Big Fun Stress Times

So far this week...

1) Mass property damage in Baltimore

2) Huge peaceful protests in Baltimore

3) Baltimore had a curfew

4) Found out my landlord thinks I didn't pay rent last month

5) Found out I have $200 in late fees on my house

6) Lost my third roommate

7) Other roommate has no job

8) Other roommate hasn't been paying his rent

9) I have to get ready to go on vacation in 6 days

10) I have to find a roommate before vacation 

So long story short I'm super stressed out and ready to punch kittens. I have a vacation coming up BUT I won't be able to relax because I might be losing my home. Great.

Time is Relative

Since I no longer engage in romantic relationships (it never works out) I live vicariously through relationships of others. Some people stay together for a long time, others move on amicably, still others are left with wounds. The people who stay together give me hope for the day I do meet someone that's as interested in me as I am them. People who move away from each other but stay friends show me that I can make mistakes without becoming pained so I'll be able to take a chance meeting someone new. But people left hurt reaffirm my belief that romance is dead, there's no point in loving another human because they'll just leave you bleeding in the street, so to speak.

Seeing a friend of mine hurt reminded me of my own hurt years ago. We had only been seeing each other for 6 months (same as my friend and his ex) but I went from on top of the world to drowning in less than a second. But why do relationships end so quickly? Well, after about 6 months you pretty much know someone. Wait, that was how long these relationships last. Yeah, the adrenaline you gain when you're around that special person is awesome, you become chemically dependent on that person. Then you get used to them, get to know their traits, your brain adapts to them being around, and bam! no more chemical kick. If you find that you don't like their traits you leave, they find out, they leave, simple. Depending on the mesh things can end amicably or be completely destroyed.

The bigger picture is the fact that this was only 6 months of your life. You could have lived 25 or 50 years, a whole 6 months is not going to kill you. You may be sad now but stand up, dust yourself off, and move on. Don't let a mere 6 months consume every fiber of your being until you're unable to stand yourself. Some people are worth spending time with, others aren't. If someone is unwilling to bury a hatchet they aren't worth the time being sad.

Regret

I’m a bitch; I’m the first one to admit that. I’ve done horrible things to kind people. While I like to say that I didn’t know any better it still doesn’t change the fact that I’ve offended people… HURT even. One such incident lead me stay away from dating for two years.

 There was a time when I would see someone one to two times then it wouldn’t work out for whatever reason; I wasn’t interested, they weren’t interested, whatever, didn’t work out. During this time I wound up on jury duty with this guy that wasn’t particularly attractive but we exchanged numbers anyway. Instead of actually going out with this guy I kept telling him I was busy. Truth be told I was extremely busy trying to work full time while taking level 300 classes full time. For whatever reason, I kept talking to him for MONTHS. Each time he asked to meet up I gave him the same few reasons why I couldn’t; homework, tired, busy week, washing my hair, etc. All the while this poor sweet guy just wanted to get to know me better. He finally stopped contacting me and got a real girlfriend.

After he stopped talking to me for a while I stopped to think, “Hey, if I really wanted to get to know this guy I would have made time for him. I make time for my friends and family but I couldn’t give this poor guy an hour or two of my time.” This lead right into my natural cycle of depression so I decided to stop seeing people for a few months but next time give that person the chance.

Fast forward two years and I’m still single but now know exactly how this poor guy felt. While I’m sure the person I saw three times (this is the most I’ve seen someone in seven years, yay) is very busy or tired or just needs to wash their hair I can’t help but remember when I hurt that poor guy. Since I can’t just shut my brain off like a normal person the situation has made me a neurotic mess; half a day I’m feeling great, the other half I’m freaking out that I did something wrong or that nothing in life will ever go right. EVER.

Life will probably go back to normal shortly; it’s time to start ordering Christmas retail for the shop, I’ve started to work on getting in shape, and I have plenty of books to read but this life is a lonely one. Perhaps I’m mourning the few weeks that someone I was interested in felt the same or perhaps I truly am crazy. But life goes on.

Moral of the story: if you can’t make time for someone or WON’T make time for someone it’s probably time to throw in the towel. You may feel great because there’s someone who wants to be with you but they feel like shit because you aren’t giving them the time of day. Just let that person know that you no longer wish to see them and that’s that. You’ll get more respect and live without a lot of regret.  

