12 Nov

You are my own personal brand of stupid.

You make me dumb with that one glance

the one where you see straight into my soul

and you know what an imbecile I am

for you.

I forget how to breathe

and choke on air when you touch my hair

You don that sill red bowtie

and suddenly I’m mute

and logic is a challenge.

I’ve never felt so awkward or ungainly.

I’ve never been this tongue tied.

You are my own personal brand of stupid

and if I could speak

I’d tell you that the moon is trapped in your eyes

and when you smile at me, I feel like I’m drowning

If I could string a sentence together

I would tell you that I love you.




12 Nov

When you go to the dark place, 

I lie awake at night

because your pain leaves me breathless.

When you go to the dark place, 

I can barely blink

because I might miss that crucial phone call.

When you go to the dark place,

I remember Cory

and I squeeze my eyes shut against the horror of that frigid February night

and I hear the way you screamed at God.

When you go to the dark place, 

I wonder if you can recall the way I picked you up off the floor

your blood on my hands

and the way I screamed at God.

I want to shake you as hard as I can 

But I’m afraid to touch you

You might shatter.

When you go to the dark place,

I’m terrified of you.

Might as well.

12 Nov


The Island

You put your arms around me and I’m home.

This is a love story. This is a story about two people who came from opposite places in different times and found each other. This is a story about an island, magic, and chance.

She was a carefree sprite, right from the beginning. Adopted by strict, but ultimately loving parents in the tumultuous 1960’s, she grew up on a farm in the outskirts of San Diego, California. He was the fourth of four boys in a suburban, Catholic family. His family lived right behind St. Mary’s Parochial School in Royal Oak, Michigan. She milked cows before school, and climbed mountains after. He tore around the neighborhood with a gang of rowdy, unstoppable boys, both brothers and friends, raising hell while always making it to Mass on Sunday mornings.

Her high school was a southern California stereotype. Of the 1500 students in her class, she was close with three. The palm trees swayed in the balmy breeze as she traipsed to class in her Minnetonka boots and danced on the grass at weekend music festivals. His high school was small, private, and austere. He is still close with his elementary school friends. They played pickup basketball on icy blacktops and sped down Woodward Avenue on Friday nights.

            When she graduated from high school, she left the farm and her family behind, looking for adventure. She had heard that Lake Tahoe is beautiful in the spring time. There, on the side of a mountain in a wooden cabin, she slept on a beanbag and subsisted on tomatoes and sunshine. Skiing in the morning, swimming in the afternoon, and dancing in the moonlight; it was an idyllic California dream. After he graduated from high school, he went to college with his friends, and left after a few semesters to quiet the restless whispers sighing in his dreams. He travelled with nothing but a shabby old backpack and relentless optimism. Hitchhiking across the country, he climbed the ferocious mountains he had only heard about, and splashed in the azure ocean he had seen in books.

When the luster of Lake Tahoe had worn off, she went back to San Diego and started classes at the community college. She was going to be a veterinarian, and heal the animals she had grown up with. She ate fifty cent tacos for lunch and quesadillas for dinner. Her bubble gum pink roller skates were never far from the front door, and the ocean was a quick jog down the street. When the one bedroom apartment she shared with a friend started to close in around her she relocated to an island just across the bay from San Diego.

After he patted dry the salty ocean from his face, and patched up the holes in his shoes, he decided on whim to head west. He packed his meager supply of worldly possessions in his cornflower blue convertible and shoved the gear in drive. He drove alone across the flatlands of Iowa, through the deserts of Arizona, and wove his way up the mountains which eventually spat him out on the coast of the Pacific Ocean. He found himself idling at the entrance to a bridge that led to a small island that was beckoning him with curling white waves and promises of freedom.

