I’m back, I’m back, SHAM-OWN! You know I’m back, I’m back, you know it (woo)…

First, the Seroquel saga continues as I await a pharmacy that actually stocks the dosage.  Apparently they should have specified time release on the Rx then I could have got it fulfilled at 5 different pharmacies.  That was my day wasted.  All else I did today was the school run (I would have sent him in with an apple for the teacher, but he IS the teacher and he detests apples.  I did consider putting ribbons in his little ringlets but he went with the Health and Safety ponytail which is fair when you’re in a room where you get to burn things).  And I had two different hours of therapy.  There’s the psychotherapy in the morning and the EMDR for PTSD in the afternoon.  Tuesday was a busy day.  And an expensive one.  But both approaches have their advantages and I’ll discuss them once I’ve spent more time doing them both.

Then, there’s the trip to London which I got back from yesterday evening.

Friday I bought myself two new camera lenses, an 18-250mm one for close and far stuff (the zoom is IMMENSE and the wide angle is BEAUT), and a 40mm lens for lightweight snaps, and for times I need a sharper image.  Such as when I’m making youtube vids.  The best things about the 40mm are a) it sounds like a James Bond gun. b) it doesn’t have an official Ultra Silent Motor, but it’s motor is the QUIETEST EVER and c) It’s the smallest lens that canon make.  oh and d) its aperture is the best I could afford and better than the other two lenses.

I’m so glad I tried the lenses out as I would have bought the 50mm on Amazon and it was WAY less good than the 40mm (and 50mm doesn’t sound like a James Bond gun, it sounds like a Duke Nukem gun: Hail to the KING baby).  I bought them from Park Cameras off Oxford Street in London (Tottenham Ct Rd end of Ox St), and they had a selection of new and quality second hands, and if you take your camera they let you try out lenses on your camera so you can see what you like.  I saved a LOT of money compared to buying these lenses online (like, I saved £300-ish).  The staff are all knowledgable about cameras too – so I also found out why my original lens was so crap – it wasn’t original to the camera, it was older, so whenever the previous owner sold my camera to Cash Converters, they kept the original lens to my camera and bunged their older, more crap one on it instead.  Bastard.  I wouldn’t have minded but it arrived WITHOUT A GODDAMN LENS CAP.  Who treats an expensive DSLR like that????  I’ll put sample pics up when my computer isn’t infested with some weird spyware or AIDS or something.
I also bought myself a camera microphone.  I treated myself to a RODE branded one from an audio shop off Tottenham Court Road and early indications are that it is going to be perfect.

My workshop was great on Saturday and I was really psyched to find out that the originator for this whole theory/technique came up with it as a way for traumatized musicians to re-find their voices after surviving WWI as conscripted soldiers in Germany (he moved immediately to France and later turned his efforts to helping traumatised Jews escaping the Nazi regime).

However, something must have hit a nerve or something because on Sunday I really didn’t feel well at all and I couldn’t go to the second day which was a shame because I was looking forward to taking it all further.  It took 4 hours, but I felt a bit better by the afternoon and went into the City and took some pics (which are travelly so I’ll devote a whole article to them.  I might do a whole nother article on the shops you can find in Mayfair because it’s an impressive collection.  There were TWO Maseratis illegally parked).

I then went to have an unplanned and therefore VERY detailed consultation at Victoria’s Secret in Mayfair, which is on New Bond Street, at the other end to Tiffany’s (which is where New BS becomes Old BS; and which I did NOT let myself near until I was certain it had closed for the day, and even then I only took photos from the other side of the road just in case I got tempted to go online on my phone and make a purchase.  Hells to the NO I didn’t set foot in there, because I has ALL OF THE WILLPOWER).

I did however go to Vic’s S. as mentioned above, and I did get a thorough and informative and friendly consultation whilst dressed top to toe in mens clothing (excepting underwear) and wearing men’s shoes (not intentional, just happened to throw it all on that a.m.).  So full points for professionalism.

ALL.  OF.  THE.  WILL.  POWAH.  Tiffany and Co Old Bond Street London.
ALL. OF. THE. WILL. POWAH. Tiffany and Co Old Bond Street London.

