Charlie’s Blog Takeover: Day 4

Dear Cliff,

After nearly 24 hours awake straight, spent yearning for your touch, I couldn’t help but sleep through the night like a peaceful angel. The only times I woke up was when Maggie insisted on petting me (although I’m fairly certain she was just making sure I was breathing. God help her future children). Maggie let me out before she embarked on her morning run, and by the time she came back, I was curled up and asleep again.

I slept through the day, only getting up when Maggie came home at lunch to let me out, and again, after dinner. I think Maggie wanted to take me on a walk (the fact that she said “let’s go for a walk!” was a dead giveaway), but frankly, I just wanted to sleep.

I think Maggie is going back to DeWitt this weekend, which is good because I need to check on the bunnies that tend to terrorize the homestead without me present.

Cliff, I may seem better, but I still have barely eaten since you left. Nothing is as appetizing as your love.

I miss you.

Charles.

Charlie’s Blog Takeover: Day 3

Dear Cliff,

I don’t know if I have the energy to carry on. I spent the day just sitting, staring into the distance. I can tell Maggie is feeling lots of guilt towards my behavior, but I don’t know how to tell her that, when you’re in this deep, it’s nearly impossible to see your way out.

Mi amore,

Charles.

Charlie’s Blog Takeover: Day 2

Dear Cliff,

Maggie senses my yearning for you and like the sweet gal she is, let me sleep with her again last night. I fear I wasn’t as friendly as I could have been, waking her up every few hours. Again, I must send her a bouquet of flowers because I also forgot it was Day Lights Savings Time and woke her at 4:15 am for my first potty break. She doesn’t have the patience for my silly short comings like you do, Cliff.

Maggie’s boyfriend came over and played with me. He gave me a lot of treats when he thought Maggie wasn’t looking, which was a nice change from the constant “diet” Maggie speaks of. Mark is the only person besides you that gets me, Cliff. He plays with me and lets me sit on his lap and even rubs my belly without me even asking. Don’t worry though. While Mark was a good belly rubber, I dream of your hands caressing my underside again.

It was beautiful in Michigan today and I played outside for several hours, including a solid 30 minute stint where I attempted to get Dylan’s attention by barking (I swear, that golden retriever has the worst hearing. He never responds to me). Towards the end of the afternoon, Maggie began loading up her car and I must admit, I was secretly ecstatic. I thought for sure she leaving so you’d be coming home to me. Much to my dismay, she loaded me into the car as well. Even worse, we drove to Indiana. I don’t know what I did to deserve you sending me to Indiana, but I’m sorry! Please! How could you do this to me?

Maggie’s little abode is fine, I guess. There’s a lot of areas to pee that I’m sure I’ll take advantage of. She took me on a three mile walk, which was nice, minus the unicycle that scared whatever perk I had right out of me. I mean, four wheels are awful, two wheels are even worse, but one wheel? What is wrong with these Indianans? Ugh.

I’ve been pacing around Maggie’s apartment for the last hour, unable to get comfortable. I can tell she’s frustrated that I won’t just sit down, but I don’t know what to tell her except: the heart wants what it wants, Cliff. And this heart wants you.

Long sigh. Come home, my love.

Cheers. Charlie.

Charlie’s Blog Takeover: Day 1

Dear Blog Readers,

It is I, the infamous Charles. I know I’ve never written before, but I’ve also never been separated from my best friend and sometimes lovah, Clifford, for this long before. I was going to just stare at the front door for the next two weeks, but Maggie insists that I take out my angst in a more artistic way.

On the day Cliff left me, it was a Friday like all others. Usually Cliff and I sleep in together on Fridays, since he has the day off, or we’re up north, just the two of us, having a real boys day. But on this Friday, I was put in my cage and given my favorite treat. I didn’t mind–I like my treats. Little did I know it was a parting gift. I would have savored it further had I known it would be Cliff’s last gift to me.

Hours later, my heart jumped with excitement when I heard the door open. I waited for the familiar “Charles!” and instead, a girly voice yelped out a “Chuckles! Baby boy!” Her voice didn’t give away her identity, but her quick reach over to grab M&Ms from the secret stash near me gave it away: Maggie was home. I should have known: she’s the only person who refuses to treat me like the grown canine I am, instead subjecting me to cutsey baby names. She’s lucky she gives me treats constantly or else I would have to punish her name calling by peeing on her clothes that she leaves everywhere.

