Crying While FAFSAing

So with Turbo Tax having approved my tax return without saying that I've completely botched it, it's time now for me to fill out my FAFSA. Apparently, you do this even before you know if you've gotten into any schools or what kind of financial package they're going to offer you. I’ve gotten into the school which I considered my long-shot school, so I’m confident the others will follow suit.

Now, I’m the type of person who never reads directions before I attempt something. Hence why I screwed up my PSAT’s. (hmm ok you’re not supposed to put your address where your birthday is supposed to go.. potato tomato…) But since I’m involving my money, the government and my future, maybe I should give it a shot this time.

Wow I’ve never done this before. This is confusing. Halp! Ok they want to know what my family’s income is. What does it matter? My parents don’t support me…. Ok maybe this only applies to undergraduate education. Ok I see gotcha. Now, I’m combining the FAFSA directions with my sister’s instructions into all this. She did all this after she got into Berkeley… Damn this stuff is confusing. My sister makes no sense in her directions. But also, dear sister, you don’t have to pay rent or have any other expenses. Of course her directions didn’t include “fall back on computer savvy whipped boyfriend”, either. I don’t have a Google wanna-be at my employ, but that’s ok. I’m glad I’m doing this on my own. Terrified, but glad.

Ok… what is my financial status. Hmm will type in “Poor”. Not accepted. “Zip”. No.. “Zilch”.. Nope… “Deadbeat”. Ok! Accepted! Good good.. Moving on..

What is my Estimated Family Contribution. Who is my family? Me. Alright. What can I contribute? See box A, where I wrote Deadbeat. Yes, you understand. So since I don’t intend on working during this four year education, I guess my contribution will be nothing…. I refuse to be the barista/student. I’m sure I’d blow my brains out and take with me all of the espresso-drinking, hackeysack-playing, overcaffeinated-suited losers in that coffee house. Mmmm foamed milk and massacre…

Alright my EFC is much way too high. Mr. government, I work for a non-profit. I live in Manhattan. I just paid my lawyer 2 grand because you-know-who is moving ahead with his fucking case. I don’t have any money. You think it’s crazy I haven’t saved a lot? Well you don’t understand the lovely real estate market here. My rent is not $300. It’s more or less half my salary. It’d be one thing if I made the same thing and lived in Kentucky. I live in the city. Consider the purchasing power parity here in Manhattan. And it’s not like I’m off buying $700 Manolo Blahnik shoes like that chick from Sex and the City either. I’m sacrificing buying new knee-saving running shoes so I can see Bach. Also I need a haircut and I don’t want to resort to going to some chopshop like Supercuts.

Ok it’s been an hour and I’m still on paragraph 1 of the directions.. Geez. This is depressing. I feel like crying, but I don’t feel like going to the subway.… --à Explanation, I’ve found that the most interesting and fulfilling crying sessions take place in my fair city’s vast subway system.

And while perusing one of my favorite laugh-at-other-people websites
(www.cryingwhileeating.com), I had an idea of my own. Crying While Subwaying.
As I’ve mentioned before, New York City is full of wackos. Wackos that like to cry. And I, my lambs, am no exception. I remember my first cry fest in the city- I had a job interview at the Peace Corps and accidentally took the A instead of the 1 train and ended up in Brooklyn. And when I finally made it back into the city, I was completely lost in the financial district. And I was absolutely mortified over the fact that I was sobbing on the streets of Manhattan. Until I realized that no one cares. No one pays any more attention to someone crying than they do to a subway preacher or some violin playing hobo. New Yorkers are completely too caught up in their own crap to pay attention to otheres. I even find myself daily ignoring the Greenpeace petition people and the guy with weird hair outside the Union Square subway stop who is trying to sell me some spa package.

But it’s cathartic, in a way, crying in the subway. You’re not at home doing it alone in some tub of Ben and Jerry’s. (ew which I don’t eat anyway). But you’re able to express yourself publicly even if you can’t express it in front of the person you want to. Jasper Johns had his random gray streaks, Dylan Thomas had his musings at Crumley’s bar, and Sarah has her sobfests on the 2 train. Masterpiece.

What’s stressing me out? Well I got an email from you-know-who and a call from my lawyer, within 20 minutes of each other. The email was some sappy shit I didn’t want to hear, complete with an attachment of a picture of a bunny. What the fuck? I like bunnies. But why are you sending me one, when the next phone call I’m going to get is from my lawyer, telling me that I’m fucked, because of you? Is it guilt? Easier ways to deal with your guilt, moron. Fuck. Why don’t you give me back the 7 grand I’ve shelled out for this overpriced attorney? Yeah… thanks..
But I digress, back to my Crying While Subwaying. So I completely lost it on the subway today. I’m on the 2 train after the gym and then suddenly, with the two communications I’d received in the afternoon, things just caught up with me and I lost it. Sobbed. No one paid attention. Good.
Anyway, back to the FAFSA forms. Alright… haha ok here’s one. “Do you or your family have unusual circumstances affecting your finances?” Does being fucking broke count? Fools. Not everyone who wants to go to grad school is riding some trust fund tails. My parents worked damn hard to get where they are. And they’re still struggling, albeit doing what they absolutely love.

Ok let’s take this step by step
Marital status: single
State of legal residence: NY
Did I become a legal resident of this state before Jan 1 2003? No. what does that matter? Discrimination!
Selective service? What bullshit. Half the chicks I know would be better in combat than men.

Ok why are you asking me my mother’s maiden name and her social security number? I think this is a test, just like my taxes were… And why does it matter what they made last year? I have no idea. It’s not my business. Oh haha at the bottom they say this only matters if I’m a dependent. Oh boy I wish, those were good times weren’t they. Need to read instructions better. They now say I should read the FAFSA instruction booklet. Holy crap, this is a 58 page document. Mr. government, I’m not applying for my PhD so I can read stuff. Geez..

Alright this is far to complicated.. I’m home sick today. Not sick really, just fed up. And hungover. Not that I’ve never gone to work hungover before. Not that I’ve never gone to work still drunk before. Not that I’ve ever gone to work and gotten drunk. Not that I’ve never gone to work, gotten smashed during lunch and then gone back to work. During an audit…. I just don’t feel like dealing with my boss today. I have to call my lawyer now too. Crap. I’ll wait though, because the song on the radio us Metallica’s “Unforgiven” and that’s just too fitting.
I will, however, begin to pay attention to the criers on the subway. That’s some good blog fodder right there. My own sobfests no exception. Haha yesterday I was sitting next to some weirdo when I was crying. Man smelled like a goddamn pine tree taxi cab air freshener. So I thought the idea of that was funny, like that scene from Tommy Boy. So here I am crying and laughing at the same time. I probably looked like a sad clown. Whatever, as long as I didn’t look like a mime.