3.09.2014

Cruising & Boozing & Snoozing

There are only so many times you can bitch about the weather.

Having lived the majority of my life close to the pacific coast, I really had no appreciation for what real “weather” was, or any understanding of the privileged fucking paradise/biodome I had been birthed into.
Merry Christmas from San Diego
(photo actually taken on Christmas)

Instead, with my move to the Midwest, the faint memory of what a warm day feels like, dies by the hour.

Living through a Chicago winter is exactly like what a dog goes through when it’s castrated. The circular balls that provided warmth to your neither region have been removed, leaving you with a cold and sterile existence. You are reminded of the atrocity by wearing weird head gear for the remainder of your recovery. Yes, this long, brutal, never ending winter had not only sucked all the joy out of everyone’s bits but had caused us to keep our head hidden behind awkward and weird hats.

Fuck fashion you bitch, I'm trying to SURVIVE!
This polar vortex especially, took the insanity of winter to an entirely new level. Have you experienced a cold so deep, that when you walk outside to take out the trash, your butt cheeks tighten up for fear that the cold air will enter through your anus and freeze you from the inside out!?!?!?!?!

THIS IS MY REALITY!!!!!!!!!!

I am DYING out here you guys!!!!!!

SO when I got the email from Lady D that she had discovered a bahama get away cruise that cost as much as I spend on a weekend trip to Target, one thing came to my mind “HOLY FUCK I NEED TO FIND MY PASSPORT!”

Fast forward to the following Friday, at 3am. Lady D would be outside in our chariot (yellow cab) and we would be whisked away to the magical O’Hare aiport!

She greeted me cozily in the backseat with eyes kissed by the morning light “are you ready?”

Mai-tais, models, mojitos and maybe a moonlit makeout on the pool deck with a brazillian named Fredericko. I dunno man, I was so ready to get the fuck out of Chicago, I was ready for ANYTHING!

We arrived at the O’hare, printed our passes, waltzed through security (thanks in no part to our WASPY surnames, fuck you TSA) and awaited our first departure.

The trip to our cruise ship required a stop in North Carolina to connect us to Miami, then we had to pull into the port and get on board the ship. One night at sea and we’d wake up Saturday on a white sandy beach as a cover band plays UB40.

However there was a slight hiccup when we landed down in Charlotte. Somehow we had booked a “ghost flight” meaning we purchased tickets from an airline on a flight that didn’t exist. We were now stuck in the south, without an exit strategy.

Lady D got down to business: we ran across the airport to a variety of agents, she dialed a few 800s, she sort of yelled err raised her voice at one woman, then we took a breather at the airport bar where I chugged too much Rum and coke until we were notified that we would be leaving Civil War America and on the next flight to MIAMI!

But we lost time, A LOT of time, so once we landed we had to sprint the entire length of the MIA airport, screaming at strangers “WE NEED A TAXI! WE NEED A TAXI!” hoping that by causing panic and confusion we would be able to cut to the front of the line.

Plan worked ….cab loaded, enginges revving and here is where we met Maria.

Maria is a 4 foot tall leather faced Haitian woman who has been driving cabs for the last 30+ years. For 3 months out of the year, she drives a yellow cab, saving every nichol and dime to then head back to Haiti for the next 9 months to relax and live off her riches (Total Boss). She let us know that back at home SHE has a driver, and a maid, and a dude who comes over and rubs the bunions off her feet. Maria is a goddess, her demeanor let us know that she only is doing this work so that she can coil back into her domestic bliss abroad.

Maria also OPENLY shared with us about her time as a drug mule for a Miami cartel, all the children she had birthed and probably abandoned across the US, the nose bleeds she magically acquired in New York and the fact she fucking HATES California but LOVES North Dakota (that's a REAL thing?!?!?).  Despite her insane storytelling, oh and a song she sang for us, this indigenous witch doctor with a drivers license was exactly what we needed to get us to the port in time, because her tiny feet were filled with lead! She literally drove 70 miles the entire way getting us to the check in line with 15 minutes to spare. (Granted they don’t take cards in Miami, so that was another ordeal to get the $20 bucks we owed her, but we made it in time, and in line for our VACATION DESTINATION!)

We hadn’t even gotten on the boat yet, and so much had already happened. I couldn’t wait to see what else was in store!

Now, having never been on a cruise before I had no idea of what to expect. I envisioned some sort of romantic get away, half dressed men in sun tan lotion walking in European board shorts that grabbed their ass and accentuated their package, cruising up and down the pool deck…..

I've wanted this to happen since I was 10 years old

That’s not what we got.

We got large families where the term “rhythm method” must never have even been discussed  as everyone was as fertile as cats! People on their death bed being wheeled around each floor before juggling shows and buffet lines, there was even a man on a gurney in the casino! We got foreigners (YAY!) we got old people (OF COURSE!) we got family reunions (SURE?) we got tech retreats (WTF?). It was a floating prison for the world's most diverse type of people  who all enjoy their meals planned out and their tackiness, sky high.

Now I should backtrack because I love humanity, I love people, and this trip was going to fulfill every people watching desire I ever had!! But I also heavily fanaticized about getting it in or on somewhere on the lower deck, titanic style. It sunk in rather quickly that my last minute decision not to wax wasn’t going to burn me in the end after all because there was no way I was going to get all “LOVE BOAT” on this trip unless it was with an 89 year old man between catheter changes.

