A light rain on my parade of overpriced tapas

So there I was the other day, spinning in the living room with J, our joined hands the still-point of our turning world whizzing behind us in slow motion. After the spinning and the dancing and jovial pouncing was over, we made plans to celebrate my job news at a fancy restaurant, "Va De Vi", nearby (I needed a good reason to drop an unmentionable sum on duck confit, and now I had one). He resumed studying for the Bar (like he does every day) as I left to hang out (like I do every day) at The Nana's, drinking iced tea and refinishing furniture and having lunch with other sweet, old ladies (which I am definitely getting used to. My brother mentioned I'm "becoming a Golden Girl." My response: "You say that like it's a bad thing." Age is really just a number, after all.)

After a good day of lunching and antiquing and discussing how movie stars today just aren't what they used to be (hello, Paul Newman and Cary Grant), I got back to our apartment in time to shower and head to Va De Vi with J. But he had questionably good news.

I guess I should preface this part by letting you in on the fact that J was flown down to Newport Beach last week for an interview at a law firm. The firm does exactly what he wants to do (corporate litigation), all the partners and associates he met clicked with him right away, and the office -- well, from what I heard the office was magnificent (think one of the top floors in the building, all glass windows, with a full view of Newport Harbor and the Pacific Ocean). They wined and dined him (at this point all I thought of was The Firm, minus the corruption and partially cheesy action scenes), and sent him back up to the Bay Area wanting the job.

Flash forward to yesterday. Literally HOURS after I got my job offer that I'd only JUST interviewed for two business days prior, the law firm called J with good news: They wanted to hire him. The salary they offered was (how do I put this) obscene, and the bonuses and profit-sharing were clutch. All in all it was an offer he couldn't refuse. Almost.

I was happy for him but tried to hide my disappointment: a.) We were about to visit a fancy restaurant (something that's been long overdue) to celebrate the good news, but b.) How could I be happy knowing he'd be leaving soon? Which I wouldn't blame him doing -- the pay is more than good, it's exactly the type of law he wants to practice, it sounded like a great work atmosphere and the lifestyle that comes with such opportunities...let's just say they make movies about such things for a reason.

"So why wouldn't he take it?" I thought. This is exactly what we wanted. What we'd waited for. This is why he worked so hard in law school. Or was it?

As we sat at a table in the posh outdoor alleyway, peppered with hundreds of white Christmas lights and low chatter from neighboring tables, I grew even more sad. Ordering a bottle of Malbec did not help (though said Malbec was a deliciously excellent choice) and neither did thinking I saw Robert Redford (my idol) walk by (turned out it was just some older guy with good hair). I was sad not because J was leaving, or because we'd see a lot less of each other. No, I was sad because it finally dawned on me that we were never given a fighting chance as a married couple.

We got married about one month before J started law school and for three years I've waited for him, meaning waited for him to be a "normal" husband, not one who is in law school full-time. Law school has been like the "other woman" in the first three years of our marriage -- years that newlyweds usually spend setting up house apartment and traveling and enjoying being together before things like kids and mortgages start to take effect. They're supposed to be the carefree, let's-spend-time-together-and-enjoy-being-married years. My first three years were not this.

Nearly every day, every week, was taken up by the "other woman" (i.e., law journal meetings and finals and mock trial competitions and internships). There was always something and though J tried his hardest to spread himself thin and be home as much as possible, there were many, many times when he couldn't be. So I tolerated the early years of our marriage, the him-needing-to-stay-late-at-the-library nights, when I'd come home exhausted from my desk job and eat dinners alone watching reruns of Little People, Big World because this was important. He was building the foundation for his life. For our life.

The saving grace during those years, when his seat on the couch sat empty because he was out hoofing it for some DC judge or legal internship, was that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. "The three years would eventually be over," I told myself. And almost as quickly as they started, they were finished.

The final stretch of this leg of the journey is taking the Bar at the end of July and since he has about two months to study for this test that nearly 40%-50% fail their first time in the state of California, he's been studying his little butt off. Every day. Which -- again -- I'm completely fine with. I see it as the last 100 yards in this crazy legal race and (of course) I want him to pass, so all summer he's stayed home studying 10+ hours a day while I chill at The Nana's, glad to be hanging out with someone who likes classic films and Mad Men and shopping as much as I do (these are the perks of knowing someone who doesn't have to work at all).

But now that the Bar is right around the corner, I'm getting excited about being able to see my husband again. ("Again?!" she says, "was there ever a time in this marriage you could?") I know that normal is a subjective term, but I'm ready for a normal marriage (read: one where it's expected that we get to hang out together without a timer beeping when our five minutes is up). And it was looking like things were going to become...normal. I just got that job. We just got this apartment. My friend just dropped off Moneypenny so both our animals are once again under the same roof. We're finally back on the West Coast. To quote Penny Lane from Almost Famous, "It's all happening(!)..."

Then this (otherwise amazing) offer from the Newport firm happens THE SAME DAY as my offer, which by this point I'd already accepted. And nothing felt like it was happening anymore. No more Age of Aquarius or stars aligning, nope, just one, big diamond-encrusted wrench worthy of Lil Jon's toolbox, thrown into the oiled gears of our Master Plan.

But I said none of this. I hid my sadness. This was supposed to be a happy day. One filled with reams of money and pretentious restaurants and funny quips Nana had said that morning remembered over grilled asparagus with panko crusted egg that night. That light at the end of the tunnel -- that pinprick of hope that this would one day be all over and we could actually walk down to the local Farmer's Market together on any given Sunday or finally see movies in theaters again or go out to dinner just because -- it faded to black. That realization alone was enough to ruin my good news. Paper covers rock, and so on. It dawned on me that it would never just be "easy" with us. Things were not, nor did they ever in the last three years, align that way.

As we continued feasting on the tapas that were brought out as prepared, J seemed on edge. Both of us were more quiet than usual. Obviously something was bothering both of us and so he started asking questions of how I felt about it, of what I thought, and everything I just wrote prior to this paragraph began trepidatiously coming out. (I say trepidatious because I'm just happy we're back on the West Coast, close to family and friends and excellent weather. With DC in our rear-view mirror, I really have no more demands.)

Turns out I was wrong thinking he'd automatically accept the position. He shared many of my sentiments and totally saw where I was coming from. His answer back to the firm was not a given "yes", much to my surprise.

Over the next two hours we talked, laughed, drank, ate and discussed the State of Our Marriage -- our wants, expectations, standards, dreams. It all came out on the table (for a couple who communicates all feelings, much of it wasn't new, just reiteration). But many of it needed to be reiterated because, as J put it, we were at a crossroads now. Were we okay with seeing each other on errant weekends (there'd be many weekends where we wouldn't see each other: I'd want to see family and friends, or he'd be expected to network with clients on some golf course)? How would we eventually start a family in a few years if we were apart during those pivotal years leading up to such things?

At one point J and I both got misty-eyed talking about all these real-life, marital issues (confession: I cry easily, especially at those SPCA commercials on TV with Sarah McLaughlin singing in the background) and that's when he said it. On his own accord, even after I insisted this was very much his decision, that I didn't know anything about the legal field and he needed to do what he felt was right for his career.

"I can't do it," he said, pouring himself another glass of Malbec. "I feel like it's a choice between the job and money or you. The firm's offer is attractive and you're right -- it's exactly the law I want to practice. ...But a life without you is pointless."

This is why I married this man.

Later, when we got the check (brought out not in a checkfold like most restaurants, but stuck within the pages of an old book called "La Princessa" -- clever, Va De Vi, clever!), I flipped through the novel as he signed our bill. Dozens of people had signed random pages within this same book, scrawling little notes like "Happy Birthday, Jim!" or "Happy 20th Anniversary, L + M, 2009" or "Life would be perfect if I could eat at Va De Vi everyday." I laughed and pointed out the hundreds of notes left in the margins to J.

