this summer’s gonna hurt (the story so far …)


The weekend before Memorial Day I was walking back from my Friday afternoon routine of reading on the front lawn of a once private, and now unbeknownst to most, public estate up the street from my apartment. I took this photo and later realized I’d taken the same exact shot, on the same exact stretch of sidewalk—two years earlier come August. My right foot being unintentionally, but still entirely cut from the photo is an irony I only appreciate now midway through week ELEVEN with a broken foot. ;)


[ ^^ front lawn in ptown and my preferred form of “bed” rest ^^]

In the midst of crashing in my crutches up stairs in a skirt, down stairs at work, and a few times in LONDON; my parents sold our home, I dabbled in the closest thing I’VE ever come to “traditional” dating and BOTH ex-boyfriend and MGH got engaged. I’m currently trying to find a permanent replacement for the roommate I was hoping would finally return to our apartment after a long year subletting and soul-searching and plotting potential next steps in this rodeo called a ‘creative’ career. In short, what I genuinely believed was going to be a slow and easy, no-brainer, sort of summer has turned out to be quite the balancing act of big changes, boys and a broken foot. ;) I have a follow-up appointment this Friday and a lot of life to live between now and then and am eternally grateful for a crutch free week that made me feel like my old self again, even if I’m back on em’ today.

Screen Shot 2015-07-12 at 11.00.03 AM

Life has a way of shoving me forward, even if I’d prefer to take a few months off. It’s never easy but I’m also never bored or stagnant, which is something I thought about a lot after putting this down “on paper,” and breaking my foot less than one week later (spending what will turn out to be an ENTIRE SUMMER in crutches is certainly in the running for my final time of tempting fate). And despite absolutely not needing to break my foot THREE times to feel grateful, I am better for having busted it the first time. If for no other reason than I now know crutches and a certain degree of gratefulness will get you fast-track chauffeured through an exclusive line at international customs, which is the closest I will ever come to feeling famous.

mgh engaged.


Our annual trip to Ptown was EXTRA incredible this year, thanks to a little surprise proposal on July 5th, by MGH’s boyfriend. I would write more about it but will probably start hysterically crying like I did the second he walked in the restaurant right afterward. Because that’s what happens when your husband gets engaged.

ps. Hand on the chest pic?? Get’s me EVERY TIME.

mm1mm3 mm2mghengaged3mghengaged2

that time we spotted a ferris wheel on the way home from a weekday field trip to frederick and detoured to take a ride

photo 1

[i love how the bright lights were all tucked behind the trees. it felt like stumbling on a little secret world while walking up from the parking lot.]

photo 8photo 2 photo 3 photo-4

[nothing screams “just passing through,” like ex-boyroommate in his work clothes and a crippled asian on crutches.]photo 5

[view from the top!]photo 6

[the crutch chronicles continue …]photo 7

[we were in and out right before the rain and got to enjoy a gorgeous pre-summer storm sky and are currently waiting to find out if we won ONE HUNDRED POUNDS of locally raised BEEF. because i am nothing if not my mother’s daughter.]

ps. When my doctor asks me if I’ve been “following the rules,” I will likely NOT be sharing the part where I got into this contraption, which spun 360 degrees and had highly questionable safety features (as in, the lock latch FELL OFF as soon as we stopped).

ptown 2015


[making the newbee fill the vodka trunk ;)]


[a new favorite photo]


[getting ready for the 4th photo]


[cute boys and good BBQ, quite possibly the best summer combo]


[wharf from the front porch]


 [front lawn lounging for the first time and WHY DIDN’T WE DO THIS SOONER??]


[ass kissing the owner so he will love us and let us come back forever. also he’s really awesome.]


[review of the official group photo]


 [i love the way he looks at me]


 [13 years of lookin’ over each others’ shoulders]


[standard morning after]

a walk to remember (with two feet for the first time in five weeks).


