How To Be Poor
This is the sad thing. I finally have a full-time job and am able to support myself well for the first time since 2002 (when I quit my other lucrative seasonal art job in a rush of design inspiration and "I can do it!" naivete), and every month something seems to come up that steals away all the excess cash. And some of the non-excess cash. Let's just say that I know EXACTLY how far my account can be in the negative before my debit card starts bouncing like a 2 year old about to get his ice cream.
For March, a couple of evil burglars decided that they wanted to get my crappy 6-year-old single CD playing stereo, and to do it they broke a window (did I mention "evil"? My car is almost laughingly easy to pop open with nothing more than a stick and a sneeze) and used a crowbar to open up most of my dashboard and steal the faceplate off the stereo. Just the faceplate. Evil bastards. I was left with the black boxed remnants of my stereo and a backseat full of glass shards, and they took the added initiative to open my glove box and spread the paperwork all over the car and did something to the door so that it now doesn't open from the inside. They didn't take the title or any of the important stuff, and left me my empty checkbook (it was previously empty, I'm not sure exacty why it was even in my car). So, to sum up, we ended up with:
Me: Broken window, useless stereo, big mess, broken door
Them: Stereo faceplate
EVIL. They didn't even steal well! Though to give them credit, some of the crowbar work was around the steering wheel so they may have been trying to steal the entire car. That would have rocked.
Anyways, since thinking about it all still makes me seethe, I will instead share with the e-world my Incredibly Useful Hints About Living Life As A Poor Person (but not poor enough to qualify for any sort of handouts, damnit).
1. To save gas, coast whenever possible. If there is the slightest decline in the road, shift into Neutral and yell "whee!" at all the other drivers who are staring at you because you're going approximately 5 mph (and slowing) on the highway.
2. To save groceries, buy whatever you can find that will keep well and is on sale. Don't think about meals or what foods you normally eat, since that stuff is never in the cheap seat. Buy the fettucini and spaghetti-o's and nectarines and try not to think about the fact that you'll have to combine them for dinner next week. If you have a little extra, buy Powerbars or Cliff Bars and save them for the leanest times. They make an excellent supplement to the saltine crackers and the conglomerate of healthy things will hold you over for days (as long as you don't mind the taste, which resembles road tar and granola)
3. Forget about buying vitamin supplements or other-than-basic toiletries. PLEASE buy soap, but keep in mind that liquid soap covers all your needs, and looks enough like shampoo to help you keep that "hey, I'm not THAT poor!" happy mindset. Toothpaste is also not optional, unless you hate humanity. Vitamins are for wusses, as long as you keep up the powerbars and don't let yourself get scurvy or anemia from too many cracker-meals.
4. Convince your friends that movies are boring. This isn't as hard as you think, given that many movies legitimately aren't worth the money. If they insist on movies, bring out the DVD collection you scraped together back when you had funds, and make them watch "Caddyshack" for the 12th time. When they finally call uncle, make them go out to a park somewhere and skip stones until the sun sets and their hands cramp and they decide that you're strange and leave. Friends are expensive, it's for the best.
5. Learn to love cooking! Even though your only ingredients are an indescribable mix of boxed goods, pasta, dried fruit, canned peas, and that bag of brown sugar that you're pretty sure has hung around for the last two moves (a.k.a. five years), culinary joy is at hand. If you can't stir-fry it, boil it. If boiling just angers the beast, throw it in a pan and bake it. If baking creates a monster the consistancy of porridge and you're pretty sure you started out with fettucine and nectarine chunks, just sprinkle some brown sugar on top and dig in.
6. These things are now optional: Health insurance, vision insurance, dental insurance, car insurance, cell phones with anything but a pay-per-minute plan, new clothes from locations other than Goodwill, dessert, and a social life.
7. These things are never optional: Rent (in Seattle, this is particularly painful), taxes. Sorry. But considering your income, you'll probably be getting taxes back! Unless of course you worked as a contractor for a friend over last summer and didn't take any taxes out of your wages, which means that you'll be paying a hefty chunk of change.
