Thanks Walt

It's been awhile, but we're back in action. Sometimes, in life, you have to hit the hard reset button - and then, perhaps not so surprisingly, you move on with it.

Appropriately enough, our blog challenge topic choices both inspire creativity and our views on two very different types of media.

1. A Haiku on Fox News
2. What Disney has Taught Me

While I prepare to mull over the endless 5-7 syllabic lines of prose-commentary on the ever-riveting Fox News, I think I will first begin with the happiest place on earth.

What Disney has Taught Me

As a child of the 90's, let me state frankly: what hasn't Disney taught me? I learned to love, laugh, and cry (hell-ooooo Bambi) through Walt & Co.'s imaginative and colorful classics. From Snow White to Hercules, I was hooked hard and fast.

Nickelodeon? Cartoon Network? GARBAGE. As a child as young as 4, I stuck up my nose. There was just something about the voices, the dialogue, the line, and color quality that I recognized from an early age. If you've ever met a child with a brand preference so strong before age 5, please let me know.

I may be turning 26 this year, but my favorite movie is still Beauty and the Beast. While many associate Disney princess fables with undermining young girls' abilities to succeed in the world, I have always harbored a slightly different sentiment. Belle could be the reason I loved to read as a child, and was never afraid of being the odd ball or refusing to settle into what I'm supposed to want to have. Ariel could account for my hard-headed, and sometimes fool-hearted stubbornness, and unending sense of adventure. Megara could be the reason I practically drip with sarcasm. Mulan certainly helped me realize that gender non-conformist tendencies are just part of who I am. I loved these characters, and these stories. I still do - but as an adult, my investment has grown tenfold as I continue to realize the genius of this massive corporate giant.

Climb the beanstalk with me for a moment - my affinity for all things Disney most likely led me to my current job aspirations and passion for branding. A brand is how you build your empire - your voice, your face, and your promise to your audience. Your brand is simultaneously all you have, and the most invaluable thing you will ever own. With great branding, you can be anything, and everything to endless facets of customers - but even more than that, you can be immortal.

Everything Disney has to sell is flawless. Whether a churro from Fantasyland, a DVD from the vault, or a spot in line to meet your favorite character for the first time as a 3 year old (and someday, with your own 3 year old), Disney never misses a beat. Their commercials are golden, their properties impeccable, whimsical, and perfect. I'm simply enchanted. I have been devoted since I could make choices. I will be devoted a lifetime - ah, the immeasurable power of a compelling brand. Does anyone, or anything else hold such power?

Walt Disney knew the power of imagination, but he also knew the power of GREAT business. With his extraordinary vision and unbridled passion for creative innovation, his empire is arguably the most sound in history. I love the house of mouse for all of its glory - both the carefully crafted and constructed facade and the painstakingly executed behind the scenes operations.

And speaking of... when are we leaving? It's about time I got back.

Loving Lichtenstein

Deciding to be an Art History minor in college was certainly a defining moment at the time. Having accidentally "snuck" into an upper-level Abstract Expressionism class through a registration glitch (with 4 other senior level Art History MAJORS), my professor casually offered up that I should also be an art history major. You know, since I was holding my own and all. Since I was already a Studio Art and Communications double major, I settled for the minor. I've just always been such a slacker.

The things I've learned and the love it sparked will always provide an unmatched hunger to learn more. Through art and it's creators I have seen the world. I have seen wars, hunger, opulence, empires rise and fall, and revolution ignite change. I have a deeper and more personal understanding of cultural histories through art. Bringing this often unknown perspective to the table (or bar, or casual water cooler conversation) has proven extremely interesting. From the day I first understood Guernica, to the day I brought in a postcard print of L'origin du Monde back from Paris (for my boss.. might I add..), art and it's vibrant, all-encompassing history has enriched me in ways I will forever be better for.

Now, when the incredibly rare opportunity presents itself to couple my love for art history with my love for great graphic design, I jump (and how high?)

