Last night, hubby requested brown rice water for dinner to calm his stomach, but was unable to get to the store from his ‘deathbed’ on the couch.

Naturally, I’m all out of brown rice and naturally, it’s pouring down rain for my afternoon commute home.

I picked up our son, circled the grocery store parking lot for a spot, and struggled to get him out of his car seat without getting either of us soaked. I run inside, manage to step into a huge puddle of water that looked deceptively small, and grimace as water fills my hi-heels.

I walk the grocery store aisle, trying desperately not to slip with my wet shoes, and grab a bag of brown rice. Usually, after grabbing the item I need, I make a quick circle of the store, check out the sale items or grab produce. I always purchase at least one item not on my grocery list – an item I don’t necessarily need.

I looked down at my sweet son, smiling despite his snotty nose and swollen teething gums. Nope. No circle around the store. I went straight to the checkout. I didn’t even grab a pack of gum from the check stand. Total bill? $2.

Gone are my days of leisure grocery spending.

Who needs to go on a debt diet? Just bring a baby.

My husband’s friend is leaving to do government contract work in the Middle East and will be gone for more than a year. She wanted all of us to get together at a club downtown for her one last hurrah before boarding her international flight. She purchased three booths at a club downtown and was footing the bill for the pricey food.

Hubby and I made the trek downtown and waited in line at the club entrance. The ever so serious bouncer looked down at me and demanded, ‘ID?’

I pulled out my wallet and tried to get my ID out.

Tried.

If it were possible for my ID to rust from non-use, it would have.

I yanked and yanked, the line of inpatient club goers behind me staring me down, my ‘coolness’ factor dropping faster than the Dow Jones in 2008. Finally, hubby took my wallet, and after a good fight with it, my reluctant ID came out.

‘Sorry. I don’t get out much. I’ve got a kid.. and lots of debt.’ I said with an apologetic smile to the doorman.

The gruff bouncer slid me a sideways grin. ‘I feel you. Why do you think I’m here? Have a good time’ and put back on his ‘mean’ face for the next person in line.

I smiled the rest of the night. I’m not the only one struggling.

There are lots of us out there.

Tuesday night was not good to me and I was horribly sick on Wednesday morning. I stayed home and spent most of the day on the couch sniffling and sneezing in misery.

When I reported to work the following Tuesday, I remembered I had to tell payroll about my absence.

Or did I?

If I just let things go, no one would notice my extra day. In fact, they had let everyone go home early that day and I wasn’t really robbing work of 8 hours – only 4. And, every other holiday they let people go home early, I always put in an extra 2 hours so technically they OWED me. Plus, I am underpaid! What’s a couple extra hours?

So, I didn’t tell payroll…

and I lasted a whole hour before I made myself sick and went running to payroll to correct the mistake.

Not only am I bad at fighting for raises, I’m really, REALLY bad at being a thief.

Holidays with my parents can sometimes get a little out of control. All my siblings came into town (first time all nine of us were together for Thanksgiving in 10 years!) and my parents invited my siblings in-laws and a few folks who were alone for turkey day.

Lots of friends, lots of turkey, lots of fun.

Whew! I need a nap.

The average age of a car owned in the US?

10!

Before you feel sorry for yourself because you drive an ‘old’ car, remember this…

We are all in the same boat. You’re doing pretty good.

I found myself smiling because my car is a ‘youthful’ seven years old. I’ve got three years before I hit average. Suddenly makes me want to keep it longer!

Our trip was wonderful! We spent a little more than budgeted as I wasn’t prepared for how EXPENSIVE the area would be, but we didn’t break the bank and we saved as much as possible by eating at the house and splitting meals while out.

I found a couple homes I liked and contacted the owners. One owner offered her home at a 30% discount since it’s a last minute booking but she wasn’t in the best area of town. Before Dave Ramsey, I probably would have booked the discounted one and never thought to negotiate with the homes I’d rather stay at.

Oh how times have changed.

I went directly to the best place and asked them to beat the price. What could it hurt?

Not only was I able to get the home we wanted deeply discounted, I was able to negotiate the refundable deposit to 75% less.

Hubby worked an extra side job and we have the whole weekend away covered with cash. Can’t wait!

My parents have always been huge proponents of family time without electronics. Growing up, we were VERY limited on TV and gaming console time. Weekends were intended for family and that meant playing card games and outdoor sports together. Nearly 40 years later, not much has changed. Most of the time at my parents’ home is spent in the kitchen cooking together or in the dining room around the family table playing a hand of Skip-Bo.

Sure, there were disagreements and yes, dad may have once thrown the Monopoly game into the air and lost half the pieces… but that’s where the folks at Hasbro come to save the day! Hasbro is offering to recycle those old games with missing pieces. In exchange, you can get coupons for savings on new games (you can get coupons without recycling as well). Worried about paying postage? Hasbro has that covered too! Pre-paid shipping labels can be printed directly from their website.

For more info, check out: http://www.hasbro.com/games/en_US/familygamenight_promo.cfm

My deepest sympathies to those who lost precious loved ones in those attacks.

That didn’t last long.

On Wednesday, the calls, e-mails, and texting started again.

Maternity leave is great, but keeping my job is important – especially since I use my paycheck to pay my mortgage and pay down debt.

Sure, I understand that they can’t legally fire me for turning off my phone while on disability, but I’m a bit concerned about what will happen AFTER I return to work. You can bet my employer will remember I ignored calls.

All day Wednesday, as the calls came one after the other and I pressed the ‘ignore’ button on my phone, I told myself I deserved just one more day of quiet. I’d get to them on Thursday.

Thursday morning, I woke up to more voicemails and decided…

I’m not going to return any more calls while out on leave.

Bad decision financially? Maybe.

But I only get to spend a few precious moments with my newborn son – and I’m going to enjoy every single one.

Most of my siblings are still in town. They flew in for our family reunion and decided to stick around until after the 4th of July. Since all but two of my six siblings have children, we are limited on how often we can afford to dine out. Feeding multiple families of 6 can add up fast so they all shop at the grocery store together and cook at my parent’s house whenever they are in town.

