Living Broke Another Week

This week has not be as easy nor are we as excited about our new way of living.

I made my husband go to the grocery store with me so that he could pick out what he wanted and I would not pick up things he didn’t want.  This happens frequently.  My husband takes his lunch and a sackful of snacks to work everyday.  He gets tired of the same old stuff week after week.  Sometimes he gets so tired of stuff he just refuses to eat it and it sits in our pantry and expires.  No more!  We are Living Broke, we can’t afford to be wasteful.

My husband is not a fan of grocery shopping and I am not a fan of his grouchy company in the Walmart SuperCenter.  We made it in and out in record time and spent $118. 

My husband is skeptical about this entire budget initiative.  He’s going along with it, but not peaceably. This may be detrimental to his happiness going forward. 

He doesn’t buy beer often and I don’t buy wine often.  However, when you’re on a budget or a diet for that matter, you tend to focus on what you can’t have and not what you really want.  We don’t imbibe often but suddenly he realized he didn’t have beer at home. I told him beer and wine would come out of the grocery budget and he grunted.

On Saturday we were to make a 65 mile one way trip to visit his family.  The plan and my commitment to the plan was to drive up, visit for a couple of hours and bring two of our grandsons back to spend the night.  By the time this plan went through numerous adjustments, changes, accusations, screams and demands, it was clear to me that my husband’s particular family member orchestrating the whole ordeal was going to keep us hung out for hours on end.  I had dinner in the crock pot with a estimated dinner time of 6.  I did not want nor intend to get hung out at the mercy of a control freak, passive aggressive, spiteful, mean young woman just for the hell of it.  I know and love my husband and in knowing him, I know that he has and always will cowtow to demands like this so I told him the only way I would accompany him on this clustered excursion was to drive my own car so that I could come home before midnight.  He was not happy. 

In his mind “marriage” means “joined at the hip forever and ever amen.”  In my mind married means a foot rub when I ask for it and someone to kill spiders for me.  In his anger that I would not endure his lovely family and the ever-changing plans he said “driving up there in 2 cars just wastes gas!  Don’t say anything else to me about a budget.”

Yes.  I did.  I slapped him down quickly on that one.  I figured with my new, fuel efficient compact car, I spent $5.37 in gas to drive up there on my own.  That is a bargain compared to what my bail bond would have been if I had been trapped in his daughter’s home with no escape or release date.   Once I finished  with him over that comment, I rested assured that he would never use “budget” as a weapon in a disagreement of any sort lest I take it away from him and beat him to a pulp with it again.

I came home Saturday at 4.  At 6 pm, my husband called and asked if it was still OK with me to bring the grandsons home.  I never turn down grandbaby time!  I had to quickly run to the store and spend $9 for food the 4 year old would eat. 

I looked at the pay per view channels and saw Wall-E listed.  That would make a great movie night for a 4 year old!  However, once we settled in to watch the movie, it was a premium channel we don’t get.  The 4 year old was not happy.  We told him we would stop at Walmart after church on Sunday and buy the movie since we promised him we would watch it.  And we did.  $20.00

I had planned to get some work done last weekend in preparation for my business trip that began with a 2:30 flight on Monday.  Having the grandsons around meant no work time for me. 

I got up early Monday morning and began a mad rush to get everything done for my trip.  I began the process of printing out hundreds of pages of color presentation materials.  I fielded phone calls and of course since I didn’t have time for issues, I got more than a normal Monday’s share.  I had grand plans to leave my office around 11:45, pack my suitcase, enjoy a quick bite of lunch and leave at 12:45 for a 1:45 arrival at the airport.  HA!   By the time 10 am arrived, I was tempted to call HR and fire myself just so I wouldn’t have to finish out the day.

I sprinted down the stairs loaded down with my briefcase and files, I pitched and tossed clothes and shoes into my suitcase, grabbed things out of the bathroom cabinet, could not find my bag with my nail stuff in it, zipped up the suitcase, ran to the car with it and hoped both the shoes I packed were the same color.  I threw a piece of ham on a piece of bread, grabbed a bottle of water and sped out of the driveway. 

And you know when you’re running late, everything that can go wrong will go wrong.  Like heavy traffic and incompetent people at every point of contact it takes to actually get to the gate.  And I know the only reason that TSA agent made me take off my sweater was so he could see my bra.  Asshole. 

I got through security, got dressed and ran to my gate barefooted.  Yes, I am so professional when I travel.  Always representing the company with my best sock foot forward.

There were issues on the plane that are worthy of their own post, so I’ll save those for later.  I thought about all I had to do once I landed.  I didn’t have all my printing done, so I would need to find a Kinko’s.  Any my nails?  I gave up manicures for Living Broke, but I had to do something about my hands before I sat in front of important CEO people the next day. 

Once I arrived in Kansas City, I drove quickly to my destination.  I broke the no manicure rule and paid $15 for a manicure and conversation with a Vietnamese woman I couldn’t understand. 

Once on the road, all my expenses for meals and the glass of wine I had for dinner are not my personal expenses.  I am a frugal travel not because I am a tight wad but because I live the way I live and eat what I eat no matter who is paying for it.  I know and love people who are extravagant on the company’s dime.  I got news for you, that big ole fat steak and order of bacon cheese fries may be free, but it is still 9,000 calories and it will expand your ass.  Literally.  I’ll take a $5 Subway turkey on wheat please.

I arrived home late Wednesday night.  On Thursday, my husband and I had to speed to the accountant’s office in the city to sign our tax return.  We had gift cards to a couple of restaurants so we went to dinner afterwards.  After we used our gift cards, we both chipped in $4 to cover the rest of the bill and tips.

I had committed to making a donation to a non profit that is close to my heart for a silent auction.  Yikes!  Where would that come from?  I scoured the junk drawer and found an unused $10 Walmart gift card.  I was willing to fork over a few more dollars to get something decent.  I found a set of new grill tools, a vintage looking Barrell of Monkeys game and a stuff animal.  Total $19.71.  I used the gift card an paid $9.71.

So we survived another week.  Today is Friday, it is grocery day again.  I’m hoping to have a little bit of grocery money left to buy a banned item – like one bag of Kona coffee.  But then I reminded myself that I need to get little Easter things for our grandchildren. There goes the coffee for at least another week. 

I saved all my laundry for tomorrow because it is supposed to be nice outside and I have a clothes line.  After paying our 4th astronomical utility bill this week, the dryer is grounded!  It will not get to dry our clothes unless is it an emergency.  It costs nothing to hang them out on the clothesline and they smell better dried on the line.

I’m sure Living Broke will get harder as we get into this week.  However, we must do it and I know we will.

