Waves over the ashes from Otugen on 8tracks Radio.

Free as Fall

I found out we only have to take 3 classes next semester.  Somehow that makes it all seem like we're going to survive?  So.. more time to sleep or to learn how to make dinner for myself?  Or to try out more restaurants so I don't have to. Haven't decided yet.

I've been accepting the summer-fall transition this year more than ever.  As in I haven't sunken into the moodiest of depressions this time as my beloved summer months slowly left me.  Only reason I can think of?  With the click of your weather app telling you it's a high of 62 degrees, a whole new wardrobe appears in your closet.

Thanks to October's sunny/cool approach in contrast with the rest of the east-coast-year's extreme weather conditions, you can do things you normally couldn't.  Like wear the longest long sleeves with the shortest short dresses and the sturdiest sturdy boots.  All with the most amount of layers and the most intense textures.  Just walking into your closet is like getting a new menu at your favorite restaurant- but they're still using all your favorite ingredients.  Unexpected, but bold. And subtle, like a good surprise should be.  Oh, you wanted asparagus and truffle with your pasta? Now we're stuffing it into ravioli and putting it on top of this pumpkin butter sauce! Here! Wear it! Also try this Chianti we just brought back from Perugia. Good, right?

WHAT. I mean impeccable approach, Fall.  Really, I've never felt more empowered by your effortless cool.  You are gracefully chilly.  You make me close my bedroom windows at night and wear sweaters to sleep.  But you are served up sweeter than the frozen strawberry pancakes and flat champagne I've had for dinner the past 3 nights.  And that is sweet.

Swimming good so far

So I've been cooking a lot lately.  With all this free time I've really been able to just dive in to my hobbies and interests. Tonight we're having canned black beans heated up in the microwave with garlic croutons on top.  I mean buon appetito or what! So by "cooking a lot" I actually mean there's no one cooking for me on a daily basis.  I repeat, NO ONE IS COOKING FOR ME ANYMORE. WHAT. WHY NOT.  But really, from having our Pi Phi house chef to working in restaurants, I've never really had to hone my skills in the hunting/gathering department.  Unless you consider gathering all the wines from Trader Joe's a feat of survival.  But I think I was just born with that.  It's always very uncertain, what I'll be eating for my next meal.  Nachos, nachos, quesadilla, nachos, pasta?  The most nutrients I get are from the smoothies I make for breakfast.  I pack in handfuls of spinach and kale and goji berries and sometimes two greek yogurts because there's no telling when the next time I'll be eating anything other than bread will be.

Aside from the great strides I've taken in personal dieting,  I've made 4 commercials.  FOUR. Video editing software is like, my actual latest hobby and interest I mean it's just a whole new world of creating.  Now I have to figure out how to upload them to the digital portfolio.  Oh, did you want to see that?

shannonbrookssmith.com wassup

IT'S SUNDAY AND IT'S SO SUNNY

Why advertising is the best thing to do with your life, decided by me

Coming soon. No really, I'm going to update this as soon as I get a minute.

Also website is almost ready. (Louisiana Purchase stage.)

For now:

Here, we (I mean I) fail everyday.

And it's never felt so fulfilling.

To capture all the nice-tries and really feel the failure, I'm posting all of it. And moving! New website is under construction as we speak fail.  Which means I like to give myself as many reasons as possible not to have any free time ever. (That's just time we could have spent failing).  I'll still post over there, but you better enjoy this little outdated corner while you still can.

OH you want the link? One sec.

p.s. there's a soundtrack to it all, if you haven't noticed by now. here's the track for this chapter:

Assignment 1: Make a t-shirt 

No longer constrained by the synthetics that made it "new" or "valuable" by capitalist standards, the t-shirt is free. 

Through a 3-day process, I destroyed the structure of the fabric, broke through the walls of its frame. 

I made it something someone wants to wear.  Something soft.  Comfortable.  Relaxed.  I made it real.

It can be hung proudly from a hanger.  It can be folded without worry of wrinkles.  It is approachable, likable.  It has a life ahead of it because now someone wants to put it on and take it along for the ride, the real ride. 

Because now it is genuine.  Because now it is there to be understood for what it is. 

Through a 3-day process of soaking, churning, spinning and exposing to high heat, I aged the fibers like a fine wine.

Failing to find witty meaning or puny play, I decided, don't.  It's a t shirt and that's just what it is.  Make it be, let it be, what it is meant to be. 

I made it realize its intention.  Forced it, practically. 

Scrubbing through the surface, demanding it reveal its integrity, what makes up this t-shape, this garment that hugs your shoulders so fitting, so comfortably, so silently that you are able to enjoy the ride, the real ride, 

                I made a t shirt. 

Simple to make, impossible to repeat. 

It began as material. Now: content. 

And that, I find, is something worth wearing with jeans. 

Office Gossip

Recently (ok today) an individual I had worked with breached the account I use to make websites.  He had called while I was in class and because I did not respond immediately, took the liberty of dealing with it himself- even calling the password assistance number of the site- and successfully gained access to my account.

Ok so what?

This problem-solving behavior may be overlooked in some professional settings, and even praised, as proactive as it is.  And while he had his reasons, which were not harmful I may add, I had a hard time expressing my problem with the true crime comitted here, which goes against creatives anywhere.

On my follow-up phone call (barely, I repeat, barely over an hour later) the carelessness and crass of his response led to more aggressive tones and ultimately one of those "have a nice day" hang-ups.  Shocked at the immaturity and lack of professional etiquette, I followed up once more, this time with an email- Cc'd to the big heads involved (ya feel me)- providing unfortunately my deep disappointment with the disrespect of a -in all honesty- hired scam  fellow colleague.

In an equally Cc'd return, (because you're on the edge of your seats, right?) he patronized me as a professional (Note: I've gathered this is because of my gmail.com email address?) and summed up that it's not his problem anymore.

Nothing life-changing happened.  I understand what this person needed from me.  Which I could have attended to quickly and effortlessly if I had been asked directly.  The crime is simple, and maybe sensitive: I was left out of a move that involved my personal account.  Not personal in that it is my personal life, but personal in that it is my own work.  And as a creative, that is all I have.

So no blood.

But nobody puts his hands on my work.  I am a Creative.  And I will protect it fiercely.

BUT that was like, days ago

And things have gone steadily up from there (I know you were concerned).  I can credit that to good, old-fashioned time and effort.  Getting better takes practice, you know.

And I am so lucky to have a family who gives me everything I could ever need to do that.

And then some.  Thank you times 100 80 12.

Sugarland - Baby Girl from Cristina Engel on Vimeo.

this was supposed to post like, days ago

In celebration of official classes starting this past Thursday, I'd like to remember the good times of "Brandcenter Bootcamp," the 2 weeks of workshops prior to classes that only the AD's (art direction track- it's because our track is the smartest, duh) had to go through as sort of a warm up to the actual semester that actually counts.  In short, we presented mini projects due every class to everyone in a critique setting.  Coming from studio art classes, "crits" are just a normal, natural part of growing up the curriculum- I was completely used to them.  And, as expected, they went just like any crit.

Fast forward to official class on Thursday, Mr. Teacher tells us we'll be presenting our weekly projects all right. Just not in a traditional crit setting.  Why would you want feedback? he says.

...If we can't expect feedback, what do we expect? To be torn down, ripped apart, kicked around and told all about how bad we are? Can't wait!

So, as the actual semester commences (does that mean begin?), let's take a look back and revisit the days of Bootcamp, when we had the support and guidance of the fact that your stuff wasn't actually being graded.

I present to you.......

"How to Present Your Idea: what to expect when you don't know what to expect at all" 

a step-by-step by your very own First Year AD.

1. Have your stuff printed out right before class.

2. Try to volunteer not first, but like fourth or fifth, and not after someone who was really good, and not after someone who had a similar idea to yours.  Through body language make it clear you're about to get up next and then just go for it.  If someone else gets up as you do, it's fight or flight.

3. Flight? Ok now chuckle and say something like "aw ya beat me!"

4. Present your idea, your whole idea, because if you think everyone else will "get what you're talking about," and "know what you mean," they won't.  Chuckle more to make it less uncomfortable for everyone.

5.  Don't point to specific things with your finger unless you mean for everyone to look at your shaky hand and sweat stains instead of the thing you're pointing at.

