Confessions of a Shopaholic

Last week, I admitted to my Tylenol PM dependence. (And, by the way, I checked myself out of rehab.  Can a Tylenol PM every night really hurt me?  Nah.  But not taking one sure can.)  Today, I will come clean with another addiction.  I am a shopaholic. 

Online shopping, particularly discount shopping, changed my life.  I used to plan my work day around the 11am RueLaLa and 12pm Gilt sales.  I'll never forget the reaction from my boss when I called to let her know I would be late to a meeting because Louboutin was on Gilt. (A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.  Work can wait.  Right?)   "Unacceptable JulieSue!  What are you thinking?!"  (BTW, guess who called and begged me to work for her again? Uh huh.)

Now that I spend my days at home, walking outside, and attending baby classes, I find I no longer want need to shop online for personal designer duds.  Plus, making the 11am and Noon deadlines is often difficult.  My new boss (you know, the 18-pounder who pooped up to his armpits yesterday) is even less sympathetic than my Loub-lacking manager.  When he's hungry or tired, explaining to him that "Mommy needs a new pair of shoes" just doesn't convince him to wait.   

So, to satisfy my shopping fix, Ari and I take a daily shop-walk.  Sometimes, we stock up at Trader Joes (and hope we don't run into a Trader Shmoe ), often we peruse the baby gear aisles at Magic Beans, occasionally we buy a pound of coffee at Starbucks, and a few times a week, we browse and buy at the Crap Gap.  I feel a little rush when I blow a few bucks in the neighborhood, and more importantly, I feel like a failure when I come home empty-handed.  

I admit I have a problem.  According to this 12 Step Program, "shopping addiction operates the same way as heroin addiction."  Before I star on an episode of Cops (high on a shopping spree, bloody, naked, sweating, and in possession of a bag that "isn't mine"), I better get my shopping in check.

...Oh crap, there's a big sale at Bloomingdale's AND I have a coupon.

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Rehab

Hi, my name is JulieSue and I'm an addict.

It started so innocently.  I was having trouble falling asleep (even though I was exhausted) and staying asleep (I would hear my baby cry when he was fast asleep OR I would wake up and just stare at the video monitor) so I turned to the OTC aisle at the local CVS.  One night, I popped half a Tylenol PM before bed and, amazingly, I woke up, 8 hours later, feeling refreshed and revived and ready to take on the (baby) world.  It worked so well that I took 1/2 the next night, 1/2 the night after, and then incorporated the pill popping into my nighttime routine (brush teeth, remove contacts, take pill).  At some point, 1/2 a pill turned into 1 pill and occasionally, when I'm feeling extra spunky, I go crazy and take 2 whole pills. 

I called my mom to tell her about my little addiction and she said, "can't hurt you, in fact, you'll get fewer colds."  My mom attended the same medical school as this guy.

A shameless celeb effer, I'm following the lead of my US Weekly headliners and checking myself into Tylenol PM rehab.  This is the same facility that we used when we needed to cure Ari of his pacifier addiction.  Dr. Drew is not here...and it sure is not a "party at the palms" (if you get that reference, I salute you).  I doubt I'll get to see Lindsay Lohan or Catherine Zeta Jones, but if I'm lucky, the manager of this joint (a tall redhead easily bribed with gummy bears) will take pity on me (and my withdrawal symptoms) and slip me some benadryl at 2am.

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