Infatuation

My mom has always told me, since I was a kid, "I'm not buying it for you; you're only gonna get sick of it soon enough." Most times she stood by her decision, but in one memorable case, tears worked, so I got the toy that I wanted.

[Fade in on a gigantic stuffed doll, slouched against the wall in a corner.]

Within weeks the doll had been played with and forgotten. I blame myself. (Sorry, Dolly! We had a great run.)

My point is, my mom had been right, like mothers usually are. But now that I'm almost 21 and earning my own keep (plus I'm practically supporting my unemployed mother), she can't say much about what I decide to do with my money.

What I spend my dough on typically revolves around the usual: food, music, movies, books, an occasional cool top or a nice skirt, etc. These probably take up three quarters of my entire paycheck. Factor in my current infatuation and I become broke.

The last thing I was infatuated with before my current one (I'll get to this later) was Dr. Martens shoes because they had sponsored a performance by the English indie-rock band, The Heartbreaks. Seeing the band members in their Dr. Martens and receiving a $20 discount voucher made my heart yearn for a pair of my own.

I didn't end up with one because the logical part of me kicked in and chastised my infatuated part; those leather babies are too expensive. Also, leather used to be the skin of a cow. I mean, I can eat beef without much guilt, but wearing their skin...is a whole new level of creepy that I can't justify to myself yet.

So I saved myself some money from my wondrous restraint, and now I'm spending it all on something else: nail polish.

Seriously, I've been obsessed with nail polish since February and my nails haven't been nude since. My mom's sort of disapproving on account of all the money I've spent on nail polish (approx. $70 in total) but she's borrowed some colors a few times. Good thing I picked an infatuation with something that my mom likes, so she won't nag too much.

Pretty nails are the shit, man. Guys will never get this rush of satisfaction: when you catch sight of your nails while you're typing, or picking up something - whatever people do with their hands. (Ahem.)

Another infatuation of mine now is the K-rock band, CNBLUE. Every time I mention this to someone who hasn't already had this conversation with me before, I get this response: "Oh, then do you listen to FT Island? They play their own instruments too."

Yes, I have listened to FT Island and frankly, they're not my type. First, some of the members are blonde. I don't really dig blonde hair on Asians. Second, their music is a bit...too pop-rock for me. CNBLUE has some alternative infused into their pop-rock, so that's what attracts me (along with lead singer Jung Yong Hwa's dashing good looks).

By the way, it's Korean rock. K-rock. I'm not a K-pop fan. I'm not even an English pop fan. I like my pop as a sub-genre, like indie-pop or pop-punk or even urban-pop (basically means R&B).

It shouldn't bother me so much, being labelled as a pop fan, but it does. I can't help it. It probably stems from my year of working at Capitol Gramophone, where disdain of anything mainstream is abundant. Even pop-punk band Paramore may be considered mainstream and worthy of distaste. (And let's face it, a lot of people my age think Paramore's cool beyond words.)

So sometimes I feel conflicted when I listen to my pop-punk music. Because I've been trained to judge people that do, I judge myself even more for it. This is crazy, man. We should all stop being so judgmental of each other's music tastes and just, like, let it be.

Oops, now I'm being preachy.

Shit, am I turning into my mom? I need to stop nagging.