Friends Without Money

I just took the Financial Fitness Quiz on the Charles Schwab Community Services website and ended up with a score of 59, which puts me in the "Middle of the Road", according to the website.

When you're broke, you think about money a lot. For the past six years I have always worked at least two or three jobs at the same time, mainly because I can't afford to live off what I get paid at just one of those jobs. And I can't work full-time because of graduate school; even before I went into the Ph.D. program, I couldn't get a full-time college teaching job with just an M.A, so I had several part-time adjunct jobs instead.

Normally I earn just enough to pay my rent and other bills and pay for other essentials, like groceries and Britney Spears' albums. But when a big event like a wedding comes up, I don't think, "Hooray for the happy couple!" or "Why aren't I getting married? Do they have such a thing as mail-order husbands?" No. I think, "GREAT. This is going to be expensive."

I think that being a member of a wedding party is a rite of passage for practically every single girl in her twenties. Two years ago, I was asked to be a member of a friend's large wedding party. I hadn't actually been in touch with this friend for several years, though we had grown up together. But our families were friends, so it was expected that I would participate. I was happy for my friend. I was not happy about the money I would have to spend for a dress that I would never wear again, the plane ticket to the wedding, the wedding gift, or a fancy haircut. Because I had to spend so much money for this wedding, I couldn't afford to make a contribution to my Roth IRA fund that year.

But this wedding wasn't about me. It was about the bride and groom. Fortunately, the bride wasn't your typical Bridezilla, with insane expectations about centerpieces or making sure that the other women in the wedding party didn't look better than she did. (Side note: I bet that's why so many bridesmaid dresses are so weird-looking.) The bride was nice and let us pick our own dresses.

The maid of honor and the best man were planning pre-wedding parties, and they sent out e-mails asking other members of the wedding party to suggest places we could go. I asked the maid of honor how much it would cost, and she said, "Oh, not that much! It'll probably be only about $500 or $600." Oh, is that all? No biggie. I don't need to eat this month. I'm sure that my landlord won't mind if I'm short on rent. Maybe if I break out in song and start dancing like the cast of Rent did, I won't have to pay for anything. But then again, I was the only member of the wedding party who was still working minimum-wage jobs while attending graduate school, while everyone else was working white-collar jobs with their own assistants to blow their noses for them.

I tried not to think about the fact that the wedding would cost somewhere in the six-figure range, and how I could live for years on what they were spending for one day. I tried not to be resentful as I trekked all over the city to various bridal shops, trying in vain to find a dress. I made the mistake of shopping for a dress less than five months before the big day. The women who worked in the shop raised their eyebrows and shook their heads at me, saying that I couldn't get a dress less than six months beforehand. I resisted the urge to say, "Well, EXCU-U-USE ME, Snooty Bridal Shop Lady!"

Finally, I found a dress at Kasia's Bridal, a store run by a very nice young woman who helped me find a good dress. I tried in vain to think of other places that I could wear the dress, but I figured I might stand out if I went to the grocery store or taught a class in a floor-length strapless gown.

Before the wedding, the women of the wedding party got ready together. I found out that the bachelor/bachelorette parties had gone ahead as scheduled, and that I had not been included.

The bride was so happy, and I was happy for her. Her life was so different from mine, and represented a path I could have taken, both professionally and personally. But I didn't envy her, even though my bank account was now several hundred dollars emptier. Even though I've wanted to give up on being a college teacher hundreds of times, I know that I would regret it if I did quit. Pursuing a career in academia means paying a LOT of dues and making sacrifices, including the prospect of making a lot of money. But the work itself makes it worth it. Usually.

This experience did make me think a lot about weddings, though. Nothing personal against people who have expensive weddings; I figure if it's your money, you have the right to spend it how you want. But I always thought that a wedding was supposed to be about the marriage and the fact that you were promising yourself to that one person til death do you part, and everything else about the wedding day was just extra. I tried to picture myself having my own six-figure wedding. I couldn't. And it wasn't just because I wouldn't be able to afford it.


Disclaimer: This post is part of the 20SB Blog Carnival: Friends & Money, sponsored by Charles Schwab. Prizes may be awarded to selected posts. The information and opinions expressed in this post do not reflect the views or opinions of Charles Schwab. Details on the event, eligibility, and a complete list of participating bloggers can be found here.

Embarrassing Myself

If I had a dollar for every time I embarrassed myself, I would probably have at least 36,237 dollars (but that's just a rough estimate).

