Where'd All My Security Go?

Money is important to me.  I am not one of those people who say, I can make do on $35K/year for the rest of my life.  I can't.  It's not because I have expensive tastes.  I think it's probably because of the way I was raised.  See, my parents made a decent living, but were extremely cautious with their spending.  Making money and having money was all about security for them.  Money was valuable to the extent that it could keep us healthy, safe and productive.

I like to indulge in buying things, though I have my limits.  I recently got an expensive Burberry wallet I have been pining for.  I love it, and I'm glad I have it, but I also felt a little dirty when I bought it.  I know I didn't need it.  But I will allow myself to do stuff like that- splurge with a couple of hundred dollars.  I also see things like Chanel bags that I desire, but giving up $2,000 for a bag is something I don't think I could ever do, no matter how much money I had.  At least I hope not.

Part of the irony about buying stuff you want is that if you're anything like me, it will really actually never be enough.  I used to think if I won the lottery or married a prince, I would just go out and buy all of things I really wanted (one huge period of splurging) and then keep it kind of reasonable.  Something grand here and there, but for the most part stick to stores along the lines of J.Crew, not Bergdoff's.  But I don't think it ever ends for most girls.  There is simply too much fashion, jewelry, make-up and accessories to be had.  (Sigh.)  Perhaps it is a blessing that I can't afford fancy stuff.

But back to the overall concept of money.  I do crave security and therefore want to have money, but what's really scary is that the idea of security has completely shifted.  Working hard in school and being a top performer used to be enough to know that you would always be able to provide for yourself and loved ones.  Not these days.  I know a lot of people who are total badasses in terms of higher education and prestigious jobs and are out of work, with no end to their unemployment in sight.  And forget about making money, even just saving money is not a guarantee.  You think your company has your pension secure, that you can retire on your 401k, but for the first time in a long time, people are really and rightfully questioning all that.  The best way for us to get out of this recession is to be unafraid.  I'm with GirlMonday.  Spend.  Do the things you wanted to do.  Reach your goals.  Go for it anyway.  But I can see why people would be really, really scared to do so.  I'm tempted to withdraw from the bank and hide it under the mattress myself.

I know the economy is in the toilet right now, but I still believe in capitalism and that all of this will self-correct and all of that good stuff.  I'm for the government spending-- appropriately. Last year, I made less money that the year before (when I was a single girl aggressively working my butt off).  Sure, it was a little sad to see the gross income go down.  But it didn't bother me like it should have.  Why?  Because if I had made more money, a greater chunk of my total would have gone to taxes.  So personally, it wasn't worth it for me to put in more time and effort.  That's just the honest truth.  The government's rate of tax incentived me to work less.  I find that very sad.  

I'm all for helping out the truly unfortunate, but I have doubts about the way the government allocates my money.  There are things I want to do that I can't do because I have to give up so much of my income.  For example, I'm not going to have children until I can afford it.  Yet, some of my money is contributing to the welfare of some other kid.  It doesn't seem fair, because it's not.  I can respect that people lack resources and get into negative situations, but shouldn't I be able to help them on my own terms (e.g. charity of my choice)?  It's not just the supposedly poor the government wants to spend for.  There's the banks, the auto industry. When's the last time the government bailed you out of your debt?  I'm losing the money I have invested because of your bad management practices, but part of what I have left is devoted to saving you?  And that's going to make me more confident in the economy?

I want to hold onto my money.  Even if I have some to spare, I don't think of it as extra cash flow.  It's my security.  It's not easy out there, and I think I'm entitled to hold on to whatever I was able to get my hands on in the first place.

Growing up with $Money$

I decided to take a different approach this week on the topic of money. I grew up in a family that would fairly be categorized as middle class. I have always had a keen sense of observation on the demonstrated behaviors of individuals that did in fact grow-up in wealthy families. Many families have a fair amount of wealth, but my focus for this article is on the group of extremely wealthy individuals. While there are always exceptions to any broad categorization of a collective group of individuals, I think that overall my perceptions of this group are quite accurate.

Many children living in a financially wealthy family environment expect more from their parents as far as clothing, trips, and gifts. They fail to understand how expensive these items and experiences can be, and also how fortunate they are to get those items and experiences. Can anyone really blame them for having these desires and not fully understanding how fortunate they are? No, not really, what kid wouldn’t have the same wants and desires? But as these children start to become teenagers and young adults this once uniform group begins to separate into two distinct clusters.

The majority group I call the “Appreciators” because they realize how fortunate they are and begin to truly appreciate the opportunities that have been provided by growing-up in a wealthy family. Then there is the minority group known as the “Suckers” because they feel set for life, have very little, if any, appreciation for their fortunate situation, and have little desire to have any meaningful impact in any arena during their life.

The Appreciators often spend their young adult life devoting their time and energy towards setting and achieving personal and professional goals as well as helping others through social causes. They try to add meaningful activities to their lives and in some way shape or form help others. Most people in this group are humble, and don’t like to make others feel as if they are flaunting their money. A prime example of the individual that falls into this group is Anderson Cooper. Most people have seen him hosting his show on CNN, but during his younger years he spent time in Africa trying to bring about change to a struggling society. Even though Anderson comes from the Vanderbilt family, and was set for life, he demanded more from himself and actively pursued opportunities to make a meaningful impact. The point is not that a trip to Africa, or seeking out absolute righteous activities should be expected to fall with the Appreciator group, but an effort toward setting and achieving personal and professional goals should be made. I respect the individuals that compose the Appreciators because they have the desire to accomplish their own goals and make a difference in this world.

Then you have the worst of the worst, the Suckers. This group would gladly waste their entire life playing video games, snowboarding, going to concerts, and attending events and parties so that they can tell their moocher friends about how cool and exclusive it was. (This crowd always has a few moocher friends that feel special for being associated with the rich person, and the moochers often expect some freebies for being such “good” friends). Not that the Suckers don’t have the right to partake in activities they enjoy and spend their time how they desire, but I resent all of the individuals in this group. Mostly I resent them for trying to impress me and the world with their bank account and self-centered experiences when they have the potential to be and do so much more. Rather than dare to be great and make a difference in this world they would rather leach off the past blood, sweat, toil, and success of their ancestors. Instead of having a meaningful life, they would rather pursue endeavors that at best provide brief moments of satisfaction. Sadly, most in this group will listlessly roam this earth without ever realizing their available opportunities, and for this the world will quickly forget they even existed.

A Recipe

Ingredients:

a dozen or so envelopes

a box to fit said envelopes

a pen

a paycheck, regularly (preferable)

your debit card

a pair of scissors

Directions:

Make a list of your expenses: gas bill, TV, Cell phone... student loan payment, credit card, rent... doctor co-pays, toiletries, clothes... Don't forget things like "haircuts" and "vacation" and "gifts"- places you spend money once or only a handful-of-times a year versus once a month, or once a week.

On the upper corner of each envelope write an item.  

In the box place the envelopes for the expenses that you don't need to carry around with you.  For example, you probably don't need money for furniture on you at all times, but it's probably a good idea to have your grocery envelope in your purse.

When you get paid and the check goes into your account, you remove that exact amount in cash.  (If your bank requires a minimum balance, keep that amount in there and remove the rest).  Take your wad home and distribute the money into the envelopes.  Start with immediate necessities and work your way back.  On the envelope record what you've deposited and on what date.  

When you need to pay a bill, take the cash out of the corresponding envelope, deposit it and pay your bill.  Note on the amount you've taken out of the envelope and the date.

The next time you get paid, repeat the process.  

Come the holidays, you will have a small savings devoted fully to buying gifts.  Every six to eight weeks you have exactly what you need to pay- in cash- for your hair cut.  

Then take your debit card and pair of scissors and cut it in half.  Ok, no need to be dramatic.  Keep it but don't use it.

This is a recipe for getting in close touch with your money.  You will see, touch, distribute, spend exactly what you have and not a penny more.  You will realize you can't buy something if the fund is dry- or you will realize that you should start depositing more money into one envelope rather than another.  

It's called "the envelope system"-- it's how my grandmother used to do it- and she was a very successful businesswoman.    This guy does it too.  

Happy saving!

Ten Year Plan

It is fitting that Girl Friday chose money as this week’s topic—I actually received the email informing us of her selection shortly after concluding my first meeting with our financial planner. We were introduced to him through a mutual friend, and chose to schedule an appointment so that we could begin our marriage on a strong financial footing. My father is fond of telling me that money troubles are one of the leading causes of divorce. Whether it be the failure to communicate about money or the inability to align financial goals, many couples allegedly have difficulty working towards a unified financial future.

The future Mr. Tuesday and I have always prided ourselves on our ability to communicate. Even when emotions get the best of us (or me) and I flare up irrationally, we always make it a point to calm down and discuss our frustrations in a civilized manner. So it seemed appropriate that we, wanting to avoid the communication difficulties that befall some couples, sit down and chat with someone who earns a living counseling folks such as ourselves about wise decision-making.

After a few weeks of back and forth to schedule a meeting that would work with three full schedules, we confirmed a time and location and were ready to meet. He told us that all we needed to bring with us was knowledge of the balances in our respective savings, checkings, and retirement accounts, as well as any additional investments we might already have. Further, we should consult our respective employer’s benefits plans to understand life insurance, retirement, and long-term disability coverage available. We did all that; we were prepared.

