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!