Find your fleece lining


I am welcoming the month of December in high style, and by that I mean I am wearing fleece-lined leggings under my jeans.

I’ve never really been much of a fleece person – by way of blankets, I generally prefer a down comforter or microplush Spider-Man throw – but I have recently come around. I got fleece-lined mittens a couple weeks ago ($3, I love H&M) and around that same time my mom sent me these leggings, which have actually changed my life. Winter is full of crisp, chilly mornings, especially when you refuse to turn your heater on, and these angel pants (did I just coin a new term of endearment?) are the perfect solution to the “freezing bare legs for five seconds while changing from pajamas to real person clothes” problem: wear them under your pajama pants, keep wearing them under your actual pants. And, of course, throw them in the wash every once in awhile. We are adults here.

Perhaps every cloud has a silver lining (I never remember to check), but not every pair of leggings has a fleece lining – find yours.

Other things I’ve been enjoying lately: sleep, the song “On Ice” by Chris Thile, family time, burning candles even though I’m not supposed to, Sufjan Stevens’ rendition of “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” and, as usual, Zayn Malik’s face.

Happy last month of 2014!


Lost without u

All my friends.

All my friends.

Possible spoilers ahead. You’ve been warned. 

If you had even one conversation with me between the beginning of November and the middle of January, you will know the following: I could not shut up about Lost. Perhaps I was a little late on the bandwagon, but that obviously did not lessen my enthusiasm – for a person who usually gets sucked into NBC primetime comedies, Lost surprised me with its undeniable ability to rope me in. I was up to six or seven episodes a day over winter break, which admittedly isn’t the most destructive habit a person can form, but I think we can all agree it isn’t the most productive either.

Well, I finally got to the end a couple weeks ago. I sat on the couch, curled up into a ball of anxiety and anticipation, all of my “OH MY GODs” muffled through my Spider-Man blanket. I had watched Part I of the finale the night before, and I was still in the process of finding my way through the emotional wreckage that Sun and Jin’s deaths caused. Needless to say, I was expecting tears and, more importantly, I was expecting my mind to be blown. My sister and I had come up with multiple theories throughout the series – they’re all actually in purgatory, this whole thing is just Hurley’s schizophrenia, etc. – so I was clearly hoping for something crazy and outlandish, for something that would make me say my most-uttered phrase of the past few months: “J.J. Abrams, pullin’ some shit.” Well. I don’t know about everyone else, but I was relatively unimpressed with the shit our friend J.J. pulled. The whole thing was real, most of the insane things that took place were explained; I wasn’t left confused about the details, major or minor, because reasons were given for basically everything. Except for a few things:

  1. Why, in the name of all that is holy, did Sayid never cut his fingernails?
  2. Why did no one ever bother to give the Man in Black an actual name, like Leonardo or Giorgio or something? No wonder he turned into a destructive pillar of black smoke, he had TWO MOMS and neither of them cared enough to give him a name. What did they call him as a baby, the Baby in Black? What did Jacob ever do to deserve a name?!
  3. Did you really need to kill off Boone so early on? (I think I speak for all when I say Ian Somerhalder’s unrivaled smolderhalder was sorely missed after season one)
  4. Soooo what was the overall purpose of the Dharma Initiative again?
  5. Finally, the big question. The Man in Black aka Smoke Monster becomes notorious for reanimating corpses and making them waltz around the island like normal people. For example, Jack’s dad – Christian Shephard’s coffin is found empty, and Jack sees him running through the trees or whatever. In this case, the black smoke takes over a dead body. HOWEVER, there is also the case of John Locke. Poor John remains in his coffin while a duplicate of his body houses the Smoke Monster. Eko’s brother, Yemi, is even more interesting. Yemi’s Nigerian drug plane crashed in the jungle in what I presume to be the early nineties, meaning he’s just a cobwebb-y skeleton by the time Eko finds his body. But then we see pre-mummified Yemi creepily staring at his brother through branches, skin and eyeballs and everything. His skeleton is still in the plane, but it has somehow been duplicated and restored by the Man in Black. Why are some bodies copied, while others are not? Did I find a really good plothole? I think I did.

