I really shared a lot more than I intended to in my posts about my ex. They were titled, respectively, in the dark and in the dark: again, for when I found out that he was talking to one of my friends and then for when they began dating officially, each of which happened behind my back.
It’s different now. Tonight’s the first time I’ll be seeing them as a couple. I’ve obviously seen each of them on their own, but it’ll be weird to see them together.
What’s even weirder? Could my life get any worse? Yes and yes.
Tonight’s Halloween extravaganza is going to be in the exact same house where I was with him almost two years ago. I brought him as a date to one of my functions and that night, we were that couple everyone was talking about being so cute. We were sharing a barstool and splitting drinks and dancing together.
So I not only have to return to the place where we hooked up in a closet- not one of my finer moments, I’ll admit, but I also have to see him with another girl there. They will probably hook up in that exact same closet, too, and frankly, it makes me a little sick.
I feel like everything they’ll do will under be florescent lights. My eyes are wide open now, and, honestly, I feel like it might hurt more than being in the pitch black.
Happy Halloween. I’ll definitely see some frightening things (read: slutty costumes, ex boyfriend and friend) tonight… will you?
And if you don’t get the above reference, get the fuck out.
I probably mentioned it before, but I’m off to Nashville with my immediate family for Thanksgiving this year! I’ll only have Thursday and Friday in town, but I’m excited.
Despite the fact that my uncle S and aunt L have lived there for the entirety of my life, I’ve never been. Bring me to the land of honky tonk karaoke bars and Reese Witherspoon.
Besides family things, I’m looking forward to trying out a few restaurants- both S and L are huge foodies and I love it- being in not frigid temperatures, and taking a pic in front of the I Belive in Nashville mural. I have no shame.
Please direct me towards must-sees, must-eats, and must-dos. I must know.
Whenever I do something a little off, which happens quite frequently, I often tell anyone around me that it’s just one of my “things.” They’re just weird things I do and prefer and say.
For example, today I was in the airport bathroom washing my hands. When I had to dry them off, I accidentally stuck them under the dryer because I was distracted. I hate hand dryers. They never do the job and I would rather use paper towels or even sandpaper than a moldy dryer.
I also hate escalators. I don’t know if it’s a fear thing or if I fell off one as a child, but I freak out on an escalator. I hate the moving steps. I hate the idea that it could get stuck. I hate the slow churn of the steps moving up or down. For some reason, it just makes me so anxious.
Lastly, I am straight up neurotic about the noise of plastic-y things like chip bags. The sound of someone squishing up a chip bag or similar makes me shiver all over. I actually got the chills typing that. I have NO idea where it came from or when it started, but I’ve been doing it since as long as I can remember. It makes me so annoyed when people crumple them instead of simply opening them or throwing them out.
After writing this, I feel a little better about how weird I am. These are just some of my “things”, and they’ll probably never not be things.
I really loved the bell sleeves and darker print of the romper I ordered, which I had shipped in both a four and a six, but both were too short and too low-cut. If I were buying them primarily to go out in, I’d keep the six and maybe have it altered, but I just felt more comfortable in the shift. It’s better for a daytime family thing than the bars, I won’t have to worry about a wardrobe malfunction, and my father won’t cry when he sees me in it. I just plain like it, too, which is always a plus.
For sizing, on me I ordered it in a four and it fits fine in the shoulders. I’m 5’6.5″ and it hits short enough so my hands wouldn’t graze the hem, but it’s not a miniskirt. I’m paring it with simple silver hoops, a quick bracelet or two, and new booties.
Somehow I can’t stop buying shoes. It’s cathartic. And better than drinking.
As many of you know, I’m a makeup addict. I live to buy new makeup products, brushes, and tools, and if I have a quiet night at home, I’m going to squeeze in a chance to try something out on myself.
Quality makeup is expensive, though. And the proper tools to apply it with can be even more expensive. Considering that I wear eyeliner almost every day, whether it’s a kohl, pencil, gel, or liquid- I don’t discriminate. Must be blackish brown, though- I was running through eyeliner brushes fast.
I don’t necessarily think that the issue laid within the brushes, which ranged from BareMinerals to Sephora to Smashbox, and their quality. I used them so frequently, quickly, and harshly that I really wasn’t taking care of them. Since I didn’t want to start, I ran to Target for a solution.
Now, I just pick up these e.l.f. eyeliner brushes for $1.00 each at Target or online. I never feel guilty about using them to really smudge or blend liner, they do a good job for the price, and I don’t have to clean a single one over and over. However, if I have a photo-heavy special occasion, I will still whip out my favorite high-end brushes to get the perfect liner. But for every day, these are a huge score.
St. Peter? Do you hear me? This should be my ticket to Heaven.
I’m sorry to disrupt my usual programming of clothes, shoes, makeup, and bitching. But I have to share a little update on something I poured my heart out about here last month.
When I found out that my friend L and the ex were hanging out a lot as of September, I was pissed. Then, when I found out they’d been fucking behind my back since June, I was even more pissed and very hurt.
I found out that they were officially dating, though again from someone else because L somehow has a problem saying things to my face even though I see her Snapchats, follow her on Instagram, and am in group chats with her, and I’m livid.
Somehow that title makes me more rage-y than their illicit hookups did. Now I have to at least pretend to tolerate their relationship, happy couple act. That’s unfair. I’ve been a good friend to her and I genuinely don’t think I deserve this. If I were her, I wouldn’t be posting Snapchats of interlocked hands and road trips or texting the group chat about their fights. And I certainly wouldn’t be telling everyone at our last girls’ trip dinner about how he barely lasts more than a minute.
That was supposed to be me. I was supposed to be the one sitting in the front seat of his Jeep on the way to get doughnuts or drive one of his stupid, drunk friends home. We talked about him meeting my parents and hanging out with my dogs, not going to L’s family parties or taking her little brother to lacrosse practice. I texted my cousin, “That was going to be me and it’s not. And it sucks.” and it perfectly sums up how I feel. Oh, and today he was wearing a visor that I got him for his birthday two years ago when we were together. I saw it on his Snapchat story and I know L remembers when I gave it to him and I’m sure she teased him about it today. Salt on the wound, you know?
I can’t decide which I fucking hate more: the fact that a year ago I was writing about him and I still am now, or the fact that my friend is dating my ex and there’s really nothing I can do about it.
Me too, Rosalyn. Sometimes I think I’ll die before I stop caring about this.
In Florida this past week, I was in Zara for the first time and randomly noticed a glaring black hole in my wardrobe. I didn’t have a halfway decent pair of black jeans.
I actually do own a pair, but they’re much thicker and more like a ponte knit. They worked great for professional occasions and days with intense cold, but beyond that, they didn’t really work with any casual tops. After a quick poll from my friends, who almost all agreed that they wear black jeans (that are truly denim and not more of a dressier pant like my previous ones) a ton, I decided to get a pair at Zara.
The kicker is that I accidentally lost my receipt and already removed the tags + washed my pair, so I don’t know the exact style. I’m pretty sure it’s either this pair or this pair that is a little more forgiving. Both are under $50, both have silver accents and none of the dreadful pocket designs I hate, and both are without rips. My pair passed my jeans dressing room test and were comfortable through bending down, stretching, and walking without budging. So far, I love them, and you can’t beat the price.
How I went this long without them I will never know. How to style black jeans and not look goth is to come!