what would Claudia Kishi do?
So B. got some amazingly good news today, like “holy shit you must be kidding me is it celebratory martini time yet?” news and I am theoretically getting ready to go see him and commence aforementioned celebrating (I like martinis) but instead I am having a fucking crisis here. Because I have decided — melodramatically, of course — that none of my clothes fit or match or work (no, Tim Gunn, shut it, I CANNOT make it work I CANNOT) and 3/5ths of my wardrobe is on the floor or strewn over chairs and I am on my fourth outfit of the past hour and I still hate all of it. The supposedly uberprofesh tulip skirt from h&m turns out to be slightly too small, which I realize immediately after removing the tags. Thirty dollars well spent! My jeans are either too baggy or so tight they’re crotch-eaters (THAT’S COMFORTABLE AND ATTRACTIVE), everything’s shitty, I’m tired of my jewelry, oh god no one has ever suffered like this or ever will.
If I was Claudia Kishi I would just borrow a shirt from my dad and gluegun a bunch of matchbox cars to it BUT I AM NOT HER and right now I trying to calculate how much it would cost to set fire to everything and start over from scratch.
No I am not exaggerating THIS IS A REAL CRISIS.