He signed his name to our check then took the book from my hands. Turning to a middle page (I believe it was page 51), he wrote "To hell with the Newport job" in the margins, stuck our check in, and closed the book, smiling.

That note said it all.

The perfect day job for a writer

Lately I've been thinking about what the perfect day job for a writer could be.

Obviously it can't be a black hole for creative energy. Trudging home after a tedious day at a soul-sucking job leaves you no chutzpah (along with no time to rock out "witch yo bad self," but that's another post entirely). The last thing I want after getting home from a crap commute is to shovel lukewarm Mac & Cheese down my gaping maw (because though we love cooking, cooking takes time and time is not something we have a lot of with a day job) and spend the handful of remaining hours at home sitting at a desk, trying to be CREATIVE Goddamnit because this bestseller isn't writing itself as it teases us with its blinking cursor and why am I still on page 57 and oh hell it's already way past bedtime and I've got exactly 5.5 hours to sleep before morning hits and I have to fling myself out of bed from a deep slumber wherein I'm dreaming about having cocktails with Cary Grant and one of my novel's main characters just so I can sit at a desk again that following morning to waste another day, ghostwriting for a CEO who takes all the public credit for my words and research while I get none. Nothing. No credit. No byline. Just free espresso, the occasional $500 Amazon giftcard and the perk of having my office chair be a Herman Miller original.

Ladies and gentleman, that was a short snippet of my life as an editor/writer with a certain, unnamed company. Nope, didn't really enjoy it.

I was lucky that aforementioned job I ended up leaving last year still fell in the "journalism" (financial journalism) category, and in the beginning it was fantastic. I got to edit the hell out of all the bad writing we'd receive and work with our reporters and freelancers to make them better journalists and I'd occasionally get to write a short column and it was great. Then everyone started getting laid off except for me (ironic, isn't it? the one person who wouldn't have really minded getting laid off was one of the Last Men Standing), until finally my job description morphed from me enjoying my job to me doing more marketing/PR than journalism while ghostwriting most of our investment articles and mutual fund reports for our CEO. Like 24/7.

It doesn't matter how soft and luxurious that damned $1,300 Herman Miller chair was or how much I got paid (it was more than I expected in such a position, says the girl who wanted to be laid off), I knew it was over when I began seeing my articles show up on national websites with my 29-year-old CEO's name in the byline as though HE'D written them. That was really the last straw. Especially when he was in talks to appear on Fox Business News (for what? funding a company who made him sound smart?) and was also "writing" an investment book (which, for the record, was written by some for-hire ghostwriter -- thank God I didn't have to work on that behemoth with no credit). But I digress: this isn't meant to be a rant on my last employer (again, my first year there was amazing) or a tirade against my loved to take credit for everyone's work while he's out wine tasting on the west coast and taking month long vacations in Europe CEO. No, this isn't that.

When I realized in that job, after about 5 years of being a journalist/writer/editor, that I had actual standards for my life and career (suddenly -- poof -- I was an adult), that was it. I had reached a point of what I wasn't willing to accept in my life. I quit shortly after seeing his smiling mug next to the titles of my articles made me want to take off one of my heels and smash it through my computer monitor. Life is just too short to not have creative ownership. If you don't have that, you've got nothing. (And yes, I get that ghostwriting might not sound that bad. Many people do it professionally, but it made me feel like a sellout and a whore, plain and simple.)

Now that J and I are back on the west coast and I'm outlining my third novel, I've decided that it's time I venture out into this whole day job thing again. With J studying for the Bar and about to start a short-term clerkship with a judge in SF this August, I want to contribute to our Buick Fund (what we've decided to call our "Hopes and Dreams" fund; don't worry, we're not really buying a Buick...but then again, that would be hilarious).

So what would be the perfect day job for someone like myself? I've decided it would have to include the following:

• Journalism and/or somehow publishing-related. It doesn't have to center around writing full-time -- in fact, I would actually prefer it didn't. In an ideal world I would preserve my writing juice for other, more personal projects -- like books. The occasional article/column/blog post (with byline) at work would make me happy.

• No full-time marketing or PR. I haven't yet had to convert to the Dark Side and I hope I never will.

• Something that's intellectually stimulating. I like a challenge. Part of the problem in my last job was that aside from my convert of a PR/ghostwriting-fueled position, it wasn't fast-paced enough. In those last, tedious months it lacked the je ne sais quoi that made me want to get into news in the first place. I wanted to be Ben Bradlee in All the President's Men; instead I was Kate Hudson from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, daydreaming about other options.

• Something that utilizes my degrees. This goes without saying. I worked hard for them and chose those fields (English Lit and Journalism) because I loved them, not because I wanted to play beer pong for four years of my life then figure out what I wanted to do in my 20s and beyond. I know the stereotype: Artists do things like wait tables to make ends meet, which is fine. But I don't want to wait tables with my resume.

• Editing. If there's one thing I love more than writing (ok, and dancing, but the latter isn't a viable career path at this point) it's editing. One of my goals was to become a managing editor before 30, which I did and loved being so in control of the content/content flow/publishing decisions/etc. It was never a dictatorship (hello? I don't run my newsrooms like Cuba), but I enjoyed improving the writing that came across my desk. To see what didn't work with news and feature stories made me a better writer, just like how reading hundreds of good books in a lifetime makes you a better scribe than one who reads nothing. As a writer I feel you learn by example and by tinkering with malleable pieces of content. I like it, find it challenging, and fit seamlessly into a newsroom environment.

Which brings me to an interview I had last week.

I got an email from a legit news outfit in SF that had been recommended my name from that one bay area publication I had to turn down last month due to the low salary offered. I was shocked at getting the email (seriously, how often does this happen??) and told them that of course I'd love to come in for an interview. Two days later I was in the office meeting with the Editor in Chief and Managing Editor -- both very polite, professional, experienced journalists (real journalists...yes, they still exist!).

The interview went well and I left wanting the job. Badly. Not only would I play a part in leading a prominent newsroom as a higher-up editor, but I'd be able to work one-on-one with budding reporters and -- get this -- work in the news niche I'd originally wanted to go into after grad school: Political and legal journalism. Is it the age of Aquarius? Have the stars aligned in their own, twisted way? I don't know, but after my horrible experience with El Company de Indecision and their three drawn-out interviews (the first of which I flew cross-country ON MY OWN DIME for) (clearly I am still very bitter about this), I figured maybe I should wait a while. See what opens up. Then this unbelievably amazing opportunity falls out of nowhere without me even having to fight to get my resume noticed out of hundreds of hopeful applicants. How do these things happen?

Anyway I got home from the interview feeling all rainbows and unicorns and found an email waiting in my inbox, thanking me for coming in and asking for references (two of which they called before Saturday). If I actually prayed, I would pray that this is a good sign. Not only is the job perfectly suited to what I'm looking for, but for a journalism position it (surprisingly!) pays bank ($60s, starting) and has lots of room for growth and creative input and chances to actually make a difference in this cray cray world we live in. I mean, they made a point to emphasize they look for quality over quantity in their news stories (what a novel idea!).

Read: This is not the kind of boring, unchallenging desk job that would lead to tired commutes home punctuated with lukewarm Mac and Cheese and sad reruns of The City that serve as (much-needed) escape from the daily grind. No, this job would be a breath of fresh air in a field most are being laid off in or leaving entirely for more lucrative options (*cough* marketing *cough*). It would engage me, it would inspire me, and best of all, it would even pay me. To quote Gollum, "We wants it, we needs it. Must have the precious."

Poverty Sucks

I was at The Nana's house yesterday going through some old framed art she had when I came across this delightful poster:

I think this about sums up poverty versus wealth perfectly.

