When I was in Los Angeles, I decided I wanted to buy a house. Actually, I had wanted to buy a house since high school, and not being able to buy a house was a constant, dull ache in my heart. At some point when I was living in L.A., however, I decided I was going to buy a house, the high housing prices be damned, and I was going to do it soon.

So I made a budget decision. That decision was to live on one third of my salary, pay taxes with one third of my salary (well before I had any good tax deductions), and save the last third of my salary. The decision required some sacrifices.

I moved out of my single apartment and into a room at Kelly Johnson's house. It made a longer commute, but reduced my monthly rent from $800 to $350. I was already maxed out on my 401k (I'm a huge fan of 401k programs, regardless of employer matching), so that was 15% down. I set up an auto-investment program, putting $1000 a month in investments with no effort. Any bonus or increase in pay was immediately funneled into investments. Taxes were automatic. The living expenses were more difficult.

Rent was included in living expenses, as was gas, insurance, car repairs, food, movies, and books. I would have said "clothes," too, but at the time, I didn't really buy clothes, so those expenses were negligible. Well, maybe cleats and sports bras, but that's about it.

Two years later, I had enough money for a downpayment on a house. Because of circumstances, I bought a condo (story there, one I'll tell at some point when I've run out of other stories), instead of a house, but I bought a place to live. Instead of just a downpayment, I also had 25% of the purchase price, with funds leftover for repairs.

It worked well. As I ponder the list of things I'd like to purchase or have done to the house, I'm inspired to do it again. It's not a new year's resolution, more of a guideline. It means, in contrast to the end of last year, I now pause before I pull out the credit card. Can I get this at the library? Could I borrow it from a friend? Do I really need this?

Since I'm trying to get rid of stuff, this'll help ensure I don't bring in as much as I send out.

In Colorado for the UPA Board meeting: menstruation 1, migraine 0.

"Why does burned hair smell so bad?"

"Maybe to tell you not to burn it?"

Okay, this pink theme is going to make me puke. It's lasted all of what? A week? Yeah, not a pink person. Maybe if no one's looking tomorrow, I can change the site to yellow, green or even blue. Not pink. Good lord, not pink.

So, my other site, the one that doesn't request search engines stay away currently lists me as the top Hodsden on Google and MSN, but, oddly enough not on Yahoo.

So, yes, those websites are honoring the robots.txt file, as are the other major search engines.

I was going to write that, as long as I'm at the top of the Hodsden list with the list of Hodsden geneology sites, I'd be content to hide behind my robots.txt and stay out of the public eye and the search engines. Do I really want a complete stranger to know about my dogs, garden, blog, ultimate games or neighbors? Not really.

But then I went to Mamma, the search engine that summarizes what other search engines list.

Crap.

I'm not listed until 10 and that's after James (the doctor), Richard (a finance director), Carey (a pro golfer) and Hodsden's Upholstery shop in Knoxville (they have to be pissed I have all the good hodsden.* domains, and all the hodsen.* ones, too, for that matter).

Good lord, part of me is thinking, "But... but... I don't care about that!" and the other part is thinking, "No way. No freaking way am I going to let a bunch of men have the top Hodsden spot. Not gonna happen, boys." It's then I realize that the competitive streak is still there, and, well, yeah, maybe I can care about it a little bit. Crap, what has become of me?

I blame the pink.

The real question is, of course, can I beat out Knight Industries Two Thousand and Eartha for the top Kitt spot? That would be a real coup.

My first thought about travelling is always, "Is someone going to complain I spelled 'travelling' wrong, even though two Ls is a completely valid and correct way to spell the gerund of 'travel'?"

But then I get over it and figure, hey, time to catch up on things (you know your life is too busy when you're looking forward to the three hours at the airport and on the plane to "catch up" on things). Which really means, "How much crap can I stuff into my suitcases and carry-ons?" You know, crap that gets dealt with and not brought back (like magazines and such).

On this particular trip out, I managed to pack a lot. Yet, certain events pulled me out of the pleasant putzing I usually manage on the plane, on the bus, waiting in the airport, or waiting for my baggage.

1. "Shut up. He did not." ... "Shut up!" ... "Shut up! No way!" ... "Shut up! How could he?"

   The vocabulary of a college woman several rows back from me on the shuttle to Boulder consisted mainly of the words, "shut up." She prefaced every sentence (statement, exclamation or question) with a very, very loud "Shut up!" making me, and every other shuttle passenger, wish that she would indeed shut up.

2. The two year old kid screaming in the next row over and one row up on the plane has a healthy set of lungs. The screaming seemed fairly infant in its sound, so I assumed it was the baby crying and not the toddler. After about an hour of screaming (most of which I didn't notice because I was reading), I paused to wonder, "Can you rationally communicate with a two year old? Can you use logic to convince her to be quiet?"

3. 

   The shuttle driver clearly knew several of his passengers as regulars, and was talking and joking around with one of them. The shuttle company had merged with another shuttle company recently (like within the last month), and the driver was now working with new people in the other company, and under a new boss. When the new manager/boss/supervisor handed him his route, he looked at her with such contempt I'm surprised she didn't burst into flames on the spot.

   Near the end of the drive, one of the regulars asked the driver how the merger went, did he know any of the other drivers. With venemence you can read about only in books, he started spouting on about no, he didn't know the other drivers, no, he didn't want to know them, no, he didn't even want to know their names. I thought the guy was going to explode with the desire to keep all these peopple away from him.

   At which point I wondered, is that why this guy is a shuttle bus driver in the first place?

4. Before boarding the shuttle, the large group of us stood outside the back of the shuttle and handed our luggage to the driver to load in the back. As I stood there, the two women in front of me each had three bags, and two of them (for each woman) was the gigantic enormous size. I couldn't help but think how I managed one small bag, and that one half full of technical books so that I could do my job.

So, here I am. 6" of magazines read (and thrown away), still wondering about this whole travel thing.

As I'm sitting here at the living room table, nominally finishing up a project, the doorbell rings. All my friends know that, during the day when I'm home and the door is unlocked, they should just walk straight in. Don't ring the doorbell. Don't knock on the door. If Kris and I are having sex, we'll lock the door first. And if we forget, it'll be an entertaining story I can blog about that night.

So, I'm sitting here, the doorbell rings, the dogs jump up and start howling and barking and baying and ar-roooooing and I get annoyed. My first thought is that this is Mike, whose house I was just at, and what is he doing over here? I can't stand answering the door to solicitors and telling them no (I'm sure it's part of that "You don't like conflict, do you?" part of me that Mike refers to regularly). Whatever. I look out the kitchen window to see a young kid look back over his shoulder at me looking at him.

Great. Now he knows I'm home and I know he knows I'm home and I'm not going to answer the door.

Rationally, I realize I'm under no obligation to answer the door. Yes, I should have put up that "No Solicitors" brass sign I bought a year ago (you know, the one I can't find in the mess of an office), maybe even install some camera system so that I don't have to peek out through the window. I know. I know. Still.

The not-so-rational part causes my heart to start hammering. What if this kid just walks in? The door is open. The front door is open and I'm in the part of the house with no phone. The dogs would lick the guy, while I have to dive out the front bedroom window to get away, while my phone is in the other room.

And locking the front door with his standing there would be rude, so we can't do that, can we?

I can't stand this. What a strange situation. One that, I'm sure, shows a clear view into my soul.

And it's not a sight I like.