Dental Sadism

I had my six month cleaning today. It had been put off and put off. Canceled and rescheduled twice. I finally just had to bite the bullet and cancel my lunch date today since my mom said she wasn't going to reschedule it again.

Firstly, I was terrified that I would arrive on time (because I only arrive early to scheduled appointments). I had ordered a Blackberry online (the fuckers at T-Mobile wanted an unGodly amount of money for the thing), and I paid online using my PayPal account. Well, I wasn't really paying attention and I paid through my bank account that I never use. I had to drive out to the bank as quickly as I could, make the deposit so the transaction wouldn't be rejected, and then haul myself as fast as I could to my dentist's office.

I arrived ten minutes early. I flew threw the glass door and immediately to the sign in sheet, like a moth to a flame. The women at the counter greeted me by name (which I never have been able to understand seeing as they see me twice in twelve months' time). I guess I'm just one of those unforgettable gay men. Women want to have their own gay. All of them do. I have a small collection of these women, and they are so good to me. But that is neither here nor there, and also a subject I could go into great depth about but have not the time today.

I sat down in the waiting room and was called back ten minutes after my scheduled time. I was not only called back late, but I was also called back by a woman I had never seen before. It wasn't my diva tooth goddess that I am used to. This was a husky middle aged woman whose name started with a T but I can't remember it now. I walked past my normal girl (Danielle- I'm crossing my fingers, and I'm 95% sure that's her name). She looked up, caught my eye from behind her mask and safety glasses as she was sitting and polishing an elderly man's teeth. As I walked past, she hollered out, "What's that about!?"

She was obviously as disgruntled as I was. I didn't want to go see Ms. T any more than she didn't want to SEE me going to sit for this T woman.

"I need you to give me your cell phone number again. I lost it. I tried to call you once and I realized I lost it," Danielle said from behind the barrier cabinet-wall.

I got started with T. She took that metal device that they use to scrape away plaque and she started her mutiliation attempt. She scraped and poked, and sometimes I wondered if she wasn't purposefully bumping into my gums with that needle sharp object. She finally finished with the scraping. She did the quickest, and lousiest, polish job I've ever had, and then she flossed. When I say she flossed, I mean, she was digging for gold using nothing but a piece of waxed string and the strength of her gloved hands. She was digging for oil in my gums. I winced and pulled myself further and further into the chair. My fingernails were practically shredding the leather arms on the chair while this was happening. I swear, this was the most sadistic woman in the office. You could just tell. She really didn't care. She didn't offer me those super cool space age goggles to shield my eyes from the blinding dental light, and she didn't even wear them herself. I wasn't even able to enjoy the simple pleasure of watching her whole "act" through the reflection of those safety goggles my dental tech normally wears.

I took the free damn toothbrush from her at the end and left. I gave Danielle my number and said goodbye to the ladies at the front. It was NOT fun.

My mouth still hurts, and when I try real hard, I think I can still taste the blood, no matter how much she made me rinse. I'm surprised I don't need a transfusion at this point. It wasn't really that gory, but it would NOT have gone down like that if Danielle was taking care of me.

Ok, I have a chemistry exam shortly and I need to cram.

He's Not Here

"He's not here. At least you already know that."

It echoed in my mind like and orgasm you'd eagerly awaited after a week of daily sex. It was exactly what I wanted to hear. Lon (pictured here) spoke to me words of encouragement that I had never experienced before tonight.

I talked to Lon at the bar for over an hour. We talked about previous relationships, careers, and love. I told him that I knew that my perfect mate wasn't "here." I've known for a while that he isn't here.

It's always the same shit.

"Different faces, same old shit," I told Lon.

He agreed to the n'th degree.

"I've been to HUNDREDS of gay bars all over the world," he told me. He informed me that, "[I] can talk to any queen in Atlanta, Miami, Germany, or L.A. and continue the same conversation in any other big city." He's right. It's always going to be the same shit with a different face. I realize this. Realization puts me above the rest. If you can understand these fundamental personalities in the gay community, you can anticipate their reactions and anticipate where the conversation is leading. It really is this way, as sad as it seems.

I got a drink out of it. I look at it as my reward for listening to Lon and his previous experiences. At the same time, I feel undeserving for the cocktail because I was receiving much needed therapy in regards to my own life experiences. It is amazing. To hear what you want to hear and to hear justified the same situations of which you've experienced is a truly remarkable experience.

Lon told me about his past; about a lover who he left an entire continent for, who ultimately left him upon arrival. D.O.A. comes to mind. Dead on arrival. Can you imagine leaving everything you know, only to be left in the dark upon arrival?

Life is cruel. I know this. Lon knows this. And tonight, because of this, I realized that I am not alone in my search for "the one." Lon assured me that it is fine to have requirements that may seem like standards "too high" for some. It's okay to say, "Yeah, he has to be taller than me and have big muscles." I want that protector role filled. It seems shallow, but if these requirements aren't met, let's face it, I will be looking for something better the whole time I'm dating the man of the hour.

Some things you can compromise on, but in the true-ringing words of Lon, "The line can be moved, but only so much." You can't push yourself the the precipice. It's a given that compromises must be made in all relationships, but there's a point where you have to say, "Enough is enough."

I am a better person because of my conversation with Lon. I realize that he isn't where he ultimately desires to be.

"There's not a day that goes by that I don't look at property or jobs in other places." I understand that. I feel him. Lon is right. You can do all you want, but in the end you have to ask yourself, "Am I living to work?" I don't want to live to work.

There is so much in life to experience, but I know that my experiences aren't limited to Hampton Roads. Even when I date now, I date knowing that it's only a means to an end. I know that it will only be a few years that it lasts, if that. I know that he is not here. The man I'm meant to spend my time with doesn't live in this shit hole. He's better than this. He knows what he wants, and he's left behind the small town mentalities long ago. He's not here.

