Impulse Control Problem

In most instances, I have the whole Impulse Control thing down to a science... I'm so good at it that I seldom ever do anything scary or risky or potentially dangerous, no matter how good an idea it seems at the moment.

Except, of course, when it come to spending money. I've been really good lately, saving up some money, paying my bills on time and all that; but something snapped this week.

First, on Monday, I let myself have a couple of treats on eBay... a crystal elephant and a spinning elephant ring (did I mention I collect elephants?) that cost very little, even with shipping... about fifty bucks, no big deal.

Then after work, I had to go out to PetCo to get a water filter for Claudius (you remember Claudius, don't you? my turtle?) so I don't have to keep washing his tank every few days. And while I was there, I bought him some new food, an extra charcoal-filter-replacement-bag and a cute little plastic shelf made to look like a natural growth so he can climb out of the water and bask under his basking lamp. There went eighty bucks.

And on the way back to the car I saw that Shoe Pavilion was having a sale, so I thought I'd run in and have a look at what was on offer... and ended up buying a pair of Rockport walkers almost exactly like the ones I already have, the most comfortable shoes I've ever owned and neutral enough to wear with anything. They were on sale! Not a great sale, but a sale nonetheless. And the ones I have are falling apart after two years of hard use. Then while I was standing at the checkout counter, I saw this gorgeous rosewood shoe-horn and bought that, too. Bye-bye seventy-five bucks!

Now this is all garden-variety shopping-addiction, nothing unusual from what I usually do whenever I have a little money in the bank. I just love to buy stuff, is all.

No, the impulse-control thing came up the next day. I was driving home, you see, and I heard this ad on the radio for Gold's Gym's Spring Special: no membership fee and only $19 a month. I used to belong to Gold's, but gave up my membership when I lost my job two years ago, since I couldn't pay the annual fee and wasn't going all that often anyway. But I've been wanting to get back into an exercise program to get rid of some of this extra weight, so it's been on my mind to keep an eye open for just such a special.

So I decided, upon hearing the radio ad, to go to Gold's and see what was up with this special. Of course it was the usual bait-and-switch, a great deal so long as you didn't want to stay with the gym for more than a few months, after which the $19 monthly fee would jump to $49. Fortunately, the salesman I talked to was the one who sold me my original membership, and he was able to turn me off that special and give me the re-enrollment package for former members: $50 and first-and-last down and $29 a month for a year (I don't do math well in my head, but I think that works out cheaper than the special).

This was a good expense, though I didn't feel quite right spilling that much money all at once, because it really is important for me to get back into a regular exercise program. But I was shocked at the speed with which I went from hearing a radio ad to plunking down $108 and agreeing to cough up an additional thirty every month in perpetuity... the whole operation took about twenty minutes.

When I got home, I was kind of jazzed about my decision, and started planning out what I need to put in my gym-bag, and when I should go, and all that sort of thing... thinking, at the same time, that I'd really like to have a better mp3 player than the crappy 250mg one I have so that I could listen to lots of different music while I was working out. What I'd really really like, what I've wanted for a long time now, is an iPod.

So I started browsing around on eBay and found one for only $89... or $102 with shipping. And without so much as looking at my bank-account to see if I could afford it, I clicked on the Buy It Now button and was the proud (if somewhat bewildered) owner of a new-in-the-box 2G iPod Nano, brushed silver color. The price can't be beat, but I should have used that money to pay the parking tickets I got last month when I forgot about street-sweeping day.

What I'm saying is, in two days I managed to spend a whole week's pay on everything except my bills. How the hell did this happen? And why do I let things like this happen? And why do I want so badly to keep going!? Like, why did I spend my lunch-hour today cruising eBay in search of a blingy rhinestone-studded iPod skin?

Do I have a problem? Do I need to do anything about it? I don't know... I do love to spend money, I love it more than almost anything else. But am I in the least in control of it, or is it entirely in control of me?

I wish I knew. I guess I'd better do some prayer and meditation on this topic. I don't like having no control over my impulses, it's scary. And if I am going to lose control over an impulse, why can't it be my sexual impulses?

