I Got a Stage Five Clinger.

The monster next door.

Have you ever met someone new to whom you bestow your kindness upon, the only reason being because you are a nice person, only to find out that he/she is a Stage Five Clinger (SFC)? Creepiness in the form of a SFC found its way to me this past year. However, there always is a silver-lining to each clingy cloud, mine being a topic to post about today.

Scene: You meet a new person. Through a friend, in a line, at a bar, through a social networking website. whatever.You and the new acquaintance start a convo of small talk. Or maybe even big talk. Either way, you are chatting. You had a pleasant-enough conversation and all parties involved had a good time , but, much like a one-night stand, you don’t really plan on keeping a close relationship. Maybe a bootycall in the form of a “Hey! How are you? So good to see you! Bye!” when running into them again, but nothing much more involved than that.

Or maybe you actually do befriend the person, offer them a spot as your roommate, and then offer them a little place in your heart and perform acts of charity for them, such as, but not limited to: cooking meals for them, giving them a make over, gift giving, and/ or begging their boyfriend (or girlfriend, this is hypothetical after all) to not break up with them the week of their birthday.

However, unbeknown to you, you are dealing with a SFC. The rules have changed. In fact, there are no rules. No boundaries. No privacy. You have just entered the realm of a SFC. There is no turning back now, at least not without all the emotional-abuse ammunition you possess.

In hopes that you can identify someone with SFC, here are a list of symptoms:

They text you even when you don’t respond. And text you again. And again. And again. And again….

They casually bring up your party, dinner date, family reunion, honeymoon, etc. in hopes that they will be invited. If not, they invite themselves.

They copy every stupid thing you say, even when you say something stupid on purpose just to see if they are copying you.

They befriend all of your friends, before you introduce them.

They agree with everything you say. All. The. Time.

They hack into your e-mail, facebook, myspace, twitter, etc. And then yell at you about what they find.

You see the exact same monkey poster hanging on their wall that you bought a week ago.

Theses characteristics and more are a range of symptoms suffered by all SFC victims. If you see any of these symptoms, or suspect a person to have SFC, STAY AWAY AT ALL COSTS.

Otherwise, you may end up with the worst frenemy you will ever have to encounter. Their annoying habits of copying you and following you around like a lap dog will turn into resentment and habits of scheming to ruin your birthday, holiday, anniversary, and life. Of course they will be nice to your face for the time being, even though you have a sneaking suspicion soemthing just doesn’t measure up. Then when you confront them on it, they put the blame and frustration of not having thier own sense-of -self on you. Heck, they may even accuse YOU of being “fake” in order to make themselves feel more original, cool, indiviual, popular, whatever.

But now that you are aware of the traits possessed by SFC, you can lead a happy and normal life free of those with SFC, not one made so twisted and demented by a SFC that you are pissed off every day of your life. Like mine.

Thank you and have a good day.

My Indecisive Compulsive Disorder (ICD)

My name is Mikinzie and I have a problem.

I am one  of the many shopoholics that compulsively purchases clothing, makeup, shoes, and accessories in excess. In this day and age it is fairly normal, or at least popular, among the fairer sex. I mean, they even made a movie about it; curiously enough starring a redheaded writer with an out-of-control spending habit. Hmmmm, sound familiar?

However, I have a rare condition. It is because of this condition that I consider myself to be in an advanced stage of shopoholism. I enjoy the high of spending beyond my means like my fellow shopaholics, but I then have a compulsion to take it back for a return. Sometimes its a week later, sometimes its a day later, and sometimes its even 20 minutes later.

It is a condition that causes me and my loved ones much mental anguish. Some say its even border-line insanity. I have a condition called Indecisive Compulsive Disorder (ICD).  Contrary to popular belief, it is not just the general state of indecisiveness, but the state of indecisiveness on a much grander scale.

ICD not ONLY means not knowing what to order on a menu, keeping those eating with you waiting for your decision, BUT when you finally do decide, you change at the last minute from having decision made back to a state of “I-don’t-know.” (A scenario that I have learned to avoid by giving the helpless waitress a few choices and then making HER decide for me).

