Jill vs. the Fire Hydrant

There comes a time in every poor person's life when they are trying to decide if they should decline the medical coverage provided through their employer. After all, the cheapest option still means that a whopping $62 dollars will be deducted from every single paycheck. That's almost $125 a month that you--I-- I am paying every month. For what? I mean how often do we have to go to the doctor?!

Friday night when I picked up my benefits package my mind was made up. Monday morning I was marching right into HR and declining all benefits. That was before the fire hydrant incident. DUN DUN DUN. Yes, you heard me right- I can now say that I have had a run in with a fire hydrant. And, yes, the fire hydrant won.

Who knows how these things happen. I didn't wake up Saturday morning and say to myself "Looks like a great day to fall head first into a fire hydrant." Really surprising, I know! Lol. But, that is exactly what happened.

It was 8:50pm on Saturday night. My friends and I had been hanging out at the Inman Park festival for the last few hours- drinking beer, listening to music, walking around, laughing- when we decided to call it a night (most of us had to work at 6:30am on Sunday). So, we all piled into Jenn's car and Desarae dropped me off as close to my apartment as she could- without bull dozing through the road blocks set up by the festival. I got out of the car and started the walk home- about two blocks.

But I didn't make it two blocks. I made it about one, tripped on a piece of sidewalk that was sticking up, flailed my arms, my feet flew up, flip flops went flying off and down I went, head first into an unsuspecting fire hydrant. CRUNCH. AHAHHHHHHHHH. FUCKKKKKKKKKK.  GAHHHHHH.

I held my hand to my ear. That fucking hurt really bad! I tried to pull myself up quickly- my first thought being that I didn't want a cop to see me, think I was way to intoxicated for diving head first into a fire hydrant and haul my ass of to jail. So, I sat up, found my flip flops and started to walk home like nothing had happened (which I'm actually fairly good at since I've been clumsy most of my life and I'm used to pretending that I didn't just make a complete fool of myself).

It went well for about 2 seconds. That was when I started to feel a warm sensation on my chest. This is what I saw when I looked down:

I really wanted to freak out, but what good would that do when I had no idea what the heck was going on. Right? Right. My plan? Just get home. Get home clean the blood off and figure out where the heck I was bleeding.

I didn't make it home. A group of people around my age saw me, blood dripping all over the place, and asked if it was real. They then asked if I had AIDS. Nice, lol. Way to be safe! I answered yes and no, and they started to clean me up, while holding up their fingers and asking me to tell them how many I saw. Three, duh! (who knows if three was right).

Shortly after they found me some firemen came over, checked my heart rate, asked where it hurt-- My ear!!! And then asked how it happened. "Er, I fell into a fire hydrant. Am I ok? Do I need stitches?"

No. You're fine, go to bed.

FAST FORWARD 2 HOURS.

Text to Jenn: It's still bleeding.

Jenn to Me: Do you want us to come over.

Text to Jenn: No, its probably ok.

Jenn to Me: We're coming over.

Text to Jenn: Ok. Thanks.

20 minutes later Jenn and Desarae were at my door with a first aid kit, a bottle of peroxide and a wash cloth.

Desarae asked me if I could clean my ear off. I pulled the blood matted hair away from my head and tried to dab the blood off my skin. I couldn't stand the pain, so I asked if she could do it.

Des: Uh, sure. Let me take a look at it.

(Peers behind my ear)

Des: Oh, man. Uh, Jenn come take a look at this.

(Jenn looks behind my ear)

Des: Hey, why don't you get dressed, we'll take you to the hospital.

Me: Do you think I need to go?

Des: Yea, I mean, just to make sure.

15 minutes later they drop me off at the ER. "Call me when you're done." Ok, I say and walk into the hospital.

It's weird walking into the ER at 11:30 at night, because you know everyone there must be FUCKED UP! I walk to the front window. The nurse points to a solitary computer against the wall and asks me to sign in.

I sit down. Name, it asks me: Jillian. Birth date: 9/11/85. Reason for visit:

Reason for visit. It just stares at me. Taunting me. Is there a good way to write "I fell into a fire hydrant and now I'm bleeding a lot" without looking like a dumbass? I decide there isn't.

Reason for visit: I fell into a fire hydrant and now I'm bleeding a lot.

They call me back pretty quickly after that. Check my vitals. Apparently I have a fever, who knows why- I mean aside from the blood gushing out of my head I feel perfectly fine! So they order a chest xray- FML- xrays are soooo fing expensive. FINE. You want to xray my chest, be my guest.

