waddle waddle May 4, 2009

I’m dressed. My hair is cute. My makeup is so-so but hey, it’s cover girl (darn unemployment). Cute shirt. 

So what’s the problem?

I am sitting here waiting for my jeans. Oh, they’re on. They’re not in the washer or the dryer, though they recently were.

I’m waiting for my jeans to stretch out so I can wear them in public. Right now we have good waistband room. But the legs, not so much.

So here I sit, waiting for my thighs to wrestle my denim back, back, back! so I can walk like a normal person.

Why so fat? It’s become my mantra: Darn Unemployment!

A Particular Kind of Snotty April 15, 2009

not just any box

And then it struck me that this might be particular behavior. Even for Wal-Mart.

The scene was this: Me in my too tight jeans (the last ones that fit, stupid unemployment) that end just a bit too low on my rear-end for the shirt that I am wearing. Now to be clear, this is not my fault. When I left the house I was paying particular attention to my jeans/shirt ratio, and found myself to be perfectly covered in all areas.

But that was before this.

I was experiencing a slight breeze in the midsection because I was stretched out on tip-toes, pushing boxes aside, even flailing a little, in order to reach my prize.

I could see it.

It was within my grasp! Top shelf, over my head, behind all the other ones.

My precious.

Bringing a few extra down with it, I grasped my cardboard treasure in one hand, while pulling down the back of my shirt with the other.

I saw the other Wal-Martians eyeing me. Could have been the teal undies peeking up, but more likely they were wondering about my sanity.

See, there’s an industrial-sized aisle in Wal-Mart stocked with paper goods. And in that aisle, maybe 40% of it is taken up by boxes of tissues. The tissue peasants around me might think that any of them are good enough for my darling-little-turned-up-button-nose.

They’d be wrong.

First of all, I am brand loyal and need a Kleenex. Unless I have a full-on cold and go over to Puffs-Plus, but that’s a whole other story. Thing is, all I have now are tree pollen issues. Those require a mid-level tissue. Category Orange alert, you might say (yeah, I could have set it at Yellow Alert, but I’d never sink to that level, never).

Those ones there? Middle shelf? They’re like sandpaper. The ones to the right? One swipe and my skin will start to flake off like dandruff. Ever see face dandruff? Not pretty.

But there, at the end of the row. Kleenex Plus Douces. I have no idea how you say it in English, the French version on the package always stuck in my mind. Plus fine, plus douce, plus résistante. What’s it mean? No nose dandruff.

Now you might think that is the end of my search. You’d be wrong.

Because Kleenex Plus Douces comes it a variety of pattered boxes. And all the patterns are awful. They look like the very worst prints you’d ever find on a Wal-Mart bedspread. I only like one, that one looks like a Target bedspread, and the upgrade is enough for me.

Sometimes you have to work for what you want. And sometimes, that means feeling a breeze go by your belly button. I suppose I could invest in a few pairs of Wal-Mart jeans to close the gap, but you wouldn’t believe the hang ups I have in that aisle…

Pulling the Plug April 6, 2009

We did it.

We talked about it. We discussed it. We tested it out on a dry run (which failed).

But then the Unemployment ’09 Fest occurred.

So we took the plunge.

We disconnected the cable.

We were both very brave, acting like adults. Adults who didn’t spend great quantities of non-working hours in front of the tube (yes, we still have a tube, not a flat panel). Adults who don’t depend on the TV for news, entertainment, hobbies, etc. Adults who vowed to read more, listen to NPR, subscribe to the newspaper. Adults who have already vowed not to cry, not to cry, not to cry.

How, you may ask? How did we part from our Cable, knowing full well that over the air transmission of local channels is non-existent? How did we turn off our prime source of news, information and Oprah right when we know that we’ll have time to see her at 4pm now?

My mother thinks we are insane. “I spend 40 hours a week at a computer, do you really think I want to spend 4 more staring at a monitor?” She is indignant when she talks about it. She softens when she remembers we did it out of cost cutting concerns, and then thinks it is great “for you.” But it is clear that she will not consider it for her own home, even if it saves $60 a month. She’ll do without food before she does without cable TV. There are some things you just don’t do without, like Rocky Road ice cream and Air Conditioning. Cable is in that category for her.

I can’t blame her. It certainly took some getting used to. We ususally have to adjust viewing schedules so whomever is the Hulu bandwidth hog at that moment can watch their show without constant buffering. And sometimes volume issues mean I am hunched an inch away from my scrawny speakers, trying to read John Stewart’s lips at low resolution.

