I was alone at the bus stop yesterday morning and standing at the far corner of the glass enclosure, which is where I always like to stand when it’s available, because it shields me from the wind coming off the river. A younger man approached, and rather than walk past me to also stand in the enclosure, he stood just on the outside, as if he was lining up beside me. A few more people walked up as we waited, and all of them also stood outside in line, and I was thinking, “What a civilized people we are.” I moved to the other side of the enclosure so all of them would feel free to move over and come inside, too.
When the bus pulled up moments later, it stopped directly in front of me, and I casually stepped forward to claim my rightful position as first on, when out of nowhere, this older lady rushed over from the right and attempted to intercept me. I have no idea how long she had been waiting there, because the right side of the bus stop enclosure is covered over with an ad for an opera singer who looks like Russell Crowe. All that was clear to me was that I had been the very first person at the bus stop, so no matter how long she’d been hiding, I’d been there longer.
A friend recently asked me how I managed the adjustment from smalltown Ohio to big city culture, and I told her I was prepared for everything but how truly out-for-themselves people are in NYC. I told her that in Ohio, there seems to be more of a collective conscious, a bit of an “if I do this horrible thing to this person, everyone’s going to find out” mindset, and a bit of an “if I do this nice thing for this person, both of us will benefit from my niceness, and the world will be a better place” mindset. She asked if I think NYC has changed me, and it just so happened that I had the perfect story to illustrate my very definite yes.
Last Saturday afternoon, my boyfriend and I took advantage of the end of Summer/start of Fall weather with brunch at Bar Boulud, a stroll through Central Park, wrestling with giant stuffed dogs at FAO Schwarz, and buying a pound of chocolate-covered everything at Dylan’s Candy Bar to start getting our blood sugar prepared for Halloween.
We hopped on the downtown M15 bus around 4:30 p.m., and it was packed, as usual, with elderly people, because only elderly people leave the house before 8 p.m. on weekends. We stood for a couple of stops, sat down for a couple of stops when two seats were freed up, and then stood back up when we saw a feeble-looking couple board the bus.
I didn’t want to cross-post the whole thing here, but my donuts4dinner post today is about a stupid fight Kamran and I had over my not wanting to eat shrimp heads, and it’s not to be missed if you’re a little bit squeamish about food like I am.
Kamran shared this article with me recently from one of his fancy lawyer blogs called “Earning $250,000 Does Not Make You Rich, Not in My Town“, and while I agree that $250k doesn’t make you anywhere close to rich in NYC, it’s ridiculous how out of touch people are with how much money you need to survive:
I own nothing (mmm… judgment proof) — not a stock, a bond — and the only market for my “assets” is the “Cash for Gold” shop in Atlantic City. I pay a ridiculous premium to live in my 2-1-2 area code, and I live in a hovel so embarrassing that when non-New Yorkers come to visit, they assume I’ve just been robbed. As we shuffle by Park Avenue apartments that I can’t afford to even look at, my dog tries to break her leash and get herself adopted by someone who can afford her upkeep. I’m a professional blogger, yet my computer is so old I can’t even download decent porn off the internet anymore. Last night I got a text from my Manhattan bedbugs which read, “Dude, we can’t live like this no more, peace out loser.”
In Ohio, my salary could give a family of eight a super-extravagant lifestyle, but here, it can get me half of an apartment in Brooklyn, eight plane tickets, a closetful of non-designer clothes, a couple of major electronics purchases, and all the homemade meals I can handle every year. (Luckily, Kamran helps me out in the dinner department.)
Basically, no matter how much I save up, I will never, ever own a home in NYC. Even if I wanted the very cheapest and tiniest studio apartment–250 square feet for $250k, let’s say–I can’t imagine a time in my life when I’d have the $50k down payment. I accept that while the middle of the country bases their success on owning homes, I have to base mine on . . . having lots of free time to blog?
Recently, I decided to make a deposit on a minorly life-changing thing (it’s a yacht, people! it’s a yacht!) (just kidding), and I had to figure out if I’d actually have the money for it. So I made something for the first time in my life that I realize probably every one of you have had forever: a budget.
And I feel SO. MUCH. BETTER. I’m actually spending waaaaaaay less money than I used to, but I somehow feel so much richer just because I know I can keep myself debt-free and saving if I stay within my weekly allotment. It’s so great to be able to stare a $32 pressed powder compact from Sephora in its sweet, foundationy eyes and say, “Are you worth not being to go out for dinner before our bowling match Sunday night?” And it isn’t.
I even set up a (so far, really pathetic) SmartyPig goal that will someday allow me to live luxuriously without guilt for three entire months when I get fired. Click on the “Feed Me” button to see how cute the site is and to TRANSFER YOUR BANK ACCOUNT OVER TO ME:
So, I’m not rich, and I’m not even $250,000 rich, but I’m working on it.
Do you budget? I’d love to hear your tips and tricks!
I'm Katie, a farmgirl originally from Ohio who moved to NYC in 2005 for no apparent reason. I like vintage-looking things that are actually new, filagree everything, people who don't make me feel awkward, meaning it when I say "no sleep till Brooklyn", and not trying too hard.
