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.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
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).
Monday, December 2, 2013
A Short Story, Part Deux
Once upon a time in the land of a million hopes and a billion lost dreams, there lived a small, fragile girl with big, icey-grey eyes, icey-blonde hair, and enough falsely contrived charm to captivate and entrance even the coldest of hearts. She turned heads walking down the street, turned heads on the subway, and was never at a loss for dates out at the expense of whatever boy she was currently letting pursue her. She lived with her boyfriend of five years in a tiny apartment in the East Village, and regularly cheated on him in the hopes that one day, one of the dudes she was fucking on the side would provide her with the break she had been waiting for since she was 18. Her boyfriend, an aspiring musician, was consistently faithful and saving money wherever he could in the hopes that he could one day provide his girl with the life he believed she deserved. He worked three jobs to pay the bills, take her out to nice dinners whenever he had a night off of work, and put money in his savings account for the engagement ring he was planning to buy her for their upcoming anniversary. He was madly in love, and blind to her true nature, despite the fact that his closest friends saw right through her and regularly warned him as to their suspicion that she was not faithful in the least and a manipulative and conniving bitch.
The girl was an aspiring actress who just couldn't get a break. She busted her ass waiting tables and doing bottle service at hot club where she was regularly hit on by New York's finest douche bags, and often met the guys she let take her out and slept with in return for favors. She was a slut in the most basic sense of the word. While her boyfriend was up all night working at the 24/7 diner around the corner from her apartment, she could either be found flirting and dancing with an older gentleman getting bottles at the club where she worked, or out on the town at another club, grinding on some other old dude in return for lines of blow in the VIP section. She didn't really feel much at all these days- it could have been from the years of rejection and having her hopes and dreams of becoming a star on the silver screen shot down time and time again, or it could have been from the grade A cocaine going up her nostrils on a nightly basis...either way, she was numb and lived her life in a blurred haze of drug use, alcohol consumption, and rich men that gave her what she wanted as long as she was hooking up with them. She had learned years ago how exactly to shut off her feelings. She couldn't remember the last time she cried, and she couldn't remember the last time that she was truly happy without the aid of synthetically manufactured drugs or the thrill of a ride in some investment banker's hot car. There was no real punctuation, just a daily routine of sleeping late, working a little, and partying hard, the same routine day in and day out was growing old, just as she was growing old, and life as she new it was growing old.
Once upon a time, she had been sweet and her charm had been genuine. Once upon a time, she had also been madly in love with her boyfriend, the way that he still loved her even now. Once upon a time, she never could have fathomed falling so far from grace and cheating on him, she never could have fathomed nights of doing free lines in return for a BJ in the men's room. Now, as she stood on the corner of 14th street on a busy Saturday in Union Square where she was going to meet with her agent to discuss an upcoming independent film she was going to be featured in, something triggered her memory. As she stood waiting for the light to turn, cars and cabs and bikes buzzing by in a flurry of movement, she stared into space and remembered the very first time she had stood waiting to cross the street when she was going for her first consultation with her current agency. She was a different person then; her dreams were so high, her standards were higher. She was hopeful and not run down. She thought with her heart and her mind, and she wasn't fueled so much as she was now by her desperate desire for fame and wealth. These were the days when she didn't give a fuck about being able to skip the line at the hottest night club, these were the days when she didn't even know what a Birken bag was. The days when her grey eyes weren't ice cold, but warm and sparkled with that brilliance that can only be seen in the eyes of someone who is pure of heart.
The crowd of people around her started to move forward across the street, and she awoke from her daydream and began to cross too without looking either way. As she stepped off of the curb, a rogue bicyclist clipped her and she jumped back and gasped in shock.... "Jesus Christ, watch where you're fucking going!" she screamed after the mexican delivery boy whom simply turned his head to look back on her before he sped off down the street.
After her meeting, she went home to chill for the few hours she had before she her next appointment- a date with a 42 year old financial analyst who wanted to take her to dinner and out on the town in his sick Mercedes SUV. She was sitting on the couch watching re-runs of Sex in the City, when her boyfriend came in the door, fresh from rehearsal with his band. "Hey Babe, how was your meeting?" She turned to look at him, a vile look of disgust taking over her otherwise pretty face, "Take your fucking shoes off Jimmy, Jesus! I am tired of cleaning up after you, I'm not your mother!" she said, and then went back to staring at the tv. He leaned over to unlace his converse. "So, are you working tonight? If you aren't, my friend is playing a show at the Rosewood- we should go." Again she turned her gaze from the tv and looked at him, the same look of disgust coming across her face, her grey eyes cold and steely, "I fucking told you- I work EVERY night this week.... I go in at 9." "Oh, Excuse me for not remembering your schedule on top of my own..." he said as he opened the fridge and scoured it for an readily edible piece of food to fill the hole in his stomach after another long day.