I drove to my parent’s house on Monday and my ears were immediately assaulted by the noise of nearly a dozen children yelling while running around the yard. My sisters, sisters-in-law, mother, grandmother, and I were in the kitchen making pizza dough and sauce from scratch while talking about men, babies, and differences between authorized users and co-signers on credit cards (yeah, that last subject contribution was mine… obviously) while my husband, brothers, brother-in-law, and father were outside yelling at the kids to stop hitting each other with light sabers.

The pizzas were created, cooked, and came out of the oven to form an assembly line of cut slices for everyone. Grandma made a garden salad and fresh strawberry lemonade and one of my sisters made Olive Garden style breadsticks.

The house was in complete chaos and the noise level rivaled a Metallica concert.

I sat at the crammed dining table and felt sorry for everyone dining in a restaurant that night. Who would possibly want to miss out on a scene like this?

Leaving the house took about an hour as each nephew and niece threw their tiny arms around my neck in a goodbye hug. They all followed it with a pat to the belly saying goodbye to the baby.

Yes. My sisters spent a heck of a lot of time putting together the dough balls into perfect pizza bread shapes. Yup. The kitchen was a mess and it needed a good cleaning. Yes. There was an argument or two about the use of too much salt/onions/water/you name it. But there wasn’t a bill to pay at the end of the night. No one glared at the kids for being too loud. And we didn’t have to tip our servers anything other than praise for the good meal.

I guess I don’t love dining out nearly as much as I thought I did.

My husband loves this set. It’s exactly what he would have picked out, including the ultra comfortable mattress. It should come as no surprise that his love affair with this bedroom set would cause him to do… interesting things.

I came home from work to find him covering the bed in plastic sheeting.

“Uh hon? Whatcha doin’?” I asked.

He glanced up, then glanced at the sheeting, debating whether or not to tell me the truth.

“Um. Protecting against bedbugs?” He said and mumbled, “And protecting against your water breaking and destroying the mattress.”

“What was that?” I asked.

“Babe. We can’t afford to replace this mattress if your water breaks and ruins it. You know what we can afford? A $19 protection sheet” he said sheepishly.

I can’t fault the guy for trying to protect something we couldn’t possibly hope to replace, but I’m not going to lie…

Nothing makes you feel like a three year old quite like the crinkle of plastic sheets.

Oh the things we do for fancy furniture.

I’ve been so focused on learning to accept the help of others, I sort of missed that giving is an area in which I am sorely lacking.

Yes. I give a percentage of my salary to charity. It isn’t from the kindness of my heart; it’s simply something my parents have told me to do. Something I do out of obligation.

I am missing a genuinely giving heart.

Of course, spending nearly the last 3 years focused on paying off debt, holding on to every penny, hasn’t helped strengthen my giving muscles. I have only clenched my fist more tightly to what I have. Yes, I need to focus on my debts, but I also need to share some of what I have with others in need. I simply didn’t realize how important this quality was until I was the one needing help.

I finally get what Dave Ramsey means when he says, ‘…So later you can give like no one else’

To be honest, I had kinda hoped for a tiny shower held in a janitorial closet involving only the lovely ladies who had specifically asked. By day’s end however, the event, originally scheduled in the smallest conference room, had to be moved to the largest one. The e-mail invitation was forwarded around the office like a fast moving virus.

On top of that, one of my co-workers gave me some items his grandson had outgrown including a swing and a bouncy seat. ‘I wish I would have known earlier! I would have given them to you months ago!’ he said.

For those of us digging our way out of the debt mess we made, it’s easy to slap away the hands seeking to help. I keep thinking, ‘I’m the idiot who got myself into this mess, I need to learn my lesson and get myself out.’ But part of the lesson we need to learn is…

Humility.

Foolish pride has got to go.

My husband and I have made great strides in saving money but we still haven’t met our goal amount to get through my leave and pay the hospital bills. Spending a bunch on baby supplies isn’t an option. Accepting help is a great lesson in humility AND a great reminder that we have some wonderful, wonderful people in our lives.

Don’t slap those helping hands away. Smile…

and say ‘thank you’.

Diamonds are the one thing you can fake. I can’t fake a house or a car, but I sure can wear a cubic zirconia ring that looks an awful lot like the real thing – and I do.

Of course, there is a problem…

The town near ours holds a street fair every Christmas. At this fair, one of the antiques dealers sells replica antique rings for $29. Over the years, I’ve acquired two rings from his booth. Without fail, whenever I wear the rings, someone compliments them and asks two questions…

1: Is it an antique?
2: Is it real?

Obviously, saying, ‘Nah, it’s a cheap knock-off I bought from a street gypsy who sold it to me in a tasteful paper sack held together by scotch tape’ isn’t the answer I want to give.

It’s bad enough I air my financial dirty laundry here, do I have to air the fact that I wear cheap knockoff jewelry to all who ask?

I know some of you are just as thrifty when it comes to jewelry and have stumbled across the same dilemma. What’s your best response?

I have three scars on my face – on my forehead, across my eye, and one that runs from my nose to my chin. Never once have I considered fixing these scars. To me, these scars serve as a permanent reminder of what NOT to do in life.

The scar on my forehead is from my brother. We smacked heads as kids while playing a game. My injury required a mass of stitches while his head was barely bruised. Lesson? My brother’s head is harder. Fighting with him, now or back then, is a waste of time.

The scar across my eye was from falling off a bench at the ripe old age of ten while trying to reach a graham cracker on the top shelf for a boy. Lesson? Trying too hard to impress boys will only get you hurt.

The scar stretching from my nose to my chin was from falling out of bed face first while dreaming about… falling. The floor ‘gently’ removed the skin from the front of my face and it didn’t grow back the same color or smoothness. When did this happen? Um… 2 years ago. Lesson? Stupid accidents happen – even to 29 year olds.

It had me thinking about my financial scars. You know the ones. They sit on your credit report and remind you of what an idiot you were. Every time I run my credit report, I see old car loans, old credit card high balances, student loans, and other financial mistakes I’ve made. Even though the financial wound has healed and the balances have been paid, they still sit as big, fat scars on my report. I’ve still got a few years before most of them drop off but I kinda wish they never would. Just like the ones on my face, those scars serve to remind me of my bad decisions and I’d prefer NOT to forget them.

