“I don’t have pet peeves. I have whole kennels of irritation.” – Whoopi Goldberg
I have been home and back at work for only two days, but I am already in the tiniest, littlest, most miniscule fight with the cosmos. It’s a small thing really: just our car needing $600 worth of repairs. This is the same car that required $1500 this past September. I’ve retaliated like a grownup – dramatically glaring at my bank account and (continuing to) refuse to unpack my suitcase, but for essentials, until the weekend.
All I can say, darlings, is that it’s a bloody good thing my vacation was so relaxing because if it had not been, Aunty C. might be in a bit of a strop. And we wouldn’t want that, would we, universe?
“Frugality is misery in disguise.” – Publilius Syrus
And, suddenly and as inconveniently as it always is, our car needs a $1500 repair. The day before we fly out.
Seriously…plane tickets home for me, plane tickets for both of us to the East Coast, a week in a hotel in London while we hunt for a flat for J., and the food we haven’t even bought yet. Come on, universe, just give us a break.
Thank Jupiter, Odin, and Quetzalcoatl we built up a decent pile of savings against the day of reckoning for grad school and can afford it. Which pile is swiftly depleting. Minions, send me your tips and tricks to spiff up Ramen, I’ll be living on it for the next six months!
“A host is like a general: calamities often reveal his genius.” – Horace
There is very little that can crush the spirit of Small Dog, minions, but taking one’s car in to be serviced and having what one has long suspected confirmed as true – it needs new tires – is a spiritual and financial blow. I handed over the credit card with clear eyes and teeth clenched. It’s awfully hard to keep improving one’s savings when one’s car decides to be disagreeable.
And I absolutely did not mistake cyanide for baking powder. Enjoy!
And then, because my cup was not yet full, we had a couple of people visit from the parish yesterday. I was just finishing up dicing cheeses and fruits to broil on french bread slices (Palm Sunday pretensions, kittens, because I was in no mood to cook a full meal) when they knocked. I figured they wouldn’t be staying too long so I’d let the oven heat up while they visited. Ten minutes later, I smelled burning and realized that I had left my pizza stone in the oven and that the oils in it were beginning to smoke. The fire alarm went off. All the windows had to be open. I joked and laughed the whole thing off, but I was secretly mortified.
That pizza stone (which has given me no end of angst) is now at the bottom of the trash bin. Cheap pieces of….
J. has only one more final and then we are done (free!) with his undergraduate degree! Thursday and Friday are his graduation celebrations, and then we throw ourselves full time into grad school preparation – in spite of car related financial irritations.
“Creditor. One of a tribe of savages dwelling beyond the Financial Straits and dreaded for their desolating incursions.” – Ambrose Bierce
As J. and I contemplate and plot for grad school, by far the biggest question we have is, “How in Pluto’s dark depths are we going to pay for this?!” The response is, of course, financial aid and debt. Out of curiosity and as a way to start looking into loans, we decided to get our credit scores.
Both are excellent…but mine is four points higher!
If you think education is expensive, try ignorance.
~ Andy McIntyre
Woof, ducklings! I thought the application process for J.’s grad school was grueling and soul destroying…but it is as nothing compared to working out how to pay for it!
Where will we live?
How much can we contribute ourselves?
How much, then, will we need in loans?
Federal, private, or both?
and most importantly…
Will we have to sell any kidneys and/or future children to pull this off?
We must write such moving personal statements that the entire selection committe will be moved to tears/frenzy/generosity. See photo for desired effect.
Last night we stayed up past 1am writing (another!) personal statement, this time for a scholarship application. Let me just say here, that between J.’s experience and my editing, we have streamlined this sort of midnight activity to a science. In fact reading the earliest application essays and comparing them to the last one we put together was hilarious – especially considering that earliest and probably least polished piece of work is the one that got him into the school we’re most excited about. Who can fathom the ways of grad school selection committees?
Naturally staying up that late working on something that will only decide the course of our destiny is not conducive to stress free and happy Small Dogs. I was frighteningly stressed and humorless about it all, I’m afraid, but J. seems to find this sort of angst in me amusing – granted I was especially klutzy last night and after midnight all sorts of incoherent things start coming out of my mouth, so maybe I’m better company than I thought.
So far this work is paying off, though. J. has one fabulous scholarship offer to school A and now we’re just waiting to see what school B will throw at us (we’re dreadful tarts, you see, money buys our affections). We’ve callously kicked schools C and D to the curb.
We’ll be making a final decision sometime in the near future. Now if you’ll excuse me, I simply have to go breathe into a paper bag just thinking about it…
“Guys! Problem! I’m huge, I’m hurting people, and I’m misunderstood!” “Just like the IRS!” – The Fairly Odd Parents
Hello, darlings. Did we all survive the late nights, vicious hangovers, and the guilt of (most likely) already breaking one or two resolutions? Yes? Excellent, sounds like you had a great holiday!
We went to a mocktail party at GS and GBIL’s place on New Year’s Eve and spent most of the weekend on the couch recuperating from late nights. I was unaccountably grouchy, still riding the Birth Control roller coaster, but things look to be improving. I’m old and tired at 24, pumpkins.
