allegory/ get your swagger right.

Once upon a time, I was a very young girl in a bar in Tampa, and I met a dj from Miami who was the greatest thing I had ever seen. He was being sweet to me, buying me drinks, etc. And then he informed me that I needed to act quickly because (his exact words) "baby, I'm in limited supply." Seriously. I wanted to vomit. There's a moral to this story; it's something like: act up like that, and watch how quickly you can be replaced.

I've got multiple dates this week. My big brother says "It's a numbers game. You throw enough shit out there, and eventually something will stick." I am baffled by how it can come at me from every direction (like guys I haven't spoken to in months are suddenly coming back around), and yet the one guy I'm pining after like a teenage girl is so inexplicably lackadaisical. The Universe is telling me something; I'm just not sure what yet.

cerulean.

Woke up today with my sinuses all farcockt. Lazy Sunday. Going to try to hang some more of my art in my bedroom. Also need to do laundry, clean out my closet, make a sizable donation to Goodwill. Working overnight tonight to set up holiday displays in the store. Trying to make the most of it, be jolly and what not, but I think it's going to be even less fun than it sounds, if that's even possible. My brother took his girls to Harry Potter World in Orlando this weekend. Totally jealous. Florida, I miss you. (Can't believe I just said that.)

life could be a dream.

Sitting in the backyard in my undies, drinking coffee, watching the dogs chase the chipmunks. Life is good. Ignoring the fact I have to be at work in just a bit which is not so good.

































A girl came into my store the other day with a really good knockoff of this Alexander Wang Rocco tote, and I wanted so badly to ask her where she got it, how much she spent, etc, etc, but I didn't because I'm not sure what the etiquette is when it comes to asking people about their fake bags. But I wish I had because I love this bag.

bonkers.

My body runs with clockwork-like predictability. I could mark my crazy days and my bummer days on the calendar six months ahead of time. I am a rational, logical, level-headed woman; I know that my bouts of emotionality are purely chemical. But even having said that, it doesn't make me any less crazy or sad. I feel like there needs to be a disclaimer before everything I say. "I am especially emotional today; everything that comes out of my mouth is nonsense." Oh, to be a man for a day.