One summer in college, I participated in a language-intensive program in Spain (you didn't think I'd go to Europe just for fun, do you? HAH! But it was actually a lot of fun.), and I think that there are several Spaniards who are probably still laughing at me. I was riding the bus one day, and when the bus stopped, I tried to get out through the back door. But it wouldn't open, and I kept banging on it until some kids started yelling to the bus driver, "La puerta, la puerta!" Then several of the passengers giggled at me as I exited the bus, accidentally dropped my Discman, and nearly fell down along with it.

That same summer, I was hanging my laundry on the balcony outside my apartment, since there was no dryer. I ended up accidentally dropping my underwear one flight down, and had to look up the word for underwear in my Spanish dictionary before I could knock on my neighbor's door and ask for it back.

Another time I was on a bus in Chicago, and I was trying to exit the bus while navigating my way around a baby stroller. I bumped into the stroller, causing it to roll down the aisle while everyone else on the bus collectively gasped. Someone said, "She knocked over the baby!" And then the mother called out, "No, it's okay, I've got her!" And she held up the baby, and everyone stopped looking at me like I was a criminal.

I also worked as a campus tour guide in college, and I used to do that thing where I'd walk backwards while talking to the tour group. As a result, on more than one occasion I nearly fell into a trash can.

But one of my most embarrassing moments happened my freshman year in college. Before my first class of the day, I decided to stop by the restroom. It was one of those restrooms that only one person can use at a time, and the lock on the door often got stuck.

And of course, the lock on the door got stuck, and I couldn't get out! This was back before I had a cell phone, so I couldn't call anyone. So I started banging on the door, hoping that some of the students passing by might hear me, and also hoping that they wouldn't hear me so that they wouldn't know what an idiot I was.

There was a vent at the bottom of the door, and I looked through it and could see people's legs passing by. I saw one familiar pair of shoes, and I yelled out, "John! (not his real name) Help!"

He stopped and said my name. "Is that you? Where are you?"

"I'm in the bathroom!" I yelled. "Get me out of here!"

"Hold on," he said. "I'll get the professor."

"No!" I said. "Don't get the professor! Get the janitor!" I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of the professor. I wanted to get an A in the class.

But a few minutes later the professor showed up, along with everyone else in my class. It took them about twenty minutes before they were finally able to unlock the door (with the help of a janitor), and I returned to my class, red-faced. My professor then told the story to several other classes, and somehow several people figured out it was me even though he didn't identify me. Go figure.

When I was younger, I always took embarrassing moments like this one really hard. I thought about how everyone must have viewed me as a dork, and how it would lower their opinion of me. I thought about how I could never be like any of those sophisticated, elegant women in designer clothes I always saw walking around Oak Street. I kept my head down and berated myself for messing up. I thought that once I became an "adult," I'd finally get my act together. But now I'm almost 30, and I still haven't completely figured out how to do that.

But now I see things differently. Even though I still often obsess over what people think about me, at the same time I don't take it too seriously if I make a fool of myself in public. Everyone's had a slip-up at some point, and the fact that I've had a lot more slip-ups than most people isn't that big of a deal. And I figure it's better to have a sense of humor about it and laugh it off, rather than keep my head down and start crying. And at the very least, it could be part of a good story someday.

Free Writing Advice

When I was on okcupid last year, I got an e-mail from a guy that made me want to break things and start primal screaming. The guy wasn't interested in a date with me; he wanted to send me his manuscript so that I could critique it for him, because he saw in my profile that I was an English teacher. But he didn't say anything about paying me. I think he just assumed that I'd be willing to review a stranger's work for free.

I mean, really? Did he really think that that's why I joined a dating site? Sure. I didn't become a member so that I could go on dates. I joined so that I could review manuscripts for comma splices and run-ons and give free writing advice, because it's not like I don't get ENOUGH of that by teaching freshman composition and literature classes. Yes, I just love grading papers SO MUCH that I just want to help everyone! Yay!! I can hardly stop clapping my hands with joy! Who needs a social life when I have grammar to keep me company!

When I worked in retail, several of my coworkers were college students. Whenever they found out that I was an English major/grad student/writing teacher, some of them would say, "Could I e-mail you my paper? Do you think you could tell me what I should do to fix it so that I can get an A?" (Incidentally, this is similar to what many of my own students say; they want me to "edit" their papers and tell them exactly what to write so that they can get A's. Every time one of my students asks me this, they get a big lecture from me on how important it is for them to learn how to write without someone else putting all the words in their heads. Sometimes, I also start primal screaming.)

Does this ever happen to you? When people find out that you write, do they start asking you for help with their own writing? How do you respond?

