Freedom aka... Letting it All Hang Out

Today I deleted my Facebook account.   Now that I have no facebook to post a link to this blog, I'm not sure how anyone will read it... but if you're reading it, obviously you've found it without the facebook link, so I guess that's a start.  I've thought about deleting my account before because I'm so fed up with how brag-y and superficial, and outright annoying some people on facebook are, but today I figured I have nothing to lose from deactivating my account, I only have free-time to gain.  There was no hesitation today in my mind, even when the de-activation page popped up with saying "Here are the friend's that will miss you if you're gone."  Right.  Most of the real-life friends I have communicate via phone, so that shouldn't be a problem.  Fuck it.  Fuck Facebook.  All it did was cause me unnecessary anxiety, jealousy, and cause me to be a nosy bitch that I don't want to be.  I'm done stalking people, I'm done looking at pictures of people's shitty engagement rings and lame-ass dinners... I'm done being reminded that seemingly everyone has a more perfect life than I do currently (or at least the pictures that they post are meant to prove to others just how perfect their lives are, in reality I'm sure they're probs covering up for a less than satisfactory existence).  I mean, I'm also sick of the bitch-fest posts and the online arguments people have and all of their dirty laundry that they see fit to air publicly on the interwebs.  There is just no winning with facebook.  If someone really wants me to see a picture, they can show it to me in person or email it to me.  If someone has breaking news, they can text or call.  Furthermore, I no longer have to make my relationship status evident to the rest of the world, because I'm a free bitch baby (to quote Lady Gaga). hahahahahaa.

 I am on a "break" from my relationship currently ("break"... WTF does that even fucking mean?).  I don't know.  My bf and I mutually decided that a 'break' would do us good at this point in our lives and in the relationship.  I mean, we've been doing long distance for two years now, so I wouldn't really say that we needed space, but the next move was moving in together, and that wasn't a feasible option given our current occupations and monetary incomes combined.  My bf has some personal issues he needs to fix before he can be a competent partner now or in the future, so he's off fixing those issues and here I am learning to be alone all over again.  After 21 fucking years alone, you can probably imagine how stoked I was to be in a committed relationship, so to basically ween myself off of the constant communication etc. will be presenting quite a challenge.  When I was single for the first twenty-one years of my life, I was miserable all the time, wondering why the fuck I couldn't get a boyfriend.  I probably could have had a number of boyfriends in reality, I was just fairly picky and looking for the right guy.  Nevertheless, I was miserable living the single life.  I suppose this time, I will take my singledom in stride.  I will cherish my life of solidarity and reflect on myself and aim to make myself an even more perfect person than I already am... hahaha, I kid, I kid.  We are still working out the logistics of the break, I just know that I am free to do whatever I want.   I told him the other night I wanted to go 'cold turkey' and not communicate at all, because I'm an all or nothing type of girl.  I had every fucking intention of not speaking with him until he had his act together again, but then he called four hours later.  Cold Turkey clearly didn't work out, so now we are trying to do one or two phone calls a day.  I know this is good for me at this point in my life, it's just so fucking hard to not have that constant support, love, and reassurance.  I mean, he was the first person I called when I was sad or had bad news and the first person I called when I was excited or happy with good news.  He is essentially my best friend at this point in the game.  Oh well.  I have no choice but to move on alone.  

I immediately started thinking of all of the new freedoms I have now that I have no ties or obligations, $10,000 in the bank, and every intention of quitting my job (as soon as I find a new one...).  My first thought was improving myself physically and getting ripped, but let's face it, I already am.   So now I will just make improvements to myself in terms of being emotionally impenetrable.  My new theme song is basically "Stronger" by Kanye West. hahahaha.   I thought about going back to grad school for a hot second, but I'm not ready to immerse myself in study and shell out $40,000 I don't have for the promise of a better job that frankly doesn't even exist in this economy.  So now I will allow myself $4,000 to travel to Europe, and the rest of my funds will be allocated towards an apartment in the city, once I finally find a fucking job.  I really want to go to Barcelona.  I'm not sure why, but that's my ultimate travel destination at this point in time.  Maybe I was inspired by Penelope Cruz's performance in "Vicky Christina Barcelona"... either way, I want sun, sand, gothic architecture, and Spaniards... jk.  I want to be alone.  Hooking up with someone immediately would defeat the point of me learning to be alone and live without constant attention.  I thought about joining the Peace Corps, but I'm pretty sure that's a two-three year commitment, not to mention I don't really fare well without decent living conditions, and I'd probs be gang raped knowing my luck. haha.  jk... that's awful.  Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!! (<----- how I feel).  Sometimes I'm sad I deleted all of those boys who used to flirt with me from my contacts.  JK.  Really guys, I'm just kidding.  I know that my biggest downfall has always been the fact that given my low self esteem, I seek constant validation and reassurance from others (especially the opposite sex) and today is the beginning of a new page.  I know I'm hot shit.  I'm smart, I have a dry sense of humor that maybe 25% of people get, I can cook, I can bake, I'm a freak in the bed and a lady on the street, and I am average looking... so that's better than ugly right? Jk. lol.   Sigh.  Yeah, I guess my self esteem needs some improvement... 

Speaking of attention, I was feeling real emo the other night, so I went out with one of my guy friend's in Oneonta.  We were walking out of the Black Oak Tavern when I saw a trio of guys walking up behind us.  The one in the middle resembled Bane from the new Batman... I'm talking a giant, scary, fucking ogre of a man.  As I turned the the corner I heard him shout "I would totally lick your ass."  Now just to make it clear, there were no other girls around as far as my eyes could see, and I was wearing jeggings, a sweater, and flats, so it's not like my attire was enticing this illicit comment.  Despite these circumstances, I still tried to tell myself that comment was being directed to another person... that is, until we got back to my friend's apartment and we turned to go in the door and said ogre came at me with a lusty look on his face, open arms, and a 'come hither' motion with both hands.  EW.  I mean, that's a pretty fucking vulgar comment, yes, but it still boosted my morale.  I mean, if my ass can still look good in jeggings, that's saying something. haha.  I've had random strangers tell my I was beautiful before, but the fact that a complete stranger said he was willing to lick my ass is a type of compliment that stands alone right up there with the best. haha.  (gross.).  