Living Broke – Prioritizing

What is a luxury?  That guy who rants on the radio and TV – Dave Ramsey – gets all worked up about cutting expenses and living within your means.  I don’t feel the need to call in and confess anything to him, I have lived below my means for many years now.  But I will admit that the expense cutting he likes to yell about is practical advice when one is trying to go from being comfortably employed to Living Broke.

My husband I have made our weekly budget and in that budget, there is no room for  luxuries we have enjoyed over the years.  There are many things we must cut out.  Let’s get started.

100% Pure Kona Coffee.  Oh, have you tried this?  Heaven in small brown, perfectly roasted coffee beans!  I didn’t know about Kona Coffee until we went to Hawaii 3 years ago and had Kona coffee in Kona.  It was like no coffee I’ve ever tasted, and I fell in love right away. 

I found this coffee at my most favorite place to buy yummy foods – Fresh Market (which has also been cut from the budget).  I order our delicious Kona Coffee on line most of the time.  It runs about $26 for a slighty-less-than-one-pound bag.  Even being comfortably employed this was a bit much for coffee.  We only drank Kona coffee on Satudays, Sundays and Christmas.  If you don’t know about Kona Coffee, read about it here:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kona_coffee.   Kona coffee was cut.

Eating Out.  I am uncertain about completely cutting this out right now.  One of the differences I have at home is eating out.  Because I travel most weeks on business, I eat out more than I eat in.  While I’m  galavanting around exotic locales such as Sioux Falls, Topeka and Sandusky, my husband is home scrounging for food he doesn’t have to cook.  It is pitiful to call home while I’m on the road and tell him about the fabulous restaurant I enjoyed with a client only to hear him talk about the potted meat sandwich he just ate. When I get home and we have a weekend – he is ready to go out!  I am ready to eat in. 

Eating out is something he enjoys more than I do.  Is it really fair to cut it out for him when I’m still doing it?  This one may have to be compromised, espeically when I am out of town.

Nice Wine.  Up until I met my husband in 2000, I did not drink.  I couldn’t, I was Baptist and it was just not allowed.  I didn’t know what wine tasted like.  During my wild and rebellious teen years, we were all about the contraband Coors sold only in a few states.  I understood the deep motivation of Smokey and the Bandit. 

My first taste of wine was the incredibly sweet pink stuff.  From there I refined my taste in wine and graduated to less sweet reisling, then on to the light reds.  I am now a cabernet lover, I have gone deep into the wine cellars over the past few years.  My most favorite wine of all time is Cambria Pinot Grigio.  It is a mere $25 per bottle.  We’ve had more expensive wine than $25, however that happens to be my favorite. My husband refuses to drink it, stating it should be against the law to charge that much for a bottle of wine.  Especially when Berringer is just a few dollars a jug. 

Like the expensive Kona coffee, my favorite wine is reserved only for the most special occassions.  Births, graduations, signing big deals at work and acquittalsw.  But no more.  Cambria was cut.

 

Frivolities: 

The cleaning ladies that come every other Thursday.  They’ve been coming for 7 years.  I can easily justify the meager $50 per cleaning when I’m busy jetting about the fly over states, but if I am at home with no job, I can get off my ass and mop my own kitchen. 

The yard mowing kid.  He was a tiny little 11 year old nerd when he and his daddy knocked on our door 7 years ago. He stuttered and asked if he could please mow our yard.  His daddy would help him, and he promised to always do a good job.  We watched him grow from the scrawny little kid to a fine young athelete than is now in his second year of college.  He not only mows for us in the summers, but he mows up the leaves in the fall and helps my husband with larger, more manly yard chores.  If I am not working, I can get off my ass an mow my own grass.  I think it will take 4 hours.  We’ve only mowed it ourselves once and it seems it took that long.

Newspapers.  I had 2 subscriptions.  One to the Wall Street Journal and one for the big city daily.  Gone.  both of them.  I can read the city daily on line and even print the coupons on Sundays.  WSJ?  Ha!  Too darned expensive for those Living Broke.

Phone lines.  We have 3 out of necessity.  Home phone, office phone, office fax.  I must have the office lines, but the day I get the call, I am cancelling them. 

Cell phone extras.  We will keep our cell phones, they have become a necessity in today’s world.  The data package will have to go and so will the broadband card.  The minutes will also be cut.  If someone needs to talk to me so long that I’ll run over my minutes, they probably need to be telling me stuff to my face.

Tupperware, Premier Jewelry, Pampered Chef and other stuff I buy to be nice  and don’t need. 

Our satellite TV is not on the cut list just yet.  We don’t live close enough to a major city to pick up channels without cable or satellite.  We have only the basic channels as neither of us are avid TV watchers/couch potatoes.  I enjoy the news every morning and an occassional episode of Green Acres. We watch a pay per view movie for date night about once a month.  So for now, the satellite hook up stays.

I have given up manicures, pedicures, massages, buying stuff for my grandkids, Starbucks, mindless shopping,  name brand cosmetics, and I  stopped our recent home improvement project before it was finished.  But I am not giving up the aloe vera toilet paper.  Nope.  No way.  Forget it.  That will be the last thing to go, just before we are moving our few possessions under the bridge. 

When you are Living Broke, you have to have your priorities in order.

Living Broke

With the cold hard news of my impending  job loss, my husband and I had the money talk. We agreed to begin that day living as if we were broke.  We decided to put half my paycheck into the Oh Shit Fund down at the bank and that our tax refund would not go to pay for the trip we’ve planned for almost 2 years: A week long adventure hiking the Grand Canyon.

Living Broke to us means a strict budget and absolutely no unnecessary purchases, trips or other expenses.  We both get allowances each week.  If we don’t spend our food budget at the grocery store, we might have enough left for a bottle of wine.

Living Broke is not a new concept to me.  Years ago, I was the 24 year old single mom with little kids and not enough money to buy groceries on Friday.  There are memories that stick with me of that time.  When I start feeling sorry for myself or thinking about how “bad” I have it, I can recall having a package of 6 chicken legs and a can of peas.  Period.  That had to be supper for me and two kids.  And it was. There are calculators somewhere out there on the internet that will tell you how much $30 from 1985 is worth in today’s dollars.  I don’t know where those calculators are, but if you find one and figure out how much that 1985 $30 is worth today, the next thing is to consider how you can take that $30 in 1985 and put gas in your piece of shit car to get you back and forth to your factory job for a week AND buy enough food for yourself and your two kids to last for that same week.  I know how to be poor.  I’ve been there and I’m not afraid.

My financial situation improved just a bit each year.  I only had my power cut off a few times and no one ever went hungry thanks to my mom who came through with a few dollars to help at the grocery store when things were really bad.

