I'm Not Broke.....

....I just never seem to have money.

I have been a zealous saver of money since Hubby and I married. He would argue that I have also become a zealous SPENDER of money, and he might have a point.

MY point, however, is that I have savings automatically deducted as soon as I get paid. Before I ever see my check stub, money is automatically transferred from my checking account into my savings accounts. All four of them.

No, I don't know why. It would be the same amount of money if I put the savings all in one place. But because it's spread out, it FEELS like it's a lot more money.

Don't get me wrong, I don't have thousands upon thousands of dollars at my disposal. Sometimes it doesn't stay in the savings account long before I haul it back over to the checking account. Especially at Christmas. I have this vision of a little tiny person inside the bank's computer chips who watches me do electronic transfers. "Oh good God, it's HER again. Why doesn't she just make up her mind?"

I have another account into which I deposit a portion of my online teaching job pay every month. Well, most months. Well, some months. Well, I did it once or twice. That's because my online job doesn't take any taxes out, and it royally screws up our income taxes at the end of the year. So I put some aside to cushion the blow when it comes time to file taxes. We like to get a big refund to pay for our spring vacation. Now we just have to settle for paying for the vacation a little at a time in advance and having just a little bitty refund with which to buy alcoholic beverages souvenirs.

Hubby and I also pool our change. We put all the silver into a tall piggy bank that is shaped like a Pepsi bottle. When we had been married just a few years, we decided that when it was full we would use it for a vacation. I was secretly getting rolls of quarters and putting them into the bank to speed up the process. Joke was on me when I had to roll the damn things. It was, however, almost enough money to pay for an all-inclusive trip to Mexico. We put all our pennies into a plastic coffee canister. That's just enough money usually for a twelve-pack of beer. On sale.

I have a metal tin where I've been stashing some cash since we started going to the casino. I don't know why I hide it there. It's not like Hubby would take it from me (unlike my ex, I might add) or ask me to share it with him. I think I'm actually hiding it from myself. Out of sight, out of mind? If we go to the casino and I bring back more money than I took, or more money that I expected to, I put some of it into the tin. I know how much is in there, but I pretend that I don't, and I NEVER count it.

Hubby and I also put $20 each into a box in his top drawer every weekend. We never cheat, and we never fail. On the rare occasion that we have to "borrow" some from that fund, it goes back immediately, as soon as one of us goes to the bank.

I have a jar in my junk room office into which I stuff random dollar bills. It isn't that common that I HAVE random dollar bills, which is what got me into trouble at the post office earlier this week, but they always wind up in my pockets. When I start to put my jeans into the hamper, I find one or two dollars in the pockets, and I stuff them into the jar. It's a small jelly jar, and I have to start folding the dollars and cramming them in. I REALLY have no idea how much money is in the jar.

In addition to the jar, I have a brass owl bank that sits on my dresser. I don't remember who gave it to me, but that sucker is heavy. And it requires a screwdriver to take the thingie off the bottom to get into it. If I forget to put my change into the Pepsi bank downstairs, I put it into the owl bank upstairs. It got too full a couple of years ago, so I emptied it, separated and counted the money, tallied it up on a spreadsheet, printed it out, and put all the money and the print-out into a plastic bag and put it in my desk. Yes, I realize this is sounding freakier by the minute.

Putting loose change and dollar bills I get back from drive-through windows (I promise I really don't do that much, but this is twice this week that I've mentioned it) into the console in my car was Hubby's idea. I am no notorious for never having cash, probably because I have stashed it all in various and sundry locations. Once during my doctoral program, we had class at the library, I guess so we could learn how to research. I parked in one of the parking decks on campus and walked to the library, because the parking situation on the UGA campus is nothing short of ludicrous. You get one designated parking space, and it is likely to be all the way across campus from where the majority of your classes are. But I digress.

I parked in the deck because it would be dark when I got out of class, and I don't like walking around campus alone at night. Halfway through the presentation, however, I realized that I had just enough money to pay for the parking deck UP TO THAT MOMENT. If I stayed for the whole class, I wouldn't be able to get my car out of the parking deck. [They take debit cards now, not that THAT would have helped if my poltergeist debit card had acted the way it has in the past several days.]

