Thursday, December 27, 2012
The best day of my year was the one in early January where I went to the interview at the hospital and told them I'd work as an indentured servant until my hospital bills were paid off. When I got home after realizing that's not a commute I want to do every morning even if they did offer me the job, I very nearly got run over by a girl on a bike as I was walking back to my apartment. She looked back at me and smiled with a smile so cute it hurt my blackened heart and knocked the wind out of me, a feeling I haven't had in a very, very long time. I saw her cut down the street to my apartment, so I took that longer way back from the parking lot to see if I could see where she stopped. I saw her chaining her bike next to the consignment shop across from my place. I went to get coffee to try to perk back up from another failed interview and, when my cup was finished an hour later, her bike was still there. I figured this was a good reason to see what this store is all about.
I step in and, oh god, she works here and I'm the only person in this store, so she wants to help me! Caffeinated and frazzled isn't how I want this to go. "No thanks, I'm just looking around." And I made my way around the store trying not to draw attention to myself or the fact that I have a non-functional left side. Weeks later, I'd try again because, for the entire month of January, I just wanted to know her name and nothing more. I went in again and my reply to "Can I help you?" was "Would you happen to have any ties?" despite having practiced for hours in the mirror how I wanted this to go down and it was most definitely not "Would you happen to have any ties?". I left the store that day with a framed vintage Morton salt ad, which hangs above my sink to this day as a reminder that I really suck.
I was able to talk to her in late January or early February and find out her name is Aubrey and that she was indeed taken. The next time I had an interview, she was walking with the dude in the square outside my place. "Welp, I'm not getting this job, I should probably go back to bed.", but I'm not that smart, so I went to the interview two hours away anyhow.
If I were a sports team, they would call this year a rebuilding year, in which case, in the year that I finally met Billy Bragg, I've done a fantastic job. I took back basically everything they stole from me that I want back. I have a job, my hospital bills are paid off and I'm not fat and I make a god damn good pizza from scratch. With that framework in place, I'm thinking 2013 isn't going to suck.
My goals are multitudinal. I need to go back to the gym. "Do you think I'm fat?" "No I don't think you're fat but, if you think you're fat,what are you going to do about it?" I'm probably not fat, but definitely anorexic. I've gained ten pounds since achieving an all time low of 123 pounds and then moving to Milwaukee. I've scoped out gyms in the area and think there's one that's not ghetto by where my brother works, which is farther than I want to walk in January and February, so I'm starting this spring. I need to work on feeling good about myself. I've never in my life felt attractive to anyone, ever, and I need to change that, as well. I bottomed out earlier this year when I watched that terrible show where the girl says that she wants someone who only wants to have sex with her and I realized this bitch suffers from precious little snowflake syndrome that all people my age suffer from, where they believe they deserve something just for coming out. I've never wanted to harm someone more than when I heard that bitch say that because, honestly, find me the human who doesn't want to find someone who only wants to have sex with them. I posit that person doesn't exist. I also throw in there that you shouldn't expect something from someone that you can't give back. So, if you desperately want someone who only wants to have sex with you, don't go on about how hot pretty boy with the elbow patches is.
I need to be more bold in the new year. Talking to the painfully cute girl whose name I didn't know might qualify as boldness, as might moving to Milwaukee, giving up the apartment I liked. This move to the bigger city, I told myself, is my springboard to Seattle. If I find I can do it here, perhaps Seattle isn't as impossible as I thought. Further along that end, I'd like to write a few minutes of standup for the standup night at the bar. Most of the people who perform there are so bad, they make it seem like anyone can do this and, if you have 5-7 minutes prepared, they'll let you try. I'm worried that I'd steal from Bill Hicks or from that amazing Tig Notaro set.