Lady D already was smitten with someone in Chicago, and I tried to turn my flirting with our server into something more, but that wasn’t going to happen either.... so we agreed then just to focus surviving the next few days and have as blissful and stressfree of an experience as we could! Granted, that meant a lot of food, a lot of booze and a lot of quality sleep, and we accomplished EVERY GOD DAMN ONE OF THOSE TASKS LIKE CHAMPS!!!!!

As an aside, it should be noted that boat living can vary depending on your birthright. Now if you’re one of the indentured servants that has escaped the confines of your developing country to work abroad this ship for 7 months out of the year, serving us the best steak one can fit in a microwave oven, your experience is vastly different than the thousands of people who cycle through every 4 days.

On our particular stint we were greeted with 12 women celebrating their 50th birthdays. I’ll put it out there, if I can somehow fit into BEBE outfits during midlife, and actually look fuckable in it, then you know I’ve made it. These woman all are that and more. Fierce, beautiful, youthful, but gracing with a fuck ton of dignity. They commanded attention at the WHITE PARTY, they commanded attention at the FIRE DRILL, they commanded attention when GANGHAM STYLE played 50 times in a row on the pool deck, but fuck if they deserved all of it.

THIS but with minimal English

On the other end of the spectrum was the sweet and bitter sister duo we met who ventured to the Bahamas to escape the crippling cold in the North East. One was a nurse whose husband was a doctor and children were PhD students, the other was a tree troll who was probably living in a bridge back home. The other thing that united them was a smiliar DNA pattern passed down from their parents, but the two of them couldn’t be more opposite. Luckily, our first breakfast was spent with them, which was “special” only to run into the elder sister hog tied in a hammock with plastic bags carrying junk tied to her ankles.

So in between our social observations, D and I got to do what we truly wanted to do the entire time, and relax. We finally found our way to that illustrious white sanded beach with the clearest and warmest waters, we drank slushie concoctions that gave you a headache after a few sips, and watched chineese people learn how to jet ski. It was heaven, I mean seriously, heaven!

I even got to reunite with the sun. It had been so long since I had seen him, that after 4 hours my face was blistered, almost as if he decided that kissing my face wasn't enough, he'd rather full on face fuck me.

Was it worth it? Oh god yes.

After 3 days at sea, we had to venture back to Miami for a night where we walked the warm streets and were overwhelmed by the beauty of everyone in South Beach. We ate sushi, and drank mojitos, and got the shakes thinking about coming back.

When we got into the plane and crossed into Illinois, we waited till the last possible moment to put our parkas back on. As we entered the white covered city, we thought about all the people with unique accents who had just served us, especially that one chick from Mesopotamia who gave us the hook up for the water park. We reflected on the Canadian/Russian tech guys we had partied with till 4 am, that had urchased enough vodka redbulls to induce a heart attack in us. And most importantly we wondered if that old crazy woman was going to keep harassing those three little goats who only wanted to cross her bridge. 

Cruise living is a wonderful and special way of life. And if you get the chance to escape the tight grip Winter has around your neck, try to get away for just a weekend. 

Yes, Lady D, and the sun and I had a fantastic few days, we both literally almost cried when we had to leave him, knowing it’d be 4 months until I probably would see him again. But when summer comes, you know we’re gonna be ready.

Home, bittersweet, Home

10.13.2013

If At First You Don't Succeed, TRY TRY TRY TRY TRY TRY & TRY Again!

I wish I remembered the first house party I ever went to, I don’t. I don’t remember the first time I decided hanging out at the movie theater at the mall on my weekends wasn’t WILD enough anymore. Yes, getting into fist fights after seeing Crossroads was nutty, but I wanted more out of life…something MORE rebellious, and gnarly, and truly detrimental to the development of my frontal lobes................I wanted to PAAAAARTY damn it!!!

There comes a point in every party girls life, when she moves up from juvenile levels of fun
(sneakily watching episodes of MTV’s The Real World at her non-religious friends’ house while drinking mountain dew) to more adult levels of fun (sneakily watching two people engage in hooking up on the back porch swing while drinking boone’s farm).

When I first started to party, the sneaky routine would be the same every week, Mom and Dad would ask where I was going with my best friends, and I would say “their house for a sleepover”, I’d pack a backpack with one shirt, a slutty one to change into later, and some flared LEI’s before we’d drive off in a white tacoma. Next, we’d venture to either the basement of a stoner boy whose parents neglected him, or we’d meet up at a taco shop parking lot and plan our night from there.

Don't tell MOM, we're not headed to YOUTH GROUP!
If we were lucky enough to know of someone whose parents were wealthy enough to go out of town (the Smiths) we knew we had a HOUSE PARTY on our hands.

It was at these events I’d learn about beer bongs, second base, and the important of knowing how to roll a joint, or at least how to hit one.    
  
These living room soirees continued into college, but all good things must come to an end. Eventually house parties simply grow out of fashion, you asking your friends to throw $5 in for a keg, gets replaced by throwing money down for a cab. Closet make outs in strangers houses, turn into disabled bathroom stall sex in a dive bar.

I am now in my mid twenties (late twenties?) and am actually nostalgic for those epic, wild times that happened in a shitty house, with deplorable carpet, not working toilets, and never enough alcohol.....

And then in the midst of a conference call at work, I got the text invite to TWO HOUSE PARTIES!!!! That's SO MUCH HOUSE PARTY!!! WHAT DOES ONE DO!?!?!?!

I rushed home from work ready to put on my hottest non flaired jeans, when I hit a wall. I was a tad bit exhausted from a work week, so I decided to take a light “cat nap” to restore my levels of energy before I hit the town, HARD. 

