I just spent $5.27 on an iced latte from Intelligentsia. I literally don’t know how I racked up that kind of total. Did I accidentally give the barista the secret signal for add shot of caviar or infuse with unicorn blood?
My cell phone is breaking down, one button at a time. No, those misspelled atrocities you’re getting from me are not drunken texts, they are the desperate cries of a girl battling technology to the bitter end. As Martin Luther once said at the Diet of Worms*, I WILL NOT RECANT AND GET AN iPHONE. Except everyone I know has an iPhone and I feel myself getting sucked into the vortex of sheer lust that the iPhone provokes in even the most rational of beings. Does anyone know how much a monthly Verizon iPhone plan costs? Wait no, don’t tell me! Yes, tell me! NO! YES! AHHH!
I spilled red wine on my brand new skirt. I know what you’re thinking: HIGH ROLLER, BABY. Oh wait, the wine was $4.99 (I splurged, okay?) and Charlie and I were drinking it from a paper bag. The skirt was originally $4.80 but I snagged it for a cool $2.40 during my favorite thrift store’s Father’s Day sale. It’s a fabulous vintage 1990’s poly-blend.
My parents have the douchiest rich neighbors ever. They’ll never say so, but that doesn’t mean I can’t. Blond economics majors who golf and hunt and drive vintage red convertibles look like LOSERS QUICKLY APPROACHING MIDLIFE CRISES to my untrained and prematurely cynical eye. I can’t tell you what evil my neighbors are planning YET but rest assured, one day the world will know, and the swift wings of my judgment will fly like the red smoke of an apocalypse…sorry, the caffeine is k-k-kicking in.
This latte better sustain me until payday. Maybe if I take one sip an hour and supplement it with twigs and leaves, I’ll make it. Until then, adieu, cruel world!
*Regarding the Diet of Worms: that’s not, like, a hilarious joke I made up. It really happened. Yeah, it’s a wacky title for a serious event, but also, YOU SHOULD READ UP ON BASIC EUROPEAN HISTORY, YOU COMPLACENT CITY SLICKER. I once won an essay contest on Martin Luther (you could say that was the day I decided to become a writer, but it wasn’t…it was just the day I realized my intellect was a dangerous weapon that could be used to tear down as well as build up) and my sixth grade class was treated to a dramatic reading of the winning essay by moi. But I was so awkward that–WHOA this is definitely a Traumatizing Moments From My Past post, mustn’t get ahead of myself.