Merry Mechanics

My latest faux pas? Tempting a former alcoholic with beer. Yes, I gave away the ending already, but I have a feeling you might still read on.

I don't know if it's just me, but taking my car into a mechanic's is always a heart-pounding and anxiety-ridden event. My legs tingle, my feet twitch, my stomach feels upset...all because of one ostensibly routine chore.

I think it's because, like many of you I assume, I am a complete idiot when it comes to my car. I know how most of the features work (you know, all the key stuff like controlling the windows and sunroof. Other things, like how the 6-CD changer works is still a work in progress.) But when it comes to actual workings of my car, I'm pretty clueless, so if one of the mechanic's tells me my car is on the verge of total destruction because the F-top lubricator core injector thing-a-ma-bob is dented, I'm left standing there mouth agape and dumbly nodding.

But perhaps the even greater cause for my distress is the absolute mystery behind how much things cost to fix. I like to do research when I can about how much some things generally cost, like oil changes or tire rotations, but it always seems that by the time I am inside, the prices teeter-totter.

And being the cheap person I am, this is terrifying because you never REALLY know how much you are going to end up spending.

Fortunately, I have found a great reliable body shop who have always been so helpful and fair, offering me discounts whenever they could and don't make me feel like the "girls with their cars" stereotype. I usually have a conversation with whoever's working that day, and discovered on two accounts that this body shop sometimes accepts beer as a token of appreciation.

Well, I've always been appreciative but never had the beer on hand, so when I made my appointment for the next week to have my car's alignment checked out, I made a point to pick up a 12-pack.

On the day of, I kept going back and forth in my mind whether I ought to do the beer-thing. I had gotten the impression that that would really make their day, but still I worried that I might get in trouble for trying to serve alcohol to people on the job (is that even a law?) or be seen as trying to bribe them (which, in a way, I totally was- bribing them to take care of me and my car without hammering me with a massive bill).

I arrived and noticed the guy behind the counter was one I hadn't yet ever encountered. Plus there were other customers there. I decided to just leave the beer in my car and if I got a good vibe, tell him I'd be right back and present the liquid treasure.

I sat waiting and waiting, until finally they pulled my car inside and I was suddenly hit with anxiety and the onslaught of questions in my head- What if they find something reeeally wrong? What if it costs more than what I have? What if they need it for overnight? What if it's too expensive to fix...

I annoyed and freaked myself out so much that I practically jumped when he came back in.

"They redistributed your tire pressure. One was at only 13 lbs while another was on the brink of popping", he said. All in all, everything else looked good.

I was so relieved that I was going to walk out of there with less money spent than I feared and still getting something fixed that needed it.

I was so relieved in fact that I suddenly blurted out (in no graceful manner), "D'you accept alcoholic beverages as a 'thank you' by any chance?" I waited for a coy smile to appear but instead the man kept his eyes down and said, "As an alcoholic, no."

Crap me...

I apologized profusely but he smiled then and said, "Had you asked me 6 years ago, I would've said yes!"

Oh well, you can't win 'em all.

U O Me

This is probably a given, for everyone I'm sure but especially for me, but I HATE being screwed out of money. I really do. Especially when it's more than a $5 and I am truly owed. But it also sucks to be screwed out of money that was basically found. Allow me to explain...

So over the weekend Joe and I had to go meet our landlord to hand in our rent checks. I was searching for our checkbooks in my dresser drawer when my hand pulled out a sealed envelope. I checked the sender and realized it was from my old doctor's office. I then noticed the tell-tale signs: the just barely visible watermarks, the "Pay to the Order of" stamped inside. This held a check! Woohoo, I thought for a second. But then I immediately did the math in my head and realized I hadn't dealt with this office in a few years, which meant the check was almost definitely expired.

Grumbling, but hanging onto some hope that for some reason it had an especially long and flexible expiration date, I opened the envelope and pulled out the document. It was indeed a check, citing it was a refund due to an overpayment, for $46! Sonofa...

I then quickly scanned the check and lo and behold.....expired 2008 (wa wa wa waaaaa). God damnit.

What the hell is that?? Getting some cash that I wasn't even counting on dangled in my face just to be yanked away. I was perturbed, to say the least.

Then later on, with my paltry dollars left, we walked to Trader Joe's to stock up on just some dinner essentials. Let me put a quick caveat here and just mention I have a slight obsession with Trader Joes, but that might have to wait for another post.

We pick up some basics including a box of clementines. Clementines, by the way, should just have little timers attached to them because those things are like little grenades waiting to go off and go bad. I swear it's like an episode of 24 just to finish the majority of them before they get moldy. I have only ever once seen the bottom of those damn wooden crates when the clementines were all eaten- it was a good day, a rare day...