But it is interesting. We bought a newspaper subscription and now I have the time to go cover-to-cover like an 86 year old retired man. We have a renewed interest in libraries. And I still haven’t missed an episode of House, thanks to Hulu.

I’m not sure if the grand experiment will last far into employment. But for now, it’s something we can complain about to our currently non-existant kids in 40 years. “When I was your age…”

Cheap Chickie March 23, 2009

Since Unemployment Fest ’09 began, I have turned cheap. Sounds logical, sounds like the right move, sounds natural.

Except that it is so unnatural.

When employed, I am the opposite of cheap. I don’t use coupons, I don’t shop sales. I declare bans on shoes using only man-made, petroleum-based products. I am not a shopping fiend, but if I’m going to venture out I want the experience to not be full of screaming babies, messy dressing rooms and choosing brands based on the special.

The first weekend of unemployment, I announced that my new hobby would be saving money on shopping trips. Since the only shopping trip left available to my unemployed self was the trip to the grocery store, that was where I focused my cheap energy.

I scoured the specials online. Collected my coupons. Absorbed pricing information. Kicked grocery butt.

But now I am concerned. I’ve come home from the grocery with coffee for 3 weeks straight. Week 1: We needed coffee and it killed me to pay so much for a little brick of it. Week 2: We don’t need coffee, but there’s a buy one get one. Week 3: the huge gallon container of Maxwell House is on sale for $3 less than usual.

Husband saw the huge container and gave me the raised eyebrow. It doesn’t even fit in the cabinet with the other abundance of bags and blocks, it needs to go in the pantry where there is room for such things.

“Coffee sales come and go,” I offered. “Once they’re done, you won’t see another for months. I’m just stocking up now.”

I think he bought it, but I’m not sure. I’m not sure I even bought it.

I got a look from the cashier the other day. I went in and purchased only the buy one get one offers. It looked like Noah’s ark on loading day. Two cereals, two breads, two spray butters, they all moved in orderly fashion down the conveyor belt. Just in case anyone had a doubt that the buy one get one strategy was working, here I come. A marketer’s dream. Just call me ROI.

The one thing that I know will keep this from busting wide open into a full-blown obsession is that, just like drinking or drug addiction, this habit comes with messy side effects. Like shopping at discount stores. The kinds of stores that are busy at all hours of the day or night, bursting with people in cheap clothes, eating cheap food, sporting cheap acrylic nails, but driving a Lexus bus. Its not a pretty site.

Lucky for me, I don’t have the extra cash to buy the $8 pair of short shorts with “Juicy” written on the ass. I’ll just have to stick to the coffee aisle for now, spending my government money on my caffinated essentials. That’s fine with me. At this point I have enough to last through to the next recession.

Half Baked March 22, 2009

A normal family having a Meal.

A typical result of unemployment is home cooking.

The term is loosely applied in this house.

I’ve always been aware that my cooking skills were a little weak. I did nothing to allay the situation as I didn’t feel it necessary. Husband knows how to microwave his fish sticks. I know how to scramble some eggs. We’ve survived quite well so far, thank you very much.

But now, in an effort to conserve our savings, I’ve been trying to make us Meals. Meals differ from our usual fare of frozen dinners and Boca Burgers. When a Meal is made, the stove is employed, pots are dirtied and timers are set. The house usually also smells good, which is a plus. The rest of it will probably turn out to be tedious, but for now it is just a novelty.

It was a given that I would be the only one participating in the Grand Experiment. Husband has no interest in the stove, and I get the feeling he’s not even fond of scrambling an egg when the occasion arrises.

My interest in the stove starts and ends with the fact that we’ve cut the food budget by 60-70%. That’s quite nice. I also have free time now and am good with spending some of it cooking, though it’s usually being done with a very puzzled look on my face.

My family holds good cooks in very high esteem. People still comment on my Great Grandmother’s cooking with a look of longing. A Grandmother on the other side of the family made amazing dishes and could even convince me to eat liverwerst. Where did it all go wrong?

It was a winter evening.

Inside the house we were cozy and warm in my mother’s kitchen, sitting at the dinner table, waiting breathlessly for dinner.

Just a cute little family; mother, father, and sweet FaithieP.

“Ug, steak again, do I have to?” whined FaithieP. “Can I have hotdogs?”

“Wow, I can tell that meat is well-done again, isn’t it?” opined the husband.

