I dress for the ladiezzzz

Today I’m meeting my new roommate for the first time. Sound weird? Not as weird as it was to live with someone I found on Craigslist after the friend from college I was living with bought a condo with her boyfriend and had to move out. I could go on for days and months about how annoying this chick from Craigslist was. But I’ll save you the details.

I recently asked Craigslist Chick to move out, and then I went on a search for a new roommate, sending out feelers to friends, family, acquaintances, long lost pals, etc. All I wanted was some sort of referral from a mutual friend, so I could ensure the next person would have something in common with me. Yah know, all I’m asking is that you don’t blast the Christian music station while you clean; have a cat that scoots its butt across my white carpet, leaving streaks; don’t creep all my friends out; have 200+ houseplants; or leave The Cosby Kids, floating in the pool all the time, making me do your dirty work. Pun intended.

(Okay, maybe I shared just a few details.)

The point of this post before that last little tangent was to tell you that I’m meeting my new roommate tonight for drinks, who is actually BFFs with a girl I hung out with all the time when I was single. The potential new roommate and I exchanged a bunch of emails back and forth, friended each other on Facebook and have had many a discussion about what works and doesn’t work with a roommate. (MAN, have I learned my lesson about what you need to establish BEFORE you move in). There’s a whole separate topic.

Anyway, I think she sounds great and seems super fun, and I feel like we’d have a lot of fun together, in addition to being great roommates, so I want her to like me. So, I painstakingly went through my closet this morning to pick out just the right outfit – cute, trendy, sassy, hip and with it – something that says, “I’m fun! You want to live with me!” I made sure I accessorized, just enough, and I didn’t roll into work with three-day-old bed head. As I rode the bus to work this morning in my sassy black-and-white, leopard-print bubble dress, black leggings, and cute new BCBG patent-leather, open-toed wedges that I recently bought at Ross for $35 (!!!), I thought to myself, “This is far more work that I’ve put into myself in a long time – I don’t analyze my outfits this much for my boyfriend!”

Which got me thinking, us girls, we don’t really dress for the guys. No sirree. We dress for other girls more than we dress for guys. The belt around the waist trend? Guys think it’s dumb. I’ve heard more than one say so. Uggs with short skirts? Heard more than one guy scoff at how idiotic that trend was. But we all still belt, and some of us once Ugged. (Although, I was never one of the Uggers). I’ve also been asked on more than one occasion, “Why do you care about your shoes, guys don’t pay attention to them?” You’re right, they don’t. And when you wear cute shoes, it’s never the guys that compliment you, it’s the girl who exclaims, “Ooooh! Cuuuute shoes!” that makes you feel good.

I care about looking good mostly for myself because I love fashion, and also because we all care a little bit about what we look like when we step into a room full of girls. What’s the first thing you do when you walk into a party or a bar? You scan the competition.

So yeah, gentlemen, we’re not always doing everything to impress you. Some of it actually is for the benefit of our own gender, or yah know, ourselves.

Currently Feeling: Like I have a bit of a nervous belly.
Currently Anticipating: Going to Solo tonight – it’s my current fav bar!
Currently Needing: Groceries. So bad. But I don’t want to buy anything before my vacation. I’m not even going to share what I scrapped together for lunch yesterday. It’s like being in college all over again.

Ghetto fabulous chic

Can someone please tell me what’s so special about lululemon athletica?

I have heard nothing but great raves about it – and my super sporty best friend owns a ton of their stuff and practically wets herself every time her boyfriend buys her something from there. But, I’ve never stepped foot in their store because I was always like, “Well, I’m not really into yoga, so I’ll spare myself that expensive obsession.”

Redacted.

Now I AM hanging out with the cool kids – I do yoga! I do yoga! I can shop at lululemon! I mean, really, life isn’t complete until you have expensive items in your closet from Coach and lululemon! *Sarcasm* for those of you who can’t detect it via the Interwebs.

I still like to check out bandwagons, however, before I decide to jump or not to jump. So, imagine the level of my giddiness when I drove past the outlet malls on my way north last weekend and discovered a lululemon outlet store! At last! Now I can feel comfortable checking out their goods and not spending my last $100, meant for gas and groceries, on clothing. (I’ve been known to do that on more than one occasion). So I excitedly pulled over, expecting to find some super suhWEET deals (like $30 super cute and comfy yoga pants), but apparently I’m delusional. The yoga pants on the CLEARANCE rack at the OUTLET store were $66. Does that make the original price, um, $200 a piece?? Cause really, we’re talking yoga pants here. Some stretchy cotton. With maybe a tie at the waste. In a different color. That’s as fancy as they get. What about lululemon’s yoga gear is so effing special that they are charging so much?

