Easy-Peasy, Life Was Breezy

Once upon a time, life was easy. Or at least this is what I think now because at the moment, life is hard.

I moved to New York City at 23 with a dollar and a dream. OK, I had more than $1 but not by much. What I did have was drive and ambition. I had hunger. And I had optimism. The early years of relentlessly harassing people (in a nice way) so I could get my foot in the fashion industry door, the late nights at the office proving myself and climbing up the ladder, the years of having 2 and 3 jobs. They all seem so distant now, so easy because I don't think about them and I forgot how hard it was at the beginning.

What I remember is how much simpler it was from the middle on. At some point you make enough money at your real job to not have to work another one. Projects come easier than they used to, you get jobs via referrals and word of mouth. Most of the time you don't even need to interview anymore. At least I didn't. I guess I should have enjoyed it more while I had it so good.

A while back on a regular day, while doing a regular mundane thing, I realized I had been in San Diego for 5 months and hadn't accomplished most of the things I had thought I would. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Did it put a fire under my ass to get things moving? Yes. Did it also cause 1 mini-meltdown per week since then? That would be yes. I have been trying to conquer the voice in my head that all too often says: "I didn't do enough, I didn't research grad schools enough, I haven't gotten anywhere. I don't have a job, I need a job. What if this whole thing doesn't work out??"

Multiply that intensity x10 to get a feel for how frantic I really get.

Moving across the country this time around is so different. I had lofty thoughts and noble ideas about a new career and how to get there. I see myself there. I imagine my life 5 years from now and professionally I am where I want to be. But actually getting there is proving to be more difficult than I expected. At the moment, my efforts are not yielding any tangible results and getting there seems so far away.

Traveling With Baby

Yes, when I say ‘baby’ here, I mean Ciela. Anyone who is not a dog person, has never raised a puppy and therefore doesn’t think a puppy is like a baby must stand kindly corrected. Because I have never felt more like a mother than in the past 2 weeks since I’ve become one. Won’t eat when you want her to? Check. Won’t go potty when it’s convenient for you? Check. Fusses when you try to give her her antibiotics or brush her teeth or clean under her eyes or or or? Check. Oh, yeah. Bites (not gently) bc she is teething/playing/doesn’t know any better? Check. Incessant barking and high-pitched yelping at the most inopportune times, like when you want to go to sleep? Cheeeck! And since we’re on the subject of sleep, let’s not forget the fact that I haven’t had a solid good night’s of it since I got her. A 6 hour block that I would previously shake my head at in distaste now seems like a faraway dream, a fantasy never to be fulfilled, something I dare not bother longing for bc I can't imagine the day Ciela will let me sleep the whole night thru.

Can I just say I have a newfound respect for new mothers?? I never knew it was this hard. A million props to you and a million kudos, and I hope they build monuments in your honor! And single moms (or dads) – you deserve all that x2.

Now, back to this traveling w baby. The plan is to go to Philly to visit my friend R n help her decorate her new apartment. I love stuff like that! So, I book my ticket, not even thinking to check what the bus company’s pet policy is. Most modes of transport (planes, NYC trains and buses, etc) have no problem w small dogs as long as they are in a carrier. Ciela is small. Ciela has two carriers. We are so good to go.

I pack her up and leave the house, stopping by the drug store before hopping on the train. She is barking and hyper, and strangers must think her carrier is possessed, it's jumping around so much. I grab her a new toy off the shelf, pop it in her bag to keep her busy, and head to the counter to finish my business. Her interest in the toy (read: quiet) lasts for 2 minutes, tops. While I’m standing at the register I hear “Miss, Miss!” I turn around. “You’re not allowed to have dogs in here.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know,” I lie. “I’m done, I’m leaving.”

For the millionth time, I wonder why I can’t have a dog that is quiet, or at least one that I know how to control.

