I thought I’d take a moment to briefly put up one of the pieces I wrote for HelloGiggles.
I mentioned in my first post here that I freelance at a bunch of different sites as well as holding down my full-time job (basically I don’t sleep ever) and this is one of the sites I write for. I absolutely love, love, love it- the majority of the other sites I write with are about business and the workplace. Which is totally fine and all but it’s nice to stay in touch with my other interests and write about things that are not work related. Also I am freaky when it comes to stowing away pop culture facts and knowledge. My brain has taken great lengths to get rid of blah facts in favor of what Blake Lively wore and the entire filmography of Christina Ricci.
When I was younger, my parents reserved Sundays for attending open houses throughout the city. I got dragged along on multiple outings with them and always felt utterly out of my element. Touring through half a million dollar homes with vaulted ceilings, bay windows, and French doors, I found my mind drifting away. From boredom, general disinterest, growling stomach. The only good parts of these tours were a little game my Dad and I indulged in called Earl’s New Room, in which we picked the dingiest, tiniest room possible in the house (usually located in the basement or a broom closet) for my brother and declared to him that he could have it all to himself. Much younger at the time, he believed us and would pout and wail while we both laughed. Isn’t sisterly love grand?
After a lifetime of home touring, I can tell you the older version of me still doesn’t care for looking through houses or even apartments for that matter. I am the least picky person ever for potential homes. I really don’t care if there is a kitchen or an additional bedroom or if the walls are a weird color. My only priorities are a) location and b) if I can afford it. And when I mean location, I mean that the dwelling is in a relatively safe area and the walkable distance to the grocery store/Starbucks.
So it always comes as a mild shock when I notice how my contemporaries definitely do not share my perspective on domestication. Since graduation, I’ve noticed how everyone is totally down with making a shopping trip to Pier One for some utensils and how my Facebook is getting slowly littered with photos of houses that “one day I wanna live in!” (Side note: growing up with Facebook is going to get hilarious over the next 10 years while simultaneously horrifying. Idon’twannaseeyourultrasoundorbirthingvideosordivorcecertificateunlessyou’rethatonehotguyfrommyyearinhighschoolooohbabybabywanttogotothewhotel?)
The big ticket question? Why does everyone already want to own a goddamn house? YOU’RE 23. In some cases, YOU’RE 22 OR UNDER. What can you do in a house that you can’t do in an apartment? I guess have babies and families but ahem, don’t forget what age you are still! There’s so much time for grown-up responsibilities to be done. Why rush into that? Remember, kids are with you for a minimum of 18 years. Slow it down, yo, s-l-o-w it down and create a savings or something before jumping into that headfirst.
Maybe you want a house to decorate it and express yourself or something like that. I’m totally cool with that, but there is no way I’d want to decorate anything in my 20’s. I can’t afford the good decorations for one thing. For another, my taste changes all the time. I’d buy an art print I like for about 4 days and then three weeks later want to smash into an oblivion because just like the gallery owner pointed out, it looks like shit. And last I’d love to be one of those Tumblr sweeties who can do everything all minimalist and simple with articulately piled hardcover books everywhere and a perpetual sepia filter all over the living room, but I cannot do that. I’m a person who brings a lot in the door with them. Mail letters and magazines and shopping bags and crumpled receipts and pay stubs and more piles of books and none of it matches anything.
On a separate note, I’m a very tidy young lady despite the aforementioned paper trail.
A house is too big for one person to live in. I’ll keep the smallness of an apartment, thanks.
But in all seriousness, I’m still musing. Why would you ever want to buy a house at my age?
Remember when you were a little kid and every girl pretty much knew which Disney princess they were because of hair color? If you were a redhead and liked to swim, boom. It’s under the sea with The Little Mermaid's Ariel for you. The shade of hair our hair was did a lot in helping us find the princess that we felt the most associated with and would find that some of our personality matched as well. It's just one more thing we also have in common. For example, when you're in college every single intelligent brunette who likes to read pegs herself as a Belle from Beauty and the Beast. Every. Single. One.
