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"It's burning through your eyes..." |
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Determined
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Friday, 10 November 2006 06:05 |
 Since I started swimming with QUAC, I’ve been too reluctant to compete in an actual meet. I originally joined the team because I really needed a way to lose some weight and continually stay in better shape; I never actually considered jumping off of a board, belly flopping and/or losing my balls for an audience. In the same way I was easily persuaded to strap on a Speedo for extra support, I’m almost completely convinced that competing wouldn’t equate to my demise, or even be half as bad as a circumcision. And less bloody too; assuming that I don’t suddenly learn how to swim five times faster than I already do and slam head first into the wall. I didn’t compete in yesterday’s event, but I sat near the ceiling to observe. I needed to make sure that there wasn’t some kind of Pagan ritual that involved the slaughtering of the worst swimmer on the team; because that would surely be me. And I’m more proud of that than you know; because six months ago, I was the worst drowning victim on the team. But I owe a television personality for my determination to compete in the next meet; because besides just comparing our underwear to decide whose were more sexy, we talked a lot about the events and concluded that yes, even though I can’t swim a 1000, 500, or even a 200, I could certainly swim the 50 Freestyle. My therapist would be so proud. |
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Determined
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Thursday, 12 October 2006 06:59 |
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I have an excel file on my computer named “The Plan” that I actually dub “Operation Kick Some Ass.” And it’s really my plan on how I’m going to pay off my credit cards. I started The Plan sometime in July after listening to the Dr. Laura radio program and she suggested that someone with credit card debt is irresponsible and not necessarily a “catch”; sort of the way that you normally wouldn’t decide to build a life with an alcoholic or drug addict. I was a credit card-addict; armed and dangerous. At the time, these were the kinds of thoughts going through my head: “OH DEAR GOD I HAVE NO NET WORTH” and “I’M NOT ONLY OUT OF SHAPE I’M POOR.” And every so often I’d sit there with two McDonald’s cheeseburgers and self-loathe in the way that can be best described in a Misery monologue starring Kathy Bates: “What's the matter? WHAT'S THE MATTER?! I will tell you "what's the matter!" I go out of my way for you! I do everything to try and make you happy. I feed you, I clean you, I dress you, and what thanks do I get?” And then I’d go on and on about the “wrong paper” and “Mr. MAN!” Because it’s how I felt; like everything was wrong; no matter what I did to try and fix things. Because let’s face it; I was dumped by my boyfriend, drowning in interest, addicted to McDonald’s hamburgers, and driving my car off an I-15 overpass seemed like a good idea. It’s about that time that I started “The Plan” expecting that I’d fail at this the same way I failed the German driving test. “I took the test and I was like, ‘This is hard’.” But I’m really glad I stuck to my budget. Because only three months later, “credit cards” is actually only “credit card.” I can’t even begin to tell you how good that feels. I have a warning to all those who are thinking of using a Capital One card: BE YE NOT SO STUPID. |
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"But, I want to go home." |
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Determined
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Wednesday, 06 September 2006 05:04 |
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Before you read any further please note: the following article is a rant and should in no way be taken anymore seriously than my other posts about Subway Sandwiches or Gizmo. But I’m pissed off. At myself. Because of my credit cards. Let me explain. After Gabe and I broke up in March, I started re-evaluating everything (including my increased waist size) and eventually decided to look at my finances; because that’s what a responsible person would do. And/or maybe Dr. Laura said something about it on her radio talk show (like how it's really stupid to get married to someone with a lot of debt because you take on the debt and the irresponsibility of the person). When I think about the debt, my lungs start to swell and I reach into my left pant pocket for my inhaler. I feel suffocated because I have nothing to show for the red numbers other than some fabulous, yet costly dental work. And maybe some other junk that I really didn’t need to buy that may or may not have involved Star Wars and a broken something-or-other on my car. After I calculated the real cost of my credit-card purchases, I nearly had a stroke. Some of the things that went through my mind were, “God. I really should have killed myself two years ago” and, “Who wants a fat POOR boyfriend?” Because aren’t those the things that make relationships work; responsibility and independence? I felt like I was nineteen again and that I should be living back in the loft with the stained-glass windows. Five months later, I’m still in debt. But I see a light and it’s getting closer. Five cards have been wiped out. FIVE CREDIT CARDS. And I have two left. I know; seven cards in total...don‘t ask. I’m an idiot. That is all you need to know. |
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Determined