I sneaked out of class at break time, hoping and praying I wouldn't miss something that would be necessary and vital to completing my doctoral program. When I told Hubby about it, because I don't have the good sense to keep SOME things to myself, he sort of rolled his eyes and suggested that I start keeping a few dollars in the console. It has come in handy, too. Just one of the many things he's smart about.

It kills my soul to say it, but I may have inherited this propensity for hoarding small amounts of money from my father. When our step-mother died, Katydid and I were looking for a specific picture of her that our father wanted at the funeral home. We went through every drawer and closet, and we KEPT finding little bags of money, jars of change, boxes of rolled coins. Katydid looked at me and said, "We're not going to tell the others about this, are we?"

Yeah, Katydid, YOU explain that one to Nurse Jane.

It was a moot point anyway, because our father remarried, and when he died, everything went to the Wicked Witch of the Lego House. They weren't even living together at the time, but that's another story.

Nurse Jane and Katydid, if I die before you do, be sure you look through EVERYTHING very carefully. Hubby won't care. Just don't let Mother see the condition of my junk room office. Whatever money you find is yours to keep.

You don't even have to tell the others.

I'm Not Supposed to Be This Tired.....

I don't have exams to give. I don't even have to enter grades into a computer. I don't have classes of 30 who are as eager to be on Christmas vacation as I am. Because our students don't have to come anymore after they are finished with their courses, we probably don't have 30 left in the whole school at this point. [On the other hand, guess which ones ARE left?] I don't have to lecture, I don't have hall duty, I don't have to write lesson plans. I don't have to have grades turned in by a deadline, and I don't have to worry about end-of-the-semester report cards. I don't have to average grades, because our online curriculum does it for us. I don't have to organize class parties or attend plays or concerts. I don't have to be in charge of a club doing a service project or a fundraiser. I don't have to decorate my room (or undecorate, as one principal always made us do before we left for Christmas break and I was terrified of her, so I complied). I don't have to work on courses for next semester. I don't have to schedule students for next semester. I don't even have to worry about what to wear for the next two days, because we have half-days and we made the executive decision to make both of those days Casual Fridays.

So how in the world can I be this tired?

Do You Have an Alternate Form of Payment?......

Imagine my embarrassment at the post office today, when my debit card was declined for a $3.02 purchase. Embarrassing enough that I didn't have that much cash on my person. Who CARRIES cash anymore? Actually, I had a $20 bill in my purse, but I don't take my purse to school. For obvious reasons when one deals with teenagers all day. Sorry, but that's the sad fact of life. I carry my driver's license and credit cards in a plastic case on a lanyard that I can wear around my neck in an emergency.

I was about to run out to the car for $3.02 in loose change that I throw into the console when I go through a drive-through (not that I do that much, mind you) when the person behind the counter suggested she swipe my card as a credit card instead of debit. It worked, and it didn't ask for a PIN or a signature or anything.

[Bluebird: I hate it when people say PIN Number. The "N" STANDS for number, people. It's like saying Personal Identification Number Number.]

I was thinking this was all related to our debit card troubles of the past weekend. We stopped at the mall to get Sullen Teenager a gift card for Christmas, but Hubby was nervous about leaving a flat-screen t.v. in the car unattended. [Our favorite kind of Christmas shopping is for ourselves.] Hubby offered me his debit card to buy the gift card with, but I was afraid they wouldn't let me use it without him present. He stayed in the car to baby-sit the t.v. There was no line, and I sauntered right up to the counter and gave them my debit card. And Hubby's PIN. Crap. It gave me another chance, and the transaction was completed.

We stopped to buy groceries on the way home, and I presented my debit card as usual. Declined. Declined again. Thankful that Hubby was along, I looked at him helplessly, and he gave me his debit card to pay for groceries. Declined. Declined again.

We stopped at the ATM [ditto saying ATM MACHINE] and used both cards with success. I figured it was just a fluke at the grocery store.

Then the embarrassment at the post office. For $3.02.

After the post office, I stopped by Target. Because I'm a slow learner when it comes to some things, I presented my debit card again for $236.59 in purchases. Approved immediately.

Seriously?

Sorry, You're Not Our Type....

I haven't told many people this, but the first time I applied for the doctoral program in adult education, I was rejected.

I am embarrassed to say that I had no idea at the time of how graduate school worked. I assumed that if you had decent test grades (I did) and an okay GPA (if they didn't look back any further than my masters degree), you were a shoo-in. I was so stupid.

