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the prince and the pauper
Feb. 22nd, 2015 05:27 amToday I was a pauper and I hung out with 'kings'. They wanted my company, and to pick my brain.
One believes I'm literally a good luck charm in tournaments he's playing.
The other was a lonely old widower who was intrigued by the fact that I can talk about the stock market and sustainable energy, and then he started asking my advice about seeking a new relationship, a sexual relationship (but preferably one where there can be emotional warmth and where he can get satisfaction out of pleasing his woman). Like, he asked some fairly inappropriate questions which I'm sure were part oblivious social uncouth-ness -- hello, generation gap-- and part testing me to see if I would flinch from an uncomfortable subject.
I may be 30 years younger than this guy, but I have had every kind of monogamous sex. I have cleaned vomited poop off my favorite shoes in a hospital. And I have helped my ex-husband shave his asshole, and change his ostomy bag. I've stared death and suicide in the face. I've cared for drug addicts. I've been the first confidant several gay people have come out to. I have endured fundamentalist religious preaching on multiple occasions. I have, in the breadth of my experience, had my ability to feel "offended" rather… stripped away from me like varnish wears off an old violin.
I no longer flinch from uncomfortable subjects.
I'm always stuffing fear & to the back of my mind in these situations, along with my nagging sense of self-belittling- I'm literally overdrawn today, and one of these chaps lost $50,000 on a bad investment last year and just shrugged it off like it was nothing at breakfast-- there's a huge difference in our net worths, and they both have a couple of decades on me in age- so I feel like I have no Life Advice to give them that they haven't heard of, and no… I mean, I've got nothing to offer but my company, really. I'm certainly not going to be this widower's paramour but I could tell he was all but bursting to ask, "But where can I find a woman like YOU?" because he was impressed with my ability to hold an intelligent conversation, and be warm and friendly.
Is that really worth so much in this world? Is is so rare, to find a woman of…substance, maybe? My worth is certainly not in my looks or my bank account.
I literally was crying on the way to meet them because I owe one of them thousands of dollars and I only had a meager $125 as payment to give and I have no idea what to do and I just got $150 for my birthday in well-meaning birthday card money, and I went to deposit it in the bank, so thrilled that I had an extra $150 to pay him now-- only to find my car insurance had hit for $190 and now I'm overdrawn until monday. But OH YOU'RE SUCH GOOD LUCK HERE COME STAND BY ME WHILE I PLAY THIS TOURNAMENT OH MY GOD I WON YOU REALLY ARE SO LUCKYY PLEASE COME HAVE BREAKFAST WITH ME TOMORROW SO I CAN PLAY THE NEXT ROUND OF THIS TOURNAMENT WITH YOU…
Fuck my life.
(But hey, if it keeps him from dwelling on all the money I owe him, I'm not going to argue. Whatever he wants that is in my power to give and isn't unethical or unsavory to do, I kind of owe him to do it.)
I'm really… so poor, and I'm so embarrassed about it that I never really tell people how hard I'm struggling and they don't understand why I'm so serious and I never come out when I don't have to anymore. I just don't make a deal out of it. I don't know why that's important, it's not that I think I'm an "impressive" person, like... I don't feel like I have much of a facade worth keeping up, I'm not "fashionable" in any sense of the word, that's simply a luxury I can't afford to think about- but it's just that… you know I don't … I don't want their pity or whatever, either. I just want to appear "normal", whatever that means.
Like… I avoid as many invites as I can, but if I DO go out, I don't want to appear like I can't afford a freaking hamburger, you know?
I work so hard, and I don't hardly have any vices - I don't smoke, drink, or do drugs. I don't buy porn, I don't buy shoes. I don't buy makeup. I don't buy fancy jewelry - I've been wearing the same recycled pieces of glass, wood and plastic for years.
I rarely buy groceries and we really stretch it out with staples. I space out when I eat because I don't have enough money for food all the time. And some of the dollars that end up in my fist HAVE to go right into the gas tank of my car, and thank GOD I still have a car. I wince when it's time to buy toilet paper and coffee.
Like, I'm so broke, it's really laughable. And I'm trying so hard to either A) get this business off the ground or B) get a "real" job- I got to the third round of interviews at a company I really liked last month, then they dropped me.
Then I had to take a week off and go visit my parents out of state because I'd been putting off the trip, but my dad has cancer and it's way worse than he's accepting or telling anyone.