The scariest part for me was having no medical insurance on myself and my kids.  That was for a brief period of time, when I worked for a non profit and there were no benefits.  I lived in fear that something would happen and I would not be able to get medical care for my kids.  And what about me?  I had to work to get paid.  What if I got sick?  I had the fear of God put in me just a few years before I had no health insurance.  My baby was just 2 and he was very sick.  High fever, a coughing that came from deep in his chest.  I took him to the doctor, signed in and had a seat cradling him in my lap, scared to death.  The clerk called me to the front and said that unless I paid my unpaid balance, the doctor would not see my baby.  WHAT?  What balance?

The issue was that in the divorce, the babydaddy was responsible for the medical expenses not covered by insurance.  The doctor’s office sent the co pay bills to him and he was not paying them.  There was a balance of around $100.  I wasn’t sure if I had enough gas money to drive home, much less $100 to fork over for an unpaid bill that legally wasn’t mine.  I made a call to my mother, who took off work, came to the office, paid the bill and stayed with me until the baby was seen.  Because mommas do that.

Those were hard HARD times, but guess what?  I  survived.  I learned hard life lessons and I understood just how strong I am.

As my kids turned into teens, the money was tight, but I was doing well enough to afford things like gas in the car, a weekend trip to a baseball game and other niceties.  I still kept a tight reign on my income, as I did not want any emergencies to wipe me out.

When I bought groceries on Friday, I bought very little junk food.  I bought one bag of chips for each kid and one box of snack cakes/cookies, whichever they chose.  Those luxuries were only bought on Friday and when they were all consumed, they were not restocked.  I made sure to buy enough food to last a week, but if we ran out of something, we were out until Friday.

Eating out to us was fast food and it was not often.  My kids were both teenagers before we went to a restaurant that required forks to eat the meal.  They were quite impressed.

As I moved up in my career and my income increased beyond what I ever imagined, I remained a tight wad.  I had 2 kids to get through college and I had no savings to do it with.  I lived frugally on my income and paid as I went to put one child through a 4-year university and the other through a very expensive 13 month technical college.  My greatest accomplishment in life is getting both of them through college with NO DEBT for anyone.

Once those days were behind me, I began to relax and realize that I could enjoy life a little.  I made certain to live below my means, but I made certain to do things I enjoyed.  I felt I earned it.

I bought a nicer house.  My former house was old, outdated, needed work and once my kids were gone, so were my ties to that town.   My new house has amenities like closets.  I earned it.

I let a professional color my hair, I purchased underwear from Victoria’s Secret and I discovered manicures.

I got married.  We had a nice private ceremony in the mountains, a honeymoon and a great reception once we returned.  I took my kids on a cruise, I paid for my kids’ weddings and receptions.  I have spent more money that I want to admit on my grandchildren.  I am still careful about what I spend, but if want something big, like new furniture, I can buy it.

I don’t think I’ve been extravagant.  I save a chunk of my income, I give the proper amount to church, I support my best friend from high school who is living in the jungle in Ecuador as a non paid medical missionary. And if I want a cup of coffee at Starbucks, I get it.

So now we are Living Broke.

In the past week, I have had to think about Living Broke to actually do it.  I got my $20 allowance on Friday.   I came in well below our weekly food budget by making a detailed menu for the week and a list of what I needed.  Our Friday night date was a $4.99 pay per view movie that my husband paid for out of his allowance.  On Saturday we went for a sunset ride with our best friends and when it was time to choose a restaurant, I choose the cheap mexican place.  I paid the $15 bill and my husband left the tip.

On Sunday I drove to my daughter’s to spend the night.  Monday morning, I had $5.  I stopped at Starbucks and considered using my debit card to get the coffee I wanted to go along with my oatmeal, but decided I would not cheat, this is serious.  I bought my oatmeal and a small cup of regular coffee for $3.85.  Yikes!

I stopped by Walmart today because we needed a loaf of bread.  What I spend during the week on groceries is deducted from the weekly budget.  I knew I was successfully Living Broke when I walked into Walmart for a loaf of bread and walked out with just a loaf of bread.  I am usually one to shop around, there is always something I need at Walmart.

Today I had to drive 40 miles to the big city to take our tax stuff to the accountant and stop by the bank.  It was 5 pm when I left the bank to start home.  I saw it.  Right there.  Starbucks.  I know what is inside Starbucks!  Tall Caffee Mocha for about $5.  I didn’t have $5.  I touched my debit card.  I took a deep breath.  I looked in the bottom of my purse, just to see if any errant money had found its way to the bottom in weeks past that I might discover. Nope.  Nothing.  Just $1.15. I might as well head home.  No treats for me.

Then I saw the sign.  Large fountain drinks for $1 until 7 pm.  I turned into the McDonald’s parking lot.  I was a happy girl!  I was going to get a treat after all!  With tax, my large Diet Dr. Pepper was $1.10.  I don’t remember a Diet Dr. Pepper ever tasting as good as that one did.

If I was not Living Broke, I would have purchased the $5 coffee and I would have enjoyed it without a second thought.  I probably would have stopped in the nail salon and forked over $20 for a manicure. Usually when I have free time and I’m in the city, I take a leisurely stroll through Target looking for home decor items and more stuff my grandkids don’t need.

Living Broke is an adjustment.  I know I can do it and I know it will have its rewards, just like that $1 Diet Dr Pepper today.  I don’t how long we’ll be Living Broke, but I think once we get accustomed to it, we may not go back to the carefree days of spending money just because we can.  It seems foolish now to think about the consumers we have been.

Games You Can Play with Your Brain

Not crosswords or sudoko. 

 As one gets old, one’s eyesight is not what it used to be.   If I ever get asked the question, “what is the worst part of aging?” I will not answer with sagging body parts, aches and pains, wrinkles, forgetting stuff or even menopause.  To me the absolute worst thing in the world about aging is losing my perfect eyesight.  ARGH!

I’ve worn glasses for about 8 years now.  Bi-focals. 

I started out just putting on the glasses when I needed to read something.  I found that I was constantly putting them on and pulling them off, which causes wear and tear and a short life for the rather pricey glasses.  I tried wearing them all the time but had problems.  I could not adjust to the blurriness when I looked down during everyday activities.  Once I had the bi-focals on as I rushed through the Atlanta airport.  I looked down to get on the escalator and it was blurry.  I stumbled getting on the moving steps.

I took a year off from bi-focals  a while back and used cute little reading glasses I could buy anywhere. This worked really well for a while.  I bought several cheap pair and stashed them everywhere.  I could flip them on and off and if they broke, hey, $5 would buy another pair. 

However.  I began experiencing frequent headaches I attributed to the glasses.  My vision had also grown worse, and I was on my second step of stronger reading glasses.  I went to the optometrist and got new bi-focals.