Maggie fed me (less than Cliff does, something she pointed out by calling me her “little chubster”) and started making noise and singing and texting and generally being way too loud for my enjoyment. Cliff generally watches TV, has a glass of vino, and relaxes. Maggie is so immature at 23. I’m 46 in dog years–Maggie is half my age. If she wasn’t my sister, all the attention and flirting she’s doing with me would make me think she’s just asking me to rob the cradle.

Later that night, Maggie crawled into bed and even though I felt like a total traitor to Cliff, I snuggled in next to her. She seemed surprised when I snuggled in next to her tummy, taking my typical role as “Little Spoon.” Clearly Cliff didn’t tell her how the sleeping arrangements work. She adjusted to me, but I couldn’t get comfortable because I’m use to my big spoon having a hairy chest.

I barely slept through the night. Every sound, every croak of the house, was a sign of hope that perhaps my Cliffy was coming home to me. I woke Maggie at dawn for a “bathroom break.” Really, I hoped I would wander outside to see Cliff’ biking towards me, rolling in from the fog in the horizon. I made Maggie go out with me every hour for four hours to check. I stood with dignity at the property line, just waiting for my true love, but it was no good. Cliff has left me.

Maggie has explained that she’ll be taking care of me for 2 weeks, and I’m not sure if we’ll both survive these arrangements. She seems awful energetic and a little emotional for my taste. But, it is what it is.

Cliff, if you’re out there…Come home. Please.

With love,

Charles.

The Worst Friend Ever Lives In My Brain

Note: This blogpost is going to contain brutally honest information about what it’s like to have a distorted body image/an eating disorder. Some people don’t want to know. If you’d prefer to live that way, check back later this week for a decorating update :)

When I picture my eating disorder, I picture a little blob of a person living in the corner of my brain. A little person with a HUGE voice that is constantly chiming and giving her opinion without being asked. When I’m sad or depressed or stressed out, her voice gets louder and louder and she gives her opinion more frequently. When I’m happy or content, she gets quieter and shuts up a little. When I lose a little weight, she gains momentum. When I gain a little weight, she’s pretty quiet until I realize that I’ve gained a little weight, and then she starts up again. I usually compare her to a really awful mother in law, like Marie from Everybody Loves Raymond, that just busts in with her little digs and unsolicited advice. She’s annoying and obnoxious and never says anything nice, but for whatever reason, I can’t serve the little bitch an eviction notice.

When I was younger, around middle school, I was totally unaware I had a roommate in my brain. As I got older and realized what I was dealing with, I coped with the disease. Now that I’m in my twenties, I’m starting to fight back. Here’s a conversation I recently had:

Maggie: Hmm, dinner out with some coworkers sounds good. I have no food at home anyways.
Eating Disorder: You have soup! And salad. Restaurant meals have a lot of calories and  you won’t be able to control yourself.
Maggie: (feeling a little bit of guilt creeping in–then realizing what’s going on) Shut. Up. I’m going out to dinner. Fuck. You.

I’ve become a calorie counting machine lately, but it’s not just to make sure I gain weight. It’s also to make sure I don’t lose any weight. I don’t let myself go below the amount of calories I burn in a day and if I’m ever too low before I go to bed, I have a snack. If the voice inside my heads starts to give me a hard time, I purposely eat more. I will not let that stupid voice control me.

I work out and I eat healthy and when I’m a Mom, I’m going to be a healthy mother. I’m going to eat what my kids eat and I’m going to enjoy being pregnant and I’m not going to hate my growing body just because a silly voice in my head tells me I need to be thin. I’m going to be a fabulous role model for my daughter, an example of healthy eating. She is going to know how beautiful she is, no matter her size. Because no one should ever have to make room in their head for a negative roommate.

