A Second Shot at Mentoring

Two years ago when I applied for the job of mentoring program coordinator. I was expecting so much from these mentoring relationships, I had never mentored anyone in my life.

When my program ended I asked myself if I would have been a good mentor. So I decided to try it.

WriteGirl gave me the sweetest mentee. Actually, I kinda stole her on the day of a workshop. I got my mentee, because of a little snafu. We were only supposed to be paired up for the day, but the moment that we met we agreed that we'll just be paired up for the year.

Our first couple of meetings have been the get to know you kind. She is ideal youth for every youth organization I can ever imagine. I just LOVE her!

She is actually helping me with my own writing, and has become an accidental writing partner. During our last meeting we were able to write together. We would choose writing prompts and then we would free write for ten minutes at a time. I'm teaching her how to do writing critiques, but she is a little apprehensive about it.

I wish I could have given the mentors in my program this same kind of experience. Maybe in another life and another time, I can help foster mentoring relationships. Right now, I'll just enjoy the one that I have.

Do the Good Girls Still Have a Chance?

The Recovering Psycho girlfriend could easily make 28 calls that go to voicemail in one sitting, kick a car in the middle of traffic, throw a bowl of ramen atsomeones head, and still manage to meet the gays later for drinks with a straight poker face. This crazy behavior comes with youth, and it's NOT cute.

There are many others like me, but they might missing word recovering. At first glance I can tell these women have a temperament that is hanging by a thread, and I shudder because some of these women are with really great guys. If you did your math right, there is not much left for the good girls. I'm thinking about turning psycho again.

Most guys say they don't want the psycho girl, but they continue to date them. I suppose it's because psycho sex is hot, but if the rest of the non-sexy time is just crying and screaming, what gives? There are men that I've dated that seem to be more intrigued with my psycho past, rather than my quest to be a good peace seeking woman. Do the single ladies need to add some psycho to get a man to be loyal?

I am troubled. I haven't found my answer. Lets discuss.

Ole

I wish it was my dream to be a school teacher, a chemical engineer, a doctor, a lawyer, or something technical and secure.

Since I was a child I've always relied on my creativity to get me by. I wanted to be writer the moment I got an A on my very first essay. My teacher was one of the meanest teachers I've ever had, but her validation has lead me to one of the most insecure career paths, that I know I have to take.

18 year years later I still flail in the dark in order to find that same validation. I know myself better than I know my future, and that's all I can really rely on.

Thank you Miss Gilbert. I have a love/hate relationship with your book, but you gave me the words that I needed to hear.

Ole.

Second Draft of Monologue DONE. Whew!

I just finished my second draft of my monologue, which I hadn't opened in five months. I got to read it with new eyes, and I got polish it to make it more "Fictional" rather than a personal narrative. My goal was to take "me" out of the piece as much as I can.

When I first wrote it I was very angry. The piece should have been called "Christina's written therapy." I hope the piece is actually stage worthy, but we shall see as drafts are being passed around and critiqued.

Looking at it now I feel a million miles away from it, which is exactly where I need to be.

My monologue is a mix of Dexter and Rupaul's drag race. I look forward to seeing it on stage, because I don't really want to perform this piece. The real life version was enough, and the fantasy version is just a little overkill. I'm getting feedback from a great actress friend of mine, who I hope will perform it.

I need a wordy and gutsy bootch to execute this character. God send me one.

January 2011

When I was still in Asia a part of me was eager to get home, because I had a lot of goals that I wanted to accomplish. Now that I'm back here in LA I need to fight laziness and fatigue to get from point A to point B.

I've decided that my phase of intense alone time is over. I'm actually going to find a way to socialize more in Los Angeles. I want to enjoy this city as much as I can, because I don't know where I'm going to be living in the next 6 months.

I'm an adult/kid. I go as I please. I'm here I'm there. Catch me if you can. I'm hardly as glamorous as those Kardashians, but I have a self confidence that I haven't had in a minute. I catch myself playing with hair and feeling cute. Every girl should feel that way, and men get in the way of that sometimes.

As each of my friends are moving up in their careers and having kids, I'm only responsible for myself. I suppose when I'm old I will look on this moment with a lot of relief, that I took this time for myself.

