Category Archives: Life and things

Dressing up like a hippie, in prep for the outdoor live music we’ll be seeing tomorrow…I love this outfit. The pants are MEGA FLARE! Have you ever seen a cuter top?

I am about to leave town for the most needed change of scenery EVER, but I first wanted to say thank you to the kind people- loved ones and completely strangers- who commented on my last post, or sent me emails, or messages on instagram or on twitter. I have never felt so touched and grateful. I was stunned to have gotten such a large response. I wrote into the abyss of the internet and was not expecting anything but personal release, and yet commenters who’ve never met me and owe me nothing took time out of their day to say truly lovely things, notes of inspiration, share their own similar struggles etc. I am so so so grateful and appreciative of you, and am going to respond to each and every individual human being who made my week a little brighter but had to say a general thank you first because I literally couldn’t not acknowledge it before I took off on my trip. Thank you SO much.

I can’t say I’m doing better, I really can’t; because I cried at least 3 more times this week and the leg has made no progress, haha, but…………I’m just pushing forward, going to physical therapy, and resting the mother-FUCK out of my leg. I’ve been taking lots of meals in the bath this week. Hot baths always feel so good, and Alex is amazing.

My physical therapist asked me today if I felt A-N-Y better, and I honestly and calmly and objectively assessed the situation and said no. Not even 3 percent. And he asked if the massage therapist was a Russian woman. I said, yes, A Russian wrestler who beat the shit out of me. Not really, but we laughed together.

But who cares about all that because, this weekend will be pure distraction. Friends, food, and KENDRICK LAMAR!

Packing pictures are my heroin-

Music has also been saving my mood lately. On my playlist on repeat, bringing a smile to my face these days is:

-Daft Punk & Pharrell- Get Lucky

-Robin Thicke & Pharell- Blurred Lines

-Ed Sheeran- Lego House

-Lady Antebellum Downtown

-and Ellie Goulding and Calvin Harris Need Your Love.

TRY LISTENING TO THOSE AND NOT BEING HAPPY

Even Lego House. It’s just so beautiful, even if it’s not upbeat.

I’m off, LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THINKING OF ME AND WISHING ME WELL!

Hi ya’ll,

Just writing a quick post to check in and say hi since it’s been awhile. I’ve been in a bit of a hole since my leg injury got really bad. I haven’t written about it at all because I guess I just was trying to focus on the positive things. It happened literally ON my birthday, March 11th, 24 hours after my first time trying Soul Cycle when Alex and I went up to NYC for my birthday. All of a sudden, it hurt to bend over or move my right hamstring. I continued working out for 2 weeks after– running, and doing bar classes. It wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t do anything, and I honestly just thought it was a part of working out– soreness. I thought, “you just tweaked something, and like anything, it will figure itself out.” It didn’t feel so acute that I needed to stop physical activity all together. But 2 weeks after continuing to exercise, I was in a bar class, doing butt lifts — (haha classic)– and I had a moment where I realized “this is really bad, I cannot ignore this any longer.” I went to the doctor and he said that based on where I was feeling the pain, it was tendinitis of the glutes/hamstring–not a hamstring tear. He said, “our human bodies heal tendinitis on their own– there is nothing you can do but just rest and let your body heal it.” He said it would take 10 days. For 10 days I didn’t do a thing. Within that 10 day period was the second time Alex and I went to New York after my birthday. We went to meet up with his parents. We took cabs everywhere because I literally couldn’t walk further than 1 block. I was limping and favoring my left leg to an extreme degree. It hurt every time I moved positions in my sleep, to drive, sit, and do anything really.

On the 10th day I called my doctor and he said it really should have felt better after 10 days of no rest, so next it was time to see an orthopedist. I went in to the orthopedist appointment with SUCH hope that he would understand what was going on. Like with anything you’re trying for the first time– a new hair dresser, a restaurant– the business/person is either super awesome, or not really. The doctor barely listened to me, instilled zero confidence in me, and just referred me to a physical therapist. Which was fine, because that was the next step anyways, but he didn’t really give me any answers. He referred me to the same physical therapist Alex saw for 6 months when his back was really fucked up. So I obviously trust the guy. But though I trust him, he hasn’t really told me anything..how long I can expect it to take, the nature of my injury, etc. Even though I’ve asked. All I really get is “just rest and be patient.”

I was also put on Meloxicam- an anti-inflammatory drug for arthritis. I’ve been in physical therapy 3 weeks now and I was feeling better day-to-day up until this past Friday. I’d heard from a colleague that myofascial release would really help me. I’ve been really frustrated with how long the injury has been taking to heal and how limited my mobility has been, so I decided to give it a shot. Of course, everything went downhill after the massage. My leg felt as bad as it was the day the injury happened, and it felt like it wiped all of my physical therapy work (and money) out the window. I had a complete breakdown on Friday-Saturday. I seriously don’t think I have ever cried harder or longer. It was probably hormones, but literally I was sobbing uncontrollably for hours on end. I took a xanax Friday night after like 7 hours of non-stop crying, and woke up Saturday morning thinking sleep would have made me feel more in control and happier, only to start crying again.

I’m a really really really really really really really impatient person. I don’t think I could ever write into words how impatient I am. It’s just my personality. I want and expect immediate results. I like things to be instant. I hate waiting. I am dramatic internally. I catastrophize as a personality trait. I am not someone who sees hope, I only see failure. I hear the doctor telling me it would heal itself in 10 days, I hear the orthopedist saying all I needed was 3 weeks of physical therapy, and the fact that my body has not met those statements feels catastrophic and signifies that something is wrong, and may never be ‘right’ again. I start to think, “what if I feel like this forever. What if my leg just…..doesn’t get better.”  By nature, and also by environmental conditioning (no offense mom), I don’t have that internal voice that says “RELAX, IT WILL GET BETTER, YOU’LL BE OKAY.” I have the internal alarm that says “you’re fucked. it’s over. there is no hope. you will never move normally again. You have a lifetime of pain, medical costs, and frustration head of you.”

I also don’t like uncertainty. I don’t like questions. I don’t like not exactly knowing what happened; what went wrong; what I did to cause this havoc on my body; and when it will get better. I hate it. The uncertainty makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. It makes me feel clausterphobic. I feel trapped by my physicality. I want to escape. I hate feeling immobile, limited, and cautious. I am afraid of moving wrong; sitting wrong; standing wrong; because the rushes of pain are unpredictable. I am also constantly terrified that I am making it worse. That when I bent over to pick up my phone and felt the pull of pain, that I’ve made it worse. That just doing that made my healing time 5 days longer. Or 5 hours longer. Or something I can’t know. I hate not being able to see the injury. Like when you have a cut or bruise or bump and you can see the colors, and see its shape and size and see when it’s getting smaller, and the yellow is coming through ,and the darkness is fading, and the swelling is going down. I want to see and know everything. I hate having this internal, complex issue where if I scoot closer to Alex in bed when we’re sleeping int he middle of the night, the pain is searing.

I really never knew, until this experience, the toll that a truly physical injury can take on your life. You lose sleep, it affects every single aspect of your life, from driving, to working, to enjoying things like a dinner out, and you feel incapacitated by what might engage it and wake the pain up.  I had never, to this very date, done anything physically wrong to my body. I’ve never once experienced a sprain, fracture, break, or tear. Alllllllllllllllllllllllll the time in middle and high school, and college, I had friends who broke their wrist, or collar bone, or fractured their shin, or whatever. I am one of those people who can say they have never broken a single thing. I’ve never worn a cast or a sling or anything. I used to be jealous of the girls who would, and got their casts signed. I seriously wanted to come into school one day with a sling or cast and have people sign it. Sometimes, when I’ve had minor soreness, I’ve worn an ACE bandage around my wrist because I thought it made you look cool. Badass, athletic, hard. That was when I was like 18, but I’ve literally done that.

I’ve had fibromyalgia and IBS for years and I feel in control and familiar with them. They’re my trials, and they’re like my old friend. I know them well, and I trust in my body and its relationship with them. I trust in my body’s ability to manage to them. But I’ve never experienced a muscle or tendon or athletic related injury and I have absolutely no trust or faith in my body’s ability to heal. Because it’s taking a really fucking long time and each day the stress wells up in my chest when I wake up and realize it’s still there. Something about the health cards I’ve been previously dealt have always made a bit of sense to me. I never once had a breakdown of this magnitude in all of the tough times I dealt with when my stomach first got bad and I was having endoscopies and colonoscopies and trying every medication and GI doctor under the sun. Something about it always felt weirdly and inexplicably right, like I was given this because I could handle it and I know how to communicate with my body and though of course it’s made me sad and stressed before, something deeply internally always felt like I had control over the stomach problems. For some reason, this has felt wildly the opposite. It’s required a lot of surrendering that I don’t have the ability to do. I’m not equipped with the life skills to surrender to this type of physical injury. It’s been extraordinarily hard for me to handle and deal with what’s been going on…feeling like I can’t move freely. I am not used to my physicality being constrained and limited. I don’t like feeling hindered in my ability to use my legs to literally walk. I violently hate it.

I feel the pain where your butt meets your leg. The crease of leg and butt. You use it for everything. I’ve been calling it my “scoot” muscle– I feel it most acutely when I’m scooting forward in a chair, or in bed, or on the couch; but also when I sit down in a chair, drive, bend over to pick something up, or even remotely extend my leg. Already, in 6 weeks, I’ve gotten used to taking teeny-tiny strides, walking very very slowly, and favoring my left leg to an absurd degree. I do every. single. thing. with my left leg. It’s like the entire weight of my body and existence is dependent on that leg because my right one is essentially a bum leg. I can’t describe how much stronger my left is than my right at this point.

