yes miss month of may.

i’m talking to you.


you and your skimpy, three lettered, query-conveying, pert name.


yes. you may.


always one of my favorite months {don’t i say that every thirty days though?} and not because tis me birth month—and on that note, thank to those of you whom read my last post thoroughly…who knew that lying about my age could generate such lovely compliments….#ontosomethinghere.


but back to the little month that could, sandwiched right before everyone’s summer, bridal, favorite: june.

 i’m expecting magic sister. the kind of magic that cartwheels me across my lawn before bedtime, leaping me, fully clothed, into a hotel swimming pool, or reclines me alongside a beast, under twinkling stars and eye-shading moonlight, where we listen to the boats in the bay and divulge deep, dark secrets not even our journals know about.

miss may, you and i have a date with alchemy, and i’ll totally go to first base with you after dinner and the great gatsby movie. 


“first base” is kissing right?

i’ve never understood the “bases.” 

hockey is a very confusing sport ya know?

i was always so embarrassed not to know these types of things in high school; one can only play with her split ends for so long. 

i was more of a keep it in the concessions stands girl. i mean, hello? nachos, peanuts, ice-cream, pretzels with mustard? no contest.


are you still there?


so here i go, into this new month, looking for magic to make.

off to clop, clop down my runway lined with canine hair, 2lb weights, spin shoes, coffee mugs, yoga mats and macbook airs. 

i only see faces i adore.

faces who inspire, lift me up, and fill me with such silly gratitude i have to put rocks in my pockets..

but not the virginia woolf kind. 

and of course i do this all in a couture, ball gown. preferably valentino.


like mr. cool j. so eloquently pontificates: “mama says knock you out! i’m gonna knock you out”

you’ve been warned.