Suicide is Painless, but How About a Fucking Light Show?

My "title" has nothing to do with this blog.  I just liked it...

I have always been and will always be broke.  My whole life I have paid for other people.  Not because I’m kind and certainly not because I’m rich, but instead because I’m impatient. 

I can’t stand around waiting for you to you buy your ticket at the movies after you show up 10 minutes late.  So I buy it.  Then I watch you get in line for fucking popcorn.  This is about the time I started seeing movies alone.

I hate people doing mathematic calculations to figure out exactly how much they owe on a dinner bill, down to the last penny. 

I also can’t stand shitty tippers.  In my life, there has been ONE time I “stiffed” a waiter on a tip.  And it was because he abandoned us.  Literally.  He never came back.  My brother was choking on something and had been waiting for his drink to be refilled for what seemed like a half hour.  I picked up his cup, walked into the kitchen and filled it.  The bus boy looked at me.  I said, “S’up.”  What else is there to say?  Free fucking refills bitches! 

Rather than wait for you to do calculus or make sure I can never show my face in an establishment because of your bad tipping technique, I pay the bill.  Not always, and definitely not as much lately.

Am I looking for people to pay it forward?  No.  Maybe for the tiniest bit of instant karma to hit me?  That’d be nice.

I got a text message from my friend, Emma Lee last week.  She was telling me about an Improv class that was coming up.  SWEET!  And on Tuesday nights!  Possibly the ONLY night I could swing an 8 week class with out disrupting this stupid artist lifestyle I juggle with my 9-5 (which is actually 8:30-5:30 – that’s how they getcha!).

Saturdays are always difficult, but will be made impossible because we’ll be shooting the second season of The Clink.  Even Sundays are a trick for the same reason.  So how perfect was this?  I jet from my 8:30-5:30 and show up with some time to spare for a 7pm Improv class throughout the Spring in Sunny Philadelphia!  What could possibly derail this genius plan?  I even have a few friends who have already inked their deal.

Unfortunately, I had to wait for pay day.  There was a time when putting $200 together wasn’t difficult.  Now some days it seems impossible.  So I sat down ready to sign up.  I even marked the class time off on my calendar.  Don’t want to double book myself after all. 

Nothing, in the English language, stings as much as the words “Sold Out.”  Maybe “malignant tumor,” but not much else.

All because I’m eternally poor.  This is why I haven’t been able to take my wife on a real vacation since our honeymoon 9 years ago.  This why another year of comic con comes and goes with many of my friends in attendance, but me sitting home pretending I don’t care. 

I hate being an artist. 

I hate not being able to just work.  Come home.  Eat dinner.  Watch TV.  And go to bed.

I hate having this…whatever it is.  Drive?  Non existent bank account?

I hate being an artist.

This is no way to live.

Also, I have just been outed as the Mayor of “The Blue Route.”  This is a bad week.