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This one time, I walked out on a job. I felt like raising my fist in the air like the rebel at the very end of The Breakfast Club while "Don't You, Forget About Me" played. It's five years later. I work at eBay now. I still don't make as much as I did at that previous job, but honestly, I won't complain. Leaving that previous job was probably the best decision I ever made.
Per my previous post, I was REALLY sick at this point in my life. I don't know what officially happened to me but the final conclusion was a strong dose of antibiotics that finally fixed me. I was on FMLA at my old job and lots of people would question as to whether or not I was making it up. Basically that led to me standing up and yelling, "Guys I'll be right back! I have to take a shit!" To which my old boss finally took me aside and quietly told me that I didn't need to explain to everyone what I was doing when I stood up. I told him that everyone thought I was feigning an illness that was ruining my life, so I figured they may as well know if they were so curious. By the way, it's illegal to speculate as to why people are on FMLA, the gossip girls did just that all of the time. We even had a meeting with HR explaining this to them numerous times. They just couldn't stop though.
Also, the supervisor that wouldn't piss on me to put it out if I caught on fire? He got shitcanned from Harland awhile after I started at eBay. Why? He was playing World of Warcraft instead of doing his job. Suck it Martin! You looked like Peter from Family Guy! Your ex-girlfriend who skinned your Alf doll in High School and stuffed him in his locker knew what she was doing!
Read below:
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
So sometimes the question arises in everyone's life: Did I do something wrong in a past life? Was I a serial killer, rapist, bank robber or Dr. Laura?
I have often questioned that in the course of my years working at my job in sunny Harland. The place started off as a haven for call center holocaust survivors.
Then about two years into it we got a new director. I swear he thought we were his boot camp recruits. All respect for employees went down the toilet and just didn't quite flush.
We were treated as money making tools, our department never got acknowledged and you just got smoke blown up your ass all of the time.
So four years into it, yesterday I think I finally just snapped.
Victoria had recently just quit, my friend Aubrey had left to have her baby, I had just gotten back from vacation, and I was left with nobody to back me up in my department.
I have often dreamed of walking out on break to have a cigarette, only to get in my car and never come back. I've never been quite brazen enough to do that and I would trudge back into work with a small shudder.
Yesterday I got into work a bit late. The day had already gone to shit. Our department is generally very slow 20-30 calls a day. But somehow all the calls from other departments started routing into mine. They told us to just deal with it and to take the phone calls even though we had either not taken these calls in over a year or had not been trained in the ones coming through. All day we were 30 in cue with a 30 minute hold time, only to get a pissed off customer who would get even more pissed off when they found out we had absolutely no prowess in taking their calls.
At 4:30, everyone but me is left in my department. I am there from 4:30-6 alone.
My competent boss, note sarcasm here, didn't bother checking in to see if I was ok before he left at 3:30. One of the girls on my team called downstairs to see what we were going to do once they all left and I would be alone to contend with this mess.
They said that I should just "deal with it." Deal with it. They couldn't have suggested me routing the calls to the correct department, or sent someone up to help me out. I just had to deal with it.
So I decided maybe they should just deal with it. I packed up my shit, waited until my 4:30 co-workers left, and took off, with nobody there to take the calls.
In a moment of empowerment, I walked out of a job that paid me $12.72 an hour because finally bending over for that wasn't just much fun anymore.
My boss was PISSED today. He was so mad at me because he thought it was all about him. He spoke of never helping me out or actually I believe the correct term he used that if I was on fire he wouldn't piss on me to put it out.
Because to him, it wasn't about me. It wasn't about respect and treating your employees like they were human beings and having an ounce of sympathy for situations we are in or the daily stress we go through to get our jobs done so that we can make their damn company some more money.
I am now faced with the reality that I do not have a real job, I have a very part time night job. I have a car payment, cell phone bill, insurance and groceries to buy. I am faced with the fear of the unknown and the definite possibility of a pay cut in my next job whatever it may be.
But I don't regret a minute of it!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The Ocean Absconded With My Sea Legs
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
My trip to Vegas/California was definitely something I needed to get out of a slump. Plus I always need a nice long drive to remind me that buying plane tickets can be a good thing.
So much happened, and I don't feel like writing a book on it, but I am going to put the highlights of this trip down.
My cousin Nicole and I left at 2:00 on Friday. It was pretty non-eventful, with great conversation that made the ride go much faster and smoother. Midway into the trip we drove into a gorgeous rest stop and downed two beers each to balance out all of the energy drinks we had been guzzling.
Got into Vegas around 8:30 to stop at my cousin Kurt's house. I hadn't seen him in years. He has the cutest wife named Elizabeth and an equally cute little boy named Austin. Other cousins Suzanne and Michele were there as well. We had a good dinner and sat down for reminiscent times.
After that we followed Michele and Suzanne to their place. Michele took Nicole and I out to a casino sans strip. You will soon find that people who live in Vegas never want to go to the strip, it has become old and tedious. We had some of the best margaritas and bloody marys I have had in my life. I got drunk really fast, and we left around midnight.
Michele got more beer. Her, Nicole, and I sat on her back balcony having some of the best conversation in the world. These girls are related to me but I feel almost like they are these intelligent strong deities. I feel like I should be paying for their company. Four o'clock was bedtime.
Wake up at ten on Saturday hungover. Vegas will do that to you. You don't even have to be on the strip to want to be drunk or in some sort of party mode.
Suzanne agreed to drive us to California which was very nice of her considering Nicole and I would have been taking baseball bats to cars by the end of this trip if we had to drive them anymore.
We got into Redondo Beach at 5:00 and right over to my cousin Charise's house. Her boys Cody and Colton are eight now, I swear every time I see them they have gotten bigger and smarter. I all of the sudden feel like the old crazy cousin that wants to pinch their cheeks and kiss them all over. If I did that I am sure I would get a nice shin kicking!
Charise took us to see this view of the ocean that was indescribable. I guess anyone's first view of the ocean is just that though. It is so infinite.
Then we went to Joe's Crab Shack. Travel weary, I couldn't believe there were so many damn birthdays in one day and Joe's likes to let you know it with dancing, singing and strobe lights that were seconds away from giving me a seizure. At least the food and company made it worth it.
Sunday, Nicole and I decided to hit up the beach. It was Labor Day Weekend so there was a market going on. Everyone in California seems pretty casual, walking around in their bathing suits, no need for makeup. I thought it would be Silicone Valley of the Scary Barbie Dolls, but even people with cellulite let it all hang out.
It was 72 and a bit overcast and I took a big step in my life and gasp!!! I wore a bikini top and laid in the sun. It was euphoric. I could see now why people get suckered down there.
We walked out to the ocean and I tentatively put my feet in and stood there for a few moments before we left the beach.
