Happy Birthday to Me!

Today is my birthday. I am 31 years old. What a strange age. There’s no going back now. The twenties are utterly and completely gone. I really liked 30. It seemed like such a nice age (though it was difficult getting through it since it was my last months in Thailand). Now, I’m just 31. How boring.

Last night I reached a special point. I was reading this article on people who have come to live in NY (forever), and the writer made a comment to the effect that at some point, everyone ends up on their bathroom floor crying. Bah! Not me! I don't even cry that much and I'm made of concrete.

Bah, indeed. Guess what I was doing last night? It was right before my birthday (I was born four minutes after midnight and often kind of look forward to that moment), and I was doing some online stuff, like checking on my one remaining credit card bill (I have in recent years paid off all other EIGHT credit cards I once had). I knew I was late with my American Express bill, for the first time in years, but it couldn’t be helped seeing as how I am gainfully UNemployed and doing anything the temp agency throws at me to make rent and keep myself in potatoes. I was noticing how my balance had skyrocketed (no fucking surprise, fucking credit card companies), and then I saw that the “late fee” was $35.00. THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS! With all this talk from the politicians, why isn’t anyone DOING something about this??? It’s fucking criminal. And you know there’s no rich people suffering such a fine, it’s the people who couldn’t scrounge enough cash to make their minimum payment in the first place. If I couldn’t make my $50 payment, how am I supposed to make another $35? Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? It’s so sinister it just erupted into a wave of malice that washed over me and choked me up. Not wanting to look like a weepy girl in front of my roommate (I have already cried in front of him once which was humiliating enough), I retreated to the bathroom where I let it out. I was overwhelmed that in minutes I was turning 31 (not old, but certainly not fresh and young neither), and that I was a) unemployed, b) totally broke, and c) back into my spiraling credit card debt that I had triumphantly crawled out of inch by inch through my paychecks in Thailand. The feeling of helplessness when you know you’re being totally fucked and there is NOTHING you can do about it is almost more than I can bear at times. It’s not like you can complain to the Better Business Bureau. It’s not like a policeman will show up at their door and tell them to cut that shit out. You just have to find like $150 for your next payment in 28 days (they don’t even give you 30, which screws things up if you’re paid once a month), so you can pay for the minimum balance from last month and this month, the late fees, and the new and higher interest all coming at you like some sort of Odyssesian Hydra.

I hate credit cards. I love them too. I hate this one, but I’ll never be able to get rid of it, because even if I pay it off, I’ll need a credit card just to get that Blockbuster or gym membership or WHATEVER that requires a “credit card, not debit.” *SIGH* No one is going to give me a new one (I was hoping Citibank would, but forget it now), despite my heroic destruction and fully-paid balances on the eight others. I’m going to be stuck with this crappy AmEx forever.

Anyway, that was last night, and today I am better, though still broke and after tomorrow, once again without even temp work. For the moment, I twiddle my thumbs away in the World’s Most Boring Job Ever. It’s my office job that pays really good money, but collectively, has about 45 minutes of basic clerical work for the eight hours I sit at this desk (nine hours if you include your lunch break). I know I should be more grateful, since it does pay well, but I hate to be so idle. I would rather be sitting here typing (which I am obviously doing right now), even some boring report or whatever. I enjoy being busy and doing good work. Luckily, there is just ONE more hour left, and then I can flee to home home home! Wonderful apartment.

And tonight my roommate is doing something pretty great – he’s taking me out to dinner to somewhere very nice. I actually feel really uncomfortable about it (when money’s involved, I always turn into a self-deprecating Catholic priest), but this is one of those things I’m trying to change about myself -- Accept gifts graciously. Enjoy them without feeling immense guilt at the money that was spent for them. Feel worthy of such a gift, etc. It’s not that I really feel unworthy, I was just raised, in a very strict manner, that money was something we didn’t have, we didn’t want anyone to know we didn’t have, and to make sure not to take dime from anyone else. It’s bad bad bad! Yeah, it fucked me up good.

So, tonight we go to Tavern on the Green and I’m going to love it! And order a salad.