Oh my GOOSH!
Apologies to anyone who HACTUALLY reads this about my lack of posting. D to the Rama for days. Over the past two months I've started and finished my 10k words dissertation, been steady grinding for the mag, missing my girl best friend who's just cotching in Vanuatu (thas what Google's for), attending chicken, pork but mainly BEEFING family weddings and getting together with then swiftly breaking up with my blue-eyed, bearded boy best friend.
Dissertation went merely OK. Had too much family related ish to deal with to really give it my all and I totally regret that. Hopefully I'll get a 2:1 which at my waste institution requires a straight up 70% minimum (85 for a 1st) otherwise I will feel stink to the maximum.
The magazine is good and my boss is A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. - seriously, the woman is a star (none of that Wilhemina business); but alongside my title, presence on FashionMonitor and email address it's time for me to be getting some cashmoneydoughloot because I am sooooo disgustingly poor it is untrue and I graft for those cats. Hence me having to nag the best-friend/ex (ha! I love how dramatic that sounds - absolutely extra) to flog my new Married to the Mob x Colette Reebok Freestyles. To be honest I have no excuse for the purchase of them. As the BF says...perhaps I was swept up in the Hype because I truly feel the Freestyle is a HEINOUS shoe and it's resurgence in popular culture and the UK high-st (Thanks Office) makes me want to vomit all over the wearers feet. Don't let the below picture fool you - these babies are hilariously special looking on one's feet and I've assessed an extensive sample of ladies from Birmingham New Street to London Oxford St and beyone. No-long, no-long.
The best-friend/boyfriend drama deserves a blog alll to itself. Nonsense to its very core. There's a simple solution, boys need to MAN UP.
Lx
