my classic line // beauty things vol. 01

It is essential for a lady in this era to have a signature style. That she can be recognized from afar, so she can feel marvelous in her own skin, that she can know herself as the graceful yet fierce woman she is. Classic, lovely,  familiar. It feels so good. She owns it.

And she also doesn't have to think too hard while painting the finishing touches on her delicate face in the morning, or for a romantic evening, or for no particular reason other than to feel wonderful.

I enjoy dappling with different eye shadows, usually in tones of rose and gold. Lately, I've worn a basic smoky eye. I prefer my lashes long and lush (forever grateful for the set I inherited from my mama -- hers are lengthy as can be) and my cheekbones rosy and glowing. I prefer a feminine, blooming shade for my lips with an occasional deep red if I'm feeling sassy. And always fill your brows making sure your hand is light as air so it isn't stamped on!

But oh, I adore my eyeliner. I'll paint on the wings, the cat eyes, the clean clean lines until I am ninety-two. I have a specific brand I use and a method, practiced and true, I perform each time. Same starting point, same angles, same flicks of the wrist -- I wouldn't refer to as anything other than perpetual. As well as the frequent comments/requests on Instagram, Facebook, and even here, I have been stopped in public, asked about what I use and how I do it, time and time again. One woman, a Nordstrom employee, bless her, had me do a quick tutorial on her as I was perusing the fragrances -- this, a love affair and the guiltiest of pleasures I'll write more on later.

So, for the quick guide! I use this brand of eyeliner, with this method. That's it! No tricks, no scotch-tape, no special erasers. I really just scoured Pinterest for a while and practiced my heart out. I do find that the surer the hand, the sharper the line. And! I almost never line the bottom lid as I find it makes eyes appear smaller.

I do love beauty and everything feminine, so perhaps I'll make this more than a once-in-a-blue-moon type of thing in this space. Yes, I think so.


25 years of you.

We celebrated your 25th birthday on Saturday, mon amour. Yes, Valentine's day too -- which I've always thought to be charming. But your birthday first. Always first.

Always first because I get love day with you every day. And I am eager to see the vastness of all the other love days. A warm day in June. A busy day where we just miss each other and there's only time for good morning-see you laters and hello-goodnights. A day so full of bits of things and dancing in the living room to sounds from the perfectly intimate speakers of our Crosley. An evening where our eyes both synch shut as our tired heads hit the pillows, reaching for a spot to touch -- an arm, a leg, on the cusp of unconsciousness, and then sleep. I get to have all these love days with you, and you with I.  Naturally, all I wanted was to love on you for your birthday.

So I hope your birthday was as sweet as mine. Though you weren't feeling well, and though we had an early night, you were joyful. And I fill with joy when you do -- sniffles and all.

I love you my 25 year old (very) soon to be husband.


Bits of wisdom.

Some things I have learned forty-four days into 2015. 
A jumble of musings, in no real (grammatical or chronological) order.
Without fail, I burn my lips and/or tongue on my morning coffee daily. 
Patience is no virtue of mine I suppose. 

One of the best forms of therapy is to rearrange your living space. 

Checking items off the wedding list equals sweet joy. 

Saying goodbye to a beloved succulent makes my chest ache. 

To rediscover cottage cheese and all of its curdled deliciousness. 

Write down everything. All that you think. All that you hear. 

Thinking Out Loud is the best song to hum. 

I get butterflies whenever I think of my to-read pile o' books.
I find a simple wardrobe with plenty of neutrals aesthetically
 pleasing and I prefer shades of cream, blush, or a light steel grey or blue.