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If We Get In Trouble It’s My Bestie’s Fault Because I Listened To Her Shirt, hoodie

“You won’t hang around me. You have to have somebody with money around you, with all the things you like.”

“Damn straight there, buddy,” I said. “That four-dollar-an-hour job’s not going to work out very well with me. And you need to get out of debt.”

Soon he returned to a familiar subject: shooting himself. He always told me that he carried a gun and that he’d shoot himself if things ever turned out badly at work.

“Shoot yourself?” I screamed. “Oh, my God! What do you mean, shoot yourself? Here I am, in love with you, and you’re talking suicide! It sounds like whatever you’re doing, you’d get a thousand-year prison term or the electric chair.”

“Nah.” he said. “It’s not that bad. I just don’t want to spend another day in prison. Not one more day.”

Then I shifted the subject back to money, my favorite nag topic. “You‘re a genius at making money, but you don’t have a clue of what to do with it! You’re blowing it, and you’re throwing  me out the window too.” I was sick of watching him throw away thousands on lottery tickets, hundreds a week on Crown Royal, $70,000 or more a year on racing. And investing in the stock market! Sometimes he would go down to Charles Schwab and throw his money at those maniacs.

But the racing was the worst. Finally, I demanded. “Quit racing!” I told him that if he quit, we could take more trips. That’s how I got him to stop.

Eventually he consented.  He had been racing for seven years. He traded his race car for a red Porsche 911, then sold that for $30,000. With the money from the car and some other cash he had on hand, I had him buy his rented furniture, pay his bills, pay off  his  bank  loan.  For once, things were looking up. But then he turned into a trip-aholic! He went from one addiction to another. We were like an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. New Orleans for lunch. Entire months in Colo­rado, looking at houses, dreaming of moving, hitting sixteen ski resorts on one vacation. Camping in the Ozarks. We were rental freaks: acrobatic airplanes, bikes, jet skis, helicopters and $300 per­ hour airplanes, gazing down on the elk in the Rockies. Fourteen or fifteen trips in a row. All he wanted to do was travel.

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