Here we go again. It’s buy, buy, buy time or sell, sell, sell time on Wall Street. Panic rules again. It’s all about money, money, money.
Leave me out of this mess. I also don’t trust any of these people on the Internet who are trying to sell you on their specific brand on how to get rich quick. Just because you’re “published” on the Internet doesn’t mean that you can write. In fact, your precious writing, photographs or whatever will be published somewhere in the world where people want a fast buck. Hey! You’ll even get the shaft in the United States.
In fact, as a writer, I don’t trust the Internet at all.
Why?
The Internet was founded on greed. Period. Exclamation point.
Think really hard. I don’t do numbers, nor do I deal with people who make numbers their life. Unless they happen to be straight with me and answer my questions. The “extremely rich and talented” people (engineers, tech heads, financial wizards and anything financial) who do deal with numbers don’t know how to deal with real people who work hard for a living.
I know. I am highly creative. I don’t even add columns unless I have to. In fact, if I had to pass algebra to get a high school diploma in California right now, I’d flunk out and do my own thang. Yeah, I’d survive without help from Mommy and Daddy footing my “higher education” at Stanford. Yep. They had my life all planned from the start.
See, I come from a long line of drunks and gamblers. Other than my experience with the world famous wine and food in California’s Sonoma County last fall, I don’t drink. Surprise, surprise! I don’t even gamble.
In fact, I was always the one who was the designated driver. I will drive everyone home after a hard night of partying and looking for booty in Sacramento’s Old Sac. Yeah, us girls and guys hit those bars if we weren’t stuffing our faces at restaurants and buffets. Sorry, this was in the 80s. When I didn’t know any better.
But if you were one of my family or friends at that time, I drove you home while you were drunk because you were so drunk that you didn’t notice that I drove like an old lady. And maybe, when you woke up with a hangover the next morning, did you even remember that I took you to Denny’s for breakfast and hot coffee before tucking you in?
Or maybe you just disappeared from the pack and went home with the boy or the girl. I get it because I only made it to the guy’s car–then left him after about an hour because he bored me. Male or female, you have to stand out for one of these drunks to take notice. Weren’t those the days? Go to a bar or nightclub and pick up a prized drunk.
Of course, if I took care of you on one of those many weekends, you didn’t even thank me for my service. You were drunk. Or maybe you were stoned. Or you were drowning in your misery by dressing up and looking for someone to spend the night with. We were young, and we didn’t care because all of us were in the same boat. We lived in Sacramento, and we worked for the County or the State in horrible, “stable” jobs. We worked miserable jobs that had no future at all. During the work week, we showed up and worked. Come the weekend, we partied hard to forget how miserable we really were. Yet, we paid our bills and didn’t get arrested.
Doesn’t that remind you of that Toby Keith song?
As for gambling? You won’t see me walk into a casino and pull the handle on some slot machine. Or place a stack of money on the red square or rectangle. The red can be found on any roulette table or crap table. I’m not going to sit all night long playing poker, then say, “Good hand” when all the chips fall in your lap because you “won” through Lady Luck. Face it. The House always wins. Lady Luck, like any smart woman, comes and goes as she pleases.
I won’t join your pity party when you cry that you don’t have any money for your retirement. Or if you’re old and your mindset is back in the days of the Depression. That you can’t believe a loaf of bread costs four bucks when “back in the day” a loaf of bread cost under fifty cents.
My, my, my. That was then, this is now. History repeats itself.
Honey, it’s your money. And money, if you play it right in your lifetime, is meant to be spent.
What are you going to spend it on?
That’s your business. Why should I care that you buy luxury to feed your insecurities? Isn’t that feeding into the distorted American Dream? If you bought into that, I have no respect for you. I will leave you alone while I do my thang. Ask me, and I’ll tell you what I do with my money. Or not. Depends on my mood at the time. Or if I even can stand to be in the same room with your sorry, selfish, self-centered American self.
