So I'm done complaining about how bad of an adult I am. Simply because ain't nobody got time for that. And by nobody, I mean, you, lovely reader. I took this quiz about who I should marry, and no lie, my result was 'a robot programmed to love.' Really? Apparently, "a robot an give you the kind of unconditional love a person never could", although I'm pretty sure we'd break up after I forgot to oil his gasket for the sixth time (see previous post). But I doubt a robot is my soulmate, anyway. I did however think that I'd ride off into the sunset with Aubrey Graham. That is assuming we ever met considering he's a, you know, celebrity and all.

Does anyone remember the t.v. show, Degrassi The Next Generation? At 13, Degrassi and Higher Ground were my favorite tv shows because I was obsessed with Aubrey Graham (hip-hop artist, Drake) and Hayden Christensen, respectively. Especially Aubrey. (Yes, first name basis). Don't believe me?

One of the books I carried around with me back then. Covered in things I loved.

Proof of either a super fan or super stalker. Let's go with option number 1 for my sake.

Back when he first entered the scene as Jimmy Brooks on Degrassi, I was convinced he was my soulmate. I watched every single episode with him in it, including the difficult-to-stomach episode when Jimmy got shot by Rick. And get this: I was so mad. Obviously, I knew it wasn't real, but I seemed like they were trying to write Aubrey out of the show and as the future love of his life, I wasn't having that. So what did I do? I wrote an email. To The N! (I cringe in embarrassment just typing all of this). But I just knew that it was meant to be. How could it not be? According to the 500,000 interviews I watched of him, we were perfect for each other. As a teenager, he was teased for "acting too white" just like me. And like me, he had a killer vocabulary as a teenager and was so well-spoken. We were both writers. He had dozens of notebooks stacked in his room, all full of music, and I had more than a few notebooks full of my stories. He was sweet and charming and humble and mine - at least in my head.

Because it's hilarious, it's the last day of April and it's kinda relevant. 

Although a lot of this is kinda mortifying, I do take pride in being able to say I was the first to see his potential. Because not only is he clearly talented, but he really grew into his looks (not that you could tell my 13-year-old-self he wasn't the hotness boy ever). In fact, during my first two years of college, I got into countless arguments defending the blasting of his music from my dorm room. According to everyone else, Drake circa 2008 wasn't even worth listening to. Ha! Five years later and how wrong were they? Well, considering that Drake's now a megastar with his choice of any celebrity girlfriend, how wrong was I about our future love story? Oh well :)

I could've been the only teenage with a slightly obsessive celebrity crush. Share below!

Adult, Shmadult.

Somehow, by some sordid magic of a sadistic sorcerer (dramatic much?) I stumbled upon about seventy thousand articles about what it means to be thirty this past weekend. Countless articles suggested items every self-respecting 30-year-old should have in their home, 25 things all 30-somethings should've learned in their 20s and other random gems that we're suppose to magically acquire by the time our third decade hits. After reading through said articles, fearful of the fact that I'd fail all imaginary tests, I could only check off like 3 things from each list. Fear of failure became reality with the final encouraging word, intended to assure me that I had plenty of time to master all of this adultery. (Not that kind of adultery!)

I wasn't assured. I was completely freaked out. As mentioned before in posts about crises and getting older, thirty looms nearer like a dark cloud and I'm terrified of standing in the metaphorical rains of disappointment and regret. And now I've been reminded of all things I either do wrong or not at all. I'm the kind of girl with spoiled milk in her fridge because she doesn't really like milk but purchases it as a 'staple grocery item' and shoves it behind the tastier beverages. I'm the girl who never has ketchup, like ever, and goes searching for leftover Heinz packets from last week's Seamless order. Although I'm really working on it, my apartment is rarely clean enough to have company, and if I'm ever early for a get together, you should check to make sure we haven't spun into another dimension. Simple things like fresh flowers make my day, and I'm liable to binge-watch the Disney channel when something ruins it. Every time I pull something out of the oven, I fear that I'll burn myself because I have the culinary prowess of a 4 year old (and because I've done it multiple times). In fact, sometimes I avoid cooking altogether for weeks and eat the most random combination of foods for dinner, like dried cranberries and asparagus tips. Basically, I'm the worst excuse for an adult ever.

