Kitties, I love you

Dear Pussycats,
Today I will discuss my long history and love of cats, specifically Netflix the cat. 

When I was a very young girl all I ever wanted was a tiny cat of my own. I would run around our strawberry farm all the time pretending I had a feline companion that was accompanied by a trio of tiny imaginary mice. I'd even leave bowls of water and tiny treats out, but I quickly learned imaginary pets just wouldn't cut it. 

Then one beautiful day my mom and dad brought home the ultimate present, Lilly, aka the sweetest cat ever. Lilly was a soft grey tiny thing with baby blue eyes and a purr that sounded like a talking doll that had been left in the rain. 

When we played together she would never scratch me, nor did she show any visual signs of distress when I would keep her in a love-chokehold, (because as a 5-year-old, I actually didn't know any better). I loved her so much, I would even wear my hair in tiny lop-sided pigtails to match her soft, speckily grey kitty ears. She became my first best friend. 

Then one very sad day, I came home from school to find out Lilly was hit by a minivan. I was devastated, I felt like my tiny heart was ran over by Tonka truck. Without the emotional support of Lilly how was I going to make it through my exhausting first year in school (I've been an anxious hotness since pre-K).

My dad knew the best way to stop four little girls from crying, was to distract them something with something new and equally fuzzy. He brought home two new cats, Tahi and Moana, and while they were beautifully exotic with caramel striped coats and piercing emerald eyes, they were feral and instantly hated us. I tried to play and become their den mother, but they were not having it. These cats are documented as my first haters ever - there was no reason for them to not like me, but they refused to, (I also know they were totally taking shit about me behind my back...RUDE).

A year and many cat scratches later, we moved away from the farm, and within our first few months living on Oahu the cats packed up their tiny rucksacks full of catnip and loose sweater threads and ran away, to never be seen again. This time I was not as devastated. These cats were so scary and evil, when they were locked inside their cages, they figured out how to open the crate from the inside out by shoving their scary paws through the cage door and opening the lock with their claws! Despite the fact that they were pure evil, I still had an empty place in my heart. All I wanted was a very sweet kitten to call my own, damnit! The kitten gods were against me!

When I was 7 years old my mom surprised us with news that we could get a cat at our local Humane Society. This was just about as exciting as when N*Sync dropped their "No Strings Attached" album. The deal was sweetened when we realized they were having a two for one deal going on, which means we got two cats, meaning 8 fuzzy paws to hold!

Baby-me was thinking, "f*ck yeah, this is the dream!" We picked one brown kitten and a black kitten both with hazel green eyes and marble stripes. The brown kitten was named "Julia", which we instantly decided was a really lame name for a cat, and the other didn't have a name. We quickly changed "Julia" to "Pickles" and we decided the other one would be called "Roxy."

As the cats grew up and grew into their personalities Pickles quickly became a crowd favorite. She was fat, she'd always sit directly on whatever homework I was working on, and her fat rolls would cover the entire perimeter of my textbook. She let us put hats on her and slip off our beds in slow-motion sliding on our comforters, it was so funny.

Roxy on the other hand was thin and prickly and she didn't even bother to play with us. To make a proper analogy Pickles was kinda like John Goodman and Roxy was like John Waters, except they were both female.

Then the cat gods were against me again when one morning about 4 years later, I woke up and my parents told me that Pickles had a heart attack cause she was too fat and had passed away that morning.

I got down on my knees right there and yelled to the heavens with my tiny fists up in the air "THE WRONG CAT DIED!"

Flash forward a few years, Roxy and I lived like awkward roommates, she would do her thing and ignore me with this awkward Elephant in the room sort of vibe. I just wanted to yell at her "WHAT'S YOUR DAMAGE ROXY?"

While I was living in the dorms Roxy got accustomed to lying on my bed and basically told me that it was her domain, but that she guessed we could "share" it.  Every time I'd have my computer out to watch Netflix she would casually come by and rub her face, entire body and tail against the sides of my computer, like that old school nokia game Snake, and ask me what I was watching with her blinky hazel eyes.

I looked over at her lil face peeking over my macbook and I looked into those piercing bullet eyes and thought, "I will call you Netflix and I will have you as my own."

And with the name-change came an absolute personality change too. We went from awkward acquaintances to absolute homies, rolling catnip blunts and ghost riding the whip around my neighborhood, aka watching hours and hours of shitty TLC reality TV shows and weird documentaries cuddling.

