Growing (champ)Pains

Photo Credit: Noah Berg Photography 

We all have our wild moments, some more than others. Some a lot more than others. I was somewhere in the middle leaning towards the “lot more than others” end of the spectrum. I’ve been like that since I was two. Just a little bit of a bad girl. Loving, but bad and then good once I got in trouble, and then bad again. Bad can be good if you have a heart of gold, which I do…sometimes.

They say children who misbehave often become successful later in life; my future was bright. When I was eighteen, Paris Hilton and Juicy Couture emerged on the scene, highlighting a life of glamour, excess, and leisure and it was then that I knew what I was meant to do in life, I wanted to be an heiress. What can I say? I was ambitious.

At twenty three and a half my dad stopped paying my rent, and he took away my credit card, and I very, very quickly realized that my income didn’t quite match my lifestyle, by a lot. My self centered mindset actually blamed my parents for providing me a wonderful childhood, to then to rip it all away from me?? How dare them! My life was nothing more than a tease! I finally understood what guys meant by the term blue balls. My parents blue balled me in life?!

I was frustrated and felt totally betrayed, and because of my immaturity, couldn’t see that my dad (it was really my mom) was thinking bigger picture and long term benefits, while my picture didn’t surpass the next music festival I was attending. Clearly, they wanted me on the streets.

I struggled for a few months (years), and by struggle I mean I was shopping at Nordstrom BP instead of Anthropology and went to happy hour three times per week instead of four, but struggle is relative, and deciding between rent and a handbag although obvious, were very difficult decisions for a young lady of twenty four.

And then I moved from a total perk, penny paying job, to another total perk, but better paying job, and I worked hard, I remained focused, I took myself and my work seriously, and before I knew it, I had my very first savings account, and my own money to travel, and making decisions around whether to spend my money on rent OR a handbag weren’t decisions I made, because when you have to choose between housing and a bag, you probably shouldn’t be paying for either…unless it’s a Celine Phantom and maybe then I would choose the handbag, but actually I wouldn’t and so my dreams of a boyfriend gifting it to me still play on at night (brett, click right here to buy this bag).

There are things I wish I had known, such as the importance of “rainy day” savings and an early start on a 401(k), but for the most part, what I learned and how I grew to respect and balance money came from having it, and then not having it, and then figuring out how to have it and hold onto it. Don’t let this post fool you, I’m still a twenty three year old, irresponsible, over living my means girl at heart, I just make more (not all) financial related decisions with my brain instead of my heart. Guys? Well I still haven’t mastered the art of those decisions just yet.

-Yours in Self Growth and Handbags







Summertime Survival


I don’t like summer. There, I said it. I know all you pastel wearing, patio drinking, pool lounging, sun worshipers think I’m the worst, but I just have to get that off my chest. So why is summer my least favorite season, you ask? Because I don’t like to be hot. In fact, I HATE to be hot and I am working on totally cutting that word from my vocabulary but while it’s still there, I hate the heat, I just hate it.

I just spent that last two weeks in Rome. Have you ever been to Rome in July? It’s hot. Not only is it hot, it’s very crowded and for some reason being surrounded by buildings and streets dating back 2,000 years and thousands of people, mentally, it feels even hotter than it really is…which is really hot.

Coming back to Denver, I thought there’d be total relief from the heat, but it can be hot here in the summertime and this summer, it’s extra toasty.

So what’s a girl to do when it’s miserably hot outside? I’m here to share with you a few tips to staying cool in the dead of summer:

Face Fan: Only appropriate when in foreign destinations and you cant escape being a tourist…like Rome, not okay in Paris. Also, not appropriate if you think you’ll run into anyone…anyone. Just use your best judgment. Can be found here.

Ice Cold Rose: The nearly freezing temperature will cool your body and the alcohol will help you forget you’re hot.

Workout in the Mall: I don’t know about your gym, but mine is pretty hot in the summer and I don’t workout in the heat. Instead, I workout in the mall. Malls are always cool and there’s nothing better than skimpy summertime dresses to motivate me to do another lap. Above a little aerobics in the mall? Fine, get fat.

