Apparently I have a limited ability to do math. That is, to put two and two together to consistently get four. I've been a firefighter for a year, and somehow never realized why steel-toe boots are not recommended. When a firefighter can't outrun a raging fire, they climb into a fire shelter - which looks like a tinfoil burrito - and waits for the fire to pass. During this time, it tends to get a tad toasty in that shelter, and steel-toe boots can do very nasty things to your feet.
Fire season starts in a month. I needed to get new boots now.
I bribed a friend to take me to a discount shoe place in a few days, and I was hoping to spend less than maybe $150, considering their shoes tend to be about 50% off. I was sadly mistaken... sort of.
There were lots of work boots that were at a half-decent price, but only one pair that was rated for Wildland firefighting... and they weren't under $150.
Sticker Shock = achieved.
I made a modest amount of money this past summer working very hard at three jobs. I was tempted several times by designer clothes and fancy jewelry. Somehow, I resisted the urge to splurge and tucked away my money into a savings account. Today I discovered how valuable mild frugality can be. I certainly don't starve myself of the good things in life (I treated myself to a Tiffany's necklace after I had surgery) but I don't buy everything I want. Life is balance. Sure, it would be great to dress only in designer clothes, but being able to afford the safety equipment I need at the drop of a hat not needing to ask for my parent's help is a great ego booster.
Long story short, the boots were more than $250. These boots are virtually indestructible, and basically guaranteed to last until long after I'm dead at a ripe old age. But ouch! My wallet is bleeding, call an accountant, STAT!
My mother was impressed that I didn't use the credit card she gave me, and didn't even ask for permission to use it. I never expected that she would pay for safety equipment that I wanted for a very dangerous job, and just assumed that I would be forking the cash over myself. She had half expected that I would ask. Somehow, I managed to surprise and impress my mother. Who knew?
Maybe this little show of independence and responsibility will encourage them to give me some money.... what do you say, Mom?
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Eating Gold, and Other First-World Qualifiers
I have not updated this recently, but that is because I have been quite busy contemplating the grandeur of my life.
ahem.
I recently had surgery to repair a funky ligament in my elbow, and got to laze around the house for an entire month earning absolutely no money and sapping cash from my loving and concerned parents.
This was not life-saving surgery. My ligament was not going to suddenly demand control of the lower intestine and hold my biceps hostage until its demands were met. I was in pain due the nerve it was pinching, yes, but I was in no immediate danger.
What really astonished me was how completely useless I felt. my mother kept reassuring me that it was fine, but I had never contributed so little to the household since I was too small to even do my own laundry. Because I had so much time to think, I began to realize that having so much time to recover was a luxury many people cannot afford.
A few weeks into my recovery, my family went to a very fancy event at an undisclosed location (not classified, I just don't want you stalking me). The food was amazing, even though the chef was cooking for maybe two hundred people or more. Everyone smiled, and there were lots of little old ladies with walkers and checkbooks bigger than the Empire State building.
What really got to me, though, was a particular dessert. There were fruit tarts, pistachio thingies, and this little chocolate mousse with something shiny on top... I called over a waiter, and the conversation went like this:
"What's that?"
"Chocolate Mousse"
"And the thing on top, is that icing?"
"No, that's 14 karat gold"
We were eating gold.
I had been explaining to people I met all night that I was going to an environmental school, and they all smiled and called me an Eco-warrior or something, and here I was committing a heinous (and very consumerist) crime against the environment by choosing to eat something that had absolutely no nutritional value, and probably cost someone their home in the process of mining. I felt like a horrible person.
On the ride home from the event(in my mother's Chevy hybrid), I could not stop exclaiming how strange that was to me, and how I felt divided between two worlds. I wanted to be the Eco-warrior and beat back pollution from the last remaining scraps of wilderness... but at the same time I had been raised in this very elite group, and I was very comfortable in my heels, pencil skirt, dress shirt, and mindless polite conversation. I was comfortable reducing my educational goals to a simple sentence or two and taking out the sci-speak.
But, as my mother said, that is what will make me valuable to the Eco-warriors. Without the scientists that can talk to the little old ladies who want to donate to help sea turtles but don't know where to start, there would be no environmental movement. "Saving the Planet" costs a lot of money, and without the social events that may do damage to the environment, there could be no motion towards restoring it again.
