Remember last week, when I talked about the days when I would spend Saturday mornings at thrift shops with my best friend and return home with some truly spectacular finds...and how sometimes it's nice to hold onto those finds, even when they don't feel like they quite work in your life for a little while?
Here's another example.
The occasional Aerosmith concert or engagement party aside, we don't actually go out together in the city a whole lot. We mean to, we plan to...but whenever we hire a babysitter it ends up just sounding so much easier to go out somewhere around here rather than end our evening with a Metronorth ride and a taxi from the train station.
Lazy? Yes. But we're lazy. Ain't no shame.
Like I said, we were in the mood to act out a little. But since bar hopping or clubbing isn't really on the menu at the moment, we headed down to a tattoo parlor on St. Mark's Place that has tattooed my family (my mom, my dad, Kendrick, and me) a total of five times.
Now six.
No tattoos for the pregnant lady - we'll get to that next fall - but Kendrick has a design he's wanted to get for awhile now, so:
A few objects of affection to brighten up your afternoon, including the perfect nude lipstick, one hell of a good bralet, and the happiest pillow on the planet.
P.S. In semi-related news, I was pretty thrilled when I checked my outgoing analytics and saw just how many RG readers clicked from my site over to these (possibly NSFW). You are a sexy bunch.
Happy Friday!
So this - my office, which never really gets used because let's be honest: my office is the dining room table - is the room that will have to be the nursery. I say "have to be" because...well, it's the only unoccupied room in our house other than the attic and the basement, neither of which seem especially infant-appropriate.
Every Saturday when I was in middle school, my best friend Arielle and I walked over to the Salvation Army on West 46th Street, returning home with huge plastic bags filled with clothing that we'd gotten for a dollar or two per piece. Every once in awhile when I'm visiting my parents I still stop by - mostly to check out the (honestly amazing) furniture selection on the third floor - but when it comes to clothing, the finds are much fewer and further between than they used to be back in the day. Maybe because pricey vintage stores are trolling for the really great stuff, maybe because my tastes have changed, maybe just because I don't have the patience that I used to to sift through rack after rack of clothing...but whatever the reason, it's rare that I come home from a visit with something I'll actually wear.
A few years back, I stopped in and found this sweater. It was so big on me that it could definitely be called a dress, and it looked like something Carlton would have worn for a dance party with Will, but still: I liked it enough to hand over five bucks.
I never wore it.
