All Posts Filed in ‘is shallow and materialistic

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Insubstantial (but delicious)!

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I’m in love. I know I say that about fifty times a week, over everything from Gingernuts to stray cats, but this time it’s for real. FO’ REAL. I’m in fo’ real love (which everybody knows is the truest kind of love), and yet somehow I walked away. It hurts in my chest like a bronchial infection. I can’t think. Can’t focus. I feel like I’ve ruined everything; like a piece of me is missing.

I just want us to be together. IS THAT SO WRONG, GOD? Or, more accurately: IS THAT SO WRONG, VISA?

Visa thinks I can get fucked.

Sucks to be us, Dream Shoes. Our epic love has been mowed down in the first flower of its youth by the callous, cruel gods of personal finance. At least until pay day, when I decide whether my car needs a warrant more than I need your sweet, sweet embrace. Fingers crossed!

You know, sometimes I say to Kelly, “KELLY! I worry about my public image! I have concerns that I may appear entirely vapid and incapable of composing a paragraph without capslock or cute boys!”… and then Kelly reassures me that she often wishes I would quit banging on about the environment or the glass ceiling or whatever bee is currently in my bonnet. “You could tell the internet about those things instead,” she says to me. To which I think:

NAH.

So, in the spirit of that, LOOK WHAT I DID DO GOT!:

From here. So pretty.

Also, in case anyone is keeping track (I hope no one is, because I got bored of it myself a while ago) I aced a 3.5k run last night, and I’m as proud as extra-proud punch. It doesn’t seem like much, but it’s been a good three years since I was really on track with any distance (without periodic stopping to walk, I mean), and that 10k is GOING DOWN.

I still didn’t go to combat though. I think it’s become a point of pride.

Would anybody read a series of posts cataloguing my favourite pairs of shoes? Yeah, I totally don’t care how you answered. My blog, my rules. It’s SO on.

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In which I am totally useless at existing

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This morning I poured my coffee on my cereal instead of into my waiting mug. Again. I ate it, because I figured it was all going to the same place anyway and I’m pretty cheap about that sort of thing, but WELCOME TO MY FREAKING LIFE.

On Sunday I knocked a pan off the stove onto the cats’ bowl, which broke. Saturday night I stood on my sunglasses AND smashed a glass. The second thing was probably good, since the glass in question was full of what was being loosely referred to as ‘punch’ but was probably closer in chemical makeup to antifreeze, and I was already at the standing-on-my-sunglasses level of intoxication, but

… WAIT!

OH MY SWEET LORD. OH MY!

I was about to launch into a rant about how the sunglasses were my favourite Anthropologie ones, and now I’m destined for a life of squinting while driving because Anthropologie are the kind of assholes who’ll ship to Nigeria but pretend New Zealand doesn’t exist and I’ll never get any more Anthropologie stuff even though sometimes I go to their website and make wish lists and email them to myself just for fun, and when I reminisce about LA it’s like 99% how there was a sale at the Anthropologie at The Grove the day I was there (and like half a percent each on 99c punnets of fresh raspberries and how much the Silver Bullet makes you barf if you do it like six times in a row) AND THEN I WENT TO THEIR WEBSITE, AND THEY SHIP TO NEW ZEALAND.

OH INTERNETS, YOU HAVE NO IDEA!

MY LIFE, IT IS COMPLETE. MY SOUL, IT SINGS! MY CREDIT CARD, IT HURTS!

I was going to do a greasy boyfriends bracket, because I feel it’s needed after this Jericho kick I’m on eclipsed the Being Human kick I was on before that. But that can happen after I’ve emptied my savings at the internet!!!

OH HAPPY DAY!