Your Yoko

OK *breathes deeply*, here it is. I haven't touched this blog in weeks (months, even). I was on an unannounced hiatus, but I'm ready to talk.
This is a place for whimsy, sharing pretty things I love, talking about clothes I can't afford, laughing at my own neuroses, and dissecting semi-serious issues with silliness. I'm not a private person. Look, you know my bra size. I have a post in the...

Kay. Bear with me here.
This is an experiment and you are my test subjects. No, I will not force to you inhale pollen and then inject you with a new trial antihistamine. No, you will not be poked. Nor prodded. No, you will not be paid.
I will, however, force to you read what will likely be gibberish, as my typing is fueled by tequila and white wine. The experiment is as follows: I blogging in a timely fashion. As in, fresh. Like, ALMOST LIVE, YOU GUYS. *gasp*...

If you're following my adventures in ink, you'll remember my latest dilemma: to colour or not to colour.
As if it was even a question! C'mon. I am actually incapable of monochromatic, let alone grayscale. Hubby puts his foot down at one accent colour in each space (*pout*) so my house is definitely a compromise. When it comes to my body, though, he has...

I used to read Word Up magazine.
(No, I didn't.)
It's really no secret that I think I'm kiiiiiinda gangsta. Before you have a chance for rebuttal, I'll help you (I'm aware; I just like my delusions):