I've got expensive taste (oh well); I guess I better save up.

I have a problem.

Admitting it is the first step, right?

I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't partake in illegal activities. But I confess I have one major vice. I am a shopaholic.

While I do also have a list of guilty pleasures that include many types of music and movies that are generally made for 12 year-olds, and I definitely admit to hating that fact that I am currently addicted to "Pretty Little Liars" on ABC Family, none of these things seem to take up as much of my time as shopping does.

Well, maybe it isn't really the shopping because I also have terrible buyers' remorse. You'd think the two things wouldn't go together, but I am proof that you can fully enjoy the act of shopping and also hate the idea of unloading cash on something you don't really need.

In recent years, I have come to hate shopping in stores. I think the simple ease of clicking through webpages has made shopping more enjoyable and highly more dangerous for me. Very often, I will go looking for a specific item and find nothing, only to return to my computer and my list of bookmarked shopping sites. Usually, I buy something completely different than what I was looking for. I have made a habit of going through current magazines and marking fashion ideas and next season's trends before I sit down at the computer and scour my favorite sites for something resembling the stuff I have picked out. I blame Lucky Magazine for making this process far too easy with those little stickers that fashion addicts can use to remember exactly where to find those new shoes.

I have always had a loving relationship with fashion. I was always the one that picked out things no one else would wear. Now, I was never breaking boundaries like this Lady



, but I was definitely buying things in ridiculous colors with prints that I would now call hideous. I did my best to recreate things I thought the magazines did correctly. When it came to buying dresses for special occasions, I never settled. If Britney wore it, I wanted it. It Gwen talked about it, I had to have it. Funny, that part hasn't changed... And the buyers' remorse seems to be non-existant when it comes to something that in any way includes the name Gwen Stefani, L.A.M.B., or Harajuku Lovers. The collection of bags I have amassed since the first "L.A.M.B. for Le Sportsac" line in the early 2000s is quite frightening. I do believe I have lost count.

With a love of shopping and fashion also comes the annoying prospect of putting on something that just doesn't work or wanting something that doesn't quite exist. Just today, one of my best friends and I took a little (discount) shopping trip. Now, I am all for a good bargain, but I just don't have the patience to shop through the racks. If I see it without searching, it's perfect. Both of us walked in to the first store with ideas of clothing we had created in our heads. Her cardigan and my casual dresses just didn't exist. For many years I have maintained the idea that no matter your shape or size, there are clothes to make a person look good. I truly believe that there is something for everyone to wear and be comfortable and happy with the way he/she looks... but it definitely sucks when the dress you've had your eye on or the trendiest of jeggings (I despise them) just doesn't fit. More often than not, this is the part of shopping I could do without. I've become a fan of buying things without trying them on in the store (sorry, Stacy & Clinton of "What Not to Wear") and an even bigger fan of online shopping. There is much less to worry about when you're staring that the mirror in your own bedroom (especially if you're shopping at Loehmans in the open dressing room where the creepy lady is supposedly making sure you're not stealing anything... She was especially creepy today).

I honestly have no idea where this entry is going or even what my point was. Ha! What I can tell you is this... Right now, I'm going to online shop because I have nothing else to do, and it's just that easy.

"Style is style. Fashion is fashion. Girl, you got style."
(Ignore the very similar "Papa Don't Preach" opening.)

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

I am going to write a book. I am going to write a book, and, one day, it will become a big screen movie... Not some ABC Family one (not that I don't enjoy my fair share of those... Lucky 7 and This Time Around are still my favorite). But a real movie that fans of the book will be waiting for. I promise that I will not be 93 - like Beverly Cleary - before this happens.

It's really nice when someone else's work can inspire you to work so hard for yourself. Of late, my sources of inspiration have been: The Harry Potter books, Taylor Swift's "Tim McGraw," Stephanie Meyer's Twilight Saga (more on that later), and - most recently - Ramona and Beezus, the movie.

I want to be that good. I want to create something for generations to enjoy together. They'll laugh and they'll cry. And they'll be able to share something that is worthwhile to so many different types of people. I'll write some great piece of young adult fiction that 25 year-olds will still feel happy reading, and the 15 year-olds' parents won't mind that their kids can't turn out the lights on a school night.