But why? Why am I not capable of doing adult-like things? It's like I've been programmed to forget normal things like "hey, pick up some toilet paper, you've run out" or "maybe it's not such a good idea to go to bed at 6am." When I was 22, it wasn't so bad. My incapability of acting older than 16 was endearing in some ways. But at 26, I feel like I'm looking down the barrel of life and all of my failures are stacking up against the trigger, threatening to blow me to smithereens. That's a hell of an analogy.

The point is this: The closer I get to 30, the more I realize that being a young, 20-something who has like 6% of her life together is not acceptable. I'm not a "little girl" anymore as every real adult in my life would put it. Eventually (meaning I don't know yesterday!), I'm going to have to be responsible enough to take out the trash before it starts to smell, remember to iron my clothes at night instead of throwing on a slightly wrinkled dress and thinking it will fall out by noon, and not forget the due date on my electric bill. Seriously, thank goodness I don't have a child yet. I cringe thinking of the mayhem that kid would live through. Most days, I kinda feel like a chicken with its head cut off, wadding around in the waters and teetering on the cusp when a misstep lands me in the deep end of adulthood with huge waves crashing into my... neck? Again, the analogy.

Is being an adult as daunting a task for anyone else, or am I simply overdramatic? It's okay if it's the second one. Wouldn't be the first time.

Instagram Stalking Jared Leto & Other Random Things

I've been away from this pretty little blog for nearly a week, and this time I don't have Time Warner Cable to blame. Actually, my cable/internet service has been operating impeccably well, which is a welcome change considering the literal arm and leg I pay for the damn service. But no, my almost week vacation is mostly due to (1) feeling kinda speechless, and (2) being immersed in a few other things recently.

Correction. I'm never speechless. Any real-life friends who stumble upon this post would agree in a heartbeat, I've pretty much always got something to say. Even if it's said at the speed of light, half-English and otherwise incomprehensible. However, as far as blog posts are concerned, render me speechless. I can remember approximately 4 instances of sitting in front of a blank screen and nothing blog-worthy coming to mind. Those of you with 762 genius posts scheduled months in advance, teach me your ways!

On a happier note and addressing point (2) above, my brain has been swimming in all things interior decorating and novel writing for the past few days. More evidence that creativity may be transferable; never really disappearing but flowing between one medium to the next.  I wish I could say the creativity is showing itself in the form of pages written, but no such luck - the WIP is making progress in some ways but proving complicated in others, and it's a little frustrating to say the least. On the other hand, I've literally gone to sleep with thoughts of silk curtains and character sketches. I've watched a bagillion home decorating and house buying shows on the DIY Network and HGTV (me & Mr. Big&Tall's current addiction). I legit had a dream that I made a coffee table a few nights ago (Cue the creepy Halloween music). The anticipation of my gallery wall frames that should arrive in the post today is almost enough to have me waiting here by my door, which I may just do considering my H&M package went awol a few weeks ago, causing a huge fiasco resulting in me nearly attacking my postmaster through the phone because they couldn't just simply ring my doorbell. I mean, really? Hold on, wait a minute Mr. Postman. Bring back my damn package.  

So here are a few random pictures of my week, kinda like a recap. Except nowhere near as cool as most recaps on the blogging interwebs that show how interesting so-and-so's life is. It really only displays how random I am.

Gazed at a beautiful sunset during a long walk on the Pier.

Failed to resist the macaron shop on 23rd.

Iced a yummy strawberry-flavored cake. 

Laughed way too hard at this.

Marveled at how pretty my neighborhood is in the springtime.

Instagram stalked Jared Leto because hello, he's gorgeous

& an inspirational goldmine/sensational person.

Had an amazing eyebrow day. Thank you, Anastasia Brow Wiz <3

Arranged the prettiest roses in my DIY vase.

All in all, I have really missed blogging and commenting and everything while on my mini-hiatus. And I'm crossing my fingers for some blog-worthy things to happen this weekend.

xo

Music Playlist: Must Be The Feeling

Maybe it's the amazing warm weather and beaming sun in NYC (seriously, it's been mid-60s for the past few days), but I've been living in a faux summertime state of mind and listening to my Sweet Summertime playlist anytime I'm not banging out some cardio. I forgot how much I love this playlist. (Just imagine me dancing around my apartment screaming "versace, versace..."). I also couldn't remember the last time I posted one of my music playlists until a blog search confirmed that it was last December. That feels like ages ago. So just in case you were wondering what I'm listening to these days (although I doubt you were):

The tracks on this playlist are centered on one idea: they are all songs I think are amazing for one reason or another. Some just make me feel like moving (Get Lucky, Ven Conmigo), others remind me of my favorite memories (Run This Town). A few totally amp me up (Up In The Air, Scream & Shout), while others make me feel blessed to be in love and alive (XO, Top Of The World). The only common thread being that they all make me feel so good. And when spring is blessing us with such beautiful weather, what's not to feel amazing about? (Unless you're one of those places getting snow this week, then... I'm sorry? Be happy, anyway!).