Hello, April. Hello, spaghetti-o's.
canine pepto
Yesterday I spent a couple hours training Monkey to try and get her caught up with all the other little girl-doggies and boy-doggies in her agility class since she came in late, and apparently the overload of treats gave her an upset stomach last night.
How do I know? Ohhh, dogs are NOT subtle.
After a couple of dry-heaves around midnight, I got up and discovered Monkey trying to eat the furniture (not her typical behavior - it's usually Rooster who gets the craving for chair legs). I told her "no" and she stopped, but five minutes later I hear a ripping sound and discover her trying to eat her bed. Then she made the Kermit face, and I knew something was up. For reference, normal face =
Kermit face =
But the corners of the mouth are even more pronounced.
Dog instinct dictates that when a tummy is upset, the best cure is to fill the rest of the tummy up with stuff. Usually dirt or grass, but they'll take anything they can get. Case in point: I went to give Monkey a "it'll be okay" cuddle, and when I pulled back she had a mouthful of MY HAIR. She dropped it with a sheepish look once she realized what she was doing, and went back to trying to eat the carpet.
At that point I gave up on the consolation and let her out into the backyard, where she proceeded to play billy goat and eat half the yard. Then she came back in and went to sleep. This morning she had some serious grass-breath but other than that all was well. Dogs are strange.
Only a mother could love that face
We dove the Edmonds Underwater Park last Saturday and, if I sit still enough, I can still feel the waves pushing me along in their hypnotizing seductive rhythm.
The dive was almost called off due to waves so high they were creating whitecaps, but I spotted a guy who I took classes from over the winter and he told us that about 10 feet below the waves was some of the best visibility he'd seen in a while, and that info plus the shining of the sun (oh, how I've missed it!) made us decide to risk the surf after all.
The Edmonds site is known for a few things:
* A VERY long surface swim, particularly at high tide (it was high tide, of course)
* A shallow site with an average depth of 30ish feet, with a sandy bottom
* Haaah, I said sandy bottom
* Various constructed things done by hippies that have been growing over with sea life for the past 20 or so years
* Giant fish, since it's a Marine Sanctuary
* Giant fish that also attack you, since they know you can't hurt them and they are eeeevil.
We ate a lot of water on the swim out to the buoys that marked the underwater features. Actually, we only made it halfway before I begged to swim the rest underwater (being smaller than my dive buddy, I was being tossed around like... uh... like a very wet pinball? Dorothy's house in the tornado? a salad? I've lost my simile mojo). We had to hold hands as we descended (platonically) to keep track of each other, the visibility was that bad - I couldn't even see my own fins, much less my buddy's. But once we broke around 10' in depth, the haze disappeared and we slammed into the sea floor. Hey, I told you it was shallow. We swam out with the waves pushing us back and forth, watching the reeds on the sea floor do their dance for us, until we got to the cable "streets" that were meant to guide us from feature to feature. I swear this place is like some sort of hippie underwater Disneyland.
Then I met the park mascot, the Cabezon. Not quite as cute as Goofy, but apparently he still wanted to interact with me in his own little way. Which was head-butting. I was swimming along, looking at all of the giant crabs and sea stars that populated the cables, when all of a sudden a little alarm in my head went "(clearing throat)... uh, you might want to look up now". I looked up and saw this adorable face swimming right towards my head.
There was luckily enough time for me to kick up and over the guy, who apparently was not used to evasive manuevers and kept plowing along in his straight path, certain that someday he's ram something that wasn't supposed to be there. We'd hit the Cabezon nesting season, and they are widely known for being very protective of their nests. After that first encounter (which I tried to communicate to my buddy, who hadn't seen any of it) (there are no good "hey, that fish just tried to head-butt me" hand signals), I was on guard but we didn't see any more for a while. Lots of 5' and 6' Ling Cods, but they weren't interested in doing much more than lounging around and giving off the hey-I'm-huge vibe. We saw a teepee made of giant metal pipes, the creation of a guy named Alex who'd spelled out his name in concrete parking lot end-stop thingies (WHAT ARE THOSE CALLED? Seriously, it's bugging me), some rock sculptures, some boat wrecks, lots of anemones, and a giant tube that looked enticing until I saw the ring of cabezons guarding the entrance.