I used to live in a dormitory with three girls who physically each had a Disney Princess match that also met their personalities fairly spot on as well. I lived with a Belle, Jasmine, and Mulan. Where did I factor into this group?
You couldn’t box me into being assigned just one Disney Princess. I was diagnosed with Multiple Princess Personality Disorder (MPPD). Self-diagnosed, that is. It’s a common affliction I feel girls everywhere have and until this moment, probably didn’t have a voice to speak on their behalf. To feel their pain of not knowing which single name to write down as her favorite and which doll to bring along on a sleepover. Today I’ll speak on behalf of those out there for whom the look a Disney princess had fell short in matching up to your personality and how the ones we least resemble are the most like who we are. A tribute for all fair skinned young ladies everywhere who realized they’d rather go hiking in the woods like Pocahontas than snooze in bed all day like Aurora (from Sleeping Beauty, that was her name, she totally had one and it wasn’t Sleeping Beauty. Surprised?)
Physically, I look the most like…
…Snow White. We share the following traits in common:
-fair pale skin
-very dark hair
-we smile a lot and giggle even more
-soft bodies. There’s some meat on our bones, y’know.
Here’s where we differ:
-her hair is short and pretty much never strays from place. How are you doing that? HOW.
-she is waaay more trusting than I am and much more likely to be seen visiting some random stranger’s home. You don’t have to worry about me exploring an empty house in the woods because I don’t stick myself into situations where there is a possibility of me having to enter any forests. Even if I get lost, I try to ensure it’s within an area where I have cell service. Check and mate.
-she had an evil stepmother that tried to kill her and I had a nice mom who packed me Lunchables in my lunch for school.
-she was really maternal. Like I can’t even fathom doing some of the stuff she did for the dwarves. Cleaning the entire house? Baking an apple pie from scratch? Putting up with Grumpy’s shit? She did it all with a smile too. Like she enjoyed hanging out with strangers and doing everything for them. I mean, it was free rent and protection from getting killed by her stepmother but still. The trade-off is less than ideal.
Physical runner up is…
…Belle. Because we are both brunettes and like to read. Also I feel obligated to put her on this list because Beauty and the Beast was the first movie I saw in the movie theaters when I was 4 years old. If ever there was a first film to see in theaters, I think this one was the perfect choice.
Even though my favorite Disney princess is…
…Cinderella. She has been my favorite forever. I’ve had a lot of Cinderella related injustice in my life, created a life philosophy based off of her, and considered dying my hair blond way too often when I was little.
The injustices included my parents not spending a fortune on a Cinderella Halloween costume for me when I was little which resulted in me shouting at them “You’re ruining my life!” which has been a regular household quote staple for the last decade. Another sadness occurred when the tiny glass slippers that came with my Cinderella Barbie melted in the washing machine after I wore them in my shirt pocket to school and carelessly (carelessly!) threw the shirt into the laundry bin after. Then there was a birthday cake I didn’t get until I was 11 and fought for years to have. Damnit that cake was delicious. They did a sugar picture of her on the top. I must have eaten a slice in my lunch everyday for a solid 2 weeks.
The life philosophy is basically work hard and be optimistic and kind and good things will come to you. I have issues with people who love to drown in self-pity, waa waa waa feel sorry for me and help me figure out my life! Sure Cinderella cried a bunch of times and even went so far as to declare everything as impossible, but that was because her stepsisters ripped her dress up and practically off of her. I say this without exaggeration: it was one of the creepiest and saddest cinematic scenes I witnessed as a child. Worse than when Shadow fell into the vent and almost accepted death in Homeward Bound.
Also was I the only one who thought it was weird that the prince kind of tried to grab her arm and force her to stay when it was after midnight and Cinderella was all, I gotta go? Dude was a little fresh for a first date encounter.
Online tests and quizzes reveal the princess who best matches my personality is…
…Ariel from The Little Mermaid.
It isn’t super surprising actually. We’re both really determined and headstrong and refuse to be told we can’t have the things we want. She’s bubbly and sweet and ready to go on an adventure. She was always looking for a life beyond one that she led and was willing to make sacrifices. That scene where she signs Ursula’s scroll for legs? That was literally like me signing my student loan with Sallie Mae for an education outside of the state I grew up in. I remember actually charging into the room with my pen and brandishing my signature all over the place on the forms. We’ve got fire in our blood, Ariel and I.