Remember when I said people in Cali were laid back? Well I was wrong in a way. Nicole and I stood by a building having a cigarette, minding our own business when this woman shouted "Excuse me! Excuse me!" Instinct told me she wanted a cigarette to because that is what always happens in Utah, so as I was acknowledging her and getting ready to reach into my purse, I see this blonde the weight just melted off after I had the baby woman with her husband and child.
"Can you two please not smoke?" she said. "I have my child out here." She was literally 25 feet away from us. Talk about ownership of the air. Californians think they do. We kindly obliged and went to stand by the dumpsters like the trash we were. Muttering about how her baby was just going to get cancer anyway because of all the smog.
After showering at Charise's and having a nice dinner she cooked for us we hit up tourist trap Hollywood. It is amazing, the history of that place. But it is so dirty and sketchy out there, that you couldn't pay me to live there.
I went to Sephora and dropped $70 just like that. It was getting dark and we decided to head home. All the crazies come skittering out of the woodwork about then. We walked by a gang of guys yelling at a person with his girlfriend in front of us saying "What you lookin' at Motherfucker? Huh? Huh? Look again I bust a cap in you." Sure enough the dumbass kept looking as one of the men lifted his shirt to reveal a gun. The guy ducked into the Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum only to be followed by them. Wow, if I ever go down, I don't want it to be because I looked at someone.
After Hollywood, we got back to Redondo and had a nice sit down at Bucca De Beppo. I am amazed at what one glass of wine can do to a person.
Nicole, Suzanne, and I headed to our hotel room we were staying in that night, but first stopped off at the Drugstore to get more drinks. Hey, if one glass of wine can make me feel that good what can half a bottle do for me?
As Suzanne headed down for a slumber, Nicole and I sat outside finishing the wine. In our drunken excitement at two in the morning we decided to walk down to the beach.
We passed a bar that was having last call. I always forget about the free pouring that goes on out of state so our drinks were all man. I think I would have been a lot different had I just stuck to the wine.
Bar closed, we walked to the ocean, first thing we do? Run in. The water was warm. The moon was out and the waves were crashing down like mad. After we got our clothes soaked, I decided to put my pants and shirt with my purse on the beach. We laid in the ocean for what had to be more than an hour. It was unlike any experience I have ever really had.
After a while we stumbled out to make our arduous journey home. I could not, for the life of me, find my pants. The ocean must have eaten them. Luckily I had a long sweater, but somehow managed to also lose my tank top in the process. So I am walking down the street at four in the morning with no shirt or pants with a long sweater.
Some guy stopped Nicole and I and shouted "Hey! Do you know how to get to this or that place or the other?" We told him we weren't from there and he almost acted offended that we couldn't help. He said he was from Arizona and his buddies ditched him and he was lost. I said "Look on the bright side, it could always be worse. YOU COULD BE MISSING YOUR PANTS!!!!"
We of course got lost and had to call Anthony, Charise's husband at four in the morning to come get us. He later told Charise that we looked like a bunch of hobos.
Nicole and I stumbled into bed talking pirate talk and how the ocean stole my sea legs with an occasional drunken yarrr yarrr coming out of our mouths.
Waking up the next day reminded me why I never drink wine. I was covered head to toe to crevice to orifice to crack in sand. I cannot believe I slept like that. I think I had swallowed way too much sea water the night before.
In a desperate attempt to stave off any impending doom, I drank some Immodium and had some breakfast with Suzanne, Charise and Nicole.
After getting the hell beat out of me, it was time to leave California. Suzanne, Nic and I packed up and took off.
We reached Vegas around four, hit with the reality that we still had a seven hour drive ahead of us.
We got a nice dinner of burger and fries and made our way out around 5:30. This was exhausting.
Mid way through getting home the saltwater, and all the bad food I had eaten began its course of revenge on me. Poor Nicole was stopping at every other rest stop for me which I am sure delayed our trip home by a good hour. No amount of Immodium was going to stop my stomach's protest at this point.
I took over the driving and lasted maybe an hour before I started to hallucinate and things started blurring together. Some guy had also pulled so close behind me that it was unnerving because I was going about 90 and that just wasn't good enough for him so had to start flashing his brights at me. Bit of advice for you angry drivers, don't flash your brights at a night blind person it makes it worse. I was quickly gaining on a semi too that was going far slower. The asshole passed me and pulled up in front of me. Surprise, he was behind the semi that was going slower than I and he happened to be boxed in. Nicole and I decided it was time to be funny, so I pulled up behind that guy as close as I could and started to flash my brights at him repeatedly. He couldn't do anything or go anywhere, so we had a good tired laugh over that.
After violating every bathroom from Vegas on up to Utah, we were finally home.
I ran inside put my stuff away and passed out.
I had to work the next day at 9:30 but that is a whole other story.
My trip to Vegas/California was definitely something I needed to get out of a slump. Plus I always need a nice long drive to remind me that buying plane tickets can be a good thing.
So much happened, and I don't feel like writing a book on it, but I am going to put the highlights of this trip down.
My cousin Nicole and I left at 2:00 on Friday. It was pretty non-eventful, with great conversation that made the ride go much faster and smoother. Midway into the trip we drove into a gorgeous rest stop and downed two beers each to balance out all of the energy drinks we had been guzzling.
Got into Vegas around 8:30 to stop at my cousin Kurt's house. I hadn't seen him in years. He has the cutest wife named Elizabeth and an equally cute little boy named Austin. Other cousins Suzanne and Michele were there as well. We had a good dinner and sat down for reminiscent times.
After that we followed Michele and Suzanne to their place. Michele took Nicole and I out to a casino sans strip. You will soon find that people who live in Vegas never want to go to the strip, it has become old and tedious. We had some of the best margaritas and bloody marys I have had in my life. I got drunk really fast, and we left around midnight.
Michele got more beer. Her, Nicole, and I sat on her back balcony having some of the best conversation in the world. These girls are related to me but I feel almost like they are these intelligent strong deities. I feel like I should be paying for their company. Four o'clock was bedtime.
Wake up at ten on Saturday hungover. Vegas will do that to you. You don't even have to be on the strip to want to be drunk or in some sort of party mode.
Suzanne agreed to drive us to California which was very nice of her considering Nicole and I would have been taking baseball bats to cars by the end of this trip if we had to drive them anymore.
We got into Redondo Beach at 5:00 and right over to my cousin Charise's house. Her boys Cody and Colton are eight now, I swear every time I see them they have gotten bigger and smarter. I all of the sudden feel like the old crazy cousin that wants to pinch their cheeks and kiss them all over. If I did that I am sure I would get a nice shin kicking!
Charise took us to see this view of the ocean that was indescribable. I guess anyone's first view of the ocean is just that though. It is so infinite.
Then we went to Joe's Crab Shack. Travel weary, I couldn't believe there were so many damn birthdays in one day and Joe's likes to let you know it with dancing, singing and strobe lights that were seconds away from giving me a seizure. At least the food and company made it worth it.
