Tuesday, December 15, 2009
This is my third Christmas in Chicago and I've begun to loose faith...I see posters and I hear people talk, but never have I witnessed it. All of that changed this weekend.
I saw it...
The em effin' CTA Holiday Train! Could there be anything better? I mean, I wouldn't even fight if they raised the fare to $4 if it was decorated year round. But, it won't be. It will be gone soon. Regardless, all faith has been restored. Thank you CTA Holiday Train. Thank you for making this girls holiday dream come true.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Cuddle Gate 2009. Yeah, we had a layover in Pittsburgh for about two hours and the second the train stopped I was out of there. Not that I was in a race to do nothing at the train station...I was just in a race to do nothing at the train station away from my train buddy. Sad thing is that the Pittsburgh train station is about the size of my studio apartment. Well, this is what I had to say about the experience:
The upside is that I believe that passing out on my bosom and remaining alcohol free for a few hours sobered my friend up a little bit. Hopefully he was embarrassed when he woke up in my chest and decided to avoid me as much as I avoided him in the closet they call a train station in Pittsburgh.
The rest of the train trip was uneventful. Long and uneventful. Just like I wanted. I will leave you with the highlights of my trip home because you don't want to read all the details and I don't want to type them:
- I lounged around at my dad's house...a lot, which was basically awesome.
- My dad plays an embarrassing amount of Spider Solitaire on his computer. After a few days I found myself rushing to the computer to play it.
- I had a sleep over with my grandparents.
- I went with my grandparents to get them hearing aids.
- My grandmother scolded the hearing aid lady and said, "You really don't need to scream at us." This was once she got the hearing aid in and on. Awesome thing was that the woman was actually talking quietly.
- Learned that my grandfather LOVES flipping through the channels on the television NON STOP! This is a little lie because he did stop a few times and once was after about 100 channels. He stopped...on the Terminator...in Spanish. My grandfather doesn't speak a lick of Spanish. He may be thinking of learning though. Watching Spanish television may be his way of immersing himself in the language.
- My brother and sister-in-law came the day before Thanksgiving.
- Baked a kick ass pumpkin cheesecake
- Ate and drank too much on Thanksgiving
- May have gotten slightly drunk, but was overshadowed by my uncle who definitely got drunk.
- Played LCR and now I want a set of LCR dice so bad
- Got no pity during LCR when I proclaimed, "Remember, I have no job. I need money."
- Went to the beach. Yes, the Jersey Shore, but without the spiked hair and spray tans.
- Had some great talks with my dad.
- Played about ten rounds of Catch Phrase with my family. Young People vs. Old People.
- Young People kicked ass.
- Laughed my ass off when my cousin Keirsten was trying to get us to guess "Detroit Tigers," and gave the clue, "capitol of Michigan." (She is a high school teacher.)
- Oh, and when she was trying to get us to guess tiger she yelled, "God dammit another cat name!" after we guess, "Lion, jaguar, panther..."
- Threw up in my mouth watching zit porn. (Be. Warned.)
- Enjoyed a relatively boring train trip home and no one tried to molest me.
- I did have to listen to a crazy man who didn't pick up on social queues of when to stop talking to strangers. He went as far as to tell this 80 year old woman that he loved her and was so happy they met. He gave her a hug and over his shoulders she rolled her eyes at me.
- She became my hero.
- Developed a disdain for Pittsburgh after my four hour lay over there.
- Found out that the entire "city" of Pittsburgh shuts down at 9pm.
- Took a cab home and was reminded why I love Chicago as we drove down Lake Shore Drive during the sunrise.
- Realized that New Jersey will forever hold a special place in my heart and I will always love it, but Chicago is my soul mate.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Anyway, Thanksgiving and Cuddle Gate 2009. So, I took the train from Chicago to New Jersey because I am a touch crazy about flying. Another story all together. I was pretty jazzed about the trip though. I had a couple really good books to read, some movies, and lots of sleeping to do. I bought dinner to eat on the train because we pulled out of Union Station at 6 something in the evening. Real fast, train travel is the way to go if you are a late person. I mean, not that I am or anything, just saying. I mean, I am assuming that you can show up at the train station with a little less than 30 minutes before you train leaves and still have plenty of time to check your bags and board and stuff. Just a guess.
So, I board the train and see that I am assigned an aisle seat. Not. Happy. (Jan.) I get ready to put my stuff down and this youngish guy says, "Are you in seat 27?" Why yes, yes I am. He responds, "I'm 28. Looks like it is you and me babe." Ugh. With his use of the word "babe" to me...a total stranger...I knew what I was about to do next was totally going to work. "Oh, I am totally jealous of your window seat." (Bat eyelashes, pout lip, girl stuff, girl stuff) "Take it. It's dark out anyway. I'm not going to see shit anyway." Yes, it worked. And, he is apparently an idiot. I don't want to see anything outside. I wanted to lean against the window while I slept. What I didn't know was that this whole plan would fail. Majorly. With no window...he had very few options for where he would rest his head when he slept. And, if we get technical, he chose two options...my right boob and my left. We will get to that in a second.
We have barely gotten out of Chicago and he proceeds to tell me that he is 36. Divorced four months ago. Don't worry, it was his second marriage. He has three kids. Two boys and a girl. The girl is 18 months old. Both of his ex-wives are strippers. He is done with strippers. He has been on a train since yesterday. Oh, surprise...he is traveling to the SAME DESTINATION AS ME! 24 hours together he proclaims. "We have a lot of time to get to know each other." I think, "I can't fall asleep soon enough. Does anyone have any horse tranquilizers? I would rather not get to know him further. They can be for me or for him." He continues to say that he is traveling from Texas. He hasn't been outside of Texas in 15 years. He is moving to Atlantic City to live with his dad. Winner. He can't wait to live in Atlantic City because there is "so much to do there." Oh, he is super drunk too. Sort of like frat boy drunk, but not frat boy because he didn't go to college. He lists everything he has had to drink in the last 24 hours. I wonder why he is not dead. He tells me he could never live in Chicago because there is "nothing to do here. It is the middle of no where." He again says he is very jazzed to live in Atlantic City where there is "so much to do: the beach, casinos, strip clubs, bars. They have everything." I am officially over him at this point. No you don't dis on my city! I tell him that there is surprisingly a lot to do in Chicago because it is...I don't know...just the third largest city in the country. (fact) He shrugs his shoulders and says we can talk some more, but for now he is going to go get a drink.
