Money is a figment of my imagination now.

Does not exist.

I write this in tears.

I just hung up the phone with my dad. Whom I had to call and borrow $350 from.

NOT something anyone wants to do. My dad is very, very structured in his bills, and taught me well. I once was obsessive with bills, and money.

Now with kids for some reason I suck at it. I don’t have the patience to sit and track, and instead of buying groceries, we eat fast food. I just check and in the last 10 days we spent over $70 in fast food alone.

That. is. bullshit.

We are broke. Broke as shit.

It’s annoying, and it’s embarrassing. We are doing our dampest to make ends meet, and we get close, then we end up with a lazy 10 days and wonder what was I thinking? Just last week I wanted to really get into the office, and get back into my OCD ledger and file system.

But I was busy, then I got sick… I hate most of all pretending like we are not broke. I usually don’t. I’m honest with everyone that we have NO money.

Yes the economy is in the shitter, but I’m talking NO nothing outside of basics… except now I notice fast food seems to be our little perk?!

Gross.

So I’m bitter because I’m over weight, and now I’m more bitter because I spent $70 on fast food and we are super broke, and, AND I had to call my dad.

NOT happy. Very pissed.

He said he didn’t want to lecture me. He said he thought he did it enough when he was teaching me common sense. He said to treat yourself, it’s a must in this life. BUT make it a treat. Not an every day, or every other day thing.

Fanfuckingtastic that we are leaving for Arizona in 4 days. Not on my budget.

My inlaws are footing the WHOLE bill. Travel, food, lodging (they have a place they snow bird to) you name it. Awesome.

I love Spaghetti’s real day job, I do. I respect his boss, and the company, he’s been there going on 13 years.

It’s the shit hole video store. OMG I want to strangle those bitches. The are ALWAYS fucking calling the house. He is PART. TIME. as in no more then 15 hours, and NO MORE THEN 5 hour shifts!

OMG they screw him, KNOWING he is Mr. Nice Guy and won’t say no. Take tonight, supposed to be out at 10:30? They call at dinner, 2 hours before his shift… he’s closing. Which is now after midnight.

WTF. And he works the extra hours knowing we could use the extra money. Then there is Wrigley Field, YES he works at for the Chicago Cubs, he sells beer, makes good money doing it too. That helps. BUT we live over an hour south of Wrigleyville, and that’s not counting traffic. So a 4 hour shift of selling beer is a 10 hour day. Easy.

While I sit home and twiddle my thumbs.

Well care for our house, almost 5 and 3 year old children, two boxers, two cats and at the current moment (last 2 months) his parents diabetic cat too. AND the stress of the bills.

Fuck this. Fuck being a grown up. I quit. Tax return? Super, that my friends is going for the property taxes, because Illinois likes to rape us sideways in the tax department… someone again remind me why we live here?!?

I’m done. I need to NOW call Spaghetti and tell HIM I borrowed money from my dad. This should go over real well.

Then I’m going to go to bed. This day blows. Oh and I have a fucking head cold, my eyes water, my nose runs, and I sneeze every 10 minutes. Damn it. Hoping tomorrow is better… sigh.

Oh, and thanks for reading. Not one of my prettier posts, but that’s what you’re here for Blogger, the good the bad and the what the fuck moments.

Feisty