Saturday, August 25, 2012

People Watching Episode 1: Unsuccessful Mother


I should have titled this post ‘Bad Mother’ but I felt ‘Unsuccessful’ was the better word choice. 
I have a feeling that once we hit the year 2000 it became completely unacceptable to smack a child upside the head in public for being a piece of shit. I remember going to the grocery store as a wee one and I would always hear kids screaming. I’m not sure why they were screaming, I just assumed it was one of the common sounds of the grocery store. One day, I decided to let out a scream as well (for no apparent reason) and my dad smacked me upside the head like a good father should. The pain paired with everyone laughing at me was a good enough reason to never scream in the grocery store (Or any other other store for that matter) ever again.
Fast forward to yesterday. My co-worker and I were brooding about how some moron set of parents allowed their child to violate a 165$ dollar wheel of some fancy brie cheese. (They picked it off the shelf and stomped on it. What kind of 3 year old still thinks this is appropriate behavior? One raised by dirty old passive hippies, that’s who.) 
While he was trying to salvage what had not been ruined, we heard a roar from the bowels of hell. Another three year old came screaming into the door. We thought the mom would be close behind, but no, she was playing the ‘if I ignore my child’s bad behaviors, they will stop.’ game. Well, she ignored him for a good 10 minutes, and his blood curdling red-in-the-face screaming continued. By the time she had reached checkout, the child was ripping things off the shelves, kicking other customers and ramming carts into people and shelves alike. Once they had left the store (and of course the mother refused to take any responsibility, or make her child take any responsibility for that matter…) our manager rushed to the security camera room to see if the mother would do anything about it out of the eyes of the judgmental natural foods shoppers in the parking lot. Apparently, she gave her child a fucking cookie.
WHAT. THE. FUCK. LADY. 
Do you know what kind of person your son will grow up to be if you reward that kind of shit with fucking cookies? The kind of person who you probably bitch about on a daily basis to your passive aggressive husband! But of course, the double edged sword to this matter was that if this woman decided to appropriately smack her child upside the head and explain to him why he was getting his ass beat (Or at least leave his stupid ass in her hot Subaru with the windows cracked) Some stuffy activist would have called the police on her and she would been arrested for ‘child abuse’.
There used a fine line between child abuse and punishing your child. When I was a youngin’, I knew my place. My parents provided for me, and when I stepped out of line, my favorite things would be taken away. If I really stepped out of line and showed disrespect, then my parents would disrespect me upside the head. Now a days, I have teacher friends calling child protective services because their student refused to eat the dinner that was put in front of him and the parents didn’t jump at their beck and call to make macaroni and cheese. “You can’t let your own child go hungry!” wailed my naive teacher friend. Well, if my child is being an ungrateful piece of shit comfort food fiend he totally can.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Gluten Free Month: The Biggest Farce of the Decade

September has been dubbed 'Gluten-Free Month!' Do you even know what gluten is? Most people don’t, so before I start the rant about all the morons who ask me if pickles and lettuce have gluten in them, here is a dictionary definition:


Gluten: NOUN! A substance present in cereal grains, especially wheat, that is responsible for the elastic texture of dough. A mixture of two proteins, it causes illness in people who have celiac disease. (And people who have a wheat/grain allergy)
A year or two ago, all the people (usually overweight people and moms who like to shame other moms who choose not to breastfeed) who relentlessly asked me if random products contained pomegranate or acai berries in them started asking me if random products were gluten free. (“Do these apples contain gluten?”) I would always follow their questions with “Do you have celiac disease or a wheat allergy?” 9 out of 10 times they would say no, so I asked them why they needed something to be gluten free. They always answered with:
“My doctor told me to stop eating gluten and I’ve been losing weight! Or for the stay at home slave moms: Gluten causes autism/ADHD/donkey ears.”
Now, your weight loss couldn’t be possibly attributed to the fact that you now pay attention to what you stuff in your pie hole, would it? Instead of a bag of potato chips you now eat a bag of rice cakes and/or carrot chips? Were you aware that potato chips don’t have gluten either you fat fuck? I usually think they’re full of shit anyway. “I’ve already lost 4 pounds!” Well, lady, my anorexic ass can lose 4 pounds too, and I can eat all the gluten I want in the process. (Okay maybe not all the gluten I want. But I can have bread in the morning and not eat all day and drink nothing but gatorade. 4 pounds? See ya later. Maybe tomorrow night even you 4 fluctuating bastard pounds.)
And for all you moms who are trying to be gluten free because you think your child will get ADHD or autism, hear me out. Your kid is fucking four. He’s going to be doing A LOT of weird shit and its not because he was 'eating gluten’. He’s not sitting still at preschool? Well, he is four. A few decades ago it was the norm for 4 year olds to be tearing around outdoors or indoors, but you insist because he doesn’t feel like sitting through a 45 minute dinner where you and daddy talk about finances, he MUST have ADHD. And don’t even get me started on the whole autism craze. Your kid can’t socialize? I’m sure it’s not because he was raised in some closed off environment where mom referred to herself in the third person in a baby voice all the time. “Mommy needs a latte so it's time for Philip to go sleepy sleeps.” (These are the same people who failed miserably to teach their kid any manners.)
Gluten isn’t bad for you. Its not fantastic for you either. Its just kind of there, like a lot of things in this world. (Mayors, internet, pickles, Greenland) It probably causes cancer, like everything else does, too. 
If a doctor tells you to go gluten free, ask them why. If the answer is anything but ‘you have celiacs disease/grain allergy’ Then they are probably going to keep talking and charge you an extra 200$ for sitting there and being ‘consulted’. Leave immediately and eat some bread.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Creepers Episode 3: The Long Haired Creeps


