hats off

 I never wore hats growing up. My sister jokingly told me I looked weird in hats in middle school and it stuck with me. I always trusted her word so every time I put one, on my mind would reiterate her voice. I'd think, "it does look weird," take it off and place it back on the shelf.

Come fall while lingering around Soho one day I came across a black felt hat that didn't feel too weird. In a good mood, accompanied by a new fellow I decided to go with my gut. He gave me the thumbs up and in my "you're too cute to disagree with" mood I handed over my debt card. The fellow didn't last but the hat did. Certainly an impulse buy that was worth the price tag. I haven't been back to the shop since but there were two left, one camel and one hunter green. If you need a push here's one from me- indulge a little and hats off to you.

pickup + go

I rarely just pick up and leave. More so lately though I haven't many reasons to stay. On the only snowy day thus far this winter I put on my coat, stuffed deodorant, my toothbrush and a clean tee in a bag and headed to Grand Central Station. A best friend of mine met me there. Two sugar brioches, a shared coffee and several hours later we were brushing off the snow of a pickup truck. Keys left for us, bumble bee hanging from the rearview mirror.

No plan. No internet. No television. No cell service. No problem. Problems. Why we left all along. 24 hours of silence and snow. We made chili from scratch. A recipe that I've been jonesing for ever since she first set a bowl in front of me. "Easy," with a shrug of those bird-like shoulders. Bon Iver cooning and chopping up vegetables. Monk the cat chatting away in cat language. Simmering olive oil, boiling water, small glass of wine.

Hard to remember the heavy heart who left the city. Here all we were were hands chopping, stirring, pouring. Feet shifting weight. Bodies light, minds lighter.

24 hours of smells. Wood fire, red wine, homemade chili and snow. The chili, I swear it fixes everything. Bad days, bruised hearts.

Kate's famous

 
1 can of tomatoes
1 green pepper
1 white onion
1 butternut squash
1/2 bag of frozen corn
1 can of white beans
1 can of red beans
1 can of kidney beans
1/2 lb of turkey
chili powder to taste
salt and pepper to taste
olive oil
1 cup of white rice (optional)
sour cream (optional)
cheddar cheese (optional)

Dice your pepper and onion. Throw it in a deep pot with simmering olive oil. Put in the turkey. Mix and brown. Dice the squash and boil it in a second pot with water until soft. Add corn, tomatoes and beans to the main pot. Add chili powder. Add squash once soft. Add a little water if necessary. Cook a cup of white rice (optional). Let everything cook. When ready to serve, put rice in bottom of bowl, then chili, sour cream and cheddar cheese. Enjoy.

In addition to making chili, Kate is a photographer. Check it.

hero

 

When I was young my dad used to pull splinters out of my hands and feet. I don't know where I used to play where this was a common occurrence but I remember him putting my hand under a big magnifying glass in the garage and using a needle. He was unnaturally gentle and being the wimp I am, it takes a ton of trust especially when I'm hurt, to allow anyone to touch me. Quick and painless, the splinter gone and there was instant relief. His reassurance of fixing up his daughter was easy for me to read, it spread across his face. I learned dad liked being the hero.

I know all this modern woman stuff is telling us all to buck up! who needs a man when you have a college education, smart phone and good pair of shoes. Me. I'm the one shyly raising my hand. I'm not tall enough to reach the top shelf and strong enough to hang that 50 lb. mirror that I bought last spring. The truth is I miss that feeling I used to get where dad would get the splinter. When his pride and happiness from helping me filled me up with love. I could have gotten it eventually but seeing him help me was so much more rewarding. That hero moment- it's not just little girls and disney stories - I truly feel guys like it too.

