Tuesday, January 28, 2014
so angry that all i can do is laugh
yes, ladies and gentleman, its another one of my posts from a cab...except unlike the last one. where i was happy and drunk, tonight i am angry and delusional. i have to find another job or i will just have to quit and resort to one of my backup plans (ex. stripping. i cant fucking go on like this.... i was supposed to get out of work at 1am, i walked out at 6am. on top of having bronchitis and being close to death, i now missed out on sleeping and eating a proper dinner...no fucking wonder my goddamn immune system gave up and said di quit this bitchd a couple of months ago. i wish i could do the same and walk out the doors of mollister forever. fml. i had several mental breakdowns at work, including a 5 minute interlude where i shut myself in the bathroom to cry. this is legit torture. i would have given up around 3am and said fuck it, were i not working with another manager. i obviously couldnt peace out on her so i had to stay strong or at least as strong as an emotionally weak person such as myself can stay, and so i worked 5 additional hours for no pay....seriously...fml. i have a doctors app on my next day off...wed. at 3:30...hopefully the doctor can hook me up with an inhaler, antibiotics, and maybe an adderall and xanax prescription while he is at it because lord knows i cant go on functioning on no sleep and under this much stress. my skin looks like fucking shit, i think my hair is going white, and i am fucking insane as a result of sleep deprivation. stress, and the sadness of working at this awful place. i cant stop coughing, my head is hot, and i hope i dont die in my sleep. if i live to see wednesday. im going hard.... ill fucking party on my day off. i need to after being subjected to this degredation and abuse. i feel abused.... omg...im so angry i cant cry. this is the worst.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
A Short Story, Part Trois
Once upon a very modern time, there lived a little prince with Blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He was a thinker, a philosopher, a poet, and a genius, but also, bat-shit fucking insane. He loved nothing more than to wax poetic and pretend to be one of the great romantics he idolized... he also loved to mind fuck people and get into arguments with the vagabonds he befriended, because no one of a rational mind would cater to his thought trains or listen to his ramblings. This is why the majority of his friends were homeless townies- drunks that counted bottle refunds for the cheapest vodka available, and vagrants that slept in tents by the local river. He worked as a bottle room attendant for a brief time period, and this is how he initially came to know these folk by name. He heard all of their sad stories, and he could relate, because he himself had one of the saddest childhood stories of all....
But, alas, all of that is besides the point. The point is, our tragic, little hero loved nothing more than getting fucked up- he would drink himself into a stupor and roll around naked on his living room carpet reading excerpts from Henry Miller's 'Tropic of Cancer," or Tolstoy to anyone whom was willing to listen to him on the phone while he was in this lowly state of intoxication. He also enjoyed doing ketamine to the point of k-holing himself into a world of disassociation, drinking cough syrup to the point of robotripping, and when he was still a high school student, he was so often fucked up on acid and weed, that for an entire month he went to school barefoot and wearing tie-dye shirts with grateful dead bears on them. If you are wondering how his teachers allowed him to get away with attending school barefoot, it is because his jeans were so long and tattered at the bottoms, that his teachers could only see his toes sticking out and assumed he was sporting flip-flops.
Having come from a very broken home, our hero found himself on his own from the point that he was eighteen years old onward. He filed all of his FASFA forms himself, paid for his own food, apartment, and books, and purchased all of his furnishings and the clothes on his back. He chain smoked to the point of nearly contracting lung cancer by the tender age of 21. He would skip class just to stay home and read Thoreau, and when a teacher called him out on his six, consecutive absences, he would make up a brilliant lie about how he was depressed having recently found out he had contracted HIV and unable to pry himself from bed in the morning... sympathy would usually be bestowed upon him and he would scrape by with a 65 passing grade. He had the potential to be so much more than he was, but he simply lacked the conscience that makes a good student attend class and a bad one say 'fuck this shit.' He would write the most eloquent of suicide letters that often landed him in the Dean's office, and letters that he would email to his professors outlining his contempt for academia as a whole, and the modern-day college system. These letters also landed him in hot water with the Dean and with his professors who developed a fear of him and would remain wary for the rest of the semester that he was the type to bring a shot gun full of lead to school.
