Applying for Credit Cards is not like Applying to College

So it's been months since I've posted, but something happened today that is far too relevant for this blog. As I've been a working girl and can honestly say I'm at the point where I SHOULD be completely financially independent I do have to admit that my father has been helping out by way of an "emergencies only" amex - which translates to everything I buy on Gilt was needed for an emergency.

We had 'The Talk'. It's time for me to get my own credit card. I compare this feeling to that of getting braces - at first it was exciting because all my friends had them, but soon after the novelty faded I was left with cold sores and a horrible smile.

Naturally I spent the majority of my morning at work researching all the different types of cards. I want one that can get me maximum milage on my airlines so I narrowed it down to my top three. For US Airways I want to get into the world program Visa card, but if I don't qualify they give me a more standard one. It's like applying for Huntsman and just getting into Wharton - not bad, but I'm special and I want the top of the line!

After galavanting around with platinum in my purse I don't feel right about settling for the run-of-the-mill card. But then I had to face my own reality when filling in my annual salary, I probably can't afford a fancy piece of plastic. So I applied to my top 3.

I let my dad know via txt that I had taken initiative and called it a day.

He called minutes later in a panic. Apparently when you apply for a card you are automatically enrolled once you are approved! WTF?! How does that logic work? So now my credit gets screwed because I wanted to weigh my options. I don't even have room in my wallet for 3 more cards. It's like I applied early decision at 3 schools and this is my punishment if I get into all three. I just hope I get a few free flights out of it!

Beverly Hills Bar Mitzvah, or how to have free fun in LA

So a few weeks ago some friends and I had gotten on the list for a new lounge opening at The Beverly Hilton. I was excited because I was going to wear my new dress (courtesy of a fab boutique across from Fred Segal) and my good friend from up the coast was going to be joining in the festivities. Note to the masses - ano bimbos who hold the list at the door are not to be be-littled in front of their peers.

Translation: even though we were on the list, the twiggy bitch wouldn't let us in, regardless of the unabashed name dropping I partook in. I was more furious than embarrassed as we made our way back to the hotel lobby in search of the all elusive LA taxi, hoping to find a dive bar in which to drown our not-cool-enough for the club sorrows. Then the night took a glorious turn.

We passed the grand ballroom and standing post at the door was an all too familiar sight: the blown up bar mitzvah poster. Little Daniel was becoming a man, and his adorably framed face with a golden retriever proved too good to be true. We made our way closer and picked up a few leftover Monopoly themed name placards (it was already 10:30, no way the Goldenberg's were making that late an late entrance).

Once inside it became very apparent that this was a Persian Bar Mitzvah and we were a crew of 4 white 20-somethings (both my friend and I being very white and very blonde ) and then it hit me. Unlike weddings, which have a serious and emotional core - bar mitzvah's have one goal in mind: get sloshed. No parents give a shit once the party planner has been paid, the open bar's bartender becomes Mom and Dad's surrogate child for the evening and by the time they announce the hour to light the candles, everyone holds their breath in hopes mom doesn't trip in her Blahnik's over her questionably seductive Off Fifth gown.

Even though we were clearly out of place, in no time the boys were macking on milfs and I was workin the desert buffet. We danced the hora, took pictures with the family, played video games with the kids and even sushed Bubby who was too loud during the challah blessing.

At the end of the night we were wasted, we were full, our feet hurt from hours of dancing and it was entirely free. I even see the potential of these becoming perfect venues for networking/meeting nice Jewish guys. Because when asked how I know the child my simple reply will be: I don't, I'm crashing. Odds are no one will believe it or they just won't care enough to kick us out. Nothing is uglier than a drunk angry parent making a scene in front of friends, family and business associates. Everyone is better off just allowing the crashers to add to the festivities - which we most definitely did.

I've begun calling local hotels and clubs pretending to be a florist set to deliver flowers for 'the bar mitzvah this weekend', and I can't wait for little Julie's big night at The Key Club next Saturday!

