I am poor.
If you want, you can skip the rest of this entry because tonight, the bottom line is gonna be the same as the top.
I guess I'm not as poor as I am young. You can empathize, I'm sure. See, the benefits of a top-notch college education, enlightening though it was, don't necessarily translate to much at first. Four years and one B.A. later, essentially all I really got was a Fast Pass to the front of the soup line. We've all been there. Or here. Wherever here is.
Hey. No cutting in the effing soup line.
At the top of my list of I'm-Poor Complaints this month, as well as a major source of embarrassment, is the fact that for whatever reason, my car won't start. That is, won't start on command. Like a needy lover, my 12-year-old* POS Carolla will get revved eventually, but that's only after 16 turns of the ignition, 8 repetitions of the phrase "Fuck this," and a quick "Ok, I take it back, pleeeease can we just go now?"
Apparently government will give me $1,000 to take it off the road. And that's more than the shitmobile is worth.
With this in mind, you can imagine my sheer delight when I found a solution, nay The solution, to my money troubles today, in the form of a Myspace ad.
When I logged onto my least favorite of the social-networking websites this morning,** this banner appeared:
Typically I ignore these. They are obnoxious, and a hindrance to the very important business of reading comments and checking to see who else is online. I cannot be bothered to care about whatever bullshit Myspace is offering on any given day. But given this morning's crisis, I was enticed.
"Wanna Win $250,000?" It said to me from the bottom left-hand corner of my screen.
Lemme think . . .HELL YES I wanna win $250,000! And wait--all I have to do is be a model? I don't have to be smart or charming or responsible? I could be dumb as a log and be a model! Good thing I'm super hot. I'll just show up and Ford Models will give me a coulpleahundred grand. And to top off the awesomeness of this already awesome deal, they'll crown me Supermodel of the World.
Holy shit. Supermodel of the World. This is too good to be true.
Now that I have a water-tight plan in place, all I need to do now is do everything in my power to ensure my success. In order to be a model, I must now behave like a model.
"Hmm," I think to myself. "What is the most retarded thing I can do tonight?"
I know. I'll do my laundry. In high heels.
A brilliant idea, indeed. Thing is, what I neglected to tell you earlier is that before the car-not-starting bullshit debacle, I had planned on using one of my three post-workday hours to make a trip to the laundromat. I was on my last pair of underwear, with zero intention of going commando the next day no matter how free the gust of the Santa Anas can make a girl feel, and my crappy little laundry joint is on the way home. So it seemed a fair plan.
But, of course I forgot that doing laundry after work also meant doing laundry in my work clothes. Which today included a red dress and high heels.
I'll let you fill the rest of the adventure with your imagination, but be sure to include the part of the evening where I walked in my red-dress-and-heels through a trash littered alley, past several homeless men and multiple pot-holes on my way to the 7-11 to get cash. And then the part where, out of the many delicious options that 7-11 offers, I chose fucking three-dollar Carrot Juice, because naturally that was the most reasonable thing to drink while waiting for the dry cycle to finish...
Go ahead, call me an idiot. I won't be offended.
I won't be offended, because I'm a model. And sooner than later I'll be laughing my way all the way to the cover of Vogue, driving a brand new Benzy, and dating the Myspace Supermodel of the World runner-up.
My life, folks, is gonna be great. But until then...
I am poor.
* I know how this sounds. 12 years old in car years is at least 36 in human years.
**Don't judge me, you know your face is all over effing Myspace.