The natives will tell you that Coronado is an enchanted island. It is small and unassuming, like the best magical islands are. The grass is otherworldly green, and the sea is an ever changing, tempestuous chameleon. Buildings line the tidy streets, a barrier from the salty breeze that cascades over the shoulders of the island’s hardy residents. If you look south, north, and west, there is nothing but ocean to greet you. A glance to the east, and there is the sparkling city of San Diego, reflecting in the velvety black bay. The residents are few; the houses are sturdy and square. Outdoor dining is not a suggestion, but a requirement, for on the supernatural island, the weather is always perfect. The ubiquitous palm trees parade along the shore and giant boulders are sentries against the wild ocean. The sidewalks have sand in the cracks, and there are more bikes than cars on quiet neighborhood streets. The night air shimmers with suggestion, and the water gleams with help from the bright white moon. It is here, on this extraordinary plot of land, at the witching hour, that the two lovers meet with the stars glimmering and the wind murmuring secrets in empty streets.

She was coming in for the late shift waitressing at McP’s. He was the new guy tending bar. Her skirt was short and her ponytail bounced atop her fairy-like frame. He felt her before he saw her. She brought the night in with her, filling the bar with a sort of mysterious light that blinded him with its glory. Laughing her way through the crowd to the bar, she carried a tray of drinks off into the fray with confidence rarely seen on someone so slight. Her cerulean eyes twinkled with mirth and he drowned in them, mixing drinks as the room echoed in his head.

When she brought the next drink ticket up and slid it across the sticky bar to him, their eyes locked and the room was flooded by their electricity. He pulled the ticket from her fingers and when their fingertips grazed, time all around the world stopped, just for second, because in that second the universe ceased to exist. That moment was for them, and no one else.

It was on the island of Coronado that he found her, and she found him. Her heart held ever so gingerly in his road weary hands, and his soul kept safe in hers. It was on that island that they made lifelong friends, and on that island they made a lasting commitment to each other. Even when they left that enchanted spot of land, he carried her heart carefully in his pocket, and she kept his soul in her ring box. They have been ripped apart through unavoidable circumstances, and still his heart recognizes only hers. Twenty seven years, three girls, and four homes later, even though he lives six hours away, even though they see each other one day of seven, they are still safe in each other’s secret hiding places. He would move mountains for her, and she would drain the sea for him.

This is a love story.



Fifth Grade.

23 Feb

I suppose I should offer some sort of explanation for this accidental post. The challenge was to create a board showing your most awkward style. Mine was the disaster that is fifth grade. This particular outfit was one of my favorites. Bear in mind, at this point in my life I was about 4’10 and maybe 50 pounds. Small is an understatement. So while all the other girls were wearing bras and size 2 jeans, I was shopping in the little girls section trying in vain to make a size 10 slim stay on my bony frame. Everything was too big, making me look like, alternately, a hobo, or a starving welfare child, of which I was neither. This outfit is now immortalized at my parent’s house on an unfortunate homemade Christmas tree ornament. It is affectionately referred to as my “preacher outfit”, no doubt due to the drab khaki pants offset by the over sized khaki striped button down shirt I wore as God intended, buttoned all the way to my pencil thin throat. This was then “accessorized” with a multitude of long beaded necklaces I had somehow come into ownership of that year. My footwear of choice was either black velvet platform sneakers or heavy brown leather imitation Doc Martens. Sensible for the playground, obviously. No, I didn’t go out to recess if I could manage it. Between the round coke bottle glasses and height challenges, I was an easy target for anyone with insecurities of their own, and hid in the library or my teacher’s classroom as much as possible. Fifth grade certainly was a challenge. And thankfully, I grew a foot over the next five years.

fifth grade


22 Feb

Everyone has those days- you know, the ones where you feel completely uninspired and exhausted? I suppose I have them more often than not, considering my wildly unpredictable sleep schedule and lack of nutrients in my poor college student budget. All this week I have been beyond tired, to the point where I lay down at 2 in the afternoon and don’t resurface again till 7 or 8 at night. I keep telling myself it’s because I am having a growth spurt, but so far my height remains unchanged. I am so close to burning out; thank goodness it’s almost spring break. A week of sunshine and complete irresponsibility will do me good I think. I am trying to perk myself up by getting excited about some new spring colors. I have been waiting for pastels to come back, and now that they have, I am entitled to dress like an Easter egg any time I want. Right now I love mint green, coral, and baby blue. (I think pink goes without saying at this point). Now is a perfect time to take those spring colors for a test drive. Here is great way to combine some fresh colors in an equally fresh way- color blocking with pastels. Man, I should be an art teacher.


