Hacker. Ninja. Hooker. Spy.
I’m going to go ahead and apologize, because I can pretty much guarantee there’s going to be something.
I’m leaving for BlogHer14 on Wednesday morning, which will create numerous opportunities for me to traumatize myself or other humans. I’ll either fall on my arse or get lost on the first day and never actually make it to the conference. The Boyfran made me a cheat sheet of all things San Jose but I’m not convinced I won’t somehow end up in Myanmar. [Read more...]
The Boyfran and I have been together for about a year and a half and know the importance of keeping things new and exciting in the bedroom. Last night, I decided to open up a whole new world of experience for him.
I made him watch his first Chick Flick.
Most of the time, I’m a big fan of watching super heroes, sci-fi, and war. But every so often I can’t help but crave some face time with Rachel McAdams [Read more...]
Today is Wednesday, which means you can expect very little out of anyone. I’d planned to post something more serious and scholarly (as per the usual) but this post from Melisa Wells of Suburban Scrawl inspired me to put aside words and attempt to describe my experiences visually. I’m going to just stick with the first hour of the day because after I’ve had my coffee and begun acknowledging my coworkers, all bets are off. [Read more...]
It’s been a little over three weeks since I moved to self-hosted and I think I’m finally ready to talk about it. I’ve been employing all manner of coping skills (wine) and self-soothing strategies (wine) in order to make it this far and now I want to share my wisdom with you just in case you’re considering a similar move. First off, just to set your expectations, here are a few things I’ve been through that weren’t nearly as traumatic as switching to self-hosted: [Read more...]
The approach of BlogHer14 has me thinking about the likelihood that I will injure myself and/or fall on my arse in front of a large group of people. Let’s not forget this has happened to me before and though I’ve learned my lesson (don’t judge desperate Moms at Target and/or wear teal wedges) I don’t think that means I can rest easy.
It rained all day yesterday, which led to an onslaught of ridiculous on the job injuries because no one I work with can walk across a parking lot without maiming themselves. [Read more...]
I remember my first week of working at a psychiatric hospital. I’d been through new employee orientation where I was told to never use the word “crazy” and to never wear jewelry in case someone tried to strangle me with it. I’d been shown all manner of improvised weapons—from plastic-spoons-turned-shiv to a noose made out of trash bags. A highly paid manager who worked in the administration and rarely set foot on the wards told me to keep my tattoos covered because I didn’t want to upset the patients who might hallucinate about them.
I wish I’d realized then that most all my coworkers are bat shit crazy.
[Read more...]
I was in love with Hoi An from the moment I arrived. Even before I explored remote islands with a crazy expat who tried to decapitate me, I was thoroughly charmed. The streets were narrow and lit with glowing lanterns and I wandered aimlessly until I found the hostel where I’d planned to meet up with an Aussie named Louise. A Vietnamese woman stood behind a small cabinet which functioned as a reception area. [Read more...]
You’re all familiar with my Psycho Ex—the one I had to get a restraining order against, that special guy who sent my naked photos to our coworkers. But I’ve yet to tell you about the guy after him. I waited an entire year before dating anyone else to ensure I wasn’t on the rebound and was capable of making healthy, emotionally mature choices.
Riiiight. [Read more...]
I’m a big fan of office pranks, especially when you don’t realize you’re pulling them or when they arise from a beautiful moment of improvisation. My workplace is not exactly an environment that fosters carefree behaviors but I try to fit them in where I can. There was, of course, the weird human cutout in an old building that I dressed up, wired to a door, then totally forgot until the Mail Guy almost had a heart attack. [Read more...]
When I moved back home from China, I had $60 to my name and lived on Shleisel’s couch until I procured an entry-level job at The Psych Ward. I used my first paycheque to move into a humble abode within walking distance of my new career choice. As you can imagine, the sorts of neighborhoods that surround the local mental hospital aren’t exactly the poshest in town. The house was originally built in the 20s, had a rusty porcelain tub, and office carpet in the kitchen. [Read more...]
It’s no secret that my workplace is a complete joke. Those of you who follow my personal facebook know just how horrifying it is on a daily—if not hourly—basis. When I’m confronted with an outrageous circumstance or laughably inane interaction, the first thing I do is reach for my iPhone so I can tell everyone about it. It’s not just mistakes that are too good not to share, it’s also the evidence of other people’s stupidity, entitlement, or absurdity. [Read more...]
