i hope you aren't a sociopath

I constantly "write" in my thoughts throughout the day. Expounding on what I think are witty or meaningful observations until I almost miss my train stop, forget what I was actually trying to do, or offend someone. Offending someone happens pretty regularly. 

Even with all of that thought-writing I never quite know what I'm going to write when I sit down to eke my 500 words out. I know it isn't insurmountable, but I care about doing it the right way. I want to be entertaining, meaningful, and 65% light, 35% dark/"real". Reading everyone else's posts makes me think that I'm not alone in this. 

Unfortunately I'm an asshole a lot of the time, so the light/dark ratio tends to get flipped-turned upside down. One of my good friends is amazing at spinning negative stories into funny anecdotes, and I very much admire her for it. My stories start off with the hope for a funny-awkward ending, but they tend to just get sad-awkward. 

Speaking of sad-awkward, let's talking about my dating life! (See what I did there?) (Oh by the way, imagine an early 90s game show host is reading everything from "Speaking of..." on! Super fun right!)

Contestent number 1: Met this guy on OkCupid, working on his Ph.D. at Northwestern, lots of hope going into the gate. (He's Tall! ooOOOoo) It's a warm August night, I'm waiting outside of the brew pub where we're meeting for drinks when I notice a tall, pale chap wearing bubble gum pink from head to knee cap (shorts) carrying a purple tote bag. I think to myself "There's no way he's my date! My date said he's fashionable!" and am immediately proven wrong. On the plus side, I learned that night that just because the plan is to meet for drinks doesn't mean the other party won't order dinner, there are men in the world who think wearing all pink is fashionable, and that his baby momma is a bitch but they're working on co-parenting effectively. 

Contestant number 2: We met on Tinder before I officially moved to Chicago. Chatted for a week via text. And by "chatted for a week via text" I mean "he sent me some graphic but well-worded sexts and no dick pics." I came back to Chicago as soon as possible (hey, a girl's got needs...) and met him for lunch. He's a chef (truly) and apparently that means you get a discount everywhere. Industry people take care of each other. He tells me all about his half-Arabic upbringing in rural Kentucky. All about his mother and brothers. Where he's traveled and worked in the world. He's a talkative bugger. We go back to his place (please don't be a murderer, please don't be a murderer (if Law & Order SVU and the Ted Bundy's of the world have taught me anything it's that sometimes you just can't tell.)) He has clean sheets, we hook up, it's fine, I go home and then the near constant requests for booty calls begin. I wasn't surprised by the first few requests - that totally makes sense. I was surprised when he kept contacting me after I knew he had a girlfriend...to join both of them...or maybe just him. I'm not into that but he thought it'd be worthwhile to double-check. Nothing ventured nothing gained, I guess? 

Contestant number 3: He never showed. Saved me time and I was able to go straight back home and put PJs on. 

I could go on and on. I'm on both OkCupid and Tinder sporadically, and the stories are worth the odd evening or seven to keep it up. 

The text conversations are even more fascinating. There are some guys out there who clearly don't want to ever meet, just flirt a bit and it's usually fun and light. Occasionally these guys will surprise you by saying "hey I'm bi, wanna see a video of the giant cock I went down on last weekend?" and then send you a video of him giving another guy head (I thought he was lying...) Sometimes they'll just randomly send dick pics whether you're talking about such things or not. My favorite is when dick pics just pop up while I'm hanging out with my mother...or my grandmother...or at a baseball game with my sister and she's looking at my phone. At least the baseball game dick pic was interesting, he was wearing a tuxedo jacket and used a whole light kit. Gotta appreciate the dedication, right? ...right? 

a week to pray and drink

My work day started with a candlelit prayer service and ended with dick pics and "fuck" spitting out of actors' mouths like a machine gun. It's Institute Week, bitches!

As I've previously mentioned I work for a private Catholic school, if you aren't Catholic (I'm not) you might be surprised to know that they tend to pray then drink, then pray again. I'm the only one surprised? Ok. I'm going to backtrack a bit. 

