Catching Up

It’s been awhile so I thought I’d do a refresher course in all things Shelby. This is probably because A) I’m a closet narcissist or B) I’m desperate to have this blog stay relevant because I’m an actual narcissist. It’s impossible to say. And yet here you are reading so maybe you’re as obsessed with me as I am.

But in all reality I don’t have much to say, I just want to say something. So while this post may be about as sonically cohesive as Taylor Swift’s Red album, I’m still gonna go for it.

First up, a visual aid:

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the guy judging me in the corner is prolly all of you rn and I’m okay with it.

And now, the news.

I watched Stranger Things on Netflix and…trust me…it lives up to the hype. I’ve been so bored by the formulaic nature of so, so, so many shows these days. It’s all predictable and melodramatic and bleh. But this was well-written, impeccably acted, beautifully rendered–and don’t even get me started on the music. It (the whole show, not just the music, but also the music) was creepy and heartfelt and funny and nostalgic and fresh and EVERYTHING I’VE WANTED SINCE LOST OKAY.

Contrarily, Bachelor in Paradise is honestly the worst show I’ve ever seen. And I watched Terra Nova.

I know Trump is the worst (and I am still holding out hope that this whole thing is a performance art piece a la  Joaquin Phoenix) but…I’ve gotta say the most terrifying thing about the state of America right now is actually the fact that Kylie Jenner is only 19 years old. And I try not to judge a woman girl’s looks or choices or include “buts” in sentences that start with that, but…homegirl seemed to morph into a human Bratz doll just to date garbage human slash full-fledged legal adult Tyga. And I’ve been rewatching early seasons of KUWTK and I’m really uncomfortable about it. I mean, remember when being a teenager meant finding yourself irl and not just finding your best angle in your mansion’s bathroom mirror? She collects cars like I collected Disney character signatures. Her boyfriend has a real human son with her brother’s baby mama. I guess who am I to judge but…I’m judging anyways.

It’s the Olympics and while most people watch to marvel at the human body, I find myself asking questions like Do you think the swimmers are friends irl? What do the gymnasts’ postures look like after they retire? Why don’t the guys have to do little dances on the floor routine? How did the beam become a sport exactly? This annoys my roommates greatly.

I’ve recently taken up scrapbooking. Supposedly it’s a good hobby to pick up in your twenties so, you know, just being #basic. It was that or flower arranging and I think I made the right choice.

I saw Ghostbusters (by myself) and thought, you know, it wasn’t that great overall but I definitely got excited watching women not talk about men while still managing to save the day with their feminine wiles brains.

Is it just me or is instagram on the downswing? Stories, more like #stNOries you know?

Also, I took a pole dancing class and loved it. I celebrated one year with my boyfriend. I cleaned out my closet and decluttered my life. I made the best salad of my life (and have yet to replicate it).

Oh, and I’m moving. *life bomb*

That’s right. If you’ve made it this far, you’re one of the first* to know that come mid-September, I’ll be leaving New York City for Beyonce’s hometown. (And mine, coincidentally enough.)  Just when I was earning the right to call myself a New Yorker, I’m trading it all in–the sweat, the struggle, the city tax–to live in Houston Texas Baby.

I’m doing it because I’m in love: with tacos and central air and in-unit laundry. Other reasons, too. But that’s a post for another day. Suffice it to say, this is an exciting but bittersweet bit of news. And probably why I’ve been so quiet lately, just waiting for the dust from this macro decision to finally settle.

But it’s like they say: you can take the girl out of the city (or the girl can leave on her own accord thank you very much) but you can’t take the city out of the girl. So watch out, Houston. I’m coming for you with my smug, sometimes impatient, always arrogant, determined New Yorker wits and taste buds with which to judge you and yours.

Like your ramen. It probably won’t be up to snuff and that’s just my cross to bear. But you have texmex and no winter and a certain boy, so I think we’ll get along just fine.

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me. in texas. my past and future home sweet home.

 

 

*okay, so in all honestly I’ve told a lot of people before this. but if you don’t know…now you know.

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