Monday Dare: C.R.E.A.M. aka Cash Rules Everything Around Me

thetwoofus

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. Click on the link to see the complete list of Monday Dares or to learn more about its origin.

This week: Spend wisely

Between 7:46-7:49 every Tuesday and Friday evening, I cycle through intense waves of disappointment and depression as I digest the fact that I have, YET AGAIN,  been passed over by the California Mega Millions Lottery. It used to take a lot longer for the tightness in my chest to subside, but I’ve condensed the grieving process down to less than five minutes these days. I guess that’s what happens when something as fragile as hope is sullied over and over again. It becomes hard and ugly, and each new assault is less apparent.

Harv will rub my back and say some bullshit about how I have to buy a lottery ticket in order to win. “The lottery is a ‘pay to play’ deal. That’s how they get the jackpot in the first place. How do you expect to win if you don’t even have any numbers to match?”

This “pay to play” idea scares me. It’s not that I’m unwilling to fork over one whole dollar twice a week. I just don’t trust myself when it comes to making solid decisions about my dolla dolla billz.

Money, or rather, the lack thereof, ruled my life for a long time. Whoever is going around perpetuating the myth that money doesn’t buy happiness is either really rich and doesn’t give a shit or really poor and self-soothing. Being poor is fucking miserable. Working a series of low-paying, soul-sucking jobs colored every decision I made.

Cash ruled everything around me.

When Cal was five, a young photographer offered to do a Mother and Daughter photo session for $75. I was working the front end at a dry cleaner, settling tabs, rifling through pockets, and noting stains for $8 an hour before taxes, and the thought of wasting two days’ wages on something we couldn’t eat or put on our backs seemed ridiculous and unnecessary. I didn’t even give the offer a second thought.

A friend who had taken advantage of the photographer’s offer challenged my decision. This homegirl’s background in advertising really helped as she campaigned for me to change my mind, unafraid to mention that I would regret not having “nice pictures” someday.

My hands shook a little as I wrote the $75 check, mostly because I was afraid it wasn’t going to clear, but also because I was mentally scrolling through everything I would have to give up for the next few weeks to make those stupid pictures happen.

When it came time to order pictures, I passed on most of them, ordering just a handful in 5×7.

What I didn’t realize then…What I know now, is that I should have been glad to sift through dirty suit pockets, extracting crumpled receipts and used condoms (come on guys, what the fuck compels you to put these back in your pocket?) for the chance to capture this slice of time with my kid.

My favorite 5×7 is clipped to a floral pinboard, and each day, when I’m looking around my office instead of doing real work, my eyes land on it. I am reminded of the time when it was just the two of us.

When I got married, I let cash rule my life again. I suddenly had more. And I was determined to spend the shit out of my newfound cash flow. I didn’t even know what I was buying most of the time, but damn, it just felt good to buy it. YES, I WILL TAKE THAT CAFTAN IN EVERY SINGLE COLOR. Do I wear caftans? Fuck no. But I have ’em, just in case.

I am now coming to a middle place. A middle place where I know the real value of a dollar fluctuates, determined by the experiences I trade it in for. I emailed that photographer. I hope she still has our pictures on file. I plan to buy the biggest fucking size of every single shot.

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(Not a) Monday Dare (but I can explain): No sir, I don’t care about my safety

dollaz

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. Click on the link to see the complete list of Monday Dares or to learn more about its origin.

This week: Schedule a car tune-up

I’ve suspected for some time now that I’m not a good driver or a responsible car owner. “Oh, Elizabeth, it’s probably because you’re an Asian lady,” you might say. That really offends me. LADY? How so? I already told you- I only wore the matching merino wool cardigan set with the jeweled collar and contrast stitching detail that ONE time because my Tupac vs. Biggie shirt was in the wash. Let it go.

I had to put a price tag on my personal safety yesterday. Not that Life is precious and priceless bullshit, but a real dollar amount value. After thinking about it for a few minutes, I decided my life was most certainly not worth the price of four new car tires.

As I was packing up my car after a Homegirls Buffets and Bling weekend trip, I noticed my front left tire seemed a little flat. I took a minute to congratulate myself for noticing and texted Harv so that he could also revel in my hyper-awareness. He didn’t say “Good job!” or “Sharp eyes!” or anything, which really hurt my feelings. Instead, he asked if I had already called AAA and reminded me to stayed inside my vehicle if I was on the side of the road. Clearly, he was focused on the wrong things, but I let him have it. Sometimes it’s just better to let people think what they want because they’ll never be able to grasp the gravity of a situation.

After the AAA mechanic inspected the tire and assured me that I just had low air, he suggested I roll by a tire shop before making the 300-mile drive home. When I hesitated, he launched into a passionate monologue. It might have been about safety. The only words that really stood out were “free inspection.” He should have started with that. I like free.

When the tire shop technician brought in two of my tires with a grim face, I braced myself for bad news. He said that both tires were worn dangerously low and were now unsafe, but one was worse than the other.

Me: Just give me one new tire.
Tech: I wouldn’t recommend it. The walls are separating. It’s dangerous. You need to get all four replaced.
Me: Sheesh. All four? What is that? Like, $100?
Tech: They’re $300 dollars. Each. $350 if you want the better ones.
Me: I don’t care about my safety then. Just replace the worst one.

It seemed like a solid decision, but after texting pictures of the supposedly worn tires to a few car fanatic friends and getting responses like “That’s an accident waiting to happen” and “You don’t deserve a car. You’re totally not responsible enough,” I reconsidered.

Now that I know my life is worth at least $1,200, I think about myself differently. Instead of writing a Monday Dare yesterday, I spent the evening making “I’m really expensive. Handle with care.” lapel pins for myself. Thank you for understanding.

Ever had to spend a shitload on car repairs? Or made an unsafe decision just to save money?

I waste a lot of time on Facebook and Instagram (username: flourishinprogress). Join me. Let’s be unproductive together.
image via blueq.com