We started our new Japanese class tonight. It's 4 hours a week and it's hard as fu*k. Last semester was just learning to talk. This semester is learning to read and write. I'm considering auditing so I don't stress myself out too bad.
That was written on a t-shirt I saw at the mall today. I thought it was really funny. (Sorry Randi)
Then I had the blondest moment ever today while we were meeting with our loan officer. I had told him over the phone that my salary was a certain amount, and that I had just gotten a 3% cost of living increase, so I wasn't sure what my new annual salary worked out to be.
So at our meeting, I brought in my latest paycheck stub and we did the math and it turns out I actually make 26% more than I thought I was making. I think I actually squeeled when he told me what my gross annual income was. It was like finding a $20 bill in an old pair of jeans, only WAY better.
How the heck could I not have known this? Where the heck did this 26% increase come from? Did I get some raise I was unaware of? Is it some kind of mistake? Did my boss use the wrong salary table when he told me what my salary step was going to be? Is someone in HR screwing with me?
It was pretty obvious the loan officer thought I was a total idiot. Who doesn't calculate their hourly rate and then multiply it times the hours worked per year?? At the end of our meeting, he gave us a card for a financial planner and strongly suggested we start keeping better track of our finances. Now that we're going to be all grown up with a mortgage, I think I'm going to go ahead and follow that advice.
Our realtor works for a company called Realty Executives. It's weird though. Every time I read the sign, I think it saya Reality Executives. Like they're going to help you with executing your preferred reality or something.
Three different people sent me this study, which talks about why tall people make more money than average-sized people. According to the study, it's got nothing to do with our confidence or our dominating statures. It's actually just that we're smarter than everyone else. So there it is. You can't argue with science.
I think I'm the first person ever to quit Weightwatcher's before I ever even got started.
There's a group of people at my job that do Weightwatcher's meetings every Wednesday at lunchtime. I've been thinking lately that I could stand to lose a few pounds in my middle areas, so I decided to join the latest 10-week session (cost = $120).
So I had my "last fried zucchini" for breakfast this morning, and decided to go to the meeting at noon. As it got closer to the time though, I started to panic. How could I ever enjoy fried ice cream again, knowing how many "points" it was costing me? And what about sushi buffet? Sabritones? Taco Bell Mexican Pizza?? Dessert Diner??? Pie Contest????
When my friend came to get me for the meeting, I was actually pretty worked up. "I'm not going!" I yelled.
I rationalized my decision by saying that I'd instead use the money to buy a mini-fridge so I could make my own salads and sandwiches instead of eating fast-food for lunch every day. And that I really did need 2400 calories a day to survive, seeing as how I am 6-foot-5. And that all I really need to do is exercise more. So this will just be extra incentive. I don't need Weightwatchers, I can do it on my own!
So there you have it. I'm a Weightwatchers flunkee before I even started. At least I didn't have to lose $120 to figure it out.
Speaking of being neurotic about food, check out the latest picture of Nicole Ritchie out of Star Magazine.
Yeah, that really makes me want to stop eating my Sabritones. Uh-huh...
So my super-amazingly-fun-friend Megan F. holds a pie contest every year in her home in Sacramento. I was there for the first pie contest (I think it was the first one, anyway). And then the second. Every year, it's gotten bigger and bigger. Now it's a huge deal. Everyone comes and there are sooo many pies. Even if you have just a half-bite of each, you still leave with a huge stomach-ache, craving water and bacon (and anything else that might help your system dilute the sugar). But the tasting itself is heavenly, and therefore totally worth the stomach-ache...
So this year's Pie Contest is Sep. 17th. Megan F. suggested I fly up for it, and I accepted her invitation. I'm also going to see my law school buddies Megan S. and Rebecca, who both just got done with their respective world travels.
Back to the Pie Contest though. I need a recipe. One that's going to kick butt at this pie party. I've never even placed before. The closest I've come is being engaged to Brian when his cobbler won in the "That's Not a Pie" category. Megan S. has already thrown down the gauntlet and threatened to annihilate us with something from her Mormon-bred, from-scratch arsenal of recipes. I now turn to you, the citizens of Blogville to see if you can help me rise up and win the Pie Contest.
