≡ Menu

His footprints are still visible in the dust on the base of my floor lamp, and I can’t bring myself to clean it.

His empty cage sits on the floor of my room, and I can’t bring myself to throw it out, though I also can’t ever see myself wanting to turn it into anyone else’s little home.

I avoided my apartment for as long as I could–an amazing four days–so I wouldn’t have to be reminded that he wasn’t there. Even still, parts of my routine remain engrained in my mind–I don’t know how long it will take until I stop trying to feed him on my way to brush my teeth.

Last Thursday morning, I noticed Margaret Thatcher–my chinchilla of over five years–was sleeping on top of his little cubby house instead of inside of it. As I scooped him up to examine him, he winced uncomfortable as my hand touched his soft little belly. I set him into his dust bath–something he usually really looked forward to–and became increasingly worried when he barely had the strength to roll over.

I only had to work half a day that day due to the upcoming holiday, but my greatest fear was that he would be gone by the time I got home. I spent an extra half hour laying with him in my bed, sobbing.

While at work, I made an appointment for him at an exotic pet vet in Fairfax that my coworker researched for me. I instantly felt better and more hopeful that he was going to be fine after a quick trip to the vet.

I came home and laid down with him on my bathroom floor–his favorite place in my room–for two whole hours before his appointment, offering him drinks of water from a tiny cup when he would take them. This would end up being the last time he ever spent with me at home.

We drove through a horrendous storm for nearly an hour before reaching the vet. But even as the storm subsided and the weather improved, the forecast for my poor little Mags was not nearly as promising. His temperature was low, he was incredibly dehydrated, the smell coming from his mouth indicated an infection, and probably scariest of all–the vet couldn’t hear his tiny heartbeat.

I sat in the waiting room by myself for three hours while they treated him. Brian met me right before the vet closed, and we said our goodbyes to Margaret in case he didn’t make it through the night. I held him in my arms and kissed his sweet little face for the last time.

The next morning, the vet called to let me know that my sweet little chinny had made it through the night. His temperature was stable, he was still taking in all the fluid they were giving him, and best of all, his X-ray showed that his heart was fine. She was worried about a dark spot she saw in his stomach, concerned that maybe he had swallowed something he shouldn’t have. Unfortunately, chinchillas usually don’t make it through surgery, so her best bet was to give him a laxative.

She warned me that his teeth weren’t in great shape, and that should he make it through his treatment, he would probably need regular teeth trimming. “The costs can quickly add up,” she said–hinting that euthanizing would most likely be the least expensive option.

At this point, cost didn’t really matter to me. I wanted to stick by his side–bad teeth and all.

Best case scenario, I was going to get to bring him home the next afternoon after another night of intensive treatment at the vet. She was going to show me how to give him his medicine, and I was going to bring him in later during the week for his teeth trimming.

Hopeful, I went to my apartment to make things as nice as possible for if and when I got to bring the little guy home. I deep cleaned everything he owned before getting ready for a party at the Capitol for the fourth.

The party was a nice distraction. I ate finger sandwiches and drank wine and overlooked the National Mall from the steps of the Capitol building. For minutes at a time, I was able to forget about the nightmare of an evening I’d had the previous day. And when I did remember, I was hopeful that it was going to all be worth it.

Around 7 p.m., I saw a number calling me that I didn’t recognize and my stomach sank–the vet wasn’t supposed to call me until the next morning. Something is wrong.

My festive red, white, and blue sunglasses weren’t enough to veil the tears that escaped their way beneath the lenses–gaining speed off the contours of my cheek before plunging off my chin and onto the navy dress with white polka dots that I’d had picked out for the occasion weeks before–weeks before when Mags was fine, or at least appeared to be.

“Hello?”

His temperature had destabilized; his respiratory system was failing.

She told me this as I stared at my feet on the steps of the patio. It’s almost as though I couldn’t bear to  gaze upon the Washington Monument basking in the fading July summer sunlight or look out at the mob of people on the National Mall–all of them celebrating freedom while I felt chained to those steps by the tendrils of my own breaking heart.

On April 12, 2011, I celebrated Margaret Thatcher’s birthday. Well really I was celebrating the anniversary of the day I brought him home. This was the first photo I ever took of him:

mt_thumb

In that post, I wrote that I was looking forward to our next 20 years together. You see, what most people don’t realize is that chinchillas have an amazing lifespan–most of them will outlive a dog.