My First White Out

First you’ll need some background:

I’ll be the first to own up: I’m not an amazing driver. My parents/the weird program that DeWitt offers that feels like it might somehow not be ethical–actually taught my pretty well. I know the basics. I know my limitations too. For example, if there’s parallel parking involved, I’ll need to find another place to park. Over the weekend, my boyfriend and I did a whirlwind trip though Valpo, Indiana, Chicago, back to Valpo, then back to Michigan. Why? Well, my best friend lives in Chicago and I was really needing a girl hug, and then we wanted to check out the Horizon League tournament (Go Titans!) Because one of the things Marko-Polo and I have in common is our love of sleep, we decided to drive four hours back to Michigan after the last game at 9 pm to avoid a 6 am wake up call the next morning to get Marko home in time for MSU game. If you can’t tell, basketball is Mark’s crack.

So, we leave Valparaiso after a Titan upset against Cleveland State and we head out in Mark’s jeep. My job was to man the radio station, and I’ll admit: I failed. Mark’s job was to drive. He did a fantastic job. Probably too fantastic, because I didn’t even notice the weather. When Mark suggested that we just pick up my car in Marshall, Michigan (where we’d met on Friday–you know how much the Flood Family loves their Park and Rides) on Sunday because he was worried about the snow, I scuffed. It seemed like a a waste of precious Sunday time. It would add time to his already long drive back to Rochester. And also, between me and you, I really thought he was overreacting. Yeah, there was a little snow. But I’m from Michigan, ya’all. My favorite place in the world is up north. Mark is from Detroit. The hood. So I was all, “Okay, City boy. Let’s not worry about a few little sprinkles.” And he was all, “I think you’re wrong.” And then I was like, “Um, I’m never wrong. Game over.”

Here’s what I should have considered before I made this decision: First, my father, Cliff “Wildernessman” Flood was stuck at our cottage after 14 inches of snowfall, without power. Luckily, he wasn’t scared because Charlie was with him and Charlie was fine too, mostly because Cliff had him dressed in his favorite sweater. Also, I spent the entire drive from Valpo to Marshall reading blindgossip.com and spewing Butler vs. Valpo scores to Mark since we couldn’t find it on the radio. Not once did I ever check the weather. This is the reality behind technology, ladies and gentlemen: We have the resources to save ourselves fear and misery and to prepare ourselves for what’s ahead and instead, I read celebrity gossip.

So we get to Marshall and Mark’s like, “okay girlfran, I’ll see you at home, honey buns.” Note: Mark totally does not talk like this. Luckily, due to some fabulous foresight by my father, I didn’t have the beater car, but the big giant Tahoe. The gas guzzler. The savior, if you will. The drive from Marshall to Lansing was only 50ish miles. 45 minutes, my according to my GPS. So I teetered out on to I-69 (the best thing to come out of Fort Wayne) and started my drive. For the first four minutes, I was fine. And then the snow hit.

It came fast and it was dark. Have you driven through chunky snow, the kind that you know would build perfect snowman? When it comes at your windshield when you’re going 65, it’s almost hypnotizing. In fact, you feel yourself kind of drifting off into the snow, like it’s an evil cult leader that’s going to convince you to drink the magic kool aid.

I could handle that. What I couldn’t handle was when I couldn’t see anymore. The first white out came really fast and caught me unprepared. When I realized  couldn’t see anything in front of me, I regressed to when I was 12 or 13 and drove through a white out with my mom. I remember her saying the worst thing to do was to pull over or stop driving: if you can’t see in front of you, someone behind you can’t see you either–they could hit you. So I trekked on, even though I wanted to just pull into a ditch and bury my head in my hands until Marko Polo could come save me. White outs leave as quick as they come, so second later, it was clear again. My heart was beating so fast, I was shaking. I had more adrenaline going through me than the time I met Perez Hilton.

I hit another white out about five minutes later. It was fabulous. Not. I was pretty sure I was going to die. Some of my final thoughts: Are my benefits in order? Will my parents know what to do with all my cash money? I never told them! Will David know that he’s not supposed to donate my life insurance money to the poor people in third world countries, but he’s supposed to use it as a poor person in this first world country? Will Marko Polo be okay without me? He needs me! What about Charlie? My god, I need a will.

By the grace of God, I survived. I pulled into DeWitt only about 15 minutes behind schedule and immediately raided the M&M drawer. While I technically gave them up,  I felt like as a survivor, I deserved to binge eat M&Ms. Of course, I paid for that moments later with a stomach ache, but after all I’d been through, what’s a few shooting pains and a bloated belly?

