The Bitch Is Back

I’m sooo busy planning my weekend of free / cheap activities  – a restaurant opening, an art opening.  Where are they?  Not telling you.  Because that means one less person to elbow out of my way when I’m trying to score a glass of overoaked chardonnay or a tuna tartare canape.  I mean it, do not get between me and a piece of raw fish.  It isn’t pretty.

Now it looks like I have Halloween plans, which means I have to find a Halloween costume… which I really don’t like but will try to have fun with anyway. It’s a Zombie-themed party.  Zombies are hot this year.  Vampires are so 2008.

Zombies have a rougher look, sure, but I think I’m more on board with their plan. Feasting on the flesh of the living, a metaphor for the breakdown of society… it’s a parasitic agenda and I’m down with it. Now I just have to figure out how to sex up a zombie costume.

There is Breath on the Mirror

It started when I couldn’t afford my pills.  The ONE thing, the ONLY thing I ever have to do to maintain a minimum level of functioning, is take my pills.  I have health insurance and my prescriptions are cheap – $30 keeps me stocked on each one for 90 days.  But then, they all ran out at once and I didn’t have gas money, I didn’t have food money or ANY money, so I didn’t get my refills. And you know what?  I felt okay.  In fact, I was feeling pretty good; it made me question why I was taking those fucking things in the first place.  I was energetic, clear-headed and doing just fine.  Maybe I was bipolar but maybe, I told myself, my body needed a chance to get the meds out and recalibrate and that’s why I felt so good. The skies were heavy this summer; June gloom was oppressive and never seemed to let up.  When the sun comes out, I thought, I will feel better.

Then, it was Fourth of July weekend and instead of going anywhere, instead of accepting one of a few invitations that I had, I found myself on my friend Jennifer’s couch, my cheek pressed into the soft red fabric and watching episode after episode of Deadliest Catch while I watched her dalmatians who cried at the sound of distant firecrackers.  It was a marathon on the Discovery Channel – it lasted for four days and I sat there for every one of them, with Deadliest Catch playing all day and into the night as I slept restlessly, with the windows shut and the air conditioning on. I left once for a barbecue, but I was anxious to get back to the climate controlled fortress and endless episodes of Deadliest Catch.  Why I got so into DC I have no idea – perhaps it was the monotony of their tasks that seemed to repeat in each episode:  bang ice off the ship- drop pots – pull crab – count crab.  Good pot?  Bad pot?  It was very straightforward and I was mesmerized.  I felt numb and immobilized. And that’s how I felt for the entire summer.  

When you’re poor, depression falls easier; and it’s easy to be depressed about being poor. If I had money would I have felt better?  Would a breath of life have lifted me up off of the bed and pushed me through my day, if I had a little money and less to worry about?  I think not.  My load felt so heavy I couldn’t possibly put a price on it. My favorite position was horizontal,preferably on my bed.  Deep sighs became my primary source of communication. If I felt energy it was a sudden anxious charge through my body, negative adrenaline that I couldn’t wait to be rid of.

 If you’ve never been depressed before, I would compare it to having a blanket over your head: you can see light through the fabric, sounds are muffled, and you can feel your own warm sour breath swirling about your face but not really going anywhere.  You want to get your head out of that blanket as fast as possible and get some fresh air – but imagine being like that for days or weeks. I thought about things that I wanted to do, made commitments but then as the hour approached I found myself backing out of plans because I hadn’t the energy or the strength to so much as get into my car and turn the key; the idea of making small talk or socializing with people was completely overwhelming. I either ate a lot or nothing at all.  I wanted to be still, to read, watch TV and cry in peace.  Showering became optional, even for work which I managed to show up for, at least in the physical sense.  

I saw my doctors, made extra appointments because i didn’t know why i was feeling so rotten. They all said, are you taking your medication?  Yes, i would lie, and finally,i got my refills but it was weeks before i started taking my pills again. Then I did, and after a few more weeks of moping and sleeping and sighing,  i felt better.

