Things I would Twitter if I were tweeting:
*I love screener season! I have a hook-up who has a hook-up and I'm getting hooked-up! This weekend, "It's Complicated" and "The Lovely Bones." Love. It.
*I just ate two (Okay, three) Italian cookies from an authentic Italian bakery in Rhode Island overnighted to us from an Italian-American short story writer who miraculously got his unpublished short story optioned by us. (Okay, it was four.)
*I seem to be a match to every frakking guy on the eHarmony web site which I find funny considering I have such a hard time dating in the real world. I'm compatible to all, attractive to none. Yeah, I don't feel too badly about that...
*My cousin in Colorado and the one in Japan flew in to Connecticut today for the holiday. (I fly in next Wednesday.) And we will all be at our grandmother's house on Christmas. All we need is a piano and Judy Garland singing "I'll be Home for Christmas" and we can be a reality TV special.
*I've been asked to be a godmother again. And again. This year it's my niece Abby. Next year it will be my niece Cara. Regardless that God has ignored my pleas to meet the man who will father my own progeny, I'm now responsible for the souls of four small children. There's an irony in this that I haven't missed.
*We optioned the Jamie Lee Curtis piece. Betty White is attached. Is it bizarre that I'm more excited to meet Betty White than Jamie Lee?
*I just saw James Marsden at Lala's Argentine Grill. He was sitting by himself, obviously waiting for someone. A gorgeous man like that should never be alone. That's just a crying shame.
*Regardless that I'm contemptuous of the "Avatar" marketing scheme and the over-the-top reviews, not to mention worried about the impact a $400-million movie is going to make on the film industry or ticket prices if this thing succeeds in becoming the next level of movie-making, I'm going to see it anyway. And in 3-D. Probably at the IMAX. I have no morals.
*I saw Brittany Snow at CVS on Monday. She walks funny. Maybe it was just the heels.
*I keep thinking I'm done Christmas shopping then I remember someone I forgot. I need to start making enemies...
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Scared Skeptic
Elizabeth Gilbert, author of EAT, PRAY, LOVE (Oprah sanctioned and soon to be a movie starring Julia Roberts) has a new book due out called COMMITTED: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage. As a bonafide Single, this kind of irritated me, and I'll tell you why: Because Gilbert was married. She is a divorcee. In fact, a few people who have read EAT, PRAY, LOVE have voiced dismay at how cavalierly she threw off her marriage at the opening of that book and went on a journey of self-discovery that ended with her in the arms of another man (portrayed by Javier Bardem in the film). Not to give anything away -- that isn't in any book review -- COMMITTED is about how Gilbert decides to give marriage another go despite the fact that she equated marriage to a jail term. In EPL, Gilbert sermonized that religion got a little overly definitive about the terms of marriage. This does not sound skeptical to me. This sounds like disillusionment, like a person who didn't like the definition of marriage. Who, perhaps, believes in the power of Romantic Love, but found it difficult to sustain in a man-made institution. And despite that she might still believe in Romantic Love and continues to disagree with the Western definition of marriage, she got married again anyway. (Actually, she does it to secure a visa for her Brazilian lover, which sounds a lot more pragmatic and ethically questionable, but I digress). My point here is that the subtitle is provocative, but misleading. She doesn't make peace with the establishment of marriage as much as she makes a practical decision to circumvent the law, as the only way to continue conjugal visits with her preferred sexual partner was to marry him. COMMITTED is the exploration of different kinds of marriage from different cultures around the world. In other words, she's rationalizing and on the look out for the definition that best suits her predicament. (Which, if you think about it, if you opened up the definition of marriage, more people might go down the aisle.)
Right before Thanksgiving, I was offered a freelance writing assignment to write a book for the Valentine's Day market. As I've written three books for that hallowed holiday, the idea left me cold and annoyed. I don't think I've ever celebrated Valentine's Day and yet my romantic nature makes me a go-to gal for Valentine's drivel. But, whatever. I passed on the project and volunteered the name of another writer friend of mine who is currently between gigs and was looking to break into the gift book market. The publisher contacted this friend, and she IMed me this morning that she took it. As this friend has recently broken up with a boyfriend, I didn't know if she was in the right frame of mind for the assignment, but she told me that she's looking forward with hope. To which I say, "good for you," with skepticism in my heart. Because, dear reader, I am a skeptic against marriage.