Anyway after waiting in line for a good eternity the guy begins ringing me up. He mumbles something about overcharging people but I was too buys praying that I had enough money to hear. It wasn't until we got home and I had the chance to scan my receipt that I wondered if there was a mistake. It said that there were two grocery items I bought- something for $5.99 and something else for $6.99, but because Trader Joe's doesn't always label the receipt with what you specifically bought I'd have no way to prove the mistake. It just said, Grocery. Bollocks...

But the universe has a way of evening itself out. Maybe I'll find a dollar on the street or be the millionth customer in a store....Oh well, a cheap girl can always hope and dream...for a price.

Over/Under

**Interlude**

Before I finish this story, I have three pieces of business to attend to:

1.) I love everyone who takes time out of their day to actually read this thing, and a special place in my heart for my followers. That is why I am asking, nee, pleading to find my 10th follower. Call it ego, but I would love to say I have officially joined the ranks of bloggers who have followers in the double-digits.

2.) As of two weeks ago I officially hit my half-way mark for my television abstinence. So for those of you sick and tired of this thing, congrats, we are half-way there!

3.) Joe just made me laugh when he went to touch my leg and I had to warn him I hadn't shaved in a while, to which he replied (with a big funny smile on his face), "What's wrong with you?" Hahhahah, he said it, not in a mean way, but almost in a wonderstruck/smiley way. Made me laugh. Anyway...

We are met by David, the salesman, as soon as we walk back into the dealership from our test-drive.

"Well, what'd ya think?" he booms excitedly.

I'm trying to keep my composure but internally I'm doing back-flips. Joe and I had discussed in the car the possibility of maybe not having to put ANY money down; that perhaps using my car for the trade and being pre-approved might make them cut the price right down. We decided to go into this with that as our bottom-line, and, if push came to shove, merely offer my $200 gift card as some more money down.

David was, however, a ninja in the sales department. He didn't seem to want to give us too much time to think, and instead starting bringing out numbers. He also seemed to slightly use my inexperience to his advantage, handing me things to look at and then papers to sign. I probably would've blindly signed as well if Joe hadn't been there to put the brakes on and ask some questions.

We finally got down to the bottomline price, and I was concerned. Somehow my reasonably priced car had skyrocketed. Joe asked how that happened and David explained that there wasn't much they would give me for my car- only $500.

I casually mentioned that other dealerships were willing to give me nearly $1700.

To which he replied, "Let em. Ha ha ha" I wasn't laughing. For the first time I tried to be on the offensive with negotiations and was immediately shot down. But when David left again Joe explained the reason one dealership was willing to give us more was because they had a larger profit to gain. According to David there was nothing they could do with my car.

"We can shoot it for you," he said guffawing.

We finally saw where everything was breaking down and agreed to the terms. David left one more time, explaining that their financial officer would be around briefly to talk to us. A young-ish woman walked over, a lady I had seen walking around the dealership, and sat down. I was immediately struck by her appearence. She was wearing a fur-lined ski-jacket and her entire eyelid was covered in purple eye shadow which matched the rest of her overdone makeup.

"Hi! My name is Erica, and I heard you bought a car, congradulations!" She had one of those super bubbly and personable attitudes. The kind that made you think, she's gonna swipe this money out of my hand and make me thank her for it.

She explained how the car REALLY needed an undercoating, and that technically the car shouldn't be driven off the lot without it. It freaked me out, but not as much as the price. She tried to "soften" it by saying she'd give us a "discount". I was so flustered I simply agreed and signed.

It wasn't until the next day when I was detailing my experience with my coworkers that they all shook their heads in unison- no one EVER gets undercoating. My fremp Les described it as, "Unless you plan on parking your car in the middle of a lake, you don't need it." That settled that.

To make a super, stretched-out, and winding story short, I emailed David back and forth, knocked off the undercoating, and even stand to make an extra $20 on this deal, but we'll see.

In any event, I dropped the car by my mechanic to make sure it checked out alright (to which he happily reported, "You should buy this car!") and then after that the bank approved the higher loan (and confirmed that the undercoating would not be included in my cost-yay Angela) and finally today I dropped off the check from the bank to the dealership, content that though I'm paying a teeny bit more a month than I wanted, I'm getting much more car. Even though I don't have the plates and title/registration I can say with full confidence I am now the proud owner of a bouncing 2005 obsidian black Hyundai Tucson (better Gull?)

Thanks for taking this long road with me folks, hope it was edutaining. See ya Monday!

