money mailbag – your questions answered

there might be a section of the boston globe that answers money questions every couple of weeks or so. you write in, they write back and maybe even post the answers on the website. a wealth of info to read and ponder. like:

Dear Peter,

My company just set up a 401k, non-matching. I currently save 15% of my salary and invest in mutual funds and my children's 529 plan. I have a $180,000 mortgage at 6.5%. Am I better off putting my "401K" money as prepayment on my mortgage or drop it in the 401k?

Thanks,

Ben

i wrote in with similar questions, i didn’t hear back:

dear peter,

i expect to be having financial trouble in the near future and i need your help. the trouble is that in the next month or so i’ll be “falling into some money.” i’ll be “rolling in the dough.” i’ll be “swimming with the big fish.”. i’ll be..... you get the point. let me explain:

i’m single and live in an apartment with two or so roommates - mainly to save money, but also because you need to be a millionare, be married, or be daddy’s little grad school girl to own property in boston. yeah i know, blows, right up the ass. currently i work a dead-end job doing pointless bullshit for god only knows who or why. i’ve been at my kick-ass job almost 3 years, and as you can tell i absolutely love it. my annual income before taxes is in the neighborhood of $23,875. actually, you could say i’m at the higher end of $23,875, so i essentially pull in a sweet 2k each month pre-tax. yeah baby, livin’ large, livin’ the life. my monthly expenses are: rent, utilities (gas, electric, oil), phone bill, loans, loans, loans, groceries, and then of course there are my loans. these expenses total about $1500/month, which leaves me about negative $200 to spend as discretionary monies on things i enjoy to save up and splurge on, like nothing. no seriously, i’m usually left with about $20-$50 in extra “spending cash” each month, which i promise is leading to my actual question.

anyway, in the next couple of weeks i’ll be the proud recipient of one of those raises i’ve always heard of but never seen. awesome, a raise, finally. all totaled i should be seeing an extra sweet $50 a month with this new raise. if you add this $50 a month to my original $20-$50 a month i already save as discretionary money you have something like seventy to one hundred fucking sweet goddamn dollars man! blessed is me.

while i generally like to spend this extra $20-50 a month on coffee and its accessories (cigarettes), i would like to take a moment to hear what you may suggest i now do with the almost $100 a month i’ll be sitting on with this hella raise i’ll be getting soon. i’m open to ideas from yur ass. i’ve already got some ideas of my own, let me know what you think:

1) should i consider saving it for retirement? – and if so will i be a millionare by 65? also, why not? side question, would i then be able to spell millionare?

2) should i consider moving up to a grande coffee each morning? – and if so could i consider getting an extra shot of espresso once or twice a week?

3) should i consider moving down from camel to poor-mans cigs? – and if so is there a particular brand you recommend? is that mustang brand any good?

4) should i find a way to supplement my current income by getting another job? if i decided to take it up the ass for cash would it really be worth it? – and if so do you know any rich pretty boys over in backbay that would be interested in my ass?

5) how much does yur ass make?

sweet money’s in the bag baby,

raz

giving thanks, indeed

i really shouldn’t be saying this on here because there might be people who read this and know me, but.

the number of naked women that have been in my bed this past week. oh. my. god.

it would make you sick, really. i sleep with a lot of women, no lie. i guess those of you that know me know this, but for those of you who don’t then i’m here to tell you.

told.

i’m not sure exactly how this comes to be, this constant stream of women arriving in my bed night after night. i mean i know a lot of women, true. i know a lot of women that want to sleep with me, true. i know a lot of men who wish they had the kind of luck i have, true.

i know what you want to ask, so i’ll just tell you. yes, they are extremely hot. all of them. i know this. they know this. and we all fuck like rabbits knowing this. i scream, they scream, we all scream for more wild sex.

