ebaybaybay

Why have I waited so long to discover the goodness that is ebay????? I could kick myself at the thought of all the valuable treasures I have dropped off at savers,  just happy to get it out of my house, when all along, I could have been earning cold hard cash. I don't know what my problem was. I think the shipping is what scared me away. I was under the impression that I needed to somehow weigh the items I was selling and be precise and accurate and that it was just a whole bunch of trouble that I would not be able to deal with.  I think I also thought no one would buy anything from someone without a long history of feedback. I don't even know what I was thinking.

2 weeks ago I listed a marc jacobs bag. It was a bag I bought when I was angry at my husband for going to Oktoberfest in Germany with his friends. I saw it in Lord and Taylor, all shiny and unaffordable and completely unnecessary. I did not buy it at first, but I let my anger fester and build till the only solution for it was to go and purchase that bag. I have to admit that as cute as it was, it was bought under bad circumstances. It had bad vibes. Anyhoo, I listed it a week and a half ago. It wound up not selling, but it popped my ebay cherry and I was now free to go rummaging through my house like a crackhead looking for things to sell for my next fix.  I remembered the  horribly uncomfortable leopard skin peep toe pumps stored away in their original box on the top shelf of my closet. Someone might want those torture devices. They were cute, albeit painful. I know some people don't mind wearing uncomfortable shoes for the sake of looking adorable, but I am not one of those people. So I got my iPhone and snapped a few pics of them. I highlighted the bottoms, they had not even one scuff mark due to the fact that I might have hobbled maybe 25 feet tops in them. From the car to the restaurant and then from the restaurant to the car. 

Those wound up selling, proving that one person's trash (or painful instruments of torture) is another persons cute pair of pumps. I have to say, I really enjoy the whole process, there are so many elements that I love. I love deciding how much I would like. I like that I don't have to tell this to someones face, like at a garage sale. I like that no one hassles me or laughs at me and says 'are you nuts?' or 'could you do better like that ' or ' I will give you fifty cents for them'. You get to start the bid at any number. I am now conducting my own studies on what is most preferred- having a straight up number, like $20.00, or perhaps using the 'as seen on TV technique of adding $.99 to the end, or coin you go with $.50. Such decisions.Then, you get to decide if you want a reserve.  You pay for that security, but for some things, I have realized it's worth it. Or you could just throw caution to the wind and have no reserve.
Oh and the 'buy it now', do you settle for less? Cut your losses, or just make it a crazy high number and hope for the best? It's like a game of chess. 

Then, you get to obsessively check and see if anyone is watching your item. I just keep the page on my computer and refresh it ten million times a day.

Right now, I have 10 things for sale, one of them is the mangry marc jacobs bag. The rest are vera bradleys. Which my sister refers to as my old lady bags. I am not sure what I saw in them, but at one point I must have loved them hard because of I have so many of them. They were my reward that I unearthed when I cleaned out my closet last Sunday.

Then, if you have the app, you get a little sound letting you know that someone has entered the arena, and placed a bid. The best part is waiting till the last hour of the auction. That is when it's a real nail biter.

The whole thing just kind of makes me hand flap in anticipation. I am mad at myself for not discovering this sooner.

who are you

Perhaps I am having a midlife crisis, or maybe it's more of an awakening. I have been really going deep lately and I have come to terms with the fact that my life is changing. Rather, I am changing.

I used to be a a different person, before being someones wife and mother kicked the crap out of me. I was independent. I was funny, I was able to accomplish whatever I set my mind to. I have spend the last 11 years trying to get my mojo back, trying to find that person who used to be in there. I don't want to be the person I am right now.

I tried explaining this to the person I am married to. Somewhere along the line, I let peoples expectations of me dictate the kind of person I became. I think it was a slow moving process. But one day you wake up and realize you can't take another goddamn second of it. Needless to say, he has no concept of what I am talking about and just hears a complaining wife.

I don't want to be the type of person who defends myself. I don't want to be in a position to have to do that. I don't want to be around anyone who thinks I am doing it wrong. I am far from perfect.  Far far far. But even I in my depressive state know that I am my own worst critic. That is enough, I don't need the people close to me, who are supposed to love and support me, especially the person you marry, judging me. Nope. No siree, don't need that at all.