Once again, in a land far far away in the desolate midwest, I encountered another creep. I guess he wasn’t THAT creepy to me, but to the naked eye he was off the creep charts.
I had not seen this young man in awhile, he was a friend of a friend’s. Him and his other long haired creep companions invited my friend and I to their… ‘studio’. I’m pretty sure they had become heroin addicts at this point, but that’s normal in the midwest. People get really bored and depressed and wonder why summer went away. Anyway. The events unfolded as such:
Phase 1: Black Sabbath.
Upon arrival, the long haired brigade went into a female induced tizzy. They didn’t understand why we had come. (To enjoy their odd company of course… and they invited us…) So they decided to turn on some music. And as good little long haired creeps should, they decided to first soften our eardrums by blasting Black Sabbath at us. (Small room. Large stereo. Back to 1973 we go!) My friend and I pretended that we enjoyed going deaf, while the three wise men stared at the wall, occasionally making a weird squinty orgasm face that looked like it was followed with a ‘sense of accomplishment’ face. Half way through ‘Master of Reality’, they turned off the stereo.
Phase 2: Playing guitar.
One of the creeps had shut off the stereo. He NEEDED to play guitar. So we all sat in silence and pretended we liked his acoustic noodling. It ended after he dropped his lit cigarette through one of his pant holes.
Phase 3: Heavy Flow
The acoustic noodling opened a Pandora’s box, and suddenly the three creeps were scrambling around the room and turning on all the amps and the subwoofers. Uh oh. They turned all the dials to ‘loss of bowel control bass’ and started to play. It sounded heavy. It had a flow. It was like the soundtrack to my period. I tried to tell my friend this, but of course we could hear nothing over the bass, and suddenly she just started yelling heavy flow at the musicians. They stopped playing and she was still screaming “HEAVY FLOW! HEAVY FLOW!”
“Hey man. Isn’t that like… a tampon vocabulary… thing?”
“Nope…”
Phase 4: Lady's Turn.
I snatched the drumsticks away from the elfish looking dude and my friend wrangled a bass away from the 95 pound weakling and we began to jam at them, see how they liked it. They went to bathroom to shoot up. ‘How rude!’ my friend exclaimed. They came back and were somehow under the impression that I was this fantastic drummer. (It’s pretty easy to play drums ‘heavy flow’ style…)
We got bored. We left.
Phase 5: The Unique Proposition.
My creep texted me later that night. His text read:
“Hey girl lemme play yo pussy like a trombone”
Sigh.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Creepers: Episode 2.2: The Beautiful Creep Makes a Move