Which brings me to the whole point of this rant – I am, and always will be, a sucker for a sale and a great price. I love to shop, but I also would much rather be proud of my super killer shoes or bag I found at Ross for $25, than wear a designer top I picked up at Nordstrom’s for $200 – and have 45 other girls own it. I take pride in the fact that I’m thrifty chic. Any girl can buy an ugly Louis Vuitton bag. (And man, are those bags are ugly. Like super ugly. Like they got beat with an ugly stick and their momma don’t even love them, ugly.) But not every girl can find a fabulous bag that’s inexpensive, everything you need and original. That takes some scowering!

So thank you, lululemon, but no thanks. I’ll stick to my favorite yoga pants from Target that I kinda want to live in every day. And I’ll roll into yoga class with my black pants straight out of the ghe-TTO, and bust the shit out of some tree poses.

Okthanxbai.

Currently Feeling: Tired. I’m at work super duper early so I can leave early for the last fitting of my Dolphin Sister’s wedding dress before the wedding next week in Mexico!
Currently Anticipating: Checking out this super amazing apartment tonight, with everything we need and the best location EVER.
Currently Needing: Guest bloggers for the week I’m gone. I’ve lined a few good ones up – let me know if you’d be interested too!

Okay, it’s about time I created a ‘Dirty Hippies’ label

I’ve been patiently waiting to update everyone with a few pictures from my weekend, but they’re trapped on my best friend’s camera, so you’ll just have to read the text version for now. I’ll spare you long-winded details, but I had some fun events this past weekend, and some even greater photographs. Friday night I went to The Polish House for Polish dinner, Polish beer and hanging out with some Poles. Not, I’m not Polish, in case you were wondering. But you can become Polish and hang out in their private club for $1! Now that is a steal during these hard times of THE.RECESSION.

Saturday I went to crazy friend Wen’s birthday party (he who loves to have me as a back-up dancer in his videos)… as a hippie. What is it with hippies? I feel like I’m always talking about them. Maybe I’m a little bit more hippie than I like to admit. I was certainly a dirty hippie on Saturday. Why, oh why, you ask?

Saturday night I was SUPER rushed to get ready for the birthday party because my friend was picking me up at 7:30pm on the button. I arrived home, unshowered, with seven bags of groceries at 7pm. And, I didn’t know what to wear. A really awesome trifecta, if you ask me. After throwing on approximately five different outfits, I settled on a grey tie-died sweater, skinny jeans and tall, brown-suede boots. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror and realized that the sweater was a bit off-the-shoulder, so you could see my bra straps. Eww. That is one Carrie Bradshaw fashion statement I do not agree with (right next to the duck feathers on the butt) – bra straps are tacky. So I did the trick us girls learn in junior high while changing in the girls’ locker room for P.E. – a little slip and duck of the arms, and I threw my bra on top of storage drawers in my bathroom. “I’ll just throw a strapless on while I’m finishing my make-up” I thought to myself. I continued to run around like a chicken with my head cut-off, and barely threw my groceries in the fridge with enough time to slip out the door and into my friend’s car.

It wasn’t until I had arrived at the party, hung my jacket, said my hellos and took my place in line at the bar that I realized I.HAD.NO.BRA.ON. OMG. I panicked and quickly tried to call my friend who was arriving at the party later, but she didn’t have a bra in her car. Looks like the girls were standing alone on this one. Yep, I officially hung out at the bar all night, braless. And Bestie Amanda had a great time gently poking my braless boobs and snickering at me. Hussie.

Who has two thumbs and is officially a dirty hippie? Yep, this girl.

Stay tuned for my adventures in not shaving my armpits or legs!

Currently Feeling: In love with my recent lunchtime Maximum Sculpt classes. It feels so great to have my workout done so early in the day!
Currently Anticipating: Date night tonight with salmon teriyaki dinner.
Currently Wanting: Another slice of lemon cake that’s sitting in the break room.

Help me choose a suit for Mexico! Cast your vote!

