Mortgaging My Soul, Once Again

So, I got back from shopping all damned day in Columbus (FYI, fabulous, but I'll get to this in a second) and I was sitting on the couch, talking with Mike while going through all of the spoils that I was able to plunder.  So, we were chit chatting, and I was telling him about this Chatty Cathy Diva that thought he was straight but, surely, he was not.  'Cause, no straight man wears a lime green shirt and flames around the Banana Republic.  But, anyways, I found *the* sweater that I've been looking for, this lovely silk cashmere sweater that is the sweetest thing you've ever felt.  Seriously, if they could make soul-wrenching-daddy-begging-sloppy-seconds sex into thread, it would be this fabric.  Gods...I'm running 3 stories into one...even I'm getting confused.  Ok, so, lets take this story in chronological order, as I'm loosing myself and, surely, my lovely readers.

So anyways, Melissa and I were in Columbus yesterday, shopping our souls away.  We got into the Banana Republic and I found this sweater that I've been looking *forever* for (see above sloppy-seconds sweater description).  So, anyways, I was all excited, then saw that it was a V-neck.

Fuck

I hate V-neck sweaters.  I never know what to wear with them as to hide my super hairy chest.  So, I pondered this quagmire for a moment and then unleashed my gay powers and I found the answer.  Wear a long sleeved button down dress shirt underneath it.  It'll also add some flare to the sweater as well.  Sweetness and I didn't even need the monkeys' help on this one.  However, since I primarily would be wearing jeans with this sweater, I needed help with the right color.

Double Damn.

So many to choose from.  So, I asked Melissa her opinion on which one would look best with dark jeans and a white button down dress shirt under it.  So, we pondered this and thought to ourselves, who, besides the monkeys, would best know this?  And, the gods smiled upon us and sent down the Lime Green Diva to answer our question.  So, he was fluttering by when I asked her this question and so, he spent a good 15-20 minutes not even answering my question, I almost lost my mind.  When I repeated my question to him (remember, dark jeans, white button down shirt), he proceeded to tell me that I shouldn't wear a white shirt.  'Cause, everyone does white, and it's just so done and boring, I should do other colors.  Well, that's fine, thanks for the advice, that's what my monkeys are for (FYI, for those that don't know, the monkeys dress me in the morning.  Thank you sister-in-law for that great gift hehe).  So, he kept on running around the store, showing me all of these fabulous undershirts that I could wear.  Yea, thanks, but that's not what I was asking *sighs*.  So, then he proceeded to tell me not to get the blue sweater or the green one, 'cause that was just boring.  I should go with "this" color and he points to this maroon one.  And, I stopped him and told him that I look horrible in red.  He then corrected me and told me "well, this isn't red, it's maroon."  Yea, I know that, dumb fuck.  But, chances are, if you look like shit in red, you look like shit in maroon, that was my point.  I don't care if you call it Pepsi-Cola-Lime, I still will look like shit in it.

So, literally, he stalked us for the 15-20 minutes that we were in the store, judging what we were gonna get and what not.  I swear to god, if it wasn't for this liquid sex shirt that I've been *LUSTING* for, I would have just dropped it and left.  He just irritated the fuck outa me.  I realize that he was trying to be nice and all.  But, seriously, I don't need coddled when I shop.  I can shop just fine with a friend and my monkeys guiding me, thank you. 

So, all in all, I found $13 jeans at the Gap, my orgasm sweater, another sweater at Areopostale, some towels that were on sale at Macy's, and some chocolates from Godiva.  Not even the boxed stuff, Melissa and I chose and picked the ones that we really wanted from their stash and had them make up the box.  Then we ate them before getting back home to get rid of the evidence...

So, I dropped Melissa off at her place and went home.  I was talking with Mike while unloading my stash of preciouses and I was talking about how hot the clothes would make me look and that everyone would think so.  (Well, Ok...hotTER.  I mean, I'm already hot.  Smoking, in fact.  But, as we all know, the clothing makes the man.)  So, he then proceeded to tell me that I didn't care what other people thought of me and my opinion was the only one that counts.  And, suddenly, the laws of physics and the word of God no longer applied and the whole universe went out of whack for a split moment.  Seriously?  I mean, how are you supposed to judge yourself if you don't have anyone to compare yourself to?  I mean, you're "not supposed to."  But, truly, how can you look at yourself and think, "Damn, I look fucking hot today." or, "I'm so giving and loving." or, my favorite, "I'm Fabulous."  'Cause, really, you can't know any of that without a ruler of some sort.  Like, when I say, "I look fucking hot today," I'm comparing myself to Michael Jackson, sans pigmentation or nose.  Or, when I say, "I'm so giving and loving," I'm comparing myself to Paris Hilton.  And, lastly, when I say "I'm Fabulous,"....well, who am I kidding, I don't need to compare myself to anyone for that.  But, to be truly semi-honest, you have to always compare yourself to other people and get their input.  Plus, it's so much better to have everyone dote on you, telling you how fabulous you are rather than you, staring at yourself in the mirror, chanting "But I'm so pretty...so pretty...sooooo prettttyyyyyyy."  Because, truly, who are you trying to convince?  The mirror or yourself?