I had gone for a quick run early one Saturday morning and passed a guy who smelled delicious. But not man delicious like, soap and maybe some light cologne. Girl delicious, like coconuts and flowers. With the smell of the tropics lingering in my nose I thought to myself, does it still count as the walk of shame if you’re dressed in normal clothes, but you clearly helped yourself to some girls’ shampoo and body wash?
I posed this question to my fellow cube mates, all of whom happen to be male, the next week at work. Turns out it’s not a walk of shame at all . . . it’s the stride of pride. After I stopped laughing and realized they were serious I was mystified by the double standard. Their theory was that as long as you’re having a good time and no one gets hurt, why should it be shameful? And common sense gets the square.
This leads to the whole question of double standards though. Why do women get the shame and met get the pride? And why we’re on the subject, why are women who sleep around whores but men are studs?
One of my guys informed me that this is the way of the world. While women get some of the unpleasant labels for not yet socially acceptable behavior, we also get some benefits that men don’t get. Doors are held open for us, drinks are purchased for us at bars, we’re not expected to pay on the first date (although the check tug-of-war is highly encouraged) and if we’re on a sinking ship, we get the lifeboats first.
I don’t recall having done the walk of shame, but if it happens in the future I’m going to call it the stride of pride. I’m willing to trade lifeboat privileges for that.
September 30, 2009
September 24, 2009
Don't Scare the Animals
Picture yourself walking through a meadow. You hear a noise and turn in that direction to investigate. You’ve stumbled upon a very cute, but slightly destructive, Panda Bear! Maybe we should be walking through a bamboo forest instead of a meadow. None the less, you find yourself looking into the eyes of a Panda Bear. It’s so cute you want to pet it and make friends with it and take it home with you. But alas, it’s a wild animal so step one is to not scare it off. You extend your hand slowly to let the panda get your scent . . . . and then where the hell do you go from there? How do you not scare the panda away?
I ask this question because I find myself in this situation. Not with a Panda, but instead with a cute but slightly destructive human. I’m trapped in this relationship somewhere between friendship and ridiculousness. And despite knowing I should just get out of the whirlpool, part of me enjoys the ride simply from an excitement stand point. As long as I’m in the whirlpool, something interesting is going on in my life. So keep in mind throughout the rest of this rant, that yes, I know that the whole situation is ridiculous and should just get myself out of it. Unfortunately boredom is less fun than drama.
At the start of the summer, I did something that I know usually gets me in trouble. Despite knowing that I should just put the shovel down, I opened my big fat mouth anyway and told my friend exactly what I think. This is never a good plan. The short version is that this friend stopped talking to me. Shocking. After three months had gone by, you can imagine my surprise when I finally heard from them.
Once again, I told it like it was, in as much of an “I’m not a crazy bitch and you’re an arrogant moron” way possible, figuring that this time for sure I had ruined whatever remains of friendship may still be salvageable. I did a bit of mourning over the loss of the relationship because ending relationships, whatever form they are in, sucks. Then I did something really stupid. About a month after the most recent exchange, I emailed the friend asking a question about something that of all my friends only they would know about. Much to my shock and surprise, I actually got a response.
This is the part where I’ve spotted the Panda in the meadow. I know its there, and it’s cute, but I also know that they outweigh me but 100 – 150 pounds. It’s like the classic bad boy attraction issue – you’re interested but the potential for danger (and excitement) is high. I opted to play things safe, sending a thank you for the information reply with a plan to send a happy birthday email in a few months. Suddenly and without warning, the panda makes a friendly move toward me, in the form of a text message. Now what the hell do I do with that?
Part of me is thrilled that the panda is making friendly overtures, and the other part of me is trying to figure out how to not scare the panda away. So while walking on eggshells around the metaphorical panda bear, which is just as uncomfortable as it sounds, I am working on a new life goal . . . don’t scare the animals. And maybe try to keep my thoughts to myself.
I ask this question because I find myself in this situation. Not with a Panda, but instead with a cute but slightly destructive human. I’m trapped in this relationship somewhere between friendship and ridiculousness. And despite knowing I should just get out of the whirlpool, part of me enjoys the ride simply from an excitement stand point. As long as I’m in the whirlpool, something interesting is going on in my life. So keep in mind throughout the rest of this rant, that yes, I know that the whole situation is ridiculous and should just get myself out of it. Unfortunately boredom is less fun than drama.
At the start of the summer, I did something that I know usually gets me in trouble. Despite knowing that I should just put the shovel down, I opened my big fat mouth anyway and told my friend exactly what I think. This is never a good plan. The short version is that this friend stopped talking to me. Shocking. After three months had gone by, you can imagine my surprise when I finally heard from them.
