Anything For a Buck . . .

I have an impulse control problem. This manifests in many ways, but I feel the most interesting way is my willingness to buy just about anything “for the right price." The thing is usually a CD, and the price is usually a dollar or less. I have become the proud owner of quite a few unique gems in this way.

When I was in the 9^th grade I got $50 a month allowance. Even in the long, long ago of 2000, $50 didn’t go far, so I had to stretch them greenbacks for all they was worth. I remember clearly the first time I bought a CD “cus it’s only a dollar." I had spent the morning cheering on our cross country team as an unofficial cheerleader. 

Yeah, our cross country team had cheerleaders. Why? Because we were so unique and non conformist. 

Anyway, afterwards my boyfriend picked me up and we spent the afternoon in St. Augustine at the “mall” (so written that way because there was almost nothing in it). There was a DC Warehouse though.

I am a music fiend and I was happy as a clam to spend the rest of my afternoon in there. Some people spend hours perusing comics or books. Not me. Heaven forbid I come within walking distance of a music store. You might not ever see me again. The demise of the music store is a casualty that I greatly mourn. 

I remember when even Crescent City had a music store . . . 

I digress.

After being in the CD Warehouse for over an hour, my greed was getting the better of me. I wanted to buy more than the Incubus CD that I had picked, but I only had 2 or three bucks left over after paying for it. 

Then, what before my wandering eyes should appear? Why, nothing other than the $1 clearance rack! I went to see what I could see. I had never heard of most of the bands and the ones I had heard of weren’t anything I wanted to waste the last of my money on. But I kept looking. Surely, there was something of value in there.

I looked at every CD on the rack. It must have taken 20 minutes. I’m sure by this point my boyfriend was over the whole music store scene. However, despite his faults with things like this he had the patience of Job. Finally, based on cover art and titles alone I had $2 worth of merchandise that I was ready to buy. 

The first was Lee Blaske –Immortal Kiss of the Vampire I was still going through my Anne Rice/Subspecies/”I’m not a Goth!”-Goth phase, so the vampire CD was a no brainer. 

So, maybe I had a Goth streak. At least I wasn't a douchy Vampire Kid.

The second was SWANS – Omniscience. I have no idea why I bought it. I liked the picture I guess.

Admit it. You'd pay a dollar for that.

For those of you who are unaware, SWANS kind of invented industrial music, and the CD that I snapped up for a mere dollar was worth close to $40, last I checked. It was just an added bonus that I actually liked the music. I wound up being quite a fan. 

Matter of fact, I emailed Michael Gira, a few times and he even wrote back! (One my simple joys in life is when someone I think is famous – regardless of whether or not they really are – acknowledges my existence.) 

As for the other, Lee Blaske did not return my emails, much to my chagrin. Nevertheless, I enjoyed his music. It was both evocative and vampire-like. I was happy. 

I’ve bought several CDs over the years in the same manner; Weston – The Massed Albert Sounds and Kristeen Young – Meet Miss Young and Her All Boy Band, for example. 

When I listen to any of them, I get the Suadades. Those were simpler times. Good times. I remember that day so clearly, and it makes me smile. I always wish I could go back to that time and place. They make me miss something I cannot name. It sucks in a wistful way. I don’t know if it’s that music stores have gone the way of the dinosaurs or if I’ve simply become nostalgic before my time, but I don’t mind feeling this sense of longing. I’m missing something that was good.

Friday Free For All: When Did I Forget How To Read?

Image from http://rattytime.wordpress.com/2010/04/21/bookworm/

In the film Quills, Joaquin Phoenix quips at Geoffrey Rush "The writer who produces more than he reads - A sure mark of an amateur." 

That line pains me because it's so true. I myself do not read nearly as much as an aspiring author should, but that's because it vexes me so. There was a time when I ferociously devoured books - sometimes an entire novel in a single afternoon. Then, I got a life.  

Reading, for all its virtues, is a solitary act, and I have come to crave the society of others. The more time you spend with others, the less time you spend in quiet contemplation with the written word. 

This extends to social networking. Try reading a book while IMing or Facebooking. Let me know how that works out. I damn sure can't do it. 