He comes back about two hours later...just when I am trying to go to sleep. He mumbles about being drunk and making out with some girl a few cars up. Confusing the hell out of me. Whatever. He says that she will probably "totally sleep with [him]." He asks me if he should go back and "do her." I say he definitely should because I want him gone. He leaves again.
He comes back about 45 minutes later. I have my eyes closed at this point. He ignores this and puts his arm on my legs and leans in and tells me has my back. He "won't let anything happen to me." I, stupidly, entertain this conversation and ask if he is talking about on the train because I doubt he will have to "get my back." He tells me he loves me and that even though we don't really know each other well he thinks I am a "really awesome chick." I ask if he even remembers my name because I know the answer. Surprise! He doesn't. He begs me to tell him and I say, "Emily," and roll over. He goes on and on about how Emily is "such a sexy name," which I don't even understand. How is it sexy? Like, would it wear hot lingerie if it could? Apparently it would because he says it is "mad sexy." He tries to cuddle in to me and tells me that he didn't sleep with that girl. He tells me she is a "freak." Funny, coming from him. He asks if he should bring her back to our seat. I am over this. He then says she would get really jealous if she came back here and saw us together. This is odd because we are most definitely not together. I tell him to finish his drink because I do not want the red wine in his plastic cup to spill on me when he passes out. I roll to the side and go to sleep.
I wake up several hours later and wish I could show you in person what I saw. I looked down to find his arm around my waist. And, his head resting on...MY BREASTS! We were entering a station and the train was going slowly and bumping around. I watched as his head bounced on my tits. Awesome, right? Funny thing is, I was faced with a decision and ultimately felt that leaving him there was my best bet. I didn't want to wake him up and start the talking machine. I went back to sleep.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Seriously though. I PROMISE to write tomorrow. My head is getting too full with stuff I need to write.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Did I wake up with a very intoxicated man snuggling up into my breasts with his arm around my waist? Yes, yes I did.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Yep, I can't wait! I am also jazzed about this long train trip. I know. I am crazy. I have two Netflix movies and three books and plan on updating my iPod. Even though, if I am totally honest, I will probably sleep for a good 85% of the 23 hour trip. That's right. I can sleep for a really long time. Deal with it.
Before I leave I need to do laundry, wash probably every dish I own because they all sit dirty in my kitchen, change the sheets on my bed, clean up the mess I have made of my apartment, and pack. Just a few things, ya know? So, what am I doing right now with this long To Do list waiting to be completed? Lounging my my office (i.e. my bed). Have I said before how much I enjoy not working? If not, I heart not working.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
My younger brother was probably too little to remember the turtles or the hamsters...and he wasn't even alive for the cats. But, he always asked for a pet of his own. You see, we had a dog for the majority of his life. The dog was mine, Alfie. Although he was a "family" dog, he was really my dog. He was given to me for Christmas in seventh grade. He was probably the best present I have ever gotten. I loved him like he was my child.
It wasn't that my brother didn't like Alfie. On the contrary, he loved Alfie. He just wanted something to call his own. So, after much begging my parents gave in and bought him a hamster. I'm not really sure why. We had done the whole hamster thing in the past. It never ends well. Hamsters are kind of boring pets. They don't do much. You lose interest after a while. Its probably a terrible thing to say, but it's just the truth. But, for whatever reason, my parents decided on a hamster for my brother.
My brother went through an interesting stage in late elementary school. He was very into music. I'm sort of at a loss of words for how to describe his musical taste, so I will just share that he named the hamster Baby Spice. That's right, after the Spice Girl.
We quickly learned that Baby Spice was no regular hamster. There was the whole incident a few months after we got her when my mom was very concerned Baby Spice was pregnant because she had a weird "growth." My mom called the vet to describe what the hamster looked like and to have her suspicions confirmed. Turns out my mom was very wrong. Baby Spice was definitely not pregnant...she just had giant balls. That's right, Baby Spice was a boy. She was a he. Even after learning her true sex we never changed his name.
But, the mistaken gender issue aside, Baby Spice was unlike any other pet we had ever owned. (Forgive me in advance because I will probably get the the gender appropriate pronouns mixed up from time to time.) Yes, in addition to being well endowed, Baby Spice had a taste for adventure. He was constantly escaping his little hamster cage. Nothing ever stopped him. At one time he chewed a hole through the side of the plastic hamster cage just to get out. Baby Spice went missing on more occasions than I can even recall. His favorite thing to do was to escape and run through the air vents of our house for a few days. He would usually come out after we would set up food and call him through the vents. But, for the sake of entertainment I will list for you some of the most memorable places Baby Spice was found including the length of time that had elapsed from his escape.
- In a small trash can, waiting to be emptied, that was sitting on the steps leading to the garage of our house- missing for a couple of days
- In the bushes in the front yard- missing for about a month
- In the air vent in my bedroom- missing for a couple days
- In the air vent in our laundry room (lured out by a song my mom made up about Baby Spice...and food)- missing at least a week
- In the garage- missing for almost two months
Yep, Baby Spice had a taste for adventure. We were sure that last trip was it. After over a month went by we were sure Baby Spice was gone. We cranked up the heat and then the air hoping to flush him out of the air vents if that is where he was hiding. No luck. So, we sort of gave up. With no weird smells we figured Baby Spice found some pack of wild hamsters and was gone for good. Or dead somewhere. It was the middle of summer and it was over 100 degrees almost ever day. How could one little hamster survive all alone? Apparently by taking up residence in your garage and eating through a 40lb. bag of dog food. That's right. I found Baby Spice in our garage really late one night. I wanted to wake everyone up in the whole house because I was so amazed. It was like capturing Big Foot or spotting Loch Ness. Baby Spice was considered to be gone forever and he was back!
Since it was late I left notes on every one's bedroom door saying to check Baby Spice's cage...he had been brought back into captivity.
Turns out captivity didn't suit him very well. He died the next day. You took the whole, "give me liberty or give me death," thing a little too far don't you think, Baby Spice?
Needless to say, we will never get another hamster. You should think about not getting one as well.
I won't lie that going to see my family causes me some anxiety. I have all these irrational thoughts and fears about them thinking I am too fat, that I will want to come home as soon as I get there, that for some reason my clothes are going to look really out of place, blah blah blah. Like I said, these fears are all irrational. No, I don't look like a model. I won't blow my family away with how I look, but I bet that the first thing they think when they see me is, "Wow, Emily sure hasn't lost any weight."