A big fat "no"

So I wasn't going to say anything about it publicly but since I've just been passed over for the "other top candidate" I guess now it really doesn't matter: I just came thisclose to an editorial job at a well-known national website based in SF that would have paid more money than I could have ever dreamed of making as an editor, and would have allowed me to blog full-time for their website, which caters to women ages 18-34 years old. Blog posts would have included recaps of Bravo reality shows, travel tips, personal finance posts, career articles, what-to-wear-to-your-interview gems...all geared toward women in my age demographic. In short, if I had to go back to a desk job (which, believe me, I really don't want but need to do while J studies for the Bar and we figure out the next phase of our life; writing books only pays for so many bills), this would have been the dream desk job. The dream desk job that would have paid more than handsomely while still allowing me to remain a journalist (read: The Reason I Went to School And Majored in What I Did).

I'll admit, I got much closer than I expected. After applying on an absolute whim back in March, thinking they would be flooded with resumes and I'd probably hear nothing back, I not only got a call back but also got sent an editing/writing test. For the test I had to create a mock blog and write a handful of blog posts focused on topics they provided. I knew I kicked butt in creating the faux blog, but was still surprised when I got an email asking me to come in for an interview. Remember that weekend in late March when I flew out to California last-minute? Yeah, that was the reason. The interview was one of the best in interview history (I can say this with utmost assurance), and after that I heard...nothing. Nada. That whole month of April was like listening to a million crickets chirping in a symphonic hall with first-class acoustics.

Finally, though, they got back with me in early May and told me I made it to their top three. Cloud 9, people, Cloud 9. I had to speak with their managing editor in a phone interview, which I ended up conducting in the parking garage of a mall. But that, too, went well. I was told I would hear back within a week then...nothing. Again. Which I was fine with since that meant I wouldn't have to move early and would get to partake in the cross-country roadtrip J and I were excited to embark on.

Back in California I emailed them and asked what the hell was going on (okay, I didn't exactly ask that way, but had my life been a comic strip and not an actual life, herein is where they would have been illustrated as a wall-eyed, gangly chicken that I would ring the neck of and shake violently back and forth whilst demanding some sort of answer). I'm the most impatient person you will ever meet and thus have no tolerance for indecisiveness (other than when ordering off a Chinese food menu, but that's beside the point). I just wanted to know: Did I get the Godforsaken job or not? All this waiting was only building the whole thing up into a dramatic production that I was tired of having to explain to friends and family. To be honest, four weeks ago I began growing disinterested in the position since I'd already waited over two months for an answer and all that waiting had put a bad taste in my mouth. Think acrid sushi that's been left out for three days. Not good.

A week later, while I'd pretty much given up hope of ever hearing from them again, I got an another email. I was hoping it was either a "yes" or "no"; this was all getting ridiculous and what I actually wanted most was closure. But no, they were asking me to come in for a third interview. (Insert long eye rolls here.)

***BTDubs, I should probably mention that during this same week I interviewed for another editorial position for a publication in the Bay Area -- one that seemed JUST as amazing. I would have been pretty high up on the masthead leading a newsroom of designers/reporters/etc. and deciding how and when stories would be published. That interview went well and a day after I was offered the job. Squee. Though it would have been magnificent I turned it down since the pay was a little lower than what I was looking for. (I know...if the job is perfect who cares if pay isn't up to par, right? Confession: If I was single, or even in a dual-income relationship right now, I would have taken it. But right now with J not bringing in...well...any income, I can't have two people living on that kind of salary.) So I declined the offer and waited for my third interview with El Company of Indecision.***

On Monday I walked into their SF office for my third interview and it went well. Again. In fact I began to wonder why they even called me in for a third interview since I met the exact same people and they asked me the exact same questions. At this point I knew it was down to me and one other top candidate. Out of hundreds of resumes sent in it had climaxed to this. After the interview I was told I'd hear back this week. And I did. They sent a very polite, very professional email explaining that though they really liked me, they decided to go with the other candidate because she had a deeper finance background (I'm almost 100% sure she had her MBA, based on how they spoke about her.)

When I read the email, I instantly got all Regina George and this was the first thing I thought:


Then my second thought was: "Thank God. Finally. I have closure." A euphoric wave of relief crashed over me and I was okay again. No more anticipation or uncertainty. It was done; the job was off the table. Nothing about it was looming over my head like a little indecisive raincloud, following me everywhere I went for the last three months.

J actually took it harder than me. When I told him they said "no" his face immediately went white and it looked like his heart was going to fall out his butt. But I reassured him that it was all going to be fine. After all, I'd already gotten one job offer in the first two weeks of being back in the state. Plus after J's rejection from an amazing firm in Newport Beach (we found out recently they opted to go with someone who'd already passed the Bar and was out of school), I'm bulletproof when it comes to missed job offers. There was so much more on the table with that Newport job and J had gotten so far in the interview process that when we received the letter in our mailbox I felt like I'd been hit in the chest with a wrecking ball. In matters of job searches, nothing could ever top that feeling. Ever.

But you know what the worst part is about my latest job news? It isn't me not landing the job or how long they took to get back to me or the fact that in all honesty going back to a desk job -- even if it was the dream desk job -- made me a little sad since it would take time away from my writing. None of that. The worst part is having to listen to the pity I'm hearing from those close to me, telling me (repeatedly) that it's "[that employer's] loss," "they missed out on an excellent employee," etc. etc. (insert long list of cliche "well-at-least-you-got-as-far-as-you-did" phrases here.) It sickens me. I don't want to hear ANY OF IT.

I especially don't want certain people (read: my grandmother), handing me self-help books titled "Who Moved My Cheese?: An Amazing Way to Deal With Change in Your Work and Life" the next morning. (Yes, this actually happened and it further made me feel like Paul Giamatti in Sideways.) All these reaffirmations of support and sympathy make me want to vomit. Seriously. Why? Because I was over it when I got the rejection (I get over things very easily), so listening to people constantly bring it up as though I'd banked my hopes and dreams on a stupid desk job makes me feel completely misunderstood. There is nothing worse than not only feeling misunderstood, but also receiving pity for said misunderstanding.

Basically right now I feel like this:



I'm all stocked up here.

How we celebrated on the cheap

We had a lot of fun celebrating our two-year and the best part is we didn't spend a lot to enjoy ourselves. Since we're trying to save as much money as we can, we decided to do something low-key to celebrate ... so we rented a canoe! I wanted to try something I'd never done before and since it was a beautiful day on the Potomac on Sunday, we rented a canoe from a boat house in Georgetown and spent two hours paddling (well he paddled, I lazed in the sun and made conversation) up and down the river ...

The Kennedy Center (above) behind my paddle-crazy husband.

Yes, that's it. Keep paddling my love ...

We even got to watch the President's helicopter (Marine 1) pass over us on its way to the White House (above), carting the Obamas back from Camp David. That was Sunday, total cost: a whopping $8 an hour. Overall less than the cost of going to a movie for two.

Then on Monday (our real anniversary), we got all dressed up and went to a romantic Italian bistro in Old Town Alexandria for dinner and to exchange gifts. The restaurant was fancy, but with two entrees, salads and a bottle of wine, the bill came out to a little less than $100. Totally not bad, considering last year we spent a few hundred dollars on our anniversary dinner. We both also agreed that we wouldn't spend a lot on presents this year (with me self-employed the thought of spending $300 on Ferragamo cuff links -- which is what I really wanted to buy him -- just couldn't be justified). So I bought him a wallet instead, since his other was getting old and worn out. And, being the good husband he is, he bought me ... Mad Men Season 2!!! I was half-expecting it since it's no secret I am obsessed, but I'd also been hinting about wanting a vintage Royal typewriter to write with, like so:

(It didn't need to be pink, but I wouldn't have complained!) He told me later that a typewriter was his first choice, but all the functional ones on eBay he bid on had reserves of $500. Ugh. Oh well, someday. For now I'm beyond ecstatic about my Season 2 gift!

