Jilly's

Dateline: Columbus, Georgia; 1991.

Jilly's (duh duh) Jilly's is the place for ribs. At least it was. There is very little information to be found for the steakhouse on Macon Road, situated in a strip mall. It was "the nice place" to go when my friends and I had a little extra money. Looking back, it was weird for two 17 year old girls to go out for prime rib, and neither of us was hooking. I don't recall ever going somewhere this upscale with a date, Red Lobster being the pinnacle non-prom date restaurant. Either way, Cassie and I hit Jilly's fairly often. Another weird fact, I used to order my prime rib medium RARE. I must have had great blood back then, these days the slightest hint of pink in the middle makes me gag. Jilly's is also where I discovered my love for horseradish. But these are all just minor factual memories of the place that will be always be known as "The place where I started to hate people."

Cassie and I brought along her uncle on one of our excursions. This sounds creepier than it was. Greg was only 7 years older than us, plus he had a convertible Mustang. Greg was a frequent guest star, as he was hilarious and loved to shop. I suppose I should mention that this was a few years before Greg came out of the closet. It was Christmas and we were all set for an evening of shopping at Peachtree Mall. We stopped at Jilly's for a prime rib fix. The three of us were promptly seated in a booth, where we had a view of the booths on the other side of the dining room. We laughed and talked. Probably a little too loud, but nothing outside of normal. When the three of us got together, it was on and to this day, I have never laughed so hard as I did when they got me going. Across the way, a family was trying to corral their young children. Even then, I detested children, especially ill mannered kids. These hellions were running amok, and I witnessed one of the children run up to a table of strangers and touch someone's plate at the table. Cassie saw it too and we were like, "WTF?" (before WTF) Greg craned his neck around the booth to see what we were looking at, and caught the eye of the hellion's mother. Our food arrived and we soon forgot about the ill mannered family. Every time I looked up, the mother was staring at us. Not wanting to cause a scene (when you are raised by an alcoholic, you tend to master scene avoidance techniques.) I stared at my bloody plate. I stared at the bread basket. I stared at the rich corinthian leather on the booths. What happened next happened so fast, I couldn't even catch my breath.

Cassie leans over and says, "That bitch needs to quit looking over here." I shrugged, but inside I felt the same thing. I was about to say something disparaging about her mom jeans, to appease and distract, when Cassie takes a big bite of food, chews it for a moment, then opens her mouth and shows God and everybody (and the rude staring bitch) her cud. I saw that, then followed the imaginary line of vision directly to the rude mom who can't control her rude kid's eyes. I had a mixture of admiration for Cassie for giving the bitch her due and nervous bile at the omnious confrontation. Greg was clueless to the drama unfolding, as he was busy rending the mediocre meat from the bone. All of a sudden, the woman was standing at our table. We three look up at her, all with WTF expressions, and she says, "Did you girls learn your manners in a barn?" Only she had a British accent, so it sounded like, "Deed you gahls learn yore mannuhs in a baun?" Greg was dumbfounded. I was mortified. Cassie was indignant. Only Cassie found her voice in the exchange and exclaimed, "Who is SHE talking too?!" That's it. That's the witty comeback. The woman disappeared and we were left to debrief amongst ourselves. And that's when all the witty comebacks spewed forth. Our incredulous group spent the next 4 hours coming up with even better replies. The frustration in the convertible was so thick we had to let the top down on the way home (December in GA...not that cold.) The injustice was maddening.

Twenty years later, as I reconstruct the scene, I still get a little pissed off. Was Cassie wrong to show her food? Probably. Was the woman wrong to approach our table? Sure. Should she have used birth control? Yes. Would I change any detail of that evening? Nope. That night has been fodder for the three of us for twenty years. Jilly's closed down a few years later. I have no idea what went into the strip mall to replace it. Jilly's was a chain, and chain steakhouses soon exploded all over the scene: Longhorn, Texas Roadhouse, Logan's, Outback, and so on. There are even "nice" places where you can eat peanuts and just throw the shells right on the floor, which I am not an advocate for. Great as these places may be, they can never replace the original bad manners dining experience, where you can get a side of rudeness with your $12.95 prime rib.

But you better act fast...it is a limited time offer.

It All Started With

Each Summer, I choose a theme for Summer reading. Last year, it was True Crime, Memphis Style. The year before, Judy Blume books I knew by heart. This year, my interest turned to True Crime, Georgia Style. This year, I actually have a sub-theme: Stuff I Remember Hearing About Either From Old People, Or On The News.

I just finished "Murder In The Peach State", by Bruce L. Jordan. A wonderful book, and who knew a cop could write?? Jordan is/was the Chief Investigator with the Fayette County Sheriff's Department. Fayette County is two counties north of Troup County, which is where I grew up. But my connection to Fayette ran a little deeper. I dated a sheriff's deputy from the same department, briefly, while I was in college. He was in my college English class. He turned out to be a dud, but we would spend hours after class (a night class) sipping coffee at the IHOP, discussing his job. Jay gave me the goods on the news stories. And thus began my lifelong affection for cops. I liked getting the inside scoop. I still do; therefore, while I am done dating cops, I still like to keep a few close to me so as to always be informed. This proved invaluable during the Mary Winkler trials. I have no idea whatever happened to Jay, but I would be willing to bet he and Jordan were at least acquainted. Jordan's book triggered my nostalgia for times past in my fair state of Georgia.

This nostalgia led me to purchase more true crime books. I am all set to learn the scoop on Sarah Tokars, The Columbus Stocking Strangler, The Redbone Murders, the Murder in Coweta County, The Alday Family Murders, and more about little Mary Phagan. To supplement my blood lust, I began an internet search for particular cases that I remember: Fred Wilkerson and the well (the boy who sat in front of me in sixth grade's mother killed Wilkerson and buried him in a well, where he laid for nearly two decades), Kyle Clinkscales (my best friend---the aforementioned crackhead--and I rode our bikes back and forth by the pond that allegedly housed the drum that housed the college student's remains for years...I was in Memphis when they closed the case some 25 years later, the well-to-do husband and wife who murdered her elderly mother for her money (Mattula? Something like that), and other cases who's news reports kept me up at night. Looking back, I realized that I grew up in a mean place. I have drawn the conclusion that one rural country murder equals about 20 inner city simple killings. When country folks do it, they do it up right. And, weirdly enough, they tend to do it in the Summer time. That oppressive Georgia heat only adding to the gross out factor when the deed is actually discovered.