Yesterday I finalized tickets and plans to Puerto Vallarta for one of my very best friend’s wedding, April 4th. Woo hoo! Baby Daddy and I will be staying in Playa del Sol Costa Sur. I cannot.wait. for sipping cocktails next to the pool, eating Mexican food (my absolute favorite next to sushi), partying our way through downtown, finding Taco Burrito King again and fornicating on Mexico land with my sexy boyfriend. (Is it less crass if you use the word *fornicating*?) This will be the third time I’ve been to Puerto Vallarta. The first time with seven of my best friends, the second with my family last May, and now to be a bridesmaid. Puerto Vallarta holds some great memories for me, and I can’t wait to make more.

But there’s one small little problem – I’ll need a new bathing suit, of course! Although I haven’t had much use out of the one I bought last year, I want to feel shiny and new! (In hopefully my shiny new body since I’ve been kicking my own ass nearly every day for a month – one more month to go). So, Victoria’s Secret is having a sale on bathing suits – and even some of their full-priced suits are really reasonable. I’ve narrowed it down to three options, and I want all of you to help me decide. Please cast your vote in the below poll as to which bathing suit you think is the cutest!

Currently Feeling: Speaking of kicking my own ass, I’m feeling apprehensive for the personal training session I have this evening. I usually feel like I’m going to die. Not fun.
Currently Anticipating: The season finale of Top Chef tonight! I can’t wait!!
Currently Loving: The Mobe, Air and other spacy music I’ve added to my beloved, growing Pandora station.

I did it, I said FART on my blog

I’ve recently been attending a yoga class at my gym on Monday nights. I’ve always wanted to do yoga, but have never found the time or money for it. This week I finally unwrapped the pink yoga mat I purchased approximately eight months ago that’s been in my car, if that tells you anything. I think the increase in stress and anxiety in my life led me searching for someway to relieve it – and I’ve always heard yoga does the trick. So I signed myself up.

So far, it’s been really great. I love the special yoga room at my gym that has equipment to borrow, like blocks and straps, so I don’t have to buy them, and the giant windows gently let downtown Seattle twilight the room. I love that the yoga teacher plays relaxing music – but not just “ding, ding, ding” and babbling brooks – a couple weeks ago she busted out “Us and Them” by Pink Floyd. (A personal favorite).

But really, I have a dilemma with this whole yoga thing. I seriously only concentrate on not-farting the whole time I’m there. Yes, I know it. I just said FART on my blog. Gross. But, “girls give off just as much methane gas from farting as men” or something, which is what my boyfriend told me once to ease my embarrassment about farting myself awake while lying asleep in his lap on the couch. (Yes. He was awake; so mortifying). The problem with the girls farting vs. guys farting thing – even if we’re on level playing fields there – is that guys get away with it. They don’t care; they don’t give excuses, and they certainly don’t get embarrassed. But us girls, oh no – we’d rather die a slow and terrible death – or kill someone – than fart out loud in public or, for most of us, around a boyfriend. (I will never be okay with opening doing this with a boyfriend, and for those of you who think it’s a part of being comfortable with someone, I will argue you to the death).

So the whole 75 minute class, I’m thinking about how freaking.embarrassing it’d be to fart. But yoga forces you to bend and contort your body, often times holding and squeezing muscles with your butt high in the air. There’s times when it’s all I can do to prevent a slip. It’s stressing me out! I tell yeah, I join yoga to ease my mind from the stresses of life, and I spend the whole time stressing about farting. I need a stress-reliever from yoga. Or from farting.

Namaste.

Currently Feeling: Super relieved to have Mexico figured out.
Currently Anticipating: A crock pot dinner tonight with Bestie Amanda.
Currently Loving: Soy crisps with Laughing Cow cheese.

Portrait of a Seven-Year Gap

I’m sure most everyone is aware of the (what I deem annoying) 25-Things post that has been circulating around Facebook the last couple weeks. I have been tagged to do it countless times, but I rarely have the interest to read through all 25 details about someone or the time to do it myself. But last week, my sister tagged me in one she wrote, and since she’s my SISTER, I figured I’d better read it. This was number six:

I have a sister who is 6 1/2 years older than me, and we have different dads but somehow we’ve accomplished being the same person. I’ve always envied her for our similarities and even more so for our differences.

That, I tell yah, made my week.

My sister is fashionable, social, beautiful and athletic, yet she’d probably never list “writing” as her forte. But to me – the writer – I don’t think she could have written two sentences that would have touched me more.