What's My Deal, Anyway?

I try too hard. I definitely do. I know this is a subject I have beaten to death (probably) but it really struck me just now as I was taking over over 6 minutes just to post something clever or meaningful on my wall on Facebook. I took at least 10 minutes to write something as a comment to someone's picture. And this is FACEBOOK we are talking about, not the ten commandments. Yet, I panic and freeze, just to type a simple LOL. I then spend the rest of the day worrying that in some realm of possibility my comment will come off bad and I'll end up looking like an asshole. I'm thinking I'm making George Constanza appear less obsessive and neurotic.

I have a feeling if someone for some reason was mentioning me to someone who had never met me their description would be the same, whether they liked me or not; only their inflections and delivery would be different.

EX 1: Person who likes me says in quiet desperation, "Oh she tries too HARD," while squinting the eyes and tilting their head slightly and sympathetically.

EX 2: Person who doesn't like me says more loudly and drawn out, "OH, she TRIIIES TOO hard," while rolling their eyes and rolling their head.

To the people who like me, I know what you mean. For the people who dislike me, I know what you mean, bite me (but still like me).

Anyway, speaking of trying too hard, I visited the place where trying too hard is an art form...the car dealership. Still on the hunt for my new car. Ready for a double whammy? I take Joe and convince him to sign on the loan with me, and lo and behold, we are approved! Call the guy I had been dealing with for the silver Hyundai Tuscon and....it was sold the previous night. God DAMN. In fact my mom had seen another one for sale (almost eerily the same..same year, about same mileage, and so same price. Kinda weird I'd stumble upon not one but 2 within my price range.

The salesman tells me to visit anyway to see what other cars they have but unfortunately I wasn't impressed with anything so today I decided to try my luck elsewhere.

I drove up solo to the Hyundai dealership in Towson, figuring if I were to find another Tuscon I'd have luck at an actual Hyundai dealership. I see one or two, but given the low mileage and young age, I'm doubtful. Still, the salesman asks if he can make it happen would I be interested? I say sure, if the numbers are right. I say off the bat that I have a loan ready and that I'd already done my research, even taken a Tuscon for a test drive before already. He seems to be uncomfortable with my not wanting to jump in for a test drive, so I quickly recover and say, "Um, I mean, sure, why not."

Now, I think the reason I hate the test drive is because I don't feel it's so much a test for the car, as much as a test for you, the driver. I feel like I'm back in driver's ed where every move and hesitation is recorded, and the guy next to me is just sitting in judgement. I glance at all the mirrors and windows at least a half dozen times in a 10 minute test drive. It doesn't help either when he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I'll admit I'm not the best driver, but am I really cringe worthy?

We pull back into the dealership and it begins: the mating dance between salesmen and a possible sale. I am ready for the onslaught, but try to remain cool and unwavering. He explains the pricing and how I am CLOSE but that I'd either A.) have to put more money down or B.) apply for a bigger loan. Well, I don't have more cash than what I can put down and there's no way I'm pushing my luck for a bigger loan, especially if I think I can get a better deal elsewhere.

In the end, he did try. He even offered me a helluva lot more for my Altima than I think it's worth, but still I couldn't attempt to pick up the slack by putting myself in dire financial straits. When I was about to walk out the door he handed my keys and asked if I would wait. I did, thinking, 'here it comes...the big payout..' Instead he merely shook my hand and said thanks for dropping in.

So the search continues. I know you are out there, little SUV with a 4 cyl engine, sun roof, roof rack, 4 wheel drive, 86k miles or less, made by either Honda, Hyundai, or Kia for $9k...but where?

"T-E-M-P", the New Four-Letter Dirty Word

The name of the game is temp, people. I think we are living in a society where the big businesses like banks and car dealerships think that "temp" is the worst of the four-letter words. I can not believe that as great as this job has been for helping me it has also been the worst kind of disability.

As you may or may not be aware, I've been recently on the hunt for a "new" used car ever since I got pulled over by that cop (who, though I know was just doing his job and protects us, blah blah, I hope still gets canker sores for making me deal with this car crap at the worst time).

I ended up having to go to the MVA to get some temporary (there's that word again) registration because my current car won't pass inspection, unless I want to drop a cool grand on fixing everything. The fact that it would only patch up my car to last another year (as in a TEMPORARY fix) or so combined with the fright my car gave me while trying to maneuver through all that snow all culminated in my decision to finally make an upgrade.