To Each His Own

Running late you slip out of your sunshine yellow Chevy Aveo only to stand outside the house. The three bedroom single family home with two car garage, perfectly manicured lawn, and white plastic fence remind you of the suburban hell you long to escape. This will be your prison for at least two hours. 

Walking up the driveway you prepare yourself for everyone's questions: 

"How have you BEEN?" ...fine

"What have you been doing... besides working?" ...working, seeing friends... you know... stuff...

"How's apartment life?" It's great, last-

"When can we SEE you?" ... I'll have to check my schedule...

"When are you going to get a boyfriend?" ...

Once you finally make it up to the door you're greeted by two Irish Setters, your aunt, uncle, brother, sister-in-law, nephew, mother, father, and grandmother. Each person takes the time to let you know how special you are to them and that you should come around more often, call even. You smile and nod the whole entire way to the sofa where you plop down waiting for the questions.

No one quite understands your answers or why you’re being so quiet. Eventually everyone talks about you as if you weren’t in the room but much nicer.

“Her hair looks nice.”

“She’s looking good.”

“I like her shirt.”

When your nephew climbs on you your aunt says, “I’ll bet you can’t wait to have one of your own.”

You give her a glare, a response she expects.

“She’ll have to wait until she finds a boyfriend then get married before she even thinks about that,” your mother says completely missing the point.

The situation has become dire; you decide to read the book you packed just in case. Suddenly everyone needs to ask you what book you’re reading to break the deadly silence. Since no one seems to know who Chuck Palahniuk is you explain that he wrote Fight Club but of course everyone missed that one when it came out.

As time goes by the party goers are less interested in you and more interested in the toddler trying to play with a Dino scooter from the 70’s. Your sister-in-law is concerned about the safety of the toy since two generations of your family probably horribly maimed themselves on it and he is going to be the next victim.

After the terrible toy is taken away your sweaty father sits down next to you putting his slimy arm over your shoulder.

“I love you kid.” …

“You could call us once in a while.” … I could…

“We miss you kid.” …

“Well, if you need anything you just have to ask.” … okay…

He gets up to follow the toddler who has embarked on yet another adventure. At this point some of the older crowd start to leave now is your chance to get out. You say your good byes and walk gracefully to your car.

Once in the car you less gracefully start feeling down again, you had been raised to find a boyfriend, get married, and have children (or pets). But that’s not your life; that’s the life of the people in that house. You chose not to perpetuate the stigma that this is all there is in life. This gives you meaning as you drive home but when you arrive you get depressed because you realize that you feel so alone. 

Character Naming

This morning I woke up sometime before 6am with back pain. Most of the time I just take some ibuprofen and go back to sleep. After sleepily deciding that it would be in my best interest not to take pain medication all the time I started to think. Thinking is one of the greatest evils when you want to get back to sleep. The only thing that stuck in my head was that some of the naming in the Hunger Games was actually quite good. I've had a friend tell me that Suzanne Collins was being very obvious with the naming; everyone named after a plant is good, the name Haymitch would be something you say to a drunk person, Effie Trinket was witty because it means fuck toy. If Collins just created characters with bland names I probably wouldn't be as drawn to them but I'm able to articulate what I mean in the moment so I just shrugged and agreed. Today I argue that Collins did think about what she named each character.

 Not all of the characters named after plants were good. There was a girl from District 2 named Clove that kept trying to kill everyone. Though killing Katniss would probably have been an act of mercy. Cinna could have either been named after the spice cinnamon or a nickname for Julius Caesar's father-in-law's family. Aside from Katniss' family (which would explain why she and her sister were named after plants; parents name their kids crazy things) no one else seems to have the name of a plant. Other "good" characters have names similar to names that are popular today for example Gale is like a strong wind pulling at Katniss' heart but also a name we use today. Peeta is named after the pita bread that you would find in his family's shop but also shows you how Collins wants you to pronounce Peter. If The Hunger Games were to be read in England the name Peter would be read as Peeta which makes it witty, however since we live in America we would see it as Peter with a hard "R" sound. Which leads to...