Even as a child and youth, I watched the news. Partly because my mom did, but I grew to love it. My imagination was vivid and without constraint; however, when this was combined with my half ass attention span, I sometimes got the details wrong. For example, I was not around when The Alday Family Murders occurred, but I was during the appeals process of the murderers. I was a teenager before I realized that Alday was the name of the family who was slaughtered, not in reference to a 6am to 6pm killing spree (all day). Turns out, Little Mary Phagan was bludgeoned, not stabbed with pencils. I was also relieved to learn that Andy Griffith was not involved in a dust up in rural Coweta County, he's not a cold blooded killer but he played one on tv...Thank God! As an adult, I have learned to listen carefully so as not to embarrass myself when spouting off odd facts about things.

There is little to be found on the more obscure cases that I mentioned; but the journey led me down a new path...place nostalgia. I stumbled upon (not using the acutal search engine, just on my own) a site that posts pictures from a time gone by era in Columbus, Georgia. http://www.angelfire.com/weird2/georgia/index.html Troup County was nestled exactly halfway between Atlanta and Columbus. I tend to devote most of my nostalgia to Atlanta, the Oz of my youth. I was strictly forbidden to travel there by my parents, which means I took off there every chance I got. However, I spent just as much time in Columbus (the safe alternative). This site mostly has things about places that were long gone before I set foot on the red clay; however, there are nuggets. The liberty bell pool at FDR state park. That water was from a natural spring and COLDER than ice. It was a vacation bible school staple. The big cow that stood guard outside the Kinnett Dairy, which signaled that we had finally arrived to the usual destination of Peachtree Mall, was there as well. I sounded far older than my 36 (8 more days) years when I said to myself, "I'd forgotten all about that!" Just the names of the roads sparked fond memories: Gentian Blvd, Victory Drive, Macon Rd, Cross Country Plaza, Buena Vista Rd, and Wynnton Rd. The local ABC affiliate, WTVM, had a promotion during my childhood that involved calling out the name of smaller towns around Columbus to say thanks for watching, basically a shout out to your 'hood. It used to thrill me to no end (I was easily impressed) when LaGrange would make it on the air. This also served as a geography lesson for me. I shared a cabin at 4-H camp (a whole 'nuther nostalgic post) with a girl from Americus and I was able to draw a whole five minutes of conversation out of the fact that we were in the same viewing area for WTVM Channel 9. Funny, making friends is much harder these days! All of these memories came rushing back as I sat at my computer, delaying my present day life in favor of revisiting my old life.

I emailed my best friend (not the crackhead...the one I actually still want to keep in touch with) who was my partner in crime during many of these forays into the "Safe City" and suggested that we make up our own site. Only this site would be a "Do You Remember" from more recent times, the 80's and 90's. It would be a great place for Ex-Georgians like myself to visit to recall the unique trademarks they grew up with. People could submit their own memories and pics. We could expand it to include the entire area of western Georgia that became our playground. Bordered to the north by Bremen, the south by Fort Benning, the east by the Flint River, and the west by the Chattahoochee River. This large area includes all the significant little places that provoked a scandal, a belly laugh, a car malfunction, an ass whooping, or housed a residence. This site would likely only be enjoyed by my friend and I. I can see the glaze of indifference form over the eyes of people when I begin to slip into the nostalgia of my Georgia upbringing, if you didn't live it...it isn't important. But what enjoyment it would be! We'd make a great team as she still lives there and I have a catalogue of memories. She loves photography, I love to blog.

Watch for the link. Until then, here is a preview of some of the topics we will cover: Jilly's (Jilly's...Jilly's is the place for ribs), The Georgia Public Broadcast sign off (Georgia...Gaaaawgia), 4-H, Wolfman and Donna, WCGQ vs Kiss FM, The Warm Springs Hotel, and The Callaway Educational Association. My Dorothy Parker stream of consciousness ends there...for now.

A Friend for All Seasons

I have this friend....

Spring: The birth of a friendship. New and green, Tina was my first real best friend. She mistakenly called me "Robin" on the first day of 7th grade and I corrected her, and she later told me that I hurt her feelings because my correction was "snobby". She wore jellies. She had blue nail polish on her toes (1986). She had a crunchy perm. We were fast friends. Tina was the most careful and cautious person I had even seen. She made good grades, she did her homework...on the bus, she talked me out of many many parental ass whoopings, she was nice to everyone, and she always welcomed me back when we would fuss. We became special guest stars on each other's school bus, so much so that her bus driver assumed that Tina's parents had joint custody of me. We danced, we sang, we laughed and we spent the year of 1987 laying the foundation for a lifetime of ambitious friendship.

