Overheard @ Target

I went to Target yesterday because I needed a bedside table and some of those sticky things you use to hang stuff on your wall. Of course I didn’t go straight to the “hang stuff on your wall” aisle. Instead, I made my way around the entire store. (They sell blue rubber boots in the gardening section. Who knew?!)

Here are some things I overheard:

“Oh look! This purse is only 30 dollars!” – Some girl (talking to her mom)

“That’s ugly.” – Previous girl’s mom

“There’s a difference between feeling complete and being complete.” – Woman (acting as someone’s interim therapist) on cellphone

“I’ve had many a nightmare about the Barbie aisle.” – Employee

(Singing) – Another employee (of the month, I hope)


I never found a table. BUT, I did find a brown belt and removable mounting squares.


What The Facebook

Today’s installment of WTF (What The Facebook) brings us an advertisement for an ultrasound tech degree.

 I always thought that ultrasound techs were the people who put jelly on your belly (“Watch out! This is going to be a little cold!”) and then showed you how your little bundle of joy was coming along. Apparently I’m mistaken because it looks like ultrasound techs get to squeeze creepy little feet between their fingers every day.

How rewarding!

What to Wear: Out on the town

Wardrobe staples for the young, hip, fresh shooting-some-bball-outside-the-school, cool, twenty-something and having a quarterlife crisis girl:

  • A short, tight, black skirt that makes your ass look a little Kim Kardashian-esque, but that’s alright because don’t we all just want to be her? I do anyway. If you say you don’t then you’re off your rocker. Just kidding! We all want to be who we want to be. No judgement here.
  • Skinny jeans. And make ’em dark. No one wears light denim out on the town or up in da club.
  • Some type of flowy, possibly racerback, tank top that you can wear with your skinnies or maybe tucked into your bootylicious black skirt.
  • PATTERNS. Gimme some zigzags or paisley or hell, even polka dots. Liven those dresses up, ladies. But don’t mix and match patterns. You can’t do it like Glamour mag says you can. (“Just stick to the same color pallette,” they tell us. “WHATEVER,” I say!)
  • A dress that says you’re a lady, not a vamp. A vixen, not a tramp. What I’m trying to say is that you should dress like a slut, but don’t act like one. You’re an enigma!
  • Big hoop earrings that make you look like you’re from the Bronx and could hold your own with the real housewives of New Jersey (only if push comes to shove – stay classy, okay?) And they should be gold, not silver.
  • Black heeled boots (for Winter) or nude stripper heels (for Summer) – the boots will make you seem like a sexy snow bunny in the nighttime and the nude stripper heels will make it look like you don’t have any shoes on! These will elongate your legs, so they say. (Side note: I never wear either of these because I’m awkward enough without teetering on my weak ankles all night)
  • And last, but not least, an award-winning smile! Don’t do like me and have an expression showing sheer hatred for the world combined with extreme boredom. Be approachable. Open your arms. Love the world. Peace and joy.

While I’ve got you over here, I want to tell you that I have a tumblr now. I was bored one night and made one. Mostly because tumblr is full of people just as obsessed with Jon Hamm (and Michael Fassbender, lately) as I am. It’s a beautiful thing.

How Heathcliff Has Ruined Me for Other Men

If you’ve read Wuthering Heights you know that Heathcliff is supposed be this total jerkhead of a character. But not in my eyes. I love him. I love how dark and mysterious he is. I even love his evil, calculating mind. He’€™s dark and brooding. Not necessarily grungy, but definitely attractive in a swarthy kind of way. His hair is long, but not quite long enough to be in a ponytail. A ponytail would totally ruin it. And when he speaks, oh when he speaks! His voice is like when you cut into those molten chocolate cakes and the chocolate comes running out and you’re like can someone please get me out of these clothes? His perpetual 5 o’clock shadow would irk most girls, but not me. This is my type. This is who I will marry and make loads of babies with.

This Heathcliff-type that I have imagined as my ideal leads me to disregard any man who does not measure up to my Healthcliff-hot status. Lets HYPOTHETICALLY say I meet this cutie at a bar. We’€™re hitting it off, he’€™s saying all the right things, I’€™m playfully patting his forearm, and batting my luscious lashes. Things are going well. And then it hits me. It hits me like how all that ice in the Gatorade thingys hit coaches when they win the big football game or whatever. He’€™s hot, but he’€™s not Heath. (I call him Heath sometimes. He loves it). I mean, what if this dude treats me like a lady and doesn’€™t manipulate me any chance he gets? What if he doesn’€™t obsess over me after my untimely death and strike out angrily against anyone who even whispers a bad word about me? That just won’€™t do. And then I’m forced to make excuses like, “Sorry, my friend’€™s sick. I have to leave NOW.”€ And then he’€™s all caring and stuff and says, “€œIs there anything I can do?”€ And then I have to brush the poor lad off and say, “€œNo, thats alright. This is usual for her. Har har har! Byeeeee!”

And another one bites the dust. So, naturally, I blame one person and one person alone: Emily Bronte. Look what you’ve done to me, Em. Are you happy with yourself? You’ve made it where I’m only able to  find total brutes attractive.

But then again, my mother has always told me not to settle. So that settles it: I’m just gonna have to go to the Yorkshire moors to find my very own bona fide Heathcliff.

Oh, and speaking of the Bronte women, if you’re a Jane Eyre fan I highly recommend the latest movie version. I just watched it last night and thought it was totally fab.

But maybe I just liked it because Michael Fassbender is SO DREAMY. Like oh my gah.

When this scene came on I was up on my elbows, coming THIS CLOSE to devouring my computer screen. I know it’s completely out of context if you haven’t seen the movie, but can you honestly tell me that your breathing didn’t get a little shallow while watching this? Cut that sexual tension with a knife! 

So yeah, I guess I kind of have a love/hate relationship with the Brontes. WHERE’S MY MR. ROCHESTER, I say!