Up In The Air by Thirty Seconds To Mars

Run This Town (ft. Rihanna & Kanye) by Jay-Z

Criminal by Justin Nozuka

Top Of The World by Bridgit Mendler

Vivir Mi Vida by Marc Anthony

Ven Conmigo (ft. Prince Royce) by Daddy Yankee

Scream & Shout by will.i.am. & Britney Spears

Must Be The Feeling (Flux Pavilion Remix) by Nero

Get Lucky by Daft Punk & Pharrell

The Drop by Bro Safari

XO by Beyonce

What have you been listening to recently?

You're My Bestfriend?

Warning: I'm venting. Beware of the spilling of my brain onto the page, overwrought with probable grammar faux-pas, missing commas and run-on sentences.
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I read a blog post a little while ago, written by Kari @ Not Quite Ginger, about the difficulty in making girl friends. It got me thinking about this particular friendship from college and it's pretty gruesome death. Imagine an 18-year old Kari starting her first year at a big state university over 200 miles from her native New York. I arrived with the brightest eyes because it was my opportunity to really "find myself" as they say, and I was eager to experience all that came with it. I'd also find out that semester how easy it is to change from strongly disliking to loving someone in the span of two months.

When I first noticed her in class (let's call her Rachel), I immediately disliked her. She had  waist-length, honey blonde braids, a color that clashed with her medium brown skin-tone. And she'd always wear oversized sweats to class, which completely engulfed her petite frame. These things may seem incredibly superficial, and admittedly they are. I try hard not to judge people based on physical appearances, but it was this in combination with the way she seemed like she could really care less about anything, including being nice to people, that made me avoid her. Somewhere in the midst of working together on a project, we became friends. Now, none of those first impressions went away. In fact, many of them were reinforced. She was little but explosive. And not only was she not very nice, but sometimes even downright rude, even to her friends. But there was more than just that, there was something about her that I liked. And although it was covered and almost drowned out by all that mess, it was enough to keep us close. I later realized that it was her loyalty. When it came to outside people, she was a fierce friend. Fierce.

I was never the girl who looked for a relationship. I knew if I met the right guy, it would all fall into place, but I was perfectly fine just doing my own thing although my friends usually had guys in their lives on-and-off. I'd relish in the chance to recharge and have 'me time' when they'd go off with their boy toys and I was left alone. Call it only child syndrome. By the end of my sophomore year, I met the right guy (my current boyfriend) and little did I know, disaster would strike. It seemed like the moment my time became occupied with someone else, Rachel felt abandoned, territorial even. It was shocking, surprising and suffocating. Basically all of the not-so-friendly 's' words you think of, including 'shitty.' I tried to appease her for a while, recognizing that although I'd been totally cool with my friends cutting out on me for some alone time with a boy, it was a relatively new thing for Rachel. (I reread that statement and honestly, that rationale is sound stupid and I should've told her to suck that shit up, but what's that saying again? Oh, water under the bridge.) The one night I decided to have a girl's movie night, everything fell apart and I wished I never agreed to it at all.

Most of the details are fuzzy now, but I remember all hell decided to break lose that night. I got a call from one of our girl friends in hysterics. She was underage, drunk off her ass and on her way to the hospital, having hit her head on the concrete. She said she didn't call Rachel because she didn't want to be yelled at. When I told Rachel what happened, she was infuriated, at first with our friend and then somehow in the mix of it all, she was upset with me. And in the midst of her fury, she took something very personal - something I had told her through tears and gritted teeth one night as she rocked me to sleep - and she used it against me, hissing the words at me. I stared at her with tight lips and watering eyes, and she glared back at me, defiant, unwavering. I knew Rachel was capable of this; I'd seen her tear other people apart (for sport sometimes or at least that's how it seemed). But I'd also overheard her tell people that that only friend she really cared about and really loved was me. And although I knew just how fucked up all of that was, how horrid of a person she could be to other people, she was never like that to me. Until that night.  After it became painfully clear that Rachel wasn't going to hastily take back what she said and apologize, I retreated to my bedroom, where I sank down into the corner and cried for hours because the person I thought I could trust with some of the deepest secrets had betrayed me and stared vacantly into my eyes as she did it. I listened to her berate me, scratch at my doorknob with a butter knife, bang on my door and drop various belongings that I let her borrow in front if it, before I packed an overnight bag and left the apartment. We're connected on some social media site but nothing more than pleasantries and I haven't seen her in more than 5 years.