But, aside from my slight anxiety, I am really excited. I haven't seen my dad in over a year. I will be honest and say that I have learned how to miss my dad. I mean, it is not in the cold hearted way that it may sound. It is just that we moved away from my dad when I was nine years old. I have lived in different states than him for pretty much two thirds of my life. You learn how not to constantly miss someone. One main reason is that it is hard to miss thing about people that you don't know. You don't miss the little things about them because you never got to learn them.
I love my dad a lot though. And, I have not doubt that he loves me. I won't say our relationship is without complication. Clearly there will be some complication when you grow up removed from a parent. But, I don't think I have some weird daddy issues. I've had therapists who have tried to get me to admit I have daddy issues...that I have some great hurt over my relationship or at times lack of relationship with my father. I don't. But, protesting and saying how much I really don't have any issues with my dad only makes them think that I must have some underlying problem. I get it. I use to make that same mistake with clients before. You ask them something and they adamantly protest...it's like the old "thoust dost protest too much" argument. Problem with that is that sometimes it is honest. Sometimes things are as people say. But anyway, now that I have gone on for a while about how I don't have some pent up daddy issue and probably thoroughly convinced you that I do...I will say a few things. While my relationship with my dad is at times complicated, its complications pale in comparison to those I have with my mother. My dad has been nothing but supportive of me in my life and makes a point to tell me that he supports whatever it is that I want or need to do. Whenever I think of taking a leap of faith, he is always the first person to tell me he believes in me. He may not always say he will pick me up if I fall, but I have no doubt that he would. He says he will and does put my brother and I before anyone else in his life. He tells me how it broke his heart when we moved away. He always says I love you. And, I always believe him.
The last one...is hard for me. To be loved and truly believe it...for me is rare. There are few people in this world who I can say that I don't question. It's a flaw. It is something I hope to overcome, but in the mean time I am glad my dad sits in the small camp of people I can trust when they say those three words. So, I guess it doesn't matter that he doesn't know the names of all my friends. That he probably couldn't tell you my favorite TV show. That he doesn't know what I eat for breakfast (or that I really only eat it after 10am). That he doesn't know my bad habits. That he rarely ever saw a report card. That he doesn't know my favorite restaurant or what kind of wine I would order. He can't tell my mood just from a hello on the phone. But, he loves me, which is bigger than any of the small details.
And, I'm excited to see him.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
So let's jump right in. Do you know what I am terrible at? Okay besides updating my blog, apparently. Email. Mother. Effing. Subject. Lines.
I believe myself to be a relatively creative person. Right? But, no. All creativity and wit go out the window when it comes to email subject lines. As does my ability to summarize what it is that I am writing about. I end up putting some bullshit like, "hey," or "hey!" "Hello," works just as well. Oh, and I do throw out the "so..." quite often. I mean, read the fucking email. Get over what I put in the subject line. I've never been known for my ability to wrap things up quickly. There is no "long story short" with me. It is always more like, "short story long." So how on earth am I supposed to summarize a whole email in a few quick words? I am lost on this one. I get that it is email etiquette and all, but can Emily Post or who ever is in charge of the interweb etiquette world throw me a bone on this one and accept a "hey?"
Friday, November 6, 2009
To me it's really so simple that life should be lived on the edge of life. You have to exercise rebellion. To refuse to taper yourself to rules. To refuse your own success. To refuse to repeat yourself. To see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge. And then, you are going to live your life on the tightrope.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Problem is, I also know a lot about people I have met. I know stuff I never wanted to know. And, it was a couple of weeks ago that the book of faces let me down again by allowing me to find out information I never needed to know.
I'm not quite sure why it bothered me so much. But, as soon as I saw it I immediately shut the laptop. Apparently shutting the laptop would make it go away. I looked around as if to find out if anyone else saw what I saw. Why book of faces? Why? Why did you allow this to pop up on my news feed?
I had never been in a relationship like the one I was in with him. I hated and loved him with more intensity then anyone I had ever met before. I believe the feeling was mutual. We were too young and too intense. We fought. We saw each other way too often. We probably made each other miserable. And, we couldn't get enough of each other. I remember one night we were in a bar and his friend turned to me and said, "He really does love you. I don't know what he would do without you. He seriously loves you more then you know." The funny thing was that we were celebrating my new job. My new job in another city. The new job I looked for, in another city, to get away from him. He was toxic for me.
It was the intensity that I loved though. It was the intensity that caused this seemingly short lived romance to live way beyond its shelf life.
He use to say we were going to be together forever. He would talk about our children and the kind of mother I would be to them. He told me he loved me and never wanted to be without me. He said he was more in love with me each morning when he woke up next to me...on account of my messy hair and snuggly nature. He drank more then any person I knew. He lied when I confronted him about cheating on me. He never introduced me to his mother. He turned away from me when I cried. And, he left when he promised he would be in the waiting room when I got out.
He cemented my fears that people would turn away from me. He made my suspicions reality. He made me feel more unlovable than I thought possible.
It was years ago. And, I wasn't perfect. I didn't deserve to be treated as I was, but I didn't treat myself well either. I kept returning. I went back for more. I forgave and pretended to forget. I looked the other way and only discussed my concerns for him in anger. He was young. He was hurting his body in ways I didn't even allow myself to acknowledge. His choices were clouded by abuse that he put his body through. It wasn't a free pass. He should not receive a pardon for it, but I should have rested my case and given in. I should have stopped looking for love from someone who couldn't even treat themselves well.
The announcement of his marriage made me sad. Sad that I allowed myself to be hurt so badly by someone. Sad that he didn't want to treat me better. Sad that I believed the untruths I told myself in response to his behavior. Sad that I couldn't "win" by appearing to come out on top.
The sadness faded though. I reminded myself we were young. He hurt me, but I don't believe it was intentional. We didn't know how to treat each other. And, I probably hurt him as well. He wasn't a terrible person. He was funny. He was loyal. And, he could be incredibly loving when he wanted to be. It wasn't me. We just didn't work. And, we were kids. We needed to grow up. Move away. Make more mistakes. And learn to love ourselves.
So, I sent him a message. I told him that he looked really happy and I congratulated him. He didn't respond and I think I am okay with that. In the past I would have been crushed by his lack of response. I had and still have this strong desire to be on good terms with him. He once occupied space in my heart and a piece of him will always remain a tenant. But, relationships don't get their loose ends tied up nicely. The frayed ends linger until you can accept them and understand why the end is much harder to define then the beginning. An email would not have given me closure because what I realized was that I found it long ago. He will always hold a place in my life story, but I am chapters beyond what we were. I got closure long ago. I was just reminded that it comes in your heart and not an email or a moment in time.
