My husband and I recently bought stock in iRobot. My husband liked this purchase because he says that, when the robots take over, it'll be good for them to see we were on their side. I chose the company, though, which I think shows that his robot skills are slipping and that I'm becoming the resident robot expert. iRobot, for those who don't follow robots with the fanaticism practiced in my house, is a company that makes robot vacuum cleaners and military death bots. We used to have one of the vacuums, and so did my mother. Both of ours broke within the first year. So maybe they're not all that good at making vacuum cleaners, but our money is on those death bots.
After we bought it, my husband read that iRobot was listed as one of five under-valued stocks (one of five!), proving that I'm an untapped Wall Street expert. We bought seventy shares when the market crashed, so I'm pretty sure that makes us leading shareholders. I'm not yet sure what to wear to the board meetings, but I'll figure it out after they invite me.
I'm excited about our purchase because I've wanted to be independently wealthy for quite some time now, but the universe hasn't been listening. Unfortunately, the new school year started, so it appears we'll have to work at least one more year before our stock is worth millions and we sell and embark on our world cruise. I can wait a year, though. I'll need some time to write and publish How I Conquered Wall Street: A Memoir, anyway.
After the world cruise (followed by several more extravagant trips), I figure we'll start some kind of do-gooder organization to help educate children, a la Bill and Melinda Gates. That way people will say, “That Andy and Kirstin—what thoughtful millionaires they are, giving a small, almost negligible fraction of their wealth to help the less fortunate. Such considerate people!” We'll bask in the glow of their praise (and of our money). Then maybe we'll make another version of Windows that crashes every four seconds because that's what billionaires do.
I've often thought that I should be a consultant to the rich, partly because the job title consultant sounds really smart yet nebulous, and partly because I've observed that the rich just don't know how to spend their money. They need help, and I can help them. For instance, they often build their Yertle the Turtle houses on hills overlooking the freeway. For a small fee, I would have told them that isn't smart. In fact, I would advise all of my clients to build on the beach, where they can hear waves crashing. That's where the rich should live. (I mean, duh.)
Rich people also like to keep working, I've observed—often long hours running major corporations. This is also not smart. Wealth is wasted on these rich people. Again, for a nominal fee, I would tell my clients to quit work immediately. I think we all worry we'll be bored if we quit working, but this fear just shows a lack of imagination. There are so many places to travel! So much extra time to spend with friends and family—especially because we wouldn't have to spend so much time recuperating after an exhausting work week. So many hobbies to pursue! If my clients really needed to work, I'd advise them to start a fragrance line, like Justin Bieber. His parents must be so proud.
I also don't know why rich people continue to cook. Eating is one of the best parts of life. I would definitely have a private chef so that every meal was spectacular.
Rich people often want to be famous. This is also crazy. I would advise my Hollywood clients to make a movie, become rich, and then move to Europe and lay low. I definitely wouldn't advise them to run for a political office, as several actors have done, and then come out looking all stressed and beaten down and with a secret love child. I would have advised against the love child. See how good I would be at this job? My advice would be worth paying for.
I'd make an excellent consultant to the rich, but I'd make an even better rich person. When I am rich, I promise to buy a house where I can hear the waves crashing, to start a fragrance line, to give pennies from my fortune to my charitable organization, and to do...nothing. Nothing! I would just travel, spend time with friends and family, and pursue my hobbies.
Actually, I could give up the house on the beach. I like our house, and I like Benicia. I could keep tutoring, too. I like my students. Mostly, I just want my husband to be able to stay home and hang out with Colin and me. Isn't that so simplistic of me it's almost beautiful? So why isn't the universe listening?
Except the personal chef. I'd really need the personal chef. But everyone needs one of those.
After we bought it, my husband read that iRobot was listed as one of five under-valued stocks (one of five!), proving that I'm an untapped Wall Street expert. We bought seventy shares when the market crashed, so I'm pretty sure that makes us leading shareholders. I'm not yet sure what to wear to the board meetings, but I'll figure it out after they invite me.
I'm excited about our purchase because I've wanted to be independently wealthy for quite some time now, but the universe hasn't been listening. Unfortunately, the new school year started, so it appears we'll have to work at least one more year before our stock is worth millions and we sell and embark on our world cruise. I can wait a year, though. I'll need some time to write and publish How I Conquered Wall Street: A Memoir, anyway.
After the world cruise (followed by several more extravagant trips), I figure we'll start some kind of do-gooder organization to help educate children, a la Bill and Melinda Gates. That way people will say, “That Andy and Kirstin—what thoughtful millionaires they are, giving a small, almost negligible fraction of their wealth to help the less fortunate. Such considerate people!” We'll bask in the glow of their praise (and of our money). Then maybe we'll make another version of Windows that crashes every four seconds because that's what billionaires do.
I've often thought that I should be a consultant to the rich, partly because the job title consultant sounds really smart yet nebulous, and partly because I've observed that the rich just don't know how to spend their money. They need help, and I can help them. For instance, they often build their Yertle the Turtle houses on hills overlooking the freeway. For a small fee, I would have told them that isn't smart. In fact, I would advise all of my clients to build on the beach, where they can hear waves crashing. That's where the rich should live. (I mean, duh.)
Rich people also like to keep working, I've observed—often long hours running major corporations. This is also not smart. Wealth is wasted on these rich people. Again, for a nominal fee, I would tell my clients to quit work immediately. I think we all worry we'll be bored if we quit working, but this fear just shows a lack of imagination. There are so many places to travel! So much extra time to spend with friends and family—especially because we wouldn't have to spend so much time recuperating after an exhausting work week. So many hobbies to pursue! If my clients really needed to work, I'd advise them to start a fragrance line, like Justin Bieber. His parents must be so proud.
I also don't know why rich people continue to cook. Eating is one of the best parts of life. I would definitely have a private chef so that every meal was spectacular.
Rich people often want to be famous. This is also crazy. I would advise my Hollywood clients to make a movie, become rich, and then move to Europe and lay low. I definitely wouldn't advise them to run for a political office, as several actors have done, and then come out looking all stressed and beaten down and with a secret love child. I would have advised against the love child. See how good I would be at this job? My advice would be worth paying for.
I'd make an excellent consultant to the rich, but I'd make an even better rich person. When I am rich, I promise to buy a house where I can hear the waves crashing, to start a fragrance line, to give pennies from my fortune to my charitable organization, and to do...nothing. Nothing! I would just travel, spend time with friends and family, and pursue my hobbies.
Actually, I could give up the house on the beach. I like our house, and I like Benicia. I could keep tutoring, too. I like my students. Mostly, I just want my husband to be able to stay home and hang out with Colin and me. Isn't that so simplistic of me it's almost beautiful? So why isn't the universe listening?
Except the personal chef. I'd really need the personal chef. But everyone needs one of those.
