Silent moving

So…yesterday on my way home, I saw this guy standing at the corner of an intersection, right?

And he was dressed just like Charlie Chaplin.

Top hat, black tails, cane, little mustache, the whole deal.

And he was waving at people. No sign, no obvious promotion, nothing.

What could he have possibly been doing?

Because that little dude was creepy. I was on the phone with Jason, telling him I was leaving work, when I suddenly interrupted our conversation to say, “Uhhhh…there’s a dude on the corner dressed as Charlie Chaplin. He’s waving at people…but he’s not smiling, which is creepy…ohmigod, he waved at me - I gotta go.”

I’m still kind of creeped out about it, and what’s more, none of my coworkers driving that same stretch saw him.

GAH.

 

Upon Self Esteem

Jennifer and I are on the phone, discussing our mojo.

"Am I getting my mojo back?" I pondered it. As much pondering of mojo as one can do on the evening bus, surrounded by people. "Well. Today after my morning meeting, I was walking back to the building and I crossed Flower Street. This guy was walking toward me, in the crosswalk, he was tall and a suit-and-tie guy, but anyway, he checked me out. Smiled. Said hello. And then I said hello back. That counts, right?"

Because in the past so many months, since Mr. Ex announced over spaghetti that he was moving out, pass the parmesean cheese, I have buried and mourned my mojo, tipped a forty out for my homie. Gone, but not forgotten. Crossed Flower Street once a week, eyes on the ground, made no eye contact.

Every night, alone, and it's nothing to complain about, at the time being alone was a full-time job (why didn't you leave sooner I don't even know you, who are you? who did I love?) every night curled up on the sofa. During the hot months, last spring and summer, nights alone reduced to silence or sometimes you cry or do nothing, tucked into a patio chair all night long, nothing visible in the dark but the lit end of a smoke, one glass of wine in my hand, but before long it's 1 a.m. and no way are you sleeping tonight. Might as well bring the bottle outside.

Being alone was a full-time job.

Nothing shakes you to the core, makes you feel more bereft of self-esteem than having the one who said "I do" leave you. There's no good way to phrase it, there's no way to make it softer. You can blame it on the other person, or on the situation, but deep inside you're shaken and you break, or you wonder why you haven't broken, disintigrated into formless shape, even smoking becomes exhausting.

The one who doesn't rush out to fill the empty spot in the bed becomes quieter maybe, deflated, the slow and gradual sanding down of your self-esteem (a quality I didn't have in spades even before the split). It would have been easy enough to take another road (he did) and buy new clothes, smile brightly, go out with new people. You can brush your hair and put on a pair of high heels and sit on a barstool at Cozy's while your friends play pool and you accept free drinks from strangers. But I stayed home. Just the difference in our bones, the way we live through the end of a thing. For me: nights without sleeping, months of never closingmy eyes sinking into a bed feeling safe or warm or even tethered to this world, chain-smoking, writing it all down. Inside me everything was ugly.

Confidence has always been tied to my successes, so a failure of such magnitude surely must mean I am worthless? Unloved. Unwanted. Ugly. (Nothing makes you feel uglier than "goodbye.") So you do what you have to, work these things out, wrap your mind around them. It takes its slow sweet time coming around.

"He smiled and said hello and you said hi back, that's good progress!" said Jennifer.

"Yeah. It is? Before ... I would have avoided eyes. Looking down. But what a waste, right? Seventeen months of looking down? What a waste of time..."

And it is a waste of time. Unless... unless you count all the time you sat on that patio, alone, and thought about even the smallest detail, remembered the day you walked down the aisle, the day you signed the divorce papers, and every single day in between. Eventually you find a place to rest, it's not the place you may have envisioned for yourself when you were nineteen, or twenty-three, but it's all yours, and that's something. And one day you look up, instead of looking down, and someone smiles at you.

Success is not always about achievement. Sometimes it's about endurance.

