Birthdays.

So as many of you probably already know, yesterday marked my entry into this world, 24 years ago. Pretty hard to believe that I am getting "that old" - I put this in quotes because any time I refer to being old to someone much older than me, they look at me as though I have personally offended them. Which I likely have. But then again, my good friend's mom last night said this to me: "So next year, Meghan, we will have to have a party for you where everyone wears all black because you will be a QUARTER...CENTURY...OLD!!!" Thank you, I expect to also receive over-the-hill balloons and skull & crossbones party favors.


I think birthdays are kind of a funny thing to celebrate. We all celebrate the day that we emerged from our mothers' wombs and began breathing oxygen - and we get cake for this? I mostly think this is silly because I think that babies are pretty dang ugly when they get their first glimpses of the world. As I have described it before, "We basically say 'Good job on coming out of your mom & emerging as a gooey, ugly, alien-looking thing!'" Yes, I too think that the birth of a human is nothing short of miraculous, but you can't deny that the babies look a little scary at first. No one ever sends out a birth announcement of their precious bundle of joy bawling its head off covered in amniotic fluid and looking a little squished. I can tell you right now that at that moment in time, when I am someday in that position, I will not be obsessing over the beauty of my spawn but instead over the relief I have that the trauma is over. I will think they are the most beautiful thing in the world when they are clean & wearing a cute little hat wrapped in a white blanket. And then I will never be able to take my eyes off it.


Don't let my thoughts on birthdays fool you - I simply adore my birthday. I love the phone calls and texts and birthday cards and another day of the year where calories don't count. I love the free drinks and the attention and the gifts. My dad said it best when he said that "birthdays are special because its the one day a year that you are the center of attention" - and no matter how unselfish you are, it totally rocks to have one day be like that each year.


Perhaps my most favorite part about my birthday is how I am reminded each December 23rd how extremely blessed I am. Not because my mom can make a mean cake or because my dad remembered the exact perfume I wanted - but because I am always overwhelmed by the outpouring of love that I receive each year on this day. I love that my birthday, being around the holidays, warrants multiple days of celebration, usually one with my friends from UW and another with my old friends from home.


Last night, my birthday began with dinner with 2 very dear high school friends and their families - I was struck by the fact that I have now lived in Washington long enough to really be close with my friends families, something that, having moved around a lot during my younger years, is something I truly treasure. I got to see my best friend surprise her mom and grandma (she came home for the holidays from Korea and didn't tell them) and that was the best birthday gift I can imagine. So much love.


After, a group of my close friends from high school came to my house - I was dressed in sweatpants, surrounded by people who defined my teenage years, and it was perfect. We talked over beers about the time "the ninjas" floured my friend's car and it rained the next day; about how every time "Chariots of Fire" came on, my guy friends would perform a slow motion battle scene; about prom asking disasters. We also talked about how one of them goes to Harvard Law school, one lives in Washington DC, one is studying at the UW Medical School - we have all grown up so much, it is simply astounding. I get goosebumps thinking about how special it is that I have such wonderful friends from high school who I am still lucky enough to call my friends - at one point, I was just listening to all of them talk, smiling to myself and thinking "I literally have the most awesome friends from high school, hands down."


Although it is terrifying that we are entering into the age where marriages and children and graduate school and homebuying are common practice, I love to know that there are some things that never change. We all need those constants in our lives - those people, memories, places that although we age, they never seem to. 


Birthdays are the days set out of the year to remind you how much people love you. How can you not be overwhelmed by the power of that?


♥mb.

Romesick.

Dear Rome,


Just thinking about you, thought I would drop you a line. How are you doing over there? America is, ya know, pretty cool I guess - I am enjoying the free water and the public restrooms that are severely lacking in your neck of the woods. I also really love the fact that I now have a dryer again, so that I don't have to put up with line drying all of my clothes. As much as I enjoyed crunchy underwear and tshirts...

Literally,  a Roman Dryer.

I also don't miss tripping over your uneven streets (since I can't seem to grasp the concept of picking my feet up when I walk), the sickly sound that your sirens make (are you sure that the people inside the ambulance are sick or is the siren just wailing about its own pain?) and my daily near-death encounters with various motor vehicles. But, among these things, there are so many things I miss about you.