ICD does not necessarily stem from my shopoholism, but adds to the severity of my shopping addiction. Take for instance today: I was shopping at one of my favorite clothing stores, Express, and got a deal that allowed me both 20 dollars off the total amount and 20% off of the remaining amount. In other words, I was high on the thrill of the Spend n’ Save rollercoaster. I had purchased two pairs of editor shorts (one in black, one in white), a cardigan, and a t-shirt (already on sale: triple bonus!).

After my super-savings fantasia, I shopped around the mall a bit more and had the challenging task of picking out suitable attire at Banana Republic for my young, fun, but-fashionably clueless –or maybe a better word would be “careless”– 29-year-old track coach, Steve. Since he had a $70 gift card and no idea what to spend it on, I was on a mission to find something so casually cool that even a fashionably aloof guy such as Steve wouldn’t be able to resist checking himself out in the window (which I do all the time. Another vice, I know). After many trying attempts and many refusals of my exhaustive request to “just spend it on me ,” we finally hit success with a navy blue half-zip and two timeless t’s (a stunning red to compliment his Italian ethnicity and a charcoal grey ringer t). I think I was more thrilled than he was.

Being entranced by the aspect of picking clothes out for someone, I hadn’t realized the symptoms of my disorder until we left the store. Then it hit me: I needed to take back the white pair of editor shorts.

“They aren’t practical.”

“But they look stunning with the red shirt (with fabulous white, black, and metallic accents) I just bought.”

“Doesn’t matter. I am marching in there and taking them back.”

“But I they are so in for spring and summer.”

“Just put one foot in front of the other”

“Thatta girl….”

And so I returned them. Meanwhile, still trying to figure out whether I had made the right decision in doing so, I watched the sales associate staple the return receipt to my original receipt. I shuffled out of the store with my head hung low, a mild form of post-return depression coming on. That’s when I actually LOOKED at the reciept. I had only paid $32.46 for a pair of $44.50 pair of shorts! What a deal!

That’s when the panic hit me. I was stuck in limbo and actually turned towards the store, then back around, then back towards the store again. I wanted to march back into Express and demand that they resell me those shorts! How dare they not explain to me what a bargain I was missing out on! However, I considered, they may call security to escort me out of the store in a straitjacket, for both my sake and theirs.

After turning round and round in circles, I admitted defeat and dragged my feet away from the store’s entrance. If I hadn’t been shopping with three other people on this particular occasion, I probably would have continued to chase my tail like a dog until I collapsed from dizziness.

I like to think that my case of ICD is due to the fact that I am of a slight-perfectionist nature and absolutely dread making the wrong decision. Most times, in order to avoid making a wrong decision, a decision is just simply not made. This then results in my post-return depression from the lost opportunity. Then it just becomes an ever-evolving vicious cycle until I am exhausted from mentally running around in circles.

Call me crazy, but I think I might be on to something.

Southpark’s “Stupid Spoiled Whore” Actually Got Something Right

I am sure by the time I post this blog, everyone has seen the McCain ad featuring Obama, Hilton, and Spears. I am even more sure that everyone has seen Paris’ rebuttal ad either on CNN, Funny or Die, or somewhere else on the wonderful world wide web. (wwww.com?) If you haven’t seen the ad, see below for a free view.

Before I congratulate her, let me preface this by saying I have been a longtime member of the Hilton Haters. Though I have always had some respect for Nicki, Paris has always left me with a sour taste in my mouth and a look of befuddlement on my face. I have been baffled by girls, both in high school and college, who worship her. To this day, the episode of South Park making fun of Paris Hilton is one that is almost too close to reality to be satire and reigns as one of my faves.

However, this will be the first (and probably last) time that I say “Kudos” to Ms. Paris Hilton. I was both astounded and amused at her involvement in dirty politics- she fits right in. Instead of being annoying, she is surprisingly witty- even if she is sunbathing in a leopard print cutout one-piece during the ad. However her vocabulary still has not matured past referring to others as “bitches” and her excessive use of  the word “hot.” Though the lines that didn’t involve the word “hot” or “bitches” were unlikely written by Ms. Hilton, they weren’t half bad. At least she can POSE as being interested in political issues- as long as there is a camera ready, of course.

