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

Forget Calling, Maybe.

Maybe it's a more common problem among people than I think. Or maybe I'm just one sad weirdo girl out of a thousand. But I am TERRIBLE at talking on the phone.

Seriously bad. Spare yourself the agony. Text me or send me a letter instead. That I can do.

What made me think of this was reading Cosmo's (guilty pleasure, I know, I know...) article on Carly Rae-Jepsen, otherwise know as the singer of the 
instant tweenager classic- "Call Me Maybe". 

According to the article, Justin Beiber discovered the song when he was doing dishes with his grandma in Canada and listening to the radio. 

Okey doke, then, while that story is pretty crazy, the outcome is pretty obvious. Anyone who hasn't heard the pop-hit is... probably Amish.

....

In other news, I bleach tie-dyed this men's shirt and was pretty pleased with the outcome. 

How to do this: Take a long-sleeved shirt, cut the sleeves off, then twist the shirt starting from the bottom. As you twist it, roll the shirt into a ball (the end result should look somewhat like a cotton snail) . Then, secure the 'snail' with hair ties/rubber bands/whatever is at your disposal and dip it in bleach. Do not dip it for more than five minutes, or the bleach will start to degrade the fabric. Then, once optimal lightening is achieved, dip the shirt into white vinegar. This stinks to high heaven, but stops the bleach from eating away the shirt. Next, wash the shirt (by itself, unless you want to bleach tie-dye all of your clothes) in cold water. Dry, and voila! Punk-Rocker wardrobe piece complete!

And in even other news, I did a cover of Ceelo Green's 'Forget You'. (Clean version, no worries!) I did it with my Iphone. And after twenty-nine takes, I gave up and settled on this one. And wouldn't you know it, it's not perfect. C'est la vie.

Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go put this on Canadian radio and hope that the Beibs is helping his g-ma do dishes again.

;)

Love,

Chloe

Break It Down Now

Today I'm in my room attempting to break it down without breaking down. It can be hard to say goodbye.

Who am I kidding?

It can be a great big mess of ugly and sad sometimes.

This last week has been a bit of a mess. But a not an ugly one. It's been a lovely mess of friends, laughter, cupcakes, and high heels.

 

My feet still haven't forgiven me for the latter, though.

I am so grateful for the people I've met during the three years I've been at this university. They are boss. Seriously: they are my people. That's as much as I can say without going adjective-mad on all of you.

On a different note I found something out about myself while packing. 

I have PADD. Packing Attention Deficit Disorder.

Or one might say, I'm suffering from PADD while trying to move out of my pad.

Hence, this post is taking priority over the suitcase that mocks me from it's lair in the hall closet.

And here's a crazy article from NY Mag What Thirteen People Wore to interview with Anna Wintour of Vogue. Like what one of the bottom comments says: I'd like to be the kind of broke that comes with a Mulberry bag. 

The Bayswater Leather Bag, Pricetag: $1,350.00

Yeesh.

Back in the packing realm, in what is obviously desperate need, I have resorted to getting rid of half of everything I own. Especially clothes. I have an absurd amount of those. It's an addiction, ladies and gents.

So here's to cleansing and starting over!

And here's to each and every one of you that make my life a little bit more shiny.

Love,

Chloe 

Hanging Out With Aliens

It never fails. Every time it hits the end of January, I am rabid for Spring. The stores don't make it any easier, with their sandal and swimsuit displays. So every once in a while I pretend that it's May and dress as such just to ease the longing. 

Of course, I pair it with sweaters to ward off the inevitable Idahoan-pneumonia that would accompany such an outfit.

While I wait, I tend to watch old favorites. 'Comfort shows', if you will. My go-to is the late '70s classic: Mork and Mindy.

Mork and Mindy was a spin-off of the television favorite Happy Days, and it's a story of a bewildered and friendly alien who is sent to Earth to make a report on what humans are like. He meets an earthling named Mindy, and together they have absolutely hilarious encounters with what we would consider everyday happenings.

Kinda.

This show absolutely slays me. It is belly-laugh funny, and in my opinion, Robin Williams is at his absolute best. 

If you ever catch me saying 'Ko' as opposed to 'Ok', it's thanks to my addiction to this delightful show.

In lieu of spring, it's probably healthiest to take in as much vitamin D as possible. Seriously folks, this stuff is a sanity saver.

And wear a springy outfit every once in a while. I promise it'll do you good.

But do the smart thing and wear a sweater. Nobody likes to have the sniffles.

Also advisable is to throw a party to ward off the winter chill. So if you will excuse me, I'm going to go frost forty-eight cupcakes and brew thirty cups of hot cocoa.

Whether I'll be consuming them alone or not is completely irrelevant.

Ladeeda!

Love,

Chloe