travelling

i don't really think that the english language possesses the ability to capture the essence of human emotion as cartoon sponge and starfish capture jellyfish in butterfly nets. i constantly find myself landing upon words that only describe what i feel with mediocrity and not so much accuracy. which is where i find myself now. it's not boredom, not dissatisfaction, denial or acceptance, pain or indifference - maybe i've found that i am able to be devoid of emotion, that i don't necessarily have to yearn or feel angst or frustration or rage, or that loss of breath when your heart admist hopes is crushed. am i not okay with being okay? sometimes we put all our efforts into things which dissolve within days or even hours, and we tell ourselves time and again that we'll strive to do things which mean more for ourselves and the world, things that will last or carry more than just the superficial pleasure of a matter of trivial moments. but why? why is there a constant need to better ourselves and our actions when they don't mean a thing to anybody else regardless of how they seem in our eyes? in all honesty, most of what we do is done to seek the approval of those we love and admire, or those we wish to love and admire us. it, and you, and those before have all taken little by little to steal the trust and the patience and the will to hold out. belief in a word isn't dissimilar to belief in a brick wall - useless and time-consuming, and when observed upon by an outsider, utterly pathetic.


J; thank you for providing me with literature and stolen spoonfuls of ice cream and ripe triplets.

5-11

coincidentally two of my favourite numbers.

stars hollow snows.
straub dies.
milk & cookies.
grown up milk & cookies.
emily discovers the internet.
kirk is a whore.
jack russell terrier.

i wish somebody would build me an ice rink. despite the fact that i cannot ice skate, and i despise the cold.

vaseline

Love is just a word until someone you meet gives it a proper meaning.

black lingerie

it's a strange sensation feeling your body move without your full consent or knowledge, like you're walking away from something and walking towards something else without your mind being entirely sure of it. it's almost my stop i should put my bookmark in and take my ipod out and stand up without making a fool of myself by falling onto yet another unsuspecting victim and before i know it i'm out the hissing doors of the grubby tangara carriage. i dislike the way in which authors at times feel the need to ramble on for pages about a certain character or event that logically gives the rest of the book context but ignores the fact that in reality i don't care for context, or gail wynand for that matter. i think the only thing i like more than eating would be to prepare food that will later be eaten, not necessarily by me but by someone who will enjoy it. or on par with that, watching that process unfold on television. i like looking at macaroons more so than i enjoy eating them. maybe, just maybe, i don't actually like the things that i think i do. let's take a moment to reflect upon these wise words -

LORELAI: And then I thought, "maybe their freak-outs are like some kind of compass for me" you know like, "I know I'm doing what I want to do if it freaks them out." And then I thought, "what if I don't want to do what I want to do because I want to do it, but because they don't want me to?"

RORY: Huh?

LORELAI: I mean what if I don't like what I like because I like it, but because my mother doesn't like it and doesn't want me to like it? What if I don't actually like the music that I like or the movies or the clothes or the men? What if I don't like what I seem to like?

RORY: Ah, hence the pop-tart.

LORELAI: Yes. Hence. I can remember the first time I had a pop-tart. It was at my friend Erica Catcha's house, and she said, “Do you want a pop-tart?" And I knew my mother would recoil at the very idea of me having a pop-tart. I could just picture her. [Emily voice] "A pop-tart?!" [normal voice] And so, I had one. And I opened the little silver wrapper, and I took a bite, and I thought nothing had ever tasted so good. I thought it tasted like freedom. It tasted like I was my own person. The pop-tart tasted like freedom and rebellion and independence.

RORY: Wow. That's some pop-tart. What flavor was that?

cosmo-slotnick

there are things that we control, things that we do our best to control and things that are beyond our control in such a way that they run alongside the defiance of gravity and other ridiculous scientific theories. when we go through situations or experiences we'd much rather pass on, we don't because we tell ourselves that the end result is worth all the baby nuggets in the world. so who decides what 'worth it' is, and at what point do we decide that something doesn't warrant our deepest faith and biggest bathtubs of effort? it feels as though we are all continuously working towards something, waiting for someone, wanting to be somewhere else - because we assume it'll fix the problems we have now without even stopping to consider that our desire for them lacks the knowledge that they are built on a foundation of problems themselves. the trouble with wanting more is that there will always be more for us to want.

a quote i found in our production room this afternoon while hiding from a 6 month-old letting her bladder go on our coffee table:

God determines who walks into your life ... it's up to you to decide who you let walk away, who you let stay, and who you refuse to let go.

cream

LUKE: Uh, everyone grab a Philips-head screwdriver. [The boys dig around in a box.] Okay, once you have your screwdriver – what are you holding? Bradley, that’s a hammer.

BRADLEY: It is?

LUKE: Damon, that’s tape.

DAMON: Oh.

LUKE: I can’t believe this. No one ever taught you what a Philips-head screwdriver is?

DAMON: My mother’s a lesbian.

moosick*

calcium is good for you.


*lele

addictive excellence

a day of coffee beans, makeshift paper bag umbrellas, burnt tastebuds and lots of love




J: grey skater dress by sportsgirl, red coat by miss shop, bag by regina garde, grey crew socks by sportsgirl, vintage shoes
V: tunic by b+ab, beaded cardigan by juliet in stilettos, bag by urban outfitters, boots by kasui

come visit the kangaroos, ingrid

Baby you've got the sort of hands to rip me apart
And baby you've got the sort of face to start this old heart
But your eyes are warning me this early morning
That my love's too big for you my love

Baby you've got the sort of laugh that waters me
And makes me grow tall and strong and proud and flattens me
I find you stunning, but you are running me down
My love's too big for you my love
My love's too big for you my love

And if I was stronger then I would tell you no
And if I was stronger then I will leave this show
And if I was stronger then I would up and go
But here I am and here we go again

Baby you've got the sort of eyes that tell me tales
That your sort of mouth just will not say, the truth impales
That you don't need me, but you won't leave me
My love's too big for you my love
My love's too big for you my love

hug.

matching tinkerbell beanie and gloves set! happy almost birthday, best baby ever!