DIY: Jewelry

Every now and then, I stumble upon something in a store or a magazine that catches my eye, and I think to myself, "I bet I can make that myself." In my mind, I'm a DIY enthusiast, despite having limited experience in completing projects from start to finish. Whether it's bed headboards, jewelry, or artwork, I've dabbled in them all, rarely achieving a result that truly satisfies me. So, here I am, embarking on my next mission: to actually complete something and genuinely love it.

Let me take you back to a past DIY endeavor. Every year, my family and I vacation in Maine. A few years ago, I stumbled upon a quaint seaside boutique showcasing the most exquisite sea foam/teal and gold bracelet. I envisioned it adorning my wrist, complementing many of my Spring/Summer outfits perfectly. Then I glanced at the price tag – a staggering $475. Ouch. But rather than splurging, I opted for a more introverted approach. I pulled out my reflective journal and sketched a picture of the bracelet.

A week later, back in NYC, armed with cash and determination, I ventured to the Fashion District, home to numerous bead, button, and jewel stores. After a $30 shopping spree for gold chains, loops, hooks, stones, and armed with my bracelet sketch, I returned to my apartment ready to bring my vision to life. Fast forward to March 18th, 2011 – an unusually warm day for March, with temperatures hitting 70 degrees. As I opened my under bed storage, a plethora of half-finished DIY projects stared back at me. Among them lay the 95% complete bracelet – gems still glittering, gold-plated stainless steel chain still shining. However, it remained unwearable. I hadn't figured out a way to secure the gems without a soldering tool, and the protruding gold sticks made wearing it uncomfortable. Ouch, indeed.

So, as I prepare for my Spring/Summer '11 ensembles, my mission for the next month is clear: to finally finish the bracelet and check a DIY project off my list once and for all!

 

those friends....

So, I'm in my late twenties now. Yep, just this past Sunday, I made that jump from a bright-eyed 25-year-old to feeling like, "I'm too old for this," with hangovers that linger for an eternity, realizing I can't party like a 21-year-old anymore – I'm a 26-year-old woman now. Ugh.

But despite the aging pains, I had my study abroad crew in town last weekend to celebrate my birthday, and of course, it turned into a full-blown party weekend. Having them around brought back waves of nostalgia from nearly five years ago when we first met during our Australian study abroad adventure. Back then, we were wild, carefree, and brimming with excitement for our futures.

I used to be afraid of so many things, that I'd never grow up, that I'd be trapped in the same place for all eternity, that my dreams would forever be shy of my reach. It's true what they say, time plays tricks on you. One day you're dreaming, the next your dream has become your reality.

And now that the scared little girl no longer follows me wherever I go, I miss her. I do. Because there are things that I want to tell her, to relax, to lighten up, that it is all going to be okay. I want her to know that meeting people who like you, who understand you, who actually accept you for who you are will become an increasingly rare occurrence.

W & B, these people who contributed to who I am, they are with me wherever I go. And as history gets rewritten in small ways with each passing day, my love for them only grows, because the truth is it was the best of times. Mistakes were made, hearts were broken, harsh lessons learned, but all that has receded into fond memory now.

How does it happen? Why are we so quick to forget the bad and romanticize the good? Maybe it's because we need to believe that the time we spent together actually meant something. That we were there for each other in a time in our lives that defined us all. That time in our lives that we will never forget.

I can't swear that's exactly how it happened. But this is how it felt.

confidence soars as feet plunge

City sidewalks transform into an obstacle course after a good downpour. Puddles lurk around every corner, disguised as innocent shadows, waiting to soak unsuspecting pedestrians. I see it all the time: the hesitant shuffle, the strategic hopscotch, the resigned sigh as a crisp shoe succumbs to a slushy embrace.

But me? I strut through the watery chaos with a smile. My secret weapon? Rain boots, glorious rain boots.

Forget the days of tiptoeing and puddle-dodging. These waterproof warriors let me conquer the sidewalk with confidence. A well-placed stomp into a particularly defiant puddle becomes a victory dance, a celebration of conquering the elements.

Sure, some might look at me with envy (or maybe a touch of amusement) as I splash through the streets. But hey, dry feet and a happy attitude are worth a little water spray.