I did it. I quit my job.

Just breathe. Everything is going to be okay.

I kept repeating this mantra as I made my way to my CEO's office on Monday to officially resign. I suppose the first thing you'd think I felt when I walked into his office was triumph and relief. Something akin to the French liberation during WWII, but on a much smaller scale, of course. There I was, after all, taking my destiny into my own hands and carpe diem-ing. But for a few fleeting minutes, I felt quite the opposite. I was terrified. I knew I was going to do it, there was no question of that, but I liken the whole experience to skydiving. When push comes to shove and you take the final jump off that airplane, there are a few moments (which I may relive during the next few months or years of my life) where you're terrified your parachute won't open and you'll land, splat, in a field of cow dung, with those around you muttering "told you so." Walking in and quitting yesterday was that jump off my plane.

And guess what? After shutting his door, taking a seat and telling him I was officially, well, out of there, I knew deep down that everything really was going to be okay. I just needed to push off that plane with the force I had mustered in the last few months and not look back. So I did, and the feeling of being so in control of my fate and future felt (and still feels) fabulous.

I was terrified of cutting loose the security and comfort that comes with having a salary but the reality of my situation -- of all of your situations, actually -- is that money comes and goes. It's like water through your fingers. Keep what you need in a canteen at your side, enough so that you'll never go thirsty, and then go forth and work hard at what you love. There will always be more water, and there will always be more money. And if you feel like it may take a while to get to that next stream to refill, than learn how to make your water -- or dollars -- stretch until you get there. Just don't let your fear or uncertainty be what extinguishes you ever taking risks in the first place. Don't get stuck setting up shop near that first river you come upon, failing to ever go forward and see what other, bigger rivers lie on the horizon. Believe me, that first river can be mighty comfortable, but I think sometimes it takes "uncomfort" to shape who you are and make you stronger, more resilient and ultimately, more happy.

Will times get tough at least through this next year? You bet. There will be days I'm sure will feel excruciating, days when I'll feel like I have no money at all, days I'll wonder what the hell I'm doing up and quitting my cush job in This Economy, days I might actually consider buying one-ply instead of two-ply bathroom tissue just to save money. But I will always remind myself of what the suffocating alternative is. I may not have a lot of money in the near future, but I'm going to have the freedom to pursue what I want to make happen, not what anybody else's vision or dream is. And that's important to remember. No one said taking risks was easy -- that's why they're risks, after all. If they were a piece of cake, then everyone would want a slice.

But don't think that it was easy walking away from my job, my paycheck, security, stability and all those other rooted tendrils that ensnared me for the last two years in a web of oblivious complacency.

All my life I've followed a conventional path: I graduated with good grades from high school, went to college, grad school and got a job that steadily allowed me to pay rent, bills, shop and save. All those fun "life" necessities. I know a few people who don't and/or didn't enjoy being college students. Well let me rephrase that: They enjoyed the parties and "good times", but didn't enjoy the studying and the classes. They feel disappointed in themselves for following the structure traditionally set up for them. For me, it wasn't structure that made me go to college or grad school. At the risk of sounding nerdy, I loved being a student and debating with professors, going to class, studying, and writing pages and pages of lit analysis.

But I don't love holding down a job just to have a job. That's where I whipped around and looked Structure straight in the face. "What if you're not for me? What if I'm confident that I can make a damn good living without you?" I asked it during the summer of last year. It laughed at my naivety, telling me to stick it out for another year at work. So I doubted myself, and followed its advice. And now, a year later, I've caught up to Structure and told it I don't want it leading me around anymore. I'd step off its track and venture out into the forest to forge my own, unknown way. My success and earnings will now rest solely on my shoulders and the effort I put forth. From here on out, I will not get paid to "just show up." That fact alone is one of the most empowering feelings I have ever experienced.

Talk about judgment. It's palpable on the faces of some of my friends and even family. I can see it. After all, it's cute and all that I want to an be author, but what am I going to do about my real job? At first facing judgment from those I cared about, even if they tried to hide it, both hurt and stung. I quickly got over it though, and I harbor no ill feelings or dislike for those that don't understand. Three years ago, I probably wouldn't have understood either. It's important to remember that people are always at different points in their lives. It's somewhat of a miracle when an individual can truly empathize with the perspective of an another, so I've accepted being judged as not a flaw in the judger, but as human nature, and I've refused to allow it to ding my confidence anymore. The only person who can make me happy is myself. People will always judge your actions, opinions and beliefs, but if you are happy with your decisions at the end of every day, I think that's all that matters. Life is too short to pacify the barrage of judgment around you.

That's not to say I'm an eternal optimist. If anything, I'm too much of a realist.

It would be naive to assume that every dream pays off, that every hope not reached in the end wouldn't be laden with some form of regret for what was given up. But I'm willing to accept the consequences. I firmly believe that each one of us is in charge of our own destiny. Fate alone only takes you so far.

A week feels like a year in blog years

My apologies for being missing in action during this last week. Actually, nix that. No apologies! I've been in the midst of a fabulous life change. I have been writing, though it's been on stories and not PF, and it feels good.

Don't get me wrong, I'm more coupon-obsessed than ever, and I'm not out charging my life away on my Nordstrom's credit card, but in this week of reevaluation of my life thus far, I am sick and tired of obsessing over money. I love my blog dearly (it's what got me through my second year of living in DC after I thought I'd have a nervous breakdown in the first), and I'll continue to be your faithful scribe on cheap fashion and intriguing finance stories that catch my eye, but as for money as a whole, I'm not going to let it rule my life anymore.

"But Crystal," you might point out, "it never seemed like money ruled your life that much in the first place. Wasn't it you, a PF blogger no less, who spent $400 on a Dooney handbag?" Yes, that was me. I realize this is a cardinal sin in PF-dom, but money (after you've put some aside, of course) is meant to be enjoyed. Wring all you can out of sales, coupons and clearances, make sure you have your bills paid off, some savings in place, and then...well, enjoy yourself. You want a steak for dinner? Eat it happily, and don't think about its cost. You earned it. Life is too short for constant, back-of-your-mind fretting. You'd be allowing your money to own you.

Which was the epiphany that hit me earlier this week, as I pummeled a punching bag in my kickboxing class. I'm always surprised at how clear my mind becomes and how easily the answers seem as I'm kickboxing, sweating to Britney's "Circus" remix blaring from speakers near the wall of windows. I got to thinking about how much I love coming to this class and how much weight I've lost in the last couple years (working a desk job after college took me from a sz. 4 up to a sz. 10, and now, I'm elated to report, back to a sz. 6 and dropping). Thing is though, the classes are expensive. Like, lots-of-money-upfront expensive. So what allows me to attend these (what I can even admit are) rip-off classes? My full-time job, of course. Which I might add I used to love, keywords being "used to." (That's another post to come.)

So why I have stayed? Well it funds my kickboxing habit, first off, but more than that it's a security thing. You'd be hard-pressed to find a person who doesn't like getting a steady paycheck every two weeks, especially if that person is married to a student and is covering all rent, food and other vital necessities solo until graduation. Don't get me wrong, I'm more than happy to do this. What I'm not happy about is going to work everyday, dreading my commute in. And dreading sitting behind a desk for eight hours a day doing inane tasks, asking myself (sometimes even out loud in the fifth-floor bathroom), what I'm doing there. I've even found myself standing to the right on the metro escalator, fervently delaying the inevitable time spent in the office by a scant few minutes as others push past me on the left, eager to clock in.

For the directionless who simply just want a job, this situation would be perfect. I make more money than I probably should, work under lax deadlines, and can generally buy whatever I want. For someone with a deep love for something else, though, it's all excruciatingly suffocating. So naturally your next suggestion would be to follow that love, but what if it lies in something that could not (at least for the foreseeable future) pay bills properly?

