A Plea to the Higher Power(s) That Preside(s) Over the PowerBall

Dear Friend(s),

Please let me win. I'm nice! I know that in the grand scheme of things, being nice doesn't get one especially far, but don't you think it should?

I know I don't have the greatest story ever. I'm not completely destitute (yet.) I haven't recently filed for bankruptcy. I haven't quite resorted to selling my kidney on the black market in order to prevent myself from starving to death. I haven't even donated my plasma for cash. (Though I have called to inquire about it.) Sure, I don't have to support four babies under the age of five spawned from three different deadbeats. I don't reside a van down by the river. I am, however, legitmately poor. I have oodles of debt. So much debt, that I doubt anyone would even consider marrying me until I can reduce the size of it by 75%. If I'm lucky, I might make it there by my fiftieth birthday bash, at this rate. And of course, my Over The Hill party will be even more depressing than the norm because all of my friends will arrive hand-in-hand with their doting, salt and pepper headed husbands. Their skin will be tastefully bronzed following recent family excursions to warm and exotic locales and their fingers will display the flashy diamonds that scream of twenty years of love and commitment and a healthy 401K. I will attempt to drench my discontent in an amassment of Red Bull and well vodka while they slowly savor their wine with pity in their eyes. I will try to make a thank you speech, but will surely crumble into a sobbing mess before I make it to the halfway point. My friends will kindly, but quietly dart out the door, and I will conclude the evening by telling an unsuspecting cab driver my life story on the long trip home, between hiccups and sniffles. The following morning, I will awaken with much regret, insufferable embarrassment, and a killer headache. I will pack up my cats, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and take them to their biweekly playdate with my mother's expanding brood. She will tell me that I look like hell and bemoan the fact that I never got married or had babies for her to play with. I will sigh in unspoken agreement.

So, as you can see, it is extremely important that I begin to diminish the debt that hangs over me like the little raincloud that is continually perched squarely above the bouncing Zoloft commercial creature prior to his ingestion of the happy pills. I want kids, not cats. (And, if I win, I promise to show restraint in my choices of name. No wacky Shakespearian creations or anything else that will guarantee their statuses as social outcasts.) I understand that I got myself into this situation, though I can guarantee that at least 90% of the money I currently owe is due to school or medical expenses. I was a dumb 18 year old kid who fell in love with a college she couldn't realistically afford and chose a less than practical major. It happens. I'm not looking for the easy way out. I like to work. I like feeling like a productive member of society. I just don't seem to have the correct skills set or degree or appearance or experience to secure a high enough paying position. I'm just looking for a jumpstart. I don't mind splitting the winnings with some other lucky people. I don't even need to be set for life.

I'm nice, remember? So, of course, I will give away much of what I win. My family members and friends will be well taken care of. They're all pretty nice, too. I will start a charity and donate to existing ones. I will provide funding to people in situations similar to mine. (I'm somewhat of an empathetic narcissist.) I will let the boy that I met on my first night here who is apparently a 24 year old Penn State student/hobokid that lives out of his car reside in my room for free. Or, at least, I would if my roommates wouldn't kill me for doing so. I will leave humongous tips for excellent service. I will buy lunch for homeless people. There is a lot one can do with a copious amount of cash that doesn't involve becoming a materialistic bitch. I'm fairly certain that the only way having money will change me is that it will greatly decrease the massive amount of debt-related anxiety that floods my brain on a daily basis. See, the resulting story could shape up to be rather interesting and heartfelt.

Life is short. I want to travel. I want to experience other cultures. I need book fodder! (And probably some writing classes.) I want to visit my friends and pick up the tab for once. I would like to drive a car that is more reliable and less audible. I would love to go back to school and obtain a doctorate. I need to go to the dentist. My mouth hurts! I don't want to have to work while my favorite television shows air. Or, at the very least, I'd like to be able to TiVo them and watch them at my leisure. It'd be great to have the opportunity to buy all of the hardcovers that I'm interested in reading off the shelf. It'd be fantastic to know that my family is financially all set. Having some money and little debt will release me from the limbolike existence that has entrapped me for years and threatens to lurk around for much, much longer.

Come on. Help a girl out. Pick me!

Fondly,

Sara

You Take the Good, You Take the Bad

It's official. I am moving to State College, Pennsylvania. Soon. I put my resignation in at work early this week, and I will be unemployed as of August 30, 2006. I'm stressed. Eh, who am I kidding? I'm perpetually stressed. So I guess this could be categorized as extra stressed. I have sent out a few resumes, so I feel slightly accomplished, anyway. I am hoping for a cozy office bitch position with a few nights/weekends of waitressing or bartending thrown into the mix. Eh, in all honesty, I'm truly hoping to win the lottery. The Powerball is creeping up there. If all else fails, I will set up an appointment and start donating plasma for cash, despite the fact that it totally skeeves me out to do something seemingly charitable while masking my ulterior motives.

