Ah, fall. A time for fresh beginnings, football games, crisp caramel apples, and frolicking in pumpkin patches. It’s also, consequently, a time for EVERY EFFING BILL KNOWN TO MANKIND TO HIT ALL AT ONCE.
I’m broke. Like, woah. Car registration (buh-bye cash), pet registration (buh-bye money), eye doctor appointment/contacts/glasses (buh-bye cash-ola), dentist (latah paycheck)…you name it, I just paid it.
Needless to say, I am now in a never ending horror story that consists of me and an exponentially growing tower of credit card debt (ok, it’s not like I just threw a casual 10K on the pile…the number shall remain nameless, but know that I want the little life sucker to go straight down to ZERO. Stat.). To be fair, the majority of my September purchases were “needed” (I mean, I guess I could’ve foregone the eye doctor and walked into walls for the next 6 months, but I thought that might be a slight inconvenience…ya feel me?). And the rest I suppose could’ve waited, but as my ass has finally shrunk to the size of “normalcy” and the College Cushion has fallen off, none of my clothing fits. Cry me a river, I know. Waaaaa, I’ve lost weight…waaaaa a sweater is finally a cozy layer versus a necessary stomach shield….whatever. I’m happy…blah blah blah. But my wallet is NOT faring well in this scenario.
Mind you, I shop at the glorious land of Tar-jaaaay, so it’s not like I’m dropping 3 G’s on a Chanel suit. But $30 here, and $20 there, and $5 for that headband that is just so cute I can’t resist (even though I think the last time I wore a headband was the year of my first period)…IT ALL ADDS UP. Really mother trucking fast.
And then you have the “harmless” Starbucks runs. Oh sure, $1.94 for a tall blonde roast may seem innocent. And the occasional $5 PSL is just a little “treat” that’s perfectly necessary – It’s getting chilly! We must celebrate! Denial, denial, denial. Because when that c-card statement comes to a close, you’re suddenly looking at a number that’s got about three digits BEFORE the little dot of doom. Hoorah. Still in the mood for that PSL? Didn’t think so.
So I’m now instating a spending ban on myself. I hereby vow to do the following:
- Avoid eating out/blowing money on booze. Happy hours are what I live for. No lie. Actually live for. I get up on Monday mornings and think, “Oh God, another week working and slaving away in cubeland.” And then I think, “Oh wait…I have two happy hours this week! Friend time! Hooray! (*flushes nightshade down toilet*). SOLUTION: prior to all happy hours/lunches/dinners, I will eat a meal I’ve already prepared until I am nice and full. Then I will attend said hours of happiness, be merry, but order a water with lemon (or maybe a d. coke if I’m feeling randy).
- Stop spending my first born’s college savings on elliptical rights. Gyms are important. Me no like having an ass that requires purchasing two plane tickets. But my recent decision to join a gym that costs me over $60 a month to have “the privilege” to attend is an abomination. I care not if I have to join one that’s shitty and has horrid commercials because they don’t have any actual clients. The elliptical is the same damn machine no matter where I go. So suck on that Mr. Fancy Gym with your perfectly plush white towels and free shampoo. IMMA USE MAH OWN TOWELS, YA HEARRRRD?!
- Treat Starbucks like the Black Death. I adore the bucks. I really do. I half wish I was a barista just so I could bask in its glory on a daily basis (though if I was a barista I guarantee the charm would wear off the second I found out how the pastries are made…whatevs). But the bucks of Star is now my sworn enemy and I shall not attend its glowing oasis unless it is absolutely necessary (RE: forgot to or did not have time to make coffee in the AM, resulting in a non-functioning day-long nap that would probably get me fired). And when said moment occurs, I shall only purchase the smallest adult size beverage (tall) in the cheapest form possible (coffee…straight up). It is exactly $1.94, and whenever possible, I shall pay solely in cash. The newfound me plans to raid a piggy bank for this mystical cash. I just have to start one first…
- Eliminate shopping
listsavalanches. Yesterday I wrote a note to myself reminding me that I needed to pick up floor cleaner. Then I wrote down that I needed swiffer pads, then cotton balls, then marshmallows (really?!), then a magic eraser, then nail polish remover, then so many other pointless things that I forgot what it was I actually wanted to buy in the first place. I praise baby Jesus that I made this list in the morning at my desk, and that by the time it came to actually decided whether or not it was worth it for me to walk a block out of the way to pick it up on my way home, I crossed it all off and threw it away. I just saved a good $50. And dat dolla make me holla, Honey Boo Boo.
- Associate clothes/shoes/etc. shopping with genital warts. Really, this is the only way I can legitimately associate fashion with “no” and “do not buy.” Instead, I am pinky swearing myself that I will look upon the masses of fabric already gathered in my closet and use my noggin to come up with bran-spankin’-new ways of mixin’ and matchin’. And on that same note…
- Sell ALL unused clothes (and think of them as pubic lice). Nobody wants an itchy hoo-ha. Time to get rid of it. Rule #1: if I didn’t wear it at all during its prime season, out it goes. Rule #2: if I haven’t thought about it or worn it in a year, out it goes. Rule #3: if it’s a costume, out it goes (because let’s be real, I try to out-best myself every year for halloween and wouldn’t ever repeat a costume unless utterly desperate and in a time pinch). Rule #4: if it’s a turtleneck, IT WILL NOT BE WORN (No more “but it’d be perfect for skiing” excuses; when the fuck was the last time you went skiing? Exactly.) – out it goes. After all is said and done, you’ll be much happier with an extra $75 in your pocket than holding onto something that makes you feel like a mother that just birthed three children (I don’t care how trendy turtlenecks are or could be, I will always associate them with mom jeans and a holiday-inspired pins and matching earrings).
It’s been 24 hours since I made the above pacts with myself. I think I deserve a gold star. In fact, I need a whole sheet of stickers, dammit. For my sticker chart of success. Kind of like the one I used while potty training.
Same concept, different shit.
Over and out.