There are two types of people in this world. The type that enjoy what they do for a living and those that do not. Usually the ones that do not like what they are doing at least make a lot of money. If you like what you are doing it really is a toss up. Are you dating your job? Have you fallen in love with your job? Is your job in love with you too? No! Its a job!
When I moved to Georgia I took an $18,000 pay cut. Yowza! In the beginning I told myself, "ehhh, the cost of living is way less... it'll be fineeeeee." Insert coughing attack *here*. Its not fine. Why? Because I like having enough money so that after I pay rent I can actually afford groceries and gas and maybe the occasional night out on the town.
No... I am not throwing away my hard earned cash on my apartment. It's actually quite a steal. Or did I mean to say lots of people steal from there? Yes, I live in the ghetto. I literally live on the other side of the tracks. Dead serious. The railroad tracks are right in front of my apartment building. Starting at around 8pm every night until about 4 o'clock in the morning, every hour on the hour I am waken by very loud train whistles, horns, wheels clanking on the tracks. I try and tell myself its romantic. I've even gotten to the point of trying to convince myself that its like a lullaby that rocks me to sleep. Yea. I know that's just fucking ridiculous.
So there's the noise issue. And then like I said its not the safest place. After my step mother helped me move in she bought me mace. My room mates then asserted that we should go the firearm store and get a .44. Still not joking, and yes, we really did go. When I moved in my roommates let me know that I would be fine as long as I did not make eye contact with any of our neighbors. I figured, hey, they've been living here for months and they are still alive. WINNING!
I know, I know. I have such a skewed perspective, but this is how you have to think when you are living in poverty. I can find the silver lining in anything. True story.
But, why am I and most of the people I work with struggling to get by? We're all super awesome. We all graduated college. What the FUCKKKKKKK. The classic line at work is overworked and underpaid. And, its true. So why do we all stay? Because we are in love with our jobs.
I guess the next most viable question is: is love enough?
(For people that are in love for the first time you will most inevitably say yes. WRONG!!! Trust me... love is not always enough and yes, you will love again. Stronger than before!-- tribute to Lara Fabian and slightly corny, as always)
Over and Out, Jildo
P.S. Thank GODDDD for tax refunds. Seriously, thank you God.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
I Really Need to Stop Drinking
Ok, first let me just say that the declining number of blog posts is not because I have given up on saving money and am drowning my sorrows in booze. Who does that? Booze is awesome and should only be drunk to perpetuate awesomeness. No, the reason Im not blogging more is because I still haven't taken my mac to get fixed. This means the only time I have access to a computer is when I go home- which yes, is usually about once a week. If you do the math this computes to 4 blogs a month- but then you have to factor in tv. I dont have a tv at my apartment either, which means I have to cram a weeks worth of How I Met Your Mother into 1-2 days. No small feat.
Sigh, I feel so much better now that I got that off my chest- I didnt want you to think I was cheating on you with another blog. I could never do that. I love you my broke ass blog. Anyways, heres the spending update: booze. Yea, that pretty much sums it up. I really am not an alcoholic and normally only drink once a week. But damn this last week felt like a staycation with all the booze Ive consumed.
It started last thursday with the hawks game- ok those beers were actually free- but we'll just say for arguements sake that they were the gateway beers. Then there was the bottle of wine friday- old friend from High School was in town that I probably hadn't seen in 5 years. We each had our own bottle-- which really is nothing when you consider 5 years of catching up.
Two days later one of my best friends from college came to town. Wineeeee. Beerrrrr. Vinegar popcorn.... Cough, hack. What do you mean you don't sell it without the vinegar?! Stupid hipsters and their vinegar popcorn. Yea, I'll take another beer to wash down the vinegar. Bleahhhhhh.
If you live in Atlanta maybe you've heard of The Porter Beer Bar and their strangely ass flavored vinegar popcorn. Forget the popcorn... Just flip through their 29 page beer menu, close your eyes and point. Fun game. What next? How about our receipt from the beer bar gives us a free growler at Chevron. Say what?!!!!! Yes, Chevron now offers beer on tap! God bless America land of the free... Flowing beer... Sigh.
We had to get our free growler... Obviously. Then for some reason, maybe because GA has a law against open containers we went to another bar- where we couldnt drink our growler, but instead had to buy their beer. At the time spending more money on more booze so we could sit at a bar seemed like a better idea than sitting in our car and passing the growler back and forth. I mean, we are civilized after all.
