Back from the Atmosphere: 🌏 

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Real talk, I’ve been a tad on the emosh lately — for so many reasons.  The teeniest, tiniest things have the power to set me off in an array of passions and personalities that I didn’t know exist.  Lets face it, it’s been a long time since I’ve lived, instead of existing to survive.  Naturally overwhelmed by my affections, I’ve realized I’ve been covering up my scars with paint and I’m finally ready to wash away its taint. The very same taint that tortured me for the past three, almost four years.  Yet, in its wonder I have continuously been learning that my most painful trials can be rewarded with the most salient growth.

I have failed to balance my writing, or, rather share my writing because I felt stuck on a road with no end. No end to the endless days of pain, but keeping hope in my mind that life could once again be kind.  It seemed like a dream, a place far away from my reality, as I was encased in flesh and bones, yet desperate for life in my veins.

Month after month following my HIPEC surgery were spent under the covers. Forgetting all of the faces and all the different places I have been. It made no sense in my mind that I should feel lucky to be alive, while dealing with such agony.  In my dreams my tears were chilled to the bone, I couldn’t remember what it was to feel alive.

The brilliant medical team at Mayo would remind me that patience is a virtue and that my body has been sliced, diced and poisoned to the nth degree.  It seemed as though  I was walking alone, and no one was following. It wasn’t just pain from the recovery — my body was telling me something wasn’t right.  Just like every other instance, my body was insistent on a pain so severe that it made me call for the man in the sky.

Friends would ask, “How are you?”

Great, fine. Just not healing as fast as I’d hope,” I’d reply practically lying through my teeth because I didn’t have any answers.  The fib would then be followed by an exclaiming, happy heart face emoji.  This all in an effort to indicate that I wasn’t hiding inside a cage, but was instead a warrior. The way so many seem to view me.

Meanwhile I hated leaving the house, much less get out of my infamous monogrammed, “B.K.O.”, black robe. I only wanted to be home, where I belonged, where I could put sorrow on the record player and smoke until I found a heavenly place to fall from grace.

.It was now March and by this point I had a decent amount of post op appointments with “da team.”

“Doc, I literally feel World War III erupting in my insides.”

I wasn’t saying that loosely, or to be insensitive given the current political climate, but quite frankly I felt that after months of bitching and getting nowhere, it was an obligatory analogy.  Even if my example was a bit crass, it turns out that I got my point across and at last the Doc’s realized I wasn’t complaining because it was good for my health. Okay, bad pun.  Yet, they actually began to understand and realize the severity of my pangs. I was no longer drowning under their belief that my body was behaving “normally,“

I digress — off to the Urologist. Let me tell you, I’ve never met a man more in love with his job. Urine banter and all that it entails to “void,” is his pride and joy and I had a feeling that just maybe, just maybe, he’d magic up the culprit to my evils.

Sure enough, he did. I was having issues doing one of the most basic human bodily functions, i.e. wee, wee-wee, number one, pee, piss, U-R-I-N-A-T-E — g*ddamnit.

“I mean, WTF is wrong with me now?”, I would scream to myself.

Nevertheless and lucky for me, after months of complaining, it only took two appointments with, Dr.Piddle for him to solve the current mystery this body of mine riddled.

A Magician, perhaps — or just a man so passionate about liquid body waste that he becomes golden, baby. Of course it took several uncomfortable and down right miserable tests that forced me into a state of meditation that my mere existence relied upon.

Once the worse was over, the mystery was revealed. My abdomen/pelvic region had been so invaded over the course of the past few years that my muscles, including my bladder, is in a constant spasm state. Suddenly the hell I had been enduring made perfect sense — I was practically having constant f*cking contractions.

The real rabbit out of the hat was that there is no magic cure — except six months of physical therapy. Annoyed by the lack of instant gratification, I made the offering and obliged under his respective Doctor order.

Right after my first session of “PT”, as the cool kids call it, I decided that my body deserved physical therapy. It was time to let go of all the marks that have settled in my skin. Knead out the all of the suffering, trauma to my guts and the scar tissue both mentally and physically.

Since then I have returned to yoga, wake up during daylight, clean the house without paying for it later and come together with my mains for cocktails and a good old fashion gossip sesh’. Best of all, I have released the pause button on feeling secure enough in my health to make future life plans with my loving and endlessly supportive husband.