But this wasn’t the same chinchilla that had been my most faithful companion for the past five years. I once made the decision to take my bed off it’s frame because I couldn’t keep Mags from going up inside my box spring and chewing on the wood–he had so much energy! The chinchilla I had dropped off at the vet the night before couldn’t even lift his head off the towel his aching body rested on.

On July 4, 2014, in one of the most unselfish decisions I’ve ever made, I decided to let the vets end his suffering.

I retreated into the Capitol building to try to find a place to privately call my mom. I ended up outside of the old Supreme Court chamber and wondered if any decision they ever had to make hurt as much as the one I just did.

Maybe I sound dramatic.

I’m okay with that.

I just wanted to let you know that the star of the show I’ve called my life (and my blog) for the past five years is no longer with me and that I stood by him and tried to give him every chance I could. I’m extremely thankful to have had a pet that made me a little more interesting of a person and who didn’t hold it against me that I named him after a female British prime minister.

I always knew I loved him–I guess I just didn’t know how big of a hold on my heart he actually had.

Photo on 10-24-12 at 8.20 PM #3
i cannot keep my room clean, can’t keep my headphones from tangling and my music from blasting
and the pen from bleeding through the page, and the
stairs from leading both up and down, and the river
from the ocean and the sun
from the sky, and i can’t help the fact that i stay up
too late
every night, and i miss you. [source]

Share
{ 1 comment }

cran fan

Now I’m no fashion blogger, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from all the fashion blogs I read, it’s that trends tend to come back a second time around. So obviously keep abso-fucking-everything in your closet for when it comes back a second time around. Poncho? Keep it. Flared jeans? Keep em. Cargo pants? You never know.

Now that boyfriend jeans are back in style, I’m sad to report that I have not found a single pair I liked. Oddly enough, it didn’t take boyfriend jeans a long time to make their comeback–I remember wearing them just a few short years (and a few pounds) ago in college.

So since I have not found any new boyfriend jean prospects, I’m going to just have to try to get back down to my college weight to fit in the old ones (and hope it doesn’t take so long that boyfriend jeans are no longer in style). I’ve enlisted the help of 100% cranberry juice.

Back when I was a health and fitness blogger, I read about 100% cranberry juice while researching The Fat Flush Plan.

The actual recipe for “Fat Flush Water” is just 7 oz. of water with 1 oz. of PURE cranberry juice (you’ll know you’ve got the right stuff it has cranberry as the only ingredient and tastes extremely bitter–don’t worry, you’ll get used to it).

According to the Fat Flush website, Fat Flush water works to get rid of bloat and stubborn fat deposits. “It works so well that we’ve heard from Fat Flushers who have lost as much as 6 to 7 lbs of backlogged water weight in the first day!” the site reports.

Why Cranberry Juice?

According to the Fat Flush website,

Cranberry juice is a natural diuretic and packed with flavonoids, enzymes and organic acids such as malic acid, citric acid, and quinic acid which have an emulsifying effect on stubborn fat deposits in the lymphatic system. The lymphatic system — the body’s “garbage collector” — transports all kinds of waste products not processed by the liver. With the help of the organic acid components, cranberry juice digests stagnated lymphatic wastes. This explains why so many Fat Flushers report that their cellulite disappears!

Even if you’re not following a specific diet or trying to lost weight, you can sip this tart and refreshing beverage daily to help flush out water weight, balance blood sugar, improve cellulite and keep you liver and lymph in optimum cleansing mode.

Is It Working?

Jill and I have been adding cranberry water all week. Much to both of our surprise, Jill lost three pounds without even exercising (she just had surgery and can’t exercise for a few weeks).

I actually don’t have a scale at my house so I can’t report AS exciting results, well, ok maybe I can.

I got the jeans on–though since they are boyfriend jeans I would like them to be a little looser still:

IMG_1202

Yes, I have a weird belly button and no abs. 

And my post-college clothing that I purchased to fit my post-college body? That stuff is feeling waaaaaay loose. Which could explain the nip slip I had at the pool yesterday. Back when the famous Tara Reid boob slip occurred, I remember thinking “how can you not possible notice the clothing graze you as it falls down or the sudden new-found breeze on your bosom?”

Well, I guess I now understand, because I remember looking down, seeing pink, and wondering how long it had been exposed.

