a haul post & iron deficiency

My laptop is alive but my hands are in a stupid sort of pain.



School starts soon. (When this is published, it'll start in about 3 hours.) I'm slightly more excited about this than I was a week ago, because I just found out the Harry Potter class (2 units, P/NP) is still on this year.



Here's a bunch of my aunt's and cousins' old stuff I claimed for myself while helping them organize a garage sale in June.



A butterfly brooch and a ring that was probably from a machine at the supermarket.



An Aladdin pencil pouch, because I've been looking for a replacement one for a while, because I like my pencil pouches transparent.



A Belle Rose bag. (My second one. The first one, I thrifted.)



A dress. This, like a lot of the things I decided to purloin, is a bit small in the waist because my aunt, like my mother, didn't actually break 110 pounds until after pregnancy. They both had very small (possibly so small they were only theoretical) waists. I am not nearly so small.



A pink sweater. Because I don't own enough pink. And I like giant sweaters. (Side note: while helping my aunt sort out her clothes for garage sale-ing, I had to start an Ugly Sweater pile (because they were too menny), which ended up filling up maybe two check-in-sized suitcases.)



This Gloria Vanderbilt button-down which fits like a dream and is sweat-stained like a newly pubescent teenage boy's PE uniform. I'm not sure what to do with it - I was thinking about dyeing it, but I don't know how much it'd change the design.



Another dress, also sweat-stained to kingdom come, although less noticeably so because of the intense floral pattern. I think this is probably some disagreeable synthetic, though, so I'll probably end up layering it instead of wearing it in warm weather anyway.



ONE ANIMAL PRINT SHIRT TO RULE THEM ALL. This is not just leopard (or cheetah? I cannot be bovvered to Google it) print; it's leopard (or cheetah) print INTERSPERSED WITH ACTUAL GIRAFFES AND ZEBRAS (as opposed to interspersed with giraffe and zebra print). I don't normally condone animal print in my wardrobe, but this is the lone exception because it is absolutely ridiculous.



High-waisted, light-wash denim shorts.



STRIPED DENIM SHORTS. I wore these every other day for three weeks immediately after acquiring them.



My cousin tells me this is something she used to wear under her dresses (like a slip, I guess), but I plan on wearing it as a risque (insert Pokemon e) dress.



A sleeveless collared shirt, because I have a weakness for them almost as bad as my weakness for pussy bows.



And another.



WHAT IS OBVIOUSLY THE GREATEST T-SHIRT IN ALL OF EXISTENCE. A Space Jam t-shirt, because my brother and I probably watched it more than a hundred times. (And Mulan. We watched Mulan so many times I lost count.)



AHAHA this is a terrible wildlife/art/mail-order t-shirt or something, and I love it.



My cousin's very small sweatshirt that I am determined to cram my upper body into.



And some wool skirts and a pair of pants (non-denim pants!), because I can't resist a good plaid.





Now I know this is going to say "I write stuff after the jump" but today's bit is more like "I throw up a little after the jump."







I posted this on my old writing blog, but here it is again.


I am lying on the shell-pink carpet in my brother’s old bedroom in my grandmother’s house, wearing a puffy vest gifted to me by a well-meaning uncle one Christmas, unfit for public consumption but which, thankfully, offers some barrier against the cold and against the growing hardness of the floor against my breasts, like some enormous erection rubbing everything the wrong way as the weight of my upper body slowly crushes these lumps of flesh, overlarge for my body and somehow sometimes not large enough. I am menstruating. My breasts are sore.


I am not menstruating and I never refer to my breasts as breasts. They are boobs. Or the ladies. I am never menstruating. I am on my period. I am bleeding like a motherfucker.


I am alternating between scrolling through endless photos on endless blogrolls and writing what I know, and trying with cautious, concentrated effort to be unremarkable, and in doing so, quietly hoping that that is remarkable.


Fuck, this is because I just read A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius and this is neither heartbreaking nor genius.
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December 24, 2011 at 11:07 AM

Please stop reposting my content before I ask Google to take it down.

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