Summer: Sunshine and free time. We spent summer nights painting our toes, sleeping on the porch, sneaking cigarettes, doing our own version of karaoke (just sing louder than the music and it drowns out the 'real' singer). We spent summer days analyzing "The Young and The Restless" (and bitching about the Iran Contra hearings that interrupted our daily bread), hanging out at the racist city pool (Colored Free til 93), riding bikes to find some sort of trouble to get into, perusing the latest offerings of Natural Wonder makeup at Eckerd Drugs, making our own sunscreen (baby oil and iodine), and sneaking cigarettes. Life was fun and without care. It really seemed to be an endless summer. Our friendship survived junior high, and most of high school. Our paths forked at some point, literally. Walking into the double doors of our high school, I hung a left towards the "academic hall" for my college prep courses. Tina hung a right to attend her classes on the "vocational hall". While I read Dickens and Chaucer, Tina learned to type and sew. I never understood this, as Tina was a straight A student with an aptitude for math...both things that I lacked. I later figured out that parental encouragement, or lack thereof, goes a long way in determining one's destiny. While I had a lot of pressure at home to advance and further myself, Tina's parents encouraged her to fly under the radar until she could graduate and secure her destined position at the local textile mill. The best she could aspire to was an office position, in said mill. It was good enough for them; therefore, it was good enough for her. I now understand that Tina's parents were not bad parents, just anti-global. They were actually very good parents, to the both of us. Stoic, Salt-of-the-Earth, loving parents who simply believed that the world ended at the county line. I went to college, Tina hit the vocational jackpot and took a job in a DOCTOR'S OFFICE. She would write me letters, and fold them up in neat little origami formations, just to keep me in the loop. We would still hang out sometimes, on my breaks, and for a minute...it was 1987 again. Our friendship became a perennial flower, dormant then blooming periodically. Reactivation was simple, even after months of little to no contact, only requiring a phone call.

Fall: Things die. It was during a period of bloom that I realized we may have built our ambitious friendship foundation out of sand. On a summer day, I was home from college, and we met for lunch. As usual, I was low on cash. Tina whipped out her designer wallet and paid. As we sat down, she begins to brag about her recent promotion which leads into a faux humble "confession" of her new salary. It was more money than I had made collectively in my entire life. I gave the requisite congratulations and tried to change the subject. At the time, I was employed as a part time camp counselor who justified my ridiculous paycheck with the resume building opportunity. Tina would not be discouraged though. She knew my hourly wage, as it was common knowledge that the United Way wasn't going to make anyone rich. Using her superior math skills, she quickly calculated and in a loud and boisterous voice exclaimed that she earns the amount of my weekly paycheck before lunch each day. The only defense that I had was that I was in school. It was then that Tina informed me that she was glad she didn't get caught up in going to college, that she found success without a degree, and that she hired a recent college graduate to do her filing. Basically, college does not pay; but being a boastful bitch did. I couldn't help but notice all the other things that Tina lorded over me. She married her high school sweetheart, the first guy that came along; and standing in the church vestibule, she told me that she couldn't believe that she had settled down and had it all together and I was still a floundering mess, no marriage prospects in sight. We were 21 years old. I was the one who always had a boyfriend and she was the tag-along; but on this day, she enjoyed the irony of the turnabout. By the time I got married, she was pregnant. I endured the tsk tsk tsk's when my marriage failed, as Tina's tally of our success compeition moved her several steps ahead while I returned to the starting line. Degree and decree in hand, I moved 500 miles away and didn't leave my forwarding address. There were times over the years that followed that Tina would magically reappear. She could always learn my whereabouts by contacting my mother. And we would have an indian summer. Phone calls to catch up, isolated blooms, then...back to brown and crunchy. The occasion of our 15 year high school reunion blew in the cold winter air.

Winter: Cold and dead. We spoke maybe once a year in the decade that followed my move. Tina had another child (move ahead 5 spaces!) She and her husband purchased a nice big home and furnished it with all the latest Home Interiors decor. Tina invested in gastric bypass surgery and lost 100 pounds ("Now your jeans would fall off me! Weeeeeeeee!) She got another promotion, then another, and now she basically ruled the universe. I had a new address every year because I couldn't settle down. I moved in and subsequently married my next ex-husband (back to starting line). I remained in the $35k a year bracket thanks to my liberal arts degree. I had a cat. By the time the reunion came around, I felt settled enough to attend. My formerly plump, vibrant, and healthy friend's appearance was shocking. The surgery had definitely rid her of all her weight issues, but it also robbed her of her good hair, her skin tone, her energy, and her modesty. I did not recognize this dull and skinny bleach blond in the inappropriate dress. My face did not register my thoughts, and really I was glad to see her after all those years. She showed off her luxury SUV, her thinness, her happy long marriage, and her wads of cash. I showed off my ability to suck it up and smile. A few months later, I receive a cryptic email, a request for a safe harbor while she "gets away from it all" for a little while. There was something fishy. She wanted to come stay with me for a period of two weeks, which coincided with Christmas Day. And, she would not take no for an answer. Bordering on rude, I made it clear to her that it was inappropriate to hole up in someone's home for that long during the holidays, especially when she has kids at home. The cold snap of winter had arrived, I just had no idea how frigid it could get. In the marathon phone calls that followed this weirdness, Tina revealed that she had been a) fired from her job, b)filed for bankruptcy, c)developed a nasty drinking habit, d)lost her husband to Jesus, e)developed an affinity for amphetamines, and f)missed me soooo much! Uh..... It took me a long time, but I had finally learned the very tough lesson to not invite drama into my life. I listened while she laid all this drama out, all the while still making digs at my seemingly unsettled existence ("I just wish you could get married for real"). I advised her that a) she could find a new job, maybe go back to school [guess that useless college degree would have come in handy now], b) bankruptcy isn't the end of the world [although I wouldn't know, I somehow managed to avoid it by just remaining broke], c) wine at 9am is not normal and there are groups for that, d) Jesus is tough competition, e) ordering pills off the internet is illegal and dangerous and f) I missed her too, and hoped that she would be able to work it all out [without bringing it to Tennessee]. After avoiding a few more weird self-invitations and finally sending an email to end all emails, the lines of communication were cut. What in the Hell happened to my friend?? Who was this crazy bitch??

Fast forward 4 years. Another failed relationship for me. Another job. Another address. But more stability and security than I had ever known. Maybe even a little boring, but after wild ride of my 20's and early 30's...boring is excellent. I had heard through the grapevine that Tina had asked about me and expressed her regret that I had never had a family or found someone to marry. What a sad life I must lead. This, of course, inflamed me and cemented my resolve to leave the past in the past where Tina is concerned.