And now for other recent happenings as told from my iPhone and my friends’ Instagram feed:

IMG_1192

I got a new tall blonde coworker, because one tall blonde is never enough. We all dressed up for the World Cup on Thursday (though admittedly I can be seen dressed like an American flag nearly any day of the week). If you’ll note my shoes, you’ll see how desperately I want to be in the tall blonde club.

Screen Shot 2014-06-29 at 9.32.43 AM

I can’t believe Whitney and I have known each other for three years now! She was my first friend when I moved to Maryland. We celebrated Miss Whit getting a new job this week, and I didn’t even mind driving all the way to Herndon to do so (Whitney is worth $100 worth of highway tolls–I only had to pay $7).

I see a lot of shenanigans from this foursome in the future–two southerns, one northerner, and one Pakistani newly declared American citizen.

IMG_1200

I drug Natasha with me all the way to middle-of-nowhere-I’m-seeing-cows country Damascus, MD for a pig roast at the Janes house. I  made it worth her while by promising her a Jimmy Cone.

Screen Shot 2014-06-29 at 9.32.11 AM

We called the jimmies “sprinkles” and were chased off the property by angry over-all-wearing bible belters.

I wish I could say that was the only ice-cream that was consumed yesterday, but we also shared a “Black & White” milkshake from American City Diner. I may have also had a grilled cheese. I’m the worst lactose-intolerant person (and dieter) ever. Thank jebus for the cranberry juice.

Screen Shot 2014-06-29 at 9.30.50 AM

Share
{ 1 comment }

eucalyptus

“Breathe in deeply for best results.”

That’s what the back of my stress relief candle from Bath & Body Works says on its label.

“I’m going to need to breath in something more than eucalyptus for best results.”

That’s what I’m thinking when my stress relief candle doesn’t quite seem to relieve any of my stress.

In fact, I was most likely more stressed following that $60 Bath & Body Works complete stress relief line purchase (candle, bubble bath, and lotion) after than before.

All I know is, I need to find a good “fix” soon. Champagne, puppies, and shoes, have all proven to be unsustainable solutions.

IMG_1123

IMG_1124

Share
{ 0 comments }

ed head

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a loser, but I’m a member of Ed Sheeran’s fan club. To be clear, I’m not embarrassed by being a fan of Ed Sheeran, I just think it’s very 13-year-old girl of me to be a member of an actual fan club. My membership basically means that sometimes I get free song downloads, alerts for when his music videos come out, and access to presale concert tickets. I’m pretty sure we members are called “Ed Heads.”

So when I got an email saying that Ed would be playing in Columbia, Maryland at Merriweather and I was eligible for pre-sale tickets, I set an “Ed Sheeran” alarm on my phone and refreshed the Ticket Fly page until the tickets went on pre-sale at 12 p.m. on Saturday.

I’d been to Merriweather just once before to see Lana Del Ray at Sweet Life. Although Columbia is a bit out of the way, Merriweather was definitely a lot cooler than any of the concert venues I was used to growing up in Pittsburgh.

IMG_1040

IMG_1044IMG_1047

So combine the coolest concert venue I’ve ever been to with my most favorite ginger and musician ever? Sold, obviously.

The best part? I won’t have to sit through an entire Taylor Swift concert following his performance like last time! Oh, and I’m going to get a good second wear out of that British flag tank top, too.

Who knows? Maybe this time I’ll have the balls to dye my hair red before the concert like I was planning to last time.

September 6th–I’m coming for you, Gingy.

Share
{ 0 comments }

onesies

Oh my dear little bloggie–you’ve gotten what feels like your millionth makeover.

I purchased Thesis about a year ago and it didn’t work quite the way I thought it would. But listen to me–I’m boring you. The important thing is, I’ve managed to jazz the place up about and she’ll also be easier to read on mobile devices now. You know–in case my mom wants to read on the go.

Who am I kidding? I spoke to my mom on the phone yesterday and conversation went a bit like this:

“Hey mom what are you doing?”

“Just browsing the Internet.”

“Oh yeah? I changed my blog layout. Did you see it?”

“No honey, I haven’t had time to read your blog.”

“You literally just said you were browsing the Internet…”

Looks like I’ve managed to lose my most loyal reader.