I had two friends and co-workers who were applying to the department, and I basically joined them because one of them asked if I were interested. I thought it would be neat, the three of us going to class together and working on papers and studying together. How cute! We They chose adult education because it was one of those departments that was very accommodating as far as schedules. Their faculty understood that adults who go back to school seeking advanced degrees still have obligations like family and work, and they were very flexible. Not so the English department. They wanted doctoral students to quit their jobs and be full-time students for the duration of the program. Sorry, boys, but I've grown accustomed to.... eating.... living in a house... driving.... wearing clothing.....

Anyway, I was very confident about my acceptance into the program. I've always tested well, for some reason, and I thought the interview was pretty much a formality.

I didn't realize it was like a job interview, and I had to go in there and sell myself.

It pains me to remember some of the stupid things I said in that interview.

Faculty: "What area are you interested in studying?"

Me: [Thinking: "I didn't know there was more than one."] "Oh, I don't know..... I'm not even really sure this is something I want to do."

Way to go, Your Brilliancy!!!! That's an excellent way to convince them to allow you into their program, spend time on mentoring and teaching you, serving on your committee, and guiding you through the dissertation process. You're a natural!

Needless to say, they were underwhelmed. And I was so stupid that I left the interview feeling just as confident as when I entered, sure that I had been accepted. I can still feel the warmth of the sun on my cheek as I walked down the sidewalk in my navy pantsuit and heels, headed back to where I had illegally parked my car.

I was so stupid that I was actually crushed when I got the rejection letter.

Wait. Don't I get a do-over? Can't I convince you? Give me another chance!

Katydid always says things happen for a reason, and most of the time I feel like telling her to go to Hell. Because I don't want to hear it. But damn it, she's always right.

I probably wouldn't have survived the program if I had been accepted then. Right after that my second marriage finally died a merciful death, Sweet Girl and I moved, and I changed jobs. No way could I have survived the stress of the doctoral program with all that baggage thrown in as well.

When I reapplied to the same department about six years later, you better believe I went into it with a new perspective. I did my homework and sort of knew what area I was interested in. I had typed my two friends' dissertations for them (ouch, that stung a little, but they paid me), so I knew the lingo. I knew the reputations of some of the faculty members, and I had a better picture of just what was expected. I had a whole new attitude, and having a new last name didn't hurt either.

Bah Humbug......

I have raved for several years about our artificial, pre-lit Christmas tree. Sweet Girl was always opposed to artificial trees, and I resisted them myself. But when she was off gallavanting in the Persian Gulf one year at Christmas, I decided the time had come for an artificial tree. I knew she wouldn't be here to say "Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmm." We've used it for several years, and we've never had a problem with it.

Until this year.

The top third will blink, the bottom third will sort of blink, and the middle third is just dark. If these were strands of lights, I could take them off and discard the junky ones, replacing them with new.

Sadly, I can't do that with a pre-lit tree. And we cannot figure out where the problem is. The only thing we know to do now is buy a new tree. Bummer. I'm already at least two weeks later than usual putting up the tree, and now we're looking at a delay of at least two more days. I always take it down the day after Christmas, so we're venturing into that no-man's land of "why bother?"

Hmmmmm. I'm debating.

Maybe we'll just buy one on sale right AFTER Christmas and be ready for next year.

But it seems so wrong not to have a Christmas tree. And I have all these wonderful ornaments.

On the positive side, we shopped yesterday and bought the bulk of our gifts for family members.

On the negative side, I didn't get them wrapped today.

On the positive side, I made Crock Pot Candy today.

On the negative side, I didn't get it put into individual gift bags.

On the positive side, I've made a bazillion Christmas ornaments.

On the negative side, I didn't get around to putting the embellishments on them.

On the positive side, I have ironed clothes for the next three days, and we can wear jeans both Thursday and Friday. (I just made that rule up, but I'll betcha my next paycheck I can talk the boss into it.)

On the negative side, the Falcons, the Broncos, and the Cowboys all lost today.

On the positive side, only five days until Christmas vacation.

Why Do You Hate Me, Brutus?..........

Dear Brutus:

Why do you hate me? I have wracked my brain, and I cannot come up with a single reason that you might harbor hatred toward me.

First of all, I KNOW your name isn't really Brutus. It's Olive, but you can't hold that against me. Sweet Girl named you. Actually she named you Olivia, until we took you to the vet for the first time. But Hubby has called you Brutus almost since the day we got you, and when Missy came along she became Little Brutus, and it's just easier to go along with him than call the two of you by four names.

