My father had a heroin problem. Although he didn’t mean to, he taught me a lot about personal finance in the process.
I broke up with my live-in boyfriend of six years and took my dog to an advanced training course.
It’s crazy to think that before his work dried up (an ever-present threat to freelancers) we didn’t really have a budget.
“Am I a morally vacant asshole for professing adoration while simultaneously keeping my eyes peeled for a candidate with some actual savings and a less serious chemical dependency?”
I lost a job, suffered through a broken engagement, and worried about my five-figure credit card debt. Enter Rich Friend and her fountain pen.
My last relationship was draining, financially and otherwise; this time around, I’m determined to keep costs reasonable. If things don’t work between him and me, neither of us won’t be cleaned out financially.
Our relationship was a smoothie blend of hotel living, boozy dinners, plane tickets, and general money wastage.
Let’s say I have more disposable income in 10 years, and the Pacific Northwest hasn’t been crushed by a wall of water. That’s when I get to start giving back, right?
There is a mystery sleeping in bed with you every night, a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in Snoopy pajamas, and you should shake it awake, ideally at 4:23 AM, and demand that it reveal its secrets.