Sunday, Nicole and I decided to hit up the beach. It was Labor Day Weekend so there was a market going on. Everyone in California seems pretty casual, walking around in their bathing suits, no need for makeup. I thought it would be Silicone Valley of the Scary Barbie Dolls, but even people with cellulite let it all hang out.
It was 72 and a bit overcast and I took a big step in my life and gasp!!! I wore a bikini top and laid in the sun. It was euphoric. I could see now why people get suckered down there.
We walked out to the ocean and I tentatively put my feet in and stood there for a few moments before we left the beach.
Remember when I said people in Cali were laid back? Well I was wrong in a way. Nicole and I stood by a building having a cigarette, minding our own business when this woman shouted "Excuse me! Excuse me!" Instinct told me she wanted a cigarette to because that is what always happens in Utah, so as I was acknowledging her and getting ready to reach into my purse, I see this blonde the weight just melted off after I had the baby woman with her husband and child.
"Can you two please not smoke?" she said. "I have my child out here." She was literally 25 feet away from us. Talk about ownership of the air. Californians think they do. We kindly obliged and went to stand by the dumpsters like the trash we were. Muttering about how her baby was just going to get cancer anyway because of all the smog.
After showering at Charise's and having a nice dinner she cooked for us we hit up tourist trap Hollywood. It is amazing, the history of that place. But it is so dirty and sketchy out there, that you couldn't pay me to live there.
I went to Sephora and dropped $70 just like that. It was getting dark and we decided to head home. All the crazies come skittering out of the woodwork about then. We walked by a gang of guys yelling at a person with his girlfriend in front of us saying "What you lookin' at Motherfucker? Huh? Huh? Look again I bust a cap in you." Sure enough the dumbass kept looking as one of the men lifted his shirt to reveal a gun. The guy ducked into the Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum only to be followed by them. Wow, if I ever go down, I don't want it to be because I looked at someone.
After Hollywood, we got back to Redondo and had a nice sit down at Bucca De Beppo. I am amazed at what one glass of wine can do to a person.
Nicole, Suzanne, and I headed to our hotel room we were staying in that night, but first stopped off at the Drugstore to get more drinks. Hey, if one glass of wine can make me feel that good what can half a bottle do for me?
As Suzanne headed down for a slumber, Nicole and I sat outside finishing the wine. In our drunken excitement at two in the morning we decided to walk down to the beach.
We passed a bar that was having last call. I always forget about the free pouring that goes on out of state so our drinks were all man. I think I would have been a lot different had I just stuck to the wine.
Bar closed, we walked to the ocean, first thing we do? Run in. The water was warm. The moon was out and the waves were crashing down like mad. After we got our clothes soaked, I decided to put my pants and shirt with my purse on the beach. We laid in the ocean for what had to be more than an hour. It was unlike any experience I have ever really had.
After a while we stumbled out to make our arduous journey home. I could not, for the life of me, find my pants. The ocean must have eaten them. Luckily I had a long sweater, but somehow managed to also lose my tank top in the process. So I am walking down the street at four in the morning with no shirt or pants with a long sweater.
Some guy stopped Nicole and I and shouted "Hey! Do you know how to get to this or that place or the other?" We told him we weren't from there and he almost acted offended that we couldn't help. He said he was from Arizona and his buddies ditched him and he was lost. I said "Look on the bright side, it could always be worse. YOU COULD BE MISSING YOUR PANTS!!!!"
We of course got lost and had to call Anthony, Charise's husband at four in the morning to come get us. He later told Charise that we looked like a bunch of hobos.
Nicole and I stumbled into bed talking pirate talk and how the ocean stole my sea legs with an occasional drunken yarrr yarrr coming out of our mouths.
Waking up the next day reminded me why I never drink wine. I was covered head to toe to crevice to orifice to crack in sand. I cannot believe I slept like that. I think I had swallowed way too much sea water the night before.
In a desperate attempt to stave off any impending doom, I drank some Immodium and had some breakfast with Suzanne, Charise and Nicole.
After getting the hell beat out of me, it was time to leave California. Suzanne, Nic and I packed up and took off.
We reached Vegas around four, hit with the reality that we still had a seven hour drive ahead of us.
We got a nice dinner of burger and fries and made our way out around 5:30. This was exhausting.
Mid way through getting home the saltwater, and all the bad food I had eaten began its course of revenge on me. Poor Nicole was stopping at every other rest stop for me which I am sure delayed our trip home by a good hour. No amount of Immodium was going to stop my stomach's protest at this point.
I took over the driving and lasted maybe an hour before I started to hallucinate and things started blurring together. Some guy had also pulled so close behind me that it was unnerving because I was going about 90 and that just wasn't good enough for him so had to start flashing his brights at me. Bit of advice for you angry drivers, don't flash your brights at a night blind person it makes it worse. I was quickly gaining on a semi too that was going far slower. The asshole passed me and pulled up in front of me. Surprise, he was behind the semi that was going slower than I and he happened to be boxed in. Nicole and I decided it was time to be funny, so I pulled up behind that guy as close as I could and started to flash my brights at him repeatedly. He couldn't do anything or go anywhere, so we had a good tired laugh over that.
After violating every bathroom from Vegas on up to Utah, we were finally home.
I ran inside put my stuff away and passed out.
I had to work the next day at 9:30 but that is a whole other story.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Wax On Wax Not Off
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
In this modern day of technological advancements and scientific marvels, I would figure there would be better methods for hair removal. I, for one, hate the whole process.
So why do you continue to torment yourself while doing it? You might say. Well, since I don't hug trees or participate in enough protests, it is just something that I feel more comfortable without on my body.
Over the years, I have experimented with several methods to no successful avail. Having sensitive skin, not a lot of things take to right to it without attacking.
I remember buying Nair, really excited about the fact that as my hair dissolved down to the roots that I would have shiny tan legs like those women who wore short shorts on the commercials. I ended up instead with a giant flesh eating rash on each of my legs, which then resulted in a lot of tears streaming down my face.
Razors. They are another shaving foe to contend with. The effect that you get from a razor doesn't last long enough at all. If I catch even the slightest cool of a breeze, hair starts prickling back out of my body. There is also no way to describe the feeling that you get when you are in the tub running a razor up your shin and out of nowhere a big chunk of flesh comes up with it. You stare down at your leg, which now resembles a potato that is being peeled. A very bloody, screaming potato.
Electrolysis is next. Since I work at a call center who gives me raises that are, say, twenty two cents a year, I cannot afford the luxury of this permanent hair removal. I suppose I could stop paying my rent for a few months, but I don't think my landlord cares whether or not I have hair on my body. So until the day my sugar daddy comes running up to me, insisting to pay for this, electrolysis is out of the question.
Finally, there is waxing. A great concept. Rips the hair out, you are baby smooth for a good six weeks or so. This is something you can pay someone to do, or you can go to a store, buy your own, and do it yourself. Well since I dread going to the doctor once a year to pull down my pants and spread my legs, it is pretty much out of the question that I am going to someone I don't know at all to rip hair out of my crotch region. So I buy my own wax.
