After teetering on the edge of sanity for the past month or so, I took a long, over-due trip upstate to visit my family and friends and relax in the solitude of nature for a while. I have been planning this trip home for the past two months, and thought it would be the perfect opportunity for me to unwind and hang out with the people I love the most while my boyfriend was in Cali getting work done on his tattoos. Little did I know I would end up with what is possibly deep-vein thrombosis, jaundice, and even more anxiety than I left with.
The trip started out with me having not slept and in an extreme state of emotional fragility (<---- nothing new there...). Needless to say, I'm sure my father was alarmed when I passed out in the car on the way home from Binghamton. I had my annual OBGYN appointment and despite the fact that Aunt Flow was MIA for three months running due to extreme stress levels and anxiety, and despite the fact my Dr. acknowledged that this was the reason for its absence, and despite the fact I told him my anxiety has been out the roof lately, he didn't seem at all concerned and told me I should just 'try working it out.' Guess I'll be taking up mediation and yoga this week....
I had plans to see one of my girlfriends that night but ended up passing out on my parent's couch while watching River Monsters at 6pm. I woke up to cancel with my friend and passed back out.
Yesterday started off fine and dandy enough- I felt well-rested, I had several plans to keep me busy throughout the day, and despite the fact that it was pouring rain outside, I was in a really great mood. I got my hairs trimmed and then took a ride with my dad to the woods to check out the cabin and so he could get some firewood as the temperature had dropped from 65 to 30 degrees over a 24-hour period. The rain had turned to snow by early afternoon and I couldn't believe that it was snowing so hard on April 15th. I had thought that I was finally out of winter... no such luck. I chilled inside all day with my baby (Bijou), and then met my friend for a drink around 7. She picked me up since I was on the way, but I was determined not to let this be an excuse to drink too much. My other friend was not meeting us until around 8:30, so we paced ourselves. I had two cosmos over a 2 hour period and even ordered some extra-fat-laden chili cheese fries because I knew it would prevent me from drinking too much and also prevent me from getting too drunk. I ordered a third cosmo which I split with my friend before we all left. I decided I didn't want the fun to end though (what's new?) and instead of getting dropped off back at my house with the friend that had driven me in the first place, I decided it would be fun to sleep over on my other friend's couch since we had SO much to catch up on and I hadn't seen her since November. I had her stop by my rents house so I could grab my phone charger and some CDs (I was determined to listen to Free Bird for some odd reason).
We stopped at the local convenient store as we needed some 'provisions' while we listened to my shitty assortment of CDs loaded with shitty 90s music. Yesterday, before the weather had taken a turn for the worse, I wanted to sit on her porch in what I thought would be the warm Spring air, and talk all night like the days of yore. Since that wasn't an option, given the frickin snow storm taking place, we sat in her car, in her driveway, blasting Breakfast at Tiffany's and Elton John. I ended up smoking many, many camel crushes (I don't smoke, and the last time I indulged in a cigarette drunk I had vowed never to do so again), but for some reason last night seemed like a special occasion... they were calling my name. We took many videos of ourselves lip-synching and screaming the lyrics of such tunes as "I saw My Baby" from Labyrinth, and Breakfast at Tiffany's. I was having so much fun... and then my phone died. Like, for good this time. It is dead.
Needless to say, I went ballistic. It was late, I knew I should go home despite my previous desire to sleep on her couch, and now that my phone had passed away, I was desperate to contact my boyfriend and say goodnight. I started getting anxiety as a tried desperately to get my phone to turn on. I ended up calling my poor father, whom had previously said he'd pick me up if I needed a ride home mind you, and he had to come save my anxiety ridden ass at 2:30am.
When I arrived home, my mom was pretty livid given the state I was in. I was in hysterics as I once again tried to save my phone and kept asking to use her phone. I can see now, why she was pissed at me. I was crying and screaming things like "my phone is dead, my phone is dead!!!! I need to get a new one." Yes, now I know why my mom was pissed off at me... wtf is my problem?! Clearly getting a new phone isn't an option at 3am, so I got on fb, procured my boyfriend's number (I should memorize it for emergencies such as this...) and proceeded to scribble it down on my forearm in blue sharpy... If only my phone/camera worked, I'd post a picture now.. but It's going to have to wait until later this afternoon when I have a new phone.
I am such a sloppy bitch sometimes. I swear to God, I wasn't even that drunk. I was probably just ODing on nicotine if that is such a thing...
As I sit here now, I can hear my phone alerting me that I have texts... they just keep coming in, however my screen is black and nothing I do will turn it on... my anxiety is skyrocketing knowing I have texts I can't read.... this is an issue I need to work on.
My mom is home from work now, and I have apologized for my erratic and wild behavior. She has forgiven me...thank god.
As awesome as we thought those videos we took last night were, I hope they never see the light of day. Last night is truly a night that goes down in my history of most memorable nights. I really need to be leashed sometimes. My friend even told me when we were sitting at the table and I had only had one drink that she could see that 'wild look' in my eye. It's not the first time people have called me out on that look... that look means trouble. Next time someone sees me with that look, please put a leash on me and keep it tight.... I thought I'd grow out of this wild behavior, but it seems like it's not going away anytime soon. YOLO. Jk... honestly though, this is something I really HAVE TO work on. Especially since it's all fun and games until something I don't like or disagree with happens and I go on a rampage.
I'd like to apologize to all of the loved ones that have ever had do deal with me when I'm out of control. Whether it's me calling at 2:30am because my anxiety is so bad that I can't stop crying, or my drunken antics, or my wild behavior when I'm pissed off. I can't promise that I will stop the crying (I'm very emotional) or the frantic phone calls when I can't sleep and am worried about something completely out of my control, but I can promise that it's something I'm going to work on.
At least I got ID'ed last night... that made me feel good about myself. However, I'm pretty sure that after last night's escapades I look about 40 today. Sigh. As I sit here typing, I'm not hungover at all, which is proof that my behavior wasn't a result of the cosmos. However, I do think I have jaundice and possibly lung cancer as a result of the cigarettes... never ever ever again.
God, I can't wait to get a new phone...
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Another Short Story
"What If I was binge drinking absinthe and decided to write a short story?" "Hemmingway wrote drunk all the time... he said that he wrote drunk and edited sober." "I was watching Sand Lot tonight, and in the end when everyone grows up and goes their separate ways I almost cried... just that loss of childhood that you never get back... it really reminded me of college. We could probably make a movie about our college years. We had the best group of friends." "Without bumble bees all of the lilacs will die and Jeff Buckley's soul won't be able to walk thru the lilac fields and make lilac wine anymore..." "Well I think I'll write a short story about Jeff Buckley's soul making lilac wine... make sure that you make sure he is still wearing his water logged boots that he drowned in in the Mississippi."
I lost myself on a cool, damp night
I gave myself in that misty light
I was hypnotized by her strange delight under a lilac tree
I made wine from a lilac tree
I put my heart in it's recipe
because it makes me see what I want to see, be what I want to be
And I think more than I want to think, I do things I never should do
I drink much more than I ought to drink, because it brings me back you
Lilac wine, is sweet and heady like my love
lilac wine- I feel, unsteady
like my love-
Listen to me... I cannot see clearly,
isn't that she? coming to me, nearly here...
Lilac wine, in my veins, yeah you're so sweet and heady
where's my love? Lilac wine, oh you make me feel so unsteady
where's my love?
