Recap: Date with someone who looked 12, drinks, more drinks, no dinner, lesson learned (my tolerance can kick your tolerance’s ass), date pukes, passes out, is rushed off in an ambulance. New gay man friend and I frolic with minimal concern. Debauchery ensues.
I’m in “pieces.” Maybe the most literal way I’ve ever said those words. It’s the name of the bar we’re in. I get cash and become completely enthralled by this kid’s vampiresque charm and good looks. I become the newly legal’s sugar mama. Newly legal, though? Aren’t vampires always like 367 years old anyway? I’m on to you Twilight.
“Let’s go to splash!” He shouts. Ok, because you’re so young and handsome, and I intensely long for a gay man friend with my sense of humor but better fashion sense, to go through my closet and say “yes, no, no, gross, yes, love ya betch” but still be able to understand my man-ish ways and over the top sarcasm.
I pay for the cab to splash. Ok. This kid is really wasted. Oh no…. The bar sounds awesome as we wait in line outside. I had heard about splash before from a gay man from LA whose neighbors are LMFAO. Not kidding. I knew it was going to be good. As I dance my way to the bouncer, the drunk kid is denied.
Hefty Black Bouncer: “Sir, you’re too drunk to come inside.”
Twilight: “But it’s my birthday.”
HBB: “Happy Birthday. You’re too drunk to come inside.
Me: “Ok, thank you.”
Twilight: “But it’s my 21st birthday.”
HBB: “You’re too drunk to come inside.”
Me: “What if we took a walk around the block and came back?”
HBB: “If you take a walk around the block and come back sober, then sure.”
Pouty Edward throws a wee tantrum. Let’s walk, Edward. I feel this is a sign I should check on the helpless victim I put in the hospital with an alcohol induced coma. I’m also hoping to God this doesn’t happen to a second person.
As we walk maybe a doorway, Edward says, “Let’s go back. He didn’t even look at my ID, maybe he won’t remember us.”
Within seconds, Edward starts walking back to the bouncer. Come on, guy. Denied yet again, this time with an additional hefty white bouncer. I have no business trying to get into a gay man bar twice within minutes on Wednesday night. None. As we walk, Edward hits on a strapping gentleman who somewhat resembles Ice Cube and gets a tip for a new gay man bar to go to. The Ritz! I had gone to this bar a little while back and fell in love with a trannie. Her name was Sasha. Of course it was. The cab drops us off about a block down, mind you we’re on restaurant row in the theater district. On our walk, Edward being the silly young boy he is, pees on Broadway Joe’s restaurant’s front patio. Sirens. Fuck my life. Literally. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Heart palpitations. Cops call Edward out. Shit. The cop begins going through a number of questions with him. Edward is snapping back. Fuck fuck fuck. Is he going to get arrested? Can I get arrested by association? Omg omg omg, it’s only Wednesday and I have work tomorrow. Luckily, the interrogating cop was nice enough to only give Edward a summons. After Edward announces “Whatever, I have tons of money,” I’m slightly appalled that I’ve been paying for stuff all night. Man, I really just want people to like me, I guess?
The bar was fun, but nothing notable. I felt a little out of place then started realizing… I’m a horrible person. Fuck you, conscience. As I prepare to tell Edward I’m leaving, Edward is ripped out of the bathroom half naked mid-boning. Aaaaand, done.
I leave, Edward follows. I drop Edward off on 33rd and 6th by the Path train to Hoboken. Good luck, kid, and until we meet again. I proceed to text the 12 year old and 411 all local hospitals. You see, it kicked in for me that the 12-year-old was going to wake up in a hospital without recollection of how or why, in a city she hardly knows, with no one there. I couldn’t put that weight on my shoulders. After I get an “I’m ok” text, I kindly ask her, “What the Fuck??” She calls me and I hear her asking people around her, “Excuse me… where am I?” Jesus H. She tells me she’s at Bellevue, I pick her up, hospital band and all, and take her back to her apartment. She pays for me to take an Uber car home. I’m in bed. It’s 5am. One for the books, huh?
So the day I signed up for OKC, I started banter pretty quickly with one person in particular. Wasn’t necessarily “my type” per say, however the commentary and quick wit worked for me. That’s pretty much all I need. Like I said regarding my ‘relationship to single life’ transition, it’s all about distraction. If nothing else, a friendship can come out of it, or I just never see this person again. No big deal.
So upon meeting this new prospect, her suggestion was “Let’s meet for coffee.” Sure. The day before the meeting, I’m comfortable enough since we have been texting on a daily basis, to announce that I’m basically a degenerate and and coffee isn’t going to cut it for me on a first date. Cocktails it is.
