Here seems like a good place for a picture of my butt.

I can't remember the last time I shaved my legs, but did I let that stop me from shaving my face? No, I did not. There are a few cuts on my arm from where I practiced with Diego's straight razor (which several internet sources advised me NOT to use, but did I let that stop me? No, I did not!) but they sort of blend in with Griffon's handiwork so I don't think they'll alarm anyone. So far I feel exactly as neutral about this method of face-hair-removal as I do about any other method of any-other-hair-removal. Why yes, actually, I am perpetually disappointed that hair removal and how many pounds my body is takes up so much brain space. Thank you for asking. 

I lied, I can remember, it was Tuesday. Same day I washed my hair. 

I spent $100 on a juice cleanse even though we bought a juicer a few months ago and I could probably just make the cleanse myself. Or like, not do one at all, because they're stupid. But since when has anything being stupid stopped me from doing it? Never, is when! 

Yesterday while I was scrubbing away all evidence of the week from all the surfaces of our apartment, I was also thinking about which dress I was going to wear to dinner at the cute place with the curtain-y booths and about how nice it would be to put on lipstick and be in the world after a day of scraping wet cat litter (AKA CEMENT) off of the bathroom floor. What we ended up doing was ordering in a lot of garlicky carbohydrates and watching Practical Magic. I did put on my house dress to go get a bottle of Chianti, so like, I made it partway into the world. What do you want from me? 

Here are some miscellaneous pictures of summer that are sitting on my desktop for reasons I cannot recall:

Linking up with Becky even though BY HER OWN ADMISSION she has read HP fanfiction. 

I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks
and assure you that you’ll find your place,
it’s just
the world has a funny way of
hiding spots fertile enough for
bodies like yours to grow roots.
LUCAS REGAZZI

This isn't a confession, I'm just going to talk about my cat for a minute. Or ten.
He's finally, finally "adjusted." I think. He's gone from squeezing his big fat butt onto the shelf next to the toilet and growling while I feed him treat after treat after treat at 2AM and empty my bladder as quickly as possible to following me around wherever I go. He is my short and scratchy shadow. Like, here's where he is when I'm sitting at my desk:

And here's where he is when I sit on the couch (aka here is where both of us always are):

Et cetera, et cetera. I JUST LOVE HIM SO MUCH, YOU GUYS. And he loves me, too, or so it would seem. As long as I don't pet him for too long, or, goddess forbid, try to snuggle him. He really does not like that.

MOVING ON.

I'm a shitty vegan but an okay vegetarian. 
I just can't stop with the cheese. Also, did you guys know that not all beer and wine is vegan? I'm half a bottle in to a probably definitely NOT-plant-based bottle of white, okay okay three-quarters, I'm three-quarters of a bottle in, wine as we speak. As I type? Anyway if I'm waiting for Diego to finish work and somebody hands me a chai latte, I'm not asking if they made it with almond milk. I'm just drinking it. And hoping he finishes soon because it's Saturday and Full House is on Hulu now and I'm about ready to drop the "I Am A Person Who Gets Dressed And Goes Places" charade. And listen, if I'm going to eat a taco and it's not going to have pork and pineapple on it, then it's going to have fish and I'm going to be really happy for however many seconds it takes me to make it disappear. I don't miss meat at all. Not even fish (unless it's on a taco but we've already covered that.) But the rest of it is challenging. And you know how I deal with things that are challenging... by not!

The good gosh darn am I talking about? Cats and fish? I'm so sorry, everyone. Blame the meat wine.

I had an idea of what I was going to read next but then I realized there was a book I bought a long time ago that never downloaded to my kindle. So, sorry book about Actual Important Things - you'll have to wait, because I'm now very involved in this book that I cannot remember the title of/have the faintest idea what it's supposed to be about except that there's a forest and an abandoned town and a lovable dog and a sarcastic protagonist and some dead guys. BASICALLY EVERYTHING.

I'm in the process of trying to get back into college and it's the worstttt. It's more the worst than I am at eating plant-based.
It is actually not the worst, and I am quite extremely privileged to have access to an education. And a hard-working Mexican to pay the tuition I owe to the last college I went to so that they'll release my transcript - ba-dum, tss!

And in between dealing with that, I'm googling properties for sale in another state because I think I may be coming to the end of my tolerance of this city. I love her so much, but she's wearing on me, guys. I've got maybe three, four more years left in me before I start talking to myself on the bus. I mean like, loud enough that other people can hear me.

I love fall so much that as soon as the temperature dropped below 70 I ripped all the sweaters out from under my bed and rolled around in them. Pumpkin I could give a shit about, but clothes in earth tones that cover my chubby upper arms? HAPPY OCTOBER TO ME.