Because let's be honest, when you help someone else, their appreciation and gratitude fills you up and you feel just as good. You can tell me to ask for the help of a girlfriend but it's not the same benefit. Sometimes whether it's opening a jar or pulling out splinters, a part of me wants that hero-like outcome. I'm not "modern woman" enough to say it.

the clog

My bathtub has a tendency to clog. One day I'll randomly look down to see my feet submerged in water. I get out, towel off and by the time I'm dressed I have already forgotten about the clog and the excess water has drained. Until the next time which will be when I'm especially late and am left with sudsy feet and a mental note to pick up drano on my way home from work. I always forget to deal with the clog until it's so bad that it takes a bottle of extra strength drano and at times, the maintenance man to snake my drain. This, for those of you know who know me and how OCD I can be know that this isn't about cleanliness but about addressing the problem. At 25 years old, I am incredibly good at ignoring the problem until like my bathtub, I am filled to the brim and overflowing.

I know that it's there but each day is less convenient than the last. I forget until something else adds to the pile and I remember that I had poor feelings at all. I look down, I look up and wonder how the water got so high. Time and time again I curse myself for not taking care of it right away. Letting it build and allowing it to get more about more out of hand. My feet prune-like, my heart heavy.

Once the clog is gone and my feet don't slip on suds, I go back to my daily routine, thank the maintenance guy who murmurs on his way out in half English, half Spanish that next time to him call earlier. "Don't let it build mami," as he walked down the hallway, "one day it will not be fixed." 

This post is dedicated to Kate. xo

xs

Unless you're one of the few New Yorkers who live in real estate heaven - odds are your apartment is smaller than what is deemed appropriate for an average adult. You stay because it's either in an awesome part of town or because somehow you scored an amazing deal. In my case, I love my location. Yes it may seem far uptown to others but I'm between 2 parks and it's quiet and clean. It is however small. Rather than see that negatively, I've actually learned that small isn't always a bad thing.

1. The anti-hoard: That sweater I wore once? Donation box. Those extra heels that hurt but I swear I'm planning on breaking in? Sayonara. I clean out my closet and dresser each season and donate everything that I don't wear or don't plan on wearing to Goodwill. My beauty cabinet is slim as well. Because honestly why do I need 6 half full bottles of lotion when I only really use one.

2. The buy-only-what-you-can-carry: I used to buy vegetables and stock up on soup in college because I figured if it was there I'd have to eat it and skip out on burgers and beers. Wrong. It sat and spoiled before it was eaten. Now I only buy what I know I'll eat that week since my cabinet and fridge space is coveted. No excess buying because 4 blocks and an avenue is too far to haul anymore than you have to. Side note: I once went to BJ's and overbought. Out of stubbornness I walked from the train to my apartment with my groceries. By the time I got to the door I was in tears with welts up my arms from my bags. I learned my lesson nonetheless.

3. Only the useful can stay: You don't need 16 coffee cups, 7 cookies pans and 4 ladles. Living in a small space makes me buy what I need only. On the flip side I spend a little more on that perfect set of gold flecked coffee cups (thanks Dani) than normal since I can only have 2 and not 6.

All-in-all I feel that living smaller brings quality over quantity. Since it's just me I can easily get by on my weekly trip to the market, 2 perfect coffee cups and a simple wardrobe. One things I refuse to skimp on are pillows - the more the merrier and with that said, time to get up and get going.

don't stay

I don't like when you stay here.

I don't like that you take up more than your half of the bed. That you use pillows that are are not for sleeping but for decorating. That you kick the covers off and I have to drag them back onto the bed 10 times over.

I don't like that you make my sheets smell like you. The smell that's hardly there but seems to stay for days after you are gone. That when I wake up I feel like I smell more like you than me.

I don't like that I can't move you. Not even an inch. You fall asleep and you are dead weight. That your arms are much too long and that they pull me and tuck me into the position that is comfortable for you. That I become your rag doll and that you drag me from one half of the bed to the other without effort. That if I move an inch away that you pull me two inches closer.

I don't like that you breathe on me when you sleep. That you don't care that you're sometimes so close that I can hardly breathe myself. That your hair gets in my face and that your beard scratches my face and neck.