He probably was the type to do such, but he was rarely bullied as most high-school students who are driven to commit acts of massacre are. In fact, he was usually the one doing the bullying. Though he was far from being 'popular,' he was well-known for his in class commentary, sharp wit, and even sharper tongue when it came to verbally denouncing any idea he didn't agree with or theory that he found dissatisfying.
Once, he set a bride on fire on her wedding night (on accident of course). He enjoyed a fine wine more than anything else, and though he was far from being well-traveled, he read so much about history, geography, language, and the sciences, that he could fool almost any stranger whom didn't know his history into thinking he had traveled to all seven continents.
Our tragic hero's downfall was though he thought himself to be a sort of Don Juan when it came to the ladies, he was so socially retarded that he didn't know a single thing about the way females processed their thoughts, emotions or their actions. This is the exact reason why he couldn't hold down a relationship. He would either get wasted, verbally abusive, or both wasted and verbally abusive and there would be an explosive falling-out wherein she dumped him, but he would later claim to have dumped her. He didn't really know how to pick 'em either.. if you know what I'm saying. He was obsessed by big breasts, to the point of being blinded to the rest of the body. As long as the girl had huge tits, he thought she was beautiful, even if said tits were saggy as fuck, her face looked like a braying donkey, or she only had huge boobs because the rest of her was also huge. He even dated a lesbian once who was on the girl's rugby team and had no idea why she refused to kiss him four dates into their summer romance.
Many years after graduating college, he was working as a professor at a private university where he taught English and amused his students with stories of his reckless youth. He received a phone call from an old friend and an hour into their conversation, he brought up the fact that they used to joke that they were going to marry each other when they both ended up 40 and alone one day... they agreed never to sleep with each other, just to have a beautiful wedding and to share the expenses of a beautiful house by the sea shore. Oh, and they also had a common dream to open a day-home for the autistic where they would blare the Kid Cudi song, "Day and Night" on repeat 24/7. Truth be told, they had been planning the details of this marriage for years, whenever one of them was in the depths of despair having just been kicked to the curb by their significant other, or the other one had been single for over three years and they were both at the end of their rope, they would come to the agreement to marry each other out of convenience and the desire to never be lonely again... there were going to be lilacs, a vanilla and rasperry creme filled cake, and the wedding was going to be on a lake in the evening in May.
They decided to finally tie the knot since she now was past child-bearing age and looked haggard as fuck in the face, and he had the same beer gut that his father had developed. What a comely pairing they were! On the night of the wedding, after the cake was cut (and half of it went down the portly bride's gullet) and the champagne had been flowing for hours on end (yes, the groom was in a state of black-out drunkeness comparable to that of his college days), the groom rowed out in a tiny row boat into the middle of the lake. He planned to set off a fireworks display for his wife once he had made it further off shore. He looked up at the clear, starry night sky and the full moon. The fragrant and sweet smell of lilacs wafted above the water, and he could hear "lilac wine" by Jeff Buckley playing softly from the illuminated tent even though he was now quite far from sure. The melody was punctuated by laughter of the wedding guests, and he smiled thinking about this happy little life that was about to begin. Even if both of them never shared more than a single kiss and slept in different beds, at least he would have a companion to dine out with, travel with, and drink with. he looked up into the sky one last time and struck a match to light the fireworks which he planned to send out and away from the boat on a little plank of wood he had crafted especially for this occassion.
The fire flew up the spark cord of the explosives at a rapid rate, and before he could fully launch the plank carrying the fireworks to a distance safely far away enough from the little row boat where he sat, there was a massive and firey explosion. The poor sweet prince was blown into a million pieces that appeared as white and lilac colored waterfalls and twizzlers and bam-bangers in the night sky... he became a part of that firework extravaganza that evening. The onlookers back on shore underneath the tent ooohed and ahhhhed not knowing yet that the groom was dead. The bride cried tears of joy and looked into the distance in an attempt to see if her friend was smiling as big as she was. She waited 40 minutes for him to come back to shore, and when he didn't get back, she sent out a search party. They found pieces of the blown up row boat, and a note floating in the water that simply said, "Just remember that you're ugly, but try not to think about it."
THE END.
