retail therapy

Life is tough. There comes a time when we all need to find our own way to breathe and reboot.

We all have different ways of doing this.

Some people phone home. “Mom?”, and so begins a lengthy and rejuvenating chat with the woman who is solely responsible for bringing you into this world. I’ve been known to do this when I have reached rock-bottom. Funny, though, as it is that when I am sad nothing turns me into a bubbling mess quite like hearing my mom’s voice.

Others turn to therapy. Seated across from a complete and utter stranger, people find solace in working their way through their problems with a professional–for the small cost of their first born and a kit kat bar.

So, why is that in a recession, people chastise those who spend frivolously on retail? We, too, indulge ourselves in therapy for a quick pick-me-up, although there is no verbal discourse required. The pick-me-up is better known as: retail therapy.

Sure, it may be shallow. I’m aware of this. But isn’t all therapy a bit self-indulgent? Why does society deem it perfectly acceptable to spend 200 dollars on an hour of discussion and not-so-much when springing for a new pair of shoes? I’m not saying people should not try to constantly better themselves – I try to do that on a daily (okay, yearly) basis. But if what brings me joy is a sample sale at Saks, who am I to argue science?

After all, shoppers alike are simply fulfilling their civic duty to jump start the economy – and let me tell you, it’s a thankless job.

In the end, if it makes us happy, it is worth it, right?

Although, I’m always up for suggestions. What brings you joy?

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valentine’s day

Love is love – whether it’s a significant other, a parent, sibling, or even a best friend. We all love someone, if not many ones.

Don’t waste time worrying about what you don’t have. Celebrate what you do.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

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thankfulness.

Today I walked in my brand new heels (to which I had no new-shoes blisters!) to donate 2 bags worth of clothes to the needy.

I was thankful for that opportunity.

I’m thankful for the opportunity to be even writing this post. When I was approached about blogging for a thanksgiving charity, I considered it done. Sometimes as writers we struggle to find the right words to complement an idea which we are in love with, or we succumb to an idea we don’t particularly care for and find a lack of words altogether – so when writing about what I am thankful for, I love that I have a neverending list of things to say.

I promise to bring it to an end, though – for your sakes.

I am thankful for football sundays and draft beers. This “draft beer” does not extend itself to Budweiser, Coors, Miller, and certainly not anything light.

I am thankful for music. All music! I would die without it.

I am thankful for Friday paychecks and Saturday sample sales. For heels that don’t need to be broken in (see above). And most importantly of all, Anthropologie – my second home when I can afford for it to be so.

I am thankful for carefree laughter, and for those who are in my life that inspire it. For having people in your life that know your every quality – both good and bad – and love you in spite of it.

I am thankful for text messaging. For lacrosse catches on sunny days.

I am thankful to be able to be one of the boys – and that they actually let me.

I am truly thankful for all the people in my life. Whether it’s my best friends or the person who sits next to me at work, I do believe that everyone has enriched my life in some way. It’s from others we learn, and regardless of whether I was open to the lessons being taught to me at the time, I was always appreciative. And for those who have always stuck by me, through the times of my life that were not so pleasant to the times that were absolutely triumphant, I cannot thank you enough.

Today, and always, I am thankful.

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This post was created as part of a global groundswell of gratitude called TweetsGiving. In conjunction with 12For12K, this celebration, created by US nonprofit Epic Change is an experiment in social innovation that seeks to change the world through the power of gratitude. Join us http://tweetsgiving.epicchange.org/

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birthdays

Is it just me, or as we get older, do we start to care less and less about those special days that come but once a year?

In exactly one week I will turn 25, which my family has kindly noted is officially quarter-life. Gee, swell. Thanks to the peanut gallery on the calendar of my life.

I also noted how little I truly care.

That’s me, not caring.

Isn’t it so sad the days of counting down to the old birthday are now behind us? And you can forget about balloons, as fun as you still think they are.

Luckily, for me, my mom does still care. They planned a week at their beach house around my blessed day of birth, and I will joining them for a relaxing week at the shore.

After Sunday, I will need it.

Being a Philly girl in the New York land is hard – people will stop you when you’re wearing Philly memorabilia on a Tuesday in off-season. So, with two rivalry games this Sunday (Eagles play the NY Giants, but more importantly, the Phillies play the Yankees in the World Series) a little R and R will practically be mandated.

Consider this my “see you when I’m 25 and tan” post. I won’t be giving you my weekly KBisms, to which 90 percent of you can be grateful. Enjoy my vacation, gang.

Do you enjoy your birthday still?

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moments.

Last night brought me back.

I have a few moments that are forever etched in my mind, coupled with a feeling I could never forget. Despite an influx of wonderful memories over my 24 years here, most of which somehow seem to fade over time, there are those sparkling gems that, no matter the lapse in time, you can remember exactly how it felt in that moment.

