(Lack of) Money On My Mind

They say that people always live within their means, but I think that's cow poop.  I, like almost every other person I know in their twenties and early thirties like to perch precariously on the edge of my means, waving merrily down into the gaping jaws of Total Skintness.  And thanks to online banking, I can now beckon my friends over and show them the terrifying but inexplicably exhilerating view.

"Look, guys, I can see my overdraft limit from here!"

I live in a permanent state of poorness that ranges from "Ha, look, I got to zero! This is a good month! Drinks on meee!", all the way down to "Mustn't move in case last bit of loose change falls from pockets, and I need that for the loaf of bread I'm going to be living off for three weeks."  Totally my own fault, though. 

I live in a first world country where I am fortunate enough to have enough cash to allow me to rent, eat, and buy myself plenty of non-essential items like smelly candles (bought my first Yankee the other day and have decided that this officially makes me a grown up) and things that my cat will ignore in favor of my stuff.  I haven't made any small people with my uterus, and so all of my money is technically expendable. 

 I'm lucky that my money is my money (except for when it's money I'm borrowing from good old Uncle Natwest).  No one relies on me to keep them alive and fed, which is just as well because I'd probably just lose them under my pile of Apple products and stationary that I'll never use anyway.  I loves me a fancy blank notebook or ten. Mmm...stationary.

But the relative financial freedom my situation affords me means that I'm constantly pissing my hard(ish) earned dollahs away on junk.  I type this on a standalone PC next to the iPad I'm Facebooking on simultaneously.  Behind me sits an exercise bike shaped clothes horse, and I am charging both my Fitbit and Garmin sports watch with aforementioned PC.  Each of these purchases required vigorous excuse making, as did my bazillion other "do you really need that?" items.  

So here is a list of tried and tested excuses that I strongly feel allows me to constantly spend just beyond my means.  If you would like to join me on the yawning precipice of accidental bankruptcy (whoopsy, I slipped!), then these will get you here much more quickly.  I'll budge up and make some room for you:

1.  Am drunk.  Money is not real when you are drunk.  Like in Monopoly.

2.  It's sunny and it would be illegal to not visit a beer garden and have a "few" pints.

3.  It's the weekend.

4.  Am in a bad mood. =)

5.  Am in a good mood. >=(

6.  It's Friday, and I deserve a reward for going to work for a whole week.

7.  The purchase of this book/tv box set/expensive bit of technology that appears to do nothing but go "beep" at set intervals will change my life in such a way that I would be sabotaging my quality of life if I bypassed this chance to make said purchase.  It's my human right to own this thing!

8.  I'll use it every day, I swear!! 

9.  If you buy it on the internet, you use internet money.  Internet money is not real money.  God bless you, Amazon.

10.  I know I got paid yesterday and I'm in my overdraft already, but I'll be getting paid in another month, so it's fiiiiine...

See? All valid, logically sound arguments, I think you'll agree.  Now, I'm off to buy some tyres (essential), groceries (essential) and Lily Allen's new album (even more essential than tyres and groceries combined).  Hope your bank holiday weekends were smashing!

Cheers To The Freakin' Weekend...

Today's lead me to believe that I should do the diva thing and beg my boss for 3 day weekends.  It took me well over half a day today to get over the stress of having a whole 24hrs to myself. 

This morning, I "accidentally" bought some new-old-faithfuls (high-ish heels).  For nights out, I usually select one pair of black heels to wear until their lop-sided, beer stained deaths.  My last pair were mortally wounded when a man took it upon himself to fall on and temporarily cripple me by landing smack bang on my knee cap.

Thanks, guy!

Then, I embarked on a 10 mile run.

I made it to 2 miles.  Just about.  My legs felt like they were seizing up - I'm not sure why - and the muggy heat just made me inexplicably angry.  I looked like a pasty hulk, tantrumming my way back up the beach to the car.  I fretted over what to do with my afternoon since it was suddenly going to be devoid of any physical activity.  Socialise?  Write?  Do work?  Drink (under the umbarella of "socialising" - I wasn't  quite stressed enough to be necking wine on my kitchen floor at that point).  That's what Brits do whenever the sun makes a fleeting appearance, isn't it?  Get plastered in a lovely, lovely beer garden.

Mmm...beer garden.

Overwhelmed with all the possible activities that lay before me, and my brain seeping anxiously out of my ears, I got home and made a sandwich.  Then I promptly took an aggressive nap in front of Peep Show.

And aggressive nap, in case you ask, is like a normal nap, except it's very sudden and you have no choice about whether or not you are going to do it.

...And here I am!  I'm feeling effing marvellous now!  Blogging and rocking some serious bed hed hair and heels (what?  Like I'm going to wait for an occasion to wear the new things? Pshuh!) .  It's taken all sodding day, but it's now occurred to me that one of the very best, tried and tested by people less...affected...than me - ways to spend a Saturday is this:

Doing Sweet Fuck All!

Happy Saturday, Internet!!