Lit Up In Louisiana

As you may or may not know I have relocated to the Peach State. Last Thursday after work, I threw the two suitcases full of clothes that I hadn't fedexed into my Jeep and set out for Calabasas. I rang my friend Ariela's doorbell at 9pm and waited. We were both bright eyed and bushy tailed that night and half way through the next day... and then we were in the middle of God knows where hangry as all hell and cursing the tipsy turvey windy dindy (yes, i know this isn't a word, but I'm in a rhyming mood) streets of Las Cruces, NM. Damn you, Las Cruces, DAMN YOU.

But, first things first. Friday morning our alarms went off at 6am, we rolled out of bed, changed out of our pjs into new pjs (obviously, I wasn't about to drive 13+ hours in jeans. ugh.) and hit up the S'bucks and the McDonalds (MickeyD's? MceeeD's? McD's? whatever.) Nonfat iced latte, three shots of espresso PUH-LEASE. And then we were on the road again, this time to Canyon Country to pick up my sister. SWOOP. We were officially on the road again by 9am. Hooty hooooo! Like I said before, at this point we thought each other were the coolest people ever. Ha.

Drive, drive, drive. Now we're in the desert. Wow, nothing there. Drive, drive, drive. FUCK how long have I been driving, can I feel my ass anymore? I lift one cheek and put it back down on my seat. Did I feel that? Can I feel anything? My right shoulder starts to feel sore and switch and put my left hand on the wheel. Whhaaapow. Yeaaaa nevermind. Both arms back on the wheel as the wind plays tetherball with us. What up wind? Hmmm? Then we stop for gas. One, two, three, four times. I calculate that it will cost approximately $600 in gas to drive from Santa Barbara, CA to Atlanta, GA (incidentally I was pretty damn close- $550- gotta love your car when it only gets 13mpg on the highway).

We finally make it to Las Cruces, NM where we are staying for the night. By this point I am EXTREMELY cranky. Yes, cranky. Was it my fault, because I drove all 13+ miles despite offers from my sister to take the wheel? Maybe, but I've seen her drive in LA and I wanted to actually make it to GA. Sorry, Dav, you know your driving makes me wanna pee my pants.

***
I want you to take a moment to think about this. No, really think bout what it would be like, crammed in a Jeep Wrangler with three peoples luggage for three days straight (loooonnnggggg days. I mean I'm going coo coo for coco puffs looooonnnnnggggg days). Yeaaaaa, not a pretty picture, especially when you add exorbitant amounts of coffee. By the time we got to Louisiana, I was starting to wonder if this was a bad idea. The ghost towns and gas stations plastered with stuffed gators on the walls did not help. I started to pick up the pace. Last day. Only 11 hours to Atlanta, you can do it Jillian, Meals on Wheels, no stopping, just get 'er done!

Then I saw him, sitting in the highway median, bored out of his mind. I checked my odometer, 80. I passed him. I looked back, he was still there. Maybe he was asleep? I looked back again, slowly the car started to wake up and roll out of the grass, then the lights went on. Beeeeeeuupppp, beeeewwwww. Or whatever, sirens sound like. FML. I process the information in my head. He's not going very fast, maybe he's not after me. I speed up, change lanes and attempt to hide in front of a huge F150. Did not work. I pull over.

I'm optimistic. You can always bargain. There's always bargaining. Yes, I can proudly say that I have been pulled over 1, 2, 3 times prior to this and was able to either get out of the charges completely or have them significantly reduced. I roll my window down, confident! But there is no time for bargaining, Bronston (yes, true story) commandeers my license and registration and disappears. When he returns to my window the ticket is in his hand and I'm signing my sentence and then he's gone. I assuage myself saying that my ticket will help Bronston get his Christmas bonus.... he better get that damn bonus!

And that dear friends is the story of how I got my first speeding ticket... from a man named Bronston in Louisiana... driving across the United States. Incidentally, I was also super stoked to get a speeding ticket since I am currently unemployed. AWEEEEEE-SOOOOMMME.

I know. I know. It's my fault.

Over and Out. Jildo

Spirit Airlines= Clothing Optional

This weekend myself and my friends Jes, Lisa, Phong and Phong's girlfriend Susan are going to Vegas. We're running the Las Vegas Rock and Roll Half Marathon (Phong, remember when you were gonna do the full? Thank God, you decided against that). Yes, this is the same race I said I was going to PR at 1:50. Slight change of plans, Jes and I have decided on a new goal PR for ourselves. It's the run a mile, walk a mile, take a shot/shots PR. I mean hey, the whole normal just run 13.1 miles, we've been there, done that.

Anyways, that's not here nor there. The real reason I'm blogging has to do with our travel plans to and from Vegas. Yes, that's right we booked Spirit Air to save on airfare. $67 roundtrip flight from LA to Vegas? Score! That was until Jes called me on my way home from work today.

Jes: Salsa. We have to pay for our bags?

Me: Well, how much are you taking?

Jes: No. Salsa, I mean we have to pay whether we check or carry our bags.

***PAUSE***

I'm cursing myself in my head. I do not need another Skunk Outfit incidence. My friends will never leave anything up to me again--- ok, ok, yes, I made the travel arrangements and apparently, staying completely in character I managed to miss the fine print... AGAIN.

Jes: Just try and check the travel details when you get home to see what the best option would be (she was thinking: Don't fuck this up!!!!)

So as soon as I get home I hop on the iPad (damn computer still isn't working), and log onto Orbitz. Scroll, scroll, scroll, baggage policies. Click. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Must contact Spirit Air.

Oh a web surfing I will go. Spirit Air. Click. Our Optional Fees. Click. We will charge you for all checked luggage. We will charge you for all carry on bags. And, yes we will charge you both ways (wink, wink). Huh? I scroll back to the top of the page. I thought these were optional fees. How the hell is luggage optional? I mean, I know it's Vegas, but we gotta wear something. I start to think maybe I can just layer all my clothes for the weekend and wear it all on the plane. Bathing suit, check. Sports bra, check. Dry-fit running pants, check. Bedazzled Schatzle shirt, check. Slutty dress, check. T-shirt, check. Jeans, check and check.

Fortunately, just as I had tested out this theory and was severely uncomfortable Jes called.

Jes: Do you have a really huge bag?

Her plan? Consolidation. You wanna charge us Spirit Air? You want us stranded in Vegas without our slutty dresses? Well, you won't get the best of us, because Jes' mom is ha-wesome. Yup, that's right. We're gonna throw all of our shit in one bag. One bag, one fee. So there. And, you know you won't get us on weight, because Vegas dresses... Well, it's like packing air...
It's just air.

So, Spirit you tell us "Clothing Optional"? I tell you, I'm going to take my air dresses, and I'm gonna wear them all night long.

Adios motha spirit.

Xoxo. Jildo

Fedexing My Weight In Shoes

Yesterday I discovered that all of my shoes make up half of my body weight. Crazy, I know.

Recently I decided to move back home... ish.  I currently live in Santa Barbara and rent a room in a house with my friend Camille. I love where I live and I love my job. Why move? I'll tell you why. It's the "Shit, My Friends are Getting Their Lives Together, What the Hell am I Doing? Effect."

A month ago my room mate Camille gave notice at work to pursue her career in real estate. Now, while I am in the career and industy I want to be in, Camille's step toward adulthood shook me to the core. Before this happened I pleasantly ignored the facts:

1. I'm throwing away almost a $1000 a month on rent
2. If I stay in California I will be able to buy a house on my deathbed... maybe
3. I live in one of the most expensive cities in Calfornia and there are hardly any career opportunities
4. Most of my family lives on the East Coast
5. Pet skunks are illegal in California

Obviously when you write them down it's kind of hard to ignore the fact that if I stay here it just makes me an idiot. 

So I called up my parents, had a little chat and decided to move to Atlanta stat... well in two weeks. Which means I'm in turbo- pack/throw away/sell all my shit mode. This is how I discovered that I own half my body weight in shoes... and how I discovered how much it would cost to ship myself to Atlanta. $120. Not bad, right? I know, if it weren't for needing to get my Jeep out there I would totally crate it up. Cest la vie.

How does this effect the budget? Yes, moving 3,000 miles is going to rack up some expenses. However, based on my calculations, the profits I make from selling my furniture should offsett all moving costs. And, a few months living at home should more than allow me to make up the money I need to rebuy all new furniture, get a new place and buy my precious pet skunky skunk.

I know everyone in California thinks its the best state ever, but I'm pretty stoked about Georgia. What's not to love about a state that 1. allows pet skunks and 2. has a super rad song written about it (obviously, I'm referring to Peaches, by the Presidents of the United States of America). Cool songs are always a good indicator of the actual coolness level of a state. Case in point: How many cool songs are there about Oklahoma? ZERO. Because it is the lamest state in the U.S. with its only redeeming factor being the OKC Thunder.

So in conclusion sad to leave all my friends in CA, but super excited to actually be able to save money. And own a skunk. Obviously.

xoxo. Jildo

Happy Thanksdrinking

Dear Friends, Compadres, Amigos,

I hope you are all splayed out on your couches, bear rugs or counter tops laden with thanksgiving child. You know, the mashed potato, tryptophan, jellied cranberries, green bean cassa-whoa, pumpkin pie baby in your belly thanksgiving child. So what are you thankful for?

Have you saved money this year? Did you remember to pre-party before you went to the bars? Did you remember not to want the beer too much, so that hottie at the end of the bar bought it for you before you gave in to your alcoholism? Maybe you are thankful for the Tuesday night movies? They are cheaper than the regular movies after all.

What am I thankful for? I'm thankful that I don't have to spend Thanksgiving alone. Despite the fact that I had to work this glorious Thanksgiving morning (which by the way is actually pretty clutch, because you get double time and everyone is nicer to you because they feel bad that you have to work on Turkey Day), my sister decided to drive up to Santa Barbara to spend this joyous holiday with me.

