First, I want a vacation. I have four days off for my birthday (happy dance) but nonetheless, I want a damn vacation. I want to take the dogs to the kennel, pack my suitcase (and, if I have to, Gene’s suitcase) and get on a plane and land somewhere cool. Hawaii, or Vegas, or, Hell’s Bells, SOMEWHERE.
(Yes, I priced going to Indiana for my 4 day weekend but it’s $500 to fly up and also I have many plans including cake and the Talbot’s outlet down in Cheesecake City and the Hunger Games midnight showing, so no dice)
I wanted to go somewhere for our 10th anniversary in July but we couldn’t decide between a vacation and spiffing up the house so instead we spent all our money on purses and going to dinner so now, we’re doing neither.
I hate being responsible. It sucks. I want to be all “Fuck yeah, let’s go to Hawaii and pay for it with credit cards!”* and “Sure, the Visa will pay for the after-insurance part of a round of IVF”** or “Screw it, I’m going to quit my job and let Gene support me and spend my days drinking glasses of red wine”*** because, really, I’m going to be thirty-fucking-five in a week and what the hell has being responsible gotten me?
* We don’t have any credit cards (D’oh?)
** Ugh, don’t get me started. When do I get over this?
*** Whenever I suggest quitting, Gene says “Sounds good, when do I get to quit MY job?”, which is ridiculous as my job is mostly a (mania-inducing) hobby.