Mmhmm.

me: Not only does it feed you chocolate cake, but it makes you feel bad about yourself after.
Justin: They should have that same message at the bottom of bags of candy hearts.

Os Olhos também precisam de comer

the eyes also need to eat

Coffee shop clichés

[via text]

me: I'm sitting on a stool in Starbucks with nerd frames, pashmina, coffee, cowboy boots, and a Women's Health magazine. I'm THAT girl. 

Russian Rachel: Ohhh vina. We've all been there. But...not to that extreme hahahhaah. 

me: at least I don't have a fancy macbook or a moleskine out. (the moleskine's in my bag)

Russian Rachel: LOLLLLL. 

all those things.

photo via Pure Awesomeness

Wednesday evening

sounds like: the lemonade mix cd that Stephanie made me two years ago. It contains all kinds of wonderful songs by The Ink Spots, Nat King Cole, Pomplamoose, Doris Day, and Django. 

tastes like: roasted eggplant with balsamic vinegar over raw kale, green tea, and fresh ginger/apple/carrot juice. 

feels like: It should not have been 70 degrees on the first day of February. Reading Sartre's No Exit with a warm winter breeze through my open window which should be mildly depressing but is oddly pleasant. The music and breeze makes up for the "I'm stuck in hell's waiting room with two people I hate" existentialism. 

smells like: vanilla perfume, fresh laundry, and the promise of cold weather in the air. 

photo via Sandra Juto

Calling out the summer-lovin' bros.

I go where there is food.

me: I'm going to a super bowl party on Sunday in Ashburn.
Pa: vina, do you even know who's playing in the super bowl?
me: .....no, but the food will be good.

last year's super bowl

Oh look, another photo of Hugh Jackman and his booties-wearing French bulldog.

Um. Mom?