So I have this sweater.

I bought it at Target exactly two weeks ago. While NPH was taking the GRE, his entire post-graduate life in his hands, I went to Coral Ridge to blow money I don’t have on cute clothes for the coldest season. When we reconvened, he tried to explain what his score meant, what questions he may have messed up on, what schools he sent his score to. Meanwhile, I was waiting for him to notice my new boots!! that I had gotten during an impromptu trip to Kohl’s which also happened to be during their 50% off boots sale. Needless to say, it was more of me pointing out my new faux-suede fold-down knee/thigh-length black boots than him noticing them on his own. Then again, just last night I found out he doesn’t know what color my eyes are so… yeah. We’ll just leave it at that.

Anyway– back to my sweater. I’d had my eye on this sweater for a couple of weeks, though when I’d gone to Target to buy professional clothes for my trip to DC a month ago, I somehow talked myself out of superfluous purchases not related to securing a job in the greater Boston/DC area by Christmas 2010 (yeah, that’s goin’ REAL well…) Thus, my cozy knit sweater stayed on the rack. Long story short, however, two Wednesdays ago it became mine. A very purple sweater, one that I’m having much difficulty finding on Target.com, otherwise I’d just show you said sweater. (Posting a self-taken pic would be so passe.)

I purchased it– along with a lot of other things we don’t need to dicuss– and changed into it to take the boyfriend out to his post-GRE lunch & drinks at Short’s Burger & Shine. Haven’t been? Get there now, especially if you love a really black- beany black bean burger. Per the routine we’ve fallen into, we let Fergus out before leaving him for many hours. During my requisite time of fawning over his adorable puppy ass, one of his nails SNAGGED a thread in my sweater. RIP, two-hour-old beautiful eggplant top. Thankfully I’m not that into myself or my possessions, so merely said a few choice curse words and let NPH deal with him until kennel time. The small thread hanging from my sleeve didn’t exactly solicit outrage from many passersby that afternoon, so I put it out of my mind until I again donned my newly favorite sweater- that strongly reminds me of my great-grandmother- today.

Life was going well, until… I went to flip on a light in NPH’s room this afternoon. I’m sure you’re quick to judge that all my sweater’s dilemmas have happened at 713, but let’s put that out of our minds for a second, or at least until the lawsuit gets served. Some FREAK sliver of wood on his door jamb grabbed hold of my other sleeve and snagged out a noticeable thread. Sonuvabitch. (Interesting note– Wordpress recognizes “sonuvabitch” as a real word, and doesn’t put that jagged red line underneath like it’s misspelled. Curious.) So now I’m rocking this lovely deep purple sweater with TWO freak, errant threads hanging out of the forearms, almost as if to say LOOK– she can’t take care of her dog, her boyfriend, and certainly not herself. But really, I should be saying LOOK– even though I love Target like no one has ever loved a retail sore before, there’s a reason my beloved sweater was only $14.

If you’ve had the sheer pleasure of knowing me in person, you are aware that I am not what one could call a fashionista, trend-spotter, or person who generally gives a shit what she looks like 80% of the time.  You might imagine my surprise then, as I mentioned yesterday, at the amount of SHIT I OWN TO WEAR.  Well today has been dedicated to sorting through this absolute mess of material, and might I say, I’ve been quite productive so far.

A good third of my closet is in a pile waiting to go to Goodwill, be burned, made into clothes for the dog– I really don’t care.  I’m quite the jeans & t-shirts kind of gal, and most of these shirts are from volunteer activities I’ve done.  Because I’m such an outstanding citizen.  And have such a personal commitment to my fellow man.  Anyway…

Another unfortunate discovery I’ve made (I’m like Jacques freakin’ Cousteau up there) is where a large portion of my income has gone in the past four-ish years (you know, besides the drugs and alcohol and paying NPH to be my best friend.) A magical yet Satanic store that sucks you in with all the PRETTY, sparkly things (Gisele & Heidi certainly don’t hurt their cause) and then wa-BAM hundreds of dollars later you’re having to decide between rent or groceries: Victoria’s Secret.  I’m just going to give it straight to you here, dear reader: I have 75 pairs of underwear.  Yep.  At one time I had more, but I usually lose one or two a month when they’re ripped to shreds in the heat of a Saturday night post-bar close heavy petting session.

(Is she kidding?  Is she not kidding?  That was pretty inappropriate.  I wonder what kind of a mother raises someone who says those things.  Who even uses the phrase ”heavy petting”?  That was just gross.  I might stop reading her blog altogether now…. Though she was probably kidding.  I’ve seen her at a bar in the wee hours of the morning– there’s no way that face and those dance moves could lure anyone back to her apartment.)