I was so cool in 3rd grade, you have no idea. Despite being an awkward tomboy with uncool clothes and a bike lacking hand brakes, I still hung out with the cool kids– because they thought I was funny. In retrospect, I may have been nothing but a jester in their little kingdom but I certainly felt cool. That is, until I missed recess. My Mom had picked me up for a doctor’s appointment and kept me out half the day, thinking this would be something of a treat. When I showed back up at school, all my cool little friends had decided they hated me. Out of nowhere, I was back to being awkward and uncool while all those haters had trendy umbro shorts and colorful underwear.
In the midst of preparing for Shleisel to have her baby, I received a facebook message from a girl I’d known in middle school: “I’m so sorry to hear about your house. My Dad said we have an extra turkey if your family needs one this Christmas.” I had no idea what that meant—I was living on a couch, I didn’t have a house. I also didn’t have a cell phone, which meant I couldn’t call anyone to find out what she was talking about. Instead, I googled the address of my childhood home, where my parents—whom I hadn’t talked to in 6 years—were still living. Apparently it’d burned down the day before. [Read more...]
Every so often I get to feeling like I finally have a handle on life—it’s usually after some milestone achievement like purchasing designer coat hangers or flossing my teeth for 4 days in a row. But no matter what I do, there will always be those things that I Just Can’t…
#1: Accept Change from a Cashier
I try to psyche myself out for the triple decker clusterf*ck of receipt + cash + coins but no matter what I do, I end up rolling it into a ball and frantically shoving it in the most readily available crevice—be that handbag, pocket, or lord knows what else. [Read more...]
Here at the psych hospital we’re much better at creating problems than solving them—even more so we’re champions at feigning ignorance. Like the band of misogynists we allow to run wild or the fact we all know The Goat Man is eventually going to kill us. It’s easiest to act like these horrifying circumstances don’t exist, but every so often there is something you can’t ignore.
Like the smell of death.
For eight months I traveled in Asia—climbing waterfalls and trying not to be kidnapped while Shleisel grew a human being inside of her. People dream of being able to do both of these things, but we were too out of control to fully appreciate most of it. Moving into The Hovel turned out to be a greater gamble than we’d realized, leaving us to play out the hands we’d been dealt—I was the escapist adventurer and she was the reluctant mother. [Read more...]
Those of you who follow me on Twitter may have caught my reaction to the series finale of Dexter last weekend. Yes—I spend my Saturday nights lying in bed with The Boyfran watching TV shows that have been off the air for over a year.
On the off chance you haven’t seen the show and are planning to eventually watch, I’ll try to avoid any spoilers. Let me just say… it was terrible. Easily on the list of things I never want to experience again: [Read more...]
Shleisel and I realized we couldn’t keep living the way we had in The Hovel—it was time to “grow up” or face life or something else we really had no intention of doing. I knew I had a bad habit of running away from my problems but I had to do it one last time. Opting to “go big or go home” I booked a one-way flight to China and promptly sold, gave away or trashed the majority of my possessions. What was left—namely books and memories—went into a storage unit.
I’d booked the flight one month in advance, poetically opting to leave the country on my 24th birthday. I spent those last four weeks sleeping on a spare twin mattress on the floor of Shleisel’s new house, trying to learn how to use chopsticks and deciding which books were worthy of taking on the trip. I hadn’t yet come to terms with what it was I was running away from. I couldn’t face it or think about it but the symptoms were starting to show. [Read more...]
Donnie works in the Mail Room and has a not-so-secret admirer who works in the cafeteria. Last Thursday his admirer saved a slice of birthday cake for him and even went so far as to write his name on it with icing. Donnie’s been off for the last few days but when he got in this morning, it was sitting on his desk just where she’d left it 7 days ago. It’d been sitting at room temperature without the dignity of saran wrap, so he commenced with throwing it in the trash.
A couple hours later I was chatting it up with a housekeeper whilst waiting for the elevator. She was in an inordinately cheerful mood which became less mysterious when I caught sight of Donnie’s week-old cake sitting on the edge of her mop cart with a bite missing. Waste not, want not I suppose. [Read more...]
Shleisel and I lasted nine months in the squalor of The Hovel. Following the Mail-Order-Bride’s instructions, we paid our rent in cash at a local dry cleaner, where a deaf clerk would write out a receipt on torn spiral notebook paper. Other than that, Simomo left us alone—we were free to make The Hovel our own. We christened it with a thrown away couch whose floral pattern was so ugly we had to cover it with a brown bedsheet/toga left there by a British guy on a Rugby scholarship. We didn’t have a table—or any place to put one—so we created a hovering table that could be lowered from the ceiling through a system of pulleys. It was the most extensively planned project of my entire college career. [Read more...]