All of that aside, I was disappointed for another reason. When I first started watching the show, I just kept thinking… wow. This is such an interesting portrait of humans and how they react to tragedy, individually and together. The first few seasons felt so full of humanness. Everyone was flawed, but they all had opportunities for their strengths to come through – there was love, there was anger, compassion, cynicism, hopefulness. Even though they were in kind of a crazy situation, the characters felt real to me, and they were certainly the main focus of the show. But after season three (or something close), I felt the gears shift ever so slightly. The purpose or “theme” of Lost got muddled and confused with all of these fancy time-travel schemes and so-called “history of the island” that I think the writers basically pulled out of their asses – they had also played with the idea of destiny before, which was really interesting, but then they just went wild with it later on. Maybe the creators were going for something more impressive and complicated, but I think people and their interactions and behaviors are impressive and complicated enough. I don’t know, maybe I’m just not a scifi person. But I was sad to see the profundity shrink in the midst of time flashes and thrown-together pairings.

Even though my incessant complaining makes it seem like I am pissed off, I’m really not. I was sad to finish the series, even if it didn’t go out with the bang I had hoped for. And in all honesty, I will probably watch the whole thing again because I’m just like that. So I guess *shout out* to Netflix for consuming my life, and to Olivia for being the kind of person who introduces you to drugs and then sits back and cackles maniacally as you spin out of control (just kidding, I like you and thanks for explaining everything that confused me). That, readers, is my take on Lost. Bam. See you later.

I want (eye) candy.

"Welcome to this post." -Ryan Gosling

“It’s okay to stare.” -Ryan Gosling

Though I am generally opposed to the objectification of human beings, I am not one to deny a handsome face. I am also not one to shut up about those handsome faces. So, naturally, I feel inclined to brighten your Monday and my own with some black and white photos of the most beautiful men the entertainment industry has to offer. You are welcome in advance.

1. Young Leonardo DiCaprio

I mean... if you insist...

I mean… if you insist…

What better way to start the list than with this angelface? He was literally always adorable – even with blood all over his face, or ice crystals covering his dead body. Flawless. I loved him. You loved him. The camera loved him. So much love for Young Leo.

2. Old Leonardo DiCaprio

He's wearing that sweater like he's doing it a favor.

He’s wearing that sweater like he’s doing it a favor.

Now instead of being the floppy-haired heartthrob, he’s the cuddly teddy bear-man we all want to have around when we’re sad. Or happy. Actually it doesn’t matter, he can throw us a warm and sympathetic stare whenever he wants, and y’all know you wouldn’t complain if the man hugged you for a few minutes or a week.

3. Zayn Malik



Hate on it, I completely love Zayn. Maybe he doesn’t have copious amounts of charisma like some of his bandmates, but he’s got the eyelashes to make up for it. Just, like, check out his perfectly unkempt hair. The sloppy British accent doesn’t hurt either.

4. Penn Badgley

xoxo, Gossip Girl

xoxo, Gossip Girl

First of all, let’s collectively agree that he has the coolest name ever. Now that we have that established, look at the scruff. Admire the scruff. Now remind yourself he can sing. Uh oh, you are slowly falling in love. It was bound to happen.

5. Andrew Garfield

... and Emma Stone. GET MARRIED.

… and Emma Stone. GET MARRIED.

No big deal, he’s just my favorite superhero and he’s dating one of my favorite ladies. How could I not love him? Other good things about Andrew Garfield: he’s an accent chameleon, his hair is unnaturally voluminous, and the man certainly knows how to dress himself.

Honorable Mentions:

The excellent James McAvoy.

The excellent James McAvoy.

The magnificent Josh Hutcherson.

The magnificent Josh Hutcherson.

It would be a sin to put this man in black and white.

It would be a sin to put this man in black and white.

Also, I found this in my pictures folder and it fits the theme. 

#sorrynotsorry #gobeans

#sorrynotsorry #gobeans

That’s all for this fine evening. I hope you all have a week as beautiful as these men!


Apparently, I’m a Wandering Soul.

If my soul (and clothing) could wander in this, I might be a little happier.

Today, I came to the slightly upsetting realization that I have been out of town for a good thirty days this summer.