At Vic’s S. they don’t just wrap a tape measure round your squishies then truss you up in elastic, they start by taking your name, and introducing themselves (I know it’s like they buy you dinner first), then they ask what type of bras you like, then they measure you, give you some samples to try (that are kept for the express purpose of ascertaining which type of bra you like) then they tick on your personalized consult card to tell you what bras you liked, they write your size on the card, and tell you where (in the 4 floor store) to find the bras you’ve been matched with, where you find them in a range of colors, accents and lace options.  I chose to ignore all the advice from my consult and bought myself a nice front zipping underwired sports bra in black.  Because I almost exclusively wear sports bras (TMI, I know).  I also bought the AMAZINGLY SCENTED body lotions I’d been craving ever since someone brought me back a sample set from Florida about 5 years ago, and I’m so glad I did because now I can smell like that again EVERY DAY.  I haven’t used any of them yet, but occasionally I’ve popped the lids of one or other and just inhaled the delightful scent.

BRB.

Ohhh…..

Love Spell and Pure Seduction you both smell sooooo good!

*does that Homer Simpson drooling thing*

Must not eat them.

Ahem…

Anyway, my laptop was doing a strange thing when I got back so I’m not sure what’s wrong with it but both Hijack This and Malwarebytes are embroiled in fisticuffs trying to detangle why my security log and internet history have been edited while I was away.  HMMMM…

Also Banacek was apparently too lazy to get up to eat today, so he did it lying down:

That's right... he is the laziest rabbit.  If Winnie the Pooh came to visit, he'd have no trouble getting back out of THIS rabbit's house.  Banacek has actually chewed the entrances to his play boxes so he can fit better.
That’s right… he is the laziest rabbit. If Winnie the Pooh came to visit, that bear would have no trouble getting back out of THIS rabbit’s house (although I think they may fight each other to the death over who got to eat the Hunny). Banacek has actually chewed the entrances to his play boxes so he can fit better.

And speaking of Honey, as y’all probably know, it’s my middle name.  Jasmine Honeysuckle is actually the name my mother gave me when I was born, she was told by the Catholic priest at my Christening that this name was no good and that there had never been any Saint Jasmine or Saint Honeysuckle (he cancelled my Christening over this) so she changed it to something more traditional.  I am NOT having the word “suckle” anywhere in my name, so when I recently experienced name dysphoria (before I knew it was gender-related), I changed it (unofficially) to Jasmine Honey about a month before my mum died, then she died and I never got a chance to finish connecting with my new name and make it legal etc.  Honey Jasmine had been my preferred configuration but I wanted to eliminate Jasmine first since that was the way I was originally named.  And it’s all gone down the krapper and stuck.  My acquaintances (all except my ex-best-friend/unrequieted-whatnot) have all been very good with this, although when I started pinpointing major genderqueer-ies (gender queries?) I felt Jasmine wasn’t my best fit first name.  So for the past few months I’ve not really thought of myself in terms of actually HAVING a name.  Which I’ve been happy with, I don’t need a label, I know who I am.  But society insists on calling me words and medical types insists on repeating my full legal ‘name’ several times per sentence to show they know who I am (when they do this it really alienates me from them further).  So I’m thinking of swapping it around to Honey Jasmine (etc).  The only issues are, a) I’d have the same initial and part-last-name as my mum (and that’s a bit weird given all the medically-diagnosed-PTSD she caused me) and b) I feel a bit bad because my dad chose my legal, re-registered names but they’re terrible I hate them and don’t recognize them to respond to because all my life nobody ever called me my registered names.  Apparently it’s been so long since anyone last called me Jasmine, and I see people so infrequently that no-one uses my name to my face, that I don’t seem to be able to associate with it any more either.  That’s very sad.

People call me Honey a lot.  And it’s simultaneously stupidly gendered and still non-gendered.  Which kinda makes it more androgynous.  Like me.  And while it sounds like a porn name, go and google Jasmine Honey and see what comes up.  Or search it on Twitter.  There is a real porn star with my actual name.  Just saying.  It’s hard to rise to prominence on the internet when you keep wondering whether your followers are waiting for you to get your double G’s out, then they see your itty bitty C’s half hidden by a fake moustache and they send you hate mail (which, having received both, is very slightly better than wank-mail but still).

I know there are a few better names out there than Honey, but I’m saving them for when I have kids.  Plus Honey is familiar and comfortable.  Icons with the name being Honey Rider and Miss Honey from Matilda.  Or maybe I should keep Jasmine and stop over thinking this.  I’m considering something else as well, but I just don’t know right now.  Imma think about this s’more before I do anything irreversible like change my Twitter name m’kay…

And I got my manuscript completely edited (and somehow added about 5000 words to it in the process) and sent back to the editors to double check.  Now I’m waiting to find out if it’s getting the go ahead or needs editing further.  I canNOT edit without a list written by a responsible person.