There are moments when I'm really sad - sadness for the loss of a friendship that I thought meant so much to me back then, sadness for the memory of mistreatment I (and I think most women) will put up with for the sake of having a "good girlfriend", and sadness for the identity I lost in identifying with her. Sometimes I look back on the fact that we were friends and wonder how the hell that happened. I remember all that transpired throughout our friendship and wonder how I tolerated all the judgement and all the bullshit that came with it. But I know, beneath all the hurt and anger I feel about it, she taught me so so so much about myself, about what it means to be a black woman, a friend, a human being. It's strange how sometimes the relationships, the connections you come to regret the most are the ones you wouldn't be yourself without.

Like A Car Accident

Except not exactly. More like a bike accident. Let me explain.

I went for a run along the Pier yesterday, which was both as painful and pleasant as it always is to run along the water, except it was hot as balls. And with the warm weather comes lots of tours and visitors on the Pier in addition to the daily runners and bikers. At first, I didn't think anything of it. I'd occasionally have to run in place while large groups of people took their sweet time crossing the track, but as I'm an unbearably slow runner, it wasn't too much of an imposition. The dock at 42nd street was clogged with almost a half dozen tour buses so the "run/walk" track was littered with people just standing around, and it forced me to brave the "bike/skate" track which wasn't so bad and certainly better paved. It may seem silly that I avoid the smoother track in favor of a road that is somewhat bumpy at times and well-paved at others, but had you been side-swept by a biker and knocked to the pavement while running, you'd avoid it too. I digress.

What made me notice just how crowded the Pier was on this rare sunny Sunday in April was the mass of people I saw on the track at 34th street. From a distance, all I could see was a large group of people huddled together but as I got closer, I saw a few bikes spewed about the track and noticed that quite a few of the people had biking helmets on. When I was about a half-a-block away, I realized what was drawing the crowd. At first, all I saw was the sweaty back of a man crouched down on the pavement. His arms moved slowly and carefully as he seemed to be lifting something from the ground. As I ran past, I could see that something was actually a someone. In the middle of a crowd of nearly 20 people laid an injured biker who moaned as the man tried to help him sit up. He must have fallen from his bike (he was wearing a biking helmet as well) after colliding with something or someone at the crosswalk (I'm assuming). He was lying on his chest and as he leaned forward, I could see that both his mouth and the left side of his face were covered in blood. Not a pretty sight. Yet, there were so many people just standing around watching. At least 15 people stood in a tight circle around the injured biker, looking on with wide-eyes or talking to each other. A few were even on the telephone, calling an ambulance I'm assuming. And like a starburst, whose center is denser than it's extensions, a few bystanders lingered around the perimeter watching how everything played out. After I'd passed the group, I stopped for a moment among the bystanders, assessed whether I could be of any help, determined that I couldn't, and carried out with my slow crawl down the Pier.

As I walked home from the Pier, an ambulance whizzed past me with its siren blaring. I never really understood why people stand gawking at accidents. I'm not excluding myself from this because I'm not immune. We're drawn to them like magnets and simply can't look away. For some there's even an element of excitement as if life has become a real-life episode of CSI or something. Everyone wants to contribute, talk to reporters, relay what they saw or what they think must have happened. We all stare at the 6-car pile up, but we don't all have to linger around. That's the pang I felt as I continued my run away from the bike accident. Why are these people just lingering around? It was almost frustrating to me. For one reason, and admittedly the least important reason, having an accident is embarrassing. Whether you've been side-swept and knocked to the ground or flipped over the handlebars and bleeding from your mouth, it's embarrassing. You could be badly hurt or barely hurt at all, but your first instinct after you've tumbled to the ground is to pick yourself back up and pretend like you're fine, like it didn't happen. Carry on, nothing to see here! And when people stop and form large groups around your whoopsie, the embarrassment triples. My second thought is to question how this is helping. Does a group of nearly two dozen people surrounding one injured person really help anything? You know the saying "too many chefs in the kitchen"? I'm pretty sure it applies to "too many responders to the scene". There comes a point where the addition of helpers becomes more hurtful than helpful, and I'm sure for a bike accident, that number is somewhere around six. Because when everyone is helping, no one is actually helping.