Alright now let me tell you something embarrassing. I really wanted to fit in at work, so I started watching Game of Thrones. But then two weeks ago I was faced with a bit of a dilemma–to watch GOT or to watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

I think you know what I chose, and I can feel your judgement. I can explain–I’ve been invested in GOT for about three episodes, but the Kardashians? I’ve been invested in those big bootay hoes for years.

I still feel you judging me.

Alas.

What else is knew?

IMG_1155

Did you miss the chinch? I did too. Mostly because I’ve been spending a lot of time in Ocean City. Otherwise known as Ocean Shitty or Brocean City.

Here’s the thing–I wanted to hate Ocean City. I don’t know why. My family went to Cape May, NJ every year for 12 years of my life, so I guess I felt the need to show a little loyalty.

But even my loyalty has a breaking point. It looks like this:

IMG_1165

Come to Papa.

I can’t even say I mind the drive…

IMG_1177

IMG_1173

My little weekend getaways have been making up for the fact that I don’t get a real vacation this summer and also allowing me to “sharpen the saw,” as my boss would say. Although I must admit, sometimes it doesn’t quite feel like work…

IMG_1127

Final thoughts my friends? Just say no to onesies. Just say no.

IMG_1121

Share
{ 0 comments }

we

I was reading one of those ever popular listy articles called “20 Things I Wish I Knew in My Twenties.” I eventually stopped reading because it was a little to Jesus-y for my liking, but I was oddly inspired to do things like go start a savings account.

And then I bought four pairs of Steve Madden shoes instead.

I wish I was kidding.

And don’t act like you’re surprised that I don’t have a savings account. We’re talking about a girl who used to dip Nilla Wafers in Nutella and not clean up broken champagne flutes from her bathroom floor (I just happened to think that drinking champagne while taking a bubble bath sounded like something that 23 year olds should be doing).

Damn that was only two years ago.

We’ve come so far and not so far at all.

I don’t know who the “we” is that I’m talking about. I guess that’s what happens when you have a formal name and a nickname. You develop multiple personalities. If people called me Alexandra I would probably have to act more like an Alexandra and less like a Lexie. I’d probably already have a savings account and be engaged to a guy with a large collection of polo shirts. I’d be shopping for a nice house in the suburbs of Maryland instead of shopping for the perfect black lace bralette to peak out from underneath a cut up band graphic tank (but really, how cute would that be?).

Enough hypothizing (god I wish that was a word). I forgot to share a very important bit of news:

IMG_1100

Trailing behind the Kardashians–Brandon’s response to all selfies.

On Tuesday I celebrated Natasha finally becoming a U.S. citizen. I’m not quite sure how citizenship works, but I think her becoming a U.S. citizen automatically makes me a citizen of Pakistan.

To quote my ex-friend Brandon (who I never blog about anymore because we never hang out anymore now because he’s tired of my girl drama and has been spending more time with his dude friends),

“I liked her better as a foreigner.”

Screen Shot 2014-05-31 at 8.14.32 AM

I took Tuesday off to drive Natasha out to the United States Immigration & Citizenship Services office out near Baltimore. I imagined it being basically like the MVA only maybe a little bit worse. While waiting for her test, Natasha and I read chapters of I Lost My Love in Baghdad aloud to each other, and then as a thanks for driving her to her test, Natasha picked a scab and rubbed her blood on me while I wasn’t paying attention.

I need new friends.

After she passed her test, we celebrated in the Baltimore Inner Harbor with paddle boats. The guys at the paddle boat place gave us XXL life vests, so needless to say we will both be living in the gym for the rest of the summer.

Screen Shot 2014-05-31 at 8.19.47 AM

One last confession–we went to McDonalds right before Natasha’s citizenship test. It was the only restaurant around and it seemed like such a great way to pre game Natasha’s American citizenship.

Share
{ 1 comment }

the unthinkable

I wrote a long dramatic post about how I deactivated my Facebook. But I’m not going to post it because deleting a profile on a social network doesn’t make me a hero. It makes me a girl with PMS who is tired of reading drivel.

Fortunately for you, I’m not tired of WRITING drivel.

Where should we start? I actually have a few recommendations for you.

First things first. Make pizza with puff pastry instead of pizza dough. It’s soft, flakey, slightly crispy and sure to make your skinny jeans feel tight like a tiger.

