Oh me, oh my. Look at this little corner I forgot all about! Neglected, that's one word that comes to mind. Sorry beetles. I guess I've just been carried away with life, not minding the absence of documenting tid bits here and there. But no mind you. I'm still here kickin'.
A brief briefing:
Loving Passion Pit, Carried Away. It reminds me of work. Grooveshark it.
I work at Red Bull now. Well, actually, one of their distribution centers. I also love that too. And the fact that I get to jam out all day to whatever music my little heart desires... like Passion Pit. On an iPod with speakers in the lobby. Oh yes.
I'm slowly falling in love with country music. I know, I know. Dont' get me started. I caught myself actually trying to convince my sisters that it was worth listening to and I may have accidentally sent them an email with a link to all of my favorite songs.. 2 minutes ago. Oops.
We went to a comedy club tonight. The headliner was a skinny, bearded, hipster and I think I mostly stared at his padded elbows all night in wonder. Hah! I don't even know what to call them, those circly things where the elbows should be on a jacket. I just kept pondering, is this guy real? I thought I only read about these wonders on other people's blogs. How I would love to get totally smashed with one of these characters. I don't think my husband shared my enthusiasm. Then again, I've always been oddly attracted to people opposite myself. Where's the fun in finding someone exactly like you. How boring, right? Right?! But alas, that's what I find most people want.. someone exactly like themselves. Dull.
No offense. Not that you're one of those people.
Not that I'm above and beyond interesting myself. Clearly, not all that much.. or I'd have more to to write about.
Ah, just one of those nights. Warm air, flicker of candlelight in the breeze. Music.
Just r e l a x
And on and on it goes...
Forever & ever.
I just finished eating ramen. You know, of the noodle variety. I watched Celeste & Jesse Forever... alone. Loved it. A nice reminder of the messy bits in life. So now I'm drinking wine and listening to music, which naturally is a great combination. I wasn't having a particularly great day earlier. Irritable and indecisive. Those are my worst days. So now I'm enjoying a messy Saturday night, where the dishes go unwashed, the bathroom sink dirty and no one to see my unimpressive outfit. But hey, who cares right? Every now and then it's nice to let your hair down (or, in my case, to throw it up in a messy bun) and not mind every once in awhile. Let the lines blur. Let all the perfect plans fall to the wayside. I hope you're out there somewhere enjoying your weekend evening, no matter what that happens to look like.
Here's to you. Enjoying all that life has to offer. Even the messy bits.
Here's to you. Enjoying all that life has to offer. Even the messy bits.
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| Image found here. |
Boudoir.
According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary...
noun \ˈbü-ˌdwär, ˈbu̇-, ˌbü-ˈ, ˌbu̇-ˈ\
: a woman's dressing room, bedroom, or private sitting room
French, from bouder to pout
First Known Use: 1781
I've taken a special liking to the word. The way it so easily rolls off the tongue. Boudoir. Boudoiiiir. Don't mind me, I'm just going to take leave to my boudoir...so that I can pout, because apparently that's just what us ladies do! So fancy. And French. So you see, by default, I already like the word because I pretty much like anything French. French words and French mints. I happened upon the most amazing, unique, ginormous grocery store which consisted of little street-style sections of authentic foreign treats. So this my friends, is how I got my pretty little hands on some rose flavored mints. Only in France, I tell you, would they make candy pieces scented like flowers. Love, love, love.
Now, off you go to your boudoir!
Coinkydink.
I almost always think of the best blog posts while laying in my bed, computer-less. My sincere apologies because this inevitably means that only about 1/3 of my most creative thoughts ever make it to my blog. This night... well, morning really, I was possessed with the desire to get up and actually type.
In bed, my thought process goes a little something like this...
They should totally bring back trains. Right?! But they can be more like the high speed rail trains that they have in Asia. I bet people would pay a premium for a swanky sleeping car. It could be cruise ship worthy interior. Or better. With bars. I would totally ride a train just for the nostalgia of it all. Add to my bucket list: Ride in swanky train. What other cool things should they bring back? Oh, I know! The erasable Facebook wall. Does anyone else remember it? Remember, you could actually modify other people's comments on someone elses wall, like a whiteboard. That was legit. I kind of forget what it looked like though. Damn. I wish I had a screenshot. I remember getting into a wall WAR with an ex-girlfriend of my I-don't-believe-in-titles boyfriend. Too bad I can't see that on my timeline. Where does all of that information shared go once a person shuts down their account? Oh, and remember that time....
(Enter the actual blog post)
I don't believe in coincidence. Or chance. I've probably pointed that out by now more than a few times.
There was an incident in college when I got caught up waiting on an apartment sixth floor stairway. I can't even recall why, or what my I-don't-believe-in-titles "boyfriend" was doing at the time to hold me up, but I remember standing there for that split second. I happened to idly gaze down at the cement floor. And just as I did so, something tiny caught my eye. Something that looked like it didn't belong amongst the dirt pile in the corner. I knelt down for a closer look and was astonished to find an earring. My earring! My missing earring from a few weeks ago! The teeniest, tiniest of stud earrings that to this day, I would be afraid to put in my ear for fear that it would slip right through the hole. And here it was, laying in a pile of dirt on the sixth floor of my boyfriend's apartment. The coincidence is not the location in which it was found, because honestly, how often did we venture up and down those steps? But the fact that I found it?! That I just so happened to gaze down, on that exact spot, at the exact moment I was mid apartment exit from the eighth floor. What are the chances? It was almost like a sign to notice. And I'm not entirely sure why, but I've always kept that little earring hidden away in a tiny compartment of my jewelry box. I can't bare to part ways with it. It was just too "random" of a coincidence. Just like this past weekend, on the anniversary of my father-in-laws death, when hubs and I were arguing in the car. It got so heated that he pulled into a parking lot and parked the car so that we could hash out our differences. For real. It wasn't until we noticed all of the people getting out of their cars and heading toward the building behind us that we turned around and realized that we had pulled into a church parking lot, at the very moment when service was about to begin. I mean, what are the chances of that?
I won't bore you with other examples. You get the point.
I won't bore you with other examples. You get the point.
I think there are signs all of the time, for everyone. Do you want to see them? To believe them? If not, you'll likely miss them without a thought as to their existence.
But maybe it's time you started noticing the signs.
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End post: 4:34 am. .
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The unexpected cuddle.
I never before believed in soul mates. And why should I? Never having a specific type, I dated a variety of boys. My rational mind told me that I could have ended up marrying any one of them. Sure, the outcome might be different. It's true. I may have been happier with some more than with others, but if my heart had been into it and theirs too, we could have made it work. But funny how it should happen, it didn't.
And then I met my husband. Intoxicated and intoxicating, first thing in the morning at a football tailgate, wondering why he was even bothering to talk to me. Hair a frizzy mess, beer-in-hand, checking my reflection in a car side door mirror. That, followed by a very interesting conversation while he peed on a car tire. No joke. These are my memories of that day. It was tailgating at Penn State, in the cow fields, and in the pouring, cold April rain. But I was 20 years old, and that's just how some love stories began back then.
I found out later, much later, after we were married even, that he had walked away that day thinking, "I'm going to marry her." It still catches my heart off guard every time he tells me the story. And I wish I could tell you that our love story fell into perfect place afterwards but life isn't always a bed of roses. There were some twists and turns before we finally came together.
And so our love story continues to unfold every moment of every day. I've begun to think this wasn't an accident. That this was intentional and that we are here, together, to learn something bigger than ourselves. We're all put on this earth for a purpose. Mine with his and his with mine. And I was reminded in the wee hours of this morning, when I woke to both of us wrapped in an uncharacteristic cuddle, neither of us wanting anything more than to stay where we were, of just how much I love him.
And then I met my husband. Intoxicated and intoxicating, first thing in the morning at a football tailgate, wondering why he was even bothering to talk to me. Hair a frizzy mess, beer-in-hand, checking my reflection in a car side door mirror. That, followed by a very interesting conversation while he peed on a car tire. No joke. These are my memories of that day. It was tailgating at Penn State, in the cow fields, and in the pouring, cold April rain. But I was 20 years old, and that's just how some love stories began back then.
