This Is Me Feeling Sorry For Myself

Whenever I tell my mom, “I hate money,” she always responds with, “No, you don’t. You love money. You hate not having any.”

Touché, mom.

I’ve conducted an informal survey about money and romantic relationships and the verdict is in: Money is often the most difficult part of being in love. If I had a nickel for every time I heard, That’s why my parents got divorced, I’d have at least three dollars by now. (And the way things are going, I could really use three dollars.)

As the child of people who, God bless them forever, are not great with money, those responses scare me. As a woman who does not communicate about money very well with the man she is going to marry, those responses scare me. As someone whose car is bleeding oil and anti-freeze and doesn’t have the money for a down payment on a new car, nor the ‘A’ credit rating for financing at a decent interest rate, those responses scare me even more. Especially since I had more than $6,000 saved before Shaun came home in March, all of which has mysteriously vanished. (Well, ‘mysteriously’ is probably not an accurate word. It all went towards bills, a car for Shaun, furniture, utilities, gas, etc. – but the point is: It’s gone.)

It’s hard to have that conversation with the guy at the Chrysler dealership who tells me, “Yeah, unless you have a co-signer with perfect credit, you won’t be approved.” To which I reply, “Well thanks for your time,” knowing that there is not a single person in my life (whom I’d be comfortable asking to co-sign a car loan for me) that has the credit rating to help me. Goodbye dependable car! Goodbye decent gas mileage! Hello one hour drive to work in the morning with no cruise control and blown speakers.

I’m so glad I spent $60k to go to college.

I need a beer.