Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from November, 2016

I am a bougie girl: Going A Little Avant-Garde....

This used to be favorite blouse...until I saw how unflattering the cut had become on me. I have been losing weight and getting back into shape. As a result, go-to favorite clothing items are looking less than stellar on my frame.
Next week, I will be donating it to a local charity. I used a black and white filter on my phone to camouflage the less than flattering effects of this blouse.

i am a bougie girl: I Am In Charge...

I am in charge of my attitude. This is not always an easy thing to remember.
Yet, the more I put this into practice, the happier my life becomes.

Forgetful...

My memory is shot. Foster motherhood is turning me into a forgetful mess of sorts. I am writing things down, but lists of things never seem to end.

Foster motherhood involves lots of paperwork, shopping trips for needed supplies, navigating the trigger points of your placement.

But, it is worth it in a lot of ways.


i am a bougie girl: No Makeup, No Fear

I am completely makeup free in this pic. It was taken a couple of days ago, right before I tidied up my bedroom. After I snapped this selfie, I noticed the debris near my bed and decided not to crop it out of the photo.
I like my selfies to reflect my true reality...unless I am having a bad skin day and then I am all about the filter.

Bougie Girl Apparel: selectively introverted

Bougie Girl Apparel

I am extrovert with introverted tendencies. This contentious election is bringing out my introverted tendencies. I cannot wait for it to be over. This empath is getting tired of the rhetoric. There seems to be no escape from it.

i am a bougie girl: Butterfly With Injured Wings

I am a butterfly whose wings were once caught up in the branches of a tree.
Each escape attempt, resulted in my wings sustaining massive damage. After a couple of years, I gave up hope of every living the tree alive. I learned to be content with my limited surroundings. I watched others live out their lives from the vantage point of my prison.
Eventually, the branches gave way and my wings were finally freed. But, they are not the same wings that my flew me into this forest. They barely move and I am unable to soar the way in which I once did. 
My fellow butterflies assure me that I will back to my normal flying routine in no time but, I do not believe them. The scars my wings will take a long time to heal. Now, I have to figure out a way to navigate life whilst waiting for my wings to heal.