I think the last I mentioned all this I was looking at a 2000 RAV4 that I saw on Carmax. Well, that was soo 12 days ago. I was doing a bit more research and stumbled upon a what has the potential to be my dream car: SUV, four door, sunroof, roof rack, silver, great fuel economy, fold-back seats...all on a 2005 Hyundai Tuscon. The greatest thing is the price, a mere $8500 (for what should be valued as a $10,000 car). The catch? I know, and there is one- the mileage. At 84k miles, its not the greatest for a car only 5 years old, but still, it IS a Hyundai, which I'm told is a pretty reliable brand. Besides, I knew I'd have to sacrifice something.

So last week I contacted the dealership and set up an appointment to see the car. I was determined not to be talked into anything too fast, so I kept my poker face even as they took my car keys to inspect my car while I went for the test drive. We came back and I told them flat out what I could afford each month. The salesman went off to do some figuring and returned telling me he'd need some time to work on the deal, and so I left. After the holidays and much discussion with my fam I decided I was seriously falling in love with the car and would go back and try to get it.

When I returned the second time I brought Joe along and he explained that they still couldn't solidify my deal and that he'd contact me the next day. He did so, via text, and asking me questions about my temp job and finally admitting that without written proof that I would become a "full time" employee, they couldn't approve me. Ugh. I texted back that I'd try with my credit union, which I did today.

I sat across this friendly woman who after chatting for a while explained that the credit union would be unable to approve me given that my occupational status is technically "temporary". She suggested I bring along Joe to see if combined we can get approved tomorrow, so I'm trying to be optimistic. But that's probably just temporary as well....

I'll try to post again tomorrow, but if I can't/forget/don't feel like it, I'll see you all next year!

RAV4nia Dreamin'

Wow, did I feel alot better about life today. I placed my new Maryland plates in the back windshield of my car and was therefore able to drive myself to work. Then I get to work and find my boss is out so we could be a little lax. Finally it starts to snow and my fellow fremps and I decide we ought to leave before it gets too bad, so I get to leave work a tad early.

However, I wouldn't be me if I was too Sally Sunny. As I got in my car and began the drive home I noticed not a single plow had come by the roads, not a single speck of salt on the gravel. Maybe I'm thinking too much about what that mechanic said but now I'm kinda petrified that my car is going to spin out of control in such conditions, so I ride my brake practically all the way. I actually do pretty ok. I hit a few patches of slick snow that made my tires lurch but I recovered quickly. The only time I freaked a little was when I was making my way down the home stretch and I felt my car start to swerve uncontrollably. I had gotten a little too relaxed I guess and suddenly I was fighting with my car to keep it from careening into the cars next to me.

I finally make it home without another incident but it has officially started me thinking about trading in the old girl for something newer. Bigger. SUV-er. I know there's probably no chance I'd be able to find one 1.) around my area 2.) with low mileage 3.) of a later year 4.) and most importantly, well within my price range. My dream car right now would be a RAV4 or a CRV, but the only problem is, they seem to be alot of people's dream car, hence their rarity in the Used Car section. Even most car reviewers seem to agree at their all-around perfectitude. Plus it doesn't help that all I can really offer is my clunker and about $500 (oh yeah, and a crappy credit score). Ah well, at the very least it gives me something new to research at work.

Anyway, think I'll leave you with that for tonight- those last two posts were a bit on the lengthy-side, so I'll keep this one short. Stay tuned for next week's posts- My Very Own Christmas Stories, in which each night I shall regale a story about a Christmas in which there was one particular gift I HAD to have...and then what happened when I finally got it and the Christmas magic wore off. Have a good and safe one, and do me a favor NOT be in the stores on Sunday, as I am going to kill myself when I finally begin my Christmas shopping, uuugh.

3-Day

Monday again, already. Can't believe that we are looking Christmas smack dab in the face, and I haven't set foot in one store yet or clicked one mouse for a shipment of something. I know it shouldn't be surprising, seeing as how I live my life not IN the moment, but in the LAST moment. I probably would've started it this weekend, if only...

Let me say that I had a feeling Friday was going to be a bad day right from the beginning. See, with my job, we are able to get holiday pay (as in payment for federal holidays that close our business), so long as we meet a certain amount of hours leading up to it. Back on Labor Day, when I was all set to receive the rest of my money I looked in my bank account and saw it had not been directly deposited. When I called and asked about it, all I was given was a "Sorry, but you didn't reach enough hours." I was pissed and so I vowed I wouldn't get screwed like that again. And with a reassurance that I would be eligible for Thanksgiving I went on working.

So when Thanksgiving came and went I once again looked in my bank account to verify the second payment was deposited, and again, it was nowhere to be found. Again I called my "boss" and asked about it, holding out some hope that it was a misunderstanding and that it would be there soon.