And here’s the video that the title is a reference to:

So let me tell you once again – Who’s Back!

So that’s been my whirlwind of a past few days, how’ve you been?  Let me know in the comments!

[wellness] Trapped in the Designer Outlet

Today I learned a very valuable lesson.

This bag was on sale today with an extra 30% off.
This bag was on sale today with an extra 30% off.  And it’s not leather!

It’s not enough to know what item you want to buy, you need to know the specifics, and you need to work it out BEFORE you go to the mall.

I spent over an hour wandering from shop to shop looking for a new handbag.  As a woman, it’s assumed that I would just browse and eventually spend more than I intended on one or more handbags that I would probably completely love for 6 weeks, then the whole cycle repeats, leaving a trail of depleted finances and a wardrobe full of unwanted bags.

The problem is, if I was like that, like most other women, I wouldn’t actually have any trouble shopping for a bag.  But I actually hate bag shopping.  Bags are overpriced, their internal dimensions rarely match their external ones, they are complete victims to the most bizzarre trends making it very hard to find one that will last for more than a season.  I envy people who can just impulse buy them, but for me, finding a good handbag is like buying a car.  I have to inspect every inch of it, consider the aesthetic and the functionalism, I have to spend some serious time deciding whether it will be suitable for me.  Additionally I don’t want it to be leather, because that stuff looks better on the cow.  Because I only have one day-to-day bag at a time, and one tiny going out bag (a recent addition to the sphere of things that I own).  When one of those bags breaks or gets stained or otherwise stops looking presentable or being functional, I get a new bag.

I started to go bag-blind in the shops, looking at so many bags which all didn’t seem like what I was looking for in some way or another.  I think I skipped a few shops that might have been ok, because I couldn’t immediately see any bags from outside and I was starting to get uncomfortable with just going in and out of shops, trying to navigate past people to get to the bags (which are always at the back).  I didn’t bother with Ralph Lauren because there was a queue to go in.

Eventually, I found something in the Levi shop that was under £10, looked nice enough, and was the right shape and size with the right number of pockets and sensible location of closable openings for me to use day-to-day.  I won’t go through the nightmare again of having a bag which can’t be closed.  If I’d known the shape and style I was looking for, I could have saved myself 70% of that trip and avoided all the overly-female-oriented shops, gone straight for the unisex shops, and just browsed the type of bag I ultimately bought.  I would have been done in about 20 minutes.  I did look online beforehand and didn’t really see anything I liked.  I think I need a clearer idea of exactly what I’m looking to buy when I’m getting new seldom-buy items.

Someone could spend the rest of their life browsing in the mall for things to use in their everyday life, never actually getting to live that life because they’re spending all their time in the mall.  That’s a scary thought.  Once I’d bought my bag I literally ran back to my car and floored it out of there.  When did shopping get so stressful?

Is Fear of Leaving Empty-Handed Making You Shop?

Fear of Leaving Empty-Handed

Have you ever gone into a shop and browsed, only to feel like the woman behing the counter is watching you, and like you can’t leave empty handed? That compulsion to buy something?

It can get a bit ridiculous. When I first left home, I had to know what was inside every shop, I think it was just curiosity and an enjoyment of the time I could spend doing it. However, I seemed to keep leaving the shops with an item or two. Sometimes three. Sometimes these items were fairly expensive. Always I didn’t want or need them. I couldn’t understand why I kept doing it until I got stuck in a particularly cloying boutique.

It was the kind of shop that calls itself a boutique, that sells things which are labelled in squiggly handwriting with the name of some unreadable (and unremarkable) “designer.” The window display had been some pretty hats, and for some reason it lured me in. I wondered what else they sold.

I went inside. A particularly sour-faced older lady in the over sixty category, wearing a very unattractive floral print dress (prints had been out for about 10 years by this point, and wouldn’t ever make a comeback in the garish incarnation she was sporting) and a necklace that seemed to be garotting her neck fat. She glared down her nose at me and didn’t say a word. I looked around to see what the shop sold. There was a lot of things that the older lady might wear to watch a regatta or go to a wedding. I could see the Queen shopping somewhere similar. Nothing had any price tags on. I started to panic because there was nothing in the whole shop that I could buy. Not a single thing. Everything was repulsive in some way or another. I felt too hot, the temperature was stuffy and the artificial floral air freshener was catching in my throat. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t buy anything, so I looked obsessively at every single item, pretending to be interested, and I had an epiphany – I didn’t have to buy something in order to leave. The exit was right there, all I had to do was be brave and walk out. I suddenly realised that when I came into shops like this I tended to worry that sour older women like that would just see my school uniform and assume I was shoplifting when I wasn’t, causing unpleasantness. She couldn’t stop me for shoplifting – because I hadn’t shoplifted anything. It didn’t seem like such a silly worry at the time, so I had to take a very deep breath, close my eyes, pull the door open… and I was back on the street, walking away, never to see the inside of that awful place again.