Today I got a start on being alone... I took my $50 blow up raft out onto Guilford Lake with a couple of plastic oars and paddled into the middle of the lake and back to shore.  I'm sure it was a sight to behold... pretty fucking humorous no doubt. But it was good exercise, and as long as I am kept busy I find that it's easier to forget about what my bf is doing.  I might have to start taking up kick boxing.  Honestly though, I've been wanting to take pole dancing classes, but they don't offer them in these parts. lol.  Those years of dance have definitely paid off in more ways than one... and I'd like to hone in on some of my more refined skills if you know what I mean ;).  I've been feeling pretty unbridled for the past couple of days... I find myself having illicit and illegal thoughts about running away to Amsterdam and popping Molly at a rave or techno concert and making out with tons of guys.  I find myself day dreaming about running away to Ibiza and becoming a cage dancer.  I find myself thinking about hooking up with an older man who will flourish me with expensive gifts and cocaine and take me on his yacht.  However, these are all just day dreams.  Yes, I feel the urge to rebel completely, but I won't give into my cravings.  This is a time to point my life in the right direction, and sugar daddies and titty implants aren't the direction in which I ultimately my life to head  (sadly). 

I hate work.  I don't want to go tomorrow.  Going to work makes me even more stressed and emo than I already am.  Honestly though, I only wish people understood what I deal with every day.  I mean, I know a lot of people have hard jobs and stressful jobs, but I don't think anyone really understands how my job as a manager at Mollister can be hard or stressful.  It's honestly hell on earth.  My associates/co-workers are the only thing that make going in worth while.  At least they're good people.  Sigh. 

At least I have a cute niece to cuddle now. lol.  

Thank God I'll Never be 19 Again

Seeing as how I am a bitch, and seeing as how it is partially my land (or will be some day down the road) I decided to check up on my brother's party in the woods to make sure that it was not out of control... and naturally it was.  I won't elaborate, because there is no need to, but I will say that I am so incredibly happy I never have to be 18-21 years old again.  In retrospect, those are supposed to be awesome years of one's life.  And I mean, I definitely had some awesome times when I was like 21-22.  But the mentality I was working with, just wasn't where it should be for someone who is handed so much responsibility.  I'm not talking about drugs or drinking; I'm talking about the fact that you are technically an adult, and able to make decisions for yourself for the first time in 18 years, and the decisions that you make are usually poor and unexperienced given the fact your brain hasn't yet matured and isn't thinking logically or of consequences the way that it would a few more years down the road.  I suppose that is what that age in life is for though- to live and learn.  I think we're all just fucking lucky we made it out alive to be honest.  There were definitely some questionable nights where I climbed into a car with someone who shouldn't have been driving.  Nights when I went to a sketchy, questionable person's house, nights when I made out with some questionable boys, or nights when my choice of dress and behavior itself was highly questionable.  I think when I was that age, life was mostly about trying to impress others- whether it was having the highest heels, the most boys texting me, throwing the coolest party, making other bitches jealous, or making guys desire me only to kiss them, tell them to fuck off, and leave them sad they didn't get the gold they were hoping for.  Sigh.

While those days were fun, I felt like I was in a constant state of sadness.  Something was always missing, and no matter how many guys were blowing up my phone, the fact that all of them were douche bags who basically wanted one thing wasn't exactly enough to fill that void in my life.  I used to be so emotionally hungover after every party, I don't know why I continued to party like three-four times a week.  You know the feeling;  it's the feeling you get when you wake up to the messiest kitchen you've ever seen, and it is in your house so you're the one who will be emptying those beer cans and scrubbing wine stains off the counter tops.  When you know that the thrill of wearing that sexy dress last night hasn't gotten you any closer to happiness or having a sustainable boyfriend who loves you, with or without that sexy dress, and once again you're alone... alone, sad, left with a mess, and a mean hangover.   I remember one sunday in particular, my two best friends and I woke up hungover and perhaps even more emotionally hungover.  One of us put on 'Man in the Mirror' by MJ, and we mustered the strength to scrub the kitchen.  Later that day, one of my best friends and I, still being severely emotionally hungover, swilled a couple cans of bud light (one of the only times I have consumed beer... don't judge, it was all that was left over from the night before) and listened to Jeff Buckley.  I'm pretty sure it ended with me crying when "I Know it's Over" came on, and I proceeded to throw an empty beer can on the floor, before I was forced to pull my shit together and go to play practice.  Even though that is a fond memory now that it is safely behind me, at the time that feeling definitely ranks right up there with the top five shittiest feelings I've ever felt and in my more mature mind, I am able to reason that that is a feeling I never want to feel ever again, and thusly, will take all precautions required to avoid said feeling in the future.

I didn't even feel bad standing there like a creep tonight.  Someone had to check in on those kids to make sure that the fire wasn't getting out of control or there weren't any acts of violence occurring.  I feel like such a pussy sometimes, but I honestly don't like drinking anymore.  The occasional glass of wine or two is nice, or like, a couple flutes of champagne... maybe a cosmo or two,  or a mimosa...but nothing extreme.  It seems that the last couple of times I've been hungover, I not only felt physically on the verge of death, but my emotional hungover was pretty nasty as well... you know you're in a sad state of affairs when you cry because your bf can't talk because he is at work.  And even though you know he is at work, you're just so sad with the hungover blues you HAVE to talk to him RIGHT NOW.  THAT is reason enough never to let myself get to that state of emo hangover ever again.  Ew.  Or when you can't eat at all for the first 3/4 of the day, and even drinking water makes you nauseous... but by the time 5pm rolls around, you're bingeing on anything microwaveable, out of a can, or carb-heavy.  Day's like those remind me why I prefer to not be hungover at all.  