Next, take a Pure Barre class. You’re going to need it after all of that puff pastry. I bought LivingSocial deal for PureBarre a few weeks ago and can safely say I’m addicted. It hurts so good and I want to go back for more. Too bad it’s $25 a class. It will probably be cheaper for me to drill a ballet bar into my bedroom wall. #anddownandinch #andupaninch

Rent a paddle boat in the Baltimore inner harbor. Make sure to make many a Titanic reference. “Iceberg straight ahead!”

IMG_1110

Attend a music festival. Realize you are too old for said music festival. Take a photo with strategic logo placement while you’re there.

IMG_1047

Go to the beach. Don’t forget sunblock.

IMG_1059

Take a One Tree Hill style photo with your family. Realize the baby is the fiercest one of all, despite having the least amount of experience.

IMG_1099

Wish you were as cool as my brother. Realize you never will be.

IMG_1085

This post has been brought to you by my Facebook withdrawal.

Xoxo.

 

Share
{ 0 comments }

i got a rock

Have you ever thought that maybe you had an inflated sense of how attractive you are?

No?

Me either.

Just kidding. I worry about that all the time. I blame Instagram for making me look better than I actually do in real life…

instagram-vs-real-life

In other news, I’m pretty sure my parents hate me. Let me preface this be saying I’m not a person who cares about gifts. But I’m pretty sure that my parents went out of their way to be cruel with my birthday gifts this year.

My mom sent my birthday gift down with my sister–a medium-sized box wrapped in cute, pink wrapping paper.

“VAT IZ JEEEES?!” I yelled as I tore into the paper (for some reason I turn German when my sister is around).

The paper gave way to a purple box embedded with two little words that never fail to make my heart flutter–Madden Girl.

“Ooooooooh!” I said with a Chesire, cat-like grin as I wide-eyedly returned the gaze of my observing sister.

As I popped the top off the box, I wasn’t met with Madden Girl shoes, but rather, a rock.*

If you’re thinking of the Charlie Brown “I got a rock” classic, I guess it was at least a little better than that. The rock had “Hope” carved into it, which was the name my mom said she would have given me if she’d known she was going to have three girls (we would have been Faith, Hope, and Joy). Instead, she gave me a stripper name.

After cancelling his trip down to see me for my birthday three times (one time for a legitimate reason and two times for not so legitimate reasons, Easter being one of them), my dad finally came to visit last weekend. After he cancelled our lunch plans because he needed to make an emergency trip to the hardware store (I’m not sure how that was more of an emergency than the fact that he hadn’t seen me since February and it was now May…), it was settled that we’d meet at the Benihana in Bethesda for a 7:00 reservation.

I wasted time at my apartment that night until around 6:30, waiting for him to call or to ask me if I wanted to ride down with them. After all, why should we both pay for parking. Finally I decided to call. Turns out he was already at the restaurant with Carol having drinks and appetizers. I wasn’t invited to my own month-late birthday dinner pre-game.

When I finally joined the two of them, they greated me with a pink gift bag with a glittering, cursive “Fabulous” on it. What was inside was less than fabulous.

-a Prevention magazine that my dad probably read on the toilet earlier that day
-a bottle of drug store nail polish
-a small jar of fart putty (I kid you not)
-socks
-a pack of Dentyne ice

I starred into the bag, perplexed at its contents.

“Haha! “Carol laughed. “Doesn’t it look like we went to CVS right before we came here to get you that stuff?”

“Yes. Yes it does,” was all I could respond.

“And Lex, I’m going to need a $200 check from you for your school loans this month.”**

I kind of wish he had put the $15 he spent at the drug store on my gift towards that $200. Alas.

*She actually also included a set of leopard placemats she quilted herself in the box. I thought it sounded funnier to only get me a rock though.

**He actually didn’t ask for the check until a few hours later. I just put that in here for effect.

Share
{ 0 comments }

i’ll preface this by saying

I’ll preface this by saying that I don’t think anyone needs a reason to be nice to anyone. You should just do it.

But if you ever do need a reason to be nice to someone, it always helps to imagine that someday you might be asking that person for a favor.

It’s impossible for us to know what the future will bring. Maybe I’ll be holding the cards–maybe you’ll be holding the cards.

So be nice to everyone.

Maybe someday someone will throw you a bone. Do you that favor. Go out on a limb for you.

And if you’re lucky, you’ll never need them to.

But if that’s the case, it’s not like kindness is a limited resource.

