April 28, 2011


Never love anybody who treats you like you’re ordinary.

- Oscar Wilde (via justkeepyourheadabove)

XOXO 

(Source: quotewhore)

14,462 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
Quotes Authors Love Truth Quirky and Sassy

July 6, 2011


I hate when phone conversations ending in me yelling harsh my mellow.

Well, there’s a new side of me the S.O got to witness: Angry, Yelling, All-Business-But-It’s-Going-Wrong-So-I’m-Going-To-Take-It-Out-By-Continuously-Raising-My-Voice Carissa. Sooooo attractive, I’m SURE.

All that afternoon’s work— gone.

XOXO

13 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
Emotions Green Life Phones Stress The S.O Trees Quirky and Sassy

December 18, 2011


My best friend was in town today for a quick visit, and met me when I got off of work so that we could catch up and hang out on my sofa and drink beers, like old times. (I wish I were kidding. We had bad high school habits.) We were amusing my mom with general tales of our freakish bond through the years when Nora force-cuddle-attacked me, and I let her. I’m generally not big on physical affection unless it involves a penis and an orgasm, but I played dead, went limp, and let her do it. Afterward, I looked at her and said, “And you’re probably the only person who can get away with that and still have your face intact afterwards.”

We reminisced over all the bullshit we used to do to each other— the times I bit her while drunk, all the mornings she took off at a run down the long hallway to my room, culminating in a swan-dive straight onto my sleeping, prone body that resulted in the rudest wake-up calls of all time— when she mentioned something about the infamous early-morning ambushes that legitimately shocked me:

She said, “Yeah, well, the problem was, if you actually slept with your arms at your sides, it wouldn’t have been a problem and I wouldn’t have had to worry about getting punched or scratched like I did, but you sleep with your hands curled up near your face, so even if you were on your side and pressed up against the wall like usual, you could still turn before I landed on you and claw my eyes out.”

Solid. gold. truth.

And that’s when it hit me— how many guys have I been with/slept with/lived with who could actually give you an accurate print-out like that of how I sleep? I mean, I sleep like that EVERY NIGHT OF MY LIFE, and I am pretty sure NONE of my exes could hit that nail on the head that well. I mean, c’mon…I know like, three of you guys read this— did you notice that about me? Could you have told other people how to wake me up safely? Do you know what side I fall asleep on, and how I cradle my head in my hands? No? No? No? I thought not.

Having a best friend like that is a bond that blows my mind at times.

…And for the record, I can tell you she sleeps diagonally across the bed. Every. Night.

XOXO 

1 note
Leave Note / Reblog
Life Friends Nora The Ex-Files ZZZs Bed Truth Random Facts Relationships Quirky and Sassy Awww

May 10, 2012


Your favorite color…it’s green?"
“That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.”
“Orange?” He sounds unconvinced.
“Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.”…But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.

- From Mockingjay, Book 3 of The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins, pg. 271.

My favorite thing about dating someone is the point in your relationship when you start to learn and acknowledge the other person’s secret little quirks; the little things that can only be learned from spending hours and nights and mornings and meals and tense conversations and laughter and secrets with them. They’re the little things that bridge the gap between two previous strangers; the intimate details about someone that no one else knows without developing a keen interest in them. Things like how many days it takes his beard to grow out, or the fact that you both grew up with only the same three TV channels. Where their laugh-lines are, and where they lack wrinkles, maybe due to the fact that they use facial moisturizer every morning, which makes you in turn wonder if maybe you should start so you can look as youthful, too. That they prefer pesto made with anything BUT basil. That I need to sleep with a window open, even during the dead of winter, so I can hear the soothing sound of rushing water or the summer peepers, and that I don’t particularly like to cuddle, but will let you do so after a particularly good round of love-making. 

Think about it. These are the things that you know about people— past lovers, present ones— that the average acquaintance doesn’t realize makes up their personality and is, in fact, what makes them so special, so unique, so inherently THEMThese are the things that you are gifted with and become privy to only with time, trust, and a shared commitment to learning about each other, even in the moments of conversation that don’t seem particularly important.

So be nosy. Ask things like, “What is your greatest achievement?” “What are you least proud of?” “Star Wars, or Star Trek?” “What’s your favorite Journey song?” “Do you prefer to be the big spoon, or the little spoon?” “How did you meet your best friend?”

