Oops I Did it Again: The Life of a Chronic Impulse Shopper

"Skylar, before you go, there's something I want you to have."
"Oh, it's beautiful! But wait a minute, isn't this..."
"Yeah, yes it is."
"But I thought it used to cost $119!"
"Well, baby, I dropped it down to $90 for ya. BUT ONLY UNTIL 4/27!"

Flash sale emails get me every time. I innocently check my personal email every day on my lunch break, looking for a random picture of Westies from my mom or my weekly email from Giant so I can create my grocery list (I am a 40-year-old woman and I'm not sorry), and my inbox is flooded with money wasting potential.

If I have the willpower, I'm able to delete all of the emails from my favorite stores and continue on with my day, my bank account unscathed. The other four days of the week, I'm violently clicking links to see what I "just can't pass up" because HELLO 25% off basically means free.

It's the classic scenario that no man will ever understand:
If a top is $75 at full price, I rationalize that it's more than I'd like to spend and move on. However, if a top is $100 but is on sale for $75, that's a steal, and I need it in my closet pronto.

Let's check out the common tricks that retailers [successfully] use to ensure that I have four button-ups in stripes of various widths and two new pairs of jeans when a) it's Spring and b) I really only needed one pair, maybe.

"SHOP OUR NEW ARRIVALS A DAY EARLY!" - When you're the youngest of three, you wear a lot of hand-me-downs. Economical? Absolutely. Fashionable? Absolutely not. There was a pair of red, blue, and yellow colorblocked courduroy pants that even as a 7-year-old I knew were getting me nowhere with the boys. For that reason, I'm now a huge fan of clothes that are all mine, and I like getting them before everyone else. Yeah, Jennifer and I might wear the same dress out on Friday night, but Jennifer bought hers two weeks ago. I had it the day before it hit the site. The day. Before. It hit. The site (suck it, Jen). The sooner I have those new clothes, the sooner I can get bored with them and forget that they exist.

"Spring Stock-up Sale! All skirts $15 and up!" - A seasonal stock-up sale signifies change, growth, and a new outlook on life; i.e. I have to pay for my gas in change, my closet has outgrown its limits, and I will be looking out from underneath a cardboard box when I can no longer pay my rent. If the Fashion Gods wanted my legs to be covered up they wouldn't have made them so fabulous (albeit short. Nobody's perfect. #Miley). Pencil skirts don't fit my body correctly, but that one is anchor printed and only $30, therefore I'll make it work. 40 degrees in the beginning of March means pants, sweaters, boots, and scarves. 40 degrees in mid-April means dresses, skirts, tanks, and sandals. I don't make the rules, people.

"Get a free mystery gift when you buy 2 bras!" - What could it possibly be?! A free lotion? A tote? Lip gloss? I don't even need any more bras but this is no time for logic, it's free! The email clearly states that it's only for a limited time and/or while supplies last, the $100 (Side note: yeah gentlemen, two of them cost that much) I spend to ensure I get one is a life investment. Get on my level, Warren Buffet.

"Free Shipping when you spend $120!" - This is my kryptonite. I am literally powerless against it. It works like this every time: The top and shoes I've been eyeing total up to $110. Shipping is $8. I'll just pay shipping and still come in under the $120 mark, right? Hahahahaha. No. I'll add my shirt and shoes to the cart plus another $40 top to guarantee I get free shipping and pay $42 more than I originally would have because I am a free American.   

 "Come claim your birthday gift! No purchase necessary!" - Right. Like that'll happen. It's always the same with you, cosmetics store which I will not put on blast because damnit I love you too much: I walk into the store with the sole intention of scooping my free sample-size mascara and eyeshadow. Eyes on the prize, Skylar, eyes on the pr- Oh my God, Versace Bright Crystal comes in a rollerball? Neeeeeed. Suddenly I'm testing the limits of my baby hands by simultaneously holding root lifting spray, an argan oil hair treatment, fake lashes, and three different shades of lip stain, and the girl at the register wishes me a happy birthday with a twinkle in her eye that says, "Bow down, bitch." And I do.

