Monthly Archives: November 2014

A tiny bit of victory against my shopaholic self

I’m a recovering shopaholic, and if we attended meetings (which we might) and earned chips (again, it could happen) like you do in AA, I would have earned my first real chip today.

I tend to spend money I don’t have, on things I can’t afford, namely designer handbags (see: Kate Spade, my one true vice). It started in college as an insatiable need to keep up with my rich peers. Having attended a private (and by private I mean expensive and snobby) university, I was probably one of maybe twenty people in my graduating class who didn’t come from wealth. After leaving my small, sheltered hometown (where I don’t think I even knew household names like Chanel & Dior let alone Michael Kors or Tori Burch), I entered Satan’s playground, otherwise known as Tampa, Florida. Surrounded by snooty classmates and their material things, I felt like I had to have expensive brands to fit in, so I started buying shit I couldn’t really afford but didn’t really feel badly about buying because what the hell else was I supposed to spend my money on as a college kid with no bills to speak of? After a year or so, I finally realized how dumb and “fiscally irresponsible” I was being, so I toned it back a bit. My spending didn’t really stop, it just sort of shrank in dollar amount. In reality, though, I was probably still spending almost the exact same amount, but because I wasn’t just spending it all on one high ticket item, and instead on several cheaper things, somehow I justified it.

Over the years, I tried to be better with my money, but more than ever I was bored and unsatisfied with my life, so to fill the void, I bought crap I didn’t need. I guess I figured if I surrounded myself with enough material things, I wouldn’t crave things that actually matter in life. Which I’ve finally figured out doesn’t actually work, and instead just stressed me out more because, oh hey, I can’t afford the shit I’m surrounding myself with in first place. Amateur move.

$40 bag for the win!

$40 bag for the win!

Finally, at 25, I think I’ve finally gotten to a place where I can distinguish between want and need, and I can make the adult choice about what I’m going to spend my money on and what I’m not, and how to tell myself no sometimes. Like when the PERFECT $200 Kate Spade handbag jumps out at me from the shelf at TJMaxx and I put it back, instead opting for the $40 Steve Madden to replace my current tote that sadly, is falling apart. Now I know some of you may argue that the win would have been if I had purchased NO handbags, and instead had saved my money and not bought useless crap, but you would be wrong and I would punch you in the face, so you should just shut your mouth. Baby steps, here, people.

In all seriousness though, especially in this season of giving, it’s important to remember that what matters most in life are not things at all, but people and the memories you create with them. I’m about to go create some awesome memories in a place I’ve never been with the man I love more than even Felix the cat (and that’s saying a lot, because I love that stupid fur ball, even if she does shit on my floors). I hope everyone has a safe and happy Thanksgiving tomorrow- lucky me, I get my turkey dinner a day early! Nom nom.

Ok, for real, bye.

Maybe I’ll actually do some real-time writing and report live from New Orleans as cool shit happens? To be continued…

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Filed under Entertainment, Humor, Opinion, Society

How to get past “not wanting” to write (if only I knew)

There’s nothing worse than being afraid of the thing you live to do, the thing you exist for. Writing may not (yet) be how I make my living, but it always has been, and probably always will be, who I am, an integral part of my existence. I couldn’t ever see myself not being a writer, unless someone paid me never to write again, and even that would probably never happen (c’mon, I’m not that easily bought. I hope).

But writing means sitting down with my thoughts, and that is pretty terrifying. I have several projects going at the moment (ADD at its finest), and while working on them (and one day completing them) is something I want to do, it’s also something I don’t want to do. Because writing means dredging up the past, and reliving the bad parts is just not something I’m eager to do. I know it’s a part of healing and letting go (and it’s definitely a necessary part of my writing process) but bringing up memories of the things you’ve done and had done to you, and the people you used to know isn’t always easy or fun.

I often wonder what would happen to me if I didn’t write. Would my thoughts just back up into my brain until they explode? Would I go on living my life exactly as I have all along, unchanged? I’m constantly in a battle with myself over what to do: to write or not to write. Obviously the answer is to write, so I guess the better question is to ask: how do I go about doing it in a way that isn’t going to completely destroy me? How do I write about the things that used to tear me apart inside without letting it tear me apart inside now? How do you keep the old you from seeping back in and taking over the new, much less stressed, much less anxious, much less neurotic you?

I’m hoping I find the answers to my questions. Because to not write is to not be who I really am. To not write is to deny myself the satisfaction of doing what I know and love. To not write is to deprive you, my devoted readers, of my hilarious and sarcastically-delivered stories of randomness and idiocy. And let’s face it, that would just be criminal.

Now it’s off to tackle the thing I love and hate more than anything in this world: writing.

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Filed under Advice, Entertainment, Opinion

To Write Is

To write is

to shut myself off from the world

No distractions to ease my mind

to quiet the noise inside my

head

just my blaring thoughts deafening the

silence, the

dull sound of

pen on paper.

To write is

to welcome the demons

that live in my soul,

an open invitation to dredge up the

past.

They are free to run rampant,

to bring back the

worry, the

anxiety, the

shame, the

Guilt.

To write is

to be alone with my thoughts.

And that scares me to death.

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Filed under moM Poetry Series, Poetry