Today, I decided I would start a practice that I haven’t done since I was a little kid. You see, back when I was just a wee bison I had a piggybank, like I’m sure most wee bison and tumblrkiddies had and will have for years to come. Mine was a cardboard tube made to hold a bottle of Canadian Club whiskey. It was a gift from my grandfather and had already come stocked with spare change. I don’t know what happened to said bottle, but the tube was my secret stash and that’s all that mattered. For years it hid on my top shelf, occasionally pilfered through for a shiny quarter. Some time ago I poured my stash out onto my floor and rolled the whole damn thing. It was quite the haul, something like thirty bucks. I was so proud of myself.
That money’s long gone now but the feeling of having something valuable hidden safe in a place only you know about is one that I can’t ever throw away. It’s been bugging me for awhile and I would like to do something with my money other than deposit it into an ATM. So it came to pass, dear tumblr, that I would take it upon myself and revisit that idea. Thus, The Jar was born.
I found it hidden underneath a bunch of shit in my closet: a chocolate-covered almond jar I bought like four years ago when I worked at Zellers. The almonds are long gone, of course, but it’s the perfect size for me to dump my toonies and loonies. It exists so I can do something nice for myself. Next year, on my birthday, I will empty The Jar and buy something for myself with whatever money is in it. Anything leftover will go back into The Jar. It’ll be my gift for myself.
I promise I’ll let you know what I got.
So, enough about me, dear tumblr. How was your day?
I remember the context behind this gif. The puppies were rescues and they were having a party because the little guys all got adopted. This little kid comes running by and the puppies, being puppies, chased his ass down and bowled him over with licks and puppy drool. The kid wasn’t even mad when mom pulled him away. In fact, he was laughing.
It’s strange. I’ve noticed that in order to appeal to my aesthetic I have to buy more expensive brands of clothing. Not because they look nicer on me or anything, it’s mostly because I’m sick and fucking tired of buying new shit every two months.