The other plus about having closure is that today I can totally laugh when I retell the story about how he peed in my bed. And how I told the dry cleaner that the dog peed on my down comforter because I didn't quite know how to say, "my boyfriend peed on this" and look her in the eye. Let's hope he has learned to keep his drinking bladder under control or that he and his new wife registered for a plastic mattress protector. Bitchy much? Yes, yes I am.
Monday, November 2, 2009
We watch three scary movies back to back. I rather enjoyed myself minus the bad dreams I had that night. I kept waking up expecting to see that Freddy had slashed my PJ's or something. Good news is that that never happened.
The next day we got coffee, walked around, and then grabbed lunch. We capped the day off with a two or three hour discussion about the future of our world. In the end we decided we needed to move close to the border of Canada just in case shit starts to go down in America. It's basically a flawless plan.
I leave you with the funniest quote of the weekend. (Knowing that I don't work is key to getting the funny.)
Alex: I love lazy Sundays.
Me: Me too...oh wait....
Everyone turned around and glared at me. They act like I make them work.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
(Me circa 1985-ish... just before societal pressure kicked in for me and every other girl to wear a slutty costume.)
Friday, October 30, 2009
Visit him. Yep, pure genius. I know. Amazing isn't it? With all this time off. Not working and all, why not visit him? Money has been a factor, but I came up with an even more ingenious plan. I called my dad up and said, "Wouldn't it be great if I could come to New Jersey for Thanksgiving?" He said that it would and I responded, "I have been thinking. What if you bought me a ticked to come see you for Thanksgiving? That could be my Christmas present. You wouldn't have to get me anything else."
So, a ticket hasn't been purchased at this point, but I am feeling pretty optimistic that it will be. I am actually really pumped. Not that I don't get excited to see my dad and the rest of my family...it is just that it feels like it has been so long. I am excited to just hang out. Eat lots of good food. Do a puzzle with my grandmother. Show my grandfather pictures. Laugh with my cousins about stuff we did when we were kids. Just enjoy my family. So fingers crossed that everything works out.
Oh, and because I don't do things without a touch of crazy I need to note that this ticket I am requesting is an Amtrak ticket. Before you go freaking out that I am opting to spend 20 some hours on a train as opposed to 2 hours in a plane, I need to explain. One, I do not like flying. I actually hate it. I actually feel like someone is torturing me. Terrible. Anxiety. This doesn't mean I don't do it. I do, but when I have all the time in the world why do I need to go the quick and painful route? Second, I actually really enjoy the train. Like, I embarrassingly love it. I. Heart. Train. And third, the ticket was cheaper because it is like the busiest travel time for airlines. People normally don't have the time for train travel over the long weekend that is Thanksgiving. I do. So, I am going Amtrak.
However, the above does not really get at my crazy. This does:
Yep, somehow I found myself on the Federal Railroad Administration Office of Safety Analysis website looking up train wreck statistics. Awesome.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
I called my older brother last night to chat. I text him earlier in the day and he said he would call me back. I was getting impatient, so I called him around 6pm. He said, "Oh weird. Don't do that again. I was just thinking that I forgot to call you back and then the phone rang." I'm pretty much a psychic...if you didn't know that. Just letting you know.
Anyway, we talked about our plans for Thanksgiving and then I interrupted him and said," Wait, real fast, can I ask you a question? I just started drinking coffee so I don't know if this is normal. Does your pee smell like coffee if that is all you drink for the morning? Normally my pee doesn't have a smell because I drink so much water, but today it totally smelled like coffee."
Brother is laughing uncontrollably.
I continued, "Like, I know your...or any one's pee smells weird if they eat asparagus or something like that, but does coffee do the same thing?"
Brother still laughing.
Me, "I'm serious." I start laughing.
He never really gave me an answer. He said, "Emily, you're a freak. What happens in your head?"
I didn't know how to answer that. I don't know. All I know is what happened in the toilet. And, it smelled like coffee.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
This whole unemployment thing that I've been doing for the past couple of months has been an interesting journey. It is odd. I have almost forgotten what it is like to actually get up for work and have a daily responsibility. My weeks generally revolve around two or three different commitments. After that, the rest is up to me. Regrettably, I have not been making the most of that time. I will say that I have a tendency to be very hard on myself. Extremely. Hard. In the past couple of weeks I have been struggling with my purpose. I put a lot of stock in my purpose in life...the footprints I leave in this world. I've begun to fear that no matter how hard I walk right now...those footprints are non-existent. It's one of my biggest fears.
I will admittedly share that I am not really looking for a job, which makes it a little difficult given that I put a lot of emphasis on my career to give my life purpose. The fact that I am not even looking is much to the chagrin of some of my closest friends and some family members. There is a reason for my decision though. In addition to putting stock in leading a purpose driven life...I put an equal amount in happiness. I fear that I won't find happiness if I just seek out any random job that will hire me. I want to find it within. What better way to do that then to have all the time in the world to discover it?
You see, if I were a betting woman I would say that all my chips get evenly split between purpose and happiness. I just truly believe that when you do that...all in...the returns are tenfold.
For those who are concerned, I do have a plan. I'm working with two great friends on a start-up company, which I am over the moon excited about. I really do believe that it will be a great thing and afford all of us some amazing opportunities to be happy, creative, playful, energetic, free, expressive...
So, in the mean time, I wait. I've had big plans to do this "Month of Emily" thing. I've wanted to focus on discovering happiness, taking care of me, and doing good things for myself. For some reason, it just seems to get fucked up on day two (okay maybe one) every time I try. It is just that in this time I have a lot of varying emotions: excitement for what may be, anxiety for what currently is, paralysis from fear, and a host of others. They seem to get in my way.
Perhaps the trick is simply saying it out loud (or as out loud as the blog allows). Today, is day one of the "Month of Emily." I will work on making sure I don't hold back on any of my proverbial chips and place them all in happiness and purpose. Holding back gets you in trouble.
As simple as that sign is, it was just what I needed to see. Everything is going to be amazing. I don't need to worry. All I need to do is play my part in making it a reality.
Monday, October 26, 2009
(If you are totally horrified, it might be good to note that I did end up talking to him later and properly ended things. Those details are just not as interesting. Hopefully I've renewed some faith you had in me.)
