Holy Fucking Shit This Girl Looks Awesome in Black.

I am feeling intellectual tonight. Maybe it’s the dreamy music I’ve been stuck on, maybe its my hormones.

Maybe its the constant reminder I give myself to act as if my life is a movie. Grand gestures are important, and so is an overly complicated dramatic inner monologue.

An inner monologue voiced by someone much braver than the person I portray to my loyal fans (Ha!). She is three inches taller, twenty pounds lighter, and naturally has dark, shiny hair. She smirks knowing that at least one person got a glimpse of it. She moves in slow motion, blinking long and thoughtfully. Laughing at everything and everyone around her. Maybe she is evil. Maybe she is what we all want to be.

I am her biggest fan. The little girl who puts her white collared shirt and chucks on every day. I smirk to myself, as to not provoke anyone. I make jokes to literally make myself laugh, and when nobody gets the joke, it amuses me even more. I am the girl who stood her ground to an ugly human with dead eyes, but was trembling while handing a nice woman her change, whispering to myself, “you sounded confident, I don’t think anyone can see that your hands are trembling.” I am THAT girl that locked herself in the dressing room so that the dead eyed man couldn’t see me shed three tears.

I wear some of my monologue lady on my sleeve. I plot my escape almost every day while I wander the aisles straightening the clothing. But it never happens. I hide between the evening gowns counting the beading on what looks like something Whitney Houston would have worn on stage. I talk to the few intellectual customers that come to my register for as long as I can.

Then there’s the big sliver of me that just likes making things weird. I ask my co-workers while trying to hold a smile in, “Hey, did you see that someone took a shit in the parking lot?” Nobody laughs. At least twice a week I proclaim, “I just heard that old lady rip the biggest fart.” But everyone that surrounds me at work already has the light sucked out of them. I will never NOT find farts funny. Am I immature? Maybe.

Things I have asked my co-workers at a Christian thrift store that I have only known for two and a half months:

Do you like to party?

When’s the last time you had sex?

Do you believe in god?

Don’t you think (insert name here) seems like they have a really weird life outside of work?

I live to get a reaction out of people, maybe thats why I want to be a writer.

Pro tip: pretend you’re in a movie.

side note: this blog post seems really narcissistic and self centered. But hey, I am a writer after all.

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Just a few words.

I keep a voicemail from each of my loved ones saved in my phone.

It sounds morbid, but after you forget what your grandmas voice sounds like, you tend to hang on to weird shit like that in case those people are gone some day.

Welcome to my brain, a place that wells up with “what if’s”. Especially right before bed.

With a recent death in my family,

I wish I had your voice saved in my phone.

I hope your kids do.

I am grateful to have spent most of my childhood around you, you’re always on my mind.

You all are always in my mind, I just have a hard time expressing it.

I am a better listen than I am a talker.

This post got really ramble-y and jumbled, but I just needed to write a few words down!

Side note: Times doesn’t heal all, it just takes the sting away.

Insert Cliche Inspirational Quote Here.

I always try to have overly intrusive conversations with Uber or Lyft drivers. I consider it one of my little experiments. And since I don’t drive, I get to experiment a lot.

I had to take a Lyft home on Friday because we were leaving early for a concert in San Diego, so as I get into the car I always try to judge if they look cooler or creepier than their profile pic, this guy looked pretty cool plus thirty pounds. He was slightly high strung, but I didn’t mind, I was excited for the concert. My goal is to turn my ride into a mini therapy sesh, since I can’t afford real therapy. I asked him what he did for other work and that’s when he told me he quit a lucrative investments job to be a Lyft driver. Of course I pried and after a looong story from this guy he says, “This isn’t a dress rehearsal.” Meaning, we only have one shot so why waste any of it? He quit a bustling, time consuming job and made a lot of lifestyle changes to be mentally happy.

