In an attempt to be grown ups and not put ourselves into a massive pile of steaming debt, B and I recently implemented a Wedding Savings Plan. Included in said plan? The horror of horrors, make your skin crawl, how am I actually going to SURVIVE through this…
I know, I know, you’re all like “shut up you stupid brat, everybody in America has one of those. Get over yourself and your ridiculous obsession with buying things.”
Whatever. Over the last four years of gainful full-time employment, I’ve very successfully managed my money while holding onto my (somewhat) excessive shopping needs. All without having to deny myself the ‘perfect pair of pumps I just simply can’t live without’ or being drug out of a store kicking and screaming like a two year old.
(Ok, maybe once or twice)
So after reviewing a couple months of expenses, we found a few areas where B & I can both make manageable changes to our daily habits to build up our little wedding fund. B’s been packing his lunch rather than eating at Subway everyday, and has started taking home-brewed coffee in a travel mug rather than feeding the nasty Starbucks beast everyday. These little sacrifices add up (nearly $200/mo!) and you barely even realize anything’s changed. That is until someone gets mercury poisoning from eating canned tuna 5 days a week…
(disclaimer : neither of us has mercury poisoning. at least not yet.)
Obviously B rebutted my Subway/Starbucks proposal with a shopping adjustment on my end. Fine. I can handle that. I wear jeans and a tshirt to work everyday. Other than running clothes, I get ‘dressed up” MAYBE once a week. If I’m lucky.
So I’ve reigned in my Sale Rack go-go-gadget arm, and (almost) always steer my Target cart right past the clothes and shoes to the cleaning/grocery/ladybusiness parts of the store I’m SUPPOSED to be there for. It’s honestly not been that bad.
After seeing the fruits of our budgeting-labor the first month, I got ambitious. “This is easy!” I thought. We could totally save more money, by making other little changes here and there. We clipped a few coupons, ate out a little less, and then I got the brilliant idea…
“Hey, I could save us like $130 if I quit the salon and started doing my own hair again. You know, like I did in college! It looked really great then, all fried and damaged, hacked up with a pair of desk scissors, always that disgusting shade of brassy yellow/blonde…”
I swear I wasn’t drunk. Really, I wasn’t. Not when I got the idea, or when I bought the at-home highlighting kit, or when I actually applied said highlighting kit and snip-snipped until I had a counter full of hair. I mean c’mon, I’ll deal with slightly less-than-perfect color for $130 into our wedding savings (Hello, that’ll food&beverage like 1.4 people!)
I didn’t take a photo of the finished product. I just could not capture the true horror on film for you. Sure, my roots were covered, I no longer looked like I belonged in a trailer park. Yay. Instead I could have been dropped in the African safari and been taken in by the leopard pack within 20 seconds. It was spotty and orange-y and B.A.D.
(Around this time I begged B to go get a gallon of Sbux so I could go to the salon and not feel guilty for disobeying that stupid, blasted, no-good budget)
Since I’m no quitter, and also because I haven’t found a go-to stylist here yet, I marched my leopard-spotted head over to Target and got another box of “fool-proof” dark blonde dye. I deemed it time for a change from my life-long bright blonde, and honestly, I didn’t know how else to cover up the disaster of a mess I had going on without pulling a Britney and shaving it all.
(Thought about it, but wasn’t sure it’d grow past a bowl cut by wedding time)
It turned out alright. B says it “is definitely still blonde.” I say he’s full of shit, and so is Clairol Brass-Free Dark Blonde. But, you be the judge :
So I mean, it’s not terrible. I don’t hate it. But it’s definitely a change and DEFINITELY not blonde. Whatevs. Those 1.4 wedding guests better appreciate the sacrifices I made to feed&beverage them…
Sarah Soon-To-Be (the less-blonde version)