Dog Days of Summer

I. Love. My. Dogs. And, I feel completely justified in saying it with such emphasis because I do not have kids {yet}. That motherly, nurturing gene that exists in women is fulfilled in me by a 17-pound male Puggle who continually poops in our basement and a 75-pound female Boxer-Pit Bull who takes up three-quarters of our king size bed. I spoil them so rotten that my husband may {or may not} have said once or twice in our nearly one year of marriage, "I wish you loved me as much as the dogs." What he can't possibly understand is that I do not love them more, just different.

First of all, my girl Roxy is just that, my girl {although she would probably choose my husband if given the choice because I am convinced that she has a crush on him}. She has traveled with me through three states, four houses and five jobs. In a time in my life when I packed up everything I had ever known and moved 1,500 miles away from Colorado to Portland, Oregon, she was sitting in the passenger seat next to me. Then, again, when I packed up everything from Portland to move 3,000 miles to Louisville, Kentucky, she was in the back seat. She was a very stable part of a very unstable time in my life. Frank, on the other hand, is my little prince. He prances around the house, following in every single one of my footsteps, and it is not possible for him to sit anywhere without human contact. He does not have the potential to hurt even a fly {although he tries}, and I recently discovered that he viciously attacks all of our mail when the poor delivery man slides it into our door mail slot. His personality is unparalleled, which is what made it so devastating when we came home from church on Sunday and he started yelping every time we went to pick him up. All we kept saying was, "Something is really wrong with him," and yet neither of us wanted to fork over the hundreds of dollars to go to an emergency clinic on a Sunday afternoon.

Time out. Before you go and call us bad pet owners, here's the down low on Roxy's life up to this point. She is approximately five. I rescued her at three-months-old. Two years ago, she got hit by a Land Rover going 40 MPH on a Friday night while visiting my future in-laws. We were forced to rush her to an emergency clinic where she stayed for a week while they performed surgery to reconstruct her pelvis {yes!}. I couldn't afford it, but I had nice parents and a decent credit card. Six months ago, she blew out her knee including a full tear of the ACL. My husband and I were faced with, yet again, a hurt {but relatively healthy} dog and a hefty bill. We just found out last week that she broke off a piece of the knee implant, which will inevitably mean another surgery {thank you, Roxy}. Time in.

So, as any 21st-century pet-owner would do, I Googled. I scoured for every possible reason that my little dog would not want to be picked up. I went from constipation to bulging disk and back to constipation. I resorted to feeding him wet food mixed with canned pumpkin since he refused to drink water and wouldn't go to the bathroom. I snuggled him all night {as any good mom would do} and got him to the vet first thing in the morning {after crappy sleep and a 6:30 AM run that had me in tears for fear that I'd be taking my dog to his death bed in a few hours}. My hope was restored when I grabbed his leash for the outing and he started running around me in circles like the Frank-of-old; the second miracle happened when he finally pooped on our way into the vet after going dormant for over 24 hours. Hallelujah. All was right with the world. His back is still bothering him, but the vet said it's nothing that a few doggie pain killers and muscle relaxers {mixed lovingly with canned pumpkin} can't fix. Compared to Roxy, it was a surprisingly cheap day. I don't know how much I would have spent to make his pain go away, but I can tell you one thing: the number in my head was probably {much} higher than the number in my husband's head. Thankfully, that battle was saved for another day.

Roxy in Her Prime {pre-surgeries}

My Traveling Co-Pilot

Roxy Post-Pelvis Surgery

My Little Prince

Frank's Water Bowl

Best Friends

The Art of Introversion

Sometimes, just sometimes, something on Facebook will catch my eye {aside from ridiculous commentary or an inappropriate photo from a long-lost "friend"}. As a high school teacher, I have been schooled by my students {no pun intended} on the de-evolution of Facebook, which is currently being taken over by Twitter and Instagram; however, I am not a high school student, and I still appreciate keeping up with old {genuine} friends from Christmas Past {I do live 1500-miles away from where I grew up} as well as those in Christmas Present. A couple days ago, my news feed informed me that two of my "friends" liked an article titled "6 Things You Thought Wrong About Introverts" {yes, I realize I am personifying my news feed}.

