Save Karyn: One Shopaholic's Journey to Debt and Back by Karyn Bosnak

From the Publisher

Drowning in $20,000 of credit card debt, shopaholic Karyn Bosnak asked strangers for money online — and it worked!

What would you do if you owed $20,000? Would you: A) not tell your parents? B) start your own website that asked for money without apology? or C) stop coloring your hair, getting pedicures, and buying Gucci? If you were Karyn Bosnak, you'd do all three.

Karyn started a funny yet honest website, www.savekaryn.com, on which she asked for donations to help her get out of debt. Karyn received e-mails from people all over the world, either confessing their own debt-ridden lives, or criticizing hers. But after four months of Internet panhandling and selling her prized possessions on eBay, her debt was gone!

In Save Karyn: One Shopaholic's Journey to Debt and Back, Karyn details the bumpy road her financial — and personal — life has traveled to get her where she is today: happy, grateful, and completely debt-free. In this charming cautionary tale, Karyn chronicles her glamorous rise, her embarrassing fall, and how the kindness of strangers in cyberia really can make a difference.

Library Journal

Bosnak is the owner of the now famous-or infamous-www.saveKaryn.com. She had the audacity to run up $20,000 in credit card debt, lose her job, and, instead of declaring bankruptcy, put up the first personal web site to solicit donations. Here she details her descent into debt and the bumpy road to debt freedom, shares intimate details of her personal finances, and describes the emails that she received (both compassionate and hateful), her guest appearances on NBC's Today and CNN, and a write-up in People magazine. Her strategies for cutting expenses are not generally innovative, but readers should enjoy her upbeat, folksy writing style. Kicking the dollars up a bit, Hunt ran up $100,000 in credit card debt in the early 1980s. Soon after, she became the founder and publisher of Cheapskate Monthly and the author of several money management books. Her latest identifies methods to strengthen a marriage, particularly a couple's financial position. Packed with real-life advice and examples, Hunt's book covers everything needed to manage money as a team, ways to live beneath your means, and how to reconcile different behaviors and beliefs about saving, giving, and managing finances. She writes in an organized, personal style, motivating readers and teaching them how to take charge of their income. Both books teach the importance of thrift through real-life mistakes; however, Hunt's guide is much more detailed and practical.-Susan C. Awe, Univ. of New Mexico Lib., Albuquerque Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

"I'm not really great with money. I never have been," writes former TV producer Bosnak, though she's an old pro at spending it: on clothes and accessories, a personal trainer, furniture, a tony address, nightlife. By the time she loses her job, she has amassed $20,000 in credit-card debt. But she has optimism (in fact, she's relentlessly chirpy and hungry for your laughter) and an idea: Internet panhandling, through which she emerged from the red. Here she chronicles the call-and-response of her seriocomic website-she admits she was a fool and is asking others to pay for it-which she keeps lively with daily postings of her hard-bitten frugality. There are brief excursions into questions of self-esteem, obsession-compulsion, and superficiality, though Bosnak is more comfortable sending what she considers zingers back to the numerous lewd e-mails she receives: "If you'd like to see what I smell like, I'd rather send you my flip-flops than my panties." The bilious irony is that she's made a bundle on film rights for overspending on "a bunch of designer crap." Film rights to Escape Artists/Sony. Agent: Jennifer Unter at RLR Associates

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I awoke that morning to a buzzing in my ear. My head was throbbing. The night before we had a big party to wrap up the ninth season of The Jenny Jones Show, where I had worked for four years. (No, I wasn't there for the murder, so don't ask.) As desperately as I wanted to leave Chicago, I was sad to say good-bye to all of my coworkers, some of whom I had become very close with throughout the years.

The buzzing stopped and then started up again. I finally realized that it wasn't my alarm clock, but my doorman buzzing my apartment. I got out of bed and went to answer the intercom.

"Karyn, it's Robert the doorman. Your mom's here," a voice said.

Ever since I've lived alone, I've had an apartment with a doorman. It's always made me feel safe. Sure, doorman apartment buildings are more expensive, but how can you put a price on safety? This particular apartment was on Oak Street -- the Madison Avenue of Chicago. If you walked straight out the front door of my apartment building, you'd hit Barneys. That was good for me, a girl who grew up shopping.

"Oh, right. Let her up." I was moving to New York the next morning. My mom was there to help me pack and was planning to stay overnight so she could take me to the airport. It was my last day in Chicago.

I love my mom. But she was part of the reason that I decided to move. She'd do anything for me, and I knew that and always took advantage of it. I was hoping New York would make me feel more independent, so I wouldn't call my mother every minute to ask for her help. "Help" to me usually meant "help with some cash," which meant "I spent too much at Marshall Field's and I need help paying the bill." And Mom was always there in that department.

After packing all day, we slept for a few hours before we had to get up and leave for my 6 A.M. flight. I was going to bring some of my clothes with me, and movers were coming to my apartment the following day to pick up the rest of my stuff. The reason for the early flight was that I had a job as a producer for a new court show called Curtis Court and had to be at work at noon the day I arrived.

That morning my mom and I woke up, loaded the car, and drove to the airport in silence. I've always had this horrible separation anxiety when it comes to my mother. When I was little, I would cry at school because I wanted my mom. My sister, Lisa, who is two years older than me, would have to leave her class and come to help my teacher quiet me down. I also was unable to sleep over at any of my friends' houses until I was in fourth grade because again, I would cry at bedtime because I missed my mom. I would fake being sick and have my friend wake her parents up and tell them that I needed to go home. Every time I'd attempt a sleepover, my mom always knew the midnight phone call would come, and would get in her car to come pick me up.

After the twenty-minute ride to O'Hare, we pulled up to the United Airlines departure terminal. I got out of the car and my mom popped the trunk. The bell cap came over and took my bags out of the back. I had five of them.

"You are only allowed to check two bags," he said.

"What? Why didn't they tell me that on the phone? I need all of these bags," I said.

Now, I admit that I've never been a light packer, but I had to have all these bags. My apartment wouldn't be ready for me to move into until two weeks after I got to New York, so I had to bring some of my clothes, purses and shoes with me. And two weeks of clothes meant five suitcases.

"Sorry, miss. I can't change the rules."

So, I had to carry on three bags. Three big bags. These were not overnighter-size bags either. They were suitcases.

I turned around and looked at my mother, who was wearing her sunglasses so I wouldn't see her tears, but I knew they were there.

"Mom, don't cry!" I said. "Please don't cry or you'll make me cry."

"I'm sorry, I can't help it. Why won't you let me come in with you?" she asked.

"Because if you come in with me, you'll make me cry, that's why."

I looked at my mom and hugged her. I closed my eyes. I've always thought that if I closed my eyes when I cried the tears would stay in.

"Okay," she said and continued to hug me. Hard. I couldn't breathe.

I didn't want to say the word "good-bye," because I knew that would have pushed me over the edge. So I just said "I love you," and pulled away quickly. Without looking at my mom, I turned around and pushed the heavy cart with my three suitcases through the automatic door.

After checking in and looking around for a while, I finally found a seat at the gate that accommodated me and my three suitcases. After I sat down, I looked to the left and saw someone familiar dart behind a pole. I couldn't see the person's face, but I could see the outline of a black Kate Spade purse. It was my mom! She was watching me!