Today Phil and I shoveled Mexican food into our mouths and then capped it off with a trip to Hi-Octane Vintage on Young, where I kind of fell a little in love with a muumuu (can I just point out that my iTunes queued “Fat Bottomed Girls” as I typed the word “muumuu”?) and several bits of glassware. Alas, despite there being plenty of room in my lifestyle to accommodate a muumuu, I did not buy it. It was only $7 — AND MAGNIFICENT — and yet I resisted! This recession hurts like a bitch, man.
Despite my repeatedly demanding time for a post-Mexican-food nap, we ended up driving around Midtown, surveying the crop of houses for rent. Phil’s soon to be in the market because his roommate/bandmate (to go unnamed because it is not my story to tell, really) has suddenly decided to move back across the country and back in with his parents, leaving Phil in the lurch and unable to afford their rather lovely house. And me? Well, I just like daydreaming about having a house of my own. No roommates, no dude wandering around in his underwear, dribbling piss on the toilet seat. Just me.
But then the more I started thinking about it, the more confident I got that I could actually make the house scenario work. I have a good job, I’m not in much debt, and I don’t need anything terribly fancy or big. But then again, you just never know what life will throw at you, especially when you work in an industry that struggles daily with the question of whether or not it will even exist in five years. Three years. Tomorrow.
The housing market may be super sweet but the job market is getting sour.
I can attest that owning (and operating) a muumuu is exhilarating.
Every time I see a muumuu, I think of your little ray of sunshine.