online gamblin' and swappin'

I've heard, from a friend, that online gambling is seriously addictive.

And I believe them. My friend.

You start with a simple game of blackjack and pretty soon you haven't moved away from your computer for 34 hours except to refill on doritoes and mountain dew, your credit card is maxed out and you've become incredibly sensitive to natural light.

I for one, have never tried online gambling simply due to the fact that with my addictive personality, I'd become that person swearing and struggling to shut the blinds at 8am with serious Cool Ranch breath going on. So wrong.

So, in order to save up for this savings account I'm planning on opening, um, tomorrow, I've become addicted to other online delights. Blogs! Flickr! Stalking innocent people to stare jealously at their completed handmade projects and their organized studios and their unique effortless fashion sense!

One of my own reasons for starting a bloggy thing was to be inspired to attempt to finish a project and wear more than 3 staple items from my overflowing closet.

And now, to add to the list, I found a group on Flickr that is all about swapping. While that could definitely go towards a distinctly, um, uncomfortable direction, it's less "secret lives of the rich and famous" and more "online thrifting and trading between regular people who don't swap signficant others." So, yeah.

Becoming addicted to thrifing creeps up you. I don't think I even truly realized how deep it runs until I bought a dress at Target for twenty five bucks last week and lost sleep over the amount of money I spent. And then, to top it all off, I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about where our clothes come from....the company and people behind them....how much stuff is floating around this world...the product quality and markup...damn that jesuit education.

I feel like during college the jesuits (yeah, that's right: priests. catholic priests) implanted a tiny little social justice chip in my arm so that no matter how far I go away or how old I get, I still flinch at the idea of my sweatpants coming from sweatshops. Granted, it starts as a flinch, but a constant tick becomes something you can't deny or ignore and pushes you to the point where you have to do something.

While I don't know what my something is just yet--I do know that I can appreciate the idea of trading and swapping my stuff for more than one reason.

And it's like that pesky Christmas truth--granted, I love the idea of getting--but I'm more excited that my dear little mod dress is finally going to have a good, safe, warm home: