if only i could be back there

a year ago i was in paris, preparing to leave a city that had become the love of my life! today i am sitting in salt lake missing paris with my whole heart! i miss it for the quiet moments, the parks, and perfect streets and inexplicable sweetness of it all.

photo by mounirbacha

iconic

i think it's safe to say that the sweet zooey deschanel is the perfect poster girl of hip. i would never say "hipster" since what she is, is centered in legitimacy, and every time "ster" finds it's way to the end of an adjective all legitimacy seems to fall away. but she is just every ounce of celebrity hip that one could ask for.

check her out peddling the fabric of our lives....

woo woo

the cutest girlie came into the store today wearing one of these skirts....

and i am so i love with it! it had the greatest jersey movement, not to mention the fact that it's a product of the american north west which is kicking fashion ass right now!

the company, two owls is out of seattle, and started in the organic cotton baby clothing market. they have now expanded into women's clothing perfect for those moments before, during, and after that whole pregnancy adventure! and now not only are their products so comfortingly wearable and chic, but they are environmentally responsible. and i'm not sure what could be better in times like these than an effortlessly green company.

"dude check this out!"

this might be enough to get my sweet sister and me over to japan



if you can't tell, or don't really believe your eyes...yes this is a paper craft art installation. crazy isn't it! i know! wataru itou, the artist is a patient genius! this handmade masterpiece took four years, and includes electrical lights and a moving train, all made of paper!

the paper castle is showing on "umihotaru, a place which in itself is a major attraction: a service area in the middle of the ocean, right between tokyo city and chiba prefecture." double shut up right!

thank you toykobling for your pictures and info

this time last weekend

i was on my way to the beach...

now, in this heat i have to say i am wishing i were back there

when i can't write

his words remain my inspiration, and again, he might hate me for this, but it's too beautiful to keep hidden...

My Hot Nun
I've ruined things with words. I've destroyed whole places and times
with words, and always accidentally. I mean words sent: emails,
letters, phone calls, texts; they do me in. There's always a missing
moment to explain yourself. I am rarely understood. It's awful.

For instance; I once had this beautiful girlfriend, she was away
studying to be a nun, but a healthy nun; the ones who can indulge in
nature's perpetualness. You know, fucking. I wrote her this beautiful
letter, one of my greatest works, except it was full of sarcasm and
irony, funny sarcasm, insightful sarcasm. I know, there is no funny or
insightful sarcasm and you are right.

She read the letter, probably more than once, probably more than
twice. Sure, she got the Hellos; the Goodbyes; the Loves. The lines
that tried to explain my lust for her and her body. A body now in some
castle wrapped in black cloth cloaking its curves.

She understood that I had spent so much time away from her locked in
my brother's basement that I felt like an ivory key aching for her
fingers, her slow moaning songs. She understood the lines where I
pressed some bleeding part of my soul on the page and then traced its
outline with its own gore.

She understood all of that.

She didn't understand the irony, the shitty fucking sarcasm. Fucking
Sarcasm, I hated you before you ruined my life and now I have left
hate behind, traded it in for pure emotion and a white fiery blur I
call #*&^%!! Well, you can't hear the smashing glasses or the
blistering hot pans crashing through the windows to the courtyard
below like miniature UFO's drenched in bacon grease, but that's what I
have in place of hate for sarcasm: a lonely, wicked, violent, hissy
fit.

She didn't get the sarcasm.
She took it like the good parts of the Bible, like truth.

When she returned home as a nun I was waiting outside our apartment
leaned up against a borrowed sports-car. When she returned home as an
angel, with tits pressing through a garb that could never keep them
from inflaming the world, all she did was walk past me and straight up
the stairs to our apartment. A stiff angry stare and then soft feet
brushing the stairs to the second floor. I followed that draped
wagging bum, her ankles peaking their Achilles anger as they tightened
and loosened their way up each step.

She felt holy.

Whether she was or not didn't matter. She felt holy because we had
buried ourselves deep in each other's hearts months ago, for months
and then she had left, to become great, well, great in Death's way
anyway. Now she had returned and all I felt was her, walking up that
skinny staircase. And the feeling was big, unexplainable; maybe holy.

She opened the door with her key. By the time I caught up she was in
the front room holding that letter, the letter I had sent, my work of
art, that stained letter of both wine and blood, that gore bespattered
beautiful piece of unmade confetti.

She struck a match to it: cheap fucking blazing paper.

She let it drop out the window just as it was burning her fingers. A
giant melting snowflake. I felt my toes go numb. She grabbed my foot
locker and with an amazing smoothness thrust it out the window. The
sound of a great crash banged up back to our second story window as
the last pieces of glass tinkled to the ground. I think she`d hit my
brother`s car.

I ran to her when she went for my signed first edition of John Fante's
'1933 Was a Bad Year'. I got there just in time, stepping in front of
the window and grabbing the book, but with one easy gesture she cried:
"You write the worst fucking letters!" and pushed me on to the window
sill and over. Out the window.

The fall was quick.

I lay on the ground not sure if my eyes were open or closed listening
to the crashing of wooden things hitting the sidewalk. I focused or
opened my eyes and watched my clothing flutter and float peacefully to
the ground. I focused on her, past a giant denim snowflake, as she
screamed and told me I could pick the rest of my stuff up when I got
out of the hospital. Stuff like my Grandfather's rifle and my
Grandmother's grandfather clock.

