My sister is demanding new posts, and all I have to talk about are deadlines and packaged biscuits (which is mostly what I eat when I have deadlines). But hey man, we can make this work.

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Chocolate croissant, because they were out of almond.

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My little sister (I always knew she was pestiferous) managed to give me strep throat in the middle of August. It’s not so bad, actually. I’m too sickly to be stressed out about all the work I’m missing. Plus, I get to eat my classic gross sickness foods: heavily buttered white bread with salty ramen. I can’t taste anything, but somehow the fat and the salt make a pleasant impact. It must be the staying home from school associations.

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Whenever David visits, for whatever reason, everyone makes a Love and Hate list. I don’t think there are any rules generally, but I like to keep my list to animal loves and hates, just so I don’t start getting overwraught and writing fiddly paragraphs. Therefore my list tends to be mostly food, as you can see. The “finest pastries and pudding” is really more of a category which opens up into its own long tree of specific items.

Speaking of which, I probably should have added bread and butter to the love side. Nubby bread and chilly butter. I’m sure there are numerous things I’m missing, but that hardly matters as anyone who visits here regularly will be able to fill in the blanks.

You all should tell me your love/hate lists. Come on, let’s have them!

We’re back to impossible jackets, now that I’ve made my absurd jacket purchase for the year. This is another Barbour one that I liked. Look at all those pockets. You’d lose track of everything you put in them, and then they really would have secrets.

And more autumn obsessiveness, for good measure.

This jacket is a collaboration between the old British brand, Barbour, and Tokihito Yoshida, which probably represents some kind of grand apogee of jacket snobbery. And without quite knowing what I was doing, I preordered one a few nights ago.

Which I know is crazy, and this jacket is strictly not within my means, but look at it. It’s a golden hybrid of crusades gambeson and space sniper armour that I might never encounter again. I’ve been keeping an eye on the Barbour stock, because I’m starting to get impatient for autumn. I love autumn. I feel like it actually lives up to its nostalgic associations – or maybe I just feel that way because it suits me better than summer. Anyway, now I’m all set up for rooty things and pumpkin tarts and dark evenings and cold skies, and pocketsful of shinies, and snatching many glossy chestnuts. I mean, you know, more than I already was.

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Look, my sister gave me a horn spoon. We found it in a store called Old Faithful, where we embarrassed ourselves by making simultaneous ear-splitting squeals upon its discovery. It’s everything I hoped and dreamed it would be, my spoon.

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I know I’ve (more than) exhausted my quota for the word “birthday” on this site, and now that half a month has passed I have no right to be still talking about it. I mean, I think I’ve been quite restrained, considering everything, but enough is enough. On Saturday, though, my friends Sachi and Kimi made me a birthday dinner, and look, it was totally out of my hands, ok? It was like a giant supercomputer from the future took my original birthday feast, processed all the information, did some calculations using advanced alien technology, and came up with a new, superior birthday feast. With TWO DESSERTS. Nobody knows my tastes better than these people. If I had to choose my last meal on earth, I would want them to cook it for me, and I would die a happy woman.

Plus, look, they gave me a little wooden box of shinies. And oh, man, also a box of Finnska licorice  – I forgot to draw that. Brandon and I fought bitterly over the leftovers. Bitterly! Screaming and clawing! Well, not him so much. But he let me buy a wooden recorder, just so he could have the last piece of pie.

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These N.D.C. leather shoes (hand-made in Belgium-of-the-16-grain-bread) were my birthday present to myself.

This June, I decided that my birthday was going to be all about facing my fears, and making tentative forays into solid girl territory. That’s like the equivalent of being afraid of heights, and booking yourself a hot air balloon ride as a gift. Terrifying. Not OK.
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Yesterday was my birthday. I spent most of the day collecting components for this, the finest feast ever. Sadly I was cameraless, but this is fairly accurate. I want to do it all over again every day forever.

It was a propitious day for shinies, too. I’ll get around to those, and other presents, when I find my camera.

I’m always on the verge of wearing my onesie outside, but the problem is the bumflap. Or the bumslit, rather, which is what most onesies available nowadays have instead of a proper square flap. My onesies, let me assure you, would have perfect bumflaps (though the space one would have to be zippered, or something, to make it more spaceish).

The bra and underwear might seem a little weird to include, but they factor highly because I have a pissing devil of a time finding bras in my size. At least, ones that don’t look like they were made for Aunt Gertrude in her twilight years. Not that I want anything particularly saucy, mind you. It’s just that my tits don’t require a regiment of doily-plastered inch-and-half thick straps to hold them up. You’d think the reasonable, plain varieties would carry the largest range of sizes, wouldn’t you? You’d think so.
On the other hand, when it comes to underwear, I just want good-quality unfancy cotton, with no cheeky boyshortery, and no named waistbands. You might not reckon, but this also requires some serious exhaustive hunting for never-quite-perfect results.

I tried to make this post appeal to ass men and tit men alike. How nice am I?

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I can’t believe how many dresses and skirtish things made their way into this imaginary collection, given that I don’t own a single item of either. I suppose this goes to show that I would do, under ideal circumstances. Indeed, I think the onesie dress is what I want more than anything else amongst all of this stuff. Well, at least par with the thief jacket and space onesie.

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The pockety jacket, coat and skirt would be like the thesis of the collection. A shiny in every pocket! Sometimes a stone, sometimes a feather, sometimes a little ball of waxed string, sometimes a glossy chestnut. Hell, seeing as these don’t exist and never will, I can be as generous as I want. So let’s say that each piece just comes with a hidden treasure, hoard-ready.

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