Monthly Archives: October 2015

Opposite Action.

I’m supposed to be at the Gerund right now. I’m supposed to be listening to creative, imaginative, emotional individuals speak about personal things (though not exclusively). I’m supposed to be actively working at not ordering a shot and a beer simultaneously and hoping Yosh or Mikey doesn’t ask me if I want both.

Instead I am sitting on my couch trying to catch up on the TV I never get to watch anymore. I am forcing myself to remain on this couch and drink a glass of wine, and I am permitting myself the opportunity to write about the struggle. A part, likely about 50% of me, wants to be there…wants to remain connected to something I think is great…wants to keep up a streak like A-Rod in the early 2000s…wants to get the courage to tweak and play a song I wrote inspired by the opportunity to be supported by that community. The other part of me? Well, that part wants a bit of a break. The emotion that has been coming up the past few weeks is not welcome, and although I went through my weekend of independence and it’s certainly helped, I think part of that help includes taking a step back a bit. Yes, I miss many of the “friends” I’ve made over the last two months, but I also set a precedent by being consistent. I typically showed up, drank my doubles, and stayed late. But my intentions weren’t entirely pure, so I now digress. When I left at 11:30 last week, it felt strange. I felt as though I had to apologize, which I certainly did. By not going at all, I’m giving myself the permission to come or go as I please and I’m hoping this works in serving its purpose because I really do want to go next week, fully costumed.

So I’m saying that I’m doing a lot of opposite action, but really I’m just feeling pulled in two different directions, emotionally. The truth is, very few people will even notice that I’m not there. Truth is, the people who truly matter to me almost definitely won’t. Truth is, I won’t live here forever. Truth is, I need to separate before I get too enmeshed…with the event or any of its amazing people. I spent a portion of my trip back to Worcester practicing asking someone on a date. Tonight I decided if I ever actually used any of those words or indicated even slightly that I wanted a date, I would have to run far and fast in the opposite direction. Stop doing that thing where you want what you can’t have (or keep), Cassandra. Plus, I don’t smoke my Monday cigarette if I’m not there to smoke it, right?

As the soundtrack to last week’s Scandal plays, “it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life…for me. And I’m feelin’ good…”

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Tonight’s ferry ride brought to you by independence, confidence, and the Eagles game.

I am a new person today. It’s amazing the difference two days makes. I’m in a relatively open bar area on the last ferry for the night with the only bartender I’ve ever had more than once and didn’t hate. He served me before he served anyone else, like some sort of ferry cosmic karma. One of the cooks, who I happen to have a direct view of, said hello as he put on music to dance around to during his shift, has looked at me repeatedly and would “totally hit that.” I like his energy. It reminds me of my own. I could only imagine if I were working the 8:45 ferry shift I would be running out of steam, but this guy just needs a little Paul Simon to get by and he’s in it.

I’m attributing this to a change in me, whether or not that is actually the case. I went to NY a poor, poor, pitiful human and I came back returned to the track I was on not more than a few months back. I had one of those weekends where I didn’t have any set plans but played it by ear and was therefore able to do just about whatever I wanted. Secondarily, I learned about my ex-boyfriend’s giant warehouse-grade Halloween party and aside from saying, “stop, please, I don’t want to know,” it truly didn’t, and doesn’t, affect me. Maybe it’s because I’m going to be in Salem with some awesome people that I love dearly, but I really didn’t think about that. I guess I don’t want to know things because I think maybe I’ll care, but I haven’t learned anything recently that made me care even a little bit.

That’s enough about that though, for sure. So save for getting my hair colored, I had little planned. What I wound up doing included said hair coloring, but also entailed seeing someone from high school that hadn’t said two words to me back then. Someone who repeatedly commented on how sexy I am and questioned just when that had occurred. I didn’t ask, but I’d be interested to know just what, if anything, he remembered about me in high school. Ha. Double ha. People from that crowd don’t remember anything; he couldn’t even accurately guess which letter my last name began with (C or K). But he did a thing I didn’t expect…actually, he did a number of things I didn’t expect and I’m not going to put all of them on blast via blog post because I’ve been trying to be more vague about including others in my own writings. In any event, as I took a cab back to my car in the morning, I was reminded about what I was doing in the first place. About how I get to live my life however the fuck I want to. How I can encounter some awesome people, and I can do whatever the hell I want to do with them, or not, and then I can move on to the next thing. I’m not exactly back to “over” whatever Mr. Wonderful undid, but I’m so much better than I was on the last ferry ride. A renewed sense of self, or something of the sort.