I've had the honor and the great privilege of working with San Antonio's Blue Star Contemporary Art Museum on their Blue Star Red Dot Gala materials - an annual event and art sale. The task this year was bringing pop art into the design of the materials. When one hears the words "pop art" perhaps you immediately think "Andy Warhol". Luckily, I heard "pop art" and got to bring in Lichtenstein. Many will recognize the style, but fewer know about the man behind the sometimes comic-esque pieces.

Roy, alongside our good friend Andy, was an American Pop artist in the 1960s who's mediums included not only paint, but also lithography and sculpture. His work uses heavy black outlines and primary colors typical of 1950s comic books. Instead of shading, he uses lines and dots to create imagery and control the "density and tone" for printing purposes. Lichtenstein's pieces were widely influenced by commercial advertising and "ironically incorporated into his highly sophisticated references to art history".

Using various Lichtenstein pieces (and Lichtenstein's cheeky way of using his art as a medium for more sophisticated art history messaging) as inspiration, I enjoyed re-imagining and illustrating some concepts for a new purpose. Since the final version has just recently gone to print, without giving anything away - here's a glimpse of some different concepts in various stages.

This project has served as a reminder I'm always in need of: never let yourself forget to have fun doing what you love. I used to paint, just for myself, and really enjoyed it. With zero extra time and zero extra room (both issues I am working to alleviate), it's probably been over a year since I picked up a brush. Maybe using Lichtenstein as a reference point I can focus more on graphic design and print as a medium for pure art, not just announcements or invitations, instead of paint and a canvas?

The Mean Reds

I suppose lately, I'd been experiencing what Holly Golightly so artfully dubbed, a case of "the mean reds".

And Fred Baby says, "The mean reds? You mean like the blues?"

But no, sweet George Peppard, no.

"The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of... when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name!"

Lately, I've been taking a lot of beatings. I don't mean to use this term lightly. I lost my drive, lost my spirit, but most of all, I'd lost the will to keep trying to pretend like I was okay.

And maybe that's okay. Maybe enough is enough. Maybe I don't have to pretend like it's fine when it's not.

I have a ("most likely" non-cancerous) tumor. I have 2 tabs open that wager my salary should be significantly higher. I have been working my ass off since January for something that might be finally taking a recognizable shape. I have a clearer knowledge of what a monthly payment looks like on a million dollar home (and a clearer knowledge of how unlikely it is that I will ever own one..) However, out of the purgatory I feel I've been stuck in since mid-January, I finally see things clearly.

It was a LOT of struggle for this one moment of peaceful clarity. I'm starting to think that's what life is, a LOT of struggle for a few solid moments when you know and truly value what and who you have in your corner.

25 is a time when a lot of people break down according to other people's expectations. Tomorrow, or probably even by Thursday, I will concern myself with that daunting timeline again that says I need to pencil in marriage, babies, and making sensible financial decisions (okay so the latter I should definitely prioritize)... but for tonight, I have some pimento cheese, the season finale of GIRLS, and the comfort of knowing I'm surrounded by great people who care about much more than my success at checking off boxes along this crazy ride; life.

Spring Eating: Lemon Spearmint Pesto

One of my very best friends and her boyfriend invited us over for dinner tonight. Outside of this being a guaranteed good time (did I say friends? at this point, we're family) the food is always incredible. Her boyfriend hails from Turkey and never fails to disappoint in the kitchen.

The menu: Kebobs. My task: A Side.

Feeling inspired by the recent spring weather and wanting to provide something unique to compliment the grilled meat and veggies, I thought to myself "Lemon. Lemon and mint." What resulted was a delicious pesto incorporating several popular spring flavors, and surely something I will make again.

