When I was really little, summer vacations were never a big deal in my family. I remember summers where all my friends would leave to go on road trips to Yosemite or the Beach, and always wondered why my family was stuck at home.
The truth is, my dad is not a big fan of crowds. It’s like pulling teeth to get him to play tourist - and to travel during the busiest time of the year is an absolute no go. Instead, we’d take our summer vacations in October - every October 31st to be exact. (Nevada Day for those who are unaware, when Nevada school children get the day off for Halloween to celebrate Nevada becoming a state). Most of the time this meant a trip to Disneyland, where my mother would dress all of the kids in horrific tye dye Micky Mouse sweatshirts and tote us around the park. (I’m pretty sure our family photo is still up for the world to see in the photo shop. yikes!) On the years that we didn’t go to Disneyland, we’d join in with a few other families and rent a houseboat for a week at Lake Mead, leaving me with many memories of a half a dozen kids sleeping under the stars on the roof of the houseboat.
My family eventually caught on to the nature of summer vacations once I was in high school. That’s when we discovered the Lake of the Ozarks. Lake of the Ozarks is a 23-hour drive from Las Vegas, and of course with MY dad that meant we’d be driving. My dad’s version of cross country road trips involves only stopping when the car says so. You have exactly the amount of time it takes to fill up the gas tank on my dad’s F250 to grab food, use the facilities, and do as many jumping jacks as possible before it’s time to hit the road for another 300 miles. As soon as I had my first job I began saving for plane tickets to the Ozarks, and I haven’t looked back since.
By the time we reached the Ozarks my family was ready for a week straight of vacation. It was the perfect vacation - our lake house tucked away at the shore - a 20 minute drive to the closest convenience store, an hours drive from the closest Walmart. It was the perfect vacation - a REAL vacation - with no plans, nothing to see, nothing to do. We went skiing, suntanned, grabbed lunch on the lake - and once we were old enough a couple of beers too. It is the idealistic vacation, and one that I relied on to refresh and replenish my soul.
As I type this, my family is currently enduring the endless road trip back to Nevada. The Baby is begging to watch another episode of Hannah Montana on the laptop, and The Teenager is complaining that she can’t get cell signal in no-wheres-ville. My mom is suggesting they stop at the cute little antique store on the side of the road, and my Dad is staring at the road sending mean thoughts to my brother for flying home early. My brother is already back early in Vegas - thinking up the best excuse to explain why he stole the Land Sharks that were being brought back for me.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting in my office, staring at a picture of the lake house on my computer screen, and pretending the sound of my air filter is really water lapping up on the lake shore.
No, my family didn’t disown me when I decided to move to LA. I was still welcome to come on our family vacation, and spent months studying the ticket prices on Allegiant hoping to grab a stellar sale. However, responsibility soon weaseled it’s way in. My vacation days were few, and as the trip came closer I was holding out for a very important phone call that I just couldn’t miss.
The time came for my family to leave, and I stayed in LA. Work was slow - I had nothing to do. and the phone call never came. Suddenly staying in LA sounded like the worst idea ever.
I wanted to call my Mom to pout and complain, thinking maybe I could trick her into suggesting that she’d pay for my plane ticket. I wanted to call my Dad and remind him that 22 is still REALLY young to be living completely independent in one of the biggest cities on earth, and doesn’t he want to see his little girl again? I wanted to throw a hissy fit, to have Mom and Dad rescue me from the boredom and frustration that is living an adult life - let me escape to the Ozarks where there is no such things as worries.
Instead a grew up, threw on my business flats, and went to work. Being an adult isn’t always so fun.
Showing posts with label parents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parents. Show all posts
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Independence
This year I have reached a HUGE milestone in my life:I am independent.
or at least according to the federal government I am. That’s right, it’s tax time. When it came time to settle in and finally figure out my taxes, I reached a HUGE question, right on page one:
“Can someone else claim you as a dependent?”