If your happiness lies in reaching the top of the ladder, more power to you. If your happiness lies in being able to have times of relaxation, low anxiety levels, and enough money to feed yourself and keep a roof over your head, THEN THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. We live in a culture, especially in California, where you’re only deemed successful if you’re climbing the ladder until you need a hip replacement. I call bullshit. Happiness to me means you rule out all of the stressers that you possibly can in the most responsible way possible. I know a lot, if not MOST people will read this and roll their eyes at the amount of complacency I have in mediocrity (woah, big words) but a little birdy told me over the weekend to just say ‘screw it’ and keep writing, no matter who’s reading. (you know who you are 🙂 )

Although I don’t have the life I want for myself yet, I’ll get there. And it’s going to be a very simple one. (Unless I win the lottery, of course.)

Brought to you by a religion-less millennial who has no interest in having kids. Barf. I know, what a fucking statistic.

Sidenote: Life is Not A Waiting Room (That’s the title of a Senses Fail album but I thought it was kind of fitting)

(Short) Story Time.

When I was growing up, the summers at my great-grandparents house were unforgettable. And tonight kind of feels like that.

For the dumbest reasons.

I remember swimming all day at my neighbors house, coming home to take a shower, making top ramen with my sister, and finally crawling under the blankets in broad daylight and watching a movie. I have central air to thank for a glorious end to every summer day.

There was something about eating hot noodles and crawling into cold sheets, while being aware of the 100+ degree heat of the California summer, that made me feel like a freaking princess. I can almost smell that feeling still. Cold air and clean sheets.

Even though those were rough years for most of the adults in my family, those are the years I am most grateful for.

Tonight feels like one of those nights. I am bundled up, deep in the couch. Except now I have my boyfriend, friends, a healthy relationship with both of my parents, although their distance from me gets hard.

 But if my own foot was on fire, I would calmly, and Cooley go draw a bubble bath to seize the flame.

I was so stressed out today, with a two-digit account balance, motivation lacking, on the verge of crying at my desk…again. But none of that matters at this moment. 

Note to self: enjoy today, enjoy this EXACT moment.

 It probably helps that today is Friday.

Ranty pants. Just Let Me Be Dramatic.

Classical music, if timed just right, could either make you feel like a victim going down with the Titanic as the musical ensemble tries to calm you down, while you grasp for a piece of furniture. Perhaps a door that you could share with your lover (take a hint Rose). Or it could give you a rush of adrenaline pushing you to persevere through the sinking. Today, the calm, lethargy inducing music is having the latter effect on me.

I am stuck in my own thoughts again, and that is the only time I ever feel like blogging. Trust me, there are plenty of happy moments in my life, you just don’t hear about them.

I feel like I am drowning again, it pains me step-by-step to go to work every morning. I actually feel guilty because I know my boss is just doing me a favor at this point. I am on the charity payroll. There is nothing for me to do there, nor anyone to talk to. I get lost in YouTube videos until my eyes twitch. And when payday comes, it goes fast. Disappearing before I can even blink.

Consider this a rant. Consider it a diary entry.

But please do consider this, “Are you guys hiring?” 😜

Note to self: life is a roller coaster, I don’t do well with heights.

Side note: Did you know that Broadway is coming out with a hip hop version of the Nutcracker? You’re not alone, I threw up in my mouth a little, too.

Have you noticed that any news segment that airs that has to do with your community ALWAYS gets portrayed as a “good idea” “fun for the whole family” type of thing?

For example:

  • Having a 10K race, followed by a six-pack of beer. This really happened a couple months ago in Huntington Beach, California. It ended with the newscaster being thrown up on and shoved around a little.
  • As stated above, taking the classic and beloved ballet, The Nutcracker, and making it hip-hop. Why, god, WHY? Maybe I am out of touch, and slightly cynical. But maybe I am not alone with this one.
  • A couple months ago, they had a segment of their newscaster learning how to drive a city bus. That is what the entire segment was about. Learning to drive a bus. It was an absolute THRILL!

Human Garbage.

I can’t wrap my head around how badly I screwed up yesterday, mulling over the words on an endless loop. My brain is doing it on purpose whispering to me, “this is what you deserve, just listen to what you’ve said to the person you love the most. Revel in your pain. You deserve it.”

And that’s what I’ve been telling myself. I deserve this. This feeling of a fall that wont end in a crash or even a bruise. The only thing I have bruised is his feelings.

