men are from mars

a friend and i were waxing philosophical today about how much being a grown up really sucks. like how you can't buy a pair of $380 boots without some husband looking at you like you want to starve his children (even if you don't have any yet). although i AM divorced, i can still muster some sympathetic, "i know"s and "aint that the truth"s in response to the right brain/left & brain saver/spender conflict that plagues most marriages.

mmmmmm...
spending good.

look.
sometimes a new pair of boots is just better than contributing to your 403b.
and sometimes eating ramen noodles for 6 days is worth it to have a pair of jeans that makes your ass look slammin on a saturday night
(although with the fat and carb content of ramen noodles, my ass looks more like ham than slam... the fatty ham in a can, but less well shaped).

point being.
sharing your life with someone else can be a bitch, somedays.

and growing up sucks.
being 30 is absolutely phenomenal in terms of telling my dad to kiss my ass when he tries to tell me EXACTLY how to chop the celery at thanksgiving, but outrageously frustrating in terms of looking at another human being as the ONLY human being i will ever share a checkbook with again.

i'm not sure that the philosophy of sharing made much of a lasting impression on me in kindergarten. i definitely got nap, mine, and the alphabet... but sharing.
no way jose.

and what's up with halloween sucking, the older we get. unless you are an "i dream of genie" (which by the way is the most tired way of getting away with wearing your panties in public), most don't get a costume.

i think three people got mine.
and yes- i somehow got a real lampshade over my ginormous boobs and down to my waist.
check it out