Monday, March 16, 2009

from the vault: my new way of expressing frustration, or "life goals"

I wrote this on Facebook almost exactly a year ago (3-15-08) and got a huge kick out of re-reading it just now. Thought I'd give it new life here on my blog. Enjoy.

I've come to the conclusion that most of the awkwardness I experience is self-induced.

That is why I am not returning to ORU after spring break. Instead, I've decided to become a nun.

I'm pretty much cut out for a life of habit-wearing, chastity, and praying the rosary at 5 am...hopefully I'll wind up in an order that allows undercover lounge singers who perform Motown songs during mass.

That would be wicked sweet.

Unfortunately, I'm not Catholic--nor do I care to become one (no offense to my Catholic friends). Also, as much as I really wanna run away and not live under the expectations of having a career and/or a family after having nearly earned a bachelor's degree, I'm pretty sure I could never be a nun.

So instead...I think I'll aspire to becoming a crazy sweatsuit-wearing cat lady who drives a station wagon, has 20 cats, and wants all her groceries double-bagged. In paper. And I'll write nutty poems on those paper bags and stow them away under my tube socks and rain bonnets, and someday I'll be hailed as a modern-day Emily Dickinson.

Also, most of my poetry will be dedicated to my cats. It's not like I'll have anything else to write about.


A friend of mine received this in an e-mail and posted it as a note on Facebook. It's just too crazy not to pass along. I found it a bit too ironic after we talked about credit card bill collectors last night in our Financial Peace University class at church...

This is so priceless, and so, so easy to see happening, customer service being what it is today.

A lady died this past January, and Citibank billed her for February and March for their annual service charges on her credit card, and added late fees and interest on the monthly charge. The balance had been $0.00 when she died, but now somewhere around $60.00. A family member placed a call to Citibank.

Here is the exchange :

Family Member: 'I am calling to tell you she died back in January.'

Citibank : 'The account was never closed and the late fees and charges still apply.'

Family Member : 'Maybe, you should turn it over to collections.'

Citibank : 'Since it is two months past due, it already has been.'

Family Member : So, what will they do when they find out she is dead?'

Citibank : 'Either report her account to frauds division or report her to the credit bureau, maybe both!'

Family Member : 'Do you think God will be mad at her?'

'Excuse me?'

Family Member : 'Did you just get what I was telling you - the part about her being dead?'

Citibank : 'Sir, you'll have to speak to my supervisor.'

Supervisor gets on the phone :

Family Member : 'I'm calling to tell you, she died back in January with a $0 balance.'

Citibank : 'The account was never closed and late fees and charges still apply.'

Family Member : 'You mean you want to collect from her estate?'

Citibank : (Stammer) 'Are you her lawyer?'

Family Member : 'No, I'm her great nephew.' (Lawyer info was given)

Citibank: 'Could you fax us a certificate of death?'

Family Member : 'Sure.' (Fax number was given )

After they get the fax :

Citibank : 'Our system just isn't setup for death.. I don't know what more I can do to help.'

Family Member : 'Well, if you figure it out, great! If not, you could just keep billing her. She won't care.'

Citibank: 'Well, the late fees and charges will still apply.'

(What is wrong with these people?!?)

Family Member : 'Would you like her new billing address?'

Citibank : 'That might help...'

Family Member : 'Odessa Memorial Cemetery, Highway 129, Plot Number 69.'

Citibank : 'Sir, that's a cemetery!'

Family Member : 'And what do you do with dead people on your planet???'

You wonder why Citi is going broke and need the feds to bail them out!!


At long last, I have dusted off my blog again. Yes, it's been a whole six months since I've contributed anything of substance--scratch that--anything at all. I'm a little further off the mark than I thought I'd be right now, having finished school three months ago. A couple dozen job applications and one job interview later, I'm still living at home but building up my financial independence one paycheck at a time. I returned to my "first real job," running a cash register at a grocery store, still only part time.

As you can tell, lately I've fallen into the habit of measuring my success in time and numbers. It's easy to do when I'm waiting for something and I don't know what it is. With every day that passes without a single response to the scores of applications I've sent out, I get a little more restless. It seems funny to me that I'm not making enough money right now for Obama to deduct federal tax from my paycheck. Like he's doing me a favor. Like that's any consolation for the fact that I have a college degree and very little to show for it. Like I need a handout from the "rich."

Is this what being an adult is all about? Scrounging away every dollar I can squeeze out of my paycheck? Succumbing to the welfare state or fighting to rise above it?

An hour or so ago I was chatting on Facebook with an old classmate. We've known each other since preschool or kindergarten and truly brought out the worst in each other at times. But like most kids are prone to do, we've grown up a bit. He's learned some kindness and respect and I've learned to keep my chin up and keep a tighter rein on my tear ducts. Now we can talk to each other like civilized adults, something I would never have foreseen back in high school.

Anyway, in the midst of encouraging one another in our individual pursuits, this person said something that astounded me:

"You've always seemed scrappy. I'm sure you'll kick some a** once you get your foot in."

This is high praise coming from someone who used to tease me until I was in tears. Life really does come full circle.

So I guess maybe I'm scrappy enough to make something of myself, even if it means I'll be counting back change and stocking shelves for a little's just a season and a time to discover why I'm here...

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