The “OH MY GOD I’M ONE MORE YEAR CLOSER TO THIRTY” hasn’t hit me yet. Really and truly, I don’t know if it ever really will–I have some time to change my mind though.
Sure, sometimes I joke that I’m getting old as dirt, my hip hurts, or that I will end up in my future great-grandkids History book but my “closer to thirty” panic isn’t the typical “closer to thirty panic”.
Memorial Day weekend. It’s always one of the greatest times to be an American. You get to press pause and reflect on how blessed you are to have the rights that you do, get to remember and thank all of the brave men and women who have fought for our country and our freedom, and yes, most of us get a day off on Monday to do so.
That means: THREE DAY WEEKEND. Three glorious, colorful, patriotic days full of friends, family, boozery, and food.
And of course for us lady-folk (and some fellas), fashion.
Tattoos. They say once you get one, it’s hard to stop.
Whomever the hell “they” are, were right.
I got my first taste for addiction when I was 21; I was helping coordinate a tattoo convention being held at a hotel I worked at during the time and got an offer for a huge discount on one of my choice after scoring a good hotel price for the lead artist in charge. I’d always wanted one and it had been a year after losing my grandmother, so I knew my first should be dedicated to her.
My grandmother collected crosses most of her life and during my younger years had bought me seven of them.
I lost them all. Jewelry and I will never have a lifetime of memories together.
So for my first tattoo, I decided to get a cross on my wrist–which hopefully I will never, ever lose. It’s small and dainty and sometimes I like to stare at it to remind myself of my grandmother, what she stood for and the memories of her. She didn’t have tattoos of her own but I know she would have loved it. She was cool like that.
My pops, on the other hand, upon discovering my tattoo virginity was taken, reacted like this:
He was a little more calm the time he discovered my second tattoo, which by then I was 23 and out of my first serious relationship that I had ended. This time around I chose a flying dove on my ankle, for some symbolic reasons but if anything to remind myself to not ever put myself in a relationship with the likes of someone who was controlling and verbally abusive.
Being young and naive, you make excuses for people or shield a blind eye to certain things and situations because you don’t want to face the truth. However at a certain point, you have to face the music–and the smartest thing to do is to dance on out before it’s too late.
It’s time for another edition and another batch of things that I can’t get enough of with The Obsessive Diaries, starting with my trip over this past weekend to visit an old friend of mine.
I could get lost in that place for hours. And I’m totally one of those people who will lounge on the floor and like I have no home training and flip through pages until I decide I want to make a purchase.
Considering it had been a while since my last visit, I splurged a little and got a few different reads, one being PR queen Kelly Cutrone‘s book If You Have To Cry, Go Outside.
If you know anything about the fashion world or got sucked into watching The Hills, The City or Kell on Earth you’d know that Kelly is a beast. Her book is all about her small beginnings and the crazy road that got her where she is today. I’m a few chapters in now and I wish I had more time because I can’t put it down. Any girl looking to make a name for herself, has an opinion and has dreams of the big city should definitely pick up a copy and read.
Being in midst of the quarter-life crisis, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about starting a family of my own and bringing in a little one.
That’s right, I’ve been thinking about getting a pet.
WHAT?! You didn’t think I was talking about kids did you?
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for kids, but definitely getting a pet has been circling in my mind a lot.
Growing up I wasn’t allowed to have a pet. ANY PET WHATSOEVER. One day I brought a butterfly home and my pops flipped shit two miles from Sunday and demanded I let it go because pets “didn’t belong inside of the house”. I think he was moreso upset at the fact that my butterfly wasn’t helping out with any bills and living rent free.
Also he probably didn’t want the thing to die considering I didn’t know any better.
Now that I’m older, won’t kill my pets and in a space of my own the option to get a pet is now available.
And considering pretty much all of my friends have at least one, in particular dogs, puppy fever is at an all time high.