Accident-Prone or Unlucky in Life?!?

Sarah and I have survived the moving and unpacking process, and our house is almost ready for our housewarming party, stave a few minor details. We’ve now hung pictures, and even spent Sunday painting everything we could think of with spray paint. The place is wonderful—I love our living room, all the natural sunlight, and having a bedroom again and someone to talk to!

However, I’ve already managed to be a total junk show. Seriously, am I accident-prone and have never realized it!? Super unlucky situations are always occurring when I’m around.

Friday night I came home after an all-nighter at the bars with Amanda, and went to the bathroom. I flushed the toilet like any normal person, and reached above into the medicine cabinet for a bobby pin. I accidentally knocked my deodorant out of the cabinet, and since it happens to be located above the toilet, the deodorant fell into the toilet right as it was flushing. And, of course, sucked right up the pipe. I mean, what else would happen? It’s me. Shit like this always happens.

The toilet wouldn’t flush, so I went to bed and decided I’d deal with it in the morning. Well, we continued to pee into the toilet, and sorry for details, but nothing else was necessary. For me at least. Guess I’m used to being a little self-centered still. I wanted to relax on Saturday, which didn’t include leaving the house or getting dressed till it was time to go out again Saturday night. Honestly, getting a plunger and taking care of the toilet didn’t cross my mind. The situation became dire, and we decided that Vanessa could pick up a plunger on her way over to our house. But, by the time 8 o’clock rolled around, Sarah was doubled over on her bed, felt like she was going to puke, and Vanessa was still a half-hour out. Sarah was forced to go to Safeway to use the restroom and wander around until she felt better again. Needless to say, I don’t think Sarah was too happy that I dropped the deodorant and flushed it up the pipe. She was unable to come out with us that night.

I was quick to grab our ESL landlord on Sunday to try to get the problem fixed. He came and checked it out, laughed that anyone could be as stupid as me, and told us, “I fix tomorrow. You can pee, but no poo!” AND, he disclosed that there was a bathroom located in the laundry room, and that there are, “lots of magazines down there!” How helpful is that?

Saturday, in the midst of the toilet debacle, I decided to make pea soup for dinner and lunch for the rest of the week. I love split pea soup and have been craving it lately, so wanted to tackle making homemade pea soup. I carefully followed the directions on the back of the package, which included boiling the bag of peas in 12 cups of water for one-half hour. My HUGE soup pot was full to the top, so I didn’t think the water would boil down. I enjoyed a half hour of MySpacing. Well, I think it was a half hour, I didn’t exactly pay very close attention to the time.

I was sitting on the couch, approximately 5 to 7 feet away from the kitchen, when I glanced up and realized that the kitchen was full of smoke and it was kinda starting to fill the whole dining room and seep into the living room. I quickly jumped up and took the pot off the stove. When I lifted the lid, smoke billowed out in heaps. I had burned close to a one-inch layer of beans on the bottom of the pot. Luckily, I wasn’t drunk or asleep this time, but our apartment still smelt like burned split peas and cigarette butts for two days, AND we couldn’t use our bathroom.

Poor Sarah. I really hope this is as bad as it’s going to get.

Currently Feeling: A need to shoe shop online all day long. I’m trying to fight it.
Currently Anticipating: Watching the two-hour premiere of America’s Next Top Model tonight. (I taped it.)
Currently Loving: The South Beach Sloppy Joes I made last night. So good!

No Sympathy for this Devil

Many of you have asked me about updates on Stella, so I thought I’d take the time to briefly inform you that I bought the devil cat.
She’s.
Absolutely.
Insane.

Besides the usual running erratically up and down and across the couch, climbing the curtains in my windows and to my bedroom, diving under my TV stand, chasing her tail in circles, running up and biting my hand then running away, attacking her reflection in the mirror, climbing up and down and around and around my pant legs, and making bizarre guttural chipmunk slash Ewok sounds, she also has adopted new strange behaviors. Here are a few of my favorites:

Stella has now learned to stand on her hind legs and reach into the garbage can in my bathroom. While I normally keep the bathroom door closed, I have it open while I’m taking a shower, putting on my make up, getting ready for my day/night, etc. And the whole time, I play a back and forth game with her of putting shit back into the garbage can while she goes back and pulls it out. Her favorite—toilet paper rolls. She picks off the last of the toilet paper and drags it around my apartment. I now consistently have little shards of toilet paper in every corner of my living room. How classy.