I feel slightly guilty about leaving my job. This is probably because I usually feel guilty about anything and everything that happens, whether or not I am a significant player in the action. I suspect I am the type of person that it would be ridiculously easy to manipulate into making a false confession. If anyone around me ever winds up dead, I will arrive at the questioning place with a lawyer in tow. But, realistically speaking, this is the first time I've ever had to quit a job. With every other position I've held, it has been for some fixed period of time. So leaving has always happened on extremely amicable terms. This is a job that I (presumably) could have kept for as long as I wanted it. And I do like the work enough and feel comfortable there. Unfortunately for me, becoming comfortable is dangerous. I need to push myself to discover what I am skilled in, what I am capable of accomplishing, and what I truly enjoy. Obviously, moving to a much bigger area where the local paper boasts more than 5 help wanted ads per week is a decent starting point. I hate applying for jobs and interviewing. I despise starting new jobs and fumbling around like a nervous, socially inept idiot. But I do feel better prepared for the process at this point in my life than I ever had previously.

What I am excited about (in no particular order):

1. Moving out of my parents' living room.
2. Having my own bedroom.
3. Having my own bathroom!
4. Free tanning.
5. Free (kind of crappy, but still) gym access.
6. Not having to drive an hour to shop.
7. Potentially making enough money to actually be able to shop.
8. Many more pizza places to choose from.
9. Many more bars to frequent.
10. The possibility of befriending new people.
11. The possibility of befriending new love interests. Haha.
12. The possibility of starting graduate school in the not so ridiculously distant future.
13. Visitors!
14. The potential emergence of something resembling a social life.
15. Fun times with my litte sister.

What I am not so excited about (in no particular order):

1. Packing.
2. Abandoning my health benefits.
3. Paying rent/utilities.
4. Needing a cell phone.
5. Using my old, crappy computer. If it still works.
6. Living in a place that caters to college students, simply because I feel kind of like a loser.
7. Relying on my alarm clock to wake me up. Parents are currently a good back-up.
8. Relying on my piece of crap car to actually stay in working order. (That is, once I get it back in working order in the first place.)
9. Surrounding myself with professed haters of feminism and sympathizers of the plight of the white man. (Who, I'm sure, are all very nice and fun people otherwise.)
10. No more inside smoking.
11. Developing an entirely new daily routine.
12. More stressful driving situations.
13. Living even further away from all of my friends in upstate New York/New England.
14. Unpacking.
15. Buying my own toilet paper and laundry detergent, etc.

All in all, I think this is a positive step forward. We'll see how it progresses. Wish me luck!

I'm a Loser, Baby

And here's why.

1.) I American Idol voted last night. A lot. Well, I made many attempts, anyway, during House and The Real World commercial breaks. Lots of busy signals. I try to claim to be a nonchalant viewer, but I think I have fallen prey to someone every single season who sucks me in and makes me worry about him to the extent of throwing down some votes when elimination appears to be looming. I guess I am easily guilted (even by short, man-tanning reality tv hosts), as I let Seacrest's chidings about how my complacency directly contributes to undeserved outings get to me. This season, though, I fear I am getting out of control. My Elliott love seems to know no bounds. I'm pretty sure I at least doubled my prior voting total from all of the past seasons combined in one night. I reek of over-investment. And I will throw shoes at my tv if he is voted out tonight.

2.) Speaking of The Real World, I somehow find myself to be a regular viewer for the first time since New Orleans, I think. I don't even watch it in the more practical, "I'll catch one of the 80 million reruns that is shown weekly," manner. Oh, no, I tune in every Tuesday at 10:00. I must be a masochist. First of all, it makes me feel old. Secondly, I think, on a subconscious level, I must be putting myself through it as penance for all of those "bitch crazy" drunken moments I forced upon my friends in college. Cause they've got an over the top, ridiculously emotional, issue-ridden girl bringing loads of drama to this season. She is always crying or hyperventilating or hating on men. It's more than a little unsettling to watch.

3.) Time reserved for the tanning bed seems to be officially replacing time formerly reserved for the gym. I was a consistent little worker outer for a quite a while, too.

