Advice to the Single, Working Ladies

I think a lot of girls are probably just a bit like me. We work hard, play hard and fall for all the wrong guys. Well, maybe not wrong, but not right either. Sometimes I know I work harder than I play, and that when I get home at night I'm going home to two cats. Not that I have a problem with my cats, they are lovely. Just, maybe, in a moment of vulnerability, I'd like to have someone to comfort me. When shit happens, and you take it by yourself, it makes it that much harder.

Recently, my manfriend (the only one who ever made me breakfast, and yes guys, that's important) got arrested. things got strange and I'm still confused as to what happened, all I know is that I'm going solo once more. And once upon a very short time ago, the thought would have made my inner Badass cringe. Being alone is never where you want to be, especially when you work so hard to do everything you have to and have no one to fall back on. Not to mention the lack of a sex/love/romantic life. It's actually scientifically proven that things are easier handled when in a good relationship and people are happier. Doesn't sound to good for the working class lady. Job stress is enough, then add lack of love, and school for some, and even kids for others... Well that's just when shit gets real.

So, I'm stubbornly refusing to fall in the depressive state of loneliness. Sure, I want as much as any person to be held and comforted, or have a good time or some adventure with a partner. But damn, that's not all I want. I pride myself in being independent and always being with a man, or feeling like I should be, kind drags me down. So to me, and all my single sisters, work out that "I don't give a fuck" and the "I got this" attitude. And put on those cute clothes your to embarrassed to wear and rock who you are before having someone else join you. I personally have begun to enjoy eating ice cream right out of the carton... I'm not trying to impress anyone right now, so hey, my alter ego, Fatty McFatass is enjoying the good life.

We're beautiful on our own, and powerful when we let ourselves be. I don't need anyone to constantly assure me of my worth. I know I'm what I am, and that's enough. You love it or leave it. Until the love, I think I will just enjoy doing what I want, when I want, with no concern to how it might make the infamous him feel. :)

A little philosophy

Sitting in my empty apartment, eating a tube of cookie dough, obviously left to my own accord, I began to think. Think in the way that I really don't enjoy, the deep intense life questioning sort of thinking. Left to my own devices, I tend to think about all the things I generally try to hide away in the darker recesses of my mind. I begin the thoughts of my childhood and of people I have and do know. I wonder what drives people to act the way they do, why are can a person be so indifferent to others. I was, needless to say, having a bad day.

Let me give you a little background on my life. My grandparents were Buddhist, I was raised in a very odd manner when it came to them. My Papa firmly believed ten minutes of meditation would ease any bad behaviour, and often it did. Telling a 5 year old to sit still and breathe deeply for longer than 30 seconds is just torture. As I got older, I became a stickler for ethics. I don't mind so much what people believe, or what they do, just so long as they do their best to cause the least amount of distubances possible and took responsibility for what they did. I'm a fairly tolerant person; don't hurt anybody willingly, think about what your doing and take responsibiity.

So sitting alone in my living room, I start to question the people I've been involved with. Really just wonder at how it seems that they forget that there is often more than just them involved, others are recieving consequence for anothers action. It all brought me back to a seminar I attended while I was at AGS, this man recalled his encounter with a monk and what the monk said has inspired me since. It's a bit of philosophy that just sort of helps me through the bad days, and lets me move foreward without always looking back. It might sound stupid to you, or maybe sound truthful, but it's what I tell myself when things get rough and it seems like everybody sucks. Straight from the monk's mouth, "I know that I am you and you are me too, but you don't know that."

Homeless Happiness

Meet Sydney: (aka: Gimpy/roomate/ditzy)

Roommate numero three. Well, sort of. She's not really on the lease, just sort of on the floor. Not that I mind really, she can be a lot of fun when her head isn't up some guys ass. Other than the dependency issue she has, she isn't so bad. She takes a joke well and that's important. Although to be fair she might take it to well...