In the coming months I'll need to buy a car and pay off summer vacays, so you'd think I'd buckle down and save up. Those things will get taken care of, no worries [Dad], but you better believe I'll be cruising to the beach in new sunnies and a brand new bikini, both of which I received for 20% off (but TODAY ONLY!).  

Raise.com--an awesome new peer-to-peer marketplace where you can buy discounted gift cards to your favorite brands and sell your unused gift cards for cash--understands my penchant for good deals, even when I'm not getting one. Check out their blog series about how our go-to stores convince us to impulse buy, and maybe you'll think twice about giving in to the next flash sale.

Or you'll buy three pairs of new wedges. You do you, I don't know your life.

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Ugly Boybanders of Yesteryear

I went to the Backstreet Boys concert this past weekend. Needless to say, it was one of the best nights of my year, if not my entire life, and my best friend and I couldn’t say anything but, “Oh my God! That was amazing!” for the majority of the ride home.

At the beginning of the concert, the boys’ faces flashed up on the big screen one by one, causing pandemonium that, in hindsight, was probably a little embarrassing for a crowd of 23-30 year old women. Nick pops up? Vocal cords exploded. AJ? Everyone realized that the bad-boy phase they went through when they were 18 wasn’t totally over. Kevin? The girls who go for bar dads and/or appreciate thick eyebrows had a field day. My best friend and I personally lost our shit when Brian appeared, because we were wise beyond our years back in elementary school and inherently knew that he would forever and always be the hottest person in the band alive.

And then came Howie’s face, and we were all reminded of something that just seemed to be a fact of life when we were young: no one likes Howie. Like, there was barely a woo. It’s nothing against him personally, and it’s not like he’s a completely unfortunate-looking guy, but every boy band of the 90’s needed their token boring ugly dude, and for BSB, Howie was/is it. I think he accepts it now and uses the lack of attention to do whatever he wants on stage aka drinking a random fan’s Bud Light and throwing in inexplicable cha-cha moves. I chopped off my cholo ponytail and still no one loves me?! Fuck it, my only solo is a verse in “Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely;” give me a beer.

Not helping your case, bro

I felt bad for the crowd’s lack of enthusiasm for Howie, but I realized that he simply got the short end of the boy band stick, and was a part of an elite crowd of once-famous male performers from the late 90s/early 00s that everyone knew existed but that no one cared to remember the names of. Quite frankly, Howie should feel pretty great about himself, because I think he might be one of the most popular ones on the list of Ugly Boy Banders of Yesteryear. It’s the little things in life, everybody.

Chris Kirkpatrick (*NSYNC) was also ugly. Historically, regardless of if you’re a guy or a girl, you have to be pretty mind-blowingly hot to be white and rock dreads; instead, Chris looked like the creepy human version of a Muppet. Think about it: Lance was obviously not totally “into” all the girl attention from the get-go (but was a terrible dancer? One of life’s many mysteries…) yet I knew plenty of ladies that preferred his likeness to Ellen Degeneres over Chris’s goatee’d doublechin and obtrusive oversize ball chain necklaces. Not even his sweet falsetto could save him then. I drive myself crazy thinking of you, too, Chris, but only because your terrifying face is haunting my dreams and I haven’t slept in weeks.

Justin Jeffre of 98 Degrees really just didn’t even stand a chance. The Lachey brothers were buff and gorgeous, and Jeff Timmons was destined to become a Chippendale, so what role did that leave Justin to lead? You guessed it: the role of the chubby Danny McBride look-a-like with a white trash, bleach blonde Caesar haircut and a convincing air of pedophilia. Singing all of those songs about Jessica Simpson was probably the closest he got to a woman in the band’s entire five-year run. 98 Degrees was supposed to be the band that could beat up all the other bands, which I guess meant that Justin was the lazy friend/hype man in the back who just yelled, “YOU DON’T WANT THIS! YOU DON’T WANT THIS!” while nudging Nick forward and hoping everyone would just call a truce so he could go back home and finish playing PS2 all by himself.

