So Friggin' Bob never got back to me. This past Tuesday Boyfriend and I were all lined up to go see two more places. One of them Boyfriend immediately didn't like the sound of because the landlord lived upstairs. Big Brother's watching, and all.
We went to look at that place first. As we're driving up, we note how lovely the neighborhood is, how quiet the street is, how cozy it all seems. So far so good! The outside of the place looks nice. I call the landlord (Clark) and he comes out to meet us. He leads us inside through a porch covered in trash and a baby stroller (who's baby needs this stroller? Clark did not look like he had an infant.) and Clark tells us this whole, glorious, trash-filled porch would be ours. Gee, thanks Clark.
We go inside and the place is a mess. Clark had warned us he was stripping wallpaper, but that was putting it lightly. The wallpaper that was still hanging was ATROCIOUS. One of the walls in the kitchen looked pregnant, for reasons unknown (omg maybe it was a wall baby, and that's who the stroller was for. MYSTERY SOLVED.) and Clark made it sound like he planned on putting up MORE wallpaper when he was done. No thanks, Clark.
Boyfriend also pointed out the ceiling that looked very leaky and sad. There was also no washer or dryer (there were supposedly hookups in the basement), no dishwasher, and no refrigerator. I went in planning to need to buy a washer and dryer if we moved there, but no fridge? "The previous tenants have always had their own," says Clark. Really? Come on.
Clark could tell we weren't impressed.
So anyway, we left Clark and stopped to have a beer before meeting Barry. In hindsight, we probably shouldn't have pounded beers and then looked at an apartment.
This apartment had everything we could have hoped for. The inside was clean and HUGE and had a refrigerator. No washer dryer, but hookups right in the unit. It was on the second floor, though, and I knew my beloved couches would never make it up there and fit through the doors. Also, there was no parking. Only street parking.
"Where do we park during a snow emergency, Barry?"
"I don't know, people find somewhere."
Seriously? I feel like that would be a common question and he should have an answer. Then Boyfriend blindsides me and tells Barry we're going to apply RIGHT NOW. "Get out your checkbook, honey!" Oh yeah, because Barry required $100 to even APPLY.
"Is it okay if we paint?" I ask, as Boyfriend fills out his portion of the application.
"NO. Oh, NO. No painting."
"Oh, okay...we don't need to or anything, just asking." Barry was really vehement about not painting. He didn't want anyone ruining the wood work. Like I'm some kind of heathen who would ruin woodwork. JEEZE BARRY.
"Look babe, we have a dining room! We could have dinner parties!" I said to Boyfriend, envisioning myself dressed as a character from Mad Men, serving delectable food to our guests.
"Yes, I don't mind you having people over...but parties?" Barry pipes in. RELAX BARRY. I said dinner party, not keg party. Also, Barry don't live there. I'll do what I want, Barry.
Barry also wanted us to move in IMMEDIATELY. Essentially so he could start charging us rent immediately. Barry was not sitting well with me. But Boyfriend usually hates everyone, and he seemed okay with Barry, so I figured that must mean something (it meant he'd just pounded a beer).
We got home and immediately felt Renter's Remorse (like buyer's remorse, only involving apartments). It just didn't feel right. So we sat down to watch Wheel of Fortune and mull it over.
"I don't want to live there! Get your check back!" Boyfriend suddenly exclaimed.
"ME EITHER!" I agreed. I decided to call Barry the next day.
So I called Barry around noon today when I finally had a chance to do it.
"We won't be moving forward with the apartment." *silence* I decide to be more emphatic: "We decided we don't want the apartment."
"Why?" Barry asks, indignantly.
"Uh, we've decided to hold off a bit...keep looking some more..."
"SIGH. You could have called 20 minutes ago. I already started running the credit checks!"
"Sorry?" Like I know Barry's life. I didn't know he was doing that right then.
"Well what do you want me to do with your check?"
"Just mail it back. My address is on the application." Because I never want to see you again, scary man!
I also cancelled the check, on the advice of The Council, just in case. Apparently the bad vibes we had about the apartment came from Barry. Thank God he will never be our landlord. The search continues and I'm already exhausted.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Tales from an Apartment Hunt - Part 1: Bob
So as I mentioned in a previous post, Boyfriend and I have begun hunting for an apartment. The process is GRUELING. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I kind of thought we'd have lots of choices, and the tough part would be finding one that was good enough for us.
Turns out the real problem is finding ANYTHING, let alone something good enough.
