Tag Archives: the meaning of life

More 20-something musings.

Rainy day and umbrella girl

It’s just been one of those days. The kind where you wake up on the proverbial wrong side of the bed, nothing goes right, and no matter how much work you get through, the to-do list keeps growing.  In spite of my commitment to remaining positive in the face of adversity, today simply has me beat. The dogs stole my favorite cozy house socks and chewed them up, not once but three times. My lovely new car ended up in the shop less than a week after we bought it, and the hubby’s car, apparently a magnet for nails and other sharp objects, got a flat tire immediately following a client meeting. Stranded in front of a florist’s shop in Hollywood, I waited half an hour for the (very rude) AAA guy to arrive and change my tire. He felt that speaking on the cell phone with his paramour the entire time he was changing my tire was an appropriate thing to do. Let me assure you, it was not.

The hubby, my go-to source for peace and happiness, is traveling on business and can’t help too much from thousands of miles away. When I called dear old mom for a pick me up, all I got was more bad news dumped on my head. And by ‘more bad news’ I mean guilt, insults, and a lot of really, really bad news. Yes, it was just one of those days.

In my opinion, being in your mid-twenties is just as confusing as being a teenager. Not only do you go through the same soul-searching about who you really are and what you want to do with your life, but you also have the added responsibility of car payments, student loans, rent, grocery bills, parental issues, and friends with expensive tastes… who like to eat out… a lot. I wish I could just throw caution to the wind and leap blindly into life, hoping that the soft clouds of ambition, hard work and good luck will catch my fall. But I simply can’t, knowing that one paycheck can’t sustain our lifestyle, and knowing that my parents, who I’ve always turned to for assistance, suddenly find themselves in a worse position than I am.

Blech – the growing pains of the Quarterlife Crisis. With issues like these, I’m looking forward to my 30s like a kid dreaming of Santa. (And if you have some age advice like, “you’ll only have a whole new host of issues in your 30s”… now’s not the time to share. Don’t burst my splendid vision of the future, not just yet ;). For now, all I can really do is count my blessings, have faith and keep on trekking.  If you’ve already suffered through a quarterlife crisis, how did you finally get through it?

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Shopping for useless things isn’t the meaning of life?

I beg to differ. I shop ’til I drop…or at least until my dad yells at me. That used to be my motto throughout highschool and college. Now I shop ’til my Visa is maxed out.

I know I have a *slight* problem, but as far as problems go, I think it’s a pretty tame one. It’s a safe, wholesome activity that encourages exploration and exercise (trying on, lugging bags around and racing other women to the sale racks – let’s be honest, it’s not easy). Shopping has never hurt anyone either, as long as you stay away from those cattle call day-after-Christmas Walmart door busters, which, thank god I’ve never had to witness or be a part of. The only reason I could even consider my love for shopping to be problematic is that I find it absolutely irresistible and highly addicting. And when I go shopping, Mike says I go into “the zone;” a retail-colored abyss that I only reemerge from when I’ve found at least two new items I don’t need and/or can’t afford.

Now, “the zone” isn’t just a cute name for my all-too-common shopping sprees. It’s an actual altered state of mind that I only experience when I walk into a retail store. If you’ve never experienced “the zone” yourself, it goes a little something like this: I enter Saks. All of a sudden, my eyesight becomes hypersensitized, my other senses fade into the periphery, and my eyes begin moving over the merchandise with laser-like focus. I move calmly but briskly through the aisles and displays, taking it all in through a tunnel-vision lens, zeroing in on possible purchases until I locate something that speaks to me. I hurriedly flip through the hangers until I find the item in my size, throw it over my arm, and return my attention to spotting the next possible purchase. Once finished I unload my overburdened arms into the dressing room and strip and redress until, giddy with excitement, I find a few beautiful pieces that fit like a glove.

Then it’s off to the register, shiny new things in hand, where I hand over my credit card as my heart beat quickens, producing a euphoric high. As my loot is wrapped carefully in delicate tissue and placed in a sturdy shopping bag, my brain is drowning in delirium as I imagine myself wearing the pretty piece to a new party or place. The magical, endless possibilities of outfits I can create and wear play through my head like a slideshow. Finally, once I’ve exited the building I come down off my high; and as reality sinks in I resign myself to being in debt for just one more month. It’s all so worth it…. isn’t it? 😉

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