Tag Archives: People

A little about myself

A late 1990's, 60 minute Memorex dBS cassette ...

A late 1990’s, 60 minute Memorex dBS cassette tape with the top cover removed, showing & labeling the insides of the cassette tape. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A telemarketer called me the other day while I was playing spider solitaire at the office.  She had a southern twang and sounded so sweet on the phone. 

Telemarketer – “Now I’m new at this, so I hope I do it right and tell you everything I’m supposed to tell you.”

Me – “Okay, you’re doin’ great.”

I stayed on the phone and listened to her schpiel.  I had nothing better to do.  I wanted to give her practice and confidence (I’m a weirdo like that).

Telemarketer – “How old are you if you don’t mind my asking?”

I had to think about it for a few seconds.  How old am I?  Oh right…but why is she asking?  Oh yeah, I sound naive and too young to afford her magazines.  Any moment she’s going to ask if my mother’s home.

Me – “32”

Telemarketer – “Oh WOW, really?  I’m right there with you girl but you don’t sound it.  You don’t sound a day over 21.”

Me – “Eh, thanks….”

She was being kind, but my voice and the way I come off to others is one of the things I hate about myself.  It’s one reason why I hate talking on the phone.

I have a loving, kind way about me.  I listen to others and care about them – I don’t even have to know them, but I still care about them.  It’s probably because of naivete or innocence, I don’t freakin’ know.  But nothing about it is fake.  There’s nothing artificial about me, maybe that’s considered naive.  Having a young voice doesn’t help.

Perhaps people mistake kindness for ignorance.

I don’t like people thinking I’m innocent, but I can’t help it.  God help me.  No wonder why everyone worries about me.

I feel that people are more likely to get pissed at me more so than at others.  Maybe they consider me as someone who knows better and I have no good excuse for my behaviour because they very well know that I know I did wrong, but I did it anyway.  There’s no wiggle room.  Some people can get away with acting stupid because that’s in their nature, it’s who they are.  But as for me, nobody cuts me any slack. 

Assholes do asshole things.  Nice people doing asshole things are harder to accept and can really hurt others.

I once worked with a slow-minded woman at Stop & Shop.  She was a bagger and I was a cashier.  I felt for her.  She was a bit defensive and ornery, but she had a heart and feelings.  She was working with a bunch of young high school brats who cracked jokes at her, so of course she’d be pissy.

One night at the age of 16 – an age where there’s not many fun activities to do at night, me and my co-workers went over to her house.  We were already in the neighborhood and thought it be nice to pay her a visit.  It felt wrong in my guts and I knew she would take it the wrong way.  If it was just me and my friend that came to visit, it would’ve been okay (she would have been elated!), but instead we brought along three jerky co-workers with us who just wanted to go see the “freak.”

I was against the visit in the first place.  I hung back in the shadows outside while the boys laughed and talked with her from her bedroom window.  I felt like the scum of the earth.  Her sister had to come out and tell us all to leave.

And she WAS pissed.  She forgave everyone except me – the one who stuck up for her and actually cared about her, I was the one she no longer spoke to.

She died in a horrible accident years later.  I never forgave myself for that night at her house.  I did know better. 

If you have two children with a significant age gap, it’s always the older one who gets in trouble, gets the blame.  The little one didn’t know any better.  Well, I’m always considered the older one – not in maturity (heaven knows I’m not mature), but in a different way.  Like, when it comes to matters of the heart.  A wise, caring understanding of people maybe?  When someone like me judges another person, says harsh things to them, it’s felt way more than when your everyday asshole says it.

And when people think I withdrawn my caring, understanding attention, they get spiteful.  It happened with Kristie, and sometimes with Dave (although he loves me too much to ever be rid of me).  It happens with Matt and just about everyone else I ever met.  It never happened with my really good friends though.

It happened with K in Nepal when I told her I didn’t want to hike with her anymore (its a really long story and you can read about it here), and I’m still getting punished for it.

