A fine WordPress.com site

Keyboard Diarrhea

I did it. I finally started my stupid Etsy account. I really hate cutesy, twee things and Etsy reeks of that, but I’ve seen some pretty cool stuff on there, too. I should stop hating things not worth thinking about.

So far I only have one painting up and if I know myself well enough, it will also be the last. I really hope I can stick to this.

Next Sunday is my final improv (A) class this term. I’d like to sign up for ‘B’ starting in September, but I can’t afford it at the moment. The level I’m in now set me back $800, and the following class is 6-something (it also includes 4 sessions of cognitive based therapy). Once I get to ‘C’ level, the rates go down considerably since there will be no more CBT.

Most likely I’ll end up taking ‘B’ in October. It will be nice, too, since it will give me something to do once the weather starts to get cold. I hate the cold, but I had being stuck indoors even more. Why did I even move to Chicago? I mean, I know why. I moved her for looooove.

I met my current boyfriend on a message board in 2002. This board is actually tight-knit in a very creepy and dysfunctional way. Tim isn’t even the only guy I’ve met through it. There was also Alex in 2005 (the one who got away. it sucks. i hate myself for that). He lived in the same city as me and we first met when he came to pick me up for bowling (I drank two 40oz. to get ready I was so nervous). And here in Chicago, Tim and I are friends with another couple who also met on this forum. >_<

Tim disliked me for many years because he thought I was a wild and crazy, self-destructive bird. I can see how he would think that, but you best believe I didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of me. I pretty much still don’t. I just care about myself more these days.

In 2001, my high school boyfriend introduced me to Counter Strike 1.6 and I got hooked. I eventually joined a clan and got so damn good. No one would ever believe I was a girl even when I would speak on my mic. One boy did start chatting with me, though, and we eventually exchanged aim names and email addresses. By the time I graduated high school in 2003, I was in love with this boy and ran away to Arizona to live with him.

He’s still in my life to this day and will occasionally pop up to ask me if our deal to get married at 30 (if we’re single) is still on. Would be nice, but he’s rather boring. I like boring, though. I like being left alone. But deep-down I don’t think I do. My mind constantly moves in circles and I often think it’d be so much easier to be alone. I always dreamed of being a single mother.

Fast forward all the way to 2010. I was still in contact with Eli, the Counter-Strike boy, and went to visit him in his new home of New York. Ultimately, I found he didn’t offer me enough attention and he didn’t seem to be on the same page when it came to making a commitment. I’m not talking marriage. Fuck that. But I would at least like to live in the same city and state.

I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore. My 2nd anniversary with Tim is coming up this Friday. I painted him a picture, ordered him a science magazine subscription, and am giving him a framed photo of us all dressed up at my cousin’s wedding. My nose looks ugly in the picture, but I know he likes it (the picture, not my nose).

I told my therapist that even though there is no doubt in my mind I love him, I wonder if I should just end our relationship. We explored my feelings (lol) and wondered if own persistent feelings of wanting to disappear and be alone stem from my past extreme fear of abandonment and loss of control…Can’t get abandoned if you leave first. And I only do what I want, so no one to ever be angry with. Plus, I miss having my own bedroom. Am I an asshole? Sometimes I feel like an asshole.


S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night.

The Conjuring was pretty whack. We downloaded it tonight and even if the Japanese subtitles hadn’t been there, I still would have thought so. I mean, I guess it was okay for a cheesy movie. I can definitely tell they set it up for a part II; people gotta work, I s’pose. 

Today was mostly a day of desperation in trying to fill up time… at least for me. I can’t even remember what I did before therapy @ 10a.m but that was over in a flash and then I came back home to eat. After chowing down on leftovers from last night (spaghetti!) we headed to Open Books (where we only spent $9 on 7 books; being a member pays!) and then back home again.

We took Leon to Palmer Square and an older couple came up to pet him and told us they also walked their cat on a leash. They were at the park for a wedding, which I didn’t understand because that park is not a good park for wedding. I laughed so hard when a car drove by blaring a stereo that completely drowned out whoever was giving a speech. Tim read while I fiddled with our new camera ($10 bucks at a garage sale!). Then some little kids in suits (also from the wedding!) came to pet Leon, too. I think he liked all the attention. 

