Yet another month has passed without a formal update to my loving followers, but don't worry, this will not disappoint.
I recently had the honor of escorting Berica to a concert that my brother (dearracheldratch.blogspot.com) bailed on going to. It was Peter, Bjorn and John aka PB&J... I didn't get it till everyone around us started chanting it midconcert. So the show was at the 930 Club, a throw back to my emo days of high school when I went to "shows" every weekend and bought CDs of bands I never heard of just to look cool. Yea, I was that girl at one point and going to this show was an awesome throw back...only difference was the tiny glass of Framboise I sipped for 7 bucks.
Post-show, it was 10 PM and we were waiting to meet our friends out so we looked around the club and saw the band signing stuff so we got in line to kill time. As we stood there chatting about the show or something, the guy in front of us turned around and told us how psyched he was that he got to meet PB&J and how he was going to get them to sign the CD he just bought. He was going on and on about how they would sign RIGHT on the CD...that still had the wrapper on it. Berica said, "You know if they sign it like that, you'll never be able to play it." He looked at us like were Einstein and said "Oh my gosh, you guys are soooo smart!" Now, at this point we should have evacuated the scene and cut our losses, but it still being 10 PM, we were intrigued and continued to talk to Bkevin and also take pictures with him and the band. Luckily, he's conveniently on the end, totally croppable.
After we chatted with the band, we decided to go the gay bar with Bkevin because he said he could get us free drinks because he was getting hit on left and right there before the show. He's what one might call a "bear" but proclaimed that he had a girlfriend, so we decided to go along, it'd be make for a good story in any case.
On the way to the gay bar, we saw a van with its back open and a strobe light and flashing colored lights along with a DJ and people dancing and hula hooping. It seemed like an open invite since most people were in the street, so we decided to stop by. We high fived everyone while hula hooping and making friends. (Later on in the night, I recognized a girl from the van and called out, "Hey Hulahoop!" and she looked at me like I was the nutto who was the one hosting the street party) Needless to say, this impromptu street party was great until someone honked at me as I tried to Skip It with the hulahoop and started into the street. It was time to hit the gay bar.
As soon as we walk in, all eyes are on Bkevin. Berica and I didn't stand a chance next to this dude. We walked upstairs and ended up befriending people that had gone to our college and we didn't know them before. It was fun, until Bkevin decided to have a heart to heart.
While leaning in with a bucket of beer, he says, "Bmelissa, are you trying to make me gay?" Now, at this point, I do realize we are in a gay bar and I wasn't planning on being hit on, but I also wasn't planning on being the source of turning a straight man gay. I've never been accused of turning a straight guy gay, but I can say, like most straight girls in college, have tried to turn a gay guy straight (not possible, just awkward). I didn't know that in a room of hot young studs, a straight guy would look past me and become gay. He then proceeded to say that I had brought him into a room of hot guys and it was just too much. Much to my chagrin, I was told I was turning a guy gay and then he didn't even get us any free drinks!
Berica and I decided to "go to the bathroom" and Bkevin followed...apparently to avoid temptation. As he walked into the men's bathroom, Berica and I peaced out. This kid was obviously confused and I had to wash my hands of single handedly changing a man's sexuality. Unfortunately, we had given him our names to send the picture of us and the band and he eventually Facebook messaged Berica berating her for the abandonment in the bathroom...go figure.
We still had another hour before people were meeting us out, so we started to walk toward food...but then the latin bar struck my fancy. The hot reggaeton beats lured me and and Berica was helpless but to follow. There was just enough room to tango and salsa, and we were the only ones game for the challenge of entertaining the table of people celebrating a birthday. Berica and I danced and twirled and got our Latina princess on for a good 20 minutes...amidst flashes from the paparazzi aka the people at the table flashing photos of two pale chicks making fools of themselves. If I've learned anything from LeeAnn Womack, it was just to dance and that we did.
By this time, we'd worked up quite an appetite and decided to visit Bill Cosby's favorite hot spot in the District...Ben's Chili Bowl. This mess was amazing. I got a hotdog with Ben's chili and it was great. Berica's turkey burger took foooorever so we ended up sitting there for a hot minute. I've always known why Cosby loved jello pudding (I mean, what naturally wriggles but doesn't lose its form? NOTHING but jello pudding!) and now I've gotten the lure of Ben's Chili Bowl. Super delish and the hottest place on a Saturday night.
After eating, it was still too early to meet up with everyone so we decided to go to the bar next door called...Bar Next Door to Ben's Chili Bowl...I kid you not.
As if we hadn't been the minority in the hipster show, the gay bar or the latin bar, we definitely were the minority in this bar. All the tables said "Reserved" but made no inclination of who they were reserved for...so we stood at the bar and waited 10 minutes to be served. I decided earlier in the night that since Bkevin didn't work out to be Berica's husband, that I would take it upon myself to find her a fine brother to procreate with. They weren't lacking at this bar, but we were not the object of their affection. We figured this out when we saw a guy get an eyeful of some girls' rumps and he then caught us seeing him and of course he had to tell Berica that he just couldn't help it...but then ignored us. It was time for a change of scenery.
We had made our rounds of the town and it was now time to meet up with our friends. We finally find the hole in the wall bar they were at that absolutely no one knew was there and felt at home. Although not exactly like Cheers, a few people did know our names and that really counted for something after such a nutzo night.
I can now say that when I leave DC, I wouldn't have missed any of the most famous places. Although I was thoroughly disappointed that Bill wasn't at Ben's and that I didn't get the names of the people who snapped our photos in order to Facebook message THEM, I had a great time and hope Berica saw a side of the town she never knew existed!
Monday, May 2, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
My Dear Friends...I'm Sorry
I have been super neglectful of my blog as of late, and you know that means I've been busy in the best way: hustlin' like none other. I have composed at top 15 (since it's been far too long since my last entry) of my life as of late. They all funny. Enjoy.
15. Homeless people: in the past few days, I've felt especially gifty. You know how it is, you just want to surprise your loved ones with presents, and since I'm far from my family, I've taken homeless people as my next of kin. I feel like they are all my kindred spirits because they are taking my kind of hustling to the next level. None of their money is taxed, they roam where the wind takes them, they also skip baths occasionally aka my favorite type of life. Well, in my new jobness and employment, I've decided to give back to the people who taught me the most. A homeless man sat near me while I was eating my sandwich and talking to Bpotter on my lunch break. I immediately thought, he needs something aka my apple. Now this kindly man took my apple and scampered off. I was so happy that he too felt our connection that I then tried the next day with another garbage diver who appeared to be in need of an apple. He rudely declined my other apple and looked at me like I was nutz. First off, it was a fantastic apple that I later ate. Second off, I wanted to say "Sir, you just ate a cheeto out of an open bag in the trash, this apple is clean and I just showered, take it." He was not having it. Still buzzing off my first homeless man, so I wanted to try just one more time with a man outside the failing Borders. I went in, bought some discount chocolate thinking, "This dude is about to have the best surprise!" I walk out and tell this panhandler, "I don't have any cash, but I have this chocolate that you can have!" Maybe I was too excited, or he had a bad experience as a child with a stranger in a car, but he would NOT take my chocolate. I mean c'mon. Am I that shady looking that even the homeless will not take my goods? Long story long, I'm done. We are over, homeless of DC. If you want some of my goodies ever again, you're going to have to be nicer.
14. Possible jumper- This one happened today, so it's supah fresh. Apparently I'm attracting crazy life events and this includes stumbling upon a possible jumper off the parking deck outside my building. I walked out for my usual eat alone outside time, and the cops are crawling and there is this apparent body on the ground beside the parking deck. Mess gets nutz and tons of 5 ohs run up and there is some crime scene tape. I'm like "Whoa, had I left for lunch 5 minutes earlier, I coulda been traumatized"...this isn't so much funny as shocking, so I will have to update you all when I get the final deets on this.
12. Free food- I'm starting to notice a trend amongst my few numbers thus far and that is that though I am now employed, I've become more of a moocher and vagabond than before. Someone always brings food into the office and all I can do is stuff my face for days off these bagels and apples. In addition to skeezing off this food, I've been accompanying Berica and Bhadley to a Bible study for the sole reason of obtaining free, kosher food. Protestant really are the best givers and as a Catholic, I've become the best receiver of their free food. I'm waiting to either be asked to stop eating someone's food at work or be asked to convert...both of which I may be willing to do if the price is right aka ice cream cake.
11. STD Pizza- now don't let the name fool you, the pizza has not been tested but my brother has warned me that I may have syphilis from a stranger pizza I procured on a night out. In order to make myself stop, I asked my friends to not let me take peoples' pizza anymore. We went out one night and we really craving some Jumbo Slice but didn't want to wait, so I asked a walker with a box if I could grab a bite of his pizza. At first, my girls were straight and said, "No don't do that!" Then I said, "I want it!" and they caved. As soon as I took the bite and the giver was off, I grabbed the bite out of my mouth and threw it on the ground yelling, "THAT WAS A TEST AND YOU FAILED!" So much for good friends...note to self, friends don't let friends eat possibly STD pizza....ever.
10. Contact drunk- For Lent, I've given up all drinking. It's been quite a test since I'm both Irish and Catholic, but my schoolgirl guilt has helped me stay on the straight and narrow...that and my new discovery- contact drunkenness. I have gone out a few times with people who were partaking in the sauce and I have refrained, but somehow by the end of the night, I still feel the effects. I have broken out in harmony with some R&B on the radio, talked to strangers about life, and even said hello to people in the subway, all things people do not do when they are drinking just Dr. Pepper. Perhaps it was the aspertame high from drinking a full 2 liter of diet cherry Dr. Pepper, or maybe people's BACs are transmitted through their breath, but I'm on to something. You should try it, be sober at a bar and breath, it's weird.
9. Are you...?- On the night of the infamous first B&E, I remet a person. I had done some volunteer mess at school before degreeing and met quite a few people, apparently some I did not remember. A woman reached through me and Bsarita to get a drink and had UNC on her shirt so we began talking to her about the school and she said she was in the nursing school. I said, "Whoa! I know someone in that! Do you know Nicki White?" there was a pause, a glare, and some recognition as she said, "I am Nicki White." I then stopped breathing. Now, I've made some misrecogntions in my life, but that was epic. I was very embarrassed but we ended up taking a photo up with Nicki and her boyfriend all night and it was fabulous. Nicki and I are now biffles.
8. Air mattress- What can I say? I'm living on an air mattress.
7. Sister Wives- if homelessness and slightly employed-dom doesn't work out for me, I've decided my next phase is as a sister wife. Berica and I watched "The 19th Wife" on Saturday (big night, obvi) and I realized, how great would that be? You can have a ton of kids and shirk your responsibilities on these other chicks because they believe they are their kids too. You get to wear the same outfit every day and it's not even considered a uniform. You don't have to pay for make up, a hair cut, and you get to rock the Jersey Shore bump-it look. You are automatically dating a baller because how else could he afford 19 friggin wives and tons of children? I'm not seeing a whole lot wrong with this, it all looks sound except the illegality of it.
6. Working- this is a weird topic because it goes against my beliefs, but apparently everyone does it. It is kind of nice having a pay check regularly, the downside being taxes that I won't see for another year. My job ain't all that bad and I feel like a real sort of adult now, aside from the number 8 factor.
5. An old lady- So, most people that work in my building are old, let's face it, most of the US is old now. I have to take the elevator and once I was on it with one such a lady. I was wearing an especially fuzzy coat and was feeling nice and warm. The woman noted my comfort and my jacket. She says, "That jacket looks so warm, may I pet you?" Normally, I don't mind people petting me, but it was weird to be asked prior to the action. Since I didn't know her, I was surprised at her candor, but was more than obliged to allow the pet. She was amazed by the softness, and kept the petting within a reasonable time frame. I have not seen her again, but I expect some more elevator action.
4. Loons- They are everywhere, but especially in DC. They all beat the "Rack 'Em" guy from Athens. Just saying, institutionalization couldn't have been that bad.
3. I'm not 15 anymore- So despite my keen liking for climbing trees, eating baby food, and watching an occasional Degrassi, I am no longer a child and cannot act like one. I came to this harsh conclusion recently after a riveting game of tennis with Berica. The courts were near an elementary school that included a playground. After doing a few flips on the monkey bars, climbing a tree and swinging, we went to climb on the jungle gym. It seemed simple enough, we could reach the top with ease and safely come down in just a few steps when as children, this wouldn't have been such an easy feat. As we approached a weird looking slide thing, I started to climb but missed a step due to my aging depth perception and caught my foot in a hole and as my body fell, my foot twisted and then I fell to the ground. As it turns out, I have a hairline fracture. Much to my dismay and assumption that I had tendinitis (another old person ailment), I have realized my 23 year old body is becoming brittle and it's time to face the facts: I need to start taking vitamins if I want to commit to fitness and avoid osteoporosis. Wtf....it was just 8 (whoa, has it been that long?) years ago I had never injured a bone..now this. Ugh old age.
2. No key- Somehow after a month of no key nor keypass to get into the apartment, I still have yet to be asked if I actually live here. I fumble in my bag, I say I left my keys upstairs, or my friend Bmark (the doorman) lets me in and somehow, I haven't been caught for not really living here. All in all, I'd say I'm the sketchiest person and fully deserved that award 3 years in a row in my sorority.
1. Razors- WARNING: faint of heart, stop reading! I had a run in with some razors the first weekend I was living with Berica and Bhadley. Maybe I'm just clumsy as #3 may allude to, or maybe I need Life Alert but I slipped in the bathtub as I was reaching for a towel and as I fell on my back, I threw my elbow out to try and catch myself but unfortunately for me, a few razors were upturned and my elbow of course fell upon them resulting in immense bleeding. I hate hate hate blood and am easily faint, so I immediately fetaled myself on the floor and tried to stop it from bleeding. Long story long and hopefully less gory, I have a righteous scar and I do not feel like shelling out $30 for Maderma to get rid of it, so I'm full open to suggestions for a better story for the scar aside from my inherent clumsiness and lack of coordination.
There you have it, the long awaited, the long winded, version of my recent life. Yes, I skipped #13, not because in addition to bone mass I'm losing my mind, but because I'm superstitious and more truthfully, couldn't think of another thing to write. Stone me for laziness if you may, but do try to enjoy the remaining 14 points!