Yesterday being the big night, I suggest an outdoor bar where we can enjoy the nice weather. Of course I’m a half hour late (fair warning was given), but when i get off the subway I get the text saying she’s there. No, wait, saying “Hi, I’m here. I’m the creep in the corner by myself in a maroon shirt. I look like I’m 5. See you in a few.” She wasn’t kidding. This preteen woman child, actually looked extremely young. Face was accurate to pictures, so I wasn’t catfished. Luckily. Actually very pretty face, edgy haircut, masculine energy, which I like. This masculine energy, however, was like pre-pubescent masculine energy.
So we get a table outside and I order us, 2 margaritas. Conversation is fine, I get awkward and don’t make eye contact, talk a lot, and with my hands and a staten island accent. We talk about work, and relationships, and things about her life that actually took me by surprise. (Not the point of the post.) She was extremely fidgety, not unlike a 7 year old boy who couldn’t sit still - feet on the chair, arms around knees, Indian style (I don’t think that’s PC anymore… criss cross, applesauce?), slouching, sitting up, hanging from a table umbrella, laying across the table, you get the gist. Anyway, 2 more margaritas. I’m thirsty and I’m making fun of her for not keeping up. 2 shots from the waiter, 2 more margaritas. Tiny ones! This leaves her at 4 and me at 3. I feel a small buzz, but clearly I need a horse tranquilizer to reach normal people’s intoxication limits.
With her being new to New York, I feel I need to show her some stuff. Stonewall is historical! We get to the bar, beer for me, patron and pineapple for the toddler. Shots, please, barkeep! Patron it is. The bartender made us a bowl of popcorn topped with milk chocolate M&M’s. Bless his heart. Thank you, sir. Fuck dinner! This is fine. With his heavy hand, we actually took 3 shots out of the rocks glass full of patron. We are having a great time! Great conversation, meeting great gay men, just lovely. Drunk conversation sets in. (Not on my behalf because I’m not as drunk.) FYI - she was intimidatingly skinny. Not kidding, a little boy. A little skater-like boy, actually.
Preteen: “I really like you.”
Me: “I’m having a great time too, this is fun!”
Preteen: “No, but I really, really like you. It’s ok if you don’t like me back.”
Me: “How about we just take this one step at a time. Right now, let’s enjoy each other’s company.”
I step away and go to the bathroom, laughing to myself at my life and it’s current position. I’m really not mad about it. When I come out, she is engaged in conversation with a beautiful Edward Cullen looking gay man. We chat, and find out he is also new to New York and it is in fact his 21st birthday. Let’s by this boy shots!! More drinking ensues, one more shot, one more beer. After the shot, the skaterboy and I have more conversation, a slight peck on the mouth. Cayuuute (yet, I kind of feel like a pedophile). Back to Edward Cullen and his fabulous ways. Next thing I know, the youngster that I am on a FIRST DATE with, runs out of the bar. Edward and I share confused glances at one another.
Me: “It’s too soon for me to have to run after her, right?”
Continue with my beverage. After about 10 minutes, I decide to go outside and peek around. Look left, look right. I see no underaged looking person on the street at all. Hear screaming across the street by obviously angry, ethnic women and think, “Oh God.” Run across the street and thank God it was not her, but still… nowhere to be found. Edward is at the doorway and I shrug my shoulders at him. No idea. Did I just get ran out on? Did someone literally just kiss me and run off? Is any of this real right now? Yes. Yes, it is real. And it’s about to get even realer….
A short, stocky doorman of the hotel next door to the bar is escorting a lanky, unstable, deer like, date of mine. Holy balls. I gave her alcohol poisoning.
Doorman: “Do you know her?”
Me: “Kind of?”
Doorman: “She just threw up all over the lobby.”
Me: “Shut up.”
Proof was in the maroon v-neck. Vomit dribble everywhere. I take her lean her in a closed nail salon doorway.
Me: “Holy crap. What just happened? Can I take you to your apartment?”
Preteen boy nods.
Me: “Holy crap. Where do you live?”
Preteen boy is silent, eyes closed, leaning right.
Me: “Ok, we’ll go back to my apartment and you’ll just sleep on my futon, no problem.”
Twilight and Doorman watch and try to help. Preteen like a sack of potatoes goes down, cracking head on the ground. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. EMT SHOWS UP BEHIND ME. Yep. Yes. Yep. Doorman called 911.
4-5 EMT’s are around her asking her questions, asking me questions. I don’t know, this was our first date. What’s her last name? I DON’T KNOW. THIS WAS OUR FIRST DATE. THIS. First date.
Needless to say, she was brought to the nearest hospital. Me, going back and forth on whether I should be going to the hospital or not. Twilight, and both cops (one being someone I know from staten island, awesome. That’s what I need right now) are telling me, you don’t owe her anything and there’s nothing you could do anyway until she comes to.