Now that I'm away I miss that stupid little furball more than I ever thought I would. Netflix has taught me that it's never too late to change your impression of someone. It took me about 13 years to learn to love her, but in true Beauty and the Beast fashion she eventually won me over.

While I've quickly adopted my adorable boyfriend's adorable cat Cookie, Netflix will always be my main bitch.

Life's too short to hold grudges pussycats, and your former mortal enemy could easily be your homie. So believe in yourself and do the right thing, okay?
And that is the tail of Netflix the Cat. (Gah ha ha)



Falling In Love with Hawaii (all over again)

Dear Pussycats,

Words cannot how amazing I feel being back home. Maybe it's the surge of vitamin D on my skin, the 20+ new freckles on my face, hugs from those I love dearly, or maybe just my sunshine-baby-powers recharging, but I'm the happiest I've been in awhile. 

It's crazy how they say that you only appreciate your hometown when you move away from it, because it's so totally true. I used to think Hawaii was the "ughhh", full of carbs and limited possibilities, but that's simply not the case.

While I'm not packing my bags and moving back home for good, Hawaii will always be my "happy place." 

The second I got in, I knew I was home when I ran into a friend I hadn't seen in forever, (because in Hawaii, you can't walk 4 square feet without running into your friend from elementary school, your exboyfriend's mom or a teacher you once had for a semester). 

Stepping out of the Honolulu International Airport I felt the soft sweet air whisper, "aloha, girl", the palm trees bowed their heads to me, and all the clouds floated away, leaving me in awe of a perfectly sunny day in paradise and the place I'm lucky enough to call home.  

My days on this mini-vacation have been full of crazy wedding planning and the occasional tears, but the overwhelming happiness that has been radiated from my sea-stars (sisters), friends and family is hopefully going to be enough to recharge me until the next time I'm back.

It's no secret that I'm stressed, tired and a little bit blue or that I've been using this blog as an outlet for all my sad feels, but I think I'm going to actively start making an effort to write about all the things that I love, weekly. I've said it once before, I fall in love every day, might as well tell you about all the things I love!

I used to associate my home with teen angst, feelings of isolation or even failure, but now I ONLY associate it with warm hugs, family, champagne toasts, morning toast and coffee, floating mindlessly in the azure sea and the occasional sunburn.


A Year Recap Since I've Moved.

Dear Pussycats,

I moved to New York on May 26th, 2014, it’s been almost a year, and while I’m sitting on this 10 hour flight with no WiFi on my way back home for a visit, I thought I’d reflect on the absurd amount of things I’ve learned in this past year.

As cliché as it is, it’s true when they say, “If you can make there, you can make it anywhere.” I never quite understood what that meant until I moved to New York, and while it’s a positive spin on the truth, in reality, this cliché means, “it’s f*cking impossible to make it in New York.”

Now, I don’t know if it’s just my naturally high-strung and occasionally pessimistic attitude, but New York City has a way of tearing you apart to a level of absolute nothingness. Like a small Midwestern town that has been hit by a twister, New York City leaves you feeling striped of things that once mattered, left in a dizzy haze, you almost have no time to process what is actually happening, and no padlocked bombshelter to protect you.  Spitting you out naked and completely vulnerable to insecurity and fear, New York doesn’t care who comes in its way or who is there to stay. It’s not New Yorkers who are rude, it’s New York itself, which is terrifying on one level, but New York also has a way of teaching you who you actually are underneath it all and beating you down of any ego you thought you had…Rude, I know.

Moving here, I got a complete reality check about things I thought I knew. I don’t know if I would call myself naïve or simply pompous (it depends how nice I’m being to myself that day), but I used to think I had the answers for everything.

I used to think my anxiety and sad days lied within the fact that I lived on a tiny rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I used to blame it on school, and my lack of a social life and I was dead certain that when I moved to a big city like New York, everything would be different. I literally want to die when I think about the time when I was 13 and I called my 18-year-old sister a “freeloader” because she moved back home after her first year in college. In my past opinion, moving out was easy and anyone who didn’t want to or couldn’t was lazy and didn’t have a dream like mine. Boy, was I wrong.