4.) I let the Wal-Mart people cut my hair and (prepare yourself for the horror) wax my eyebrows. I was previously informed by some co-workers that getting hair cuts at Wal-Mart is for people who are so trashy that they are no longer permitted to enter real hair cutting establishments. I don't know, I guess I feel kind of let down. From the way they spoke, I expected to witness a parade of mullets and rat tails and spiral perms and poodle bangs. Unfortunately, the Wal-Mart cutting corral just didn't deliver, despite the fact that it was hopping with walk-ins. Anyway, I feel much greater levels of pity for the poor girl who had to focus her efforts on the crazy catterpillarish mess I left entirely untouched for 6 months than I do for myself for sinking to such a level.

5.) I am way too excited about alcoholic soda. (But, really, you should try it.)

6.) I can't seem to make it through a day without eating, at the very least, two fruit roll ups.

7.) I find myself stuck in a bit of a compulsive book-buying mode. Half.com is too damn tempting. And cheap. So I'm currently juggling 5 books. (They are, in no particular order, I'm Not the New Me, Bring Me Your Saddest Arizona, The Center of Winter, This Life She's Chosen, and The Glass Castle.) Needless to say, I'm not making tremendous dents in any of them. Of late, actually finishing a book feels like a major accomplishment. Very sad.

8.) I check a number of blogs daily. And away messages. And myspace profiles. And the superficial. When a computer isn't readily accessible, I even read celebrity-focused tabloidish magazines. It's as though I'm still in college, searching desperately for methods of procrastination, though I now have nothing left to avoid except for the books I am supposedly reading for fun. I fear my brain is slowly, but steadily turning to slush.

9.) I buy instant lottery tickets sometimes. (And by sometimes, I mean every time I get paid.)

10.) I can't sleep without Nick at Nite. I've grown far too accustomed to the background noise, and I don't trust any other channels for fear that I'll wake up at 3:00 a.m. to the sound of wacky infomercials that work their way into my dreams or, even worse, the buzzing rainbow screen that manages to sound more irritating and jarring than my alarm clock.

A (Couple of) Day(s) in the Life

I haven't done a very good job of keeping this thing updated, but I'm going to make great attempts to be more consistent.

Thoughts/Observations/Updates (I apologize for the lack of central theme or anything especially interesting. It happens.)

I've made it through 5 weeks at the new job. I am feeling much more comfortable there and a lot less stupid, though there are still some things I am uncertain about. I think I may be solidifying my spot as the person with the least common sense to ever work there, though. (I think I can claim this position in just about any group of people I am placed in.) Many have witnessed me struggle with pulling down/putting up the blinds in my window on multiple occasions. (Apparently, pulling the string to either the right or left will make the blinds lock at the top or fall down. I had no idea there was a system involved.) Other simple tasks that I have failed to master include, but are not limited to, loading paper into the old school printer, loading tape into a calculator, changing staples on a humongous stapler, and figuring out how to restart my computer and phone after I accidentially unplugged them. I think it takes some talent to be this clueless about ridiculously simple tasks.

I like my job because I get to use stickers and highlighters and vary my writing style. Sometimes I play a game in my head where I try to mimic the handwriting of the last person who wrote in the chart. There is quite a variety, as I am apparently the 19th person hired to work in the front office in the last couple of years.

I think this job is good for me because mistakes are inevitable. They are certainly to be avoided at all costs, but they do happen. I have made them, and the world hasn't ended. There is no time to focus on making something look perfect or sound perfect because there is so much going on. Sometimes, you stumble over your words on the phone and sound like a bit of an idiot. Sometimes patients get mad and call you stupid. Scheduling errors sometimes occur. Ultimately, there is no time to berate yourself for looking/sounding/being stupid. I think it's an excellent type of workplace for me right now. I find myself feeling less anxious in a more hectic and high-pressure environment. Go figure.

I have been sick since Sunday. Just a cold, but it definitely sucked at first. It felt like a small child was sitting on my lungs for the first couple of days. Tylenol Cold actually works, and I now recommend it. Of course, people at works weren't especially pleased to have a sneezing and coughing person in their presence, and it was made clear that I was not to infect anyone else. Um, okay. I don't think I did, so I guess I win. I kept waking up last night with coughing fits, which was a blast. I caught Murphy Brown and half of Who's the Boss on Nick@Nite from 3:00 - 3:45. I don't know why they put the decent shows on at ridiculous hours. My mother is convinced that this cold was only supposed to last 3 days, so she keeps asking me if I've been taking my vitamins.

Kickboxing has been going on for a month, and I haven't skipped yet. I intend to stick it out to the end this time, even though it is brutal. There are only around 10 people who come to class, which is a whole lot less than the norm. So we dutifully show up, and she tries to kill us. We do a ridiculous number of squats, and I make mean faces at her. It's definitely a workout, and I do feel accomplished when we're finished. If you've ever attempted to do Tai Bo with me and find yourself curious about my punching abilities, yes, I still throw somewhat wimpy punches. I'm a hardcore kicker, though.

