things i love (thursday)

A rack of Hervé Léger that gives me heart palpitations. One day. I’m (humbly) growing my collection of bandage dresses, one dress at a time.

+ Sorbet colored nails. Specifically newly acquired bottles of Essie’s “A Crewed Interest” and Revlon’s “Blue Lagoon.” One a beautiful pastel peach, the other the prettiest of light blues strewn with fine specks of glitter, both delicious against a tan. They remind me of summer, even when in a window-less office for eight hours. It’s amazing how color is so transformative and influential.

+ Back to being a working girl. Not that I ever stopped. While I enjoyed the flexibility that came with working as, essentially, a freelancer, I loved stepping foot into an office again, more. Sure, dressing up is part of the fun, but being around people – always buzzing, always brainstorming – and being physically part of something, is invigorating.

+ Bowls of fruit. Watermelon. Kiwi. Strawberries. All freshly diced and sliced to bring color and undeniable juiciness into the world. Sweet and tangy, all in a bit. This must be what summer in heaven tastes like.

+ Bellydancing. It feels so good to be a woman. So good. Did I tell you – my hip scarf never leaves my handbag.

+ Tropical floral prints. It’s all I see and all I want. Pencil skirts, dresses, bikinis. In an island print or darker, Peter Pilotti pattern, I have no discretion. I don’t think I’ve ever loved – nonetheless liked – a trend so much. Zara and Webster Miami for Target – you do me proud.

.   .   .

x

P.S.: A few weeks ago I was given the “Sunshine Award” by Kelly Ann – thank you love!

 {image via}

need, want, love…

A chest of pretty lingerie and bikinis.

Avocado on everything.

Conversations that only end when one of us falls asleep.

Sun. Heat. Sand between my toes.

The perfect summer dress.

Dinner dates with the girls.

To wake up in time to see the sun rise.

Inspiration, always.

Dancing.

Meditation on an open beach.

Freedom, independence, responsibilities.

Open minds and open hearts.

.   .   .

x

just took my first bellydancing class.

I just took my first bellydancing class.

Actually, let me re-write that statement. It needs exclamation points to properly exude my current emotional state.

I just took my first bellydancing class!!

Two exclamations for good luck and emphasis (I like my things in even numbers). It was perhaps one of the best workouts of my life, not to mention, a chance to do something I’ve always wanted to do. Shoulders. Chest. Hips. Thighs. I felt it – truly felt it – from head to toe.

That’s the beauty of all things which make me feel flexible, bendy, and powerful. I can control my body and how it moves; slight hits, elongated snake arms, tiny staccato shimmies, or drawn-out figure eights. Sensual? Or coy? Muscles burn, but I can’t help but want to keep going. Push through. I can do it.

The teacher – probably in her late forties – was beautiful. Exotic, serene, and simply beautiful. I couldn’t stop watching her. Even before she took her position up front, even before I knew who she was, I knew who she was. There she was, a crochet sarong – demure in a sea of brightly colored and well-ornamented waists – tied low on her hips. She was blessed with one of those small frames that couldn’t be overlooked no matter how petite she seemed; there was a presence about her. Commanding. Enticing. Knowing. Perhaps it was the waist-length hair, waves slightly frizzed from the humidity and sweat, pulled half up, half down. Au naturel. Or maybe it was those wide doe eyes; she’d occasionally wink as she looked about the studio at her students.

You could only imagine my surprise when she singled me out. “You’re a dancer, right?” She paused only to smile. “I can tell.”

I didn’t even get to answer.

But what I did get to do, however, was buy myself a hip scarf. It’s something I’ve wanted for the longest time and finally have; silly? Perhaps. Little things make me happy. The only difficult part was choosing; there were so many options. Lavender. A deep purple. Blues. Bright kelly greens. White. Silver or gold coins? Nearly every color and combination piled before me on the wooden table, each neatly folded in their respective plastic bags. There wasn’t any orange scarves, though.

The black one, strewn with gold beads and gold coins, came home with me tonight.

.   .   .

x

fattie not a foodie: the avocado booty call

“I’m a fattie, not a foodie.“

I love food, so much so I secretly wish I was one of those sophisticated foodies who pick at their caviar and cheeses with the air of a seasoned – no pun intended – connoisseur. I see, I smell, and devour; apparently I have a Napoleon complex when it comes to the subject. So ladylike, so chic. I blame my height (or lack thereof).

Slowly but surely, I’m slowly changing my perspective on food. Live not to eat, but eat to live. Step one to holistic eating: Eat to feed your body, and indulge occasionally to feed the soul.

Certain things do both. Oatmeal is my best friend, my shoulder to cry on. Zucchini (grilled with the litttttlest bit of butter) makes me weak at the knees. Avocados are my lovers.

And at three in the morning, who better to call on than the lover? We both knew exactly what we wanted… 

+ Fresh ciabatta roll, cut down the center for the perfect portion. Slice that half open, in half again.

+ ½ ripe avocado

+ lime juice

+ extra virgin olive oil

+ freshly ground black pepper

+ garlic powder (optional)

+ diced red onion (optional; wish I had this then)

+ butter (optional)

In a small bowl, mash the avocado with a bit of lime juice, olive oil, black pepper, and garlic powder – all to taste. I don’t measure; accuracy sometimes kills the beauty of spontaneous domesticity. Taste test occasionally with a fork because the gorgeous green is irresistible, and the combination of ingredients smells divine. Keep mashing until the mixture is slightly smoother and creamy in consistency. (I prefer a few chunks for texture, but I’m also lazy.)

Drizzle a bit of olive oil or add a smathering of whipped butter to the insides of the ciabatta bread halves. Toast it on a pan for a few minutes, and while it’s still warm, spread the avocado paste across its surface. Be generous; we love avocado. Ground more flakes of black pepper, and sprinkle on top a bit more garlic powder to garnish…

Simple. Satisfying. And exquisite, if I may say so myself, especially for a 3 a.m. snack hor d’oeuvre. I may go as far to say it’d be lush for an appetizer during girls’ night in.

.   .   .

x

{image via, edited by yours truly}

sensory saturdays

The little things which I notice, make me smile, or make me feel compelled to write about. Or maybe it’s an excuse to use alliteration. You’ll never know.

.   .   .

+ Eye contact. Something so seemingly minute and inconsequential, but leaves an indelible impact. Too little contact says you’re detached. Apathetic. Nervous, insociable. Too much eye contact makes the other uncomfortable, like you’ve crossed some borderline. Just the right amount – the locking of eyes that makes someone look away, but want to look back – is such a beautiful thing. It’s the little things in life.

+ Pilates. All things flexible, bendy, and beautiful – I adore things that make me feellike a woman. I’ve just started yesterday and woke up feeling absolutely sore. All over. It hurts so, so good.

+ Raw smoothies. A bit tangy, a bit sweet, wholly fresh. The joys of returning to holistic eating feels so right. My body says thank you in advance.

+ Reading. I haven’t in a while. In a year, actually, not counting required readings for classes. I’ve forgotten the pleasures that come with simply relaxing and just letting your eyes and mind glaze over slightly. Let the printed words on the page take over, let the imagination stir from its deep slumber. I’ve just started Steve Martin’s “An Object of Beauty.” Deliciously smart so far, and it’s a beautiful book just to hold…

.   .   .

x