Picked up a pair of trousers from the fine people at Star Stitch. The card machine was broken so I had to wander in the rain until I found a cash machine. When I returned, a very pretty young woman in a bridal dress was in the changing room, talking to the seamstress. She was horrible. Asking for a million alterations in that voice that rich people have where they're not being openly condescending in any way but you can tell they're speaking to servants, not equals. A line of six people formed behind me and the girl did not at any point acknowledge that anyone else might need to be served while she had the full attention of the shopkeeper until the woman politely excused herself to try to keep the line from snaking up the stairs and out into the rain. We were all staring into the dressing area at the bride-to-be. Everyone in line was male, and I wondered if they were all having a similar thought process to my own, trying to imagine the poor bastard marrying this girl, and whether he thought her looks were a decent trade for her personality. It all depends on the guy and what kind of a horrid scumbag he is, I suppose. Anyway, I got the trousers to my suit, so now I can look like a dickhead attending a gay summer wedding at my liesure. Still need to buy a decent belt, though. Forgot to do that last week when I took the trousers in. Che sera sera.

Accidentally stumbled on Shilpa Ray while attempting to re-download old Cass McCombs songs in better quality. This makes the fourth or fifth time she's come up in a shuffle and I've gone, Oh yeah! Shilpa Ray! I love this chick. Why don't I have a playlist of her stuff made? and then just manage to forget she exists for three to six months. She's quite good. I don't know why I can't seem to remember that on a day-to-day basis. Probably too busy with crippling depression and/or the gym. She's not "cardio music" exactly.

Things that I leave the house for these days:

That's about it. Some life. I suppose it beats the alternative, though, which is murder.