"Oh yeah, you should be getting it, hang on." A few moments passed before he came back.

"Umm, hey can you hold on one more second? I just need to check something," he said, and slowly, my precious hope began to build. A moment longer and then he came back on the line.

"Ooooh, I'm sorry. Yeah you were still a few hours shy....sorry," I was livid, but I merely sighed with disappointment and hung up the phone.

Back at my desk I was working and sulking (mostly sulking) when I realized I had made an error...two, actually,..on the project I was doing. I suddenly began to panic, fearing the wrath of a certain coworker, who had strictly directed us NOT to do this specific thing. And I had gone and done it twice.

I looked up at the ceiling, as if waiting for either a meteor to come crashing through my skull or some sort of answer from God as to why I was being punished for such a lousy day. As I kept putting off telling my coworker what I had done I began truly wondering what the third bad thing would be; I'm a big believer in the power of 3.

My coworker eventually found me and I just sort of blurted out what I had done, apologizing profusely. Thankfully, he was nonplussed, and reassured me it was not really a big deal, and that it was easily fixable. As he walked away I breathed such a sigh of relief.

Also, I am happy to say, that the third evil thing never came. Though who knows...it may just be waiting till next Friday...

Mortgage Movies

Look at me, getting in a post early. Actually, the reason is I have a splitting headache, so you guys will get a short and sweet one tonight- a topic that was meant for Monday, but as I mentioned, I was detained.

A quick stroll down the aisles of a video store (or perhaps I should say, quick scroll through the Netflix listings) is bound to make you realize just how many bad movies exist. For every good movie there are at least 15 truly painfully embarrassing ones. Most of the time you can forgive the actors involved- after all, did anyone really expect the 4th sequel to American Pie to be Shakespearean?

What's not forgivable are the great actors that sign on for such movies. Nothing breaks my heart more than when I am watching a preview for a movie I know is going to be lousy, and see some of my favorite legitimate actors trying to hold it up. I have to figure these people know they are in the middle of a crap-fest, but hey, someone's gotta pay for the private jet and house in Bora Bora. Therefore, I have lovingly dubbed these films, "Mortgage Movies"- movies actors do simply because a bill is coming up and they could use the petty (and I do mean petty) cash. Here's my short list of what happens when bad movies happen to good actors...

1.) Angelina Jolie- "Alexander". I used to be on the fence when it came to my opinion of Angelina Jolie as an actor. I finally tipped in favor of her when I saw her in the epically chilling "The Changeling" as a frightened yet strong mother in search of her son. However, I can not yet forget that she actually signed on for the big budget-gusting "Alexander," which was all lustre and little substance.

2.) Robert De Niro- "Analyze That". In general, sequels of movies always have a harder time of being great. And while he was able to deliver magic in "The Godfather Part II" the same can not be said for the second "Analyze This". I recall seeing it on television a while ago and thought I'd see what it was about. I tried to stick it out, but I still couldn't figure it out. Laughs never came' just disappointment and the eventual click of the remote.

3.) Laura Linney (and Robin Williams)- "Man of the Year". This movie had all the makings of a good comedy- topical humor mixed with Williams seemingly back to some classic comedy maneuvers. Plus, adding Laura Linney, one of the finest contemporary actresses today, would certainly guarantee its' success, right? Uhhh...not so much.

4.) Brendan Fraser- "Journey to the Center of the Earth". Ok, granted, when you think great acting, Brendan Fraser might not be the first person you think of. But I felt the need to include him simply because the man has literally made a living saying yes to ANYTHING that comes across his desk. I figure he keeps shooting at targets just in the hopes that one day he'll get a bulls eye, but he couldn't have been further from the mark with this one. He basically took one of my favorite novels by Jules Verne and WB/Disneyfied it, covering it in such sappy dialogue and overused effects that it was painful to watch.

5.) Morgan Freeman- "The Big Bounce". The Big what? Exactly. I'll admit, I never saw this one (or "Alexander" for that matter, but I still stand by my assessment and welcome any challenges), but when I went to scroll through some of Morgan Freeman's roles this one popped out and stands out as the paragon of Mortgage Movies. Flimsy dippy idea about a get-rich quick scheme, or at least that's as far as I can deduce from IMDB. For such an iconic actor as Freeman is, I can only imagine he agreed to this one for the free trip to Hawaii.

