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

she's so plaid.

vintage tent dress (ebay), straw jaguar bag (gift from v) and beige granny boots (thrifted).

i am not a salad person and it sadly shows hahaha. but due to my latest promise to (slowly and silently) eliminate my thigh-fattening passions and replace them with a healthier menu instead of diving headfirst on the 'white girl diet'. so far i've forced myself to munch on a basic salad from safeway but i somewhat failed and added garlic croutons. agh i know i know! but alas we all need a little bit of cellulite in our step and i've got tons to flaunt.

oh and yes must have my strawberry wild smoothie. i was a jamba girl for the better part of my high school years. somehow i still can't get the sound of whirling blenders and the scent of 'boosters' outta my system.

a skinny fat girl.

 many are shocked when hearing that despite being a fat girl, i in fact, do not have a insatiable sweet tooth nor was i always this plump. frankly sweets are as potent as corny pick-up lines sung off-key by a fashionably malnourished english major with scraggly vegan-friendly shampoo washed golden locks and his second hand acoustic guitar. better yet, exactly a year ago i was a unhappy size 4. it's just somehow being sinfully enamored with all things alcoholic and buttery, living with a spouse who has the metabolism of a god, constantly either working or attempting to put my insomniac mind to sleep - somehow left me 50 lbs fatter. 

still i wish i could slap my thin self upside the head so hard for being so unsatisfied when in fact i'd give a kidney (an alcoholic one, still works great) to be that size once again.

and though i wholeheartedly believe in supporting the beauty of one despite whatever state her waistline may be, i'm just unbearably tired of having to deal with the nauseating thin forever 21 sales-team when asking for a size large and they instead slyly retort by offering directions to torrid. not that i'm insulted, it's just this sudden delightful fantasy to sit on them and not let off a la jackass 2 has been bugging me.

they say we should be able to find beauty that's deep within, i must confess at times even i cannot find my own when it's in four inches of dimpled French butter insulated skin. make it five on the weekends. i've decided once and for all to shove away the rocky road ice cream or perhaps donate it to our local gang of eternally drunken pentecostal bums. it'll be a rocky road, no pun intended, but nonetheless one that'll test my ability to discipline my hedonistic floppy ass.

just some old mug shots (if only it were so) of my own to help re-re-re-inspire me. yes all re's. dammit inspiration is hard to find hahaha, but oh well. i'm excited and anxious to get started. give it a week of no vodka or garlic bread. you'll start seeing posts of butter drenched entrees and delicious glazed little piglets. wish me luck by gorging on the mashed potatoes for me.