But then came the questions. Picture yourself ten years from now. How do you envision your finances? What job do you hold? Where are you living? Do you have children? What are you saving for?

We fell silent.

After a pause that probably felt much longer than it was, I chimed in—“we’ll certainly own a home by then. And likely have our first child, if not have another on the way.” There, I’d come up with a respectable answer.

“And your job?” He asked. “Where will you be working? Are you figuring you’ll be making Partner about that time, as well?”

Partner? Really? I need to decide that NOW?

“I don’t know. It’s difficult to say having just started at the firm. It is too early to determine whether I can really envision myself staying in the private sector. I mean, I would like to go into the Government when the time is right. If such an opportunity presents itself before the ten year point, I might consider it.”

I received a knowing nod in response, and sat in quiet introspection as the future Mr. Tuesday explained that he wasn’t certain where he was headed. He didn’t plan to build a future at his current job necessarily. “I’d like to go back to school at some point, but I really don’t want to go until I have a better sense of what I want to DO,” he explained.

More nodding.

“What about your spending habits? What kind of lifestyle do the two of you envision living for yourselves?”

More silence.

“Well, honestly, that’s something we need to work on. We know that we want to start saving to buy a home, but we’ve been dealing with a lot of extra wedding-related expenses so far this year, and really aren’t certain what a ‘normal’ cash flow is for each of us.” There, that was an educated sounding way of saying I don’t have a clue.

“Well, you realize that saving has to be the first impulse. You have to save first and allow yourself to spend only after putting aside money. That’s the only way you can really do it.” He seemed so wise and all-knowing; but what he was really doing was stating the obvious.

We felt like children, really. It’s no wonder that money breaks people apart. While it is easy to think that it is “just money,” there is a real truth to the fact that as you look forward into adult hood, everything you do is shaped by money in some form or fashion. A job becomes more than what you do from 9 to 5; or from 8 to 7, such as the case may be. The job brings the paycheck, and the paycheck is the gateway to home ownership or higher education or a fast sports car. I don’t mean to imply that money is everything; but the plans that we make, the priorities that we set for ourselves, are not possible without the financial foundation to back it up. The blood in our veins may be what keeps us alive, but the cash flowing through our bank account is what keeps us moving forward toward the ten year point. It brings a whole new layer of meaning to the saying two hearts beating as one.

Money, It's a Gas: Grab that Cash with Both Hands and Make a Stash

This week is all about money. Bucks. Dough. Moolah. Clams. Greenbacks. Quid. Cold Hard Cash. Loot. Bacon. Coin. Benjamins. And my favorite: Fitties.

This is good timing for this subject given the state of our economy and the state of my wallet. Two years ago (right before the housing market took a plunge) I bought a house. As has always been the case with me, this was just another example of my ability to time things perfectly. And to make matters worse, I didn’t plan on staying in it for very long. But that’s a story for another day. I don’t want to take up too much of your time this week and I don’t have much to say, but the house is just a perfect example of two of my thoughts on money:

The first is that with the purchase of the house, I needed to fill it with nice furniture (first thought, Pottery Barn, second thought: Restoration Hardware, third thought: Target, latest thought: Ikea, next up: Goodwill). I knew that getting everything I needed wouldn’t happen in the first year, but I really thought that 2009 would be the year I could dump the college couch out by the curb and invest in something nice. I currently own two couches, a desk, and a bed. My kitchen table and coffee table (aka TV stand) currently have commitments elsewhere as soon as I can relive them of their duties here, so that doesn’t leave me with much. No wonder I never invite anyone over……Anyway, what I’ve finally realized in the last few months is that I’d rather spend my money on traveling to see friends and going on exciting trips than have furniture. If I’m off doing something fun, then I’m not missing my crappy pink couch. And since I can’t have both….Beach House it is. Mardi Gras it is. Tahoe it is. OBX it is. And I’ll just stick with the furniture I have. And the four completely empty rooms.

Second thought about money is that I have decided to refuse to let the foul mood of our nation and the crappiness of the economy keep me from doing what I want to be doing. If I want to change jobs, I will. And I won’t be (too) afraid. If I want to try to sell my house, I’ll give it a shot (prepare for the worst), but not be afraid to do so. If I want to spend money at the rate I did before the market went in the tank, then I’ll do that as well. I’ve been too good for too long. I invest obscene amounts of money in my 401(k-for krap), own a house, and have several months of salary saved. I refuse to put my life on hold because of fear (DaddyMonday says to blame the liberal media for fear-mongering, I say - don’t tell anyone we’re related). That doesn’t mean I won’t be careful, but I’m not going to let years slip away just to be careful. I’m already on year 3……….

So there: my thoughts on the fitties.

That's Not The Toilet

In preparing to write this post, I found myself focusing on my college memories.  College was a time when wonderful and awful things seem to be happening constantly, at a furious pace.  Yet I wasn't much of a party-er in college (and I'm still not).  So I don't have that many hilarious drunken stories to share.  However, there is one night that sticks out in my memory.  It wasn't my best or worst or stupidest moment-- just kind of a crazy thing that happened, to my roommate.  And thank god it didn't happen to me.  I would never recover.

One night, my roommate-- I'll call her Leigh (the names have been changed to protect the embarrassed) was hanging out in our dorm room with some of our guy friends.  Around midnight, I announced that I was going to bed.  Leigh sort of rolled her eyes and left with the caravan.  I was definitely a social person and enjoyed the company of all of those people- but also rather conservative and straight-laced, and I guess she thought I was a bit of a party pooper.  I didn't care, because I thought she was obnoxious and a bit of a loser.  Though overall, we got along just fine.

A couple of hours later, I heard something and woke up.  It was a Leigh with one of the guys-- let's call him Keith.  They were giggling in her bed and making out.  Now, normally this would send me into a fit of rage.  We (Leigh and I) had actually recently talked about the concept of bringing a guy to your room when your roommate is there and we both agreed that it was so ridiculous it wasn't even worth discussing.  It's something that we never would do to one another.  I know a lot of people who think all bets are off in college, but we weren't that way. Or at least Leigh pretended to be when we had talked about it.

So anyway, Leigh and Keith are in her bed, and instead of getting up and yelling at them and kicking him out, I remember thinking "whatever", rolling over, and going back to bed and literally not being bothered at all.  Looking back, it's so crazy to think that I ever would have reacted that way.  I think the gods were looking out for me-- knowing how much I would relish retelling this story for years to come.

A little while later that same night, around 3:30 AM or so, I woke up to the feeling of someone sitting on my legs.  It was Keith.  He was doubled over and completely out of it-- I had never seen someone so drunk before and rarely have since.  I said, "Keith!  Keith!  Get up!  Are you okay?  Keith, you have to go back to your room."  Keith lived one floor below us.  He kind of mumbled back to me.  I said, "Keith, do you need me to help you get back to your room?"  He said something that approximated "No" and got up.  He proceeded to almost make it to the door, but was about six inches too far to the right.  He began marching in place into the wall, seemingly perplexed that the wall wasn't opening up and allowing him to leave.

Okay, of the three people who witnessed this next chain of events, I was the only one who was sober.  And I remember it very clearly.  The other two folks have no recollection of this and I'm sure would like to believe that it never happened.  And yet, it did.

Keith walks over to Leigh's bed, where she's sleeping.  He stands right by where her head is. And then he starts peeing.  I'm not kidding.  I start screaming, "Keith- stop it, that's not the toilet.  Leigh- get up!  He's peeing on you!"  Leigh sort of sits up, and she's in a total daze. Keith finishes peeing, and then says, "I'm so sorry.  Oh my god, I'm so sorry."  Leigh says, "Keith, go to your room."  Keith says, "I'm so sorry."  Leigh says, "Whatever, don't worry about it, just go to your room."  Keith proceeds to leave, without zipping up first I might add.  His roommates later told me he didn't get to the room until about 5 that morning.  So where he was, unzipped, all that time, I have no idea.

Anyway so back in the dorm room, Leigh rolls over to go back to bed.  She's obviously still drunk.  I say, "Leigh- get up.  You have to change your sheets before you go back to bed."  She says she's tired.  I say, "Leigh- that's disgusting.  You need to change those sheets."  She retorts, with 'tude, "Yeah, well I really don't care." And with that she's back to sleep.

The next morning, a Friday, I woke up early for Intensive Intermediate French, which met every day.  I look over at Leigh, and she's rolling around in the bed like nothing ever happened. I thought, well this is going to be interesting, and headed off to class.

When I returned, Leigh was in our suitemate's room discussing the night before.  She was horrified.  But not at the peeing fiasco.  She didn't remember that.  She was embarrassed that she hooked up with Keith and brought him back to her room.  I proceeded to report on the night's events, and she was appropriately mortified.  She immediately changed her sheets and begged me not to tell anyone.  I then proceeded to tell anyone who would listen.  Leigh was pretty full of herself and often made very rude comments directed at me.  I didn't feel the need to protect her.  

Sadly, the Leigh and Keith saga continued for years, and this incident is not close to their lowest low.  I don't talk to Leigh much anymore, and I'm sure if I did I would like her a whole lot more than I used to.  She was only 19 back then, and rather immature in many ways.  But I will always be grateful to her for bringing that ridiculous night into my life.  Everyone needs those kinds of experiences, and I got to be a part of one without being directly involved.  And I learned a valuable lesson.  Be nice to people-- if for no other reason than you never know what they might have on you one day.

