quid pro quo

So I just went out and spent an unforgivably large amount of money on myself. Purchases included: a hair cut (which I desperately needed, as I have looked like the a wastrel orphan for quite some time now) a manicure and a pedicure (I typically never get a manicure, because what's the point when you spend your life sopping up everyone else's turd and vomit), unmentionables (real ones, as opposed to the cotton every dayers I wear, because, well, see the reason why I never get a manicure) and two pairs of jeans, because a) I have to gain about five lbs to fit into my size 2 jeans, and my size 0 jeans are looking like something that belong in a rag heap, along with most of my clothing that aren't ceil blue scrubs. Buying unmentionables was kind of fun, and reminds me why I should try to get a gig as a lady of leisure, because if I'm going to remain as skinny as a doper, I mght as well accessorize with the appropriate 'ho wear.

I also made an appointment for a facial, because my face looks like one I saw under "Oliver Twist" in the library the other day, and also, because after a year of making sure every one else feels somewhat less dehumanized by hospital machinery, I decided it was high time I treated myself to a little pampering. And also, because it's ever so sensible when you're broke to go for frivolities you don't need.

In my "penny wise, pound foolish" method of bankrupting myself, I baked a loaf of bread from scratch this morning, using my bread machine. the bread machine, like a lot of other things in my life, has a Back story. The backstory is that I bought it as a grad student one spring break, miffed about my car (which broke down about fifty miles outside of Nashville and prevented me from coming home for break) and The Latest Boy Saga, deatails of which have escaped my memory (thankfully enough) but no doubt involved some two-timing cheating bastard who went on to live happily ever after with whoever he did the deed with--may they deserve each other richly unto eternity and beyond.

(Someone once told me this was a line of dialogue in the epilogue to "Before Sunrise," in which Julia Delpy's character laments the fact that she has been a good luck charm girlfriend to a successive number of boyfriends who went on to marry the next person they dated after her. This has happened no less than three times--that I am personally aware of--to myself, and I can only hope that I escape a fate worse than death by avoiding connubial entrapment to the idiots who weren't sharp enough to snap up the next best thing to Hermione Granger's real world counterpart.)

I digress.

Any way, I just ate a huge, doughy heel of bread and think probably have just committed intenstinal suicide, because I think the bread is going to outlive Methusala. Dammit!

Off to curl up in the fetal position and think up new ways to spend my nonexistent savings account, one of which may or may not be a hospital admission to remove a bezoar of homemade dough from the recess of my stomach.