**Star Wars warp speed thingy that looks like stars are zooming past in streaks**

I originally got my job through a temp agency for creative types, aka, where dreams go to die. I wanted to get a job in Chicago that'd pay (most) of my bills and get me closer to advertising. The agency called me with a job at a Catholic school. I wasn't in a position to let my low-grade fear of Catholicism interfere with getting the fuck out of Michigan, so I said yes to the interview. 

I was late that day, and ran up the school's giant front staircase in oxford heels and a suit only to find out my interview was in the "house" next door. The "house" is a mansion that was built in 1906, but you're not allowed to call it the mansion because that's off-putting and too pretentious for a $20,000 a year school. Number one rule of being around money: don't talk about the money (well, talk about money, but only about how the Anderson's went from being on the Gold donor list for the annual fund and are now only Silver, and apparently the business isn't going so well because they only participated in the silent auction at the gala this year. I mean Margie didn't even touch her paddle during the live auction, only sat there talking to the Goldmans and throwing back chardonnay like it's Tuesday night book club. Also, she hasn't been volunteering in Charles' classroom as much this year, I heard she's working part-time, do you think it's true?!) 

We don't talk about the money because we're here for all the little children. We talk about money because it's for the children.

Within a month of starting the gig I started calling myself "prep school paparazzo" because of the number of times each week I have to shove cameras in kids' faces. And not just any kids - it's my job to find the "diverse" kids, preferably the ones who are cute and obviously "diverse". But not too many because that'd piss off the loudest donors. They want to see their kids, too. Make it 30% obviously "diverse" and 70% not "diverse". 

It's pretty fucking gross. I'm told on a regular basis that I don't get enough photos showcasing "diversity" and I don't care. I'm sick of calling people of color "diverse" in this situation because it feels like exploiting children and the powers-that-be try to sugarcoat it by saying "diverse". Like these children are ponies in a 4H competition. 

The heart and mission of the place are good - being in communications makes me see it all from different angles. The reason behind wanting to have more photos with children of color is to make everyone feel like they can apply to the school and not be excluded. It's a decent thought that is poorly executed. Especially since less than 45% of applicants are accepted and between kindergarten and eighth grade the students of color continuously decreases. I wonder why.

the lions' den

I'm not entirely sure when weird became normal, but it has been for some time now. Maybe even forever. I hate writing about negative shit, that's all I can come up with for topics though. I don't want to be too heavy, too dark, too negative. I keep finding out (re-realizing?) that my definition of "light fodder" isn't most people's, and then I worry because I get frustrated with my mom for doing the same thing. I love her, she has some great traits, but I don't want to carry her social ineptitude. Maybe it's the curse of the burdened and melodramatic.

Meh, it's on my mind (probably because of Kirk's post) so here we go.

I started learning how to fight because I was scared. Some of it was to work out, and holy fuck is it a good work out, but mostly I was scared. My fear tends to manifest as anger, and the only way to get it out is to beat it. Either by running, or pulling on a line, or kicking a bag. If my muscles don't contract repeatedly in forceful succession it takes forever to calm down. Yelling works, too.

It's cathartic to be exhausted and spar. To throw out a roundhouse, and have it connect just to take an axe kick to the dome. And to just get pissed off again. Just keep going until it's all out of you, when there's barely enough energy to get into the car and drive home. It's calming to embrace one's emotions in such a primitive, animalistic manner.

Now that I'm older I find myself flexing different muscles, breathing in a borderline hyperventilating way, or literally biting my tongue to chill out in situations where it isn't socially acceptable to literally run from the room. Boss yells at you for forgetting something inconsequential? Don't run, bite your tongue!

I used to put myself in the lion's den when I was afraid of something. I love men, but I'm also afraid of them. Men tend to inhabit fighting spaces. I wanted to be tough like them, so I wouldn't be scared of them. Walking to your car alone? Don't worry, you've fought with dudes (pay zero attention to the fact that those dudes were going easy on you because you're a chick.) Guys are making really inappropriate comments to you? Stick it out and prove that you're the cool girl. It's like I believed that assimilating would protect me.