A Stroll Down Memory Lane...

My freshman year of college was an exciting and interesting year. I went to Willamette University in Salem, Oregon. A liberal arts college which I attended on both academic and athletic scholarship. I arrived two weeks earlier than the other students so I could begin training with the cross country team to prepare for the upcoming season. Our coach had set all the new athletes up so that we were roommates with another girl on the team. I remember being very excited to get a chance to spend so much time with someone who had similar interests and schedules as I did. Coming from a big family I had no problems sharing a room with somebody else, in fact, being by myself was a little too intimidating. The summer between high school and college I romanticized what it would be like to stay up as late as I wanted, sleep in if I wanted, have no rules or regulations. I wondered if my unknown roommate and I would become best friends, if she would be strict and regulated (like some distance runners can be) or if we would be completely different. I knew very little of my soon-to-be roommate except that her name was Sarah, she was a sophomore and was transferring from the University of Hawaii, but was originally from a small town in Oregon.

So I packed up my little 1999 Saturn brim full with all my belongings and made the 7-hour drive from Boise, ID to Salem, OR. Looking back, I am surprised that my parents let me leave for college all by myself. But, I was hungry for adventure and looking forward to this new chapter of my life. I showed up at my dorm, grabbed one of my duffel bags, and headed in to meet my new roommate. I was excited and anxious to see what she would be like. I walked into room 304 and was immediately greeted by a petite, brown-haired girl who was appeared to be a little shy. “Hi, I’m Sarah!” she said and welcomed me with a warm smile. We spent a few minutes with the regular ‘get-to-know-you’ type conversations. All of the sudden something silly came into conversation and we both burst into a fit of giggles. I don’t even remember what was said at the time, but I knew instantly that we would be great friends.

In a lot of ways Sarah and I were very different. I was extroverted, outgoing, and into ‘girly’ things. Sarah was quiet, a little shy at first, and more ‘outdoorsy’ than me. But we were perfect compliments for each other. As I look back at that first year of college, I realized that all my best memories were with Sarah and I wouldn’t have had the same experience if it weren’t for her. We shared some very funny moments and also some very silly ones. I started to jot down some of the times that make me laugh or smile when I dig them out of my memory.

*The trip to the Oregon Coast – Sarah and I both had crushes on these two twin brothers who lived in the building next to us. Their names were Loren and Laurence. We would stay up late and talk about the two-word conversation that one of us may have had with one of the twins and imagine about what it would be like to date on of them. The four of us were all good friends and had a big group of people that we would often hang out with. One weekend everyone decided to go to the Oregon Coast. Sarah and I had strategically planned it so that we were in the same car as the twins. Anyways…to get to the point of the story…there were probably about 12 of us on the trip. We had gotten there a little bit earlier than everyone else and decided to build a large bonfire. We had all brought our sleeping bags and the plan was for everyone to just camp on the beach. The twins, Sarah and I started to build this huge bonfire that we had planned. We loaded up a HUGE pile of wood, lit it with some kerosene, and watched as the flames erupted. After about 5 minutes we all noticed that there was a terrible smell protruding from somewhere….we started looking around and spotted one of the most disgusting things I have ever seen! There was a beached shark only a few meters from where we had just built our bonfire!! Some creature had come over and taken a huge chunk out of its belly area so the shark’s intestines were spewed all over the sand. It smelled putrid and we were in a bad situation. We couldn’t very well move the bonfire…it was enormous and would take hours to burn out. Plus, we didn’t have enough wood to start a new one. But, this was a large shark and the smell was so disgusting. After a few minutes of everyone saying, “not I!” somehow I got stuck with the job of dragging the shark to a different part of the beach. Luckily, the twin I favored stepped up and decided to help me with it. We each took one side of the tail, held our breathe, and drug the shark as quickly as possible to the other side of the beach. I quickly took out my Purell and tried to get the nasty fish smell off my hands, but it was impossible. We ended up having a great night, but what a memory! I will never forget the night that I dragged a half-eaten, rotting shark across the beach of the Oregon Coast.

*The Condom Experience – Sarah and I did some pretty silly stuff. This memory has some embarrassing but still funny recollections. I remember one night we discovered there were a bagful of free condoms that the health center had hung on the door of each room in the dorm. Sarah had heard this story that condoms could stretch insane sizes before they would break! We were 18 and immature…plus neither of us had ever really taken the time to take a part or examine a condom. So, I watched as Sarah unwrapped one of the bright purple condoms. She opened it up to see how big it would stretch!! We were laughing and giggling, all of the sudden one of our dorm-mates came over and showed us that they would even stretch over your foot!! We were kind of grossed out, but doubled over in laughter at the sight of our overweight dorm-buddy walking around with a condom over his foot. This led to a few other condom “discoveries”. We learned that if you put a condom around a quarter and push the quarter tightly into the end of the condom you can do your laundry for free! You put one quarter in each condom, push in the quarters, and they come back, but the washer machine will register as if you put money into it! Occasionally you would lose a quarter or two when the condom would break, but we saved a LOT of money by getting free condoms from the health center!

*Midnight Running Club – Sarah and I were both on the cross country team. Although we were running a lot of miles each week (around 50-60) for some reason we both were gaining weight! I can contribute the weight gain to the unlimited amount of cafeteria food and the grotesque amounts of calories we would feed ourselves. Although we were running a lot, we were eating too much, too often, and not healthy enough. So, in an attempt to shed the extra ten pounds we had gained, we started the “Midnight Running Club”. Each night at midnight we would go for a 10-25 minute run (in additional to the regular workout we did with our team earlier in the day). This was crazy, I know, but we did some pretty silly stuff. Anyways…it was working pretty well until one night we got bored of running around campus and decided to veer off-campus into the city. This was a huge mistake. We ran into homeless people sleeping on the streets, and some very sketchy characters. I remember being so scared that night. I swear to this day that we were being followed! Sarah thinks it was only a pizza delivery guy who couldn’t find the house he was to deliver to…from that night on one of us would carry a little hand-held bottle of mace that Velcro-ed to your palm.

*Goldfish – Sarah and I had gotten this little fish tank and put a few goldfish in there. Well, for some reason we could not get them to stay alive longer than a few weeks. So, we started this tradition (don’t ask me how this idea came up) where we would name the current person we were ‘interested’ in after each one of the fish. If the fish died, then we cut it off with the guy. And we actually stuck to it for a few months!! It was a good excuse for neither of us to ever get very serious with anyone.

*Dance/Clean/Dance – I am not the most organized person in the world. Usually I am actually a bit cluttered. Sarah was the opposite, very organized and tidy. Well, this posed a problem because we were living together. My half of the room would always be a disaster and her half of the room would usually be super organized. After a while, my bad habits started to wear off on Sarah and she wasn’t liking it. She noticed that she would become a little untidy or get messy herself and that bothered her. So, somehow we came up with this hair-brained idea that would make the idea of cleaning a little more enticing. We decided that we would clean for 5 minutes, dance for 2 minutes, clean for 5 minutes, dance for 2 minutes, etc. I still remember the first time we did this and at 5:01 the song “I feel like Dancing” by Leo Sayer started playing on her computer!! We broke into hysterics. You have to remember, we were two scrawny little white girls who had no rhythm and really couldn’t dance at all. But it worked!! It motivated us to clean and organize our room while still having fun.

The list goes on and on….at the end of that first year Sarah ended up transferring to Boston University and is now getting her Masters at Vanderbilt. I transferred to another liberal arts school in Idaho for the remaining three years. Sarah and I rarely talk anymore….our lives have gone in different directions. But, my best college memories are from that first year. If nothing more, I learned to laugh and enjoy life more than I ever had up to that point.

Bonfire of the Stupidities

"Parts of the Hamptons are a well-known playground for the rich who own summer homes
there as well as a seaside resort frequented by the residents of New York City during the
summer months for weekend getaways..."

That's what Wiki says about the place where I grew up. The place where I spent, not only my summer weekends but my summer, winter, spring and fall weekdays as well. The kids who would come out with their families every summer would ask me where I live and I'd say, completely blind to the cultural gap, "Here...?" An old-money 13-year-old once said in response, "Here? People live here in the winter?"

Wiki goes on to report:
"Many year-round residents find the term 'Hamptons' to be misleading..."

Indeed. Though I don't personally find it misleading since to me "Hamptons" is a place defined by its multiple personality disorder. It just is... it's two things alternating, and at once. In the summer it wears crisp Polo and in the winter it wears a hooded sweatshirt with the cuffs cut off with a pair of scissors.

In the colder months the shops and the ice cream drive-in would close down, you couldn't park in the beach parking lots after dark, there were no more concerts at the gazebo, the flowers and shrubs were neatly wrapped in burlap. Us local teenagers spent a lot of time watching our breath make steam in the cold air at the 7-11 parking lot (which was made, per code, to look wooden and quaint) waiting for someone to give in and invite everyone back to his house.

It took us four years to discover a place we could go-- undisturbed, unsupervised, all-access. In 1998, a small group of Westhampton Beach High school seniors discovered Spinny Hills.