Except........................... the “cat nap” turned into a mild coma. I woke up at midnight!!! FUCK YOUR LATE TWENTIES!!!! Once I rubbed the sleep from my eyes I noticed a plethora of texts and missed calls and some total FOMO, I was pissed. I missed all those initial party interactions where everyone is sober, and will have nothing to compare it to when everyone is wasted.

I threw mascara on, grabbed a red sweater, and bolted out the door. With it being so late, I had to choose one party to attend, and because I’m lazy I just walked to the one nearest to me.

So into the time capsule to 2005 and ooooooooh fuck, everyone’s at a level 10!! I’m so behind. And there’s no booze. And the liquor store is closed. AND GAH, this feels exactly like being 15 again. I barely know anyone, I don’t fit in, why is everyone so happy the Cure is playing right now.
You try walking into this scene sober!!
And then an angel from above descended down to me, and escorted me to a private room and offered me some candy.

I took one lick, and then another, and then for old times sake another. And yes, it might have tasted like discarded kitty litter as it went down my throat, but that’s just the way fun times taste, maaaaaaaan.

The only part I remember from his story of where he acquired the goods was “from a stranger, at lollapalooza” 

Was that a while ago?
Do drugs expire?
Did he say stranger? Oh fuck it, yolo.

So fast forward an hour. Mid conversation with someone about something unimportant when it hits me. I mean SIRENS begin ringing in my ears, firecrackers are exploding in my head, the lights in the room get brighter, my pupils explode and I interrupt the stranger in front of me to say these four words as slow as I possibly can “WHOAAAAAAAAA, I’M HIGH AS FUCK!”
do as I say, not as I do
Keep in mind, this came entirely out of left field. For that last 15 minutes we were standing in the corner having casual conversations about Rush Limbaugh when the fire drill went off in my brain. And obviously as the state I was in, this conversation was way too fucking slow for what I wanted to be doing. So I walked away, or ran. I ran away and instantly began circling around this house party looking for someone else to be on my level.
Alas, no one was.
No one.
So I left.
I left the party high as fuck.
At 3 am.
I left the party, high as fuck, alone, on a cold night in Chicago, and proceeded to walk home.

But halfway through my walk home, I had a better idea. Why not call this guy I had been hanging with recently, and surprise him by showing up at his house! Ya, that would be brilliant. No worries that we hadn’t mentioned meeting up this night, and really hadn’t talked in the last few hours, but in my evolution from house party enthusiast to BURNING MAN participant, I had convinced myself NOTHING was more romantic than a surprise visit to a guys house.
So I walked the 14 blocks to his apartment.
Alone.
High as fuck.
I get there to discover ALAS the front door to his building is closed. No problem, I decide this would be the appropriate time to call him…except he didn’t answer.
It’s ok, I’ll call again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
This continues 14 more times.
Oh wait, there’s a listing of all the people who live in this building, if I just go through it and find his last name, I can dial in to his place.
So I dial. And no answer.
I’ll just push the little buttons again.
To no answer.
And again…to no answer.


If at first you don't succeed, TRY TRY again!

With each dial of his number, and each punching in of his apartment, I was more determined than ever to get through. And then I realized “THERE HAS TO BE A BACK DOOR!”

So over a fence, through a walk way, behind some rose bushes and into a backyard I went, to jump a fence again and get to the back door, which was now locked. It’s ok, i’ll bang on it. No one answered because it is now almost 4am, on a Friday night, and who the fuck would answer the cries from a deranged white woman pounding on the back door of a building, screaming some guys name.

I felt defeated, temporarily, until I got the idea to get UNDER his window. Nevermind, he was on the top floor of this extremely tall apartment building, I was going to jump over a fence, and position myself tightly between two buildings, guess where his window was located, and call up to the heavens until he heard me.

“GUY!” “GUY! “GUY!” “GUY!” “GUY, I’M HERE TO SEEE YOU, LET ME IN! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, LET ME IN!”

At this point, nothing.

More phone calls, a hand ful of texts, an email with thrown in there. And nothing.
In my drug fueled haze, I finally felt the feeling of defeat.
44 calls, 7 texts, one email, and me wailing like a cat in heat from below.

“IT IS ME, I HAVE COME TO SEE YOU! I AM DOING THIS GRAND ROMANTIC GESTURE! OPEN YOUR DOOR TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The boy didn’t wake up.

I dragged myself back to my bed, and despite my mild heart palpatations and the room spinning around me, I was able to kind of close my eyes, or at least stare straight at my bedroom door on my side…and began counting to infinity.

Around 8 am I passed out, only to get a phone call 30 minutes later, from the guy who had just woken up from his SOMBER sleep inquiring to why the fuck I had called so many times and if I was ok.

I didn’t want to tell him that I went to his house unannounced and contemplated scaling the walls to his apartment like spider man, I didn’t want to let him know that I almost googled the property manager to see if he’d let me in at 4 am, and I didn’t want him to know that I saw the security camera outside the front door and was hoping that by mouthing the words “LET ME IN” someone on the other side would unlock the door. I also didn't want him to know that I have a mild reaction to illicit substances and officially will never take drugs from a stranger AGAIN!

But I did tell him, and somewhere in his weird heart he thought it was adorable.
Fucking house parties.
#crazyinlove

8.31.2013

Encino Man Gives Me Night Terrors

**this post was originally written August 24, 2011 but sometimes things seem fit to repost from an earlier time



NOPE
When I got the phone call from my best friend that her boyfriend of two years had decided he no longer wanted to be a part of their relationship, my heart sank for her. Not so much because it was over, fuck him, but because I knew the journey that she was about to embark on: 

The erratic-ness
The drunkenness
The crying fits
The googling of the word “break ups” as if the internet is going to have an answer for how to survive this!!!!!  (And fuck you IMDB.com that’s not what I’m looking for!!) 

