An overwhelming narrative.

An overwhelming narrative. by tabbybrower featuring stella mccartney

Style Resolutions X Liberty of London

Style Resolutions X Liberty of London by tabbybrower featuring ikat pants

I'm afraid you are my element.

I'm afraid you are my element. by tabbybrower on Polyvore

Elementary, my dear Watson.

Elementary, my dear Watson. by tabbybrower on Polyvore

Because the Night Calls Patti

Because the Night Calls Patti by tabbybrower on Polyvore

A few things.

A few things.

First, if you happen to be in London, go see Nick Payne's play, Constellations. It's really beautiful. A fair warning, though - if you don't like awesome things, you won't be into this.

Second, go see Silver Linings Playbook. The above warning must be applied.

Third, read this. It's from a list of 15 things that will happen to you in your twenties, but I just like it a lot. Credit Thought Catalog (clicky clicky. you'll like it.)

"You’ll read a book that will change your life. People say that all the time, especially your grandma and your mom and your professors in college, and it always made you roll your eyes but now you get it. Life is changed. You are this book’s bitch. You fell in love with it in the same way you fell in love with someone in high school: blindly and all-consuming. I’m talking about the book that became the lens from which you chose to see the world. You were just waiting for something to come along and explain to you how the world works, to make it all easier for you. and it came. You will remember this book more vividly than some of the people you dated for three months in college."

Fourth, read this too. It's pretty groovy.

"Captive Greece took her savage victor captive, and brought the arts into rustic Latium." Horace, Epistles II. 1. 156. #waywithwords much?

And that's all, folks.
xxx
Tabby

Tabby-Approved Challenges.

That's me. Totes crosswording like a boss. If I was a be-lensed fourteen year old boy of indeterminate race. Which is probably actually what I look like when I crossword. Whatevs. Brains > Beauty. Right?

 



I like a challenge, I really do. It suprises even me sometimes, for (crazy lazy lady) =/= (<3 challenge). It's simple math. (And that's all I got out of my entire academic career.) But I do. Of course, it has to be my idea of a good challenge. Physical stuff is great, stackin wood, &&c., but I'm thinking mental challenge, here: Thousand + piece puzzles, the New York & LA Times crosswords, Boggle, Scrabble, Spider Solitaire with four suits, highest level Tetris even. Say offhand that Sudoku is a great mental exercise and I will laugh pityingly, look at you sideways, and then maybe not talk to you for a couple of minutes - I've heard ignoring crazies is the best way to deal with 'em.

But I think I like these challenges for very lazy person reasons. They help me avoid real challenges...and they give me the high of having actually solved one.

Lots of homework to do?

OH LOOK. I CAN DO AN LA TIMES CROSSWORD PUZZLE. THIS MEANS I'M SMART AND HARDWORKING. WHAT DO YOU MEAN DOING MY HOMEWORK WOULD PROVE THAT AS WELL?

Chores that need doing?

OH LOOK! I GOT A PIECE IN THIS PUZZLE THAT'S TWENTY THOUSAND PIECES AND IS OF A PICTURE OF SNOW. I'LL VACUUM LATER. MUST SPEND ANOTHER HOUR FINDING THE NEXT CORNER.

Socializing to be done?

OOOH LOOK, LET'S PLAY SCRABBLE. I CAN IMPRESS YOU WITH MY SMARTS, IMPRESS MYSELF WITH MY SMARTS, FEEL LIKE I'M BEING SOCIABLE...AND ALL WITHOUT HAVING TO SAY ANYTHING TO YOU EXCEPT,
"Goatee?" "That's...I mean, that's pretty solid."
 "Oh, thanks. Qzjfhbk is just a little word I picked up reading Kafka one day."

Sleep to be had?

OH LOOK. I CAN STACK ALL THESE GARDEN SHOVEL AND FOUR-LEAF-CLOVER AND HEARTS AND ZERO-CARAT-DIAMOND KINGS AND QUEENS AND SUNDRY ALL ON TOP OF EACH OTHER. IN ORDER OF DESCENDING RANK. THAT'S LIKE SLEEPING. SOMEHOW.

