CONFESSION TIME

If you know me (which I'm assuming that you do -- at least to some extent -- if you're reading this), you know that I'm a pretty frugal and simple person. I mainly do my grocery shopping based off of whatever is on sale at the moment at the grocery store (which then leads to my preoccupation with the "you saved $____ today" line on the receipt that makes me feel as though I just won a minor victory). I'm an adamant defender of the gas stations with "bad" gas because they coincidentally are the ones with the cheapest prices around and as such I also insist on filling up there . . .after all, good 'ol Vince is still running like a champ. And while I do like to look nice, I'm by no means a slave to fashion, the latest trends/designers, and the price-tag that comes with it all. However, I have come to realize that there's an area in my life where my frugality is weakened and my standards are high. It's true, I'm high maintenance when it comes to the place that I live. I'd like to think that it's only a new development that came about after having lived in a darkened basement where the only common area was the entry/kitchen/dining room/laundry room combination, but the first step in recovery is to admit your problem and I think that to be able to move forward I have to be painfully honest in saying that this trait has been long-standing. After all, even though it wouldn't fit my standards today, I did pick out some pretty amazing neon-green wallpaper with daisies on it for my bedroom when I was younger in an effort to have the 'perfect' girl room. As of late, I've seen this form of high maintenance rearing its head again in the midst of my squaring away living arrangements for Virginia. In all reality, should a two-toned cupboard circa the 1980s really be a deciding factor in where one lives? For any normal person, probably not, but for me, if I'm scrolling through possible places to live and I spot a picture of white, vinyl-covered cupboards with brown, wood edges that viable housing option is tossed out. And, call me crazy, but I also am not interested in a place where animals (namely dogs) are not allowed. Not that I have any animals that would be coming along with me, but wouldn't a dog just be lovely? I think so. And I don't want to wind up at a place where my dream of having a pooch wouldn't ever have a chance to become a reality. There's quite a few other deciding factors that some might classify as 'picky' (alright, even I know that they are picky) but you can't blame a girl for wanting the place that she lives to truly be her home. . .even if that means forgoing one's money-saving tendencies in order to secure a place that meets their expectations. If I'm going to be high maintenance in an area of my life, I suppose that this is as good as any, but perhaps I'll still try and tame the beast a bit. We'll see how that goes depending on where I wind up living. As for now, I think I'll go fill up at Arco. . .