When I was young, I wanted to be a writer. (Well, first I actually wanted to be a smurf, but that was before I realized that "What do you want to be when you grow up" was not the same as "What do you want to be for Halloween".) I began reading voraciously before most of my classmates, was always bought a steady stream of books by my parents, and someday imagined myself penning a classic and maybe even winning a Pulitzer. (Hey, no one said youth was delusion-free.) Then high school rolled around and I realized, at least from what I was told, that it was virtually impossible to make a living as a writer. And when I say writer, I mean novelist. So I cast off my novelist dreams as childish and unsustainable, and decided to follow my second passion: journalism. I figured I could parlay my love for researching and telling stories into short-form, and I would even get paid regularly to do it (I was -- and still am -- willing to work for a pittance). I majored in English and went on to grad school and then ... journalism as a field collapsed. I worked as an editor for a while at a Bay Area newspaper, lived through what working for conglomerate MediaNews was like, and ended up in DC, where I am now. If you had told me back in high school that I would be where I am now, I would have laughed and mumbled something about selling out.

But here I am. A sell out. Slave to the secure paycheck. And all I really want to do is pull that comfortable ripcord and write books. Which brings me back to my kickboxing class. As I pummeled the bag, I got angrier with every jab and kick. "Who are you?" I thought. Punch. "When did you decide that money was worth more than giving up on what you love?" Kick. "You say life is short all the time, so why do you play it so safe?" Punch, punch, kick. "You're talented and you've got potential. That talent won't take you anywhere, that potential won't ever be reached, as long as you're working for someone else." Roundhouse kick to the bag's head.

And after class, as I toweled the warm, dripping sweat from my face, I resolved to not let money rule my life anymore. To not let security or my job rule my time. It's mine, after all, and it can't be bought. Sure I love this kickboxing class, but I love my creative freedom more. There's no question which one I'd give up. No one ever got anywhere by playing it safe, and I'm tired of walking that beaten path.

The new "it" fabric? Burlap.

Yup, burlap. As in the material that potato sacks are made of.

Call it a sign of the times, or "recession chic" or what have you, but for those who thought burlap was only relegated to Depression-era farm children swathed in coarse, itchy togas, think again. Burlap is back in a big way -- and not only that, if designer goods are your modus operandi, be prepared to spend big.

How big? Try about $1,400 for the Miu Miu burlap ensemble (above), complete with pink streak of spray paint, of course. I think the streak lends a certain je ne sais quoi, don't you? Or this dress, also about $1,400.

The New York Times is calling this new fad "bread-line chic". Clever. I call it "the Emperor has no clothes" syndrome. If you want a pair of matching shoes for your itchy little dress (move over LBD, the ILD is the new kid in town), then why not try Miu Miu's $600 burlap pumps? But why should we stop there. Why not, say, use the coarse fabric to upholster high-end furniture? Oh wait, that's already been done. I'm just waiting for a burlap bikini. Perhaps I should fashion one once Love and I get through cooking all the potatoes in our kitchen.

Seeing this I can't help but be reminded of that I Love Lucy episode, entitled "Lucy Gets a Paris Gown." In it Lucy decides to go on a hunger strike until Ricky agrees to buy her a designer dress, which he saves for until he finds out Ethel has been smuggling Lucy food. Ricky decides to teach Lucy a lesson by putting together a haphazard burlap dress and passing it off as a Paris original. Lucy believes him and wears it proudly. Hilarity (of course) ensues, especially because this is how ridiculous she looked:

"Coupon Queen" spends $10 on $150 worth of groceries

I'm speechless (and impressed):



Is this seriously possible? I know it takes a lot of research and hard work, but still. (P.S. Love the image of this tiny woman with a Brooklyn accent pushing a giant overflowing grocery cart almost as tall as her through the aisles of her local supermarket. Priceless.)

The Sad Clown

Betty, post-meltdown

I was watching a rerun of Mad Men Season 2 on AMC last night when I was reminded -- as if I needed reminding -- why I think it's the best drama on TV, period. It so beautifully captures a time period in our nation where we were hanging in a balance; WWII had ended, the Vietnam War hadn't yet happened, the Kennedys were in power and you knew you were living the American dream if you owned a powder-blue boat of a Cadillac replete with fins.

As we all know now in hindsight, this world was not set up around a pillar of equality. Women had their place, and that was generally in two locales. If you were married, you played house, raising the children, cooking, cleaning, running errands, and looking pretty and proper as arm candy at your husband's work functions. All other women worked "out there" in the real world, which tended to elicit sympathy and is another post to come.

Anyways, the episode last night (called a "A Night to Remember") is one of my favorites and includes a scene in which Betty Draper finally confronts the fact that she and her husband (Don Draper) are on unequal footing. Not surprisingly, she feels vulnerable and embarrassed. Embarrassed because what finally spurs this flitting thought to take a seat front and center in her consciousness is that she suspects Don of cheating on her, and not only that, she feels like everyone must know except her -- as if this elusive world of men that Don is a member of is all in on it. And she's right -- everyone knows...Betty was just the last to find out.

A little background: Before the confrontation, Don and Betty have a dinner party for Don's coworkers, which Betty has painstakingly spent days preparing for. In her polka-dot "clown" dress, Betty offers Heineken to the gentlemen, which elicits lighthearted laughter because (unbeknownst to her) Don has been working on a Heineken ad campaign in the office. The embarrassment from the dinner party carries over to Betty's confrontation and climaxes with her telling him that he knows her so well and she knows nothing.

I can't help but wonder how many of our grandmothers had similar conversations at some point early in their marriages, during the 1940s, 50s and early 60s. After all, men were heads of the house and women came second, including in any decision-making that involved the family or finances. Because men were characteristically seen as "providers" for the family, I think it was subconsciously accepted that they could do as they pleased because they brought home the bacon and held the purse strings. This sort of financial power that men held gave them a sense that they afforded their philandering lifestyle and crippled women like Betty into the submissive Stepford wife she portrayed all through Season 1.

To TV watchers, not only does Betty know nothing about where Don is every day, or what kind of affairs he carries on with, she also literally knows, well, nothing -- especially about the family's finances. If Don were to leave for good, Betty would have no other option than moving back in with her parents (her two children in tow), and it's this sort of purgatory that kept so many women in the 1950s and early '60s stuck in dead-end marriages. Not only was there a financial incentive to stay with your husband, but also divorce was not a term thrown around lightly. (A divorced, single mother that lived down the street from the Drapers in Season 1, for example, was looked at as a pariah in the community.) To be a female divorcee translated to being a failed woman.

Again, this Mad Men story line resonates because similar scenarios have happened to many of our grandmothers -- and maybe even our mothers. I'm not some raving feminist, but I can't help but be grateful that as women we now have the right to choose what we want our lives to be and we all have the freedom to be in charge of our finances, stigma-free. I love being married (and I admit, I do love Don Draper, the cad), but it's refreshing to know that nowadays we don't have to get married to feel financially secure, or fully depend on a man (and a cheating one, at that!) to make the right financial decisions for us because we have no other option.

For the entire day after the confrontation, Betty pads around the Draper house in her disheveled party dress from the night before, makeup in disarray, and rifles through Don's suits and desk, trying to find any evidence of his cheating ways. The image that struck me most in this scene was when Betty sat in Don's desk chair in his home office, trying in vain to open his locked desk drawers that undoubtedly carried the family's files on everything from finances to health insurance. These were drawers Betty, as a wife and woman, was not allowed in.

Betty looked so out of character sitting in Don's chair, as if she had usurped -- for a brief moment, at least -- his head-of-house throne. Luckily for us, though, head of house is a character we can all play now.