Next time you're caught in a downpour, ditch the shoe shuffle and embrace the power of the rain boot. You'll be surprised how much a little waterproof confidence can transform your walk – and maybe even your day. So, slip on your Wellingtons, your Hunters, your L.L. Beans, whatever your waterproof footwear of choice may be, and join me in the puddle-stomping fun!

Leaving Manhattan Oddities

Every December, I swap the blaring sirens of NYC for the sleepy charm of suburban Massachusetts. It's a homecoming ritual – days melt into cozy naps, festive PJs become the new uniform, and baking extravaganzas fill the air with sugary sweetness.

This year, amidst flour-dusted chaos, my sister and I hit a snag. Her epic health bar recipe demanded pitted dates. Mom, bless her soul, had a bounty of staples, but pitted dates? Not a chance. Enter the suburban grocery store – a revelation compared to the curated chaos of our local bodegas.

Sure, New York boasts 24/7 convenience and delivery apps galore. But as I wandered aisles overflowing with possibilities, I realized something profound. This wasn't just a grocery store; it was a wonderland! Forget ramen – here, entire shelves were dedicated to every conceivable sauce, each whispering promises of culinary adventures.

Back in the city, a bottle of marinara is a reliable friend, not a gateway to a global pantry. The sheer variety in this suburban haven was enough to make a city dweller weep with joy (tears of both awe and a slight touch of FOMO).

So next time someone brags about the convenience of NYC, I'll counter with a tale of endless sauce options and the unexpected joy of a well-stocked grocery aisle. Because let's face it, some things – like the perfect pesto or a truly life-changing hot sauce – are worth the escape from the concrete jungle.

...and then there were 2

From corporate elevators to Thanksgiving gatherings and even the bustling aisles of the Union Square Farmers Market, I've been surrounded by a language that's always felt foreign to me. That all changed just 16 weeks ago, in the cozy confines of my friend Gail's living room. Picture this: ten of us girls huddled around laptops, fueled by countless bottles of wine, embarking on a journey to learn a language spoken by millions around the globe. In case the smudged black under our eyes didn't give it away, we decided to tackle football.

Step 1: Launch a Fantasy Football league. Check!

No, I'm not orchestrating some Dexter-style serial killing spree among my girlfriends. But week after week, I've been dominating "Chicken Dinner," "Tortious Tacklers," "Little Giants," and the like in our fantasy football matchups. Thanks to binge-watching "The League" on FX (more of a testosterone-fueled soap opera than a tutorial on raunchy fantasy football smack talk) and scouting player projections online, I've secured a spot in my league's finals! Sure, it's not a jackpot like $1,500 – we're fantasy rookies, so it's just $15 bucks each, with the winner claiming a modest $150 and eternal bragging rights until next season.

This wasn't exactly the direction I envisioned for my blog when I started it. I had dreams of captivating readers with inspiring photographs that screamed, 'wow, this chick has style!' Well, let's be real, this post probably won't have anyone raving about my impeccable taste. But hey, if you stumbled upon it, stay tuned. Who knows where this journey might lead next...

UPDATE: Second place is just a fancy term for the #1 LOSER.

"Win as if you were used to it, lose as if you enjoyed it for a change." Someone fed me that line years ago, but as I've grown older, I've realized it's a load of crap. I still despise losing, and I refuse to pretend otherwise. So, Fantasy Football league 2011, watch out.

Here's to hoping I stumble upon $20 bucks on the sidewalk. Cheers!

muse: a source of inspiration

Every day is a hustle, a constant hustle to find that sweet spot of balance in life. I'm all about that hustle—believing that balance isn't just a wishful thought but something we actively craft through our desires and actions. But hey, let's be real, even the most passionate pursuit can hit a roadblock sometimes. And that's where this blog comes in.

Think of it as my little corner of the internet where I spill the tea on all things inspiring. Whenever those light bulb moments hit, whenever the muses decide to show themselves, I'll be right here, sharing it all with you. Because let's face it, we're all in this together, navigating the twists and turns of life.

So buckle up, because I'll be taking you on a ride through my favorite coffee joints, showing off the freshest finds from Union Square's farmers market, diving into the eclectic vibes of NYC, drooling over the latest fashion must-haves, whipping up recipes from scratch, and who knows, maybe stumbling upon some unexpected muses that simply make my heart sing.

Stick around, because this journey to balance? It's going to be one heck of a ride, filled with surprises, laughter, and a whole lot of coffee.