Tearing myself away from my OCD with CNBC I ran to lunch at Michael's the other day fearing I'm isolated now that my consulting work is vanishing faster than the puffy smoke at the Vatican that signals a new pope — or is it a dead one? Poof and there goes my monthly retainer while I sit glued to watching my equity sink, lip-synching to every whisper of hope from Erin Burnett and Mark Haines.
My hope had been to leave the city after lunch and head to my pink and green pad-let in South Beach where I would take advantage of a Jewish holiday and Chris Columbus's first step on our soil — way pre FOMC days when Isabella and Ferdinand used gold coins. Wonder what the price of gold was then??
Michael's was beyond frenetic with table hopping I'd not witnessed before and I felt as if I was dining on the Titanic before the ship went down. Only thing missing was playing of "Nearer my God to Thee"; Joy Behar was being applauded for her view against Elizabeth Hasselbeck and Star Jones was seated at the front table — like who cares about her anymore? There was too much celebration and even with Cobb Salads going for $35 a half portion, it had the feeling of the Last Supper if in fact that supper was fun.
I made a quick stop with my financial advisor who is a wizard and maybe the only one I know relishing a down market. The only sign of nervousness was the smell of cigarette smoke in her office which you never notice anymore..
While my usual plan is to hit the vintage shops in SB, you know I'm feeling the lack of a paycheck when I obviously am as fearful of buying Walgreen's $9 flip flops as I am of buying a $450 Dior leopard print bag in mint condition. Instead of buying my customary street fair $20 orchid plant and fresh flowers at Wild Oats I buy devilled eggs and sliced turkey.
And don't tell anyone that I filched some extra Q-tips at the gym while recycling my water bottle.
I have always put myself on a budget down here except for the vintage shopping excursions (lusting after that bag and it is a bargain). I drive a pink bike, share a ride from the airport and swim at the public pool. I use my co-existing ubiquitous gym membership and gave up my favorite trainer, Kellie, for classes that are way too hard for me.
In fact, other than sunshine and palm trees, I'm still watching CNBC from either my bed or my gym and my treat today — one mojito for $13.
Maybe I'll save up enough not buying flip flops and flowers to rationalize the Dior bag? Iffy.
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