A Closet Full Of Bad Vibes

14-homeowner-hauntedThe chill crisp in the air that is making me want to do a Breakfast Club-style freeze frame fist pump, is also giving me insane anxiety. And no, it’s not the oh so familiar, “back-to-school anxiety” that looms every September, even though I’ve been out of school for six years now (I’m beginning to feel like this will forever exist in my life). 

Instead I’m staring at my closet door (where I store my off-season clothing), in fear and loathing. All of my summer clothes are hanging pleasantly on my clothing rack, yet I know any day now, I will have to open that closet door filled with my fall/winter clothing from last season and transition them back into my life. And dear good … I mine as well be in the Delorean gunning it back to a time I just want to forget.

I know I probably sound like a lunatic right now (when do I not), but when you had some pretty bad shit happen in the past season, your clothes from back then are stained with those memories.

“Ohh hey, shirt I got dumped in.”

“Wow … long slouchy sweater, I haven’t thought about the day I got laid off whilst wearing you in a few weeks. Thanks for the reminder, dick.”

Yeah. Hence why that closet door stays CLOSED. TIGHTLY. 

The problem is, I adore a lot of my clothes from last winter. They are good. REAL good. There is nothing wrong with them besides my emotional issues (perhaps I should go talk to someone about this … hmm). Yet every time I pick them up, I get awful, soap opera-style flashbacks from all the bad nonsense that happened during that season. And that is when I put them back on the rack, back away slowly, and remind myself, “self, you need new clothes.” 

So as much as it hurts me to part with these pieces (because like I said, they are GOOD), I must. Figurative emotional stains are just as hard to get out as real life mustard stains. And who knows, maybe someone, a person who needs them much more than I, will shake out the good times in these pieces. 

I bet you’re wondering, why don’t you keep them? Well … I usually do. In the past I would keep them and just let them hang, lifelessly in my closet … and every time I would reach for the piece I would be all, “hmm yeah … I want to have a good day today … soooo you’re going to stay here.” That’s not normal, kids. I don’t have a Kardashian closet to be this silly with space, okay. Mama needs the space.

Look, you shouldn’t need a box of tissues, a bottle of wine, and a Xanex to go through your closet. Your closet should be your sanctuary, no matter how small or unorganized. While we cannot erase the bad shit that happened in the past, we can remove the reminders, even if they happen to be fantastic pieces you collected over the previous season. Sigh. 

But hey, I’m looking at it like a new blank canvas to fill with awesome, more positive pieces. And more glorious space.

What I’m saying is, I can’t wait to buy more black clothes. I just can’t wait. 


My Tale Of The Cursed Blouse

Photo credit: https://poshmark.com/listing/52c514e725cab7419e162921

I’m incredibly superstitious. Especially when it comes to the things I put on my body. I mean, for example, a top you wear when you get dumped, no matter how cute it is, will forever be known as the top you got dumped in and wiped your snot on the sleeve after hysterically crying. Or that necklace you cherish, but every time you wear it, you end up getting too drunk and throwing random shit at people (not that this happens to me :::shifty eyes:::.

Take my amazing sheer navy blue blouse I scored at Forever 21 like a year and half ago. I file this top under what I like to call “F21 Couture,” as you REALLY couldn’t tell it was from F21 unless you got all up in the shotty stitching job. And for this reason, I take the time and money to get it dry cleaned (a little tip from me to you, get your cheaper pieces dry cleaned, it will make them last longer). I adore this top. Yet, every time I wear it, every SINGLE time, I have the worse day/night ever. Literally, cringe-worthy, cry yourself to sleep shit.

The weird thing is, I have numerous pieces that I’m actually scared to wear for fear I will be doomed to endure a bad day … which leads me to think … “umm do I need a shrink?” But in an effort to reduce my crazy and prove myself wrong, I whipped out the navy blue sheer top last weekend and decided, why the hell not?! I have all these great pieces that just hang in my closet, all lonesome, just because I’m scared of them (the more I think about it the more I DO indeed think I need a shrink). But I digress.

So I put the navy blue sheer blouse on, bravely, and went about my day, thinking how insane I was for neglecting this awesome top. I went shopping. Treated myself to cocktails. Got my nails did (not in that exact order). But guess what ended up happening? Oh yeah. A terrible, horrible, no good, VERY bad night appeared out of nowhere. As if it grabbed me by the back of my hair and ripped out my weave. I’ll save you the petty details, but I ended having a full blown anxiety in a bar and ended up crying my way home that evening.

With all of that being said, that pretty little navy sheer blouse is getting straight up donated. I hate the idea of throwing away a perfectly good top when there are people out there who need it. And I HOPE it won’t be like the VHS tape in the movie the Ring bringing other people terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days when they wear it, but alas :::sigh:::, it is the risk I will have to take.

So be gone, bad juju blouse, be gone.

Bad Juju, Be Gone

Photo credit: http://www.designworklife.com/2012/08/17/the-dark-arts/
Photo credit: http://www.designworklife.com/2012/08/17/the-dark-arts/

I am, truly, a very superstitious person. I knock on wood, throw salt over my right shoulder, I never count my chickens before the hatch … it all just freaks me out.

