I'm not dead yet.

It has brought to my attention that I haven't updated in a while. Some of you have been concerned for me. I appreciate that.

I wish I could report that I hit the lottery or married rich or something equally as fund-enhancing, but no, nothing of the like. Instead, I got a 3 week gig working for a well known department store flower show. Meaning when the store closed, I came in and watered and traded out spent plants and generally made sure things looked good for the shoppers. At the time the gig was offered the pay rate of $18/hr seemed like a godsend. Except when I got the first check and realized exactly how much of that check went to taxes.

Let me just point out one thing: after trying to work a "legitimate" job for a month I'm sad to report that I make more money working less hours at creepy fetish club.

So where is the incentive to not do it?

The Great Food Stamp Saga

Ok. So.

Today is my first day off in 15 days. I am dead tired and so so cranky. What I REALLY wanted to spend today doing was navigating this food stamp thing. Certainly I didn't need to have a pj and couch date with old House reruns.

But I did the responsible thing. While I've been working like a dog the past 2 weeks I got a notice in the mail that I have been accepted for food stamps. Hot damn! Mind you, I was approved for $32 whole dollars a month. I'm not exactly sure in what world that will provide ANYONE with enough money for an entire month's worth of eating... maybe I just eat a lot? But still, ok, it something!

Except the letter I received didn't explain ANYTHING. I apparently need some sort of food stamp card to use at the grocery store? Ok, great, but TELL ME THAT. So I tried to sneak off on my breaks and call the assistance line but I was on hold for longer than my break. Finally, I got through and was informed that I needed to come into the regional office. Oh ok sure. I'll  get right on that.

(Funny side note: welfare office is not set up to be convenient for people who actually have jobs.... meaning I had to wait until I had a day off to be able to make their craptastic office hours)

So today? I actually got out of bed, put on pants and a bra, and ventured into the heart of the ghetto.

Some fun highlights:

• I got onto the last bus on the journey. It was crowded, annoyingly so, and I fought my way to the back of the bus to not be as asshole and make room for people getting on an off. For a good 15 minutes I got to hear such lovely comments such as "what stinks? It smells like ass. Oh god, there is white girl on this bus" and the like.
• Walking out of the center, I was accosted by a creepy toothless man. He was babbling and hard to understand, but I think it was something like this: "hey pretty white thing. You in need? I can give you some work, make you some money. You'd be my prize"
• But the REALLY GOOD PART? I sat in the office, waiting to speak to someone about this card business, and when I finally was called, I was informed that "oh sorry, you came here for nothing... you didn't come into the office in time so we mailed  it to you" YOU MAILED IT TO ME!!? WHY DID YOU TELL ME I HAD TO COME INTO THE FREAKING OFFICE IF YOU CAN JUST MAIL THEM OUT!!?

I am SO ANNOYED.

one born every minute

Let's take this opportunity to talk about some crafts! I have two different etsy shops: one plant based and the other clothes. Lately I've been more into the plant based crafts... I think the impending spring has everything to do with that. So imagine my surprise when I check my email the other day and notice that I have sold a piece from the clothing line.

A hat. A hat I made out of bubble wrap. This hat:

I wore the outfit to a Lady Gaga concert. I can only guess that the purchase was somehow Gaga related as well. But still. Someone actually BOUGHT that. Just the hat though. And now I have this Bubblewrap dress with no hat. 

And who would wear that fabulous dress without a matching bow hat?

Regardless, thank you random Etsy shopper. Your purchase of said hat enabled me to buy both milk AND bread this week for the house, which is good, since the roommates assured me it was my turn to buy the staples.

Profile of a Foot Fetish.

At this point I thought it might be fun for you to all see a little video. At the last foot party I worked, I met a man named Jack. He had been to parties before, but I knew what he was into (not what you're thinking), and I didn't think I would be any good at it.

But one of the girls I'm friends with introduced me to him and arranged for us to do a double session. Having someone seasoned to show me the ropes, so to speak, put me at ease, and I agreed. While we waited for the session room to open up, I learned quite a bit about Jack. The most interesting tidbit, of course, was that he was on Jerry Springer a few years ago for his fetish.

So perhaps watching Jack explain it all can help you understand exactly what it is that goes on:



Make sense now? Especially when I say these guys a more than a little socially inept? Oh and because I know you're wondering: I AM NOT PRINCESS.

So there it is in true Springer fashion: not fake, really, but more than a little over the top. I certainly don't do aerobics before a foot party.

Here is the thing: Jack does love, as he puts it, 'white woman's feet'. But thats not actually the fetish he comes to the parties for. It goes a little deeper than that, which brings us to my first session with him at the last party:

Jack likes to be trampled. Hard. Which basically means he lies down and you kick the bloody shit out of him. He also wants to be called every racial slur in the book. Perhaps you understand my reservations about working with him before. Yes, he likes it, and asks for it, but I still feel a little weird about beating up a blind black man while calling him the N-word... AND THEN GETTING PAID FOR IT.

After we sessioned I was told that I needed to work on my racial slurs. I, apparently, don't know enough of them and I didn't use "any of the good ones." I.... I still don't know how to react to that statement.

