Today a professional matchmaker gave me her card. Why? Because she's on the hunt to find a match for a wealthy 39 year old man who has a "very specific type," which I assume means young, gothic, and double-denim'd. Being poor and single, I accepted the card. I also really need that Michael Kors watch. Will I call this woman? No, probably (read: definitely) not. Should I call this woman? Probably, because without him I'll never get that watch in an appropriate amount of time (by tomorrow.)
In other news: -It turns out I can actually sell overpriced denim pretty well, which is a relief !!!!!!! phew!!!!! I also bought the sassiest pocketless bellbottoms that will probably instantly attract mates that are in my target age bracket! -Black Cherry lippy looks good on everyone, and by everyone I mean my girlfriends and I, who are all coincidentally the most terribly wonderful witches people when our powers combine. Meaning we are your worst nightmare and avoid us at all costs especially when there are liquors involved because I'm pretty sure all we did last night was scream and cackle and do bad girl shit and take shots and steal briefcases -My parents junked my Audi (cue Volvo in G- "I think I left myself in the trunk"). R.I.P. you shitty german automobile which once shone like the sun before my mom wrecked you 27 times and I drove you STRAIGHT into the GROUND with my fast, bad driving and frequent and costly trips all over the place -A person only needs 3 hours of sleep a night to function -I'm hardly a person