The Bitter Cucumber & The Curse Of Curcurbitacin

This is an odd blog. It definitely has a different voice to it from when I first started four years ago, sans Instagram. I was alot more anxious, worried about pretty words and if my passages came off mysterious and descriptive enough. Now I’m alot more relaxed about what I write and today I choose to complain to you all about the bitterness of cucumbers. An odd mix in the thrall of tough love topics I have in my files waiting for you to read after this. I’ve often come to a frustrating conclusion as to why I end up with a bitter cucumber. Or cucumber(s) as they are often on sale at my superbly overpriced organic store, 3 for 99 cents. “What a steal!” I whisper under my breath, after taking a swift glance at the coupon section of the grocery newspaper. Okay I don’t actually say that but the thought has crossed my mind a few times every time I spot a bargain. So… I look at grocery newspapers. I’m quite the frugal person, as extra as I am with my pets for those that have known me for some time on Instagram.

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The Girl Who Lived

As I sit here lounging in my cotton underwear and unreasonably XXL T-shirt sans bra, I held on to Butters while she wheeked softly. Across the bed, Peaches sprawled belly up, fast asleep. I stare deeply at the blank screen of my computer tonight, wondering how I should write this without coming off as “different.” Because that’s how I’ve felt my whole life. Out of place, out of rhythm, out of rhyme. I struggle to type out the words that are just on the tips of my tongue. They’ve been waiting to translate themselves into typed out letters via the use of my fingers yet no words ever seem good enough to describe what I’ve dealt with for most of my life.

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Insecurities and Beauty Standards

Growing up, I was raised by my mother and grandmother who had two different views of beauty. My mother, who had fully embraced what was beautiful in America and my grams, who held on tightly to the reigns of culture and past.

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Vive La Tarte At A Glance

Vive la Tarte is a bustling little bakery shop hidden around the corner of our hotel that I went into after a night of strolling through the streets of San Fransisco at 2am in the morning. It is a beautiful open space with high ceilings that exude a modern, hipster feel. Most restaurants these days are geared toward “Instagram friendly,” vibes, meaning they are all about aesthetics and foods that look too good to eat, and Vive la Tarte hit that mark the moment I stepped in. It was busy at 10 am in the morning, full of customers hanging out on the steps like high school kids waiting around for next period or sitting a top flat bed type seats with cafeteria style tables. The seating was comfortable  to uphold a conversation with my friend, but I could definitely hear the other conversations next to me if I didn’t pay attention.

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My Experience With A Toxic Friendship

Growing up I didn’t have many friends, but I did have one person that I considered my best friend. Let’s call her “S” (Gossip Girl much since I am “V” ?) I met S when I was in middle school, a time where I was bullied a lot and didn’t know that kids could be so cruel when they found something in someone they didn’t like. We didn’t fully become close friends until high school and I was glad to have a good friend to start this new, all together exciting and scary chapter in my life with. We all know that it is less scarier to grow through obstacles and growing pains with great friends by your side.

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