Or maybe it is. What do I know?

But I won’t take my chances.

It’s worked pretty well for me so far.

kindness.3-2

I’m often reminded of the scene in Billy Madison where Steve Buscemi’s character erases Billy’s name off of his “People to Kill” list.

At the very least, maybe being nice will mean that you don’t get put on anyone’s “People to Kill” list.

image

Share
{ 0 comments }

twenty five

I turned twenty fucking five this month. I’m in a new checkbox, my friends. The 25-30 checkbox.

I can’t even be upset about it. Sure I can feel my body slowly deteriorating, but otherwise the world just looks so lovely through my most likely declining eyesight.

“Attitude is everything.”

That’s what my dad posted on my Facebook wall on my birthday. He’s the smartest man in the world, I reckon.

IMG_0968

It’s weird to feel like I’m aging but not getting older. I’m down to just two piercings now–my left ear and my right ear. So that makes me feel a little more mature. But then again the last week of my life I’ve been eating freeze pops for breakfast.

I’m still waiting to reach the age that I wake up and immediately think to make my bed, but as of 25 I still think that’s a waste of my goddamn time. Nobody’s going to see it and I’m just going to unmake that fucker in approximately 15 hours.

As I age, more and more people around me inevitably get married and pregnant, while my spare time revolves around watching old episodes of Even Stevens on YouTube. Shia Lebouf retiring was truly a tragedy.

But back to the marriage and children thing. I’m in a very fun and healthy relationship, though I’m sure others would find our interactions juvenile:

Him: Everything good?

Me: No. I have no one to swipe my hand in their butt crack and pretend it’s a credit card machine.

I can’t believe I’ve ever complained about him not being mature enough for me.

IMG_0981

So the children thing. I recently came across a book called, “I Can Barely Take Care of Myself: Tales from a Happy Life without Kids.” I haven’t even finished it, but it makes me think…

Why in the actual fuck don’t I have a book yet? 

I mean, my name already sounds like the name of a famous author so I figure I’m already half way there.Until then, I’m still balling on a budget. Lately, I keep imaging what life will be like when I finally pay off my student loans. It will be like getting the biggest raise of my life. Maybe then I’ll be able to take a real vacation, though I have to admit that staycationing in DC is not the worst place to staycation.

IMG_0969

IMG_0942

Sometimes I’m just overwhelmed by how incredibly happy I am to have moved here–seeing the National Mall in the distance never ceases to get old.

At the same time, it’s incredibly hard to remember that everyone else’s world at home spins madly on even without me there.

IMG_0945

Of course there’s something incredibly special about being the one that everyone misses. And I never run out of stories to tell them when I roll up through the mountains in my smart car–a feat I and countless Pennsylvania tollbooth workers can never quite fathom.

Screen Shot 2014-04-28 at 10.15.00 PM

So now, a cheers if you will, to my 25th year:

  • Cheers to, hopefully, finding the perfect pair of boyfriend jeans.
  • Cheers to me attending enough Body Pump classes every month to keep my elbow fat at bay.
  • Cheers to a majority of the Skittles in my bag being red.
  • Cheers to continuing to make my boss and clients happy–because even my LinkedIn is inappropriate and that makes me fairly unemployable.
  • Cheers to remembering how easy it is to send my grandparents an email from time to time and how happy it makes them when I do so.
  • Cheers to learning to embrace flats because my 6 inch heels make me taller than my boyfriend.
  • Cheers to finding a taller boyfriend. I keeeeeeed, I keeeeed.
  • Cheers to my apartment complex having a pool and finally being able to take advantage of it after Memorial Day.
  • Cheers to getting closer to paying off my student loans.
  • Cheers to joining a group that will teach me to write and give better cheers (Toastmasters, I’m coming for you.).
  • Cheers to blogging more.
  • Cheers to still being in complete and total awe at how perfect the series final of Sex and the City was.
  • Cheers to not caring what current TV show is popular and watching reruns of my favorite TV shows that I’ve seen time and time again.
  • Cheers to not having enough time to watch TV.
  • Cheers to making it further west than Ohio (fingers crossed).
  • Cheers to you–I’ll never understand why you read this, but I sure am glad you do.

IMG_0971

IMG_0958

Screen Shot 2014-04-07 at 7.33.36 AM

IMG_1003

IMG_0915

Share
{ 0 comments }