Once again, I told it like it was, in as much of an “I’m not a crazy bitch and you’re an arrogant moron” way possible, figuring that this time for sure I had ruined whatever remains of friendship may still be salvageable. I did a bit of mourning over the loss of the relationship because ending relationships, whatever form they are in, sucks. Then I did something really stupid. About a month after the most recent exchange, I emailed the friend asking a question about something that of all my friends only they would know about. Much to my shock and surprise, I actually got a response.
This is the part where I’ve spotted the Panda in the meadow. I know its there, and it’s cute, but I also know that they outweigh me but 100 – 150 pounds. It’s like the classic bad boy attraction issue – you’re interested but the potential for danger (and excitement) is high. I opted to play things safe, sending a thank you for the information reply with a plan to send a happy birthday email in a few months. Suddenly and without warning, the panda makes a friendly move toward me, in the form of a text message. Now what the hell do I do with that?
Part of me is thrilled that the panda is making friendly overtures, and the other part of me is trying to figure out how to not scare the panda away. So while walking on eggshells around the metaphorical panda bear, which is just as uncomfortable as it sounds, I am working on a new life goal . . . don’t scare the animals. And maybe try to keep my thoughts to myself.
September 23, 2009
Hood to Coast 09
197 miles of sheer awesomeness. How else can you describe a race that has over 12,000 runners, 3,500 volunteers with a route starting at the top of Mt. Hood and ending at the Oregon coast? The best part about this race is that’s it’s not about winning. It’s all about guts.
To clarify, the 197 miles is split between 12 runners. Each individual runs three legs for a total mileage varying between 15 and 19 miles. Even though there is an overall elevation drop of 6,000 feet along the way, each leg comes with its own set of challenges. Van 1 (runners 1-6) have to run down Mt. Hood, which is not easy on the knees. Van 2 (runners 7-12) have to clear the Cascade Mountain Range. Every runner has at least one leg in the dead of night with only a flashlight to see where they’re going and at least one leg in the intense August sun. With the average team taking 28 hours from start to finish, any sleep a team can get is usually either in the van with five other smelly people or in a sleeping bag thrown down in a field. This is an adventure race at its best.
The first leg is easy. If you are any kind of runner, the hardest part about the first leg is controlling the pace. Your team registered 10 months ago, you’ve been training all summer long, adrenaline is pumping because race day is here and you finally have that slap bracelet (HTC’s version of a baton) around your wrist. People are out in their yards cheering you on, they have the sprinklers running into the street because its hot out and some of them even hand out water. One house was even handing out beer. As I suspected, I ran faster than I should have, but I’ve come up with a new philosophy this year . . . the faster I run the faster its over with. I wanted to get those brutal rolling hills over with. While running from Sandy into downtown Portland, the energy is up and everyone is excited to get their first leg behind them.
The key to getting ready for the next set of legs is two-fold. Step one is a shower. The next “shower” you will get after the second leg will be with baby wipes. A shower now will keep you feeling human after running again at 2am. Step two is pizza. After the first leg, pizza is pretty much a requirement and it tastes amazing knowing you have at least 10 more miles to run in the coming hours. After that you just try to relax until its time to run again.
The second leg, for many teams, is run in total darkness. Runners are required to wear a reflective vest and carry a light, with most runners opting for headlamps. The second leg that I’ve run the past two years is considered by many to be the toughest leg of the race. Six miles in total, four and a half of them uphill and half of it on a gravel logging road. If I hadn’t been raised in the country and been familiar with the sounds of the night and the lack of streetlights, this leg would be frightening.
The trick to my second leg is all in the playlist on my ipod. When I’m handed the “baton” (a slap bracelet circa 1988), my leg is already going uphill. This year I led with the theme song from “Pirates of the Caribbean.” The theory being that if Johnny Depp can kick some bad pirate ass while swinging from ship to ship, I can certainly run a few miles uphill. Another key song is Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” This comes in handy after you’ve been running uphill for miles on end and you need to think about anything other than the fact that you still see lights not only ahead of you, but above you, meaning that there is still some elevation to climb.