Granted I am thrilled she is now on the market and can dance her ass off shamelessly at HiFi with me while seducing the best SF has to offer at 2am, but break ups suck and this is going to be a looooong journey.
When a significant other decides that they no longer want to be with you, your entire world seems to crumble all at the same time! It’s like a spiritual earthquake except instead of the bay bridge collapsing on cars and killing innocent people, it’s your metaphorical heart falling out of its socket….which is much worse.
One of my more memorable dumping experiences happened a few years ago: While drinking a six pack, watching Encino Man with previously mentioned best friend (and devouring Woodstock’s pizza) my college boyfriend determined this would be the ideal time to barge into my living room and break up with me.
(door kicked open)
K: “uh hey weren't expecting you over, just watching Brendan Frazier’s award winning performance as a cave man, I hope you’re not here to give me bad news and ruin my day?”
Ex bf: “Listen K, this barbacking gig is taking off, I don’t want to be tied down by a girlfriend when flirting with other girls over Washington Apple shots, I’m going to be single. So we’re done. By the way, I’m also totally sleeping with someone else and we’re probably going to get married. Later babe.” (runs out door and zooms off in a Honda with TuPac blasting)
Even tampon glasses couldn't have prevented the water works from exploding out of my eye sockets that second! PS guys, if you’re gonna dump a girl while she’s watching a film, try to do it in the middle of Australia or some other shit movie she won’t watch again! I developed PTSD every time I hear Paulie Shore’s voice.
Now I had a bit of an unconventional reaction. Granted, I was devastated . . .  for about 30 seconds. . .  before I called and left a message on my bosses voicemail that I was feeling sick that night and probably wasn’t going to be at the work the next day (planning ahead for my emotional meltdown). I then opened up a fifth of vodka and mass texted all my friends that despite it being a Wednesday we were going to rage that night. . .and rage we did. I knew the next few months were going to be a rotating door of psychotic emotions, so tonight let’s just pretend everything is dandy and dance, in the morning I’ll cry myself into oblivion.
For women especially, we’re highly emotional creatures! So embrace it! The louder you cry, the redder your face, the puffier your eyes- the better it will be. If you don’t look like a sobbing blow fish with black mascara running down those blood red cheeks, you’re doing something wrong! I have been on the receiving end of a break up more than once, so believe me when I say that you really do have to put inhibitions out the window and be prepared to embrace your inner crybaby. Ask my beloved friend HR, she once intercepted a phone call from me walking up and down the aisles of RiteAid just blubbering!!!!
He broke up with me, and he took the wallpaper with him!!!!
Rite Aid Backstory: I didn’t have a kleenex and refused to use my sleeve to wipe the snot and tears from my face, so I walked and wept and walked and wept and just let it all drip down, meanwhile the attendants are horrified that this giant ghoulish wailing creature is having some sort of exorcism in the greeting cards section.
Rite Aid Attendant: “escuse me lady, you need to do your public crying elsewhere, dis is a place of business”
K: (hyperventilating) “do you. . .  have ANY. . . .  idea what it’s like. . .  to have the love of your life move 2000 miles away only to break up with you over gchat!!! AHHHH GAHHHH WAAAAA UGHHHHH AHHHHHHHH WAAAAAA”
Rite Aid Attendant: (into loud speaker) “can we have security in the Hallmark aisle”
Honestly, the first few days. . .weeks. . .even months after the “divorce” you are going to be sensitive, so avoid the things that provoke the unnecessary emotions of inadequacy. The one thing about the dreadful breakup that plagues everybody is suddenly not feeling worth it- despite the fact you ARE worth it! 

Honestly, we’re a good judge of people here at Haight and Hyde (except when we’re horny and blacked out, then we don’t give a fuck who or WHAT you are). We know you truly are amazing, duh!! Trust us, you will get desperate and cling to the one person that once made you feel awesome, visiting their facebook page and holding on to voicemails they left you, conveniently forgetting the fact that this same person just stomped on your beating heart and turned it into flesh confetti .
FYI- I swear nobody breaks up once, so you may have signed yourself up for 12 more months of torture trying to win him back. This is straight pathetic, but do it anyways. Trust us, despite everyone telling you to save your time, energy and frequent flyer miles, you gotta do what you gotta do. Even if that means watching Say Anything over and over again until you’re convinced your ex is going to show up at your house with boom box in hand to win you back.