Three years ago I was working full time adult cohabiting with my college boyfriend. I was on top of bills, cooking, and a kick ass credit score. I was in my ultimate adultness. I think all of the girls my age are following an imaginary blueprint, but if the blueprint was enough. I would still be on the wifey track to super adultness

I miss being a hyphey wifey. Although I'm the fun single chick in a sea of couples ALL the time, it sucks to be dancing by yourself when all your girls are dancing with their boyfriends. I can only dance with "George Glass" my imaginary boyfriend for so long. *me doing my awkward robot* However, I've finally broken my pattern of being the serial dater/monogamous.

You know in Eat, Pray, Love when God told Liz to go back to bed. God whispered to me...."You cannot be a hyphey wifey right now." It's a relief to breathe and finally hear myself for once.

Woes aside, dating is not ideal right now. Five months ago it was a choice that I made out of anger from being betrayed. I'm focused on myself to get to where I need to go. I wish I would have taken more risks when I first graduated from college, and I'm doing that right now.

The first step was school. When I got home I immediately enrolled in the UCLA extension writing program. It was recommended by another mentor in Writegirl. It's my first college class in five years, and I'm looking forward to extending my writing community. It will also help me in developing a manuscript for grad school applications.

The second step is an internship, which hasn't been fully executed yet. I'm trying to expand my skill set so I'm looking at different opportunities. If there is an opportunity to follow Lindsey Lohan get her cocaine, and she hires me to brush it off her nose. Then I'll take it!

Bad joke I know. Jokes aside Boothebootch has been a great release to me. I never thought blogging would be therapeutic, but it sure saves a lot of money! The blog has grown with a lot of trial and error, but I think I've found my blogging style. I've been through the self loathing phase, the bitchy phase, the preachy phase, and the silly phase. All these phases have entertained friends, lovahs, and god knows who else.

Happy New Year to Boothebootch and to all you other bootches out there! Lets keep laughing.

Japan 2011

I'm back in Los Angeles now, and I've been meaning to catch up on the blogging. My last Asia trip has left me speechless, but I just needed to get back home and put things into perspective.

It's time to talk about Japan.

Japan is this magical place. As my dad would put it you walk around the city and you "feel like a kid again," because you get so distracted with everything that is around you.

Being in Tokyo was the polar opposite of being in Manila. It's a well operated and uniformed society. Unlike Manila, you see very few children. Japan has a really low birth rate, which may be the lowest in the world. Instead you see a swarm of fashionable adults, who are constantly shopping, eating, and commuting.

It is a society where everything happens in the most meticulous order, therefore making it really easy for foreigners to get around. If was a relief for a control freak spaz like myself.

What I couldn't control was my wallet, but I didn't go as hog wild this time. The last time I went to Tokyo it took me a whole to pay the trip off, which included my materialistic purchases.

The top three splurges was a sweatshirt at Bathing Ape, a baseball jacket at the Nike Store Tokyo, and a couple of items from Jeanasis. That's it, but my wallet is still hurting.

If you are an Asian fashion bootch it's very easy to get sucked into the fashion monsoon that is Tokyo. You feel constantly under dressed, and the urge to buy really great clothes just compels you like a demon.

On top of that everything fits you.... perfectly. Well almost perfectly. My thick ass thighs didn't even dare try to put on any pants. I'm just saying.

My cousin and I wanted our wallets to take a break from hurting itself, so we were looking up Tokyo tours online, and we found the Tokyo Ghost and Goblins Tour. It was only $30 U.S. dollars and we got to see some of the spookiest places in Tokyo.

It was one of the most interesting tours I've ever taken. Our tour guide was American, but has been living in Tokyo for the past 25 years. We visited various shrines that honor magical creatures. In the picture to the left I'm standing next to the Kappa Shrine, which is a shrine dedicated to magical Frogs, who like to pull women into a river and have their way with them. LOL.

We went to the cemetery tomb of the Japanese artist Hokusai, who is famous for his painting "The Great Wave off Kanagawa"

The creepiest place she took us to was "Old Hags Pond." I'm not sure what the Japanese translation for this is, but it's a site of a really famous serial murder. The picture is below.

As the story goes, there was this old woman who owned a hotel and she had a beautiful daughter who would stand outside to lure men.

Apparently the girl would lure in these men to have sexy time, and after they went to sleep the mother would push a big ass bolder from above and crush them.

How did the old woman get this big ass boulder above the bed after she was done?

Any smart person would agree that there are holes in this story, but the tourguide told us that apparently this woman had killed 999 people. Then there was this handsome man who apparently got the pretty daughter excited in her panties.

When it was time for the old woman to push the boulder on the pretty man, she crushed her pretty daughter's face instead. Her daughter was her 1,000th victim. The woman was so distraught she drowned herself in the lake, and what's left of the lake is a pound around the monument. AAAH!