Somewhere between their answers and the days you spend together, you’ll start to peel back the outer layer, the dusty exterior, the shell-like character that is what the average person would describe them as, and find the beautifully vulnerable, quirky, finicky, opinionated, utter and devastatingly lovable person who they really are, inside. This is why I keep dating. This is the opportunity that makes it all worth it and is what I live for.

XOXO

20 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
Books Couples Dating Dating Makes Me Want To Die Life Lessons Quirky and Sassy Quotes Relationships The Hunger Games Truth Mountain Man

July 2, 2012


I think we all get this gist by now that I don’t wear shoes once it gets over 75 degrees if I can help it. 

XOXO

3 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
Shoes Feet Summer Quirky and Sassy Life

For lunch, I had a beer and frosting out of the jar.

I am a complex woman.

XOXO

3 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
Beer Food Girl Shit Life Quirky and Sassy This Is My Mind On Normal Recipes

July 4, 2012


Let’s Get To The Foot Of The Issue:

I feel like I should explain all the foot shit with my regular, long-time followers. I know it’s not part of my usual programming, and it may have been a little disconcerting when it popped up out of nowhere, suddenly. Don’t worry; I don’t want to suck on your toes. Ewwwww. You can breathe out now.

Where I grew up, we were the kids that dropped our sneakers as soon as the snow melted and it was over 65 degrees. We walked barefoot over hard, crushed gravel driveways and dirt roads, and padded over wood and cement and tile at home, not rugs and wall-to-wall carpet. You didn’t NEED shoes to go walking through the woods; just had to watch out for old barbed-wire fences, that’s all.

So all these years later, when I get home the first thing off the instant I get through the door are my shoes. (Sometimes followed by shirt; sometimes pants; sometimes bra. I was also raised casually nudist. Fun stuff, Vermont!) I loathe socks. I never really thought any further about it than acknowledging it was just something that I did; I went barefoot. Inside and have to get some snow peas from the garden for dinner? Walk right out there; don’t pause for shoes. It’s just grass and some stones on a walkway. In approximately 1400 B.C, someone in Mesopotamia sewed some leather together and put it on their feet for the first time. For centuries before that, our ancestors walked soles-to-earth just fine. So a five-minute jaunt won’t kill you, and isn’t really worth pausing and rummaging around down by my feet for a minute. Simple, I thought. Logical. My friends and I thought nothing of going without shoes. Feet were just…feet. Kinda weird, just like that word, F-E-E-T. The things that carried you around. Normal. Functional. Boring.

And then, one fateful night a few weeks ago, I was sitting in a VW van (“Ah! A VW van,” you say! “How very much more Vermont of you; how hippie; how chic!” I’m not trying to make this any more hipster-shit cliche, I’m not, but it just fatefully happened that way,) when the man I was with leaned forward and pushed the little foam flip-flop that was dangling off the tip of my toes onto the floor. I didn’t move. He paused a moment, giving me time to react, and then took the foot that was resting over the knee of my other leg and drew it into his lap. He pressed his thumbs firmly into the ball of my foot and straight to my heart.

…You know how there are those funky Chinese acupuncture/pressure-point/energy charts of feet, Press Point A to have it be felt in Part B? Whelp. They are not such Old Age/New Age bullshit after all.

I’ve had casual foot massages before. I’ve run my soles over those funky little roller things with the nubs. I use a pumice stone on my heels. I’ve had people touch my feet before, pull on my toes, mess around with the absurdity that were my calluses and arches. This was NOTHING like any of those things. This was like sex and the high you get after a really good run and relief and melting into a blissed-out mental state, for your feet. When a woman orgasms, our Universe contracts to a few thousand nerve-endings South of the border for the few minutes before and during. And suddenly, I was having that same sort of single-focus, only-body-part existing phenomenon in my feet. My mind was BLOWN.

…He switched feet.

Goner. I was a total goner. Not even a chance. Here was this handsome, intelligent, articulate man talking to me about travel, offering me wine and chocolate, cocking a boldly darker eyebrow when I said something he found interesting (which is something that has always driven me inexplicably nuts when a man with lighter hair does), and he’s making my soles whisper urgent things to my vagina and my toes tell my brain spontaneously proposing to him wasn’t a really crazy idea. Really, it wasn’t even fair.

