If you, like me, are perpetually a couple years behind the curve of cool, then you should run right out and buy the
delays' Faded Seaside Glamour. It's shimmery and elegant and irresistible, and for the life of me, I just can't stop listening to it.
Isn't it ironic?
Wednesday, March 8
I recently contracted some sort of mysterious plague, the main symptom of which is the sensation that my stomach is eating itself anytime I consume something besides oatmeal, bread, broth, bananas or saltines.
Hence, I can only assume the belated birthday gift I received from my mom this week is some sort of heaping pile of poetic justice for something bad I did somewhere in life, since it consisted of a Cuisinart, a wok, two place settings of the dishes I've been coveting and some bright orange dish towels.
They did sort of soothe the grinding humiliation of passing out in the doctor's office after having my blood drawn, though.