Moral of the story: if you're just being nosey, keep it moving.
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CHECK-IN #?: I've had a rough few weeks and actually ended up gaining 2 pounds, which makes me want to scream. *Insert screaming emoji here*. But instead of sinking to the ground and burrowing myself into the dirt, I'm trying something to boost my workout - enter two-a-days a.k.a the death of me :/ I'll be sure to update how this works out if I live.

Weekend Clickity-clicks.

At least once a day, I find myself aimlessly browsing the internet and I usually stumble upon some pretty interesting things. It never ceases to amaze me how long I can occupy myself with my computer and a solid wi-fi connection. I'm usually lost in webpage after webpage until a phone call or hunger pangs pull me from its trance. Anyways, here's a list of links that hypnotized me recently:

I've only read 12/93, but it's surprising to see how many books we know were banned in the U.S. at one point.

What we don't want men to know.

Sometimes we are our own worst enemy. Here's 30 things we've gotta stop doing. I couldn't agree more with numbers 4, 7, and 20.

Good advice from not-so-good people. Ha, Bernie Madoff, funny, funny!

True Life: Hollywood Personal Assistant.

How to deal with being underemployed in today's economy.

These hilariously honest notes from children almost make me ready for one of my own.

The interpretation of Tris' fear landscape, specifically the fear of sexual assault, in the Divergent movie is actually pretty damn empowering, although it wasn't actually in the book.

Makeup really does have the power to change someone's entire face.

Information v. knowledge.

Finally got a trailer promo thingy for Girl Meets World!

Turns out natural cosmetics may not be safer after all.

This spring's trends include blush and floral, basically the inspiration for my bedroom decor.

Things are a bit different around The Kari Diaries, all thanks to this amazing website designer.

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Most of the weekend is suppose to be full of sun rays and 60+ degree weather, so in addition to the release of the The Draft, that's something to look forward to. Anyone plan to see it as well / Any interesting plans for the weekend? Regardless, hope you have a great one!


1.

Why I Don't Believe 'Equality For Women'

About a month ago, I discovered a new daily read. I say 'discover' as if it was an unknown, as if I were Christopher Columbus or something. Fact is, Raven's blog (Don't Quote The Raven) has been extremely popular looonnng before I even stumbled onto it. As is common with me, I read this post of hers and after leaving a longish comment, instantaneously felt inspired to write a post. (Not that I'm complaining, inspiration is never a bad thing!).

So, why don't I believe 'equality for women'? I guess the best place to start in explaining this is to question: why should I want it? The best answer I can come up with for the latter question (and what I've often heard) is that society views women as 'unequal'. Women are paid less than men for the same jobs, called 'bossy' or dismissed as 'bitchy' when they are simply acting like a boss or being passionate, looked at negatively for waiting to have children because of their career when men do the same thing. You know, a whole bunch of examples like that. I'm not flipping all that off - I am not oblivious to the fact that society handles women differently than men. My thing is, why should that determine what I personally believe?

To clarify, I strongly believe in supporting women. I've said it briefly before, I don't get why women hate on other women. We all gossip every now and then about this one's new haircut or that one's massive breakout, but to hate on another woman solely because she is a woman really is an entirely different thing. Which lends to my next point: although I'm all about supporting women, I'm not all about supporting women on the basis of women being oppressed as a gender. To me, that idea is more damaging than helpful. The moment I buy into that thought, it becomes my limitation. To place stock in that inherent inequality does nothing for me besides stifling my life, and this applies to both gender, race and any other -ism producing difference between one person and the next. For instance, when I was in high school, one comment (followed by multiple similar-minded comments) opened my eyes and could've changed my whole view if I let it. On a Friday night, I was hanging out with a few people, including my crush. I wasn't really paying attention to the conversation until I heard my crush speak up.