Listen to me, why is everything so hazy?
Isn't that she? Or am I just going crazy?
Oh how you tricked me, liquid bastard
Lilac wine...
I feel unworthy, of my love
feel unworthy,
of my love
It's a damp, drizzling, cold day in mid-May. Our main character sits at a desk by a large, French window, on the second floor of a three-story townhouse. The light that comes through is a grey-white, and rain drops splatter and stick to the panes of the window. Looking out the window, the author can see a red bike anchored across the street under a sapling that now blows in the wind and rain. A couple holding hands and walking under a single umbrella walk together down the street. The main character, his name is James.
James happens to notice the bright red boots of the female passerby and stands to look out the window onto the street below. The woman and man that walk together, hand in hand, appear to be laughing at something. Their umbrella blows inside out in the wind, and they run down the street. There is a crack of thunder and James sits back down at his desk in the guest bedroom/office where he often likes to sit alone at his laptop writing short stories. On this particular day, James happens to be listening to Jeff Buckley. Although he would consider Jeff Buckley to be one of his favorite artists, he especially loves listening to his music in rainy weather, and in the spring when the lilacs bloom... when the world feels new again and the scenery is romantic- the haziness of the blooming flowers in the mist and rain. The way that couples seem to connect in the Spring. Although winter is the perfect opportunity for cozying up together by a fire at home, and although summer is the perfect time to frolic and play all night, there is something so inviting in the way of love in late Spring. It's as though the rain calls one to take cover where ever they can in the midst of an on-going storm. The thunder and lightening often make for exciting evenings when a date night is wrapping up, and the cool nights are perfect for cooking hearty dishes before the summer palate of salads and grilling takes over dining in. James is hopelessly alone though, having given up on sharing any of these moments with a significant other years before. Instead, James lives inside of his head thinking of how pleasant life would be to have a girlfriend to share romantic moments with. He doesn't know why he tortures himself by listening to Jeff Buckley when he is feeling particularly melancholy, but the music makes him feel alive, sending a shiver up his spine and making the hair on his arm stand up. He takes off his glasses and goes into the bathroom and stares at his reflection in the mirror.
His gut is a little bit bigger than it was three years ago, and he has more lines around his eyes, which are especially noticeable when he smiles at himself. The lines above the bridge of his nose are especially apparent when he frowns now, and as he leans closer into his reflection, he notices white hairs amongst his light brown ones. He grabs a couple of advil out of the cabinet (low pressure systems always give him headaches) above the sink and gulps them down with some tap water. He takes another look at himself as he sighs, and turning on his heels, he turns to face the door and flicks off the light switch. He returns to his computer desk and takes a seat. "When the fuck did I get old?" he says out loud to only himself. It has been years since James had a proper girlfriend. In fact, it has been over five years. The last girl that he dated broke his heart... she cheated on him with a friend that he introduced her to at a work dinner party. He sometimes had suspicions about her fidelity, especially towards the end of their relationship when she became distant and started acting shady with her phone and email. However, he gave her the benefit of the doubt because he loved her and trusted her.
Then one day he found out that she had been a previous stripper at Sapphire lounge. He struggled to accept the fact that his picture perfect girl friend had a dirty past. He also found out via a text thread in her phone (she had the dude's name under a fake girl's cover-name so James never clicked on the text thread when he had previously scrolled through her phone). Needless to say, he dumped her ass in a heartbeat and never looked back. Looking back hurt to much.
Now he sat at his computer listening to 'lilac wine' and wanting to die. He thought of ways to kill himself... K-hole, ODing on molly, slitting his wrist in the claw-foot bathtub...
He sat there alone and began to cry. Suddenly James heard the sound of a guitar behind him and turned around to find the spirit of Jeff Buckley sitting on his bed. Jeff buckley was a thing of beauty. James suddently considered becoming gay.
Jeff buckley had on his water-logged boots from his "accidental" drowning in the Mississippi. The boots left wet footprints underneath where he sat on the edge of the guest bed... water pooling around the soles on the dark, parquet flooring. Jeff buckley looked James dead in the eye and then stopped strumming and put down his guitar. "James," he said, "do you like lilac wine?" He pulled out a bottle from underneath the bed along with a wine opener and two glasses. "Here... it's the never ending bottle of lilac wine."
The two men got obliterated and talked about love, relationships, their depression and suicidal thoughts. Then they proceeded to blow lines of molly on top of lines of K, on top of about two bottles of lilac wine each... needless to say, James died that night, and Jeff Buckley died a second time.
They both woke up together laying in the grass of a lilac field under the late afternoon sun. Jeff Buckley and James were both lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl, year after year. And now, as they stared each other in the eyes, a single tear rolled down James's face. A single tear also rolled down Jeff Buckley's face. "James, I love you." said Jeff Buckley.
THE END
I lost myself on a cool, damp night
I gave myself in that misty light
I was hypnotized by her strange delight under a lilac tree
I made wine from a lilac tree
I put my heart in it's recipe
because it makes me see what I want to see, be what I want to be
And I think more than I want to think, I do things I never should do
I drink much more than I ought to drink, because it brings me back you
Lilac wine, is sweet and heady like my love
lilac wine- I feel, unsteady
like my love-
Listen to me... I cannot see clearly,
isn't that she? coming to me, nearly here...
Lilac wine, in my veins, yeah you're so sweet and heady
where's my love? Lilac wine, oh you make me feel so unsteady
where's my love?
Listen to me, why is everything so hazy?
Isn't that she? Or am I just going crazy?
Oh how you tricked me, liquid bastard
Lilac wine...
I feel unworthy, of my love
feel unworthy,
of my love
It's a damp, drizzling, cold day in mid-May. Our main character sits at a desk by a large, French window, on the second floor of a three-story townhouse. The light that comes through is a grey-white, and rain drops splatter and stick to the panes of the window. Looking out the window, the author can see a red bike anchored across the street under a sapling that now blows in the wind and rain. A couple holding hands and walking under a single umbrella walk together down the street. The main character, his name is James.
James happens to notice the bright red boots of the female passerby and stands to look out the window onto the street below. The woman and man that walk together, hand in hand, appear to be laughing at something. Their umbrella blows inside out in the wind, and they run down the street. There is a crack of thunder and James sits back down at his desk in the guest bedroom/office where he often likes to sit alone at his laptop writing short stories. On this particular day, James happens to be listening to Jeff Buckley. Although he would consider Jeff Buckley to be one of his favorite artists, he especially loves listening to his music in rainy weather, and in the spring when the lilacs bloom... when the world feels new again and the scenery is romantic- the haziness of the blooming flowers in the mist and rain. The way that couples seem to connect in the Spring. Although winter is the perfect opportunity for cozying up together by a fire at home, and although summer is the perfect time to frolic and play all night, there is something so inviting in the way of love in late Spring. It's as though the rain calls one to take cover where ever they can in the midst of an on-going storm. The thunder and lightening often make for exciting evenings when a date night is wrapping up, and the cool nights are perfect for cooking hearty dishes before the summer palate of salads and grilling takes over dining in. James is hopelessly alone though, having given up on sharing any of these moments with a significant other years before. Instead, James lives inside of his head thinking of how pleasant life would be to have a girlfriend to share romantic moments with. He doesn't know why he tortures himself by listening to Jeff Buckley when he is feeling particularly melancholy, but the music makes him feel alive, sending a shiver up his spine and making the hair on his arm stand up. He takes off his glasses and goes into the bathroom and stares at his reflection in the mirror.