Learning that maybe I don’t always have the right answers, maybe I’m not always correct and maybe I don’t know what’s best for everyone was a groundbreaking revelation for me.  I thought to myself, “but, I am Caelan Hughes, I’ve had a career path since I was in elementary school, I’ve turned my nose up to other people because, ‘that’s not what I would’ve done.’” I genuinely used to think “making it happen” was a simple formula and that happiness would be achieved if you do all the right things and eventually hit a happiness plateau. But moving away, my personal problems came to surface, and just like the bastards they are, didn’t stay behind in my old teenage bedroom with my Britney Spears poster. Life often feels totally out of my control, and I’ve learned now that I have to give into the overwhelming tidal wave and just let it suck me under because fuck it, I don’t know any better!

I learned that fashion isn’t a main priority for me anymore. Call it depression or an empty wallet, but as you know from the direction of this blog, my interests have turned from fashion and clothing, to my insane emotions and sad feels. Winter really broke my heart when it came to fashion; I had no clue what I was wearing, (should I have bought mittens?) and what I was doing.  The only thing I knew was that I needed to stay warm and get from the subway station to my home as quickly as possible and occasionally stopping at McDonalds to eat my sad cold feelings (they taste great with sweet and sour sauce, girl).  

That being said, I feel the same sort of way about having an “internet presence,” I used to so badly want to be well known and well received on the internet and make money off my blog some day, but I kind of just don’t care anymore.

A lot of this had to do with the fact that it came to my attention that maybe I’m not the best writer. Someone very close to me said that my work was “good” but wasn’t “great.”  He wasn’t the only one who noticed, I constantly boggle my own mind with how many technical errors I catch myself making at one of my jobs. That paired with no major fishes biting at my resume or previously published work, all resulting in more feeling-consumption and tear-production.

Now, I’m not trying to tell you that everything is gloomy days with a double scoop of Elliott Smith, however, I can honestly admit that in addition to my busy schedule, I avoided writing on this blog because I just couldn’t force myself to be the happy and bubbly girl I once was. While I was naïve about how hard getting a writing job is, the difficulty of doing online school while working and trying to have an internship, what to do when your rent check bounces and what living through a long, bitter winter does to your brain, I used to have this attitude where it didn’t matter because I used to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I hate to be corny, but on more days than not, the light seems like it’s dimming.

There are days I look around my surroundings stunned and delighted, and I whisper to myself, “wait, I’m actually here,” waltzing down the streets of a city that used to be a dream. Watching B-roll scenes on TV shows of my work neighborhood and places I ate lunch I’m reminded that if I’m going to make it happen anywhere, here is the place to do it. Then there are days where a shell of myself floats through my monotonous days, not caring enough to wash my hair or pick out a cute outfit, relying solely on my daily three cups of coffee and the 10-minutes-long bathroom breaks where I cry.

Returning to Hawaii for a little break is important to me because I want to reset everything. Thinking about the girl who so eagerly was ready to leave her past behind her, with tangerine colored hair, an unpaid internship, and as corny as it sounds “a dream,” is both humorous and sad for me. Compared to the often-miserable, overworked girl with grown-out roots, who has gained both knowledge about the harsh cruel real world, and 15 pounds after her first brutal winter, it’s like night and day.

I can never promise you that I will every write daily on this blog again. But I know that getting out all these feelings right here on this long-ass flight, has made me feel a million times better. I feel like one of those ducks that survive an oil spill and need to be cleaned up by scientists using Dawn and orange rubber gloves. The tiny shell of my soul will soon be floating into my moms arms to soak up all the love, TLC and Aloha spirit that my family and this beautiful place I call home has to offer.

Let me know what you'd like to see from me and this blog, I look forward to writing more and a more positive outlook.


DAILYSASS Guide to Winter

Dear Pussycats,

So I'm sure many of you know that I'm from Honolulu, and this is not only my first bitter winter ever, but my first winter ever, period.

So here are a few thoughts I've had over the past few months:

I can't remember the last time I had an iced coffee.

Gloves are like Milli Vanilli or Peanuts and Butter - better together than apart. One glove literally means nothing to you unless you want to do some sort of weird MJ tribute.

You will find yourself violently angry at anyone when freezing. It's kind of like Pedestrian road rage - someone who might accidentally bump into you trying to grab the Half and Half at Starbucks will become Voldemort.

Delivery Food is the greatest invention since the Boy band, and (y'all know how much I love me some Zayn).

Snowboots are actually essential. Doc Martens are completely POINTLESS, the icy streets of NY will become a damn slip-and-slide if you don't have the proper (and usually always ugly) equipment. 

