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making: pitchers of green tea to keep iced at all times // reading: old food magazines

cooking: channels are a necessity // drinking: coffee every morning on the porch

wanting: this yarn tapestry // looking: through a regular’s family photo album

playing: with my short(er) hair // deciding: to include more black in my wardrobe

wishing: for a long fall // following: a long lost girl crush on instagram

enjoying: the lack of humidity // loving: the pharmacy a block away that carries beer + wine

wondering: how delicious a bourbon latté is  // waiting: for a day in boston

considering: making one of my bedroom closets into a cigar rolling room // needing: proofs

watching: orange. is. the. new. black. // hoping: we have a smooth service

marveling: at how amazing nick’s chicken liver pâté is // smelling: pizza doughs being grilled

wearing: black tank with leather detail + exposed zipper, a nude lip // disliking: riesling

admiring: janine tollady‘s life // sorting: through old birchbox products

buying: probably that yarn tapestry // getting: anxious for fall

lusting: to live in the dean hotel // eating: my third gluten free peanut butter cookie

knowing: i need to visit new york soon // thinking: how crazy lucky i am to have gotten this apt

bookmarking: september twenty seventh // liking: sunchokes

opening: the newest to my popcorn collection, sweet + spicy // feeling: fairly fatigued

 

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Thought Catalog published this article called “6 Reasons Why I Think #100HappyDays is a Waste of Time” with six points (bolded below) developing their idea. Sure, we’ve all seen the jokes, the #happytrods references, the #100crappydays. Not everyone is going to be behind every project, not everyone is going to like every project. But it’s not about what other people think right? Isn’t that what happiness is about anyway?

 

1. Happiness is usually felt, not seen.

Happiness isn’t about watching the server at Olga’s frantically look for your number so she can deliver your pulled pork sandwich with extra cole slaw? What about when you stand so close to the base of the Providence Art Club and feel utterly overwhelmed with its beauty? I understand happiness is a “feeling” and may not need, or want for that matter, to be articulated in a picture, but let’s not make this harder than it has to be. #100HappyDays has a simple request: each day, take a picture of something that makes you happy.

2. Other people won’t get it why I’m happy with this, with that.

Isn’t that the point?

3. I am generally happy as is.

You’re right. I guess we should never try anything new because at this moment, I am generally happy as is.

4. Being always on the lookout for the “big one” unlinks you with the universe.

Alright, I’m not going to lie to you. Throughout those one hundred days, I was constantly on the lookout for what my #happytrods post will be. But in my case, it did benefit me. The search has led me to neighborhoods I’ve never been, passions that have developed, and ideas that would have never been created. It has led me to realizing it takes me three eggs before perfecting the ideal runny yolk, how my lack of storage space has forced me into creatively displaying my necklaces and shoes, and how my daily purchases can tend to stay within one color family.

 5. Happiness strikes quickly.

“Life’s most genuine moments of happiness are those that usually happen within a blink of an eye, without any screen in between you and the magnificence, and with no buttons to push.” Yes most moments of happiness are within a blink of an eye, but how amazing is it that we can now capture these moments? There’s always a story behind a photograph, maybe something dramatic and fierce, or maybe that it took you so long to construct the photograph that you didn’t have time to eat it but fortunately, the beauty of the photo satisfied that hunger.

6. Sharing my happiness doesn’t make me any happier.

It does. It makes me happy to see other people enjoying something aesthetically pleasing that has been put into the world. It makes me happy to know that someone looked forward to seeing my posts every day, even if it was just Momma. It makes me happy that 3,000 miles away, my sister was gloating to her colleagues over lunch at her design firm. The best part of this challenge is you get to choose which moment you post. It sounds shallow, taking a picture of something that made you happy. Something. It can be anything. ANYTHING. Get creative. Get deep, stay shallow. It’s about what makes you happy, only you.

**to see all #100happydays, visit: http://instagram.com/eetrodson

I’ve realized this blog has become lists and I’m alright with that since that’s primarily what my life revolves around.

