I am a Clothes Hoarder…

A couple months ago when I was working in retail, I quickly realized why I’ve hated cleaning my room. This may seem irrelevant to my retail job but really, if you take a look at my room and all the clothes and useless junk I’ve accumulated over the years, it might begin to make sense. Folding clothes, cleaning after other people and putting things in their proper places at the store was an epiphany for me. I hate cleaning up after messy people, let alone straightening things up after people have tried on clothes they aren’t going to buy. So this might make some sense after I soon realized, I might be that same messy person I had to clean up after…

I guess I have fast fashion (cheap clothing stores) and college to blame for my messy room. It’s not that it’s extremely messy, I’m pretty organized, but I think I’m just scared to throw things out. College was tough because I didn’t bring everything I had at home to school and I allowed myself to buy cheap things I could wear on a whim at school or useless crap that could distract me from my studies. (Did I really need a new dress for every weekend party? But it was only $10!) But then I brought everything home…

The worst thing about moving back home from college (and I’m already a year in,) is the fact that when you have a job and your life changes, your stuff has got to change too.

At moments I feel like a person on the Hoarders t.v. show because I can’t seem to part with the crap I have. I wish I could dump my whole room out and start over again. Maybe this is what growing up really means.

I’ve tried to give things away but sometimes I feel as though these clothes are like threads in the memory that were my college years and I feel a need to keep them, just in case. Hoarder tip-off #1: Clothes fade, memories should not.


So, while I’m still struggling to cleanse my closet from my fast fashion college days, here are ways I’m hoping to de-college-afy my closet:

1) Sorting through stupid promotional t-shirts and actually throwing out/donating them. The one thing I’m a sucker for is free t-shirts. Seems like it doesn’t matter the cause or the words on the shirt, I believe I have a boastful collection. Half of these t-shirts have never been worn and unless I decide on creating a repurposed t-shirt quilt for my bed (very hipster meets dirty bum-esque) then I won’t need my whole collection, even if I did decide to start going to the gym again.

2) Clothes that have holes (even teeny-tiny ones) or clothes that are made of thin-soon-to-get-holes-material, no matter how long I’ve held on to them, should be thrown away. If it can be replaced, I can buy a newer, similar one.

3) If the clothing item in question was only in style for less than one semester and immediately placed on the “banished trends” category, I should donate it. I don’t think knitted turquoise ponchos will really ever be hip again, at least not at my workplace.

4) If I haven’t even touched the clothing item (aka the only ones that are still neatly folded on my shelves) then I really need to ask myself, “Would I wear this to work? Would I wear this on the weekend? Would I wear this in a week? In a year?” and the answers (most likely) are “No” then it’s best to say, it won’t ever be trendy and useful to me.

5) Would you rather have the cheapy-it-cost-$5-to-make-and-looks-that-way version of that cardigan in the closet or the slightly more expensive but you-know-it’ll-last-longer-better-made version? I need to learn that fast fashion styles and low manufacturing quality only equals spending more money and having more junky clothes piling up in my closet. Investing in quality brands and styles that can last more than 1 season are keepers and worth investing in.

As in all resolutions, they are easier said than done but I really do hope I can get rid of some threads of the past and have space for better investments for the future. Especially for when my paychecks start getting thicker.


A Letter


Dear Student Loan Bill,

Thank you for reminding me that I will not be moving out of my parents’ house any time soon. As if I had any previous hope of vacating these parental premises soon and get on with feeling like a normal adult, you have made it clear that it won’t happen.

You’ve ruined the archetypal, pre-economic crisis vision I had of jumping ship and wanderlust-ing around Asia or third world countries spreading my post-graduate charm all while blogging and taking pictures of me doing exotic things only to make my Facebook friends jealous and depressed in their cubicles.

I think you like the fact that I wake up extra extra early every morning, jump on a bus that takes as long as if I rode a horse-driven chariot to the best city in the world, work for exactly 8 hours (no more and no less or my anal boss will chop my head off), rush to catch a bus back home to the suburbs, eat dinner and get in bed by 10pm. It just tickles you that I can be in the city but not really BE in the city, doesn’t it?

With an estimated 12 years of monthly payments that double my current weekly hourly salary, you’ve truly brightened my day. (Note: sarcasm)

In 12 years, I hope I can laugh this off, or I guess I hope I can pay this off…

The fact is, let’s be honest: I’m going to grin and bare it. Because that’s really all one can do nowadays, isn’t it?

