Lack

It's frustrating not having money, on many levels. First, there's the judgment. Everyone feels the right to inspect your life, so they can point out what you're doing wrong. To point out where your fatal mistake was. To a certain degree it seems like they're doing that to make themselves better. I have run out of money because of this specific error. But they would never make that error, so they will never become the shit I am. Better me than them - as hard as this is, I have never been very high up, so this isn't as hard a fall as it would be for some.

Multi-millionaires are now only millionaires. They have to travel within the country rather than internationally. Maybe they even have to fly coach. I have not slept through the night in months. I wake up with bile in my throat all the time. I stay at home because I can not bring myself to pay the $1.50 to take the bus anywhere. When I do take the bus somewhere I am in a rush the entire time. The last thing I want to have happen is to go over the time limit and have to spend another $1.50 to get home.

It's frustrating to not be able to invest in things, no matter how financially beneficial they may be to my future. Last Saturday I had to take the bus to another part of the city for a job (application). I was at the bus stop early, but the bus was even earlier and pulled away just as I got there. I ran down to another bus stop. Missed that bus too. Panic set in. It was hard enough to spend $1.50 for the bus, now I was contemplating spending over $10 on taking a cab, because I couldn't risk being late. (Ultimately I took three buses and got there five minutes early.)

Golden Boy is letting me borrow his car this weekend, and I was going to ask if he minded if I used it to go over to Target, to buy some cleaning and paper supplies I need. The kitchen sponge is falling apart and I barely have any Tide left, for example. Toilet paper is low. But there's no point, because I can't afford it. I will have to hope that 9 a.m. buys new sponges. I will have to wait.

A couple of years ago I used to try to encourage a friend to buy supermarket items (that didn't spoil) that were bigger, pointing out how they cost less per ounce. Each time she'd reject my idea, saying she couldn't afford it. I apologized to her about a month ago. I don't know how she didn't smack me.

It's frustrating at this time of year, especially. Every commercial is about holiday shopping. Everything you see out there has to do with consumerism. Sales. Buy things to stimulate the economy. I hear snippets of news that the idea of lowering interest rates for items bought in December is being tossed around. In an effort to encourage people to shop. To stimulate the economy. That won't help me.

I love my family, I love my friends. I would love to be able to give them things when I stumble across that perfect present. It would be nice to see a movie. It would feel wonderful to show people my appreciation for their generosity by doing more than just sending a thank you note.

My cousin on the East Coast wants to come out to San Francisco next spring. She gently inquired about staying with me, spending a few days here to explore the city. I want to say yes, of course. This is the type of relationship I have always wanted to have with my cousins. That I've always wanted to have as an adult, living on my own. But I'm hesitant to tell her to come. Even if I got a job tomorrow, I am so far in debt that five months from now I won't have enough money to show someone around the city.

So much of what we do involves money, especially living in a city. Even if I just wanted to go hike through Golden Gate Park. It costs money to take the bus to get there. And back, depending on how much time is spent there. Or you go for a long walk and then want to get a hot chocolate before heading home. I wanted to go somewhere, do something, for Thanksgiving this year. But you can't show up with empty hands. And since my pockets are empty, my hands remain empty. So I avoided talks about Thanksgiving plans as much as possible this year.

Lastly, it is frustrating to have money on the mind all the time. Everything always comes back to the money, and it's such a taboo subject. I have stopped reaching out to friends because getting together always costs money, and I feel wrong about letting others always pay. Last night I pulled out suitcases, but paused and looked at the biggest one. I've had it for over five years and never used that one. Could I sell it? For how much?

That's how I look at every single thing I own. How much is that worth and could I get money for it? I own two watches - one is professional and appropriate for work, while the other is more casual. Who needs a casual watch?! I don't need two watches. Hell, I have a cell phone, so I don't need any watches at all. I have four coasters - surely I could just put my drinks on top of a magazine. Wait, why do I need a subscription to Newsweek? If I cancel a magazine subscription that was a gift, will they send me the remaining money?

This is what I do instead of blogging. I look for jobs, and walk around my apartment trying to figure out why I own four mugs and how much I could get for them. Oh yeah, and I obsessively look at my bank account balance. My hope is that I'll realize I reversed two numbers, and the balance will be higher than I thought it was.

Hasn't happened yet. But that won't stop me from compulsively checking.

Way To Drop the Ball, Nebraska

As you may know, Nebraska had this "safe haven" law going on, where parents could drop their kids at a hospital if they couldn't take care of them, and they wouldn't get in trouble. People used this law, and dropped off their kids at hospitals in Nebraska, and you'd think that would be the end of the story. Except it's not.

Because Nebraska screwed up. They meant only for babies to be left at hospitals. Newborns, really. Not kids. Certainly not teenagers.