For the first 21 years of my life, this question was a given. But suddenly I’m staring at my taxes faced with the defining question of my twenties:
“Am I REALLY independent?”
In an irony of sorts I picked up the phone and proceeded to have an hour-long conversation with my Dad to try to navigate my way between dependence and independence. (at least according to the US government)
About halfway through, we decided that yes, for one more year, I was a dependent. I calculated my W-2’s and typed them neatly into Turbo Tax, only to be met with a very nasty red number. My thought?
Hey Dad – if I’m a dependent, I’m depending on you to help me pay this bill. Yikes!
And that’s when Dad and I started to play the tax game. Uncheck a box here, calculate the distance moved here, and suddenly my number went up and up and up until WOW! I got the biggest tax refund I have ever seen. (Thinking back to the days when I was SUPER PSYCHED to get my $90 refund. WooHoo!)
At the end of the hour I had a very nice little green number at the top of my screen, and I told my Dad goodbye.
Thanks for the great life Dad, but I think I’ll take it from here. ;)
Of course, there is the downside to being independent. And well, it’s that I’m dependent. No longer to my parents, but to my credit card. It steals my independence, literally down to my very last cent.
So, my hefty check from the US government didn’t stay in my account more than a couple of hours before the entire amount (plus a little extra) was immediately transferred on to my credit card bill. As my credit card balance dropped, so did my excitement as I remembered the days where tax refunds meant a full-fledged girl’s day – complete with shopping trip.
But today, I woke up to another direct deposit into my account – this time from the State of California. I had completely forgotten! I spent all of my “dependent” life as a Nevada resident, basking in the glory that is no state income tax. But California is in debt, and we don’t have that luxury. I cringe every two weeks as I see the extra little line on my paycheck as my precious dollars are taken away by the state.
Except for the fact that now, I got a few of them back.
Of course on the flip side, now I’m also VERY tempted.
Over the last couple of months I’ve been VERY dedicated to sticking to a budget. I’ve bought no extras, no splurges, just strictly what I need and nothing else. It’s been very exhausting. So part of me wants to take my state tax refund as just a little reward to myself. That is, until the responsible side kicks in.
As always, I’m torn between the responsible thing to do, and the thing that will make me feel just a little bit happier. It’s time to make a responsible adult choice.
So what did you do with your tax refund? Did it all go towards paying off debt? Or do you get to have a little fun?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Rebel
The most rebellious thing I’ve ever done is pierce my nose.
My father swore that if I were to ever A) dye my hair black and/or B) pierce my nose, that was the end of me. The phrase “Not under my roof” was uttered more than once.
Almost exactly to one month after I was no longer under his roof I made a spontaneous decision while shopping in Pasadena with a girlfriend to pierce my nose.
Of course, spontaneous is somewhat a relative term. I’ve wanted to get my nose pierced since I was a sophomore in college, and came pretty close once or twice when I lived abroad in London (but somehow the sketch of Camden market always scared me away.)
However, that day in September my girlfriend and I were supposed to be shopping for work appropriate clothes, and I walked out with a nose stud. Luckily, I work in the entertainment industry and no one gives a second glance to things like piercings and tattoos. (I actually had to point the change out to both The Boss and Mrs Boss, who thought I had gotten my hair cut instead.)
Nevertheless, my parents don’t work, live or think about the entertainment industry, and I was frightened beyond all belief of revealing the big secret to them. I was your uber suck-up good kid in High School. The most rebellious thing I did was stay at church until after 10:00 pm on a school night. (Yes, I was that kid who got grounded from church, on more than one occasion.)
I’ve never seen the point in disrespecting your parents. It made sense to me why I shouldn’t drink, do drugs or sleep around. and while my mother and I got into some pretty Olympic screaming matches in High School, it usually had to do with me wanting to grow up. (Ha - memo to High School Twixter One: DONT RUSH.)