So now I am a redder-haired, more confident, more independent, less emotional individual, and if this process of being broken and put back together happens over the course of a few months, I think I can handle that. Now I just need the courage to sing my new song (after I tweak it, obviously) at the Gerund for open mic. And maybe the courage to find out the cook’s name, which I will do, but only if he comes back out to check on the Eagles/Panthers game that’s happening in front of me.

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Updates and chronicle of a ferry ride.

The short version: I haven’t heard from Mr. Wonderful in a week, I don’t expect to again, I’m mostly done mourning the loss, I stopped trying for the thing that feels like home but I think that’s partially a byproduct of my failure with Mr. Wonderful and a more realistic perspective that he wouldn’t be into me, I’ve had to fight dudes I want nothing to do with off with a fucking bat, I wrote a song for the first time in about a decade about something that happened over a year ago, I’ve become a Mets fan for the short-term postseason, my father/stepmother legally defeated my mother, my grandmother is fiscally preparing for her own death and making me a joint account holder, I’ve progressed at lock-picking but I’m still really awful at it, I’ve been pretty depressed but I can’t tell if it’s depression or exhaustion so I made a counseling appointment, this is the longest run-on sentence I’ve ever written, and the bartenders on the Cross Sound Ferry suck at their jobs.

I could write more, but if you were paying attention, the depression/exhaustion is pretty predominant. I don’t feel like reading Rachel’s poetry, or continuing my re-read of Ishmael, or writing, or even continuing to sit at a bar and not get served, mostly due to the trio of douchebags and shitty bartender who hasn’t acknowledged my existence in the 20 minutes I’ve been sitting here. I’m tempted to record their conversation—last was about a song modified from Montell Jordan’s “This is How We Do It” to be “This is Sloppy Tuna,” which was basically the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

At last! Bartender looked at me…as he took the order of two people that walked up next to me thirteen seconds ago. “This is Sloppy Tuna,” sung again. Now the genius is trying to distinguish the difference between towns on (eastern) Long Island because this is the “first time he’s ever been to Montauk.” Good lord.

How quickly this has turned around. My completely judging these Bud Light drinking, completely uninteresting individuals (the irony of their being the main focus of this post could just be indicative of my being even less interesting), coupled with attention and apologies, and a Dark & Stormy from the bartender, has completely shifted my mood into wanting to share this horrendous display with others that won’t read it. Perfect.

Their food and second round of Bud Lights has arrived, so they have refrained from talking. I can’t figure out where Blondie is from. His hair/clothes/sunglasses scream Cali, but the cowboy hat throws me off. He doesn’t have an accent of any kind. He’s been mentally preparing for winter, or his body knows it’s coming, because he’s been eating a lot lately. Or maybe it’s the “cowboy music” he’s been listening to, which included a line that stated, “you never know when you’re going to get your next meal.” However, he could be on the trail for a while, eating beans, so he has to enjoy it while he has it. That could have made them so much more interesting, but the conversation stopped. They remain as exciting as rocks.

The quesadilla has just the right amount of something and is really good. They must have a real commercial kitchen back there, because the quesadilla has some nice crunch to it and the chicken is pretty good too. But “kid” better not be talking about sour cream because Blondie feels very passionate about it. Y’know, I think that’s what did it – the fucking nicknames, kid. There was another one—damn my over-extended brain for not recalling it. I can’t tell if these guys have known each other for 25 years or met three weeks ago. Kid has a severe aversion to putting cream on burritos but doesn’t speak much. Fleece Vest lives in eastern LI so he must come with money and a pretentious attitude….and a teal fleece vest…and the patience of a saint as he describes that the east end of Long Island is just a one-lane road.

Huzzah! Kid speaks! He is aware of current events. They’re not international events, but at the very least he knows about Yelp suing South Park last week. So I guess he has Facebook, ha. Come on, dudes, impress me. I’m bored to death and my mood and mediocre level of intoxication can only take me so far. Oh good, a lull in their non-existent conversation, perfect time for Blondie and FV to check their phones. Why isn’t Kid? Oh, because he could hold out for about three minutes longer than his friends.