Sometimes I get tired and need a break from everyone.  I have my own problems to deal with.

Telemarketer – “Are you married?  Do you have kids?”

I’m sure that a lot of people would’ve answered that question with a “What business of that is yours?”  Especially when it’s being asked by a complete stranger calling you up trying to sell stuff you don’t need.

But me on the other hand, that thought never entered my mind.

Me – “Ha ha, no.”

Telemarketer – “Oh now that could be why you sound so young.  I only wish I sounded like you.”

Another thing is, I have a tendency to love people in a non-sexual way.  I’m learning that most everybody takes my love in the wrong direction.  I have no ulterior motives or intentions when it comes to others, but they take my attention as being more than it is.  I feel hurt by this and think that the only reason guys stay friends with me is in hopes that one day we can do it.

I have a way with people. 

I was very sensitive, contemplative and reflective as a child – all the ingredients needed to be teased and pushed around.

In all my wonderings and ruminations, I realized at a very young age that all anyone ever wants is to be loved and feel connected to others.  All their actions, every single thing they do is done with the unknowing intent of gaining love and acceptance.  I forgave everybody and learned to accept people.  It opened my heart and changed me.  I guess maybe that’s where my wisdom came from.

I have the knowledge that all anybody wants is love.  I give people that love and connection.  Especially when they have none in their lives.  It’s easy for me to read people like this, and I know that what I give them is important to them.  So when it feels like I’m becoming distant, I get the proverbial shit kicked out of me.

It’s funny how I take the time to understand and connect with others, but instead of them wanting to connect back, they only want to screw me.  Male friendships are very complicated.  However, female friendships aren’t much easier.  At least I know what guys want.  Both sexes get equally fed up with me.

Should I just stop caring about people?  Is that how everyone loses their innocence?

I wish I kept all this crap in a private journal.  Nobody cares about what goes on in my head and writing a blog is pompous in that way. 

I stopped telling people about my blog a long time ago.  Writing a blog doesn’t make me special.  It makes me vulnerable.  I keep wanting to stop, but I can’t.  I feel like if I let too much slip by, everything becomes meaningless.  My life becomes empty when I have nothing of substance to look back on and learn from.  It’s like having a blank cassette tape with no music recorded.  And I love making Melanie Mega Mixes.

I’m sweaty, tired and have on no pants.  This laptop is really hot.  I’m thirsty.  This whole post started from one simple telemarketing call.  I can’t stop my brain!  I write a lot more than I publish, mostly everything I write is still a draft. 

I can’t wait to take some of those Columbian drugs.  My brothers fiancé know’s a girl from Columbia.  I told her where I’m going (upper regions of the Amazon in Putumayo and the valley of Sibundoy) and she replies back saying that it’s one of the most dangerous places in Columbia and she would NEVER under any circumstance go there. 

I wasn’t scared before, but now I’m a bit worried. 

I stereotype people – I love them, but still stereotype them.  An old man yesterday gave me a $20 tip all paid in half dollars for example.  Old men love change.  Who the hell carries around $20 worth of half dollars in their pocket other than old men?  Well, I do now apparently….

But anyway, I don’t have any stereotypes to assign people from Columbia.  These are the times when I don’t mind being blissfully ignorant – I don’t get scared.  The only thing I can connect Columbia with is the old 1980’s movie, Jewel of the Nile with what’s his face and sexy voice lady (forgot their names).  Colombians are comical ruffians who love romance novels, they call their vehicles Little Mules and throw enemies into crocodile pits.  I don’t have much to go on.

No wonder why people worry about me.

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Filed under All about me, journal, random thoughts, Self help, Writing

Melanie’s late night ramblings

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie Ala Mode

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie Ala Mode (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I never fit in well with women gatherings. Last week I went to a pampered chef party / purse party / birthday party all in one at Kristie’s house. It was me and a bunch of her girlfriends. They talked about cookware, purses, recipes, buying stuff. I talked to the only guy there – a 15-year-old boy named Gabe, Kristie’s son. He seemed more fresh and awake than the others.