I always thought actors would say yes to anything and everything only when they weren't famous and needed the exposure (and money). But at a certain point, when they hit that certain level of success, they could begin to be more choosy; opting for the artistic or avant garde roles rather than the quirky sidekick or brooding henchman. I guess what really changes is not the need for exposure and money, it's the want. And maybe it's not even for the exposure...it's just for the mortgage.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Teeth

Ok, I PROMISE this one's gonna be short. My back aches and I don't know how long my computer will last. So let's get right to it.

Even with having a shortened day, it still seemed to take forever. Why is that? Why does it so often feel like the half days are twice as long. Oh well, eventually 2:30 rolled around so I gathered my stuff and headed out. I was going to try and stay longer but I wisely chose to err on the side of caution (and logic) in case I got lost on my way and left a little earlier.

In case anyone forgot, a few weeks ago I met with a dentist who advised I consult an oral surgeon as to whether or not my wisdom teeth would need to come out. I had immediately brightened at the prospect of not having to go through that oral torture, thinking no one ever got a reprieve from that. She handed me the X-rays to show the doctor and then I'd come back the following week to fill a cavity and I'd let her know what they said. I called and made the appointment, and prayed the doctor would tell me what I wanted to hear.

When I came into the office the woman behind the desk handed me paperwork to fill out and when I had finished I handed it back to her. I didn't feel like flipping through a magazine, so instead I took in the sights of the office. It differed quite drastically from the homey feel I got from the dentist's office, with their plush chairs and warm light. Instead, this place reminded me of a hotel lobby. Elegant but cold and impersonal. I shifted slightly in my chair, trying to readjust my ancient pink shirt with the hole at the bottom and peasant-like slipper shoes, just to fit in more. Even as I walked back and forth to the front desk I felt bad as my too-long jeans scraped the bottom of the floor with every step.

Again, I was the only person waiting so it didn't take long before my name was called. I followed a scrub-clad girl to a small office where she took my blood pressure and then the X-rays I had brought with me. As she stuck them into the square of light to get a better look, she let out a semi-startled exclamation.

"Oh!", she said. I knew what she was surprised by, but I still waited a second.

"You're noticing my extra wisdom tooth?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Yeah, you do have one...huh", she said.

"Yeah, and the kicker is that my sister is missing one," I said. She turned around to face me, and asked if we were twins.

"No," I said, "but close. 13 months apart." She remarked again at the oddness of that, and then went to find the doctor. Soon he came in and confidently stuck his hand out to shake mine. The warmth of his palm had barely left mine before he quickly replied, "Yup, you need them all out."

Crestfallen, I tried to point out what Dr. Baig, my dentist, had which was how close my wisdom teeth were to the nerves in my mouth.

"Oh, they're always like that. That's not a problem." He then began explaining to me what to expect from the procedure and healing time. I tried to listen intently though I was still coming off the shock at how quickly hope had been ripped out of my hands. When I had asked my questions I went back out to the front office to pay for my visit. A visit that literally lasted less than 20 mins.

"$55, please," the woman said. She then did some calculations and showed me what to expect, financially. I got another whole dose of shock and apprehension. Not only would I have to get all 5 (5?! I'm a freak) taken out, but I'd have to shell out over $1,000 to do it!

It doesn't seem right; I'm basically paying someone a grand to fix something that isn't even bothering me. Oh well, I guess it's preventative. I just hope the pain would be worth this prevention.

Anyway, my insurance for surgeries doesn't kick in till November anyway, so I have some time to figure it all out. Ok, chickees that's it for me. See you back here 2morrow.

Thoughtful Thursday

I didn't have a particular subject in mind today, however, as I was going about my day there were certain things I noticed and would like to comment on.

1. There is nothing scarier than making a left hand turn into a busy intersection and you have to sneeze. I was making one such turn this morning, onto York Road, which anyone can tell you, is plenty busy during rush hour. I was making the left, and suddenly felt the comings-on of a sneeze. Helpless, I hoped it would pass but of course it didn't. Luckily, I've been doing this same drive for a few weeks now so I can make the turn...even with my eyes closed. Still, though it's just for a brief second, I (and others who fear for their lives on the road) have a mini panic-attack thinking that in that time someone will come whizzing by and smash into me. I know it's pretty far-fetched but wouldn't you hate to be the one who died because you took your eyes off the road for a split second just to sneeze? I think that would be horribly sad and tragic. And is there any truth to that myth that you can't sneeze with your eyes open? I think I once heard someone say your eyes could explode, but that's all here say. And given the two options I guess I'd rather take my chances with a quick sneeze than forever blindness.