And, now that ive come completely full circle- its been a week since the basketball game- can i give it a rest? Apparently not. My cousin Travis is in town on business and we're getting beers after I get off work. I really should keep a running tally of how much money Ive spent on booze in the last seven days... But Im scared. :(
Here's to no more boozing! After tonight! Until St. Patricks Day! Unless something really awesome comes up in the mean time. Gah!
Xoxo Jildo
P.S. Just in case you're still doubting my blog love you should know I used my iphone to write this post. If thats not love, i dont know what is... Incidentally my hands are cramping up and I cant read anything I wrote... Soooo tinnnnny. Tinnnnnnnnnny.
Sigh, I feel so much better now that I got that off my chest- I didnt want you to think I was cheating on you with another blog. I could never do that. I love you my broke ass blog. Anyways, heres the spending update: booze. Yea, that pretty much sums it up. I really am not an alcoholic and normally only drink once a week. But damn this last week felt like a staycation with all the booze Ive consumed.
It started last thursday with the hawks game- ok those beers were actually free- but we'll just say for arguements sake that they were the gateway beers. Then there was the bottle of wine friday- old friend from High School was in town that I probably hadn't seen in 5 years. We each had our own bottle-- which really is nothing when you consider 5 years of catching up.
Two days later one of my best friends from college came to town. Wineeeee. Beerrrrr. Vinegar popcorn.... Cough, hack. What do you mean you don't sell it without the vinegar?! Stupid hipsters and their vinegar popcorn. Yea, I'll take another beer to wash down the vinegar. Bleahhhhhh.
If you live in Atlanta maybe you've heard of The Porter Beer Bar and their strangely ass flavored vinegar popcorn. Forget the popcorn... Just flip through their 29 page beer menu, close your eyes and point. Fun game. What next? How about our receipt from the beer bar gives us a free growler at Chevron. Say what?!!!!! Yes, Chevron now offers beer on tap! God bless America land of the free... Flowing beer... Sigh.
We had to get our free growler... Obviously. Then for some reason, maybe because GA has a law against open containers we went to another bar- where we couldnt drink our growler, but instead had to buy their beer. At the time spending more money on more booze so we could sit at a bar seemed like a better idea than sitting in our car and passing the growler back and forth. I mean, we are civilized after all.
And, now that ive come completely full circle- its been a week since the basketball game- can i give it a rest? Apparently not. My cousin Travis is in town on business and we're getting beers after I get off work. I really should keep a running tally of how much money Ive spent on booze in the last seven days... But Im scared. :(
Here's to no more boozing! After tonight! Until St. Patricks Day! Unless something really awesome comes up in the mean time. Gah!
Xoxo Jildo
P.S. Just in case you're still doubting my blog love you should know I used my iphone to write this post. If thats not love, i dont know what is... Incidentally my hands are cramping up and I cant read anything I wrote... Soooo tinnnnny. Tinnnnnnnnnny.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
$35 Jilsicle
Going once! Going twice! SOLD! One Jilsicle for thirty-five dollars!
You may be asking yourself "what is a Jilsicle" and yes, you are correct, it is exactly what you think it is. It's a frozen Jillian. BRRRRRR.
Now that I'm getting all settled into my new life, I decided it was time to get settled into my old routines. Yes, running (because I never want to run another half marathon without training. I want to puke just thinking about it- like I did that night six times because my body hated me for not preparing it for running 13.1 miles in the brutally crisp, unforgiving, Vegas winter air. INSERT BARFING NOISE HERE. And, hey, maybe again just for good measure. HURLLLLLL)-- Ok. You get the picture.
When I first moved to Georgia I joined a gym close to my Dad and Stepmom's house. Beautiful gym, super shiny- I wanted to live there its so HA-MAZING. But obviously, when I moved 50 minutes away it just wasn't working out (and obviously neither was I). So, I did what any person in my situation would do. I ended it. Which budget wise was probably for the best, because it was $70/month (but REALLY... so BEAUTIFUL. Sigh. Yes, I miss it.)
Anyways, so there I was... No beautiful, shiny gym. With the recent purchase of my HA-MAZING bed, I really had no money to sign up for a new gym. This is the moment I had the bright idea to start running outside again, because it really is SOOOOOO much better than running on a treadmill. SO.