It is never as perfect and easy as it seems though. Wax is so messy. You have to heat it and mix it up until it reaches the perfect consistency. One time, I went to pull it out of the microwave and two runny droplets fell onto my unsuspecting fingers. It was so hot that when I went to pull the wax off of my skin, the flesh came right off with it. Then I had to go the next few weeks explaining to everyone how this happened.
So, a week ago, I made my way to the beauty supply store and dropped twenty dollars on a wax kit. Yes, that is how much you have to pay to get everything for the most part. Don't forget razors, shaving gel, after shave lotion, all this crap that you have to buy for hair upkeep, of all things.
Usually with the wax I buy, you heat up, put it on your skin, wait for it to dry, yank, and it comes right off.
I pulled out my new kit to inspect what a potentially great new product I may have in my hands. I didn't notice this before but this was honey wax. You put it on your skin, take a cloth, push it down, and yank. This new stuff was also very very sticky.
I microwaved it, did a test strip on the back of my wrist to make sure it wasn't too hot. Satisfied that I wasn't going to burn the hell out of myself, I got out a dollop and tried it on my upper thigh.
I pushed the cloth strip down and proceeded to pull it off my skin. Half of the wax came off of that area. I had to try and get the rest to come off ,so three tries later I had finally succeeded.
Oh, and yes, this was extremely painful. Just in case everyone isn't aware, you are not supposed to wax the same area twice. It pulls the blood vessels up to the surface of your skin and creates bruises. So great, my upper thigh was throbbing in pain, and bruised.
The cloth strips were shedding into little lint pieces as well and embedding themselves into the wax.
I got another applicator and a gob of wax fell straight onto my bathroom rug. I promptly stepped right into it. Anything that was on my bathroom floor starts to adhere to my foot. Dirt, hair, an old wrapper.
I was also trying to get all of this done before the wax cooled. Another gob fell off and onto my favorite towel.
I felt completely sticky and disgusting, attempted a few more spots before giving up in defeat.
Oh and that test patch I did on the back of my wrist? It is now a giant red mark from when I had to try and get all of it off by scrubbing and picking at it.
Maybe I am just not quite getting it. I mean the pros that do this for people all the time don't seem to have a problem. Maybe that girl in the beauty salon could do a better job. Is it worth it though?
That, I am not sure as of yet. Maybe I should just start hugging trees.
Now: August 21, 2010
All I can say is thank you Jesus for advances in technology that were a few years away. I totally financed laser hair removal like the American consumer I am, and I slapped $1000 on a credit card to get laser hair removal. I later went on and paid another $300 to get my underarms done, that's how much I loved it.
The laser hair removal process is embarrassing, funny, and painful all at the same time, there's another blog that will explain that years on down the road. I rationalized this by figuring in the cost and time that I spent with all this wax, not to mention impending possible emergency room visits given the chance that I sealed my vagina shut with honey wax.
In this modern day of technological advancements and scientific marvels, I would figure there would be better methods for hair removal. I, for one, hate the whole process.
So why do you continue to torment yourself while doing it? You might say. Well, since I don't hug trees or participate in enough protests, it is just something that I feel more comfortable without on my body.
Over the years, I have experimented with several methods to no successful avail. Having sensitive skin, not a lot of things take to right to it without attacking.
I remember buying Nair, really excited about the fact that as my hair dissolved down to the roots that I would have shiny tan legs like those women who wore short shorts on the commercials. I ended up instead with a giant flesh eating rash on each of my legs, which then resulted in a lot of tears streaming down my face.
Razors. They are another shaving foe to contend with. The effect that you get from a razor doesn't last long enough at all. If I catch even the slightest cool of a breeze, hair starts prickling back out of my body. There is also no way to describe the feeling that you get when you are in the tub running a razor up your shin and out of nowhere a big chunk of flesh comes up with it. You stare down at your leg, which now resembles a potato that is being peeled. A very bloody, screaming potato.
Electrolysis is next. Since I work at a call center who gives me raises that are, say, twenty two cents a year, I cannot afford the luxury of this permanent hair removal. I suppose I could stop paying my rent for a few months, but I don't think my landlord cares whether or not I have hair on my body. So until the day my sugar daddy comes running up to me, insisting to pay for this, electrolysis is out of the question.
Finally, there is waxing. A great concept. Rips the hair out, you are baby smooth for a good six weeks or so. This is something you can pay someone to do, or you can go to a store, buy your own, and do it yourself. Well since I dread going to the doctor once a year to pull down my pants and spread my legs, it is pretty much out of the question that I am going to someone I don't know at all to rip hair out of my crotch region. So I buy my own wax.
It is never as perfect and easy as it seems though. Wax is so messy. You have to heat it and mix it up until it reaches the perfect consistency. One time, I went to pull it out of the microwave and two runny droplets fell onto my unsuspecting fingers. It was so hot that when I went to pull the wax off of my skin, the flesh came right off with it. Then I had to go the next few weeks explaining to everyone how this happened.
So, a week ago, I made my way to the beauty supply store and dropped twenty dollars on a wax kit. Yes, that is how much you have to pay to get everything for the most part. Don't forget razors, shaving gel, after shave lotion, all this crap that you have to buy for hair upkeep, of all things.
Usually with the wax I buy, you heat up, put it on your skin, wait for it to dry, yank, and it comes right off.
I pulled out my new kit to inspect what a potentially great new product I may have in my hands. I didn't notice this before but this was honey wax. You put it on your skin, take a cloth, push it down, and yank. This new stuff was also very very sticky.
I microwaved it, did a test strip on the back of my wrist to make sure it wasn't too hot. Satisfied that I wasn't going to burn the hell out of myself, I got out a dollop and tried it on my upper thigh.
I pushed the cloth strip down and proceeded to pull it off my skin. Half of the wax came off of that area. I had to try and get the rest to come off ,so three tries later I had finally succeeded.
Oh, and yes, this was extremely painful. Just in case everyone isn't aware, you are not supposed to wax the same area twice. It pulls the blood vessels up to the surface of your skin and creates bruises. So great, my upper thigh was throbbing in pain, and bruised.
The cloth strips were shedding into little lint pieces as well and embedding themselves into the wax.
I got another applicator and a gob of wax fell straight onto my bathroom rug. I promptly stepped right into it. Anything that was on my bathroom floor starts to adhere to my foot. Dirt, hair, an old wrapper.
I was also trying to get all of this done before the wax cooled. Another gob fell off and onto my favorite towel.
I felt completely sticky and disgusting, attempted a few more spots before giving up in defeat.
Oh and that test patch I did on the back of my wrist? It is now a giant red mark from when I had to try and get all of it off by scrubbing and picking at it.
Maybe I am just not quite getting it. I mean the pros that do this for people all the time don't seem to have a problem. Maybe that girl in the beauty salon could do a better job. Is it worth it though?
That, I am not sure as of yet. Maybe I should just start hugging trees.