It appears to me that Paris is at her best when she acts like herself- a stupid spoiled whore. Everyone likes a person who can poke fun not only at the expense of others (which she does to McCain with glee), but at the expense of themselves. Especially when you are a 5’11 – blue eyed- platinum blond- 125 lbs heiress.

In my opinion this is Paris best move in the media yet, even if she was practically handed the publicity by McCain. At least it is a hell of a lot more original than a sex tape, jail stint, and finding God. If Paris keeps this up, she may end up having more fans than foes. God help us all.

Drink of Choice

My cup of inspiration

Do you ever think that what you drink says something about you? Well of course you do. This is about as novel of an idea as the whole “shoes” theory. Based on stereotypes (which, surprisingly, are not as inaccurate as people think), people who drink water are health-conscious, people who drink diet pop are either trying to lose weight or trying to keep it off, people who drink coffee black are bitter (HA kidding, of course..what do I have to be bitter about? lol) and people who drink designer-energy drinks such as Rockstar or Monster like to have a rowdy time the night before and are paying for it now.

Being a connoisseur of beverages (Last time I went grocery shopping, my dear friend Heidi and I both noticed that I had more beverage items than items of food). I have come to the conclusion that drinks also tie into the whole pre-dating/ dating/ whatever-you-want-to-call-

it thing. This mainly goes out to the ladies, as a way to predict what you are getting yourself into, but is also is a good piece of advice for guys so you are more accurate on letting her know what you want. Now back to my point. Mainly, there are two choices of beverage in regards to this theory: Coffee and “Drinks” (as in ones involving alcohol). As we all know, guys are generally the ones to ask a girl out for “fill in the blank.” (Yes, even I, an assertive and aggressive alpha-female, generally lets the guy make the first move) The main focus is on the “fill in the blank” I referred to above.

First let’s focus on coffee. Coffee is generally associated with conversation ie “sitting down” for coffee at a coffee shop. A warm cup of joe chock full of caffeine is just what you need to jump-start an intelligent conversation (and by conversing, I do not mean just small talk). Before your first cup is gone (or cold for you non-coffee drinkers), the two of you are having a philosophical conversation even Aristotle himself would deem worthy. Therefore, it is fair to assume that if you are asked out to coffee (or are asking), then the person genuinely would like to get to know you better and wants you to learn a little something about them as well.

Secondly, drinks. I will be honest, I am very excited to be turning 21 in a matter of days. Drinks are not a bad thing (in moderation of course), and can lead to a good time. Most often than not, that is all they lead to. Let’s look at it logically. Alcohol lowers inhibitions, affecting the frontal lobe of your brain (which is key to your personality..scientific fact, look it up) Therefore, when you are intoxicated, you are not “yourself.” I know the cliche “drunk words are sober thoughts,” comes to mind, but how many times have you done things that you either a) cannot remember or b) do not wish to remember? We have all done things totally out of character when intoxicated (ask anyone and their brother and skeletons will come bursting out of every closet). Therefore, if asked out (or asking) for drinks,it is fair to assume that both parties are looking to have a good time..and thats it.

If you know me at all, then you know my drink of choice is coffee…black

The Comedy of Cooking

Cooking, art thou cultured or domesticated? That is my question.

A year ago, the words “I can’t cook” were frequently uttered from my lips. I could not cook and I had no desire to learn. I have been cooking for exactly one year now. I was forced into learning how to cook after moving off campus since I didn’t have anyone to do it for me and I didn’t have the money or the metabolism to go out to eat every night.  However, it is something that I have finally come to enjoy.

What I do not enjoy is the connotations that have been associated with women and cooking. I am in no way domesticated, or at least not intentionally. While I do enjoy a clean surface to eat on, I am in no way a housemaker. Just because I can cook does not mean I have any intentions of being a stay-at-home wife. Accordingly, I do not spend an hour cooking just because I have to. There are plenty of tasty items to choose from in the freezer section at the grocery store.

I cook because I enjoy it. I enjoy picking out a combination of herbs to shake onto vegatables and meat. I enjoy lifting my wok and shaking it around just to hear it sizzle. I enjoy stirring rice, pasta, or sauce to just the right consistency. But most of all, I enjoy the compliments I get when I make a good meal. I enjoy the “Oooos” and Ahhhhs.” I enjoy the bragging rights. I enjoy the ego boost.