I digress however.  As I was standing in the woods, completely sober amongst a sea of around 60 or so youths (yeah, I told you this party was out of control...wtf goes on?), I was so happy I was not one of them.  I was so happy to be an outsider looking in for once in my life, knowing full well that if they knew what I know now, they probably wouldn't be drinking beer around a fire in the woods trying to flirt with anyone willing to flirt back and trying to look cool.  I saw some chick wearing what can only be described as an outfit one might wear to a day-glo party; neon pink sports bra with some tattered, side-less white tee with day-glo graffiti all over it... to her, I say "wtf."  Get over yourself and your fucking sloppy side tattoo.  Clearly, it isn't nice to pick on others or devalue them based on what they chose to wear (I had to remind myself of the time I wore fishnets and a bodysuit... but in my defense, it was my apartment and it was a 'floozy' themed party), so I had to bite my tongue.  I hate seeing PDA too... shit makes my blood boil; I am sorry if I ever made out with anyone in a public space (yes, I am guilty).... I wish there was a way to repent for social sins. haha.

There is another thing I don't miss about going to parties- the dilemma of whether to crash there or go home.  Sure, if you've been drinking you should obviously stay the night.  However, there always came a point where you were sure you were sober enough, and all you wanted was to go home, wash your stale makeup off with some decent face wash, brush your teeth, down your own water along with two advil liqui-gels and pass out in the comfort and familiarity of your own bed.  Nothing is worse than waking up hungover with day-old make up on another person's couch... NOTHING.  That is almost worse than the hangover itself; waking up with day-old makeup on and a sore neck from sleeping without an adequate pillow... shudder.  Or going to bed without brushing your teeth ( I know it's gross, but don't lie, we've all been there) and laying on someone's nasty couch feeling the sugar from the alcohol eating a way at your enamel.... AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHhhhhhh!!!!!!!!  No wonder so many people drive home drunk!!!... I kid, I kid... (but not really).  At least now that two glasses of wine spaced out over the course of three hours is enough to satiate my thirst, I know that I can go an additional two hours without drinking and be perfectly fine to drive home when all is said and done, without the fear of having to sleep in something less than comfortable, and on someone's nasty ass, college couch.

In other news (I just realized this is how I often end my posts, lol), I finally heard back from a couple of the places that I applied to in the city.  I had an interview with Urban Outfitters this past Friday and am patiently waiting to hear back (they said by the end of this week!) and also have scheduled a phone interview with someone from Anthropologie who wants to discuss some available job opportunities in Manhattan.  I'm not getting my hopes up, because when I do that, they're always shot down.  So I am taking this for what it is worth, interview experience, and motivation to keep applying.  It will just be so fucking nice to wear something that is actually my style to work again, and to wear heels... :D   I'm so over flip flops and vans.

In other other news, I'm still waiting for the arrival of my niece... I hope it is sooner rather than later, because not only is my job such that I will have to see her on whatever days I already have scheduled off, but I haven't seen my bf in 6 weeks and am on the verge of bat shit fucking crazy right now, so I will also need to use days off to see him ASAP.

I have been able to enjoy my mornings off ( I generally work the closing shift; 2-11pm), and now that I am older I find that not only am I more alcohol intolerable, but I also find much more beauty in nature than ever before.  These shots are from my walk on the road that runs alongside our woods the other day... there truly is something to be said about Upstate, NY in the summer...

More random thoughts:

1.  If one more person of ethnicity asks me if my hair is fake, I may snap.

2.  I know I knock cheesy bitches all the time, but for one day, just ONE, I would love to know what life in the world is like for a person with DD breasts and bottle blonde hair and way too much makeup and cheesy attire.... I wish I could have all of these things for one day and then go back to myself. 

3.  I am so sick of guys and girls alike posting statuses about hitting the gym on FB.  Why is that even necessary?

4.  I am working on a new painting; it will be extra sexual.

5.  Thank God I'm not 19. 

Woe is me

Sick of bitching about my shitty job (I'm sure you're sick of me bitching about it too), I sat in front of my computer all day long and applied to 6 jobs and one internship (that I'm not even sure is still available) today.  Yesterday's shift was truly the straw that broke this camel's back.  I walked into a super busy store, tons of ungrateful, rude customers not using manners, a bitchy district manager conducting an hour and 15 minute long conference call, a bitch from home office randomly showing up and treating me like I wasn't even a person, and a ten minute break for a nine hour shift.  Healthy, very healthy.  I am so sick of working closing shifts and never having time to eat a proper and healthy dinner, because I absolutely refuse to eat fast or processed food.  I am so sick of eating my dinner at 11pm, alone and in the dark of my kitchen.  I am so sick of being told I need to go recruit good looking 17 year olds to work in the store, when the ones we have right now aren't even reliable- you know why? because they're 17 and we hired them on the sole basis of looks.  I am sick of telling people where I work, and having them assume that it's not a 'real, adult job' because it's at a popular retail store in the mall.  It's so degrading.  It is so degrading to have to pick up piles of messy, inside out clothes, or a pair of bikini bottoms with period blood in them from a dressing room stall because some lazy, skanky fifteen year old thinks I'm a maid.  I am so sick of asking customers how they are and getting no response at all.  I am so sick of people talking on their cellphones while I am checking them out at the cashwrap.  What the fuck happened to common manners and courtesy?  As far as I can see, people clearly aren't teaching manners or enforcing them anymore, and it really sucks because I am constantly biting my tongue to stop myself from screaming, "HELLO?!  I asked you how you are, bitch, now get off your fucking iphone and answer me!  I am a person too!"

 I found a white hair last week, I tried to convince myself that it was just a platinum blonde strand of hair, but who am I kidding?  That hair was as white as snow, clearly stress is not treating me well... what's next?  fine lines and wrinkles, despite my daily use of SPF 40?  It wouldn't surprise me.  I may have to use my $9,000 savings for minor cosmetic surgeries when all is said and done at this job.  However, I was happy (well, not happy for the employee involved in the story, but happy that my premonitions about this company being run by a bunch of perverts) to read a story about a former employee who was selected for an advertising campaign and sexually harassed on the shoot by the person in charge of the photo shoot.  I wonder where all of those half naked pictures of minors are really going now.  Yikes.  So sad.  So messed up.  So reason enough to quit tomorrow.