Once you’ve been re-welcomed into the world of singleness the best thing you can do is surround yourself with love. Normally this would be your best girlfriends, your mom, your sisters, or your favorite college guy friends who will remind you that he wasn’t that awesome of a boyfriend anyways and “didn’t deserve you”, they may even remind you how “special” you truly are by getting you liquored up and trying to fingerblast you on a dancefloor (true love?!). Whoever you choose, make sure they’re awesome. I was blessed with a plethora of rocking people in my life who fully took advantage of my new found freedom by keeping me continually inebriated while having my phone in their back pockets to prevent those desperate late night text messages, you know the:
“bahby itz m e,icant libe without yu” or the painful “wwwhhhyyyyy????!!!!” or the “im about to fuck someone else right now, bitch asshole”
Of course we’re all fully aware alcohol is a depressant, so your friends should be prepared for whatever this happens to set off. Granted, if you’re a few long islands deep having the time of your life at a popular dance spot sometimes referred to as the Library, and the realization that the only person who has hit on you the entire night is an albino trash man with one leg who happens to be wearing a a top hat INSIDE a bar, singleness starts to sting a little bit! But your best friends will be prepared to carry your limp, sobbing body all the way back home and will try to see the good in the situation
Evan:”K, I love you so much and gay love is just as good as straight love!”
If your friends are not amazing and can’t comprehend why you’re acting like such an psychotic mess and refuse to take care of you during this “period of transition” and you happen to pass out in the back of the bar in a puddle of mud let’s hope an EMT, the local police department or a rocking bartender are willing to do it for them (or in my case, an amazing girl with the heart of a lion and the strength of 10 jesus's! I love you JC for saving my life on more than one drunken occasion. Even putting make up on my blacked out face to make me prettier before i died).  

In all seriousness though, your friends love you and at this age we’ve sadly all been here before. So if you are not the one going through a break up, but a fellow amiga is. . .then give her the biggest gift you can, your presence. If I hadn’t had the love and support of my friends, I can imagine me being in the same spot Edna ends up in The Awakening (Spoiler Alert: for those of you that weren’t smart enough for AP English literature, she kills herself in the end).
And in regards to the ex, I don’t care how many letters you write, sexts you send, care packages you prepare. . .he made up his mind about the situation, so believe him:
You can spend minutes, hours, days, even months analyzing a situation. Trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could've, should've, would've happened, or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on

You Only Live Once, and some will live shorter than others
Don’t hate yourself and don’t waste energy hating him. Just move on and trust in the power of time. In the time between the “break up” and truly finding inner peace in your new identity, you have to just DO and you have to just GO. Do new things that make you happy, and go to places you didn’t have the time or energy to go before. In my case I got to go to a Montecito mansion in the Santa Barbara hills and watch fire breathers on stilts dance around a pool, take Grey Goose vodka shots out of an ice sculpture, feast on chipotle burritos and then get surprised by a 4am impromptu concert by a very coked out Mickey Avalon. Could I have done these things with a boyfriend? Sure. But was everything a shit ton more fun without one? Of course!!!! Surprisingly there are a lot of things that are fun now that you’re riding solo! Like getting fire men to drop you off at Grant & Green in a real life firetruck, or spending three incredible days in Chico, California trying to prevent yourself from being hit by random bullets at La Salle’s between $2 whiskey shots. Hell, it gave me the freedom to move to San Francisco! Had I known all the great things I would have done in the last year of my life, I would have written a thank you note to my ex!

Thanks for the therapy bill!

Ladies, you have to remember the motto Lady L, Lady M and I live by. . .You Only Live Once. So try life SOLO because YOLO! We have our entire lives to spend sharing a bed and a bank account with an aging man child, so really take time now to appreciate the amazing life you have before you when its only YOU, you have to worry about. You have been regifted the opportunity to determine your course without thinking of someone else. You can stay where you’re at, move away, go back to school, sleep in, sleep naked, sleep with strange but adorable men, dance with stranger more adorable me, dance with friends, you can watch Noah’s Ark on Netflix, you can youtube videos of the Ukranian Dog Girl and not feel judged for laughing, you can go weeks without shaving your LEGS! Everything is Wonderful, and it takes a moment of true agonizing pain to recognize how fantastic the world really is.

8.29.2013

Best Friends Forever

I'm still reeling with some heavy shit my friends, and part of the process of moving the fuck on, is being open and vulnerable enough to figure out how something like this happens, and how something like this can never happen again. But in the midst of this journey to a better sense of self...I needed to take a moment and express some serious GOD DAMN THANK YOU'S! So the below post is directed at the best friends a girl could ask for.............

Broken. Disheveled. Frantic. 

In 2010 I seriously thought I had lost the loveof my liiiiiiiiiiiiiiife! I was living back in San Diego, and doing what one does after finally moving away from the college town they called home for the last 6 years, living in my grandparents spare bedroom catching up on the Lawrence Welk Show. The relationship with my boyfriend had ended, abruptly, and I swear my entire WORLD had ended. **Truthfully, I envisioned our love affair the exact same way the first 10 minutes of UP are, minus the infertility and impeding mortality.

The break up destroyed me.

actually, 9 months of polka music really destroyed me
So I did the cliched thing every devastated girl does, and got in my disaster prone Pontiac and drove north to spend a sloppy weekend with my girlfriends + Bevan. (names changed to protect the innocent)

Bevbo, Bess, Barah, Beather, Banae, etc  greeted me with very open arms, and large glasses of wine. I remember laying in Beather’s king bed, just replaying all the great moments of the relationship saying aloud “THOSE WERE THE BEST TIMES OF MY LIIIIIIIIIIIIFE! I’LL NEVER FIND ANOOOOOOOOOTHER! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING!” as hot heavy tears rolled down my cheeks. I mean at 24 years old, I really felt I was never going to find a man that showed love in all the ways this man had.

The next two nights I spent curled up to Bevan, and despite the fact he hates how I sleep (I make too much noise), he let me lay there feeling safe and secure next to him. And yes, he may be gay but it didn’t stop him from spooning me so I wouldn't feel so alone.

Once the house went to work, and I was left by myself in San Luis Obispo to wallow in this feeling of emptiness, I quickly learned I couldn't breathe without thinking about HIM, and all the great wonderful things we had done together, and how BEAUTIFUL it all way.