6.  The professor asks everyone if they have any questions because he doesn't know what else to say.

7. No one has any questions.

8. Look around and somehow make eye contact with no one as your lips dry up and rocks fall into your stomach.

8.  Chuckle?

9.  Try to explain yourself again.

10. Take your shit off the bulletin board and sit down.

11.  Fidget in your seat until all attention is off you, which may feel like never.

also, this.

WHY IS EVERYTHING ABOUT ME SO UNPOPULAR

Saturday

The friend I always end up having too much fun to remember taking pictures with came this weekend and, like the good fun people we are, left the weekend picture-less.  But have I mentioned how much fun we had?

Saturday morning iMessages found ourselves without plans or roommates in town and the spontaneity of a quick visit to be too exciting to pass up.  And by that evening we're laughing on my walk-in closet floor with wine and all the shoes we want to wear out later.  After a 10 pm dinner at the one spot in this town I can never find the words to describe, called Sticky Rice (not a dive, but not exactly a restaurant, featuring great sushi, cheap beer and loud 90's punk), we meet up with some copywriters from my program who funded more than one shot of tequila in exchange for creative analysis of Mad Men and how that's definitely not going to be us in 2 years at all, ever, no way, except maybe for the outfits.

Next thing I know it's noon the next day and we agree life can't go on before brunch.  

If I defined every moment of my life these days by its accompanying drink, I'd be judged and scolded and probably even worried about, but I'm telling you, scrambled eggs with truffle oil and goat cheese and your latest spur-of-the-moment partner-in-crime just goes better with a Greyhound. Or two.  But just two I swear. 

an ode to a redhead

Perhaps it was the homemade sangria that didn't last us half of Fourth of July.

Or the fender bender with the guy we just saw at the bagel place.

Maybe it was the pink g&t's we couldn't get enough of.

Or the showers we never took because by the end of it, we just didn't really feel like it.

Or the research participant studies we thought would make us a fortune but usually ended up skipping.

Or the USA game we had to watch on the Spanish channel, which was delayed, and also in Spanish, because we didn't get ESPN.

Maybe it was the Jimmy John's deliveries we called in as we made bracelets at the coffee table at midnight.

Or the heap of clothes we shared in the middle of the room.  (Still love those white jeans.)

Or just someone to share my last cigarette factory days with.

Somewhere between long restaurant afternoons and apartment air conditioned nights we couldn't afford,  I had the best summer living with you.  I hope today is all you ever wanted, which is probably something along the lines of mimosas on the rooftop.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LITTLE MERMAID!

It feels like I only go backwards lately

My curtain is still messed up from earlier.  I just typed like a thousand things out, trying to get at what I'm really trying to say, really trying hard to be articulate and poetic and straightforward and even trying to make it a good blog post, give you something good to read with all my thoughts about everything going on and just really let it all out. And I've finally figured out how to say it!

I'm scared.

Which means all the worst scenarios are having an absolute circus in my head, just waiting for me to give each one the audience it needs to carry on until I find the maturity to shut it off.  And it's funny that this feeling is now, being that lately I've felt like I've whole-heartedly come to terms with the idea that life is actually not out to get me.  It's actually as good as I want it to be, and there is no reason anything ever should be stressful because why would I want that, I wouldn't, so why would I let it be.

Talk is cheap.

Or maybe I just push comfortable away.

Come up for air

Went into the new kitchen to get water. All the windows are open and there are purple flowers on the back porch and pink ones spilling over from the neighbor's tree.  My hands are raw from moving and welcome the still glass.  The cabinets are full of dishes and throw rugs hug the old hardwood floors.  We both have walk-in closets because CLOTHES and we're using the entire basement as a studio.

My roommate and I have such similar taste we suggested we might as well start a home improvement business. Or at least just be roommates, which we are.

I miss E but now that he's gone, he can come back.  I'll be so happy when he does but I'm also so happy now.

"Kill it for me" he said

So today I move and it's awful and actually really sad and I can't think about it

So instead all I'm thinking about is last night when the guy who already has my heart made me fall even harder and got our friends together at the swanky little Capital Club 16 for a dinner that made it just enough easier to say goodbye.  Also gin and tonic.

