Purge

This post is embarrassing.

And not because of the above article of clothing, with which I became reacquainted while finally really cleaning out my closet today.

Because as you can see in the photo below, taken with my sister in the tiny building otherwise known as the Gibraltar International Airport, I am not ashamed to be seen in this shirt.

No, my embarrassment comes from the fact that the clothing purge I should have performed months ago only just now happened today. Sure, I got rid of a shirt or something back in February. But not until today, August 1st, did I work up the guts to really get rid of clothes I don't need.

I used to do this about every 3 months or so. I loved the feeling of just...unloading things that I felt were bogging me down. It was liberating to donate items that I simply hadn't worn in 6 months. Slimming down the items in my closet, organizing what was left, only keeping the things that truly looked awesome and felt great to wear--it's a nice feeling. Freeing.

And I haven't been able to do it for months now. Check that--I haven't chosen to do it. I've been a littly weenie, worrying that maybe I would still have an opportunity to wear those ridiculous, albeit awesome, orange Aldo heels.

But now it's time to quit being a baby, because suddenly I find myself in the midst of plans to elope and buy a house. Brendon and I have fallen in love with a tiny, old house in Austin, and we're trying to make it ours.

So no more behaving like a total child and clinging to my old duds like I might actually need three pairs of cobalt blue shoes. Jeez, I felt enough like a kid asking the realtor what "escrow" was. If we're going to be making these big moves, then I need to take control of things inside our house now. And that began today with our closet.

First, a few items I just couldn't part with:

1. The shirt my sister made for me. I must keep it for if/when I find myself living outside of Texas again. It gives me strength.

2. The belt that commemorates my 21st birthday, celebrated in Chile and probably still my favorite birthday of all time...when I first really felt happy about living out of the country, when I was just ridiculously pampered by a group of really cool folks from around the world who became dear friends. Anyway, among other awesome things that day, they bought me this belt.

3. The "Love Sex Fun" shirt, bought in Barcelona alongside my sister, whose corresponding piece of crazy clothing read, "Shake It, Please." I just don't think I'm ever going to part with that.

Which brings me to the state of our closet before the great purging began (see below).

I must admit that, for a moment there, standing ankle-deep in discarded clothes and fabulous (yet frivolous) shoes, I saw a clear and shining loophole through The Rules:

Buffalo Exchange.

Holy cow, I could exchange my clothes for store credit there and...shop! Eee!

But then the mature, demure, I'm-going-to-get-hitched-soon-and-buy-a-freaking-house Shannon stepped back in and remembered that this was about purging, not getting new stuff.

Because I like my closet a lot better when it looks like this:

All it went, into a box, ready to be given away (not manipulated into new stuff, dang it). Yes, I even finally parted with my crazy bunch of blue shoes. And the awesome orange ones.

And really, it just feels better. I can see all the clothes I own now, and it feels freeing like it always did before. Maybe it's because I'm well into the second half of this thing now. Maybe it's because the next purchase in my life is the priciest one I'll ever make.

Whatever the root of it, it feels good to have been able to do it!

My Favorite Accessory

Good thing The Rules don't rule out the acceptance of gifts.

Do we call an engagement ring a gift? Hm. It comes in a box. Okay, sure, it's a gift.

Anyway, 7 months now since I've bought accessories for myself, and suddenly I find myself wearing the coolest piece of jewelry I've ever owned. And that's really saying something; one time I had a ring made out of coconut shell--that was pretty cool--but it broke, so that's out of the running here.

And that candy necklace I had back in 2nd grade should rank pretty high, but I think we all know what chubby 8-year-old Shannon did with that.

So once again, despite my silly promise, I'm wearing something new. And a big silly grin to go with it.

Of course, isn't the logical next thing a new dress? Uh oh...

Many Happy Returns

When has returning stuff ever been fun?

When it's been 6 months on the barren landscape of no purchasing. That's when.

I had to take back the kind gift from Mikers and Janie. What was beautiful on the hangers was not so on Shannon; try as I might to contort myself in front of the mirror, neither top really fit me.

So back I went to Anthropologie, where they no longer had the same clothes for an exchange of size. Suddenly I was standing in my favorite store with lots (thanks again, brother&girlfriend!) of store credit.

Let me just tell you, that dressing room was packed. I think I tried on everything in the store.

I might have taken some of the housewares in there with me, just to hold a teapot while I wore that cute 60s-style dress.