I also tend to get extremely stressed out and overwhelmed by the conflicting information and advice you get from everyone in your life, and the internet. As I was sobbing to Alex during my emotional meltdown, I was explaining that it’s so confusing to navigate a world where you just don’t know what you’re supposed to do. Everyone you know, and love, and trust, including people who have had injuries before, and including people who have gone to medical school….say different things. And who are you supposed to listen to? How do you know. One doctor says that foam rollers and massage help. Your friends and colleagues say to you outright: “MASSAGE IT. USE A TENNIS BALL, WORK THROUGH IT. Stretch it.”  That’s what EVERYONE says to do. But then… my physical therapist says not to. And I decide I’m going to listen to the people in my real-world who have experienced sports injuries, and so I get a massage and feel worse and more set back than I have in weeks. And so I’m trying to listen to my body, and I think my body is saying “don’t. fucking. touch. the injury. Don’t mess with it. Don’t use a tennis ball. Fuck the tennis ball. Fuck what everyone is saying. Just leave it alone. You know that’s what you need to do.” So I try to listen to it, but then 3 days into my decision, I’m reading something new on the internet that says massaging it out is the single most important thing, and I’m doubting myself again and my heart rate is picking up with stress, thinking “Am I making this take longer than it needs to by not massaging it?” But then my other voice is like “but you DID massage it Alina, and it made it worse, so fuck what everyone else says, it’s not good for it.”

Anyways it’s funny because the whole idea of massaging an area that is injured feels utterly and completely counter-intuitive to me. Just thinking about it, psychologically, the idea of like, moving something around on the spot of the injury, even if you are bringing blood flow to the area, the whole idea of it kind of makes my body tense up. It’s kind of like I just intuitively reject the idea of it. It just doesn’t seem right to manipulate and mess around with a part of your body that is injured in some way, especially related to muscles/tendons. So after what happened on Friday I’m 100% not massaging it ever again, I am certain of that, but I still just feel stressed out by the idea of not really knowing what’s going on in there, underneath the skin. I wish I could see it. I wish I could know if it’s tendinitis for certain, or a  tear, or some other injury….a pull, or just random inflammation.

When it first happened, I went through the phase where I was super depressed about not being able to work out; to move my body; stretch; sweat; feel good; get those endorphins. When the injury happened, I had been working out consistently for about 2 months (after having not worked out for 8 years). I was finally back into a groove and a ryhtym; FINALLY at that place where I felt physically sick if I I hadn’t exercised in 24 hours, after a near-decade hiatus from that kind of flow. It felt good to make my muscles useful and get that mood-boost. Then this happened and I literally was depressed. I felt slow, lazy, and gross. Then, I got to a place where I just wanted my leg to feel better– whether I could ever exercise again or not I didn’t care, I just wanted to be able to drive the car without feeling pain in my butt/leg. I feel like I had gotten 40 percent of the way there before the massage. Even though I still couldn’t bend down, stretch, exercise, or use my injured leg the way I can my non-injured leg, I had at least gotten it to a point where it didn’t always pinch/hurt when I walked. And then getting this massage on Friday set me back every ounce of progress I’d made.

I felt so demoralized that evening. I was just trying to do something that had been heavily recommended to me by well-meaning people. I trusted the massage therapist and think she was knowledgeable, kind, and genuine. I just think massage doesn’t work for my body, for this particular injury. But this kind of thing sucks, especially from a financial perspective. I am not someone who has a habit of feeling sorry for themselves, but even a week ago before the massage, I broke down to Alex about how I feel like I can’t catch a break. Every time I think I’m starting to get ahead in life, some random thing like this happens that sets me back emotionally, time-wise, money-wise, everything-wise. Just when I feel like I’m starting to get out of debt, save money, etc., I fuck up my leg, and every penny that I had saved in 5 months of extremely hard work, is spent on physical therapy. It’s completely spirit-crushing. Like I’ll stay up until 2 am or wake up at 6 am to work on a Refinery 29 story, then get my check, and the entire thing goes to my physical therapist…for what? Because I wanted to improve my health and work out? Literally because on my own birthday, I took a spinning class to pay my body forward? Like instead of going out and drinking or being stupid, I walked myself into Soul Cycle class, and that’s the fucking birthday present I get? A totally fucked-up leg that puts me out a thousand dollars in medical bills? Is that a joke? It’s so easy to go into total pity-party mode because I look back on it and am like “how did I do this to myself?” How did I hurt myself, physically, and set myself back financially, just for trying to be good to myself? And it’s like…oh….this happened because you sweetly made a new year’s resolution to yourself to focus on fitness. You committed to spend this 27th year of your life focusing on an area of your life that you’ve sorely neglected for years. You committed to something and were working really hard. For your birthday, what you asked for from Alex was workout gear from Lulu Lemon and a month of bar classes. And this is what happens. A broken leg, pain, frustration, and money that you do not have. And it’s like…it HAD to be your hamstring too. It had to be the one mother-fucking injury that every fucking doctor says “oh hamstrings take forevvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvver to heal.” Not like any other part of your body, not your ankle or foot or thigh or knee. It had to be the one fucking muscle that when you tell people it’s hurt, people are like “OHHHHH GODDDDD THE HAMSTRING? BE PATIENT BECAUSE THAT TAKES MONTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHS.”

So when I start thinking about how I just earnestly was trying to make my life and my future better by exercising, and this happens, and it’s taking so long, and I haven’t found a doctor who’s even really made me feel better or answered my questions or given me any useful information besides “it’s tendinitis”, and the progress is so slow, and then in the drop of a hat you can be set back WEEKS, and you feel like you’re no better than you were the day it happened 2 months ago, it’s horribly depressing. Obviously I find perspective and strength in what happened to the people in Boston. I can’t imagine the degree to which they feel what I’ve been feeling x 100. Every time I walk and feel pain I think, “you still have a leg. You still have one, even if it hurts and you can never exercise again, you still have both of your legs.” I honestly think that to myself, but honestly, when you’re super sad, frustrated, stressed, and looking at medical bills your fucking insurance won’t cover, perspective doesn’t do much to keep the welling of emotions at bay. I am mad at the world that this happened just from trying to be good to myself. It really upsets me. I hear, “you’re so young, ” you’re so young” and I’m like..”.then why have been a near-invalid for 2 months WITH NO SIGN OF IMPROVEMENT.” I measure improvement as being….progress towards being able to use my leg in the way I could use it PRE-INJURY. Even if it gets better day to day, like…walking from my bed to the refrigerator,  if I still can’t sit down on the toilet to pee without my right leg searing, THEN IT’S NOT BETTER.  And I just can’t keep the fear of “what if this is…chronic” out of my head. What if this just doesn’t go away.

So anyways, that’s where I’ve been at lately, though I’m obviously just living my life in the mean time. It’s not like I’m in a wheelchair, I’m just experiencing….well…..chronic pain and limited mobility…. and trying to keep my head up and actually believe Alex when he says I will feel better. I don’t believe anyone when they say that and I don’t believe my body. I always just think worst-case worst-case worst-case. When I read that message forum and someone says “I have hamstring tendinitis- has been 9 months with no improvement,” my soul just shuts down and I think, “that’s me. I’m going to be ringing in the new year in 2014 and still having this.” It also doesn’t help that there is practically zero information on hamstring tendinitis and I haven’t met or heard of a single person having it, except for the people on the message forum and even then there are like 3 of them on the whole internet.

If you know anyone who has experienced this let me know…………….

There have been a few bright spots in a shitty few weeks though.

Like spending last Sunday evening on this dreamiest-of-all-dreams porch, at the home of the owners of GoodWood who have magically and fatefully become some of the most dearest friends in the whole existence of my life here on earth. I love miss Anna like we are sisters and I have known her one thousand universes and lives and beyond. Whenever I’m around people like the Kahoes, with Alex my love at my side, I forget I have a bum leg like an invalid pirate.

When I saw the porch, I immediately remarked that it felt 1920/30′s meets 1970′s. Great Gatsby meets Stevie Nicks. I forget if it was me or Anna who said that, but I think it was me so I’m going to run with it.

A few other bright spots–

• Laying in bed with Alex catching up on Bates Motel and Hannibal.
• Trying out Beau Thai (an amaaaaaaaazing Thai food restaurant) in Mount Pleasant with friends on Saturday night.
• Seeing the movie “Mud” with that same couple the very next night. What, a, movie. You MUST MUST MUST MUST MUST go see it. You must! It made me want to raise polite, handsome, masculine, dreamy young men who believe in love; say yes ma’am to their mothers; would go to the ends of the earth for the girl they love; know how to tie knots, avoid snakes, and rig motors; and recognize goodness in other people.
• Alex’s scrambled eggs with cream cheese and chives that are the most delicious thing you’ll ever consume
• And the fact I leave on Thursday for a very, very, very, very, very much-needed road trip to Ithaca, New York with my best friend Ellie, to visit one of my oldest dearest friends in the world who lives there. It will be a short-ish, 3 day trip, that will involve relaxation, a lake, amazing conversation and companionship, cooking, Farmer’s Market coffee and food, reading, and just hanging out with really great people. Also, Cornell has their “Slope Day” concert where none other than…Kendrick Lamar.  So..I’ll be seeing Kendrick Lamar live with good friends, and that’s pretty cool.

Pictures are a funny thing, eh. Who in the world would know I was suffering if they saw these happy pictures. You never can tell.

Hi ya’ll! I’m so sorry it’s been so long, sometimes I just give up at blogging. March was legit the busiest month of my human existence. Ever.

