Tagged: money

7.11.2010 Update

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I haven’t been very happy with any of my artwork or writing lately. I start things and never finish them, every word or brush stroke after the first is another brick in the wall of it’s shitiness. In terms of writing, I’ve made things in the past that I appreciated, even feel proud of. Artwork for me is never good. My burned out artist grandparents echo in my head with every sketch I start. It’s never good enough, it’s never original enough, or well composed or executed. But I must be a glutton for punishment because I keep on trying to make something, anything that I don’t instantly want to rip in half.

I got in a car accident a couple of weeks ago, totaled my car. Aside from a few bruises and a cool-looking chemical burn from the air bag, I’m fine but I’ve been up and down ever since. I got a new car, and a new car payment. The new car is awesome, but the payment’s a burden I didn’t expect to have. I can afford it, but I’ll have to be a lot more strict about my budget, which I haven’t been for the last few months. My friend told me that feeling depressed like this is normal after an accident. It makes sense–I mean, I lost my car, endangered my life and cost myself a ton of money. But I’m still frustrated. The first week after the accident, I was actually felling better than I had in months. I was so grateful I was okay, so happy that it happened on the freeway on-ramp and not on the freeway it’s self and that I was the car with the most damage because I couldn’t have lived with myself if someone had been hurt. The second week I spent panicky and angry about money, about the inconvenience, worrying about the car payment. No matter how many times I added up my budget, and saw that I was fine, I just couldn’t let go of the nagging idea I was fucked–totally, incontrovertibly fucked. It didn’t help that right when I decided that I would be fine, that I had enough food in the fridge to keep the grocery bill low and make up for the money I spent in the weeks following the accident, my fridge broke and all the food spoiled. It was almost cosmic. Of course, I was still fine, even with all the food spoiled. I just bought more, it’s only money. As uptight as I am about it, you’d think I was about to die.

I spent so many years feeling like I was living on some sort of edge, financially, emotionally, physically. The irony is ridiculous. I worked my ass off to be somewhat sane and stable, and when I find out that my life is actually sane and stable, I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

Choose Your Blog Adventure: Mob Style

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So I put the call out on twitter, asking for some blog suggestions. Here’s how it went:

Marinaisgo: About to write a blog. What should I write about? I’ve been thinking about money, punk rock, and sex lately.


Bebe33:@Marinaisgo I like hearing about money.
Moopigpoo: @Marinaisgo I like hearing about sex.


Jaynatopia: @Marinaisgo sounds like the start of a novel
Marinaisgo: @Jaynatopia I only wish I had some sort of narrative
Jaynatopia@Marinaisgo it starts out with a sex symbol punk rocker breaking into the mob’s bank vault; now run with it!


Your wish is my command.

I’m a punk rocker, I’m sure that someone thinks I’m a sex symbol (that poor dumb bastard-thanks though,) and I often think about breaking into bank vaults, but probably only because I know I’m not supposed to. Does the Mob have it’s own bank vault? I can just see that meeting with the executives at CitiBank:

Don Vito: I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.
Citibank: And what’s that, Don?
Don Vito: Please, call me Vito, all my friends do.
Citibank: Ok Vito, what is your offer?
Don Vito: Citibank, my friend. I’m gonna let you build a whole other vault next to the one you already got just to keep my family money inside of. How’s that sound to you my friend?
Citibank: You’re joking, right?
Don Vito: No. Why?
Citibank: You want me to use bank funds to build another vault next to our existing vault so that we can keep your family’s money in it, which will only make us the most at risk bank in the city, possibly the nation?
Don Vito: I don’t see the problem here.
Citibank: I do. Not only will every rival hood in the…
Don Vito: Woah, who said anything about hoods? We’re a family. That’s a racist misconception of Italian descended individuals.
Citibank: Than why do you need a whole other vault to put your money in?
Don Vito: I’m sorry?
Citibank: Why would you need a whole other vault to keep your families money in, unless for illegal activities Mr. Vito…
Don’t Vito: Call me Don, please.
Citibank: Don, here at Citibank, we’re no strangers to handling large fortunes. Our most famous client, Mr. Stephen Baldwin, of the Hollywood Baldwins, has no qualms about letting his substantial fortune mix with the smaller checking and savings accounts of others.
Don Vito: Where does Alec keep his money?
Citibank: What?
Don Vito: Are you going to build my family a vault or not?
Citibank: I’m sorry. We don’t do that here at Citibank. Besides, it looks like you have a bankruptcy on your account.
Don Vito: I see how it is. I thought you might say that, which is too bad for you. Come on boys, we’re going to Bank of America, where they understand us.

