Why Thriftstore Shopping is Better Than Most Men

You see, today I went for this really long walk at Liberty park. After my soul centering exercise, I took a bag of clothes to DI...clothes that honestly, I should have just thrown out. They had paint stains the color of my now living room, pit stains from the years of soul- centering exercise, and probably more than a few holes from just being loved a little too desperately. Then there were the pants that USED to fit me pre-mission overload and the shirts I bought because they were cheap and not necessarily because they would EVER look like anything other than garbage bags on me. It was a cornacopia (how do you spell that?) of disaster and I was taking it to be hung up by some well-meaning worker at the D.I...which to you east coasters is the Utah version of Goodwill and Sal Val.

After joyfully handing over the garbage bag that concealed my "donation" and graciously accepting the thank you from the workers (THEY don't need to know how sad my "donation" really was!!!!), my roommate and I proceeded to spend 2 hours wandering around the store, finding replacement CRAP for our house! We spent a whopping $48 on new old pajamas, new old frames, new old closet doors (that we are going to shabby chic into some room dividers!!!), new old plates and bowls (we now have like 50 of each...WE NEED THEM...WE HAVE LOTS OF um.....CEREAL PARTIES?) and new old books. It was awesome...and I must admit, we felt fulfilled. So fulfilled that we decided we deserved a cherry limeade after all our hard thrifting...our version of the cigarette after, well...you get it.

So it's easy to see why thrifting is better than having a boyfriend. You put your old junk in the back of your car. D. I. will take it no matter what kind of junk you have in your trunk (unlike most men). Then after they take your shit, they HELP YOU find something better. They take all major credit cards and not ONCE does anyone tell you that what you are buying is sloppy seconds.

But hey, maybe thrifting is LIKE loving men? You have to dig through piles and piles of crap to get to the hidden treasure. I don't know. This analogy has gone too far, but I had nothing better to write about. It was this or the hair clog in my sink that is slowly taking over the apartment and as much as I LOVE hair clogs....

Worst Friend EVER?????

I think I am the worst friend ever. I forgot one of my best friends birthdays. This post is mostly to create a public shaming for myself. I subscribe to the Hester Pryne school of repentence...Only instead of a scarlet A, I will compose a shameful blog entry that will float around in cyberspace for all eternity (or at least until whoever runs this "pimp" show decides they've had enough of publishing whiney 20 something girls' apologizing-for-living confessional journals...like, next week?)

My friend, Landylou (an alias of course) remembered my birthday last year with a bouquet of flowers delivered to my office. I felt SOOOO cool that day because people thought they came from some hot man who was madly in love with me. (yes, I twisted the birthday gift to suit my own need for validation, but part of me thinks that is why a good girlfriend sends you flowers...they don't really want the credit...they are hoping to help you create a little mystery about a truly non-existant love life.) So you would think that I could at least have sent a retarded e-card or something right?

Now, I was slightly relieved to hear that this darling friend had a date with a cute, adorable, smart man that night thus SORT of pulling me out of the "bad friend!" doghouse...dates with boys on your birthday will help you forgive anything...but it doesn't excuse me. So I will make it up to you landy lou if it's the last thing I do. And I promise it will be something way cooler than just a blog entry or a bad rhyming poem or an e-card.