I want to be the rebound girl; the one he chooses; the one who benefits from everything the woman before me has done: the constant nights of arguing, her cheating, lying, reckless dealing with his heart. I want that man; the one she convinced to get braces, to let her take him shopping, to layer his sweaters with Thomas Pink shirts, to feel it was okay to wear purple shirts and pink ties; the one she introduced to the fit of designer jeans, Cole Haan shoes, sport coats, linen pants, boat shoes, sunglasses, leather flip flops, and white watches; the one she taught how to pick a girly movie, sit through the ballet without fidgeting, plan a dinner party, and give great oral. Then she left, most likely because she thought he was too boring, too shy–she wanted more out of life–someone less sullen, someone funnier. “I want someone who makes me laugh,” she probably told him.
I want a man who knows what pains feels like; one who wakes in the morning thinking of the same woman he spent all night crying over. One who has contemplated not going to work soon after the breakup because he felt weak. I want someone whose showers in the morning were filled with tears and constant thoughts of her face; who couldn’t stop thinking of what she said (probably something like, “I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”); the one whose friends check up on because he is taking it a bit too hard. I want someone who wanted someone that didn’t want them. I want it to have taken him a few days before he was able to eat again or for him to have eaten everything in sight just to suppress the thoughts of life without her. I want him to have seen beautiful women but to not have looked at them sexually during the first few months after the breakup. Maybe his friends tried to hook him up during that time, but he will have refused because he wouldn’t have been over her.
Six months will have passed and he will still feel a little pain when he hears her favorite song or sees her friends but he will be much better. He will use the gym and pick up games of basketball as his therapy. I want someone who, after seven months of reflection, goes on a few dates and they go well. He’ll sleep with a few women but there will be no real connection.
Almost a year would have passed and then I want to meet him. I’ll say all the right things. I won’t call too much, and I’ll seem just the right amount of uninterested. He’ll hesitate at first, but he’ll know he likes me. He’ll enjoy our conversations, he’ll find me attractive, and he’ll want to spend more time with me. I’ll oblige but only give him a little bit of me. He’ll press for more. I’ll budge just enough. I’ll make him feel validated, loved, and appreciated. I’ll laugh at his jokes, appreciate his sarcasm, hold his hand, kiss him passionately in public, and sing to him even though I don’t have the voice–all the things she would never have done. I’ll be the opposite of her and just what he wants. He’ll say that his life would not have been the same without me and that he is falling in love.
Rebound girl.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Wiser but Weaker
So I’m making drastic changes to cut back on what I find to be necessities but to most are wants and luxuries in order to make it out of the recession alive. I keep reading articles and journals about how the worst is over but for me it seems like it is just beginning. Increased assessments (fucking vertical living), lurking credit card debts, interest rates accruing from hefty student loans, and a greater chance of being unemployed are all within arm’s reach. As a result, I’m taking a proactive approach to cutting cost in what I like to call “living on the heels of poverty.”
Naturally I decided to see what this world actually looks like. What does it mean to live within budgets, monitoring accounts, and saying “no”? I enlisted some help from a wide range of people, and here are the suggestions I received:
1. Bring your own lunch and don’t eat out.
Done! I do that already. I actually would prefer to bring my own lunch and cook in the evenings. I do however splurge one day on the weekends with a nice dinner. Am I really willing to change that?
2. Stop shopping.
Okay, so I am guilty of this. But I will say that earlier this year I noticed that I was spending the equivalent to what some pay on a mortgage for a small home in the burb, and I have since cut that down to under $200 a month ( how ‘bout a round of applause?)
3. Stop buying books.
As a member of a book club this was hard, but I decided to venture out to what is known as the library. I will admit I’m still working on the ins and out of this lending regime–you know, them not having the books I need or taking forever to find the book I’m looking for–but mostly it’s the smell I can’t deal with–that stale smell of the books when I open them and the knowledge that people who don’t wash their hands or bodies for that matter are fumbling through the same books I am placing in my totes. But I’m working on it.
4. Sell a bag or two.
Not an option. No way, not gonna do it. If I’m going to pay off this credit card I’ll be damned if I can’t keep the purse that got me into debt in the first place.
5. Sell clothes to consignment shops.
Though I have yet to do this, I like the concept–I like the idea of getting cash for clothes, plus it might make it easier to get new clothes. Oops, that’s against #2.
6. No more weekly hair salon visits.
Okay, okay, okay, so yes I get my hair washed and blow dried every week, but really there is a reason. See, I work out a lot and my hair is ruined–RUINED, I tell you–so going to the salon weekly is almost necessary. Maybe I’ll try to go every other week. Someone suggested once a month, but I’m not there yet. (I would also like to add that that person should not be giving hair advice.)