But the worst is when you buy something and come to find that it is a hex. Now I know you are probably thinking, this chick is crazytown, which I totally get, I think that about myself, sometimes, too. But I have to admit, there are a few pieces of clothing and accessories that I refuse to wear because something always goes wrong when I wear them. Hence they are a hex and should be burned … but are too pretty to be set ablaze. So I just keep them in my possession and stare at them longingly.

Most recently it has been a pair of shoes. I won’t blow up their spot, because truly they are so pretty and so fantastic … and I covet them. But in the two times I’ve worn them, everything has gone to shit.

For example, one of the biggest wardrobe malfunctions I have ever encountered, leaving me basically naked for the evening, happened when I rocked those shoes … or well, attempted to rock them. THEN an opportunity that sent me to the moon and back with happiness unraveled before my eyes whilst wearing them. When I got home from said opportunity unraveling, I threw them against the wall … hard. Like really, REALLY hard. It felt good.

To the non-superstitious person, there is no correlation. They would still rock these amazing shoes until the cows came home. For someone like myself, they are dead to me. I’m not saying these shoes caused all of these bad things to happen. In fact, maybe they have no involvement what-so-ever. The fact is, the idea of walking this Earth in said shoes with all that bad juju surrounding them, and with the potential for other things to go to shit … doesn’t seem like something I’m down for.

Unfortunately it isn’t just the shoes, I have really nice pieces of jewelry I refuse to wear … or outfits that traditionally bring bad things to my life that now hang in my closet neglected and probably a little dusty, all because EVERY time I wear them, negativity follows. I know, I know … #SuperstitiousPeopleProblems, waahhh, boo-frickity-hoo, but it sucks when you pour your hard-earned cash into your closet only to find a black cloud follows said piece.

Weird, right? I know … I should probably see someone about this. They are inanimate objects, for crying out loud. But regardless, no one wants to rock something that reminds them of truly unsavory memories, right? Or with the potential of a black cloud to follow. Better safe than sorry is what I always say.

:::Sigh::: I should call a priest.

Very Superstitious … Wri-tings In My Jewelry Box

I would definitely say I borderline have a hoarding issue with costume jewelry. I live for and have an extreme romance with it and probably will one day end up as the tragic girl who lives inside her costume jewelry boxes. But regardless of all of the random bling I wear, there are three pieces of real jewelry that I rarely ever take off. That would be my David Yurman ring my mom got me for graduating college, my atlas clock necklace from Tiffany that I got as an 18th birthday present, and a skinny silver cuff that is a Vietnam War memorial that I wear for my Dad. If I wasn’t wearing any of those pieces well … I would just feel naked AND … yeah, not safe. Wait, wait, wait … let me explain.

So I could buy a piece of random costume jewelry for funsies any day of the week. But when it comes to the real stuff … well, I usually (like normal people, I assume) only get that for special occasions. I unfortunately haven’t had the pleasure of frolicking over to Tiffany on a random Saturday afternoon to buy myself a silver ring just because. To me … it would have no value. It’s all about the sentiment so I can look down at it and say, “oh yeah I got this because I worked my ass off for four years” not, “oh yeah, I got this because I’m a princess who buys herself Tiffany for no reason other than because I like shiny things.”

But there are a few pieces of real jewelry that I got for legit reasons that I can’t wear. Like actual Tiffany pieces that have been sitting in my jewelry box for years because well, every time I wear them I either have a bad day or something terrible happens. And it doesn’t stop there. There are pieces of costume jewelry, pieces of clothing and some nail polishes that I refuse to rock anymore simply because every single time, like clockwork, things start going awry. No, I don’t have OCD, I’m not overly particular … I’m just straight up superstitious when it comes to retail goods. I’m not scared of Friday the 13th and yeah … I would probably spoon and snuggle any black cat on any day of the week .

I promise you that I don’t lay in bed crying surrounded by tissues as I gently finger the lost pieces of fantastic jewelry I can no longer wear whilst listening to “Hello,” by Lionel Richie. Absolutely not. If anything I’ve come to a conclusion that I only wear the three main pieces I described above and the rest of the stuff is great to look at … but not something I concern myself with. Do I feel crazytown sometimes because of it? Yes … because at the end of the day I know it isn’t the jewelry making the day shitty or letting bad things happen … it is just very fortuitous that it happens only when I wear specific pieces … s’all I’m sayin’.

Have I thought about getting rid of them or giving them to people who need them more than me? Absolutely not. At the end of the day they are memories of major events that have happened in my life. So to get rid of them would be like getting rid of a small piece of that memory. So yeah … I’m completely content hoarding my memory jewels and not letting them see the light of day for fear they will rock my life boat. Hello cray-cray … what up, I know … I know.

Sure, I could probably pay a therapists thousands of dollars a week or month to lay on their uncomfortable couch and have them ask me inane questions like, “so what did the silver necklace do to you that was so bad,” or make me slowly start wearing the jewelry for small increments of time day … but honestly, my life isn’t a mess because of this silly issue … it is just a quirky part of me out of several that make up who I am. And who knows, maybe one day when I’m rollin’ in jewels I will start a museum highlighting my superstitious jewels.

And here’s to hopin’ my engagement ring, one day, is a. gorg, b. good luck!