Let’s touch base.

As you get older, the more you realize the things you avoid talking about, the things you think would ostracize you from society, are often the most common.

Whether or not other people can relate to these ‘things,’ I’ve decided to be more honest. This started with opening up to my close friends and family about my distaste with lemon yogurt.

It went over well, most people seemed to agree or ignore me. For those who agreed, while they didn’t say as much, I could read between the lines. I posted it on my story, so I didn’t actually see this take place, but I can only assume the reactions.

For the few who related to my troubles, I imagine upon reading my opinion, a weight of sorts lifted off of their shoulders. It’s kind of like after a haircut when the hairdresser asks you, “do you feel lighter?” You never do, at least in my experience, but you always say, “totally!” In this case, they actually did feel lighter, so I guess the analogy doesn’t work.

Maybe a tear even fell down their cheek, as this was the first time they’d felt truly seen.

The opinion that prompted this blog post was something that a reader and I have previously discussed. Their identity will remain protected incase of any adverse reactions to the following statement.

I never read introductions to books. Or songs in books. Or letters in books. Or poems in books. Or attached articles that relate to the main characters storyline. While this may be skipping over important parts of the story and stripping me of potential valuable insight, I say skip and strip away.

By changing the font, the text size, the italics, the words that follow become optional. It’s why I never include my poems in these blog posts. I save those for my LinkedIn.

I’m writing this, actually, just as I opened my book to an introduction and debated whether or not I should read it.

Maybe it’s just my American Eagle Freedom Genes. Introductions are often another persons opinion of the book, and I’m predisposed to form my own opinions. Maybe it’s because I’ve never read them so I don’t know what I’m missing. Maybe it’s because I’m too lazy to read the three extra pages. Maybe I do read the introduction and I just want you to underestimate me.

I guess we’ll never know.

Day in the life of an unemployed woman

This is an old post that I forgot to put up. So. Take this as Violet in May, not June.

It's also not finished. #BTS!!!

It’s been a while since I’ve graced you all with another blog post, which I’m sorry for. What can I say? I would tell you I’ve been busy, but that just isn’t true. Well - depends what you mean by busy. I’ve practically moved into pier 3.

today, I was feeling contemplative as per usual. Maybe it’s because I’m reading a patti smith book, or maybe it’s the music I’ve been listening to, but I had my thinking cap on.

I sat there, averting my eyes from the millenials lurking in every corner (don’t you have a job to be getting to?), and wondered when they cut the grass. I’ve been at the piers at almost all hours of the day and night, and I’ve never seen them mow the lawn.

I stopped myself though - I felt too similar to how I imagine the greasy guys in my freshman year english class felt in the warm embrace of Holden Caulfield’s arms. Where do the ducks go?

Celeste and I debated this for some while, but never landed on a solid conclusion.

Returning home, I shielded myself from my family, regressing into my shell like a turtle. I had a sunburn. How embarrassing.

I decided to continue my day of knowledge and enrichment and spent the next hour or so switching between watching XO, Kitty and playing Pokémon go.

I read the headlines of Snapchat “articles,” I’ve learned not to click on them - what’s behind the curtain usually fails to impress. Salt bae had a bad burger, vice has some horror story about drugs (as usual).

I felt tempted to click on vice, not because the clickbait was working on me, but instead a tear welled up in my eye as I thought of their bankruptcy. It almost hit me as hard as the Silicon Valley bank crash.

Massachusetts (again)

Recently I’ve been struggling with being an editor. It makes you think, maybe leadership isn’t in my future. Unfortunately for you, my readers, most of my guest writers have more going on in their lives than a blog and don’t have the time to send me their posts. Water under the bridge I guess. I have a part-time job and still post, but “apparently” that’s different.

I’m writing here from Boston MA. Visually, this past week has taken a toll on me. I think if I see one more piece of clothing from LL Bean I’m going to have to break the hotel window and throw myself onto the Boston highway.

Truthfully though, I know that it’s not the city’s fault and more of my own. I think the real problem, the root of it, is that I fit in more than I let on. Even while basking in my own ignorance, I know that my whole family wearing their Patagonia bags is not an uncommon sight in the great state of Massachusetts.

Many run ins with relatives and family friends over the past couple of days has really educated me on my WASP heritage. Not to get cocky, but I really think if the FBI contacted me and asked me to be an undercover agent in a rich, suburban part of the North East I would fit right in.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed that I’ve gained five followers on instagram, but it’s because my step aunts and cousins have joined the social circle. Networking!

One social demographic at a time, I knocked this one out of the park. Plus, my LA based cousin told me she was working towards getting a greyhound. You heard me right, yet another step towards becoming New England’s very own Kardashians.

If you’re wondering what my favorite part of the funeral was, I’d say if I had to choose, it was not my newfound instagram fame. Instead, it was one of my grandmothers neighbors. She came in slowly, putting her weight on a small stroller. I wondered, did she have a baby? Was it a stroller shaped walker? I looked inside, and to my surprise saw a weird fur vest.

I looked at it for a second, forgetting to offer her a noise maker, (my mom and aunt caught wind of this and made me stand facing the corner for the rest of the service). I had to restrain myself from jumping as the stroller’s contents began to move. Turns out, instead of clothing, it was two terrifying dogs. My mom later told me her and my aunt compared them to balls of drier lint, but in the moment they just looked like ancient creatures made of matted fur, eyes and teeth.

Throughout the ceremony I found myself staring, maybe subconsciously to make sure they were still there. They reminded me of the main character of the Bunnicula books, which in my memory told the story of a bloodthirsty bunny in pursuit of his owners. After looking it up, I found out that he “sucks the juice out of vegetables.”

Extremely disappointing, but that’s life. Much to my surprise, I made it out of there alive. Although- in Buffy the Vampire Slayer her friends get possessed by animals, so maybe I’m not in the  clear yet.