Yet another thrilling heart stopping weekend in Sacramento.
Friday night was bunco. I didn't win anything but thats nothing new. I have never been lucky with dice. After bunco Alicia, Rose and I went to Alicia's for our evening swim. Rose had work to do tying bows on menus for some big event at her place of employment. Alicia and I swam, while Rose tied. Around 11pm Rose blurted out that 300 of the invitations had to be completed by the next day. As "the event" was happening then. Alicia and I jumped into action after pouring rather large glasses of wine. Two hours later the three of us are spread out on Alicia's living room floor tying bows like our lives depended on it. Then there was a knock on the door. A rather loud demanding sort of knock. It was Alicia's neighbor who wanted to very combatively explain to her that her air conditioning unit was making a ruckus and disturbing her. Bitch. Alicia was cordial and nodded her head and smiled. After the door was closed she walked over to her thermostat and turned the AC up higher. She threw blankets at Rose and I and told us to bundle up she was going to give the snatch something to complain about. But don't think ill of Alicia. She has made an appointment with a repair guy this week. And the C U Next Tuesday neighbor did pound on the door at one in the morning.
Saturday was almost completely consumed with watching the entire first and second seasons of WEEDS on Showtime. Its such an addicting (no pun intended) show. It almost made me wish I smoked weed so I could have a dealer just like Nancy. Saturday night Alicia and I went on yet another swim. But this time we brought some keg cups full of wine to pool. I tell you swimming laps half buzzed is fun. We only paused for like half an hour to practice doing hand stands.
Sunday I broke down and went to the mall. I have a generous gift card to Nordstrom's that I have been saving. I purchased this. My face feels like a baby's ass. (That sounded better in my head.) But if you don't believe me please feel free to come over and rub my face.
UPDATE: As for John (the 25 year old house party throwing loser) this is the bulletin that he posted on Myspace inviting people to his party. (WARNING: Be prepared to throw up a little)
"Party tonight at my house, the house is empty, the dog is in the garage, and I have a feeling chicks will be gettin' it on!Give me a call if you got it, or shoot me a message on here. There will be BBQ as well, but for the most part it's BYOB."
I am not sure what happened to the keg he promised in the email that he sent me and I am not sure which girls were supposed to be "gettin it on" but all in all I am thrilled that I spent my Friday night tying bows on menus instead of standing around waiting for some girls to start making out.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Swimming really is fun
It has been YEARS since I have stepped foot in a pool. When I was a kid I practically spent entire summers in a pool, chlorine burning my eyes and blonde hair turned green due also to chlorine. But then I got a little older and got a lot self conscience of my body and avoided being in a bathing suit like my life depended on it. However in the last week I have been swimming no less that THREE TIMES. Of course its been after the sun has set and the pool area is poorly lit and surrounded by hedges taller than me. Suffice it to say the outside world would have a hard time catching a glimpse of my bikini clad body.
In the three times that I have been swimming this week there are two things that I have noticed:
1) Chlorine really does thrash your hair. (deep conditioning is needed, I make a vow here and now to be more vigilant on my hair care)
2) Swimming makes a person hungry. By the time I am done with my 20 laps I am starving to the point where the neighborhood cats are looking tempting.
I have not noticed a difference in how my cloths fit or the number on the scale. I know that it has not been enough time to drop weight or a pant size. But I do feel like I have more energy. I have plans to go again tonight and then I will go again after bunco on Friday. London 2012 here I come! I wonder if they have an event for the Doggy Paddle? It probably falls between the synchronized swimming and the back stroke.
In the three times that I have been swimming this week there are two things that I have noticed:
1) Chlorine really does thrash your hair. (deep conditioning is needed, I make a vow here and now to be more vigilant on my hair care)
2) Swimming makes a person hungry. By the time I am done with my 20 laps I am starving to the point where the neighborhood cats are looking tempting.
