And yes, I have also been consumed with my kittehs as well, which brings about an unfortunate and petty First World dilemma for a cat lady like myself: There is not enough memory available on my antediluvian iPhone to store both my cat photos and outfit selfies. We all know what takes priority...meow.

Since we are on the topic of cats, here are a few pictures Atticus forced me to snap (he's a camera whore) of him gracefully sleeping away in the updated boudoir. He is very pleased with the final grey and yellow palette, as it complements his lustrous silver-frosted fur. 

Loloi White Shag Rug from Gilt.com (originally  $100, got it for $55).

Yellow headboard decal from Blik (Use promo code "shareblik" for 10% off your order).

Yellow throw from JC Penny (it was on sale for $30 when I bought it mwahaha).  

Curtains from Ikea, curtain ties from Bed Bath & Beyond. 

As I mentioned in a previous post, I did indeed end up in a Brandy Melville during the great heatwave of 2013. I joked with the cashier I was there to reap the benefits of their skimpy clothes to cope with said weather, but alas, the joke went right over her pretty little glucose-deprived (I mean really, she was a very well dressed skeleton) head. Anyway, here's what I bought. And here's what happens when you attempt to accomplish anything aesthetically pleasing when you do not live in the sterile, catless, bubble of  annoying perfection so many other bloggers seem to inhabit.

From the top going clockwise: Abrielle tank,  Jacqueline tank, Giselle top, Aarika pants, Mylie tank. I also bought this dress in white, but gravity and Murphey's law were all like "Fuck you Emily, you cannot possess a white dress and expect it to go unscatched," and willed my concealer to topple down the front of the dress, forever staining it. So yeah, I'm not upset about that or anything. I didn't need that money anyways, universe. 

This rambunctious little creature was found inhabiting a dinky shed. Luckily, he will now live out his nine lives surrounded by my luxurious collection of Jeffrey Campbell shoes and Whole Foods turkey.

Unfortunately for me, he is only about six weeks old, and thus wakes me up about every 2-3 hours to shovel kitten formula down his throat (gently, of course). But who needs sleep when you have a goddamn kitten? This also begs the question, how on earth do people do this with human babies? Alright, I'll halt this insomnia-induced tangent before it begins. Happy Shoesday. Go adopt an animal ya jerks. 

I had some hope I wouldn't struggle much when it came to painting the strangely placed alcoves in the apartment, as I'm innately artsy and always excelled in finger painting in middle school art class. I was dead wrong.

I was met with a multitude of obstacles: drips, dribbles, an inability to utilize painter's tape properly (thank goodness for Magic Erasers), and lastly, Atticus somehow managing to embed his fur into the dried Martha Stewart paint (please refer to the penultimate picture). The final product may induce some cringes amongst Martha Stewart's zombie army of DIYers, but whateva. While you undead jerks cringe away, I'll be blissfully vegging out to some home improvement shows on TLC in a half-assed attempt to improve my painting skills via osmosis. 

Because I know you are dying to copy my interior design swag: I used Martha Stewart paint in vintage gold in the living room, and in medallion glaze on the mini Bastet temple. The gilded faux flora in the living room are from Target. I would provide a link, but they have been discontinued. Or the person at Target lied to me and wanted all of the gilded flowers for themselves. Harumph.

Via WhoWhatWear. Buy for me at ASOS. I am a size 8. 

Link.

Link.

Link.

Link.

Link.

Link.

Link.

Link.

Link.

1) Fall is looming.

2) I have 90 dollars of Shoemint credit. 

3) Buying booties in anticipation of autumn is much more cost effective than continuously wasting money on pedicures in an attempt to mask my ogre-like toes.

In conclusion,  it is not completely fiscally irresponsible of me to purchase one of these booties. Come at me, Descartes. 

I can't even get the tied halter part over my big fat cranium. I can't cut it, because then the strings will be too short to retie without committing a slew of office dress code violations. I'm going to die of internal bladder combustion. Okay maybe that was a teeny bit of hyperbole. What else would you expect of someone on their deathbed (or death-desk)?

Here is my final haiku and batch of selfies. Goodbye cruel world. 

Trapped in gold jumpsuit.

Bladder going to explode.

Tell Cus i love him.

Then again, maybe a yellow ottoman is far more necessary than groceries. Does anyone even eat anymore? Actually, now that I think about it (think being the operative word, the actual neurological process that occurred can be more accurately described as swift nonsensical judgement), that's probably how the majority of fashion bloggers not only afford their extravagant purchases but also fit into them. I got you all figured out biddys.

Via Dwellings by DeVore.

Via Reckless Glamour.

Via zaINTERIORAnet.

I'll have more pictures of my abode as soon as I gather the money necessary to swag out the remaining rooms. According to my calculations, it should only take about half a century, depending on inflation and all that other economical psychobabble nonsense. 

Curtains and purple flower/vase combo from Ikea. Purple ottoman from from World Market (on sale, meow). Vintage leather chair. Target striped chair and Andy Warhol-esque pillow (an apartment-warming gift from Serena).

WHEN I CHECK MY BANK ACCOUNT: 

From howdoiputthisgently.

Oddly enough, my eyes dilate just as violently when I stumble across any online discount. 

My gluten prohibition is the result of gluten's wondrous ability to increase gastrointestinal permeability, which allowed blood to show up uninvited to my digestion party. I rather not elaborate on the vulgarity of my symptoms, but I will because I relish the thought of making people squirm. My pee was orange. Orange. For five days. Even as a Syracuse University alumni, I prefer to only bleed orange in the metaphorical sense. 

So there. That's why I don't eat gluten anymore. Stop rolling your eyes every time I inquire about gluten contaminating my fucking food. Jerk. It also explains why, yes, rude waitress at my sister's rehearsal dinner, I can eat as much (grass-fed) butter as I want, but not your gluten-infested bread and still have nicer abs than you.

Well, that furious tangent escalated rather quickly. Anyway. 

It was only a matter of time before I mastered the art of gluten-free junk food. As a woman, or in general, as an emotionally unstable human with functioning dopamine receptors, I am perpetually plotting my next sucrose-ridden binge. These are a few recipes I am currently salivating over (no really, I just choked on my own saliva). 

 

Cracked Brownie Batter Muffins - from PaleOMG.

Flourless Bacon Cake - from Scratch Tree House.

Paleo Rollo's (for my mom) - from Against All Grain. 

Tutorial here.

From Clever and Catchy. 

From The Demoiselle.

From The Nest.

From Apartment Therapy. Honestly I don't even have stairs in my apartment. I just thoroughly enjoyed the fact that this cat is Atticus's doppelgänger. 

From HGTV.

In layman's terms, I freak the fuck out whenever my schedule is thrown out of whack, leaving little to no time to recharge my introverted batteries. After a grueling few weeks, I am in dire need of reestablishing my cat lady routine. Like working out. Or this blog. See I just blogged. I feel better already. And tomorrow I'll blog about shoes for Shoesday. And so on and so on. 

1) HOTDAZE : 15% off $50 plus free shipping until 7/31/13.

2) SUMMERHIGH : $15 off $75 plus free shipping until 7/22/13.

Here's to another successful marketing ploy playing my dopaminergic circuit like a goddamn banjo in Deliverance and securing my starring role in an episode of Hoarding: Buried Alive  in Cat Paraphernalia. It's like killing two birds with one...cat? 

Link.

Link.

Link.

Link.

Link. 

Link.