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I know that I haven't quite yet acquired that brow-beaten wistful stare of Dorothea Lange's dustbowl farmers, but I'm getting better at it every day.
For a while there, I thought skimping meant cutting down on sushi outings with the girls and getting gas station coffee instead of a daily or twice-daily Starbucks. Opening my bills was a melodramatic event invloving heavy sighs and reminders written feverishly in red sharpie: "Pay SOON!!" But how? Growing up with the sheltered yet fantastic belief that when the money runs out, laphrecauns or benevolent philanthropists appear, I was dismayed to find thatthere were no pots of gold waiting on my doorstep afterthe last thunderstorm. The nerve.
I've progressed now to apathy. I'm sorry, Mr.Bill Collector, there is no money, and you want to sieze my assets? Twist my arm. What will it be first, my 10 volume Norton's Anthology of Poetry or my 1993 Mazda Protege that you have to start with a screw driver because the key broke off in the ignition? Because after those two things, I don't have anything that you could sell without a blindfold and a vial of Rufenol.
Ah, but it is a learning experience. The leaps and bounds I've taken in the culinary arts approach alchemy. I've learned to make marinara sauce and tomato bisque with ketchup packets stolen from McDonalds. I've started a new book "Feeding your Family For Under $1, Fun With Ramen" wherein you add the condiments that you were to afraid to use for the last 3 years to the salty stew and see what happens. A real life adventure.
My spiritual growth accelerates at break-neck speeds as I practice daily the art of non-attachment. "What will I sell today? My handheld styrofoam fan that I bought at Knotts Berry Farm during the summer of 98'? But I love that thing. But I'm Hungry." And just like that, you learn to let go.
Detatchment can even be experienced with your most intimate articles. While doing some research about how to be a phone sex operator, I stumbled upon a rather unorthodox site called ebanned.com wherein you convince a subculture of submissive men and incognito pervs to buy your used underwear, lingerie, socks, and shoes. The older the knickers, the more smelly the socks, the dirtier the pitstains on your undershirt, the better. All of a sudden my used pantyhose which I thought were worthless can pull in profits upwards of 200 dollars. Truth be told, dirty pictures and heavy usage (at least 3-5 without washing) of said items can increase an it's value tenfold. So its not exactly selling girlscout cookies.
For a while there, I thought skimping meant cutting down on sushi outings with the girls and getting gas station coffee instead of a daily or twice-daily Starbucks. Opening my bills was a melodramatic event invloving heavy sighs and reminders written feverishly in red sharpie: "Pay SOON!!" But how? Growing up with the sheltered yet fantastic belief that when the money runs out, laphrecauns or benevolent philanthropists appear, I was dismayed to find thatthere were no pots of gold waiting on my doorstep afterthe last thunderstorm. The nerve.
I've progressed now to apathy. I'm sorry, Mr.Bill Collector, there is no money, and you want to sieze my assets? Twist my arm. What will it be first, my 10 volume Norton's Anthology of Poetry or my 1993 Mazda Protege that you have to start with a screw driver because the key broke off in the ignition? Because after those two things, I don't have anything that you could sell without a blindfold and a vial of Rufenol.
Ah, but it is a learning experience. The leaps and bounds I've taken in the culinary arts approach alchemy. I've learned to make marinara sauce and tomato bisque with ketchup packets stolen from McDonalds. I've started a new book "Feeding your Family For Under $1, Fun With Ramen" wherein you add the condiments that you were to afraid to use for the last 3 years to the salty stew and see what happens. A real life adventure.
My spiritual growth accelerates at break-neck speeds as I practice daily the art of non-attachment. "What will I sell today? My handheld styrofoam fan that I bought at Knotts Berry Farm during the summer of 98'? But I love that thing. But I'm Hungry." And just like that, you learn to let go.
Detatchment can even be experienced with your most intimate articles. While doing some research about how to be a phone sex operator, I stumbled upon a rather unorthodox site called ebanned.com wherein you convince a subculture of submissive men and incognito pervs to buy your used underwear, lingerie, socks, and shoes. The older the knickers, the more smelly the socks, the dirtier the pitstains on your undershirt, the better. All of a sudden my used pantyhose which I thought were worthless can pull in profits upwards of 200 dollars. Truth be told, dirty pictures and heavy usage (at least 3-5 without washing) of said items can increase an it's value tenfold. So its not exactly selling girlscout cookies.