My cousin Marc thinks that this story is a crock of shit. However, there is a freaking monument with a pond so that the ghosts of the dead boulder men do not wander around the city.

The ghosts apparently cannot separate themselves from water, so there you go.

What's even creepier is that there is children's playground next to the pond which is to the left. I suppose every culture has their set of tales, and this one definitely creeped me out.

It will definitely be a long time before I go to Tokyo again. After my last trip which was two years ago, I made it a point to watch "Lost in Translation." I felt that I would have a better appreciation for the movie this time.

It's really easy to feel out of place here. For people who are looking to travel to Japan, it helps to pick up a few Japanese phrases. If you didn't do your homework, what usually helped was a notebook and a map. I would usually write down places that I wanted to go, and people were kind enough to direct me where I needed to go.

Although I feel really out of place when I'm in Japan, I appreciate how kind Japanese people are. It doesn't matter to me whether it's fake or not, it's appreciated. The more you travel you realize that you simply a speck of dust. My trip to the Philippines and Japan brought me the best quality time I've had with my family in a really long time.

I had to part with my Bestie/Cousin Marc and I HATED it. We traveled together in both the Philippines and Japan. What am I going to do without him?I feel so bad that I relied on him to be my translator and gps, because my ditsy ass could barely make my way out of the hotel much less around Manila or Tokyo.

I'm grateful that he was able to stand seeing my face everyday for three whole weeks. We put up with food poisoning, colds, and mental breakdowns together. However, he and I are pretty in sync in terms of traveling interests and now he's GONE! WAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!

We will find ourselves together again, although it's usually half way around the world. He is now back in Australia and we have resumed our usual schedule of Gchats and facebooking.

I didn't cry when we parted like the panzie that I am, because I cried a week before. I cried when my mom noted that Marc really takes care of me. My mom had to tell me to stop crying because we were in the middle of a department store.

I'm getting teary as I am typing this and always wish that Marc didn't live in a faraway neverland called Australia. He is the best travel companion a bootch could ask for. Everyone loves Marc and there is no reason not to. I miss you bestie. It was a great trip wasn't it :)

Tondo

I need to take a moment to talk about Tondo. Over the years the Filipinos always talk about Tondo being really rough, and the people are tough. I've known Filipinos who want to brag about being tough, so they mention they are from Tondo.

My family apparently never bragged about it because I did not realize this until recently, that my fiesty family is from the infamous Tondo.

All of the questions that I ever had about them were IMMEDIATELY answered. I actually get frustrated at times because there is no one in my family that will actually back down from a fight, and have no issues with speaking their mind. Although when we do fight, it starts and ends quickly. Most of the time.

I suppose when you grow up in a small and crowded space you have to end your fights quickly, because everyone is in your face.

Whenever I was in Tondo my cousin and I would take walks. Filipinos love to go "malling," and as much as I love a mall if I went into one more Shoe Mart I was going to scream.

My other cousin jokingly asked if we enjoyed our "educational walks," I didn't know how to respond to that and I just showed her the pictures I took.

"You make us look like we live in the slums," she says."

I didn't think that I did. I sort of resent photographers who make a career of taking pictures of poor people. So I explained to her that at some point I want to make a book about our family, and I wanted to capture the personality of the neighborhood. However, I can't deny that when I looked around I saw that this place was fucking nuts and the crazy part is, it just grows and grows.

My cousin mentioned that they have tried to clean up the area, but the progress is slow. Shabu (A form of methanphetamine) is a problem and has gotten in the way of potential reform. I'm sure there are other factors that are being mentioned or considered. There is so much to see, yet nothing to see. Building after building there are clothes, children, couples, animals poking in and out.

If you walk around Obrero there isn't a moment of quiet that passes you. The sounds of children, cars, shop keepers, fighting couples, are surrounding you. The noise is rises in that way when everyone is shouting at the same time.

The sound of Karaoke is synonymous with couples yelling and children laughing. I felt the stares, but I walked ahead. It was very clear that I wasn't from here. There were times where I felt that the stares were cold, so I would randomly smile at a child to see if they would smile back.

Before my Lolo died he specifically said that he wanted his house in Obrero to stay in the family. As much as my aunts do not understand why he wants to keep the house, in a way I do.

I suppose as our family gets more and more American with each new generation, there is at least one tie that we can keep that reminds us where we are from.