She has earned the nickname Gimpy. She had the unfortunate experience of being run over by a van. Screwed her leg up, and had to go through surgery, and now has the gimp leg. It's HILARIOUS. Well...to us anyway. We never said we were nice people.

I don't have much on her, she crashes on the floor and occassionally does the dishes, but mostly spends time with the boyfriend (no comment). She's an undeniable fact in my life, joining our litte "Shit-Happens" party. Though, it happens fairly often to her, just not often enough to get her own official spot.

Tomorrow is the Fayetteville trip, looking at townhouses and apartments and otherwise not being in Conway for a bit. We're pretty excited. Out of the kindness of my heart I invited the EX. You know, the one who trashed my heart, but I'm too proud to admit it. Yeah, I get to spend 2 hours in a car with him and every sarcastic comment he can possibly fit in. Oh, fucking joy. But it's his birthday so I'll have to lady ball up and handle it. And not miss him. And definitely not smile. No happiness... Well, maybe a little.

It's been a bit

So, since last ranting, I have started college, in hopes of raising my level of sophistication and, ultimately, status in American society... Or something of that nature. Really, I'm a chronic under-achiever. I've placed myself in community college to avoid the University thing for as long as possible. And it was free. Now don't get me wrong, it's not that I can't do it, I just really don't want to. Spending hour after hour learning things that don't seem particularly relevant and then worrying that my short time in school will determine my entire future... Well it just seems lika a lot of stress. So I go to community college and build up as much transferable credit as possible so I don't have as much worry. So school is back in the picture.

Also, my dear readers, Ryan and I have become the apartments worse nightmare. Our inability to keep shit from happening to our young, college student, struggling selves has landed us in strange situations; skinny dipping in the river, not-so-sober weeknights, homeless friends on the floor, and parking lot dancing. Stress relief in some very odd ways. You'd be surprised how much better you feel after going outside, bumping some fast beat music, and dancing with your roomate while the neighbors stare. It's a moment of freedom that looks a lot like "I don't give a fuck." Well played, well played.

I've also learned what it means to be something more (or less) than a callous bitch. As I have had my heart trashed. Ohh the tension of an emotional wreck. luckily, I survived and now, I may be young, but extremely jaded for my age. Don't worry, that's all I have on that subjects. I'm not one for public break ups or break downs... Maybe I'll add a new page..

So, that may be all for now. OH! Fellow minimum wagers, if you don't get paid enough to put up with it, start putting in those applications. I was nearly attacked by a coworker and decided, perhaps, I don't make enough for it to be worth is. SO I'm off to a stack of applications and a hope for something less painful.

As to the future, theres a trip to Fayetteville here soon. It's time for a change of scenery...or a change of people.

There's Faggotry Afoot.

Meet: Joey (AKA; Drinking Buddy/Rich boy/Part-time Roommate)

I'm a bonafide Fag Hag. Just look at my wonderful circle of friends and you'll find the entire rainbow, plus some. Joey is definitely a favorite. Three years running he's always good to talk to about all the heavy shit. He is that friend, the poor guy who always knows all the TMI. (speaking of which, him and Ryan are currently discussing the more intimate subjects of certain colors of certain parts. Perhaps I'm suffering of TMI)

As Ryan's boyfriend, he's around ALL THE TIME. Not that its actually a problem, he's definitely the definition of cool, but it makes him my part time roommate that never pays rent. Oh wells. Its worth it, he actually got his own key and everything. Hopefully we find him sneaking in at 3 a.m. (my cat would become a beast).

He happened to burst from the sperm stick a well off man and be purged from the womb of a well off woman he now, by default, is a well off kid. He enjoys the luxury of a pool in his back yard so obviously we're here all the time. So let me tell you, big house, pool, and mustang. He's definitely enjoying an envy worthy life, but you wouldn't know it. The dickery that generally follows money has eluded him. He's a very laid back guy with a genuine sense of humor without the Snotty-I'm-Better-Than-You attitude.

