We Are Living in a Material World, and I am a Material Girl.

I once heard on TV (my source for approximately 97 percent of my knowledge), that in Buddhist practice, one attempts to achieve total happiness by letting go of all material things (or something like that).  So in theory, there are all of these monks or otherwise religious Buddhists meditating and hanging out and living their lives, and these people are at a place of complete contentment-- with no stuff.  They have just what they need to live basically.  It doesn't bother them at all that they don't have stuff, because it isn't possible to be any happier.

I can't deal with this concept.  Full enlightenment and bliss sound really good.  On the one hand, I don't see how you can argue with it. On other other hand, I would rather be miserable half the time and have stuff.  Because I may be blissful living an ascetic life, but I would never feel the kind of bliss I feel when I buy a cool painting or bracelet or cell phone.  It's a feeling I'm not willing to give up.

I wonder why I derive so much pleasure from shopping, or at least the end result- getting stuff. Is it our society?  That may be part of it.  It certainly wasn't my super-saver upbringing.  I think it also has to do with just plain appreciating products for being pretty, or useful, or entertaining.  That's probably quite an American notion, because we've created so many products in America, and so many ways to create and distribute them.  Capitalism runs through our veins here, and we want stuff just like good little consumers should.  And I love it.  If you want to get by on less, that's fine by me.  But I'm going to keep my Nike's, my Levi's, my Ann Taylor, my Coach, and my princess cut engagement ring, and holler at you later.

Marital Advice

I have learned some valuable lessons over the last (married) year. One being, that shopping is a whole new ball game once you get married.

When I was single, I will be the first to admit that I was NOT good with my finances. I would buy clothes/expensive makeup as I pleased, I never really saved or budgeted, and typically just lived paycheck-to-paycheck. It never really bothered me, and I didn’t think too much about saving for the future.

Once I met my future husband, he started to show me ways that I could save my money. Little things started to add up. For example, when I went to the grocery store, I would buy the generic brand of food instead of the more expensive brand. Rarely could you really tell a difference, and it usually saved us at least $10-$20 per trip. I limited the number of lattes I was buying each week. I took a look at the things I was spending on and tried to decide if it was something I really needed or just wanted. This doesn’t seem like much, but when you are doing lots of little things like this to cut back on your spending it can really start to add up!

During this time, I also opened a Roth IRA. I started putting away just $100/month into the account. It might not seem like a lot now, but this was during my undergrad years. $100 was a lot to me back then! But, future HThursday showed me the power of compact interest and how much it would help me in the future if I started saving young.

Overall, I cut back significantly on my spending. However, it can be hard to stop buying things once you get into that habit! There were times at the beginning of our relationship that I would tell a little white lie about the amounts I had actually purchased, or if he noticed a new pair of jeans I would just say I found them in the back of my closet, etc. We didn’t have a shared bank account at that time, so I could get away with these little fibs.

Everything changed once we got married. We combined our expenses and no longer could I hide the occasional “secret” purchases I had been making!! :) Not that I had a lot, but having a shared bank account made me accountable for all the “little” purchases I make that add up (coffee here, Walmart trip there, etc). It was definitely something we had to work at those first few months. I realized that it wasn’t necessarily the spending the HThursday would get frustrated with, but rather, it was spending and not letting him know that he didn’t like. Previously, I always had the “better not to ask and beg forgiveness” mentality. I would purchase as I pleased and let him know later on. I’ve realized that if I just run it by him, and let him know that I am doing the purchasing, things are so much better. What I failed to realize was that he wasn’t telling me NOT to make the purchase. He was just frustrated when he wasn’t aware of the purchasing that was going on in our account.

So, to share a little marriage wisdom…it is always better to be upfront about your purchases when you have a combined account. By changing a few small habits in my spending it has avoided so many unnecessary arguments.

Up a Creek Without an Outfit

I hate shopping! Ok that is not entirely true, because I love getting stuff... I just hate fighting crowds, searching rack after rack, choosing between things I enjoy shopping for (necklaces and evening gowns) and things I have to shop for (sensible pants), weeding out the lipstick-stained items from the sale table, waiting for a fitting room-- and by the time I get to that stage in the process I usually have to use the ladies room, which no stores in Manhattan have (not that I blame them). It's a labor-intensive process that does not come naturally to me.

At our season-one wrap party last week the weatherman, the talent for the show I work on, made the comment, "You don't like to shop? But I thought all girls liked to shop." To which I replied (in my head), "I thought all weathermen are gay." But I didn't end up saying it outloud. And anyway, I was proven wrong when he hit on one of our female producers. I don't know why I brought that up. It seemed relevant.

I write this now, preparing to go to Mississippi for work. There are thunderstorms and river flood warnings in Jackson for the week I'll be there. I'm thinking I'll need a pair of perfect dry wick, light-weight cargo pants that do not need to be hemmed or otherwise altered. I'll need a breathable rain jacket with a hood, and comfortable shoes. None of these things can make me look like an old lady, rule number one. (Though that should probably be rule number four). The thought of starting the search for these items now give me hives. It's why my sister always says that one must be in a constant state of shopping. I probably tried on a pair of perfect cargo pants once and didn't buy, because I didn't need them at the time. And here I am-- cargo-less.
My next post will be from the road.

'Til We Drop

I think I am one of few Washington, DC residents who actually enjoys going down to Georgetown on a weekend day to shop. For some reason, there is something about the brick sidewalks and Federal Row-style shops that I find soothing. I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that HT and I are pretty much your stero-typical preppy couple, but I think it also has something to do with the ease at which you can pop in and out of designer boutiques and chain retail stores with relative ease. Sure, navigating the sidewalks around strollers and foreigners can get down-right dangerous when there are busses and cabs whizzing past, but there’s something about the ten-block stretch of M Street NW that makes me feel very much alive.