At the park I said to Tim, “I have a proposition – if my new debit card has come in the mail, will you share some booze with me? I don’t want you to pay for it or anything, but I don’t want to drink alone.” Hesitantly he said yes. Unfortunately, my card had arrived in the mail, so we ended up buying a bottle of wine and drinking it during that shitty ass movie. We must have paused it 5 times just to talk to each other. 


Grocery night.

Grocery shopping is about my favorite activity in the world.

Hmm. I thought that may have been an over-statement for a second so I thought about it some more. It really is my favorite. Last night I did the usual inventory of what we had to work with. I decided on some meals based on my findings and wrote down any supplemental ingredients on THE LIST! Then I flipped through some cookbooks and chose out a new recipe or two to try and of course there’s always the standards, which here are arroz con pollo, shepherd’s pie, any pasta with shit-loads of veggies, chicken/cheese/rice/mushroom casserole, and kale with sausage and white beans. And lots of candy, but lately Tim has been trying to curb how much he spends on junk food. Wednesday we worked around that by making brownies with stuff we had in the ”pantry” (a closet we stuffed a shelf into and call a pantry). 

[TANGENT]I’m shocked my bank account isn’t depleted, but it is dangerously close. I almost got upset the other day when I mentioned wanting to buy a dress and Tim asked me not to because “any money you spend is like I’m spending it since you don’t have a job.” I had to bite my tongue because even though ‘FUCK HIM’, I did see the irresponsibility in buying new clothes when 1) NO JOB 2) NOWHERE TO GO (AND EVEN IF I DID GO SOMEWHERE I WOULDN’T HAVE MONEY TO DO ANYTHING BECAUSE ‘1’).

However, it propelled me to open an Etsy account and start selling my paintings. Lately (and in the past) I’ve just given them away to family or hid them in my closet, but I figure this is a better and slightly more lucrative idea…Not that my art is anything great! We’ll see. I’m definitely not going to stop looking for a job, but in the meantime I should be more creative about earning monies. I’ve some other ideas kicking around, too.[/TANGENT]


No one ever grocery shops on Friday night, so Friday night is my favorite night to grocery shop. Plus, it’s almost like a date since so much trekking is involved and we genuinely have a good time at the grocery store together. 


Photo on 2013-08-05 at 4.26 PM

Yesterday was wild even though it was totally typical of a Sunday! We had to do some ridiculous exercise at my pre-improv (EBT) session in which our facilitator called on us one by one and then asked if anyone in the room (there were 7 of us) wanted to give a compliment. Said ‘complimentee’ had […]

It’s not you, it’s me…

I used to have a giant crush on a boy named Ennis Benters* from 3rd grade right through 6th. It also turned out that my mom and his father were childhood friends, so I felt an even more special connection to him. I have so many photos of him in a box back at my parents’ pad.

Well, last night I had a dream about him. It was a vivid dream and I woke up immediately wanting to know what he was up to. No doubt he was a stone-cold fox by now.

I forgot all about it until just a moment ago and goddamn. The first thing that popped up in my Google search was a guy in a mugshot. I clicked the picture and recognized his cute little face straight away. Except it had grown way less cute.

And this particular arrest for assault took place May 23, 2013. Strange I haven’t thought of him for all these years until so soon after it happened. I can finally put that crush to rest. Best of luck to him, though!

*name changed for privacy

I came, I cried, I conquered.

It’s 6:30 a.m. Today at 2:30 p.m is the first meet-n-greet with my class and instructor for improv at Second City. Actually, it’s “Improv for Anxiety”, and apart from the class also includes cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) to help overcome fear and avoidance associated with work, school, and family life.

I’m so proud that I’m finally doing something I’m passionate about, but at the same time, the “for anxiety” part really makes me wince. The thing is – until recently (about 3 years ago), I never considered that I had so much fear of rejection inside of me. I just had a ‘fuck everyone’ attitude and drank a lot in my own little apartment with my two best friends, Rebecca and Chaz, whom I miss dearly until this day.