She always loved my grandfather clock.

She felt like it was her personal sentry when I was gone.

Chasen Gillies

i have a passionate obsession with greeting cards. i collect and adore them. and while hallmark has it's place in this world, i much prefer hunting through the shelves of the more art infused stationary stores. salt lake is seriously lacking in this department so every time i pass a seemingly treasure filled store during one of my various travel adventures i can't help but stop and stock up.

but even with my love for card buying and sending, last week i found myself in a pinch as i had completely dropped the ball and forgotten to send one of my favorite people that perfect birthday card. feverishly i turned to the internet in search of something fantastic.

i didn't get very far before i was completely discouraged and overwhelmed by all the ugly contained within this incredible web. i gave up that day, but then... a few days ago i stumbled up on this heaven...of course the site hasn't launched yet, but at least we're close to having some beauty and art in the ecard world!

image via {frolic}

pour le français

in my world there are still 5 more minutes left of bastille day...

and i wanted to give you a gift, but i couldn't bring it to you, so you must go fetch it...

et si tu veut...

danser encore

that tiny room

i hate that we always need reasons to say hello, that it never seems to be enough to just be thinking about someone and in that be so moved to reach out to them.

i've been thinking a lot about paris recently. and in turn you, due to you being a part of my paris. i miss it, and i miss you. i miss the way you saw me, or at least the way i thought you saw me, so more i guess the way i saw myself in your eyes. i say that, and obviously then have to see the less sweet moments flash through my mind, and while i am so sad that those instances have to be included, i can't say i don't miss them too. they, we, it was all so crucial. i miss that real sense of correct moments. and i do miss you for nothing more than everything it was.

i wrote about you once, about what it might have been like if it could have survived.

do you ever wish you could ask fro things to be returned to you which never belonged to you in the first place? if i could i would ask for your shirt, the one with the bucking bronco. everything i adore about you in threaded through that shirt.

all of it, you, the shirt, the beer and that squeaky pull out bed will stay with me forever.

feeling down?

i have just one question for you...

who is the cutest?

answering the age old question

Out of Town by Ambstyle featuring Juicy Couture

what to wear...

it's a conundrum i battle on a daily bases, or at least i did until i found this epically fantastic site: polyvore.

at first i felt like i was cheating on kaboodle, but with slightly more exploration, i found that unlike kaboodle (which i love and adore!), this site allows you to create looks with the items you find through out your online shopping adventures. and if you aren't in a creating mood you can always borrow the genius of other people on the site.

now, every time i find myself staring into the abyss that is my potentially tired closet, i just pop over to this idea watering hole and find the days inspiration or my next online purchase!

not just for soccer moms anymore

when did flickr become such a creative juggernaut? i always clung to this idea that the greatness of flickr rested in the fact that families could share their precious memories with their loved ones scattered across the globe.

but now, flickr is chalked full of breath taking photographic talent. it's like the greatest photography magazine open to the whole world without a subscription. i could get lost for days in the pages and pages of beautiful images.

here are a few of my favorites from today's browsing.

salva lopez

unknown

abby leigh

credit must be given!

earlier i posted the movits video like i just happened to stumble upon it in all its glory... the truth is:
celeste, my bgf (best guy friend) found them and shared the wealth!

celeste is fantastic, as he not only loves the movits and sponge bob, but also goes gaga for such items as...

rick's custom squirrel's

he is one of my favorites and my best!

celeste that is, not the gun toting squirrel, i have zero attachment to him other than utter hilarity!

squirrel shout out thanks to josh spear

it blows me away

i have an ex who looks just like zac brown, but thanks to my best friend, in a texas bar i couldn't help be agree that this is a beautiful song. and now every time i hear it i think of gregathy and that cowboy bar in houston.

to postpone laundry

i have found a new blog crush....

for me, for you

it's beautiful, and has become everything i think about!

bon anniversaire

happy birthday cookie!

photo by: kate miss

every girl's crazy about a sharp dresssed man

swing-jazz // balkan // swedish hiphop...aka django guitar, windy street swing would sound like?

have you ever wondered what boys from sweden would look like in bow ties?

have you ever wondered if i have gone crazy for the movits?

well if the video doesn't answer all three questions i'll give you a strong hint for the final inquiry: yes, yes i have!

an american adventure

i adore the 4th of july. it is my favorite and my best.

i love the ability the day has to pull communities together. outside the surge into festive, smiling crowds who smell like bbq and look like lady liberty exploded all over them.

me, i love it! but as with many things that one chooses as a favorite, there are so many opportunities for this most admired day to fall short. i like to claim to be easy to please, wanting only a few specific items to make my celebration complete. but even when all i ask for is something off the grill, a sparkler and the smell that lingers in the air after the grand finale, there is a lot of pressure.

this year, i spent the day in crested butte, co and they did not disappoint. it was perfection. small mountain town parade, water fight, music festival perfection and i was in holiday heaven.

green fields

i have just returned from a lovely weekend in western colorado. it felt like a 72 hour western slope journey through a great scenic byway.

alfalfa in olathe, colorado.