Of course it would never happen like that. Citibank is just dying to get into bed with the mob. They would do anything to drop that fuck Stephen Baldwin. I heard he overdraws every single pay period. You should have stayed in Threesome, Stephen Baldwin. It’s a cruel, hard world out here. Even at Citibank. ALLEGEDLY.


What am I forgetting here. Oh yeah, the sex.

Well, I can tell you that Don Vito is destined to die whilst fucking his mistress, an unpopular girl who went to his daughter’s high school. She spent 3 years after graduation as a low-rent stripper in the ghetto, scrimping and tricking before she could afford to buy herself breast implants, and get hired at the good club, where she met Don Vito, and through a steady habit of refusing to give him a hand-job in the back room (mostly because he was gross), she became his angel and he set her up in a fancy 1 bedroom in a complex with a gym in the basement and a pool on the roof.

One night, while he’s huffing and puffing above her, chin sweat dangerously close to dripping into her grimacing mouth, while she moans “oh donnie, donnie, you’re drivin’ me crazy,” in an almost hypnotic manner, and tries not to remember her step-father who did the same thing every Wednesday night until he died while driving home drunk, Don Vitos’ heart gives out.

They found her three days later, when a neighbor complained about the smell. Doctor’s report that she tried to satiate her initial thirst by licking the sweat from the folds of his fat, where it had pooled as his body cooled and bloated on top of her. But in the end, she had been her own worst enemy, her prized breast implants had ruptured on impact of the old man’s body. Had it not been for the silicone leaking into her blood stream, she could have survived, licking sweat off the corpse of her dead Mafia don boyfriend while she waited for help to arrive.

Of course, if it weren’t for the breast implants she’s still be giving $20 blow jobs in the alley behind ‘Big Jims Booby Barn’ on interstate 58. So there you go.

Seven Years with Good Rent

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Yes friends, after seven long years of exile (well, 6 and a half, but who’s counting) behind the Orange Curtain, I am returning to the county of my birth: LA. We will be vacating our lovely, well insulated 900 square foot Anaheim apartment, with balcony, pool, laundry room, air conditioning and garbage disposal for a two-tone Toyota Carola parked behind a 7-11 in Inglewood. It’ll only cost $50 more a month, all utilities paid except for gas!

Okay, it’s not that bad, but it is pretty discouraging. When I moved here in 2003, Orange County was the expensive place to live and LA was the cheap one. Even downtown is way out of our price range, and I remember when bums wouldn’t even go there it was such a shit hole. Now they want $2,200 for a hallway, and consider exposed pipes to be a charming amenity.

Anyway, we’re looking in South part of West LA and the North part of the South Bay. If that makes any sense to you, you’re probably the person this paragraph was written for. If you see anything as far south as Hawthorn and as far North as Culver City, preferably West of La Brea. Let me know.

More as a way to organize my thoughts than a way to broadcast my stupidity across the net, I’m going to list the things I want/need in an apartment below. I’ve already been told that I’m dreaming, if you tell me that and I know where you live, I’ll be coming to your house just to poop on your door!