  • i intertwine bracelets so they all stay together on my wrist, otherwise they bother me.
  • i thrive on secret blogs.
  • Kitty definitely likes me but when i ask for a kiss, he suddenly becomes very distant.
  • flat iron curls have been perfected (takes less than ten minutes)
  • fonts are one of my favorite things to look at/soak in, but i am sad everyone doesn’t see their beauty. they are pieces of art but everyone is allowed to use them, even make them their own.
  • i don’t wear glasses… i should. but anytime i draw myself, i for some reason include them.
  • flats when it’s not snowing or raining. but yes, i almost always wear them when there is snow or rain on the ground.
  • if anyone new comes to town and we pass the Big Blue Bug, i tell them the story of that time the Big Blue Bug was on tour and they had a baby one in it’s place. every. time.
  • i was in a Disney movie… underdog. skipped school for two days and ate some really great swordfish.

this week:

  • uconn. huskies.
  • #100happydays
  • something I live by: there are two kinds of people in this world. people who don’t like raisins and people who TOLERATE RAISINS. NOBODY LIKES RAISINS.
  • recently, I’ve had this overwhelming irrational fear that I’ve developed food allergies. more importantly, these imaginary food allergies are of foods/bevs that I eat/drink all. the. time. for instance, I had quinoa the other day and I suddenly think my throat is closing. (?) ANOTHER day, I was drinking water out of a blue solo cup and I somehow believed the water was going down as if it were thick. am I allergic to the water because it is in a BLUE solo cup? probably not. 
  • I just had to cut myself off of sun chips for a bowl of raisin bran. no, I know, we all have flaws.
  • Momma and I like dishes. in Home Goods, she frequently finds new every day dishes she wants to buy and states “I should just break what I have so I can buy new ones.”
  • newest addition to my coat world: jcrew color blocked anorak
  • harry’s progression after the surgery
  • our spring menu, specifically the field greens salad (sub kale)
  • cold brewed coffee
  • march/april weekends with college friends (stamford, nyc, storrs)
  • vsco cam (do you all pronounce it vee-sko-cam?)
  • helping and supporting friends with projects
  • my job (still 1000% obsessed)
  • new work projects
  • mission to find a letterman jacket to be worn with slouchy white tee, rolled jeans, heels, and curls. maybe a coral lip. inspiration here

 

Peeking through allie + zack’s blog posts, I found Allie’s inventory list which I stole; it’s too cute not to. A to Z (the next lovetaza) is one of my blog crushes. Thank you for letting me steal!

making: something in illustrator for my dad // cooking: shows are more fun on mute

drinking: water. three pint glasses down, it was a long night // feeling: emotionally exhausted

reading: the first pages of junot diaz’s this is how you lose her // liking: my windows open

wanting: a transcript of yesterday’s words // waiting: for meg to wake up and call me

looking: at the lifting shingles on my neighbor’s roof // feeling: grounded and secure

playing: with the frayed sleeves of my sweater // wasting: this foggy morning by staying in bed

wishing: my phone charger wasn’t so frayed // smelling: fresh air mixed with fresh flowers

enjoying: silence interrupted by the occasional car // wondering: if the benefit juice bar delivers

loving: the scotch menu i designed for work // hoping: i can bring myself to shower soon

marveling: at how early i woke up (5:30 and ready for the world) // needing: more water

wearing: oversized perfect blue thrifted oscar de la renta sweater // bookmarking: page 16

following: the curve of my mac with my thumb // noticing: mr. charlie dowe sent me a snap

knowing: i need to sweep under my armoire  // thinking: about yesterday’s wake up call

opening: a new tab for correct spelling of armoire // giggling: last occurred yesterday afternoon

What is it like to be a twenty something year old? Normal twenty-something-year-olds believe it or not are just a tad different than twenty-something-year-olds thought to be known by sites such as #thoughtcatalog and #buzzfeed and #whateverelseihadtounfollow. We’re not (always) these young adults fighting to figure out what we want out of life. It’s not so glamorous (unless you’ve seen my instagrams) and believe it or not, it’s really not that hard. Try and think of a better time you’ll have in your life…except for college.. RIP college. You are on your own (unless you’re still drinking from the bottle Mommy and Daddy are providing) ((I get it, you’re saving money)) and you ONLY HAVE TO worry about yourself.

As a twenty-something, dinner consists of pizza or some other fast food/cafe/coffee shop food that we frequent many times a week. Breakfast looks more like four large coffees and lunch** is about as existent as my love life. Considering I’m at work six or seven days out of the week, dinner usually consists of 1/2 a caesar salad, no fish, light dressing and our chicken dumpling soup. We eat pizza about three or four times a week. There’s this holy grail of pizzas, the steak and mushroom pizza we call it, that would change the beliefs of some of the world’s most strict vegetarians.