Rambling Thoughts for Disney Girls

I have a few choice words for the makers of the Disney Princesses.

First of all, I grew up on the likes of Belle from Beauty and the Beast and Arielle from the Little Mermaid. My personal favorite was Cinderella, the poor little maid, or maybe Snow White, mostly because with her deep, white skin and creepy dark hair, we kind of looked alike. But here’s the deal, a lot of people in the cyber world have issues with the fact that the Disney Princesses show women as pathetic, helpless young ladies who have to be rescued by handsome, charming men in order to have fulfilling lives. They feel that this sends the wrong message to young girls. Want to know what my issue is? I would like to be rescued by a handsome, charming man and despite the fact that I am pretty adorable and a little sassy, I cannot get someone to come rescue me and take me off to a foreign country to be a reigning princess.

I mean, Sleeping Beauty just took a flipping nap for a few years and woke up practically fornicating with a Prince. I wake up from a deep sleep with more drool than a teething baby and frankly, I’m still tired. And if there is a boy in my bed that wants to do anything more than hit the snooze button, he’s in for quite a disappointment.  If anything, Sleeping Beauty was lucky. How many of you would just like to take a long nap without interruption? For all we know, Sleeping Beauty felt the same way. She wasn’t poisoned to sleep until a boy kissed her, she was just like, “You guys know what? I’m tired. Dating is a lot of work. Wake me up when you find a guy willing to put up with me. And make sure he’s hot. Night night.”

Cinderella also totally rubs me the wrong way. So what, she had to do a couple chores for a few years and then she got rewarded with a plethora of riches and huge, poofy wedding dress.  I mean, Cindy, cry me a river, okay? My mother has been cleaning up after me for 23 years and she doesn’t need to drape herself in tulle as a reward. Furthermore, the whole “identify me with my glass shoe” thing. That just screams foot fetish. How can you keep a man like that from straying? Wouldn’t you be constantly worried that he’d be hanging out at DSW or asian pedicure shops? Do you remember the New York Jets coach that got caught flirting with his wife’s feet? Sure it’s blown over by now, but let’s just say that if they invite guests over for dinner, I’d bet my measly bonus that the wife isn’t insisting any woman takes off her shoes off when they come through the door.

Arielle, the feminists argue, totally sends the wrong message: “Change who you are for love!” Well, no offense, but I think we can all agree that you have to change for the one you love. I’m not being unromantic, I’m being realistic. I could honestly live without sports, but my boyfriend likes them so sometimes I pretend like I like them too. Does it really hurt me to name drop Draymond Green? No. I love him more than I hate sports, that’s all. So what, Arielle gave up fish fins. It wasn’t doing much for her body shape anyways.

Belle from Beauty and the Beast has a little more depth. She chose personality over looks, which at first seems deep, until you realize she’s nothing more than an old-school gold digger. Hot, young thing going for a hairy, rich, fat guy? I think we all know how this ends. And it’s not with a prenup.

Now, I’m thinking that I could really benefit from becoming a Disney Princess. I’m cute, tall, thin. I can’t sing, but I have a lot of snark and sass and I’ve watched the Disney Channel recently and they are all about sass. I’m thinking some type of plot line which involves me shopping a lot with someone else’s money and then taking a long nap and waking up, only to discover that I have to spend the rest of my life sleeping and shopping with a very hot man.

Seems like a real blockbuster to me. Any takers?

My Top 12 in 2012

I found out when I was in my first part of my job in LA that I am “results-focused.” If I have a goal in mind, I’m just a real goal-getter. If you just want me to sit there and twiddle my thumbs, I’ll die of boredom. So, with that in mind, I have 12 goals for 2012:

1. Be More Social
Since I’m a total loner during the week and living alone in a new city, I’m going to challenge myself to make friends in Fort Wayne. The only thing worse than spending 18 months in Indiana is being miserable for 18 months in Indiana. Ideally, I’d like to cry when they ship me off to my new spot. How will I make friends? I have no idea. My guess is as good as yours. I’m open for friends if you have any in the Fort Wayne area you want to share.

