Northern Hemisphere Blues

Banana Republic top. Zara pants. Tommy Hilfiger coat. Sperry Top-Siders.

These past few days, I could have decked myself out in bold brumal tartans, but I couldn't help daydreaming about catamaran cruises and plopping down on a plage. With a warm weather voyage on the horizon, I've been pulling out my best nautical looks these wintry weeks. I can't be the only one who takes solace in the Winter Solstice... And enjoys the Vernal Equinox more than her own birthday?

Ophthalmological Affairs

J.Crew Jackie cardigan and skirt. Vintage brooch. Banana Republic pumps.

My building's garden is built on a steep hill that slopes toward the marina, which makes for some beautiful and crooked photographs. Rotating these in Photoshop seemed like an easy fix until I noticed some rather disturbing side effects. Crooked images will have to do from now on, friends, because strabismus ain't pretty.

Stuffed Peppers

Joe Fresh sweater. J.Crew pants. Banana Republic heels. Club Monaco blouse. Vintage brooch.

I used to think the expression "slaving over a hot stove" was hilarious (which should give you a pretty good idea of my IQ), but that's exactly what I did this evening. Stuffing peppers replaced my usual dilly-dallying and now I get to savor their aroma for at least a couple of days. Don't you love it when the upholstered furniture is all dill and savory?

Raspberry All Over

Tommy Hilfiger trench coat. Hunter wellies. American Apparel scarf. BCBGirls dress.

When I started this blog, grooming a vanity project was not my intention. I was going through a dry spell, writing-wise, so I thought blogging would keep my hand in it. But here I am, prancing in a raspberry trench for the world to see. Vanity project it is! Still, self-awareness is nothing without a little self-persecution, which is why I have yet to change my computer's extra wide display. Friends may crack up at my stout multitude of selves, but at least I can maintain of shred of humility.

Synonymous My Foot

Talbots shirt, vintage skirt & brooch, American Apparel beret, Holt Renfrew scarf, Hunter wellies.

November rain = daily wellies. Fortunately, these are comfortable and stylish - at least that's what I think my coworker means when he says: "Rockin' the gum boots again, eh?". I'm currently schooling him on the connotations and denotations of these apparent synonyms, so I will let you know when progress has been made.

The No-Pants Clause

Raoul blouse, Talbots cardigan, Banana Republic skirt & pumps, Ann Taylor handbag.

Dear friends,
I'm alive and well. Also, a little surprised that no one got my eternal recurrence joke. No Nietzsche fans? Anyway, I've been recovering whilst watching Breaking Bad from the very beginning and I couldn't help noticing how much time Bryan Cranston spends pants-less in the first season. Is this the sort of thing that is written into one's contract? "Must be pants-less at least once per episode. AMC reserves the right to choose between briefs and brief nudity."

Thus Spoke Ana

I was recently hit with fever and various aches, so the most I can post right now are three-month-old photographs of Sunset Beach (it was glorious!) and my face (it was better!). Today should be fairly unproductive, but as soon as I begin my convalescence, I plan to invite several friends over and teach them all about eternal recurrence and whatnot. You know, the usual.

Portrait by Dan Abrams, but the landscape is by moi.