Flipflops in the Rain


and then she wrote

i journal a lot now. (and by a lot, i mean way more than i blog.) nearly every entry references how much “i just love to write, but i never do it!” or how “awesome it feels to just free write!”

i don’t want to do that now.

let’s talk about the future of innovation.

(just kidding. no one wants to read about that.)

let’s talk about teenage girls.

(not so much with the kidding, although that came across super creepy.)

i have a beautiful, smart and talented 14-year-old niece. (I also have beautiful, smart and talented 12- and 9-year-old nieces, but their stories are for another time.) she, since the day she was born, has been a little emotional. she cries at the drop of a hat, and she cares about everyone’s feelings a little more than she should. she also is only truly happy and confident in herself when she’s running up and down the soccer field, cheering and kicking butt alongside her teammates.

she tried out for her high school freshman soccer team today… and she did not make the cut.

about 13-some-odd years ago, i knew another little emotional girl who went through the exact same rejection period. and she was a wreck for weeks, and her self-esteem dropped for years. today, she’s fine. she’s accepted that minor setback and moved so far on from it that no one would guess that scar was still faintly intact on her ego.

teenage me is alive and well, buried under this calm, cool and very cynical exterior of mine. she comes out to play when we’re alone in my car and alanis morrisette comes on the radio. she stares cruelly and critically every morning in the mirror. and she particularly seeps into my writing after a beer or two and tells me i should be upset about the past. but honestly, i just don’t care what teenage me has to say anymore. i’ve grown past those insecurities, and i genuinely believe that i’m better off because of my failures.

but how do i tell today’s little girl that it will all work out in the end? how do i put into simple terms, with current pop cultural references, that she won’t always be the best at what she thinks she should be the best? and that she will learn to be happy and confident in ways she doesn’t even realize yet? and that, although screaming girl-power anthems can be a fun way to pass the time in your car, she will not always hate the people who try to hold her back?

i guess the moral of the story is, the only way we can truly understand today’s youth is by remembering our own painful and not-so-pretty pasts.

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the part about my cross-country move that i didn’t tell you.

i moved away from D.C. because it was the financially responsible thing to do.

that may not be the whole truth, but it was definitely a big part of my decision to move. when i moved from bellingham, wash., to alexandria, va., in 2007, I went from paying $330/month for rent to $1,200/month. that’s practically four times what i was used to paying for living expenses, and neither of these figures includes the utilities i was paying.

you’d think such a drastic change would curb my spending habits. well, you’d think wrong. why don’t you run along and catch up on my history with money…. did you catch that? i’m a credit card company’s DREAM.

i don’t know when i decided that i needed to spend money so erratically, but i’m gonna go ahead and blame my parents. before i was old enough to earn my own salary, my dad would give me 20 bucks whenever i asked. 20 bucks that i learned at a much later age he didn’t necessarily have to give me. my mom used to joke about winning the lottery and planting a money tree in the backyard. she never won the lottery, but she planted a $20,000 swimming pool in our backyard and solidified my belief that money buys pretty, fancy and awesome things.

to buy these pretty, fancy and awesome things, i’ve been working consistently since i was 12 (if you call baby-sitting “work,” which i have ever since the brats across the street dragged their cat around by its tail and made me cry. but i’m pretty sure that’s another story.). although my parents taught me how to have fun with money, they also taught me the importance of earning my OWN money, and i’m proud to say i’ve bought almost everything i’ve owned in the past 15-some-odd years. well, me, and my good friend, visa.

i succumbed to the allure of my credit card in 2003 when i started working at american eagle. and then again in 2005 when i went to italy for a month. and then again when i realized how much easier it was to bring my credit card to the bar than a wad of cash. and then again when i realized how much fun it was to always buy the first round of shots. and then again when i moved to d.c. where not only was housing pricier, but rounds of shots were pricier.

even as i was struggling, i still just kept buying. i’d grown far too accustomed to living outside of my means. i’d grown far too accustomed to going out with my wealthier friends whenever i was bored (which was often).

but then i moved. and somehow i’ve paid off two credit cards and my car. in a matter of three months. i even took a pay cut (albeit, a small one), and i was still able to significantly pay down my debt. i’ve still got a ways to go (with a score of 65 on the charles schwab financial fitness quiz, i’m apparently middle of the road), but at the very least, i’ve learned that west coast flippy is more financially responsible than east coast flippy.

or maybe west coast flippy is just super boring. until that last visa card is paid off, though, i’m ok with a little more boredom in my life.