Appointments: I only go to the doctor in the summer. Why? Have you ever been to a hot doctor’s office? Exactly. Same goes for the dentist, esthetician, and the hospital…because sometimes a fractured wrist can wait.

Freezers: I sprint through each aisle of the grocery store, grabbing everything I think I might need, and then look through my cart to see what I truly need, while standing in the open doorway of a freezer. I also work on my daily to-do list there and sometimes take work calls. They literally can’t force you to close the door, trust me.

Facial Mist: Combine boiled water with fresh mint and rose petals and allow to sit for thirty minutes, add to a small bottle (think more patio happy hour and less Six Flags) and refrigerate for the ultimate outdoor body refresh. If you’re smart, you’ll hand these out as gifts to your friends because they’ll think you’re super nice and never suspect your true intent, which is so they don’t ask for a spritz of yours.

Go to the Pool: Must be non-heated, in the mountains, and in the middle of the night, otherwise it’ll be too hot.

 Are you feeling more positive about your chances in Battle of the Heat? Okay I have one last tip and it’s the ultimate for staying cool. If all else fails, and you just can’t dig yourself out of the heat hole, there is an new app that my girlfriend told me about last night, over sweaty patio margaritas, and this new app allows you to search for random help…with anything. There are people everywhere looking to make money by helping with random odd jobs such as painting, handy work, lawn care, and therefore, I am certain there is a man out there who can be paid to be my fanner. Yes, my personal fanner. Fan me while I shower. Fan me while I eat. Fan me while I work. Fan me while I sleep. Fan man.

Looking forward to seeing you in the fall, it’s almost here…

Stay cool, hotties.

-Ice Queen







Mile High Club


My mother always told me that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. She also told me that if you don’t have anything nice to wear, stay at home. I went through a phase in college where I wore Juicy sweats and Ugg slippers to the cafeteria, but I kind of consider that to be the equivalent of athleisure today. It’s not as offensive as pajama pants and a tee shirt, but not as pulled together as jeans and an oxford. What can I say, I was in college, there are more than a few things I’d do differently if I could, such as eating pizza and bread-sticks smothered in nacho cheese at 3am, multiple times a week. Oye. Nowadays, I make more of an effort to be pulled together in public, especially when I travel. Of course you want to be comfortable, but it’s important to remember that you see far more people in one day of travel than you do on a Saturday night and you aren’t with your best friends, you’re with total strangers. Look good and you might meet your future husband.

Six short and wild years ago I accepted a job that required me to travel 300+ days per year, which meant I spent quite a bit of time in the air…and on the beach. This was my first taste of being a young professional and because travel was involved, I suddenly felt very mature and well…like a grown and sophisticated lady who found herself on flights surrounded by other business travelers who couldn’t have been less impressed with their first class seats and lunches served on china at 30,000 feet, therefore…nor was I.

“Ms. Rowan, would like you some more warm cashews?”

“No, but I will have another glass of Cabernet, thankyousomuch.”


Being such a young lady, I bet everyone wondered what I was doing in first class… “Family money? Married to a notable newscaster? Is she a startup founder? Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Cover model?” ….little did they know I directed people to dinner…in a uniform.

“Another  glass of wine, please.”

I’d always wondered if I would meet my husband while traveling and six years ago I realized that would probably happen to me, and so I started envisioning the encounter that I would have with my future husband (or just an attractive man) on an overnight, international flight, because everything is more romantic over international waters.

Can you imagine? 

5:00pm: Security Line |  Cute. No ring. Cuter.

5:30pm: Boarding Line | Zone One? Hm, impressive….

5:40pm: 2K | In the seat next to me?  There’s no way this is my luck. No way. (Check my boarding pass to ensure I am in the correct seat)

6:20pm: IAD to CDG | Sipping champagne and pretending to read the free Wall Street Journal while acting unimpressed with life in 2K….must be sure to choose the healthiest entree on the menu (really wanted that cheese tortellini).