He's not here. I know that. He knows that. We know that. Lon and I know that. For me, I know that one thing is for sure. I can't wait to meet him. Whether he be in Baltimore, Atlanta, Miami, New York, or Los Angeles, I'll meet him one day. We'll live out our fairy tales together. No children's book has shit on me. I know what I want, and I don't think I should have to compromise as much as this town has required me to do at this point. Only time will tell, but at this point, one thing is for certain, "He's not here."

Demotation

I was sitting at my desk this morning in the lobby. I knew that Tiffany's office door had been closed, and the branch manager had been M.I.A. for a while. Looking into the back office from my seat, I saw Kris turn the corner. Her eyes were bloodshot and red. The tip of her nose was cherry red. Why am I not surprised that this shit happens around here?

Later on I found out about what happened. At that moment in time, before I could even flinch, my phone rang and I was called back. Round two for management. I was demoted back to the teller line. I am also now required to work every Saturday. The only buffer that kept me from being upset was the fact that Kris lost a lot more than I did. She was a branch manager in the past, and for her to be sent to the teller line is like making a high school principal a janitor, AND making that janitor work on Sundays. THAT is what it's like for Kris. All I got was a minor slap to the face. It was more like a "love-tap" to them anyways.

I want to complain. I want to say I don't make what I'm worth. I want to say that I deserve everything I ask for because I don't ask for much. I want to say that I keep the morale in this office high. Everyone laughs when I'm around. In reality, I guess what I really want to say is that I quit.

I haven't worked up the nerve to tell them that in two weeks, my hours are being cut MAJORLY. I've found a part time job with amazing pay. I'll be working for one of the most incredible women I've ever met also. I get tingly all over just thinking about this new job. It's a real dream. When I do tell management here, I hope they're honestly going to just fire me.

Work is work. At this point, this banking mumbo-jumbo has nothing to do with my future career. I'm not worried about it to be honest. As long as my bills get paid, I'll be fine.

I wish I had something good and juicy to write down today. All I have is interoffice melodrama. Shame shame shame.

I have a photoshoot with Victoria this evening. Maybe if I take some extra spectacular pictures, I'll change my display picture and insert some in the next blog. Wish me luck.

Can I do a Retraction?

Reading over my entry from last night, I find myself slightly embarrassed. I can't help but turn red in the face. At the moment, my thoughts seems entirely too clear. They poured out of my head and onto this screen. Writing has become a beautiful form of release for me. I find it relieving. By reading my own thoughts on paper, or a screen in this case, I think of it like a sort of online, self-given therapy. It makes it easier to sort through tangled thoughts, and unwind the twisted phone cords in my head.

I don't think I ruin my life. There are a lot of beautiful things in my life, and I have made huge leaps and bounds. I have made many accomplishments along the way. I have been molded by my friends, my family, and my moral code based on my religious beliefs.

I honestly don't drink half as much as everyone would like to believe. I never drink by myself. I only drink with friends. I am very careful. Last night I was at home, so I had no boundaries other than to be able to walk to my bedroom. I got there fine. I had time to write a lucid entry (even though the backspace key was used more than any other key on the entire keyboard), and I slept great.

I think I surround myself with friends and 'things' to keep me from thinking too much. I think too much, and I overanalyze everything. I have high expectations. When you have high expectations, unfortunately you are left to deal with many disappointments. It's how you recover from those disappointments that makes you who you are. I think I handle mine pretty well since I have experienced enough.

I'm fine. I'm okay. Today is a brand new day filled with new hope. Another day to add to my celibacy streak. I used to count. I stopped now. I wonder what it must be like for nuns and monks. I think about The Sound of Music. Was she even a nun still when she was with the VonTrapp man? If she was, how would that work? I mean, I would hope that she'd at least use a contraceptive. They had enough damn kids already. Would the VonTrapp man blow that naval whistle at her in the bedroom? "CHANGE POSITIONS!" haha, "HALF TIME!"

"ALL HANDS ON DECK!"

Ah, Frauline Maria. How do you hold a moon beam in your hand?

Four Beers

What is four beers? Four beers is enough. Four beers is enough. It's enough to make my head spin. It is enough to make me hit the backspace button every five letters. It's enough to make me dread the morning. It is enough to make me have a good time.

I love it and hate it at the same time. I can't spell a three or four letter word. I wish I could fly like this every minute of every hour of every day. I could fly a leer jet. I could do nuclear physics. I could operate a fucking crane with no previous experience. I could fuck up everything.

I hate it.

What is "drunk." What is "love." What is "life." I hate it. I don't want it. I can't do it. I can't.

What is "can't?" Never say can't. You can't do anything. You can do everything if you want to. You can do nothing if you want to.

Self control. Apparently I haven't mastered it.

I watched three episodes of absolutely fabulous tonight. I watched Nicole as she sat next to me. She drank too. She didn't get the British comedy. What makes me get it and makes her only laugh at certain parts?

I don't understand. I just hope I wake up in time for work tomorrow. She left my house to get everything tonight. I want everything all the time. I never get everything. Sometimes I think I don't even get anything.

If I have to look at these damn red squiggly lines on this auto-spellchecked text bubble one more time I might just throw up.

I'm ill. I'm ill with myself. What is wrong with this Piccaso-esque picture I have painted? Is there really any beauty in it at all? Or is it just me who is laughing. Do you read this and think, "I feel so sorry for him. Alcohol ruins his life and deteriorates his inner being."? I wouldn't want to be me. Not now anyways.

I just want to be Pierce Brosnan. I want to be that 007. I want his gun, his car, his clothes, his sluts. I want to be everything, and nothing, all at once.

