Anxious doesn’t begin to describe my recent feelings about graduating and getting a job, preferably in the country of my choice.  On the one hand, I’ve been over college for a very long time, and when last week we discussed how to structure a five-paragraph essay for a full half hour, I knew that it was officially time to graduate (from like, middle school!).  On the other, who doesn’t fear the workforce when leaving college — especially in the midst of our generation’s global recession, especially when we can’t get experience to get a job.

But as I’ve said many a time before, I’m preparing to flee this country for one I happen to like quite a bit more.  It will cost me a very large amount of money to do so, but at least I now know that amount: let’s just say, several thousand dollars.  We have a goal, folks!  Now how do I reach it?

Most people would agree that the recession has been good for the greed in all of us, as it’s really turned down the snob dial and made being frugal a cool thing.  Everyone is much more relaxed about admitting where they bought clothes, which store brand cereal is the best substitute, and apparently, which items they regifted.

I’ve been especially proactive since summer 2008, when I made budget cuts and small lifestyle changes to save up before my great European adventure, and began keeping track of daily expenses through Twitter.  Over the summer I downloaded the iPhone app (used on my iPod touch, which I got for free for helping my brother get a new discounted Mac — cheapos unite!) called PocketMoney for several months now which has been crucial to knowing where my money has been going.  I track every last penny I spend — from the dollar I put in the basket at church (aren’t I precious?) to the dollar I put into the vending machine to the dollar I put into the washer and dryer.  And obviously the big purchases as well, I’m just making a point here with the dollar thing.  But at any and every point in time, I know how much money I have.

PocketMoney has also been excellent for knowing where my money goes.  I set budgets for myself and then see how well I stick to them: $25 on groceries a week, but only $4 on care items, and no going over my dining-out plan no matter what.  In the past two weeks, I have only spent money on groceries and the T.

And still, somehow it all slips through my fingers.  I cannot hang onto enough money to buy myself a train ticket home without feeling guilty.  I’m doing part-time work in web design but it’s barely scraping together enough at the moment (for perspective, I’m making three times less what I made at my internship this summer, and that sure wasn’t much then).

I know I can’t have a full-time job while in college, and I can just barely scrape together part-time hours.  So I’m formulating a plan of action, gathering together as many resources as I can, no matter how small their revenue.  I’ll let you know what these are and how you can help over the next few weeks.  Here’s the first:

I’m the Boston Study Abroad Examiner at Examiner.com.  I write a few articles every week on every fathomable aspect of studying abroad, specifically from a Boston-area student’s perspective where possible.  At the moment I’m focusing on the preparation involved, but today I did a piece on surviving Thanksgiving (as you probably don’t recall, I had my heart temporarily crushed the day before Thanksgiving last year and ate at an Italian restaurant 3,000 miles away, so I’ve got a bit of cred when it comes to the LONELINESS).

As my teacher said the other day, writing online is not Writing.  It’s just plain writing, as plain as you can make it, so don’t expect literary gold.  But I’m trying to make it as useful as possible, so if you know anyone thinking about going abroad — whether they’re in high school, college, or just graduated — and whether they want to study, have fun, or work — send them along to me as a resource.

Also, if you take a look around Examiner.com and decide you’d like to take a crack at having a column, please name me as your referral!  They’ll give me a $50 bonus for every Examiner I refer.  My reference number is 26829.

Okay, that plug is done.  Next, if you’d like a nice, affordable, homemade gift for someone, I’ll show off my jewelry for sale.

Now we’re talking. It’s taken a while, but I’ve finally graduated to Wordpress and all its customizable glory (after spending heart-pounding hours failing to install it–seriously, you have no idea how many times in the transition I have felt my stomach drop). I can do SO MUCH MORE with this website now. It’s not going to happen tonight, or tomorrow night, or at any foreseeable time, but when it happens? I won’t have to worry about what anyone’s stupid browser says. It looks sick on my iPhone, too.

So poke around, let me know what you think, if anything’s not working, the usual.

UPDATE: Okay, suckers, thanks for taking a week to tell me that you couldn’t comment. There you go, now make me feel better about myself.

Just want to say that I am thrilled about two things: 1) that David Cook won, and 2) that my four votes actually counted (right?)!

Cook, you deserved the win by far, even though you had very stiff competition. I was distraught when the American idiots out there voted off Michael Johns (who looked smoking hot tonight, and had a really great duet with Carly), but I have consistently been a fan of yours, and I am just very, very glad that you made it. Look, Archie’s kind of cute and all, but he’s got zero personality beyond a giggly little Mormon schoolgirl, whereas you seem much more sure of yourself. You’re a good guy, smart and respectful, and you’s a fox. I totes look forward to your future album and will go to your concert when you come around for sure (though not the American Idol tour, because if I ever have to hear Jason Castro or Brooke White butcher a song again, I’ll just about lose my shit).

Also, nice tighty whities.

This is one of my favorite passages from my favorite story in Lorrie Moore’s Birds of America.

“All you sighted people are alike. You think we’re Mr. Magoo! You think I’m not as aware as some guy who paints water towers and’s got cysts on his dick?”

Mack shakes his head. He sits up and starts to put his shoes back on. “You really go for the juggler, don’t you?” he says.

“Juggler?” Quilty howls. “Juggler? No, obviously, I go for the clowns.”

Mack is puzzled. Quilty’s head is tilted in that hyperalert way that says nothing in the room will get past him. “Juggler,” Mack says. “Isn’t that the word? What is the word?”

“A juggler,” says Quilty, slowly for the jury, “is someone who juggles.”

I’m in the middle of cleaning my room at home for the first time in probably 2 years, and I just found a stack of papers that my mom has apparently collected–report cards, SAT scores, certificates–and amidst the pile was a poem I wrote for her one Mother’s Day. I think this was from sophomore year of high school. I completely forgot about it, but I couldn’t not post it:

I know that you hate poetry
unless it’s that which does rhyme,
and were this not my own idiosyncrasy
I wouldn’t waste my time.
This one has no measure,
no beat or iambic pentameter,
because it’s late at night and after days of tests
I can barely write a letter.
But I digress, I will make my point:
You’re the bomb, you’re awesome, you’re gellin’,
and if I had my own talk show,
you’d be on all the time, like Ellen.
I’m a total mess and my direction’s weak
and my self-esteem is low,
and as a mom you’re quick to blame yourself,
but I insist it’s not so.
You made me funny and smart and quick,
and you taught me all of life’s rules,
so for everything that’s wrong with me,
well, I blame the schools.
I had no time to buy you things
since homework consumes my hours,
so instead of buying diamond rings,
I’ll showcase my magic powers.
Whatever your heart desires,
whatever tasks needs to be done,
call upon me, the greatest wizard of time,
I will be your number one.
To honor your love this Mother’s day
I grant you your wishes three.
Of course, I should do this on non-holidays, too,
but I’m a selfish son of a B.
The rhyme is through, you’re free to go,
but here are my parting words:
I love you, Mama, you’re truly the best,
now let’s go beat the crap out of some nerds.

Your daughter,
Molly S. Griffin

one

“Cubgratulations! Cele-bear-ate the Patriots & their pawfect season.”