Fact #11, i’m a shopaholic

This is one of saddest things I have ever written. I am addicted to pretty patterns and colors and intricate designs and button down tops and…hold on, I’m getting emotional…But I have to address this because pretty soon I will be moving to Seattle to work in an elementary school for Americorps, living on like 1000 a month (which basically will all go to rent and food). And gurlll, I’m already feeling the shopping withdrawal symptoms.

I have a pillow that has “Gatsby taste on a Carraway budget” printed on it. I don’t think I can describe my dilemma any better than that. I have about 15 things in my Kate Spade online cart that I will not be able to afford for another 10 to 15 years. Will someone explain why I torture myself so?

The other day, I went into Victoria’s Secret during my break from work. (note: Do NOT work in a mall if you are a shopaholic. just don’t do it) I can usually restrain myself from buying the cute lace bras by reminding myself that I already have a killer galaxy print bra at home that I’m in love with. But this time, I found an amazing silky robe. And it was flawless. And I needed it. I asked the sales lady a question about the sizing, and because she was watching me, I had to say “I’ve been shopping too much, so I’ll leave it here and if I keep thinking about it, I’ll come back another time.” I think that conversation was actually what kept my mind on that darling blue robe for the rest of my shift at Teavana. So two hours later, I was waiting for the bus home and couldn’t help gravitating towards Victoria’s Secret. (Telling this story is really making me feel like a serious addict) I picked up the robe quickly, hoping to avoid the judging eyes of the sales lady I talked to earlier, and went over to the fitting room. LOLZ guess who was working there. Chris, the sales lady. She looked at me and said”Oh you’re back….and you picked it up, that didn’t take long at all wow!” and she hooted with laughter and stomped her foot like some amused zebra. (cringe attack) I still got the robe though.

Welp, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. The real issue, though, is really that I don’t want to give up my impulse buys. I love fashion and design, so really everything I buy does make me happy. It’s sad- I thought getting a job would allow me to shop when I wanted, but I have to save most of it to get to Seattle. Screw volunteering, why am I trying to help the world? I want new makeup.

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Fact #9, i break pretty much all rules of hospitality

So an update: I’ve just returned from a week and a half in Europe (I may start a travel blog soon- I’ll link you to that for more on the actual travel components). Having a friend who currently lives in Switzerland is great because I got to stay at her house and blow all my money on clothing and trains instead of lodging. But I don’t know man, I’m a really bad guest for a list of reasons…

1)I suck at cleaning up after myself- I have a bad habit of leaving glasses and mugs on whatever coffee table/shelf/desk/precarious stack of books is closest to where I was most recently binge watching Bob’s Burgers. To fully explain, you need to know…1)b.I have very messy hands and no matter how hard I try, my glasses always get really cloudy. And it’s gross. And I made my friend’s mother pick them up. I suck.

2)I break the Girl Code with my embarrassing crushes on friends’ brothers- shhh. Please do not tell. My friend and I literally wrote out a list of rules and the Brothers are Off-Limits rule was towards the top. I just have a thing for tall guys with weird senses of humor. I suck.

3)I…clog toilets- This is so embarrassing. I swear it’s a side effect of my medication. I swear. Gah, what the hell are you supposed to do when you can’t flush your host family’s toilet? Was I supposed to ask for a plunger? Gee, be a little more obvious. I couldn’t figure it out. Which lead to the aforementioned brother going to the same bathroom only minutes later, to my supreme dismay. I suck.

I don’t even know. I swear I’m the least mature 30-year-old-minded 18-year-old. Ugh.

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Fact #8, I suck at publicly transporting

I am very sorry for my absence from the blogosphere, but life gets crazy sometimes. Also, I’m pretty sure only one person consistently reads my posts.

Anyway, in my absence I’ve been taking the train to and from NYC a lot because the Met and Grand Central are my happy places. I don’t think I have to tell anyone that has been on the LIRR that some people on the trains do not have any respectfor the commonpublic transportation etiquette.

The other day I was just kind of meandering through the city, and I didn’t realize I was running late for my train back home. So I sprinted to Penn Station and then I actually stopped at Sbarro and got pizza.Wow. Eventually I bolted down the stairs to the train and by then there were almost no seats left, so I had to sit across from this Baby Boomer couple.

You know how there’s always that elderly driver who screws up your drive to school/work because they can’t be bothered to follow road regulations?That’s what this couple was. Blatant disregard of the rules, because they earned the right with age.This couple, man. Pretty much every social/train rule was broken.

1)Extensive PDA including multiple sessions of borderline making out.
2)Grabbing at one another’s legs in a barf-worthy show of affection which in turn led to me not knowing which direction to point my legs in.
3)Playing iPhone videos very loudly
4)Playing videos of their son’s fucking circus show
5)Discussing said videos loud enough that I know this.

I guess I probably shouldn’t be agist, because my demographic of teenage girl is pretty judged too. The thing is though, I’d probably be just as uncomfortable with any other two people committing the aforementioned 5 crimes of etiquette. Regardless, dear reader, please pleaseage better than these two did.