Though deep within Long Island's precious pine barrens, none of us idiots could ever point to it on a map-- the only way we even knew it was there was because it was at the end of some kid's street- some boy who'd stumbled upon it (literally) one night while looking for a place to drink beer alone, without his parents finding out. And that's exactly what Spinny Hills became- a place for us to escape adults, and potentially, looming adulthood.

It was unclear whether it had been discovered by lost teenagers before us, just looking for a place to hang out. Certainly it was an old trail-- the buzzing echoes of ATVs and dirt bikes had long since been heard. At some point, the location had been used as an illegal dumping site- there was lots of old furniture laying around and large, indistinguishable pieces of metal, wood, cardboard.

Our Spinny Hills was several muddy clearings in the middle of the woods, linked by narrow, sandy trails. This video, here, really captures the essence of this simple place. Though it seems much bigger in my memory.

Every weekend, we would drive into the clearing through an otherwise less-traveled side street in East Quogue. I'm sure some, if not all, of the residents of that street called the cops about the weekly teenage caravans. Some cars were too small to cut through the mud and would have to park near the entrance and either walk in or get a ride from someone. My best girlfriend drove a JMC truck we called "Jimmy." She could drive right into Spinny's and once into the clearing she'd speed into a series of donuts- so fast that the entire backseat of her old tuck would come right out and it'd feel like we were floating in space inside our rocket.

Then like everyone else, we'd park, get out and sit on the open flat-bed of someone's pickup, or on the hood, or open the car doors and turn on the radio to the highest volume.

I saw our class's top academic do a keg stand at Spinny Hills.

One of my clearest memories was the night of the spontaneous bonfire. Well, only spontaneous in the sense that someone spontaneously had the idea to start lighting stuff on fire. Not like it was a miracle.

I'm not sure what happened first-- maybe it was a cold night and someone was considerate enough to think to warm us all with the heat of cavemen. Maybe someone was playing with a lighter. Maybe someone dropped a lit cigarette and the whole thing was an accident. But first went in a few pieces of wood, and that burned really well, made a decent flame. Then a couple of guys carried in the small, disgusting love seat that had been in the woods for months, and dropped it into the fire. And the fire grew. Someone added the load of flattened cardboard boxes that was also part of the trash heap... and then a lawn chair... some plastic pipes. Our bonfire was huge and it made all the drunk boys act like lords of the flies. People were screaming and chanting and laughing-- daring even more ridiculous pieces of trash into the fiery sand pit. Every time something went in, the fire dipped down at first, then roared high. Fights broke out around the fire- the biggest kid in our high school emerged from the convulsion with blood on his T-shirt, but he didn't appear to be hurt. He released a battle cry and held an old mattress high over his head and dumped it into the pile with great dramatic flair. Everyone cheered. The mattress broke down in small explosions, letting out a sprays of snow-like fibers. It rained over us, as we watched it drift into the cold night air. The stars were bright over the tree-tops.

The following Monday everyone was talking about the craziness. (Apparently someone got their face broken in the melee? I never saw a "face cast" on anyone though, so that one couldn't be verified). And there was some talk of toxins in mattresses that get released in especially high intensity when burned. We worried for about five minutes.

After that, the group at Spinny's experienced another night that could have ended much worse-- in fact, all nights could have ended much worse, but didn't. I think that thought only crossed our minds after the fact, like most 18-year-olds probably.

On this night one of our friends-- "Teddy," a guy with a history of alcohol-- went missing. He was a benign guy, super funny- just drank a lot whenever we all hung out. I'd always gotten the impression he'd been drinking for years and years. I'm not sure if this was true at the time.

This night, though, we couldn't find Teddy anywhere. We checked in all the parked cars, but no Teddy. And it was late and dark, in the woods, the guys had been drinking, people wanted to go home... He could have wandered anywhere- we never knew the depths of the pine barrens at that location.

Finally, one of the group's leaders, "PJ," stood on the back of someone's truck and hushed everyone until he had silence and then announced:
"Everyone, we're looking for Teddy. He's missing. We're going to all drive around Spinny's with our brights on and try to find him."

The last car to park at Spinny's pulled out first. And trudging slowly through the mud, every car followed. It was our well-intentioned, drunken, surprisingly-well-organized search party. Driver looked left, passengers looked right. Some of the pickup trucks had people standing in the backs with flashlights, screaming his name. We passed through clearing after clearing-- every section looked just like the last one. The possibilities seemed endless. At what point do 18-year-olds call the cops for help?

We completed what appeared to be one, full revolution, bringing us back to the charred remnants of our historic bonfire and the first car pulled into his original spot... then the second... but one car up ahead didn't pull in, he stopped. Everyone stuck their heads out to see what was the hold up.

Lying on his belly in a thick layer of mud, was Teddy-- smack in between two deep tire tracks from one of the cars that had pulled out-- right over him.

I mentioned miracles earlier. This was a miracle. He had somehow rolled under a car and passed out-- slept as the car pulled out over him. When we found him, Teddy was snoring.

Eventually the cops caught on to us. At first they put up a wooden barricade. We moved it aside and drove past it. We moved it back in place on our way out. Not really the point the police were trying to make I imagine.

The next time we tried to go to Spinny's there was an old car in our entrance. It was banged up and had no engine.

We never went back.

I wonder what goes on in Spinny's now? Are the dirt bike tracks in use again? Have the local kids found some other way to sneak in there and hang out- laugh and act stupid? I hope so.

Steak and Shake

It is hard for me to pick just one college moment as the BEST. I loved college. A lot of my best friends are college friends. I met the soon-to-be HusbandTuesday in college. I chose my profession in college. I forged lasting relationships with professors. And I developed a stronger, more confident sense of self. I guess I’m one of those girls who looks back on college as the time I “found myself.”

But I also discovered Steak and Shake and Donatos Hawaiian Pizza. These were two of my best discoveries. Each for different reasons.

Mmmm, Steak and Shake. Oh how I miss the triple thick oreo chocolate chip milkshakes, with the tiny chocolate chips that get would get stuck in the straw, and the chocolate wafer cookie resting ever so gently on the whipped cream. My first visit to Steak and Shake was at 2 am in the morning in the Spring of my Freshman year of college. Before the soon-to-be HusbandTuesday and I started dating, we spent that spring forging the bonds of an unbending friendship. Determined to listen to a recording of Sarah McLachlan that he had left in his car, the two of us set out for a late night road trip out of the cornfields we called campus and towards the closest city. Having grown up there, he spent the next two hours showing me how beautiful the skyline looked by moonlight out the window of his tiny little sports-car. We capped off the night with a visit to the Steak and Shake drive through. I can’t remember if it was my first time there; somehow I don’t think it was. But it was certainly the most memorable. Driving home in silence, having exhausted our music selections, I felt the most indescribable combination of happiness and calm. And deliciousness.

While milkshakes may trigger an emotional reaction, Donatos Pizza simply makes my mouth water. There weren’t many fine dining options near campus, and the first time I had Donatos’ thin crust pizza, I was actually unimpressed. But then I learned about the Hawaiian pizza. A delicious thin crust pizza packed to the edge with thinly sliced ham, pinnapple, cinnamon, sliced almonds, and fresh mozzarella cheese. It is the most addictive and delicious pizza I have and will likely ever taste. Sure, it isn’t served with Papa John’s artery sauce, and it isn’t the most traditional pizza. But I can eat it for every meal, and snack on it in between. I’ve brought it cold on airplanes home from school, and I make every effort to stop and get one when we’re back visiting his family. I can’t remember the precise moment I tasted my first slice, but it was certainly the most delicious discovery of my collegiate career. The two of us shared many Friday night dates sipping rootbeer, laughing at the local color, and splitting an entire pizza. My waistline probably appreciates the fact that the franchise doesn’t extend this far East, but my stomach is actually growling at me right now, angry at me for going into such detail and longing for just one warm slice.

Section 306, Row 2, Seats 1 and 2

Spending time with my dad this weekend had me thinking back to how we became such crazy sports nuts. I don’t know if I can pinpoint the exact time when the love of all things spectator-sport related began (probably when the doctor said “it’s a girl” to which he says he responded “are you sure?” and has since proceeded to treat me like the son he never had…) but I can definitely pinpoint the time when we got crazy about it. It was, sadly, one of my most defining college moments. Or at least one of the ones I can actually point to as having had a tangible, noticeable influence on who I am today.

DaddyMonday’s been going to the Final Four since, well, forever. He’s got this buddy, I call him Mr. Final Four, he goes with, and they’ve got pictures with Larry Bird at one of the FFs in Indianapolis, some story about the FF in Charlotte where they took this other friend and he refused to pay scalpers’ prices for tickets so they watch the whole thing on a TV in the back of a limo (needless to say that guy never went again….), and lots of stories about trying to buy or sell tickets in the rain in New Orleans. It seems it always rains in New Orleans.

When I was a senior in college I was invited to go along. We’d been basketball fans since I was little. We always had Tennessee basketball season tickets as far back as I can remember (and had them up until 2003 when MommaMonday moved away - she was the cash behind the whole thing). We sat in the upper deck, Section 306, Row 2, Seats 1 and 2. I remember the first time I ever went down to the lower section (to see Daddy’s friend, Mr. Final Four who sits really, really close). The players were so big. And more easily defined than just by the tops of their heads. It was amazing. But I went willingly back to 306, no worse for the wear.

