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Month: June, 2013

womp WOO!

Yesterday, or two days ago, I was fired from my job. But I’d like to think I got myself fired. It was hardly fired, more like fucked over.

I began working for this education non-profit on May 14th. My boss began as a nice enough guy – a bit long-winded, but nothing major. Over the course of a few days he began grating on my nerves when he would actually dictate emails to me over the telephone like I had never written one in my life (even telling me how to end it – warmest regards. FUCK YOU) and literally spell things out for me.

I immediately told him he didn’t need to do that and that I didn’t need hand-holding, but he was insistent. All the while, he was ignoring any conversation I tried to have regarding pay.

We agreed on a set amount in the beginning and one month after I had been working there he asked if he could lower my pay. I told him I wouldn’t agree to anything until I even got paid for the month of May.

Somehow he decided to lower it without asking me and had the nerve to try to give me back pay at some new made-up rate. I finally snapped when he called me to read an email he had just sent 7 minutes ago that was pretty much the most accusatory and passive-aggressive thing.

He had me read it while I was on the phone with him. I read it and said, ‘”Okay, but I need to talk to you about something…”. I told him he’s not the first white man to try to screw a minority woman over when it comes to pay. And just because he wants to call me an Independent Contractor doesn’t make it so – certain criteria has to be filled. He hung up on me

So that’s over with and I think I lost my wallet tonight. Tim was upset that I wasn’t so upset, but what can I do?



Dante’s Pizza*

I’m writing this from Dante’s Pizza. It’s right across the street from me and I probably come here way too often.


When I first moved to Chicago, Tim and I ordered delivery from here, and there was a piece of cardboard in our pizza. We were disappointed, but took out the cardboard, and ate the pie.  Since this place was so damn close and sold my favorite food (pizza. Duh) , we decided to give it another try. So far our first visit was also our worst.


I think the problem here is that the food is so good, that every time it sucks, it really sucks. I also love that it’s BYOB. I got here about 3 hours ago and had a slice of cheese pizza. As I walked in, one employee was just leaving, leaving one guy here alone, so I ordered a single slice of cheese to be done with it and not make my order a big deal. Of course I brought my own 6-pack of Tecate and am now on #4.


They play a lot of metal music here, which isn’t really my thing since I like to understand lyrics. They were playing Kenny Rogers earlier, though, which was enjoyable. I just wished they had turned down Meloncholia when it was on the television (I’ve never seen this, just saw the credits as it ended).


I’ve always thought the people here were a bit snooty (they’re white hipsters), but it seems like the more I come, the friendlier they are, which still makes them jerks to me. The delivery guy who sometimes doubles as a cashier is friendly as hell, though. I like that. I wish the ladies weren’t especially so condescending and ostensibly unhappy. I mean, sure, working in customer service sucks…. I know. But when I worked in the service industry, I was only a jerk to people who confused me for a maid, and not to anyone else.


Anyway, I felt a little close to the solo guy working here when Kenny Rogers was playing cause it was a sweet song and I’m an emotional person and was wondering if he felt as whimsical as I did hearing the lyrics. Another female employee did show up and immediately complained to her lone coworker about a guy she had just spent time with who talked about sports too much. She lamented how much she didn’t give a fuck and her co-worker agreed and made some other disparaging remark about this sports fan he didn’t even know.  Personally I have more against people who talk badly about others behind their back.

If I were her I would have told the sports nut that I don’t like sports… at least he’d know. It’s not like I expect everyone I know to appreciate what I’m into, but a little perspective would be nice, ya know, so one can’t go talk about how much I suck for talking about my interests. 


Then I had to hear them talk about a previous coworker who, as it turns out, had a Dave Matthews Band tattoo. Not that I have some soft spot for the band (although it was my first concert when I was 12 (thanks cousin Gloria)), but who on this earth has something against someone for the type of music they once liked and were silly enough to get a tattoo? In the story that was told, ‘lone boy’ went to a bar with her and told her to shut the fuck up when she tried to talk about music and then she never came into work again. The female employee here said, “Man, that sucks, but she should know better….” Better than what? EW, YOU JERK.

 But! I was super glad when I showed up today and the purse I left here 2 days ago was still here. THANKS, DANTE’S PIZZA. SEE YOU NEXT WEEK.

*written in notebook, transcribed. 


So today we’re working from the office and it looks like it’s happening every Tuesday and Monday from now on. I s’pose I’m glad because I do often complain to my therapist about having cabin fever all the time at home, but now I have to spend money, bring lunch, and wear clothes. Funk that. 

