when was a little girl, i would spend weeks and weeks making home made valentines for everyone i cared about (long before romantic love could hover over me like a specter of death) and generally just thinkin about all the people i wanted to tell how awesome they are. as a teenager, i wasn’t always great at expressing my love for anyone or anything (picture it- 1992: black lipstick, kafka, ever present scowl), but for some reason, i let valentine’s day be the exception to that rule. and in fact, if i felt compelled to declare my affections to someone in particular, i would often wait until valentine’s day- and spend weeks or months thinking of just the right thing to say that would make them fall in love with me instantly.

this has had varying levels of effectiveness. and has, on rare occasion, gotten me into trouble.

flash forward a little bit to my freshman year in college- smith college, before i got kicked out for drinking too much cheap champagne and not going to class. i was sitting in the cafeteria picking away at hot dog tuesday or whatever bullshit i was eating at the time (despite the pricetag, smith college food was TERRIBLE), and i spotted this girl across the room eating by herself. she was boyish and limby, and had this tangle of bleach blonde hair perched on her head like a birds nest (forgive, it was the late 90s).  i just remember being kind of awed by the fact that she was eating alone and was clearly not feeling self conscious about it. she didn’t have a book or anything, just eating and existing in a way that captured my 18 year old heart.

i had to tell her. it wasn’t a choice, it was a biological imperative.

as the valentine’s day festivities rolled closer, i decided that the anonymous approach with a simple but potent message would be the best. that year i made my cards with a collage of theatrical lighting gels, cardboard, magazine clippings, and high gloss shellac. hers would read:

“happy valentine’s day to the most beautiful girl i have ever seen.”

what i didn’t realize at the time was that her girlfriend had been in my house that day and had seen me making the cards at the living room table. at least at that moment, i didn’t even realize that dream girl had a girlfriend. i would soon be in possession of this knowledge.

a few days after valentine’s day, i was in the post office checking my mail and the girlfriend spots me. dear lord, why did i have a PO box in the back corner! i don’t entirely remember what was said, but i do remember her standing very close to my face and demanding that i confess to sending the valentine. she never threatened physical violence, but pitiful lovestruck freshman allie was terrified and ran out of the building at top speed as soon as she backed away enough for me to escape. i don’t know that i’ve ever run faster in my life.

still, totally worth it.

see, there’s my problem right there. when i get it in my head to tell someone my feelings, it doesn’t matter if they have a significant other, or if we have anything in common, or if we’re complete strangers. philosophically, i believe that everyone needs to hear that they are admired- regardless of the chances of reciprocation.

love is not a calculated risk in my world. love is a wild stab. an uncontrollable declaration. and if for whatever crazy and ill advised reason, there is a person that moves me, i have to tell them.

because what if.

i may get rejected and embarrassed (a skill that i have near perfected), but i never worry that i’ve missed my chance. or that things could have turned out differently. and now, all those people that i’ve admired all those times for all those different reasons, they know. they know that someone saw them across the street and blushed and gasped. they know that someone lost all coordination and ability to form coherent sentences the minute they walked into the room. they know that (at least for a minute) someone thought they were the superior model. everyone needs to hear that.

sure, i’m a fool. a fool who will probably get beat up by an angry angry girlfriend someday. but i’m a fool with no regrets.

so as a service to everyone out there who won’t sack up and shout their love from the mountain tops (or even counter tops) this year, i devote this year’s official valentine message to every single person everywhere on your behalf:

know that you are admired from afar, if for no other reason than to be reminded that you are so worthy of admiration. 

13 actually. 13 paper boxes full of books, dvds, and things that will probably get broken in transit despite their many layered protective newspaper cocoons. theoretically, this should be good news (especially for my breakables). but really, i’ve got 4 days until my movers show up, and i’ve only packed about 1/8 of everything i own. and that was the easy bit. unfortunately, the rest of my apartment is far less square and regular than my book and dvd collections.

and now, here i am, watching netflix and writing instead of playing through the pain and packing up my kitchen implements before i have time to forget that i’m moving and accidentally get them all dirty again.

thing is, i don’t want to move.

this is my first home. i have all these goofy pictures of us signing the paperwork and giddily writing out the escrow checks. our mortgage lender brought us a bottle of champagne at closing. it took us 3 trips to the lumber liquidators to choose the strand woven bamboo flooring. i was so proud to finally be shaking off the rent monster and the last vestiges of aimless early twenty-hood (which for me lasted well into early thrity-hood).