The Recipe:

• 2 Tbsp Olive Oil
• 1/4 Cup of Lemon Juice
• 1/4 Cup of Almonds
• 1/4 Cup of Pistachios
• Zest of 2 Lemons
• 1 Cup of Fresh Mint Leaves (I used Spearmint, bought the whole plant)
• 2 tsp of Crushed Red Pepper Flakes (or if you like a kick, more, to taste)
• Salt & Black Pepper to taste
• 1 16 oz. Bag of Orzo (or any pasta, grilled veggies, etc.)
• Shaved Romano, Parmesan, Asiago, or Grana Padano (or if you're feeling adventurous, a blend)

Cook the orzo according to package directions. Drain and place in a large bowl. While it rests, toss with another tablespoon of olive oil and some salt if desired.

Combine olive oil, lemon juice, lemon zest, almonds, pistachios, lemon zest, fresh mint leaves, red pepper flakes, salt and pepper in a food processor. Toss with the orzo and top with the shaved cheese.

You can serve this hot, or cold. I'm adding some fresh peas. YUM.

This is light, fresh, delicious, and easy. 

Until next time,

Too Big for My Britches

I just missed the cut-off for Generation X. I guess that makes me a "Millennial", which is unfortunate because I feel like everyone hates millennials right now. Dubbed "Generation Me", it seems narcissism flows in my veins along with glitter and also frequently, copious amounts of sub-par vodka.

Listen, it isn't easy, okay? In fact, it's really hard. I make almost no money, and simultaneously work insane hours to try to get to the next rung on a ladder I will most likely be climbing all my life.

People love to complain about Gen Y. We're so into ourselves it hurts. We self-medicate, are always the victim, and constantly have our hands out for more. You can't really blame it all on us, our parents told us we were awesome and stroked our hair in adoration. They told us to go to college, to get a degree, and to never settle because we were the generation that started to get the trophy just for participation. You know, I kind of vaguely remember when everyone started to get an award of some kind. It only made me scramble for a blue ribbon that much more voraciously. I was probably 8, but damnit, I was always going to win.

The hit HBO show, GIRLS, highlights a LOT about my peers and I that makes most balk in disgust. Seen through the eyes of Hannah, Marnie, Jessa, and Shoshanna, 20-something females transform from hapless and hopelessly confused to flat-out monster right before your eyes. Everyone loves to harp on creator Lena Dunham, but really, I think she's telling an important story. And to every 25-year old critic who says "I'm not like that at all" - congratulations, you're a liar.

It's kind of exhausting to be a young person trying to find your place in the world - especially when you've realized you're one rat race away from Revolutionary Road (um, the book, not the movie). The only thing I have too much of are aspirations, and they're really not getting me anywhere further than working until 10pm on my couch every night. Full of ideas, possibly full of promise, but I just might work myself to death before I reach 27. There's something very dichotomous about being a 20-something in the work place. On one hand, I understand my place within the food chain. I need to put in my hours, play it safe, and do my best to stay in line while meeting and exceeding both deadlines and expectations. On the other, I need to get as ahead as I can as quickly as possible, I can sleep when I'm dead. I juggle thinking I'm not good enough, and being confused about how to handle surrounding mediocrity. I waffle between thinking I'm a farce and a total boss ass bitch. Every day is a new day. I can't decide if I'm insane or need to sleep more.

I've always been the kind of person who is ready for the next thing before the current thing is even over. I immediately consume everything and excitedly look to what follows. I don't understand the term "rest on your laurels". I think I have a lot of laurels, but what good does rest do? Right now I tell myself, someday I will have a yacht. Or at least a sail boat with some kind of sleeping quarters. Definitely a second home. Maybe one in Santa Fe, a villa somewhere in Europe, and obviously a beach house - location TBD. Do I own a first home? Nope. But I will one day enjoy a two-story closet.

Have I made myself sound awful yet? I don't care. I have never been one to be shy about what I do and don't want. Life is too short - YOLO, if you will. Somewhere along the insane roller-coaster that has been my life post-college, I realized I possessed an unflinching need to actually care about what I do to earn my private jet (thankfully, recently confirmed by The Guardian). Sadly, the career I live, breathe, and love means that my financial dreams will stay very very far off into the unforeseeable future..

