The Boos Do Retail Therapy

Ninety-five percent of the time, I’m the kind of shopper who sits in front of her laptop in her pajamas and fuzzy slippers, munching on cheddar and sour cream Ruffles, and casually switching browser tabs from Malcolm in the Middle on Netflix (everyone go rewatch that shit right the fuck now; it holds up so well, and that one episode where Malcolm and Reese both think the other one is gay literally never gets old) to a pictorial listing of cozy, oversized sweaters all in varying shades of cream (and no, my fondness for oversized sweaters that look pretty much exactly the same doesn’t make me sartorially predictable – it just means I’ve found my style, guys, geez!). But the times when I do decide to throw on public-appropriate clothing and brave the crowds (that I hate) and the stores that over-perfume their walls and their entire inventory (that I also hate – I’m looking at you, Abercrombie and Fitch!), Boo (naturally) is my favorite person to do it with. Mostly because:

1. She and I are both strategic shoppers.

Boo and I aren’t the types to wander around aimlessly; that’s fucking pointless and a waste of valuable time. Instead, we’ve already got in mind what we need (just this past Tuesday it was chic, work-appropriate clothing and shoes for her, and sweaters [in cream, obvsies] and flowy blouses for me) and we’ve narrowed down our stops to the shops that would suit us best (Anthropologie, Zara, and Nordstrom – when I allow myself to forget about the horrific three months I spent working there back in my youth – are our usual go-tos). Not only does it eliminate needless temptation, but it also makes efficient use of the time we’ve got together. Which is important because…

2. Food is always involved.

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Whether in snack-form, meal-form, or drink-form, food – and when and where we’re going to consume the fuck out of it – is usually how Boo and I like to break down the day. “Okay, now that we’re done with the first store on our list…should we have lunch now or hit up another store and THEN have lunch?” Now. The answer is always now. Continue reading

In Which it is the New Year!


T and I hope you all ate your weight in everything unhealthy, indulged in spoiling yourselves and the non-assholes around you, and are looking forward to the better and brighter (I hope!) year ahead! We’ve been operating under radio silence chiefly because we’ve been busy doing all of the above (and also because we both got real busy at work and I got totally shat on by finals), but I return to you now (at the turn of the tide) with words and pictures about the following:

I won this thing!


See, here I am! (Does my internet paranoia come across clearly enough in this screenshot?)


And, like most amazing things that happen to me, I’m convinced none of it would’ve been possible without boo (and James Patterson’s generosity, of course…..but totally mostly boo), who nominated me for it in the first place.


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Bromance In the Time of Romance

Today, I sent Jayne this bromantic photo session of a groom and his best man and we agreed that this is obviously something our relationship needs, what with the meatloaf deliveries and the slumber parties. (Don’t worry, faithful Lady Bromancers, whenever that happens, we will definitely post the photos here first).

But this also got me thinking about where our lady bromance fits into the romances in our lives. I mean, obviously, our love is hard to compete with.

I mean, just look at this handsome couple.
I mean, just look at this handsome couple.


We know it’s intimidating, especially when our reputation precedes us.


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Jayne is an Idiot

I won’t lie to you guys. Even if I was a remotely decent liar (which I’m not [there goes my future as an international spy]), I still wouldn’t lie to you, because you’re reading what I’m writing (even though I take fucking forever to get to my actual fucking point [like now] and every other sentence in my posts are hilarious parentheticals [also like now]) and, brother, I respect that (insert fist-bump from me to you here). So here’s the deal:

I completely forgot till just now (11:45 PM on Monday, December 7th) that it was my day to post.

I was all triumphant and  proud of myself for managing to brush my teeth, wash my face, go through my tedious face moisturizing process, and be in bed a mere 20 minutes after getting home from work that it, of course, only occurred to me that I was definitely fucking forgetting something just as my feet had found the perfect nook of warmth under my two comforters (winter is here, dudes!). My toes have never been so depressed in their entire lives (this includes the period of my youth when I wore Jelly sandals, so you know shit just got real).

So now, I’m this rude asshole in a panic because I have no idea what in the flying rat’s hemorrhoid to write about. One would think I would have an arsenal of partially written drafts set up in the Lady Bromance vault for exactly this purpose. One would think. But that would be assuming that I was actually paying attention in the years I spent as a half-assed girl scout instead of spending the meetings plotting a really elaborate and dramatic escape from all the estrogen.


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