...tell your father, I said hello...

In my dreams I have the elegance and poise of Anna Wintour, with the ice-queen demeanor. Nothing phases this woman. You'd never catch her reloading her inbox every 10 minutes for signs of life.

At least, in the real world I have pretty shoes. Today is white ballerina flats from Aldo to match the ruffly (this season I am all about the ruffles) chemise from the Gap. Those, with capri light denim and soft curls will be Eid on Sunday morning. I refused to try on the top initially, thinking that the empire waist wouldn't suit the busty me. Also, it's from the Gap which means it is targeted for those flat waifs (probably blonde, too) who predominate this city. But my mother insisted, and so it was worn only to find that it fits perfectly. It seems that in my relentless pursuit of the skinny, I've lost my pride and joy, my... showgirls. It would make me tear up, but I much prefer being a size 2 with a small B-cup than my former self. 2 is such a pretty number. You know?

I'm studying, allegedly. In the middle of reading James Stanlaw's dissertation on Japanese-English language contact, I am taking too-frequent breaks to devour several pages at a time of The Dylanist. As far as scholarly methods go, I'm sure this one isn't sustainable in the long run.

Ack - reloaded again. Nothing yet. *Sigh*. Just... err... shoot me. Please?