15. Homeless people: in the past few days, I've felt especially gifty. You know how it is, you just want to surprise your loved ones with presents, and since I'm far from my family, I've taken homeless people as my next of kin. I feel like they are all my kindred spirits because they are taking my kind of hustling to the next level. None of their money is taxed, they roam where the wind takes them, they also skip baths occasionally aka my favorite type of life. Well, in my new jobness and employment, I've decided to give back to the people who taught me the most. A homeless man sat near me while I was eating my sandwich and talking to Bpotter on my lunch break. I immediately thought, he needs something aka my apple. Now this kindly man took my apple and scampered off. I was so happy that he too felt our connection that I then tried the next day with another garbage diver who appeared to be in need of an apple. He rudely declined my other apple and looked at me like I was nutz. First off, it was a fantastic apple that I later ate. Second off, I wanted to say "Sir, you just ate a cheeto out of an open bag in the trash, this apple is clean and I just showered, take it." He was not having it. Still buzzing off my first homeless man, so I wanted to try just one more time with a man outside the failing Borders. I went in, bought some discount chocolate thinking, "This dude is about to have the best surprise!" I walk out and tell this panhandler, "I don't have any cash, but I have this chocolate that you can have!" Maybe I was too excited, or he had a bad experience as a child with a stranger in a car, but he would NOT take my chocolate. I mean c'mon. Am I that shady looking that even the homeless will not take my goods? Long story long, I'm done. We are over, homeless of DC. If you want some of my goodies ever again, you're going to have to be nicer.
14. Possible jumper- This one happened today, so it's supah fresh. Apparently I'm attracting crazy life events and this includes stumbling upon a possible jumper off the parking deck outside my building. I walked out for my usual eat alone outside time, and the cops are crawling and there is this apparent body on the ground beside the parking deck. Mess gets nutz and tons of 5 ohs run up and there is some crime scene tape. I'm like "Whoa, had I left for lunch 5 minutes earlier, I coulda been traumatized"...this isn't so much funny as shocking, so I will have to update you all when I get the final deets on this.
12. Free food- I'm starting to notice a trend amongst my few numbers thus far and that is that though I am now employed, I've become more of a moocher and vagabond than before. Someone always brings food into the office and all I can do is stuff my face for days off these bagels and apples. In addition to skeezing off this food, I've been accompanying Berica and Bhadley to a Bible study for the sole reason of obtaining free, kosher food. Protestant really are the best givers and as a Catholic, I've become the best receiver of their free food. I'm waiting to either be asked to stop eating someone's food at work or be asked to convert...both of which I may be willing to do if the price is right aka ice cream cake.
11. STD Pizza- now don't let the name fool you, the pizza has not been tested but my brother has warned me that I may have syphilis from a stranger pizza I procured on a night out. In order to make myself stop, I asked my friends to not let me take peoples' pizza anymore. We went out one night and we really craving some Jumbo Slice but didn't want to wait, so I asked a walker with a box if I could grab a bite of his pizza. At first, my girls were straight and said, "No don't do that!" Then I said, "I want it!" and they caved. As soon as I took the bite and the giver was off, I grabbed the bite out of my mouth and threw it on the ground yelling, "THAT WAS A TEST AND YOU FAILED!" So much for good friends...note to self, friends don't let friends eat possibly STD pizza....ever.
10. Contact drunk- For Lent, I've given up all drinking. It's been quite a test since I'm both Irish and Catholic, but my schoolgirl guilt has helped me stay on the straight and narrow...that and my new discovery- contact drunkenness. I have gone out a few times with people who were partaking in the sauce and I have refrained, but somehow by the end of the night, I still feel the effects. I have broken out in harmony with some R&B on the radio, talked to strangers about life, and even said hello to people in the subway, all things people do not do when they are drinking just Dr. Pepper. Perhaps it was the aspertame high from drinking a full 2 liter of diet cherry Dr. Pepper, or maybe people's BACs are transmitted through their breath, but I'm on to something. You should try it, be sober at a bar and breath, it's weird.
9. Are you...?- On the night of the infamous first B&E, I remet a person. I had done some volunteer mess at school before degreeing and met quite a few people, apparently some I did not remember. A woman reached through me and Bsarita to get a drink and had UNC on her shirt so we began talking to her about the school and she said she was in the nursing school. I said, "Whoa! I know someone in that! Do you know Nicki White?" there was a pause, a glare, and some recognition as she said, "I am Nicki White." I then stopped breathing. Now, I've made some misrecogntions in my life, but that was epic. I was very embarrassed but we ended up taking a photo up with Nicki and her boyfriend all night and it was fabulous. Nicki and I are now biffles.
8. Air mattress- What can I say? I'm living on an air mattress.
7. Sister Wives- if homelessness and slightly employed-dom doesn't work out for me, I've decided my next phase is as a sister wife. Berica and I watched "The 19th Wife" on Saturday (big night, obvi) and I realized, how great would that be? You can have a ton of kids and shirk your responsibilities on these other chicks because they believe they are their kids too. You get to wear the same outfit every day and it's not even considered a uniform. You don't have to pay for make up, a hair cut, and you get to rock the Jersey Shore bump-it look. You are automatically dating a baller because how else could he afford 19 friggin wives and tons of children? I'm not seeing a whole lot wrong with this, it all looks sound except the illegality of it.
6. Working- this is a weird topic because it goes against my beliefs, but apparently everyone does it. It is kind of nice having a pay check regularly, the downside being taxes that I won't see for another year. My job ain't all that bad and I feel like a real sort of adult now, aside from the number 8 factor.
5. An old lady- So, most people that work in my building are old, let's face it, most of the US is old now. I have to take the elevator and once I was on it with one such a lady. I was wearing an especially fuzzy coat and was feeling nice and warm. The woman noted my comfort and my jacket. She says, "That jacket looks so warm, may I pet you?" Normally, I don't mind people petting me, but it was weird to be asked prior to the action. Since I didn't know her, I was surprised at her candor, but was more than obliged to allow the pet. She was amazed by the softness, and kept the petting within a reasonable time frame. I have not seen her again, but I expect some more elevator action.
4. Loons- They are everywhere, but especially in DC. They all beat the "Rack 'Em" guy from Athens. Just saying, institutionalization couldn't have been that bad.
3. I'm not 15 anymore- So despite my keen liking for climbing trees, eating baby food, and watching an occasional Degrassi, I am no longer a child and cannot act like one. I came to this harsh conclusion recently after a riveting game of tennis with Berica. The courts were near an elementary school that included a playground. After doing a few flips on the monkey bars, climbing a tree and swinging, we went to climb on the jungle gym. It seemed simple enough, we could reach the top with ease and safely come down in just a few steps when as children, this wouldn't have been such an easy feat. As we approached a weird looking slide thing, I started to climb but missed a step due to my aging depth perception and caught my foot in a hole and as my body fell, my foot twisted and then I fell to the ground. As it turns out, I have a hairline fracture. Much to my dismay and assumption that I had tendinitis (another old person ailment), I have realized my 23 year old body is becoming brittle and it's time to face the facts: I need to start taking vitamins if I want to commit to fitness and avoid osteoporosis. Wtf....it was just 8 (whoa, has it been that long?) years ago I had never injured a bone..now this. Ugh old age.
2. No key- Somehow after a month of no key nor keypass to get into the apartment, I still have yet to be asked if I actually live here. I fumble in my bag, I say I left my keys upstairs, or my friend Bmark (the doorman) lets me in and somehow, I haven't been caught for not really living here. All in all, I'd say I'm the sketchiest person and fully deserved that award 3 years in a row in my sorority.
1. Razors- WARNING: faint of heart, stop reading! I had a run in with some razors the first weekend I was living with Berica and Bhadley. Maybe I'm just clumsy as #3 may allude to, or maybe I need Life Alert but I slipped in the bathtub as I was reaching for a towel and as I fell on my back, I threw my elbow out to try and catch myself but unfortunately for me, a few razors were upturned and my elbow of course fell upon them resulting in immense bleeding. I hate hate hate blood and am easily faint, so I immediately fetaled myself on the floor and tried to stop it from bleeding. Long story long and hopefully less gory, I have a righteous scar and I do not feel like shelling out $30 for Maderma to get rid of it, so I'm full open to suggestions for a better story for the scar aside from my inherent clumsiness and lack of coordination.
There you have it, the long awaited, the long winded, version of my recent life. Yes, I skipped #13, not because in addition to bone mass I'm losing my mind, but because I'm superstitious and more truthfully, couldn't think of another thing to write. Stone me for laziness if you may, but do try to enjoy the remaining 14 points!
Monday, February 21, 2011
A Few Changes
As anyone can see, I had to change this blog up a bit. After a few, real and real long months of unemployment, your girl's got a job...even though it could potentially still be considered a hustle because it's a temp position...but it's a legit desk job of sorts!
I know, I know. How do I go from sleeping like a sloth and doing the damn thing every which way I like to sitting behind a desk 9-5 doing computery things and no longer sticking it to the man by doing untaxable work? Well, a girl's gotta eat and earn that dough to get my pretty girl rock back on track. When your mom starts to notice that you haven't been showering because you "don't feel dirty," it probably means your life's heading in the wrong direction. And honestly, I could only work so many holiday stores till I realized, hey I'm not making any money!
Aside from procuring employment, I have also moved to the District to somehow start my life as a Real Housewife of DC. I think I can be a real housewife without ever having been married nor living in a house. All you gotta do is hustle and flow, right? Or maybe that's just in Atlanta.... The series kind of hit a wall in DC because they didn't have the crazy aka Melly C factor and I'm here to revamp that, from the living room of Berica and Bhadley on an air mattress. But it's not an ordinary, one layer Aero bed. This mess is nice! A double layer of gaseous pleasurable sleep, so nice.
And now that I have an income, if I play my insider trading cards right, I could quickly be rich...right? Where's Martha when you need her? I guess I'll just have to make some connects...but legit ones not from my galavants in bars that now are not happening (unless I'm wingwomaning one of mah gurls). I have been made a semi-honest woman by Bpotter, my bif, and can no longer respectably hit on dudes in suits at the bar in hopes of a loveless, money rich marriage. I'm doing some real ish that don't include collecting red heads and biracial midgets experiences.
Despite having given into the corporate world, I downloaded some sweet Weezy and Kid Cudi mixtapes off this website fo' free and so when I'm in my fancy work clothes and looking laced tighty whitey, I'm secretly rockin' out to some Lupe and Wiz Khalifa. Take that, people who shut down my Limewire!
I know, I know. How do I go from sleeping like a sloth and doing the damn thing every which way I like to sitting behind a desk 9-5 doing computery things and no longer sticking it to the man by doing untaxable work? Well, a girl's gotta eat and earn that dough to get my pretty girl rock back on track. When your mom starts to notice that you haven't been showering because you "don't feel dirty," it probably means your life's heading in the wrong direction. And honestly, I could only work so many holiday stores till I realized, hey I'm not making any money!
Aside from procuring employment, I have also moved to the District to somehow start my life as a Real Housewife of DC. I think I can be a real housewife without ever having been married nor living in a house. All you gotta do is hustle and flow, right? Or maybe that's just in Atlanta.... The series kind of hit a wall in DC because they didn't have the crazy aka Melly C factor and I'm here to revamp that, from the living room of Berica and Bhadley on an air mattress. But it's not an ordinary, one layer Aero bed. This mess is nice! A double layer of gaseous pleasurable sleep, so nice.
And now that I have an income, if I play my insider trading cards right, I could quickly be rich...right? Where's Martha when you need her? I guess I'll just have to make some connects...but legit ones not from my galavants in bars that now are not happening (unless I'm wingwomaning one of mah gurls). I have been made a semi-honest woman by Bpotter, my bif, and can no longer respectably hit on dudes in suits at the bar in hopes of a loveless, money rich marriage. I'm doing some real ish that don't include collecting red heads and biracial midgets experiences.
Despite having given into the corporate world, I downloaded some sweet Weezy and Kid Cudi mixtapes off this website fo' free and so when I'm in my fancy work clothes and looking laced tighty whitey, I'm secretly rockin' out to some Lupe and Wiz Khalifa. Take that, people who shut down my Limewire!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
A Day in the Life
As I venture out of my house to visit various friends, I often get asked, "Since you don't have a job or any hobbies, what do you do all day?"
At first, I was vexed as to how I spent my time. I couldn't think of a single activity that kept me busy for the 10-12 hours a day I normally stay awake. Although I do put out a few resumes a day, it takes about 20 minutes and sure, there's my recent obsession with Anthony Bourdain (you know I'm hooked since this is my second mention of the too-tanned god in my blog). I DVR his show in advance so I have an assortment to choose from when I do finally wake up at 11 AM. However, that show is only 1 hour, and when you factor in fast forwarding, it's cut down to 45 minutes. But then, if you also factor the chance I fall asleep during the episode, it's back up to an hour.
In any case, this show does not account for my time. Lately, my mom has been scheduling household chores/whatever you call it when people come and do stuff in your house. One time when I was about 13 and my brother was 16, a random cleaning lady came to our door and since we don't have a peephole, we looked out the window to see who it was. For some reason, we assumed she could not see us through the open window. She immediately began saying "I see you, I see you. Let me in! I just want to talk about these cleaning supplies for your mom!" It was traumatic and I have not looked forward to these strangers visiting my house to perform random tasks. Yet, since I don't have that much human interaction throughout the day time hours, I've tried to welcome the strangers with open arms, hoping that while they clean my carpet or install a new cable jack that they will offer me a job or their hand in marriage.
I always wonder if the guys will be the Jim Carrey type, you know, freaking weird and obsessive, or the James Franco, hot guy trying to get his acting career in order while making an extra buck cleaning carpets kind. So far I haven't seen either of these types, which is neither a blessing or a curse. But with this in mind, I ponder how I should present myself and what topics to discuss.
Though I want to have a heart to heart with these men (why are handymen always men? I'm not complaining, but it does make a sit down discussion about Oprah over crumpits hard to get into), I am met with the ultimate question of how I should treat them. Do you offer them a cold drink because of the labor intensive work they are doing or do you offer a warm drink because it's cold outside? Is it inappropriate to ask them to open jars that you can't pry open? Would it be weird to ask them to scratch a place in your back you just can't reach? So many questions and there's no Marie Claire guide for etiquette with handymen and I often feel lost in this new realm of social interaction. When I was younger, I could just hide from them but now that I've officially come of age, it's my responsibility to show them common courtesy and take the reins in explaining what needs to be done.
My first question being, do I dress up for my scheduled visitors? I often have to get out of bed before I really want to, so I'm tempted to stay in my sweats as I attempt to seduce these men into matrimony. Yet, since I'm 23, sweats seem an unfit match. They are either too old or too young for a person of my age. I'm drawn to think, what would Taylor Swift do? I'm assuming she has numerous men come into her house for various activities and that she does not wear sweats for any of them. Keeping this in mind, I've opted for jeans the past few days. As I struggle with what outfit is appropriate, I also wonder if I should put on make up.
I usually assume these people think I'm around 15, so I'm okay with not putting on my smokey eye I use for the club, but should I be putting on some sort of foundation or mascara? For some reason, I equate this situation to the one I run into when going to the gym before 4 pm (after all, any self respecting girl has a touch of blush on before 4 pm...right?).