Actually, I'm lying. I can see it ALL very clearly (exotic vacations, expensive linen pants, $300 face cream), but no, I don't think it's helping any of it get here any faster. For now, I will keep dreaming. Keep working too hard at what I love. Day by day, I will get to whatever is next. It's probably not a seafaring vessel anytime soon, but it could be a house of my own. Some day, all of it will pay off, or I will die - and my version of heaven is definitely full of silk pajamas, cruelty free spotted furs, and great skin care.

Female Viagra, A Challenge Indeed

To my 4 regular readers, if you are not yet aware, welcome to Blog Challenge 2014 with my ladies for life, Stephanie, and Sarah. Together, we set out on a journey to complete a blog challenge that no person has ever quite done before. Each Monday, we use a random number generator to select two topics from a pre-determined list. In the week that follows, we must produce a blog post on either topic (or sometimes, when appropriate, both).

This all being said, last Monday, we were very fatefully (and comically) awarded the topics "Learn Something New" and "Female Viagra". If you are in the category with approximately 94% of America, you would also be "learning something new" whilst learning about female viagra. So, dear readers, what to do?

Let's dive right in.

While there are about 24 medications for male sexual issues, there are a big fat ZERO approved for women. The long, American road for this little pill with big promises has included various trial and error approaches. Some initial stabs at female sexual arousal medications have focused on things like:

• increasing blood-flow to female genitals (aka, the schmaschmina - a word people are still afraid to say..)
• hormones, including but not limited to testosterone (yuck, doesn't that make people grow fur?)
• via brain chemistry, boosting dopamine levels 

The FDA appears to remain hesitant on various female viagra options due to lack of substantial or overwhelming findings within the drug trials. One recent drug trial for flibanserin from Sprout Pharmaceuticals with particularly underwhelming results showed only "1.7 more satisfying sexual experiences per month than women taking placebo". Never fear ladies, Sprout is exceptionally committed to helping you cream up real nice (shoutout to the most under-celebrated Breaking Bad quote of all time). An article published less than a week ago shows Sprout is re-submitting. But don't drop your panties just yet, many articles about the drug's progress have mentioned how hard it is to pinpoint exactly what factors contribute to a woman's low sex drive. Regular contributors to decreased "appetite" include these common life occurrences:

• Lack of Sleep
• Stress
• Lack of Trust in Partner
• Infertility Issues
• Or Lack of Infertility Issues (i.e., New Moms)
• Thyroid Problems
• Medication Side Affects
• Insecurity/Self-Esteem Issues
• Lack of Exercise
• Inability to Communicate (if you're not feelin' it, ya gotta say so)

Is anyone with a vagina surprised that the ongoing hold up stems from the inability to adequately understand female sexual desire? In short, female sexual motivation is not simple or consistent. Still not satisfied? (Pun SO intended) If you're up for reading a first hand account on female viagra from a fellow female across the pond (seriously, read it, I'm snorting into my keyboard) check this out.

It's a little funny that in 2014, our society is still struggling (like, man-bear grappling) with female sexuality SO hard that our biggest consensus on a woman's sex drive is "it's complicated". No apologies necessary for being a human being with complex thoughts, feelings, or emotions. But seriously, don't apologize.

Ladies, we're complicated. Said every man ever. To date, there are still no approved medications to treat female sexual arousal issues - outside of various types of wine, (or liquor), The Bachelor, Ryan Gosling, and Ghost. Maybe there never will be. You keep doin' you - get to know yourself, ask for what you need, and try not to be shy about it.

Until next week,

So What

"It was in that moment of not pretending, and choosing acceptance that I found hope once again".

-Gail O'Keefe (yes, not Georgia, though I'm not sure who Gail is..?)

This week's blog challenge is a challenge indeed... we drew "Random Acts of Kindness" and "Get Over It", which more specifically means, to write about a time when you simply had to get over something. Since I am seldom random, and hardly kind (mostly joking with the latter) I feel the need to write about the acceptance of something I wasn't initially so keen on.

