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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Sofia bag, I covet thee

From the frying pan into the fire.

I’ve gone from one crazy project directly into another, and to reward myself I am scouring ebay for a luxury item. So far I’ve got my eye on two possible presents for myself, and I even wrote the auction deadlines down in my calendar so I wouldn’t forget. It’s not the Birkin bag of my dreams, but something close.

The Birkin, incidentally, is not going to be bought on ebay. I am going to—gasp!--pay retail. I want to savor my own cinematic slow-mo walk into Hermès not just to browse and salivate, but to BUY. I want to take my time and consider size (25 cm or 35cm?), leather (Croc? Ostrich?), color (Black? Red? Camel?), hardware and then place an order. And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I’ve been given permission to spend frivolously. Terence has assumed the bulk of our expenses, and he told me to worry about 1) my student loans, 2) my taxes, 3) my savings, and then 4) spend whatever’s left on whatever I want.

I don’t really need permission to spend my own money on things for myself. I guess I just needed to know that the bulk of our bills, utilities, student loans, rent and insurance were going to be taken care of and that if I did decide to buy an expensive item, I wouldn’t have to first consider where rent was going to come from, or which creditors I’d have to keep at bay with swashbuckling tales of kidnapping and stolen identities and rabid bill-eating mongrel dogs.

Tomorrow we meet with a mortgage dude to assess how much we can borrow. After that, we tour some properties: we are actually going to look at that building with the three 1-BR apartments, and two additional 2 BR condominiums (in old buildings.) I always feel that I have to qualify “condominium” with “old building” because in my mind, “condo” means tacky cardboard/shingle/particle board/faux Colonial/beige development. These condos will hopefully have a little more real estate flava.

I bought cough syrup/expectorant, and you know what? No matter how old I get, I just can’t swallow that stuff without making a face afterwards. I know it’s going to taste bad, it’s always tasted bad, but I wrinkle my nose anyway.

A perfect segue to…

Now that I am back on track financially-speaking (eventually sharing the responsibilities of coupledom… you didn’t think I was going to let Terence pay for EVERYTHING? That’s absurd. He needs to have play money too,) the Cosmetic Surgery Savings Account (CSSA) is back on track. And it’s a good thing, too, with all of this nose-wrinkling happening. I predict I will need some facial work done in the next two years, and I fully intend to be prepared. I will consult Gentry, and pay cash, just like I did for the breast reduction.

Gravity, I smite thee.

9:27 a.m. - 2004-03-11

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