Perspective in hand, I have a new view of my education. So many of my classmates want to be the super-scientist or the Eco-warrior, but may not learn how to talk directly to the agents of change (not small change, I guarantee) that can finance their "the Man is evil and I need to save the whales right now!" mentality. But that's okay, I can pimp for nature, and they can do the hard lab stuff.
ahem.
I recently had surgery to repair a funky ligament in my elbow, and got to laze around the house for an entire month earning absolutely no money and sapping cash from my loving and concerned parents.
This was not life-saving surgery. My ligament was not going to suddenly demand control of the lower intestine and hold my biceps hostage until its demands were met. I was in pain due the nerve it was pinching, yes, but I was in no immediate danger.
What really astonished me was how completely useless I felt. my mother kept reassuring me that it was fine, but I had never contributed so little to the household since I was too small to even do my own laundry. Because I had so much time to think, I began to realize that having so much time to recover was a luxury many people cannot afford.
A few weeks into my recovery, my family went to a very fancy event at an undisclosed location (not classified, I just don't want you stalking me). The food was amazing, even though the chef was cooking for maybe two hundred people or more. Everyone smiled, and there were lots of little old ladies with walkers and checkbooks bigger than the Empire State building.
What really got to me, though, was a particular dessert. There were fruit tarts, pistachio thingies, and this little chocolate mousse with something shiny on top... I called over a waiter, and the conversation went like this:
"What's that?"
"Chocolate Mousse"
"And the thing on top, is that icing?"
"No, that's 14 karat gold"
We were eating gold.
I had been explaining to people I met all night that I was going to an environmental school, and they all smiled and called me an Eco-warrior or something, and here I was committing a heinous (and very consumerist) crime against the environment by choosing to eat something that had absolutely no nutritional value, and probably cost someone their home in the process of mining. I felt like a horrible person.
On the ride home from the event(in my mother's Chevy hybrid), I could not stop exclaiming how strange that was to me, and how I felt divided between two worlds. I wanted to be the Eco-warrior and beat back pollution from the last remaining scraps of wilderness... but at the same time I had been raised in this very elite group, and I was very comfortable in my heels, pencil skirt, dress shirt, and mindless polite conversation. I was comfortable reducing my educational goals to a simple sentence or two and taking out the sci-speak.
But, as my mother said, that is what will make me valuable to the Eco-warriors. Without the scientists that can talk to the little old ladies who want to donate to help sea turtles but don't know where to start, there would be no environmental movement. "Saving the Planet" costs a lot of money, and without the social events that may do damage to the environment, there could be no motion towards restoring it again.
Perspective in hand, I have a new view of my education. So many of my classmates want to be the super-scientist or the Eco-warrior, but may not learn how to talk directly to the agents of change (not small change, I guarantee) that can finance their "the Man is evil and I need to save the whales right now!" mentality. But that's okay, I can pimp for nature, and they can do the hard lab stuff.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Responsibility Bites.
It's too true. All our years in High School we couldn't wait to be adults and finally have some respect and responsibility. When we graduated, we thought, life would be easier. No drama, no kid stuff; we could do whatever we wanted to do.
Well... some of that is true.
When you graduate from High School and go on to College, it is true that some of your drama goes away. It's no longer "Ohmygawd, Sally Whats-her-face is such a B**ch! She stole my lip gloss!". Instead, it's people bawling about not being able to pay their loans off, or dropping out of college because it's simply too stressful, or screaming at their roommate for something or other, or any of a thousand other things. That's right, in college you have to live with someone. At least in High School you had your own room to yourself. No more!
The "kid gloves" do come off in College. So - no more teachers going easy on you because you forgot about a paper. No more parents who will wake you up in time for school, or remind you to eat some fruit before you get scurvy, for goodness' sake! No more bottomless pantries and constantly stocked refrigerators. A lot of things go away. But at the same time, you get a lot in return.
No more parents to gripe at you for sleeping in until three in the afternoon on a Saturday. No one can make you dress "normally", you can walk around in your p.j.'s for all anyone cares. You can eat what you want, when you want. You can sleep if/when you want. You can watch anything, do anything, and be anyone you've ever wanted to be. If you go to a school far from home, you can completely remake yourself into what other people have always told you you couldn't be.