We have a specific town in mind (Beverly, MA) and we know we want a two bedroom and we'd like it to have parking, a washer and dryer on premises, hardwood floors, and a dishwasher. Maybe we're too needy, I don't know. I do know that if I was renting an apartment, I would make sure it had all those things.
We found one place and we went to check it out last week. It had plenty of space, and all the amenities we were looking for. It needed a little cosmetic help, but nothing some Benjamin Moore and elbow grease couldn't fix! It was the first place we saw so we took the application and went to think about it over dinner.
It had a huge kitchen and a huge bedroom. I had them both mentally decorated before we even left the premises. My Martha Stewart kitchen suite was going to look awesome. I had also already planned out the dressing nook I was going to create in the bedroom. Boyfriend was promised a man cave. I had an office space. The bathroom was itty bitty, but really, you don't need THAT much space in a bathroom.
We decided to apply and called Bob, the landlord, to tell him we'd be dropping the application off that night. "Sounds good, dear!" he told me. WE'RE IN, I thought, HE CALLED ME "DEAR". Never mind that he'd told us about a bajillion people had looked at the place in the two days since it had been listed on Craigslist, and about a bajillion more were still looking at it after us. According to Bob, anyway. I never believe people when they go all used-car salesman on me - "This deal is only good for today!!" Liar.
So I filled out the application and we dropped it in the mailbox. Boyfriend told me there was already another application in there. I told him to steal it and rip it up, but he wouldn't. PARTY POOPER. This was last Thursday. I didn't hear from Bob all weekend. Monday I asked The Council (aka, the girls at work) if they thought I should follow up. They answered with a resounding yes. (Our job, essentially, is to follow up with people. We are a bunch that loves following up.)
I also found two more apartments to look at and made appointments, just to be safe. Even though I really wanted Bob's place.
Tuesday I called Bob in the early afternoon. No answer. I called again on my way home from work. No answer. I didn't leave messages, since I wanted to talk to Bob myself and find out what the deal was. We went to look at another apartment. I called Bob again, like a crazy stalker. This time I left a message and asked him to get back to me. I still haven't heard back. I'm sure the apartment is gone already. DEVASTATION. Friggin' Bob. Especially since the next two apartments we looked at were total busts (see Part 2, coming soon!).
Turns out the real problem is finding ANYTHING, let alone something good enough.
We have a specific town in mind (Beverly, MA) and we know we want a two bedroom and we'd like it to have parking, a washer and dryer on premises, hardwood floors, and a dishwasher. Maybe we're too needy, I don't know. I do know that if I was renting an apartment, I would make sure it had all those things.
We found one place and we went to check it out last week. It had plenty of space, and all the amenities we were looking for. It needed a little cosmetic help, but nothing some Benjamin Moore and elbow grease couldn't fix! It was the first place we saw so we took the application and went to think about it over dinner.
It had a huge kitchen and a huge bedroom. I had them both mentally decorated before we even left the premises. My Martha Stewart kitchen suite was going to look awesome. I had also already planned out the dressing nook I was going to create in the bedroom. Boyfriend was promised a man cave. I had an office space. The bathroom was itty bitty, but really, you don't need THAT much space in a bathroom.
We decided to apply and called Bob, the landlord, to tell him we'd be dropping the application off that night. "Sounds good, dear!" he told me. WE'RE IN, I thought, HE CALLED ME "DEAR". Never mind that he'd told us about a bajillion people had looked at the place in the two days since it had been listed on Craigslist, and about a bajillion more were still looking at it after us. According to Bob, anyway. I never believe people when they go all used-car salesman on me - "This deal is only good for today!!" Liar.
So I filled out the application and we dropped it in the mailbox. Boyfriend told me there was already another application in there. I told him to steal it and rip it up, but he wouldn't. PARTY POOPER. This was last Thursday. I didn't hear from Bob all weekend. Monday I asked The Council (aka, the girls at work) if they thought I should follow up. They answered with a resounding yes. (Our job, essentially, is to follow up with people. We are a bunch that loves following up.)
I also found two more apartments to look at and made appointments, just to be safe. Even though I really wanted Bob's place.
Tuesday I called Bob in the early afternoon. No answer. I called again on my way home from work. No answer. I didn't leave messages, since I wanted to talk to Bob myself and find out what the deal was. We went to look at another apartment. I called Bob again, like a crazy stalker. This time I left a message and asked him to get back to me. I still haven't heard back. I'm sure the apartment is gone already. DEVASTATION. Friggin' Bob. Especially since the next two apartments we looked at were total busts (see Part 2, coming soon!).