Debit Credit

So a friend recently asked me whilst debating which of her three credit cards to charge a new designer wallet on - what's the dif between debit and credit. Ivy Princess has the answer...sorta.

This is something I myself was curious about, I mean I know that debit takes the money directly out of my checking account, whereas credit I just get a bill I have to write a check for at the end of the month. It seems like debit is just a simpler way to buy things because it's easier to keep track of spending - but I did a little more research and figured out why I should give my platinum amex a bit more attention.

My metaphor is as such: Credit cards are a lot like department stores and Debit are like boutiques.

When you buy a lot of things at a department store you get rewards, and it's easy to get a bunch of necessities there like make-up, shoes and clothes. Spend enough money, maybe you'll get a discount or free goody bag etc. When using a credit card often, you rack up points that can be used for flights and such - and my platy amex gets me into first class lounges, which is a huge plus. The problem with department stores is that when bombarded with so much stuff, I end up buying things I don't need and feel like it's ok because I'm rakin in points. The same sorta goes for Credit cards, it's so easy to just swipe and forget, or convince yourself you are getting more out of it for using the card - and that's where the scary bill at the end of the month comes in. Also, they charge you a fee for having it, so look at it as an extra tax everytime you swipe.

With debit, it's simple. You walk into a boutique, see a hot piece, know there are no bonuses for buying that amazing $500 dress by an unknown french designer other than owning it, but there is an added level of confidence in the purchase. You know that it's not at every department store and every other Japtastic isn't pairing it with a heinous pair of Tory Birch flats - it's special and yours. With debit, it's basically like paying cash and it's harder to impulse shop because as soon as you hit an ATM that $500 is gonezo.

I know this doesn't make total sense, but it seems to resonate fairly well with the few slowly nodding Fekkai haircuts I've conveyed it to. Basically, use the credit card for points and such on big purchases and the stuff you need, but for those rando lunches that wind up being $50 because one Mary turned into 4 - debit it, you'll thank me.

On a similar note, I went into Bloomys in BevCen last week to talk a friend into a hot dress for that night. Wound up talking myself into one fab Nicole Miller, but it was $400 and I had gone ape shit on gilt that week (legit - scary even for me). I have a Nordy's card, and stole my mom's Saks and Nieman's but no Bloomys. The girl told me if I signed up for one I get 20% off, and if I use it now I get another 15% - done and done. It ended up costing less than $300 - and every girl needs a full house of cards.

I am sad about the shoe sitch on gilt - some bimbo got to those amazing snake Calvin Klien booties before me, again! But I did find a beyond fab dress for my annual oscar party this weekend - so bonus!

A Theorem on Valet Analytics

I have had my car towed 3 times now. Twice in the last 2 months. West Hollywood off Santa Monica at night is just a giant trap - I think there are actually cameras waiting for lazy people like me to park in mis-marked spaces.

I had my car towed once in college, one of my miserable roommates thought it would be funny to call my car in because I was parked in her spot. In order to get it back, I had to bribe a cab driver to take me into the nether-region of South West Philadelphia - a place HE was terrified to enter...imagine how I felt. I also had to pay $280 in cash to a very angry and large man to get it back - the whole experience was balancing helplessly on the edge of my getting raped and slaughtered in a part of Philadelphia that even shady cab-drivers fear.

Here's the problem - in WeHo, it's only $122 (chargeable on almost any major credit card) and the towing place is right down the street. They basically moved my car to a slightly less convenient location. I'm not saying that I look forward to venturing into the poorly lit office space of Johnson's Towing, but I definitely hear myself say "fuck it" when taking a chance on an unexplained open parking space.

Now that parking tickets are payable online, they don't affect points on my license and getting towed is not likely to put a dark cloud over my day, I find myself racking up the bills payable to the state. I realized I've paid thousands of dollars to the cities of Philadelphia, Santa Monica and Los Angeles. Money that clearly doesn't go toward the bettering of street quality or comprehensible sidewalk signage.

It just feels like giving into the hypocrisy of a driving city when I pull into a valet-ed parking lot and fork over 5-20 bucks to park for dinner. Granted that's nothing compared to $122 and a taxi cab but there's this unspoken pride that bursts forth with finding a spot and not paying for it/not getting caught.