Twilight: “Just let her go to the hospital and text her. She’s going to feel so stupid tomorrow anyway. Let’s go to the next bar!”
I debate and go back and forth… then I go to the next bar…
This is happening. Online dating. I find it to be an admittedly weird, but healthy transition for me from relationship to single life. In the past, one of two dramatically different behaviors would occur every other week.
Week 1 (and odd numbered weeks thereafter):
-purposely listen to DEPRESSING songs that remind me of what I “once had,” causing hysterical crying to ke$ha’s “Harold Song” (Say what you will, that bitch got real.)
Week 2 (and even numbered weeks thereafter):
-do something that I will inevitably end up regretting in the morning(the regrets are two-fold)
1. Drunk dialing the ex
2. Going home with someone I wish I didn’t.
Week 2 regrets eventually bring me back to the actions of week 1, thus becoming a vicious cycle.(As pandora plays “Break down” by Eric Hutchinson. Amazing song, but come on. It’s week 3.)
After a failed relationship about 2 years ago, (I’m currently 0 for 4) I took a stab at the online dating world. I know how super lame that sounds, but whether I actually met up with someone or not, I found it to be quite the distraction. Who doesn’t love getting attention for your best photos as your profile pictures, while you’re sitting there in sweatpants and unbrushed hair? You’re meeting people without the usual frustrations of actually getting ready and having to look fuckable. You’re recycling the efforts of those nights via internet. I don’t see much a difference in this and meeting a rando in a bar, I mean unless you’re getting catfished or conversing with the Craigslist killer. I have met a handful of people before. Scary at first, but I made sure I had ample time conversing through the world wide web, before leading to mobile and then human contact, so I was at least 70% sure I wasn’t going on a date with Hannibal Lecter. A few of them were cool but we decided to keep it to one date… well, I did. One is actually a good friend of mine now, and one well… one planned our 2015 safari vacation after the first drink. No thanks.
Regardless, I’m on round 2. I’ve gotten a few bites. I’m intrigued by one. Witty banter and awkwardness kind of makes think “this is awesome” after meeting, I realize why they have started online dating. I wonder what my “reason” is. Guys, I’m open to your judgement and thoughts… Be honest. Anyway, I notice when it comes to the “girls dating girls” world, the only reason they’re online dating is because they just got out of a relationship. (I am the 99%.) girls have a fear of being single, especially lesbians. Let’s just ride this out, OK, Cupid? Dates to come, stories to follow.
Well its been about a year since I’ve written. Re-reading my past blogs makes me realize, I don’t really make sense a majority of the time. Do you guys follow what it is I’m trying to say? Because I don’t think I really do.
On the shuttle to work, with Ricardo, my loving, caring bus driver, I realize my life has dramatically changed since I’ve last written anything, with the exception of my everlasting connections with the hardworking Hispanic labor workers. (I just side smiled thinking about Jose, my maintenance/midday Chardonnay man.) Anyway, as we know, I’ve left the horrid job, and have been at a new place of employment for about a year now. I’ve been very happy with the transition, the people, the workload, I just don’t know if I’m exactly standing out- which makes me nervous. However, I think my heart may not fully be in it. I mean.. my heart’s in the paycheck and benefits, but some things just rub me the wrong way. The difference is, I feel guilty about complaining about this place in comparison to the hell hole I was in. It’s work and maybe I’ll feel this way forever because I’ll stick to the mundane activities of adult life and go through the motions that most folks do. I just can’t shake the feeling that I don’t really belong in this world.(*See below) To be continued…
So on the relationship front - I’ve decided to put this to a halt. After being too confused for my own good, wanting unattainable qualities in another individual depending on my mood, and people just being stupid in general, I’ve decided to come back to the world of blogging by recording my intentional and unintentional sexcapades; my rants will still be sprinkled in.
‘Relationships’ wasn’t really a topic of choice the last go around, however, obvious to point out, I was in one for about a year (on and off, stupid) hence my pause in writing (not to mention my lazy/attention deficit persona). Let’s start with the initial introduction of I dabble with both sides of the playing field, one more frequently than the other. I’m not too nervous about it or worried about a self identity crisis or anything, I’m just worried that in the event I fully come out, I’m going to have to explain how things and parts work to my grandmother.
At this point, I’m 26 years old, (vomit) it’s really up to me, my call, but I’m not ready to make a decision, I’m not ready to settle until I’m completely, erratically, intensely, consumably, uncontrollably, head over heels in love. Or lust…
I thought this was a great idea for a blog post yesterday. Just that, nothing else. I forgot to post and it’s irrelevant on Tuesday. I also cannot use it next Monday because… Wait for it…. I quit. I finally did it. The problem is, I’m poor! What the hell am I going to do now??
