...for Monday...or, you know, for the rest of the week in case I get busy.
This is one of the magic German medicines I took for my cold. It worked pretty well but those drops? for my cough? AMAZING.
This guy is living (well, sleeping actually) in a cube van outside his office building. No food or running water in the truck. It's fascinating for about 30 minutes. Then one tends to realize that he has no life. I haven't figured out what he hopes to achieve in the end - does he mean to travel the world with the money saved? I hope he has some grand plan or else he just ends up being a guy who lives in a truck...er, sleeps in a truck.
I have a tiny bit of extra money this month (ie., things are still tight here) and needed my foundation which was only available here. What a dump! Seriously. Friends of mine are ticked as Sephora has a new policy in which the sales associates address the customers as Love but, let me tell you, I'd risk that rather than shopping at Ulta. There was merchandise on the floor, the shelves were a mess, the samples were filthy looking, there wasn't enough sales help, and they stocked merchandise I can buy in my supermarket. Not sure if I'll even stick with the present foundation but I'm so tired of purchasing foundations which require special brushes that I thought I'd stay with this one for another round.
It is unlikely that Evan will see December 25th. Just to put things in perspective.
The Writer Exits.
If fucking Pinterest does not stop SUGGESTING fucking pins for me "based on my interests" I am going to scream. I do not CARE about 20 Interesting Places to Eat in New York simply because I commented on Mary's pins about eating in New York. I FUCKING LIVE HERE. Everything above the fold on my pinterest landing page is crap. ANNOYED.
Look at this!
This list is brilliant.
Finally, the last thing I did with my tiny windfall was replace my worn bras. I last bought bras in February of 2014 so I can't complain too much about the underwires poking through. I wear underwires a few days a week and some "shaping camisoles" a couple of days a week and a couple of these crazy things on other days. Each of these options has different results but, as I said to the saleslady here, it's not like I walk around in tight sweaters and clingy dresses. Far from it. But I needed a couple of bras. I don't think I've ever ended up in the same size twice in my life - that's the first thing that plagued me. The second thing is: is there ever, in any man's life, a time when they are forced to stand in front of a full-length mirror, in glaring bright light, assessing the needs of their bodies? EVER? Can you imagine a world wherein men would have to go, every year or so, into a curtained area of a retail establishment, remove their pants and figure out the best way to encase their nether regions in fabric that does not itch or bind and HAS WIRES IN IT, to showcase that region and make it look its best? And another gent would come into this small space and inspect how well this fabric item supported them and poked and pulled the item to ensure that it would stay in place comfortably all day?
I WOULD PAY MONEY TO SEE IT.
I stood there, contemplating my new larger size whilst bemoaning the state of my torso - because I haven't really looked at my torso in such bright light with a giant mirror inches from my face. When did my shoulders get so wide looking. How is my middle so mushy? My skin such an awful color? Why don't they make a pretty bra which does not itch like a rash in my size?
When in the world has K, or any of my boys for that matter, ever found themselves in a position in which they were forced to critique their bodies?
I guess I'm pretty ranty today.
Don't take me too seriously.