2. Be More Relaxed About Exercise
I’m a total running-calorie-counting addict. I’d love to be able to let loose a little with that. Right now, I work out about 6 days a week and have a strict calorie counting regiment. And I don’t deviate. Except on Fridays/Saturdays, which brings me to…

3. Ease Up on the M and Ms
I don’t buy junk food at the grocery store because if it’s not in my apartment, I won’t eat it. So when I head home to my parents’s house or over to my boyfriend’s place, my willpower goes out the window. I. Eat. Everything. I can’t help myself. No M and M is safe! But then I feel gross and kind of guilty because what’s the point of eating healthy 5 days of week if you eat like shit the other 2? So I’d really like to find a happy medium in 2012. Plus, someday when I have cute little babies, I won’t be able to just not buy unhealthy food because frankly, a childhood without M&Ms is not a childhood at all.

4. Get Back Into Yoga
I used to LOVE yoga, but in the past 7 months, I’ve totally given it up. I really would like to distort my body in unnatural ways though, so ideally I’d like to start doing it even just one time a week.

5. DIY Furniture
I have a TON of furniture in my new place that I need to bite the bullet on and just paint. But because I am scared of making a mistake and it’s also freezing outside, I haven’t painted a thing. But, a year from now, it better all be painted. The 90’s were a fun decade, but my furniture really needs a makeover

6. Get More Energy
With such an insane work schedule lately and a routine of cooking/running/cleaning that takes up a lot of time, I usually just exhausted come Thursday and Friday, which means I don’t even have the energy to go out on the weekends. I just want to sleep. I’ve started to fight back a little. I set a later start time to my day–now I won’t come in until 9, which means I can sleep in until 7 and still work out before I go in. But, I need to eat more than salads and crackers and get to bed a little earlier so that I can have a social life on the weekends and my whole life just won’t be work.

7. Be Nicer to My Boyfriend
I have been such a grouch lately, poor Marco Polo has gotten the brunt of it. It’s not his fault I’m overworked, underfed, and stressed out. And that I can’t online shop at work to distract me from the fact that I live in Indiana.

8.  Travel!
I finally feel a little secure in my finances (hopefully I’m not jinxing any of this, because I still haven’t done my taxes!) so I really want to spend a little money and travel this year. I’d love to go to South America or Germany, but Marco Polo is starting his job in the fall and won’t be able, so I’m not sure what I’ll do yet. But, the whole point of working is to have money to do things and have new experiences, so I hope this year I at least make take all of my vacation days.

9. Take the Running Class–and Then Use It!
I really, really, really need to take a running class. I run like an insane toddler. My hips don’t move like they should, my feet are all pointed funny, and whenever I stop running to walk, I almost topple over because my balance is so off. There are running classes out there to teach you how to run for longterm success and I’ve just been such a wimp about it because I hate being criticized for the way I run. It’s intimidating! But, I’d love to run another half marathon this year. Fort Wayne has one in September and I think it’d be a really fun memory to have of the city since I’ll only spend one fall in Indiana before I’m shipped off.

10. Get A Puppy!
My parents are not going to be happy that this item is on the list, but I hope everyone will have an open mind as they hear me out. While the worst part about living alone is how scary it is, it’s also super easy to focus on myself a little too much. I’d like to have a reason to come home after work, you know? A guy at work suggested I get a cat, but I just don’t think I’m that desperate yet.

11. Cut My Hair
I’ve been using my hair as a total security blanket and I’m scared to even trim it right now. I’m not saying I need to chop it, but I’ve gotten my haircut once in the past 18 months. Once. My hair is so long, I shed more than a labrador retriever. I just haven’t cut it because I hide behind it at work. If a cranky boy employee is being a little difficult, I kind of just do a hair flip and giggle and he’s nicer. But that’s wrong and not fair and it takes a really long time to do. And also, I don’t own a horse and having horse hair is just really not very sexy.

12. Have a Christmas Card!
I really, really, really want to do my own Christmas card this year. Relax Ann, I will still write your Christmas letters. But, I’d like to mail my own out! There are so many cute options on Etsy and I rarely get to see my friends anymore, so I’d adore to mail out my own cute little cards.

So, what’s your top 12 in 2012? Are you going to keep me honest?