His gut is a little bit bigger than it was three years ago, and he has more lines around his eyes, which are especially noticeable when he smiles at himself. The lines above the bridge of his nose are especially apparent when he frowns now, and as he leans closer into his reflection, he notices white hairs amongst his light brown ones. He grabs a couple of advil out of the cabinet (low pressure systems always give him headaches) above the sink and gulps them down with some tap water. He takes another look at himself as he sighs, and turning on his heels, he turns to face the door and flicks off the light switch. He returns to his computer desk and takes a seat. "When the fuck did I get old?" he says out loud to only himself. It has been years since James had a proper girlfriend. In fact, it has been over five years. The last girl that he dated broke his heart... she cheated on him with a friend that he introduced her to at a work dinner party. He sometimes had suspicions about her fidelity, especially towards the end of their relationship when she became distant and started acting shady with her phone and email. However, he gave her the benefit of the doubt because he loved her and trusted her.
Then one day he found out that she had been a previous stripper at Sapphire lounge. He struggled to accept the fact that his picture perfect girl friend had a dirty past. He also found out via a text thread in her phone (she had the dude's name under a fake girl's cover-name so James never clicked on the text thread when he had previously scrolled through her phone). Needless to say, he dumped her ass in a heartbeat and never looked back. Looking back hurt to much.
Now he sat at his computer listening to 'lilac wine' and wanting to die. He thought of ways to kill himself... K-hole, ODing on molly, slitting his wrist in the claw-foot bathtub...
He sat there alone and began to cry. Suddenly James heard the sound of a guitar behind him and turned around to find the spirit of Jeff Buckley sitting on his bed. Jeff buckley was a thing of beauty. James suddently considered becoming gay.
Jeff buckley had on his water-logged boots from his "accidental" drowning in the Mississippi. The boots left wet footprints underneath where he sat on the edge of the guest bed... water pooling around the soles on the dark, parquet flooring. Jeff buckley looked James dead in the eye and then stopped strumming and put down his guitar. "James," he said, "do you like lilac wine?" He pulled out a bottle from underneath the bed along with a wine opener and two glasses. "Here... it's the never ending bottle of lilac wine."
The two men got obliterated and talked about love, relationships, their depression and suicidal thoughts. Then they proceeded to blow lines of molly on top of lines of K, on top of about two bottles of lilac wine each... needless to say, James died that night, and Jeff Buckley died a second time.
They both woke up together laying in the grass of a lilac field under the late afternoon sun. Jeff Buckley and James were both lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl, year after year. And now, as they stared each other in the eyes, a single tear rolled down James's face. A single tear also rolled down Jeff Buckley's face. "James, I love you." said Jeff Buckley.
THE END
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
The End of The Nightlife Chronicles... for now...
As I sit here on this beautiful, sunny day removing my perfect nail polish from my perfectly manicured nails, a wave of defeat sweeps over me. Why am I removing my nail polish if it is still perfectly intact you ask? Oh, well it's because my job doesn't allow me to wear nail polish unless it is clear.
All I want in this life right now (at least as far as careers go), is a job that allows me to earn a livable wage (ex. enough to pay rent, bills and save a decent chunk), a job that is creative, or a job that allows me a schedule conducive to my current living habits (sleeping in, staying up late). Also, a job that allows me to wear nail polish and makeup and heels would be cool too, because it takes me about 10 minutes to get ready for my current job and I always feel so sloppy and unkempt and child-like that I can hardly live inside my own skin. Anyone that knows me knows that I live for heels and feminine things... so when I walk into work everyday wearing cuffed jeans, flip flops, and no makeup I feel like a mess... not even a hot mess.. just a MESS. I hate it. I can't even take myself seriously for God's sake.
Anyhow...
After a two month debate, I have quit my job at Highline once and for all. It was one of the hardest decisions that I've ever had to make; I know that it probably sounds trivial to anyone reading this right now... but I had more than just a weekend job invested in that place.
After two of my friends and fellow co-workers quit around January, it was a slow decline for me. Not only did I not have my comrades to joke about all of the idiots and sluts around us with, but I had no one to socialize with while I stood at the hostess stand. Making it worse was the fact that one of the new 'managers' that was hired there treated me like complete shit. I won't go into detail because I have to leave for work soon and I'll just get violent at the mere thought of him....
I tried to tough it out, but the fact that he treated me like less than a person and took away rights that I previously had didn't fly with me. On top of that, I started going psycho every weekend on my boyfriend because working in nightlife is pretty taxing when you work with your significant other. I couldn't separate my relationship from work anymore. Every time a new bottle server got hired I was suspicious and would start an argument whenever I saw something I didn't agree with. Furthermore, I came to resent the bottle servers as I stood there in the lobby shivering in a fucking winter coat every weekend and they got to waltz around the joint almost naked. We all know I love being naked, so I seethed in fury that I looked like a goddamn eskimo and they strutted their shit around in booty shorts and corsets. I also resented the fact that some of them were the most ungrateful people I had ever met. I don't think a 19 year old that makes in one night what I make in a week of full-time work should ever get bitchy towards me for helping explain the bottle package that she was too fucking dumb to understand. I also don't think that someone who makes that much money for one night of work should ever expect me to collect THEIR tip from the promoter, or bus THEIR tables, or even help them carry THEIR bottle over to the table. Sorry bitch, I'm not the one walking away with $500 tonight....
As you can see, the rage in me is still slowly subsiding. I just don't understand how something that started out as a fun weekend job for me evolved into something that filled me with hate every single weekend. I tried so hard to keep my cool, but at the end of every night I would end up going home and crying. I realized in the end that I had to get out to save my relationship and to save my sanity. As a girl (and I'm sure any girl reading this can relate) we have a tendency to blow little things up into big things. I do this because I have a very over-active imagination. When I started hostessing and wasn't as invested in my relationship as I am now, the little things didn't bother me. But recently, I would go fucking wild inside every time I saw someone touch my boyfriend's arm, or talking with him in the side station. I knew I had to get out before I drove myself and him insane.
Now, the battle is going to be finding a way to entertain myself on the weekends. For most people, that should be no struggle at all. However, for the past year of my life, I never even considered Friday and Saturday nights my weekend. MY WEEKEND was Sunday night, or Monday night... or whatever week day night that my boyfriend and I had off together to go out on. Even though I was making shit for money their, it was still a supplement to my full-time income. So now, instead of making money on the weekend, I'll be spending it if I go out.
I have been considering finding another hostessing job to keep me out of trouble on the weekend and to keep my mind off of Highline, but I think that's easier said than done as well. Most people would argue that I should enjoy my weekend nights for what they are and relish in the fact that now I can get more sleep. But I don't think I will get more sleep because if I'm not kept busy on a Friday and Saturday night, my mind will go to dark places and I will go bat-shit insane if I'm not entertained or in the company of friends. The first week was rough.... it was a really hard transition not packing a bag with my heels and dress for Highline. As my shift at Mollister came to a close, it felt weird not feeling that urge to hurry up and close the store so I could get ready and do my hair and makeup. It felt... UNNATURAL. haha. I spent my first free Saturday out with one of my girlfriends. It was fun at first, but it just reaffirmed why I don't really like going out to clubs on a weekend night. All of the guys that go out are gross for the most part. As the night wore on, I started to get slightly emo... but luckily was kept on track by my friend. This weekend, I decided to have a casual night in with another girlfriend I hadn't seen in a while. Everything started out fine and dandy enough until my wine consumption peaked and we started talking about Highline and my mind just went off to another place. Needless to say, the night ended badly with me getting violently ill and going psycho. I really do need another job to keep me out of trouble...