Next time you look at your credit report and it’s not what you’d wish it would be, you can be a little grateful for the scar. It’s a good reminder of what an idiot you were and how far you’ve come.

On a side note, the ‘great fall from bed’ as it’s now known, happened in the early morning hours on the 4th of July. We had invited guests to our home to watch the fireworks show and I spent the morning crying about my face. I sulked around the house with white bandages wrapped around my chin and nose, expecting my husband to tell me everything would be fine. He didn’t. Instead, he laughed hysterically… to tears… telling me I had the best story to share at the party. Somehow, he figured out what I needed to hear. In every party picture, I’m grinning like an idiot. Lesson? I’m a lucky girl who married a swell guy. That scar will always be my favorite.

After all the time, the dedication, and… the MONEY, he did it. My husband finished his degree.

Well, OK, so he still has two summer school classes to take but since he will finish this summer, they let him walk at the ceremony this weekend.

I’ve been so busy with work and obsessive house cleaning (aka fanatical nesting), I haven’t had time to enjoy the moment. On the morning of the graduation, I woke up at 5am, made a batch of cinnamon rolls, cleaned the bathroom… again, got ready, and left for the ceremony. I chatted with my parents before the ceremony and promptly at 8am, the lights went off and Pomp and Circumstance filled the air.

Suddenly, the waterworks started. I couldn’t control my darn crying.

Fortunately, being just over 7 months pregnant, I can get away with almost anything… including crying at graduation ceremonies. The reality is, I’m so proud of my husband, I would have cried anyway – baby or no baby.

My saving grace was my mother. She’d randomly start clapping for graduates we didn’t know. Thinking she was being supportive of students whose parents weren’t there, I was warmed by her sweet thoughts… until she let me know her REAL reason for applause. “I’m clapping for all the girls with cute shoes” she said in a very serious tone.

Hmmm… and people think I’M the weird one.

We celebrated with one heck of a graduation party at our home with friends and family.

It was a really, really great weekend.

There he is!

Admittedly, the chair was beautiful and the dealer offered a gorgeous selection of fabrics to upholster the chair but $450? Eek. Maybe it’s because I’ve never purchased new furniture… or spent more than $150 on an entire sofa set… but I choked on the price tag and told her she was crazy.

“Oh really?! You think you could do better? Well fine Ms. Smarty Pants. I want you to find me the exact chair, in the exact color, before the sale ends. Because when you fail, and you will, I need it at 30% off. I looked online, I looked in other stores, I looked everywhere, and NO ONE is selling it for less. Work your Dave Ramsey money saving magic” she said with an eye roll.

“Psh. No problemo. Give me something harder.” I said… knowing full well her request was impossible.

A few days passed and I found the same chair, but not the exact color, used on Craiglist. I tried to negotiate with the seller to $275, perhaps an offer my friend couldn’t pass up regardless of color, but the owner laughed saying he paid well over $700 for the chair and it was nearly new. He wouldn’t budge below $400.

I was about to give up when I stumbled across a furniture liquidator in an industrial part of town. Remarkably, he was selling the identical chair, brand new, and the guy was willing to part with it for $189.

Trying to play it cool, I met with my friend, slid a piece of paper across the table to her and said, “Call this number and ask for Sean. Tell him Red Robin sent you. Tell him you won’t pay a dime more than $189.” I wanted her to think I had magical money saving powers… and was not just unbelievably lucky.

My only contact with the company was over the phone and I was a bit terrified it was a scam. I could see the headlines… ‘Woman tries to buy discount furniture, kidnapped, kidneys sold on black market.’

Instead, I got an excited, “I HAVE THE CHAIR!!! OH MY GOSH!! $189!!” phone message followed by, “I’m having you do ALL my furniture shopping from now on!!”

Sure, I’ll likely never have such wonderful luck again but that’s not something I have to admit… until she needs a sofa.

Sigh. But of course… he’s right.

I’ve been Jonesing for a rocking chair. I’ve searched Craigslist but the prices are too high and I’m unwilling to part with a couple hundred dollars for a non-necessity item.

I’m sitting in the kitchen on Sunday, talking to my mom about the stupid rocking chair dilemma (yes, I terrorize my poor mother regularly about my tightwad woes) when lo and behold, grandma appears out of nowhere like the furniture fairy.

“Rocking Chair? Did someone say they needed a rocking chair?”

She proceeded to pull out her magic stash of not one, not two, not three… but 5 rocking chairs.

“Tell me which one you like and you can borrow it for as long as you need it” she and my grandpa said.

OK, so maybe she didn’t say I could borrow it and she didn’t say I could keep it as long as I needed it, but they are leaving for vacation next month and I figured I could steal *cough* ‘borrow’ it when they left.

I felt like Goldilocks as I moved from chair to chair, ultimately deciding to steal the plush rocker currently occupied by Coco, their giant stuffed gorilla.

“When are you leaving for vacation?” I asked ‘innocently’.

“You might as well save time and load it now” my grandpa replied.

Hmm. I guess I’m fairly transparent… that or he saw me throw Coco in the closet and attempt to shove the chair out the back door.

Sweet! Rocking chair checked off my list. Borrowed furniture. Can’t say I’ve ever thought of that before.

This whole ‘think outside the box’ thing is still new to me. It’s something I’ll have to get used to.

A hearty thanks to my grams and gramps for helping me stay in budget.

This month, I accidentally took a little more than I should have and noticed a mere $30 to cover more than a week. I spent an hour digging through the pantry and refrigerator and worked to pair what we had with recipes. I stopped by the grocery store to purchase some fresh fruit, veggies, and dairy items and spent $27. Proud of my achievement, I spread the recipe cards for my husband and told him he could choose what he wanted for dinner.

‘I’m leaning toward the Tilapia with fresh tomatoes topped with feta or the turkey burgers and grilled asparagus but I’m up for anything you choose’ I said a little smugly.

He stared at each then said, ‘Actually, I’ve been thinking about a Stouffer’s frozen chicken dinner thingie. Can we just do that instead?’

I stared at him in silence.

