this one's for the boys

I've done a lot of complaining here on this little old blog about my current state of poverty and how it keeps me from doing just about anything but sitting on my rump and watching Netflix movies. And it's true, I am a level of poor that can only be described as re-DONK-ulous. However. This weekend I had a moment of clarity that made realize how thankful I should be, because things could be oh, so much worse.

I'm not talking about starving kids in Asia, or flies on babies in Africa or commercials about how many people in the U.S. go to bed hungry every night or even the homeless woman on the corner who I think poops outside the National Guard Armory. I'm talking about one simple biological fact that makes my poverty just a little bit easier to take: I'm a girl.

Let me lay it down for you. Saturday night I met up with some friends -- English friends, for the irony factor -- to watch both the Jersey City fireworks and the New York fireworks from Liberty State Park. Afterward, we headed out of the park, planning to set out for Hoboken. Somewhere along the way, my friend Siobhan struck up a conversation with this random guy, Bill. (Names have not been changed, because I don't give a hoot.) So Bill says he's walking that way and he'll make sure we get to Hoboken. Naturally, we question Bill at length to determine whether or not he's a psychotic killer who wants to cut us up and bury our parts in the swamp behind the park.

Bill walks us all the way to the light rail, listens to us rattle on about various and sundry weird and socially irresponsible topics of conversation and then, once we get to Hoboken, even suggests a good bar and offers to walk us there -- despite the fact that his "friends" (allegedly) are on the opposite end of town. We get to the bar, turns out he knows the bartender and just about everyone there. And, turns out, Bill's buying the Bud Lights.

It was right convenient for me, since I'd told Siobhan and Frannie on the way in that a gentleman was going to have to be procured fairly quick like since I have no money and would not be drinking otherwise. Lucky for me, there was Bill, and my hand had an icy cold Bud Light in it until we decided to head out around 1:30 a.m.

And as my head hit the pillow that night -- and stayed there till noon the next day, amazingly -- I felt a pang of sympathy for the poverty-stricken men out there. At least I know that no matter how poor I may be, I can make a sad pouty face and drink all night for free. Not only can a guy not count on his skills of flirtation to be enough to get him free drinks, he's the one who's expected to be buying those drinks. So here's to all the poor men out there -- I'm sorry I ever complained about my lack of dinero, because Allah knows, you've got it harder.


cheers,
elizabeth