Let me upgrade you

A few weeks ago my brother-in-law, Matt, sent me a link to MrMoneyMustache.com. It’s a blog written by a “freaky financial magician who retired along with a lovely wife at ago 30.”

In his “Start here” post, Mr. Money Mustache (MMM) says if you can save 50-75% of your paychecks, then you’ll be able to retire real quick. The best way to cut costs, says he, is by not buying crap. Luxury and pampering, says he again, is for pansy ass bitches who drive when alls they really need is a bikecycle and some facial hair.

Well, I’ve got me a tricked-out bikecycle, a few black hag hairs on my chin/neck/upper lip, and I’ve read about six of the MrMoneyMustache.com posts. Plus, I saved 37% of my last paycheck — nearly 50 whole dollars! I figure I’m five years or less from retiring.

And, although I’m looking forward to my retirement, I’m not looking forward to giving up crap. I like crap. You should see the crap I’ve collected over the years! Mini skateboards! Snorkels! Studded boots! Bachelor’s degrees!

Beyond saving money, MMM teaches his readers how to solve problems. I’m proud to say that I’ve figured out a way to save money and keep my crap. You get other people to buy your crap. All it takes is:

Caring friends and family. These are the people who will buy you things.*

A healthy dose of not-giving-a-shiz. By not giving a shiz, you’re committing yourself to dressing poorly and being dirty. Then, the people who care about you will feel bad and/or be embarrassed to know you, and they’ll buy you things to make you less smelly/filthy/rat-like.

There is, however, a fine line between the salvageable and the hopeless, and you’ve got to walk it carefully. If you ever become hopelessly careless, people will give up on you and leave you to your armpit stains and dirt feet. For instance, I have an uncle who keeps a skunk for a pet. The skunk’s name is Francis, and he lives under my uncle’s front porch and eats his leftovers. The same uncle wears hats found on the side of the road and decorates them with feathers and Dunkin’ Donut straws. His name is Uncle Jellyfish.

Uncle Jellyfish don’t care, and nobody tryna make him.

How to barely care just enough:

  • Let your butt crack run wild. Have at least one to two inches of butt crack exposed at all times. If you’re in a setting where you can’t crack your crack, like school or work, wear very high underpants and bend over a lot. Exposed underpants is only one step up from butt cracking.
  • Keep your pits stanky fresh. If you’re lucky like me, then your pits stay ripe all the damn day long, deodorant or not. If deodorant actually works for you, then you’ll have to give it up. Work hard to leave yellow stains in your clothes. Go a week or two without shaving. Flail your arms. Dance like Tiffany. 
  • Wear your parents’ old clothes. Go through the old bureaus in your house. Dig through them until you find your parents’ old T-shirts. When you find them, try them on to make sure they’re baggy and have bleach stains and mouse holes.
  • Walk hard. Actually, no. Don’t walk hard. Stomp hard. Stomp like a mothereffer.

And there you go. That’s all it takes.

Case study:

Since age 11, my butt crack has never not been showing and my pits have never not been sweating.

Two of my four favorite T-shirts are my mom’s from the ‘70s. My other two favorites are my dad’s from the same decade. I’ve worn them to Fourth of July parties, Thanksgiving, Christmas, dates, and dinners with long lost friends. I would have worn them to Disney World, too, except the one time I tried my sister yelled at me.

I also stomp hard. I don’t do it on purpose, I’m just enormous and extremely sensitive to gravity. I also have Haglund’s deformity, which means I have cowboy spurs built into my heel bones. Shoes hurt, so I often have to walk funny to compensate for the pain. As a result, I go through shoes quickly.

Pedicurists love me
Pedicurists love me

What’s so special about that? You see butt cracks, stinkpits, old T-shirts, and busted shoes everyday. However, when you combine them together and throw in a pinch of family love, what was everyday becomes eXtRaOrDiNaRy.

Other than my dad, no one in my family can look at me without making a comment about how poorly dressed and/or smelly I am. Take, for instance, these comments made by my mom. The first is from October 8, 2012, the second from September 11, 2013.

And you know what my mom did after she made those comments?

She also offers me her iPhones.

She offered me her phone, too. I ain’t ask for it.

Every pair of shoes I own were given to me from people who pitied my footwear. Same thang goes for my work clothes.

I get upgraded.

(Those hoop earrings are bracelets taped to my ears.)

(AND YEAH IT’S A COLD SORE, SO?)

*If you don’t have caring friends and family, then I’m sorry. That’s sad and you deserve them.** Maybe I can be a caring friend. I can’t buy you things, because I’m trying to retire, but we can go for bike rides and talk over free coffee and tic tac containers of toenails.

**I don’t actually know if you deserve them or not, I’m just assuming that you do. If you’re evil and mean, then you don’t deserve them. No wonder you don’t have caring friends or family! Quit being so terrible!

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