In the meantime... should I get the pink rhinestone skin or the silver rhinestone skin? It's only fifteen bucks with shipping...

Merry Sickmas

Yay, I came down with a loverly cold just in time for Christmas! It is in fact the cold that the Grandmother just got over, so at least she's all sympathetic since she remembers the symptoms... the overwhelming fatigue being the the most dramatic. I also have diarrhea, nausea, and random aches. She had a lot of phlegm as well, which I've managed to avoid so far, with only a slight post-nasal drip and a trifling congestion in my chest and sinuses, easily cleared with a swig of Alka-Seltzer Cold.

Speaking of which, I am amazed that they've finally come out with a form of Alka-Seltzer that actually tastes good... I got the Orange Zest flavor, and it's quite delicious (also a very pretty color).

So anyway, there's all this work to do around the house, and I feel too crappy to do it, yet it needs to be done nonetheless. So I am going to have to push myself just a bit. I have to get the boxes back into the attic, for one, and dust the living room and dining room, then get to work on the dressing and yams, and the kitchen and bathroom need mopping. Oh, and I have to wrap all those presents I bought.

Well, I guess it could be worse. But I won't mention ways in which in could be worse, in case one of those nasty-minded Fates is listening in.

Have a Happy Holiday!

The Ghosts of Christmas Presents

Well, after giving it some thought, I broke down and decided to buy Christmas presents for my family. I had intended not to, due to my straitened finances, but I did a little jotting on the notepad and figured I could spare $150 without dying, and if I kept the gifts under $10 I could manage. And you know, Ross is right around the corner from the job I've been working this week, and there were a few other places I could get nice prezzies cheap, so that's what I did.

Actually, I started at a place called Tuesday Morning, so named because that's when they get new shipments of discounted housewares, decorative items, and other sundries. I didn't see much that inspired me, but in the very last aisle I found this odd thing that appealed to me so strongly that I had to have it... it was a miniature pitcher and saucer, like for a washstand, Dresden-style, done in gold and cobalt and bright yellow. Gorgeous, and $5.99.

Well, I couldn't buy just one thing, so I scoured the shelves again and came across some things that would do for various of my relatives... windchimes, facial scrubber machines, crystal candy-dishes, golf-themed desk-sets, stuff like that.

And then yesterday I went to Ross and finished up. And I found so many good bargains (sweaters, kitchen-canisters, etc.) that I was able to stick a few gifts for myself (a video and a back-support belt) into the mix while staying within my budget.

Though it was immensely tiring (especially since I have to park three-quarters of a mile from work, which is in downtown Berkeley and therefore a parking nightmare, and walk back weighed down with presents in the freezing rain), I feel a lot better about Christmas now that I can weigh in with some material posessions come Christmas day.

Our family has this big rather barbaric ritual, where we pass out all the gifts and then we all open them all at once, shouting thanks across the room in a deafening pandemonium that usually lasts about half an hour. Then we eat pie.

But the point is, we all shop for each other, rather than drawing names like civilized folks, and we open our presents in front of everyone and can see who gave what to whom. So of course, if you give a gift, you want it to be nice enough to bear scrutiny.

We're not really competitive about it, but I am competitive, and would feel bad giving someone a crappy gift, even worse than I feel not giving a gift at all. But now I have gifts, and I won't feel guilty receiving gifts.

All is right with the world.

Labor Pain

Sometimes I just hate Christmas. Well, no, I don't hate Christmas, I just hate the hoop-de-do. What I wouldn't give to spend a nice quiet Christmas all alone, or with one other person, no tree, no ginormous family dinner, no presents, no stress. But that's not the life I drew... mine is a life of family, and my family has traditions, and those traditions are labor-intensive.

But what I really hate is how the Grandmother gets on my back about getting the house ready, as if I haven't been doing it (and rather well if I say so myself) every year for the last twenty-five years. And it's not like it's difficult: schlepping the boxes out of the attic, moving the living-room furniture around, decorating the tree, decorating the house, schlepping the boxes back into the attic, cleaning everything, setting the table, and baking yams and stuffing... what could be simpler? Time-consuming, certainly (I estimated approximately thirty hours of labor last year), and a lot of physical labor, but not complicated or anything.

