And I'm Still Alive To Tell the Story

I have a really bad habit of assuming what's important to me is important to others.  Especially those close to me. (i.e., my boyfriend, Fabian.)  So when he tells me that his level of enthusiasm isn't quite to the level mine is about something, I'm genuinely shocked.  And then I proceed to tell him how wrong he is.

For instance, two years ago, Fabian and I adopted our pit bull, Clifford.  Alright, alright...  One day I went out for a sandwich and came home with a pit bull named Clifford.

**Karen's thinking - I fell in love with a sweet dog, I took him home.**

**Everyone else's thinking - You're gonna die!  You're gonna DIE!**

And, because I couldn't care less what other people think or say about me, I became totally immersed in turning Clifford into the best-behaved pit bull this side of Cesar Millan's dog, Daddy.  (For those of you who don't know, Cesar Millan is the champion of the pit bull breed; his mission is to eradicate the fear associated with the pit bull.)  I bought every book Cesar had written, turning every waking hour into the Reading with Karen show.  I recorded and watched every. single. episode. of the Dog Whisperer, forcing Fabian to take part and engage in spirited canine conversation.  I started every sentence with, "Well Cesar says...," we even went to see him live. (of course we did)  It got so bad that I was sneaking reruns of the Dog Whisperer alone and when Fabian would come through the front door a surge of shame adrenaline would shoot through my body and I would blindly shout, "Nothing! I can stop whenever I want to!"

One day, Fabian told me he was done reading and hearing about Cesar Millan.  I told him that wasn't something we joke about in this house and to go get ready for Cesar Bingo.

Turns out, he was serious.

Okay, so I can be a little - how you say - passionate about things...which is why I shouldn't have been surprised at how this last weekend panned out.

I'm a huge Dave Ramsey fan.  To put it into perspective, I'm a bigger Dave fan than I am a Cesar fan.  You'll probably hear WWDD more often in my home than you would WWJD.  So when I heard Dave was bringing his SMART Conference to Big D, I didn't think twice about ordering 2 tickets - one for me and one for Fabian.  No need to check schedules, no need to ask if he would even be interested in joining me - because, of course he would.  This conference was going to touch on financial planning, how to relate to one another in our relationship, how teach my 13 year old about being smart with money, setting boundaries and jump-starting our careers.  Who wouldn't be pumped about 9 1/2 hours of learning on a Saturday?

By 8am Fabian was already regretting his *cough* decision to join me as I couldn't make the decision to wait in line and get a snack, (this was his vote because I'm super pleasant when I'm hungry) or hop in the admission line to ensure a better seat to see Dave.

Karen:   **ravenous, but eyeing the ever-growing seating line**   Let's just go get in line for seating  - I don't need to eat.

Fabian:   Let's just get you something to eat now - that will keep us both out of prison - and then we can hop in line to get seated.  Plenty of time, plenty of seats.

Karen:   No, I want a good seat for Dave!  Look at all of the people already in line.  All the good seats will be taken if we stay in this line!

Fabian:  Okay, let's go get in line, then.

Karen:   But I'm hungry.

I know, I know. I wanna punch me, too.

Famously, Fabian suggested we go ahead and jump in line to get seated, then he would return to get some food for me.  We got through the door in no time and easily found 2 seats.  These seats were in a single row against the railing on the upper level, with the upper deck theater seating about 15 feet behind them. Because it was a single row, we just hopped over the back of the seat and plopped right down.  While Fabian was gone ensuring my blood sugar didn't dip to a dangerous break-up-with-you-and-never-look-back level, I looked around and decided perhaps I could see Dave better from a different seat.  The venue hadn't filled in quite as quickly as I'd anticipated (weird), so I wanted to change seats. (of course I did)

Fun fact - While moving from our shoddy, original seats to our new and improved seats, I threw one leg over the back of my chair and, while steadying myself to throw the other leg over, my supporting foot slammed through the back of the folding arena chair, not quite touching the floor below, causing me to teeter on my crotch for a good 3 seconds.   This was to the great enjoyment of the hundreds of people surrounding me - Fabian among them.

As I walked gingerly to our new seats with my bruised ego (and crotch), my embarrassment quickly dissipated as the lights dimmed signaling the conference was about to begin.
 
