Category Archives: flirting

things i love (thursday)

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I haven’t done one of these in a while; I’m at a place where I should. It’s less of a need to express gratitude, but a desire to. It’s the key to independence and the key to opening all doors of possibilities.

Be grateful. Give thanks. It’s the littlest things in life that make all the difference – keep your eyes up and heart open. These are the things that I love and make me love…

+ It’s my brother’s birthday today – happy 17th! I can’t even begin to express just how blessed I am to have such an amazing guy in my life. Wishing I was home to celebrate his new driver’s license and his special day with one too many slices of cake. ♥

+ Beautiful, beautiful friends, whose hearts are worth their weight in gold. Inside and out. I love the late night pillow-talks and the spontaneous phone calls. It’s both incredible and humbling to know that there are such strong girls out there who are paving their way towards success. Nothing will stop them – nothing. I’m honored to call them my best friends, my sisters, my soul mates.

+ Opportunities. Earlier this week I had photoshoot and interview with a university magazine recognizing my (humble!) achievements thus far. Sometimes you just need validation that what you’re doing is right; this is what I needed.

+ The smell of hairspray-clouded dressing rooms and the rush of hair and makeup, pre-show… I’ve missed it. So, so much; it’s been years since I’ve last performed in front of a crowd, and even more years since I’ve stepped foot in a performing hall. Performing this past weekend with my university dance company was what I needed to feel reignited. I want to dance again. Truly dance. Under the spotlight, in the stagelight.

+ Velour tracksuits. I fully endorse them. Do you think otherwise? Watch me zip up my hoodie defiantly; I am an advocate for comfort and practicality especially when they look so sweet. I’ve hoarded two sets in a Victoria’s Secret sale and can’t help but want more wear them all the time. As much as I can get away with without it bordering on being socially unacceptable. I’m clean, I promise.

+ Sweet little nothings.

.   .   .

x

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Editor’s Note: I realize that as I publish this, it will no longer have been Thursday. I refuse to change the title, I adore cheesy alliteration to no end.

the café diaries: so secretly it made my day, but…

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(an article I recovered from the post-apocalyptic, technical mess!)

Sophomore year, 15-16 years old, in Paris with my class.

We had all been just settled a day in our quaint, 2-star hotel (or motel?) and set out to a small town within the city… cobbled streets, open fish and vegetable markets, and exchanges of “‘Bonjour!’ ‘Good Day!’ ‘How is your family!’” All very small provincial town-like sans Belle and singing bakers. Our sexy British tour guide led us into an Americanized restaurant tucked behind said farmer’s market and let us decide between les haumburgers au fromage or les hot-dogs, all served avec des frites.

With Coke, of course.

Somewhere along the line of ordering (hot dogs for me, if you were curious), one girl decided she needed to visit the ladies’ room. You know how girls get – females go to the bathroom in pairs or a hyena pack. Never alone. The male race accredits it to our need to gossip and share Lip Smackers; that sounds just about right. Anyway, since one girl got up, her friend did too, and you know how the rest goes. I managed to force out a barely comprehensible “Où est les toilettes, monsieur?” – I had been deemed the official translator and spokesperson of the group – and pointed giggly American high school girls towards the toilettes. I trailed behind the pack since the loo was over capacity, and was left outside to stand awkwardly between crowded tables. I managed to smile.

“Excusez-moi mademoiselle.”

I whipped around. A table of three businessmen in tailored suits grinned at me. “Vous êtes très, très  belle.”

My 15/16-year-old self was taken aback and slightly creeped.“Uh, merci monsieur.”

“You arrrre Amerrrrican, non?” The rolling r’s sounded borderline leering.

“Oui. Yes.” At least I wasn’t wearing tennis shoes.

“A very pretty one. You are beauuuteeful.” The three men laughed, swigging a sip of their scotch. They were showing off – clearly – their bilingual-ity. The same man continued. “You are Chinese, oui?”

“Yes…oui.“

He smirked and told me he had knack for telling apart Asian ethnicities, but he was blown away by my beauty. He told me I was beautiful. Yet again. This time, in Mandarin Chinese.

This time he was really showing off.

.   .   .

lovers i had & liked…

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I have a penchant for little journals and notebooks I can easily toss into my handbag du jour. I’m always scribbling something down (Post-It’s or otherwise, thus a need to get organized) – and as posh as it sounds, I feel better if my little musings were housed in somethingpretty. Legal pads just won’t do.

But pretty isn’t exactly right, because pretty makes me think of daisy fields and Pepto-Bismal pink, which makes me a little sick.

Witty is more like it. Or just plain kitschy. “Lovers I Had and Liked” fits the latter well enough.

. . .

bises! x

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