2. I think we might have reached a new milestone for laziness and stupidity in this country. Again, while on my commute today I was listening to a radio ad from Subway, and they were talking about their new breakfast menu. As I recall, the ad went something like, "We know you hate talking in the morning. So just point to what you'd like and we'll make it for you!" Wow. Now, I want to really believe this was for that grumpy demographic that hate getting up in the morning, but who also apparently hate even MORE having to physically move their lips and vocal chords in order to get food made for them. But I have to assume that it might also be for those who are illiterate and who, rather than read off a menu are now able to simply grunt and point to what they'd like to eat. I don't mean to be critical to those that simply were never able to learn to read, but instead for those that didn't bother to. I have little sympathy for those who choose not to help themselves, and speaking as a former English teacher, feel that kids today need all the encouragement to read and write they can get, and we should be helping that, and not catering to the problem as an advertising gimmick.

3. Nothing has shown me the effect of inflation more than the price of Wrigley's gum. Remember when a pack of Big Red was 25 cents? It was such a wonderful thing that they even printed it on the wrapper. But today, as I was purchasing a snack from the vending machines I bent down to pick up my selection and noticed the gum at the bottom row. I noticed the price for Double Mint gum was 65 cents! I know I am a cheap asshole, and granted the prices in vending machines are crock (a whole dollar for Ramen Cup-a-Noodles?!), but that really showed me how much prices have changed since I was a kid. Hell, I remember our local pharmacy selling candy bars for 50 cents, and now it's considered a sale item if it's 85 cents. Oh well, guess I'm already starting to sound like an old lady, who'll shake her finger and say, "I remember when Ramen noodles were only 10 cents a pack!"

Jeez, am I being too "deep thought-esque" and lecturing? I'll try to tone it down next week. I might have a good light story for tomorrow too, (unless I'm too hung over...)

Poor Little Poor Girl

I hate the end of the month. I hate to be one of those people who always complain about having no money. I hate even more being one of those people who constantly writes about it. I know we all have our own financial woes to deal with, so I'm sure no one feels like hearing my yammer on and on about mine.

But wait a minute...I'm 26 years old now. I have a (pretty much) stable job, paid for car (however shoddy), and with (thankfully) no real health problems or mind-blowing debt (at least, that I know of). Basically, I'm exactly where I was years ago as a college student, dreaming about the day when I would be out in the real world, and able to afford whatever I could (within reason). I wouldn't have to worry about things like food anymore, only going to the places my meal plan covered. I wouldn't have to wait until Wednesday to do my drinking because we could get a free unlimited cup at the Crease. I'd be living it up, sipping cocktails at a sophisticated LOUNGE discussing things like world politics and the stock exchange with my equally sophisticated peers.

Yeah, that was the idea anyway. Oh how naive.

Now I'm just glad that I can make rent, put gas in my car, and stock a pantry with groceries. I don't know why I ever thought that just because you enter a certain age means you have to be a different person (hence that whole "sophisticated" business). I realize now, it's about finding a balance, with the kid you are at heart and the "grown-up" you will inevitably become.

Case in point, about a month ago my friend Erica and I decided to go to the city for dinner. We chose a place with a nice second floor view and valet parking. We each got a drink, and as we ate and talked, we both suddenly had a flash of adulthood. It wasn't bad actually, like I would've thought. It actually was kinda nice to be able to afford a nice meal, sitting amongst the yuppies of Baltimore. Almost like taking that lifestyle for a test-run.

But on the flip side, several weeks later we walked around Artscape with our friend Lauren. We meandered in and out of tents, looking at the home made jewelry and clothing. Whenever one of us picked up something we liked we'd cautiously peer at the price tag. And then we'd slink back out empty-handed. It seems we are close enough to taste that adult-world of luxury but not yet able to really feast on it. Which also brings up another point...who CAN afford these high end art pieces?

I recall once, when I was technically interning for a creative magazine, we had a meeting at a woman's apartment downtown. I buzzed the door of this beautifully maintained building, staring at a brass name plate. When I walked in and took a seat at this massive ornate wood table, my eyes seemed to dart all about the room. She had sculptures on mantels, elegant furniture, and paintings that ate up the walls. It was beautiful, and I wondered, what did she do to be able to get all this? My memory fails me now, but what I do remember is that she was at least in her 40s or 50s.

So maybe I have time before I can become one of those people who doesn't need to clip coupons or shop in the bargain bins. But then again, I hope I always retain some of that. It's more than just my stubbornness to grow up; it's part of who I am. Besides, an unlimited glass of Sex on the Beaches beats a stuffy old martini any day.

Hinder-us-in-a-Webb...of Deceit!