Maybe I should just strip until I find another job.  It would probably be less degrading.  I mean, If I'm already scrubbing toilets once a week, picking up soiled bikini bottoms, and letting customer's berate me, how bad could grinding on the lap of a clothed man really be?  At least I could wear heels again.... haha.  Jk.  Sigh, I don't have the balls to do that and I'm pretty sure my sister would disown me, along with my boyfriend.


Days like this, I almost wished that I had stayed at FIT (despite the fact that I now hate retail through and through), just so I could have done an internship while I was still in school and had a better chance at finding a job in the city.  What the fuck was I thinking?  Clearly I wasn't thinking at all.  I hated that school so much though, I guess it was only mentally healthy that I got out while I did.  This job is turning me into such a bitch; I'm seeing the worst side of humanity like every day though.  I am not even allowed to stand up to shoplifters who leave trails of sensors that they have ripped off of merchandise or that I find in the dressing room after they exit.

Last week, these three crack whores came into the store (one of whom is like, the size of nicole richie circa 2007 and has somehow managed to get pregnant, but suspiciously has appeared to be about 8 months along for the past four months) and I know for a fact that they steal merchandise every time the enter because I ALWAYS find defeated sensors, or shirts with holes in them where they've ripped the sensors out.  I was following them around as they literally WRECKED my store (I think they do it on purpose to distract me) and one of them asked to be let into a fitting room.  She was reluctant to let me count the number of items she was bringing in, and as I took her pile, numerous rolled-up items fell out from underneath.  As I let her into a fitting room, her cunty friend muttered, "bunch of fuckin' bitches they have working here."  I almost lost my shit.  I was so ready to go off on her, but knew that given her crackwhore status, she would probably shank me or claw me with her dirty fake nails.  She then called one of my associate's a 'nosy bitch.'  Sadly, because our company will prosecute an employee on any suspicion or fake report of theft at all, but not prosecute out and out shoplifters, I cannot technically do anything unless I see the item go into their bag.  Whatever, I hate this company so much at this point I'm not sure why I even care about their loss margin.... I just don't like not being able to take action against rude, offensive customers.


Enough of that though.  Here are some paintings that I've done:

Naturally, some of my most heart-felt paintings are a bit too, explicit to feature here.  Now I'm going to watch Bruno.

Damned if you do, Damned if you don't

Today I went to visit my grandma, and as usual, our time together was basically a one hour comedy sketch, minus the live audience.  As I sat on the floor doing splits and backbends (this is normal behavior when I visit my grandma- she has a really spacious living room and I enjoy doing headstands and walkovers for no particular reason, other than the fact that I'm a free bitch and I do as I like) I put my legs over my head, knowing that it would impress my grandma and make her laugh.  Her response was much more than I'd anticipated and she told me that "[I] could get a job doing that on a stage for money."  Really grandma?!  You'd support me being a stripper or a contortionist in Cirque du Soleil? I'm pretty sure that's the only place I could make a living putting my legs behind my head (other than becoming a high class prostitute, but that's not about to happen).  Usually my grandma is harping on me about the poor decision I made when I went to school for fashion merchandising and then theatre.  She loves to tell me that I should just go back to school for a medical profession or marry a rich man... thanks for the support and words of encouragement.  Then she was staring at me and told me I needed to gain weight because, "men like a woman with a big butt and some meat on their bones."  Last I checked, I was in America.  This isn't sub-saharan Africa, and it is not my duty to sit in a little hut and be force-fed by my relatives until I'm obese, so that a man will love me and be able to physically see that I have sufficient money to afford enough food.  Oh well.  At least I never feel bad going over to see her and eating all of her cheddar cheese and pecan turtles; I love that grandmas love to feed their grandkids.  I remember my other grandma taking me to McDonald's for an after-school snack at least three times a week (this "snack" being a happy meal).  She would always make me promise that I would eat dinner for my parents when I went home, but when you're 8 years old, a happy meal fills you up, and so I would sit at the kitchen counter feeding steak to my dog.  When my parents asked if my grandmother had brought me to McDonald's again, I would deny, deny, deny. haha.  The perks of being a grandparent really must rival being an actual parent, now that I think about it... fun with the kids without the responsibility of enforcing rules or being strict...

In this economy though, I may never know the joys of being a parent, let alone a grandparent.  I always wanted to adopt kids someday, but in this state of economic hardship, I may have no other option because by the time I can afford kids, I will probably be pushing 45 and physically unable to have my own.  My little Mongolian baby will be the kid in school to whom all of his friends ask the question:  "Is that your mom or grandma?".  Sigh... hopefully by the time I can afford children, I can also afford regular botox injections.  lol.

I've spent most of my day searching for jobs in the city and most of the ones that I have found seem to require 4-5 years industry experience.  I'm not sure how one is expected to acquire experience if they can't get hired in the first place because they lack experience.  Very discouraging, let me tell you.  I am now on page 115 of my book.  I'm not even sure why I keep writing, because I'm pretty sure finding a publisher without ever having had any of your work published is a near impossibility.  Oh well.  At this point, publishing a book sounds like less of a challenge then finding another job.

