Rock Bottom

I could choke on this post because it's killing me to be in this position.  But here goes - if you've ever thought you might want to donate a little to this blog, now would be a really good time to do so.  Because those lights?  And the power making the refrigerator stay cold?  Yeah, they become wildly important when you don't have them any more.

This month has turned into a nightmare and the little minimum wage job I thought I had turned out not to be so.  The scheduling made it impossible.

Donations are being accepted via paypal on the sidebar.  If you'd like something in exchange for your generosity, just let me know.  And no, I'm not giving out sexual favors.  Unless expenses are paid, of course*.

Or you could purchase something from the ebay page I'm now populating with all kinds of MathMan and Lisa stuff.

Thank you, you guys.  I have to go throw up now.

It's a Gas, Gas, Gas....

Good morning.  I'm sitting here bracing for an exhilarating shower while you're sitting there all snug in your office, kitchen, bedroom, parents' basement, bomb shelter, right?

The Goldens didn't pay their gas bill on time.  Talk about nasty surprises.

We discovered this bad bit of business last night when Chloe tried to make some pasta on the uncooperative stovetop.  Tick tick tick, IGNITE! go out. 

So perhaps it's no surprise at all.  It would help if we'd gotten some sort of disconnect notice, though.

As it was, we each had all night to consider the back to nature joys of a cold shower.  I believe Joan Crawford was a fan of the cold shower.  Better for the skin and all that....

Not that I want to use Joan Crawford for a role model or anything.  I mean, there was that questionable business with the wire hangers and she was a fan of Pepsi, not Coke.  Here in Georgia, Co'Cola is the state drink (with or without the moonshine chaser).

Because perspective is of the utmost importance, I shall think about how this little speck of trouble fits into the broad scheme of human experience.  This is when I roll out the Pioneer Living Scale with 1 being "I'm not whining about a minor inconvenience, I'm simply noting that I've noticed the difference between now and then" to 10 being "At least we don't have to dig a hole in the meadow where we can bury our dead." So this is what?  A 1?  Maybe a 2?  Nah, a 1.  It's a cold shower, for heaven's sake, not an amputation or the roof of the lean-to caving in during a blizzard in June.

It could be worse, of course.  It could always be worse.  My soap is not made of lye and fat butchered from my favorite cow and, what's more, when I've toweled off and turned back to pink from blue, I'll just stroll right back into my well-appointed home office and be grateful that I won't have to waste fifteen minutes surfing porn (to take the edge off, you know) before my mind is clear so I can get busy writing.

Perspective.

How was your shower today?

The In Which I Wish We HAD Gotten the Lexus, the Mini and the Hummer

MathMan and I paid a visit to our bankruptcy attorney this morning.  It seems that the Bankruptcy Court is serious about us making payments for our Chapter 13.  For those unschooled on the differences between types of bankruptcy (lucky, smart you!), here's the simple diff....Chapter 7 means you've cleared the decks and are free of your debts.  Except for student loans (cough, cough). They are rarely, if ever, included in bankruptcies.  Chapter 13 means your creditors can no longer call and harass your ass, but they're going to get their pound of flesh from you no matter what, as much as they can, not just what you spent, but all those fees and punishments that cost in the $35 per whack rang.  It's not nearly as much fun as it sounds.

A few years ago, Congress teamed up with the big creditor banks and rewrote the bankruptcy law.  It is now quite difficult to qualify for a Chapter 7 so here we are.  Except.....

The Chapter 13 was based on our old income.  And we're now minus two thirds of my salary.  Which is significant.  And since we've had to use our money for thing like health insurance, rent, food, phones, utilities, auto insurance and gasoline, well, that just doesn't leave much to send to the Court.  We were advised a couple of months ago to pay ourselves first, and make whatever payments we could.  Which amounted to nothing because we needed a new clutch on a car, had to pay a housing deposit for college, assorted other shit comes up and then this month we had taxes to pay because when we lost our house, the mortgage interest deduction went with it.


We have a plan now for what to do next.  We're going to have to refile, but my severance pay (which is long gone) is still fucking up the numbers.  Stupid averages.  First up though, we have to pay the Court something.  Oh.  We discussed this on the way home.  So fine, we pay the Court their $900, but then what?  How do we buy food and gasoline, pay utilities, insurance, etc.  We brainstormed ideas on how to cover the shortfall, but I better not write them here.  Some of them are rather distasteful and possibly illegal.

As we went through our allowances and deductibles worksheet with our attorney, it became clear that we don't waste nearly enough money on things.  As the attorney pointed out, the law now rewards people who indulge in he riskiest kinds of financial behavior.  If we owed money on three cars, for example, we'd take down our income to the point where a Chapter 7 would be a no-brainer.  So how can it be that we have just enough to live on, but the Court thinks we should be able to pay $900 per month to our creditors?  I am without nice words.

I mean, the banks got bailed out, we didn't.  Will they really hurt if they don't get our money?  Oh, I know.  It's not about money.  It's about punishment.  If you just let anyone take out credit and never pay it back, then we all turn into animals.  If there's an advantage to be taken, we'll all act just like soulless corporations and exploit, exploit, exploit.  But really?  When we had the money, we paid.  We didn't take vacations, buy designer clothing, jewelry or expensive toys.  We didn't buy a house we couldn't afford until the interest rate (the bank's idea, not ours) kicked up a few notches and became untenable.  My job moved 2 hours away, increasing my expenses and, then, ultimately laid me off.

