Yesterday was Mardi Gras, or “Fat Tuesday.” That means today is Ash Wednesday, or the first day of Lent. Since I’m not Catholic this all is a bunch of mumbo jumbo to me, but I did attend Mardi Gras three straight years in a row, and while I don’t get my forehead swiped by a priest on Ash Wednesday, I do try and give up something “bad” for Lent, which lasts for 40 days and 40 nights, until Easter. But forget about giving up lame stuff like carbs and sugar and sex — after the jump, 10 bad things you really should consider ditching for Lent. Or permanently. Keep reading »
Tag Archives: vices
When you’re single, there’s not much need for secrets. You live on your own, pay your own bills and make your own decisions because you don’t have to answer to anyone but yourself. If you want that pair of $250 jeans but have no money, who says you can’t charge them? It’s you and only you that will suffer the consequences, so who the heck cares? Marriage, in many ways, means the end of this autonomy. That $250 pair of jeans? Someone else will likely see that you spent that much on them or recognize their presence, if not the Neiman Marcus bag they came in. And, odds are, he or she won’t be too pleased.
Before I got married, I engaged in all sorts of behaviors that I knew were dumb, but I chose to do anyway because I was my own boss. I knew my habitual enjoyment of Marlboro Ultra Lights and shopping extravaganzas completely incongruous with my paychecks were idiotic (The aforementioned jeans story? That was me. Every week.), but I didn’t care enough to stop. Once R. and I got hitched however, I realized I had to. We were living together now – sharing everything, and I knew I couldn’t be self-centered Chelsea anymore. Keep reading »
When I was a teenager, I hid all of my vices from my mom and dad. My high school boyfriend snuck in and out of our house so they wouldn’t know I was having sex, I kept perfume and eye drops in a boot in the garage so I wouldn’t smell and look so stoned when I walked in, and once I even hid my jeans in the backyard when I came home so drunk I peed my pants while trying to open the front door. For the most part, mom and dad remained oblivious to my shady behavior. (Except, sadly, my mom found the pee pants in the backyard before I could wake up, and threw them in my face. And a nosy neighbor once squealed to her about strange boys jumping out the window. Also, sorry, mom. I do hope I don’t have a daughter like me.)
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