Last night I had dinner with some friends on the 3rd Street Promenade and afterwards we were casually strolling by Banana Republic when some linen pants started beckoning me. Not only have I blown my spending plan for this month, but have vowed not to purchase clothes made my children in foreign lands. Before I shop I try to pray for my higher power's will. If my vibration is pure I naturally gravitate to clothes made under fair trade agreements. Unfortunately, I think my vibration was off the charts. I had just recently had a therapy session where I talked about my family's "deprivation" mentality and how my mom only bought clothes for me from K-Mart. Luckily, my program friend Martha pulled me into the dressing room to say the serenity prayer. The sales girls gave us funny looks since we weren't trying anything on. It must have worked because after the prayer I looked around and realized I really don't like linen. It's always wrinkled. Suddenly, everything in the store seemed overpriced. My higher power was working in my life. I still really liked this red coat...but in a serene way.

It's OK to take care of myself by buying things that I desperately need - like Frida-Kahlo style jewelry, French perfume and some Capri pants. Some people may not call these items "needs," but "wants." Well, everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Sure I also need to pay the rent and buy groceries, but that stuff doesn't make me feel "abundant." Just for today it's OK to shop for items that make me feel "abundant." If I start feeling compulsive, I can always say the serenity prayer in a dressing room and ask for God's help with my shopping purchases. Just for today it's OK to take care of my needs.

Thanks to my higher power and my program of recovery, I am now able to wear cool jeans. In the past, cool jeans frightened me. I was afraid of them. They seemed larger than life, and I felt like a small, helpless child, overwhelmed by the badassness of hip huggers, or spandex, or embroidered or beaded jeans. I also was ignorant about the multitudes of places where one can find cool jeans at affordable prices, like, T. J. Max and Marshalls. But through meditation, and working the steps, my eyes have been opened to the abundance everwhere and I have been guided to new affordable clothes, including, but not limited to, cool jeans. Today I have gratitude for these stores and for a higher power who wants me to wear cool jeans.

Today I bought a purse from the Purse Lady at the Farmer's Market for $22. I told her that five years ago I bought a purse from her and that it was now a bunch of threads, but I still get more compliments on it than any other purse I wear. She got all teary eyed and said, "Thank you, my dear! You make me so happy!" Since she didn't accept checks, I had to borrow money from my friend to pay for it. She told me that she had made the purse I chose the night before. The poor lady is grossly underearning, and doesn't seem to realize the obscene amount of money LA ladies will pay for a bag made of nylon, or some creepy jelly substance (Ok, so I do really wanted a Jelly Kelly, but am not into a position to shell out that kind of cash for something that will go out of style in three months). She could be bankrolling it with a few orders at Anthropologie, or some other overpriced store that can make a clothesline look sheek and edgy.

It made me wonderif I, too, am grossly underestimating the value of my own talents. It takes an underearner to know an underearner. Still, I did support her underearning, by not offering more $$ for the purse (am I crazy?).

Just for today, I can own my worth (and, perhaps, some day charge for it).

I used to think God was this giant benevolent man in the sky with a white beard who loved me more than anyone on earth. Then, when I got older and realized that life kind of blows sometimes and also (coincidentally) got into 12-step, he became a judgemental sadist who randomly punished me or rewarded me, but pretended it was all based on how well I was workin' the steps and making amends for the human error of living and breathing (but I'm not bitter). And then I discovered all the New Age schools of Torment, that torture you with the idea that your thoughts create reality as you know it (you're sick? you got in a car accident? Well, you cated it. Take some responsibility, pal).

Having since gone insane with ideas of just what and where God is, I decided that just for today, a quality understanding of a higher power is limited to one area of my life and that is when I am shopping.

What I have learned in my twenty years of puttering around malls and cute shopping streets, is that the secret to a good purchase lay in choosing the store with a good vibe. If you stand outside of the store, sort of lurk around the doorway, you can learn a lot without ever setting foot inside and then being stuck making awkward conversation with clerks or sales associates. For instance, you won't find me setting foot in Abercrombie & Fitch, and it's not just because I'm in the wrong age bracket. It's because the vibe in there reeks of child labor and country club discrimination. It's in the music that throbs in your ears, the texture of the clothes, and the lily white prep school kids (someone told me they were sued for keeping the people of color in the stock room, I don't know what happened since).

Other stores, or "dream stores" as my friend Martha calls them have a more gentle, hip and fair trade kind of vibe. Sometimes, when I am walking around, they will literally call my name, and then I am led, by my "higher power" to buy pure fabulousness and sass (and it's not me, but my higher power). If I knew how to do this in other parts of my life, trust me I would, but it seems that my spirituality is most easily accessed in my consumerism...sorry, mom. At least it's somewhere...right?

Just for today, I let God guide my shopping.

I celebrated my three-day weekend by breaking down and buying a pair of capri pants with the ties at the bottom. I had no choice...literally. I couldn't find any other types of pants in the stores! Why do Americans insist on wearing uniforms that match their racial/socio-economic demographic? It was fascinating in Australia to see stores that sold different styles of clothes, guided by the groundbreaking concept that perhaps people want to look different from their friends and family. It's fine for 12-year-old girls to look like clones of each other, but God help me if I'm aspiring to imitate a Gap ad at 32 (which is why I refused to ever do the Ug boots/skirt deal.)

I was told this weekend that I am beginning to look like a grown-woman, which is a relief because judging by my slightly latent maturity, I was starting to fear that I would end up like one of those fifty-something women who wear barrets in their hair. (note to self: don't do the pony tail thing...). I'm all for capitalism and fashion, but as in everything...I just want some choices.

Just for today, I'm irritated by shopping in LA.

Nobody told me about the American tradition of jamming the CostCo parking lot on January 2nd.

Unfortunately, I had an unsuccessful shopping day where I wandered the aisles of TJ Maxx and fretted over my total lack of appetite for shopping and looking at stuff. What's happening to me? If I'm not a consumer, who am I? Will they still let me live in this country? It's like I don't know who I am anymore.

Just for today, I can lose my desire for shopping.

Lately, I've noticed, that I can't create a consistent fashion statement out of my wardrobe. Perhaps, this is what happens when one spends her formative teen years with a calculus tutor. At 33, you end up with a closet-full of lace and sequence, and nothing to wear that says, "Hi, I'm business casual today." There should be some FDA health statement about the importance of a healthy balanced closet with "business casual" being the fashion equivalent of brocolli. Clothes that gives strength, rather than requiring great amounts of energy to wear (i.e., certain stilettos that shall remain nameless).

The pickings hanging in my closet could only possibly be described as a Vintage/Teen/Over-priced Boutique medley (I do my best to stay away clothes that could have possibly been made by children, but that doesn't mean that I don't have them).

It used to be that Banana Republic was the business casual pit stop of the world...that is until the world exploded into sea foam. Yesterday, I had to dig through an ocean of pastels on the Banana sales rack to find the plain not-exciting-but-will-save-the-day items that have dissappeared from my life like vitamins. I managed to secure some tops, but not after watching my skin turn yellow in contrast to ten different shades of sea foam. I will probably move my last minute business casual shopping elsewhere...perhaps Ross?

Just for today, I'm business casual.

The city of Los Angeles can be a veritible sea of temptation. Financially responsible women have to be clever to avoid the areas populated by the ubiquitous "cute store." However, when you WORK in such a neighborhood, temptation poses a great financial risk. The neighborhood where I now work is one such place; a paradise of "cute stores" and pituitary gland stimulating coffee shops. Going on lunch breaks is now an exercise in desire management.

First of all, we'll start with the small stuff...coffee. I work one block from five coffee shops, including the grand-daddy coffee house, Peet's Coffee. Due to urinary tract issues (read blogs below), I cannot drink coffee for at least three months. So, every morning is a slight torture curbed only by the occasional danish.

Now let's get down to the main issues, the cute store factor. It's killing me...

Despite the fact that most of the items in these store cost the equivalent of my monthly grocery allowance and the fact that some of the items are a little ridiculous (like tops that have some weird piece of fabric dangling awkardly down the side...), I'm attracted to these bastions of color and price tags like a moth to the flame. ACROSS THE STREET from me is the Michael Star store (while I'm currently in detox, I have been known to consume an unbalanced quantity of these shirts). On the other side of the street are two of the most fabulous stores in Los Angeles. Not to mention that up the street are a couple of skin-care stores where I could easily spend the equivalent of my car-insurance premium on exfoliation, and all around me are restaurants where I can spend a lot of money eating out.

Just for today, I can hang tight to my spending plan.

I decompressed from my therapy session by strolling the lovely fluorescent aisles of the newly renovated Targae (actually, it's called Target). I have to say, this is a cool store. You can drink a frapuccino (not that I'm drinking coffee...at least, not yet Mr. Urologist) AND buy eye-liner (actually, I spent $40 on make-up, but that's a different blog) AND a strainer for your weird teas made out of flowers that will "cool" your kidneys (and when I say you, I mean me). For a moment, I almost got lost, but then a nice man wearing a red shirt found me in a forest of indoor plants and took me back to civiliazation. It's that freaking big! I really could go nuts among the kitchen supplies and I won't even go near the bath section because before I know it I'll walk out with seven different sizes of lotion dispensers. Anyway, I went to buy a few things and I ended spending over an hour examing the fabulous items available at affordable prices for all Americans to consume. It was quite a pleasant evening.