I found out later, much later, after we were married even, that he had walked away that day thinking, "I'm going to marry her." It still catches my heart off guard every time he tells me the story. And I wish I could tell you that our love story fell into perfect place afterwards but life isn't always a bed of roses. There were some twists and turns before we finally came together.
And so our love story continues to unfold every moment of every day. I've begun to think this wasn't an accident. That this was intentional and that we are here, together, to learn something bigger than ourselves. We're all put on this earth for a purpose. Mine with his and his with mine. And I was reminded in the wee hours of this morning, when I woke to both of us wrapped in an uncharacteristic cuddle, neither of us wanting anything more than to stay where we were, of just how much I love him.
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| III |
The Rookwood & an Art Museum.
To date, we've been to a Bengals game, visited the Cincinnati zoo and enjoyed the "world famous ribs" at Montgomery Inn. Slowly, we're making our rounds in this new town. At my husband's request, we went to brunch at the Rookwood in Mt. Adams. The atmosphere was absolutely incredible. Old and rustic and full of charm. It's in an old pottery plant, full of kilns, exposed brick and wood beams. I'm only sorry that I wasn't able to take even more pictures (again, at my husband's request). We even treated ourselves to a celebratory bottle of Italian sparkling wine (aka Champagne, just not grown in the designated area of France). Good news to follow, clearly not baby related, but good news nevertheless! More to come in a few months... hopefully :) After some eggs, hashbrowns and a more easily manipulated mind (thank you, champagne), I was able to convince hubs it was a good idea to visit the Art Museum. You see, it's practically a crime that we lived so close to those Rocky Steps in Philadelphia and never actually went inside, so I figure this is a small step (pun intended) towards redemption. Plus, after all of those books and television shows I've been engulfed in lately about the 1800's, it was even more fascinating to see all of the old stuffy portraits. Thank goodness for cameras!
Aaaand now some non-Instagram photos for you...
Where will you go this weekend?!
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| Est. in 1802 |
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| Old whiskey bottles - now used as water decanters |
Aaaand now some non-Instagram photos for you...
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| Creepy crows, made not so scary by the amazing atmosphere |
Where will you go this weekend?!
Another version of me.
The other day, while trying to decide whether it was any semblance of a good idea to plaster a rather large photo of myself sans makeup on the internet, I realized with utter horror a huge violation of blogger code I am guilty of committing. I, amateur blogger, have failed to procure an adequate number of photos portraying my outfits, hair and/or makeup. Please forgive me as I send my most sincere apologies. Will ever you forgive me, my little beetles?
So, in an attempt to undo my rather glaring error, may I present to you...
Another version of moi.
Of course, you may now think my character even more questionable. But alas, judge not too harshly. A) It is none other than my husband's fault for having to work on a Saturday and leaving me to my own devices. Yep, just me, my camera and a four-legged witness. B) Dye was not used between takes. I promise my hair is the same color at all times. I think this might just be proof of my non-existent photography skills.
So there you have it. What I wore Saturday + me & my makeup.
Warmly,
RosyRilli
So, in an attempt to undo my rather glaring error, may I present to you...
Another version of moi.
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| Boots: Steve Madden Leggings: Kohls Socks: JCPenney Sweater, which you can't see: F21 |
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| Earrings: Macy's Scarf: c/o my Mom Mirror: Dirty, dirty, dirty |
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| My inability to take a respectable photo via mirror reflection, seen here. |
Of course, you may now think my character even more questionable. But alas, judge not too harshly. A) It is none other than my husband's fault for having to work on a Saturday and leaving me to my own devices. Yep, just me, my camera and a four-legged witness. B) Dye was not used between takes. I promise my hair is the same color at all times. I think this might just be proof of my non-existent photography skills.
So there you have it. What I wore Saturday + me & my makeup.
Warmly,
RosyRilli
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