My name is Special Sauce

And I am a consumer whore.

Or, if you prefer, shopping is my bitch. Those of you with more testosterone than estrogen may want to just skip today's entry because I'm about to get all shoptastic on your asses...

Because today I realized I had the most excellent combination out there. A fresh paycheck and 4 coupons for $25.00 off a $50.00 purchase at the fat store. And I scored. Bigtime. 3 nice camis (gold, claret, and a pretty lacy black one), 3 button down shirts (pink with nice rhinestone stud buttons, solid brown, and a burgundy with gold stripes) a new pair of grey trousers, and 2 nice v-neck long sleeved shirts (heather plum and heathered brown) for the princely sum of 100 bucks. I rule. And I'll also be reasonably nicely attired for the rest of fall and well into winter. Pretty good deal, since last year I pretty much wore nothing but jeans and long underwear to work and therefore had NOTHING nice to wear.

And because I could, and stuff, I did hit payless for some remarkably comfortable shoes. (I know. But I tried them on, and walked, and they were wide enough and everything.) I got these cute brown ones, and these neat black ones. Elvis was playing with the bows as I walked in them tonight.

And for what it's worth, I would like to kiss the person who decided round-toe shoes were "in" this year. Because those of us with ginormously wide feet can finally find reasonably wide shoes now. And it's about damned time.

Personal amusement: The Literary Journal That Could (Make you want to weep, because it's so good, but will never become anything because Former-Benevolent-Dictator-Betsy will never relinquish enough control to allow it to blossom and she lost both her design person and editor...) is being sold next to High Times at Borders. I find that Very. Very. Funny.

And more important than all my crap, Stephee's surgery went well, so go over to her blog, would ya, and wish her a speedy recovery 'n all. Alright?