Sometimes it takes me a while to think of what to blog. Tonight I thought of a funny opening and had to figure out what I was actually going to be talking about...and someday I'll figure Twitter out so I don't have to come up with a meaning for my funny quips.
Sometimes Blogger fights me and won't let me log on. Sometimes it gets pretty violent. (But don't worry, we've smoothed things over and I'm going to anger management therapy because my computer insisted on it, it was all "Don't hit me just because Blogger won't work.") (Just kidding about the therapy thing. What, did you think I was some kind of CRAZY?) (Just kidding. Cause I totes am. I would think you'd know that by now.)
So it's a bit of a challenge. What to write? How to even get on to write? What labels to use and other social media sites to link it to so people actually read it and how to make it funny and how to sometimes even sound a little bit intelligent and say things that people like and that make them think?

But in the end, it's my kind of challenge. ("I'm Tabitha Brower and I approve this challenge.")
And in the end, it's a challenge that helps me avoid reality.
(Like the fact that it's three freaking o'clock and I'm getting up at eight.)

But if it made you laugh or think about your own laziness or your own challenges or the meaning of life or even the pointlessness of that stupid effing 2000 piece puzzle of Saint Peter's Basilica in Moscow taking up all of your own dining room table (you too, huh?) or EVEN how it's true, Sudoku really is for stupid crazies...
then it's a challenge well worth wasting my time on, yeah?
So...think on that. Whatever the message of that was.
(If you do figure out what I mean ever, let me know. It would be nice to understand what's going on in my own brain.)
While you do that, Imma go see if that red Queen of Four-Leaf-Clovers is hiding somewhere.

xxx
Tabby





 

Oh hello!

I'm so honored to recieve this Most Infrequent Blogger Award!
I'd like to thank my parents for making me. Without them, I wouldn't be here. Like but seriously.
And a huge thanks to Blogger for directing me straight to my email whenever I tried to log in. Had it not done so, I might have actually posted during this brief but excellent period in my life!  And last but not least, to my computer for falling into a coma for three weeks. Were it not for your tragic coma and miraculous resurrection, I might have remained an anonymous blogger, simply making friends and family jealous with my thrilling tales of adventures overseas! As it is, I am instead The Most Infrequent Blogger. Thank you, Internet Gods, for giving me this award -I'll keep it on the shelf next to my Oscar that also doesn't exist!







Here's some pictures from my real-life adventures that actually happened and were actually awesome, whether I chronicled them on Blogger or not.
You can also check me out on the social networks I did keep up on, a.k.a. The FB and Instagram (enthusiasmandanthologies). And I'm on Twitter, too...technically. But were you to follow me on it...well, I haven't tweeted, so that would be boring. Check out ma pictures on this post instead. And the words that go with it. And I will seriously wrap this up now. And maybe post a link of this to Twitter. And I will have finally Tweeted. #meta.
Pictures of the place that has changed me forever.
xxx

Or one.

More when the Internet gets over itself and lets me put more up. You'll just have to be satisfied with this. Trees, a cab, a man, the sun, a fence, leaves, asphalt...all very unique to London.
More another day. I promise to never again be even considered for the very prestigious blogging award I just won. More posts stat.
xxx
Tabby

What the what?!

http://www.complex.com/pop-culture/2012/10/the-liz-lemon-soundboard
Liz Lemon soundboard. Press the buttons and your favorite spirit guide speaks.
Over and out.
 

Super productive Sunday afternoons.

Er, don't mind the cheesy old picture, and never you mind that there's not even a hint of guitar in this.
xxx

October skies & Belgique.

Belgium's great.
Also...free concert right outside our hotel? Mmm, okay. Obvs.

More moody poetry, mmmkaythanks. Like or hate it, let me know, yeah? Been in a bit of a poetry mood apparently.
xxx



I don't know how one would attempt
to describe it
other than broken-hearted wee
eeeeee
ping
but I will try.
She was like that brilliant
plume of white
factory smoke
across October skies
a cloud
against clouds.
Watching her wee/eeep gave you
that same desperate
senseless
lump
but in your belly
more than your throat innit?
Her twisty mouth like covering yourself
in fresh grass
in a field sumwhere
and staying there.
And kicked dogs are mentioned
quite often: "she looks
like [sic]."
But I am more
brought to mind
of the hopelessness
of the old people in that awful brick building
we just passed
or the surreal nastiness of the hanged dog
in that fancy-new-raw-whatsit
Heathcliff thing
er film
where it is ALWAYS
October skies.
So that's why I can't help.
you do understand.
of course of course of but of course you do.
Because a kicked puppy
I can clutch to my ample bosom
and give a bone and maybe a snuggle
but a hanged one I can only pity
and throw up
and bury.
 

