“Dogs’ lives are too short. Their only fault, really.” — Agnes Sligh Turnball

IMG_0913 I met Tinkerbell when I was nine. My brother, Michael, and I went with Momma to the feed store [I grew up on a small horse farm], and the store owners had just gotten a Jack Russell puppy. She was mere weeks old, barely bigger than my two hands. Michael and I sprawled on the floor with her and played for hours. I remember it now — still so clearly — and wonder why Mom let us stay that long; surely, she had things to do. But there’s no way I could’ve come between children and their dog either. Momma offered to buy her from the store owners that day.

Tink didn’t actually become our dog until a year later. The owners originally declined Mom’s offer, but their store and home were on a main road, and Tink’s energy couldn’t be contained to a single yard and they were worried about her running in the street. Mom brought her home, and Michael and I were in heaven. We didn’t like her name — she was definitely more Captain Hook than sparkling fairy — but we couldn’t bring ourselves to change it.

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The Teases Take NYC

us —  February 26, 2013 — Leave a comment

Last weekend, we took this Southern show on the road. Because it was Valentine’s Day. And Jacklyn had work in the New York office (but President’s Day off). And Whitney had yet to explore the city with her stepsister. Because there were free places to stay. And worlds to collide. And people to connect. And bar crawls to attend. Because Jack is moving here, and the Teases will soon be 1/2 NYC.

And mostly because somehow (*somehow*), we had never been in the city at the same time before.

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How to Go to Therapy

Whitney —  January 14, 2013 — Leave a comment

I’ve been toying with the idea of therapy for years. Mostly because I’m convinced every single one of use could benefit from it, but also because I think I, someone who craves an understanding of herself, others and the world around her, would particularly benefit from it.

But thinking about it and doing it are two vastly different things.

So when I left the room in the middle of Elf on Christmas Eve and went upstairs to get on my mat so that I didn’t scream and start a fight (and you know, sort of put a damper on the holiday), I decided that my present to myself this year would be therapy. Real, professional, dear-God-how-much-is-this-per-hour therapy.

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How to Make it Better

Whitney —  December 11, 2012 — Leave a comment

I had a rough week.

Now, I realize that’s relative. I am healthy. I have a savings account. My family is okay. My dog feels better. I am loved. In the worldly way of things, I have nothing to complain about.

But some weeks are hard. This last one was really hard. The kind of hard where your Saturday night ends sitting cross-legged on your bed in a very pretty dress [purple tights and a French-braided bun, too] with your dog next to you, sobbing into the phone as one of your dearest friends sits on the other side of the country and can only say, “I’m so sorry. You’re being tested, that’s for sure.” The kind of hard where you look forward to Monday because at least it’s a new start.

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A Love Note to NYC

Jacklyn —  December 4, 2012 — Leave a comment

Dear New York,

I love you. I love just about everything about you. I love the fact that the air I’m breathing in is mostly polluted, that people look at me like I’ve got three heads when I ask how they’re doing, I even love riding in cabs that smell like a mixture of tobacco and bile. I love the way you decorate for the holidays, accept cabillions of tourists into your shops on a daily basis and have McDonald’s and Duane Reade on every block. These things took me a while to love, but they are part of what makes you so special. The amount of talent, beauty and ambition you house on this small island is incredible, and I am longing to be a part of it. The bakeries, bodegas, hole-in-the-wall coffee shops and food carts are calling to my heart, and I am salivating at the thought of living around all of these wonderful things. [Or maybe that was the chocolate holiday pop-up shop I walked past this morning?]

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I can finally strike “be a groupie” from my bucketlist. Take a second and let that one sink in, y’all.

This weekend, I flew to Philadelphia to visit my elementary school heartthrob and see his band play a gig. It was probably one of the most incredible experiences of my life for a number of reasons. First, my second grade love is the lead singer for a truly awesome band [swoon] and the music is actually really good. I love their music and if you’re into a mixing of classic rock riffs with modern pop-rock melodies and a bit of prog in the time changes [his words, not mine] you will probably love them, too. Check them out here: [Spotify] [Interwebs] [Facebook].

