Thursday, January 15, 2009

If My Mother Had Only Named Me Beyonce

Things would be different.

I just finished a horrendous long overdue project called Sorting Through Piles of Mail Piles on Top of Mail Pile Piles. Stuff to shred, stuff to keep, stuff to toss. The stuff to keep pile had all the "investment" paperwork in it, those statements they send which I've ignored for years because there's like five dollars in the 401k so... what's to look at? Especially NOW. In the new economy. Who looks after not looking for 3 years? A crazy pants person looks. That's who looks.

I'm a crazy pants person.

So I looked.

But not before I poured myself a little Recession 09 cocktail of Canadian Club, the New Unofficial Altman House Whisky (who can afford Irish whiskey in this town anymore?).

I don't recommend it. The opening of the financial statement mail thing. The whiskey is fine. Now, I'm not a mathy person, never was good at the numbers, never will be, but from what I can tell? I'm fucked.


B.E. Earl said...

I don't know if I can ever give up Irish Whiskey. Red Breast is my current fav (about $40 a bottle), but Bushmills ($25) will do in a pinch.

Lucas Held said...

I think they mention Canadian Club in that Roxy Music song, Mother of Pearl:
"Canadian Club love, a place in the country, everyone's ideal."

I think thats it, unless they're actually saying:
"A lady in glove blood, a face in my cunty, everyone is Seal."

anne altman said...

i prefer the latter, honestly. face in my cunty? brilliant.

Mojito Libre said...

That gives new meaning to "A kiss from a rose".

Sans Pantaloons said...

I only sort through mine when the pile falls over. A nice metaphor for my future comfort.
I think we are all fucked.