tonight was momentous. it’s been a long time since i’ve worked up a sweat. i mean really worked up a sweat. a real sweat, like an on purpose, got my heart pumping sweat. it’s been a rough few months… maybe year.. is it really fall? this time last year i was frolicking in a palm springs cabana sipping lemonade, or maybe playing on the beach in santa barbara. this year, it’s been rough, physically rough. no lemonades- no frolicking. no sweat, and not the “no sweat everything is great” kind of way. the no sweat that really means your body hasn’t moved in ways you know it can move in lord knows how long. i feel weak, i look weak. i’m not even sure i can do a push up, or a sit up. i miss cardio (and i freaking hate cardio), i miss squats and sprints, and hikes, and hundred degree hour long yoga classes that take your breath away but suck you in so hard you get high. it’s been exactly 4 months since i’ve taken a yoga class. this time last year, in 4 months i would have taken 80 yoga classes. EIGHTY! and this year, in this moment, i’m writing a blog post about walking 2.5 miles on a treadmill. i stretched, i moved, i let my body sweat. in five days i go in for surgery number two. ugh, it makes me cry thinking about it. thinking about the chaos that’s been happening in my body. the infections, the scars, the tests, more scars, the recovering, the not moving my body. feeling so lifeless, so slow, so blah. so this moment, this moment right now-this moment that i felt a little strength, that i got out my damn running shoes and got on that treadmill and walked and stretched and sweat. this moment is momentous.
mint green + grey
I woke up thinking it was friday, and it’s cloudy out. And that’s a bad combo. so instead of crying because it’s not the weekend, and you’re still wearing pants… check out this good combo. mint green + grey.
{yes, it’s still thursday, but at least you have something pretty to look at}
acceptance
Day 6 post op; and it’s become crazy clear to me that I had forgotten how awesome girl time is, I can read Cosmo 8 times and still not know how to per-fekt the art of {let’s just enter xyz here} , I hate being horizontal {under most circumstances}, binge watching Sex & the City is 100 times better the third time around, and I have an insane amount of respect and love for my man than ever before {possibly swayed heavily by fact that he can clean my wounds and still want to make out}. But I still have a problem with accepting help, even the day after having a surgeon perform a “fun,”as he called it, task like taking out a gall bladder. Gross I said it, I know. But it’s true. We want help every other day of the freakin’ year; you know on the serious stuff, like picking out a rug, deciding on what apartment to rent, or what designer to work with, doing the dishes, or the laundry or reaching the juicer from the top shelf because your arms are freakishly short. And we unintentionally put this out there, like we really can’t do it alone- like it’s the end of the world if your boyfriend doesn’t tell you what paint color is better or what jeans make your butt look bigger- in a good way. But we know we can. If put to the test, 9 times out of 10 you’ll be able to do it. And that matters, because the reality is- one day, you will need help and you’ll have to accept it. And it’s tough. It’s a tough thing, accepting help when you really need it. Because, well, you feel helpless. You feel like a burden, like your needs are not as important, and they’re unwarranted. And we intentionally tell ourselves these negative things- which is just something that a crazy person does because you know in your heart that you really, truly need it. So be kind to yourself and accept it, without the guilty conscience or the indebted feeling like you must immediately fulfill that space with a payback. You’ll have your turn, you can be vulnerable now without losing your independence, your strength, yourself. Take the help, it’s being offered for that sole reason. Not to be questioned, or stewed upon. To be taken. Lose the pride, accept that you are in a rough spot- maybe emotionally, monetarily, physically. Be weak when your body needs it, and your heart yearns for it. It’s not a forever state….And hold on to the reality that your gf will still help you pick out the flippin’ pillows, or your lover will listen to your girl drama for 37 minutes straight at any given time of the day-not because it’s an earth shattering decision you have to make, but because they love you and they’ll need you be on the other end some day. That’s how we’re supposed to work- we give and we take, and it’s healthy and it makes us better people and our relationships stronger. . There will be a day when you’ll be there, where they are now-no tears, no wounds, no drama-just vertical, and put together, the help no longer needed. Be okay with it, and accept it, be grateful and humble, but accept it. {Always} accept it.