HELP.
In addition to now needing a weekend job, I am still facing the uphill battle of finding a better full-time job. Despite my devotion to Craigslist, the search has been futile. I just don't get it. From the lack of responses I get, you'd think I was either 1. Stupid, 2. Had a poor employment history, 3. Really ugly, or 4. Had medical issues that rendered me unhireable. None of these are the case... I have a great employment history, have left every job on good terms and with good references, am personable, have a well-rounded resume, and am *decent* looking. What the fuck gives? It's still a joke to me at this point. I am still very grateful I have a full-time job though while I continue to look. Imagine if I didn't have my current job? Fuck.... I'd either be hitting the stripper pole, suicidal, or would just have to move back home. It wouldn't be pretty... so I should count my lucky stars every day for Mollister... even if I feel like less of a woman for not being able to wear nail polish or heels. ;) I'm also so thankful that I have friends and family and a boyfriend that continually support and try to help me in my job search. I just can't help feeling as though I've let them down in addition to letting myself down every time they find a lead or suggest a job that I apply to and it goes no where. Something has to give sometime very soon....
All I want in this life right now (at least as far as careers go), is a job that allows me to earn a livable wage (ex. enough to pay rent, bills and save a decent chunk), a job that is creative, or a job that allows me a schedule conducive to my current living habits (sleeping in, staying up late). Also, a job that allows me to wear nail polish and makeup and heels would be cool too, because it takes me about 10 minutes to get ready for my current job and I always feel so sloppy and unkempt and child-like that I can hardly live inside my own skin. Anyone that knows me knows that I live for heels and feminine things... so when I walk into work everyday wearing cuffed jeans, flip flops, and no makeup I feel like a mess... not even a hot mess.. just a MESS. I hate it. I can't even take myself seriously for God's sake.
Anyhow...
After a two month debate, I have quit my job at Highline once and for all. It was one of the hardest decisions that I've ever had to make; I know that it probably sounds trivial to anyone reading this right now... but I had more than just a weekend job invested in that place.
After two of my friends and fellow co-workers quit around January, it was a slow decline for me. Not only did I not have my comrades to joke about all of the idiots and sluts around us with, but I had no one to socialize with while I stood at the hostess stand. Making it worse was the fact that one of the new 'managers' that was hired there treated me like complete shit. I won't go into detail because I have to leave for work soon and I'll just get violent at the mere thought of him....
I tried to tough it out, but the fact that he treated me like less than a person and took away rights that I previously had didn't fly with me. On top of that, I started going psycho every weekend on my boyfriend because working in nightlife is pretty taxing when you work with your significant other. I couldn't separate my relationship from work anymore. Every time a new bottle server got hired I was suspicious and would start an argument whenever I saw something I didn't agree with. Furthermore, I came to resent the bottle servers as I stood there in the lobby shivering in a fucking winter coat every weekend and they got to waltz around the joint almost naked. We all know I love being naked, so I seethed in fury that I looked like a goddamn eskimo and they strutted their shit around in booty shorts and corsets. I also resented the fact that some of them were the most ungrateful people I had ever met. I don't think a 19 year old that makes in one night what I make in a week of full-time work should ever get bitchy towards me for helping explain the bottle package that she was too fucking dumb to understand. I also don't think that someone who makes that much money for one night of work should ever expect me to collect THEIR tip from the promoter, or bus THEIR tables, or even help them carry THEIR bottle over to the table. Sorry bitch, I'm not the one walking away with $500 tonight....
As you can see, the rage in me is still slowly subsiding. I just don't understand how something that started out as a fun weekend job for me evolved into something that filled me with hate every single weekend. I tried so hard to keep my cool, but at the end of every night I would end up going home and crying. I realized in the end that I had to get out to save my relationship and to save my sanity. As a girl (and I'm sure any girl reading this can relate) we have a tendency to blow little things up into big things. I do this because I have a very over-active imagination. When I started hostessing and wasn't as invested in my relationship as I am now, the little things didn't bother me. But recently, I would go fucking wild inside every time I saw someone touch my boyfriend's arm, or talking with him in the side station. I knew I had to get out before I drove myself and him insane.
Now, the battle is going to be finding a way to entertain myself on the weekends. For most people, that should be no struggle at all. However, for the past year of my life, I never even considered Friday and Saturday nights my weekend. MY WEEKEND was Sunday night, or Monday night... or whatever week day night that my boyfriend and I had off together to go out on. Even though I was making shit for money their, it was still a supplement to my full-time income. So now, instead of making money on the weekend, I'll be spending it if I go out.
I have been considering finding another hostessing job to keep me out of trouble on the weekend and to keep my mind off of Highline, but I think that's easier said than done as well. Most people would argue that I should enjoy my weekend nights for what they are and relish in the fact that now I can get more sleep. But I don't think I will get more sleep because if I'm not kept busy on a Friday and Saturday night, my mind will go to dark places and I will go bat-shit insane if I'm not entertained or in the company of friends. The first week was rough.... it was a really hard transition not packing a bag with my heels and dress for Highline. As my shift at Mollister came to a close, it felt weird not feeling that urge to hurry up and close the store so I could get ready and do my hair and makeup. It felt... UNNATURAL. haha. I spent my first free Saturday out with one of my girlfriends. It was fun at first, but it just reaffirmed why I don't really like going out to clubs on a weekend night. All of the guys that go out are gross for the most part. As the night wore on, I started to get slightly emo... but luckily was kept on track by my friend. This weekend, I decided to have a casual night in with another girlfriend I hadn't seen in a while. Everything started out fine and dandy enough until my wine consumption peaked and we started talking about Highline and my mind just went off to another place. Needless to say, the night ended badly with me getting violently ill and going psycho. I really do need another job to keep me out of trouble...
HELP.
In addition to now needing a weekend job, I am still facing the uphill battle of finding a better full-time job. Despite my devotion to Craigslist, the search has been futile. I just don't get it. From the lack of responses I get, you'd think I was either 1. Stupid, 2. Had a poor employment history, 3. Really ugly, or 4. Had medical issues that rendered me unhireable. None of these are the case... I have a great employment history, have left every job on good terms and with good references, am personable, have a well-rounded resume, and am *decent* looking. What the fuck gives? It's still a joke to me at this point. I am still very grateful I have a full-time job though while I continue to look. Imagine if I didn't have my current job? Fuck.... I'd either be hitting the stripper pole, suicidal, or would just have to move back home. It wouldn't be pretty... so I should count my lucky stars every day for Mollister... even if I feel like less of a woman for not being able to wear nail polish or heels. ;) I'm also so thankful that I have friends and family and a boyfriend that continually support and try to help me in my job search. I just can't help feeling as though I've let them down in addition to letting myself down every time they find a lead or suggest a job that I apply to and it goes no where. Something has to give sometime very soon....
Monday, March 3, 2014
Time for a New Phone/ The Nightlife Chronicles
Life was going so swell today.... I finished my book a couple of weeks ago and have officially started the editing process, I spent quality time with my sister and niece, I have the day off and plans to go out with my boyfriend later, and I found out I'm getting money back on my taxes. And then my POS phone decided to do me dirty....