Make That Three

Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery today.

This is like, er, straight from ma heart and all, so if you like it, yeah, words to that effect would be awesome, and if you don't, that's cool, it's okay, there are no claims to being great here, but...er, gentle, constructive criticism? Thanks mate.

Visiting the D-Day beaches and the American & German cemeteries though...seriously a transcendent experience.




I only know one person
- two - who have died.
I cried more
over Moe
who was 17
and my cat
than I did for my grandma
and great-granny
combined.
Make that three
but he lives -
lived - in the desert
and I rarely saw him
and so it's not real
is my understanding.
So 3000 graves is a bit much, yeah?
for an 18-year-old
who only knows
- make that 3 -
people who've
"passed on".

My great-granny
looked strange
when she was dead
I remember the room felt pink
like cloying, really warm
and she looked ridiculous.
And she was crabby
so I'm sure she agreed
and she'd have scolded
that mortician
roundly
Scolded him roundly.

I don't much like
to think about death
when I do it gets into my tea,
the taste of
the thought of
the inevitable-it-will-happen-without-exception-to-all-every-single-you-love-ness
of death.
So these white stones
and red lawn-mowers
make me tired and a little angry
- which I'm not used to -
but really sad
(and?)
I've gone from
- make that three -
I hardly grieved
or don't believe
to a father and son I didn't know
but am sitting on this freezing bench
kind of crying over.

And I was like Baby Baby Baby Oh!

People are all about Paris in the spring (unless they’re Woody Allen, then it’s all about Paris, in the 20s, in the rain. Which is fine by me.) But Paris in autumn is where it’s at. Coming out of the metro into air that’s fresher than it probably ever is in Paris, you just wish you could devour the city with your eyes. My friend Elise from South London pointed out that “Paris just seems like it knows it’s beautiful, and tries a bit too hard.” And there’s absolute truth in that. But there’s the rub – Paris knows it’s beautiful.   Er, because it’s beautiful.

It’s funny that as I write this I’m not in Paris anymore – it’s off to Chartres for a few.  But I’m coming back in December with my best mate and I’m stoked. It’s going to be nippy noodles for sure, but all nice and moody and grey and gorgeous.  (& mmm, Christmas.)

Paris, it’s been good times, and it’s early days yet. You are, how do the French not say it, le bomb. As the few creepers that stalk your streets whisper in my ear, so I will declare you: “la bebe”.  And I was like baby baby baby oh! Paris…it’s been said more than enough. Like, hey, girl, you’re a classy city, but your ego’s liable to get too big for your own good if one more person tells you they love you. But I just can’t help it. Something about your river and your people and hey hey hey, your bread.

Hey, Paris?

Je t’aime.

 Love, Tabby

 

Robyn Robyn Robyn.

Best.
 

God bless Monoprix.

Writing from McDonalds on my iPod because our "borrowed" wifi at the hotel has gone mental on us. So expect this to be short. Basically...Paris is so amazing. I took today really easy because yesterday was v exhausting - and we were at the Louvre til nine thirty! And it's INCREDIBLE- but so surreal, and I almost died over the Davids and Delacroixs (and Mona is every bit as beguiling as people say - it just took seeing her in the flesh to really fall in love with her.) But exhausting for sure. Last night I was so knackered it was only a question of finding any flat surface at all to sleep on, so I figured it would do me well to relax today. Read: bath, crossword, magazine, & baguette & pain chocolat aux amandes by the little island\trail in the middle of the Seine by our hotel.
C'est la vie...la fab fab fab vie.
Write more later?
Peut-etre.
Lovin this gorgey-porgey place though.
xxx and all that jazz,
Tabby

Also God bless Monoprix. Green & navy bowtie blouse, red leather (which I didn't know...and now I feel much more justified in their price) old lady loafers that are just the coolest. Also Monoprix has a sweet graphic designer working for them, it's official. Clearly the rest of the interwebs thinks so too, check out this picture:    

 

At the end of the day, Paris is a mass of really pretty lights.

I don't imagine I'll get a lot of time to write after tonight - it's just that tonight everyone is major jet-lagged, so add that to our "not going out alone" rule and you have me chilling here with David Sedaris, Gorillaz, and a baguette. Er, yummm. The sun's falling behind a hill clustered with white buildings and trees and France's bitty Statue of Liberty is just outside, holding up her torch to a Paris I can't quite see for massive apartment buildings. Add the dark ribbon of the Seine rolling past my window, a boat loaded up with tourists, and the lights slowly coming on across the city and you have something remarkably like bliss.