Believe me when I say, that the motivation to find another job doubles almost every day I go into work at my current place of employment (*cough* Mollister *cough*).  I'm pretty sure the only other profession that could make a relatively fit, 24-year-old manage to feel ugly, old, and fat is the fashion industry.  Honestly though, half the girls I work with take diet pills, and they're only like 20 and they're already slim to begin with.  I don't know whether to laugh or cry.  I clearly discourage this activity when I hear them talking about it.  I often feel like I'm mentoring them even though I'm only 3-4 years older than most of them.   There have been times that I will find myself in a situation that I like to refer to as the 'sick circle of fucked-up-ness' where I will observe three associates of relative size and weight arguing as to which one of them is smaller.  It's just so messed up, the kind of disillusioned body images that attractive, thin girls can have in their head.  I suppose that you'll have that though, when your company hires an attractive girl over a smart one.  Or when you take pictures of your associates to send to your district manager who in turn, sends them to some 'mystery' judge who decides whether they are attractive enough to make 'tracker.'  That is fucked up.  I can't wait to quit.  Putting in my two weeks notice will be one of the most satisfying things I've ever done.  Especially since I plan to do so in approximately one month, when my bank account has reached $10,000 and when our store will be in a blackout period (meaning that NO ONE is allowed to take time off). Ahahahahahahahahahahahaha.  I can't wait to see the look on my DM's face when I tell her I'm done.  How anyone can support this superficial company is truly beyond my comprehension.  I often wonder if the people working in home office have to be attractive too.  Hmm...   Oh well, only a few more weeks of mental torture and heartache knowing that I'm supporting something I don't believe in... I can do this!  God, I really hope I can find another job.  :(   It's so discouraging sometimes.  Maybe I should just lie on my resume like half of America probably does.  But knowing my luck, they'd hire me and tell me to do something with a computer that I said that I had experience in and I would be shit out of luck, haha.  

I considered making a web page dedicated to all of my finer attributes and putting a link to it on my resume, like an extra element to encourage prospective employers to hire a fine girl such as myself.  I don't know what I would say though.  Perhaps it would go something like this:

Hi, my name is 'Lily White,' and if you hire me for the position of ____________, I can assure you it is a decision you will not regret.  I will be your slave (short of performing sexual favors- though I will come cook for you on a nightly basis and give you back massages upon request).  I may complain about my current job in said blog, but if you read what I've actually posted, I'm sure you will agree with how blatantly discriminatory the company that I currently work for is, and support my decision to NOT support said discrimination in the work place.  See?  I'm an open-minded, non-racist, egalitarian!  I get along with nearly everyone!  I am funny, I am creative, and I am a hard worker, especially when I actually like the work I'm doing ( wink)!  I mean, I hate the work that I'm doing right now, and I still work 14 hour days with no over-time pay, go to 8am meetings on my days off (that cost more to drive to then I am even being paid), and basically swallow my feminist pride when I pull on the pair of booty shorts that is my uniform every morning (as opposed to looking the part of manager and wearing heels and a blazer).  I have basically sold my soul to the devil by working for this company that I hate, so imagine what I will do for you if I'm working for a company I love... I will be the exemplary employee; other employees will applaud my efforts and look up to me.  No, but really;  despite the fact that I hate my job, I do love most of my associates and the majority have told me I'm their favorite manager because I am friendly, positive, treat everyone as equals, and get work done without being a mega-bitch.  That is an impressive accomplishment (I think) when the other managers have to use an iron-fist to get the associates to do any work and play favorite cards all the time.  I'm killing that joint with kindness yo'.   I was also valedictorian of my class and managed to hold down a 3.8 cumulative GPA in college, despite the fact that I had plenty of fun on the side.  I can paint a mean portrait, write a hilarious song or comic book, and I can relate to almost every person that I've ever met on some level; I'm empathetic and compassionate.  I'd rather feed a hungry cat than feed myself, if that is saying anything.  I am smart, I learn quickly, and my ideas are simply brilliant (I have books full).  I am a great team leader, and every team that I've ever been in charge of has gotten the winning grade, the extra praise, and succeeded in accomplishing every assignment we were given in a timely fashion.  I am always on time, and usually early for work.  What are my weaknesses, you ask? Only being a bit emotional at times.  But I guess you'll have that when on the day your mom has a mini-stroke, your DM yells at you for missing a conference call that SHE is hosting when she told you that you could take a quick lunch break to call your family and later retracts that statement and tells you it's irresponsible.  Other than that, I suppose my other weakness is not following regulations as strictly as I should.  But when said regulations include violations consisting of having a few lunch menus tucked away into an office drawer, or letting your stock room manager have a little day-to-day cat calendar on the stock shelf, is that really so awful?  I didn't think so.  I believe the company I currently work for would be a lot better off if the manager were allowed a little more room to make their own decisions and get a bit more creative with how we run the business, instead of being told how to take care of EVERY LITTLE DETAIL.  How are we supposed to grow and prosper as leaders when we have almost no authority given the detail of daily instruction we receive from home office, and the fact that we are punished if we deviate from that?  Please hire me.  I will do anything and everything to be the best __(insert title here)___   that you have ever known.

Love,

Lily White

My first visit to the ER

It has been quite a tumultuous week in the life of me who shall not be named. ahahaha.  Last week I threw a nice baby shower for my sister at her upstate house, had a lovely family dinner in celebration of Mother's Day, and then went to the Hamptons to visit my boyfriend.  Then I came back and shit hit the fan.

I've always had a pretty dysfunctional digestive system.  I had colic when I was an infant and cried basically 24/7 according to my relatives (maybe I was emo back then too?).  I remember being like 4 or 5 and having stomach aches at least two times a week that would cause me to lay on the couch and cry.  In fact, my tum tum was so sensitive, that I lived in sweat pants and leggings from the ages of 4-8 because I said that denim jeans hurt my belly; I was clearly not very fashion conscious back then...  Anyhow, these days my stomach becomes upset very easily.  Any foods with too much butter, olive oil, rich sauces, or fried foods and I'm usually in the throes of agonizing stomach cramps approximately 45 minutes after said meal.  Let's just say it's not exactly conducive to a good time, when I don't have access to my own private facilities afterwards.  My stomach occasionally hurts for no reason at all too.  I will randomly have stomach aches with no foreseeable means to an end, aside from sleeping it off at night. However, this past Tuesday took the cake, when I made my very first trip to the E.R.

