Well, it's official.

2% pay cut, among other things (e.g. no retirement contribution match) for at least nine months. When you're as poor as I am, 2% is a big deal (like a student loan payment and/or rent). More than that, there's the idea that working your way up and through a complicated job with a huge personnel issue is rewarded by the expectation of more work for less money. Yes, I still have my job, which is good, because the Department of Education and Citibank would be pretty sad if I found myself unemployed, but what am I working for? Another round of salary reductions? Constant fear of a reduction in force? Working in HR is difficult, since I catch wind, but not details of these decisions and have ample time to obsess. Also, there will surely be exceptions to the official rules to wrangle our budget, and I will have to process them, all the while living on less myself. Life isn't fair. I know this. But I was so hopeful. So hopeful.

Right, so, do I use this as impetus to see what else is out there? Do I seriously look at grad school now that I know I'll be just as poor working as I would in school? Do I look into selling my eggs? Do I hang out at retirement centers and befriend oldies who will add me to their life insurance policies? Do I move back in with my parents and save as much as I can to fund some sort of real change? Or, do I just tread water and hope for the best since I do actually like my job, the people I work with, and am not through learning what I'd need to know to be marketable in this area. I could do other stuff, sure, but I just invested over two years learning benefits and compensation.

Ugh. Sad panda. I don't know what that means, Shain says it, so I repeat it.

I'd like the crap sandwich with a side of extra crap sandwich.

Have you ever woken up one morning and realized that you haven't had a haircut since August? And then you check your mail and there's a letter from the IRS that insinuates that maybe you forgot to report some of your income from 2007 and now you owe lots of money?* And then you realize that your attempt at political humor was so pedantic that even your six year old cousin made the Kenneth/Bobby connection? And work blows serious donkey balls, but you can't talk about it because it's all confidential and shit? And then you check your 403(b) just for shits and giggles, but end up sobbing? And your deadbeat, college dropout brother has been MIA for weeks causing your mother to have a slow, drawn out series of mini nervous breakdowns punctuated by terrible cell phone reception? Also, you have a denti$t appointment in the morning, which will undoubtedly lead to a crown and public drooling.

All I've managed to do to mitigate any of this is to make an appointment to get my hair cut that I can't afford because of the taxes I owe.

*The best part about this is that I forgot to report severance pay. It's not like it was anything exciting like a salary or lottery winnings.

Blythe's Recession Tip #46: Have an ice storm!

When unable to scrape and snap the layers of ice from your car, you can't go anywhere to spend dollar dollar bills y'all, and voila, you save money! I'm already up like $400 from not buying stamps to mail my bills. Best. Ice. Storm. Ever. I suggest you put on some old school winter brooding music, and stare out your window. 100% free!

I highly recommend Van Morrison - Astral Weeks (because, this can lead to, you know... also, usually, free).

and/or Janis Ian - Between the Lines (this won't lead anywhere but self loathing).

This might also be a good time to get some pre-spring cleaning done. I'd suggest starting with your liquor cabinet.

Happy Ice Day!

Last thing, if you have half an hour on hand and want a lifetime of jokes, just watch THESE.

Oh snap.

I kinda knew this would happen. Deep in my heart of sports prediction hearts. Does it make it any easier? No. Now, the SEC will be all we'reawesomethebig12isforpussyteamsthatscuck. And also, Texas and Utah will be all thiswouldneverhavehappened to us. Well, guess what kids, it would've. Know why? Because, in spite of it all, Oklahoma is a kickass team that succeeded at not losing to Florida, but to itself this evening. Also, we are destined to lose all bowl games presided over by our dear St. Stoops. There I said it. So sue me. Finally, I am terribly drunk, so I will surely either regret or forget what I have said. In the meantime: boomer sooner. We will prevail! In 2018. Or something near that.

Hamburgers.

Hate this! Thursday

I would rather be forced to attend a Nickleback concert, while wearing Crocs and drinking a Diet Pepsi than endure car trouble. After two attempts at jumping, one resulting in a small fire, the dolphin gray, old lady mobile sits in a garage awaiting a new alternator. Not cheap! When you are on a budget of $0, this sucks. Let me tell you.

Otis Redding Wednesday

Sometimes, there is nothing that describes one's mental state better than an Otis Redding song.

Ah haz no readerz/America's barfday/Songs I like/Fancy Feat, etc.

I haz no readerz

I see how it is. I actually have fewer readers now than I did when I initially started blogging. Amazing, isn't it? On the upside, I've decided this means I have free reign to post whaeverthefuck I want. Watch out!

America's barfday

Oh, Fourth of July, New Year's Eve of the summer. I never have the right plans. There were no hotdogs, no lake, no beer even this year. I did watch Norman's abysmal fireworks show from the roof of the stadium parking lot where some hipster tweens were blasting My Morning Jacket. Turns out, MMJ is a good soundtrack for loving America. Next, I found myself at a river lighting far too large fireworks in darkness. So maybe it wasn't so bad.

Songs I like

These two diddies have caught my ear as the ethereal, ephemeral, euphoric sounds of summer:

Happiness - Goldfrapp
Lights Out - Santogold

Fancy Feat

I have a roommate. He has a cat. Zatara and I get along ok, when he is not trying to put his sphincter in my face. What I have a problem with is the fact that the roommate refuses to stop feeding Fancy Feast to Zatara in spite of the rancid butt volcano it inspires. Last night, I made a delightful shrimp curry accompanied by a potato/garam masala/onion/garlic/pea concoction not unlike the innerds of a samosa because I had no basmati rice. Needless to say, the place stunk. Like a lot. But not as much as when roommate makes tuna helper. As I was sitting on the couch trying to figure out why I was actually laughing at moments of Drillbit Taylor, I had a rare stroke of brilliance. I'm not sure how I knew this, but I was suddenly aware that a small can of Sunkist is exactly the same size as a can of Fancy Feast. Moments later, the BF was removing with surgical precision, the labels from each can. He then adhered the Starkist label to the Fancy Feast can with perfection.

Observation #78

The other night, I made the comment to a coworker that my blog has died because all I can come up with are dumbass musings that no one cares about. I then realized that is pretty much the basis for any blog and that I should just go for it. Here's what I'd come up with: there are two kinds of people in this world. The kind who buy soda in liter bottles, and the kind who are sensible and don't. The advantages of the three liter have always been a mystery to me. If you want to drink brown, flat liquid, why not just drink what's left in your coffee pot or a Guinness. Seriously, unless you are chaperoning a seventh grade dance and need to fill a bucket with ginger ale and orange juice, there is simply no need for liter bottles. Later that night, I came home to a three liter of Diet Coke sitting on my kitchen table proferred by the BF. I'm not sure where to go from here.

Vacation

There are lots of kinds of vacations, I am learning. A staycation is where you stay home from work, but go nowhere interesting, instead preferring to catch up on laundry and Maury. A mancation is where dudebros go to Vegas and get lap dances and STDs. There are probably other kinds, but I'd rather talk about my upcoming lamecation. I am going to Galveston, TX with my mother next weekend. The "resorts" and "hotels" actually provide you with wipes for tar removal.

Confession

I am hopelessly addicted to Battlestar Galactica. Please don't judge.

Read it:

http://menwholooklikezachbraff.blogspot.com/


Extras

I am reading In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto. Read it before you go to the grocery store.