Dear Vashta Nerada,

(No, I will not let this go: you are a cloud of things that are a) mostly invisible and b) largely unknown and believed by most of the universe to not exist and c) bloodthirsty and bonechilling)

In a perfect world, I would have lots of self control. In a perfect world, I would get all my homework done on time. I would be a paragon of cleanliness and charm. I would be the nice character from a Jane Austen novel. I would sparkle in the sunlight. And with a prompter in cellar windows whispering comebacks, shy people would have the last laugh.

But unfortunately, my furry-fingered friends, this is not a perfect world, and therefore my procrastination runs rampant and I have absolutely no self control, especially when it comes to saving money.

I love buying useless things. For example, at CVS the other day I bought two waterbottles -- one because it was huge, and the other because it was adorable and looked like a frog. So, of course, when I made the trek to Urban Outfitters the other day, I didn't bother buying anything that I could wear. Oh no, I made a beeline to the floor with all the nice little trinkets.

I would like to point out with pride that I managed to run full tilt from a vinyl copy of the Fleet Foxes album. I also escaped with enough pride to avoid any kitchenware (as much as I hate to resort to the 'I fit the cliche' cliche, I am a woman who loves her kitchenware). But despite these impressive displays of bravery, we were not able to avoid casualties altogether.

Now, reader, I know you are excessively proud that I didn't buy any of the mugs (not even the Alice in Wonderland one!), but I did not tell you of my weakest moment, because it involves a vulnerability of mine that I caved into later. Seriously, though. You know on trading cards and such, where they write your biggest weakness? Superman's says Kryptonite.

Mine says theoretical facial hair.

Now I know this doesn't sound too ridiculous. Lots of people like facial hair, you say. There are women who go barmy over bushy whiskers or well groomed muttonchops. The most ridiculous thing about this whole situation, though, is that I am under no circumstances one of those women. I hate facial hair. There is nothing that makes me happier than a nice clean-shaven boy in a tie or a cardigan. I simply cannot tolerate facial hair that actually resides on a face. But slap a picture of a mustache on a plain background and I'm putty in your hands.

Here is where, reader, the appropriate emotion to prepare yourself for is simultaneous pride and disappointment. I know it sounds hard, but I believe in you. Remember how I had to run from the nice little orange crates full of vinyl earlier? Well, in the face of a mug that looked almost exactly like the one above (except for, if possible, prettier)... let's just say that I probably could have kicked Marion Jones's steroid-filled ass with what it took to tear myself away from that one. So please, at this moment, bow your heads with the appreciation of my great strength of not-buying character. But, of course, since I'm the bad girl in a Jane Austen novel (think Elizabeth Bennet here), the story ends with a marriage anyway, even if it's not the one you expect in the beginning. We passed over our nicely trimmed Wickham-mug and found Darcy in two boxes of mustache bandages. Mustache bandages -- little tin boxes filled with band-aids featuring four different mustache styles. See also: the best thing that has ever happened to me. They seriously warmed my little faceless facial hair loving heart. So much so that I may or may not have slapped one on my dog's upper lip for as long as he would allow it today. There were DEFINITELY pictures involved.

Well, readers, on the note of that stunning insight into how I spend my spare time, I will leave you with a few things before I go drink some wine and listen to Joanna Newsom. These things, as a group, are a list of random things that I didn't quite feel like fitting into my facial hair story. I am really not diligent enough at my blogging to work these things out, people. Maybe if I ever have the readership that hayleyghoover has I can hire someone to fit my random into coherent stories. And to stop me from rambling on forever. But I have to cut off my endless chatter with my own (lack of) self control, so on to the things:

- I have been mildly enjoying Shark Week from time to time, but I really think that instead of wasting our time on all of these puny sharks, the Discovery Channel should drop everything and become Megalodon TV YEAR ROUND. That's an animal I'd watch a fucking special on.
- I want the bag that you see happily lollygagging to the right. Very much so, in fact.
- This chart may or may not be my new favorite thing ever. Wikipedia is not only a mildly legitimate way to start research now, but also an excellent source of entertainment. Does anyone else click Random Article every now and then just to learn about something new? No?

I knew there was a reason I didn't have any readers. It's not because I' haven't told anyone about this. It's because I'm such a big nerd.