So the last post is my boyfriend’s upcoming show that he has high hopes for. I have high hopes for it too. Simply because I'm tired of watching him bust his ass kissing up asses of various idiot comics just so he can get a little break.
We went and bought $500 dollars worth of furniture from Ikea yesterday. (you could read his blog on the matter: http://svenwechsler.blogspot.com/). In any case, ever since I moved to the United States (seven years ago), none of my belongings put together were worth more than $400. And I was proud of that -- when you are a student with practically no income, you don't care for or really need a bed frame. Neither was important to own a nightstand. Since the mattress fit perfectly fine on the floor, a book and the night lamp could fit there too. I was watching the "save me out of credit card debt" commercials and laughing at those poor fools and their reckless living beyond their means. When I applied for my first credit card I promised myself that I will never let myself get into debt, and save enough money to retire by 40. (I'm not in debt yet, however, I haven't saved a penny yet.)
Perhaps I am naive about the boyfriend, but investing in some sort of medical/dental insurance might have been a better use of his money – I could really go without the two-bedroom extravaganza shopping spree.
I try to be a rational person -- where I only spent money on what's really necessary for my physical/mental survival.-- alcohol, meat (i like my steaks), occasional movie ticket, and a cab for the nights I'm too drunk to wait for the subway. Everything else (including clothes) is something I could find for cheap and it would not bother me at all. Nowadays, living the grand American dream I take my not so grand salary to the two-bedroom apartment and stare at the 120 channel TV. It's not that I wasn't doing it before -- i used to go to my crummy room in Brooklyn and watch my 7 channel TV. However, my expenses rarely went over $1,000/month and my unhappiness has proportionally increased since then.
So I'm sitting in the living room of the two bedroom, clicking away the remote, begin angry and frustrated that I have to go to my 8:30 to 6 shoot-me-now-please corporate bullshit of a job tomorrow, infuriated that the boyfriend seems incapable to make some time for me (expect for when we go shopping for the ridiculous money pit this place of living is) - thinking what the fuck did I do? Living with the boyfriend is such a fucking dream come true. Him running around and trying to do something with his career choice is simply inspiring. It reminds me of one of those rags-to-riches Cinderella kind movies (however no happy ending is guaranteed). I’m having flashbacks from the time I moved in with my ex and the many miserable, excruciatingly lonely hours I spent at that place.
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