Then they ask me to pee in a cup. I can't get the lid off. Am I supposed to be able to get the lid off?! I peek my head out the door and sheepishly ask the elderly, frail nurse for help. She pops the lid off with one twist. I smile weakly and take the cup back. Jeez what's wrong with me?

After about another hour of waiting they finally take me to my own room with a bed. The doctor comes in, tells me he doesn't really want to be there, that I need stitches and do I want him to do it? I say sure why not? He then proceeds to tell me it was his ten year college reunion that night and it was a bummer, because he couldn't drink. I gave him a two thumbs up and said "THANK YOU!!!"

Then in came the nurse with the Percocet. Yum. I pop those puppies and everything starts to be really awesome, in a completely mellow way.

Doctor: I'm going to stick four huge needles behind your ear.

Me: Cool.

Doctor: The lidocaine will numb you so you won't feel anything.

Me: Cool.

Doctor: Then i'll stitch you up.

Me:...

Well, you get the picture.

And that was that. Half way through the doctor said: "damn this looks really good for not being done by a plastic surgeon, whoops I spoke to soon..."

But, hey, I can't see it so I'm all good. I just hope my ear lays back down, because right now I look like I have one Dopey ear.

Today was Monday. I took my insurance forms to HR. I accepted, because apparently when you are me, everyday objects like fire hydrants are a possible threat.

Over and Out, Jildo.

The Plan

The plan is that there is no plan. Errrrr. Yea.

Practically from the time you are a baby to the time you graduate college everyone is asking you what you want to be. What do you want to do?

Can we just start that whole thing over? No, wait. Can we just erase everyone's memory and completely DELETE the "What do you want to be when you grow up" question. Seriously. I think it does more harm than help.

I think instead we should encourage children to focus on 3-5 possible careers/jobs they would enjoy... or maybe just tell them that it doesn't matter if they love their job as long as they are financially stable (because let's be for real we don't need a bunch of broke bloggers running our country- because wait for it, wait for it. They won't.)

That's right I am now four years out of college with experience in both marketing and hospitality, and to be completely honest, continuing a career in either does not sound appealing right now. And, this may sound utterly ridiculous, but I am considering just bulldozing my life and starting over. Why not? Let's just throw the fucking plan out and see what happens!

Do we really have to figure out what we want to do for the rest of our lives by the time we are 22? Do we have to do ONE thing for the rest of our lives?!

Now I know, I know. You may think that I'm just being compulsive, that I'm just upset that I get paid $10.50/hr plus customer bitching- can't forget that- its priceless :). Lol. But, I can't help but think that I am way too smart for this. I don't think that is conceited to say- all of my friends are very smart as well. It's just... looking back on the decisions I've made (Communication/Writing Degrees)... cough. Yea. I can't help but kick myself in the ass and say WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!

I should have known Communication was a bad idea freshman year when my roommates asked me my major. When I told them their response was "Oh, so you aren't good at math or science?" 

Ok. I'm not good at science. I ABHORRRRRR science. But I like math. I'm good at math. Why the FUCK did I study communication? Everyone fucking communicates. Sigh.

So now I'm paying for my mistake. No literally, I'm paying for an MBA from Georgia Tech (that's right they let me enroll despite having had to defer a year! YAY!) so that I can crunch lots of numbers and stop communicating with everyone. Expensive, but totally worth it... don't you think? Lol. Yea, I know I tend to be a bit extreme, but hey that's just who I am.

BOO YAH.

Here's to premeditated, self-inflicted, analytical pain.... the weird part? Thinking about it kind of turns me on. Love it when you study so long you start to hallucinate and get a rush from knowing that you have so much fucking more to do. Sigh. I miss school.

xoxo Jildo

P.S. Fuck. I guess there is a plan. 

When You Make Less Than a Carney...

My grandfather's wife texted me today and said that I should get rid of my personal trainer to save money. I said no dice, I signed a year contract- I locked myself into that SHIT! (I'm very dedicated to my health- ahem- so I can party). Anyways... my response? I think I should try to make more than $10.50 an hour.

COUGH!!!! Yes! I know its AWFUL. I made more money at a part time college job than I make now. The worst part? My grandfather's wife's response. "10.50?! Damn, your grandfather made more than that working a part time job at the merry-go-round."