An ex lover recently accused me of filling the hole inside me with my nice car, my cellphone, my clothes. Is that wrong? What do you think?? Do I deteriorate myself?

I think I ruin my own relationships with my thoughts. My thoughts are battery acid. They ruin everything; turning even the shiniest platinum into dull browned shit. I turn myself into the muck that I despise. I ruin things. I don't want to be this person, not today, not tomorrow.

What does it take to ruin your life?

It only takes four beers my love. I can give you the recipe for disaster.

-Four beers

-British comedy

-High standards

-One empty stomach

I don't want to be this person. Not today; not forever.

Horoscopes

Today's Horoscope:
"Ryan, The focus today is on your house, your home life, and the people in it. You might be emotionally unavailable to someone who has been in the process of making big plans involving the two of you. Relationship goals and limitations become clear. "

Emotionally unavailable. I think this is the answer I've been looking for. At times, I feel so willing, but when it all boils down, I think I am very much emotionally unavailable.

No, I'm not going to go there. Not here, not now, not today.

On a lighter note, Whitney Houston is singing "I will always love you." It makes me want to wear pink real bad.

I chain smoked too much last night when I was out to dinner. I was trying to keep up with the man I was out with, but damn, I have never seen anyone smoke so many cigarettes in such a short period of time. He would light up, then I would light up. After about five, I told myself, "I can't do this."

I met an amazing Korean girl named Gina last night. One of the drag queens insisted on calling her Margaret though (after Margaret Cho, the Korean comedian). She took it like a champ. It was all in good fun. I apologized when I told her the same thing.

Reflection Driving Home

I had to crack the window tonight. The cool damp air ruffled my hair and was a welcome change from the blasting heat in my car. I drove home from the bar. Searching every puddle, I looked at reflections. I was looking for evidence of my feelings. Looking for answers, I was hoping to find trace of something more. I wish I knew how I felt. I've helped everyone I know. Always looking to make sense of others' emotions, I fail to make sense of my own. I keep my emotions so close to my vest, I hardly notice them myself. The hardest part of truly getting to know me is knowing how to diagnose my innermost emotions.

Tonight was the first night I can remember Ryan saying goodbye to me. He left the bar before I did, not at the same time. It was mildly upsetting, but I quickly managed to ignore and overlook that entire situation.

I had dinner with a man tonight. I had dinner with a successful, goal-oriented man tonight. We shared great conversation, chain smoked, and learned more of each other. He sipped on scotch that disappeared four times to an empty glass bottom. His accent echoed in my head and every word rang clear notes from every octave. He felt the way that I felt about gay relationships. We talked about our mothers, our ex-boyfriends, and our futures (whether they intertwine or not is up to fate alone). I'll be seeing him again on Friday.

Ryan rushed me into leaving behind my empty mug of post-dinner coffee, and ashtray of spent fags. Somehow I managed to still beat him out tonight. The bar was dead and I blame it on the rain.

The enormous drag queen spoke of being "hippoglycemic" this evening. She claimed that when she hasn't eaten in a few hours, "All of you start looking like gigantic french fries." She was amusing to say the least. I couldn't stay out long. I was too full, and too tired to put up with the antics tonight. I left shortly after Ryan. I followed in his footsteps and signed out the bar tab.

I have been talking to several men recently. Every one of them has their strengths and weaknesses. The problem is this: Is it better to be with someone who is very much like myself, or with someone who is completely different? I understand it is great to be with someone who can compensate for my weaknesses and bring a good balance in the relationship. I also realize that your lover should be your best friend as well... and aren't your best friends usually like yourself?

Sleep is very much valued in my life, so I leave you with this paradox that I stumbled across in Chemistry 112 this afternoon: "Does oxygen have an odor?" (keep in mind, olfactory fatigue occurs when you smell the same thing for too long; you become immune to it).

Glass

I'm listening to Philip Glass. I don't want to listen to anything else right now. I'm just in a mood today.

I recently returned to my house after having sat on a couch at Victoria's house for a good while, my stomach growling so loudly I was waiting for the pictures to fall off the walls. I came back home, decided that I didn't even want to LOOK at what was in the fridge, freezer, or pantry. There's nothing in this whole house to eat. I say that with the most confidence! Okay, so there's things. There are ingredients, but no FOOD. Everything would have to be cooked and mixed and prepared. In lieu of any substantial food "things," I'm drinking a Michelob Ultra for dinner.

I'll eat later, I promise, so just drop it, mmkay?

I swore to myself that today wouldn't be one of those days. You know the kind, the days off that you sleep through. I told myself I would wake up at a decent time and get something accomplished today, whether academic or not. LIAR. I woke up after ten but still before eleven. I got myself ready. I even did pilates on my bedroom floor for twenty whole minutes while listening to dance music. I then proceeded to meet up with Victoria. I went to her house. I did her makeup and hair. She did my hair. We sat around and watched videos on youtube, episodes from The Office, and listened to conversations coming from the mouths of her sister, sister's boyfriend, and her boyfriend. We never motivated ourselves to do anything. They left near five o'clock to go out for dinner for her sister's birthday. I went home.

I have had one cigarette today. It's not because I'm consciously trying to cut back, but rather I nearly transformed five fingers into icicles in the process earlier on this afternoon.