Reader, I obviously slept with him. If he could do that to my feet, imagine all the possibilities! 

The next morning, he played with my toes while we talked. I looked down at my anklet, and really thought about the way it played up the bones in my ankle and complimented my arch. I looked down at his feet, something I think I have consciously avoided doing with every other man I have ever slept with. They were nice and neat, too. It was like the really yummy cake had not only frosting on it, but sprinkles and candles, too.

Two days later, I unearthed two old toe-rings and came across a photo here on Tumblr of a girl wearing barefoot sandals, and thought how totally impractical they were. Then I paused and thought of how cute they were and how infrequently I was actually wearing shoes. I started designing and making a pair. Two pairs. Five pairs. My feet, something I was actually thinking about for the first time in 21 years since I was 2 and probably still chewing on my toes because what the hell were these things attached for?, were suddenly interesting and well-accessorized and I liked them. 

Feet. I mean, who really spends much time thinking about their feet? They were for more than just trimming and painting. I could look at them and their wacky polish and jewelry and they’d make me smile. It was like when I was in elementary school and discovered my clitoris. (Boys get over the surprise and novelty with their dicks for a few childhood years until again when they’re about 11; girls don’t even KNOW that there’s a secret, hidden thing in our body that does stuff until you accidentally find it one day!) I thought they were pretty damn cute; how did they really stack up? I started noticing other people’s feet and comparing notes. Check out her hair; where’d she get that shirt?; are her feet as cute as mine?; does he have those freaky monkey toes where the second is longer than the big toe? It just became another “something” of interest and pride. I have interesting blue eyes; a nice rack; and cute feet. These are my unique appearance traits. And if the man with the van wanted to touch them again, go ahead, sir; have at! But anyone else— my best friend, my mother, a doctor— no, thank you. Please feel free to look; don’t touch.

So, that’s pretty much the extent of it. Enthusiast? Yes. Fetish? I’m still unclear as where non-foot-people draw the line; I don’t think so. Feet to me still strongly belong in that “Things That Are Better To Just Look At Than Interact With” category along with modern art, chocolate souffles, and bat-wing shirts, unless you happen to be a certain man who I know can make them sing the Hallelujah Chorus. Now that I’ve gotten my initial Great Foot Awakening out of the way, I don’t expect you’ll be seeing so much “feet shit.” But until the leaves fall and we get our first dusting of snow, if there’s a full-length photo of me, you can be assured you’ll see me without shoes. Try it more. There’s nothing better than a pair of tough feet. I bet you’ll like it.

XOXO

8 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
Feet Writing Quirky and Sassy ILoVermont Hippie Bodies Twig Life Childhood Blogs Turn-Ons Country Mouse Barefoot History Lessons This Is My Mind On Normal Barefoot Sandals

July 6, 2012


But I think it’s intoxicating when somebody is so unapologetically who they are.

- Don Cheadle

XOXO

(Source: pbs.org)

151,828 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
Attitude Personality Quirky and Sassy Truth Quotes Life Lessons Mantra

July 17, 2012


Sometimes my iTunes library scares me in its apparent sporadic randomness. 

I listen to the WEIRDEST eclectic collection of music.

XOXO

Leave Note / Reblog
Music Life Random Musings What Is The Sssssymbolism? Quirky and Sassy

July 19, 2012


I get along really well with dogs and snakes. They just all love me upon meeting and want to be all up in my business. This may seem like chump change to have in the talent department, but it’s really not any time Rottweilers and boa constrictors are involved. 

XOXO

1 note
Leave Note / Reblog
Talents Quirky and Sassy Dogs Snakes Animals

August 9, 2012


The Documented Downfall Of An Airline Passenger:

Let’s get this out of the way right now; my mother and I have this sort of odd lemming/bad influence/follow-the-leader influence on each other. For instance, when I asked her how we were going to pass nights out in MN, she looked at me like I knew absolutely nothing and with scorn and obviousness in her voice, replied, “Drink.” (Note: She was correct. Back in June, both Twig and I reached the conclusion that people in our respective home-states drink more than the nation on average due to the climate and long, boring winters. Minnesotans DO NOT fuck around with their drinking.)

