ode to a "moon" bag -

i have an odd affinity for all things moon related.

(DO NOT SEND ME MOON CRAP. no moon plates, no moon cookies, no moon franklin mint collectible dolls. you know how you mention to someone, oh, i don't know, that at one point in your life you were really into unicorns? this is just an example. it obviously would never have been me. and then suddenly they gave you, like, a unicorn figurine. and someone else gave you a unicorn plush animal. and you look up and the buggers are multiplying. so ixnay on the oonmay apcray.)

i think it's because i was born on the day the first men landed on the moon. true story.

my grandfather actually debated watching them land and watching me. seriously.

i can barely believe it.

he then suggested that they name me "moon". "moon smithers".
i swear, sometimes i am amazed i survived my family. i mean, they're sweet as hell, but i think there are times they just need to put DOWN THE GIN AND TONICS.

luckily, my mother wasn't drinking when she had me. granted, apparently she drank while i was baking, but it was the sixties, she was glamourous, and there were parties to be thrown. she did quit smoking. i think in the second trimester.

still, look, i'm here, i'm functional. and i'm not named "moon", so let's all give her a little slack.

so, all my life i've had a thing about the moon.

oh yeah, and i'm a cancer, so kinda, you know, ruled by the moon. phases. moody. gravitational pull on objects.

where the hell am i going with this post?

oh yeah, moon.

connie just bought the new balenciaga "lune" bag.


i HATE her.