Often I hear of writers exchanging manuscripts for review, or joining writer's groups so that they can discuss ideas. I think that that's great, and someday I'd like to join a writer's group too, once I'm not working two or three jobs while attending graduate school. I've also reviewed a writer friend's work, and it was cool because I got to read a story that no one else had read before. I've also read some great blogs where writers will give awesome writing advice, and I love that because it gives me motivation for my own writing.

But it's another thing altogether where people will just expect me to give them free writing advice just because I happen to teach writing. I don't mind helping my own students, because obviously, that's my job. And I do like that point when their eyes light up when they finally "get it". Then I get to see the difference in their writing because they applied to it what they learned from me.

But I have to review dozens of papers every week, in addition to all of the other work I have to do. So when I finish my work for the day, the last thing I want to do is look at yet another paper. I always used to hear lawyers complain about people who tried to get them to give free legal advice, and doctors complain about people who tried to get them to give free medical advice. And now I can sympathize with them. Because I think that the people who ask are missing the point, especially when it comes to writing. Part of the writing process is learning how to write, even (and especially) if it includes making mistakes.

And besides, even a workaholic like me needs to relax. But not for too long, of course.

Side note: I got two cool awards this week: the Versatile Blogger award from OfficeGirl, who writes the great blog Tired but Writing, and the Who's Awesome award from KarenG, who writes the wonderful blog Coming Down the Mountain: From Reclusive Writer to Published Author. Thanks again, guys! You made my week! And everyone should definitely check out their blogs.

I WISH I was bringing sexyback

Even though I hate flirting, I have always had this fantasy of walking down the street and being the center of every guy's attention. Lest you call me egotistical, don't lie; ladies, you know you've had that fantasy at least once. It's definitely an ego boost if you catch someone cute (but not creepy) checking you out. And guys, you know you wouldn't mind people checking you out while you strut down the street.

Normally I tend to walk very fast when I walk around. I'm usually in a hurry to get someplace, and it always bugs me when people stand in the middle of the sidewalk to chat with their friends or point out how high the buildings are or even just pause for a millisecond, because then I have to walk into the street to get past them. Or, if I've had enough caffeine, I may or may not just barrel right through.

But before I left Chicago last week, I decided to try doing that "sexy" walk in East Lakeview, which is my favorite neighborhood in Chicago. It's filled with trendy clothing boutiques, cool used bookstores, coffeehouses, and great restaurants. Unfortunately, the rent is pretty high there, so I can't afford to live there. But I can still visit the neighborhood every now and then, right?

(Side note: Do you notice how in movies and music videos, whenever people do that sexy walk down the street, it's always really windy? And then their hair starts flipping over their shoulders, but never in their eyes? And yet no one else on that same street seems to be affected by the wind.)

So I put on my highest shoes, and OWWWWWW! These shoes hurt! They LOOK good, but they don't FEEL good! How come guys don't have to wear these things? I can't do the sexy walk if I'm in pain! Right now I bet the shoemakers are cackling maniacally as they say, "You didn't think you could actually WALK in those things, did you?"

So I put on my slightly high shoes, and ahhh. That's better. I start walking down Belmont Avenue, and so far, so good. I can do that walk I've seen movie stars and musicians do. Sure. How do they do it? Do they swing their hips? But then how do they keep from bumping into people, as I've done twice already? Sorry, people!

I keep walking, and any minute now it's going to happen for me, and....ooh! There's a used copy of Steve Almond's Candyfreak in that bookstore! I've been wanting to read that for months! I go into the used bookstore and buy the book for six dollars. Woohoo! I want to read that book right now!

Wait. What was I doing again? Oh, right.

I start walking again once I leave the store. I see a cute guy glance over at me, and at that moment....AHHH! PBBBPTHHH! PBBBBPTHHH! YUCK! I think a bug just flew in my mouth! AHHHH! I think I just swallowed it!

Oh, JEEZ. Now the guy is looking at me, but it's only because I'm scratching at my tongue in a frantic attempt to get the bug out.

I need a break. I need something to wash out my mouth with. I go into Starbucks and buy a Frappuccino to wash out the taste of what may or may not have been a bug. On second thought, a large cup of caffeine might not be the thing to calm me down, but whatever. At least I don't taste bug anymore.

I leave Starbucks and cross the street. How am I supposed to do this walk if there are so many people on the street? In the movies the streets always seem to clear for the person doing the windy, sexy walk. Let's try this again.

Okay. I'm walking, and AHHHHH! There's a dead rat on the ground! AHHHH!! I start running, and then I run SMACK into a guy walking in the opposite direction. "Sorry," I tell him, all out of breath. "I was running from a...from, um..." A dead rat, I want to add, but then I realize how weird that would sound. He shakes his head and then moves on.

