VintageBella's blog

Chasing Chloe around the house has become an exhaustible adventure, certainly worthy of America’s Funniest Home Videos. At just 4 months old, she’s a princess with a pistol… destructively dragging her food dishes up and down the stairs, prancing and carpet-rolling to her own self-entertainment, screaming the second you aren’t allocating boundless amounts of attention, and pawing/scratching/chewing/eating every pillow in sight. Thus far, she’s homicidally massacred a newly drafted manuscript, 2 pair of shoes, 1 fringe embellished scarf, and even my favorite glitter-studded tights are now a shredded pile of nylon tossed morbidly in the tights cemetery.

Hope everyone’s having a great weekend… ;)

Yesterday’s climax was hell-bent in every conceivable way, but even as I framed the scope of persuasive language, I’m grateful for silver-linings and unfathomably small miracles. During the course of this picture-taking calamity, I (in retrospect) remorsefully set my clutch on top of the truck and then proceeded to drive off only to remember this ill-constructed act an hour later. So there I am, set deep in the valley of the shadows of horror while driving back to the scene of the crime… where of course, the clutch had turned Houdini and magically disappeared.

But the long and short of it is that when I finally got home, a welcomed voice on the answering machine said they had my belongings safe and sound… minus the cash that had been removed during its prior abduction. So thank you Jessica for finding it, driving 60 miles out of your way so that I could retrieve it, and for saving me unwarranted amounts of angst. And in a sigh of reprieve and raw contentment, I’ve come to truly appreciate the fact that there are some people who unselfishly turn it all around when you least expect it… some people who are just fucking amazing.

For the record: I’ve been meaning to tell everyone just how genuinely grateful I am that you take time to read, follow, and comment on my random little blog… you’re amazing. But I’m not sure how many grievances will come of this particular set of images, so let me just put a simple statement into the snapshot chapbook. I’m in no way making allowances for the irrevocable notions of stiletto Olympian chair acrobatics, getting toxic while dancing to Lady Gaga because life is sometimes a drama-laced stress-haven, I’m not promoting Jose Quervo, or the assumption that immortalizing free-spirited (in-house) misbehavior on Saturday night should robotically become an impetuous photo-op. I’m just having fun with my rockstar friends… the end. xx

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xx

Friday Night: Lingerie costume party
Occasion: Cupid and his self-proclaimed Valentine’s Day
Favorite dance song of the night: Boom Boom Pow
Pre-party photos captured while: Waiting for our slow-driving friends to arrive
Overall general feeling: A bit shameless and exposed

Noticeably this is not a characteristic post, and I dare say that subzero temperatures and virtually fictional attire are in no way imaginable fated for one another. But despite feeling as if we belonged at either the Playboy Mansion or center stage with the Pussycat Dolls… we had an effing unbelievable time.

To evoke a semi-palpable image, let me preface by saying that it was just one of those languid afternoons when all of our suburbanite sunshine had been completely bogarted by something of the white and whimsical. And as iTunes sonically resonated dark and twisty death metal I’d long forgotten was housed within my massive music library, we remembered to forget to behave ourselves. In hindsight, we probably should’ve gone outside and built a snowman… or at least supervise someone else building one. I digress.
With that said, we grew restless and unsurprisingly, one thing led to another corona… actually, the entire lurid conversation can be reduced to two hilarious (although poorly articulated) sentences.
She said, “Get on the floor so I can take your effing picture.” I said, “Okay, bitch.”