As a twenty-something, laundry doesn’t happen as much as I’d like. Lucky for me, there is a free washer and dryer in the basement my apartment. Even luckier for me, there is also a free washer and dryer in the basement of my parent’s house that doesn’t resemble a scene straight from the exorcist. (+1: Harry is at Mom and Dad’s).

As a twenty-something, I threw myself into my job which happens to be a lot easier when you love it. I’m not really just talking “love,” I’m more on the grounds of someone that resembles a stage five, someone who might be one step away from a restraining order. This is what we do as a twenty-something; we find something we love and we take off.

As a twenty-something, we drink. And we drink a lot. Crashing on a friend’s couch is more prominent than we’d like, but it’s part of that “carefree vibe” we’re trying to give off. Who needs a membership to the MoMA to see the new art deco exhibit when you can take a look at my pillow case after a night out?

As a twenty-something, I have more open bottles of wine in my apartment than I’d like to admit. Let me paint you a teeny picture: I’d get home from work around 10:30 (this was in the midst of my Breaking Bad days), crack said bottle of wine, watch one and three quarters of an episode, and doze off with every light on and my glass a third full. Small victory: haven’t spilled one yet.

As a twenty-something, we are too lazy to get up and get important things like chocolate.

As a twenty-something, I have tried and failed too many DIY art projects. cc: DIY coasters, DIY scrapbook paper heart, DIY United States mural.

As a twenty-something, I buy things for my apartment that aren’t *exactly* what I should be spending my money on. “But it’s vintage” and “but it was only $19” and “but I saw it on Pinterest!” are all, what I consider, valid reasons. I have a beautiful vintage wooden ironing board underneath the windows in my dining room which in theory is supposed to be the home to many succulent succulents planted in many multicolored vases, but as of now, there are three geometric (vintage) vases each with a dead white hydrangea.

As a twenty-something, I am proud of myself. Proud of my career path, proud of what I’ve accomplished, proud of what will happen in twenty fourteen.

As a twenty-something, I eat too much cheese.

**lunch will be eaten if Dad takes me out.

There are many things in this lifetime I do not understand; things like why Murphy’s Law exists and seems to be the only cause of pressure on my back or why less than 15% tippers exist in the world. Maybe I simply don’t understand how my cat can sleep all day and still yawn fifteen minutes after he wakes. Or maybe I don’t get why traveling isn’t mandatory for every twenty-one year old. But. The one thing that does not make sense to me is something very simple and something that is very easily avoidable.

So here it is, I have written an open letter to people who put jam in cakes.

I have three questions for you. Why? Why? Why would you do this to me? Let me paint a little picture for you. I am sitting down at table twelve sipping on one of my four drinks in front of me after I’ve eaten every “finger-sized” appetizer this wedding has to offer. I’ve actually become quite good friends with each of the servers, especially Tom. He will pass other guests to give me the first picking of a new hors d’oeuvres as I’ll give him a casual wink and stuff a brie filled piece of phyllo dough shamelessly into my mouth. I’ve eaten three twelve-inch plates of the rich creamy everything. Pieces of steak so buttery it would change the beliefs of a vegetarian, salmon so perfectly cooked you actually vocalize to your not so friendly neighbor how delicious it is complete with a few “OH MYs” as if something had startled you.

It’s time for cake. Can I even fit a piece of that beautiful pearly white cake in my stomach? As my mouth begins to fill with saliva, I daydream about this cake. Is it chocolate? Vanilla? RED VELVET? (To my future husband: our cake will be red velvet with cream cheese frosting. And if you don’t agree, well then we might as well call it off now.) The bride and groom finally make their way over to said cake, we all wait to ooh and ahh and laugh as the two lovebirds smear cake all over each other’s panic-stricken faces. Here’s another thing I don’t understand. Why has this become a tradition? I’ve been doing a pretty good job myself with this whole food in mouth thing and trying not to get it on my face. I’m batting a solid .900 in this department.

The cake has been placed in front of me. I see a chocolate cake with white butter cream and some sort of red glossy spread in between. WHAT THE HELL IS THIS. I really and truly do not understand it. Jam should be (p)reserved for toast or maybe a nice crumpet. NOT cake. I am now frustrated with the turn my life has taken.

Tom? Get me another gin and tonic gin.