In addition to dragging stuff out of the garbage can, Stella likes to trash my apartment while I’m gone. I’m not sure if this is because she’s pissed that I’m home very little—sometimes only long enough to come home from Tre’s to change into work clothes. Lately, she likes to pull down the kitchen towel, drag it across the living room, pull down the jackets off the back of my desk chair, knock over picture frames, and my personal favorite—drag all my thongs out of the laundry basket and leave them strewn in a neat little line across the entrance to my apartment.

A couple days ago, I just discovered that she figured out how to jump up on my desk, and then from there, jump up on my dresser. She previously was too tiny for this. I came home just in time to watch her make the jump. From time to time I leave things up there that I know she can’t access such as plastic bags. Uh oh. This is no longer a safe zone. Then I remembered that I had left a third of a bean burrito I had eaten for dinner one night. In my rush to get out the door, I just left it sitting on the napkin. Gross, I know. Don’t judge.

When I walked over, sure enough, the whole damn thing was gone. Did she really eat the entire leftover bean burrito? I thought it strange for a cat to take down beans, lettuce, tomatoes and whatever else was in there, so I searched below the dresser and underneath—no burrito. I laughed incredulously to myself about a tiny 1-pound cat eating a third of a bean burrito. I mean, really, she already goes through an entire bowl of food in two days. It’s not like I’m starving the poor thing.

So, the next morning I was getting ready and noticed Stella playing with something in the hallway—you guessed it—the petrified burrito heal. It literally was rock hard, and she was kicking it around my piles of clothes. So, I picked it up and put it in the bathroom trashcan, only to have her pick it out again.

Oh, the joys of a new pet.

Currently Feeling: Like my communication skills really excel in some parts of my life and royally blow in others.
Currently Anticipating: A mini vacation from work this week. I need one. I’m feeling really burnt out.
Currently Hating: The ups and downs of dating someone.

Molecular Amore

Is it possible to grow to like someone, or it is always better when there is instant chemistry between two people?
This is a question I’ve been thinking about lately, given the situation with Bruiser*.

This guy looks good on paper. I mean, what girl wouldn’t want to bring someone home to good ole mom and dad who is a Seattle firefighter and former UW football player? Plus, the guy looks amazing in jeans and a t-shirt and kisses like a pro. Just imagine what he’d look like and how he’d kiss in that uniform. Furthermore, he’s nice enough and intelligent enough, given the fact that he has an international business major from the UW, and he seems to be interested. But something just isn’t clicking for me, and I really can’t place my finger on it.

I don’t know if I’m overtly annoyed because he’ll call me three times in one day, not leave messages, call me back 10 minutes after I don’t answer, call me back the next day when I don’t call him, and incessantly bug me to hang out. I’m a busy person, and his persistence comes across as slightly pathetic and a little needy. I mean geez, what do I have, beer-flavored nipples? Or maybe it’s the fact that my good friends Matt and Andres have nothing nice to say about him. Their comments keep tugging at my mind. What kind of relationship could I have where I had to keep it separate from a couple of my best friends? Do they just misunderstand him, or is their perception of him correct?

The fact is, I just don’t know if I’m into this guy. But what if my pickiness is causing me to miss out on a good thing just because outside factors are skewing my perception? So he doesn’t necessarily fit “my type,” and doesn’t give me that addictive giggly-girl feeling that I’ve always had in the past. Is this Just Cause for running in the other direction? Is that what it’s all about—feeling this instant chemistry, supressing the butterflies, getting excited every time you see their name pop-up on your cellphone screen and anticipating every single moment you get to spend with them? This is how it has always been for me. It happened with my first love in high school, and Jesse and I were crazy about each other within days. Can it happen any other way?