I sort of wish I weren't working this week, that would make it a lot simpler. But my sister is hanging out at the house this week helping out, so all the cleaning bits will get done well and quickly (my sister is very good at cleaning other people's houses). The trick is to keep the Grandmother placated. At least her shopping is already done, and we decided to cheat on the pie-crusts and buy Pillsbury. All we have to do is keep her calm.

Well, gotta go... my uncle just brought the tree, I'd better go help put it in the base. Toodles!

My Feelings Got Hurt

So I got to the new jobsite, dressed all snazzy and every hair in place, and I loved it from the first minute. Beautiful office, fabulous view across the Bay, bleached pine woodwork and black leather upholstery (a favorite combination of mine), all the amenities.

The office wasn't as big as I'd been led to believe, and the duties of the admin-assistant not as heavy, and of course the dress-code was a lot more casual than I was dressed for (my agency is always doing that to me). But otherwise, it left nothing to be desired, except for the cute guys, of which there were none. In fact, there was only one other male in the entire office, definitely not cute, and he was in the field most of the day.

Anyway, I was being trained by the incumbent, who was moving to New York to take a job there. I didn't ask her why she was leaving, I didn't want to appear too nosey. And a number of people were out of the office, so I didn't meet everyone. I can't say that I was particularly bubbly or effusive, mostly because I'd been terrified by my agent all week about how pernickety they were and was afraid to put a foot wrong.

I spent most of the day working on a filing project, in which all the Accounts Payable paperwork is attached to the property-site files for which they were paid, first in order of site-number and then in order of check-number, which was pretty complicated; I found it a challenge and rather pleasant, better than plain old first-name-last-name filing that I'd been doing at my last filing job. And I was told that one only does this filing twice a month, when the AP goes out.

The day came to a close, and I'd done rather a load of work and was pretty tired, and headed back to my car and thought about going to the store on the way home. And while I was sitting there looking for a pen so I could call the Grandmother and get a shopping list, my temp agent called... a call I was expecting, since they always call to check on you after the first day of a new assignment.

But the news she gave me was a shock: the client didn't want me to come back. No reason, nothing I did or didn't do or did wrong, it was just a matter of my not being a "personality fit." Which is employerese for "We don't like you."

Not like me? How can anyone not like me? And how can they not like me after one day's acquaintance? And especially after I had gone through so much stress and preparation to make sure they'd like me? Granted, I wasn't a big ball of sunshine, nervous as I was about making a good first impression, but I was by no means offensive! What's not to like?

So there I sat with the rug pulled out from under me one more time (yes, try as I might to avoid it, I got my hopes up again), the disappointment surmounted by the bewildering knowledge that they just didn't like me.

They made me cry.

Well, I was driving, so I didn't let myself cry. But when I got home, I had a good old wail. I haven't cried like that (without watching a movie) for ages. It was kind of cathartic, but also kind of unpleasant. I mean, it's embarrassing to be reduced to tears by something so childish as hurt feelings.

And still, there's a pain in my chest, after a long night of poor sleep. My ego just can't take crap like this. Neither can my bank account... I was really counting on a long-term assignment, I really need a regular paycheck and I need it right now.

Besides, it's just so bewildering to not know exactly what they didn't like about me. I mean, if there had been some criticism, I could file it away under "well maybe they're right" and try to correct it or else under "they're morons" and dismiss it... but not knowing is truly upsetting me, there's nothing to do with the information but turn it over in my mind and cry over it.

Oh, well... as they say, whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Unless of course it weakens us so that the next thing that comes along does kill us. I think I'm going to take an extra Prozac this morning in the hopes that it will boost me out of this extra depression. I know I'm not supposed to take psych meds "as needed" but I've been forgetting to take them fairly frequently this last couple of weeks, so maybe that's why I'm getting so inordinately depressed... I've been thinking about suicide ever since I got home last night.

In the meantime, I think I will do some housework, keep my mind occupied for the day. I have some shelves I can put up in my room, and some laundry I can be doing. I shall endeavor to not let this day be a complete waste.

Don't Stress Me Out!