I don't like when you stay here because I wake up the next three nights thinking you are still here. I don't like it because I don't like when you leave.

luck be a lady

If you want something to happen and in your favor, is there a certain prayer you say, a special dress you wear, swear that if this one thing happens that you will fulfill a certain promise in return? I have one item that I keep with me for luck. On days where I have a big presentation, somewhere to be or a date to keep, I wear a necklace that holds an emblem of Saint Christopher. Historically this saint holds patronage of things related to travel and travelers.

I'm not a religious person but I do believe in karma and luck. I understand fully that my necklace isn't a safeguard against any sort of mishaps and misfortunes but it has become something that takes the edge off days where I know I have a zillion things to do and places to be. Smaller than a dime, hanging from a thin silver chain, it gives me confidence and ease to not worry and let things just take their course and hopefully bring me a little bit of luck when I hit a bump in the road.

sticks and stones

The moment before you know pain will hit. Your heart quickens, every muscle in your body tenses up, you can hear your pulse in your ears, you feel it in your throat. Adrenaline kicks in and you feel a rush to the head, a flip to your stomach. You close your eyes and you wait.

It hits. It's horrendous. It's the worst pain you've felt in your entire life and you are sure that this is the most pain you will ever feel. You're flooded with emotions of fear and agony. You yell, you scream, moan, shout, cry, sob, anything to release the tension that filled your muscles moments before and fills your body now with pain.

You breathe, you react, you act. You analyze the damage. You put yourself through an instant physical and mental pop quiz. Where am I, who am I, can I hear, see, taste, count to 10. Flex your fingers, flex your toes, work into the center of your body from the furthest points. Wrists and ankles, elbows and knees, hips and shoulders, head and heart. And suddenly you begin to search for a solution to end the pain or subdue it.

Slow down.

Haven't you already began to forget about the initial pain? The first hit that knocked the wind out of you and why you tensed up in the first place. Why is it that only moments after pain subsides that our minds, our bodies, begin to forget the sensation of pain? Is it in fact a "mind over matter" type of situation where instantly we move mentally to the furthest point away from the pain? Do those with a greater pain index just have the ability to get to that point in our minds more quickly than others? Do some stay in the place where pain resonates longer?

I am both agile and clumsy. I can walk up to you without you noticing because my feet barely make any sound but as I'm walking the chance of me first clipping my elbow on a door frame or twisting my ankle are more than likely. I am emotionally balanced in the same way. I am stubborn yet sensitive. You can challenge my beliefs and question my intentions but look at me wrong and it's o-v-e-r. I have gotten myself to a point where I feel I am able to recover more quickly from physical pain. Most of it has to do with moving away from home and having to deal with incidents with responsibility because no one else is there if I have a meltdown. I need to get myself to the point where I analyze the damage quicker so that no further pain ensues. Here's where I struggle though, I am unable to get myself to a point where I recover from emotional pain. My odds on a broken bone and a broken heart are on the bone. I will be able to forget the physical pain quickly but the emotional pain will pull me down, toss me back up and fill me with anxiety and sobering distress. I remember my parents reminding me that "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" in middle school when I was having a hard time dealing with your typical mean girl hell. I remember looking at them and wanting to call their bullshit. I am strong enough for sticks and stones, it's words that go straight through me.

something on your face

One of the most vivid memories from my childhood is of my mom putting makeup on me for my ballet rehearsals. I remember the blush, the subtle eye shadow, a little lipstick and most of all, the cat-eye liner. I remember looking in a mirror thinking that this is how ladies should look. This is how I should look. It isn't much of a surprise that 20-some years later that I end up in the beauty industry.