After dinner everyone leaves and I'm swept up to the top of the Plaza for a bottle of Biltmore wine on the clubhouse terrace with a pool and we played shuffleboard until he won under the Raleigh stars.

for keeps

I love friends you can just go get dinner and a drink with and you don't have to take pictures or post to social media or try even at all because they're so real you just feel real with them. You can just talk and laugh for hours and even complain and then end the night feeling happy and whole, like someone out there cares how you're doing and you care about them.  And then it makes you want to go be that kind of friend to everyone else and just talk about real stuff and be like I understand you!

 I visited the Biltmore estate last weekend and big and elegant and beautiful as it was, there was a sad, eery, lonely energy about it that I couldn't seem to shake.  Kind of like walking through the red light district or thinking about the Holocaust. You're sad because it is and even displaced, as  if paying attention to the details is prying on a life that isn't yours to know or understand. But also so fascinated.  You picture what it'd be like to be there and almost get lost absorbing, paralleling your imagination with what's in front of you.

So why am I feeling this way about a house, an estate? Hundred of lovely rooms upon acres of rolling forests and lush pastures and extravagant vineyards. There for me to enjoy for 60 bucks. No one suffers. 

It's the loss of integrity, the dignity not rightfully taken that is so tragic to me.  This place wasn't built to be a museum or a case display, or a tourist attraction, it was meant to be a home. A home to be loved and missed and felt like something special to someone. Sofas placed just so and tables so carefully set.  This room has these colors because.  The baby will love this cradle. Won't the pool be so much fun?  Let's sit here and have breakfast every morning.  And just look at our view. Think of the parties we'll throw!

Now the plants are watered just to make money.  The beds never get a night unmade.  Who even knows what the books are about? The kitchen, embarrassed by fake peppers and plastic bread, never gets to cook tortellini at midnight.  

Once a home. Trusted walls.  A mutual love . Now, a slave to it's owners. 

Of course the house is haunted. I'd be sad too. 

what it feels like to get out of your own head

my head's like:
"STRESS FREAK OUT STRESS WRINKLE UP YOUR FOREHEAD AND FROWN AND BE SERIOUS ABOUT EVERYTHING AND STRESS SOME MORE"

and I'm like:

Let's get out of this town baby we're on fire

I say to myself as I sharpen my pencils and charge up for yet another chapter in this nonsensical but somehow lovely life. Grad school. Masters. 25-year-old me. Wait what.  While it feels like I'm about to take on someone else's life, I know I'm ready for it to be my own.  Saying goodbye to the day-to-day that I know so well has never been easy, but I'm ready for it to be.  I'm ready to toss the miserable drag of melancholy like I'm ready to toss old throw pillows from beach-themed days.  Like last summer's bad Target finds. Like those free plastic cups that pile up in the cabinet and fall out when I open it, begging for attention.  Like the gifted shower gels that sit tiredly under the sink with crowns of dust, too dramatic for my ornery skin.  Tossing out the battered string lights in the bedroom that used to look so cool at night. The jeans that never fit right but stuck around because maybe one day. The pilly tanks. The stuff that's just stuff because that's all it will ever be. Ready to toss it all. Love the good with all I've got and take the bad for what it was. Then fill my suitcase with nothing but great jeans and Light Blue and things that make me better.  And Richmond can love me or hate me or give me a run for my money but at least I'll know where I stand and I'll smell good and the cups in my cabinet won't fall out when I open it. 

A summer of summer memories

The smell of banana sunscreen 

What day is it? We laugh 

Squinty eyes behind shades too cool for their job

Salty beaded upper lip caked with coconut balm

The blanketing heat of well-rested leather seats and the damp reminders of yesterday

Bleached-out strands tangled with adventure, a mermaid top

The crisp volume of the car radio cuts through the haze. 

I LOVE THIS ONE! We shout

A summer of summer memories

For the twenty-something working girl.

Things you learn on work trips

People aren't going to give you what you want.  They're probably not going to give you anything at all.  In fact, they're going to take.  They're going to take from you what they want. Which isn't going to be anything related to what you want, or anything you wanted them to take, much less anything you wanted to give.  You start giving without even knowing, expecting maybe eventually they will give you what you want.  You wait.  And you keep giving.  But soon you get tired of giving and you stop feeling kind or generous or extravagant.  You just feel used.  And so finally you take.  Just once, you take what you want.  Which isn't anything anyone else wanted, and probably not anything anyone wanted to give.  But you wanted it and now you have it. They were never going to give it to you.  You had to take it.

Now you know.