I have not noticed a difference in how my cloths fit or the number on the scale. I know that it has not been enough time to drop weight or a pant size. But I do feel like I have more energy. I have plans to go again tonight and then I will go again after bunco on Friday. London 2012 here I come! I wonder if they have an event for the Doggy Paddle? It probably falls between the synchronized swimming and the back stroke.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Sometimes you have to stop and appreciate the weirdness.
I got to thinking today. (I'll pause for a moment while you collect yourself from the shock)
I sent this email to Rose this morning.
"Good morning!
What have you been up to? Anything thrilling? Nothing much going on here. The point of the email is to tell you two things: ( I know you are a busy woman so I broke this down into numbered paragraphs just in case you have to read this in shifts)
1) ( possibly most important) I would like to include you in a routine that you, me , and Alicia started. Soak in Hot tub followed by swimming. Yesterday I went to Alicia's and true to our routine (est. Last weekend) we drank your Wild Vines (sorry, I'll totally give you a buck fifty) and we got in the hot tub and then swam 18 laps in the pool. Sure we nearly drowned and there were a couple of creepy by standers (I'm sure wondering how their Easter Ham learned to swim). But it was a good work out. And I thought you would like to come and join the festivities. We will be going again tonight.
and
2) (possibly the lamest thing ever....no maybe the second lamest thing ever, the first being my love life) John sent me an email today. He invited me to a kegger that he is having at his house while his parents are gone. Seriously, he is 25. He still lives at home AND he is hosting house parties, that I'd bet dollars to doughnuts involve keg stands. So lame. The lameness is just unfathomable. I was almost rendered speechless by the level of lame. Just to be clear.... He. Is. Lame.
::sigh:: better get back to work.
Licks,
Em"
After hitting "send" I paused and thought for a second.
First I thought about how I got to the point where I am now so buoyant in water that drowning is close to impossible. Yes that would be an advantage if I'm ever on a sinking cruise ship. But not so helpful when trying on jeans. My ass and the broad side of a barn are virtually indistinguishable if you squint your eyes.
The second thing I thought was....at what point does living with your parents change from an economical choice to being an immature momma's boy? If I had to venture a guess I would say 24 and a half years old. For no particular reason other than it just feels like the level of loser increases on the 25th birthday. John and I dated when he was 21 and I was 23 he had just moved from the East Coast. But that (like most of my relationships) crashed and burned in big, dramatic, expletive slinging public scenes. Although every once in a while he sends me an unexpected email or calls out of the blue. I think its his way of reminding me why we never married and had children...or you know, went on a third date.
That is all, carry on.
I sent this email to Rose this morning.
"Good morning!
What have you been up to? Anything thrilling? Nothing much going on here. The point of the email is to tell you two things: ( I know you are a busy woman so I broke this down into numbered paragraphs just in case you have to read this in shifts)
1) ( possibly most important) I would like to include you in a routine that you, me , and Alicia started. Soak in Hot tub followed by swimming. Yesterday I went to Alicia's and true to our routine (est. Last weekend) we drank your Wild Vines (sorry, I'll totally give you a buck fifty) and we got in the hot tub and then swam 18 laps in the pool. Sure we nearly drowned and there were a couple of creepy by standers (I'm sure wondering how their Easter Ham learned to swim). But it was a good work out. And I thought you would like to come and join the festivities. We will be going again tonight.
and
2) (possibly the lamest thing ever....no maybe the second lamest thing ever, the first being my love life) John sent me an email today. He invited me to a kegger that he is having at his house while his parents are gone. Seriously, he is 25. He still lives at home AND he is hosting house parties, that I'd bet dollars to doughnuts involve keg stands. So lame. The lameness is just unfathomable. I was almost rendered speechless by the level of lame. Just to be clear.... He. Is. Lame.
::sigh:: better get back to work.
Licks,
Em"
After hitting "send" I paused and thought for a second.