Karen:   I'm SO excited!  Are you SO excited!?  This is going to be LIFE CHANGING!  I'm SO excited!  Are you, SO, SO excited!?

Fabian:  Stop it - YOU'RE "so" excited, I'm just excited.  Isn't that enough?

I just don't think this relationship is going to work out.

It Doesn't Have to be Mango

I have no idea how I'm not a millionaire yet.  What with all of the fabulous (and plausible) ideas flowing through my household, something's bound to stick.  Just last night, my son helpfully suggested I could save all the money I spend on Scentsy products by inventing gas producing mango-scented dog treats. (Did I mention we were a klassy bunch?)

As you can see, I drink from the well of auspicious ideas on a daily basis. 

I considered playing the lottery.  But quickly thought better of that idea.  I'd be one of those lottery winner fails, for sure.  I picture myself wanting to remain a common-man millionaire.  "Sure, I have all of this money, but I'm just like you," I would say.  I would continue to work, stay in my modest home, press on driving my Altima with 134,963 miles and perpetually lit "Check Engine" light, and continue to buy my formal wear at Target. 

But then, I'd get lottery winner unrest.  I'd do something to set me apart - something millionaire-y - like buy a lion.  Then I'm sure Kyle (the lion) would do something unfortunate, like trample the neighbor's rose bushes, or, you know, eat her...and I'd be sued for my winnings, my house and all of my Target formal wear.  (They'd tell me just to keep my car, though. What a bunch of imaginary asses.)

I actually do have a path to my millions, however.  You see, I'm what some lovingly refer to as a cult member.  I wear the moniker proudly, because without it, I wouldn't be in the financial situation I'm in currently.  Not a millionaire by any stretch, but I'm definitely better off than I was in year's past.

A little background:  I'm a single, working mom of a 12 year old son.  I divorced in 2007 and was drowning in debt.  Saving for college or retirement were ridiculous thoughts.  To put it in perspective, I used my Shell gas card to purchase groceries, not gas.  Ah, yes - good decisions abound. 

A friend of mine, with whom I confided my woes, suggested that I listen to some financial CD's she had.  "You can just listen in your car during your commute," she said.  I'm not even sure she finished the offer before I shut her down.  Thanks, but no thanks.  Look, I've already got the worst road rage in the country on any given week day.  Compound that with a financial lesson and you may as well just rename my daily commute to Hell.

Hell, however, had a whole new meaning when I was faced with the possibility of losing my home.  At that point, I tucked my tail between my legs, gritted my teeth and reluctantly asked my friend for the CD's. (good Lord, pride is something I've got to work on.)  

I thought it best to wait until I was about 15 minutes from home to pop in the first CD.  I figured it would take at least 16 minutes of being told, "You're a loser and you're doing it wrong" for me to become homicidal.  I intended to listen for 15 minutes and then go inside and whip up a little Shell Station Tartare.  What I did instead, was sit in the driveway for 6 hours and listen to every CD in the case.  I emerged a totally different person. 

The guy on the CD's was down to earth.  He was motivating.  He spoke to me like I was a human being.  He had actually been where I was financially - and he climbed his way out.  It wasn't magic, it wasn't investment schemes - it was as simple as creating a budget and telling your money where to go.  And if you're thinking, "But my budget is upside down - I'm bringing in less than I owe."  That's okay. 

The man on the CD's was Dave Ramsey. 

I am not now, nor have I ever been employed by Dave Ramsey.  I am not being compensated by Dave Ramsey in any way by writing this entry.  But I highly recommend checking him out if you're having trouble making ends meet.  I have spoken to a lot of people who are in the same situation I was in 6 years ago, and I thought it might help to know that someone else has been where you are - and that same someone else came out on the other side.  Today, I have no credit card debt, my car will be paid off in 2 months, college savings and retirement are in place and my house will be paid off in 2021 if all goes according to plan.  And please don't be mislead, not everyone is lucky enough to drive the Altima - that's just me.

I couldn't have done any of it, however, without the help of Dave Ramsey and my wonderful friend who offered the CD's.  A million thanks to both.  

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And, hey, if Dave Ramsey isn't for you, you can totally steal the gas-producing mango-scented dog treat idea.  

You're welcome.