Photo booth darlings.

Confession: I haven't gone through any of my wedding photos yet. I'm just so terribly busy and important, and my life so colorful and thrilling AND BUSY AND IMPORTANT... didn't I ever mention how utterly absolutely fabulous I am? Well... I guess time has gotten away from me. I started the photo-looking process by going through all the photo booth photos. And voilà! New facebook album (you know... for the kids) and one belated wedding blog post à la Claire.

The winners of the "Blue Ribbon/State Semi-Finalist/Claire likes these photos a lot" Competition:

  

Let's get a time machine to the 1950's. Mostly to point and laugh at someone.

I'm always hoped someone would take the initiative to design pond-diorama shoes. Oh, you'll see it, come 1:25 in the following video:

Holiday Parties

Holiday parties used to be the bane of my adolescences.

Now that I'm the very picture of maturity (snort), I look forward to them. Maybe it's because I have someone to dress the same as, make triple chocolate brownies with, and hide in the basement with (reading/drawing) during the tedious party points (mostly the point after eating/before dessert when people bring out camcorders and try to make the Next Great Holiday TV Special).

Real cool.

 

Be cool, boy.

Amen, brother.

Husband and I just picked up a kick-shin TV from our foray into day-after-Thanksgiving shopping, or, in lay-man's terms, BLACK FRIDAY. I got a lot of flack from BLACK FRIDAY naysayers. In response to the non-believers (shun the non-believers, shuuuuun), I have just found this little rant online on tumblr (my second blogging love). It completely says everything I could want to say and more, but a lot meaner and with more expletives than I normally would... Take it away, Jay Gabler:


I am not at a store right now. I have not been at a store at any time today, and I do not intend to visit any store today—except maybe for a liquor store. But good grief, people, you need to SHUT THE HELL UP with your snooty comments/tweets/posts about how stupid Black Friday is. Here’s why:
It’s boring. There are millions of people complaining today about how stupid Black Friday is, and anyone who’s listening to/following you has probably correctly guessed how you feel about it. Do you really need to jump on the bandwagon? Is there really that much danger that anyone might think you’ve been eagerly anticipating this day for months?
It’s classist. With planning, it’s possible to easily save hundreds of dollars via Black Friday specials. For a lot of families, that’s a lot of money. Of course there are many people who shop on Black Friday purely for fun, but it seems awfully privileged to sit there and scorn people who are out taking advantage of very low prices on common household goods. I actually saw a retweet of this, shortly after midnight: “If we would just drop bombs on all the Wal-Marts across the country right now, the crime rate would go down 75%.”
The ridiculousness is part of the point. Generalizing about Black Friday shoppers by saying they’re just out for deals on things they don’t need reflects a lack of imagination about why people do what they do. Of course it’s ridiculous to make a line around the block to get into Target at midnight on a Thursday night; that’s a big part of the point. Families and friends go out and make a party of Black Friday shopping; they bring fortification and make battle plans and probably have a really great time at it. What’s more ridiculous: having fun and getting great deals, or sitting at home scowling and complaining about people you don’t even know doing what they want to do and not hurting you or anyone else?
Welcome to the human race. You know what? Millions and millions of people every day do a lot of shit that’s a lot stupider than shopping on Black Friday. If you have a specific complaint about a specific shopper who trampled your kitten, fine. If you have a substantive observation about the dangers of unregulated markets, go for it. But if you’re just going to harumph about people being dumb, go stick your head in the oven with the turkey. We’re human beings, and this is how we roll.

- Jay Gabler

Pleased to meat You, by Sergio Mora.

My favorite Thanksgiving memory.

TulleBows. Lace. Ruffles.

Did someone say soiree? 

Oh that was me.

Let's get dressed up.

Basil Soda Haute Couture Spring 2011 / Peut être Magazine #1 2011

 via

Kristin's Limited Edition Glamour Dress

Oscar de la Renta

Anna Miminoshvili

CATVERTISING.

"What could cat videos do for your business?"





via Best Roof Talk Ever

HANDS OFF.

It's tragic that girls ruin their faces by whatever daily beauty routine they perform. I can't even begin to tell you how mad my blessed dermatologist is at 98% of girl population for their bad primping habits.


Here is my advice to everyone, girl, boys, girlboys, etc. STOP TOUCHING YOUR FACE. Just stop. Thanks. You'll stop spreading bacteria from your hands to your face, and ultimately your skin will clear up. Getting off my high horse now. Buuuut: Here. Read this. Do it.
I'm glad someone wrote a straight forward get-yo-shiz-together-ladies-stop-over-plucking type piece that I could subtly throw at people. 

The Cool Club

via

Look at these babes.
A little grey around the edges.. but babes, nonetheless.  

I never thought...

Don't be a robot... watch this and help promote domestic violence awareness.

I never thought a PSA would make me as tense and sad as this did (looks like I'm becoming less a robot and more an actual person).

Guest Teachers = soliloquy time

I take a 2 hour dance technique class ever week day: ballet - Monday and Wednesday, modern - Tues, Thurs, Friday.  I love me some technique class... in fact, it's my favorite class, and by far the hardest part about grad school. It wears my bones to dust and my mind to a fine pulp. I am not bored with class, in the least. Just MYSELF in class. My body, my lines, my tights, the Lycra  the spandex and plastic that holds me together... all in plain view under the perfect lighting of the mirrored dance room. It is hard to do this, to put oneself under such scrutiny every damn day. I hate myself but I love myself but I hate myself... etc etc... alas and alack.

But, today felt different. We had an amazing guest teacher, Desmond Richardson,

Artistic Director/Co.Founder/Artist-in-Residence of a company based in NYC, Complexions Contemporary Ballet.

This gent was golden inspiration. He made us take the barre away and just start moving. Pure movement and unadulterated breathing and life and freedom. Ugh, I sound like a new-age needlepoint. But my point is this: I didn't stop to worry about myself or my body, or any of the other detailed issues that I usually let get in my way during class time. Today, I was gettin' busy on the dance floor... but not in the 'get it, gurrrl' kind of way... but kinda also like that too. Am I making sense? I was getting busy by pushing myself and trying to really dwell inside this class, but also I gave myself the freedom to relax and mess up, and move like moving was still fun. All things Desmond Richardson kept reminding us today in class. Like I said, this man was a brilliant teacher... salve for my boredom, chicken soup for my soul.

 Occasionally, I would catch my eye in the mirror, and my refection would arch an eyebrow as if to say, "Have you forgotten all about me already? Why aren't you freaking out? Where is thy furrowed brow and hunched of back? You don't get enough protein! Think about your metabolism! Think about your triceps! Think about the babies in Africa with flies on their faces!" My refection was trying really there at the end. I'll give it props for dropping the Olde English while it was still ahead. But moments of distraction fell away easily, and, OH, I danced.

Check out Complexions Contemporary Ballet THIS Tuesday evening (TOMORROW) at Kingsbury Hall... or check them out on the web: Complexions Contemporary Ballet

Everything Is Mud. Everything Is Gone.

Everything is boring.

My husband is out of town for 8 days.

I "borrowed" a shake weight from my mom's house that I've used once then shoved under the bed.

I have watched it snow on stage at least 8 times the past two weekends.

My life looks bleak like a Russian folk tale.

Someone shake me till I wake up.