Now back to the 2001 Final Four. I was a senior in college and the FF was in Minneapolis (cold and exotic to me back then). We got tickets the old fashioned way, through the lottery. Every year in June they mail out lottery slips to anyone interested. You send them your check for roughly $100 a ticket and pray that you’re picked. Now the best tickets are held by the NCAA for distribution to the schools who make the four, so the lottery tickets given out almost a year in advance are the really, really crappy seats. And by crappy I mean limited view. They hold these things in football stadiums, put the court down on one end (think roughly the 30 yard line to the end zone) and then basically fill the place up with seats. Our tickets would be around the other 30 yard line (it’s like watching 10 guys juggle from 100 yards away and 80 feet up). Yikes. But I didn’t care, I was going to the Final Four.

So here we were, the first night, games 1 and 2. We find our seats, check out the view, then decide to roam around the lower level since it’s early enough that we can do that without much problem. We both stopped around half court and moved down into the seats so I could get some pictures and then sat down in the last row to enjoy the moment before heading back out to Wisconsin. Only problem was….we kept sitting there. And sitting there…And then there was only a half hour before the game started. So we decided to see how long we could go. We saw Dickie V, Bob and Libby Dole, Morgan Freeman, Grant Hill, a bunch of coaches, all come and go past our seats.

And then it happened…………The game started. So dad said “they must only be interested in the second game, they’ll surely come then.” At this point the place was packed….probably 50,000 fans and the only two empty seats had to be up in section Nowhere, Row a Million. Where we were *supposed* to be. Not here at half court, row 35, right under the press boxes.

But they didn’t come for the second game, so we enjoyed ourselves, but you’d better believe neither one of us was about to get up for a coke or a pee. No way were we leaving and chancing not getting it back.

The final game was different. We both thought, “there’s no way,” but we tried it anyway. It was a lot harder to get in this time, they were checking tickets. We had to sneak in four or five sections over and crawl across entire rows. And when we got to the seats there was some guy sitting there. So I said, looking at my ticket for section Nowhere, Row a Million, but never turning it around or putting it down, (and I’ll never know where this came from who what person I transformed into)”excuse me, I think you’re in our seats.”

And he got up and left. And the game started. And we watched the whole game, unspoiled in Row 35, half-court. It was amazing. I’ve never had an experience like that where I just got lucky, and got to see what it was like to live like the rich Iron Dukes who sat next to us. It’s one of those defining experiences, only not the ones like most people have. For me it was about seeing how the other half lives, but not in such a way that I would want to live that exact life, in such a way that I thought, “hey, I’m sitting here and I didn’t have to give a million dollars to some school, I just took an empty seat.”

And that is how I became addicted to not ever playing by the rules when it comes to sporting events. I will never sit in my seat. I can be asked to move 40 times by rightful ticket owners, but it’s always worth paying $10 and trying to get a $300 view. Pick me up, scoot me over, move me around, but I will never go back to only seeing the tops of heads again.

So thank you random Red Sox fans who didn’t show up and allowed me to sit behind home plate for Red Sox/Yankees. Thank you to GirlTuesday for giving me her ID so I could get two student tickets to the 2005 Final Four and DaddyMonday and I could sit on row 3 behind the basket. And thank you to DaddyMonday who always says “doesn’t look like those people are going to show up, wanna move down?”

Now just wish me luck this weekend, I’m going to a Vols game and our tickets are in Section 329, Row 23, Seat 6 and Section 328, Row 24, Seat 11. Yep, we’re not even sitting together. But you just watch. I bet I can figure out how to get us into the luxury boxes.

Love Being a Hater

Okay, I love this topic.  I find the act of being deeply critical about people, places and things to be extremely gratifying.  It allows you to be funny (or so you think), connect with humanity, and get a little closer to understanding what you're all about.  And isn't that what it's all about? And when you love to hate something, not only do you hate it, but you get a sick pleasure out of its stupidity.  Writing this post will put me on a week-long high.

Things I love to hate:

1. People who only send Christmas cards after they have children.  

I have no problem with people who don't send Christmas cards in general.  I like doing it for a lot of reasons.  I can be bad about being in touch.  A lot of holidays cards are glittery.  I think it's nice to stop once a year and literally take the time to let someone know you are thinking about them.  I can understand not doing it.  It takes time, it gets expensive, and some people don't even appreciate them.  However, if you have a child and then suddenly feel the need to spread the Christmas spirit, you are totally full of it.  I can understand wanting to show your kid, looking cute in a special ensemble, to interested parties.  But if you never bothered to send me holidays wishes and wish me a happy new year in the past, don't do so now as a pretense to showing off your baby.  I think it's incredibly poor taste.

2. Married couples who communicate with each other on Facebook.

Okay, I can understand the silly joke here and there, and I'm not above doing it myself.  But I've seen people who are married compliment each other's cooking, or wish them luck at their meetings, and have other sorts of inane conversations through their Walls.  Of course, people who live in the same house will still need to talk online, and maybe even use Facebook to do so, at times.  But I can't help but feeling like a lot of what they are doing is just to show other people that they are a happy, fun couple.  Lame.

3. Business owners who act like you should know their business as well as they do.

This one has been a huge pet peeve of mine for years, but I have never witnessed the heights of ridiculousness of this situation more than when I was planning my wedding.  I hate when you walk into a store that sells something you need, like flowers, or a service you need provided, like framing; and you ask a basic question about what the purchase entails/includes, or how the process works, and they totally scoff at you for asking the question.  Like they are so smart for knowing how the business they have run for 25 years works, and aren't you an idiot for not. And it's not only the owners who do this.  Often, employees behind the cash register do too. Give you attitude for not knowing that Venti is the largest size?  Well, I'm sorry.  I never accomplished my dream of working at Starbucks, so you'll have to school me.  The bottom line is, there is a nice, friendly way to convey information, and then there's being an ass.  If you have so little to feel good and confident about that you treat customers like they're stupid, it's really, really sad.

4. "That's a really good school."

I hate when people say that.  But I do love to hate it.  I find it hilarious when people say that because if the school was truly great, we'd all know about it.  Of course, there are exceptions. There are some really kick-ass small liberal arts colleges out there, but that is not what I'm talking about.  I'm talking about the random local schools.   I think people feel the need to justify staying local for college.  If you chose to go to St. Joe's (in Philly) or Creighton (in Omaha), that's fine.  But don't tell me it's Princeton.  Don't tell me that your education was elite-level rigorous and just as prestigious.  It simply isn't.  But who cares?  Own it.  Be proud of your achievements wherever you went and what you've accomplished since.

5. Bad Waitresses

I feel annoyed when people lament the experience of the downtrodden waitress.  Disrespected, paid poorly, on their feet all day.  Sure, that's not good.  But often people in service complain about how bad most customers tip.  I'm sure that's true.  But I think that there are a lot of bad waiters and waitresses out there too.  They can be generally inattentive, not refill your drinks, mess up your order-- and then what really kills me, not be nice or apologetic about anything. Such servers are included in the "woe is me" waiter population, unfortunately for the ones who are really good.  I'm a very generous tipper, and I hate to think that my generous tip should be expected, rather than compensation for excellent service.

6. Political Geniuses

I really hate that a lot of people out there feel empowered to talk down to others about politics and policy.  I have alluded to this in my "Hey Celebs- Shut the Hell Up" post.  In my opinion, the government and how it works, and should rightfully work, is incredibly complicated stuff.  I would be very careful before I spouted anything about politics, not because I'm not equipped, but due to my education and my work, I fully appreciate what it entails.  Clearly, others don't have that hesitation.  And when people do talk about issues that are more simple, in some moral sense, they naively treat them as black and white.  Abortion, Stem Cells, Affirmative Action.  Gay Marriage.  It's fine if you feel a certain way, but when you think everyone who disagrees with you is either stupid or bad, you're really losing sight of things.  And people on both sides of the aisle do this.  It's the easy way out.  It's much harder work, intellectually speaking, to tackle the perfectly justified arguments against your view.

What I might hate more than anything are people who complain.  Ironic, you say?  But I'm not complaining here.  Like I said, I enjoy hating those things.  I'm not complaining that they exist, because that's life.  Complainers are everywhere.  They really feel bad for themselves for whatever they are dealing with.  But I think they should buck up.  No one said it would be easy.

What do I Love to Hate??

This was a challenging topic for me to write about. Growing up my mom’s favorite motto was “Be a solution-finder, not a problem-finder”. Whenever we would complain or talk about something we disliked she were immediately ignored and told to only focus on the things that we could control. Although annoying at the time, I am now very thankful for this valuable approach that we were taught at a young age. As a result, I don’t focus much on the things I dislike. With that being said….everyone thinks at some point about unpleasant or annoying things that they have no control over. It has been really fun reading the other blogs. As I was reading down the web page each morning, I found myself smiling, nodding my head, and thinking, “Oh yeah, that annoys me too!”
As I went through the week, I started to pay close attention to the things that really annoyed me….the things I loved to hate. My list isn’t incredibly extensive or conclusive, but it is a collaboration of things that I realized I strongly dislike.