So when we had a 3-hour layover in the MPLS airport on the way out to Rochester, we stopped into a TGIFridays so I could get some of the chicken tenders and seasoned fries I’d been dreaming about for, oh, the past 3 years, and we could exploit their extensive drink menu. At not even 2 PM. Mom got a watermelon margarita; I got a spiked peach tea; we shared (meaning, she let me drink everything), and then she got to handle the consequences of having a drunk 23 year old child in an airport. Luckily for all of us, and because when I get drunk, I feel the need to share EVERYTHING with EVERYONE, I documented the whole debacle through Facebook status updates and texts to Twig. (Oh my god, re-reading those texts was horrifying. I am so sorry.)

Exultation:

"Drunk in the airport waiting for my last connection flight. I love airports. They’re like magical places where real drinking time doesn’t exist. Every hour is a happy hour!"

"Mom just took me on the monorail between terminals. My quip? ‘It’s like Disney World without the lines!’"

Regret:

"Drinking tequila in an airport is always a shitty idea. Note to future self."

"Our pilot sounds like George Clooney. This is not going to end well."

My friend’s response? “Ask to go see the cockpit.”

Aftermath of Indulgence:

"Inebriated, I finished the flight magazine crossword in 20 minutes, then berated the Russian child who was kicking the back of my seat in Italian before passing out. Now I am going to fight off a mid-afternoon hangover…at a nursing home. I may just crawl into my grandmother’s hospital bed with her."

Mostly, I’d like you to ignore the fact that I confronted a child in a language they didn’t speak, and instead focus on the fact that I finished a crossword puzzle in under 20 and then went to dote lovingly on my aging grandmother while stinking drunk. 

Because that takes a special person.

XOXO

1 note
Leave Note / Reblog
Drink Drank Drunk Traveling Planes Vacation Wherefore Art Thou? Alcohol Family Facebook Hilarious Quirky and Sassy

August 11, 2012


November 14, 2012


The Awkward Dating Diaries: Why I Won’t Date Men Without Trash Cans In Their Bathrooms.

I have to admit to one personality quirk that never fails to make me feel faint at the thought of having to share a bathroom with a man: A missing trashcan.

I get it. Most of you guys don’t really have any NEED for a trashcan in your bathroom. I mean, you barely have any use for toilet paper in the first place. I get it. Women’s plumbing issues are very complicated and scary and mysterious. I get it; I really do. I’ve been living with my post-pubescent body for 11 years, and it STILL manages to mystify and unsettle me.

Maybe I’m a little over-sensitive myself about this issue. I can still clearly remember the feeling of distress that overcame me in my grandparent’s bathroom while visiting them at the Jersey shore one summer at the age of 12. It seemed like my body had finally betrayed me, and was going to continue to do so regularly for the next 30 years of my life. I thought of sharks and refused to set foot in the ocean water for the rest of the trip. I was ashamed; I felt weak.

When I lived in Italy, a place with notoriously shoddy plumbing systems— and in some cases, hole-in-the-floor type deals for public restrooms (you have not lived until you’ve been confronted with a “squatter,”)— I realized how much toilet paper I really used. I was poor. It was expensive. I’m both philanthropic enough to care about the environmental impact of it all and selfish enough to have wanted to spend those few extra Euro on shoes. But for a few days a month, I hoarded squares and squares of toilet paper, wrapping them obsessively around and around my tampons like I was mummifying the remains and neurotically burying them in the bottom of the trash can like a squirrel hiding nuts for winter. And then worried about people being offended by my left-over plastic applicators being discarded in plain view. Would it gross visiting friends out? Were any of my fellow female roommates particularly sensitive about bodily issues? And on the occasions I went over to the apartments my guy friends lived in and was faced with a lack of trash receptacle in their bathrooms, I reenacted a particularly stealthy revue of the Helsinki Bank Heist, casually concealing my toilet-paper-wrapped bundle in my hand, sidling over to their kitchen trash can, and quickly and furtively opening it and throwing it in while their bank was turned, keeping conversation up so they didn’t become suspicious of my motives. This may seem like an exhausting charade to keep up, but then again, I never know how a man will react when confronted with a tampon.