See, while we are, in fact, six and one-half years apart, I’ve really rounded it to seven my whole life. Seven years is quite effectively a huge gap. While I was going through my awkward, self-conscious junior high days and learning about crushes, popularity, body image, feminine products and the good ole things D.A.R.E. always told you to keep away from, she was starting elementary and just learning how to read a book and count money. While I was in high school, worrying over homecoming, driving, first boyfriends, sex, Physics and college, she wasn’t even in junior high yet. She would come home with her friends – some with braces and awkward puberty weight – and I’d roll my eyes at their conversations. “Argh. SOOO annoooying,” I remember thinking, and probably saying to her face on more than one occasion. I made fun of her obsession with Spice Girls, and her love for all things Pokemon.

It seemed as if the scope of our adolescent issues couldn’t have been further apart – she was always my little sister and never someone I could confide in or considered a friend.

Then when I moved home from college, she’d borrow my clothes without asking and wake me up late when I had to get up at 4 a.m. for the opening shift at a coffee shop. I was annoyed that she didn’t have respect for anyone’s space or schedule. I spent more time ignoring her and yelling at her in those eight months than I had ever done our entire life.

When she did reach the sex, drugs and rock n’ roll phase, I was there to beg and plead her to dig her heels into the dirt. “I’ve been there! Don’t do it!” I felt like a mother – I felt awkward talking to her about sex; I didn’t want to imagine her getting in a car with someone who’d been drinking; I wanted to tell her how ridiculous smoking pot and getting the “munchies” was. I was the boring, prudish older sister. “No, but really, I’m cool, I just don’t want you doing the same dumb stuff!” I wanted to shout.

It seemed that our lives were never going to be in the same chapter – I’d always be two jumps ahead of her, or we were just two different people.

But something happened the summer before she left for college last year. Because she was going to no longer be at home, we started spending more one-on-one time together. She’d come over to my apartment to spend the night, or we’d jog around my neighborhood together. Suddenly it was as if the gap that had been there for nearly 20 years of my life was closed within one summer. And I realized in the midst of all this time I hadn’t been paying much attention to her, we had turned into the same person. The same music, the same love for fashion, the same independent nature, the same relationship ups and downs, the same social proclivities, the same bad spending habits. While I always wanted an older sister to be friends with and confide in – to offer me her shoulder of wiser ways – I find myself being that person. I find myself calling her to catch up, being interested in what she’s doing on a weekly basis, and even more so interested in hanging out with her – one-on-one – when she’s home.

And while I’ll always be two jumps ahead of her in age and experience, we’re no longer two different people; we’re scary close to being the same. I’ve always understood our differences, and now, even more so our similarities.

Currently Feeling: Snacky. Snacky. South Beach Chocolate Cookies. Mmmm.
Currently Anticipating: Yoga tonight. I love working out in a dark room, closing my eyes, deep breathing and feeling STRONG.
Currently Reading: “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” by Stieg Larsson.

Lions and tigers and hairs, oh my!

Something has been bothering me for quite some time now… and while it might be a little too crass for some of you, I just have to bring it up.

It has to do with bushes. No, not George, although he’s bothered me for quite some time also. The bushes I’m talking about are approximately half a foot south of your bellybutton.

What I’d like to know is when it went from being socially acceptable to have a big, hairy bush to NOT being socially acceptable. Because I’m pretty sure the latter is much more the case now.

I think about this all the time when I’m at the gym. I try really, really hard to not pay attention, but most the time, the sizes of bushes in the locker room freak the shit out of me. Bestie Amanda and I were recently talking about this – there are women at the gym, sometimes even in as early as their 30s, with an embarrassingly amount of pubic hair, and I just.don’t.get.it. Are 20-somethings the only generation who are concerned with this? Do you become unconcerned as you get older? These ladies walk around, proud as hell, boobs flapping and four inches of puff. (One time, I caught a naked lady in front of the bathroom mirror, leaning over and washing her armpits. So not only was she showing her bush to all, but her boobs were flapping back and forth from the scrubbing momentum. It was slightly disturbing – end tangent.) I’m not all about the nakedness in the gym locker room. I tend to be a little bit more discreet. But if I did prance around naked, I wouldn’t be sporting a bush the size of the Tongass National Forest.

I can’t exactly place my finger on when I learned that trimming was expected; I just knew. Clearly, however, it wasn’t this way a short time ago. When, exactly, did society’s norm transition and how the hec did something like that come about? I mean, I’m sure you’ve all seen 80s porn movies, a big bush was popular back then! Is this similar to the fad of shrinking women? Like how in the 1800s it was popular to be all rotund and squishy, and now being bony and poky is popular? Are little girls going to start needing Brazilians at age 12?! (Or age 10, whatever it is now with all the hormones in meat).