When I was a tot, I could read a book and watch TV and carry on a conversation simultaneously and both retain and comprehend all information I came in contact with. I was a professional multi-tasker. Maybe this is a gift wasted on youth, I don't know. 

Or, more likely, this is a case of "if you don't use it, you lose it". I have averaged reading maybe 5 books a year since graduating high school. This is not good, especially for a lit major. For shame, for shame.  

Why don't I read more? 

I'm no good at it anymore. I can't read a whole book in an afternoon and it pisses me off. I get frustrated and therefore choose to waste my time at less than scholarly pursuits. It’s my dirty little secret. I'm a great faker though. I’m good at skimming the Cliff notes of things I should have read. Not many people know how very little I read nowadays. 

I'm supposed to be a writer. That implies that I am also a reader, and I'm not. I’ve promised myself countless times that I will read an average of one book a week. That's worked out so well for me thus far. I have a mountain of books that I want to read, and another mountain of books that I should have read already. The "want to reads" combined with the "should have already reads" makes for an Everest sized pile of information that frankly scares me.  

Thankfully, someone gave me the inspiration to start my journey to the top of the mountain. I have a friend from college - we shall call her, as she calls herself - "Captain Tesla". She is one of the smartest people I have ever had the pleasure to know. Having majored in Physics, she is now working on her M.A. in computer science while teaching undergrad classes and doing all manner of other interesting graduate student things. She minored in Philosophy, she plays music, she draws, she watches interesting movies, reads interesting books, and listens to the same kinds of music I do. She is one of my top five favorite people ever. Sometimes I wonder how she has time to do all the things she does, but the answer to that is simple: she's a muthafuckin' riot at time management. Me - not so much, but I'm working on it.  

Anyway, she gave me a book for Christmas. This book, JohnDies at the End was made into a movie that will soon be in theaters. Movies, as we all know, are one of my top five favorite things, ever, so I'm pretty psyched to go it. 

Trouble is, I don't want this to turn into another Watchmen situation. "Yes j^C, I'll read the graphic novel before we go to see the movie." I got halfway through before I got disgusted with the rate of my progress and figured I'd find out what happened when I saw the movie. To this day, I have still not finished reading Watchmen. 

I also quit reading the Harry Potter series halfway through the fifth book. (I couldn't deal with Emo Harry anymore. I kind of wanted to puke.) I hear your collective groans. I know. I’m scum. On the bright side, the last Harry Potter movie I saw was the Fourth, so I still don't really know what happens. 

Please don't shoot me.
  

Right now, I am 118 pages into John Dies at the End. I must finish it before the movie comes out or j^C will never let me hear the end of it. I am hoping to have it finished by the time Captain Tesla writes me another letter, so I can tell her how much I liked it. It's getting kind of embarrassing - every time we communicate she asks me how I'm liking it, and I really only started reading it in earnest yesterday. I am a disgrace. An utter disgrace. 

However, since I've made this much progress, I am hopeful that over the weekend I can finish it and move on to another book in the mountain. “The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step”, they say. Likewise, the only way I am going to scale the mountain of FAIL that is my pile of books is to start reading them - one at a time. I know that the more I read, the faster I will get and that eventually I will be restored to my former prowess. 

I'm like Veruca Salt though. I want it now. I am no good at working for things - I want instant results. This is why weight loss/writing/house cleaning/cooking/a million other things I'm no good at/ cause me so much grief. If I can't make it happen now, I let it go. This is never a good approach. So, what's a girl to do? 

I'm going to finish the book and go from there. 

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 5)

Dear Friends and Gentle Readers: 

This is Part 5 of a longer piece that I have written. If you missed the first part, there's a link to it down below. I think it wise to break it up into sections, fear easier consumption. Thank you for coming along with me on my journey through the world of dance and as I navigate the new territory of serial blog entries. I think we'll do this again. It was a blast! 

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 1) 
Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 2) 
Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 3) 
Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 4) 

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 5)

My dancing days dwindled after high school. I got into the concert scene, and I wanted to shake my ass in front of the stage, but I quickly learned that the people who did that were the "weird" people at shows, and I did not want to be that guy. The exception to this rule is Duran Duran, because if I am at one of their shows, I am going to enjoy every minute of it and damn the naysayers.