I usually wear make up when I leave the house, but if I'm going to the gym, do I really need to waste it just to later wash it off? The same applies to the cable guy. I'm not actually leaving my house, hell, I'm barely leaving my bed, so is make up a prereq to his arrival? Again, I think, what does T Swizzle have to say? Although she inevitably has a make up artist preparing her for even the accidental encounter with the pool boy, I know she's dabbing on some lip gloss before she hits the snooze button. Since I don't have my own personal assistant handy, I take the poor girl's option and just wear last night's make up for my early morning cable call. After all, I want to look like I had fun the night before but also like I care enough to be made up.
While I sit here and write this, a solid hour has gone by and I didn't even have Anthony on in the background and I didn't take a nap. I think suffice it to say, we can all agree that today has been productive enough for me and I will now go take a nap.
I hope this answered the age old question of, "What does Melissa do?"
At first, I was vexed as to how I spent my time. I couldn't think of a single activity that kept me busy for the 10-12 hours a day I normally stay awake. Although I do put out a few resumes a day, it takes about 20 minutes and sure, there's my recent obsession with Anthony Bourdain (you know I'm hooked since this is my second mention of the too-tanned god in my blog). I DVR his show in advance so I have an assortment to choose from when I do finally wake up at 11 AM. However, that show is only 1 hour, and when you factor in fast forwarding, it's cut down to 45 minutes. But then, if you also factor the chance I fall asleep during the episode, it's back up to an hour.
In any case, this show does not account for my time. Lately, my mom has been scheduling household chores/whatever you call it when people come and do stuff in your house. One time when I was about 13 and my brother was 16, a random cleaning lady came to our door and since we don't have a peephole, we looked out the window to see who it was. For some reason, we assumed she could not see us through the open window. She immediately began saying "I see you, I see you. Let me in! I just want to talk about these cleaning supplies for your mom!" It was traumatic and I have not looked forward to these strangers visiting my house to perform random tasks. Yet, since I don't have that much human interaction throughout the day time hours, I've tried to welcome the strangers with open arms, hoping that while they clean my carpet or install a new cable jack that they will offer me a job or their hand in marriage.
I always wonder if the guys will be the Jim Carrey type, you know, freaking weird and obsessive, or the James Franco, hot guy trying to get his acting career in order while making an extra buck cleaning carpets kind. So far I haven't seen either of these types, which is neither a blessing or a curse. But with this in mind, I ponder how I should present myself and what topics to discuss.
Though I want to have a heart to heart with these men (why are handymen always men? I'm not complaining, but it does make a sit down discussion about Oprah over crumpits hard to get into), I am met with the ultimate question of how I should treat them. Do you offer them a cold drink because of the labor intensive work they are doing or do you offer a warm drink because it's cold outside? Is it inappropriate to ask them to open jars that you can't pry open? Would it be weird to ask them to scratch a place in your back you just can't reach? So many questions and there's no Marie Claire guide for etiquette with handymen and I often feel lost in this new realm of social interaction. When I was younger, I could just hide from them but now that I've officially come of age, it's my responsibility to show them common courtesy and take the reins in explaining what needs to be done.
My first question being, do I dress up for my scheduled visitors? I often have to get out of bed before I really want to, so I'm tempted to stay in my sweats as I attempt to seduce these men into matrimony. Yet, since I'm 23, sweats seem an unfit match. They are either too old or too young for a person of my age. I'm drawn to think, what would Taylor Swift do? I'm assuming she has numerous men come into her house for various activities and that she does not wear sweats for any of them. Keeping this in mind, I've opted for jeans the past few days. As I struggle with what outfit is appropriate, I also wonder if I should put on make up.
I usually assume these people think I'm around 15, so I'm okay with not putting on my smokey eye I use for the club, but should I be putting on some sort of foundation or mascara? For some reason, I equate this situation to the one I run into when going to the gym before 4 pm (after all, any self respecting girl has a touch of blush on before 4 pm...right?).
I usually wear make up when I leave the house, but if I'm going to the gym, do I really need to waste it just to later wash it off? The same applies to the cable guy. I'm not actually leaving my house, hell, I'm barely leaving my bed, so is make up a prereq to his arrival? Again, I think, what does T Swizzle have to say? Although she inevitably has a make up artist preparing her for even the accidental encounter with the pool boy, I know she's dabbing on some lip gloss before she hits the snooze button. Since I don't have my own personal assistant handy, I take the poor girl's option and just wear last night's make up for my early morning cable call. After all, I want to look like I had fun the night before but also like I care enough to be made up.
While I sit here and write this, a solid hour has gone by and I didn't even have Anthony on in the background and I didn't take a nap. I think suffice it to say, we can all agree that today has been productive enough for me and I will now go take a nap.
I hope this answered the age old question of, "What does Melissa do?"
Thursday, January 13, 2011
New Year, Still Hustling
Apparently since my last entry, we have entered a new year. Having somehow skipped that in my blogging, I've decided to dedicate this entry to my top favorite things of this year so far. I gotta say, it's gonna take some time for the rest of the year to catch up to this past week and a half.
1. Lauryn Hill- she's making a come back, but with her old throw back hits from '98. I recently saw her in concert and despite her very apparent highness, her voice is just as sweet as it was when she was opposite Whoopi Goldberg in a habit. Though she apparently doesn't like white people, if it weren't for the 85% caucasian crowd, her own "habit" may have ended. Nevertheless, shout out to LH and much love to kicking it to the grind.
2. Snow- This is the only thing that brings those employed back to my level as they cannot attend work because of the blizzard-like conditions that we've experienced thus far in 2011. If it weren't for the snow, I'd remember each day that I still have no job and am not in school; however, with the snow, everyone becomes unemployed...and I like it.
3. Anthony Bourdain- for those of you not in the know, this old man is the hottest thing I've seen in a long time. Something about his curly gray hair and leather-like skin is so elusive, yet completely attainable. He drops the eff bomb like the A bomb on his show "No Reservations" and has stolen my heart. He gets sloshed on every episode and travels around to all these exotic places that I barely know exist. A new personal life goal- become Bourdain's Anna Nicole and get some before he kicks the basket.
4. Stray dogs- My mother surprised me with 2 pups as we apparently became foster parents to these orphan dogs. Though we cannot put them on the furniture nor bet on them in a fight, we still get to pet them and cuddle with them on the floor. I can say I've grown attached, despite their constant peeing on the floor and loud barking. It's nice to have someone at home with me during the day.
5. My hermit neighbor- this kind of goes along with number 4, but she deserves her own number. This lady once left a very mean typed note on our door about our unkempt yard, but she has somehow won a place in my heart as she has fallen in love with our orphans. She lives her life in her bathrobe and a cigarette in her hand, but she has come over twice since we got the dogs to get me to show the dogs to her friends. I have since forgiven her previous behavior as I feel sorry that our new dogs are the new joy in her life. As long as she's not typing up passive aggressive notes anymore, I'm good.
6. Clean feet- after the New Year's blow out at an open bar in Charlotte, I've really come to appreciate clean feet. People trampled on me, spilled drinks on me, and dropped food on my feet and by the end of the night, I couldn't see the tops of my feet through the bruises and dirt. After washing them, I decided I would never let them get to that level again. Therefore, clean feet are one of my favorite things.
7. Just Dance 2 (the Wii game)- Bsarita bought it after Christmas and we played it for a solid 4 hours. I don't think I've done anything for 4 straight hours since I was in school, and it felt amazing. I'm pretty uncoordinated, which made it surprisingly more fun. I should post videos I took of Bkristen, Bchristie, Bsarita, Bdanielle, and Bannie, buutttt I'm too nice of a person.
8. Twitter- though I've been on Twitter for some time now, I have a new appreciation for it after I converted 3 new tweeps. Spreading the word and the advantages to this social media outlet should count as a job and I feel I should be paid...but, since I get a lot out of Twitter, I don't mind giving back a little bit. All I gotta say is, Twitter may be my only news outlet these days, take note nytimes.com.
9. Primetime OnDemand- streaming "30 Rock" straight to your TV? Yes please! Though I'm never sure if I'm watching the most recent season or just some oldies, I still get to watch the shows I want whenever i want. Pretty sweet.
10. People who give me interviews- Though I have yet to procured a job, I enjoy when people give me interviews. It's nice to get an interview every now and then just to keep me searching... when can you apply for unemployment? I hear you have to have a job first, but does several unsuccessful interviews work?
2011, what can I say? It's been a real two weeks, now give me some of the same for the next 50!
1. Lauryn Hill- she's making a come back, but with her old throw back hits from '98. I recently saw her in concert and despite her very apparent highness, her voice is just as sweet as it was when she was opposite Whoopi Goldberg in a habit. Though she apparently doesn't like white people, if it weren't for the 85% caucasian crowd, her own "habit" may have ended. Nevertheless, shout out to LH and much love to kicking it to the grind.
2. Snow- This is the only thing that brings those employed back to my level as they cannot attend work because of the blizzard-like conditions that we've experienced thus far in 2011. If it weren't for the snow, I'd remember each day that I still have no job and am not in school; however, with the snow, everyone becomes unemployed...and I like it.
3. Anthony Bourdain- for those of you not in the know, this old man is the hottest thing I've seen in a long time. Something about his curly gray hair and leather-like skin is so elusive, yet completely attainable. He drops the eff bomb like the A bomb on his show "No Reservations" and has stolen my heart. He gets sloshed on every episode and travels around to all these exotic places that I barely know exist. A new personal life goal- become Bourdain's Anna Nicole and get some before he kicks the basket.
4. Stray dogs- My mother surprised me with 2 pups as we apparently became foster parents to these orphan dogs. Though we cannot put them on the furniture nor bet on them in a fight, we still get to pet them and cuddle with them on the floor. I can say I've grown attached, despite their constant peeing on the floor and loud barking. It's nice to have someone at home with me during the day.
5. My hermit neighbor- this kind of goes along with number 4, but she deserves her own number. This lady once left a very mean typed note on our door about our unkempt yard, but she has somehow won a place in my heart as she has fallen in love with our orphans. She lives her life in her bathrobe and a cigarette in her hand, but she has come over twice since we got the dogs to get me to show the dogs to her friends. I have since forgiven her previous behavior as I feel sorry that our new dogs are the new joy in her life. As long as she's not typing up passive aggressive notes anymore, I'm good.
6. Clean feet- after the New Year's blow out at an open bar in Charlotte, I've really come to appreciate clean feet. People trampled on me, spilled drinks on me, and dropped food on my feet and by the end of the night, I couldn't see the tops of my feet through the bruises and dirt. After washing them, I decided I would never let them get to that level again. Therefore, clean feet are one of my favorite things.
7. Just Dance 2 (the Wii game)- Bsarita bought it after Christmas and we played it for a solid 4 hours. I don't think I've done anything for 4 straight hours since I was in school, and it felt amazing. I'm pretty uncoordinated, which made it surprisingly more fun. I should post videos I took of Bkristen, Bchristie, Bsarita, Bdanielle, and Bannie, buutttt I'm too nice of a person.
8. Twitter- though I've been on Twitter for some time now, I have a new appreciation for it after I converted 3 new tweeps. Spreading the word and the advantages to this social media outlet should count as a job and I feel I should be paid...but, since I get a lot out of Twitter, I don't mind giving back a little bit. All I gotta say is, Twitter may be my only news outlet these days, take note nytimes.com.
9. Primetime OnDemand- streaming "30 Rock" straight to your TV? Yes please! Though I'm never sure if I'm watching the most recent season or just some oldies, I still get to watch the shows I want whenever i want. Pretty sweet.
10. People who give me interviews- Though I have yet to procured a job, I enjoy when people give me interviews. It's nice to get an interview every now and then just to keep me searching... when can you apply for unemployment? I hear you have to have a job first, but does several unsuccessful interviews work?
2011, what can I say? It's been a real two weeks, now give me some of the same for the next 50!
Monday, December 27, 2010
Who You Find on the Grind
In addition to sending out enormous amounts of resumes to random companies, I have been back at my old hustles...namely the old lady garment industry. For those of you new to this blog, I pride myself on finding strange, legal ways to get money. In the past, I've worked a traveling roadshow of 2-3 racks of clothes made of spandex, lycra-esque material outfits perfect for your Nana or prematurely aging mother or friend. Apparently the roadshow had made its rounds and came back to my town.
These fools called me up on a Tuesday night to work at 7:30 AM the following day, and like a dog in heat finding a mate unexpectedly, I quickly accepted and got suited up for the job.
I knew what I was getting into and rejoiced in obtaining some sort of income outside of my monthly allowance via my parents. I gotta do something to contribute to my eating and drinking habits, right? I like to feel like I'm at least 3% self sufficient with this moo-moo hustle; it is where it's at.
Unlike my previous roadshow experience, my second shift was marred by a random sleet storm. After consulting with my coworker, we both opted out on working that day. I called in, thought everything was cool and kept on keeping on. Though I admit it, I probably could have driven to work in my sedan, to make myself feel better I refused to get into any car that was not an SUV that day. If I didn't get into a normal car that drove fine on the roads, I could think that there was no way my Beefy Corolla could have taken that road... that's how I reason it, anyway.
I roll into work the next day and some chica is up in my biznaz tryna run my racks. At first, I was confused so I called my contact at the rando company. She apparently fired me and my other coworker who didn't come in that snowy day without telling us and apparently wasn't going to tell us. She hired some other bias via craigslist (only fueling my love-hate, mostly hate, relationship with craigslist) and they were all up on the schedule. She quickly said that since I showed up for my previously scheduled shift that day and only lived 10 minutes away that I could keep my hours. I was relieved mainly because I already bought my Christmas presents and spent more on them than the usual $10, thrift shop, hand-me down gifts I usually get for my family. So, I continued working.
Since I would now be working at the same time as these new chicks, I decided to get to know them and I thought I'd share with you the type of people you encounter while hustling random grinds around town.
The first girl, whom I will call Bsnooki (not to be confused with Snooki). Bsnooki was amiable and quick to tell me the facts of her life. Coming from a farm (she never said what the farm produced, so I assumed for myself what they grew), her dad was a pothead and her brother was in jail for selling the ganja. She herself was on probation for a DWI, being only 20. She moved out of her parents house at 15 (what, can people do that at that age?) and into a dude's house. Then she was in the army for a year, a year she apparently spent sleeping in her locker so as not to do work. She seemed reliable enough, though her boyfriend was apparently the jealous controlling type and they lived in the basement of his 109 year old grandmother's house. Bsnooki was a talker, and it kept me entertained. I played up my hoodrat roots living, saying I once lived in an apartment when I was young and had divorced parents. I tried to relate and thought I gave a pretty good impression of also being from a similar background. She talked of the rough life and paying bills, and I talked about how hard it was to decide which J Crew shirt to buy and which relative I would ask for money to make that purchase. It seemed a match made in heaven. The last time I saw her she was going to an audition for a dancer position from an ad she also found on craigslist. It's to be determined if this dancing took place on a pole or a stage, or a combo. More power to you, Bsnooki, you get through that probation!
