dumpster diving

A few weeks ago, when walking the dog in front of our apartment, a sketchy looking dress form perched on the sidewalk next to the bags and bags of empty seltzer bottles (I have an addiction) caught my eye.

After I made a big deal about dragging it into the house when no one was looking, K pointed out that it would be a bit uncomfortable when my neighbors (also: landlords) came into the apartment and saw that I had gone through their trash, cleaned it up, and proudly displayed it as my own.

So she made me tell them. Which I did. And then I cleaned it up and now I'm proudly displaying it as my own.

She's a bit rough (and still unnamed) but I think she'll be great for hanging dresses on that don't fit me or randomly sticking fabric and pins on her, you know, like I'm sewing something or something. Whatever, I saw it once on Project Runway.

Anyway.

The spare room/sewing room/cd collection holding room is slowly....slowly coming together. It needs to happen relatively soon because I need to start working on the craft profects that K & I will be passing on this holiday season. Cheap craft projects. Seriously, if my mother doesn't need a pine cone ornament then I don't know what she needs.

At least now I'll have some company*.

*yeah, I should probably try to make some friends. talking to a dress form isn't that far off for me right now.

it makes me happy.

Lately I seem to spend countless hours wandering around the ridiculously large hallways of places like Home Depot and Lowe's.

Last night our fruitless search for an area rug was comforted by multiple slices of pizza. After we wobbled on stools at the counter, pretending like we'd have pizza left for a to-go box, we headed over to the 7-11 to finish the night off with swedish fish and lottery tickets.

And it was there that I found what could possibly be the best postcards in the entire world. Now, please remember--the images that you are about to see are postcards. Yes, those things that you write on the back of--phrases like "wish you were here" or "weather couldn't be better" or "tulsa is much bigger than I thought it would be."

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Maybe one wouldn't at first guess that another-such-someone would be interested in sending a loved one a forever memento of the fully first automated Post Office, but! that somebody wouldn't know that this such someone has a retired postmaster general in her family and yes, this former postmaster general would love to receive a postcard of, um, this fully automated Post Office:

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I found a lovely card for my dear best friend, visiting in a few weeks. I think it's only fair that she knows about the potential threat of grimacing bare chested mermaids here in Southern England before she visits.

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And my personal favorite. Because you know, despite whatever "postcard norms" are out there--and trust me, they exist, what else is going to break the mold and really make a statement than a postcard of a fire. A fire at an old mill. Now that's a postcard that's going to make you think.
Damn, it was a good night.

the one.

Found: Classy vintage caramel brown leather wallet for good price at overpriced thrift store.

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Ways it will change my life:

Encourage me to be classy.
Keep my receipts for coffee, bagels, etc in nice ordered fashion.
Help me dress better.
Create budget and pay bills on time.

Look much more prepared when pulling out bus fare versus digging at bottom of bottomless bag purse.
Make me happier.
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Ok, granted--high hopes for a wallet. But I've been on a search for some time now (give or take 6 days) and if you could really get a grasp of its enchanting caramel-ness color in the picture, --well, I think you'd feel the same way.

it's the thought that counts.

Last April-ish I accidentally adopted a dog. Along with floppy ears and a curly tail and a funny walk he also has a healthy dose of German Shepherd in all that mix.

It can be a good thing. He's protective! He's intimidating! He's allowing me to freely roam dark alleys!

Yeah, well, about that. Turns out he's convinced that the biggest threats to my safety are trash cans, wheelchairs, and toddlers. And therefore, they must be barked at. Repeatedly and loudly.

I guess if I ever happen to bump into a 2 year old thug in one of those dark alleys, I'm set.

desperate times call for cheesecake.

Before I left Chicago, I paid a last visit to my college career counselor, whose upfront frankness I have a love/hate relationship with.

Sitting before her with my .0001 margin resume, I sweated out my woes of leaving behind the world of steady direct deposit. I fumbled over my carefully paper clipped stack of papers, marked with a bright yellow post it: "Jobs: Applied". I think the word "applied" was underlined, making it clear: See? I've applied for jobs. I'm a go getter. I print out the job descriptions and keep them in a file. I'm very on top of this.

Now that I look back on it, the post it probably tipped her off to my insanity.

After she ridiculed me for trying to take advantage of every square inch of my resume, she gave me this advice:

People do not fall in love with desperate people.
People do not hire desperate people.

Ok then. Thank you.

I've been trying it out as ammunition for raising my spirits---do not feel desperate! feel powerful! feel skillful! feel desirable! And I've had a couple of great fake moments where I smile and walk taller and think about words like "possibilities" and "adventure" and "unknown" without breaking into tears.

But today, in a moment of this so called desperation, I really thought about this advice.

Is it crazy to think that both systems--finding a job and falling in love--are actually set up to create desperation?

"Well, I got laid off, you know, which is difficult in this time of such lousy economy, but I've got to be honest---I really enjoy having this time to pursue want ads and I've especially enjoyed explaining my situation over and over to people. It's refreshing, you know."

Looking for work and love aren't too far off from one another. Interviews and first dates live parallel lives: we shamelessly self promote ourselves while not wanting the other party to know about the time you called in sick three days in a row because you became passionately addicted to Queer as Folk and Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey.