Yeah. The terrible, terrible truth about money and stocks? You can’t take any of that wad with you. Yep. Spend it any way you want to before you kick.
When you’re with me, quit asking how much things cost. It irritates me. Put up and shut up. What I can’t stand are people who pinch their pennies until they squeal for mercy. Further more, don’t insult me and pretend to have money when you don’t. This girl hates being lied to. When I feel like I’m being played, lied to or controlled, I walk. And depending on how I feel, I will not come back.
See, I have two diseases: common sense and high self esteem. Don’t get in the way of what I want. I am the Alpha Mare. I will stomp, bite and mule-kick you to get my way.
I pick up pennies anywhere because Daddy is sending them to me from Heaven. Who cares if a car hits me in the parking lot as I pick up my pennies from Daddy? I love my Daddy. I wish he was still here with me.
And don’t get me started on the Internet because as a professional writer, journalist and photographer from waaaaaaay back, I do not bow to Google or any of the so-called content sites and mills that feed on your ego and want all these so-called writers to “produce” for pennies.
I tried “working” for these clowns for a year and I walked away after they got a piece of my mind. I won’t even tell you their names because I ain’t your mama. Find out for yourself as you work, work, work for pennies using your so-called “talent.” When you have to network, follow stats or need followers on social network, you’re working way too hard for your pennies. That’s okay. You’ll brag about what you make. What you won’t say is that you work like a dog and don’t leave the house. For your pain and suffering, you don’t even get vacations and sick leave. And retirement.
No brag, just fact. I learn from my mistakes. If something interests me, the chase is on. As a guard at Pelican Bay in the 90s, I opened two online trading accounts. I maxed out my so-called 401k with the State of California. Why? I wanted to leave my abusive husband, so I needed the money. Yes, it took me three years to leave this whack job that tried to kill me twice. This is what happens when you live in the poorest county in California. I couldn’t even check into a battered women’s shelter if I wanted to. Not that I would.
Each time he was abusive to me (mostly by the crap coming out of his mouth and raiding our joint checking and savings accounts before I closed them), I played the game of the good, submissive Filipino wifey and shoved money into my stock portfolio. I learned to trade on my own. I gambled because it’s in me. I enjoyed it because I took risks and didn’t screw anyone to make money. I even went across to the border to Oregon (only about 15 miles away from Crescent City) to shove money into a savings and checking account.
Did I know anything about stocks?
Nope. My parents hoarded their money because both of them grew up very poor in the barrio of San Juan, Illocus Sur. That’ in the Northern Philippines.
Surprise, surprise, surprise. I am the daughter of two immigrants. I was made in America. I am an American citizen who happens to be Filipino and Italian. Yep. I don’t have to look it up. There is an Italian in my family woodpile on my father’s side. I was born and raised in California–not Kalifornia. As far as I know, I will continue to live in California until I die.
In survival mode, the wild animals and Mother Nature will do anything and everything to survive. The rich and the poor will cling to their money and cry. I’m in the middle, and I don’t care.
Oh! I’m so sorry. Maybe those “rich people” were born with it. Like those commercials on TV try to tell you. But that’s another post.
Get my drift? If you don’t, suffer. Follow the nation’s sheep and get slaughtered when all the wolves of Wall Street and the Internet take your money.
Oh, by the way. I lied. I do gamble. With stocks. And I don’t have to tell you how much I’ve made. And will continue to make. I pulled all my money out long before the market dumped in 2008 because I knew it was coming. Pay me because I don’t do anything for free. I learned everything about life from my partners and my inmates at Pelican Bay State Prison. Give or take a sergeant or two.
Yeah. Those men either wore green or blue. I learn from anyone who can tell me about their life experiences because I don’t want to repeat their mistakes. Hey! I make mistakes on my own with no regrets.
Real men will tell you up front. They get the job done. In male-dominated professions, this is where I thrive.
So leave me alone. She retired in 2002, and she will do anything to stay that way. And that’s pretty good for an overpaid thug.
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