Last night was Saturday night. It surely was. I had plans to go to the popular homosexual dance establishment in Norfolk, but due to "poor weather," the group (meaning Ryan 2, my best male friend) decided we would just do our (me and Ryan 2) regular thing and go to our normal spot. Andrew (high school friend) met me at my house early on in the evening. He did come bearing gifts. One ice cold Red Bull. Thank heavens, I needed it. I showered and took entirely too long. I paid much detail to everything from facial hair grooming, to using my Paul Mitchell extra body, thickening, conditioner stuff that Dallas (best girl friend) gave to me for Christmas this year. Although I told Ryan that I would be requiring him to do my hair and face that night, I did the dirty work myself. I picked up Miranda after I left my house. The three of us headed up to Ryan and Rob's place. Everyone talked and waited for Rob to get out of the shower. I knew exactly how the situation would pan out. I even told Miranda in the car. I told her, "Look, this is what's going to happen. We're going to get to the bar (the backup plan), there's going to be no one there because of the snow, and Ryan's going to try to convince everyone to drive down to Norfolk." We arrived at Ryan's house and while waiting for Rob, Ryan said exactly that. He said he had second thoughts and wanted to go back to plan A. NOPE. I wasn't going to do it.

Background Information:

Ryan and I used to go to this big bar every Thursday and Saturday night. We never missed a single one. Ryan and I were anorexically thin at the time. We spent more time on doing our hair than most gay men spend out picking out a single outfit. We would walk in every Thursday and Saturday and walk straight back to the bathroom, hit the mirrors, and preen for at least five minutes. Ryan decided he couldn't do it anymore. He stopped going, found Rob, and lost touch with me for months. Since then, I have found the neighborhood bar and stick to it. The crowd is small most nights, and everyone knows each other. I am comfortable and don't feel like I have to do hair or face. I have since been drug out to the Wave twice. Both times were disasters. I walked away wishing I had never gone in both instances.

Back to this recap of last night. Cigarettes burned to the filters and eventually it was time for Ryan to take his turn in the shower. I flat ironed Rob's hair. I straightened it down over his right eye, just as Ryan 2 had requested. I put the pre-selected beanie on after having sprayed the extra-firm hold hair spray around Rob's entire head. It turned out damn good. NEXT. Miranda took the chair. I pulled out my bag of SEPHORA goodies from when I worked in cosmetics this past fall. I had been given many items from the company but only used them on rare occasion. Miranda was quickly finished. Ryan was done with his shower. It was pushing quarter to eleven. Brent called and asked if I'd be out. I told him we'd be there near eleven thirty. FORTY FIVE MINUTES. I was right. We didn't get there until eleven thirty. I finished up with Ryan and we flew out of the house.

The bar was pretty crowded. I came in, paid no cover of course (being a VIP customer does have its benefits). I moved towards the bar, shortly thereafter, the glass hit the formica counter top without having said a single word other than hello to the bartenders. I love it. Ryan 2 and Miranda sat at one end of the bar, filling two empty seats. Rob, Andrew, and myself found ourselves at the opposing end of the bar. Rob drank a washington apple and switched to madori sours for the rest of the evening. Miranda had energy drinks. Andrew had whisky I'm sure. Ryan and I always drink rum and diet (but sometimes Ryan will do royal flushes). Besides that, the evening progressed pretty smoothly. We talked a little trash, faked several smiles, but were pretty good people for most of the night. My ex-boyfriend showed up, which was expected. My ex-boyfriend showed up with my other ex-boyfriend (from middle school days) which was UNexpected. The child was immediately tattooed with black X's upon entering. It put a smile on my face. Ryan forced conversation with a secret enemy. There were group bathroom visits. These are normally limited to Ryan and myself, but Miranda was given an invite to one this time. We don't always relieve ourselves either. Sometimes it is more of a reason to go somewhere quieter to discuss more pressing issues. The most pressing issue of last night was that our leading lady (when I say lady in this instance, I refer to a drag queen) had called out and deserted her Saturday night show. The owner of the bar claims that she probably couldn't find her snow boots. Excuses, excuses. I hardly looked towards the stage all night. I met a local entrepreneur. I met one Karen who happens to own one restaurant nearby. It's doing very well. We talked briefly about business, travel, and her husband (who was not in attendance). Our conversation led to her offering to introduce me to an employee of hers. I already knew him. I had invited him casually up to a long weekend beach trip in Duck with my family. He would have met me down there and spent a day or two hanging out had he come. He ignored my phone calls the day of, and left a very sour taste in my mouth by doing so. I may say "Hi," but with him, that's where it has stopped ever since. Last night, he wanted to talk. He smiled, I was brief, but smiled back. I don't have time for games. All the young ones want is games, and I'm over it. I don't understand why anyone would play them. I can be guilty at times as well, there is no denying it. On the whole, I do tend to think on a different plane.

Miranda and Rob bought the breakfast buffet at 1:30 a.m. (suckers!). We waited for the buffet to be brought out, and as soon as the to-go boxes were filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits, the tabs were executed with the ink of cheap plastic pens. We left. We looked just as good leaving as we did walking in. I dropped off everyone and came home. We did hang out at Ryan's house briefly before doing so. I came home around 2:30 a.m. My parents were both awake reading in the den. I spoke with them, keeping as much composure as I could. I'm sure I smelled like a two week old ash tray. I left them, went to bed, and that was that. After reflecting on last night, it was pretty uneventful. Everyone left the bar happy. That's what counts I guess.

I'm sitting at home, beer bottle empty now.

Maybe I'll try to hunt down some real food.

Real Estate and the Bitch.

I want to tell you a story. I want to remember it just as it was told to me. Be prepared for this one. It hits a lot harder for me because I know my mother a lot better than you do of course.

Let me start by painting an image of my mother. Have you ever watched Leave it to Beaver? My mom IS Joan Cleaver. She doesn't vacuum in heels, but she is the absolute embodiment of the television mother. She is ideal. She was a stay at home mom when my brother and I were kids. She bakes, cooks, cleans, she has pampered us well. She has been a realtor for several years now. My mother is the nicest, most well mannered woman I have ever met. She has no enemies at all.

