My best friend Lauren and I were broke the other day.
I use “were” because we are technically no longer broke as we proceeded to execute a series of money grubbing parlor tricks that would put Bonnie and Clyde to shame.
Lauren is a bartender while I am a waiter. If I could describe Lauren in one mental exercise it would be this – think Lindsay Lohan packaged in Blake Lively’s body. Oh yes, it is true. She is one of a kind and I love her dearly.
There are two different reasons why Lauren and I both find ourselves broke on a near frequent basis. Her’s is that she blows more money than a coked up Howard Hughes during an Amazon search. Mine is that I make such piss pour tips that the only thing in my Amazon shopping cart is a direct message from Jeff Bezos that reads, “bitch, please.”
First, Lilo and I raided our cars, bags, apartments and couches for any spare change we could find. We took that change and went to the local Chumash casino where we cashed our treasure trove in at the coin machine for seventy-five big ones. We took that money and proceeded to lose a quarter of it on slots before hitting it big with a winning streak that showered us with a cool two-hundred and fifty-six dollars. We soon came to our senses and cashed out before coming up with another stroke of brilliance – hawking the spare tire on my truck for an on the fly sum of eighty bucks. It is an idea that I might come to regret once I actually do pop a tire, but as the great Scarlett O’Hara proclaimed, “I’ll think about it tomorrow.”
One of the many prized studs in Lauren’s barn had recently given her a pair of boots. They were brand new Stetsons, which we proceeded to sell on eBay for a cool NastyGal profit of two-hundred and thirty dollars. At this stage of the game we were tired of our entrepreneurial pursuits and decided to reap the rewards of our scrappy success. So what did we do? Well…Ladies first.
Lauren proceeded to get out of town and go visit one of the male victims on her roster (not the poor schmuck who gifted her the boots). She had him buy her a plane ticket to fly out to Arizona the next day. Sadly however, he bought this nonrefundable ticket in his name and had to eat it. This meant Lauren had to eat it as well and use her hard earned cash to drive her ass out all the way from California to Arizona. How did she get a week and a half off from her job at the bar you ask? Simple. She went to the doctor, faked mono and got herself a solid gold doctor’s note.
I proceeded to execute a much more economical and boring spending spree. I was hungry, so the first thing I did was go to the local grocery store and stock up on fixings for grade-A quesadillas. There, in the center of El Rancho Market, was the famous El Rancho chicken wing bar – a delicious temple of chicken goodness that all locals worship. But their price for religious expression is eleven dollars per pound. Call me crazy but that is a little excessive. So, trying to economize and be responsible, I decided to burn some Karma points and swipe one tiny wing from the temple’s alter. The god’s of the grocery store caught me in my sin. I now shop at Albertsons in the next town over.
Cheers to hustling folks!