A minute ticked by.

‘Or we could do tilapia. That sounds g-g-g-good’ he stuttered.

I didn’t think I had but, yes, I have perfected the look of death.

The crummy Stouffers frozen dinner is still tucked safely in the back of the freezer… where it belongs.

Oh who am I kidding? I ALWAYS need dental work.

Was I eating a steak? Nachos? Rocks? Nope. I was eating a slice of warm fresh bread from the oven. Leave it to me to break a crown on a silly slice of bread.

After spending approximately 10 seconds popping the rest of the crown out, my dentist informed me that whoever put in the crown, simply glued down a temporary. ‘This is some pretty bad work’ she said from behind her mask ‘Hopefully it didn’t cost you much.’

‘I paid $1,100 for that crown. I remember. I had to finance it’ I said.

How much is the replacement? $800.

Thankfully insurance is covering $500. Ugh. But that still leaves me with a $300 bill.

I hate teeth.

I’ve mentioned before, there is a person with my husband’s name who has awful credit and is in collections on multiple accounts. We live less than 15 miles from each other.

Lazy collections companies do searches based on first and last name and proximity to the last known address resulting in…

My husband getting A LOT of collection calls lately.

He has to call each one, straighten out the confusion, and pray they stop calling. Some do. Others don’t. But whenever one stops, another starts.

I thought we were the only ones who suffered from this annoying problem until I shared my annoyance with my dentist. She laughed and said she and her husband had the same problem – they even had to fight a lien against their home!

Based on the sheer annoyance and time spent fighting this never-ending battle, we’ve decided to name our child 457983. That way, our kid won’t have annoying collections calls that don’t belong. Sure, they may struggle through elementary school but they’ll thank me later.

Is it just us? Or do you have the same problem?

I completely forgot about this service… until this morning.

I received a text that read, ‘Your account balance is $2.14’ and gave directions on how to transfer funds directly from my phone from my savings account. Sometimes I pay bills a little too far in advance and they clear my account before the paycheck they are intended to be paid with. I transferred $100 as per the directions and put my phone back into my purse with a smug smile because I had conquered technology.

60 seconds later, I received another text that read, ‘Your account balance is $8.14’ and repeated the same directions.

“What happened to the $100?!?” I shouted at my phone in a full panic. Assuming someone had stolen my identity and my debit card, I thought they were clearing out my bank account. “Ahhhh!!” I screamed.

I tried to log on to my bank account from my work computer but the bank wouldn’t let me without a special code since I was logging on from a computer other than my home computer. I tried to get my special code but it was connected to an e-mail account I closed a month ago.

I called my husband, “Help! Someone is stealing all our money from the bank account!” I cried as I explained what was happening.

He calmly logged in from his computer and explained that no one was stealing, it was simply two checks for utility bills clearing back to back. It was close, but we had enough in the account to cover it.

‘Oh’ I responded.

Technology is lame, stressful, and… great?

If your bank has this free service, try it out. It might help save a bounced check.

Last month, my husband had a serious talk with me about my public transit use. As a frequent user of public transit, I follow a very strict set of rules when travelling. I don’t talk to others, I don’t carry or wear anything expensive, and I avoid eye contact with everyone except the driver. This system has worked well for me for years and I can honestly say I have enjoyed zoning out for two hours each day. Unfortunately, things have changed. A new, unwelcome group of riders have started travelling my route. I wrote about a problem a few months ago where I had to call transit security but… there have been more problems since. Some not as bad – some worse.

I like to think that, for the most part, I can take care of myself. I’m acutely aware of my surroundings. I carry a cell phone and a can of mace. And I’m a pretty mean fighter thanks to the several years I spent in training after college as a self-confidence booster.

But each passing week, I feel less strong and more vulnerable with the changing crowd.

I thought it was just me but each time I’d share an incident with my husband, I could see he was uncomfortable. One night, he came home from school and said, “You aren’t taking public transit anymore.” On his ride home, a man had pulled down his pants and started urinating everywhere.

Really? That’s what set him over the edge? I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’ve seen men do the same thing multiple times before and… I’m kinda used to it.

I put up a half hearted fight about how driving was expensive and how driving a vehicle on a Southern California freeway was just as dangerous as riding public transit but he said, “I’d rather have you die in a fiery car wreck than from a stab wound!”

How romantic?

So, I drive to work now. My husband may be breathing easier but thanks to my car emissions – the environment, my wallet, and future generations won’t be. Forgive me.

I’d like to think I’ll go back to my love affair with public transit…

But I guess we’ll have to see.

This setup has served him for most of my lifetime. He owns businesses, runs them, and brings home a paycheck. It has never been a problem…

Until now.

There was no contingency plan in place should anything happen to my father… like a quadruple bypass.

Fortunately, my brothers know the construction business and my sister and I know his accounting system and had open schedules to jump in to help. There has been no hiccup in his business services, only a different face showing up at the jobsites. Who knew having 7 kids would pay off eventually?

For the most part, everything worked out for dad. He’s still struggling a little physically and relying on my youngest brother to get him through the day, but at least he is getting through the day.

Here’s the question for all you ‘invincible’ small business owners out there…

Do you have a contingency plan?

If not, you better figure one out!

Other than recommending obsessively monitoring every online travel search engine (Bing, Travelzoo, Kayak) for months and doing a faux mystical rain dance to evoke the flight sale gods, I’m a bit short on good advice.

I always avoid summer travel since its peak rate season so I’m not much help.

Do any of you know the best way to buy a summer flight?

I thought perhaps the auto guy left them behind and I didn’t want him to miss the gloves so I drove to his house down the street to drop them off. When I showed him the gloves, he gave the same look my husband did. “No. Not mine.”

I checked with my brother. They weren’t his either.

‘NATURALLY’, I assumed they belonged to the guy who keeps breaking in to my car. Great. Now the guy is not only stealing from me, he’s framing me for other crimes. I could see myself on trial, “Yes your honor, those gloves and wiping cloths were in my possession and were identical to the ones used to commit the crime but I swear, someone put them in my car.” My brother suggested I take the box to the police for finger printing (clearly we share active imaginations and we watch too much CSI).