We leave the store and I hear nothing but the regular sounds of a Harlem street. Sweet. I am still holding out hope that the new toy and the sweet potato treat I gave her will keep her quiet for the next 2-3 hours, but that hope is shattered as I walk to the train station and the high-pitched barking resumes. Now I'm getting worried. I call the bus company to inquire about their pet policy.

“There are no pets allowed on board.”

“But she’s small. She’s in a carrier.”

“Unfortunately, ma'am, there are no pets allowed on board”

Bastards. I stand on the corner, I debate. Cancel the trip? Take my chances? I finally figure by the time the bus leaves in over an hour she will have run herself ragged and will sleep the ride thru. I get on the train n decide if worse comes to worst, I might have to play dumb on this one. No biggie. What are they gonna do, throw me out on the side of the highway?

Usually I have no trouble out of her on the train. Today however, she has decided not only to not calm down, but to turn up the craziness to the highest level she can. I'm getting worried again. I don't want to be the annoying lady w the dog on the bus, plus now I know she's not supposed to be on there in the first place. God, I wish I just hadn't called; maybe playing dumb is easier when you really don't know, duh. I call the vet and ask if I can give her Benadryl to help her sleep; I feel bad, but I know it won’t hurt her. The vet quickly vetoes that idea w a “Nope, she’s too small.” Damn. It. Dammittohell.

I'm standing on 34th, leaning against a building, wistfully looking at this big, orange bus parked across the street. I stand there for minutes, too afraid to even get near it, to even venture to the other side, as if I have to cross No Man's Land, when all I really have to do is walk across a few lanes of traffic. What is wrong w me, I have done plenty of things against the rules before, when exactly did I become chicken-you-know-what? I think it was 20 minutes ago on the train when it was packed w people n she wouldn't quit yelping, n I became That Lady n I felt so embarrassed. Yup, I think that is when.

I call the bus company again, maybe the first guy I spoke to was wrong, sometimes they are.

"Hi, I wanted to know if I can travel on your bus w a small dog in a carrier?"

"No, pets are not allowed on board."

"Really? Well, do you have an affiliate company that does allow pets?"

"No, ma'am, we do not."

"Really, hmmm... Well, can you refund my already-purchased tickets?"

"No, ma'am, tickets are non-refundable."

"Well that's shitty."

I think I mumble a Thank You just to be kind of polite, n hang up. I figure "screw it" n boldly cross the street and even more boldly, I stand in line. I get all the way to the ticket agent and am told this is the bus to Boston. Great. I step out of that line and into another. The little barker has finally fallen asleep. If she can keep that up for 2 more hours, I'm set. But Ciela's not reliable like that, at least not yet. While maintaining my position in line, I google and call the Chinatown bus; no dogs allowed. Some other company I can't think of the name of anymore; seeing eye dogs only (gee, that's very kind of you). NJ Transit; OK as long as they're in a carrier. Woohoo! What, you only go to Trenton n then I have to transfer trains to Philly? Fine, let me just make sure.... SEPTA; also OK as long as they're in a carrier. Hallelujah! I walk away from the line, Ciela still sleeping, wondering if I made the right decision, especially since my unemployed self just flushed $23 down the toilet for a round-trip ticket I will never use, and bc the train tickets are considerably more expensive than the bus tickets. Sigh. Sanity over $23 any day, I console myself. Still, I wonder if she would have slept the whole ride thru.

I round the corner and no sooner have I walked half a block than the little girl wakes up and decides to announce it to the whole wide world, oh so very loudly. I guess I made the right decision after all.

The "B" Word

Ah, the *beauty* of living on a budget. For a long time, I didnt even know what the word "budget" meant. I mean, I knew the meaning of it. But I didnt know anything about budgeting, having a budget, living on a budget. You get the picture.