For the first week, I was undeniably homesick. The realization hit me that I was stuck with you for 2.5 months, and if I didn't like you, I was screwed. I was filled to the brim with fear that the people in my program wouldn't like me, or that worse, they would be weird, and I was also afraid about being so far away from home for so long, in a country filled with people who didn't speak my language. (A trait I began to embrace as it was quite easy to speak about your population without censorship.) However, I remember when I fell in love with you. The first weekend I was with you, I walked all over the city in search of Giolitti (the best gelato on planet earth, and maybe a few other planets as well) and ended up at the McDonalds in front of the Pantheon (which, as you well know, I left part of my heart in.) I was eating curly fries in front of the most intact ancient structure you have to offer, listening to a street performer sing "Wild World" by Cat Stevens and chatting with someone who was a mere acquaintance but who became one of my best friends. I would grow to love these moments.

Doing as the ancient Romans did. (Riiiight...)

My memories with you are countless and precious, and I would not be able to chronicle them all in this letter if I had an entire fortnight to complete it. From the first time I saw the Roman Forum...

I give to you, the Forum.

...and the first time I sampled your pizza...

I would have starved if not for this.

...I became irrevocably enamored with you. You offered me the opportunity to wake up to this every morning:

A view of St.Peter's from the Ponte Sisto.

And for that alone I am eternally grateful. You gave me a great gift in strangers who turned into treasured friends...

Weekending in Florence.

...the opportunity to travel to exotic locales...

Hanging on a mountain in Africa.

...and the chance to experience some of the most beautiful architecture and artwork that mankind has to offer.

I will always be in awe.

You're many years of rich history and tradition imparted on me great knowledge, and you will be proud to know that I still remember most of what I learned from you. And I love to talk about you with anyone who will listen to me. 

It's hard for me to believe it's been almost 2 years since I began my journey through your alleyways. I will always miss the Saldi and the bakery by my apartment and the ancient aqueducts that supplied me with daily water (which I cannot stress enough it's necessity). You helped me forget about things that were bringing me down and you helped me to become who I am today. You gave me so many things that I wish I could give you in return, although I'm sure that as a centuries old city my wisdom ain't got nothing on you.

Part of my lovely Roman entourage.

I passed by the Trevi several times during my days with you, and I threw coins in on a few occasions. The first time, I threw in one, over my left shoulder, with my back to the water, in hopes that this coin would help me someday return to you. On another occasion, I tossed in 2 coins, in the same fashion, for the hopes that I would soon fall in love - I just didn't realize that the object of my love would be you.

I still think about you daily, miss you all the time and wish that I could return to that time in my life when I got to see you each day. You will never know the ways in which you changed me, shaped me. I will someday return to you full of the fondness I feel for you at this moment, and we will relive some of our good times with different sets of amazing people. Nothing can sum up my love for you (and for your glorious Pantheon) better than this:

Love.

I didn't want to let you go. And to be honest, I still don't. I cling to your memory and delight in the fact that I will forever have a part of you with me, just as you will have a part of me with you. 

With love always,

♥mb.

A pair of neglected shoes.

I have this pair of fabulous shoes. Out of the many pairs of shoes that I own, these ones are by far my favorite. They are fairly new, only been worn twice, and have spent most of their life in the trunk of my car, as on my sister's birthday my feet hurt so bad that I had to leave the bar we were at, run to my car, change into my Rainbows and leave them to hang out until I decided to take them inside. (Which, as fate would have it, was yesterday.)


I finally brought them in from their long hibernation in my dark trunk space, set them on my dining room table (a perfect place for shoes, I know), and just admired them. Peep toe, cut out instep, black silk flowers and a delicate stiletto heel - I felt so bad for hiding them from the world in my car for so long. I hardly ever wear heels, but I do really love them. And I started to feel like this pair of shoes in particular was just way too beautiful to spend it's life inside a closet.


You may think all these revelations are silly. And maybe they are. Of course, I understand that fabulous shoes can't possibly comprehend their own beauty. But like shoes, neither can most women. And unlike shoes, we have self-awareness. So why is it so hard to feel good about ourselves?