I scrutinize my childhood a lot these days and it’s so obvious to me where things went wrong and  my faith was lost in everyone. As a 6 year old, I saw my father hold a gun to mother and older brother’s head before aiming it at mine; he was upset my mother wanted to divorce him. A neighbor called the cops, my father was arrested, and she divorced him anyway.

My father raped me when I was 12 (it was the first instance I vividly remember) and I was changed. Once an A-student at a Catholic school, which my mother sent me to after the divorce because I had never been exposed to religion before since my father was a militant Atheist and Socialist, my grades began to fall and the next semester she took me out and said I could make bad grades for free closer to home.

By this time, she was remarried and with a new baby boy ten years younger I am. I was jealous seeing their family unit and felt alone because I was the only one with my last name in the house (my older brother detached himself from the family as soon as he could).

I began Catholic school in the third grade and loved it. A play I wrote about a family of rats whose  butler (a flea) dies was performed by my 4th grade class. I was on the soccer team. I had a diverse tribe of friends. I made all A’s. I won a spelling bee. I had my first communion. All that shit.

Then my father fucked it up and I will hate him forever for that. But the thing is – I don’t hate him. I see too much of him in myself to hate him. The difference between he and I is that I got help and he didn’t (There, but for the grace of God). Also, aside from all of that, I have a lot to thank him for; he taught me to question authority (which at one time made me an obnoxious teenager, but now I’m self-righteous and stick up for myself and others, which ultimately led me to working in non-profit – anger over inequality is really the only emotion that motivates me to speak up), he made me strong and self-sufficient by never being around, but, because he was deeply entrenched in social activism, I got a little taste of that and was also well-read from a young age (read Marx for Beginners in the 3rd grade). Plus, because of him my first favorite bands were The Velvet Underground and Herman’s Hermits.

*** At this point Tim woke up and we walked to get coffee, pastries, and a couple of supplemental items for dinner later in the evening. By the time we got home it was 11 in the morning and time for breakfast and an episode of 48 hours. My hands were getting clammy thinking about class and I was a nervous wreck pacing around for 30 minutes before I finally left at 1:30. I wanted so desperately to drink and told Tim I totally would were he not around.

MAAAAAN. and even leaving an hour early, I was ten minutes late which also stressed me the fuck out. I had to take 2 buses and walk a few blocks and on the way I was approached by a group of dudes who asked if I could use my card for them on a automated parking meter in exchange for cash. I said sure, and then took off running because I had just made myself even later.

I walked into the tiny dimly lit room (it’s not the called the Sardine Bar for no reason) and took a seat right by the door and ignored the niceties and introductions while trying to stop sweating so much. I really don’t remember much about how I was feeling…just nervous, I guess. But as an icebreaker of sorts the facilitator asked for volunteers to come up and talk about why were there. I really did not want to so I knew I probably should – and I did. I went up on the tiny stage and took the mic from him. He asked me what my SUDS (Subjective Units of Distress Scale) level was and I told him I wasn’t sure, but that my legs were shaky, my palms were sweating, and my chest was tight. He smiled and said ‘Good!’ then began to clap and everyone joined in. It was awful.

I talked a bit about my past and said this improv class, for me, was a part of my ongoing therapy and I chose it because the part of me I’ve suppressed for years is now dying to come out and I can’t deny myself anymore – I didn’t look up from the floor once. And then I started to cry. The facilitator gave me hug and then came more applause. I took my seat and the girl next to me patted my back and said I was brave. That made me feel nice, and although I was embarrassed, I’m glad I cried because now I’ve cried and it’s out there.

The actual improv class began at 6:00 p.m and went on through 8:30 (it was a long day). By the end of the night I was feeling good and exhausted, but couldn’t wait to tell Tim all about it! And despite being sober, nervous, and myself, I still met three tight chicks. I cannot wait until next Sunday. Forreal.

chazbecky*I miss you guys so much.

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! ^_^