First I thought about how I got to the point where I am now so buoyant in water that drowning is close to impossible. Yes that would be an advantage if I'm ever on a sinking cruise ship. But not so helpful when trying on jeans. My ass and the broad side of a barn are virtually indistinguishable if you squint your eyes.
The second thing I thought was....at what point does living with your parents change from an economical choice to being an immature momma's boy? If I had to venture a guess I would say 24 and a half years old. For no particular reason other than it just feels like the level of loser increases on the 25th birthday. John and I dated when he was 21 and I was 23 he had just moved from the East Coast. But that (like most of my relationships) crashed and burned in big, dramatic, expletive slinging public scenes. Although every once in a while he sends me an unexpected email or calls out of the blue. I think its his way of reminding me why we never married and had children...or you know, went on a third date.
That is all, carry on.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Memorial Day Weekend: A cautionary tale.
This is how I spent my three day weekend:
Friday night: I really have no recollection of what I did on Friday night. And not for the reasons you may think. I am fairly positive that I did not consume a single glass of wine. But who knows. Maybe I drank an entire box. Mmmmm Franzia. But seriously I really do not remember what activities that evening consisted of. So if anyone out there was privy to my whereabouts or actions please fill me in.
EDIT: My current theory is that I took out a terrorist cell with my bare hands and some well aimed ninja stars. My previous theory is that I did laundry and fed the cat, but there is no way that I am that lame.
Saturday I do remember. (I know shocking right?) I sort of lounged around the house watching Carnivale on HBO. Until it was time to get dressed to attend a wedding. Whose wedding you ask? Well it was no one I knew. My friend Rose asked me to be her date to her childhood friend's wedding. The colors were purple and yellow ::shudder:: and the reception's theme was rubber duckys. Oh! And the bride and groom met in Bible College in Minnesota. So it goes without saying that the happy couple had saved themselves for the big night (at least other people thought it went without saying....I on the other hand asked (not the bride and groom, I do have a little more class than that, but just a little))
With all of this potential blog material I was primed and ready to go. The only thing that I did not bargain on was the lack of booze. There was not a beer in sight. The champagne toast was done with Martinelli's. But I guess when the groom is 20 that is sort of expected (to most normal people, I on the other hand protested loudly). Between the young bride and groom, the color pallet, the REALLY ugly bridesmaid dresses, and rubber duckys you would think that I could find one really funny story involving one of those subjects. But by far the tackiest story did not involve me or my keen ability to offend at the drop f a hat.
It all began at the reception (notably lacking any sort of social lubricant, as previously mentioned) when I was at our assigned table with Rose, her parents, Rose's other childhood friend and fiancé (Sarah and Rob), Sarah's parents were the last to join the table. Well half way through dinner (which was good) when Sarah's mother leaves the table and comes back laughing. She informs the entire table and and the table behind us that she is laughing because the Bride got up from the head table and went into the kitchen because she needed to take her birth control pill. She thought it was funny that the Bride was so militant about taking it at exactly the same time everyday even on her wedding day. To which Sarah responds with "Oh, I take mine between 1 and 3 everyday" her father then replies with something. What exactly he said I have no clue as I blocked it from memory because OMG EWWWWW!
This conversation disturbed me for three reasons:
1) I don't know the Bride at all but knowing the she met her husband at Bible College and the she has waited for marriage to lose her virginity (which yes, I know is a weird detail for a stranger to know, but its not like I announced it) she would probably be mortified that this was a topic of conversation at her reception.
2) Why does a father know about his adult daughter's birth control methods? I sense a weird Papa Joe Simpson relationship there. Yuck. Personally I would rather gouge my eyes out with a spoon than discuss birth control in the presence of my father. For two reasons :
::Mom, stop reading here, you can rejoin the story in a sentence or two::
a) My father would then know that I have reason to need birth control.
b) okay well I guess "a" pretty much covers it. There is just no need for your father to know that about you. None.