Just like doing anything else one is good at such as painting a picture, writing a poem, designing a room, playing chess, putting together an outfit- Good cooking is a way of saying “Look at me, I can do something well!”

Now I have gotten some guff on my cooking abilities from friends who are very “I am woman, hear me roar!” And while I consider myself pretty independent, I appreciate my ability to cook and admit to liking it. This has gotten me the name “house bitch” on a few instances. However, I choose not to think of myself as domesticated, but rather, cultured. I think cooking is necessary to being cultured. It is WHAT and WHY you cook that divides the cultured from the domesticated.

 

Here are the differences:

Domesticated

What: Usually follows a routine schedule. Family favorites, quick dishes for laundry night, and the classic casserole. Basic ingredients consistent of a meat, a starch, and a vegetable. Lots of steak and potatoes. Side salad with ranch or french dressing. Milk or water to drink.

Why: To feed a grouchy husband and whiny children. (Or for someone who is still single, to feed a boyfriend who can’t feed himself.)

Cultured

What: Same basic setup but with a new twist. Dishes that are tangy, flavorful, and sometimes even exotic. Salad no longer consists of carrots and cheddar cheese, but rather feta or blue cheese, dried fruit, and nuts. Starch is no longer mashed potatoes, but rather spicy potatoes or wild rice. Meats are cooked with flavorings other than salt and pepper, such as lemon juice, teriyaki, basil, thyme, rosemary, or a variety of dressings and mustards. And to drink? Alcohol of course.

Why: To expand one’s pallette. To experience foods from other places. To get drunk on the aromas and arouse the senses.

 

So bottom line, Domesticated cooking is boring: it is a means to an end. Cultured cooking, on the other hand, is an experience and a meal: killing two birds with one stone.

Cooking can become an adventure if you let it. Beginning with finding an appealing new recipe and shopping for the ingrediants, to cooking the meal and smelling the fragrant steam, to actually enjoying the meal itself. It can take you right out of your home and into other exotic countries, if only for an hour.

A good example of those who Culturally cook is the French. Maybe they have a reason to be quite snobbish: their cuisine is fantastic. However, it is the state of mind that they have when it comes to cooking that makes them not only lean, but cultured. They shop day to day for their meals, aside from the wine and cheese that are always found in a French household. They use full-flavored and full-fat foods to make a full stomach. The French do not stuff their faces or scarf down their meal; they sit back, relax, and savor every bite.

Now, I am not saying that us busy Americans have time to grocery shop every day, but I think it would be beneficial for America’s obesity problem to get their ass off the couch, Tivo American Idol, and grocery shop a few times a week for fresh produce. Believe me, your friends and family will thank you.

Let me introduce myself

I am an open book. I just happen to be the kind with twists and turns in the plot.

Hi! My name is Mikinzie, but you knew that by the title of this blog, right? I will assume you did. If you didn’t, then you might as well stop reading right about….NOW. No offense. I swear I am not too vicious, but I do tell it like it is, or at least how I think it is. I grew up as a victim of the Catholic school system, so I’ve heard enough bullshit to recognize it.

Now I am finishing up my last few years of college and much more in my own element. I am a technical and professional writing major; though not the technical name of my degree (hence the irony), its the easiest to explain it this way. I also have an associates in Legal Studies, a minor in Integrated Marketing Techniques, and certificates in Public Relations and Advertising.

Considering my major, I guess the reason for blogging is pretty self apparent. I figure in order to do well -or at least be tech writing savvy- I should probably jump on the bandwagon and let my virtual voice be heard.

Actually, I’ve never had a lot of respect for blogs- I think they are as rampant and infectious as herpes. I also think the people who write them (most times) are fairly vain, arrogant, and pretentious. But then again, I’ve just described a few of my own qualitites. Looks like I fit right in.

To give you a little rundown on what I will be focusing all my opinions on, this blog will include audacious and sometimes perverse quips on: life, society, pop culture, politics, the corporate jungle, fashion, makeup, film, books, music, consumerism, etc. You might even be so lucky to maybe get a little advice from time to time. Take it at your own risk.

Your beloved blogger, in all of her glory.