Medication isn’t the answer for everyone with issues of depression and anxiety.  Other solutions include exercise, proper diet, therapy of various kinds and meditating.  But I’m not there yet and this is all that I know:  take my pills, feel better.  I’m finally able to do more than the bare minimum of functioning – to go out again, give a little extra, and connect with people.

The task of this blog doesn’t seem so daunting.  I mean – fuck.  It’s just a bunch of words.  What’s so scary about that?

A Tale of Two Sweaters

Sweater #1 was my favorite this winter. A little gem I picked up at Nordstrom on the clearance rack for about sixteen bucks, it was black knit with a little white pattern and no buttons. It draped perfectly was not too long and went with just about everything. Look – I’m telling you, this was a great fucking sweater.

One night I was at a bar downtown with some Yelp friends.  In fact, I think it was the after party of a Yelp event sometime in February.  First off, let me say that I am really conflicted with downtown Los Angeles as of late.  The new restaurants and bars are some of the best and most interesting in town and even though it’s twenty minutes from my office, I fucking hate going there.  The traffic, the one way streets, the parking, it’s all one big clusterfuck in my book and I try to avoid it at all costs.  So. I had one friend who dropped me off, then left, I enjoyed some merrymaking and I needed only to get a ride back to my car at the office in Glendale.  I  secured a ride from a friend who lived in Burbank, who had a roommate also in the car.

“WHO THE FUCK IS BAB?” I heard my name screeched in the bathroom as I was about halfway through my business.

WOW – God, me,it’s me, unless there’s another one around here! I frantically pulled my knickers up and flew out the door to greet a young woman who looked like she had um, really enjoyed the free cocktails at the party.  “Are you in B____’s car?  We’re leaving RIGHT NOW!”

And so, grateful for the ride and frightened of what this shrill harpie might do if I didn’t hup-to, I scrambled to catch up with my carpool buddies, leaving my sweater in a corner booth never to be seen again.

This is the same shrew who vomited in the car – and on me on the drive home.  Vomit, I can clean off.  Some things are harder to replace.

I have been assured by mutual acquaintances  that she is actually a very nice young lady.  I say the bitch owes me a sweater.

Sweater #2, also purchased at Nordstrom; I paid full price for this one, and as y’all know I NEVER do that. This was to be my summer sweater: short sleeved and a loose knit of a neutral bronzey beige, again drapey with no buttons.  I had admired it for weeks before I pulled the trigger and bought it.  I was smitten.

The first day I wore my spiffy new summer sweater, I went out after work for a farewell drink with a friend of mine.  (I see where your mind is going… BAB goes out for drinks and loses shit – hello! But you must believe me that alcohol was only a coincidental and MINOR accomplice in both of these incidents.)  After the drink I went back to the friend’s house for a little bit, and was in a hurry when I left ( I believe to avoid a parking ticket, thank you very much.), leaving my cute little sweaterkins behind.

Here’s the part where my sweater and I are forever parted:  my friend was moving the next day.  Me, texting him the following day:

ME:Are you still local

HIM: Yup

ME: can i come by and pick up my sweater?

HIM: yup.

Two hours later…

ME: Coming by in a little bit

HIM: Not sure if I will be here, going out

And that would be the last I heard of my former friend, who was moving to the East coast.

And yes, he too owes me a sweater.

Right After the Cemetery

My house lies next door to a cemetery, putting it properly in my back yard.  There is the backside of my house, several hundred yards of poorly tended grass which makes my lawn; and, right behind a chain-link fence, the final resting place of hundreds of strangers.

Most of the time I think nothing of this.  If anything, it possibly kept this house on the market a couple of weeks longer until rent was dropped by a hundred dollars. Also, when directing people to my home the first time, I enjoy telling them to “make the first right after the cemetery.”

“What’s it like living next to a cemetery?” I sometimes get asked.  Somebody has to, I say.  The land outside my west window is flat and clear and I get to enjoy some really lovely sunsets.

