since working for one has yielded no (and quite the opposite) results.
I've come to accept that I'll never be given one; they, apparently, can't be earned; and demands fall quietly behind an instinctive nature to please.
I'm talking a universal break here... professional, financial and romantic. I am, however, quite willing to entertain separate offers.
Got one to spare? Give me first option! (And, of course, that would be my FIRST break!).
Monday, July 26, 2004
Sunday, July 25, 2004
weekendus interruptus
Update to my previous post:
I've worked 33 hours in the last three days, and I've experienced momentary lapses into feelings of contentment and relief, that I am replenishing my savings... I'm getting ahead... I might even be able to reward myself with that Dyson vacuum cleaner over which I fantasize... (yes, my life is THAT exciting).
Upon further review, however, I find that I DO, indeed, owe the IRS four figures... for matters relating to the estate of my Mother (and previously my Father's pension fund).
Why does it seem that the great consequences (and I mean that in every sense of the word) only happen to me?
The federal government has, here, now, sucked up my most self-indulgent fantasy.
Oh, well. It’s only money (sacrifice, hard work, due pay, dirt, dog hair and other filth)... right?
(for more commentary, see http://anonconformist.blogspot.com)
I've worked 33 hours in the last three days, and I've experienced momentary lapses into feelings of contentment and relief, that I am replenishing my savings... I'm getting ahead... I might even be able to reward myself with that Dyson vacuum cleaner over which I fantasize... (yes, my life is THAT exciting).
Upon further review, however, I find that I DO, indeed, owe the IRS four figures... for matters relating to the estate of my Mother (and previously my Father's pension fund).
Why does it seem that the great consequences (and I mean that in every sense of the word) only happen to me?
The federal government has, here, now, sucked up my most self-indulgent fantasy.
Oh, well. It’s only money (sacrifice, hard work, due pay, dirt, dog hair and other filth)... right?
(for more commentary, see http://anonconformist.blogspot.com)
Sunday, July 18, 2004
Today's Trivia Question
Today's question is a fill-in-the-blank question:
Bird feeders in the backyard = Bird ---- on your new car in the driveway.
Bird feeders in the backyard = Bird ---- on your new car in the driveway.
nappus interruptus
Have you ever had this napmare?
You plan a day off after working 40 hours of overtime, with the intention of taking your car in for service... and happily rendered wheelless, you crave a long summer's nap. Drifting off into nappyland... the land of soft sheets cooled by the whirring ceiling fan overhead... you are startled by a ringing telephone. And it's your service advisor, bearing explanations for those mysterious noises that you had been hearing. And in lump summary, you find that the cost of silencing the gremlins far exceeds your trade-in value.
Just for fun, and hypothetically speaking... let's say that you are a meticulous planner and budgeter extraordinaire. You are a worrier and a pragmatist when it comes to the systems of checks and balances, a detailed listmaker of pros and cons and a fastidious tracker of income v. outgo. And to make things a little more interesting, let's also say... that you've made a few impulsive mistakes (read disasters) in your life, but never once mulled for months over the minutiae of net gain and loss, and ever ever suffered a poor investment.
But in this dream, you throw caution to the wind and call the dealership to ask that they send the shuttle to pick you back up. You pace a hole in the floor until they ring your bell. And on the very short ride from service to sales, you ask yourself... am I really doing this???
The exhaustion of the past weeks work, along with the adrenaline kick mixed with 'nappus interruptus', makes you a little numb to the tedious process of insisting that you can't afford the after-market bells and whistles, as well as the pauper's negotiation tactics for getting them (for what you believe for a short time to be) free. You close the deal, sign the papers, and you are now in debt for a healthy sum.
Pulling out of the dealership, you marvel at how quickly you selected a color. Of course, availability was tremendously reduced by your pre-determined short list of acceptable colors. And you find yourself satisfied, because you have only seen one other (insert make/model of YOUR dream) in the color you chose. You round the corner and pull up to the redlight of the main street that will take you back to your nap... right behind a (insert SAME make/model of YOUR dream)... and yes, in the color you chose. Your heart sinks a little, until you remind yourself of the foolishness of thinking in those terms.
Driving home, you enjoy the aroma of a new car, as well as the 'feel' of new tires. You also begin the process of convincing yourself that it was the right decision. Among your reasons is the fact that you are so financially responsible, that you have no other debt (save the roof over your head), and in no time you'll be able to replenish your savings (hopefully). Then you begin your familiar list of how you can save money that will negate the monthly car payment... pack a lunch, detour past Starbucks, do more of your own laundry, mow your own yard, and maybe retire your Barnes & Noble membership in favor of a library card (nahhhh... that ain't gonna happen!). And by the time you get home, your budget is satisfactorily revised... money will be tight for a while, but your plan is in motion.