Having run this leg previously I had a plan this year. The first three miles I was going to bust my butt while I still had pavement. The first couple miles are uphill and then I had almost a mile of downhill and flat before hitting the gravel. This is where I would make up time. One of the most amazing things about this race is your fellow runners. The few men who passed me only had words of encouragement. Vans, who have stopped to cheer on their runners, cheer on every runner that goes by. They’ll even cheer you on if you’re passing their runner! One van, had parked at the half way point to let runners know where they were at. As I hit the gravel uphill, I was prepared for some pain in the next two miles. Gravel slips, it was misting so visibility wasn’t great and aside from running uphill, it was just hard to find a good track to run in.
With only about a mile of uphill left to go, I started to hurt. Although I was passing enough people to keep me motivated, my thoughts went to Steve Prefontaine. I had watched the movie “Without Limits” earlier in the week to get pumped up and one thing he said had stuck with me. He talked about how he knew he would win because he could endure more pain than anyone else. If Pre could endure enough pain to run close to a three minute mile, I can keep running uphill. This is where the race is more about guts than speed. It doesn’t matter how fast you cross the Cascades, all that matters is that you don’t stop running.
Despite the night runs being challenging because they’re in the dark, they are often the most fun. It’s pretty rare that you opt to go running in the middle of the night on your own, and even more rare that you have the chance to do it with thousands of other runners. Everybody is wide awake and hanging out at the exchanges. The granges along the way sell pancakes all night long. It’s a testament to how amazing our bodies are that they know when it’s okay to collapse and when its time to keep going. Everyone does great until we make the exchange with Van 1 at Mist and then your body shuts down. It’s all you can do to get to the next van exchange so you can sleep for a couple of hours. As you get to exchange 30, a volunteer asks “sleep or exchange?” Seven weary voices (six runners and a driver) adamantly respond “SLEEP!”
It doesn’t even matter that it’s misting out, a tarp is thrown down and sleeping bags piled on top of it. You make sure alarms are set and everyone collectively passes out. Two hours later, alarms start to go off as we expect our Van 1 to be here shortly. The boys utilize the woods in close proximity while the girls go hunting for a Honey Bucket. Teeth are brushed camping style, any form of caffeine available is inhaled, and everything gets stuffed back into the van, including us runners.
Sooner than we expected, it’s time for us to run again. Amazingly, we all feel pretty good only running on two hours of “sleep.” The thing to understand about the third leg is this: it hurts. It doesn’t matter how good of shape you’re in. You’re running on little to no sleep, you’ve already ran around 10 miles and been stuffed in and out of a van with no real opportunity to stretch. One of the bad things about this not being the first time I’ve run HTC is I know exactly what that third leg feels like. My goal on the third leg is only to survive. No time records need to be set here, it’s all about finishing. After being cheered on by the various volunteers and other vans, including the Japanese team, the end is in sight. Nothing feels quite as good as handing off that baton for the last time. I can take another bath using baby wipes and put on dry clothes and relax till we get to Seaside.
27 and a half hours after we started, team “Dude, Where’s My Van?” is crossing the finish line. Medals are picked up, pictures are taken, the final time sheet is turned in and we’re officially done. We’re exhausted, sore, sweaty, smelly and wet because the weather gods thought it would be fun to throw rain into the mix this year. But we’re done. While some part of me is relieved that it’s over, another part is mourning that this is the end. We leave the beach in good spirits piling into the van one last time. With visions of showers, clean clothes and our own beds in our heads, we head back to Portland. It’s only a month and a half before registration for next year is due.
To clarify, the 197 miles is split between 12 runners. Each individual runs three legs for a total mileage varying between 15 and 19 miles. Even though there is an overall elevation drop of 6,000 feet along the way, each leg comes with its own set of challenges. Van 1 (runners 1-6) have to run down Mt. Hood, which is not easy on the knees. Van 2 (runners 7-12) have to clear the Cascade Mountain Range. Every runner has at least one leg in the dead of night with only a flashlight to see where they’re going and at least one leg in the intense August sun. With the average team taking 28 hours from start to finish, any sleep a team can get is usually either in the van with five other smelly people or in a sleeping bag thrown down in a field. This is an adventure race at its best.
The first leg is easy. If you are any kind of runner, the hardest part about the first leg is controlling the pace. Your team registered 10 months ago, you’ve been training all summer long, adrenaline is pumping because race day is here and you finally have that slap bracelet (HTC’s version of a baton) around your wrist. People are out in their yards cheering you on, they have the sprinklers running into the street because its hot out and some of them even hand out water. One house was even handing out beer. As I suspected, I ran faster than I should have, but I’ve come up with a new philosophy this year . . . the faster I run the faster its over with. I wanted to get those brutal rolling hills over with. While running from Sandy into downtown Portland, the energy is up and everyone is excited to get their first leg behind them.