Over the last five years, I have started approximately five different stories that I have aimed to make bigger. I have stopped and started, all the while claiming that a writer can't force it. That words just have to come, or the backspace key becomes a best friend. One paragraph written, three erased. I've done it many times; I have reached the end of a page, and, without reading over it, have cleared an hour's worth of work off the screen. You'd think it would hurt, but it's actually somewhat cathartic to get rid of something only your eyes have ever seen. Because when it's bad, you know you can only make it better.

In recent times, it seems that the single biggest push I have had to write has come from reading the Twilight Saga. I'm almost ashamed at saying that because I have a very strong love-hate relationship with those books. I hate that I love seeing the movies instantly, and I love that I can share my genuine hatred with two of my best friends. Every time I reached the end of one of those books, I immediately thought to myself, "I can do this, and I can do this better." I don't mean to take away all that Meyer has earned because she is certainly one lucky lady, but I have MAJOR issues with her writing style and a good portion of the subject matter. No, not that vampire sparkle or that it seems only Native American Indians can turn into werewolves (I did get Taylor Lautner out of that, no?). And while I do not claim to be a feminist, I want the millions of young girls that read these books to have someone better to look up to. To me, Bella is both lacking self-respect and full of male dependency issues all at once. With every save from Edward or Jacob, I cringed, knowing that the idea of the White Knight is what keeps them turning pages. I want so much more for the young adults that ache to pick up a captivating book.

When I finished reading those four books, I took a trip to the Young Adult section of Borders and was completely horrified at what I saw. Entire shelves were lined with covers that screamed SEX. I'm not naive to assume that it's not what they want to read, but I guess I'm just hoping there's another way to make a 16 year-old girl pick up a book. I do remember sitting in my best friend's room with a stack of her mother's beach reads, combing the pages for something we shouldn't have been reading. We also tried to read The Carpetbaggers when we were probably 16. To this day, I have no idea what it was about because I didn't finish it. I hope to write something more like Anne Brashares who grew with her readers and had no mistaken ideas about her readers' intelligence. She gave her audience hope, love, friendship, and - yes - even sex, but none of that was for shock value. It was real, and it was incredible. I still maintain today, eight years after I picked up the first Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants books (and read the whole series twice), that Brashares's books have effected me greatly.

I will not be writing anything like that Gossip Girl crap... But, I won't go on there. That's an entirely different post.

ANYWAY... I wish that I could personally thank everyone connected with the Ramona and Beezus adaptation. Though it's been a very long time since I read those books, I was so happy to see something so wonderful for a young audience. It was especially nice that this movie lacked the typical Hannah Montana attitude that is rampant in loads of Disney fans (ha, myself included). I only wish my current written heroine was a brunette, because I would be so happy to have Miss Selena Gomez helm this project one day. Let's hope by then she's not too old. :-)

"A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep."

Sugar... Aw, Honey, Honey.

I dream about cupcakes. Really. I'm not kidding.

The other night, I fell asleep after watching "Cupcake Wars" on TLC, and all I remembered from a dream were cupcakes. It's weird. I don't have to ask the rhetorical blog question of readers whose answers I won't actually hear. I know it's strange. Who dreams about cupcakes?

I mean, I guess it's more than just cupcakes. It's cake too. Over the ten weeks I have been out of work, I have watched every sort of cake/baking show imaginable. It never fails that when an episode of "Amazing Wedding Cakes" or "Ace of Cakes" is over, I feel the need to eat some variation of this baked goodness. If you're from the New Jersey/Pennsylvania area, you'll understand why my cake of choice is ShopRite birthday cake. Always has been, always will be. It beats even the fanciest cakes created by Buddy at Carlo's Bakery (which, I have heard, don't taste so great anyway).

I, like so many others, have been completely sucked into this whole cupcake craze. But, really, it's dumb. The other day I thought to myself that cupcakes were so much more fun when they were a special treat because some kid in class was having a birthday and had to provide a special afternoon dessert to the whole class. I always preferred them over Munchkins. And don't you think it's a little weird that the kid with the birthday had to provide the snacks? Shouldn't the class have been bringing them in for the one with the birthday? Just a thought. Anyway, after living in Los Angeles, I can name a whole bunch of cupcake places very quickly. I admit, I have waited in a line outside Sprinkles just to see what the big deal was about. I can't lie; they're pretty incredible. But, I've wondered why all of a sudden everyone thinks he/she can make the best cupcakes on the block and charge somewhere near $4 dollars for a little piece of cake (when you can totally get a whole ShopRite birthday cake for a more reasonable price). And why does everyone that makes these cakes get a reality TV show? What if I started cranking out cupcakes in my kitchen and wanted to pitch a show about that? Would it work? I'm sure someone at TLC would think there was semi-scripted genius in that.

