Thursday, March 25, 2010

My Economic Policy, or, What we Want to Buy

*Before our Regularly Scheduled Blog, I would like to tell you that I slept approximately 2.1 hours last night, total. I woke up hanging off the bed, with my head mashed between the bed and the nightstand, only to find The Man's manly elbow in my back. The reason? A small boy-child was sleeping sprawled on about 3/4 of the bed. Sigh. After trotting him back to his OWN bed, I couldn't sleep. Ugh. And when I did, I had horribly confusing time-span dreams. I hate those. Okay, on with the show....*

Last night, The Man and I were discussing our own "Economic Plan," you know, if we ever had a surplus (bwahahaaaaa!). He is in favor of Red Bull fairings for his bike:

While I am in favor of plastic surgery:

*(Okay now, I don't REALLY want to look like a cartoon. I'm not that "Cat Lady" or something. This is allllll in good humor people. Unless you want to pay for the procedure and then, by all means, call me Jessica Rabbit.)*

Meanwhile, notice that things we ACTUALLY NEED like working French doors with working seals, a storm door *not* repaired with duct tape, a new deck, flooring for the entire entryway and kitchen, new counter-tops, two retaining walls.....etc etc....all go unsung. Why? Because we make good decisions dammit.

Anyway, The Man is not on board with my awesome surgery plan - I know, it's weird right? So later in the evening we were watching tv when I announced, "You know, I might buy some fake eyelashes."

To which The Man replied: "You're out of control!"

I laughed so hard I almost dislodged my bowl of pistachios AND my sleeping fat Shaolin-Warrior cat.

Maybe he's still emotionally recovering from the Hair Color Trauma of aught '10, as we all are, but I'm pretty sure I'm not out of control. Yet.

Granted, I tell him on a weekly basis my next plan. Such examples? Sure.

"Hey, when I drop five pounds, I'm getting that tattoo."
"Hey, if I lose ten pounds, I'm piercing my belly button!"
"Hey, do you think I could pull off this hair cut?"
"Hey, I'm totally breaking out those old bar pants if I can squeeze into them! Yeah, the ones that TIE on the SIDES!"
"Hey, I'm buying those furry knee-high boots on eBay!"
"Hey, do you think I can learn to shift because I saw a bike I want...."
"Hey, they're having Wonder Bras on clearance, can you sign me on"

Etc. Okay, reading through that, I actually almost feel SORRY for The Man. Wow, I'd better go get some coffee or something to shake that feeling. Don't want to break a "No Empathy" stretch I've had going.

See, usually, he'll say something comforting like "are you having a crisis?" and I'll say "look, I don't know what creatures you were with before me, but MOST women like to mess with their hair and clothes."

(Okay, I don't actually say it THAT NICELY. I usually throw in references to 12-year-old boys, crazy people, and Weight Watchers, but ONLY if I'm close to my PMS time. OH, and I don't refer to Sassy's mom in that because we get along pretty well. Good terms with ex-wives = how I roll.)

Jeez. Maybe I'd better check my calendar because suddenly I'm suspecting we ARE close to PMS time. Crap. Well don't say I didn't warn you.

Aaaaanyway, don't worry, I don't think I'll be piercing, tattooing, dying, cutting, injecting or implanting anything anytime soon. First off, I am NOT down to my Jillian Michaels-approved fighting weight.

See Jillian's smirk? This is her saying, "Sure Sam, only one body group yesterday in the weight room. Realllllly impressed here. And that 7 minutes on the bike? REALLY? Is that the best you can do?" She isn't easily fooled, our Jillian. And she doesn't take excuses!

So, The Man, you'll probably roll off in Red Bull style before I'll be working it out with cosmetic surgery's magic. And if this is all just a PMS fueled rant? Sorry. And rub my back! With chocolate! (Feed me the chocolate, I mean, don't coat me in it. That'd be a whole 'nuther blog.)

Comments, questions, what do you buy with YOUR extra cash?