"But, why give a shit?", says my crush.
"Because not caring isn't nearly as cool as you pretend it is. It's depressing," responds someone in the group.
"I'm the only black kid in my whole class. They'll never see me as the same as them so why bother trying? You think I'm getting an A+ too? Nah, I'll take my Cs and graduate next year. Who cares", says my now-non-crush. 

I cared. In high school, I worked my little tush off basically teleporting from school to my after school Honors Society meetings to the gym so I could instruct my tiny tots gymnastics class and practice my own routines for 3 hours. I was running my metaphorical balls off (that might be the wrong metaphor for this post, yeah?). And to think that according to him, all of that was a waste of time because I'd just be seen as unequal to my white counterparts. I started losing interest in said stupid crush boy at that moment because, well, he was  loser with a capital 'L'. I wish I could say that this is an isolated statement, but it wasn't. Far from it. I've heard similar sentiments expressed in regards to wearing your best suit to an interview, speaking proper English, loading on extra-curriulars in college and countless other achievements. It was always "why try if they're just gonna give it to the white kid?". Adapted to the current topic, "why try if they're just going to hand it to the man?" And that negative outlook, perpetuated by the ideal that we are born with the stamp of inequality, isn't helping anyone. And I'm a brown woman, that's two strikes in some people's books. I just. I can't. I just can't. If I did, if I gave value to this societal view of me, if I give breath to its existence or waste time contemplating my second place standing, I'd spend my whole life trying to 'measure up'.

To "strive for equality", in my opinion, is to admit that I'm not just as good as some guy and his ball sack. Nope, don't think so. I'm aware of the political and social uses of this phrase as a tool to push for things like equal pay and proper rape shield laws, and in those contexts, it's a blessing. But as far as I am personally concerned, I'm not for women or for men. Not to diminish those strides, how I hold myself out to the world is based on what I know to be true and important. I'm a hard-working person, I know plenty of people (men and women) that I am smarter than and even more that are far more intelligent than I, my values are strong and my will is stronger, I know what I want even if I'm not always brave enough to reach for it, not being successful terrifies me but not trying terrifies me even more. Just like everybody else. I won't allow societal pressures to make me feel like the inferior gender or race. If I did, I'd drown in them. And frankly, God says I'm just a good as men, so whatever other argument is invalid.

Of course, all of this is simply my opinion, and I respect the opinion of others as well as anything that has to do with girl power (Spice Girls fans, standup!). As I stated in my comment on Raven's post (have you read that post yet?), "I'm not trying to hit that ceiling, and I refuse to strive for equality just because I have boobs and an amazing all-year-round tan. I don't want to make the same $ as men, I want all the monies - not because I'm a woman but because I'm a talented human being."

Word. All the monies to buy all the things.

1; 2. 

Heavenly Vase [DIY]

Every now and then I get the notion that I can make all the things. Putting a glass shelf on the bottom of my coffee table. Makeshift dividers for my dresser drawers. Repairing the wooden beam beneath my sofa. It's usually a fleeting feeling but it's kinda of a secret aspiration of mine.

I've been really intrigued by the 50,882,761 DIY pins of mason jars. Before Pinterest, a mason jar was just a container one used to can things. Now, it's a glass jar full of endless possibilities, hopes and dreams. When you combine that notion with the tiring search for a vase that isn't so large it makes my 6 blooms look lonely, you get me, fiddling and fussing with random crafting materials and trying to get something spectacular (or at least semi-presentable) out of it. I've seen many a glitter and sparkly, and although dazzled, I went for a solid blue with a metallic gold top to tie into my living room decor.

Here's how I did it, in case you want to out-do me, which shouldn't be hard at all. (Also, please forgive the coloring of some of these photos).

1 pint mason jar; Spray paint in "Heavenly" blue; Spray paint in "Metallic" gold

For a more opaque color like mine, let the first coat dry for about 30 minutes before going in for the second. While spraying (especially for the metallic), continue holding the nozzle down as you move the can. This help you get an even coat of color as opposed to the splotchy result from short bursts. 

And it's just that easy. Wait for it all to dry (it took around 2 hours for me), turn it upright and screw on the lid, and arrange your favorite blooms in it. A fine addition this shall make to my coffee table decor.  

Have you ever been pressured into DIY-ing by Pinterest? How'd it come out?

Maybe Carl & I Are Just Sneaky, Unethical Bastards.

