I have house lust. It’s no secret. I browse the realty websites daily, check interest rates, take photos of fences and gardens, and peer surreptitiously through open blinds if I’m wandering past a pretty house in the evening. I get as excited about three bedroom brick veneers with ducted heating as I did watching Vin Diesel and The Rock beat the shit out of each other*. I can’t wait to buy my own little piece of Australia and pay it off for the next 30 years of my life, along with an alarming interest component.
The first thing I’ve had to do is figure out whether I can actually afford mortgage repayments. On paper, apparently I can. Generally I’m good with money, but for the last couple of years I’ve been splashing it around like I’m Charlie Sheen (sports model Fiesta, anyone?), so I’ve set myself a task. For the next couple of months I’m going to live like I’m paying a $520 per week mortgage. I’ve been writing down every cent I spend in a spreadsheet (I’m an absolute whore for spreadsheets), and the results are disturbing:
Yes, a full 32% of my disposable income is spent on random crap and alcohol. ‘Random crap’ includes things like candles, wooden chickens and The Most Awesome Push-up Bra Ever. ‘Booze related activity’ includes taxi fares and club entry charges.
To summarise, I spend more money partying than I do on groceries and I spend more on wooden chickens than I do on electricity, gas, water, telephone, and internet combined.
It’s possible some prioritisation may be in order.
Or I could knock off my parents.
*Fast Five, seen it twice so far. Will probably go again.