For a really long time I didn’t like her though. Why? She gave up her voice for a guy. Sure, he’s totally hot and kind and Jon Hamm may or may not have been the visual inspiration behind him as 30 Rock hinted, but how could you sacrifice your voice for a guy?? My 3rd grade mind was stupefied. 3rd grade me didn’t realize the power of the being ridiculously head over heels in love lust with someone. Shit happens. Attraction happens. Bad decisions occur from it. You cry a lot and envision a bunch of fantasy if I could do it all over again sequences in your head. You compromise more than you ever suspected you would and when it all goes to shit, decide to never do it like that again. Where am I going with this. I don’t know.
The point is it isn’t about giving up your voice for a guy. It’s about the limits we reach when we love someone or something so much that it makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do. Ariel wanted to be a human before she met Eric so even if he wasn’t in the picture, she would have signed the scroll regardless to get those legs. Not even a crab could deter her plans. Yeah sure, we could write it off with her age (“I’m 16! I’m not a child anymore!”) and the need to rebel against her father’s wishes, but I was the exact same way at that age. Weren’t we all? If set on an idea, nobody could make me think otherwise. Come hell or high water, I’d gun it for that dream and not stop until I was rightfully a part of the world I was meant to be in.
Okay to recap…
I look like Snow White with some Belle tossed in and carry the same attitude of Ariel while remaining a firm believer in the Cinderella life philosophy.
Side By Side Post: Divorced Dudes and Jarret's Room
To say my train of thought is all over the place is an understatement to say least. Right now, I’m thinking about the people I need to email, the piece for Forbes I need to write, another article I need to work on this afternoon, some edits to a personal piece for a site I write with that need to be done tonight, Panda Express for lunch and why isn’t it lunchtime already, M&Ms, Chelsea Handler, the fact that my cheek muscles still hurt from laughing a little bit just now, paying my student loan, etc.
So much more etc that I can’t even write it all. For this post and consequent ones after, I think it’s best for my brain if torn between two topics to have it all and write it all. Funny and serious alike.
Let’s start with divorced dudes.
For those of you who don’t know the story, I’ll recap. There is a really hot guy who lives a few apartment complexes down from me. Remember that Conan O’Brien skit If They Mated? If Jon Hamm and John Stamos somehow had a child, it would be this dude. He is so gorgeous it’s kind of alarming. Also alarming is that he is very down to earth, charming, and kind. Thus, I and pretty much every single lady (and cougar) in the apartment has a thing for him. But alas, for hottie has already put a ring on it and is married. Which was a small relief to me at the time because one of my friends told me to keep in mind the possibility of him being gay. And considering my Grace Adler history, married is a better option in the long run. I can work with married.
As of yesterday though, after running into John Stamos neighbor and one of my other neighbors at the grocery store, there has been a shift in the cosmic heavens. He is now officially divorced.
My first inclination was whoa. I was extremely surprised. This feeling was followed by a weird sort of “yay?” moment. I suppose pretty much every woman within the 50 mile radius of where I live is going all Glen Quagmire on this with a “Dear Diary. Jackpot.” moment but I really couldn’t. It’s sad if you think about it. I could never speak from experience on this one, but I know before my Dad married my Mom he was married to someone else and divorced her. And my 7th grade teacher who was one of my biggest mentors ever also told me about her divorce, albeit in an edited for content 7th grade friendly version.
I thought about it and realized that no, I’m not happy for this and never can be. How would you feel if you married someone that you thought would be the love of your life and it didn’t work out and you wound up getting divorced and there was like, a sea of single women who were all clamoring for you immediately after? I think they did a Friends episode about this once…when Monica wanted to date Richard after his divorce and was wearing the pirate eye patch and Joey was all, I wait an hour and then make a move? (’90s knowledge don’t fail me now)
It would horrify me because it’s like they were waiting for this moment to come. Society often discusses how it’s best for guys to have a rebound after, but depending on the nature of the relationship I think a grieving period is natural and necessary. It’s okay to be single for some time and get the focus back on yourself and what you want again.