As you can see, my sister helped me. It came down to choices between favorites, and I found myself looking at price tags again. It's been half a year since I've done that! (Remember, window shoppers have no budget.)

I was also tempted to return to some of my old ways. Basically, a great pair of pants with anchors on the buttons tried to come home with me simply because they were so on sale. I could have brought home my favorite shirt and those pants!

But they didn't really fit quite right. They weren't perfect, they were just exciting because they were on sale (and, of course, the anchor buttons.)

So I left them there. And now I've been wearing these 2 tops like I don't even own anything else. I took them to 6th Street last weekend. Not too sure if I can even part with them for dry cleaning. Probably how moms feel that first day of kindergarten. I'll look for a support group.

Shiny Happy People-er, Person!

You know that feeling that R.E.M. must have been trying to convey through "Shiny Happy People?"

You know, happy. Super happy.

(Not shiny. I don't think shiny is actually a feeling. Though come to think of it, there were many days back at around age 12 or 13 that a less nicely-complected Shannon felt "shiny." Whatever, I think the song is about "happy," not "shiny.")

And who knows, maybe R.E.M. wanted to convey something else. Maybe the song's about chickens. Or drugs. I often miss those undertones in songs. And I don't feel bad about it, because I think most of us do. My friend in high school thought that Jimmy Buffet had a song called, "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Scream."

I think we all know that the song was not about drinking and screaming.

But let's not analyze that fun bar song right now. I want to express the thrill of giving. But from the other end. The receiving end. And I'm so glad that it is better to give than to receive, because means that my brother, his girlfriend, my sister, and my dear friend must all be REALLY happy. Happy in a Shiny Happy People sort of way.

Let me clarify: these folks have all been really good to me and given me clothes. It's been surprising and delightful and incredibly kind, and I can't express how fun it's been to have something new to wear!

You might laugh at how excited I am about this. Well, fine. I'll give you something else to laugh at: my excitement over new clothes reminds me of part of Harry Potter (which I finally decided to begin reading a couple of months ago).

I know, it's corny and meant for kids, but I love it. Anyway, Rowling wrote in a few elf characters that are essentially slaves to particular families all their lives...unless their master inadvertently gives them an article of clothing. See the joy on that little CGI guy's face? Yeah, that's what I'm feeling.

That first gift of clothes was on Girls' Game Night. Kelly surprised me with a couple of bags of clothes that she was liberating from her closet. I had really only expected to drink beer and totally dominate at board games that night. So imagine my delight to end up going home with not only the Slumber Party Giggles over our clues during Catchphrase, but also a new dress and skirt!

Then my sister picked me up for lunch this week with a bundle of dresses and swimsuits in tow. She insisted she just didn't wear them any more. Suddenly I'm headed into the 4th of July weekend with new swimsuits and dresses! Can I really tell you how happy I am about that? How about this--Harry Potter elf happy.

And then there was the box of Anthropologie clothes I found on the doorstep Wednesday morning. Not only did Michael and Janie send Brendon and me our absolute favorites--Anthropologie clothes for me and an awesome Fossil watch for Brendon--but they threw in a card with it all that made the presents better than just really cool, new accessories.

Basically the card said that it was a thank-you/congratulations present. Thanks for letting them crash with us when visiting from Dallas...which is overly generous considering we don't have cable (so our house is boring) and critters roam freely and noisily through our walls (so our house is creepy). And then congrats to Brendon for recent achievements.

Please understand that I don't want this blog to be a gooey puddle of emotions and life lessons. I may not have TV, but I catch snippets of what's on, and the extent to which people publicize their supposed deepest feelings irritates me. Really? You're going to say that in front of millions of people? I'd much prefer to watch a fake elf cry over a sock.

And that's just the "reality" shows; the level of preachiness flowing from "news" shows just gags me. I get enough lectures about what I ought to be thinking and feeling just through the bumper stickers I see around here. Turn off "The Factor," give me quidditch!

So I'm trying to keep it light. This is just a silly experiment after all. But I was...touched that my brother would make such a gesture for Brendon.

There. That wasn't too emotional, was it?

And I was also touched that he and Janie would think of me, so much so that they'd send me stuff from the place that has come to embody my every fantasy!

Likewise with Sarah and Kelly. So not only am I surrounded by new stuff to try on and prance around in, but I feel pretty damn loved at the same time.

Oops, Cheese Alert--don't get too weepy or preachy, Shannon. Save that for the CGI animation and the "real" housewives.