The prospect of running outside was great, but then came the question of where to run. I can't just run out my front door like I used to do in Santa Barbara- people might actually kill me here if I did that. Or maybe just try to sell me illicit drugs, but either way, not the best situation. I started googling "best places to run in Atlanta" and "trails Atlanta." Let me tell you there is about one legit option in the city- Piedmont Park. I went, I ran, I was happy. But then I wanted to run again... and for me one of the biggest reasons I like running is because its like exploring. I can just start running and not know where I'm going and see new things and places. Not so easy to do in a metropolis- I guess I could start carrying a gun, but then I'd be running lopsided and people might start calling me Lopsided Jill and it just sounds weird. So, no gun and no Piedmont Park (at least not so soon- I'd have to give it at LEAST 3 days before I ran there again. OBVIOUSLY).
Last Sunday after work I decided to explore the option of running downtown. I knew it was going to be a bit chilly, but I'm used to getting hot about ten minutes into the run so I decided to forego a long sleeve shirt, jacket, hat or gloves. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Such a fucking BAD BAD BAD idea. Now you would think with my hands burning in pain from the cold after ten minutes that I would give up and go home. But what good is a ten minute run? Right? So pointless. I stuck it out for 35 minutes (which is about the shortest amount of time I can run and still feel like I did anything). My lungs hurt and if I knew what it felt like to be electrocuted, I would say that's what my hands felt like. But I've never been electrocuted, so I really can't say for sure. On the way to my car I passed a guy on the street. He told me I was insane and that there was a reason that gyms existed. BUT THE SKY IS SOOOOO BLUEEEEEEE. Sigh I love being outside, even if the cold does rape me sometimes.
Monday I didn't have to work until 2:30pm, so I figured I would try my luck again. This time I drove up to Stone Mountain. It took me thirty minutes to get there, but I told myself that nature was worth it. When I pulled to the gate I realized I was going to have to pay to park-- I guess its a State Park-- or something. $10!!! $10 to park my car for maybe an hour?! WTF!!! Right below the daily rate, they had an annual rate: $35 (which yes, I know is the months worth of gym membership that I shirked off due to my mattress purchase. But you just can't put a price on nature!). I decided to go with the annual rate. I told myself the odds were in my favor that I would come back and run here at least 3 more times in the next 12 months-- and if not well then I'm just a LAZ-ASS. PURCHASE! :D
My Stone Mountain running experience was going to be so much better than my experience running downtown. I came prepared! Yes! Running capris, long sleeve dri-fit running shirt, running jacket and dri-fit running gloves. It was SOOOOOO on. SO. I opened my door. It was cold, but I wasn't running yet, so that didn't really mean much. Ten minutes passed, I started running up Stone Mountain. Then I started hiking up Stone Mountain, because it was actually a STONE and I am a clumsy, clumsy girl and I like my face. The higher I hiked the colder it got and I started to get electro hands again. Fortunately, since I wasn't running I didn't really need my hands to help with forward motion, so I just started doing the Molly Shannon (you know the hands under the armpits, but just to keep them warm, not to smell them).
Again as I said before, I don't like abandoning a work out without getting the work out. I kept climbing. I passed several hikers covered head to toe. They were serious man. I'm not even joking- covered head to toe, hats, ski masks, hiking polls. You name it, they had it. I had my black and pink Nike Frees and hands under my armpits. I should have seen the mountain men and said "Here's your sign"! But I didn't. I should have seen the pools of very hard and very frozen water and said "Here's your sign"! But I didn't. Instead I hiked my very numb and self-loathing body HALLLL the way to the top of Stone Mountain. It was beautiful at the top. You could see for miles around, couldn't feel a damn thing, but you could see.
I took I moment to soak it all in. Then I turned around and ran the FUCK down, jumped in my car and sat on my hands for about ten solid minutes. Why is it that the warmest areas of your body are also the ones that smell the least wonderful? (I mean aside from mine, because my armpits and butt always smell like roses. Obviously. Oh, and girls don't poop either. Yup).
Lesson of this story. If you are a state park you can buy yourself a Jilsicle for $35.
YUP.
Over and out. Jildo
You may be asking yourself "what is a Jilsicle" and yes, you are correct, it is exactly what you think it is. It's a frozen Jillian. BRRRRRR.
Now that I'm getting all settled into my new life, I decided it was time to get settled into my old routines. Yes, running (because I never want to run another half marathon without training. I want to puke just thinking about it- like I did that night six times because my body hated me for not preparing it for running 13.1 miles in the brutally crisp, unforgiving, Vegas winter air. INSERT BARFING NOISE HERE. And, hey, maybe again just for good measure. HURLLLLLL)-- Ok. You get the picture.