I’m sure those of you who have read my other posts came across Creepers: Episode 2, the story of the gorgeous man who turned out to be more looney than a toon. Of course, I didn’t learn my lesson, so I went to hang out with him again.
Let’s begin our story with the fact that he texted me before 9am on a winter vacation day. Why any 20 year old guy would be up booty calling at 9am is beyond me. Hey freak don’t you know the sun out? Go back into your man cave until winter grants us a 4pm sunset.
Of course, upon arrival, our friend the gorgeous creep opened the door to let me in and before it even closed he had bolted to his bedroom. He was still in his short shorts pajama ensemble, and I’d imagine since it was now 10am and no one puts pajamas back on after a shower, his balls were still itchy.
We did some morning baking, and once we were all baked out we just sat there awkwardly, staring at the television, which was off. (I don’t mind awkward. In fact, I live for uncomfortable situations.) He toyed with his nuts while I poked around his DVD collection. The sun was out so I suggested we go for a walk and bake elsewhere. Judging by his famous ‘I may just shit my pants right now’ expression, that was going to be a big fat NO.
I sighed and poked around in my purse, hoping one of my ladies had texted me to hang out so I wouldn’t have to tell him the hurtful truth: ‘I’m bored and you haven’t made a move so I want to leave.’ When, suddenly, he spoke!
Him: “Sooooooooo… would you like to…….. give………. me a blow job?”
I honestly thought I was hearing things. No one actually comes out and says this to a woman, do they? I say nothing and look over at him and the ‘I just shit my pants’ expression crawls across his gorgeous face when suddenly, he blurts:
“I’M SORRY I CAN’T GO DOWN ON WOMEN!!”
What on earth is this man babbling about?! Convinced this was too goofy to be real, I closed my eyes and pondered if I should bolt out the door or jump out the window. Which exit would wake me up from this nightmare quicker? When I opened them, he was two inches away from my face with his eyes slit, mouth parted, and his tongue peeking out. I yelped like a lap dog and uncoiled from the position I was sitting in rather quickly, which launched him far far away to the other side of his shoe box room. I couldn’t help but wonder what his illusive brother thought of all this while he hid behind closed doors in the room next to us. (Never saw his brother. Heard him snoring once…at 6 pm… That was it.)
I informed him that it was time for me to go. (My excuse was that I wanted a sandwich, and he obviously did not have enough ingredients for me) He got all pissy-pants and said ‘See you next time!’
Unfortunately, this was the last time I would visit him. He had a few fights with himself in my texting inbox a few times after this however…
Find the first part of this story here!

Sunday, August 12, 2012

All Things Egg Whites: The Farce and its Victims


Hey ya’ll, Pippi Longstocking here, natural foods connisuere. I have a public service announcement for all you self proclaimed health freaks that get your granny panties in a bunch when you can’t get your egg goods yolk free: YOU’VE BEEN LIED TO. EGG WHITE CRAZE =FARCE!
Long ago, I was at a resort with my parents in Mexico. They had a glorious buffet with fruit animal sculptures and a jillion different kinds of bread rolls. In the morning they also had a bunch of Mexican chefs making omelets with fresh eggs and fresh ingredients and a tip jar. Naturally, everyone was drawn to the omelet line, and the chefs worked as quickly as they could to give everyone their omelets.
One busy morning, my dad and I were in line to get, you guessed it, omelets. (more like NOMlets!) It was almost our turn, and then the lady in front of us made the ‘EGG WHITES ONLY!’ request. The Mexican chef gave her a look of befuddled-ness. Her next words were ‘Do you speak English?’ Well, duh lady. The man deals with fat fuck Americans like you everyday. He knows more English than you probably do. And the reason he looks confused is because nobody in their right mind would order only egg whites. Am I saying that all people who order egg whites aren’t in their right mind? You betcha. Ya’ll are mentally challenged. Anyway, bottom line is that this poor chef had to sit there separating yolks from whites for an extra 3 minutes with a tiny spoon. The woman said he didn’t do it right and had him do it again. The line behind us fades away and the poor chef probably lost 30$ in tips because this tubby bitch wants a nutrient free breakfast instead of breaking a sweat to lose some actual weight. (luckily, Mexican Chef took note and I’m sure her food and drink were fucked with for the remainder of her vacation.)
Fast forward to this morning at work. I was helping the new girl make cage-antibiotic-pesticide-free free-range breakfast sandwiches. (Eggs, cheese, sausage or bacon… the usual. Dirty hippie approved.) After getting her set up, I go back to my gluten free baking nonsense when I hear a customer giving her the business. I come back from my tapioca flour powder puff fest and here is some crusty white hipster whining about how we ‘never have egg white anything, like, EVER!’ I tell her its because we are not allowed to make foods devoid of nutrients. She looks at me like I just told her that her deer antler chest tattoo is a piece of flaming shit. She scowls and buys one anyway. (Winning.)
And yes, it is true that egg whites have way fewer calories than a whole eggs. But who needs energy to burn, right? You can just eat your egg whites and flop over on the couch and do nothing all day because you’re tired and your breakfast sucked.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

I Avoided The Freshman 15 (The rest of my dorm did… not.)