MOISTURIZE MOISTURIZE MOISTURIZE, because you will turn into a scaly Godzilla baby in 2 seconds if you don't.

I can't remember the last time I had swamp ass, or heavily perspired for that matter (which is actually the bomb).

Cuddlebuddys are essential.

If you double-up on pairs of tights, you can still wear your favorite summer dresses and not totally hate yourself.

I never thought I'd look forward to 30 degree weather, but compared to 2 degrees, I'm in Sandals Jamaica.

And despite the fact that I look ridiculously cute in winter wear (see above photo), I'm ready for my little piggies to see the sun again.

What are your tips and thoughts this winter?


Happiness...My Fickle Friend

Dear Pussycats,

Happiness has been a fickle friend of mine for years now, and only after having a conversation with an unlikely friend, I’ve finally begun to understand a little bit more about happiness, and a lot more about myself.

To begin this story, I need to take it all the way back to the day I was born. Out of the womb, my mother said I’ve always been a thinker. She explained that I had a very concerned look on my face, like I had a million things on my mind, I wasn’t sad neccessarily, but I was thinking.

Fast-forward to being a young child, where I unfortunately got stuck with the endearing nickname “stink” based off my “stinky personality.” There are and have always been two huge sides of me that constantly contradict each other. 

I am a bubbly person, I want to be everyone’s best friend, I enjoy making people laugh and smile... But I can also be mean, sad, I used to be the best smack talker you’ve ever seen, and I’m prone to jealousy, because inside I get these pangs of sadness and anger.

For someone who spends a majority of my day smiling and laughing, I’m very self-critical and experience waves of sadness throughout my month or even day (and not just during that time of the month, you pig). I frazzle easily, I get irritable often, and I feel like I'm constantly letting others and myself down.

I get jealous, irritated, and judgmental over people that I used to referred to as “dummy dreamers” or people who seem a little too idealistic about life, almost because I physically cannot think that way.

I’m more pessimistic than optimistic under the surface, and for my entire life all I wanted was perfection. When I was in middle school I worshiped young female celebrities for their clothes, boyfriends and what I believed was “perfect life.” Even though I was aware that my life wasn’t perfect, I genuinely believed that someday my life would be perfect, and I would hit a happiness plateau and that would be it. Done. Perfect life. Happiness, all-day every-day. Donezo.

Part of this might have to do with the fact that I idolized my mother for her calm temper, classic elegance and warm heart (shout out to my mom, Happy belated Birthday mama). As a young child I assumed when I grew up I would be just like her, with my dream job, living in an amazing city and have a ridiculously calm and cool demeanor, which was nothing like my constantly turnt/over enthusiastic/Foot-in-mouth personality. 

When I was 10 I even bought a mini tweed Hilary Clinton-type matching pantsuit and would run around my room with my mom’s old briefcase acting like I was super busy and pretending I got calls on my giant brick nokia cellphone (you know the one with light up buttons and the game snake on it?). Just pretending I had a dreamy life, all while beating myself up over the fact that I was the farthest thing from perfection.

My quest for perfection manifested itself in many different ways. I have had MANY short-lived relationships, because the second it wasn’t peaches, cream and puppy-dog-feels, I immediately thought, “well, this isn’t perfect, I’m not happy, he must be the reason DONE.” This also could have to do with me settling for the first guy who liked me, because being liked feels good, and I am addicted to any good-feel I attain.

If you’ve been reading my blog over the years, you might remember September 2011 – February 2013 and my ever-changing hair colors and random piercings. I kept trying to change my exterior appearance because maybe then I’d be happy.

This happiness void in my heart was filled with instant fixes like sprinkles donuts and hugs from my mom. It was filled with booty calls and new clothes. However, the pothole in my heart was never quite filled.

I kept thinking when I’m out of high school I’ll be happy. When I have a new job I’ll be happy. When I’m out of retail I’ll be happy. When I have a boyfriend I’ll be happy. When I move to New York I’ll be happy. When I have a new boyfriend I’ll be happy. When I’m done with school I’ll be happy. When I have a better job I’ll be happy.

But recently I found myself sad again. “This makes no sense” I thought, I have a job at where I make good money and get pretty dresses, I have an amazing internship at Marc Jacobs where I get to write for an amazing team, I live in New York, I have great friends and I even have a sweet boo…but I’m still sad.