People fall in love and end up marrying their best friend after suddenly realizing they’re perfect for each other. They had to have years of being “just friends,” which means that chemistry would not have been involved. I certainly have a friend or two who I wonder about here and there (and by friend I mean male friend). But, I’ve always wondered how friends take it to the “next level,” and can two former friends ever have the passion or chemistry that comes with instantly being crazy about someone? Is chemistry something that can eventually grow, with time, to the same level as strangers who fall in love?

I don’t know. I wish I had all the answers. But, this is what being 24 and a serial dater is all about, right? Trying out all sorts of different situations to find answers to these questions so eventually we find exactly what we want, right? I do have a feeling that if I blow this one off, I could regret it later. Perhaps I’ll attempt to dabble, just a bit…nobody ever said that dabbling required chemistry.

*Name has been changed to protect the innocent because of Bruiser’s size and potential to out-bench anyone at the gym.

Currently Feeling: Fat and bloated.
Currently Anticipating: Going to drink in the beer garden after work with Kelly so I can make myself more fat and bloated. Awesome.
Currently Crazy About: Trader Joe’s frozen chicken Phad Thai bowls and ginger ale.

Love Me Jaded

Last Friday night I received a phone call from one of my greatest and longest friends, Jillian Wright. She and I grew up together and were close in every girl’s greatest time of need—Junior High. We dreamed about our first kiss, had crushes on the neighbor boys, had sleepovers, dug through racks at trashy thrift stores to find the ultimate vintage clothing (that was uber popular back then, remember?), and talked about how chubby and awkward we felt. I remember bringing Slim Fast for lunch with the labels peeled off so no one would catch on to what we were drinking. If only I could be that thin again. We even had notebooks that we would pass back and forth and write long notes during class with pink-colored pens and rainbows. She was my very best friend. I have so many memories about us growing up together. During high school we remained close, but we were involved in two different friend groups. She started dating someone seriously, and so did I. Eventually, after the four years that I was in Bellingham and now that I live in Seattle, our lives have taken two very different turns. We will always remain friends though.

The opposite direction of our life paths was reiterated to me during her Friday-night phone call. She gushed to me that her boyfriend of seven years (aackk!!!) had proposed. And I’m supposed to be in the wedding. Of course, being the sentimental dork that I am, this kind of got me all choked up, and I felt little tears come to my eyes. JILLIAN IS GETTING MARRIED?!?

Wow. I now officially have two friends who are engaged and whose wedding dates are set for next spring. How exciting! Lately, I’ve been a bitter jerk about long-term relationships and the people my friends choose to spend all their time with. But seriously, both Jillian and my friend Shannon are marrying people who I genuinely believe they will be happy with. And geez, I’m a girl—although I choose to roll my eyes at most conventional relationships at the present moment, I can’t roll my eyes at my best friends’ weddings.

So, I’ve been rolling around the idea of being a bridesmaid. Let’s see. I’m not fat, so I don’t think I’ll have a problem with the dress or color being unflattering on me. (Isn’t that a testament to our present day society when fitting into the bridesmaid dress is the first thing a woman thinks about?!?) And maybe I’ll meet some hot guy at the wedding. Isn’t that what happens when you’re a bridesmaid? Except most of the people at the wedding will probably have attended my high school. Ick. I haven’t really come up with any negative association with being a bridesmaid until I was hanging out with my good friend Josh. Of course, I told him about the wedding and how it was going to be my very first time as a bridesmaid. Leave it to Josh to crush all my taffeta dreams by one simple phrase, “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”