Yesterday, I arrived home from work and pulled the usual bills and magazines out of my mailbox, when an aqua colored envelope fell into my lap. I knew the handwriting immediately. That bubbular scribbling had informed me of many important developments during my adolescence. I sat in the car and read the note. It started with "I need to talk to you ASAP". What followed was a desperate and cryptic couple of paragraphs about the changes she is going through (never mentioning them, just alluding...to ensure my call) and how she needs to talk to me. I surmised that it was either illness or divorce. Nothing could have prepared me for what it actually was.

The more she talked, the worse it got. And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, it did. And, it was scattered like Waffle House hashbrowns. She would start one thought and never get back to it. She would abruptly end one sentence and move on to an unrelated topic ("So, I'm staying here with mama n'em and...I bought a pack of Virginia Slims cigarettes last week"). Wait...what? Here is a rundown in run-on sentence format:

Her husband filed for divorce so he could be with the woman he is dating, but this won't relieve them of the massive debt they owe to the IRS for not paying their income taxes for three years on his lawn business, but hopefully the pharmacy records that his attorney ordered won't show the years of multiple uppers and downers that helped her cope with the foreclosure of their home thanks to "the Obama deal" that helped them buy more name brand appliances and skip their mortgage payment for 20 months; however if they do, maybe they will also show the pepcid ac that her doctor prescribed for the bleeding ulcer that has incapacitated her and prevents her from working, which is fine because the State of Georgia is now buying her groceries and pills because she was let go from her job (another job) which is really no big deal because she knows someone who got a 4 year degree from the University of Phoenix in 2.5 years so when she gets her home phone turned back on she will see about getting that degree because there really isn't much work involved in getting a college education, just playing on the internet; therefore, she can be a good role model to her kids and can support the out of work construction worker with a back injury that she met in the doctor's office waiting room as he dodges the (wrongfully! mmmm-hmmm) child molestation charges that he is currently fighting, and hopefully, with said degree, she can get legitimate health insurance so that she won't feel so ashamed when she fills her script for the "happy pills" that her doctor supplies her with...you know...to cope with her stable life.

It took 3 plus hours for all of this to tumble out. She finally asked me how things were going with me. I was too tired to get into it...so I just said:

"Oh you know, the usual...I was laid off from the hospital but found another job quickly, broke up with J and purchased my own house, met a great guy last year and am dating him, basically...just leading my boring little life."

I was ready to get off the phone with this fool. I admit, when I got the letter, there was a strong tug on my heart. She was my best friend for a long time. We spent our formative years together. We pledged to always "be there" for each other no matter what. But no amount of immature yearbook scribblings could obligate me to join her on her downward rapid spiral to rock bottom. Being a cushion is not my strong point, never was, and she is clearly not ready for the dose of reality that was on the tip of my tongue. If I had any doubts, this cleared it up for me:

After offering her reassurance that divorce, although sucky, was not the end of the world, she informs me that she never thought she would be "one of those kinds of people." She had moved her peg so far ahead of mine that I lost sight of her. The trip back to Start is going to be a long one, I really hope she packed her winter coat.

I had this friend...

Frugality

I have amassed a tidy fortune. Without getting a second job. Without doing anything illegal. Without starving. Here are some observations:

1. It is amazing what people will pay for your shit. I cleaned out closets and sheds and ended up with a pile of Ebay wares. After stepping over Mt. Saint Profit for a couple of months, I finally organized the pile and listed the things on Ebay. Knowing myself was key, and from past experience, I knew that listing everything at once was a bad idea. The joy of the windfall would be overshadowed by the stress of mailing all that crap at once. So, I listed four things at a time. I researched completed auctions and shipping prices; and sweated out the auctions until the last second. The thrill of the price doubling in the final seconds of the auctions is without compare. This all came to a screeching halt a couple of weeks ago, following my first experience with a Paypal dispute. It really is scary how quickly all that money can disappear at some unscrupulous buyer's whim. Thankfully, it worked out to my advantage, but the experience soured me on any further dealings with this venue. My pile had already been reduced to maybe a closet shelf's worth of junk; therefore, I still consider it a win. This practice alone earned me enough money to finance my food, drink, fun, and swag kitty for my upcoming Florida trip.

2. Growing up, my mother was adamant about unplugging things when not in use. She was convinced that a plugged in (not turned on) coffee pot would burst into flames as soon as our car backed out of the driveway; therefore, before we left the house, we had to make the rounds of unplugging small appliances. Weird, I know. This is the same woman who made my brother and I stand in the hallway wearing rubber flip flops during thunderstorms so as not to spontaneously combust into flames from being struck by lightening. "Ya'll go put your thongs on!" took on a totally different meaning in my house. Anyway, turns out, Mom had a good idea...misguided as it was. Turns out, unplugging things saves money. Nothing that required "resetting" upon my return...such as things with clocks; but laptops, hair dryers, phone chargers, etc were all added to the list of things to disable before leaving home. I also made a conscious effort to limit the use of overhead lights and pulled out my old fashioned wooden clothes dryer to dry the things that usually require 2-3 rounds in the dryer. I had no idea of the impact of these measures, until I received my electric bill. It was cut IN HALF. Not half of the previous month, but half of the previous year's same month amount. Keeping the 42" flat screen plasma tv on "for background noise" has clearly cost me thousands of dollars in the last 6 years. My Ipod is much better (and economical) company. Because I budget according to the historical amount of bills, I saved enough on this exercise to easily treat my mom and her husband to a Mother's Day brunch without sweating the debt. I could think of no more appropriate allocation for this windfall.

3. As I mentioned in a previous post, I committed myself to driving slower. Within a couple of days of beginning this practice, I promptly received a speeding ticket. I had to let that go, pay the stupid tax, and press on. 90% of the miles that I drive earn me half a dollar. My company reimburses at a fairly generous rate, so I tried to 1) maximize those miles by combining personal errands with work errands, and 2) maximize the miles by burning less gas per mile. Each month, I receive a mileage check. It occured to me that I was in control of how much of that check goes toward the gas and how much goes into my pocket. Tinkering with that percentage by increasing fuel mileage eliminated one entire tank of gas in a month's time. Ripping and tearing to make appointments on time by driving at least 70mph was costing me an unnecessary $55 a month. After making the last visit of the day, sure, I am still in a hurry to get home; however, it is daylight longer and I don't have to do 80 mph just to gain an additional 10 minutes. This exercise has saved me enough to get Ms. H groomed, clipped, and vaccinated without worry of additional debt.