Sunday, October 30, 2011
sunday stories: doing nothing
This weekend was perfect. I didn't do anything.
Inevitably, every Monday at lunch brings the same routine question: "What did everyone do this weekend?" I always feel kind of lame saying nothing, but sometimes that's exactly what I did. To be honest, doing nothing is one of my favorite ways to spend a weekend.
All week long, we're hurried, harried, rushed, busy. Wake up for work, "What am I going to wear?", work all day, run errands, cook dinner, squeeze in a workout, do chores, go to bed, repeat. It's exhausting. Some weeks I don't even have a moment to think, let alone relax. After those kinds of weeks, a weekend filled with nothing is exactly what I need.
Nothing doesn't mean I sat and stared at the walls all day, drooling on myself. Nothing means I slept late and treated myself to something delicious for breakfast. It means I didn't put on real pants for two days. I finished one book and started another. Caught up on my favorite TV shows. I spent all of Sunday afternoon making a delicious dinner to share with my mom. I organized my desk, because when my desk is organized I truly believe I am 45% more productive. Instead of going out on Saturday night, I stayed in. Had a bubble bath, put on a face mask and painted my toes. I spent the weekend with myself, and I am, and always will be my favorite person to hang out with.
So it may feel a bit lame saying I did nothing over the weekend, but I don't really care. People may judge those of us who do nothing with pride, but I think they're just jealous. Jealous that they had plans and obligations and things to do that they really didn't even want to do on their day off. They're just upset that they didn't have two whole days of blissfully doing nothing. Pity them. They don't realize they are giving up one of life's greatest luxuries, and it's a free luxury at that: time. Time to relax and do whatever inspires us. Stay or go as the mood strikes us. I, for one, take advantage of that luxury every chance I can. And I don't feel guilty or lame about it one bit.
Inevitably, every Monday at lunch brings the same routine question: "What did everyone do this weekend?" I always feel kind of lame saying nothing, but sometimes that's exactly what I did. To be honest, doing nothing is one of my favorite ways to spend a weekend.
All week long, we're hurried, harried, rushed, busy. Wake up for work, "What am I going to wear?", work all day, run errands, cook dinner, squeeze in a workout, do chores, go to bed, repeat. It's exhausting. Some weeks I don't even have a moment to think, let alone relax. After those kinds of weeks, a weekend filled with nothing is exactly what I need.
Nothing doesn't mean I sat and stared at the walls all day, drooling on myself. Nothing means I slept late and treated myself to something delicious for breakfast. It means I didn't put on real pants for two days. I finished one book and started another. Caught up on my favorite TV shows. I spent all of Sunday afternoon making a delicious dinner to share with my mom. I organized my desk, because when my desk is organized I truly believe I am 45% more productive. Instead of going out on Saturday night, I stayed in. Had a bubble bath, put on a face mask and painted my toes. I spent the weekend with myself, and I am, and always will be my favorite person to hang out with.
So it may feel a bit lame saying I did nothing over the weekend, but I don't really care. People may judge those of us who do nothing with pride, but I think they're just jealous. Jealous that they had plans and obligations and things to do that they really didn't even want to do on their day off. They're just upset that they didn't have two whole days of blissfully doing nothing. Pity them. They don't realize they are giving up one of life's greatest luxuries, and it's a free luxury at that: time. Time to relax and do whatever inspires us. Stay or go as the mood strikes us. I, for one, take advantage of that luxury every chance I can. And I don't feel guilty or lame about it one bit.
Monday, October 24, 2011
the prince charming of snacks
Kettle corn is one of my all-time favorite snacks. I eat Orville Reddenbacher's delightful snack size bags of it on a daily basis, but I'd never had the legit stuff. When I went to the fair with my best friend a couple weeks ago, I was determined to change this. Since I loved the grocery store variety, I had high hopes for the real thing and went into the fair determined to get my hands on some.
The kettle corn stands all had someone standing out front, with a bag of kettle corn and a scoop, handing out samples. I stepped right up to the first stand, stuck my hand out, and the girl dumped a scoop of warm kernels into my hand. I plucked up a kernel and popped it in my mouth. The heavens opened up, angels began to sing, a synchronized dance broke out behind me. This kettle corn was the best freaking thing I'd ever eaten. I immediately shoved the rest of the handful into my mouth like a crazed lunatic. It was so good. I wanted to climb behind the counter and start shoveling that stuff into my face as fast as I possibly could and not stop until I keeled over and died.
