Diamond in the Rough

I realize my Husband is not considered a catch. I totally understand why girls he crushed on didn’t love him back, and why he had only one serious relationship in his life before we met when he was 31.  They didn’t want him because he couldn’t support them financially, and he was reckless.  Maybe also because he doesn’t shower.  Hmm. Well,  I think it is mainly the no money thing. It is not just that he has no money, its also that he has a rebellious nature and is not interested in seeking out ways to make money. He is interested in money seeking out him. But it doesn’t. It is illogical, and totally infuriating. So it makes sense that I would be the only crazy person to put up with it. But I know something that all of these girls apparently didn’t. He is the most entertaining person I have ever met. He is hilarious non-stop.  He can turn the most mundane details into an hour long hilarious conversation topic. If you don’t have stomach cramps from laughing after 5 minutes of hearing him speak, then you aren’t paying attention.

I am never bored. We don’t have a working stereo system in our piece of shit car right now, but we don’t need one. I seriously enjoy listening to him still even after 71/2 years of marriage so much that I don’t want to tune him out.  I think that is so much more valuable than money. I’m not saying it is easy.  I often compare our relationship to Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner, and if you are unfamiliar with that reference, he was basically a selfish nut job genius and she was as desperately in love with him as she was desperately frustrated. But every wife is frustrated about something.  And I would rather be annoyed and unfulfilled about material stuff that doesn’t matter much in the large scheme of things, rather than bored with the person I chose to spend the rest of my life with.

My point is, I think most girls just want to marry a paycheck. I would rather be homeless and laughing every day than rich and yearning for more laughter or for a new connection.  So I’m glad they passed him off as a reject, and a bad egg, because I saw in him what I know is what we all want the most in life.

Someone that I am attracted to who is unbelievably entertaining day in and day out.


Fickle Entreprenerd

I have a degree in Photography from a nice art school.  And guess what?  It is worthless.  I don’t like photography.  Well, not the kind that actually makes money.  I discovered during my wonderful time at SCAD, (and i am not being sarcastic, it was a wonderful education) that I enjoy photographing people jizzing on one another with household cleaners, trannies taping their dicks back in their ass crack documentary style, my friends dressed as two-cent hookers from the 80’s, naked women covered in bacon, half-naked people having pseudo sex with plungers and mops, ya know, normal stuff.  So I was a big hit in art school.  Everyone loved it, well except for the people who were uncomfortable with it, but for the most part, it was well received.  I thought I would be the next David LaChapelle.  Like, I really thought that.  I told my family that I would be loaded within a year of graduating school.  Silly, silly girl.  I should have really let what my favorite professor told me right before I graduated sink in a little harder.  She said, “Tara, your stuff is incredible, awesome, hilarious, but it is not saleable.”  I pretty much ignored that comment and got ready for fame and riches when relocating to Brooklyn.  Turns out, she was right.  No one wants to put that kind of photography into advertisements, unless you are like, HUGE.  Like Madonna of the art world, Huge.  And unless I was a hot fag who blew all of Manhattan, or suddenly discovered I had a Andy Warhol protegé as an uncle, the chances of me getting struck by lightning were more likely than hitting the big time, doing what I want.  Now, if I had continued to be a photo assistant slave, maybe, just maybe I would have attained a modest career, but I would have had to survive for at least a decade doing commercial work.  And I would literally choose a bullet over a commercial photography career.  Thats like telling an aspiring indie-rock sensation that they need to sing 10 years of Jonas Brothers Covers at birthday parties before they can be acknowledged for their true art.  I was just not willing to wait that long or sell my soul that much to get there.   I didn’t love my art enough for that kind of soul-stealing sacrifice.  And the reason I don’t do that kind of photography at all anymore, is because it is too fucking expensive, and Mommy and Daddy cut me off when I graduated, so, yeah, it’s over.  I am not sad about it, I would do it if I could, but I get just as much joy out of writing, painting, doodling, as I did the photography.  People pressure me all the time, to the point where I actually give in for a few months.  I try doing some weddings, some child photography, portraits, headshots for pay, and I literally feel like someone is hand-raping me with a tripod the whole time.  I don’t want to do it.  I only want to do what I want to do.  Which is really fucked up scenes of my friends wearing costumes and doing things they would only agree to do after a case of PBR.  I don’t care about your fucking wedding, I don’t care about how the gorgeous sunlight hits a cute toddlers face (unless it is my own), I don’t care about your fucking acting career and helping you look hot so you can get cast for shit.  It feels like when someone makes you look at all of their vacation photos of different angles of their hotel room, ocean view, endless palm trees, and stupid forced smile-family portraits in front of stupid restaurants.  Tedious, boring, someone fork my eyes out.  The pay is not enough to endure it.  I decided I hated “regular” photography gigs so much, that I would rather have a 9-5 job as a Graphic Artist for an insurance company.  Yeah, you heard that right.  And when that got old, I decided a sales job was less tedious, then a ABC news station slave job, most recently I waited tables, and that was actually worse.  That was the most degrading job on the planet.

