Target or Not Target, That Is the Question

My boyfriend recently made fun of me, which was pretty weird because usually I’m the one making fun of him.  I was complaining to him about the delay on my package from Target.  When he asked what I was waiting for, I told him–foil, mascara, shampoo, drano, every little household item I was too busy* to go out and buy.  Now, I’m not one to go and throw around the “shaming” word, but the look he gave me and the ensuing, seemingly endless laughter will stick with me for quite some time.

Regardless, he got me to thinking.  Maybe it was silly of me, buying foil from the internet, especially when the day I bought it was the day I immediately needed it.  I was hosting Girl’s Night Handmaid’s Tale Bingeathon, and was forced to cook our Trader Joe’s flatbreads directly on the cookie sheets.  I LITERALLY had to put the flatbreads STRAIGHT on the pans, dirtying them, forcing me to have to wash them later rather than just throwing them back in the oven after a cursory wipe with a paper towel.  When will the inconveniences end?

Today I decided enough was enough and stopped at Target on my way home from the gym.  And that’s when I realized just why I was right all along, as always, SUCK IT, JOHN.  While I went in for a $3.99 item, I ended up leaving with $54.67 of merchandise.  I passed the clothes on my way to the kitchen supplies and remembered that I was running low on clean underwear and was too busy** to do the laundry.  I threw some in the cart.  I saw the clearance and while leafing through, I found a shirt for $2.40 (not complaining about this one, just wanted to show off my sweet deal).  I threw that in the cart.  From there, the Siren song of the wine aisle pulled me in, followed by the 2 for $5 ice cream, and before I knew it, I was upstairs, getting a scooper for my Caramel Cone Swirl, some adorable baby mason jars, and a gorgeous bronze and pink mug as a treat to myself for how hard I work.***

  

i deserrrrrrve itttttt
 So not to shame the shamer, but clearly I was right and will be sticking to online ordering for the forseeable future.

* lazy
** lazy
*** I really don’t.

Falling Into Place

Fall is the best time of year. It brings 

1) Pumpkins

2) The much underrated color, orange.

3) General coziness. 

4) Coziness meaning laziness.

5) Scary movies. 

6) Okay, only a certain level of scary movies. 

7) Like, my best friend loves Rob Zombie and his wife and would marry them both in a blood-soaked, human-sacrificial ceremony if the law permitted, but I can’t deal with him or his films because he pretty much recreates my nightmares on screen.

8) So when I say scary movies, I mean thrillers and the classics like Psycho or Halloween (which, let’s be real, is the best horror film of all time). 

9) Or I also love that real kitschy shit like Pet Semetary 2 and Tales From the Darkside.

10) Okay, goddamn Gina, focus.

11) What I started this post to say was I love Autumn because it’s amazing for a lot of reasons but this year is going to be especially wonderful because of the amount of gigantic books coming out. After 10ish years, Jonathan Safran Foer has a new novel. Zadie Smith is going to be back in the game.  Ian McEwan is gracing us with his presence.  Maria Semple is serving up something new. And to top it all off, Bryan Cranston and Anna Kendrick are giving us mere mortals a glimpse into their lives. 

12) So basically, I’m gonna John Milton-it and read myself blind. 

13) Which could in and of itself be a horror movie, if not a really, really boring one.

Consider the Flamingo

I love flamingos.  So, so much.  First there’s their gorgeous coloration.

  
I want coral skin.  It’s not fair.

Secondly, there’s their cat-like, spastic behavior.  So many times have I seen a flamingo just standing in the pool, casually looking around, acting cool and collected; then out of nowhere, he’ll turn to the flamingo beside him, and attack.  I’m talking honking, pecking, flapping, the works.  Just as quickly as he started, he’ll stop and slowly walk away, leaving his victim behind like, “Dude.  The fuck.”

  
Also, they sometimes do this thing where they spread their wings, start to make that obnoxious honking noise, stretch their heads toward the sky and walk slowly and ominously forward.  One will do this, then another, and another, until the whole flock is marching in this bizarre homage to Nazi Germany.