I have always pondered where to file myself in the introverted/extroverted conversation, so I happily opened the link for a quick read. My world was rocked. My husband is a total extrovert {like a-walking-poster-child, find-his-picture-in-the-dictionary kind of extrovert}. It is very clear that he feels most alive when being surrounded by as many people as humanly possible. He has never met a stranger, and if you need something fixed, he has a friend to do the job {I love this about him, by the way}. I, on the other hand, find {or did find} classifying myself in one of the two camps very difficult. I enjoy people. I mean, I am a teacher, so I interact with {on average} 120 students throughout the course of my day. But, this same job also offers a great deal of solo working time - lesson planning, grading, etc. I enjoy being at home, and I enjoy being alone {and when I say enjoy, I mean love to such an intense degree that I might even feel guilty about it}. Because my husband is so outgoing, I have spent the last few years trying to understand my own psychological makeup. I, too, would classify myself as outgoing - I am not timid around new people or when faced with a new experience, yet I have such a strong desire to recharge away from large crowds of people. I love running, and I love racing, but when people ask to go running with me, I hesitate for {probably} much longer than I should because it is such a sacred solo moment in my day {so sacred, in fact, that I leave my headphones at home}. For so long, I've been trying to fit myself into an extroverted box because I felt such a shame about being introverted; I thought that being an introvert meant that I was shy, awkward and, frankly, downright boring. God Bless the Huffington Post for opening my eyes to a long list of introverts who are, in fact, very sociable but also pensive and independent - Abraham Lincoln, Albert Einstein, Bill Gates, and Gandhi.  I can now walk through life as a proud introvert, relishing my quiet moments alone and being all the better for it.

Summer Picnic // Target racerback tank, 7 For all Mankind Roxanne skinny jeans {similar here}, gray polka dot Tom's, Coach Madison Lindsay crossbody {sold out color, but available style here} & Michael Kors Bradshaw watch

How Frank approaches boxes in the back of the car {sit on them}

Home, Sweet Home

Extensive traveling does two things: (1) allows you to see and appreciate other cultures and (2) allows you to yearn for and appreciate your own. I have such an intense fascination for learning that I was {almost} overwhelmed with going abroad. The history is unparalleled, and the nuances in lifestyle genuinely piqued my interest. In Prague, I fell in love with the wall graffiti. In Germany, it was the endless bike paths. Paris amazed me with the Arc de Triomph. As for London, I am still boggled why they chose to drive on the left side of the road, but their public transportation system more than makes up for it {plus, I have a small obsession with their style}. One of the other things that I loved about Europe was their abundance of fresh fruit stands. It's no wonder they are all so thin. They eat fruit like Americans eat Snickers bars and gas station hot dogs. 

While traveling, I quickly learned the priorities of my regular life's guilty pleasures. Aside from the standard yearning for my family and friends, my body craved some American specialties {most of which are comparable to Snickers and gas station hot dogs when it comes to caloric intake}:

1. Powerade Zero {orange}
2. Skyline Chili {4-way with beans}
3. Qdoba {naked vegetarian burrito with queso & guacamole}
4. Brookside Chocolate-Covered Pomegranate
5. Pizza {from one of the many locally owned shops in Louisville}
6. The Bachelorette {shhh, I know, I've been watching it since college}
7. My bed {for obvious reasons}
8. My closet {I made it 18 days on 4 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of shorts, 2 skirts, 7 tops, and ONE purse}
9. My cell phone {wifi is awesome, but life without 4G gets a little ridiculous}
10. MY PUPS {oh. em. gee.}

Now that I've been able to get my grubby little hands on these goodies, I can {more deeply} sit back and appreciate the arduous adventure that has now come to a close. It is so easy to look at other countries and imagine an alternate universe, but the learning happens when one can recognize how similar we really are {as human beings}. Ultimately, we are all connected, and we grow when we see how other people of our same age, job or social status interact with their geography. Traveling only made me realize that Ponyboy knew his stuff oh-so-long ago: “It seemed funny that the sunset she saw from her patio and the one I saw from the back steps was the same one. Maybe the two worlds we lived in weren’t so different. We saw the same sunset" (The Outsiders).

Prague's Graffiti // "Before I die I want to ________."

Germany's Bike Paths // view from one of my morning runs

France's Arc de Triomph // Paris

London's Hipster-Prep Style // Gap skimmer jeans {sold out, but loving these} + black tee {similar here}, Polo Ralph Lauren cardigan {similar here}, Inga Creations tusk necklace + leather wrap bracelet, Michael Kors jet set watch & Jessica Simpson captoe flats.