::Mom, resume reading here::
3) How can those people be that tacky? I am the queen of sticking my foot in my mouth. But generally I know a split second after a sentence has left my mouth if it was well received. But these people continued the discussion for several minutes while Rose, her parents and myself sat there in stunned silence.
On Sunday I had a really nice day:
Rose and I made plans to go thrift store shopping: She had to stop by her work before we got our day started. She is an Executive Assistant at a country club. For me our little stop at her place of employment meant free breakfast. While she ran around directing life guards I ate a cheese and bacon omelet lovingly prepared by the kitchen staff.
The rest of the morning and afternoon consisted of a blur of thrift stores. I did find some neat stuff. I ::heart:: vintage jewelry and was able to find some really great necklaces for cheap. I also have an unhealthy fascination with commemorative state plates. Like the ones that tourists pick out. There are always a couple of them sitting all lonely in the aisle with the dish sets. They are little cast aside memories of past family vacations in the RV. As a natural born pack rat I pick these up and look at them wondering whose house they were in and why they were deemed unworthy to keep. This weekend I'm not sure if I was PMSing or what but I purchased two. One from Colorado that is trimmed in gold with scalloped edges. And the second was from North Dakota for the states Centennial in 1989. This one is blue and also trimmed in gold. I was about two seconds away from buying a plate from Epcot Center but Rose stepped in and put her foot down.
On Monday Alicia and I went to IKEA. I have been there so much since the Grand Opening of the one in West Sacramento that I no longer bother with the upstairs. I only shop downstairs where my standard purchase always includes a three pack of scissors. Scissors have this uncanny knack for disappearing in my house. The only remotely interesting thing I purchased is an ice tray that makes your ice shaped like little wine bottles. I've decide that this is appropriate as I am one of those people who put ice in my red wine. Scoff if you must but its true.
So that brings me to Tuesday morning. Three day weekend behind me and looking forward to the coming weekend. I'm not really sure what my plans are but rest assured that it will probably involve doing dishes or something equally thrilling.
Friday night: I really have no recollection of what I did on Friday night. And not for the reasons you may think. I am fairly positive that I did not consume a single glass of wine. But who knows. Maybe I drank an entire box. Mmmmm Franzia. But seriously I really do not remember what activities that evening consisted of. So if anyone out there was privy to my whereabouts or actions please fill me in.
EDIT: My current theory is that I took out a terrorist cell with my bare hands and some well aimed ninja stars. My previous theory is that I did laundry and fed the cat, but there is no way that I am that lame.
Saturday I do remember. (I know shocking right?) I sort of lounged around the house watching Carnivale on HBO. Until it was time to get dressed to attend a wedding. Whose wedding you ask? Well it was no one I knew. My friend Rose asked me to be her date to her childhood friend's wedding. The colors were purple and yellow ::shudder:: and the reception's theme was rubber duckys. Oh! And the bride and groom met in Bible College in Minnesota. So it goes without saying that the happy couple had saved themselves for the big night (at least other people thought it went without saying....I on the other hand asked (not the bride and groom, I do have a little more class than that, but just a little))
With all of this potential blog material I was primed and ready to go. The only thing that I did not bargain on was the lack of booze. There was not a beer in sight. The champagne toast was done with Martinelli's. But I guess when the groom is 20 that is sort of expected (to most normal people, I on the other hand protested loudly). Between the young bride and groom, the color pallet, the REALLY ugly bridesmaid dresses, and rubber duckys you would think that I could find one really funny story involving one of those subjects. But by far the tackiest story did not involve me or my keen ability to offend at the drop f a hat.
It all began at the reception (notably lacking any sort of social lubricant, as previously mentioned) when I was at our assigned table with Rose, her parents, Rose's other childhood friend and fiancé (Sarah and Rob), Sarah's parents were the last to join the table. Well half way through dinner (which was good) when Sarah's mother leaves the table and comes back laughing. She informs the entire table and and the table behind us that she is laughing because the Bride got up from the head table and went into the kitchen because she needed to take her birth control pill. She thought it was funny that the Bride was so militant about taking it at exactly the same time everyday even on her wedding day. To which Sarah responds with "Oh, I take mine between 1 and 3 everyday" her father then replies with something. What exactly he said I have no clue as I blocked it from memory because OMG EWWWWW!