Just for today, I can enjoy Target.

From the looks of the parking lot, Costco is the place to be on the weekend. I imagined there had to be a party going on in on the cereal aisle, but I just stopped in to pick up my pictures so I couldn't check it out (but I heard the h'ourdeurves were fantastic). Everything at Costco is very BIG and supersized. I can't really shop there because my apartment is too small and where would I put a case of pretzels? Large quantities don't go with my spartan lifestyle. I did take some time to order some frozen yogurt from the food stand in front where I got enough froyo to feed a small family for $1.35. I didn't have anyone to share it with so I threw it out. I just can't consume like an average American anymore. Fortunately, I don't think the economy is going to be hurt by my underconsumption.

Just for today, I can shop at Trader Joe's.

I took a bag of clothes to the Good Will today and I hope it will be my last time there for a long while. I watched a special about the used clothes black market a few weeks ago (I think it was on "Dateline") in which it was explained that Americans dispose of more clothes per year than any other country (it's something like billions of pounds of clothes). These items get sold on the black market all over the world. So, the Ann Taylor blouse that I, fortunately, outgrew when I lost weight a few years ago could, in all liklihood, end up on a woman in Nigeria. It's not that I mind a Nigerian woman wearing my old blouse, but the whole process is just such a gross testament to my own overconsumption.

Losing weight is one thing, but most of the times I get rid of old clothes because I don't like their "energy." They remind me of an old boyfriend, or a time when I was feeling particularly bad, or they just reek of 2002. (One time I bought furniture from a guy who I eventually dated and let's just say that furniture energy is not quite so easy to change.)

The point is that I'm ready to learn how to change my energy without shopping. My ideal self would discard clothes that are unusable and only buy new clothes when I absolutely need them (my plan to buy clothes only made in America lasted all of six months). I don't want to make any promises I can't keep, but I'm willing to learn to curb my overconsumption.

Just for today, I can change my shopping ways.

My mom and I happily joined the masses who clogged up good sidewalk space just for the chance to be awed by such things as the Apple store and H & M [What? You mean you haven't heard of H & M?...Actually, I hadn't either, until yesterday at Thanksgiving when my aunt told me about it and then earlier today when my Happily Married Friend (at least somebody's happy) mentioned it AGAIN. I took it as a sign from God...]. Anyway, we waited in line to discover the splendor of outsourcing at this marvel of low cost and high fashion, H & M, and I came away with two sexy bras (you know you've reached a milestone when your madre is buying you sexy underwear. Either she really loves me, or it's her way of saying "I'm willing to do anything for grandchildren..."). The point is we've all succumbed to a retailer's wet dream on Black Friday (so called because it's when the stores go from the red to the black...).

Just for today, I am a thriving American consumer.

I have to say that my day did not start out great. Before I could even think about coffee (which my bladder has ceased to reject...THANK GOD!), I stepped out of bed and into my sister's cat's puke. At first I thought it was diarrhea (it just had that feel), but was corrected that it was actually the digested remains of a rodent (it was at this point I began to dry heave my way to the shower). And people wonder why I don't have pets...

However, after that, it was all up hill. I went to San Francisco and had a brief romance with some pumps at Nine West (can we say CUTE?! I'm not a big shoe brand person, but OH MY GOD, CAN WE SAY CUTE?!) I didn't buy any shoes because I was on a cute jacket binge, but I have a date with the Nine West store set up for next year).

Just for today, I can enjoy the day after Christmas (sans the puke).

The most thriling part of my day was finding Cranium's Turbo Edition on sale at Targae (that's Target) for $19.99. So, if that's any indication of the thrill-factor of my life you can see that I'm not in a high-stakes stage of the game. It's OK, though. I'm living "flowly," as they say in certain circles of light.

Just for today, I'm living la vida mellow.

I had some shopping drama this weekend...not so much about how much to spend, but what to buy?!

I've been so remiss about dressing categories (business casual, evening wear, etc), that my closet has evolved into a blur of casual funk (like I said before, it's dangerous to let your inner-teenager do your clothes shopping). Let's face it, I am not Carrie Bradshaw (from Sex and the City - LOVE THAT SHOW!). Not only do I not have her freespirit lifestyle (how she supported herself on a columnists salary in New York city is another issue), but I do not have the movie star cache to support any of my fashion missteps (sometimes Carrie did look a little silly), and sometimes my thirty-four going on thirteen mini-skirt and tank-top is not going to equal serious professinal in office America.

