The Accidental Food Drive

One of the many routine emails I get every day is the daily digest of my local freecycle listserv. I’ve never given anything away or received anything through the listserv, but I like to keep an eye out for stuff like free TVs and furniture. (Don’t laugh – it happens.) The other day I opened the digest email and saw the usual offerings of baby toys and requests for computer tables. Just as I was about to close the email and hit "Delete," one message stood right up and punched me straight in the heart:

"Affordable" Health Care

I try my best to stay out of large-scale political discussions. I kick ideas around with my family and read commentary from both sides of issues and form my opinions, but I like to stay away from the free-for-all mudslinging that is all too common these days. I can usually see the basic points of either side, and screaming matches based on partisan rhetoric aren’t usually good for more than raising your blood pressure and making you wonder why it’s illegal to smack people across the face. The fray might be entertaining, but it’s not the place to reach actual resolution on anything.

Paradise Found. Kinda Sorta.

I’m not sure how it happened. Sometime over the last 21 years or so, I went from being an irresponsible teenager who believed the world was her oyster to an overburdened 30-something working mom-of-two who’s just trying to muddle through this life as best she can. I suppose the transition is inevitable. With maturity comes the realization that sometimes ya gotta do the responsible thing even if it’s not your most appealing option.

An Open Letter to Santa and/or Marketing Executives (Alternative Title: Sassyfats Rages Against the Machine)

Dear Santa:

You bastard. How dare you put such high expectations into the minds of children and then expect their parents to put forth all the effort and expense while you sit back and take all the credit? What the hell kind of operating model is that? You know what, you greedy bastard? I’m gonna eat your cookies this year. Yep, I’m gonna help the girls choose two or three cookies to put out on a plate for you on Christmas Eve – which they do with love and concern for you, dammit!! – and as soon as they go to bed, I’m gonna eat ‘em. The cookies, not the children. You will not see even one crumb on the plate, you two-faced dream stealer!

Of Thanking and of Giving

To get myself into the proper frame of mind this holiday season, I have been participating in the Facebook trend of saying what I am thankful for each day. Some days it’s as simple as being thankful that coffee exists. Other days I bring out the big topics, like being thankful that my husband is alive and my kids are healthy.

Sassyfats Goes to Washington

Remember a couple of months ago when I was all like, I can’t stand this waiting any more I just want answers but nope I can’t tell you guys what this is all about? Here’s a link to refresh your memory.

I’m finally in a place where I can spill the beans. In my normal, everyday life I am a mild mannered documentation weenie for a Large Corporation. Pretty much all the jobs available at Large Corporation in my geographic location involve government (or “gubment,” if you will) contracting. Any of you who have lived the life of a gubment contractor know that when one project comes to an end, you have to scramble like hell to find another project to avoid unemployment. It’s never fun, but it’s all part of the circle of life. (Or maybe it’s one circle of hell Dante forgot to write about. I’m not entirely sure.)  

Cut to the Bone

Over the last few years, Miracle Man and I have gotten really good at cutting out unnecessary expenses. Our days of frivolity are far behind us, and we are living the frugal life. We've given up a good 90 percent of the little luxuries we used to take for granted, like going out to eat. In actual restaurants. Where people greet you at the door, show you where to sit, and serve you food. On real plates, y'all. Sure, we still hit places like Subway once or twice a week (when we're feeling wealthy), but long gone are the days when we would go to an actual restaurant several times a week. Miracle Man has gotten to be quite the little chef, and I take leftovers to work so that I don't have to spend extra money buying lunch. Which is smart, because "extra" money is not a creature I have seen in quite some time.

Escaping the Every Dayishness of Life

Remember a week ago when I was all like, LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL!!! I CAN HANDLE ANYTHING THAT COMES MY WAY!!! WEEEE-HOOOO!!! Yeah, forget all that. It wore off. I’m back to wonky-wheeled off-kilterishness. Such are the ups and downs of a bona fide whackadoodle.