This conversation disturbed me for three reasons:
1) I don't know the Bride at all but knowing the she met her husband at Bible College and the she has waited for marriage to lose her virginity (which yes, I know is a weird detail for a stranger to know, but its not like I announced it) she would probably be mortified that this was a topic of conversation at her reception.
2) Why does a father know about his adult daughter's birth control methods? I sense a weird Papa Joe Simpson relationship there. Yuck. Personally I would rather gouge my eyes out with a spoon than discuss birth control in the presence of my father. For two reasons :
::Mom, stop reading here, you can rejoin the story in a sentence or two::
a) My father would then know that I have reason to need birth control.
b) okay well I guess "a" pretty much covers it. There is just no need for your father to know that about you. None.
::Mom, resume reading here::
3) How can those people be that tacky? I am the queen of sticking my foot in my mouth. But generally I know a split second after a sentence has left my mouth if it was well received. But these people continued the discussion for several minutes while Rose, her parents and myself sat there in stunned silence.
On Sunday I had a really nice day:
Rose and I made plans to go thrift store shopping: She had to stop by her work before we got our day started. She is an Executive Assistant at a country club. For me our little stop at her place of employment meant free breakfast. While she ran around directing life guards I ate a cheese and bacon omelet lovingly prepared by the kitchen staff.
The rest of the morning and afternoon consisted of a blur of thrift stores. I did find some neat stuff. I ::heart:: vintage jewelry and was able to find some really great necklaces for cheap. I also have an unhealthy fascination with commemorative state plates. Like the ones that tourists pick out. There are always a couple of them sitting all lonely in the aisle with the dish sets. They are little cast aside memories of past family vacations in the RV. As a natural born pack rat I pick these up and look at them wondering whose house they were in and why they were deemed unworthy to keep. This weekend I'm not sure if I was PMSing or what but I purchased two. One from Colorado that is trimmed in gold with scalloped edges. And the second was from North Dakota for the states Centennial in 1989. This one is blue and also trimmed in gold. I was about two seconds away from buying a plate from Epcot Center but Rose stepped in and put her foot down.
On Monday Alicia and I went to IKEA. I have been there so much since the Grand Opening of the one in West Sacramento that I no longer bother with the upstairs. I only shop downstairs where my standard purchase always includes a three pack of scissors. Scissors have this uncanny knack for disappearing in my house. The only remotely interesting thing I purchased is an ice tray that makes your ice shaped like little wine bottles. I've decide that this is appropriate as I am one of those people who put ice in my red wine. Scoff if you must but its true.
So that brings me to Tuesday morning. Three day weekend behind me and looking forward to the coming weekend. I'm not really sure what my plans are but rest assured that it will probably involve doing dishes or something equally thrilling.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Lady Godiva, I am not.
Last weekend my friend Alicia and I drove about 5 hours south of Sacramento to haul her horse back up to Lincoln a little less than an hour north of Sacramento. All told it was a lot of driving. Progress was made a lot slower when hauling a horse and trailer. But the horse made it and is happy in his new digs.