Last night the Phillies advanced to the World Series, for the second year in a row.

I was immediately brought back.

Last year, I entered the drawing for Phillies postseason tickets, much like I do every year, except this time, with a response – I would be receiving tickets to the World Series Game 5.

I’m not sure that any feeling can replace not only seeing one of your beloved teams win the World Series, but actually being there for it – in the stadium, waving the towel, losing your voice with the rest of the city.

I had witnessed my first World Series win firsthand. How many people can say the same?

I can remember exactly how amazing it felt to be there. How everyone in the stadium held up three fingers – only three more outs! – and suddenly it was two, and then one. And then we did.

No one’s phones worked, because everyone in the stadium was calling family and friends, but somehow, I managed to get through to my dad – the one person I knew was happier than me, just to say “Dad! We did it! We finally did it!”

It gives me goosebumps even writing about it now.

I am instantly back in that stadium – teary-eyed and elated – thinking that I, somehow, was lucky enough to be in the stadium to witness this amazing moment.

Nothing compares.

What are your unforgettable life moments?

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chivalry.

As far as relationships go, I have seen both ends of the totem pole. There are the guys who would go to the ends of the earth for you – and they actually do, whether you want them to or not – and then there are the men who go to the end of the earth (whether for you or not) and decide to stay there indefinitely.

I think men are under the impression that all women want the absolute, end-of-the-world-for-you man, and perhaps some actually do.

I do not.

I was recently discussing chivarly with Marie Claire contributor Abraham Lloyd, and whether the word carried any meaning today – or if it was, in fact, a concept that was DOA.

Whether it is or not, I realized that there are some male signs of affections – those adorable, little ways he shows you he cares – that I cannot support being a woman of the 21^st century.

Ordering my Meal For Me

You’d think this is a no-brainer, but I can’t even count on my fingers (that’s more than ten for the mathematically challenged) the number of times I’ve seen a couple next to me where the male is deciding the outcome of the evening for all. I have never fallen subject to such a situation, and if I had, said male would be eating two meals for one. There is nothing more unappetizing than having no say in your own dinner experience.

Letting Me Win in Sports

How precious. You think you will hurt my feelings if I don’t get the win. I don’t think the following thought has ever occurred to men (and maybe it’s just me), but I feel much less accomplished getting a win I didn’t deserve than losing fair and square. There is also the fact that I can beat you on my own, and don’t really need the “additional help.”  Thanks, anyhow.

There is something worse, though. It’s when we do win fair and square, and said male tries to play it off as though he let us win. It’s not only ridiculous, but we always know when you’re doing it – so knock it off.

Holding my Umbrella

This one doesn’t bother me so much as its simply awkward. My reasons for this are: my purse alone deserves its own umbrella, I can rarely keep up with your long man-strides and speedy legs, and I’d rather just do it on my own. Thanks.

Pulling out my chair

(A special thanks to Jupiter images for capturing the awkwardness that is the chair pull-out)

I am sure this one will not go over well with my fellow ladies, but its simply an act I cannot support. No rhyme or reason, other than I find it both incredibly awkward and outdated. The same can be said of the car door, especially being that the times no longer require most of us to manually open a door – unless, of course, you are me.

Tucking me in

I do not want to date my mother.

I mean, really - is it just me here?

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kickin it old school in new sneaks

There are times when life hands you opportunities that are simply bigger than you.

At these pivotal junctures, all one can truly do is seize said opportunity and make it his own.

Such a moment happened for me recently, and it was when I caught wind of Chris Illuminati putting forth a search for the most battered sneakers.

The concept was simple: send in a picture of sneaks that had been through the ringer, and the best picture would win a free pair of Saucony X360 what-have-yous. Being a lover of footwear, albeit not typically those in the sporting goods section, I immediately jumped on this golden opportunity.

My shoes, as you can see, weren’t that battered, so I quickly took the matter into my own hands.

Illuminati seemed to appreciate my handy work in the knife department, and made me a semi-finalist – relying on the votes of others to declare either myself, or my competition, the winner.

I could really use new sneaks for, you know – running along the Hudson, gallivanting around the house in-only (what?), and simply to say “I win!”, a phrase rarely uttered on my part.

So – If you could please take a moment to vote for me, Stabbing Sole, I would not only appreciate it, I will send you a picture of me with my winning new kicks – courtesy of myself, my camera, and of course, Gmail and President Obama.

Click here to vote - and thank you so much!

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E A G L E S..

So, here it is, gang! – My first time to watch my beloved Birds back on the field this preseason, since living in New York land doesn’t lend itself to being able to see every Eagles game anymore.

Jersey is out, smile is on, head tilt is in full effect – and, all of this despite the recent addition to the team.

