If I Hear One More Happy Friday

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So for pretty much my whole life I haven’t worked a Monday through Friday, 9-5 job. In fact most of my jobs I end up working nights and weekends. Hooray for me and my social life. Actually, it doesn’t really stop me. I’ve had plenty of practice going out, getting wasted and having to drag my ass into work the next day.  I’ve pretty much mastered the art of working hungover, and on rare occasions still drunk.

I don’t even mind and in some cases have preferred to work weekends. But what I can’t deal with are the people that make a big deal every time the weekend rolls around. The worst are the people that actually go around saying “Happy Friday.” They make it seem like it’s this rare occasion or a holiday. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. “Asshole, it’s just another day of the damn week.”

But since that probably wouldn’t go over too well with my bosses I usually just ignore it. Though it was hard to ignore that year I worked in a coffee shop. Almost every customer would always tell me to cheer up Friday morning because the weekend was coming. I’d perk up give, them a big smile. and say, “Well thanks but I work all weekend so that doesn’t mean anything to me.” The best part was that it was usually the same people week after week. But I got my revenge, I usually had Tuesday and Thursday off. So when they’d roll in Monday morning dragging ass, I’d brag about it being my Friday and having the next two days off.

A Few Of My Favorite Things

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I don’t really listen to any new music. It’s all pretty much crap these days, has been for a while. Haven’t even tried listening to anything new after the 90’s. I used to always have the radio on. But it started to suck so bad I refused to listen to stations that play anything new. I won’t even try. Instead I stick with old favorites I grew up with, like Queen. My favorite song ever is “Bohemian Rhapsody.” All their songs are awesome but I just love that one. I recently found this video of the song being acted out, it just made me love it even more.

 

This is one of those rare occasions where I actually love the internet. Yeah it produces a lot of crap but finding this gem makes it worthwhile.

I’ll Never Tell: My Darkest Days

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My biggest secret is a couple of months after my mother’s death I was hospitalized for a supposed suicide attempt. It wasn’t really, I wouldn’t do that. As you can imagine, my mother’s death was pretty much devastating. It is and probably will always be the most traumatic thing I’ve had to go through. I thought the only solution was to block out the pain. Instead of going to school, I’d cut classes hanging out with the school drunks, pothead and pill poppers. I like drinking but sometimes it made me more emotional, and weed made me think too much. But the pills I liked. I knew kids that could get pretty much anything, mostly I took an assortment of painkillers or Xanax, anything that left me feeling sedated and numb. Combined with a couple of drinks, it worked quite well.

That was until one night hanging out with some older guys I drank about half a bottle of whiskey. When I got home I was alone and upset. My brother had his own place and my father was always out. He was too caught up in his own issues. I must have lost track of what I drank or what pills I took. By some miracle my brother had come over to check on me. I was passed out and he couldn’t wake me up. When he found my stash of pills he freaked and took me to the hospital. I had to stay there for almost two weeks. My brother finally convinced them to release me on the condition I’d continue with grief counseling. I guess it was a little bit of a wake up call for my father, he stopped going out and spent every night at home with me. It was torture, between him and my brother I could barely take a shit alone. Seriously if I was in the bathroom more than two minutes they’d knock on the door to check on me.

But my father’s attention wore thin after about a month. First he just went out on weekends and only if my brother came over. Slowly it progressed back to every night. And my brother’s visits became fewer and farther between. It wasn’t really necessary, I was never touching another pill again. I even started going back to classes and waited for weekend nights to do my drinking.

 

 

Mother’s Day Without a Mother

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The first couple of years after my mother died were pretty rough for me. The worst of course being when Mother’s Day rolled around. It had been a day we usually spent together, just the two of us. Not that my brother and father didn’t do anything for her. We all did the obligatory breakfast, my father doing most of the cooking, the kids helping. (More like getting in the way and making a mess.) Once that was done and gifts were open, it was up to my mother how to spend the rest of the day. The one thing she always wanted to do every year was go to the nail salon and get a pedicure and manicure. She never went any other time, she really thought it was a waste of time and money. But it was the special treat she enjoyed every year for Mother’s day. While many mothers would have gone alone, making sure to take full advantage of a day of freedom, my mother always brought me along. Usually we’d also go for a long walk when it was nice, have lunch, go shopping, or whatever else she felt like doing.

So those first couple of Mother’s days without her were about the hardest thing I had to go through. It was harder than the funeral and every other holiday combined. The first couple of years I pretty much locked myself in the house and tried to avoid anything that would remotely remind me of the day. Eventually though I learned to get over it, well not quite get over it more like deal with it. It’s not like I can avoid being reminded it’s coming up, because every advertisement and commercial wont’ let you. But I try not to think about it and usually am not aware of the day it actually falls on. Some people ask me if I do something special, “you know like to honor her memory or to keep her memory alive.” My response is usually pretty shitty. She’s my mother I remember her everyday of my life. Not like I’m going to forget her because I don’t do something to remind myself of how much it sucks that she’s gone one day a year.