After putting it off for the last 2.5 years, I think it is high time to get a new phone. I've been picked on by pretty much everyone I know for having a shitty Android from the year 2011, but I never really thought anything of it because I'm not really a tech-savvy addict and I can do everything I need to on the phone I have (despite the fact that it is not nearly as aesthetically pleasing as an iphone or as cool). I have the internet, facebook, pictures, music, and navigation. What more does a simpleton such as myself really need? I'm not the kind of girl that needs 20 apps and some stupid bird games. I think the reason I never bothered to upgrade is because I'm still on my parent's family plan, so I need to either make the time to go with my father to the verizon store, or take the time to get all of his info and then go myself. I'm pretty lazy when it comes to doing things like this on my days off, so I've been avoiding it for the past year and a half that I've lived away from home. Well, I learned my lesson the hard way this time around. And as I sit here writing this, I am in a state of emotional devastation. My shitty fucking phone not only erased all of my pictures a couple of months ago (which really should have been the catalyst to get me to immediately go by an iphone when it happened), but then today, my shitty FUCKING phone erased all of my text threads... including all of the locked texts that I've saved throughout the time I've had this phone. I feel like I'm in shock. I know this is a bit dramatic of a comparison, but I think what I am feeling inside is similar to how a mother would feel if all of the baby pictures of her child were lost in a fire. It's was so sad knowing that all of the photos of my niece in the first few months of her life are gone, and now all of the beautiful and thoughtful and sweet text messages that I've saved from friends, family, and loved ones are gone too. Fucking shit.
I know that all of this seems trivial in the grand scheme of life, and it's not as though these texts would have transferred over to a new phone once I bought one anyhow, however, I can't help feeling so sad that they are gone forever. Maybe I'm the only weirdo that saves nice text messages, but seriously- when I am feeling sad, or need a little reminder how sweet my life really is when I'm feeling down, I like to open my phone and look back on nice things people may have said to me to remind myself how great life is and how lucky I am to have people that care about me. Oh well, I guess people will just have to send me more nice texts once I have my new phone.... gone are the texts I saved from my best friends, gone are the texts my cousin and brother sent me that always make me smile when I'm feeling crazy, and even sadder, gone are the texts I saved from the early days of my relationship with my current boyfriend that were so sweet.... :( fucking shit... I need a stiff drink to cope (jk).
I'm so sad right now I really think I may have to walk over to American Apparel and buy something slutty to cheer up. Sigh. Oh well, they're just words. Words are cheap without action... and there is plenty of time in my life for more nice words and actions to support them.
Now that I have finally completed my first book and am starting revisions and editing, I thought of an idea for my next book- "The Nightlife Chronicles." It's going to be a book about the absurdity of working in a night club and the absurdity of New York City Nightlife as a whole. I think it should be a top seller, but I suppose I should focus first on project one before starting project two. Gotta' put the horse before the carriage ;)
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
The Winter SADS
Well, it's evident that once again my Seasonal Affective Disorder has kicked in. NEVER listen to Guns N' Roses "Knockin On Heavens Door" when you're depressed.... it might possibly be more depressing than listening to Thom Yorke yodel out the lyrics to "I'm Not Here" and we all know how depressing that song is...
I'm not sure what has gotten into me today, it might be the weather that just won't quit, the job that I loathe, or the constant uncertainty that has been plaguing me for the majority of my twenties thus far and is coming to another peak as I approach another birthday. I had a great date with my boyfriend last night, have thus far been having an easy week at work, and yet, somehow, I proceeded to wake up severely emo today, despite the fact that I have the day off and am going out tonight. I think maybe it's the weather. It's just so ugly in this city when it snows after Christmas has passed. Even if it snows upstate, at least the white stays white, and the snow lands on trees and hills and houses in the country. The snow never stays white here and quickly becomes polluted, sloppy, and a mess that just adds to the depressing look of the concrete streets, concrete buildings, and the cold, grey skyline... I think it's quite metaphorical now that I think about it... nothing in this Godforesaken city can stay pure for long. Sigh.
I just need to get out for a few days before I have a breakdown. I spent all afternoon applying to writing jobs... PAID writing jobs... no internships allowed. I have no hopes at all, because I've learned the hard way that no matter how confident you are in your own abilities, you should never hope to hear back from anyone when applying to jobs, this way it is simply a very happy surprise if you should hear back. I've been thinking a lot about some very depressing things these past couple of weeks... I'm also blaming that on the weather. I've seen an increase in homeless people, and at this point, I don't even know if I necessarily feel sorry for them anymore. I mean, I do feel sympathy.... it is sad to see someone that has the shakes because they're going through withdrawals and no one will sit in a ten foot radius of them on the subway, and you can smell them from the other side of the subway car. It's sad that they don't get the help they need, or have anyone in their life to help them. However, recently, I find myself feeling disgusted when I smell/see these individuals. It's so obnoxious when you're on the subway at 7am and someone speaking slurred jibberish (because they're clearly fucked on alcohol) walks by you jingling a cup full of change at you when you are going to bust your ass at a job you hate for 10 hours just to pay your bills. Furthermore, it's disgusting when you're so tired you could die after a 15 hour work day, can't find a cab do to the rain, are forced to take the subway, and then find yourself sitting across from the dirtiest, smelliest motherfucker you've ever seen and he keeps feeling his nether regions and staring lustfully at every female on the train. I hate this city so much at times like these...
The other night I left my hostessing job at Highline and it was cold and rainy so it was impossible to find a cab at 2:30 am. I was forced to wait 20 minutes for the L train to arrive at the 8th Ave station, and then when I boarded the train, I am convinced I was the only sober person on it. As the train crawled along at 10mph due to construction, I was subjected to the smelly, horny homeless man across from me, some dude who wouldn't stop staring at me, a flamer who kept shouting obscenities in his flamer lisp, an obnoxious and unattractive couple PDAing in the middle of the car, and several other drunk/loud/obnoxious people that made the 25 minute ride back to Williamsburg what can only be described as Hell on Earth. I love this city, but I swear to God, I hate this city at times like these. I exited the subway and had a good cry as soon as I got home. Sometimes the subway is just the icing on the effing cake....
Another thing that has been adding to my stress is a fear of getting old(er). I know that no one really ever wants to get old, and that there is nothing anyone can do to prevent it, but recently my fears of growing old have been intensified by life in this city. I personally like myself more now than I ever did when I was 21... I am much more confident, in way better shape, way more put together, and way smarter than I was four years ago. However, everytime I go out on the town, I start to consider all of the benefits to being young and female. Men aren't going to hit on me forever... it's only a matter of time before that stops. I'm not saying that I depend on people's attention to validate myself, but it is nice to have people compliment you. It's also nice to have people buy you drinks, or simply give you drugs... what happens when you're too old and people don't give you the time of day anymore? I hope that by that point in my life, I will be so content with myself that I just won't give a shit. I never thought I was the kind of person that was shallow enough to consider botox, but I think that maybe I should start saving up for the future... is that idiotic? Yes, I know that answer to my own question... it's stupid. So why have I been feeling this way??? Most people fear growing old because they fear that they might not accomplish their hopes and dreams, or they are scared of dying. I am fairly confident that eventually I will have the life that I want, because I am a hard worker and fairly determined not to settle. I am mostly just terrified of wrinkles and losing my youthful appeal and wild charm...jk.... my wild side is anything but charming ;) Just a sloppy mess... :D I am also a control freak, so the fact that I can't control the aging process drives me insane.
