cait +tiff


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Photo Credit: Jason Lloyd Evams for Ashish via i-D

Hi there, welcome to Wednesday. Tiff is currently buying all of Cambodia for all of California, because she is a wonderful friend. Cait has been filling the fridge full of all the things that Tiff has to eat when she gets here. We are clearly excited to see each other.

Two ladies who have known each other for 37 years and are still killing it.  (Give us some time, we’ll get there)

I am super interested in this article, and feel like we should all be using our super powers more.

Amazing.

I haven’t watched it yet, but this is a brilliant take down of a certain tone deaf ad that just came out.

I like Selena Gomez a lot right now and I am not sure how to feel about it.

When a brand just gets it wrong, shoppers respond.

Do you follow @bustle on Instagram? Stop wasting your life and get on that.

This guy’s podcast rocks.  So does his house.

This is my favorite headline.

I just want to put them on and go for a hike in the desert now.

SO MANY THINGS TO TAKE TIFFANY TO.


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C / a little Disney magic

castle.JPGI have had “A Whole New World” stuck in my head for days. You know, super normal adult stuff.

It all started last week when a friend came to town for her birthday, and we went to see the new Beauty and the Beast, followed by a trip to Disneyland, on a Monday. It was a lot of Disney, all at once. The movie was honestly pretty fantastic, but I like Emma Watson and am super into talking appliances, so don’t trust my opinion.

At Disneyland, we went on all the fun rides, got fast passes, inhaled churros, and impatiently waited in the never-ending lines. It was so much fun. Fun is great.

I am writing about it because for a while there, I had sort of forgotten about fun. It’s not that I have been living in a deep sadness all by myself or that I don’t smile or laugh or anything, I just sort of lost track of the things that make me feel like me. It’s easy to get lost in the constant mind spaghetti of “figuring it out,” which has sort of been my life the last year. Figuring it out blows, and constantly working on myself and through issues that I don’t really want to deal with is exhausting. Disneyland snapped me out of it.

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both normal faces

I giggled. I screamed on Space Mountain and ducked on the Indiana Jones ride when it felt like there were arrows being shot out of the wall. (It’s apparently just air.) I screamed and laughed and tried really hard to keep my arms up on Thunder Mountain. I insisted we go on the Teacups, because they RULE, and I may have gone a little crazy with the spinning and made everyone sick. Sorry guys!

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tea cups

Disney is problematic, obviously, especially in the 90’s when most of the movies they put out seemed to be in competition with each other for “most racist and anatomically unreasonable.” (I think Pocahontas won.) I will forever have bizarrely unrealistic expectations for love and cleavage, but those stories are a part of my childhood, and screaming my face off on rides inspired by them was the most fun I have had in a long time.

So thanks for that, Disneyland, and the rest of the Disney movies I have seen this week. It doesn’t matter what they are, mind your business.

PS, I am really proud of myself for not using the phrase “inner child” once in this post.

caitsig


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C / Super Productive Saturday

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I read a lot of self-improvement stuff these days. I have talked about digging into meditation and all the work it takes to get out of my head and into my life, and it feels like I am maybe, possibly, getting there. Of course, it’s one thing to feel progress, and quite another to actually change your own behavior.

I had an exceptionally productive Saturday morning today, which I feel like is a sign of real change. I have written up a little guide to help you get out of your lazy morning rut, and I hope it helps!


First, and most importantly, don’t set an alarm. Let your body wake up at whatever time it needs, like the damn princess that you are. Make sure you lay in bed for at least 15 minutes before figuring out that you slept on the edge of your open computer for most of the night, leaving you with a very large imprint on your back and dreams of Andy Dwyer.

Get up chug the iced tea that your Friday self left in the fridge, guessing that your growing caffeine dependence might kick in hard. Mentally hug your Friday self and tear up, thinking about how considerate you can be.

Shuffle to closet and grab giant socks and a sweater. Put on the sweater and socks, tucking the top of the sweater into your underwear. This move is important, because we all know you aren’t going to wear pants for another few hours, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be put together.