So, it’s a little cliché. But I think that is one phrase that definitely makes my skin crawl. On all those stupid MySpace surveys that ask what your biggest fear is, I always fill out, “Being the last friend to get married.” Seriously, it’s frightening. I don’t want to be the friend who is 30 or 40 and still playing this ridiculous dating game. I don’t want to hide in my apartment on the weekends, doing yoga on my floor and meditating while I water my plants and pet my cats. And although I’m overreacting, (I still have at least ten girl friends who aren’t engaged yet), my current perpetually single status makes me worry a little. Not only do I feel the itch to have a serious boyfriend, but I have the pressure coming from all angles. I’ve even been dreaming and thinking about ex-boyfriends lately. Is my biological clock ticking, and will I have to start making phone calls to all my exes in the past to see if something is still there? I know I’m only 24 years old, but I’ve started to feel the pressure. My mom mentions grandbabies every time I come home. I was talking to my friend Larisa about how I’m trying to make friends who don’t have boyfriends because I have enough friends who do. She said, “Maybe you just need to get a boyfriend.” Even my junk email box is shouting to me how pathetic I am… “Find True Love” and “Soul Mates” the messages read. One of them from “David” is titled “Watch My Wife Suck It,” hell, even David has found a wife.

So, I’m not on the husband-hunting path yet, and quite frankly, despite all my bitching and woes, I’m happy with being single. Not to say that I wouldn’t enjoy a good foot rub, a free dinner, or a good fuck once in awhile, but I’m happy other than that. But I’ve definitely started to question my ability to date, or if guys like me or not, or if I’m cute enough, thin enough, worthy enough. Will I ever fall in love again? I’m starting to feel a little skeptical about the idea of finding a decent guy who will love me and never leave me. I guess this is what happens to us the older we get and the more we’ve been hurt. I’m jaded. I guess I’ll just have to refer to Aerosmith when I meet the next man of my dreams (and hopefully he won’t be divorced and 35): Love me Jaded.

Currently Feeling: Like tomorrow is Christmas
Currently Anticipating: This weekend. I have awesome plans. Cinco de Mayo on Friday, Mariners game and a Cinco de Mayo Siesta party on Saturday and pedicures, wine and good television with Jill on Sunday
Currently Listening To: Pearl Jam! I’ve got to learn all the lyrics before the concert this July.

Sometimes, I’m Overwhelmed

Last night I inexplicably found myself for a brief amount of time at The Green Room, lost in the thought of a friend long gone. I suppose this destination was an en route stop before The Mars Bar, where we were going to meet some friends. The girl I was riding with (friend of a friend) knew some band that was playing there. Of course, my first reaction was to inwardly groan because one never knows what a band will be like when they’re someone’s friend. Could be decent, mediocre, god-awful or great. The band’s name was The Maldives, and I’m going to go with great, if not spectacular and freakin’ amazing. When we descended the steps down into the long, dark hallway-like room where the band was playing, I saw six or so guys all crammed on a stage, each with some sort of string instrument in their hands. One guy had a small, banjo/ukulele type instrument, a couple had guitars, and one had a cello. All of them were singing in melodic harmony—sort of an alt-country, rock, bluegrass sort of a sound. They all sported some form of the laid-back, rocker, I-don’t-care look—trucker hats, beards long grown in, tight jeans and worn-in t-shirts. The room was silent, with all eyes toward the band. I was immediately struck by the voice of the lead singer, who was coming across slightly louder than the rest. The lyrics were beautiful, and the whole room was mesmerized. As was I. It was the type of music that makes you instantly sentimental. My thoughts, of course, immediately turned to Todd. I don’t know what it was about that room, the music, the people…but I was suddenly overwhelmed by his memory. Sometimes it hits me in waves. Often, I don’t think about it, but then something reminds me of him. More times than not, it’s a song or a particular band. Then I’m overcome with sadness. This is how it happens.

Last night, I sat in that room full of people smiling and enjoying the music, and I thought of Todd on that stage. He certainly could have been. He certainly should have been. I allowed my mind to wander to a memory of him that sticks out in my mind. A basement. A slightly uneasy agreement to hang out with someone, who I didn’t know, for the first time. He led me downstairs, put large black headphones over my ears and hit play. The voice was beautiful, melodic…I couldn’t believe it was his. He sat, and rocked, and danced to every beat that was coming through the headphones, perfectly in time to the music, even though he couldn’t hear it. He knew. I was enamored forever there after.