The key to getting ready for the next set of legs is two-fold. Step one is a shower. The next “shower” you will get after the second leg will be with baby wipes. A shower now will keep you feeling human after running again at 2am. Step two is pizza. After the first leg, pizza is pretty much a requirement and it tastes amazing knowing you have at least 10 more miles to run in the coming hours. After that you just try to relax until its time to run again.
The second leg, for many teams, is run in total darkness. Runners are required to wear a reflective vest and carry a light, with most runners opting for headlamps. The second leg that I’ve run the past two years is considered by many to be the toughest leg of the race. Six miles in total, four and a half of them uphill and half of it on a gravel logging road. If I hadn’t been raised in the country and been familiar with the sounds of the night and the lack of streetlights, this leg would be frightening.
The trick to my second leg is all in the playlist on my ipod. When I’m handed the “baton” (a slap bracelet circa 1988), my leg is already going uphill. This year I led with the theme song from “Pirates of the Caribbean.” The theory being that if Johnny Depp can kick some bad pirate ass while swinging from ship to ship, I can certainly run a few miles uphill. Another key song is Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” This comes in handy after you’ve been running uphill for miles on end and you need to think about anything other than the fact that you still see lights not only ahead of you, but above you, meaning that there is still some elevation to climb.
Having run this leg previously I had a plan this year. The first three miles I was going to bust my butt while I still had pavement. The first couple miles are uphill and then I had almost a mile of downhill and flat before hitting the gravel. This is where I would make up time. One of the most amazing things about this race is your fellow runners. The few men who passed me only had words of encouragement. Vans, who have stopped to cheer on their runners, cheer on every runner that goes by. They’ll even cheer you on if you’re passing their runner! One van, had parked at the half way point to let runners know where they were at. As I hit the gravel uphill, I was prepared for some pain in the next two miles. Gravel slips, it was misting so visibility wasn’t great and aside from running uphill, it was just hard to find a good track to run in.
With only about a mile of uphill left to go, I started to hurt. Although I was passing enough people to keep me motivated, my thoughts went to Steve Prefontaine. I had watched the movie “Without Limits” earlier in the week to get pumped up and one thing he said had stuck with me. He talked about how he knew he would win because he could endure more pain than anyone else. If Pre could endure enough pain to run close to a three minute mile, I can keep running uphill. This is where the race is more about guts than speed. It doesn’t matter how fast you cross the Cascades, all that matters is that you don’t stop running.
Despite the night runs being challenging because they’re in the dark, they are often the most fun. It’s pretty rare that you opt to go running in the middle of the night on your own, and even more rare that you have the chance to do it with thousands of other runners. Everybody is wide awake and hanging out at the exchanges. The granges along the way sell pancakes all night long. It’s a testament to how amazing our bodies are that they know when it’s okay to collapse and when its time to keep going. Everyone does great until we make the exchange with Van 1 at Mist and then your body shuts down. It’s all you can do to get to the next van exchange so you can sleep for a couple of hours. As you get to exchange 30, a volunteer asks “sleep or exchange?” Seven weary voices (six runners and a driver) adamantly respond “SLEEP!”
It doesn’t even matter that it’s misting out, a tarp is thrown down and sleeping bags piled on top of it. You make sure alarms are set and everyone collectively passes out. Two hours later, alarms start to go off as we expect our Van 1 to be here shortly. The boys utilize the woods in close proximity while the girls go hunting for a Honey Bucket. Teeth are brushed camping style, any form of caffeine available is inhaled, and everything gets stuffed back into the van, including us runners.
Sooner than we expected, it’s time for us to run again. Amazingly, we all feel pretty good only running on two hours of “sleep.” The thing to understand about the third leg is this: it hurts. It doesn’t matter how good of shape you’re in. You’re running on little to no sleep, you’ve already ran around 10 miles and been stuffed in and out of a van with no real opportunity to stretch. One of the bad things about this not being the first time I’ve run HTC is I know exactly what that third leg feels like. My goal on the third leg is only to survive. No time records need to be set here, it’s all about finishing. After being cheered on by the various volunteers and other vans, including the Japanese team, the end is in sight. Nothing feels quite as good as handing off that baton for the last time. I can take another bath using baby wipes and put on dry clothes and relax till we get to Seaside.
27 and a half hours after we started, team “Dude, Where’s My Van?” is crossing the finish line. Medals are picked up, pictures are taken, the final time sheet is turned in and we’re officially done. We’re exhausted, sore, sweaty, smelly and wet because the weather gods thought it would be fun to throw rain into the mix this year. But we’re done. While some part of me is relieved that it’s over, another part is mourning that this is the end. We leave the beach in good spirits piling into the van one last time. With visions of showers, clean clothes and our own beds in our heads, we head back to Portland. It’s only a month and a half before registration for next year is due.
