Dear Martha,

I don’t usually pay much attention to what you’re up to, but I had access to your newest magazine and took a stab at it. First, I’d like to thank you for the lovely ideas. Second, I’d like to mention that I’m poor..and couldn’t afford your project.

The specific project I am referring to is your article on printmaking, stamped clothing, and linens. Your idea to use the technique on curtains was a stroke of genius to me, Girl Who Bought Cheap, Boring, Stark White Ikea Curtains. Now, I should preface this by saying that I am on a budget. No, really. I mean..come on. I just started college. And I am recently re-employed, so I’m being reeeeeeeeeeeal careful. So I’m stuck with these ugly white curtains with HUGE, tab tops. And I decide to use your stamp idea on my curtains. I made the trip to Michael’s for supplies. I needed stamps, shapes, stencils or rubber molds of some sort. I needed fabric paint. That is all I need. This should have been easy. This should have been cheap. And you let me down, Woman. You let me down.

Click to continue reading Dear Martha

\

So, maybe this blogging thing wasn’t such a good idea.

Mainly because it seems I’m just paying for hosting to procrastinate writing anything up here.

I think..I think it’s because I don’t have a direction. Rather, I think it’s because I’m having difficulty picking one particular direction. I want to talk about travel, about photography, about food, religion, school, love, home improvement, and shoes. But the blogging advice I received said that I think pick a topic and stick with it…which doesn’t sound like fun to me.

So, I’ll make you a deal, Internet.. I’ll write religiously if you don’t mind if I change my direction as often as I change my underwear.

…and now I’ll have to change my direction quite often. Otherwise, you might think my underwear is pretty gross.

Now, let’s talk about curtains.

So, I’m job hunting. It’s not fun. Actually, it’s shitty. It’s not going well and I am not in a good mood today. So, I’m making Boy a pan of peanut butter brownies and posting a picture of a cute, French baby goat to avoid writing about what’s really going on. Because. BECAUSE. Because no one can be grumpy at the sight of that furry baby face.

Boy and I have been working out our issues on the DL for the past few weeks, and yesterday was our first official date. Not sure if that makes us officially together again or not, but it doesn’t matter much anyway. I knew things were back to normal when he started laying out the ridiculously obnoxious duck farts in the car. You know things are good with Boy when he’s okay with you stewing in his fart clouds on the way home.

We went to see Up (not in 3D. Because everyone I know gets sick from 3D and is consequently LAME) and it was the greatest Pixar experience ever. We laughed so hard. That’s probably my favorite thing about Boy. That he laughs unabashedly at animated movies like a small child, like it’s the first time he’s ever seen anything that funny, like he just could not be having a better time. It’s hard not to watch him instead of the movie when he gets like that. Even people in the theatre with us are amused at such genuine laughter.

Up was incredible. I’ve never seen an animated movie that pulls you in and engages you so thoroughly, then takes you for a ride, and then drops you off somewhere near where you started but feeling like life is just a little more bearable. I love how Pixar manages that.

I’m gonna leave this thought unfinished.. I think it’s better that way.

Are you ready for too much information? If you’re not…get ready. Here it comes.

Click to continue reading You Want To Stick That Needle WHERE?

So, here’s what’s what:

The last few weeks of my trip played host to every ridiculous insecurity two people can harbor in a relationship, and consequently the boyfriend and I were not on speaking terms. I knew what this meant, but I was determined to enjoy this trip anyway.

I visited Paris and London (details to come!) and both visits were amazing. I had the chance to meet some wonderful people and see things I never thought I’d see.

I flew home from London.

My family was knee-deep in moving preparations.

My boyfriend was noticably absent.

And the absolute state of panic that comes with returning to reality from an extended vacation set in like no other.

Boy and I broke up about 3 hours after I landed in Los Angeles.

And I preceeded to spend the next month hiding in my hole and burying myself in other things to do, like pack and then move and then boss people around regarding where three foot tall prints of my toddler face should be hung.

When I’m in a state like this, it’s nearly impossible for me to do anything creative (like blogging…or taking pictures..hense the lack of updates.) But it’s been a month, and I’m workin’ it out, so it’s back to work for me.

Speaking of work. No one ever tells you how unenjoyable working is when you could be traipsing around London again! I love my job, but it’s no jog through Trafalgar Square, ya know?

Will write again soon. With pictures. I promise.

Dear Blog,
Um…hi. I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I have a lot to tell you about the last leg of my trip, coming home, my new singledom, and a hectic move one block west. Are you going to hate me if I say that I don’t have time right now, though? ..I don’t have time write now. I’m sorry. We will catch up tomorrow. I promise.

-Carsen

On Tuesday, I said my final ‘goodbye’ to Maryse and Jean-Claude and took the train to Paris. New trip, new homestay, new world. Paris is ridiculously beautiful, and the history behind everything you touch is astounding. It’s remarkable.

In comparison, the south of France seems like an entirely different country. Everyone here moves at the same pace as New Yorkers, which means no one stops to say ‘hello’ (unless you’re buying something from them, or they’re trying to hit on you..)  It’s been a bit difficult, because I was so used to how it was in the south: everyone’s friendly, you can easily ask for directions, things are very easy to find, etc.

