I am a compulsive shopper.  And it’s not the quirky chick-lit kind that has a glossy cover with hot pink lipstick and apple martinis.  There is no green scarf, nor is there a magical writing job despite a terrible interview attached to this.  If a book were written about my compulsion it would more likely have a picture of me, outside of the Flying J gas station with a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 in one hand and a shiny plastic turtle with springy appendages in the other.  Because I was in the gas station the other night.  And I absolutely  bought one of those suckers and gave it a good home.  (The turtle.  I already had the Mad Dog when I walked in).

And that right there – that is my problem.  (Again, the turtle.  Not the Mad Dog)

I can.

And will.

Shop anywhere.

Of course I frequent the standard haunts.  I look totally normal at the mall – even better than normal depending on how trashy the mall.  The Queens Center Mall makes me look unbelievably amazing.  But the mall is my proverbial crack house, an environment that celebrates the common thread that ties people together.  At the mall, I am a part of that house-that-crack-built community mentality– one of many and that makes my compulsion quietly purr like a kitten with warm milk.

It’s my insatiable need to buy things with no regard for the actual retailer or the item.  I have purchased the peeing boy wind-up doll from the legless man on the subway who uses his hands to move from car to car in order to peddle that crap.  At the Farmer’s Market, I will buy fruit.  Beautiful and ripe and delicious.  Did I mention that I am allergic?  I do not watch the Home Shopping Network because I am terrified that it will lead to me buying a piece of the jewelry that Tori Spelling’s son drooled on while waiting for his mother to stop posing for complaining about the paparazzi so his awesomely creepy grandmother can finally come visit and she can write another book instead of resorting to sending open letters to TMZ.

And I am not even selfish about my habit.  Last weekend was my cousin’s daughter’s birthday.  I love this child.  She is the fucking schnickels.  I go to Toys ‘R Us to buy her the OB/GYN Barbie set.  It’s what she wants since her mom has become a full-time baby making factory.  I walk out of there nearly two hours later with the baby-doc Barbie, a bathtub/toilet set for her to relax in after a long day of delivering plastic babies that clearly do not come from the same gene pool of Ken or Barbie (I think this guy was the frozen sperm donor), clothing for Barbie, a butterfly growing kit, baby-doll stroller,  Hannah Montana movie, which pained me more than words will ever be able to encompass.  And then I bought this.  For me.  Because I didn’t even know that you could grow prehistoric fish, let along grow them at home.  And I needed it.

But my all-time low came when registering setting up this site.  GoDaddy.com.  It was my own personal rock bottom.  I need to purchase a domain name.  Simple.  First choices of Meanasasnake.com and thebigduh.com were taken.  So I land with anotherhotmess.com.  Click Check out.  Done?  Notevenclose.  Daddy himself is looking at me, smirking, with his crazy hair and John Lennon glasses.  He knows my weakness.  Options.  Sign up for three years? Sure.  Do you want WordPress Hosting?  Yes, but make it Deluxe.  Do you want email?  Yes.  Privacy?  Without a doubt.  SSL Certificate? Yes.  Over $300 later, here I am.  And Daddy loves me because he emails me 87 times a day telling me that he does.  Tempting me with offers I don’t want to refuse.  Optimization.  Website building – the list goes on.

With all of this talk about recession and cutbacks and budgeting and making your own socks because you can’t afford to buy new ones, I was starting to feel a smidgen guilty and a wee-bit irresponsible.

And then I made a life-affirming realization.  My excessive living is actually helping our economy.  For the simple fact that I refuse to make my own socks.  And because I buy prehistoric fish and shop at GoDaddy.com.  While some people may snicker at my form of patriotism, I think Obama is really, really appreciative that I am working really hard at helping out with the whole economic stimulus thing.   And he’s the President, Anissa.  His approval totally trumps your mockery.

OMG, you should totally be in Congress or something!  Thank you to Lisa, for this hilarious Three Day Weekend post!  You can find Lisa at her blog, Another Hot Mess, and on twitter!