We’ve been up to NYC for the weekend 2 x over the last 4 weeks. The first time was for my birthday, which I haven’t even blogged about yet. It was super quick but super fun. It was the first time I’ve ever spent any time on the Upper West Side, and though there are surely one billion people who figured this out earlier than me and would roll their eyes, it is MAGICAL up there! SERIOUSLY — every time that I’ve ever visited New York has been dictated by where my free accommodations are. Because that’s how you live life until you’re a certain age. I’m not at a place where I can pick where I want to stay and then pay to stay there. If I’m going to go to New York, it’s because I have a friend or family member with a place for me to stay. Living in DC, which is door-to-door 4 hours from New York City, it’s super easy to visit for the weekend but I only started doing so after college. In middle and high school, I went up maybe 5 or so times either for like a school trip to see Times Square, or with a family friend to see a Broadway play like the Lion King. One year after graduating from college though, I ended up with two of my best friends in the world living there— one in Brooklyn, and one in basically Soho. So basically, the last 3-5 years of my life, I’ve always either spent time in Brooklyn or like…the lower half of Manhattan. Soho, Nolita, West Village, East Village. I never really ventured up to any of the high numbers because it wasn’t where my lodging was and there was nothing to take me there. But, Alex’s grandmother has an apartment on the Upper West Side (that we’ve stupidly never taken advantage of until now), and so we had a place to stay.

Which is all to say, spending time up there with no agenda, I discovered that it’s an absolute DELIGHT. I felt like I had discovered something. Even though obviously I haven’t, but that’s what it felt like to me. It felt so……comforting. I don’t know quite how to describe it. Mothers, and babies, and families. Mostly…children. Like in middle school. Like 13 year olds. Living their lives. They probably all go to Spence or Dalton or potentially a public school, and they were walking around with backpacks and getting into cabs and stopping into Intermix to buy, $1400 Balenciaga bags, but even with the perverted wealth, it was still, oddly peaceful and enjoyable to kind of…live there for 2 days. I was just like…wow…this is a whole world of New York I have never seen. Because you can’t really distinguish the residents from the tourists when you’re downtown. When you’re walking on Broadway, shopping in the popular areas and walking through Soho, it’s either a giant mass of people– tourists from Australia and Europe and China and South America mixed in with lifelong residents and post-college transplants and just everyone– or it’s just 20-30 somethings. Hipsters. Girls in their Rag & Bone jeans and lace-up boots and chunky sweaters. It’s not like, the 12 year olds who go to Dalton. It’s 27 year old girls. The 22-40 crowd. Being on The Upper West Side it was just like……it felt like a little Pandora’s box of New York City. Seeing the 13 year olds, you’re like, wow, you are one of the ones. Who lives here. You are probably getting into a cab to go to your tutor. You live in one of these apartment buildings, and these sidewalks are your home, and your parents gave you a $20 bill to take a cab to your geometry tutor’s home for the afternoon and then you’ll cab back home and watch a movie on your flatscreen TV two blocks from Central Park and you know everything that’s authentic…the best pizza and bagels and delis and museums and you know every cross street and subway route you have lunch with your mom at Bergdorfs or Bloomies on the weekends and you’ve gone to birthday parties at the Met and MOMA and you roll your eyes at Magnolia, and come Monday morning, you’ll wake up and go to school here. And this is just….your life. New York City.

I absolutely loved the Upper West Side. And the Upper East Side, but UWS like legitimately stole my heart. It was a lot of hot 30-40 year old women in work out clothes too. Which for some reason was oddly comforting. Maybe because I’m used to that from all the moms in Bethesda and at my all-girls Catholic school I went to or because that’s who I want to be. I’m confusingly content around hot moms in spandex. It makes me feel good to be around them. Maybe I think I’m absorbing their post-exercise endorphins and  projected ‘togetherness’ by just being near them. Because they’re toned and in $500 worth of expensive Lulu/Nike/designer workout gear, and on a mission. They obviously have willpower and probably own a Vitamix and eat Paleo, and are at least focused/determined on one thing in their life: earning/maintaining amazing bodies. Maybe I’ve just changed/gotten older. But if I’m walking down the sidewalk, I’d  rather be in that environment than around sad, insecure, hunched 25 year olds in skinny jeans talking about their hangovers and sexscapades. Like I’d so much rather be around moms than the girls who are on Girls. The show. Although the hot moms in spandex are probably insecure and talking about sexcapades too, but at least they give off the vibe of family and routine. Like they have a home that they go to and they have kids and a kitchen and they make green juice and cook at home and spend gillions of dollars on Soul Cycle. I’d rather be around them. Maybe because I feel like they’ve committed to something. A lifestyle. A rich husband. Kids. A workout routine. Not working. Whatever it is. And 24 year olds are so just like…..un-anchored. Uncommitted. Floating, confused. I think I’m gravitating towards the former because I’m getting older. So I loveloveloveloved spending time on the Upper West Side. And Upper East too. Just like…..gyms and moms and strollers and kids and nannies…adolescents, cute stores, cute restaurants, a slower pace, and a family feel. It was just a PLEASANT area.

It was still pretty cold. We had brunch at Sarabeth’s and took a walk through the Park. We tried the like…quadruple chocolate chunk cookie at Levain. I tried Soul Cycle with all the hot moms and then got an iced coffee at the UNFATHOMABLY well-situated Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf (across the street). The Soul Cycle people brought me a slice of red velvet cake IN to the spinning class. It was the best cake I have ever had. EVER. I need to ask them where they got it. I ate every crumb.

The night of my birthday, we went downtown to explore ABC Kitchen and the store too. I couldn’t have been less impressed with the store. Wanted nothing to do with it, and instead, had a much better time across the street- like a kid in a candy store- at Fish’s Eddy!! I saw the storefront by complete accident, I have always stalked the website and loved everything they have, and didn’t even know there was a physical store!

The dinner at ABC Kitchen didn’t blow my mind, but the atmosphere was incredible. Just like, best atmosphere, well-designed, great lighting, moody, sexy, awesome wall art, great layout, so perfect for a little date.

The second night, we stopped into Celeste but had to leave when we realized it was cash-only and went across the street to a new-ish place called Jacob’s Pickles. (thanks Nicole for the UWS recs!)  It was like Southern Comfort food and really good.

Probably the highlight of the trip was discovering that Alex’s grandmother has two authentic Knoll chairs from 1972. I need to write a separate post on this because I cannot even.

And that was our first trip. I came home with this palm tree emblazoned sweat shirt, a Wildfox item, as my birthday present to myself. I can’t say no to a graphic image, a palm tree, a minty color, a sweatshirt, and some mild distressing. Shit, put all of that TOGETHER IN ONE ITEM? I don’t stand a chance. (You can’t see, but it’s totally raggedy with holes and loose threading).

3 weeks after my birthday we went back up to hang out with his parents for a night. They were there to see a play, as middle-aged parents who live within 10 hours of New York City are wont to do.

Friday, his aunt, who lives in the city, took us to a Mexican place that was the best mexican food e-v-e-r. Saturday morning we had brunch with his parents at Waverly Inn. It was pleasantly deserted at 11 a.m. on a Saturday and we sat out on the back patio and had a lovely meal. They had the best strawberry scones in the world! His mom wanted Warby Parker glasses so we stopped by their showroom..it was crazy. It’s just like….in their offices. Amongst the staff’s mac desktops and post-it notes about things they have to do for work and their staff kitchen, they just sell glasses. It was a really weird experience.

We then just walked around Soho and met up with my bff from Dartmouth, Kristin, who lives in the best location imaginable– literally next door to Cafe Gitane, 2 feet from Little Cupcake Bakeshop and the Angelika theater and Whole Foods and all of the best shopping in Soho and Nolita. Insane. Alex and I sat in her sunny little apartment for about 4 hours, catching up and cracking up. All we do is laugh when we’re together. It was soul food to be with her. She is a magical human being and ruthlessly funny. When we left her place, I HAD to get a piece of cake-not cupcake, CAKE–from Little Cupcake Bakeshop. We sat on the front stoop with iced lattes and people watched.

I wore my Margiela cardi all weekend both weekends. It’s literally the most perfect wardrobe piece ever. Chill, adds dimension since it’s a layer you’re probably going to be wearing over something else and it’s short-sleeved, and just like….perfectly homeless vibe. So Olsen.

No one could ever fault me for not wearing the things I buy, which, taken a step backwards, means buying the right things for myself. I wear shit into the g-r-o-u-n-d. Those jeans with the hole in the knee? Those boots? that Margiela cardigan? my Mickey sweatshirt? How many times have you seen those on this blog? I just remix the shit out of things that are awesome to begin with. The jeans and boots are literally five years old. Talk to me in 2022 and I’ll still be wearing them. Which, like, yeah, is usually the case when a person buys something like a Birkin bag or brand-name major labels that are expected withstand the wear & tear of 5, 10, 20, years. But these aren’t expensive staples or $400 Frye boots. The jeans were $60 bucks at South Moon Under, the boots were $100 from Brass Plum, the Mickey sweatshirt was a $20 clearance find at Urban Outfitters on Black Friday. The Margiela cardigan was second-hand. SECOND HAND MARGIELA for $80. Which yes, every time, brings me to the issue of: WHO THE FUCK CONSIGNS MARGIELA. But whatever. And if you recall, the sweater I’m wearing under the Margiela, which is Balenciaga—-BALENCIAGA CASHMERE—-was $80 because it had a microscopic hole in the arm. Holes are my best friend. Take advantage of holes. Holes are so legit.

Anyways after my cake break, we went to meet his parents and their friends for dinner at Times Square before their show, and then headed back to our dwelling on the Upper West Side. We stopped into the big Magnolia that’s up there (I didn’t even know there was one!), right near Lincoln Center, and tried the banana pudding which truly is orgasmic. And I don’t even like banana themed desserts.