However, being whoever you want to be can be expensive. Life isn't cheap when you're living it day by day. This is where being an adult kind of starts to suck. Sure, you could get drunk whenever you want and smoke five packs a day... or you could pass your classes and get a good job. Sure, you could party every night and sleep until noon... or you could graduate in four years instead of six. Sure, you could never do laundry again as long as you live... or you could live in a room where the bugs don't outnumber the unpaired socks in your underwear drawer. You could spend every dime of your summer job money on designer clothes... or you could put it in a savings account for the future.
The beautiful thing is no one will tell you which one to do. It's your choice. You are in complete control of your life.
Empowering, isn't it?
Suddenly, the world is so much larger and holds so much more promise. Scary.
Responsibility is tough, because no one can really teach you to be responsible. They can present you with opportunities to show responsibility, and hope you don't screw up. It's like being taught to swim by having someone throw you in the diving pool - it's kind of Pass/Fail. Sure, you'll screw up sometimes, but individual moments won't define your entire life. Learning is a life-long process.
Now stop procrastinating and do your homework! A good education won't earn itself!
Well... some of that is true.
When you graduate from High School and go on to College, it is true that some of your drama goes away. It's no longer "Ohmygawd, Sally Whats-her-face is such a B**ch! She stole my lip gloss!". Instead, it's people bawling about not being able to pay their loans off, or dropping out of college because it's simply too stressful, or screaming at their roommate for something or other, or any of a thousand other things. That's right, in college you have to live with someone. At least in High School you had your own room to yourself. No more!
The "kid gloves" do come off in College. So - no more teachers going easy on you because you forgot about a paper. No more parents who will wake you up in time for school, or remind you to eat some fruit before you get scurvy, for goodness' sake! No more bottomless pantries and constantly stocked refrigerators. A lot of things go away. But at the same time, you get a lot in return.
No more parents to gripe at you for sleeping in until three in the afternoon on a Saturday. No one can make you dress "normally", you can walk around in your p.j.'s for all anyone cares. You can eat what you want, when you want. You can sleep if/when you want. You can watch anything, do anything, and be anyone you've ever wanted to be. If you go to a school far from home, you can completely remake yourself into what other people have always told you you couldn't be.
However, being whoever you want to be can be expensive. Life isn't cheap when you're living it day by day. This is where being an adult kind of starts to suck. Sure, you could get drunk whenever you want and smoke five packs a day... or you could pass your classes and get a good job. Sure, you could party every night and sleep until noon... or you could graduate in four years instead of six. Sure, you could never do laundry again as long as you live... or you could live in a room where the bugs don't outnumber the unpaired socks in your underwear drawer. You could spend every dime of your summer job money on designer clothes... or you could put it in a savings account for the future.
The beautiful thing is no one will tell you which one to do. It's your choice. You are in complete control of your life.
Empowering, isn't it?
Suddenly, the world is so much larger and holds so much more promise. Scary.
Responsibility is tough, because no one can really teach you to be responsible. They can present you with opportunities to show responsibility, and hope you don't screw up. It's like being taught to swim by having someone throw you in the diving pool - it's kind of Pass/Fail. Sure, you'll screw up sometimes, but individual moments won't define your entire life. Learning is a life-long process.
Now stop procrastinating and do your homework! A good education won't earn itself!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
You Know You're Becoming an Adult When...
There are some signs that responsibility is gaining a foothold in your previously fun and carefree life. Here are a few that I've begun to notice:
When you arrive to your work-study job ten minutes early so that the shift before you can get to class on time.
When you're the reliable "sober person" on campus because you don't get hammered or high three to four times a week.
When your fridge has more fruit in it than your pantry has junk food.
When your desk is covered in homework and textbooks, and you haven't seen the surface since you moved in.
When you can be counted on to make sure the bathroom stays reasonably clean.
When you can be counted on to be in your room reading a book almost every Friday and Saturday night.
When your "goals" for a week-long break from school include cleaning out your old closet, starting a savings account, and sorting through your childhood art portfolios.