I love how you are when your favorite song comes on 

I love your baggy work jeans and steel toe boots that don't break or anything when you step on them 

When you hug me and your armpits smell like sweat but also man deodorant 

I love you when you put the back of your hand under my chin and trace my cheeks with the back of your fingers 

When you make a joke when I'm annoyed that you know will just make me more annoyed but it's always really funny and I actually hate that so I'm taking it off the list 

And I love you when you dance like you think you're the greatest rapper alive 

And then we ask each other who you would say is the greatest rapper alive and then it turns into top 3 and the answers are always the same 

For you at least 

I love you when you say something just because you know I want to hear it

Like when we were in the really cool boutique in soho and you said it looked like we were in my room 

I love you when you don't understand how I feel like everything is crashing because to you it's never everything that is crashing 

When you wrap your leg around my leg in your sleep

I love how when you say you have to do errands you mean you have to do laundry and vacuum 

When you're really thirsty when you get here and chug water for like 30 seconds straight

I love how you're actually literally always right, like about everything

And I always think I am and you let me be for a while but then every time you end up being right 

The way you always get hot fries at gas stations on road trips why do you even like hot fries 

How some days you're too busy for me and I wait and wait for your next text and think of stuff like this   

May

Nature and beauty play together in an effortless way.  Nature doesn't belong to beauty. There are things of nature that are not beautiful.  And beauty doesn't belong to nature.  There are beautiful things that are not of nature.  The two simply dance their own dances, day in and day out, never forcing one to become the other.  

It's when nature and beauty dance together that the mystery comes alive.  The relaxed sophistication of the two together become an aura you cannot explain or understand. It's the harmony, the purity of the pair, that draws you in.  Your mind retreats to its dreams and you're free to imagine, believe everything normally wouldn't.  And suddenly anything is possible, everything is possible.  All the good things are right there, in the moment and all the bad things, you start to trust them, openly and honestly. Welcome them, even, if it means you get this. 


Nature and beauty do not belong to each other. But when they are together. What a gift. 

A beautiful bride and her handsome groom and the two people who were late to their wedding

We're stopped at a stoplight before getting on the highway and I turn around in my seat so he could zip me up. I'm sweating kind of and I'm out of breath and trying to suck it in.

We're listening to this song, getting onto the highway now.  We're going pretty fast because we're late. Like really late. And it's completely my fault and I'm careless and I didn't check what time the dry cleaners closed on Saturday and I don't plan ahead and we both know that and there's nothing anyone can do about it now.  But somehow, for some reason, he's not mad, or at least he's not acting like it.  He's just driving along, looking over to smile at me.  We're going to be late to his best friend's older brother's wedding but somehow, for some reason, he's talking about how my 4 sizes-too-small dress from 4 years ago that I sprinted from his still-running car up my mom's driveway in my new heels to grab from my old closet as fast as I could is perfect and you look so good you should have picked this one to begin with.

Listen to the mustn'ts, child. 

Listen to the don'ts. 

Listen to the shouldn'ts, 

the impossibles, the won'ts. 

Listen to the never haves, 

then listen close to me...

Anything can happen, child. 

Anything can be.

Shel Silverstein 

23

22 was work hard, play harder.  23 is dream big, work bigger.  I like 23 because all 23 has been telling me so far is that I am capable. 23 thinks I'm strong and 23 says nothing but keep it up. I like her. Telling me I is smart and I is kind and I is important. Can I just be 23 forever! I love you 23! 

AND NOW MY STORY IS BRANDCENTER

and I'm so ready

On being thorough

Sometimes I'm not thorough when I talk about myself and I think it prevents people from taking a chance on me. I've always been overly cautious when talking about myself.  Not in a shy way, more in a oh wow this is so awkward let's redirect this conversation kind of way.  And I end up with bits and pieces of me out there instead of a straight-up, beginning middle and end, on the rocks story of me, the best person in the world. (Wait what?)

I've always just toned it down, wrapped it up. Stopped talking, changing the subject with a joke.  Never wanting to be irrelevant, never wanting to bore, never wanting to be the "did you hear about how awesome my life is, here you don't have to ask, I'll just tell you" person.  But those are the people that I'm drawn to, those are the people whose confidence I admire, want to be more like.  So why doesn't it go both ways? 