I called my husband and told him I was now terrified the thief won’t leave me alone. “He is taunting me!” I yelled. “He’s still in my car! What’s next? A parking ticket from Tijuana? A speeding ticket from Compton?! A stocking cap?!?”

“OK. So, maybe the gloves are mine.” he said trying not to snicker too loudly.

Turns out, my husband didn’t want me to know he was in my trunk because he noticed the small tool kit I bought him for his birthday and didn’t want to hurt my feelings since he saw it too early. He didn’t think I would actually try to return the gloves to the mechanic nor did he think I would question my brother about it and consider police involvement.

If I blow my debt out of proportion as much as I did the gloves, I think I’m in pretty good shape.

And yes, hubby apologized profusely.

When we returned home from our trip, my car refused to start. My 5 year old battery has been hanging on for far too long and finally decided to quit. My husband replaced the battery over the weekend and the troubles worsened. The car, an automatic, started stalling. Stalling, stopping, and restarting is always super fun in the dark at 5:00 a.m. when you are a female driving alone.

Catching my sarcasm?

Now, let me back up here a sec to tell you a little history about me. In college, I drove everywhere fast – and I had a shoe box of speeding tickets to prove it. I owned a modified Honda Civic and frequently participated in late night street races while living in Los Angeles. I ‘may’ have also been involved in high speed police pursuit.

Before you write a bunch of angry comments about how stupid/dangerous speeding/racing is, let me save you some time. First, I drove like that nearly TEN years ago. Second, at this point in my life, I realize how stupid/dangerous it is. Third, the aforementioned information made my current situation funny…at least to my husband.

My husband took my car to the mechanic to have it repaired. He, who knew me in my racing days, couldn’t stop laughing when he told me what was wrong with the car. Apparently there is an air flap on, near, around, or somewhere in the vicinity of your carburetor (have mercy, I don’t know a thing about cars). If you drive a good portion of your commute under 35mph and don’t accelerate quickly, the darn thing gums up and stops your vehicle. THIS, is what went wrong with my car.

The mechanic specifically told my husband, ‘Tell your wife to stop driving like an old lady.’

The teasing from my husband will never cease.

The only redeeming factor? The mechanic didn’t charge us to clean the flap and my car now drives perfectly.

Here’s the funny part…

I attended community college prior to moving on to a private university.

Obviously I’m not the expert but let me tell you why I absolutely agree with Zac (obviously not all community colleges are the same as ours):

1. Our state college and our community college shared more than half of the same instructors – who taught the same classes at both. The difference? I paid $60 while my state friends paid $580.

2. The class sizes were significantly smaller at the community college vs. the state college. All of my teachers knew my name.

3. San Diego State University, our local state college, is notorious for its impossible acceptance standards. BUT, if you attend the local community college for two years, you are guaranteed a spot. While your perfect GPA valedictorian student can’t get in, my average GPA husband is registering for classes.

4. According to Bissonnette, students who transfer from community college to a four year university are more likely to graduate than those who started in university their freshman year.

5. Best of all, my student loans amounted to $15,000 instead of $30,000 and my diploma from my private university looks exactly the same as someone who attended all four years. There isn’t an asterisk on my diploma saying, ‘We only vouch for half her education.’

That’s just my experience… what’s yours?

Admitting we had taken a family vacation to Europe is the equivalent of telling your Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor you spent the last two and a half weeks downing bottles of Jameson.

They weren’t exactly receptive to the idea.

We explained that this was likely the last and only time we would have the opportunity to go with our family and we funded the trip fully with cash.

But still, they weren’t happy about it.

I started to get annoyed and then realized, isn’t that the point of FPU accountability? Isn’t that the reason for the class?

No, I wouldn’t have changed my decision to go… but you can bet I won’t be strolling into class with a new sweater or a cup of Starbucks anytime soon.

When it came to the house sitter debacle, my husband was furious. When we had to purchase the cleaning supplies and replacement curtains, he mumbled a lot under his breath while pulling out the debit card.

Hours passed and he was still angry. I stared at him dumbfounded and wondered what he was going to do. Demand repayment for supplies? Demand she replace the floors? Demand she replace the ruined furniture?

He stayed angry for a record 29 hours. During those 29 hours, he carefully calculated the damages and saved the receipts from the purchases. While he wasn’t willing to demand she replace the floors or the furniture, he was adamant my brother pay the cleaning bill since my brother insisted we not pursue anything with my sister-in-law’s sister.

I typed out my brother’s rent bill and asked my husband for the receipts so I could add the cleaning bill to his rent bill.

Do you want to know how I figured out the exact 29 hour time frame of my husband’s anger?

He went to the kitchen, grabbed the receipts, stared at them, and then said, ‘You know what hon, it’s not worth the fight.’ He threw the receipts in the trash and went back outside to rake the lawn.

That’s the end of it.

We have to replace our couches, it’s not an option to leave them. The stains are permanent. We’ve decided to do the best we can and try to live with it until next summer when we pay off all our debt and after we’ve saved some cash.

The house still smells and I get angry every time I sit on the couch. I could fight with my husband over it but I’m not willing to make the mess even bigger.

The only small victory is that we didn’t pay her. Of course, the victory was promptly smashed when my brother told me he paid her anyway.

She will never learn a lesson. I learned mine.

Of course… I’m not sure my mother and sister are as willing to move on. My brother may have to hide from them for the rest of his life.

The first class was this week and the facilitator asked if anyone was a returning student. My husband and I raised our hands along with one other couple. After the video, we gathered into a small group and were immediately asked if the course had changed our lives. My husband and I said it had and that we lived below our means.

‘Are you debt free?’ a classmate asked.

‘Um. No. We have about 10 grand left.’ I said, ashamed two years has passed and I’m still carrying financial baggage.

‘At least you are working on it. And you’re here!’ she said smiling.

The rest of the group talked about their struggles and goals for about 20 minutes and then we all headed home. It was nice to hear others are fighting the same things as me.

It’s funny that I can openly and fearlessly share every little detail about my debt with you but I’m completely ashamed to share it with the small group – then again, I don’t have to shake your hand every Sunday morning.