I woke up on Tuesday morning and felt a bit off; I rarely become hot or sweaty in my sleep, but I woke up pretty sweaty and with a weird pain in my lower back.  I thought maybe it was my kidney and it really hurt when I was sitting up straight, but I thought that perhaps it would go away.  By 11am, the pain had moved to my upper stomach, right below my sternum/above my diaphragm area.  It was an intense, stabbing pain that literally made it hard for me to function or move when it came.  I felt unusually hot and knew that I probably had a fever.  At that point, I started to feel extremely nauseous.  I went to work, as I really have no choice as a manager, and every associate basically told me I looked white/green/or like shit.   I felt like shit, so it's not hard to imagine I looked it as well.  Every time the stabbing pain came back, I felt more and more nauseous.  After I closed the store down at 9pm, I made a trip to the bathroom where I proceeded to throw up.  And then I threw up 3 more times within the hour.  I NEVER throw up due to illness unless I'm drunk or hung-over as all hell, so I knew that something was wrong.  I still had a stabbing pain, but felt a little less nauseous.  I went home thinking that I was in the clear, but completely exhausted and with the stabbing pain as intense as ever.  I thought I could lay down and fall asleep, but the pain was too much, and I started to feel too nauseous to even roll over or drink water.  I was hot one minute, and cold and sweating the next, and I started to cry because it really felt like someone punching me in the stomach, over and over and over.  My brother and boyfriend both said that maybe I should just go to the E.R. in case it was my appendix or some shit- apparently if your appendix explodes you only have a short time to live before the toxins kill you.  To be honest, I though maybe I had some flesh-eating bacteria devouring my stomach (it always comes back to the flesh eating bacteria...lmao).  I couldn't stop crying at that point and really felt delirious as shit, consumed with a gnawing pain, so i crawled out of bed and went to the E.R. with my brother.  I was wearing sweats and a tshirt, for heaven's sake!- so you know I must have been ill. LOL.  The last time I left the house in sweats, I was high on morning glory seeds, if that gives you any indication of the state of delirious pain I was in at that point in time.

I'm not sure if any of you have seen the SNL skit "Appalachian Emergency Room," but as my brother was pulling up to the E.R., another man and his mother pulled up in run-down pick up trucks, screaming to each other in the parking lot, and I knew the shit I was about to see first hand would rival the ridiculousness of SNL's "Appalachian Emergency Room."  Because the man in the truck beat me to the front desk, he was admitted before me.  He was a fully grown man of like, 28 probably, but his mom who drove there to meet him in a separate vehicle (Please note:  This man was well-enough to drive himself, whereas I walked in crying and hunched over), strode into the waiting room shouting "my boy needs to be seen!" LMAO... even in my pain, I laughed in my head because this obese bitch was like Darlene Grape (the mother in "What's Eating Gilbert Grape.")  After 3 minutes of waiting for this obese family to get the fuck away from the receptionist's desk, I was brought into a room where I was put into a hospital gown, summoned to take a urine test, and told to lay down in bed.  I had a blood test done and they determined my red blood cell count to be abnormal.  After describing my symptoms and crying the entire time, the nurse hooked me up to my very first IV.  I was given not one, but two bags of IV fluid, and on top of that a narcotic drip to help ease the pain.  That was pretty sweet to be honest. I could only feel my pain if I thought about it, but the painkiller shooting into my veins made it much easier for my mind to drift off into nothingness land.  haha.  The IV made my arm feel like a block of ice, and I noticed that all of my nails had turned blue.  My teeth started chattering and I started physically shivering and then the nurse brought me a heated blanket and a heavy quilt.  Aaaaah.   The good life! lol.  The doctor was really nice, and after poking my stomach all over, seeing the results of my blood work and listening to my symptoms determined I had gastritis (an inflammatory infection of the stomach lining/GI tract).  She gave me a prescription for an antibiotic, hydrocodone painkillers, nausea medicine, and good ol' antacids.  As I lay in the hospital bed in a state of mindless euphoria, I overheard the doctor speaking with the other patient who had come into the ER at the same time I had.  Apparently this man had a stomach ache too; only his was caused from eating Chinese food, on top of being obese, and having been diagnosed with a fatty liver, and told to not eat Chinese food.  I laid in bed thinking about my pain, and this asshole who treated his body like shit and was in the E.R. for a pussy reason like eating too much Chinese and getting a tummy ache and I felt slightly angry.  Meanwhile, his mom kept referring to him as 'my boy' and I could have sworn it was Mrs. Grape talking about Arnie in the other room, lol.  I was dismissed from the hospital at 4 am, and had a dr.'s note to miss work the next day.

I woke up the next day and my nausea was completely gone, but the stabbing pain was still there, albeit not nearly as agonizing.  I wanted to call into work, and knew I probably should so that I could rest and make a full recovery, but I didn't want my co-worker to come in on her only day off or have my other coworker work a 14 hour shift.  I sucked it up and went into work later in the afternoon anyhow.  Today, I am almost 100% better.  My stomach only hurts if I move in certain ways, but it's really nice to not feel like death.  I always appreciate my health so much more after being sick.



Anyhooter,

now that I've told that story.....


I finally did some drawing this week, for the first time in forever and a day.  I also worked on my book and am now moving on to my third journal!  Whooo hooo!  I will leave you with some sketches and random pictures just because I can.

A painting I did last year, that I ruined when  I threw red paint on it in a fit of emo-rage.  

She was so beautiful.... sigh. haha

This one-eyed bitch looks HONGRAY! hahahahahahahaha

eh.

My precious poussoir, Monsieur Bijou- my delicate, fairy princess. hahaha. I'm sick, I know.

The lipstick color I wish I could wear everyday.  My sister donated (yes, I'm like a charity case) this Nars lipstick to me.. score.