All the while at these shitty jobs, I have been devising a master plan to get rich.  I realized a long, long time ago that I don’t do bosses.  I need to be the boss.  Not because I am a bratty punk or anything.  I am usually, actually the most well-behaved, and sweet employee at my past jobs.  But the reason I don’t “do” bosses, is because they never know what they fuck is going on.  Every day I come to work I notice the cracks and the problems, and the neglect and the stupidity of my boss that it drives me to the point of insanity.  I have never worked for a competent person, ever.  The fact that any of them are able to figure out how to operate a car, a coffee machine, or their home shower literally keeps me up at night.  This country is full of some the richest, most powerful, idiots on the planet.  One guy I worked for did not know how to use Microsoft word, but he made $100+k annually.  Another guy played farmville from 9am to 5pm, and was in charge of a huge corporation’s purchasing division.  Another guy watched youtube blues singers videos all. day. long. and he was one of the most sought after Fashion photographer’s in NYC.  Another one played mini golf in his office 90% of the day, seriously.  It bothered me so much, but I ate shit, as you do when you are a bottom crawler.  But I would go home and bitch about it every night to my husband.  And I would obsess over it each weekend.  It ruined my life, these bosses.  How could they be so rich, and drive such kick ass cars, and pay for their kid’s college tuitions without breaking a sweat, all while they are fucking around all day?  I decided that I need to be a boss of something, anything.  Because I would be a good one.  It drives me nuts to waste time.  I am smart.  I am good with people.  I know how to get shit done.  I am innovative.  I am a huge bitch with a big heart.  I can do this.  I can run a business.  So I have come up with 8-10 different business ideas/plans over the last decade.  I guess you can say, I am also, fickle.  Very fucking fickle.  And easily frazzled.  So all these plans either got boring, or they were just not right for me, or they were too expensive to make come to life, but they all failed.  The only idea that I have had that has actually been worth anything was a non-profit called Unleash HeART, an art therapy program for troubled kids.  I need to really emphasize NON-profit on that one, because I make NO money doing it.  I actually lose money doing it.  So through all my failures in business ventures, I have learned a lot of what NOT to do, and what to avoid.  So this time I am really hoping my new idea can make it full term, and not be aborted by my inner fickle teenager that likes to ruin everything promising.  I get zero encouragement from most people when I start talking about my plans for entrepreneurial ventures.  They are looking at me like, “dumb bitch, get a job and cut this shit out.”  I kinda understand why no one encourages it, they don’t want to see me suffer or my family suffer, all because I am a picky, bossy chick with big ideas and big dreams.  It seems unattainable to everyone, including me, a lot.  But I gotta do it, because I just gotta.  I can’t work for a rich dumb ass ever again.  I want to be the rich dumb ass.  I believe I can do this, as long as I don’t get too antsy, buckle under the pressure, give up, and become a gym teacher or a hotel maid or something.

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