Mother stands over the serving dish of blackened steaks. She knew to take them out of the broiler when the fire alarm went off. In later years – when pressed – she may have admitted that her steaks were a little tough, and that the meat was not what some may consider a choice cut, and yes, she was always pretty concerned with making sure they were ‘well-done’ and didn’t give us all worms. But none of that was on her mind that chilly evening.

“Fine, just fine. You’re always complaining about my cooking. Well, you win. From now on, get your own dinners.”

And she quit. Just like that. She made herself a bowl of raisin bran, left the smoking hulks of meat on the drainboard, and went into another room to read.

Father and FaithieP laughed it off nervously. Surely mothers weren’t allowed to quit like that? Surely there would be another assault on the fire alarm tomorrow night?

But it never came. She was serious. In the days and weeks and years to follow, she was true to her word.

This was all well and good up until today. When I met a friend at the store and compared carts. Mine had raisin bran, hot dogs and processed cheese slices. His had flower, vinegar, cornstarch and other assorted items I couldn’t recognize. I started to laugh. I’ve purchased one can of cornstarch in my life and it has lasted me at least a decade. I move into new places with it. At my current rate of consumption, it will be empty in another 70 years.

“You’re, like, cooking and stuff?”

He talked about the rabbit they had the other night. The dinner he was planning tonight. The bread he was making to go with it. Then he told me about the cheese they made the other day at his house. Cheese.

“On purpose?” I’ve had milk bottles that might have contained cheese before, but never on purpose.

Tonight (perhaps inspired by his on-purpose cheese) I made myself a grilled cheese, a break from the Meals I’ve been making of shells and (store bought) cheese, or black bean soup concoctions, or hot dogs and baked beans.

Should I go to the market and purchase vinegar and cornstarch and whatever else he had? Should I endeavor to make Meals with real Ingredients? Recipies you find in books, not just on the back of the box?

Eh. I’m glad I picked up some raisin bran while I was there.

Retirement Rocks March 19, 2009

“You’re going to lose the house!”

 

It was a statement, not a question. Howled into the phone at tremendous volume, the kind of volume you are liable to believe.

 

Except that we’re not going to lose the house. Yes, we were both laid off within two days of each other. Yes, it is an unfortunate event. Yes, unemployment is up, the economy is in the toilet and lots of other bad stuff. And if we hadn’t just disconnected the cable, I might have more dire statistics. But as it is, I mostly just have this one: We are both at home and loving it.

 

Andy had just told his mother about the layoff when she shrieked the house announcement. He tried to calm her, but she stayed in a high-speed wobble over the news for the rest of the conversation. And as she called most of the relatives over on that side to relay the news and beg people to find her son and his wife a job. Because the house is in jeopardy, you know.

 

All this as we basked in the glory of sleeping in, wearing PJs all day and fussing with projects around the house that we’ve been putting off. In effect, we are retired. And loving it.

 

Yes, we know we can’t live off the government dole forever. Yes, we’re going to get tired of watching Hulu instead of a real TV with a remote. And of course, we are looking on all the major job sites. But for the time being, we are luxuriating in our newfound availability to run errands at 10am instead of 6pm.

 

In fact, we’ve been luxuriating a little too much. We only just started going to the gym again, and even now, it is sporatic. I think I’ve got myself on track by promising myself that if I get to the gym by 4pm I can watch Oprah on their TVs. Hulu doesn’t have Oprah. This is a big incentive.

 

I also promised myself I would write myself silly with all the free time I was going to have while unemployed. This thought buoyed me though the layoff at the office, signing all the papers to get my paltry severance check, the driving around in order to make my separation from the company official. All this I did with a smile just thinking about writing.

 

And what do I have to show for it? Zip. Apparently Hulu is more time consuming than I expected. Oh, and all the wine. There’s some lost time there too.

 

But in actuality it seems all day is just not enough time for me to get all my activities done.

 

Getting dressed in the morning is a significant roadblock. First I have to decide to what level I am getting dressed. Full makeup or half? Hair washed, moussed and tressed out, or a pony tail? Pants with a zipper or elastic waist?

 

Husband an I are seeing a lot of each other. A lot. Like we are finishing sentences for each other. My husband spends a lot of time in rooms that I am not in. If I move closer to him he finds a reason to scoot out and do something on the other end of the house. Sometimes we just end up looking at each other. We spend a lot of time talking about the cats.

 

At some point one of us is going to stab the other in the head over something very important, like the “Did you lock the back door?” conversation we have every time we leave the house. Every flipping time. Not sure if the stabbing will happen because I forgot to lock it again or because he asked again, but know this, if we are stuck here with each other for another month or so, it will happen.

 

But we won’t have lost the house.