I am a ghetto superstar.
Trapped in a life of late bills and bouncing car payments, there's no denying I am soooo ghetto. I long ago learned how to evade the bill collector. "Katherine? Oh, she's out to the grocery." The formal name is always a dead giveaway and an instant connection to my voicemail.
My cellphone is three years old and one of the hinges is held together with superglue.
My car begs for new brakes every time I hit the pedal. I also need a new exhaust pipe and some major work on the grill.
A minor accident 10 months ago smashed up the front end... and now the little German sports car looks like something destined for the junk yard. (Pipe in the theme song from Sanford and Son here.) I don't own a vacuum because I don't want to spend the fifty bucks, and don't have an iron and ironing board because I can't fit it in my budget. My car radio doesn't work because I don't want to take the car in to be serviced.
But life isn't all ramen noodles and canned tuna. This is the part where I confess my sins of selective budgeting. It's way easier for me to squeeze in with a shoe horn a dinner out with friends than it is a trip to to the 10 minute oil change.
Now, I know what you're going to say... so let me head you off by saying I'm not living beyond my means.
I just choose to slave away in an industry that fails to compensate people appropriately for their time and sacrifice. My college degree and over five years of experience is unfortunately not enough to garner a reasonable wage.
So until I DO find that cush career, you know... the one with the perks, the office, and enough money for me to pay my bills on time with a little bit extra for the savings account? Well, until that time comes I'll be slaving away at the 38th Parallel... just waiting for my big break.
Whoever said television was glamorous must have been on crack.