Apartment Update!

my picture wall in my room

So it's been about a week in the new place, and we are settling in quite nicely. Here's some of the updates we've made:

bits form the living room- our theta wall, our wall of pictures, and our amazing bookcase complete with tea set AND joan holloway barbie 

from this...

to this! dining room table- we found an awesome little grocery stores that has a great flower section

sad bar...

happy bar!!- those are our royalty/ LU shot glasses

empty bathroom...

cute bathroom! my babushka glasses, my side of the sink, and our bathroom post cards

my amazing bed and nigh stand- not over how much i love the lamp

first bedside table...

bedroom details- my bedside table, my jewelry and a purple tray (i made it!)

What do you guys think?

The Never Ending Story: Defining My Personal Style.

some ridiculously cool ladies

My least favorite thing to do? Describe myself. I find it tedious, embarrassing and insanely difficult. It also makes me feel like I'm a walking contradiction, like I'm pulled in so many directions. I consider myself a loud person,, yet I'm drawn to simple clothes in muted colors. I love guilty nail polishes and cutesy aprons, yet I have my androgynous short hair and a meriad of menswear inspired shoes. So what the hell is my style?

more ladies who are way too cool for me

Since I'm moving, (in case you haven't heard, I am), I'm using this as an opportunity to put my art history skills to work and analyst my current wardrobe, isolate the soul-defining pieces and maybe even give my style it's own name.

Like preppy-boho-chic.
Or French-saucy-retro.
Or Ralph.

Maybe I'll call my style Ralph.

Either way, I want to pear down my wardrobe so it's only filled with pieces I truly love, pieces that speak to my deepest inner self. I also want to make sure that my wardrobe works as a cohesively as possible. What's the point of having clothes if you can't put them together? That's like having the makings for a sandwich and no bread. It's a sad delema that ends in no sandwich.

(i won't call my style ralph.) 

In order to make my clothes sandwich as delicious as possible, I'm going to need a game plan. Whenever I jump into things willy-nilly, it usually ends up with me staring at the beginnings of a project until I slowly push it off the side of the bed or table and sidle out of the room. Then I leave the pile for Future Katie to deal with. (side note: Future Katie never appreciates this). So here's how I've broken it down:

Step 1 is going through everything and identifying the must-haves, the cant-let-go-ofs, and the meh's.

Step 2 is analyzing the first two piles and figuring out what they have in common and how they talk to each other.

Step 3 is making outfits and combinations to find the holes.

Now that I have my game plan, let's do this!

ruh row...

Hopefully it will all become clear sooner than later...

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Wish List: Airplane Essentials

You know how celebrities always have that magical product they love that makes all those long flights better? Well here's my wish list for if I was much fancier when I fly...

origins no puffery; rosebud salve; l'occitane cuticle cream; masque*ology brightening mask; mural oil-control mattifier; hello kitty bag

jcrew cashmere hoodie; jcrew minnie twill pants; hermes scarf; kate spade bon shopper; ipad

I would also like it if Stephen Fry would follow me around in his Jeeves costume and bring me martinis. And be my best friend.

very good, miss... 

Just the best friend part would work too.


(hint hint).

Packing Buddies

I have some helpers.

I was packing, with the dogs (Buddha, the black one, Matzah, the blonde one, and Hobbes, the ginger,) stared me down from my bed. Settled under my blankets, they gazed at me with sad disbelief as I folded and stuffed and sorted. Once I put the quilt in, though, the mood shifted. Buddha and Hobbes hopped right in and made themselves at home.

  And I decided to take a packing break.

i can has come too?

Moving... again and the Shove-Shame Spiral

SO I'm leaving New York.

I know.
 But I finally woke up from my post-grad haze, looked around and said "what the hell am I doing here?!?" So I applied to a bunch of jobs all over. Then, found out one of my best friends from college needed a roommate. A month later, here I am with a job, friends, cheese curds and apartment all waiting for me in Milwaukee. Im pleased with how things have unfolded.

 Now, all this is good an well. But it leaves the horrible truth that I must, once again, pack my belongings and drag it all to the glorious cheese state. This means packing.

this is not what me packing looks like.

I am no moving novice; this is not my first rodeo. I'm a California girl who went to school in the midwest, which necessitated packing and moving my crap across the country twice a year. Still, after four years and countless hours of sorting and folding and stuffing and cursing*, I am still not very good at packing.I truly and deeply loath packing. More accurately, I hate the last 10% of packing when you keep finding crap you couldn't fit in that last suitcase or box. I call this roller coaster of emotion the shove-shame spiral. It starts about two thirds of the way though the packing process.

 At this point, you've packed you're favorite things. There are no more sleigh bells, no more mittens; you're down to the stuff you honestly kind of forgot about. You tell yourself, great! A chance to cull your belongings and finally free yourself from consumerism! You can live that minimalist life you've always dreamed of! (Or thought about vaguely before shrugging and watching chopped instead). You can be that lady picking flowers! You can have a white couch! You can go to the farmers market! You can LIVE the anthropology dream!!! And then a dust bunny cheerily floats across your room.

This is when it hits you that you have to CLEAN after you pack. Thus begins the shove-shame spiral. Suddenly, you get itchy from the dust and you realize how long its been since you showered. Whats that smell? Good God: it's you. You catch a glimpse in the mirror. You're not glowing from exercise like you supposed; you're tired and haggard form working! Thats it. WORST DAY EVER.

After this you pout for about an hour, occasionally picking things up and playing with them, briefly forgetting your woe until you look around you and remember your cursed fate. A glimpse at the clock makes you realize how much time you've wasted. Defeated, you throw up your hands like you're mom told you to stand up straight. FINE, self; I'll keep packing.

 Then you put on "Into the Woods" or "Wizard of Oz" and start just shoving stuff into boxes or already-full suitcases. Before the first act is half way though, you're done and still feeling a little resentful.

 Then you remember about bacon and happily skip off.

"yaaaaay!!!! bacon!!!!"

 So that's my usual packing ritual. To be fair, this has always been done when I have literally 24 hours between my last final and my flight. But not this year. I'm going to outsmart the shove-shame spiral this year by giving myself a whole week to pack instead of the post-finals flurry I'm accustomed to. With luck, determination and a LOT of musicals, I will pack up my things and live to tell the tale.





 *(and one unfortunate time when the storage at school was all filled up. I thought my things would have to be abandoned like puppies in a box on the highway and i melted into a puddle of tears in the very center dorm hallway on top of my sad boxes at 2am. not my proudest moment.)