Northern Africa on the horizon

A week from today we'll be wrapping up our projects at work, setting our Out of Offices and scrambling to start on that last minute packing.

Then Saturday it's wheels up for Morocco. (Well, technically it's wheels up for Barcelona but those few days we are spending amongst the land of Catalonia isn't the highlight of this trip for me haha!)

Aside from the insane level of excitement I have to finally visit Morocco, this trip also holds another special place in my heart. This trip will mark my 6th continent, and the last big adventure before turning 30.

Judging by every photo I've seen of the country, I'm likely to either A) fall so in love I never want to return or B) buy SO MUCH STUFF in the souks I'm going to have to find a shipping container to send it all back stateside.

If anyone has any tips/must-see's/must-do's send them my way... I'm all ears! We will be spending about 2.5 days in Barcelona total, and a week in Morocco


Well, it's been over a year now of living together and we haven't killed each other so, quite frankly, that's worth a blog post... no?

Actually (wait for it, most cliche blogger line coming right up) I miss this place. I think writing was always therapeutic for me. That and it helped me not forget every single thing.

Or maybe I'm just waxing nostalgic as that infamous 30th birthday starts to sneak closer. Have I even accomplished enough in life to be given the 3-decade-trophy? I mean, if I didn't blog it, it probably didn't even happen - right?!

Anyways, I may pop around these parts a little more often nowadays. Not only do we live on the most fascinating street in Indianapolis, I've also hopped a few other continents, learned how to actually put away laundry, perfected a few signature dishes and other noteworthy things worth sharing. (Although, I cannot for the life of me find the coding to remove these chevrons from my blog background so if anyone can accomplish that feat throw me a line)

Until next time, adios amigos!


On living with a boy.

I bought my house shortly after turning 23. I lived alone for 5 and a half glorious years, which by the way, I recommend every girl does in her life.

Sure I had sleepovers, I had friends stay, I even had post-hospital stints where I stayed back at my parents for a few weeks. But all in all, for five sweet years, those two thousand square feet were my own.

I painted the walls wild colors. I bought a teal couch. I hung giant photos of palm trees, of me posing with koalas, of my friends and I laughing hysterically.

I broke shit. I fixed shit I broke. I you-tubed a lot, and consulted the google diary of home ownership more than an average person probably ever would (perks of owning a 1930s home, I guess.) And when I couldn't fix the shit I broke, I cried for a bit. Then I called my dad and he came and fixed it for me.

You don't really grasp the kind of freedom that comes with living alone until it's gone.

Gone are the days when I meticulously arranged my Tupperware, or I ran around with my pants around my ankles because the toilet paper needed refilled, or I stood on chairs to get the perfect angle of my homemade pizza for Instagram. Do you KNOW how weird it is for someone to walk in on you standing with the fridge wide open eating straight Parmesan cheese in your underwear on a Saturday morning?

On Memorial Day weekend, we said goodbye to Tate's bachelor pad in the heart of Indianapolis and moved him out to the suburbs. Being the type to always have something to look forward to, we (of course) fell in love with a house (also downtown) that same week, and if I remember correctly, had our offer accepted the day we were loading his eight--hundred pound dresser onto the trailer to go to the storage unit.

All of this to say that living with a boy is strange, strange territory. I'd like to think we're navigating it OK together. We've learned that I'm always right when it comes to taking the trash out, how to put away dishes, properly doing laundry, and so on and so forth. And I guess I've learned how to let him veg out watching four hours straight on the history of Irish Castles.

It is nice to have someone else to share doggy duties with, and my bed is a lot cozier now that I have a full-time snuggle buddy. I've enjoyed cooking for two, versus leaving myself with a mountain of leftovers. We've depleted my wine stock tenfold, and having the longest-running game of Rummy in history. We've managed to divvy out the chores pretty easily, and he makes me put away my clothes. Which I guess is a good thing, considering my closet hasn't 'thrown up' all over the bedroom floor in nearly 3 months now.

It still feels like this weird purgatory of having a boy living in MY space though. It's all MY furniture, my art, my routines and plans, my name on all the bills. And I can tell he feels like an extended visitor at times.

I think we're both in the same boat eagerly anticipating closing day (this Friday - eek!) on the new home. A fresh start for us to build a 'together' home.

Who knows, I may even let him have a say in how we organize the Tupperware in the new place?



I'm over here getting all panicky.

The builders told me the other day that the house is slated to be finished Friday. FRIDAY.
That's TODAY.

Suddenly the plan of 'waiting to put my house on the market until ours is finished' just sashayed up and biatch slapped me across the face. I woke up, after Lord knows what kind of dreams, in an absolute panic, POSITIVE that my house will never sell. That this was the worst idea ever. That we have a million things we should do to it before even listing it. That we missed the 'prime selling months' of Spring and early Summer. That it will sit on the market for months and months



Drowning in anxiety over here.

Power of positivity, eh folks? 


Woodgrain tiles and industrial lights, be still my heart

(Note: While opinions are my own, this is a sponsored post, and may contain affiliate links)

The thing about buying a “fixer upper” that someone else is doing the fixing on… you’ve got to put a lot of trust into that fella.

Both Tate & I agreed, that since we were fans of the builders other homes in the area, we wouldn’t become those overbearing, nit-picky buyers who insist on choosing every single door know, window frame, and hardware accent.

That’s not to say a girl can’t dream though! Through this whole house-hunting process I’ve come to learn that, kitchens aside, one of the biggest ‘surprises’ always ends up being the bathrooms.
Especially in flipped homes, they can range from traditional (think: penny tiles, porcelain claw foot tubs, etc) to super modern (floating vanities, bright chrome accessories, stark white finishes). 

My tastes always fall within the traditional, boho styles. Tate's more of a modern, simplistic kind of guy. I won't indulge you on how many tiffs stemmed from a potential home's bathroom these past few months! I've spent a lot of time perusing the internet for mixes of our styles, and was pleasantly surprised when I came across all the great products offered by the online company, PlumbTile

I'm anxiously awaiting finding out what our new bathrooms will look like... in the mean time, join me for a little day-dream'y walk down what I'd love to see when they hand us the keys...

1) I absolutely adore this new style of wood-look tiles that are popping up. As a self-proclaimed "tile-hater" these have definitely changed my mind on the topic... 

2) A sink that holds true to the antique style of the house, such as this one. Not to mention classic hardware to go with it!)

3) Minimalist accessories, such as this towel ring

4) A simple mirror, in an unexpected shape.

5) An industrial style light to add some edge to the space

6) A teak bathmat, for a little bit of nature.

I'd add some bright colored rugs and towels, a bold paint color on the walls, and a few plants to really complete the space. 

What about your dream bath? What do you want to wake up to every morning?