In an ideal situation, I would be rich enough to have an apartment here but also a huge house in the middle of nowhere or in some small, coastal town so I could escape whenever I wanted to and go out here when I wanted to. Well, at least we have some Perry Farrell "Been Caught Stealing" on Pandora now to lift me spirits. I think what I need, is a good week of partying, followed by a good, long week of self reflection laying naked on the beach.... Yes, that sounds like the cure for the winter blues. All I want is to find a job that allows me to be fulfilled and has decent hours, or to get rich enough that I never have to work a steady job again. I keep brainstorming ways to do this... I would happily just settle for a creative job though if I must work. I miss my girlfriends tremendously right now. I really need a good, sloppy, wild night out with my girlfriends.... that is the cure all to everything. Until you wake up emotionally hungover the next day and have to go back to reality again....
Oh well, I will keep applying for jobs in the *non existent* hope that perhaps someone will give me a chance, and I will also plan a mini escape for my bday into the middle of nowhere so my brain can take some time off from the city grind and the reality accompanying it. Thank God for my friends, family and boyfriend that continue to keep me as sane as they possibly can while I figure my life out. I always think to myself that I can't possibly be this confused and messy forever. Someday I will wake up, and everything will be in it's place and I will feel content with the world and with myself. Until that day though, I will have monthly mental collapses, wild nights in/out, and occasionally wake up emo and have a good long cry while listening to shitty music. I swear I am a happy person... extremely happy at times, it's just this fucking weather and this time of year.... I need some nature in my life. Maybe a massage.... but for tonight, I will settle for a few drinks with my sister. I'll leave you with some pics since I've been extremely negligent these past few months....
I'm not sure what has gotten into me today, it might be the weather that just won't quit, the job that I loathe, or the constant uncertainty that has been plaguing me for the majority of my twenties thus far and is coming to another peak as I approach another birthday. I had a great date with my boyfriend last night, have thus far been having an easy week at work, and yet, somehow, I proceeded to wake up severely emo today, despite the fact that I have the day off and am going out tonight. I think maybe it's the weather. It's just so ugly in this city when it snows after Christmas has passed. Even if it snows upstate, at least the white stays white, and the snow lands on trees and hills and houses in the country. The snow never stays white here and quickly becomes polluted, sloppy, and a mess that just adds to the depressing look of the concrete streets, concrete buildings, and the cold, grey skyline... I think it's quite metaphorical now that I think about it... nothing in this Godforesaken city can stay pure for long. Sigh.
I just need to get out for a few days before I have a breakdown. I spent all afternoon applying to writing jobs... PAID writing jobs... no internships allowed. I have no hopes at all, because I've learned the hard way that no matter how confident you are in your own abilities, you should never hope to hear back from anyone when applying to jobs, this way it is simply a very happy surprise if you should hear back. I've been thinking a lot about some very depressing things these past couple of weeks... I'm also blaming that on the weather. I've seen an increase in homeless people, and at this point, I don't even know if I necessarily feel sorry for them anymore. I mean, I do feel sympathy.... it is sad to see someone that has the shakes because they're going through withdrawals and no one will sit in a ten foot radius of them on the subway, and you can smell them from the other side of the subway car. It's sad that they don't get the help they need, or have anyone in their life to help them. However, recently, I find myself feeling disgusted when I smell/see these individuals. It's so obnoxious when you're on the subway at 7am and someone speaking slurred jibberish (because they're clearly fucked on alcohol) walks by you jingling a cup full of change at you when you are going to bust your ass at a job you hate for 10 hours just to pay your bills. Furthermore, it's disgusting when you're so tired you could die after a 15 hour work day, can't find a cab do to the rain, are forced to take the subway, and then find yourself sitting across from the dirtiest, smelliest motherfucker you've ever seen and he keeps feeling his nether regions and staring lustfully at every female on the train. I hate this city so much at times like these...
The other night I left my hostessing job at Highline and it was cold and rainy so it was impossible to find a cab at 2:30 am. I was forced to wait 20 minutes for the L train to arrive at the 8th Ave station, and then when I boarded the train, I am convinced I was the only sober person on it. As the train crawled along at 10mph due to construction, I was subjected to the smelly, horny homeless man across from me, some dude who wouldn't stop staring at me, a flamer who kept shouting obscenities in his flamer lisp, an obnoxious and unattractive couple PDAing in the middle of the car, and several other drunk/loud/obnoxious people that made the 25 minute ride back to Williamsburg what can only be described as Hell on Earth. I love this city, but I swear to God, I hate this city at times like these. I exited the subway and had a good cry as soon as I got home. Sometimes the subway is just the icing on the effing cake....
Another thing that has been adding to my stress is a fear of getting old(er). I know that no one really ever wants to get old, and that there is nothing anyone can do to prevent it, but recently my fears of growing old have been intensified by life in this city. I personally like myself more now than I ever did when I was 21... I am much more confident, in way better shape, way more put together, and way smarter than I was four years ago. However, everytime I go out on the town, I start to consider all of the benefits to being young and female. Men aren't going to hit on me forever... it's only a matter of time before that stops. I'm not saying that I depend on people's attention to validate myself, but it is nice to have people compliment you. It's also nice to have people buy you drinks, or simply give you drugs... what happens when you're too old and people don't give you the time of day anymore? I hope that by that point in my life, I will be so content with myself that I just won't give a shit. I never thought I was the kind of person that was shallow enough to consider botox, but I think that maybe I should start saving up for the future... is that idiotic? Yes, I know that answer to my own question... it's stupid. So why have I been feeling this way??? Most people fear growing old because they fear that they might not accomplish their hopes and dreams, or they are scared of dying. I am fairly confident that eventually I will have the life that I want, because I am a hard worker and fairly determined not to settle. I am mostly just terrified of wrinkles and losing my youthful appeal and wild charm...jk.... my wild side is anything but charming ;) Just a sloppy mess... :D I am also a control freak, so the fact that I can't control the aging process drives me insane.
In an ideal situation, I would be rich enough to have an apartment here but also a huge house in the middle of nowhere or in some small, coastal town so I could escape whenever I wanted to and go out here when I wanted to. Well, at least we have some Perry Farrell "Been Caught Stealing" on Pandora now to lift me spirits. I think what I need, is a good week of partying, followed by a good, long week of self reflection laying naked on the beach.... Yes, that sounds like the cure for the winter blues. All I want is to find a job that allows me to be fulfilled and has decent hours, or to get rich enough that I never have to work a steady job again. I keep brainstorming ways to do this... I would happily just settle for a creative job though if I must work. I miss my girlfriends tremendously right now. I really need a good, sloppy, wild night out with my girlfriends.... that is the cure all to everything. Until you wake up emotionally hungover the next day and have to go back to reality again....
Oh well, I will keep applying for jobs in the *non existent* hope that perhaps someone will give me a chance, and I will also plan a mini escape for my bday into the middle of nowhere so my brain can take some time off from the city grind and the reality accompanying it. Thank God for my friends, family and boyfriend that continue to keep me as sane as they possibly can while I figure my life out. I always think to myself that I can't possibly be this confused and messy forever. Someday I will wake up, and everything will be in it's place and I will feel content with the world and with myself. Until that day though, I will have monthly mental collapses, wild nights in/out, and occasionally wake up emo and have a good long cry while listening to shitty music. I swear I am a happy person... extremely happy at times, it's just this fucking weather and this time of year.... I need some nature in my life. Maybe a massage.... but for tonight, I will settle for a few drinks with my sister. I'll leave you with some pics since I've been extremely negligent these past few months....