You're the meaning in my (dance) life. You're the inspiration.

I digress. The next time I was called upon to learn a dance was my last semester in college. I was an RA and for training, each staff was required to do a dance number at the retreat. Or something. It was stupid. The chicken dance was involved. Thankfully, it was so ridiculously easy that I was able to learn the steps in record time. We did not win anything though.

It was at this point that I met my other incredibly talented dancer friend, Captain Tesla. She lived and worked in the residence hall with me, and as we became friends, I learned that she did ballet and point. Maybe point indicates ballet in that statement, I'm not sure.

Captain Tesla has very strong opinions about ballet slippers.

I am sad to say the only time I have witnessed Captain Tesla dance was at the honors ball, where I saw her dance to "Thriller" as per the music video. It was awesome. I have also seen a couple of videos from her ballet career, which makes me proud to call her my friend. I am not jealous of Captain Tesla's ability to dance, just amazed by it. That may be what defines friendship - gracefully transcending jealousy.

By the by, I am a very jealous person. Indeed. It's a very nasty trait that stems from a deep seeded self-loathing. Also, I don't like being bad at things. These two things are a dangerous combination and they most often come into play when I am trying some new physical activity. Like dancing.

I see myself like Salieri in regard to dance. I can recognize talent. I desire to have that talent, but it is forevermore out of my grasp. But still, I try. I just dance when no one is watching.

Thanks for sticking with me all week! Questions?  What did you think? Are you a lousy dancer too, or can you really cut a rug? Let me know in the comments!

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 4)

Dear Friends and Gentle Readers: 

This is Part 4 of a longer piece that I have written. If you missed the first 2 parts, there's are links to them down below. I thought it wise to break it up into sections, for easier consumption. Come along with me as I share my journey through the world of dance and as I navigate the new territory of serial blog entries. It'll be fun! 

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 1) 
Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 2)
Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 3)

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 4)

After my ill fated attempt to become a cheerleader, I forgot about dancing until I was in the 10th grade. By then, I had switched high schools and found myself in a very eclectic group of friends. Our leader was Josh Gilyard, the best hip hop dancer and choreographer I have ever personally known. (He's also the only one I've ever known, but he really is super talented.) Dance was his passion and Janet Jackson was his hero.

The man, himself. Check him out at www.joshuagilyard.com!

Being from a small town in Florida, there are very few opportunities for a young man to showcase his dancing and choreographing prowess. A few talent shows throughout the year offered Josh a venue to showcase his talents, but the biggest event was The Annual Lip-Sync Contest, a fundraiser for the March of Dimes. It was pretty straightforward. People would sign up as individuals or groups to lip-sync to a song. The best performance won a prize. If Josh had anything to say about it, his group was going to be the best.

The first year, Josh decided we would do "Lady Marmalade" from Moulin Rouge, which was the biggest thing since sliced bread at the time. He gathered a group of us girls and proceeded to teach us the dance. Although I was sure by this time that I could not learn dance steps, Josh proceeded to try to work me into the routine. He quickly gave up when he saw that I had not been exaggerating and I was relegated to the part of Missy Elliot - non-dancing hype man. This was all well and good until the day of the show came.

Let's be honest though. I was never this cool.

There I was in a long, skintight black skirt, black, strappy, stripper heels, and a crushed velvet top hat. I was doing my hype thing. Then, Andrea one of our more awkward friend and a VERY CLUMSY DANCER knocked me over. As the skirt was so tight, I wasn't wearing any underwear. I still don't know whether or not the whole school saw my whole world.

Despite my wardrobe malfunction, everything else in the bit went off without a hitch and we won. Of course we won. We won every year until we graduated. And Josh never could teach me to dance. He was really good at finding a hype man position for me though.

Check back tomorrow for Part 5 of Saliri Cuts a Rug!

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 3)

Dear Friends and Gentle Readers: 

This is Part 3 of a longer piece that I have written. If you missed the first part, there's a link to it down below. I think it wise to break it up into sections, fear easier consumption. Come along with me as I share my journey through the world of dance and as I navigate the new territory of serial blog entries. It'll be fun! 