My first semester of college was fake. It had to be, I felt like I was stuck on a country bumpkin midwest version of ‘The Hills’. Not only did it feel like that, but majority of the girls who lived on my floor had actually gone to the extremes of OWNING ‘The Hills’ on DVD.
Anyway, all the chicks on my floor came from another planet that was probably populated by other droids like themselves. They all tanned in between the hours of 2-6pm, they wore nothing but Victoria’s Secret sweatsuits, and they all had skunk hair. (Skunk Hair: a dye job consisting of both black/brunette and platinum blonde) These girls were always nice to my face but behind closed doors they liked to use their outdoor voice and turn up cross-over-pop-country really loud. (Or god forbid the ‘superman that hoe’ song)
Another thing that these chicks found difficult was healthy eating habits. I really don’t understand how someone can eat nothing but Easy Mac, pizza, Oreos and beer for more than three days and not blow up of constipation. (Or just blow up for the sake of blowing up) They were always running to the ‘community room’ to use the microwave because low and behold their room mate was using their microwave to nuke some other starch parfait. I don’t want to admit that I was the ‘Girl who hates beer and picks at a salad with her other sneery friend’ but I was indeed the ’Girl who hates beer and picks at a salad with her other sneery friend’.
That’s exactly how I avoided gaining any weight my freshman year. And all the years after that. I had a sour elitist attitude and would flaunt my salad eating in front of all the fake bakin’ bitches. I’d parade around in the halls crunching on carrots with my mouth open like a moo cow. (Crunch Crunch Crunch over all that shitty country music!) Sometimes, I would just stand outside of these girls doors during sleeping hours and eat carrots, and when I heard them rustling around I’d bolt away like a complete loon. My crowning moment of healthy treating was when all the good looking boys flocked to my room one weekend because I was giving out rice cakes and Nutella. The girls didn’t know about the rice cakes, they thought I was just giving out pussy. (Oh yeah, me and my high standards are hanging out in my room getting triple teamed by all these polo shirt collar poppin’ virgins.)
The other trick? Not drinking beer. Or drinking an entire bottle of vodka over the course of two nights. Little did these dumb bitches know that every shot they took was 200+ calories. By the end of my first semester, all these hot to trot ladies now looked like kegs with legs. Tall and short chicks alike, everyone but me was rocking an awesome beer gut. Except for that one girl who didn’t know she was six months pregnant. (I kid you not, the girl had no clue… She could have been on that ridiculous ‘I didn’t know I was pregnant’ show on Comedy Central. Oops I mean TLC)
One last thing. Citrus water. In the cafeteria they had these huge jugs of ice water that had lemons or limes or oranges or grapefruits in them. I’m not sure how many people are aware of this, but citrus water does some serious appetite diminishing. I’d go roaring into the buffet line with the munchies of a manly man but my beast was always calmed by the giant glistening jugs of citrus water. (In fact, most hunger stems from dehydration. To avoid over eating, drink some fluids first and wait awhile. Still hungry? Then go eat dammit!)

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Creepers: Episode 2. The Beautiful Creep


I have a problem. I seem to attract weirdos whenever I venture into public or if I dare to start up a conversation with a stranger.
Rewind. I am sitting in a pointless general education class. (General Education Class: A more expensive version of the same exact class you took your junior year of high school) I always sit by the back window. That way I can watch what’s happening outside AND I can watch the back of everyone’s heads. There is one particular head I liked to watch, and that was because it was attached to these amazing muscular shoulders and on the other side was the face of a mythical god.
As weeks went by this gorgeous being attempted to talk to me but at the time I thought his horrible social skills were just due to shy-ness… or nervousness… never in a million years did I think this dude would turn out to be probably the most bat shitters person I ever agreed to hang out with.
Phase 1: Dude invites me over to his house for some innocent Lutheran fun. This somehow includes:
Upon arrival, he was wearing short shorts. I’m not sure if they were supposed to be posed as boxers or what. He bolts straight to his room and flops on his bed. (smooth move asshole) I quietly sit on a chair in the corner. He rolls over and begins playing with his balls. This happens on and off through out this creep encounter.
Watching him play Minesweeper (That game that comes default on most windows computers… Who even plays Minesweeper? Avidly?!)
Watching him watch some weird stadium inauguration that he made it apparent he was very upset about missing.
Finally, I called him out on his shenanigans. “Hey man, I’m your guest and you're making me sit here and watch you play fucking MINESWEEPER. At least be more obvious about your rudeness and play Solitaire or some shit!”
After this I had obviously flustered the young man. I asked him (honestly) if he had a hint of some sort of social disorder. He got really mad and flustered about that question and informed me he was burning a CD. I asked if I could decorate the CD, he looked at me as if I had just pinched his mother’s butt.
After the CD was ready to burn, he thrust his laptop at me and said I could play Minesweeper. He left the room and I started playing Hearts. He came back snatched his lap top away and left the room again, leaving me sitting there wondering if I was having some funky erotic dream.
A minute later he pokes his head into the room, and this is how our endeavors came to a close for the day:

Him: “I need to make a sandwich.”
Me: “Okay.” (After my response his eyes bug out like I just kicked his dog.)
Him: “I’m. Making. Myself. A. Sandwich.”
Me: “Do you need help or something?”
Him: “NO. I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH INGREDIENTS  FOR YOU!”
Me: “Oh that’s okay I don’t want a sandwich…” (Like I’d ever eat a sandwich from this crack pot.) At this point, the man looks as if he is about the shit his pants in frustration.
Him: “YOU HAVE TO LEAVE!!!!!!!!!!”

Now why didn’t he just say that in the first place? Or the real question, why didn’t I do that myself earlier?
There are more stories from this fella. Ya’ll just wait.

Monday, August 6, 2012

Choosing Your College Major: A Shot in the Dark


It took me 5 long years of college to finally graduate. There were two reasons it took me an extra year. The first reason is that I transferred colleges. The second reason is that Concordia University turned out to be pretty fucking shady for a puny ass goodie two shoes private Lutheran college. (Where did all the faculty go? I suddenly have no advisor? Guess I’ll have to take two extra semesters of hot air.)
Luckily, it was not because I changed my major. I started out as an Art Education major because I had this dippy hippie idea of being a high school art teacher. After my second year of college  I realized that most schools made dramatic cuts to their art departments because it’s much more important for football players to have a good assortment of spandex pants to choose from as opposed to a variety of electives for the whole student body. I still liked to idea of summer vacation so I went with a general education major instead. I took all the fancy pants art credits and piled them into a studio art minor.
My dear cousin is heading off to college in the fall and my family has hopped on the panic wagon. “WHAT IS YOUR MAJOR GOING TO BE?! WHAT WILL YOU CHOOSE? YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE THE RIGHT ONE SO YOU DON’T END UP A SUPER SENIOR LIKE YOUR OLDER COUSIN WHO DOES NOTHING BUT BITCH AND BLOG!!” Luckily I was able to give her this piece of advice.
It doesn’t matter what major you choose. College is a big waste of time and money. Sooner or later you will choose a major and the only trick is figuring out how many careers you can bullshit that major into.
Example: Biology. What can you do with this major? You could be… a farmer… one of those disagreeable people who works for the DNR… (Heck, you could probably even work for the DMV) creepy summer camp director… cashier… working for some random company that has you do nothing but data entry all day… licensed daycare provider… owner of an ice cream parlor… shredding papers for a lawyer who pays you an oddly high hourly wage…do you see a pattern here? 
Choosing a major doesn’t guarantee you shit. All those top ten of the class idiots from my high school are sitting around jobless with their engineering degrees because they fell into the ‘science and engineering’ jobs make loads of cash gimmick. (they are also jobless because they think they are too good to be squandering their so-called smarts at a blue-collar job. Have fun in mom’s basement!) 
In fact, my friend who dropped out of college is currently making big fat stripper wads of cash by creating various anime porn websites. Who knew!
Choosing a major? Fear not. In America, selling yourself takes priority over what skills you actually possess. Oh, and so does out sourcing to China and India.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Juice Cleanse: The Farce and its Victims.