Last night I was walking to my mailbox and overheard a woman talking about him. In the kind of talk that suggests, “Imma lock that down.” It was bizarre. How do we know what happened to end the relationship? What if he cheated on his wife? Would everyone still be willing to chase him still? And then that brings to mind the chase as a whole…personally I hate it because it’s always the d-bags who wind up chasing me but to have so many women chasing after one guy actively and blatantly in front of you is kind of surreal. It’s like an episode of The Bachelor up in here, only without the cameras, script, and willing guy.
I wish him all the best. Really and truly. He’s a great guy and good things will come to him. And even though a bunch of people I know are telling me I should pursue him, I’ll keep my distance. I myself am not in a big hurry for a relationship and even though he is one big piece of handsome (especially when wearing medical scrubs, yowza), it would probably derail me from the bigger picture I’m working towards: career!! Work! Trust me, my heart, soul, mind, and libido all guide me toward working.
On a lighter note…
Let me take a moment to discuss just how much I loved Jarret’s Room.
This was a skit from SNL in the early ’00s about a college student Jarret (Jimmy Fallon, rocking the dreads and laughing at every moment, duh), his best friend Gobi (Horatio Sanz, who is waaay thinner these days), and their adventures in their dorm room as recorded by their webcam show. All they did was smoke pot, make references to smoking pot, and talk about the band Phish. They would invite guests over for the show that ranged in variety from Lindsay Lohan who I think was like the fantasy love interest for Fallon and even Al Gore who played a professor, angry at Sanz for turning in a homework assignment that was one sentence written in pepperoni on top of a pizza (with half the sentence eaten).
It was hilarious. Right up there with Brian Fellow’s Safari Planet, Maya Rudolph playing Donatella Versace, Prince Show, and Goth Talk as part of my favorite sketches at the time. Episodes of note also mentioned facebook back when that term meant compiling something similar to a yearbook for incoming freshmen, they made Seth Meyers become a blip on our radar (“DJ Jonathan Feinstein, take us out!”), and made it cool to enroll in college for 7+ years without realizing it. It was probably the only time where it was fully acceptable for Jimmy to crack up at all turns since they were laughing about Baked Lays. It’s like chips, but they’re smoking pot!
So I had this dream sometime last week and I swear to God, I woke up in a sweat from it. I dreamed I was pregnant and it horrified me to. The. Core.
In the dream, I’m full on preggers. We’re talking tummy ready to pop, boobs out to the size of my belly, waddling slowly. I’m in my parents’ house and they’re all, “Heather you’re set to deliver tomorrow.”
And I’m all panicked and legit freaking out because tomorrow is Friday (even in the real world too, it was a Friday) and Friday means work and being in the office, “No! I can’t have a baby then, I have to go to work! We’re just gonna have to move it to Saturday!”
Ugh, my hands were shaking at that point, that’s how tweaked on the idea of missing work I was.
My parents then start trying to figure out who the daddy of my unborn child is and for whatever reason, I know but won’t tell them cause he’s kind of a deadbeat. (I know how to pick ‘em!) Then they tell me I’ll have to breast feed and I swear to everything holy above I almost black out in the dream from fear. “No!” I shout, “I want formula damnit! I will not breast feed!”
Then I start screaming that I need an adoption agency to get the child away from me and grab the yellow pages to hunt for an agency while my parents both chime in, “It’s too late…” then the dream fades out, I wake up, touch my stomach (which is not baby bump infused) and breathe a sigh of relief that THANK GOD AND EVERYTHING EVER THAT IT WAS ALL A DREAM.
Have you ever had a dream like that? One where it felt so real it scared you into believing it almost happened? This is not the first time I’ve had a screaming nightmare dream but it is the first time I’ve had one about being preggo.
Let me tell you- I did not like it.