When I first moved to Georgia I joined a gym close to my Dad and Stepmom's house. Beautiful gym, super shiny- I wanted to live there its so HA-MAZING. But obviously, when I moved 50 minutes away it just wasn't working out (and obviously neither was I). So, I did what any person in my situation would do. I ended it. Which budget wise was probably for the best, because it was $70/month (but REALLY... so BEAUTIFUL. Sigh. Yes, I miss it.)
Anyways, so there I was... No beautiful, shiny gym. With the recent purchase of my HA-MAZING bed, I really had no money to sign up for a new gym. This is the moment I had the bright idea to start running outside again, because it really is SOOOOOO much better than running on a treadmill. SO.
The prospect of running outside was great, but then came the question of where to run. I can't just run out my front door like I used to do in Santa Barbara- people might actually kill me here if I did that. Or maybe just try to sell me illicit drugs, but either way, not the best situation. I started googling "best places to run in Atlanta" and "trails Atlanta." Let me tell you there is about one legit option in the city- Piedmont Park. I went, I ran, I was happy. But then I wanted to run again... and for me one of the biggest reasons I like running is because its like exploring. I can just start running and not know where I'm going and see new things and places. Not so easy to do in a metropolis- I guess I could start carrying a gun, but then I'd be running lopsided and people might start calling me Lopsided Jill and it just sounds weird. So, no gun and no Piedmont Park (at least not so soon- I'd have to give it at LEAST 3 days before I ran there again. OBVIOUSLY).
Last Sunday after work I decided to explore the option of running downtown. I knew it was going to be a bit chilly, but I'm used to getting hot about ten minutes into the run so I decided to forego a long sleeve shirt, jacket, hat or gloves. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Such a fucking BAD BAD BAD idea. Now you would think with my hands burning in pain from the cold after ten minutes that I would give up and go home. But what good is a ten minute run? Right? So pointless. I stuck it out for 35 minutes (which is about the shortest amount of time I can run and still feel like I did anything). My lungs hurt and if I knew what it felt like to be electrocuted, I would say that's what my hands felt like. But I've never been electrocuted, so I really can't say for sure. On the way to my car I passed a guy on the street. He told me I was insane and that there was a reason that gyms existed. BUT THE SKY IS SOOOOO BLUEEEEEEE. Sigh I love being outside, even if the cold does rape me sometimes.
Monday I didn't have to work until 2:30pm, so I figured I would try my luck again. This time I drove up to Stone Mountain. It took me thirty minutes to get there, but I told myself that nature was worth it. When I pulled to the gate I realized I was going to have to pay to park-- I guess its a State Park-- or something. $10!!! $10 to park my car for maybe an hour?! WTF!!! Right below the daily rate, they had an annual rate: $35 (which yes, I know is the months worth of gym membership that I shirked off due to my mattress purchase. But you just can't put a price on nature!). I decided to go with the annual rate. I told myself the odds were in my favor that I would come back and run here at least 3 more times in the next 12 months-- and if not well then I'm just a LAZ-ASS. PURCHASE! :D
My Stone Mountain running experience was going to be so much better than my experience running downtown. I came prepared! Yes! Running capris, long sleeve dri-fit running shirt, running jacket and dri-fit running gloves. It was SOOOOOO on. SO. I opened my door. It was cold, but I wasn't running yet, so that didn't really mean much. Ten minutes passed, I started running up Stone Mountain. Then I started hiking up Stone Mountain, because it was actually a STONE and I am a clumsy, clumsy girl and I like my face. The higher I hiked the colder it got and I started to get electro hands again. Fortunately, since I wasn't running I didn't really need my hands to help with forward motion, so I just started doing the Molly Shannon (you know the hands under the armpits, but just to keep them warm, not to smell them).
Again as I said before, I don't like abandoning a work out without getting the work out. I kept climbing. I passed several hikers covered head to toe. They were serious man. I'm not even joking- covered head to toe, hats, ski masks, hiking polls. You name it, they had it. I had my black and pink Nike Frees and hands under my armpits. I should have seen the mountain men and said "Here's your sign"! But I didn't. I should have seen the pools of very hard and very frozen water and said "Here's your sign"! But I didn't. Instead I hiked my very numb and self-loathing body HALLLL the way to the top of Stone Mountain. It was beautiful at the top. You could see for miles around, couldn't feel a damn thing, but you could see.