I give up. I'm going back to my fast, impatient, barrel through tourists walk. It's always served me best.

Now You Read Them, Now You Don't

I'm out of town right now, and I won't be back in Chicago until the first week of July. So I can't go out on dates with anyone until I go back. But I still have Internet access, so I'm still able to communicate with potential dates, at least.

When I was on okcupid last year, I met and dated several guys. But there were at least six or seven other guys who I never met in person, because they would disappear after sending me one or two e-mails. I could never figure out why. Did they meet other women that they liked better? Did they change their minds about meeting me? Did they just chicken out about meeting in person?

One guy who disappeared after the first e-mail was really cute; he was a filmmaker and he sent me an e-mail with a link to his MySpace page. What was on it? Information about his newest film, which he wrote and starred in; the film was about a guy who wrote stories about stick figures and orgies. And in the film clips on his page, there was the guy, having orgies with various girls. It wasn't a porno; it was actually being marketed as a romantic comedy. (And of course, I e-mailed him back BEFORE I watched those film clips.) And I just sat there in front of my computer, struck speechless before I quickly turned off the Internet and ran away screaming.

There was also this other guy on okcupid who e-mailed me first. He must have sent me about ten or twelve e-mails, but then he suddenly stopped. I tried e-mailing him, but he never responded. I never found out why. And a year later he's still on the site. In my last e-mails to him, I tried to get him to agree to meet me in person. Meeting in person is the point of online dating, right? Sure, first dates can sometimes be awkward and nervewracking, and at the end of some of them you may or may not feel the urge to dunk your face in a big bowl of chocolate and seriously consider moving to Antarctica. But if you do end up meeting someone you like, it's worth it.

But I could never get this guy to agree on a time and place to meet. He kept saying, "Oh, we'll meet up eventually. In the meantime we can just chat online." Did he have a girlfriend, or a wife? Was he perhaps a gigolo, and was afraid that his rich "girlfriend" would stop buying him designer clothes and fancy cars if he went out on a date with me? Was he just not ready to meet in person? And if that was the case, why didn't he just say so?

On eharmony, you go through three phases of communication: Get to know each other (which is a short multiple choice "quiz"), Must Haves and Can't Stands, and Learn more about each other (which is a series of "open-ended" questions). Then the fourth phase is when you send each other regular e-mails. Eharmony also has a "Close Match" option, where you can choose to block communication with someone. What sucks, though, is that it'll show up on your own page if someone chooses to block you.

When a guy suddenly broke off communication with me on okcupid, I thought maybe it was because I wrote something he didn't like in one of my e-mails. But on eharmony, at least six guys have stopped communicating with me before we even got to the third or fourth phase. What am I doing wrong? Is it because on the "Get to Know Each Other" quiz, I put down that I'd rather see a popular new movie than go to a sporting event on a Saturday night? I'd go to a game with a guy, except I wouldn't be much company because I'd be too busy silently adding to my list of why I hate sports. (Reason #78: Fans with beer breath) But I didn't write that in my answers, though.

I got to the third phase of communication with one guy, and then all of a sudden he chose the "Close Match" option. Was it because he saw that I'd updated my profile? I did that was because I hadn't heard from him in more than three days, and he'd always responded fairly quickly before. Did he get mad because he thought I was communicating with other guys?

I will admit that I've communicated with more than one guy at the same time.  I might as well increase my chances of meeting someone, and it's okay as long as I'm not in an exclusive relationship with anyone. And it wouldn't bother me if the guy was communicating with other women, because again, we're not even in an exclusive relationship at that point.

I wonder if my age (29) has something to do with it. It seems that a lot of the guys prefer younger women; when I was on match.com I got many e-mails from guys in their 40s and 50s. Do they think that because I'm almost 30 that I'm going to show up for the first date in a wedding dress? Please. I wouldn't do anything like that until AT LEAST the fifth date.

Or is it because I wrote "Maybe" in the "Wants Kids" section? A lot of the guys near my age wrote "Yes" in the "Wants Kids" section. It's not like I'm totally opposed to being a mom. I admire anyone who is a parent. When I was 19 I didn't want to become one, but I figured it was because I was still a teenager and that I'd figure it out when I got older. But now, ten years later, I'm still not sure I want to have children.

I admit I do that "awwww" thing when I see a cute baby. But the truth is, little kids make me nervous. Somehow I feel like when I'm around them that they're WATCHING me (cue scary music: DA DA DUNNNH), kind of like those evil kids watched the adults in that movie Village of the Damned (and yes, I know kids aren't evil; I'm just paranoid). I didn't even baby-sit when I was a teenager; I was afraid that I might accidentally drop something on the kid or that I might drop the kid and then the parents would sue me or get me sent to prison and then I'd never become President. But if I do become pregnant someday, then of course I'll do everything possible to be a great parent. But right now, I want to do other things. (And yes, I know that my biological clock is ticking.)

