Things and Stuff.





Ahoy, friends.  I’m still alive, chugging away at the new position at work.  Lately I’ve been spending my days reading and entering info from law students’ resumes, which makes me feel woefully a) old and b) under-accomplished.  I’m not actually sure how I’ve found time to write this, actually, so I’m going to make it quick since I’m sure I’ll remember something I’m supposed to be doing any moment now.

Aside from work, I’ve been continuing to try to get every last moment of potential awesomeness out of the remaining summer.  We’ve made weekend trips, hosted parties, shopped flea markets and vintage fairs, and sang lots of karaoke.  Today we’re headed to NYC for the Jazz Age Lawn Party, which I’ve wanted to go to for a couple years now so of course I’m SUPEREXCITED.  I just need to make it another hour or so and we’ll be on our way!  Expect lots of photos in the future of all aforementioned events.

And, just for fun/vanity, here’s a quick outfit shot from a few weeks ago.  My summer uniform this year seems to be maxi skirts, mismatched patterns and headscarves.  Or, the “I-Dress-Myself-In-The-Dark” look.

(shirt – Threadless / skirt – LOFT [Yes, I was surprised, too] / scarf – thrifted (via Šarka’s Collection at the Davis Flea) / glasses –

Unrelated: that box isn’t really full of Cheez-Its, unfortunately.  Enjoy the glimpse of what our home looks like, though.  Oh hey, there’s an idea for a post…



Last summer, the husband and I became expatriates for ten days, visiting London, Dublin, Galway and Amsterdam.  It was an epic adventure (deserving its own post – or posts –  someday), but as a result we didn’t really celebrate* the 4th of July.

Our Irish 4th.

So this year, it was back to good ol’ American business as usual.  Our friend Nicholas’ parents graciously allowed us to take over their house/yard/grill/swimming pool in the suburbs for a day, and we made good use of them all.

Lucy and some patriotic drinks.

My vintage bathing suit score.**

Dudes with beards, throwing things.

Impromptu swimsuit fashion shoot with Kait.

From Kait’s camera.

Must have for hot-day drinking.

Totally un-posed, I swear.


Nicholas and guitar.

It was the best kind of summer day: hot, hazy, and dreamy, with good food and drinks made by good friends.  After experiencing one or two Independence Days in the city, I now would much rather get the heck out of Boston, away from the crowds, and into a backyard somewhere quiet*** and suburban.  It felt like spending a day with family – which, I suppose, that’s what it was.

* To be fair, taking a tour of the Guinness Brewery actually is like a party in itself.

** Vintage bathing suit c/o my favorite seller at the Davis Flea, Sarka’s Collection.  Bathing suits, silk scarves, dresses galore.

*** Aside from those illegal fireworks.

Selling Things/What I Wore/I Am Proud of My Size.

I am currently blogging instead of finishing my project for the day: gathering stuff to sell at the Davis Flea‘s Yard-less Yard Sale tomorrow.  I’ve always had a bit of a hoarder streak; even now I’m pretty sure my American Girl Doll (Felicity, if you were wondering) is tucked away somewhere at my parents’ house, waiting for the day I decide I need her again.*


My current pile.

So at the moment I really need to get rid of some clothes, which I’m especially bad at doing, in part because of the significance of getting rid of clothes that are now too small for me.  Like pretty much every female I know, I’ve had a long and bumpy body image journey (I talked about that a bit here, too).

There was a time in college when I decided I’d count calories; I’d started it actually to prove to my then-boyfriend that it wouldn’t work.  I got rather Spartan about it – I think at one point I was eating about 900 calories a day.  As you’d expect, I quickly dropped a bunch of weight, and of course was delighted.  A few people even voiced concern over my rapid weight loss, which I admit actually made me happy, too.  It was never exactly unhealthy, but it was definitely not sustainable.  I was a vegetarian at the time and rarely drank, which also helped.