Blanked out for a minute and just stared. This is happening more and more frequently. The bucket list is somewhat happening, and not even intentionally.
I wrote this 4 weeks ago. 4. I guess I got distracted?
In a nutshell, I quit, been broke, got a new job, smiled a little more in my days. Met someone new. Became somewhat smittened. Got annoyed. Realized “someone needs to take a good, hard look in the mirror.” Decided to relax and roll with the punches. I’m pretty laid back, kind of lazy, but i seriously judge too often. It’s never anything major. I will start to just hate someone’s face if they simply agree with the fact that Jennifer Lopez should have a singing career. Easy as that. I don’t know what it is I’m looking for, and realize that I don’t want to be looking for anything at all, I’m just in that stage of my life. I can try and convince myself, but I’m waiting for the connection. The surprisingly intense passion, but the laughing for hours at the most ridiculous things, while a lifelong exchange of witty banter and brief moments of serious, intellectual conversation on non-retarded subjects.
For now though, I’ll continue to be young and moronic. Except Monday through Friday. I’m a real person now.
I usually title at the end of writing. Today? #whatever
I have nothing more to complain about. The kid has landed a new job. How you like me now? Although, the misery and bitching is what keeps the writing constant, I realize I just complain for the hell of it, along with the entertainment and laughs it brings me. Screw ya’ll. I guess it’s time to laugh at actual, funny things. The self deprecation thing is getting old. I’m growing up. It’s scary as shit, but I’m pretty psyched about it. I’m sitting in a very awkward position.
After leaving my place of employment, I went a little cray- casually decided to dye my hair “ombre”. Welp… I’m a blonde bombshell. Naturally, my next step was to get a tan. Sure, I’ll go to Florida, Dad. My parents live a lavish life of traveling the globe. They seriously effing deserve it though. Retired P.O.’s going hard these days. Since, I’m in between jobs, why the hell would I not join? (Fo’ free.) So, now, I’m in the Fort Lauderdale condo, lonely burnt Puerto Rican, listening to the kid upstairs opening and closing his closet doors. I have yet to meet this mystery manchild, but I know he drives a black Camero, that I’m pretty positive, is in fact the Bat Mobile.
My sunburn has completely amazed me. I am enviously brown-skinned year round in comparison to my Caucasian friends (no offense, guys) yet somehow, even after applying SPF 30 I have grown to be a blotchy red ROCK LOBSTER on my chest, top of my arms, the line right below my tits and along my bathing suit bottom. Ok. Along the line of the bathing suit can be explained by careless application of sunscreen, however, my dark, brown, tan forehead is completely offsetting my rudolph the red nose reindeer (not to mention inflamed and red along the sides of the nose, as if I fell asleep for months with a Biore strip on my face) and still very pale and white cheeks. This looks awesome.
I’ve decided that there seriously are only a small number of people that entertain me. Seriously, and truly, ENTERTAIN me. I will always be kind. I will always be polite. I will always be nice. If I do not find you funny. I do not apologize for that. At all. Is that bitchy? I seriously find a handful of people funny. I may find some of the things others say funny at times. That doesn’t mean I find you funny enough to be around or talk to on a consistent basis. Although, I do find traits in people that amuse me, but I get bored easily. I either sound like a horrible human being, or I make no sense at all. It’s late, I’m tired, and hot. Very hot. Sweating.
I don’t have much to say. Partially because this has become less of a private diary since I have told too many people I blog. I’ll get back into the swing of being awkward and ridiculous, I’m sure.
Tiny dancer’s new blog literally had me in tears laughing #cerealthinking
Sent from my iPhone, please excuse typos and/or retardness
"Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer." …That sounds like a horrible idea. Why do people give awful advice like this? Only mean girls and mobwives would partake in such misery. I understand the concept but my thoughts are why do you have enemies at all? You’re not a superhero nor is this medieval times. (Although, I would be intrigued if invited to a jousting duel.) I just mean, if people don’t like you, cut your losses. If people are inevitably going to screw you over, take them as a lessons learned, just don’t dwell on it. A lot of time and energy can be wasted over petty bullshit. I’m guilty of it myself, like millions of others. Maybe they are the things you have to go through to come out stronger. Which brings me to my second cliche quote of this post, "if I knew then, what I know now."
I honestly have no rhyme or reason to be writing these things, I’m just letting my thumbs do the talking I guess. My mind goes on tangents and I just let it wander. Maybe some day I’ll have a point to at least one story.
The girl in front of me is reading “Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang” for what appears to be the first time. I’m eyeballing her and smirking like I know what’s about to happen, laughing when she does… I’m happy for her. God, I’m creepy. Why do i do things like this? I mean, honestly it’s only a passing moment, but weird feelings like this will stick with me for a lifetime.