When I first moved to NYC I had financial help from some very generous friends with money. Their names were Citi, Chase and Discover. For a good 2 or 3 years, I managed to turn to them in times of need (furniture, groceries) and times of want (drinks with friends, dinners out) and pretty soon I had amassed a pretty penny of debt (something to the tune of $11-$13K, I can never quite remember). I became a whiz at the game of balance transfers to cards w/ 0% APR, which only meant I had to open new credit accounts, which meant that my excellent credit score was slowly being chipped away at. And then I finally got a job that came along w/ a decent salary, and at that point I made it my business to get myself out of debt. I started sending in payments $500 and even $1,000 at a time sometimes. Nothing was more important to me during that time than seeing the numbers on those statements get lower and lower. My debt was hanging over my head like a big, black cloud; I could literally see it when I looked up, I felt it hovering over me, and I was itching to get out from under it! About a year and a half later, I was able to declare myself completely debt-free. It was definitely one of my proudest moments of independent living.

I started faithfully depositing into *gasp* a savings account. I *gasp* bc those are almost impossible to have in NYC. When I decided to take some time off, I attempted to save more. When I heard my job was in peril, and I might lose it before I even had the chance to flip my boss off and walk out on her, I went into over-drive. I tried to put more away, but it never felt like it was enough. Those numbers weren't budging, it seemed.

And so we come to the "B" word, the lovely subject of my 3rd post.

I set myself up with this... budget. The word alone is so unsavory... it definitely leaves a bad taste in my mouth. In any case, I have this budget, and Ive been trying to stick to it for several months now. Ive had to tweak it here and there, and Im still trying to get it right. Its annoying as hell, since it requires me to write down pretty much every dollar I spend, but it does help me see where my money goes, and I know Id be a mess without it.

I wish I could say I stick to it every single week, but that would be a blatant lie. What I can say is that I try. Weeks I come in under-budget are always exciting, until the next time I add my expenses up and realize I have to borrow last week's surplus to cover this week's over-spending. Gone are the days of hopping in over-priced NYC cabs whenever I feel like it, going out to dinner several times a week, treating friends to whatever, not thinking twice about most of my purchases, and knowing there is enough in my account. Every dollar counts now, and its frustrating. I feel cheap, even tho I shouldnt, bc let's face it; its a recession and whoever is lucky enough to NOT have to change their spending habits is in the minority. I hope they know how fortunate they are.

On the flip-side, with this lack of paycheck also comes a lack of job-related stress, and Im hoping that the benefits of the latter will overshadow the drawbacks of the former. I believe its just a matter of retraining your mind to this new mentality of frugal living and I hope Ill get used to it soon enough. 'Til then, you can find me writing my expenses down in my notebook, calculating how much more I can or cannot spend this week, and wishing money grew on trees.... Ah, the *beauty* of living on a budget.

Day 1

I have a migraine.  It's past midnight and I'd REALLY like nothing better than to get up and pee (I have this unbelievable laziness when it comes to peeing; I dont know when it started but I wish it would stop just as quickly as it began bc its really annoying) and then fall peacefully into slumber, wake up on time, get to work on time, and have a wonderful day at the place where I feel like I spend the better part of my life.  Work.  Which I sometimes call My Hell-Hole of a Job.  But I digress.   

Did I mention I have a migraine?  And its hard to type on your side w/ one hand, so pls excuse the typos.  But here goes.  I keep writing blog posts in my head as I walk down the street, so I figured I should really get this crackin' already, bc Im starting to think Im crazy, and Im tired of  putting it off.  Initially I was gonna wait until I quit my job, and my blog was one of many things that was going to fill my days... I envisioned myself sitting at the neighborhood Starbucks and just blog-blog-blogging my year away.  I would tell you guys about all my adventures.  My travels on a ridiculously small budget.  My failed attempts at living on a budget at all (haha, this is not gonna be so funny when Im out of a job and only have 2.53 dollars to spend and I curse the day I decided taking a year off and living off my savings was a good idea).  And so on and so forth.  I would grow and learn and become a better person and I would love every minute of my year off, and emerge on the other side with a new career and a new zeal for life and, and, and...

But it looks like this whole 'not working' thing is gonna take longer than planned.  Ill spare you the boring details and instead start sharing the story  :)