New Year's Eve... I'll never wear white to a party again. I think this dress has been put out to pasture officially after only two wears.
A couple of days after New Year's Eve... I almost was crushed to death. What a memorable night....with some very memorable bruises....
And a slutty little selfie, because lord knows I don't post nearly enough of these anymore.... I know you all missed them.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
so angry that all i can do is laugh
yes, ladies and gentleman, its another one of my posts from a cab...except unlike the last one. where i was happy and drunk, tonight i am angry and delusional. i have to find another job or i will just have to quit and resort to one of my backup plans (ex. stripping. i cant fucking go on like this.... i was supposed to get out of work at 1am, i walked out at 6am. on top of having bronchitis and being close to death, i now missed out on sleeping and eating a proper dinner...no fucking wonder my goddamn immune system gave up and said di quit this bitchd a couple of months ago. i wish i could do the same and walk out the doors of mollister forever. fml. i had several mental breakdowns at work, including a 5 minute interlude where i shut myself in the bathroom to cry. this is legit torture. i would have given up around 3am and said fuck it, were i not working with another manager. i obviously couldnt peace out on her so i had to stay strong or at least as strong as an emotionally weak person such as myself can stay, and so i worked 5 additional hours for no pay....seriously...fml. i have a doctors app on my next day off...wed. at 3:30...hopefully the doctor can hook me up with an inhaler, antibiotics, and maybe an adderall and xanax prescription while he is at it because lord knows i cant go on functioning on no sleep and under this much stress. my skin looks like fucking shit, i think my hair is going white, and i am fucking insane as a result of sleep deprivation. stress, and the sadness of working at this awful place. i cant stop coughing, my head is hot, and i hope i dont die in my sleep. if i live to see wednesday. im going hard.... ill fucking party on my day off. i need to after being subjected to this degredation and abuse. i feel abused.... omg...im so angry i cant cry. this is the worst.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
A Short Story, Part Trois
Once upon a very modern time, there lived a little prince with Blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He was a thinker, a philosopher, a poet, and a genius, but also, bat-shit fucking insane. He loved nothing more than to wax poetic and pretend to be one of the great romantics he idolized... he also loved to mind fuck people and get into arguments with the vagabonds he befriended, because no one of a rational mind would cater to his thought trains or listen to his ramblings. This is why the majority of his friends were homeless townies- drunks that counted bottle refunds for the cheapest vodka available, and vagrants that slept in tents by the local river. He worked as a bottle room attendant for a brief time period, and this is how he initially came to know these folk by name. He heard all of their sad stories, and he could relate, because he himself had one of the saddest childhood stories of all....
But, alas, all of that is besides the point. The point is, our tragic, little hero loved nothing more than getting fucked up- he would drink himself into a stupor and roll around naked on his living room carpet reading excerpts from Henry Miller's 'Tropic of Cancer," or Tolstoy to anyone whom was willing to listen to him on the phone while he was in this lowly state of intoxication. He also enjoyed doing ketamine to the point of k-holing himself into a world of disassociation, drinking cough syrup to the point of robotripping, and when he was still a high school student, he was so often fucked up on acid and weed, that for an entire month he went to school barefoot and wearing tie-dye shirts with grateful dead bears on them. If you are wondering how his teachers allowed him to get away with attending school barefoot, it is because his jeans were so long and tattered at the bottoms, that his teachers could only see his toes sticking out and assumed he was sporting flip-flops.
Having come from a very broken home, our hero found himself on his own from the point that he was eighteen years old onward. He filed all of his FASFA forms himself, paid for his own food, apartment, and books, and purchased all of his furnishings and the clothes on his back. He chain smoked to the point of nearly contracting lung cancer by the tender age of 21. He would skip class just to stay home and read Thoreau, and when a teacher called him out on his six, consecutive absences, he would make up a brilliant lie about how he was depressed having recently found out he had contracted HIV and unable to pry himself from bed in the morning... sympathy would usually be bestowed upon him and he would scrape by with a 65 passing grade. He had the potential to be so much more than he was, but he simply lacked the conscience that makes a good student attend class and a bad one say 'fuck this shit.' He would write the most eloquent of suicide letters that often landed him in the Dean's office, and letters that he would email to his professors outlining his contempt for academia as a whole, and the modern-day college system. These letters also landed him in hot water with the Dean and with his professors who developed a fear of him and would remain wary for the rest of the semester that he was the type to bring a shot gun full of lead to school.
He probably was the type to do such, but he was rarely bullied as most high-school students who are driven to commit acts of massacre are. In fact, he was usually the one doing the bullying. Though he was far from being 'popular,' he was well-known for his in class commentary, sharp wit, and even sharper tongue when it came to verbally denouncing any idea he didn't agree with or theory that he found dissatisfying.
Once, he set a bride on fire on her wedding night (on accident of course). He enjoyed a fine wine more than anything else, and though he was far from being well-traveled, he read so much about history, geography, language, and the sciences, that he could fool almost any stranger whom didn't know his history into thinking he had traveled to all seven continents.
Our tragic hero's downfall was though he thought himself to be a sort of Don Juan when it came to the ladies, he was so socially retarded that he didn't know a single thing about the way females processed their thoughts, emotions or their actions. This is the exact reason why he couldn't hold down a relationship. He would either get wasted, verbally abusive, or both wasted and verbally abusive and there would be an explosive falling-out wherein she dumped him, but he would later claim to have dumped her. He didn't really know how to pick 'em either.. if you know what I'm saying. He was obsessed by big breasts, to the point of being blinded to the rest of the body. As long as the girl had huge tits, he thought she was beautiful, even if said tits were saggy as fuck, her face looked like a braying donkey, or she only had huge boobs because the rest of her was also huge. He even dated a lesbian once who was on the girl's rugby team and had no idea why she refused to kiss him four dates into their summer romance.
Many years after graduating college, he was working as a professor at a private university where he taught English and amused his students with stories of his reckless youth. He received a phone call from an old friend and an hour into their conversation, he brought up the fact that they used to joke that they were going to marry each other when they both ended up 40 and alone one day... they agreed never to sleep with each other, just to have a beautiful wedding and to share the expenses of a beautiful house by the sea shore. Oh, and they also had a common dream to open a day-home for the autistic where they would blare the Kid Cudi song, "Day and Night" on repeat 24/7. Truth be told, they had been planning the details of this marriage for years, whenever one of them was in the depths of despair having just been kicked to the curb by their significant other, or the other one had been single for over three years and they were both at the end of their rope, they would come to the agreement to marry each other out of convenience and the desire to never be lonely again... there were going to be lilacs, a vanilla and rasperry creme filled cake, and the wedding was going to be on a lake in the evening in May.