While making your way back to the kitchen, glance at yourself in the mirror and see your hair, and take a moment to admire your current look. I like to think of what celebrity I look like the most, and this morning was like the lovechild of early days Jim Carey and puffy Tilda Swinton. Feel proud.

Once in the kitchen, make coffee and drink it over the sink while the next cup is brewing. This is the part of the morning when you realize that you had two glasses of wine last night and you are elbow deep in a hangover. Contemplate your own mortality, then have second cup of coffee.

Talk on the phone to childhood friend, and terrify her with your morning voice, which is somewhere between Fran Drescher and a literal cigarette. Feel good about never smoking cigarette, and very smug about your lung health. This is a ridiculous thing to feel smug about.

Put on Ed Sheeran’s “Shape of You” and dance like an idiot. Sweat more that you thought a three-minute song would inspire and name your favorite move.

Since you are already warmed up, consider attending the pilates class that is 70 feet away from your front door. Decide that you can’t get there in time and watch Instagram stories for 25 minutes instead.

Talk to your dad, say snarky things that you both think are funny. Feel great about living closer to your parents.

Realize that you didn’t do your blog post yesterday.

Decide you want to take a walk, because that is what healthy people do, and what the hell are you doing, sitting in your underwear and wasting your perfect lungs?

Crank out absurd piece to put on the internet, smile to self because this is so dumb.

The End!


For more tips on productivity and adult living, probably don’t read my posts, because this is clearly total garbage.

caitsig

 


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C / Wonder Woman

wonder

When I was in 7th grade, I went to Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm with the school band. Between pretending to practice my trumpet, and figuring out how much gummy candy and churros I could buy with my weekend stipend, I looked for cool key chains. I know, you are sitting there like “Cait, stop bragging about how cool you used to be!” Sorry, I don’t mean to look down on you so obviously.

Anyway, while I was there, I DID find a cool keychain that reminded me of my mom. She has always been one of the people in my life that can seemingly do anything, so I picked up the Wonder Woman keychain and brought it back to Tucson with me. I was super proud to give my mom a present, because when you are 12, it’s hard to be not poor, and cool moms deserve cool keychains.

Fast forward 20-ish years, and I am going to Disneyland next week, and watching the trailer for the Wonder Woman movie, and completely psyched for it. The movie looks stunning and empowering and feminist and all kinds of badass. I’m excited.

This all proves that nothing really changes, my mom is still awesome, I am still a band nerd on the inside, and this lady is getting ready to go nuts on churros. #deepthoughts

Cover photo

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C / Wynwood color

tough girls

I am currently on a work trip to the Cayman Islands. That has nothing to do with this post, I just wanted to write it.

En route to this gorgeous tax haven, I stopped in Miami. I visited Miami a few times when I was in grad school in New York, and was looking a little too much like a Twilight extra. I would come down for a weekend, soak up sun, drink something out of a coconut, and then head back to the city. I never really explored enough, and I certainly never went to Wynwood.

Let me say first, that I also did not explore Miami on this recent trip. I walked around one small neighborhood for about 20 minutes, got a coffee, and then got on a flight to the Cayman Islands, for a work trip. Did I mention that I am in the Cayman Islands for a work trip yet? Anyway, my lovely tour guide, Megs, walked me around one of the most shockingly beautiful neighborhoods I have ever seen. Whole buildings are covered in patterns, and some of the warehouses are covered in straight up dreams.

Here are a few medium-ok photos I grabbed this morning that do the work absolutely no justice whatsoever. me b4 coffeequeenprettynessstripescolorzz

If you find yourself in Florida, 1. ask an adult for help, 2. try to vote, 3. go get coffee at Panther and cruise the neighborhood. I will be back there next week, when I return from my work trip in the Cayman Islands. It’s hard being such a grown up all the time.

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C / do the thing

I get caught up in my head a lot, and it gets in the way of getting work done. Even for writing this today, I started a few pieces, then deleted them, then got a snack, and sat down at the computer, assuming it would tell me what to do. It’s not my favorite pattern, though I did get to eat a tiny ice cream sandwich, so it wasn’t a total wash.