Now I'm interviewing for another company, but I lost a client because I was gone out of town. Oh, I communicated, but she still got pissed (honestly I think she has a friend telling her they'd do the job cheaper than me so she was making up stupid objections even though I completed over 25 hours of work on her project), and I had to refund all her money, which was more than I had, so Mr. Man actually ponied up the cash out of his latest check so I could tell this unrelenting bitch "Bye Felica" and we could both regain our peace of mind-- truth be told, I'm so fucking relieved she's out of my hair now, and so is he, but Oh My God, did we need that money so bad. Fuck, fucking fucksticks. We're so goddamn broke.
(Sidebar: Yes, I did just say my dad has cancer, and it is bad. I don't have the emotional energy left to write THAT post right now. But no, I did not just gloss over it because I don't care.
The pain of that is so huge I still can't comprehend it all at once so I'm setting it aside to deal with it bite by bite, which is how you have to eat any elephant…but I digress.)
The sign out front of the hotel this morning where I met the guys was all, "FREE VALET" and I pulled in and the valet was like, "make sure you get it validated inside by buying something or we'll charge you the normal $12 fee."
I about had a heart attack. Not only did I not have the money to buy anything, but the $5 dollars in one-dollar-bills I was selfishly keeping for myself instead of turning over to the Man I Owe, was not enough to cover the fee if I didn't buy something.
Luckily, OweMan took me and the other guy out to breakfast (his usual preferred pretense for me paying him), and on leaving the restaurant, I asked the waitress for a validation stamp, which she gave me.
I parted with one of my five dollars when I left to tip the valet, who gave me a dirty look.
But I need those other four dollars bad, man. In fact I used one tonight to buy myself two tacos at jack in the box because I was starving and hadn't eaten in over 12 hours. Now I have 3 dollars left.
I don't know what the fuck I am going to do if I don't get this latest job I've been interviewing for, or find a new client to pay me to do a job for them soon.
And this gazillionaire is asking me how he can find a warm and willing woman, at a rotund and denial-stage-of-grief (his wife passed in December from cancer) hornballin' 60 years old.
Lord have mercy.
To be fair: since I've been caretaker for a cancer patient, I know that he probably hasn't gotten laid in a couple of years. And now he doesn't even have anyone to snuggle up with. And that… that state of being hurts. It's starvation. And I feel it, I feel it so keenly in empathetic waves and I wish I could fix it for him, because I know how bad it hurts to starve and starve, and you know… even if *I* was a millionaire, it wouldn't have fixed my touch-starvation, you're just fucking incredibly lonely and your skin aches for the touch of another human being and you cry yourself to sleep at night until you don't have any more tears, and then you ache yourself to sleep at night, dry and as thoughtlessly as possible because thinking about it or dwelling on it hurts worse and you're desperately trying not to dwell, trying to be a good person, trying to keep a stiff upper lip, and inside you're just …screaming to be heard.
It sucks.
But you know… he's 60, he's been married twice, he's lived a long a fulfilling life, and I… can't do much for him.
I don't give a fig HOW rich he is, or how poor I am, I'm not for sale, and I'm not interested in fucking him. I've got a good thing with Mr. Man. And even if I didn't… OMG. I don't think I could. I don't think I could do it, with a big old man like that. Not yet. Maybe when *I'm* 60… the very idea would at least be more appropriate, and I'd be on a similar wavelength in terms of physical energy and desire, etc. Right now, just… no.
Anyway.
I don't mean to sound like "I got mine already, so fuck that guy" but… He will have to take some responsibility to go out and meet people doing quality activities if he wants to meet a quality woman, and that's exactly what I told him. I'm going to recommend a millionaire matchmaker service to him too.
I feel like calm focus is required to walk this high wire and keep my balance. I'm not trying to lead him on but I was stuck conversing with him thanks to the first guy, to whom I owe money, and the lonely widower was FirstGuy's invited companion. So it wasn't my idea of a great time, but nevertheless, one must offer polite conversation when one has literally nothing to her name but wits. I mean it's literally all I have, is my head… and my heart. I am continually amazed at how everyone seems to fall in love with me but I am increasingly unable to help them and it's wearing me down. I've got nothing to give other hurting friends, not even gas money.
I'm so glad you've noticed how awesome I am.