ANYWAY– so my point is, Victoria’s Secret should cut me a check for the hundreds of dollars of revenue I’ve pumped into their brightly-lit smelly-good stores.  I’ve made pretty good headway separating clothes into piles for the cruise, going to Grandma’s for Christmas, and even some for Germany.  Unfortunately somewhere along the way I got distracted and started trying on my old prom dresses (those bitches still fit HELLSYES.  Obviously this is permission to drink more) and then just generally dancing about my room to ridiculous music I never knew was on my iPod.  So as I said, super productive morning.

You may be wondering how tea went last night.  It was fine.  I’m not supposed to talk about the things I may or may not have seen or heard or been a part of.  I will give Melissa a shout-out though (a loyal reader)– she was there, and asked about NPH, and told me that she just knows he and I are soulmates so almost got punched in the face, but that would have just really brought down the mood of the gathering.  Props to Michelle for letting us shovel food feeding Kayla and I.

In three lovely hours (hopefully more packing, less eating and Family Guy) T-Bone will be driving the brother and I up to Grandma’s house to start the ol’ holiday festivities.  HOPEFULLY (hint hint) we get to open a present early and I just happen to pick a box that’s Webcam shaped and ohmygosh I’m totally surprised I totally forgot asking for a Webcam oh wait now I’m SO PSYCHED because I can Skype all my friends back in IC.  I mean that’s just, you know, something that could happen that I’d be okay with happening.

Day two = poo!

Sorry for the childish rhyme, had to get it out.

WHERE did I get so many clothes?!  The amount of shirts, jeans, dresses, skirts, shoes,  belts (<– hehe I do own some, never wear them, sorry to those of you who have been casualties of that one) is beyond ridiculous.  And if you asked me right now, of COURSE I need new clothes.  I don’t wear most of what I have, and while I often go through my closet to give stuff away, I tend to keep a lot of things for hypothetical situations that happen at most twice a year (i.e. intense cardio, high class afternoon tea with government officials, job shadowing an auto mechanic.) It is ALL currently dumped on the floor in my room (and has spilled into the hallway) and I have no plans of organizing anything before I leave (I bet you $1,000,000.50 that my mother just read that and shouted at my somewhere in the house something about ‘Get your ASS upstairs and hang up that stuff.  I’m not going through it when you’re gone.’).  There will be two piles: cruise, Germany.  Luckily I’m much more prepared for the cruise since all of my “going out” clothes for IC don’t involve much material, I have zero idea how much/what I should be packing for Europe.  I plan on just wearing my 713 shirt day in and out until people stop trying to befriend me and start whispering behind my back about “the smelly American who bursts into tears at the mention of bratwurst or Miley Cyrus.”  I’m really planning on making quite the international reputation for myself.

DO.YOU.KNOW. where I’m going tonight?  Wine Tea.  Not just any tea, THE TEA my mother attends every Monday night with a handful of friends.  They only call it “tea” because, I don’t know, they don’t want everyone to know there’s anything BUT tea flowing, and that the conversations are much more tame than “I’m going to smack my child <insert name> because they are such a <insert deragatory adjective> and while I’m at it, so is <insert name of significant other.>” (Haaa, I kid… kind of.)  My brother calls it the DMC — Drunken Mother’s Club– but that’s not very nice.  I suppose what they’re doing is no different than what NPH and I do on a nightly regular basis, or why Lauren and I get together usually once a week and bitch about our lives and our lack of male attention and ever-increasing waistlines.  ANYWAY– I’m pretty pscyhed for this because 1.) I freakin’ love those ladies.  They are bat shit crazy, in the nicest way possible.  2.) I will be getting out of this house.  3.) They will be all “Oooh fresh meat” and ask me questions about myself– and I hope you’ve all realized by now, I’m my number one favorite topic– that will probably center around “WHO is this Neil kid and WHEN are you getting married?!?!?!”  And then I will calmly answer, “Never” and then text him “It’s happening again” and then he’ll offer to drive to Adel and run me down with his car to prove to the world that, in fact, we have ne’er seen each other naked.

Well now that I’ve completely forgotten any thesis I may have been trying to conclude upon, I will leave you and go FIND KAYLA since apparently she’s DIED en route or doesn’t realize this is our ONE DAY to hang out before I LEAVE possibly FOREVER.  Or until May, whichever comes first.