I need a new funny book to read. I attempted the Hunger Games (not a funny book) only because I felt like I had to, like I owe it to society or something. I just can’t keep focused on a story line that is so unreal. (I really cant keep focused on much.) But I can pretty much garuntee, like the twilight saga, Harry potter series, and much of my high school reading assignments… I’ll wait to see the movie… On dvd… Or hbo. Sweet writer.
I need to start challenging myself more. Actually, I need to fill my prescription. With the move to Hoboken, I’ve had to find some new doctors via zocdoc. Excellent website. If I actually had followers, that would be a plug… or at the very least a push for my resume to be seen by them. Anyway, I’m hoping to lose the Ritalin not only because it makes me sound like I’m a hyperactive 8 year old but in actuality, it makes me terribly sleepy. I always thought it was funny to see my college peers and their reaction to adderall during finals weeks and all nighters. To me, I finally felt useful and normal, whereas I would see in others a slight parallel to methamphetamine users on intervention minus the facial scabs, and a weird addition of gnawed bendy straw next to a tab energy drink. (remember TAB?!)
I don’t know why I think it’s okay to take wardrobe risks in the city. I can throw on any weird combination in my closet and say “this works,” and then two hours later I loathe myself like what was I thinking with these parachute pants and why do I still own them? Yes, parachute pants - circa Christina Aguilara, “Genie In A Bottle.” I seriously am ridiculous. I constantly say, I’m just waiting for my reality show contract to come in the mail. Reality stars get paid to be absurd, drink, and lunch. All in excess. I can do that. I just have a very strong feeling my parents would love me less if I was on a reality show.
I’ve been a big grouch these past couple of days. Let’s just call a spade a spade, I’ve been a real bitch. People unintentionally get on my nerves, I instantly judge, snap, bite my tongue, give death stares that can pierce a soul, cry over the fact that my room is a mess, cannot get enough food in me, cry over the fact that I’m so fat, eat again. A pimple arises in the oddest of places, currently is above my lip and can easily be mistaken for a herpe, tear up again. A trip to the loo (?) and then it makes sense. This is not my favorite thing to be writing about but it’s life, I’m bitter, it’s Monday (a manic Monday), I’m a female. I’m done with you for now. Bye.
Do you ever feel like you’re drowning? Like things are just never going to start looking up? Do you ever think that time is elapsing and the world is moving forward while you’re just stuck sinking a little bit more everyday? Like your toes have stepped in quick sand and it starts to reach your ankles, shins, knees, all the way up your legs and through your body until it reaches your head, and breathing is becoming harder and harder as you are dramatically gasping for air?…… No? … Just me? Cool.
I just wanted to write in question form like a drama queen, I guess. The funny thing is, I do feel stuck often, and hopeless, clearly, but I think the thing is to make the most of what you were handed, keep optimistic, because the sadder you are in your own head, the less people will want to be around you. That is depressing. The key to overcoming sadness or angst is knowing there is light at the end of the tunnel. Everyone goes through bullshit, it’s a part of life and it’s inevitable. But you can’t sit around and just let life shit on you. You have to make things happen for yourself. This is the part of life that I’m in right now and it kind of sucks.
I’m confused as to why I just can’t get paid to be a sarcastic asshole? (I can throw in movie quoting and drinking stories as added bonuses.)
So the weather is eerily beautiful this week, reaching almost 80 degrees in the month of March. Translation: the world is ending. I’ll enjoy the weather and my own extracurricular activities, however, I refuse to remain comfortable at the place that has become the bane of my existence. I’ve hit a wall, and reached a breaking point. Grapes for dinner is no longer acceptable. I like to rage, and this “balling on budget” situation, isn’t working for my current lifestyle, expected lifestyle, social life, grown up life, and/or single life. (I’m not a player, I just crush a lot.) Tiny dancer has been long gone, shell in shoes peaced out, and any other tolerable person has left. So here it is, the cheese stands alone. I realized today, the only thing that keeps me hanging on… My puerto rican maintenance man who regularly gives me plastic cups of wine in the basement on Fridays. It’s not as creepy as it sounds… Either way, today, Jose and I split a lovely bottle of Chardonnay on the roof top. It was magical and I was buzzed. Work was better after that.
I forgot my headphones on the train so I’m blogging. It’s 9:45pm and I still have the stamp on my hand from last night. This is gross. My weekends are more exhausting than the work week. I think it’s wise I sit the next couple plays out. I went home for the weekend and took a month’s worth of laundry. A WHOLE MONTH. It was necessary two weeks ago, but mandatory this weekend. I ran out of pants. I probably could have opted for the laundromat but I didn’t.
Running at a steady pace in jeans confuse me. Are you in a rush or working out?