So fine, I'll keep it simple: I'm very happy!

Ode to Jammy Pants

The reason for the inclusion of the above photo is not because of all the false statements it makes. I mean, just because I'm standing in the kitchen does not mean that I cook. Just because there are 3 open bottles of wine in front of me does not mean that I can't make a decision. And just because I'm waving a carrot over my glass of wine does not mean that I will be eating it with my drink (there will most assuredly be a pizza in my life later on).

No, the reason for posting that photo with this little clothing-related tidbit is because it's one of many I've found where I'm wearing my favorite thing in the world: my jammy pants.

As the halfway mark to "this stupid idea" (as I've come to call it) approaches, I've come to really feel strongly for the clothes I have. Some of them I kind of hate right now; if I have to look at that same stinkin' blue sundress again for the 4th of July, I might throw something. But when it comes to my jammy pants, a strange sort of love has blossomed.

Don't scoff at my intense emotions; my love for jammy pants is a sweet, enduring love. Because they are perfect. The exact right length, the exact amount of stretchy; they are a pair of sweat pants that never make me feel bad for being too tired, too sick, or too lazy to put on a pair of "real" pants. I ask you, what kind of person could give someone that kind of acceptance?

There really aren't any other lounging pants in my life. Sure, there are other sweats, other pajama bottoms, but I've begun to realize that these are the ones I always want. When they're in the dirty clothes basket, I'm sad. When they're available on the closet shelf (or on the floor next to other "not really dirty yet" clothes) I'm happy. When I'm wearing them, I'm really, really happy.

And they've seen me through many situations. I'm realizing how true that is as I look through all my photos for shots of them, some of them silly carrot kitchen photos, other boring lounging photos, and then some a little cooler. Like this one from the Atacama desert in northern Chile:

Yes, those are the jammy pants with me on the bunk bed. And here they are on the Tierra del Fuego:

It's kind of funny to think that they were a chance purchase while at a regatta in San Diego my freshman year of college (ooh, what was that, 7 years ago? wow). I think they were $20.

Knowing now how comfy they are, how great they are for both sleeping and for singing Brittany Spears while drinking champagne, I surely would have paid twice that.

Heck, for 7 years of travel and relaxation, early morning shuffles to the gym and late night glasses of wine on the porch, I would have paid $100 for these pants. They're still green, sort of, they still say CREW really big down the side, awesome, and the drawstring still works something I've employed religiously ever since my roommate pantsed me while my hands were full that one time senior year.

As I gaze longingly at the new clothes still coming out this summer, I think about how much I would be willing to pay for these silly, awesome pants. I can see how it's changing how I'm going to shop again once January rolls around. The price tags on new stuff don't seem astronomical to me like they did before, I guess because I imagine buying only the things that I'm going to love like I love the jammy pants.

Why waste money on stuff that isn't totally perfect? Why did I ever buy that pair of jeans with the ridiculous pockets that do not make by butt look awesome? ...because they were on sale??

No, never again. I'm only ever going to allow stuff into my closet if it is certain to be loved every time I wear it. No more money wasted! If it's going to be purchased, it must pass the jammy pants test!

Dieting in The Land of Milk & Honey

Pity, party of one? Pity, party of one...

Nobody likes someone who's feeling sorry for herself.

Now I know that many people experience true hardships, real experiences of self-denial that are for their own good. And we all feel for them--for the guy trying to quit smoking, the couple pinching pennies toward that first new house, the diabetic forgoing the dessert cart. We might even listen to a little of their struggle with a sympathetic ear.

To an extent.

But let's face it--no one wants to hear that guy whine about wanting cigarettes. No one wants those sugar-starved eyes staring down your Oreo. None of us like hearing someone else complain that they can't* afford something. We tip our hats to the stoic decisions, but we recoil from the demand for pity.

Simply put: the Pity Party is a party of one.

And it was Shannon Kelly's party last weekend in Vegas. For awhile, anyway.

Seriously, I'm embarrassed. But this is a sort of tell-all blog about giving up something FAR less serious than cigarettes or killer sugar, so I 'fess up by saying that I was throwing myself a major pity party while shopping with the ladies during our Girls' Weekend in Fabulous Las Vegas.

I'm not proud of it. But here it is. I was already a bit bummed out with the clothes I'd brought-- a couple of dresses I was sure I'd worn a million times. I was stuck with them, and I was feeling sorry for myself.