But I displayed some restraint, and we agreed to get bags of kettle corn to take home with us, rather than gorging ourselves on popcorn. Fine. We got sandwiches, stood in front of the Fried Everything stand and contemplated whether or not our stomachs could handle a fried Oreo (no) and how one would even go about frying Kool-Aid (still a mystery). Then finally it was time to go, we got our candy apples (another staple) and went to the kettle corn stand, where we paid and were presented with our glorious bags of warm popcorn. How we resisted eating all of it on the car ride home is beyond me.
I got home, and immediately sat down with my bag of kettle corn. It was a long, sleeve-like bag and I was cradling it like a baby. My beloved kettle corn baby. I ate a fourth of it before I even knew what was happening. I was like a wild animal, I could not get the stuff into my mouth fast enough*. It was so. Freaking. GOOD. Salty, and sweet, and crunchy and everything one could want in a snack.
Suddenly, a panicked text came in from the best friend: "Dad ate HALF my bag already!" I shuddered. I wasn't sharing mine with anybody, hell no. "I can't stop eating it! It's so good!" I replied. Then realized how crazy I was being and put the twist tie back on the bag and went about my business. I watched TV, sans kettle corn. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, got into bed.
But I needed a fix! I didn't give a damn that my teeth were brushed and I was already in bed. I grabbed my kettle corn baby, now much smaller than it was when I got it, and pulled it into bed with me. I sat there, in bed, ten o'clock at night, and I ate the rest of that popcorn. As I was eating it, realizing how completely insane I was being, another text came in: "I think they put crack in this kettle corn. I can't stop eating it! I only have one handful left!" I looked down at the empty bag in my hand. "I'm in bed eating it!" I replied, "I just finished the whole damn thing! I'm already having withdrawals!"
My love affair with real kettle corn was short and fast, but it was worth every morsel. Now the best and I are planning on perfecting an at-home version of our favorite salty sweet treat, but I think we're both a bit hesitant to start on that quest. We recognize that we have a problem, should we really start producing something we're so addicted to? I mean, commandment number four: Never get high on your own supply. But man, I just don't think I can live without that stuff any longer. Sorry Orville, we're breaking up. I have found my Prince Charming of snacks.
*Yeah, yeah, "That's what she said."
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
i will kick you, GPS
So. I got lost on my way home from work yesterday. This seems a
little crazy, since I've been driving this same route home for almost
three years, but I have a good excuse. There was a detour. Is there any
more dreaded site on the road than a detour sign? Well, probably, but a detour is still pretty stress-inducing.
This detour was poorly marked. It was all "Detour! This way!" and then just left you there. I needed a follow up, because unless told otherwise, I am going to continue going straight until I get to my house. If that's not where this detour is taking me I need to be informed. I'm a step-by-step kind of girl.
Anyway, I quickly realized I had missed a turn somewhere, so I decided to just wing it and take the next left I saw and hope for the best. I had my GPS, what could go wrong?
The next left was called Pineswamp Road. I should have known. Yet I happily turned down Pineswamp Road. "Oh look at the trees and the fields, this is the scenic route." I told myself. Then things started to get real piney...and swampy...and the road got real narrow. And I saw the "Not a Thru Way" sign. I took out the GPS. Only to discover you cannot acquire satellites on Pineswamp Road. Shit.
I managed to keep my wits about me. By "keep my wits about me" I mean, slammed my hands on the steering wheel while shouting "STUPID DETOUR!" and turning around. And I kid you not, the satellites were acquired as soon as I got to the end of Pineswamp Road. And they guided me safely home. But not before the GPS could get in a few digs - "When possible, make a U-turn," "re-calculating." You shut up, you condescending GPS lady. She really gets on my nerves sometimes.
Today at work I discovered I am violently allergic to my office and was having sneezing fits and my nose became completely stuffed. I can't work with a stuffed nose, so I desperately needed to find a drug store to get some allergy meds. Since, after three years, I am still completely unfamiliar with the town in which I work, I had no idea if they even had a drug store. GPS to the rescue! I plugged in "drug store" and was on my way. Only to discover the directions had two steps. Turn right, destination ahead on the left.
I felt like an idiot. The tone in which that damn GPS lady gave me the directions didn't help either. At least my nose wasn't stuffed. Even though I hate that damn GPS, and her damn obnoxious voice, I couldn't live without that thing. I am terrible at getting places on my own. Global Positioning Systems - can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.
This detour was poorly marked. It was all "Detour! This way!" and then just left you there. I needed a follow up, because unless told otherwise, I am going to continue going straight until I get to my house. If that's not where this detour is taking me I need to be informed. I'm a step-by-step kind of girl.