It's ideal to think that in the equation you're always the "people," choosing not to fall in love with desperate people or hire them, for pete's sake.

But the coin flips, and you find yourself looking for that perfect one. The one with a dental plan and a great sense of humor.

A couple of weeks ago me and my girl ate dinner at an outdoor cafe. Behind us sat a middle aged woman and a middle aged man. He sat with a yellow legal pad and sipped tea while she rambled and he scribbled something sporadically. At the end of their conversation, they stood and she awkwardly shook his hand. "Either way, whatever you decide, please, if you can just let me know, well, that'd be great, either way." Her voice shook as bad as her hands.

I hated the yellow legal pad with the notes about the woman that was not going to be hired for this job that she desperately wanted.

I had to resist hollering down the street after her, "You don't need him!"

But it's really what we all need to hear.

The After

is lovely and inviting and warm.

Welcome to my Starfish/French Ivory kitchen, courtesy of me, benjamin moore and martha stewart.

before!

The word "Before" is so exciting.

Just the sound of it naturally implies a drastic and unbelievable change that will make you gasp with inconceivable amazement. This is called the "After."

I think the decorating hoop-la shows really got us hooked on this Before/After phenomenon---3:00pm: Living Room: Beige and Boring. 3:57pm: Living Room: Alive with Flair and Color! And curtains! Really cool, dramatic curtains.

What I forgot is that during 3:10-3:55pm I usually flip channels, nap, rummage in the fridge, nap again, pretend to clean, and rest my eyes. This weekend I learned what I miss in those precious in between moments. Apparently getting from the Before to the After can be a bit of a bitch.

I feel a little betrayed by these decorating wonder shows. When it comes to reality shows--I'm not naive. I know, deep down, that The Bachelor is most likely gay and that Survivor takes place on Disney World's Pirates of the Caribbean.

Maybe I'm blatantly missing these moments, but I've yet to watch Trading Spaces and see someone stub their toe, the same toe, over and over on the ladder. No matter where the ladder was. Or knock over a cup of orange paint, spilling it all over the floor, the wall, and the new wire shelves with fun little rivets. Really tiny, little rivets. Or paint a wall fourteen times because it looks "spotty." Or paint the doorway and then lean against it. Am I that lazy? I can't stand up for fifteen minutes?

I give you my before: Our lovely unique 2 room kitchen. And since I live for suspense (and because I'm working on time management skills and opted for showering instead of taking pictures this morning) the "After" will be released sometime this evening. And trust me, the After was worth my sore toe.

thanks, craig.

I'm going to state the obvious here when I say: Moving is expensive. I know---you know. It's like saying: The sun is bright. --or-- Ice cream is delicious --or-- That time, in my infinite 5th grade wisdom, I decided to proudly show off my pin collection by wearing all 102 somewhere on my tight rolled jeans or my XL Guess t-shirt--yeah, that time was definitely a mistake.

I'm on this recent kick of getting financially organized--which, can be seriously challenging when you're basically just alphabetizing the numerous receipts stuffed in the bottom of your purse and ignoring the pile of bills near the front door.

Obviously--I need a new approach. I've become the person that finds themselves sitting at the red light, scoffing at the radio commercial spouting off debt consolidation assistance and then flipping to the AM station quickly so I don't have to think about my own debt let alone admitting that I would need something as extreme as consolidation. It's like the dentist. Maybe I don't floss as much as I should, but it's not like for that they'd give me a root canal. Right?

Or maybe I'm playing a game of denial.

I've been looking for a book/article/blog of someone who has been here--honestly considering charging three dollar tacos--and has moved forward and up and away and out of it.

So far all I have found are books on amazon like:

"I have money. I've always had money. I'm incredibly smart about money. Have been since birth. Let me share my secrets with you."

"I've never missed a credit card payment in my entire life. And if you have, I judge you. Put this book down and step away."

"My credit score is 780. Sucker."

"Bad credit will ruin your social life, lovers will leave you, and you will never find a job you're passionate about. Read this book before you take out a credit card, school loan, car loan, loan from your parents, store credit card, or debit card and you MIGHT have a chance!"

Why is it that I can't find anyone out there that admits to learning by experience and a lot of mistakes? Maybe there aren't too many people that would put their 401Ks in the hands of an admitted former shopaholic, but I'd like proof that the folks here with the low credit scores don't all end up at the mercy of visa for the rest of their days.

The past couple of months have been a whirlwind--and now that the dust is settling, I need to learn the art of stretching this temp salary far enough to cover the bills, the necessities, and the occasional frozen pizza.

Thankfully---I do believe that I'll get out this money muck business and learn some stuff along the way. Trust me, I don't have an excess of optimism or perkiness---but I figure the good thing about the bottom is you've got to start going up somehow.

Lesson 1:

My kind of Ethan Allen: Craigslist. New apartment means new, big spaces to put new things. New things aren't really in the category of "necessity" these days. But! Looking for character--uniqueness--adaptability---look no further than for used furniture. I adore the potential, the treasure hunt, the feeling of success!!

The ladderback chair above is a recent conquest of my girl's. I never thought I could love a kitchen table so much.

And that new interest free for thirty six hours department store credit card was completely unnecessary.