The next lady was someone I'll call Belinda. She was a little older than the rest of us, but the pounds of make up she wore concealed her age...and quite honestly, her identity. She had a tranny glow about her, but she really was a sweetheart and her troubles were insane. She had high blood pressure, a heart murmur-type thing, her grandpa was about to die, and she seemed to live in an animal menagerie from what I understood about the amount of pets she had. Her thick Southern accent and odd colloquialisms (something "thicker than a cat's tail on Christmas day" is a good thing, right?) along with my Melly from the Block way of talking made communication difficult at times and I found myself nodding along as she listed what I assumed were her ailments. I became a little scared that she would pass out and I would not be able to do anything but rely on the sample-giver outers to CPR her back into working order. I don't think her health was helped by her cigarette habit, but she seemed okay with her way of life...well, aside from the fact that some medicine she was on would make her walk in her sleep at night and dig through drawers and boxes of cereal, or make and eat a peanut butter sandwich.
My favorite buddy was Bojangles. I don't mean that she was fat by using that name, but instead to imply that we bonded on our love of Bojangles biscuits. She was also a recent graduate from an accredited university and felt for my unemployed way of life. She hated being stuck in the Dash but also didn't know how to get out of it. We both had the same opinions about education, law, and sleep walking. In our 4 hour work shifts together, I got to know her real well and I felt like we were really sistas. Out of all the people I've met on the grind, she had to have been the only one I could have an intelligent conversation with and still laugh about the odd looking people that came into the store. Although we hugged as I left, Bojangles was the only person I did not get the number of upon my last day of work, thus dashing my hopes of having 3 friends in my hometown to hang out with.
I also met some weird people that gave out samples. I feel like I don't really need to describe them because, well, if you've ever been to a bulk store, you know the samplers are just plain odd (except for Bantwone). They will give you extra samples if you work with them though, which can be nice when you don't want to buy a day old hotdog from the club restaurant.
After all that, I'd say I'd do it again. I like the samples, the stories, and the money.
These fools called me up on a Tuesday night to work at 7:30 AM the following day, and like a dog in heat finding a mate unexpectedly, I quickly accepted and got suited up for the job.
I knew what I was getting into and rejoiced in obtaining some sort of income outside of my monthly allowance via my parents. I gotta do something to contribute to my eating and drinking habits, right? I like to feel like I'm at least 3% self sufficient with this moo-moo hustle; it is where it's at.
Unlike my previous roadshow experience, my second shift was marred by a random sleet storm. After consulting with my coworker, we both opted out on working that day. I called in, thought everything was cool and kept on keeping on. Though I admit it, I probably could have driven to work in my sedan, to make myself feel better I refused to get into any car that was not an SUV that day. If I didn't get into a normal car that drove fine on the roads, I could think that there was no way my Beefy Corolla could have taken that road... that's how I reason it, anyway.
I roll into work the next day and some chica is up in my biznaz tryna run my racks. At first, I was confused so I called my contact at the rando company. She apparently fired me and my other coworker who didn't come in that snowy day without telling us and apparently wasn't going to tell us. She hired some other bias via craigslist (only fueling my love-hate, mostly hate, relationship with craigslist) and they were all up on the schedule. She quickly said that since I showed up for my previously scheduled shift that day and only lived 10 minutes away that I could keep my hours. I was relieved mainly because I already bought my Christmas presents and spent more on them than the usual $10, thrift shop, hand-me down gifts I usually get for my family. So, I continued working.
Since I would now be working at the same time as these new chicks, I decided to get to know them and I thought I'd share with you the type of people you encounter while hustling random grinds around town.
The first girl, whom I will call Bsnooki (not to be confused with Snooki). Bsnooki was amiable and quick to tell me the facts of her life. Coming from a farm (she never said what the farm produced, so I assumed for myself what they grew), her dad was a pothead and her brother was in jail for selling the ganja. She herself was on probation for a DWI, being only 20. She moved out of her parents house at 15 (what, can people do that at that age?) and into a dude's house. Then she was in the army for a year, a year she apparently spent sleeping in her locker so as not to do work. She seemed reliable enough, though her boyfriend was apparently the jealous controlling type and they lived in the basement of his 109 year old grandmother's house. Bsnooki was a talker, and it kept me entertained. I played up my hoodrat roots living, saying I once lived in an apartment when I was young and had divorced parents. I tried to relate and thought I gave a pretty good impression of also being from a similar background. She talked of the rough life and paying bills, and I talked about how hard it was to decide which J Crew shirt to buy and which relative I would ask for money to make that purchase. It seemed a match made in heaven. The last time I saw her she was going to an audition for a dancer position from an ad she also found on craigslist. It's to be determined if this dancing took place on a pole or a stage, or a combo. More power to you, Bsnooki, you get through that probation!
The next lady was someone I'll call Belinda. She was a little older than the rest of us, but the pounds of make up she wore concealed her age...and quite honestly, her identity. She had a tranny glow about her, but she really was a sweetheart and her troubles were insane. She had high blood pressure, a heart murmur-type thing, her grandpa was about to die, and she seemed to live in an animal menagerie from what I understood about the amount of pets she had. Her thick Southern accent and odd colloquialisms (something "thicker than a cat's tail on Christmas day" is a good thing, right?) along with my Melly from the Block way of talking made communication difficult at times and I found myself nodding along as she listed what I assumed were her ailments. I became a little scared that she would pass out and I would not be able to do anything but rely on the sample-giver outers to CPR her back into working order. I don't think her health was helped by her cigarette habit, but she seemed okay with her way of life...well, aside from the fact that some medicine she was on would make her walk in her sleep at night and dig through drawers and boxes of cereal, or make and eat a peanut butter sandwich.
My favorite buddy was Bojangles. I don't mean that she was fat by using that name, but instead to imply that we bonded on our love of Bojangles biscuits. She was also a recent graduate from an accredited university and felt for my unemployed way of life. She hated being stuck in the Dash but also didn't know how to get out of it. We both had the same opinions about education, law, and sleep walking. In our 4 hour work shifts together, I got to know her real well and I felt like we were really sistas. Out of all the people I've met on the grind, she had to have been the only one I could have an intelligent conversation with and still laugh about the odd looking people that came into the store. Although we hugged as I left, Bojangles was the only person I did not get the number of upon my last day of work, thus dashing my hopes of having 3 friends in my hometown to hang out with.
I also met some weird people that gave out samples. I feel like I don't really need to describe them because, well, if you've ever been to a bulk store, you know the samplers are just plain odd (except for Bantwone). They will give you extra samples if you work with them though, which can be nice when you don't want to buy a day old hotdog from the club restaurant.
After all that, I'd say I'd do it again. I like the samples, the stories, and the money.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
In a District of Columbia Non-State of Mind
Wow, how time has flown and yet nothing has really been done to remedy this unemployment predicament I am in! Jk jk, I'm on the job prowl and for that, I had to traverse out of my comfort zone and into the District. As for the delay in updating, I apologize. I know you four people have been patiently awaiting an update!
Anywho, it was to the good old Capitol town I went earlier this week. I've been there before, in fact, I had a wee bit of an obsession for most of my life and have gone at least once a year. Something about old statues and homeless people, along with the highest STD rate in the nation, just makes my heart skip a beat and I have to go back.
This trip was unlike my others because I was actually doing something productive by getting some interviews via my buddy Berica. In hard economic times like this, it helps to have friends who will pass your resume, and not your blog, to future employers. I had three set up for Tuesday and a Happy Hour with some real working girls afterward, aka the perfect day.
In post interview celebration and pre Happy Hour time, I headed to the subway to try and navigate my maybe future home. I took the long way to the metro stop and after an hour of walking, got on. Maybe not the best plan in 28 degree weather, but it worked. I looked at the metro map and figured I'd go to the Smithsonians since they were free.
As I got out of the stop, the wind had picked up and I realized I needed to get inside somewhere quick and immediately stumbled upon the Holocaust Museum. In an effort to get feeling back in my toes, set the mood for Happy Hour, and celebrate Hanukkah, it seemed like the perfect spot. It was free because it was the off season, so I ventured inside. I couldn't help but be reminded of a previous visit to the Holocaust Museum that I shared with my friend Bkelly.
I was visiting Bkelly as she spent the summer working for some non-profit. We couldn't think of anything to do, so we went to the Holocaust Museum's gift shop, naturally. We looked around at the menorahs, the Torahs, and the postcards to pass the time. We both spotted a tiny, ancient lady who seemed to straining to reach a book (at least I remember her playing up the damsel in distress bit) so we walked over to see if she needed help.
She motioned for us to follow her to the back of the store, and we did, thinking that something was just too high for her to reach in her Merrels. All of a sudden, a table appeared before us with a mound of books atop it and an empty chair behind it. The lady sat down and handed each of us a book. She explained that this was in fact her book about her experience in the Holocaust.
Moved by her words, I thumbed through it. There were pictures of her as a young girl and I genuinely was interested, but just not in buying it. As I looked through it, I tried to find the words of consolation for such an experience and also the words to say that I was just looking and not intending to spend $20 on her book, Bkelly sat the book down and walked away, leaving me looking like a putz.
Now, it's not that I didn't want to buy the book or didn't feel for the lady, but I was a college student with limited funding and limited time to read. Trying to politely get out of the conversation without purchasing the book, I proceeded to ask her to sign the book, thinking I could get her to sign it then walk away and leave it somewhere where she wouldn't see me put it down.
Unluckily, she informed me that I would have to pay for the book before she could write in it. This was a predicament indeed because there was just no easy out. I caved and put the book on my credit card then returned to the table and asked for it to be personalized. The lady did it with the biggest smile and quickest pen. I walked away feeling I had made this lady's day.
I met Bkelly outside, who was laughing at me for being a softie and buying the lady's memoir. I mean, how can you say "no" to a lady who has been through the Holocaust? It's just not right!
When I returned home after my trip, I opened the book, because I believed it deserved a read for both the lady and my $20. I never finished it because it was probably one of the most poorly written books I ever started. I felt like I should almost edit it then send a copy to her to republish. I read the back of it and got the jist.
I felt I did both her and I a favor by reading the synopsis, but I also remembered to not go into a museum's bookstore again unless I wanted a signed book or rock candy.
Anywho, it was to the good old Capitol town I went earlier this week. I've been there before, in fact, I had a wee bit of an obsession for most of my life and have gone at least once a year. Something about old statues and homeless people, along with the highest STD rate in the nation, just makes my heart skip a beat and I have to go back.
This trip was unlike my others because I was actually doing something productive by getting some interviews via my buddy Berica. In hard economic times like this, it helps to have friends who will pass your resume, and not your blog, to future employers. I had three set up for Tuesday and a Happy Hour with some real working girls afterward, aka the perfect day.
In post interview celebration and pre Happy Hour time, I headed to the subway to try and navigate my maybe future home. I took the long way to the metro stop and after an hour of walking, got on. Maybe not the best plan in 28 degree weather, but it worked. I looked at the metro map and figured I'd go to the Smithsonians since they were free.
As I got out of the stop, the wind had picked up and I realized I needed to get inside somewhere quick and immediately stumbled upon the Holocaust Museum. In an effort to get feeling back in my toes, set the mood for Happy Hour, and celebrate Hanukkah, it seemed like the perfect spot. It was free because it was the off season, so I ventured inside. I couldn't help but be reminded of a previous visit to the Holocaust Museum that I shared with my friend Bkelly.
I was visiting Bkelly as she spent the summer working for some non-profit. We couldn't think of anything to do, so we went to the Holocaust Museum's gift shop, naturally. We looked around at the menorahs, the Torahs, and the postcards to pass the time. We both spotted a tiny, ancient lady who seemed to straining to reach a book (at least I remember her playing up the damsel in distress bit) so we walked over to see if she needed help.
She motioned for us to follow her to the back of the store, and we did, thinking that something was just too high for her to reach in her Merrels. All of a sudden, a table appeared before us with a mound of books atop it and an empty chair behind it. The lady sat down and handed each of us a book. She explained that this was in fact her book about her experience in the Holocaust.
Moved by her words, I thumbed through it. There were pictures of her as a young girl and I genuinely was interested, but just not in buying it. As I looked through it, I tried to find the words of consolation for such an experience and also the words to say that I was just looking and not intending to spend $20 on her book, Bkelly sat the book down and walked away, leaving me looking like a putz.
Now, it's not that I didn't want to buy the book or didn't feel for the lady, but I was a college student with limited funding and limited time to read. Trying to politely get out of the conversation without purchasing the book, I proceeded to ask her to sign the book, thinking I could get her to sign it then walk away and leave it somewhere where she wouldn't see me put it down.
Unluckily, she informed me that I would have to pay for the book before she could write in it. This was a predicament indeed because there was just no easy out. I caved and put the book on my credit card then returned to the table and asked for it to be personalized. The lady did it with the biggest smile and quickest pen. I walked away feeling I had made this lady's day.
I met Bkelly outside, who was laughing at me for being a softie and buying the lady's memoir. I mean, how can you say "no" to a lady who has been through the Holocaust? It's just not right!
When I returned home after my trip, I opened the book, because I believed it deserved a read for both the lady and my $20. I never finished it because it was probably one of the most poorly written books I ever started. I felt like I should almost edit it then send a copy to her to republish. I read the back of it and got the jist.
I felt I did both her and I a favor by reading the synopsis, but I also remembered to not go into a museum's bookstore again unless I wanted a signed book or rock candy.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Okay, Maybe Not
I did not and will not be going to Korea. It came down to a game-time decision. It was reminiscent of a game-time employment decision I made a mere 2 years ago...
To set the scene, imagine a young girl on the cusp of womanhood who only wants to make a ton of money to replace her crappy IBM with a brand new Mac. A young, Latino man offers her an opportunity. He was an elusive young chap with a penchant for sales, smoldering eyes, and a pitch she could not ignore... whoa, I may be reading too many trashy novels... The job was in sales, though the it required door-to-door sales of school books and not of her body as she does when she participate in research studies.
As I got more into the job, I realized this Latino had a novia and I wasn't going to be making money and dating him, but it was okay because the whole second semester of school, I fantasized about how much money I'd make and be throwing over my head like Richie Rich and wondered if Ben Frank or Ol' Washington would be better to wipe my face with after bathing in quarters. I was hyped, I was ready, I wanted that green staining my skin. Everyone was like, "Don't kids get school books... in school?" and "Aren't children in St. Louis illiterate?" but my thirst for book sales could not be satiated. I was going to St. Louis and that was that. I had prepared my housing for the duration of the trip, my car for the ride and my mind for a long, yet hugely monetarily satisfying summer. I was one suitcase short of out the door, when I decided to go out one night with Banna.