i love this place. i picked out the paint and the furniture and the layout. i placed every single knickknack. every molecule of this place belongs to me from the pink toaster to the perfect victorian light fixture in my lavender (technically “party dress” according to martha stewart) studio. i have a studio!

or rather, i HAD a studio. with gold plastic parakeets on the door. and now i have to pack up my parakeets in copy paper boxes and move them into the bachelor hole, where i’m more than positive that there isn’t even close to enough space for me or all my once grown up accoutrements.

so for the last month and a half (i knew i was moving the whole time), i have shopped, and slept, and gone out every night of the week. i came home every night soaked in bourbon and denial. i hid the moving boxes in a closet and pretended they weren’t there.

so now, i have 4 days to put my whole life into boxes… and i can’t seem to focus long enough to get…

and that’s where i blacked out and woke up on the couch at 4 am and then staggered up to bed. blog post unfinished, and boxes unpacked.

the same thing happened the next day. i would pack the kitchen, and then sit down on the couch to write (and by write, i mean browse reddit), and black out again, waking at 4 am, boxes unpacked.

the next day, i might have passed out on the floor of my studio in a mound of art books frustratingly too large to fit into a paper box. but the central theme remains the same.

by saturday however (movers coming at 10 am the next day), i had reached a point of clarity. no amount of filibustering would make me not have to move. whether i was reading, sleeping, writing, watching every episode of “bones” on netflix instant,  looking relentlessly for that 4th cutco knife i knew that i owned but couldn’t find, scrubbing the dust off the top of all the spice jars, unpacking and repacking boxes to fit in one last item of the same category, or washing all my dishes by hand before packing them… not packing was only going to make moving a more gruesome and unpleasant experience.

saturday night, as i frantically threw whatever into whichever containers were in closest proximity, my moment of clarity sounded something like this:

YOU’VE TOTALLY SCREWED THE POOCH.

you’ve been fucking off for weeks, and now you have 10 hours to pack everything you own and then move it into your new place which definitely isn’t big enough for all of your shit and is totally going to piss of your new roommate.

i packed furiously through the night and deliriously staggered through the rest of the day. it was terrible. my new place was apparently built by m.c. escher, and my movers weren’t sure if any of my furniture would fit (eventually, after they disassembled some and called in a 3rd guy, they made it work). there was A LOT of crying. for several days. i may recount some of the more grim moments later on, but for now, let’s just say that moving has been tough. unpacking (still working on that), getting my dog acclimated (i had to leave notes for my neighbors about the barking), getting used to living with another person with wildly differing practices and habits, sleeping alone, cooking for 1…

i won’t lie and say it’s not a bummer. two weeks in and it’s still the biggest bummer ever. i’m actually running home to see my mom this weekend, because that’s what you do when you’re  wading through the mire of bummertown USA. that, and buy an ipad. but we’ll talk about that later.

but as i was saying before, i just finished up the shopping portion of my coping process, and am getting ready to start the packing stage. but in between these two critical stages comes BARGAINING. this past weekend, the ex and i spent an entire day walking around the condo staking claim to all of our worldly possessions.

he gets the “dead like me”, i get the “futurama”.

he can have all the bamboo spatulas, but the kitchen scissors are mine.

neither one of us will take ownership of the pink kitchenaid toaster with the broken handle.

it’s weird. now that all the yelling and crying at 4 am watching “sense and sensibility” stuff is over, only the practical sediment remains settled at the bottom. now, we’re both exhausted and forced by time constraints to be all “business time” (not the sexy kind) for a while. i strongly suspect that there will be more late night crying at movies when i’m moved into my new place, and the gravity of this life change smacks me across the face. but for now, everything is oddly calm.

perhaps as a true testament to our lack of compatibility, we split every single thing 50/50 without argument. sure, i was a little misty to see “legend of zelda- twilight princess” disappear in the “HIS” box. and he was equally heartbroken when i reclaimed a number of the entries in his “all paul rudd all the time” dvd collection.  maybe he’s just smug because he gets to keep the tempur-pedic mattress? or maybe he really just does have terrible taste in everything (i did find a copies of “shrek” and “goldmember” that i had hidden deep in a closed cabinet because i was ashamed to let him put them on the shelf- yet somehow i let “k-pax” slip past the goalie).