I've tried most looks and trends but always come back to the classic look that was established by my mom many years ago. I've found a collection of products and brands that are my go-to. I defend my spending since I am not a clothes or shoes type of girl but rather a beauty junkie. Instead of purchasing many different products to figure out what I love, I've learned to ask for samples. Out of all those samples there are 6 products that I use daily. Clockwise: MOR Lip Macaron, Chanel Eyeshadow, NARS Lip Pencil, Clinque Eyeliner, Dior Mascara and Benefit High Beam

do the macaroni

Perfect for a cool day or just a day where you need some comfort in the form of food. This simple recipe was easy, quick and delish. We haven't had the coldest winter (thus far anyway) but that's no reason to not enjoy winter-like food. Enjoy.

cheesy baked pasta with spinach and artichokes
real simple magazine, april 2012

serves 4

8 ounces mezzi rigatoni or some other short pasta (1/2 box)
1 14-ounce can artichoke hearts, rinsed and quartered
1 9-ounce package of frozen creamed spinach, thawed
1/4 cup grated parmesan (1 ounce)
2 cups grated mozzarella (8 ounces)
black pepper and salt to taste

Cook the pasta according to the package directions, drain and set in broiler proof baking dish. Add in the artichoke hearts, spinach, parmesan, half the mozzarella, pepper and salt. Toss to combine. Sprinkle the remaining mozzarella on top. Broil until the cheese is browned in spots, 2-3 minutes.

the uncontrol

Everyone deals with change differently. Some embrace it, some go unfazed and some, like myself, bottle up their anxiety and resistance against it until finally some unlucky soul has to deal with the overflow. There's been so much change lately that I feel like I'm on a moving platform. You know the ones at the airport that allow you to move more quickly to get from gate to gate? I'm constantly hopping from one to another and in the middle when I'm actually on the steady ground I'm left with the feeling that the ground is still moving beneath me.

It began in July with a new job. Not only a new job but a whole other aspect of design. Once that felt semi-manageable, there was the semi-break-up of my quasi-boyfriend. In an emotional cul-de-sac, it mutually ended due to irreconcilable differences. With that change was the friction of friends involved that I didn't see coming. Soon thereafter came the announcement that my fabulous roommate was moving out and moving in with her boyfriend. I straddled a line of being extremely happy for her and extremely anxious over the thought of having to move. Add in November and the holidays to follow. While some begin to play holiday music the day after Halloween, I am one of those that avoids it all together. Your parents tell you that your cat got hit by a car and this is your first Christmas where your sister isn't staying home with you at your parents but rather at her own home. Finally add in meeting someone who for the first time in the longest time makes Miss Control (me) feel completely out of control.

Everything always seems so minuscule once it's over and dealt with. Fears and anxieties fade, plans are set and achieved. To-do lists get made, added to and finally crossed off. Not one to make resolutions that can easily be phased out within a week or even a month I feel that there is one to be made for the year. In most situations I realize that I find myself wanting to control every aspect and the outcome. The truth is I can't control them. I know this yet still I dwell. I dwell on the things I can not control, the people I can not reach, the situations that I can not change. This year and going forward I will keep in mind that what's done is done. The past is the past and while it amounts to the present, it doesn't have to influence it. Sometimes I just have to let go. This is me, letting go little by little. Happy 2012.

what's yours is mine

In a hurry to get out of the apartment and to the gym before laziness sets in, I quickly nabbed a shirt from my dresser. Halfway down the hall and halfway on my body I realized that it wasn't my shirt. It was mine because it was in my room buried under sweaters and random gym attire but it was more a relic of the past.

More than once I've found items that once belonged to boyfriends. Shirts, socks and/or sweaters show up unannounced and at moments where I'd rather they stay hidden in my drawer. They are those pieces that I used to wear to brunch Sunday when I was too lazy to put on my own tighter, more "fashionable" clothes. Items that smelled familiar and warm. Memories of running to get ice cream in the middle of the night because it went well with the movie we were watching and dressing head to toe in his clothes.

I think one of the most ridiculous things about a breakup is the "getting together of the things." I've always thought to just leave them and forget about it but the thought of me leaving and my things remaining always felt awkward and wrong. I'd rather clear the cabinet out rather than someone else having to. The problem is you can never get rid of it all and much like the memories that remain so does that one shirt that you happen to grab on a day where you already weren't feeling up to par. Well whatever, I put it on anyway and even though it no longer smells like him and all I'm doing is running errands or to the gym at least I know that it still fits and maybe one day I'll return it. But then again, maybe not.