Alone In The Cheap Seats

Came to a realization yesterday--
I'm the only single person at work.
Everyone married or complete w/ significant other.
Makes sense, though.
Office workforce, just regular people doing regular jobs.
Part of that regular is beaus & wedding cake & babies.
Not like us "artistes".
Languishing in solo uphill battle,
usually against our own damn selves.

For some reason, I'm now getting Match.com profile pics.
I half-heartedly signed up a month ago,
even filled out a very light-weight profile...
but never paid the monthly fee.
Can't even afford that $14.95 off the credit card these days
(barely scrape by each month w/ Netflix).
So I'm in the Match.com system,
getting these little pictorial taste tests--
"If you just act now..." OR "...a lifetime of bliss!"
and this woman
and that woman
and look at her!
All w/ cutesy little buzz names like
jeezybreeze67
OR
fallenapple4
OR
mischiefchef555.
Some are outright dogs.
If that's your best picture
I'd hate to see you @ 5AM.
But some are lookers.

First thing I do post-pic is check out salary.
It's an optional part of the profile but most display it.
Anything over $50tho & she's out of my league.
I don't want a potential date to be shouldering me.
My job. My deal.
The guy pays.
Call my rustic, call me old-fashioned
but that's the way I'm built.
I still think that was part of what soured w/ K--
money & my lack of it.
Even working full-time
and oodles of unpaid over-time
and being busier than ever this year shooting...
yet, poorest I've ever been.

How can I date on peanuts?
What kind of 1st impression is that?
I couldn't even afford 8-minute dating this past Monday
for a lousy $35 bucks! (+ drinks + nibbles +++)
Sick of this. Can't go out, can't buy dinner...
just my sad sack 30something self living w/ pops.
While my film goes on & on
and the student loan folks call.
Yup, I must be getting away w/ something jerk-offs!
Whoo-ee look at me!
Living it up while you garnish & slash
until there's nothing left...
and still that's not enough.
Decade-old film school haunting me.
And no one to complain to, to vent...
just you, dear blog.