You know what I've hardly done any of lately? Blog. Know what I have done WAY too much of lately? Shop. Spend money. Which would be OK, because I've also been doing a lot of freelancing lately, but we leave for Vegas in a week, and I'd like to have some money left for the trip. I'm not the only one shopping though. I'll be going with practically all boys, and they have been building new wardrobes for the trip the likes of what Jessica Simpson might take on a two week vacation. Anyway, if you are interested in shopping too, try this this shopping site. It is supposed to be a one-stop sort of place for all of your shopping needs. For instance, if I enter red patent leather pumps  into the search engine, it will spit back at me all the places online that I can find red, patent leather shoes. This helps to narrow down the price range I'm looking for, and it weeds out the wide selection of hooker heels one is sure to get when searching the internet for red, patent leather pumps. (Of course, with a trip to Vegas on the horizon, hooker heels might be exactly what I'm looking for.)

Speaking of hookers, I got my hair cut at a new place two weeks ago. (Bear with me, this part isn't an ad.) I was describing to the stylist what I wanted, and she was trying to talk me into various shades of highlights, and I was attempting to tell her why I wasn't interested in said highlights, one because of the price, and two because I had already purchased the materials to go home that night and pour scads of boxed color all over the new work of art she was attempting to create north of my face. Knowing that stylists seethe at the box of color, I try to keep my mouth shut, and then just act surprised at my next hair cut when they point out that my hair is a different shade than the last time she saw me. Anyway, new stylist finished blowing my hair out, all puffy and crusty, in that perfect way it will never look again once I've commandeered the paddle brush and cheap hair dryer. I try to think of creative ways to thank the cutters and compliment their work, even though at least 50% of the accomplishment is owed to me, for growing their medium. I told her, "it looks perfect... if only it were six inches longer." Which was not only totally what I was thinking, but I thought, a well-thought out compliment. Her response? "Oh, you mean like hooker hair?"  In my imagination, I would assume hooker hair would be an odd shade of blonde, slightly chemical green, with unsavory and unidentifiable materials caked into it. Not exactly what I was thinking, but I smiled and accepted new stylist's business card, feeling a little like I'd imagine I'd feel if my teenage daughter were to roll her eyes at my desire to french roll my jeans and listen to Pearl Jam. The stylist was about my age though, so maybe I just have bad taste in hair. But  so do all of the women that are in Pantene commercials, so there.

Anyway, try shopping here. Get some cool stuff, get some hooker hair, whatever.