Quite frankly, I think my generation -- the children of the so-called Me Generation -- are the real skeptics here. Mostly because our bohemian progenitors totally bought into the ideology that "if it's good for me, it's good for the kid." Which I will admit is probably correct if, say, Daddy beats Mommy or Mommy cooks meth in the spaghetti pot. But I think there's a lot of people who get married because they believe in Disney's version of love and then get jaded and angry that marriage is a ton of work and requires a level of commitment that sometimes supersedes your own personal needs. They look to marriage to fill that void inside themselves and if their partner is not up to filling the void then it's OK to look outside the marriage to figure it out. Whether that's another lover or a sojourn to Italy, India, and Bali, then you know, it's all good because it's good for me. To which I say, "No." Marriage comes with a definition and, yes, it comes from the church, and if you're not ready for that, don't do it.
As far as this Singleton can tell, marriage is a lot of work. It requires subverting your anger, frustration, and annoyance. It is constant compromise. It's a lot of bickering, negotiating, managing, and re-negotiating. It's finding space for yourself while trying to stay present enough so that your partner doesn't feel ignored. Its trying to find a perfect balance between needs and wants. Its about getting up in the morning and going through the routine no matter how boring it gets, hoping for those little moments of grace. I mean, my god, who wants to sign up for that?
The hope is, of course, that you will have a lifetime companion. Someone to witness your life with you. Someone you can go to the Great Wall of China with and say, "Look at that." Or ask, "Where was that little restaurant with the great gyros?" Life is lonely. A spouse makes it less lonely. And I get that. In fact, I want that. But my fear is that I won't be able to sustain it. I'm a freak, people! And because I fully acknowledge that I'm a whack-job, I used to think, for the longest time, that I had to find the perfect man to marry. Because only the perfect man would be able to put up with my quirks and foibles. And I mean that. Who is the perfect man? Well, I don't know, I haven't met him, but I certainly knew exactly what he was like. He had to be funny, of course, but not crude or raunchy or cruel. I prefer witty, word puns, and a certain dryness to humor. He had to be relaxed and comfortable in his own skin and place in the world. My need to control everything would be amusing to him, but at the same time a non-issue as he didn't care for the details himself. He couldn't have an ego or be a blowhard, but was still willing to defend me and my honor if need arose. He'd be ambitious, but not obsessed. A healthy sense of balance between work and family. He'd make money, but be completely mindless about it. My happiness was imperative to him. Generous, without a stingy bone in his body, yet not a spendthrift. He liked to travel, but also enjoyed an occasional "stay-cation." Loyal, ethical, committed, with a certain nobleness to his character. Smart and clever. A little absent-minded about the daily stuff, but remembered important occasions like my birthday and the place where we first kissed. I preferred he be from New England...and to look like Matt Damon. In fact, Matt Damon would do nicely as long as he fit all the other criteria, too. My perfect man was, for all intent and purpose, a Disney prince with a bland, inoffensive personality. And completely a figment of my imagination.
People are messy. They come with all sorts of pre-programmed nuttiness. And depending on their childhood, they come with a ton of emotional/mental baggage. The bright ones are slightly depressed. The dim ones can't seem to get out of their own way. By the time one hits thirty, hearts have been so brutally broken that defenses are up to orange alert. These ideal partners we conjure become the standard we set to reduce risk. And some of us (among which I count myself) specify so acutely as to what we need to have in order to settle down, we rule out our entire species. Which makes marriage a non-issue. Can't get married if you can't find the right person. And since the right person doesn't exist, well, then I don't have to worry about maintaining a marriage. And then I don't have to compromise or subvert my own desires. *Phew!*
If you want to talk about philosophical definitions of the word "skeptic," I'm sure the sub-title to Gilbert's book is correct. However, I think it would have been more appropriate to have chosen something like, "A Disillusioned Divorcee Does it Again." But that might be a recognition that Gilbert totally negated the thesis of her first book with this second. With that said, however, I would love to read a book about a scared, skeptical Singleton who actually does make peace with the standing definition of marriage. And succeeds.