Last night Tim took me to see West Side Story at the Oriental Theater and I had a blast. I almost cried when he told me of the surprise Saturday night; it was completely unexpected and incredibly thoughtful. And it’s world’s better than a manicure set, a dvd, a check, or a piece of old weed – all awful gifts.

Before the show we had made plans to go to Big and Little’s for po’boys, but no one thought to check the hours and they were closed (on Sunday’s), so we had to suffer and eat delicious sushi down the block. 



Posh isolation

Tim’s plane will be landing at O’Hare in 2 hours. The place is spotless (except for the Comet still sitting in the tub), and you can’t even tell I have been an indulgent slob since Tuesday. Surprisingly, I’m not even in that bad of a mood.

Last night I was feeling disappointed in myself and like a total failure for drinking the moment Tim left. But when I heard myself putting myself down to my therapist this morning I realized sometimes I need to go tell myself to go fuck myself. I’ve made lots of strides at self-improvement and for the first time I’m willingly in therapy and with someone who respects me. I don’t know what else I want from me right now.

Whatevs. I can’t wait to get a hug from Tim. And my birthday surprise is tomorrow! ^_^

Sensitive bitch.

These days I can’t make a fucking friend for the life of me.  Like, being asocial equates to not having a strong online presence. I don’t tweet, I don’t take pictures of myself or anything I eat, I’ve no interest in Pinterest, and my only internet access is through my desktop (it’s pathetic what qualifies as a luddite these days). I made a friend at my last place of employment, but we hung out a total of three times. She never calls me and I never call her because she never calls me, so no one ever gets called. I do wish she’d call, though. I didn’t like her initially, but then I thought I was just being an asshole, because that happens from time to time. She’s a lady from Idaho and pretty cutesy and likes some band called Mumford and Sons (I don’t know their music, but it’s a telling sign – from what I can tell), but I got over myself and realized she’s pretty rad. And it’s not like I have to like everything about my friends.

My point is, there is no easy way to meet and keep friends. And everyone mostly sucks. I get on the bus and am immediately aggravated when some jerks (this includes women) don’t move for an elderly. I seethe when a car pulls ahead as I’m walking when I have the right-of-way. I hate people who talk into their cellphones in public. And would lov3 to punch girls who are out shopping like it’s a big fucking deal.

As an adult, for this adult, anyway, the only way I meet new people is through work and then it lasts until I start working somewhere else. I never moved around a lot as a kid, but this must be what it feels like. Fuck that. This is why I joined the YMCA (I just enjoy working out and getting sweaty, okay. And their facilities are really nice for only 22 smackers a month). Subsequently, I enrolled in a boxing class there, but stopped going after one session. Before the first class even started I was standing in the corner with a glove fastened on my left hand, but didn’t have an extra hand to do my right. I started to bite at it and had a really hard time getting it sufficiently tight. I wanted to vomit.

I recounted this story to my therapist and she asked me if I had considered asking someone for help. I wasn’t sure. But I wasn’t going back.

Anyway, now I work from home, bay-bee. This is awful. Without a strong online presence, how will anyone know I exist? I don’t matter. Sure, I can get bored, want for company, and then go out for chicken and beers, but then I come home and instead of vegging out in front of the soothing glow of a television, I sit at a computi and putter around the internet. I also watch a lot of 48 Hours Mysteries and I Survived.

This is only a test…

So I’m a recovering alcoholic, right? And my boyfriend is out of town for the week and I work from home. Needless to say my social skills are lacking, but I do crave friendship. To fill some made-up hole, I went drinking last night. I checked my bank statement when I woke up (at noon) and evidently spent $100 at two restaurants – mostly on booze. For some that may sound reasonable, but I now have $150 left in my account. I really needed to get some things from Target.

I thought I had this under control and I feel lousy that I’ve “relapsed” since Tim’s departure. He would be so upset that I’ve been smoking inside and the bedroom now looks like a war-zone. I sleep with a beer on the ground and an ashtray next to my pillow. It reminds me of old times in the worst way.

But other than the last day or two, things are bad-ass. I’m discovering myself and it’s foreign and I’m questioning everything from my career choices to my sexuality; I couldn’t be happier. I’ve enrolled at Second City (despite it being a large chunk of change) and want to get back into being a vivacious person like I used to be.

Now here I am surrounded by empty cans of Tecate and wondering what I should do with the rest of the day. It’s 7p.m., but I’ve been considering leaving since 3. I’m going to pet my cats now. To anyone who reads this – I’m sorry.