in which our sad national trade deficit saves me from myself

I went to the Nordstrom Rack today. Why? Because it's sorta kinda right next door to Pier 1, where I was going to peruse the Christmas decorations and see if there was anything suitably blingy for my holiday decor. There was absolutely no reason for me to go into the Nordstrom Rack, rather than past it. I am NOT supposed to be spending money on nonessentials that are unrelated to Christmas. Especially since I've been actually using the heat in my house for the past couple weeks; next month's electric bill should be, ahem, interesting.

But in I went. I like to look at the marked-down designer purses. What can I say? We all have our hobbies. Then I wandered over into the "contemporary" clothing section. And there I saw it. A Michael Kors black leather biker-style jacket, originally almost $400, Rack-priced at $165. OMFG. The leather was like fucking buttah. It was so soft, so supple, I wanted to marry that jacket and make little wallet babies with it. Or something.

Andrea, I said to myself, you just bought the expensive shoes you really, really wanted because they were half price. And you just bought a runner for the foyer--desperately needed since you tore the gross carpeting out of there this summer when you were taking a fit that one day, and also on sale, but still. And you spent a crapload of extra money on food for Thanksgiving. You CANNOT have a new $165 jacket, no matter that it is the most beautiful jacket on the face of the earth and you would look smoking hot in it.

So I wandered over into the active wear to see if there were any cheap yoga pants (nope) and I looked at some Lucky Brand t-shirts, and the whole time I was saying to myself that the shoes were my birthday present to myself and the jacket could be my Christmas present and that if my dad were alive, I would have bought and brought it home and said "Look what you just bought me for Xmas! Don't you have good taste?!?" And then finally, I pulled myself together and I said Andrea, go back and look at that jacket one more time. If it's not made in China, you can have it.

But here's one of the things I bought in Pier 1 where I *did* actually purchase Chinese-made crap.



In case you can't tell, it's me in ornament form: barbell, headphones, bangs in the face, eye shadow at the gym. I don't know how I'ma display it without actually putting up the big tree, which I'm not, but it had to be bought.


Plus bonus gun show! (I think eating pumpkin ice cream makes your triceps grow, 'cause mine are freaking popping all of a sudden.)

I want that jacket. Boohoo. Feel bad for me. Heh.

Addendum: I think this is it. Tell me that wouldn't look the shit on me.



xoxo