As I stood in security at JFK this past Friday to attend a good friend’s wedding and a reunion with some beloved college friends, it occurred to me that I forgot the one thing I actually needed that weekend – my dress for the wedding. I was also 2 hours delayed, present-less, and on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
At least I remembered to pack undergarments, a shoe, and this cat.
So when I frantically plopped myself down at the closest bar I could find I was pleased to be sandwiched between two sophisticated businessmen, clearly older and more established than myself. Sometimes when one is at one’s worst it is nice to be surrounded by stability.
I happened to notice the gentleman to my left was rather handsome. We begin to chat and I imagine our own impending nuptials He is a suit, in some type of nebulous banking pharmaceutical industry and clearly far more stable than some chick who is delayed without imperative luggage.
We share beverages, laughs, stories, and within five minutes it is revealed that he is also a recent graduate. From college. And I am old, a cougar, and a borderline rapist. Not to mention a lost soul teetering on the edge of unemployment… but alas that’s for another post. 😉 When did I become older and less established than most bar dwellers? When did my concept of age reality go so awry? Is my judgment that far from accurate? Deep thoughts…. mission get my life back on track commences now!
The past couple of months have been what a diplomatic person might call interesting. Not bad, mostly awkward and uncomfortable,which I guess in my life would actually be considered standard, I’ve endured first date over the table sweaty hand holding, not once, not twice, but thrice. Side note, this is incredibly strange to me and it has never happened to me before. Handholding seems aggressively intimate for a first meeting and if you grab a hand that’s beyond clammy, and this very considerate lady provides you an out, such as over the top gesticulation, TAKE IT. Don’t repeat the offense. It’s uncomfortable for both of us. Anyway, the handholding is not my point, I have been derailed.
So that’s been happening, I’ve started a new job, which is a new exciting journey, but also a little bit scary. New culture, new responsibilities, newness all around. Okay I can handle it, I am an adult. Being alone with a homeless transient pleasuring himself while staring me down in a deserted subway car was mildly nerve-racking, but I’m a survivor. The most anxiety inducing experience of the past couple months? An all out blowout amongst Upper East Side WASPS in the grocery line at my favorite grocery destination, Agata and Valentina.
Picture it. Saturday morning. The aroma of the finest specialty foods wafting all around. Cheese and pastry samples for all. Suddenly the beautiful murmur of seafood mongers and the banter of pastry chefs is shattered with the screeching of self-righteous shoppers. Hand crafted pastas are flying, specialty meats askew and nearly half of the line weighing in on who was to blame. It was legitimately frightening and I, one who is not necessarily known to shy away from confrontation, was genuinely afraid. I ran. I hope everyone survived the blood bath. I am not willing to find a new shopping routine. Enough change already. Happy January loves.
Recently I was honored to witness the engagement of two dear friends. It was a beautiful moment that will be remembered for all eternity. Picture it. Sicily Brooklyn, during the New York City Marathon… a handsome Irish lad took a knee, sacrificing his time to profess his love for all to see. Not days later I was thrilled to receive the call that my best friend was going into labor with her first daughter. And just 48 hours after that, I received the blissful news that I am an aunt yet again. Needless to say, just kidding I will say it, it was a big week. I was on a high from the said engagement and baby arrivals that I naturally began thinking about the most important moments in one’s life.
So there I was, contemplating those moments one finds oneself ruminating about on rainy days, the ones that create an ongoing slow motion montage that would be featured during a pivotal plot moment if life were a romantic comedy. Which it should be, but I’ll save that for a later post. I now present to you my top three most profound life moments.
- My first dream. I was sliding down a rainbow and when I reached the bottom I plucked from the ground an oversize, laminated, four-leaf clover. Rainbow? Slide? Lamination? What’s not to love and remember forever?
This dream was so off the chain it continually inspires my art. No I didn’t save this from my youth, I drew this a few weeks ago.
- The first time I realized my extreme heat disorder and sweat through my tee shirt. It was summer and I was practicing my dance routine and discovered I was covered in sweat from basically shimmying for 5 minutes. I knew then that I was doomed.
- The first time I realized I was a giant. I was in the first grade and my best friend confided she was frightened by my size. I subsequently was named the Jolly Green Giant, thought to be a teacher as a 5th grader, and overall harbored a feeling of extreme height awkwardness until college.
Authors note: As with all of the imperative topics I cover, this is mildly in jest. I have obviously had more key moments in my life. It is my prerogative to leverage my awkward younger self-moments to make me laugh now and try to reconcile them in a way that makes me feel like an evolved person. And that dream was literally earth shattering. A toast to more pivotal moments!
The other day I looked at my bank account and I was assaulted with the fact that I have a balance of $46.15. Don’t worry I don’t have to move into a cardboard box yet, I have a few more months of craftily shifting funds from one account to another before I need to dejectedly wave my white flag, however I decided it was time to create a budget. In the event you are as confused by this concept as I am, a budget is possible when one comprehends the amount of money one produces and then determines a reasonable amount of said income to dedicate to predetermined categories.
The ideal would be to allocate a percentage of income to necessities such as bills, housing, utilities, and sustenance with a surplus to put into another nebulous concept called a savings account. Since I digest tangible goals more readily than whimsical theory, I have broken this down into some general guidelines for myself. Here is what to do, or more accurately what not to do.
- It is time to accept the fact that you absolutely must take public transit everywhere you go. I don’t care that you are sweating profusely on half of Manhattan and it take 3-17 times longer than it should reasonably take to get anywhere, get on the damn bus and don’t get off until you aren’t on the brink of eviction.
*Note this is an inaccurate depiction of NYC public transit.
- Stop acting like a college frat boy. You know how to cook, steam some vegetables… the Seamless guys are frightened. Your credit card almost got denied today because you ordered something that was NOT Seamless. You have a problem.
- In relation to point 2. It is actually not fiscally responsible to buy new clothes vs. washing the ones you already have. Additionally if you steam more vegetables and order less seamless you might fit into more than 3% of your wardrobe. This is a win-win.
- Maybe consider cutting back on Happy Hour. Cheers is a great show, but bartenders should stop knowing your name. It’s sad. Unless you are the bartender from The Girl and the Goat in Chicago. If you are, my name is Marissa and please call me immediately.
- I think this is a good start; let’s not go bonkers here.
I hope these financial tips help you as much as I hope they help me. Suze Orman would be proud.