Here is how it starts:

My mother is one of two top agents in her small real estate office. My mom was at a company awards banquet a couple days ago. There are two offices that were in attendance. The main office down at the beach, where the big wigs are, and her satellite office. My mom's broker, the head of the office, was standing in front of all the attendees delivering a speech. She was speaking of an outstanding employee who was about to receive the big award. Everyone at both offices knew that my mother was the honoree being spoken of. In this beautiful breakfast banquet room, something goes wrong. I want to say her name so bad, but I have to change it for obvious reasons. Let's call her "Nancy". Nancy, who has shared an office with my mom for a couple years is sitting at the same table as my mom. As this speech is going on, Nancy says "The only reason she's getting the award is because she kisses Kim's ass." Kim is the broker who was giving the speech. My mom and her coworker sitting next to her immediately turn, look at Nancy, and respond, "What did you just say?". My mom somehow takes the award, and gracefully navigates the dangerous social situation, keeping up appearances the entire time. She even hugs Nancy when Nancy congratulates her on her success after receiving the other award for being the second honoree. And SCENE.

The next day, my mother asks her broker Kim if she could send her a copy of the speech she read, since my mother missed out on hearing it because of the situation with Nancy at their table. Kim was obviously upset that the event had happened. She said she had spoken mostly from the top of her head. Mom and Kim are great friends as well, mind you. Kim said she would type an e-mail and write as much as she could remember of what she said at the banquet.

My mom had came home and told my brother how upset she was about Nancy's behavior. My mom is very sensitive, although she never would lead you to believe so. My brother doesn't take any shit. I've had situations come up over the hears where he has definitely taken care of some business for me on his own accord. He doesn't like people treating our family in any sort of negative way.

Without her knowing, my brother had his own agenda lined up from the second he realized how upset this had made her. My brother drove up to the office and ran into Kim before he could figure out who Nancy was. He talked to Kim and told her that he wanted to talk to Nancy because she had upset his mom and Nancy owed my mother an apology. Kim told my brother that she would take care of it and that she would talk to Nancy and make sure that my mom got her apology.

Chad leaves the office. Nancy walks past him. Kim calls Nancy into Kim's office. Nancy asks who that was that just left Kim's office. Kim informs Nancy that it was Linda's son, and that he was there to talk to her. Kim told Nancy that she needed to call my mother or catch her in the office and tell her she was sorry.

Instead of giving a phone call, which really isn't an acceptable apology if you ask me, Nancy sends an e-mail. She starts by saying, "I'm sorry you can't take a joke." She twists her words around to her advantage, saying that she meant it another way. She closes the e-mail by saying "Next time you have a problem with me you don't have to send your son to kick my ass."

When my mom told me this when I came home from work today, my blood boiled just listening to this bullshit.

HERE is how it goes down. My mother is a strong Christian. She decided to go into the office today (she doesn't go in every day) to get her emotions off her chest. She was going to explain to Nancy why she was wrong and how it made her feel, but she was also going to FORGIVE HER. I have to force myself to breathe as I write this because I'm getting pissed off now. My mom gets to the office. Nina was on her way. My mom had the receptionist call her 1) to find out if she was coming in, and 2) to tell Nancy that she had an important fax waiting for her [true story]. My mom went into their shared office and waited. Nancy came in, wide eyed at the sight of my mother standing at her (mom's, not Nancy's) desk. Nancy came in, no smile, no words. She quickly put her stuff down.

"I need to talk to you, Nancy."

"No, we don't need to talk. I'm very busy and have a lot to do today."

"Yes we do."

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"Alright, well go to the bathroom, we'll talk when you get back."

Nancy was in the bathroom for a long time. I don't know if she was hoping my mom would leave. I don't know if she was calling to whine to her husband about what was going on. When she came back, my mom was still waiting patiently.

"No, I don't want to listen to you. I don't have to listen to you. KIM!"

Nancy was calling for Kim, who knew that my mom was there to talk to Nancy.

My mom closed the door and stood in front of it.

"I don't want to talk to you and you can't hold me hostage in this office. KIM!" Nancy kept on, "I don't have to listen to you! I don't want to talk to you!" Nancy went to reach around my mom for the door handle. My mom pushed her hand back away from the door.

Nancy pulled her arm behind her back. Her face displayed horror. "Don't you touch me! Don't you touch me! I don't have to listen to you!"

My mom opened the door for Nancy. It was obvious that she was talking to a brick wall.

"Alright, then go on, GIT!" She talked to her as if she were an animal. My mom was getting irritated that she wasn't even given a chance to express herself.

Helpful things to keep in mind about "Nancy.":

1. She is foreign, from a small eastern European country.

2. She is married to a military man

3. She has no family in the area

4. She's damn lucky if she has friends

5. She curses, smokes, and carries herself around the office like she owns it

6. People in the office constantly tip-toe around Nancy so they don't make her mad

Somehow, Kim becomes involved. An argument ensues and the three of them, Kim, Linda, Nancy, end up outside. Nancy continues to pop off at the mouth. She doesn't feel as if she has done anything wrong. She brings up that fact that my mother sent Chad to threaten her. My mom says she knew nothing about it. Nancy said he was there to beat her up. Mom says he wouldn't have touched her. Kim becomes infuriated upon learning about the e-mail Nancy sent. They go at it. The three are raising their voices. My mother and Kim are literally attacking Nancy with their words. They fall on deaf ears.

It's gray here. I'm missing a link. My mom spoke what she needed to while she was outside. She was able to say what she wanted to, but Nancy wasn't accepting it at all. My mom comes inside and sits at her desk to cool off. She was furious. Kim comes inside next to see if my mom is okay. Kim steps into her office to cool down as well. Kim returns to my mother's office and tells her that the president of the company is on her way from the main office. Nancy doesn't know this. My mom waits. Forty minutes later, the president arrives. Nancy was in a the computer room. The president goes to the restroom nearby, passing Nancy. Nancy says "Oh, urgent business today?"

