Friday, January 29, 2010

Things I Cannot Afford on a Babysitter's Salary

Bags and cardigan: Anthropologie, necklace: Free People, earrings: Need Supply, ring: Digby & Iona, flats: Frye

The PR folks over at Digby & Iona sent me a press release about that stump ring. Not a big deal - I tend to get them from time to time, I think all fashion bloggers* do. Except I'm bitter about this press release, because that ring is intense and I totally want it and the last thing I should be spending my money on is more statement jewelry. As I was salivating, B. looked over my shoulder and suggested that if they REALLY wanted me to write about it, they'd send me one. But here I am, writing about it anyway. So you win, Digby & Iona. But I'm not linking to your site. Because I am bitter.

Things you can entertain yourself with until I post an actual entry:

* if that's what you can call this . . . not sure I would, but try telling that to the folks over at Jean Straps (seriously . . . jean straps).

Critical "I like to be told I'm funny" update: I clearly do not have a future in PR, because I just got an e-mail from Digby & Iona and I was expecting it to read "bitch, it ain't our fault you're poor!" Because that would've been my reaction. Instead, I was thanked for mentioning the ring and - the real kicker - told that "the post was simply hilarious." Flattery will get you everywhere, Digby & Iona. You win again!

(I expect an e-mail from the Jean Straps people extoling my comedic genius within the next few days.)

Friday, January 08, 2010

Like You Didn't Already Know the Internet Is A Pretty Strange Place

. . . I mean, you're here, aren't you?

So I was aware there were BSC-related twitter accounts. I thought the concept was fairly amusing, especially when I found myself listed on maryanne_spier's "girlsiwishwereinthebsc" list (caption: "If these girls lived in Stoneybrook I'm sure we'd be best friends!"). I chuckled. I wondered how many eyerolls I'd get away with before they staged a sarcasm intervention. ("Kim, we're worried that you're not being sincere when you say hello to your friends. You haven't even updated your Kid Kit lately!") I thoughtfully (read: two martinis deep, finding myself hilarious) answered a tumblr question about whether I'd rather live with Mary Anne or Claudia.

Then I woke up around 4:00 a.m. the other night. I was sick. I could get into the snotty details, but you've all had colds before and you don't really care. I never ended up falling back asleep. Instead - and Isweartogodreallythishappened - I heard a cat inside my apartment.

I don't own a cat. Clearly, there was only one explanation.
Yup. My apartment is haunted. Luckily, I had my iPod touch handy. In the interest of ghostbusting, I tweeted this little gem:

I congratulated myself on my wit and ability to reference books I should've forgotten long ago, and figured that was that. Until I saw this reply:

I'll have you know that the laundry room in my building is a basement that's straight out of Silence of the Lambs. I can only conclude that Dawn Schafer is trying to have me killed. Probably because I make fun of her so often.

Should I tweet back and tell her I'm sorry for all the jokes, and I recycle on a regular basis? Should I put the organic lotion in the handwoven basket? What do I do, internet? What do I do?