Anyway, I quickly realized I had missed a turn somewhere, so I decided to just wing it and take the next left I saw and hope for the best. I had my GPS, what could go wrong?
The next left was called Pineswamp Road. I should have known. Yet I happily turned down Pineswamp Road. "Oh look at the trees and the fields, this is the scenic route." I told myself. Then things started to get real piney...and swampy...and the road got real narrow. And I saw the "Not a Thru Way" sign. I took out the GPS. Only to discover you cannot acquire satellites on Pineswamp Road. Shit.
I managed to keep my wits about me. By "keep my wits about me" I mean, slammed my hands on the steering wheel while shouting "STUPID DETOUR!" and turning around. And I kid you not, the satellites were acquired as soon as I got to the end of Pineswamp Road. And they guided me safely home. But not before the GPS could get in a few digs - "When possible, make a U-turn," "re-calculating." You shut up, you condescending GPS lady. She really gets on my nerves sometimes.
Today at work I discovered I am violently allergic to my office and was having sneezing fits and my nose became completely stuffed. I can't work with a stuffed nose, so I desperately needed to find a drug store to get some allergy meds. Since, after three years, I am still completely unfamiliar with the town in which I work, I had no idea if they even had a drug store. GPS to the rescue! I plugged in "drug store" and was on my way. Only to discover the directions had two steps. Turn right, destination ahead on the left.
I felt like an idiot. The tone in which that damn GPS lady gave me the directions didn't help either. At least my nose wasn't stuffed. Even though I hate that damn GPS, and her damn obnoxious voice, I couldn't live without that thing. I am terrible at getting places on my own. Global Positioning Systems - can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
presents for mia
Mia is my dog. She is a petite Maltese that loves cuddling, face licking, and rides in the car. She also loves getting presents. Yes, you read that right. This dog not only understands the word presents, she gets really, really excited about them.
It's our fault. She's spoiled rotten and is constantly getting presents.
The problem is, whenever someone else gets a present, Mia automatically assumes it's for her. She hears the rustle of the tissue paper or the sound of wrapping paper being ripped and immediately comes running. She'll sniff wildly and bark at you, alternating between jumping like a circus dog and trying to sit patiently until she finds out what is in that gift.
So we feel really bad when we open gifts and she doesn't get one. Like I said, we spoil her. So we end up digging out some old toy she hasn't played with in awhile and putting it in an empty gift bag and convincing her it's a new toy. The joy this dog experiences when she sticks her head into a gift bag and pulls out a toy she's actually had for years is just too cute for words.
I can only imagine this is what Christmas morning feels like when you have kids. Is it a little strange and kind of sad that we do this? Probably. But it's too darn cute for me to care.
It's our fault. She's spoiled rotten and is constantly getting presents.
The problem is, whenever someone else gets a present, Mia automatically assumes it's for her. She hears the rustle of the tissue paper or the sound of wrapping paper being ripped and immediately comes running. She'll sniff wildly and bark at you, alternating between jumping like a circus dog and trying to sit patiently until she finds out what is in that gift.
So we feel really bad when we open gifts and she doesn't get one. Like I said, we spoil her. So we end up digging out some old toy she hasn't played with in awhile and putting it in an empty gift bag and convincing her it's a new toy. The joy this dog experiences when she sticks her head into a gift bag and pulls out a toy she's actually had for years is just too cute for words.
I can only imagine this is what Christmas morning feels like when you have kids. Is it a little strange and kind of sad that we do this? Probably. But it's too darn cute for me to care.
Friday, December 17, 2010
i got the budget blues
I feel like I've probably addressed this before on this blog, but I am addressing it again - more so for myself than anyone else. So if you don't want to read about my monetary woes and the new budget I am strictly enforcing for myself, then you'd better just leave right now. Go on, scram.
Okay, all the budget haters gone? Good. Let's proceed.
I recently got a raise at work, which was really exciting because obviously this meant I'd have more money. Then I got to thinking about what I wanted to do with that money. I know that, more than anything else, I want to buy a house. I don't like renting - the idea of giving my money away and not owning anything in return bothers me. Especially when it comes to something as personal as your home. However, I am nowhere near being able to afford a house, and definitely not on my own. Boyfriend and I would be buying a house together, but even then we'd both have to save for quite some time in order to even afford a down payment on something decent. Sadly, we live in a part of the country where your money just doesn't go very far when it comes to buying a house. I know whatever we buy will have to be a fixer-upper, but even then we can barely afford a run down old shack! I know we'll find something perfect for us when the time comes to begin looking...but we'll never be able to start looking without some money in the bank first!
