My name is Isabelline, which means a gray shade of yellow. I am not a very yellow person, I feel more purple. I go by Izzy. I grew up in the suburbs of Pittsburgh and moved to Brooklyn, NY to attend college for an architecture degree. I pulled it off, but since the profession has kicked me to the curb, along with countless other graduates and in my days of unemployment I send countless emails to faceless, non-caring professionals who probably do not even know what it is they're looking for exactly. Or, they know exactly what they're looking for an it isn't what I've got to offer right now. In the meantime, I'm occupying myself by reliving some of the most fun, crazy and possibly best nights/days of my life. Some of them aren't those kinds of stories, because when it comes to relationships, dating and of course SEX emotions get the best of us and by that I mean worst of us. Can't that be funny too? We're in our twenties, we are YES people and things happen, we make mistakes. It involves men. Or boys who think they're men. Sometimes we're drunk. Sometimes it's situational. We ride our bikes. Sometimes we don't make it where we intended on going and get caught up in other things. Maybe that's because of a boy too. Maybe it's because of art. I love art, I love the various art scenes in Brooklyn and Manhattan. I love the people who get caught up in it, whether I dive into them or just watch them it's all entertaining. The city is full of things to do and I hope that this blog collects endless tales. I'm going to attempt to avoid writing about Halloween or New Year's Eve, although they are my favorite holidays, the better stories are when you hadn't any expectations.
I'll tell you again that I am exaggerating some of my stories. It makes them hilarious, and a lot of times the parts you may mistake for being exaggerations will actually be true. Maybe this blog is cathartic for me, but maybe it's like Chelsea Handler's books, or something by Candace Bushnell all mixed together.
The most important part of the verisimilitude about this blog is that we are all gorgeous and sexy and that the ugly things that happen to us are so funny because we can laugh about them. We haven't always been able to laugh at some of these things, and I'm even including them in a way to help myself find some sort of closure. Life does not and will not ever make complete sense. You have to be able to laugh at yourself or you will not move on.
About me. (you can tell me about you in the comments)
I have short hair. It is longer on the left side, so that it falls into characteristic ringlets around my ear, almost to my shoulder. The other side is super short and somewhere in the middle, around the top of my head, it transitions through a faux-hawk. I work in an architecture office and when I got the job, my hair was entirely more “normal.” But being the only female in her twenties and boasting a Pratt education and hipster address, no one said anything (or rather, those who did didn't say it with any intentions of reprimanding me) and some even seemed to feel that it exemplified what they had “expected” of me. I'm not entirely sure what that was supposed to mean, but I think it had to do with the fact that as a young designer, I could hold my own on style alone if I had no other redeeming qualities and thank god (thought those employers) I had those too. Did I mention it was a brand-spanking new office with big aspirations? Part of my job was to take care of the Materials Library and that meant meeting with every sales rep for each type of finish or furnishing we used in designing interiors. Flooring, lighting, furniture, fabrics, ceilings, etc. You do realize all that needs to be specified by a designer? I hadn't thought about it all the way, but then again, I studied architecture in college and not interior design, a distinction that makes no difference once out in the “real world” of New York. However, I did not exactly know the difference right away between nylon or 6,6 fibers for carpet but I learned quickly. Like a sponge, I am. I also made drawings. Lots and lots of drawings on the computer.
Anyway, I am sure that when I left the city and visited home again, I was the first “lesbian” many small kids witnessed in a Walmart. Whatever "classic beauty" and/or "chiseled features" that my short hair (on one side) emphasized, was lost on the folks used to perfectly straightened, shiny locks and meticulously made-up faces. I can't apologize for it, but this, Grandma, is just one reason for why I'm not moving back!
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