But, alas, all of that is besides the point. The point is, our tragic, little hero loved nothing more than getting fucked up- he would drink himself into a stupor and roll around naked on his living room carpet reading excerpts from Henry Miller's 'Tropic of Cancer," or Tolstoy to anyone whom was willing to listen to him on the phone while he was in this lowly state of intoxication. He also enjoyed doing ketamine to the point of k-holing himself into a world of disassociation, drinking cough syrup to the point of robotripping, and when he was still a high school student, he was so often fucked up on acid and weed, that for an entire month he went to school barefoot and wearing tie-dye shirts with grateful dead bears on them. If you are wondering how his teachers allowed him to get away with attending school barefoot, it is because his jeans were so long and tattered at the bottoms, that his teachers could only see his toes sticking out and assumed he was sporting flip-flops.
Having come from a very broken home, our hero found himself on his own from the point that he was eighteen years old onward. He filed all of his FASFA forms himself, paid for his own food, apartment, and books, and purchased all of his furnishings and the clothes on his back. He chain smoked to the point of nearly contracting lung cancer by the tender age of 21. He would skip class just to stay home and read Thoreau, and when a teacher called him out on his six, consecutive absences, he would make up a brilliant lie about how he was depressed having recently found out he had contracted HIV and unable to pry himself from bed in the morning... sympathy would usually be bestowed upon him and he would scrape by with a 65 passing grade. He had the potential to be so much more than he was, but he simply lacked the conscience that makes a good student attend class and a bad one say 'fuck this shit.' He would write the most eloquent of suicide letters that often landed him in the Dean's office, and letters that he would email to his professors outlining his contempt for academia as a whole, and the modern-day college system. These letters also landed him in hot water with the Dean and with his professors who developed a fear of him and would remain wary for the rest of the semester that he was the type to bring a shot gun full of lead to school.
He probably was the type to do such, but he was rarely bullied as most high-school students who are driven to commit acts of massacre are. In fact, he was usually the one doing the bullying. Though he was far from being 'popular,' he was well-known for his in class commentary, sharp wit, and even sharper tongue when it came to verbally denouncing any idea he didn't agree with or theory that he found dissatisfying.
Once, he set a bride on fire on her wedding night (on accident of course). He enjoyed a fine wine more than anything else, and though he was far from being well-traveled, he read so much about history, geography, language, and the sciences, that he could fool almost any stranger whom didn't know his history into thinking he had traveled to all seven continents.
Our tragic hero's downfall was though he thought himself to be a sort of Don Juan when it came to the ladies, he was so socially retarded that he didn't know a single thing about the way females processed their thoughts, emotions or their actions. This is the exact reason why he couldn't hold down a relationship. He would either get wasted, verbally abusive, or both wasted and verbally abusive and there would be an explosive falling-out wherein she dumped him, but he would later claim to have dumped her. He didn't really know how to pick 'em either.. if you know what I'm saying. He was obsessed by big breasts, to the point of being blinded to the rest of the body. As long as the girl had huge tits, he thought she was beautiful, even if said tits were saggy as fuck, her face looked like a braying donkey, or she only had huge boobs because the rest of her was also huge. He even dated a lesbian once who was on the girl's rugby team and had no idea why she refused to kiss him four dates into their summer romance.
Many years after graduating college, he was working as a professor at a private university where he taught English and amused his students with stories of his reckless youth. He received a phone call from an old friend and an hour into their conversation, he brought up the fact that they used to joke that they were going to marry each other when they both ended up 40 and alone one day... they agreed never to sleep with each other, just to have a beautiful wedding and to share the expenses of a beautiful house by the sea shore. Oh, and they also had a common dream to open a day-home for the autistic where they would blare the Kid Cudi song, "Day and Night" on repeat 24/7. Truth be told, they had been planning the details of this marriage for years, whenever one of them was in the depths of despair having just been kicked to the curb by their significant other, or the other one had been single for over three years and they were both at the end of their rope, they would come to the agreement to marry each other out of convenience and the desire to never be lonely again... there were going to be lilacs, a vanilla and rasperry creme filled cake, and the wedding was going to be on a lake in the evening in May.