But everyone reaches a point when they need a little rebellion in their lives. So mine was a nose piercing, which I was certain my parentals would hate. I dreaded with excitement the moment that they would finally realize my deed. Planned out how I would reveal it, and perfected my arguement of why I shouldn’t be shunned.
But when I finally made the big reveal, it was no big deal. My mom said it looked cute. My dad just rolled his eyes. Pretty anti-climactic for the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done in my life. Maybe it's time I experiment with a little black dye.
My father swore that if I were to ever A) dye my hair black and/or B) pierce my nose, that was the end of me. The phrase “Not under my roof” was uttered more than once.
Almost exactly to one month after I was no longer under his roof I made a spontaneous decision while shopping in Pasadena with a girlfriend to pierce my nose.
Of course, spontaneous is somewhat a relative term. I’ve wanted to get my nose pierced since I was a sophomore in college, and came pretty close once or twice when I lived abroad in London (but somehow the sketch of Camden market always scared me away.)
However, that day in September my girlfriend and I were supposed to be shopping for work appropriate clothes, and I walked out with a nose stud. Luckily, I work in the entertainment industry and no one gives a second glance to things like piercings and tattoos. (I actually had to point the change out to both The Boss and Mrs Boss, who thought I had gotten my hair cut instead.)
Nevertheless, my parents don’t work, live or think about the entertainment industry, and I was frightened beyond all belief of revealing the big secret to them. I was your uber suck-up good kid in High School. The most rebellious thing I did was stay at church until after 10:00 pm on a school night. (Yes, I was that kid who got grounded from church, on more than one occasion.)
I’ve never seen the point in disrespecting your parents. It made sense to me why I shouldn’t drink, do drugs or sleep around. and while my mother and I got into some pretty Olympic screaming matches in High School, it usually had to do with me wanting to grow up. (Ha - memo to High School Twixter One: DONT RUSH.)
But everyone reaches a point when they need a little rebellion in their lives. So mine was a nose piercing, which I was certain my parentals would hate. I dreaded with excitement the moment that they would finally realize my deed. Planned out how I would reveal it, and perfected my arguement of why I shouldn’t be shunned.
But when I finally made the big reveal, it was no big deal. My mom said it looked cute. My dad just rolled his eyes. Pretty anti-climactic for the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done in my life. Maybe it's time I experiment with a little black dye.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Happy Groundhogs Day
25-years ago today, my Dad asked my Mom to marry him. They’ve never been big anniversary people, but Groundhogs Day has always been a huge holiday in my family for as long as can I remember. And my mom has 25 plush groundhogs to prove it!
Mom & Dad planned their wedding in 4-months, and were married the same week as my grandparents – who will celebrate 50 years this June!
I’ve been so fortunate to have not one but two strong, committed relationships as role models in my life, and the next couple of months will be all aflutter as we get ready for a family reunion and to celebrate such major anniversaries.
When I think of spending 25-years with the same person, my mind can’t begin to comprehend it. Heck, My mind isn’t even that old!!!
How is someone supposed to be mature enough at 22 or 23 years of age to make a decision that will affect them for double their current life span? When I spent half of my life completely devoted to butterfly clips and glitter – can I REALLY be trusted with that big of a decision?
When it comes down to it, I think commitment is the ultimate Twixter problem. We don’t want to commit to a job. We don’t want to commit to an apartment. We DEFINITELY don’t want to commit to just one person. Yet, we’re in the stage of life where everyone is telling us to commit! commit! commit! All the while, we’re yelling back why? why? why?
On anniversaries like today, I’m reminded of an endless list of answers to why?
Why? because my Dad took my Mom to San Francisco this weekend, and then sat inside the Britex fabric store with her for HOURS, just because she asked.
Why? because my Mom will drive 23-hours with an infant, just so my dad can take our boat to the Lake House in the Ozarks.
Why? because even if dinner’s not made, or the house is not clean, or someone gets home way too late my Mom and Dad crawl into the same bed every night, and get up together again every morning.