4. I stopped reading the Commercial Appeal. This was one of the hardest things for me. I love reading the Sunday paper, always have. I can spend hours sitting with a pot of coffee, a pack of smokes, and a nice thick paper. As much as I love the news, the best part of the paper was always the circulars. I saved these for last. And, as I perused the Target, Macy's, Walgreen's, and K-Mart ads, I began to believe that these ads were basically photo albums of things that I require. How on Earth have I lived 36 years without a leather clad ottoman? That Olay Pro-X facial cleaning system is just the thing I need to fill the empty 1"X1" space in my medicine cabinet. A family sized box of Fruity Pebbles for $3??? Sign me up! Wait, don't. Do not sign me up. I don't need this stuff. And, if I don't know about it, I don't know what I am missing. So, I read the Commercial Appeal online now, sans sales papers. I have saved untold amounts of money in this exercise.

5. It seems counterintuitive to say that I have started using my credit card more frequently to save money, but there is a logic here. My credit card has a great rewards program. Basically, one point per dollar spent, with promotions for 5 points per dollar on certain things, and an occasional super promotion offering upwards of 10-15 points at certain retailers. If I time the bonus periods right, I can hit the reward points jackpot. This is where my anal retentive predisposition is an advantage. I patiently waited to plant my flowers until my credit card rewarded me to do so. I pulled out my shiny blue card at the grocery check-out because Chase was rewarding me to do so. I spilled a little bleach on my favorite Lands End navy polo. I bought another, and Chase rewarded me with nearly 500 points for doing so. I have two rules that I religiously follow in this exercise. The first rule is that the transaction must be something that I would normally spend money on. It defeats the purpose to charge up a bunch of additional debt to receive cash back just to pay off the additional debt. My new flower bed, complete with dirt, mulch, timbers, and flowers was an expense I had been planning for, but by waiting a couple of weeks for the bonus period, I spent the budgeted money for the expense and racked up over 1000 points for the trouble. The second rule is the most important. I have to pay off whatever I charge, before the closing date. Again, it does not make sense (cents) to run up a credit card bill, plus a finance charge, to get cash back just to pay the bill. Because groceries, gas, healthcare, and projects are things that I would normally spend money on, and are included in the monthly budget, I whip out my card without worry. I have accumulated enough points in the last 3 months to receive both a $25 Home Depot Gift Card and a check that will cover a new pair of prescription sunglasses just in time for Florida.

6. Take care of things now, and save a pile of money later. I have learned this lesson the hard way countless times. I used to play tricks on myself. I told myself, "Self, just don't think about it, and it will go away." I let toothaches go for months, so that I didn't have to drop the money for dental work (I need a leather clad ottoman!) Fast forward two months, and instead of spending the $100 for a filling, I spent $800 for a root canal. I ignore the warning light on my dashboard, thinking of the money that I am saving, and then get hit with a $1000 repair bill. I convince myself that I can't afford the small fix, then find myself scrambling to pay for the big fix. Well, I am done with that. I am taking care of it....right now. Now, instead of ignoring the issue, I have trained myself to hear the sound of coins dropping into a metal pail for every day that the issue remains unresolved. Instead of reviewing all the things that I would rather purchase with the money that should be spent on the small fix, I think about the necessities that I may go without while I pay through the nose for the big fix. It is that shift from instant gratification to future security that tells me I am getting older. And in this instance, getting older is saving me money.

7. This is my year of charity. I am not a donor. I hang on to both my time and my money as if they were the last piece of bread in a post apocalyptic world. This year, I learned to let go of a little of both; and the rewards have been ten-fold. As I was cleaning out my closets, I came across items that were not suitable for Ebay. What to do with this stuff? I do not like clutter, so my first thought was to just pile the crap up at the curb to be hauled away. Then, by happenstance, I found out about the Covington Animal Rescue Effort. C.A.R.E. is an organization that rescues pets from the local animal shelter and fosters them until they can find them permanent homes. The local shelter does not have the facilities to allow for adoption of pets; therefore, any pet that ends up there faces certain death. C.A.R.E. frees the pet, places it in a foster home where it receives medical care, food, shelter, and most importantly, love. This is how I came to know my own dog, Harriet. This effort is strictly funded by fundraisers and out of the pockets of the volunteers. In my shed, I came across a kennel that Harriet deemed unacceptable that was in excellent condition. As I was preparing to haul it down to the street, I wished I knew a pup who could benefit from it. Before reaching the end of the driveway, I thought about C.A.R.E., which I had come across on Facebook some months ago. I looked up the page, found the phone number for the director and called her up. She informed me that a puppy had been rescued the night before, a victim of animal cruelty, and that he was in desperate need of a kennel at his new foster home. I was given an address and a couple of hours later, Skippy had his new digs. I followed Skippy's progress on Facebook, feeling satisfied that I had helped him in a small way. A few days later, I came across an unexpected $20. Before I could drop this money into a budget slot, I placed it into an envelope and mailed it to C.A.R.E., with a note asking that it go towards Skippy's treatments. I did not sign the note, because I did not need recognition. I did tell one friend about it, and that friend, in turn, mailed another $20. I used to equate donating money to wadding it up and throwing it out of the window. Never again. Since this revelation, I have been the recipient of several unexpected windfalls. That $20 has come back to me and then some, perhaps not directly, but in ways that I am convinced are related to letting go of a little dough to help my fellow man (or pup). When I saw that C.A.R.E. is having a yard sale to raise funds, I immediately knew the fate of that closet shelf full of things that I would not be posting on Ebay. I won't profit from it, but the knowledge that a pup will is profit enough for me.

