I was lying in bed this morning thinking about my life when a sentence that I never thought would ever leave my lips did.
I can relate to .
Okay, not in the enormous boobs, blonde hair, drug overdosey kinda way.
But, the being a single mom and marrying a 90-year-old billionaire sort've way.
I mean, I get it. It's survival mode, baby. And it's not quite selling your ass on the streets, and it's not even close to being a kept woman with a married man, it's ... a form of love. And a bit of natural RN skills.
When there's a fire in your house and you're trying to put it out with spit these are the things that come into your head. Scary, huh?
I mean, you've heard me sell clothes, jewelry, steal $6 bucks from , even contemplate going to salon school to get a license to wash hair. So why should the idea of hooking up with a wheelchair bound rich old man be so shocking?
Okay, it is. Even for me. And, the truth is, I'm too much of a romantic to do it. As well as horny.
So, this time of year is when all us writers learn what television shows received pick ups -- old shows returning, new shows beginning. And like a cluster of ants that just got hit with a drop of Raid, we scramble in all directions looking for a life boat to latch on to that just might save us from death (and keep us getting our health insurance with the Writer's Guild for one more year).
The good news, lots of really excellent female driven shows got picked up. The bad news, lots of really excellent female driven writers will be competing for the sacred spots.
So ... back to Anna Nicole. You see why her road to financial recovery doesn't seem so bad. I mean, landing a wealthy older (much older) man is probably a lot easier than landing a staff writing gig on a television show. But equally gassy.
I do find myself checking out 80-year-old men for my mom. I once met a really great man who had to be nearing 90 and we got into this fantastic conversation about music and life and I asked him if he was single. His eyes lit up, and I realized he thought I was asking for me. I quickly said, "I have this amazing mom ..." His eyes shut.
Wow ... even at 90 they're picky.
This week marks my second year of being out of work as a writer in television. The longest I have ever gone. Do I make a cake for myself to celebrate?
"Hi, I'm Susan and I've been unemployed for two years ..."
"Hi, Susan, welcome!"
Anna Nicole put on weight and lost modeling jobs. Maybe it had been two years for her too, and, with a kid relying on her, she did what any single mom would do. She saw an opportunity and she took it.
Okay, okay ... easy on the hate mail. I'm just making observations from my bed that I can't yet get out of because my daughter is at her dad's so it's my one day to wallow in my worry and fear.
I have a bed. See, this is where I start collecting the gratitude.
Susan, you have a bed. Be grateful.
Susan, you have a roof over that bed. Be grateful.
Susan, you divorced your daughter's dad. Be very, very grateful.
Amazing ... gratitude lists really do work.
So, time to get up, make my coffee (Susan, you have coffee and a coffee maker - be friggin' grateful) and start my day.
Life is good. It really is. I guess I don't need a rich, older man to save me (but, hey, if you're out there -- seriously, my mom is totally available!).
Nah ... I'll stick to what works. A pen and paper ... and a sense of humor. I'm grateful.