September 22, 2009
I Lie
It’s inevitable, that at some point in your childhood, you will be placed in an awkward position with friends. I’m not talking about saying no to drugs or alcohol. Long before that, you are issued an invitation to do something that you really do not want to do. Maybe it’s going to a party (or what passes for a party in elementary school), or meeting up with a friend at the swimming pool or potentially the worst of all, a sleep over invitation you do not want to accept.
This summer I was reminded once again, what a smart mom mine was. Much, much smarter than I gave her credit for at the time. She reminded me that back in the day we had a code system of some sort so that when we called to ask if we could do something, she would know whether or not it was something we actually wanted to do. Most likely, she could just tell by the tone of our voice (to this day the woman is frighteningly accurate at this), but the system was there none the less. Although I don’t remember this code system or word (or mom’s intuition), I do remember her asking me “Do you want me to say no?” To which I would give positive affirmation. And with that, my mother willingly took the bad guy position and I didn’t have to do something I didn’t want to.
Much to my dismay, I’ve discovered as an adult that there are even more invitations you don’t want to accept, however I no longer have to ask my mom for permission. I have friends that I know blame their spouses if they want to get out of something, which would come in equally as handy. And let’s face it, less weird than calling mom for permission in your late twenties. When you’re single and don’t have a constant and easy excuse such as a spouse, pet, elderly grandparent near by you have to take care of, etc., a girl has to get more creative. And by creative I mean you have to get really good at lying.
Lucky for me “thou shall not lie to get out of stuff you don’t want to do” was not one of the Ten Commandments. I’ll admit, it’s pushing the envelope a smidge, but I’m nothing if not a rebel. So yes, I lie to get out of things I don’t want to do. I had planned on giving some examples, however these are excuses that I may need to use again in the future and I have friends that read my blog. Instead, I will tell you that I will undoubtedly lie to get out of showers – both wedding and baby. But everyone already knew I did that anyway.
And I’m not the only one who does this. Remember the Sex and the City episode where Charlotte is on a horrible date and runs into Carrie in the same restaurant? Carrie then calls Charlotte and all she has to say is “Hey Charlotte, something bad happened.” And poof, Charlotte is able to ditch her terrible date. Trust me, the idea for that little scene was not original. Everybody (I’m assuming that men do this too) has this contingency plan.
All this to say that at times, it would be nice to revert 15 or 20 years (I’m close to a heart attack right now as I realize how long its been since my childhood) and have that automatic out. To not have to make an excuse or come up with a solid lie. To simply be able to ask permission and be told no. Alas, that is no longer the case. So it’s a good thing I have no moral issue with being a champion fibber.
This summer I was reminded once again, what a smart mom mine was. Much, much smarter than I gave her credit for at the time. She reminded me that back in the day we had a code system of some sort so that when we called to ask if we could do something, she would know whether or not it was something we actually wanted to do. Most likely, she could just tell by the tone of our voice (to this day the woman is frighteningly accurate at this), but the system was there none the less. Although I don’t remember this code system or word (or mom’s intuition), I do remember her asking me “Do you want me to say no?” To which I would give positive affirmation. And with that, my mother willingly took the bad guy position and I didn’t have to do something I didn’t want to.
Much to my dismay, I’ve discovered as an adult that there are even more invitations you don’t want to accept, however I no longer have to ask my mom for permission. I have friends that I know blame their spouses if they want to get out of something, which would come in equally as handy. And let’s face it, less weird than calling mom for permission in your late twenties. When you’re single and don’t have a constant and easy excuse such as a spouse, pet, elderly grandparent near by you have to take care of, etc., a girl has to get more creative. And by creative I mean you have to get really good at lying.
Lucky for me “thou shall not lie to get out of stuff you don’t want to do” was not one of the Ten Commandments. I’ll admit, it’s pushing the envelope a smidge, but I’m nothing if not a rebel. So yes, I lie to get out of things I don’t want to do. I had planned on giving some examples, however these are excuses that I may need to use again in the future and I have friends that read my blog. Instead, I will tell you that I will undoubtedly lie to get out of showers – both wedding and baby. But everyone already knew I did that anyway.
