State of the Union - Living on the Edge, continued

The stock market is kicking the crap out of my investment plan. Concessions have been made. I went to a thrift store recently, looking for a pair of sandals. I left mine at my other home. (I pause here to preface the rest of my comments, noting that finances cannot be all that bad as long as I am referring to multiple dwellings.)

I found a terrific pair of sandals. They were only $2.99. Perfect for the beach, plus they fulfilled my desire for danger, submitting me to the possible perils of contracting athlete's foot from another man's shoes.

Still, I passed, reluctantly ackowledging that I have a perfectly good pair of blue boat shoes that I rarely wear since Leslie made fun of them 4 years ago. Concessions have been made.

We had "take out" pizza last night. No toppings. Admittedly, it was a white pizza. We paid extra for that, but, hey,, you gotta eat.
I didn't pay $500 to go to a Rays-RedSox play off game.
I didn't get a navigation system in my brand spankin' new 2009 Prius.

(Readers beware: there is in epidemic of car buying spreading thru this family.)

The "Sisters of Perpetual Hope for the Lost Souls of Devil Worshipers and Hockey Moms" may have to wait a while for their next donation from me, but I'm not asking for a telethon yet either. Let's not confuse my investment plan with my retirement plan, which is to never work full time again until Yankee Stadium is entombed in ice; evidence that hell hath frozen over.

What's next? I'm not a doctor, I don't even play one on tv, but I've got patients. (patience)

I'll ride the stormy waves of wall street as long as I can float in the gentle waves of the Gulf of Mexico. There is no charge to go to the beach.

And I still don't even know what cat food tastes like.

Denial. The breakfast of champions.
Denial. It's what for dinner.

Denial. It's a beautiful thing.

(Hey, 3 denials worked out okay for Peter...)