 

 

 

I’ll Never Tell: My Gay Love Affair

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In Junior High school I wasn’t exactly well liked. In fact pretty much nobody talked to me. I didn’t mind it suited me just fine. Except that I had a huge crush on one of the most popular guys in school. the fact that he had absolutely no idea who I was didn’t help. Well that is until one day we ran into each other outside of school. Well technically I didn’t so much as run into him but happen to notice him in the same park as I was. It was late at night and me and some friends had parked ourselves in the school yard of a local elementary school late at night. I spotted him in a dark corner. I wondered at first what the hell he would be doing in the school yard by himself, much less hiding in a dark corner. As I watched he was then joined by another guy, a older guy who was kind of skeezy looking. It didn’t take long to figure out why they were there. I left not really wanting to see anymore than I already did.

A couple days later we were both being held near the side entrance of the school for being late. Not really caring what his preference was I decided to blackmail him into being my boyfriend. I told him about seeing him hanging out at the school yard with his older “friend.” He reacted exactly how I expected, asking me not to tell anybody. He was scared of being made fun of, plus he kind of a big deal on some of the school sports teams. He couldn’t imagine what it would do for his reputation with the guys on the team. Of course I told him I’d keep his secret, even give him a cover by pretenting to be his girlfriend. Obviously it shocked most people since they thought I wasn’t worthy of his attention. But ultimately they all end kissing my ass. Funny thing was I actually hated that part. I didn’t care that he was gay. I milked it just to be able to makeout with him and shit. Honestly I think a part of me thought I might be able to even convince him to change his mind. I eventually got tired of dealing with his popular group of friends and ended it. Not too long after, sometime during high school, he came out. I’ve always claimed to have no idea.

Social Media Sucks

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I’m totally over social media and the idiots that have overrun it and let it run their lives. I don’t have a Facebook account, not anymore at least. I will admit for a long time I was totally on the bandwagon. In fact I loved MySpace when it first came out and continued to love it even as everybody seemed to abandon it. I tried holding on for as long as possible but when it began to freeze my computer every time I tried logging in, I had to give it up. I guess the thing was I’ve always been pretty big on meeting people online. Before social media I loved visiting chatrooms and used a variety of IM services. The difference was though everything was always superficial and fun. It was an easy way to have casual conversations about dumb teenage stuff, music, school sucking, parents not understanding, etc. It was also a way to escape the real world and the real world people that were the source of my social aggravation. (Is that a thing? Well sounds good so I’ll stick with it.)

Now it’s just gotten so serious and is so part of everybody’s lives the fun got sucked out of it. When I started getting friend requests from family members it was time to quit. Besides I couldn’t care less about the things people post and a lot of my “friends” weren’t really friends. I don’t want to know them any better. I want to hang out, have a couple of drinks, talk and maybe argue about dumb shit, have some laughs and that’s it. I don’t want to know what their opinion on the president is, or see pictures of their kids or cats. I don’t care about shelter animals that need to be adopted, little kids dying of cancer that need prayers, or the latest petition to ban bestiality in another country (yes that was totally a real thing). I don’t care if somebody is having a shitty day, week or month; unless they are buying me a drink while complaining.

I can’t deny its usefulness, I’ve actually gotten work as a designer through social networking. More so in the early days but I do still have some accounts where I post work. But I repeat it’s not actually fun, it’s in fact all for work. And to be honest as more of the idiots take over, it feels like it’s less and less worth the effort. I’m just glad on Twitter and Instagram I can mostly avoid anybody I know in real life. If they do happen to find me and follow my account it still doesn’t really involve much interaction. As far as Facebook goes though,  I been done with that, no matter how many people look at me like I’m crazy when I tell them.

 

 

 

I’ll Never Tell: Secret Piercings

At 17 I met this guy, James, at the park by my high school. I had been hanging out playing handball with friends from classes that we were skipping. He was a bit older, don’t remember exactly how much but he was close to 30 years old. He didn’t look it though, he was actually incredibly hot.Eventually I found out he was a mutt, Italian and Brazilian, damn those Brazilian genes make some some gorgeous motherfuckers.  Honestly at first I really didn’t think he would even be interested in me but surprisingly he ask for my number Even more amazing he actually called me. Figured he wouldn’t, the hot ones never do, especially when they know they are hot and he totally did. We actually ended up hooking up a couple of times.