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
It's something people don't like to talk about. Don't like to acknowledge. It is something that many people would be happy just sweeping under the rug. The one flaw with this mentality is that there is not a rug big enough to hide the realities of domestic violence. One in every four women will experience domestic violence in her lifetime. And while it's not something that is exclusive to the female experience, 85% of all domestic violence survivors are women.
I spent years working in the field of domestic violence. It is an issue very close to my heart and perhaps the topic I can discuss with more passion than anything else. I used to say that I would never do anything else professionally. I saw myself working in the field until retirement. Something changed along the way. It wasn't that it was too depressing. In fact, when I told people what I did for a living the first reaction of a great majority of people was, "that's so sad." Others changed the subject as quickly as possible. I always explained that it wasn't a sad career. My time working in shelters was quite often happy. Yes, there were very sad stories. Heartbreaking stories. Yes, I closed my office door on more then one occasion and cried. However, the shelter was a place of hope. The shelter represented change, whether for a lifetime or a day, in the lives of the women and children who walked through the doors. It was a choice I made, but I chose to see it as a very positive place.
So, it wasn't "sad." And, I didn't leave because it became too depressing. But, it became heavy. I have an insane memory. I can recall a name or a face of someone I met once, years ago, almost instantly. This skill was often called upon at the shelter. I would be asked to join a meeting and would be given a few facts about a woman and her children- I could usually recall her first and last name and the details of previous shelter stays. It came in handy. I knew the details of the stories of almost every woman staying in the shelter. I took notes, but rarely needed them. I just absorbed it all. I could see their faces and their stories in my head. I still can. As I type I remember their names. I moved away and was offered a job outside of the domestic violence field. The break allowed me to reflect and what I realized was that the work became so heavy on my heart. I still see their faces. I still remember their stories. What became harder was that I saw and still see the faces and story of my own family.
You see, we have our own rug we do some sweeping under. We rarely ever talk about it. Once when I was practicing in front of my brother for a public appearance I was going to be making, he questioned the 1 in every 4 statistic. He said, "that's really high, isn't it?" So, I get why someone who hasn't experienced it first hand has trouble grasping the sheer gravity of how widespread the problem is. I get that people can't put a face to it. My brother, who had my face, who had my mom's face...who had his own face...couldn't.
I know the story of a woman who said she didn't deserve better. I know the story of a girl who feared going to school because there was a chance her mother would not live to see her make it home. I know the story of a woman who said she didn't feel loved by a man who didn't beat her. I know the story of a boy who knew his mother only by the name "Bitch," it was all he ever heard her called. I know the story of a woman who said, "he only choked me a little." I know the story of a child who called the four walls of a shelter the only home she ever knew. I know the story of a woman who died at the hands of the one she loved the most.
I know their stories. One of them is mine.
Please, know how real it is. Talk about it. It is the only way to shine light under the rug.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
I would like to say, "I never lie." However, saying that would in and of itself be a lie. That's right, I lie, so do you. And according to a researcher at the University of Massachusetts, whose report has sat as an open tab in my browser for far too long waiting for me to write this post, a reported "60 percent of people lie at least once during a 10-minute conversation and tell an average of two to three lies." If you do the math for a whole day...it's a lot of lies being told.
The study speaks about the differing content of the lies of women versus men. One being to make another feel good and the other being to make the liar look better. The study found "women were more likely to lie to make the person they were talking to feel good." I get this and think that it has been the motivation for a great number of the lies I've told in the past, "I love it!" or "You were the best I've ever had," etc. But, I think that is only half of the truth. Women lie all the time to make themselves look better. (see: makeup, fake eyelashes, hairspray, Spanx, push-up bras, etc.) If you ask a woman how much she weighs (note: DO NOT EVER DO THIS), I have my money on the fact that she will lie.
We all have our own motivations for being dishonest, but I began to think back at some of my most notorious lies. Now, I am not a huge liar. I think honesty is the best policy and I have a very guilty conscience. If I lie, I quite often come back and tell on myself. But, I do have one lie that I told that still makes me giggle to this day. The ridiculousness of it is outstanding. And, it was all told in the vain of looking better.
My family moves. A lot. Or, moved. A lot. Growing up I went to eight different schools before I graduated from high school. My parents had this extraordinary knack for finding the least opportune time to uproot our lives. It was usually just as I was getting used to our latest destination. Seventh grade, which is also known as the worst grade ever. Everyone in seventh grade is ugly and awkward. It is this pit of hormones and puberty and none of it is pretty. We moved in October during my seventh grade year. Everyone was settled into their school routine and cliques already were formed. Then, I bust up on the scene. Let's just say I wasn't Ms. Popularity when I arrived. The kids in the upper class community in Memphis, Tennessee were very different than the kids I went to school with in South Florida. They were very different than me. Or, I was different than them...whatever. Anyway, I made one really good friend- April. April lived just down the street from me and we had a lot in common. We began to talk on the phone and hang out. We'd go on walks in the neighborhood and trespass on the golf course that backed up to our subdivision. She was a welcome distraction from my normal activities of going home and crying and complaining to my mom about how I hated Memphis and wanted to move back to Florida. There was one very big difference between April and I. She smoked. I didn't. Enter: My Lying.
I cooked up all kinds of excuses for why I couldn't smoke with her in my head, but when it came down to that moment where she offered me a smoke all rational lies flew out the window. I panicked. I was like a deer in the headlights. Paralyzed. I blurted out, "I used to smoke, but I quit. I don't want to start back up." What? I love the image of me being some hard core smoker in fifth grade and having to kick the habit and go on the patch. She responded, "Oh, that's cool. Yeah, I should quit some time." Wait, she bought it? Or did she? Were we both staring at each other lying our faces off knowing that the other one was just as much a liar as we were? Was our attempt to save face so desperate that we would tell and accept any lie? Apparently, yes.
This lie went on for well over a year, basically until our friendship started to fade and she started taking prescription pills for fun. She was well ahead of me. It would be years before I did this.
Anyway, it makes me laugh because I wonder what would have happened if my seventh grade self had just looked her in the eye and said, "No, I don't really have any desire to smoke." Life would have probably been easier. You see, if I had the courage to say that to my one friend, I probably would have had more than one friend. If I had the attitude of "take me or fucking leave me," I probably would have surprised myself how many people would chose not to walk away. They (whoever "they" are) say that nothing is more attractive than confidence. That could be a lie, but I buy it.
While I have more confidence than that seventh grade girl I once was, I still think we can all learn a lesson from her and her mistakes.
What would happen if we stopped looking for acceptance in lies? How would our lives change if we always told the truth...no matter what? Is honesty always the best policy?
