Boracic Gnome Purchases.

Isn't it incredible what we will consider doing for money when we are absolutely boracic*? Things that would never have crossed our minds, or that we would have dismissed completely out of hand when were 'flush', suddenly start to seem appealing when you are trying to shoehorn yourself under the couch to get away from the creditors.
My creditors don't actually bother me very much, as I just let Boscoe do his usual 'insanely angry, potentially rabid, and certainly cross-eyed' routine at the kitchen window, and they usually scarper pretty sharpish; protectively clutching their meat and two veg with one hand, whilst hysterically throwing their paperwork in the general direction of my front door with the other.

(*Boracic - Cockney Rhyming Slang for 'boracic lint' = 'skint'. And 'skint' translated into American is 'broke'. So much effort... I probably should have just said 'broke' to begin with...)

The other mind-boggling thing about being broke is the crap you buy when you know that you are clutching your last $50 until payday in your sweaty little (borderline homeless) hand. I walk around Ralphs, feeling awfully grown up and piously frugal, mentally encouraging myself to make fiscally responsible decisions, and then... holy shit... it's a garden gnome! And, awwwww, he's the last one left... he must feel lonely. He might be the only one left because he looks like he might have had Electric Shock Therapy... so I HAVE to take him home.
This actually happened. And here is the proof:

I tried to think of a name for him, but I couldn't come up with anything remotely P.C., so he is just 'The Gnome'.

Elton John-type pink plastic sunglasses; tank tops of the kind that say 'Tag Your Bitch, I.D. Your Pet'; what must be hundreds of pashmina scarves that I buy, never wear, and ultimately end up giving to my Peas; Wind chimes with saccharine sentiments... you name it, I bought them when I was broke. Stuff that never appeals to me when I have money suddenly has me reaching for the nearest justification I can find. There must be a name for this phenomenon, because I can't believe I am the only person who does this. If I am, it's probably time for the little men in white coats to put me in an 'I Love Me' jacket and take me somewhere quiet and padded where I can drool undisturbed.
I have enough of that kind of crap to open one of those 'Utterly Kitschy Shit' shops that you see in town - the ones whose haphazardly scattered merchandise is covered in at least an inch of dust. These are the same shops that make you wonder how in the hell they stay open when they are purveying prancing neon-pink unicorns with half the glitter missing, and various grubby gnomes with facial expressions that make you think they should be on the sex offenders registry.


"I have a large pipe... would you like to smoke it?"

I began writing about my possible second job considerations and got sidetracked by the inappropriate spending of a 30-something woman with more money than sense. And when you consider that I am down to my last $100 for the next two weeks, we are not talking about a whole lot of sense here. I will leave the job considerations involving poles (deep-sea fishing, obviously) until next time, but I will leave you with some more truly disturbing pictures of gnomes, because these freaky faces weirded me out, and I have to share the love ickiness. I mean, my gnome is a little 'special' looking, but these little bastards are downright creepy...

What's happening below the photo cut-off? I'm imagining a squirrel who's hard up for nuts last winter...

"Heeeeeeee'res GNOMEY!"

"I wonder if I can snort this..?"

Lock up your small domestic animals people!