Fall Fashion Conundrum

Ugh, Mail.

Typically, I enjoy getting mail. I even welcome the familiar stack of "pre-approved" credit card applications that make the bi-weekly journey from my doorstep directly to my trash can. But some days, the awaiting delivery turns out to be my complete undoing, almost as if the mailbox had transformed into Pandora's Box while I was slaving away at a hospital night shift.

And why the sour attitude? Well, every once in awhile, a fashion brochure (how the hell do they find me?) will turn in up the mail, and it's usually not all that threatening. Granted, the floral day dress on the cover of the spring issue will absolutely not go unnoticed (and will probably end up in my closet), but summer catalogs with "perfect" women in their "perfect" bikini bodies on "perfect" yachts rarely tempt me into digging out my credit card. Typically, I throw them out after nothing more than the casual flip through.

Until the fall issue, that is. The fall issue, without proper warning and preparation, can be devastating on my budget.

Fact: I'm a huge sucker for fall clothing. The coats, the boots, the hats, the sweaters...it's all gold. I love the coziness, easy sophistication and simple stylishness of it all. Each article of clothing is meant to wrap you not only in a plush, soft fabric, but also in a feeling of confidence and stylishness. Suddenly, it becomes chic to cover up. The skin-showing overload of summer gives way to the tasteful body-conscious silhouettes of fall. I'm already on the prowl for a long sleeved minidress...

And those damn coats and scarves hanging in store windows...brutal. It's safe to say I'm a ridiculous fan; scarves are indeed my kryptonite, and as such, they belong in my closet, adding to my already substantial collection. I've also been craving a red peacoat since I was old enough to figure out what they were. It's always been a fantasy of mine to be the lone lady in red, walking down a silent street of white. I've had my eye on this one (pictured left) for the last two years.

Not so fast sweaters, you're not off the hook either. Sweaters shout at me from holiday magazine covers, and I feel I absolutely must have one for the upcoming snowed-in nights I'll be spending curled up by the fireplace, on a fur rug, drinking a glass of wine and eating chocolate truffles. See the crazy vignettes my brain creates to justify my purchases? We don't even own a fireplace. Or a fur rug.

And boots...oh don't get me started on boots. In my mind the only reason a leaf would fall from a tree is so it could be stepped on by a fashionable knee high boot. Right now I'm obsessed with anything that's worn and weathered. I don't want a new pair like the ones in the magazines (who am I kidding, I'd never turn them down), but I'm craving something that has a story behind it. A pair that looks as though they were formerly worn by a sheepherder in northern Ireland. Preferably with a heel so I can feel appropriately matched with my 6'5" boyfriend, but I'm not too picky. Oh and straps and buckles, lots and lots of straps and buckles, regardless of their uselessness in the real world.

So while this may be my favorite time of year, it's also my most difficult. We've already canceled the cable and I've gotten a second job, so I'm not about to do something stupid like buy a pair of boots.

God I love a good pair of boots...maybe just one pair...I've been so good...

Focus. I need to get through this. Sorry awesome fall coats, boots, hats, sweaters and scarves, but you're just going to have to wait until next year when I can buy you in a thrift store for 1/10 the price. Of course, I do have a closet swap party coming up on October 14, so lets just focus on that.

So tell me, what do you like about the fall?

Lesson 13: Reality Hurts

Well reality hit pretty hard this week. See our rent is due by the 5th, and since our roommate moved out in August that means our rent this month is double what it was last month. Combine that with the fact that I lost my job, and we're looking at some serious cutbacks. Granted, I'm still working at my old job (I never officially quit when I was recently hired) but it's per diem, meaning I'm not gauranteed any hours. And this week? I've only gotten one shift so far. Ouch.

So this puts a little damper on my goal of finishing school this fall. As much as I want to, it's just not feasible. My tuition bill (for my last 6 credits) is $1,866.55, and sorry to say but I just don't have it. Another downer? The classes I need aren't offered at all in the spring, meaning I have to wait until next fall to complete them. It's only 6 credits, but I'd much rather be done now.

So it's been time to have some serious talks about what we can and can't afford to live without. What I can't afford to give up? Gym membership and my phone. Unfortunately they're both already at the bare minimum. My gym membership is one of the cheapest in town, and my phone is basically only used for texting. Plus I'm already splitting a phone plan with my boyfriend and my mom, making it cheaper than if I were on my own plan.

Top of the list, of course, is getting this rent situation figured out. We've got someone who might be able to move in at the end of September, but that seems to be our only lead. It's tough to find a place as cheap as what we pay when we have a roommate.