They decided to finally tie the knot since she now was past child-bearing age and looked haggard as fuck in the face, and he had the same beer gut that his father had developed. What a comely pairing they were! On the night of the wedding, after the cake was cut (and half of it went down the portly bride's gullet) and the champagne had been flowing for hours on end (yes, the groom was in a state of black-out drunkeness comparable to that of his college days), the groom rowed out in a tiny row boat into the middle of the lake. He planned to set off a fireworks display for his wife once he had made it further off shore. He looked up at the clear, starry night sky and the full moon. The fragrant and sweet smell of lilacs wafted above the water, and he could hear "lilac wine" by Jeff Buckley playing softly from the illuminated tent even though he was now quite far from sure. The melody was punctuated by laughter of the wedding guests, and he smiled thinking about this happy little life that was about to begin. Even if both of them never shared more than a single kiss and slept in different beds, at least he would have a companion to dine out with, travel with, and drink with. he looked up into the sky one last time and struck a match to light the fireworks which he planned to send out and away from the boat on a little plank of wood he had crafted especially for this occassion.
The fire flew up the spark cord of the explosives at a rapid rate, and before he could fully launch the plank carrying the fireworks to a distance safely far away enough from the little row boat where he sat, there was a massive and firey explosion. The poor sweet prince was blown into a million pieces that appeared as white and lilac colored waterfalls and twizzlers and bam-bangers in the night sky... he became a part of that firework extravaganza that evening. The onlookers back on shore underneath the tent ooohed and ahhhhed not knowing yet that the groom was dead. The bride cried tears of joy and looked into the distance in an attempt to see if her friend was smiling as big as she was. She waited 40 minutes for him to come back to shore, and when he didn't get back, she sent out a search party. They found pieces of the blown up row boat, and a note floating in the water that simply said, "Just remember that you're ugly, but try not to think about it."
THE END.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
The grass is always greener...aka... I like jumping fences
After spending the weekend on the verge of death, I am happy to say that I am back to normal (ie: completely and totally erratic and insane thought trains, longing for a night out, full of energy, etc.). I contracted a 24-hour stomach bug that was unlike anything I have every experienced before in my life... it was (dare I say) worse than the infamous 2012 episode of gastritis that left me hooked up to a double IV and narcotic drip. I was about to call 911 at a couple different points in the night, because I was sure if I fell asleep I wouldn't wake up again (yes... I am THAT dramatic). No, but honestly- I NEVER throw up, unless I am drunk/hung-over. I threw up 10 times in the course of one night. It all began at Highline- I started my shift like any other, with a cup of tea and begrudging the fact that my partner in crime (aka, the girl I hostess with) was no longer going to be a saturday-night staple in my life. All was going fine and dandy when I began to feel extreme nausea. I threw up not once, but twice, in the filthy public toilet at HLB, before I went home early.
It wasn't over yet though. I took a cab home, and began to feel waves of nausea again as I entered Williamsburg and had to have the cabby pull over, not once, but twice, so I could embarassingly vomit out the side of the door while a line of cars behind me watched on. I cried not only out of the agonizing stomach pains I felt, but out of shame. Never, in even my drunkest, sloppiest state, have I had to ask a cab driver to pull aside so I could vomit. I barely made it in my apartment before collapsing on the couch... and that's when the real fun began. There was nothing left to vomit at that point, so I was throwing up stomach bile. It was disgusting and so utterly painful I wanted to die. My entire body was heaving and every muscle tensed each time it happened... on top of that, I had a fever so hot that I felt delusional and thought my brain was melting. Thankfully my bf took care of me and my sister brought me some saltine and gatorade the next day when I was laid up on my couch all day. I never take naps, EVER- but I slept 18 out of the next 24 hours. My poor body felt like it had been beaten with a baseball bat from the wretching, and I was too weak to even get off the couch.... thankfully I was so dehydrated I didn't even need to use the facilities.
I spent all day Sunday asleep and later that evening decided to enjoy a nice, little movie about an adorable Akita dog staring Richard Gere. Please note- one should never watch the movie "Hachi" when they are near death and emotionally drained. I balled my eyes out for a good hour after Hachi's owner died and he faithfully waited in rain and shine and snow by the train station for his return....the movie was utterly devestating. By Monday, I felt ok again, minus the fact that my stomach still felt like it was ripped in two. It is now Tuesday and I think I am 100% better, and 5 lbs thinner (hey, at least one positive thing came from this bug ;) ).