The biggest difference between here and Grasse (so far,) is my hosts. My host here is lovely and friendly, but she is more professional about the homestay. It’s more like a B&B/Homestay hybrid. It’s nice, but she charges more money to show you around Paris which makes the experience forced.  We’ve had a few good chats, though. I think she likes me. The noise level here has been the hardest thing to adjust to. We are in a relatively quiet, virtually tourist-free neighborhood. But the building I’m in makes every little movement in the apartment above me sound like someone in re-arranging an entire room full of furniture. This is particularly noticeable because I go to bed around 11, so that I can wake up early and get to museums. The rest of Paris, however, does not go to bed until much later. I’m pretty sure my host doesn’t sleep at all. I swear I can hear her ripping things up at 1 hour at intervals throughout the night. Needless to say, the paper ripping and furniture arranging going on at 2 AM has not made for restful sleep.  So, I’ve whipped out the earplugs. Popped them in to see if they work, and I will have you know that I have been sitting here typing for several minutes now and I cannot hear my fingers hit the keyboard. I cannot hear the banging going on upstairs, and I cannot hear my host having a gossip dinner with her friend in the next room. My head is completely silent, and it feels so good.

So, I’ll update tomorrow about Paris. I have to take a nap.

One. – It turns out, you can live life without actually living life. I had no idea. It also turns out that life, contrary to what I have grown up being told, does not have to be as difficult as it has been.

Two. – The life I lived in Los Angeles was only part of what I wanted for myself. I’m not in school right now, and I really want to be. My job is wonderful, but not a career path. Moving forward is what matters here, and I’ll be doing that when I get home.

Three. – I do know myself as well as I thought I did this whole time.

Four. – I am not as mature as I thought I was. And I am perfectly content with that.

Five. – My boyfriend. He is that wonderful. It takes a good man to know when to be my support, it takes an even better one to support without me having to ask. Sometimes he only says half of what he means, sometimes he says things and I have no idea what he means at all, and sometimes he says nothing and makes perfect sense. It’s ridiculous, but we’re workin’ it out. Some distance and several quiet nights where all I could think about was how badly I wanted to tell him what I saw and share it with him have made that very clear.

Six. – My family. My sister will be my sister even if I do not like her all the time. Even if I am still harboring childhood bitterness ten years from now, she will still be my sister and we will still be friends. She will still be the first person I idolized growing up.  I do not know why, but my father and I cannot seem to comprehend each other. I think it might be because we are too similar, and that is very scary for both of us. I DO like my brother! And I love my mother, even if she drives me crazy and live in a house full of people who openly do not.  With all of the crazy floating around, we might never find a balance that makes this life peaceful when we all co-exist, but maybe we can find some with a little space. Maybe we’re so weird that getting closer is not the trick, maybe we have to get a little further apart.

Seven. – Speech is a bit overrated. I arrived in France with survival French, some basic knowledge, and a rough sketch of the culture. The French I do know is awfully handy, but the greatest moments I have had have been when I couldn’t use words. When I couldn’t get my point across, and I didn’t know how else to do it, and I had to get creative. Note pad and pen, pointing, jumping up and down and flailing my arms to immitate what I am trying to say. French people – they like you better when you are less inhibited. People in general, I’m guessing, will like this news. Also, you would be amazed and how much can be said with a facial expression or one word. Or how much conversation can be sparked by walking around with something interesting in your hand. Or how many friends one can make with people who do not speak a common language with you. It’s amazing how much conversation can happen when you learn to stop talking.

Eight. – You should try – try very hard – not to care most of the time. Very few things are worth caring about. An overblown fight with my dad that is just not worth continuing is just that — not worth continuing. Someone, somewhere in the world hates me for the fun of it? Well, that sucks, but I can’t fix everything so I guess I’ll learn to live with it. . If I run around caring about EVERYTHING on the planet, I will be my mother in ten years.  I do not want to be my mother. For the record, though, I also don’t want to be so focused on not becoming my mother that I accidentally become exactly my father. I’d appreciate some traits from both of them, but I’m watching my back on both sides.

Nine. – Relax. It’s okay. The world goes around the exact same way even if you do not have a productive day or make tons of money all the time or if you sleep until 2 PM on a Wednesday.

Ten. – Sex and nudity and all that? Yeah, those things are only a gigantic taboo in America. We like to teach our people that nudity is weird, sex is bad and unhealthy, and that you are weird if you do not believe that. That is such a ridiculous thing to teach people. It’s natural, it’s inevitable, and it is NOT that big of a deal.

This trip to France was meant to be my escape from home, my little slice of heaven, my space to live and learn. It turned out to be a month of lessons, strange thoughts, and  tiny observations. I needed this trip. I had no idea how much until I got here, but I needed it.

Perhaps I should preface this by saying that I NEVER do this. I’d also like to say that I am writing this in between bites of mid-day breakfast pizza and shots of orange juice, so we all know where I’m going with this.

Sure,  I have a glass of wine with dinner. Sure, maybe two or three. Maybe I’m feeling tipsy.

Easter, however, was very different. I have no shame because I’m in Europe and I can legally drink here and if I didn’t have some fun drunk in Europe stories to tell my friends they would all be tremendously disappointed in me. I have no shame, but I do have some regret. Especially today. The morning after. Dun dun dun. Click to continue reading Easter. Oh, Easter.