By 4:15pm we each had a glass of pinot noir in our hands, had the turkey breast (hey there were only two of us) in the oven, potatoes boiling and green beans prepped and ready to go. The cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie (homemade, obviously) were in the fridge and we were fast on our way to our first duo-ass-kicking thanksgiving meal.

We laughed, we cried-- ok mainly me when I downed my cold medicine with my glass of wine and I laughed so hard I cried, because everything Dav said sounded funny. What am I saying? Was funny. Obviously. Anyways, I just wanted to write a blog in honor of this glorious holiday. I mean it does promote saving after all. Well, really all holidays. Any occasion that promotes togetherness is a big winner, because I think we all know that more is less.

Example: Costco.

Over and out. Jildo

P.S. Daverede mentioned that in my alcohol laden state I may want to save and proof read at a later date. But you know what I say? No, dear friends, I will give you this post with no corrections or amendments, because.... Wait for it... It's going to be... Legen... Wait for it... Wait for it... Dary!

Santa Crack

Hi, my name is Jillian and I'm an addict. I am addicted to Santa. That's right, you heard me, I want me some of that Santa crack. Maybe you haven't heard of it before, but I'm positive that you and at least ten of your friends are currently addicted and using without even knowing. Yes, Santa Crack is the most widely used drug in the United States today.

You think I'm shitting you? Sure, laugh it off, but when you go to Starbucks or Coffee Bean in November and December tell me you don't want to order that Winter Wonderland Tea Latte, Pumpkin Spice Seduction or Dark Chocolate Peppermint Mocha whore. LIAR!!!! Whether you do or not you want that holiday drink. Whipped cream? Yes, please!

If you think Santa Crack stops there you are in bigger trouble than I thought. It's everywhere you go. You walk in a department store and suddenly it all becomes clear. You need that 12 piece entertaining set with the fuzzy brown bears playing hide and seek in the ever greens- you aren't ever going to throw a party, but damn will they look good through the glass doors of your armoire. Or that spatula with Santas face on it? Who doesn't want to flip pancakes on a beard as white as snow? I sure as heck do.

Today I used again for the first time since last holiday season. I didn't mean to. I went to CVS to refill a prescription. Just a quick trip. In and out. But when I entered through the automatic sliding doors I felt my impending doom closing in around me. Rows and rows of bows and lights and jolly santa figurines stand between me and the pharmacy. Close your eyes, focus. Eyes on the prize. In that moment I knew what had to be done- so I lowered my head, let my arms settle into 90 degree angles at my sides and sprinted like Santa would in the off season (you know when he's a ripped stud) to the back of the store.

My problem? Like Ethan Hawke in Gattaca I didn't save anything for the trip back. By the time I made it back out the sliding doors I had four bags of Santa Crack on my arm, my wallet $150 lighter. Am I proud of myself no, but I don't think you can make it through the holiday season without indulging a little- and if you do there are probably adverse lingering h effects. So, here's to my first Christmas purchase of the season!

Xoxo. Jildo

P.S. Just a note of fore warning... You may want to avoid me the first week of January. The come down from Santa crack is rough. For some reason the damn pharmaceutical industry hasn't come up with Santa patches to ween us off the holiday cheer. Pigs.

A Modern Goldilocks

I don't want your porridge. I want your bagel.

Ok, I know I'm weird. But this past week and a half all I've been craving for breakfast is an Everything bagel with cream cheese. Of course I could go to the grocery store and buy a pack, but in my experience bagels always taste better when they're not yours.

Who has the best bagel? I could get a free bagel at work, but I've had those before- too much bagel for me. No, literally they are huge. Plus, there's no bagel cutter. It takes like ten minutes to just cut through the damn thing. Seriously, our knives are so dull a mental ward wouldn't give a second thought to handing over ten to their most suicidal patient. No, that bagel will never be the perfect bagel.

Maybe Coffee Bean. I still have that Coffee Bean gift card from my birthday. Two weeks of free bagels? I went Tuesday before work. They don't have Everything bagels. PAUSE. Who the fuck doesn't have Everything bagels?! I mean come-on! If bagels were to ice cream, everything is synonymous to chocolate. I think you would agree with me, if I said there's no point of having ice cream without the flavor chocolate. Likewise, what's the point of bagels, if there is no Everything.

I try to shrug off this setback, I mean I do pride myself on being open to new ideas. "I'll have a combination bagel." Maybe Combination is the same as Everything and they just don't know it's a sucky name. Toasted with cream cheese? Obviously. The man behind the counter hands me hope in a brown bag- I feel like Marshall from How I Met You Mother on his search for the perfect burger- on the precipice of a possible life changing moment.

I pull it out of the bag and sink my teeth in it. WTF!? Hard? Cold? It just came out of the toaster. How the hell did they do that? I decide it was probably a fluke, so I went back yesterday and repeated the whole scenario. Nothing changed. A breath of relief escaped my lips, I wouldn't have to lie to myself after all. Combination bagels are a joke compared to Everything bagels. I spit on Combination bagels. Phew phew!

What else was there to do? Would I just have to settle? Mrrrrrr. NEVER!!!! This morning I found the perfect bagel. I wokeup at 7am, instantly hungry, of course. There's no time to shower, put on make up or even real clothes. So me in my red plaid Semester at Sea pajama pants, pistachio green "You Matter" t-shirt, and traffic cone orange Patagonia fleece I schlep to the Daily Grind.

No gift card to get a free bagel, all they want is my cold, hard $2.30. I hand it over and they hand me my toasted Everything (Hallelujah!!!!) bagel with whipped cream cheese. Genius! Side note: Everything should be whipped.

This time when I pull my bagel out of that brown bag angels sing. Then I bite into it... I'm in heaven. I'm in heaven and my heart beats so that I can barely speak... Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers were obviously talking about Bagel Seduction made possible by the Daily Grind in Cheek to Cheek. God, the title is so obvious.

I drive home in peace. Who knew happiness was so cost effective? Damn at $2.30 I could probably overdose on happiness. So pumped.

Xoxo. Jildo.

Locked Up Abroad... in My Backyard

Yesterday, unintentionally, I found a new way to save money. All you have to do is lock yourself out of your house without ANYTHING. Yes, true, it can become quite boring, but you literally have no way to spend money.

While Camille and I are home we usually leave our garage door to the house unlocked. Why wouldn't we? We're home. But yesterday, as I am headed out the door to the grocery store a handy man comes by to do some work in the back yard. He already has the code to the garage, so I decide for safety reasons to lock the garage door. Makes sense right? And, then for good measure I lock the sliding door from the dining room to the backyard.

Now when I get back from the grocery store do I think to unlock these doors? Nuh uh. I'm in the middle of making an apple pie- so, obviously I'm consumed with making sure the dough for the crust is good, yadda yadda yadda. I put the pie in the oven, throw some clothes in the wash and settle down to watch some TV. Fifty minutes go by. I check on the pie. It could use ten more minutes. I check on the laundry (the door closes behind me- I of course think nothing of it)-- ready to go in the dryer.

After transferring my clothes to the dryer I turn to head back into the house and my yummy pie. I grab the door handle. FUCK. For about 5 minutes I jangle the door handle hoping that it might just pop open. Yea, no such luck. Then I think hey! I have my tool set right here, I can just pick the lock! You can imagine how this went. Two minutes later: New plan- I will take the door off its hinges! I have screwdrivers and needle nose pliers to pull the pins out. This will totally work!

It totally didn't work. The pins must have been glued in.  New plan- I'll check the perimeter- maybe I can get in through another door or window. After sweeping the perimeter, I discover why we don't have an alarm system. Our house is inpenetrable, unless you physically break a window. All the door hinges have rusted so much that they won't budge an inch. And windows are apparently just for show as none of them really open.

At this point thirty minutes have past, I've given up hope for my pie. It's dead. I sit down outside beside the sliding glass door. Angel, Camille's dog, comes over and stares at me from the inside. In my head I half hope that Angel has super powers and can reach the lock, turn it and let me in. She nudges the curtains with her nose. Is she gonna do it?! Of course not. FAIL. Angel gives me a sucks for you look, and returns to her cushy seat on the sofa.

There was nothing I could do, but wait for Camille to get home. So I grabbed a towel out of the dryer and snuggled up for a nap on our backyard furniture. And, thats exactly what I did- nothing- for 3+ hours. No money was spent- no damage done- save a sad little pie.

Here's to stupid actions that force you to save. Ugh.

xoxo. Jildo

Blacked Out

Usually blackouts follow excessive shots of tequila or sake bombs, but my computer doesn't have any valid excuses. Ok, so she's by a window that gets a lot of sun and I hardly ever turned her off- but come on! Who doesn't love the sun? And, powering down?! I'm sorry my computer is my night light (it's ok to still have a night light at 26 right? I mean so much better than hiding under the covers- breathing is way more essential than feeling safe-most of the time).

So maybe I haven't been the best computer parent, but I loved her dammit! Now whether it's due to my bad parenting or natural aging, my computer has decided to black out. I went to the Apple store today to access the damage- $500 to fix the display. Computer, I love you, but I don't know if I love you that much. If my computer could bark and lick my face in the morning to wake me up, it would be a different story, but I'm still waiting for that to happen.

I walked out of Apple defeated. Should I put her down? Was it time for her to go to computer heaven? She's still aware of everything around her- in my efforts to get her screen to come back to life she'll sporadically start playing episodes of How I Met Your Mother or jam to my iTunes playlist. Thus, I ask you, knowing that she is still in there am I a monster if I trade her in? Remove her hard drive and start over? Will she still be the computer I know and love if I give her a $1,100 facelift?

Sigh. So bummed.

Xoxo, Jildo.

He said "You're just a young girl bitching..."

Last night at bootcamp my friend Jeff aka Jeffe comes up to me and says "I like your blog, its cool."

Thanks :).

Jeff: "I mean, you're just a young girl bitching, but it's cool."

Face/Palm. Uh, thanks?

I obviously was not quite sure how to take this.  I decided to just walk away with the positive- he called me a young girl. Woo! That's a compliment for someone thats on the back nine. I was almost as pumped by this as when I got pulled over in Pasadena three years ago for making an illegal left turn and the cop wrote on my ticket that I only weighed 120lbs- hahahaha. (That ticket was totally worth it. Totally.)