Women have a huge advantage over men in the fact that we can change our look on a daily basis. We have eyeshadow and mascara and curling irons - even our clothing options are much more diverse; today will it be a dress? leggings? heels? flats? belt? And don't even get me started on hair (braid? no braid? bangs? pinned back?) and accessories (chunky ring? studs or dangles? 1 bracelet or 2?). Men literally wake up, shower & throw on some variation of pants, shirt, jacket and lace up shoes. No wonder we have so many issues - just thinking about what to wear can be stressful.


Not to mention the fact that society (and men) expect all of us to look like Victoria Secret models. Well, maybe not expect, but that is the ideal standard set for us by Hollywood, advertisements, magazines, media of all kinds. We are constantly criticizing each other in things like E!'s "Fashion Police" and Us Weekly's "who wore it best?". If you are a female existing in America and have never had any body image or insecurity issues, you are a far stronger person than I.


The really ridiculous part is that a. the things we wear on our bodies are extraneous and b. our bodies exist to let us live, not to receive constant hate and criticism. I, like many 20-something girls, have struggled with body image issues my entire life. My first real breakthrough in getting myself away from this negative self-talk came when I was down in So Cal visiting my grandparents.


My grandmother has been suffering from congestive heart failure for a while now, but it is starting to be much more limiting than before. At first, she couldn't get around without the help of a walker, and now she needs a wheelchair. She needs assistance to even get up out of bed. And it pains me to see her like that, I can't even comprehend what it must feel like to be so immobile. In realizing her physical limitations, I suddenly felt very thankful for my healthy, albeit fairly out of shape, body. And that's when it hit me like a ton of bricks.


We spend so much time obsessing over "muffin-tops" and the size of our calf muscles when what we should be doing is thanking our bodies for functioning normally and supporting us 24/7. I realized that if I wanted to run 3 miles, I could do it. If I wanted to dance a riverdance, I could do it. If I wanted to climb Mount Rainier, with a little training, I could do it. So why is it that I have spent so much time hating the very thing that allows me to live my life?


It starts to seem trivial and silly when you look at it in that light. Our bodies are just casings for our personalities anyway. The fact that there is so much judgement based on physical appearances is just the product of a nation of insecure people all trying to prove they are worth something. But what if I told you you didn't have to prove it? What if I told you that most of your negativity comes from you and from no one else? What if I told you that beauty doesn't come in a pre-fabricated box like we are led to believe?


So get up, dust yourself off like that beautiful pair of shoes and flaunt yourself. I truly believe that inner beauty creates outer beauty and that if you feel good about yourself, other people will want to be around you. It isn't always easy, just like wearing heels isn't always easy. But, let me tell you, you look a lot more put together with that gorgeous pair of stilettos than you do with tattered converse. (Not that there is anything wrong with tattered converse...) 


Whoever you are, own it. It's when we start to radiate confidence despite everything that we truly start to be beautiful.


♥mb.

I am a dog person.

If you know me at all, this title is incredibly redundant. I talk about my own precious corgis, Maddie & Claire Bear, constantly, I am completely obsessed with them, I was completely obsessed with my black lab Indie, and I am pretty much completely obsessed with any dogs I meet. I laugh when at Marymoor owners apologize for their dogs jumping up on me or licking my face - if I didn't like that, why would I come to the dog park? In Europe, I pet every single dog we saw, whether it be stray or on a leash - it didn't matter. As far as I'm concerned, no matter how much love a dog is receiving (or not receiving) there is always room for more.


So naturally, as I flipped through an issue of People & stumbled across a book called You Had Me At Woof: How Dogs Taught Me the Secrets of Happiness by Julie Klam I knew that I had to read it. I often dog-ear the book reviews in People, with the intention of reading them, but this is the first time I have actually acted on it. I searched for the book at 3 different bookstores before I finally found it. And I finished it in less than a week.

It was like the author, Julie Klam, took the words from my mouth. There were several passages I highlighted because they were just so of my own thoughts - it was like I could have written this book. The chapters dealt with topics such as feeling good about your age, how to keep your life in balance, how to deal with the loss of a friend and simply, how to find happiness. I cried, I laughed, as I imagine all dog loving people would do - all of it was so close to my heart. Perhaps my favorite thing about it is that it speaks to the healing power of dogs, both emotionally and physically, and how these animals that are so much simpler than us can teach us lessons that we cannot teach ourselves. 

I think my favorite passage from the entire novel is as follows: 

I've always thought that dogs were spiritually superior to humans, which is why I think they have such abbreviated lives. They do their business here on earth and then move on. 