I’m not exactly sure why but it bothers me when people are smiling for no reason. For instance, just walking or this girl on the train right now. I’m in a surprisingly good mood, probably because I’m still drunk from last night, so this lady smiling isn’t really offending me as much as it normally would this early in the morning, but it’s starting to make me laugh. Mainly because she has an extremely large overbite, but this is currently amusing to me. I wonder if this is her permanent face or if she’s drunk too. I know when I walk, I look mad. I’m very unapproachable.
Another train observation: headset for a cell phone. Not a blue tooth, not iPhone headphones, a headset. Like metal headband and Microphone to the cheek.
I should be put in a cage. As a part of the 25 bucket list: try an illicit drug in Vegas. I believe I no longer have to do so because I already did last Saturday in Hoboken, when a Roofie/ecstasy pill was dropped in my coors light. … Ok, maybe i wasn’t drugged. Maybe it was the noon horn shots of jack Daniels, but my memory is non existent after 3pm and I found it necessary to greet people by sticking my tongue down their throat. Note to self: cornering people and telling them to make out with you when they 1, do not want to, 2, you can’t make out formidable sentences, could be considered sexual harassment. Potentially rape. Not my proudest moment. I can’t decide if I’m not ready for you, Hoboken, or if I’m too old for you. Dear god, I know it should be the latter of the two, but I refuse to believe as I pass a party cab with flashing fluorescent lights blasting lmfao. It’s 6:45pm. This is my home.
I’ve had 3 random thoughts as I walk home to my apartment (insert big cheese here) (remove it with the thought of rent due tomorrow):
1. I cannot wait for my life to fall into place. I cannot wait to be a baller.
2. Many girls are stupid.
3. Reggaetone is just awful.
Allow me to elaborate in reverse. Number 3, Reggaeton was blaring in a car down Washington st with a puerto rican flag covering the back windshield. Thank you, for that. (I’m puerto rican.)
Number 2, I hear a young girl desperately making conversation with a young guy explaining how funny it is he works near her train stop, and how funny it is their apartments are not too far from one another, insinuating a plan to “hang out”, while he mumbles “yea’s” in her general direction and is clearly trying to dodge this bullet. You’re in Hoboken. Everyone’s apartment is not to far from you. I see it, I just don’t understand why girls behave like this. And I’m not saying I’m any different because i’ll admit, I’ve done it, but in my brain, it counts less when you’re shitfaced. (let’s just leave it at that) the point is, being desperate and looking desperate are two different things. Just because you want to not be alone doesn’t mean it has to be written all over your face (or clingy dialogue, Facebook wall, tweets, pins, blogs, texts, blah, blah, blah) because no one cares, people judge, and it’s a turn off. Be yourself and having confidence or at least acting like you do through humor, is the best route. Don’t look for love, let it find you. Look for hook ups, and be creepy. I advocate creepy, desperate is my issue.
Number 1, I networked last night. Drinks in NYC are expensive, and I have a drinking problem. I need some new shoes and clothes, want a few tattoos, oh and I should probably pay my bills. I just want to not be at a dead end job where I’m only receiving half my paycheck after asking for it. True story. I can’t decide if I want to fast forward through this or not. It’s supposed to be the best time of my life, but it’s fucking hard to live it without money. Somebody hire me, please. But, like, a real place.
I like oddities and respect the weird in the world. But is it ironic to say I hate feeling different? Feeling different doesn’t necessarily make me feel “special” it actually gives me anxiety and typically makes me feel larger for some reason. Not that I’m this huge specimen but self confidence isn’t really my thing. I think the weird is the reason why I love New York so much. It’s actually unhealthy. I can sit and watch this city all day. (Sitting is my favorite.) I appreciate almost all of it, from the beautifully rich to the terribly busy but i will always prefer seeing the downtown trannies and freaks at night. I will never be scared of this city (with the exception of Harlem, I will always be scared in Harlem), I honestly look around and smile, and it’s never one thing in particular it’s a combination of everything. Right now, for example, it’s the robust wobbly man teetering on the train next to me.
"Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes… the ones who see things differently — they’re not fond of rules… You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can’t do is ignore them because they change things… they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do." - Steve Jobs
I’ve seen this quote before, but it was sent to me once again last night. It’s inspirational for one reason being it was said by one of the most innovative and influential people who ever lived. A lot of the effect of what is said is inspiring to people because if who said it. Regardless, this quote can relate to a slew of people. I think the point is to be different with purpose. Standing out as a kid has always come with a negative connotation, but it doesn’t have to. Embrace the uniqueness about you. Be quirky. Be silly. Experiment. Cease the moments of trial and error. If you think someone is laughing/judging/making fun of you, let them. At best, it’ll make for an awesome story. Care less about others, care more about yourself and those that matter. If you’re outgoing, get noticed. If you’re a wallflower, observe. A lot. Capture your thoughts. Circle back, and fix them. Progress. Grow. Learn, and never stop learning. Look around every once in a while. Definitely people watch when you can. Let insecurities make you better. Fuck them, if they ever break you down. Be good. Be kind. Be crazy. Create. Laugh. Love. Live life.
