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02-23-02 - 12:35 p.m. Yes, I have money. Now please stop resenting me for it. My father, Brent, left me a large sum in his will. I no longer have this money. It has been done away with, in ways that would make even my most adamant critics smile. So don't look at me and say, "Oh, well, your dad's the reason you can afford shit." If that's honestly what you think, then FUCK YOU. How dare you think that of me! If you know anything about me, then you'll be aware that I don't like receiving favors. In fact, I despise it. I figured that was obvious. But apparently I assume too much and give too many fucking morons the benefit of the doubt. The money I live off now is what I have earned over the years. I began babysitting when I was ten. I saved up. I've worked at several different jobs, everything from modeling to ice cream shop bitch to my latest position as a lawyer's secretary, and have saved up. I have been extremely conscientous about my earnings and have invested smartly. And don't talk to me like I don't know what it's like to be poor. I grew up being poor. My mother hardly worked, my father was a stingy bastard and rarely paid his child support, and so I had to find ways to make ends meet. I was filing tax returns in fifth grade, because Ann wouldn't do it. I know, I know, cry my a river. I'm just saying that I'm sick and tired of people resenting me for having money. I have worked my ass off for my entire life to get where I am. I've had no help. You want money? Be creative. Find ways to make it. And until you do, leave me the fuck alone. Had to get that off my chest. Last night, Leif called and asked if it was "appropriate" for us to go out somewhere together this soon after I'd dumped him. "Oh, Leif, I don't know. Father may not approve," I said. So we went to Family Fun Center for some mini-golfing. Leif, who is practically lanky, turned out to be far too good at it to have been a rookie. He confessed to having played "real golf" since he was "a wee lad." I, on the other hand, landed three balls in the water and ended up 27 over par. Then we went to Viejas, an Indian casino about an hour from my apartment. I only let myself spend $8 (see? Conservative with my spending.) and won back just over $6, making my total loss about $2. On to Denny's. Too cheap to spend $10 for the all-you-can-eat buffet at Viejas, we headed out to our default restaurant, only to find that the entire restaurant patronage (I'm not even kidding) was black. As we entered, I asked Leif if he felt suddenly blindingly white, wearing his "Ski Naked" shirt from Tahoe and shorts. (Quick question: Does it seem right to call the pants/shorts things guys wear, that fall to about mid-knee "shorts?" Cuz when I think of shorts, I generally think mid-thigh or above, like girls usually wear, but with guys' fashion, I don't know. Guys' so-called "shorts" are practically capris, but lord knows that's too feminine a word.) Leif asked if we'd somehow taken a few wrong turns and ended up in Compton. I said the place was too clean and there weren't any metal detectors, so that couldn't be it. After dinner, which took about 19 million hours to arrive due to the incredible amount of people there, I said I wanted to go Jacuzzi-hopping. This is one of my made-up extreme sports, though I know I'm not the first to ever have done it. Basically, what you do is go to a hotel, hop the fence, and chill in the spa. We didn't have our swimsuits, so we had to sit in our underwear. But it was nice! After becoming pruney, he took me home. I had a nice night. We didn't even so much as kiss. It was totally casual. Good times. With money.
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