So Nebraska fixed their mistake today, and closed the loop. Now only newborns up to 30 days old can be legally abandoned at hospitals.

And good luck to those older kids. The ones old enough to know how much they aren't wanted, and can't properly be cared for. Don't worry though Nebraska, if you don't want to deal with those kids, you don't have to. You can wait for them to become screwed up adults and deal with them as grownups who have to use the system. Way to go.

Appreciating What You've Got

I am currently accepting any and all advice (as long as it does not come from Oprah) on how to appreciate and be satisfied with what I have.

The other day I was looking at some Facebook pages and saw a "friend," a girl I went to high school with and was friend with then, a girl I've gone to lunch with since moving to San Francisco, is now married. And she never told me.

This is the second time someone I thought would have at least told me they were getting married, hasn't. And I'm wondering if maybe people think I'm one of those single bitter people. Who thinks all married people are Smug Marrieds, like Bridget Jones. Which I'm not. I don't. I was completely pleasantly surprised to discover I'm totally capable of being happy for other people.

Anyway. So obviously this girl is not my friend, she is simply a girl I used to know. And yes, I know. That's what Facebook is about.

But the thing is. What is the thing? The thing is, I am hurt that a girl I am not friends with did not tell me she got married. I am sad that she does not consider me a friend, because surely you tell your friends when you're getting married, right? I mean, even if you're not inviting a friend to your wedding, you let them know that you've gotten married, right?

It would be sad if I had things like this were happening, but what's bothering me more than this is that there are other people, real friends, who ARE reaching out to me. Who do call when big things happen. When they are buying first houses, when my grandpa has died. These are the people who ARE my friends.

And I do appreciate them. I totally notice and am blown away by every little gesture they make, you make. I even try to reciprocate when I can. When I think of it. When I'm in a position to do it.

But why can't I stop being upset about being left out of things? I mean, when somebody draws a line you have to respect that. In 9th grade I was in this art class and overheard a girl named Christine tell a story one Monday morning. Over the weekend she and some friends had gone to a party, and a senior stood up on a table and yelled that freshman weren't welcome. So she left. She said, "Why would I want to be someplace I'm not wanted?" That stuck with me and made an impact.

I don't want to be where I'm not wanted. Really. But why can't I stop wanting to be wanted by people who don't want me? Why can't I just appreciate the people who do want me? Why can't I be happy with what I have? It's more than I ever thought I'd have. So much more.

Bar Results

Just a shout out to all the little wannabe baby attorneys who found out their bar results tomorrow at 6pm. Good luck to you. Hopefully your friends and family don't know it will become public knowledge on Sunday.

I've Banged Into This Before

Some people are really good at solving problems. Some people are really good only at solving problems that don't involve people, like how to make furniture look good in any room, or how to cook lasagna when there's no meat. Some people are really good at solving other people's problems. I'm one of those people.

I can listen to your problem, think about it (or not), and then just know, THIS is how it can be solved. To a small degree this can be transferred to myself, but other people are much easier. People sometimes get excited about solving other people's problems. If you're good at it, it comes naturally, and it's fun. It's very little effort, and for someone who is not successful at many things, it's outrageously rewarding to see someone else's face light up, or to see tons of worry lift from their face.

So I get it. I get the urge to swoop in and fix someone else's life. I've been on the other side of this too, where other people want to swoop in and fix MY life. Which is why I understand how annoying a Swooper can be, and I try not to offer solutions unless someone is open to hearing them.

The problem with swooping in unwanted is that usually you are missing some key pieces of information. Pieces of information that would make that solution ... well, not a viable solution. Like to say to someone who makes the best cupcakes you've ever tasted, "Hey! You should get a bus! That has an OVEN! And you should go around the country making your cupcakes in the bus and selling them! Like an ice cream truck!"

Ignoring the fact that the cupcake-maker doesn't like driving. And doesn't have enough money to buy a truck. And only likes to bake late at night. And has a family. Maybe it's a fun fantasy, maybe the cupcake-maker even gets swept away in your excitement and designs the outside of the bus and comes up with a cute company name. But the reality is that this is not a good idea for this person.

Some problem solvers (and yes, I realize this was more of an idea and less of a problem to be solved, but the two go together) do not want to hear why their ideas will not work. They get angry. "You're just coming up with excuses!" "You don't really care about what you complaining of two seconds ago!" "You're not truly interested in your life changing at all!"

And then you never speak again. Or you do, but the relationship is forever strained. Which is why I try to be careful about how and when I give unsolicited problem-solving advice. I've had people get angry at me for not taking their advice. Often their advice would work for THEM if THEY were in my situation. But it doesn't work for me in my situation. Some times what they suggest to solve your problem is actually a way to solve their problem they haven't even told you about. Sneaky little problem-solver. Yes, I've had that one happen to me too.