"Yes."

Bathroom interlude, and madame president is back. Nancy starts to put things together. The wheel is turning but the hamster is dead. Madame president, who I will refer to from here on as MP, notifies the three women that they are all going to have a discussion. Obviously the only person in danger is NANCY.

Nancy pleads to talk to MP before they are all called into the office. MP declines her offer. Once Nancy realizes she's in for it, she quickly blurts out, "Well I just need to tell you that I have a meeting with another broker and I'll be leaving." MP tells her she has to talk with everyone. She (Nance) shoots off question after question, trying to slow the process of entering the office. Kim, Linda (mom), and MP all sit. Nance stands. They start at it again. MP keeps her cool and handles the situation well. She become equally angry when she learns about Nance's poor e-mail apology attempt and tells her that if she thinks that is an acceptable apology, she "needs to read some books." MP reams Nancy in and out. She really ripped her a new one and cut her down to size. It is unbelievable to imagine what it must have been like in that room. There was so much tension, anger, and amidst all this, Nancy really believes she has done nothing wrong. She makes excuse after excuse. She brings up Chad, and tries to twist her words again. MP saw right through her.

She got fired.

They told her ass to leave.

She said she had to be out by end of the weekend.

Lady N said she was going out of town.

MP told her that the receptionist and Kim would pack her things for her.

She had it coming.

The entire office just swarmed. MP took mom and Kim out for lunch on the company. I forgot to mention that when MP came to the office, she immediately hugged my mom and apologized that she had to go through what she went through. The receptionist left before MP even got there. She knew the shit was about to hit the fan, and took her lunch early in order to avoid being splattered with Nancy's fecal matter. I tell you what though, Kim's blood pressure was through the roof. Everyone was ready for a drink. I turned nearly ten shades of red just LISTENING to this story when I came home from work. My sweet Christian mother, going into the office to forgive a woman for insulting her. Not only was she insulted, but my mother was also slapped in the face by an 'apology e-mail' if that is what you would even call it. To recap, the becomes angry when she isn't able to talk. She has words outside with Kim. The company president comes to the rescue. Nancy still denies everything and lies, lies, and lies to the president. Nancy loses her job.

AMAZING. I feel bad for my mom. I want to kick that woman's ass so bad. Nobody messes with my mom. She wouldn't hurt a fly. I mean, I'm sure a lot of people think this about their mothers, and I don't want to discount that, but if you ever met my mother, you'd see Joan Cleaver. It's just a shame that such a little issue was blown up so big because Nancy couldn't listen, or apologize. The whole office silently rejoiced today. Everyone heaved a giant sigh of relief. The marlboro-smoking foreign bitch was done.

I'm really proud of my mom for standing up for herself and her feelings. She's never confrontational. From what I hear, she really kept her composure well and was even complimented by MP for handling herself extremely well. Kim, my mom, and MP went out to lunch on the company. They tried real hard not to talk about it, but of course it did come up in conversation. The whole ordeal was pretty traumatic. Everyone needed a drink by the end of the day....

Speaking of everyone, it's after 10:00pm, and I'm ready for that drink. Live in Hampton, it's FRIDAY NIGHT!

Ridiculous

I was on the second floor of a building at school waiting for my Chemistry lecture to start. I looked outside to see nothing but white. I could hardly see the treeline on the opposite end of the parking lot. There was so much snow coming down. Big fat snowflakes where whirling around, flying up and down and darting across the gray sky. I just knew that by the end of that lecture, I would walk outside to see at least three inches. I was waiting to see it piled up on the roof of my car. I left the building after the lecture to take a look at the ground that I could not see from up above. . . Nothing. Just wet. So disappointing.

I sat for my two hour break between classes and listened to Swayzak, Tracy Chapman, and Pete Bjorn and John. The last time I heard Tracy Chapman was when I was in France, summer of 2006. Sylvie and I were driving across the French countryside to her boyfriend's parents' house out in the farmlands. We listened to the entire album. The funny thing is that Sylvie liked her voice and enjoyed the music, but she didn't understand anything that Tracy was singing. I tried to explain to her in French what she would be singing about on each track. I miss that. I miss good culture, good food, good people...family.

I've been becoming more and more socially isolated. I don't realize that I have been doing this to myself over the past two or three weeks. I don't make many outgoing calls anymore. I don't go out to the bar even a quarter as much as I used to. I stay home. I exercise. I eat right. Last night Dallas and I went out to eat at what she calls "Wing Wong". It's a $4.99 all you can eat Chinese buffet. We were the only two people in there. I don't understand how they can stay open. We ate and ate and ate. I had two full plates. Fallas was so hungry before we got there. I hadn't eaten anything all day. I had been at school from 8AM until 6:45PM. On the phone with Dallas beforehand, she informed me quite dramatically that "I'm so hungry my stomach is eating my vagina!" I told my mother this right after I got off the phone with Dallas to meet her out. Mom laughed so hard she nearly spit her salad right out of her mouth. No matter how bad a day or a week or a month can be, Dallas has never stopped me from laughing. I haven't spent much time with her, or anyone for that matter, recently and it was great to be in her company again. It was a good end to a long day. It was the first time I've cheated on this diet, but I had been craving french fries all day long and just figured MSG would be the better replacement.