I haven’t lost a friend before Todd. It was hard. The only thing I’ve been able to compare it to is being heartbroken after a break-up. For those of you who have been heartbroken, you know what it’s like to think of the person you loved every time the slightest things reminds you of them—somewhere you went together, a song on the radio, something you laughed or talked about once. Eventually, the pain subsides and you get over your former love and can see them, maybe even hang out with them again, without feeling an overwhelming sadness. Losing a friend is like being heartbroken, except you never get to see that person again and those memories don’t ever really fade. A few things remind me of Todd, and occasionally I’ll see someone who reminds me so much of him, it’s uncanny. I almost have to do a double take. I think it’s just my brain, subconsciously, desperate to see him one last time. Then there are the times where I hear a soft, melodic song, and I’m taken aback by the sudden thought of a life that I was a part of for such a short time. My eyes well up, and I imagine his voice, his smile, his talent. His eternal heartache. His internal heartache.

It hurts. And it hits me at the oddest times. But as I closed my eyes and listened to this band who were very much alive and very talented, I realized that for me, Todd’s memory will always exist through music. Sometimes this makes me cry. But sometimes, I even smile.

Currently Feeling: Obviously, a little sentimental.
Currently Anticipating: A greasy lunch and nap after work.
Currently Reading: The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency

Piece of Shit Car

Most of you have seen or ridden in my car. It is a disaster. Probably my favorite joke is how I drive a car that looks like a homeless person’s vehicle. In fact, it’s so bad that I don’t know if even a homeless person would want to drive it. The condition my car is in is beyond unfortunate. It’s moved on to pathetic. It is, of course, all my own doing.

My parents bought me the car during my senior year of high school and it was in perfect condition. I kept it nice until two years ago when a woman threw her door open in a parking lot and hit the side of my car. It looks like someone took an axe and had a good ole’ time to the right side of my car. Her insurance said it was my fault, so I couldn’t get it fixed by my insurance. And it’s all gone down hill from there. When I lived with Amanda, we had parking underneath our building, but the two poles I had to park between were so close that I hit them almost every time I tried to park. This resulted in a cracked mirror, and stripping the black piping off the side of my car. Then I tried to pull out of a spot one time on Fremont Ave. too quickly, and I hit the flowerpot to the left of my car. Then a rock cracked my windshield, my speaker cover fell off and was lost somewhere in Bellingham, and piping starting to come out of the driver’s seat from so much wear. The front of my bumper is cracked all to shit, I guess from all the parallel parking I’ve had to do between Western’s campus and Seattle. To add to the beauty, a couple months ago I was picking up something from Sarah’s house and the turn-around to her apartment building has one of the sneaky cement poles…you know, similar to the ones at gas stations. Well, I didn’t notice it when I pulled out and my car got stuck on it. Every time I pulled forward, it would scrape, and if I tried to reverse, it just dug itself deeper into the side of my car. I couldn’t tell you how I finally got unstuck. In conclusion, I have scrapes, dents and problems on every side of my car. I can’t even park it on its “good side.” Oh, and did I mention that I just figured out the passengers side window decided to kick the bucket when John was in my car and trying to smoke?

I don’t even think the worse part about my car is the damage to the body. I am probably the messiest, grossest person to ever drive a car. And I couldn’t explain why. It might have something to do with me not caring anymore, or just being lazy. I don’t know. I try to figure it out but just don’t have any answers. See, when I say that I drive a homeless person’s vehicle, it’s not just because it’s beat up. It’s because it literally looks like a homeless person lives out of it. Currently, I think I have ten or so rotten Tupperware containers that I can’t seem to manage to bring inside every time I use them for lunch and take them home from work. My backseat also has a couple stray hangers, my slippers, a box of Corona boxers that I got in a Christmas gift exchange, a Victoria Secret box with a bra and underwear that I’ve been meaning to exchange since Christmas, a couple juice bottles, six or seven empty cigarette boxes, my gym bag, three or four old US Weekly magazines, flip-flops, receipts, a baseball jersey and hat, my mitt, Uno cards and more. I know all of you are cringing right now. The only reason I remember all the shit that is (was) back there is because I had to throw it all in my trunk this morning in a big hurry. “Why,” you ask? Because I’m an effing dip-shit.