I fear I may have a problem-solver quasi-stalking me. I fear I may have brought it upon myself. And now I don't like the road I see us going down, and see this ending badly. Which is a problem, as we're related.

While in New York for my grandpa's funeral, a cousin was staying at the same hotel as my family. We got to talking, and her son is at a school for learning disabled kids. We got to talking some more, and she gave me some potentially very helpful advice about dealing with my own learning disabilities. Which cost a lot of money. Which you may know I do not have now. She is very well off. I have noticed that most people who are very financially secure have a hard time understanding that other people may not be.

Once in a bank in Florida, I went to ask if they would waive the fee they were charging me for not having a minimum amount of money in my account. The bank manager came to talk to me. "Well, can't you just move money in from another account," she asked me. "No. This is all my money." I left the bank with four bank rulers and three bank calendars and the fee waived for six months. (Bank of America, in case you're wondering.) (Yes, I now have an account with them that has no minimum balance.)

I was very appreciative of this cousin's advice for me. I tried to make it clear, without telling her my current pathetic situation, that these are things I will pursue when I am in a more stable place in my life. She even reiterated that waiting until I have health insurance is a good idea.

However. This cousin is, as my friend would say, a little cuckcoopants. It seems now she feels free to comment and assess my entire life. This is not helpful. I do not need this. There is no good to come of you telling me that being a legal secretary is not the right field for me. It's all I know, all I've got experience in, all I'm qualified to do. It's not that I'm scared to do something else, because I don't get that type of fear. It's that aside from being a garbage man, I can't get a job doing anything else that will earn me as much money.

I hate ... well, to be honest I hate keeping my mouth shut. I must admit that there have been times when I've said "Can I say something about this?" to Golden Boy and Crazy Girl, and Crazy Girl has laughed as she's asked, "Can I stop you?" But I also hate having others critique my life, and feeling like I can't defend it, or myself, because in some way they are in a position of power, for whatever reason. Which this cousin is, you will just have to trust me.

Right now we are in the stage where she feels free to critique my life. This does not please me. This does not help me. The info about learning disabilities? Totally going to be helpful in the future. The other stuff? Not so much.

Thank You

Thank you all for the outpouring of love over my grandpa's death, which came in the form of early-morning phone calls, e-mails, blog-posts, Facebook wall messages, and all other manner of communication. I especially appreciate the people who said something despite not knowing what to say, because I know how hard it is to communicate the act of a big hug with no words via the internet.

Wojapi, over the last week I have wanted to spew Grandpa stories, feelings about what's been happening, and talk about how the last week has gone. However, doing that would involve spewing stuff about members of my family who are alive and know how to read, and they don't like that. Mama Nabi, one of the phrases my grandpa said to me often when things didn't work out the way I wanted/needed was, "You are slated for better things." It may be a cliche, it may be some trite phrase he got off a forture cookie and wrote down in his perfect handwriting, but it made me feel better when he'd say it. Hope is a powerful thing. You are slated for better love, MN. We won't let you accept anything less than you deserve, and it will come.

This Is My Life

I took a week off from avoiding phone calls from creditors and begging for work to deal with the death of my grandfather. Which I didn't deal with at all, because that's how I roll. I am scared that if I let myself feel it, if I start crying, I will never stop. I already take 4-6 hour daily naps. Imagine how much worse that would get. If we are friends in real live, please avoid me if it will bother you that almost every other sentence I say to you will start with, "My grandpa used to ..."

Now I am back to begging for work and trying to deal with creditors and unemployment issues while my grandmother is dying.

Yeah. You envy me. Admit it. You wish you had my life.

Overheard at JFK Airport

"Everyone needs to have a passion. I have a passion. It's bartending, at Milk and Honey."

What a Difference

Last Thursday morning my phone rang at 8:30 a.m.  It was a temp agency, asking if I could work for two days.  How soon could I get to the FiDi?  I said I'd be there by 9:30 a.m., and raced around my house like a maniac.  

When I got to the law firm, they directed me to the Word Processing Department.  This is the ONLY law firm where I'll work in that dept., because my skills in this area are my greatest weakness as a legal secretary.

The only reason I make an exception at this firm is because they know this is not my forte (I gently made this very clear somehow), and the W.P guys only give me straight revisions to work on.  Table of contents? Not for me!  Table of authorities?  Not for me!  48 pages of scribbles and arrows and hand written notes written sideways and on the back of the page?  I'll take it!

So it works out well.  I can't begin to explain how much my mood shifted at the end of the week due to working.  Granted, I was a little tired Thursday, what with not getting in my daily 4-6 hour nap, but I sucked it up and dealt.  

It was so nice to have somewhere to go, something to do.  It was so nice to have people to talk with in person about the election.  I think that may be a small (yet significant) reason for my depression - talking in person can go a long way.  