As mentioned, I am a ‘Natural Foods Connoisseur’. My current employment requires this so they have their own certifying program. That means I get to sit through lectures about the odds and ends of homeopathy, poopy soy products, and why it’s always important for a chicken to be happy and cage-free before you slaughter it. (You also shouldn’t put eggs in cages because apparently cage-free eggs are MUCH better for you, me, and our pal earth.)
Phase 1: On the sales floor, it’s my job to educate customers and eventually get them to purchase some unnecessary  wellness product or some overpriced free-range rib eye steaks. Lately, my education efforts have gone towards these rather rotund women on some weird ‘juice’ cleanse where the juice is actually lemon water, honey and cayenne pepper. They usually use the “I’m just doing this to be healthier.” Line, when I think it may just translate to “I am a fat and frequently try fad diets.”
Phase 2: The lemon-honey-cayenne-water will do nothing except MAYBE cleanse a few organs. Otherwise, if you aren’t eating anything with it, you become irritable and unpleasant and no one wants to be your friend. My next step is to convince the customer to buy an actual fresh juice which is made by shoving vegetables through this huge scary loud juicer that is near impossible to clean. (Beats… apples… carrots…lemons… cucumber…etc.)
Phase 3: Although the fresh juiced juice that I made for this poor gullible woman is now packed with 20 times more nutrients than her wannabe-tea concoction, she is still losing out on some valuable calorie burning. She could have just eaten the 2 pounds of produce I put through the juicer and had almost two meals worth. And because they would have been whole vegetables and fruits, her body would have burned more calories eating/digesting them than it just did slurping the 7$ juice down. (If there are red beats in the juice, their poop will be pink.)
Because I do not know the names of the countless women and men who do this everyday (Spend 7$ on a puny cup of juice…) I must hope they stumble upon this post and never fall for the fresh juice farce ever again.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Creepers: Episode 1. An Introduction to my Creep-fest.


Before I begin I should make one thing clear: I HATE when people visit me while I am at work. I am usually in situations where I am being paid to a shit load of mundane tasks and chatting about them as a feeble attempt at small talk is not one of them. If you happen to see me, a simple 'Hello!' will suffice.
My jobs always include some sort of customer service, AKA, dealing with people. I use my 'work voice' (my stranger voice) which is friendly and misleading, because my real voice is too mumbly jumbly for anyone to understand.
This 'voice' that I must resort to using misleads old creepy men into thinking I am totally interested in every last dull creepy thing they have to say to me, causing them to linger and in turn causing me to laugh uncomfortably which IN TURN causes them to call up my place of employment posing as my dead grandpa wondering what my address is so they can 'send me gifts.' The biggest thing that gets me deep creeped is probably my uncomfortable laugh, which leads me to make this point:
Men, boys, dudes, and creeps alike: If a woman is laughing during a conversation with you, there is only about a 20% chance that it is a SINCERE laugh. The other 80% of laughs are either out of total and utter discomfort ("Does he not realize that I am here, in the park, reading alone because I WANT TO BE FUCKING LEFT ALONE?) or out of politeness ("I am thankful that I am talking to this nice young man in the sweater vest as opposed to the herd of leering bros who think its totally okay to shave off all of their body hair and go 'woooo!' every 30 seconds.)
Of course there's always my "I love you mr. boyfriend but I think you said a joke and I am not paying any attention to you because I am playing Peggle so I will let out a chuckle. What's that? Your mom lied to you about having diabetes? Oh. Never mind."
Anyway, even without my awkward laugh, my stupid 'work' voice, and my boyfriend hovering over me, I still manage to get creeped on. These are my stories.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Savings 101: The Stripper Cash Wad.



Money saving is held dear to my heart because I am deathly afraid of inflation. I understand that I will probably never come close to owning the fancy things my parents did (Nice house, cabin, sappy daughter who went to college) With the way inflation seems to be going, I may own a small house or a cabin with no plumbing, or perhaps a nice waterproof tent.
However, things could work themselves out since I am not in debt and have no student loans. If I spend/save wisely I should be fine, right?!?!
Well, I don’t know the answer to that since I am just a fresh faced 22 year old with the sun shining out of my bum. BUT! I am going to share a savings technique with you that will put all of my frugal jewish friends to shame. I call it: My big fat stripper wad of cash.
Step 1: only use cash when buying ANYTHING and everything. I only make two exceptions: 1. the gas pump. I hate paying inside only to find I have a 7/8ths full tank. 2. The grocery store. (simply because I hate fumbling around with cash while I watch my english muffin bread get smashed by the onslaught of lean cuisines and my gallon bucket of ice cream that come roaring down the conveyor belt)
Step 2: When using cash, every time you get 1$’s you must filter them out and put them into… A GIGANTIC WAD OF 1′s. You know, like that strippers have at the end of a night of butt bouncing. Do not spend these $1′s if you have them on you. Spend a five or ten instead. Whats that? You ran out of a money? Then maybe you should have been spending a little more wisely instead of being tricked into some 2 for 1 deodorant deal where the deodorants turned out to be little travel sized punks.
Step 3: watch the wad grow. After Starting one at the beginning of June, I now have 127$ chilling in a big fat wad. More money if you count all the loose change I also refuse to spend. I’ve also found that this method makes me spend more wisely. Who knew.
How fast can your stripper wad grow? How many days does it take you to accumulate 100$ in George Washingtons?