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