When you have "goals" for a break, instead of plans to party.
When you start sorting trough your clothes and giving away the options that show too much cleavage and you mutter to yourself "I would never wear this to work."
When you compulsively hang up or put away any clothes that are lying around the room, muttering about the mess.
When you do laundry at least once a week, even if you really don't have to.
When you wash your sheets every week because it's just better hygiene.
When you start making lists like these.
When you arrive to your work-study job ten minutes early so that the shift before you can get to class on time.
When you're the reliable "sober person" on campus because you don't get hammered or high three to four times a week.
When your fridge has more fruit in it than your pantry has junk food.
When your desk is covered in homework and textbooks, and you haven't seen the surface since you moved in.
When you can be counted on to make sure the bathroom stays reasonably clean.
When you can be counted on to be in your room reading a book almost every Friday and Saturday night.
When your "goals" for a week-long break from school include cleaning out your old closet, starting a savings account, and sorting through your childhood art portfolios.
When you have "goals" for a break, instead of plans to party.
When you start sorting trough your clothes and giving away the options that show too much cleavage and you mutter to yourself "I would never wear this to work."
When you compulsively hang up or put away any clothes that are lying around the room, muttering about the mess.
When you do laundry at least once a week, even if you really don't have to.
When you wash your sheets every week because it's just better hygiene.
When you start making lists like these.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Can I Get a Refund on Adulthood?
It's hard being an adult. Mostly because I don't actually feel like an adult yet. I feel like a tall teenager who suddenly has a bit more money at any point in time, and a lot more responsibility. I want lots of things in life: clothes, food, movies, (insert expensive desirable here). The problem comes with how I was raised to treat money. Thanks, Mom.
I worked two jobs and volunteered at a third over the summer so that I could build up mu bank account, and not be eating not-so-great cafeteria food all semester. I wanted the better things in life, and I worked my butt off (quite literally, in the case of being a farm hand) to get there.
And Mom comes in. I was raised that, theoretically, I could spend my money on whatever I wanted. If I wanted to eat candy until I puked I was going to pay for every piece. And when that candy was gone and I had no more money for, say, comics, well that was too bad. I had wanted candy, and didn't look ahead.
Granted my parents weren't evil. they understood that I was still new at the whole "responsible money management" thing, and helped me along with my finances when I was growing up. "Do you really need the Bratz Mall?" Probably not.
But now I'm an "adult", so people keep telling me. I can sign contracts, get a real job (or several) and make really, really stupid financial mistakes. When you suddenly have a lot more money at your disposal than you're ever seen in your entire life, those designer shoes you've always wanted are starting to whisper your name.
Hey.
I'm pretty.
Don't you want to buy me?
I'm only absurdly expensive.
It's an investment, I promise.
Trust me!
The sweet call of designer clothing is one I hear quite keenly. I want to dress myself in beautiful things and drown in diamonds and platinum until I simply cannot stand the sight of them.
Savings banks have ridiculously low investment returns for small savings accounts. Earning pennies for fighting not to spend money hardly seems worth it. Unfortunately I know that if I spent all of the money I fought for that I would hate myself, and no amount of movies and clothes could comfort me.
I want the nicer things in life. i want them now. But I also want to have the nicer things in life twenty years from now, and not be living out of a trailer because I wanted a nice skirt now.
Money management really doesn't have as sweet a song as Italian leather...
I worked two jobs and volunteered at a third over the summer so that I could build up mu bank account, and not be eating not-so-great cafeteria food all semester. I wanted the better things in life, and I worked my butt off (quite literally, in the case of being a farm hand) to get there.
And Mom comes in. I was raised that, theoretically, I could spend my money on whatever I wanted. If I wanted to eat candy until I puked I was going to pay for every piece. And when that candy was gone and I had no more money for, say, comics, well that was too bad. I had wanted candy, and didn't look ahead.
Granted my parents weren't evil. they understood that I was still new at the whole "responsible money management" thing, and helped me along with my finances when I was growing up. "Do you really need the Bratz Mall?" Probably not.
But now I'm an "adult", so people keep telling me. I can sign contracts, get a real job (or several) and make really, really stupid financial mistakes. When you suddenly have a lot more money at your disposal than you're ever seen in your entire life, those designer shoes you've always wanted are starting to whisper your name.