And I mean come on are you trying to be humble or something.  Isn't the whole point of talking about yourself to show off? 

Be prouder. More confident. Straight up. I say to myself. And that's easy enough.  I can motivationally speak with the best of em.  When it comes down to it and it's time to share who I am, what my story is, it's like I am so highly protective of my feelings and experiences that at the threat of letting someone interpret, understand me, I run away.  It's not that I don't want to share, or don't think my life is awesome enough to share, but maybe it's that I am so connected to my story, the journey as a whole is so precious to me, that the idea of setting it free terrifies me.  Like I'm not done with it yet, why would I share my story with you now?  It's been confusing, irrational, messy, non-traditional.  Accomplished, at times, less than successful at others. If it doesn't make sense to me yet, so how can it make sense to you?

What I'm forgetting is that it doesn't have to. I just have to keep talking. 

"Happy earth day, or happy thing that revolves around me day"

So now you're probably wondering what my story is. And now I want to share. Lucky you!

My story is good food. Every day. Working for a hospitality group means while yea we sell an experience, a lifestyle, our product is the food. And that needs to be tested and scrutinized and damn well enjoyed. All of it. Every day.

My story is concept design. 

It's what I do, it's why my boss pays me. It's what I'm good at- or am dedicated to being better at.  It's what my glorious "creative director" title means. I listen to the ideas of the owners, architects, managers, chefs and marketing people of the project on hand and, well, design the concept.  Everything from logo options to mood, from uniform to menu. Architectural design and interior design.  I get to collaborate with the architect which is by far the most fascinating aspect to me.  I put together a presentation and most of the work from there is editing, customizing.  Understanding what someone wants and being able to visually translate it is my skill, my value, my craft. 

My story, right now, is that. I'm not super high up, or seasoned and experienced.  In fact I'm the opposite, never had prestigious internships or relevant experience. Never really needed it, I've always gotten by just being a really good beach girl. But I told you I wasn't done yet. I just wanted to share this part of the journey.

#HPMKT2014

Twice a year High Point, NC holds the largest furniture market in the world.  I don't know what the normal approach to attending this market is, but I would describe the Giorgios Group approach to the market as anything but ..attending.. It's physically enduring. Strategizing. Dedicating.  Focusing.  SWEAT IS POURING DOWN YOUR FACE AS YOU REACH THE EXIT DOORS. IT'S A MARATHON PEOPLE. It really is like a marathon, without numbers on your shirt. Actually everyone has ID passes hanging around their necks, soo all the more marathon-like.  And I guess some do just pop in for a cocktail and browse. And that's cool and probably way more pleasant. But if you don't take this as a multi-12-hour-day-pack-the-phone-chargers-and-wear-comfortable-shoes event, you probably don't take your creative direction career very seriously.  Or, you don't have 12 ongoing projects and 4 new clients.  Or, you do, and you're just less of a drama queen.

My goal of the market, or any show, for anyone, really, is to see what's new, what's different and where you can get the best for the cheapest.  Because it's probably here. Some companies have entire buildings and warehouses throughout the streets of High Point rented out with floors and floors of showrooms.  Others have an allotted space in the "interhall" (like a convention center) where it's more like walking around a mall of hundreds of boutiques.  Everything is (barely) walking distance, so naturally, you walk blisters and all.  You have one week to see it all.  It's an hour away from home, so you want to be efficient.  Those are the rules.  On your mark, get set, marathon.

Working like this isn't cut and dry, this will go here and that will go there.  You're not setting out to check off a list or looking for a specific piece, because you don't know what that piece is yet.  So you have to think in the mindset of the person, the brand you're working on.  Some even overlap, in one way or another, so everything down to geographic location has to be considered.  And when you're juggling these all different brands and identities, it's easy to get distracted or clouded in judgement.  Focus is everything.  The free mini bars everywhere, YOU GUYS SUCK.

Sometimes you can tell, as soon as you walk in to a place, which project you can find something for.  Sometimes the it takes breaking a piece down to its core principles and elements to understand why it will or won't work.  Thanks studio art exams that make you draw a line matching element to definition! 

And alas, ahoy, whatever, like walking away with a runner's high, I come out on the other side with invoices ready to ship out, new contacts and, the best part, an entire library of furniture, tables, lighting, smallware and decorative pieces organized with prices, style numbers and dimensions.