Disclaimer: This post is part of the 20SB Blog Carnival: Friends & Money, sponsored by Charles Schwab. Prizes may be awarded to selected posts. The information and opinions expressed in this post do not reflect the views or opinions of Charles Schwab. Details on the event, eligibility, and a complete list of participating bloggers can be found here.



I’m blogging in a bar.
June 24, 2010, 6:57 am
Filed under: fear and loathing, perfectly impossible | Tags:

Also, it’s 8 a.m. seriously, I love my phone.

Anyway, don’t worry about my liver. I’m actually pounding coffee after taking a red eye to north carolina and not sleeping. Will someone please remind me that I’m not cut out for red eyes the next time I fly east? (which will be soon, dc friends, I promise!)



as my favorite boy band would say, ‘bye bye bye’

if all goes well, i’m on a plane with my (drugged-up) cat, and i’m headed back to washington state, and we’re both peacefully sleeping in anticipation of a long week of settling into our new home.

if all goes horribly, horribly wrong, i’m at the airport with my (whiny, hungry, angry and drugged-up) cat, and i’m hoping the flight’s not delayed for too much longer because i’m emotionally drained, and people are glaring at me, and i just want a drink, but it’s too early and it’s weird to bring a cat into the airport bar.

either way, my time as a virginia resident has come to a close.



single digits

only another 9 days until my tenure in the d.c. area comes to a close. it seems unreal to be closing this chapter of my life, and i feel like lots of tears will be shed (and lots of tequila will be consumed) in the next couple days.

my brain is a whirlwindy mess of thoughts and i can’t really put together coherent thoughts and i’ve been nightmaring of raccoons as pets. i don’t know what kind of an omen that is, but i don’t like it.

look, flowers!



regardless, i still hate working from home

testing, testing.

yes, i’m here. yes, i have power. yes, i have internet, and yes, i’m sick of talking about snow, too. SORRY. but in the spirit of remaining positive, a brief list of reasons why working from home rocks my face off:

1. french press coffee > office coffee. without question. i should probably just buy a second french press for my cubicle.
2. fluffy gray cat curled up in my lap. sure, it’s a little difficult to type, but i’m over it.
3. one tree hill and the o.c. reruns.
4. sweats, greasy hair and bare feet.
5. when i turn my computer off for the day, i’m already home.

that’s pretty much it. i want to go back to work. i miss my cube. and i’m kicking myself for leaving my snuggie at the office.



wanted: extremely patient assistant to fix my phone and tell me when to eat
January 5, 2010, 4:35 pm
Filed under: fear and loathing, geek chic | Tags: , , , ,

i’m pretty sure i should hire a personal assistant.

granted, i don’t have any money, and i can get really bitchy and/or whiny when i haven’t slept. but basically, i really need someone to take on the full-time job of making sure i act like a grown-up.

example: i don’t eat when i should. and when i do eat, i make poor choices. for instance, i’m sitting here, shaking because i’m so hungry, but instead of doing the responsible thing and making a sandwich, i’m blogging about it. (if you’re in the neighborhood, turkey on rye with a wee bit of mayo. thanks.)

another example: i don’t do errands. one of the main reasons i’m not eating (besides pure laziness) is because i need to go grocery shopping. i’ve needed to for about three weeks. i went before christmas, but only so i could buy six bottles of wine and a case of cheese dip.

the grocery shopping isn’t my biggest concern right now. that’s why they invented “pizza delivery” and “fast food.” no, my biggest concern is that my blackberry committed suicide this weekend and i needed to order a new one and i now have to fedex the original blackberry back to my phone company. WHAT?! how do i even begin to fedex something? don’t i already have enough to worry about with the whole phone-breaking-and-i-can’t-update-my-twitter-every-15-seconds thing and trying to figure out how to activate the replacement phone? and can someone please tell me how to back-up all my contacts when i don’t have access to the network? this is all far too complicated. i’ve managed to download five different programs and i’m nowhere closer to transferring my contacts from one phone to another.

(if you knew that i worked in a tech center, your brain would probably explode at my sheer incompetence with this phone debacle.)

so, yeah. if you’re looking for a new job that doesn’t pay well (or at all), requires a high tolerance for dealing with bitchy, sleep-deprived idiots and starts within the next 10 days (because that’s how long i have to fedex this stupid thing), call me! no, wait. e-mail me. god damn phone.