I come, trembling and wan, to report that I have been traumatized yet again by a Tragic Nail Polish Incident.

In what is becoming the recurrent theme of my existence, I was on my way out the door this morning to my job as a Girl Reporter when I noticed that my carefully pedicured toe peeking out from my purple suede sandal had a chip in its dark plummy red polish.

I went into the bathroom and carefully applied one drop of polish to the chip, admired my lovely shoes and toes, and cheerfully went on my way. I had no sense of impending doom.

As I got into my car, I noticed something dark on my shoe, and leaned down to brush away what I thought was a leaf.

Oh, dear fangirls! It was a blob of dark plummy red nail polish, now smeared over the bright purple suede of my shoes!

I had no time to change my shoes, so I had to go be a Girl Reporter all the while knowing that I had a dark smeary mark on my sandal. Oh. Oh. Oh. How I suffered inside.

After completing my Girl Reporter duties, I telephoned someone I knew would understand, firehead30  . "Oh, firehead!" I cried. "Please look up how to get nail polish out of suede on the Internets and tell me I have not ruined my shoes forever!"

Properly apalled, she immediately complied, but the news was not what one might hope when one has a smear of dark plummy red nail polish on one's favorite bright purple suede sandals. I heard the doubt and fear in her voice as she read it to me. "Take a gentle detergent and mix it in warm water until it's very foamy. Take just the foam and lightly work it into the polish. If this doesn't work, but only as a last resort, try using sandpaper."

After my Tragic Incident in Austin followed by the Tragic Dropping of the Nail Polish on the Slate Floor and not to ever forget the failed promises of Sally Hansen's Guaranteed Not To Chip Polish, I am beginning to feel about nail polish the way Brian feels about violin music and Justin feels about marinara sauce.

Excuse me while I gently cradle my shoes in my arms and cry myself to sleep.

Nordstrom sent my lovely things and I'm sitting here petting them now.

The long wait has ended. All's right with the world

I can sleep now. I ordered all my pretty things at Nordstrom's annual sale.


That is all.

They pass laws about all kinds of shit, and most of it's crap. They pass laws against gay marriage, gay adoption, gay pogo stick usage.

BUT THIS TIME THERE SHOULD BE A LAW PASSED forbidding Nordstrom from sending out sexy, enticing, deathly addictive catalogs for things that CANNOT AT THIS TIME BE PURCHASED.

I have in my hands Nordstrom's "anniversay sale" catalog. Shop soon, it tells me; prices go up August 6.

Is there a pair of red suede Mary Janes on a red patent wedge with white contrast stitching for LESS THAN A HUNDRED DOLLARS that I would die, die I tell you die, for?

There is.

Is there a black belted cardigan that is the CARDIGAN OF MY DREAMS?

There is.

Is there a beautiful jet Swarovski crystal necklace that would look perfect with that black belted cardigan and those red shoes?

You know there is.

Can I order any of these freaking things?

I cannot. Not until July 20. THAT IS SIX DAYS FROM NOW.

Oh Nordstrom, how you are hurting me....

Whilst shopping for shoes, I saw this cross-body handbag.

I want it bad.

I cannot have it. It costs $250 and that is just too much for a bag I have almost no use for other than it might keep me from dying of thwarted longing.

Yet I whimper.

I just looked at the weather forecast for Austin, where I will be Friday through Thursday.

IN THE 80s!!!!!!!!!!!! I normally hate warm weather but ASDFGHJKLASD this means I CAN WEAR MY NEW SANDALS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

See icon. That is all.

I got out my biggest suitcase and put just my shoes and boots in it for my trip to New York and now the only other thing I can bring is a toothbrush.

And what I wear on the plane. I need to find one outfit that goes with all my shoes.

That is all.

LOOK AT THE ICONS roc_abs MADE ME lkajdsf;ljasdfjafjds!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




THE LOVE!

The zipper on one of my beautiful new boots is broken. Zappos said to return them, but they are out of my size... so they said they'd pay to have them repaired. But today two repair places said it can't be repaired or replaced, and I have to return them, and won't have them for New York.

Sob.

I guess there's no Santa, but there IS a Nordstrom.

I bought the shoes he didn't bring me on Christmas. Thanks for nothing, big guy.

I posted these before but now THEY ARE MINE:

Why didn't Santa bring me these shoes?

Why, Santa, WHY?

My new boots. They hurt me.