Seriously, if Hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned, then it definitely hath no bitchy mood like a woman not feeling pretty. Without something new to wear, I was feeling very dull and wanted only to park by the pool and read Harry Potter. And even then I was hating the swimsuit I brought.

But I found myself at the mall with Sarah and Kelly, immersed in a sea of glittering, gorgeous shoes. All of my own accord, of course. After all, hadn't I suggested that mall in the first place? Hadn't I led us to that huge shoe selection?

Hadn't I, in a buzzed and giggling fit on the airplane, made a list of all of the things the 3 of us had expected to find in Vegas, many of which were clothing items?

And I really did want the girls to find the fabulous shoes and clothes enumerated in our Vegas Wish List. I wanted them to know the thrill that is Shopping in Vegas. So of course we were at the mall. And I was bummed out.

I waaaaaanted. We were surrounded by gorgeous summer stuff, and it was calling to me. A funky white dress at French Connection. Light, breezy colors at Ann Taylor. And sandals, oh the sandals. My toes looked disappointed as we dove into the sweet sea of strappy strappiness and began to find stuff for the girls to try on.

What was I doing? Why had I entered into this stupid agreement with myself and then taken a plunge into the best shopping city I've ever known? In the place where every pleasure can be yours, I was forgoing one of my greatest. And I was pissed off about it. I pouted and quit trying things on altogether.

Eventually our dinner reservations demanded that we abandon the shopping. My gloomy self-pity was chased away by a giggling hour of primping in the Venetian Suite. Kelly was dancing on one of the beds while Sarah handed out champagne, and all of us were singing to Britney Spears and Lady Gaga.

And even though it was Sarah who was wearing the super-hot dress just purchased that day, the compliments were flowing as free as the bubbly. They didn't care that I was wearing a dress I bought over 5 years ago--they gasped when I strutted across the room in it. Vainly we snapped photo after photo of ourselves, posing and laughing and honestly commenting on how stunning everyone looked.

So perhaps it was the champagne, perhaps it was the air guitar solo I did with the hairdryer while perched on the railing in the room, but suddenly I felt awesome. Gorgeous. Big-Haired and Confident.

We marched our beauty to dinner, where we had the backstage view of the Bellagio fountains and an amazing array of num-nums to choose from. The breeze was lovely, the company fun, and the conversation pretty hilarious.

And when we went shopping again the next day, things were different. Embarrassed at my Debbie Downer-ness of the prior day, I attacked the stores with everything I had. No dressing room was safe, no pricey pair of pants was going to elude me!

We made the required trip to Anthropologie, and of course we went to Banana Republic. There I put together a lovely outfit for a safari and pretended to be gracefully scouting giraffes while in the dressing room.

When would I need silk high-waisted shorts that tie and have pleats & cuffs? In Africa, obviously, while holding binoculars in Muffy and Spencer's Land Rover. Along with this perfect little (organic) cotton white tank. Because Muffy cares about the environment.

At Ann Taylor I insisted Sarah try on their white pants, despite the hefty price tag, and I tried some, too. Just to see how they looked. There's something luxurious about trying on the really nice stuff and not just going for the sale rack. Like flying first class or drinking Perrier. I went a little over the top, trying them on with heels and a silly formless shirt, which I decided would look better blowing in the wind at the beach. Kelly helped me create that effect:

And finally, the French Connection once again, this time to get Kelly's dream dress. FCUK had come through for us the day before with Sarah's stunning little number, and now it had been determined that the green one was going to be The One for Kelly.

Totally enjoying prancing around in front of mirrors, I grabbed a blue one and somehow managed to paint it on.

Dude, it looked pretty awesome. Kelly was looking like a rockstar down the way in green, and I was kinda glued to the mirror in the blue. The girls were super cool, too, telling me it looked great, even telling me I really ought to just go ahead and get it.

But the cool thing was, it was satisfying enough to just feel good in it. Honestly, it was a big ego boost to see it on and like how I looked.

I felt just as awesome later that night in my own dress. Yeah, it would have been great to flaunt all over the casinos in that blue one, but it was great, well, flaunting all over the casinos in the one I had. And I got to enjoy the company of 2 other ladies who were really enjoying themselves and what they were wearing.

In fact, my stupid pity party aside, we enjoyed everything we did that weekend. Laying by the pool, eating fancy meals, gambling, and--yes--even shopping, we really just lived it up. It was delightful and exhausting, and by the end of it, I wondered how I ever really stressed about what I had brought in my suitcase.

