I said farewell to my spending moratorium a few hours early on Friday, July 31 with $.35 cocktails and free mini-grilled cheese sandwiches at the Edison. It was definitely one of the best happy hours I’ve been to and very schmancy. Short dresses and heels were standard.
Since my July spending moratorium is done, I’ve been spending a LOT. In just four days I’ve racked up a $230. 23 tab for coffee, lunch out, postage, cash, candy, beer, gas, groceries, and tips. But some of my moratorium habits have stuck with me.
- One of the most challenging things about the moratorium was eating on the go. Not being able to buy a quick meal, I started packing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which don’t have to be refrigerated for a few hours. This saved me so much money – and time – that I still pack pb & j when I’m going to need a meal on the road.
- Go the distance for free/cheap parking. I popped into a parking garage yesterday and gagged at the rates – $2.50 for 12 minutes. IN. SANE. I drove two blocks and found meters for $1 an hour. It’s almost silly how close free/cheap parking is from overpriced garages. Drive a few blocks towards the outskirts – don’t circle the main drag – and you’ll be surprised at your options. It’s worth the walk.
If you joined me in the moratorium, how did you do?
If you missed my previous posts about my spending moratorium, here’s a blow by blow account of my experiment.
Going on a spending moratorium?
Votes are in! Bargain Babe goes on a spending moratorium
Spending moratorium starts Wednesday
Moratorium meet up: happy hour on $0?
Moratorium happy hour: an update
Moratorium broken for a third time
I’m not spending. Hubby is. Is our total spending any less?
The first time exposed my weakness for coupons. The second time exposed my soft spot for hard-working waitresses. The third time it was the library that did me in.
My library card expired and to get it out of hock I had to pay my $3.50 fine that I incurred last time I checked out a book. Theoretically libraries are free. In practice, they never are.
But I really wanted to check out The Wait by Frank Turner Hollon because the first graph hooked me.
My father almost never got drunk. When he did, it was usually a happy, goofy drunk. But one night when I was nine years old, after a Christmas party, for reasons still unknown, he told me the story of my conception. This is how I remember it.
While standing in line I realized, sadly, that the book was not going to be as good as the first paragraph. But I was already in line. So I paid the fine and endured the indignity of settling my $3.50 debt with a credit card. Charging less than $10 always makes me feel poor. I’m convinced the cashier, or in this case, wannabe librarian, is thinking to herself, “This girl doesn’t have three dollars and fifty cents on her? She probably eats cat food.”
Oh, the injustice of not carrying cash. Perhaps this was the price for breaking my moratorium.
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