Honestly, cupcakes will always be appealing. If you like cake and frosting, you like the mini version. I just think this whole thing needs to go away. I guess we can go back many years and blame "Sex and the City" and Magnolia Bakery for starting it all in NYC. I am guilty of owning the Magnolia cookbooks and replicating their famous red velvet on occasion (but they make the massive mistake of using vanilla frosting... not cream cheese), but I couldn't see standing in their crowded store on a hot day just to say I bought one for myself. Please, just get them off the TV screen. I don't need to want them every day, and I'd like to stop dreaming about cupcakes.

"Like the summer sunshine, pour your sweetness over me."

The First Cut is the Deepest.

And so, the moment arrived.

After months of dreading seeing him, I was suddenly face to face with the person I will refer to as - hmm... umm... something clever - DD (if you already know this story, you'll know why). Thankfully, in this case, I have been blessed with the kissing disease, and found myself out of work for ten weeks. This, my faithful (and new) followers is why you don't date someone that is in any way connected to your work environment.

Man... I should have learned that lesson a long time ago. Maybe, like, let's say 3 1/2 years ago when I first dated a coworker.

I can't say I had played out the interaction in my head because I honestly thought I'd find some way of avoiding him. He waited approximately two months from the last time I had seen him to return to the restaurant I manage. At least he had the courtesy to give me that much breathing room. However, due to mono, I wasn't there at that time. Or about three weeks later when he returned again. And if you go back in time, tracking the symptoms of what later became a positive on a test for mononucleosis, DD is the culprit in that crime as well as the one of truly and deeply hurting my feelings.

If you're reading my new blog, there's a very good chance that you know the whole story, and I won't go back through the short saga and continue to upset myself. The simplest way of putting it is that DD is an asshole. An asshole that only knew how to apologize because a certain girl - me - called him on his dimwitted ways. I still find myself wondering how he'd feel if someone treated his two sisters the way he treated me... or how his mother probably thinks she's got a nice, Jewish boy for a son. All Jewish mothers think their sons are catches. Funny, because the three that I've gone out with more than two times have all been seriously lacking in the intelligence and maturity categories.

Once I was informed that we were again in the same place at the same time, I'd be lying if I said my heart didn't start racing. I didn't want to look at him, and I didn't want to admit to myself that I still find him incredibly attractive. Because, well, I do. As much as I dislike the person he is, I can't deny that he is certainly good looking. I was the one that was drawn to him in the first place. Forced with the unavoidable moment of seeing him, I managed to keep my head in conversation with someone and my eyes on my phone. A simple hello was enough to aggravate me. Did he have to add the "It's good to see you"? I tried to ignore that part even though he lingered beside me as if he was looking for a conversation. No, DD, I don't want to talk to you. I don't want you to know that I've continued to be upset many nights since you didn't bother to contact me. I don't want you to think of me as a lesson in learning how to deal with women you date. Unfortunately, I think that's what I've been.

My dating experience is limited, but I've witnessed many relationships, and I've learned enough through simple human interaction to know what behavior is appropriate and/or expected of a person in a social situation, be it private or public, between two people alone or a large group of friends. DD apparently missed those lessons. He lacked the communication skills that didn't involve selling himself to me by outlining the luxuries he's received as part of (what seems like) a wealthy family. And, like I said before, he only knew well enough to apologize because I felt it necessary to explain how much he hurt me. The rapid fire of text messages that followed the morning after I told him how I felt didn't mean anything. He said he was sorry because he got caught being in the wrong.

Going back a few guys, one person I dated said to me, "No matter what happens with this relationship, I know I'll have learned a lot from you." Why am I that girl? Why am I the one that teaches the lesson? I'm sorry, but maybe I'd like to be found by someone who has already gone through these things and already learned what it takes to be a good guy for a good girl. I am not desperate, but I'm looking, and I am tired of needing to be the one that calls, the one that plans, the one that texts...

And you know what, every time I say I won't do it, and I do. Next time, really, someone take the phone from me. Maybe I need to learn my own lesson here.

Stop finding guys that are:
1. Too young (laugh, go ahead...)
2. Too immature (do they exist?)
3. Too broken (oh, he was all three...)
4. Too ____________ (fill-in-the-blank)

"I would have given you all of my heart. But there's someone who's torn it apart."