The best part is I could have walked to the restaurant from my apartment, but no one outside of bums and joggers dare be seen on the sidewalks of LA after dark.

What I've decided to do to solve this problem is, I believe, the rich kid solution. (The following reasoning will likely only make sense to a spoiled such as myself)...

Say I'm willing to spend $30-$80 on dinner and plan to leave a $6-$16 tip for that...and realistically there are about 2-5 drinks involved so lets round that number to an even $75. So if I spend an average of $75 on a night out, that's still less than getting towed. I've decided to forfeit one big night out a month and put that money in my newly designated parking pouch. Every month I will allot myself $75 to spend on parking in LA. If I run out before the month is up I either get a ride from a friend or I'm not going out. If I have left-overs, that goes toward the next month's $75.

On another note, I've been looking for the perfect black work bag - big enough to comfortably carry my laptop and designer enough to not have the word 'Coach' on it. Gilt hasn't had any great bags lately, suggestions?

Savoring the Savings

I am so hungry. Though my diet may be strict, I don't believe anyone, no matter how disciplined, can curb those late afternoon hunger pangs at work. It's far too easy to venture to the nearest coffee shop and snag a scone or cookie or grilled chicken and brie panini as I have for the last few days...and that piles up - both in calories and in cash.

Today I decided to try and beat the urge by bringing a baggie of red vines to work - they are the lowest calorie to chew factor ratio candy I have found and are going for $5 a barrel at Ralphs - what a bargain buy!

So I set the sad little plastic bag next to my computer on my desk and my boss walks in and, without even thinking twice, snags the bag and 3 of my allotted 10 vines for the day. My tummy just grumbled as I typed that. 3 whole vines - that over 20 minutes of savoring I just lost.

But I veer from my point - bringing snacks to work is the best possible way to avoid those unnecessary snack expenditures.

I stopped going to Pete's for my morning latte and opted to make my own - saves over 20 bucks a week! (though my real reason was the lines are just too outrageous to be standing in before 9am - the last thing I want to do before I've had my coffee is wait in an obnoxiously long line for my coffee). By brewing my own java and bringing some red vines, pistachios and chewy bars to work I avoid the whole mid-day binge. And we have all been at that point where stabbing a co-worker in the neck with a ball-point pen for a candy bar wasn't totally out of the question...

Also, it helps me keep tabs on my caloric intake for the day - it's a known fact that people gain weight at desk jobs. I don't think I have room for a treadmill in this office, so BYO-ing breadsticks is the next best thing. As delicious as those lattes and paninis are, I feel much better about gorging on post-work happy hour cocktails and canapé's - it's a trade off.

I bought an adorable pencil skirt on Gilt that just barely fits - I've def put on that post holiday poundage (if there is such a thing?). Off to the gym!

The Kink in Kinkos.

I've been having to get a lot done at Kinkos for work because we just moved into new offices and our printers aren't set up yet. It's fairly simple, I just need to print out some of our information and have it bound, and yet, of course, these Kinkos workers think I'm speaking another language. What typically sets out to be a 20 minute trek to the printing haven turns into hours of technological difficulty torture.

I lobbied my boss today for our own binding machine.

It's shocking to me also how unbelievably expensive this stuff is! Of course most locations don't let you plug in your own computer to print, so I have to put my credit card into this machine that seems like its swallowing it whole and sending it across the street to be used for online scams. At 90 cents a minute and snail paced internet I watch the dollar number increase faster than the pages load.

The printers always jam and I find myself standing in the awkwardly large empty space in the middle of the store, angry rap music coursing through my body, on the verge of threatening the copy machine a la Office Space.

Today I have been bombarded with empty promises and worthless encounters. I had to print my stuff 3 times in order for it to come out clear, and then the copy machine wasn't working so the guy made me email my stuff to him so he could print it on the 'special machine' in the back that normal people can't use. Luckily for me though, he didn't realize when I stormed out with my printed pages and only paid for the time I spent on the computer - his binding job was forcefully on the house.