Why? because 25-years ago, my Dad asked and my Mom said yes. And maybe it’s time for the Twixters to learn from other’s experience.
Happy Engagement-a-versary Mum & Daddy!
Mom & Dad planned their wedding in 4-months, and were married the same week as my grandparents – who will celebrate 50 years this June!
I’ve been so fortunate to have not one but two strong, committed relationships as role models in my life, and the next couple of months will be all aflutter as we get ready for a family reunion and to celebrate such major anniversaries.
When I think of spending 25-years with the same person, my mind can’t begin to comprehend it. Heck, My mind isn’t even that old!!!
How is someone supposed to be mature enough at 22 or 23 years of age to make a decision that will affect them for double their current life span? When I spent half of my life completely devoted to butterfly clips and glitter – can I REALLY be trusted with that big of a decision?
When it comes down to it, I think commitment is the ultimate Twixter problem. We don’t want to commit to a job. We don’t want to commit to an apartment. We DEFINITELY don’t want to commit to just one person. Yet, we’re in the stage of life where everyone is telling us to commit! commit! commit! All the while, we’re yelling back why? why? why?
On anniversaries like today, I’m reminded of an endless list of answers to why?
Why? because my Dad took my Mom to San Francisco this weekend, and then sat inside the Britex fabric store with her for HOURS, just because she asked.
Why? because my Mom will drive 23-hours with an infant, just so my dad can take our boat to the Lake House in the Ozarks.
Why? because even if dinner’s not made, or the house is not clean, or someone gets home way too late my Mom and Dad crawl into the same bed every night, and get up together again every morning.
Why? because 25-years ago, my Dad asked and my Mom said yes. And maybe it’s time for the Twixters to learn from other’s experience.
Happy Engagement-a-versary Mum & Daddy!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Your Mother has posted a comment.
My mother has a facebook. In fact, so does my grandfather.
This fact used to annoy me greatly - is NOTHING sacred?!
I spent over a month on heightened alert, watching my profile like a hawk until I realized I could set my privacy settings to do the job for me - Now, Mum & Granddad are free to peruse my page without any danger of discovering my sarcastic status about only having rum in my fridge. (Which is a lie, there's orange juice in there too.)
It's every child's nightmare to have their parents enter into the digital age, but recently I've begun to realize the perks. My mother is famous for hour long phone conversations. and some days, those phone convo's are just what I need. But other days I don't need to hear a 15-minute ramble on what kind of bread she bought at the grocery store.
And that's where facebook comes in. Even better - that's where AIM comes in. (Yep, remember that from Jr. High. Love it. Use it. Really.) Now, instead of countless phone calls throughout the day (including at all hours during work) Mum can hop on the computer to shoot me a quick facebook post, or a quick IM, and whats done is done.
Oh the wonders of the digital age.
This fact used to annoy me greatly - is NOTHING sacred?!
I spent over a month on heightened alert, watching my profile like a hawk until I realized I could set my privacy settings to do the job for me - Now, Mum & Granddad are free to peruse my page without any danger of discovering my sarcastic status about only having rum in my fridge. (Which is a lie, there's orange juice in there too.)
It's every child's nightmare to have their parents enter into the digital age, but recently I've begun to realize the perks. My mother is famous for hour long phone conversations. and some days, those phone convo's are just what I need. But other days I don't need to hear a 15-minute ramble on what kind of bread she bought at the grocery store.
And that's where facebook comes in. Even better - that's where AIM comes in. (Yep, remember that from Jr. High. Love it. Use it. Really.) Now, instead of countless phone calls throughout the day (including at all hours during work) Mum can hop on the computer to shoot me a quick facebook post, or a quick IM, and whats done is done.
