Friday, December 01, 2006


Poverty Sux

Not that I can really claim to be poor. I live in the suburbs. It's very suburban here, complete with an Asian neighbor with a daughter named Kaitlyn who brings home ice cream for all the kids in the neighborhood who come running to his big, panelled, suburban new-build door asking for it. And we can afford to live in this safe little bastion (safe except for maybe the feeling of your individuality, sense of self, creaticity, and belief in beauty being constantly ground into dust). We can afford it for a while.

We came to this little slice of suburbia to work for Mel's dad. He works with flood survivors. He makes a lot of money. But not this year. If you couldn't tell, there have been no floods. No hurricanes. I think 5 people in Philly had some water in their basements, but nothing to make it worth his while to do something about it. Or mine. So we're trying to make our 3-month moving buffer last forever. Or long enough for me to get gainful employment doing something that won't cause me to commit suicide. Which I've yet to find yet. We're biding our time, waiting for certificates, degrees, and other goodies to come in. Then we'll apply. Then we'll get hired. Then we'll, eventually, waaay down the line, get PAID.

Until that day, I'm saving every scrap of a penny I can find. At this rate, we'll pay our bills another month and a half. Good thing, because that seems about the soonest I'll see a paycheck, and that's if I'm pretty lucky. We may last 3 more months if I keep schlepping stuff on eBay, but that involves finding stuff to schlep. I guess it's a good record, since we're made it through November, December, and even part of January on Aug/Sept/Oct's budget. We are rich after all, or at least crafty at bilking the state which cannot recognize our marriage. Guess those stupid Bells across the street would rather pay for our health care and free cheese than have self-sufficient Floridians, but I digress. It will bite them in the ass eventually, and I can only hope to be around to laugh mine off when their damn kids lose that weird sit-on space-age motorized scooter because their taxes increase to keep up with the increasing social service programs that at least their white trash republican counterparts insist on keeping around.

Anyway, what was I saying?

Oh yeah. here's why not spending a damn dime sucks:
String #1 of Christmas lights: The big, old fashioned kind. My favorite. 8 strings for $10 at a garage sale. Result: too hot to touch, can't hang them up for fear of fire. Also heard they are so old and energy guzzling that they cost $40 a month to operate. No renter's insurance means we can't afford the fire.

String #2: Pilfered from brother's garage. 3 strings of colored lights, 1 string of icicles, 1 string of white. I have no problem slathering this bizarre amalgamation on the front of my pagan house (maybe with a solstic sign where the evil Bell family can see it really big... "The midwinter green man is the reason for the season"...) but when I plug it in I get electrocuted.

Ow. Fuck, I scream.

I just want to GO.BUY.NEW lights! Argh!!! In my consumerist dream, they all match, and pose no hazard to woman or beast.

But, in your dreams, are they colored or white?
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