Now that we are emerging from the wreckage of a truly great holiday season, J. and I are taking stock. Financially speaking this was a rough winter on us because we did Christmas and paid the (exorbitant, outrageous, soul-bleeding) fees for grad school applications all at the same time. Higher Education is running a racket in this country – pay to apply, pay to get in, pay to register, fees, books, pay to graduate, pay to get copies of transcripts and/or diplomas, woof. So we paid a small fortune to apply and, once we figure out where we’re going, we get to start the process of taking out loans to finance more school.
Ergo we’re filing taxes the moment that we can, got to build up our reserve again. The goal is a healthy pile in our savings that we can live off of for the year J. is in his program. That way we will only spend half of our lives and have to sell just one or two of our children to pay it off. A good plan, n’est pas?
“I want to make Korean food this week. Let’s to to the Asian market.”
“I just got back from the store. You can go get things without me you know.”
“I like to go with you. You tell me what I can and can’t buy. Because I’d come home with Korean marshmallow pies and you know it.”
– C. and J.
We do and buy strange things sometimes.
J.’s been into a new exercise regimen recently, and after begging me for a few days for a pull up bar and finding a good deal on one, I gave in. Naturally one thing led to another and now our house looks even more ghetto as he had to take off the door to our office to use it. I resisted that for a couple of days too, but since I have my bike sitting pretty in the front room I had lost the aesthetic appeal already and didn’t have a leg to stand on. But as he works out everyday and I ride my bike faithfully (for an hour yesterday, kittens! My legs are jello!) I suppose the loss of a door is alright. Except when company comes over.
Then,because summer arrived quite suddenly this year–we went from snow to heat in mere days, what gives!–I realized, as I do every year, that I was dying. I didn’t own a single pair of shorts. So I marched into Old Navy and bought a stack. Jupiter, Odin, and Quetzalcoatl, what have I been missing?! You mean wearing these things makes my legs that much less glow-in-the-dark white, and keeps me cool? What has a professional-only wardrobe done to me?!
Finally, while doing the grocery shopping yesterday, I came across almond butter. I’d read of its awesomeness here at Thinspired, and from various health conscious friends and so snatched it up. Go. Buy. This. Stuff.
“Good God, woman, where have you been?” he cried furiously.
A morbid lunacy overtook her. She smiled fiercely and held up the bag.
“Shopping. Want to see what I bought?”
– Lois McMaster Bujold
My wallet is now under permanent lock-down. Because of going to That Show, I bought this and this (the latter for my sister-in-law’s upcoming wedding), but unfortunately not this because it did not look at all good on a less-than-five-foot woman. I looked a frilly mess.
Pictured: the THAT in question.
Then, the other day, Venice called me (from two doors down in her flat) and said I had to come over right now. I obligingly threw on some basketball shorts and scampered on over only to behold this.
“Where did you get that?!” I screeched in excitement.
“From that place we hate,” she triumphed.
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. For $87.00!”
“I NEED THAT!”
The next step was to get J. to agree. I pitched it as the perfect solution to this problem, which has been exacerbated since getting married as the only time I really get to see my husband is the time I used to go to the gym. I pinky-promised my way through the usual litany of bargains (to use it everyday, not to be a little grump when he reminds me that I haven’t worked out that day, etc.) and expounded its virtues (it’s cheap, it’s nice and small – C. sized! – it’s light, and it’s portable for future moves).
If anything else, the sheer guilt that would come from having that sitting in my house (staring at me) will motivate me to use it. It’s easy to ignore the gym when it’s not sitting in your living room! So, with J.’s consent, I bought it.
I really think this could be a solution to my exercise problem. After coming home from work in the evening to feed this guy, coupled with the desire to enjoy this, and the lack of desire to drive back to campus to deal with this, the idea that I could work out in my own home sounds pretty darn good.
What do you think of this plan, darlings?
**And by the way, if I start talking about buying anything else in the near future, jump me, steal and hide my wallet, and under no circumstances return it to me.
“Not for all the money in the world would I let any children of mine develop into Pendletons!”
– Jean Webster, Daddy-Long-Legs
Dear un-named child of an extremely generous university alumni: I am very grateful for your father’s contributions and service. I am sure that the whole school thanks him for his patronage. You, on the other hand, are not your father and are not entitled to his privileges. He has given us a lifetime of service and hard work, you have give us a series of debilitating migraines because of your rude, unbelievable behavior. I do not care how much money another person has donated, you are an insufferable ass and no amount of money will make you less responsible for your actions.
Wealth doth not a gentleman make.
I got home yesterday absolutely burning with rage after dealing with this boy.
“If,” I snarled at J., “we ever become as successful as we hope, we are donating everything to PBS and cancer research. I’ll be damned before I see any of our family act like that! The things I wish I could have said!”
“You don’t have to take apart every jerk that you deal with you know.”
“But I want to. It would make the world a better place!”
If I be waspish best beware my sting!
I come from some WASP stock myself, but if I ever behaved the way this kid does, my parents would gleefully disown me!
I have been home and back at work for only two days, but I am already in the tiniest, littlest, most miniscule fight with the cosmos. It’s a small thing really: just our car needing $600 worth of repairs. This is the same car that required $1500 this past September. I’ve retaliated like a grownup – dramatically glaring at my bank account and (continuing to) refuse to unpack my suitcase, but for essentials, until the weekend.
Small Dog Syndrome 