So, anyways based on the last blog you have probably already guessed that my irresponsibility is costing me mucho dinero. Its so funny after I got my car rekeyed and then found my keys I called my dad and he said "Jillian you are normally very responsible, so you know if you ever need any help that's what I'm here for." I obviously don't feel very responsible right now, but I am so so so lucky to have parents that are there for me.

Pre- car rekey I had enough money in my checking account to pay off my credit card in full. Post- car rekey I don't want to look- especially since all I had on me at the time was my debit card. $250 gone. Adios! See ya later! In situations like these I have just come to the conclusion that the only way to think about it is maybe someone else needed the money more than me.

Good news? I have to work overtime this week so hopefully that will make up for my ridiculous ridiculousness.

over and out. Jildo

Dude, Where's My Car... Key

There comes a time in every persons life when they realize its time to grow up.

My alarm went off at 5:30am this morning- a tad early considering I didn't have to be at work until 7:30am. Why was my alarm going off? I rolled over and went back to sleep. At 6:15am I work up again and checked my phone.

Text from Ariana at 1:30am: "I have your car keys."

Text from Camille at 1:33am: "Ariana has your car keys please don't leave the house, its not safe to be out right now."

Text from Ariana at 5:45am: "Pick you up at 6:30am, we'll ride to work together... bad news... I don't really have your car keys."

I roll over and do a face/palm (I feel like I do this a lot in my life)... give myself a minute to regroup and then pull myself out of bed. I turn on the lights and survey myself in the mirror. I'm in full running gear- heart rate monitor and all. Great. I grab my clutch from the night before- its completely empty- cash, credit card, drivers license and car keys all gone. I remember pulling out everything save my car keys when I got home last night so they had to be somewhere... at least I wasn't a complete failure.

I check the time, 6:20am. Ten minutes. I run to the bathroom brush my teeth, fix my smudged eyeliner and throw my hair up in a pony tail.

My phone starts to vibrate. Ariana is outside waiting with coffee and an everything bagel- ANGEL. ANGEL.

By the time we get in to work I've remembered everything from the night before. Drove to Ariana, Ashley and Erica's house downtown. Parked my car on the street and we walked to State Street. 12:30am Camille picked me up downtown on her way home from work. 1am I laced up my running shoes to retrieve my car... halfway down the street I realize I do not have my car key. I run back home tear my room apart, still no keys. None of my friends have seen them either- although Ariana says she has them to make me go to bed (smart girl).

I spend the first 30 minutes at work researching locksmiths (I figure this is ok since I am 30 minutes early and not clocked in). $250 to rekey my car. FML. Time to grow up Jillian. Time to grow up.

Hope this never happens to you.

XOXO, Jildo.

Seatjacked

Before I boarded my flight out of LAX friday in the wee hours of the morning the thought of my unknown flight buddies crossed my mind. I'm not sure what it is, but everytime I fly I end up sitting next to wackadoos. I laughed in my head, not this time. No trying to politely avoid conversations or sweetly declining help with my crossword, word find, etc (entertain yourselves damnit!). No at 1:40am no one would try and bother me... Sweet zzz's here I come!

I think God must really like to fuck with me- and thats fine hes blessed me above and beyond- so if I have to endure a crappy plane ride for his shits and giggles thats completely fine. You see I failed to recognize the possibility that one or both of my seat buddies could be H.O.U.S.'s. Yes, thats right. Humans of an unusual size.

There's a brief moment after you board and you are standing in the aisle gazing toward the back of the plane when the flight seems full of hope. You spot a few normal people that look like they smell good- you could work with that- or how bout those emo kids with the headphones on? They're probably super weird, but you know they won't talk to you. But then you get to your row: 15... look to the person in the window seat and say FML.

That is exactly what happened to me Friday morning. There in the window seat AND the middle seat was Bubba or maybe Skinny Mike who wasn't skinny at all. Now normally I know better than to book a middle seat (why double your odds of having forced annoying conversation for God knows how many hours?), but believe it or not by the time I booked my flight ALL of the aisle seats were taken... Damnit!

I motioned to Biggie that I had the seat next to him. He sucked in his being long enough for me to squeeze one of my ass cheeks onto the seat. I looked up at the armrest- what should have been my ally was just taunting me. It just got down to the laws of space. This man was occupying ALL of it.

Part of me wanted to say, "Hey, Bub, you wanna pay me for half my seat?" But I thought better of it- getting half a seat for four hours was better than him taking over the whole seat and crushing me with his large ass- despite what you may think I really don't want my gravestone to say "Crushed by the Man."

I survived the ordeal, albeit a bit traumatized, but it did make me think. I know the airlines do recommend that larger persons buy two seats or fly first class. Well, I propose a third option. Sell half seats for budget friendly travelers. Big people don't have to buy two whole seats and skinny people can save money.

Deal?

Xoxo. Jildo

The Honorary Mexican

Sometimes we do crazy things to save money. Sometimes we roll taquitos for 4+ hours for free food and ice cream. Sometimes mid roll, while we are trying to contain that deliciously shredded chicken inside the fresh-off-the-grill corn tortilla an ex-con asks for our phone number. (And by "we" and "our" I mean "me". el-o-el.- that's "lol" in Mexican- err, yah- Mexican.)

Yes. All that just happened.

The beginning of October is a glorious time for the Central Coast of California. The air starts to get a little nippier, the trees start to get a little prettier and in the Santa Ynez valley all the winemakers harvest their grapes. But in Santa Barbara County there is a different harvest that gets all the locals with their pumped up kicks excited. Yup, that's right, the avocado harvest.

We Californians (I think I can claim this now that I have been here for 7 years) take our avocados VERY seriously. I would almost say you could compare our general feeling for avocados to that of the Egyptians feelings for cats. Si. Avocado's are our GODS! Gods that we we want to stuff our faces with. To celebrate this amazing fruit (yes, fruit, there is a seed), every year Carpinteria puts on the Annual Avocado Festival.

Just imagine one long street with vendor after vendor selling all things avocado- guacamole, burritos with guacamole, tacos with guacamole, fried avocados, avocado ice cream and taquitos with guacamole! You ever wonder what Heaven will be like- just visit Carp the first weekend of October. Screw streets made of gold, my heaven has streets made of avocado. NOM NOM NOM. I know, Heaven just got WAYYYY cooler.

Anyways, so on Thursday I texted my friend Jes (yes, I realize I do mention her a lot in my blog- but I swear she's not my only friend- just my coolest), to see if she wanted to hang out.

Jes: "No dice Salsa, I'm rolling taquitos. Remember?"
Me: "Ahh" (yes, I did remember- her church had a taquito booth at the Avocado Festival).

I offered my help... "Want help?"

That's how it all started. Of course as soon as she told me there was all I could eat food and soft serve ice cream, there was no way I was doing anything else on my Thursday night. Plus, I'm not going to lie, I was a wee bit excited about rolling really real, authentic Mexican taquitos :D.

(I have always had a fascination with Mexican food. Mostly because I am HA-BSESSED with it- if there was ever a food that speaks to the people its Mexican food. I was completely stoked- I got to be Mexican for a night! Woo hoo!)

So at 5:30pm on Thursday, Jes picked me up and we rolled to the Taquito Rolling Headquarters- Tropicana in I.V.- obviously.  She set me up at one of the stations and her friend Laura taught me how to roll. An hour later when the convict crew showed up, I was giving tutorials on "How to Roll." I think it may have been my finest hour in life.

That's how it went all night- me, Jes, her church friends and the convict crew rolling taquitos. I'm telling you, if you want to have fun- roll taquitos with that group of people. HEYA! hahaha. So, not only did I have a TON of fun, make a bunch of new friends, roll a buhjillian taquitos- but I was making financially responsible decisions. FREE FOOD! WOO!

And, yes, I did have a convict- well ex-convict ask me for my number. Maybe I don't need to do online dating after all....

HAHAHAHAHA.

No, I didn't give it to him.

Over and Out, Jildo "The Honorary Mexican"- because I roll a damn good taquito.

P.S. Jes- next year- I'm coming all FOUR taquito rolling nights. No more holding out on the fun now that I know whats up!

Secrets Don't Make Friends

My senior year of high school I took a playwriting class. My teacher, Mr. Hughes, told everyone to get out a piece of paper and write down our deepest, darkest secret. He told us to fold the paper in half and hand it to the person sitting next to us. I think all 15 of us had simultaneous heart failure. He laughed, "You can keep your secret, but when you write a play, when you are trying to figure out what story you want to tell- you want to have that feeling. Complete vulnerability."

I got a text from my friend Jes today: "I miss your blog, write, damn it, write."

Sigh. For the past week I've been thinking about this next entry. I know, I know, I am a complete nerd. This blog may help me curb my spending, but I also don't want to bore the crap out of you. So, when I write a new entry, I really do try to have something new and interesting or at least embarrassing to say.

This past week nothing stood out. All the bills are the same old bills. All the spending struggles are the same ones that I've always had. Could it be? Was I all washed up? Was I... DUN DUN DUN... Boring now?! AHHHHHHHH.

No. I'm definitely not boring now. I actually do have a new development that is affecting my budget. Yes, this is where that deep, dark secret that you never want to tell ANYONE comes in. (Naturally, because I don't want to tell anyone, I'm going to tell EVERYONE... Because that's what being a good blogger is all about.)

Ok. Here goes. I have entered the world of online dating.

Pause.

Yup, I'm completely serious. I'll give you a moment to reassess your opinions of me...  MOMENT. Ok, now its my turn to defend my decision...

