I didn't sell out -

- when I took the receptionist job. I want to make that clear.

But this art fame thing is taking a lot longer than the self-help books said. The novelty of milk carton furniture and poverty wears off after a few years. But Kraft Dinner aside, I am COMMITTED to my art. Not to mention that the glassy fear in the eyes of the under-insured says it all. Home ownership is overrated.

I have my own amusing lingo for the insurance sale people in my office.

"Homies", especially the ones with tack boards to plot their monthly sales, are a boring bunch. Lots of school photos on their desks. They enjoy debating what exactly constitutes an act of god.

I avoid the "lifers". Too many spreadsheets detailing the price of each finger and all the "plegics". They have the body divided up and priced like Tupperware packages. Insure all four limbs, Mr Jones and we'll throw in a non-life threatening eye injury for free. You can't even make decapitation jokes with them. I prefer the jerks in automotive. I just call them the jerks in automotive. They charge for their barstools at 5:00 sharp.

It's Saturday morning and my living room looks like a Republican convention hangover. Confetti, ashtrays, and BIG WORDS glued all over the wall. The Barbie idea wasn't panning out so I got all freaky stalker with the newspaper headlines. Wrote myself a ransom letter.

Now, I need an aspirin and a Big Mac. And then, I will definately write something profound.