So I guess I’ll tell the story since nobody I know IN REAL LIFE will read this, and I really need to write it all out to try and forgive myself.

 

Yesterday When I was at work my significant other called and said, I found a pretty beat up ring on the ground today, what size do you wear?” Innocent enough, right? I told him and went about my day.

When I got home that evening he said, “babe, I have this weird thing on my back that has been bothering me all day, can you check it out?”

Always eager to be his nurse, I obliged.

I lifted up his shirt to see a ring, the ring I thought had come from the gutter, taped to his back. I peeled it off, giggled, and without even inspecting the ring, I said, “oh, this is just costume jewelry!”

To which he replied, “No its not, I thought it was sterling silver.”

And this is where it gets ugly, even hard for me to type.

I said, “I could probably bite this thing in half. This better not be how you decide to purpose to me.” Followed by some giggles.

This is when he started walking back inside our house. I was still confused, still thinking ALL OF IT was a gag.

I walked into our room, as he lay on our bed and asked why he was so upset. He said, “that was really mean of you. I really did buy that for you, I told you that story about finding it on the street so you wouldn’t catch onto me buying a gift for you.”

Ouch.

I felt my throat well up and all my insides sink into the lower half of my body. I was speechless at how heartless I must have looked. I ran to the bathroom and proceeded to cry in there for 45 minutes. I called my mom while hidden away next to the toilet. She was honest, which I appreciated. But honesty always hurts. She said I did screw up, and that I need to pour my heart out to him. So that’s what I did.

I did the walk of shame back to our room, with my eyes almost swollen shut by now, I told him how sorry I was and that I hope after all the years we’ve been together that he knows that I am not the materialistic brat that I completely acted like. I also told him I thought the whole thing was a joke right up until the moment he told me he had spent money on it.

Our night was quiet, cuddling was rigid. Our morning was equally as quiet. Last night for the first time in my life, I felt like hurting myself, or disappearing.

Shame on me for tarnishing the sacredness of “us”. Shame on me for making him feel like a fool.

I keep replaying how excited he must have been at the jewelry counter picking something out, smiling as he left the store. Smiling and laughing with anticipation as his uncle helped him tape the ring to his back. And I just shit all over it.

I fear he will never fully forgive me, I know I will never fully forgive myself.

I usually share my blog on my Facebook page. But I can’t share this one. This post was for me, to just lay it all on the line. Hoping that writing it all out will give me some kind of relief. I don’t know how I am going to make this up to him, and this makes me question if he’ll ever marry me now!

If you have read this far, thank you for listening.

I’m hoping this is my “one big fuck up of the century” because I never want to go through this feeling of hopelessness again.

 

Note to self: Everybody has at least one of these moments in their lives. I think.

For My Family.

My name is drawn into the once wet cement of three different houses.

That’s not something everyone can say, I guess.

The first house was my great-grandparents house. A house I never thought wouldn’t be in my life. As I get older, the nostalgia wears off a little more each year. But every once in a while a memory will flood my head like when a holiday rolled around, every single family member made their way in and out of that house. Or when my mom threatened to chain herself to the tree out front because the city wanted to tear down my great-grandpas tree. There was NEVER a dull moment. We were THOSE people on the block. And it was fucking rad.

I knew a lot of people growing up that were really embarrassed by their family’s. I was keen to showing mine off. I was SO proud that my sisters and all my cousins were my best friends. So cocky that I had aunts I could tell things that I didn’t want to tell my mom, the uncle who could make you laugh till you peed, the great-grandpa that was literally handsome until the day he died, and Grandma Judy who held everyone in like glue.

Now, we all struggle to see each other, even if we are only a couple miles apart. But like I said, as I get older I see that there is reason behind all this. People move, and have kids, and have jobs. This is what was supposed to happen, for the most part. And since it was the way that it was growing up, when we do get together, we have so many memories together that our conversations could be endless.

It has never been said out loud, but I feel our family motto has always been, “If you have the choice between laughing or crying, try laughing first. And pass me a beer.”

 

 

 

Side note: I bought a planner so I’m gonna try really hard to actually plan out my blogging! Because I know I suck at it!

Note to self: Sometimes distance means success.