FREEDOM!!!! (insert William Wallace charging into battle here)

1. Its just good math (and I love math- not as much as writing- but its up there)

No, seriously. Think about it. What do you do on a day to day basis? I go to work 40 hours a week. I work with mostly girls. When I'm not at work I hang out with my girlfriends. When I'm not hanging out with my girlfriends I'm at bootcamp, which is 80% girls. So, unless I plan on becoming a lesbian (NOT HAPPENING)- this whole falling in love thing probably ain't gonna happen. Oh, wait, you are right! I completely forgot about all the quality guys I meet at bars. HAHAHA. Yeaaaahhhhhhh. Online dating it is.

But on to the important part: How online dating is affecting my budget. You may think you know where this is going, but you don't! No, I am not saving money, despite getting free food/drinks! Yes- I can do math. Hardy, har, har. I'm not saving money, because no one in Santa Barbara participates in online dating. Wait, no, let me rephrase that. No normal people (aside from myself of course), participate in online dating here. Consequently, I am finding myself "meeting" people in LA and driving halfway to get food/drinks.

Do you know what this does to my gas tank? Do you know?! Ok, so this is only a recent development. I joined the online dating scene two weeks ago. But, in that time I have already had two dates. That's an extra quarter of a tank of gas a week! I'm telling you it adds up.

Will I give up? Throw in the towel? No! Not unless I meet the wrong person and they end up being a psycho and I get chopped up in little pieces. But hey, where's the reward if you don't take a few teensy weensy risks? I really don't need all my fingers and toes. Extraneous.

Over and Out. Jildo

Free Advice

There's a reason free advice is free... it usually sucks.

Since I have become recently single, my mother has started imparting relationship advice on me. Apparently if you "fuck up" a five year relationship there is something seriously wrong with you and you NEED help with life. On the bright side her advice has been free- we all know I can't afford to pay. But on the downside, well I'll let you judge the quality of the advice for yourself.

First Email:
"Just read some interesting articles online about relationships--7 mistakes women make, 8 tips to make him fall in love w/you. check it out..."

HAHAHAHAHA. Ok, now before I even comment on the actual content of the email, can I just say that there was no link. She later told me she thought I could just google the keywords she sent me and I would get the same article. I assured her there were probably about a buhjillian cosmo articles on the same exact thing.

Second- the content. Really? Really? Mom- I love you to death- but this relationship mumbo jumbo is ridiculous. The only reason people write articles on this kind of stuff is because when we are 13 years old and our hormones are raging and we just want to kiss a boy we think Cosmo has all the answers (and they know we will buy their magazines). The truth is we just have to grow up and beeee ourselves. Well this works unless your personality sucks and you are a stage 5 clinger... then the articles might help, probably not, but for you it is worth a shot.

After explaining to my mother that if she would really like to impart "wisdom" on me she should include a link, she sent the following email (no link, she just rewrote the entire article- because apparently that was easier?):

Second Email:
(Excerpt on things women should "NEVER DO"- and I'm shortening this because I can't stand long tirades and bullet points are soooo much cooler)

• He's responsible for calling & will when he's ready to
• Don't cry if he holds your hand
• Don't tell him about outfits you make for your cat
• Don't give him a card unless its his birthday- and absolutely no mushy note!
• Hold off on the horizontal polka
• When in bed don't ask questions about your relationship

All very valid points right? lol. Can I just say that these tips just bring a few thoughts to my mind:

1. What if he lives in Katmandu and doesn't have a phone?
2. How tight is he holding my hand?
3. I don't have a cat and I can't sew, so I'm pretty sure this is irrelevant
4. How about I just give him coal? And punch him in the face? hmm?
5. Hahaha. Yah. Thanks mom.
6. So does this mean these questions are ok in any other locale? haha

I think what shes trying to tell me is that Helen Keller was the perfect girl. Don't you?

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did.

XOXO. Jildo

P.S. Mom, I really do love you to death. Don't EVER change.

The Responsible Slut

Apparently if you buy something from FlirtCatalog.com you better know you want it. Sure they have a 15 day return policy- that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the public humiliation of the return.

My beautiful skunk costume arrived while I was out of town. When I got home from Arizona I tried it on immediately. And by tried it on I mean I put one leg in it and called it a day. What am I a freaking pencil?! No. RE-TURRRRRNN. There was an option to exchange, but by this point I was over it. Time to get $140 back.

I box up the costume, write down the return address and head to UPS. As I walk in the door and approach the counter, a UPS stud comes to help me- tall, tan, broad shoulders, blue eyes. Pretty damn attractive. I hand him the box and the piece of paper with the address on it. He starts tippity tapping away.

"So...." he says, looking up at me, "shop at FlirtCatalog.com often?"

FML. God damnit. Really? Really? You would think God would cut me a little slack here... I am trying to be financially responsible by returning my ridiculously expensive skunky skunk outfit.

I cough. "Uh, no, it was my first time."

I curse myself mentally. He laughs.

"Can I get your number?" Pause. "For tracking purposes?"

I recite my number and quickly hand him my credit card. I tap my foot, look at the ground.

Swipe... swipe... I will him mentally to take the payment.

SAAAA-WWWWIIIIII-SSSSSSSHHHHH. Could you swipe a credit card any slower? Really? I'm pretty sure Little Foot could have swiped my card faster while wallowing in a pit of tar.

After what seems like an eternity he gives me my card back.

"Thanks" I say.

"No problem, we'll get this back to FlirtCatalog.com right away." He grabs the box, a grin spreading across his face.

I want to die. I look toward the back of the store where he takes the box. His associate, a rotund, jolly fellow is sitting down, talking on the phone. UGHHHH! Why couldn't he have helped me?! Can't a girl catch a break? Apparently not.

Lesson for the day: Think before you shop at websites with names like "FlirtCatalog.com"- there are ALWAYS consequences.

XoXo. Jildo

Put It On the Dad Tab

When I said I wanted to have money saved so I could be there for the people I love, I meant it. But by no means am I anywhere close to that point yet--my temporary solution:

A. If I love you, you are not allowed to get sick (That's right. I want you getting 8 hours of sleep a night, drinking so much green tea that your pee has healing powers and grinning from ear to ear when you wake up, even if you have to force yourself too. And, yes, I will know if you are doing this or not.)

if you can't handle option A... I have come up with an alternative:

B. I will force myself to stop loving all you people (Yes. That's right. If you can't love yourself enough to do the very best you can to keep yourself healthy, I will be forced to stop loving you. I mean it.)

Last week despite all his healthy lifestyle choices my grandfather had a heart attack. And, as his wife, Debbo, would later point out in the hospital after he had been resuscitated:

Debbo: "Donno, can I just tell you something? Can I be honest?"

Gpa Don: "Yeah?"

Debbo: "You were dead. You know that? You were dead for fifteen minutes."

Gpa Don: "I was?"

Debbo: "Yup. You were dead."

Thanks to my Dad I was able to rush out to Arizona to be with my grandfather throughout the whole scary ordeal. For a whole week everything went on the "Dad Tab"-- plane tickets, breakfast, lunch, dinner. I love the Dad Tab, made me feel like a kid again.

I did contribute periodically. There was that one time we were playing cards in the hospital cafeteria that I got hungry and I spent $.67 of my own money to buy an apple. Or how about when we went to Walgreens to stock up on supplies and I bought myself that pack of Circus Peanuts? That was a solid $.99.

The Dad Tab is a beautiful, beautiful thing...that is until the whole family starts to go bananas from being together for 12+ hours a day, sitting around waiting for news, drinking cup after cup after cup of coffee to pass the time (which isn't all together un-enjoyable if you love coffee as much as i do. YUM).

The first 4 days we all kept it together pretty well. You could only slightly tell that we were all teetering on the edge of insanity. By day 5 it got downright ugly. We all had different breaking points. For me it was playing cards with my father, cousin Kealey, my dad's wife, Robin and my aunt, Tierney. We were playing Phase 10, this ridiculous card game that sucks ass (and not just because I lost!), and I could just not get past phase 6. You had to get a run of nine (its like a straight in poker). I had been on the phase for 8 hands, because my family members kept completing their phases before I could get on the board. FINALLY, FINALLY I was dealt a perfect run of 9. I didn't need a damn thing. I was so f*ing pumped. My aunt Tierney got to play first.

She got dealt a perfect hand, too. Jildo had just got screwed, by her very own aunt. It was at that moment that I went Coocoo for Cocopuffs. If you can picture me slamming my forehead to the table in repetitive FML movements that would probably be pretty accurate. The fun didn't stop there.

With visiting hours coming to a close the whole family schlepped back to the hotel for the complimentary happy hour (which was more like I'm so stressed out pour me a scotch on the rocks/vodka soda/whiskey diet/pinot gris/gin and tonic hour- now lets play guess who's drink is who's! Haha jk. We don't need to do that). The happy hour was then followed by dinner at a local sushi restaurant. My dad drove. My dad stopped in the middle of the street to let everyone out. My dad got pulled over by the po. Poor dad.

By the time we finally sat down to eat, I wanted to face plant my bed at the hotel. Debbo and I sat quietly on our side of the table and talked about how good her seaweed salad was and about how weird the music at the restaurant was. Dad kept ordering more food- you would have thought he were feeding an army. It stopped at some point and we all crawled back to the hotel and fell into our beds.

I wish I could have appreciated the Dad Tab more. If only I hadn't been mentally mind f**ked and exhausted beyond comprehension.

I finally fell into my own bed last night. No more Dad Tab. Sigh. Just glad that my grandfather is alive and on the road to recovery.

XOXO. Jildo.

P.S. Happy Birthday Daddio :D

Death and Taxes

Everyone has heard it before. There are two certainties in life: death and taxes.

Two days ago I pulled myself out of my bed to go to work. I had only gotten three hours of sleep the night before (partly because I really wanted to stay up to blog, but mostly because I had had pre-birthday drinks), but I didn't care because it was my birthday and I was pumped.

WARNING: Proceed with caution. This post is more serious than not. Do not pass go, do not collect $200 if you cannot handle it.

I was born on 9/11. Which most of you probably knew (thanks for the wonderful bday wishes). When I was born it was a totally cool date. Ten years ago it turned into a totally sucky date and yesterday I officially dubbed it a cursed date.

