Friday, January 21, 2011

Movie Magic Part II

I don't know what's wrong with me. I used to get on stage several times a year in spandex and tutus and perform gravity and seemingly human being defying routines with grace, poise and sometimes a touch of psycho stage presence, but now all I do is fall over, break shit and hurt myself. Mind you, this is when I'm walking through my normal life, not on stage. *SIGH*

I often write about my clumsy mishaps because I just can't believe that one human being has accidentally re-created so many scenes from slap stick comedy movies. I'm an observant, attention to detail person that has major issues with household appliances, performing daily tasks such as showering and walking and wardrobe malfunctions. My last post on this right here explains some of my finer moments in life...oh but wait, there's more.

All of my misfortunes are unexpected of course, but I've now started to brace myself as soon as my feet hit the tile of the kitchen floor. The kitchen loves to attack me even though we've become fairly good friends within the past couple of years.

The day before yesterday Once upon a time, I reached for the cabinet high above my head, knowing full well that I would probably have to scale the stove to find what I was after since I'm quite vertically challenged. However, when I opened the cabinet, a box of pasta decided to fling itself out of it's apparent prison and onto my head where it busted open causing hundreds of rigatonis to rain down upon me and all over the kitchen. The sound was a classic *CRASH* followed by the distinct hollowed noise of an avalanche of dry, tubular pasta hitting tile.

Andy, who will eat anything that has fallen on the floor, including the chicken bones left on the curb by bums that I routinely have to pry out of his mouth, ran from his lounging spot on the couch to inspect and immediately began to nom nom nom on the rigatoni carnage. I just stood there staring for a good minute trying to decide if I should laugh, cry, get pissed etc, before I finally checked my hair for any stragglers and went to grab the broom.

Apparently I was in a good mood that day. Not even one cuss word escaped my mouth...until of course a few hours later, I went to the same cabinet, opened it and a box of raisins kamikazed itself out of nowhere and pinged off my forehead. "WHAT. THE. FUCK!" I yelled, picking the box that had apparently come to life off the stove and tossing it back in the cabinet. Then I wondered, 'why the hell do we have raisins? Gross.'

Then a particular memory of an attack by an inanimate object in the kitchen came flooding back. Junior year in college, long before I knew how to cook anything besides Ramen and Easy Mac, I opened a cabinet at eye level and was immediately assaulted by a flying, 400 pound plate that hit me right in the mouth. I distinctly remember my roommate coming to see what the commotion was about and exclaiming, "Did you break my Crate and Barrel plate?!" "No," I said, my voice coming out muffled because my hands were covering my mouth, nursing my fat, bloody lip, "My face broke it's fall." When people asked what happened to my lip, I just said I got in a fight. I left out that I was actually punched in the mouth by a goddamn plate.

I really must start wearing stilts in the kitchen...or just not going in there at all.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Teach Me How To Be In Debt

My first semester of grad school was full of surprises and learning experiences, meeting new friends...and assholes with God complexes. Business school is the epitome of a "man's world," an expression I've always hated. I spent four months being partly amused, partly ferocious and partly diplomatic trying to coax some of my male counterparts out of the stone age and into a more productive world where they work with me instead of against me. It was ridiculous. I guess it's still hard for some guys to accept a woman as their equal or better rather than just an ego stroking, sandwich making, baby machine. Yes, because I'm spending 40K-ish on an MBA for a shot at domesticity...yeah, not gonna happen.

For example, quoting a certain exasperated ex-boyfriend of mine, "God! Why do you have to be such a guy all the time?!"

Well, somebody had to be the man in that relationship...pansy ass...

Anyway, the combination of complexity, time consumption and fighting cave men was exhausting (and resulted in kick ass grades, by the way, so suck it GMAT test creators. My crappy score on your crappy exam apparently indicates the exact opposite of what you believe it to.), so I spent the last month treating myself to some much needed and well deserved R, R & I — Rest, Relaxation and Intoxication.

I drove the nine hours back to Kansas City a few days after my last final exam and ended up staying three and a half weeks. A little longer than expected, but I blame that on my love for Kettle One dirty martinis, a snowstorm and a dead car battery.

There also might have been an incident involving me parading around town in a hideous Christmas sweater, green tights and red pumps, then waking up in said sweater, tights and pumps; another hilarious "Recession Christmas" with the girlfriends where we buy each other horrendous thrift store gems as well as proudly being one of the winos and showing off my mad Catch Phrase skills (which are directly related to the amount of wine I drink) at family Christmas.

An extremely hazy New Year's Eve followed, where I sported sweatpants and tennis shoes under my dress with my real shoes in my purse while walking running to and from the party in frigid temperatures.

While at the party, I was carried around by a large, hairy man that I didn't know, then back at my date's apartment, I gallivanted around his kitchen while eating Doritos and Oatmeal Cream Pies and sending many ridiculous text messages all while he was passed out in his bed in all his clothes.

The next morning afternoon, I was reminded of my shenanigans when I looked at my phone to check the time and found the smeary remnants of my drunken Oatmeal Cream Pie binge all over it. When I finally got my legs to work and decided to head home to die in my own bed, I was also reminded of how much champagne I drank the night before by puking in the bushes outside of the apartment. Classy, oh yes, but hey it was New Year's Eve and 2010 was pretty damn good to me.

I wrapped up R, R & I with a bowling, dive bar, hot tub combo night followed by dodging a 5 a.m. indecent and unexpected
proposal by a falling over drunk acquaintance. No further details need to be divulged on that...

Many normal things also happened during my winter break as well such as family togetherness, movies, reading, sitting on my ass etc., but who the hell wants to hear about that?

However, leaving KC again after that long vaca was bittersweet just like it was in August. While I'm still conflicted with this whole leaving home thing, I realized how many ghosts I have in Kansas City — good, bad and indifferent — so it's probably good for me to be away for a while living out a little piece of my dreams.

Just as I was transforming from a drunken college student back into a good time business gal to prepare for semester number 2 when I got back to Denver, something shook me out of my relaxed-and-ready-to-start-school-again state. I learned that there was some kind of glitch in the financial aid office and my loans that pay for my tuition, books and a portion of my living expenses were going to be two weeks late. All plans to purchase anything came to a screeching halt. I had budgeted pretty well, stretching last semester's funds into the new year until I was scheduled to receive my next round of aid, however I did not factor in a two fucking week delay. Nobody does...which makes me wonder how others on F.A. who do not have parents to help them, like mine, are eating right joke. My sad, depleted bank account made an old fear that I had buried deep in the back of my brain resurface — debt, evil debt.

It really is the biggest bitch in the world. With student loans, you're damned if you don't (the situation I'm in now) and you're damned if you do (the situation I'll be in, but am already worrying about, in a year and a half). Despite constantly struggling, I've managed to avoid credit cards, the urge to keep up with the Joneses and overdraft fees for many years now. Everybody I know has debt except for me — until now, that is. I'm suddenly relying on shitloads of borrowed money and it's kind of making me psychotic...more so than usual.

We rack up this kind of debt on this kind of education because it most likely guarantees to land you a job that will allow you to pay it back before you're 75 and without having to live in a box while doing so, right? RIGHT?! Of course that guarantee would be a lot more solid if I didn't have to actually like my job and have a career that makes a difference. DAMN! Curse me for not simply being a money grubbing whore...

What if all those rain dances I've been doing to make 2012 have the most prosperous job market ever in history don't work? Shit! I was really counting on those.

So many others have done it before me, so I know it can be done, however I fear that I will be really bad at it. Somebody please teach me how to be in debt...preferably before my head explodes.

View my page on Twenty Something Bloggers