An Open Letter to Oil Tycoons

Dear Oil Tycoons,

I hope I have addressed you properly. I’m not entirely sure you still go by the title of “tycoon”; in fact, I can’t even write the word without hearing the voice of a World War II newsreel reporter in my head. I would be heartbroken to learn I have offended you by using an antiquated salutation. Please let me know if I should call you something else. Like Asshole “Your Highness.” Or Greedy Bastard “Your Excellency.” Or “Dude.” Whatever it is you go by these days.  

That said, I was cursing your very existence thinking about you just this morning. There I stood at my local filling station, watching my bank account dwindle feeding my unpretentious Saturn ION, thinking about money. Since I was in the act of purchasing the end product of all your hard work, I started thinking about YOUR money. And how much of it you probably have. I’m sure you have stabbed many backs worked very hard to build your obscene well-deserved wealth, and I seriously resent would never, ever begrudge you your success.

But back to this morning. Did you know that common folk have to fill up their own gas tanks? I know – crazy, right? We actually drive ourselves to the gas station, get out of the car, pay for the gas, and operate the pump. You should ask your chauffeur about it sometime; I’m sure he’d love to push you off a cliff tell you all about it.

I’ve pumped gas enough times not to have to think too hard about the steps involved, so my mind is free to wander. I know you don’t give a shit care deeply about your consumer base, so I thought I might grab you by the lapels and shake you violently step forward to share a lighthearted anecdote about this morning’s musings. You know, to shame you publicly help you realize the extent of your bloodletting keep your finger on the pulse of the people you’re screwing over your customers.

This morning, as I stood there watching the digits next to “Total” move at warp speed, my train of thought went something like this: “Wait. Is the pump counting by 10s? How is the ‘Total’ moving so much faster than the ‘Gallons'? Are you freaking KIDDING me?!?!?!” Then I thought, “I wonder if I’ll have enough left over to buy milk AND bread.” (You know. For my kids. Did you know those little rascals insist on eating every single day? Several times a day? Ask your nanny about it sometime. I’m sure she’d love to push you out of an airplane tell you all about it. I digress…) Then it occurred to me, “If I don’t fill up the tank all the way I won’t have enough gas to last until payday. Then I won’t be able to get to work.”

Isn’t that hysterical? It’s totally Reader’s Digest material. I mean, not only was I standing there worried about making my salary stretch the full length of the pay cycle, but I was also attempting to do math in my head!! I mean, can you imagine standing there on a chilly April morning, counting on your fingers and worrying that you might not be able to buy gas AND a few basic necessities for your children? Of course not. You’re too busy counting all your damn money.

What a HOOT!

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Not my problem Sassyfats, you should just work harder so you can be rich like me.” Again, I want to punch you in the balls repeatedly don’t want to offend you by suggesting that you are totally effing clueless would be anything less than absolutely correct in your assumption that I just haven’t worked hard enough to reach your level of financial security. The truth is, I did what this popular 1990s poster vaguely suggested I do:

I don't see any Saturns in there.

I went to college like a good girl. After college, I took a good job at a good company to which I have been loyal for 15 years. I work hard and they pay me relatively well. But you know what? I still haven’t figured out how to get from “Mid-level Documentation Hack” to “Oil Tycoon.” In fact, I haven’t even figured out how to get from “Mid-level Documentation Hack” to “Chief Bottle Washer”  – without sacrificing the precious little time I get to spend with my young children and disabled spouse every day. Of course, you probably give wealth accumulation a higher priority than family bonding, so you wouldn’t understand my predicament. Asshole. If you have any suggestions on work-life balance, please let me know.

It is possible – and this might be a crazy idea, but just hear me out – that if your salary were not so effing astronomical just a teensy bit lower, the millions of Americans who are NOT oil tycoons would not be totally effing broke so concerned about gas prices. Prices might actually be a little lower, and we would actually be able to breathe a little bit. Not that you care. And for that, we would consider resisting the urge to burn you in effigy be ever so grateful. Not that you care. Just a little food for thought.    