Next on the list? Cable.

...........

Sorry I had to take a second there...that hurt. But we can't afford it, so out it goes.

On the bright side, you can look up most any tv episode on the internet now as well as buy whole seasons of our favorite shows. That way we don't even have to deal with commercials. Positive thoughts, positive thoughts...

The idea of a yard sale came up as well, but frankly, we don't have much to sell. It's okay though, we do have stuff we don't need, and $20 is better than nothing.

But don't worry folks, the internet isn't going anywhere. How else would I stay connected with you?

      

Three Weddings And A Baby

It's roadtrip time again!

Because of my boyfriend's insane schedule (he's a baseball coach for the university during the school year, then coach's legion during the summer) we have about 3 weeks before September to see some friends and family. So we're cramming it all into 8 days.

One wedding in Bozeman, Montana last night, another this evening in Belgrade, Montana, travel to Ogden, Utah to see my brother, his wife and my niece for 3 days, then Denver, Colorado for another wedding, then back to good ol' Billings, Montana for a little recuperation.

I'm always excited to see what goes wrong on a roadtrip, for some reason I always think that's part of the fun. And weddings are just awesome so...yeah let's get this party started.

Lesson 11: Blessing In Disguise

Well I got fired yesterday. First time ever. Brutal.

I really can't say I was surprised. I couldn't help but have this overwhelming feeling that I'd been hired as part of a sick joke, and everyone was waiting for me to quit. The first week I felt awkward, but I tried to convince myself it was all a part of just being new. By the second week I was excluded and ignored, then after my boss "had words" with me, I felt like everyone was confused that I kept showing up. If I asked a question I was ignored, and if I made a statement I was met with condescending stares and then a rapid change of subject. The pit of my stomach grew heavier by the day.

Finally, when my boss made a snide comment yesterday morning about whether or not I was "capable" of doing an aspect of my job (something an 8 year old could've done), it was that last straw. "It's a shame you feel I'm incapable of doing my job," I said. "Because I know I am fully capable of doing it, and doing it well. If this is how it's going to be than you need to make an executive decision because I'm not going to be bullied into quitting."

Well apparently an executive decision was made, because as of 2:00 yesterday afternoon, I was told I "Just wasn't a good fit." No sh*t I wasn't a good fit. I was miserable. I've been losing sleep for the last two weeks. I typically go for a run or a swim everyday, but the last 14 days? I've gone twice. On Tuesday my boyfriend and I were driving around town looking at future dream houses when he said, "I wish we lived in that house." I replied with, "I wish it was Friday," and started crying.

Here's something that will put it into perspective. Last Wednesday, after finishing five hours of typing while incarcerated in my solitary cubicle, I opened my notebook and wrote this:

There's nothing quite as depressing as the sound of silence in a cubicle.

The incessant buzzing of the air conditioner and the relentless squeaking of a run-down office chair fills the air, broken only by the telltale sound of an employee attempting to surreptitiously remove the Ceran wrap from her late lunch. Fingers scurry across keyboards, mouses click, and chipper voices answer phones with that identical artificially caring voice they've used for the last 10 years. I sit in the back, as close to the only window as possible, undaunted by the measly view it provides. The sight of the adjacent building, just two feet away, is the only connection I have to a world outside my own. This, ladies and gentlemen, is my nightmare.

I have decided that an office is the ultimate prison; one designed to keep its prisoners willingly confined, brainwashed by the sight of the strategically placed metaphorical carrot just inches beyond their grasp. I feel as if I have signed a contract without reading the fine print, ushered ahead to the next important benefit while passing over the sacrifices needed to reach said benefit. Even the fluorescent lights above flicker to remind me of the task at hand, like the most effective of prison guards; jarring and emotionless.

I stare at the computer screen before me and click my pen against my teeth, the scent of Windex and carpet hanging in the air. This is not my computer. This is not my desk. This is Patty's desk, and hers is the bar to which all following cubicles will be measured. Her functional knick-knacks confuse me, and I feel even more out of place. A container of goo meant to make your fingers sticky (for turning pages) and a bottle of Germ-ex sit directly next to the keyboard. I do not own a bottle of Germ-ex. I welcome the dirt and grime of the natural world. Oh how I long for the touch of grass...

Next to a colorful array of pens (the likely only allowed form of creativity or self-expression), is a palm tree post-it note container, symbolizing the relaxing beach she has probably desperately been saving her vacation days for.  Everyone knows Patty doesn't like to travel though, her cat gets car sick. It's a shame, really. She has months worth of vacation days saved up, and her cat no doubt could benefit from a day outside its one bedroom apartment. Her planner hangs on the cork-board to the right, rows of assignments filling it: typing, filing, interviewing, typing, staffing. Every summer this will be how I spend my time. I am the next generation of Patty's.

