Twenty-One

Yesterday was my twenty-first birthday. And I got my hair dyed blonde ombre on Saturday. Hello, change. I'm starting to feel like I've moved from life's preliminary rounds and on to the semi-finals.

I've also discovered that I have the world's most loving and generous family (alrighty, I've known this a while, but every once in a while they truly spoil me!) and hundreds of amazing friends. Facebook page be blowin' up yesterday! Thank you to each and every one of you well-wishers!

I also am getting my own ukulele after weeks of coveting my dad's. Holla!

I'm mostly glad that I have many people who will support me now that I've entered old age.

Alright, maybe I'm not as old as I feel, but when I think of where I was when I started college at eighteen, I know I've changed. A lot.


Some of it for the better, some not. But I'd be delusional to think that growing up would be easy.

I was told that I looked like a 'sweet eighties chic' yesterday. I'll take it.

Finding myself has been a merry chase. And I don't think there will be any definite 'final product'. 

How lame would that be? 

'You have reached the final stage of development creatively, spiritually, and mentally. Please wait here until you die.'

No thanks. I think I'll stay ephemeral, if you don't mind.

In other news, I have found the newest addition to my time-waste program: The Harlem Shake. Here's one of my faves from the University of Georgia Men's Swim and Dive Team:

Can't get enough of it. And the number of videos goes on forever! Farewell, productivity. It was good while it lasted.

I like to think that birthdays give you a fresh start. A chance to resolve some of the issues you may have had in your past year. At least, that's the stance I'm taking.

So here's to twenty-one, to friends, to family, to ukulele music that can lift a mood instantaneously!

And to buying wine just because the label is cool.

Love,

Chloe

Solitary Refinement

Oh hello, February the fifteenth. Here we sit, in all our day-after-Valentine's-day fallout. The good, the bad, and the meh.

How yesterday was spent depended on your state of mind or our Facebook relationship status, depending on your persuasion. Some received dozens of flowers while still others delivered dozens of complaints about the holiday itself.

I for one, celebrated in solitary refinement.

And did a self photo-shoot with all the lights off and a very bright flash. Which, while both entertaining and liberating, is probably very bad for your eyes. So wear sunglasses and pretend that it helps.

I didn't have a boyfriend this Valentine's Day, nor did I require one. I went on a ladies date with my best friend, which involved Shari's (in other words: PIE) and the movie Warm Bodies. Which, by the way, is completely delightful and laugh-out-loud funny.

It's quite good.

I am slowly trying to refine the art of separating the ideas of 'being alone' and 'being lonely'. All too often, I think girls get hung up on the idea that they have no identity without a man to call their own.

This theory is preposterous, dear chicas.

Of course, this is not to say that one never needs a man. Men are lovely and strong and completely essential for the Earth and stuff. 

But one should not require a man to discover out who oneself is.

The way I see it, and with RuPaul's reinforcement, if you can't love yourself, how in the heck are you gonna love anybody else?

So go out, find yourself, do that crazy thing that makes you feel like you're a superstar. Just don't stop for a second if somebody else tells you you're doing it wrong. 

The right one will join right in.

Love,

Chloe

Pink and Fresh Start Orange

Moving home is the greatest flashback of all. Not a bad one, by any means. But a flashback nonetheless.

Take my room for example...

Sixteen-year old me spent days painting these walls fushia and construction-zone orange while listening to the Hairspray soundtrack over, and over, and over.

Turned out pretty exciting. I think the Tracy Turnblad in me really came through...

Although my decor tastes may have somewhat shifted in the last five years, my dizzily bright room leads me to an important topic: staying yourself.

Don't be afraid of what others will think of you or say about you. 

At sixteen, I was by no means aloof, but I definitely didn't care what people thought. I wore what made me feel beautiful and acted the way I wanted, no matter how 'eccentric' it was considered.

Something changed a couple years ago, and I lost that inner edge. That 'honey badger' attitude, if you will. I started to worry about what was 'pretty', what was 'acceptable'. The media told me how to be, and I started to listen.

But now I want it back.

I want that free feeling, that spice for life. I want to wake up and not worry about how thin I am.

Take it from a girl who has spent a surprisingly stupid amount of energy worrying about what others think.

Life is far too short to lose yourself in the shuffle. And if moving home and starting fresh is what it takes to break out of that, I'm down.

I've got a lot of things to sort out, and it's gonna be an adventure finding out exactly where I'll end up. On MY terms.

Plus, I've got a room to repaint.

Stay gold.

Love,

Chloe

Flowers in February

The sunshine has made a glorious reappearance during the last few days. And it's got me dreaming of flowers.

My favorite day of the year is the day the crocuses reappear. That's when you know the cold is nearly over.

Speaking of flowers, I am reminded of another one of my absolute favorite shows: Pushing Daisies. 

This adorable, quirky, and sadly short-lived comedy drama stars Lee Pace as Ned, a pie-maker who can bring the dead to live with the touch of a finger, but with consequences. Love, comedy, and a little bit of Kristin Chenoweth makes for a delightful diversion during the days when the cold makes for an indoor TV-athon. 

Also in the realm of daisies, is my favorite perfume in the entire... well, universe at the moment. Daisy by Marc Jacobs. 

Even though sickly models hugging giant bottles of perfume is not a great selling point with me, the smell of Daisy is undeniably lovely. The price, however, is a bit ugly. At about 80 bucks a bottle, thank goodness for free samples in magazines.

Ah, the life of a broke twenty-year old. It makes for some great ingenuity.

I struck out to the great outdoors in search of sunshine this afternoon. I was fairly successful, despite the lingering snow.

I never promised you a rose garden, but I'll do my best to look like one.

Have a glorious Saturday!

Love,

Chloe