A Bedding Ballad. Or A Lesson in Taking Matters into Your Own Hands.

This is the story of one girl's journey into the world of bedding, the story of her hope for the market, her inevitable disillusionment and her creative solution to the problem.

One day this girl finally grew tired of her trusty apple green twin comforter that was much too small for her full sized bed, always falling to the floor and bunching awkwardly on the bed. With some money in her pocket and a glimmer of hope in her eye, she began to search high and low for it's replacement. A bedding designer by trade, she was very picky. If she liked the pattern, she did not like the colors. It HAD to match her peacock blue silk drapes. If she liked the colors, she did not like the pattern. Often too old or young or trite. If she liked both the pattern and the colors, it was too expensive... or made of microfiber. Fed up with waiting for stores to release the perfect product, she decided to use the skills she learned in college, now somewhat rusty and dusty but still accessible, and dye her own duvet cover. It was cheap enough afterall, even if it turned out to be a failure. $50 ikea duvet + $25 ikea duvet cover (100% cotton) was not at all bad. And so Memorial Day Mess 2013 was born.

For a long while she did not have an idea of what to paint. Should it be solid? Textural/Watercolored? Lots of colors? Or few? Florals? Stripes? Dots? Oh my. But then it hit her that some floral paper cutout exercises she did would provide solid bones for a placed design, and she was sold. All she had to do was paint it. The hard part was over right? Wrong.

First came the duvet wrangling, consisted mostly of the girl crawling inside a duvet cover and laughing hysterically. Or really just trying to fit a very large sheet of taped together freezer paper into a very large duvet cover and also having it lie flat. A deceivingly difficult task.

Exhausted from a day of duvet wrangling and dye/resist/color tests, she began the actual painting the next day. Only to discover that it is really impossible to see what you are painting when you are painting white on white. So she embraced the messiness and inconsistency and hoped for the best.

While the resist dried, she mixed up an absurd about of dye, absolutely frightened of the idea of running out half way through. Once everything was dried and prepared and setup, the fun part began.

And went on. And on. And on. But was still fun even her knees and back did not agree. And finally.... suspense?! Could there be tragedy?! When the girl stood up to admire her, she kicked over her very large jar of navy dye. It was here that she had a choice. It was either he duvet or her hands. She sacrificed the hands, cleaning up the spill as quickly as possible while containing the spill to an area that was supposed to be navy anyway. And that's how this happened.

But then it was done! It was nearly 4am but she celebrated! She had triumphed through 2 days of obstacles that had challenged her ability to problem solve quickly and efficiently! And also made something pretty cool! And that's when terror struck. She had 24 hours for the dye to cure. 24 hours to wait anxiously and hope everything went as planned. She kept the duvet it warm place, occasionally turning on the oven and opening the door just to be sure. She eyed it nervously, peering through the clear plastic bag to make sure it was still damp. When finally it was time to wash it all out. The moment of truth!

And despite a very stubborn to wash out wax resist and endless navy dye, the duvet turned out pretty okay. Just the right colors and pattern. Even if the reverse looked like a clown suit and the navy dye stained some white areas. It was hers and she was happy to have such a fine work to keep on her bed!

1, 2, 3

It is March 10th. It is March 10th and somehow I don't believe it.

January was a blur of apartment hunting while evading the trickery of brokers and the wading the treacherous waters of roommates. Once we managed to find a place, a place that steadfastly waited for us as we waffled and tried to make decisions, January was time for analyzing all the stuff we've accumulated over the past year and figuring out how or if it belonged in the next. And then January just crashed in February. February brought new people as well as spaces, bigger, brighter more wonderful spaces. Spaces we could furnish and fill and customize and cherish. It brought 80 hour work weeks and 1am works nights on the heels of heavy lifting. It brought deep exhaustion. But most importantly, February brought friends new to the city and eager for adventure. Friends to go out with, to laughing hysterically with in pursuit of grilled cheese or wandering late nights in the East Village. Friends to stay in with, lazing about on couches or making smore's over the gas stove.

And now its March, sunny warm March just a few days shy of my birthday, and I'm feeling good about this place I'm in. 

Dog Days of Winter

Some photos from my mostly broken Minolta camera. Check out my flickr for more super-light leaked photos of NYC/Coney Island. Now... please excuse me while I go bake some cookies.

Hello 2013

Almost a year ago I made the decision to move to New York City with nothing but some material possessions and hope. Hope that somewhere in this sprawling metropolis I would find my place in the world. And I realize that sounds really silly, but hear me out.

A lot has happened in the past year. I quit my safe retail job and moved across the country. I struggled as an intern until finally getting my first big girl job in my field of study. I've found a few good friends in a city full of strangers and been on more dates than ever before. I've had to fix things, deal with frustrating landlords and make tough decisions. I survived Hurricane Sandy and a trip to the ER. I've been sick multiple times, gotten lost, taken the wrong trains, not slept enough, spent too much money, had too much fun. I've been to bars, parks, parades, concerts, rooftops, restaurants, museum, and ice cream parlors.

I jokingly refer to 2012 as my freshman year of adulthood. Because when you think about it, freshman years are that period of time at the beginning of something that you are expected to blunder along making mistakes with foolish confidence. And I've definitely made a lot of mistakes. I've felt small and unsure and inexperienced. I've felt lonely and young and silly. I've freaked about the future and the millions of directions it could go in. But I am comforted by remembering that I still have time. It's only my freshman year.

After years of people mistaking me for 16, friends who have known me for years are telling me I look like an adult now. Even though my wardrobe is mostly the same and nothing about my appearance is different enough to warrant these comments. Though it's funny because lately I have also been feeling like more of an adult. I still call my dad when I don't understand my health insurance or my mom when I want advice about my hair, but the decisions I make are mine. As is this money, this apartment, this stuff and these friends. Somehow throughout all the stress and struggles I found a place to belong and it may not be perfect but it's just right. I am excited to see how it changes and grows in my sophomore year. Because if history proves correct this time too, it will only get better from here.

I spent my New Year's Eve, my freshman year graduation, on rooftop in Manhattan not too far from Times Square. The door was locked so we had to climb out a window. It was difficult and a little scary, but every bit worth it to hear the roar of Times Square and feel the energy of this city, this place that I can add to my list of homes.