Later that night, as our main character was getting ready for her 'date', she found a baggie of coke she had stashed away in her underwear drawer. She looked behind her to make sure the bedroom door was closed and that Jimmy was occupied with his computer. She unscrewed the hidden coke spoon pendant that hung around a gold chain on her slender neck and did a bump before placing the rest back under her collection of lacy thongs and heavily padded bras. She put on her highest heels and took a look at herself in the mirror. She stared at her own reflection; her eyes seemed dead despite the cat-eye eyeliner and metallic shadow she had used specifically to make them stand out. She puckered her lips to apply a final coat of lipgloss and ran her fingers through her hair. She thought about the fact that she was no longer 20 years old, and the late nights of partying hard were slowly beginning to take a toll. The appearance of fine lines on her forehead and the dark circles she so expertly concealed under her eyes were a tell-tale sign of her frequent drug use, lack of sleep, and constant stress she felt at hiding the fact that she was regularly hooking up with other dudes all whilst trying to keep these secrets from getting to the attention of her naive boyfriend, who now sat playing Call of Duty. "Fuck the Chanel bag, I better ask for botox and collagen injections later... " she said to her reflection before she turned to walk out the door. "Will you be home late tonight?" her boyfriend asked without looking away from the tv, "I can wait up and make you your favorite mac and cheese if you want." "No, I might spend the night at a friend's house since she lives right next to the place where I have that audition tomorrow." I'll call you when I'm out of work though." She turned to walk out the front door as Jimmy called after her, "I love you, make sure you have someone walk you out of work, I don't like you leaving the club with so much money on you alone." "I will- see you tomorrow." And with that, she closed the door behind her and ran down the three flights of stairs to the street below where she expected her date to be waiting.
She looked around for the matte black SUV she expected him to be waiting in. She got out her phone to send him a text and was looking down she heard a horn beep. She looked up as the SUV pulled over to the curb. She put her phone in her pocked and smiled as she headed over to climb into his car.
FAST FOWARD THREE HOURS....
She is drunk now, has already made three trips to the ladies room to blow lines of coke that her date happily provided her with, and is again staring into the mirror to reapply her lipgloss. As she puckers up and pulls out the wand, she hears a group of girls behind her snickering and turns around to see what they're laughing at. One of the girls in the group- a tall, model-thin brunette stops laughing long enough to look her dead in the face and say, "Whore." She puts away her lipgloss and and walks out back into the blaring music and dark of the club. As she approaches the table where her date has a bottle set up, she sees another girl sitting next to her date with her long legs draped over his own. She panics at the sight of this as her heart begins to race. "WTF?" she thinks to herself as she decides to turn around and walk away. "Fuck him, I'll find someone richer and hotter to go home with." She sees a promoter she knows from the club where she works and joins his table, smiling and dancing with a martini glass in her hand. He gives her some molly, and she gets even more fucked up than she already was. Her heart is racing and despite the fact that she is sweating profusely, she continues to dance. She climbs on top of the couch with a bottle of Chandon in her hand, and takes a sip from the bottle as she gyrates and moves in sync with the heavy base of the blaring house music. She feels her body overheating as she sways to the music, but she doesn't care. Fuck it- nothing matters anymore. She takes another swig from the bottle, and looks back over at the table where her date is still sitting, the same skinny bitch still draped over his lap. He makes eye contact with her across the crowd, and she takes another swig of champage. Suddenly the world starts to close in and everything around the edges goes black. She attempts to sit down, but it's too late. She collapses onto the bench, spilling champagne everywhere. She is dead.
The end.