When my family talks about where they are from a neighborhood called Obrero. It wasn't to my awareness until this last trip that Obrero was in Tondo. I stayed here for a total of four days to spend time with my mom's oldest sister. She is the only one of the nine children that wanted to stay behind.

With a broken leg she is bed ridden, but with enough Filipino talent shows and telanovelas to keep her occupied with the day. I worry about her quality of life. Her environment is not ideal for elderly people with disabilities, but she refused to leave forty years ago and I can't imagine that she will ever leave. She is apparently the toughest out of all of us.

While I was there I couldn't help, but think about my Lolo.

During the last years of his life my Lolo would walk up and the down the neighborhood to chit chat with everyone. In his 90's he walked very, very slow. Being in the middle of the people typhoon that is Obrero, I can understand why he wanted to be there when he died. He didn't want to be alone.

If there is anything that I love about Obrero it's that even if want to be alone, you are never really alone. As I now sit in my mom's quiet house, that is probably big enough for 5 five Obrero families, I still can't believe we are from Tondo. We are not hood tough, but we managed to get through so much as a family. We have each other's back till the inevitable. I would like to imagine that this value is rooted in Tondo.

And I would like to say.

Tondo...... Jesus you guys are tough..... beautifully tough.

Philippines 2011

I just got back from the Philippines. This is the fourth attempt to write a proper entry and I can't seem to finish it.

I don't know what to say. Every time I think about Manila I have very mixed emotions, and they are actually really extreme. I either want to throw a tantrum or start an advocacy organization.

I want to adopt every child, every dog, and every cat and start a sanctuary. I want to be aligned with my family and not feel such a disparity in our opinions. I truly want to understand this crazy ass place that is my ancestral home.

I think for the sake of my own sanity, I will let the feelings be. My opinions about the Philippines are not right or wrong. I felt what I felt.

I'm simply not Filipino enough for the Philippines. That's okay. I'm arguably Filipino enough here.

Despite how I feel about the Philippines as a society or my culture. I truly love being Filipino. The Philippines has one of the most inspiring and fearless histories of any colonized country. Filipinos survive in any predicament that they are given starting at a very young age. The importance of family is stressed in the simple nuances of daily life, and it made me appreciate why it is my family is so close. As the U.S. continues in a self centered culture, Filipinos will always exist in a tribe.

I don't know what my connection to Manila will be from this point on. I would only go back to do some sort of work if the opportunity arose. I'm not sure what that could be, but I don't think I can vacation there ever again. I need a purpose.

The Centerville Junior High Reunion

My Junior high years are probably my favorite. I had really great friends. There was something special about those two years, and our class was really close.

I remember being a social butterfly in Junior High and talking to EVERYONE. I guess not much as changed, but in some weird and Freudian like way Junior High set the tone of what my social personality would be for the rest of my life. In retrospect our class was very non judgemental. I can't explain what the chemistry was. We had our assigned ethnic cliques I suppose, but we all floated around and just kicked it.

Alicia who is sitting to my left in the picture, was our class star and president, but both of us didn't go to high school with the rest of our friends. The power of Facebook brought me and Alicia back together, and we came up with this crazy idea to do a reunion with just our eighth grade class. We both felt weird about actually going through with it, because we didn't want to look like a bunch of desperate people who were trying too hard to be nostalgic.

Then in true Alicia and Christina spirit, we both decided we didn't give a shit, and we went through with it. We got the support of our two other friends Dina and Monique to help us. All four of us were on the step team, and it was great to be working with them again.

I didn't go to the my high school reunion, because I didn't click with my class. I went to a Catholic High School, so naturally I just found folks to be super snooty. Maybe in the back of my mind I just always wanted to be back with my eighth grade class. So naturally I just dove myself into planning our reunion.

We had it at the Centerville Community Center, which is behind our junior high. My very good friend Nicolo spun for us, and I told him that this felt like eighth grade again, except I'm not carrying his crate of records into a house party.

Our DJ even came! DJ Hightop spun at all of our dances and he loved our class so much he wanted to stop by and say hi...... to the girls ;) I had a blast! To me, everyone is still thirteen. We just have adult bodies now. Everyone is still down to earth and open.

I have so much love for these people. Many of them are parents now, and I'm so grateful that they took time out of their busy lives to come out for one night.

I love Alicia for flying out here from Washington D.C. to carry out this crazy idea. I hope we do this every year. It was definitely worth all the trouble! The future has so much anxiety. Sometimes you need to go back in time to remember who you are.

Thank you everyone for the spectacular time!

