Mm, being girly

I was flipping through my sister's Alloy catalogue earlier - usually an exercise in futility, as they assume only skinny people like to wear clothes. But I noticed they've upped their sizes when I was looking at a particularly cute pair of jeans.



I need new jeans. And those are ripped in exactly the right places.

But do I want to pay $42.50 + shipping for jeans I can't try on?

Hm. Lane Bryant charges $100 for ripped jeans. And those aren't ripped right.

I suppose it depends on if the parents will either pay for the jeans or if they're planning on giving me concert money so I can spend catsitting money on pants.

Hm.

They're effing cute, though.

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I have the computer to myself.

I have this chunk of the fic I'm working on very well planned in my head; I've been writing up to this particular point for a while.

So why, for the love of God, when I go to write anything do my hands decide they don't want to talk to my brain right now?

*headdesk*

I wanna have this fic done by the 12th when I leave for Montreal. I'm not sure why, I just feel like I should be done then.

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Ganked from rockfic:

( Take any currently unfinished fics you have and write the first line/paragraph from each. )

I hope posting that will appease the part of my brain that's hollering "start putting it up on RockFic!" because I don't like posting WIPs that are actually WIPs. It makes bunnies abandon me.