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 1) 
Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 2) 

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 2)

At around 6, my mom drove me back up to the school so I could look at the list posted on the door. I didn't make it. I tried hard to take it in stride, but I was disappointed. I guess anyone would be. I tried to be upbeat. I blamed my failure on the fact that I had made my KISS makeup plans known. I blamed my thinner, but not thin enough figure. I blamed the EBBB. 

Also, I'm still kinda pissed that I never got to rock this look.

OK, so I was mad. After all, me and one other girl were the only ones who could do a split. (I have always been very proud of my flexibility.) Thankfully, I had the weekend to get over it, and a big English project to work on besides.

By the following Friday, the sting had passed and I was very involved in my English project - a living museum in which I had a large speaking role. Our class was divided into groups of four, each having to act out a different scene from some book. We set up in the library and other classes came in and watched us do our scenes. When the scene was done, we were supposed to be really still like wax figures. 

Well, wouldn't you know, the EBBB brought her class round to see our little project. I don't remember what our scene was about, but I remember I was a grieving mother and there was a point went I had to start wailing about my dead offspring. It was quite over the top, but I have never been shy about embarrassing myself in that sort of capacity. It was appropriate to the scene at any rate, and I felt like I was making up for my group mates who were much more subdued. This was entertainment, people! We had to put on a show! 

Why I didn't win a Tony that year, I'll never know.

I tried to ignore the EBBB when she came round and performed my part as though I were not trying to save face after blowing my tryout. Apparently, it worked. A short time later, I happened to cross paths yet again with the EBBB who told me "Acting is your forte." 

I'm sure that it was meant as a compliment, but at the time, it came across as "Acting is your forte; cheering is not". It kind of reopened the wound. Thankfully, the school year was nearly over, so I only had a week or two to stew about it before I was distracted by the goings on of summer.

Check back tomorrow for Part 4 of Saliri Cuts a Rug!

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 2)

Dear Friends and Gentle Readers: 

This is Part 2 of a longer piece that I have written. If you missed the first part, there's a link to it down below. I think it wise to break it up into sections, fear easier consumption. Come along with me as I share my journey through the world of dance and as I navigate the new territory of serial blog entries. It'll be fun! 

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 1) 

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 2)

In the eighth grade after much diet and exercise, I had lost 40 pounds and decided that I was going to try out for the freshman cheerleading squad. Why not? I could do a split and I was thin(ner). Surely, I could make the squad. I had these great plans of wearing my cheerleading uniform with KISS makeup to the following year's homecoming game. (I was REALLY into hair metal back then. In hindsight, Alice Cooper makeup may have been more appropriate.)

On the other hand, I rather like this look. (Photo from ESPN)

So, tryouts come and I go to the camp for a whole week. I thought we were going to learn flips and cheers and all that sort of "Totally - Fer Shure!" crap. Nay nay. The tryout mostly consisted of learning and performing a choreographed dance routine. Since when did our cheerleaders dance? I thought to myself. The answer was "Never". It turned out that the year I decide to try out was the same year CCJSHS got a new cheerleading coach. 

She was a thin, blond, birdlike woman who in perpetuity became known as "The Evil Blond Bird Bitch". Having been a cheerleader in college or something, she had plans to turn our rag tag group of misfit cheerleaders into a well oiled "Bring it On" caliber dancing and cheering machine. I had never taken a dance class in my life and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

At least Sue Sylvester has personality. And Moxie.

The first day, The EBBB ran through the whole dance routine and I'm sure as I watched my eyes were bugging out of my head. "You expect me to learn that in a week? Surely, you jest." 

For the next four days, I was committed to learning those dance steps. Every day after school all of the cheerleading hopefuls met in the gym for an hour - maybe longer - to learn this routine. I think we broke it down section by section, but it all went by so fast. I kept thinking, "Wait! Slow down! Can't I take some notes? Draw me a picture, or something!" No such luck.

The only ace I had up my sleeve was the fact that I was friends with the current cheerleading captain and she was in my gym class during the day. With her help and kind encouragement, I thought maybe I could pull it off. 

I tried so hard to learn all the steps. I don't even remember what the song was anymore, but I still remember being in my back yard every night that week with my boombox blaring Duran Duran's "Thank You" album trying to master that routine.