we’re all extremely sorry roommates, please understand. i’m sure it sounds like some pretty crazy shit happening behind that door at all hours of the night. just give a knock on the door next time and we’ll quiet down, or maybe just jump in on the action yourselves. whichev is easiest. if i can’t help you then you might as well help yourselves. help me, help you.

helped.

if that bed is a rockin’ you best come a knockin’

ladies, you know its been a pleasure.

pleased.

raz has a lot to be thankful for this holiday season.

thanked.

some new content for your ass

thoughts from today:
will i ever get to work on time?

is there anyone in the world cooler than jena malone?

is there anyone funnier than chad?

will i ever actually be able to skip christmas?

must every newspaper and news program do an feature on jones soda and the nasty ass crap in a bottle they produced for this thanksgiving?

did i really think i had the will power to quit the iced juice?

why won't the victoria’s secret angels come to boston?

is alexa actually hot? and who knew there was another blogger with as much apostrophe trouble as me?

is the best of craigslist getting updated this thursday or next?

can the onion sell-out any more than they already have?

are nipple slips the new newsmaker or what? keep 'em coming

are we really just one month away from the life aquatic & ocean’s twelve?

will my jane ever come back?

my lindsay actually dated fez? didn't they pretend date on a that 70's show once? is that how they started actually dating? why can't i date you lindsay, why?

there are people in iceland and malaysia that read this blog? sweet.

the new garden state soundtrack + its poker night + mean girls is in the mail = cloud nine

simon – a tribute

simon was a crazed cat, a unique cat, an evil cat. we had a love/hate relationship. i tried to loved him, he just hated me. simon, you’ll be missed.

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i’m waking up at 8am. i’m in my usual routine of stumbling to the bathroom, shaving, taking a shower, and returning to my room to get dressed. only this time i forget to shut my door when i left for the shower. i know before i enter my room that i’m in for trouble. i know this from previous mistakes like this. i know that what i’m about to see will ruin my morning. i know that that first cigarette and coffee are a long way away right now. something doesn’t feel right. something doesn’t look right. and something definitely doesn’t smell right. i’m scared, i’m pissed, i’m tired, i’m hungry, and i’m soaking wet. these things will not help the situation i’m about to walk into. nobody else is home, which is good for them. nobody else will hear the roar of hatred coming out of my throat in less than 10 seconds. but then, nobody else to soon share my pain and misery with. my mind tries to play tricks on me, like: “maybe you’re tired and not seeing things right” and “maybe your sense of smell hasn’t quite kicked in yet this morning” and “there is no way that anything bad could have happened during the 7 minutes (max) that it took you to shower and shave.” i know better than this, i just know.

creeping towards my room on my tiptoes, still dripping wet. staying close to the wall, shadows will give my presence away. i need to catch the bastard cat in the act, i need to see his face when he’s caught. i need to see him sit and wonder for a moment before attempting an explanation or escape. and i need to reach my spray bottle so frigging bad.

i’m close now. i’m inches away from my door. i can hear purring and chewing. i can hear the smacking of lips and the crazed purring is pounding and echoing through my head now. is it possible that i’m smelling dirt? in one quick motion i enter my room and close the door, my back against it now as i stare down at the floor near my window.

i’m looking at a cat. i’m looking at a cat that is now very much in trouble. i’m looking at a cat that has decided the following would be a good idea:
1) knock down a 3 foot marijuana plant from a shelf on my window.
2) proceed to tear the plant out of the pot and onto the floor
3) chew the leaves and stems from this plant
4) do this all before some crazed, naked and soaking wet body comes into the room.

i’m looking at a cat that has just realized he is in deep shit.

we’ve both been through this routine before, so the cat knows that i’ll take a few deep breaths, then calmly head for the spray bottle on the desk. during this time he’ll attempt to find a hiding spot in a mad frenzy, most likely with leaves still half chewed and hanging from his lips. But today things are different. this crazy feline decides that what he did was not enough, and perhaps if he could quickly drag the plant via his mouth, under my bed, he could sit and eat it in eternal ecstasy. yes, this is what he has decided to do while looking at me. So as i walk to my spray bottle i’m watching a drugged-up black ball of rat-bastard fur drag my marijuana plant under my bed. i never figured him for this, so all i could do was watch in utter amazement.