Because Time Warner is officially the worst ever, this post is over a week late. Apparently, water from the roof has leaked into my internet cord, making it water-logged. No big deal or anything; just seconds from electrocution is all.

So here's my (unusually short) writing prompt fiction I promised, which for the record was pretty much finished, right before I almost got shocked to death.
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I come to you from the depths of studying hell, a place a never thought I'd revisit ever again. But alas, due to my infamous procrastination, I have yet to pass the MPRE for the state of New York. What is the MPRE, you ask? For purposes of this blog, let's just call it "the pointless exam created by a rare bunch of morally prudent attorneys to convince the legal world they are remedying the inevitable ethical breaches young attorneys find themselves in, like having sex with clients and reporting other attorneys for snorting a line of cocaine". You see how calling it the MPRE is much simpler?

After 2 hours of practice questions in preparation for tomorrow's exam, there are two thoughts lingering in my head: (1) why am I so damn unethical?, and (2) I need a break. Unlike most people who'd take a break to watch a little reality tv or surf the pinterest boards, I aim to engage my brain further. As per my post on Monday/Tuesday, I'm responding to the writing prompt I quoted there.

*As always, basically no editing has been done.

The middle drawer would barely open. Sure, Carl was snooping around her desk while she was on a coffee run, but still. Who stuff scotch tape dispensers and a full-size stapler in the smallest drawer of a desk, he thought as he forced the drawer shut, crushing the pens Amy crammed in before she left. Reaching towards the drawers on the left side of the desk, he looked up as a co-worker addressed him. "Amy will be back any minute to help you with whatever you're looking for," she said, raising a speculative eyebrow before walking on. But she wouldn't give me what I'm looking for. No way in hell. Carl paused with his fingers poised on the top drawer handle, and then, convinced he only has time to check one place, tugged open the very last one.

There's a mass of patterned scarves on top and as he lifts them, two golden hoops fall back into the drawer. Amy walked in with the purple one tied loosely around her shoulders this morning, but by noon, Carl noticed she wasn't wearing it anymore. That's how it always was with Amy. She bounced cheerfully into work clad in multiple accessories but by the time she was fully engrossed in some article or editorial piece, said items were nowhere to be found. This must be where bangles and pashminas go to die. In a stack on the left, amidst a few mini-snickers and at least a dozen little wrappers, were newspaper clippings. Carl wasn't surprised to see a few of Amy's articles in the pile, including her first feature in the Post in 2011 and her column on the shortcomings of the city irrigation system which garnered statewide attention. But, he was surprised to find his opinion piece on the mayor's controversial education platform, upon which Amy scribbled 'exactly!' near the concluding paragraph. Carl recalled her reluctancy to join in with the office gossips as they bashed it, claiming she had very little interest in educational matters. Attached to a Bronxville paper article announcing the many successes of their very own Amy Everett was a letter from Amy's sister, with the last line circled: Never forget that daddy always knew this would happen; no doubt that's he's telling everyone up there :) Carl smiled sadly at the emphasis placed on 'up there' and put the stack back into the drawer.

Bunched towards the back of the drawer was another scarf and Carl was sure he'd find what he was looking for beneath it. The scarf was saturated in something, which might have alarmed him had he forgotten her perfume accident yesterday. Pinching it between two fingers, Carl lifted the lavender and vanilla scented fabric to his nose before tossing it aside.  As he reached back into the drawer, his hand grazed the wood backing of a picture frame. Two smiling faces, a couple, looked back at Carl from the 5x7 photograph. It reminded him of how Amy would smile at the photo when it was upright on top of her desk, right by a framed family picture. Carl put the picture back as he found it and began feeling around the bottom of the drawer. His fingers fumbled over a mini-rubric cube, which Amy fiddled with during editor meeting on Mondays whenever she was bored (which was most of the time). His eyes widened as his fingers closed around something round, but all he pulled from the drawer was a mangled hair tie. He held it in front of him, examining the strands of chocolate brown hair dangling from it, mesmerized by how the tips glistened golden in the sunlight. When he heard Amy's distant voice down the hallway, he shoved his hand back into the drawer and and frantically swung it along the bottom until he heard the crunch of a piece of paper. Kicking the drawer shut, he hopped up and away from her cubicle with a ball of paper clutched at his side. When Amy walked into the room, her chair was still swaying from side to side.  
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