And I’m not the only one who does this. Remember the Sex and the City episode where Charlotte is on a horrible date and runs into Carrie in the same restaurant? Carrie then calls Charlotte and all she has to say is “Hey Charlotte, something bad happened.” And poof, Charlotte is able to ditch her terrible date. Trust me, the idea for that little scene was not original. Everybody (I’m assuming that men do this too) has this contingency plan.
All this to say that at times, it would be nice to revert 15 or 20 years (I’m close to a heart attack right now as I realize how long its been since my childhood) and have that automatic out. To not have to make an excuse or come up with a solid lie. To simply be able to ask permission and be told no. Alas, that is no longer the case. So it’s a good thing I have no moral issue with being a champion fibber.
I Spend How Much on Travel?
Some people make New Year’s Resolutions. I am not one of those people. I do occasionally make goals, however. This year my goal was to travel more. I looked around and saw too many people talking about traveling, but never taking the opportunity to do it. I figure if you can’t spend all your disposable income on travel when you’re young and single, when can you?
The first half of the year was a bit slow travel wise, which is common unless I fit in a ski trip somewhere. Since I had to take the ski season off to rehab a running injury, travel was at a dead stop until May. In the spring, I had a friend ask if I wanted to go to Hawaii. They answer to this question is always yes. Then I had another friend ask if I wanted to go to Lake Shasta and rent a houseboat with a bunch of friends. Not only was this travel, this was something I’d never done before. Obviously I said yes.
So throughout the year, I’ve gone to Hawaii and Lake Shasta, made a couple trips up to Seattle and to the Oregon Coast, spent a week at Priest Lake, ID with the family and followed the Oregon State Beavers to Las Vegas to see them play UNLV. With one more trip scheduled to Alaska in October, I feel like I’ve done a pretty solid job meeting my travel goal for this year. Not only have I been all over the place, I went to places I’ve never been to before.
In general, I have an odd view of how to budget my income, but I believe in saving for a trip before doing it. So I have a savings account strictly dedicated to travel. There are times when my travel account has more money in it than my emergency savings account. If you’re going to make travel a priority, make it a priority. Since I have the money for a trip all saved up, I rarely take the time to figure out how much money I’m spending on my travel addiction. Enter Mint.com.
Mint.com is this amazing website I’ve discovered that aggregates all of your financial information from savings accounts to loans to 401(k)s to credit cards, etc. You name it, Mint will track it. Once everything is aggregated, you can assign labels to your spending so you can easily track what you’re spending money on. A very cool way to discover that my student loans are expensive and that I shop too much.
I decided to check out how much I had spent on each category over the past three months. Coming in right behind rent and home expenses, there it was . . . travel. While it’s slightly frightening to realize that 20% of my spending has been spent on traveling, I don’t regret it a bit. I made travel a priority this year and it cost some money, but I wouldn’t trade the experiences I’ve had or the things I’ve seen to get even a smidge of the money back.
To some, the money I spend on traveling and the amount of travel that I do would seem extravagant. To me, the life experiences gained along the way are well worth the cost. And if that book title is true, and there really are a thousand places to see before you die, well then I better get cracking.
The first half of the year was a bit slow travel wise, which is common unless I fit in a ski trip somewhere. Since I had to take the ski season off to rehab a running injury, travel was at a dead stop until May. In the spring, I had a friend ask if I wanted to go to Hawaii. They answer to this question is always yes. Then I had another friend ask if I wanted to go to Lake Shasta and rent a houseboat with a bunch of friends. Not only was this travel, this was something I’d never done before. Obviously I said yes.
So throughout the year, I’ve gone to Hawaii and Lake Shasta, made a couple trips up to Seattle and to the Oregon Coast, spent a week at Priest Lake, ID with the family and followed the Oregon State Beavers to Las Vegas to see them play UNLV. With one more trip scheduled to Alaska in October, I feel like I’ve done a pretty solid job meeting my travel goal for this year. Not only have I been all over the place, I went to places I’ve never been to before.
In general, I have an odd view of how to budget my income, but I believe in saving for a trip before doing it. So I have a savings account strictly dedicated to travel. There are times when my travel account has more money in it than my emergency savings account. If you’re going to make travel a priority, make it a priority. Since I have the money for a trip all saved up, I rarely take the time to figure out how much money I’m spending on my travel addiction. Enter Mint.com.
Mint.com is this amazing website I’ve discovered that aggregates all of your financial information from savings accounts to loans to 401(k)s to credit cards, etc. You name it, Mint will track it. Once everything is aggregated, you can assign labels to your spending so you can easily track what you’re spending money on. A very cool way to discover that my student loans are expensive and that I shop too much.