I do feel a little bad about it, but honestly that company is so corrupt with its pricing that I feel like I got out of paying for a parking ticket in Philadelphia.

Each trip for a dozen packets bound ends up costing me over 100 bucks and hours of frustration. More than a trip to Whole Foods. Of course I get refunded by work, but those hours are going to cost thousands in botoxing wrinkles down the road - and you gotta think long term.

So we are going to buy a binding machine, which, though the lovely simpletons at Kinkos seem to be able to work while bitching at their baby daddy on a handsfree, looks like the earliest version of the computer chip to me. I know it will take me weeks to figure this thing out, but I'm determined to never venture back to that world of awful again.

I feel like this blog is turning more into a rant...I will do my best to focus on more imporant rich kid issues, like how to buy things on sale etc.

Recession is not = to Recess

I know I've already blogged about travel, but I spent the last week in planes, trains and automobiles and have more to say.

On my red-eye flight over to NYC there were 2 whole empty rows in the back and I went to go lay down. As I lay my tired head to rest on an awful paper pillow I get a very angry and flamboyant red-headed face lingering over mine, "excuse me, this row is for the crew".

Oh, I'm sorry, I thought I paid to fly on this plane.

How moronic, this is YOUR JOB SIR, to serve the paying patrons of American Airlines and yet, you have the audacity to tell me - to my face - that these rows are for you and your lazy minions to REST?! Am I missing something here? No, no no, you do not get two whole rows to spread out and gossip about what pilot you went down on last week and how weird Jennifer Aniston looks in the most recent US Weekly - no - you get to push that little cart up and down the rows asking if I would like something to drink. And yes, I'll take a soda water with lime.

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THE TRAVEL INDUSTRY!? Since when can we not take advantage of an empty row in coach? That's like showing a JAP a sale at Saks and then telling her it's for employees only - isn't that counterproductive? Just as I reach the age where I have to accept that I cannot afford first class on my own and that slumming it in coach is the new chic I am not even allowed to enjoy the most sacred move in economy travel?

These people should be grateful they are employed and yet they bitch and take advantage - you can bet I am writing a letter! And it's not just airlines.

I got into a cab in New York and as I swiped my credit card it wouldn't let me continue until I entered a tip - what if I don't want to tip?! What if this ass hole jerked me around the most gridlocked streets of Manhattan and almost had me puking all over his Curry-scented seats? It took me 2 tries to realize I could hit 0 for tip and when I did, the cabbie says "what about tip?"

WHAT ABOUT TIP?? Tips are meant to be earned, hence the whole concept. I worked for tips once for a summer, and yeah, it sucks, but you learn how to earn them, to entertain and fight for people's crumpled dollar bills - not flat out say, "hey, where's my tip?".

My job is to make people want to buy things from me, to make friends with strangers - I understand how to build a rapport with a stranger - that's when you get a tip from me. If you find a way to make good conversation, hit a nerve or just do a good job at your job you will get a tip.

Examples: On my way to NYC, before that horrid red-eye flight from hell I went to an airport bar for a drink. Yes I flashed my platinum amex for entrance into the Qantas lounge because typically these lounges have free booze. Not this one, because apparently the day of the free-bee in the airport is dead to America. But a married man was kind enough to buy my batting eyelashes a glass of wine and the bartender was beyond. She was amazing - arguably the best bartender I have ever come in contact with. Her name was Sherri and she was the most genuinely sweet woman. She filled me up to the brim, twice, and told me all about this new app that tells you when cops are around - like a radar detector.

She also called me pretty and made me feel special....and not in a creepy lezzy way.

Now I had no cash on me, not a dollar, and felt so guilty leaving Sherri high and dry that I called the lounge to praise her, called qantas and the fine people at Amex to thank them for hiring such a great bartender - yes, I'm that person, but it made me feel good to do something nice for Sherri.

If only there were more Sherri's in the world. I am sick of disgruntled, lazy employees expecting more out of me than they deserve - it's called a recession, not recess.