So I am imposing a budget on myself. Obviously there's nothing I can do about bills that have to be paid, so after factoring those out of my income, this is the budget I am allowing myself [*Note! I live at home currently, so that is why I have so much money kicking around]:
Shopping: $200/month
(clothes, accessories, etc.)
Entertainment: $100/month
(movies, food, etc.)
Emergency Fund: $50/month
(as in, extra pocket money, this is not for medical emergencies or any kind of real crisis)
This may seem insanely generous. I know there are people out there way better than me when it comes to spending and saving, but I am just not very good. I am decent with saving money - as in, I have a savings account and I contribute to it as often as I can - but I also feel no remorse about dipping into it to buy a new pair of shoes or something. Also, the AmEx bill has got to go. To be honest, I probably spend a lot more than $200 a month on clothes and stuff. And I don't need clothes! I have plenty! I am going to embrace the art of the remix. I am also going to try to spend my clothing allowance on better quality things. I will not be blowing it all at Forever 21. I think I may even have a specific store or brand I will spend the $200 each month. Heck, some months I may decide not to buy anything at all!
I'm going to have a spreadsheet at home where I keep track of every penny I spent on anything that isn't a bill. As soon as I hit that $200 mark, I'm finished.
The $100 entertainment fund will be spent on going out to dinner, grabbing drinks, the movies...anything like that. That's plenty, I think. Because you know what's fun and free? Hanging out at home playing board games and watching movies with your best friend.
The $50 emergency fund is money that I will keep in cash, in an envelope, at my house. If an impromptu diner comes up and I've spent my entertainment fund - I'll have that to dip into. If there's an article of clothing THAT I WILL DIE WITHOUT - I'll dip into the envelope. I figure I won't need to do this every month, so the money in the envelope will eventually add up. Then I can use it on weekends away or something.
Fingers crossed, this will allow me to save a big hunk of cash every month! This all sounds so lovely and logical written out, doesn't it? now let's just see if I can manage to put my words into action...wish me luck!
Now it's your turn. Are you on a budget? How's it working out for you? Do you have a shopping addiction like me? How do you keep yourself from going all Becky Bloomwood every time you step into a store? Leave a comment or shoot me an email.
Okay, all the budget haters gone? Good. Let's proceed.
I recently got a raise at work, which was really exciting because obviously this meant I'd have more money. Then I got to thinking about what I wanted to do with that money. I know that, more than anything else, I want to buy a house. I don't like renting - the idea of giving my money away and not owning anything in return bothers me. Especially when it comes to something as personal as your home. However, I am nowhere near being able to afford a house, and definitely not on my own. Boyfriend and I would be buying a house together, but even then we'd both have to save for quite some time in order to even afford a down payment on something decent. Sadly, we live in a part of the country where your money just doesn't go very far when it comes to buying a house. I know whatever we buy will have to be a fixer-upper, but even then we can barely afford a run down old shack! I know we'll find something perfect for us when the time comes to begin looking...but we'll never be able to start looking without some money in the bank first!
So I am imposing a budget on myself. Obviously there's nothing I can do about bills that have to be paid, so after factoring those out of my income, this is the budget I am allowing myself [*Note! I live at home currently, so that is why I have so much money kicking around]:
Shopping: $200/month
(clothes, accessories, etc.)
Entertainment: $100/month
(movies, food, etc.)
Emergency Fund: $50/month
(as in, extra pocket money, this is not for medical emergencies or any kind of real crisis)
This may seem insanely generous. I know there are people out there way better than me when it comes to spending and saving, but I am just not very good. I am decent with saving money - as in, I have a savings account and I contribute to it as often as I can - but I also feel no remorse about dipping into it to buy a new pair of shoes or something. Also, the AmEx bill has got to go. To be honest, I probably spend a lot more than $200 a month on clothes and stuff. And I don't need clothes! I have plenty! I am going to embrace the art of the remix. I am also going to try to spend my clothing allowance on better quality things. I will not be blowing it all at Forever 21. I think I may even have a specific store or brand I will spend the $200 each month. Heck, some months I may decide not to buy anything at all!
I'm going to have a spreadsheet at home where I keep track of every penny I spent on anything that isn't a bill. As soon as I hit that $200 mark, I'm finished.
The $100 entertainment fund will be spent on going out to dinner, grabbing drinks, the movies...anything like that. That's plenty, I think. Because you know what's fun and free? Hanging out at home playing board games and watching movies with your best friend.