I was explaining my exciting new job as Banna's eyes and mouth grew open in anticipation of a rebuttal. As soon as I finished my elated explanation, Banna grabbed my arm and screamed "DON'T DO IT, DON'T DO IT, DON'T DO IT! I did it for a week and HATED it! I'm calling this dude who hired me and convinced me to quit right now to talk to you!" Granted it was at the end of the night and we were in Bski's, the speed with which she dialed a guy I'll call "Bernie" (mostly because I forgot his name), convinced me she meant business. She handed me the phone.
Bernie was pretty inebriated, as I detected in his slurred speech, but his message was clear. As I woofed down my AKski, I listened to this kid monologue me into the fear of leaving my house. He said the following:
"Imagine yourself in a city you've never been in, doing something you don't wanna do that no one even understands why you're doing it. You know no one and don't recognize anyone except the guy who drove by delivering pizza and you swear it's the Papa. You've just knocked on 50 doors, in 30 minutes, but no one has answered a single door or let you in. The temperature is rising and you're wearing a suit to appear legit, and you can't take off the coat. You find yourself sitting on the curb with cottonmouth from the night before when you drank away your sorrows and no water in sight. You're alone...utterly alone. Your dad told you to be a man and never cry, but you start balling anyway and snot's running down your nose. And this is only the first day, not even the first hour. You're alone, forever."
Well, as you can tell, it sounded miserable. I hung up the phone and shed a tear for the poor soul I had just spoken to. For a half second, I thought, "He must just be a really bad salesman, or ugly." But Banna was there to assure me that Bernie was hot and the job was really just that bad. She also told me that she had single-handedly convinced 10 other people to quit when she realized how bad it was, which made me wonder why she didn't stay and make boatloads of money if she was that good. In any case, I was convinced this was not for me and the next day canceled my plans and got a room in Banna's house for the summer.
That summer, I ended up working at a pool and spending a lovely two months with differently-abled individuals like M'Lady (who deserves her own book full of entries). Though I spent all the money I made on liquid food, it was better than sitting on a curb crying, alone...
Maybe this experience influenced my decision about Korea. The thought of sitting on a curb (does Korea even have curbs?) crying and being the tallest person in the city, though while fulfilling my fantasy of being an Amazon queen, really did not appeal to me anymore. I'm not knocking those who are there sticking to the teaching grind, more power to you, all I gotsta say is that it isn't for me, mainly because after reading my last entry, I REALLY do not wanna become Sister Bjoan...glass eye...ew.
To set the scene, imagine a young girl on the cusp of womanhood who only wants to make a ton of money to replace her crappy IBM with a brand new Mac. A young, Latino man offers her an opportunity. He was an elusive young chap with a penchant for sales, smoldering eyes, and a pitch she could not ignore... whoa, I may be reading too many trashy novels... The job was in sales, though the it required door-to-door sales of school books and not of her body as she does when she participate in research studies.
As I got more into the job, I realized this Latino had a novia and I wasn't going to be making money and dating him, but it was okay because the whole second semester of school, I fantasized about how much money I'd make and be throwing over my head like Richie Rich and wondered if Ben Frank or Ol' Washington would be better to wipe my face with after bathing in quarters. I was hyped, I was ready, I wanted that green staining my skin. Everyone was like, "Don't kids get school books... in school?" and "Aren't children in St. Louis illiterate?" but my thirst for book sales could not be satiated. I was going to St. Louis and that was that. I had prepared my housing for the duration of the trip, my car for the ride and my mind for a long, yet hugely monetarily satisfying summer. I was one suitcase short of out the door, when I decided to go out one night with Banna.
I was explaining my exciting new job as Banna's eyes and mouth grew open in anticipation of a rebuttal. As soon as I finished my elated explanation, Banna grabbed my arm and screamed "DON'T DO IT, DON'T DO IT, DON'T DO IT! I did it for a week and HATED it! I'm calling this dude who hired me and convinced me to quit right now to talk to you!" Granted it was at the end of the night and we were in Bski's, the speed with which she dialed a guy I'll call "Bernie" (mostly because I forgot his name), convinced me she meant business. She handed me the phone.
Bernie was pretty inebriated, as I detected in his slurred speech, but his message was clear. As I woofed down my AKski, I listened to this kid monologue me into the fear of leaving my house. He said the following:
"Imagine yourself in a city you've never been in, doing something you don't wanna do that no one even understands why you're doing it. You know no one and don't recognize anyone except the guy who drove by delivering pizza and you swear it's the Papa. You've just knocked on 50 doors, in 30 minutes, but no one has answered a single door or let you in. The temperature is rising and you're wearing a suit to appear legit, and you can't take off the coat. You find yourself sitting on the curb with cottonmouth from the night before when you drank away your sorrows and no water in sight. You're alone...utterly alone. Your dad told you to be a man and never cry, but you start balling anyway and snot's running down your nose. And this is only the first day, not even the first hour. You're alone, forever."
Well, as you can tell, it sounded miserable. I hung up the phone and shed a tear for the poor soul I had just spoken to. For a half second, I thought, "He must just be a really bad salesman, or ugly." But Banna was there to assure me that Bernie was hot and the job was really just that bad. She also told me that she had single-handedly convinced 10 other people to quit when she realized how bad it was, which made me wonder why she didn't stay and make boatloads of money if she was that good. In any case, I was convinced this was not for me and the next day canceled my plans and got a room in Banna's house for the summer.
That summer, I ended up working at a pool and spending a lovely two months with differently-abled individuals like M'Lady (who deserves her own book full of entries). Though I spent all the money I made on liquid food, it was better than sitting on a curb crying, alone...
Maybe this experience influenced my decision about Korea. The thought of sitting on a curb (does Korea even have curbs?) crying and being the tallest person in the city, though while fulfilling my fantasy of being an Amazon queen, really did not appeal to me anymore. I'm not knocking those who are there sticking to the teaching grind, more power to you, all I gotsta say is that it isn't for me, mainly because after reading my last entry, I REALLY do not wanna become Sister Bjoan...glass eye...ew.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Korea, There's An Idea
In an attempt to be witty, I may have actually not rhymed as I hoped in the title of this entry, but I still like it and therefore will use it (so THERE, Bmichelle!).
Anyway, my months of being the ultimate bum are quickly coming to a close as I say bon voyage to myself while embarking on a new chapter in my blogger/real life, but first, a little background.
As an elementary student, day in and day out, I pledged my allegiance to quitting school when I was 16 and joining the circus as a gymnast whose only real talent was rolling around on the floor thinking I was doing a cartwheel (my talents are immortalized in my "MLC Reckless Tour" video which may some day go viral... thank God for my brother and his flare for theatrics). It sounded like a great plan and I believed it would make me money. Then, in third grade, freaking Mrs. Henderson (I think that was her name?) decided to make predictions about everyone in the class and their future careers. My friends got great predictions like model, doctor, geisha. I was eager to see mine.
Instead of recognizing my raw physical talent, Mrs. Henderson saw something in my stellar phonics scores and predicted that I'd be the principal of our Catholic elementary school in our podunk town. WTF? First of all, the principal at the time was a nun with a glass eye and drawing any correlation between me and this closeted lezzy was just wrong. I mean, I did have wide shoulders and maybe a tendency of wearing a habit, but seriously?
While I doubt anyone remembers this scarring prediction, I have fought it tooth and nail since I was 9. Yet, somehow, maybe through God and the grace of that dear Sister "Glasseye" Bjoan, I am entering the education field. But it's not a traditional, go to school to be a teacher type of job; it's teaching English in South Korea.
Now it seems crazy to some, but somehow highly logical to me. I mean, where are gymnasts born? ASIA. If I want to continue to pursue my aforementioned real dream career, I gotta learn from the best. Like I said, it's logical, right?
But on the real... I'm about to leave everyone I know and love while following the path I have tried to avoid my entire life: becoming a teacher. I know it's not Sister Bjoan-like to go to Asia to teach and it possibly won't put me back in Bmacon schooling chillans at my old elementary, but the similarities are becoming too eerie for me to handle. She was a teacher (or at least I am assuming she was...don't principals have to be teachers at some point?) and I'm becoming a teacher; if I keep mysteriously getting pink eye, I may lose an eye ball and gain a chunk of rolling glass; the only thing really missing is a large, mullety lady love with whom I go on "outings" to the local seafood restaurant. Too bad my mullety lover would be male and therefore unacceptable.
I guess the only real question is: when will I get thee to a nunnery? Do people even become nuns anymore? You just don't see 20 year old chicks romping around in a flying nun outfit with the lepers like you used to. At one point, I thought I could become a nun, but at another point I also thought that I may be the second coming of Christ. I mean really, if you're going to tell kids that anybody could be Jesus, how are they not supposed to think that they themselves can be Him and thus try to heal a scratch procured from the playground? The things Catholic school does to you.
Again, I lose my focus as I get wrapped up in my fear of the nunnery and being a principal. (Seriously, Mrs. Henderson, your predictions were both jarring and traumatic.) We shall see if South Korea either gives me an Asian, mullet-bearing manfriend or has already reserved a spot for me in the convent...
Anyway, my months of being the ultimate bum are quickly coming to a close as I say bon voyage to myself while embarking on a new chapter in my blogger/real life, but first, a little background.
As an elementary student, day in and day out, I pledged my allegiance to quitting school when I was 16 and joining the circus as a gymnast whose only real talent was rolling around on the floor thinking I was doing a cartwheel (my talents are immortalized in my "MLC Reckless Tour" video which may some day go viral... thank God for my brother and his flare for theatrics). It sounded like a great plan and I believed it would make me money. Then, in third grade, freaking Mrs. Henderson (I think that was her name?) decided to make predictions about everyone in the class and their future careers. My friends got great predictions like model, doctor, geisha. I was eager to see mine.
Instead of recognizing my raw physical talent, Mrs. Henderson saw something in my stellar phonics scores and predicted that I'd be the principal of our Catholic elementary school in our podunk town. WTF? First of all, the principal at the time was a nun with a glass eye and drawing any correlation between me and this closeted lezzy was just wrong. I mean, I did have wide shoulders and maybe a tendency of wearing a habit, but seriously?
While I doubt anyone remembers this scarring prediction, I have fought it tooth and nail since I was 9. Yet, somehow, maybe through God and the grace of that dear Sister "Glasseye" Bjoan, I am entering the education field. But it's not a traditional, go to school to be a teacher type of job; it's teaching English in South Korea.
Now it seems crazy to some, but somehow highly logical to me. I mean, where are gymnasts born? ASIA. If I want to continue to pursue my aforementioned real dream career, I gotta learn from the best. Like I said, it's logical, right?
But on the real... I'm about to leave everyone I know and love while following the path I have tried to avoid my entire life: becoming a teacher. I know it's not Sister Bjoan-like to go to Asia to teach and it possibly won't put me back in Bmacon schooling chillans at my old elementary, but the similarities are becoming too eerie for me to handle. She was a teacher (or at least I am assuming she was...don't principals have to be teachers at some point?) and I'm becoming a teacher; if I keep mysteriously getting pink eye, I may lose an eye ball and gain a chunk of rolling glass; the only thing really missing is a large, mullety lady love with whom I go on "outings" to the local seafood restaurant. Too bad my mullety lover would be male and therefore unacceptable.
I guess the only real question is: when will I get thee to a nunnery? Do people even become nuns anymore? You just don't see 20 year old chicks romping around in a flying nun outfit with the lepers like you used to. At one point, I thought I could become a nun, but at another point I also thought that I may be the second coming of Christ. I mean really, if you're going to tell kids that anybody could be Jesus, how are they not supposed to think that they themselves can be Him and thus try to heal a scratch procured from the playground? The things Catholic school does to you.
Again, I lose my focus as I get wrapped up in my fear of the nunnery and being a principal. (Seriously, Mrs. Henderson, your predictions were both jarring and traumatic.) We shall see if South Korea either gives me an Asian, mullet-bearing manfriend or has already reserved a spot for me in the convent...
Sunday, November 7, 2010
An Eyeful
I've heard that every anniversary has a different themed gift. Ranging from the paper anniversary, to the gold anniversary, to well, I think that's all I've heard of... But, I think these and other types of themes could also be applied to birthdays. Turning 21, it's the legal bar year. Turning 22, at least for me, it was the ghetto bar year complete with a Lil Wayne (yess he's free!) impersonator. And for my friend Banna, turning 24 was the strip bar year.
I made a trip away from home to visit my girl for her birthday celebrations, of which, at the time, I was not informed. As we ordered an obnoxious amount of food with way too many people at Ham's, I was let in on the game plan. We were going to go downtown and go to the strip club that Banna's sister managed, but maybe not in that order.
Now, my only experiences with strip clubs consisted of vague memories of seeing potted plants and then the gay strip club I went to in Key West. The only other time I've seen someone selling themselves was when I was in Amsterdam and dumbly strolled down the Red Light District during the day because it looked like a colorful street (true story). Needless to say, this experience was going to be different and all too memorable.
Though I generally feel sorry for strippers and can only think of what their mothers' think of their profession, I was curious about what the job really entailed, so Banna used this curiosity to get us all into the establishment, as well as the misleading statement that free drinks would be included when really the drinks were only free for her, the birthday girl.
The only people I knew at the celebratory events were Bmaddie and Banna, so I clung to Bmaddie as ventured inside the club. We sat back in a booth as Banna and her other friends sat around the stage. Bmaddie and myself debated the pros and cons of getting too close to strippers, and the possibility of contracting some sort of STD from sitting in a seat that close. I had told myself I wouldn't support the club other than the Shirley Temple I had just purchased, but when I saw Banna folding dollars into triangles, I couldn't help but wonder about the dollar's purpose. My curiosity trumped the possibility of contracting the siph.
Bmaddie and I went up to see what it was all about. Apparently, it's a common assumption that strippers can pick up dollars with their behinds; however, we learned it was based in the also false assumption that all strippers have ginormous butts. The triangular shape of the dollar was to incite an attempt at the clinch of the dollar, but instead these pretty unattractive and unfit ladies just plopped down and assumed something would happen. As I learned through the night, strip clubs are full of false assumptions and disappointing skills.
We never made it to another venue, and only one stripper successfully grabbed the dollar sans hands. We all ended up back at Banna's pad, nom-noming candy corn and watching "Golden Eye." I have now vowed to never go back because I was a little emotionally scarred not just from the poor life decisions those women had made that I had been witness to, but mostly from their lack of commitment to learning new skill sets to please customers.
I made a trip away from home to visit my girl for her birthday celebrations, of which, at the time, I was not informed. As we ordered an obnoxious amount of food with way too many people at Ham's, I was let in on the game plan. We were going to go downtown and go to the strip club that Banna's sister managed, but maybe not in that order.
