Cherry and I were discussing the fear we feel when a new prospect enters the picture. Words like "respect," "romantic," and "thoughtful," were being said, at which point I had to pull out my Webster's to determine the meaning of such words in this context. No, this isn't a "chivalry is so dead," rant. I've had the pleasure of meeting the great gentlemen that are blessed to be with both of my sisters and a few of my girlfriends. Rather, this is a "why am I such an idiot?" rant.
Why is that typically normal gestures end up being red-flags to me? Negative, degrading thoughts are at the very least crossing my mind, but more than likely being discussed with my mom or a girlfriend. Oh my gosh, he said I'm beautiful and was genuine about it? What the fuck is wrong with him? Oh, a good morning text, REALLY? Did his parents beat him senseless as a child? He's asking my girlfriend about me, not to find out if I'll put out but to see if I'm like a good person. He's clearly a devil! Holy balls, he didn't even TRY to have sex with me....does he have a small penis? Does he even have a penis? What's he trying to get out of this?
I'm not sure who reads these posts aside from my mom (because she's obviously forced to do so), so it's hard to determine the general reaction to these thoughts. Because most of my friends are girls or gays, they can relate. What I can't get over is, why is it accepted as "normal," for people to feel this way? I'm not going to bitch about the nightmare that is my dating and relationship history. Wah wah, poor me. All I'm saying is that the aftermath of a bad breakup, toxic relationship, or sketchy dates should be recognized as potentially damaging to our well-being.
Because we're both psychology-nerds, my evening was spent texting Cherry, trying to think of a catchy name for this type of dating related PTSD. What I admire in her though, is something I completely lack. No matter how many times she's been hurt, Cherry always goes into a date, a Tinder swipe, a night out in River North with an open and optimistic mind. Cherry is just one of too many amazing friends that I've seen truly suffer due to the actions of a terrible person. Let me be completely clear: I've been on both sides of this before, both the heart-broken mess that drops to a weight below one hundred pounds due to depression as well as the selfish and hurtful person that makes stupid mistakes that continue to haunt my brain from time to time. Neither position is one that I ever want to find myself in, nor those that I care about.
So I guess the question is, what can I do about it? Do I continue on this neurotic path? I can keep my fingers crossed that the DSM-IV includes a diagnosis of Dating Douches Syndrome with the treatment recommendations being new stilettos, drinks with girlfriends and dancing at a gay club. I'm certainly aware that thinking every man that is somewhat respectful toward me wants to cut me up into fifteen mason jars and store me on a shelf in the basement doesn't typically cross one's mind in a time of gratitude. Rather than butterflies the minute I (gasp!) agree to go on a date, I feel as though that I'm sealing my fate to be turned into a skinsuit. Instead, I think I need a very intense reality check and maybe, just maaaaaybe, next time I'll opt for the giddies instead of the crazies and see how it goes.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Monday, January 6, 2014
Year in Review
Of course I have a Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and everything else under the sun and I've been looking at the cliche New Year's resolution statuses, Instagrammed photos of Christmas and New Year's engagements, and tweets of how irritating the previous two items are to most viewers. So, naturally, when I logged onto Facebook on an actual computer and saw the "2013 Year in Review," I had to go for it. Who can turn down the option to view your top 20 posts from 2013? Well, almost anyone, but since I have a cocktail in my hand to chase away my raspy man voice and my slumber party buddies ready for a laugh, I decided to go for it. The result?
MY YEAR SUCKED! Who would have thought? In 52 weeks, I did the following:
- Changed the direction of my career. Twice.
- Ended a two year relationship and actually enjoyed the whole "being single" thing.
- Moved to Chicago. Found my first apartment. Experienced public transportation and aggressive homelessness for the first time.
- Traveled to Mexico, Vegas, and Polk (It's in Nebraska, duh) for the first time.
- Cut ties with a lot of friends, rekindled with some old ones, and made a ton of new friends (okay, maybe just a couple).
- Found some new hobbies such as golf, whiskey, and trying to cook.
Clearly, I'm pretty damn cool. Did my Facebook reflect this? Definitely not. What did I get? Hideous Instagrammed #TBT photos of me from 2006, status updates tagging me in places that I would prefer no one know that I'm associated with (Dominick's for the fourth time in two days), uploaded photos with people I'm no longer associated with, and tweets full of embarrassing things that I've "supposedly" said (okay, I did).