BUT WHY COULDN'T HE SEE THAT!
AND WHY DIDN'T HE WANT ME!
AND WHAT THE FUCK WAS WRONG WITH ME!

I felt suffocated in the house so chose to spend the next 30 minutes crying down Higeura, I mean publicly BAWLING on the sidewalks, sobbing in front of strangers and WOWIES, that I had been rejected by someone I had been in some sort of a friendship/relationship with for the last 3 years….

MoTav let me in,
I've been dumped and the only cure is a LONG ISLAND
And then a light went off, a brief moment of clarify, an epiphany if you will. I was so overcome with grief and desperation yet a new found desire to fuck some shit up.I walked into old thrift shop, bee-lining for the “housewares” department, skipping over the “limited too” tanks and “hot topic” dog collars to find a box of china, 60 plates to be exact. I carried them to the cashier, handed over my $12 and sent one text to the crew:

“who’s in on an old fashioned plate breaking?”

As soon as the babes got home from work, we loaded up my car and drove to an abandoned parking lot at the back end of Cal Poly. I climbed atop the roof, as the three girls stood in front of me, and I lifted the plate above my head

I proclaimed outward, through the SLO valley, over the vineyards, up to bishops peak 
“THIS IS FOR BREAKING MY HEART!”  

I lifted the round white plate over my head and….SMASH!!!!!!!!!

I threw the plate as hard as I could onto the asphalt below. The plate broke into a million different pieces, the perfect analogy for the feelings within my core. God, that felt good…and we were just getting started.

Next came Beather, who was reeling with her own loss of a boy she once loved
“THIS IS FOR KEEPING YOUR EX GIRLFRIEND SO CLOSE TO YOU!”
SMASH!

Baley got atop the vehicle next
“THIS IS FOR ME HAVING TO SETTLE FOR SO LITTLE FROM YOU, AND ALSO FOR HAVING ME PAY THE VET BILLS FOR YOUR SICK DOG, YOU FUCK!”
SMASH!

And finally Barah
“THIS IS FOR BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE!”
SMASH!!!!!
poor girls therapy
We took turns airing our grievances against the boys that had wronged us so, lifting a plate to the highest point above our head and using all our strength to smash them to the ground below.

It was liberating, it was beautiful, and it didn't require me to actually break anything that didn't belong to me (like his windows, taillights or cellphone). We danced and clapped after every moment. There were tears shed, there was laughter, there were moments when you were finally able to ARTICULATE to the world that feeling you had in the deepness of your body, that sense of being abandoned by someone you once told “I LOVE YOU” and actually meant it.

We jumped back in the Pontiac feeling a sense of empowerment, and purpose! Until….on our drive out on the lone road, we were confused why a police car was driving 60 miles per hour DIRECTLY at us. We made brief eye contact with the officers, before SCREAMING at each other "oh shit we're gonna go to JAILLLLLL!" and decided instead of waiting to see what he did, to step on the gas, driving recklessly through miles of winding road (& almost getting hit by a semi) as we darted onto HIGHWAY 1 before escaping to Morro Bay.

Did we ever get caught, NO! Although I’m not even sure what the charges against us would be. But did my body feel better? UMMMMMMMM, FUCK YES!!!!!!

That day forever sticks with me for a number of reasons, it was a day I reclaimed my mental sanity. Yes I had to break some really fine china, but it was a nonviolent and healthy way for me to say out loud the jumbled emotions I was feeling. I also was surrounded by a group of loving and inspiring woman who were just as scared and hurt by the reality of heartbreak. In this moment of despair, we saw in each other  so much potential. I mean, holy fuck, we’re great people and bad shit happens, lets bitch and moan and break shit, but lets also rejoice in the fact we KNOW we’re gonna be ok. (Plus if Hilary Clinton can be the bad ass bitch she is, despite the hell Bill has put her through, I think we’re going to be alllright.)

In these SEASONS where you feel so isolated and so alone in the world, it made all the difference in my health and well being to have such amazing girlfriends (and Bevan) remind me that I didn’t have to do this journey by myself. That as much as I had convinced myself, I was unworthy of being loved by someone, these people immediately showed the selfless, all encompassing, TRUE LOVE that I had feared I wasn’t worthy of receiving.

That same moment of support happened this past weekend. As I laid devastated atop my bed, barely able to breathe with puffy eyes, and a sore throat, I had explained to my best friend in the entire world that again, I was in this dark place, that I felt abandoned, that I wasn’t sure I could go on. And without a hesitation, she asked:

“What airport?”
“I’m confused”
“What airport should I arrive in?”

almost as thrilling of an adventure as us hitch hiking back from that
Steel Pulse concert, right Bendy*

Not even 24 hours later, she had made the pilgrimage from San Francisco, to Salt Lake City, to O’hare. Navigating the Blue Line to the 80 bus, to arrive fresh on my door with open arms. For the next week she camped out in my house and listened. I was showered with the love only a best friend can give: those nurturing hugs, those reassuring glasses of wine, the moments of truth only a bestie can deliver. I mean, just her ability to sit across from me in a glorious hotel lobby in one of the best cities in the world and still say in good faith 

“it is ok to feel the ways you feel, but this is temporary, so live in it today, don’t apologize! Let’s get you healthy for the future, because you deserve greatness and I’m here to remind you of that”.

Baseball games, double dates (where she played wing woman of the year), and a steak dinner atop the Signature Room. The same way my SLO girls had embraced my weakness and nurtured me with their strength 3 summers ago, this beautiful woman who has been by my side through almost 10 years of the most chaotic and ridiculous and out of control moments, was able to take on the weight of my troubles and help me see the brighter side. She literally kept me alive.