One morning a few weeks back I pushed my blinds back to let in some sunlight, and I jumped at the sight of several people… standing in my backyard.  This, and a collection of foil balloons, flattened and sunwashed that have collected in a  corner of the yard are the only reminders of my location. “Happy Mothers Day”,  “Happy Birthday,” they read.  “I love  you.”

I sleep right next to them every night.  I get their environmentally burdensome trash.  It feels like one of the healthier  relationships that I’ve had.

The World Would Be Perfect Without…

sugar (the bad kind)

addiction

smog checks

taxes

the chain of abuse

cancer

human trafficking

traffic tickets

parking tickets

Ticketmaster

genocide

plastic bags

lobbyists

Speidi

the smell of tires (gives me a headache)

migraine headaches

those gray fucking clouds that never part when the calendar very clearly states that it is JUNE.

poverty

laws that make  it OK to abandon your baby because there should not be a need for such laws in the first place

ignorance

the Offspring (Yes, the band. what a waste of musical space)

anyone who would like The Offspring. (duh.)

A Little Shopping. And Eat Something, Already!

You know what I love?  I think it’s pretty evident that I love a good glass of wine, a sunset, and puppies just like anyone else, but right now I’m all hot on Nordstrom. For years I thought that Nordy’s was too bourgeois for my humble Levi’s-clad ass, but recently I’ve discovered otherwise.  You see, there’s a Nordstrom right across the street from my office and I’ve had more opportunities to scope it out and I’ve found that most of  their  apparel isn’t any more expensive than a lot of department stores, especially when the magical word SALE comes into the picture.  This isn’t Forever 21 level of  cheap, for sure, but if you’ve got a few extra duckets to spend on something a little nicer then I can’t say enough about the selection of merchandise and the customer service.  Even if you just buy a ten-dollar-pair of undies the sales staff is professional and nice through the entire transaction.  They are known for their generous return policy (but don’t go returning  those panties without a tag, sister,  pls k thnx) as well as other services such as stretching shoes and hemming jeans for f-r-e-e. To recap, Nordstrom: decent prices, excellent selection and superb customer service.  Oh, and some of them have cafes.  Throw in a sammich with my shoes I bought on sale and call me a happy, happy customer.

Going on now is the half-yearly sale:     http://shop.nordstrom.com/c/6002242/0~2376788~6002242?origin=shade-promo See?  That link took you right to the sale.  Tell me what you think.  And, as for the Nordstrom Rack, well all I have to say about that is, enter at your own risk.  It’s a lot of merchandise to sort through, not very well organized, and the shoppers tend to be a little more, ah, aggressive.  I’m serious. I’ve seen women get into a fist fight over a pair of True Religion jeans.  So if you’re up for that, then you’re a more serious bargain shopper than I am.  I tip my hat to you.

Now back to my other favorite topic, foodz.  If you learn nothing else from BAB, here’s an easy lesson:  you can feed your cakehole for cheap, any day of the week. From the McDonalds Dollar Menu to ramen from the 99 cent store, no one should ever starve in this great nation of ours…I saw a homeless guy on the street with some Pinkberry the other day.  I swear!  (Too bad about that heart attack from all the sodium and preservatives…)  anyway, I found some cool links that are for cheap grub that goes above and beyond…

Got three bucks?  You can get a gallon of gas, or check this site for something yummy, or just drool over the food porn if you really are that poor:  www.threebuckbites.com

LA fans of fast and street food can find wallet-friendly solutions here:  http://laist.com/2009/05/28/recession_obsession_greatest_food_h.php,  or eat for under $100 in a week with this handy guide:  http://www.la2day.com/dining/cheap_and_easy_the_foodie_field_guide_to_eating_for_almost_free

Yay!  Eat for cheap and save up for a good handbag at Nordstrom.  You can trick people into thinking that you actually have money.

One more great resource I’ve been into for getting awesome stuff for less money: www.goldstar.com .  This is where you can tickets to events, concerts, attractions, even musicals for as much as half off.  I just bought my LA WineFest tickets for 33 bucks – they’re usually 60.  What are you waiting for?  Go!  Get your summer on!