or maybe, i assert my autonomy too much in relationships to the point where i can pretty much cut and run with all of my stuff at any given moment. this one was a little different. i bought a house (“we can just sell it and split the equity if i change my mind”). i got a dog (“i’ll just steal him in the middle of the night if i have to”). but even that time i got married, i didn’t change my name. i kept my own bank account.

well, this unearths a whole bunch of unfortunate questions about my commitment issues that i don’t feel like dealing with right now. maybe i’ll dive head first into the packing/unpacking stage until i’m ready for the bad internet dates phase. i’m pretty sure that’s where all the good stories are anyway.

let’s just be clear here. i’m not ready to date.

it’s only been about a month now, and the ex and i are still sharing the same space (and to his credit, he is the most kind and agreeable person i have ever broken up with).  i need to focus my efforts on things like moving, working, breathing, and cuddling my dog. i need to not be an idiot and jump into anything before i’ve had a chance to regroup and recover- at least a little. you know, common sense… blah blah blah, good advice… yadda yadda yadda…

BUT.

the sensible path sorta sucks. it’s lonely. and painful. and sad. so you start to try to make the breakup, the newfound single status (set carefully to your facebook for all to casually notice), more appealing than it really is. you dream of the possibilities. you start to remember everyone you’ve ever had a crush on and stalk them to determine current availability (just in case) (for later):

your cute java lab professor from 2005 (cosby sweaters aside)- fell off the internet radar is 2007. possibly married. possibly grew an unsightly beard. it’s hard to tell.

that guy who used to stare at you at the whole foods- only know first name. too ashamed to ask friends who work at whole foods for details. mission aborted.

the #1 scrabble player in maine (don’t judge) was hot 6 years ago. maybe he still is? yes. and you have one mutual friend on facebook. sadly, she will not return your pleas for more information.

you might have walked by the house of that guy in your neighborhood that you made out with that time. twice.

and you might have eventually ended up making a fake profile on ok cupid because you’re scared that you’re 34  years old and all the truly serviceable mates have already been scooped up by smarter and better looking women with an innate understanding of how the game is played. really, you were JUST LOOKING…

and then you find your ex husband’s profile and swiftly shut the tab and never go back.

it’s true. i’m not ready. but when my parents forced me to ingest the vile essence that is cod liver oil every sunday when i was a kid, they let me chase it with orange juice.  TOLERABLE. i just need to find some orange juice to make all the scary parts about starting over and being alone go down a little easier.

it’s probably not hooking up with my old java lab professor. probably. but i can’t honestly say that crafternoons with friends or taking up jogging even come sort of close to the excitement of making out with someone new. i know it’s the wrong choice. just don’t yell at me too much if i accidentally make it.

when i was a freshman in high school, i blew out of all my classes and got bumped out of honors english. i spent too much time oogling boys at the skate park and drinking  yukon jack and kool aid from my best friend’s parent’s liquor cabinet. by sophomore year, i was back to my honor roll making, science fair winning, overachieving self.

when i was a freshman in college, my best friend and i used to joke that we should start a band called “champagne headache”. but for serious, i spent the entire year drunk on korbel watching “love boat” on the couch in the common area, and learning how to build the perfect gravity bong.  by graduation, i was back to my dean’s list making, resident assisting, overachieving self.

i’m convinced it was because i started kindergarten just days after i turned 5. always being one of the youngest kids in the class kind of messes you up. but whatever the case, i always get severely beat up when i’m wrestling the kraken that is change. although i do eventually end up victorious. usually.

as much as i overachieved with bong making and box wine swilling in my younger days, i’ve pretty much grown out of my substance abuse phase (save for the occasional too much bourbon day). however, i do have an equally destructive coping mechanism that still remains…

SHOPPING.

whenever i start a new job, go back to school, break up, fall in love, move, or even just have a little bit of an emotional meltdown… i manage it with retail therapy.

but not the indiscriminate kind of binge shopping that might result in a girl unconscious under a stack of QVC boxes filled with unidentifiable contents. my coping-shopping is very careful and deliberate. when i can sense my body about to fling itself into emotional discomfort or danger, i head to the internet, and spend my hours carefully choosing the perfect items that will most ease my journey.