8:00pm: Main Course | A couple back and forth comments about the meal while politely declining bread (and making sure he hears).

8:45pm: Dessert | More wine. Talking about destination plans upon arrival.

9:30pm: Post Dessert Wine | Laughing and swapping stories about life, careers (not uniforms), and travel.

10:00pm: Post Wine Wine | Discussion about life goals and family.

11:30pm: Post Intimate Talk Wine | Makeout.

International Travel. Love Letters. Engagement in Morocco. Marriage. The End.

But is it even real? Okay, actually it is real. Three months ago I would have said it wasn’t real, but then I met this beautiful girl on Bumble BFF and it happened to her. And her husband is equally beautiful. Like they are both Jessica Alba beautiful and they met on an flight to LA (randomly seated next to one another), and then met up in LA, and then she moved from Canada to the US to be with him, and they married in Costa Rica earlier this year. WHAT?! I’m so more likely to meet my husband in line at Chipotle. My LIFE.

There was one occasion in which I thought I was about to meet my future husband on a flight, but before I go into this story, a little background for you:

I always think I see famous people. Below are my celebrity sightings that may or may not (definitely may not) be legitimate:

Kurt Russel-Nordstrom, St. Louis

Dennis Quaid-PCH, LA to Malibu Stretch (this is real…I am almost sure)

Bill Clinton-Produce Section, Schnucks, St. Louis (I actually completely ducked behind tomatoes, not sure why, really strange reaction)

Eric Clapton-Harry’s Bar, St. Louis

Stockard Channing-Pantheon, Rome (last summer)

Tom Hanks-Paper Source, Denver

Dennis Quaid-United Flight, LGA to DEN

My second Dennis Quaid sighting had me believing we were meant to meet and therefore, probably meant to be. I had spent a weekend in New York with friends and after being out late and then waking up late, I rushed to get myself on my flight, still wearing my makeup from the night before and more than likely, the same clothes. He was in first class, I was in the first economy row behind him. I had  exactly 4 hours and 25 minutes to plot out our conversation that would be struck up once we landed, which would turn to a beer in Terminal B, laughing over my previous “sighting” of him on the PCH, and then he would extend an invitation to Aspen (which I would accept), and would propose while we were trail riding on horseback, and then I’d never work, and be the wife of Dennis Quaid, and he would retire from the big screen, and we would live on an expansive ranch, and enjoy a relaxed and quite life away from the spotlight of Hollywood, on 150 acres outside of Aspen…with chickens and nice cars.

Naturally, my doubts started creeping in since all of my previous celebrity sightings were mocked by my sister and girlfriends, but this was absolutely real because:

A. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen in real life, with movie star appeal and a rugged masculinity that made him look more like a rancher than an actor. He had leathered, skin that had been kissed by the sun for many, many years and wore tight, fitted blue jeans that probably smelled of horse manure and whiskey, oh Dennis.


B. The rest of the airplane was talking about his presence on-board (this is not a joke, there were whispers, a lot).

Once we landed, reached the gate, and all stood up,  he was laughing and talking with other passengers and it was so casual that at any given point I could have jumped in the conversation, but I was so afraid to look at him that I stood there being unimpressed. And then he was gone. And then I was devastated.

Until….I pushed my way off the plane and boldly made my way up to him after exiting the plane….

Me: (with the confidence of Naomi Campbell) “Hi, Dennis….”

Dennis: Confused look, “Dennis?”

Me: “I’m sorry, aren’t you Dennis Quaid?”

Dennis: “WELL, thank YOU, but no, I am not Dennis Quaid.” Chuckle

Me: “Oh…gosh, I’m so sorry, goodbye!”

And he may have been Dennis, but he probably wasn’t, but he could have been, but it didn’t matter because it was over. I made my way as quickly as possible to baggage claim, never looking back.