I am not the first person to over think things, or to mentally (and sometimes physically) stand in the way of my own progress or goals. With my weird, overly flexible schedule right now, I have tried imposing small goals for the day, timelines, and rules to keep me on track, but nothing has really stuck.

Until this.

I have seen this before, a number of times, but it came back to me the other day, when after procrastinating so hard I was annoying myself, I said “JUST DO IT” to myself. The thought of Shia LaBeouf having his shit together more than I do is enough motivation to get my work done.

Happy Saturday!


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C / LA top 5 for February

la-old

Photo by Barry Feinstein 

When I moved to LA, I promised myself I would take advantage of all the cool stuff it has to offer. I was going to go see art, go to live music, and really get involved in the neighborhood. Instead, I know a lot about Netflix and have really enjoyed the view of the park from my window.

In an effort to get out of this ridiculous, wasteful rut, I have signed up for yoga, become a member at a museum, and I am making friends with the nice ladies at the juice shop. I am starting to carve out my little life here, and it’s important to me that this little life is filled with the things that I was (constantly) complaining about missing in Cambodia.

My favorite things in February are:

  1. The basics class at Urth Yoga, with Ivette. I love yoga, and have been doing it pretty regularly since college. This class has me making my schedule around it, because of the amazing teacher. For each class, there is a specific message/intention/vibe that she focuses on, and weaves in throughout the practice. It ends up feeling a little bit like stretchy therapy.
  2. Cool Haus ice cream sandwiches. You know when people find out about something delicious but unhealthy, and then they say they wish they didn’t know about it? That does not apply here. These are so delicious, and make me so happy, that the endorphins released into my body while I am eating them, actually sword fight the sugar, fat, and whatever else makes these little bitches so amazing. It also happens to be a woman-owned company and they started their empire out of a truck.
  3. Echo Park lake. Every third photo on my phone is of the lake. I spend most of my mornings walking around it, and trying to figure out which dogs I want to steal legally adopt in the future. It’s full of every kind of person, and at night the taco trucks a vendors line the park and the whole neighborhood shows up.
  4. LACMA. I have a membership here (super cool holiday gift) and I have been trying to go as often as possible. It’s a massive space, with a number of different building and all kinds of art. They rotate the exhibitions pretty regularly, and recently took down the “spaghetti” which is actually the Jesús Rafael Soto piece,”Penetrable.” When they were taking it down last week, they gave pieces of the spaghetti away, and I got one! Now I have a dirty yellow tube in my kitchen, and it counts as art.
  5. The Den MeditationSo, I have never been able to meditate, and I don’t think I have ever really been in the place to try. When I arrived in LA, my brain was the equivalent of emotional scrambled eggs. There has been a lot going on in my brain and heart, and when these classes were suggested to me, I was like, “okay, hippie.” But then I started going, and it turns out, carving out time to be kind to yourself and fully address things that stress you out, is healthy. I am doing classes on mindfulness and self compassion and it feels pretty good to be slightly less of an asshole to myself. Who knew?

So that’s my top five for the month. Because I am such a newb in town, I wouldn’t dream of doing a city guide or anything like that. But I will be doing this little top 5 every month to share what is going on in my world.

Big hugs!

caitsig


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T / happy monday / rebel yell

Photo Credit: Yale Joel.

Photo Credit: Yale Joel.

I am a firm believer that every revolution should come with a soundtrack.  It’s Monday, and I’m still feeling the anxiety. It’s going to be a banner year for cardiologists and therapists this year because this anxiety is manifesting in every which way possible.  My own palpitations are going a little nuts and if I don’t find a rhythm to believe in, I’m heading towards some sort chest gripping episode.  Then my pal Sarah shared the few words of a great songstress this past weekend.  And I went into a deep dive of music.  I’ve arranged a collection of sorts to get me into the fighter mode.  These tunes come from all the genres and are interspersed the rebel yells of my mother’s own generation, with some calming melodies included to make sure we those veins don’t pop.  Happy Monday. Get in Formation.