Blah, blah but it’s rich with symbolism! blah blah. You don’t need to tell me the symbolism behind this one. It’s basically all about how I’m more committed to work than my personal life and how no matter what kind of timeline I’m working with there will still be time to get everything done and accomplish all of my goals because I’m now on the Heather Timeline, baby. (Pun intended?) All the same stuff I’ve been consumed with over a decade now. I don’t need to hire a shrink to analyze me- I know my own neuroses better than anybody else and the day you catch me sobbing to some therapist is not a likely one.
Pregnancy scares me. I’ve been treated to an up-close and personal viewing of it my entire life with all of my brothers being born. After years of diaper changes and bottle feedings and babysitting and general surrogate parent duties, you either a) have the background in working with it and are set for when it is your turn to bear offspring or b) you don’t want to have any of that follow you into the next 50+ years of your life.
Guess which one I am?
This whole thing makes me sound like I hate children. I don’t, but I don’t get goo-goo gaa-gaa around them either. I like the shenanigans kids wind up pulling and find the majority of the ones my brothers have pulled over the years to be hilarious. I also think they say pretty funny stuff sometimes. But mostly with kids I just kind of assume they approach life in the way that my entire household did growing up: we’re close to each other but with enough distance to do our own thing and be left to our own devices. The best way I can describe it is like being in a car and everyone is hooked into their own iPod. We’re together yes, but all off in our little worlds, with the majority of them probably being better than the reality. Not much in the way of micromanagement if at all- it’s just assumed we’ll all find our footing in some way or another. Which at this point is definitely ringing true for the older generation (me and my next oldest brother) and slow in coming but will eventually for the younger two.
Also I’m waaaaay too young to be sprouting any child at all. There is absolutely no logical reason behind me having kids now. I’m also not having children until I’ve cleared myself out of student loan debt, rebuilt my credit score, created a 401K, and invested in stocks with a solid portfolio and outside collateral and assets. Plus there’s a whole saga called “enjoying being in your 20’s” that I do not plan on missing out on.
This morning at the bus stop, I was standing there listening to my iPod when a short Asian woman came up to me and gestured with her hands that she wanted to ask me a question. I scrolled the volume down, but kept my earbuds in- I’m weird about talking to strangers at the bus stop (as I rightfully should be, bus stops can get to be 20 different kinds of sketchy).
"How did you get your hair into that bun?" she wanted to know, "My hair is so long, it gets difficult to put up nicely."
I just laughed a little, “Oh, it’s nothing too special. I just put my hair up into a ponytail, wind the tail end up into a roll and pin it with bobby pins.”
And those are my hair updo tricks of the trade for you. I didn’t always wear my hair in a bun though. For a really long time I didn’t know how to properly make one. Then one morning, I sat in front of my computer screen while straightening my hair and thought, “This is stupid. I want a bun and I’m going to make one! I’ll just Google it.” A quick Google search brought back endless pages of sites for how-to create a messy bun, structured bun, every bun under the sun. I followed the directions on the first one I saw and voila! It has been a hairstyle of choice for me for some time now.
I get a lot of people who say I don’t wear my hair down that often and are surprised to see it when it is down because my hair is fairly long. This is weird to me because I feel like I wear my hair down more often than not, but in mind’s eye retrospect no, I do not wear it down often. I have a bunch of reasons. It gets limp, I feel like it gets messy fast, my carefully curled curls will fall out, I don’t like my bangs to look clumpy, etc. When my hair is fastened into a bun, I feel more productive and in control. When it’s in a ponytail, I kinda feel that way but only if the ponytail is super high on my head. Any lower and it gets to the point where it might fall out and thus, to quote a terrible old song from Dashboard Confessional, my hair is everywhere. (Screaming infidelities…)
Hairstyles I like to wear include:
-the bun (workplace professional y’all)
-curled, especially when I brush through the initial batch of curls and my hair does this nifty little “pump up the volume and turn it up” trick to enhance my regular hair to Veronica Lake proportions (hair goddess to one and all)
-straightened. Want to hear something sad? I did not start using a hair straightener until college. I can’t even imagine my life without it anymore.
-maiden braids. This is my new favorite thing. Straighten hair. Separate into two braids, one on each side of the head. Wind the two across top of head together to create a crown. Pin them down with bobby pins, as discreetly placed as possible. You’re done! I’m obsessed with this look lately- my roommate has decreed it as being “very unique and slightly Norwegian.”