Okay, so I have this new assignment starting tomorrow, and from everything they've told me, it sounds dreamy... admin-assisting and front-office management with lots of word-processing at a big property-management firm in a highrise downtown, neckties and shiny shoes, more pay per hour, a six-month assignment that has a good chance of turning temp-to-hire. Jazzy, no?

Well, I didn't want to get too excited about it, or get my hopes up too high... because whenever I do, something terrible happens to yank the rug out from under me. So I just said to myself "take it one day at a time and don't let any expectations (or hopes, which are worse) grow."

I was doing OK at it, but my temp agent has called me every day this week to give me some new instruction or remind me not to do some frowned-upon thing that I've done at other assignments in the past.

And as a result, she's stressed me out to the point that I'm actually nervous about going in tomorrow. I don't like being nervous, especially when it causes me to lose sleep, thereby making it even more likely that I will make some terrible mistake that will bring the whole thing crashing down around my ears.

But I understand where she's coming from... this client isn't just their client, but also their landlord. And the agent I've been working with this week is new in her job, so she's probably feeling really nervous, too. I just wish she wouldn't take it out on me.

So tonight I am going to lay out my clothes and make sure they all match and look snazzy (charcoal slacks with a dull blue pinstripe, dull blue shirt, black v-neck sweater, black dress shoes, and a black blazer), then wash down some Advil PM with a cup of Sleepy-Time Extra herb tea to help make sure I get to sleep early enough, and shall slather my mug with the best moisturizer I have; and tomorrow I'm getting up early to groom and prepare to look and act my very best. I think I'll even do some sit-ups or something.

I have to take the bus in the morning, too, since there is absolutely nowhere to park downtown, so that will keep me from being tardy (one hopes).

So I'm kind of excited, and I'm terribly nervous. I mean, I really need this job right now. I'm so broke it's not funny (though being broke never is funny), I just overdrew my account yet again and have to borrow money from the Grandmother to pay the bank another packet of fees. Besides, a poverty-struck Christmas is not a happy place to be.

Either way, I'll let you know how it turns out.

?

Later addition - 10:28 PM:

Well, I got my outfit together, finally, then showed it to the Grandmother, who made a face. And I had to agree with her, the black sweater with the charcoal pants looked wrong... the taupe-ish cast of the charcoal assorted ill with the bluish cast of the sweater.

Then of course came the humiliation of wanting to wear a jacket, and almost all of my suit-jackets are too small for me now. The black one in particular made me look perfectly horrid. So no blazer or jacket of any kind, I'll just have to wear my suede jacket to keep warm and just wear the sweater to the office... not as professional as one would like, but I don't have time to run down to the mall to buy a new blazer.

So if the charcoal pants are out, what about black pants? Well, the black pants and a black sweater was a little too too, if you know what I mean. So how about a plum sweater with the black pants to lighten it up? Even too-tooer. How about the plum sweater with the charcoal slacks? Now I look like an utter fairy. Okay, how about the light grey glen-plaid slacks with the black sweater and a sage shirt and tie? OK, now we're getting somewhere. It looks very nice.

Of course, the sweater was wrinkled all to hell, and my black dress shoes were a mess. It took me forever to find the sweater (which was crumpled up under a pile of other sweaters), and another forever to find the black shoe-polish. Then I had to steam the sweater and slacks and then iron them, then polish the shoes.

After all that, I realized I had to clean Claudius's bowl, which he never likes, because I wouldn't have time in the morning. And now here I am all ready to go to bed, an hour later than I planned to be in bed. Oy gevalt!

After all this to-do, this job had better be spectacular. I mean cute guys in every office and a view from my desk. If they turn out to be a bunch of whackos and the job itself impossible, I'll be pissed.

Turtle Tragedy

First, some background: about a month or so ago, Caroline and I were out and about on one of our Saturday loafing-trips; we'd gone to Chinatown for lunch at King-Wah, and on the way back to the car we encountered this little old Chinese lady with a face like an apple-doll and a little red wagon, from which she was selling an assortment of wares. Among these wares were fresh figs and live turtles. Caroline bought some figs, and on a complete impulse I forked out $15 for a little plastic box with two tiny turtles in it and two bags of turtle-food. And I mean tiny, their shells weren't even an inch long.