But it wasn’t just *Bendy. I received care packages from best friend in New York, in San Francisco (Blaire/Benna). The girlfriend from London who set aside time from her recording studio, to tell me that there is so much I have to accomplish in Chicago! My sisters who have non stop texted me the most ridiculous moments and memories to keep my spirits high, who provided the knowledge and guidance to stay strong through these dark times. Bamy brought flowers, Balison brought candy, both gave me hand written notes of encouragement.  *Biane, who discovered the trip Bendy made and decided HERSELF to book a trip to Chicago and arrive a day later from the East Coast, and then helped me finish multiple Mimosa pitchers. Bachael and Ms. Bichols who each at different times, talked in person or sat on the phone with me as I just struggled. And finally, my amazing roommate who has stepped up in ways I could never have imagined, and stood by my side as I wept on the floor about the inequalities of bad love.



The list of girlfriends goes on and on, Beather* Bevan* and even my Bomb Mom. I even got a heartfelt email from Berin, who was in this same position not even 4 months ago...and gave me the perfect words to know this was all going to be alright.

It takes a while to get over things that suck, that hurt, that devastate. But I wouldn't be here without the love and support and open ears of my friends. Between long winded emails (novel length) emotional gchats, depressing texts, and those tapas dinners where I replay the entire thing start to finish, and am so disgusted by all of it, thank you for being here for me you guys. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay each of you, for the ways you have filled me with love.

thanks for always having my back

4.07.2013

This Fucking Happened!


It has been quite some time, since my fingers have touched the keypad to update the world (15 friends) about my love life thus far in Chicago. 

Based on my last post I had described in some detail,the greatness of meeting someone and falling so head over heels for them, all desires to date AND all desires to blog about dating, simply went through the window (http://www.haightandhyde.com/2012/11/mary-j-blige-got-it-right.html)

My Cali girls were beside themselves when I talked in detail about this great “man” who had managed to break through the walls I had created. He was funny, and charming, and although initially not my type by a long shot, I mean by a LOOOOOOOOOOOOONG fucking shot, he was someone that seemed to kind of get who I was, and what I was about.

Are you curious HOW this great “man” was able to truly connect with me in a way that others hadn’t been able to for so long?

Oh, by being a mother fucking lying ass mouth clown!!!!!!!!

As if my female aggressiveness isn’t obvious enough….GUESS WHAT!?!?! It was all bullshit. The man I thought I knew, was Jerry Sandusky himself, only in black rimmed glasses and blue pumas I bought for his broke ass.

Now this story isn’t going to be some sad woman writing about a man who got away, a man who she cared for that wasn’t able to compliment her very essence of womanhood….this story instead will be about the importance of sticking up for yourself, sticking up for women everywhere, and how, ONCE AGAIN, craigslist saved my life.

A little over six months ago, I finally agreed to go on a date with this guy we'll name “Jim”. He was sweet, he was awkward, he was uncomfortable, and he was safe. After a series of small dates at dive bars throughout Chicago, we decided to become “exclusive” in mid October. The following Thanksgiving, when family came out to the windy city to celebrate with me, he joined in the after dinner festivities. Stuck again in the Midwest for Christmas, he camped out at my house for four days. We talked to my parents over the phone, and opened the packages my family had sent both of us together. He met every person who came out to visit me in Chi, and looked them in the eyes to talk about how important to him I was. With each month, I assumed we were continuing to grow together as a “couple”.

But what I didn’t know, was that before he even picked me out from a lineup of young, vulnerable, and stupid women, he had been dating this amazingly talented, driven, gorgeous younger girl. Literally, he was someone else’s boyfriend already. Like for a while. So each night when his sick frame wasn’t spooning next to me, he was lying next to her. And more importantly, actually LYING to us both at the same time.

It takes a talented fucking man to pull something like this off, but one is only able to do it because of one sick additional fact…..he made both of us girls be “silent” about the nature of our relationship with him. Why would a 36 year old man do this in the Chicago area? To protect his position of authority in a creative space the three of us are all apart of, or studying at, or performing for. 

Because we both saw the importance of this place to him, we politely obliged. In hindsight, the worst thing you can do to a person, is take away their voice. It prohibits them from having power to scream out in objection when anything feels wrong. This mother fucker used his position and his power to straight up "LITTLE MERMAID" two girls.....

Lose my voice to have a man?!?!?!
I will never LITTLE MERMAID myself again

I mean give it up for the guy, he may not be able to purchase a bed set in his mid-thirties, but how fucking brilliant was this move.

So for the next few months, this man leap frogged between girls. Until he got caught.
I am not sure I am a religious person, but when things happen that are so fucking perfect, you have nothing else to do but get on your fucking knees and praise GOD for providing the clarity to you.

By chance, and by coincidence, me and the other girl, were able to come together via a facebook thread. Half joking, we had both described in detail the negative side affects of dating someone who asks you to keep your relationship a secret…I mean on the same fucking facebook thread. Until, the description became so familiar we decided to facebook message one another to share more details…and through that we discovered we were both dating the same fucking person.

Mark Zuckerburg, I owe you a god damn hand job.

However, as more details came flooding about all the ways he manipulated us both…there is something inside of you that wants to fight this as lies, but then you realize. HOLY SHIT, I AM OFFICIALLY ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO FUCKING FELL FOR IT! I FELL FOR IT ALL!