So now, roughly nine years later, with meat and alcohol back in my diet, I am definitely not the tiny size four I was then.  For a while now I’ve been saving old clothes for “when I lose weight again,” but I’ve decided to stop doing that.  The fact of the matter is, I’m thirty now, and particularly if Mission: Conception 2k12 succeeds, my body is not going to be the way it was when I was in college.  And the thing is, I’ve realized I’m just as comfortable – if not more – in it as I was then.  My body is pretty freaking awesome and I am proud to inhabit it.

I’ve been following Rachele‘s blog for a while, and am particularly excited about her “I Am Proud of My Size” project.  Here’s my contribution:

horizontal stripes?!


(dress – thrifted / belt – H&M / earrings – handmade c/o Montpelier Mud / headband – I don’t remember anymore! / shoes [not quite pictured**] – Minnetonka)

I wore this for some pre-Independence Day karaoke last week.  It was super warm and I really wasn’t feeling like wearing clothes at all, so this was my compromise.  I had put on the dress but wasn’t loving it and was about to change until the husband stopped me and convinced me to wear it.  I wasn’t feeling particularly thrilled about the length and horizontal-stripeyness of it, but his enthusiasm swayed me, and in the long run, I was glad I wore it.  So let’s hear it for husbands, breaking fashion rules, and feeling good in my skin.

* I mean, she’d better be – Mom, I’m looking at you.

** Hubby is still adjusting to his new role as de facto fashion blog photographer.

Buying Other Peoples’ Things Is Very Grown Up.

When I was growing up, my family didn’t have a ton of money (see: raised by hippie artist types), so a lot of my clothes were hand-me downs or thrifted.  I remember the point I realized that not every clothing store carried only one of each article of clothing.  Looking back, I don’t think I thought it was strange to be wearing a souvenir shirt for a place I’d never been (one of these days, I will get to Hawaii!).  In high school, my wardrobe was full of vintage slips and secondhand children’s t-shirts.  In my home growing up as well as my subsequent apartments, probably 75% the things once belonged to someone else.*  I guess I, like so many people I know, am just a sucker for cool, weird shit that someone else didn’t want.

Which is lucky, because there’s a brand spankin’ new flea market in Somerville, just a short walk from our apartment.  In prior weeks, I’ve scored some kitschy wall art, a bunch of earrings, and a sweet vintage bathing suit (more pics of that to come soon).  My lady Jenny Z, a lover (and purveyor) of all things vintage and wonderful, hadn’t been yet, so we hit it up last Sunday, 90-degree heat and all.

to market


Lovely Jenny Z.


Me and J-Z.



I wanted this, but couldn’t imagine carrying it in that heat.


omg shoes.

Husband wanted to buy this painting to put in our bathroom. I wasn’t convinced.


no thank you

oh hi.


Husband. You can see the polka dot skirt I ended up getting to the left of some green stripes.


Sandal weather.

no thanks again.

Sweat notwithstanding, it was a successful trip.  Jenny got a bunch of stuff, including this bracelet:

I picked up a vintage skirt, some maple sugar candy, and these old photos:

That little girl in the kimono looks eerily like me as a kid.

And our friend Dan Blakeslee was playing:


When we got home, the husband kindly agreed to help me with my first-ever outfit photos.  It was (as I’ve mentioned) super steamy out that day, which inevitably brings out my dirty bohemian hippie side.  I just got this dress at the Gap (not something I do often!) and have totally fallen in love with it.

Why yes, I did go braless.

(dress – Gap / sandals – MIA / earrings (if you can see them!) – thrifted / camera bag (greatest thing ever) – Jo Totes)

All in all, what I’d call a Nice Little Sunday.  Davis Square Flea, thank you for making my summer.  Oh, and be sure to check out Jenny’s new blog, too.

* When settling into my first apartment in Boston, I kept finding little items I’d put out in the common areas would mysteriously reappear back in my bedroom.  I asked my friend/roommate about it; his response was “TOO MANY KNICKKNACKS!”