Our hotel/apartment (little suites with baby kitchens that are perfectly equipped to make mint herbal tea) is ten minutes walk from the Eiffel Tower. From the other side of the hotel you actually get an aewsome view of it - so a bit depressing that our room happens to be on the wrong side, but then again, the Eiffel Tower, so obviously glorious, is only just a fair competitor for the completely endearing Little Lady Liberty.

 

(Classy crazy zoomed in picture of classy Miss Libertay.)

 



And catching a glimpse of Le Sacre Coeur, set up on the hill, gorgeous and exotic and Parisian as anything, as we shuttled/bussed/metroed/walked into the city was totally one of those perfectly framed, breathless movie moments found in such enduring classics as Passport to Paris or that other well-acclaimed Olsen film noir, Winning London.

And the energy of this city is gorgeous, said with only a bit of throaty enthusiastic sarcasm. We've got a Monoprix on the corner, mais oui, and it was only after buying an armful of groceries that I realized that they don't just give you shopping bags. And the cashier I asked for one really was pissed, especially when, after begging her for one in half broken French, half desparate English, I produced what I thought was a five cent Euro coin, but what was instead a pound coin that had been floating around in my bag. And it was stressful as anything, because, I dunno whether you've noticed, but I feel like French stores move fast. I feel like I had better know exactly what I'm getting and exactly how much to hand over and God HELP me if I hesitate. The point of that? I love that there's this whole city moving around me that doesn't give a crap that I made a fool of myself for a second at the Monoprix. Not like most cities, or towns, or even villages would give a crap, but for some reason it's like, yeah, that kind of stressed me out. Being embarassed does that to you. But who cares? Because the Seine is chillin outside my window, and I get to have croissants fourrés (although I just googled that so I could use the accent on the e, and found a recipe for it using curry. Que??) for breakfast every morning because, hello, chocolate and croissants? Heaven. And I get to make new friends in one of, if not the, most gorgeous cities (y) in the world and I get to live ten minutes from the Eiffel Tower for a week and a half and I get to watch the sun set over Paris and leave the sky the same warm, drowsy hue as the rest of the city lights. Paris, je t'aime.

 

 (Paris is bloody hard to shoot zoomed in, out a window, at night. So we make it intentionally blurry and call it style.)

There! That's better. I dig the different shades in each strip of the picture. Way to go, Paris. Well done.

 

xxx

Tabby



Adieu darlings!

This is the last day at home before I go, kids!
Next time I talk to ya'll, I'll probably be in Paris. Anyone else weirded out/madly excited/OUT OF THEIR FREAKING MIND about that? Anyone...? Just me...?
Okay, just me.
I am slam-bang absolutely totally madly thrilled about this, with just a little lump in my throat called "mypuppiesandmyfamiliaandautumnhere".  But I think I wouldn't be normal if I didn't. But you just know if I'm homesick on the road, I'll miss the road like crazy when I'm home. Enjoy where you're at, bloom where you're planted, etc., etc., we have got to come up with a better metaphor than that, is the moral, I suppose.
Mes petites amies...let me leave you with a word of advice before I head off.

LISTEN TO GORILLAZ "PLASTIC BEACH". I think ma favorite album evA.

Wise advice, my friends, wise advice.
From the heart.

(And I googleimaged "best tour eiffel pictures" to give you the best possible parting picture. And, mebs due to the confusing amalgamation of languages, Google gave me this. And with that exact look of weird excitement on my face I say, adieu.)

 

 

SEE YOU IN PARIS, KIDS!

 

xxx and all that jazz,

Tabby

 

 

 

Oh, and ps, I probably won't be on here a great deal...but follow me on Instagram - enthusiasmandanthologies - I can guarantee I will be on that far too much. S'laters!



Aaaand we love her.

Aaaand we love her.
Goodnight for reals, now.
Unless I find another Lea Seydoux video, of course. Then you, my dear readers, are stuck with me til dawn.
xxx
 

And more.

Mia Freaking Wasikowska.

 

Chloe Freaking Sevigny.

All these Miu Miu videos are just killing me. So bloody good. And, really, the clothes. That's the eternal moral of the story, non?