Now, my only experiences with strip clubs consisted of vague memories of seeing potted plants and then the gay strip club I went to in Key West. The only other time I've seen someone selling themselves was when I was in Amsterdam and dumbly strolled down the Red Light District during the day because it looked like a colorful street (true story). Needless to say, this experience was going to be different and all too memorable.
Though I generally feel sorry for strippers and can only think of what their mothers' think of their profession, I was curious about what the job really entailed, so Banna used this curiosity to get us all into the establishment, as well as the misleading statement that free drinks would be included when really the drinks were only free for her, the birthday girl.
The only people I knew at the celebratory events were Bmaddie and Banna, so I clung to Bmaddie as ventured inside the club. We sat back in a booth as Banna and her other friends sat around the stage. Bmaddie and myself debated the pros and cons of getting too close to strippers, and the possibility of contracting some sort of STD from sitting in a seat that close. I had told myself I wouldn't support the club other than the Shirley Temple I had just purchased, but when I saw Banna folding dollars into triangles, I couldn't help but wonder about the dollar's purpose. My curiosity trumped the possibility of contracting the siph.
Bmaddie and I went up to see what it was all about. Apparently, it's a common assumption that strippers can pick up dollars with their behinds; however, we learned it was based in the also false assumption that all strippers have ginormous butts. The triangular shape of the dollar was to incite an attempt at the clinch of the dollar, but instead these pretty unattractive and unfit ladies just plopped down and assumed something would happen. As I learned through the night, strip clubs are full of false assumptions and disappointing skills.
We never made it to another venue, and only one stripper successfully grabbed the dollar sans hands. We all ended up back at Banna's pad, nom-noming candy corn and watching "Golden Eye." I have now vowed to never go back because I was a little emotionally scarred not just from the poor life decisions those women had made that I had been witness to, but mostly from their lack of commitment to learning new skill sets to please customers.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Normal is Never Enough
October is my favorite month for a variety of reasons. Mainly my birthday, but also Halloween is my all time favorite holiday. Not only do we get to pretend to be people we aren't, we also get to dress up and gallivant around while eating candy from strangers, which is hardly ever acceptable.
This Halloween was certainly no disappointment. I decided to be my newest idol, Nicki Minaj, or so I thought. My outfit consisted of a pink wig, a set of glasses fully bedazzled so vision was completely impaired, my black shiny driving jacket and a tight black dress that I may or may not have actually worn to an event or two last year. Everyone thought I was Gaga. I think my lack of badonk was the cause of confusion, but I was willing to be confused for my previous idol, so I went with it.
Bmichelle, Bkristen and I rolled up to a party packed with graduated frat stars and expired beer. Apparently we inadvertently stumbled upon a frat house in the middle of Myers Park, but we were game because they had chili and pigs in a blanket.
A few hours later, we ended up at a bar/club downtown. I ended up ditching the wig because it was affecting my game and had a certain tussled, "drag queen" quality that I wasn't feeling anymore. It was time to hit the dance floor. Since I had recently become the 5th wheel to a 4 person party, I decided to mack on the most guido dude in view, who called himself "Lucas."
He seemed cute enough, maybe a little wrinkly, but his abs were intact and I was interested.
As we danced, I shouted my life story but when I asked for deets on his life, he declined. I asked him what he did for a living to which he replied "You know, I really don't want to talk about it, it's not exactly kosher"; when asked about his age he replied "You know, I thought we weren't going to talk about it"; when asked if I could go to the bathroom, he replied "Really? Are you still trying to talk about this?" Maybe he didn't actually hear me.
When we finally made it off the dance floor, I asked him again what he did for a living and told him that I wouldn't tell any narcs. He said, "I know you want to know, but I just don't think it's important. And don't worry, narcs don't deal with this kind of business." The only possible conclusion I came up with: he was a male gigolo, just like Deuce. Sick.
I quickly grabbed Bkristen and insisted on a swift departure, which luckily occurred. Though I had taken a bite from a stranger's hot dog on the street earlier in the night, I couldn't have been more grossed out by my choice of dance partner. There was not enough soap in the world to clean the gigolo's scent off my driving jacket, something between Axe and Abercrombie and Fitch's cologne. Ew.
This Halloween was certainly no disappointment. I decided to be my newest idol, Nicki Minaj, or so I thought. My outfit consisted of a pink wig, a set of glasses fully bedazzled so vision was completely impaired, my black shiny driving jacket and a tight black dress that I may or may not have actually worn to an event or two last year. Everyone thought I was Gaga. I think my lack of badonk was the cause of confusion, but I was willing to be confused for my previous idol, so I went with it.
Bmichelle, Bkristen and I rolled up to a party packed with graduated frat stars and expired beer. Apparently we inadvertently stumbled upon a frat house in the middle of Myers Park, but we were game because they had chili and pigs in a blanket.
A few hours later, we ended up at a bar/club downtown. I ended up ditching the wig because it was affecting my game and had a certain tussled, "drag queen" quality that I wasn't feeling anymore. It was time to hit the dance floor. Since I had recently become the 5th wheel to a 4 person party, I decided to mack on the most guido dude in view, who called himself "Lucas."
He seemed cute enough, maybe a little wrinkly, but his abs were intact and I was interested.
As we danced, I shouted my life story but when I asked for deets on his life, he declined. I asked him what he did for a living to which he replied "You know, I really don't want to talk about it, it's not exactly kosher"; when asked about his age he replied "You know, I thought we weren't going to talk about it"; when asked if I could go to the bathroom, he replied "Really? Are you still trying to talk about this?" Maybe he didn't actually hear me.
When we finally made it off the dance floor, I asked him again what he did for a living and told him that I wouldn't tell any narcs. He said, "I know you want to know, but I just don't think it's important. And don't worry, narcs don't deal with this kind of business." The only possible conclusion I came up with: he was a male gigolo, just like Deuce. Sick.
I quickly grabbed Bkristen and insisted on a swift departure, which luckily occurred. Though I had taken a bite from a stranger's hot dog on the street earlier in the night, I couldn't have been more grossed out by my choice of dance partner. There was not enough soap in the world to clean the gigolo's scent off my driving jacket, something between Axe and Abercrombie and Fitch's cologne. Ew.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
My Life Lately
I feel I offer my readers (all 3 of you), an explanation as to the recent decline in postings. Well, the title of my blog is not as accurate as it once was in that I am currently employed... though at a local Halloween store... and have been putting it to the grind for over a week now. In a constant effort to make some sort of money, I have demoted myself to true townie status as I don my orange smock.
Don't get me wrong, the people I'm working with are not that bad, though I do question my future as I'm only almost 23 and these people are 30+ and we have way too much in common. I'd much rather work at the local Banana Republic, they however, did not ever call me back... it makes me wonder what employers really think... Yet, there are some perks to working at a Halloween store. The main attraction to this job was to see what people are thinking when they buy horrendous costumes, and believe me, I have not been disappointed, especially while working the dressing rooms.
The fact that people are donning leotards and tutus in full intention of wearing it in public just cracks me up. I myself have worn some atrocious items in the past for shits and giggles, but the things these people say in the dressing room takes the cake. "I mean, if it's too short, just wear underwear" and "I really wanted to be the Candy Corn Witch to match with my daughter, but I know that after I start drinking, that outfit will not give in the belly" and similar comments keep me laughing on the inside all day long. I've found myself saying ridiculous things to people just to get them to buy that adult wizard costume and I don't even work on commission. It's just funny to see what people say in response.
Take this situation the other day. About 30 or more people come in and try 6+ outfits and don't buy a thing, so I got used to returning discarded items and listening to dressing room gossip. These two chicks, one of which was a spitting image of Snooki and the other who looked like a Nicole Ritchie wannabe came in and gathered 20 costumes each to try on. This turned into a fashion show that the fathers in the store were all too keen to enjoy while the more liberal mothers told them they needed to show more cleavage.
After 2 hours of walking around in the slutty nurse costumes, they didn't buy a thing and my male manager had to excuse himself for a "cigarette break." I felt ashamed but slightly sad that my 30% discount hasn't started yet and I therefore couldn't purchase anything yet either.
I feel like this job should supply me with more funny stories, but most of them just make me sad. You get some people that'll drop $100 for a single costume, then you get the down-and-out of luck ladies who can't buy their little boy a $5 vampire cape. It's a tangled web we weave as we prepare for a one day celebration of which decorations and costumes will tossed the following day.
My main observation has been that while millions complain of unemployment, I boast that you can be employed... if you're willing to do anything, even if it means telling the plus size chicas that their rippling rolls do not show in the medium size Perky Pin-Up costume.
Don't get me wrong, the people I'm working with are not that bad, though I do question my future as I'm only almost 23 and these people are 30+ and we have way too much in common. I'd much rather work at the local Banana Republic, they however, did not ever call me back... it makes me wonder what employers really think... Yet, there are some perks to working at a Halloween store. The main attraction to this job was to see what people are thinking when they buy horrendous costumes, and believe me, I have not been disappointed, especially while working the dressing rooms.
The fact that people are donning leotards and tutus in full intention of wearing it in public just cracks me up. I myself have worn some atrocious items in the past for shits and giggles, but the things these people say in the dressing room takes the cake. "I mean, if it's too short, just wear underwear" and "I really wanted to be the Candy Corn Witch to match with my daughter, but I know that after I start drinking, that outfit will not give in the belly" and similar comments keep me laughing on the inside all day long. I've found myself saying ridiculous things to people just to get them to buy that adult wizard costume and I don't even work on commission. It's just funny to see what people say in response.
Take this situation the other day. About 30 or more people come in and try 6+ outfits and don't buy a thing, so I got used to returning discarded items and listening to dressing room gossip. These two chicks, one of which was a spitting image of Snooki and the other who looked like a Nicole Ritchie wannabe came in and gathered 20 costumes each to try on. This turned into a fashion show that the fathers in the store were all too keen to enjoy while the more liberal mothers told them they needed to show more cleavage.
After 2 hours of walking around in the slutty nurse costumes, they didn't buy a thing and my male manager had to excuse himself for a "cigarette break." I felt ashamed but slightly sad that my 30% discount hasn't started yet and I therefore couldn't purchase anything yet either.
I feel like this job should supply me with more funny stories, but most of them just make me sad. You get some people that'll drop $100 for a single costume, then you get the down-and-out of luck ladies who can't buy their little boy a $5 vampire cape. It's a tangled web we weave as we prepare for a one day celebration of which decorations and costumes will tossed the following day.
My main observation has been that while millions complain of unemployment, I boast that you can be employed... if you're willing to do anything, even if it means telling the plus size chicas that their rippling rolls do not show in the medium size Perky Pin-Up costume.
Monday, October 4, 2010
A Regular Nine to Five...Sort Of
Since graduating, I've become really good friends with the job and childcare section of craigslist. I've visited every day, sometimes even twice a day in hopes of finding a gem of a job amid a sea of "at a glance" wanna-bes. Though I contemplated taking a man up on being his female companion to the movies, "events," and dinners (I'm still at a loss as to why this was listed under what I thought were legal jobs), I held out for a job that wouldn't land me in jail.
It wasn't until recently that craigslist and I became true friends with benefits. Usually, craigslist would call back me back and give false hopes of something more, but this time was different. This time would be magical, or as magical as a side hustle can be.
My first time having success with landing a job through craigslist proved to be more random than my typical way to make money. Instead of babysitting, giving blood, or not brushing my teeth, I would actually have set hours and have to clock in and out and perhaps even have to pay taxes. Yikes. Considering I haven't done such a thing in over 4 years, I wasn't sure if I could handle it, but the prospect of having some income was too good to pass up. However strange the job may be.
Ever heard of a traveling rack of clothes that goes from warehouse to warehouse of bulk items for 10 day stints? Yea, I hadn't either. All I could think was that there would be Blake Lively handing me her magical pants that America Ferrera had managed to squeeze into. Much to my dismay of not finding jeans that would in turn find me a husband, these traveling clothes were anything but, yet much more believable.
I signed up for the job having no clue what kind of clothes I'd be shoveling down peoples' throats in the hopes of a commission. As described most aptly by one girl close to my age as "moo-moos," the clothes job was gonna be a doozie, and not the good kind.
It was me manning three racks of fabulous granny clothes for the past 10 days and by manning it, I mean wandering around eating samples and trying to flatter people into purchasing some heinous fashion failures that old women love. Yes, I was selling clothing made of spandex and some synthetic known as acetate, something stretchy and apparently "ready for travel." When asked why I wasn't sporting the gear, I simply replied that I couldn't afford it... I thought about saying I was saving money for my three year old son with a bum leg, but the commission rate wasn't worth the pity buys.
However, I did convince a few people to buy the clothes, but due to the fact that the warehouse didn't usually sell clothes and thus lacked a dressing room and the fact that people wouldn't be able to exchange items after the roadshow left, and the simple fact they were uglier than sin on a stick, it was a hard sell.
Yet, I did get to eat many a meal off the sample carts that littered the warehouse floor day in and day out. I made friends with Bantwon who even saved me some taquitos after his shift was done. I'd say it was a successful hustle... or at least it will be once I get paid... if that happens.
Aside from the fact that I now have pink eye for the second time this year (though the circumstances leading to the infection are NOT the same as the first time, for those of you in the know), I felt more productive and I may even dabble into selling spa quality sheets at the same place.
It wasn't until recently that craigslist and I became true friends with benefits. Usually, craigslist would call back me back and give false hopes of something more, but this time was different. This time would be magical, or as magical as a side hustle can be.
My first time having success with landing a job through craigslist proved to be more random than my typical way to make money. Instead of babysitting, giving blood, or not brushing my teeth, I would actually have set hours and have to clock in and out and perhaps even have to pay taxes. Yikes. Considering I haven't done such a thing in over 4 years, I wasn't sure if I could handle it, but the prospect of having some income was too good to pass up. However strange the job may be.
Ever heard of a traveling rack of clothes that goes from warehouse to warehouse of bulk items for 10 day stints? Yea, I hadn't either. All I could think was that there would be Blake Lively handing me her magical pants that America Ferrera had managed to squeeze into. Much to my dismay of not finding jeans that would in turn find me a husband, these traveling clothes were anything but, yet much more believable.
I signed up for the job having no clue what kind of clothes I'd be shoveling down peoples' throats in the hopes of a commission. As described most aptly by one girl close to my age as "moo-moos," the clothes job was gonna be a doozie, and not the good kind.
It was me manning three racks of fabulous granny clothes for the past 10 days and by manning it, I mean wandering around eating samples and trying to flatter people into purchasing some heinous fashion failures that old women love. Yes, I was selling clothing made of spandex and some synthetic known as acetate, something stretchy and apparently "ready for travel." When asked why I wasn't sporting the gear, I simply replied that I couldn't afford it... I thought about saying I was saving money for my three year old son with a bum leg, but the commission rate wasn't worth the pity buys.