It was 10:30am, the phone rang at work. I picked it up. When the person on the other end of the line started to speak everything froze. "Jillian, it's your mom."

Silence. "What?"

Again. "Jillian. It's your mom. You need to call your dad. Your grandfather has had a heart attack."

She keeps talking. Probably telling me what has happened, any details she has, but I can't hear anything. My ears just start buzzing and a huge unpenetrable cloud envelopes me. Unconsciously my elbows and forearms drop to the desk. This can't be happening. This CANNOT be happening.

I cried a lot. My boss asked me if I needed to sit down. I went to the back office and dialed my dad. I wanted to be strong for him, its his father, but I can't keep my voice from shaking. He tells me they, my gpa and his wife, are at the Grand Canyon. Get on a plane now, he says.

My grandfather is the healthiest person I know. He is 81 years old, but he is probably morefit than I am. No joke. He works out 5 days a week, spins, lifts weight,and is on a next to no cholesterol diet. He is freaking ripped. So for my father to tell me I need to get on a plane stat, I know its not good.

Two and a half hours after I get the call I'm headed to LAX to catch a plane to Flagstaff, AZ. Ten hours later I'm next to my grandfather at Flagstaff Medical Center.

To be continued.

NOTE: I thought about not sharing what has been going on the past few days. I thought hey, it's really personal. Is it inappropriate? Your blog is about money, does it even have anything to do with that? But then I thought, you know what... This is the whole reason I started the blog. Family. Friends. Yah, my monetary rehabilitation is probably for the most part amusing... So its easy to lose sight of the real reason for financial responsibility. I need to be financially stable, because I need to be there for my family and friends at the drop of a hat. I need to know that at any moment I can just get up and go anywhere.

Everything is ok- no need to respond or offer condolensces. I'm not telling you for that. I just hope it puts into perspective what is truly important in this life.

Xoxo. Jildo

Skunk'd

When you start playing the back nine, you start to get serious. That's right you pull out the magnifying glass. I found that out tonight-- thanks, Alexi.

Tonight starts out like any regular night. I get a text from Jes: "Our Idiot Brother" tonight, you down? Its at 9:50pm.

I'm in.

7:30pm. Jes: Wanna come over and pre booze before the movie.

Do I need to tell you what happens from here? I think so. So we're all hanging out having a good time... social boozing, then social foodtrucking, then non-social boozing at the movie (can I say that?).
So far a pretty, fucking rad night (aside from the burger that they tried to- ok they did- serve me on a Ciabatta. What's up with that? Wrong on so many levels, but thats neither here nor there.)

By the time the movie gets out its a quarter to midnight. I have to get up at 6am to work. We head back to Jes and Alexi's. I stand at the door with my purse on my shoulder.

Alexi: What are you doing? Sit down. Birthday shot.

They have tequila. I'm always in for tequila.

I take the shot, Jes sings "Good morning" to me in spanish (which apparently is the authentic mexican birthday song- but it never actually says birthday in it... although it does say cake, so I guess that will work) and then the MAGNIFYING glass comes out.

Soo.... you're 26. Tweeennnty-six.

Alexi: It's cool, chicks just get way hotter with age.

Me: (in some what of an alcohol blur) I'm 26 years old and I bought a skunk outfit for $140... I didn't even get the boots with the fur!

Wait. Rewind. Yes, this past week I bought my Halloween costume. I was soooo completely stoked. I have ALWAYS, ALWAYS wanted to be a skunk for Halloween. My spirit animal is the skunk (no I'm not joking. Really. This is me being dead serious right now. Skunks, they just like me... no, they find me. But they don't spray me so it's all good). Anyways, since skunks and I seem to get along so well I have always wanted to be a skunk for Halloween.

Randomly last week, while googling "vegas dresses", I came across the website FlirtCatalog.com. I know, I know. You don't have to say anything- you can just laugh your asses off now. So, I'm perusing the dresses and then I see the light "COSTUMES". Score!

I start scrolling through the costumes and I'm actually pretty impressed. Sure they have the regular slutty, unoriginal, way overplayed costumes, but they also have some really rad ones-- like the hamster costumes from those stupid car commercials. You know what I'm talking about.

When I get to about page 8, I see it, my skunk outfit. It was everything I had ever wished for and more. A fluffy skunk headdress, skunk arm warmers, skunk corset, skunk skirt, fluffy skunk tail and boots with the fluffy skunk fur. I had stars in my eyes. PURCHASE!

I didn't even have to think about it. When you know, you know.

I felt sooo good about my purchase... that is until tonight. While I was hanging out with my friends, I of course wanted to show them my HA-MAZING outfit. We go to the webpage.

Jes: You paid $140 for that? You don't even get the headdress, arm warmers or boots with the fur.

WTFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF.

Jes: Salsa (this is me). Salsa, did you not read the fine print?

FUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKK.

I am now 26 years old and I still can't read the fucking fine print. It's not that I can't, I'm just too impatient. But obviously, by not reading the fine print I got SKUNK'd... for $140.

Sometimes I think I might be bringing shame and dishonor on my family (yes, that is a reference to Mulan).

Gah, so disappointed in myself right now. So disappointed.

I swear I'm not a retard all the time.

Jildo

P.S. Sorry if this story is a bit discombobulated. There were multiple drinks tonight. But I am happy to report we didn't bring out the salsa machine.

Thanks to my amazing friends for the perfect start of my back nine.

Dental Work for the Dumbass?

There is a reason I hike and run for exercise. I DON'T WANT TO DIE.

Yah, seriously. Me and balls, we don't get along so well. In elementary school I took a swing at softball- the only time I got on base was when I was walked for getting hit by the ball. In middle school it was tennis. The ball ALWAYS got stuck in the hole below the face of the racket. And, in high school, when I was required to take gym class, (although I opted for the safer option of walking the perimeter of the gym) I would without a doubt get hit by stray volleys from the volleyball quart.

For some reason adults choose to surround kids with the most fucking dangerous objects. Its like its a freaking joke. Hahaha. Let's see if little Jilly can survive all the f**king balls we'll throw at her today. Survival of the fittest honey, sure you will do great!!! Despite a few scrapes and bruises, I DID survive the dominant presence of balls in adolescence.

You might think I would have a better handle on balls now that I am older. A little more seasoned, quicker reflexes, better at running and dodging. Heh. Neh eh.

First day back to boot camp. Ten minute warm up and then six movements. I get through the first five exhausted, but intact. The last station? Squat/jump/throw with medicine balls. AWESOME. Balls. I grab the 20lb ball. Squat. Check. Jump. Check. Throw. Check. Get hit in the jaw with the 20lb medicine ball when it bounces off of the asphalt. FUCCCCKKKK. Chris, one of the trainers, laughs. "Don't worry, no one saw that but me." Heh, I laugh.

Yah, no one saw me slam a 20lb ball into my face, but they will sure as hell know about it when I can't move my fucking jaw and have to spend $30K+ on a bone grafting surgery. No, I'm sure its not that bad- at least I hope not. But, this whole ordeal has made me reflect on my monetary rehabilitation. I will always need to have more money saved than other people, because I am a damn klutz. Sucks... balls.

I'll keep you posted on the jaw sitch. Right now it just f**king hurts. Gahhh. I really need to invest in full body armor... or maybe just head to toe foam padding. That might work.

Mrrrr. Jildo

P.S. No one is allowed to call me "Jilly". EVER. (except maybe Natalia, but that's just because she's been doing it forever).

$600 for 4 Minutes

I am paying Jenny Schatzle (best damn trainer in Santa Barbara) $600 over the next 3 months to kick my ass, so I can PR my next half at 1:50. Now on any ordinary day you would freak out and tell me this is MOST DEFINITELY not in my budget. But today you are not going to say or even think that, because last week I told you I am no longer spending $80,000 on business school. Look at that! God, I am so good at budgeting.

(Actually, the whole business school thing was just a rouse so when I told you I was shelling out $600 to shave 4 minutes off of my best half time, you would nod your head in silent appreciation. "That makes sense. It's only $600. What a steal of a deal.")

Still not convinced, huh? Jeez. Tough audience. You are just like my mom. When I stopped taking boot camp back in April to save money, my mom said "Sweetie, you don't need to pay someone to tell you what do." Guess what mom, I DO, especially if I want to run my next half faster than I've run one before. Sure, I can run on my own until my feet fall off, but that is only going to get me so far (probably to Goleta and back, and probably not that quickly). What I need to run faster is not more time on treadmills, roads or trails. What I need to run faster is those damn squats, jump squats, lunges, jump lunges, burpees, tire flips and maybe even... dare I say it? Shhh... the prowler.  I think we all know none of those things are happening on their own. (Damn Schatzle, I think I'm bleeding blue for you). 

So here's to getting my ass kicked for the next three months. Woo hoo! So PUMPED.

Over and Out. Jildo

Golfing for Boobs

"So, I know you can booze, but can you swing a club?"

Three weeks ago my friend Jes invited me to be on her golf team for todays charity golf tournament at Glen Annie. It's a scramble she said, so you don't have to kill it at every hole-- just try not to suck the WHOLE time. I said I could do that, so Jes, Veronica, Jenny and I shelled out $130 each to whack balls, look like idiots, get drunk (did I mention each hole is sponsored by a different booze?) and save boobs.

This tournament has become quite the expensive endeavor-- costing me waaayyy more than $130. There was the cost for the 10-holes of golf we squeezed in last week before the sun went down, the tokens for the driving range and then of course the pre/post boozing before each event. But on the bright side I did get a free cart rental and lots of free balls/tokens from other golfers and golf course employees-- hey, they offered!

So yes, this whole golf thing isn't really helping the budget (thanks dad for teaching me how to golf back in the day-- couldn't pick a cheaper sport, could you? Nope didn't think so.), but it's a hell of a lot of fun, so cest la vie.

Amped and ready to save the boobs!
(Did I mention all the proceeds will go towards raising money for local breast cancer treatment? Thus the excessive talk of boobs. BOOBS.)

xoxo Jildo.

D-fer. Sounds like Reefer.