I’ve had those new bi-focals a year and a half now.  I have problems with those.  I cannot read without the glasses and resigned myself to wearing them all the time.  The glasses are always crooked on my face.  They are always smudged and dirty.  When a light shines on my glasses, all I can see are fingerprints.  When I am driving during the day, I must wear sunglasses.  I have always felt my eyes were too sensitive to the sunlight.  When my cell phone rings, I can’t see the screen.  If I have to glance at directions, I can’t read them.

The turning point came in the fall on business trip in Kansas.  I was driving west to Topeka when the sun was setting.  I had the mapquest directions printed out.  The sun was blinding me beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.  The glare was so bad I could not read the signs on the interstate.  With my sunglasses on, I could not read my directions.  It was miserable and I got lost.  I knew something had to change.

I decided that I would invest in a pair of prescription sunglasses on my next visit to the optometrist.   By that time I also knew I hated glasses.  It is not a vanity thing.  Actually, I think I look rather smart in glasses. 

My husband and I attended a community Thanksgiving service in November.  It was dark when we walked up to the unfamiliar church.  The church had spotlights shining on the front of the building.  As I walked into the light to enter the church, all I could see was the dirt on my glasses and I missed a step and stumbled.  I tried to remind myself you are not supposed to cuss in church.

I sat next to a lady that I did not know.  I made a comment about my dirty glasses and my stumble.  She was a bit older than me and did not have on glasses.  She told me about her solution – monovision.  One contact for up close and one for distance. 

I have heard about monovision before from a coworker in Chicago.  It sounded so unusual I thought it was something only big city people knew about, but here we were, right in the middle of the sticks, and someone not only knew about it, but used it.  She told me an eye doctor in our town fixed her up with the solution.

I did my research into bi-focal contacts on the internet and learned more about contacts than I ever expected to know.  I made the appointment in early December to be fitted with contacts.

Due to my eyesight, the doc had to experiment with different combinations and strengths of contacts.  Every week I went to him and every week he changed the contact prescription.  My poor brain got a work out.  He told me to leave the contacts in for the week, no matter what so my brain could adjust.

My brain is old and is worn out.  It doesn’t like being played and rebelled accordingly.  One week, anything farther than 10 feet from me was extremely blurry.  This had it advantages, though.  All men look much better when blurred.  Also, our church was decorated in candles and lights for Christmas, so the blurred vision made it hauntingly beautiful. 

One week I couldn’t see up close, but he told me to keep trying.  I squinted and frowned and did my best to focus until the headaches got me.

After 5 weeks of experimenting, we “settled” on the best we can do.  My vision is no where near perfect.  I can see distances OK, but there is better clarity without the contacts.  My close up vision is tolerable most of the time.  I changed the settings on my cellphone to LARGE fonts so I can see what’s on the screen. 

I  frown and squint all the time in an effort to read my computer screen and any books or newspapers.  The doc says my vision and brain will adjust and I’ll eventually see better, or it will seem that way any way.

I love the freedom of contacts.  I can wear sunglasses, I’m not taking glasses on and off all the time.  When they are attached to your eyeballs, you don’t have to get up and look for them in the mornings. I sleep in them so there is no maintenance really.  I am supposed to change them every 2 weeks.  I’m trying to stick with this and give my brain time to get on board with it.

But last night I took the contacts out to let them soak overnight in their solution.  Right now I have my glasses on and the clarity I have is  a miracle.  There is no squinting and frowning, everything on my computer screen, around my desk and even the tree I can see out the window is perfectly clear. 

Sigh.  This is another of the little battles.  I’m really rooting for the contacts, but I’m not sure they are going to win this one.

Little Battles

Don’t you just love to win?

I’ll put the disclaimer right up front:  I’m not a highly competitive person.  I’m no fun in board games because I play and enjoy the game.  If I lose I don’t care.  The only “thing” I try to beat when I run is my last time on that route. My dear husband, on the other hand, is HIGHLY competitive.  He really gets into a card or board game.  He loves to beat me running even though he is the only one who notices when he does so.  He is not a sore loser, in spite of his assholeness competitive spirit.  When he loses he says nothing.  Sometimes I think I would rather him be a sore loser than what he actually is:  an obnoxious winner.

The scenario:  a game of friendly Uno among the family.  The game goes on.  He yells and hollers every time something exciting (in his opinion) happens.  He is so obnoxious that people are trying to help him win just so the game and his obnoxiousness will be OVER.  Then he finally wins.  He dances around, gleefully yelling and laughing and carrying on and picking on the losers.  Generally the losers are just glad the damn game is over and his incessant loud gloating gets on everyone’s last nerve.  He interprets our annoyance with him as our sorrow in being defeated by him, so he continues.   Let’s just say not many people are willing to play cards with him.  The entire family was very happy last year when his sister beat him at ping pong the first time she played him.  That has tremendously helped his obnoxiousness at the ping pong table.  Maybe she needs to challenge him to an Uno play off.

Anyway, let’s get back to my post.

We all have little struggles in our lives, whether it be little things like getting up when the alarm goes off, to battling illness and hardship.  I fight a personal battle every year at this time and as of right now, I seem to be winning which makes me very happy.  It is the battle of SAD.

Maybe you’ve heard of the “winter blues”?  Well, the winter blues got its own name in the medical books years ago:  Seasonal Affective Disorder. There are actual physical reasons for it, its not just all in the head.  I fight it every year after Christmas.  It lasts until spring.  I hate it.  I sometimes wish I was a bear so I could just sleep through the winter and skip it.

SAD makes me sad.  My husband says that I get very pale during this time and he calls me Casper.  I have no energy – physical or mental.  I have no interest in wearing make up or fixing my hair unless I am forced to.  My work productivity drops to dangerous levels.  I do not want to exercise, although I can kick my own ass out the door and do it anyway.  It is just a miserable feeling and it lasts for months.

Every year I begin dreading the arrival of SAD right after Christmas.  I try different things (as suggested by the hundreds of magazines I read) to fight the battle.  I change out the light bulbs in the main rooms of our house to the expensive bulbs that are supposed to be like sunlight.  I keep a regular bedtime and wake up time.  I make myself exercise.  I’ve cranked up the space heater in my office to HOT so I won’t be cold.  I give myself pedicures.  I’ve been known to use my tanning lotion to make it seem like summer.  I am serious with this battle.

I am happy to report that so far (knock on wood) the score is me 10, SAD 1.  I am winning the battle!  YAY!  I do realize I still have many weeks to go before I am out of the war zone, but I am going to keep my positive attitude and a bottle of tanning lotion on hand and I am going to fight it.

I am winning the battle of increased mileage in my running.  Yep!  This morning the temperature was 34 with a wind chill of 24.  I was out there.  I did my new 3.31 mile route and made my goal of under 36 minutes.  This is only the third time I’ve run this route. I set the first goal to be achievable and reasonable.  I was so proud to hit the stop button on my watch and see the time of 35:57.

