Flipflops in the Rain


the one where i use too many parentheticals to ask you about music

i’m in a music rut, and while i could listen to Brand New on repeat for hours (what? i’m emo-licious at heart), my CD player can’t and it’s starting to skip incessantly.

that’s where you come in — what should i be listening to? (and NO, even though i live for pop music, i do not care for kesha*, and NO, i will not add a stupid dollar sign to her name.)

*except secretly, when my roommate can’t see me listening to blah, blah, blah, and not so secretly, when i’m showing off my mad tik tok clock dance moves. (maxie, pithy and coffee, you know what i’m talkin’ bout — AND YOU LOVE IT.)



i need more sparkle in my life

the gaga concert was fantastic. and sequiny. it made me want to drop everything and become a fun-loving, international pop star. except i lack the necessary singing/dancing/entertaining skills and the interesting yet tragic back story. so maybe i’ll just drop everything and go shopping at forever 21 for metallic leggings and feathery headbands.

but i don’t get to go shopping. because i’m brokety, broke, broke. so the shine in my life must come from cheaper alternatives.

enter home-brewed coffee with a dash of pumpkin pie spice to replace my much-anticipated fall favorite bevvy at starbucks. a library card to fuel my literary genius side. home manicures instead of fancy pampering sessions. ratty highlights with a solid three inches of dirty blonde roots. three-buck chuck in the comfort of my home vs. $45 bottles at fancy restaurants. cup o noodle and saltines for lunch.

all of these changes to my routine — all these sacrifices — and i’m still doing the paycheck-to-paycheck dance.

ah, the life of luxury and glitter.  why must you be so alluring, yet so impossible to achieve?