One of them attacked my buddy, which was disturbing yet hilarious to watch. It poked him in the leg (Cabezons don't bite, their only defensive maneuver is to use their basketball-sized heads as weapons) and when J turned to see what the hell was going on the fish swam up and whapped him in the arm. Then as J slow-mo turned the other direction (it's hard to be fast with so much crap on you) the fish whapped him in the other arm. Then it did a couple of victory laps and settled back on the tube, where it almost completely blended in with the environment. I was laughing and trying to reenact the scene with hand motions, and ended up accidentally giving him the "mortal danger" hand signal (I found this out later) so we turned around and headed back in. Once the signal mix-up had been worked out we made a second dive (yes, crazy) and were far more successful at dodging the fish and enjoying the beautiful scenery.
It was fun.
I like to think of it as recycling
You may think this is disturbing, but take a close look at their little blissful furry faces and tell me that there is a better use for an unwanted gift.
Day 1:
Day 2:
Day 3:
Caught in the act:
For a while there it looked like it was snowing in my house.
It's a good thing they're cute
You have to imagine this.
I decided to bring both punk furry demons with me up to Everett, since it was a gorgeous sunny day and I had a couple of errands up there (one of which being a private agility training session for punk furball #1) and they looked like they were developing cabin fever. For future reference, Everett is about an hour from my house, and I was going to be up there for most of the day.
I got a big-ass coffee. A mocha. After a couple of sips, I decided to check out one of the local parks since I was early for my errands. I put both dogs on leashes, stuck some plastic bags in my pockets, grabbed my giant, steaming hot cup of coffee, and set out. We did great for a long while, and then...(insert ominous music) Rooster had to poo. He did his thing, then I switched my leashes onto one wrist while I held my bucket-like lava-hot cup of coffee with the same hand, and scooped the poo with the other. So. I'm bent over, both dogs controlling the hand holding the coffee, and not really paying attention to the hairy miscreants. Of course Rooster decides it's a great time to play with Monkey. He's just relieved himself, it's a sunny day, the birds are singing, his owner is marginally happy since she's got a giant cup of yummy caffiene.
His 80 lbs. of happy spastic dancing jerked my hand and I instinctively pulled back and clenched my grip on my beloved beverage, shooting off the lid and launching the entire contents on top of my head. I yelled (did I mention it was a little warm?), and stood up, which transfered the contents down my jacket and DRENCHED my jeans. I then called my dogs names that made me very happy afterwards that they don't understand English. They slunk back to the car (they CAN understand intonation, after all) and I found every spare napkin lodged in every cranny of my car and attempted to mop myself up. I eventually went to a different park and snuck in the restroom to wash my hair in the sink, but it didn't help much. I spent the entire day reeking of old coffee and with half of my hair a crispy, tangled mess. When I was finally able to get home it took three showers to get the 'do back to normal again.
But the good news is that Monkey will soon be able to walk a balance beam. You know, for the times when I really need her to walk one.
Here's what I daydream about
Do Mac users eventually develop a hatred of all multicolored beach balls?
Think about it. How often do we encounter beach balls in our daily lives? Unless you live on a beach in a warm climate or frequent many large concerts, probably not all that often. Mac users, however, encounter a digital spinning beach ball every time they do something that makes their computer think really hard, or as a precursor to it freezing entirely. That's much more frequent for most people, in my estimation and sometimes unfortunate personal Mac usage.
So based on the theory that association of an unpleasant event with an object that doesn't have an intrinsic positive built-in association (at least not a strong one), we should soon be seeing legions of Mac users who will go completely postal at the sight of a beach ball. Or at least experience unpleasant thoughts. Same with an hourglass, I suppose (though it's harder to carry one of those around with you to test people with). And I wonder how people who regularly use Adobe Photoshop or Illustrator feel about a flat, open hand - does it make them move around more? Are they traumatized by the "don't walk" symbol?
I'm going to do a study, someday.
When I spend days doing AutoCAD, I find that in my dreams things pause at random times, zoom in, one item will change, and then it all zooms back out and resumes the normal pace. And there are crosshairs zooming around. Seriously. Which is why I have volunteered to do things other than CAD on a more frequent basis.