An Honest Day’s Work

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my job and what I do all day. I’m definitely in the “pay your dues” stage of my career, so my day to day work isn’t exactly fulfilling or exciting. My job doesn’t have bells and whistles and I don’t have the luxury of leaving early, getting to work late, or taking long lunches. My work is open 24/7/365 and that means there is always an issue, always a reason to stay, and you’re never the first one in or the last one out. I work with 40 highly educated people and 500 people with GEDs or high school diplomas.

Those 500 people work hard. They work overtime, they work nights, they cannot be late to work or come too early. Many live paycheck to paycheck and if their paycheck has issues, their lives have issues. They don’t live glamourous lives and they haven’t been given the gifts my parents afforded me. One day, I was in their break room and staring at a guy who was falling asleep. He looked exhausted. He was working the night shift and was only an hour or two into a twelve hour shift. And I thought to myself, “God, I hope my kid doesn’t have to do this. I hope I can give him or her every opportunity.” And then I thought to myself, “God, I’m a snob.”

The guys I work with make honest livings. They don’t cheat, steal, or run away from their bills. They work hard, with their hands, to make ends meet. Many are supporting their children through college and picking up extra shifts to ensure their own children don’t have to take out student loans. In Michigan, many of my friend’s parents worked hard, but in California, that wasn’t the case. I met a lot of people who I felt were kind of cheating the system. Actors or models that were using their looks to get by or creeps that hurt other people to climb up the corporate ladder. I didn’t always work as hard I could because I wasn’t pushed to. Now, if I don’t work a 10 hour day, I think to myself, “did I do my best today?”

I still want a better life for my own children. I don’t want them to ever have to work nights to support themselves or not have the luxury of taking a day of PTO when they really need it. But I do want them to make a good, honest living and if they can just do that, I’m sure I’ll be proud.

Comparing the Two Evils: Indiana vs LA

After residing in Indiana for two weeks, I’ve gotten a lot of questions along the lines of “how does living in LA compare to living in Fort Wayne.” Usually my answer is altered for whoever is asking. For example, my mentor in LA who is a Calfornia girl through and through gets the “I miss LA” response while the guy at work who wears his Indianapolis Colts hardhat gets the “Midwest over West Coast” anyway response. But, I’m going to be pretty honest with you: They both suck sometimes. And they’re both great sometimes. Let’s compare the facts:

Los Angeles:
The Weather: Gorgeous even when it’s “cold.” Cold is 50. If I see 30 in Indiana, I turn the heat down. The sun comes up early, so it’s actually easy to get up in the morning, unlike in the midwest when you might as well just not set an alarm clock because it’s too dark to get out of bed  until around noon.
The People: Are insane. Really. They’re either insane because they’ve been trying to “break into the biz” for 30 years and only took their job at Corporate America to pay their bills until their screenplay which would be “just a perfect fit for Brad and Angelina” or they are literally insane and moved to LA because the weather is nice so when they sleep outside, they don’t get as cold. They’re all super tiny and work out freaks, so expect to be leered at if you order anything other than a salad for dinner. But they drink a lot. So that 150 calorie salad will usually have at least 1,000 calories of booze. I’m a skinny girl and I remember a woman at work (an extra in Barry’s Burn workout DVDs) tell me that she eats 4 Peanut M and Ms a day and that I should do that too. Yeah, I ate an entire 5 pound bag of peanut M and Ms in one day. I don’t think I’m the type to stop at 4.
The Traffic: Is a nightmare. I walked to work, so my commute was only about 7 minutes by foot. But, I knew a guy that left his house every morning at 4:30 to be at work by 6 so that he could work until 3 so he could leave and “beat traffic” to be home by 5. The average commute was an hour–and this was for people who lived within 20 miles. And if you want to go to the beach after noon on the weekends, enjoy your two hour stop and go traffic. No fun. And LA has a no cell phone policy while you’re driving, which means you actually have to focus on the stop and go. I’ll pass.
Commute Home to MI: A 3 hour flight with a one hour layover with a 45 minute flight. With a three hour time change. Never again, my friends. Never again.
Boyfriend: It was not fun to have a boyfriend in Michigan while I lived in LA. It was just no fun at all
Sales Tax: 9.25% Keep your dimes, people. That stuff adds up.
Income Tax: 9.3% for everyone that makes between 47k and 1,000,000. That’s really great. So a CEO of a small company and I are taxed at the same amount. Super fair. Not.
Groceries: Because I often ate lunch at work, my groceries per week were only about 40 bucks. But, I also was buying stuff for dinner at work and eating breakfast there, so I don’t have a super fair estimate. A guy I worked with said he spent around 100 bucks a week, all things considered.
Rent: I paid 930 to live in one bedroom of a 3 bedroom apartment, with all utilities included. My company paid the other 750. That means my three bedroom apartment ran 5,040/month to live in a suburb of Los Angeles with parking. My checking account aches even thinking about that. It’s over 60 grand a year.

