Summer Banks
American Express and Busride Bastard Stress
Man. I'm still floating around $1300 in the bank, with the possibility of $1200 being taken in the next week. If you recall, last Friday's payday didn't work out so well.
Well, my $65 minimum AMEX payment is due tomorrow. Hrm. That check to Iceland had better not post.
A bit of musing to go with the bruising.
On my bus ride home from work, a seemingly harmless, friendly surfer-type guy boarded. No big deal. Next thing I know, though, he's on his cell phone, apparently talking to someone that owes him money. He's telling him he's going to beat him with a baseball bat. In front of his wife. F-bombs all around.
Of course, I owe people money. My Dad. My ex. This guy, George, who saved my ass while I was in Tokyo. Only over the course of the blog will I make it clear I'm not some dirtbag. That I promise.
So, this hit a nerve. In fact, it made me furious. I wanted to call the cops. Frankly, I hope the guy who owes money shoots the fucker when he comes to collect. The way he talked ... "I don't give a fuck, bitch, it's your fucking problem." Wonder no more why I'm such a misanthrope.
I also had to rethink some things. I used to just think rich people were, in general, worthless. Well -- worthless when it comes to things that matter. I admire a good work ethic. I admire those that go hungry. But now, I think--and this is still under internal revision--I need to add a bit of a coda to the axiom of poorness: poor and educated. And preferably not too preoccupied with amassing money. Especially beating it from someone.
Well, my $65 minimum AMEX payment is due tomorrow. Hrm. That check to Iceland had better not post.
Sometimes I wish I were more adventurous in bed; AMEX loves to take me from behind.
A bit of musing to go with the bruising.
On my bus ride home from work, a seemingly harmless, friendly surfer-type guy boarded. No big deal. Next thing I know, though, he's on his cell phone, apparently talking to someone that owes him money. He's telling him he's going to beat him with a baseball bat. In front of his wife. F-bombs all around.
Of course, I owe people money. My Dad. My ex. This guy, George, who saved my ass while I was in Tokyo. Only over the course of the blog will I make it clear I'm not some dirtbag. That I promise.
So, this hit a nerve. In fact, it made me furious. I wanted to call the cops. Frankly, I hope the guy who owes money shoots the fucker when he comes to collect. The way he talked ... "I don't give a fuck, bitch, it's your fucking problem." Wonder no more why I'm such a misanthrope.
I also had to rethink some things. I used to just think rich people were, in general, worthless. Well -- worthless when it comes to things that matter. I admire a good work ethic. I admire those that go hungry. But now, I think--and this is still under internal revision--I need to add a bit of a coda to the axiom of poorness: poor and educated. And preferably not too preoccupied with amassing money. Especially beating it from someone.
