hidden dimes

Just like love (you keep paying for it long after it’s over), one of my stupid dating sites just won’t die. Sure enough, when I woke this morning, there was an email thanking me for continuing my $60 a month plan to find my soul mate. Lovely how I spent all the time canceling it last month before the trial period was over and it would auto-renew. I hopped out of bed and called the phone number (that was no where to be found BEFORE the trial period ended). I swear it was received by the answering machine of a seventeen year old who lives in his parent’s basement. No wonder that didn’t work… We’ll see how much of a battle I have to conjure in order to get the money back to pay part of a bill elsewhere. Can’t win for losin’. But, man, if you could—I’d have a gold medal.
Speaking of, the delightfully loved and adored Fire Chief, who was supposed to come rape and besmirch my gorgeous classroom two days ago, stood us up. (It seems my romantic life is now oozing into other areas. Even straight men screw me.) He has yet to call to apologize, reschedule, or send flowers. This means that my car will continue to be the hidden attic apparent for all of my illegal paraphernalia—indefinitely. My luck, he will come unbidden, park beside my car, use my window to check for stains on his lips (…) and notice the refuges hidden there. With a quick call to the Fuhrer, I will be teaching in a governmentally approved sterile concentration camp. Heil!