Right before Thanksgiving, I was offered a freelance writing assignment to write a book for the Valentine's Day market. As I've written three books for that hallowed holiday, the idea left me cold and annoyed. I don't think I've ever celebrated Valentine's Day and yet my romantic nature makes me a go-to gal for Valentine's drivel. But, whatever. I passed on the project and volunteered the name of another writer friend of mine who is currently between gigs and was looking to break into the gift book market. The publisher contacted this friend, and she IMed me this morning that she took it. As this friend has recently broken up with a boyfriend, I didn't know if she was in the right frame of mind for the assignment, but she told me that she's looking forward with hope. To which I say, "good for you," with skepticism in my heart. Because, dear reader, I am a skeptic against marriage.
Quite frankly, I think my generation -- the children of the so-called Me Generation -- are the real skeptics here. Mostly because our bohemian progenitors totally bought into the ideology that "if it's good for me, it's good for the kid." Which I will admit is probably correct if, say, Daddy beats Mommy or Mommy cooks meth in the spaghetti pot. But I think there's a lot of people who get married because they believe in Disney's version of love and then get jaded and angry that marriage is a ton of work and requires a level of commitment that sometimes supersedes your own personal needs. They look to marriage to fill that void inside themselves and if their partner is not up to filling the void then it's OK to look outside the marriage to figure it out. Whether that's another lover or a sojourn to Italy, India, and Bali, then you know, it's all good because it's good for me. To which I say, "No." Marriage comes with a definition and, yes, it comes from the church, and if you're not ready for that, don't do it.
As far as this Singleton can tell, marriage is a lot of work. It requires subverting your anger, frustration, and annoyance. It is constant compromise. It's a lot of bickering, negotiating, managing, and re-negotiating. It's finding space for yourself while trying to stay present enough so that your partner doesn't feel ignored. Its trying to find a perfect balance between needs and wants. Its about getting up in the morning and going through the routine no matter how boring it gets, hoping for those little moments of grace. I mean, my god, who wants to sign up for that?
The hope is, of course, that you will have a lifetime companion. Someone to witness your life with you. Someone you can go to the Great Wall of China with and say, "Look at that." Or ask, "Where was that little restaurant with the great gyros?" Life is lonely. A spouse makes it less lonely. And I get that. In fact, I want that. But my fear is that I won't be able to sustain it. I'm a freak, people! And because I fully acknowledge that I'm a whack-job, I used to think, for the longest time, that I had to find the perfect man to marry. Because only the perfect man would be able to put up with my quirks and foibles. And I mean that. Who is the perfect man? Well, I don't know, I haven't met him, but I certainly knew exactly what he was like. He had to be funny, of course, but not crude or raunchy or cruel. I prefer witty, word puns, and a certain dryness to humor. He had to be relaxed and comfortable in his own skin and place in the world. My need to control everything would be amusing to him, but at the same time a non-issue as he didn't care for the details himself. He couldn't have an ego or be a blowhard, but was still willing to defend me and my honor if need arose. He'd be ambitious, but not obsessed. A healthy sense of balance between work and family. He'd make money, but be completely mindless about it. My happiness was imperative to him. Generous, without a stingy bone in his body, yet not a spendthrift. He liked to travel, but also enjoyed an occasional "stay-cation." Loyal, ethical, committed, with a certain nobleness to his character. Smart and clever. A little absent-minded about the daily stuff, but remembered important occasions like my birthday and the place where we first kissed. I preferred he be from New England...and to look like Matt Damon. In fact, Matt Damon would do nicely as long as he fit all the other criteria, too. My perfect man was, for all intent and purpose, a Disney prince with a bland, inoffensive personality. And completely a figment of my imagination.
