Protected: PostLocal

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

7/14

But I even wore the same dress I wore that day. I looked down about halfway through my day and realized this is what I wore. My hair is longer and a different color now and I can’t drink as much as I used to and I don’t always say exactly what I want to say at every given moment anymore. But that is the least of it. In a year I changed so much.

I still say the wrong things all the time and wonder where my life is going and if I’m a mess or if I’m too mean or if I’m not mean enough. I met someone who makes me really think about what it means to care for someone — he is the opposite of you — but I wouldn’t appreciate him had I not lost you.

Late nights with my sandals slapping the pavement chasing you stretched into mornings and I hated to leave but thank god I did. I met you a year ago and I lost you awhile ago and thank god I did. I met you a year ago and I thought you destroyed me (I was wrong, it was the opposite) and thank god I don’t know you anymore.

Sunset at the beach. Aww. #capemayhem

Research for Kat’s tramp stamp

Garden of good.

Nightmonumenting. Aww DC.

That’s nice.

#4 – HVD and Travis edition

Feeling nostalgic today.

Of all the people I know, Hillary, you’ve always been unapologetic in being true to yourself and what you want.

(Now you’re getting married after what seems like forever. But we all know you and Travis belonged to each other for keeps even back when people still bought CD’s.)

I remember meeting you and not liking you (the feeling was mutual) and then all of the sudden not being able to imagine my life without you. I remember first boyfriends and comparing notes on what it meant to be fumbling and foolish and not really in love but acting like maybe that’s what we were supposed to do or say or feel.  (The group boyfriend journal. Yowza.) I remember gauzy prom dresses and growing up okay and then visiting you at college. (Frat parties, screaming out of car windows, wandering around your castle dorm and apartment and then house.) And I remember you visiting me, ending up drinking  in dark bars way too young, sweating on virtually every kind of Chicago dance floor,  laughing under streetlights. It was sort of the perfect way to get things out of our system.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I still look up to you, because you know exactly who you are, and through every crazy thing we’ve ever done, you’ve always belonged to yourself. Not many people can say so much. Tomorrow, you get married and I have no idea if things will change, but from what I know of you, it gives me faith that you’ll just be you, but with Travis. (Who is awesome, by the way, and a very lucky bastard.)

Tomorrow, I think, it will just be another dance floor.

…

(Just tell me, please, that you still have a few car screams left in you.)

Protected: WPStyle

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Awesomeness.

E-mails like this are pretty sweet:

Thank you for using my story as a selling point of BrokeAss! I seriously LOVE the exposure I’ve gotten. And it’s funny because I’ve still gotten a couple of job offers! Who knew being on the second page in Chicago’s most popular news/entertainment paper could be so beneficial to one’s social life! Thanks BrokeAss! And may the rest of my BrokeAss brethren find gainful employment and happiness like I’ve experienced.

The BrokeAss legacy is alive and well thanks to RedEye’s Jen Healy. Check out the project here, and on Twitter.