Two million dollars. That is how much Kim Kardashian’s engagement ring cost. I’m having a hard time fathoming either plunking down the full amount for a ring, or imagining what the monthly payments on that sucker has to be. Two million dollars. That is so many zeros, that when I write transition letters at work, helping clients facilitate moving large sums of money around in their portfolios, I use abbreviations and don’t even type the zeros.
Since I heard how much a 20.5 carat diamond costs, I’ve been imagining what I’d do with two million dollars. Bare Naked Ladies gave me some ideas of what to do if I had one million dollars, like riding around in a limo just because you can, or buying a new chesterfield, green dress or a fur coat (“but not a real fur coat, that’s cruel”). But no one to date has prepared me for what I’d do with two million dollars. So I’ve had to use my imagination.
One thing I can tell you is I wouldn’t be wearing two million dollars. Especially as one small, or likely giant in this case, piece of jewelry on my finger. One, because clearly that screams, “Please rob me, I’m loaded!” and two, because I can think of much better things to do with that kind of money. I was talking about this to a co-worker and she agreed. Her idea was that if she was going to pay that much money for something to wear, it had better be some kind of suit that made her look super-model like. Or made her look like whatever she wanted to be that day. Agreed, two million dollars on a super suit that can change your appearance at will is a much better use of the money than a ring. Unless the ring has magic powers that we don’t know about yet.
With two million dollars, I would buy myself a house. (Thanks BNL for pointing me in the right direction). But I would buy it outright so I didn’t have to worry about those pesky mortgage payments and I’d be able to afford to buy something in the neighborhood I already live in and love. Most importantly, I’d be able to afford more than 300 square feet! Second, I would buy my family a vacation home. I haven’t decided if this home will be in Hawaii or Priest Lake, ID, but a house we will have for all to vacation at. Then I would travel in style. I don’t mean Paris Hilton style, but I’d stay in nice hotels (goodbye, hostels!), eat great food, etc.
And if for some reason that didn’t use up all the money, I could afford to take my friends and family traveling with me. Or help send the kidlets in my life to college. Or buy my brother a dog. Or buy myself a pool. And a trainer. And a personal chef. There are so many amazing things I can think of to do with two million dollars, that don’t include wearing it on a finger.
I’m sure KK is thrilled with her two million dollar ring that outdid her sister’s ring and cost half as much as her house. But being the middle class gal that I am, I can’t help but ponder the places I could go and things I could do with that kind of money . . .
May 26, 2011
May 18, 2011
Fixing Things
My generation can’t fix a damn thing. I’m not even talking about national debt or homelessness. Nothing as serious as that. We can barely unclog a drain. Don’t even thing about rebuilding a deck or replacing a window. I wish I were joking, but my generation is the one that would rather have handyman on speed dial than order those Sears’ home improvement books to re-grout their own bathroom.
Case in point, when one of my friends bought a condo, she asked me to come over to help install lights and put things up on the wall. Compared to her, I had more experience with the cordless drill and between the two of us, we managed to get everything installed. Even more impressive, everything was level and at the same height. When I told my dad about this, his response was, “Where did you learn to use a drill?” Trial and error on a number of rental units, as it turns out. I can almost always actually hit a nail with a hammer too, that’s how talented I am, and my current rental has the lack of holes and dents in the walls to prove it. (I subscribe to the belief that a wall is replaceable, my thumb is not.)
Many moons ago I was sort of seeing this guy who at the time was trying to impress me. Girls, don’t you wish the trying to impress you period lasted a bit longer? Anyway, while listing qualities that are impressive in the opposite sex, handiness and the ability to fix things came up. His response was, “How do you feel about someone who can afford to hire someone to do it right the first time?” That’ll work too. But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that along with being good with kids, nothing impresses a girl quite as much as being able to fix things yourself.
While my generation has given way to calling the handyman, my dad’s generation can fix anything. They can also build anything. My dad is truly impressive that way. The one thing he’s not great with is cars. And that’s where my uncle comes in. He too, can fix and build anything. Including cars.