Friday came, and I had my tryout. I did my very best. It's actually one of the last times I remember working so hard for something. I was proud of myself. I was truly hopeful that I would make it.

Check back tomorrow for Part 3 of Saliri Cuts a Rug!

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 1)

Dear Friends and Gentle Readers: 

I have written a longer piece that I would like to share with you all, but I think it wise to break it up into sections. I hope you come along with me as I share my journey through the world of dance and as I navigate the new territory of serial blog entries. I think it will be fun!

Salieri Cuts a Rug (Part 1)

I love dancing. I love the idea of it and I love the reality of it. I love watching people dance, which would explain my love of music videos and musical theater. I love to dance myself. 
Sadly, dancing does not love me. I have no rhythm and no grace. I imagine this has something to do with having never been comfortable in my own skin. I decided over the past month however, that I was going to finally learn to dance. After a lot of research, I decided on belly dancing, as there are no adult hip-hop classes. I once dated a guy who often said he'd like to see me in a belly dancer costume, so the concept didn't seem too far fetched.


Last night I went to my first class. For an hour I shook my hips, flexed my abs, shimmied and swayed. Most of my energy was spent meticulously watching my instructor and trying to mimic her movements and footwork. What little energy was left went to hating her and myself. Her for being so beautiful and so confident and me for feeling neither.

Who wouldn't want to be like Mata Hari. I mean, come on.

If I had not been there with the intention of learning to dance, the teacher would have been a joy to watch. The whole night, all I could think was "She is in love with herself". I know that sounds bad, but I don't mean for it to. I wish I were in love with myself. When the music was playing, it was as if she couldn't not move. 

She was in love with her body, she loved what she was doing with her body, and maybe she was even in love with life. She was so graceful and beautiful and all sorts of other adjectives I wish I was. While she was gliding around like some kind of ethereal flower goddess, I was trying to figure out a way to dance while folding up inside of myself at the same time.

I tried. It does not work.

There's no room for ego, self consciousness, or inhibition in dancing. It is the celebration of your physical form. I'm sure people who are not secure in their bodies can dance, but not me. 

This is, however, not for lack of trying on my part.

Check back tomorrow for Part 2 of Saliri Cuts a Rug!

The Kony 2012 Bandwagon: A Rant

Doth my ears deceive me? Are these people asking our government to intervene on foreign soil for no other reason than it's the right thing to do?

Did I miss a memo?

I thought that was the exact same reason everyone thought we should have never invaded Iraq.

Never mind that there were and are horrifying human rights violations taking place across the middle east. Never mind that children were, and in some places still are kidnapped, raped, sold into slavery, killed, and forced to kill in those countries. We are told that the only reason out military is occupying these countries is because we want to exploit them for their oil.

And maybe we do.

But I fail to see how one cause turns into a huge middle class movement full of white privilege and bad hair while the other one is turned into the shame of us all.

Yes, the war was a bad idea. It was totally about oil. We had no business ever going into Iraq. I agree. I totally agree. America should not be policing the world. That's bad. But apparently only in the middle east. Policing Africa, and taking their big, scary, mean dictators out of power is totally OK. Especially because some asshole in Chuck Taylors said so.

I'm all for helping children - I just don't see how Iraqi children and African children are different. Why is it OK to secure human rights for one and not the other? Why is it OK to stop Joseph Kony but we were totally wrong to depose Saddam Hussein? Don't even get me started on Osama bin Laden.

Whatever you think about war and America's place overseas, the fact remains that Hussein and bin Ladin were bad men. With them gone, I will have you know that things have improved for the children of Iraq and Afghanistan. Even though it was a sham war based on oil, we were able to do some good in the human rights department. Us - big, bad, scary, hypocritical, oil hungry, war mongering America - we did that.

Meanwhile, let's consider the "get rid of Kony" movement. These people asked Washington to help Uganda clean house. These people, with peace signs emblazoned all over everything, asked for the military to intervene, while crying for peace. Maybe they don't understand what armies do? Do they think the Army is going to drive this guy out with some incense and drum circle? Armies have guns, kind of like Kony's child army. Those guns will be fired. If military action comes to pass - we ARE going to be shooting at children. We will likely be killing children. If we are successful, hopefully we will save more lives than we take, but it's not going to be peaceful. It's just not.