People are messy. They come with all sorts of pre-programmed nuttiness. And depending on their childhood, they come with a ton of emotional/mental baggage. The bright ones are slightly depressed. The dim ones can't seem to get out of their own way. By the time one hits thirty, hearts have been so brutally broken that defenses are up to orange alert. These ideal partners we conjure become the standard we set to reduce risk. And some of us (among which I count myself) specify so acutely as to what we need to have in order to settle down, we rule out our entire species. Which makes marriage a non-issue. Can't get married if you can't find the right person. And since the right person doesn't exist, well, then I don't have to worry about maintaining a marriage. And then I don't have to compromise or subvert my own desires. *Phew!*
If you want to talk about philosophical definitions of the word "skeptic," I'm sure the sub-title to Gilbert's book is correct. However, I think it would have been more appropriate to have chosen something like, "A Disillusioned Divorcee Does it Again." But that might be a recognition that Gilbert totally negated the thesis of her first book with this second. With that said, however, I would love to read a book about a scared, skeptical Singleton who actually does make peace with the standing definition of marriage. And succeeds.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
The New Voice in My Head
I've had a pretty rough week. First there was the never ending bank issue. Then, yesterday afternoon, my boss pushed my button so hard I almost quit on the spot, but instead just started to cry. In front of him. In Reception. I really didn't care. Then, last night, I went out to my car after work hours, and my tire was flat. It seems I picked up a nail. And since I knew that my rear tires were balding and I needed an alignment, I knew it was going to cost me. Again. Stupid car. Like I said, rough week. Now here's the thing, usually, I would take this as permission to eat like a fiend. I would sooth myself with cake, or cookies, or potato chips, or my favorite drug of choice, Ice Cream(!). But, I didn't. I did eat a lot of carbs yesterday (a very good pasta lunch comes to mind), but I didn't binge. This, my friends, is a huge step. Further. I didn't want to binge. To which I say, "quelle surprise!" The biggest surprise I got, however, happened this morning at 5:50AM.
I see a trainer five days a week, Monday through Friday. I have been on this routine since mid-July. Lately, it's been dark and very cold every morning, and I've been doing everything in my power to keep the habit going. I tell myself, "I'm just going to lie here awake anyway; may as well go." And, "you'll feel disappointed and bad about yourself later, just get up." However, after the nail incident and three days of financial stress, I came home last night and debated whether I should just call up the trainer and tell her that I was going to skip the Thursday morning workout. My inner voice was saying things like, "I'm going to have to go to Firestone first thing in the morning to get the stupid tire thing done. I don't have time to work out." Except I knew I was rationalizing. Firestone was not going to be open at 6:15AM when I was due at the trainer's. Nor was it an issue to drop the car off on my way into work as Firestone is literally one block from my office building and my boss wouldn't care if I was twenty minutes late. So, I made the mature decision and didn't make the phone and just went to bed.
When the alarm sounded, it was dark and cold in my room and I didn't want to get up. I started to think about the lie I could tell to get out of the work out. I could call the trainer and tell her that I was going to come, but I just realized I had a flat tire and wouldn't be able to make it. Aw, shucks! And then I could sleep in. And, com'on, didn't I deserve it? I was having a rough week! Especially as I checked my checking account balance before I went to bed and noticed that the bank had charged me two more overdraft fees. I needed to stay in bed! At which point, the new, mature, rational voice that has taken up residence in my psyche spoke up.
"You can't stop your financial woes by stopping your training. What you really want to do is control the banking problem and the tire problem, but you can't. So you're trying to compensate by taking control over the one thing you can: your body. Your body and your money have nothing to do with each other. You need to compartmentalize. Your body needs to go to the trainer. Get up. Go the trainer. Take care of the money issue later." To which the whiny, inner six-year old who normally controls my every move, went, "Oh. OK." And got her not-so-big-any-more-because-of-training butt out of bed. (My whiny six-year old responds well to reason. Who knew?)
I worked out, came home, took my shower, and went off to Firestone to buy two new tires, got to the office five minutes late, called my bank and got the overdraft fees worked out (again!), and pretty much went through my day as usual. To be frank, I'm pretty proud of myself for making the right decision. And I'm even more proud of myself for finally recognizing a bad habit I've held my entire life in the moment when its about to be perpetrated. That's the hard part, isn't it? Not only to see it, but to make the opposite decision in order to counteract it. And hopefully to continue to make the right decision each time a similar situation arises. Little by little, I feel like the hardened rock of disappointment, self recrimination, and -- yes -- even self hatred is slowly coming apart inside of me. And what is emerging is a new person with a new voice. It's a very good feeling.
I see a trainer five days a week, Monday through Friday. I have been on this routine since mid-July. Lately, it's been dark and very cold every morning, and I've been doing everything in my power to keep the habit going. I tell myself, "I'm just going to lie here awake anyway; may as well go." And, "you'll feel disappointed and bad about yourself later, just get up." However, after the nail incident and three days of financial stress, I came home last night and debated whether I should just call up the trainer and tell her that I was going to skip the Thursday morning workout. My inner voice was saying things like, "I'm going to have to go to Firestone first thing in the morning to get the stupid tire thing done. I don't have time to work out." Except I knew I was rationalizing. Firestone was not going to be open at 6:15AM when I was due at the trainer's. Nor was it an issue to drop the car off on my way into work as Firestone is literally one block from my office building and my boss wouldn't care if I was twenty minutes late. So, I made the mature decision and didn't make the phone and just went to bed.