I feed you regularly. And I'm talking R-E-G-U-L-A-R-L-Y. You are very vocal with your demands for food, and I give in to you rather than listen to you. If you were a child I would give you a toy and put you in front of a DVD or something, but you aren't that easily distracted. [Give me a break, folks, I'm only kidding.] You even have your own special place to eat, so that the dog doesn't get into your food.

It's not like you don't have a constant supply of dry food available. Why can't you be like your sort-of sister and be happy with dry food? She never utters a sound, she just sits patiently beside an empty food dish and waits for someone to notice. Are you happy with that? Oh no. You have to have WET cat food, served to you on a paper plate. I even buy you different types and flavors each and every week so you don't become bored with the same old thing. And don't get me started on how you've started sitting beside me while Hubby and I eat, begging for table scraps. Curse Gus for teaching you THAT little trick.

I allow you to sleep on our bed, in spite of the fact that you take up waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more than your share of space. You have your very own wall heater in the hallway, and we don't even kick you out of the way when we need to pass. When you climb up behind my head when I'm in my recliner, I don't even knock you off when your ponderous weight makes my chair go back too far.

I get up to let you out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in.

And this is the thanks I get for your luxurious lifestyle.

This is what I come home to after a long week at school, consisting of two days of testing, one day of evaluation by an outside committee that didn't give us glowing remarks, one day of regressive behavior by students who should be desperate to get their courses finished, not clamoring for drama, and one all-day field trip. On top of that, the weather has turned ugly, cold, and wet, and God did NOT put me in the South to be this cold. And wet. Ugly I can stand.

I realize this may be a delayed reaction to our having you declawed as an adult several years ago. But really, we had just bought new leather furniture, and if you had done this to brand-new furniture, I'm afraid you might have gone to that great litter box in the sky.

While we're on the subject of claws, exactly how long does it take you to do this much damage to a roll of toilet tissue, since all you have to work with are your TEETH? Is this to show us how bored you are while we are gone? Why don't you play with Gus? He's not all that bad. You outweigh him by at least five pounds, and I believe you could hold your own with him.

The tissue thing, though, is getting old. I could do the smart thing like Hubby does in HIS bathroom, and just put the tissue up where you can't reach it. Because Lord knows you can't haul your gargantuan rear-end up on the countertop. Unless there's food up there, of course.

I don't want to give in to a cat, though. I want to win. And I don't care how many rolls of toilet tissue I have to go through to prove that point to you.

Love,

Bragger
Your OWNER

The one who feeds you.

Crazy Dream #7.....

This is one of those dreams that when I woke up, I went through the sequence of events in my head to make sure I remembered it.

It was just bizarre.

It involved one of these:



He was there:


And some of these were there too:


There was a lot of this:


And conspicuously absent was one of these:


I went on a cruise, and I took a group of students. What was I thinking, even in a dream? Gus was also along on the cruise, which just proves that I was out of my mind.

Immediately after embarking, I locked myself out of my stateroom. That's not too far outside the realm of possibility; it sounds just like something I would do.

I went to call a steward-type person, and she asked if I were on Level 1 or Level 2. Huh? I had no clue where my room was. Again, that isn't too far outside the realm of possibility. I probably couldn't stand in the middle of the ship and point forward. I have zero sense of direction.

The exasperated steward-type person told me to follow her, and we were walking along the OUTSIDE of the ship. Then the ship came to an intersection with a road, and there were cars waiting to cross, so the ship had to go UNDERWATER. A submarine cruise ship? When it submerged, naturally I was washed off the side of the ship. I was swimming furiously, trying to catch up with the ship. The steward-type person was yelling at me from the ship, "You DID bring your clay kit to build a raft, didn't you? Build a raft! Where's your clay kit?????"

In a different chapter of the dream (perhaps BEFORE I got washed overboard?), I was going to sun myself on one of the decks. Students were all over the ship, and I had no clue where anyone was supposed to be, but I was there to relax, so I was going to rest and soak up some sun. On my way to the sundeck, I passed a group of students.

"Dr. P_____, I haven't seen you in a bathing suit before," one of them said.

"You still haven't," another one said.

It was then that I realized I was naked.

[Does anyone else have naked dreams?]

You can't make this stuff up.