If I'm staying in Milwaukee, though, I need to find a new apartment. Living with my brother is working out pretty well, but our apartment is small. It's cheap, $150 cheaper than my old place, but I'm getting what I pay for. I want to stay in my neighborhood, though. For the first time in my life, I actually like where I live and am proud to be a part of my neighborhood. I like being able to get coffee and see the dude with the face tattoos and say "Oh, that's Bob the bartender. He's cool." To that end, I don't want to move to Bay View, "where Riverwesters go to retire" because that place oozes douchebag hipster, where people play dress up every day like some fucking Zooey Deschanel wet dream, complete with dumbass looking facial hair, skinny jeans and bad coffee. Bay View is a place for assholes and bourgeois college students.
I want to grow vegetables this year. We have a plot in our back yard that could be worked and I've found a community garden by the reservoir where I can get a plot for $20. With my produce, tomatoes and such, I want to learn to make marinara sauce and salsa. The good stuff, not the sugary sweet shit they put on your pizza.
I want to volunteer more. Volunteer opportunities are plentiful in my neighborhood, at the co-op bookstore, the co-op grocery, and at several other spots that'll benefit my neighborhood. I'd like to be able to ride a bike again, but if that's not possible, I'd like to volunteer time for one of the neighborhood bike races, as long as I don't have to wear the shorts or grow the mustache.
I'm working with an organization who helps disabled people find jobs, so I'm hoping they're going to help me find something meaningful. As much as I don't want the word disabled to define me, this is the new normal, no matter how hard I work at getting my hand back and I despise the people who say "If you just work harder, it'll come back." Is that how it works? I'm just not working hard enough?
I need to travel more this year. I'm debt free, beholden to no one, so I'm going to do that Chicago weekend, staying at the hotel with the PBR brunch and I'm going to Fest again, even if some shitty pop-punk band plays there. Those fuckers are getting older, too, so maybe they've realized that punk rock is more than just safety pins and mohawks.
I need to remain drug and doctor free. I've been drug free for over a year now, much to the chagrin of my doctor who nearly shat when I told him I'm off my anti-seizure meds. "You realize I'll have to take your license if you have a seizure again?"
"You realize I live alone now, right? There's no one in my life who gives a shit whether I live or die. So you can prescribe medications that cause severe fatigue and weight gain all you want. I'm not taking them."
"Okay, we'll put you down to 1000mg a day of anti-seizure medication?"
"Whatever, I'll continue to hover at 0mg."
I should probably drink less. The night after my grandpa died that I drank nearly a fifth of whiskey and I wound up not hungover should have signaled something to me.
Alum of the year:Mased Intruder - Masked Intruder
said Tommy T. at 10:22 AM - #
|
I step in and, oh god, she works here and I'm the only person in this store, so she wants to help me! Caffeinated and frazzled isn't how I want this to go. "No thanks, I'm just looking around." And I made my way around the store trying not to draw attention to myself or the fact that I have a non-functional left side. Weeks later, I'd try again because, for the entire month of January, I just wanted to know her name and nothing more. I went in again and my reply to "Can I help you?" was "Would you happen to have any ties?" despite having practiced for hours in the mirror how I wanted this to go down and it was most definitely not "Would you happen to have any ties?". I left the store that day with a framed vintage Morton salt ad, which hangs above my sink to this day as a reminder that I really suck.
I was able to talk to her in late January or early February and find out her name is Aubrey and that she was indeed taken. The next time I had an interview, she was walking with the dude in the square outside my place. "Welp, I'm not getting this job, I should probably go back to bed.", but I'm not that smart, so I went to the interview two hours away anyhow.
If I were a sports team, they would call this year a rebuilding year, in which case, in the year that I finally met Billy Bragg, I've done a fantastic job. I took back basically everything they stole from me that I want back. I have a job, my hospital bills are paid off and I'm not fat and I make a god damn good pizza from scratch. With that framework in place, I'm thinking 2013 isn't going to suck.
