The Warning Sign

So, Saturday night I got the brilliant idea that I wanted to go out club-hopping. Since I was broke, I suggested to Math-girl and The Nurse that it might be best if we start out at my place with our existing liquor and then take the bus to The Nineties to save on drink costs. By the time 11PM rolled around, we were all pretty liquored up. After several embarrassingly sappy moments on my part (I get VERY sappy when I am drunk) we made it to the bar where all three of us had several more drinks. There is a large chunk of the night I don’t remember at all. Apparently I stumbled up the stairs to my apartment, and threw my watch and glasses on the floor. I’m pretty sure I threw up in the bathroom at one point, though I honestly can‘t say for sure. It wasn’t just me, either. Apparently The Nurse tossed her cookies behind her nightstand and Math-girl had a bizarre time-warp experience and thought The Nurse and I had ditched her.

Sunday I woke up with the mother of all hangovers. It wasn’t just a hangover, though. It was as if I had given myself the stomach flu. Nothing I did seemed to help. I drank a lot of water, had greasy food, and got plenty of fresh air, but nothing seemed to help. In fact, I can honestly say that now (2 nights later!!) I don’t feel 100%. It wasn’t all physical, either. I feel like I gave myself brain damage somehow. Sunday afternoon at a picnic and other activities I felt like I was in a fog most of the time.

I have come to the conclusion that I am not going to drink like that ever again. It is stupid and immature and embarrassing to get so drunk that you actually throw up and forget things. In fact, looking back on it, and truly analyzing things, I have come to a shocking conclusion: I don’t like drinking very much. I can’t say that there is a single alcoholic beverage out there that I enjoy the taste of. I’m not the kind of person who would ever say that I could sure go for a cold beer right about now. To me beer (ALL BEER) tastes like varying degrees of piss (what I would imagine piss tastes like) and stomach bile. Alcohol has always been something to drink to make me feel a certain way. It’s not refreshing to me in the slightest. I like having my inhibitions and self-consciousness stripped away for a short time, I like drinking socially, but it seems like the payoff is decreasing as time goes on. Maybe that is the natural progression of a non-alcoholic 29-year-old. Whatever the case may be, Sunday morning was a warning sign to me. It’s just not worth it anymore.

The worst part is being told I said and did things that I don’t remember at all. It’s a horrifying feeling. People are going to laugh at me and joke about things I literally have no recollection of doing? It’s bad enough when I do stupid things that I remember. It also feels like my emotions are too raw and real when I am drunk and it really hurts to be laughed at when I was honestly showing the bare-naked truth of things.

Whatever the case may be, I am chilling on it for awhile; maybe permanently. I know I am never going to allow myself to feel the way I did on Sunday ever again. Consider this my first “Turning 30 Resolution”.

CAT-TANTRUMPHE!!

Did you know cats are more than capable of throwing tantrums? My friend Scorpio once told me that her cat, Trigger, threw a very destructive tantrum once. Trigger was very upset that there was a new cat in the house. The two of them were tearing around, fighting and causing chaos. Scorpio made a point to yell at Trigger about it. Seemingly upset that HE had gotten the blame, he yowled, tore up the stairs and caused chaos knocking a bunch of stuff over and causing various crashes, came tearing back down the stairs and ran right over to her husband's jacket which was laying on the floor and pissed on it right in front of her, watching to gauge her reaction the entire time.

Scorpio was famous for exaggerating so I didn't entirely believe her, until three nights ago. You see, I am broke right now. I normally feed my cats the highest quality IAMs food I can find. Unfortunately, that hasn't been the case lately. I had to get some crappy convenience store cat chow. My cat Blaxan will have none of this. The first night, he would scratch at my door yowling when I was trying to sleep. When I let him in, he'd immediately yowl to get out. When I left the door open he'd sit on the floor by my bed and yowl at me. I finally locked him out and yelled at him. He promptly took off into the other room and started harassing the other cats and knocking things over. At one point I heard a crash and when I went to investigate, he had knocked over and broken a glass in the kitchen. I barely got any sleep that night. He still keeps "bringing me" to his food dish and meowing at me in disgust. Things seem to have calmed down, the past few nights. He will not starve himself, but he absolutely refuses to let me see him eat. He runs out of the kitchen (where his food dish is) when he hears me approaching. He's far too spoiled, I have discovered.