When you look at me, you wouldn’t know that I am lucky to be alive. You’d think I was the picture of perfect health. The long and short of it is that each day brings its own sets of challenges and I am privy to the fact that healing is a life long endeavor.  Even so, maybe this time it worked.

Updates to follow…

Love,
Britt x

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Painted Lady:

Words cannot express how incredibly honored and surprised I am to have artist and author, Anthony Oldham paint this insanely beautiful oil painting of me.  I have never had someone paint a picture of me, let alone something so lovely! Thank you, Anthony!

BRAVO!

Love,

Britt x

My Crystal Baller: 🔮

Happy Birthday

It’s been said a time or two that opposites attract. Crystal and I are the mere definition of that saying. However, our relationship has been fierce from the start. Nearly three decades of one million memories, ten thousand jokes, one hundred shared secrets, all for one reason: best friends. Today is my number ones 30th Birthday and I couldn’t have enough lovely things to say about my unbiological sister and how happy I am that I found her in this big, wide world.

Crystal, there’s not many things that our friendship hasn’t endured. From the time we were little you were a sweet cupcake in a world full of muffins. We’ve been through crazy times, weddings, funerals, good times and bad, but we’ve never turned our backs on one another — even when we did a little soul searching of our own we were still imprinted on one another’s hearts and souls. May the next thirty years be just the same.

My wish for your coming year is that it’s filled with a little magic and madness, but the good kind of folly. Travel to your hearts desire, see the world and share your many adventures. While you’re at it, read some fine books along the way and get lost in the words and your imagination. Sing at the top of your lungs, Mariah Carey style. Relax and let the world spin madly on, whilst you sip on a fine glass of wine. Do something to surprise yourself. Treat yourself and splurge on something without feeling the slightest bit guilty. Live only as you can. And most importantly, come visit your best friend. Just remember, in an mmmbop it’s gone. Happy 30th my beautiful forever friend. I love you more than any word I could ever write.

Love your best friend for eternity,

Britt x

Festival Fashion Trends: Illustrations

With week one of Coachella underway, Festival season is just beginning. Although I had to give up our Coachella tickets this year under Doctor’s orders, it doesn’t mean I can’t dream about this year’s hottest festival trends.

I partnered with Chic Sketch and Co-Founder, Emily Brickel Edelson of the fashion forward mobile app that transforms images into fashion sketches within minutes.  This app brings your Insta pics to a whole new medium of fashion for the average fashionista, who perhaps doesn’t have the gift of sketching (ahem, moi).

Check out some of Emily’s picks for this year’s dreamiest of festival trends spotted at week one of Coachella.

P.S.- Chocker’s are the new flower crowns.  Get on it, girls.

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Love,

Britt x

Information Provided By: RUBENSTEIN PUBLIC RELATIONS

Je Ne Sais Quoi: What Is Style?

Style is simply having a sense of who you are.  I’ve had style since the womb. Quite literally.  I realize not everyone gets so lucky, but it’s a state of mind, an art form. It’s about being comfortable in your own skin, a logo to your personality and a trademark to your soul.

When I was little I would prance around the house singing to Dolly Parton in my Mum and Nan’s highest of heels.  The world was my stage and the hair spray bottle was my microphone. Needless to say, I’m still working on my voice.  But to my surprise when I was  accepted to the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in Los Angeles and told by the Director that I had one of the best portfolios that they had viewed in years, it was one of the best days of my life.  I knew that it was a part of who I was.  The thing is, style, oh yes, style is something that I do for myself. I dress to please myself and myself alone.  Without which I would feel simply dull.  I’m not saying it’s the clothes that make the person, but you may as well have a little fun with it.

To have that certain je ne sais quoi, you must emphasize a life of passion.  This can come in many forms.  For me it shines through in ways of leisurely pastimes, charm and cultivation of life’s simple pleasures.  One might think you need extra zeros on your paycheck to manifest this type of lifestyle however it comes from within, it comes from happiness and from happiness comes the best style.

As Donna Karen once said, “It’s when the woman, her individuality and spirit comes through, she uses clothes to express who she is and how she feels.”

Investing in pieces that are both couture as well as thrifty is a high all on its own.  A sensational form of art and a vision that even Picasso would fail to uphold to the likes of the fashion canvas.  However, the beauty of style can be anything to anyone and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the magic and experience within the rules of fashion is that they are made to be broken.  Obey your gut, do what you like best and know that trends are momentary, be faithful to your own taste because what YOU truly like will never go out of style.

Love,

Britt x