Hey, look… I made it through an entire post without cursing.  Can you fucking believe that?  Ah – maybe next time…

I Hate It When I Neatly Fit Into a Statistical Survey

Please let me make something clear:  I don’t want to be broke and I’m not celebrating the miserable shape my finances are in, I’m just the sort of person who makes due with what I’ve got and has a sense of humor about my situation.   So I look to folks who have their shit together and can tell me how to reverse my fortune.

I looked at this interesting article today and as I went down the list, in dismay I realized they were talking about me.  I’ve stumbled upon a few epiphanies in this manner… I discovered that I was bipolar from a quiz in Us Weekly.  I have a mini-meltdown when I realize that at the end of the day my personality is summed up in a series of checkmarks next to generalizations and some sociological research.  So the only thing to do… is change.

www.freefrombroke.com/2009/05/reasons-not-rich-wealthy.html

How To Go Broke, part II: Municipal fines

I’m writing a check for $53 to pay a parking ticket.  This is notable not for the fact that I have a parking ticket – I could cover a wall of my cubicle with parking tickets – but because I am writing a check to pay a parking ticket. I just looked online and it seems that I owe a total of $398 to the city of  Los Angeles for parking fines.  I casually  mentioned this on my Facebook page and the reactions of my friends were of shock, disbelief, and outright scolding.  Oh right, because everyone loves paying parking fines so much? They have disposable parking ticket money?  Or do the parking gods shine upon them no matter where in the city they are and magically move their car on Tuesdays before 8 am or whatever while they’re sleeping it off with a booty call somewhere mid-Wilshire.  And let’s talk about those cryptic signs.  Good luck figuring that shit out,  as they are confusing and in great detail.  Just try doing the math on one of these after you’ve had a few toddies:

Huh?

Is it my fault for getting the tickets?  Mostly! Am I responsible for not paying them?  Absolutely!  Do I make my life more difficult in shirking a moderate sum to pay for frivolous things such as gasoline, insurance, groceries?  You bet I do!  The last time I paid my car registration (6 months late, by the way) I was charge an additional $190 in unpaid parking fees.  Big OUCH.  So the lesson here, bitches, is please pay your parking tickets, or better yet pay extra careful attention and avoid them altogether.  Because what is $53 now will be three times that amount by the time you finally get around to paying it.  In addition, it seems that The Man will just swoop in and boot or tow your vehicle for unpaid tickets any damn time they feel like it, just because they can, and more importantly because they can make money off of it.

I hate The Man.  I know that there are some very good and honest people who make a decent living being, or at least representing The Man, and I have nothing against them personally.  It’s the entire System that pisses me off, I rage against the machine, if  you will.  But in my old age I have reconciled that as long as I carry a social security card and enjoy (mostly) free speech, The Man is a necessary evil because who else would I call when my neighbor leaves a large piece of furniture on their frontlawn which is an eyesore and potential fire hazard?  Useful!

So today in my quest for being an upright and law-abiding citizen, I am paying this motherfucking parking ticket and cursing more than usual under my breath as I do so.  And just getting started on my rant re: The Man.   You can’t beat The Man but please educate yourself because even though you may not win, you can fight city hall, and you won’t go broke just because you were an irresponsible ticket-dodger.  Only $345 more to go!

http://www.thenewspaper.com/

Cheap Eats: Pasta a la’ BAB

Ever since my first can of Spagetti-Os, pasta has been my carb of choice.  I can eat it every night of the week and you will never hear a complaint from me.  It’s a good thing, because these days my budget is definitely feeling more noodle-ish, and my customized pasta al pomodoro is in the dining rotation more and more often. 

The best part about this dish is you can add stuff like spinach or broccoli,  a protein of your choice like tofu, chicken or shrimp, and of course, what ever pasta shape you desire.  You can make it over and over again and never have the exact same dish twice.  The ingredients are often in the pantry, or will set you back no more than 6 or 7 bucks and can easily feed two.

