Yon Ti Moman. Only a Little While.

Times are tough up in Chicago. I'm broke, jobless, and it's GD EFFING freezing.

Yesterday I was feeling so panicked about money that, mid-job searching, I jumped up from my computer and started running around my apartment like a madwoman, collecting all my spare change. I dug through every purse, every bag, every coat. I picked up pennies off the floor. (Seriously, my whole life, there's always been change on my floor. When I was in high school, anytime my dad would walk in my room, he'd start picking up the change on the floor and lecturing me on the value of money. Maybe I should have paid more attention.)

I dumped all the change in a tupperware container, not including the $12 in quarters I found (laundry money!). I had another container full of change in the trunk of my car. So, clutching my tupperware jars of change like my life depended on it, I took my broke ass to Jewel and used the Coinstar machine. Some of my change got rejected because it was so dirty from being in my car for the last decade, but all in all, I had $52 in change.

Hallelujah! I'm pretty sure the cashier thought I was batshit crazy, because I handed her my voucher with a huge grin on my face. But you know what? I didn't care. I was 52 bucks richer. And right now, for me, that's really something.

Then today came. By mid-afternoon, I'd reached a pretty record low. I had no more change to collect. Rent's going to be due again soon. Damn, was I feeling sorry for myself. I headed toward the Loop to apply for a serving gig, because I needed to feel like I was really actively doing something. (Other than applying for the umpteenth job online, that is.)

Filling out an application turned into getting interviewed, and I actually left there with my hopes up. (Keep your fingers crossed for me!) So, I hop on the train to go back home, and start reading the latest New Yorker. I always read "The Talk of the Town" section first, so I flip there. 

The story I read first starts with this line: "My cousin Maxo has died." Immediately, I'm sucked in to this article (without even realizing until I finish that it's written by Edwidge Danticat). It turns out the author's cousin Maxo was killed in Haiti when his house collapsed on him during the quake. She continues, writing about Maxo and his life in Haiti. He sounded like a wonderful, unique person.

I'm so enthralled by this story that I'm pretty much oblivious to the fact that I'm still on the train. By the end, I'm teary eyed, holding back full fledged tears.

Who's More of a Broke Ass Than Me?

No one, right? That's why I just emailed RedEye and told them to feature me in their upcoming project.

If you love me and are sick of hearing me whine about being a broke ass, it couldn't hurt to tell RedEye about me.

Pretty please? Seriously, right before I emailed RedEye, I applied for a deferment on my student loans with Sallie Mae. I need this.

Here's how they say to contact:

"Shoot an e-mail to redeyetalk@gmail.com (with "Broke-Ass" in the subject line), drop us a line on our Facebook fan page or get at us on Twitter. We're around."

Love,
Broke Ass Alison