When the alarm sounded, it was dark and cold in my room and I didn't want to get up. I started to think about the lie I could tell to get out of the work out. I could call the trainer and tell her that I was going to come, but I just realized I had a flat tire and wouldn't be able to make it. Aw, shucks! And then I could sleep in. And, com'on, didn't I deserve it? I was having a rough week! Especially as I checked my checking account balance before I went to bed and noticed that the bank had charged me two more overdraft fees. I needed to stay in bed! At which point, the new, mature, rational voice that has taken up residence in my psyche spoke up.
"You can't stop your financial woes by stopping your training. What you really want to do is control the banking problem and the tire problem, but you can't. So you're trying to compensate by taking control over the one thing you can: your body. Your body and your money have nothing to do with each other. You need to compartmentalize. Your body needs to go to the trainer. Get up. Go the trainer. Take care of the money issue later." To which the whiny, inner six-year old who normally controls my every move, went, "Oh. OK." And got her not-so-big-any-more-because-of-training butt out of bed. (My whiny six-year old responds well to reason. Who knew?)
I worked out, came home, took my shower, and went off to Firestone to buy two new tires, got to the office five minutes late, called my bank and got the overdraft fees worked out (again!), and pretty much went through my day as usual. To be frank, I'm pretty proud of myself for making the right decision. And I'm even more proud of myself for finally recognizing a bad habit I've held my entire life in the moment when its about to be perpetrated. That's the hard part, isn't it? Not only to see it, but to make the opposite decision in order to counteract it. And hopefully to continue to make the right decision each time a similar situation arises. Little by little, I feel like the hardened rock of disappointment, self recrimination, and -- yes -- even self hatred is slowly coming apart inside of me. And what is emerging is a new person with a new voice. It's a very good feeling.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Cleared
Just in case you were worried about my banking snafu, it is cleared up. I talked to the bank yet again today, and the phantom check disappeared, and the bank credited me the overdraft charges, which -- you know -- was nice of them. But three days of stress can really wear a girl out.
I'm not used to stress like that any more. I do everything I can to keep stress low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low. (Why, yes, I am singing Flo Rida right now.) What I found most interesting about the process, however, was how other people responded to my need. And yes, I was needy. I splashed it all over Facebook. I told everyone at work. Some people were outraged for me. Other people commiserated. One person handed me a $10 bill to get me through the week in case I needed to eat. And another friend offered me cash -- a lot of it -- until it was settled. (Which, to that person, thank you, again! Seriously.) But most people were very hands off and faded into the distance. "Good time, Charlies" my mother would call them. Only around for when I can make them laugh. Or when they needed something from me. I seem to have a bunch of those in my life, and I'm trying hard to accept them for the Charlies they are and not judge them.
To be honest, I find Charlies exhausting as they are always looking for the party, but don't want to do the heavy lifting once real life asserts its self. However, I also used to define -- and congratulate -- myself as the "person who had it together." And, ergo, didn't "need" other people. So, whether I subconsciously filled my life with Charlies is something only my therapist knows (and he would say, "Yes"). Except when one fills one's life with energy-sucking Hoovers, it can get to be a bit much. There was a time, not too long ago, where I used to wish to drop off the face of the planet. I used to think, "I could just go out to the airport and get a one way ticket to some middle state, change my name, and just start all over again. No connections. No needy family or friends. Nothing. A whole new person with a new slate." However, I knew that if I did move to, say, Texas and changed my name to Sammy Jean, I'd still want to be in contact with my mom and sister enough to know that they were OK. Which would kinda defeat the purpose of slipping away into the night. It felt like a no-win situation. What I didn't realize then was that with each new career and each move, I was trying to do that anyway. Trying to forge a new person out of the old one. It didn't feel like it, however, since I was always looking over my shoulder. Those Charlies were quick! It's taken me a long time to recognize, that it was my own guilt and feelings of obligation that kept me tethered to my Charlies no matter where I roamed.