In theory, I suppose Dan Miller from O-Town isn't a complete dud. However, when you compare him to the beauty that was Ashley Parker Angel or Erik-Michael Estrada, you realize that his misfortune lay in two key factors: his boring, white-bread, three-syllable name, and the fact that his chin strap made him look like a rapist. In fact his whole oral region really bothers me. He's got thick lips that appear to perpetually have lipstick on them, and it's almost like he's got lock-jaw and can only open his mouth wide enough to creep me out as he explains his liquid dreams.

Devin Lima from LFO looks like a fucking vampire, straight up. I have a moral opposition against any male who obviously gets his eyebrows waxed, and between his perfectly-sculpted arches and presumably collagen-filled lips, he's completely crossed the line from metrosexual to potential drag queen. You know in "Heavyweights" where Tony Perkis goes crazy at the end of the movie and somersaults off the chandelier? Devin looks like that on an everyday basis. Apparently he has a new band now called The Cadbury Diesel, which just sounds like a really unfortunate thing to find in your Easter basket.

There is a reason you probably haven't heard of the majority of the guys on this list, and that is because they were outshined by their sexy frontmen, therefore garnering themselves very little (if any) real estate on your locker door. These guys were the DUFFs of their bands--it's unfortunate that they had to suffer the trauma of being no one's favorite, but it had to be done, and for that, the guys who went on to have successful solo careers thank them.

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"Learn from Yesterday, Live for Today, Hope No One Took Pictures."

As much as I dislike self-reflection, I think it’s a very important exercise that forces you to check yourself before you wreck yourself and analyze just how acceptable your day-to-day behavior truly is. I might find dancing on bars and demolishing 48-ounce bags of M&M’s within a two-day period enjoyable, but in terms of my dignity and my waistline, they’re probably not the greatest things for me. For whatever reason, I chose 2011 to go as buckwild as a Flavor of Love contestant and from these uncharacteristic displays of stupidity I ended up learning quite a bit. Sharing is caring, so hopefully my list will evoke some thoughtfulness in you lovely people. At the very least, you’ll get a good laugh and I’ll be transported back to high school where everything I did caused crippling embarrassment and shame, just on a much nerdier scale. Let’s roll:

This year, I learned that wide-necked, off-the-shoulder tops are not a good look for me. I have a short torso, and all the extra fabric makes me look like I’m trying to hide an oopsie pregnancy. This may work for Jessica Simpson, but I don’t have a career to desperately salvage, so I just end up looking chubs.

This year, I learned that I’m actually a pretty ballin cook. I knew I could bake, but apparently the culinary world has a lot more to offer than a box of Barilla and a jar of Classico, and I discovered that. I have mastered gourmet chicken salad, oatmeal chocolate chip pancakes from scratch, and homemade mac and cheese, and that’s just the tip of the spatula.

This year, I learned that bragging that your fake ID “even worked on Bourbon Street!” is not impressive.

This year, I learned that a person can wear big ole Dolly Parton hair, or a tight red cocktail dress, or an obscene amount of black eyeshadow, but should never try to rock all three simultaneously. Yikes.  

This year, I learned that it’s not necessary to buy sunglasses because a new pair will inevitably fall into your lap at one point or another. I had two pair for a solid four years, and managed to lose them both between the months of March and June. At this point in time, I own three, and I have no idea where any of them came from. That’s called being coincidentally advantageous, and I’ve cornered the market.

This year, I learned that I am Charlotte York from Sex and the City. I’m not explaining this. Just go watch a few episodes and try to deny it.

This year, I learned that although gelato has less fat than ice cream, you can bridge the gap and still gain a solid six pounds when you make a habit out of visiting the nice Italian guys that run the joint every single day.

This year, I learned that I’m not as good around adults as I thought. German people don’t appreciate my humor and were not impressed by my botched delivery of “Guten morgen!” The fact that I don’t like sausage really sealed my fate.

This year, I learned that growing up does not actually mean getting any more mature. There is no shame in enjoying a classic Disney movie, calling someone a copycat, and wearing rain boots, Soffe’s, and a bikini top to the grocery store.