Truer words have never been spoken. I feel really sad for people who can't see the inherent power in a dog - the ability to calm us down, the ability to love unconditionally, and the ability to heal our souls and our bodies. They really are so amazing. One study showed that people in a hospital who were visited by therapy dogs regularly needed 50% less medication than their counterparts. A non-profit called Puppies Behind Bars uses inmates to train rescue dogs to help people with PTSD, many of whom are medication-free because of the dog's presence in their lives. Every time I think about the responsibility it takes to have a dog, I think about facts like these - if they are constantly saving us, then the responsibility is really a non-issue.

My own little angels have really saved me over the last year. I have been unemployed, often very frustrated and upset that my life isn't in "full swing" yet. But having them around me constantly has lifted my spirits and I think kept me out of the depths of starting to really feel sorry for myself. Since my mom got a job in July, my sister moved to Seattle for college, and my dad is gone during the week, I am their sole caretaker most of time. I feel like they are my children - I like to put sweaters on Maddie (mostly because she really loves them, but also because they are just so adorable), I like to give Bear daily "scritches" and know that she loves getting scratched under the armpits best, I like to get hairs out of their eyes to make them feel better, I get personally offended when people don't think they are as cute as I do and mostly I just love that in keeping them safe and happy, they are keeping me sane. I sometimes refer to them as "dog-shaped Meghan magnets", because they always have to be near me. And I love that.

I often get made fun of by my friends and family members for being so in love with my dogs, but I really don't care. In my mind, there are countless numbers of dogs out there not getting the love they deserve, to love my own any less would be a crime against canines everywhere. I really, truly do believe that dogs are as close to the physical embodiment of love that exists here on earth. If people could love more like dogs, forgive more like dogs, the world would be an unrecognizable place.

If you love dogs like I do, a. let's hang out (doggie park date anyone?) and b. PLEASE read this book. You can borrow it from me. You will likely feel the same way about it that I do - that the author took the words out of your mouth and placed them in this novel. It's wonderful.

♥mb. 

How a cupcake can change your life.

This is my favorite way to describe a food item that is simply out-of-this world marvelous. I use it very sparingly - the term "life-changing" is only given to the utmost of delicacies. The first thing I tasted worthy of this praise was the cinnamon swirl french toast at 5 Spot on Queen Anne. Oh man. Once it hits your lips...that stuff is heavenly. Thick slices of cinnamon swirl bread battered in vanilla custard and served covered in homemade caramel - I sound like a menu but if your mouth isn't watering right now, you don't have tastebuds. A number of quotes I have come up with to describe it: "if there isn't 5 Spot french toast in heaven, I'm not going" and "I bet even forks are happy when you order this" and of course "this french toast changed my life". Which is how I describe it to anyone who is thinking about trying it. Sadly, my life took a turn for the gluten intolerant, but I still recommend this highly to gluten eaters everywhere. And lucky for me, there are things like Babycakes cupcakes to fill that gluten-free sweets void in my life.


When I first discovered (officially) all of my food issues, a friend of mine was gracious enough to bring me over a goodie bag of gluten-free treats (including beer, she is eligible for sainthood in my book) and a canvas bag full of cookbooks. One of these was the cookbook from a (mostly) gluten-free, vegan bakery in New York City called Babycakes. 

At this particular moment in time, I was every kind of out-of-sorts a human being can be. I was upset that there were things in gluten-free cookbooks I couldn't eat because of the dairy, and vegan baked goods I couldn't eat because of the soy. As I began flipping through the pages of the Babycakes cookbook, I literally almost cried with joy. Being a girl who frequented Cupcake Royale  at least once a week during college, I thought I was never going to eat a cupcake again. These glossy pages were filled with recipes on how to construct delicious, virtually allergen-free cupcakes, cookies, brownies, banana bread, etc. etc. etc. I lived on baked goods from this book for weeks until I adjusted to the notion that there was [normal] food out there I could enjoy. In a way, this book saved me, at least my sanity. So naturally, when I heard they had opened a store in LA, I simply HAD to go.