Oh, wait.  I don't want to sound like a victim here.  These were choices we made.  As if people without money really have options.  But here we are.  We stopped digging the hole, or so we thought, over a year ago.  For over a year, $900 was skimmed out of my paycheck and distributed to creditors.  Even after I was laid off, we made the payment ourselves until it left us with nothing to live on.  The turnip was squeezed until it turned to dust and now we've got to hang on to a shred of hope that we can qualify for Chapter 7 in a few months.

As we drove home, I told MathMan that I was going to curl up into my ball of financial shame and stress eat chocolate.  He remained quiet.  He knew I didn't mean it.  I've lost nine pounds.  I will not let this spiral into an excuse to overeat.  "Perhaps you should stress exercise instead."

I didn't even punch him.  Because he's right.  The bastard.

Worry changes nothing.  Instead we're taking action.  At least it feels like we're moving in the right direction.  And if that light at the end of the tunnel is just another train?

DUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Adventures in Real Parenting: Awkward

One of the many things I'm learning through this household financial shift (I can't think of a pretty term for it) is that the basic middle class assumptions are blown full of holes. To wit:

As mentioned in an earlier post, Sophie was awarded at the county level for a story she'd written. On Monday, we attended the school board meeting where she received a certificate and had her picture taken. It was very nice and the woman who organizes the Young Authors program for the county was brimming over with enthusiasm for it. I loved to see that.

Sophie and I got into the car to go home and someone rapped on the car window. It was Sophie's principal. I took a deep breath as Soph cranked down the window. (I'm borrowing Chloe's '95 Celica since my car was repo'd last spring.) Sophie's principal makes me tense. I don't know what it is about her - her condescension, her fake sing-songy way of speaking, but something about this woman puts me on edge.

She very nicely congratulated Sophie for her award winning story and said again how proud she was to have had a second Golden win this title. (Nate won when he was in the fifth grade, too.) I smiled and waited for Sophia to thank her, which she did, but with the same kind of tight-lipped smile that reflected the growing tension in my own chest.

"So, Mom, where are you taking our girl to celebrate?" Principal leaned down to address me through the window.

That deer caught in headlights cliche? Sometimes it is perfectly apt. I know that I hesitated, unable to speak. Sophia was staring at me, her eyes huge. Principal waited.

"I, uh.... I...." shit! I had exactly $3.58. That wouldn't even buy a Happy Meal, would it?

The Principal blinked her large brown eyes at me and her smile was clearly frozen. The image of a marionette flashed before me and then was gone.

"I, um...well...."

Sophia cleared her throat. I glanced at her. She was looking ahead.

"You see, I'm not sure about a celebration tonight. I, um, I was laid off a couple of months ago and money is kind of tight." Well now, it was done. Sophie looked at me and I gave her a weak smile and a shrug.

Principal's smiled disappeared. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize...."

We spent some time backtracking on that conversation and all I wanted to do was get the hell out of there so I could talk to Sophie and gauge her reaction. Principal said something like "Well, then, I'm sure you're going to take her home and make her her favorite meal." Without pausing she asked, "What is her favorite thing that you make?"

Did I mention that contact with this woman makes me a little crazy? I squeaked out something about how Soph's favorite thing to do lately is come home, make herself a hot dog and then crash on the sofa. I ask you, is it any wonder I'm not this Principal's favorite example of Mamahood?

"A hot dog? Oh." This is the part where I think crestfallen or maybe stunned is the best adjective to describe how Principal looked.

"Hit it, Mom," Sophia yelled and I threw the little white car into reverse and squealed tires getting out of there.

We drove for a few moments in silence. Finally, I couldn't take it any more. "I'm sorry, baby. I totally botched that conversation. I don't know what it is about her, but Principal makes me nervous. I never know what to say."

Sophia laughed and rifled through my purse. "Don't worry. She makes me nervous, too. I don't understand what she's saying half the time in that baby voice of hers. I just smile and nod." She waved the stick of Teaberry gum she'd found in its secret hiding place. "Want half?"

I thanked her for the gum and chewed for a moment while I thought about what had just happened. I felt like a jerk for having put Principal on the spot for assuming that we'd be doing something to celebrate, but I was also annoyed to have been placed in such an awkward situation to begin with.

"Phia, I'm sorry that I don't have money to take you out."

"It's okay. "

"What is it that I cook that you like?" I've been cooking more than I did when I worked outside the home, but I hadn't really thought about favorite dishes. Crazy kids all have different things they like. I'm supposed to keep track?

"I like your cheesy chicken. And the beef stew. And your lentil soup with rice. And pretty much anything you make." Okay, I take back calling her crazy. She's brilliant and wonderful. So what if she puts barbecue sauce on everything?

"Thanks. And I am sorry. I'm an adult. I should be able to talk to your principal without peeing my pants."

"You peed your pants?"

"Almost."

"Crazy lady. Can we stop for a Frosty? I already had something real to eat anyway. I'm not that hungry."

"A Frosty? I can manage that...."

So all those old assumptions about what it means to be what we appear to be are gone. I hope that in the future, I'll be more careful, too, not to assume that everyone is in a position to go out to dinner whenever they feel like it or have money to go to Hobby Lobby and buy things for school projects or have fundraising money or class picture money.....you get the idea. I've mentioned that I'm going to write a piece about how schools don't make it easy to pinch pennies for those of us in the New Poor category. I'm still turning it over in my mind, but this tiny incident reminded me that it's those assumptions that some (not all) of us either grew up with or developed that make it just a little harder to fully embrace this new place on the socio-economic spectrum.