I was trying to write in my journal with a good glass of whiskey and diet. I tried so hard to focus on the details of my next genius book.
It started in the doorway . . . I could hear the noise like a distant swarm of bees. The girl walked in slightly leaning on her expensive heels. Her recently manicured nails held a tumbler of white wine.
The following should be read by:
1. Men
2. Artists
3. Women who hate this kind of woman
4. The coroner who will be soon pulling out my extra-fine point Sharpie from her throat.
Girl #1: (nasal voice coated in privilege and delivered with annoying clarity)
"I mean, we're both graduating in May. We have GOT to get out of this dead end city. Nothing happens here. No place for careers."
Girl #2: (only delivers comments when she has temporarily dislodged her nose from Girl #1's ass)
"Yeah, you're right. My boyfriend can't get a job here. He's thinking of getting a waiter job until--"
Girl #1:
"No, no, no, no, you cannot ALLOW that! Once these downtown people start doing restaurant jobs, they never leave. That's all they can do. They grow old and die here. No, you need to tell him to think a little better. My fiance knows he has to provide for me. He would never DREAM of living in this town without a job. That's why we are moving back to Charlotte. I'm staying with my parents until the wedding. I have SO much planning to do."
Girl #2:
"I bet. We're talking of getting married. My boyfriend wants to study veterinary medicine. He mentioned that maybe he could start his own dog walking business just to keep close to animals and make some money."
Girl #1:
"Dog walking? Dog walking? That's like the lowest thing he can do. He needs to think bigger. Go get a management job. He has to think of the future. Not everyone gets to do what they want. My father says if a man truly loves you, he'll make sure that you have everything you need. You have to think of your own future. You didn't get an education to have to work your whole life and take care of some dreamer. My god, it's like those girlfriends of musicians around here, or these people who think they're going to be an actor some day just because they shoot a few movies here."
Girl #2:
"So what do I tell him?"
Girl #1:
"Tell him that if he thinks you're going to stay around for a dog walker or a waiter, he should think again. You're not some silly, uneducated girl waiting around like these girls downtown for their artist boyfriend who does tattoos to sell a real painting, or get a hit record, or such. You deserve to be taken care of."
My Observation:
So, this girl will go off to make some poor man very unhappy in life.
She will move into her 5 bedroom house.
She will run on her treadmill in her home gym while listening to music (that some artist struggled for years to create and did it for the love of his craft).
She will put fresh flowers on the mantel in the great room under a painting (from a painter who sold his works on street corners to get started).
She will put expensive lotion on her hands at night and then pull out a book (from an author who wrote for years before anyone published them).
She will surround herself with the wealth of other people's struggles and dreams.
If all of the artists, musicians, and writers knew that one day their greatest work would end up in her cold clutches . . . it would give them all pause. They would bow their heads and pray to their Muses.
The Muses would then reply that people who are this deaf, blind, and dumb punish themselves by never seeing the art around them.