I know this whole dumb experiment has made me appreciate the clothes I already have, but I think that lesson is a little bigger now. Not to get too after-school-special here, but I have to say that I'm thankful for what I have beyond my closet. Like friends who are confident in themselves and who build me up, too. Like being comfortable in my own skin and really enjoying that reflection in the mirror.

So I am renewed in my promise to myself to not purchase anything til 2011. I endeavor not to ever entertain Pity Party Shannon again.

And honestly, I hope for the opportunity to shop with the girls again sometime soon.

*Kelly, this non-homeless asterisk is for you ;)

For the record, I don't like saying that I "can't" afford something. Why don't we say that we "don't" afford something?

If I choose to put ALL my money in a mortgage and car payment and only leave myself enough money leftover to live on saltines and tap water, then I am choosing not to spend money on fancy restaurants. No one's forcing me.

If I quit my job for something with saner hours and a salary cut, I'll have less money for non-shopping trips to Vegas. I'll be choosing not to afford them.

We budget our money toward what we consider a priority. We spend on some things and, consequently, choose not to spend on others. So maybe we should just say that something isn't in our budget rather than, "Oh, I can't afford that."

I'm trying to remember this when I say, "Nope, I'm not buying that," rather than, "Ohhh, I can't buy that!" Because I really don't want end up alone at that Pity Party again.

What This Means for Packing

Ladies: does packing stress you out?

I think it does for most of us, but this is usually overshadowed by the thrill of going on a trip, that fun little holiday that necessitates those agonizing moments (hours) over the open suitcase.

I ask the ladies specifically, because I don't think the guys have to break it up in pieces like we do, nor with such care and consideration.

Pieces, you ask? You know the drill: there's What You Pack The Night Before, and then What You Shove in the Bag Last-Minute Once You're Finished Beautifying Yourself Right Before You Leave for the Airport.

That in itself is a challenge. I know you all know. Staring at the outfit you chose to travel in the next morning, wondering if you should have packed it and instead should wear the closed-toed shoes through the airport so you only have to walk through the crusty security line in socks rather than pad through in your recently, ready-for-vacay, perfectly manicured footsies.

Grabbing 10 extra contact lenses in case...what? You get in 9 different staring contests within a few feet of a concrete saw? Why do we do that?

Always, always, always forgetting your razor in the shower. Your perfect razor, with the 6 or 7 blades on it, so you know you'll have to make do with those old-fashioned 3-bladed ones you'll pick up at the drugstore.

And then there's the matter of where you're going. Is the climate the same? Probably not. Is it for a special event involving folks you don't know with an ambiguous dress code? The Triple Trauma? Most assuredly.

Honestly, I think this is the universal moment here. When all of us, maybe even you dudes, look at our closets and are certain that we have nothing to wear.

And how do we work through the anxiety of those 3 foes? Seriously, can any of you imagine what 55 degrees feels like when it's been 90 degrees for 5 days in a row? I can't. I can hardly look at a sweater after this past week. It makes my skin crawl.

And how do we represent ourselves to folks we've never met, but who have heard lots about us? Hm...must look good, obviously. But if it's family on his side, must also look respectable. And don't want to dress down too far, clearly. But dressing up too much makes you look snooty.

Ah, ye olde dilemma de damsel: Must Look Hot Without Looking Skanky, Appear Effortlessly Dazzling Without Ruffling Feathers.

Is your partner helpful in such times? Never. "Nah, just wear jeans," he says. You ask if he's going to wear jeans. "No, probably nicer pants. But you could wear jeans." What? Argh.

My go-to answer, always: Pack Black. Though I love the browns and greens, black comes through again and again. Dangly earrings and heels instantly turn the black shirt/jeans into "nice" (but not ho-baggish). Little Black Dress? We all know and love you. Black heels? Thank you for all you've done for me, you know I love you.

And then, the Clincher. The ultimate backup, the thing that reminds us that it'll all be okay, the thing that helps us get proper beauty sleep the night before the trip:

If we really need something, we can just go out and buy it.

Yeah. The Beauty Sleep wasn't quite what it ought to have been last night.

Oh, well. San Francisco, here I come. Family reunion-ish thing on B's side, I am comin' at you with a suitcase full of black and a lovely variety of earrings.

And if no outfit works tomorrow night, I've got a date with a hotel bathrobe and Harry Potter. I think that'll help me sleep.