little boho bridal shower
designing parties will always be one thing that will never get old {but if you’re getting older…and want to party, call me!} so check out this hippie little boho picnic that I designed for one of my besties who loves poufs more than anyone I’ve ever met. ever. it started with diy flower crowns and ended with late night picnic blanket sewing sesh’s. we definitely put a lot on our plate, and our photographer {who also happens to be the groom} wishes i had more time to make things perfect for the pics. it wasn’t perfect but it was still a pretty damn cute party, and the whole tribe went home with itty bitty dream catchers and flower crowns. oh, and there was champagne and donuts. lots of donuts.
the soon to mrs. found these doors at Melrose Trading Post. stacked on books made the perfect picnic tables. The glass cut outs were perfect to see the pattern blankets below.
centerpieces don’t have to be complicated, or expensive. i have an addiction to kombucha, and just starting collecting the bottles. a little masking tape and gold leaf paint and you have a collection of totally chic vases. flowers were market {and neighborhood stems} thanks city of los angeles, for the something borrowed!
we pulled her reclaimed wood dining table out to the patio- I love the look of mixed up furniture. just because it’s a party, doesn’t mean you have to rent everything. use what you have, it’s more thoughtful that way!
the bride spent an afternoon bartering a crafty lady on the venice boardwalk for these supa’ cute dreamcatchers! …no, I don’t typically put clients to work. but i’m in the wedding.. so all lines are blurred.
not sure if mama castro approved of the signage ; )
these donuts lasted 5 minutes. maybe. and yes, there was a donut topping on the tower…so i take that back, 3 minutes. i know the bridesmaid who swiped it {but i won’t name names!}
the bride and her sweet parents!
the path of least resistance
Not ever to be confused with a maze, a {labyrinth} has no dead end, no aggressive decisions, no twists and turns that get you farther from the core. It is a purposeful path, the symbol of wholeness and purpose, leading you to the center and back out the way you came in. With a maze, our mind is flustered, decisions have to be made on a whim, there is tactic, race, angst, often throwing us into a state of fight or flight, turning back around, hitting a wall and backtracking the already confusing path that you’ve crossed. It leaves you feeling unclear, drained of hope and panicked to find the finish until you’ve finally escaped. Take a step into a labyrinth; {and actually, that’s the only decision you have to make}. Does that seem boring? Lazy? Uneventful? Quite the latter- it’s the path of least resistance, it gives your mind a resting state, a recovery and imaginary state. Just move forward and you will be guided towards the center, and often on a much longer path than what seems from just the looks of it. You’ll pass the center, on both sides, over and over, and it will seem so close…close enough that one little step over the path would get you there. {I was tempted.. maybe that’s the control freak in me} But what’s the fun in that? Where’s the learning in the shortcut? The center is there, the goal is there, and the path is there to guide you. Accept the guidance, the calm, don’t try to stir up the storm. Don’t be worried that you won’t make it. You will, I promise. No drama on this path. No panic. No uncertainty of whether or not you will get back out. It’s not a maze, not something to ruffle your feathers. Not always does the hustle and the anxiousness, and the pins and needles get you to the end goal. Sometimes it’s the calm. It’s the trust in what’s to come, and openness to enjoy it. To let go of the drama and the frustration. It’s making a conscious decision to just start, to move forward, instead of deciding to worry about it. The panic will never find the peace.
this one’s got me blushin’
I’m not naturally a “girly” girl in my everyday life.. my main wardrobe staple is cutoffs and I go days without brushing {who am I kidding, or washing} my hair. I love tees and hate anything that’s fussy. My mother can vouch for this… no lace, no ruffles. Things haven’t changed since 1988. My home is where I get my femme fix. Contemplating decor for my new apartment {which I have yet to find…!}, I showed my boyfriend a paint chip of pale pink over lunch today and he said “no man would want to hang out in that apartment.” So this one’s for you baby, no frills here, but plenty of pale pink that has me blushin’ six ways from Sunday.