The girl was an aspiring actress who just couldn't get a break. She busted her ass waiting tables and doing bottle service at hot club where she was regularly hit on by New York's finest douche bags, and often met the guys she let take her out and slept with in return for favors. She was a slut in the most basic sense of the word. While her boyfriend was up all night working at the 24/7 diner around the corner from her apartment, she could either be found flirting and dancing with an older gentleman getting bottles at the club where she worked, or out on the town at another club, grinding on some other old dude in return for lines of blow in the VIP section. She didn't really feel much at all these days- it could have been from the years of rejection and having her hopes and dreams of becoming a star on the silver screen shot down time and time again, or it could have been from the grade A cocaine going up her nostrils on a nightly basis...either way, she was numb and lived her life in a blurred haze of drug use, alcohol consumption, and rich men that gave her what she wanted as long as she was hooking up with them. She had learned years ago how exactly to shut off her feelings. She couldn't remember the last time she cried, and she couldn't remember the last time that she was truly happy without the aid of synthetically manufactured drugs or the thrill of a ride in some investment banker's hot car. There was no real punctuation, just a daily routine of sleeping late, working a little, and partying hard, the same routine day in and day out was growing old, just as she was growing old, and life as she new it was growing old.
Once upon a time, she had been sweet and her charm had been genuine. Once upon a time, she had also been madly in love with her boyfriend, the way that he still loved her even now. Once upon a time, she never could have fathomed falling so far from grace and cheating on him, she never could have fathomed nights of doing free lines in return for a BJ in the men's room. Now, as she stood on the corner of 14th street on a busy Saturday in Union Square where she was going to meet with her agent to discuss an upcoming independent film she was going to be featured in, something triggered her memory. As she stood waiting for the light to turn, cars and cabs and bikes buzzing by in a flurry of movement, she stared into space and remembered the very first time she had stood waiting to cross the street when she was going for her first consultation with her current agency. She was a different person then; her dreams were so high, her standards were higher. She was hopeful and not run down. She thought with her heart and her mind, and she wasn't fueled so much as she was now by her desperate desire for fame and wealth. These were the days when she didn't give a fuck about being able to skip the line at the hottest night club, these were the days when she didn't even know what a Birken bag was. The days when her grey eyes weren't ice cold, but warm and sparkled with that brilliance that can only be seen in the eyes of someone who is pure of heart.
The crowd of people around her started to move forward across the street, and she awoke from her daydream and began to cross too without looking either way. As she stepped off of the curb, a rogue bicyclist clipped her and she jumped back and gasped in shock.... "Jesus Christ, watch where you're fucking going!" she screamed after the mexican delivery boy whom simply turned his head to look back on her before he sped off down the street.
After her meeting, she went home to chill for the few hours she had before she her next appointment- a date with a 42 year old financial analyst who wanted to take her to dinner and out on the town in his sick Mercedes SUV. She was sitting on the couch watching re-runs of Sex in the City, when her boyfriend came in the door, fresh from rehearsal with his band. "Hey Babe, how was your meeting?" She turned to look at him, a vile look of disgust taking over her otherwise pretty face, "Take your fucking shoes off Jimmy, Jesus! I am tired of cleaning up after you, I'm not your mother!" she said, and then went back to staring at the tv. He leaned over to unlace his converse. "So, are you working tonight? If you aren't, my friend is playing a show at the Rosewood- we should go." Again she turned her gaze from the tv and looked at him, the same look of disgust coming across her face, her grey eyes cold and steely, "I fucking told you- I work EVERY night this week.... I go in at 9." "Oh, Excuse me for not remembering your schedule on top of my own..." he said as he opened the fridge and scoured it for an readily edible piece of food to fill the hole in his stomach after another long day.
Later that night, as our main character was getting ready for her 'date', she found a baggie of coke she had stashed away in her underwear drawer. She looked behind her to make sure the bedroom door was closed and that Jimmy was occupied with his computer. She unscrewed the hidden coke spoon pendant that hung around a gold chain on her slender neck and did a bump before placing the rest back under her collection of lacy thongs and heavily padded bras. She put on her highest heels and took a look at herself in the mirror. She stared at her own reflection; her eyes seemed dead despite the cat-eye eyeliner and metallic shadow she had used specifically to make them stand out. She puckered her lips to apply a final coat of lipgloss and ran her fingers through her hair. She thought about the fact that she was no longer 20 years old, and the late nights of partying hard were slowly beginning to take a toll. The appearance of fine lines on her forehead and the dark circles she so expertly concealed under her eyes were a tell-tale sign of her frequent drug use, lack of sleep, and constant stress she felt at hiding the fact that she was regularly hooking up with other dudes all whilst trying to keep these secrets from getting to the attention of her naive boyfriend, who now sat playing Call of Duty. "Fuck the Chanel bag, I better ask for botox and collagen injections later... " she said to her reflection before she turned to walk out the door. "Will you be home late tonight?" her boyfriend asked without looking away from the tv, "I can wait up and make you your favorite mac and cheese if you want." "No, I might spend the night at a friend's house since she lives right next to the place where I have that audition tomorrow." I'll call you when I'm out of work though." She turned to walk out the front door as Jimmy called after her, "I love you, make sure you have someone walk you out of work, I don't like you leaving the club with so much money on you alone." "I will- see you tomorrow." And with that, she closed the door behind her and ran down the three flights of stairs to the street below where she expected her date to be waiting.