FML. But... it's times like these that I just have to laugh at myself and thank the dear lord that guys give me $20 tips at work for "liking my eyes." Creepy? HELLSSSSSS YESS. But $20 bucks is $20 bucks. So thank you! :D

So if there are any of you out there like me... who know you are worth WAYYYYYY more than you are getting paid. Just know you are not alone.  And hey, if you want moral support... I will listen to you bitch all day... because sometimes we need to bitch.

xoxo Jildo

Pooreciation

How about I just wrote a whole amazing paragraph about pooreciation and what it means to me and I accidentally deleted it. Well. FUCK. I'm sure you get the idea- pretty simple really. I'm pooreciating being poor, because my lack of money has motivated me to proactively work toward changing my poorassness (now easier that I have a computer again. HOORAY!!!!).

I have a confession. It's not just the suckiness of being poor that makes me want to be rich-although that does help, A LOT- No. It's the fact that it's not just me anymore. I have my apartment to think about. Seriously. My apartment is awesome. She deserves so much more than a lone, albeit AMAZING mattress on her beautiful hardwood floors. She should have a bedframe! Art on the walls, a desk whose keyboard drawer actually opens/closes, a dresser, a kitchen table, a couch. Maybe even a 60" flatscreen TV. GASP! I want things!

Ok. Ok. I know I may sound a teensy weensy bit RIDICULOUS, but I mean honestly does it really matter what is motivating me to make more money? Nahhhhhh. I just want it. Lots of it. And, by lots I mean just enough so that when I go to the grocery store (after I've outfitted my apartment with amazing things) and I see that 3oz package of blueberries for $5.99, I say FUCK IT I've got the money. I will then go crazy and buy all the blueberries they have and hand them out to my neighbors like its candy on HALLOWEEN. True they make think I'm creepy, but you KNOW they would eat those blueberries. BLUEBERRIES ARE AWESOME.

Hi my name is Jillian and I'm a poor person with a blueberry problem. Sigh. Yea... But seriously, just you wait. In no time I will be lounging on my sink-into-me-and-never-get-up-couch with a bowl full of blueberries watching NBATV on my 60" flatscreen TV. It's gonna happen.

(I heard setting personal goals is a good thing.)

xoxo Jildo

I See White People

Over the last couple of weeks my roommates and I have been casually looking for a new place to live come summer. Because I wasn't sure where they would be moving (needing to accomodate Mitchell their pitbull), I started searching out homes and one bedroom apartments.

After moving to Atlanta I immediately fell in love with the areas known as Little Five Points, Old Fourth Ward and Inman Park. They have the small town charm, mixed with a hipster/eclectic edge- plus tons of cool restaurants, bars, beautiful parks (and only 2 miles from DT). The homes date back to the early 1900's, many flaunting victorian architecture. Orgasmic imagery! (what can I say I love old buildings).

Suffice to say with everything these neighborhoods have going for them its very rare to ever find housing there. So when I was perusing Craigslist yesterday and saw an ad for a studio apartment in Inman Park 1/2 a mile from Little Five Points that actually looked cute and is in my budget (somewhat-- err-- i'll make it work) I almost peed my pants.

At 11:45am this morning I made the drive across town to meet the landlord and see the place. I really had no intention of walking away with a new apartment. Whoops! Ok, so maybe I had an inkling that I would love it and it would become my home. Fine it was more than an inkling and yes, as soon as I saw it I had to have it. Sure the building was built in 1905 and looks old, but I love it. I love the brick walls on the outside of the building, the hardwood floors in the bedroom and the iconic black and white lineolium in the kitchen. Sure the bedroom is painted baby blue, but theres a chalkboard painted on the back of my front door. I mean RAD!!!!

There you have it, one quick look and I'm the proud new renter of my very own apartment! It's only half of my take home pay, haha, yikes. But, in my defense I've seen more cop cars and csi vans by my current apartment over the last three days than I'd like to count.

Sometimes where you live is life or death. Which is why I'm moving. I choose life.

Xoxo. Jildo

P.S. I almost forgot. No, I'm not racist, but yes, I do stereotype (sorry, makes life easier). In reference to the title- when I first drove up to the apartment I saw lots of white people running and riding bikes- that actually may have sold me before I even saw the place. Hmmmm. Well either way, I can now say senara to wife beaters and pants that are falling off of peoples asses because they think it looks cool. Or something.

P.P.S.The apartment did come with a free desk. So. Yea. Cool... No. I am really excited, thats not fake enthusiasm. Ahem. Let me try that again.

PAUSE.

FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Willy! Swoop!