Okay but since it’s summertime I’m going to let you in on a little secret.
I think it would suit me. But I’m worried because you know when you get a drastic haircut and when winter hits and it’s all short you hate everything and cannot wear enough scarves to cover your freezing neck? This might be it. Or it could be the opposite in that it would be very freeing. Cutting me from the past and launching me head first into my new present. Change does do you good, even if you are nervous in moving toward it.
There was this popular note meme going around on Facebook for a hot second there (I know right, memes shouldn’t go on Facebook and it is always awkward to see one) that was called 15 Albums. The rules of the meme were:
Don’t take too long to think about it. Fifteen albums you’ve heard that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes. Tag fifteen friends, including me, because I’m interested in seeing what albums my friends choose.
*In no order, and not including any compilations or soundtracks*
Bleh. I already had issues with this one from the get go because of the no soundtracks rule. Film scores are my jam. When I blog at work, I usually do it to a very long playlist of music from Thomas Newman in particular the scores to the films Road to Perdition and White Oleander. Just last weekend, I thought I was going to pee in my pants from excitement when I found the main theme from Cider House Rules for free online (composed by Rachel Portman). THAT SCORE IS HARD TO FIND FOR FREE. I take my film scores seriously, yo and to omit them from a list of music that “will always stick with you” is like saying I don’t like to read. It’s a big part of who I am!
I made up a list just for fun to see if I could find 15 albums that I love and unsurprisingly, it was hard. On that list were a few filler albums for sure. I wasn’t sure what the rule on “best of” albums was either- I assumed we were going with no on that one so I wound up omitting even more stuff (Bowie and MJ).
The thing about me is that I am not a music snob. I’ll give everything a fair shot to listen to once (everything). But I’m also strange in the fact that I didn’t put the traditional album musts on this list. I grew up in a very music-centered environment with parents that taught me Important Rock Facts 101. Mom schooled me in The Beatles and Led Zeppelin and Dad taught me David Bowie, Prince, and Tom Petty. Both gave me a serious ’80s primer, are currently really into Pink Floyd, and agree that Nirvana was overrated. The only kind of music we don’t listen to is country because it’s all twangy and slooooow and totes redneck. We are a family that loves a serious guitar solo, a thrashing set of piano keys pounded, strong drums, and seriously good vocals.
If you can have it all in one song, you have it all.
I won’t list the entire 15 list here but I’ll mention my albums I love for life. Here are a few of my nearest and dearest and what they mean to me.
Easily one of the most haunting and emotionally jarring albums I’ve ever listened to. A professor I adored in college got me to listen to this one and I was immediately hooked. It’s the soundtrack to dreams and nightmares all at once. Subconscious merging with conscious. I like to listen to it when I can’t sleep and on gray mornings. I try to recommend them to everyone I meet, especially when people want new music to listen to.
If there was going to be anything good that came out of my semi-Goth years phase, it was this album. The interesting thing about all of the albums from Leaves’ Eyes is that they are written in a rather Zeppelin-esque style in that they tell a story with each song, sometimes continuing on the storyline for the entire album. Lovelorn is peppered with stories sung by the sweet lilting angelic voice of Liv Kristine, stories about mermaids and the ocean, love and war, and interjected with severe thrashing drums and guitars. Rock ‘n dreamscape roll.
Another album that helps me sleep at night and is perfect to listen to on walks on the beach (although I’ve heard it being played in clothing stores before, most notably Express). The kind of music that would be perfectly at home in an art gallery, Chimera takes you far from where you are in the present and pulls you to that not so distant future.
Funeral was my savior after my Marilyn Manson/Cradle of Filth/Rammstein phase ended in high school- appropriately titled enough. And here I was wondering if I’d ever fall in love with music again. The voices of Win and Regine course through my blood like no other. When they come out with new albums, I give myself a week to listen to the entire piece and cut out all other music in the process. I eat, live, drink, Arcade Fire during these times. They are the band that symbolizes growing up and staying a kid all at once to me.