1. Allows Pets: The reason that this is important is that we have 2 rats, and while we could probably get away with not saying anything and just bringing them into the apartment, we did that at the place we’re in now, and even though it only says “no dogs or cats” on the lease, even though other tenants have pet birds that they hang on their balcony on summer afternoons, and even though they’re safe in their cage, our evil bitch of a plumber called the building owners (not the manager, but the owners) and told them that our apartment was infested with rats. As if our dining room connected directly to the sewers. We didn’t want to get our sweet manager in trouble so we carted the rats to a friends house for the formal apartment owner inspection. Nothing came out of it, but I don’t want the hassle, so apartments that accept at least small pets are our best bet.

2. Parking: A lot of LA neighborhoods have atrocious street parking, which is awful. I’ve dealt with it before and I don’t think I could do it again. I need to be able to find parking within at least 2 blocks of my house, or I’ll be beating out headlights with my bare hands.

3. Space: Right now I am sitting in the largest apartment I have seen on this search or my last one. It costs us just a little over a grand a month and we’re still strapped for space, as every surface is covered in our crap. I’m afraid if we end up having to move into anything smaller, we’ll suffocate on our own overabundance of clothing, furniture and arts & crafts supplies.

4. Dishwasher: The importance of this is sort of dependent on the rent and the down payment. If DP and rent are low, I know I can buy an above the counter dishwasher (perfect for just 2 people) for around 200 bucks.

5. Things I think are a given, and don’t need to be explained (except I know that in LA there are places that don’t have any of these things that still costs way more than I can afford): garbage disposal, deadbolt, at least 1 assigned parking space, laundry room, closets.

Air conditioning as a requirement sort of varies depending on the location. I know that when I lived about a mile from the ocean in Huntington Beach (in a $1200 2 bedroom-so I know it’s not just this apartment that’s affordable down here) we didn’t have air conditioning and we never needed it because the breeze from the beach cooled the entire house.

The only thing I find more than a little ridiculous about this list is that I want all that for under 1100 bucks a month. I pay less for all of that here in Anaheim, but it takes me four hours to get to work and back every day. The commute is melting my brain, and it’s time to go back to LA.

Orange County was a nice place to go to college, far enough away from my family that I never had to visit, close enough that I could drive up whenever I missed friends, culture, good food, museums, non-white people or porno. I really hated OC when I first got here, and now I’m half sad to leave. I haven’t lived anywhere near LA itself since I was 14, if you count Pasadena as being in proximity to the city, and I’m a little apprehensive about living there again. I’m unfamiliar with the neighborhoods, the traffic patterns and streets. It’s all going to be new to me all over again. Although I’ll be glad to cut my commute, I’ll be sad to leave Anaheim, where I was finally starting to feel at home, after years of being out of place in homogenized suburbia elsewhere in Orange County. I even tried to find an area of West LA that was a similar hodgepodge of hookah shops, taquerias, Vietnamese restaurants, mosques and thrift stores, but I haven’t seen anything like it.

I know there’s an apartment and a neighborhood out there for Ben and I, and it might not have everything but it’ll get better. Tomorrow we’re going to Hawthorn, where we found some promising prices, if not so promising neighborhoods.

Obligatory Anti-Christmas Rant In Under 10 Minutes!

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I just wanted to say that I could really do without Christmas, completely. Like, I understand that there needs to be a festival of lights, long dark winter, the nights getting shorter in anticipation of new beginnings etc, but this is ridiculous. This is some bullshit. We’re all broke this year-fuck, we’re all broke every year and yet, we keep digging ourselves a deeper hole just to give crap to douche bags we don’t even like. Well, you do. Everyone I’m getting a present for, I like. And on the one hand it is rather nice to have a day where we remember not to be assholes and give shit to our friends instead of just focusing all our rampant American consumerism on ourselves and our pets. But on the other hand, it’s a lot of hassle and we’re all dealing with it at the same time. Everybody has to take vacation at the same time, everybody has to be at the airport at the same time, Isn’t there a better way?

Also, suck it Jesus, you don’t even figure in to this shit!