Now: August 21, 2010
All I can say is thank you Jesus for advances in technology that were a few years away. I totally financed laser hair removal like the American consumer I am, and I slapped $1000 on a credit card to get laser hair removal. I later went on and paid another $300 to get my underarms done, that's how much I loved it.
The laser hair removal process is embarrassing, funny, and painful all at the same time, there's another blog that will explain that years on down the road. I rationalized this by figuring in the cost and time that I spent with all this wax, not to mention impending possible emergency room visits given the chance that I sealed my vagina shut with honey wax.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Saving Face
Another oldie. Oldy? Moldy.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Saving Face
So I have had a love of makeup for as long as I can recall. I think my earliest memory would be stealing my mother's blue mascara from her and learning how to apply it in the second grade. That is when it began. I have been wearing some form of makeup since about the second grade.
I don't wear it because I think I look ugly without makeup, or to make men think that I look better. I do think makeup definitely has enhancing qualities to the face and it can bring out features on somebody with it on. But I don't NEED it, I just enjoy the ritual of putting it on, seeing what I can do different with my face that day, trying to make my eyes look more blue or gray, pronouncing my cheeks or putting on some bright red lipstick to make my lips stand out, matching my eyeshadow to my clothing. It is almost like art for me. Anybody that knows me, knows I wear a lot of makeup. Some days I do it up just right, some days it is borderline ridiculous. Other times it is hardly any at all.
So, in with loving makeup, which may seem materialistic or vain, but if you read the above paragraphs it really isn't, I have to purchase it. I buy all sorts of makeup. I buy the cheap stuff, the medium price, the overpriced, and the overly super inflated ridiculously priced. When you go to Wal-Mart to buy one dollar eyeliner, you really don't put a lot of thought into it, you put it in the basket, hope it looks good, if not, oh well you are out a dollar. Sometimes after working at the bar I will stop off at Wal-Greens to pick up something I need and get sucked into the makeup aisles. I will be there for a half hour picking one or two new eyeshadows out or a foundation I have been wanting to try.
For the most part, I don't need to go to the makeup counters, you can find things that are comparable at the cheaper places. But every once in awhile, flipping through a magazine some new shiny promising product will catch my impressionable eye and I have to have it, got to try it out, need it now I don't care if it is just sparkly mascara & and it is $30 I am getting it right after work!
Then comes the dilemma of actually hitting up a, shudder, counter. I am not being paranoid or making any of this up. Dealing with the bitch at the counter. Countless times I have been to makeup counters without getting any help whatsoever, I have been completely brushed off. Once again, anybody who knows me will tell you that on a given day I am one to drop $100 on an eyeshadow,some lipstick and some blush. These girls are making commission, I assume, so I guess it makes me feel even worse when they don't pounce on me and sink their talons right in.
Granted I don't look like I am loaded by any means. Actually I am not loaded by any means. But I am horrible with money and when I get extra money there are about three things I am more than likely to spend it on even over groceries. Music, makeup, & clothing. I once went to Vegas with my friends with no intent to gamble. I knew there was a Sephora and it had every kind of makeup imaginable all wrapped into one big giant store. I went to Vegas to blow money in that one store. I believe the first day in there I spent $160. I went back the second day and spent $50.
So comes the cliche term, don't judge a book by its cover.
I made my way down to Cottonwood Mall on Friday to return a skirt I had bought that was too big (suprise!) and a shirt I had purchased months before that I never wore. I had the receipt for the skirt but not for the shirt. I returned the skirt and got money back. For the shirt, I got about $30 in store credit. I couldn't find any clothing so I figured I hadn't bought any nice makeup in awhile and I would make my way down to the counters.
I browsed around for awhile, not seeing anything that quite caught my eye. I usually don't buy from the Clinique counter but they have an overpriced $12 mascara that I love but haven't been able to afford in awhile. Also they had some new blush and eyeliners out that I was quite taken to. I stood there for a good five minutes browsing waiting for the lady that was so obviously behind the counter to help me.
She looked like she was in her 50's, blonde dyed hair, botoxed a bit that was probably in need of a touchup soon, smart looking suit on. Completely ignoring me. I tried a few times to make eye contact with her at no avail.
Bored, I decided maybe I would go browse a couple more counters. Nothing that I really wanted.
I ambled back to the Clinique counter wondering if maybe my BRIGHT FUCKING PINK HAIR hadn't quite caught her attention the first time. Well apparantly it hadn't the second time as well.
I stood there not looking at anything, kind of like when you set down your menu at a restaurant to let the waitress let you know that you are ready? Nothing.
A couple in their 30's walked up with a small child that looked maybe three. They were literally standing there for about one minute when the woman rushed over to them and asked if she could help them. They weren't quite sure of exactly what they wanted, so she coached them through what each item was, what it did, how much it cost.
Great. Well, maybe they were going to spend more money then myself. I should have just up and left by this time, but it was almost to where I wanted to make this woman help me at this point.
The couple made their purchase which came to $30, the same amount I was about to spend.
After they left, it took a good two or three minutes of me giving her a dirty look to come help me.
"Can I help you?" she asked wanely. "Yes, I would like some of this new blush you have here." "Sorry, we are sold out of that." "Ok," I said "I would like some of the High Impact Mascara in black please." She went and grabbed it and didn't politely ask if there was anything else she could help me with. Instead, she said "What else do you want?" "Well, I would like to know if you have anything comparable to that blush you are sold out of, you know something light and shimmery?" "All of our colors are on the makeup wall, you can go look at those if you want." Wow! what sales skills!!! What a great tactic! Go do it yourself if you want to find it. Nevermind. "Ok?" I said "Can I actually just get this new eyeliner you have?" She came back after a minute of rooting around and said "Sorry, sold out." Then she just stared at me. "Alright,can I get it in black?" I queried. She went and grabbed it in black.
At this point I was really unsure of what to do. Should I make her ring it up and then I pay for it? Then wait about five minutes, come back and say "You know what? You are a bitch and I don't want you to get commission for any of this, could you please just return all of this? Thanks!"
As she coldly rang up my purchases, which came to, guess what? $30, the same that couple just spent. I had my gift card in my hand, that I got for store credit and she looked at me and said "Swipe your card." I said "I can't swipe my card, it is a gift card." So she takes it, finishes with my purchases and mumbles a thank you.
What did I do? Nothing. I took my shit, and her shit and got out of there. What does one do in a situation like that?
At least I got my free gift.
Now. August 19, 2010
Now that I am all old (30 gasp) My skin has gone through second puberty. It sucks. So now I feel like I need to wear some form of makeup every day. It sucks even more balls that I have to do that.
But now that I am all old, wrinkles and weird things happen to my skin. I wake up in the morning and look in the mirror, and I wonder who the hell is looking back at me. I am in school, so I don't sleep. So here comes the giant bags. I work under fluorescent lighting all day at work. That gave me a complex so terrible that I was convinced I needed Botox forever. I will hold off another five years when I have earned my cougar merit badge.