Basically my entire extended family lives in Orange County, about a half hour drive from LA, but it still took 4 trips of going down there before I finally had the opportunity to get to this bakery. My dad & I landed in LAX and the first stop after getting the rental car was Babycakes. I was literally jumping up and down with excitement after we parked the car and I spotted it. As ridiculous as it might sound, this was kind of a dream come true. (You can cook out of something's cookbook for ages & still not replicate the amazingness of the actual thing!) We walked in and I was greeted by a minimalist interior design scheme and pastry cases full of baked goods that I could have. 

The first question I asked the alternative-looking guy behind the counter (I absolutely adore the people that work at places like this, same goes for Flying Apron in Seattle) was if I was restricted by gluten, dairy and soy, what COULDN'T I have? (You have no idea how much joy was brought to me by the fact that the questions was "what CAN'T I have?" rather than "what CAN I have?" to which the answer is usually "nada") He told me that everything except the cupcakes made with spelt was fair game. This means there were different kinds of breads, cookies and cupcakes to choose from. In essence, this place is heaven for those of us of the sensitive tummy variety: AMAZING.

I settled on a pumpkin spice donut (literally don't remember the last time I ate a donut), 2 chocolate chip cookies (that were out of this world!) and 2 cupcakes, one a brownie cupcake and the other a red velvet cupcake. Also, can't forget the coffee, especially since they had rice milk, which is a rarity in mainstream coffee shops - I've gotten very used to drinking my coffee with a touch of sweetness and black. I saved the cupcakes for later, and after dinner and a glass of wine, decided to enjoy the brownie cupcake first.

I have never fallen in love so fast before. I took one bite and was absolutely blown away. This was by far the most fantastic, delicious, life-changing gluten-free baked good I have ever laid taste buds on. The frosting was creamy, the cake was dense and chocolatey flecked with mini chocolate chips, and there is no way anyone could ever know it was made without the traditional cupcake ingredients. I really fully understood the line in Eat, Pray, Love where the woman is in Napoli "having a love affair with [her] pizza" - I was undeniably having a love affair with this cupcake. As with all good things, it came to an end, my hotel bed messy with crumbs, and I went to sleep extremely satisfied.

It might sound silly that something so seemingly insignificant can completely change your mood or your attitude on any given day, but honestly I think that is a pretty remarkable thing. If we open ourselves up to letting little things be the catalyst of greater change, there is no limit to our happiness. Even something so little as a cupcake can make you feel included, loved, grateful. If a cupcake can do all this, imagine what other sources of inspiration lay out there in the world for us to discover?

Let yourself have a cupcake every once in a while. You might be surprised by its effect on you :)

♥mb.

I miss my puppy.

Today, in my opinion, is a very important day. It is exactly a month before my birthday, November 23rd. But that isn't why it is special. It's special because a very wonderful member of my family was born on this day 12 years ago. On this day in 1998, a little black lab puppy entered the world who someday would be my best friend, a shoulder to cry on, a constant source of unconditional love & acceptance in my life, and most importantly, my puppy.


I was in 6th grade when my parents brought her home. Erin & I were walking home from school on a random afternoon, I guess it must have been late January. All I remember is that it was sunny, as most significant days in my life have been. We both walked in the door, and upon stepping foot into our childhood home, a little bundle of black joy came walloping up to us. You cannot imagine the immense joy of being surprised with a puppy - no comparison. I'd be surprised if I'm happier on my wedding day. The dog that we had from the time I was born, McGee, had passed away shortly before we left Vermont for Boise, and since we had never lived without a dog before, there was a definite void in all of our lives. My parents had been talking about getting a puppy for a while, but nothing had been for certain, except of course, for her name. My family (and consequently myself) have a habit of deciding the breed, gender and name of a dog months (or even years) before we actually acquire the new pet. 


Indie was no exception. She had been planned for a while - she would be a black lab and her name would be India Ink, the blackest substance in the world, but for short, she would be Indie. (Alternative explanations that my dad sometimes substituted to strangers: "Like in Indiana Jones, 'We named the dog Indie'!" or "For Indy 500, like the race".) Her official name on her AKC registry was Roberts Miss India Ink. (We wanted to incorporate the name "miss" in her full name, since her breeder had referred to her as "Miss Priss" before we took her home.) She was ours on paper, and would quickly find a way into our hearts.