  
Unfortunately for this guy, no one was in the mood.

That is how I chose to depict my flamingo; to me it reads elegance, confidence, and a whole lot of pride and egomania.

  
  Just like me.

How Much Gold Can a Girl Have in her Apartment Before She Becomes Donald Trump?

I cannot buy anything more for my apartment this month.

I know that. I really do.

But I figured, well, it doesn’t hurt to look. And that was true, until I saw this piece on Loveseat and felt my heart expand and then break a little at the thought that this cannot be mine.  

  
 
Even if I had the money, it would be ridiculous to get a gold display case, especially since it would only be displaying books. 

  
It’s best not to picture it in my house. It’s best not to imagine myself opening it to select a book to read to my grandchildren one day, because it’s the kind of piece that I would keep and cherish forever, and pass down to my children, and they would pass down to their children once they too leave this earth.

I will tell myself it is gaudy and would be too much in my home.

Yep. That’s what I’ll do.

Though it wouldn’t hurt to look at coffee tables while I’m already on the app…

All Is Fair in Love and Furniture Shopping

A few days ago, I was furniture shopping and I learned something very important about myself. I am a master negotiator. 

The thing is, there’s really nothing to it. Like, literally nothing. I don’t say a word. I stand and look at the piece I want, then look back at the person selling the item, then look back at the piece. Sometimes I make a little throaty-humming noise, awkwardly press my hand to my cheek or neck, and look around. 

Ten times out of ten, the salesperson feels so uncomfortable, they offer to lower the price. This is a really important moment. They’ll expect you to talk, BUT YOU STILL DON’T. Maybe look at them with a scrunched up forehead. Repeat the Tina Belcheresque groan. Cock your head to the side and hunch your shoulders. Stare at them for a minute too long.

Then they fold. They always do.

Your awkwardness is hard to handle and they’ll be more than ready to bow out of the interaction as soon as possible. You can wait it out–you’ve been training for this your whole damn life.

That is how I ended up with these gorgeous pieces:

  
  
The media stand is technically an old record player holder. The front drawers are fake and do not open, so it’s maybe not the most functional piece BUT I DONT CARE I LOVE IT SO GODDAMN MUCH.

And you know how when you were a kid and would go to your grandparents’ house, there was always that one chair you weren’t allowed to sit in because it was your grandpa’s? Like exclusively his? And it was kind of a little too imposing and large and smack dab in the middle of the room? That is the relationship I plan on establishing with this beautiful, golden work of art. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go. I have a lot of sitting to do. 

Flying Too Close to the Sun

I’ve had to wait longer than usual to have a beach day this year.  While most Mays can jump up into the high 80s and even 90s, this past month really seemed set on proving the whole “May Gray” theory.  So when I pulled back my curtains this morning to reveal a sunny sky, I grabbed my bathing suit and a book, and headed to the beach.

It was a beautiful day.  The sun was full and bright and there was a constant cool breeze to keep me from getting too warm and packing up early.  I lounged on the sand, happy to be outside, happy to be young and alive!  I laughed and shook my hair in the salt-tinged air like a woman in a shampoo commercial.  I was beautiful!  I was invincible!  I was so comfortable, so delighted to be soaking up that much needed vitamin D, that I didn’t think twice about the fact that I had forgotten the most important thing to have on one’s first tanning-session of the year.

Sunscreen.  I had forgotten sunscreen.

 

crooked tanlines are in this summer.
 
Fortunately for my delicate face, I was wearing my SPH-infused foundation.  The rest of my body was not so lucky.

 

fun fact: the sun was hitting me on the opposite side of that sunburn.
 
As per usual, my hubris was struck down swiftly by the forces that be and instead of feeling like a honey-dipped Gigi Hadid, I look like a walking ad for skin cancer screenings.

 

im still prettttty, riiiight?
 
 Let this serve as a cautionary tale to you all this weekend. Forget the book. Grab the sunscreen.