D is for Defer: Part Dos.

Lets be for real. I'm not deferring. I mean technically I'm deferring, but I'm not going to go to Pepperdine. Why? Yes, the whole idea of it sounded beautiful on paper, but since I'm being honest, I'll just put it out there. I started applying for business school back in January after I was passed up for a promotion.

The message was clear: Jillian you are not good enough. "No? Ok then. What can I do to make myself a more marketable job applicant?" MBA. That was that. I can't be happy if I am not learning, progressing or facing new challenges. I HATE stagnancy. HATE IT. Capital H-H-H. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up in my mouth. So I started applying to schools.

I started thinking about my future. No, really thinking about my future. I want to buy a house. I can't buy a house now, but I sure as hell need to start planning for it now if its ever going to happen. 

Maybe this sounds weird to you... but I'm not banking on having a man to provide for me. Heck, I don't want to have to depend on someone else to take care of me. I'm not a feminist. I'm just... I dunno, watching out for myself, I guess.

In the months leading up to the end of my relationship, I would no joke have serious emotional breakdowns about living in Santa Barbara and how expensive it is. This drove my boyfriend crazy beyond no end. He would tell me that I didn't need to freak out that he would pay for things for me. "I don't want you to f**king pay for me to live!!!" And, it wasn't really that- the cost of living in Santa Barbara is high, but I was freaking out because I knew if I stayed with him he would never want to move and I would never have a career... which would mean I would be dependent on him... FOREVER.

OK. Now I really did just throw up in my mouth.

I don't think me wanting to take care of myself is a bad thing at all. It doesn't mean I don't want to have someone special in my life-- thats not the case at all. I just know I would never be happy as a stay at home mom. It would literally crush my soul.

With not getting the promotion at work and sensing the impending doom of my relationship, applying to business school was the best thing for me at the time. Until I got accepted. I was accepted into Georgia Tech's MBA program-- my first choice. It seemed perfect. My grandfather went to Tech, I grew up hearing Ramblin Wreck and watching the Georgia vs. Georgia Tech game every Thanksgiving. My father had a second home outside of Atlanta where I would live rent free until I found my own place and the resort I work at now had a sister resort in Atlanta that offered me a job-- which meant I would be applicable for in-state tuition.

But, I kept holding off on my acceptance. For some reason I just couldn't say yes. I let months roll by. Adam asked me to apply to schools in CA for his sake. So, I did... and I got in... but my heart wasn't in it. After Adam and I broke up I knew I couldn't drop $80,000 on a school that I had applied to just because someone else didn't want me to go somewhere else... especially when Jildo is trying save money!

Another promotion came up at work. I applied again, and this time I got it. You have no idea how ecstatic I was. When I got home I couldn't stop jumping up and down. Maybe when you make one change to start living for yourself again everything else just starts to fall into place.

I'm gonna go with that, cause I'm pretty damn happy now. Broke, but happy.

xoxo. Jildo.

D is for Defer

Two years ago I quit my marketing job in Pasadena and moved back to Santa Barbara for my ex-boyfriend. Huge leap of faith considering when I graduated college, I landed the job of my dreams. I've wanted to be a writer my whole life. I studied copywriting in college and spent my first year in the business world doing just that. But something was a little off. I thought it was my personal life.

I interviewed for various marketing jobs in Santa Barbara and was offered a couple of positions, but none of them seemed right. My favorite was a job offer that followed the CEO of the company telling me that he would treat me like an asshole, but if I could handle it I would have a great career.

HAHA. Thanks bud... so on board. Right?! Uhhhh. No. 

Then a crazy thing happened. I started looking at hospitality jobs. Not completely random (throughout college I worked in the hospitality industry), I had just never thought of it as a career path. I found a job, no, I found the perfect job.

When I started working at my hotel, I realized what had been missing in my life. I literally started to skip into work every day (yes, slightly embarrassing, but you just can't squash pure joy). Despite my love of writing, working a traditional 8-5 job is not for me... and will never be for me. I can't sit at a computer screen and type for 8 hours on end. That to me is torture.

Major career/life change right? I think my parents probably thought I was crazy. I mean up until this point I had my life mapped out, what classes I would take in high school to get me into the right college. What classes I would take in college to get into the Writing Minor at UCSB, what internships and clubs and connections I needed to get the right job out of college. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. I told my parents I was going to work at the hotel while I studied for the GMAT, so I could go back to school to get my MBA. Make them proud, you know?

One year passes in Santa Barbara. I take the GMAT. Six months later I apply to schools. I get in to all of them. That was this past April. Fast forward three months. I choose Pepperdine. I want to stay in hospitality-- so why leave my job when I can keep working, keep getting experience and earn an MBA all at the same time? Hmmm?

Fast forward two months. I break up with my boyfriend. I get promoted. I reevaluate... I defer...

TO BE CONTINUED....

Jildo

Wells You Did Me Dirty

I am not a huge fan of Wells Fargo right now. Working in hospitality has set my bar for customer service very high, because I know how easy it is to provide great customer service. Its simple really: treat people the way you would like to be treated!!! Come'on people! Seriously, this is not rocket science.

Remember when I lost my credit card back on August 1st or so? Wells Fargo expedited me my new card... except it never came, so despite paying the rush fee I was still without a credit card and had to order yet another one?! Well the new one did not arrive until August 17th. Meanwhile they have removed the lost card from my online bank account. So I ask you, can I make a payment on an invisible card? Hmmmm... I know such a tough question. NO!!!!

The new cc finally comes on the 17th, which is a Wednesday. I activate it immediately. Wells Fargo informed me when I ordered the new cc, that it would show up on my online account after I activated it. They said my previous balance would be automatically transferred to the new card. Thursday I check my bank account the new cc isn't there yet. Friday comes and goes too without any change to my account. On Saturday I get nervous. It is the 20th. My bill is ALWAYS due on the 20th. Still no cc. At this point I think well it's the weekend the bank isn't open, maybe it won't show up on my account until Monday and they will waive the late fee on the payment, since they did not add the credit card to my account until August 22nd.

I can't sleep at all Saturday night. I am NEVER late paying off my credit card. I may spend money on things I shouldn't (coffee, colorful bras that you really can't wear with anything, zebra loafers made with real hair), but nothing and I mean nothing will get between me and my amazing credit... except maybe my motherf***ing bank. Excuse me. Sunday I wake up in a cold sweat (ok not really, but I thought it sounded good) and run to my computer. I log onto my bank account and scour the entire website for a good thirty minutes. After poking around in dark corners and clearing out cobwebs, I figure out how to add my new credit card to my online account...

STOP. Don't you dare say it. I should have known that I needed to do this?! STOP right there or my eyes are going to POP out of my head. Maybe these days you have to manually add replacement credit cards to your account... but how was I supposed to know that?! This last credit card was not the first card I have lost. I lose things easily. I probably had 2-3 lost/stolen credit cards throughout college. Did I have to manually add those to my online bank account?

NO!!! WTF.

I paid my credit card bill immediately- unfortunately for me now it was August 21st. Joy. What do I find two days ago on my updated statement? HMMM?! LATE FEE!!! FUCK YOU WELLS FARGO!!!

I sent them a very nice, polite email assure you-- no, really, it was very nice. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt and assume that they will do the right thing-- in this case waive the late fee. I mean they can look at my freaking track record. Up until this last bill I always pay my credit card off in time and in full.

They emailed me back this morning. Sorry, you were late on your payment.

I sent them another email. I can't repeat what was said, but lets just say I may start looking for a new bank.

Over you wells. Jildo

Woman Seeking Homeless Person

Today was my Saturday. On my days off, I have waaayyyy too much time on my hands. Today was no exception. Despite not wanting to spend any money, after throwing together a sad attempt at breakfast (french toast, sans the french and basically sans the toast-- I don't think bread made solely from barley really counts a bread. Do you?), I decided a trip to the grocery store was definitely in order. $48 poorer, I found myself back at home again.

Then I started thinking. Yes, my budgeting efforts thus far have been valiant, but have I really scared myself away from unnecessary spending? If I went downtown and found a smokin' hot dress, would I really not buy it? Even if I had no where to wear it to? No-- I have a weakness for colorful, need-to-be- worn, screaming-on-the-hanger, put-me-on and dance-all-night dresses. Something has to be done. I decided I need to teach myself a lesson.

Yes, that's right. Clearly the only thing left for me to do is shadow a homeless person. I mean how better to learn how to curb my spending than from someone that literally can't spend?

Ok, I admit, I am a little apprehensive of just walking up to random homeless people downtown and asking them if we can hang out. Obviously a withstand-able smell and sobriety are two major requirements. But, personal hygiene aside, I'm also a little gun shy because I'm a girl. Does this make sense? I realize that most homeless people are probably very kind and benevolent or at least just living in hobo-la-la land, but I am sure there are also some real whackos out there. That said I would like your help.

If you know, and by know I mean have seen the same homeless people around town, and they seem mostly with it and probably aren't axe murders, please let me know. I am open to traveling to shadow a homeless person as well-- I take my monetary rehabilitation very seriously. Obviously.

Anxiously awaiting your responses, Jildo.

Unprotected Texting Comes at a Cost

Growing up my mother taught my sister and I the value of being able to entertain ourselves. We learned to play by ourselves and she in turn was able to get some peace and quiet. I'm not sure how well this trait has transferred to adulthood. You would think that being able to entertain yourself would come in handy if you are trying to save money. I can spend hours planning trips I will never take, watch time fly researching new recipes that I will never cook (I inevitably print them and then throw them away a day later, because I hate clutter) or waste a whole day in a bookstore reading the backs of books and not buying a single one (this is probably my favorite pastime, which has now been thwarted by ereaders-- damn them!)

Unfortunately, when I drink my desire to entertain myself not only continues, but is intensified. I know I am not the only one that feels this way. You know what I'm talking about. Yes, the drunk texts. The texts you would NUH-EVERRRRR send if you were sober... well, unless you were really bored. Drunk texting sneaks up on you like a bandit in the night- and its soooo not cool. For me it's when everything is winding down and everyone is passing out; there is a moment of alone time when I find myself fighting to keep the night going before I succumb to my sweet, sweet, totally forgetable dreams. It is in these pivotal last moments of consciousness that I do the worst damage.