Growing up as an athlete is something I must have taken for granted. As far back as I can remember I have loved soccer, and from almost as far back, I wanted to be the next Mia Hamm (it must have been the 1996 Olympics). I began playing soccer at 5 (which was probably, 1995) and loved it. I had a great coach, a great team, it was so much fun. For one glorious year, I enjoyed soccer for what it was, an hour out in the grass, a steady supply of capri suns, and running around with friends. In '96, it all changed.

The US Women's Olympic team in Atlanta that year was unstoppable, with the much-celebrated Mia Hamm at the helm. Watching them must have given me some new sense of purpose, a new life goal. Forget the hopeful doctors, lawyers, and marine biologists - I was going to play college soccer, and be on the US Women's Olympic team. Obviously, these are pretty lofty goals for a 6 year old. Luckily, I had the most supportive (perhaps sometimes, over supportive) parents a girl with said dream could have. They enrolled me in regular skills sessions with former pros, and gave me every possible opportunity to excel and get one step closer. When I turned 10, it was finally time to try out for a club team. These teams had non-stop schedules, played regular season games, traveled to out of town tournaments, had multiple weekly practices, conditioning, and skills. Growing up in metropolitan north Texas (one of the national hubs for competitive or club soccer) meant there was no shortage of club teams, so while I had options of where to play, so too the coaches had options of who to sign (yes, as a 10 year old, you would "sign" to a club team for one calendar year). I chose the American Eagles, a club based right in Colleyville. That first year, I made the B team. I was devastated. The A team's coach told me my weakness was conditioning, I had the rest of the package, but tired too easily and needed to work on my stamina. At 11 years old, I began to run cones in my front yard, at the park, wherever I could. I would run myself until I threw up. I did push ups, sit ups, and sprints, on my own, almost daily, in addition to the team's regular practice schedule.

After one year on the B team, I was moved up. I now had to earn my starting spot on this team. New challenges and new struggles arose, but I never faltered. As I got older and older, continuing to play, I never lost sight of the dreams I'd had as a 5 year old. I'm sure this story could be a novel, and not an incredibly interesting one, so in summary, I continued the ascent to better and better teams. We all know little girls can be mean, so I developed a thick skin in an extremely competitive world. I was with the team so often that when I got into middle school and high school, I had no time for dating, or getting into drugs and alcohol. I worked out so much that I could eat bacon cheeseburgers and fettucine alfredo to my heart's content. I made Varsity as a freshman with two other girls, and became a starter on a club team that was nationally ranked. Soon enough, I was 16, and unofficial college letters started to come in.

Here's where things get fuzzy. As a child, things are black and white. You know what you do and don't want, and the future is so far off you can do anything. At 16, I had hard times with the sport both emotionally and physically and suffered severe, long-term damages from both. Girls in the high school program with me who had been like sisters turned on me, made my life feel like a personal hell, even vandalized my car. My mom loved to tell me when people were mean to me that they were just jealous. I don't think I fully bought into that, but maybe she was right. 16 years old, with a million college doors open to me academically, not only athletically, and with so much potential. My parents were always 110% behind me, I am lucky to have had such a strong foundation to continue to rely on. Growing older only cements this even further.

16 is hard for a lot of kids, for most kids. Outside of soccer, 2 of my classmates, one a friend, committed suicide. Friends began to have sex and I had never even kissed a boy. People brought drugs into the locker room. The place that had kept me safe from the normal adolescent struggles suddenly became a catalyst for it. I definitely grew up a LOT slower than my peers. I would say that's continued to be to my benefit. So many pressures exist in the regular world for a teenager, that when I tore cartilage in my rib cage and was out for the entirety of recruiting season, I was readily waving the white flag. I was told I could play through the pain, but that it would be constant, unrelenting, and I would never fully heal. The thing I had worked so hard for my whole life became impossible to stomach. I quit.

Quitting was both the easiest and the hardest decision to make. I loved the game, but so many external factors were keeping me from it. I felt like I couldn't take another minute in that high school locker room, with those girls. The pain in my side from my rib cage was constant. I needed to escape fully and at once. When I think back on it, I can't believe I put up with so much.