Once we started hanging out for a while I found out he worked in the village doing piercings in one of those bullshit little shops. At some point he convinced me, I’m not sure how probably with lots of alcohol, to let him pierce my nipples. It was literally the most painful thing I ever experienced. He was only able to do one, I refused to do the other. Worse part was it didn’t even take. Apparently my body rejected it, didn’t know that was thing that could happen. I knew it looked like it was healing weirdly. Then one day I was in the shower and it literally just fell off my body. Never again.

Not So Sweet Sixteen

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I never really understood the whole point of a sweet sixteen. It’s like celebrating a milestone that’s not really a milestone. But some people just blindly follow traditions for the sake of following tradition. For some reason my mother one of those people, and was even kind of obsessed with it. She started talking about it and planning mine before I was even ten years old. She wanted it to be a huge affair, with choreographed dances, performers and god knows what else. She would have totally loved that show, “My Super Sweet Sixteen.” God knows she probably would have tried to copy some of the ideas. Which is totally ridiculous because we had no money, but I’m sure she would have found a way.

Unfortunately,  she never got the chance, I was fourteen when she died. I tried telling her once that I wasn’t really that into it. She laughed and said I’d change my mind. I didn’t bring it up again because I’d do it anyway just to make her happy. It’s kind of sick, when that birthday did come around I was slightly relieved. It always made me feel guilty. I didn’t understand how I could miss her so much yet still feel like a burden was lifted. I still don’t really understand it.

I had to remind my father that it was even my birthday. Instead of a big party I just hung our with a few friends and got shitfaced. I’m pretty sure a few didn’t even realize it was my birthday. (I had great friends then.) While I’ve wondered what it would have been like I’ve never really felt like I missed out on anything.

 

 

 

I’ll never tell

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I’m a pretty open person, what you see is what you get. At the same time there are things about me I would never tell anybody. Even the few people I consider friends I don’t normally confide in. There are just things I’d rather take to the grave. Some are stupid little things I’d rather just not admit, others are I guess a bit more serious. For now I’ll stick to the lighter subjects. Here are just a few examples.

  • I’m afraid of butterflies. I know it sounds silly. It is really dumb and I’ve learned how to not totally freak out  when I see one. But I always get paranoid one will fly into my eye and blind me. When I was a kid one flew right into my face. It came within inches of my eye. I tried to move out of the way but unable to anticipate it’s movements I went towards it instead of away.
  • I went to go see The Notebook and it made me cry. I’m don’t usually do romance movies, I only went because I got free tickets. I usually avoid any of the obvious tearjerkers, it’s about the only time I get emotional.
  • I got caught stealing from the corner store when I was ten. When I was in elementary school I used to go to the same store everyday after school. I assumed the grown men staring at me with perverted smiles wouldn’t notice. I would slip, I thought slyly, candy up the sleeve of my jacket. One day, the owner watched me carefully and grabbed at my arm and started yelling at me. I kicked him in the crotch and ran out. Never went back after that day.

There are plenty more, more serious, but I’ll share those eventually.

Trouble in Paradise

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Been staying with Jeff for quite a while now. It’s a little bit of a weird situation. I’ve had people accuse me of taking advantage of him. His parents own the apartment building and pay his utilities. So yeah I live there rent free. In my opinion if I gave him anything he’d be taking advantage of me. Besides technically I don’t really think of it as actually living there. I’m hardly ever there, shit sometimes I don’t even sleep there. I have a very active social life and it keeps me out a lot.

Anyway for the most part it works pretty well. But there is one thing that makes me crazy and might drive me out. Jeff is a complete and utter slob. I’ve always been kind of a neat freak. Even before I was staying with him I’d have to clean up when I came over to hang out. I wont say he’s dirty, though I’ve never seen him clean. But it’s just he literally leaves anything anywhere. It’s starting to drive me crazy, I’ve actually be avoiding being in the apartment lately. I lost it the other day. I had spent almost an entire day cleaning. I even organized all the kitchen cabinets. By the next day, he had clothes all over the place. I mean I found a sock in kitchen. I don’t even understand how that happens.

To top it off my beautifully organized cabinets where a mess. Like he just opened the cabinet, knocked everything over, then closed it. A can of beans almost fell on my head. Needless to say I lost my mind and blew up at him. He told me if I didn’t like it I could always leave. I didn’t bother arguing with him, it felt ridiculous. We were seriously arguing like a couple. It freaked me out and I just ended up going out. Funny thing is he called later apologizing. I didn’t answer so he left a pathetic sounding message, saying he didn’t mean what he said. He was basically groveling and begging me to come back. Not exactly sure what to make of it. I guess the whole situation is a little weird.