When we got to the car, I stared at them, one brighter turtle who was trying desperately to get out of the box, and a slightly duller turtle who was just sitting there very calmy; after a few moments, names occurred to me (that's how I name objects, I stare at them until a name floats up out of my subconscious), Claudius and Agrippa. Though both are technically male names, and I had no way of knowing what sex either turtle was, but I decided that the duller turtle Agrippa was a female and the brighter turtle Claudius a male, in accordance with natural law.

I tried to find something for them to live in when I got home, assuming (correctly) that the little plastic box was much too little to accomodate them. I came across an old serenity fountain that looked big enough, so I set them up in the dining room (the only place with sufficient space) and put some rocks and stuff in there with them. Unfortunately, the fountain was too shallow, they kept getting out... and one time Claudius got all the way out of the fountain and it took me an hour to find him tucked behind one of the pictures on the table.

So the next weekend, Caroline and I stopped at PetCo, and on the advice of the clerk there I bought some proper turtle food, some water conditioner, a couple of water plants, a rock, a basking lamp, and a ten-gallon tank. I also found out, after describing the turtles to the clerk, that they are called Red-Eared Sliders, it's illegal to sell them when they're as small as these two were, and that aquatic turtles often carry salmonella and so I should always carefully wash my hands after touching them, and wash any surface they happen to crawl on.

Turtles aren't very cuddly pets, but I soon got very attached to these two tiny creatures. I noticed after a couple of days, though, that Agrippa was blind, her eyes were filmed over with some opaque material that didn't look very healthy. I probably should have taken her to a vet, but I'd already spent nearly seventy dollars on the habitat, I wasn't going to plunk down another hundred to have her eyes checked.

So fast forward three or four weeks: I was cleaning out Claudius's and Agrippa's tank as I do every week... though I was supposed to do it on Saturday, not Sunday... and all sorts of terrible things happened. For example, when I was washing the tank, I cracked one of the sides! Ack! Now I have to go buy a new tank, and I've only had this one for a few weeks.

So I went on cleaning the rocks and the bathtub and getting everything neatened up, then went to look for something in which to house the turtles until I get a new tank. After a fairly thorough search through my basement and garage and kitchen, I ended up with an old glass mixing bowl. So I put a couple of rocks and a plant in it, figured out a way to rig the basking lamp so they wouldn't freeze, and set it back up in my room.

But when I started to move the turtles back, I discovered that Agrippa had died.

She was always kind of lethargic, not a go-getter of a turtle by any means, but she would always at least move a paw or shake her head when I was moving her from one body of water to another. But I got no response this time. I stroked her shell, prodded her limbs, held her in my hand to warm her blood, tempted her with krill turtle-treats... all to no avail.

It's possible that she's just sleeping rather than dead, so I put her in the travelling-tank (the little plastic box in which they came when I bought them) with some food and placed her under the basking lamp next to Claudius's bowl. But I am not optimistic. She just looks dead.

She also hasn't grown at all, which makes me think maybe she just starved. I thought since the food was disappearing, that they were both eating... but I never saw them doing it (they're very private, all I have to do is look at them for them to freeze up completely or scurry under the rock), I was just assuming. But once I had both of them out of the tank and sitting side-by-side in the sink, I could see that Claudius had grown quite a bit in the last two weeks, while Agrippa doesn't appear to have grown at all.

Actually, right now I'm watching Claudius eat... because of the curve of the bowl, he can't see me looking at him while he's underwater, and he just ate four pellets all by himself. So he'll probably survive.

If Agrippa doesn't wake up by tomorrow, I'm going to call Caroline over (she's become quite attached to the little critters, too) and we'll give her a decent burial in a jewelry box among the calla lilies under the birdbath in the back yard.

Poor little doomed thing.



That's Agrippa on the right, doing what she always does: lying perfectly still.

UPDATE 11/21/07: Yup, she's definitely dead. She started floating during the night, and they're not supposed to float. Caroline and I buried her last night. Much to my surprise, I actually cried a little.