I want my Mtv

The men I spend my Sunday nights with.

Okay, maybe not my Mtv, but definitely my AMC, as I firmly believe I would die a slow, painful death without Mad Men (yes, I've actually pondered this scenario). For that matter, I also wouldn't be able to live without my TCM either, as it's my umbilical cord to all things classic film (feed me, Robert Osbourne!). Add to that HGTV, the "real estate porn channel" that allows me to live cathartically through strangers on House Hunters International as they navigate the lux terrain of Parisian apartments. And don't get me started on the Travel Channel and my daily, necessary (or what Love has dubbed "obsessive") dose of Anthony Bourdain. I'm a productive person, an astute multi-tasker, and yes, I do enjoy watching television -- sometimes more than I should. My point is that these are things ... shows ... I don't want to live without, people. They are the backbone of my stunningly vast pop culture knowledge and most are sadly not offered for free online.

Why am I presenting you with this panoply of favorite channels? Well, I'm going to be acting on a giant, exciting, I-can't-wait-for-it decision next month that will alter how much I'll need to save and how my budget will look strutting into this next year. "What is this life-altering decision?" you may ask with baited breath. I know, I feel your plight. I often amaze even myself with my impulsive decisions, but patience, my pretties. That's a post left best for mid-May. (And don't go buying me chic maternity clothes just yet, there is no pregnancy or baby involved.)

In the meantime, I've had to analyze my spending style and list what sorts of accoutrements I can cut out in my month-to-month living to conserve cash. In our household, our Comcast bill is one of the larger, more expendable bills we pay on a monthly basis, which brings me to the shows and channels that propel my weeks forward, like buoyant seaweed draped on the overactive rudder of my life. I like my seaweed and want it hanging off my rudder, thankyouverymuch.

Love and I debated the other night as to whether we could do without cable television. Left to his own wits, he'd never watch any of the shows I tune in to weekly (though since we've gotten married he has seen the light -- well, sort of -- with Mad Men, Grey's Anatomy, Anthony Bourdain and The Hills. Lucky, lucky man). In fact, Love isn't a big TV person at all. He's more of a DVD kind of a man, and thoroughly enjoys such cinematic masterpieces like Big Trouble in Little China and Reign of Fire. Yes, I know. I, on the other hand, enjoy dramas centered around faux Seattle doctors, foodie trips to Bangladesh by ex-drug addict chefs, and the nitty-gritty stories spun between bottled blondes and their beaus in La La Land, with a dollop of Kelly Cutrone on the side. This is all when I'm not watching TCM, naturally.

So how does a couple who is out to save money compromise? Do we cut the cable and watch what little is available online? Rent episodes on Netflix DVDs when they are released? (Boo.) Keep the cable and stop buying the small amount of action movie DVDs we actually purchase?

In cases as dire as this, we do what I want -- and naturally, that's what we did. Which means we're keeping the cable and finding other costs to cut so that I can tune in to Mad Men Season 3 this summer, Love at my side, as planned. I can't wait.

Gucci for less

If you love Gucci but can't afford the haute looks, maybe this re-creation will satisfy your designer appetite, compliments of DesertRose:

Gucci Style Budget by DesertRose on Polyvore.com

Loves it! Not sure if the dress is still available, but horizontal stripes are big this season -- in fact, I saw a dress very similar to this one recently at H&M for about $35. The yellow jacket, pumps and belt round out this outfit nicely at about $50 total, which isn't bad for accessories that can be paired with many other ensembles!

What happens when the empty nest isn't so empty?

Here's a guest post from my friend, freelance writer Trisha Wagner. Enjoy!

Do you remember the first time you moved away from home? The feeling of excitement, independence and freedom? The joy and trepidation of finally striking out on your own with no parents looking over your shoulder or bossing you around? I know I remember those feelings well and nothing ever compares to moving into your first place. Now imagine fast forwarding five, ten or even fifteen years and having to face the fact that you can no longer make it on your own. While it has become somewhat common for some college grads to bounce back to the family homestead until they get “established” the current state of the economy is forcing grown men and women out of their homes and back to mom and dad's place.

With the tough economic times that we are facing, this situation is becoming a reality for many families. To say the least this arrangement can be stressful for both parties and it is important to set some ground rules to prevent both of you from falling back into your old roles. The following tips can help you get in and out of the family home with the least amount of disruption to all involved.

Set Rules Before Moving Home. This is important for both the parents and the adult child to establish what is expected of all parties. If the move home is a result of a financial hardship, agreeing on what will be expected of you will go a long way toward a peaceful co-existence. Due to the current state of the economy your parents may want to help you financially but find themselves unable due to their own financial situation. Both parties need to agree and feel comfortable discussing these financial responsibilities before you move home.

Be Respectful Of Privacy. Let's face it, you have grown accustomed to having your own space and so have your parents. Remember this is their home and just because they want to help you doesn't mean they will relish having another person (even their child) hanging on the sofa all day. Be respectful of their privacy and the daily “routines” that we all have.

Have A Plan. Remember moving back home with the folks should be a temporary arrangement to help you get back on your feet. This means if you are unemployed you should continue to look for work. If you are currently working, you should be extra mindful of your spending habits. You don't want to be a mooch, cost your parents more money or spend your paycheck on fabulous new shoes. Make the most out of this opportunity to get your finances in order by saving as much money as you can possibly afford. This may mean making sacrifices or adjusting your lifestyle but that is the reality of your life at the moment.

Learn From Your Mistakes. No one is perfect and we all make mistakes. Successful people however learn from those mistakes. There are many reasons why an adult child may be forced to move home. Some situations are out of your control (loss of employment or major medical issues). Other circumstances may have been preventable had you managed your finances better. Don't let past missteps stop you from moving forward toward your financial goals; establish where you went wrong and make the changes necessary to prevent the same mistakes from happening in the future.

While no one wants to move back home under the watchful eyes of their parents, certain situations may leave you with no other options. At a time when your pride might be hurting don't forget to be thankful and appreciative that you have parents and a home to fall back on-- not everyone is as fortunate.

Trisha Wagner is a freelance writer for DepositAccounts.com where you can compare rates of deposit accounts from dozens of banks in one place. Trisha writes regularly on the topics of personal finance and savings accounts.

Have discounts gone the way of leggings?

Were discounted designer duds out before they were even in, much like leggings that were so 17 seasons ago the minute they re-debuted for the first time since the early '90s? The jetsetting, I-step-on-the-heads-of-the-middle-class-on-my-way-to-tea-at-the-Ritz seem to think so. After all, if everyone else can also buy a $3,000 Dolce and Gabbana dress (albeit heavily marked down for us normal folk), than what would distinguish them from us? It would be utterly blasphemy, this near-incestuous melting pot of classes, from the very poor to the very rich, all buying the same things and festering in uncalled-for solidarity. I shiver at the thought.

But you see, that's what would happen if This Economy continues to take its toll on poor designers like Eileen Fisher, Oscar de la Renta and Versace, who it seems would prefer that department stores go bankrupt rather then have to slash prices in order to keep peddling the very designer goods that so many of us covet as an escape from the confines of mid-tier stores like The Gap, et. al. Do the Anna Wintours of the world have a point? If prices were slashed mercilessly, like the sad peeps at Rite Aid sitting restless and 50% off post-Easter, their once-vibrant pink coats now a faded shade of sour pepto bismol, would the playing ground become more even, thus upsetting the equilibrium of the world? Would it all really matter? Does there need to be a defining line -- in this case, made up of obnoxiously unattainable couture clothing that I admit I really, really want -- that separates the successful from the striving, the haves from the have-nots?