Hey.
I'm pretty.
Don't you want to buy me?
I'm only absurdly expensive.
It's an investment, I promise.
Trust me!
The sweet call of designer clothing is one I hear quite keenly. I want to dress myself in beautiful things and drown in diamonds and platinum until I simply cannot stand the sight of them.
Savings banks have ridiculously low investment returns for small savings accounts. Earning pennies for fighting not to spend money hardly seems worth it. Unfortunately I know that if I spent all of the money I fought for that I would hate myself, and no amount of movies and clothes could comfort me.
I want the nicer things in life. i want them now. But I also want to have the nicer things in life twenty years from now, and not be living out of a trailer because I wanted a nice skirt now.
Money management really doesn't have as sweet a song as Italian leather...
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
New Dorms and (OH GOODNESS!!) Creepy Crawlies
There seems to be a universal problem with older dormitories, especially ones that back to trees and other wild flora. That issue is bugs. Creepy crawlies that sneak into your bedroom slippers and scare the living daylights out of you. They hide under baseboards and fly in your face when you least expect it. And besides the obvious stigma against them, they just freak me out.
I suppose as a Conservation Biology major I should feel kinder towards these insects. I should find a cup and piece of paper and gently release them outside. However, when i am apprehensive about living in a new place I do not want to be looking at carpenter ants first thing in the morning.
My dorm is relatively nice. It's not too far from central campus, and I can pretend that it's peaceful sometimes. Bugs are the main problem.
My first week on campus I nearly had a meltdown. The bugs were stressing me out! I had big fat juicy carpenter ants appearing out of nowhere and crawling down my walls. I had silverfish hiding in the footwell of my desk. I had fruit flies. I had bugs.
I broke down when talking to my mom over Skype, and she sent me the cavalry. A nice care package filled with poison for bugs. On an Environmentally friendly campus, this would not generally be seen as a favorable method for getting peace in one's homestead, but I had enough of these bugs.
I sealed up all of the cracks in my walls, floor, and air conditioning system. I laid down Borax dust, thoroughly enforcing the fact I would almost never be able to have a small furry pet in my room. I sprayed Raid everywhere.
Still, the bugs got in.
I was beyond frustrated. I just wanted peace in my room, and the creepy crawlies were giving me the heebie jeebies. At College X you're supposed to feel all touchy-feely about all parts of the environment. Forget that, I said, when it comes to bugs there's no touchy-feely, only ouchy-bleedy.
As a method of last resort (after all that poison, what more could there be?) I tried a suggestion that seemed to work for a friend of my mother's: Windex+Vinegar. I was skeptical. Windex?? All these serious poisons weren't working, and Windex was supposed to fix my problem??
I tried it.
I had one last confused ant scurry across my floor a few days after I first sprayed, and for some reason I haven't seen any more since.
I'm not really sure which of my extreme methods really did the trick, and I honestly don't care. My room is my own, and I (sometimes) have peace.
Although, I still haven't worked up the courage to look under my dresser and see if the Borax finally killed the Silverfish under there. Honestly, I don't really want to know.
I suppose as a Conservation Biology major I should feel kinder towards these insects. I should find a cup and piece of paper and gently release them outside. However, when i am apprehensive about living in a new place I do not want to be looking at carpenter ants first thing in the morning.
My dorm is relatively nice. It's not too far from central campus, and I can pretend that it's peaceful sometimes. Bugs are the main problem.
My first week on campus I nearly had a meltdown. The bugs were stressing me out! I had big fat juicy carpenter ants appearing out of nowhere and crawling down my walls. I had silverfish hiding in the footwell of my desk. I had fruit flies. I had bugs.
I broke down when talking to my mom over Skype, and she sent me the cavalry. A nice care package filled with poison for bugs. On an Environmentally friendly campus, this would not generally be seen as a favorable method for getting peace in one's homestead, but I had enough of these bugs.
I sealed up all of the cracks in my walls, floor, and air conditioning system. I laid down Borax dust, thoroughly enforcing the fact I would almost never be able to have a small furry pet in my room. I sprayed Raid everywhere.
Still, the bugs got in.
