|heart dress, heart earrings.|
i'm a valentine's day grinch. in the tradition of julie, i'm practicing a more positive attitude about this dreaded holiday and embracing hearts.
i gave cecily these earrings for valentine's day this morning, then immediately borrowed them.
|kork-ease mary janes. i didn't check the heel height when i ordered them online. i'm a giantess in these heels.|
if there's one thing i can't get enough of in a shoe it's a) red and b) mary janes. i have to stop myself from buying more red and more mary janes, trying to diversify my footwear.
my tights are looking the worse for wear, but i don't want to invest in new ones at season's end.
|molten lava cake.|
i know this cake is a cliche, but i make it almost every year. it's so easy and, if you're a human being, you'll love it. i used paula deen's recipe, minus the orange liquer because i'm not a fan of orange and chocolate together. i also added a pinch of salt.
i always add an extra pinch of salt to every dessert. try it!
|george bernard shaw's pygmalion at provo's echo theatre.|
pygmalion at the new community theatre in provo, the echo theatre. my first show at the echo. can't wait to check it out.
and i've never seen a production of pygmalion before.
tons of love poems at the poetry foundation. if you want to get your feet wet with poetry, their website is the perfect place to explore.
I was looking for your hair,
black as old lava on an island
of white coral. I dreamed it
deserted you and came for me,
wrapped me in its funeral ribbons
and tied me a bow of salt.
Here’s where I put my demise:
desiring fire in a web of tide,
marrying the smell of wet ashes
to the sweet desert of your slate.
My intelligent mammal, male
of my species, twin sun to a world
not of my making, you reduce me
to the syrup of the moon, you boil
my bones in the absence of hands.
Where is your skin, parting me?
Where is the cowlick under your kiss
teasing into purple valleys? Where
are your wings, the imaginary tail
and its exercise? Where would I breed
you? In the neck of my secret heart
where you’ll go to the warmth of me
biting into that bread where crumbs crack
and scatter and feed us our souls;
if only you were a stone I could
throw, if only I could have you.