What I'm NOT Buying This Weekend

It seems to be that part of the usually temporary obsession where I start to lose interest. My enthusastic daily post have dwindled into brief sometimes-maybe post. In spite of this I still must not shop!

I saw this dress while on my way to have my hair amputated.

 It is a Rebecca Taylor for the surprisingly reasonable price of $240.00 at Tula Blue in Myrtle Beach

Of course there was an adorable boutique across from where we were going to kill my hair... why would my money enjoy it's cozy home in my wallet?

Now, for tradition's sake, I must find a (imaginary) place to wear this dress. I'd be Nancy drew, magnifying glass at hand with tin of lip balm (for some reason tin, not can, it seems more old fashioned-ey, or British, but ether work) that I'd find some strange sleuth-ey use for like Nancy always does with random objects. The typewriter still would work here, I'd be more hunched over it- more stressed with what ever current case was at hand.

I after fantasizing about seeing myself in this lovely dress I proceded to get my hair done:

He did not even warn me: one second he was innocently tying them in cute pony tails and the next medusa's snakes were in his hands. My mom when documenting the event, even managed to get my surprised expression in the mirror.

This week I saved $240.00 and lost two snakes of knotted blond.

Wordless Wendsday: Growl

Can You Resist?

I, being a almost strict-ish vegetarian who still likes the taste of meat, hate fast food commercials just as every woman has since the dawn of time. They usually feature a thin woman enjoying her Micky-dees. I'm sure, among the male population, this advertising is wildly effective. The business model is that you should tempt the heck out of your audience. When I glanced over at discarded box of Mcnuggets that was tossed on the side of the road I was faced with temptation worthy of the devil. In the McDonalds yellow they pass for gold "can you resist?" was making it's evil way from the cardboard to my hungry eyes. I'm now going to steal something that Heather Cherry does often on her blog and write an open letter.

Mcnuggets Have a website, complete with a pledge to eat them. A pledge?

Dear Chicken Mcnuggets,

Yes, I can resist. Do I want to? No.

Who named you a.nyway... Mcnugget? Nugget was an unattractive word by itself but then someone had to add the infamous "mc" to it to make it even more unattractive, but almost appetizing.

I don't get why you ask me if I can resist. If someone already bought the darn thing and that would be the only reason for having to look at the box why would you advertise it to them? They can't resist- that's why they bought it.

Why do you have to tempt people to steal their friend's already purchased Mcnuggets? What do you gain from it? Do you target innocent vegetarians like me who are still learning to resist? Do you plan on irresponsible people tossing their discarded boxes on the side of the road... is that your business model?

Mcnugget, my only explanation is you find gratification in my pain.

Mcnugget, you just keep on lovein' it" while you can!

Your mortal enemy,

P.S.

PS, I'm certainly not "lovein' it"!

What I'm NOT Buying This Weekend

Jacqueline Dress- Anthropologie- $98.00

Old & New Necklace- Anthropologie- $218.00

Full Bouquet Clip- Anthropologie- $18.00

Sigh. Oops, did I accidentally forget to dress for the 21st centry, oh well...

Last week I was sitting pretentiously reading in a used books store, this week I may be sitting at my typewriter clicking away to the sound of the static and muffled words of the radio that was sitting dustily in the corner. But, if I have a typewriter in my little old-time-ey fantacy, don't I need:

The Clickity Typewriter Of My Dreams- eBay- starting bid $24.00 mere dollars

I can imagine myself pounding at the keys, in that dress, and that clip, and those pearls, but my image is spoiled by the buzzing of the computer moniter in the backround, the sound of Muse's (the best band to ever live- sorry adults but don't I have to have a little teenager in me?) Matt Belamy's piano solo in Butterflies and Hurricanes dancing it's genius way to my ears, and the modern air that unfortunatly always seems to hang annoyingly in the air.

I was born in the wrong time- but that doesn't mean I can't dress for the time I should have been born in...

The Things I Won't Miss About My Hair

I'm about to chop off about 10 inches. I've developed a very personal relationship with my hair. The tips have been to Paris; they still smell like tobacco smoke and chocolate. The Middle has been to Hawaii; a little blonder than the rest from the hours I wasted attempting to get a tan. I've been "about to cut it" for about a year now. I never thought it was particularly long until I found myself avoiding shaking my hair so often- it was starting to hurt. Moving my hair was becoming a big production that requires much effort and neck muscles.

My hair is ridiculously thick like my moms. At birthday parties when we are doing makeovers I have always secretly found pleasure in watching girls' faces fall as they twine their fingers around my ponytail and notice it's healthy circumference. I've always wanted it long, just because mom did not advise it. It is unbelievably hard to manage, how I envy those who can flip their hair without worrying about pulling a muscle or getting slapped in the face by deep-fried-blond (I straighten my hair a tad too much).

When it's off I won't have to worry about:

Having to screw my head back in the right position,

Having to navigate my way out of my own hair,

Or being mistaken for a blond troll doll.
(Photos by Margo)
I will miss you hair *sniff*... fare-de-well

Thank You Camera!

I love to take pictures of flowers for reasons unknown. Now, with a blog I have somewhere to put them. I was focusing on my daisys and then Lily just trots into the frame and smells one, with her tiny nose twitching like she does when we're holding a treat, probably to see if it is edible, but cute all the same. Usually when she does something of this cuteness I don't have my camera, but here she was cute and here my mom's camera was, charged.

The picture does have it's flaws, you can't see Lily's eyes or nose, so she sort of just looks like a mass of billowing fur. Flaw number two, one of my daisies has brown spots. I think he's sunburned, can that happen to flowers?

I then proceeded to move to the back yard to see if I could get any good pictures of Lily there and, for some unkown reason, I got lucky enough to get:

I know she has pollen on her mouth, I think it's sort of cute. I also got a good picutre of her shaking.

Now, this post is a thank you to my mom's camera and the wonderful pictures that come with it.

The Spade That Glistened Like a New Knife

Mother and I dazedly browsed the isles of flowers at Lowe's. I was immediately won over by everything that was pretty; ignoring the practical, typical inpatients. Others sifted through the isles with an authority most likely emitting from the list of flowers they've already planned in their hands. I hand no plan I was just going to get some grass seeds for a science project, but I am an adept impulse shopper. I got to chose the flowers, me, without more than a hint of discretion from mom! We left with plastic pots full of colorful impracticality.

I needed to plant them all now while I was inspired. If I hesitated for a mere second I would lose all interest and they would wither in their plastic pots.

I scavenged all of the equipment I could find which only consisted of a child-size shovel, gloves and my shoes. The spade (of which I pride myself of knowing the name of) was probably rusting somewhere in our yard, a result of us assuming that "I can always get it later".

Lily was helping me; she trailed along behind me as I dragged the package of potting soil to the front door where the pots I was going to plant were. I got my shovel and removed the old, dry soil from the pots, from which a tree that we planted last (or the one before that...?) Christmas's offspring was sprouting. It was feeble and not nearly as lush as it's parent; it was a Charlie Brown tree. I looked across the street where a van with "(insert name here)'s gardening services" was printed in green. Behind that van, in front of our other neighbors was "(someone)'s landscaping" . I saw the workers come out with tools far superior to mine. Their spade shone like a new knife, their rake had no broken bristles, and they most definitely weren't using a child's size shovel.

I planted the plants before I got discouraged. I spent another forty minutes taking pictures of them. I didn't even bother to put the potting mix back, I can always get it later.