example: when i went back to school in 2005 to finally get my diploma as a non-traditional age student, i spent $700 on the perfect sophisticated “grown up” wardrobe (think a lot of 4 inch heels and tweed pencil skirts. there may have even been a BRIEFCASE!). in hindsight, these purchases seem frivolous and impractical (i couldn’t walk a block in those fucking shoes, let alone the 1.5 miles that i needed to walk to class). but, in the moment, they felt life or death ESSENTIAL TO MY SURVIVAL.

that’s how i feel now. moving into this shitholey place with smelly carpets and a couch i’m afraid to sit on… i’ve been compulsively stalking the perfect furniture that i think will make my new life less terrifying and potentially unbearable.

i have a limited amount of money going into this venture, and i’m genuinely worried that i will spend it all trying to make the perfect nest that will feel comfortable. that will feel like home.  i’m on my own now… there’s no fiscally responsible boyfriend who will cover me if i spend all my rent money on mini skirts and fancy cheese.

it is my goal to always have at least $1,500 in my savings account for the entire year of 2012. i would also like to only  make limited and strategic purchases when i move, and make it work with what i have. because ultimately, shopping my anxiety about transition away only causes later/greater anxiety about money and debt.

basically, what i need right now isn’t a grown up costume. i need to grow the fuck up.

(although the carpet cleaning thing is truly non-negotiable).

but yeah, i know it’s the 2nd of january. so why the fuck am i telling you this pointless xmas related story?

well, mostly it’s because i wanted a reason to tell that story. but also, it’s because i’m about to use it as a flimsy analogy for the shitstorm that is my current life.

basically, sometimes xmas is all reindeer and jinglebells, and sometimes it’s accidental scorpions. this xmas, i got scorpions.

i have overall made it a point not to share much about my personal life with the internet. but the cliff’s notes version of this story is that come february 1st, my life is going to look a lot different. i’ll be moving out of my condo, and back into an apartment (a particularly crappy but cheap bachelor pad apartment if all goes well with the landlord next weekend). i’ll be living with my first roommate since 1996 (when my smith college roommate zoe moved out after 3 months because of her dislike of my late night online gaming habits [text based!] and predilection for menthol cigarettes). i’ll be a single dog parent.

you might also notice that instead of a hilarious picture of a tin foil scorpion in the upper left corner there, there is a MOTIVATIONAL SLOGAN. yikes. what the fuck am i trying to pull? as another rule, i try not to resort to sincere but uplifting over-sentimentality. i swear a lot. i am a cynical old crank. i want to find the person who wrote the first “chicken soup for the soul” book and light them on fire (or at least give them a stern talking to).

but for the new year, i’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time for me to toss a little sugar in the massive ocean of vinegar that is my soul. (don’t worry, not too much). as i’m careening into this utterly terrifying and uncertain new life, it occurred to me that it might be nice to have a little something to grab onto. when i broke up with my college boyfriend (and dropped heavily into a very low and confusing period), i taped a tiny scrap of paper to my front door that said “just start over” that i would have to look at every time i left my house.

but i already used that one.

so i actually did a google search for “inspirational quotes” (oh how the mighty have fallen!), and this is what i found. i think it originated on a t-shirt or something. but whatever, it very correctly sums up the reason that i’m leaving to start my whole life over at 34. my life has been very easy and comfortable for the last few years. as it turns out, easy and happy are two very different things. so i’ll just leave it at that.

i’m not entirely sure what all this biz means for broke207 (i’m focusing my energy these days on finding moving boxes and figuring out how to get a bed). but i have a feeling that we might be getting a little less coupony and more life lessony over the next few months. bear with me. if you do, maybe someday i’ll get back to my roots. or, maybe i’ll just distract you with terrible online dating stories until you forget what this blog was about in the first place.

the short answer is that i’ve been down the nutcracker burlesque hole. the slightly less short answer is that my new job is hard and makes me tired. excitingly enough, it also makes me happy, but very very tired. Unfortunately, this combination of dancing 3 days a week +  job that makes my brain sweat = me asleep on my couch in front of a half finished blog post about something that happened to me 3 weeks ago EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.

i’m actually kind of surprised that my computer hasn’t slid off my unconscious lap and shattered into 1,000 pieces… YET.

anyway, i haven’t given up the ship. i just need to figure out how to get myself back from the dead and into full blogging mode. probably/definitely, after nutcracker.  in the meantime, please enjoy this post i wrote for goodwill about home made xmas presents that don’t suck too much.  i will do my best to pop on and say hello as often as i can.