7. Give up manicures.
Do you know someone had the audacity to suggest that I don’t need weekly manicures? In the words of Rachael Zoe, “I die.” I mean, really, who doesn’t get weekly manicures? I’m looking down at my hands as I type and I see the lovely dark polish floating over the keys–it’s giving me so much joy. I did promise that I would try to make it last two weeks which is super hard for dark polish, but it’s not like I do any manual labor.
8. Forget about getting a cleaning lady.
Okay, so no one actually suggested this, but I have a feeling that it might be because no one knows I was considering it. I should probably get rid of those price quotes I received. . .
9. Give up your pricey gym membership.
Hell no! I love my gym. I love the flat screen TV’s on the machines, the proximity of it to my job, the trainers, the classes, the pool (I'm allergic to chlorine), the sauna (I’ve never used it), the two full basketball courts (don’t even ask), the spa, the people who couldn’t care less about what I have on and who never give me dirty looks as I’m singing my anthem, “Gives You Hell,” while climbing on the stair master. In addition, being any bigger is far worst than being poorer.
10. Disconnect your home phone.
“You know you’re the only person our age that has a home phone,” said my friend. Really? I hate talking on my cell phone. It’s so awkward; cell phones were not made for extended conversations. They were built for convenience and to put into small clutches and men’s pants pockets, not for laying in bed dishing on the latest reality show. But I can do without it.
11. Cancel your home Internet service.
A friend told me “You know, I just make a list of all the things I need to research and do it while at work or at the library.” I nodded my head as if it made sense, but I was really thinking “How do you ever watch porn?”
12. Get a part-time job.
Now this is a novel concept. I love the idea of a part-time job. I could be the ultimate working woman– the one who will do anything to prove she is a productive citizen. I could work long days at my “real” job, then put in long nights at my part time. I could bring Lean Cuisine for lunch and have soup for dinner. I wonder how much weight I would lose? Yes, this is something to consider.
13. Get rid of your cable service.
Really, I mean what is life without cable? I might as well not live.
So it’s been one week since I’ve began my poverty plan. I really thought I was someone who could struggle–who could really get dirty when times got tough; the one who would roll up her sleeves and take on three extra jobs to make ends meet. I saw myself as someone who could eat Ramen noodles every day if that meant I was saving a buck; someone capable of wearing the same pants every day if that meant paying my credit card bills; the one whose friends would say “You know, you’ve been working really hard–you look sickly.” I want to be that person, but I’m not her. I’m the person who, since beginning this plan has bought a book from the bookstore because I got annoyed with the library, and purchased a $6 magazine from the supermarket so I could have reading material for the gym. I’ve eaten a bagel at Panera twice even though I have bagels at home, ordered a $15 martini and didn’t drink it because I forgot I don’t really like the taste so much, got a manicure on Saturday and a polish change on Thursday because I wanted a new color, and bought vitamin water from the gym at $2.29 a bottle because I’m too lazy to go to the store and get it in bulk. My brown bag lunches consist of sandwiches made with Cajun turkey breast and Swiss cheese from the deli. I’m the person who craves blackened chicken salad from Whole Foods that’s $11.99 a pound and who takes a cab to go get it; the person who buys $4.99 strawberries because they are out of season but I want strawberries; the one who yearns for lobster mashed potatoes, who doesn’t drink tap water, who loves the $2.69 tea from Corner Bakery, who spends $13 on lotion because some celebrity said I would like it, who needs $60 Bobbi Brown face oil during the winter, who wears $6.99 lip balm, uses $26 L’occitane hand cream, who adores $5 berry chill and who spent her last $3.50 on life saver fruit tarts. I’ve started thinking about how some people are made to endure certain things–life gives them lemons and they make lemonade. They struggle their entire childhoods only to later become doctors or fantastic writers. That’s not me. I blame it on my mother who never let me see her struggle in any way, who never let me go without. Then there was my grandmother and all her fancy jewelry and furs, and my grandfather who obliged all her desires. It’s no wonder I’m not cut out to be poor.
Naturally I decided to see what this world actually looks like. What does it mean to live within budgets, monitoring accounts, and saying “no”? I enlisted some help from a wide range of people, and here are the suggestions I received:
1. Bring your own lunch and don’t eat out.
Done! I do that already. I actually would prefer to bring my own lunch and cook in the evenings. I do however splurge one day on the weekends with a nice dinner. Am I really willing to change that?
2. Stop shopping.
Okay, so I am guilty of this. But I will say that earlier this year I noticed that I was spending the equivalent to what some pay on a mortgage for a small home in the burb, and I have since cut that down to under $200 a month ( how ‘bout a round of applause?)
3. Stop buying books.
As a member of a book club this was hard, but I decided to venture out to what is known as the library. I will admit I’m still working on the ins and out of this lending regime–you know, them not having the books I need or taking forever to find the book I’m looking for–but mostly it’s the smell I can’t deal with–that stale smell of the books when I open them and the knowledge that people who don’t wash their hands or bodies for that matter are fumbling through the same books I am placing in my totes. But I’m working on it.