Evil Thoughts

Yesterday I worked a fourteen hour day; on top of that, I came into work and found out from an associate that the DM was going to be there.  I was on edge for 14 hours, scared to even have friendly conversation with one of my associates for fear that it was "unprofessional" and we weren't doing actual "work."  The store was dead due to the weather, and immaculately clean which fueled my desire to relax for a bit and do nothing but chit-chat since I'd busted my ballz all morning doing audits and cleaning.  I had to take my lunch break only 5 hours into my 14 hour day, and while I was sitting in the depressing parking lot, in the depressing, cold drizzle that was yesterday's weather, I thought to myself (as I always think to myself on my lunch break), "maybe today I will drive away and just not come back."  "Maybe, I will drive to California and make money Go-go dancing; maybe I will drive to the Hamptons and live on the beach.  Maybe I will just start going to the library and working on my book, but instead continue to tell my parents I am going to work so that they don't think I'm a jobless slob."  I was really considering just leaving for good with no notice, never looking back, and I texted a friend to tell him he'd better talk me out of it.  He did.  I told him how much I had saved up (which I was thinking was a pretty decent amount), but then he reminded me that should I lose my insurance, that amount would be gone with one broken arm, or broken front tooth.  Goddammit.  I am still on my parent's insurance until I am 25 because it is more economical at this point in my life (Thank you Obama for making the life of the college grad a bit easier), but you never think about the unexpected expenses that will drain your account.  I suppose the fiscally responsible thing to do would be to find another job first before quitting, so I am going to job search all day today (in addition to working on my book :D ).  I am also going to make homemade pasta and my famous lentil balls (like meatballs but meatless).  I'll make homemade sauce too... it's one of those days.

Today I missed the 'morning meeting' that apparently we were in fact supposed to have, because apparently the DM is still there.  We (the management team) are supposed to have a morning meeting at 8:00 am every Tuesday, but I mean, in the five months that I've been employed by Chodes R' Us, I've only gone to like three morning meetings and only because the DM was going to be in attendance; normally the store manager says it's fine that we don't have one.  We can discuss whatever unimportant business we would discuss this morning when we work together on Thursday and I'm pretty sure the world isn't going to end.  But in complete honesty, it's my day off, so why am I going to drive to Binghamton for an hour-long meeting, when what I would be paid for that singular hour won't even cover the cost of my gas to drive there and back?

Hear that world?!   This is my DAY OFF, I've just worked an illegal 14 hour work day, my pay is cut in half for every hour over 40 that I work, and they want me to drive 40 minutes to Binghamton for a one hour meeting, about unimportant shit that can be discussed later, for approximately $7.50.   I don't fucking think so.

Don't even get me started on the image-branding of this company either.  I might be the biggest fucking bitch in the world sometimes when I go out to the bars and see a fatty wearing a crop top that she shouldn't be wearing, but from the bottom of my heart, I mean it when I say that this company drives me insane- telling us to hire people on a basis of looks, and causing divisions and rifts between associates because some old, sloppy, unattractive corporate loser sits behind a desk (probably fapping to the half naked images he is sent of our employees) and decides that some of our employees are 'attractive' enough to make 'tracker' and others aren't attractive enough, for God only knows what reason.  I talked to a girl who is hot by all standards, and she was upset she didn't make tracker because they told her that her Italian nose was 'too big.'  Honestly?  What are we doing to these young women and men we employ?  Who is to say that some other girl is hotter than another when obviously they were both attractive enough to be employed in the first place and beauty really is in the eye of the beholder?  And it's not only women who are hurt by this rejection of feeling that they aren't 'attractive' enough; I have seen disappointment in many a male employee's eyes because he thinks that his body isn't 'ripped' enough because someone make tracker over him.  It's just so fucked up.  I can't tell you how many times through out the years that I thought someone was attractive and my friends told me I was gross for thinking so, or they thought someone was attractive who I found positively hideous- you know why?  Because aesthetic tastes very from person to person.  It's so absurd it drives me insane.  This is like a fucking Mel Gibson rant right now, and I apologize for that.  It's just that as someone who spent the majority of my teenage years thinking that I wasn't "attractive enough," It really hurts me to be part of a brand that is solely about being 'attractive,' and makes impressionable young people feel like they aren't 'good enough.'

I can't continue to be part of a company that doesn't take important factors like having a good personality, creativity, or a fully functional brain into the consideration.  This company is always stressing the idea of promotion or the idea of possibly being a store opener in a foreign country to its managers, but sometimes I wonder If I would even be 'attractive enough' to be considered for the position of a store opener over-seas.  From ages 12 to roughly 21, I felt like I wasn't thin enough, I felt like I wasn't tall enough, my nose wasn't small enough, my face wasn't 'cute enough' for me to be considered attractive.  Fuck that.  I still have days where I feel like I could use many improvements, but for the most part I'm a lot happier with myself, and it's really hard to be happy with one's self when they are constantly fed images of photoshopped, surgically enhanced celebrities and models that we're told are the standard of 'beauty' and what men find 'desirable.'  I'm so sick of opening a magazine where the model is photoshopped to the point of looking like a plasticized alien; I'm so sick of seeing celebrities on TV that claim they are naturally, just that beautiful.  Ok, that's why I can google a picture of them from five years ago with noticeably thinner lips, a larger nose, and no cheekbones of which to speak.  I think American women need to stop buying into this shit.  When I pick up a fashion magazine these days, I hardly even notice the fashion because I'm too focused on some celebrities inflated duck lips or how damn thin they are.  I am no longer the insecure 19 year old that I once was, but as a woman I am still receptive to media images telling me what I should look like.  And I'm so over it.

Anyhow... changing the subject.  I think I am going to be Jessica Rabbit for Halloween next year. lol.  I should just be a housewife some day (albeit one who still does creative things and is financially independent from her her husband).  I'd be the perfect housewife with my penchant for donning sexy clothes at all times of day and my cooking skills and ability to entertain.  Maybe I will make bank off of my book if I could ever finish it and get it published and then I could be a housewife with my own money in the bank... what a lovely thought :) lol.  Hey, a girl can dream right?


I will leave you with some pleasant pictures to warm your heart; I know they certainly warm mine, and that's a hard feat to complete.  My animals can't wait for my niece to be born so maybe I will stop dressing them up and dress her up instead. lol

Ceely is so cuuuute in the morning when she snuggles on the chair; almost reminds me of a BSM...

Bijou loves the bow.

Abby, you would make a sexy housewife too.

LOL

Why am I so Mean?

