If I was a rich girl

It is a generally accepted notion in the United States that if you work hard you will undoubtedly be rich. I’ve been pondering this notion for quite some time. Particularly this “working hard” idea. Does Kanye West work hard? Harder than, let’s say, a factory worker? Probably not. But, that’s because once you’re rich, the last thing you want to do is work hard. This leads me to believe that “working hard,” kind of sucks.

So, how exactly does one get rich? Sure, there has to be some work involved. No one is going to reward you for just being you, unless you’re an heiress. But, more than just work you have to have luck. You have to land a job that you’re good at and have your exceptional talents noticed by superiors. But, what good is a promotion and money if you don’t know how to save? The most important part of being rich is learning to be fiscally responsible and saving your hard-earned money.

Before Suze Orman weeps happy tears from the above statement, I’d like to point out that this getting-rich-formula is nearly impossible for Generation X and Y. We are horrible at saving money. Everything we own is owed. We work to pay day care and student loans. We hide from our parents extravagant purchases from the Apple Store and Zappos, so we can later ask them for rent money. And for those of us that have a mortgage, I’m sure we’re strongly considering walking away and moving back in with mom and pop.

Our parents and grandparents aren’t any better off. Sure, they may have a home that’s paid for, but the insurance on it is killing them. They have medical bills and co-pays and a 401K that isn’t worth the computer that they use to download their statement. They will most likely work until they die. And what for? So they can leave us $30,000 so we can finally pay-off our pesky debt.

What good is all the money we earn, save, inherit, win if we don’t have the time to enjoy it?

Time. That’s real money.

Tell me, what good is making a million dollars a year if you don’t have the time to enjoy it with your family and friends? With such a high paying job, I’m sure you’ll have to be on call all the time. And, unless you work for the government, you’ll only get two weeks vacation to rent out a private island (that will undoubtedly need to have WiFi).

Hard work, plus saving money equals being rich, minus time. This doesn’t add up.

After much thought, I’ve decided that the only way to get rich is to work to earn at least ten dollars per week and enter a lottery pool with your friends and family. This way, everyone you know will be rich with nothing to do, but hang out. And, once you blow your share you can still mooch off your parents who have cleverly figured out a way to double theirs, as they had a feeling you weren’t going to make it as a rich person.


Dawn is breaking

When I started writing this, it was dawn in Singapore.

Normally, I wouldn’t think about these things, as the concept of time makes my head spin. I’m in the present, but they are in the future and my friend Andy is there right now. Today is his first day of work. The first day of his future. And I’m still in the last day of his past. In a few hours he will be surrounded by the people who will help him create the future memories, while in a few hours more, I’ll be surrounded by the people who are all part of the stories of his past.

I’m going to need some Dramamine if I keep at this. I think it’s just best if I write in the now.

Andy, you asshole, I hope you know I love you. I’m so absolutely proud of you and can’t wait until you’re Prime Minister of Asia.

Now that you’re gone, though, I’m sorry I didn’t walk over to see you more often. I guess you were right by calling me a lazy cow. Hey, are cows sacred in Thailand? No, wait, where are you? Nevermind. The point is you’re not here. And I’m pretty upset about it. No, I’m not going to feign happiness for your move or say it’s great because now I have no one to lift my saggy breasts in the company of others. No one else to sing show tunes with at the most inappropriate times. No one else to look square in the face and simply raise one eyebrow to communicate exactly what I’m thinking.

I suppose I should be thankful for the good times we shared and look forward to future adventures in Australia or Afghanistan or wherever the fuck you are, but I don’t believe in Jesus and I’m sure that is something he talked about in Matthew or Peter or Eli. So, no. I’m not thankful for your infectious laugh, your insane high kicks and the way you made me feel like everything was going to be okay – even when things were at their worst. I’m not. Because those things just make me miss you more.

So, go. Find yourself another one of me. I’ll be here hanging on to the memory of you.

Look at me looking at you.

A new life

Maybe, perhaps, I'm not sure
Maybe, perhaps, I'm not sure

Last night I attended a gathering held in honor of a dear friend’s return to society. He may have been temporarily on sabbatical for, I don’t know, some alleged incident that may have involved a certain narcotic, I’m not sure.

My friend – let’s call him Karl – my friend Karl is one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. A real what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy. And it was exactly his honesty that landed him…3 to 5, maybe, could be shorter with some good behavior, I’m not sure.

So, we sat and chatted about our next steps, now that we both have some free time and all. I told him about my idea for the next screen play and he said it sucked. He suggested that I should write about his plight – a young guy who just got greedy and had to pay the consequences by hiding his sexual orientation at all costs – ALLEGEDLY.

I think we are getting together on Monday to discuss some other ideas for my writing and other business ideas he learned of during his time…off. Just for research, of course. I could never, you know, allegedly, anything.