It’s inevitable and a constant, and terribly vicious, cycle. I feel down. I shop. I feel down for shopping. I shop more. My guilty, guilty (and fabulous, might I say) pleasure? Anthropologie.

And I really must stop. I’m thinking of putting a blocker on my browser just for Anthropologie. I think I need it. And it’s time for me to come clean.

Hello, my name is Kathleen and I’m an Anthropolic.

(I think this is where I should say it’s been ten minutes since my last run in with Anthro.)

And the ugly truth is this: I will probably have these outfits for a few years before they become ruined, outdated, ugly to me, trashed by natural disaster or stolen. But that nice chunk of change that I used to buy them, it could have given me peace of mind. But hey, let’s face it, peace of mind right now looks pretty good, especially in silk and lace.

Did Sex & the City push a lot of women to blog?

Strangely, I can almost hear Carrie saying the words in each blog. It may be my Mac laptop or the fact that I’ve been unemployed for three weeks and watching a lot of old TV shows (and catching up on new ones) but I’m really piecing Sex & the City with blogging.

Call me crazy.

So, here I am in Texas, shooting for the first time. Shooting I like. Texas I do not. It’s a miserable state for all those who’ve ever heard “Everything Bigger in Texas.” You know what’s bigger: the a-holes, the desert, the prices, stupid drivers and rude shoppers. They are all bigger in Texas.

And please, for the love of all, stop calling it the South. Florida and Texas have always been “iffy” in my book.

I have to start by saying I don’t like the idea of blogs. I never warmed to it. (Ironic since you are reading a blog I’ve written. I know.) I tried to start this blog back in 2008, as you can see, but only could manage two cynical postings and one one-sentence posting. And thus ended the short lived blogging days of my past.

Well, today I read my sister postings. It was romantically implicit. I felt as though I could see the working of my sister’s private and endearingly self-conscience inner conversations. Dramatically and movie-like, I could almost hear her speaking it herself. (I know, how John Hughes of me.) And suddenly, and at once, I understood the thrill of blogging or rather reading it. It wasn’t another stay-at-home mom’s blog, detailing every aspect of both her so-hard-to-handle child and daunting daily tasks (I say this with a bit of sarcasm). It was something more real, almost tangible.

So, I’d like to thank my sister for bringing me back to the world of blogging. And to her quest for a baby, I hope that in a year from now, she’ll be holding one in her arms.

And oh, blogs are not made for rants.

Photo Credit: Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, FSA-OWI Collection, LC-USF34-9058-C

So, I am at work and searching the internet for some kind of stimulating something. As vague as that may sound, that was as vague as I felt when searching. I came across a book that my poetry teacher, Dorianne Laux, had brought to class with these amazing photographs. This was another one that popped  up. The book is “Now Let Us Praise Famous Men.” And I think, how beautiful must she have been to be this simply beautiful with dirt on her face and the responsiblity of feeding children during The Great Depression, a great weight to such a striking woman.