the cat is fortunate i’m not depending on this plant for its monetary value. while perhaps valuable it also happens to be a cool looking plant. cool looking as long as half the leaves are not chewed and dangling from the stem. the cat of course had thought i was growing this plant for his benefit only. he also figured that tearing it apart was what i wanted him to be doing. while i will admit he has had a fair amount of success in the shredding of my plant, i by no means condone it. it should also be mentioned that in my bedroom/greenhouse he has not attempted to chew the fucking life out of any other plant, ever. while i appreciate the restraint on his part for not doing the same to each of my other plants, i wouldn’t mind if he chose one of my other plants that IS easily replaceable.

some mornings i open my bedroom door to him sitting outside, just waiting for me to open up shop for him. door gets opened, he gets up and starts walking toward me, i shut the door and he looks at me all confused. me saying: “not a chance in fuck i’m letting you in here.” him thinking i said: “well shit cat, i didn’t realize you were out here, come on in here and terrorize the fuck out of my weed while i jump in the shower.”

things that made me contemplate discontinuing the weed growing: now clothed in just boxers i attempt to clean up his mess. i’m on my hands and knees at 8:15 in the morning sweeping dirt into a dust pan in just my underwear. i’m no closer to that first cup of coffee, and at this point it will have to be a grande. i’m moving a bed and attempting to reach that last bit of plant that he managed to hide. i’m doing this all while he has the audacity to prance around me waiting for me to forget about part of it, and i swear to frig he’s smiling at me during each pass. oh simon, keep smiling you bastard hell-cat, just be glad you’re so damn cute.

things that made me discontinue this morning clean up routine after forgetting to close my door: simon moved to vt and got eaten by a bigger cat. a harsh reality.

simon, the memories.

feeling like

when it rains i always walk home without a jacket or umbrella. nothing better. it feels just like. and there’s nothing better than letting rain pour down upon your head. letting rain drip down your face. off the tip of your nose. into your eyes. onto you lips. way in your ears. letting the rain soak your shirt, your pants, your shoes. stepping in every puddle. really feeling soaked. just feeling like.

but now i’m home and i’m soaked and wet to the bone and inside it just doesn’t feel the same. i feel like i’m a four letter word that starts with s.

i’m sitting in my room typing on an old computer from the college days. feeling like. just feeling like. feeling like because class blew my ass, work blew my ass, and i got financially blown up the ass today. i feel like screaming a four letter word that starts with f. i feel like yelling it over and over and over and over, only sometimes just go ahead and add mother to the front and er to the end.

i’m listening to some slow and easy relaxing music, to calm the nerves, to get my head to just float up in the clouds, to get my fingers to just type away. but instead of feeling like i’m in heaven i feel like i’m in a four letter word that starts with h.

and i just got one of those phone calls. one of those phone calls you don’t want. not because you don’t want to answer but because you don’t want to hang up. so now i feel like my life is always a big fat five letter word that starts with b.

my neck hurts. my eyes are tired. i’m hot. i’m damp. i’m just feeling like. and i’m certainly depressed, only put god and a four letter word that starts with d in front of depressed.

i feel like a four letter word that spells mess.

two words, first one spells feeling second spells like.

oh nat

when i first met natalie portman i was 24 years old. that was a long time ago. 2 years in fact. this was while nat was going to harvard. i had a friend at work that knew her but he didn’t tell me right off. they had gone to school together. lucky bastard was he.

this friend invites me to drinks one night, which later turned out to be drinks and dinner. with 4 other people. one of them was nat., but i didn’t know this right off.