Gobble Gobble

I always find a way to feel fat and miserable around this time of the year. The conversation around weight will always fly out of someone's mouth and I have to counsel myself for the next hour.

"You know these are YOUR genes that I have?"

This conversation puts me through puberty all over again, and I don't have enough snarky comments to combat childhood ingrained insecurities. Am I the only that checks my stomach and thighs after Thanksgiving? Fuck this shit I don't want to do it anymore.

All my life I've been rewarded or praised for losing weight. It's something that I never want to do to my daughter. I'm trying to stop to habit of noticing when someone loses weight, because I know that I am toying with someone's self worth.

Right now my self image is the healthiest that it's ever been. For once in my life I'm not weight obsessed, but old habits die hard. There will be no yo yo diet this year. I will eat what I want and I will not exercise out of guilt. This is the best new year's resolution I've ever had.

I promise to enjoy my worth.

Come join me.

Relief

It's lonely being angry.

Earlier today I read my posts from the past week, and I see that I was all over the place. Like someone took a bag of marbles from my brain and just spilled them all over the floor.

I used to carry a lot of anger towards myself, because I had shown that I was easy to manipulate. I have a tendency to trust terrible people, therefore all of it is my fault.

So I'm now obsessed with Yoga. Yoga either attracts the obnoxiously peaceful or the emotional train wrecks like myself. I don't brag that I do Yoga, because it implies that I can afford the ridiculous prices, and I am a crunchy granola yuppy. Well, I'm actually a crunchy granola hipster, because I only go to the $5 classes!

This pose that I'm doing this picture, is an advanced version of a pose that is really hard. It requires a certain amount of strength and a lot of men can't do it. Two months ago there was was no way I could have balanced my foot onto my leg. I could barely hold myself up. My arm would shake, as if a bridge was about to break. I would get very frustrated and I would literally cuss at the pose. If you want to know what angry yoga sounds like, set your mat next to mine

When I first started doing Yoga I carried a lot of anguish when I came into class, and I would power through the poses as if it were circuit training. Many yoga classes end with Shavasana which offers time to feel the effects of your practice and to rest as you lie down on your mat for 5 to 10 minutes. In my first class I cried during Shavansana. All of sudden the tension that I had carried for the past five years was released, and I had no pride or ego to hold it in. Of course I had to do it silently so I didn't look like a freak. Before anyone had a chance to open their eyes I wiped my eyes and I scurried out the door. Maybe I was crying because I was so glad the class was over ;)

The Shavansana is the most interesting concept in Yoga, because you are training your body to rest. You put your body through a lengthy and tortuous session and it is now to time to reflect. This contradicts many aspects of how Americans view exercise. We exercise to look good, and that's it. There is not time to rest when you have too look good.

My time in Los Angeles has been a two month Shavansana. Once you rest and reflect on your practice it will get better over time. My life practice has been very scattered, but it was because I was forcing it to be linear.

When I finally got this pose I felt like a beam of light was shooting from my ribs. My arm was solid and rooted to the ground, and my foot came up my leg so effortlessly, as if I was dancing. In Yoga as it is in life, you can master something, and then become challenged with something else.

I wish the rules were different. It wouldn't be called practice if it all came easy.

The Year of the Planner

As I began my statement of purpose this morning, I felt my breath pacing in that very worrisome way that I hate.

The only voice that I could hear in my head was "I am not going to get accepted to any of these programs." If I ask teachers to write me letter of recommendation, I'm going to be wasting their time. I started to cry in front of my computer.

It was more than doubt meeting insecurity, it was a reality check. I realized that I'm running a race for the Olympics when I didn't train all year. There is no way I'm going to win.

I just dawned on me that I was laid off of my job just four months ago, and I've been living in Los Angeles for two months. How the hell am I'm going to turn in MFA worthy writing in a month? I have the talent to write things quickly, but I cannot "wing" a manuscript in a month. I have a year to be in Los Angeles. I can use this year wisely so for next year's applications, so I don't feel so unprepared. If I take my time I can have enough to show that I'm a writer. My blog doesn't exactly show that I'm a great candidate for a MFA program in writing.

I've applied to grad school twice and I did not get in, but it's taken me a long time to realize why. In the past, I would hastily pick a program, in hopes that I would get in and escape my monotonous life in San Francisco. I was also using grad school as a means please my parents, because I wanted to show them that I could become more than a poor social worker. This is not to discredit the work that social workers do. It's an incredible and rewarding job. However, truth be told it can long and miserable place to be, because there is a ridiculous lack of support.