1. “Facebook” This is actually a hard one for me to put on here. I just recently cancelled my Facebook account. And, not because I hate it, but because I hate the amount of time I was wasting on it. For the past few weeks, I have had to convince myself that I hate Facebook so I am not tempted to re-activate my account. There are times that I do miss ‘snooping’ around on other people’s pages and peeking at old college cohorts. It is fun to see which high school classmates have gotten fat and which ones (sometimes surprisingly!) are very successful. However, I spent way too much time looking at pictures of people I barely knew or reading status updates for people that would never affect my life. So, I quit. Cold turkey. Thus, I now ‘hate’ Facebook.

2. “People who trickle on the toilet seat and don’t wipe it off” I am sorry, but this is absolutely the most disgusting thing ever. I never sit down all the way on a public toilet. Girls, you know the drill. You go to a public restroom, get in a funny “squat” position, and then you do your thing. Sometimes you end up dripping on the toilet seat during the process. I apologize if this is TMI (too much information), but it is the truth, we’ve all been there. The proper thing, then, is to take a wad of toilet paper and wipe of what you have left. The most filthy and sickening thing is when you get to a public bathroom and there are yellow liquid drips all over the seat. Gross! The part that is funny to me is when this happens at the office. Trying to figure out who the ‘culprit’ is can actually be kind of entertaining. You hear the bathroom door shut and turn on your ‘potty-patrol’ mode, stealthily walk over, get a cup of coffee and eyeball whoever walks out. B-U-S-T-E-D!!

3. “Nancy Grace” Do people really care that Caylee’s mom cracked a smile during her court hearing? My heart goes out to that family because they lost a young child, but six months later does the public really need to know every detail of every conversation the mother has had while in prison? My husband loves to watch Nancy Grace (I think mostly it is because he knows how annoyed I get with her). Her behaviors are mostly an act for TV to increase her viewer ratings. Her obvious statements and over-zealous personality are so irritating and force me to change the channel after only a few minutes.

4. “The person at work who gives WAY too much information about their personal life (which is 95% of the time exaggerated).” Everyone knows one of these. The Drama Queen. The person who threatens to quite every-other day (albeit only says this to his/her coworkers) but has never actually acted on this threat. The girl who gives a play-by-play recap of her weekend hook-up with the local-league football player. The thirty-something guy who still tries to hit on the new, young, employees while at the same time complaining about the sex life with his wife. In an office full of sales people “this person” is nearly every employee. Although I will admit this can be entertaining at times, it gets so old.

So there ya go. I started writing this blog thinking it was challenging. I have finished it smiling and realizing it has been kind of fun to focus on the things I get enjoyment out of disliking...

I Love to Hate You, Regina George

     What's funny is that I picked this week's topic, and it took me much longer than usual to come up with ideas. What are some things I "love to hate"? I started with a blank page on a yellow legal pad. I wrote, "Love to Hate" at the top. After a few moments of nothing, I underlined "Love to Hate." And then another few moments of more nothing. 

     Then "sex addicts" popped into my head and I thought, "Gosh sex addicts! What a ridiculous reason to go to rehab." So just below my underlined title I wrote, "sex addicts." I thought that was just hilarious. And then I started doing light research on sex addicts and I wound up feeling kind of bad about preparing to make fun of something that maybe actually is real and sad. So I crossed it off my list. But then I was like, "Oh ha-ha scientologists" and "ohmygosh Angelina Jolie" and "you know what I hate? Actors who say they're quitting their TV show to work in film and then disappear for a while and then come back to TV." 

     My list grew quickly. My hatred just seemed to spill from me: "Leonardo DiCaprio's South African accent" and "snobby people at expensive gyms" and "city moms who use their baby-strollers as weapons of mass destruction" and "organic mania" and "CSI: Miami previews" and "Bush jokes" and "out-of-control kids" and "Fergie" (the performer, not the former duchess) and "non-Italians who say 'Ciao'" and "the term: fine lines and wrinkles."

     I just kept digging up things I derive sheer pleasure from hating (the volume of my findings-- a little worrisome, I agree).  I was throwing back my head and giggling, rubbing my hands together saying occasionally, "oh and!" before scribbling yet more down the page.  But it wasn't long before I realized that not one item on this laundry list compares to my hatred of... mean girls.  

     I'm not talking about ordinary, perhaps even respectable girls who are in touch with their mean streaks.  I firmly believe that every girl should find that bitch within and pull her out when needed.  Cause, she's gonna need her at some point.  Guaranteed.

     No, I'm talking about "mean girls" in quotes.  Like, "gossip girls."  Like, those girls that you can remember being in middle school, praying you had a time machine just so you could fast forward and see her get her comeuppance. 

     I was teased a lot growing up. My family moved to a small suburban, resort town when I was in 5th grade.  So, I was teased for being new.  I was also teased for being from "the city" (we moved to Long Island from Queens).  I was teased for wearing hats (I loved hats. I blame the movie "My Girl"), for the types of earrings I wore, for collecting those little trolls with crazy-colored hair.  I was teased for reading so much I'd spend lunch and recess in the library.  I was teased for being too skinny, for being flat-chested.  For being shy and nervous and neurotic and weird or different or both.  Most probably I was teased because not once did I ever expect it. The insults came from around a sharp corner- I never saw them coming- and probably the look of shock and confusion on my face made it all worthwhile.

     When I was a senior in high school, my ex-boyfriend started dating a mean girl.  She wasn't popular (as in, "elite"), but she had her group of friends, and she was mean.  She was bitter and awful.  And one night after a basketball game, I was making my way to my car, walking through the parking lot of people doing the same.  I was walking, minding my own business I swear, when I crossed a few feet in front of a car that had just slowly pulled out of a spot.  But then the car's headlights turned on.  It was my ex-boyfriend's car.  I looked up for a split second, but kept walking.  Moments after the headlights turned on, the ex's car lunged forward in my direction and made a huge screeching noise.  I jumped out of my skin.  My hands flew up to my face.  I thought for sure I was about to get run over and die a painful death.  But I didn't.  The car had barely moved.  And when I stepped out of the headlights I could see Mean Girl was in the passenger seat, covering her face, laughing. 

     I hate reliving this moment, because the truth is, I got her back in a bad way, and I feel guilty about it.  So, retelling this whole thing doesn't really make me feel better.  I'm not proud, okay?  But I'll tell you anyway. 

     Not long after this incident I was assigned to a public speaking class.  She was in it.  She sat there-- quiet and safe and smug.  The fact that she was in that class and got to live in peace every day with no visible remorse ate away at me.  On the last day of public speaking I gave the biggest, baddest speech of all time.  I gave everyone in the class a certificate, awarding them titles based on the speeches they gave ("most dysfunctional family" and "best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches").  It was a big hit.  But when I got to her name though, I told the story I just told you.  I told the story about how she thought it was just so funny that this guy scared me by pretending to hit me with a car.  And I threw in there that I suspected it was all her idea.  And then I said that I didn't have a certificate for her, but if I did it would name her "piece of shit."  I closed with:  "And I hope you do feel like a piece of shit.  Because as far as I'm concerned, that's exactly what you are."  

     The kids in the class went in an uproar and I saw her tears from my podium.

     It was to date, the first, last, single meanest thing I've ever done.  I sure hope that doesn't make me a "mean girl."  ...Wait- does vengeance count?  

     Anyway, truth be told, that is not the way to handle a mean girl.  If I could rewind to that night in the parking lot, I'd get over my initial shock, take a deep breath, walk over to her passenger-side door and open it.  I'd pull her out by her collar and throw her to the ground and say something cool like, "What's so funny, bitch?"  

     Nip that sucker right in the bud.  

     Not sure I'll ever be up for that.  I am kind of a lady.  Not entirely, although I try to keep up appearances.  But I do think that alternate ending wouldn't have humiliated her so that I'm still thinking about it 10 years later.

     So yeah, mean girls.  Love to hate 'em.

 

 

Welcome; now kindly leave

Given that I am writing from our Nation’s capital on this historic day, I figured—what could be better than a blog post discussing how much I love to hate tourists in DC. Don’t get me wrong, I think today is a fantastic day, and I got goose bumps standing by the reflecting pool listening to celebrities discuss our founders and recite the words of past presidents. I’m not trying to diminish the significance of this spectacular moment. But I just wish it wasn’t happening right outside my doorstep.

Typical tourist season in DC extends from mid-June through the end of August. There are all sorts of categories of tourist sightings. The first signs of tourist season emerge on the metro. I heart DC and FBI t-shirts adorn sun-burnt youngsters who stand with their luggage blocking the doors, a middle aged man discusses loudly how smart they are for figuring out which direction they were supposed to go on the train, while another curses even louder when he realizes four stops too late that he missed his transfer point. And the children run up and down the crowded eisles, pretending to surf until they go flying.

The metro is only a beginning, however. The surest sign of tourist season is trying to venture into the Museum of American History, Natural History, or Air and Space on a weekend. Forget it. Stay home. It is not worth it. If you actually wanted to read the signs, too bad—because some little brat is probably rubbing his germy hands all over it and asking his mom (who is still two rooms behind him) to read it for him. Although I do love the fact that even in the heat and crowds of summer, the National Gallery usually holds vast expanses of quiet, empty rooms in which I can go to escape the masses momentarily. . . until I walk back outside on to the mall, that is.