The singer and guitarist picked me up from the airport Friday afternoon and I rode with them in a van jam packed with instruments each probably even twice as expensive as my iPad. We hung around all day catching up and I was there for a preshow practice/goof off sesh that lasted the better part of an hour. Part of what was so incredible about hanging out with these two is that I’m not a musician and didn’t experience the same geeking out they did when certain songs came on the radio in the restaurant [Stairway to Heaven, ha] or when they would jokingly swap instruments with each other and try to play the same song. As a web nerd, I get people flipping out over super slick interactions, design and new concepts, but musicians, man they are a different breed. Sometimes I forget I live in such a small bubble and that people can be passionate about things other than the internet, pitbulls and dancing.

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[This has been cross posted from my personal blog over at PlayfulPixel.com]

I’m a huge advocate for following your passion and doing what you love. And [bonus] I’m one of the people who is lucky enough to be doing just that.

Earlier this week I read an article on Fast Company essentially saying that Steve Jobs didn’t follow his own advice to ‘do what you love’ and instead stumbled into his success with Apple because of other small details that helped him along the personal computing path. I feel that the article is overly pessimistic and states at the bottom of the article that advising people to follow their passion isn’t always useful career advice. Here’s my main issue: people are taking this whole doing what you love thing literally.

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[This was originally written on Saturday afternoon.]

Sad. Sorry. Confused. Furious. I don’t know how it’s even possible to experience all of these emotions at once yet still feel so incredibly empty inside. My brain has been going non-stop since I got off the phone with my mother. And my father. And my grandmother. And my neighbor. And Whitney.

It’s times like these when I realize how much the people in my life truly mean to me. I’m reminded that I need to tell each and every one of you how much I love and appreciate you, because it could very well be the last time I see your face, hear you laugh, watch you smile, touch you.

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I had this post 3/4 written two weeks ago. I was going to get up on my glittery soapbox and rage against the ignorant, self-righteous, hypocritical machine that often is the Republican party and this Republican presidential ticket when it comes to women and the issues that affect them. The words “back the f— off my uterus” were in the second paragraph.

But then, last night, I watched the first half of the Half the Sky documentary, which is based on the beautiful, heart-wrenching and life-changing book of the same name by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. Half the Sky investigates the personal and political challenges and sufferings of women in developing countries. Issues like sex trafficking and genital mutilation. Gang rape and familial beatings. Girls stolen from their homes and brothels full of pre-teens. Things that you want to believe don’t exist. But they do. Oh, they do. And yet these girls — these women who hold up half the sky — they persist. They survive.

The stories of the women featured in the documentary reminded me that screaming about Republicans being bad guys trying to take away my access to contraception or the right to my body (not to mention the continued absence of rights to my gay friends) doesn’t get us anywhere. Might make me feel a little better, but it doesn’t actually do anything. It doesn’t change any opinions or open any minds. It doesn’t evolve our positions. It doesn’t educate.

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Jacklyn —  September 7, 2012 — Leave a comment

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might actually explode. My palms were sweating [and thank all that is holy for that extra strength deodorant I put or my pits would be a straight-up swamp], and my vision went blurry. Every muscle in my body froze, making me move like the Tin Man. My voice reached the pubescent boy pitch, and the only thing that could have possibly made it any worse was really terrible jokes. Then came the word vomit AND the jokes.

That was when the really sweet front desk lady at Eyedeology on Peachtree and 7th walked me back into the exam room.

I am 27, and until last week, I had never been to an optometrist before. Dentist, rheumatologist, gynecologist. Psh. Easy peasy. But someone examining my eyes?! I have never been as scared as I was walking into that place. The staff instantly tried to calm me and prepare me for what was going to happen during my appointment, but I couldn’t shake my trepidation and panic.

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