If you have above a kindergarten-level education, you will know this is the equivalent of a month. That’s a long time, even if I’ve been home for a few days between trips. Seriously. Half of my summer has been spent in beds that aren’t my own… wearing clothes out of a small suitcase… using other peoples’ shampoo (which I always feel guilty about)… also: being away from my friends and boyfriend, eating embarrassing amounts of junk food, and always ending up in a room with my sister. She sleep talks, you know.

Don’t get me wrong; it has been fun times. Fun times indeed. I have had some marvelous adventures, and definitely gotten up to some crazy antics. Oh, you want to hear about it all? I’ll give a few examples.

  • I weathered a tropical storm and made salamander friends.
  • I chased birds on a jet ski.
  • I almost pulled apart a Redbox and smashed every piece to the ground.
  • I impersonated Paula Deen… a lot.
  • I got Spider-Man wall decals at Target. I am a little overly excited about this.
  • I paddled in an innertube for a total of probably three hours.
  • I survived the Montanian-Bug-Bite-Apocalypse.

I was going to talk about my countless dance performances to MIA’s Bad Girls, which really must have mesmerized my sister, but I don’t want to give you all nightmares. Oops. I talked about them anyway. Sweet dreams tonight, readers.

Anyway, as you can probably guess, I am home right now. And I’m listening to Bad Girls because I linked it. And I’m really distracted. Excuse me while I go krump.

Aaaand done. I leave again tomorrow night (sigh, make that thirty-five days), so I probably won’t be writing again for another week or so. Oh, I am so inconsistent!

The Girl Crush

Pulling off menswear like a boss.

I’ve been watching a lot of movies lately. Like, probably too many. I was recently stuck in a town with a really stupid Redbox and nothing to do for five long days, so I guess that’s kind of an excuse, but not a very strong one. Anyway, I have noticed that the movies I have been gravitating toward actually have something in common: Emma Stone.

Guys, I freaking love Emma Stone. I do this weird thing sometimes where I liken celebrities to breeds of cats- Anderson Cooper is a hairless cat, for example, even though he’s actually WAY cuter than a hairless cat. But to me, Emma is a Siamese cat. Why? Because of her eyes or something, I don’t know. And I don’t really know in what direction this blog post is going, but we’ll figure it out, okay?

“Oh my god, this girl is so unfocused!”

Okay. A few years ago, Teen Vogue featured an article about the “girl crush,” which is pretty much what I have on Emma Stone. Basically, I admire her aaand admittedly, I wouldn’t mind being her. I suppose that’s a decent description of what a girl crush is. Why is my girl crush so big that I’m writing an entire post about it? Multiple reasons, thank you for asking. Let me make a list for you!

  • I love every movie I’ve seen her in; she is a talented actress.
  • She is an intelligent and hilarious interviewee.
  • I fangirl so hard over her and Andrew Garfield.
  • She was in Spider-Man, and guess what? He is the best superhero. Don’t argue with me.
  • Every single hair color looks good on her. If only we could all be so blessed…

I think we can all agree Ms. Stone is marvelous, and if you don’t agree… um… you don’t get to join my very exclusive and high-class Cool Person Club.

While we’re on the subject of girl crushes, I would like to take the opportunity to share some of my other girl crushes (no, I am not a one-woman woman):

Ingrid Michaelson.

Why do I love Ingrid Michaelson? Her music is awesome. She’s so, so funny in concert. She practically has the same glasses as me. I wish I had her hair. Awesome? Yes.

Tina Fey.

Tina Fey was the first female head-writer for SNL. She created, stars in, and writes 30 Rock, which is one of my absolute favorite shows. She also (supposedly) survived getting her face sliced by a stranger when she was younger, which I’m not sure I believe, but even so it’s an enthralling story.

Emma Watson.

I adore Emma Watson. She is so incredibly adorable, and she plays one of my favorite characters ever, Hermione Jean Granger. I also wish I had her hair. I guess I just want everybody’s hair…

Well, this has been fun. Maybe tell me some of your girl crushes (or boy crushes; I don’t discriminate) in the comments! Happy Sunday.