Sunday morning was utterly ridiculous. Not only did we have brunch at Good Enough to Eat (we just googled ‘good brunch upper west side’ and that and Sara Beth’s came up and we’d already eaten at SB), we then walked to Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, then to Momofuku (finnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnally) and then to City Bakery before the bus back. I mostly got things to go, for the bus home. At Momofuku I got the famous compost cookie and chocolate marshmallow- hated both. The only thing I liked from there was the cake truffles. They tasted like cake batter/cookie dough and were amazing. At City Bakery I got the chocolate chunk cookie. It was like my favorite place ever. LOVED the vibe, the layout, the food, everything about it. It was 2 feet from a Barnes & Noble, which was amazing because Kristin had recommended that I read Joan Didion’s Play it as it Lays and I needed something to read for the 4-hour bus ride home so the placement of a Barnes & Noble catty corner to City Bakery was awkwardly perfect, 10 minutes before my bus took off. (Alex, on the other hand, was taking a flight out of Newark to LA for 36 hours for work). I want to delve deep into the book and how it made me feel and how much I loved it and my thoughts and feelings about it, but will have to do so later as if I start now I will really never get to bed. Ever. The book is haunting me. I read it in 2 hours on the bus.

Between the two trips to New York, we’ve really just been eating a lot of food and living our lives. Work, leisure, work, leisure.

During the week, we pretty much exclusively eat at home unless I’m getting a latte or at a cafe working.

Here are some of the things we’ve been eating:

Broccolini!!!! Yummmmm.

Kale salad with edamame and pomegranate seeds and lots of other things

Grilled cheese + tomato soup which I then had the next day again with leftover kale and asparagus from dinner

The most DELICIOUS greens + goat cheese + pesto + chive omelet

Kale, fake chicken nugs, and tomato soup

And this magnificent egg sandwich that became our morning staple for a solid 2 weeks straight– whole wheat english muffin, light mayo or cream cheese, hard boiled egg, scallion, tomato, fresh cracked pepper. BOOM seeeeya

And breakfast in bed with pretty spring flowers

On the weekends and occasional week days/nights, I pretty much just treat myself to iced/hot drinks, baked goods, and general sugar.

The home made POP TART at Ted’s Bulletin in DC — incredible

The most delicious biscotti e-v-e-r at Cafe Dupont– the restaurant in the Dupont hotel right at Dupont Circle. I’ve been meeting my dad there a few times during happy hour, where everything is cheap and I can get an ice cold coke and 4 biscotti to settle my stomach (#IBS)

The world’s best chai latte in the world lives at the Le Pain Quotidien Capitol Hill. Not LPQ in general. I’ve tested it out at the Georgetown and Dupont and Spring Valley locations and it sucks. It’s only good when they make it at Capitol Hill. Have you ever noticed the way something can taste different amongst a single chain? I hate that. It’s consumer terrorism. Like as a capitalist, what can we rely on if it’s not consistency…the knowledge that the SAME DRINK using the SAME INGREDIENTS will be made the same way at all locations of a chain restaurant and TASTE the same way. The notion that one thing–what is purportedly the SAME thing–can taste differently at a different location is just terrifying. How are we ever supposed to trust anything with our money.

On the bright side, I have tested that the iced latte tastes the same at all LPQ locations (in DC) and is possibly the #1 iced latte I’ve ever had.

My dad sweetly surprised me one random weekday with two red velvet cupcakes from Georgetown Cupcakes. And he didn’t even know red velvet is my favorite. (Slash vanilla).

Along the way I’ve crossed off a few things on our never-ending always-growing “DC List.”

We finally ate at Mintwood Place and tried the famous burrata kale . It was pointless. I hated it. I realized that eating at restaurants is pointless and the only thing I enjoy is the atmosphere. It was like, let me take this $17.00 and burn it. Light it on fire. Because the kale that Alex makes for our weeknight dinners, using Harris Teeter kale, is literally 40 x better-tasting than this. Like I can take Kale and fry it in oil and place a vat of burrata cheese on top of it. And I don’t need to spend $20.00 to do it. I guess it only applies to certain things. Because we had super-cheap BBQ food from American Ice Co the next day, and it was worth every $7.00-per-sandwich cent, and we can’t make pulled pork and half-smoke sandwiches. But we can make kale. I’m not paying for designer kale at resataurants anymore.

That was another first– trying American Ice Co. It’s my #1 favorite place in DC. I am obsessed. Me, my brother, Alex, and Alex’s friend Ben spent about 5 hours on the patio, at a big ole’ picnic table, hanging out, listening to my brother’s ridiculous stories of the tat world, Dr. Z and Bobby, bit coins, the baby dinosaur that he almost traded his x-box for via Craigslist (Savannah Monitor), and various other things that make up the world of my crazy brother. I seriously can only wish for you that you spend even 2 minutes of your life with him.

He tattooed “NOLA” to the inside of his lip. Approximately 7 hours before meeting up with us. Sorry, I should say Dr. Z, the tat artist with whom my brother has struck up a unique friendship, tattooed NOLA to the inside of my brother’s lip 7 hours before he met up with us.

Just another Sunday in the Gonzalez family. And we look so normal.

Also at American Ice Co I met the sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetest person who recognized me from reading my blog!!! It was the coolest. It’s only happened 3 times total in my blogging life, and she was the third. The second time was in a bar class in Georgetown, and the first was on the streets of Georgetown. It always renews my motivation to write. She said so many sweet things, but what I appreciated most was she said she liked my writing. Because I hope that people come here to read. That’s what I THINK happens. I don’t think people come here for pictures or short posts. I like to think that people are bummed out when a post is short. I say that people come here to read, but it’s just something I think is the case, not know is the case, so to have a stranger say, “I just really love the way you write and I go to your blog to read your writing,” was amazing. I introduced her to my brother and she was like, “yeahhh I already knew that he was your brother” haha because I have written posts called “MY BROTHER” about my crazy brother and his tats and insanity. Blogging is hilarious. Then of course she’s apologizing for feeling like a stalker and it’s like, YOU’RE NOT STALKING, I’M JUST TELLING YOU EVERYTHING ON MY BLOG.  It was the highlight of my life. I want to be her friend.

In other news, I updated our bedroom to be fresh and springy and white and bright and clean and crisp.

This was it before, all Winter/Fall, with moody dark greens and turquoises and blues and blacks and greys–

And before that, when it was just an un-themed mix of color

It’s so VERY bright. Bleach is my friend. We bleached the shit outta the comforter and then all it took really was playing around with pillows we already had and theming the clothing rack just right. I love the neon scarf in the middle.

This sick bulldog bottle opener from GoodWood has been making me happy. $10 bucks and you screw it into the wall and he just adds a little bit of badass to any kitchen.

And that’s about all around these parts!?

Oh, tonight, as I wrote this post, after spending hours and making new friends at American Ice Co, we came back to our place and within 1 minute of doing something with some pocket device he has, my brother had downloaded Louis CK’s latest HBO Special (it literally aired 24 hours ago for the first time) and so we all sat back and laughed our asses off. I love my brother. Anything we could ever want, he knew about it 7 months ago and already has it on some hard drive in some pocket of his or knows how to get it in 60 seconds. The conversation, after watching the Louis CK special went something like, my brother: “What do you wanna watch? Bates Motel?”

me: “YOU HAVE IT? yes I want to watch it, it already got picked up for a second season and I heard it’s amazing, IT’S ALL THAT I WANT TO WATCH RIGHT NOW”

my brother: “What do you mean ‘DO I HAVE IT? Of course I fucking have it.”

my brother: “what else? The Americans?”

me: “KERI RUSSEL’S LATEST SPY SHOW, YES I WANT TO WATCH IT, YOU HAVE IT?”

my brother: “alina, just stop.”

season finale of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia? All episodes ever of Workaholics? The movie 21 Jumpstreet? ANY MOVIE EVER? Currently in or at his fingertips. Fuck cable, fuck on-demand, fuck HBO and SHOWTIME, fuck monthly premiums, fuck COMMERCIALS. Just know my brother.

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So for my birthday this year, my friends Ellie and Kate put together the most adorable surprise, complete with an in-color, printed-out, step-by-step itinerary that they nearly laminated. It is my favorite thing ever. I will keep it until the day I die and then I will pass it on to my children’s children as examples of how to be a hilarious/creative friend, except that the technology and photo quality will probably look SO vintage and ancient by then and they’ll probably be embarrassed for me. I mean I don’t know how much more hi-tech document-creation can possibly get, but in 70 years it’s possible that this memento of friendship on my 27th birthday will look as dated as our grandparents’ World War II love notes to each other. Is that possible? I don’t know whatever moving on.

Obviously you can’t see the printed-out version, so these are just the images of what it looked like, but it was a full-on 4 page PACKET, stapled together, that I got to carry around with me all day. It was so cute.

Their plan started (unbeknownst to me) because I was feeling very, very, very, very, very, very, OVER-IT/ANTI-birthday this year. I go through seasons of my life, and this season of my life has me feeling very introspective, goal-oriented, and not interested in attention or fanfare. Like on my 25th, I wanted to put on a sequined sparkly dress, wear a light-up birthday crown that said “I’M 18!”, and prance around town and get all of the attention. Last year, I planned a whole summer-themed birthday party replete with e-vites and serious decorations and prep. This year, I wanted N-O-T-H-I-N-G. As evidenced by the last 2 birthday examples, that’s truly not always how I am. Sometimes I genuinely do want to do-it-up. I.e. I am truly not someone who by NATURE wants low-key birthdays and is consistent about being “not that into it.” For me it’s just a total toss-up from one year to the next how I’ll be feeling about it. Next year I may want to do a yoga retreat or dance in a box at a club, I WON’T KNOW ’till it comes.