I don't go into the lions' den anymore. If my instincts say something is wrong, I get out as soon as possible. No ifs, ands or buts.

I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this thought, but I'm here anyway, biting my tongue.

Just so anyone who might be reading this knows, I have a seriously wonderful group of kind, real, goofy, and loving guys who I am lucky to call my dearest friends, some I round up to family (or actually are family).

Good night.

where we're going we don't need titles

I've spent most of my day alone in bed. If I felt more comfortable in my apartment or around my roommates I probably would have ventured out, but I don't so I didn't.

When I first came to check out this apartment it was one of 10 viewings and at least 50 emails in an attempt to find a place in Chicago. I was desperate. Like, didn't pay attention to the dirty dishes in the sink or ask any pertinent questions. I didn't even care that one of the roommates has three cats or that the room I'd be moving into is tiny and without a closet. I just needed out of my sister's place for the sake of our friendship. We're better off not living together.

When I'm home I spend most of my time sitting in bed. This is where I sleep, read, watch Hulu/Netflix, write, and eat. I don't eat at the dining room table because shortly after moving in I noticed the room reeked of cat pee, I then noticed the litter box in the corner. Definitely not going to eat there. I barely cook because the cats walk all over the counters and tabletops, and that kind of thing grosses me out. I found out 5 or 6 months after moving in that they were feral.

So I stay in my room, where I'm comfortable.

I haven't had an unscheduled day in what feels like months, and today felt simultaneously decadent and shameful. Putting on a bra to go sit on the porch was the most productive thing I did. At one point I napped just because my eyelids felt heavy. I watched two movies and three episodes of Pretty Little Liars on Netflix, and I'm boring myself writing this.

I'm really good at living in small places. I find places for everything, and it makes me want to purge my belongings. I hate having things that are of no use to me, but I also hate throwing things away. I'd rather give them away. I bought new towels two months ago and haven't gotten rid of the old ones yet (no one person needs seven towels) because I wanted to find a decent animal shelter to give them to. There is a pile of old clothes and shoes under an end table waiting to be given away. I think I know where those will go but being lazy is beating out the precious floor space they're taking up.

I have a fair amount of artwork/chatchis that many people might find pointless or useless, but they amuse me and therefore have value. There's the print of Abe Lincoln riding a T-Rex; a faux scrimshaw with The Brunswick on one side and Admiral Howe on the other; a model of America, the ship that won the first America's Cup; a photograph of a baby monkey running. That's just what I decided to keep in my room, there's more in our storage area.

I'm really looking forward to moving out, but I hate moving and I know I won't be able to afford the area or place I'd like to live in. Getting to my friends takes forever now and I'll need to move farther north. I before I moved here I always joked about how ridiculous it is that people don't like to travel outside of their neighborhoods much especially since public transit is so easy. It is easy, but it takes forever. I'd rather use that time doing more important things, like sit on my bed for twelve hours watching Netflix and napping.

proper fucked by an asshole

I'm just going to start writing and see what happens.

I much prefer saying "y'all" instead of "you guys" or whatever else people might say. I also eschew "pop" in favor of a more palatable "soda". I have a tendency to dislike 75% of the things that identify me as "Someone Who Was Raised In Michigan," to the point where I intentionally and systematically altered my vernacular in college. Some of it goes beyond feeling superior to my old stomping grounds, I hate "pop" because who wants to drink an onomatopoeia? Not me.

I'm far too old to be pushing away my roots. Part of me accepts it, another part of me remembers how  uncomfortable I felt there. Like I was constantly in Ms. Trunchbull's nail-filled locker. Although that wasn't something I fully realized until the first time I went back - and I didn't move that far away! I was so excited to see friends, hang out before Thanksgiving, and almost everything felt off. People were behaving in really odd ways. It felt immature, short-sighted, and boring. And that gave me a sad. Pow! Right in the feels. I don't know why I wrote it like that, but I'm going to keep it.