Long Island Ramblings

[So, yesterday was another stressful day at The Bank. My good friend The Anomaly suggested that we go get a drink on our break. When I explained I was broke she agreed to pay. I had 2 Long Islands and came back to work feeling charming and intelligent. It seemed that I was seeing my job and everything involved in it in a completely different light. I wrote the below blog entry on some scraps of paper while I was in this state.]

So, I'm here @ work, more than a bit tipsy, and Sarabellem has suggested that I write this now (on paper, transcribed later) before I lose it. She's absolutely right. If I could maintain this particular level of self-confidence my life would be so much easier. Fuck dieting, fuck exercise I am fine and beautiful exactly the way I am and nothing can change that. The job thing? Dude! Chill! It's just money. The place is reaching a point of ebb after all that flow. And as for your investigative endeavors as of late, with every layer of onion that you peel back, you shouldn't be surprised when it still stinks. It's not going to smell any sweeter. Pretty soon you will just run out. It's Corporate America!! Don't be surprised when it's dirty and heartless and cruel and unfair. You know all of that already through hard-won knowledge and experience. Quit acting like it's a big fucking shock! The plain fact of the matter is, there is a beautiful view from the 24th floor. ANd guess what? Things are not going to look any more beautiful from a different 24th floor, it will just be a different vantage point. So, chill, relax and all of that Zen mumbo-jumbo. Everything will be fine in the end. It's just money, after all.

P.S. There's no prairie-dogging when the walls are as short as ours. Getting a bunch of people to the window accomplishes the same thing.

P.P.S. I'm looking at supervisors/managers as PEOPLE and not as PEOPLE WHO CAN FIRE ME.

"Star Wars III: Revenge of that Asshole in the Back Row"

Let it be known that I am not now nor will I ever be a "Star Wars" geek. I like the movies fine but not more than any other popular franchise out there. It was last Thursday and two friends and I went to see the movie. Very early on, when a character was obviously about to bite it, some jerk in the back row bellowed out: "You gonna DIE white boy!!" I heard murmurs of horrified passive-agressive nerd disdain all around. This guy was OBVIOUSLY an outsider; one who doesn't worship at the bootheels of George Lucas and all things galaxy-far-far-away! But, he sounded rough and tough so it became gym class in the seventh grade and no doubt grotesque images and post-traumatic stress flooded several of them with images of free atomic wedgies for all "Star Wars" geeks. About the point that Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman were painting-by-numbers through their stilted and uncomfortable romantic scene, there was a ruckus. I heard shouted words like "Shut the fuck up!" and "Kiss my ass!" Next thing I know, a guy is walking down the stairs shouting "Why don't you step outside and say that, punk!" The punk took the bait and they were just out of sight when I heard thuds and scuffling. The punk came back in the theater victorious. "You ain't no Jedi!" he shouted. I was riveted to my seat thinking three dread words: "Conceal and carry, conceal and carry, conceal and carry!" You see, in Murderapolis we have a conceal and carry law. This means that anyone can have a gun on them at any time, in my mind. I pictured my brains being blown out in the crossfire and I saw Onion-style headlines: "Dead 'Star Wars' Nerd Pissed He Didn't See the Whole Movie" I didn't know which was worse, the thought of my brains being blown out or the thought of being branded a "Star Wars" nerd after my death. I even pictured costumed freaks with plastic lightsabers and cinnamon bun hairdos showing up at my funeral to say the force will be with me forever. Eventually some guys with shiny badges and some kind of crackly device with a red light glowing on it showed up. I don't know exactly what happened at that point. I know there were no more shouts and curses and scuffles. So, it was a good thing, in the end. I also thought that there were probably some horrified suburbanites who will never go to that theater again which is also good.

When I told people that there was a fight in the theater at "Star Wars" their eyes lit up. Yes, it would have been much better if it had been a nerdy sissy-boy slap-fight, but we have to work with the hand we're dealt. Yoda lied, though. My fear of being shot didn't lead to anger, which didn't lead to hate, which also didn't lead to suffering, so I had no chance of going to the dark side. I thought I might pee my pants at one point, but that was about it.