She looked around for the matte black SUV she expected him to be waiting in. She got out her phone to send him a text and was looking down she heard a horn beep. She looked up as the SUV pulled over to the curb. She put her phone in her pocked and smiled as she headed over to climb into his car.
FAST FOWARD THREE HOURS....
She is drunk now, has already made three trips to the ladies room to blow lines of coke that her date happily provided her with, and is again staring into the mirror to reapply her lipgloss. As she puckers up and pulls out the wand, she hears a group of girls behind her snickering and turns around to see what they're laughing at. One of the girls in the group- a tall, model-thin brunette stops laughing long enough to look her dead in the face and say, "Whore." She puts away her lipgloss and and walks out back into the blaring music and dark of the club. As she approaches the table where her date has a bottle set up, she sees another girl sitting next to her date with her long legs draped over his own. She panics at the sight of this as her heart begins to race. "WTF?" she thinks to herself as she decides to turn around and walk away. "Fuck him, I'll find someone richer and hotter to go home with." She sees a promoter she knows from the club where she works and joins his table, smiling and dancing with a martini glass in her hand. He gives her some molly, and she gets even more fucked up than she already was. Her heart is racing and despite the fact that she is sweating profusely, she continues to dance. She climbs on top of the couch with a bottle of Chandon in her hand, and takes a sip from the bottle as she gyrates and moves in sync with the heavy base of the blaring house music. She feels her body overheating as she sways to the music, but she doesn't care. Fuck it- nothing matters anymore. She takes another swig from the bottle, and looks back over at the table where her date is still sitting, the same skinny bitch still draped over his lap. He makes eye contact with her across the crowd, and she takes another swig of champage. Suddenly the world starts to close in and everything around the edges goes black. She attempts to sit down, but it's too late. She collapses onto the bench, spilling champagne everywhere. She is dead.
The end.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Happy and wasted (aka, the way life should be)
Dear Readers,
I know that i have been negligent with my posts these last few months, but life is looking up. I usually only prefer to write when I am the saddest, because that is usually when I am the saddest and I need to express myself because I will go crazy if I don't. However, I am currently very drunk, with my boyfriend, whom I very much like, having one of the most wonderful Sunday nights off. You should be very jealous. If you are not jealous, you should be. Life is very good, minus the job that I hate. But that is a minor detail that can be fixed. I am just happy that I am not sad. I am happy that my boyfriend is awesome. I am happy that despite the fact that I am crazy when I don't sleep (which is often), I am generally happy and not suicidal. Despite the fact that I am probably 10 lbs. heavier than I was in the Spring time, it is because I am happy and eating great dinners with my bf. And even if I am heavier, I don't care because I am happier. Ps. I need to update the general info I have posted in my profile, because that was my old BF... and my old life. And life today is different and better. I feel like an adult. A good adult life. that is fun, and fresh, and full of possibilities.
Love Kelsey,
LOVEEEEEEE ME.
I know that i have been negligent with my posts these last few months, but life is looking up. I usually only prefer to write when I am the saddest, because that is usually when I am the saddest and I need to express myself because I will go crazy if I don't. However, I am currently very drunk, with my boyfriend, whom I very much like, having one of the most wonderful Sunday nights off. You should be very jealous. If you are not jealous, you should be. Life is very good, minus the job that I hate. But that is a minor detail that can be fixed. I am just happy that I am not sad. I am happy that my boyfriend is awesome. I am happy that despite the fact that I am crazy when I don't sleep (which is often), I am generally happy and not suicidal. Despite the fact that I am probably 10 lbs. heavier than I was in the Spring time, it is because I am happy and eating great dinners with my bf. And even if I am heavier, I don't care because I am happier. Ps. I need to update the general info I have posted in my profile, because that was my old BF... and my old life. And life today is different and better. I feel like an adult. A good adult life. that is fun, and fresh, and full of possibilities.