Talking with that unlikely friend made me realize, it might just have been me this whole time (and a little bit of the weather, shout out to this ridiculous bitter cold).

Having these unrealistic EXTREMELY HIGH expectations for myself has made me miserable my whole life.  There is no hair color or boyfriend or job that can make me happy if I can’t even appreciate what I have now.

I know this may be obvious, and on one whole afterschool-Reading-Rainbow-special way, I totally am aware that unrealistic expectations are no good. I shouldn’t put too much pressure on myself and I should be proud of the person that I am. Hannah Montanna totally tried to teach me that “nobody’s perfect” and that I need to work it, but maybe working it isn’t so simple.

I’m sure there is some statistic in the world about how many of us are actually pessimists, and maybe you could even constitute my symptoms as a sign of acute depression, but I wanted to write this to see if anyone else feels the way I do and has had a similar revelation recently. It also really makes me sad that I haven’t been inspired to write lately, which ties into these sad winter vibes I’ve been having.

Part of me still wants to blame sitcoms, fashion magazines and even tumblr for these unrealistic expectations, but we have to remember that that stuff has been there, and will always be there, and that new Kenzo sweater, or hair color, or city, or soy candle that smells like dreams will not fix your problems (they might just make your financial issues worse).

So here are a few more tips for how to feel better when you’re sad:

1)   ALWAYS be kind to Walgreens/Target/CVS employees (or any cashier, barista or retail associate) - I always be sure to ask them how their days is going, be patient with them and then wish them a great day, which sounds something like “I hope you have a great evening and you don’t have to deal with any mean, annoying people.”

2)   Make sure you have You-Time – I recently took myself on a date that involved Mexican food and lush facemasks while in beautiful lingerie. Sometimes when you’re sad it’s good to go a long time without talking, it always makes me feel better. This also includes forcing yourself to do something you love, such as writing for me, even if nothing is flowing, just try.

3)   Clean – omg clean zone, clean brain in my opinion. I can never be REALLY sad when my room is clean and my candles are burning and I’m cozy in bed.

4) Cry in the Shower- you know how good that is, I don't even have to tell you.

5)   Call someone you haven’t talked to in awhile or someone who matters a lot to you – it will A) distract you from your ish and b) remind you that you are loved and that you matter.

6)   Lastly, don’t beat yourself up – do this one for me, as a girl who constantly told myself that I wasn’t good enough, be kind to yourself, give yourself a lot of hugs and moisturizer and treat yourself inside and out like the princess you are.

I hope I helped just a tiny bit,


P.S. Listening to One Direction doesn’t hurt. Hehe.


~February Vibes~ + Tips!

Photo Credit: Marc by Marc Jacobs purchase book mark here
Dear Pussycats,

Today marks a very special day for me! Call me a complete narcissist, but today officially marks my favorite month ever, not only is it Black History Month and Valentines day ~lurv month, but it is also my birthday month, which, if you know me at all, it's kind of a big deal.

(Also important, I am by no means equating my birthday and valentines day with Black History month, it is EXTREMELY important to look at the deplorable history of this nation and remember the amazing people who rose above diversity and racist insanity,and made our world a better place especially with the recent events in Furgesson and just anytime you turn on the damn news.)

I haven't written in awhile, but today marks a great opportunity to get back into the writing/blogging game, because why not!

To start this month off right, I've made a list of things I've learned over the past few months of living by myself, that might help you out.

1) Moisturize your feet and wear socks to sleep - I promise you, your feet will transform from dinofeet to babybuttfeet right before your very eyes.

2) Precut Vegetables are pretty fucking amazing - It will cut your cooking time in half (see what I did there) throw them into a pan, marinate and you instantly have something healthy and yummy ANDDD who the eff knows how to cut an onion correctly anyway.

3) If you're ever late for work or school DO NOT SAY ANYTHING - If you make a big deal about it with a list of excuses,you are making a mental note in your manager or bosses head that you were late and they will remember it. Multiply that by however many times you weren't quite able to hop up out of bed and turn your swag on-on time, and they'll forever think you aren't the punctual princess you truly are. Just slip in, don't say anything and they probably didn't notice anyway.

4) If you ever mess up, just apologize - Every time I've done goffed and ran off a list of excuses for why I've done goofed, I've learned the hard way that that was not Gucci. Literally NO ONE wants to hear your excuses. Just give an earnest apology without any false promises of the "next time" and just make a mental note to yourself to try to do better next time. It's okay to mess up guys, life is hard sometimes.