If This Economy can absolutely bury the oldest of what we thought were bullet-proof financial institutions (aurevoir, Lehman Bros.), and pick apart and plunder the most notable of giant law firms, pummeling laid off partners and associates in its undertow (aren't these people all supposed to be "recession-proof"?), then surely the economic tsunami can -- and should -- do something as insignificant as lower what are -- let's face it -- purely ridiculous and inflated clothing prices connoting a higher-end lifestyle we all lust after.

Does a full-price, $1,200 Carolina Herrera dress have any more value than, say, the knockoff of said dress at Macy's? Both sides of the class line are beginning to ponder that question, especially the side that was duped into paying full price for it (ahem, Ritz Carlton tea-goers.)

According to The Wall Street Journal, the price swings of designer goods have "confused" high-end customers (poor things), leading them to question the real value of their purchases. Apparently those in this group feel duped for having paid full price.

Shortly after Nancy Novogrod paid full price at a department store for a pair of spring Jil Sander slacks, the editor of Travel + Leisure Magazine got an email saying the store's spring sale was under way. "Spring sale?" Ms. Novogrod said when New Yorkers were still shivering in mid-March. "That's not buyer remorse. That's buyer rage."

Oh how I feel your plight, Ms. Novogrod. (Hold on a second, I need to toss my Target clothes in the laundry. Ok, back.) And so, once the rich feel ripped off (gasp), then of course the designers are left to bear the brunt of the backlash, which has recently caused many to demand being left out of department stores' sales.

"All our brands are taking great care to ensure that what happened in November will not happen again," Paola Milani tells the WSJ. Milani is a spokeswoman for Gucci Group, which owns Bottega Veneta, Yves Saint Laurent, Gucci and other brands. And what happened in November was that it was the first time designers saw their merchandise so drastically marked down by the retailers who carried their goods. "The idea is to maintain pricing coherence in the regions in which our products are sold regardless of channel of distribution."

The article states that the luxury brands want to control when they take discounts and on which products. And the deals will likely be less sweeping. Why does that not surprise me...and make me feel somewhat left out. Oh wait, it's because I can't readily flick my debit card over the cashier's counter whenever I get the slightest notion to buy a new coat or handbag costing over $1,000. Come on, Economy, work your magic in the sale section of this brunette on a budget's nearest Bloomingdale's...

Is grad school worth it in This Economy?

It's not breaking news that (in general), if you get a higher education degree, you make more money. But a writer over at Slate decided to test this theory recently by taking her reporting to the masses of 20-somethings who are contemplating whether or not going to grad school is worth it in This Economy. What she found is that though more school is usually an unbeatable bet in the long term, it is not looking that way to a lot of students in the here and now. One respondent, in particular, wrote to her with:

"I have a B.S. in sociology, and its value bears a strong similarity to its initials."

Ouch. Then again, what do you expect when you major in sociology? (Kidding, kidding.) According to the article, it seems plenty of students appreciate school as a refuge from the dreaded job market but are wary of the immediate payoff.

Look at student loans, the opportunity cost of taking two (business) or four (law) or eight (medicine) years off of your working life, add in a horde of other people with the same qualifications as you who are competing for a handful of available jobs and it's easy to see just how much the job market in these professions looks like a bubble that is about to burst. [Actually, law school is three years.]

To be fair, the story does mention that economists across the board dispute these points. "When things recover, it's going to be the highly skilled who are still in greatest demand (as has been true for the last three decades)," David Autor of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology tells Slate. "So, for someone considering engineering, medicine, computer science, economics, law, biology, etc., I would say 'go.' ... The recession makes education look like a better deal than ever because the opportunity cost of investing in your human capital has not been this low in quite some time."

But even the traditional safe havens in the job market, like becoming a lawyer, aren't so safe anymore. (Love complains about legal layoffs across the U.S. on a weekly basis, and let me tell you people, from all the info he shows me, it's a scary, scary time to pursue a legal career.) According to the Slate reporter, she "also heard from law school graduates with $200,000 in debt who wonder what they were thinking as firms downsize and implode." MIT's David Autor response? "As for the law degree being underwater: Lawyers may get their shoes wet during the recession, but high school grads can't even see the surface they are so far down," he says.

So the question remains: Is higher education still worth it? I'm of the mind that education cannot hurt you. I have my Master's and although I'm sure I could have gotten as far as I am in my career now without the higher education I traversed through, my degree is an added perk on my resume and in the training that's gotten me to this point; therefore, I have no regrets. It may be harder to find a job now for someone with, say, an MBA (students on a budget can consider an MBA online to an affordable degree) or degree in a tech-related field, but once This Economy turns around, I do think the highly skilled/educated folk will be the first to cross the threshhold into the new job landscape.

Do any of you have your graduate degrees and wish (at this point) that you could just give them back? If you went on after college, did you think grad school was a waste of time? If you opted to not pursue a grad program, what was the biggest reason?

Hold your spending urge at bay

Put that Chloe bag down. Now. According to new research quoted by Prevention Magazine, holding an object for as little as 30 seconds (instead of just ogling it with your eyes) increases your likelihood of buying it.

Buys who grasped a potential purchase for that long were also more willing to spend more than those who held their items for 10 seconds. Apparently, the lead research author, James Wolf, says its because extended physical contact can confer a sense of ownership.

So that's why whenever I'm in Europe, those guys with the cardboard palettes covered in knockoff sunglasses are adamant about making me hold a pair...try them on. Same goes for stores here, where sales associates are overly eager about "starting a dressing room" for me, or opening up a jewelry case to let me try on a Burberry watch, even if I'm not planning on buying. It's enticement through contact and all of a sudden, it all makes sense. (Photo: Bettman/Corbis via Harvard University)

Tipping: An insult in Japan, expected in the U.S.

Anyone remember this scene from Reservoir Dogs?:

Touche, Mr. Pink. Though your sentiment may not be warmly embraced by the professional criminals sitting around you, it turns out other countries definitely feel your plight.

"Everyone has a different interpretation of what's expected and acceptable when showing your gratitude; too much or too little can offend,"Misty Ewing, director of public relations at Virtuoso, tells Forbes.

Regardless of how you feel about shelling out extra dinero for a cab ride or sit-down dinner at a restaurant, here are some top Forbes "tipping" tips for the globetrotters among us:

• At luxury hotels in Japan, if you try to tip anyone from the wait staff at a top restaurant to the hotel concierge, your gesture will be perceived as a rude and flagrant show of wealth. On the other hand, if you skimp on tipping at any restaurant in the United States or to a concierge who has helped fulfill multiple requests, you probably won't be welcome again.

• Take a taxi anywhere in South America, and rounding the fare up to the next dollar amount is sufficient as a tip. If you're in an African city such as Cape Town or Nairobi, however, you need to tip 10% for a cab ride.

• Going to India? Taking a taxi there means there is no need for gratuity at all.

• In most countries in Europe, the service charge is included in the meal; it's customary to add another 5% to 10% for gratuity, especially in high-end restaurants. If no service charge is included, add 15% to the total bill. For taxis, 10% is the right amount to tip, and for hotel porters, give the equivalent of $2 per bag.

• In China, giving 3% is expected at restaurants, while in Hong Kong, 10% to 15% is the norm if the gratuity isn't included in the bill. For taxis, you don't need to tip in China, but in Hong Kong, you should round the fare up to the next dollar amount.

So many cultural rules. No wonder so much gets lost in translation.

Come for cocktails, stay for deviled eggs

(picture courtesy of Dyna Moe)

Would you like a hot dog with your martini?

Let's face it: Happy hour is nothing without the deals on bar foods that pace the drinks served. Sure, we've all eagerly ordered that half-price plate of stale nachos or giant bowl of 10-cent wing goodness, but what if you could order exotic fare for cheap, like white polenta agnolotti in a green garlic sauce -- prepared by a world-renowned chef?