And for your entertainment: A purposefully (originally so? Er..yeeeah.) skewed sketch of a Mia Waskiowska Miu Miu print ad.

 

 

 

And the adorable Hailee Steinfeld, looking, some of the time, appropriately gleeful. (Because, riddle me this: Who would not be delighted at being surrounded by MIU MIU SHOE TREES???)

Sleep tight
and dream of Miu Miu.
xxx and all that jazz,
Tabby

Beauty Incarnate, Anyone?

Oh good lord.
This is so beautiful. Also anything that has Miu Miu (how great is their recent Chloe Sevigny ad?), Patricia Clarkson, Aubrey Plaza, Zola Jesus, AND the insanely lovely Gemma Arterton? I am sold and a half.
Found on Hanneli Mustaparta's gorgeous blog.
 

xxx and all that jazz,
Tabby

As of five minutes ago, eight days until takeoff!

Roadtripping

Just got back Friday from a roadtrip through, you know, thrilling places.
(Kansas.)
But also Colorado, Kentucky, Tennesse, lovely places like that.
Also who knew how big antiquing is in rural Tennessee? Child, it's BIG.
Pictures? Mais oui.

Book Cliffs, Colorado

Kansas. They have good sunsets, and...that's all, folks.

 

Rural Tennesse. Right outside Memphis. Green and gorgeous and absolutely devoured by kudzu, which is sad and eerie while being compellingly beautiful. I never got a chance to take pictures of it, but here's some from the World Wide Web - you'll see what I mean. It feels very post-apocalyptic, if that makes any sense. Like in a thousand years from now, the South will be rediscovered and it will be completely covered in kudzu.

And I can't seem to find a National Geographic article on kudzu...for the love, why not? That would make such a great story, not to mention the PICTURES. National Geographic photographer = dream job, anyone?

It makes creepy images, like this girl here.

It eats houses. For a midnight snack.

(Although the fantasty land bit is right - a very creepy fantasy land.)

Mostly, it just kills and covers everything in its path! Cheers!

 

But totally eerily fascinating, right?

 

Graceland.

What's better than Elvis? Two of him.

 

Antiquing in Collierville.

Ditto.

Leaving Piperton.

Nashville, seen through the Nashville filter. #meta, anyone?

Riding a puffin plane back to Utah.

Ten days to takeoff, mes petites amies! Picture post in a few.

And to make sure you have a lovely evening, The Man Repeller:

 



xxx and all that jazz,

Tabby

London and Latcho Drom,

Never mind the Superhigh Video, Superfast Jellyfish is awesome. Gorillaz are so excellent.

And so British, which is a very natural transition to our next topic: London!
Look, Paris got a whole Wednesday post devoted to it, so it stands to reason that London should get a lazy Sunday one, too.
Looondon.  Mmm, okay. I'm so excited. Obviously. I'd be a fool to not be.
Oh, I got sidetracked scrolling through my favorites to my London folder. So - Latcho Drom. Latcho Drom is this absolutely insanely gorgeous movie about, well, gypsies, basically. RottenTomatoes describes it as "The journey of the Romany people told through musicians and dancers of India, Egypt, Turkey, Romania, Hungary, Slovakia, France, and Spain."  This is an apt description...but it's just so much more colorful and expansive and really incredibly beautiful than that. Anyways, watch it. And until then watch this clip, and this other (fantastic) one, and then have a look-see at all these pictures of the ever groovy London.

The Enter button? What? Never heard of it.

Sans further adieu...London!

Hyde Park! Where I'll be living across the street from. Oh lucky days.

Neal's Yard! V. excited to visit it. Doesn't it look so great, almost garishly bright, so tall and rained on? I'm not being sarcastic...I dig this. Vair excited.

Hyde Park! Again! Lots of exclamation marks!

I'm going!

I'm going to explode. Ex...plode.

So. Ridiculously. Exciting. Oiiii.