NO. my digestive system could not take such a beating (although i still really do want to try out that grilled cheese with the mozzarella stix embedded inside, even though i know it’s wrong)!

i considered just hitting the midnight store and then going back later in the morning… but that also seemed less than ideal in terms of efficiency. so i decided to do something a little different this year- SLEEP IN.

it was actually kind of awesome. and then around 7, i leisurely got up, walked the dog, and headed to the mall. considering that i don’t need any big ticket electronics, and all the cheap movie titles were complete crap, it wasn’t like i was missing anything anyway (other than shivering in the cold with a bunch of other cranky folks who are more than willing to elbow you in the throat to get the last creepy stalker barbie).

and since i had already slept through the “best” deals, i also felt little pressure to hit the big boxes and try to scrape up what was left. so i just went wherever the hell i wanted regardless of big signs yelling DOORBUSTERS! and here is what i got:

1-3 OLD NAVY: the boyfriend only buys pants once a year, and that one day would be black friday. while he was grabbing every pair of $15 33/30 pants he could get his greedy mitts on, i casually browsed around and picked up a few fun pieces at reasonable prices.

1. fleece schoolboy blazer $15. i wore it three days running this vacation, so it’s pretty much already paid for itself.

2. jaunty 20s hat $10. i look good in hats.

3. 3 pairs cheap tights $3.90 each. every winter i go on about finding cheap tights. these weren’t as low as i would have preferred, but old navy makes good tights, and these were a nice color.

4 FOREVER 21: i wasn’t actually planning on going here, but it was the easiest way into the mall from old navy. lo and behold, i found this amazing set of black sequin bra & panties with attached garters that i had to have. $16 for the set!

5 GOODWILL: i always forget that the mall on black friday is a terrible terrible place. once inside, my only objective became to fight my way to the best buy, rescue the princess (i mean the boyfriend), and get the hell out of motherfucking dodge. goodwill was a nice respite from the crowds, and without the insane mobs, i was able to score myself a pristine silk skirt from j crew for $4.99 in relative comfort.

6 BULL MOOSE: i’m a rabid legend of zelda fan (“link to the past” is my favorite game of all time, and if you disagree with me, i will cut you), but i decided to wait for skyward sword until black friday (it was released on the 20th) to see if i could get it on the cheap. i really wanted the combo set with the GOLDEN NUNCHUCK, but it appeared that set was only available at walmart, where i can never go again, especially not on black friday. bull moose had the best price in town, plus they get extra points for being a beloved local biz. $39.97

7 & 8 MARDEN’S: paul lepage associations aside, marden’s is a state institution. more beloved to me than reny’s or levinsky’s, i’ve been crawling through their junk piles since i was a wee one. black friday’s dig elicited the most exciting find of the day- a pair of gold glitter hooker shoes that i’d been coveting on the interwebs all season. i also picked up a super hot purple cheetah bra & undies set for $7.  if nothing else, this burlesque dancing thing has given me the best excuse to buy 6″ heels and outlandish lingerie. also, if my new job doesn’t work out, i’ll be fully prepared to be an escort. or possibly a stripper.

9 TARGET: is usually the first place that i hit on black friday, but we decided to just browse the leftover scraps this time around and call it good. GOOD CALL. their $1.88 movies were HEINOUS, and i couldn’t give a single fuck about charming fleece mitten sets. their sale merch was all disappointingly marked down only 30%, but i gave into my darkest shopping impulses and bought this rad printed pencil skirt for $18. i’ve become utterly obsessed with building a professional wardrobe, and this skirt makes me feel like the quirky best friend in a romantic comedy about office girls with big dreams.

also not pictured here, were a package of morning star farms riblets, and a package of chix patties- both on sale for $3.29. morning star, Y U NO HAVE MORE COUPONS?