Coffee is cold. The office is cold. I was asked by someone very dear to me a couple nights ago if I wanted to talk about how I felt. He asked me how I felt, and the only word that came to my mind, and the only word that still comes to mind is numb. I feel numb. It's my fight or flight reaction. It's what I do to go on. It's what I have to do to move on. My body just shuts down all emotion. It would rather be inactive than deal with feelings of depression or hopelessness that I used to know so well in younger years. I hate realizing this. I hate knowing that I'm just a body. I'm just a emotionless zombie moving around amongst the living. Overreacting, I know. But it isn't a good feeling.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to break this current spell. I wish I could get out and have the fun that I used to have. I used to know how to make every day feel like summer. I'd take my best friends out driving to take pictures outside, or to go to the hookah lounge to smoke shisha. We could have a blast in Walgreens if we had to. Now those friends are tied up. Both have steady boyfriends that dominate a good portion of they time and lives. It doesn't mean that I'm not invited into their shared lives, but it's not the same. I feel guilty cracking jokes and sharing the secret inside jokes that the boyfriends aren't aware of. I just know that I have always been better to my friends than I have my boyfriends. I know what it's like to be on the backburner so-to-speak. I am not implying that my friends ignore me. Damn, even my horoscope warned me that I would have an ability to turn friends into enemies today, so I need to mind my p's and q's. (The statement of minding P's and Q's stems from back in the day when barfights would break out. The bartender would yell out for everyone to mind their pints and quarts of beer so they wouldn't be spilled in the chaos of that moment).

Another day, another dollar.

Horrible Horrible Horrible

I watched "The Brave One" with Miranda last night. She came over and we watched a bootleg movie. Jodi Foster played this radio show host who was beaten and her fiance was killed. She recovered, bought a gun, and in the course of several events and circumstances, she kills criminals that cross her path. The movie was amazing, and the ending was perfect. It was by far the best movie I have seen in years. I was also surprised to learn that Jodi Foster is a lesbian. I can definitely see it, but never really thought too much about it. I heard she's also adopted a little girl. I love hearing about the personal lives of celebrities. I like having that insight and thinking of them as being actual people too. I mean, have you ever wondered what kind of music Nicole Kidman likes, or what Adam Sandler likes to do for fun?

I had two cups of Starbucks Sumatra roast coffee last night. I figured since I was going to be watching that movie, it would keep me on my toes. Needless to say, I couldn't sleep at eleven. I laid on my back, though I am normally a side sleeper, and passed out after a while. I slept very good last night. After watching the movie, I felt an emptiness inside. I felt really bad for Jodi Foster's character. But enough of that.

Yesterday was a horrible day. I feel like I've already recapped the story though. I went to BJ's to buy groceries with my mom and dad. I wore scrubs and a hoodie all day. I lounged around the house for a really long time. I only had three cigarettes. Yes, I did break down before I went to the bar and buy a pack the other night. I smoked the last one in that pack this morning before I walked into the office. I have a brand new pack in my glove box, but I am not going to touch it. I am going to tell myself that if I want one, I can have one in ten minutes. I also hear that it helps to never tell yourself that you've quit. Most people have better luck if they just tell themselves they can have one if they want one.

Today is another day. Another monotonous day. Same stuff, different day. Pilates at noon. My abs have just stopped aching from last week's class, and now I start back up all over again. I have lost five pounds in a week!

Miranda told me a hilarious story about being in a bar in Washington D.C. when her friend drug her into the restroom at least three times while she blew it up. She had it coming out of both ends. Miranda was horrified each time she was grabbed by the wrist and pulled back in for another round of vomiting and bowel movements. Miranda said that the hottest guy was waiting outside the restroom and her friend just pushed her way through pulling Miranda behind her screaming. The guy laughed. Miranda said she just stood as close to the door as she could, turning away from her friend and covering her nose.

Last Night Madness

Each morning it takes a well planned series of alarms to get me out of my bed. The cell phone goes off at 7:00am, followed by a second alarm at 7:10am, and that gets "snoozed" a good three or four times. In the midst of all this cell phone ringing, my radio cuts on at 7:15am and stays on. I woke up this saturday morning smelling the stale smell of cigarette smoke in my hair, and the soured taste of cigarettes smoked and drinks drank from the night before. I laid in bed half asleep and half awake for a good fifteen minutes listening to stories on National Public Radio about the "INVISIBLE". It was about homelessness and the great number of homeless children. Individuals spoke about the corrupt foster home system, prostitution, drug dealings, and runaways. One woman told her story about being twelve years old and living with some man her uncle stuck her with. She was supposed to "take care of him" and he would take care of her. She slept with him in order to get things like shampoo and a toothbrush. She talked about living on the street. It was horrible. The thing that struck me as strange was that after all this filth in her life, somehow some agency helped her get back into school at age 18, and she went on to get a LAW degree at UCLA or some big southern Californian university. She's now 30 and totally fine. She's been proposed to at the top of the Eiffel Tower and is somehow still single. I don't understand how something so bad can be turned into something so great. I'm sure she makes tons of money now. She isn't scared to talk about her past. I don't know how I feel about the story. I still am trying to process the whole thing, but I'm still in a malaise from last night.

