The Mall of America is a Cross Between a Dystopian Satire and the Best Stoned You’ve Ever Been

Happy Almost Thanksgiving, turkeys! And look at us actually posting two weeks in a row! See, there are still things to be thankful for these days. You’re welcome. In the spirit of my recent move to Minnesota and our impending Black Friday (but actually Thursday) consumerist gluttony, I thought now would be an apropos time to tell you all about my new favorite place on earth…

THE MALL OF AMERICA.

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Packing for Paris

I always overpack. ALWAYS. Three day trip to Nashville? Six dresses. Week-long trip to Chicago? Eight pairs of jeans. Weekend at the beach? Three pairs of boots. It’s a problem. And for someone who loves planning so much, you would think that I would do a better job of it when it comes to packing. I think what it is for me, though, is that my propensity for planning is far outweighed by my crippling fear of not having enough options, so I throw everything I can possibly fit into the suitcase… juuuuuust in case. This is stupid for many reasons, the main one being that once I get back home I have to then unpack all this shit that I didn’t even/was never going to wear, and unpacking is the piiiiiiiitts.

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