Here’s what you need:

half a box of angel hair or capellini pasta 

2 cloves garlic

fresh basil (julienne or finely chop)

1 can diced tomatoes

olive oil

some butter (optional – if “delicious” is the option you’re going with)

lots of parmesan cheese  (I mean, “to taste”)

Cook your pasta, drain and toss in olive oil. (do this first or last, i do it first because i like mushy noodles, but if you’re going for al dente then make the sauce first and keep it warm)  In a saucepan, drizzle some olive oil and add a spoonful of butter; as the butter starts to melt over low heat, add crushed garlic and drained can of diced tomatoes.  Toss  pasta with the sauce and wait till the end to add the fresh basil and as much cheese as you like.  I make mine sticky with cheese, add red pepper flakes and my favorite bottle of grape juice.  This week a 5-dollar bottle from Trader Joes called Pancake Cellars Big Day White is my love- a fruit forward blend from California that’s versatile and easy on the wallet. 

Bon brokeass appetit!

Deep in the Heart of Taxes

How To Go Broke, by BAB:

Go work and earn some money.  Enough to put you in what is called a “tax bracket” which requires you to own a home to get enough deductions to break even on your tax return.  Don’t buy a home, though… that’s way too complicated and requires saving some money for a down payment.  File tax returns owing the IRS, taxes that you can’t really pay.  Next year, pay someone to do taxes. Now must pay tax preparer, IN ADDITION to government.   

Don’t file your taxes in 2003, 2004, 2005 or 2006.  Attempt to file in 2007, realize that thousands are owed, and then file incomplete tax returns with the rest of them in the file named “TAXES” in the very cute currogated cardboard file box that you bought at Crate and Barrel five years ago when you solemnly promised to get your finances in order.

Make no mistake, the IRS will call you. It takes them a little bit, after all there are tens of thousands of dysfunctional deadbeats who they have to catch up with, but by about halfway through the second year that they don’t get a tax return from  you, they will stalk you like a rejected ex-boyfriend via every form of communication known to man.  It starts with phone calls,which are easy enough to dodge.  I’m guessing if you’re in the neighborhood of Tax Evasion then you’re probably chillin out with some credit card charge offs and maybe even a late car payment… you’re no stranger to ignoring the calls that read “UNKNOWN NUMBER” on your caller ID.  But the IRS thinks maybe your phone is broken or there’s a problem with your line and they think that if they could just talk to you that you would understand, so they start sending you love letters.  Brief  and subtle at first just to let you know that they are around and they want to clear up some misunderstanding that you may have had; the letters become more lengthy and  insistent and even a little threatening.  Then the IRS thinks that maybe you moved and you are not getting your mail, so one day you will come home and find a slip on your door telling you that you have certified mail.  Delighted, you will rush yourself down to the post office on your lunch break, only to find that it’s exactly who you’ve been trying to avoid the IRS, and their letter says this time they’re really really mad and if you don’t call them back they’re going to do something that you really really won’t like and that something will come to you from your employer one day in the form of a notice to withold wages.  Then, you kind of have to call the IRS and you kind of have to figure out a way to pay them. they’ll do something called garnishing your wages,which actually sounds kind of nice but in fact they take what you owe them from your paychecks in enormous sums. It’s more than you originally owed by the way – all that time you spent avoiding them earned penalties on your balance.  And that’s how you end up thousands of dollars in debt to the IRS… and they can get in line behind a few other companies who you owe money to.  And this is how, you can go from paycheck to paycheck and basically have everything in life but will never save enough for a down payment on a crappy condo; this, on top of many more mistakes and misjudgments – this is how you go broke.

It is 5:26 on tax day and I have not filed.  Not only have I not filed but I seem to have lost my W2 in the process of moving two months ago.  Since the IRS and I sort of have an abusive, stalker-esque relationship (they are actually very nice, by the way, and try to work out payment plans with you) and that seems to be working for us, they can just go ahead and put it on my tab.  I think I almost have 2003 paid off.

www.irs.gov

www.turbotax.com