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$2: Check, Please | Print |  E-mail
Written by Chris J. Magyar   
Monday, 02 June 2008

It's over. The final week was a stumble across the finish line, as I mooched as many meals as possible, failed to shave my face, neglected to comb my disturbingly mullet-like hair, and in general did my best impression of a bum in order to atone for the overspending on vacation.

June 1, needless to say, was a celebration of sorts, though I still spent most of the day in a frugal state of mind. I filled my car up with gas (to its immense relief ... the engine knocking was getting quite petulant) and drove down to Fort Ord to spend a day seeing a friend off before he ships with the Marine Corps to Iraq. As part of the celebration, he managed to commandeer a box of Meals Ready to Eat (MREs), which we all devoured with a mixture of curiosity and and fear. Really, they weren't too bad. I had a flat silver package of penne with sausage and tomato sauce, and it tasted like decent airplane food, albeit more salty. The milkshakes also brought all the boys to the yard, and the cookies were dusty but recognizably cookie-like, once you discarded the little stay-fresh packet from both the wrapper and your mind. The most interesting part was learning how to make a bomb with a water bottle and the meal heater. From the demonstration, I doubt these MRE bombs will deter any insurgents or even speak much of the American military might, but they do make a fun 13-year-old boy kind of toy.

Surprisingly, given the amount of calories and sodium in the MRE (yes, even the gummint has to list FDA stats on its food packages), I was still hungry, probably from the wasp stings on my arm, so the party decamped to Maui Tacos in the beautiful outskirts of picturesque Salinas where I engaged in my first guilt-free, whole-hog, don't-think-twice dining out purchase. 

Later that day, I took my weary yet somehow still supportive girlfriend to an overdue dinner at the 515, where we marveled at the perfection of the Applejoun. Seriously, if there's a better restaurant in Santa Cruz, I'd like to know about it.

Toss in a salmon filet I picked up at Staff of Life, and a bottle of wine I bought for work purposes (yes, really ... it's a good job sometimes), and I dropped $174 in my first day off the wagon. And tomorrow, I finally get a freakin' haircut.

How did I do? I'm afraid I'll have to tease the full details of the financial tally -- this entire experiment will be part of a cover story released on June 12 -- but the answer is 'pretty good' depending on how you feel about my excuses.

What I did discover was the way I need to treat money in order to avoid overspending. The mechanism of giving myself a bill every day was the first effective way I've found to keep tabs on my spending, and the decision to simply take the credit cards out of my wallet helped a ton as well. I think I'll keep doing that, only with a $10 bill every day instead of a Jefferson, and no distinction between food and everything else in terms of my budget. (Heck, I spend 90% of my money on food anyway, apparently.) I'm also going to allow myself a single personal purchase every pay period of up to $80, which should tackle things like haircuts and gasoline and movies and other stuff that it's possible to live without, but certainly not pleasant.

The main result was that, for the first time in a year, my total amount of credit card debt decreased instead of increased, and that fact alone is enough to keep me on a tight budget, even if it's not as tight as May's. Spending money is a habit -- not a filthy one, like cigarette smoking, but a necessary one that can careen out of control, like overeating. It turns out that one can successfully alter spending habits within the course of a month, or so I believe now. Who knows what sort of red ink I'll be bleeding come July? (I mean, $174 yesterday? Eep.)

But the thing I'll miss the most is the $2 bills. I hope they're all out there now, floating free on the waves of circulation, and not in some dark cash register drawer awaiting their return to the prison of a bank vault. Liberate the $2, people! 

 



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