With fulfilled concepts for current projects and inspirations for new ideas, I leave the High Point market satisfied and excited.  And visually dead.

Marathons are awesome!

Or maybe I'm just REALLY GOOD AT SHOPPING.

"If you're going to do it, don't worry about it. If you're going to worry about it, don't do it."

I've been worrying about a lot of stuff recently, getting everything done and all.  It took me a couple weeks of stressing myself out to remember these very settling words of wisdom from my mom.

I think it burns my sense of truth to be shouting at my youth

The following musical snack is reminiscent of being dropped off at the mall with your friends and shell necklaces and flip phones and $60 Roxy wallets to spend 8 hours and all your babysitting money at Hollister where you buy one, seriously important that you have it, ripped up, paper-thin t shirt because OCEAN RESCUE LAGUNA 86 DUH

But also inspired by the desire to continue defining yourself after life leaves it up to you.     

And so, if you have 12 minutes you should really watch the whole thing.  Or, skip ahead to 7:30 for a summarized understanding of all global concepts on common level ground.  

When did I even start this blog? When did I even start life?

I noticed on somewhere like linked in it said I've been at my current job for 8 months.  It says August-present (8 months). It felt like that was a long time.  Even though it's not, really (aren't you supposed to work for 30 years before you retire?) it just put into perspective how in 4 more months it will have been a year, and then one year before that I was still in school.  I was still a clean slate, in a way, un-phased by the real world.  Sure, I had my share of screwing up, awkward confrontations, etc.  But it was always "safe." I was still "just" an undergrad or still "almost legal."  There was always that promise that I would be better, do it right next time around, get to start for real this time. That something of a milestone was coming up next, like turning 16 or 18 or 21 and I would be different.  Improved.

Then I graduated college and finally, I've started for real this time.  And I'm like wait, this is it? I've already started? And Linkedin is like yep! 8 months in!

I feel unfinished. Sometimes I still feel 14, yet to get my braces off.  Yet to make my own decisions.  Waiting for someone (who?) to tell me what to do.  And then I feel 22 and I feel all the decisions I've made.  I feel all the marks on my slate. But I don't want them to be there yet I just put them there because I didn't realize it was for real this time.  I feel responsible for myself.

IT'S SCARY OUT HERE

Invisible Posts

I've been writing and not posting my posts.  I'll start writing and posting again.

Richmond and the Important Things in Life and Needing All the Things from Need Supply Co.

When 2 girls who share certain things like good taste, spring breaks and career dreams, it's important they keep in touch. It's important they get together in one of their brilliant little coffee shop towns for a weekend of expensive cocktails they don't pay for and window-shopping designer boutiques and looking mid-winter hot.  It's not a particularly productive weekend for either girl in terms of getting things done but in terms of meeting quotas of meeting new people and checking out spring trends and new bars, the weekend is still just as necessary.

Getting wardrobeally stable for spring takes time and preparation, but thanks to girls who share good taste and Need Supply Co. I think we're going to be o.k.

Hugh Mackay

“I actually attack the concept of happiness. The idea that - I don’t mind people being happy - but the idea that everything we do is part of the pursuit of happiness seems to me a really dangerous idea and has led to a contemporary disease in Western society, which is fear of sadness. It’s a really odd thing that we’re now seeing people saying “write down 3 things that made you happy today before you go to sleep”, and “cheer up” and “happiness is our birthright” and so on. We’re kind of teaching our kids that happiness is the default position - it’s rubbish. Wholeness is what we ought to be striving for and part of that is sadness, disappointment, frustration, failure; all of those things which make us who we are. Happiness and victory and fulfillment are nice little things that also happen to us, but they don’t teach us much. Everyone says we grow through pain and then as soon as they experience pain they say “Quick! Move on! Cheer up!” I’d like just for a year to have a moratorium on the word “happiness” and to replace it with the word “wholeness”. Ask yourself “is this contributing to my wholeness?” and if you’re having a bad day, it is.”

retitled: a poem

So mad sometimes

At you

I don't even know you.