Parking in the driveway, you smile as you consider how good it looks in front of your house, and your stomach churns just a little as you fret over whether it will fit in your tiny garage. Pacing up to the front door, you begin explaining to the dog (through the window) that she has a new car to toodle around town in. And as you retrieve the mail from the box, you gaze back... wow, it IS really pretty.
Stepping inside, you heave a sigh of relief that the ordeal is over. Yes, the ordeal is over... until you realize that, in your hands, you hold a fat envelope from the Internal Revenue Service. And by all outward appearances, this is no love letter... and no unexpected refund. In fact, it is a revised 2002 tax return, informing you that you owe an additional four figured sum...
So... has this ever happened to you? Or am I the only one...
[On the bright side, the I.R.S. bill relates to a 401K rollover sum. This is the second time this has happened to me. Apparently, there is a form you should submit with your income tax return when you roll monies from one plan into another. A big whshhhhhhhhew.]
You plan a day off after working 40 hours of overtime, with the intention of taking your car in for service... and happily rendered wheelless, you crave a long summer's nap. Drifting off into nappyland... the land of soft sheets cooled by the whirring ceiling fan overhead... you are startled by a ringing telephone. And it's your service advisor, bearing explanations for those mysterious noises that you had been hearing. And in lump summary, you find that the cost of silencing the gremlins far exceeds your trade-in value.
Just for fun, and hypothetically speaking... let's say that you are a meticulous planner and budgeter extraordinaire. You are a worrier and a pragmatist when it comes to the systems of checks and balances, a detailed listmaker of pros and cons and a fastidious tracker of income v. outgo. And to make things a little more interesting, let's also say... that you've made a few impulsive mistakes (read disasters) in your life, but never once mulled for months over the minutiae of net gain and loss, and ever ever suffered a poor investment.
But in this dream, you throw caution to the wind and call the dealership to ask that they send the shuttle to pick you back up. You pace a hole in the floor until they ring your bell. And on the very short ride from service to sales, you ask yourself... am I really doing this???
The exhaustion of the past weeks work, along with the adrenaline kick mixed with 'nappus interruptus', makes you a little numb to the tedious process of insisting that you can't afford the after-market bells and whistles, as well as the pauper's negotiation tactics for getting them (for what you believe for a short time to be) free. You close the deal, sign the papers, and you are now in debt for a healthy sum.
Pulling out of the dealership, you marvel at how quickly you selected a color. Of course, availability was tremendously reduced by your pre-determined short list of acceptable colors. And you find yourself satisfied, because you have only seen one other (insert make/model of YOUR dream) in the color you chose. You round the corner and pull up to the redlight of the main street that will take you back to your nap... right behind a (insert SAME make/model of YOUR dream)... and yes, in the color you chose. Your heart sinks a little, until you remind yourself of the foolishness of thinking in those terms.
Driving home, you enjoy the aroma of a new car, as well as the 'feel' of new tires. You also begin the process of convincing yourself that it was the right decision. Among your reasons is the fact that you are so financially responsible, that you have no other debt (save the roof over your head), and in no time you'll be able to replenish your savings (hopefully). Then you begin your familiar list of how you can save money that will negate the monthly car payment... pack a lunch, detour past Starbucks, do more of your own laundry, mow your own yard, and maybe retire your Barnes & Noble membership in favor of a library card (nahhhh... that ain't gonna happen!). And by the time you get home, your budget is satisfactorily revised... money will be tight for a while, but your plan is in motion.
Parking in the driveway, you smile as you consider how good it looks in front of your house, and your stomach churns just a little as you fret over whether it will fit in your tiny garage. Pacing up to the front door, you begin explaining to the dog (through the window) that she has a new car to toodle around town in. And as you retrieve the mail from the box, you gaze back... wow, it IS really pretty.
Stepping inside, you heave a sigh of relief that the ordeal is over. Yes, the ordeal is over... until you realize that, in your hands, you hold a fat envelope from the Internal Revenue Service. And by all outward appearances, this is no love letter... and no unexpected refund. In fact, it is a revised 2002 tax return, informing you that you owe an additional four figured sum...
So... has this ever happened to you? Or am I the only one...
[On the bright side, the I.R.S. bill relates to a 401K rollover sum. This is the second time this has happened to me. Apparently, there is a form you should submit with your income tax return when you roll monies from one plan into another. A big whshhhhhhhhew.]
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