I know people don't change unless they want to. I know I have changed, first, for the worse, without realizing it, and now, in this new chapter, for the better.

We only have a limited time on this planet and even tomorrow is not guaranteed. I cannot live another second of my old self. I discovered recently that I like saying 'no'. It is so nice to say to the lady down the street, 'No, I can't watch your demonic child for 7 hours while you go to work, No, that won't work for me today'. I like speaking up for myself. The world won't crumble if someone is annoyed with me. I used to have a  huge problem with people not liking me. I suspect I will carry that one to my grave, but now, I am coming to terms with me liking myself is way more important. I am not a selfish person, I want to help the people I love and be there for them. I do not however want to help people who mean nothing to me, who expect it and think my time is theirs for the taking. No. Just no.

I don't want to settle. I really most truly want to be around people that get me, and that I in turn get and appreciate as well. I used to have people like that in my life. Somewhere along the line, I lost them.

First things first, it's a job. After 11 years at home I am returning to the work force. I know the odds are stacked against me. It's a shame too, imagine the world discounting all of the knowledge and experience one gains as a mother? Why don't we appreciate this more? I will not give up. I need to work on that focus, and not confuse drive with desperation. People can smell that from a mile away and it won't get me anywhere.

Heading to the post office to send out a bunch of fierce empowered cover letters. Be free my little darlings and go forth with positive energy and opportunity. I am envisioning little letters with wings on them, with golden auras. That should do the trick.

Slippery slope

I should be cleaning out my closet right now. Actually, it also involves unpacking. From a trip I got home from on July 10th. That's pretty bad. I am a reformed procrastinator, but every now and again, that part of my former self emerges, willful and proud. And defiant.

Today, I face the beast. Even before I went on the damn trip I went to bed bath and beyond in search of organizational salvation. I got a shoe shelf. I had already had a shoe shelf stuffed to three times max capacity, mostly with slippers. I am amassing quite an impressive collection of slippers. I can't seem to not buy slippers. At any rate, I had a dusty sad shelf that my 10 year old son used as a bench one day while playing hide and seek. I did not realize he sat on it, I thought maybe the weight of slippers and tom's and birkenstocks and other beautiful ,sexy footwear might have crushed it.

So, I opened up the box of the now dusty new shoe rack. For some odd reason, I assumed it would be a fold out type shelf, already assembled and ready to stick in the closet. I was sadly mistaken. Instead, out poured a bunch of metal rods, and weird shelf ends, and a bag of screws. And an instruction book. I had flashbacks of the ikea Poang chair. No. make it stop, no. That was not a memory I needed to revisit.

I can't read an instruction book without my glasses. So, I had to leave my messy room and come downstairs to get my glasses. And eat a large amount of watermelon. And check Facebook. And maybe play a game of candy crush. And just one cup of coffee.I think my rug needs to be vacuumed. And I need to go buy cold cuts for the upcoming week. Maybe I will call my mom.


I imagine living a stuff free life. In a small neat tidy space with only the bare essentials. How nice that would be. But then, I remember, the slippers. I am not sure I could part with my slippers. I am not sure I even have the energy to deal with sorting through all the crap I have accumulated in my 48 years on this earth.

I am going back upstairs. With my glasses. And a screwdriver. I will own you shoe shelf. You just watch yourself. Don't worry slippers, mama's building you a new house.

It's Hard Out There for Hypochondriac

I should be filling out my financial plea for desperation to the hospital right now. Instead, I will just procrastinate and sit here and worry about doing it. A couple of months ago , it was recommended by a doctor at the walk in clinic, that I go and get a fancy cardiac test. I was having trouble breathing. So, at that instant, he had me  convinced that death was imminent and if I survived the night, I would get myself to the hospital to get the test. Only I would drive myself to the emergency room,  I frantically white knuckled the wheel as I talked to myself the whole ride there.I was certain I was knocking on death's door.

