Disclaimer | part four

return of the short hair

pitted olives freak me out. they absolutely, freak. me. out.
i like hitting the pit with my teeth--having to sort of chew around it before spitting it out. open-palm, waiting hand.

i am an excellent finger snapper. get me in the shower grooving to some music that's piping through the apartment and with that little bit of water between my fingers, my snap is a thing to behold.

it is my belief that momofuku milk bar makes the best latte in town. there is no evidence for this, just my own personal-overwhelming-experiential-evidence. (in a word, preference).

i feel more myself with shorter hair. i just do. and i know some will say it makes me less pretty. but i think they're wrong. it just makes me less obviously pretty and frankly, i've never been interested in the obvious. i want to be a slow-burn-sort-of-beautiful. a second-glance-kind-of-pretty. i want the kind of beauty that unravels with time and patience.

i've gotten really good at crying. the kind of big and soft and wet tears that roll out the eye slowly before careening down the cheek. everything makes me cry now. everything. a good book, a good show, a simple kindness--anything small and true. thing is, i do believe myself to be far more rational than i used to be. i even sleep on the side of the bed reserved for rational people (which happened naturally, before i knew it was a thing. an actual thing. look it up).

i believe saturday mornings are for drinking lattes and reading books and falling apart when falling apart is what's called for.

i've only ever had one full beer in my life. it was lambic. framboise. of the raspberry persuasion. it was delicious. i don't like the taste of regular beer, i blame my college experience. i didn't go to a college with fraternities and sororities and house parties with red solo cups. my campus was new york city and i was raised on colorful martinis with colorful liquor and a lot of sugar.

i've never owned a pair of uggs. i take a lot of pride in this. no pants with nonsense words emblazoned across the buttocks. lord help me if i have a daughter who's interested in such things.

i'd much rather read a magazine with smiling women than with thin women. which is not to say that the two are mutually exclusive, but rather that i place more emphasis on the former than the latter and i wish print media would do the same.

i feel sexiest in oversized white oxfords and jeans.

i'm do not believe there is a more perfect food than the croissant.

i don't believe in puffy winter coats. i think if you live in a place where jackets are a staple than they should be warm and absolutely above-board-classy. that being said, i've never lived in chicago, michigan, or any part of canada.

i loathe the sound of chewing gum. i find it an affront to my feminine sensibilities.

i can make an entree out of any meat and cheese plate.
try me.
(though i prefer vinegar hill house and buttermilk channel, so if you accept the challenge, can we go there?).

i think everything is in transition now. which i find utterly terrifying and a little thrilling. but mostly terrifying. but it is movement and chaos and i recognize both as good. big-picture-sort-of-good. but big-picture-sort-of-good isn't always easy, is it?

well... anyway, this was just to say.
so that you know.

love, love,

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