...was awarded to me by one of my favorites, Amanda at A Silvertongued Serenade.
When I started my blog I wasn't sure if anyone would read it or if I even wanted anyone to read it. It took about a month before I even told most of my friends I had a blog. And, if you know me personally, you know I keep very little private. But, as I gained readership and began receiving comments I can't tell you how special it has made me feel. To know that other people appreciate what I write is beyond what I can express in words.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Now, to just quickly get it out of the way, I wasn't all up in arms about how someone could dare tweet about miscarriage or abortion. I wasn't passing judgement or planning out carefully crafted insults. No, I was more in awe.
I have to be honest that I first came across this tweet while reading one of my favorite blogs: The Rest is Still Unwritten. Apparently, more than the world wide web was abuzz about this tweet heard (or read) 'round the world. That's right, CNN even got in on the action by having Rick Sanchez interview Penelope. And, it was this interview that rendered me speechless.
Mr. Sanchez began the interview by saying, "I'm gonna ask you a tough question, young lady, do you have no shame?"
Besides the fact that the host of a show on CNN referred to a 42 year old woman as "young lady," which I have a feeling was more out of condescension then respect...and that he asked, "Did you literally just have it? Or, did you excuse yourself?" (referring to her miscarriage as if it was a moment in time sort of thing) I guess I am speechless because this stirred so many emotions up for me. And, I am left to wonder why it is that people can't tweet about miscarriages or abortion. Really, when we boil everything down, why tweet about anything? Does the world really need to know this?
Or what about this earth shattering news?
You see, no one needs to know anything that anyone tweets about. Twitter is there. People use it. Why is there suddenly some unwritten rule that says you can tweet about what you made for dinner, but you can't talk about a very personal experience. Why is some stuff off limits?
And, I get it. Really, I know the answer to this. I'm not that naive. I understand that some people believe that there are topics that are to be kept private. But really, why do others get to set those rules for us. Why are we made to feel that there are some things we can share, but others we can't. What if we want to share them? What if we need to share them?
We live in a time where we don't keep much private. Or perhaps it is more fitting to say that we view privacy differently. I don't even know the names of my neighbors, but I know the life stories of people that I've never even met because of TV and the Internet.
So, why is it that we are shamed for making choices about how we share our own lives? Why do others get to set the rules for our lives? Why do they judge when we choose to set our own rules?
That may have been the kicker for me. It may have been the way that Rick Sanchez said, "...do you have no shame?" Why? Why do we have to feel shame in sharing our life experience. I won't tweet or blog or post about the personal business of others on my Facebook status, but why can't we decide on our own what we give of ourselves?
I'm a huge proponent of sharing the personal experience. Probably to a fault, at times. I think you should discuss things. Get it all out. Say what you feel. I do believe that the best way to do that is through face to face interactions, but I also find great catharsis in doing it through the written word. And, in the world we live in today...the written word usually has an http:// before it. There should be no judgement in that.
So, this may have been all over the place, but the point is that I was speechless because I felt so many things. While I was in awe of Penelope's free expression of her own personal experience, I was sad because I was reminded that we shame each other for the human experience. There is no one person to point the finger at, but the truth is that at times we all contribute to the shaming of others for experiences that are out of their control or feel larger than us.
I remember posting something a while back and having a conversation about how I didn't need my family to read it because it said something about sex or something. The response I got was, "well, why put it on the Internet?" It was a valid response, but what I responded with was that it felt good. It sometimes feels good to get things out that are taboo and ugly in the eyes of others. Life isn't always beautiful. And, if that makes others uncomfortable, I'm sorry. Sometimes, there is more than just the pretty stuff to share. We sometimes experience hurt, abuse, miscarriages, abortions, depression, anxiety, pain...and sometimes we just make ravioli for dinner. It's life. There should be no shame in any of it.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
On October 29, 1941, United Kingdom (Great Britain) Prime Minister Winston Churchill visited Harrow School to to hear the traditional songs he had sung there as a youth, as well as to speak to the students. This became one of his most quoted speeches, due to distortions that evolved about what he actually said.
There is a part of me that thinks these words could not be more perfect. However, the other part thinks that giving in can sometimes be the best and most freeing thing.
What should one do? Should you always stick to your guns and never back down? Or, do you open yourself up to something other than what you always stood firm on and allow for a new reality to set in?
Monday, October 5, 2009
I'd like to think that most people preparing to use a toilet in a place where this sign is posted have, in fact, used indoor plumbing in the past. Is this a problem? Do owners of public toilets have to deal with the hassles of cleaning up after people that are fishing in the toilet? Or, marking it like a dog?
I will argue with the makers of this sign that two of the improper uses are actually the correct way to use a toilet, if you are 1) a guy, or 2) throwing up.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
I'm not even sure how I haven't blogged about this before. Perhaps it has become as natural and normal as breathing that I forgot to mention it. Perhaps I was trying to avoid talking (or blogging) about it. It can be somewhat of a taboo topic for some...I guess some people just get uncomfortable. But, I can't let it go unmentioned anymore. It is time to talk about the elephant in the room (or the next room in this case). That's right, boys and girls, I'm talking about my neighbor. The vomiter.
Side note: I was enjoying that build up and could have gone one much longer. I love that it made it sound like I was about to reveal some deep dark secret or something. Mwuh-haha...I laugh and tap my fingertips together. I fooled you this time.
Okay, a little background. So, I moved into my apartment at the end of March this year. My apartment leasing company was awesome enough to allow me to move in early since April 1st was in the middle of the week and it is much nicer to move on a weekend...when friends are off of work. Anyway, I moved out of a house that I lovingly call The Orphanage after living there for about a year and a half. It was very fittingly called The Orphanage, as in the year and a half that I lived there I had a total of eight roommates. That's right. The front door was definitely revolving. Needless to say, it was nice to finally get my big girl place and be alone for a little while. My first night here was odd. It was so quiet and no one was home...no one would ever be home but me. No one was there to say goodnight to me or turn out the light if I fell asleep with them on. It was just me in my quiet little....WHAT THE FUCK? Suddenly I heard the most violent vomiting that I've ever heard. And trust me, I've heard some violent vomiters. I used to asked my friend Stacey to quiet her vomiting when I was hung over because it was too loud and making me sick. No, no, this vomiting...the vomiting I heard on my first solo night in my apartment blew all other vomiters out of the water (the toilet water). This vomit was intense. As I lay in bed unsure of whether I am disgusted, impressed, or concerned I think to myself, "Wow, someone had a bad night." Without much more thought about it I rolled over and went to sleep. Yay new apartment.