This year, I learned that if your core group of friends has more than five girls in it, two of them will undoubtedly hate each other on any given weekend. It’s science.  

This year, I learned that Madonna and Lady Gaga aren’t the only ones who can pull off the whole brunette-to-blonde thing with finesse.

You Play Ball Like A GIRL

Football season is one of the most trying times in a girl’s life.

Each year, for about 5-6 months, we are expected to be patient in the face of mood swings due to an unexpected loss; understanding when a low-key night of Netflixing snuggled up on the couch turns into an all-out brofest; and “interested” when dinner conversation centers confusingly around the quarterback’s injuries and how that’ll effect the rest of the season. The Super Bowl is our own personal celebration, signifying the end of all the madness while ushering in basketball season, which we can at least sort of follow.

Hate to break it to ya ladies, but there’s not much that can be done right now. You’re stuck in a whirlwind of “Babe I’ll be late picking you up, they just fumbled!” and “If they’re drafting fifteen or below I think it opens up more opportunities to include basically any position other then wide receiver or tight end, you know what I mean?”

No. No I do not. But you know what? I’m gonna grin and bear it because regardless of your nonsensical jabbering and the fact that I only cheer when everyone else in the room does, there are actually some aspects of football season that I enjoy:

Serious Stud Muffins: I am convinced that a large portion of the try-out process is based on how good a guy looks. This also pertains to soccer and lacrosse, but I digress. Naturally, the quarterback is always a major babe, unless he’s Peyton Manning, whose reputation precedes him so he can get away with being an arguable 6.5. I understand that all of the pads and protection are for safety’s sake, but sometimes I wish they’d take it back to playground rules so I could drool over Matt Leinart and Reggie Bush in all their glory. The best part is, regardless of how good of a player they truly are, attractive athletes are exploited to the nth degree by any and all women’s magazines. Gone are the days when a Google image search only returned results of sideline action shots or the occasional new Madden cover. Hot players know they’re hot, and when they do a sexy shirtless photo shoot that still maintains their masculinity because it’s appearing in Men’s Health (“no homo”), it’s only a matter of time before Cosmo secures them a spot in their “2012 Bachelor of the Year.” If only we could convince them all to hit a little gentler so as not to put those pretty faces in danger.

Adorable Names: Unfortunately, those huge space helmets get in the way of my ogling, so I’m forced to rely on the jerseys to distinguish who my faves are. Tom Brady and Mark Sanchez might be hottie totties, but their monikers leave something to be desired. Give me someone like Felix Jones any day. The guy’s named after a cartoon cat, how could you not immediately love him?! The mothers of these football stars knew exactly what they were doing when they signed that birth certificate, because anyone with a name like Bear Pascoe, Ovie Mughelli, or Ryan McBean was destined for greatness. My personal favorite, however, has to be Chicago Bears head coach Lovie Smith. LOVIE. SMITH. He sounds like he hangs out with the Teletubbies and washes his clothes in Snuggle fabric softener all the livelong day. This might in fact be true, because if the work-hard-play-hard theory has any clout, then after establishing his team as second in the league during his first two seasons – achieving a franchise-record 6 touchdowns via defensive return in 2004 and ranking second in overall defense in 2005 – Lovie Dovie can do whatever precious things he wants with his free time. I hear he enjoys painting rainbows and cried while watching The Fox and the Hound. What a sweetie-pie!

DWTS Contestants: Over twelve seasons, Dancing with the Stars has signed on eight former or current NFL players. Jerry Rice, Jason Taylor, and Warren Sapp all came in second place in their respective seasons, with Emmitt Smith and Hines Ward winning it all in theirs. Chad Ochocinco and Kurt Warner at least rounded out the top five, and I guess we’ll all just have to forgive Lawrence Taylor for resting on his Hall of Fame laurels too much to care (and whatever, he was a New York Giant so in my book, he can do whatever the hell he pleases). If ever a player has a remarkably good season or happens to do something remotely noteworthy, they can basically bank on an appearance on this show. Good job securing your spot when you did, Chad, because now that you’re back with the last name Johnson I doubt anyone would give you a second glance. What better way to spend Monday Night Football commercial breaks than to switch over to ABC to watch those hard-hitting man-beasts transform into graceful twinkle toes as they Paso Doble off the field and straight into our hearts.