It’s for this reason that I love dating men who have cohabitated with women before; guys who have already been involved in long-term relationships. These are the sort of guys you can say, “Honey, can you pick me up a box of Tampax Gentle Glides while you’re at the grocery store?” to, and they actually will come home with that embarrassing pink box. They’re the sort of men who, without fail, have trash cans in their bathrooms and get actually get excited about “Shark Week” because it means at least a few days of prime blow-job time for them. Last week, while I was staying with Twig, I noticed his cute little lift-lid bin beside the toilet (for a second time,) and gave him another little check-mark of approval. There’s something about a man with a discrete little trash can in his bathroom that says, “I love you; I accept you and your body and all of it’s functions. I recognize your uterus is a happenin’ place with needs of it’s own,” to me. Maybe I should make this a new criteria for dating— “must have trash can in bathroom.”

As I’ve gotten older— and dated more previously attached men with trash cans in their bathrooms— I’ve come to realize that what I had identified as a character flaw and weakness in my youth is in fact, just another one of those things that makes me a functioning, normal woman, like sneezing or farting or queefing. It may not be lovely and ladylike; it may be messy and sticky and awkward sometimes, but it’s become less of a production, and more of a fact-of-life. I am a woman. I have periods. I need a trash can in my bathroom. If I’m living with you and you don’t have one, I will supply one, and you will have to witness my empty (clean!) tampon applicators, because I’m not wasting MORE precious toilet paper wrapping those suckers up to spare your tender eyes. When it comes down to it, my menstruation is about ME, and not you. It’s normal, and practical, and only sometimes gross. Women can bleed continuously for 7 days without dying; so don’t you dare tell me we’re not all super heroes.

XOXO

4 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
Life Single Girls Twenty-Something Girl Shit Dating Makes Me Want To Die Dating PMS Period. Cohabitation Men vs. Women Awkward Bodies Quirky and Sassy

December 16, 2012


You know what the best part is about this photo? You think it’s the fact it’s two celebrities? That they match? That they’re somewhere fabulous and warm on vacation, just relaxing?
No.
The most beautiful part of this photo is the fact that Beyonce is so relaxed with her husband that she’s willing to be a goof-ball around him and do silly things like this.
How many times have you been hanging out with the guy you’re seeing, and you’ve gotten the sudden urge to do something quirky, show off, be weird? And how many times have you suppressed that feeling, because you didn’t want him to be turned off by it? 
Yeah.
People who are really in love with each other, really comfortable about themselves, who are really happy and feel like life-partners more than a “husband” or a “wife” or a “fiancee” or a “girlfriend”…they’re the sort of people who do things like this, because they just. don’t. care. They know their partner will love them even when they’re laughing like a loon, leaning off a balcony, being a big kid. In fact, they know for certain that they will love them MORE for it. THAT’S the sort of relationship you want to be in. Not a dramatic one. Not one based around sex, or money, or what they can get you, or what your friends think, or how much your mom likes him and wants grand-kids.
It’s not that she married a famous man with millions. It’s that she feel THIS close with him. Love.
XOXO

You know what the best part is about this photo? You think it’s the fact it’s two celebrities? That they match? That they’re somewhere fabulous and warm on vacation, just relaxing?

No.

The most beautiful part of this photo is the fact that Beyonce is so relaxed with her husband that she’s willing to be a goof-ball around him and do silly things like this.

How many times have you been hanging out with the guy you’re seeing, and you’ve gotten the sudden urge to do something quirky, show off, be weird? And how many times have you suppressed that feeling, because you didn’t want him to be turned off by it? 

Yeah.

People who are really in love with each other, really comfortable about themselves, who are really happy and feel like life-partners more than a “husband” or a “wife” or a “fiancee” or a “girlfriend”…they’re the sort of people who do things like this, because they just. don’t. care. They know their partner will love them even when they’re laughing like a loon, leaning off a balcony, being a big kid. In fact, they know for certain that they will love them MORE for it. THAT’S the sort of relationship you want to be in. Not a dramatic one. Not one based around sex, or money, or what they can get you, or what your friends think, or how much your mom likes him and wants grand-kids.

It’s not that she married a famous man with millions. It’s that she feel THIS close with him. Love.

XOXO

(Source: )

25,559 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
Awesome Beyonce Couples Dating Jay-Z Life Lessons Love Mantra Philosophy Relationships SATTC Truth Wish List Smile Happy Quirky and Sassy

December 29, 2012


I am eating maple sugar cookies and beef jerky at the same time because I am a multi-faceted individual with opposing needs.

XOXO

4 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
Life True Life Confessions Quirky and Sassy Fat Kid This Is My Mind On Normal