I want to own my own company, and I want to build my own house.
So I'm 26 and I think the time is right to start at least thinking about these things, if not actually plotting them out. So here's the problem: I know next to nothing about saving and investing money. Also, I feel downright silly to consider talking to a professional about my measly $1,000. Who would take me seriously?
So, in lieu of actual professional advice, I'd like to consult you, Killoggs! What have you done to save money or invest money? Do you have a financial planner? How did you find yours? Do they really just hang out in banks, waiting to dispense free advice to simpletons like me, as my mom suggests? Did you just walk in to someplace off the street, or did you shop around somehow? How do you know which financial planner is better than the next? Is it really possible to play a measly $1,000 on the market, or should I stick with CDs?
I GOT PAID UP! COMPLETELY! ALL FOUR MONTHS OF BACK WAGES THAT HAVE BEEN OWED TO ME TWO AND A HALF YEARS!!!
i feel like shouting it from the rooftops!!!!! i'm amazed. the only thing that mitigates it is knowledge that i could have been enjoying this feeling ALL ALONG. But, still,
Ok, so I keep reading quotes that intrigue me or make me snicker and then they turn out to be from HL Mencken. I'm in a reading lull and eager for some snarky satire. If I want to try Mencken out, what would be a good place to start?
Also, I saw some book of his in the used bookstore by my house called "In Defense of Women." Is that any good? Anyone read it?
So on my way to work I got handed a pamphlet that said something like,
"Even if you like meat, you can still fight animal cruelty!"
And I thought, 'hey! PETA finally got a clue! They're appealing to us happy meat-eaters who are against animal torture! What a good way to become relevant!' I figured the pamphlet was full of ways I could avoid buying meat from places that like, kick little lambies, or make bacon by bashing pigs' skulls in with a rock, or whatever.
Nope.
The inside of the pamphlet went on to say,
"If everyone ate just half the meat they normally do, 30 million animals would be spared fates like this: (gruesome picture of dead chicken)"
So fucking stupid. When will PETA learn that most of us LIKE eating meat, and they will never convince us otherwise, but they'd have our support if they just appealed to the love of pain-free animal living that everyone can agree on?
In a few hours I board a plane to California for a week's stay. I just realized that this is the longest I have ever gone without seeing my family: just shy of 8 months! Even when I lived in Paris I saw them more frequently than that. I can't wait! I miss my parents a lot, although I'm pretty sure they'll drive me crazy inside of 3 days. But that's half the fun, of course.
What's the longest you've gone without seeing your parents?
Our radiators kicked on again today. It is June 3rd and our radiators kicked on. It's rainy and cold and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of being cold all the fucking time! I never feel like doing anything because it's always cold, or rainy, or just grey and depressing or windy and cold, cold, cold. I hate being cold in my own house, so that I don't even want to get out from under the bed covers. I hate not feeling sexy for almost the entire year. I can't wear my sandals and skirts, I can't wear my tanktops and sunglasses, I'm sick of being white, I'm sick of nobody even KNOWING that I'm white because THEY CAN'T SEE MY SKIN, I HATE cold weather clothing, I hate having to wear layers constantly, I hate wind blowing my hair in my face every time I try to cross the fucking intersection, I hate indoor pools, I hate going to the beach on my one day off and it always, always, always gets cloudy at 2pm sharp and the cold rain starts dripping on the beach, I hate hate hate this fucking weather and I can't wait to live where it's summer all year round again!
I AM SO MOTHERFUCKING SICK OF COLD FUCKING WEATHER!
It is supposed to be HOT in JUNE! People are supposed to BBQ and eat at outdoor restaurants!
Only people coming from ENGLAND would think this fucking place was worth settling!
I just wrapped up my two-night viewing of Bridge On The River Kwai, and man, that's a hell of a movie! Fascinating. I highly recommend it for anyone interested in the psychology of war. I'm glad I finally got around to renting it.
Anyone else seen this one? Now I'm off to find out whether it's based on a true story or not (not that it matters). Also, this is a good subtle film (except for one line), so don't watch it if you're just looking for war action.
Once upon a time there was a little boy named Reggie and his constant sidekick, Nugget. Poor Nugget had extraordinary mental powers but was unable to communicate this fact to his master. (As the dog's name might suggest, Reggie was not known for his powers of imagination.) To help cope with his leashed existence Nugget self-medicated with snackings on the garden poppies. Nugget's days of idle opiated dreaming were happy ones and calm, but eventually he starved to death from lack of appetite. Reggie, cast into sudden extreme poverty by a Republican-initiated reversal of the Union victory, was forced to eat his dead friend. He sat in sadness after the meal, staring nowhere as his digestive juices silently engulfed the thin strings of retriever meat in his stomach. A strange thing soon took place. The branches of the tree outside his window began to flap up and down; the tree pulled itself up from the earth, leaf-wings straining toward the clouds, shaking off cobwebs of power lines and throwing them with an electric crackle down to the street below; roots yanked up from under sidewalks, buildings, around sewer lines, snaking up from the bowels of the earth and shaking themselves free of dust and dirt and broken chunks of concrete. YOU! said the tree to Reggie. This day, February 23rd, is the date of your rebirth! You shall be one of the chosen! One of the sons of Imagination! Go forth from this day and share your visions with your soulless fellows! Imbue them with dreams and fill their minds with questions and hopes! Captivate their hearts with your poems! Do this, and you will never die. And the tree flapped up into the heavens and Reggie went forth and dreamed of the world.
Happy Re-Birthday, Reggie. May it stand out in your endless life!
You don't need any kind of ID of any sort, picture, non-picture, nothing to get through TSA security at airports.
All you need is a boarding pass. All you need at the airlines to get your boarding pass is your original confirmation code from purchasing. This is typically a combination of five letters and numbers.
That's it. You'll get patted down, but they'll let you through with a boarding pass only on domestic flights.
Now: explain to me why I can't accompany friends to their gates, go watch the planes take off, access the food and the shops in the terminals with my friends while I'm waiting for a flight? The terrorists had boarding passes. (They also, presumably, had ID's for that matter.) Everyone gets patted down, everyone gets herded shoeless through metal detectors. Apparently you could have a boarding pass in someone else's name, pretend to be them, and still fly. WHY won't they let family members through security, exactly? Bomb-free family members with IDs?! What kind of non-threat does the ownership of a boarding pass signify, especially one wholly unaccompanied by any kind of corroborating ID?!
I think next time I fly, I'm going as C. Everett Koop. Why let them track my movements through this country if I'm guaranteed neither comfort nor security as a result?
Today, for the very first time in all 24 years of my existence, somebody wrote down my name correctly when I gave it to them.
INCLUDING THE "Y".
I said "tall mocha", she asked for my name, I said "Myriam", and in the midst of all the coffeeshop noise, and the pressure of the waiting line, and my probable mumbling, she wrote:
I have the hardest time getting up out of bed in the morning. No matter how stressful my life seemed the night before, and how many times I told myself, "you HAVE to be at work by nine!!! Otherwise there's no way you'll get all your work done!!! Have to have to have to!!" ...when I wake up I invariably feel like I have all the time in the world to get things done. I cuddle up under the covers and watch the minutes tick by on my big clock. Eventually I take a shower and then deliberate for a while on what to wear. It's only when I finally get out of the house and start walking to work that suddenly my tremendous work load hits me again, and by then I'm already off to a late start.
Does anyone else have trouble leaving warm bed-heaven? How do *you* get yourself out of bed in the mornings?