I walked out to my car this morning only to find my lights on and my battery dead. FUCK! I live by myself and literally don’t have anyone around that could help me. Usually I turn to my dad for car help. He loves me for it. Most of my friends were already at work, don’t drive cars, don’t get up that early etc. So, I decided to try and call some tow trucks, which all of them charge close to 60 bucks to come jump-start you! WTF?!? I’m sure you’re all probably wondering why I didn’t consider calling the Brit. The guy you’re dating is supposed to be good for these types of things, right? Oh trust me, I thought about it, but it was definitely my LAST RESORT. See, I’ve been dating him for almost two months now and he has yet to see my car. I just can’t bring myself to do it. All my friends know what it’s like, but they love me anyway and have known me too long for it to matter. Besides, it’s good for a laugh. But how do I drive around a guy who is older than me, drives a nice car and complains when he has three papers on the floor of his car that it needs to be cleaned? If he saw the state of my car, he’d probably think I was the nastiest girl alive. I’ve been avoiding him riding in my car like the plague. In fact, every time I spend the night at his house, he gives me a ride home. But every time he stays at mine, I say, “All right, have a good day.” And snuggle back into bed, hoping he won’t think I’m a selfish jerk for not offering him a ride home. One morning it was pouring rain and he was worried about ruining his leather jacket, so I gave him an umbrella! Oh man, I know what I’m doing is jerky, but I still don’t want to offer him a ride home.

So this morning I was out of options. I couldn’t afford to suddenly buy AAA or call a tow truck, I had no one else to call, and I certainly didn’t want to miss a day of work and pay for no reason when I was already up, showered and dressed. I took the plunge. I called him and he was more than happy to come help me and would be there in five minutes. FIVE MINUTES? OMG. My car is an effing dump. So I bolted out of my apartment building and started throwing shit in my trunk. People driving down 5th Avenue probably thought I was a crazy woman. After I piled my trunk full of the garbage that existed in my back and front seat, I swept the leaves on the floor, straightened out the mats to cover all the dirt, and prayed he wouldn’t look inside or notice the state of the body of my car. I popped the hood, and leaned against the front while I waited for him to arrive so he also hopefully wouldn’t notice how cracked and peeled the paint on the bumper is. If I could have, I would have acted like a human blanket and covered all the ugly parts of my car with my hands and legs. Maybe that would be my super-hero power I’d wish for.

Well, he jump-started my car and was nice enough to not mention the sorry condition it was in. I’m still not ready to let him ride in it, seeing the outside of my car is a whole nother story than seeing the inside. Maybe I’ll let him see the inside once he’s so in love with me that nothing will sway his opinion…right. In the meantime, at least I’m driving around a semi-clean looking car because now all the shit is in the trunk. Maybe some day I’ll get around to cleaning the trunk…

Currently Feeling: So excited for bowling tonight…I made t-shirts and snickerdoodles for the team!
Currently Anticipating: Seeing the Brit after bowling. I haven’t seen him since Wednesday because he’s been on a business trip!
Currently Reading: Night. (A new Oprah Book Club selection about the Holocaust.)

