From my desk calendar, Aug. 21-22, 2010: “I went to college for this?”

Hahahahaha… wait. That’s not funny. But I am. I am your Daily Bitch. Only lately it’s not daily, is it, you poor lil deprived things. Sorry. I’m busy! Watering the yard takes up a lot of time.

I started my new job. My boss is great. Generally I don’t blog about work because, you know. Dooce. (Or as I like to call her, “My little Doocey-woocey.”) You know her, the founder of the expression: “Be ye not so stupid.” Well, who’s laughing now, Internet? Dooce writes about work all day long.

So. With that little disclaimer out of the way… My boss is v. cool. She is Cool 7.0, or possibly Cool 10.0 and I am looking forward to this school year. As my old roommate used to say, “If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s me.” My response, “No, me!” Him: “Me!!!!” etc.

Also I found a ton of new books (including a crateful donated by my Wacky Kids) and I spent the whole day getting the books into the database, bar-coded, with fresh jackets and their little ID stamps, “Property of Wacky Mommy’s New School.” And a fair amount of tape was involved. Mostly I went into liberry work so I can play with tape, stampers and kids all day. Not in that order. The stampers probably are the most critical component for me. Ha! I jest! I’m in it for the love bucks from the students, pure and simple.

So. What’s up, Internet? How’s my girls? And guy? What you may or may not know about me is that I take copious notes. I have hypergraphia, I’m pretty sure. My notepad of choice: My left hand.

Right now it says:

hamster fud
charge Netbook
prom. note
checkbook

That’s right! Cuz in addition to going back to work today (after more than 2 long, glorious months spent in the garage, sorting through my grandma’s china, my other grandma’s “Arkansas Crystal” and… if you haven’t read this post yet, you should, cuz it really sums up my mom’s side of The Family…

(My daughter, “Mom, are you going anywhere with this?”) (Yes, I am.) (Seriously, that’s her new line, she kills me.)

I start grad school on Wednesday. Any school, any place, any time, they should just type a little note at the bottom of the first letter they send you, and that note should say:

plz bring your checkbook!

So I am taking out loans, and a Promissory Note is in order. Hmm. Can I promise what I’ll give them if we re-neg?

* Arkansas Crystal
* the “good slides”
* the 20-year-old truck. It’s paid for!
* and I’ll bake them some Mexican wedding cakes and a Chocolate Volcano Cake.

That should do it, don’t you think?

ttfn,

your friend,

wm

Here’s what NOT to do when you’re broke: “payday loans.” (Which are now illegal in Oregon and 14 other states, thank God.) And avoid the damn credit cards, if possible. Get a roommate, move in with friends, reduce expenses, stop eating out, walk and don’t drive, take the bus and don’t pay for parking, balance the checkbook daily, don’t rack up “courtesy fees,” switch to a credit union, on and on. Yes, we know all this. Pay with cash when possible, put your money in little envelopes marked “groceries,” “leisure,” “emergency,” turn down the thermostat, donate money, supplies and volunteer when you can… But what about if you’re already over the edge? Hang on. You just have to hang on. Try to have hope when it feels like there is none.

Here’s what else you can do: Watch this show. It’s a Frontline special called “The Card Game,” all about the credit card fiasco our nation is diving into headfirst. We caught the end of it last night, it’s good. (more…)

You know that thing that always happens, how when you get a tax refund, and you’ve spent it 1,500 ways before it arrives, on things like, you know.

This and that.

Crack cocaine or whatnot.

Prostitutes.

Some new high heels.

Maybe a little toward the credit card bills.

Perhaps some new shoes and jeans for the kids because, damn. My dad was right. They really do grow like weeds.

My mom, circa 1974-1980: “Didn’t I just buy you new shoes last week?”

Then your husband calls, “Can I take you out for lunch?” And for once, your hair is clean, you’ve actually showered and are wearing clothes that are not an old shirt of your husband’s and a pair of sweats, and, “Yes, I’d love that!” (Lentil Garden in Beaverton, Indian buffet, great food.) Then the very exact second you’ve finished lunch, the cell phone rings and it’s the mechanic and guess what?

Yer right! It’s not just the whoozy on your car, it’s the whatzy, too, and since the car is almost 20 years old, is it worth it to fix it? (No.) And geez, isn’t it great we got that tax refund so now we can use it to pay for a new car? (The down payment, anyway. Fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa.)

Does that ever happen to you? Or is it just Wacky House?

Why are we getting a tax refund in December, here in Oregon? It’s something called a “kicker.” Meaning (and this is all pretty technical, so stick with me here) that the State of Oregon gets all confused about money, socks it all away, refuses to spend any on, you know, health care and/or food and/or both for the poor; or new roads; or schools. Or whatever else cash-tax money is supposed to go for in America.

Then the State of O they’re all, WOOT! WE HAVE ALL THIS MONEY! and they send chunks of it back to us, the taxpayers. Which is nice and all, but I’d really rather they spent it while they had it.

“why’s everybody/
wanna keep it like the kaiser?/
give it away/
give it away/
give it away now”

— red hot chili peppers!

I’d rather they kept the money and fed some hungry people. Maybe given shelter to some of the homeless. Provided a few more teachers for the schools. Something.

Cuz if they had — I swear this is true — my car would still be running.

1) It’s hot and I am sticky.

2) My husband is going to be so sorry he put Hormonal Woman in charge of balancing the checkbook, paying the loans and credit cards OFF and slamming money as fast as I can into savings, one nickel at a time.

After this, nothing but soup for you, buddy.