I woke up the next day still super pumped about my new place. I had all but forgotten about the vomiter. I was too excited to be in my new place. Yes it was a big change, but one I had been looking forward to for a while. I spent the first day running errands, unpacking, and enjoying my new space. As I am sure everyone knows, moving is exhausting. My first weekend in my new place was not spent going out and celebrating. No, it was spent unpacking and going to bed early. So, I snuggled into bed for my second night in my new place and began slowly drifting off to...WHAT THE FUCK?!? He's back. Seriously dude, AA much?
What I learn was that the events (i.e. vomiting) of that first weekend were not going to be isolated. This dude meant serious business. Serious vomiting business. I came to learn that his vomiting didn't follow any schedule. Nope. He vomited in the day. Sometimes early evening. Sometimes at night. He wasn't time discriminatory. He lived to vomit on no man's schedule. The only thing that was habitual about the vomiting was the frequency and the rhythm. Oh yeah, three big hurls at least once a day. Every time. Always the same. Huwahck. Huwahck. Huwahck. Done. (Yes, h-u-w-a-h-c-k. That is how you spell the noise made by a vomiter. Look it up.)
The vomiter has become quite the legend amongst friends and family. Everyone knows about him. We all have our own theories as to what is causing this chronic vomiting. Alcoholism. Terrible gag reflex when brushing his teeth. Chemo therapy. Bulimia. Weak stomach. There are so many theories. All I know is that this guy is a mystery. Like Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster. I've never seen him. I've been living next to the dude for over six months now and have not seen him once. I really am beginning to wonder if he is he even real? It isn't just me though. I've had witnesses here to experience the vomiting. It is always the same combination of shock and amazement.
Okay, the other day I was awake at about 6am and he was up to his old vomiting ways when I realized that if I stood at my peep hole long enough I would probably see him exit his apartment. I couldn't bring myself to do it though. It is almost like how you don't want to know to real identity of a superhero. Next time I heard him vomit would be like the Christmas after you find out that there is no Santa Claus. It isn't even worth waking up at 5am to see what your mom bought you at the mall. It ruins the magic.
I did have a friend say that I needed to find out what he looked like because what would happen if I hooked up with someone and it turned out that the person I hooked up with was the vomiter. I shot this down pretty quickly because the fatal flaw is that I am pretty sure if I hook up with someone, regardless of whether it is my apartment or theirs....one of us would be all, "Hey, weird. We are neighbors." I would quickly gasp and be all, "Hey, weird. You vomit like all the time. What's up with that?"
In a way I feel like we are a match made in heaven. I once had a friend tell me that I spend like 60% of my time fake throwing up...this vomiter has given me so many more ways to work vomiting into conversation and to do some fake throwing up.
So, in a way, I guess I should really thank the Vomiter (that's right, he deserve a capital letter now) for all that he has done for me. Thank you Vomiter, you complete me. You had me at Huwahck....
Friday, October 2, 2009
Anyway, I sent my brother the video (linked above) because he was this huge Lion King fan when he was little. He would bring all of his stuffed animals into the living room and blast the soundtrack. It always ended up with him hobbling around and triumphantly holding his Winnie the Poo stuffed animal up in the air (a la Rafiki and Simba).
Oh, he would also sit at his little plastic piano and pretend to be Elton John as he would sign along to Can You Feel the Love Tonight.
As a twelve year old, I didn't find this cute. As an almost twenty-eight year old (yes, my birthday is one week from today even though I am sure you already know that because it is on your calendar and you have a countdown just like I do), I think it is adorable and it makes me miss my brother.
This brings us to today. He called to say he got my email and it made him laugh. He asked what I was doing and why this even crossed my mind. I explained the whole Little Mermaid link from my last post and he started laughing. He then busted out, "Look at this stuff. Isn't it neat? Wouldn't ya think my collections complete?" He laughed. I laughed. And then I said, "Wouldn't ya think I'm a girl, a girl who has everything." He again laughed, as did I. Then he says, "I've got gadgets and gizmos aplenty." To which I joined in, "I've got whozits and whatzits galore. You want thingamabobs, I've got twenty." Five minutes later finishing the song off...we officially became losers.
This, right here, is why I need a job.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
I look around my room as I type this and am almost embarrassed to list out some of the things in my direct line of sight (a stuffed gall bladder, a wooden letter E, a Zack Morris phone, a snow globe of NYC, an Eiffel Tower, a Chilean three legged good luck pig). My room is by no means minimal. I have weird gadgets and whatnot. I'm like the Ariel (The Little Mermaid) of the studio apartment world. I have "treasures" all over my place. I am a collector. A collector of all things.
I know that the timing of this post doesn't hep the whole "I am not a hoarder" argument, as it comes dangerously on the heels of the In My Bed post. But really, I am not a hoarder. I just collect things, which I get is probably the same argument they use. But really, I'm not. Hoarder I am not. Collector I am.
This practice I have of collecting is not discriminatory. No, no, my friend. I don't just collect items in my apartment. I also collect friends and exes and a whole host of other things as well.
I guess this whole topic also comes up because I was having dinner with a friend tonight and we were discussing how to end relationships that are toxic. It's hard. I think I have shared quite a bit about my view on friendships, dating relationships, etc. I know you may have gotten a skewed version of me if you simply read about my bad dating experiences and how I walked away from those so easily. Don't be fooled though. I put my heart into stuff. I will give all of my soul to fix and mend things...even when it isn't mine to mend...meaning that I have many times in the past taken on fixing the wrong doings of others and have taken on some of the responsibility and burden that comes with "breaking" things. I collect the relationship in my heart. The person. I don't know how to let it go sometimes.
I'm doing much better at purging the bad stuff in my life than I used to. I guess you could say that I am becoming more selective on what it is that I collect and place sentimental value on. When something becomes toxic in your life, it is okay to walk away from it. This is a lesson I've learned with time. With lots of time. Walking away doesn't mean that the thing or the relationship or the person didn't have value at one time. That it wasn't the best thing for you...at one time. But, time moves on and things change. Things evolve. Short of Alzheimer's or serious head trauma, memory of relationships or treasured possessions can't be taken away. I've had relationships that meant so much to me, but what I've learned or had to learn was that ending them is sometimes the best and healthiest thing. Cutting ties doesn't mean that at one point in time they weren't important. They just can't live on and hold the same value for all time. Things change. Not having them in my life anymore doesn't cheapen the past. It doesn't make it disappear. It will hold a special place forever in my history, but it needs to live there...in my past.