8. Skimp, but not on the following items: Coffee, Paper Towels, Toilet Paper, Detergent, Dishwashing Liquid, Cigarettes, Body Lotion, and Orange Juice. I have done it, and let me tell you, it isn't saving any money. Two things happen when I attempt to skimp. First, the quality is terrible and I then find myself having to force myself to finish the supply so that I can get back to what's good. Cheap coffee is a good example. I bought an enormous can of generic coffee at Sav-A-Lot for like, $3. Feeling pretty good about this, I brewed a pot the next morning and nearly spat that shit out all over the kitchen. Swill. Factory floor sweepings. It was awful. And, according to the can, I had almost 100 more pots to go. I could not bring myself to just throw it away. It ran out last week, thank God. I used it up faster than I expected due to the second effect of skimping. When you buy the cheap shit, you have to use twice as much to bring it up to an acceptable quality level. Had I spat that terrible coffee all over my kitchen, I would have required nearly an entire roll of cheap paper towels to wipe it up. I would have had to use 3 capfuls of cheap laundry detergent to wash it out of my clothes. The cup would have required two squirts of dish liquid to come clean. How long have I wasted money on this ruse??

9. I collect toiletries. Not mini hotel products, but actual full size bottles of body wash, body lotion, shampoo, and conditioner. This is because I am obsessed with moving on to the next new thing. I will purchase a bottle of body wash and use it. I will use it until I get bored with the scent. Then, I will buy another one. The half used one is then placed in the Hygiene Rest Home aka the linen closet. After fighting the numerous falling half filled bottles for a towel one evening, it dawned on me that I need not ever buy hygiene products again. I had enough product in that closet to clean, fragrance, and manage the frizz of a family of four for ten years. So, I made a committment to use it up. However long that takes. This week I will smell like Jasmine. Next week, Cotton. The following week, Lemons. The 10-20% of my grocery bill that is normally devoted to these products can now be spent on name brand coffee. And I will no longer have to navigate the Land of Forgotten Product for a bath towel.

10. It is important to have a goal. All this frugality would be wasted without an allocation. I am of the "Everything in it's place and a place for everything" school of thought. I can't just have money floating around, without a purpose. If I do, that money will disappear...quick! So, all my efforts in the past few months have been devoted to the goal of saving money for my trip to Florida. I want to go to Florida with enough money in my beach bag to enjoy myself without care. I want to put my little "Hey, I need a drink over here!" umbrella up on my beach chair as many times as I want to. I don't want to order the pasta when I want the scallops. And when I come home, I want to admire my tan...not my credit card bill. Always looking ahead, I am already thinking about my next goal, once Florida is a memory. Will it be home improvements? A new car? Another trip? Who knows, but one thing is certain...When I am good to my savings account, my savings account is good to me.

In closing, women in my demographic are often overlooked in the frugality movement. Being a mid thirties (24 more days!), single, non parent woman who does not cook often gives the impression that I have piles of money just laying around to finance my perceived life of luxury. I have no use for diaper coupons, tips on how to feed a family of four for under $20, or information on how to cut my drug bill in half. The reality is, I am responsbile for coming up with my own money saving routine, since I am overlooked by the likes of Redbook, Money, and AARP magazines. So, to all the single ladies out there who are wishing they could lead the fabulous lives that their married/parent/elderly friends and families think they do...I have this to say: If a hard-headed, product obsessed, beach loving, liberal arts degree having, mortgage paying, gas guzzling car owning, overworked social worker can do this...anyone can. Sometimes the answer is right in front of you, all you have to do is unplug it, fix it, sell it, use it, or give it away.

Eleven Months

I have been reflective lately, as I usually am as my birthday draws near. Aside from my birthday, I am approaching the one year mark of meeting the man formerly known as The Candidate, now known as The Boyfriend. I find myself reviewing the events of the past year, the conversations over wine and margaritas, the conflicts, the differences in goals and opinions, the little insignificant comments and actions that went on to produce huge implications.

This morning, I am thinking of one in particular. On a humid summer evening last year, Boyfriend and I nursed margaritas at a Mexican joint in Millington. We were still in the very fair phase of meeting halfway during the week. Boyfriend was all lathered up about his mother, her care, his frustration with her decline in cognition, his insistence that his mother's illness was somehow different than the hundreds of thousands that had gone before her. I now realize that he was simply blowing off steam. At the time, I mistook this for advice seeking. And, seeing as how confused little old ladies has been my specialty for most of my career, I doled it out. In fact, I might as well had pinned on a name tag that said, "Formermeangirl, Social Worker Extraordinaire". This advice, the standard pull yourself together and accept change variety, was not well received. After dinner, the night found us standing in the parking lot, kicking rocks, trying to figure out what to say to each other from our opposing sides. I believed that Boyfriend needed a big fat dose of reality. Boyfriend believed that because both of my parents were intact, I had no idea what he was going through. It wasn't the first time I have been accused of being too blunt, but it was certainly the most significant. The cold hard fact of the matter was simply this: Boyfriend had not yet reached the point of letting go and my insistence that he rush right along to this only formed a wedge between us. Bluntness is effective with clients, not so much with the people you love.

Throughout the past year, Boyfriend's mother continued to slide down the hill of inevitability. In eleven short months, she went from a chi chi apartment in a chi chi old folks complex, to an assisted living, to a rehab facility, to a full fledged nursing home; with several lengthy hospital stays as punctuations. Boyfriend took each leap in stride, but somewhere along the way...quietly and calmly, he came to the point of acceptance. Along the way, he left behind the belief that if he just sacrifices more of himself, she will get better. Boyfriend began to make plans. He began to look to the future without tailoring plans around what could go wrong with his mother. Boyfriend claimed a little of his life back. Somewhere along the way, Boyfriend fell in love with me and made the choice, not between his mother and I, but between a life of his own and a life on call. Boyfriend had previously decided that because he was charged with caring for his elderly mother, a relationship would be out of the question...it just wasn't worth the risk. Clearly, Boyfriend had selfish girlfriend drama in his baggage. It took some time, a lot of time, but eventually he found his way around to the reality that he could let me in and when things got tough, I'd still be there. Boyfriend decided that I was worth the risk.