Oh, and here's Emma Watson for the record, looking fabulous. She's a doll. Also so hot, also we totally love her. Oh, sorry, is my girl crush showing? Also British, which is how the freak we're going to tie that in. Picture from The NYTimes.

xxx and all that jazz darlings,

Tabby

Paris Holds the Key to Your Heart

D'ya'll know what today is?
Yeah, d'ya'll.
Well, besides being Ben Affleck's fortieth...(thank yooou, Crushable.) (That link was to a very funny, very true article about his sexiness and adorableness. Well done as usual, Crushable.)
It's an anniversary...of a sort. It's like a reverse anniversary! A count-down milestone.
In a month from today, I will be in Paris. IN. PARIS. Not understanding a word, despite eight years of on-and-off French lessons and French 102 and 201 freshman year. Desperately jet-lagged. Probably with swollen feet from my flight.      
Thinking "Je t'adore, je t'adore, je t'adore!" because that is all the French I will retain.
I've been waiting to go since I got accepted in, what, January? So you understand that being in the inimitable Paris in a month is a big freaking deal.
In honor of this lovely day...pictures of Paris! Consider this the first post in a series of "Look, I'm going here, and here, and here, and I'm freaking excited, because I've dreamed about this since I was like ten, so I WILL brag, thanks, but oh, LOOK AT IT ALL!"
Oh, aren't you excited.
At least it's not those Take Away Shows in Paris, eh? You've been force-fed quite enough of those. But cheer up, dolls! It's Paris! As Anastasia's grandmother said, in the "no, no, no, I'm quite sure Anastasia lived in real life and married Dmitri, who, yes, was voiced by John Cusack in real life as well" version of reality: "Together...in Paris."
Not like I'll actually be "together" with anyone whilst in Paris (Camille LaCourt? Are you reading this?) but hey, ho, it's Anastasia, and if Paris is mentioned in it, then that's plenty of reason to use said quote.
But to be more relevant, and still Anastasia-centric (because, I mean, come on! Dmitri! Pooka! "Be grateful, Anya!"!):

Paris holds the key to your heart.

And as fireworks explode over the Eiffel Tower, animated French crowds cheer "Ooh la la, Ooh la la, Ooh la la!"
Also who wants Anastasia's Chanel (!!!) dress? Everyone? Right-o.

And now I'm sad again that Anastasia isn't Disney, and therefore a Disney princess.

Aaanyways! After that completely necessary and fantastic tangent, pictures! (Although can you beat Josephine Baker striding down the street with a jaguar? No, you can't.)

 Paris, darling, you look so hipster, and I love you.



Edgar Allan Poe graffiti in Paris. Just in case you weren't totally convinced it's completely and ridiculously awesome there.

This image courtesy of the fantastic Paris vs. NYC blog, run by an excellent graphic designer who loves both.

 Oooh, exciting, a picture where I can actually give credit where credit is due. The rest of these pictures are the result of haphazard GoogleImaging and whatever pictures I drug up from my massive "Travel" folder.  But this, this is Solange Knowles, could you tell? And this awesome picture is from Her Damn Blog.

(No...I mean...her blog is called mydamnblog.com.  I would not call her blog a damn blog. It is an excellent, totally envy-inducing blog. The end.)

 And I do think this is from The Sartorialist.

 Oh and 11:11...make a wish? Listen to Regina Spektor's thus-titled album? Me, I'm totally wishing for that woman's dress. Just look at it. Fabulous doesn't begin to describe it.

 Opera-Bastille.

 As you may be able to tell...I am getting excited by the plethora of French images in my folder. This is clearly not Paris. But it's cute...therefore, alright? But, hey, you knew about my short attention span when you got into this.

 Well, okay, this isn't either.

 And I'm not entirely sure this is. But you forgive me.

The inside of the absolutely insane Palais Garnier.

The outside by day.

The outside by night.

And, true story, when I GoogleImaged "Palais Garnier night" a picture of Anastasia was ON THE TOP ROW of results. So there. Paris and Anastasia go together like two matchy things.

But this picture. I die. Absolute #travelporn.
Also I'm stuck using hashtags, I want to bloody use them when I talk, for goodness' sake.  #Instagram is #takingovermylife. #takingovermylife is a real hashtag. What does that prove? That #Instagram is an EPIDEMIC and HARD CORE ADDICTION wrapped in one nice hipster package.

Hide yo kids, hide yo wife, and hide yo husband cause it's gettin eeeeveryone out there.

Credit to KTaterPhotography, obvs. Come on, guys. It's elementary. #elementarymydearwatson. #yesthatsarealhashtagthankgoodness. #andnothatonewasnot.

as for credit for this photo, go ahead, decipher that annoying watermark. Gold star.

And we end on the insane and fantastic Sacre Coeur.

xxx and all that jazz mes petites amies!

Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurve, Tabby.