I decided to check out how much I had spent on each category over the past three months. Coming in right behind rent and home expenses, there it was . . . travel. While it’s slightly frightening to realize that 20% of my spending has been spent on traveling, I don’t regret it a bit. I made travel a priority this year and it cost some money, but I wouldn’t trade the experiences I’ve had or the things I’ve seen to get even a smidge of the money back.
To some, the money I spend on traveling and the amount of travel that I do would seem extravagant. To me, the life experiences gained along the way are well worth the cost. And if that book title is true, and there really are a thousand places to see before you die, well then I better get cracking.
September 17, 2009
Spending Diet
For someone who is frugal, I have a serious spending problem. Because I can, I've gotten into the habit of buying things I want, when I want. Notice that need was no where in that sentence. At work, we're no longer allowed on Facebook, so SteepandCheap.com has become my most visited website. (Amazing deals by the way.) It's gotten so out of hand, that the guys I sit with at work regularly ask what I bought online and how much I saved. As much as I love shopping math, math where you add up what you saved and not what you spent, I need to curb my unintentional contributions to keep the economy from collapsing.
Realistically, my spending is not that much out of control. My impulse buys are less than $100 at a time and I'm no where near going into debt over this issue, but it’s been bothering me. Case in point, I've been on the lookout for a pair of nice polarized sunglasses. SteepandCheep had some the other day with interchangeable lenses made for small faces. At 80% off, they were a steal so I grabbed them. Twenty-four hours later I found myself purchasing another pair because I thought they were cuter. Once they arrive, I’ll need to return at least one pair. Unless they’re both just awesome. Sigh.
When I first started working, I was making very little money and brought my lunch to work 99% of the time. After a few promotions and pay increases and I find myself eating out simply out of laziness or because I don’t feel like eating what I brought for lunch. While this isn’t breaking my bank, I can’t help but feeling like there are better things to spend my money on. And things to spend on that don’t make my pants snug.
After a recent flight, I decided to bite the bullet and purchase a pair of Bose Noise Cancelling Headphones. They sell for $200-300. Initially I was just going to put them on my credit card and then transfer the money from my saving account over. But then I stopped to think, what ever happened to saving up for a purchase before you bought it? When did I stop wanting something bad enough to save for it ahead of time? There is something to be said for the satisfaction felt when you purchase something you know you saved up for it ahead of time.
Somehow the universe seemed to have heard my random wandering of thoughts and this morning I saw an article on families who went on a 30 day spending diet. Obviously I was intrigued. There are two main ways to do this: 1) set a budget for the month and stick to it or 2) cut out all luxuries. Since I do not believe in traditional budgeting and therefore don’t do it, this was clearly not for me. But luxuries . . . luxuries I believe in.
So rather like an impulse purchase, I have impulsively decided to attempt a 30 day spending diet. The goal being to cut out enough luxuries to save for my Bose headphones. I must save $300 before October 22 in order to purchase them in time for my next flight. That's saving $10 per day. Intimidating, but doable considering I spent $9 on a sandwitch for lunch yesterday.
Wish me luck. Spending control and Bose headphones, here I come.
Realistically, my spending is not that much out of control. My impulse buys are less than $100 at a time and I'm no where near going into debt over this issue, but it’s been bothering me. Case in point, I've been on the lookout for a pair of nice polarized sunglasses. SteepandCheep had some the other day with interchangeable lenses made for small faces. At 80% off, they were a steal so I grabbed them. Twenty-four hours later I found myself purchasing another pair because I thought they were cuter. Once they arrive, I’ll need to return at least one pair. Unless they’re both just awesome. Sigh.
When I first started working, I was making very little money and brought my lunch to work 99% of the time. After a few promotions and pay increases and I find myself eating out simply out of laziness or because I don’t feel like eating what I brought for lunch. While this isn’t breaking my bank, I can’t help but feeling like there are better things to spend my money on. And things to spend on that don’t make my pants snug.
After a recent flight, I decided to bite the bullet and purchase a pair of Bose Noise Cancelling Headphones. They sell for $200-300. Initially I was just going to put them on my credit card and then transfer the money from my saving account over. But then I stopped to think, what ever happened to saving up for a purchase before you bought it? When did I stop wanting something bad enough to save for it ahead of time? There is something to be said for the satisfaction felt when you purchase something you know you saved up for it ahead of time.
Somehow the universe seemed to have heard my random wandering of thoughts and this morning I saw an article on families who went on a 30 day spending diet. Obviously I was intrigued. There are two main ways to do this: 1) set a budget for the month and stick to it or 2) cut out all luxuries. Since I do not believe in traditional budgeting and therefore don’t do it, this was clearly not for me. But luxuries . . . luxuries I believe in.