Oh the wonders of the digital age.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
A Bicycle Built for Me
My co-worker and I have been semi-seriously contemplating riding our bikes to work, being that I'm moving a quarter mile away from her and a "good work out distance" from the office. I've never been much of a bike girl and managed to survive all 4-years of college without ever owning one, but after the horrific 2-month's I've had with my car, it's starting to look promising.
It all started my FIRST WEEK on the job. I was still commuting the hour North into Burbank while living in Orange County, which meant plenty of time sitting on the 5. Lots of sitting. Though, apparently, I didn't do enough sitting because one second I was glancing at my clock and the next I had rear ended a huge SUV.
The SUV walked away with a minor scratch. My car was totaled. Ever want to see a grown man cry? Show my dad the pictures of my accident - he mourned over the loss of the first car he ever bought his baby girl.
So, that left me without a car on my first week of my new job, with an hour commute. The week before I was moving to Burbank. The week before graduation. Days before my extended family was coming in to town. Needless to say I was a bigger wreck than my car.
Eventually I found my perfect car - my pretty blue Nissan Sentra. But getting the car was an even bigger nightmare than the accident. To get it titled, smogged, and registered alone took over 2-months and 4 trips to the DMV! On top of the fact, that after buying it used from a private seller I had mountains of maintenace work to do.
All throughout college anytime I had car problems I raced home to my Daddy. He used to be a mechanic, so I always new he'd take care of whatever my car needed. Which of course included dealing with the incredible lines and ridiculous phone system at the DMV - I never had to worry about anything. But with an accident happening so close to my graduation Dad thought it was finally time for me to grow up - and left me to wade the waters of car ownership on my own. Sure, I learned a lot, but honestly dad - I'm exhausted. Who thought owning a car would be this much work!
Yesterday was the final straw when the DMV threatened to take away my license for being a Nevada licensed driver driving in the state of California. (Yea - I'm serious. Sound ridiculous to you to?) All the calm and responsible arguing I did wouldn't help, nor would emotional outrage, and I finally gave up and called my dad, who promptly called and chewed the DMV out.
If this is how much work being a car owner is, I give up. Give me something with 2 wheels, some ribbons and a basket - I don't want to grow up THAT badly.
It all started my FIRST WEEK on the job. I was still commuting the hour North into Burbank while living in Orange County, which meant plenty of time sitting on the 5. Lots of sitting. Though, apparently, I didn't do enough sitting because one second I was glancing at my clock and the next I had rear ended a huge SUV.
The SUV walked away with a minor scratch. My car was totaled. Ever want to see a grown man cry? Show my dad the pictures of my accident - he mourned over the loss of the first car he ever bought his baby girl.
So, that left me without a car on my first week of my new job, with an hour commute. The week before I was moving to Burbank. The week before graduation. Days before my extended family was coming in to town. Needless to say I was a bigger wreck than my car.
Eventually I found my perfect car - my pretty blue Nissan Sentra. But getting the car was an even bigger nightmare than the accident. To get it titled, smogged, and registered alone took over 2-months and 4 trips to the DMV! On top of the fact, that after buying it used from a private seller I had mountains of maintenace work to do.
All throughout college anytime I had car problems I raced home to my Daddy. He used to be a mechanic, so I always new he'd take care of whatever my car needed. Which of course included dealing with the incredible lines and ridiculous phone system at the DMV - I never had to worry about anything. But with an accident happening so close to my graduation Dad thought it was finally time for me to grow up - and left me to wade the waters of car ownership on my own. Sure, I learned a lot, but honestly dad - I'm exhausted. Who thought owning a car would be this much work!
Yesterday was the final straw when the DMV threatened to take away my license for being a Nevada licensed driver driving in the state of California. (Yea - I'm serious. Sound ridiculous to you to?) All the calm and responsible arguing I did wouldn't help, nor would emotional outrage, and I finally gave up and called my dad, who promptly called and chewed the DMV out.
If this is how much work being a car owner is, I give up. Give me something with 2 wheels, some ribbons and a basket - I don't want to grow up THAT badly.