Lately, this wish of disappearing has shifted. And I feel, to a certain degree, freed because of it. I've done a pretty good job of distancing myself emotionally, mentally, and -- yes -- physically. I've slowly come to realize that I am my own person, and that I owe no one anything, not even my family. Because for all that my family gave me, they also took things from me, too. One shouldn't feel that one needs to spend the rest of one's life in servitude to people just because they gave one life and fed you and clothed you. Life, as they say, is a gift. You don't pay someone back for a gift. You just say thank you and move on.
This knowledge has cleared my conscience, and -- most importantly -- has given me a sense of freedom that I've never had before. There's this lightness that has taken residence somewhere beneath the mystical third eye. I can move anywhere and do anything, and all with my own name, and if I win a million dollars tomorrow, no one can say that I owe them anything. Maybe this is all obvious to most people, but for me it is enlightenment. And I feel cleared. Sorry, Charlie.
I'm not used to stress like that any more. I do everything I can to keep stress low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low. (Why, yes, I am singing Flo Rida right now.) What I found most interesting about the process, however, was how other people responded to my need. And yes, I was needy. I splashed it all over Facebook. I told everyone at work. Some people were outraged for me. Other people commiserated. One person handed me a $10 bill to get me through the week in case I needed to eat. And another friend offered me cash -- a lot of it -- until it was settled. (Which, to that person, thank you, again! Seriously.) But most people were very hands off and faded into the distance. "Good time, Charlies" my mother would call them. Only around for when I can make them laugh. Or when they needed something from me. I seem to have a bunch of those in my life, and I'm trying hard to accept them for the Charlies they are and not judge them.
To be honest, I find Charlies exhausting as they are always looking for the party, but don't want to do the heavy lifting once real life asserts its self. However, I also used to define -- and congratulate -- myself as the "person who had it together." And, ergo, didn't "need" other people. So, whether I subconsciously filled my life with Charlies is something only my therapist knows (and he would say, "Yes"). Except when one fills one's life with energy-sucking Hoovers, it can get to be a bit much. There was a time, not too long ago, where I used to wish to drop off the face of the planet. I used to think, "I could just go out to the airport and get a one way ticket to some middle state, change my name, and just start all over again. No connections. No needy family or friends. Nothing. A whole new person with a new slate." However, I knew that if I did move to, say, Texas and changed my name to Sammy Jean, I'd still want to be in contact with my mom and sister enough to know that they were OK. Which would kinda defeat the purpose of slipping away into the night. It felt like a no-win situation. What I didn't realize then was that with each new career and each move, I was trying to do that anyway. Trying to forge a new person out of the old one. It didn't feel like it, however, since I was always looking over my shoulder. Those Charlies were quick! It's taken me a long time to recognize, that it was my own guilt and feelings of obligation that kept me tethered to my Charlies no matter where I roamed.
Lately, this wish of disappearing has shifted. And I feel, to a certain degree, freed because of it. I've done a pretty good job of distancing myself emotionally, mentally, and -- yes -- physically. I've slowly come to realize that I am my own person, and that I owe no one anything, not even my family. Because for all that my family gave me, they also took things from me, too. One shouldn't feel that one needs to spend the rest of one's life in servitude to people just because they gave one life and fed you and clothed you. Life, as they say, is a gift. You don't pay someone back for a gift. You just say thank you and move on.
This knowledge has cleared my conscience, and -- most importantly -- has given me a sense of freedom that I've never had before. There's this lightness that has taken residence somewhere beneath the mystical third eye. I can move anywhere and do anything, and all with my own name, and if I win a million dollars tomorrow, no one can say that I owe them anything. Maybe this is all obvious to most people, but for me it is enlightenment. And I feel cleared. Sorry, Charlie.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Pending
Yesterday, I logged into my account on my bank's web site to balance my checkbook from the weekend and got a great big shock. It seems the bank has cashed my rent check twice. One check, #1351, was rightfully made out and endorsed by my landlady, and had cleared by Monday morning as we share the same bank. The other check, #1321, was made out for the same amount to god-knows-who and was "pending." However, check #1321 was used waaay back in June and was made out to the gas company for $11.09. That check cleared in July and therefore should be null. Me, being me, of course, believes that this was human error. Afterall, "both" checks were made out for an odd amount (my rent is stabilized and therefore goes up in strange increments) and since the 2 is right below the 5 on the keypad, well, it just makes sense that someone's finger landed on the wrong digit. No problem to fix, correct? Well, this is the bank we're talking about, so you would be wrong. Majorly, majorly wrong. Worse, by the end of yesterday, they started to charge me overdraft penalties. That Starbucks latte just went from $4.50 t0 $39.50. Gah!
