I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.


I’m laying in bed, on my fifth or sixth episode of Sex and The City, I’ve lost count.  Whenever I type, Carrie Bradshaw’s voice is ringing in my words.  Now that Gossip Girl is over (may she rest in peace) I’ve gone back a decade at least and I am obsessing over Manhattan’s other It girls.  Think back to the days when Blair Waldorf and Serena Van der Woodson would have been walking the halls of some middle school.  Streets away Samantha Jones was doing what she does best -men.  Charlotte York was gracefully floating down Park Ave to her gallery.  Miranda Hobbes was being successful and awkward.  Carrie was writing the perfect thing on that 1999 Mac, confusing women more than ever before.  I conquered The Hills, a more recent throw back, during my January Break as well as Lipstick Jungle, a forgotten short lived urban fashion flick.  I get attached to whatever I can find on Netflix or through the iTunes store and live through it.  These powerful sexy elite women had fun and ambition.  They grabbed life by the balls (-thats for you Samantha) and lived it, meanwhile I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

I sent my mom a text this morning with goals.  It consisted of “losing twenty pounds, find some decent new friends (since all of my old ones must have gotten hit by busses, the only explanation for why they haven’t been in touch), getting a pug, moving out, buying a Coach multi-purpose tote (Random pregnant Bitch bought the last one to use as a diaper bag on Sunday -the nerve), and become Carrie Bradshaw.” She told me some of those would be difficult, and that one was impossible.  

Obviously, I replied saying I knew 20 pounds was pushing it.

I can’t have these women’s lives, but I can covet the delusional perfection that Hollywood planted on my computer screen.  I can drool over Manolo Blahniks and cry over one night stands on their behalf.. because God knows I’m getting neither.  I can avoid reality for the next 75 days with my BVFF (best virtual friends forever).  I saw my first pair of Christian Louboutons on the feet of an adjunct professor at Community College today during my Bowling class today.  The 500 dollar shoes (minimum) looked out of place in the same mile radius as my ugly rubber color blocked bowling shoes.  I wondered if they’d look out of place near or on me regardless though.

I told myself in high school that my first salaried pay check would be dedicated to black glossy red soled pumps.  I still think I’d live on Raman Noodles for a month before letting those babies sit on a shelf, once I had a real career.  I’m not concerned that it won’t happen.

I’m concerned that I can’t even picture what I’ll be doing to expand my shoe collection.

Allison 

Apple problems


Hey girl, hey! (and guys, you’re totally welcome here too)

Today is officially 30 days from when I will step foot on Canisius ground as a Freshman. To celebrate, what did I do? Only the proper thing.

I planned out my first 2 weeks worth of outfits and I packed them. Believe it or not I still have enough shorts to last me the rest of the summer when 14 pairs are missing. Even I wasn’t aware of my “jcrew colored shorts excess”, but I’m certainly not complaining. They come in handy at times like these.

These times include little to no shopping 😦 because I can’t have a Mac and cute clothes. It sounds terribly nerdy, picking a computer over a fabulous wardrobe.. but I really want it. And for those of you that gave feedback to the Mac Vs PC post I was pretty much sold on a Sony Vaio until I went to best buy and talked to some people. Macs are the number 1 computer for communication majors. Why? I’m not sure. But because of that.. and the fact that the best sony vaio doesn’t come in pink? Practically a sign from God that I need a Macbook Pro.

Before I make the plunge does anyone have any last minute reasons to hate on apple? I adore my iphone, I doubt I’ll regret this.

Speak now, or forever hold your peace.

And now that I’ve mentioned iphones, I get to be that girl. The one that whines and cries on her blog about breaking her technology… I’m sure that sounds great after I say I’m debating a Mac but listen to the story.

One of my brothers is a little bit heavier set. And he was getting on my nerves. His shirt rode up and I could see his stomach so I lightly love tapped it and it created the death of my iphone. Well the back of it..

Jonny turned and back handed that sucker. It flew through the air, backflips and all, into the kitchen where the back of my baby shattered on the floor. I stayed strong. Went upstairs to get my Audrey Hepburn case and now you’d never know unless I told you.. my friends have warned me from months because I always drop it on the pavement, but I would like to give credit to karma for the partial death of my phone.

Just don’t hit a chubby little kid’s stomach.

Allison