Well, your dreams of half-priced sautéed foie gras with sunchokes and watercress are now a full-fledged reality (thank you, economy!). Around the country, restaurant owners -- who are quickly losing money as restaurent goers dwindle -- are converting restaurants into glorified bars, which means top chefs are serving up bar snacks like grilled cheese sandwiches and hot dogs alongside cheaper exotic fare, according to The Wall Street Journal.

Why? The WSJ reports that while consumer spending at restaurants is falling precipitously, drink orders, particularly for cheaper drinks like beer, are barely dropping off (no surprise). For restaurants, it's now proving more cost-effective to serve lower-priced dishes that diners can munch on as they buy drinks.

According to the Journal, selling alcohol, and cocktails in particular, is typically a better business than selling restaurant food because the margins are higher. While ingredient costs may account for as much as 35% of the price of an entrée in a high-end restaurant, they typically only account for about 14% of the price of a cocktail or 25% of the price of a glass of wine. And since restaurants are already paying to run a kitchen, selling additional, easy-to-make food is simply an extra revenue stream (obvis).

So, just how succulent a feast can you afford the next time you saddle up to a bar with your friends (and thirst) in tow? If you swing by Alain Ducasse's Benoit bistro in New York, for example, you can now order dishes like "mini BB sliders" -- blood sausage on a bun with apple marmalade -- for $7. Not bad, especially since I do have a thing for apple marmalade. But even better? The cheapest dish on Ducasse's recently added bar menu is $1 deviled eggs. How very retro! The kitsch factor alone is worth the money.

Stores liquor you up to increase your spending

Free champagne at Nordstroms sounds simply divine, doesn't it? Purchasing $1,000 handbags, $300 designer scarves and obscenely priced cosmetics may not be what you're used to ... but would you feel differently after five glasses of champagne? Would your frugal tendencies be a little more uninhibited with all those wonderful little bubbles going straight to your head, clouding any budgetary judgement you've tried sticking to?

Stores like Nordstroms have been doing this for awhile (you need to be one of their "2nd level shoppers" or whatever it's called, yours truly is in the club), but it seems that offering alcohol to shoppers is a growing trend by retailers to decrease your rationality, increase your impulsivity and at least make you linger longer than normal.

In a Wall Street Journal article specifically dealing with male shoppers, "The recession is driving stores to search for anything that gives them even a small edge over rivals. And generally slower traffic gives sales staff more time to offer drinks and talk with shoppers."

According to one storeowner quoted in the story, "Offering alcohol puts men at ease. I wanted it to be like you're going to your best guy friend's house, a guy friend who has great style." Um, yeah, but your best guy friend isn't deceptively making their home more inviting so that you'll shell over $300 for a new pair of jeans. If so, then that's one expensive drink.

FYI, the cost of purchasing alcohol for stores is minimal, especially compared to other brand-building efforts like advertising, so I get it, it works. And I really can't complain when someone offers me a free cocktail, but it's just something to be mindful of if your spending is already out of control.

As Love said (after reading the WSJ article): "If I only had $200 for a pair of jeans, then I too could have a beer (wait a minute . . . )".

I rock ...

... or so thinks Stephanie over at Bonjour Madame. See? She passed on the award to ME (okay, and 6 other people, but we'll just focus on me):


Anyway, she named me as one of her top 7 favorite blogs to read and I'm beyond flattered! With every award, though, there comes a set of rules, but you guys all know the drill by now: I name 7 things I love (so y'all can get to know me better), and then I list my top 7 favorite bloggers. So I'm going to make like Julie Andrews in "Sound of Music" and let you in on a few of my favorite things:

1. Classic movies. Turner Classic Movies is one of my favorite channels and there's little more I love than spending my Sundays lazing on the couch with Lola, watching some Jimmy Stewart or Cary Grant flick. (Although she doesn't speak English, it seems Lola may have an affinity toward Humphrey Bogart, but I could be wrong.) After I'm done watching, I love going online and researching the back story on the director, the filming, the cast, costumes, etc. Needless to say, I'm a walking encylopedia of classic film trivia.
   
2. Seeing live music. Whether it be giant arena concerts or just small local venues, I get a rise out of watching bands and/or DJs perform. Music is a big part of my life and I thrive on the electricity in the air at music shows, surrounded by others who can't help but dance and be happy. Some of my favorite concerts have been: David Bowie, Steely Dan, Depeche Mode and Britney (of course).
   
3. Traveling; therefore I (majorly) heart the Travel Channel. When I scrounge up enough funds to make traveling a full-time gig, I'll hopefully be spending months at a time abroad, penning my novels at a desk near an open villa window that overlooks some vineyard near Siena.
   
4. Spending time with friends and family. When people ask me what I think the meaning of life is, I tell them I don't have to "think" -- I already know. It's all about the relationships you cultivate with those around you. What is your life if you don't have great memories? In the end, that's all anybody is left with.
5. Shoes -- preferably those of the high-heel variety. When I'm an old lady my feet will probably look like gnarled old stumps of their former selves with all the high-heel wearing I currently partake in, but I can't help myself. There's something so fashionable and empowering about wearing a perfectly cut 3.5-inch pointy toe stiletto ... or 4-inch cork wedge (I've got 3 different pairs) ... or, well, you get the point. The higher, the better. Which reminds me, I saw these at the mall today, drooled through the store window, but walked away with my willpower in tow. (I so wanted to strut in and maybe just try them on, but who are we kidding, that would have led to me buying them and right now I haven't budgeted for impulse shoe purchases. Sigh.) Pressing forward ....
   
6. Picnics. Cheap, fun way to have a romantic date with Love. Half the fun of the picnic for me is going to a gourmet deli or even Trader Joe's and stocking up on little culinary indulgences like different kinds of cheeses, olives and wines. Mmmm....
7. Italy. 'Nough said.
   

And now for some of my favorite bloggers (don't worry, I love all of you, I just can't list everyone):

1. Bonjour Madame - Reading this blog makes me wish I was in France, oh, every single day. Madame Stephanie loves France as much as I do, and has great photos, commentary and music to set the mood of every post.
   
2. Fete a Fete - Tami at Fete a Fete always features fabulous foods, beauty products and fashions that make me want to go out and spend more money! She very much is "a bon vivant when it comes to chasing after sinful gourmet treats or tracking down the newest beauty potion."
3. Frugal in Virginia - Dana at Frugal in Virginia definitely knows a thing or two about how and when to snap up the best deals, especially when it comes to grocery shopping. Since following her blog, I have saved hundred of dollars at places like Safeway because she educates readers on every little deal out there. And believe me, people, that is no small feat.
4. Lifestyles of the Fit and Fabulous - My sister (who's a Division 1 tennis player in college) is also a huge health nut. (I mean that in a good way.) She lives and breaths health and nutrition and has a fabulous body to show as a result (no butch tennis player body here, chickadees, think more a tan Anna Kournikova). Sis just started a blog to share her wealth of knowledge and I'm proud to be able to feature it in my list. :)
5. A Gai Shan Life - Reading this blog is like watching a well-done reality show. Revanche lets us in on all the little details that make her a three-dimensional character to us digital folk. From her monthly financial snapshots to pics of her latest Mac 'N' Cheese masterpiece, I love checking in to see what she's up to.
   
6. Fortuna Finds - Everytime I read Fortuna's blog, I end up laughing out loud. Writing with subtle, humorous wit is a true art, and she's got it down pat. Good read, cracks me up every time.
   
7. She's Little and Lovely - If you like me, then you'll love Emilita, who through myriad emails back and forth I've found is essentially my doppleganger. As we are both tap-dancing journalists, I highly suggest checking out her blog, where she posts insightful observations on life, fashion and -- most importantly -- makeup. ;)
   

Oh, and if you're feeling especially bored tonight and need something to do, head on over to the Budget Fashionista, where my America's Next Top Model post was featured in their latest roundup! Goodnight and God speed.