Beyond hello, I'm still not ready, but I know my mojo is in there, inside me, the things I blocked out are seeping in through the cracks of my finely constructed life raft, my future is an unwritten book: the way it feels to have someone whisper in your ear, the night you stand at the sink in your sock feet and you're washing a dish when he hugs you from behind so unexpected, the warm perfectly content feeling you get when he takes your hand in his and holds it, or the very first time you kiss (always the best).

It's in there. Somewhere.

Real Women bring home the bacon. And/or wine.

Real Women bring home the bacon. And/or wine.

Signed, sealed and delivered: One divorce agreement, one check for a $1000 towards my lawyer's bill, and one very soon-to-be emancipated woman.

Coincidentally, today is exactly the one-year mark since Mr. X announced he was moving out. In that year, I have managed to stop bawling at my desk, stop smoking (so far, so good!), start writing stuff, discover the durable love of battery-operated devices and Face My Debt.

(Hi Dad, Patricia, Frau and Asik! All the battery-operated flashlights are working great!)

Of all the things I have accomplished this year, I am most proud of getting my finances under control. For the first time in my entire life, I believe that I can live as a grown-up, a real woman, one who brings home the bacon and puts it in the fridge. And then has a glass of wine and feels FANtastic about bringing home that bacon.

Prior to the marital meltdown, I was a complete money moron. But now I have reformed! Mostly this is my control enthusiast side kicking in -- I know I can't control when stuff catches on fire, or when I'll bump into Mr. X, or when the spontaneous belts and hoses and radiators break on my car.

But I can control my money.

I can develop a plan, and have a goal. (In fact, my ONLY financial goal this year was... well. To develop a financial goal. Task solidly accomplished!) I tell ya'll this because maybe out there -- somewhere -- is another girl like me who wants to hide in the closet and eat Oreos every time the credit card bills arrive. Or go shopping. Because we all know the best way to tackle your finances is to SHOP THEM AWAY.

(And by "you" ... I mean "me.")

Because I AM A CAUTIONARY TALE. And if I can get a handle on my finances, what with my love of shopping and hatred of math and general ignorance of all things fiscal, then any human on the planet can do it. Really. And you know I never shut up and can't keep all this good hard-earned knowlege to myself, so here is what I have learned so far ... all summed up in five easy pieces. It has a pretty creative title, too.

Stuff I Learned About Money (so far)

1) Never ever EVER lose track of your money.
So, hi ya'll! I was married. And in my fantasy life, I had a Barbie/Ken marriage and Ken was a Man (debatable, but still) and therefore imbued with the Ability To Handle Money. For years I worked and shopped and let Ken do all the manly money managing. Well! Not only was I wrong about Ken's personal predilictions, I was also wrong about his money-managing talents.

Bottom Line: While it is tempting to have someone take care of the adding and balancing and so on, never NEVER cede your personal financial power to anyone. Think about it this way: You wouldn't let anyone, not even your one true love, take total control of your yarn stash and do with it whatever he/she wanted at any time. Would you? Then why on earth would you let anyone have control over your finances?

2) Figure out what you owe.
Can't speak for all ya'll, but I was too scared at first to even know HOW MUCH DEBT I had. Sure, I had a pretty general idea ("general" meaning "a whole lot of debt" and "maybe I will cry" and "is there any ice cream?") but I did not KNOW the actual AMOUNT. And ya'll, that is sad.

Bottom Line: Write down every bill on a piece of notebook paper. Or use my Excel budget (it's pink! makes it less scary!) Add it up. NOW YOU KNOW.

3) Figure out what you make.
This should be pretty easy. Write down what you bring home for the month. See! Not too hard! You did it!

4) Spend less than you make.
Um, again. Things I have had to learn that most people KNOW, yet me? With the hoarding habit and shoes and cats? Had to LEARN. Anyway. Moving on. Spending less than you earn will always be a smart goal, even if you make a bazillion dollars. Because when you spend more than you have, you're poor. You're endebted. You're unable to quit your job and join an alpaca herding community.

