Moot Point

I keep promising myself I am going to be a more prolific blogger, but the fact is my life is pretty boring.

My parents were in town this weekend. We hung out, saw aunts, ate food.

Sunday I went to visit Alex and we went for a walk around north Yonge Street:

I tried on dresses at the Mendocino outlet, which sucked, and talked myself out of a beaded tank top that was $25 marked down from $200, which is a great deal, but seriously, do I need to own a tank top that valuable? Also, it was too ornate for day, and I don’t really go out that much at night to places that require beaded tops.

Then, we went to Club Monaco and I got this:

And to Vortex, and I got this:

Then we ate barbecued salmon that Alex’s mom made and then we went to my house and dyed my hair. When I say “we” dyed my hair, I mean, that I dyed my hair while Alex put on my new CD and patiently pointed out dye-less spots in the back. This was so much easier when I had shorter hair. We were going to watch Brazil, but we realized it’s actually really long. Way to rent the extended director’s cut, Brenda!

Soon, I am getting this.

Other than consumering, the whole weekend was pretty uneventful. Work is just…work. It’s something I try not to write about on the internet, because, well, stupid. I can’t really complain, except when I do, but you know, I’m not cut out for this kind of thing — I mean, I can do the work, and I’m good at my job, but it’s really not what I’m supposed to be doing with my life — and there’s literally nothing new for me to learn to keep things interesting. I’ve toyed with like, signing everything Washington Irving, just to keep things interesting, but with four people in the office, I think my petty rebellion would be caught out pretty quickly.

I think I have another case of ennui. Ah, middle class afflictions. “I just bought a silk shirt, my parents are buying me a computer, my decently-paying job isn’t exciting enough, and my diamond shoes are too tight.” Whine whine, just do the stupid dishes.