Could you maybe HIRE ME SO I CAN EAT?
#youcancallmequeenbee
One believes I'm literally a good luck charm in tournaments he's playing.
The other was a lonely old widower who was intrigued by the fact that I can talk about the stock market and sustainable energy, and then he started asking my advice about seeking a new relationship, a sexual relationship (but preferably one where there can be emotional warmth and where he can get satisfaction out of pleasing his woman). Like, he asked some fairly inappropriate questions which I'm sure were part oblivious social uncouth-ness -- hello, generation gap-- and part testing me to see if I would flinch from an uncomfortable subject.
I may be 30 years younger than this guy, but I have had every kind of monogamous sex. I have cleaned vomited poop off my favorite shoes in a hospital. And I have helped my ex-husband shave his asshole, and change his ostomy bag. I've stared death and suicide in the face. I've cared for drug addicts. I've been the first confidant several gay people have come out to. I have endured fundamentalist religious preaching on multiple occasions. I have, in the breadth of my experience, had my ability to feel "offended" rather… stripped away from me like varnish wears off an old violin.
I no longer flinch from uncomfortable subjects.
I'm always stuffing fear & to the back of my mind in these situations, along with my nagging sense of self-belittling- I'm literally overdrawn today, and one of these chaps lost $50,000 on a bad investment last year and just shrugged it off like it was nothing at breakfast-- there's a huge difference in our net worths, and they both have a couple of decades on me in age- so I feel like I have no Life Advice to give them that they haven't heard of, and no… I mean, I've got nothing to offer but my company, really. I'm certainly not going to be this widower's paramour but I could tell he was all but bursting to ask, "But where can I find a woman like YOU?" because he was impressed with my ability to hold an intelligent conversation, and be warm and friendly.
Is that really worth so much in this world? Is is so rare, to find a woman of…substance, maybe? My worth is certainly not in my looks or my bank account.
I literally was crying on the way to meet them because I owe one of them thousands of dollars and I only had a meager $125 as payment to give and I have no idea what to do and I just got $150 for my birthday in well-meaning birthday card money, and I went to deposit it in the bank, so thrilled that I had an extra $150 to pay him now-- only to find my car insurance had hit for $190 and now I'm overdrawn until monday. But OH YOU'RE SUCH GOOD LUCK HERE COME STAND BY ME WHILE I PLAY THIS TOURNAMENT OH MY GOD I WON YOU REALLY ARE SO LUCKYY PLEASE COME HAVE BREAKFAST WITH ME TOMORROW SO I CAN PLAY THE NEXT ROUND OF THIS TOURNAMENT WITH YOU…
Fuck my life.
(But hey, if it keeps him from dwelling on all the money I owe him, I'm not going to argue. Whatever he wants that is in my power to give and isn't unethical or unsavory to do, I kind of owe him to do it.)
I'm really… so poor, and I'm so embarrassed about it that I never really tell people how hard I'm struggling and they don't understand why I'm so serious and I never come out when I don't have to anymore. I just don't make a deal out of it. I don't know why that's important, it's not that I think I'm an "impressive" person, like... I don't feel like I have much of a facade worth keeping up, I'm not "fashionable" in any sense of the word, that's simply a luxury I can't afford to think about- but it's just that… you know I don't … I don't want their pity or whatever, either. I just want to appear "normal", whatever that means.
Like… I avoid as many invites as I can, but if I DO go out, I don't want to appear like I can't afford a freaking hamburger, you know?
I work so hard, and I don't hardly have any vices - I don't smoke, drink, or do drugs. I don't buy porn, I don't buy shoes. I don't buy makeup. I don't buy fancy jewelry - I've been wearing the same recycled pieces of glass, wood and plastic for years.
I rarely buy groceries and we really stretch it out with staples. I space out when I eat because I don't have enough money for food all the time. And some of the dollars that end up in my fist HAVE to go right into the gas tank of my car, and thank GOD I still have a car. I wince when it's time to buy toilet paper and coffee.
Like, I'm so broke, it's really laughable. And I'm trying so hard to either A) get this business off the ground or B) get a "real" job- I got to the third round of interviews at a company I really liked last month, then they dropped me.
Then I had to take a week off and go visit my parents out of state because I'd been putting off the trip, but my dad has cancer and it's way worse than he's accepting or telling anyone.