I never fit in with a group of girls. I especially don’t fit in without alcohol. I sit there with a hazy mist over my eyes wondering how I got there, and what I should be doing now that I’m there.

Give me something to grab onto! I don’t care about buying matching tote bags or a frying pan. I don’t care about your grandma’s recipe for rhubarb pie. I’ll cook it, eat it and nothings left but empty plates. Why don’t you make the pie for me instead of telling me an unrealized grouping of ingredients? I’m not going to group them together. I have only me to cook for, and I’m not worth the trouble.

People seem flat. Talking about the same conventional stuff. None of it really matters. They meld together into one big clump having no discernible traits. Sure there might be a fun drunk one, but she’s a commonplace drunk. Fitting in accordingly. The only way to see any of them individually would be to take a rubber scraper bought from Pampered Chef and scrape one woman away from the clump. I would scrape them all apart, like making cookies on an oiled sheet pan, separating each one to see what kind of cookie they are. They can’t possibly all be the same cookie.

Attempting to interact with a group discussing dish towels tells me nothing and leaves me dry.

My world consists only of experiences, people and learning. I’m not attached to anything material. If my tv blows out, I would say “the hell with it” and move on. If my socks don’t match, I say fuck it.

Women in group discussions such as this, communicate in parallel lines. They run side by side, never to intersect. What’s the point?

Not all women are like this. But most of them are. Especially in large groups led by Kristie.

I love Kristie, I really do. But even separated from the pack, she still runs parallel. What is it she lacks that very few other people have?

I love men because they’re similar to me. They get me. I love beer, going to dive bars not caring how I look or how the person I’m talking to looks. I love playing pool, riding motorcycles and not being committed to anyone or anything. I’m like a man in many ways. I hate talking about how I feel, or sharing my emotions because nothing ever comes of it – NOTHING. And I’m left with a bunch of dirty plates and a splattered, tattered old recipe for grouping together torment.

I love my male counterparts. I love how I can hop on the back of Dave’s bike, pop in my earbuds and tune everything out. Guys have a great ability to tune everything out that isn’t necessary to the moment. That’s why they make such good mechanics, engineers and mathematicians – they leave out the bullshit.

I can be like one of the women. I can slide right in with them, get excited over wedding dresses and cute baby clothes – I can tell myself to do anything and do it, but it’s selling out. It’s cheap and lazy and the cowards way, the defeatist’s way out.

Relinquishing yourself to religion and relying solely on God to tell you what to do is spiritually lazy. Just like relinquishing your individuality and relying solely on others to tell you who you are and what is socially acceptable and normal, is lazy. I never cared about being normal anyway.

There are two certainties in life that should unite us with individuality and love. One certainty is that each one of us, in a sliver of a moment, was the youngest person on the planet. Cold, shivering, wet and blue – we were born with the very first unique double helix sequence of DNA strands that make us individually unmatched by any other who ever existed before us and will EVER exist for all of eternity. We should embrace that we are all uncommon and solitary . The other certainty is that we are all going to die. The people living on earth at this very moment will cease to be in 80 years give or take. That means in 80 years there will be an entirely new population inhabiting the earth. And it’s not science fiction, it’s fact.

We are here at the same time. We will die at the same time. Everything in-between is either eaten away by hate, leaving nothing but empty broken dishes, or filled with a warm, lovingly made rhubarb pie from grandma. People make no sense to me. Wouldn’t they pick the pie? I see pie all around, but very few are handing out slices. People are idiots.

I drink to cope with the idiots. I drink to lose myself only to reset myself. Everything resets the next day. Too tired to do anything but sleep, letting myself sleep guilt-free. Like a newborn babe – not a care in the world. Nothing to do but recover and grow my strength back until the idiots rain down on me again, pulling the booze closer to my lips.

Boom boom POW them chickens be jacken my style, think I’ll head to the bar and get drunk for a while.

