Day 11: Farting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Okay, so I lied about the under $200 thing...at least for this ensemble. Unfortunately, there is NOTHING cheap here. This is the definition of a dream outfit. The shoes are over $300, and the shirt (!) is even more...I think $350....good lord. But it's so freakin adorable! We'll call it "Dinner with the Boss," because I don't have a boss and think that's funny. It could also be "Take Me with You, Santa" for all those holiday parties (for people who have lots of parties to go to, that is).

Now...you're probably wondering about the title. Well, the big question in relationships--and the one the girls address in episode 11--is not, "Do I marry him?" but "Should I fart in front of him?" This is serious stuff here, folks. All the women hit a dry spell, and Carrie blames hers on a fart she accidentally let rip in bed with Mr. Big. Mortified, she spends the entire episode analyzing whether or not the budding relationship is doomed or whether she can still muster enough sex appeal to keep Big interested. We'll get back to how ridiculous this is later, but first, the others....

Samantha goes on a sex fast after talking to her handsome, young, celibate yoga instructor who swears ongoing foreplay beats copulation any day. Miranda hasn't been laid in two months and is bitter. So bitter that she attacks a Latino (of course) construction worker who whistles at her as she is entering Blockbuster for the upteenth time. Charlotte thinks she's in love (surprise) and wants to consummate her relationship, but the guy isn't interested (what?). He has chosen Prozac over sex and is just fine with his inability to get it up.

Okay. Back to Carrie. Maybe if I lived in New York City and dated multiple people a week, I would be worried about a little fart early on in a relationship. But isn't real love a little deeper than that? Isn't it a really bad sign that a fart can scare a guy away (not to mention guys are generally more farty than us ladies and better not be pointing any fingers...or butts)? Besides any guy I know wouldn't leave a girl for a fart--especially if she was hot.

See, maybe some guys think they want a goddess who doesn't fart, shit, or clean out her earwax. But I've found out that most guys prefer comfortability. We're not talking peeing with the door open (Hank still gets mad at me for this--Hey! I've always lived alone, why close the door?) or having farting contests with your mate (even I don't want that--talk about killing the moment). But if a little poof sneaks out once in a while, it's not worth WEEKS of morbid analysis. The first time this happened with Hank, I admit I was embarrassed. We were walking to dinner, and I think I laughed and said, "Oops!" or something. Right away he just said, "What? Hm?" with a little smile. I knew he had heard and was just acting as if he hadn't. He's sweet like that.

So I'm at Starbucks today. I am about two blocks from the Panera that offered me a job last week. Yes, I got a job offer. I almost can't believe I turned down a position in this economy. Lord knows job searching sucks. But Hank, a certified math wiz, worked out that I couldn't afford to take the job. It didn't have any health insurance, almost no chance of promotion or mobility, and paid $8 an hour with virtually no tips. That's slave labor, in my humble opinion. My health insurance is over $200 a month, people, and there is no way I'm working an entire week for money I'll never even see. So, I'm back looking.

And shopping. Just a little. Well, what did you expect? It's Christmas. So, I've activated another credit card (oh, yes, I hope you're cringing right now, because I am) and have been using it frugally, but using it nonetheless. I used to (meaning yesterday) feel panicked about this, but I am consoling myself by thinking that not only am I stimulating the economy and raising my own spirits by buying presents for people (and myself), but I am probably not unlike most Americans. Sad but true.

Last night, I tried to imagine my life without any debt--the way it was a mere two years ago. Honestly, I felt pretty proud of myself then, but other than that, not much different than I do now. Debt doesn't cause you to suddenly loose all of your teeth and die of shame. I can now tell you that firsthand. Just like money doesn't make you happy. (Though, I wouldn't know. It just might.) No, debt only holds you by the neck until you pay it back. Actually it really blows. But we are all held by the neck by something financial, no? School loans? Mortgages? Children? Wait, those are investments....oops. (Well, children are debatable, and I can say that, because I am one and am not so sure I've been the best investment.) Anyway, I do have to watch it, or I'll probably end up being that person crying on national TV about how bankruptcy ruined my life, caused my mate to leave me, and put me on the streets. I'm convinced this is what would happen.

Well, this has been a coherent posting, right? I guess I blog like I order coffee drinks, according to coffee guy--just throw a bunch of crap together. (You know--like decaf and regular. OHHH, you devil!) Better go. Bela is home with his head cone on, because he has been licking his paws obsessively. I guess we all have our obsessions. He licks his feet, and I just buy cute shoes to put on mine--proof that dogs take after their owners or something like that. By the way, Happy December!

Hope you'll be back. I will.