Another amazing day in Southern California with the folks. There was a trip to Del Taco for some fast food gorging, and my brother and I went on a bonding shopping trip. I managed to clean up and snatch a pair of Vivienne Westwood open-toed gladiator pumps for over 75% off their original price, an AMAZING vintage styled cape (yes, a cape) and a pair of to-the-elbow leather gloves. My Mom asked why I have to dress so S&M. Yuck. I also bought another copy of The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter, which I plan to re-read on the plane home and openly weep. I found 2 amazing silicone cupcake trays for nearly zilch (I left my cupcake pan at the apartment of an old paramour last year and only just realized the discrepancy) and, of course, had to get some more hooded sweatshirts because I don't have enough as it is.
It was, all in all, a blissful day. And then I came home to watch what shall be my new crack. It is a little show that goes by the name of The Bad Girls' Club, and it is so gross that I cannot look askance from it the minute it comes on the screen. I blame Giulia Rozzi for getting me hooked. Seriously. Do yourself the favor and TiVo it on the Oxygen Network, because it is unlike any other reality-show-basic-cable crap you are sure to encounter on a daily basis. Too delightfully trashy to be true. I thought I was dramtic, demanding and full of mischief. After watching this, I think I may be an amateur. I've got a lot to learn, so thanks, Oxygen, for creating this classy show to teach me how to get grossly drunk by doing shots of patron at 8 am, cheat on my long-term, totally nice boyfriend, and start heinous skanky bar fights replete with the "f" word. Rad.