Now Joey is my go-to guy when it's time for a drink. He's my Shit-Faced Partner, nobody compares. When we get together, we run the party. And I mean own it, although we might not remember the ownage we exuded, we always enjoy the after party stories that surround us. I don't think I could party decently without him.

He fulfills my intellectual stimulation need. Logic is his thing, so much that even I am humbled. He's my therapist in a way, without the obnoxious price. Friendship with him is kind of a thing to cherish, he always knows how to make a person laugh. The most ridiculous scenarios play out in his head and he shares them without thought. For instance, while watching me type for this blog he proposes we advertise it... By getting signs and taking down the poor pizza guy and have an epic battle of signs (Sign Wars!!) until the street corner belongs. We're practically prostitutes.

The Consequence of Night

Oh night shift, how I do loathe you. Not because of the regular bull that comes along with the dark, but because of what you do to my sleep. How the night shift wreaks havoc on my circadian rhythm, leaving it impossible for me to sleep away the hours of the moon on my nights off. There's nothing to be done about it. Pills don't seem to work, and even so would be useless, tomorrow night I'll have to be up.

Being on a schedule opposite of the functioning world has its downsides for sure. One more sleepless night, and I'm not even getting paid for it. Damn.

Sh*t Happens

Meet: Ryan. (AKA: Roommate/semi-professional hair color-ist/piss pants)

Ryan is my Adventure Buddy. Oh yes. When broke and bored there is nobody better to hang out with. Good times are a given when we get together, making him one of my absolute best friends. No questions asked, any flaw forgiven. We both have the philosophy of shit happens. The philosophy that gets us through the bad days with at least half a smile, and lets us laugh about it the next day.

So we move into our new apartment Sunday. The most exciting/frightening thing to happen thus far. We're making just enough to afford our own place and survive. A daunting task for any jelly-spined teenager. Luckily, Ryan and I are buff with a "we've-got-this" attitude.

So let me introduce you to Ryan, the semi-professional hair color-ist. He's going to beauty school, eventually to be a color specialist. Tonight I submitted myself to his skills by asking his help in dying my hair. I've been on a purple streak, I've always wanted it that way so now that mums gone and I know I won't be fired for it, my hair is purple. I enlisted a 12 year old to help the first time (never again) and a friend, Joey, to help the second (also no go. Think globs of purple gel thrown at your head and splattered around the bathroom.) Ryan was, well, semi-better. The color was even and he had a nifty little apron thing to keep my clothes clean. What's not so great is my scalp, currently a lovely shade of neon blue-ish purple. LOL

And Ryan piss pants, my favorite. This is the Ryan that pulls out his Wang to pee on the side of the street just as a cop decides to drive that way. This is the Ryan that, mid stream, shoves his Wang back into his pants in order to avoid the Public Indecency ticket. This is the Ryan who ends up changing in my shorts because the night isn't over yet and we still have a friend to steal. (We'll meet Syd later) This is the Adventure Buddy Ryan who makes my day, every day.

Carpe Noctem

It's not just a Latin phrase worn out by the goth/vampire culture in bold tattoos and midnight forum names. It's the philosophy by which the shift workers adhere passionately too. If we didn't, nobody would receive there midnight snacks of burgers and fries without the choice words of tired employees. No, we live by seizing the night. Literally. The smiles are plastered on, the voice kept as composed as possible when dealing with the oh-so-funny teenagers, and the food is served politely so we can pick up the hours that boost the coveted paycheck.

I think the story of the night shift is a great one. An epic tale in the making. One that I've submitted myself to, just to keep my bank account alive and to survive in a world made of money. I inadvertently became part of the story, so complex that it's simplicity amazes me. We are the barely making it crew. Its the the reality of Glorious Adulthood that shrouds the fresh faces entering early adulthood. A slap in the face really, when long hours of unappreciated work is shouldered.

So after one ass-kicking shift, I decided to write. Not a story per se but a documentary of my life at minimum wage.