Die, You Greedy Bastards

Kisses,

Remedial Economics

There is nothing more gratifying than getting your biweekly direct deposit from Corporate America, paying all your bills on time, and still having enough money to live on for two weeks. I know how gratifying this experience is because I have done it - once or twice.

More often than not, payday in the Sassyfats household looks more like this: check the bank balance every five minutes until the direct deposit hits, do a happy dance for 3.7 seconds, go online to pay everyone who sent you a turn-off notice this pay cycle, then slap yourself on the forehead when you realize you're out of money and the cupboards are still bare. (Did you know that chid'rens demand to be fed several times a day? Each and every day? True story.)

Against my better judgement, I will go on record to say that we make a decent living. On paper, our financial situation is quite lovely. We have reached a point where we make more than we owe (on paper), and our living expenses are fairly stable (on paper). Ergo, I attribute 90% of our financial woes to user error. Which really makes no sense, because Miracle Man and I were each pretty good financial managers - before we entered our marital union. We each paid our bills on time and there was always enough left over for little luxuries here and there. But when we joined forces, our approach to financial management rapidly turned into this:

Checkbook Balancing Time at the Sassyfats Home

Granted, life did throw us a few curve balls we did not see coming.  Like how friggin' expensive it is to bear and then raise chid'rens. And how friggin' expensive it is to go through a life-threatening medical crisis that leaves you permanently disabled - not only do you lose your income, but you also get slapped with multi-thousand dollar medical bills on a routine basis. Those things are enough to put any family behind. But when you're already behind, those things are enough to drive you into the ground.

We are no strangers to receiving turn-off notices, car repo notices, and even the dreaded home foreclosure notices. We have bounced so many checks over the years that we have been banned from writing them in most retail establishments. When one of our cars starts making a funny noise, we both get a tight clenching in our guts because we know anything more than an oil change is going to mean we will have to decide which bill won't get paid that pay cycle. 

After 14 years of wedded bliss, fiscal tomfoolery, and life-changing events, Miracle Man and I have learned a lot of hard lessons, and have gotten pretty good about making tough choices. Thanks to time healing wounds, generous relatives plucking us out of the drain we seem to enjoy swirling around, and newly acquired skills to negotiate with creditors, we are *this close* to living completely within our means. We have streamlined our spending by Draconian measures, and we have learned to budget and plan what gets paid on each pay cycle. It's almost like we're grown-ups or something. However, we still have no effing money most of the effing time. On paper we're doing great. In every day life, we're still squeezed so hard it hurts.

Fried chicken is for rich people.

Our basic living expenses have increased way faster than our income since the economy tanked, and we still have a few monthly bills that we have to pay a little extra on as we catch all the way up. One good thing about the recession - it made being broke trendy. Who cares if we were ahead of the trend, now at least we know we're in good company. If you talk to anyone about money long enough you're bound to hear at least one horror story. But deep down I know full well that overspending during our boom times are the biggest contributor to our broke times. And it's downright amazing how long it can take to claw your way out of that damn hole.


Stupid well, with its slippery walls and
demonic child spirits and whatnot

Looking back, I can clearly see where we made our biggest mistakes. I want to go back in time, confront the younger us, and be all like, "Drop the credit cards and step awayyyyyy from the merchandise!!!!" I might even slap us around a little bit, just for funzies.


Anybody know a good Plutonium dealer?

Now my challenge is to make wise decisions now so that 48-year-old me is not stuck trying to figure out how 38-year-old me could have been so stupid. I mean, how many dumbass badges does one person really need?

Wish me luck, my friends. 

Darken My World. Please.

As I’ve mentioned before, I have an unhealthy obsession with the Travel Channel show Ghost Adventures. Not like a dangerous stalker-type obsession that ends in bloodshed and jail time (honest!), but more like that of a harmless paranerd who can envisiualize herself attending a Ghost Adventures Convention, dressed in full costume of course, and then asking Zak, Nick, and Aaron about the minutest details in episodes they’d forgotten had even aired.

I wonder if this one comes in my size...