They’ll be wherever they are going around 11. So will I. Oh no. I hope they’re going somewhere on the north shore, so they are far from me…no, wait. They’re going to drive down the north fork and back up the south fork, yes. Westhampton style. I hate that stupid island.

A girl at bowling kept saying, “hey, what’s up, hello” the other night and then Trap Queen was stuck in everyone’s head for like a day. Cool story, bro. “No chin, no butt—it’s all in the boobs.” WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST MISS while I was in my head thinking about…what? Oh, right, I was trying to consider how much money I would pay to listen to any of these three prodigies have an intelligent thought. I got distracted by the butt and boobs conversation, dammit.

Kid is apparently mid-breakup and FV suggested he have read the BSC books to understand how difficult it is to get someone to cover your baby-sitting shift. I am officially clueless and Kid speaks too softly to catch up. They are leaving, but I have chicken fingers and a second D&S to humor me for the next half hour. Unless, of course, they don’t leave…

But seriously, think about the bullshit they had to overcome to let the banks let us use Venmo, which is the greatest app of our time. It helped Blondie and FV pay Kid back for covering their tab, but I notice FV didn’t actually pay Kid, only Blondie. Phones and Austin Powers. It’s okay, guys, you can go. Your beers are gone; now you’re just sitting here being boring as fuck and quoting Austin Powers. “Hey, what’s up, hello…” Thanks, Blondie. I’d truly rather that than “This is Sloppy Tuna.”

Shippy’s. That is as local as the “local bar” gets. This gives me a jump-off point for finding out where they are going. Fantastic. Southampton. I win this game. FV and Kid are east end south shore kids. Like new money folk, I guess, in Gatsby terms.

Alas, Poor Yorick, this event is now dead. I have lost just about all interest, save for Kid scrolling through some chick’s Facebook photos, telling me that sometimes dudes do that too, though it’s like 45 minutes less than chicks do it. Facebook à Instagram. Snapchat’s also a contender, but not popular enough for him to open. Blondie dropped his cowboy hat on his way back from “the head,” and ventured outside. I give him four minutes before returning, frozen. … … … It took him three.

Blondie is now three seats closer to me. They came from Boston. Blondie drove. His pink striped socks match his pink button-down. They probably own Google or some ridiculous shit and I’m sitting here tearing apart their inability to hold a single topic in conversation for more than 50 seconds.

…and THIS is one of the bigger reasons why I could never truly have been with Mr. Wonderful. He is too many of the things I judge from my ghetto upbringing, from my cynicism. I am intelligent, I have proven myself capable, but I will always be from nothing and I will always doubt my own self-worth. So I judge Blondie and FV and Kid, because really, it’s easier than judging myself.

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60 days later…

It took 2 months, but I finally found a drawback to having a roommate. Tomorrow I am slated for a 7-hour training followed immediately by my first meeting with a family. My roommate decided that 7:30 p.m. was a good bedtime last night and has therefore been up since 3:30 in the morning. It is now 5:30. This would not be so bad if he just decided to chill on the couch and watch some Netflix, but alas…he has decided to rebuild Stonehenge in our living room, or at least that’s how it sounds at 4 in the morning. Apparently, he’s moving the large structures from the bathroom, past my door, which needs to be slightly ajar for the catface to have free reign of the apartment, down the hallway to the living room. What. The. Fuck. How does he not think I am awake and listening to every move he makes, every cough, every dish he (so thankfully!) finally transferred to the dishwasher, every item he moves to the closet in front of my door. For two hours–TWO HOURS–I have had to lose sleep so he could be responsible at an odd time due to being irresponsible. This is the epitome of bittersweet. And I’ve determined that I would prefer a messy apartment over losing this much sleep. What a way to learn that new information… dude, GO TO BED, or at least SIT THE FUCK DOWN. Just go on Facebook like the rest of us, PLEASE.

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I am, for lack of a better term, a “hot mess.”

I would like to start by saying that today was a Universe inspired mind-fuck. First, the highlights. Then, the continued existential crisis.

Brunch at Armsby Abbey with my loves–my cohort loves–and one of their mothers. My “twin” arrived as my twin, albeit unexpectedly, and we ordered the same meal, despite my attempt not to order the same thing twice. I couldn’t do it. The hash there is amazing.