This is followed by that moment when your entire world falls apart. The floor beneath you disappears, and as soon as the weight of the world throws you down, the pit of your stomach feels like someone filled it with baby vomit and rotten eggs.

During the freefalling, with each drop further down this eternal pit, more moments of clarity and "aha!!" hit you on the head like pigeon shit. You feel like YOU brought this on yourself, that you somehow DESERVED this because you didn’t know better, that you are WORTHLESS because why would someone do something like this to someone of value….and then you wake the fuck up, and you realize it ain’t your god damn problem.

The problem now, is he picked the wrong fucking bitch to mess with.

Initially, upon conversing with the gracious angel that he also fucked over, I was not sure how to react. I had been socialized to take the “high road”, put fourth no more time nor energy into this creature, instead moving on with your life any way possible. Because, nothing is better revenge than quickly getting the fuck over it, and moving the fuck on. But for those of you who know me, and know me well, there is another part of my brain that thinks like this:

Bad people who linger in darkness, need to have the mother fucking light of truth exposed on their sick, bony ass. I would go great lengths to protect any of my best friends or sisters from emaciated cartoon characters who take advantage of their body and their hearts like this, so now I had to pick myself up and do the same thing for me.

So this bitch decided to get creative

You can’t fuck with crazy. That is a mantra on the Jerry Springer show that makes it work so well, but it also have become my life motto.

With the powers of the internet, I created 45 internet craigslist ads selling everything from apartments to corvettes to popcorn makers at greatly reduced prices. In each time zone, around 8am, a person would go on the dandy website to find the car of their dreams, only to find an ad listing giving them the phone number of a man who became my fucking nightmare. His phone rang so many times, he was unable to use it. Incessant phone calls from people all over the contiguous America, curious about this “wrigleyville studio”.

That insane number of calls he received the first day alone, was enough for him to FINALLY, and I mean FINALLY admit he did something wrong. Until this time, he refused to APOLOGIZE for what happened. Instead telling me I needed to keep my mouth shut.
WHY WON'T THEY STOP CALLING!?
I DON'T HAVE PUPPIES FOR SALE!!!
With the advances in Crowd sourcing, I was able to use a variety of friends to help enroll him in every website publication from Planned Parenthood to the PTA to the Surfrider Foundation to the Steeler’s practice schedule. His email inbox has officially been flooded the fuck out. Do you know what it’s like to receive 600 emails in a day? Neither do I, but he sure fucking does.

In California, Megan’s Law requires child molesters to be registered online to protect people from becoming victims of these stealth like men. I registered his ass on a cheater’s website, just in case another doe eyed, fresh faced girl arrives in Chicago and takes this man at his word.

He was enrolled for a fuckton of software trials, product samples, and a ton of new Acura vehicles in the Milwaukee area, so that inside sales reps can call him on repeat to try to “get that sale!”

Oh, and there is a tumblr dedicated to revealing sexual predators who use their position of authority in the booming Chicago comedy scene, to manipulate young, strong, talented women who are new to a city.



Now some of you may be saying “whoa! Whoa!” this is a little extreme, and that’s fair. But you know what else is extreme? Jeopardizing two girls health (and probably a plethora more) because you don’t have the balls to use protection with either one of us, because you TOLD US we were in exclusive relationships with you. That is extreme, that is fucking vile, and the damages that could be done to either of us girls because of that alone, deserves this man to have his dick glued a frozen pole in the middle of January.

I regret nothing for being a fucking thorn in his side for a few days. I know I will bounce back from this bullshit, and in the end it may be a fucking GREAT STORY.

Where am I at now in life? In a place of disbelief and fucking sorrow. I feel sorry for a man so broken, that he would take advantage of some pretty badass chicks who have a lot of love to give. I feel angry that while being 2,000 miles away from close friends and family, I was so desperate to connect with someone, I let a pathological liar into my life. And I feel inspired, because although it is easy to be jaded by this experience, there are also a ton of loving and supportive people out there who have held my hand, and given me the space to cry, as I have processed this terrible, terrible experience. Also, I got to meet the other girl, and she fucking kicks ass. Seriously, what a way to unite two passionate and amazing women...thanks "Jim".

If you were cheated on, you will survive, it will get better, and not all men out there are fucking monsters. And if you are currently cheating on someone, and it is someone I know, you better pray to fucking god I don’t have your email address and phone number.

For my hot amazing babes out there who are worried your man may be SKETCH AS FUCK, check these things:
  1. Does he have a facebook? In this day and age, even unborn babies and cats have fucking facebook profiles. If your man REFUSES to use social media, there is a chance he is SKETCH AS FUCK
  2. Does he ever let you stay over at his house? Do you even know where he lives? Most likely he has a wife that looks like the mom from Gilbert Grape and is simply using you as his fuck piƱata, that dude is SKETCH AS FUCK
  3. Does he require you to go to bars that are 35 miles away from any life forms? If you are drinking beers under a bridge in Skokie, most likely motherfucker is hiding something and is SKETCH AS FUCK!
  4. Does he pretend he is the next great comic and can’t spend some nights with you because he’s working on his audition for the next Jim Carey movie? In actuality he may be jacking off to Bruce Almighty over his passed out girlfriends body, the guy is SKETCH AS FUCK.
  5. And most importantly, does he refuse to acknowledge you in public, does he make you keep your relationship a secret, does he threaten to ruin your writing and comedic aspirations if you reveal his identity? Put the fucking kool-aid down, remember your self worth and realize this man is SKETCH AS FUCK!
I refuse to be a victim. FUTM.