Spring Break Outfit

Well the "I wish I was on Spring Break" outfit. Yesterday was my break. I drove to Denver after work on Sunday and drove back Monday after a very successful shopping day. I told myself...only things you can use for Mexico. Which isn't till May, but still, we are gettin there! 

This outfit screamed dancing in a little bar in San Jose to me. Think floppy sun hat by day, turquoise hat band, no shoes-wavy beach hair, hoop earrings, wedge sandals by night. When it's on you would think for sure it's a dress and a wide belt would help that much more.

BUT everything has to be functional at home because well...who can buy something and not wear it the next day. For Spring in CB and by that I mean today. (It may or may not be snowing) I'm going to wear this with boots and this cute little denim button up with a lace back. 

The Skirt- FreePeople $60 WAS $128

(On sale because it came in the dead of Winter. FP loss win for me)

The Bralette- FreePeople and lets not talk about it. Yes the very fit woman with perfect skin below is me HA!

The Boots- My old Steve Maddens that have seen too many days. Can't give up on boots that still get you there! 

This Is The Life

I love mornings like this in Crested Butte. The fog seems to cling to the streets, and there's this urgency to get a coffee in an old sweater, loose and fraying a bit in the spaces that have been a little over loved. It's early and in a town like this no one is headed to work yet, it feels like not a sole is moving, even inside their houses which steam around the edges from under the snow, everything is still. Maybe it would be better to sit in a coffee shop, let the warmth hold me in close, but alone on this porch I don't have to talk, the cold air feels good seeping through the top of my jacket, crisp and messy, alive, in my hair. Who knows when I will get this again. This is the life. 

Baseball

Do you remember your mom counting down? She would say, "If I get to three, you're _______."
But she never really got to what it was that would happen at three.

"One." There would be this long pause where the smirk still lingered in my face, I can remember thinking how cool I was and how little I cared. One was the safe zone, it's all still fun and games.

"Twwooooo." This is the count that divides kids from normal and stubborn, and where I most often chose the latter, but I began to sweat it. Worried that just maybe, maybe, this time it was for real. This is where my mother would usually choose to interject my name, the way it's written on my birth certificate, into the threat. Somehow a word- my name "Jessica", which normally has this almost sort of delicate ring to it, can sound scarier than any full sentence that ever came out of someones mouth.

There's no describing three. What happens there? I can't tell you because honestly, I'm not sure we ever got that far, the mere idea of three was enough. I wonder...did she even know?


Everyone knows that in baseball (sing with me here) it's...

ONE!...TWO!...THREE STRIKES YOUR OUT!

What we tend to forget is that baseball is a game. In life, we are playing with the big boys, not the kid next to you at the game eating Cracker Jacks, and somethings call for two strikes instead of three.

This is where I am at this week, but for once I'm in my mother's shoes. Here I am, wearing those silly red kitten heels of my mothers standing in the snow on Elk Avenue at one. And to be honest I'm not really sure what happens at the end either.