If you haven’t been through FPU, you should consider it. The lessons are great but more than that, you have someone to look you in the eye every week who asks… how did you do this week?

Suddenly, spending feels different.

He spent the next four hours fixing her washer, her sink, and various other handyman projects she needed help with.

When my husband packed to leave, she shoved $300 in his pocket. He tried to return the money, even running to the truck, but she caught him, slapped the money in his hand and said, ‘Have fun in Italy while you’re young. It’s harder when you’re 65. I would know.’

Sometimes the kindness of others overwhelms me.

Did we go to a fancy steakhouse? A nice Italian restaurant? Happy hour at our favorite sushi joint?

We spent a romantic evening at… Taco Bell.

Don’t be jealous OK?

My husband rented a 99 cent movie (a big spend for me since I always linger 3 – 4 months on a waiting list and rent them for free at the library) starring… Jennifer Lopez.

Perhaps he was intoxicated by the scent of food not cooked by either of us – generally, he’s not a fan of chick flicks, especially those starring Jennifer Lopez.

As we enjoyed our cheap Mexican food, we talked about the no dining out policy and how we felt about it.

And by ‘we’ talked, I mean ‘I’ talked.

‘We’ decided to continue ‘our’ policy until October 8th, the day we leave for Italy, as a way to stash as much cash as possible before we leave.

Here we go again!

As she went to purchase a stack of clothing, she pulled out her shiny credit card and tapped it on the counter excitedly while she talked about how cute the clothes were.

The cashier ran the card but couldn’t find a pen for the signature. My friend looked at me and asked, ‘Do you have a pen?’

I pulled out the only pen I had, my Financial Peace University pen from Dave Ramsey.

As she gleefully signed at the bottom, I couldn’t help but laugh as I imagined the Financial Peace pen bursting into flame the second it touched the credit card slip.

Surprisingly, it didn’t.

I miss spending like that. I miss buying what I wanted. But…

I don’t miss the credit card debt.

IT happened on Sunday.

IT meaning… I went out to eat on Sunday.

Before you stoke the fire for burning me at the stake, let me explain. I have a totally good reason…

Actually… I don’t.

I went wine tasting with my husband, my brother, and my sister-in-law. We have friends who work at the local wineries and they let us taste wine for free. Fast forward six hours and I’m sitting at a table with a chopped salad and a thin crust pizza staring back at me.

I can fight off sleep, I can fight off grocery store crowds, and I can fight off impatience to stay out of restaurants.

Apparently, I cannot fight six hours of free Sangiovese, Pinot Gris, and Orange Champagne.

The damage? $25 dollars including tip. No, it won’t break our bank and no, we didn’t go outside our grocery budget but I’ll admit that I’m mad at myself for busting our deal without a fabulous reason – but… it was the best chopped salad and pizza I’ve ever had.

OK, you can go stoke the fire now.

I’m working on that.

Wednesday, we didn’t pick up Hutch until 6:00 p.m. because I worked late and then took time to prepare his bed and mop the floors to keep them as germ free as possible for his wounds. When we arrived home, the neighbors came over and spent an hour visiting Hutch and sharing animal injury horror stories. They left around 8:00 p.m. and I looked at my husband. Both of us were exhausted. I thought about suggesting we run down the street for a carne asada burrito. Instead, I trudged into the kitchen and started making Chicken Puffs. My husband seasoned and cooked asparagus, cut apple slices, and helped piece together the rest of the meal.

Would I have rather had a carne asada burrito or carne asada fries? Yes.
Do I feel slightly better that I’m starting to resemble something like a financially responsible adult? Absolutely.

Two more weeks!

How will we celebrate? Maybe I’ll make more chicken puffs. We’re saving a lot of cash and it’s pretty awesome – plus, I’ve got a nasty vet bill to pay.

The vet called to tell us things were going well at 10:00 a.m. By 2:00 p.m., they called to tell us he had taken a sudden and unexpected turn backward. The swelling increased and his breathing was difficult – he would likely pass before the end of the day. They asked us to approve a laser treatment as a last ditch effort to save his life and for 20 minutes I debated whether or not I was throwing good money after bad.

We approved the treatment – even though it was $200 more dollars.

I cried, and cried, and…cried more as my husband drove to the vet after I got off work.

OK, let me take a stress relief laugh moment here – I have cried buckets over this sweet dog. My husband has been the calm, strong, decision maker and hasn’t shed a tear. As I apologized for my excessive crying, my husband said, “Don’t worry hon, I cried today too. They played a replay of Emmitt Smith’s Hall of Fame speech and it really choked me up.”

I wanted to kill him.

“Are you serious? We’re losing our dog and you cried over Emmitt Smith’s Hall of Fame speech? Are you freaking kidding me?!?” I asked as I glared at him while wiping my snotty nose.

“Honey, you should have heard it. He was thanking Daryl Johnston, and man, it was emotional.” He said seriously.

Fortunately for him, I can’t afford another medical bill.

Back to the story – we arrived at the vet and…

the laser worked. The vet was all smiles and told us Hutch’s prognosis was good. Then they brought him out for me to spend time with. His face looked like a crazy comic character (see below – but don’t look if you’re queasy) but he made some big steps in the right direction.

We won’t know until tomorrow if he is officially safe or not (we’re waiting on blood tests and swelling reduction). They have to keep him for another night tonight as the venom moves from his face, down his throat, and into his chest. There is still a high risk for suffocation but the vet seems optimistic.

Thank you so very much for your encouragement. I really, really needed it.

Again – don’t look if you are queasy….

Hutch as a puppy 12 months ago…

Hutch a few hours ago…

Tonight was different.

As we sat relaxing, a loud yelp broke the calm night air and my dog came running to the house making pained noises I have never heard him make.

We thought he had scraped his face on a wood pile but as I sped down the freeway, his face swelling more with each passing minute, my hopes of a simple puncture wound faded. The 30 minute car ride seemed to take hours. His pained whimpering broke my heart.

The vet said my dog had been bit not once, but twice by a rattlesnake and they weren’t sure if he would make it.

I have always said I would never pay more in vet bills than I paid for the animal and have routinely been confused when people spend thousands on dogs.

