Meth Heads, Military Wives, Fist Fights, and Being a Foodie: What Living in 29Palms Has Taught Me

In 7.5 days I’ll be packing up my meager belongings and making the trek back home – a place I never fully appreciated until I spent 5+ months in 29Palms (a town that most Californians don’t even know exists). I can say with 100% certainty that I won’t miss the surroundings (not even a teeny eensy weensy bit), but I will miss the people and certain aspects of a lifestyle I never thought I could become accustomed to. And on that note I thought I would sum up my experience with the 10 things I learned while I was here:

1. If a town is known for it’s meth heads, expect your neighbors to be the same.

Let me just begin by pointing out that a previous blog I wrote clearly stated my desire to not be stuck living among drug dealers and gang bangers (as I have been in the past). The universe must have somehow turned a deaf ear to this request because my neighbors? Yeah, they seem to be feeding the town’s meth habit right from the comfort of their own home. Let’s just say they are an interesting bunch without the street smarts of any successful drug dealer (thus their arrest yesterday). And they take showers with a hose and sponge in their driveway. Enough said.

2. Fist fighting doesn’t mean that a friendship is over.

While my boyfriend spent the last 4 years entrenched in the military way of life surrounded by guys, I was at home spending most of my time with my girlfriends. So when a night of drinking turned sour because two of his buddies started fist fighting over an eye gouging game that went a little too far, I thought that a rift would be formed right smack dab in the middle of our “group.” When I asked one of the guys if they would still be friends (with his eye bloodshot and quickly turning a shade of black), he answered, “Yeah, why wouldn’t we be? We’re best friends. It’s just like two boys in a sand box fighting over the same Tonka truck. No big deal.”

I’m still trying to decide if girls could ever adopt this thought process.

3. Living for the weekends is no way to live.

When people have asked me over the past few months how I like living out here, my answer is always the same: the weekends are a blast. But the rest of the week? I’d rather rip out my toenails one by one then spend another hour simply wasting time here. Ok, maybe that’s an exaggeration. The point, however, is that we get to leave on the weekends and venture out into civilization – exactly what makes living here bearable. Which also makes me realize that jumping between fleeting moments of bliss is simply no way to exist. Period.

4. Distance is all relative.

Just a quick snapshot: from the spot that I am currently sitting, Starbuck’s is a good 20 miles away, any quality restaurant is 60+ miles away, and a decent movie theater playing recent movies is around 65 miles away. Seriously. So now when I hear people complain about driving I’ll have a hard time resisting the urge to tell them to shove it. Which also brings me to my next point.

5. Heat is also all relative.

Now that the temperature is slowly dropping, I am beginning to realize how drastically our idea of “normal” can shift if need be. And of course, after sweating through 110+ degree temperatures with a swamp cooler that refused to work, 98 degrees seems like heaven. I don’t think I’ll ever say that Colorado summers are too hot again. Ever.

6. Good friends don’t count dollars and cents.

Before living the military lifestyle, I had never encountered a group that was so willing to give without keeping track of what they were owed in return. They care deeply about each other, but they care about each other’s families as well. That is what I’ll miss.

7. When all else fails, food can make any day exciting.

There is something about experiencing never ending boredom that makes meal time really fricken exciting. So those days when slaving away over my computer or watching an embarrassing amount of reality TV simply weren’t cutting it, having a really good meal could fill that void. Yes, I realize that’s what massively obese people say, but I’m being honest here. At least it’s not a drug addiction – although my neighbors could have helped me out with that.

8. Claiming your husbands accomplishments is not cool.

After spending a fair amount of time living in close proximity to a military base and a total of four years immersed in the politics of it all, I have met several types of military spouses. There is one in particular that I can’t stand – the one that will say matter of factly (and of course there are plenty of variations on this), “Yeah, we are supposed to be picking up rank soon,” or “I really can’t stand our chain of command right now.” Strange, but I don’t think that the military remembers employing you.