Her little puppy tummy fat was so big, she could barely make it up the stairs. On multiple occasions, in an attempt to get onto our backyard porch, she jumped, hit her little flab on the wood and bounced back. It was hysterical. One of my favorite pictures of her - and I think the only picture of her as a puppy - is of her sitting on this very porch, tummy pooch and all. I will always cherish that photo. I wish I had it to include in this, but this was before the age of digital photographs, and it resides in a box somewhere at my house. 


When she was really small, I remember running around our living room, her following me closely, then sitting down abruptly, which would always result in her jumping - not very gracefully - into my lap. I thought it was the cutest thing - and it WAS the cutest thing. I also remember my mom driving us to school in our old van, and Indie jumping up & pawing the window when we were walking away, and all of my friends cooing over her. She was mine.


Then when she got a bit older, I embraced my newfound love for running and took her on loops around the neighborhood to stay in shape for soccer. She was my running buddy all through middle school and high school, and on weekends home from college. I loved running with her - she never seemed to get tired, and I got tired really fast. She was so happy when we were running. As soon as I laced up my tennis shoes she knew what was coming, and would start wagging her big otter tale and wiggle. She was such a wiggler. She didn't just wag her tale, she wiggled her whole backside. It was so endearing. 


When I was 13, my beloved cat Magic (and to this day the only cat I will really, truly love) passed away and the presence of her happiness and unconditional love helped me through that so much. There really is no replacement for the love of an animal after you've lost a beloved pet. I will never only own one dog for this reason. I remember in 8th grade, a friend of mine had done something unfair to me, and I was so upset. The only person I felt comfortable talking to was her - she jumped up on my bed as she always did, I laid my head on her, and just cried. She was such a good listener.


She ended up sleeping on my bed almost every night, which most people would probably think was pretty uncomfortable considering she was about 85 pounds and no small animal. She usually took up about half my bed - or more - but I loved it. She would come in every night & jump up, or curl up on the floor next to me. She was always there - and I knew that she would always protect me. She was so protective in fact that sometimes if we were roughhousing with friends or getting piggy back rides from guys, she would nip at our heels and try to save us. I knew that she would never let anything happen to me. 


I am to this day convinced she thought she was a human. If she ever could comprehend her reflection, I don't think she would have believed it. She always wanted to be with us, and always wanted to eat our food. She was so tall she could just jump up and grab things off the counter. We came home countless times to scraps of plastic from entire loaves of bread. I remember once I told my friend to come over and eat with us because we had half a pizza left over from dinner, and by the time he walked in the door, she had consumed it all. Of course this drove us crazy while she was around, but after she was gone, it almost seemed like a void to not have to push things to the back of the counter so she couldn't get them. I missed having to worry about it because I missed her so deeply.


About a year and a half before she passed away, she tore her achilles heal & had to get surgery. She got a teal cast (completely by chance, but it was my favorite color. I bought her a blinged out teal collar, that I still have, and was made fun of mercilessly for it, but I loved it and she was mine, so who cared?) She had to stay in this kennel at all times, so she didn't aggravate the injury. It broke my heart - a dog that loved being so active and surrounded by her family, stuck in an 8x4 kennel for 6 weeks. One night I set out a blanket and a pillow and slept next to her on the living room floor because I didn't want her to be alone. I also crawled in with her on a couple occasions. I loved her so much.


Then, a couple weeks after I graduated college, my parents told me that she had an advanced form of bone cancer, and that her prognosis was unknown. I threw my arms around her and just cried. We didn't know how much time she had left, but I knew that it was by design that I ended up moving home. I had a feeling that she was not long for this world before my parents had given me the news, and I wanted to spend every moment I could with her while she was still here. We took her to my grandpas house, her favorite, where she had gotten lost for 2 days as a puppy (which really meant she had freeloaded off a neighbor for a night) and where she had been stepped on by a cow (and was thus afraid of them). I had a feeling it would be the last time she would be there.

I will never forget the first time Indie met Maddie. This little 4 pound corgi puppy didn't even think twice before walking underneath what must have been a behemoth monster to her - and Indie looked so offended. They ended up being quite close, even though I'm sure that Maddie annoyed the crap out of Indie. I think they really loved each other. This picture was taken on a roadtrip down to California in August of 2009. We ended up having to bring the dogs with us, although I don't remember why at the moment, but it ended up being one of the best decisions we've ever made. 