I was beyond frustrated. I just wanted peace in my room, and the creepy crawlies were giving me the heebie jeebies. At College X you're supposed to feel all touchy-feely about all parts of the environment. Forget that, I said, when it comes to bugs there's no touchy-feely, only ouchy-bleedy.
As a method of last resort (after all that poison, what more could there be?) I tried a suggestion that seemed to work for a friend of my mother's: Windex+Vinegar. I was skeptical. Windex?? All these serious poisons weren't working, and Windex was supposed to fix my problem??
I tried it.
I had one last confused ant scurry across my floor a few days after I first sprayed, and for some reason I haven't seen any more since.
I'm not really sure which of my extreme methods really did the trick, and I honestly don't care. My room is my own, and I (sometimes) have peace.
Although, I still haven't worked up the courage to look under my dresser and see if the Borax finally killed the Silverfish under there. Honestly, I don't really want to know.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Get It In Writing
Most of my updates seem to come from my college campus, to no great surprise. College is where fledgling adults lean over the nest and notice that it's really quite far to the ground and the forest floor isn't a soft landing pad. Luckily, those of us who are lucky enough to have parents who smile and help you back into the nest when you get a claw stuck on a thorn have some kind of safety net.
I am very fortunate to have a safety net. I may not always like them, but they're there.
But this post connects the past summer with the current school year, because it has to do with finances. This summer I worked two jobs, and volunteered at a third. I had a business internship at a private Montessori school, I was a home organizer for a woman with M.S., and I was a volunteer coordinator at an animal rescue farm. Busy summer! Profitable summer!
The woman with M.S. payed me on a day-to-day basis, and was always grateful for my services, and it was always nice to hear her praise. The private school was a little shaky on how they were going to transfer my funds, but I trusted them because I used to attend that school, and I was friendly with the principal (my boss). I worked for them on a four-week internship, and after turning in copies of my final work, I was informed I would most likely get my last paycheck within a few days by mail.
This would have been great! I would have gotten my paycheck before I left for college once more, and I wouldn't be weighing the pros and cons of buying a five-dollar book.
This did not happen.
I waited a week. No check.
Two weeks? No check
two and a half weeks, e-mail the principal, only to find out it hadn't gotten in the mail yet. She guarantees it got in the mail that day.
In an area with one-day turnaround for same-area mail, half a week later... No check.
As a student with something of a limited income, I'm very familiar with the idea of dog-earing money for something long before you get it. I am now getting into the point of spending the money before I get it, which is very bad. I keep thinking, "This will be covered by my check when it comes, so it's okay to just eat a little bit into my savings now!"
No good.
But Mom was right, yes, get a payment plan in place before you start working for "The Man."
And find a squishier safety net.
I am very fortunate to have a safety net. I may not always like them, but they're there.
But this post connects the past summer with the current school year, because it has to do with finances. This summer I worked two jobs, and volunteered at a third. I had a business internship at a private Montessori school, I was a home organizer for a woman with M.S., and I was a volunteer coordinator at an animal rescue farm. Busy summer! Profitable summer!
The woman with M.S. payed me on a day-to-day basis, and was always grateful for my services, and it was always nice to hear her praise. The private school was a little shaky on how they were going to transfer my funds, but I trusted them because I used to attend that school, and I was friendly with the principal (my boss). I worked for them on a four-week internship, and after turning in copies of my final work, I was informed I would most likely get my last paycheck within a few days by mail.
This would have been great! I would have gotten my paycheck before I left for college once more, and I wouldn't be weighing the pros and cons of buying a five-dollar book.
This did not happen.
I waited a week. No check.
Two weeks? No check
two and a half weeks, e-mail the principal, only to find out it hadn't gotten in the mail yet. She guarantees it got in the mail that day.
In an area with one-day turnaround for same-area mail, half a week later... No check.
As a student with something of a limited income, I'm very familiar with the idea of dog-earing money for something long before you get it. I am now getting into the point of spending the money before I get it, which is very bad. I keep thinking, "This will be covered by my check when it comes, so it's okay to just eat a little bit into my savings now!"
No good.
But Mom was right, yes, get a payment plan in place before you start working for "The Man."
And find a squishier safety net.
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