I regularly talk shit about one of my coworkers because he tends to use flowery language unnecessarily, and while I love words, and learning more of this language, I like to keep things simple. I just read over what I've written so far and realized that I sound a bit like a pretentious asshole. I'm kind of a pretentious asshole though, or at least I come across like one more often than I'd like. The word "pretentious" bothers me because I'm not pretending to be something or someone I'm not. I'm fine with people thinking I'm an asshole from time to time, we all take our turns.

Speaking of assholes, two fucked me (and five other people) over today. For those of you not in the know (and if there are other sailors in this group, please raise your hand) when you fly a spinnaker (the really big colorful sail) it needs to be done just right. Most things on sailboats need to be done just right, thus "ship-shape" and also a major reason why I love it. Well, something happened when we were doing a maneuver with the spinnaker and it twisted on itself multiple times. This is politely known as an "hourglass" but I was taught that it's called an asshole. No one wants an asshole. Assholes slow you down, make you drop out of races, and in certain situations, cost a shit ton of money.

We had two races today and an asshole each time. We had to withdraw from one race because it was so bad (sail in the water, lost a lot of time) and we finished in last place because of the other. My friend was in another regatta, saw us from afar (it's easy to spot a giant, colorful sail in a knot) and commented to his crew about how we were proper fucked. We were beyond proper fucked, we were dead in the water.

My friends tell me that this kind of stuff happens, everyone has bad days, everyone has been proper fucked by an asshole, but I'm still kinda bitter about it.

la vie de jésus

One of my roommates is screaming into FaceTime right now. Not a pissed off scream, a "I'm so excited" scream, and while I appreciate her enthusiasm for this conversation I'm so close to asking her to pipe the fuck down. But I won't, because she has a tendency to be vindictive.

Today was the 8th grade graduation ceremony at the small Catholic school I work for. I didn't have an 8th grade graduation ceremony. I don't know if many people who grew up in the 'burbs and went to public school did. Everything was just a series of moving to the next building until you became an adult.

This school is pretty liberal considering the whole Catholic thing and it has a pretty unique culture.  (I won't say much more than that because this is tied to my name and it's really not that hard to find everything about someone.)  So everyone who works there has to go to graduation, and we all pre-game it. Not necessarily together, but we split off into our little packs to get just buzzed enough to sit through the whole thing.

I appreciate that this is a moment in these kids' lives, but I have a hard time celebrating something that is expected of you. It feels like getting paid to unload the dishwasher - you do it because it needs to be done, not for a pat on the back. If you don't finish middle school you've really fucked up. Your parents have fucked up. Hell, society fucked up.

There's a fair amount of pomp & circumstance and tradition wrapped into the ceremony. The girls wear all white. Somehow all 39 of them found different knee length dresses that are also age appropriate. I kept waiting for a repeat outfit but it never came. Most of them are pretty close and I have a feeling they coordinated appropriately.

The boys on the other hand wear their school uniforms. Which is kinda bullshit. What if they want to dress up? Hell, some of those girls would have been much more comfortable in their school uniforms.  The gender differences were made very apparent (gender is actually a very big deal at this place) beyond just clothing. The girls all cried. The boys were carelessly stoic. All of the girls sang the class song at the end, holding hands, crying, and became this one amorphous humanoid blob. Most of the boys (glee club boys were expected to sing) sat and rolled their eyes.

I have a hard time believing that the guys didn't care as much as the girls, or that the girls cared as much as they acted. They've all been in school together since they were five. That's a long time, that's a lot of intimacy. I've witnessed it as an outsider for over a year, and it's my job to write about, photograph, and film their lives. They're super tight, and they're not as close. This place is a fascinating little sociological and psychological study. But the Board of Trustees would never allow that.

yesterday & today

I normally think about a lot more than I have the past few days, and while my work ethic has improved, I miss being all over the place. Kinda.

I don't know if ADD is something that needs to be "fixed". I like my weirdo connections, but not the inability to remember things or actually listen when people are talking. I just wish I could balance it all better. Getting yelled at all the time isn't much fun though.