 Hamish. No, I didn't spell Haymitch wrong, that's the Gaelic name for James. I probably wouldn't have thought anything of the name Haymitch except for the fact that when I was a child I was really into murder mysteries; one of the mystery series I enjoyed was the Hamish McBeth series. When I read these novels I kept reading his name as "Ham-Ish." A few years later I found a Television version of a few books and rented it. It turned out that the name Hamish is pronounced "Hay-Mish." So why not name him James; because it needed Hay in the name to denote that he's good unless he's from district 2... wait, no, because she wasn't using current common names.

 Effie Trinket, the fuck toy, so much make-up plastered on her face, the high fashion of the Capital, she's just the Capital's play thing. Or her name is Euphemia which means to speak well (English). Or she could be named after the Scottish Effie which comes from the name Oighrig which means new speckled one in Gaelic. Both seem to define the chatty little thing wearing the best and newest fashions. So instead of being a fuck toy, something Pyramid Head would like, her name is probably chatty new ornament. Seriously guys, this is a children's book.

 Whatever the meaning there was behind the names in the Hunger Game series it was probably more than, "oh, this name sounds nice, let's give them this name." To discredit the naming process, the time and effort put into naming a character, is irritating. If the names seem too easy it's either because they are (Twilight) or you're not reading into it enough. Doesn't explain what a Katniss is though.

Hipsters Breed Hipsters

"I don't know, we're seeing each other but we're not seeing each other. I think I this might be the one." he said to his PBR.

"That's cool, it's good to have someone to... spend time with. Good to see you're doing alright." I lied.

We sat at the bar in silence for another few minutes. People talked over a bad Morrissey cover band. The clock on the walk slowed a little. Each minute moving slower than the last. We both look at the floor boards, wood paneling on the walls, the plaid shirts of other patrons.

I looked at his profile, "How's the shop?" a go-to question to get the ball rolling again.

"Pretty good. I mean, I don't get to work on bar anymore but at least I'm still working with coffee. How's your shop?"

"We're awesome. Just finished training my employees on pour-overs, next week pour-overs go live. Then we profit! Seriously dude, it's pretty awesome, you should stop in some time." I answered enthusiastically.

He turned to face me, "Yeah, I'll do that. Well, I gotta get going, work in the morning. It was nice seeing you."

"See you around!" was the last thing I said all night.

The Journey Begins

Fall 2010

Nine hours I stood in the same position typing in prescriptions while my friends were out partying or whatever they did with their time. It had been a particularly shitty day where the customers were out to get me fired for filling their prescriptions correctly and billing their insurances as Maryland and Federal law states. One customer made me cry over an issue that I FIXED. Most people go to the bar after one of these days, or weeks, or months, or years. That job could have turned me to the drink once more but I didn’t want to go back. I could have gone back home to play World of Warcraft until I fell asleep but I wanted to change. Something had to break the habit.

My friend (whom I had worked with for 8 years) had just opened a café in Baltimore and wanted me to check it out. That day was the first day of the rest of my life.

As I walked into the brightly lit space I had a mental over-load. Every Starbucks I had ever entered was dimly lit with the same menu of items you can get at any Starbucks in the country. Charmington’s had loud lights and a chalk board menu with things I had never heard of before. Before I even knew what was going on a black guy with thick-rimmed glasses, ebony plugs in his ears, and tattoos poking out from under his shirt sleeve asked me what I wanted. Coffee, that’s what people get at these places. I asked for a medium coffee because I had no idea what coffee drinkers really drank.

“Would you like room for cream?” he asked in a soothing voice.

This was an important question. There I was at a hipster coffee joint. Never having enjoyed a single cup of coffee in my life. Being asked if I wanted room for cream. Was there any other way to drink coffee? Sometimes when I was really tired I’d try to drink coffee and pour half a sugar bowl and a full pitcher of milk in it. That never helped though, coffee still tasted like butt. Did people really drink coffee without anything in it? I was at a fancy café so I had to try it black.

Before I could continue to over-think the whole experience I paid the gentleman behind the counter and walked out of the store as calmly as possible. Autumn had settled in so the Baltimore air was cool and crisp with a hint of winter mixed in. As I approached my car I took a sip and fell in love with that warm, dark liquid.