About a week-and-a-half ago, I reluctantly decided to check my bank account balance (from my boyfriend’s laptop) in the backseat of a cluttered van somewhere on the outskirts of Raleigh, NC.  Let me preface…although I have thankfully retained my clients in this ulcer-inducing economic climate…I have not escaped unscathed.  Why?  Cutbacks, my friends.  Where once I was churning out quarterly newsletters, I am now asked to produce two (i.e. half the money earned)…and another has slashed our workload from moderate to, well, miniscule.  Guilt forces us to cut back on the monthly retainer (damn those morals…damn you Mom & Dad).  Result?  When I choose to visit my hot little man - who has been on tour for far too long - I humbly and gratefully accept his brother’s greatly reduced Southwest buddy pass.  And I choose to not bring up my financial woes, because, um…he’s sleeping in roach motels in a room with four other men (when they aren’t sleeping in a van), and fine dining for the troopers?  Well that’s a little joint I lovingly refer to as Taco Hell…where they most often order off the “discount menu”. 

So, I flew into Raleigh - which is lovely, by the way - and secretly watched my discretionary spending.  Until the pitfalls of buddy pass (standby) flying set in (it was Spring Break), and I was forced to extend my planned three-day trip by three more days.  Now, mind you, I had two checks sitting patiently in my mailbox at home…waiting to be deposited.  But of course, I had no way of retrieving them.  So I carried on eating my chicken soft tacos and $4.99 diner breakfasts, until I could no longer ignore that forboding feeling in my gut that kept whispering “check your account, you foolish coward…check your account”.  I ignored the bastard voice for a bit longer as Stephen and I trudged across a four lane highway in the cold and rain…headed back to the supreme comfort of our friend, Motel 6.  But we were intercepted by two of his bandmates pulling out of the parking lot in their recently purchased Galveston Shiner Children’s Hospital van.  I, of course, wanted to go back to the motel to stew, but Stephen had other plans.  He hopped in the van.  I did the same for fear of being side-swiped by one of the 800 passing vehicles, and we were off to drop the boys at a local taco joint (go figure).  I stayed in the van…Stephen decided it might be a good idea for him to do the same.  It must’ve been the not-so-expertly-hidden look of intense stress on my face.  In hindsight, he should have joined the boys and risked a stern look.  Because after I pulled out the laptop and finally mustered up the courage to view my account, it’s possible he suffered the unfortunate afteraffects of the sad dollar amount that reared its ugly head.  Was I in the red, you might me asking?  No.  But let’s just say I wouldn’t have had much luck had I attempted to extract $20 from an ATM.  After pushing down the bile that entered my throat, and attempting to cool down my red hot face, I focused my dagger eyes on an innocent man.

“Babe, it’s okay,”  he said, voice slightly shaking.

Probably not the best response at that tender moment.  But he is a man…a man who hasn’t been in a serious relationship in quite some time…a benefit of the doubt I did not allow him at that particular time.

“I have $18 dollars in my account,” I spat.  “And I am not a college student!  I am a grown woman!  An independent grown woman!”

“I know that, babe,” he carefully replied.  “But it’ll be okay.  If it comes down to it, I can give you some cash, or maybe you can call your Dad.”

Strike two.

“I! DON’T! DO! THAT!” I hissed as he cowered in the front bucket seat.  Tears welled in my eyes as the devil himself slithered into my bloodstream.  “I HAVE TAKEN CARE OF MYSELF FOR TWENTY YEARS, AND I DON’T PLAN ON ASKING FOR HANDOUTS…NOT NOW…NOT EVER!”

He didn’t go for the strike out.  He quickly realized…it’s time to stay quiet and allow the snarling beast to extract itself from my soul. He’s a pretty quick study.  A quick study who was finally introduced to the Scorpio in me.  To his credit, he later (much later) laughed it off and made a sort of scorpion striking noise at me.  Although still slightly annoyed, I giggled as well, which also annoyed me.

The next morning I was able to hop on an early flight for an easy trip home.  I think the Lord knew I wouldn’t have easily handled a standby nightmare day. Within twenty-four hours, I had two checks deposited, a refilled bank account and a boyfriend who had his sane (sort of) girlfriend back.  The stress did diminish, but has not left completely.  It’s likely you’re all feeling the same.  It’s likely I’m in a much better position than many others…and I am grateful for that.  But I am damn ready for this “downturn” to head back north.  I hope our newly crowned President can set that collective wish in motion.  Republican…Democrat…I don’t give a crap.  Just GET. IT. DONE.

There is some good news, however.  My van-sleeping pumpkin and his posse have not paid their dues for nuthin.  It looks like the pendulum is finally swinging their way.  Not a shock to me, but still a tough feat in a sometimes brutal business.  They have been courted and signed by a well-respected manager who may or may not (i.e. - she did) have represented one of the biggest artists of all time.  And she is workin’ it for them…she believes in them as much as those of us who love and support them do…and it’s possible all of our lives are about to get very interesting.  Stay tuned…

<< Back to the blog