Today, believe it or not, is a momentous occasion. At long last I have paid the last of my debt to the evil corporation known as Hendersen-Webb. For those of you fortunate enough to NOT know/deal with this company, Hendersen-Webb is a property management company that owns several smaller apartment complexes. My affiliation with Hell-in-a-Webb began like any horror story...innocent and lovely and yet by the end it had become a monstrous beast scarfing down money and spewing out court orders. But then I should begin at the beginning...

At the time, I was readying myself to return to Baltimore after nearly a year of living back home in New Jersey. I had gotten a call around mid-summer while relaxing on the beach with my sister, Hill. I didn't right off recognize the number so I let whoever it was leave a message. It was from a school out in Dundalk, explaining they had found my resume online and were interested in meeting me. At long last, after months and months of failed attempts of finding a job, one had found me. I was thrilled, although it meant returning to Maryland, a place of some major heartbreak.

At any rate, when I told Ashley about my impending move she exclaimed how we ought to move in together again, just like the old days. Seeing as how there was little chance I'd be able to find anything I could afford on my own anyway, we set up a date to meet down in Maryland to check some places out.

Since she was already down there, Ashley was able to do some research on her own. One place she suggested was back in Timonium, our old stomping ground from when we were finishing our degrees in Towson University. We arrived at the rental office and a woman let us into the available apartment. It was simple, just a two bedroom with a single bathroom, living room, dining room, and kitchen. But there were plenty of views of the trees around us, and the price was pretty ideal. We discussed it and decided it would work out fine for us.

We continued living with this mindset for almost the whole year. Ash and I were getting along great, Joe was back in my life, and he and I even discussed moving in together for a second go-round. Nothing could prevent everything from working out...until we got....the LETTER....

I had gotten the mail one day when we were nearing the end of our lease, and tucked in amongst the bills was a letter from Hendersen-Webb saying we had to give them notice if we were planning on leaving. Since we still had some time, and honestly I think my mind was just elsewhere, I kinda forgot all about it. I mentioned to Ashley that we had to let them know if we were moving out, but again, I doubt I was really candid about the details.

It became a thought that just tended to nag me in the back of my brain, but, as is typical of the procrastinator's brain, I figured I'd get to it "eventually", that wonderfully always available time that never seems to come until finally, one day, "eventually" came. We realized we had to let them know immediately otherwise they'd automatically renew our lease for ANOTHER YEAR!

Frantically Ash and I sent them the note telling them our intentions, either on the day or maybe ONE day late. But by then the damage had been done. We had figured we were in the clear, until another letter came, claiming that, although they DID receive our letter of intention it was too late and so we would be responsible for another...whole...year of rent.

We were speechless. Just a couple of out-of-college semi-adults who had already signed onto new leases with different complexes could in NO way afford to pay rent to another freakin company for a whole damn year. We pleaded with them that it was only a DAY late, and since they got the note then it shouldn't have mattered anyway. They wouldn't listen. We explained to them that we were both on small incomes, just able to pay our current rents, and asked them to help us. They didn't care.

After some frequent calls Ash found out that if we could find someone to take over the lease, we would be off the hook. I began posting ads on craigslist every couple of weeks, and with every new post we'd get a fresh batch of interested renters, all of which either visited the place and never returned or simply stopped returning my calls. We were at a dead-end, and I felt it was mostly my fault.

Begrudgingly we paid them the additional rent when we could. But before long it began catching up to us. Whenever I had to go back to the scene of the crime, I'd be met with a court order or official letter threatening legal action for lack of payment. I'd just shrug in that way that means its hopeless. There was no way we could've done anything more. They weren't willing to help, so they wouldn't get money from us. We couldn't help it, we were out of options. Meanwhile when we had left they were free to rent our apartment themselves, PLUS get the money we owed. You see the horns coming out yet?

Then another day I got a call from a legal firm saying that they were representing Hendersen-Webb. It was a nice-sounding woman so I sucked it up and called back. She seemed grateful that she didn't have to do alot of phone-tag, saying, "It's so much easier when people are willing to work with you."

And so, I have been paying this company...this vile wretched company...money that they don't even NEED. The apartment's been rented. They didn't lose anything. Meanwhile Ash and I have had this monster sucking away at our bank accounts for over a year now.

But today, as I handed over 5 big ones, I cursed their name again. I hope the person who has been the final say from Hendersen Webb all this time gets this money and is cursed. Not with anything deadly, but with something worse...annoying little things, like flat tires, hang nails, and leaky faucets. Something that would just gnaw away at their senses the same way they've gnawed at us all this time. We shall have our vengeance yet, oh Hitler'son's-Webb! Your day shall come.