20freakin47...

In the 8 years that I've claimed to be a grown-up, I've been throwing my money in the general direction labelled "Retirement" and I've never met with anyone about what a great job I'm doing at saving... I honestly try not to think about the numbers in my retirement account because I find the whole thing really depressing.  The numbers fluctuate, and with each fluctuation I find myself tacking more years onto my career...groan.  I had an appointment today with an advisor for the company that manages the retirement plans for my employer.  I'm not sure exactly what I expected, a little pat on the back "nice job sport", a little "looks good, keep it up"... Wrong-o!  She really didn't have anything bad (or good) to say.  The only thing I really took away from our little meeting was anxiety.  


The retirement calculator thingy that the system uses is quite simple, you enter your estimated year of retirement and the system automatically tapers down your risk the closer you get to retirement.  No biggy... just wish I had thought of something brilliant like that... then I wouldn't have to talk to anyone about my retirement plans because I'd already BE RETIRED!...  So, in big bold print on my account's page it has my estimated year of retirement; 2045.  I cringed when I saw it.  I can't even fathom that number.  AND THEN this horrid little woman says with a shrug, "Realistically, it's really going to be at least 2047"  AND SHE CHANGED THE YEAR!  Just like that.  I almost vomited right there on her laptop.  How dare she!  I choked a little and said, "Good god, I seriously hope I'm not working 12 hour shifts on the floor when I'm 67 years old!"  She smiled and shrugged.  I said, "Lets be optimistic and leave it at 2045" to which she hesitantly said, "ooookay."  That's how she became not my favorite person.  I'm not sure what else she told me.  I just kept seeing the number 2047... 2047... 2047.  Twitch. Twitch. Twitch.  Where's my paper bag.  I could hear my pulse in my ears... uuuuuugghhh.  


In the 2 hours since this meeting I've decided to try two things to help me retire by 2045, NOT 2047: 
1) I'm going to start buying lottery tickets on a routine basis
2) I'm going to start hoarding cash in random places like my great grandmother did- random cupboards, old purses, we even found it in her vacuum along side the vacuum bag- it seemed to work for her- worth a shot, I'd guess.


When the torture was over, I took my belongings and my bruised life plan and started to exit the hospital cafeteria- the uber private place of this fantastic meeting.  And lo, what did I see?  A plant sale... Maybe this meeting wouldn't be total shit... Ah yes, Orchids, my favorite... Meet my new friends.  I may not be able to retire for another 40 effing years but at least I'll have pretty plants.

Abandoned

AAAAHHHH... I'm being abandoned for 5.5 days.  I just dropped off what feels like my entire universe, at the airport.  Cue rapid breathing and anxiety pit in stomach... In lieu of breathing into a paper bag and sending panicky texts to Matt reminding him to call me when they get there... I'm going to try to be more productive.  I'm going to blog.  Bear with me, it might be a (very) long 5.5 days...  

Top 10 things to do/not do while abandoned

1) Listen to the quiet.  Enough to appreciate the solitude, not so much to actually get used to the solitude; mustn't have culture shock when reality resumes on Monday.


2) Avoid ABBA at all costs! You are entering an ABBA free zone... for the next 5.5 days.  Goodbye my 'Dancing Queens' you will be missed.


3) Try to study for my 'Boob Whisperer' exam.  Can we say "Test Anxiety", um yeah... Where's the paper bag.


4) Feed the dogs.  Cannot. forget. to feed. the dogs.


5) Do not embark on giant any home improvement projects.  This one is really hard for me.  This is my usual response to anxiety, which in return usually causes Matt significant anxiety... Yin and Yang ya'll, Yin and Yang.  I will not strip the mantle, I will not paint (anything), I won't even sand the porch... I may allow myself yard work but that's a slippery slope my friends... a slippery slope...


6) Walk the mutts. I will be conducting a small minimally scientific study on now many dog miles equates to the general dog fatigue that is elicited by one 3 year old (the 5 year old doesn't really count because I'd have to calculate hours away at school etc, etc, etc... just too complicated).


7) Keep the guppy alive.  I'll try... However, let me just say that Gwen's new little BFF 'Rosie' leaves a little something to be desired in the "pet fish" department.  She's not a pretty guppy, she's practically see through and not in a 'kinda cool cave fish at the zoo' sort of way. And I don't think she likes me.


8) Listen to grown up music.  In addition to being ABBA free, I will be listening to music that my children don't like, music that my children aren't allowed to listen to and perhaps even {gasp} new music that I can leisurely peruse and purchase in iTunes without distraction.  Oh my. Lookout.


9)  Try not to work a bunch of OT.  Well we'll just see about that... I may just have to have that be my mantra.  


10) Cook for one. I haven't done this since college.  I'm at a loss for words on this one.

Any other ideas?  I'll take any you can dish.  Now I just have to decide what to do first... I'll start with a lot of #2, and a little #8...