Color Coordination: I don’t care how sports-savvy of a chick you are; everyone has walked into a room and squealed, “Ooh! Is teal beating silver?” Team names are hard, and with 32 of them to remember, it’s only logical that we revert to our comfort zone, which, in this case, is how cute their outfits are. Teams with expert fashion sense, such as the Giants, Falcons, Colts, and Raiders have colors I can work my wardrobe around, showing some spirit without looking a hot mess. No one looks bad in red and blue! Despite the fact that everyone rightfully hates the Cowboys and their quarterback is viewed as the Jesus of the South even though he has one good week for each of his umpteen embarrassing ones (can’t blame it on Jessica Simpson forever, Romo!), they’ve got colors I can work with. The same cannot be said for the Cincinnati Bengals. I can’t justify wearing Halloween colors five times longer than necessary. Redskins: maroon and gold? Potentially flattering on their own, but combine them and I look like I’m dressed in stale ketchup and mustard. And maybe it’s just the association with cheese that I can’t get myself past, but not even Lil Wayne singing greenandyellowgreenandyellowgreenandyellowgreenandyellow will brainwash me enough to support the color scheme the Packers have going on. I’m all for team distinction and showing your support, but can’t we all just do it in neutrals with the occasional pop of color? Just a suggestion, Mr. Commissioner…

How to be Hot: Girl Edition

It would not be fair to instruct boys how to be hot without giving a little advice to the ladies. Statistically, girls have it much easier when it comes to transforming into a more attractive version of themselves. Half the time, all you have to do is change out of your overalls and get an Acuvue prescription a la Rachael Leigh Cook in She’s All That and you’re golden. But there are certain trends and behaviors that make a girl undeniably unappealing to those around her, and I’m here to save you from yourselves.

It’s about to get betchy up in here; deal with it.

1. Get rid of the skunk hair: It is entirely possible for someone to have an array of shades throughout their coif that are completely natural, due to genes or sunlight or whatever else. No one questions girls with subtly-colored hair because it really doesn’t warrant much notice, and even if she DID dye it, girlfriend did a fantastic job and should be commended for such strategic highlighting skills. The difference between this girl and Pepe le Whatthefuckdidyoudotoyourself is the fact that her hair isn’t peroxide blonde on top and pitch black underneath. Do not argue with me: you look like an idiot. I have no idea who started this trend but she needs to be hung by a Repunzel rope made of her own bad decisions. I don’t think even Locks of Love would accept that trash. It’s not cute, you don’t look sexy in any sense of the word, and no matter how many times I see it I always assume that the girl is either A) pregnant or B) smelly. What’s wrong with monotone? Go buy yourself a box of Medium Golden Brown and reap the benefits of automatically looking less and less like a reject from Rock of Love.

2. Avoid crusty lashes: Makeup is our friend, girls. I won’t feed you some bullshit that we’d all be better off going au naturale because that’s a bold-faced lie, and it’s just common sense that a pretty girl can turn instantly gorgeous with a little eyeliner and some well-placed bronzer. Unfortunately, it’s a slippery slope into spider-eye territory, and before you know it, a few friendly swipes of your mascara wand can leave your lids feeling 10 pounds heavier and your face looking like Janice from The Muppets. If your eyelashes are separated and have a dark tint, there is absolutely no reason to continue to add another umpteen layers so that it looks like you have just four megalashes that each has a personality of his/her own. I apologize for my insincerity if you happen to have OCD and this is just one of your rituals, but use that time to straighten out your refrigerator or something that doesn’t make you look like a crack whore.

