Ballad of Bitter Honey
Nothing says nice summer day like anorexia
First things first, apparently I am being stalked by a Daily News columnist, or was circa January 06:
"Ever look through your closet and wonder: "What was I thinking?" Those purple lamé ballet slippers..." Okay, I totally love those shoes and they were not a compulsive buy as I trekked all over London looking for them in green size 8 before I settled on the purple. Back off, Colette.
Ahem. Summer is here as of 8:26 this morning! I've celebrated by doing fabulously summery things like tanning from a bottle, going to physics class and quitting my job (more like walking out after my psycho boss told me to "go fuck [my]self" while I was taking a phone order). Yes. OMGWATF! I already have two options lined up: working at the Free People in Garden State Plaza (if they like me as a salesperson, me and the girls in there are BFF already) or working at a dry cleaner paying $10/hour. Physics is.. a total ugh.
Sunday we had a super-duper Father's Day barbecue of cheese burgers, cookies, French Silk pie, chips and dip!!, cold pasta, lemonade, and oh my goodness the best salad ever. Betty Crocker Suddenly Salad pasta mix + romaine + tomato + avocado = picnic heaven.
I am so proud of myself -- I cleaned out my room and put all my magazines in files. Ten, to be exact, even after recycling a bazillion tabloids and, like, Lucky. There is no point of keeping Lucky past its published season. And then a few nights later I had a dream where my mother yelled at me for buying more magazines.
Administrator's note: I removed some people from my friends list, because they have not updated in a long time or there is only a tangential FTOTZ connection between us.