However, I did convince a few people to buy the clothes, but due to the fact that the warehouse didn't usually sell clothes and thus lacked a dressing room and the fact that people wouldn't be able to exchange items after the roadshow left, and the simple fact they were uglier than sin on a stick, it was a hard sell.
Yet, I did get to eat many a meal off the sample carts that littered the warehouse floor day in and day out. I made friends with Bantwon who even saved me some taquitos after his shift was done. I'd say it was a successful hustle... or at least it will be once I get paid... if that happens.
Aside from the fact that I now have pink eye for the second time this year (though the circumstances leading to the infection are NOT the same as the first time, for those of you in the know), I felt more productive and I may even dabble into selling spa quality sheets at the same place.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Double Header
Though I was virtually unknown in high school (see prior entry), I did have a group of friends whom I had the joy of reuniting with this weekend over the nuptials of Bcourtney and Bill (damn, my way to hide identity is faulted).
In true form, we started Friday evening at our local haunt, Big Shotz. Most consider this place a restaurant serving beer, however, for us, it is a bar and the location of the infamous $400 tab, so it was a natural choice for the evening. Yet, after having been labeled a townie, I had to point out that despite the live music and 40+ crowd, this was not the place to be for the evening. So we headed downtown after eating dinner.
Not truly being a townie, I still do not know where youngin's my age hang out so we ended up at another 40+ crowd kinda place, though this one did not serve French onion soup. We went downstairs to avoid being seen through the windows in the front and to get in on some prime darts real estate.
A few waters later, we decided this place was not for us and we should stalk some 22 year old looking people to another place. We quickly saw a fratty hopping bar and clambered up to the door to be let in. Considering it was 1:30 AM, they wouldn't let us in unless we paid a cover, obviously. So we looked to each other for a viable option but lucky for us, a loud and observant man gestured toward us and we followed.
He promised a dance floor and no cover. We were quickly ushered in and got our dance on. The music was bumping for our group of 6 and we loved it. Then some sketchy dudes started to sandwich Bcolleen and I did my girly rescue rescue by pulling her away. She apparently was not asking for help, like I had thought, and instead was enjoying the bump and grind of the strangers and thus returned to dance floor. We were owning this place. It felt good to both start and end the party at a bar.
The next morning I checked my account to see the damage only to find a charge at a Thai restaurant that I was certain I had not eaten any $6 worth of food. As it turns out, downtown restaurants in addition to suburb restaurants, become clubs once the sun sets. I'm learning things as I settle into my townie status.
Later the next day, Bian, Bcaro, Bandrew and I set off for the matrimony. We were 20 minutes late in leaving because the boys couldn't tie their ties, so I sped down the highway to the wedding and failed to notice that down a gravel road, you're supposed to go 20 miles per hour instead of the 40 I was doing. We pulled up in a cloud of dust as the parents of the bride reached the front of the aisle and everyone looked over to see what hooligan was rolling up so cacophonously (I'm studying for the GRE so I might be putting some large words in here to review).
Despite our raucous entrance, the wedding went off without a hitch and was beautiful. If anything, it reminded me that I've been slacking on my man hunt and need to get out there more.
It was a great weekend that ended on Sunday with Lady Gaga concerting and spreading her business as she asked Jesus to show her his teeth. Very eventful and disturbing.
In true form, we started Friday evening at our local haunt, Big Shotz. Most consider this place a restaurant serving beer, however, for us, it is a bar and the location of the infamous $400 tab, so it was a natural choice for the evening. Yet, after having been labeled a townie, I had to point out that despite the live music and 40+ crowd, this was not the place to be for the evening. So we headed downtown after eating dinner.
Not truly being a townie, I still do not know where youngin's my age hang out so we ended up at another 40+ crowd kinda place, though this one did not serve French onion soup. We went downstairs to avoid being seen through the windows in the front and to get in on some prime darts real estate.
A few waters later, we decided this place was not for us and we should stalk some 22 year old looking people to another place. We quickly saw a fratty hopping bar and clambered up to the door to be let in. Considering it was 1:30 AM, they wouldn't let us in unless we paid a cover, obviously. So we looked to each other for a viable option but lucky for us, a loud and observant man gestured toward us and we followed.
He promised a dance floor and no cover. We were quickly ushered in and got our dance on. The music was bumping for our group of 6 and we loved it. Then some sketchy dudes started to sandwich Bcolleen and I did my girly rescue rescue by pulling her away. She apparently was not asking for help, like I had thought, and instead was enjoying the bump and grind of the strangers and thus returned to dance floor. We were owning this place. It felt good to both start and end the party at a bar.
The next morning I checked my account to see the damage only to find a charge at a Thai restaurant that I was certain I had not eaten any $6 worth of food. As it turns out, downtown restaurants in addition to suburb restaurants, become clubs once the sun sets. I'm learning things as I settle into my townie status.
Later the next day, Bian, Bcaro, Bandrew and I set off for the matrimony. We were 20 minutes late in leaving because the boys couldn't tie their ties, so I sped down the highway to the wedding and failed to notice that down a gravel road, you're supposed to go 20 miles per hour instead of the 40 I was doing. We pulled up in a cloud of dust as the parents of the bride reached the front of the aisle and everyone looked over to see what hooligan was rolling up so cacophonously (I'm studying for the GRE so I might be putting some large words in here to review).
Despite our raucous entrance, the wedding went off without a hitch and was beautiful. If anything, it reminded me that I've been slacking on my man hunt and need to get out there more.
It was a great weekend that ended on Sunday with Lady Gaga concerting and spreading her business as she asked Jesus to show her his teeth. Very eventful and disturbing.
A Local Celeb Encounter
Throughout my life, I've come to know many people only by the nicknames they either acquired via others or by my brother and I. These people included Scary Terri, Harriet Potter, Stache, Black Rob, and Big Lorey. After I moved home, for some unknown reason, I assumed everyone was either gone figuratively (like to another city) or literally (deceased). If I hadn't seen them in the past 4 years, they were gone...I learned this was an untrue statement and many of the rumors I may have inadvertently spread were false.
In keeping with finding places to play trivia, I ended up at a pub downtown with Bpotter. After sucking at every round, we were gonna call it a night, that is until Big Lorey was spotted. I had been convinced he had Tupac-ed out years ago and this sighting was like seeing Harry from "Harry and the Hendersons." I had to get photographic proof that he did exist.
Not being particularly acquainted with BL, I had to get a Guinness to gear me up. Bpotter and I sat down and awaited the perfect time, but exhaustion was coming quickly and I wasn't sure if he had peaced out (in this context, I mean from the bar). He glided past us and I took the opportunity to grab him from behind to get his attention.
I may or may not have stuck my nails in his back while I exclaimed "LOREY!" He turned around, completely not recognizing the girl who had just attacked him. I quickly went into the conversation with a sense of acquaintance-ness. He followed suit and said, "Oh wow, how have you been??" I was on his good side.
After a minute of chit-chat, I threw the camera to Bpotter and requested a quick photo opp. He stared at me and asked if I was going to put the photo on facebook, for some reason my reply of "Oh no way, this is just for memories!" seemed appropriate. Had he been paying more attention, he would have asked what memories he would want with a girl he didn't even know...luckily, after the photo, I began to complain about being unemployed and he told me about his job that he has to support his 3 year old daughter. I was a little jealous of his income, so I had to leave.
To this moment, I'm positive BL wouldn't be able to identify me even if I tagged him on facebook and friended him. Oh, the joys of having been unknown in high school.
In keeping with finding places to play trivia, I ended up at a pub downtown with Bpotter. After sucking at every round, we were gonna call it a night, that is until Big Lorey was spotted. I had been convinced he had Tupac-ed out years ago and this sighting was like seeing Harry from "Harry and the Hendersons." I had to get photographic proof that he did exist.
Not being particularly acquainted with BL, I had to get a Guinness to gear me up. Bpotter and I sat down and awaited the perfect time, but exhaustion was coming quickly and I wasn't sure if he had peaced out (in this context, I mean from the bar). He glided past us and I took the opportunity to grab him from behind to get his attention.
I may or may not have stuck my nails in his back while I exclaimed "LOREY!" He turned around, completely not recognizing the girl who had just attacked him. I quickly went into the conversation with a sense of acquaintance-ness. He followed suit and said, "Oh wow, how have you been??" I was on his good side.
After a minute of chit-chat, I threw the camera to Bpotter and requested a quick photo opp. He stared at me and asked if I was going to put the photo on facebook, for some reason my reply of "Oh no way, this is just for memories!" seemed appropriate. Had he been paying more attention, he would have asked what memories he would want with a girl he didn't even know...luckily, after the photo, I began to complain about being unemployed and he told me about his job that he has to support his 3 year old daughter. I was a little jealous of his income, so I had to leave.
To this moment, I'm positive BL wouldn't be able to identify me even if I tagged him on facebook and friended him. Oh, the joys of having been unknown in high school.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
A Musical Night
I realized I hadn't written in a while and was shocked that I've left out a very momentous and memorable night.
I decided to start my own Make a Wish-type foundation for those recent grads who didn't do some certain and necessary things while in school. My first wish to be granted was to take my friend Bmark to a concert, since he's never been to one...which in itself is crazy enough to me because I used to be the scene kid in high school posting up at the local joint, Ziggy's, listening to music I had never heard then commenting on the wicked rifts and guitar solos...totally emo.
No one I knew was coming to play in the area, so we settled on an unknown yet myspace approved artist showcasing his lyrical stylings and all together too tight pants at a bar/club. As soon as we stepped on the scene, it was all teenie boppers then some weird older couples that I determined were either looking for someone to swing with that night or just waiting on their kids. I quickly remembered my days of getting my mom to drop me off at shows while I made sure my butterfly clips were in place so I fit in...yea...
We quickly grabbed beers to both assert our non-teenage-ness and that we were there for a party. It was a good move.
The bands were pretty okay, but the night was ending at 10, and this is just unacceptable for a weekend night at my age so we moseyed over to a hole in the wall that was offering $2 PBR, the drink of champions and the choice of the night. Before scoping out our surroundings, I ordered us one and then turned around to see only lesbians aged 40+ and a random dude getting his jollies. Apparently we'd stumbled upon the stronghold of older hippies without realizing it. There was a band playing a song that was called "Sin, sin, sin, sin to be saved," if that gives you any sense of what this place had in store for us. The lead singer was about 4'10" and wore a rocking flannel shirt as she eyed her large and in charge guitarist lady. It was a match made in heaven. But alas, we downed the drinks as quickly as possible to avoid getting hit on then headed on.
We ended up a fratastic bar with a little guy playing piano. We sat down and immediately saw a couple bound to bed. This couple was extraordinary because you could tell neither of them usually let loose. The chick donned a cardigan and a below the knee skirt whilst the man-friend wore the usual frat uniform of a button down and khaki slacks. The girl's cardigan was unbuttoned for extra exposure and her Indian suitor followed by showing off his belly through an unbuttoned Oxford. They were dancing the night away but as the boy broke away for a pee break, the girl sat down and was visibly contemplating whether she should escape or leave with the round fellow. She squinted her eyes and stroked her chin but as the boy came toward her, she stepped up to him, kissed the heck out of him and they immediately left. Yet another match made in heaven/ the Crunkleton.
The rush of emotions throughout the evening can be summed up as follows: old, young and out of place, jealous. I think you catch my drift.
I decided to start my own Make a Wish-type foundation for those recent grads who didn't do some certain and necessary things while in school. My first wish to be granted was to take my friend Bmark to a concert, since he's never been to one...which in itself is crazy enough to me because I used to be the scene kid in high school posting up at the local joint, Ziggy's, listening to music I had never heard then commenting on the wicked rifts and guitar solos...totally emo.
No one I knew was coming to play in the area, so we settled on an unknown yet myspace approved artist showcasing his lyrical stylings and all together too tight pants at a bar/club. As soon as we stepped on the scene, it was all teenie boppers then some weird older couples that I determined were either looking for someone to swing with that night or just waiting on their kids. I quickly remembered my days of getting my mom to drop me off at shows while I made sure my butterfly clips were in place so I fit in...yea...
We quickly grabbed beers to both assert our non-teenage-ness and that we were there for a party. It was a good move.
The bands were pretty okay, but the night was ending at 10, and this is just unacceptable for a weekend night at my age so we moseyed over to a hole in the wall that was offering $2 PBR, the drink of champions and the choice of the night. Before scoping out our surroundings, I ordered us one and then turned around to see only lesbians aged 40+ and a random dude getting his jollies. Apparently we'd stumbled upon the stronghold of older hippies without realizing it. There was a band playing a song that was called "Sin, sin, sin, sin to be saved," if that gives you any sense of what this place had in store for us. The lead singer was about 4'10" and wore a rocking flannel shirt as she eyed her large and in charge guitarist lady. It was a match made in heaven. But alas, we downed the drinks as quickly as possible to avoid getting hit on then headed on.
We ended up a fratastic bar with a little guy playing piano. We sat down and immediately saw a couple bound to bed. This couple was extraordinary because you could tell neither of them usually let loose. The chick donned a cardigan and a below the knee skirt whilst the man-friend wore the usual frat uniform of a button down and khaki slacks. The girl's cardigan was unbuttoned for extra exposure and her Indian suitor followed by showing off his belly through an unbuttoned Oxford. They were dancing the night away but as the boy broke away for a pee break, the girl sat down and was visibly contemplating whether she should escape or leave with the round fellow. She squinted her eyes and stroked her chin but as the boy came toward her, she stepped up to him, kissed the heck out of him and they immediately left. Yet another match made in heaven/ the Crunkleton.
The rush of emotions throughout the evening can be summed up as follows: old, young and out of place, jealous. I think you catch my drift.
Monday, August 30, 2010
You Know You Live in the Boonies When...
Now I've never considered myself a Southerner, though I've lived in the south my whole life, but this weekend I got to see the pinnacle of Southern hospitality I've ever witnessed as I attended the Great NC Beer Festival with my mother and Bsarita.
As we entered the festival, cut off tees and overalls dotted the landscape of hick-ery that was out in full force. I can't say I was in my Sunday's best (donning running shorts and a t-shirt), but I can say I was shocked at the utter disregard for bodily coverage that many a person displayed. Mid-drifts gone awry with piercings and tattoos, not to mention the stab wounds that were making appearances. I wasn't too surprised since it was a beer festival, after all, but it definitely gave Lindsey Lohan a run for most exposed.
As we walked around the in sweltering sun, Bsarita and I commented on the array of disarray. I saw a few people dressed cutely that I knew from high school, though their names escaped me, but then there were those people I just couldn't place, which was probably for the better. My mom did see someone that we knew in middle school, whom she swears she thought "should have been a man by now."