And if that opportunity ever actually presented itself, I’d have a panic attack at the thought of even thinking about considering the remote possibility of kinda sorta maybe seizing it, and then I'd spend the rest of my life regretting the missed opportunity. Cuz that’s how I roll, Dawg.

In late September, Zak Bagans published his first book, Dark World: Into the Shadows with the Lead Investigator of The Ghost Adventures Crew. Since I follow all the Ghost Adventure Crew members on Twitter, as well as oft-mentioned members of their production posse, I’d read Zak’s hype-filled tweets leading up to the book’s release. I’d seen the TwitPics of the final cover design before the book went to print and of Zak holding his personal advance copy when he picked it up from the publisher. I’d read all about his book signing at this year's Scarefest. I’d gone to Amazon and read the sneak previews when directed by Zak’s tweets. What I read in the sneak preview confirmed what I already knew: I had to read this book

I started to preorder the book on Amazon months in advance at Zak’s Twitterfied urging. Then I looked at my bank balance, sighed in resignation, and decided to wait. As the publication date drew near, I again visited Amazon to preorder the book. Again I looked at my bank balance, sighed in resignation, and decided to wait. Finally the publication date was upon me, and I decided to visit my friendly neighborhood Barns & Noble to get the hard copy in my hands ASAP. I looked at my bank balance, let out the most colorful string of expletives I could on such short notice, and decided to wait.

For the first several days after the book came out, my Twitter feed was littered with Zak’s retweeted pictures of fans holding their newly-purchased copies of Dark World. There were online reviews praising the book, which I'm sure existed solely to rub in my face the fact that I was not engaged in the act of reading the book right that second.

Bastards! But that's OK. I am a patient paranerd, and eagerly anticipated my next payday so I could finally lay my hands on this book.

Payday came. Payday went. Bills got paid. Groceries got bought. Cars got filled with gas. (Don't get me wrong, these are all good things.) My planned book purchase? Yeah right. The elusiveness of this one small purchase began to make me feel agitated. Like I had a teeny-tiny pebble in my shoe that I could neither locate nor shake out. I knew that book was out there, and I knew I had to read it, and I knew it would continue to elude me.

Then I remembered something: There is a place where even broke-ass book lovers can take home as many books as their chubby little arms can carry without forking over any cash: THE LIBRARY!!! (You have to say it in a deep echoey voice and follow it with the superhero ditty, "Dun da DAAAA!") I went to the library's Website, ran an author search for Zak Bagans, and there it was: an entry for the book I so desperately needed to read. But my celebration was halted in mid-happy dance when my eyes rested upon the word, "Unavailable." Someone had checked it out as soon as it had arrived at the library. Bastard!!! Oh well, to the waitlist I went.

I know it's too late to say "to make a long story short," but fast-forward to yesterday. I'd finally bubbled up to the top of the list. Miracle Man picked it up for me when he took Daughter1 and Daughter2 to the library after school. I spent the rest of the day in sweet anticipation, knowing that my wait was almost over. I got home from work, saw the book on the kitchen counter, and smiled knowing that after the chi’drens were asleep, that book’s ass was mine.

You lookin' at me?

You know how when you have any type of plans for after your chi’drens go to sleep, they somehow sense that it’s a good night for them to demand your attention for each and every tiny little thought that crosses their brains until they finally drop from sheer exhaustion? Yeah, me too. By the time they were done with all the whining and shenanigans, I was too tired to even go downstairs to retrieve the book, let alone start reading it.

Dark World has been in my posession for for more than 24 hours, and it remains unopened on my kitchen counter. I can hear it calling my name, but I know if I crack it open now I'm in for a lonnnnnng night of reading. Then tomorrow I'll be in for a lonnnnnng day of trying to stay awake at my desk. And if I fail at that I could be in for a lonnnnnng stretch of being unemployed. Which would totally eff up my plans to not be perpetually broke any more. Le sigh.

So for now, I must delay gratification for a more suitable time. This Friday I will watch the newest Ghost Adventures episode. Then, finally, after what seems like eons of waiting, I will sit down start reading this book. And I will be a happy paranerd.