Diary of a Low Budget Superhero

"Why do you do this?"

A simple enough question. Why it made me tearful? That part isn't so simple. This is a bout between me and my own whiny self pity, so if you're not in the mood or are sick of people griping about the economy, move along, nothin' to see here.

So, this was yesterday, and "why do you do this" was my Joe asking me why do I insist on looking at real estate online when I know perfectly well that we can't buy anything, not now, and not in a future visible to anyone without rose-colored glasses? See, I've been looking at ZipRealty and Trulia for...well, a few years at this point. I pore over the price reductions, the number of days on the market, the calculated down payment amount if you have three percent, if you have ten, the amount you would need on hand for closing costs...

The reason he asked me this question just at that moment was by way of response to what I had just said to him, a bitchy statement bitten off like a chunk of ice, put in the form of a question, accompanied by me pointing dramatically out the window, across the street, to the condo units whose windows face our own, Commonwealth Avenue and the B line train between us.

"$528,000 for one of those places. Can you believe it. Can you believe over half a million." I correct myself: Commonwealth Avenue and the B line train and a phenomenal, monumental lifestyle gap between us.

"Why do you do this?"

"Why shouldn't I? I need to know what's out there." The knowledge I have amassed since 2007, about square footage and roofs and vinyl siding and furnaces and taxes, I could write a book. A depressing book. 2007 was, by the way, when those half mil condo units were built. We saw them go up. Nicely enough appointed, but nothing spectacular, and anyway, situated above a pretty loud sports bar and pizza place that's open 'til 3am, with a convenience mart on the corner. There is no parking. While they were constructing them, they hung a banner touting the "coming soon" and it read $750K. We wondered who they thought lived in this neighborhood? The fact that half of the units remain empty might answer that question: nobody lives here who can afford this property. This is a neighborhood of students, young professionals and middle class folks, plenty of working class and laborers and new residents, mostly from Russia and Haiti. $750K? This is upper Allston, not Newbury Street. "$528,000 is their ROCK BOTTOM," I added.

I just wanted Joe to share my outrage at this, further evidence that we're priced out here. We can either become country mice (or at least suburb mice) who own, or remain city rats who rent.

Still seated before my laptop, I clicked over to a property I had found. Not here in Boston, but in New Jersey, in the town where his parents live. I read aloud the listing, pausing to make note that this is a townhouse twice the size and less than half the price of those units across the street, and about five times the size of our apartment. 2279 square feet. The mere thought of all that open space made me choke up a little. High ceilings. Two car underground garage, grill range with a conventional AND a convection oven. Two refrigerators. Hardwood floors. Granite counter tops. Recessed lighting and skylights, All stainless appliances, a wood burning fireplace, a huge patio, finished basement, tons of storage, walk in closets, a master bath with steam shower and jacuzzi tub. Air conditioning! And $235K. Not that we're moving to New Jersey, it's just one of the things that could happen in the world. Taxes are high, but then, I'm living in Taxachusetts right now, so...

"Why do you do this? It makes you sad and cranky. We're fine, we have each other."

"I know it makes me sad and cranky. But Joe, I don't know what we're doing. We're stuck."

I do feel stuck sometimes. Stuck in a tiny apartment with a fridge shorter than I am and a single external (windowed) wall. That's where the tearful part comes in; he's right, we ARE fine, and we love each other more than any two people can possibly dare to dream. I told you this entry was a bout between me and my own self pity. We're healthy, we're frugal, we have no considerable debt left. Just a student loan at this point. Trying to save, but it's going sooo slooooow. At these times, blowing my nose and dabbing my wet cheeks, I try to remind myself there was a time when "saving" was a laugh, when it wasn't just a grumble about how bills are taking away all my money, but a dark, wolf at the door feeling of gravity because there WAS no money there to give up to bills. It's been many years since I've literally wondered where my next income was coming from and whether or not I could survive on Ramen and Wonder Bread.

Yes, I'm saving. I have been working numbers lately trying to figure how how long I have to save, and at what rate, before there's enough in there to even consider a car? Because, oh yes, I would need a car first in order to even think about buying a home, because clearly "in the city" is just not going to happen. I'm gonna end up in a nice home, but if you asked me to bet on the odds of an easy commute via public transportation...? No bet.

(And then what do I do with Joe, who doesn't even want to learn to drive?)

I just can't help it, every now and then I get into these sad sack modes where I NEED MORE SPACE. For example, I was so happy to get a KitchenAid for Christmas, I actually wept. But every time I have to move two things to get it on the counter to use, I get into the sad mode. Whenever we do laundry and it's a clothes hurricane in here, I get into the mode. My friends come over and have to crowd onto my small "apartment size" Bob's Furniture couch, and despite the happiness brought by my friends, I get into the mode. Whenever I get on hands and knees to sponge the winter sludge from the doorway area, I get into the mode. My kingdom for some kind of foyer or entry space that a person enters first, before the living room proper, so that winter's salty wet muck isn't a moat I must leap in order to enter my bathroom.

I satisfy such occasional self-pity by talking to myself like I'm a bratty child. "Listen, Veruca Salt," my logic brain has to tell my inner whiner, "You have regular eggs, nobody needs a golden goose, you little snot. There's people with no eggs at all, they'd kill for your regular eggs, now shut up and go to work or you'll really be eggless." I kind of suck it up to stay happy. I AM happy. But now and then I get back on Trulia or ZipRealty and ask "Why not me?"

In October when I went to visit my old childhood girlfriends, I had this same talk with one of my best friends in life, my soul sister when we were twelve. A lot like me she is, we even have similarly-minded men we've settled down with, and she's a gal whose finances meant she had move back in with her mom, with husband and kid in tow. It's symbiotic, her mom needed the help, too. So she's back in her girlhood bedroom where we used to have sleepovers gazing up at Duran Duran and Rick Springfield posters, read Stephen King aloud to freak each other out and record elaborate talk shows into her tape recorder. I commiserated with her about the impossibility of this economy, saying "I just don't know how people are doing it."

How are people doing it? How do people have weddings and vacations and kids and dogs and cars and a house?

Right now we're living comfortably, but that is only because we live simply: we never take a vacation to anywhere, we have so far skirted the car payment and upkeep, we shop using coupons and avoid extras such as big cable TV packages and any product that starts with a "i"...

I keep saying that getting just a LITTLE ahead would be great. I don't even want a million dollars. My whole life would change for like $15k or $20K right now.

"Why do you do this?"

Maybe it's just a matter of keeping my eyes on the prize, to remember why I work so hard and to have all the necessary knowledge when I finally get there. You have to constantly think of ways to pare down and keep more money. Already, a day later, I put a bunch of my books up for sale on Half.com, and tomorrow I'm going to kill the MCI long distance, we don't need it. Save, save, save.

Eye of the tiger.

Ding ding.