I am ahead in the healthy eating battle.  I have a horrible sugar addiction and I am working hard to stop it.  I can’t say I’ve won that one yet, but I am ahead.  Thank goodness for dark chocolate mint Three Musketeers bars.

I am also ahead in my “stop farting around” battle of time management.  I spend far too much doing nothing.  I had to come up with a strategy and tools to help me in this battle and I’m gaining some ground.  I have to do lists and I have scheduled “farting around” time so that I’m not farting around throughout the day.  I am limiting farting around to certain times.  I’m pumped!

I’m on the path to victory in the attitude department too.  I have a particular area (OK, it’s work related) of my life that I have a really bad attitude about.  I am battling my own bad attitude and reaching out to do a better job and have a better attitude.  I’m ahead in that battle and it makes me feel good.

I still have battles I want to fight.  I’d love to eliminate all negative people from my life but if I did that I’d have to eliminate 95% of my husband’s family and I’m not sure he’d like that.  I’d love to lose that last 10 pounds I’ve been saying I’m going to lose for the past 4 years.  Maybe if I can stay ahead in the sugar battle, I might make some ground. I plan to battle the “stuff” we have accumulated over the past 7 years of living in this house.  We need to clear the clutter in the closets and attic.  That battle is on the horizon.

For someone who claims to be non competitive, I sure am feeling proud and arrogant about my little victories.

Three Points and a Poem

I have not been to the school that trains Baptist preachers, however, I have heard many times in Baptist churches that the ideal sermon for Sunday mornings is “Three Points and  a Poem.”  Back in my more afraidreligious days, I actually had a notebook specifically designed for one to take notes during the sermon.  And sure enough, the page was designed in three sections for the three points.

I am not preaching a sermon today, if I did it would be all the reasons one might want to really think about religions that shoot their wounded.  But I do have 3 points today and I’m always up for a good poem! Here goes.

Point 1:  Limits

On Friday, I planned to do some Christmas shopping after my Toastmasters meeting in Memphis.  My first stop (after Chik Filet) was Fresh Market.  Food items in Fresh Market are the absolute best in the whole world and very expensive.  At Fresh Market, I can purchase 100% Kona coffee, Honeycrisp apples the size of basketballs and fresh limes the size of my head.  The fruits and vegetables sold there are obviously grown in heaven, but don’t tell the Baptists. 

There are spices and nuts and flavored gourmet coffee beans.  I could devote days worth of blogposts to what one can find in Fresh Market.  It is nirvana for me.  But it is terribly expensive.  I love Fresh Market and what is within its walls so much that I could spend my entire paycheck there every month.  I have tried to fool myself, saying I am only running in to get a bag of coffee just to push a buggy load of fresh fruits and veggies out to the car. 

I seem to have little control over myself in Fresh Market.  As I walked into Fresh Market on Friday, I walked over and grabbed a basket.  A basket is my self imposed limit in Fresh Market.  I put the basket limit into practice a long time ago. 

See, the basket will only hold so much fresh, heavenly food.  A shopping cart will hold HUNDREDS, maybe THOUSANDS of dollars worth of Fresh Market goodies that I can’t resist.  I imposed the basket limit for self control.

On Friday I loaded my basket carefully.  Not only is there a volume limit on the hand held basket, there is a weight limit.  There’s only so much weight I can lug around in a basket.  As I browsed the succulent Ruby Red grapefruits the size of Saturn’s moons, and the HoneyCrisp Apples shining in the crate, I laughed at myself and my basket limit.  I thought of other such limits I use on myself, and oddly, most are related to food.

The One Plate Limit.  I love vegetables.  Country seasoned and slow cooked veggies are the best.  Therefore, I love those redneck country buffet restaurants.  There are many out there, and I will admit my favorite is Ryan’s.  The vegetables are seasoned and cooked just like I would cook them at home.  I think I am the only person in my family that enjoys a nice meal at Ryan’s.  I have no friends that would be caught alive in a Ryan’s either. 

My husband refers to places like Ryan’s as “the trough” (See:  http://www.enasco.com/product/C14448N  for an explanation).  Whenever I have harassed convinced him to take me to Ryan’s, he likes to point out that we are the thinnest people in the place.  As a matter of fact, if someone lined up all the eaters at the trough along the wall, he and I would be considered anorexic and painfully thin. 

To contol my love of country veggies at Ryan’s, I have a self imposed one plate limit.  I can pile my one plate as high as I want with anything off the trough buffet I want, but I only get ONE PLATE.  This plate must include any bread I might scarf down want to enjoy, but since those yummy yeast rolls can be easily balanced on top of  a mountain moderate portion of fried okra, this is not a concern. 

My One Plate Limit has served me well.  Although I weigh a little more that I want, I am still wearing the same jeans I wore in 2000 thereby proof that the One Plate Limit works in preventing mid-life weight gain.

Hurting Shoe Shopping Limit.  Yet another limit, with nothing at all involving food.  I’ve never been a marathon shopper.  The magazines and TV would like to make us all believe women live to shop.  Although I’m sure that is true of some women, I can’t say that I know many who want to do nothing other than kill a weekend in a mall.

I take shopping in spurts.  When I am traveling, I’ve been known to peruse a mall in a strange city.  It is safe for me to walk around by myself in malls and I do not have to buy something to enjoy the experience. 

However, when it is time to shop, like it is now because Christmas is next week, I have to set limits.  To set shopping limits, I wear slightly uncomfortable shoes.  I know that my feet will only hold up for so long in uncomfy shoes, therefore I know when I enter the store/mall that I have a limited number of hours to accomplish my goals.  This prevents me from wasting precious time browsing and spending money on items that are not my list.  I must get my list finished before the Hurting Shoe Shopping Limit kicks in.  Because once my feet start hurting, I’m done.  No exceptions.  I love my feet and I need them to keep running.  I am not about to risk messing them up with marathon shopping trips in high heeled boots.

Another funny thing to me is I have several pairs of uncomfortable shoes and each one has a different time limit.  When my husband whined and moaned and finally agreed to go to the mall with me last weekend, I wore my 3 hour boots.  That way I would not be tempted to keep him out too long and thereby have to kill him.  When I went shopping Friday (starting with Fresh Market) I wore my 6 hour shoes.  Because I had a lot of items on the list, and I started very early.

Point 2:  Explain This Please

As a grandparent, it is important not to piss off the parents.  Parents have rules for the grandkids and they expect grandparents to respect those rules when the grandkids are visiting.  Everyone should understand that grandparents are allowed a few minor liberties with the rules, but grandparents must realize they can’t cross every line the parents lay out.

As a STEPgrandparent, that rule is even more important as not only do I have to suffer the wrath of stepchildren if I mess up, I have to suffer the passed-along complete bullshitwrath of my stepchildren’s mother. 