I still spend shitloads of money on the stuff though. I still flip through the magazines and I think, "If I own this one thing, it is going to change my life" It hasn't so far, but I haven't learned so far either.
We have a Sephora in Utah now. I am embarrassed to say that I waited in line on opening day for 1.5 HOURS to get in and peruse. I am not embarrassed to say that I wasn't aware that it was opening day but I felt since I had made my way down there I felt some sort of obligation to stand in line. Plus, I was hoping for free shit. I got a free tote for waiting all that time. Shit indeed.
I'm no longer afraid of makeup counters. Of all places to thank, I have the Chanel makeup counter. This wonderful woman there did my friend's makeup for her wedding and mine as well. She was quirky, older, sweet. She loved us. She loved that we were different than the usual people she got, and that she got to have fun with our makeup. Her name was Taylor and she was so very New York. As she applied my makeup, she would tell me how she goes to other Chanel stores to see how the employees treat her. She said no matter what you look like, they should never judge and always be willing to help. She has suckered me into spending $45 on blushes, $35 on lipsticks, $30 on eyeliners. Granted Chanel is decadently splurgalicious, but every penny is worth it when you get someone like that.
I have toned down my makeup over the years. Big time. No more glitter eyeliner, no more clown cheeks, and green eyeshadows. I look like I'm trying too hard now when I do that, and I like to look unnaturally natural now. Gone is the pink hair, and the juniors clothing that I liked to purchase at Hot Topic. My skirts now ALMOST hit my knees.
Though I may look about 10% classier, I haven't started acting it.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Saving Face
So I have had a love of makeup for as long as I can recall. I think my earliest memory would be stealing my mother's blue mascara from her and learning how to apply it in the second grade. That is when it began. I have been wearing some form of makeup since about the second grade.
I don't wear it because I think I look ugly without makeup, or to make men think that I look better. I do think makeup definitely has enhancing qualities to the face and it can bring out features on somebody with it on. But I don't NEED it, I just enjoy the ritual of putting it on, seeing what I can do different with my face that day, trying to make my eyes look more blue or gray, pronouncing my cheeks or putting on some bright red lipstick to make my lips stand out, matching my eyeshadow to my clothing. It is almost like art for me. Anybody that knows me, knows I wear a lot of makeup. Some days I do it up just right, some days it is borderline ridiculous. Other times it is hardly any at all.
So, in with loving makeup, which may seem materialistic or vain, but if you read the above paragraphs it really isn't, I have to purchase it. I buy all sorts of makeup. I buy the cheap stuff, the medium price, the overpriced, and the overly super inflated ridiculously priced. When you go to Wal-Mart to buy one dollar eyeliner, you really don't put a lot of thought into it, you put it in the basket, hope it looks good, if not, oh well you are out a dollar. Sometimes after working at the bar I will stop off at Wal-Greens to pick up something I need and get sucked into the makeup aisles. I will be there for a half hour picking one or two new eyeshadows out or a foundation I have been wanting to try.
For the most part, I don't need to go to the makeup counters, you can find things that are comparable at the cheaper places. But every once in awhile, flipping through a magazine some new shiny promising product will catch my impressionable eye and I have to have it, got to try it out, need it now I don't care if it is just sparkly mascara & and it is $30 I am getting it right after work!
Then comes the dilemma of actually hitting up a, shudder, counter. I am not being paranoid or making any of this up. Dealing with the bitch at the counter. Countless times I have been to makeup counters without getting any help whatsoever, I have been completely brushed off. Once again, anybody who knows me will tell you that on a given day I am one to drop $100 on an eyeshadow,some lipstick and some blush. These girls are making commission, I assume, so I guess it makes me feel even worse when they don't pounce on me and sink their talons right in.
Granted I don't look like I am loaded by any means. Actually I am not loaded by any means. But I am horrible with money and when I get extra money there are about three things I am more than likely to spend it on even over groceries. Music, makeup, & clothing. I once went to Vegas with my friends with no intent to gamble. I knew there was a Sephora and it had every kind of makeup imaginable all wrapped into one big giant store. I went to Vegas to blow money in that one store. I believe the first day in there I spent $160. I went back the second day and spent $50.
So comes the cliche term, don't judge a book by its cover.
I made my way down to Cottonwood Mall on Friday to return a skirt I had bought that was too big (suprise!) and a shirt I had purchased months before that I never wore. I had the receipt for the skirt but not for the shirt. I returned the skirt and got money back. For the shirt, I got about $30 in store credit. I couldn't find any clothing so I figured I hadn't bought any nice makeup in awhile and I would make my way down to the counters.
I browsed around for awhile, not seeing anything that quite caught my eye. I usually don't buy from the Clinique counter but they have an overpriced $12 mascara that I love but haven't been able to afford in awhile. Also they had some new blush and eyeliners out that I was quite taken to. I stood there for a good five minutes browsing waiting for the lady that was so obviously behind the counter to help me.
She looked like she was in her 50's, blonde dyed hair, botoxed a bit that was probably in need of a touchup soon, smart looking suit on. Completely ignoring me. I tried a few times to make eye contact with her at no avail.
Bored, I decided maybe I would go browse a couple more counters. Nothing that I really wanted.
I ambled back to the Clinique counter wondering if maybe my BRIGHT FUCKING PINK HAIR hadn't quite caught her attention the first time. Well apparantly it hadn't the second time as well.
I stood there not looking at anything, kind of like when you set down your menu at a restaurant to let the waitress let you know that you are ready? Nothing.
A couple in their 30's walked up with a small child that looked maybe three. They were literally standing there for about one minute when the woman rushed over to them and asked if she could help them. They weren't quite sure of exactly what they wanted, so she coached them through what each item was, what it did, how much it cost.
Great. Well, maybe they were going to spend more money then myself. I should have just up and left by this time, but it was almost to where I wanted to make this woman help me at this point.
The couple made their purchase which came to $30, the same amount I was about to spend.
After they left, it took a good two or three minutes of me giving her a dirty look to come help me.
"Can I help you?" she asked wanely. "Yes, I would like some of this new blush you have here." "Sorry, we are sold out of that." "Ok," I said "I would like some of the High Impact Mascara in black please." She went and grabbed it and didn't politely ask if there was anything else she could help me with. Instead, she said "What else do you want?" "Well, I would like to know if you have anything comparable to that blush you are sold out of, you know something light and shimmery?" "All of our colors are on the makeup wall, you can go look at those if you want." Wow! what sales skills!!! What a great tactic! Go do it yourself if you want to find it. Nevermind. "Ok?" I said "Can I actually just get this new eyeliner you have?" She came back after a minute of rooting around and said "Sorry, sold out." Then she just stared at me. "Alright,can I get it in black?" I queried. She went and grabbed it in black.
At this point I was really unsure of what to do. Should I make her ring it up and then I pay for it? Then wait about five minutes, come back and say "You know what? You are a bitch and I don't want you to get commission for any of this, could you please just return all of this? Thanks!"