[there’s something about wandering alone in foreign cities and eating outside by myself that makes me feel the most like me]

I studied abroad in Cambridge the summer before my senior year and fell seriously in love with London. Later, when MGH moved there for grad school, I fled real life to go live with him. It was a magical couple of months and to this day I’ve never been as tan as I was on my way home from Heathrow—sunkissed on our slow walks to go window shopping and people watching. It only felt right to take my 5 week, twice busted, still swollen like a m’ther fucker, foot for a walk for the first time in Leicester Square, in center London, the city that’s always felt like second home. It took me AN HOUR AND A HALF to make one line change and a travel a total of 6 tube stops (handicap people of Europe I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU DO IT, but I will say the kindness of British men who offer to carry you or at least to find a ‘lift’ must help A LOT), and when I made it out of the underground I was standing in the exact spot I took a photo of an old friend, 10 years earlier. I celebrated with rib eye steak frites and giant glass of white wine (a la Copenhagen) when I finally arrived. ;)

ps. I’m a thousand percent certain my “finally on the mend” foot became THRICE broken from my little London excursion. Wanderlust is unbreakable but apparently my new bones are not.

because life really is a daring adventure or nothing at all.

After talking about how jarring a feeling it was having not having June jet-setted like I usually do, it turns out I will be taking a VERY quick, completely unexpected trip over the pond anyway. I blame finding the personalized British adventure book Michael made me while I was home packing and discovering I could do this without dying. ;)

ps. speaking our own language since 2006.

happy father’s day, dad!


me: i don’t know if i want eggs or wine and popcorn for breakfast …
dad: there’s no reason you can’t have both

To my Dad, who didn’t skip a beat when FOUR was my answer to “one or two eggs?” and is currently helping me trouble shoot a broken toilet in the apartment I’m house-sitting because that’s just what we do. ;)

Love, YFD.

home is where the square hamburger is …


It will be hard to say final goodbyes when closing day comes, but if I’ve learned anything in my many moves over the last decade it’s this: Home isn’t an address. It’s not the phone number you’ve known since you were 8 years old. It’s the people. It’s the memories made. And for me—it’s my parents. Who rearranged dinner plans (and kind of the entire day) so I could do a photo shoot for a friend, with the square shaped hamburgers from my Mom’s family farm. It’s my Dad making a special trip to the farmer’s market for the fattest tomatoes and my Mom going back to the grocery store upon discovering only strawberries were in local, peak season. It’s her retrieving the super-summery, red-speckled dishes from the top shelf I still can’t reach without standing on a chair and him saying, “Do you want pickles for your picture?” And it’s eating together when it’s all over. :)

the one month mark.

I am so tempted to finally set up the pancake/bacon station on the mini fridge next to my bed but am less excited about being medivac-ed from my apartment when I weight 3000 pounds only to DIE ALONE.

This is why we have day jobs. To keep us from the emotional turmoil that is deciding between daily breakfast in bed and self respect.

this broken foot is the only thing keeping me from last minute flying to france …

I took this photo on Monday morning from workout wife’s home office. It was sunny and breezy out on the patio (hello WASHED and windblown hair!) and I’d eaten a REAL MEAL to top it off. I was optimistic and fairly positive I would hear good news from my doctor, confirming that while falling on your broken foot is HIGHLY DISCOURAGED, I hadn’t done any major damage. As it turns out: I WAS WRONG. So while this week should have marked the start of walking *without* crutches, it ended up being the beginning of another two weeks instead. :/

I sent gun emojis to everyone I know and proceeded to ride the most pathetic float in the self-pity parade for the next 48 hours.

This afternoon after work I’m hauling my broke ass up to Connecticut to clean out the rest of my bedroom since my parents did the damn thing and will be closing on our home mid next month. Assuming I don’t accidentally tumble into the Union Station train tracks, I’m looking forward to a few days of family and central AC from the comfort of the couch. Meanwhile, I’ve been playing a little game of alternate universe and in the world where I didn’t break my foot in THREE PLACES WHILE WALKING (in sandals NO LESS), I am headed to NICE on Saturday night to relax in a FREE AIRBNB for the following week. Where instead of packing up 14 days of dirty laundry; I will be tossing all worries to the French Riviera wind. :)

ps. In alternate universe I am currently bolting to Banana Republic to pick up this totally apropos TOMBOY clutch.