I need to chew valerian root and soak my tampon in vodka.

Man – “Excuse me ma’am but are you drunk?”

Me – “No but my vagina is. You can take it home with you and it won’t remember a thing tomorrow.”

I went to a Renaissance fair the other day. I went to see a tarot reader who said I was going into a major depression anywhere from now until six months from now. It was the moon card that came up – not a good one to draw. He also said that next year around May I’m going to have to take a lions leap into the unknown, or I can choose to stay comfortable where I am now. We shall see. I’ve always been a big supporter of comfort. Comfort always supported me.

I’m not depressed. I just want to be left alone in a warm, hazy place. I want solitude – I crave it. But I always find myself out in the world, drinking it in, running from the emptiness, draining my energy until I have no choice but to be left alone to sleep it off.

Anyone can get married, anyone can have babies, anyone can get a job that swallows time and pays so you can buy shit and buy shit to put your shit in, but not everyone can do what I do. Not everyone can stay up till 2:30AM writing random thoughts into a little nook in the world. Or can they? Yes, anyone could I ‘spose. Okay, nevermind then.

Anyone can do the things they are “supposedly” meant to do. And then they celebrate, pat themselves on their backs thinking they’re better than everyone else who still haven’t “made” it. I’ve never been jealous of anybody – I never met a person I’d rather be. We are all equal, so I have just as good a chance as all those other suckers out there waking up at 6AM, brushing their teeth and going to a job that never changes. It holds them and keeps them in place. I have no place, now that’s brave.

I pamper my courage with cobo shots and jaeger rocks.

Rolling home at 5AM

with a beer tucked in my hand,

crushed empties topple the driveway,

in a sad display.

I clamber out of my car,

luminous like a quasar.

I stumble, I swagger,

my belly getting fatter.

It’s two-thousand and twelve,

my sanity shelved.

I got nothing to lose,

my dominations in booze.

That’s why they call me a barfly.

Now slice me off a piece of your

Grandma’s rhubarb pie.

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Filed under Odes, random thoughts

Melanie the Degenerate

Two friends

Two friends (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I can’t remember the last time I woke up without a hangover.

I’ve been drinking a lot since I got back from Nepal because my friends all hate me.  Not only does K hate me, but another good friend doesn’t like me too much either.

She said I was mean to K in my Nepal post and that I showed a lot of hate and anger towards her.  That was her only response to my post.  No explanation or anything.  Just that I was mean.  I don’t know where in my blog show’s me having hate and anger (very strong words), but somewhere it does.  I’m apparently the bad guy in all this.  I’m the one who screwed up.  I’m the degenerate low-life.

I’m in a bad place.  All I want to do is hang out with Dave and drink myself into a stupor.  I give up.  People want to take sides that’s fine, I don’t need anyone.  I really don’t.

I started hanging out with Kristie and all her friends.  All her friends ever want to do is go out and drink.  Now I not only have Happy Tuesday to drink, but there’s also Thirsty Thursday and Hump Day, which we also call Thirsty Thursday because we never know what the hell day of the week it is.

I’m going to end up in a gutter with my new friends drunk beside me laughing at each other and me, slapping each other on the backs and giving high fives.  I’ll be laughing too.  Laughing and crying.

And this girl, Kristie, must have text me over a dozen times today and it’s only 3 o’clock.  She’s starting to enclose me in her finely spun alcohol induced cocoon of friendship.  She wants to hang out.  I told her I was taking a nap.  Ha ha maybe I really am an asshole and everyone is right.

I went to the massage clinic to sit today.  I woke up tired as hell at 10 am so I could be there for 11.  My mother made pasta Primavera and put some in a Tupperware container for me to take with me.  I gave one massage and came back home exhausted.  Pasta for breakfast wasn’t a good idea today.

I’m still waiting for my friend to tell me where in my post I was being mean.  But should I care or should I just let it go?  If I let it go that means our friendship is pretty much over.  I don’t want to be that girl.  The one who no one really wants to be around.  I can take a hint.