This was me last night... post, "post". I'm not sure if it was the two margaritas or the three glasses of red wine or the combo of both plus the hot tub. But, when it was time for me to pass out, did I let myself pass out like the responsible adult that I am? The adult that was working at 7:30am and needed all the sleep she could get? No. I fought. I fought to stay awake and send that one freaking, unneccessary text. Geez. Good job, Jillian. Gold star for you. So, while I managed to not spend money yesterday (minus the $2.15 I spent on coffee), I have to ask myself... at what cost?

Lesson Learned: Entertaining oneself is ALWAYS done at your own expense. MRRRR.

Over and out. Jildo

Ground Control to Major Jill

It has come to my attention that I do not blog enough anymore. Let me explain. I ended a 5 year relationship. I am trying to stay BUSY. Too busy too blog. Right? No. You are right, I am letting myself and you down... I should be more on top of my budgeting/blogging. I should be telling you all about the embarrassing purchases I make. Like this morning: Large Sumatra Dark Coffee. Yes, I may have drank it this morning, but my eyes are still rolling back in my head. **BLISS**. God. Coffee was God's gift to man. Truly.

Coffee aside... I am getting more on top of my budgeting as we speak. Today is my Thursday. Naturally after work I wanted to go to El Paseo and get $2 margaritas... but what do I do? I come home, grab the shaker pour myself some cuervo and strawberry lemonade and shake. Just as good. Better. FREE.

Budgeting is going well. I can make drinks at home. Also, I went on a walk tonight and walks are FREE. Hot tub now... Hot tub is also FREE.

Cheers. Jildo

P.S. Yes, this is post marg, marg, wine, wine, wine. I'm ok with this. Are you?

Good News, Bad News

I know when I stop checking my bank account its a bad sign... I will let myself go about a week without checking it when I know I've been bad. And, yes, I have been bad. I haven't made any too outrageous purchases, but I have driven down to LA the last two weeks in a row to see friends and then there was the $130 I dropped to sign up for a charity golf tournament. But, I figure money spent on charity is good karma and bound to come full circle, and if not at least I'm helping someone else out.

So, here's the damage:

Wait...Good News first:
1. I have upped my 401K contribution to 5% of my salary (so in 80 years, if I'm not dead, I can retire)
2. My savings is up to $1,300 (I know this is nothing-- but considering I started at $750ish back in June I'm happy)
3. I've been working a lot of overtime in the last week (so the next paycheck will be awesome)
4. My birthday is in 3 weeks... birthday money, woo!!!

Bad News:
1. My coffee addiction is back in full force, possibly even worse than before (sometimes I make TWO trips to Coffee Bean in one day. BAD. SO BAD.)
2. I have recently made some unnecessary purchases: i.e. pastels and canvases (i've always wanted to pretend to be an artist-- i bought them a week ago and still haven't touched them--I don't want to fuck them up... which i obviously will, because I don't have an artistic eye like my mom and sister)
3.  I have no idea how much I owe on my credit card. Ok thats a lie. When I lost it I think the balance was around $900, but then when I canceled it they removed it from my online banking. How am I supposed to pay it off, if I can't freaking see it?! All I have to say is they better not charge me interest if the payment isn't on time, because I don't know when or what the payment should be!!!! ARGGHGHGHG. So frustrated right now... mostly because I know my credit card payment is usually due on the 20th of the month... which is tomorrow. Oh happy day.

Oh, Happy Day.

And the war with money continues...

xoxo Jildo.

This Little Piggy Went to Market

It has been far too long since I have told you about all the money that I am spending-- money that I should not be spending. I think its been 11 days. A lot can happen in 11 days. I am not going to lie, I honestly haven't wanted to write another post-- I don't really want to write one now-- because I haven't been good. And, I hate it when I don't stick to my own guns... I want the GOLD stars damnit! Mrrrr.

So, let's see where to start. Saturday, July 30th I had the bright idea that I did not need to take a purse downtown-- the plan was to go dancing and I HATE carrying a purse or HEHNETHING when i'm dancing. You just can't be free when you have things in your hands (this is also why I prefer shots to drinks-- drinks just get in the effing way). Anyways, I decided that instead of taking a purse or a wristlet I would just hold my credit card in my hand. YEA. I was obviously a wee bit intoxicated when I made this decision.

Next thing I know I am outside EOS with my friend Ashley with no credit card. I have no idea where it is. I start feverishly blowing on my hand, I think that I have become a magician and that I can make my card magically reappear.  No matter how hard I blow, no card. 

Sunday I wake up... I see a jack in the box wrapper on the floor. FUCK. Well, obviously I found cash somewhere last night. I stretch my hand toward my nightstand... eh... eh... (comeon can't I reach my freaking phone without having to get out of bed?). UHHH... got it. I hit speed dial. "This is John with Wells Fargo, how can I help you?" (Yes, I have my bank on speed dial).

I open my mouth "Mumble Mumble card... mumble mumble lost... Mumble merrrr."

John: Ok, we can cancel your old card and get you a new card. Would you like us to expedite that for $16?

Me: Mumble yes... I'm going to Vegas in two days.

John: (so judging me right now)

Two days later. Still no credit card. FUCK IT. I'll just go to Vegas with my debit card- hey, I'll do less damage that way, right?

Heh. Maybe... so the whole idea for Vegas round two happened out of the blue. My room mate and I work together, we got our schedules, we had the same days off (this NEVER happens) and we said "Dude, Vegas" (obviously). The plan was to work Tuesday till 3:30pm, drive straight from work to Vegas get there by 11pm and then party, party, party. Perfect plan.

We found a good rate for a hotel, so that was pretty much the only thing we would have to spend money on-- that and gas. But then, Tuesday morning my boss asked me to go down to HR with him... they offered me a promotion. So, now not only was I going to Vegas (a celebration in and of itself), I was also celebrating a promotion. Of course, now I had the mindset that hey, I could spend a little more money, after all I would be making more, right? Right.

Sigh. So, I spent some money in Vegas-- I wanted to buy new work clothes (I was totally investing in my future!) I am not super proud of myself, but, I am still up from where I started. I think I have $1,300 in savings now-- as opposed to the what, $748.49 that I started with on June 11. Still a long way to go, but I'll get there someday. If I stop going to Vegas every other week.

I will. No more Vegas... for awhile.

xoxo. Jildo

Friends with Benefits

I just made half of my monthly income in 6.5 hours. It's not what you are thinking. Ok, maybe it is.

Since I have put myself on a strict budget (less my Vegas escapades), I have been on the no fun bus. Let me reassure you the no fun bus, is NO fun. In trying to keep with the stay too busy to spend mentality, I went for a hike with one of my friends last week. He must have mentioned going out or happy hour, because immediately I caught myself apologizing for being extremely broke and no fun. He said no worries and that I was doing the right thing by saving money.

Later that night I got a text from him:
"Want to make $800- $1000 for about 5-6 hours worth of work?"

WAIT. What?! I'm not going to lie I probably stared at my phone for like 5 minutes. Was this a joke?

No, I don't want to make a shit load of money in a day. That would really suck. What I really want is to get paid slave labor wages and work in a button factory. Can you make that happen? Because then we TOTALLY have a deal.

Pause. WRONG.

I wrote back:

"Hells, to the yes. Sign me up, I don't care what I have to do."

The following response was probably even more shocking than the initial offer:

"Awesome, you'll just be helping me install and update computer software for some of my clients."

Huh? Come again? Did you mean to text me? This is Jillian. Yah, I studied Comm and Professional Writing in college... we didn't do the whole computer thing.

He assures me this is fine, that its super easy and mostly just tedious-- he'll even write me up directions.

I am still somewhat skeptical that I might single-handedly take out an entire office building with my lack of computer savvy, but I say ok. I mean, I had to. So, I cleared my schedule for this Sunday and at 7:30am I got up, drove to the office building downtown and started uninstalling software, installing new software, checking for updates, downloading, installing, restarting. Over and over and over again. And, then I did it all again.

When we finally start wrapping things up, he writes me a check and puts it next to my bag. I try to play it cool, don't get excited Jillian, be a mature adult. Thank him.

Actual: "Thank you"
Thinking: HOLY FREAKING SHIIIIIITTTTTTT.


Then the unthinkable happened. He thanked me. Me! I am honestly still floored by this whole thing.

THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.

Over and Out, Jildo.

An Apology and A Confession

The apology:
When I started my blog the sole purpose was to scare myself into being more financially responsible. However, after the first few blog posts I felt a surge of adrenaline. People thought I was funny. Me, Jillian, the girl who hardly ever spoke in high school, because I was afraid I would say something stupid. And, lets be honest, I would have because that's just who I am. I felt amazing and then immediately sick. I wanted to feel the way you made me feel when you said I was hilarious, all the time... But that's just impossible. Mostly because I'm not funny all the time, probably only 20% of the time. Nevertheless, because I am an over achiever I wanted to try to be funnier more frequently.

If you have ever tried this then you already know it is a recipe for disaster. You cannot force funny. Bathroom humor and one day a guy walked into a bar jokes are proof of that. But, when I force funny I am embarrassed and ashamed to say it is far worse. I am mean funny- god I suck lol. I'm saying all of this, because after much thought and guilt I realized I needed to apologize to you for my insensitivity in my post last week.

I should not have dissed the 12 steps. Alcoholism is very scary and I cannot imagine the toll it takes on everyone involved. If those 12 steps work for some people more power to them. So I hope you can forgive me for my thoughtless jabs-- I am sorry.

Note: While I did feel it necessary to apologize for my cracks on the 12 steps, I hold firm on my yoga beliefs-- and that will never change.