After reading my inaccurate summary of 2013, I told my work husband that it was depressing and underwhelming. Then I decided that what would be more bleak than what was offered to me as my "highlights," is a Facebook profile that actually was full of my biggest moments. My favorite moments of 2013 are those not captured by any social media because it means I was 100% committed to the moment. The events that would be on 2013 Yearbook include:
-Hugging my BFF for the first time in "our" (his) apartment in Chicago after moving here.
-My birthday at the Valley and my last weekend working there prior to moving. Over the summer, those men both traumatized me and made me realize that not every man is a horrible slutbag.
- Phone calls and FaceTime dates with my friends around the country that include the sharing good news of job offers, pictures of their cat and tales of how nauseatingly cute their boyfriend has been this week.
- Receiving the call at 8PM on a Friday night from my current boss with a job offer (yay!!)
-Helping my favorite couple/mentors pack up their gorgeous suburban home to prepare for a move to a penthouse in New York.
- Arriving home on Christmas Eve to see three giant boxes of clothing from my current employer but getting more excited to see a little pink box with mom's awful handwriting on the top. It contained my prescriptions, homemade cookies and a card with my mom's version of a thoughtful note.
It's a snow day and my brain, like Facebook, doesn't always function properly, so I've forgotten other top moments of the year. Guess what? There's going to be a lot more this year and I'll be happier if they're not on my social media.
Now excuse me while I paste the link to this post on my Twitter and Facebook. Ahem.
MY YEAR SUCKED! Who would have thought? In 52 weeks, I did the following:
- Changed the direction of my career. Twice.
- Ended a two year relationship and actually enjoyed the whole "being single" thing.
- Moved to Chicago. Found my first apartment. Experienced public transportation and aggressive homelessness for the first time.
- Traveled to Mexico, Vegas, and Polk (It's in Nebraska, duh) for the first time.
- Cut ties with a lot of friends, rekindled with some old ones, and made a ton of new friends (okay, maybe just a couple).
- Found some new hobbies such as golf, whiskey, and trying to cook.
Clearly, I'm pretty damn cool. Did my Facebook reflect this? Definitely not. What did I get? Hideous Instagrammed #TBT photos of me from 2006, status updates tagging me in places that I would prefer no one know that I'm associated with (Dominick's for the fourth time in two days), uploaded photos with people I'm no longer associated with, and tweets full of embarrassing things that I've "supposedly" said (okay, I did).
After reading my inaccurate summary of 2013, I told my work husband that it was depressing and underwhelming. Then I decided that what would be more bleak than what was offered to me as my "highlights," is a Facebook profile that actually was full of my biggest moments. My favorite moments of 2013 are those not captured by any social media because it means I was 100% committed to the moment. The events that would be on 2013 Yearbook include:
-Hugging my BFF for the first time in "our" (his) apartment in Chicago after moving here.
-My birthday at the Valley and my last weekend working there prior to moving. Over the summer, those men both traumatized me and made me realize that not every man is a horrible slutbag.
- Phone calls and FaceTime dates with my friends around the country that include the sharing good news of job offers, pictures of their cat and tales of how nauseatingly cute their boyfriend has been this week.
- Receiving the call at 8PM on a Friday night from my current boss with a job offer (yay!!)
-Helping my favorite couple/mentors pack up their gorgeous suburban home to prepare for a move to a penthouse in New York.
- Arriving home on Christmas Eve to see three giant boxes of clothing from my current employer but getting more excited to see a little pink box with mom's awful handwriting on the top. It contained my prescriptions, homemade cookies and a card with my mom's version of a thoughtful note.
It's a snow day and my brain, like Facebook, doesn't always function properly, so I've forgotten other top moments of the year. Guess what? There's going to be a lot more this year and I'll be happier if they're not on my social media.
Now excuse me while I paste the link to this post on my Twitter and Facebook. Ahem.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Sassy Nebraskan x 3
After reading this article on Buzzfeed this morning, I couldn't help but giggle. Not only is it totally true on so many levels, but it made me feel slightly less nutty that my sisters and I aren't the only ones out there. The best part is that I am lucky to have two best friends to do the dance from Robin Hood: Men in Tights at 3am on Christmas day when we've had too much wine while playing Sweet Valley High. Many people that get close to me are intrigued by my odd stories about my mom, my hideous dog that I grew up with and my Grampy that has a colorful way of describing weather patterns. Pile all that on with the mind blowing fact that there are two more of me floating around in the US. Gasp! We're all J's, even our nicknames - James and Jose. The three of us are completely different in so many ways; physically, our interests, taste in music/men/food, ambition, but have the most important thing in common: our high standards, Midwestern family values and a ridiculous laugh that could only come from our mother.