Jesus what kind of friends do I have?  One of them leaves me alone in the Himalayas and the other one says I was mean.  Is everyone like this?  Or do I just have shit luck?

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Filed under journal, rant

Okay, I’m going to just go ahead and lay it out for y’all

Blind Idiot God (album)

It’s 5:29 A.M and I can’t sleep.  Well, it’s not so much that I can’t sleep, but more like I’m not allowing myself to.  Instead my brain is wide awake forming unwritten blog posts.  Sentences streaming together spiraling into paragraphs, paragraphs expanding into troubling brews of insight and self-awareness that I find impossible bedding down for the night without getting it out of me first.  I MUST get it out.  Get it out of me like that movie where the alien pops out of the guys stomach.  It ain’t gonna be pretty.

I hear birds.  I’m so tired…..

I got myself good and depressed last Wednesday.  I started thinking about Nepal again and how I managed to botch things up with everyone.  K’s statement about me being an embarrassment to everyone was what mixed the pot of goop in my head.

“I’m an embarrassment……hmmm….how?  Why, why why….am I so lame….”

“Is it because I look weird?  Yes, but there’s got to be more to it than that.  My hideous laugh spotted with intermittent snorts?  That doesn’t help me in the cool department but no, that’s not it.  I am however, an idiot.  That could be it.  That’s most likely it.  I’m an idiot that doesn’t try at anything.  I don’t try to get people to like me, I don’t try saying smart things to people and I don’t feel special or interesting enough to talk about myself (I have my blog for that).  I don’t pretend I know what I’m doing, but not only that – I can be mean.  I can be mean by my lack of responding to others.”

My silence by not sharing myself, and by not putting any effort into anything I say or do, can make me come off as being aloof and indifferent (maybe that’s what makes me a puzzle to people!).  And this is what even my closest friends can see and came to believe about me.  They drive me crazy, but really it’s my fault – it really is!

That was my final answer.  That I’m a stupid, unresponsive goofy attention seeking needy child, too caught up in her own world of magnificence that she fails at responding to others and their needs.

And that explains why I’m best friends with this guy:

                                              He manages to love and adore the real me somehow.

“Okay, so I really am embarrassing to be around.  Now that I know why, how do I fix it?”

This was a damaging realization that sent me into a clichéd shame spiral.  So what did I do to appease the Gods of remorse?  I went to the bar with Dave, my crutch.  And drank beer, my other crutch.  I hobbled into Jersey Joe’s on my two crutches and played horseshoes outside feeling like I was a kid at a family picnic.  Swinging my horseshoe like Happy Gilmore swings his club.  But still the damage moped around my head.  I couldn’t let anyone see what I really was –  A stupid, unresponsive goofy attention seeking needy child – no, couldn’t allow that.  Not anymore.

Dave’s new girlfriend showed up at the bar.  This may sound un-girl-like of me, but I’m actually okay with Dave having girlfriends and bringing them around for me to meet.  Me and him are playmates, nothing more.  I felt that I could be hurt if I let myself sink into it, but I didn’t because, well, it’s Dave!  The man-boy who pants like a dog and wags his butt when he’s happy so he can come off as being cute with people – which works on me, sadly.

His new unofficial girlfriend brought her friend with her.  We all sat down at a table together and immediately Kristie (the GF) had her radar locked on me.  She was being overly friendly, talking a lot and vying for my approval – nothing she said seemed genuine or authentic (two things I started perfecting in myself when I turned 18).

I have experience with these types of people and most everyone has a bit of it in them, but then a Kristie comes along to make it nearly impossible for me to form any real substantial connection with her.  If I gave her the approval she was after, I’d only be encouraging her behaviour and in the process, I would be fake in return.  Being fake is something I chiseled away at for years.  I sculpted myself down to find my truth and hate it when people compromise it.  This is my meanness that I don’t try to hide.  My lack of empathy towards fakes.