I took I moment to soak it all in. Then I turned around and ran the FUCK down, jumped in my car and sat on my hands for about ten solid minutes. Why is it that the warmest areas of your body are also the ones that smell the least wonderful? (I mean aside from mine, because my armpits and butt always smell like roses. Obviously. Oh, and girls don't poop either. Yup).
Lesson of this story. If you are a state park you can buy yourself a Jilsicle for $35.
YUP.
Over and out. Jildo
Friday, February 10, 2012
Two Birds, One Mattress
Remember that old saying, "Kill two birds with one stone"? Well, I killed a broke girl and a UPS man with one mattress.
I used to be sooo young and resilient. When I was younger my family would go camping. My dad would bring the one inch sleeping pads and say we'd have to make due with that. I couldn't complain, I felt like I was sleeping on air! I even smiled ear to ear in my sleep :D. But these days, well, Danny Glover got it right. I'm getting too old for this shit!
So, after two days sleeping on the floor at the new apartment I was not my happy self. Robin, my step mom, reminded me that I could borrow their air mattress until I could afford to get a new mattress. I thanked her and took the air mattress. But I couldn't get my old bed out of my mind.
I LOVED my old bed. A dog may be mans best friend, but a bed is a girls best friend. Or at least mine... does that mean I'm lazy? Eh. Anyways, like I was saying my last bed was HA-MAZING. Queen size, 12 inch memory foam with a 2 inch pillow top. DREAMS!!! Yes... "DREAMS". You could sit on that thing and fall asleep and wake up and look like you'd drank 8 cups of water, exfoliated, run 10 miles and won a nobel prize. Obviously, I was a teeensy bit worried about replacing it (its been discontinued!!!!)
Now, I realize this may seem silly to you. But, I am all about time management (time is money right?). Therefore, when I can I shop online. I don't have to waste money on gas or pull out my back trying to load and unload a 100+ pound mattress in and out of my jeep. Comprende? Yea. For reals. So, there's no going to the mattress store and taking 9 million naps on all the sample beds. And come'on people-- don't you know how many people do that?! Uh... gross!!!
So, I did the only thing I could think of. I would just have to buy a bigger, better bed. A "triple B" if you will. Now, I'm no idiot (well- not when it comes to beds. Skunk outfits, yes. Beds, no. I don't fuck around with my sleep.) I spent about 5 hours perusing beds on Overstock.com. This is where I bought my last bed, so I figured why mess with success. After five hours I found the PERFECT, nay the MOST PERFECTTEST (i make up words) bed in all the land.
14" of pure 150lb sleep inducing memory foam magic. King size. Pillow top, PUH-LEASEEEEE. I stared at my cart. Should I do it? One whole paycheck devoted to keeping Jildo from turning into... hmmm... what would you call it? Dane Cook would call it the "dragon". We'll just go with a not so nice version of Jildo. So, really I spent one whole pay check for you. I'm keeping the inner bitch from you. You can thank me later.
Purchase! Click! They tell me my mattress will ship in 4-10 business days. It's a Friday (friday, friday, getting down on friday-- just for you Jes). I tick off on my fingers how long I'm going to have to wait. After all, I have to mentally prepare to fight the war that is me vs. the floor. By the next day it has already shipped-- this battle is obviously in my favor. Wednesday the mattress arrives. Well. The UPS man arrives at my door first.
Now I want you to picture this. I ordered a King size memory foam mattress. If you know HE-NETHING about memory foam you know it weighs about a ga-jillian pounds. The UPS man that arrived at my door was probably about 5'5", 160 pounds. Yeh. I'm such a jerk. I answered the door.
Ten seconds pass as the UPS man and I stare at each other. Eventually he manages to say "You're here?"
At this point I'm not really sure why he's out of breath. He does not have my mattress with him. But those are the facts, and I tell it like it is.
Me: Si, senor!
I smile. :D. Lots of teeth to encourage him. :D. I don't think it helps.
He sighs and heads back down the two flights of stairs (GOD, YES, I AM A JERK) to grab my 150+lb mattress. I thought about offering to help him, but it was cold, plus, I paid for delivery. I mean, right? (Again, like I said. I'm a jerk).
About 15 minutes later he resurfaces with what looks like a body bag for Sasquatch. I mean it was huge... even I was shocked. Of course I made him bring it all the way into the apartment and back into my bedroom. Lots of smiles! :D And then thank him for bringing it up. HE HATES ME. :D Thanks!
HATES ME.