The real adventure happened in the few hours between driving when we had a chance to do a little riding before heading back home. Personally I know very little about horses. But I have decent balance and assuming the horse does not make any sudden movements I can stay centered in a saddle. Alicia rode her horse (Mister) and I rode her father's horse (Boogie). Boogie was a hand full from the get go. I would yank on the reins, and pull and lean...but the little bastard would not listen. I would pull left and he would go right, headed straight for a clump of shrubbery. He would walk and rub up against the bushes. And I would curse and pull more. Eventually he would go left, but only because there was a fence over there. So as he is moving at a steady pace towards the fence I pull right to avoid the head on collision that I am positive is about to occur. Boogie turns and again rubs his flanks up against the fence. The only thing I can do is yell "WHOA" a lot and lift up my leg so that it is not crushed between the fence and the horse. I'm sure at this point Alicia was wondering why she let her dumb ass friend climb on the back of her Father's horse. But I look over at her and she is laughing hysterically watching me frantically try an avoid broken bones. I plead with her for some direction. Her exact words are "Kick him, he's trying to knock you off! But he is just too lazy to buck." My response was "Why in the hell would he do that?". I got my answer when Alicia showed me this picture. If I had something that looked that pretty on my back I would try like hell to knock it the fuck off. And maybe trample it a little.
Here is a little randomness for the day. This is the website (courtesy of TheBunny) of a British artist that uses the UK as his canvas. I am not an Artsy person so I can't argue the merits of his work, but I know when I like something.
The real adventure happened in the few hours between driving when we had a chance to do a little riding before heading back home. Personally I know very little about horses. But I have decent balance and assuming the horse does not make any sudden movements I can stay centered in a saddle. Alicia rode her horse (Mister) and I rode her father's horse (Boogie). Boogie was a hand full from the get go. I would yank on the reins, and pull and lean...but the little bastard would not listen. I would pull left and he would go right, headed straight for a clump of shrubbery. He would walk and rub up against the bushes. And I would curse and pull more. Eventually he would go left, but only because there was a fence over there. So as he is moving at a steady pace towards the fence I pull right to avoid the head on collision that I am positive is about to occur. Boogie turns and again rubs his flanks up against the fence. The only thing I can do is yell "WHOA" a lot and lift up my leg so that it is not crushed between the fence and the horse. I'm sure at this point Alicia was wondering why she let her dumb ass friend climb on the back of her Father's horse. But I look over at her and she is laughing hysterically watching me frantically try an avoid broken bones. I plead with her for some direction. Her exact words are "Kick him, he's trying to knock you off! But he is just too lazy to buck." My response was "Why in the hell would he do that?". I got my answer when Alicia showed me this picture. If I had something that looked that pretty on my back I would try like hell to knock it the fuck off. And maybe trample it a little.
Here is a little randomness for the day. This is the website (courtesy of TheBunny) of a British artist that uses the UK as his canvas. I am not an Artsy person so I can't argue the merits of his work, but I know when I like something.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
" I swear its normal, Ellen DeGeneres feels the same way I do"
Hi, my name is Emily, and I am scared of balloons. They freak me the hell out with all their floaty-ness. The sound they make when they bump together sends chills down my spine. So when I see a website like this it almost causes complete mental melt down. I am fairly positive that I should seek professional help.
In other news: I have some pictures of me riding a horse over the weekend......however I think I will have to get drunk to post them. I'm not sure the internet could handle the hotness that is me on horseback. Al Gore may have to reboot the internet after posting those photos.
In other news: I have some pictures of me riding a horse over the weekend......however I think I will have to get drunk to post them. I'm not sure the internet could handle the hotness that is me on horseback. Al Gore may have to reboot the internet after posting those photos.
Friday, May 18, 2007
This is why it sucks to be an adult
Okay...serious topic. Money.
I'm 26 years old and I have never lived on a budget. I'm not an heiress and I was not given Daddy's credit card when I was 15. I worked an after school job at the age of 16. Yet somehow the lesson on the value of the almighty dollar has eluded me for upwards of ten years. When the gravy train that was my parents came to an end at the ripe old age of 23 I was officially on my own. Fear of homelessness was a powerful motivator in the paying your rent on time game. I learned quickly that you have about 60 days after the due date on the electricity bill to pay up before power is shut off. I learned how to co-exist in a shit hole studio apartment with a group of crack addict neighbors living on the right side of me and a registered sex offender on the left. It was a tricky balance but I managed for 12 long months. While I have never been evicted and I've only had my power turned off once I have always hovered on the brink of broke.
