Sometimes I wonder if living in one of the biggest cities in the world has somehow managed to make me a smaller person. I remember thinking along these lines when I used to live in L.A.

There were many things to covet in L.A. Gucci sunglasses, Prada bags, $400 haircuts. Wanting all these material things only reminded me how far away from them I really was making a mere $600 a week before taxes and paying $355 a month for car insurance. The wanting also was a factor in my inevitable dalliance with The Crazy.

To the point, however, when I lived in New Jersey, I was more concerned with making sure my family could eat and finding gainful employment than wondering what the Dior-wearing silicone-sporting model thought about my $12.99 Cherokee sunglasses from Target.

But now that I'm back in a city, THE city, I find myself wanting these things again, craving pretty bags and hot sunglasses and the latest clothing. And I feel bad that I can't do these things for myself. I feel terrible that I buy - on average - 2-3 pieces of new clothing every year! Everything else I have is either old or wasn't originally mine.

And then I do other things that make me feel bad. I take pleasure in knowing that someone who, at one time, I thought was the sister I never had, is on the receiving end of a bad Karma boomerang.

What is it about the big city that makes me so small? What is it about living here that makes me think the worst things are important and the best things can wait?

I'll take comments on this one. See below.