But the most disheartening trinket of all, is the digital calender on her computer that displays a different "inspirational phrase" daily.

Today's? "Smile. I like your sense of humor." Wait, what? A computer is telling me it likes my sense of humor? I have already discovered that no one in this particular job likes my sense of humor, so it's ironic that a computer would have that opinion. Rather, I think it's mocking me. Mocking my lack of humor and instead exposing my dutiful, uninspiring appropriateness that has replaced it. Within three weeks my wit has given way to internal cynicism. I used to be funny.

My stare is broken by the flicker of the fluorescent prison guard. Back to work. Deep breaths...

So it's safe to say I'm quite relieved to not have to go back on Monday. Also I believe I have now developed an irrational fear of palm tree post-it note containers.

Am I Normal?

It's happening again.

Recently I had to get a new car (it's a long story) but I don't like it. It rides too smooth and turns with ease. I miss my old Plymouth Duster with no front brakes, a broken speedometer and a leaky roof. I want it back. I feel like it was an extension of myself, something that had been to hell and back and still survived. I named my new car Karen. She is a sleek and shiny '02 Ford Taurus with no dings or dents. She hasn't been through any hardships. She also yells at me to put my seat belt on or when the keys are still in the ignition. I'm a big girl Karen, I don't need your help.

We don't get along. Naggy, bitchy Karen. I miss April and her crooked headlights.

I've also started a new job in the last 2 weeks. The job itself is fantastic, I'm already falling in love with the kids I work with. Adolescent drug addicts tend to get a bad rap, and I'm their confidante as well as their advocate. One teacher I met on the first day said, "Hello! So how do you like working with the druggies?" "Oh I'm sorry," I replied, "I don't know any druggies. Did you mean students?" Burning bridges? I don't care; the kids deserve better.

I see so much of myself in these kids. Their backgrounds, their struggles, their suffering. I see my 14 year old self fighting tooth and nail for some dignity or proof that I am worthy of something. For a chance to be myself. For anything.

But in the last two weeks I've changed. I have a shiny new car, a name-tag, and professional clothes that I wear to an 8-5 job. I'm now a productive member of society. I belong to the group of statistics that labels me a "success" as opposed to my childhood label of "high risk". I've been stamped, categorized, and approved. Domesticated. Like a caged animal.

It's my worst nightmare; people looking down on me with white coats and smiling faces, "There we go, now isn't that easier?" They stare at me like a child. "See how nice we are when you stop fighting? Just follow the rules and life will be easy. Trust us, we know what's best for you." They've fixed me. They hand me a blue ribbon with a smiley face and the words "First Prize: Submissive and Obedient".

I hate it. I yearn for the day when I could run away from home. Hitchhike my way to another city, feel the wind run through my fingers, the rain in my hair and just be alone. Funny how running away when you're an adult is more difficult than when you were a child. Responsibility, rather than authority, ties you down.

In all honesty, I ache for a chance to get out. For a chance to feel like myself again. To feel any sense of adventure and defiance in order to convince myself both characteristics haven't completely deserted me. I feel like a sell-out. Trapped. Condemned to a life of order because the logical side of my brain has convinced the wild side that a life on the road would be less desirable.

But I still want it.

I see the black pavement laid out before me each day on my way to work, and the urge to just keep driving is always there. It doesn' matter where to, I just want to drive. To leave. To feel like I am still in control. To feel like I am still free.

Maybe I'm weird.

The only thing holding me here is my boyfriend. While he doesn't understand, he is still supportive. When I said I was going to Italy, his first question was, "When?" instead of "What? Why?" He knows my need to run is overwhelming, but he doesn't question it. He is also aware of my deep seated fear of being tied down, which is why he has stood by me when others pressure us to get married or buy a house. He is the only thing I have never had the urge to run from.

The view out my window only shows house after house, with neatly trimmed hedges and large cottonwoods strategically planted 50 feet apart. Kids play, dogs bark, old men water their lawns. It is peaceful.

Am I such a horrible person not to want this? Not to yearn for the day when I push a stroller up the sidewalk while comfortably jogging to a familiar mix of songs on my IPod? Or to save my money for a new camera or Rosetta Stone instead of hair treatments and shoes? To excitedly look forward to the day when I am backpacking around a live volcano instead of planning family BBQ's around one of my children's birthdays?

Am I being selfish? I don't feel unappreciative of what I have, but am I acting like it?