I am no longer confused.

When they brought me the bill, I was already crying, but when I saw the $2,500 decision, I started sobbing. I had my head in my hands for ten minutes, my mascara streaking down my cheeks. “I can’t do it” I said to my husband, “I can’t make this decision. I’m sorry.”

I appreciate that my husband knows some things are simply too big for me. I get too emotional and fail to think clearly.

He rubbed my back, stood up, and walked to the front desk. Thinking he would ask them to put Hutch down, I couldn’t breathe through my tears.

He came back and calmly started filling out admittance papers and the veterinary financing paperwork.

We took a big debt step back tonight and we won’t even know how big of a step for three days.

By the way – if you are thinking about making comments about how stupid it is (I already know) to take out a $2,500 loan on a dog, could you please wait a few days until I find out whether or not my dog is going to live?

I haven’t had french fries since we went on our no dining out hiatus – or any fried food for that matter. I’m terrified of burning myself so I eat a lot of salad and oven baked chicken.

I was in the living room playing with my nieces and nephews when I smelled the intoxicating goodness of hot oil. I ran to the kitchen and on the stove was a cookie sheet loaded with hot fresh french fries.

Oh how I miss french fries. I don’t eat them much but going 30 days without them… well… I miss ‘em.

Thanks to my sister for dishing up the unhealthiest food known to man.

So how is the hiatus going? Um… good?

I went up to my parents’ house on Sunday to visit with my family. It was noisy, crowded, crazy, and…

Utterly relaxing.

We had smoked pork, bbq corn, scalloped potatoes, and grandma’s delicious green salad. Mom topped it off with homemade ice cream, berry cobbler, and oven fresh cookies.

At the end of the night, we donned huge sombreros and danced in the kitchen to the ‘Mexican Hat Dance’.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

When you focus all your energy on finances, you miss some truly valuable moments.

Stop. Breathe. Then dance in your kitchen while blaring the Mexican Hat Dance. Suddenly a salary freeze isn’t such a big deal.

This was the first week we had to expose our ‘no dining out’ policy to friends. Hmph.

My husband and I joined my brother and his wife while they searched for a new home. After a few hours of driving neighborhoods and meeting with realtors, we were starved. My brother drove down a fast food laden street and said, ‘Where do you guys want to go to lunch?’

My husband gave me ‘the’ look. The look that said, ‘You came up with the no dining out policy, therefore, you should explain it.’

I flubbed out something Yoda-ish, ‘We can’t…uh… 60 days of no dining out… money…tight…save, trying to …err…uh…home, eat at.’

‘OK Captain Crazy’ he replied, paused, then added, ‘We need to save money too since we’re buying the house. Good idea – well, what I could understand of it.’

We’re getting there. A little bit at a time. Sure folks think I’m nuts but since I’m so close to the debt free finish line…

I could care less.

Here is a warning – you may not like my answer.

Let me explain…

I didn’t have a lot of debt when my husband and I married. He brought in some pretty large chunks of debt and collections that were ‘inherited’ from someone else. Since I had never dealt with lines of credit or collections, I sought the advice of my parents for a problem solving strategy.

They suggested I pay off the debt as quickly as possible, negotiate with the collections company, and move on with my life.

Being the mature, reasonable adult I was, I promptly ignored them. Then, wisely, since I was already drowning in debt, frustrated, and hurt, I bought a brand spanking new car and took several trips to Hawaii.

When you have lots of debt, you get to a point where you simply give up. To the reader who e-mailed me, I’ve been exactly where you are right now and I’m getting to the other side – alive and breathing.

When I finally came to my senses in late 2008 and started to make efforts to fix the problem, my parents already knew I was a financial idiot. I think they were just waiting for me to raise my hand and ask for help. They never got angry and never made me feel bad about myself. I’m very fortunate to have a great set of parents. In short, unless you are REALLY REALLY good, you parents and family probably already know.

As for the exact words I used? You read them with my parents. Yup, I ‘came out’ on this blog.

If you need help with ideas on how to fix more serious issues in finances, ask for it. Then, save the grief, listen, and take action.

Here’s the part you won’t like. Only ask for advice and support, don’t ask for money.

Dave Ramsey is right. When money exchanges hands in families, Thanksgiving dinner will never taste the same. I can tell you that from personal experience.

You made the mess. Clean it up.

My husband hasn’t paid a bill since 2004.

Don’t get me wrong. Up until recently, my husband was involved in the decision making. I was simply responsible for organizing how bills were paid. We have always worked our finances together – especially after deciding to pay off debt.

In January, my husband started taking more units in school while still working a full time job with side jobs. In June, he signed up for 5 hour night classes and when he isn’t studying, he’s working. Understandably, actively participating in finances isn’t possible anymore.

I didn’t think it would bother me. I’m a nerd. I live for Excel spreadsheets and I balance my checkbook almost hourly for fun. Take over everything? Sounds fantastic!

It’s been 7 months of sole money management and I’m beginning to get a clear understanding of why this is bad.

He doesn’t have a clue about our money and I’m constantly stressed about making the right decisions. I feel like I’m making mistakes and hurting us financially. It’s not that I can’t handle the finances on my own; I hate the sole responsibility. I’d be closer to a breaking point but I’m coasting through knowing he’ll be out of school by next week to offer a reprieve.

I have a countdown marked on my calendar.

I don’t know how people do it alone. Financial stress seems to permeate every part of your life and the feeling that you alone are responsible for the financial success of two people is, at the very least, hugely uncomfortable. We made some great progress on our finances this month (update tomorrow) but the pessimist in me only focuses on what I could have done better.

I miss my financial partner.

Are you a sole money manager? Or do you share the responsibility? What works best for you?

I went into my local Verizon store and pulled out my phone to show the salesman the level of phone I wanted – aka, a cheap one. He looked at me, looked at my phone, and then replied, ‘They don’t make phones like that anymore. Exactly how OLD is that thing?’

He was incredibly helpful and walked me over to the section of phones that don’t require data, internet, or gps plans. He didn’t pressure me to purchase accessories and helped me choose a phone that worked for my um… ‘discriminating’ taste. Some like to call it cheap, but I think ‘discriminating taste’ sounds more refined.