5)Proof reading is NOT for chumps - Even if grammar isn't your forte,(which it still isn't necessarily for me) proof reading is important, and 99% of the time, I do find a mistake when I look back.

6) Do not set multiple alarms - Set one and just wake the fuck up! Try to remember how good it feels to wear your favorite pink robe, sip your coffee leisurely and actually enjoy your morning while the sun rises and says "what's good?" to you. You'll have time to get full glitz, make yourself a yummy healthy lunch and you probably won't forget anything you might actually need.

7) Before leaving your house repeat the mantra, "Wallet, Phone, Keys,is everything potentially flammable unplugged or extinguished?" - this goes without saying

8) There's no kind way to say "I wasn't talking to you" - so don't beat yourself up if you feel like you just came across as a rude wench.

9) It is kind of rude to stop people mid story and say "you've told me that story before" - either sit through it again when amongst company that hasn't heard the story, or if you're alone,politely chime in with something like "oh yes, the time you rode the Jetski with Mickey Rourke, I love that story!"

10) When there is a grey cloud hanging over your head, it is 100% okay to put on sweats and give up for the day - some days are just not you days, and knowing when to give up is fundamental in your personal health and well being.

That being said, I want this month to be a month of self love and introspection. I want to write a lot, take a lot of bubble baths and take Jane Austen-like pensive walks. I want to get to the root of my troubled feelings and grey cloud vibes and cheer myself up from the inside out.

Bonus tip: If Netflix asks you "Are you Still Watching *insert TV show*" more than 1, it probably means you should get off your arse and do something productive. Netflix IS judging you.

I hope you have a great February and tune into some major tips that I will be bringing out. Also don't think I just proposed Sex and the Awkward Girl, this month I will tell even more tinder date horror stories <3

Keep it sassy,
Caelan aka Sasssquatch


It's 2015, What the Eff!

Dear Pussycats,

I can't believe it's 2015 already, like actually though, what the eff you guys!
It seems like just yesterday I was watching Back to the Future 2 and looking forward to 2015 for pizza hydrators, while waiting for Tupac to come back from the dead, and look at me now...without either of those things...and throughly disappointed :(

Anywho, I meant to give you an update when I reached 6 months living in New York. I meant to give you an update when I was featured on BBC's World Have Your Say discussing Ferguson. I meant to give you an update when I met a really dreamy boy. I meant to give you an update when I got offered a position writing copy for Marc Jacobs corporate. I meant to give you an update when my blog reached it's 4 year anniversary. I'VE BEEN MEANING TO GIVE YOU AN UPDATE, PERIOD.

But now, as I sit here, in my 2002-Paris Hilton-esque Ugg Boots, surrounded by clean laundry, I finally have a moment to pause and reflect.

I love this blog more than anything in the world, I love you readers more than I love donuts, and I can't believe that on December 24th 2014, I reached 4 YEARS on this blog (not to mention 7 months living in New York).

These four years have been absolutely insane for me. I began this blogging journey as a day-dreaming drooling 17-year-old senior in High School, and now I'm a college graduate who lives and writes in Brooklyn, New York. I didn't have a very eventful High School career (Or at least, I'd like to forget most of it anyway) and as corny as this sounds, I think I started this blog right around the time my life actually begun, and it's been pretty fucking great so far.

This blog has been there for me through countless heart-aches, heartbreaks, major holidays and life events, traveling, and even through the tragic death of a few friends. Having this outlet as constant in my life has proven invaluable to me and my development as a semi-sweet human morsel.

I had no intention of turing this piece into a corny-ass, Class President Graduation speech about how in these four years we've grown so much, and how we'll remember these moments 4eva and we're setting off into a sea possibilities, but in a way this does sort of feel like equally as big of a milestone.

Thinking about how far I've come since I began this blog four years ago, makes me realize that I'm fucking capable. Long gone are my days of endlessly scrolling on tumblr, dreaming of a life beyond mine and just hoping that I'd one day finish school, live in New York, and a gal about town someday. While my days are still sometimes sad, and I spend more evenings than I'd like to admit, watching Netflix and wearing fat pants, I've done a lot and I'm fucking excited for the future.

Look forward to me yearly New Years Resolution video coming to this blog soon.

And lets make a good 2015 together! Sound good? SOUNDS GOOD~

 keep it sassy,