This is one of the last pictures I ever took of her. I adore it. But she was so sick. We knew that she would let us know when it was time, and she did. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but I knew she was in pain, and I knew she would be going to a better place despite how much I would miss her. We put her down when were in California. That was about a year and a half ago. And I still miss her so intensely, but I know I will see her again. I have this wonderful view of heaven someday when it's my time to go - I will arrive there and be greeted by the wet kisses and soft purs of my favorite pets. And let me tell you, that thought comforts me every time I really start to miss her.

I will always miss Indie, my puppy and I will always love her. Happy Birthday Indie, I hope you are enjoying the biggest beef bone ever up there.

♥mb.

Why matching is overrated.

Nothing drives me more crazy than perfectly matching outfits. (Ok, a lot of things make me crazier, but for the purpose of my point, let's pretend this is the pet peeve to end all pet peeves.) The fact that I love wearing grungy sweatpants while carrying my Louis Vuitton bag is a prime example of this. In college, sometimes I would intentionally mismatch my clothes (we are talking orange Ugg boots - yes, don't ask - green basketball shorts and bright pink Juicy jackets) just because I thought it was fun. Now, I think my mismatching has become a little more refined, but I still think the concept is true: matching is sooooo 2005.


If you have ever lived with me or hang out with me regularly when its cool outside, you know that I have a bit of a uniform as soon as the temperature dips below 60 degrees. It's almost as if I rejoice as I see the mercury dropping, I dust off my Uggs and stare longingly at my cardigans, all hanging in the same section of my closet. "YES!" I mentally proclaim, "It is almost time to put the summer clothes away and go back to the comfort zone!"


Now, don't get me wrong, every season has it's fabulous wardrobe - at least when you live in the Pacific Northwest, the only place on Earth (I am convinced) where you actually NEED to own a vest. In winter, its down coats, rain boots, ear muffs and a good umbrella. In summer, its denim cutoffs, swim coverups, Rainbows and razorback tanks. In spring, its Tory Burch flats, leggings and tshirts. But fall...fall is my favorite.


Fall is when my go-to ensemble is in its prime. It's when my "thrown together" look of a tshirt covered by a cardigan topped off with a member of my scarf collection (a. no it didnt start as a collection and b. i only refer to it as such because if a future people should discover my room and dub it an ancient ruin, they could make a museum exhibit out of my scarves alone). It really is the perfect outfit, when finished off with a pair of jeans and flats or leggings and boots. 


I despise perfectly matching color schemes, at least on myself. It may be your cup of tea, but it sure as hell ain't mine. You will never catch me wearing a jacket that matches my boots (unless the jacket is black and the boots are, yup, you guessed it, black). I will never wear earrings that match my bracelets, and you will NEVER see me using a handbag the same color as my shoes. In my opinion, this limits my creativity when it comes to dressing myself.


Now I will be the first person to tell you that I dress more for comfort than for fashion (hence why every pair of boots I own is very broken in and my heels, eh, not so much) but I try to make it what I like to call "casual chic". I would like to think that I have perfected the "I look like I don't care what I am wearing but I actually put a lot of thought into this" or "I know that all these colors worn together create the impression that I got dressed in the dark" but I wouldn't have it any other way. (I also believe that if your makeup looks good, you can wear whatever you want & people won't really give a rats A, but we can discuss that topic another time.)


I like to wear my favorite orange shirt with a deep purple paisley scarf. I like to wear floral prints and pair it with whatever scarf is a color that doesn't appear in the pattern. I'm not saying this is entirely fashion forward of me, I am just simply making the point that colors that usually don't go together can make you look like you threw yourself together but can still leave you looking very put together.


I approach interior design with a similar attitude - I want green offsetting deep purple in my (future) bedroom and a navy couch with yellow, white and turquoise pillows, none of the same style. I like things that are not necessarily in the same boxed set but that create a cohesive aesthetic none-the-less. (Often rendering a look even more appealing than if you had followed the packages directions.)


I think this concept of things that don't match but still look great has implications for the way we live as well. We are often too quick to want the house with the white picket fence in the suburbs with a golden retriever, but what if the thing that will actually make us the happiest is a 5-story walk-up in Brooklyn with floor-to-ceiling windows, exquisite vintage furnishings and a teacup American eskimo named Spike? You will never know unless you give mismatching a try.


Things that appear thrown together may actually be the perfect thing. 


♥mb.