I realize that I must follow rules set out by my step children for their children or I can mark those babies off my list of grandchildren.  I love those babies and I enjoy seeing them and spending time with them, so I do my dead-level best to abide by THE RULES, no matter how damn stupid and idiotic they are.  Sometimes I think THE RULES are only imposed on me and my husband and the sole purpose of said RULES are to make life hard on us.  As evidence, I offer…

When the two oldest grandchildren (now 4 years old) were old enough to pay attention to television, we were told in a harsh manner that SpongeBob was not allowed.  Nope.  It is of the devil, horrible and one kid out of two was not allowed in the same room where SpongeBob was playing on the TV. 

I admit, I have not watched children’s cartoons in decades and although I could pick SpongeBob out of a line up, I knew little about him.  So I asked why.  Seriously, please tell me what is bad about SpongeBob because I truly don’t know. 

I was told it was just bad for children.  Period.  No other explanation.

So I checked out SpongeBob.  It’s pretty dang funny if you ask me!  I saw nothing wrong with SpongeBob.  OK, it was silly and there were MAYBE one or two comments in an episode that were over the heads of young children, but the show seemed harmless.

On Friday, the non-SpongeBob watching child was brought to our house for the weekend.  As usual, his mommy barked out orders and RULES that we must follow while we kept him for the weekend.  She has begun telling us what to watch on television while he is here.  She told us that we must watch Power Rangers Jungle Fury at 11 am on Saturday.  It was a RULE.  Whatever.

So we watched.  OH. MY. GOD.  Teenagers possessed by the spirits of animals, worshipping animals.  OK – just a kids’ show, right?  But why is poor cartoon SpongeBob and his silly antics not appropriate and teenagers worshipping and possessed by spirits OK? 

We were also told just last year that if we had said children at our church during a commuinion service, we must immediately leave church and take the children away.  They do not want their children participating in any religious sacriments or services until the child fully and completely understands what he/she is doing and what it means.  We have avoided making a spectacle of ourselves  fleeing our church service by making sure we do not have the grandchildren the one Sunday per month that our church has communion.

I’ve been invited to two church services to see the various grandchildren in Christmas programs.  All three of the older grandchildren have “big” roles in their respective children’s celebration and observation of the birth of Jesus. 

One child had shit his pants this weekend and I took him the bathroom to clean him up.  As I was washing his ass, he noticed the small ceramic manger scene on the counter. 

Kid:  Is that the Away in a Manger house?

Me (smiling):  Yes, it is.

Kid:  But, but, where is the chimney?

Me:  What chimney?

Kid:  The Chimney for Santa to come down?

Me:  But Santa doesn’t come to the Away in a Manger house.  That is where Baby Jesus was born.  See baby Jesus in the manger?

Kid:  But baby Jesus needs toys from Santa.  He needs a chimney.

So…….we don’t want our kids participating in ANY church service until they COMPLETELY understand what they are doing……..

Point 3:  Why don’t I care?

Maybe it’s just too much work.  I haven’t had my usual holiday enthusiasm this year.  I’m not depressed, unemployed, broke, or contemplating major life changing stressors.  It’s been a busy year with 2 grandchildren added to our family a big wedding just a few weeks ago.  I must have used up all my energy before Christmastime arrived.  I have begrudgingly hauled boxes of shit up and down the attic stairs and put up 3 trees.  I have decorated and set the holiday table.  I draped garland and wreathes along our fence. 

However.  The wind has blown a few of the wreathes off the fence.  I bought enough garland to finish out the fence and it is still in the bags in the garage.  I notice last night that about half of the (at least) 25 strands of damn lights on the main tree in the dining room are not working.  Piss! 

And I decided I just don’t care.  The half lit tree will remain half lit.  I’m not taking all that shit down to find and fix the problem.  I’m not reattaching the wreathes to the fence.  What we have is what we’ll have, unless of course more shit blows away or falls off or doesn’t work and then THAT is just what we’ll have. 

I’m thinking with enough wine flowing and margaritas served, no will notice the half lit tree.

And to close…

A Poem

Set your limits to avoid the bad

Don’t figure out stepkids or you’ll go mad

If the tree is bare

Who really cares?

Just give the gifts and we’ll all be glad.

 

 

 

Running and The Cat

The day before Thanksgiving….What a good day!

I am looking forward to the holiday weekend.  Our home will be filled with kids and grandkids and even a parent or two.  I love to cook so I’ll be doing what I love as soon as I get finished working this morning.

I have not written about running in a while so today is about running.  We had a cold snap that has lasted a couple of weeks and it has been freezing and below every morning.  The first day it was below freezing, it took me a little while to get out the door for my morning run.  I have clothes for running in that kind of weather, but they were all packed away and I had to dig them out.  I can cover my entire body except my face.

I could cover my face, I have before.  The problem is my face leaks when I run.  My eyes leak battery acid and my nose leaks snot.  When I try to wear a warm face mask, it ends up freezing due to the snot. Frozen snot ice on the face is not warm at all.  I’m better off just toughing it out.

I’m sure my neighbors are reminded that I’m nuts as they see me out in the mornings walking my laps and running out on the highway.  One morning a lady told me she admired me for being so dedicated.  I told her not to admire me, I was not really dedicated, I am addicted.  I don’t want to not run.  I can’t not run.  If the opportunity is there, I’m going to do it.  No admiration necessary.

I had shaved a minute off my one mile time with the Chi posture in running.  However, the Chi posture takes a little more effort on my body’s part and I was fizzling out before I finished my 3 miles.  I have backed off my pace a bit these last two weeks to build my endurance.  I am still completing my 3 miles in 30 -31 minutes, which is a great improvement over my times 6 months ago.  I want to complete a 5K in 28 minutes.  My all time record for an offical 5K is 27:32 and that was almost 10 years ago.

I am a short person, I have a BMI that is too high, so I know I will never be a 6 minute miler.  That is just fine with me, I am not competing with anyone other than myself.  My goal of 28 minutes is fine with me and it will required pushing on my part. 

I have also kept up with my circuit training as prescribed by the personal painer, Josh.  I have an area set up in my garage for my workout and I’ve been doing it at least twice a week, sometimes 3 times a week.  You’d think I would weigh less than 100 pounds by now, but the chocolate and ice cream sabotage offset the calories burned with exercise.

This morning I did my circuit training.  I was laying on my exercise mat cussing Josh the trainer completing my bazillion crunches with weights in each hand while legs are raised when I heard crunching just under the SUV beside me.  I looked over and almost dropped the weights on my head.  The damn cat had a huge mole and was enjoying a feast of bloody guts and bones.  GGGRRROOSSSSSSSSSS!