I could never understand why people do this.  Torturing themselves just to win the approval from someone who doesn’t even matter that much – keeping everything real in them from escaping and then plastering me with laser-edged attention that I find unnerving and annoying.  Especially annoying.  ‘This person is not self-aware.  How can I talk normally to a person who doesn’t know themself?  They’ll only tell me a bunch of fake made-up shit and frankly, I don’t have the time or patience to hear it.”

Melanie spells Meanie if you leave out the L in Love.  Heh heh…

The meanness in me manifests into an unresponsive wall – completely unaffected by anything being said to me.  These kinds of people hurl themselves at me only to crumple against my unflinching, unblinking stare.  Sometimes I try to be nice by throwing in a “Ah, that’s interesting” and place a finger to my chin as though I’m deep in thought.  But mostly I just nod and say, “Oh yeah?  Really?  Huh….”

Kristie’s eyes never left mine.  She talked very lively and animated.  In-between breaths she would scan me for a response.

But here’s the kicker; I started doing it too!  Because of my recent emotional trauma and the belief that I must hide my damaged parts to fit in, I found myself holding her gaze, keeping up with her focus.  She was obviously more skilled than I at this game, but I was learning rapidly what it was about.  We blocked out Dave, we blocked out her quiet blonde friend smiling next to her.  We blocked out the entire bar.  The space between her and I became a funnel – a vacuum that sucked each other in and spat everything else out.  I felt needy for her acceptance – to prove to myself and everyone that I really am normal.  So I hammed it up – pretending to relate and understand.

It didn’t take long for me to realize what was happening.  While she was talking, I spaced out to listen to my own inner voice.  ‘Holy shit so this is why people are fake!  To try and hide their damaged parts.  Someone had hurt them, made them insecure and now they’re trying not to let it happen again.   And having a new person to chat with is their ultimate test at fitting in and to start fresh.

BOOM!  Connection was formed.  I put a halt to my fakeness, I didn’t need it anymore, and beneath it was my humanity.  I sympathised with her and for the first time ever, I made a connection with a fake personality because they were fake!  Such a paradox, I know….

But as soon as I sympathised with her, and with my own fakeness waning, that’s when I saw the real her being drawn out.  It was like cranking up a Jack-in-the-box.  I was slowly, patiently winding her up – knowing she’ll let herself out when she’s ready.  And I made it perfectly clear to her that she could unleash everything she’s got.

And she did.  Our laughs became real and infectious and soon the whole table became involved in our conversation.

It was funny watching all this unfold in front of me.  A lifetime of not understanding these people to only become one of them and then come out of it with new enlightened wisdom.  All the while everyone else being completely oblivious to whats going on in my head.  People tell me I’m a puzzle?  Well, it’s probably because of this shit.

When I was in my late twenties I had a problem understanding jealous, needy people.  As soon as a person got jealous or needy, I wiped my hands clean of them – but then felt guilty for doing it.  I was the complete opposite of anything remotely jealous or needy and if I could remain that way almost into my 30’s, than I wondered what the hell was wrong with everyone else?  I wanted to understand these people, know how they operated and what it felt like, but to my chagrin – I did just that.  That one is a little bit harder to pull yourself out of.  I really wished I had my blog back then, but all I had was my crumpled handwritten journals tucked away in a Century safe.  And being jealous and needy also intertwined into needing narcissistic validation from everyone – bad road to head down, trust me.

But anyway,

Socrates – “You know the difference between knowledge and wisdom?”

Dan – “No, what?”

Socrates – “You learn knowledge from a book.  You learn wisdom by living it.”

That’s from The Peaceful Warrior.  Not sure if the phrasing’s right, but you get the idea.

And as soon as the pretenses dropped from our table, everyone chimed in to talk – energy flowed how it should flow.  From one person to the next, no favorites.  No boundaries.  And it turns out that Kristie is awesome.  Turning out to be more true and genuine than most.  I gave her a chance and let her in – that’s all I did.  That’s all anyone wants, really.  Now I know how important that one small gesture is.

