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.