3. Be aware of whether or not you can pull off jeggings: I have a huge ass. I’m Italian and Polish, I really didn’t stand a chance. I’m very wary of anything extremely tight-fitting because I know that without trying my donk is going to command some pretty substantial attention, so when jeggings first appeared on the fashion radar, I generally ignored them because there was NO WAY my humps my humps my humps were going to be contained. It seems that not all girls are this self-aware. More power to ya if you’re conscious of the junk in your trunk and still choose to rock pants that are essentially a second skin, but there really is a fine line between “you go girl” and “Girl, you need to go check yourself in a mirror because the fabric is stretching so tightly over your goods I can practically see your crack and it’s scaring me.” Leave something to the imagination. Buy the next size up. Stick with normal jeans, they’re a lot more durable and they don’t have an obnoxious hybrid name that already sounds like a wedgie waiting to happen.

4. Do not wear any perfume by Britney Spears: You know in Mean Girls when Janice says, “What’s that smell?” and Cady responds, “Oh, Regina gave me some perfume,” to which Janice says, “You smell like a baby prostitute”? I am 99.9% sure that the perfume Regina gave to Cady was Curious. If you can pinpoint the strongest scent of the perfume as some kind of über sugary candy or anything else cavity-inducing, and you proceed to drench yourself in it like some kind of slut baptismal, you really need to reevaluate your direction in life. Smelling good is a huge plus and is one of the easiest ways to attract guys (bonus points if you get the illegal stuff with pheromones, but that gets where things get shady), but there’s no need to reek of Willy Wonka’s newest concoction. I wouldn’t exactly endorse anything by Paris Hilton or Hilary Duff either, but anyone who throws a few rhinestones on a bright pink bottle of skank juice is no friend of mine.

5. Shave your legs: This shouldn’t even need to be said. If you’re trying to bag yourself a hottie, hairy legs are like holding a huge neon sign that says, “I couldn’t care less about myself! I smell like patchouli! You’re going to put me in the friend zone…IF I’M LUCKY! We’ll go on dates to Kroger after you take that other girl to the zoo and to get ice cream! What’s shampoo?” Everyone gets lazy, and everyone gets to a point in mid-January where it’s freezing cold outside, you haven’t had a romantic prospect in a solid six weeks, and all you want to do is sit in your sweatpants and color coordinate your school planner, but should the opportunity arise for you to getchoself some male attention you need to be ready. While it may be fun to see who out of your roomies can grow the longest leg hair, no one’s laughing at the disgusted face your boy toy makes when he discovers the Amazon growing above your ankles. Get Skintimate stat.

6. Swap the running shorts for real clothes once in a while: 8am’s are a bitch, I totally hear you. Doing anything but throwing on a random t-shirt and some flip-flops and hiding your makeup-less face behind a pair of Nicole Ritchie-huge sunglasses is practically torture that early in the morning, but consider this: how many other girls woke up and did the exact same thing? I recently sat on campus and counted the number of girls who walked by wearing the TSM uniform of Nike running shorts, a GO GREEK t-shirt, Sperry’s, a Vera Bradley bag, and a ponytail and thought about how happy I was to be wearing…not that. My friends give me shit all the time for “dressing up” for class when in actuality I’m wearing denim shorts and something not produced by Hanes, but I have to say, the boys definitely notice. I’m not suggesting you go all out every single day, but stand apart from the pack once in a while in something that takes about a minute of extra effort and I know you’ll be changed forever. Jessica Simpson was actually onto something when she sang “A little bit goes a long way,” but she up and dropped the ball when she went on to belt out, “With nothing but a t-shirt on.” And who’s married to Nick Lachey now? I’m not sayin, I’m just sayin.

If you know a girl who would benefit from this list, do whatever you have to do to get the message to her. Print it out and slide it under her door, copy-and-paste it into a Facebook message (or post it directly onto her wall if you’re a huge asshole), read the most helpful item directly to her followed by a slap across the face and a drill sargeant-worthy, “Honey, get your shit together!”, etc. Like I said, girls have it easy. There are very few females in this world who are lost causes, and even those girls somehow get themselves a boyfriend from time to time. Seriously, if all you have to do is have normal-colored hair and a pair of well-fitting pants to be considered remotely good-looking, wouldn’t you do it? That’s a yes.