You know the kind of music that makes you want to sway around in a damn near trance while standing in front of some random guy you just met/friend/steady significant other probably while you’re drinking straight out of a champagne bottle and giggling in a pretty dress, but singing along because these lyrics have significant meaning to you and you know them all, drunk or sober otherwise?
This is how Depeche Mode feels to me. I’d be one lost girl without them.
The Smashing PumpkinsSiamese Dream
This album reminds me of one of my best friends because she was the reason I started listening to the Pumpkins. One day at work (the terrible job I used to have) a song by them came on and I think it was “Today.” I asked what was on the radio and she told me, gushing on and on about what an amazing band they were. That was argument enough for me- while I love most of their work, Siamese Dream is my touchstone. It is all of my dreams coming true in music. The biting guitar solos, the strong and lonely lovely voice of Billy Corgan, the words I feel connected to, crazy drumming action. I bitterly refuse to move into the next life or anything that comes after death without the song “Cherub Rock” coming with me.
You can say what you want about Moby. I think he’s brilliant and I enjoy his constant outlook on evolving music over time. I really don’t remember what song of his I first remember listening to but I think it was “Porcelain” from an old PBS commercial. I listen to Moby in the spring, especially on spring break, for reasons unknown. It just sounds fresh then.
This album is one of my favorite sounds of glitter (Ke$ha be damned) and glitz that I know of. Alison Goldfrapp has the voice of honey and I jam on the electric fading feel you get off of all of the tracks. This is probably another one of the best things to happen to me in high school.
Bleed in your own light and dream of your own life,
If you’re here, it’s undoubtedly for a myriad of reasons. Maybe you read my final blog post with Blogger and went where the link redirected you. Perhaps you saw it on Facebook. Or maybe I followed you and you kindly followed back. Kindness is always good. I’m a big fan of it.
The decision to leave my blog, The Dream Machine, was one I did think about for some time. Looking through that blog is a younger version of me, one who was in college and then graduated and had her first job which turned out very badly and transitioned into a new one which was wonderful (where I currently am at). Younger me was a different person than I am now. We’re different people all the time and after some time, it does no good to carry the weight of the past around and around- particularly when you are moving into a more professional position. And even though I loved that blog and grew from it, I felt the weight and didn’t like it. I’ve already been working with Tumblr for a few years now- with a blog that is all about the aesthetically pleasing photos I like, found at loveliesteyes.
I’d like for you to know who I am. My name is Heather Taylor. I really love my name and will stand behind it at all times so I’m not afraid to use it online. Plus there are dozens of us (dozens!) online and I need to make the distinction a bit better so you don’t think I’m someone else. I’m in my 20’s. I love to write, read, travel, listen to music, and shop. I’m a freelance writer for two websites (both extremely popular), blogger, and also work as a social media manager for a separate company during the day. I’ve been employed since I was 11 and since that time I’ve worked in a really wide series of job positions. I’m the eldest of four with three younger brothers and am wildly feminine. I’m extremely driven, determined, and ambitious. I’m a pretty happy person and down to earth. There is nothing I love better than laughing and clothes. I find a pop culture reference to fit into all facets of my life. And there’s so much more to put here but I gotta keep moving on with the post.
This blog is where the style meets the substance. It will not be tons of photos like my other blog. It will be more content centered and wordy. It will be violently opinionated and soapbox standing some of the time. Fluffy and ridiculous other times with white girl problems. There will not be photos of me in random fashion outfits- one thing I truly do not like is taking pictures of myself (I have a whole complex on the amount of gum my mouth shows in pictures plus I haven’t owned a camera since 2003 so yeah no pics outside of the avatar). There’s going to be feelings and weirdness and thoughtful moments. Lots of discussion about my work too- work is one of the biggest definers of myself I have. In other words, it’s going to be a look at a person. A living, breathing, 20-something girl in Southern California who will not drive a car and does not care what you say, I will not ever own or lease a car if I do not have to.
The title came from a quote by Ben Franklin which basically sums up the blog as a whole. I write to make people feel and to make myself feel in the process. You’ll be able to hear me quite clearly here. I have a loud voice both on and off the page.