The best part about the Buzzfeed post was that all of the reasons are 100% spot-on (as always, way to go Buzzfeed), but that they're the same whether I'm thinking of my sisters when I was 4 years old playing with my Briar Horses or right now, as a 24 year old on my iPad, thinking about what type of whiskey I'll be consuming during the Burlesque show at Untitled tonight. I love and welcome change, but my relationship with both sisters is something that I don't think could be any more perfect.
It's rare to find someone that truly knows every dark secret about you, has lived with your high maintenance and borderline OCD ticks, and still loves you unconditionally. I think of the bitchy things I've said to the middle sister or the times that I said I would do something for my older sister and couldn't be happier that they're stuck with me and have to forgive me eventually. Too many hard lessons that I've had to learn has been at the expense of one of my siblings or they were going down the same road with me and we all pushed each other on.
I take full advantage of being baby of the family and if anyone takes the time to get to know me, it's clear that I'm the youngest child. Because I'm the youngest by eight years from James and four and a half from Jose, I have had the pleasure of compiling life advice at the expense of their mistakes:
- Always take your papers to school when mom tells you to. If not, she will show up to your middle school in her faded red, holey sweatpants, ratty slippers and bedhead to turn in your paper to the teach in front of your whole class. (Jose)
- Be as involved in as many extracirricular activities as you can ; academics, track/cross country, dorky zoo school, volunteer work and spilling Dairy Queen ice cream on your shirt and pretending it's a job. The more you're wrapped up in, the less mom harasses you. (James)
- A genuine, sincere apology goes a long way with mom. (Jose)
- Don't piss off mom so you don't have to offer perfectly thought-out apologies on the regular. (James)
- Being smart is cool, sexy and leads to meeting true friends. (James)
- But being a party animal, dressing sexy, and never wearing a bra leads to a lot of friends and even hotter guys. (Jose)
-Later realizing that those "cool" friends suck and the guys aren't hot after high school. They're just fat and have crappy jobs. (Jose)
- Pseudo-stalking your high school crush will lead to 10 years of a solid marriage, two amazing children and a lot of happiness. Still waiting for this to happen, by the way, James.
- How to mix the perfect drinks, throw a badass party in mom's basement, highlight my green eyes with the right eyeliner, shave my legs, walk in heels, show just the right amount of the little cleavage I do have, and, most importantly, have fun. Jose taught me every detail of being a girly-girl. I would say that I've surpassed the master in this area.
- You don't always need to be the prettiest, happiest, and most-outgoing. James unknowingly made me realize that the most stunning accessory is confidence and without it, you probably won't be the gorgeous girl laughing in a group of people. You'll be the depressed weirdo that no one wants to be around.
The best part has been that I grew up with the opportunity to see what I love the most about them and morph it into one. I'll never be as intelligent, motherly or athletic as James. She's so crafty and was that way long before Pinterest was a thing. Thanks to her, I took school very seriously and am very proud of my degrees, and will never apologize for being an educated woman. I take a lot of pride in seeing my nephews become little men and applaud her for her patience with them. To top it off, all of my crafts look like they belong on the Island of Misfit Toys. On the flip side, I don't think I will ever have the deep-seeded charisma that Jose has. She has the most amazing way of making any random person feel like they are the only one in the world, it's a gift that doesn't come easily. Even better, though, is that she has an innocent way of only seeing the positive in people. Oh, and she's a self-taught chef. One of those people that can look in a pantry and magically concoct a 5-Star quality meal out of the random shit without thinking twice. I still read the directions on my canned soup just to be sure I don't mess anything up. It's bad.
None of us live in the same state but, even without seeing each other for months or a year, I'll never be closer to anyone but these two. Part of that may be because they have too much dirt on me.