So rather like an impulse purchase, I have impulsively decided to attempt a 30 day spending diet. The goal being to cut out enough luxuries to save for my Bose headphones. I must save $300 before October 22 in order to purchase them in time for my next flight. That's saving $10 per day. Intimidating, but doable considering I spent $9 on a sandwitch for lunch yesterday.
Wish me luck. Spending control and Bose headphones, here I come.
September 15, 2009
I Did NOT See This Coming!
I was so busy trying not to become my mother, I did not see this coming. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with my mother, she’s fabulous, I just prefer to be me. When I catch myself doing things that remind me of my mom, it tends to freak me out a bit. So you can’t imagine the panic I felt when I realized I was also becoming my dad.
I always knew I had similarities to my dad, I got his incredibly short legs and we’re both charmingly sarcastic (my mother may disagree with the charming part). It’s the other little things that have snuck up on me that came as a shock. Girls work so hard at not becoming their mothers that we fail to see that we are equally likely to become our fathers and it blindsides us.
A couple months ago I was on a camping trip with some friends. Being the country girl, I tend to be the camping expert in the group. I found myself waking earlier than everyone else, getting the morning fire started, cleaning up camp and getting coffee started. It wasn’t until the second morning that I realized that had my father been there, he would have been the one doing all of that. I’m not sure if that is just good camping training or what, but it shocked (and scared) the hell out of me.
It snuck up on me again as I just finished scrawling my signature across a check. I’ve never been able to reproduce my mom’s signature; she has this loopy, girly E that I cannot duplicate for the life of me. My father’s signature, one giant R, is another story all together. Not only can I reproduce it, I’ve made fun of him for the ridiculousness of it. My signature has gotten progressively sloppier over the years as I’ve given up trying to have the handwriting of a bubbly teenage girl. Despite that, I was a bit shocked to look down at the check however and see that the only noticeable letters in my signature were an H, an M and a G. Where did the rest of my name go? Disturbing as it is that my signature is following in my father’s handwriting, I have to admit that my current signature looks pretty darn cool if you ask me.
Both my parents are pretty great, but kids want to be their own person. Or at least preserve the idea that they are totally individual and haven’t picked up anything other than genetics from our parents. As I age, I find myself doing or saying something that is way too similar to what my parents do or say. Although I strive for individuality, it’s pretty hard not to see the writing on the wall. Or the signature on the check in this case. Handwriting I can handle, but I fear the day when the words “eat or starve” come out of my mouth. Here’s hoping all us kids keep the best parts of our parents and not the parts that drove us nuts.
I always knew I had similarities to my dad, I got his incredibly short legs and we’re both charmingly sarcastic (my mother may disagree with the charming part). It’s the other little things that have snuck up on me that came as a shock. Girls work so hard at not becoming their mothers that we fail to see that we are equally likely to become our fathers and it blindsides us.
A couple months ago I was on a camping trip with some friends. Being the country girl, I tend to be the camping expert in the group. I found myself waking earlier than everyone else, getting the morning fire started, cleaning up camp and getting coffee started. It wasn’t until the second morning that I realized that had my father been there, he would have been the one doing all of that. I’m not sure if that is just good camping training or what, but it shocked (and scared) the hell out of me.
It snuck up on me again as I just finished scrawling my signature across a check. I’ve never been able to reproduce my mom’s signature; she has this loopy, girly E that I cannot duplicate for the life of me. My father’s signature, one giant R, is another story all together. Not only can I reproduce it, I’ve made fun of him for the ridiculousness of it. My signature has gotten progressively sloppier over the years as I’ve given up trying to have the handwriting of a bubbly teenage girl. Despite that, I was a bit shocked to look down at the check however and see that the only noticeable letters in my signature were an H, an M and a G. Where did the rest of my name go? Disturbing as it is that my signature is following in my father’s handwriting, I have to admit that my current signature looks pretty darn cool if you ask me.
Both my parents are pretty great, but kids want to be their own person. Or at least preserve the idea that they are totally individual and haven’t picked up anything other than genetics from our parents. As I age, I find myself doing or saying something that is way too similar to what my parents do or say. Although I strive for individuality, it’s pretty hard not to see the writing on the wall. Or the signature on the check in this case. Handwriting I can handle, but I fear the day when the words “eat or starve” come out of my mouth. Here’s hoping all us kids keep the best parts of our parents and not the parts that drove us nuts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)