My phone was ‘free’ after a mail-in rebate.

Today, I received my rebate – a Verizon Visa card. Sure I can use the card anywhere Visa is accepted but what happened to the good ol’ days of checks I could cash? Now I have to figure out where in my budget I can use the card and try my best to spend it all at once so I don’t have to keep a record of how much is left on the card. If I only use part, I have to record the amount remaining and charge the exact amount on the next transaction, otherwise the card will be declined.

They make it nearly impossible to complete the rebate submission information correctly and now spending the rebate will be equally as difficult?!?

It’s a good thing I have another 5-7 years before I need a new cell phone.

When people hear how far upside-down we are on our home (a common topic in southern California), a good number of them ask… ‘Why don’t you walk away?’

Sunday night, 60 Minutes aired a segment called ‘Walking Away’ about homeowners who can pay their underwater mortgages but choose not to. Nine states forbid banks from chasing other assets, making this process nearly painless.

According to these homeowners, ‘it’s a logical business decision’, ‘it’s legal’, and ‘it’s the right thing to do’.

In fact, there are companies who help you through the process (for a fee of course). One of them is called Youwalkaway.com who says their greatest challenge is convincing people that this decision is not immoral, it’s a business transaction. Homeowners, who can pay their mortgage, live in their homes for free until foreclosure and store up cash for their next big purchase.

Maybe I’m in left field but…

First, I do believe this is a moral decision. I don’t care if I had a lame bank or made a bad deal, I made the decision to take the deal and as long as I am able, I will hold up my end of this nasty bargain.

Second, this is a selfish decision. Sure, these homeowners will save themselves an instant wad of cash… at the expense of their neighbors, their fellow homeowners, and in the end… themselves. One way or another, you and I have to pay for those losses.

Third, no one learns a lesson when there is no loss. The show talked about people storing up cash and buying more things. If you don’t suffer the loss, you simply can’t learn from the lesson and you will make the same stupid mistakes over and over again.

We’ve learned that when people ask about our underwater status, we smile and say ‘Eh, we’re not concerned. We’re staying for the long term and don’t keep track.’

We made a BAD, BAD decision and it’s a lesson we will pay for 125,000 times but I certainly don’t expect others to foot my bill.

It’s easy to say no. It seems like every time I buy dog food or a bag of groceries, someone is asking for money. I’d love to help, but I simply can’t afford to donate a dollar every time I buy a head of lettuce.

Never have I stumbled over a request for donations like this…

I came home from work last week to find a 3 foot by 4 foot wood purple cow in my yard. A letter was taped to its chest notifying me about the organization’s (a local Christian high school group) desire to provide livestock to famished countries. They provided some options for the cow removal:

Pay $10 to have the cow removed.
Pay an additional $5 to have the cow delivered to a friend or neighbor.
Pay $15 for a ‘No Grazing Permit’ to ensure the cow never darkened your door again.

Or

Call the organization, tell them you aren’t interested in the game, and they will pick up the cow free of charge.

There were six hideous purple cows in total haunting our city – and everyone knew about them. The funniest part of all? No one saw the cows being moved. They would simply disappear from your yard and reappear in someone else’s. High school kids are amazing at being sneaky.

They took a serious situation, somehow lightened it, and made participating irresistible.

According to the Census Director, this flood of advertising will save money (see: http://blogs.census.gov/2010census/2010/02/why-use-advance-letters.html and http://blogs.census.gov/2010census/2010/02/2010-census-ad-campaign-positioned-to-save-taxpayers-millions.html)

I’ve read the reasons and I know how I feel but…

What do you think?

Waste of money? Or saving money?

‘YOUR COMPUTER HAS LOST CONNECTION WITH THE INTERNET’ blared across my screen.

A five minute phone call to my internet provider later, I discovered my wireless router had died. Sure, my router is older than most sixth graders but I had hoped it would hang on until I was debt free – such a selfish router not to consider my finances before dying. But alas, in government terms, the router has ‘reached the end of its useful life’.

So, I did what I do best when it comes to broken things in my home, I kept my mouth shut and hoped no one would notice. In a crunch, I could bike to our local library to write the blog.

Thirty seconds after I made my decision to hide it, my brother shouted, ‘The internet is down! Do you want me to call the cable company? I’ve got a report to write for work.’

Darn.

I dragged my desktop computer halfway into the hallway and the Ethernet cable the other half distance to serve as a makeshift internet station. My brother isn’t necessarily pleased since he usually surfs the internet from the comfort of his room and given the fact that he pays half the bill, I need to fix it.

I am writing this blog from the ‘comfort’ of my makeshift internet station with my body jimmied between the hallway, the office, and the bathroom. I’ve tripped my husband 14 times and I have a nasty bruise on my leg. My brother keeps asking when I’m getting off the computer so he can write his work report. For my sanity and the sanity of those I live with…

Where is the best (code word – CHEAPEST) place to get a router?

It creaked. It groaned. It fell. I cried.

We have a couple options:

a. We can leave the fence broken, give away our dogs, and hope nothing larger than a hippo wants in or out of our yard.

b. We can do yet another band-aid fix – i.e. buy more chicken wire, bazooka bubble gum, and a load of hope and prayer.

c. We can construct what I consider a perfectly acceptable but perhaps not aesthetically pleasing Preskool bubbly plastic play gate in a rainbow of colors available at garage sales everywhere.

Or

d. We can build a real fence.

Now is not a good time for this to happen (when is?). My husband started his job on Tuesday and won’t receive a paycheck until next week. Fortunately, those of us who are paid bi-weekly receive three paychecks in one month two times per year. January just happens to be my three paycheck month.

Sniff. Goodbye extra car payment.

We decided to build a new fence with my third check. Over the last three years, we could have paid for a new fence several times over but never seemed to have enough to do anything more than band-aid fix after band-aid fix. My husband is constructing the fence and stringing it with power so we can add lighting in the future. Looking at the perfectly dug trenches in our back yard, it appears as though I am haunted by a 170 pound gopher who looks a lot like my husband.

It’s time to stretch ourselves. I’m tired of continuing to make bad temporary financial decisions.