The Confession:
Getting back to the business of the budget, I am sure you are all now acutely aware that I spent the weekend in Vegas, the antitheses of saving money. My confession? I went to Vegas and got a SUI- yup, ladies and gents I was spending under the influence. Fortunately for me I don't gamble and I got a huge tip on my paycheck Friday that paid for my incidentals... So despite a weekend romp in Vegas I still managed to break even. Whew.

Thanks for your continued support.
Xoxo Jildo.

Let Me See You 1-2 Step

One month and eight days. So fucking long. One month and eight days is how long I have been entrenched in this monetary rehabilitation. It’s like jail. Correction, it IS jail. If we were playing Monopoly I would be in FUCKING jail. No passing Go for Jildo, no collecting $200— can you say pipe dream? Sayonara $200. 

To help this process along, I decided I would enlist the help of one of the most successful rehabilitation techniques around-- the 12 steps of alcoholic anonymous. Initially I liked the idea. Alcoholics want to stop drinking; I want to stop spending. Then I read what the 12 steps were.  In case you are like me and don’t know what the 12 steps are, please let me fill you in:

• Step 1 - We admitted we were powerless over our addiction - that our lives had become unmanageable
• Step 2 - Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity
• Step 3 - Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God
• Step 4 - Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves
• Step 5 - Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs
• Step 6 - Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character
• Step 7 - Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings
• Step 8 - Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all
• Step 9 - Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others
• Step 10 - Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it
• Step 11 - Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood God, praying only for knowledge of God's will for us and the power to carry that out
• Step 12 - Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to other addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs

Ok, first off let me just say, I believe in God and I believe that he died for our sins. But, and maybe this is my problem, I think a lot of the time God just wants us to stop being lazy SOB’s, to get off our asses and to use the talents and smarts he gave us to fix our own problems.  I mean really-- he has freaking disasters to clean up and serial killers to kick the living shit out of.

So, will I try out the 12 steps to keep the spending in check? I will leave that up to you. Personally, I feel like in the game of life the 12 step method is like yoga, a worthless exercise constructed to make you feel better about yourself.  But, if you want me to do the 12 steps, I will (as long as I don’t have to go barefoot or practice deep breathing).

Too Busy to Blog, Too Busy to Spend

I have discovered the secret to being wealthy-- just be super freaking busy. No, seriously.  I have found out that if you really don't want to spend money, all you have to do, is not have time to spend money. Genius? (yes, you can make fun of me here).

Tomorrow is my third Friday in a row. Do you know what that means? No, the correct answer is not that I am uber grumpy or a wraging bitch (I don't wrage). The correct answer is that I have had absolutely no time to spend money. Pause for reflection. If being at work keeps me from spending money, what other activities could keep me from spending money, too?

After much thought, I decided to add to the chaos. Over the past week I have successfully amplified my hiking by approximately 50% (maybe not the most creative activity, but I like it :D.). And (dun dun dun), I am now happy to report that I have no time to do anything but gym, eat, wo(eat)rk, hike, eat, sleep, repeat. I haven't even had time to blog... BLASPHEMY.

I know, I know I sound crazy. I do not have a social life. My friend Jes, invited me to a wine festival this weekend and I had to decline, because it's $70-- and that is just not in my budget. Every Monday El Paseo has $1.95 margaritas and I have to pass. Hi, my name is Jillian Heim, and I cannot afford a $2 margarita. But, hey, that's ok. There are more important things in life than partying-- like making sure I have enough money to go anywhere or do anything for the people I love. That's what its all about.

Over and out. Jildo.

P.S. Suggestions for FREE time consuming activities are welcomed!

Chinese Proverb Comes True

Well, let me just be the first to say that I am usually not a superstitious person or a "Fwd: Fwd: Fwd:" whore. I actually hate those people (not you mom-- you get a free pass). However, thanks to the post below, I am now a "Fwd: Fwd: Fwd:", chain letter sending, you'll have bad luck for seven years, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah H.H. (hypocritical ho). 

Aforementioned Post:
"This year July has 5 Fridays 5 Saturdays & 5 Sundays. This happens once every 823 years. This is called money bags. Copy this to your status and money will arrive in 4 days. Based on Chinese philosophy. Those who read and do not copy will be without money."

It was an average Saturday. I got up, went to the gym, had breakfast and then logged onto facebook. I look at the right hand side of the screen. "People you may know". For once I actually know one of the people-- it's one of my high school teachers. Friend request! After requesting the friendship, naturally I look at her page to stalk her... only to find myself staring at the Chinese proverb above. FUCK. 


This cannot be good. I shake my head back and forth. These things are silly-- I definitely don't believe them. Nope. Do not believe. I scrunch up my face really small and close my eyes to make it go away. PEEK-A-BOO. I let one eye open enough to see the screen. DAMNIT. Still there. Oh fuck. Yup, I gotta do it. I have to post it to my wall, because I am that silly. 


COPY. PASTE. POST. gah. I am not at all happy with myself, I am one of THOSE people. 


4 days pass...


Can I say this? Did it actually work? Did I get money BECAUSE i posted the proverb? If I say no will I make the Chinese proverb gods mad? And will they throw dirty yen in my face and call me a loser? I do not know. But, I do know that I was refunded $80.59 for a half marathon that I signed up for, because by some miracle the race was rerouted to go through the property I work at. Comp entries for all employees! Coincidence? Mrrr. hard to say.

You Know You Are Broke When...

1. Ross is too expensive
2. You have daily alerts on your phone reminding you that you are broke and can't spend money
3. You order less when you go out to eat and you are not on a diet
4. You are excited to work on a holiday, because you will get regular pay AND holiday pay
5. You ride semi trucks asses to save gas
6. You start brewing your own coffee
7. You wear pants in the summer because shaving cream and razors are expensive
8. You offer to be the DD when your friends go out to guarantee you won't spend money on drinks
9. The only time you get to booze is when you have a wedding to go to
10. You make a mental note to use coupons for products you need and then actually DO

Love Letter From My Bank

I am so COMPLETELY stoked. Yes, stoked. Last night Wells Fargo wrote me the most beautiful love letter (possibly the only love letter) I have ever received. I am not going to lie, this whole budgeting/saving/being broke crap has gotten me a little down... but apparently, being hard on yourself works.

Want to know what made this love letter HA-mazing? Ok, so it was really a budget reminder letting me know that I had reached 75% of my monthly spending. What is so awesome about that you ask? I got it yesterday!!!... on June 29th, not the 7th or the 14th, but the 29th!!!! HAHAHAHAHA.

FUCK YOU happy internet shopping trigger fingers. FUCK YOU coffee shop caffeine craving tastebuds. I HAVE CONQUERED YOUR ASSES!!! (at least for today).

Sigh, awesome, awesome day.

Peace out- Jildo.

P.S. Since I was over budget last week I cut my budget to $39ish dollars this week... still haven't spent any. BOO FUCKING YA.

**I apologize if the cursing offends you, I'm just really FUCKING excited.

The Bad Money Nun

I feel defeated. How many weeks has it been since I dedicated my life to saving? Right, two. I feel like a money nun... or I guess I should say a BAD money nun.  I'm supposed to be abstaining from spending money-- or at least sticking to my $100 a week budget and I just can't seem to do it. I was doing ok until Saturday. I was $0.68 over my budget for the week, but then I stopped for coffee and then I decided to drive 260 miles for funsies. I obviously make BAD decisions when I drink caffeine, or heck anything for that matter.

Now where am I? Right back where I started 24 hours ago, with the added bonus of being $60.81 over my budget for the week (refueling)... and those brain scan people still haven't called me back. So what do you think? Should I try to cut next weeks budget to $39.19 to make up for this weeks craziness? I mean in theory it shouldn't be that hard to keep myself from driving out of Santa Barbara every week, right? Aside from the June gloom and bogus rent prices why would anyone ever want to leave?

Not having money sucks. When you have money you think of it as a means to have fun. But when you don't have money, you realize that not only can you not have fun-- you can't have NOT fun, either. You can't have anything!  Ok, so for instance--- sometimes when I get off work I just want to be a bum, cozy up in my pajamas and watch a movie. I used to browse new releases or genius picks on itunes... now?! Now I am forced to peruse the FREE movies on hulu that I am sure almost all definitely suck and will turn your brain to mush.

Also, my boyfriend now thinks that I am weird for sharing my financial situation with the world. Oh well, if he didn't know by now its his own fault.

Mrrrrr. Jildo.

My Emergency Kit

To make more money I volunteered to go into work on my day off. Our HR department scheduled two Emergency and Disaster Preparedness meetings for this week to make sure all employees know what to do if shit goes down (fire, earthquake, tsunami). It didn't matter which one you went to, you just had to go. I could have gone on Tuesday during my regular shift, but I opted to man the Front Desk while my co-workers went. It was a win-win situation--they didn't have to come in on their days off and I would get overtime.

Let me say one thing. Extra money sounds so appealing until you actually have to show up to make it.  But yes, I did make it into work and sat through an hour and a half of emergency training.  However, I'm not sure if my plan to bring in extra money by attending training on my day off really worked. Yes, I am momentarily richer-- I added a whopping $30ish dollars to my paycheck-- but now I am scared shitless, because I am NOT prepared. And, what do I need to do, to BE prepared?! Yup- spend money.

The Perfect Emergency Kit:
*Water (1 gallon per person/day)
*Non perishable foods
*Utensils
*Nonelectric Can Opener
*First Aid Kit
*Battery Powered Radio
*Flashlights
*Extra Batteries
*Tool Kit
*Duct Tape
*Heavy Plastic Sheeting
*Cleaning Supplies
*Plastic Bags
*Bleach
*Toilet Paper
*Whistle

Jildo's Emergency Kit:
*Toilet Paper

Next emergency, my ass is covered. Hopefully God holds off on any super fun disasters until I can assemble a proper emergency kit to cover my whole person.

Hanging On By a Thread Sheet, Jildo.

P.S. See below for this weeks spending:

Monday 6/20: $26.86 (food)
Thursday 6/23: $59.77 (gas); $14.05 (toilet paper)

Ok, so I'm $0.68 over budget for this week. Take it out of my Emergency Kit fund.