Yes, the doctor told me to go to the emergency room, although while at the walk in clinic, all my vital signs were fine, I just had a hard time breathing. The doctor called ahead. I was told I was 'pre  registered'. Whatever the hell that meant. I thought it to mean that somehow I would not get banged for a trip to the e.r. and the subsequent influx of random medical bills flooding my mailbox for the rest of my life (however long that might be).
I sat there all day, got poked, prodded and abused by a nasty ass nurse who did not feel like running a line into my arm and instead used my hand even though they needed one in my arm. You know who you are, you evil evil lady. Amazingly enough, they found no explanation for my inability to breathe and gave me one random antibiotic pill from a z pac, and a nebulizer treatment and sent me on my way.
One day, the bill came. It sat unopened for a good week. One night, when I could not stand it any more, I opened it. It was for $27.31. Wow, I really dodged a bullet there, wow, someone up there likes me, wow, I worried for naught. I told my husband, I first made it sound like I had bad news about the bill, I know he was worried about it too. "I got that bill from the hospital", I said, all somber like. Then I said cheerily, 'it was only $27. 31'. 'See', I said,  'I told you they said it would be billed like  a regular office visit. Since, I was, ya know, pre certified and all.'  We laughed.

I stuffed that bill in my 'to pay' bin. I went on with my life.

Two weeks ago, we got home from vacation. A lovely vacation. The mailman brought the giant pile of mail that we had them hold. I rifled through it. And I saw it. Another letter from the hospital. I honestly thought it was just a 'friendly reminder' for the $27 bucks I put in that 'to pay' bin. I opened it. Just imagine someone punching you in the stomach, then pulling your hair and then throwing some cold water on your head. Go on, imagine it. That is what that invoice with $1260.00 printed on it did to me. Apparently my insurance paid  80% of the total, and I was responsible for the other 20%. What? Aw come on. Jeez. They told me it would not be like a hospital visit. This is going to suck. How am I going to tell my husband?????? I already felt like the biggest hypochondriac asshole for driving myself there and getting that dumb ass test that I did not really need. Why must the universe punish my self esteem even more with this disgraceful debt????? Panic. Sheer panic ensued.

I called my mother. She told me to write a letter. Not entirely comfortable with that, I called billing and with that faint hint of almost crying in my voice, I spoke to the lady and told her that this bill was completely out of my budget and I was not prepared for it. She agreed that it was high. She told me I could fill out a financial aid form and submit it and maybe  they would reduce it. Worse case scenario she said, I could set up a payment plan. Ok, ok I thought. I will fill out the form, I will write a letter, I will do whatever I can. I will fix this.

The form arrived the other day. It is pretty much a scavenger hunt from hell, asking for all kinds of documentation that I will have to tear my house apart looking for. I tried to find my husband's pay stubs, without letting him know why I was looking for them. That did not work. I found pay stubs from a job he had 10 years ago in a shoe box in my hoarders basement. But no current ones. I would bet my last cent that no one fills out this financial aid form because it's just too damn involved. Unfortunately, I had to fess up and ask my husband for his pay stubs and explain why I needed them. Thankfully, he was no where near as mean to me as I am to myself and he said to stop torturing myself. I will not stop torturing myself but I was thankful he responded in the way he was supposed to and it made me even more determined to fill out this Godforsaken form. I am going to include a letter as well.


What I would really like to say is:

Dear Billing Department,
Are you kidding me with this bill? My doctor told me to go in for a test, I went in for a test. If my doctor told me, 'go in for this $1200 dollar waste of the day that won't give you one good answer about your condition and you will be sent on your way with a bloody hand thanks to an asshole nurse and one stupid antibiotic pill' I would  have given the whole endeavor a little more thought.
While I am very thankful that  my cardiovascular system is running smoothly, I kind of think this test was not necessary and I was lead to believe that it was. I do not want to pay this at all. I don't have the funds to pay it in full and I don't want to be reminded of this stupid fiasco each month when $25.00 is taken out of my checking account for the next 20 years.

Can you just be a dear and make this go away? I am a nice person, I let people go ahead of me in the supermarket when they only have 2 items. I put my shopping cart away. I don't litter. Come on, just do this one little favor for me?
Thanks,
Your favorite little hypochondriac



edited to add: I could not breathe because I had anemia. FYI, anemia makes it hard for you to breathe.