Budgeting is a real eye-opener

... Well, when you actually do it completely. For years before I actually moved out of Mama Wren's nest, people were advising — nay, warning — me to budget, explaining how very important it is to know how much money you have versus how much you need to spend. I thought well, duh, but never really buckled down and did it, figuring that the estimates I made in my head were budgeting enough and would keep me above water. And they did, albeit barely at times.

Upon finally moving out, I got a bit more serious about it — about as serious as I thought was really necessary. I charted out, in Sharpie on a dry erase board on the fridge, all the bills I have to pay each month. I even left two slots open for any miscellaneous bills that might come up. I thought I was pretty damn smart, hot shit, you know? But for everything else like food and gas and the basic necessities like toilet paper, I still estimated. I was still keeping my head above water, and considered the paycheck-to-paycheck living just another part of evolving into a fully responsible, living-on-my own adult. I figured it's what everyone goes through, and that as soon as I got another raise or two, things would ease up. I wasn't stressed; things weren't so bad, really.

But, they could have been better, had I really budgeted.

Having never sat down and actually calculated everything from rent to gas to Starbucks, I had no clue just how much of the money I spent each month was unnecessary. I wasn't totally naive; I knew that each stop at Starbucks, and each withdrawal "just to have some cash if I need it" were adding up, but never really stopped to think about each purchase, each withdrawal, each non-bank ATM fee. I kept track of my purchases online and in a balance book, but didn't really see the amounts themselves, only the balance left until the next paycheck.

Having done this for so long, I was used to being slightly apprehensive for a day or so before getting paid. Not full-out stressed, just a bit of worry about "what if something big comes up tomorrow that needs to be paid right away, like rushing Harry to the vet? Will they tale a post-dated check for one day later?"

Recently, however, I've been considering some rather large purchases. The boy and I desperately need a new bed. The one we have too small (the boy is 6'1" and has gotten into the habit of sleeping in the middle of the bed, rather than his side of it) and it's old, and probably never was particularly fantastic for the back. The boy has a bad back from several accidents in his lifetime, the most recent being T-boned by a woman who ran a red light the evening before our first date (and yes, he still took me to dinner and amovie the next night.) while my back has no injuries, I am one of those lucky individuals that almost has Scoliosis; my spine is ever-so-slightly curved where it shouldn't be. It doesn't show and has never affected me, but doctors warned me when I was a teen to correct my posture and do back-strnegthening excercises or it could get worse and I could have problems later in life. So far so good, except that I have been waking up with a sore back and neck lately.

The boy, Mama Wren and I went bed-shopping a couple days ago. The boy and I are considering two different beds, one pretty damn good one for just under $1,000, and a Tempur-Pedic for a just under $3,000. Tempur-Pedic would be ideal, of course, but it does cost a heck of a lot, so I'm leaning toward the other (the boy is trying desperately to tempt me toward the 'Pedic, of course.)

So with the possibilities of purchasing that new bed — $1,000 or $3,000 — rolling around the back of my head, I almost cringed at the irony of the beautiful PT Cruiser that cruised into the lube shop the boy works at as I met him for lunch today. I love PT Cruisers; they always get me thinking about the real gansters of the olden days, the 1930s, 1940s well dressed men in suits and stylish hats, with a sub-machine gun hiding in the back seat. Why this image appeals to me, I don't know. I'm totally against crime, but there's just something about the image that's, well ... sort of romantic. Maybe I loved The Godfather in my past life, or was a gangster's wife or sister. Whatever — I love PT Cruisers, and have yearned for one since the day I first saw one, sleek and bold, gliding down the street.

This Cruiser is a beaut — tricked out with body treats, upgrades and a very nice sound system, and is in top shape, with a 100,000 mile warranty (and it's got only 39,000 on it now). The owner wants to sell it because he has other vehicles and almost never drives the Cruiser, and as he bought it less than a year ago, he still owes on it and so doesn't want a needless expense. The man who owned it before him did most of the upgrading, though he himself has put in a good $15,000 worth of upgrades on it. Now mark that; he's put $15,000 on it, on top of the expense of buying it. He would like ot ask $18,000 for it, but knows that in this redneck county, he'd never sell it for that.

So he's asking for $12,000. With everything that's been done to it, and the great shape it's in, that's beyond a steal; thats' friggin' ridiculous, and I'd be crazy to pass up the opportunity without at least doing some serious consideration.

And so I'm considering, but due to my Cancerian nature, I worry of course about that expense on top of the bed expense. I could get a loan to cover both, of course, and selling my car would take a chunk out of it, but still I'm not sure. So, I sat down today with my balance book and calculator, pulled up my checking and savings accounts on line to double check everything, and I figured out my finances, for real. I even added up all the unnecessary things I buy each month just to get an idea of how much money I may have if I didn't splurge.

To my shock, I spend approximately $350 a month on stuff I don't need. This includes things like Starbucks (by far the largest contributor to that $350), Togos, Walmart junk like a CDs, DVDs, the occasional shirt or hat, etc., withdrawals just to have cash in my wallet "in case I need it" (and somehow, I always do) etc. I had no idea I spent that much on junk. As stated above, although keep an eagle's eye on my accounts, I never really payed much attention to the amounts I was spending, only the balance afterward.

Suddenly, I feel like a dirty, materialistic creep. I feel wasteful. I feel ... irresponsible. I'm sort of ashamed.

But I didn't know, I want to say in my own defense.

But, I should have known; I should have paid more attention.

So my eyes are opened (a little more widely than I'd expected) and I now have a much better idea of what I'm spending, how much of it is necessary and how much isn't, and what I will be left with if I knock it off with the junk. I never imagined I splurged so much; in fact, I sort of prided myself on cutting down drastically on my play-spending, but I was way off the mark. Now I won't be.

Now, I know what I can reasonably afford for additional monthly payments like cars and beds. I know what will and won't break the bank, and where to cut things off to maintain a reasonable amount of back-up money, "just in case." I still haven't made up my mind on the Cruiser (hell, I haven't even made up my mind on which bed to get) and may not decide for awhile yet, but the man who's selling it is goign to Texas until about a week into July, and probably won't try to advertise the Cruiser until he gets back, since he won't be able to return phone calls or meet with anyone. But he knows that the boy and I are interested, and the boy has his number, so I have the luxury for a little while to imagine the possibilities.

And now that I have the stability of my brand-spankin' new budget, imagination has a better chance of becoming real.