Every Wednesday night, I find myself feeling envious of Lost watchers.

I have been trying to figure out which type of old person I will be. The broad categorizations seem to be grumpy, cute, or crazy, though some people might manage to transcend the boundaries and fall into more than one. I'm thinking I will be a crazy, and I love it. I will hopefully be an endearing crazy and not a batshit crazy. I guess I am making progress, as I never wanted to live to be old before. But the prospect of being an eccentric and entertaining old lady has me half convinced.

I hate the state of Oregon because someone there won the ridiculously huge Powerball and I didn't.

Some girls at work started doing the Atkins diet this week. I guess they don't know that low-carb is so a year and a half ago. The new trend is to eat whole grains, according to Self or Fitness or some similar magazine. I think I might believe it, too, because I saw whole grain Chips Ahoy in Wal-Mart the other day. I bet they taste super. I personally don't believe that whole grains really aid in weight loss efforts, but they do seem healthy. So if health is truly your goal, jump on the latest bandwagon, gals. Anyway, I think low-carb diets are dumb in the long run, but maybe it is because I am weak willed. To each his own. So whenever I am asked if I am going to join in, I supress the urge to roll my eyes and profess my love for bread. White bread, at that. And beer. I'm such a rebel.

I miss my friends.

If I Were a Rich Girl

I spend too much time pondering what I will do when I win the lottery. This is a somewhat embarrassing admission, as I usually take pride in being a more or less realistic person who can accept the world/my life for what it is without feeling the need to cloud my vision with rose/grey/rainbow tinted glasses. (Of course, this does not necessarily apply to times when I have had a few too many drinks or to my crazy period, circa late 2001 through early 2003.) I really don't like money and don't have any driving need for an exorbitant number of material possessions. I'd just like to pay off my bills, pay off my parents' bills, buy a decent car, move into my own place, and go back to school. Okay, I'd also like an ipod and a treadmill and a vacation. And maybe I'd like to go to school for forever and to only choose to work if I truly loved what I was doing. I fully comprehend that having money does not in any way guarantee contentedness, and one would have to be somewhat silly to assume otherwise. (See: Citizen Kane, The Great Gatsby, any John Cheever short story, MaryKate Olsen, etc.) What having some money should provide, however, is a certain amount of security and stability that would be very useful at this point in my life. Of course, there a few other, more realistic courses of action.

1. Quit smoking. According to this handy calculator, I would save approximately $159.38 per month and $1939.60 per year. To be honest, to see/type that amount of money makes me cringe a bit. However, that extra two grand would probably have to be poured into massive amounts of therapy and new clothes, as I would clearly a) get fat and b) go nuts (likely from a combination of living at home without smoking + dealing with work without smoking + gaining weight). The risk outweighs the cost. Sad, yes. Pathetic, sure. True, nonetheless.
2. Break my caffeine addiction. If I purchase 6 twelve packs of diet soda per week at approximately $3.00 each and spend maybe $10.00 on convenience store coffee/bottles of soda, it works out to $112.00 each month and $1344.00 per year. Again, I admit it seems a tad excessive. Similarly, I don't think it's worth the misery that a caffeine-free existence might entail. To my credit, I drink more water than soda at work now. And I could work on cutting back.
3. Pick up a second job. This may be my most doable option at this point. As I am now released from the federal government's requirements which prohibited me from picking up additional work last year, I feel kind of guilty about having free time and so much debt. Any extra money, even that from a minimum wage position, would help. More work, however, would exponentially heighten the burnout potential, as I already have a hard time making it past 9:30 when Friday evening rolls around. I may adjust to working and being "on" more often than not, though. Plenty of people do it. It would also be a hindrance to my social life, which would potentially be another cause for concern, if it exhisted on any level at the moment.
4. Reality television. Um, yeah. My mother suggests I apply for this show. Apparently they advertise in the Elmira Star Gazette, if that says anything about its potential for quality. And while I'm sure it'd be lovely to share all of my specific money woes with the world in an effort to make everyone else who is luckier or more frugal than I am feel better about themselves, I just don't think my "story" would be all that interesting. Plus, I'm not pretty enough for tv. And it doesn't appear as though the debt or any portion of it would be eliminated. I'd be willing to apply for The Amazing Race though. Anyone looking for a partner with no navigational skills who can't drive stick? Or Survivor. If I do win the lottery, I think I will send in an application. Being a millionaire will be my hook. I'll lie and play innocent/dumb/poor and all of the non-millionaires will be pissed when starvation eats my brain and I somehow accidentially reveal that I'm actually set for life. I'll give any money I win away, of course. See, there I go again . . .

Any other suggestions?