SELFABSORBED.ME

Walking around Macy’s this morning, spraying myself with every perfume imaginable; until I had enough alcohol doused on me to be completely flammable, I realized something truly magical…being kid-free and husband-free is like winning the lottery. I have no one to spend my money on other than myself. If I want to skip out on buying groceries this month in lieu of the new Cole Han limited edition leather, then damnit all, I will….Because who cares, it’s my spending account. What else would I be spending my money on anyway? Donations to Darfur? Homeless children’s education? Feeding the supermodels?

See the problem with having a family, also known as, “people you care about”, is all your money goes right to them. Got a baby? And not one of those diaper-less, food-less babies (they make those now, right?) Well there goes that money you were saving for the new leather coat! That baby will prevent you and your new leather coat from ever having a lavish love affair together. Damn that baby! Doesn’t he know how greedy he is? Can he not eat for just one day?

Husbands are even worse. You have to dress them and feed them and pretend like you enjoy spending 200 bucks on mid season tickets to watch some loser throw some ball at some other loser wearing tight pants, while you aren’t even watching the game, because instead you are freezing your ass off in some enormous parking lot just because you decided to leave halfway through to pop a squat between two parked cars and then got your coathood strings stuck under the muffler of one of those alleged parked cars….I’m sorry..what? Wait? Were we talking about something? Um yes, so do you know what I enjoy spending my money on…things that don’t involve anyone else but myself. I like to know my bank account is exactly where it should be...tied up in plastic, lots and lots of plastic.

MONEY STEALER #3

There is a time in every young woman’s life when she learns skills passed on from generations. Skills like cooking a turkey, changing a tire, finding a strange man’s bathroom in the dark
half-cocked running through a hallway in your bra top…essentially the usual…But beyond, cooking and cleaning and using a Swiss army knife for… well for whatever you use those things for I don’t know...one skill I would like to pass on to a younger generation is ‘The Freeze’. ‘The Freeze’ may help you survive in the wild jungle world, where men are allowed to roam free and are not tied up inside metal cages, such as they do in civil places with funny names like, “Alabama”.

Is this so wrong...Or so very very right

‘The Freeze’ consists of stopping all dancing mid-motion to advert the guy into thinking neither you, nor the dancing, ever existed. It is just like in Jurassic Park, when the scientist told the little kids, "if you don't move, the Dinosaur can't see you…." You must to warn all your girlfriends, let them know Mr. Black jeans is headed your way, create a hand signal, for you must all freeze at once, act like you were never dancing, like you never even existed. As soon as you freeze, the guy will too. Don’t blink. Don’t cough. Don’t move. Just stand. Arms in the air if you must. Hips to the side, about to do the ‘Humpty-Hump’… but just-don’t-move.