Day by day, with new choices, and new faces, and the help of one phenomenal teacher and coach, I made new goals for myself. I chose a college based on what I wanted to do with my life. I don't think I ever thought too hard about what I would do after the Olympics. Sadly, there is still not a place for a professional women's soccer league. Reality will knock everyone on their ass eventually, I know I'm lucky to count this as one of my hardest life adjustments. I'm Alissa, I'm 25, and I will never play in the Olympics. I mean, seriously? Duh.

Through what felt like the hardest thing, I learned to value myself for every other reason. I found new ways to measure growth and success, new things to make me happy, and learned how to say goodbye to the things that begin to hurt more than they help. I surround myself with people I love, who let me say how I feel, and I'm focused on what I want, and how to get it. Life is short, & all that. YOLO bitches.

“Sometimes people let the same problem make them miserable for years when they could just say, So what. That's one of my favorite things to say. So what.” 

- Andy Warhol

A happy glance back… Note, none of these girls vandalized my car.

Conspiracy Theory: 2014 or 1814?

In the Archaic Period from 8,000 BCE to 800 CE, women brought home the bacon.

In the 1500s, women freely initiated divorce in Native American farming societies. A bit later, the matter would be settled by simply placing all of the husband's belongings just outside of the teepee.

In the 1700s, Native American women were the deciders of whether or not their people would go to war, or stay at peace.

In 1767, hispanic women living in South Texas received land grants.

In 1814, while the men were off at war (Mexico had declared it's independence from Spain in 1810), the wife of the governor of Texas ran the state affairs in his absence.

In 1843, mother of 20 (yes, 20) Mary Levy buys land in her own name in Houston.

In 1848, the first women's rights convention is held in Seneca, New York.

** Above courtesy of http://www.womenintexashistory.org/timeline/ 

A brief summary of how women finally earned the vote in Texas shows a documented struggle lasting from 1868 to 1919. At the time, a woman's right to simply cast her opinion on civic matters was a huge step forward. In 2014, our fish to fry include things like voter ID laws, the glass ceiling, and the right to be the authority on what happens to and within our own bodies.

Frivolous, right? Why should we concern our pretty little heads with such complicated matters? Is it truly the year 2014, or are we forever doomed to repeat the ideals of 1814?

You may be wondering what I'm doing. You may have figured it out. You may have realized I don't actually think it's possible that we still live in 1814, although sometimes I have to wonder very hard. In an effort to help myself to a more complete understanding, I've been combing through a bit of history. Which moments in time helped solidify the ass-backwards way of living that puts me second to any male counterpart; that lets people value and devalue me based on my decisions to keep my legs crossed, to take certain medications, and to procreate?

I refuse to be defined by my choices that do or do not concern marriage or motherhood. The fact that pieces like this NY Post article on Wendy Davis still exist show me that this problem does not solely lie in Texas. That's right Naomi Schaeffer Riley, I'm calling you out. Quite honestly, I'm mad as hell.

Naomi suggests that Wendy Davis has absolutely no future in politics, regardless of political affiliation, simply because she chose to go to HARVARD law school and leave her two children with their father.

There are so many things wrong with this, I am dizzy with rage at where to begin.

What if men were held equally accountable in REALITY, and not just biology? What if we called every man who got married, had children, and went to better themselves a horrible human being - BOTH personally and professionally?

To determine that someone is fit or unfit to do a JOB because of their choices as a mother is not only sexist, ludicrous, and asinine, it's also deeply offensive. I honestly can't believe that in 2014 I am still subjected to trying to stomach this bullshit.

I am more than a ring finger and much more than a womb. When or if I decide to have children, they will never question their mother's ability to do absolutely anything their father does. They will never measure me by my ability to get home and cook the perfect chicken. They will never be scarred by the lack of matching socks, or the layer of dust on top of the refrigerator. And they will never think, for a second, that any of those things are my sole responsibility just because I have a vagina. They will know better. And so should you.