So, Kony 2012 people, do any of you have the vaguest conception under God, what it is you are really asking for - what you are really doing? I doubt it. You're young. You're most likely white (I can say that, I'm white too). You're educated. You're disenfranchised. You have probably occupied something recently. You want to feel like you're doing something to change the world. You want to make a difference.

Well, I got some bad news for you, Sunshine:

#Kony2012 is about the least you could do. Literally. The very least.

Okay, so maybe the racial participation on this issue is 50/50.

"But I'm making people more aware!" you cry. And what? That awareness is doing exactly nothing. You can feel incensed all you want about the fact that our government won't intervene, stop the violence, and save the children but the truth is this: it's not that simple. International relations are complicated. War is hard. If you're so smart, why don't you back a bag, grab your passport, and get your all knowing butt right on over to Africa. Furthermore, why are you making Joseph Kony famous with this #Kony2012 thing? Why not #invisiblechildren? Why not #warchild?

I'm not saying your heart isn't in the right place. It is. What I'm saying is that your actions and your intentions are misguided. I don't have the answer, but I'm pretty sure that a bunch of young, middle class, white Americans tweeting about a documentary on the internet is not a solution. Maybe instead, we could all start by treating the black children in our own communities like actual human beings. You know, instead of shooting them for walking while wearing a hoodie while black. Just a thought.

I'm just going to leave this right here.

The Red Flag

I am feeling rather prickly and socialist at the moment, so I give you Billy Bragg with "The Red Flag". So, I'm still a bonefied, card carrying liberal. Guess I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet. Of course, I don't see all the rest of you vocal, liberal assholes toeing the party line in quite the same manner. You ignorant fucks.

Someone said in the comments to the video "This song is about solidarity of the proletariat, something that has faded from the 1950s onwards I love this song but I am saddened as the words are hollow in this day and age."

I totally agree. I don't think I'm all for communism, as my lot (and the rest of us liberal hippies) would be the first to go. I think it's hilarious that the privileged, intellectual, ivory tower dwelling white kids are the ones you'll hear spouting off the virtues of communism, while wasting time sipping coffee in some hip coffee house. I want to slap them. Clearly, they've never heard of the Cultural Revolution. I'm not stupid - I know bookworms like myself would be the first to go.  Because in this country, if we've got the time to worry about class and social order, we're already bourgeois.

I do think some things about socialism are good though. It would be nice if people would think about one another as well as themselves. Unions, health care, fair wages - these sound like good ideas to me. I'm all for the Occupy Wall Street thing. But I'm not advocating taking to the streets in violence. I also think that a vast majority of the people occupying Wall Street haven't the foggiest notion why they are there, what they want, or how to go about getting it. I just think that it would be nice if everyone would start thinking about things instead of parroting the rhetoric of the party. I am far more a Labor Party member than anything I can find in the country. Rights for the working class, that's all I want. Is that so much to ask?

I thought that music mattered. But does it? Bollocks! Not compared to how people matter.

Money Matters: It's a Brave New World and I Don't Belong in It

My dear husband, j^C, is not the type of person who uses cash money (G). He only carries a debit card, and he claims that he is able to keep a running tally of his balance . . . in his mind. Would that I had that sort of mental prowess, but sadly, I am the type of mere mortal who does much better carrying only cash in order to keep my (egregious) spending in check. I also come from a small town where there are places that plain and simple don't take plastic (a fact that vexes j^C to no end). For these reasons, I try to keep a fair amount of cash around. 

Then, there are emergencies.

Guys, this is what money looks like.

It was Thursday afternoon. That Sprout was home sick, and Cody had a vet appointment. So, I had the dog leash in one hand, the Sprout in the other, keys, phone, and debit card haphazardly balanced in between. 

After I loaded Cody into the hatchback, I placed the keys and the card on top of the car and strapped That Sprout into her car seat. I grabbed the keys and the phone while I quickly checked the mail. Then, I got in the car and drove away. 

With the debit card on the roof of the car.

I realized what I had done before I got to the highway, but by the then it was too late. The card was gone, most likely blown into the gutter by the stupid amount of wind that was blowing at the time. Why wouldn't it be? That card was my only means of getting money - why shouldn't I have lost it in the wind? 

Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be so bad. Call the bank, "Hey guys, funny story, lost my debit card. Need a new one. By, the way, can I withdraw some cash? Yeah? OK, Thanks!" 

Good Idea.

But these were not normal circumstances.

First of all, the debit card had j^C's name on it. So, I lost his card. For his account. Which I am not on. And of course, he's gone on the magical mystery tour, so it's not like I can just get them to send me another one. They want a copy of the Power of Attorney. That's easy - just take it down to the bank and - wait. There is no bank to take it down to. It's entirely online - there's one branch office, in Texas. I would have to fax it. But, I don't have any money to fax it, because all the money is in the bank. That's online. That I'm not authorized on. And round we go. 

Now, I still have a Bank of America account. There's zero dollars in it, but I figured, surely I could just wire some money into it. I have all the login info for the online bank account. That meant I had the access to the account and routing numbers. Surely I could just do an online transfer. If only it were that easy. No, they want you to call. As deep as I like to pretend my voice is, there's no way I can pull off that I'm j^C. "We'll need your POA, ma'am."

Christ and Moses on a fucking cracker - ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?! I have no money and no way to get it, you fucks!

Still, I had a plan. "I'll get cash back off my SAMS credit card!" That was a no go. It's worked every other time I ever tried, but the day I need it, not so much. 

Still optimistic, I think "No worry, I'll use money gram to wire myself the money I need." Money gram killed my web browser. It killed my web browser five times. In a row. By this point, I was getting desperate. Then, I remembered that I had j^C's new credit card . . . somewhere. I began a frantic search. I could buy a money order to pay the babysitter with the credit card and then have that until the new debit card came. Funny thing about money orders - apparently, they're "cash only" transactions. 

Hahaha. 

Fuck. 

Bad idea.

So, presently, I owe my child care provider a cool $88 that I can't make good on til I get the new card. It’s in the mail, as j^C was able to call and order and new one, and at least I have the credit card for everything else. I could kick myself for not having cash right now. 

What's really sad? Even 5 years ago, I would have never ever dreamed this could be a problem. I loved going to the bank and cashing my checks. That's one of the only things that ever made me feel like an adult. Now, everything is direct deposit. There's not even a physical bank for me to go to. 

"I hate that they don't take debit," j^C says. "Cash is pointless," he says. 

Yeah . . . it's real pointless to me right now. If we still lived in City by the Lake, FL this would have never happened. All the businesses are so small that the cost of the debit machine isn't worth it. You must have cash. Thank God the biggest issue I have is that I owe for childcare. Where would I be if I had needed a prescription filled or something? Lesson learned: Gotta get that paper, son. 

Diddy don't got these problems. He knows it's all about the Benjamins.

Friday Free for All: You Say It's Your Birthday? It's My Birthday Too!

Tomorrow anyway.

That's so metal. Source

I'm pretty excited. I needed something pleasant in light of all the fuckery that my life has been lately. I bought myself a Nook last night. Just the Simple Touch, and I'm loving it! What's more, I pretty much got it for free. If you are interested in such a thing as a Nook Simple Touch - go this weekend! They are running a special so if you buy a year subscription to the New York Times at $19.95 (or something) a month, you get the Nook Simple Touch Free. If you want the fancier versions, they are all $100 off with the NYT subscription. Pretty cool if you ask me. With that saved scratch, you can buy a cool cover for your new e-reader. I got the Kafka one, so now I am totally Kafka-esque.

Kafka-esque. Source

Today, after I clean out my car and start some laundry, I am going to eat lunch at Taste of India in Savannah. I truly hope they have Paneer on the buffet today. It may be one of my new favorite foods. Interesting, since I hate cottage cheese. Afterward I hope to buy some roller blades and some materials to make That Sprout and myself "Yay" flags for the end of j^C's Magical Mystery Tour. A note about him, according to an email, he's feeling much better. Then, when all that is finished, I will be going to Florida for the weekend to eat swamp cabbage. Duh-lish-us. I will also be doing some covert recon work on behalf of a friend. More on that adventure to come!

I will leave you all with my favorite birthday song:

Comments are much appreciated and will be awarded with prizes!