My previous self was immune to the faker’s silent plea, hoping they would give up, get bored – go a different route.  I was too lazy to make an effort for them – the little extra love it takes to get to know these people who need it the most.  But now I’m one step closer to being a better version of me, and even acquired a new friend in the process.

Kristie and I hung out for three days in a row.  Yesterday she taken me to see an 80’s cover band that was phenomenal (omg I LOVE 80’s cover bands!), and today we hung out all day just bumming around and ended up listening to a live calypso band outside sitting on the patio of a riverfront bar.  It was a good day.  But then if she ever gets needy, jealous or weird, I hope the new me is able to deal with it better than the old one.  My understanding is expanding, I just didn’t think it would be this painful.

At 7 o’clock we had to part ways so I could go to my five-year massage therapy class reunion.  Two girls from my class now practice Thai massage which involves using their own bodies to stretch and position the clients body.  I shit-you-not it looked like kama sutra.  We drank wine, did a few yoga poses and practiced kama sutra with our clothes on.  Well, actually I didn’t want to get involved in it.  It looked to be too intimate for my taste – which is most likely yet another ingrained problem that I have, but I’ll save that one for some other time.

I know I have a problem with over-analyzing everything, but I kinda like that one.  Think I’ll keep it.

I guess I should try my hand at sleep now.  Fml tomorrow.

You know I read somewhere about the Dalai Lama politely dismissing insincere people from interviewing him – he didn’t have the time for them.  Perhaps I am surpassing the Dalai Lama in my scope of understanding the human psyche?  How awesome is that?!  Awesome, yes – if it’s true, but true it is not.  I’m a small-time egomaniac, that’s all.  Small wormy narcissistic entrails still resound in me.

No, the Dalai Lama probably dismisses the people who look down on him, don’t believe that he’s the real deal, but Dalai don’t give a fuck – the boy ain’t got nuthin’ to prove to nobody.  Ha ha, bad ass Dalai that’s what he is.

Shit I’m tired.  Sorry circadian rhythm.

I’m such a mess.  I mean really.  My ankle is STILL swollen from when I fell in Kathmandu, my left knee still hurts from trekking and my period is 23 days late!  Plus my head is nuts, I have a cold, I’m broke and live in a basement down by the parents.

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Filed under All about me, journal, Self help

Sitting in Starbucks, sipping a latte and debating whether or not I’m a sociopath

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I’ve been told numerous times by different people that I’m an enigma.  And they actually use that word – enigma.  They say I’m mysterious and they don’t always know what I’m thinking or feeling.  Even Dave thinks I’m an enigma.

Me:  “Do you think I’m an enigma?”

(I don’t normally go around asking people this.)

Dave:  “What’s that mean?”

Me:  “It means puzzle.  Like I’m an unknowable puzzle.”

He cocks his head to one side and says, “Yeah come to think of it you are a puzzle.”

It’s like he never thought about it before, but now he’s seeing it.

This baffles me and scares me.  I mean, what am I missing?  Am I missing something important?  Something vital in our society that connects us all?

I’m super honest and care a lot for others, but on the flip side I come off as being aloof and uncaring towards people.  I’m also narcissistic for writing a blog about myself, and sometimes feel that the world and everyone in it revolves around me. And because of all this, this lack of connection, this feeling of being separate from everyone, I feel as though I might be a sociopath.  I was debating this for the past couple days until the great warrior Poet wrote me a message:

And no, you’re not a sociopath. Our society has wrongly painted people who don’t care about such trivial, selfish and egotistical things as having something wrong with them. That’s a definition created by cowards. Anytime you’re above the hate and don’t let it affect or influence your own peace and joy, you’re not a sociopath; you’re a master. Of your own emotions and reactions. That’s something to be respected.

I have to remember this!