The best part about the Buzzfeed post was that all of the reasons are 100% spot-on (as always, way to go Buzzfeed), but that they're the same whether I'm thinking of my sisters when I was 4 years old playing with my Briar Horses or right now, as a 24 year old on my iPad, thinking about what type of whiskey I'll be consuming during the Burlesque show at Untitled tonight. I love and welcome change, but my relationship with both sisters is something that I don't think could be any more perfect.
It's rare to find someone that truly knows every dark secret about you, has lived with your high maintenance and borderline OCD ticks, and still loves you unconditionally. I think of the bitchy things I've said to the middle sister or the times that I said I would do something for my older sister and couldn't be happier that they're stuck with me and have to forgive me eventually. Too many hard lessons that I've had to learn has been at the expense of one of my siblings or they were going down the same road with me and we all pushed each other on.
I take full advantage of being baby of the family and if anyone takes the time to get to know me, it's clear that I'm the youngest child. Because I'm the youngest by eight years from James and four and a half from Jose, I have had the pleasure of compiling life advice at the expense of their mistakes:
- Always take your papers to school when mom tells you to. If not, she will show up to your middle school in her faded red, holey sweatpants, ratty slippers and bedhead to turn in your paper to the teach in front of your whole class. (Jose)
- Be as involved in as many extracirricular activities as you can ; academics, track/cross country, dorky zoo school, volunteer work and spilling Dairy Queen ice cream on your shirt and pretending it's a job. The more you're wrapped up in, the less mom harasses you. (James)
- A genuine, sincere apology goes a long way with mom. (Jose)
- Don't piss off mom so you don't have to offer perfectly thought-out apologies on the regular. (James)
- Being smart is cool, sexy and leads to meeting true friends. (James)
- But being a party animal, dressing sexy, and never wearing a bra leads to a lot of friends and even hotter guys. (Jose)
-Later realizing that those "cool" friends suck and the guys aren't hot after high school. They're just fat and have crappy jobs. (Jose)
- Pseudo-stalking your high school crush will lead to 10 years of a solid marriage, two amazing children and a lot of happiness. Still waiting for this to happen, by the way, James.
- How to mix the perfect drinks, throw a badass party in mom's basement, highlight my green eyes with the right eyeliner, shave my legs, walk in heels, show just the right amount of the little cleavage I do have, and, most importantly, have fun. Jose taught me every detail of being a girly-girl. I would say that I've surpassed the master in this area.
- You don't always need to be the prettiest, happiest, and most-outgoing. James unknowingly made me realize that the most stunning accessory is confidence and without it, you probably won't be the gorgeous girl laughing in a group of people. You'll be the depressed weirdo that no one wants to be around.
The best part has been that I grew up with the opportunity to see what I love the most about them and morph it into one. I'll never be as intelligent, motherly or athletic as James. She's so crafty and was that way long before Pinterest was a thing. Thanks to her, I took school very seriously and am very proud of my degrees, and will never apologize for being an educated woman. I take a lot of pride in seeing my nephews become little men and applaud her for her patience with them. To top it off, all of my crafts look like they belong on the Island of Misfit Toys. On the flip side, I don't think I will ever have the deep-seeded charisma that Jose has. She has the most amazing way of making any random person feel like they are the only one in the world, it's a gift that doesn't come easily. Even better, though, is that she has an innocent way of only seeing the positive in people. Oh, and she's a self-taught chef. One of those people that can look in a pantry and magically concoct a 5-Star quality meal out of the random shit without thinking twice. I still read the directions on my canned soup just to be sure I don't mess anything up. It's bad.
None of us live in the same state but, even without seeing each other for months or a year, I'll never be closer to anyone but these two. Part of that may be because they have too much dirt on me.
Monday, December 30, 2013
It's not me.... it's you.
Everyone's heard it the words and I'm 100% sure that no one believes them. "It's not you, it's me," screams bullshit to even the most naive recipient. What's the most irritating part of that? The self-righteousness of the whole concept, the disrespect of being blatantly lied to, and the fact that you aren't even worth the time for some original material is all insulting. As if ending a relationship isn't bad enough, let's add some cliches in there for good measure!