After I picked my stomach up off the floor, I calmly called the 800 number they provide for customer service and after a few automated gymnastics, I got a real person who basically told me that I had to wait 24-hours before they were able to do anything as she couldn't "see" the check and who it was made out to. Considering that check #1321 was in the system, I'm assuming she meant the one that was "cashed" on Friday, but since I'm pretty sure it's a phantom, I'm thinking she's going to be waiting for a long time for something to appear. However, being the patient saint that I am, I did as I was told and waited until this morning to log back in and to see if the check cleared. It was still pending. At which point, I gathered all the documents I needed for checks #1351 and #1321 and marched off to my local branch...where I got no satisfaction, but did get a small lecture about moving my account from Connecticut to California because they could service me better from in-state than out of state (funny, considering I called the national customer service line on Monday and they couldn't help me either, but I digress). The nice lady at my local branch did, however, open "a case" for me and I am now awaiting a phone call from my bank to clarify the matter. If it's bank error, she assured me, all monies including overdraft fees should be replaced by Friday. However, if it's fraud, the bank is going to screw me until they find out who stole the money because it could be me. (There were a couple of questions there that I did my best not to sigh heavily over and roll my eyes in blatant contempt at such amateurish interrogation tactics.) In the meantime, all my funds are frozen. That is, until I get paid next Tuesday, at which point the "overdraft" plus overdraft fees will be covered by my new paycheck. You know, the one that pays all my bills for the month? The bills that if you don't pay them by a specific time you get slapped with late fees and your credit score gets dinged? That paycheck and those bills. I have a feeling my bank is not going to intercede on my behalf with my other creditors and replace those monies. Nooo... "Bend over, sweetheart. This is going to hurt. A lot."
As I maintain that this is human error and not fraud, I have faith that this will be cleared up by Friday. Weirdly, I'm really not emotionally involved in this, and I'll tell you why. While I'm annoyed by the inconvenience, I think this is a cosmic test. You see, I've been stressing about money all year long (evidenced by a couple of earlier posts, follow the "lottery" label below). And all year long, I've been wanting to win or earn enough money to wipe out my debt completely. I've wanted to ease my way and clear my path towards something else (what else? I have no idea). So, just at the most stressful time of the year, the time when I need the most money, I lose 1/3 of my income through no fault of my own. Once again, I feel like Dian Fossey watching the gorillas, except this time, I'm watching the cosmos. What will happen? How will this right itself? I've been learning to let go. Maybe this is just one more area from which I need to pry my fingers.
After I picked my stomach up off the floor, I calmly called the 800 number they provide for customer service and after a few automated gymnastics, I got a real person who basically told me that I had to wait 24-hours before they were able to do anything as she couldn't "see" the check and who it was made out to. Considering that check #1321 was in the system, I'm assuming she meant the one that was "cashed" on Friday, but since I'm pretty sure it's a phantom, I'm thinking she's going to be waiting for a long time for something to appear. However, being the patient saint that I am, I did as I was told and waited until this morning to log back in and to see if the check cleared. It was still pending. At which point, I gathered all the documents I needed for checks #1351 and #1321 and marched off to my local branch...where I got no satisfaction, but did get a small lecture about moving my account from Connecticut to California because they could service me better from in-state than out of state (funny, considering I called the national customer service line on Monday and they couldn't help me either, but I digress). The nice lady at my local branch did, however, open "a case" for me and I am now awaiting a phone call from my bank to clarify the matter. If it's bank error, she assured me, all monies including overdraft fees should be replaced by Friday. However, if it's fraud, the bank is going to screw me until they find out who stole the money because it could be me. (There were a couple of questions there that I did my best not to sigh heavily over and roll my eyes in blatant contempt at such amateurish interrogation tactics.) In the meantime, all my funds are frozen. That is, until I get paid next Tuesday, at which point the "overdraft" plus overdraft fees will be covered by my new paycheck. You know, the one that pays all my bills for the month? The bills that if you don't pay them by a specific time you get slapped with late fees and your credit score gets dinged? That paycheck and those bills. I have a feeling my bank is not going to intercede on my behalf with my other creditors and replace those monies. Nooo... "Bend over, sweetheart. This is going to hurt. A lot."
