I hate shopping.

I mean, like, hate it with a fiery passion. If an item I own is destroyed or suddenly no longer fits (I blame you, cupcakes), I throw a straight up hissy fit because it means I will have to brave the malls to replace it. I know this puts my girl card into question, but I don't care. I hate it. (Unless I'm shopping at MAC or for hair products. In which case I recommend staying out of my way. I could very well bulldoze right over you without even so much as a glance. Luckily I don't weight that much. And I smell good.)

As I find myself wearing the same three shirts and jeans over and over again (y'all know which ones I'm talking about), I decided that today would be a good day to venture out in search of some new threads, seeing as how I have some extra birthday cash laying around and all. Plus, I had today off, so I could hit the mall before all the kids and walkabouts were on the loose.

Here's what I came home with (plus some commentary, of course)...

- A black and white checked Hurley flannel shirt. I seriously need an intervention. I can't stop buying flannels. Not because they're in style (as that never matters to me and will usually deter more than anything), but because they're so effing comfy and cover me up right good. And I can wear them with my Chucks.
- Two news shirts from Fossil. Seriously, how have I lived without this store all my life? Their shirts are wicked soft and they carry corduroy pants that would actually fit someone who has gone through puberty. (I'm looking at you, Delia's.) I might very well make a trip back there in the next few weeks to purchase the adorable crossbody bag I've been lusting over for months.
- A new bottle of Bed Head's Spoil Me, the spray mechanism on which I've already broken. Thanks a heap, Target. There's a reason I never buy professional haircare products from you. Asshat. Now I'll have to go back into your store to return it, which will no doubt cost at least $50 in miscellaneous crap. And Spicy Nacho Doritos.
- Spicy Nacho Doritos

Here's what I did not come home with...

- A new Smiths T-shirt. WTF, Hot Topic? You carry T-shirts for Justin effing Beiber, but haven't carried Smiths (nor Morrissey) T-shirts in years?! That is a travesty and I intend to write an angry letter. (Or just order one online.) Whoever stole my old Hatful of Hollow shirt will rue the day I get my wee hands on them.
- A new bottle of Bed Head's After Party. Yes, the bottle is very phallic, made only more embarrassing by the bright pink hue, but that stuff is hair crack. Thanks again, Target, for selling out of the junk and leaving me without. Good thing there are four-hundred bottles of Pert Plus though. Crisis averted.
- Distressed denim. Try and try as I might to get on board with this look, I just can't. I mean, I freak the hell out if my nail polish is chipped; how could I sport a pair of jeans that are designed to look worn out and holey? The feel really nice and seem to look better with my t-shirts and flip flops, but I just can't do it. I yam what I yam.

Well now that I have quenched your insatiable thirst for insight into my shopping expeditions, I bid you good evening and hope that I could entertain at the least. Happy shopping, boys and girls.