The $50 emergency fund is money that I will keep in cash, in an envelope, at my house. If an impromptu diner comes up and I've spent my entertainment fund - I'll have that to dip into. If there's an article of clothing THAT I WILL DIE WITHOUT - I'll dip into the envelope. I figure I won't need to do this every month, so the money in the envelope will eventually add up. Then I can use it on weekends away or something.
Fingers crossed, this will allow me to save a big hunk of cash every month! This all sounds so lovely and logical written out, doesn't it? now let's just see if I can manage to put my words into action...wish me luck!
Now it's your turn. Are you on a budget? How's it working out for you? Do you have a shopping addiction like me? How do you keep yourself from going all Becky Bloomwood every time you step into a store? Leave a comment or shoot me an email.
Monday, August 30, 2010
my appliances are out to get me
I have come to the conclusion today that my appliances have all joined forces to make me completely lose my mind.
I think the incident(s) that started all this is the power going out. The power has gone out about five times in the last month. After around power outage two (what can I say Boyfriend and I are lazy) we stopped fixing the clocks. The clock on Oven, Microwave, and on the TV stand have been blinking for weeks. The only clocks with the correct time are the old-school battery operated ones, and the one on the cable box. My alarm clock has never been the right time, since I always set it eight minutes ahead. Though it isn't blinking.
Though, now that I think back, maybe Oven orchestrated this whole thing. Have you ever heard of an Oven taking a half hour to preheat to 350 degrees? I haven't. The Oven at Mom's takes four minutes. FOUR MINUTES. It has a preheat timer. My oven takes thirty minutes. THIRTY MINUTES. I have to plan when I want to cook dinner, then add thirty minutes for a pre-heating allowance. Not cool.
Microwave was next to join this mutiny. I hardly ever use Microwave, but when I do I am always annoyed. I put something in Microwave this afternoon and when it was done, Microwave beeped. "Thanks Microwave, I'll be right there. See, I'm spending time with Washer and Dryer right now and my hands are full of sopping wet towels." Microwave has jealousy issues. A minute later it was beeping again. "OKAY Microwave, I hear you. I am aware I put food in you, I will not forget it." I continue with my laundry. A minute later, Microwave beeps again, I swear more obnoxiously than before. Disgruntled, I drop the last of the laundry into Dryer and slam the door. I turn the dial to MORE DRY (more dry than what? I have always wondered. More dry than wet? Well yes please, that's your job!). Nothing happens. I wiggle the knob just so and hit START again. Dryer reluctantly turns on. My appliances are lazier than me. Meanwhile, Microwave has become beside itself and is beeping even more annoyingly. I march to the kitchen, "All right! Enough!" I forcefully press the CLEAR button on Microwave. Take that, you ungrateful plastic box. I remove the food and eat it. Mmm mac n' cheesy.
Oh and I'm sure I mentioned at some point that Dishwasher also hates me? Yep, Dishwasher has never cleaned a dish in the eleven months we've lived here. Not because we're not making it, oh no. Just because. The maintenance people are on the Appliance Team as well. I called them to take a look at Dishwasher who doesn't wash and Sink, who doesn't drain. He deemed them both perfectly fine, poked at the sink a bit, and told me to buy Jet Dry. Gee thanks. Sink still doesn't drain, and Dishwasher still doesn't wash (even with the Jet Dry).
The big appliances are clearly ruling the roost around here. The only two that don't seemed to have completely succumbed to their threats are Washer and Dryer, my faithful pals. It could be because they are too far away (all the way in the bathroom!) for Oven and Dishwasher to get their message to them. More likely, Washer and Dryer are too busy doing all of Boyfriend's laundry (more about that on Thursday) to listen to any nonsense from those awful kitchen appliances.
The Kitchen Gang has, however, convinced my computer and all battery operated items to go againt my wishes. Firefox has been giving me a hard time all weekend (I am still too stubborn to convert to Safari, though Firefox is getting on my last nerve). The batteries in my mouse have died TWICE in the past two weeks. Same deal with the Wii-mote. And all my re-chargeable batteries have gone mysteriously missing. I had a whole set of them and can't find them anywhere. They're not in anything either. Very suspicious.
Well I went out and bought a big pack of new batteries today, so bring it on Mouse. And see if I ever cook with either of you again, Oven and Microwave! Your clocks can stay blinking for all I care. The whole thing is really making me crazy. I threw a fit the other day and told Boyfriend we were going back to the olden days and we would no longer be using electricity. I made him turn off the TV and the lights and told him to light candles and get out the playing cards. He looked at me for a moment, then said "I bet you don't make it fifteen minutes before you run to your computer." Yeah well he was wrong. I only made it ten.