I have two things to say. Verbage is not a word. Expecially is not a word either.
I hear these words on a weekly basis, from someone whom I will not mention. I have a constant voice in my brain that corrects and comments on everything. It conflicts with the voice that criticizes my own behavior and tells me “aw, be nice”. I’m not crazy, I just distract myself easily.
Sooo it’s been a while… and I got the Ritalin script. It’s completely counterproductive. I am the only person I know that gets exhausted from a stimulant. I almost went face first into my turkey chili yesterday at lunch. Luckily, I was able to diagnose myself with predominantly inattentive ADHD with a side of sluggish cognitive tempo via YouTube research. Google it, it’s real. It’s now considered a disease to not care about anything and be excessively lazy.
So the year of 25 has kicked off to a great start. I’m moving out and partially growing up! This was number 2 on the bucket list. I’m waiting for the transition to adulthood to happen any day now…
Thank God the person I’m moving in with is my polar opposite when it comes to getting things done. I’m gonna call her “imperfections are not an option” aka IANAO.
So here it is. Today I reach 25. It’s somewhat sad realizing that I’ve accomplished nothing at this point in my life, but I never really had goals set so I don’t know how upset I can be. A positive of today, a passing thought that maybe my work space people don’t hate me as much as I thought. Maybe my anxiety doesn’t have to be as built up as it is. I have two friends, whom I’ll refer to as “tiny dancer” and “shell in shoes” and the three of us have a 3 hour window (minimum) of complaints everyday. Today, a tiny cake was bought and a bottle of wine was opened and poured into the tiniest of cups to signify I’m not Molly Ringwald today and I guess I haven’t gone unnoticed. A rendition of “Feliz Cumpleanos” was sang which let my mind wander into the idea of pulling the race discrimination card, but nonetheless, the gesture was appreciated and I’m feeling alright right about now.
Again, I digress. The point of me bringing up the big 2-5 at all is basically because I’ve decided to create a “digital bucket list” if you will. Not to be misconstrued with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman’s “I’m dying so let’s do crazy things old people normally wouldn’t” movie, because I’m not, but a chance for me to celebrate my youth (yes, I want to consider 25 as still in the “youth” category) and do somewhat irresponsible things for at least a year. Before 25 “kicks the bucket”. I’ll update the more I think about this, but I’m positive about one thing…. and that is Vegas.
I’m turning 25 in a few days, it’s starting to get a little unsettling. When I was a kid I used to play “roommates” with two of the neighborhood kids. It was another girl and a boy, and we all decided we were between the ages of 18 and 20 living in an apartment employed with exotic jobs like a tattoo artist, a night club owner and something with dogs. I’m beginning to think these un-aspirational childhood professional choices were just foreshadowing to mean “unemployed alcoholic loser reaching the dark side of 30”. And the kid who preferred playing “roommates” with two girls was either growing up to be a womanizer or living on Christopher street with one of the above jobs.
I think sitting next to strangers on the bus is an uncomfortable constant for me. It’s such close quarters, and I have wide hips.
I’m going to back track, I almost started posting a few days ago but after one sentence, I got tired. A majority of it would be bashing one of my Olsen twin interns, but she left so I guess I’m over it, but, OH MY GOD, she was the worst. Protecting all parties involved, we can just call her “Gizmo” mainly because she reminds me of a gremlin. Rants about Gizmo had become a daily occurrence, fired up off of nothing really specific just more of its existence. Gazes of hatred were sent in her general direction because of idiotic questions and poorly thought out excuses. I once committed so much to a lie about getting into a car accident, I didn’t turn my neck for 3 days, I just swiveled around in my chair. I was really hungover that morning… In a nutshell, Gizmo sucked.
Moving forward, I ran a mud run this weekend. It was a 5k with obstacle courses that I decided would be better to just wing rather than train at all for. Good news, I didn’t die. We ended up raising $1700 for HopeKids Foundation, a charity for kids with cancer. I assume this negates my usual weekend sinning, and I’m cleared when I reach Peter at the gates.
I finally got an iPhone. I’m such a “wannabe.” I suck at words the friends, mainly because I don’t have friends and I play against my mom.
It hasn’t been the best few weeks for me, alcohol helps. I’m tired, but I thought I should post because I regularly make the statement “whatever, I’ll blog about it.”
Hope you guys have a very happy Thanksgiving! I love food.
