It No Fun Having No Funds

You know the phrase "don't quit your day job?" How about don't get fired from your day job especially if your once flat stomach is becoming a kangaroo pouch, you're developing a waddle, and your first novel you've written hasn't even made it to the editing department yet. Yes, it's Mrs. Speak from Experience again just dropping a few lines about the perils of being jobless at all the wrong times. When is there a right time to be jobless? Well let's see... NEVER! I guess I got a daredevil bug up my rear and decided in the middle of needing to save money for my upcoming baby that I would stand up for my dreams of being a writer and screw kissing peoples asses everyday even if I did at least make fifty bucks a day waiting tables.

Sure, I could have stayed slave to six or seven day a week work schedules and endless thoughts of blowing up the restaurant while listening to the annoying voice of my manager as she rounded up all the servers for our nightly shift meeting right in the middle of the restaurants so-called "dinner rush". I could have continued to listen to the jibber jabber whinings of drunken clientele at the bar who had been drinking waayyy to much before they got there, trying to tell me that the Jose' Cuervo I was serving was not really Jose' Cuervo because "they drink it everyday and could tell the bottle was fake", and by the way that's a true story. However, I opted to call it quits, according to my management, on Mother's Day all because I wasn't feeling well and decided not to take a table, and found myself immediately sent home; although earlier I couldn't even take a five minute break, hmmm. Maybe I should have rushed to call my manager the next day after my "twenty-four hour job quarantine"- but failed miserably to do so.

Now as I sit here contemplating how to bait my godparents to ask for a few bucks when I owe them a few hundred I find myself becoming irrational in my thinking. What's causing the irrational thinking is the fact that I'm willing to stoop so low as to contact my deceased father's drunk politician cousin, a man that for obvious reasons, my father decided to not introduce such profound tragedy into my life. And to think I was upset that I hadn't known that side of the family in all these years. I guess I came to that conclusion last spring after my father died and his drunk politician cousin offered to bury him, but by cremation only. How thoughtful of him, and just to show his undying affection for my "con artist, asshole of a father", according to him, he had the nerve to compare himself to a figure in the bible thinking that it made him look saintly. I'm sure he has a few cognacs with the devil himself and not just on special occasions either.

So now that the fun of being a rebel against the corporate world of ass-kissing, hoping to make great tips, the customer is always right, damn I'm so stressed let's get drunk every night after work and the smell of hot chili peppers seeping through the pores of my skin has worn off; I have concluded that this writing gig damn well bettter work like a charm. Besides, I'm fresh out of regular career options, sad sob please lend me money stories,and substantial reasoning as to why I jumped head first into a ridiculous idea like giving up my only source of income at the moment. Word to the wise: patience is key in all your endeavors. it's just no fun when you have no funds!