Tell Us About Your Most Extravagant Purchase

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With midterm elections just around the corner, I’ve been thinking a lot about money. Class war, mostly, but money generally, and the relationship people in my life have to it.

Buying nice things is a big deal to my mom, who grew up poor and unable to buy nice things. For me, it’s a little different: the most expensive purchase I’ve made in the last year is a generator for my family in Puerto Rico after Hurricane Maria.

Now, your turn: what’s the most extravagant purchase you’ve ever made? And don’t just tell me what the thing is, or how much it cost you—but why did you acquire it? How did that work out for you?

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Drop those answers in the comments below, and check out the best of the worst things you’ve done on Halloween...right now.

Our winner: ThisLittlePiggy went to the bathroom...to throw up...while dressed like a sexy Abraham Lincoln:

The first Halloween after I met my husband, we hung out with his friends. I went as “Babe-raham Lincoln” or “Sexy Abe Lincoln” (that’s pretty bad on it’s own, but I thought it was funny at the time). His friends were cool, although I was a little embarrassed to be basically standing around in my underwear and a stove pipe hat with a beard painted on my face in front of near strangers. Drinking really helped. His friends had a group costume of like fast food characters (?) and won the costume contest at the bar (??) so they got a free bottle of vodka but it was like 20 mins before the bar closed so we had to finish it before we left (???). I was basically as drunk as I’ve ever been by the time we got back to his friends’ very nice adult apartment. I immediately beelined for the bathroom and threw up for the 30 mins it took for a cab to come get us. About a month later I get a text from his friend who owned the apartment. She was cleaning the bathroom and noticed all this grease under the toilet seat and couldn’t figure what it was. Finally she realized it was from my beard. She thought it was hilarious and brought it up every time we saw her that year. It was horribly embarrassing. It was basically the first time I’d met his friends, I showed up in my underwear, and then I got greasy shit all over their nice bathroom. I guess it’s lucky we got married and I had the chance to prove myself not-trashy in the years since.

okayjwoww had a shitty ass day and night and acid trip:

A couple years ago on the night of halloween, I left my host job around 10 pm, bought a bottle of wine and walked a couple of blocks over to a friend’s house where they were hosting a party. I end up drinking about 3/4 of very nice syrah (what a waste) and go out for a cigarette on the porch. A woman hops up to me and asks me if I want some LSD. Having had one very nice experience with acid in my life I said, “YES PLEASE!” She hands me one (two?) tabs which I eat...and then promptly FORGET THAT I’VE JUST EATEN ACID. Fast forward about 45 minutes later it HITS me and I begin to have the worst trip of my life and feel like the world is ending. I’m trying to calmly ask my friends how I seem while sitting on a couch, in the living room, in a house full of friends and also strangers, dressed up in costume. At some point, some people figure out that I’m having a really bad trip and drag me out onto the porch to try and reason with me into how I’m REALLY fine and it’s JUST a bad trip. Even though I already knew this, it obviously didn’t make me feel any better! Find me later in the house at 4 am in my friend’s bedroom “hiding” from the trip waiting for it to end. Aaaaand I’ve been generally drug free ever since.

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Brookles ditched Seth Cohen for a hot non-misogynist:

Back in 1997 I was finishing up college, and nursing a few crushes around town. I accepted a date with a handsome but awkward nerd boy for a Halloween party. I was dressed as Little Red Riding hood. He forgot a costume. The date was dull. Terribly dull. Minutes after my date told me has was a virgin because “he was too busy listening to records to date girls” crush #2 waltzed into the party. He went upstairs, I went upstairs....Bada boom, bada bing we ended up trashed and locked in a bathroom together in heavy make-out mode. Rather than face my date who was waiting awkwardly downstairs, we decide instead to break the bathroom window, shimmy down a tree, and make our way into the night. My new date carried me home on his back and we ended up falling in love and embarking on a long relationship. Never saw the other guy again. Feel a bit guilty.

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Tap-Dancin got caught:

I kicked and destroyed a porch pumpkin on a dare . So it still shocks me that in a village of 300 our ONLY cop spotted us at that very moment. We all ran, but I was the only one who got caught. And I was ‘collard’ a tad roughly because I was 15 with a pixie cut and looked like a boy from the neck down. I made up an extremely dumb story and they let me go. When I got home, my mother had her back to me but my dad was doing the snort-laughing thing. He was the ‘celebrity’ of pranks in his own day. god I miss my Dad. He passed on October 15, 2002.

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I would never, ever, ever fuck with Justthisonce:

Caught my very quickly ex boyfriend shagging my very definately ex friend a week before Halloween but pretended I didnt. Waited until both of them were passed out drunk at the Halloween party. Dumped a bottle of nair in her hair and super glued his dick to his leg.

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Let’s hear about some stuff you bought below.

URL: Senior Writer, Jezebel. IRL: Author of the very good book 'LARGER THAN LIFE: A History of Boy Bands from NKOTB to BTS,' out now.

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DISCUSSION

After my granFanda died, I discovered she had snuck little bits of money into money markets, CD’s and savings accounts in my name since my birth. I was notified of this by her sister via a post card with my first clue (because she made it a treasure hunt). All told she left me 24k. The knowledge of that money, of the time and effort she made into hiding it from her ex-husband, from her controlling son, from my abusive mother, the knowledge of the sacrifices she made in her own life so that I would have it left me fucking devastated. How much better would her life have been in 1986 (the year she stashed a whopping $1,500) (the year my grandfather broke in and beat her for nothing) if she’d spent that money on safer housing. If she’d moved across the state. If she’d finally found a lawyer to stand up to that man.

I thought about that money for an entire month before I knew how to spend it. I bought a brand new 16 seer hvac system, with hepa filters and a new thermostat. Mine was original to my house, so about 25 years old, but it was also to honor the decades she lived in a house with no AC and a coal oil furnace that stank and made us cough in the winter. And all the winters she and my mother and her siblings were hiding out in unheated rented houses around the state trying to survive the divorce a judge had granted them. I bought a tankless water heater and every time I use it I think of the years she lived on well water, and had to walk 3 hundred feet to the pump house to plug in the pump, then do it again when her chore was done. It never provided adequate water pressure for a dishwasher, a washing machine, a shower head. She frequently had to heat her bathwater in a tea pot. I bought a whole house filtration system for our water, because hers sat in a cistern before it was pumped, and as children my cousins and I would wedge little pebbles under it’s cap and listen to the sound of water against old concrete, never realizing that was her drinking water.

I thought of the times before I was born, when she was still on the run from a madman, and 20 bucks meant the difference between staying in a town where she knew he knew she was near, and moving on to a new one. I thought of the times she didn’t have that twenty, and I found a microloan program for survivors of domestic violence and I invested 5 grand. Then, when I got it back, I invested it again. Then, when those women who had received her money repaid it, it came to 12 grand and I donated it to Planned Parenthood and MO CASA and the domestic violence center who gave her shelter (even with 2 boys in tow) in 1970.

She came from a good family. She had a college education. She tutored men in mathematics who would go on to build computing machines, knowing that she wouldn’t get a job herself, and was barely tolerated in class. She knew the power of money. She hoarded it after growing up in the Great Depression, and then her personal hell. She may have left it to me, but it isn’t, can’t, will never be FOR me. Its for my child, for my neighbor’s child, for a stranger’s child.