Following this wonderful meal with wonderful people, twin accompanied me as I ventured to Hyland Orchard to re-meet up with a few of the cohorters (yeah, I’m coining it) for some apple picking, or as the roomie likes to call it, paying people to do their work for them. We also stopped at the on-site Rapscallion Brewery where I intended to order a flight, but accidentally wound up with a flight and an extra beer due to bartender error.

It was imperative to take a nap when I got home, so I slept until what seemed like the last possible second before pulling together a black bean salsa dip for tomorrow’s work potluck and running out to be late to the Dirty Gerund Poetry Show, which I’ve yet to miss since moving to Worcester 7 weeks ago. The short story is that the poetry was great, the company was (as always) great, the feature was great (I purchased her CD), the artwork was dark but great (which was purchased for me), and I stayed past showtime because…well, see the existential crisis section of this rant. I continued to get to know some of the regulars, as well as the feature, and I continue to sacrifice my Tuesday self for the amazement that is that group of individuals and what they bring to the world. I drove the feature and her bestie to their hotel and received her book in addition to the CD as a payment for services rendered. She was an amazing contact to have made. She is an inspiration and a fantastic poet. I’m not entirely sure why I didn’t ask her to sign my book, but in hindsight, I should have.

Now, it is 2:15 a.m., I have to be at work in 6 hours and 45 minutes, and I continue to live in my head. I had done well with my last post’s resolutions. I may not have made it to the gym, but I have spent every day busy. I have successfully distracted myself enough that I finally stopped thinking about Mr. Wonderful and the slew of unknowns and lack of commitment and insecurity that comes with him. I caved only once, but didn’t let it affect me as I thought it might. I began to think that maybe Mr. Wonderful represented something James The Giant Douche used to talk about–the ideal. JTGD used to say to me that I didn’t love him, but I loved the “idea” of him. I dismissed him, repeatedly. So now I have to sit with myself and think about what I want.

Here’s the deal–I may not even be able to have what I want. I am torn between two things that I want. I want the “idea” of Mr. Wonderful, but the intuitive part of me believes that the idea of him is not him. I spent the better part of the last year adamant about not wanting to be with someone for more than something to do when I wanted something to do. That has seemingly changed. However, I spent the better part of the four years prior to this past one with someone who wanted to commit, but couldn’t; who felt feelings, but would refuse to admit them; who had plenty to say but said nothing. This is all too familiar. This seems like that, again. This feels like a game and despite having energy for many a thing, I don’t seem to have energy for a game. I don’t think I can have this thing that I want, because I’m not sure it’s even the thing that I want.

Which brings me to thing 2: the familiar. The transparent. The idea for something more permanent remains, which drives me absolutely batty, but I know I can’t bury it, so I have just been rolling with it. So…the familiar. The transparent. The serious. The fun. The real. I have tried to find meaning in meaningless things…a glance that may or may not be meant for me, an arm lingering around my waist for just a few extra moments, and…and…and maybe nothing else. This is less likely to become a thing. This will be a thing I think about, idolize as well, and refrain from trying to make anything. For various reasons. Because I’m not past the game. Because I don’t want this desire for permanence. Because it’s not up to me. Because the reasons aren’t always clear. Because I could ruin one of the good things I have. Because because because because because…

…because of the wonderful things he does. I think I need to find the Wizard and go home.

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Enough already.

Here is a list of things to come back to as needed:

  1. Turn off location services. (Check!) Now keep it off.
  2. Party. Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and hell, even Monday. Then STOP.
  3. Be a better you. Stop worrying about who you might run into and GO DOWNSTAIRS TO THE GYM. It may even be a good thing to run into avoided folk.
  4. Practice more mindfulness. Thoughts on clouds, or as leaves on a stream, but for the love of all things good and holy, get them OUT.
  5. Get busy. The best days were the ones that entailed things like hiking and yoga. Remember which places to stay away from.
  6. Keep the peoples around. Roommate time is fun time, but he’s not always around. Have a backup plan.
  7. Do the Meetup thing. Don’t let fear win.
  8. Pick a bagel. Just try it, even if only once.
  9. Honesty is always the best policy, so focus on the truth and not the excuse when confronted.
  10. Never. Settle.

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