And so it was that in this particular year, it came to pass that I didn’t even want to go out to dinner (except with Alex). I didn’t want to ‘celebrate.’ The very idea of getting any ‘attention’ for my birthday made me instantly feel anxious and queasy. I just wanted it to pass. I would have paid someone (or the universe) to just let it pass. All I wanted was to get pizza (my favorite thing in the world) and walk into Lulu Lemon and get a new workout outfit. And then go to bed and wake up and do a fun exercise class in my new workout gear and carry on with my life. Period. My resolutions for this year were fitness and organization– which, although wasn’t explicitly financial, pertains to ALL types of organization: file organization, health organization, finance organization–just “having things in order” in all respects– MORE ON THIS TO COME. So like…the idea of getting all caught up in a birthday soiree was the last thing on my mind. I’m in serious routine mode. Work, get money, pay bills, exercise, clean, sleep. #C.R.E.A.M.

Soooooooooooooooo all this to say that when my friends asked me last weekend what I wanted to do (they were very surprised I hadn’t mentioned my birthday, talked about it, or planned anything, because I’m a planner so if I’d been intending to do something they would have known about it since December); I explained HOW I was feeling.

Later in the week, they asked me if they could reserve one of my weekend days. They said they would need to “steal me” for the day but they promised it would be totally in line with my non-interest in fanfare/celebration this year. They said they were planning a few fun, low-key activities, or as Ellie coined it, “FUN-TIVITIES” and said, “don’t think of it as a birthday celebration, just think of it as any other weekend where we do fun things that you enjoy doing. It’s just us hanging out with each other, NO PRESSURE OR STRESS.” haha so I said obviously they could have me for a day and totally trusted them. I imagined us working out, getting brunch, ‘shopping’ (walking around), and just hanging out– none of the pressure of birthday ceremony. Just friends doing what friends do on weekends. So I thought it was perfect. (Although they didn’t actually tell me WHAT any of the fun-tivities would be, they said everything was at a ‘secret’ location and was a secret funtivity).

It was really cute because Saturday morning I woke up to shower and blow dry my hair (since I can’t be presentable to humanity until that’s done) and Alex got really awkward and squirmy and said “ehhhhhhh……….I don’t, uh…I don’t think that’s necessary.” I tried to pry more out of him, since they’d obviously looped him in on the plans, and he hid under a pillow (he is terrified of ruining of surprises) and told me he just wouldn’t blow dry his hair if he were me. Which……………could obviously have only been for a few reasons: 1.) because we were going swimming (not an option), 2.) working out and/or  3.) getting a blow out. (it was the the last two). Thank god he saved me because there is one thing I hate in life the most (even with short hair), and it’s the hassle of blow drying my hair. So if I’d spent an hour doing it only to find out I had an appointment to get it professionally done by someone ELSE 2 hours later that day, it would have been the biggest waste of time (and product) ever.

Sooooooooooooo At 9:30 a.m., my friend picked me up with the adorable itinerary in hand, and I literally lost it. I could not stop flipping through how adorable it was; the pictures they’d chosen, the things they’d planned, the hilarious captions. We all talked for maybe 5 hours about that one black-and-white pic of Jennifer Aniston. It’s like the hottest picture that’s ever been taken of anyone.

OBVIOUSLY that’s our motivation for working out. I carried the itinerary packet around with me all day and ever 2 hours we’d re-look at the photo and flip-out again at its beauty. To Jen’s left, you’ll notice the red “Just this” drawing on the picture of Jessica Biel– indicating we want ‘just’ her body, not her face. Or fine, like even 1/8th of her toned-ness would be agreeable; not her manly Serena Williams muscles. The picture on the bottom left is of the 3 of us getting ready to go out, but like, literally 5 years ago. That was 2008. WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

After a bar workout, the next stop on the itinerary was a secret brunch destination. To pictorially represent this on the itinerary, Kate found a picture of Rachel Bilson having brunch (my female idol). The most perfect picture ever.

Because first of all, any picture of Rachel Bilson is perfect, and any picture of Rachel Bilson brunching is perfect; but it’s of 3 girlfriends having brunch, one blonde and 2 brunettes (Kate’s the blonde, Ellie and I are fake blondes- brunette by nature), and the blonde one (James King) is taking a picture of the other 2 (Rachel and her superstylist Nicole Chavez), and the idea of picture-taking was part of the promise of brunch from Ellie and Kate.  They always make fun of me for taking so many pictures of food, myself, destinations, everything– so it was adorable that they mentioned hiring 2 photographers (themselves) to document our day with unlimited instagramming and just general phone-snapping.

Turned out that the secret desti was THE HAMILTON- one of my fave spots in DC and the best part was, I had never eaten there for brunch! Only ever dinner. And it was phenomenal. True to the itinerary, we each had 2 mimosas– LYCHEE mimosas to be exact (most delicious thing E.V.E.R.), split french toast for the table, and Kate and I split a Mexican egg dish that was incredible. Ellie got a side of shaved caesar brussels sprout salad with pine nuts that blew our minds. I’m really into shaved brussels sprouts these days. So Portlandia of me to say. I don’t want to talk or joke about kale, or quinoa, I want to talk about shaved brussels sprouts- they’re what I think are the next big trend. I had the caesar shaved brussels as a small plate at Baco Mercat in LA; and then Trader Joes actually sells a bag of shaved brussels sprouts, ready for you to toss into your own delicious caesar mix; and now they’re on the menu at The Hamilton and they’re SO GOOD. If you’ve been eating shaved brussel sprout caesar salad for a while, I salute you. Otherwise, just wait a year and SEE how much that’s everywhere. That’s whats up. I’ve seen whole brussels sprouts at a lot of places recently too, but unless you’re shaving that shit, spare us, you’re not in 2013. Actually shaving in GENERAL is what’s up these days. Shaved broccoli, shaved everything. The way Portlandia coined “Put a Bird On it”? (because everything hipster ever is bird-related). I am coining, Shave That Shit. Have a new trendy vegetable? Shave that shit.

After the Hami brought me complimentary birthday ice cream with an ADORABLE birthday dinosaur-cookie and then charged us for it, my escorts for the day took me to my next secret location: PR @ Partners for a BLOW OUT! I MEANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN.

The stylist ended up cutting my hair because she COULD NOT deal with how uneven it was after I’d cut it myself (it was hilarious), and Ellie and Kate just sat in the twirly chair next to me and insta-ed the hour away while I got pampered. Exhibit A:

It was seriously so sweet. There is no surer way to my heart than through a blow dry!

Then, they drove me over to The Coffee Bar where we got a pick-me-up, (per the itinerary of COURSE), and then walked around my favorite part of town (how cute is the map flanked by front-and-back pictures of me walking around town?)

And then it was time for the final surprise of the day back at my own home  with Alex:

They’d looped him in to end the day at our place, with Ben and Farley (my two favorite MALE people other than Alex– Alex’s two best friends. Though we missed Bernardo! If he were there I’d be saying my 3 favorite male people other than Alex but Bernardo wasn’t there because he is a musical genius and was off playing a show). This is my favorite picture of me Ben and Farley. Over the course of dating Alex for 2.5 years, they’ve become like my brothers. When Alex goes out of town, I text them (they live together! so cute– Alex used to live with Ben but then we moved in together) and go over to their house and we watch Workaholics and eat frozen peanut butter m&ms and Farley serves me chardonnay. They’re the best.

It was a total surprise that they were going to be there. I walked in and my FIRST vision was: of Ben sitting on our couch, legs crossed, (lolz), candles lit, and a beautiful-looking hors d’oeuvres plate.

Alex and Farley were in the kitchen working on grilled cheeses (gourmet, like Havarti apple) and homemade caeaser salad with homemade croutons. Alex and Farley are like an old married couple. They’re both REALLY good cooks and always faux -bicker about technique– about how many apple slices to include in each grilled cheese, how big the croutons should be. Farley takes the more quiet, subdued, “you’re going to regret that” approach and Alex takes the yelling-at-Farley telling him to get his flannel-clad self out of our kitchen approach.

For the next few hours, the 6 of us sat around eating, laughing, and watching Macklemore videos since he’s the greatest human being ever. We watched all of his music videos (which Alex and I do almost every night anyways- I sob on the reg to the same love vid)

His live performances are the best. Kate and I watched his SNL performance last week and I’ve never seen anybody crush anything harder. He is so magnetic, I have never seen someone with such intense stage presence. He is such a LARGE personality and so talented even IF some of his songs and raps are kind of cheesy/silly, because the other half of them aren’t and I like both halves equally.  I’m legitimately in love with him. No human being has ever looked like they’re having more fun and made people who are watching him have equally as much fun just watching him have the fun. And then we watched the goat-screaming videos. And then we watched Justin Timberlake on SNL, which was sooo great. I don’t why but for some reason his song-skit about being a vegan was hilarious to me. I never wanted it to end. Here’s the link:

He’s just so talented and sings so well that even when it’s about Tofu it’s catchy and easy on the ears. I love hearing him sing. My favorite part was the “BRING IT ON DOWN TO VEGANVILLLLLLLLLLLLLLE” after every ditty. And the we found love and trinidad james versions. NOT to mention watching him DANCE, holy shit the Suit and Tie performance was AMAAAAAAAAAZING! Obsessed with the choreography and vibe.

When our lovely guests left we went to bed at 3 am (daylight savings) only to wake up in 4 hours to head to New York City for 2 days! Alex had to go for his job so we were able to just make a day/night out of his business trip on the company dime. Such such such such lucky timing. We would never otherwise have been in New York City for my birthday. I love you Alex’s company!

