Here’s a shocker: I’m not wealthy.
It took a while for that to sink in. For years I lived slightly beyond my means, enjoying weekends (and weeknights) at clubs, treating friends and strangers to dinner, downing rounds of drinks and other comsumables of dubious legal status. Frankly, I had a great time, and if I were to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Well, maybe I’d skip those Fluevogs that made my feet hurt, but other than that….
For whatever reason–boredom, age, a growing list of watering holes from which I’d been forcibly removed–I gradually pulled myself together and began living like a responsible adult. Today, I pay my bills, taxes, yadda, yadda, yadda. Dullsville. Bring on the tapioca pudding. When do they replace my hip?
Yes, this is all going somewhere.
Due to the weird timing of certain financial obligations, I’m experiencing a bit of a cash crunch this month. Nothing too bad, but I need to watch my spending. The problem? It’s Carnival, and I’ve got three costumes to build–two for me, one for Jonno. I suppose I could just recycle bits from last year, but where’s the fun in that?
So although I’ve gotten out of the habit, I’m going to live in willful ignorance for the next few days. I’m going to pull an Edie Sedgwick:
When the bills would mount up
she’d stuff them all in a big envelope
and she’d take a dozen people
to the Ginger Man for drinks
—Edie: American Girl
And fyi, that has nothing whatsoever to do with the impending release of the film and everything to do with a youth spent reading the Stein/Plimpton oeuvre and poring over the pages of Interview magazine (shoulder-to-shoulder with our school’s own Edie, Missy/Parker Posey). What else was a kid from Mississippi to do?
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