As she coldly rang up my purchases, which came to, guess what? $30, the same that couple just spent. I had my gift card in my hand, that I got for store credit and she looked at me and said "Swipe your card." I said "I can't swipe my card, it is a gift card." So she takes it, finishes with my purchases and mumbles a thank you.
What did I do? Nothing. I took my shit, and her shit and got out of there. What does one do in a situation like that?
At least I got my free gift.
Now. August 19, 2010
Now that I am all old (30 gasp) My skin has gone through second puberty. It sucks. So now I feel like I need to wear some form of makeup every day. It sucks even more balls that I have to do that.
But now that I am all old, wrinkles and weird things happen to my skin. I wake up in the morning and look in the mirror, and I wonder who the hell is looking back at me. I am in school, so I don't sleep. So here comes the giant bags. I work under fluorescent lighting all day at work. That gave me a complex so terrible that I was convinced I needed Botox forever. I will hold off another five years when I have earned my cougar merit badge.
I still spend shitloads of money on the stuff though. I still flip through the magazines and I think, "If I own this one thing, it is going to change my life" It hasn't so far, but I haven't learned so far either.
We have a Sephora in Utah now. I am embarrassed to say that I waited in line on opening day for 1.5 HOURS to get in and peruse. I am not embarrassed to say that I wasn't aware that it was opening day but I felt since I had made my way down there I felt some sort of obligation to stand in line. Plus, I was hoping for free shit. I got a free tote for waiting all that time. Shit indeed.
I'm no longer afraid of makeup counters. Of all places to thank, I have the Chanel makeup counter. This wonderful woman there did my friend's makeup for her wedding and mine as well. She was quirky, older, sweet. She loved us. She loved that we were different than the usual people she got, and that she got to have fun with our makeup. Her name was Taylor and she was so very New York. As she applied my makeup, she would tell me how she goes to other Chanel stores to see how the employees treat her. She said no matter what you look like, they should never judge and always be willing to help. She has suckered me into spending $45 on blushes, $35 on lipsticks, $30 on eyeliners. Granted Chanel is decadently splurgalicious, but every penny is worth it when you get someone like that.
I have toned down my makeup over the years. Big time. No more glitter eyeliner, no more clown cheeks, and green eyeshadows. I look like I'm trying too hard now when I do that, and I like to look unnaturally natural now. Gone is the pink hair, and the juniors clothing that I liked to purchase at Hot Topic. My skirts now ALMOST hit my knees.
Though I may look about 10% classier, I haven't started acting it.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Funstalgic
Well I haven't deleted my stupid Myspace account because I like being spammed. Okay, maybe it is because I have 330-some odd blogs just hanging out on there being all ignored by me and I have this whole journalistic teenage notion that I can't erase them lest I forget. The next probably 300-some odd blogs on this page are going to be just those so I can close my "I'm Tom and I am billionaire for running what is now all spam" site account.Plus I just don't blog anymore. I think school is stealing my thoughts. Here we go.
I'm Waiting To Be Impressed- July 20th 2005
First of all let me preface this the way somebody would before they get ready to tell a joke that is dead baby or racist:
I am not perfect in any way shape or form, these are merely opinions and things that I could probably stand to work on a little more every day in my life. I am not telling anyone what to do or how to act according to my novice observations.
I always was very paranoid what people thought about me. Scared that they wouldn't like me, that I would or that I did say something completely and utterly idiotic out of nervousness or social retardation. It was a deep panic I would feel when I would meet somebody, my heart would palpitate and I would stutter over my words and try to say all the right things and laugh at the right times. If these people that I wanted to impress would say things that were rude or judgmental, I would go along with it as well for fear that I would not be accepted. I also did it because I felt like I had no self worth unless I could think of people in terms of beneath me. In the back of my head I always knew a lot of these people that I would consider friends were saying the same things about me that we would talk about to smear other people's characters. The difference between me then and me now: I was ages 13-15 when I did all of this.
Not that I have ever quite gotten rid of my social anxiety or the need to feel accepted by everyone around me, but it is not a hunger or intense paranoia that I feel about it. Not everyone is going to like me. Same as I with people in general. It is human nature. Plain. Simple.
I am still now fascinated by the sociological interaction that human beings will have when they are all put together and decide to gang up on a person or people. A witch hunt or wolf mentality, I would say. I would like to say that I love and accept everyone and be sincere about it but a part of me will always have a love/hate relationship with humanity. I am not the type of person who will give into phony behavior and try to say the right things at the right times, try to run someone's name into the ground just because I merely dislike them. It is too much energy that gets wasted on hate when it could be used toward more productive tasks such as making someone else's life better. I know it is much easier to judge someone, to be petulant, to hate something all because you don't understand it than it is to take the time and effort out of your life to try and look at someone as an extension of yourself and not a thing that you are competing with to gain a false sense of gratification.
What have you done today to assist humanity? What can you do to assist humanity? Really it isn't that difficult of a concept to grasp. If you could do things effortlessly and selflessly for others and expect nothing in return. Learn not to be disappointed, or angry when someone "fucks you over" I think we as a hoi polloi could go along our days as much more self assured, happier, secure group.
I try to look at my intent behind wanting to or saying something about somebody behind their backs. Is it true? Would I say it to their face? Do I really mean or believe that? Am I just saying this to make myself look or feel better?
I have never wanted to be classified as a phony or someone that tries to dupe people into thinking I am something that I am not, which in turn, could make me an unlikable person or even come off as strange.
I am at the point in my life where I can take accountability for my actions. I could make an itemized list of every choice that I have made that has led me up where I am right now accounting for the very second that I am writing this. It is choice theory, and the way you choose to live, treat others and react to situations is all solely based on you. Not others.
So in an ideal world I want people to stop whining and boobing about how fucking miserable their life is because of what a person did to them or their shitty upbringing and take some accountability to realize you are who you are based on yourself. These are all things that have happened because you chose to react to them the way you did and you are accountable for your coping abilities in that should not be someone else's fault.
I used to blame a lot of my failures and discontent on other people. I was angry at my parents,friends,enemies,strangers who cut me off, someone who talked behind my back for a long time because I thought it was their fault I ended up the way I was. I have a lot to thank them for. They gave me the capacity to love, to read, write, be passionate about learning, empathy, grace, not being selfish. And it isn't because they looked at me and said "LOVE, READ WRITE, LEARN." It all is based on the way I look back situations in my life and think about what I learned off all that I considered a bad time or even a good time for that matter.
So in all this incoherent babbling, what I am really trying to say is I am waiting to be impressed. I am waiting to find people that aren't so fucking petty and fake in their daily life that they have to meddle in other people's affairs just to give themselves a temporary lift. I want to see grownups acting like grownups without being smug or pompous about it.