On a side note, it is beautiful outside today. Go celebrate it while we can.

Leave only footprints.

17 Feb

This has been a really hectic, awful week for me. I haven’t slept in days (or so it seems), my food cupboard is bare, and I feel like I should really just move into the home section of Macy’s at the mall to save time on my commute. Creating style boards has become my relaxation technique, much like yoga or red wine, only less painful and expensive. I need a few hours on the weekends of just me, style blogs, and the Travel Channel. It’s cathartic, in a way. Closing my door and just being inside my own head is a relief after eight hours in retail hell.

I have a new friend. She is one of the most unique, intelligent, beautiful women I know. She is incredibly passionate about sustainability and the environment to boot. The first time I really spent time with her, we were at a bar watching the band our boyfriends play in together. She was wearing a tweed maxi skirt, baggy floral tank top, and beat up brown leather boots. Sounds like a crazy combination, but on her tiny fairy-like frame, it was endearing and edgy. She wears her hair cropped short(compliments of yours truly), and makes eating clean and local look like the easiest thing in the world. Considering my closet is full of tulle and and my idea of eating clean is drizzling olive oil over my pasta, our friendship is a little unusual. So, in honor of my new found friend, someone who is inspiring and charming and really one of the best people I’ve ever met, here is an ode to her ideals, sprinkled with a dash of mine. Everything in this board is organic, sustainable, local, and surprisingly chic. Turns out eco-friendly doesn’t have to mean canvas flats and hemp pants. (Unless you want it to.)


It’s not hard to guess which parts of this ensemble are inspired by me. These leather pants are vegan, skinny, and leather; three of my favorite things. Paired with an organic ivy colored tank and a cozy grey pullover sweater, this look has all the elements I love in an outfit. Leather and wool for texture, and layering because why not. The flats are from TOMS new ballet flats line, which is something I have been waiting for forever, and are just one of those feel good purchases. So there it is. A little bit of me, a little bit of her.

I’m just glad it’s not me.

9 Feb

This weekend, my roommate is celebrating her 21st birthday. Her super rich, older boyfriend rented her and her twelve closest sorority sisters a LIMO for this blessed event. He also footed the bill for her party dress, shoes, and a special birthday trip to the Keys. So yeah, as someone who spent her 21st birthday at Olive Garden with her mom and little sister, I’d say she’s doing it right. As I am her roommate, I am a lucky member of the twelve. She has planned out a full night of “clubbing” and I presume body shots. Ugh. Clubbing. I am socially awkward at the best of times, and when there is vodka and dancing involved, I get downright dangerous. Mostly I become a danger to myself. I have yet to emerge from a night out unscathed. A few weeks ago I ended up in the ER with a sprained foot. And to add insult to injury, I had worn flats that night to avoid that very situation. So you are correct in assuming this is not my forte. I don’t really own anything “club” appropriate. I avoid dancing unless I am alone or with very trusted friends. Also, I have never done a body shot. So I am a little sheltered. Anyways, I had to think long and hard to come up with something that will gain me entrance to these clubs, stay somewhat covered up since it is FREEZING up north, and stay true to my unique style. This is what I came up with:


21. by kmcentee featuring flat heels

I love this skirt. I am obsessed with it. Mostly I am obsessed with anything flowy, tulle, or chiffon. I love the waist and the bow that ties in the middle. It really makes the skirt a statement piece, and it looks special. I paired the grey with a jade tank, tucked in. Are you noticing a pattern? I love skirts with tucked in shirts. It just looks right on my body shape. So, the bow defines my waist, which is my favorite part of my body. I couldn’t choose between pink or yellow flats, they both looked so cute. Adding a shiny silver bib necklace dressed the tank up a bit more and added some nice glimmer and texture. Topping everything off is this adorable little postcard clutch. It’s a great conversation piece and just sets the whole look off nicely. So now, I am somewhat covered up, sexy without taking my pants off, and here’s hoping I don’t sprain my other foot this weekend.