Inspired by Nasty Gal

Wind in My Hair

A rarity among the norm of March’s suburbanite ambiance, the sky seemed to split like two halves forming a sun-drenched gateway… through the spread of blue, it finally warmed. Taking into account the shameless reality that had me suffering from post-traumatic cutoff syndrome , we canted about in perfect misdirection, which somehow led us back to the camera euphoria of this disco-inferno bowling alley. (BCBG heels with dog collars, DIY cutoffs, secondhand shirt, Vintage bangles)

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Tiny Dancer

Ode to pictures galore... we are NOT camera virgins. As the weekend swiftly dwindles away following a saga of dinner parties, Christmas tree mishaps (ornament wars), and that old familiar work hard, play harder mantra… my narcissistic denim tendencies beckoned like the call of the wild. In the very nearly retirement section of my closet they loitered, brooding in uncharacteristic glamour. But with a downcast feeling that pulls you from reverie… bluntly, I knew nothing else compared to the resurgence of my second-skin blue jean baby . And about a week (or more) ago, I was pleasantly taken aback when the lovely Carrie over at Bare Style sent an e-mail and subsequently mailed over a bundle of (unexpected) amazing goodies from her store Bare Accessories . Launching a slightly embarrassing (I won’t lie) celebratory dance, it took all of a minute for the clutch, bangle, and AA leggings to baptize themselves among the legion. Obviously fated to join the ranks of my closet, I can’t wait to tak...

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Running with Tinsel

Yes, we're merrymakers in masks and sparkly frocks... Thoughts of Christmas scribble the page like a creative resurrection, but with all this metaphoric graffiti spattering the paper, I still found time to bathe in that ever-prevailing yuletide euphoria. Cookie-cutter homes stood vanguard, bejeweled with twinkling lights and shimmering snowmen… obviously Saint Nick’s navigational route to every fireside in suburbia. And while the December wind and holiday spirit seemed to blow past us, through us, and all around, we hoisted the anchor of expectancy. Celebrating the entrance of yet another year, the artificial Christmas tree now appears a depressing carcass of orphaned tinsel and prehistoric ornaments. But my mind marvels a series of Machiavellian tactics, as contractual obligations of our disheveled shopping bags lends reminder to the rest of the afternoon’s binge retail-activity. This is of course, a fleeting sterilization for those painstaking holiday blue periods. ...

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Vintage Lollipops

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