That costs what?

My first car was purchased for 1,000 dollars.

That car drove me all over the place. It took me to work and school. It took me to the store. It took me home.

It had an engine and a pretty reliable one at that. It had power windows. It had good breaks.

It was sturdy. And despite its lack of airbags, I felt safe.

It had a working radio. It had air conditioning. It even had a fun little moon roof.

The point is, it was a car. And it got me from A to B to C and back to A. And it cost 1,000 dollars.

My wedding photo album, on the other hand, is worth 1,700 dollars. At least that's what it was priced at.

It sits on my coffee table. And I can't even store it standing up because the pages might fall out of the binding.

This doesn't make sense to me. Why a book of photos, granted they're wedding photos, costs almost twice as much as a mode of transportation.

Am I fucking crazy?

Are you sure I wasn't good enough.

There's an ad agency, which shall remain nameless, that wouldn't hire me.

In fact, they wouldn't hire tons of writers, but that's not the point of this brief complaint.

They told me that I didn't have what it takes. That I wasn't polished enough. That I lacked discipline.

So could someone tell me why I spend so much time every single month fixing their inevitable fuck ups? As part of my job?

Seriously. Is that irony?

It's official. I can't eat anything anymore.

I took a bite of a brownie. And then decided to ask what was in it.

"Marshmallow fluff."

I spit the brownie out. I don't eat marshmallow fluff. I don't eat marshmallows. They contain gelatin. Which I also don't eat.

I was served a fluffy dessert. It was whipped cream with pineapples and coconut. It was delicious. I asked for the recipe.

The third ingredient. Gelatin. Which as I just said, I don't eat.

Granted, this was all days ago while on vacation. But I thought I was being so careful. I ate only chips at the Mexican restaurant. I brought snacks with me on day two on the mountain because on day one, I discovered the ski lodge only had hamburgers. On day one, I risked malnutrition instead of ingesting meat-based food.

But twice during the break, gelatin snuck into my mouth. And then my stomach. And then my body.

I am what I eat.

And accidentally, unintentionally, unknowingly, I ate hypocrisy.

Stop posting my salary, Yahoo!

Yahoo! often posts small articles about the best jobs for whatever year. Or jobs that let you eat brownies all day. Or jobs that are fun and pay well.

Yesterday, Yahoo! mentioned being a freelance writer. And then right there posted the projected annual salary.

I hate it when Yahoo! does this. Because I'm a freelance writer. And I know what I make. And I'm not going to say it's below what they posted. And I'm not going to say it's above what they posted.

But they posted something. And now many of the people whom I try to hide my salary from have a number in their head. And they can judge me for either being cheap because I'm poor or cheap because I'm cheap.

It's one thing if my friends get nosey and go to Talent Zoo and actively search for what I might make. But to have it right there on the very popular Yahoo! homepage sucks.

It also sucks when people have linked it on Facebook.

I should have opened up a bakery.