4. Sell a bag or two.
Not an option. No way, not gonna do it. If I’m going to pay off this credit card I’ll be damned if I can’t keep the purse that got me into debt in the first place.
5. Sell clothes to consignment shops.
Though I have yet to do this, I like the concept–I like the idea of getting cash for clothes, plus it might make it easier to get new clothes. Oops, that’s against #2.
6. No more weekly hair salon visits.
Okay, okay, okay, so yes I get my hair washed and blow dried every week, but really there is a reason. See, I work out a lot and my hair is ruined–RUINED, I tell you–so going to the salon weekly is almost necessary. Maybe I’ll try to go every other week. Someone suggested once a month, but I’m not there yet. (I would also like to add that that person should not be giving hair advice.)
7. Give up manicures.
Do you know someone had the audacity to suggest that I don’t need weekly manicures? In the words of Rachael Zoe, “I die.” I mean, really, who doesn’t get weekly manicures? I’m looking down at my hands as I type and I see the lovely dark polish floating over the keys–it’s giving me so much joy. I did promise that I would try to make it last two weeks which is super hard for dark polish, but it’s not like I do any manual labor.
8. Forget about getting a cleaning lady.
Okay, so no one actually suggested this, but I have a feeling that it might be because no one knows I was considering it. I should probably get rid of those price quotes I received. . .
9. Give up your pricey gym membership.
Hell no! I love my gym. I love the flat screen TV’s on the machines, the proximity of it to my job, the trainers, the classes, the pool (I'm allergic to chlorine), the sauna (I’ve never used it), the two full basketball courts (don’t even ask), the spa, the people who couldn’t care less about what I have on and who never give me dirty looks as I’m singing my anthem, “Gives You Hell,” while climbing on the stair master. In addition, being any bigger is far worst than being poorer.
10. Disconnect your home phone.
“You know you’re the only person our age that has a home phone,” said my friend. Really? I hate talking on my cell phone. It’s so awkward; cell phones were not made for extended conversations. They were built for convenience and to put into small clutches and men’s pants pockets, not for laying in bed dishing on the latest reality show. But I can do without it.
11. Cancel your home Internet service.
A friend told me “You know, I just make a list of all the things I need to research and do it while at work or at the library.” I nodded my head as if it made sense, but I was really thinking “How do you ever watch porn?”
12. Get a part-time job.
Now this is a novel concept. I love the idea of a part-time job. I could be the ultimate working woman– the one who will do anything to prove she is a productive citizen. I could work long days at my “real” job, then put in long nights at my part time. I could bring Lean Cuisine for lunch and have soup for dinner. I wonder how much weight I would lose? Yes, this is something to consider.
13. Get rid of your cable service.
Really, I mean what is life without cable? I might as well not live.
So it’s been one week since I’ve began my poverty plan. I really thought I was someone who could struggle–who could really get dirty when times got tough; the one who would roll up her sleeves and take on three extra jobs to make ends meet. I saw myself as someone who could eat Ramen noodles every day if that meant I was saving a buck; someone capable of wearing the same pants every day if that meant paying my credit card bills; the one whose friends would say “You know, you’ve been working really hard–you look sickly.” I want to be that person, but I’m not her. I’m the person who, since beginning this plan has bought a book from the bookstore because I got annoyed with the library, and purchased a $6 magazine from the supermarket so I could have reading material for the gym. I’ve eaten a bagel at Panera twice even though I have bagels at home, ordered a $15 martini and didn’t drink it because I forgot I don’t really like the taste so much, got a manicure on Saturday and a polish change on Thursday because I wanted a new color, and bought vitamin water from the gym at $2.29 a bottle because I’m too lazy to go to the store and get it in bulk. My brown bag lunches consist of sandwiches made with Cajun turkey breast and Swiss cheese from the deli. I’m the person who craves blackened chicken salad from Whole Foods that’s $11.99 a pound and who takes a cab to go get it; the person who buys $4.99 strawberries because they are out of season but I want strawberries; the one who yearns for lobster mashed potatoes, who doesn’t drink tap water, who loves the $2.69 tea from Corner Bakery, who spends $13 on lotion because some celebrity said I would like it, who needs $60 Bobbi Brown face oil during the winter, who wears $6.99 lip balm, uses $26 L’occitane hand cream, who adores $5 berry chill and who spent her last $3.50 on life saver fruit tarts. I’ve started thinking about how some people are made to endure certain things–life gives them lemons and they make lemonade. They struggle their entire childhoods only to later become doctors or fantastic writers. That’s not me. I blame it on my mother who never let me see her struggle in any way, who never let me go without. Then there was my grandmother and all her fancy jewelry and furs, and my grandfather who obliged all her desires. It’s no wonder I’m not cut out to be poor.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)