If I wasn’t a writer, I’d be a rock star. I’m good at head whipping, sneering, and drinking Jack Daniels straight out of the bottle.
Before I was a writer, I wanted to be an actress. I’m gifted at drama, especially histrionics. But I was too scared to move to LA and eat ramen noodles.
If you’re under 25 and reading this now, here’s my advice for you: FOLLOW YOUR DREAM! Don’t wait until you’re almost fifty and have developed expensive taste in red wine which precludes you from EVER slumming again. Truth is I can’t even stomach Woodbridge wine much less Ripple or Boone Farms so, regrettably, no more slumming for me. I curse the day I had my first taste of a twenty-five dollar Pinot.
The saga continues
Instead of becoming a hideously famous movie star, I went to community college. I chose to major in psychology because I was crazy. Mainly I hated being in my own skin even though I looked like Kate Hudson (see pic below)
Actually I STILL look like Kate Hudson thanks to some very clean living. (Except for the Jack Daniels.) In fact, the photo above was taken two weeks ago. Please. Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.
My life as a beautiful person
Once I got my sheepskin I worked in a travel agency. The pay was a pittance but as a travel agent, I was able to go on glamorous excursions called FAM trips. FAM stands for “familiar.” As a travel agent, you familiarize yourself with certain destinations so you could make informed statements like this: “The topless beaches of St. Tropez are titillating!” or “Refrain from ordering the monkey soup in Sri Lanka.”
As a travel agent, I trotted around the globe like…well…a globe trotter. And I’d always get first-class upgrades. I lived like one of the beautiful people even though I was only making minimum wage and the video player in my apartment was mine on a rent-to-own plan.
My selfless career as teacher
Things went south in the travel industry and I had to find another job so I decided to be a teacher for three VERY noble reasons: June, July and August.
I taught special ed at a rough inner city school and was assaulted three times. I’m now writing a book about my experiences called “What the Hell Was I Thinking? I Could Have Been Killed. I’m Lucky I’m Not A Little Blonde Oil Spot.”
That’s just the working title.
Years ago, as I contemplated leaving the School From Hell, I said to myself: “Self. You read a lot of books. Why not write one?”
Sounded like a cushy job to me.
That’s my motto. I choose jobs solely on their cushy factor. Working in PJs and making up stories is about as cushy as it gets. Also you can have any job you want via your writing. I could be a forward for the NBA if I wanted to and I’d never have to leave my office, break a sweat or cover my arms with lurid tattoos. So I highly recommend writing. It pays at least a dollar an hour, sometimes two and you only have to work 80-to-100 hours a week. And it keeps you very youthful looking as you can see by my photo.
|Picture taken two weeks ago. I'm the blonde.|