sequins and piercings.

[ 80's sequin tent mini thrifted, black tights random, fringe booties f21, sparkly hoops f21 ]

Despite being a madwoman on a sewing spree today, I wasn't able to get a second for an outfit shot. So I ended up rampaging through my old photographs from last winter and viola! Though most 80's sequin dresses tent to be either mother-in-law long or RuPaul's next sexy showcase, I instantly fell in love with this sequined mini. Not only does it have a unique deco-inspired sequins, its also a relaxed tent shape because honestly when you just want to dance and not worried about your ladies popping out...it's a dream come true.

And dammit...I'm insanely temped to get my snakebites done again. I loved mine to death but parted because they were incorrectly pierced and still hurt like hell after 1.5 years. But the debate is should I prove that one can be 20-something and rock 'em or should I leave 'em for the Hot Topic tots?


a russian with a chinadoll.

[ victorian chinaware mini thrifted, nude tights h&m, rings ebay, straw sunhat thrifted ]

As I had posted before, I'm a true Kubanskaya Russian at heart when it comes to seasons. I'm obsessed with rain. Seattle may actually become our next home simply because of the cold rainy climate. But due to V's pleading that I don't always dress like a displaced Russian or a high school goth, I forced myself to throw one something that definitely has more definition of spring than any other preferred item in my closet. 

As a child, my Mama had always collected dishes of all sorts. Czech, Chinese, Russian...you name it. I've just always been fascinated with the delicate print and design of antique dishware, simply because I've always been a klutz and well that says it all. I fell in love with this dress instantly because of the delicate detail print and sheer sleeves. Ended up pairing it with a thrifted sunhat, nude tights and beige platforms. For a "psychological" goth, this was quite a venture that I'm glad I tried on.


two years of sweet and sour.

[ spring floral dress thrifted, knee high socks h&m, nude tights f21 and red mary janes thrifted ]

Whenever V and I tell anyone that our anniversary date is 4/20, we always end up getting insane high-fives from the stoners and girlish "awww's" from the romantics. But what most don't know is despite adopting California and all of its majestic vegetables and herbs, we actually are more inclined toward brandy, white wine and butter. But yes it was what traditionalists would state as our two year anniversary. Dear holy deities, two freakin' years of a Grimm fairy tale with a pinch of Shrek and a dash of Love Actually. It's true love.

We honestly don't believe in celebrating anniversary's for just that one "special" day. Couples should strive to make every moment, whether its just another boring day or your 5th anniversary, to be breathtakingly meaningful [ teenage angst poet speaking here now]. We ended up grabbing 5 [liters] of cheap yet effective Chardonnay, tons of chedder/Swiss cheese, ricotta-stuffed shells, black cherry ice cream and watching our old videos/photographs/memories til we passed out [uncomfortably] in each others' arms. 

Of course, we ended up annoying each other with snores, bathroom breaks, habitual tossing and unbearable churning that'll make anyone dream of their own loving rendition of SAW. 


self-motivation with beer-handles.

[ 60's Mod mini thrifted, black opaque tights Target, black mary janes Hot Topic, wool beret gifted ]

I've been kinda, well quite freakin' incredibly, shy when attempting to pose for outfit shots lately. It's ironic as well because naturally I never shied away from any camera, having been the daughter of two really charismatic Russian musicians who lived everyday to capture each and every embarrassing moment that their darling kids made. 

As a teenager I became the typical self-conscious recluse: barely ate, head-banged to death metal, black eyeshadow galore, gaudy safety pin jewelry and a head filled with harsh life experiences that I translated into Russian rap. Eerily, as if a piece was noticeably stolen from me, I strayed from the cameras, gained a mountain of weight to 'protect' myself and hid from the world.

Five years later, I'm that girl again. Hiding from the camera, slyly offering to take everyone else's photographs. I haven't yet caught as to why I am behaving as such when, in fact, I should be embracing these vital and vulnerable stages in my sudden adulthood. Fuck yeah I'm not a size 4 right now, but how could I dare mentally postpone my happiness simply because of some dimpled cellulite and beer-handles? I need to smack myself upside the head, lmfao. Dolls and Kens...don't hesitate because of a few poundage, hell don't hesitate at all. There's more to life than just shying away from a photograph. If you can't see the value in that, then nobody else will. My lesson learned :D


food poisoning for the soul.

Imagine yourself casually strolling through a crowded grocery store only to bump into a frantic brunette who suddenly vomits all over you. I'm talking about mad fuckin' projectile vomit. Needless to say I was the brunette and that was a memory V and I will never forget. Despite being plagued with an seemingly forever ailing stomach, this bout of food poisoning is unbelievably vicious. All I can do is lay in bed, fight the nausea, daydream about being able to drink chocolate milk and get started on replying to everyone's incredibly supportive comments and advice. Much, much, much love dolls!


a mad infatuation.

Tiiu Kuik for Harper's Bazaar Russia

I'll be blatantly honest - I'm madly in love with these photographs. Maaaaadly. Period.


to the anonymous who try to be bitches.

To the *Anonymous* girl who called me a rude bitch:


I've nothing to conclude other than that you're [must be] such a war monger. Why can't we all just get along?

I am sincerely, whole-heartedly... confused.

Please, again, what happened? My intentions had to have been misunderstood.

This is my online diary. Such a diary liberates me, you, and EVERYONE to post as honest an opinion as could ever be conjured. Including an opinion as honest as yours. I applaud you, and salute the ovaries surely at the base of what can be none other than your rigorous spine

I love puppies, ice cream, poetry, photography. I bleed. I cry. I laugh. I smile. I sleep.
Anonymously yours,


a daily dose at your local meat-market.

[ vintage indian dress trhifted, vintage suede messenger bag gift, thrifted granny boots, gypsy earrings gift from peka <3 ]

had a mili-second to snap a few windy shots before making dinner after running through an over-crowded safeway. i swear nightclubs have nothing on our safeway. meat-market galore right after five folks. the women are in painfully high platforms and the men in gucci knock-off loafers. add on that three out of four have alcohol ready for purchase, enough cologne and perfume to suffocate and a city notorious for its lack of romance and viola. hilarious to witness the action as you wobble around in second day sweats, fox fur coat and a bowler hat. so somehow dressing up to grab some seasoned pastrami was an accomplishment fit for the occasion. as you can tell, i'm definitely a madwoman for anything ethnic.

where's your local meat-market?


princesses with plastic crowns.

harpers & queen. 

gazing through these photographs made me long terribly for the atlantic ocean and long lost romance we all secretly leave behind when we make the painful decision to grow up. the enviously full lips, the bittersweet romanticism and the antique lace leaves me nostalgic for a time when fairy tales were reality and princesses had plastic toys'r'us crowns. 

aaaaaand yes a little bit of a russian fairy-tale from alexander rybak. 
america's disney sweethearts have nothing on him...nothin'!