In conclusion, I'm pretty sure my spending has now reached epic proportions. Not only did I kill my pocket book (ONE WHOLE PAYCHECK!!! JESUS WOMAN!!!), but I nearly killed the UPS man. Would that be manslaughter? Manslaughter by mattress? I'm pretty sure Overstock would be liable and not me. I mean right?
But still, yes, deadly spending.
xoxo, Jildo
I used to be sooo young and resilient. When I was younger my family would go camping. My dad would bring the one inch sleeping pads and say we'd have to make due with that. I couldn't complain, I felt like I was sleeping on air! I even smiled ear to ear in my sleep :D. But these days, well, Danny Glover got it right. I'm getting too old for this shit!
So, after two days sleeping on the floor at the new apartment I was not my happy self. Robin, my step mom, reminded me that I could borrow their air mattress until I could afford to get a new mattress. I thanked her and took the air mattress. But I couldn't get my old bed out of my mind.
I LOVED my old bed. A dog may be mans best friend, but a bed is a girls best friend. Or at least mine... does that mean I'm lazy? Eh. Anyways, like I was saying my last bed was HA-MAZING. Queen size, 12 inch memory foam with a 2 inch pillow top. DREAMS!!! Yes... "DREAMS". You could sit on that thing and fall asleep and wake up and look like you'd drank 8 cups of water, exfoliated, run 10 miles and won a nobel prize. Obviously, I was a teeensy bit worried about replacing it (its been discontinued!!!!)
Now, I realize this may seem silly to you. But, I am all about time management (time is money right?). Therefore, when I can I shop online. I don't have to waste money on gas or pull out my back trying to load and unload a 100+ pound mattress in and out of my jeep. Comprende? Yea. For reals. So, there's no going to the mattress store and taking 9 million naps on all the sample beds. And come'on people-- don't you know how many people do that?! Uh... gross!!!
So, I did the only thing I could think of. I would just have to buy a bigger, better bed. A "triple B" if you will. Now, I'm no idiot (well- not when it comes to beds. Skunk outfits, yes. Beds, no. I don't fuck around with my sleep.) I spent about 5 hours perusing beds on Overstock.com. This is where I bought my last bed, so I figured why mess with success. After five hours I found the PERFECT, nay the MOST PERFECTTEST (i make up words) bed in all the land.
14" of pure 150lb sleep inducing memory foam magic. King size. Pillow top, PUH-LEASEEEEE. I stared at my cart. Should I do it? One whole paycheck devoted to keeping Jildo from turning into... hmmm... what would you call it? Dane Cook would call it the "dragon". We'll just go with a not so nice version of Jildo. So, really I spent one whole pay check for you. I'm keeping the inner bitch from you. You can thank me later.
Purchase! Click! They tell me my mattress will ship in 4-10 business days. It's a Friday (friday, friday, getting down on friday-- just for you Jes). I tick off on my fingers how long I'm going to have to wait. After all, I have to mentally prepare to fight the war that is me vs. the floor. By the next day it has already shipped-- this battle is obviously in my favor. Wednesday the mattress arrives. Well. The UPS man arrives at my door first.
Now I want you to picture this. I ordered a King size memory foam mattress. If you know HE-NETHING about memory foam you know it weighs about a ga-jillian pounds. The UPS man that arrived at my door was probably about 5'5", 160 pounds. Yeh. I'm such a jerk. I answered the door.
Ten seconds pass as the UPS man and I stare at each other. Eventually he manages to say "You're here?"
At this point I'm not really sure why he's out of breath. He does not have my mattress with him. But those are the facts, and I tell it like it is.
Me: Si, senor!
I smile. :D. Lots of teeth to encourage him. :D. I don't think it helps.
He sighs and heads back down the two flights of stairs (GOD, YES, I AM A JERK) to grab my 150+lb mattress. I thought about offering to help him, but it was cold, plus, I paid for delivery. I mean, right? (Again, like I said. I'm a jerk).
About 15 minutes later he resurfaces with what looks like a body bag for Sasquatch. I mean it was huge... even I was shocked. Of course I made him bring it all the way into the apartment and back into my bedroom. Lots of smiles! :D And then thank him for bringing it up. HE HATES ME. :D Thanks!
HATES ME.
In conclusion, I'm pretty sure my spending has now reached epic proportions. Not only did I kill my pocket book (ONE WHOLE PAYCHECK!!! JESUS WOMAN!!!), but I nearly killed the UPS man. Would that be manslaughter? Manslaughter by mattress? I'm pretty sure Overstock would be liable and not me. I mean right?
But still, yes, deadly spending.
xoxo, Jildo
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)