I know that is what damn cats are supposed to do, but this one is getting ridiculous.  Every day, without fail, there are small headless animals left on our steps.  He is a meticulous killer.  He leaves his mark.  He puts the headless bodies on the welcome mat, like it is a serving mat of some sort.  He puts the heads on the steps.  Sometimes there is more than one body and more than one head.  We can play the match game – match the head to the body.

He eventually eats the body, leaving the internal organs he doesn’t like on the garage floor.  His favorite snack is squirrel and he does not eat the tails.  After my discovery this morning, I put the weights down and noticed two bushy squirrel tails beside the box with my resistence bands in it. 

No small animal or bird is safe.  He has brought in and feasted on squirrels, moles, a rat, snakes and mice.  If there is no water in the bird bath, he gets in it and waits patiently.  Up until last month, we saw a victim maybe once a month or so.  This everyday killing spree is new for the damn cat and for us.  We have learned to watch our step coming in and out of the house as we know if we step on something, it is going to be an aminal head.  We have to be extra careful when letting the damn cat in the house.  He has been known to sneak in quickly with his lunch in his mouth. 

So the damn cat has nothing to do with running.  To read more about the damn cat, check out his G-rated blog, www.thronemonkey.blogspot.com.  And whatever you do, don’t encourage him.

Self Control

Mrs. Cravitz waited for us at the top of the stairs at church this morning. She tries to kid around, but I know behind her feeble attempts at humor, her true feelings are not funny. She pursed her lips, raised her nose and asked, “Are you going to start sleeping on the street? I saw that bed out on the street and thought we were all going to sleep on it.” haha.

There are numerous things I pride myself on and  in the top ten is my self control. I have an mean, evil, wicked person that lives inside me and she has sharp wit and an acid tongue. She thinks fast and takes no prisoners, she kills everyone with her double sided sword tongue. I am proud to say that after wrestling with the mean, evil, wicked person that lives inside me for decades, I learned to control her in most cases. Sometimes she just screams in my head to be heard and I have to clench my teeth to keep her sarcastic mean comments from coming out of my mouth.

I wasn’t always in control of the mean, evil, wicked person who lives inside me. I have been in trouble many times because she took over in a situation and I had no self restraint to stop her. She has spewed words that have ended any attempt at mending broken relationships, she has said things that have hurt my mother’s feelings to the point of tears and she was pretty hard on my kids when they were growing up. She has caused me much embarrassment on the job and has sabotaged my work on many occasions.

Over the years, as I have matured, I realized that this mean, evil wicked person that lives inside me needs to shut the hell up. It is not acceptable to “give people what they deserve” if you want to continue to have a relationship. There is no acceptable reason to just mouth off and be mean just because you’re quick witted. No one likes a smartass.

I appear to others as a much nicer person now that the mean, evil wicked person who lives inside me does not get to talk often. Oh, sometimes a situation is so bad she MUST speak to clear out the bullshit and get everyone moving forward, but those times are true emergencies and not every day occurrences.

When Mrs. Cravitz asked her snarky question this morning, the mean, evil, wicked person who lives inside me immediately had answers for her:

• Yes, Mrs. Cravitz. That bed is actually for Mr. Cravitz. When he gets tired of sleeping with you and your holier than thou self, he can get some rest down the road.
• Oh, its not for sleeping! We put it out there for all the teenagers who live on our street and just can’t wait to get to a secluded field for their date.
• Actually, Mrs. Cravitz, we got in a terrible fight while you were gone. I threw all my husband’s things out on the curb – you know – kicked him to the curb. He loaded most of it in his truck to move and didn’t have room for his bed.
• Bed? What bed? There’s no bed in front of our house. You must be seeing things.
• No it is not for general use, Mrs. Cravitz. You and Mr. Cravitz need to use your own bed in your own house and spare the neighbors any trauma.
• Why are you asking me what we do in bed right here in the middle of our church? Have you no respect for the Good Word, Mrs. Cravitz?
• Well, Mrs. Cravitz, seeing how you and Mr. Cravitz enjoy looking in our windows whenever possible, we thought we put the bed out there so you can be comfortable doing so.

Thankfully, I had the mean, evil wicked person who lives inside me under control this morning. She has been after Mrs. Cravitz for a long time and I fear for Mrs. Cravitz. One day I am going to be tired, worn out, sick, intoxicated or just in a foul mood and I will not be able to control the mean, evil, wicked person who lived inside me. And Mrs. Cravitz will lose.

White Trash with Money

I didn’t come up that title by myself, but I love the statement.

Don’t be fooled by my appearance, where I live or what I drive.  I am a white trash at heart.  There are many accepted definitions of white trash, I am not the nasty version of white trash.  My version of white trash is someone who has been in extremely poor, used bad language and worked in factories.  I could write a novella on why I am a nice white trash at heart.  I know what is important and what is not.  The outward signs of “uppity” and “higher up” is not what is important.  What is in your heart is what’s important.  You don’t have to have money or a Harvard vocabulary to be a nice person with perspective on life.

A cool thing about knowing yourself and being confident in who you are is that you don’t have to put on airs.  I don’t pretend to be something or someone I’m not.  I go to walmart and the bank in ratty clothes and no makeup.  I call bullshit when I see it sometimes and that doesn’t always win friends.

Much to my husband’s shock, I bought tickets to see the ultimate and proud-of-it white trash group, Confederate Railroad a few years ago.  Don’t be offended by the name, confederate is not a hate word and this band of country boys do not use hate in their wonderfully down to Earth music.

The group did a few new songs at this concert and one of those songs was “White Trash with Money.”  I don’t remember all the words, just the message.  What a wonderful song!  I should find it on iTunes and add it to my collection.

Over the years since that I heard that song, I have thought “white trash with money” many times.  I always think of “white trash with money” as it describes me.  Not that I have “money”.  Having “money” is a relative concept.  I suppose if you make $5.00 an hour and you work hard and barely scrape by, a windfall of $1000 on a lottery ticket is “money”.  When I compare what I have now to what I didn’t have several years ago, I believe I have “money.”  Although to many people who considered themselves “monied” I probably don’t have any.  It doesn’t matter really, I am very happy with what I have and even though it may not be much, for the purpose of this post, let’s pretend I am white trash with money.  And because I am white trash at heart, I tend to horrify those around me.

In 1993 I separated from my now ex husband.  I moved out and I needed a few furnishings for the rented double wide I moved myself and two children into.  That included mattresses and box springs.  I was without “money” at the time.  I bought the bedding from the Salvation Army.  Yes I did and shut up.  It was either that or sleep on the hard floor.  When you don’t have “money” you learn to accept and be thankful for what you CAN do. I vacuumed and cleaned the mattresses the best I could and bought vinyl zip up mattress covers for them.  One of those sets has followed me throughout the years and ended up on the bed in our guest room upstairs.