So, today, while every fiber of my being gravitated to a sequined tank top, I had to have my wonderful friend Dana, take me by the hand and put in it a basic black button down shirt. It was a seminal purchase in my thirties life.

Just for today, I can dress like an adult.

Some guy accidentally stole my cart tonight while I wandered around Gelson's carrying a gallon of water and wondering if I had gone absolutely insane or just imagined that I had spent the last twenty minutes selecting tomatos, wine and low-fat soy milk (among other things). Then I spotted this hippy-type guy announcing to the store that he had checked out with someone else's cart of groceries. Excuse the pun, but how "checked out" can you be to pay for someone else's groceries? It's one thing to take someone's cart by accident, it's quite another to watch the cashier slide them through the charger thing (does that thing have a name?). There was some confusion as we differentiated between my original groceries and the stuff he added. I thanked him for saving my place in line and we all laughed.

I felt a little sorry for him. Who knows what planet he's landing on right now?

Just for today, I can shop at fancy grocery stores.

I had an abundant shopping day today in which I spent far too much money on a dress that was intended for a fifteen-year-old girl trying to turn on her older brother's best friend at her younger brother's Bar Mitzvah (and I'm not even Jewish!). It seems the older I get, the younger my taste in clothes becomes. While at 25, I dressed like a 49-year-old secretary, now I troll through Forever 21 like a junior high school kid who just got her allowance.

While I like my silly dress, I still hold fast to the notion that the majority of Americans designers inject an "I'm Intentionally Looking Stupid" vibe into their designs for young women (and I'm not talking about the prices...although, it does seem like the more whore-ish and inane the outfit is, the more expensive...). There's a fine line between carefree sexuality and moronic desperation, and, up till now, I have stood on the other side of street from that line. However, now that I've hit the New Age Box and have internalized the fact that I can call the shots in all areas in my life (especially the bedroom), casual slutty doesn't bother me the way it used to. I think, perhaps, women over 30 are really the ones who can pull off the "I'm Just A Girl In the World...And Sexy, too? Gee, I Didn't Know That" look more than the teens and early twenty-somethings they are intended for. Sure, the Victoria Secret models look smokin' and powerful, but do they say yes when they mean no?

Or maybe because I'm still single and childless (is that a song, too?) the whole Ann Taylor "I'm Too Sophisticated and Fulfilled To Bother With Sexy" doesn't quite feel right. So, I'm stuck in fashion no-woman's land, somewhere between Talbot's and Forever 21, a Betsy Johnson/Nine West/corner boutique with crazy Pat Fields-like owner island where all I can do is scavenge for something resembling the spirit of something I feel (I wish there were more independent designers in America like there are in Australia).

Just for today, I can find my own style.

I spent yesterday afternoon with my fabulous abundant friend shopping in a swanky LA neighborhood filled with Fabulous Cute Stores with designer clothes and designer (i.e., totally inflated) prices. My friend has no problem dropping $300 on one item, where as I am quite fond of Forever 21 and the sales rack anywhere. However, occasionally, I feel the need to make an expensive purchase just for sake of knowing that I can.

So, while she tried on dressed, I tried on a pair of $200 skinny jeans that shrunk my butt and extended my legs (it's kind of magical how that works...). They felt great, but I still couldn't quite justify the money. Plus, the sales girl was snooty and scowled at my suggestion that I roll up the pants leg (whatever).

After debating, I called my sister, the Queen of Used Clothes to ask her if she would still respect me if I bought a new pair of $200 jeans that, were I more savvy, I could probably find at a Crossroads somewhere for $30. She didn't have a strong opinion so, left with my own responsibility for my spending, I put them on hold and my friend and I perused other stores. Or, rather, she perused the items in the store while I reiterated comments like, "What?! $80 for a tank top?!" However, one store we ended up at had a sales rack with jeans formerly priced at $200, but MARKED DOWN (two beautiful words) to $50 AND in my size...! My heart raced! A Shopping Miracle was about to be had! Well, as the 20 minute aerobic workout in the dressing room made clear, they were really only my size in theory. Getting them on was another story. If it weren't for my Power Yoga arms and my salsa lungs, the button and the hole would have never come together. Squeezed into two legs of Indigo denim, I walked out like the Tin Man, waiting for the seams to to explode right there in the swanky boutique.

"Perfect!" yelled my friend.

"You have to get them!" said the sales girl.