Don't get me wrong I have a small handful of people in my life and I love them so much for all their good qualities. These will be people whom I plan on keeping with me forever. As for those of you that don't enhance my life, or want to be nice to my face but turn around and whisper about something I did twenty years or minutes ago that bothered you, go fuck yourselves. You are merely illusions of human beings and I don't have time to waste my time on what I don't even consider real.
Today: August 16. 2010
As I read back on that, I think not much has changed. I am still socially awkward. I have to have at least three drinks in me before the thought of being in a public setting doesn't set me on edge. The comfort of talking to strangers is probably never something I will possess, yet when approached, I would like to think that I am open, honest, likable. I would like to think now though, that I may say or do things that I consider embarrassing, I have overcome being gripped with a paralysis of paranoia. I am able to shake it off and laugh now, and I love that. I do what I can to try and make this world a happier place. Even in my negativity, I try to make everything funny. That's how I cope with being a generally awkward human being, and it has gotten me by thus far.
You know what though, I have talked mad shit. I can't help it. I am fascinated by people and the things they say and do. When I make fun though, it is never out of malice. And now if I ever get busted I am willing to own up to it. Confrontation was never my forte, but now I have to say that it is. Sure I get shaky and trip over my words when I am getting yelled at. But it's a far cry from just running away like I used to. I have become a more genuinely forgiving person too. I think I am just too alzheimered out to stay mad at anyone or anything for longer than one day. Thank you goldfish brain, you are serving me well. I feel anymore lately, I don't have time for agonizing over what the world thinks about me, but there is still that tiny little piece of me that wants to be liked by everyone. Thanks nature, or nacha!
I'm Waiting To Be Impressed- July 20th 2005
First of all let me preface this the way somebody would before they get ready to tell a joke that is dead baby or racist:
I am not perfect in any way shape or form, these are merely opinions and things that I could probably stand to work on a little more every day in my life. I am not telling anyone what to do or how to act according to my novice observations.
I always was very paranoid what people thought about me. Scared that they wouldn't like me, that I would or that I did say something completely and utterly idiotic out of nervousness or social retardation. It was a deep panic I would feel when I would meet somebody, my heart would palpitate and I would stutter over my words and try to say all the right things and laugh at the right times. If these people that I wanted to impress would say things that were rude or judgmental, I would go along with it as well for fear that I would not be accepted. I also did it because I felt like I had no self worth unless I could think of people in terms of beneath me. In the back of my head I always knew a lot of these people that I would consider friends were saying the same things about me that we would talk about to smear other people's characters. The difference between me then and me now: I was ages 13-15 when I did all of this.
Not that I have ever quite gotten rid of my social anxiety or the need to feel accepted by everyone around me, but it is not a hunger or intense paranoia that I feel about it. Not everyone is going to like me. Same as I with people in general. It is human nature. Plain. Simple.
I am still now fascinated by the sociological interaction that human beings will have when they are all put together and decide to gang up on a person or people. A witch hunt or wolf mentality, I would say. I would like to say that I love and accept everyone and be sincere about it but a part of me will always have a love/hate relationship with humanity. I am not the type of person who will give into phony behavior and try to say the right things at the right times, try to run someone's name into the ground just because I merely dislike them. It is too much energy that gets wasted on hate when it could be used toward more productive tasks such as making someone else's life better. I know it is much easier to judge someone, to be petulant, to hate something all because you don't understand it than it is to take the time and effort out of your life to try and look at someone as an extension of yourself and not a thing that you are competing with to gain a false sense of gratification.
What have you done today to assist humanity? What can you do to assist humanity? Really it isn't that difficult of a concept to grasp. If you could do things effortlessly and selflessly for others and expect nothing in return. Learn not to be disappointed, or angry when someone "fucks you over" I think we as a hoi polloi could go along our days as much more self assured, happier, secure group.
I try to look at my intent behind wanting to or saying something about somebody behind their backs. Is it true? Would I say it to their face? Do I really mean or believe that? Am I just saying this to make myself look or feel better?
I have never wanted to be classified as a phony or someone that tries to dupe people into thinking I am something that I am not, which in turn, could make me an unlikable person or even come off as strange.
I am at the point in my life where I can take accountability for my actions. I could make an itemized list of every choice that I have made that has led me up where I am right now accounting for the very second that I am writing this. It is choice theory, and the way you choose to live, treat others and react to situations is all solely based on you. Not others.
So in an ideal world I want people to stop whining and boobing about how fucking miserable their life is because of what a person did to them or their shitty upbringing and take some accountability to realize you are who you are based on yourself. These are all things that have happened because you chose to react to them the way you did and you are accountable for your coping abilities in that should not be someone else's fault.
I used to blame a lot of my failures and discontent on other people. I was angry at my parents,friends,enemies,strangers who cut me off, someone who talked behind my back for a long time because I thought it was their fault I ended up the way I was. I have a lot to thank them for. They gave me the capacity to love, to read, write, be passionate about learning, empathy, grace, not being selfish. And it isn't because they looked at me and said "LOVE, READ WRITE, LEARN." It all is based on the way I look back situations in my life and think about what I learned off all that I considered a bad time or even a good time for that matter.
So in all this incoherent babbling, what I am really trying to say is I am waiting to be impressed. I am waiting to find people that aren't so fucking petty and fake in their daily life that they have to meddle in other people's affairs just to give themselves a temporary lift. I want to see grownups acting like grownups without being smug or pompous about it.
Don't get me wrong I have a small handful of people in my life and I love them so much for all their good qualities. These will be people whom I plan on keeping with me forever. As for those of you that don't enhance my life, or want to be nice to my face but turn around and whisper about something I did twenty years or minutes ago that bothered you, go fuck yourselves. You are merely illusions of human beings and I don't have time to waste my time on what I don't even consider real.
Today: August 16. 2010
As I read back on that, I think not much has changed. I am still socially awkward. I have to have at least three drinks in me before the thought of being in a public setting doesn't set me on edge. The comfort of talking to strangers is probably never something I will possess, yet when approached, I would like to think that I am open, honest, likable. I would like to think now though, that I may say or do things that I consider embarrassing, I have overcome being gripped with a paralysis of paranoia. I am able to shake it off and laugh now, and I love that. I do what I can to try and make this world a happier place. Even in my negativity, I try to make everything funny. That's how I cope with being a generally awkward human being, and it has gotten me by thus far.
You know what though, I have talked mad shit. I can't help it. I am fascinated by people and the things they say and do. When I make fun though, it is never out of malice. And now if I ever get busted I am willing to own up to it. Confrontation was never my forte, but now I have to say that it is. Sure I get shaky and trip over my words when I am getting yelled at. But it's a far cry from just running away like I used to. I have become a more genuinely forgiving person too. I think I am just too alzheimered out to stay mad at anyone or anything for longer than one day. Thank you goldfish brain, you are serving me well. I feel anymore lately, I don't have time for agonizing over what the world thinks about me, but there is still that tiny little piece of me that wants to be liked by everyone. Thanks nature, or nacha!
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