I had a fantastic week away from Chodes R' Us this past week.  I cat-sat for my sister in the city and spent some much needed time with my boyfriend.  I am feeling relaxed, rejuvenated, and much more sane.  Sane enough to take back control of my life and quit my awful, fucking job.  It has been so nice having more than just one, solitary day off.  For the past five months, I haven't had a decent break (aside from my four day excursion to Miami way back in January). I have probably only had one other 'normal,' two-day break, but unlike the majority of Americans, this break didn't even take place on the weekend.  Instead of having off a Saturday/Sunday, I'm pretty sure it was a Monday/Tuesday.  I didn't have to wake up at 7:30 am because It was my one day off to run errands, do chores, clean, do laundry and find time to relax.  It was nice to wake up at 8:30am, knowing that I didn't have to put on clothes and get going; lounging around in comfies and having two, leisurely cups of coffee is certainly a much more savory way to begin a weekday.  It was also nice knowing I could go out and enjoy myself without having to be up at the crack of dawn to go to work.  For the first time in a long time, I could drink more than two glasses of wine without dreading a waking up at 6:30 am with a hangover and 9 hour work day.  I even got to go out with my friends this weekend, because for once, I wasn't closing on a Friday or Saturday night, hating life and resenting the fact I was missing out on my prime years while everyone else lived it up like a person should on the weekend.

Despite the fact that I had an entire week off from work, I saw my boyfriend, and I went out and had fun and socialized with friends, I made a terrible self-realization that I'm an awful feminist.  Maybe I'm just insecure and hate myself or some Freudian shit like that, I don't know.  Maybe I am mean because I hate my job... that's definitely a major factor, and one I am actively working on fixing.  It struck me the other night when I went out with my friends, that I think some really bitchy, mean things, and I am not at all proud of that.  I mean, I've never been a crazy feminazi-type feminist.  I believe in equal rights for women and men (in the job force, at home, in terms of the freedom to walk down the street at night without fear of being raped), I am a firm believer in a woman's right to have control over her own anatomy, I am pro-choice, I hate the media's construction of what a 'woman' should be and how she should act, I get offended when I hear men make inappropriate comments about a woman's body or 'her place in life' (making them sandwiches).  That kind of shit makes the feminist in me come out.  And don't even get me started on celebrity culture and how the media and women's magazines that 'supposedly' empower a woman, really bring her down.  For example, Cosmopolitan magazine constantly features articles about 'how to please your man,' or, "what drives HIM wild in the bedroom," but rarely do I see a piece about how to make your man please you.  That kind of shit makes me crazy. Seeing magazines featuring and celebrating emaciated celebrities with accompanying weight-loss tips or diet plans makes the feminist in me go bat-shit crazy too.  However, I start to feel like a really awful feminist and fellow woman, when I go out to the bars.

I don't know if it is the alcohol, or the lack of alcohol (I only had like 1.5 drinks when I went out the other night, since I was driving home later), but I start to question whether I am a true feminist when In my head I'm bashing other girls on the basis of their conduct and their bodies.  The first thing that made my disgust level start to rise was the fact that a group of 30 year old men were hanging out at the Sip on Water Street.  Don't get me wrong, people are entitled to hang out where ever they choose, but that Bar is notoriously only occupied by college-age students, and usually where people go to dance in their finest body-con skirts and 5 inch heels.  Just knowing that they were their to pick up 19-21 year old, drunk college girls made my blood boil.  I mean, it's cool if a 30 year old wants to date a 21 year old (I guess...), but seeing a group of guys hanging out here with the specific intent to 'hook up' with a much younger, wasted individual really turned me off.  I guess that is part of the more reasonable feminist side in me, so I'm sorry for digressing...

The bad feminist in me, is the critical voice in my head that sees a girl wearing a crop top with her gut hanging out and screams in a bitchy tone, "what the fuck."  Being a woman, and feeling the pressure that women have placed on their shoulders by men, society, and themselves to 'look good at all times' should make me happy for this girl; I should be happy that she is comfortable and confident enough in her own body to go out wearing a tummy-exposing crop top without giving a fuck what anyone else thinks of her.  But It just makes something in my brain snap, and I think awful things like, "what makes her think she looks good in that?!"  God, I'm an awful person.  This is something I sincerely need to work on.  As long as I am happy with myself, why should I give a shit what anyone else does or wears?  I shouldn't.

The sloppy-ho behavior of drunk college girls is also enough to make my anger rise.  I'm not saying I never did things I shouldn't have done, because I definitely did.   But when your ass cheeks are hanging out as you grind on some dude's thigh in public it's quite revolting.  I'm all for girls getting drunk and having a good time dancing with random hotties at the bar, but I don't want to see your ass cheeks and neon pink g-string.  I should be happy for this girl; fulfilling her needs and hopefully getting some man ass later.  But, the logical part of my brain always wonders how much smack my friends would talk behind my back if I were this girl, flashing my ass and dancing dirty with a stranger... I wonder if her friends will shame her in the morning or if they promote ass flashing on the dance floor.

In addition, I have always felt that women should be able to get away wearing what they want without being labeled as slutty or being hit on and groped.  However, when you are wearing something that people might misconstrue as a 'slutty ensemble,' shouldn't you take special precautions as to not ACT slutty?  Go ahead and put on your mini skirt, just make sure you pull it down when it's riding up and exposing your crotchal region as you walk down main street.  Go ahead and wear those 5 inch platforms, just make sure you stay coherent enough to walk in them.  Why am I so mean?


I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK TO WORK TOMORROW :(    I feel like a sixth grader who just had a week long vacation and is dreading going back to school.  I'm working not one, but two different 14 hour days this week and instead of making overtime, my pay is cut in half for each hour over 40 that I work.  WTF.  This is the worst job ever.  I hate it. I applied for an internship today.  I will apply for whatever else I can find that is reasonably appealing and/or lucrative this afternoon.  I've gotta get out of Chodes R' Us before I die.  Even a game of dress up won't improve my mood today.   You know you're in a bad mood when putting on a shit ton of make up and high heels doesn't make you feel better.