On that note, I left work today at nearly 7, because of course leaving my 9-5 job anytime before 6 means you’re a slacker. I don’t necessarily live close to my job so commuting adds to my getting home around 8:30 and stuffing my face with the mountain of pasta my parents leave on the dinner table for me. Perks of living at home. If I didn’t I wouldn’t be able to afford dinner on my pauper salary, thus contributing to impressive weight loss…hm, something to consider. Eh, potiental weight gain if I opted to live on Ramen and NYC $1 slices of pizza… who am I kidding. (Cue the ADD) Anyway, upon walking to my bus stop I texted a co-worker who equally feels as hopeless/hopeful/confused/alienated not to mention office-related anxiety induced vomitting and future anorexic tendencies, saying “I feel like our work atmosphere is comparable to a high school cafeteria.” I work in a mainly female dominated company and even though I have learned a great amount and have gotten a tremendous amount of experience and responsibility in a short time at a young age, it’s like ‘Mean Girls - The Professional Sequal’. Some days more than others the highschool cafeteria drives me to trench coat columbine kid thoughts with a 38 in my locker.
I love to write, but as a writer, my shitty reading comprehension has set me back a tad. Reading hasn’t always been my thing but I chalk that up to ADD and non-interesting people. The last three books I’ve read have all been sarcastic and I must say have inspired my humor immensely, screw my writing. Highly recommend Tina Fey’s Bossypants and anything Chelsea Handler touches.
From an outsider looking in I sound like a suicidal self mutilating bitchy female with the personality of a PMSing teenager and only hobby is reading. I actually find self deprication to be pleasing for everyone, if you can’t beat em join em right? My family calls me ‘meg’, family guy reference. That joke was completely stolen from my last relationship, but I’ve now run with it, because it’s too fitting. Kit Keller is equally comparable. Quick wit is also my best line of defense. Combining these two things, allow me to only give a shit about my own comments, or so it appears. People don’t always realize I begin to develop a sweat ‘stache and become very aware my body scents when I get dissed (for lack of a better word). I’m good at dishing it, and have begun to mask how bad I can be at “taking it” (no sexual enduendo here). When I’m comfortable in my setting, I find myself to be a pretty fun and outgoing person. When I’m awkward… holy hell, am I awkward. More stories will be developed on this topic.
I’m blogging to see where it takes me. I have high hopes for it to turn into a book and have a movie a made like Tucker Max, but live more lavishly like my lady, Snookie. However, I think I have a little more shame then Tucker. When I’m drunk, I don’t have much more than that little meatball. Just a thought, if Tucker and I had a smart ass remark match, I’d probably be destroyed. (Oh, but dreams of Chelsea Handler coming to my aid to kick his ass if we did) I don’t know how I’ve gotten to this place of me battling the guy from “I hope they serve beer in hell” but I commonly trail off into mythilogical and make believe worlds in conversation and have no idea how to get back. Poor navigational skills. Either way, I’m hoping to make maximum ‘dollaz’ (yep…) by doing minimal work. That’s the dream isn’t it? I think I need a sit down a Kardashian, preferably Kris for her savvy business ways, or Khloe just because she’s hilarious. Bruce seems humble.
Laundry has been in the washing machine for 2 and half hours. Bye.
So much to do, but nursing a hangover seems to be the number one on my list. It’s 9:43pm. Watching Little Rascals the movie may have been the highlight of my day. I have a lot of goals in mind, getting around to them is another story. A blog seems pointless at the moment…
Something to sign off with, girly, cliche, and annoying. Love sucks. I’ll probably drunkenly write about it.
I’ve had this idea to start a blog for almost a year, and my ADD is just now letting me get around to it. Originally, the idea sprouted before one of my many, many interviews in conversation with a friend. The idea was “interviewing is a hobby: life of the unemployed” (trademarked, don’t steal my idea ) It seemed smart at the time, considering I had been unemployed for 2 years, milking unemployment checks while getting my masters, which i wasn’t really into but it kept my mother off my case. Yes, I still live with my parents. I’m 24 and the economy sucks. Anywho… (ew, i think i hate that) I ended up getting the “job” aka my 47th internship, which ultimately led to a position, so the blog idea didn’t really make sense anymore.
Regardless, I have a million thoughts, some make sense and a majority do not. I have very odd pet peeves and weird things annoy the crap out of me, mostly habits of other individuals. I’m unnecessarily sarcastic, and even though some of the things I write may sound snarky and/or bitchy I’m actually a very positive person and at the end of the day these things are just a fragment of my day that I move on from. I just feel someone in the world needs to comment on other people’s behavior, attitudes, mannerisms, facial expressions, decibel range of voices, among many other things. I guess it has to be me.
I would like to have a sign off… I’ll think about it and circle back, more to come.