Revenue Streams

One of the most important lessons I learned from working retail is that no matter how much you don’t care what they think and how hard you aren’t listening to what they’re saying, people WILL offer you unsolicited advice on exactly where your life took a wrong turn, why it’s not too late to change, and what you ought to be doing to fix it.*

And it’s not just retail. Lately, people have been trying to encourage me to solve all my so-called “problems” by throwing money, time, and energy I don’t have at them, e.g. “Why don’t just you buy a working car?” or “You need to invest in a second pair of shoes plus an umbrella,” or “All you have to do is publish a bestselling book,” or “Your life is essentially meaningless because you have never given birth to a child.”

Alas, money (not to mention the other things) is not really a thing I have at the moment, because of bills (mortgage payments, utilities, groceries, etc.) and also I gave my last $10 to Isaac, one of the Boxhound’s friends who was short on cash.

Yes, our dog has more friends — both canine and human — than I and/or My Fella do. They frequently stop by to visit her. And yes, whenever they show up on the doorstop to see the pup while also taking the opportunity to ask for a little something to hold them till Monday, when the whole mess with their check will hopefully be sorted out, we tend to oblige. Why? Well, quite frankly, it’s because direct requests for money are far less annoying to me than Kickstarter projects — with the added benefit that none of these folks are ever going to “repay” us with a copy of their “band’s” “album”, a 12.5:1 scale model of antique velocipede made of soda tabs soldered together, any kind of multi-media resurrection of/homage to Firefly, or a jump-to-conclusions mat manufactured via 3D printer.

Some people believe that if you wish upon a star hold on tight to your dreams indulge in some pseudoscientific positive thinking bull$#!+ make a f*cking list of stuff you need, it will all happen for you in some unspecified way. So, here goes nothing…

Things I probably need:

1.) a real haircut**

2.) socks without holes in them

3.) ok, yes, I admit it: that second pair of shoes, plus that umbrella

4.) GLASSES! No, really.

5.) a proper vacation, or really anything that will forestall a nervous breakdown.

6.) Other. (See, if I had No. 5, my train of thought might not have just derailed in such spectacular fashion.)

Which brings us to…

Ways to get the aforementioned: (Just tossing out ideas, here. Remember, there are no wrong answers when it comes to brainstorming sessions.)

1.) an elaborate heist NO! Stop it, G. Just stop right there.

1a.) An apple a day. That’s it. Just eat one apple a day, save a fortune on meals. It kind of worked when I was completely broke and in library school, although it did leave me malnourished and much crankier than usual for, oh, about 2 years. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that my appendix burst about 2 months after I graduated. Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not.

2.) Train dog as panhandler — not, strictly speaking, against the law. Plus, dogs are natural beggars, so why not use that? Also, the Boxhound is very cute, so she’d probably have better luck.

3.) Food truck! People around here will buy and eat anything that comes off a truck, no questions asked. As opposed to everyone else in the world who looks askance at that sort of thing. But whatever, could hand customer an unwrapped Slim Jim, call it a locally sourced, free-range artisan meat pocky, and someone would pay $8 for it. Also, solves problem of long commute.

4.) Master art of Inception, then ransack people’s dreams for cash, valuables, or even profitable ideas. The perfect crime…except that it’s absurd and unlikely to work.

And on that note, I should probably get some sleep and so should you…so that I can rob your brains blind. Just kidding. (Unfortunately.)

**Because yes, middle-aged dude in pleated khakis shopping for blank CD-Rs at 945pm on a Friday night, you clearly have it all figured out.
**Ok, this one is deceptively and some might needlessly complicated. The shorter version: (as My Fella has pointed out) my scalp basically proves the hairy ball theorem; last time I counted, I had at least 8 cowlicks. EIGHT! WTF were my ancestors DOING with their genetic code? The longer version: it’s bad enough that, on my weird head, an $8 haircut looks essentially the same as a $40+ haircut. My follicles place me in that sad, sordid hair demimonde in which no self-respecting salon will have me and I’m forced to rely on my mother-in-law’s kitchen shears and unscented shampoos formulated for allergy-prone mixed-race toddlers.

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