Now I'm interviewing for another company, but I lost a client because I was gone out of town. Oh, I communicated, but she still got pissed (honestly I think she has a friend telling her they'd do the job cheaper than me so she was making up stupid objections even though I completed over 25 hours of work on her project), and I had to refund all her money, which was more than I had, so Mr. Man actually ponied up the cash out of his latest check so I could tell this unrelenting bitch "Bye Felica" and we could both regain our peace of mind-- truth be told, I'm so fucking relieved she's out of my hair now, and so is he, but Oh My God, did we need that money so bad. Fuck, fucking fucksticks. We're so goddamn broke.
(Sidebar: Yes, I did just say my dad has cancer, and it is bad. I don't have the emotional energy left to write THAT post right now. But no, I did not just gloss over it because I don't care.
The pain of that is so huge I still can't comprehend it all at once so I'm setting it aside to deal with it bite by bite, which is how you have to eat any elephant…but I digress.)
The sign out front of the hotel this morning where I met the guys was all, "FREE VALET" and I pulled in and the valet was like, "make sure you get it validated inside by buying something or we'll charge you the normal $12 fee."
I about had a heart attack. Not only did I not have the money to buy anything, but the $5 dollars in one-dollar-bills I was selfishly keeping for myself instead of turning over to the Man I Owe, was not enough to cover the fee if I didn't buy something.
Luckily, OweMan took me and the other guy out to breakfast (his usual preferred pretense for me paying him), and on leaving the restaurant, I asked the waitress for a validation stamp, which she gave me.
I parted with one of my five dollars when I left to tip the valet, who gave me a dirty look.
But I need those other four dollars bad, man. In fact I used one tonight to buy myself two tacos at jack in the box because I was starving and hadn't eaten in over 12 hours. Now I have 3 dollars left.
I don't know what the fuck I am going to do if I don't get this latest job I've been interviewing for, or find a new client to pay me to do a job for them soon.
And this gazillionaire is asking me how he can find a warm and willing woman, at a rotund and denial-stage-of-grief (his wife passed in December from cancer) hornballin' 60 years old.
Lord have mercy.
To be fair: since I've been caretaker for a cancer patient, I know that he probably hasn't gotten laid in a couple of years. And now he doesn't even have anyone to snuggle up with. And that… that state of being hurts. It's starvation. And I feel it, I feel it so keenly in empathetic waves and I wish I could fix it for him, because I know how bad it hurts to starve and starve, and you know… even if *I* was a millionaire, it wouldn't have fixed my touch-starvation, you're just fucking incredibly lonely and your skin aches for the touch of another human being and you cry yourself to sleep at night until you don't have any more tears, and then you ache yourself to sleep at night, dry and as thoughtlessly as possible because thinking about it or dwelling on it hurts worse and you're desperately trying not to dwell, trying to be a good person, trying to keep a stiff upper lip, and inside you're just …screaming to be heard.
It sucks.
But you know… he's 60, he's been married twice, he's lived a long a fulfilling life, and I… can't do much for him.
I don't give a fig HOW rich he is, or how poor I am, I'm not for sale, and I'm not interested in fucking him. I've got a good thing with Mr. Man. And even if I didn't… OMG. I don't think I could. I don't think I could do it, with a big old man like that. Not yet. Maybe when *I'm* 60… the very idea would at least be more appropriate, and I'd be on a similar wavelength in terms of physical energy and desire, etc. Right now, just… no.
Anyway.
I don't mean to sound like "I got mine already, so fuck that guy" but… He will have to take some responsibility to go out and meet people doing quality activities if he wants to meet a quality woman, and that's exactly what I told him. I'm going to recommend a millionaire matchmaker service to him too.
I feel like calm focus is required to walk this high wire and keep my balance. I'm not trying to lead him on but I was stuck conversing with him thanks to the first guy, to whom I owe money, and the lonely widower was FirstGuy's invited companion. So it wasn't my idea of a great time, but nevertheless, one must offer polite conversation when one has literally nothing to her name but wits. I mean it's literally all I have, is my head… and my heart. I am continually amazed at how everyone seems to fall in love with me but I am increasingly unable to help them and it's wearing me down. I've got nothing to give other hurting friends, not even gas money.
I'm so glad you've noticed how awesome I am.
Could you maybe HIRE ME SO I CAN EAT?
#youcancallmequeenbee