But I will leave you with some interesting food for thought: Jack told the Springer show about the rest of his "white girl feet" fetish. And even the Jerry Springer show wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole.

well then

Not to get too revealing, but I will just say that my 10th grade Chem teacher was arrested on child pornography charges today. So, thats interesting.

What's really sad is that he would be the 2nd teacher of mine to get arrested for that topic

My landlords won't take my money

Okay, today is February 23. March is in 6 days.My landlords have not cashed the February rent check, yet. If you are anything like me you see that you have money in your bank account and forget that its "technically" spent already. Or you don't forget and it just sits there taunting you.

And any other time that would just be annoying.  But this is the ONE MONTH that I actually have cash in my bank account (even though I don't really because the check could clear any moment, you know, when my landlords decided that they could use that extra cash...) and so when Uncle Sam poked into my records to see if  I could,  in fact, be awarded some government assistance for food, what did they see? Money. 

And what that means for me is a big old rejection letter. Awesome.

Of course its not all doom and gloom. I did sell some art:

So thats good. I have about 25 more pieces listed, so if I could just sell some more, I could actually, you know, eat and stuff.

Socially Inept.

Another foot party. Another weird, weird night.

Two different guys offer you today's reading material: The submissive and headlamp guy.

First the submissive:

This guy, he is the the king of the socially awkward. I was eating dinner and the moment I finished he was there, asking me if he might take my plate. Total gentleman, right? And he would have been, if he then didn't proceed to crawl away with it. On his hands and knees - that sort of crawling. 

Later, he comes up to me, telling me I am so beautiful, so German looking (seriously, German looking?) that we have to session. Ok, fine. So we go off to a couch and I sit down and he hands me a mirror. He apparently gets off on women looking at themselves. And then he starts licking my boots (literally!) and saying how sexy my Nazi boots were. Nazi boots?

My Boot

Hitler

Not exactly, though I'm sure the Nazis would have had a much better go of things if they had worn a cute kitten heel. 

So then he asks me to put on lipstick and I know that he likes to be humiliated. So I call him stupid and worthless and he asks me to step on his face with my boots on which I do. And then he says "you're so pretty. I bet you were popular. Just like Regina George." Thats when one of the other girls in the room (who was in a session of her own) starts creaking up. The whole time, I had been rolling my eyes and shoot her looks because this guy was just so weird, but at this point she actually loses her shit and laughs. It took me a moment - what was he talking about. And then I realize: oh my god, Regina George.

Regina George

He is actually comparing me to a imaginary 17 year old queen bee. Amazing! Then he starts this deluge of weird compliments: my skin is so pale, he wants to buy me Uggs, I look so un-American.

What, exactly, is un-American?

Oh but this next guy. I have never actually sessioned with him. I've tried all the tricks: engaging conversation, laughing at his odd jokes, pretending that I give a shit when he talks and talks and talks... No go. But he does make a point to come up to me and say hello almost every party. Usually he does and then wonders away mid-conversation. We call him headlamp guy because when he does session he puts on a miner's hat and inspects every inch of your foot. So. Strange. And this night... oh my god.

Him: Hello, Craftitute.
Me: Oh hey there.... you (I have no idea what his name is). 

Him: You know that band? They sang a song with your name in it.

Me: Yes they did. 

Him: I had a friend named Craftitute. She got pregnant at 17 and stopped being our friend because she thought she was so much better than us.

Me: Oh thats weird. 

Him: Why?

Me: Well, she was 17.... i mean, thats not a good thing...I.. er... well kids just aren't my thing.

Him: You don't want kids?!

Me: Not at all.

Him: But you've babysat before.

Me: Huh? yeah, I've babysat. Thats why I know I don't want kids, haha.

Him: Did you ever babysit boys?

Me: Yes.

Him: Babies?

Me: Yeah, less than a year.

Him: But how? You couldn't change his diaper!

Me: Um, sure I could.

Him: But he has a thingy! You would have seen it! (seriously, that statement is verbatim)

Me: Well, yeah, but he was a baby.

Him: There is this video on Youtube of a mother showing how to change a diaper.

Me: Oh yeah?

Him: Yeah, she uses her son and films what to do.

Me: Well thats a great idea. I think a lot of people might not know how to do that and could use the help.

Him: You should see the comments people leave. They think it is wrong.

Me: Why would it be wrong?

Him: Well..... she..... she lifts his thingy and cleans it!

Me: Yeah, thats what you have to do. You can't let it stay dirty.

Him: But you didn't do that when you changed diapers.

Me: Yes, I did. Thats what you have to do. They're not old enough to take care of themselves.

Him: [weird silence]

Him: You know touching the thingy of someone your own age can be kind of fun, though.

Me: [startled silence]

Him: What? [he got right in my face] what did you say?

Me: I didn't.... I didn't say anything.

Him: But it COULD be fun, if he is older, right?

Me: I... don't know?

Him: Oh never mind. You don't understand.

He walked away then and I realized "Oh my god, he was trying to ask me for I handjob, I think."