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C/ My friend, Tom

tom

My friend, Tom, died yesterday.

I’m sitting on the couch in Cambodia at 4am, with hot tears on my cheeks, trying to negotiate a way to get him back.

I met Tom when I was in grad school in New York. It had to be the first month in Greenpoint, that Erin and I wandered down to Franklin Street and into Dandelion Wine. The shop had these warm yellow lights outside, and I’m attracted to shiny things, so we went in. They did a wine tasting on Thursdays, I’m not sure if they still do, but it was so much better than the usual swirl and spit. They would get piles of Murray cheese, and fresh bread from some renegade baker in Brooklyn, who only sold to people he liked.

Tom was in the back of the store when I met him. I asked him about some of the wines, and ended up in an hour long conversation with an extra glass of something amazing from the back, that was going to “blow my mind.” It did. We stayed at the shop late that night, drinking, eating all of their cheese, and talking to Tom and Lily. Lily owns the shop, and Lily is a badass.

Thursday at Dandelion became a thing, and we spent a lot of time there, shamelessly indulging in each new week of wines and ensuring that not a crumb of fancy bread was wasted. Tom became a friend, and one of the people I looked forward to seeing most. What’s funny is after a few years of Thursdays of talking about wine, I learned nothing about it, because I just trusted Tom’s choice. I drank Tom Wine.

Tom was Greek, and you would learn that pretty quickly after talking to him. He talked of summers in Greece, the islands where his family still lives, how the government was full of idiots getting in their own way. He would say that he could run the place better that they could, and I think he was probably right. I’d vote for Tom.

He loved to cook, and one of my biggest regrets is that I never had his lamb; he would NOT stop talking about his lamb. Our first meal together was at Rye, in Brooklyn. It’s a cozy little spot where you can order a jug of Old Fashioned cocktails and eat meatloaf sandwiches. He talked about how he could make everything better than they could.

He swam, like a crazy person, in any ocean he could get to. Miles at a time, and way too far away from the shore. He was unphased by the thought of sharks, waves, currents or anything else that would immediately convince me not to swim alone for miles in the ocean. Tom was big and brave and would fight a shark. Actually, no. Tom would flight a shark, then become friends with the shark, introduce it to it’s shark wife, and bring the best wine to their shark wedding.

Tom had stories. He had stories of New York and Greece, and “I’m not going to say who” Hollywood actress who was all over him in the 70’s. He had stories of shady mafia people, and of travels to the other side of the earth with beautiful women and danger. He was working on a TV show when we talked a little while back, and I so wanted to see those stories on a screen.

He had a son, who I think is about 20 now, and he was the thing Tom was most proud of in the world. He would constantly brag about how handsome, smart, kind, and accomplished his son is. He fiercely loved that kid and would go into any number of battles for him.

I feel like I’m not writing as well as Tom deserves. Tom deserves a fucking parade. He deserves the streets lined with sobbing women and children and old friends, cursing the skies for taking him. He deserves poetry and drama and fanfare and drunkeness. He deserves a party, on a mountain top in Greece, like the one in Mamma Mia, but less Abba, more Rolling Stones, though Meryl Streep should probably still be there. He deserves a holiday, a feast, and money with his face on it.

He died in his apartment, which is total bullshit. He was too young, to full of energy and ideas and revolution. This feels like theft. Tom’s soul would have gone out riding a great white through a ring of fire after saving a family from a sinking ship while punching Donald Trump in his stupid face.

Tom was kind, unbelievably loyal, funny, and warm. He was an amazing friend, and always had time for me. He had the biggest damn heart in the world. He didn’t follow life’s vague rules, and constantly challenged the system and the people running it. He was brave and strong and his hands were so big they were like paws.

Whenever we would say goodbye, he would say I love you. I would say I love you back. To know him was to love him. I will miss him forever.

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“Step outside of the bill paying obedience school and rethink everything we’ve been taught.” -Tom Athens

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