We met with a realtor today to discuss a reasonable price. Once we came up with one and he called to make an offer, the seller told him it was already in escrow. I cried. We already had the kitty garden all laid out in our minds. We were figuring out where the entertainment center would go and which way the bed would face. We envisioned our super-fun First Friday barbecues in our new, cute little backyard. My friend Megan says everyone has to have their heart broken by at least one house in their lifetime. I'm sure we'll call this one "the heartbreaker" for the rest of our lives.
We are putting in a back-up bid, just in case the other buyers punk out, but we don't expect anything to come from it. We don't even know how much they're buying it for.
I love magazines. One of my favorites is Real Simple. I really like a feature they run called New Uses For Everyday Things. They basically take an ordinary object, describe it's typical use, then give you ideas for a totally new, totally innovative "Aha! use" for the same object.
We had a problem recently in our main bathroom. The problem was this: We had tons of magazines but not enough floor space in the bathroom to comfortably house a magazine rack or basket. We searched for a small, wall-mounted rack, but everything we found was either too big for the 2-foot wall-space above the towel bar or too ugly to hang up. Here is how Brian finally solved the problem:
Object: Wine Rack Original Purpose: Storing wine Aha! Use: Compact and stylish magazine rack (The pic makes it look coppery, but it's really more like a brushed aluminum)
So we went househunting this weekend. Just to get our toes wet and see what's out there right now (it's supposedly a buyer's market). So we looked all over town - at old houses and new houses. One thing was made very clear very fast: all the homesellers in Vegas are on crack. $175 a square foot to live in the ghetto? Are you freaking joking me??
What we did not expect was to fall in love so quickly. We found an adorable house we love downtown. It's a foreclosure that got bought up by a developer and totally remodeled. They're asking $400,000 for a 2200 square foot house. Everyone we've talked to about it says the same thing: offer $300k and see what happens. So that's what we're doing. And apparently that's how it's done here. No wonder all the prices are so ridiculously inflated.
So yeah, we're making an offer on a house. Odds are we won't get it, but it's still weird to think it could potentially happen so quickly if the offer's accepted.
My favorite show right now - even moreso than Project Runway - is The Contender. This is super bizarre, right? Cuz the show is about BOXING (which I never knew I liked) and because it airs on ESPN (which I've never watched.) (Literally, never.) (Ever ever.)
So here's the thing about The Contender. I get so stressed out while watching it, i can barely finish an episode. I freak out Tom Cruise-style on my couch during the fight scenes.
Here's me watching an epidode:
"Oh no! No no no no no no! Don't hit him! Aye, don't hit him! Dodge! Dodge! Eek eek eek eek eek... AGH! Aye, no me peges!!! NOOO!! YES!! Hit him! Get him! Yeah, hit him again!! Knock him out! Knock his fuc*in' ass out! Oh! Ow, ow ow, don't hurt him!"
And then I cry. That's right, the damn show makes me cry, with its underdog story lines and its blaring hero music. You are a powerful and irrational master, Mark Burnett!!!
This week's episode was one of the most exciting to date. Ebo Elder, the sweet Christian fighter from Georgia, got knocked out in the fourth round after winning rounds one through three against his good friend. (Whose name escapes me because the episode wasn't edited in a way that would make me care about him. But anyway...) So Ebo's adorable 6-year-old is left weeping The winner is left sad and miserable in the locker room because he can't forgive himself for crushing his friend's dream. And Ebo gets taken away in an ambulance, but remains as sweet and as chipper as ever about the whole thing.
According to US Weekly, David Spade has officially changed his myspace dating status to "In a Relationship," which supports the theory that he is dating Heather Locklear. I wonder if that's how she found out he was really serious about her. (See David Spade's Myspace profile here.)
I just think it's funny after reading that and this article from BJ's blog that myspace has become such an effective means for dropping a hint.
The reason it's funny is because poor Rebecca's house has smelled like cat piss since she bought it. She came to find out that the reason why is because, prior to her owning it, the house was occupied by the neighborhood crazy cat lady and her hundreds of cats. It ended up having to be condemned and now poor Rebecca can't get the smell out of her house. So I saw the acton figure and thought she would like it for voodoo purposes or something.