This is my second week of being impoverished thanks to my student loan debt (remind me not to send my kids to a liberal arts school) and I’ve been having a hard time buying inexpensive groceries that are somewhat healthy because the only cheap foods are canned goods and hydrox cookies. Is this why Mississippi–where some cities have a poverty rate that is twice the national average–suffers from the highest obesity level in the country? I can’t be obese now! I’m going to Fire Island in July! (Oh, don’t you just love the suffering of liberal arts school grads?)

At least having no money has helped moderate my drinking problem predilection. It’s amazing when you realize how much money you spend on alcohol. I won’t take my suits to the drycleaners because I don’t want to pay twenty bucks but I’ll freely throw down sixty bones for booze. It’s like I’m spending money just so I can lose control and impair my judgment and make myself susceptible to venereal diseases.

I’ve also been handwashing stuff like underwear and bras but today I broke down and finally did laundry because I really needed to wash my sheets and it’s not like this is the Oregon Trail. I can splurge five bucks for laundry.

So in order to save money I don’t go out at all during the week and I pretty much stay at home and watch reality shows instead of, you know, living in reality.

Of course I watched the Top Chef Finale. Hello, do I not breathe? And I think I can speak on behalf of America and pretty much the rest of the world when I say how relieved I am that Lisa did not win. Oops, spoiler. My bad. I love that Adam Platt over on NYmag calls her The Gorgon. I didn’t know what that was so I looked it up and learned that a gorgon is a mythological monster. Upon reading that, I laughed so hard I cried. Some blogs have contested that the editors made Lisa out to be the show’s villain but I don’t think the editors crafted that serial killer hair cut and Jack Palance glare.

I have to confess that I got teary-eyed when Stephanie talked about how happy she was that she won (oops, spoiler!) and that she made it through despite doubting herself and now she knows that this is what she’s meant to do in her life. It is nice to know that even talented people doubt their talent. Sometimes I wonder how much I could accomplish if I just got over this fear of failing. What’s the worst that could happen if I just tried? What if I just put together a book proposal and had it slammed by every agent in the city, thus confirming all my suspicions that I am indeed talentless and derivative? What’s so bad about that???

A friend of mine suggested that I turn some of the blogs posts into a book idea and I was like awww, thanks, but you have to say things like that because you’re my friend. But I’ve been reading other people’s personal essay books and I’m like, hmmm I could do that…if my attention span enabled me to write something longer than a blog post. One book that struck me was Sloane Crosly’s “I was told there’d be cake” (Clearly if I had written the book my title would’ve been “I was told there’d be open bar”). She has a very likable voice with a wry and self deprecating sense of humor but the entire time I kept thinking: this is just another white girl writing about life in New York.

But an important lesson I derived was that you don’t need exotic subject matter to be a compelling writer–you can stick to the mundane. And it’s all about your perspective. The most successful people out there are the ones who follow their own path. I don’t have to adopt the voice of Crosly or Sedaris or Burroughs. Especially since I’m not a white girl or a gay man. I just have to keep it real. Unfortunately, right now keeping it real involves eating pasta with poor man’s sauce (butter, olive oil, and salt).

I hope there’s an audience out there for an Asian female writer who doesn’t necessarily want to exploit their immigrant experience and would rather talk about boys, booze, and LOST while making random hip hop references. Hmmm, something tells me I need to throw in a random story about my strained relationship with my reticent yet loving Asian father. Every ethnic writer needs one of those in their portfolio.

Anyway, not having any money right now has been the best thing for me. I’m not drinking (as much) and I’m working out more and I’m using this solitary time to just figure shit out. Poverty is like going to church!

I guess the important thing is just to stay focused and work hard. Like Nas says: I know I can/be what I wanna be/if I work hard at it/I’ll be where I wanna be.

Hip hop tracks with kids singing the chorus are way inspirational.

In other news, there’s this story in Slate about an 85 year old woman and 92 year old man who met at a nursing home and started having sexual relations. Oh, and they also suffer from dementia. And when their kids found out they separated them. It’s like Romeo and Juliet only with adult diapers.

When I turn 80 and senile (lets face it I’m already on that path), I hope you, dear readers, will remember that under no circumstances are my kids allowed to cock block me. As god and the internet as my witnesses, I declare that I will get booty till the day I die.