Seriously speaking: This is why I have a confession blog.

Alright, I have finally come to the realization (or got over my intense denial)

that I have a serious lipgloss addiction.

Chanel lipgloss? $32.00. Dior lipgloss? $23.00. Revlon? $12.00.

And it's not even as if I feel guilty, and this is honestly where I see the problem nesting.

I can't even lie about buying them, because I obviously prove that I have enough of them on a daily basis, but I continue to add to my collection in a regular habit anyway.

Princesses Rule? Just Bitten? Torrid?

Oh, yes please.

It's like seeing the perfect pair of shoes with the perfect pair of socks.

It's like seeing a cookie cutter family all dressed to the tee in matching button up shirts.

Lipgloss may just be a moisturizing sleek morsel of a glossed goodness,

but I feel as though it is much, much more.

I probably apply lip balm (and/or) lipgloss 5-6 times a day.

And that's speaking lightly...

You see, here in Florida it is almost so hot that the gloss drips straight down your face.

Before you know it, you're in trouble with either a glossy chin or an ongoing addiction regardless.

In New York, it is so cold that I'm afraid my lips will freeze shut,

glossed together by crystalized, glittery icicles.

To be quite honest, I think this is why the application process is so extensive.

And to be brutally honest, just because this is a confession, that doesn't mean that I plan on changing my behavior.

I have decided to close in this remark:

Go listen to "Lipgloss" by: Lil' Mama. (Yes, Lil').

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BCvXzjGRnKc

Forever in lipgloss lust,

Eliza Jordan.

Where did it all begin?

When starting this blog, I had many ideas on what I wanted my topic to be. Being a St. Augustine local, fashion tips for the styleless, or the difficulties one encounters while being a double major and a double minor all stood out to me. Although all of these topics would have easily been writeable for me, I decided on one that has always loudly lingered in the back of my mind.

I began writing in a diary, or journal, for all of you “I-don’t-call-it-a-diary-because-I’m-a-MAN”, when I was seven years young. I would write down anything and everything that I did that day, said that day, or wanted that day. As the years progressed however, I saw my entries transform into something that was once innocent entries, into slightly guilty confessions only acceptable to the eye, and not to the ear. I wrote about growing up, experiencing love, lust, adventure, rebellion, and all of the mixed emotions that come with growing into a well-rounded woman. I noticed that in the end, it is okay to vent, or even ramble, on a clean, lined, piece of meaningless paper.

I read many of my entries to myself, both aloud and silently, before making the decision that I was intelligent to vent to someone (well, something) that will always listen. Writing has always helped me heal, helped me grow, and helped me realize many things that were not always so apparent at first glance.

I re-read my rantings on going to middle school, high school, and college. I re-read details about my first love, my parents divorcing, and on family members passing away. I re-read pointless gossip, my aspirations for the future, and what my future husband will be like.

Even though all of these entires sparked an interest down memory lane for me, one specific scenario always stood out and kept myself reading for the end result.

This specific entry never lied. This specific entry never exaggerated or misconstrued the truth.

This entry was, and is...

A confession.