Don't even have any bad names to call you. If I did I'd say you're ugly and not that I care if you're ugly but to me you are. I don't ever think anyone is ugly because I always find people to be beautiful but to me you are ugly.  Now I'm mad at myself for thinking someone I don't even know is ugly.  See what you do? That's not even all of it.  The person you hurt the most probably wouldn't even say anything bad about you but for some reason I can't help it. I don't even know you.  I don't even know why I'm wasting this writing on you I just don't like you. Don't even know why I don't like you I just don't get why. Why? Look at me asking you why.  I don't care why because if you told me then I'd have to understand. I don't want to understand. I don't want to forgive you.  I should be over you by now like everyone else but I'm not.  I just want to forgive you. Then I can forget you forever. It's like you die.  Not you as a person, you as my thoughts.  First my dad now my thoughts.  Why do you have to keep taking what's mine away from me?   

Don't answer that I hope I never have to talk to you again.

That Glow on the Beach

"We renovate, not rebuild."

Well in this case, we rebuild. But only because we had to.  I just like how the mayor from American Hustle put that.

While working on this place in Miami, I think it's important to remember we are "renovating" the past, instead of rewriting it.  Taking the history of a location and honoring its story and culture. By celebrating it, not forgetting it.  That includes what's already there, but also what's not. What used to be there matters too.

I think America is tired of brand new megaplex resort hotels that mean nothing but a credit card and syrup in their cocktails. I think people want to feel human again.  Be reminded that humanity exists as it always has. This is just the next chapter, a new flame to ignite and glow on the beach.

See: The 1950's Restaurants of 22nd Street

a Miami cab driver from Venezuela

"C'est la vida. Such is life. You win, then you lose. The problem is when you keep on losing.  That's when you gotta open up the book.  Reinvent yourself or something."

Queen of disaster

Nothing that I write or create will ever be without errors. That's just the way it is. I need like, 7 editors.
In all aspects of my life.  Just know that.

late January happiness

-New concept for a new restaurant project (they liked it!!!)

-Grandparents that visit you and then send you a Happy New Years gift

-heat. file under: 75 degrees at all times

-Michael Kors that I wear generally every day from the boy

-friends that visit

-figuring out printers with no help from anyone because I'm the person people ask for help about printers anyways

-red, red wineeeeee on cold, cold nightssssss

-watching almost all the movies that are out right now including but not limited to illegal versions online, 

not my fault I have a high-tech little brother

-bread with oil and sea salt as new lunch habit

-new friends

-new fonts

-wait those aren't the same thing? 

-having somewhat of a handle on my budget but still what are bills.

-freshly cleaned mirrors because they make you feel like your entire apartment is clean.

-$99 shirt I've been wanting for 2 months and waited and just got it on sale for $40.

-it's supposed to snow tonight in 1 hour and I have K-cup hot chocolate at home.

also as I'm typing I realize my nails are freshly painted so basically life is just the best.

keep it up girl

elements of morning

we have bean missing you

drawing, vanilla coffee and remembering the how to put the hand back into my work.

I eat my pizza in the bathtub

Ever feel so out of place with everything and everyone around you that you just think it can't be you, you can't be this crazy, it's the devil and he's out to get me since when am I this sad, pathetic raisin sucked dry of hope without a boy to blame? I'm talking the kind of bad day that lasts all week and into the weekend and shows it's stomach-punching face here and there next Tuesday. And you're like what did I do wrong, nothing's wrong, everything's going just fine, I'm fine, why am I feeling so shut out by my own life this sucks. I've always been able to get right again by watching an episode or two of modern family or by instagrammig something cool or by finding a song that's really me or by reading 18 Cosmo articles on my phone and stalking someone random like Sophia Bush. But lately it's not even a snap-out-of-it kind of mood. It's been this what have I gotten myself into, I'm 22 why do I have responsibilities why am I not in Cozumel letting mangos drip down my arms on boats swimming with dolphins exploring my true calling as a mermaid kind of trauma. Why else am I going to this gym every day if I'm not living in bikinis?? It would help if I even knew what I was writing about. I'm just as confused about life as I am about this blog post. I'm going to start blaming the moon. I think it's mistaking me for some tiny ocean but I'm not giving up until my tide comes back in. 

Ok I'm officially crazy. Freschetta frozen pizzas are buy one get one this week at harris teeter if you were wondering.   

Hurry up and start running

Now run faster 

And faster and faster 

Before the real pain starts 

there will never be enough soft, comfy, longest sleeves, good fitting t shirts in this world