As I Lay Sick In August

All you astute readers (of both blog and lit., that is) will recognize that my title today is a clever montage of two Faulkner titles plus the word "sick". I think it will epitomize the phrase "beat a dead horse" (one i never particularly liked anyways for what should be obvious reasons) if I once again start harping on the weather conditions of this arctic outpost, but I truly believe the ubiquitous chill is what finally brought my immune system to its knees. I haven't been this sick in a long time, but you'll notice it hasn't kept me from blobbing...

{BTW - in defense of NM who was lambasted by yours truly yesterday in an excoriating reprimand of its uncoolness, I should mention, that while it's weak on the fashion and design fronts (NOT FOR LONG, if me and P have anything to say about it, right P?) it hasn't done too bad for itself on the folk and fine art fronts. What it lacks in boutiques, it makes up for in galleries. Am I right?}

Ah...Etsy. I love it, how can I not? But I still haven't learned how to navigate it. People always find the coolest sh*t on there, and me? I find all the - excuse me - how shall I put this? well, all the other stuff. So today, courtesy of two other bloggers (how do you do it, guys?) I have some fun finds:

Courtesy of Painfully Hip I found Ramona West, who sells the MOST beautiful vintage stuff I have ever seen. I want to know what thrift shop she goes to. None of my excursions have EVER yielded vintage YSL glasses.





And via Peonies and Polaroids Little Doodles, whose adorable birds are just too adorable.


"George wanted to be an iced gem more than anything"


"Sylvia hadn't quite understood the concept of the tea bag...where would her lipstick go?"