latte art

when coffee gets pretty.

21 and fun

Wednesday. Jen turns 21. Holding her glass of wine about to taste alcohol for the first time in her life. "No one told me it was going to burn. I don't like it."

Thursday. "To dissemble your feelings, to control your face, to do what everyone else was doing, was an instinctive reaction." - 1984, Orwell. First day of school. "Science will explain the phenomenon, but art captures the way it feels." Just another reminder that art is completely necessary in this world.

the start

Started the day at 4:27 AM, 7 minutes before my alarm. I thought it would be entertaining to listen to the Scissor Sisters on full blast. Nothing like a Kiki wake up call to get excited about life before sunrise.

Ending the night with Rufus Wainwright's Across the Universe. In conclusion, nothing is going to change my world. Although, maybe I want it to.

being stark, being blank

when you know you're just suppose to feel anything at all.. and you can't.

"Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed in passive voice — to avoid deciding. Whom to tell, when to tell them, what to do now. I’ve thought more than once in the past two days that the numbness isn’t healthy. “Cry,” I will myself, using the imperative. “Collapse in a sobbing heap next to your bed and exorcise the anger and the fear and, most of all, the overwhelming, hateful, puncturing guilt.” I even sat in my apartment making a pooping face, trying hard to disintegrate into anguish, which seems like what a normal person ought to do. But, passively, nothing is felt. Even though so much (and indeed, frighteningly little) is known. No tears are produced, no shame lamented." - the tc, Sean Risse

when you're an addict

a short and in no way comprehensive view into the various cups of coffee i've enjoyed. sometimes shared, sometimes alone, but always a moment to be present and breathe.
the tragic art of coffee and addiction:

Aix-en-Provence

Time Donuts, Lyon

Little, Lyon

4éme, Paris

4éme, Paris

L'épicerie, Lyon

San Remo, Italy

Nice

Broc, Lyon

Four Barrel, San Francisco

Blue Bottle, San Fransisco

i miss this

i miss the noe connaît..



i'm coming back.. with flower setting:

causing a scene in luxembourg

Photos by Sanazle

Just how obnoxious is this extraordinarily large red (velvet) bow atop my head? Well, when you multiply your answer times 73, you can begin to understand the french population's disdain. Whateva, I just really enjoy roaming around Paris in a huge red bow and a paint-splattered Mickey Mouse t-shirt. Speaking of the t-shirt, I received this from my best friend's mother last summer and I became obsessed with it. I mean I still am, I wear it under all of my clothes. Anyway, when I was packing to move to France, my new yet old beloved t-shirt was nowhere to be found. I freaked out and frantically tore apart my house, only to be forced to leave without it. Convinced my older brother stole it (he likes Disney way too much), I wept like a baby daddy finding out he's a baby daddy. Until I went home for break and pulled down my bathrobe from a shelf in the closet. There, hidden in the bathrobe, gleaming like treasure, was this faded Mickey Mouse shirt. I then wept like a baby daddy finding out the baby isn't his. Needless to say, this isn't the last time you'll be seeing this shirt.

That awkward moment when you carry an extremely heavy metal chair across the beautiful Luxembourg gardens and have a really tough time carrying it because your hands and legs are numb from the cold.

That other awkward moment when you start having a dance party while singing show tunes in the quiet and calm Luxembourg gardens.

blog rant complete with outtakes

Here's the deal- I'm just a little over the whole fashion blogging sphere. I spent a lot of time yesterday cleaning out the list of blogs I follow, because frankly I'm not interested in the high paid bloggers who look models, have zero personality, and literally get all of their "fashionable" clothes for free. There's a huge secret to blogging, we choose to represent ourselves the way we want. When choosing which photos to put up, I become my biggest critic and begin to point out faults with every picture. I don't like that. So in an effort to prove I don't take myself too seriously as a blogger, I have compiled the most ridiculous photos of myself I can find. This is the stuff that didn't make the cut the first time around. Enjoy:

I'm not perfect and I don't want anyone to think I am; being relatable and entertaining as a blogger is everything to me. I definitely don't believe in the "follow me, I'll follow you" mentality. I guess I'm just blogging for the sake of blogging, because it's something I really enjoy. Now, I won't deny that I am trying to persuade you to stop wearing leggings in public. I definitely am. It's all about subtext.

obligatory valentine's day post

I took the liberty of compiling a Valentine's Day playlist to cover all of your emotions, assuming you'll fall under one of these 4 categories. How to get through Valentine's Day:

1. If you're in love or whatever. Boring. This song is beautiful, "So, this old world must still be spinning round and I still love you."

2. If you're feeling like me, maybe need a little encouragement. This song is unbelievably beautiful as are the performers, though the camera is a little blurry with tears. "Who made the rule that 2 is better than one, I bet that fool is alone by a phone, coming undone."

3. If you want to just forget about it, you want me to stop talking about it, and you want to dance your little heart out OR you're still in mourning for beloved Whitney Houston. I highly recommend this new jam from Sir Gavin Creel. I know you can dig it. "Oh, I wanna dance with somebody, anybody get me out of this town."

4. If you're crying and you need a mix of classical music and Cee Lo Green, then this is for you. "And I'm like f&@cK U (Valentine's Day)."

When I asked Paris to be my valentine, I was actually asking these beauties above. I've already assumed they'll say yes.      2 more days.

What do you say? 2 more days.

i miss going outside

Flashback to last semester. A Friday afternoon in November by the river on a beautiful day with Kylie Monet, who of course took these pretty photos. I was playing with my "cape", which consequently doubles as a blanket. I miss those times when I could go play outside in the city. These days, I have the privilege of dealing with this:

Are you kidding? I can ice skate in the Hotel de Ville fountain? It's just not okay. And I feel so bad for those poor horses who froze to death trying as hard as they could to gallop into to the nearest fireplace.

As for me, I've surrendered to the cold and now wear 36 layers whenever leaving the apartment (which I guess is nothing new). I'm forced to enjoy indoor activities, like museums. Luckily, having a staring contest with the scariest man in the Musée des Beaux-Art never gets old.

a poem, barely breathing

Monument to the Murdered Jews of Europe
photo and poem my own

i have purple hair

The bleaching process. Evidently, you have to bleach your hair in order to dye it purple. Considering, I have never bleached my hair, I feared it would just fall out. All of it. Is that irrational even though we were only bleaching the tips? I wanted purple hair bad enough to get over it.

Supplies. Okay, so we used a chickpea can and plastic wrap. I'm on a budget.

Team of talented stylists- Kylie Monet and Vick

GOOOAAAAL. Done applying bleach, yet too early to celebrate.

Playing the waiting game and trying to avoid major freak out by listening to Gavin Creel's NOISE.

They should charge for their services, maybe even turn Kylie's apartment into a salon. I can't believe I have such good friends. I would also like to thank ALANNA for all of the above pictures and her general presence/moral support during this whole process.

Results. Now, we can celebrate.

Photos by Kylie Monet

I did the purple myself.

I am in love. I want more.

I find myself just staring at my purple hair during class. Even though I've completely stopped paying attention, I at least learned some new french words- mes pointes violettes.