Horsefeathers, a cool little restaurant that has a wall of authors painted inside, including Misters Vonnegut and Poe. I ordered the "pig out burger," the second most embarrassing thing to order on the menu, and some strawberry shortcake served in a wine glass. The poetry I heard at the event that night was so good it made me want to go home and rip up everything I've written, or just try harder, write harder, better. I'm hopeful for summer. I'm excited to work and travel and sleep and eat and watch television and craft and lay in grass.

Top: Old Navy, Shorts: Levi's Outlet, Sandals: Korks by Kork-Ease







Hooray!

Until tomorow,
Nicole

Blooming Up From The Grass

Things have been pretty sluggish on the blog lately, it's true. Today begins my last of the semester, and I've been hard at work (and, at times, very much not so hard at work, like right now) finishing up sentences about Chaucer's Parson's Tale, Shakespeare's sonnets, Heinrich von Kleist's eccentricities. Right now I'm just taking a little break to write something other than an analytical paper. Speaking of breaks, on Saturday morning I took a little trip up to Lyndhurst for the annual craft fair. Of course, I didn't take pictures of any of the crafts, but there were so many wonderful things (my favorites were bracelets made of typewriter keys and giant Edgar Alan Poe inspired wood carvings which I'm currently kicking myself for not taking a photo of). I didn't buy anything, except two containers of fresh fudge (maple and almond joy), which was delicious (it's all gone now, by the way). Also, the craft fair took place on the grounds of a castle, which is cool. Though, frankly, a castle seems a little out of place in New York. But in an awesome way. We only drove past the castle, which looked beautiful. I definitely want to take a tour of it in the summer.

Dress: Callie's, Vest: Goodwill, Shoes: Korks by Kork-Ease, Scarf: giveaway from Sarah






Until tomorrow,
Nicole

Mouse Girl

One of the reasons I like clothes and outfits so much is because they can speak for you. As I shy person, I often look to my clothes to do some of the talking. If I'm feeling down, I'll throw on a cozy sweater and jeans. If I'm excited, I'll wear a new sun dress. If I feel angry, like I want to kick someone, I'll wear some tough boots and my jean jacket. I don't speak up for myself very often, is the point I'm trying to make. With my clothes, at least, I can determine what I want them to say about me. Lately, though, I've been noticing more and more people speaking up for me, and it's honestly been freaking me out. My family has always done it. I'm the "baby" of the family, and have gotten used to the fact that people are going to baby me until I have babies of my own for them to baby. Baby, baby, baby, no. But I've started taking notice of people answering questions for me, making statements on my behalf, before I get a chance to do it myself.

What was worse was when I noticed that people outside of my family were doing it. I was out to dinner with people from my job, all older than me except for one person. One of them said to me, after I had eaten half of my food, "Well, what are you going to do with the rest of that, huh?" To which another person replied, "Oh, she's uncomfortable eating in front of people." Is it true that I'm uncomfortable eating in front of people? Yes. It's an inconvenient fact of my life that I explained to my two bosses the first time we went out together, so as to make the fact that I was obviously uncomfortable less awkward. Throughout the night, I noticed this pattern of people making statements for me: "She has a blog. She read at the open mic. She doesn't like eating in front of people." Now, these are all facts about myself that I have no problem sharing with people. But, just as in choosing my own outfits, I like to choose what I tell people. Having my own words bumbling out of other people's mouths is disconcerting. This has nothing to do with the people I work with, who I like very much, and it has nothing to do with my family, who I love dearly.

It's not something I ever really thought about, but it must have to do with me. It's not because I'm young, or because I'm "the baby." For some reason, I shy away from speaking up for myself. It ranges from all sorts of little insignificant moments, like raising my hand in class to asking a question at work, to bigger things, like upholding my standards for other people because I fear I'm asking too much, that I don't deserve what I want. In response, it seems that people speak for me, and most of the time at least, it's probably to help me. "She's shy, so I'll say what she probably would say in response to this situation." I know it's well-intentioned, but it's something I want to change. I write posts about self-worth all the time, though it's been a while since the last one. And this idea, of appreciating myself, and knowing that what I think and feel is worth shouting about, is something I want to embody, not just keep talking about. I'm not going to set out some plan for myself, like "speak three times in class, then go to an open mic and read for five minutes in front of strangers," but I will set an ultimate goal, which has been and still is to value myself enough to not feel like my words are foolish, to trust myself enough to give a voice to my own ideas, thoughts, and feelings.

Blouse: Chloe's (which I wanted to wear once more before I sent it back to her!), Sweater: Forever 21, Jeans: Levi's, Boots: UO (old), Bag: JCPenney


Until tomorrow,
Nicole