The Pups // they have staked claim on my side of the bed

Style Stats: London

If Urban Outfitters had a city in which to epitomize its very being, it would be London. While I found Paris to be somewhat anti-climactic, London far exceeded my expectations; I felt like I could relate to their vintage-hipster-prep style, which made shopping a real delight {plus, Jordan and I found an amazing street bizarre in Old Spitalfields Market with fabulous local goods}. At moments, I felt like I was reliving 1999 with all the cut-off Levi's and exposed bra straps floating around {think Saved by the Bell}. Any London fashionista willing to ask the tough questions learns that shopping at cliche stores in the city just isn't cool {despite the fact that they have the most amazing mall}. The "cool" kids frequent Brick Lane where there are rows upon rows of unique consignment shops. Jordan has more patience for this kind of shopping {I can browse online for hours, but I can hardly stand second-hand shopping for more than 10 minutes with the extreme patience it requires to thumb through row upon row of articles}; therefore, to please me, Jordan and I also hit up the most epic department store. Six stories and one entire city block are home to Harrods where private appointments are made on the top floor and a bellman holds the front doors open for you. The shoe department took my breath away: Jimmy Choo, Valentino, Tory Burch {and the list goes on}. At one point, I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing. Some rules for surviving in London:

1. Own a pair of cut-off denim shorts {or two or three}.
2. If it's vintage, rock it.
3. Bras are an accessory.
4. Preferably, show your midriff with baggier assymetrical tops.
5. Bring your Tom's for the walk to the tube {train}.
6. Use the word cue in place of line when shopping {it sounds much fancier}.

Aside from some super-trendy threads, London also gave me a new-found appreciation for public transportation. The logistics of their metro system are remarkable. Before we knew it, Jordan and I were cruising the Jubilee, Central and DLR lines as if we had been doing it our entire lives {after our driving fiasco, this was a comforting surprise}. In fact, we often times found ourselves knowing more than the locals who hardly leave their areas of the city. Because they don't have cars {for obvious reasons}, they hardly venture outside of their small sections of London {unless they are going to work, of course}. I was surprised by the number of people who did not know areas of town when we asked to get from one place to another. When we called our hotel upon arriving in London to ask for directions, the front desk girl's response was, "I'm sorry, let me transfer you to someone who drives." For a city built upon such a communal means of transportation, we were shocked at the isolation of those individuals. We traveled farther in 2.5 days than most of the locals had traveled in years. It made me think about how {un}well-traveled I am in my own country {let alone my own city!}. After seeing Buckingham Palace with my own eyes, I walked away with the feeling that a DC trip is in order. Bring on the White House!

Denim Shorts for Days

Vintage Shops // Brick Lane

Box Park // Transportable Boutique Shops made of Storage Boxes

Street Bizarre // Old Spitalfields Market

Street Vendor // XL Pocket Tees & Sweatshirts {loved this tiger!}

(left) red bow dress {similar style here for purchase here}, silver flats {here} & pearls // (middle) linen tee {here}, black skinny jeans, navy Tom's {here} & black tote {here} // (right) linen yellow skirt {here}, black tights, tank, patent flats {here} & nude tote {here}

London Hipster // dress, tights & neon pumps + denim & high-waisted shorts + bandanas & scarves

Loving this Brit's outfit! // white + navy dress {here}, navy blazer {here} & nude pumps {here}

Style Stats: Germany

On a river cruise, there are not a lot of opportunities to go out and explore port cities in the evening, so the highlight night of our trip involves carnival rides among German locals. When we docked in Wurzburg at 10 PM {the night before our pizza adventure}, we saw a neon flame in the distance drawing us in like moths: a large pole jutting into the night sky with neon swings flying in circles around its center. Whatever was going on in this place, we knew we had to be a part of it. What we found was an epic festival in honor or St. Killian. We chowed down on German pretzels and bratwursts and prepared ourselves for an evening of barf-inducing rides. The best part: it was ladies' night. We were privy to a throng of ladies, young and old, walking around in traditional German threads {called dirndl - don't ask me how to pronounce this}. These dresses were taken right out of a traditional Disney movie {think Snow White}. It was unreal {and absolutely fantastic for this fashionista to witness}. As we travel around Germany, I am confronted on the daily with store fronts showcasing these dresses {yes, I have been tempted to buy one}. I am just amazed at the preservation of such a cultural masterpiece. What would Americans wear if such a tradition existed? I imagine something like outfits from our colonial period {think Gone with the Wind}. I can not stop chuckling at the idea of such a sight.

When it comes to modern style in Germany, black tights, neon and colored denim are still taking over the world {in case you were worried}. I have my sights now set on the fashionista icon stationed at the end of our cruise: Paris! So close, yet so far away.

St. Killian Festival

Ladies' Night

Dirndl at its finest

German store front

Cute boutique window in Bamberg, Germany

Neon store front in Heidlburg, Germany

My American garb <3 // Target Merona chambray,  Gap geometric skimmer jeans, Coach Madison Lindsay crossbody {sold out color, but available style here}, J. Crew Factory coral bow flats {old, but similar here}, Inga Creations tusk necklace + leather wrap bracelet & Michael Kors jet set watch

My hubby getting some pup love in Mainz, Germany