It was SUCH. A. GREAT. DAY. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The best birthday I can remember, ever. 26 was such a flop and 25 was amazing but totally different. By the time I went to bed this was the best birthday ever and it hadn’t even begun!

I scheduled this post to go live the evening of our Sunday in New York. So by the time you read this I’ll hopefully have hit up….

Momofuku Milk Bar, ABC Kitchen, Sara Beth’s, Gitane, Levain, hotel room service, and brunch food at every meal.

And tried Soul Cycle for the first time!

And be sound asleep in a comfy hotel bed after a bubble bath and one million desserts.

Yayyyy NYC birthdays, there is nothing better.

Soooooo the sequence of my life can forever be categorized as LBAT and LAAT: Life Before Apartment Therapy, Life After Apartment Therapy.

I have so many new people reading the blog because of our apartment-tour, and will probably retain about 3 of them. Haha life on the internet is so transitory. But to any single human being that’s new around here, I’m glad to have you.

After my enthusiastic blogpost letting my readers know that our home-tour had been featured on Apartment Therapy and to “go seeeee!” it, Maxwell Ryan, the FOUNDER AND CEO of the site, wrote a post about my post about my tour.

Just casually one of Maxwell’s ‘latest posts.’ –

And now I’m writing a post about his post about my post about my tour.

Maxwell’s name is synonymous with the site, to the degree that he does not need a last name. Like Madonna. And Mugatu. If you hear someone uttering the name “Maxwell,” you know they mean Apartment Therapy. Seeing a post he wrote, about my blogpost, and the fact that it spread smiles and belly laughs across the Apartment Therapy headquarters, was probably the single coolest and most surprising thing that’s ever happened to me. My favorite part (other than every word) was the headline: “We feature The Hyperbalist and She Almost Explodes : )” It was so sweet and ACCURATE, because that’s exactly what happened!!! If I’d written my own headline about that post it would have been: “Apartment Therapy features me and I nearly explode; smiley face.” Maxwell, you’re a headline-writer if I ever met one that I haven’t met. There is quite literally nowhere to go from here.

So that happened.

(If you don’t know how the internet works and have missed the last two links to it, read his post here: http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/we-feature-the-hyperbalist-and-she-almost-explodes–184169)

And then Thursday was Valentine’s Day.

Alex and I both took work off and had a little DC Staycation. It started with home-made pancakes that I don’t have a picture of because sometimes I defiantly just decide to NOT photograph what I’m eating to prove that I can still do it.

Then we drove to Roosevelt Island–a teeny ‘lil “island” (please, it’s barely that. Is it surrounded on all sides by water? Yes. But it’s like 1 foot from land. It makes me laugh out loud to refer to it as an island).

So supposedly Roosevelt Island is kind of a secret in DC. Very few people have ever heard of it. I remember my brother used to go there in the evenings on summer nights with his friends and play it up like it was the coolest thing that nobody knew about. And tell me that it was haunted and I think they used to canoe or boat or swim or do something you should definitely never do in the surrounding water. It’s really neat– it’s small enough that you can walk the full circumference, and on one side you see The Kennedy Center, Georgetown Waterfront, etc. They have plaques all over the island that you are hoping tell you really fascinating facts but instead say things like “Marshlands are lands that are formed from marshes.” I’m NOT KIDDING. The most fun we had was running up to each plaque to read more things like, “Mud is often a result of local soil getting flooded.” Literally ridiculous. They were hysterical. We kept being like, “BOOOOOOOOOOORING, tell us that someone died here or that some rich patron of the island was a former alcoholic and buried his collection of maps somewhere on the island.” (Again, “ISLAND” with huge quotation marks).

In the dead-middle of the island is this weird completely-circular clearing with a totally modern cement statue erected to Roosevelt; and benches, etc. You basically just walk around.

And mimic Roosevelt’s stance, obbbbbbbbbviously.

The coolest part was finding out that there used to be a ‘mansion’ on the highest point of the island, where The Mason Family (son of George Mason i.e. George Mason University) used to vacation and spend their summers. All that’s left of the house is a few bricks, which you can actually see and are just kind of scattered about in the area where the house used to stand. It was even more fascinating when we found out John Mason and his wife had TEN children, and thought about ten little 18th century humans running around the grounds of the island in the summers and like, fishing and playing hide-and-go-seek throughout the woods in  bonnets and knee socks. And then we couldn’t stop wanting to know more about the Masons and why the house got torn down and what happened to them. It’s the historian in me, I am ADDICTED to that kinda shit. Let me tell you, the Wikipedia article on the Mason estate did NOT satisfy.

We packed turkey-avocado-sprout-cheddar sandwiches and ate them in the car after taking the footbridge back. Then we drove to Gravelly park to watch the planes take off from Reagan Airport. Between Roosevelt and Reagan we really should have saved our Valentine’s Day itinerary for President’s Day aka today. Seeing the planes take off from Gravelly Park is a very DC thing to do. You kind of can’t live here and leave without doing it. It’s totally TERRIFYING! It makes me never want to fly again. Alex loved it. Every time a plan took off he’d ask to stay for one more and I’d be like IT’S THE SAME THING EVERY TIME DUDE, SAME THING EVERY TIME. Every time it gave me a rumble in my stomach in my heart. Oohh I get shivers just thinking about how close you are to those terrifying machines. My feelings on flying are captured perfectly by Louis CK when he says YOU’RE IN A CHAIR, IN THE SKY. Like….HOW DARE YOU BE SO NONCHALANT ABOUT IT.

After Gravelly, I diverted our car to The Coffee Bar DC. I had read this article on Refinery about its opening, and figured a day off was a good time to check it out for the first time. The owner, Cait, was there (she’s so pretty) and I LOVED LOVED LOVED the vibe. LOVED it. Loved everything about the space, the blackboard behind counter, the mint green espresso machine, the landings by the window, it was very cool. I can’t wait until a friend visits from out of town and I can take them there. I got a hot chocolate that was disturbingly good and had a heart-foam perfect for instagramming, since nobody has ever instagrammed a foam heart before, least of all on Valentine’s Day.

After coffee bar we drove home and snuggled up in bed for 2 hours watching Workaholics and youtube videos, like this one of Kai singing. I’m in love with him. He sounds like Bradley Nowell and he’s clearly insane and I’ve been stalking the internet for any updates on him since his debut video, where when asked if he had a last name, he acted genuinely confused and responded with, “nah brah, I ain’t got nothin.’” He prefers to say that he is “home free” rather than homeless, and my favorite thing he says is, “I can’t call it,” both when it makes sense and doesn’t make sense. Reporters will be like “Kai, what’s next for you?”, and he just says “I can’t call it,” in his super-stoner surfer voice, which in that case makes sense. But then sometimes they’ll say, “Kai how old are you?” and he says “I can’t call it”, which like, sure, I kind of get. How old are any of us, really. I can’t really explain the whole Kai story to you if you don’t know about it, you just have to google it, but he is my favorite human ever. The other Kai highlight, or as I JUST COINED RIGHT NOW BY ACCIDENT, KAI-LIGHT, hahahha,– is when he says “Straight outta dogtown,” when asked where he came from. He’s like….part poser, part cliche, part genius, part legitimately insane, and a clear drug addict. Kai. So hot right now.

After listening to Kai’s dreamy voice, we then drove to Capitol Hill to try Hank’s Oyster Bar. My relationship with Oysters has been one of the more confusing relationships in my life. I’ve never been so vehemently, violently, aggressively, adamantly positive about hating something with the fire of every ounce of hyperbole and enthusiasm my body has; and then… after deciding I had the grace to try them yet again (knowing how much I despised them), finding myself head over heels in love to the point of emotional addiction with financial consequences. I was the kind of person, who, before New Year’s Eve of this year, thought people were sociopaths who liked oysters. It was something I was certain I’d go to the grave with. The feeling of “what the fuck is wrong with you if you enjoy oysters.” It’s a slimy, smelly, fishy-tasting, disgusting, gross, vile, amorphous, gelatinous, alien-like specimen. And I would try them too. Alex, my friends who eat them, would beg me to try them and I WOULD. I gave oysters a shot maybe 8 individual times and every time I was affirmed that I was normal and anyone who eats oysters is mentally ill.

But then on New Years Eve, a handsome spritely gentleman was shucking oysters and something about the evening intoxicated me to their appeal, and I walked RIGHT UP to said shucker and voluntarily said “you know what? Maybe the last 8 attempts at oysters have not solidified my feelings. LET ME TRY WHAT YOU’RE SHUCKING.” And I ate one, and it was pure magic in my mouth, and then ate like 400 more, and then the shucker got tired of shucking and I asked Alex to shuck for me and he doesn’t know how and whined that “it’s really hard to shuck,” (not to mention sort of dangerous?) so then I tried to coerce the shucker into shucking more but he wanted to actually enjoy his party that he was hosting and so I stared into a sink full of unshucked oysters that I could never have because New Year’s Eve at 1 a.m. in the cold at an outdoor sink was not when Alina Gonzalez was going to attempt to shuck an oyster for the first time and so now I wake up wanting oysters for breakfast and lunch and dinner and they’re really fucking expensive. All I ever want are 4 dozen oysters, minimum. I’m an oyster whore. East Coat, West Coast, I’m all up on that shit. I want to bathe in oysters. Mignonette sauce? That shit is my JAMMMMMMMMMMMM. Lemon, mignonette–what world was I living in when oysters weren’t my favorite food of all time? I shudder.