this friend and i leave work together to meet this group of his friends at grendals in harvard square. nothing about my boring day of work prepared me or made me think that i’d be meeting and hanging out with a movie star later that night. it was all going to come as a big surprise.

lets get one thing out in the open: i’m the shy type. i’m bad at introductions. i won’t remember your name. i won’t even try to be remembering your name, your friends name, your face, your job, nothing. i won’t even look you in the eye when we meet, that’s how shy i am.

so we walk into grendals, the basement place below the pink room, you know where i’m talking about. great place. cheap eats if you get there before 6pm. quiet atmosphere if you get there before 5:30, plus they don’t dim the lights and turn up the music till maybe 6:30 or so. we were in time for all of the above.

we stand at the entrance and search the place out till reno finds his group of friends way back in the far corner at one of the coolest tables in the whole place – i can’t describe it, you’ll have to go there and check it out yourself. anyway, they wave at us, we walk over.

introductions are made for me. me being the only one new to this group makes me way more shy and act way more awkward. i’m staring at the table as the names go around the table. i think i managed to say my name once everyone was done: “hi, my my, na-name is raz.”

once that was over everything was cool because they could go on to their talking and i could finish up my staring at the table and continue fondling my water glass. i’d wipe off the beads of water as they fell down the side of the glass. it was fun, the water catching.

once i got a little less shy i started trying to look up from the table and make eye contact with everyone, i even came close to making my own comments, or at least looking like i was ready for people to start asking me questions. and then someone did.

the next 2.2 seconds:

and if it wasn’t a movie star face that i had seen a million times before on the tv i never would have known who this person was that was talking to me. it was like when you start talking to someone that just got introduced to you, and you’re kicking yourself for not remembering their name, pissing and moaning inside because you’re too retarded to remember a fucking name and why the christ is that so difficult? but by some miracle you’re looking up at this person, confused because normally you shouldn’t know this persons name, yet you do, you know her name, and how is that? how is this possible? its not quite registering that she’s someone famous and that she’s sitting next to you AND SHE’S LOOKING AT YOU AND SMILING AND ACTUALLY TALKING TO YOU RIGHT THE FUCK NOW! the face, the introduction, the fact that you shouldn’t remember her name – yet you do and how the fuck is this possible? why the fuck is nothing registering? 1.4 seconds have passed. the next second or so:

and now the trouble starts, because i was ready, i was def ready, i was ready to start talking and laughing and interacting, i really was. but now i’m royal fucked because THERE IS A MOVIE STAR SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO ME AND ASKING ME A QUESTION WITH A SMILE ON HER FACE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAN SHOOT ME NOW BEFORE I ACT ANY MORE RETARDED!

as if this wasn’t going to be difficult enough before i realized who was asking me a question. not to mention i was moments away from finishing up my water-bead catching, a clear and clean glass was just one more wipe away. stalling is me. mouth open but not saying anything is me. eyes wide open is me. retard look on my face, this is me. this is me for the next 15 minutes, or at least the next 15 seconds.

but maybe it wasn’t that bad. maybe it was better. i just hope it wasn’t worse.

and i have to tell you because you wouldn’t know otherwise:

nat is just the coolest movie star in the entire world. the entire world. yes she was normal. yes she was cool. yes she was really cool and normal. and how is this even possible? i thought movie stars were suppose to be annoying and better than you and stupid and flaunt their money and bodies and be demanding and spotless and perfect and pristine. she was not. how could she talk like a normal person? how could she be sitting in a normal restaurant? how could she know and hang out with normal people? where were her movie star friends and her movie star attitude and her movie star smiles? shouldn’t i be at the next table over, gawking and pointing and snapping pictures of her with my camera that i don’t even own?

but it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t like that at all. it was different and better and normal and fun and interesting and fascinating and just simple.

and then it was just, you know?

oh nat.

that night. but that night. oh nat.

that may be all i can share.

an honest and true story.