On a recent trip to Seattle, I noticed my car was making a horrible sound. I thought it was coming from a wheel well and sounded like the tire was rubbing against something. So I got down on my knees and looked around under the car. “Yup,” I thought to myself, “four tires and the undercarriage of a car. Just as I suspected.” Since the car still drove fine and didn’t smell I kept on driving since the alternative was spending time in Centrailia wondering what was wrong with my car. Luckily I was headed to my uncle’s house anyway and figured I’d ask him to take a look.
The whole reason for going to Seattle was because I was flying in and out of SeaTac on my way to Italy. My uncle drove my car to drop me off at the airport and confirmed my suspicion that it was the brakes. Of course, not having any idea where the brakes are on my car, I was really just guessing. Amazing fixer and wonderful uncle that he is, not only had he diagnosed the problem by the time I returned from Italy, he had replaced the brake and a U-joint or something. I may have tuned out the actual words once I realized it was fixed and I didn’t have to drive a car with a horrible sound or take it into a shop. I was just thrilled the problem was solved.
This whole story is to illustrate that my generation can’t fix a damn thing. I don’t know a single friend or their significant others who would have been able to diagnose a brake problem and then fix it. And when I’m the one who gets called in to drill holes and install light fixtures, something is seriously wrong.
Boys of my generation, if you want to really impress a girl, being able to fix something will get you huge points. Carhartts and a tool belt won’t hurt either.
Case in point, when one of my friends bought a condo, she asked me to come over to help install lights and put things up on the wall. Compared to her, I had more experience with the cordless drill and between the two of us, we managed to get everything installed. Even more impressive, everything was level and at the same height. When I told my dad about this, his response was, “Where did you learn to use a drill?” Trial and error on a number of rental units, as it turns out. I can almost always actually hit a nail with a hammer too, that’s how talented I am, and my current rental has the lack of holes and dents in the walls to prove it. (I subscribe to the belief that a wall is replaceable, my thumb is not.)
Many moons ago I was sort of seeing this guy who at the time was trying to impress me. Girls, don’t you wish the trying to impress you period lasted a bit longer? Anyway, while listing qualities that are impressive in the opposite sex, handiness and the ability to fix things came up. His response was, “How do you feel about someone who can afford to hire someone to do it right the first time?” That’ll work too. But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that along with being good with kids, nothing impresses a girl quite as much as being able to fix things yourself.
While my generation has given way to calling the handyman, my dad’s generation can fix anything. They can also build anything. My dad is truly impressive that way. The one thing he’s not great with is cars. And that’s where my uncle comes in. He too, can fix and build anything. Including cars.
On a recent trip to Seattle, I noticed my car was making a horrible sound. I thought it was coming from a wheel well and sounded like the tire was rubbing against something. So I got down on my knees and looked around under the car. “Yup,” I thought to myself, “four tires and the undercarriage of a car. Just as I suspected.” Since the car still drove fine and didn’t smell I kept on driving since the alternative was spending time in Centrailia wondering what was wrong with my car. Luckily I was headed to my uncle’s house anyway and figured I’d ask him to take a look.
The whole reason for going to Seattle was because I was flying in and out of SeaTac on my way to Italy. My uncle drove my car to drop me off at the airport and confirmed my suspicion that it was the brakes. Of course, not having any idea where the brakes are on my car, I was really just guessing. Amazing fixer and wonderful uncle that he is, not only had he diagnosed the problem by the time I returned from Italy, he had replaced the brake and a U-joint or something. I may have tuned out the actual words once I realized it was fixed and I didn’t have to drive a car with a horrible sound or take it into a shop. I was just thrilled the problem was solved.
This whole story is to illustrate that my generation can’t fix a damn thing. I don’t know a single friend or their significant others who would have been able to diagnose a brake problem and then fix it. And when I’m the one who gets called in to drill holes and install light fixtures, something is seriously wrong.
Boys of my generation, if you want to really impress a girl, being able to fix something will get you huge points. Carhartts and a tool belt won’t hurt either.
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