I realize this is a disappointing end to a story, but that’s what happens when you blow it, girls. You don’t get second chances when it comes to Dennis Quaid or the hottest guy on the airplane, so pull yourself together and if you want to be the hottest girl on the flight, leave your pajamas at home.

**It must be said that as much as I don’t advise pajamas on planes, I equally don’t advise wearing heels of any sort on planes. I would never wear the outfit in the photos attached to this piece on a flight, unless I was traveling on a 45 minute flight to Aspen Food & Wine , in a private jet. I’ll certainly let you know when that day arrives.















Dear Momma


1992, Second Grade

Some girls obsessed over Wilson Phillips and others New Kids on the Block, but not me. Whitney Houston was the star who shone the brightest in my world. She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen and her music was beyond anything I had heard in all of my 7 years.

I fell in love when I watched the Bodyguard from my best friend Stacey’s staircase; we weren’t allowed to watch it and her parents were watching it in the living room below. I sat at the top of that staircase and my whole world changed over the course of two hours and ten minutes. I longed to be the beautiful, difficult, and guarded Rachel and wanted to boss Frank around, teasing him with my beauty and driving him mad with my mood swings and self indulgent behavior. Oh to be grown up.

A couple months later I cut my hair just like Whitney, chin length and a little shorter in the back, I felt like a star. A little later that year I rocked the Justin Timberlake cut. That was not because I idolized him…or even knew who he was, it was just a really bad haircut. It was very traumatic.

Christmas Break-I had a huge crush on a much older guy. He was a 5th grader named Shane, a real bad boy and he had no idea how I felt. One day while playing at my friend Nicole’s house and I decided it was time to come out with my feelings, so I called his house and when no one picked up, sang “I Will Always Love You” on his family message machine. I never heard back.

That May I made my mom a card for Mother’s Day. It was beautiful with lots of hearts and flowers drawn all over it. Inside it read,

Happy Mother’s Day! If I had to choose between you and Whitney Houston as a mom, I would choose you.
Love Brittany

Wow. How lucky my mom must have felt to know I chose her over WHITNEY. I hope she realized what an honor that really was!

And then I grew up.

And through all of those years she took care of me. At times taking second and third, fourth place in my world, yet I remained number one in hers. She played the bad cop. She didn’t try to be my friend and she didn’t care whether or not I liked her decisions. She raised me to respect, and be kind, and help those less fortunate.  I, often selfish and she, unconditional… over, and over, and over, and over again. Sometimes I’m enthusiastic and joyful and other times short and irritable. I doubt she ever really knows what version of me she’ll get on the other line when she calls, but she calls…all the time. Whether I listen to her advice or leave it on the table, she’ll always offer, with positivity and enthusiasm. She brainstorms, and guides, and reassures, and makes light. She pulls me in when I’ve strayed too far and brings me back to earth when I’ve soared a little high. She’s my mom.

I went through a hard breakup just a little over one year ago and assumed I’d return to an empty apartment after a work trip to clean up and move on my own, but she stepped in and owned my situation at a time when I wasn’t really owning myself.

Grateful, loved, impressed. The words that best describe how I’m feeling saying goodbye to my sweet momma tonight. She volunteered to drive from St. Louis to Denver with me, not for a vacation but to keep me company on the thirteen hour journey back to a half empty apartment. She helped me pack up my entire place, clean it, move me to another, cleaned more, unpacked and decorated, slept with me the first few nights to help me get comfortable, built furniture, taught me how to use a drill and an anchor, cooked us meals, ran errands, checked my oil, taught me how to monitor my oil, stood on a scary wobbly chair on my bed to create the most magical tulle backdrop, all while terribly, awfully sick. She is the true definition of selfless and loving. Thanks mom, for every single thing. You’re incredible and if I get half of your shining qualities, I’ll consider myself blessed. I’m thankful I’m yours.

More than likely, she’s probably like your mom. The love of a mother, we’re all so lucky.

Happy Mother’s Day to you and yours,



mom w her babies

mom britt napa

mom lynds wedding

mom w brooks baby

mom in africa

Am I a Lesbian?