They decided to finally tie the knot since she now was past child-bearing age and looked haggard as fuck in the face, and he had the same beer gut that his father had developed. What a comely pairing they were! On the night of the wedding, after the cake was cut (and half of it went down the portly bride's gullet) and the champagne had been flowing for hours on end (yes, the groom was in a state of black-out drunkeness comparable to that of his college days), the groom rowed out in a tiny row boat into the middle of the lake. He planned to set off a fireworks display for his wife once he had made it further off shore. He looked up at the clear, starry night sky and the full moon. The fragrant and sweet smell of lilacs wafted above the water, and he could hear "lilac wine" by Jeff Buckley playing softly from the illuminated tent even though he was now quite far from sure. The melody was punctuated by laughter of the wedding guests, and he smiled thinking about this happy little life that was about to begin. Even if both of them never shared more than a single kiss and slept in different beds, at least he would have a companion to dine out with, travel with, and drink with. he looked up into the sky one last time and struck a match to light the fireworks which he planned to send out and away from the boat on a little plank of wood he had crafted especially for this occassion.
The fire flew up the spark cord of the explosives at a rapid rate, and before he could fully launch the plank carrying the fireworks to a distance safely far away enough from the little row boat where he sat, there was a massive and firey explosion. The poor sweet prince was blown into a million pieces that appeared as white and lilac colored waterfalls and twizzlers and bam-bangers in the night sky... he became a part of that firework extravaganza that evening. The onlookers back on shore underneath the tent ooohed and ahhhhed not knowing yet that the groom was dead. The bride cried tears of joy and looked into the distance in an attempt to see if her friend was smiling as big as she was. She waited 40 minutes for him to come back to shore, and when he didn't get back, she sent out a search party. They found pieces of the blown up row boat, and a note floating in the water that simply said, "Just remember that you're ugly, but try not to think about it."
THE END.
But, alas, all of that is besides the point. The point is, our tragic, little hero loved nothing more than getting fucked up- he would drink himself into a stupor and roll around naked on his living room carpet reading excerpts from Henry Miller's 'Tropic of Cancer," or Tolstoy to anyone whom was willing to listen to him on the phone while he was in this lowly state of intoxication. He also enjoyed doing ketamine to the point of k-holing himself into a world of disassociation, drinking cough syrup to the point of robotripping, and when he was still a high school student, he was so often fucked up on acid and weed, that for an entire month he went to school barefoot and wearing tie-dye shirts with grateful dead bears on them. If you are wondering how his teachers allowed him to get away with attending school barefoot, it is because his jeans were so long and tattered at the bottoms, that his teachers could only see his toes sticking out and assumed he was sporting flip-flops.
Having come from a very broken home, our hero found himself on his own from the point that he was eighteen years old onward. He filed all of his FASFA forms himself, paid for his own food, apartment, and books, and purchased all of his furnishings and the clothes on his back. He chain smoked to the point of nearly contracting lung cancer by the tender age of 21. He would skip class just to stay home and read Thoreau, and when a teacher called him out on his six, consecutive absences, he would make up a brilliant lie about how he was depressed having recently found out he had contracted HIV and unable to pry himself from bed in the morning... sympathy would usually be bestowed upon him and he would scrape by with a 65 passing grade. He had the potential to be so much more than he was, but he simply lacked the conscience that makes a good student attend class and a bad one say 'fuck this shit.' He would write the most eloquent of suicide letters that often landed him in the Dean's office, and letters that he would email to his professors outlining his contempt for academia as a whole, and the modern-day college system. These letters also landed him in hot water with the Dean and with his professors who developed a fear of him and would remain wary for the rest of the semester that he was the type to bring a shot gun full of lead to school.
He probably was the type to do such, but he was rarely bullied as most high-school students who are driven to commit acts of massacre are. In fact, he was usually the one doing the bullying. Though he was far from being 'popular,' he was well-known for his in class commentary, sharp wit, and even sharper tongue when it came to verbally denouncing any idea he didn't agree with or theory that he found dissatisfying.
Once, he set a bride on fire on her wedding night (on accident of course). He enjoyed a fine wine more than anything else, and though he was far from being well-traveled, he read so much about history, geography, language, and the sciences, that he could fool almost any stranger whom didn't know his history into thinking he had traveled to all seven continents.
Our tragic hero's downfall was though he thought himself to be a sort of Don Juan when it came to the ladies, he was so socially retarded that he didn't know a single thing about the way females processed their thoughts, emotions or their actions. This is the exact reason why he couldn't hold down a relationship. He would either get wasted, verbally abusive, or both wasted and verbally abusive and there would be an explosive falling-out wherein she dumped him, but he would later claim to have dumped her. He didn't really know how to pick 'em either.. if you know what I'm saying. He was obsessed by big breasts, to the point of being blinded to the rest of the body. As long as the girl had huge tits, he thought she was beautiful, even if said tits were saggy as fuck, her face looked like a braying donkey, or she only had huge boobs because the rest of her was also huge. He even dated a lesbian once who was on the girl's rugby team and had no idea why she refused to kiss him four dates into their summer romance.
Many years after graduating college, he was working as a professor at a private university where he taught English and amused his students with stories of his reckless youth. He received a phone call from an old friend and an hour into their conversation, he brought up the fact that they used to joke that they were going to marry each other when they both ended up 40 and alone one day... they agreed never to sleep with each other, just to have a beautiful wedding and to share the expenses of a beautiful house by the sea shore. Oh, and they also had a common dream to open a day-home for the autistic where they would blare the Kid Cudi song, "Day and Night" on repeat 24/7. Truth be told, they had been planning the details of this marriage for years, whenever one of them was in the depths of despair having just been kicked to the curb by their significant other, or the other one had been single for over three years and they were both at the end of their rope, they would come to the agreement to marry each other out of convenience and the desire to never be lonely again... there were going to be lilacs, a vanilla and rasperry creme filled cake, and the wedding was going to be on a lake in the evening in May.
They decided to finally tie the knot since she now was past child-bearing age and looked haggard as fuck in the face, and he had the same beer gut that his father had developed. What a comely pairing they were! On the night of the wedding, after the cake was cut (and half of it went down the portly bride's gullet) and the champagne had been flowing for hours on end (yes, the groom was in a state of black-out drunkeness comparable to that of his college days), the groom rowed out in a tiny row boat into the middle of the lake. He planned to set off a fireworks display for his wife once he had made it further off shore. He looked up at the clear, starry night sky and the full moon. The fragrant and sweet smell of lilacs wafted above the water, and he could hear "lilac wine" by Jeff Buckley playing softly from the illuminated tent even though he was now quite far from sure. The melody was punctuated by laughter of the wedding guests, and he smiled thinking about this happy little life that was about to begin. Even if both of them never shared more than a single kiss and slept in different beds, at least he would have a companion to dine out with, travel with, and drink with. he looked up into the sky one last time and struck a match to light the fireworks which he planned to send out and away from the boat on a little plank of wood he had crafted especially for this occassion.
The fire flew up the spark cord of the explosives at a rapid rate, and before he could fully launch the plank carrying the fireworks to a distance safely far away enough from the little row boat where he sat, there was a massive and firey explosion. The poor sweet prince was blown into a million pieces that appeared as white and lilac colored waterfalls and twizzlers and bam-bangers in the night sky... he became a part of that firework extravaganza that evening. The onlookers back on shore underneath the tent ooohed and ahhhhed not knowing yet that the groom was dead. The bride cried tears of joy and looked into the distance in an attempt to see if her friend was smiling as big as she was. She waited 40 minutes for him to come back to shore, and when he didn't get back, she sent out a search party. They found pieces of the blown up row boat, and a note floating in the water that simply said, "Just remember that you're ugly, but try not to think about it."
THE END.
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