"The Dickens out of people? Nobody gets me."

I just spent a quiet, sobering afternoon, alone with my budget.

In a spreadsheet, I projected out all income and bills for 12 months. Two goals are at work here: I will pay off all credit card debt by December 31 and save enough money for a down payment on a new (to me) car around that same time (which uncovered another necessary expenditure for which I'll be stashing cash: engine repairs for my baby, the Silver Sofa On Wheels, to keep it running and emissions-compliant until the end of the year when I can pass it down to my brother). Whew.

Results? Gotta save more. I called the cable company to get rid of my expensive cable. I am now investing less for retirement, just for the short-term to get this done, as much as that hurts. I will be taking out a certain amount of cash from the ATM each paycheck, and that's it for groceries, going out, and miscellaneous items, no exceptions. After all bills are paid, the amount in my checking account will be pushed to my savings account, which is connected to my checking account so no excuses (I even added a line item on the spreadsheet for each monthly budget that reads: "$XXX: due to savings account on 3/31/10.") Holding myself accountable. (Accountable. Accountable?! NObody gets me!)

I may be good with organization but up til now, I have not been great with my personal finances.

Replacing my old mantra: I have no money!! What am I going to do?!

My new mantra is: I have a lot of money. I need to protect it.

Fooie ; You’re terrific!

I found some old WWII letters to home here.

Here is an exerpt from my favorite one, from George "Dad" Rarey, which is the letter he wrote back to his wife upon learning she had given birth to their son:

....I think that I’ve had just about the easiest time of it that any father has had ; I was just getting down to the really serious part of the floor pacing ; When whamie! I find that Old Junie has done the whole thing without the unnecessary moaning and hollering from the Old Man ; And they say the Woman is the weaker of the sexes ; Fooie ; You’re terrific! Golly I’m anxious to know all the details ; I figure Damon was born on the 19th ; I wonder what he weighs and all about him. Tell him that he has the proudest, happiest and luckiest Pop in the whole world. Junie if this letter makes no sense forget it- I’m sort of delirious- Today everything is special ; This iron hut looks like a castle ; The low hanging overcast outside is the most beautiful hue of blue I’ve ever seen ; I’m a father ; I have a son! My darling wife has had a fine boy and I’m a king....

This pilot was a terrific artist, and he would sketch out the events he described in his letters home--here. Toward the end of the slideshow you'll see that he commemorated his friends who died in war with custom nose art, trying to incorporate their characteristics into the drawings, often with their nickname. He died in combat over France.

This blog's namesake.

My favorite beast in all the land.

Half cat, half dog, he plays fetch and destroys my furniture. He greets me at the door (almost) every day when I get home. It warms my icy, black heart.

That's nice and all, but it's even better when my favorite person greets me at the door.

What a difference a day makes.

I am training for the ING GA marathon.

It is in less than a month.

I am in full-on freakout mode.

I have never done this before and I'm beginning to doubt that I can. Especially on bad days.

Bad like yesterday. It started out promising. Once freed from work (an epically boring day, at that...BORing. REALLY boring...I'm talking: stab-yourself-in-the-eyeballs, I-have-reached-the-end-of-the-internet, WHAT-AM-I-DOING-WITH-MY-LIFE boring), I bounced out the door to run a six-mile out-and-back. Considering I had finished a fairly successful 15- or 16-miler on this past Sunday, I thought: six! piece of cake! It was not a piece of cake. I quit after about 20 minutes of running, and headed home. I maybe went four miles...and walked half of it.

It was just one of those bad days, one of those bad runs. I ate barely anything for lunch, and five hours later was utterly exhausted after running five minutes.

This afternoon I decided I'd regroup and attempt another four-miler, or more if I could. Four is on my schedule for today--but I wanted to make up for yesterday. Driving home, I nearly talked myself out of it. Running in the windy coldness was flat-out the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to get a burrito and watch Real Housewives for three hours. But I got home, fed Marco, got dressed (and looked goob-tastic BTW...covered head-to-toe), put my watch on my wrist (over my outer-most layer!) and headed out.

It was a Forrest Gump run. One of those runs you don't want to end. I could see my breath and little else in the darkness, but it might as well have been 60 degrees and sunny. Ran up and down these Atlanta hills.

I can do this.

My new favorite website.

Thanks to following PBS NewsHour on Twitter (@newshour, and how many Stuff White People Like points does THAT get, by the way?! BOOyeah!), I found out that the Pew Research Center is doing a video conference today on Millenials.

Valuable info for me, you'd say? As one who markets to Millenials? Well, unfortunately, I can't access the video from work.

[sad trombone]

However! I can access the Pew Research Center website, and it is as fat as a Christmas piggy with information:


How did I not know this existed?

Look at all these facts! Numbers! Research!

An oh, the quizzes. Quiz to measure "How Millenial Are You?" (I'm 82 out of 100!) and quizzes to compare your news IQ against others' public knowledge (I answered 7 of 12 correct, which I panicked about, because I wanted to be valedictorian of this test, but apparently my score is above 66% of the other quiz-takers so I had to feel OK about it).

Ah...knowledge. Now please excuse me as I retire to my study with a snifter of brandy.

That's when I knew to turn and run.

As part of my ongoing "work-related research," (wink wink) I read a blog called "The Choice" on the NY Times website. "The Choice" is about the college admissions process, and features stories from students, parents, admissions officers, and other experts on how students and colleges intersect.

(OMG BTW, I would have eaten this up as a high schooler, I was such a freak about applying to college. I would have killed for ANY "insider" information. I remember how I'd search out news articles about admissions offices then read and re-read them until practically committing them to memory, eagerly awaiting those yearly college ranking lists with highlighter in hand, and creating a filing system by school name with all due dates listed out. God, I was such a NERD.)

Today's post recounted "College Night" at the author's daughter's high school, specifically an "advice" panel comprised of high school seniors in various stages of the college admissions process.

Oh, and it contains a gem so sparkly, throwing its oddness around the room like a diamond would light, I couldn't let it go:

For Emily, spending an overnight at each of her top three choices enabled her to decide that Wesleyan was the school she would apply to early decision. “I was looking for a certain environment, one with individuality and learning for the sake of learning,” she said. While walking back from a concert at 2 a.m., Emily came across a male student playing his saxophone in the middle of an open field. “That’s when I knew this was the school for me,” she said.

Now, I might have liked an illustration of this event, but frankly, what exists in my mind's eye is probably better. But what might compel a youngster to go out into an open field to play a saxophone at 2 in the morning? Could be that he wanted to express the newfound creative and academic energy he felt as he was released into Wesleyan, a campus just teeming with brilliance. Could be that his roommate had finally had enough and kicked him and his horn out into the quad to "rehearse." All valid guesses, but in my experience the simplest explanation usually tends to be the truth: Drugs.

Celebrator mascot has found a home...

Celebrator mascot is a Mac!

So that's a no, then?

No jellybeans?


















I send anyway?