I overheard (or was I eavesdropping on random people at Starbucks because I still have yet to meet more than a handful of people worthy of being friends? tomato, tamatoh) a bro-ish looking college student saying this to a gorgeous and unsuspecting sorority girl the other afternoon. I gritted my teeth and raised the volume on my Ellie Goulding in the anticipation of tears or a dramatic gesture of some sort but was pleasantly surprised. She blankly looked in his face and basically thanked him for the honesty (in pure sarcasm, is she my little sister?), wished him good luck in the search for a woman that will tolerate his bad habits (I wish she elaborated, I was very intrigued by this), and said that she would appreciate it if he spared her from the rumor mill, as he's the one with the small penis. I don't know this girl but I was proud of her! I was compelled, but resisted, to buy her a beer, give her a hug, and smack her ass as she walked onto Michigan Avenue and exclaim, "go get 'em!!"
In one hell of a roundabout way, the stupidity of his poor selection of words to break up got me thinking. Oh no. "It's not you, it's me," has never been something I could comprehend. An ex-boyfriend of mine would often say something similar when we were in those arguments that dance along the edge of breaking up. If I was the reason I'm breaking up with someone I cared for I would, a) figure my shit out and find out why I suck and, b) let the fully-functioning adult that I'm dating make the decision if they can put up with my crap. Is it my bitching that you work too much that thus makes you unhappy because you do, in fact, spend too much time at the office? Then it's not you, it's my nagging. Come on. Why can't anyone be blunt, doesn't the person you've dated for x-amount of time (2 years?) deserve some constructive criticism or at least honesty as they swiftly get pushed out of your life? Yes. In a perfect world, every relationship of mine would conclude with an exit interview so I can learn from the infinite mistakes I make, spend some time on my neuroses and always do that one thing in bed that got you every time. This is probably yet another reason I'm single but, hey, I'm a nerd. So what if I like to analyze data and make myself better for it? :)
I'm only 24 so of course some of my views on relationships are immature, perhaps a little strange and most definitely the reason I struggle to find someone with similar values. Unless there are very upsetting circumstances, I don't understand why break ups are usually so toxic. Say you spend two years with this person that you're ending things with, one would assume that those are some of the best years of your life, right? You and whoever probably know each other well enough to know when they're lying through their teeth, no? Then why lie about the break up? Lying is too much work. I'd rather hear, "Lady, your quirks, psychotic family, and weird tribe of gay men are way too much for me to handle. Good luck, smell ya later gorgeous," than something pulled out of air. It's the need for closure, people, and it's important for post-breakup sanity. Just going on a date that you thought was incredible only to never hear from the guy again is a bummer but have you ever been dumped abruptly when you think things are going well? It's rough!
How will I avoid my next and inevitable, "It's not you, it's me," talk? I don't know. What I do know is that the darling 19 year old Starbucks girl reminded me of the feisty side of me that I sometimes lose when I'm hurt by someone I care for and put a lot of work into being around. I like the fireball (not the whiskey, that's trouble!) that doesn't take any shit and she will certainly be around as I try and fail to navigate the Chicago dating scene.
I overheard (or was I eavesdropping on random people at Starbucks because I still have yet to meet more than a handful of people worthy of being friends? tomato, tamatoh) a bro-ish looking college student saying this to a gorgeous and unsuspecting sorority girl the other afternoon. I gritted my teeth and raised the volume on my Ellie Goulding in the anticipation of tears or a dramatic gesture of some sort but was pleasantly surprised. She blankly looked in his face and basically thanked him for the honesty (in pure sarcasm, is she my little sister?), wished him good luck in the search for a woman that will tolerate his bad habits (I wish she elaborated, I was very intrigued by this), and said that she would appreciate it if he spared her from the rumor mill, as he's the one with the small penis. I don't know this girl but I was proud of her! I was compelled, but resisted, to buy her a beer, give her a hug, and smack her ass as she walked onto Michigan Avenue and exclaim, "go get 'em!!"
