Fall, Y'all

Fall, Y'all by meaghan-flynn-mckeon featuring diamond earrings

Amigos, Let's Get Mexican

My life partner totally reneged on his promise to move me to a proper abode, ie, one with a closet or, perhaps a wall. Since today is his 30th birthday, I will take this opportunity to blow his spot wide open, as it will cancel out all of the well wishing happening on Le Facebook. 

 THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR STEALING MY WALL. A WOMAN NEEDS A WALL.

Anywho, because of his thievery and dream killing, we will remain FOREVERUNTILWE DIE a little while longer on 64th street and I have begun some home improvements. Mainly, just ordering knick knacks from Mexico to assuage the pain and painting some shit that has chipped, as, it was more than likely found on the street. 

We fancy.

These Mexican lovelies came today. One smells so bad that no number of washings will ever fix it, so I'll hang it somewhere. Like, outside.The other 2 will be a combo of blankies, protecting the couch from my direwolf and other tasks of that nature.

I may be going overboard in the 'theme' department.

The cacti are becoming out of control in my house. I feel like there are also cacti in Mexico.

Obsessed with the rug below. And the windows. Not that purse, though. Barf.

Even my plastic deck rug is Mexi-ish. I can say Mexi-ish because I have a Mexican friend, and that makes it not racist.

Want to update the skull wall with some more old photos of people that I do not know.

Even my romper had Mexicans on it. I think that may have been J's favorite outfit yet. As per his face. 

I have a malachite bowl filled with pesos, as well. I know I often joke. But unfortunately, that was not one of them.

Multiple Personality Disorder

Contrary to the title of this post, I'm not going to divulge something serious to you today, although it would strike nobody as a surprise. 'Bi-polar psycho' is a really cute nickname that my husband reserves for me and just me. Instead, the MPD I am referring to is my need to live in multiple cities at once and be the person synonymous with each locale. Follow me, will you?

NYC bad bitch: I'm Carrie Bradshaw, get away from my cab.

I love North Carolina: I'm going to stand here with my pitchfork and be deliriously happy and sell all my everything i love Chanel.

I'm a Parisian trapped in this transplanted New Yorker's country bumpkin, pear-shaped body. C'est la vie.

It's been said that 'You only live once, but if you work it right, once is enough.' Fine, it was said on The Real Housewives of Orange County, but it was said.

I say, she's a God damned liar.

Everything Old Is New Today

This is a link to my old blog, which even my mother didn't read. Let's enjoy this comedic debacle of writing samples, shall we? Yes, let's.

THIS IS THE LINK, CLICK HERE Y'ALL

May this serve as a public service announcement to adolescents everywhere, swarming in poverty stricken herds to move to NYC to give someone one million American dollars a day to live somewhere very, very small. You will eventually earn money. You won't have to shop at Goodwill forever, though you may choose to continue. You will meet a nice boy/girl or boygirl or whathaveyou and they may even marry you. You will eventually revisit your old blog and revel in some sort of personal growth.

In the meantime, I will think of something, ANYTHING, of current relevance to contribute to this current blaugh.

Charm School

No, this is not a post about a group of whores on VH1 who want to learn how not to be so whore-y. Let's talk about jewels, man!

Many of you know, and now all twelve of you will, that I love sentimental jewels. Anything with a monogram, a significant other's initials, a birthstone, I love. It stems from inheriting a lot (can I get a hell yes?) of jewels from some very chic grandmothers, much of which was collected, accrued over many years and engraved. Jemma Wynne is introducing a new line at Couture, COVET, and it's in the same vein as my obsessions. Pieces you want to collect, engrave, layer, hoard, and then pass down. And a few you may not want to. But, you'll be dead. So who cares.

Esse Quam Videri

The title of this post is Latin for 'To be, rather than to seem.' It is the state motto of my beloved North Carolina and and important sentiment to live by, in my very humble opinion. I am reminded of this sentiment every time I find classless thieves knocking off talented designers and representing a design as their own. I am reminded of this sentiment when I exist in the city of excess and indulge a little too much. Excess, while necessary, isn't all there is. Most importantly  I am most reminded of Esse Quam Videri , when the wheels hit the tarmac, landing in sweet Carolina. Luxury, excess, glamour, and New York City are only amazing when you have folks to remind you where you came from. 

Thank you, y'all know who you are.

All the sweetest winds they blow across the south 

Oh my sweet Carolina 

What compels me to go 

Oh my sweet disposition 

May you one day carry me home 

Living in Manhattan, acting D.U.M.B.O

In my family, we call the love/hate of our Manhattan lifestyles, ebbing and flowing. Like, 'are you ebbing or flowing today and do you currently want to kill yourself or go lay out in the park?' I think, unless you live here, you may think I'm a lunatic, but it's true. One day, you're on cloud nine, all, 'I LOVE MY LIFE AND MANHATTAN IS MY DREAM AND I'D DIE WITHOUT IT.' Cut to 4 minutes later and it's, 'IM GOING TO HURL MYSELF INTO 6th avenue TRAFFIC. TODAY'S THE DAY THIS CITY FUCKING KILLS ME.'

In an attempt to avoid my demise, both this weekend and last, I've escaped to D.U.M.B.O (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass, as the locals do not, nor anyone else, like to call it) and quite enjoyed myself. You take the F train from the Upper East Side (barf) for approximately 47 hours and you get off at York Street. Upon your exit from the underground homeless bathroom/aids factory subway, head down Water St. and enjoy the food truck festival, Brooklyn Bridge Park, and a general state of being where you don't want to commit mass homicide. It looks a little something like this.

Really happy to be getting the 'F' (pun) outta Manhattan

Brooklyn Bridge Park, home to every engagement picture, ever. Except ours, because we're better than other couples.

Just enjoying eating my weight in food that is cooked in a truck

John enjoying his repulsive sandwich. There was 7 cows worth of brisket between 2 pieces of  cow juice soaked bread.

My brother, Sean (Oakley does not sponsor this blog. They damn well should though) and a lovely couple surveying the blanket/wind situation.

The hideous view from an apartment we looked at on Jay Street. Really, it's offensive.

Back in the city, but happy, because I have a gallon of vodka in that mason jar.

Until next weekend, D.U.M.B.O

I'm going to make a list of reasons I love living in Manhattan and report back soon. Sometimes, in any relationship (whether with a person, a city, a job, a friendship), you have to reignite the spark. I'm going to start courting NYC pretty hard. Here's to getting lucky, friends.