A little random never hurt anybody
Normally the problems that I may project are not really problems, but more like expanding on the banal and making things far bigger than they actually are. If I were to inflate every other problem that came across my path, then last week would have been full of ‘shits’ ‘damns’ and ‘fucking bitches’ because that’s what I was feeling. I would have exploded with vitriolic and caustic phrases aimed at one person who probably deserved such but not in such a public manner.
That was last week and my god, while I try not to go off in hyperbolic clichés, I’m a bit annoyed and annoyance that I must talk about because it’s driving me batshit insane. I’ve lost something. Not just any something, but something that I love and adore. A beautiful faux crocodile pink clutch that held a pot of Nars lacquer and my portable makeup brush.
Though to many – specifically the men – this may seem banal. But to me OH MY LORD I love that clutch as much as my prized Kate Spade. I adored both the clutch, in all its pink glory, but also my NARS people! My Nars! And it’s so close to fall and would have been the perfect color, but alas it is now missing. Somewhere in the bedroom that time forgot where a dresser is situated smack dab in the middle of the room: A perfect spot for little piggy stubbing.
So there you have it, I’m annoyed. Really annoyed and disappointed.
In the spirit of all things random, I keep pulling what I will now affectionaly call a ‘V’. In which I see things or read about them and suddenly decide that YES! I would make an excellent fashion designer. Pay no mind that the only thing I’ve fashioned is a felt bag and a pillow case in home economics in the 8th grade. I would also make an excellent book reviewer, perhaps for the New York Times and an astronaut. Did I ever tell you about my days of watching A Baby Story and how I was convinced that I would make a most excellent Ob/Gyn even though I failed biology? No? Well there you have it.
HB: dissecting the banal by day, Vera Wang protégé by night. Oh, my next life.