In conclusion, shrug this off. Forget you read it. Chalk it up to hormones. Call me a bitch, squirm at my vitriol, and utter a silent prayer chaining me to a stove somewhere with a baby (or seven) on my hip.

Bless your confused little heart, your ignorance is your cross to bear, not mine. 

American Horror Stories

"The best book about horror movies I have ever read." - Robert Bloch, author of PSYCHO

Well Mr. Bloch, I don't know if I would go that far, but I WILL say that it's the only book about horror movies I have ever read.

I finished reading The Monster Show by David Skal on a recent trip to Paris. Skal's book presents an intriguing and well researched look into the cultural history of the horror genre in America. From the early 1900s to the late 1990s, Skal examines everyone from Tod Browning to Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

This may strike you as an odd book choice, but for me, my fascination with horror film began with my mother recounting the terror of The Birds when I was 12. (Fun fact: 2 Halloweens ago, I channeled that same Tippi Hedren..) I have many vivid memories of Saturday nights after club soccer with Blue Bell chocolate ice cream and the latest movie suggestion. This highlight reel includes, but is certainly not limited to Wait Until Dark, What Lies Beneath, and Psycho. Fast forward 13 years and I'm super into American Horror Story, Guillermo del Toro, and now continuing to read books like The Monster Show as I grow the depth of my understanding. Horror films, as a genre, are not simply colored corn starch, advancing special effects, and shallow attempts at shock. People turn to horror as a coping mechanism to help them personify their conflicting feelings and fear of the unknown about the world's current circumstances - or in short, the latest true American horror stories.

To wrap up (and further pique your interest), three super interesting things I learned from David Skal's The Monster Show:

1. There is a movie called Cat People. 

Actually, there are 2, and I had never heard of either. The particularly riveting 1942 tagline reads: "Lovely Woman… Giant Killer-Cat… The Same "Person"! It's Super Sensational", while the 1982 remake appears to more sharply focus on the obviously disastrous consequences of female sexual awakenings. Women enjoying sexual urges? Extremely dangerous stuff, you guys.

2. "Suddenly, in the sixties, the womb was the new graveyard" 

This continued into the 1980s, but perhaps nowhere near as obviously as Rosemary's Baby and The Brood. Skal cites "the sexual revolution, the Pill, thalidomide… unstable family structures... [and] the emerging abortion rights struggle" as a powerful cultural catalyst for horror's new favorite playground. This blog post is SCREAMING at me to write itself… alas, another time, my friends.

3. Carrie was also a musical.

On Broadway. In the 80's. Absolutely terrible. Where can I find this to watch!?

Bonus: After Paris, we traveled onto Madrid and, in what seemed like a strange, real life, full-circle moment, discovered this Erro painting at the Reina Sofia Museum. I spy quite a few Lon Chaney Jr's down there...

Erro's Victors of Leningrad Supported by the Coulor-Blind Monster Matisse 

Have a fascinating week.

Salut 2014!

Curiously, my last blog post was about leaving a job (well, mostly a place) that I loved. I wasn't sure where life would take me, but I felt very strongly that I needed to follow it there. It seems this past September, life took me right back to the place I left, & I couldn't be happier. The grass is not always greener my friends, but it is helpful if you find out for yourself.

Things worked out so perfectly, it never felt real.

Now, another new year is upon us. Most people use the new year as a time to reflect on the past one, & decide about a thousand things they need to start doing, stop doing, or vastly improve upon. I'm starting this year content. I love my job. I love the people that surround me. I say what I want, I do what I want. I'm happy y'all.

That being said (obviously it was going here) - I made a list of ALL the things (as you will quickly discover, in no particular order) I want in 2014. Some of these are harder to obtain than others. Some will make the 2015 list simply because they're just not going to happen (see: Own a Yacht)… but all in all, a new year is a time for new hopes & these are mine. Cheers to 2014!

