I Bought a House
I am cheap. I vigorously research every product I buy to make sure I don’t miss a bargain. I rarely make impulse purchases or those with only short-term gains.
I bring my lunch to work most days. If I do buy a sandwich then I’ll often save half for the next day. I won’t get a drink with meals, even if the eatery offers Coke Zero which I love. And even if Coke Zero only costs $1.
I wait to do laundry until I visit my parents, because I don’t want to spend $10 for two loads on my condominium’s machines. My dirty laundry sometimes builds for four weeks.
I live in south Arlington in a building riddled with roaches and asbestos because it’s way cheaper than any other complex in the area given the same inclusions like a gym, parking and utilities.
Based on JD’s willingness to spend money, my reticence has little to do with genetics. I would just rather deposit money into my index funds and ETF in order to increase my future wealth. Additional money in the future is more valuable to me than some money now.
I am not poor or stuck with student loans, and I’m fortunate enough to have a steady job. Our ailing economy needs people like JD—instead of people like me—but when it comes to personal finance, I look out for number one. My friend, Hamburgers, and I expect nothing from social security and are preparing accordingly. In fact, we wouldn’t mind if politicians told us that anyone under 30 would never see a cent from social security, but would continue to pay the tax to help bring down the deficit. We’d be OK with that. Since few young people vote anyway, it wouldn’t be political suicide. Bring it on, Obama.
My two largest purchases ever had been a plasma television and used spin bike. I have never bought a car, couch or kitchen utensil/appliance/furniture of any kind.
Enter Benjamin 2.0.
I got into slim-fit shirts and low-rise pants. The form-fitting apparel and reduced crotchal fabric make me appear taller and leaner. Though I still search for coupons and buy on Black Friday, my new clothing comes from pricey retailers like Brooks Brothers and Bonobos.com.
And then my insurance changed, and for the first time my rocket shoe is covered with no annual or lifetime cap. I’ve already gotten my four existing left shoes lifted, but also purchased three new pairs just in case coverage changes. And I happen to like fairly expensive shoes, like Keen casual sneakers and Merrell slip-ons.
And then I bought a house—a three-story, three-bedroom, two full bath, two half bath, end unit with a fenced backyard, walk-in master closet, and new refrigerator, dishwasher, and roof.
I am probably going to replace the carpet and replace the steps with laminate. And the laptop I’m currently typing on is rapidly progressing toward death—and thus a replacement. I need to buy dress socks that match my new pants. And Google TV looks pretty awesome. I could really use a pull-up bar for my apartment. How about a tattoo before summer ends.
I consider the house a new form of monetary investment, and my electronic devices investments into happiness, and my clothing an investment in myself. I kind of like the new me—less predictable, more of a risk-taker, and more confident. And with animalistic sex appeal. See for yourself as I mosey down the runway at next week’s Cure by Design Fashion Show put on by the American Cancer Society.
The new me is also sure to invest more time into my book, which I am determined to make successful. I just need to get it in the right hands, need more publicity, more press releases, blog posts, speaking engagements, TV appearances, radio interviews, and of course more fashion shows. Benjamin Rubenstein, the Two-Time Cancer-Slaying Model, is ready for hire. Calvin Klein? Burberry? K-Mart? I will literally work for $1. Fuck it, I’ll pay them. What, you don’t think a 15-inch cancer scar is sexy?
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Postscript: My townhouse is officially on the rental market. It resides in the much sought-after Old Bridge Estates community in Woodbridge, VA. Holla at yo boy for more details.