The whole thing kinda grosses me out – and conversely, if you’re a guy. The same thing is expected. Let me let you in on a little secret – I’ve had countless conversations with women who were appalled that the new guy they were dating didn’t manscape. That’s right manscape.
Whatever planet you came from that taught you it was necessary for women to trim, but not men, is the same planet George Bush came from, and that era is OVER.

Bush IS out.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

This Christmas I wasn’t necessarily as spoiled as last years gone past – chalk it up to the economy and my parents’ paying for my sister’s college. But it was one of the best Christmases I’ve had. I, myself, personally made a decision to purchase really good gifts for an elite group, and not every extended family member. The extendeds received homemade fudge and caramel corn, placed on metallic plates and tied with sparkly ribbon and an ornament. What transpired with my limited gift giving this year was the first Christmas that I’ve felt really into. Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t stressing out about not having money for millions of presents. I just enjoyed the season, the festivities and the traditions. I gave a few great gifts…

…and I received a few great gifts. Here are some of my favorites this year:

A hot pink Chi flat iron (to match my pink Chi blow dryer). Pink, pink and more pink! I can’t get enough! (And my boyfriend is secretly groaning inside). Seriously though, I’ve wanted one of these babies since my receptionist days at the J.C. Penney’s styling salon, and it came out as the new “IT” flat iron. And even more so when I had my hair straightened at a salon last spring. I felt like such a sexy bitch, I tried to do it myself for the first time with my $14.99 Revlon flat iron. FAIL. I looked like I had stood in the rain, gone to the beach, then baked my hair in the oven. See these two pics: they do not match. You might not be able to tell, but the right one is smooth and silky, the left, not so much. Anywho, I tried out my new flat iron this weekend, and it worked like a dream! Finally, at nearly 27, I might learn how to switch up my style a bit since in the past I’ve stuck to being a Curly Headed Woman.

Billabong “Timeless” Jacket, which the punchline for says “plaid is timeless!” I could probably argue with that one. But, Nordstrom did list a plaid jacket as one of their “must haves” for Fall, and I’ve been eying all the cute plaid jackets in stores since; I just haven’t found it very practical. So, leave it to my BF to gift me with a cute splurge. (He did a great job, didn’t he?) I wore it today with my grey calf-length boots. Not only is it WARM, but I think it’s a great replacement for that red Billabong jacket that has graced every pic I’m in for the last three months. I do love me some fur-lined hoods!

Tarte’s Limited Edition Vanity Palette from my fashionista lil’ sis. I am a make-up feign. I have a three-tiered storage drawer set in my room, labeled respectively “Face,” “Eyes” and “Lips.” You can guess what’s in each drawer. But, my collection is getting a little ridiculous. I already cleaned it out last spring, but it’s still overflowing. (Especially the bottom drawer, how many lip glosses can a girl really have? I’ve talked before about my unhealthy obsession with it.) I think I need to put a kibosh a little on makeup gifts and buying, but I just LOVE everything about expensive makeup – the packaging, the smell, the texture, the pigment. This palette is super wonderful. It’s jam-packed with everything you need, and look at these colors. Tell me those aren’t to. die. for!

Hot Pink Cherry Blossom Lights, which appeal to my love for all things pink, as mentioned above. The BF was ecstatic about his find here, “I got the last pink ones; they were the display set!” he exclaimed when I opened them. They are oh so pretty, and whimsical and match my bedroom perfectly, which is decorated in hot pink and orange. Something about Christmas lights just make everything look better…so now I’ll have pretty pink, flower lights year-round to light up my room.

A lifetime supply of AA batteries. (Okay, not really lifetime supply, but a really, really large pack of them!) Read this post, and you’ll understand why I received these…now all my remotes will have batteries once again. A girl’s gotta have priorities!

Stella’s Gift, came from not me, oh no, my BF. He really does know the path straight to my heart – through my cat. He bought her a hot pink feathered catnip bird, because I had mentioned that I thought she’d love a feathered toy when we were at a pet store. It’s just so dang thoughtful; it melts my heart. The only thing Stella cares about though is that she’s gettin’ her druuugs. Am I the only one who thinks it seems greatly wrong to get your cat stoned against its will and laugh at it?! Either way, she’s been enjoying getting high, and has carried it around in her mouth – taking it with her on the couch and my bed – not letting her stash out of her site. I guess every junkie needs a fix sometime.