I didn't drink too much but the bartender gave me one more than I really cared for or could've cared for. I hadn't been out in a little while, so I found myself easily tanked, and even more easily amused. I heard a great story that I don't know how I missed out on, other than the fact that I must've left early that night. Evidently last Friday, Felicia (the kitchen cook at the bar) had it out with this regular who I'll just call "Sean" for the purposes of this story. Sean came into the bar and Felicia just finished ripping this guy Joe apart telling him how he was a slut and a whore, and how he was sick to be messing with this young kid who had been coming into the bar for a month or so. Joe had turned so many shades of red and had just put his head down and tried to smile it off but it was painfully obvious that he just had his ass handed to him in front of everyone at the bar. Felicia was just on a roll. Everyone was laughing and screaming. If there's one thing I love, it's a strong black woman who knows who she is. Felicia has lived many places and she's been brought up very tough, but overall, she is one amazing woman. Sean comes into the bar and Felicia starts on him, but she was not overly unkind. She was half-joking although it's a given that Sean isn't that well-liked by others and her words were probably from the heart. Sean is nice to everyone but can be rather annoying. He will treat you like a best friend, ask you how things are going, but you suddenly realize, I don't have the slightest clue who this guy is. At this point in the story there is a gap where I don't know exactly what happened. Sean called Felicia a bitch, and things escalated. Felicia walks off, sits down somewhere else. Felicia, being very pleasant and friendly normally tried to avoid her dark side from coming out by removing herself from the situation. Sean walks up to Felicia with open arms. He was going to hug her to apologize but she didn't look up at him. Felicia, sitting with her arms crossed tells him sternly but calmly "Don't touch me ." So Sean pops off at the mouth, "Well fuck you bitch!"
Felicia grabs a bottle and broke it over the bar and walked around to where he was at that point. I can just imagine tiny pieces of glass flying through the air, catching the light as they flew, and the sound of the breaking glass echoing in the small bar. She was talking to me about all this last night. She told me that when she looked at him, all she could see was red. All she could see when she looked at him was blood. We laughed about it but she made it clear that there was nothing funny about it and I think she embarrassed herself slightly by behaving the way she did last Friday night. As a joke, some of the regulars removed all glass items from the bar top a couple nights ago to play a joke on her. I wish I was in to see her face. I would have been on the floor, red in the face.

Never a dull moment. I'm sitting at the desk at the bank where I work. The skeleton crew is here for this dead Saturday. We're here until one. Currently, the lobby is empty. The tellers are twirling their thumbs, and George Michael is singing from above for an audience of five employees. I'm drinking water. I'm thinking about what I will do after work. Nothing comes to mind, so I guess sleep would be in order. Normally on days this dead, I would pull up the sex offender registry online and see which members are on it. You can even search by zip code to pull up offenders in your vacinity. You would be really surprised to see the people on that list. Some of them don't seem to fit the mold. I even saw a woman on there one time. The reason I mention this is because one of our members on the list just walked in. Everyone has access to this information but hardly anyone thinks to look it up.

IRONY

"I have caught you in more lies in the past two months than I have in your entire life!"

"I don't even know what he's talking about! I hardly lie at all." My sister is choking back tears and I can't believe it (although I really can). Another night, another kitchen battle between my 18 year old brother and my 13 year old sister. It's absolutely absurd that she even tries to deny it, and even more ironic that she's lying as she denies lying. My brother Chad and I do our best to police the 13 year old. She fixed a personal pizza tonight, cut it into quarters, and sat down. Two bites into it, the phone rings and she picked up. "What?..... It's me.......It's me."

She crossed her legs and talked so loud that my brother, in the other room hollared "Go somewhere else!" She walked away and left her food in the kitchen. She's avoiding saying things she doesn't want anyone to hear, and making this kid Jake play some demented guessing game with her until he figures out what she wanted him to ask some kid Cody. My brother yelled up the stairs to tell her to get down and eat her food before it was cold (and not in a very nice way either), and then I had to get involved because I knew damn well that over 3/4s of that pizza was sitting there on the table alone. I told the 'rents in their bedroom and then it came out that Julie (the 13 year old) had told mom that she ate most of it. Then mom goes downstairs, yadda yadda yadda, and the fight ensues. Random. So damn random.

It's not even really important. I could care less. I was just going to continue hanging up my clean clothes that have been sitting in my laundry basket for probably close to a week now. The clean underwear supply was depleted as of this morning and I knew I had a small arsenal in the clean hamper. So, I couldn't help but overhear the downstairs conversation and I just wanted to write it all down.

But as for other news. My coworker's sister was fired today for looking at someone's account at the bank that she was working for. She was sitting on her bumper parked outside the bank I work at when we got out for the day. She apparently had just been informed today of her more than satisfactory performance at the institution and was to receive a $3.00 raise. AMAZING, and then she gets fired in the same day. Talk about THEM apples. So today has been quite ironic for not only myself.

To top the day off, I've made a decision after having read articles on DiscoveryHealth.com about other people's battles with substance abuse. I read about a woman whose father was an alcoholic. She was always the one to make sure all her friends got home safe and didn't drive drunk. She was the good kid. She knew what alcoholism looked like because of her father. She made a bad career move and lost her boyfriend and then next thing you know, she's living by herself. She drinks 4 glasses of wine before work each day, hiding her breath with mints. She keeps a bottle of wine in her car, and sneaks to the parking deck about every 45 minutes to pound back wine on the clock. She upgrades from wine to vodka, and drinks nonstop. She finds herself passing out everywhere. Work, home, car, there is no discrimination to the situation. She wakes up one day finding that she has drank herself out of every bit of alcohol in her house, including her mouthwash. She calls this guy that she'd recently started dating, and the website didn't really give the details, but basically she quit drinking because of this guy and hasn't drank for three years now. I read this article after my own boyfriend beat around the bushes alluding to me being an alcoholic. I don't drink a lot. I just used to go to the bar a lot. Well anyways, I've cut back recently on my bar attendance. After reading that amazingly inspiring article today, I've decided I need to go back to the bar. It's been a week and some change since I've been.

I read about how people quit smoking as well. I smoked my last cigarette today and knowing that I'm going to the bar tonight, it will be extremely tempting to stop on the way and reload my pockets with more fags. I don't want to do it. I don't want to quit, and that's the main reason that I haven't. I need to focus on the fact that I will age prematurely. I will get those wrinkles on my top lip. I will stink constantly and have teeth rivaled only by wild animals. We'll see how long this blip lasts. I don't think I'll buy any tonight, but I'll definitely bum a couple from friends, or steal them from unsuspecting regulars that go to the bathroom and leave their cigs on the bar.

I'll keep you posted...Ironic right? Blog....posted?