I know this is a little all over the place, but I guess the point is to say that as I've come to realize with relationships the same can hold true for personal possessions as well. I can purge belongings from my life and not strip them of their one time importance.
So, I'm not suddenly going to become completely minimalistic. I'm not going to have a closet that will ever just have clothes, shoes, and maybe a box or two. I will always have stuff under my bed and knick knacky stuff on my shelves, but perhaps I will move forward with caution about what I choose to keep. Perhaps I will purge a little. Perhaps I will realize I don't need to hang on to that t-shirt from the company softball team from a company I don't even work for anymore. Perhaps I will realize that while I loved trolls as a kid, I don't need my entire collection as an adult. (don't tell my mom that though because it lives at her house and I am not quite there yet....this is all hypothetical)
I guess I just got to thinking after looking at my friends apartment and talking over dinner tonight:
If I make room by getting rid of some of the collections I don't really need to hold on to except in memory, what good things will I be making room for in my life?
And, just because I know you are wondering...below is a picture of my amazing stuffed gall bladder. It was a gift from a dear friend who knows that I needed one given that my original gall bladder was surgically removed.
The weird thing was that when I woke up I heard this strange noise coming from my air conditioner. It sounded like it was mad or something. Well, it was. I opened the vent thing to find that it was all frozen and frosted up. I turned it off and pouted that I would have to wait for it to defrost before turning it back on. I think we have gone over my love for the AC before. I. Heart. Air. Conditioning.
Seriously, if there was a support group for people with an unhealthy love for air conditioning, I would collect chips and introduce myself to the group, "My name is Emily and I am an air conditioneroholic."
Anyway, I turned the fan on in my room and hoped the AC would defrost quickly. Well, at about 4 or 5am I realized it was fully defrosted. Mind you that it was solid ice, so it took a while. Anyway, I turned it back on and felt a moment of pure joy. I returned to my computer where I was obviously doing some very important work to find the local temperature displayed on my screen...48 degrees. Oh, and I am talking Fahrenheit. That's right ladies and gentlemen, I was trying to use the air conditioner when it was 48 degrees outside. I have a problem.
Before you freak out too terribly, I turned it back off and opened the window. Happy now?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
My room doesn't look like this:
I'm not going end up like this poor woman and die in underneath the rumble in my home. And, my bedroom is my whole house given that I live in a studio apartment. So, let's stop the judging.
Anyway, about what I was saying...hoarding. I just spend lots of time in my bed. I am usually in or on my bed when I am home; therefore, a lot of stuff ends up in my bed.
So, let's play, "What's in my Bed?"
- 10 pillows (not too crazy)
- the remote for my DVD player
- a plastic bag
- two hoodies
- a toolbox
- two books, "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell" and "The Five Love Languages"
- a pair of glasses
- a business card
- my cell phone
- a spoon
- a hair clip
- a receipt
Needless to say, "clean the room" is on tomorrow's agenda.
Friday, September 25, 2009
I responded, "No. It hasn't been raining that much." I then paused and said, "Well, I don't really go outside everyday, so I could totally be making that up."
Note to self: go outside or open blinds at least once a day.
All night (as I enjoyed the open bar) I kept giggling to myself thinking how funny it would be to go up to other attendees with tears in my eyes and say, "I hope they make enough money tonight for me to get my job back," and then walk away.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Anyway, as I was saying, I struggled to come up with Worst Date Ever. I really was leaning toward the date that ended with the guy telling me that I made him feel like a prostitute. Real fast, we had gone on several dates. I was never quite sure about him. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was something not right. What I realized after....well, I made him feel like a prostitute and we didn't see each other again was that he was trying to sleep with me hard core on each of our dates. The irony of all of this is amazing. On our first date he drove me home and then said he might be too drunk to drive. I said that it was good I live in a neighborhood where it is really easy to get a cab. He then asked if I had a couch he could sleep on. I wasn't buying it. I responded, "not one you can sleep on." The second date we went to a show and went back to his apartment. He again gave the too drunk to drive excuse and said that I should just spend the night. No. I told him I was fine taking a cab. When he realized I wasn't budging, he agreed to take me home. On our third and final date we went out to dinner (it was BYOB and he brought a bottle of wine) and then went to a bar. He came up to my apartment and we did a little...adult stuff. Nothing crazy. It would just not be in a PG movie...or a PG-13 movie. I know it would make it into an R rated movie...they let anything go now a days. Anyway, midway through I started to realize I was very drunk and he needed to leave. I was not okay laying on the bathroom floor or resting my head against the toilet while he was there, so I told him he needed to leave. I apologized and said I really didn't feel good. Apparently my mistake was not throwing up in front of him to prove I didn't feel good. Despite another apology the next day and an explanation, he still said (and this is a direct quote), "for a second there, I kind of knew what it felt like to be a prostitute." Give me a break. Needless to say we didn't see each other again.
But no, he was not the Worst Date Ever. Close. But, he just gets an Honorable Mention. No, the Worst Date Ever happened on a little night called Election Night.
I have to make two disclaimers before I tell about this date:
- If you are in anyway related to me, for both of our sake, stop reading and skip to the next post. This is information neither you nor me will be happy you know about. While I am not about to spread all my business up on the internet, it is still more than you need to know about me. I am still the sweet and innocent person you know me to be. Don't let this disclaimer cause you to think otherwise. I'm just saying. It is in our mutual best interest if you don't continue reading. And, I would like to be able to look you in the eyes (and vice versa) at future family functions. So, move ahead. You will thank me for the information you do not know.
- This date perhaps was not the all time worst, but it goes on record for me as #1 because I will never be able to shake the memory of this date. It will haunt me. It will cause me to have to lie to my children. It is a moment in time I will never get to relive or experience. That's right...get ready.
I live in Chicago. I lived in Chicago during the 2008 Presidential Election. It was the most significant political moment of my lifetime. And, I was on a date. We went to dinner, but I had election fever and said I really wanted to get to a television to see the results as the polls came in. He obliged and we went to his apartment. His awesome apartment on like the 35th floor of a building with views of the Sear's Tower and the John Hancock Building. Just a few blocks away from Grant Park....where all the action was taking place.
When my children ask me where I was when the country elected our first African American President, what am I supposed to say? How do I tell them that I didn't really see it?
I will leave you with this very funny Saturday Night Live clip. Believe what you wish.