The bed was uncomfortable and everyone who slept on it complained.  My daughter ended up sleeping on the couch rather than suffer on the uncomfy bed.  I knew it was time to do something about the old mattress and box springs.  Box spring is really not an accurate description.  It is really just a wood box.  No springs are involved.  I did some re arranging, painting and redecorating upstairs and I bought a new mattress and box springs to replace the Salvation Army furnishings.  All is well except we had a mattress and box springs to dispose.

We live in “town” which means we have public services.  We can put shit like that on our curb and within 2 weeks or so, a nice city truck will come around and haul it off.  Because the truck only runs every 2 weeks and no one really knows the schedule, I have been reluctant to put the trash on the curb.  There have been good reasons not to have a mattress in our yard over the past 2 months.  We were expecting company, it was Halloween, etc.  Then I would forget about it.  The old mattress and springs were upstairs in the hall.  We are having company Thanksgiving weekend, so I felt it was past time to put the mattress on the curb.

I mentioned to my neighbor, Gladys Cravitz, that I had stuff to put on the curb and she shamed me.  She told me not to put it out until I knew it was time for the truck to come around.  She was clearly disturbed that there might be trash on the street she graced with her residence.  My husband was also opposed to the mattress on the curb and actually said we would look like rednecks.

These uppity attitudes about disposing of trash made me determined not only to haul the mattress and box springs to the curb RIGHT IN FRONT OF OUR HOUSE, but to find other large items to put out there with them. I settled on the ugly green recliner in the shed.

The ugly green recliner has been in the shed since last November when we replaced it with a sofa in our living room.  It had to replaced because (1) it was broken thanks to my son’s 300 pound linebacker buddy in high school and (2) at some point the damn cat coughed up a liquid hairball on it and I didn’t notice until said liquid hairball petrified into the fabric.  Nothing, not even the pressure washer, could get that petrified shit off the ugly green recliner.

It’s been in the shed for a year for the same reason the mattress and box springs have been in the hall upstairs.  Dear Hubby does not want to “trash up” our yard by putting them on the curb.  I offered the option of loading them up and taking them to the dump, but he was not willing to put forth the effort, so to the curb it was.

Plus, we pay DAMN GOOD taxes to live in the city and have these services.  Let’s use ‘em.

We hauled the mattress, box springs and ugly green recliner with petrified cat puke on it to the curb in the rain Wednesday night.  Husband bitched the rest of the night about how trashy we looked.  Mrs. Cravitz, I’m sure, called all the neighbors to talk bad about us.

I am not bothered by the furniture on the curb.  I think it’s kinda cute.  When I pull out of the driveway and have to look around the ugly green recliner with petrified cat puke on it, I smile on the inside.  Because of the uppity attitudes of those around me, I feel a bit satisfied that my white trashness is being expressed in such a public way.

Today is Saturday and the city truck has not made the rounds to pick up curb garbage yet.  However, I am sad to report the ugly green recliner with petrified cat puke on it has been stolen.  Yes, it is very sad.  It was missing yesterday morning.  However, the mattress and box springs are still there.  I guess my daughter was right about how bad that mattress was.  Someone actually thought an ugly green recliner that was not only BROKE but had petrified cat puke on it was a damn good find, yet the mattress and box springs were not worth a second look.

I will miss the mattress and box springs when it leaves.  I may need to find something else to piss off my neighbors put on the curb when they are gone.

Working at Home

I enjoy an unusual career. I travel most of the time, except right now when our company is trying to cut costs and asked us not to travel. When I’m not in exotic places like Tulsa and Cleveland, I work from a nice office in an upstairs bedroom of my home.

The part of the job where I travel has its good parts and bad parts. I am a social person and I love meeting with my clients, going through marketing and strategic plans, taking them to lunch and just building relationships. When I am on the road, I find things to do in the evening. I love to window shop, so a mall is always a good place to visit. I absolutely love bookstores, so if Barnes and Noble or Borders is around, that is where I’ll be. I visit new places and experience new things when I travel and that is the good part. We won’t talk about the bad part, which is about 90% air travel.

There are many advantages to having a home office. I have flexibility in my schedule. If I need to take off for an hour for a doctor’s appointment, there is no snarky coworker logging my absence. I can start work early or a bit later and work as long as I need to. If I need to leave the office by 4 pm to get somewhere, again, no one is running to the boss complaining that I left early.

I don’t have to listen to the chatter, gum snapping, farting, cussing, personal crises, loud obnoxious voices, slamming of doors, fire drills, pouting, and bitching of coworkers in close quarters. Nope. My office is quiet unless the damn cat gets in and purrs too loud. I can eat at my desk unabashedly. I light a fragrant candle. I listen to the radio when I want. I can put a cake in the oven during working hours if I need to.

There is an advantage people comment on often: I don’t have to get dressed. No, I really don’t. Nor do I have to wear makeup or wash my hair.

My daily routine is to run in the mornings. After my run or other workout, I shower and get ready for the work day. If I don’t have any plans to leave the house, I don’t fix my hair, I don’t wear make up and I wear what my friends and I call “doodoo pants.” It’s a long story, but doodoo pants are those ratty sweatpants you wouldn’t wear to take the garbage out, much less actually be seen wearing.

This works for me. It doesn’t work well for my husband, but he can get over it. I enjoy being a slouch during the day. I have also convinced myself it is good for me. First, my face needs a break from makeup. I color my hair, so less washing means the color lasts longer. Think of the money I’m saving by not using my makeup and shampoo a few days a week.

The down side is that I found it is true: how you look affects how you feel. When I am slouchy, I feel a little less enthusiastic than I do when I’m all dressed up. I feel more confident when I’m inmy work clothes – which are suits – and I am dressed the part of a professional.

Over the years, I have realized that my personal performance and my confidence in my job is higher when I am dressed the part. I’ve put myself on a plan to get dressed (in clothes other than doodoo pants) on workdays. I felt like it was a waste of time and makeup. So I slouch at work.

Today is example of why slouching in the home office can be bad for you. I did my circuit training workout this morning and a 25 minute walk. I have no where to go today except the grocery store for milk. So I pulled my hair back in a ponytail and I did not put on makeup. I have on doodoo pants, but those can be changed for a trip to the store. My day is set.

Then my husband called. He left some really important things (his homework and books) at the local Chamber of Commerce office after a meeting last night. He must have them back, he has algebra class tomorrow (his is finishing his degree, go husband!). He called the Chamber office and they have his papers and books up front and I just have to run by and get them.

ARGH ARGH ARGH.

I will not walk into the Chamber of Commerce looking like the slouch I am today. Which means my options were to be really mean and tell my husband I would not retrieve his stuff or to suck it up, put on decent clothes a bit of makeup AND do something with my hair and help him out.

Dammit.

As wonderful as it might seem to work from home, there are days it is a pain in the ass.