I think the incident(s) that started all this is the power going out. The power has gone out about five times in the last month. After around power outage two (what can I say Boyfriend and I are lazy) we stopped fixing the clocks. The clock on Oven, Microwave, and on the TV stand have been blinking for weeks. The only clocks with the correct time are the old-school battery operated ones, and the one on the cable box. My alarm clock has never been the right time, since I always set it eight minutes ahead. Though it isn't blinking.
Though, now that I think back, maybe Oven orchestrated this whole thing. Have you ever heard of an Oven taking a half hour to preheat to 350 degrees? I haven't. The Oven at Mom's takes four minutes. FOUR MINUTES. It has a preheat timer. My oven takes thirty minutes. THIRTY MINUTES. I have to plan when I want to cook dinner, then add thirty minutes for a pre-heating allowance. Not cool.
Microwave was next to join this mutiny. I hardly ever use Microwave, but when I do I am always annoyed. I put something in Microwave this afternoon and when it was done, Microwave beeped. "Thanks Microwave, I'll be right there. See, I'm spending time with Washer and Dryer right now and my hands are full of sopping wet towels." Microwave has jealousy issues. A minute later it was beeping again. "OKAY Microwave, I hear you. I am aware I put food in you, I will not forget it." I continue with my laundry. A minute later, Microwave beeps again, I swear more obnoxiously than before. Disgruntled, I drop the last of the laundry into Dryer and slam the door. I turn the dial to MORE DRY (more dry than what? I have always wondered. More dry than wet? Well yes please, that's your job!). Nothing happens. I wiggle the knob just so and hit START again. Dryer reluctantly turns on. My appliances are lazier than me. Meanwhile, Microwave has become beside itself and is beeping even more annoyingly. I march to the kitchen, "All right! Enough!" I forcefully press the CLEAR button on Microwave. Take that, you ungrateful plastic box. I remove the food and eat it. Mmm mac n' cheesy.
Oh and I'm sure I mentioned at some point that Dishwasher also hates me? Yep, Dishwasher has never cleaned a dish in the eleven months we've lived here. Not because we're not making it, oh no. Just because. The maintenance people are on the Appliance Team as well. I called them to take a look at Dishwasher who doesn't wash and Sink, who doesn't drain. He deemed them both perfectly fine, poked at the sink a bit, and told me to buy Jet Dry. Gee thanks. Sink still doesn't drain, and Dishwasher still doesn't wash (even with the Jet Dry).
The big appliances are clearly ruling the roost around here. The only two that don't seemed to have completely succumbed to their threats are Washer and Dryer, my faithful pals. It could be because they are too far away (all the way in the bathroom!) for Oven and Dishwasher to get their message to them. More likely, Washer and Dryer are too busy doing all of Boyfriend's laundry (more about that on Thursday) to listen to any nonsense from those awful kitchen appliances.
The Kitchen Gang has, however, convinced my computer and all battery operated items to go againt my wishes. Firefox has been giving me a hard time all weekend (I am still too stubborn to convert to Safari, though Firefox is getting on my last nerve). The batteries in my mouse have died TWICE in the past two weeks. Same deal with the Wii-mote. And all my re-chargeable batteries have gone mysteriously missing. I had a whole set of them and can't find them anywhere. They're not in anything either. Very suspicious.
Well I went out and bought a big pack of new batteries today, so bring it on Mouse. And see if I ever cook with either of you again, Oven and Microwave! Your clocks can stay blinking for all I care. The whole thing is really making me crazy. I threw a fit the other day and told Boyfriend we were going back to the olden days and we would no longer be using electricity. I made him turn off the TV and the lights and told him to light candles and get out the playing cards. He looked at me for a moment, then said "I bet you don't make it fifteen minutes before you run to your computer." Yeah well he was wrong. I only made it ten.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
finished!
So, remember that ModCloth writing thing I told you guys about? The one I only had a week to write something for? Well I hemmed and hawed all week about it, settling on a general idea of what to write about but not really being able to get into it. I kept wanted to quit and just say "Forget it, I'll never be able to write anything decent in the time I have," but I didn't. I kept at it. I'm pretty impressed. Because I ended up knocking the whole thing out, starting over from basically scratch, in the last three hours. Go me! It's just a sweet little short story, and maybe someday I'll share it on here, but it's the first thing I have ever submitted for any kind of publication and it's kind of exciting! Now I need to step away from the screen and de-compress. Phew!
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