democracy, this.

by Charlotte

A few housekeeping matters before we go on to our (temporary) regime change:

– I’m tired, so I shall catch up on answering comments tomorrow.  I have things! to! say!  Get your reading pants on.

– I have finally figured out that I need an FBA.  The eight inch difference between my high bust and mid-bust circumference were not enough of a hint, apparently.  This explains the whole “swimming in dresses above the apex” thing.  I do not know how to do an FBA, and my high bust measurement puts me in a different Big 4 pattern range, so shit’s about to get interesting.  Swearing makes it feel less daunting.

– The lovely Miss Parayim has nominated me for a Liebster.  Is there anything I love more than winning?  I shall totally do the whole trot out shebang once I figure out what questions to pose besides “How do you reckon I’d look with bangs?” or “Do you know of a great sheer lip color with hypochondriac-level SPF?”  Apparently, these are selfish questions.  Whatever.

Now, on to the main event.  I’d like to think that I run an exceedingly benevolent dictatorship here at Seam Ripped Central.  Bread and circuses, death of agency, yada yada yada, let’s see how we’d do with an election.  Not a proper one, mind; I’m not the poll-posting sort of jefa.  Next week is our blogiversary.  (It’s paper!)  Instead of making it rain like a rookie rapper in an Atlanta strip club, I’ve decided to perhaps host a giveaway.

Here’s my idea: you enter the giveaway, win it like the badass you are, and I’ll buy and send you a surprise.  I’ll sniff around your blog, exchange a few emails with you (especially if you’re the blogless type), and send you something special in the post.  Is this a horrible idea?  Will one of you sue me over my loosey goosey standards?  (I’m a student.  The most you’d get is my calculator collection and one of my cats.)  I have decent taste, I ship anywhere in the world, and there’s only a thirty percent chance that what I’ll send you is illegal in your country.  Dreadful idea?  Would you prefer it if I picked out one crazycakes thing?  In the immortal words of Diddy, vote or die.  (Or just get seriously emotionally maimed.  Same difference.)

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