And in random news: Today I am outlining a tour in which schoolchildren will be encouraged to handle dried-out poo (hey, at least I won't be dreaming about crosshairs).
Voor the love
I have officially turned against my people, my history, my heritage.
The Dutch word for "hard hat" is "veiligheidshelmen".
I have tried multiple times to write it legibly approximately 1" high with a Sharpie pen on clean white paper (I would tell you why, but it's honestly more fun for me not to). Sharpie ink pools if you pause even a moment (say, to verify that it is "heidshelmen" instead of "hiedshelmen") and my hand shakes when faced with the fury inspired when forced to write large and with lots of vowels.
I love the Dutch, they make great cheese and rock my architectural world and are a constant source of amazement for how freakishly tall they can get (except some of the women, dangit), but I am entirely unsuprised that their language is slowly falling into disuse.
"Nut" also equals "scroefmoeren". Honestly. I don't know how I came from these people.
glub
Lest any of you think that the northwest winter has kept me from my out-of-doors pursuits, I feel the need to update and defend my hard-core-hood-ness and also, apparently, use more hyphens than God. Since God probably has better things to do punctuation-wise (had to slip one more in).
I have no idea where I was going with that.
Last weekend was the first official scuba event, and we got a bunch of new folks who were brave enough to dive when there is still officially snow on the ground. We only did one dive, since two of the guys hadn't done cold-water (hyphen! okay I'll stop now) since 2000 or so and another guy was diving in only a 4 mm wetsuit when the norm is 7 mm or even 9. Though with 9 mm you can't put your arms down and have to waddle like a penguin. Hee. It went well, and I was thoroughly entertained by both the lovely anemones and my dive buddy, who seemed to be trying her hardest to kick me in the head (again).
Last month I got my advanced certification through a series of boat dives in the south Puget Sound, and had a bit of an adventure. Oh! Two adventures! First: I was entirely spoiled by a cabin boy. I doubt that was his title, but he was in his early 20's and adorable so he made me feel a little old-lady-lecherous so, hence, "cabin boy". He followed me around and made sure that I was warm by pouring hot water down the back of my wetsuit and offering blankets, gloves, etc. He helped me with my gear, even going as far as to put on my fins for me (*swoon*), and adjust my wetsuit hood (uh, slightly lesser *swoon*). Granted, he did this for the rest of the guys too (I was the only female, except for the other deckhand chick) (note: NOT "cabin girl", as I don't swing like that) but there was a certain special flair and level of attention. Or, alternately, I could have been imaginging things. Like taking him home with me and having him pour warm water over me at inappropriate times and put on my sneakers and optional hats with that same loving hand. Then pushing me out the door the same caring way he shoved me off the boat. Ahh, amour.
Um. Also, there was a moment that I certainly did not imagine in my chilled little brain - we were diving off Zee's Reef near Tacoma, and hovering next to the flat wall of the reef looking for octopuses (we'd already seen a bunch of wolf eels staring at us from their burrows). I was about 3 feet or less from the vertical surface of the wall, and my buddy was swimming slightly ahead of and above me. To be honest, I wasn't really paying attention. The reef was brightly colored in purples, greens, and the occasional flash of orange and I was swimming in slow spirals, admiring the view. It was at the point of the spiral where I was closest to "normal" (face-down) that it happened. A tentacle snaked out of a crack in the rock about a foot below me, stretched out to its fullest extent (I'm guessing about 7 to 8 feet), curled lazily back in on itself and retreated back into the rock.
You're not supposed to stop breathing when underwater, but I didn't make any bubbles for quite a while after that.
My buddy turned around and I tried to recreate what had just happened with my shaking arm motions, but he didn't get it. We found another giant one for him later (I stayed back quite a ways and shined my flashlight so he could get a better look. I'm so noble.) so it all worked out. Now I'm working up the courage to feed a wolf eel. Big frickin' teeth. My personal messing-with-nature theory is that if I leave them alone (aside from the occasional crab high-five), they will not attack me. It's worked so far, but the big question is if feeding = good karma or if feeding = a bad idea that will put my hands very close to the biting end of a big ill-tempered critter.
I'm looking for very large things that I can feed them from a distance.
