I am good at a lot of things: cooking, making friends, teaching literature, making people laugh, cleaning, organizing, picking up on women, spending money, scaring the shit out people, and dare I say, writing.
I am also bad at a lot of things: baking, teaching high school freshman, science, multitasking, computers, picking up on men, saving money, chilling out, and singing.
Of course, the things I'm good at don't help me more than the things I'm bad at fuck me up.
For example, if I could teach high school freshman I would have a lot less grading. If I was more technologically savvy, I would have a lot less stress in my life. I'm straight, so my ability to pick up on women and my inability to pick up on men is almost funny. Singers get way more ass than writers do.
And being able to save money would make paying my rent a lot easier.
As a teacher, I get ten paychecks a year from October 1st to July 1st. I know banks have summer saver programs for us assholes; yes, I've participated in them; and yes, I still end up financially fucked in September.
And there's no use trying to figure out where my money goes. A cure for cancer will be found before the cure to my financial irresponsibility.
Even though I taught summer school this year, I find myself unable to pay my September rent. Believe it or not, I have never been in this situation before.
Thank the goddess, I have lovely landlords who are more than willing to work with me. As we negotiate via email on payment options, I always end mine with "or I'll sell my body and pay September rent the day it is due."
I'm joking (sorta) hoping that my humor will detract from my assholeness.
But then I thought: What if they've had enough of me? What if they're sick of me tromping through their backyard looking like hell to get my laundry while they are trying to entertain guests? What if they're sick of the heavy metal music (David Draiman, if you are reading this, will you marry me)? What if they're sick of me lying out naked on the roof? What if they're sick of my wine bottles leaving less room for their wine bottles in the recycle bin?
What if my landlords demand the rent on September 1st because they see a way to finally get rid of me?
It's not that I'm afraid so much of having to prostitute myself to stay off the streets, but what if I can't? And I don't mean "can't" as if I get the john up to my apartment as then burst into tears and scream, "I can't do this!" I mean what if I can't get the john up to my apartment at all?
Few women are willing to sell their bodies under any circumstances, but we all want to believe that we could if we absolutely had to. There is just something hot about men wanting to have sex with us so bad that they'll pay cash for it, and we want to believe the reason we don't do it is because we choose not to.
|Instead of playing a mom peddling her children's musical talents, she plays a mom peddling herself in I Want to Live!|