Hank’s Oyster Bar was AWESOME. WE HAD THE BEST TIME. It’s going to be a regular haunt. We sat right at the bar with Gina, who apparently like owns the place and is a mixologist extraordinaire on the DC scene. She’d made a special drink menu for the evening named after famous couples who fight; like Peg and Al Bundy. The Al Bundy was orgasmically good– it had gin, beer, grape juice made from like…vine-ripened grapes straight from Italy and aged in a barrel for 5 years or something ridiculous, citrus, and club soda. I don’t like mixed drinks but I’d have an Al Bundy every day. We had 2 dozen oysters (the horror) and then we went next door to We The Pizza to get pizza since 2 dozen oysters is like eating air. As is 4 dozen oysters. Let’s face it oysters don’t keep anyone full and take half your spending money for a given pay period but it’s fine. We The Pizza and its next-door-neighbor-burger-joint Good Stuff Eatery are two very famous places owned/started by Spike Mendelsohn, who was a Top Chef Star. I think he won. So he was the Top Chef for the show for that given year. As Alex very astutely pointed out while we observed the “Press Wall,” Spike owns no less than 5 different fedoras. In various features from Washington Post to New York Times, bro is rocking a distinctly different Fedora.

See below, in photos I saved to my desktop as “Spike Fedora 1-5″:

And that was our Valentine’s Day!

Short List:

• Roosevelt Island
• Gravelly Park
• The Coffee Bar
• Hank’s Oyster Bar
• We The Pizza

A very DC kinda Valentine’s Day.

Next up…..how we spent our weekend!

Our place is *FIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNALLY* almost “done.” A year and 2 months after moving in. That’s usually how it goes. We’ve been filling in the details…..a sconce here; a succulent there; a pair of portraits for the gaping wall space you just never filled; a magnetic knife rack; the perfect sleek black-and-gold candle holders for taper candles. Small deets.

One of these days I’ll do a comprehensive tour.

I’m not really feeling in a narrative mood, so I’ll bullet point some things since there’s no pressure for my thoughts to be remotely understandable that way. Just rapid fire bullet points. Easy.

• We saw Zero Dark Thirty. Very good. Hashtag–America.

• The inauguration came and went in our capital city. It’s obnoxiously fun living in the nation’s capital during inauguration time. Even though I do nothing social, don’t leave the house, and watch everything on TV because inaugurations take place in the month of January, a.k.a. the month that is on repeat in Hell. When you’re evil, and you end up in Hell, it’s nothing but January on repeat, every month, forever. January 31st at midnight becomes January 1st forever. But I have so much fun with the hype and excitement and energy….that I’m absorbing via twitter, instagram, and facebook; because I literally don’t leave my house. All weekend I was refreshing my feed, getting so excited by other people’s activities– their spotting of celebs in town at the airport; their having drinks at the historic downtown-DC hotels like The Jefferson and The Mayflower; their innagural ball gowns because they’re actually doing things like going to inaugural balls.  You legitimately could not pay me cash to put on a dress, and step outside in the cold, to like……dance songs and celebrate America. BUT I’M REALLY EXCITED by your doing of those activities. Literally all weekend, Alex and I cozied up and like…drank hot chocolate and watched Workaholics and Felicity, and lit candles and read books and watched the news, and cooked delicious cozy meals, in flannel pajama pants while everyone that I know took part in the festivities– and the sheer knowledge that so much stuff was happening nearby, was exciting and energetic. Just knowing that right outside our door, people from all over the country are in town, drinking, toasting, visiting, taking pictures. So many peeps were posting instagrams of the crowds and parade and I was stimulated by it but………………..we’ve been there done that. 4 years ago my mom’s friend had an extra ticket and I would have rather ended my life than wait in the cold to attend the inauguration in person, but I kept thinking “this is historic…first black President….being sworn in….you’re alive..you’re here…you live in this city…you have a chance to go….you’ll be embarrassed one day if you tell your kids you DIDN’T go…do it..go”, and I did, and I was in up and in line and waiting at 4:30 am, and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I was in more layers than ANYONE HAS EVER BEEN IN–EVER–but it did nothing- it was like the coldest day in 400 years, and we waited for 6 hours, and it was painfully disorganized and we barely got in and almost got trampled/died and by the time they let us through the gate the ceremony was like 2 hours in and I never got close to seeing him and  then when it was over, I almost died again in the crowds, and every street forEVER was blocked off and there was no car traffic that was allowed for a radius of like 40 miles so I couldn’t get picked up or get a cab, and the wait for the metro was like 4 years– literally in 2013 people are still getting on the metro from the wait in 2009–and so I had to walk, in the cold, from Constitution Avenue to BETHESDA, and when I got home, I felt like Moses and the fucking abrahamites on the trek in the desert or whatever that shit was, I was like looking for manna to fall down from the sky, I was delirious, slept for like 5 days, and believe that the experience took 11 good years off of my life. The sheer cold and wait– when I die at 70 instead of 80, it’s because I went to the inauguration in 2009. I don’t even look back on it nostalgically. I’m not happy to be able to say “I was there.” I’m like…it was 0 degrees and a crowd of millions, THE FUCK were you thinking going to that shit. So I did not make that mistake in 2013, but I did feel the excitement radiating through my city and was proud to be living here.

• We went to Ikea and are in love with the way a $13.99 magnetic knife strip can transform a kitchen.

• I changed my clothing rack to ONLY house items that are black and shades of turquoise/green (of which I have a lot).

• It looks so much more mature and neutral and I love it. The predominant colors in our life are white, black, grey, tan, and shades of greeny-blue/turquoise. With lots of wood, texture, graphical touches, and warmth, and a lil’ bit of glamor, and bordering on bohemian, but not quite. Our whole dining/living room has either big pieces or tiny hints of the same overall scheme, so the rooms really work/make sense together.

As my friend Anna says, the rooms “talk to one another,” which she says is very nice. It’s totally true. They’re not entirely the same–the living room has more saturated color and the bedroom is more white/black/neutral;  but they talk to each other.  It’s not about matching– uh……I couldn’t ‘match’ things if I tried, or about consciously only buying pieces of the same color scheme (at least in my opinion….because it’s happened naturally), it’s simply about the overall rooms….talking to one another. I can’t explain it any other way. The rooms are friends. Actually that’s what she says too– “it’s nice that these rooms are friends.  It’s good when that’s the case.” I don’t think the intent is to set out to enforce that that occurs…I think her observation is that it’s ‘nice’ when it in fact happens to turn out that way, which it has. And probably a good sign that you’re making the right purchases that reflect your overall taste and preferences and work well with another. Our bedroom, living room, and dining room all talk to each other guys. No drama.

{Blurry, but you can see the turquoise kilim rug, side table with the green sculptural lamp, etceteraaaa}

• Obsessed with Friday nights that entail cheese plates, wine, candles, music, and good conversation with friends. It’s the only way I ever want to spend Friday night.

I’m doing a post on building a cheese plate because I’m that into cheese these days.

That’s kind of all I’ve got. I’ve been trying to aggressively stick to exercising since I haven’t stuck to it in 8 years. I’ve made it to week THREE of the Couch to 5k running plan but am already ready to give up. Today I had to run for 3 straight minutes–twice–(followed by walking for 3 minutes) and I barely succeeded. My work-out stamina is literally confusingly low. Like even with having not worked out in 8 years. I will do classes and I am the SINGLE person who can’t fulfill the exercise at hand. Like whether it’s a barre3 class or a pilates class or yoga class, I am literally the sole person who stops 3 seconds into the exercise to break/breathe and everyone else just does it. Like you know when the instructor is like “okay guys we’re going to hold this for 20 seconds, here we go,” I have to STOP at second two; and EVERY. FUCKING. PERSON. IN. THE. ENTIRE. FUCKING. CLASS. MAKES. IT. And there are like, out of shape MOMS in the class. Like 50 year olds. I am baffled. I think there is something legitimately wrong with me. Other than fibromyalgia. I literally can’t hold poses. My muscles get so tired that it’s not about “push yourself! “you can do it!” it’s like….I am physically uanble to to do it. I have to lie down and break 6 times in the 20 seconds that everyone else was holding the pose. NO ONE. ELSE. STOPS. AND BREAKS. NOT ONE PERSON. NO ONE. And not everyone looks like a professional athlete or even someone who works out regularly. It’s not like, oh I’m surrounded by the fittest toned-est people so that’s why. No. It’s just normal humans. BUT THEY’RE ALL MANAGING TO MAKE IT THROUGH THE PARTICULAR POSE AT HAND. So I’m kind of legitimately confused. I don’t think not having exercised for a decade explains it. Because I’m like…young and even though it’s been that long since I’ve exercised, I’m not sedentary. I walk places and do things on a daily basis. And everyone else in the class looks like they haven’t worked out in 8 years too. Or longer. SO HOW COME THEY’RE ALL ABLE TO MAINTAIN THE REPETITIONS? It’s out of a movie. I want to put a hidden camera on my head and show you what it’s like. EVERYONE makes it but me. ALL OTHER 25 PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FLABBY POST MENOPAUSAL WOMEN. But I guess I’ll just keep going….and seeing if something changes. Even though………it never does.

Now we’re about to try a place we’ve never been to in Mount Pleasant– a pizza joint called Radius. Excited. It’s a double date. I love double dates with other city couples who you have things in common with. The best.

HAPPY WEEKEND!!!

                                          

2012 was a GREAT year. Super super great. So MUCH better than 2011 that it’s kind of embarrassing for 2011.

In January, Alex and I made New Year’s Resolutions, and bucked down and did nothing but save $$ (by eating black beans every night) and look forward to our February trip to LA.

In February, we went to LA. It was an extremely short trip, like 2 nights 3 days, to be on the west coast, but 4 hours there does enough for my wintertime soul. My favorite recap from each day there was day three, when we went to Venice, spent time with my cousin, shopped at Blue Planet, and saw Tate Donovan.