HT and I have always enjoyed shopping together. Going to college an hour a way from retail heaven meant that when we wanted an escape from campus, we went shopping. We’d frequent one of those very artificial and expansive indoor/outdoor fake- town-square- type shopping malls in the middle of a mid-west cornfield. We’d eat our Cheesecake Factory or zip our Bar Louie beverages, check out the latest baubles at Tiffany, catch a flick at the 30-screen megaplex, and return to campus worn but refreshed from the time away.

So this past Saturday, when I returned home from the office worn and generally down on life, HT suggested that we take another such escape the next day. On Sunday, we woke up after a long, relaxing night’s, did a little bit of housekeeping, showered, and headed down to the Georgetown Waterfront for a long, leisurely brunch on the banks of the Potomac. We drank mimosas and bloody marys and people-watched the mid-day hours away at Mother’s day brunch. Toddlers in seersucker suits and sun-dresses; MILFs sporting their Tory Burch flats and couture sun-dresses; oversized sunglasses covering the awkward tween faces; all burning in the glistening late-spring sunlight. We watched the awkward embraces among inlaws and posed pictures among undergrads soaking up the final weeks of their protected youth, the terrace patio around us a bustling tapestry of society waving in the afternoon breeze.

Tipsy and satiated, we took to the streets in search of new jeans and outfits for the many weddings we have in store for us this summer. We laughed at sky-high prices; and dug through racks looking for good deals. HT bought a tie; I bought a dress; and we ducked in and out of new stores and old haunts; making sure to stop in to the boutiques with fresh-baked cookies and free bottled water to help us over the late afternoon lull.

As my feet started to ache from the trendy sandals I’d insisted upon wearing, we trudged slowly back to the garage to the car; weaving once more around churchgoers and tour groups, wedding parties, and valets. Having failed to find the suit he was seeking, HT and I headed north to yet another retail neighborhood—this time a department store, in search of more options in a single expanse. We closed out a few stores, validated our parking, and headed homeward.

After a few more errands on the way, we collected our wears and wandered, somewhat wearily towards our apartment. I whipped us up a quick salad, HT opened a bottle of wine, and we dropped, satisfied, onto our welcoming couch. Our escape -- a success.

Forever 21? Target!

I’m feeling a little passionate about a subject this week, so I’m stretching our topic so I can include it. Oh, and I’m sorry for the missing blog post last Monday. It just wasn’t going to happen. The Man’s got me down.

Anyway, I went shopping over the weekend. And not just any trip, a trip to the far reaches of the back of my memory. I used to live outside the South. I know, it’s hard to believe (and it’s really not technically outside the South, but trust me, it is. Kind of like living in Miami. Hot – check. Humid – check. Sweet tea abundance – nope. NOT THE SOUTH). Anyway, it was a great time in my life, and I had great friends who I miss a lot. So I went back for the weekend to attend the engagement party of one of my group’s central members.

It was a lot like going shopping in the back of my mind. Trying desperately to find that connection with people that I definitely connected with almost six years ago. But six years is a long time and people change. I know I’ve changed. It was probably the most confusing, frustrating shopping adventure I’ve ever been on (even more so than the time DaddyMonday and I got really lost getting to the Mall of America…). It felt a lot like that scenario where you finally find time in your schedule to do a little shopping and you need some things (as opposed to situations where you have to run into, say, Target for toothpaste and come out with jeans, a new bathing suit, a hair straightener, furry socks, two birthday cards, pink towels, and an $8 magazine) only you spend 3 hours walking around the mall and for once can’t find anything. And it’s doubly frustrating because for once you WANT to spend some money.

That’s how I felt. I wanted to make that connection all over again with these friends, but I couldn’t find it. I tried soooo hard, but with every store I went into I was coming up empty. I wanted badly to recreate the memories of 2001-2003, but it seemed like we’d all moved on to different places in our lives/careers/family, been affected by past injustices against each other, and changed personalities and priorities. Even my favorite, let’s call her Forever21, let me down. She just seemed sad and confused, and not the cheerful girl I remember. I wanted to help, and I still am always there for her, but we aren’t as close as we used to be, and I know she won’t ever reach out to me.

So as it turns out, maybe we weren’t the great pals I thought we were. Maybe I just needed them to fill a void at that time in my life, but they’re not truly the close friends I’ll have as part of my life always. Like Forever 21. A passing fad.

Anyway, this all leads me to what I’m really dying to say.

Dear Grad School Friends,

You are quite possibly the best people I know. You are all funny and smart, and most of all you care about making the world a better place to live. None of you are pretentious or over-bearing or self-satisfying. You know how to talk to anyone, in any situation, at any time. You never think you’re too good for someone (evidenced by the fact that you’re friends with me). You call when you say you will. You visit when you say you will. You always play a wonderful host when I see you. You write thank you notes and make thank you calls. You call just out of the blue to see how I’m doing. You give me high-fives (and you give yourselves high fives). You can all take a joke or a criticism, however intended or unintended it is. You ask about MommaMonday and DaddyMonday and ElwoodieMonday. And seem to genuinely want to know how they’re doing. But most of all you forgive my faults and see past my bad days. I know I am far from a perfect person, but you all know you are not perfect either. And you’re not trying to be or worse trying to pretend you are. You have cute kids, and well-behaved dogs, and nice husbands or wives, and generous families. And I miss you all so much, especially after I got to have dinner with one (okay 3!) of you before my big event Saturday night.

So I wanted to use today to say thank you. You’re the perfect store to shop in. You’re the Target of friends. And I love you all.