Love Kelsey,
LOVEEEEEEE ME.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Winter is Coming
Time is moving at a rate that is entirely too fast for me to keep up with. I have been working at Mollister for almost a month now, which blows my mind since it seems as though I just started last week. I'm still doing door at Highline on the weekends, and spend days off catching up on cleaning and laundry and spending quality time with my boyfriend whenever I have a night off and/or don't have to be up at the ass crack of dawn to go to work in the morning. I haven't written an entry in quite some time because I've been too busy to process my thoughts and lack the energy to sit here and write when there are better ways I could be spending my energy (ex. eating, going out, etc.). Since I now have a slightly more reliable source of income, I am planning on doing some serious winter shopping for myself (I need approximately one billion items to make up for the lack of shopping I did this fall) and doing a few improvements around the good, old apartment (yes, a dreaded trip to Ikea is in the near future... thank God Red Hook has a lobster pound which makes the trip out there a bit better). It's finally time to let go of the hanging star lamp above my bed that can only be described as a something that looks like a relic from a Calcutta brothel. Furthermore, my down comforter has taken some serious abuse since I moved here. It has had coffee spilled on it numerous times, and I've cried on it countless times, thereby staining it with black mascara. So shameful.
Other than my messy bed spread, life has been going rather smoothly as of late, punctuated by awesome nights out, awesome dates, and the occasional not so awesome night of sloppy drunkenness (yes, ladies and gentlemen, I still don't know enough to eat before drinking). I am no longer doing Pinterest boards for Renegadechicks.com due to the lack of free time, however, I am going to continue writing a weekly article for them since it is something I love to do. I've also been doing a lot of cooking lately, which is also a nice change since I didn't cook anything for about four months of my life and lived off of salad, highline chicken tenders, and booze. It's nice to have someone to cook with/for again, and he even cooks for me too... which is nice.
Work on my book is finally nearing completion, which is also pretty awesome since it has been a work in progress for the last two years of my life. I am not even sure what I intend to do when it is finished, but I like to imagine in my little head that I can get it published and live off the royalties for a few years (I'll keep dreaming). I am thankful that unlike Highline Ballroom, Hollister doesn't have a family meal with chicken tenders and french fries that tempt me on a nightly basis, and that the stairs I take in the store about 30 times a shift have been getting my buns back in shape. I was nearing kardashian territory for a while it seems... don't want to go back to those days ;)
I sadly don't think I am going to make it home for Thanksgiving this year, since Mollister is now open on Thanksgiving day.... looks like I'll be cooking my own fucking turkey this year. So sad. I don't even think my little oven can accommodate a proper turkey, so I guess it will have to be a stuffed Cornish Hen instead. HOW FUCKING DEPRESSING. I'm going to have to get wasted and/or high (jk... or am I...? ) that night to forget how sad I am that I'm not stuffing my fat face with my aunt's brown rice stuffing or my pumpkin pie. First I missed Easter, now Thanksgiving... what is next? Christmas? I'll fucking kill myself if I can't spend Christmas at home. I am planning on going home for a couple of nights on the Sunday/Monday prior to Thanksgiving so I can finally see my friends and family.
Another Halloween has already come and gone; this year I was Lisbeth Salandar (from 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo'). I spent the entire day working at Mollister and then worked door at Highline, but at least I had the chance to dress up. The costume was pretty awesome... no one even recognized me at first, so I'd say it was a success. I haven't taken any gratuitous selfies lately, so unfortunately no pics of the costume will be posted... sorry, I know you all love my sexual selfies ;) jk. I cannot wait to go home for a couple of days though... I haven't seen my friends in FOREVER, and I miss Bijou so much it's absurd. The one thing I truly miss about Highline (apart from the chicken tenders), are all of my friends. I haven't been out for a casual drink with girlfriends in weeks. It blows. Now when I have a night off or get out of work early, the friends I made at Highline are working there. I just need some girl time... is that so much to ask for?
Other than my messy bed spread, life has been going rather smoothly as of late, punctuated by awesome nights out, awesome dates, and the occasional not so awesome night of sloppy drunkenness (yes, ladies and gentlemen, I still don't know enough to eat before drinking). I am no longer doing Pinterest boards for Renegadechicks.com due to the lack of free time, however, I am going to continue writing a weekly article for them since it is something I love to do. I've also been doing a lot of cooking lately, which is also a nice change since I didn't cook anything for about four months of my life and lived off of salad, highline chicken tenders, and booze. It's nice to have someone to cook with/for again, and he even cooks for me too... which is nice.