"Tarnation"

I saw a movie tonight that absolutely knocked my socks off and NO it wasn't "Revenge of the Sith" though I saw that too. I came home to some Netflix and watched a documentary called "Tarnation". I don't know if I moved or breathed or existed for the hour and 25 minutes it was on. At one point I realized I was crying. It ended and I knew this film was planted somewhere in my top ten of all time. It ended and I remembered why I am interested in film-making. To use the word "Stunning" doesn't go far enough. It is truly a work of art.

Just see it.

MY ISSUES LAID BARE

I think I'm worthless, most of the time. In fact, I find that when someone IS attracted to me for whatever reason I think there is something wrong with them and quickly self-destruct the relationship. I have the worst self-esteem issues EVER! I find it safest to be attracted to straight guys because nothing can ever come back, therefore, no real rejection. GOD! As if someone saying: "Sorry, but I'm not interested in you" is the WORST thing you can ever hear!! I find the idea of rejection crippling, for some reason. I feel like I was picked last for the kick ball team sometime in 3rd grade and I have never gotten over it. It's absolutely infuriating. (P.S. This isn't your cue to tell me that I'm crazy and of course I'm worth something, blah blah blah... I know all of that, I'm just being very honest here. Maybe too honest.)

I wonder sometimes if it's absolutely the worst thing in the world to end up alone (yes, that HORRIFYING 2-syllable word that strikes fear in the hearts of Suburbanites) my entire life. My sister Forensics has told me that YES there are people who end up alone their entire life, but she doesn't think for a second that I am one of those people. Okay, it sucks sometimes. It sucks being alone at family functions, it sucks not to have someone to tell about my day, it sucks not to have someone in my corner the majority of time, etc. But I don't have to deal with someone else's mood swings, messes, idiosyncrasies, self-esteem issues, and everything else under the sun. Things are EXACTLY where I left them when I get home, I don't have to have someone in my face after a tough day, I can walk around naked if I want to and I can watch any damn thing I want. I don't like thinking that other people are looking at me like something is wrong with me because I'm single. If that's the case, it makes me think that is the only way others can define me is if I'm in a relationship.

Of course, this could all be BS. It could be an elaborate smoke screen because I am just too fucking lazy to make the changes necessary in my life that would welcome someone in. Someday, I'll figure it all out.

QUID PROBST QUO

Last night, I watched the 3 hour "Survivor: Palau" Finale/Reunion. This was the second of two very boring/predictable seasons. That's not what this post is about. At the end of the final challenge, host Jeff Probst held an impromptu tribal council. The two who were still in the game were sent back to their shelter and the guy voted out was told "You can stay with me. I'll get ya to the jury." Maybe it was being delirious after watching the full three hours and going to bed or maybe it was the fact that Jeff looked pretty hot in his black jungle shirt and looked a wee bit scruffy at the reunion, but that whole thing sounded vaguely sexual to me. Fast-forward a few hours and I had a really naughty dream about being in a tent with Jeff and him telling me that if I do what he says he will make sure I get on the next "Survivor". Now, being on "Survivor" is not my top priority. I would probably be a laughing-stock because I would never stop screaming about the huge bugs; I'd be the first one voted out and I would scream all the way through the challenge that we'd lose, all the way through tribal council and all the way through my walk of shame and not stop screaming until the bugs were a manageable size again like they are here in Minnesota. But, Jeff wanted to GET IT ON with me. I did everything he said which was pretty detailed. Eventually, in the midst of everything, he admitted that he really didn't have much pull with casting and probably couldn't get me on the show. I told him that didn't matter, that I wasn't mad at all and please, please don't stop. I remember vividly thinking "At least I'm getting some..." as he continued. And it was very good, and very vivid and I woke up this morning, thrashing around and moaning way before my alarm to see the puzzled and flabberghasted expressions on my kitties faces. Just my luck. I dream about dick and wake up to pussy cats. I never went back to sleep.