The meds have kinda fucked with my sleep. I've been able to (thank god, I know some people who can't) but my dreams feel incredibly realistic and real. This morning I woke up and had to remind myself that I didn't yell at and hit a coworker for interrupting me repeatedly. He's a notorious interrupter/mansplainer so the thought process isn't that ridiculous, but my dreams aren't typically like that. I'm the type of person who always knows I'm dreaming. At least when I wake up, and this one took a chunk of the morning to work out of my brain.

I don't like how focused I've been on work. I'd rather focus on this group, sailing, working on my own stuff. But it's 9:51 pm and I need to write a quick paragraph about a teacher who is leaving the school. Hu-fucking-zah.

Now would be a good time to work on setting intentions. That's what it's called, right? Positive outlook creates what you want, self-fulfilling prophecies and all of that. So here's what I want in my life in no particular order:

My own place. I lived alone before moving to Chicago and really, really miss it. I thrive when I'm able to really get away from other people for a period of time. Actually, I thrive around people, too. I just really need a balance. You don't get that balance when you have roommates. I feel stuck in my room a lot. I would feel better if I lived alone.

A steady job that allows me to pay all of my bills and have a bit leftover for fun and savings. I think this is self-explanatory because most people want this. My job right now is steady, but the pay isn't great (it's across the organization). I get to be kind of creative so that makes up for it, but not being properly compensated is a bit of a kick to the lady bits. I'd also like more room to grow. I want to learn more, especially about the programs I use, because I feel like then I'll actually be able to create the things I see in my head. I'd really like to see them, but I'm not quite sure how to get there. I also believe that the more you know the more confident you are, I need this.

More physical strength. I'm not weak, but I'm not as strong as I'd like to be. Come to think of it, I'd like to work on mental strength as well. It'd help with the physical. I find myself getting caught in patterns where I really want something but it takes me forever to muster the gumption to actually do it. And then I roll around in self-hate for a bit when I opt to sit instead. 'Tis a cycle I'd like to break.

I'd like to be in a relationship. I first typed "I wouldn't mind being in a relationship" because it felt pathetic and needy to actually put what I want out into the ether, but what's the point in setting intentions if they aren't honest? Also, why is that pathetic? I don't need a relationship. I'd like one. The right one. I don't believe in soul mates, I think it sounds lovely on a very base level, but improbable both mathematically, emotionally, mentally, and for a lot of people, physically. I've been single for awhile and have enjoyed it. I've worked on myself a lot and think I'm in good working order. Or at least better than before. I'm not going to rush it, and in the meantime I'm stocking up plenty of terrible/funny/weird first date anecdotes.

I want to sail as a regular member of an experienced crew this summer. Last night I sailed with a group of people who have been sailing together for around 8 years. Some of them have been sailing together for twenty. They know each other, they know the boat, they know the lake. It was intimidating, awesome, and ego-destroying. It sucked (I sucked) but I needed that. Up until last night, most of the people I've been around have very little experience sailing and apparently I got cocky. Two of the women on the crew are older (like 60s) and fucking badasses. No excuses, tough sailors. The skip is a scientist and very pragmatic regarding expectations. Listen to the conversation, ask questions, but don't worry about it on the boat. At least when it comes to tactics talk. If it's on the boat listen, ask questions, and learn it. These people are a wealth of knowledge and I don't want to just use them for that, I want to contribute. I want to be a valued member of the crew.

I want to buy my own sailboat in the next 5-7 years. This one is contingent on the job situation as sailboats are not cheap. I feel at ease on boats, and seem to get happier the longer I'm on one. I want to live aboard and make a solid living working freelance so I can travel on aforementioned sailboat. This requires getting consistent clients and being a general badass content-wise. Which leads me to...

Making badass content. I want to find a way to balance focus and creativity. I want to be open to other people's ideas and contributions to my ideas without feeling like it makes me a failure or less-than in some way. I want to make an impact. And I can't keep waiting.

I want to be better than ok, but by my definition. Maybe I'll expound on this one later, but it feels pretty huge right now.

Holy shit, this is over 900 words. Not too bad considering I felt like my thought process mojo lost the jo. Apparently it's still in there. I feel much calmer now and very thankful for this experiment.