Many people have asked when I was going to blog about Vick being made an Eagle. Despite it being a week ago to the day, I have purposefully put it off for a number of reasons. One, because I have blogged in the past about my feelings on Vick, which were explicitly clear – I, in no way, care for him as a human being, or believe that what he did was anything less than obscenely inhumane. Furthermore, the Eagles do not care about my thoughts on the situation, clearly – what is done is done, and the complaints of the people of Philadelphia will not change that.

Do I appreciate Vick being an Eagle? Absolutely not.

Do I think he should be allowed to play in the NFL? Yes.

Despite my earlier position on all of this, I have realized that our legal system is based on (and has to be) being innocent until proven guilty. And once you are proven guilty, you serve your time and pay your debt to society.

Our society also hopes that during your jail sentence, that whatever hate in your heart caused you to commit said crime dissolves entirely – and, sometimes, it actually does. People have served time, and bettered themselves for it.

So I guess it comes down to this, for me:

Do I truly believe in my heart Vick is 100 percent sorry for what he did? No. The things he allowed to happen to animals are so unfathomable, and I do believe that someone who could allow such acts to take place is a person incapable of complete change.

Do I hope that I am wrong about this? Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t anyone want to be wrong about this, if not only because of their own ego?

Without ever having anyway to ever base an opinion on whether he truly is sorry, I can only see this situation factually: Michael Vick paid his debt to society, and should be allowed to play in the NFL – that includes my beloved Philadelphia Eagles.

WIll I ever really be comfortable with the sight of Vick in an Eagles uniform?

No. Never.

Yet, it is what it is, and despite my personal opinions about him as a person, he should be given that second chance.

But, I am one lone girl – a lover of animals, but also the Philadelphia Eagles – what are your thoughts?

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“oh, you didn’t tell me you got drafted into the NFL..”

If you follow myself or Cotter on twitter, you might remember us asking all of you what was a worse football fan faux pas: pink jerseys, personalized jerseys, or others?

Well, my friends – the wait is over, and the results are in.

Are you wondering how all of this came to be? A lot of people have questioned what piqued my interest on the subject at hand.

Here it is, you curious critters:

Last week commenced the Eagles preseason training camp, which, every year, has me fervently checking blogs, stats, and leaves me with the Philadelphia Eagles homepage consistently open. Inevitably, the habitual shopper in me ended up on the Eagles gear page (of course), and to my horror, remembered the time of “put your name on the back of your team’s jersery” – and seriously wondered, do people still do that? (and, more importantly, why did they ever start?)

This created the ever-controversial “what is worse” war – to which, Cotter (who I had initially addressed this question) and myself put it up to the fate of the Gods, taking twitter and facebook polls, asking all of you (to our horror!) which was better.

Here is what you guys decided.

Out of the 80 of you that so kindly responded to my inquriy, I was flabergasted, flabergasted! by the results. When I started this journey, I assumed everyone would so obviously agree with me, because to me, it seemed that personalized jerseys was the obvious choice.

Thanks for proving me wrong. Jerks.

This is the actual breakdown:

Those who agree with yours truly and say that your own name on the back of a jersey is the ultimate sin – 27

Those of you who are avid haters of the color pink, especially when presented in jersey form on gameday – 51

Those of you who like to throw a good curve ball, saying wearing the wrong team’s jersey is the worst - 2

The grand total of you who gave up 2.5 seconds of your life to serve the better cause of my often ignored blog = 80

I’m no mathmetical genius here, but this is what? 24 extra votes that go to the deteste of pink jerseys, which is 63 percent of the total votes. Way to prove me wrong, all.

If you missed out on the fun, I have added a poll – feel free to contribute below.

Something I feel that I should point out, at this juncture, is that the pink jerseys, whether you love or despise them, donate a part of the proceeds to support breast cancer research – and that is something I hope, regardless of how you feel on the subject, we can all get behind.

Football season is almost upon us, gang. Can’t wait.

See you at the bar.

GO EAGLES.

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the NFL network and too much Favre

Recently, I had no choice but to bid Comcast Cable adieu. (Thank God.)

In switching to Verizon Fios, which I highly recommend for all, I now have the NFL network included. This is a small feat for those of you who have been kicking ass for years in Comcast-free areas, but for those of us in Philly, we had to pay an arm and a leg for such luxuries.

Yet, despite such a glorious upgrade in my television experience, I have one bone to pick with the NFL network.

Stop talking about Brett Favre.

No one cares.

Not only does the NFL network presume that people are interested in learning the fate of this flake, but they have gone so far as to call it the top story. Every day this week.

In the spirit of the 4th of July, and you know, America, this work of Brett Favre seems more appropriate for discussion.

(If this doesn’t scream God Bless America, I don’t know what does.)

Lets be honest, Favre. You should stick with the Wranglers. Its what you do best.

Enjoy your 3 day weekends, party people.

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