P.S. YOWZA!! I just found a pretty hot shirtless photo of him. Not bad for a guy in his 40s!

http://www.wwmen.com/horseyncm/board/messages/19885.html

GALVANIZED

Last night I had a very bad, very vivid dream. It should have been the first night I slept well in a week because my cat Mee-Mee wasn’t in heat anymore. I dreamed that I was getting up, getting ready for work and there was a special news bulletin that interrupted the show I was watching. It said that I didn’t need to bother going to work because all jobs in Murderapolis and the surrounding suburbs had been outsourced to India. They cut away from the footage and started talking about the weather. Not believing the madness I decided to take a stroll to work anyway to see if it was true.

Overnight, Murderapolis had been transformed into a vast, howling wasteland. Everything looked wrong. There were windows knocked out of skyscrapers, trash blowing through the streets, no cars and no streetlights working, the buildings all empty and rundown. The whole place had a feeling of being hastily evacuated. The only thing there seemed to be plenty of was dust and wind. A few blocks from my building bedraggled, scarecrow-like versions of some of the people I knew I passed almost everyday on the way to work darted out of an alley and accosted me. They seemed to be trying to get something from me, but all it amounted to was a bunch of grabbing, pushing and tearing at my clothes. I broke free and ran the rest of the way.
Glass crunched under my feet as I entered US Bank plaza. The place is nothing but glass and it was all broken. The restaurant on the ground floor and the ever-vigilant guard’s desk were empty and bereft; the ATM machine battered, dark and looted, the temp agency looked like it had burned from the inside out and left a hollow scar on the exterior of the building. I walked somberly to the elevator lobby to get to the 24th floor. The elevator doors, normally gleaming chrome looked like they had been dragged down a dirt road and hurled into a gravel pit. Pitted and scarred, they cast a funhouse-like reflection of me. The building had no power, so there was no getting to the 24th floor by way of the elevators. AT that point, I caught a sideways glance at an unbroken fire extinguisher cover and was startled at the reflection that came back. My altercation with the scarecrows had left me much like them, broken and battered, dirty and bedraggled.

As I walked back outside I saw that the light rail was off its tracks and looked burned. I fell to my knees and started crying and I woke up crying at around 4:45AM stunned and relieved that the whole weird thing had been a dream.

This morning, I put in a request to take Friday off. I haven’t had a day off in a long time, but I plan on job hunting all day on this one. I’m going to print up a stack of resumes and paper the town.

I am hereby galvanized in my task. I will find a new job.

Graffitti

The best graffitti I have seen lately was written with a black felt-tip marker on a white wall on 9th and 3rd downtown right across from the out-sourcing bastards American Express Financial Advisors building. The powers that be swiftly painted over it, but it said: "Corporate America: All Hail the War Machine." Genius!

PARKWAY 1: The Fuckin Oven Mitt!!

I'm lying on the big stained couch with the blue stripes, high as hell, watching South Park and giggling. My roommate Walker, also stoned out of his mind is lying on the loveseat. He is cooking a frozen pizza in the oven causing our dusty window unit air conditioner to work overtime to keep the hot, humid air outside. The greasy, battered, partially-melted kitchen timer is whirring away, probably losing 5 seconds for every second it ticks. A cartoon chicken grins cheekily from the center. When it dings, I giggle and try to organize my thoughts as he gets up and goes to the oven. He peers inside, and I turn back to the TV for a few seconds. When my eyes wander back I discover he appears to be looking for something. He eventually grabs a dirty dish towel from the loaded sink, opens the oven door and leans down. Something is drastically wrong. An alarm is sluggishly going off in my brain. That thing I just purchased is sitting right in front of his dumbass face. Why doesn't he use the THING? What the fuck is it called? Goddammit he needs to USE it! That's what it's there for. Then my self doubt creeps in. Is there something wrong with it? Did I not purchase the right one? Is there something wrong with my purchasing abilities?

Why in god's name doesn't he USE it?

"NO!! Use the... grab it... why don't you..." Suddenly, sweet unmuddied clarity rushes in. "USE THE FUCKIN OVEN MITT!!?"

Walker recoils as though slapped, then we both descend into sharp, braying painful laughter. He will never let me live this one down. He uses the oven mitt, and all is right with the world.