Noah Berg Photography

I’ve started dating women. Yep, you heard it right, I’ve been going on a bunch of blind lady dates. We get coffee, meet for wine, attend yoga classes, and peruse weekend flea markets. How do I find my ladies? A little app called Bumble, Bumble BFF. Yes, the app I have been dreaming of finally emerged and as soon as I heard, I jumped right on the train to Ladyville and haven’t looked back once.  What is Bumble BFF, you ask? Simple. An app that exists for people to find platonic friendships; no sex, no baggage, just casual friendship. It works similarly to Tinder, the founder of Bumble, Whitney Wolfe, was a co-founder of Tinder (she left after allegedly being sexually harassed by her partners), so you swipe left if you never want to see their face again or right if you think this person could be the future godmother of your child.

I moved to Denver knowing exactly one person, my boyfriend, and he knew one person, me. We had a ball of fun those first couple of weeks, but as weeks turned to months, we  found ourselves longing for friends. I knew it was up to me and me alone to put myself out there and establish a network of people for myself. I hit the jackpot when a hometown girlfriend and I were traveling together and I asked her if she had any remaining girlfriends from college (University of Denver). She said she did, in fact, and a week later I was on my first blind lady date with two girls who are a now a couple of my closest, three years later. Those friendships opened up new friendships and so on…

So why am I looking for friendship if I’m set here in Denver? Simple. I think it’s not only important, but really fun to have an ever growing network of people in my life. Am I really looking for a best friend on Bumble? No, but if I meet someone who I end up hiking with once every six months or someone who becomes an inner circle, every other week friend type, I win. One thing I’ve always treasured, are relationships I’ve had with those whom I have next to nothing in common. Sometimes we end up only associating with people who are so similar to us that we forget there are special people out there who’s paths we may never cross if we only relied on mutual introductions. I was on a tennis team last year, (I didn’t get invited back, yes, a woman my mom’s age Regina George’d me), and one of my favorite things about being on that team was meeting these women who all came from very different backgrounds and lived very different lives, but we all had one thing in common, tennis. I had more fun nights with some of these women than I would have ever imagined, our group ranging in age from 23-65.

So back to dating women. Have you guys ever been on Tinder? I got on it once, looking for a platonic guy friend after a hard breakup, and realizing that all my guy friends in Denver were married to my girlfriends, and ended up with new boyfriend. My one and only Tinder meet up resulted in a freaking boyfriend. Oh Brittany.

Well let me tell you about Tinder and finding guy friends on there, I was HARD on these guys. I wasn’t even looking for a boyfriend and I was so judgy. Like if the thoughts in my head were ever seen by someone… well here’s how it went:

  • EW | Left
  • Tank Top | Left
  • Cheesy | Left
  • Serial Killer | Left
  • NICE hair | Left
  • SICK | Left
  • No | Left
  • GROSS| Left
  • Terrible Hat | Left

So basically I’m Rosie Huntington-Whiteley and no one is good enough for me. Right? WRONG.

I was on Tinder for all of two weeks and half of the time I was in Rome. No I didn’t meet up with any Italian guys although I did almost succumb to an invitation to ride around town at midnight on a scooter. I didn’t decline because I had safety concerns about getting on a scooter with a stranger I had met on the internet, minutes before, and cruise around a foreign city, in a foreign country in the middle of the night, while no on knew where I was, but more sleep concerns; it was a long day and I was very tired.

I digress. Back to judging people on dating apps. So, how hard am I on girls? Call me Mother Theresa because I’m basically the symbol of love and acceptance. Here’s how it goes:

  • Cute | Right
  • Love your shirt | Right
  • Traveler | Right
  • Loves wine, me too girl | Right
  • Outdoorsy, she’ll get me on more hikes | Right
  • Looks Fun | Right
  • Loves her nephew, me too! | Right
  • Pretty Hair | Right
  • Zumba, never done it, but doesn’t mean I won’t try | Right

Can you believe it? I know, me neither, but I have to say, I’m pleased with the direction in which things are heading. We girls have to stick together. We’re so much more fun, anyway. And although I still only want to sleep next to a big, hairy, stinky man, I sure do like dating you, ladies.