As I maintain that this is human error and not fraud, I have faith that this will be cleared up by Friday. Weirdly, I'm really not emotionally involved in this, and I'll tell you why. While I'm annoyed by the inconvenience, I think this is a cosmic test. You see, I've been stressing about money all year long (evidenced by a couple of earlier posts, follow the "lottery" label below). And all year long, I've been wanting to win or earn enough money to wipe out my debt completely. I've wanted to ease my way and clear my path towards something else (what else? I have no idea). So, just at the most stressful time of the year, the time when I need the most money, I lose 1/3 of my income through no fault of my own. Once again, I feel like Dian Fossey watching the gorillas, except this time, I'm watching the cosmos. What will happen? How will this right itself? I've been learning to let go. Maybe this is just one more area from which I need to pry my fingers.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Blog Topics
For the past few weeks now, I've thought of different blog topics to write about but have never got around to them. Or, more honestly, started to write them only to lose steam and discard them. What have I thought about recently? Glad you asked.
1. De-friending people on Facebook. I did this very recently and it was awful. I felt like I was sneaking around and that the de-friended acquaintances -- because that's what they are, really -- would think me a bitch. And I kept people I really didn't want to keep, but knew that they would realize that I de-friended them because these are the random people who usually comment on my wall. I also kept some people because they're my "friends" in some of the FB games I play and I want to keep my farm neighbors and Mafia close. (What?) Fingers crossed that my brothers' ex-girlfriends don't realize they've been cut lose...
2. eHarmony. I've eluded to my "dating" in the blog, but I haven't really written about the experience or how I feel about it. Mostly because I'm ambivalent. I think I've learned more about myself through this entire process than about the guys I've been matched with. I haven't gotten a "date" yet, but that's mostly because I'm dragging my feet. And I kinda don't care about it. Still, I'm doing it and trying to remain hopeful.
3. My Thanksgiving trip in Denver, Colorado. I'm usually pretty habitual about writing about my travels. Where I went, what I saw, who I was with, and what I thought. In fact, there were a few blogs that I probably shouldn't have written back when I was posting on MySpace about a couple of weddings I was in. But this time, I don't feel like I have anything to say. Colorado was interesting in so much as I didn't realize people still lived like that. It really is a different world in the middle of this country. And while I wouldn't mind visiting my aunt again, I think I saw everything I needed to see in three days. Which, I think, says a lot right there.
4. Diet, exercise, and addiction. I've spent the majority of this year working out. In the last few months, I started working on my food issues. Which were legion. While some people in my family have turned to drugs and drink for their addictions, it seems I turned to food. Food was my best friend, my partner, my drug of choice to carry me through. It sounds silly, I know. But when you're tanking down a pint of Cherry Garcia on a Friday night in front of the TV because you're too scared to get outside and make friends because you don't think you're interesting enough, or attractive enough, and you hate your self for it, what else do you call it? Let me tell you something, I know drug addicts. And I know alcoholics. Intimately. It's the same symptom, it's just a different medication. And screw anyone who has something to say about fat people, because I will identify their drug of choice with five questions and it will be drug, drink, sex, or gambling. Whatever gets you through, my friend. But don't throw stones.
5. My female family. It has recently come to my attention through a conversation with my Aunt Bev -- and then another conversation with my Aunt Liz -- that I was brought up in a matriarchy. You see, the men in my family kinda suck. They kill themselves, drink, fight, and do drugs. Oh, and cheat on their wives and girlfriends. I can tell you horror stories about my childhood that would make you think that I was brought up in the ghetto involving knives and girlfriends showing up at the front door. But I digress. Kinda. Anyway. I was brought up in the bosom of my father's family. There's my grandmother, three boys, and five girls. And every single one of the girls is kick ass in her own way. As as women are wont to do, they circled the nest. I grew up with aunts who loved and nurtured me. I'm one of those people who was brought up by a tribe. A female tribe. The problem with this is that I don't trust men as far as I can punt them, and at the end of the day, when I feel like I need to connect and re-charge, I always go back to the women. Hm. Maybe this one is a blog post afterall.
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