Get your shop on

Today I hopped into Stella and drove to Huntington Beach to run some errands and have dinner with my daddy.

The thing about shopping in Southern California is that every woman age 35+ looks like she's auditioning for the next installation of The Real Housewives.  Her skin is overexposed to tanning rays, her hair is overbleached, and her outfit is over the top.  Luckily for her (and unluckily for her daughter), today at the mall there's a beauty pageant going on.

Yes.  A toddler beauty pageant.  In the mall.

Welcome to Orange County.

Fortunately for me, the excess of non-working women whose husbands rake in the moolah means one thing-- really REALLY good shopping.  I bought a few outfits for work and three pairs of shoes.  I justified the purchase because last weekend I RUINED a pair of nice shoes...

Gather 'round boys and girls!

I was in San Jose for the 4th of July, engaging in debauchery with my bestie Kimberly and our friend Wes.  At some unreasonably late hour, we decided it would be a good idea to visit a beloved childhood park that features cement slides that are both unbelievably fun and scary as fuck:

Now imagine going down the death trap slide at 2am while sitting on Satan's magic carpet a scrap of cardboard to reduce friction.

Kim and I sat side by side, said a little prayer, and pushed off.  As is always the case on the cement slides, I was going WAY faster than Kim and feared face-planting in the darkness.  To slow down I stuck my heels out Fred Flintstone style, subsequently shredding the shit out of my shoes against the cement.

(I'm just chock full of alliterative awesomeness today.)

Thus, the new shoes.  Never mind that two of the three are total Hooker Heels That Make You Want To Pistol-Whip Your Parents For Making You Five-Foot-Four.  They're hott.  With two Ts.