Take Me to Brunch

Noah Berg Photography

Nighttime drinking is for the birds, or perhaps the baby birds. These days I find my drinking is limited to daytime hours, you know, when the sun is shining. There’s something depressing to me about drinking after the sun has set, but that might only be when I start drinking shortly after it has risen, I’ll have to do some research on that this weekend and get back to you.

It’s known that with age, come horrendous hangovers and the inability to bounce back as easily as in your early twenties. I can’t believe I used to stay out until 4 or 5 in the morning, go home to sleep, wake up at 11 and go to the  mall with girlfriends, searching for a new outfit to wear out that evening, only to go back home, get ready, and toast my roommates with cheap champagne in expensive glasses (passed down by my roomie’s parents), and do it all over again. I used to do this Thursday through Sunday…THURSDAY THROUGH SUNDAY. That is four days in a row and that is (I wish I could still do it).

I’m so thankful for brunch, it’s actually a pastime of mine. Some of us like to hike and some us like to drink bottomless mimosas and eat pancakes. To each his own. Luckily I live in a city where brunch is bustling both days of the weekend and throughout the year. What else is a lady without kids to do on a Saturday? Crate & Barrel or brunch? No brainer, friends.

But what if I end up becoming a mom? It’s still acceptable to bring your babes to brunch, right?! I mean they don’t card at the door (wow, I just thought of that) and as long as you take Uber, it’s fine. I’m going to start a car service for parents. I’ll drive an SUV with multiple car-seats for the mom with three kids on her way to meet her lady babes at brunch. I’m such a genius.

One thing to note, for those who are transitioning from baby birds of the night to daytime doves, make sure you’re leaving the stilettos and minis at home and join us for breakfast in your best casual and relaxed attire, not what you woke up in, and we’ll try to spare some bubbles for you. Welcome to the light side.

My favorite brunch spots in Denver:

Tinder date, that’s right. Breakfast is the new dinner and if you have too many mimosas and they come home with you, there’s still enough time to kick them out of your house before it gets dark. You guys, I’m totally kidding, I’m only in it for the free french toast.







Happy brunching, boys and girls.





Friendship and Faux-lligraphy

Jackie Cooper Photography


A few weeks ago, right as the winter weather took an early turn for what felt like spring, I had a desire do something, something fun, something with my girlfriends. I pictured food, and wine, and lots of laughter…all the usual ingredients that make up a good girl’s night, but I was unenthused when thinking of our options that narrowed down to:

  1. Wine Bar (blah)
  2. Happy Hour (meh)
  3. Restaurant (ughhhh)

I was so sick of catching up in public places and thought back to a little tradition that I shared with a girlfriend back home in Saint Louis, Homemade Happy Hour. Going out is fun, but so is staying in and it offers an intimacy and comfort that can’t be captured in a busy restaurant.  Some days you desire a loud and lively environment and other days you want leggings, candles, and your closest friends.

I met May Englestad of POCO POST a few months ago at a Faux-lligraphy workshop at Denver Style Magazine’s Holiday Market and Mingle. I think it’s safe to say that I’m not alone in the fact that with the world of Instagram and Pinterest, we’re all a little more in touch with our creative desires and curiosities. It was like DSM had read my mind when they told me they would have Faux-lligraphy AND floral workshops at their event, for free?! These were two things I recently had been looking into and was more than willing to pay for instruction and I get them both, in the same night, for free?! Unfortunately the floral ladies didn’t pan out, but Mrs. May came through and was a little ray of sunshine in the form of an ex-kindergarten teacher turned creative entrepreneur and instructor of handwriting. We clicked immediately due to her desire and enthusiasm towards instruction and handwriting and mine towards learning and pretty things.  When our tutorial ended, I pulled her aside to ask if she ever considered teaching workshops and when she said she did, I knew she and I would be meeting again,  I just needed to figure out how and when.