Since we got there well into the festival, we didn't have to worry about conversation starters as the already tipsy attendees said things like, "Daaaayuummm," or "So how many samples have you had?" My favorite was (after Bsarita got beer spilled on her) "Well if you do end up taking off your shirt, I'm sure you'd make enough money to buy these ribs to eat." This was coming from a pair consisting of 5'2'' white dude with stabbing scars galore exposed due to his shirtlessness who was pushing a guy in a wheel chair....the comment of course came from the seated friend.
People were rocking out to some music and eating $10 sandwiches as we tried weasling around the half-clothed scalawags to get to the beer booths to get our samples before they were out. The temperatures reached what felt like 150 degrees and the people were getting restless, as exemplified through one hillbilly's rant about how Obama wasn't even really black but still didn't deserve to be President. Not only did I want him to stop fist pumping the air but I also wanted to throw him a proper shirt to cover both his gut and goatee but I was at a loss for what garment would do both.
Moral of the story: I need a pair of jorts and a child's size tube top if I'm going to continue living at home.
As we entered the festival, cut off tees and overalls dotted the landscape of hick-ery that was out in full force. I can't say I was in my Sunday's best (donning running shorts and a t-shirt), but I can say I was shocked at the utter disregard for bodily coverage that many a person displayed. Mid-drifts gone awry with piercings and tattoos, not to mention the stab wounds that were making appearances. I wasn't too surprised since it was a beer festival, after all, but it definitely gave Lindsey Lohan a run for most exposed.
As we walked around the in sweltering sun, Bsarita and I commented on the array of disarray. I saw a few people dressed cutely that I knew from high school, though their names escaped me, but then there were those people I just couldn't place, which was probably for the better. My mom did see someone that we knew in middle school, whom she swears she thought "should have been a man by now."
Since we got there well into the festival, we didn't have to worry about conversation starters as the already tipsy attendees said things like, "Daaaayuummm," or "So how many samples have you had?" My favorite was (after Bsarita got beer spilled on her) "Well if you do end up taking off your shirt, I'm sure you'd make enough money to buy these ribs to eat." This was coming from a pair consisting of 5'2'' white dude with stabbing scars galore exposed due to his shirtlessness who was pushing a guy in a wheel chair....the comment of course came from the seated friend.
People were rocking out to some music and eating $10 sandwiches as we tried weasling around the half-clothed scalawags to get to the beer booths to get our samples before they were out. The temperatures reached what felt like 150 degrees and the people were getting restless, as exemplified through one hillbilly's rant about how Obama wasn't even really black but still didn't deserve to be President. Not only did I want him to stop fist pumping the air but I also wanted to throw him a proper shirt to cover both his gut and goatee but I was at a loss for what garment would do both.
Moral of the story: I need a pair of jorts and a child's size tube top if I'm going to continue living at home.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Retirement, My New Frontier
Since I've had so much free time as of late, I've been trying out different types of living. The student life (just exited that phase, sadly..), the bum life (still employing some of those methods as I couch surf my way around America), the mother life (babysitting...sometimes), and now the life of a retiree. The last one sounded luxurious and just up my alley. No working, living off of someone else's hard-earned pension plan, taking naps at 10 AM, and eating whatever because you're too old to keep up with the calorie counts associated with foods from the Waffle House... in a nut shell, the perfect life.
In keeping with my bum life, I traveled down south to visit some family and sleep on their couches/beds, whatever they could provide. I ended up spending most of my trip with my grandmother because she is about to have surgery but still offered to make every meal I wanted to eat...for free. With no other commitments waiting on me at home, a 3 day trip turned into a 5 day trip, only furthering my interest in skipping employment and hopping right into retirement.
On our list of activities, number one was visiting our old friends at church, followed by seeing more at our favorite restaurant. I started using the "we" and "our" form of possessive just to see how it really felt to be one of the elite retired. It was amazing how, when retired, you can sit at a restaurant and gab for hours and not be worried about missing something. The after church gossiping, in line with true Catholic doctrine, was what the something you might miss. We especially didn't have to worry about missing TV shows since the DVR was set to record the best: "America's Got Talent," "Regis and Kelly," and "The View."
The gossip was by far the best. Myself being situated at the end of the table with my grandmother and her dear friend of ages past, I heard the majority and even got to comment on a few. I learned about various peoples' cholesterol, grandchildren, and bad hip replacements. I found that if I threw in a "Oh no, did she really sit on her reading glasses?" or a "We all know she's gray underneath that brunette Q-tip," I fit right in. It was a refreshing switch from talking about who made out with who or what outfit we were going to wear that night...these topics from my former life were mostly off limits because, with this crowd, the nights consisted of falling asleep in front of the TV and if you weren't married, you weren't making out with anyone.
The crowning glory of my retired life was beating the crowd at Outback by eating at 5 pm. When you become retired, everything gets pushed back 2 hours and the prices get cut in half...a combo that's hard to resist.
The wine was flowing as our happy hour glasses remained full and our early bird specials were chased away with the best house merlot. Having a buzz equates to putting all topics on the table, at least in my family and as I was learning, at any age. Somehow weird innuendos and tones turned seemingly normal phrases into comments that made me want to be 10 again and not understand. For example, to give it context, my grandmother was talking to her boyfriend about how the people at his church never gave her a chance and didn't really know her...to which he responded "OOOOhhh well I KNOW you"...I could almost hear him wink with his inflection and the word Biblically following the phrase.
Somehow this didn't phase me, but I did decide I couldn't hang with this crowd for too long and I might need to find my own retirement community near my house so as not to mix together the business of being retired and the pleasure of not knowing what my grandmother was up to when I wasn't around.
Nonetheless, one the way home, it did not surprise me when we were discussing someone they both knew and my grandmother said, "Well you know ugly doesn't get you anywhere."
In keeping with my bum life, I traveled down south to visit some family and sleep on their couches/beds, whatever they could provide. I ended up spending most of my trip with my grandmother because she is about to have surgery but still offered to make every meal I wanted to eat...for free. With no other commitments waiting on me at home, a 3 day trip turned into a 5 day trip, only furthering my interest in skipping employment and hopping right into retirement.
On our list of activities, number one was visiting our old friends at church, followed by seeing more at our favorite restaurant. I started using the "we" and "our" form of possessive just to see how it really felt to be one of the elite retired. It was amazing how, when retired, you can sit at a restaurant and gab for hours and not be worried about missing something. The after church gossiping, in line with true Catholic doctrine, was what the something you might miss. We especially didn't have to worry about missing TV shows since the DVR was set to record the best: "America's Got Talent," "Regis and Kelly," and "The View."
The gossip was by far the best. Myself being situated at the end of the table with my grandmother and her dear friend of ages past, I heard the majority and even got to comment on a few. I learned about various peoples' cholesterol, grandchildren, and bad hip replacements. I found that if I threw in a "Oh no, did she really sit on her reading glasses?" or a "We all know she's gray underneath that brunette Q-tip," I fit right in. It was a refreshing switch from talking about who made out with who or what outfit we were going to wear that night...these topics from my former life were mostly off limits because, with this crowd, the nights consisted of falling asleep in front of the TV and if you weren't married, you weren't making out with anyone.
The crowning glory of my retired life was beating the crowd at Outback by eating at 5 pm. When you become retired, everything gets pushed back 2 hours and the prices get cut in half...a combo that's hard to resist.
The wine was flowing as our happy hour glasses remained full and our early bird specials were chased away with the best house merlot. Having a buzz equates to putting all topics on the table, at least in my family and as I was learning, at any age. Somehow weird innuendos and tones turned seemingly normal phrases into comments that made me want to be 10 again and not understand. For example, to give it context, my grandmother was talking to her boyfriend about how the people at his church never gave her a chance and didn't really know her...to which he responded "OOOOhhh well I KNOW you"...I could almost hear him wink with his inflection and the word Biblically following the phrase.
Somehow this didn't phase me, but I did decide I couldn't hang with this crowd for too long and I might need to find my own retirement community near my house so as not to mix together the business of being retired and the pleasure of not knowing what my grandmother was up to when I wasn't around.
Nonetheless, one the way home, it did not surprise me when we were discussing someone they both knew and my grandmother said, "Well you know ugly doesn't get you anywhere."
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Not Quite Buried Alive...
As part of my life cleanse, I chose to spend yesterday rearranging my mess of collections at my mom's house. For those of you that don't know, for the past 8 years I've been collecting random pieces of paper and other bits in hopes of making a banging scrapbook documenting my life. While this seemed a valiant effort, it never came to fruition and instead of using my time to scrapbook, I instead clogged my closet, masking my borderline hoarding disorder....needless to say, it was time for a personal intervention.
As I began my work, I really started to ask myself if it was worth it. There were approximately 7 shoe boxes full of crap and I had no idea what most of it was supposed to signify. I didn't know where to start, or ultimately if it would ever end. All I could think was, I do not want TLC finding these piles 20 years down the road while my kids, being unable to have friends over because I was keeping newspapers from 2000 on the couch, complain that the hoarding kept us buried alive. This kind of motivation told me I could handle it.
It was about 6 PM and considering my whole day was pretty unproductive, I decided to venture down memory lane. To give you an idea of the items I found, I picked a few of the real gems that, unfortunately, I have no idea why I kept.
1. a piece of a tennis ball- perhaps at one point in my delusions of my athletic grandeur, the piece gave me hope that I could slam a ball and rip it like that, or I just thought my boxes of memories was trash
2. an unidentifiable piece of flora- I would like to think it was some sort of flower a guy once gave me, but considering the other flower parts I found were sealed in plastic bags, this prior assumption proved faulty and thus I used gloves to remove it from my memories
3. programs from every Dance Concert from every year I was in high school- all I need to say is that I was never in dance class and never performed in the concerts that occurred twice a year
4. two sets of chopsticks- I don't really need to explain why their appearance in my memory box was alarming
Luckily, all the boxes and scraps took only 6 hours to organize. Since I'm still looking for a job that won't involve me shaking my money maker, this 6 hours was totally worth it.
As I began my work, I really started to ask myself if it was worth it. There were approximately 7 shoe boxes full of crap and I had no idea what most of it was supposed to signify. I didn't know where to start, or ultimately if it would ever end. All I could think was, I do not want TLC finding these piles 20 years down the road while my kids, being unable to have friends over because I was keeping newspapers from 2000 on the couch, complain that the hoarding kept us buried alive. This kind of motivation told me I could handle it.
It was about 6 PM and considering my whole day was pretty unproductive, I decided to venture down memory lane. To give you an idea of the items I found, I picked a few of the real gems that, unfortunately, I have no idea why I kept.
1. a piece of a tennis ball- perhaps at one point in my delusions of my athletic grandeur, the piece gave me hope that I could slam a ball and rip it like that, or I just thought my boxes of memories was trash
2. an unidentifiable piece of flora- I would like to think it was some sort of flower a guy once gave me, but considering the other flower parts I found were sealed in plastic bags, this prior assumption proved faulty and thus I used gloves to remove it from my memories
3. programs from every Dance Concert from every year I was in high school- all I need to say is that I was never in dance class and never performed in the concerts that occurred twice a year
4. two sets of chopsticks- I don't really need to explain why their appearance in my memory box was alarming
Luckily, all the boxes and scraps took only 6 hours to organize. Since I'm still looking for a job that won't involve me shaking my money maker, this 6 hours was totally worth it.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Neighborhood Watch
Last night was trivia night, per usual when I'm at home, and it somehow devolved into a $400 bar tab (over the course of 6 hours with 6 people and food, seems a little out of character, but not wholly unbelievable). This was not an usually crazy night, but instead just a good time with some expensive tastes. We eventually took the party aka people passing out to my house for a movie. I had long switched to drinking water and was stone cold sober and not in the mood for Nicole Kidman, but I thought I'd entertain to the best of my abilities.
Eventually, we all agreed it was time to call it quits. It was about 1 AM, not a rager but not too shabby, and a respectable bedtime. My friend, Bpotter, was driving Bian home, so I went along to pick up a car we left earlier. Bpotter nearly missed a couple of hooligans who were staggering into the road. The two teenagers lingered in the streets with an eye for vandalism and I was shocked that their parents let them out at that hour. I'm 22.8 and I was barely awake that late!
On my way back, I saw the couple strutting their can't gain a pound, teeny bopper stuffs around in the middle of the street. I slowed down, real creeper like, and decided to help them out by saying, "Hey kids, you shouldn't walk in the middle of the street. You could get hit and no one wants that!" They guffawed and as I drove off, I saw the moppy-headed boy walk right in the middle of the road.
I understand teenage rebellion, but at the cost of life? Maybe I'm turning into a mom since I have been having a lot of dreams where I have a baby, but I really don't understand that mess, so I guess that's what prompted my next action.
As soon as I got home, I called the popo. Drastic? Maybe. But I'm not about to let some hoodlums mess up my town! I quickly told the operator about the couple and how I thought they were on drugs and up to no good. She almost giggled as I described the boy as "a lanky, no good, blonde-wavy headed thug." I needed a good description so the cops would know exactly who I was talking about. Who dare disrespect my good advice?! I'm taking this campaign to the streets!
I think this was the ultimate follow up for my attempt at calling the ALE on a bar serving minors that wouldn't let me, a legal drinker, in with no cover. What is the world coming to?
Eventually, we all agreed it was time to call it quits. It was about 1 AM, not a rager but not too shabby, and a respectable bedtime. My friend, Bpotter, was driving Bian home, so I went along to pick up a car we left earlier. Bpotter nearly missed a couple of hooligans who were staggering into the road. The two teenagers lingered in the streets with an eye for vandalism and I was shocked that their parents let them out at that hour. I'm 22.8 and I was barely awake that late!
On my way back, I saw the couple strutting their can't gain a pound, teeny bopper stuffs around in the middle of the street. I slowed down, real creeper like, and decided to help them out by saying, "Hey kids, you shouldn't walk in the middle of the street. You could get hit and no one wants that!" They guffawed and as I drove off, I saw the moppy-headed boy walk right in the middle of the road.
I understand teenage rebellion, but at the cost of life? Maybe I'm turning into a mom since I have been having a lot of dreams where I have a baby, but I really don't understand that mess, so I guess that's what prompted my next action.
As soon as I got home, I called the popo. Drastic? Maybe. But I'm not about to let some hoodlums mess up my town! I quickly told the operator about the couple and how I thought they were on drugs and up to no good. She almost giggled as I described the boy as "a lanky, no good, blonde-wavy headed thug." I needed a good description so the cops would know exactly who I was talking about. Who dare disrespect my good advice?! I'm taking this campaign to the streets!
I think this was the ultimate follow up for my attempt at calling the ALE on a bar serving minors that wouldn't let me, a legal drinker, in with no cover. What is the world coming to?
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