These linens are to die for..get the look here
great expectations
We’ve all got them. Maybe too many, maybe too few. Depending on the day {or the number of straight up tequilas that have accompanied your evening}. Great. Expectations. Not quite the Charles Dickens version, but expectations nonetheless. With the recent plus one being tacked on to my age {..still in the 20’s phew!}, I had a teensy, but overwhelming, panic attack. Something along the lines of ‘what in the hell have I been doing for the last 27 years’ and ‘why have I not done x,y, and z {or even one of the other 23 letters of the alphabet for goodness sake}’ and ‘why do I cry about everything..I’m almost 30 damnit!” My busy, and productive, days, though filled with client design projects, diy projects {most recently which have left me with pink dye up to my elbows and a plethora of boho chic decor}, personal projects {like catching up on blogging, or doing my taxes- bleh!}, still leave me with even higher expectations than before. I’m hesitant to even bring up the emotional expectations {see above, about the crying} that I have put on myself, or better yet.. my friends, my family, and the one person that has my heart thumping out of chest every single minute of every single day. It’s pretty unproductive to put these {great} expectations on anyone, including ourselves. If we can’t even complete a day of accomplishing wishful projects, mundane tasks, the mending of our own hearts, solving our own problems, jumping over hurdles (or piles of dirty clothes) without feeling like it’s not good enough, how in the world is anyone in our life ever going to meet even our lowest expectations. Insert. tequila. here. I’m {partly} kidding about the tequila, but in all seriousness- if you put these unrealistic boxes that need to be checked without leaving any room for just figuring it out.. for afternoon love sessions, for projects, creativity, tears, smiles, catching up, planting the flowers.. there is no way in Dickens that even the most perfect job, sibling, beau, spouse, or accomplishment will ever satisfy you. It’s not always a great thing to have if you can’t find the balance {and by no means am I saying throw them out the window} but these great expectations need a little slack. Give them a spark, kindle them, start the fire, but don’t smother yourself {or anyone else} with them. They will suffocate you, you know, if you let it get out of control. Both in the giving and in the receiving. They need a little breathing room, maybe a little more love and a little less restraint. These great expectations that you have for yourself {and those lucky enough to be in it} need to exist. Don’t let them burn you out, or wear you down. Let them be great, let them just be.
xk
{black + white} all over
Bright color is typically my steeze, but {black + white} has got me in a complete tizzy these days. I’m lovin’ {every little bit of} it, the hand woven bath towels, geometric tile and matte black walls so velvety you can’t help but touch. Black + white, always a classic, and always in style.
{release}
It’s a crazy thing. To release. To let go. To unlatch that white knuckle grip and let go. I’m not talking about a physical holding on, not the act of that tight, white knuckle grip. That stuff- the physical stuff, that’s the easy stuff. This surface-y stuff that we hold onto, the actual, physical act of holding on- that’s nothing compared to the deep seated feeling of holding on to one thing, or even worse, that long string of things blowing in the wind like clothes on a line. They’re all still there, still hanging, quite possibly not as tight of a grip as the first time you washed them- when they were fresh and new. You were so careful that they kept their shape, hung perfectly, dripping with water for fear of wringing them out as to not fade their color or wear down the fabric. These things, these physical things..they’re still hanging, but loosely now, wrung out- doubled up, faded, but still there. This pile of tattered clothes becomes the “I’ve got nothing else left to wear so I wore the same old shitty tee {three days in a row}” kind of pile. But you hang on; you hang on to that tee, those yoga pants, the one pair of socks that’s seams don’t ever pester you under your boots. It’s a pretty crazy thing that we do this; hold on. For fear of letting go, scared to release, afraid of loosing grip. Sheesh, is that scary. So we hold on, and we keep holding on, for as long as we can. Wearing it out, wringing it out, over and over. Let it go, stop wringing it out, wasting your energy into preserving something old & tired, that technically doesn’t even fit over your 2014 booty..reminding you that you skipped {more than a few} workouts. Or that unraveling tee with the wine stain that you just can’t get out and every time you see it it brings back that awful day that you had to drink an entire bottle of wine, just to have ruin your favorite freaking tee shirt, kind of day. It’s fogging everything up you know…well, maybe you don’t, and that’s why you haven’t let go yet. It takes times, {releasing} takes time, it might even take years.. and you’ll probably go back for the comfort even though it’s not where you want to be. Quite frankly though, it’s not even easy once you finally do- when you feel like you’re going to instantly have this miraculous liberation, but instead your healthy body decides to take a vaca and you spend a week sick in bed, and you start irrationally regretting ever letting go in the first place. You will start to feel liberated though. The wringing out of the old and the years of mending holes and sewing on buttons will fade and you’ll feel alive again, and put together.. creative again, ready for the fresh, crisp and the new. It takes time and energy to release {quite the opposite of what we would perceive} but you’ll manage. Be kind to yourself, you will be just fine.
colorful + sunny desert decor
golden vibes 