You’ve got to grin and bare the shit that’s thrown at you in order to rise to the top. A wise person once told me that, actually no, I said that. Because on college graduation they told us we’d success in anything we did now that we had a diploma and 4 years of loans to be paid. (Nice inspirational thought though.)

I’m the granddaughter of a fortune cookie fortune writer, did you know that?

So cheers to you, Student Loan Bill, congrats on being another factor pushing me ever so forcefully to rise through the muck that is my future. And let’s hope that hard work does pay off, wherever that might lead.

And Lord have mercy on the generations of grads after me.



in the rain, we all collide

New York City in the rain is one of my least favorite things. I’m not saying the city isn’t beautiful in the rain, because of course I think so.

I’m saying the whole business of walking around this metropolis, navigating with an umbrella-appendage is bothersome. On a day like today, stumbling around the streets of New York with a nausea of humidity and moisture among the billions of other workminded folk, it’s a bit awkward.

It feels like being in the sea, one insignificant fish flitting among the flow and eb of the avenues trying to find my way, the number of umbrellas floating endlessly like a crowd of colorful, water-repellent jellyfish.

There’s nowhere to turn without bumping into another person or raising your umbrella so as to not smack anyone on the head. As a shorter person, it’s not unusual to feel the drip of the rain runoff from someone else’s umbrella.

But somehow, the annoyance of it all, being forced into a obligatory reef of likeminded commuters and playing umbrella bumper tag before work while skipping around dirty ankle-high sewage water makes me realize that we are all in this same big world together and no matter where we’re going or who we may look like, we are all alike; colliding through life one puddle at a time.

Oh hi, long time no stalk….

Recently, life has gotten too busy for me to waste time stalking people on Facebook. SO, maybe this is a false statement but I like to think that my life has elevated to full-time employment status in which I imagine my daily dealings are beyond my idle college years of wasting precious minutes stalking my virtual friends. (But really, it’s probably that I shouldn’t be surfing the web on my work computer anyway.)

Well, I was reunited with the pleasure of Facebook stalking again a few days ago…. 

The other day was strange for 2 reasons though: 1) My bus was 15 minutes late so I stood outside shivering in the middle of March dressed in thin stockings, pumps, and a lime green linen dress (I like to think I’m eclectic), and 2) I started surfing my Facebook newsfeed on my iPhone. I generally avoid looking at Facebook on my phone because staring at the activities and whereabouts of my “friends” activities suck up my battery and reading about all the great parties I wasn’t invited to and the life-changing humanitarian missions people feel they must share kindasorta depresses me a bit.

Alas, there I was, reading my stupid Facebook news feed waiting for that damn bus.  But for some reason, a couple of recently uploaded pictures from a “friend” I’ll call Alli caught my eye.

Besides the fact that Alli and I haven’t really talked or acknowledged each other since middle school, we go way back. Best friends since Kindergarden, Alli and I had the type of friendship that inevitably fades when kids start being cliquey and stop being human. Nonetheless, we were friendly to each other and I like to still think we ended on a genial note.

The photos that had me genuinely and full-on stalking that morning though, felt like a brand-new episode to a crappy t.v. show I watch for no reason but for pure entertainment. There they were, all the kids I had loved to hate, in the same sentiment of their high school glory, reunited and reincarnated in their current 20-something year old bodies. It was oddly  addicting and sadly fascinating.  Each picture I flipped through featured familiar faces, most of whom I knew a lot about, if only from a distance. It was like high school itself, like seeing a stupid film with actors who aren’t particularly good but whom you watch just for the feeling of some certain memory in time.

Watching them pose with their matured posse, in a hotel room, in front of a casino, dolled up before a fancy dinner, with their “hot” counterparts, it was like an extension of my memory of those hallowed high school halls. It was a manifestation of some sort, like these photos were some strange sort of proof saying “Look at us, we are all so grown and classy and mature, young professionals!”  If only they had said, “I’m sorry for the crappy way I was in high school but I’m better now. I could even be your friend.” 

No, they weren’t really convincing. But it was a strange feeling, to have a memory of people who were never involved in my life yet for some reason, so involved and how we feel we have to provide proof of how we are growing up. Or we like to think we have grown up. 

Nevertheless, I’ve given up on Facebook stalking for now. I’d rather see my real friends in person, and we don’t have to take photos to prove anything.

A (belated) New Year’s Resolution…

                                        happy new year

Resolved: To succeed.  