After a few days away from Hollister, I returned to work for the much dreaded 8am Tuesday management meeting. As I climbed onto the filthy, loathsome L-train at the ass-crack of dawn, I had an epiphany looking at the tired, sad, and depressed faces around me... I never want to be one of them. I'm sure there are people working 8-5, mon-friday jobs that love what they do. Once upon a time (not that far removed), I myself craved the comfort and security that I thought one of these 8-5 jobs would provide me... but now that I have a consistent schedule that I no longer create, and now that I no longer dictate what days I will and won't work, I see that being in a daily grind is not that fun. Am I thankful that I have a job that allows me to pay my rent? YES. Am I thankful I have a job with decent benefits? YESSSSS. However, this job is completely unsatisfying creatively, and the daily grind is wearing me out emotionally. I need something that stimulates me- a job I look forward to going to. I remember at this time last year when I was still serving at Highline and working for free doing costumes and props for Wakka Wakka, I felt so much better about life, despite the fact that I was poor as fuck and wondering how I was going to eat. I felt creatively and artistically fulfilled as I sat in that rehearsal room sewing costumes for puppets and making miniature beds and sheep. I felt creatively enlightened listening to awesome music for free every night at Highline, even if my tips sucked mega d*ck most nights and I felt degraded every time I had to carry a tray of h'ors d'ouvres dressed as a little boy in my black button up and flats. Why is it that back then, all I could focus on was finding a job with more income and benefits? Why is it that back then, I thought I would be happier to have a job with a 'regular' schedule, and 'regular' hours? I'll tell you why...
BECAUSE THE GRASS IS ALWAYS F*CKING GREENER ON THE OTHER SIDE
Well, now that I look back on those days that I wondered how I was going to ration out a box of pasta for three days, not only was it much easier to stay thin (jk, jk... but not really), but at times, I felt like I was doing more living than I was working. It was nice to have my entire day free until 5 or 6pm and then work until midnight. It was nice to be able to spend time with my sister and niece and go to the park for a few hours, or take a long walk to Greenpoint, or go to Ikea on a Tuesday afternoon. It was nice to send a quick email a week in advance and say "Please note, I will be unable to work next Wednesday-Saturday, as I am going home, thank you!" and never have it be an issue to take time off or request a day that I just didn't want to work. It was nice to give a shift away when I felt like going out with my friends or boyfriend was more important on a summer evening. I just have to keep reminding myself, as everyone else keeps reminding me also, that my current job is a stepping stone... and again, I must keep stressing to myself that I am LUCKY to have a job with benefits (even if I want to scream and cry before work most days). I am lucky that I have a job to pay my bills, so that I can look for a better opportunity in the mean time without worrying about how I will pay rent or my student loans. And lastly, I have to remind myself of how depressing and degrading it was on those months where I made shitty money in tips due to three dark-days in a row at HLB, or awful nights with a crowd of 70 people, and thusly had to call home to ask my parents for help (that is the worst).
Surely, there must be some kind of middle ground here... where the grass is perfectly green and I have no desire to jump a fence and then end up looking back longingly upon the yard from whence I just jumped.
Oh well... I am lucky I live where I live, and that I pay what I pay for my awesome little apartment. I am lucky to have friends and family who continually put up with my antics and still accept me for who I am. I am also lucky to have people who take care of me when I am sick and still want to hang out with me after watching me vomit into a garbage can in my underwear. lol. I recently re-arranged my apartment and am in the process of getting a new, pimped out sound system thanks to my bf. I will post some pics of my new apartment in the next blog.... I would take some now, but I have a sink full of dishes that I simply cannot focus on (ADHD.... maybe I need some adderall.....). God... I haven't posted any narcissistic selfies in a while either... ;) I think that may be needed too....
Thursday, January 9, 2014
New Year Goals
Another year has come and gone, and yes, you'll have to excuse the poor grammer and lack of capitolization, because im starting this post from a Starbucks where I am currently sitting on a radiator, due to lack of seating, and writing on my ancient android's keypad. Last year was monumental for me; I ended a three year relationship, had many ups and downs as I struggled to find full-time work, learn to live alone, and navigate the tricky field of NYC dating (lessons taken away- never date the French). I had a tumultuous Spring, and a beautiful (and at times still tumultuous) Summer. I came out of the year with some new friends, a great boyfriend, a job that at least pays the bills (despite the fact that I fucking hate everything else about it...), and with several, solid goals for the new year.