Yes, it’s a partnership. But I don’t think your marriage vows stated anything about losing your own identity and taking on that of your husband’s. Maybe that’s just me.

9. Not everyone thinks like me.

Perhaps this one sounds like something I should have learned around the age of 8, but let’s be honest- most of us operate on a daily basis spouting off our opinions like everyone feels exactly the same way. After being surrounded by people who grew up far differently than I did, I realize that not everyone agrees (or should agree) with me. And I’m pretty sure I’m ok with that.

10. Money should be spent (yes, I know this one’s a shocker).

From the time my dad walked me down to the bank and helped me open up my first savings account, I’ve been a money hoarder. There was a time when spending as little as $10 would create an ulcer in my stomach the size of Texas. After moving, however, I realized that we would have to spend money if we wanted to go anywhere or see anything worthwhile. So, out of necessity, I agreed.

I know that we wouldn’t have been able to have one tiny fraction of the amazing experiences we did if we didn’t spend some of our hard-earned dough. And that’s big for an anxiety-prone- money-hoarder like me.

Goodbye 29Palms. I’d like to say I’ll miss you, but then I’d be lying. And a quote from a few good guys I know, “It’s been real. It’s been fun. But it hasn’t been real fun.”

Finding Balance (via a hazmat suit)

The potential of earning a paycheck and lessening the intensity of my money-induced panic attacks causes me to grossly overestimate what my mind and body can handle. So last week when I was offered a three-day stint in a hazmat suit for a little extra cash, I quickly accepted without much thought as to how it would fit in to my already busy bee of a work life. (And somehow the outfit didn’t serve as a deterrent either. God I would look good as a meth dealer.)

Being a card-carrying member of the promotional job market I often times agree to promote products or other such things I know nothing about. This time I was pushing the 3rd season of the television show Breaking Bad (involving a meth dealer thus the appropriate outfits)- one that I had never heard of before but will now most likely be hooked to like a multitude of other shows I DVR.

The cherry on top of this little adventure was that it took place outside the RV, Boat and Travel Show. Two of said days were on a Thursday and Friday- both prime days for the 60+ crowd to peruse the fantastic display of trailers and sign up for RV clubs. The problem? We were handing out free iTunes download cards to a massive group that either didn’t have computers or were blissfully unaware of what constituted a download in the first place. Oh the joy.

While the event served its purpose of paying off my debt to the IRS (yes, I blame taxes for the hazmat suit), my tendency to fill my plate with unnecessary obligations needs to stop. ASAP. My week was already filled to capacity with writing assignments and SLEEP when I said, “what’s one more thing?” Balance, I am learning, does not mean juggling twenty projects at once but only accepting the projects that I can complete without pulling out large chunks of my hair.

But where I used to BEG for new opportunities to float my way, I now feel as if I am firmly rooted in a stream of opportunity abundance. I am grateful that I have plenty of money-making jobs to choose from- now I just need to learn to say no. Or at least learn to only take the jobs with the attractive outfits.

STICKIN’ IT TO THE MAN

It’s a strange thing when seeing a business go under overnight becomes an everyday occurrence.  Or when families across the country reside in their homes one week only to be gone the next, taking the essentials and leaving behind a foreclosure sign in their front yard.  It’s even more strange when you stop remembering what it was like before everyone became so desperate, before the news mentioned the dire state of the economy and virtually everyone knew first hand exactly what they were talking about. 

While politics may be all wrapped up in deciding the problems and finding the solutions to this horrid state of lack we find ourselves in, I think we all have the ability to reclaim our control over our own financial situations.  My attempt to do just that has included a recent brawl at my local bank when a cheery-eyed teller informed me that they offered no such thing as overdraft protection and a $36 charge per $3.00 transaction was normal, even if there was AMPLE money in a savings account that they were SUPPOSE to have connected to said overdrawn account.  Controlling my urge to pummel her, I bluffed and said that I would then be switching my accounts to another bank.  Thus the groveling ensued, followed by a fee retraction by the manager, and a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to follow through on my threat.