I felt like I’d escaped from a spider web.

For years, I felt very uncomfortable when trying to leave a shop without buying anything, although it wasn’t unmanageable. I did still find it quite difficult, however, and there were a few times I ended up leaving with something I thought I wanted to buy, but if I’d really thought about it, I wouldn’t have bought it. It all came to a head in my first year of university. I’d just got my student overdraft, and I saw a dress in the window. It was sparkly and pale pink. I went inside to try it on. It didn’t fit particularly well and it had a huge design flaw that made my legs look terrible. Additionally, it was actually a very unflattering pale peach, and made my skin tone look dead. Oh, and it was also £250. But do you know what I did? I bought it anyway. I didn’t find out about the colour until I got back to my room; they must have had some very odd lighting on it in the shop.

I got it home still feeling really pleased with myself about buying the dress, pleased that I was now the sort of person who could spend £250 on a dress without thinking about where that money would come from. Pleased, in short, that I was able to participate in consumerism at a higher level than when I lived at home. I equated spending power with success.

It was about seven or eight years later that I finally realized that I had made a poor choice. The years came and went, I never actually wore that dress to any of the variety of functions I attended, at all of which it would have been appropriate, because I was afraid of someone spilling something on it, or standing on the hem. Every time I tried it on I would look in the mirror and feel very pleased with myself for having such a nice dress. Through the bad times, the times when I was working at McDonalds and when I was unemployable because I couldn’t walk, I would try the dress on and feel the same way I had when I bought it – like I was going places. I felt like anyone with a dress like this must be on their way up in life. I loved it. And underneath that thought process, I also hated it. I felt like it was a tangible reminder of my own weakness, my inability to not buy things, something I knew was a personal failing even as it made me feel happy. The feeling grew on me that I had never worn it, and time was always moving forward, and it was just taking up space in my life. I didn’t need it, and I didn’t want it. Every time I altered the hemline or changed the drop of the skirt, it still didn’t look right and I couldn’t put my finger on the reason.

The bottom line was, it was an expensive waste of money and it was also an overpriced and poor fitting monstrosity that I would never have occasion to wear.

When my wedding day came, I pulled it out. The most expensive dress you ever wear, we are told by the Wedding Industrial Complex, is supposed to be your wedding dress. Well I wasn’t going to spend £250 on a wedding dress, but I also didn’t actually like that dress and didn’t want to wear it in public. I think the peach colour had progressively faded from the moment I bought it and when it came to my wedding year it was a really yellowish peach that made me look positively anaemic (which I was, but I didn’t need to look like I was). My actual wedding dress was £10. When I first started minimalizing the house, six months after the wedding (we haven’t been married anywhere near a year yet), that £250 dress was one of the first things I got rid of.

Do you know how good that felt? It felt better than when I bought it. I felt like I’d unhitched a cart that I’d been dragging behind me for years. I felt lighter and more moveable. It’s several weeks later and I’m still glad I got rid of it.

The fact that I was able to get rid of it means that I am putting that part of my life – the naive thoughts that being able to consume more expensive items equates to success and happiness – behind me, I’m committed to minimalizing my life and letting go of the things that are weighing me down.

All my sandbags will be cut loose, so I can soar amongst the stars.

No longer am I afraid of leaving empty handed. I don’t need to buy things to prove to shop assistants that I have spending power. I know that I can buy anything I want to, but that doesn’t mean I have to use that power. In Kung-Fu, it is taught that true wisdom is knowing when not to fight. So in minimalism, we learn that true wisdom is also knowing when not to purchase things.

I think this is probably linked to FOMO – or fear of missing out.  Sometimes I worry that if I don’t buy something when I see it I’ll never get back to buy it when I really need it.  This is an obstacle I’m still trying to overcome.  But that’s okay, because minimalism is a journey, and it starts with choosing which pair of shoes to wear to take that single step.  Unless you’re a centipede.  In which case you can wear all of them.