In one hell of a roundabout way, the stupidity of his poor selection of words to break up got me thinking. Oh no. "It's not you, it's me," has never been something I could comprehend. An ex-boyfriend of mine would often say something similar when we were in those arguments that dance along the edge of breaking up. If I was the reason I'm breaking up with someone I cared for I would, a) figure my shit out and find out why I suck and, b) let the fully-functioning adult that I'm dating make the decision if they can put up with my crap. Is it my bitching that you work too much that thus makes you unhappy because you do, in fact, spend too much time at the office? Then it's not you, it's my nagging. Come on. Why can't anyone be blunt, doesn't the person you've dated for x-amount of time (2 years?) deserve some constructive criticism or at least honesty as they swiftly get pushed out of your life? Yes. In a perfect world, every relationship of mine would conclude with an exit interview so I can learn from the infinite mistakes I make, spend some time on my neuroses and always do that one thing in bed that got you every time. This is probably yet another reason I'm single but, hey, I'm a nerd. So what if I like to analyze data and make myself better for it? :)
I'm only 24 so of course some of my views on relationships are immature, perhaps a little strange and most definitely the reason I struggle to find someone with similar values. Unless there are very upsetting circumstances, I don't understand why break ups are usually so toxic. Say you spend two years with this person that you're ending things with, one would assume that those are some of the best years of your life, right? You and whoever probably know each other well enough to know when they're lying through their teeth, no? Then why lie about the break up? Lying is too much work. I'd rather hear, "Lady, your quirks, psychotic family, and weird tribe of gay men are way too much for me to handle. Good luck, smell ya later gorgeous," than something pulled out of air. It's the need for closure, people, and it's important for post-breakup sanity. Just going on a date that you thought was incredible only to never hear from the guy again is a bummer but have you ever been dumped abruptly when you think things are going well? It's rough!
How will I avoid my next and inevitable, "It's not you, it's me," talk? I don't know. What I do know is that the darling 19 year old Starbucks girl reminded me of the feisty side of me that I sometimes lose when I'm hurt by someone I care for and put a lot of work into being around. I like the fireball (not the whiskey, that's trouble!) that doesn't take any shit and she will certainly be around as I try and fail to navigate the Chicago dating scene.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Beauty in the Breakdown
Last month, I referenced my mini mental breakdown on the Brownline. This was probably slightly over-dramatic, but it happens to the best of us. My Brownline Breakdown was the combination of two months of overwhelming emotions all hitting me at once; stress, excitement and sadness prior to moving and the anticipation, limited finances and change in routine once arriving in Chicago. I hope that it's safe to say that many people in my position would have a spontaneous, inconvenient and awkward freak out if found in a similar situation. Conversations with many that have actually experienced this life changing move has confirmed that thought.
Anyway, as I was yelling at the disgusting man that threw his gas station food into my shopping bag from a designer on Michigan Avenue, I felt the crazies coming my way. May I point out that this was the final straw in one of the most frustrating days I had experienced in quite a while. This was the cherry on top of a day spent looking at apartments that don't meet the detailed qualifications that I had emailed the woman assisting me. Tiles falling off of the kitchen ceiling and a huge crack in the window - seriously - in the first building I looked at made me realize that this was going to be a very painful process. After half-screaming, half-crying at the foolish woman that chose to ignore my requests because she apparently knows me better than I do, I opted not to see the next six crackhouses she was planning to take me to.
Why was I on the Brownline instead of the usual Redline, you ask? Let me explain. Most of my friends know that I have a love/hate relationship with technology that mostly consists of hate. I have an appreciation for it and especially those that work in the area. However, I don't like learning to use a new phone, having to download new apps or anything else. I have about five apps on my personal iPhone that weren't already installed. Also, I hate checking the apps that I do have. Sometimes days will go by before I check Facebook or Instagram, or even my voicemail. I've had the same iPhone for over two years simply because I don't want to adjust to a new phone. I am pathetic. So, I was on the Brownline because my network provider (cough, AT&T cough), is trying to kill me. Too dramatic? I don't care. I am new in the city, more so when this occurred, and kept getting lost. It was so frustrating because it would be in areas that I was semifamilar with but Siri, that stupid bitch, would tell me to "head west on Franklin Avenue," and make me doubt myself. After about five "are you sure, Siri?" moments, I found myself in unfamiliar territory. I was exhausted from carrying around the giant shopping bags, wearing cute heels because I thought it was just going to be a quick trip to have lunch with my sister and get my clothes for work, and I'd be back home. According to my Jawbone UP, I had already walked about 8 miles at this point. I ran into a CTA train stop and got on the first train heading somewhat north.
It was on this train that all of my insecurities that I had no idea what the hell I was doing, the fear of starting the new job for which I was carrying around a terribly heavy bag of beautiful clothing, and the overwhelming notion that apartment hunting was going to be a lose-lose situation, all hit me the minute the pork-rinds wrapper touched my black trench coat. I straightened up my posture, cleared the tears that were clouding my eyes and raised my voice at the dipshit that was wiping his hands on the outside of my shopping bag. "What in the fuck do you think you are doing? Get your shit out of my bag and get the hell away from me," I stared him down as I yelled. He literally jumped with surprise and started to stammer. As he slowly began to walk away, I pointed out that he tried to, "fuck with the wrong white bitch today," and he and his partner in crime nodded in agreement.I got two high fives when I got off the train two stops later.
