My junk, my junk, my junk is on fire…

I’m shopping online for an ugly sweater for an office party, and came across this dress. It lives in the Target juniors’ department, and…seems to indicate that the wearer’s loins are burning…?

Bold choice, Target.

I’d never pay that much for an orgasm

One of my other goals this year is “Get my money right,” because I’m SUPER tired of being broke, so I’m trying to trim expenses where I can.

I’m on the Sephora site getting my face wash (which is pricey, but pleases me daily, and lasts forever, and gets supplemented with cheaper products, and it is my FACE, and I’m aging fairly well, so don’t judge me, whippersnappers)…*deep breath* Ahem.

So I was also going to buy my blush, because it’s running out, too.

Um, yeah, NARS Orgasm blush is 30 goddamn dollars. Nooope. I could swear last time I bought it, it was $22 — still not cheap, but not $30.


Christ, I’ll just give myself an actual orgasm every day before work. Or, you know…I could go get some $3 blush at Target. Whichever…

P.S. With my purchase, I got a bunch of fancy samples, so now I also have new moisturizer and lipstick, so I don’t have to buy those, so really, this purchase is a budget win. [/rationalization]

‘Tis the season to be anxious, fa la la la la…

Oh, right. Seasonal anxiety and depression are real things, which means, until probably January, I can’t be in a Target unattended for more than 15 minutes unless I want to feel like I may actually have a nervous breakdown.

Fuck you, Target. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet. Can I get my goddamn laundry detergent and a new yoga mat without getting punched in the feels by your bullshit B-squad reindeer? (This has also happened in grocery stores, card stores, and on one very special occasion, a CVS.)

I don’t do well in stores to begin with, but the seasonal shit started post-breakup and clearly hasn’t dissipated at all. My ex helped me slowly stop hating Christmas after many years of retail work and unbearable family gatherings, aaand now that hatred is back, with a little extra special flavor — like a lovely smoked sea salt for mood swings.

Downward spiral of swimsuit shopping

I just realized I’ll need to buy a bathing suit sometime in the next few weeks. I had one, but donated it when I decluttered — it was 6 years old and had always been a little loose on me, and it was silly of me to ever entrust my breasts to a Target swimsuit with no underwire.

But my body image has been hovering around normal this week, so it’s probably best not to destroy it with a trip to the mall and fluorescent fitting-room lights on my bare thighs. We’ll wait for the bridge troll to re-inhabit my psyche. We’ve discussed the eating of my feelings, so the steady intake of Mexican food, cheesesteak hoagies, and bagels should start screwing with my body and my brain any day now.