You know what I did for the first time in my entire life?  Said something to a man about his husband.  The very first time I worked in this WP department, I was covering for a gay man who was out because he was getting married.  He's an older guy, lived in SF since the early 80's.  

On Friday he was telling me what it was like here - how utterly scary it was, saying everyone was just dropping like flies.  The drugstores couldn't keep enough canes in stock.  He fled, and moved out to the Bay Area suburbs for four years, too scared to stay in the city.  It was interesting and sad to hear about a time I'd read about in Newsweek.  

I hope somebody at that firm goes on vacation soon.  Or retires.  Retiring would be good.  For me.  

From One Jew Bagel To Another

Thinking of you, and hoping it went okay.

Fun With Dickhead

I'm not actually writing about a dickhead today. A blogfriend made that the title of her post and it made me smile when I read it this morning, and smile again when I thought of it later on. This blog post is dedicated to all the women who are no longer married to dickheads. May you find better headed men to be with in the future, and may you raise your daughters to recognize and steer clear of dickheads in their lives, and sons to not be dickheads themselves.

Anywayyyyyy....

So there's this protest going on today at Market Street at 5:30 regarding Prop 8. I have to cross Market Street to get home. Should be interesting.

Why would I have to get home? Because yesterday at 8:30 in the morning I got called to temp for Thursday and Friday. In the Word Processing Department. Heh.

Now I am sitting in a stuffy law firm with one funny gay man and one old deaf man listening to the emergency broadcast system blare about a fire drill. Tons of fun.

Loose Ends (In My Brain)

- So remember Christian Siriano, on Project Runway? You know, the young gay guy with funky hair? Well, he has a boyfriend, Brad Walsh. I follow Brad on Twitter and read this morning that Christian would like to send some dresses to Michelle. Obama. You know, that woman whose husband is going to be POTUS? Yeah, her. If anyone has a direct connection...

- While I am beyond elated that you know, yes we did, I am having a hard time believing it's really real. I am more excited about this than I was at going to Disney for the first time. And that's not just because I ran into my sixth-grade teacher at Sea World while holding three dead fish to go feed to the dolphins.

- With this elation comes worry. I'm scared of an assassination attempt. Can we donate money to the Secret Service?

- In his acceptance speech, Obama told his daughters he will get them a puppy when they move to the White House. Mr. Obama, please consider me for all your dog-sitting needs. I can provide references.

- Lastly, I'd like to throw out a big what the fuck regarding California's Prop 8. I'm very disappointed. While I know it is not a gracious thing to insult those who think differently, I can't help but feel that people who voted YES must be stupid. I don't say this as an insult, though I know it is one, I say it because I feel surely those people must just not understand what they're saying.

People are BORN gay. It's not a choice. You come out (literally) into the world, and it's just ... inside you. It's not a decision, but an inevitability. Kind of like with hair color. Can you imagine if the bible said anyone with blonde hair should not be allowed to marry? It would be laughed at, and everyone would stand around agreeing that while the bible has some interesting things, clearly it has not kept up with the times. Except not everyone would, and that's just one more example of why I think critical thinking should be taught in public schools.

Outside Looking In

I am not participating in NaBloPoMoNoMo or whatever it's called. Quite frankly, you don't want me to, because I've got nothing to say. I pretty much stay in bed all day, every day, unless I have somewhere to go, which is very rare these days.

The depression thing is a horrible and vicious cycle. You'd like to think you can talk to friends about when you're not doing well, but nobody wants to hang out with someone who's such a downer. Which only makes you feel worse. Plus, most people get together and do things that cost money, which I can't do. Which again, only makes you feel even worse. Even when people offer to pay for you, that's kind of awkward because not only don't you want to feel like a charity case, but you want to reciprocate and can't.

The result of all that is about once every week and a half, I struggle to shower and get dressed and venture out of my house to get to the library. Where I amble down the street wide-eyed at all the people who are not only dressed, but dressed UP, and look like they do it every day, without a major hardship (and a four-hour nap) (before and after). Where I am amazed at how ... outside everything outside seems. The air is sharper, the colors are brighter, the people aren't all inside the television....

Yeah so I'm not writing every day. If I were, all you'd read about is what's going on with the people who ARE willing to talk to me, and what I think about what they've said. And to be honest, the only person who seems willing to talk to me lately is my father, and I think that's only because my grandpa is having major health issues and my father knows how much I care.

However. I am going to try to comment at least once a day on someone's blog. I realized over the weekend (wait, today IS Monday, right? it's so hard to keep track when you have nowhere to go) that often times I go to comment, then see someone already has four or twelve or however many comments and think, "Oh. Well they won't give a shit what I have to say." But in case I'm wrong, and you do, comments will be made.