Actually, even though I picked up Boxer Shorts about a month ago, I'm pretty sure it's a fall polish. It's an amazing periwinkle creme. There's really not much more to say about it. This is the third time I've worn it, though. And that's saying something. I've owned bottles of nail polish for years that I haven't worn three times. The formula is good, and I did three coats here. The green accent nail is Maybelline Color Show Tenacious Teal, which I showed you recently, here.
As soon as I wore Boxer Shorts for the first time I knew I needed to take it with me to New York. In fact, I nearly had a nervous breakdown when I couldn't find this one and OPI Just Spotted the Lizard while I was packing. Ben found them, though, in a place where I had stupidly neglected to look. So all is well and I have my Boxer Shorts.
Guys, Monday was a shitty day. I essentially waited for about six hours to get my student ID (and get things squared away with the bursar, registrar, provost, library...), and then after I finally had it and was making my way back to the subway, I noticed they SPELLED MY NAME WRONG. They Ronnie Gilmore-d my ID. I was so upset. Somehow this tiny thing pushed me over the edge and I was inconsolable all night. I Skyped with my parents. Didn't help. I Skyped with Ben. Didn't help. Sam and I texted for hours. Didn't help. I fell asleep to America's Next Top Model on Hulu, and when I woke up I felt a little better. In fact, I thought I needed a project to get me out of bed. So I went to Target, got this, and assembled it:
It took me all morning to walk the half a mile to Target, shop, get a cab home (because the shelf is HEAVY), and put it together. I even got a little lamp that matches my bedside lamp, and I framed a postcard of Madame X to decorate. Somehow this made me feel better. Now I have a place for my books. And the little lamp gives my entry hallway a nice warm light that I think I will like come winter. Really, this space was just begging for a bookcase.
After I completed this MARVEL OF ENGINEERING I girded my loins and went back to the Graduate Center. The following conversation ensued:
Me: Hi, I was here yesterday and my name was spelled wrong on my ID.
Them: Oh, that's an issue for the registrar. Go talk to them.
*I look at the line for the registrar and have heart palpitations* Me: No, no. My name is right on all of my university paperwork. The person typing my name into the computer before my ID was printed just spelled it wrong.
Them: Talk to the registrar.
Really?? I rebelled, bypassed the registrar line, and went straight to the ID people. Who couldn't have been nicer. They took a new picture and printed me a new card. But you see, THIS IS EXACTLY THE ISSUE. If I have a problem, everybody says it's some other department's fault. I was bounced around from table to table on Monday for ages.
But anyway, I have my non-Ronnie Gilmore ID and I built a bookshelf. I also bought an industrial-sized box of Goldfish to calm my nerves (fun fact: they are my favorite snacky food; I also rarely eat snacky foods). I also bought my first bottle of nail polish at Duane Reade. So that's pretty New York-y, right?