His mother's decline continued and was further complicated by family drama. I began to detect the subtle differences between advice seeking and comfort seeking. Boyfriend began to consider some of the advice. And through it all, we were able to build a relationship based on mutual admiration and adoration. He trusted me to not abandon ship when the waves got choppy, I trusted him to not treat me as though I were about to. Just last week, as we were enjoying some sunshine, I looked at him and marveled how he had grown into a man who is invested in everything and in control of nothing.

Boyfriend's mother died last night. He got the call just as we were finishing dinner. He had been preparing for this call, but no one is ever really prepared to learn that their mother had passed away. After all my advice giving, I was truly at a loss for what to say. Obviously, this was no time for advice, not that I had any to give. I sat with him as he made the necessary calls. I turned off the tv. I looked up numbers for him. I fetched him a coke. And I hugged him. I can't imagine what it would feel like to receive that news.

It seems like last week that Boyfriend and I were sitting in the Mexican joint, discussing topics of dementia, long term care, and letting go. Has, Needs, and Will have become Had, Needed, and Did. Worry replaced by grief. Advising replaced with listening.

And finally, I Will Be There replaced by I Am Here.

One Month Left

Today marks the last month of 36. In 31 one days, I will be "in my late thirties" as opposed to "mid-thirties". And you know what? Whatever.

One year ago, I was fretting about all the things I have not accomplished. Namely, motherhood. In a year's time, so much has changed for me. And, I have made peace with one thing in particular...

I will be the old lady in the nursing home who isn't wearing a coursage on Mother's Day. Maybe I will be visited by generic volunteers, maybe I will receive some sort of wilted "honorary mother" consolation prize, maybe I will disrupt the Mother's Day tea by attempting an escape; the possibilities are endless. And this is the story of my life.

I chose possibilities over motherhood. Some might say that I am deciding too early, but let's face it, I'm not getting any younger. And the older I get, the more resolved this issue becomes, both in my mind and my ovaries. I feel peaceful about this, as opposed to fraught with turmoil and panic. Turmoil and panic are no friends to the sensible decision making process; but they have been my motivators for years. I am saying good-bye to all that mess.

Some people are meant to be mothers. I would fail the teetering baby test. Picture a teetering baby...teetering on some sort of ledge, couch, bed, whatever....do you rush to catch the baby? What I am about to say here will be controversial, no doubt; but see the reasoning and not the theoretical consequence, I would not rush forward to catch the teetering baby. I do not have that instinct. I am not an evil person, I swear. And, for the record, I have never actually taken the teetering baby test. And, I would not push the baby. I'm just saying that I would likely just stand there weighing out reactions, wasting precious time. Weighing out the options brings about a bruised baby. Therefore, that is one less bruised baby in the world. A lot of people would say, "Oh, it is different when it is your own child." Is it? Wouldn't it be better to not test that theory?

I also recognize something else about myself. I would be an Aurora Greenway type mom. Remember "Terms of Endearment"? Aurora sneaks in to check the baby constantly, testing the baby to make sure it is still alive. I have a dog, Harriet, and she is eight years old. In all likelihood, Harriet will live at least another 4 to 5 years. I am already planning Harriet's burial. When I snuggle Harriet, all I can think of is how hard it is going to be when she dies. Nevermind the years of fun and happiness we have left, my focus is already on letting her go. Can you imagine how this would play out with an actual child? As soon as I pushed the baby out, I would already be telling it good-bye. Which of course, would make me want to cling to this hypothetical baby....toddler...child...youth...teenager...adult; you see how this could turn into a problem, right?

And finally, I've got stuff to do. Stuff I want to do and stuff I need to do; that doesn't involve taking the next 18 years off to devote myself to raising a child. I want to continue not cooking supper every night. I want to use my extra money for stupid shit, like the entire Time Life Body and Soul 10 CD set. I want to come home from work and drink copious amounts of Pinot Grigio some days. I am not under any presumption that my life is going to be carefree or easy; however, taking away the child factor certainly lessens the complications. I am fully aware that a life without kids is not all wine and roses, trust me...so far it definitely hasn't been. I want the freedom to take risks and make mistakes, without care to the consequence of my child. Selfish? Probably. Smart? Most certainly.

I have a wonderful mother. I know plenty of wonderful mothers. I consider myself lucky to be surrounded by women who would pass the teetering baby test. Someone needs to catch the baby, it just won't be me. To the teetering babies of the world...

You're Welcome.

Just What I Always Wanted

I am firing my lawn guy. Poor OLD George, I really feel bad. But, I don't need him anymore. See, I have a boyfriend with an EXTRA lawnmower. That's right! He has a spare and tomorrow he will be delivering it to me. I know, I know, very romantic...but actually, it really is. And here's why:

I never even asked. I never complained. I never said a word about it. Boyfriend saw a need and took it upon himself to help. I was hesitant to accept, putting him through a rigorous course that basically ended with him insisting that I take the riding mower. I have trouble accepting help or unsolicited kindness, always looking for the ulterior motive. This time, I knew it was genuine when I protested, "I would feel terrible about having you come over here, busy as you already are, and having to cut my grass." His reply:

"Wait...no. I won't be cutting anything. I will teach YOU to cut it and YOU will be using it."

Well, okay then! Little does he know, I have only experienced the sheer joy of using a riding lawn mower a few times in my adult life. I never seem to have the right situation, great yard...no mower. Great mower...no yard. Great yard, great mower...no rights to said mower or yard. So now I have a great yard, a great mower, and a great boyfriend. Winning. Jackpot

Here's The Deal...Go Away

After dealing with people all the live long day, I return home each evening for one thing: Solitude. Sometimes, I choose to hobnob...inviting company over, going out to dinner, etc; but generally, when I get home I want to be antisocial. This is why when someone approaches my front door without an invitiation...I become irate. I feel violated. I chose to exclude myself from the general public and here comes some fool who totally disregards my choice. The Nielsen ratings people have finally left me alone, and now...I am being harrassed by U-Verse.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they had just dropped in once.