But it's still frustrating when a guy ends communication with no explanation. If we had actually gone on a date already, I'd just think he wasn't that into me. But if we haven't even met yet, then what gives? And what's the rent like in Antarctica?

Nothing personal against little kids, but wouldn't YOU get just a little freaked out after watching a movie like this one?

Printers Row Lit Fest

Last Saturday I went to the Printers Row Lit Fest for the first time, which is this great festival that's held every June. It's like writer heaven because there are booksignings and discussions, authors' panels on writing, poetry slams, etc., etc.

I went because I got a free ticket to hear one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, speak at the Harold Washington Public Library. I love going to authors' events; I go to as many of them as I can. I always end up acting like a groupie every time I approach one of my favorite authors for an autograph; either I become shy and speechless or I start gushing. But who cares if I embarrass myself in front of the authors! I should think they'd be FLATTERED if I trip over several people in my eagerness to get my picture taken with them. (Side note: I wasn't pushing anyone out of the way when I tripped; I was just, er, hopping up and down because I was so excited and I couldn't keep my balance.)

Pritzker Auditorium, where Anne was speaking, was packed, but I managed to get a good seat near the front. There were at least three people who introduced her, or rather, each person introduced the next person, until they finally got to Anne. Does anyone notice how this is a common thing at events like this? Or maybe I was just impatient to hear one of my favorite authors give her speech.

And she was wonderful. She was very calm and relaxed, probably because she's done stuff like this hundreds of times. I, on the other hand, would probably bring a bunch of note cards with me, which I would subsequently either lose or mix up and then start saying different parts of my speech at the wrong times; then I'd probably turn bright red and run screaming off the stage or start all over or just FREAK OUT altogether, or...

She teased some of the audience members who came in late. She said, "Oh, come on in, you can sit in the front, right next to all the other late people." She talked about her son, Sam, who is now almost 21 and has a 10-month old son and lives in San Francisco. She talked about her new book, Imperfect Birds, and how she came up with the idea to continue the story of the character Rosie, who had appeared in two of her other novels.

As she talked, it made me realize how writers who give speeches like this one don't typically impress their audiences with music, complicated tricks, dance moves, or film clips. All they have are their words. And that's more than enough, as long as their words engage their audience and leave them with something new and interesting to think about. And Anne was able to do that throughout her entire speech and the Q&A.

While I enjoyed her answers to people's questions, I couldn't help noticing how almost every person who asked a question felt the need to COMPLIMENT her first. Like, "You've done such a good job with..." and "I've always enjoyed..." In a way it makes sense that they would do that; they wouldn't say something like, "I liked all of your books EXCEPT the one where..." or "GET OUT! We thought that Oprah was going to be here!" But at other events I've been too, the audience members weren't always so effusive in their praise of the author. I kept thinking about my days as an undergrad, when some students in my classes would always compliment the professors before asking them anything, as if they thought it would increase their chances of getting an A. But Anne didn't seem to mind; she was very good-natured about it.

Afterwards, I stood in line to get her autograph and my picture taken with her. When I went up to her, I wanted to tell her how much her writing meant to me. I wanted to say that Bird by Bird was a book that I had read and reread. I almost wanted to be like one of those audience members who kept complimenting her, and maybe even go a step further and offer to pick up her dry cleaning or vacuum her house, just to show how much I appreciated her work and wanted to do something for her in return. But I didn't. I usually hold myself back from doing at least half of the things I want to do, because I'm trying not to make people uncomfortable with spontaneous outburts (at least, not as much).

Does that ever happen to you? When you meet authors that you admire, do you suddenly feel shy about what you want to say to them, or do you tell them how much their work means to you? I'm sure they'd love to hear it, and I have managed to say it before. One of the greatest moments of my life was when I told Amy Tan how much it meant to me to meet her in person, and she gave me this big smile and said, "Why, thank you!" And I was so thrilled that she actually acknowledged me.

I walked around Printers Row after that, and found a bunch of vendors selling books and collectors' editions. And as I made my way through the crowds, examining book covers and flipping through the pages, I felt a quiet happiness that I hadn't felt in a long time. For just a little while, I was able to escape from my reality, and just be around books and the people who love them. I used to go to festivals like the Printers Row Lit Fest all the time, but lately I've been so caught up with work and school that I haven't had time. But that day made me realize how important it is to take time out for the other things in my life that are important to me and make me happy.