Purchase a Squash Blossom Necklace
I realize this is odd, & a really odd one to start with, but what I can say? I'm really into these. Life is short, & I'm thinking this could be a staple for a (wannabe) jet-setting gypsy like myself. Probably not a $2,000 one, but maybe a nice starter, vintage, faux turquoise piece.

Go to Disney World
They finished the new Beauty & the Beast area. Sold. Also, people say that everyone should remain a child somewhere in their hearts, & I really take that seriously. So seriously that I have to buy a new pair of ears EVERY single time I make a Disney trip. Yes, maybe I was at Disneyland this past summer (& the one before…) but it truly is one of the happiest places on earth. Life should be about being happy.

Trip to Marfa, TX
It's not like it's that far, & I really need to get to Prada, Marfa before it's gone (which is hopefully never). Also, a friend from high school opened my eyes to this & I'm a very firm believer that when one has the opportunity to stay in updated retro trailers &/or 22 sq. foot teepees, one definitely should.

Go Back to New Orleans
I spent a few days here in 2013. It was an amazing city with incredible people. I have a habit of needing to return to places like this once a year, while simultaneously finding new places (like Marfa).

Read More / Start a Book Club
So I already put out feelers for this & it seems it's going to happen. We're in the middle of finalizing a reading list & then figuring out a good schedule for everyone. If you have any good book recommendations, lay 'em on me.

Have a Better Relationship with Food & Exercise
I'm a stress eater who was (not too long ago) 50 lbs heaver. Honestly, it's probably only 30 lbs at this point, but who's counting (well, me, starting last Sunday)... I tend to be very indulgent with myself & my favorite food groups include carbs, & dairy. This has culminated in the not-so-balanced diet I am currently over-enjoying. In 2014 I want to spend more time cooking & prepping food so that I make more responsible decisions, not strictly for my figure, but for the general longevity & quality of my life. I also need to REALLY really focus on working out at least 3 times a week. This seems doable. Hell, alright, 4 times. LAY OFF. Please don't misunderstand, I like food, & I will eat it. I'm not into self-depravity (or swimsuit season) but health is important.

Stop & Breathe
I have a really bad habit of saying yes to EVERYTHING & then wondering why I feel overwhelmed, overworked, & like crawling into a hole to hide from everyone. In 2014, I want to learn to say the word "no" so that I have more time to choose new endeavors.

Learn Spanish
I have Rosetta Stone. My boyfriend of 4+ years is from Ecuador. Not all of his family speaks English. It's time.

Paint More
This truly is something for myself, & while I won't be applying to any art shows anytime soon, there's something cathartic about zoning out & making a mess. Oil paints, I miss you. I hope to be elbow deep in you again soon (that sentence makes me dry heave a little, but I'll leave it).

Start Saving for a House (Maybe Get One)
See: Paint More. If I had my own place I could adopt 7 more dogs paint in my own little (well-ventilated) area, throw parties, choose paint colors, & other things that 25 year old girls women are wont to do. Like have a guest room, decorate a mantle, & ask my dad to come hang all my paintings. #adultlyf

Add some Tibi to My Wardrobe
I always want it, I probably don't ever need it, but I really want to keep focusing on 1-2 truly timeless pieces with some flair per season. Tibi seems like a great place to start. I've wanted you from afar, but now I'm comin' for ya. (Will also be strongly considering Alexander Wang, Elizabeth & James, DVF, & more…)

Buy Another Lizzie Fortunato
Be Still. My Heart. Some people like diamonds, gold, materials that really warrant a $600 price tag. But me, I'm really into tooled leather, chains, & faux gemstones.

Sing More Karaoke
Because Why Not. (Mostly because this is slightly terrifying to me in an odd way, so I should do it more & get over that).

Buy that Marc Jacobs Bag You Want
It's cute. It's neutral. It's a nice change from your giant bag. You deserve it.

Blog More
Maybe no one is listening, but what's it to me?

And Stephanie, don't you think I've forgotten the podcast. Because that is SO happening that it doesn't even need to go on this list. See you Monday.