Bottom Line: Track what you spend. Ya'll know that diet trick, where you write down every potato chip and carrot stick you eat? Treat your money the same way. Track it. Understand where you can cut back. And then, ya'll know, CUT BACK. You can use Quicken, your check register, a Word doc, a sticky note, or the back of a napkin. But figure out to the penny where the hell your money is going. (After looking at past receipts, I discovered I was spending $40 a month on MAGAZINES for chrissakes. That was embarrassing.)

5) Pay off your debt.
I have massive consumer debt. MASSIVE. I'm still paying off my lawyer! But I have a plan now, one that involves calculating my balance and figuring out how much I have to pay each month to be FREE of debt in 24 months. Me! FREE! And when I say "massive" debt, I mean ... GNP of a small country. I could cry sometimes.

I have had consumer debt since I was nineteen years old (coincidentally that's when I got my very first credit card). Every day since then has been a payment. My paycheck, my life ... it's all tied to a bill right now, and being free of that is my greatest achievable goal.

Bottom Line: You have to stop taking on more debt RIGHT NOW. This minute. DO NOT CHARGE ANOTHER ITEM. Research debt reduction online. Read what the experts have to say. Google "debt repayment." Find ways to lower your interest rate. Cut down on the Starbucks or movie channels or magazines, whatever you can, for a 3-month period and use every penny to pay off your debt. Wash, rinse and repeat for another 3 months ...

In Conclusion...

There you have it, those are my five Cautionary Tale pieces of learnin' when it comes to money. I don't know a lot -- let's be honest, until a few weeks ago my savings account was an old butter tub in the vegetable crisper -- but I'm learning. I think it's a lot like knitting a sweater: you can only accomplish it one stitch at a time. So, I am slowly becoming a financial grown-up ... one dollar at a time.

 

Sexiness Part 2

Well since Agata was talking about sexy movies on Monday, I thought I would take it a little farther.

First, a commercial that I’m embarrassed to admit I find sexy. It’s for…KY Warming Lubricant. They had this commercial (well a longer version but I couldn’t find it on YouTube!) running around Valentine’s Day and I thought it was hot. I wish I could find the longer version.

Then one of my favorite sexy movies is The Lover.

To be honest, I haven’t watched it in its entirety in a long time but whoo! It is steamy hot. That movie trailer doesn’t even do it justice and I couldn’t find much else on YouTube that wasn’t forever long. The scene where they’re riding in the car and they touch pinky fingers is really hot too.

So since we shared movies with Agata on Monday - anyone seen any hot commercials lately? Have you seen the KY one I’m talking about? Cos seriously it’s hot. And I’m still a little embarrassed to say that over a KY commercial…

Cling On

Not much going on in my life but I did have a moment here where I felt as if I was living in the Sixteen Candles movie…

I volunteer in my son’s kindergarten class. My daughter, who is in first grade, doesn’t like change. As in, Mom didn’t drive them to the bus stop that morning, she drove them to school. And then Mom went to brother’s class and not hers. Change = tears in my daughter’s life.

It sucks. On one hand I feel sad for her. On the other, I get irritated. Get over it! I want to tell her. Sigh…

How does this relate to Sixteen Candles you ask? Remember that scene in the movie when Samantha is sitting in the hall crying because of Jake or Farmer Ted. And the cool girls walk by and say hi and she’s like OMG I gotta go back in there. So she does. And then right behind her are these parents who shove their kid through the double doors, forcing him to go to that dance. They hold the doors closed and you can hear him say, “But I wanna be with you guys!”

Yeah. I felt like that. I shoved my daughter through the door of her classroom. Literally shoved. While she was crying. I felt like an ass. But I had to do it. And guess what? I saw her an hour later when I was covered in paint helping with an art project outside of my son’s class and she was all nonchalant. “Hey Mom.” **insert eye rolling here**

I would share that scene here on the blog but the nimrod who put the clip on YouTube disabled embedding. WHY do they do it? I find it frustrating. You can find the clip here. The moment I’m talking about starts at the 1:15 mark.

p.s. – Sixteen Candles is my favorite John Hughes movie. When I watch it I feel like it is a snippet from my actual life. No joke. That bus scene? I have LIVED that, seriously. What’s your favorite John Hughes movie? May he rest in peace…