2012 is starting off swimmingly….I’ve just gotten a great long-term temp job at a high end jewelry brand doing communications and training. I’m excited to begin something that is interesting and unique and a position from which I can improve and broaden my skills. This first week at work felt weird after not using my brain for so long (especially doing nonsense work like retail) but I was so ready for the immediate change. My body and mind must have also been awaiting the day I’d return to “real” work because the first day of my new job, I was up at 6am ready to conquer New York City without even feeling a hint of lethargy. I hope this energy of mine is long-lived.

While landing this new job is great and promising, it doesn’t mean I’m still not searching for more permanent positions. We will see what the new year holds. I’m starting 2012 off by being optimistic about the job market and the opportunity the future holds for me and I will not give up on doing my best. I know I have the power and the skills to succeed, I just need to continue to showcase them and put them to good use. 

petitegirlproblems: “TINY”


I had an interview yesterday for an Apple retail job. It was actually a lot of fun and I learned a lot more than I thought I would about Apple. With over 50 applicants it was pretty intimidating but they split us up into 2 different rooms to make interviewing a bit easier. In the room of 20 applicants I was in, I was 1 of 3 girls in the room. Weird especially coming from a company like J.Crew where everyone I work with is either a woman or a gay man, but it was kind of refreshing in itself representing a different business environment. 

The first person I started talking to was one of the other girls in the room. We started talking about our iPhones and how Mac products basically changed our lives (I swear by my MacBook and iPhone). As the managers heading the interview started to direct us to the row of seats within the room, the girl I had been talking to told me to walk in front of her as the crowds of guys rushed in to occupy seats. She strained her face as if talking to a baby, smiled at me and said, “Aw you go ahead first, honey. I don’t want you to get like, crushed or anything. You are just so tiny!” GAH. 

Okay, so yes I acknowledge I’m not the tallest 22 year old nor do I fill out the average girl’s figure (I can probably still fit kids clothes) and this girl was not at all on the small side. Yet the moment she uttered those not-so-uncommon words there were a few unorthodox thoughts that came to my mind:

1) Just because I am “tiny” does not mean I am a little baby or as fragile as a stick.

2) Promising to protect me since you are bigger than me will not make you feel better about your own weight nor make me feel better about mine.

3) If you are bigger than me (and I mean when you stand in front of me there would be enough room for two of me behind you) and you call me “tiny”, why the hell can’t I call you “HUGE”? Shouldn’t that give the same effect as when you called me “TINY”?

Mostly, my thoughts lingered on the last statement…. Why is it so taboo for calling people FAT and HUGE and OBESE (when they really are) and it’s extremely okay for to tell others that they are TINY and ITSY-BTSY and SMALL? 

It happens to me all the time with my co-workers at work. I am constantly being called “so tiny” and “itsy-btsy” and having to respond to that as if they are compliments. I don’t necessarily take them to be compliments. If you think never being able to find the right fit of jeans or a bra that fits you completely, or jackets that don’t make you look like you are being eaten by material constitutes a better body size, then you might want to reevaluate things. 

There are challenges and triumphs in being any size or shape.

I just want people to realize the effects of using both sides of these descriptive words. Society needs to understand that there is no right image or size that defines a woman.  Whether you are curvy, petite, tall, short, or in between, there is no better or worse. Greener grass does not exist on either side.

DVDs of the week Part 2!

This was my DVD-library stash for Thanksgiving week. Every library was out of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving but luckily it was playing on T.V. and luckily it is probably the most educational (and aka boring) Charlie Brown film of them all so I settled with A Charlie Brown Christmas.

A Charlie Brown Christmas  Charlie Brown, the holidays, Vince Guaraldi, pathetic christmas trees, need I say more? A Charlie Brown Christmas is just a definite staple to starting the holiday season. One of my all time favorites. 

Post Grad  I thought this would be a nice movie to watch considering my similiar post-grad status to the character’s in the film but….this movie was terrible. I loved Alexis Bledel in Gilmore GIrls but unfortunately I think that might have been the height of her career. The plot was predictable, corny, and too outlandish to keep my attention. Other than that the movie’s soundtrack was pretty good.

Inception  Classic. I love all the actors in this film and the plot still blows my mind. I’m still confused. 

Easy A   Um. still need to watch.

Good Hair  Chris Rock’s hilarious and surprisingly interesting documentary about the craze behind African American hair but more deeply, what hair embodies for African American women and women in general. I think Chris Rock did a good job presenting a film through interviews and videos about a topic that is not often discussed in today’s society. If you ever wondered about weaves, wigs, or relaxers, watch this documentary.