"But I can't move."

"It doesn't matter. They'll stretch!"

"Can you sit?"

I made an effort to bend my joints and managed to do something like sit down. I bought the jeans and took them home. The next day I spent another half hour putting them on and practicing doing simple things like walking a few feet. Like any new relationship, it's going to be a gradual breaking in process...but with enough patience in time they'll feel like home. So, $150 more would have made it instantaneous...where's the fun in that?

Just for today, I can buy new jeans.

After Salsa Guru told me that he thought I was dressed like a "grandma" a few weeks ago, I had to re-evaluate my relationship to the traditional Latina sexy outfit. At best, salsa clothes are a celebration of female sexuality. At worst, a vomitous explosion of rhinestone, sequins, and lace on a scanty piece fabric that you gotta own like there's no tomorrow if you want to pull it off. Without the right attitude, one can very well end up looking like the fashion equivalent of plastic covered furniture in a room filled with chotchkies and lace doilies (possibly charming in an unintentional way, but not quite the goal in mind...). Without the right mixture of subtlety and confidence (not to mention quality dancing), an outfit can go from fabulous to tacky in the amount of time it takes a balloon to deflate when it's let loose from a helium tank. In the end, I realize that it's all in the woman and not the clothes, but in the time in between (because we all have our off nights), there is the obsessive search for the perfect salsa outfit (which doesn't exist). The tank top that felt totally sexy and fabulous one night, may feel dated a week later. The glitter dress that I hated, could suddenly provide the right hint of cheezy Forever 21 glamour. And while salsa clothes tend to come from the sales rack (they will be drenched in sweat) there is the occasional night where you want to stave off that cheap-o vibe and own something semi-quality.

Just for today, I can shop for salsa clothes.

Whenever I feel really depressed I wonder...were a life something we could buy as a package at a store (from birth to death) would mine sit on the discount shelf for an eternity? More importantly, what store would carry it? (silly question...Targae, of course.) Taking into consideration the true ingredients that make a quality life (a strong sense love and belonging, self-esteem, faith, peace), I think the lives that get the most attention (Donald Trump, Angelina Jolie, Britney Spears...whoever people talk about...) would probably be sitting next to the dysfunctional ash trays at the 99 cent store in front of the lady who talks to herself about scouring pads. The lives of who some might call "oppressed peoples," or people who drool on themselves (because public drooling requires a great sense of security...am I going to go to hell for writing this?) would be found at Bloomingdale's and Barney's. The lives of women with no facial expressions and giant Mercedes Benz purses might probably be found at Sav-On (a more expensive Target) or even Smart and Final (again, not cheap)...and so on and so on...

I might have overstated my point (you think?), which is that in my older age I envy not those with more expensive crap, but those who have some personal peace.

Just for today, I have too much time on my hands.

In all fairness, I withstood two years watching the spiral flush of the Economy go down the toilet. So, when The Korean Man, came knocking at my door it's only natural that my latent and repressed desire (need) for Cool Stuff (i.e.clothes/shoes/jewelry) took root like a new Apple product at a prep school. And, thus, ensued the Painful Purchasing Process.

Step 1: Go shopping.
Step 2: Spot new Cool Thing.
Step 3: Call Enabling Friend and ask her if she thinks you should buy Cool Thing.
Step 4: Curse Enabling Friend for enabling you.
Step 5: Calculate finances.
Step 6: Begin "I Deserve!" mantra. Imagine all the moments in your life in which you felt deprivation (bonus points for parental withholding of love). Count the hours spent sifting through cheap stuff Ross.
Step 7: Reach Crescendo of "I Deserve" Righteousness!
Step 8: Calculate finances again.
Step 9: Imagine what said purchase would buy in Haiti, Ethiopia, Mexico (any third world country of your choice will due).
Step 10: Ask yourself how you managed become so influenced by self-obsessed consumer culture.
Step 11: Remember that Oprah likes nice stuff too.
Step 12: Realize that Oprah quit her show.
Step 13: Imagine retired Oprah eating a bag of Cheetos on her couch and realize that Oprah isn't your role model.
Step 14: Descend into self-loathing.
Step 15: Look upon Cool Thing as a Symbol of Greed and the Degeneration of Social Values.
Step 16: Reflect on self-judgment.
Step 17: Remember words of Enabling Therapist (not to be confused with Enabling Friend), "Do you not deserve NICE things?"
Step 18: Begin "I deserve NICE things!" mantra.
Step 19: Become exhausted by futile and infantile debate.
Step 20: Buy the &%$^ Thing!
Step 21: Love it.

Just for today, I can spend money.