Fast forward two months and I reached out to see if she was interested in being a part of a little party I had envisioned that was going to be all things girly, and pretty, and fun….and that’s where Friendship and Faux-lligraphy was born. I put together sent out an invite to a few of my friends and asked them to join me in my “teeny, tiny apartment around my teeny, tiny coffee table for an evening of wine, lady talk, and a tutorial on the art of faux-lligraphy”. Side Note: I invited a few more ladies than my 550 sq. ft. apartment would comfortably hold accounting for 5 not making it, but when only 2 said they were unable to attend and I had an extra girl join, we were maxed, I mean MAXED out. I kept getting texts from the girls saying how excited they were for the class and a few who said they’d been interested in Faux-lligraphy prior to my invitation. The enthusiasm that each of the girls expressed was enough make me confident that no square footage, or lack-there-of, was going to ruin the evening, I just needed more wine and I figured out that wine does fix space problems, it actually fixes all problems.

On a Thursday night just a couple weeks ago I put together a  spread of food, opened several bottles of wine, and invited 11  ladies  into my home for an evening of learning and laughter.

The night started with food, wine, and casual conversation and about an hour in we took seats and turned to the front of the room to Mrs. May who told us all about herself and the art of handwriting and then we got right into our two handwriting lessons of the night, H I P S T E R & Calligraphy. May not only taught us two fun lessons, BUT we also got to work on a project for our bride-to-be in the group, Erin. Each girl was handed a blank card and a colored envelope from May and selected a month of the year and our task at hand was to write down a special date in the card for Erin and her future husband to enjoy the first year of their marriage. At the end of the night we sealed up our envelopes and handed all twelve to the future Mrs. Levy….we also drank more wine.

Prior to the party I asked May to bring some of the cards to sell, because, hello, cards are the new Tupperware, and they were a hit. They sold. Every single card. If I‘m being totally honest, which is really try hard to do, I will let you in on a little secret, I didn’t truly think more than one or two of my friends would buy a card, I wasn’t even sure if anyone would! Not because May isn’t incredibly talented, but you know how people are…well not my friends and NOT May’s cards. They were gone. Every single one of them. In five minutes. Bye.

My favorite? A little drawing of a loaf of bread saying, “I loaf you”. Sold. Not to me though, to the betch next to me who I used to call a friend, until she took my card. It’s an ugly world out there, you guys.

I couldn’t have been more pleased with how the evening turned out and what I realized was something that was thrown together as a means to catch up with my girlfriends outside of another restaurant or bar, turned into a fun gathering and a bridal activity for a sweet friend. If you’re struggling to think of something a little extra special for a bridal or baby shower, bachelorette or birthday party, or if you just want to get some fun girls together, POCO POST is your answer. How many showers have you gone to where you play the game, guess the baby photo? Guess the future baby’s name? How many parties have you been to where you are taught a skill that you’ve been wanting to learn AND you can use in the future?

 If you know another calligrapher, that’s great, but what makes May so good and what made my event such a success was not only her skills at handwriting, but her talent for wrangling up a bunch of wine buzzed, giddy girls, keeping our attention and making us laugh. It’s hard to describe May without using some cliché and overused adjectives, genuine, magnetic, and like a ray of sunshine, but I won’t try to come up with synonyms or new terms because that’s what she is, that’s May.















If you’re interested in hearing more about May Englestad behind POCO POST, I’ll be featuring an interview with her where we discuss all of the ups and downs and ins and outs of starting a business and being a part of the ever-evolving and exciting creative industry.

Send me pictures of your event with POCO POST and don’t forget Rustic + Refined for all of your upcoming events, big and small, social and ceremonial. Cheers you guys, Soiree and Rose season is upon us! Let the parties begin.

Brittany | Vodka and Birthday Cake | Rustic + Refined Events

**Special thanks to our lovely photographer, Jackie Cooper who not only beautifully captured the evening, but is always a treat to work with!