My canine doorbell, Harriet, sounded the alarm that someone was about to interrupt my solitude, so I went to my battlestation...the kitchen floor, before the nosy ass guy could peer into my windows. Clearly, I am going to have to choose between glorious sunlight into my home and privacy. I crouched down in the kitchen floor and waited while Mr. Persistant knocked on my front door and thoroughly upset my Harriet. When I felt it was safe, I came out of hiding and was relieved to see the burgundy dress shirt wearing oaf shuffling away. The burgundy dress shirt tells me either small town politician or Jesus freak. I resumed my activities, mundane tasks such as laundry and dinner prep.

See, it isn't that I am making meth in my house and I'm trying to be all secretive...it really is just that I deal with people all day and I need QUIET after 5pm. I have come to appreciate quiet in my current job. All day long it's drama drama drama; therefore, I don't even turn the tv on for background noise anymore. And, I especially abhor small talk. Chatting is not my strong suit. Pleasantries annoy me. Make no mistake, I am pleasant...but only because I am required to be. At home, there are no requirements. No one is paying me to be here, at home, so I figure I get to have things my way for a few hours. And my way is...solitude.

I was in my kitchen contemplating side items when I saw the figure walk by my kitchen window again, only this time...I was spotted. It is a funny thing about human nature. I now felt obligated to answer the facking door. I opened my rarely used front door, but not the storm door, pointing out a newly built bird's nest in the wreath on the door. The birds chose my door specifically for it's lack of business. I explained that I would not be opening the storm door to the young man, pointing out the bird's nest. This doofus looked at the nest and in an astonished voice says, "Oh my gosh! How did that happen!?" Ok. A simple plea for my money is one thing...but to be expected to stand there and give an explanation on the mating and nesting habits of starlings is more than I can bear. "Um...a bird flew up there and built it. Now, what can I help you with?" I made him talk to the wreath.

I received a history of telecommunications, culminating into an explanation of how awesome U-verse it. Well, if it is so awesome, why is it being peddled door to door like a non birthday celebrating religion?? I reported that I was happy with what I had; therefore, I was not interested. As I began to close the door, this doofus asks how I access the internet. I repeat my mantra, "I am happy with my current service. No thanks." Not to be dismissed, he asked if I had a landline. "The answer is no." My door was almost latched when he said, "I was just trying to save you money on your tv and internet package." Oh. He must not know about me.

See, I let one of "those" people in once. Once. I'd like to say I ate her liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti, but I didn't. I allowed this persistent Neilson ratings woman into my home and sat through a 30 minute seminar on how my address was THE ONLY ADDRESS in Tipton County that was eligible to be monitored. Oh, and they would pay me. It was too good to be true. They would pay me to watch tv? Yes. So, in my greediness for all things cash, I signed up. If anything, it would put an end to the frequent drop in visits. One week later, a dude shows up with what appears to be the inventory from a cb radio repair shop. That's the "state of the art" equipment that would be hooked up to my tvs. That's the shit that would be cluttering up my minimalist decor. No ma'am. I sent him away and then had to endure increasing harrassment (and an occassional gift) from them to get me to reconsider. I haven't seen them in a year or so. I finally just began answering the door with "NO!" Seems to have worked.

So, if I will say "NO!" to $200 every few months for doing nothing more than living in electronic clutter, I damn sure am not going to sit through a pitch for something that will likely end up costing me more money.

I am totally going to be one of those old people who tapes notebook paper and sharpie notes to my storm door, shooing away any unwanted visitors. My creative juices are flowing, thinking about what I could write on them to deter the pushing of the doorbell. It would actually be a great social experiment. If I was into social experimentation. Which I'm not.

Not So Fast

I am not going to Japan. And, I can honestly say that I am not that disappointed. In light of recent events with my dad, I can't be that far away. For example:

On a recent Sunday morning, my dad called me to say that he couldn't breathe and that he needed to go to the hospital. For my healthcare hating dad to say he NEEDED a hospital, it had to be serious. So, I reassured him to sit tight, I was already walking out the door to make the 13 mile trip to get him. The unfortunate fact is that I can make it to him before 911. What's sadder is that he lives less than 2 miles from the ambulance authority. My dad then says, "hold on, your brother wants to talk to you."

DO WHAT????

So, my brother gets on the phone and I say, "Yeah, so, he can't breathe...What are you doing? Get him to the ER now." My brother, not the sharpest tool in the shed, but a tool nonetheless, says, "Well, I didn't know about his insurance and all that."

My 76 year old father had open heart surgery last year. OF FACKING COURSE he has insurance. And, so what if he didn't? Was my brother just going to sit there fretting about medical bills as our dad draws his last panicked breath??

Yeah, so...I just can't, in good conscience, venture that far away. I don't feel resentful really, it's just a fact of life. Japan is so far away, but a guilt trip is even farther.

Hanging In

The time has come. This is the time of the year, every year, when I get so bogged down in the rinse and repeat cycle of gray days, bitter cold, dark evenings, and fatness. Granted, the weather over the last few days has been lovely, but I know it is just a trick. See? Even my attitude is gray.

I look at the almanac religiously every morning to see when it will start to lift, using history as a guide. I know that last March, around the third week, it was warm enough to wear short sleeves. Of course, the best day of the year (Daylight Savings Time) comes on the second Sunday of March. So, if I can just muddle through until then, everything will be fine.

Until then, I suppose I will hunker down with the remaining hot cocoa packets, the blankets, my running Words With Friends games, and my college hoody and dream about the following:

1. That first Corona of the year, enjoyed on my patio.

2. Petunia planting

3. Washing dishes after dinner and looking out the window over my sink to see that it is still daylight.

4. Driving the rural roads at dusk and not slamming on the brakes at every mailbox, thinking it is a deer.

5. The ease of entry and exit from my car without a fat ass winter coat to hamper my range of motion.

Stay tuned for my "Dear God it is too damned hot I can't wait until Winter" entry in approximately 6 months. The grass is always greener, or browner depending on the month.