Writers strike: the sequel

I really hate to be the one who has to tell you this; ShallowGal's life is not as glamorous as you've been lead to believe.

It's an exciting picture, I know: the cooking and cleaning, the endless laundry, the potty training. And I'm not telling you this to break the illusion, it's simply that I've run out of things to say. ShallowGal has a bad case of writer's block.

Long time friends of ShallowGal won't believe this. There was a time, not too long ago, when ShallowGal could keep up her end of any conversation. But insert three verbally incontinent children and a fairly chatty husband into the picture and ShallowGal becomes mute. Exhausted. Desperate for the quiet.

More than likely it's just a mid-winter funk. Time for PCSguy to sweep his bride away to Tahiti for a few weeks. But those printer cartridges ain't going to sell themselves and then there's the little matter of these three children under ten. ShallowGal will have to find her inspiration closer to home. Loehmann's is close to home. Let's go there.

A little cheetah jacket never hurt anyone. Well except maybe the cheetah.

Thanks for waiting. I am now the proud owner of the cutest little Free People jacket.(1) But no more inspired than before.

ShallowGal must think of something to say, and fast; a half-dozen loyal readers are patiently waiting by their computers. She's going to have to use the oldest trick in the book, the obvious subject fallen back on by blog authors worldwide since Edgar Allen Poe:

An update on her pot holder drawer.

Are you kidding me?

More than two months have passed since we saw ShallowGal tackle this tricky project. Has the drawer remained true to it's intended purpose or has ShallowGal failed to even keep 180 square inches organized? Let's move the top layer and see.

Pictures of this drawer on this blog outnumber the photos of my children 3 to 1.

Not too shabby. The only new additions appear to be some dental floss, a three pack of Weight Watcher's candy and the mystery mousekatool (pictured below too) in a spiffy army-order case.

Four whole readers failed to identify this

And about that. ShallowGal is sorry to tell you this but nobody won that contest. It's a grenade launcher. I'm keeping the Aerosole boots, I mean the crap from the basement all for myself. (2) Maybe it will inspire me.



1) In a size small of all things, if that doesn't de-funk me then all hope is gone.
2) Lolita Travelsalot is so tired of my whining about, and I quote, "some damn orthopedic boots that you wouldn't have worn anyway."