I don’t know what it is about tourists that I love to hate so much. I can’t really blame them for wanting to come here; I mean, I love this city—why wouldn’t you want to come stand in the marble hallways and take in the splendor of it all? Where else can you spend days upon end not paying for a single attraction? It’s pretty cool.

But I still don’t want them walking four astride on the sidewalk when I’m trying to get to work, or hoping up and down around me when I’m trying to keep my balance on a crowded metro train, or slowing down the line at starbucks asking if they sell diet coke, or stopping me on the corner when the cross-walk timer is almost red to ask for directions. At the same time, the fact that I notice makes me realize how quickly this city has truly become my home; when the momentous history around me seems at times to be an inconvenience, I can’t help but smile, despite my hatred of crowds. And even though I left yesterday’s concert right as Obama was speaking to try and get to the metro ahead of the masses, I enjoyed taking it in as though I was a tourist myself. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be excited to see them all head home tomorrow and Wednesday. . .

Tofu and James Taylor

In thinking about the topic for this week, Things I Love to Hate, I had a lot of trouble. I could think of lots if things that I Hate to Hate:

• Tofu. I know its supposed to be good and better than killing poor, innocent chickens, but I just can't get past the sponginess. I find that unless you cut it into tiny, tiny slivers (let's just call them crumbs) it tastes like eating stir fry with soy sauce flavored jello. Yuk. I really hate that I hate it, but I do. I can't help it. I want so badly to promote the slaughter of innocent soybeans instead.
• Running. I hate running. I always have, but I wish I didn't. It sure would have made the first few weeks of soccer preseason a lot less painful if I could have just stayed in shape over the summer. I manage to make myself run about once a week in the winter and 3-4 times a week in the other months. I want to be trendy and cool (and fit), but I can't figure out a way to make it less monotonous and boring. Oh well.
• American Idol. I HATE this show. I HATE everything about it from the terrible auditions by people who must know they're terrible, to mean Simon, to drunk Paula, to the bad karaoke of Hollywood week. I know it’s cool to love this show and I hate being left out, but I can't force myself through 10 minutes of it without being disgusted (or disheartened by the state of our country - when is it okay to be intentionally mean to someone?). Sorry Fox, I know it's the only reason you're hanging on, but I can't do my part to save your network.
• Forever 21. Most of you probably haven't heard of the Heaven on Earth that is F21 so I'll summarize: it's a suburban mall situated sanctuary if cheap clothes. I don't like to admit that I shop amongst polyester, spandex, sparkly, tube top clad teeny boppers, but I do. And I also use phrases like teeny boppers. Cheap jeans and sunglasses are happiness.

The idea of talking about what I Love to Hate also got me thinking about what I Love to Love (secretly). These are all secrets so shhhh! Don't tell).
• Alabama. Oh God, I can't believe I'm letting the cat out of the bag on this one, but here goes. I'm supposed to hate them, but I don't. I love them. I was born into a hatred of all things Tide, but somewhere along the way I lost interest in hating. So now I secretly cheer for them (except against my beloved Vols, obviously) and am known to secretly squeal the occasional RammerJammer (give 'em HELL) especially when I've been drinking.
• James Taylor. My head thinks of him as in a category with Michael Bolton and Barry Manilow, but my heart and my ears can't get enough. You've got a friend? Classic. Carolina on my mind (enough said!).

So long story long, I did a lot of thinking and finally wrapped my simple mind around the task at hand, those items that I find great pleasure in hating. Drumroll please.....

Things I Love to Hate

• The Bachelor. You may be amazed that I can hate Idol with such passion yet can be so passionate about this stupid show. I’m the first to admit this bastion of faux tans, cleavage, desperation, and tears should have been off the air years ago. But since it’s not, I still watch (although I've missed probably half the seasons). This show brings out the snarky side of me, but I love being snarky. I think part of why I love the Bachelor is why I love the romcom, I'm a romantic at heart and this stupid show plays to that. Oh, and I love making fun of the desperate girls who talk about babies and wedding planning the first night. Heh.
• Walmart. I love telling everyone how much I despise this store with its big box attitude. I hate the way they sprawl on for miles and miles with their enormous parking lots. I hate the way they treat their employees like dirt. I hate their big box attitude. I hate the way they manhandle the small companies whose products they sell. And I definitely hate the way they draw out the rednecks in droves. And I love to tell all of those things to any poor soul who utters the words Walmart within 50 feet of me. Oh, and I loooove their prices. Shhhh!
• Flying. I like to talk about how much I hate to fly, but I sure love to do it. I would travel every weekend if I could. I bitch and moan about the long security lines, taking off my shoes, and running to make connections because of delays (which I secretly love - such a sense of accomplishment when you make it. Like beating the system at its own game. Take that airline!). I love fitting everything into one suitcase, I love all my 3.2 oz travel bottles, and I especially love the feeling of traveling so far in such a relatively short amount of time. So while United expends all of its energy trying to piss me off by making me sleep in O'Hare, I keep packing lighter and refusing to pay for a drink, pillow, exit row, isle, movie, or extra bag (or first bag).

Don't Step Believing

I totally hear GMon’y’s point.  Why wait until January to do something you want to do to improve your own life?  Well, humans are interesting creatures.  Most of us aren’t totally happy with every aspect of our lives, but we feel nervous and scared about changing things.  A lot of the things we do, but don’t like that we do—such as smoking, drinking, eating excessively, not exercising enough, using bad language, being inconsiderate, not calling people enough, spending too much money, not enjoying life enough, buying too much make-up, etc.—we do for complex psychological reasons.  If anything, I’m sort of relieved that making New Year’s Resolutions is such a popular tradition.  It serves as evidence that I’m not the only crazy one out there.

This year, I’m focusing on religion and attending services regularly.  I often think of how I will raise my children in terms of spirituality, and yet I don’t usually go to my house of worship.  If I don’t do it now, why would I do it then?  Being a good parent is about being a good example.  And I would be a super-hypocrite if I suddenly became someone I’m not now just because impressionable kids are around.  So I’ve started doing that and it’s going fine.  I’m sure whatever happens will be what is ultimately right for me, what I’m comfortable with, and what will be positive for my entire family. 

I think that people make those important changes in their lives in January because a new year is the ultimate symbol of hope.  And when attempting to change major aspects of our lives, we need as much hope as possible.  We need to feel that the change can happen.  But according to my intensive research (i.e. Wikipedia), it can’t.  In a resolution study, 52% of people were confident that they would be successful in keeping their resolutions, but only 12% were.  But I don’t think it really matters.  I just think it’s cool that people resolve to change their lives.  There are societies in which people are truly complacent.  They don’t think about improving things in such a way.  But in America, we do.  However delusional, we imagine our best selves and we go for it.   And we’ve been doing that for long before Oprah Winfrey came into the picture.  I don’t mind that people fail in what they resolve to do, but I would hate it if they didn’t resolve.

New Years Resolutions

New Years Resolutions are very hard for me to keep! I always concoct these elaborate and detailed schemes to lose weight, run faster, educate myself more, etc. I am gung-hoe and dedicated for about two weeks. Then I lose a few pounds, start to think I look good again and become less dedicated. Or a new season of American Idol begins and my resolution to read instead of watch television wears thin as I begin to laugh at the goons and become interested in the characters.

This year, I made a decision to make two resolutions that I have never tried to make before. I came up with two:

1 – I will not hit 'ignore' on my phone. I have a very bad habit of ignoring phone calls if I am busy and then never checking my voicemails. My mailbox gets full about every two weeks and then I get angry texts from my friends and family demanding that I delete my voicemails because it makes them worried that something is wrong with me. Finally, I started to tally up the all the wasted time involved with checking my voicemails, calling them back, play phone tag, etc. I figured that if I just would have answered my phone on the first ring then I would save myself a lot of wasted time.

2 – I will be a better wife. This was one I have never tried to make before because I have never been a wife at New Years before! I know that you always hear you shouldn't create vague resolutions like this one. But, at times, I find that I could have responded better to a particular situation, done a better job of keeping things organized, or been more supportive towards my husband. I don’t think I am a bad partner, but there is always room for improvement. This one shouldn’t be too hard to keep.

So, there you have it. My 2009 New Years resolutions written down and broadcasted to the world. Let’s see how long these will last… :)

Read My Lip Gloss: No New Makeup

I'm already squirming to break one of my many 2009 new year's resolutions. Just this morning I seriously contemplated taking a stroll to the nearest MAC store because I had convinced myself that I needed a new blending eye shadow. "Something light, no sparkles," I said to reflection in the mirror, eagerly trying convince myself that it wouldn't be a felony if I bought just one more piece of makeup. Eesh I'm sick. But I'm not going to wait for an A&E Intervention!  And since the first step is, as they say, admitting I have a problem, then here I am-- Girl Wednesday-- admitting I have a problem.  Below is a very pathetic photo essay that explains why one of my resolutions is to stop buying makeup....