I spent a short and sweet Christmas Upstate with my family and boyfriend, I spent New Year's Eve working and getting beyond shit-faced, and am now back on the staight and narrow (or as straight and narrow as an animal such as myself can be ;) ). I am currently on my lunch break, and as per usual, I am contemplating never returning to that wretched store and just going home and never looking back. The way that place makes me feel is beyond description. I am being creatively stifled and stripped of my identity. I almost miss serving, because the hours were way more conducive to pursuing creative interests on the side, and I had WAY more free time during the week to do leisurely activities and to pursue creative endeavors...even though I wondered how I would pay my rent every month and was in a constant state of fear and desperation. That being said, my number one goal this year is to find a creative job, with benefits, and good hours. If I can do that, all aspects of life will automatically improve. I will be happier, less tempermental and anxious all the time, and a better person to everyone in my life. My other goal is finally finishing my book- I am so close to being done now, that it is stupid for me not to take the time to buckle down, wrap it up, and possibly start researching the publishing process. I also want to take more time off to enjoy life- I want to go on more mini-vacations and try to stop stressing out about all of the things in life that are beyond my control. Additionally, I want to lose 10 lbs (hahaha). Here is a brief synopsis of all of my New Year goals:
I spent a short and sweet Christmas Upstate with my family and boyfriend, I spent New Year's Eve working and getting beyond shit-faced, and am now back on the staight and narrow (or as straight and narrow as an animal such as myself can be ;) ). I am currently on my lunch break, and as per usual, I am contemplating never returning to that wretched store and just going home and never looking back. The way that place makes me feel is beyond description. I am being creatively stifled and stripped of my identity. I almost miss serving, because the hours were way more conducive to pursuing creative interests on the side, and I had WAY more free time during the week to do leisurely activities and to pursue creative endeavors...even though I wondered how I would pay my rent every month and was in a constant state of fear and desperation. That being said, my number one goal this year is to find a creative job, with benefits, and good hours. If I can do that, all aspects of life will automatically improve. I will be happier, less tempermental and anxious all the time, and a better person to everyone in my life. My other goal is finally finishing my book- I am so close to being done now, that it is stupid for me not to take the time to buckle down, wrap it up, and possibly start researching the publishing process. I also want to take more time off to enjoy life- I want to go on more mini-vacations and try to stop stressing out about all of the things in life that are beyond my control. Additionally, I want to lose 10 lbs (hahaha). Here is a brief synopsis of all of my New Year goals:
1. Find a creative job with benefits and 'decent hours' (creative= preferably writing or costume work, decent hours= not before the hour of 10am, or after the hour of 11pm).
2. Be more positive and less temperamental (aka... stop being so crazy and derailing multiple times a month)
3. FINISH MY GODDAMN BOOK!!!!!!!
4. NEVER drink on an empty stomach again, never drink while angry or depressed, and never drink while unattended (I require constant supervision if I plan on consuming more than three alcoholic beverages or bad things start to happen... )
5. Lose 10 lbs.
6. Stop having bi-weekly derailments and cry way less (I think the key to this is finding a job that doesn't make me want to cry before I go into work, also eating more nutritional foods would probably help with my mental stability).
7. Don't stress over things I cannot control (So what if someone doesn't text me back in a timely fashion? So what if I have to stay an hour and a half later than I'm supposed to at work? So what if I eat too much Nutella and break out? I need to stop using so much of my energy to focus on things I can't remedy myself...)
8. Go on a Vacation/multiple mini-vacations (taking a break from life and work will definitely help me put things into perspective and keep me de-stressed)
9. Explore new things (S&M, Bondage... JK! :D hahahahaha..... I should explore more options in every given situation and life scenario, and maybe explore some new places, restaurants, foods, activities, etc.).
10. Be more understanding and DON'T EVER SMOKE ANOTHER CIGARETTE WHILE INTOXICATED EVER F*CKING AGAIN!!!!!! (before jumping to conclusions or making rash judgments, I should try to be more understanding of circumstances... oh, and I am not allowed to ever indulge in another cigarette while drunk again, because I wake up the next day sounding like Lindsay Lohan after she smokes a pack of Marlboro reds, drinks a bottle of vodka, and S*cks multiple d*cks).
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