Anyway, this morning while I was walking the dogs through the darkness (actually, I took them out yesterday in the warm rain and it was surprisingly fun - better than the cold wind and dark clouds this morning) I made a vow that I would blog every day that I have computer access starting now and continuing until early May. Uh, by the way, I'm leaving for Charleston again tomorrow and I won't be back until Monday and I probably won't have any computer access there, so, um, yeah. Still. I swear. It's a vow.
In accordance with this vow, even though I have nothing much to say, I'm going to inflict it on you. Yay. Therefore, we're going to talk now about retail therapy and how much I need some, because I hate all my clothes. All of them, except, that is, the thin ones which I can't wear until I lose 10 or 15 or 20 pounds (like that's going to happen.) But the ones that I can wear? That fit? Suck. Suck completely, and even though I recognize that this is partly or mostly the time of year, I have this deep seated wish to go out and buy a whole new better wardrobe. In black, naturally. I think if I just had the right black skirt and the right black top and maybe the right white men's shirt to go over it all in a piquant and charming vaguely French inspired look that would also camouflage my sadly over 40 upper arms and the teenager weight around my middle (that's like pregnancy weight, only it happens because your teenager is driving you so crazy you have no option but to eat brownies and drink beer or else you will go insane) and maybe some new shoes and definitely some new tights and new jeans that actually fit, like the dearly departed ones the dog ate, then perhaps I would be completely happy. Or if I could find three more pairs of those fabulous black corduroys I bought at Belks three years ago which have turned out to be the only article of clothing I own that's worth a damn, but, alas, as we all know, the minute you find pants you like the manufacturer gets taken over by the jellyfish people from Jupiter, who promptly discontinue your clothing with a high pitched cackle of evil laughter at you thrown in - and don't even get me started on the evil interstellar alien lipstick cartel.
So I'm seriously considering taking some of the money that I should be dutifully saving for a house - hey, I finished my housing class! I got a certificate and everything! Now I just have to find a house in West Asheville in my price range (ha. ha ha. ha ha so very ha, motherfuckers. I don't care. There's a house out there for me. I believe in miracles. Shut UP, small voice of