I Will Be Eating Ice Cream for Dinner

Everybody who knows me knows I’m really bad with money. It’s worse than anyone I’ve ever met or heard about. Let’s start with my history of credit card problems. With the way I shop and spend money, it’s a wonder they even gave me credit cards. Now when people at clothing stores ask me if I’d, “like to save 10 percent today by applying for an Express card?” I just answer them with, “You don’t want to give me a credit card.” And they look at me sort of perplexed, but it stops the sales pitch right there. Anyway, I got to the point where I couldn’t afford to pay the minimums on my six (yes, I said six) credit cards and had to take out a loan, with my parent’s help, to pay all the cards off. Now I owe my parents a ridiculous amount of money, and I probably won’t ever get to buy a car or house in this lifetime. Seriously, when they say that credit debt stays with you forever, they mean forever. Those jerks mark you your entire life as “someone who at age 18 is incapable of responsibly spending with a card that basically has a ridiculous amount of free money on it.” They expect us to be starving college students and not be tempted by the idea that I might be able to eat a real meal besides spaghetti noodles—no sauce—or Top Ramen, courtesy of the credit card…Yeah right. Who am I kidding? It was all earrings, shoes and clothes.

I also don’t ever pay my rent or bills on time. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I don’t budget. Whatever I have in my bank account is what I have to pay my bills. If I get a $120 cell phone bill, and I don’t have that much money in my bank account when it’s due, it won’t get paid till next week. I thought they gave you some sort of grace period when you pay your cell phone bill late. Sort of like when they warn you before they turn off your heat or electricity. Not such the case. After I didn’t pay my cell phone bill on time, they turned it off two days later, and I could only send and receive text messages. And somehow, I never have enough money in my bank account to pay my rent by the first. So I drag it out to the 5th, then I check my bank account and it will say $320 and I’ll have to pay it on the 10th. I think I am probably about 5 years away from being homeless. I’m lucky I get paid every week; otherwise I’d be screwed.

In addition to having horrible credit and not knowing how to budget or pay my bills, I don’t have any concept of saying no because of my lack of money. I will spend till my last dime. Case in point—last week my bank account got down to .02 cents. Yes, TWO CENTS. I laughed when I heard my balance cause I was amazed that I managed not to overdraft. (Yet another thing I’m good at since I also don’t balance my checkbook). I will go shopping and buy $100 worth of clothes when I have $115 in my bank account for the next five days. I rationalize it in my head with the fact that I can skimp for the next week, but at least I’ll look good. I CANNOT live without these clothes. I mean, seriously, I won’t have money to eat, but if I have to put these clothes back on the rack, my life will be over as I know it. (That’s pretty much what goes through my head.)

Now that I’ve provided you with my money background (or lack thereof), let me tell you the latest thing I’ve done to amaze myself—which never ceases. Of course I paid my rent late last week, and with me trying to save and budget between three paychecks, I still managed to only have $150 for this week (Thursday to Thursday). So of course, I spent and spent this weekend; Thursday: sandwich at QFC for dinner, beer at music show at Neumos’; Friday: dinner and drink at The Melting Pot, entry fee plus two drinks for me and one for Sarah at Howl at the Moon, drink at Peso’s; Saturday: breakfast at Café Minnie’s, sake for Dave’s sushi dinner etc. etc. etc. I’m not sure how I thought that all this would add up to an amount that would still leave me with gas and food money for the rest of the week. Because as you can tell by my dinner and breakfast expenditures this weekend, I don’t have any food in my house. Seriously, not one thing I can eat. I think I have pickles, spaghetti sauce and tortillas in the fridge, and Cream of Mushroom soup, a can of tuna and some oatmeal in my cupboards. It’s bad.

In conclusion, last night I had $27 dollars in my bank account. And of course I went to Peso’s because a good friend was visiting whom I haven’t seen in awhile. I ate dinner and had two glasses of wine. (Plus her wine because she had to drive home and didn’t want to finish it). That was $19. I calculated that I had $8 in my bank account. So like an effing idiot, I went to 7-Eleven cause I was buzzed and really wanted something sweet to eat while I was at home. (Definitely better than dinner and gas for the rest of the week.) Anyway, with my last eight bucks, I bought milk, Oreos and a pint of Snickers ice cream. Fucking genius Jeanna. I was thinking this morning “What the hell I was going to scrounge together to eat this week?” and I thought, “Well at least I have a pint of Snickers ice cream.” Fucking idiot.

Currently Feeling: Very well rested. I slept a lot this weekend.
Currently Anticipating: My bowling league tonight!
Currently Dreading: Dinner