Today was a small test of the beginnings of this project. I am trying to make an earnest effort to get out of debt and get out of this crazy spending circle that I get into, especially when the men in my life also seem to go in crazy circles. I'm not Carrie Bradshaw, so there won't always be funny puns, witty metaphors, or melodramatic revelations, but there will be a young woman taking an honest look at her life and who will try to stop relying on money, appearance, and men as the determinants of the success of life.
So it started today. I stayed in the house most of the day. Took advantage of the On Demand function of my cable. Actually ate the frozen waffles I bought two weeks ago. Store brand, a sacrifice that probably seems so small but when you've grown up on Aunt Jemima's waffles for consecutive Sundays since you were old enough to pour your own syrup, names can become a big deal. It's like buying a dress from Target that looks like the Diane Von Furstenburg geometric print wrap dress that you saw in the latest Elle: you know it really shouldn't make a difference because it still serves the same purpose and satisfies you in the same way, but for some reason, you just feel like it would be even more special if you just had a different label on it.
And the way it ended: an invitation to go out with the girls. Last night, the night that will be referred to as Last Call, involved a 10-minute search for parking, 10-minute wait in line, 30-minute wait for my friend to arrive, and $20 for subway fare for the week immediately disposed to pay for the club cover charge, was the final night I was able to have non-meticulously planned fun. So tonight, when invited to hang out with some of my fave ladies, I was hesitant. Drinks at our favorite late night happy hour. Drinks sounds rather harmless, monetarily, but add in gas, food and tip, and it's not so pretty. So here's how it went down: I had enough time to make dinner beforehand, so I made that (drumsticks marinated for 4 hours in a special salt rub and a side of sauteed oriental vegetables), filled up on soda, and drove out to TGIFriday's, my former place of employment and current venue for the bday celebration. I ordered the happy hour mozzarella sticks, another soda, and loaded up on conversation. It was fantastic. Two hours of swapping stories with my girlfriends, singing happy birthday with a Whole Foods fresh fruit cheesecake, and getting free financial advice from a money whiz sorority sister (who willingly volunteered to be my financial advisor during this process!). And in the end, the waiter only charged me for the mozzarella sticks, $3.97 (happy hour price of $3.75 plus tax), and I gave him a $1.53 tip (hey, that's almost 50%). Consider the approximate $2.00 I spend on gas and it all comes out to a fantastic night out for under $10.00.
So it started today. I stayed in the house most of the day. Took advantage of the On Demand function of my cable. Actually ate the frozen waffles I bought two weeks ago. Store brand, a sacrifice that probably seems so small but when you've grown up on Aunt Jemima's waffles for consecutive Sundays since you were old enough to pour your own syrup, names can become a big deal. It's like buying a dress from Target that looks like the Diane Von Furstenburg geometric print wrap dress that you saw in the latest Elle: you know it really shouldn't make a difference because it still serves the same purpose and satisfies you in the same way, but for some reason, you just feel like it would be even more special if you just had a different label on it.
And the way it ended: an invitation to go out with the girls. Last night, the night that will be referred to as Last Call, involved a 10-minute search for parking, 10-minute wait in line, 30-minute wait for my friend to arrive, and $20 for subway fare for the week immediately disposed to pay for the club cover charge, was the final night I was able to have non-meticulously planned fun. So tonight, when invited to hang out with some of my fave ladies, I was hesitant. Drinks at our favorite late night happy hour. Drinks sounds rather harmless, monetarily, but add in gas, food and tip, and it's not so pretty. So here's how it went down: I had enough time to make dinner beforehand, so I made that (drumsticks marinated for 4 hours in a special salt rub and a side of sauteed oriental vegetables), filled up on soda, and drove out to TGIFriday's, my former place of employment and current venue for the bday celebration. I ordered the happy hour mozzarella sticks, another soda, and loaded up on conversation. It was fantastic. Two hours of swapping stories with my girlfriends, singing happy birthday with a Whole Foods fresh fruit cheesecake, and getting free financial advice from a money whiz sorority sister (who willingly volunteered to be my financial advisor during this process!). And in the end, the waiter only charged me for the mozzarella sticks, $3.97 (happy hour price of $3.75 plus tax), and I gave him a $1.53 tip (hey, that's almost 50%). Consider the approximate $2.00 I spend on gas and it all comes out to a fantastic night out for under $10.00.
Tomorrow: free one-time counseling (I need to wrap my mind around my issues) at my alma mater, picking out clothes for the entire week, planning out this week's meals, and figuring out cost-effective ways to keep my mane maintained, which I like to call "Mane"-tenance.
I feel triumphant, but I also feel a little self-conscious. My friends all know what I'm going through and they're fully supportive. It's a little hard though being the person at the table who has the $4 check when everyone else's is $15+ because it just makes it seem like you're poor. I don't want them to worry about me. And I don't want judgment either. I feel like I'm on a good path (especially having withstood the temptation to go shopping since I know that the sales are going to start getting good). I must confess though: I will probably be doing three rules-bending things this month:
1) Getting an item or two from the Jimmy Choo for H&M collection
2) Purchasing a ticket to "New Moon"
3) Buying a pair of moderate-heel black boots for work (more on the rationale for that later...)
Goodnight, people!
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