Banks, my friends, deserve to be shaken up a little bit.  Somewhere along the way we all agreed to give up our power, to roll over and accept the outrageous fees, the insane interest rates, and the utter lack of benefits we receive by GIVING THEM BUSINESS.  So when a friend received a letter from US Bank (no shame in name dropping here) stating that their interest rate for a line of credit would be raised due to recent negative marks on their credit report, I agreed to write a response.  Keep in mind, this friend had never been late paying on this line of credit, and the recent negative marks had been because, like HALF THE NATION, their income had dropped nearly 70% in the past year.  Strange, I would think that if you saw someone drowning in a pool you might say, hmmm…looks like you need some help- would you like me to drain some of that water for you?  Not, hmmm…looks like you need some help- I’ll have to add some more water to ENSURE THAT YOUR DROWNING IS SUCCESSFUL. 

So without further ado, here is my response to US Bank….

 To whom it may concern:

Please refer to attached letter.

First and foremost I extend my deepest gratitude that the great people of US Bank are being meticulous about following the state of my financial affairs.  It is so good to see that banks such as this one take the time to check up on those of us on “main street” when wall street is still reeling from the recent bank bailout.  Speaking of which, I am so glad that US Bank received the financial help it needed with the billions the government doled out last year ($6.6 billion to your bank alone, I believe).

However, with these generous handouts that your bank has recently accepted, I was a bit puzzled to read that you will not be extending this help in my direction but instead ensuring my own financial demise with an increase in the interest rate for my line of credit from 7.5% to 10.75%.  While your concerns about negative marks on my credit report may give you ample reason within your regulations to do so, it may also be prudent for you to refer back to my payment record with your bank in particular- I would be surprised if you found it to be anything but spotless.

In speaking with other creditors who have been sympathetic to my situation (one that I no doubt share with millions of other Americans), I have remembered that there are companies that are interested in helping instead of hindering my financial well being.  They have agreed to do everything from allowing me to delay my payments to keeping my interest rate intact.  Strange, most of these companies haven’t been on the receiving end of such generosity as yours has, but I digress.

While my “cash flow problem” may not have shown up on the evening news like yours, I would assume that we both know the far reaching effects that this issue can have.  So in seeing that you received the assistance that you needed perhaps you can tell me where I can find a similar hand out?  Please feel free to contact me if you have any suggestions. 

 Sincerely,

Your Loyal Customer

P.S. I will be sure to tell others to avoid banking with you in order to save you the time and energy it takes  to provide top-notch personalized customer service.  Consider this my gift to you.

Will this warrant some sort of brilliantly compassionate response on the bank’s part?  I’m not holding my breath.  But I’ll certainly keep you updated…

The Things I’ll Do For a Buck

I had a job interview yesterday.  The morning began with me ransacking my closet for that perfect “hire me on the spot” outfit and ended with my mother telling me that leggings and a sweater that barely covered my ass was probably not appropriate.  To this I told her that I wouldn’t want to work for a company that didn’t allow me to wear said outfit and that I would hold out for another job if they were going to be so strict about my fashion sense.  Although I did change the outfit (that damn perfectionist in me isn’t so good with making a statement), I silently vowed to myself that I would not let the promise of a steady paycheck compromise my idea of what is or is not good for me.

In leaving the company’s fantastically hip office yesterday after a speedy interview (not sure if this is a good thing or bad thing…) I began to think about all of the jobs that I had pushed for in the past and all of the interviews that I would undoubtedly sweat through in the future. 

After high school and a dramatic decision to not join the ranks of alcohol induced hipsters at the University of Colorado Boulder, I found a job as a para-educator for special needs kids at an elementary school.  Sitting at the principal’s desk as he perused my resume that seemed to just shout “INEXPERIENCED!!” felt odd considering that a few months earlier I was merely a student myself.  I was as shocked as perhaps some of my future colleagues were when he called me a few days later to tell me that I had been hired.  Ecstatic and horrifically nervous at the same time, I attempted to help some of the best kids I had ever met navigate their way through a world that just wasn’t conducive to their abilities.  I loved it- and broke down when I left.