In this pile o' hussie-face:  Essie nail polish in "Pink Glove Service" (sexy name!) and some Cargo makeup (comes in round silver tins)- I think the packaging made me feel like I was buying something industrial, minimalist, rough.  Rough, sparkly lip gloss.  I'm not blind to the irony.  I've got a pink Clinique lip gloss tube for when I get sick of the coral Clinique lip gloss tube that's sitting right next to it.  I use neither with any regularity.  There's even some Calvin Klein in there, even though his makeup history is rocky. He manufactured the goods in the 70's and then as far as I know, again in the early 2000's (see above picture shows his lucite-encased eye shadows). And after Calvin closed his makeup department a few years ago, looks like he's at it again.

My Martha Stewart toolbox (containing all the makeup I refuse to throw out) is put to good use:

How practical-- I keep some of the stuff that I don't use every day in a glass bowl on the side.  I'm like a makeup chef on the food network, setting aside the reduction for later basting!

The reserves:

This little, clear cosmetics bag I got at Duane Reade. In here are the regulars: Chanel foundation, Lancome spot cover, MAC fiber mascara, and a MAC blush.  The most unfortunate irony is that I really use only these four things daily.  So why do I keep indulging I ask you!?!

(In the background-- I keep my weekly-cleaned brushes in a flower pot.  Quaint!)

Not to point fingers here, but Girl Friday is kind of an enabler... Thanks Girl Friday! Best gift ever! GF gave me this multi-tiered set of everything a makeup addict could ever dream of. It's got two levels of eye shadows, two lippies, and one big fat layer of rouge (love that word, but you've got to say it in a bad French accent). I think I stopped breathing when I first opened this. I still kind of can't believe it.

One more thing I'd like to share-- this one's by MAC-- pure eye glitter. In a teeny pot. In my dreams I dive into this little tub and when I come up for air I've got purpley sparkles on the tips of my eyelashes and on my fingertips and everything is a spectacular white winter wonderland.

Look. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I'm a healthy eater and I gym, run, and yoga. Video games don't get in the way of me leading a normal, healthy life. I've never had any plastic surgery. I've never bought anything from the Home Shopping Network. ...What other kinds of things do people get addicted to?
Anyway, if makeup is my vice, then I'm OK with that I think. But it is a recession and it's a new year and I think it's time for me, at least temporarily, to come to terms with the fact that I probably have everything I need in my highly organized, makeup library. So until all my mascaras have dried to dust, and until I'm scraping lipstick out of the tube with a tooth pick, I'm closing my purse and sitting pretty.

Resolution: Take Two

G'mony stole my punch line. That said, since I proposed this glorious topic, I figured I would share a bit about my success (and failures) at keeping one particular new years resolution.

When I was in graduate school, I made a resolution to be a better friend. I had fallen out of touch with my college classmates, lost touch with childhood friends, and only had a handful of people I
really thought I could turn times of need or crisis. Recognizing that this mentality of take it or leave it friendship was no way to go about creating and fostering a support system for my adult life, I vowed that year to make a two-fold new years resolution. First, I would be a better friend to my existing friends; and second, I would be an active participant in the academic and social community surrounding me in an effort to cultivate the new and potential friendships around me.

This two-fold resolution was both a success and a failure. In striving for the first goal, I created bench marks for myself- commit one hour each Sunday afternoon to calling and reconnecting with old friends. Screen fewer calls using call waiting, and instead pick up the phone
and chat, regardless of how busy/hungry/sleepy/or otherwise occupied I was. Send emails every few weeks, giving updates, or simply to let friends know I am thinking about them. Ask about life; inquire into their wellbeing; and, above all, listen. Listen intently.

I was very good for a little while at this. I reconnected, I laughed, I felt somehow more complete in my own life, having opened myself to others. But it was really only for a little while. . . the college friendships grew old and weary, and the emails seemed shallow, empty—the platitudes reflecting the aging process and the fact that where commonalities once stood, only distance and memory remain.

As to the second prong of my two-prong attack, I was able to succeed, for the first time in my life, at keeping a resolution. I took a step back from my preconceived notions of law school classmates and my aversion to the artificial realities and camaraderie of force small sections and decided to learn more about my classmates. Rather than identifying them by row or surname, I would learn to identify them by ambition in life, favorite beer, sports team allegiance, favorite past-time, hometown, or other identifying characteristics that had heretofore gone unnoticed in my narrow-minded attempt to treat school as a job. I stopped fighting the system, and embraced it. I was met with the warm embrace of a fantastically diverse group of 10-15 individuals whose friendships each played pivotal and crucial roles in carrying me through the 2.5 years of school remaining.

Sure, there were people in my section whose names I have already forgotten, and there are people who I don’t really care to remember, even though I do know their name. But there are also the people who touched me so deeply that I will be forever changed and forever better for the role they’ve had in my life. There are the girls who I once dubbed our section “cheerleaders,” who both turned out to be remarkable women. One, a southern belle whose opinions, intellectual curiosity, and tenacity, though initially off-putting, helped fuel and foster my own sense of self-worth as an attorney. Whose hypothetical questions and insane attention to detail during intense study sessions expanded my own legal intellect, and whose willing ear helped me through the most emotionally trying nine-month period of my life thus far. The other, a classy city chic whose self-depricating, yet elitist nature meld together into one fantastically loyal walking contradiction. As we’ve moved back north and left the steamy southern humidity behind us, she remains a steadfast friend. The kind who call out of the blue, simply because they were thinking of you. And when I’m behaving myself, I pick up and listen, and through the banter, I am reminded of the value of such friends. And then there were the gentlemen. The island jokester, the sophisticated I-banker, the fresh out of undergrad charmer, and the mysteriously enigmatic boy-next-door. Those four taught me more about myself in a three year span than almost any real friend before me, save the one I will marry. They taught me to laugh, to take myself less seriously, to let go of myself, to relax. They taught me to appreciate the joy of skipping class to sit by the pool, and the fear of avoiding wild dogs crossing the highway. They taught me that the best beer to hold green food coloring is miller high life, how to smoke a cigar, how to lose at black jack, and how to love platonically. Finally, there was the intellectual, future professor and my dear, thick-skinned Detroit-born buddy more opinionated still than any of the aforementioned gunners.

This motley crew is now spread across the country; and I find myself this New Years, realizing that I really ought to return to the first prong of my attack, and make the same goal once again. The failure part of my story is that my efforts at writing, at calling, and email have long since subsided back to dismal, pre-resolution levels. I wake, work, run, eat, and sleep in a relatively tunnel-visioned state in which picking up the phone to call even my dearest, most important friends must be mentally scheduled. And I screen phone calls. Often. I have lost touch with college classmates, and grown apart from all but a handful of highschool friends, and, with the exception of one, I speak only once a month, if that, to each of the above mentioned once-familiar faces. In an effort to prove to myself that these friendships, unlike some of those formed in college dorm rooms, have the strength to endure into adulthood. Perhaps it is the nature of life that we meet folks who will mold and shape who we become, and only a handful will remain our friends into the future. But as I sit here opining to the bloggosphere, I am resolving to put off that process for at least one year, and try, once again, to be a better friend. Because even if I know it would be unrealistic to tell each of these remarkable individuals how much they meant and continue to mean to me every day, I will be certain to send them my hellos more than merely once in a while. And I resolve not only call, but to listen. Listen intently.

A Life Without Bacon is Not a Life at All

Given that we are a mere 12 days into 2009, GirlTuesday has made the suggestion that we write about New Year’s Resolutions this week, which I think is a great idea.

I had the opportunity to speak, at length, with a guy I met this morning as were were on the way to a community service project. After going on and on about how the Earthy-Hippie-OverPriced-Organic-Local grocery store didn’t have grits and soysage at 7 this morning, he started to preach the benefits of vegetarianism (and veganism more particularly; one thing for which I can never see benefits. Give up cheese and sour cream? No way!). I know lots of vegetarians who don’t eat meat for health, environmental, religious, and ethical/animal treatment reasons, but he didn’t really seem to have a reason for his initial decision other than he needed to make a New Year’s Resolution. So he decided to give up meat for the year 1991, and here we are 18 years later, and the guy has stuck to it. His endurance is impressive, but I’m just not sure he knew why he did it in the first place.

Never in my life have I ever met someone who kept a New Year’s Resolution for a year, let alone 18 years (and one that eliminates bacon and fried chicken from his diet – I can see giving up something terrible…, but bacon?! Now that’s dedication), so I am quite impressed. And dumbfounded. I have never really understood the point of New Year’s Resolutions, and have never been inclined myself to make one. If there’s something different I want to do in my life, I just do it. I don’t see the point in waiting until January (unless of course one New Year’s eve, while bowing to the porcelain gods you decide to give up drinking….then it might as well start immediately). If there’s something that you want to change about yourself badly enough, you should be inspired to move on it quickly; I think if you have a need to put it off so that you can make an official New Year’s Resolution, then you’re probably not that interested in change anyway. And sorry to say, you’ll probably fail. Take all of the overweight women in my office as an example. They’ve been planning for the diets they all started last week since…oh….October. There were complaints of “I can’t fit into my winter clothes” starting around the first of the month, but nothing was done because “the holidays are coming up, and it’s hard to be good during the holidays.” The holidays? What holidays? Columbus Day? Halloween?

I don’t mean to sound overly cynical or judgmental, I wish everyone well in their resolutions, but I hope that people are doing them for the right reasons and that they can stick with their resolutions.

So this year, I’m making my first ever New Year’s Resolution. I’m giving up cauliflower. I hope I can stick to it.