10 CVS: by our last stop, shit was pretty cleaned out, and we were ridiculously exhausted and cranky. i didn’t have a plan other than a recently updated coupon folder and a dire need for toothpaste. i grabbed a few things- carmex, softlips, 2 tubes of colgate, and the philips earbuds that stockpile because i’m constantly losing my earbuds, and these are the best cheapies out on the market. i was disappointed not to get the wet ‘n’ wild nail polish set for $.88 for the makeup project, but we’re doing pretty well (still time to donate though!).

and then i went home and fell asleep on the couch for 4 hours. woke up, ate some leftover quiche, and passed back out again.

the end.

did you cower indoors on black friday like a sane person? or did you brave the masses (and certain death) to cash in on the deals? show me your trophies!

one time, i got married (for like a year), and i didn’t even send out thank you notes to my family. and can i just say, that even though the wedding was in 2007, i still feel guilty about it ALL THE TIME. if you’re out there wilson family relatives… i’m so sorry. i burn with shame and regret.

but here i am anyway, being a jerk again.

a few weeks ago, a reader named sue contacted me about the makeup project, because she had scored some free blush she wasn’t going to use. AWESOME. except it took me a few days to answer her, and i felt like a jerk.

AND THEN, she contacted me again… and i got busy and didn’t respond. jerk +1.

AND THEN, she showed up at the swap drop off with makeup… and i wasn’t there to meet her.

AND THEN, she showed up at the swap with a beautiful bounty of makeup bags, and i finally got to say thank you, and  made a jackass out of myself. i believe my exact words were: “i so want to hug you, but i’m worried about invading your personal space”. she excused herself swiftly.

AND THEN, she emailed me again, and i decided that i wanted to thank her by writing a blog post about how awesome she is… and it took me 2 weeks to do it.

so sue… I’M SORRY! i know i’m kind of a jerkwagon, but i didn’t want to let another day go by without thanking you for your incredible gift. sorry i’m so spastic, but it is in no way a reflection on my gratefulness for your generosity.

despite my being an asshat, the makeup project is really coming along. the makeup bags are HUGE, because they’re the hardest thing to get on sale. and finding ones that are affordable and cute is near impossible. blush and face cosmetics are the 2nd hardest thing to get, so sue really got it right. and if she hasn’t decided to shun me completely for my behavior, apparently there are some taylor swift journals coming too.

and since i’m talking about the makeup project, now is as good a time as ever to plug for donations (and just in case you don’t feel like reading the whole back story, i’m making fun cosmetic bags with couponed makeup to donate to the preble street resource center teen center xmas party)…

i’m still looking for:

makeup bags
journals
pens
mascara
eyelash curlers
small samples of exciting fragrances or beauty products (birchbox ladies, send me your leftovers!)

other stuff i have but still need more of:

nail polish
teen appropriate lipstick and lip gloss
eyeliner
eye shadow
blush/bronzer & face cosmetics

if you’re not the coupon type, but still want to make a deposit in the makeup project donation bucket, i highly recommend placing an order at eyeslipsface. pretty much everything is just $1, and super cute. also, if you get on their email list, they have great 50% sales all the time. i got this sweet haul for $18 last month (including shipping).

i have never seen more truly awful images in my life than i have today google image searching the word "sunday" . this was supposed to be a picture of a pair of "days of the week" underpants. but apparently, THIS IS WHAT YOU GET. good day.

ok. so i posted about my adventures at the mittapheap instead of doing the pickthrough yesterday… i just didn’t want to have 2 pickthroughs back to back. i could have skipped it entirely, but then there were a bunch of hot links that i didn’t want to get cold. also, i was sick. also, daylight saving time… i blame everyone/everything else but me. (and i’m positive that assessment will hold up in a court of law.) (did i mention that i watched 3 seasons of law & order SVU this weekend?)

so yeah, let’s keep this quick and dirty. here are the goods:

yes, auto-europe even has travel guides for vampire slayers.

joseph gordon levitt vs. kittens. NO CONTEST.

48 hours in lewiston auburn. (no really, it’s cool, i promise)

everyone loves an infographic about graveyard symbolism. right?

i never tire of looking at pretty girls in pretty clothes.

oh god. i guess i’ll be buying local honey from here on out…

this sock bun tutorial is going to revolutionize the way i handle my frequently unwashed hair.

i haven’t painted my nails in years, yet i find myself fully obsessed with the supernaturally perfect manicures on this nail polish blog.

a totally weird article about outsourcing fast food drive throughs… (or is it spelled THRU?)

why don’t i find awesome shit like this when i go thrifting?

forcing people to look like they’re shoplifting- for art. sorry lady, i don’t want your damn dirty break-up sweater.