When I finally bucked up and went along with society’s plan of getting a college education BEFORE entering the “serious” workforce I thought that I might try my hand at being a restaurant hostess on the side.  I guess I had forgotten that the one other time I had attempted this seemingly easy feat I had walked out sobbing the first day.  This time I was hired at Chili’s- where I thought I might make some bosom buddies and have a little fun (think Waiting without all the perversion).  I promptly realized that I just don’t like waiting on people.  Period.  One day a woman came in in a wheel chair.  In my attempt to be logistically intelligent I attempted to seat her at a table where a regular chair could just be replaced with her wheelchair.  She then proceeded to yell at me (in front of other customers mind you) that I should have sat her at one of the raised booths.  I smiled broadly and tried with all of my might to bite my tongue.  I quit against the chiding of an acquaintance that got me the job in the first place.  “Don’t burn any bridges,” she said to me.  This, I had thought, was a bridge I would set on fire myself.

The next four years I spent as a nanny, caring for a wide variety of ages and figuring out all of the reasons why I wouldn’t want kids anytime soon.  This venture, however, created a hodge podge of stories too fantastically awkward and rewarding to put into one blurb.  It deserves a blog all its own.  So I’ll just call this part one of my venture into being a working girl–and an exploration of the things I will and will not do for a buck or two.

Money Conscious? No, Just Cheap.

I have money issues- severe stomach churning, panic inducing money issues.  No, I am not drowning in debt from an expensive shoe fetish nor am I making frequent secret trips to Check in to Cash. I am a hoarder.  (A professed hoarder at that, so you know it must be bad.)  I am the type of person that will buy the generic store brand of everything even if it means that the cereal tastes like saw dust and the make-up remover wipes are so abrasive they leave tiny scabs on my eyelids.

Besides the fact that this erratic and fear induced behavior probably just goes along with my rigid perfection obsessed personality type, my dad counsels people on how to get out of debt.  From the time that I was a pre-teen making a few bucks here and there off of odd jobs like scrubbing the filth off of the tennis courts in my complex, I was taught to save and spend my money wisely.  I guess I never heard the part about spending. 

When I moved my life to California a few years ago to be closer to my military honey, I had daily breakdowns usually always concerning my savings account that was dwindling before my eyes (driving 50 miles each way to a part time job that only paid a mere $10 an hour didn’t lend itself well to my preferred lifestyle).  This was all happening at a time when I was trying to be all Zen-like by reading the Dali Lama’s book on true happiness and looking up quotes from other Zen people about how to calm the fuck down.  But when the Dali Lama couldn’t get through the universe tried instead.  Driving to work one day I was talking to my mom about how pissed off I was that money was not flowing freely to me (go figure) when I ran over a massive boulder in the road and got a flat tire.  On the on-ramp to a California highway.  In my seething “I hate the universe” mentality I had just destroyed a $150+ tire. 

After screaming at the top of my lungs, (to myself since my cell phone battery was on its last leg and was threatening to die) I was able to call my new boss and after a horribly childish sob fest on my part, she told me she would come to my rescue.  She proceeded to ensure that I could drive on my spare tire (that was changed by an angelic truck driver) to somewhere where I could purchase a new one.  And then she bought the tire for me.  To me, this was the universe saying (in a way that was a bit too dramatic for my liking) “See, we told you you would be taken care of.”

I would love to say that this experience made me stop checking the contents of my bank account every couple of days to make sure that some freak computer malfunction hadn’t wiped out my entire life savings, but that is not the case.  I am still a money hoarder (perhaps a support group search is in order?) that is looking for that perfect rainy day or fantastically exotic trip to splurge on.  Until then I’ll just have to breathe through it and remind myself that spending is nothing more then an exercise in faith- and stating that there is always more where that came from.  Yes, I’ll just have to start there…