How it all began...

Okay, this is all so new and strange to me (like being born again, but less weird)...

I feel like I should be starting with "dear diary", however,  i would probably be shunned by the blogging world...

My dad (Lawrie, Lawrence- whatever you want to call him) always tells me how I should create a "twitter" or a blog since I call him and my mom 80 times a day. Listen, when a girls got something to say, a girls got something to say, and I have a lot to say. So let me break it down for you. This wondrous blog will highlight the marvelous life that belongs to me, and what goes on inside my brain. Specifically fashion, and everyday things that I encounter. Not much else happens in my life... sorry to disappoint, I know I said my life was marvelous but I kind of lied.

First things first, I am awaiting my departure to the land of the free (United States) for American Thanksgiving to visit "the bear" (Jeremy, my boyfriend)! I apologize to all Canadian's, but I have never wanted to be American more then I do during this wonderful holiday (duh- Black Friday).  I will be making a special trip from Jersey to New York City (Concrete Jungle where dreams are made of), in order to spend my hard earned money on clothing I do not necessarily need, making my mother proud- sorry mom. I've been on the hunt for a great pair of ankle boots for quite some time... I hope New York doesn't disappoint.

 I'm a huge fan of the Jeffrey Campbell Pixie boot in Black suede and have had my eye/ eyes (not only one), on these puppies for a while, however I would not complain if anyone wanted to contribute an extra..... $1495.00 (not to be too exact) dollars in order for me to get a pair of Christian Louboutin's either, I would not object. Okay, if we are getting really specific, I will give you a name... its the "Tassled Platform Bootie" (hint hint mom and dad). Here is a picture below... in case you get my drift. Okay, now that I can hear my parents laughing hysterically at the thought of even buying me these wonderful pieces of art, I will carry on with life... and dream of them, as I so often do.
If only I were Imelda Marcos, bathing in shoes... not to be too vulgar, but that bitch had everything, shoe wise that is.

Okay, really...it has come to my attention that I have reached the point that no one is probably reading this anymore, or beginning to dose off into a comatose state. I apologize... until next time all.