My motto on money circa two months ago:
" I don't make enough of it to live the life I have grown accustomed. So fuck it. Have fun, make memories, and wear cute shoes doing it."
A wake up call:
"Wait, I'm how far over drawn? Why is my car making that funny noise? How long has the check engine light been on?"
Confirmation that I was indeed "up a creek without a paddle" :
Me: My car is going to cost $815 to fix.
Mom: Humph.
Me: Mom! EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN!
Mom: Would you like me to email you the bus schedule?
Fast forward to now:
My car has not been fixed but it is still running, I'm broke but I have a budget in place. Every single penny that I spend is planned out. So much so that it takes me 20 minutes to decide if I want a candy bar at the Circle K. I will not walk to a register unless my items have mathematically proven that their price tag will not throw me over the edge into a pit of financial ruin. Before you ask, yes this is tiring and I know its starting to wear on my friends nerves. But I can't help it. I would rather walk past the cutest pair of BCBG shoes and be able to buy groceries than have the hottest shoes known to human existence and be forced to eat Top Ramen. For those of you who know me personally, know that it is serious when I pass on shoes. I never pass on shoes. I tend to hoard shoes like they are going to stop making them. Like all production lines and sweat shops will come to a grinding halt.
I guess my point to the whole long rant is that I've changed how I look at money. I feel empowered. I feel like for the first time that I can make long term goals for myself. My paychecks are no longer my "Party Fund". I will never be able to give up my love for the Nordstrom's shoe department but I will be able to control my urge to dance naked around the displays crying tears of joy when their "Half Yearly Sale" is if full swing.
I'm 26 years old and I have never lived on a budget. I'm not an heiress and I was not given Daddy's credit card when I was 15. I worked an after school job at the age of 16. Yet somehow the lesson on the value of the almighty dollar has eluded me for upwards of ten years. When the gravy train that was my parents came to an end at the ripe old age of 23 I was officially on my own. Fear of homelessness was a powerful motivator in the paying your rent on time game. I learned quickly that you have about 60 days after the due date on the electricity bill to pay up before power is shut off. I learned how to co-exist in a shit hole studio apartment with a group of crack addict neighbors living on the right side of me and a registered sex offender on the left. It was a tricky balance but I managed for 12 long months. While I have never been evicted and I've only had my power turned off once I have always hovered on the brink of broke.
My motto on money circa two months ago:
" I don't make enough of it to live the life I have grown accustomed. So fuck it. Have fun, make memories, and wear cute shoes doing it."
A wake up call:
"Wait, I'm how far over drawn? Why is my car making that funny noise? How long has the check engine light been on?"
Confirmation that I was indeed "up a creek without a paddle" :
Me: My car is going to cost $815 to fix.
Mom: Humph.
Me: Mom! EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN!
Mom: Would you like me to email you the bus schedule?
Fast forward to now:
My car has not been fixed but it is still running, I'm broke but I have a budget in place. Every single penny that I spend is planned out. So much so that it takes me 20 minutes to decide if I want a candy bar at the Circle K. I will not walk to a register unless my items have mathematically proven that their price tag will not throw me over the edge into a pit of financial ruin. Before you ask, yes this is tiring and I know its starting to wear on my friends nerves. But I can't help it. I would rather walk past the cutest pair of BCBG shoes and be able to buy groceries than have the hottest shoes known to human existence and be forced to eat Top Ramen. For those of you who know me personally, know that it is serious when I pass on shoes. I never pass on shoes. I tend to hoard shoes like they are going to stop making them. Like all production lines and sweat shops will come to a grinding halt.
I guess my point to the whole long rant is that I've changed how I look at money. I feel empowered. I feel like for the first time that I can make long term goals for myself. My paychecks are no longer my "Party Fund". I will never be able to give up my love for the Nordstrom's shoe department but I will be able to control my urge to dance naked around the displays crying tears of joy when their "Half Yearly Sale" is if full swing.
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