My goals are multitudinal. I need to go back to the gym. "Do you think I'm fat?" "No I don't think you're fat but, if you think you're fat,what are you going to do about it?" I'm probably not fat, but definitely anorexic. I've gained ten pounds since achieving an all time low of 123 pounds and then moving to Milwaukee. I've scoped out gyms in the area and think there's one that's not ghetto by where my brother works, which is farther than I want to walk in January and February, so I'm starting this spring. I need to work on feeling good about myself. I've never in my life felt attractive to anyone, ever, and I need to change that, as well. I bottomed out earlier this year when I watched that terrible show where the girl says that she wants someone who only wants to have sex with her and I realized this bitch suffers from precious little snowflake syndrome that all people my age suffer from, where they believe they deserve something just for coming out. I've never wanted to harm someone more than when I heard that bitch say that because, honestly, find me the human who doesn't want to find someone who only wants to have sex with them. I posit that person doesn't exist. I also throw in there that you shouldn't expect something from someone that you can't give back. So, if you desperately want someone who only wants to have sex with you, don't go on about how hot pretty boy with the elbow patches is.
I need to be more bold in the new year. Talking to the painfully cute girl whose name I didn't know might qualify as boldness, as might moving to Milwaukee, giving up the apartment I liked. This move to the bigger city, I told myself, is my springboard to Seattle. If I find I can do it here, perhaps Seattle isn't as impossible as I thought. Further along that end, I'd like to write a few minutes of standup for the standup night at the bar. Most of the people who perform there are so bad, they make it seem like anyone can do this and, if you have 5-7 minutes prepared, they'll let you try. I'm worried that I'd steal from Bill Hicks or from that amazing Tig Notaro set.
If I'm staying in Milwaukee, though, I need to find a new apartment. Living with my brother is working out pretty well, but our apartment is small. It's cheap, $150 cheaper than my old place, but I'm getting what I pay for. I want to stay in my neighborhood, though. For the first time in my life, I actually like where I live and am proud to be a part of my neighborhood. I like being able to get coffee and see the dude with the face tattoos and say "Oh, that's Bob the bartender. He's cool." To that end, I don't want to move to Bay View, "where Riverwesters go to retire" because that place oozes douchebag hipster, where people play dress up every day like some fucking Zooey Deschanel wet dream, complete with dumbass looking facial hair, skinny jeans and bad coffee. Bay View is a place for assholes and bourgeois college students.
I want to grow vegetables this year. We have a plot in our back yard that could be worked and I've found a community garden by the reservoir where I can get a plot for $20. With my produce, tomatoes and such, I want to learn to make marinara sauce and salsa. The good stuff, not the sugary sweet shit they put on your pizza.
I want to volunteer more. Volunteer opportunities are plentiful in my neighborhood, at the co-op bookstore, the co-op grocery, and at several other spots that'll benefit my neighborhood. I'd like to be able to ride a bike again, but if that's not possible, I'd like to volunteer time for one of the neighborhood bike races, as long as I don't have to wear the shorts or grow the mustache.
I'm working with an organization who helps disabled people find jobs, so I'm hoping they're going to help me find something meaningful. As much as I don't want the word disabled to define me, this is the new normal, no matter how hard I work at getting my hand back and I despise the people who say "If you just work harder, it'll come back." Is that how it works? I'm just not working hard enough?
I need to travel more this year. I'm debt free, beholden to no one, so I'm going to do that Chicago weekend, staying at the hotel with the PBR brunch and I'm going to Fest again, even if some shitty pop-punk band plays there. Those fuckers are getting older, too, so maybe they've realized that punk rock is more than just safety pins and mohawks.
I need to remain drug and doctor free. I've been drug free for over a year now, much to the chagrin of my doctor who nearly shat when I told him I'm off my anti-seizure meds. "You realize I'll have to take your license if you have a seizure again?"
"You realize I live alone now, right? There's no one in my life who gives a shit whether I live or die. So you can prescribe medications that cause severe fatigue and weight gain all you want. I'm not taking them."
"Okay, we'll put you down to 1000mg a day of anti-seizure medication?"
"Whatever, I'll continue to hover at 0mg."
I should probably drink less. The night after my grandpa died that I drank nearly a fifth of whiskey and I wound up not hungover should have signaled something to me.
Alum of the year:Mased Intruder - Masked Intruder
said Tommy T. at 10:22 AM - #
|
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