Work on my book is finally nearing completion, which is also pretty awesome since it has been a work in progress for the last two years of my life. I am not even sure what I intend to do when it is finished, but I like to imagine in my little head that I can get it published and live off the royalties for a few years (I'll keep dreaming). I am thankful that unlike Highline Ballroom, Hollister doesn't have a family meal with chicken tenders and french fries that tempt me on a nightly basis, and that the stairs I take in the store about 30 times a shift have been getting my buns back in shape. I was nearing kardashian territory for a while it seems... don't want to go back to those days ;)
I sadly don't think I am going to make it home for Thanksgiving this year, since Mollister is now open on Thanksgiving day.... looks like I'll be cooking my own fucking turkey this year. So sad. I don't even think my little oven can accommodate a proper turkey, so I guess it will have to be a stuffed Cornish Hen instead. HOW FUCKING DEPRESSING. I'm going to have to get wasted and/or high (jk... or am I...? ) that night to forget how sad I am that I'm not stuffing my fat face with my aunt's brown rice stuffing or my pumpkin pie. First I missed Easter, now Thanksgiving... what is next? Christmas? I'll fucking kill myself if I can't spend Christmas at home. I am planning on going home for a couple of nights on the Sunday/Monday prior to Thanksgiving so I can finally see my friends and family.
Another Halloween has already come and gone; this year I was Lisbeth Salandar (from 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo'). I spent the entire day working at Mollister and then worked door at Highline, but at least I had the chance to dress up. The costume was pretty awesome... no one even recognized me at first, so I'd say it was a success. I haven't taken any gratuitous selfies lately, so unfortunately no pics of the costume will be posted... sorry, I know you all love my sexual selfies ;) jk. I cannot wait to go home for a couple of days though... I haven't seen my friends in FOREVER, and I miss Bijou so much it's absurd. The one thing I truly miss about Highline (apart from the chicken tenders), are all of my friends. I haven't been out for a casual drink with girlfriends in weeks. It blows. Now when I have a night off or get out of work early, the friends I made at Highline are working there. I just need some girl time... is that so much to ask for?
Thursday, October 10, 2013
More Changes
I finally got a full-time job with benefits- and you'll never guess where ; ) : I will be going back to my roots as a Hollister manager starting this coming Monday. It's pretty ironic that the job that made me want to move to the city and pursue something more creative and never do retail again has been my saving grace exactly one year after the fact. I guess desperation will lead you to do crazy things; like re-applying at the job you willingly left. Despite the fact that work at Highline has been pretty dismal these past couple of months, and despite the fact that all I have wanted was a better, full-time position where I'm not taking people's food/drink orders, I am now feeling these weird twinges of fright, anxiety, and uncertainty over leaving the place where I've been working for the last ten months of my New York life.
Work at Highline has definitely been attributing to my crazy as of late; with my erratic sleep schedule, terrible nights where I make only enough money for a glass of wine and cab fare, nights where I am injured on the job or forced to do heavy, manual labor (lifting chairs up the stairs), or just nights when I am SO fed up of waiting on ungrateful customer's for shitty tips that don't nearly compensate for the degradation I feel as I fight my way through a crowd carrying a heavy tray of hors d'ouvres dressed like a little boy in a button up shirt and flats. Despite all of these reasons for hating my job, I love pretty much every last person I work with. It takes me a while to warm up to strangers, and it takes me months of working with someone for me to warm up enough to the idea of socializing with them outside of work. It seems that I've just made friends with the majority of my co-workers, and now I will be leaving them and starting over. I will definitely make an effort to continue hanging out with the girls I've made friends with at Highline in the future though. Even on the shittiest nights at Highline, I took comfort in the fact that we were all in it together and I'd always have someone to go out with and commiserate over a drink when whatever terrible show or event finished. I wonder if I will have that at my new job... probably not since I'm sure the majority of my employees are underage. We will see what happens.