While there, I got my hair done by Denis, we went to The Getty, and we drove to Malibu where I had what I thought was the best Pina Colada of my life at a classicly-named oceanside restaurant: MOONSHADOWS. For some reason, that name reminds me of the ’80′s and somewhere that like, Patrick Swayze would have eaten. (It was the best pina colada of my life to date–until the Pina Colada at El Miarsol in Palm Springs unseated it in December).

In March, we celebrated my 26th birthday with an indoor ‘summer picnic’ theme since I hate winter so much. We served hot dogs, pop corn, soda, citrus-infused water, and potato chips.

I learned that, despite everything I thought/wrote, I in fact don’t like celebrating my own birthday at home. It’s anticlimactic and depressing, when the guests leave and you’re left with 40 million dishes, a messy house, and all you have to do is walk 2 feet to your own bedroom. It’s not enough of a change. It’s like “hey guys thanks for coming woo hoo it’s my birthday!” and then………you walk 1 foot into your bedroom and put on pajamas. Versus like, getting schwasted at some awesome fun restaurant/bar/ANY VENUE THAT ISN’T YOUR HOUSE, and then getting into a drunken cab (or Uber) and strolling into your apartment building schwasted and passing out face-first on your bed with your clothes on and keys in your hand. THAT’S THE WAY TO DO A BIRTHDAY AM I RIGHT?!?!! EH EH? So this year, 27, ain’t gon’ be NEAR home. I think I want to have a small group to dinner at Chez Billy. WE’LL SEE.

In April, my super-cool Cuban family from my Miami (my awesome cousin and his awesome parents, my aunt and uncle), came to the DC area to visit colleges for him. We had the BEST weekend, having drinks on the W hotel rooftop, eating dinner at The Hamilton, going to The Arboretum, eating by the wharf in Baltimore, and sharing stories. Alex took approximately 12 Tequila shots with my uncle, so he was accepted into the family.

(Gaby, my cousin, and I at P.O.V. on the top of the W hotel, in my floral denim that I wore all Spring)

In May, we celebrated Alex’s birthday by then going down to Miami to stay with/see that very same family! We got burned to a crisp, saw a Rusko concert where we realized just how very old we are (every single person was 14 and naked), and ate/drank a LOT.

(my colorful Mexican shorts that I picked up from Blue Planet when we were in Venice in February)

Even better, we got to see my GIRRRRRRRL miss Stepahnie St. Louis, my Dartmouth roomie and fellow Cuban.

She took us to the MOST incredible outdoor garden, where we spent like 2 hours wandering and talking, where you got to pose by a giant red rose sculpture (one of like 70) and see the coolest swamps and ponds and iguanas and lizards and flowers and landscaping, just hangin’ out right there in front of your face.

CLASSIC:

Love that girl sooooo much. Not living in the same city as your friends is truly tragic.

In June we discovered Beach Bar, had my entire group of friends + their boyfriends over for a Bagel Brunch, ate summer salads on our roof, went to a play, rented bikes and took a looooong ride to Georgetown, I took a make-up class and spent the day with Meg showing her “my DC”; we spent lots of time at my friend Cait’s pool, stumbled upon the Gay Pride Parade, got an epic new couch, tried Estadio with friends from out of town, and tried Sundevich/subsequently ate at Sundevich 100 times.  Whew, what a month! Loved that month, good month. OF COURSE I DID/IT WAS– IT’S JUNE. JUNE IS MY FAVORITE MONTH. June is the month I’ve always known I’ll get married in because it’s always THE FUNNEST MONTH. June is never bad. I. LOVE. JUNE. ALL TIME FAVORITE.

(me and Alex’s best friends at Beach Bar)

(grab-your-glass station for Bagel Brunch)

(Sparkly name tags for the mimosa glasses at Bagel Brunch)

(My date outfit for the play we saw– a printed snakeskin-looking Wren dress that I got on crazy sale from Style Etoile)

In July I visited my friend Kristin in New York City and had the best time; Alex and I visited Philadelphia for the first time ever; “MY DC” went up on Meg’s blog; and Alex and I went to the opening pop-up of Union Market and rearranged the shit out of our apartment.

(The best waffle of my life, at Cafe Gitane with Kristin)

(Philadelphia)

(MY DC)

(photobooth memory from Union Market)

(rearranging our apartment)

In August, the single best thing of the year happened (other than our health and being able to celebrate two more birthdays together and  the health and happiness of all our friends and family blah blah) — my friend came home over and with her genius eye, we rearranged our entire apartment together. The before-after transformation was unreal/life-changing.

In August we also went up to Boston to visit Alex’s family, then to Portland/Bowdoin so I could see his college campus, and to Hanover/Dartmouth so he could see mine, and on to his family’s family reunion in Hyannisport (where Taylor Swift was staying with her Kennedy boyfriend the entire time).

(on the very pier where Tay would be photographed by many a paparazzi)

(The Dartmouth Green)

In August I also unintentionally wrote a rant about how 50 Shades of Grey made me want to jump off of a bridge.

In September, I wrote an epic post about happiness and how blissfully happy I am at this stage in my life. Apparently, it was the SINGLE post I wrote the month of September since it pretty much covered everything ever.

In September, my college roommate and bff Carolina also came to visit from Puerto Rico. We ate, drank, danced, talked, shopped, and ignored sleep. The pictures speak for themselves. We are trouble together. She’s like my little Latina mini-partner-in-crime. She’s so cute. I just want to squeeze her. I’m like 5 feet taller than her lololz

In October, I made intentions for the season of Fall, and rearranged the house some more.

We celebrated Halloween with friends. We refused to spend a cent on costumes, so at the last minute I decided to be “The 90′s” and wore everything 90′s I could find– a BENETON cotton minidress, combat boots, a flannel tied around my waste, a backpack, dark vampy nails, and bang-wisps.

In October, we made it out to Old Luckett’s Virginia and found this BADASS cow skull to add to our family! GOD I LOVE IT:

In October at Old Luckett’s we also found our ‘lil ghost pumpkins, that lived in our house until the day before our trip to Palm Springs when I finally said, “that’ll do, ghost pumpks, that’ll do,” and tossed them out. Getting ghost pumpkins from Old Luckett’s will definitely be a Halloween tradition for so long as we’re in DC. I really didn’t want to throw them out but resigned to the fact that I couldn’t ring in 2013 with ghost pumpkins in our house still.

In November, I wrote about how spending 19 hours a day on the internet can lead to cool new career opportunities, and celebrated the birthday of my 3 best friends who ALL have November birthdays.

(Blogging for DL1961, the jeans I fell in love with in June)

In November I also experienced my first Black Friday ever, and got some AMAAAAAAZING scores, like my favorite, this Mickey sweatshirt–

And, most excitingly of all, I was photographed by Marie Claire for the January Issue:

In December….well December was BATSHIT, insane, crazy. Nothing’s ever gone by quicker, and it was full of frantic work, errands, and prep for our EPIC Palm Springs trip. We spent New Year’s Eve with new friends and had the time of our LIVES dancing and conversatin’

I wore this:

Except with make-up, like this:

Dress closer-ups:

Overall HIGHLIGHTS OF the Year

• Being featured in Marie Claire on “what I love about me”
• Being featured in a Covergirl-backed feature on Refinery about what I like to wear for a night out on the town
• Publishing a personal story for Refinery on what I love the most in my fashion/beauty life
• Writing 97 stories for Refinery (which averages to about 8 a month!) And it’s my second job. So I’m proud of THAT (It was only around for 1 month of 2011, when it launched in DC, so 2012 is really where all that work happened)
• Being featured on Meg’s blog and getting to know her better (a GEM)
• GETTING HIRED TO BLOG FOR DL1961–a denim company that had become my favorite denim company before working for them became an opportunity that I went for. Here’s a post, my latest post, from December, that you probably haven’t seen (http://blog.dl1961.com/index.php/2012/12/secret-spots/) that we shot at The Arboretum
• Visiting ALL of the places we’d resolved to visit (Baltimore, Old Luckett’s, Miami, Hanover/Dartmouth, Portland/Bowdoin, and Philly); and seeing my cousin Gaby when he visited DC and then we visited Miami; and seeing my cousin Katherine out in Venice when we went to LA; and going to LA period
• Finally getting a handle on finances, and being able to save $2,000.00
• Making new incredible friends that we’ll have for life
• Celebrating two years with Alex
• And, getting to know his side of his family better, first with the reunion in August and then spending Christmas with them

Overall, we spent a LOTTA great time with friends:

And rearranged the apartment a LOT:

(I will love that llama rug to the ends of the earth, for all eternity, amen)

Rearranged the closet a bunch:

Had breakfast in bed:

I got into baking:

Some of my fave outfits:

And took some great fuckin’ instagrams:

And took a lotta packing photos as I packed for trips in general:

And…………………………..

ORGANIZED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (A POST I STILL HAVE TO WRITE):

Organization is my NUMBER ONE resolution for 2013.

Along with fitness.

I’m so original.

THAT’S ALL!!!!! HOPE YOU ENJOYED MY LOOK-BACK AT 2012 AND I LOOK FORWARD TO THE MAGICAL THINGS THAT ARE GOING TO HAPPEN IN 2013.

13 is a LUCKY number ya’ll, forget that shit about the haunted 13th floor and Friday the 13th. LUCKY. NUMBER. 13. IT’S GOING TO BE SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GOOD I CAN FEEL IT.

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU AND YOURS

Now I need to get out of bed (it’s 2 pm, I’ve been writing this blogpost since 10); change into human clothes, clean the bagel crumbs out of the bed (ate a bagel with cream cheese in bed as I wrote this), make the bed, do 4700 loads of a laundry, get my life together, shower, and WATCH THE REDSKINS GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LETS.

GO.