Hi, It's David Foster Wallace

I had to go through great depths to resurface my blog this morning. My old domain expired and made this blogspot virtually inaccessible, which I've admittedly tried to do on my own at various times since 2013. The last time was in 2015 after I went on a date with a guy who admitted to looking me up on the internet and reading my blog. He said it reminded of David Foster Wallace's writing, which leads me to believe he found someone else's blog because the only thing DFW and I have in common is an affinity for bandanas. I was embarrassed so I hid my blog from curious onlookers. This thing is so personal! I write in the type of uninhibited voice I reserve for the close confidantes of my life. I'm a generally reserved and introverted person, and when I remember that I willingly put bits of myself on the internet here and on other mediums (like porn!!), I freak the fuck out.

The truth is though, I love this blog. It got me through my lost years and it's an outlet to do something that I wake up and crave every g-damn day: writing. Stringing words together -- and telling other people how to string words together -- is how I make money and pay for the great things in life like mental health care and designer jeans. That said, it's work! Hard, grueling work that's subject to rejection and scrutiny. It doesn't need to be though. It can be fun! And blogging for no rhyme or reason is fun.

This blog is a hodge-podge of things that aren't represented in the sidebar. I no longer blog about travel because who am I kidding, I'm a homebody, and I no longer post outfit collages because I forgot how to make them. I worked really fucking hard one Sunday night in 2013 to get all the icons on the right working with my basic HTML skills, and I'll be hanged if I have to delete them.

I'm going to blog more in 2017. I swear. I'm going to blog about something I really love and what this corner was originally about: clothes. I have loved clothes presumably since I came out of the womb. I used to think the point of playing with American Girl dolls was to change them into different outfits, and I almost peed my pants in excitement the day my mom took me to a store that only sold DOLL CLOTHES. That's not true, they also sold DOLL ACCESSORIES, and I got Molly an extra pair of glasses. Clothes are frivolous but my love of them is a constant, and where else can I write about them if not here?

Vogue. I can write about them on Vogue but Conde Nast never responds to my emails or LinkedIn requests.

TATA FOR NOW.