I am pretty stoked to have that sweet employee discount again. Lord knows I need some new jeggings in my life lol. And, I will probably lose a decent chunk of weight since I won't be binge eating out of anger after a long night a work, or because I have access to those nasty, Highline chicken tenders and pepper jack cheese that I love so much. TG... I really need to get my former body back... I had a real wake up call the other night when a white dude shouted to me that he "liked a white girl with a booty." I think the other reason I am so scared of leaving Highline is that despite the fact I've been dying to have a more consistent schedule, the schedule I am on currently allows me plenty of time for dates and outings with my boyfriend, and I have the same schedule as the majority of the people I am friends with at this point, since most of my friends are people from work. I'm stoked to finally have a better job, but I don't want my relationships to suffer since things are going well right now. Who knows though; in reality, I'm quite positive that this job will be better for my relationship, since I won't be such a crazy bitch after another bad night at work all of the time. Seriously though, I sometimes leave my current job wanting to stab any person who gets in my way or looks at me wrong; that place makes me pretty miserable and I fear I sometimes take it out on the wrong people.
On a final note; I want to start making a little Rolodex of business cards I am handed from people at work and call it: "Business Cards from Perverts." I will photograph the business cards and write the little story/pick up line that goes behind each and every one. People have issues....
On another note, I wonder if I will ever get to go home again.... I haven't been home since the first weekend in September and probably won't be able to request time off of work since I'm starting a brand new job. I miss my son (Bijou) and baby (Ceely). I wish I could carry Bijou around all day in a baby bjorn.... what is wrong with me?!
And on one last note, I MUST finish my book. This has been dragging on too long now. I need to get it finished, published, and live happily ever after on the royalties like Elizabeth Wurtzel before me.... the end.
Work at Highline has definitely been attributing to my crazy as of late; with my erratic sleep schedule, terrible nights where I make only enough money for a glass of wine and cab fare, nights where I am injured on the job or forced to do heavy, manual labor (lifting chairs up the stairs), or just nights when I am SO fed up of waiting on ungrateful customer's for shitty tips that don't nearly compensate for the degradation I feel as I fight my way through a crowd carrying a heavy tray of hors d'ouvres dressed like a little boy in a button up shirt and flats. Despite all of these reasons for hating my job, I love pretty much every last person I work with. It takes me a while to warm up to strangers, and it takes me months of working with someone for me to warm up enough to the idea of socializing with them outside of work. It seems that I've just made friends with the majority of my co-workers, and now I will be leaving them and starting over. I will definitely make an effort to continue hanging out with the girls I've made friends with at Highline in the future though. Even on the shittiest nights at Highline, I took comfort in the fact that we were all in it together and I'd always have someone to go out with and commiserate over a drink when whatever terrible show or event finished. I wonder if I will have that at my new job... probably not since I'm sure the majority of my employees are underage. We will see what happens.
I am pretty stoked to have that sweet employee discount again. Lord knows I need some new jeggings in my life lol. And, I will probably lose a decent chunk of weight since I won't be binge eating out of anger after a long night a work, or because I have access to those nasty, Highline chicken tenders and pepper jack cheese that I love so much. TG... I really need to get my former body back... I had a real wake up call the other night when a white dude shouted to me that he "liked a white girl with a booty." I think the other reason I am so scared of leaving Highline is that despite the fact I've been dying to have a more consistent schedule, the schedule I am on currently allows me plenty of time for dates and outings with my boyfriend, and I have the same schedule as the majority of the people I am friends with at this point, since most of my friends are people from work. I'm stoked to finally have a better job, but I don't want my relationships to suffer since things are going well right now. Who knows though; in reality, I'm quite positive that this job will be better for my relationship, since I won't be such a crazy bitch after another bad night at work all of the time. Seriously though, I sometimes leave my current job wanting to stab any person who gets in my way or looks at me wrong; that place makes me pretty miserable and I fear I sometimes take it out on the wrong people.
My sexified versian of Hollister.... ;) This is how I'd choose to fashion my Hollister clothes were it up to me.
On a final note; I want to start making a little Rolodex of business cards I am handed from people at work and call it: "Business Cards from Perverts." I will photograph the business cards and write the little story/pick up line that goes behind each and every one. People have issues....
On another note, I wonder if I will ever get to go home again.... I haven't been home since the first weekend in September and probably won't be able to request time off of work since I'm starting a brand new job. I miss my son (Bijou) and baby (Ceely). I wish I could carry Bijou around all day in a baby bjorn.... what is wrong with me?!
And on one last note, I MUST finish my book. This has been dragging on too long now. I need to get it finished, published, and live happily ever after on the royalties like Elizabeth Wurtzel before me.... the end.
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