I'm always going to have the crazies come over me at strange and unexpected moments and will probably find unusual outlets for my current stressor(s). What I have learned, is that usually there's a reason for my breakdown and a strange beauty in it. That afternoon I started out as a wandering deer-in-headlights girl that felt lost and alone in the city, to the Chicagoan that can stand up for herself, put on her big girl panties get things done. I felt far more confident, told Siri to shut it, and knew that I could figure things out one way or another. Was cussing out a disgusting man on the train or scream-crying to an apartment broker the most appropriate way to find this out? Meh, probably not. Maybe one day I will better control my frustrations but for now, it is a learning experience for all three of us.
Anyway, as I was yelling at the disgusting man that threw his gas station food into my shopping bag from a designer on Michigan Avenue, I felt the crazies coming my way. May I point out that this was the final straw in one of the most frustrating days I had experienced in quite a while. This was the cherry on top of a day spent looking at apartments that don't meet the detailed qualifications that I had emailed the woman assisting me. Tiles falling off of the kitchen ceiling and a huge crack in the window - seriously - in the first building I looked at made me realize that this was going to be a very painful process. After half-screaming, half-crying at the foolish woman that chose to ignore my requests because she apparently knows me better than I do, I opted not to see the next six crackhouses she was planning to take me to.
Why was I on the Brownline instead of the usual Redline, you ask? Let me explain. Most of my friends know that I have a love/hate relationship with technology that mostly consists of hate. I have an appreciation for it and especially those that work in the area. However, I don't like learning to use a new phone, having to download new apps or anything else. I have about five apps on my personal iPhone that weren't already installed. Also, I hate checking the apps that I do have. Sometimes days will go by before I check Facebook or Instagram, or even my voicemail. I've had the same iPhone for over two years simply because I don't want to adjust to a new phone. I am pathetic. So, I was on the Brownline because my network provider (cough, AT&T cough), is trying to kill me. Too dramatic? I don't care. I am new in the city, more so when this occurred, and kept getting lost. It was so frustrating because it would be in areas that I was semifamilar with but Siri, that stupid bitch, would tell me to "head west on Franklin Avenue," and make me doubt myself. After about five "are you sure, Siri?" moments, I found myself in unfamiliar territory. I was exhausted from carrying around the giant shopping bags, wearing cute heels because I thought it was just going to be a quick trip to have lunch with my sister and get my clothes for work, and I'd be back home. According to my Jawbone UP, I had already walked about 8 miles at this point. I ran into a CTA train stop and got on the first train heading somewhat north.
It was on this train that all of my insecurities that I had no idea what the hell I was doing, the fear of starting the new job for which I was carrying around a terribly heavy bag of beautiful clothing, and the overwhelming notion that apartment hunting was going to be a lose-lose situation, all hit me the minute the pork-rinds wrapper touched my black trench coat. I straightened up my posture, cleared the tears that were clouding my eyes and raised my voice at the dipshit that was wiping his hands on the outside of my shopping bag. "What in the fuck do you think you are doing? Get your shit out of my bag and get the hell away from me," I stared him down as I yelled. He literally jumped with surprise and started to stammer. As he slowly began to walk away, I pointed out that he tried to, "fuck with the wrong white bitch today," and he and his partner in crime nodded in agreement.I got two high fives when I got off the train two stops later.
I'm always going to have the crazies come over me at strange and unexpected moments and will probably find unusual outlets for my current stressor(s). What I have learned, is that usually there's a reason for my breakdown and a strange beauty in it. That afternoon I started out as a wandering deer-in-headlights girl that felt lost and alone in the city, to the Chicagoan that can stand up for herself, put on her big girl panties get things done. I felt far more confident, told Siri to shut it, and knew that I could figure things out one way or another. Was cussing out a disgusting man on the train or scream-crying to an apartment broker the most appropriate way to find this out? Meh, probably not. Maybe one day I will better control my frustrations but for now, it is a learning experience for all three of us.
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