Cost of a Beer: Somewhere between five bucks and 15 bucks. For a PBR. Is that California hippie irony or are you being serious?
Price of Gas: Usually around 4 bucks a gallon. Sometimes you get a discount if you pay cash. But for those types of places, you’ll also have to risk your life since there will bars on the windows.
Random Fact: I actually started thinking 47 was too cold to be outside without a jacket. Those were the glory days, my friends.

Fort Wayne, IN:
The Weather: Cold. Cold all the time. My fingers are white from the minute I go running in the morning until I jack the heat up in my apartment. Really excited to see that bill, by the way.
The People: Are some of the nicest people I have ever met. Genuine and hardworking, they make an honest living every single day and I work harder at my job because I know how hard they’re working. There are people in LA who shouldn’t be proud of how they make their money or make money off of other people suffering. In Indiana, the people work long days and go home to their families. It’s nice.
The Traffic: Is almost nonexistent. The only annoyance is Indiana’s love for stop lights. Because there is so little traffic, the stoplights don’t seem to be any timers. If I want to be at work 6 miles away, I just need to give myself 12 minutes: 4 minutes to warm up the car, 8 minutes to drive.
Commute Home to MI: A one hour, 48 minute drive up one highway: I-69 north to exit 87. The only bummer is that you’ll need some podcasts because at the bottom of the mitten and the top of Indiana, there isn’t any radio or cell service. This is clearly God’s land.
Boyfriend: I love visiting Mark on the weekends. We actually can just spend weekends together doing nothing, like a normal couple. Yesterday he watched the MSU game while I baked cookies. I felt like we were normal again.
Sales Tax: 8%. Thanks a lot Chicago. Rumor is, they turned up the Sales Tax because assholes from Chi-town used to drive over for Gas and Groceries. But hey, I’ll take it because of the income tax.
Income Tax: Due to my slow conversion from California residency to Indiana residency, I’m not positive what my tax rate will be, but it’ll be somewhere around 3%. Just so you understand, the means I dropped from 9% to 3%. Thank god.
Groceries: I can’t buy lunch at work anymore, so my grocery bill is about 55 bucks a week (up from 40). I could make it less if I refused to buy Skinnycow Ice Cream or Diet Coke, but I work 50 hours a week and I will be damned if I will refuse myself an ice cream cone at the end of the day.
Rent: 668/month, plus 65 for a garage rental, 73 for cable (and DVR), estimated 100 for gas and electric (let’s hope that’s a generous estimate). So total is 916 to live by myself. After picking up after roommates for the past four years, I will happily pay that amount to have my own bathroom where the only hair in the drain is my own.
Cost of a Beer: I’ve heard rumors of quarter beer nights. That could be serious trouble if true.
Price of Gas: About 3.25 a gallon. Always a dollar cheaper than LA and a quarter cheaper than MI. I’m sure the reason as to why, but as long as the price stays low, I don’t really care.
Random Fact: I shop at Wal-Mart every Sunday. The prices really are lower! I’m still in the time of my life where I’ll suffer through long lines, messy shelves, and smelly people just to save a buck.

So there you go, a cost breakdown analysis. Overall, I prefer Indiana to Los Angeles, but I think I’d like to try Chicago or Birmingham/Royal Oak after this. I’d like to live WITH my boyfriend or near my friends instead of scheduling trips. And considering the greeter at Wal-Mart now knows my name, it’s probably time to get out of there before I become a “Wal Mart” Person.

So, where would you live if you could? Would you shop at WalMart to save three bucks a week?