Thursday, March 4, 2010

Delusional And Dirty Rich (or "Poor")

I’ve been trying my goddamnedest to save money this week. But I find it almost impossible trying to save something that barely existed to begin with. If you don’t believe me, ask Jessica Simpson about her film career. Or Whitney Houston about her sobriety. But seriously, folks – I am not a woman of considerable means. In fact, in some very rich, very Jewish neighborhoods in Boca Raton, Florida, I am even considered poor. Unfortunately, I have expensive tastes and a swingin’ social life which perpetually make this sad truth a bitch of an inconvenience.

I have this little trick I always play on myself (almost subconsciously, by now) in order to relieve some of the guilt I inevitably feel about spending money. If any of you so desire, please feel free to rinse it in a little rubbing alcohol and use it on yourselves:

Let’s say I want to join some fancy friends for an expensive dinner… Or maybe there’s a cute pair of jeans I really want… Clearly, I haven’t the cash to burn on either. But why should I suffer because of that?? Instead of talking myself out of the jeans and away from the queens, I immediately begin to think of all the things I could possibly do that would be even more expensive than what I’m about to shit my money on. Like, I’ll think, “I could plan an exotic luxury vacation, or take a cruise somewhere.” Or, “I could adopt a kid. Yeah! Maybe I’ll adopt a kid! Like a really expensive, special-needs one!” Sometimes I’ll even go so far as to visit the Carnival Cruise website and price trips to Bermuda, or call adoption agencies and ask, “How much for the one with Asperger’s?

Of course, such ideas are completely bogus. But once I even temporarily entertain these absurd notions as viable options, and factor in all the money I could potentially be spending on travel accommodations or babysitters for my fake adopted special-needs child, I feel a financial burden has been lifted when I ultimately decide not to follow through. Somehow, through the magical crazy straw of my chemically-imbalanced brain, I’ve convinced myself that I’m actually saving money, and suddenly the cost of dinner and jeans seems extremely reasonable. Hell! I’ve earned them by not doing those other really expensive things [that I had no intention of ever doing in the first place.]

Some might call this budget system a damaging and self-defeating practice in denial, but I just call it a fun little game.

It’s almost like when you’re walking down the street, feeling all down on yourself because you have gonorrhea, and suddenly a truck comes out of nowhere and almost runs you down and kills you, but then swerves at the last minute and misses. A huge wave of relief washes over you because you didn’t just die, and suddenly gonorrhea doesn’t seem so bad after all. Hell! Gonorrhea is awesome!

Ya know what I mean? It’s kind of the same thing.

I am the Suze Orman of irresponsible gay men living beyond their means.
And you're welcome.

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