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Fact #6, once i dropped all my supplies in the toilet

Seeing as this is my sixth post, and it is also hashtag ThrowBack Thursday, I decided we are going to take it back to the Dark Ages. Yes, like it or not, we are taking a stroll down the decrepit, deteriorating Memory Lane to… Sixth Grade. (The crowd gasps in horror)

Specifically to one day towards the middle of the year, probably in the second quarter. To set the scene, try to imagine a girl (me, if you hadn’t gathered that) in an outfit that was purchased from Old Navy, but was styled in attempt to emulate an Abercrombie outfit. In order to get the full image, I am obliged to tell you about the fact that I refused to believe my boobs actually existed, so I wore some piece of shit fabric bra because I denied that I needed a real bra. So as horrible as this image is, this is how I looked at that moment- saggy, half developed boobs, awkward wannabe outfit, and red face because I was rushing to get to the bathroom before I was late to Spanish.

For some reason (I like to blame alien abduction) I thought it was a good idea to bring my backpack and a huge box of markers into the stall with me. Funny little story: the effing stalls open inward. This left approximately 2mm to squeeze my body and all my stuff out of the door. That obviously wasn’t happening. I fought it, but after a few milliseconds, I slipped and Oh my god, my favorite! My markers all exploded out into the toilet!

I remember staring in denial at the toilet water, which was now filling with swirls of rainbow marker ink, as the bell rang. I must have tried to telepathically remove the markers for 5 minutes before I could make my feet move.

I ran around the bathroom about 20 times and then up and down the hallway about 10 times. Eventually I found some random adult that I was not excessively afraid of and she pretty much took it from there.

But WAIT, there’s MORE. At that point, I was about 20 minutes late to Spanish, but there is no getting out of classes at that hellhole of a school, so I had to watch everyone stare at me as I walked in on the verge of tears.

Most people were awkward in middle school, but I literally only had one friend in that class. When I got to Spanish that day, I learned that we were starting a long term group project and oh hey, my single friend already had a full group.

And so, because my self-esteem had not been swiped away from me enough that day, my Spanish teacher assigned me to work with two “popular girls” who definitely saw through my Abercrombie imposter clothing and made fun of my socks constantly. Hahahahahaha haha ha yay puberty.

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Fact #5, i have a sneaking suspicion that yoga classes are actually cults

I’m pretty new to yoga, but I was under the impression that one of the main goals is to achieve inner peace. I could be wrong, but I don’t remember fearing for the freedom of my mind being part of the equation. If someone could forward me that memo, that would be great.

I can’t think of an explanation besides cult for what I experienced yesterday. I didn’t particularly like the class because 1)It was all stretching and no strengthening and 2) The teacher had the most annoying Midwestern accent I have ever heard. But I put up with it because its experience and all that good stuff

…Until the last 5-10 minutes, when she. . . Turned off the lights. I was a little nervous to be in a room with 20 strange middle aged people in the dark, but I started attempting to relax anyway. And then…

teacher: Relax your mouth and your tongue…stretch your tongue out to your chin…you can do the Lion if you want…

scary class: (hisses loudly)

At this point a lot of frantic profanity passed through my head. When my thoughts returned to a dignified state, I started realizing the fact that I was following the teacher’s instructions completely. I wasn’t thinking for myself because I was supposed to be being meditative. That freaked me out. I mean, it’s great to be relaxed and all, but if I’m not thinking for myself, would I know to get myself out of a dangerous situation? Everyone is literally in the dark, blindly following the leader. I swear this is how cults are formed.

I don’t know how I feel about yoga anymore. Maybe I’ll stick to yogurt

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Fact #4, i do not know how to respond to PDA

I sit at a round table in the Senior Lounge for lunch. It’s a pretty nice setup, except for the fact that I am one of only two people at the table without their significant other. (Not that I have a significant other)

How three couples all ended up together in the same free period, I will never understand. They managed to pull this feat off,which is fantastic for them, but less than mediocre for me.

What the hell am I supposed to do when they start cuddling and kissing and all that cheesy romantic stuff? I feel like if I look at their PDA, I’m invading privacy. But what, am I supposed to look away for the whole 40 minutes? That’s really uncomfortable too.

So I guess my opinion on the matter at hand is that I’m not against publicly showing your love, but please just consider the duration. Because no matter what, you will be causing an awkward moment for someone. And most often, that someone will be me. Please don’t make that awkward moment an awkward hour. Thank you kindly.

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Fact #3, i have a spasm in the buttocks

Yesterday I went to an event at the YMCA, and in spite of my mentality of “do not touch me unless you are Evan Peters,” I decided to get a massage.

Now I’ve never had a real massage before but I don’t think that the masseuse is supposed to complain about how tense your back is every 30 seconds. Lady, you only have to deal with my offensive back for 10 minutes, I have to deal with it all day every day. Eventually…

masseuse: Do you see a chiropractor?

me: No…I…

masseuse: Go to that guy right away.

The chiropractor was a chubby 60 ish man in a creepy suit. You just imagine lying on a cot, staring up at old man nostrils. So yeah, I was on edge when he told me to lie on my stomach and started pressing random spots on my back. I just assumed he wouldn’t get too low down and Oh Hey! Someone is touching my butt and there is nothing Evan Peters-like about it! And I sort of kicked my leg a little bit as a reflex. A completely valid response if you want to know my opinion.

As you might expect, this guy was hungry for patients and told me I had a billion problems, including “a spasm in the buttocks.”

Then a bunch of snarky thoughts ran through my head, including “Do not touch me again or I will kick you in the buttocks to see if you have a spasm”

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