You need to be a special person to make it your life's purpose. I will always be socially and politically engaged in everything that I do, but I couldn't continue on the path that I was on. It was becoming destructive. I was starting to hate service. This not the trait of a good human.

Why have I chosen writing? It's the only thing that I'm remotely good at. I would do it in my sleep, and I would do it for free. It's a skill that is mine, and I don't have to share it with anyone, but it needs a lot of work. I need to write more and I need to get published. Things do do include refreshing my grammar and language, expand my range in writing, and to read more.

I'm great at planning when I am accountable to other people, but when it comes to myself I don't think I've ever planned beyond a week. So here it is. My plan is to take classes here in Los Angeles for the rest of the year. If all works out well, I can move NYC by September and continue to take classes and write. By December of next year, I will not be so ill prepared for the Olympics. I will take this year to train.

Inspired by Samarai, Miyamoto Musashi, I'm in a process of letting things go of what I know and just be.

Spiritual Challenges

My best friend Jeff took me to a SGI Buddhist meeting about a month ago.

I'm really cynical when it comes to religion, and I did feel incredibly out of place at the meeting. I didn't understand any of the chants, and I don't have the patience to sit through a Miley Cyrus television special much less an hour of chanting.

I'm in no place to find a religion, but I feel the need for an anchor.

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo is the main chant that we did that night. A close translation of its meaning is "to devote oneself."

The people at the meeting were very nice and they assured me that if I continued the practice that I would find my internal happiness. It's been on my mind since, but I haven't taken the time to start the practice.

Jeff gave me the prayer beads as a gift. Along with the beads, he gave me two books to help me understand the practice better.

There are moments where I don't trust anyone, but I'm thankful for Jeff all the time. "Practice" is a concept that I'm growing into. I hear it a lot in Yoga and now in Buddhism. I'm not sure where this introduction will take me. However, to have a friend who is invested in my spiritual well being is worth the try. Thanks Jeffy poo.

Brain Fries

To get into grad school you need to write a personal statement and a statement of purpose.

I looked for programs that didn't require GRE. The last time I took the GRE I bombed big time. I Atomic bombed to the point where I left the testing site in tears.

I would rather write for ten hours instead of studying for a test that I don't fucking care about. I suppose this is where my strengths begin and end.

I have to write a manuscript; a non fiction prose. As I begin to type my mean insecurity takes over me. There are people that enjoy my writing, but I'm not sure if it's worthy of a prestigious MFA program. I still have to google certain words because I don't know how to spell them. Does Columbia have to know this?

As I begin to type I can't breathe because I hate everything that I am typing. Perhaps I hate it because I am typing a memoir. I'm trying to make it funny, but it's actually very painful. I resent the fact that I have to revisit these moments, but if they manage to get me into grad school I will thank my lucky stars that they happened.

I've always wanted to write a book, and my goal was to write one by the time I turned 30. I entered college with the hopes of gaining a writing career out of it, but there were other things that distracted me. Aside from winning an awesome dance competition, writing is my dream. I need to keep doing this and not be discouraged.

No boys or facebooking. Light blogging is allowed. I need to get my brain working and ready to write. It's like a warm up mile before a race.

Chug Chug CHOO CHOO bootch.

The Frye Addiction= New Ebay Seller

I really don't know how these baby fashion chicks can afford couture clothing. When I read their blogs and they list what they are wearing I feel myself having a seizure. You are wearing WHAT? They are either renting their bags are they have the best sugar daddy in town. Perhaps they have like six credit cards just for clothes.

Whenever I buy something expensive I have to figure out how I'm going to sell my unborn child in order to pay for it. My taste in clothing is getting more expensive every year and I can't fucking help it.

I ordered these Frye boots that I've been thinking about for over a year. I love them. They are so comfy I just wanna die in them. I even wrote a poem about them. Well I had to, for a writing exercise of course.

This is just to say

I have just bought these expensive pair of shoes

Beautiful, leather, equestrian boots

They make me feel like a show pony on a sunny day

So I cannot take you out to lunch today

I'm sorry

Let's reschedule

Keep in mind. I am now ebaying a bunch of stuff to pay for these bad boys, but I have no problem with it. I'm moving into an era where I'm not going to keep clothes just to keep them. If I haven't worn in for a year it's going to be sold. I'm going to buy the stuff that I LOVE and will wear all the time.

Is this the rationale of an addict? Perhaps. I love these boots. My best friend already asked if she could by them from me.

Hell. No :)