And that wraps up the top gifts of 08… what were some of your favorite gifts this Christmas?!

Currently Feeling: Like Monday I’m going to want to kill myself for all this slacking.
Currently Anticipating: Dinner tonight with Bestie Amanda, and the rest of the week off!
Currently Needing: A majah diet and exercise overhaul plan for the new year.

I’m gonna lose my boyfriend to a coffee-slinging hooker

I think a lot of times, us coupled types can get comfortable in our relationships and fail to really see our partner through a fresh pair of eyes. After a good amount of time has gone by, you see the other person in sweats and slippers more than than you see them dressed, and it’s easy to forget to compliment quite as much or not pick apart silly stuff.

I’m terrible at this. Lately I’ve been more inclined to crinkle my nose at my boyfriend’s work uniform (I hate it), tell him that he should have probably ironed his shirt, or tease him about his chicken legs. I think I’ve been slacking a little in the compliment department lately. It’s not that I don’t think he’s just as hot as the day I met him. Actually, scratch that. I think he’s MORE hot. It’s just that it kinda not so top-of-mind anymore.

Yesterday a friend posted a group pic from the summertime on his Facebook page that I hadn’t seen yet:

And there was my boyfriend, all smiley and tan in his army shorts (majah weakness for camo), and I was reminded how much I think my boyfriend’s a sexy bitch. Just looking at this pic gets me all hot and bothered. So, I left work yesterday, thinking about how bad I wanted to see him and tear his clothes off, and tell him that’s he’s HOT.

Except someone had already beat me to it. I walked into his kitchen, and there was an empty Starbucks cup on his counter with something along the lines of the following:

Hi Mike! Hope you have a great day out there!
Heart, Theresa
253-xxx-xxxx

@*&$#&!!!! *$##@@$#!!!

I don’t really have a jealous bone in my body, but my feathers are really ruffled about this.

I’m trying to resist the urge to visit all Starbucks within his general work and home radius (which would be really hard, natch, this is Seattle!) and mean-mug all the baristas.

Currently Feeling: Headachy from staring at Web site code all week.
Currently Anticipating: My holiday wine party tomorrow night!!! Should have some good stories and pics.
Currently Needing: To get started on my Christmas shopping.

My glitter-loving self grows up

Yesterday I decided to drag my lazy wine-headached butt out of bed and head to The Glitter Sale with my roommate.

Since both of us live car-less in the city, it took us nearly an hour to bus to The Goodwill in South Seattle. We arrived to a line, snaking around the building. A middle-aged lady with worn Reeboks, tomato lipstick, and a diamond crown and earrings soon came walking down the line with a box of Krispie Kremes for those of us who were waiting. “Woo! You’re at the Glitter Sale!” she shouted down the line. “It won’t be long now ladies! Almost there! Want a donut?”

I stopped her and asked just how long, “it won’t be that long now” is.

Approximately an hour and a half wait.

I don’t know how I made it through it—my feet and back felt achy, and I had a headache and a hang over, but I was bound. and. determined. to see this Glitter Sale that I’d heard so much about (and read that women from out of state actually fly in for).

Here’s the problem. When someone mentioned the Glitter Sale as a once-a-year event that The Goodwill puts out their “name brand” stuff, they forgot to tell me that “name brand” stuff really meant name brands from the 80s and that Glitter Sale really meant GLITTER literally, not figuratively.

It was one freakin’ glitter puke all over every item in that room.

Even though I dug through racks of heavy glitter tops with shoulder pads, racks and racks of prom dresses and bins of junk that every other one had an owner who’d bombard me with, “THAT’S MINE,” and shoved my way through the throngs of older women in spandex, bathing suits or see-through tights because there aren’t any dressing rooms—I didn’t find really anything of worth to talk about.

I guess I can come to grips with the fact that I don’t love glitter and sparkle as much as I used to.

All the shows were metallics

All the clothes had glitter or sparkle

All the ladies were wearing spandex (do you love my Paparazzi shot)

Currently Feeling: Crazy that it’s been about a year now with my and Baby Daddy. Where has the time gone?!
Currently Anticipating: A little housework, errands and TV today to wind down my weekend.
Currently Loving: The bright pretty flowers the BF gave me.