My Sunday Meeting of the Finance

Yesterday I had a truly humbling experience. That afternoon, I laid out all my financial secrets for my girlfriend to see. We live together and I knew that if I wanted to kick this addiction to debt, I had to gain an ally. She’s pretty savvy about money and no-nonsense when it comes to suggesting changes. I was fighting to NOT be defensive, and it took all I had to remain collected. Despite that, it got a bit intense at times. And uncomfortable all the time. I hadn’t felt that emasculated in a long while. There’s something about being a guy admitting you have the monetary sense of a drunken goat in a new pair of spats (normally a thrifty animal, the goat is the most extravagant of all creatures when intoxicated. I was also wearing freshly purchased spats during our meeting. In hindsight, it was an inappropriate choice. Hence the comparison). I’ve budgeted before, but there was something about having another person objectively run through it with me that was unsettling. This is what I owe; this is what I can afford. Not much, huh? Well, those are the numbers. Good luck.

So here’s where I am with that. Rent, student loans, credit card payments, and bills basically take up 80% of my monthly income. I made that percentage up, but it’s somewhere in the ballpark. I have a tiny sum left over for food, transportation, and luxury. And what a sum it is! For the next two weeks, I’m going to figure out how to survive on $26! I’m thinking of buying a pelt.

But now I know where I stand. Or squat. I do a lot of squatting. And from there, I have a plan of attack:

FIRST! I’m going to go talk to my bank, through which my credit card is attached, and say, “Hey listen! I’m having a doozy of a time paying this thing off! What can you do to make it easier for me to give you money? Interest rates and all that!” Does that sound too complicated? Should I dumb it down for the people? The simple bank people?

SECOND! I’m going to talk to the student loan fellows and say, “Hey listen! I’m having a doozy of a time paying YOU fuckers off too! I’ve got a credit card to pay off first! Help me to help you!” That’s the kind of classy talk you can expect from a schmoozer like me.

THIRD! MORE YELLING!

FIFTH! I mean, FOURTH! I’m going to figure out things to sell. Books, my ukulele (you want one?); a few feet of arteries I seldom pass blood through.

FIFTH! Cut and save where I can. No more Cheezits. So unfortunate. It’s my favorite cracker. Booze is a must-go. I’m gonna have to go straight-edge for awhile if I wanna live. Biking will take up the bulk of my transport. No more fondling the ladies’ gams on the train. I’ve got pedals to push!

SIXTH! A new job. One that pays better. Even if it’s more excruciating than the one I have now, it’s got to generate an increase in cha-ching. There’s no getting around it. I can cut all the expenses I want, but I must bring in more.

SEVENTH! Pee in a jar! In eight weeks time, jarred pee turns into copper wiring which I can sell for a sweet profit! Right? Hello?

EIGHTH! Put all extra money into my most pressing debt. All windfalls and boons must wind its way into the spider’s web that is my credit card. And flies. I will mail them envelopes full of dead flies. It’s the right thing to do.