There’s also proof I’m not a sociopath because I never once spit in anyone’s food while working in the food industry for 10 years.  I have NEVER thought about it.  Not even for the cruelest, most soulless people I waited on, I would never do it or THINK about doing it.  That has to mean something, right?  And the number one symptom of a sociopath is lying.  Sociopaths lie without guilt or remorse.  Sometime’s they lie for no apparent reason.

I don’t lie to people.  I wrote to Heather that I didn’t know what she was talking about in her letter because I completely forgot that night at Blackstone kissing Dave.  I haven’t responded to her because whatever I tell her would only be proof of Dave’s infidelity.  She would read it back to him, he would curse me as a friend and him and Heather would still be together (Heather will never leave Dave) so the letter would accomplish nothing but authenticate that I’m a shitty, backstabbing friend.  And why?  Because I’m honest and hate lying.  I just can’t do it.

Okay, so I’m not a sociopath, but I still have that lack of connection with people.  What is it this lack?  It drive’s me crazy.  It makes me feel isolated and alone.  Don’t people know that when they tell me I’m a puzzle?

I have to get back to work.

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Filed under All about me, random thoughts, Self help

Humor

I have a strong affinity for humor, so I find it my duty to write a little something about it.

I’m at Cheshire coffee with my soy latte in hand and all the time in the world to sit and ruminate.  So this is good.  A good productive way to spend my day off.  This coming week will be long – very long.  I must relax and sop up as much contentment as I possibly can from this little coffee shop.

The Cheshire Academy kids are here.  They are a bunch of well-behaved young Asians.  Some are on laptops, some are playing Uno and drinking iced tea with tapioca pearls mixed in.  They are the only people I know who order drinks with tapioca pearls in them.  They slurp them up with a wide straw.

Sarah came and left already.  She’s been here since 4:30, now it’s 6 – dinner time.  I havent typed anything about humor yet and I’m already tired and losing interest.

Okay, for starters, in my opinion humor is the great equalizer.  It can raise people up, or cut them down to put everyone on the same playing field.  Pedigree, position, rank or worth have nothing to do with comedy until they are stripped down to their absurd bare essentials.  

That’s what draws me to it so much.  Humor is simplicity.  It’s a form of clarity – it’s seeing something for the first time and being aware of your first reaction to it.

It’s unadulterated instinct before it gets masked with explanations and emotions. 

Humor is also a great unifier.  You don’t need to speak the same language to make someone laugh.  You just need to trip on a banana peel and have your face land in a cake.

Instead of wars, they should have roasts.  Hutu’s should roast the Tutsi’s on comedy central.  The muslims roast the catholic’s, North Korea roasts South Korea, Obama roasts Sarah Palin.  The best comedians from around the world would be there to throw down smutty wisecracks.

American’s can roast terrorists, but terrorists don’t have much of a sense of humor.

The kids playing Uno left, but the one’s on their laptops are still here.  It’s 6:25.  I need to eat.

I think humor is the most attractive quality in a person.  It’s a package deal.  To be funny, you have to be smart and confident.  You have to be able to laugh at yourself and appreciate other’s for their witticism’s.  You have to be creative – have to see timing as an art form.  Funny people have to be empathetic to feel people out.  They have to be patient.  They have to be patient because like all good things in life, jokes aren’t funny if they’re forced.

So basically I like funny people.  But not comedians.  Comedians are usually too self-deprecating, self-conscious, overly sensitive and in their heads too much. 

Also, comedy comes from the heart.  It can be brutally personal and revealing.  The teller of the joke humanizes themselves and can connect with anyone because of it.  Same can be said for any artist I guess. 

Everybody is an artist, but not everyone knows how to reveal themselves.

Okay, I’m done for now.  I really need to eat.  Mom made pot roast!

No, no no, wait a second.  The coffee shop has cleared out and now there are four people in the back – four adults, having the weirdest conversation ever.  It sounds like they all met online.  They are talking about strapping each other down and moaning, drawing straws……wtf?  I can’t make out what they are talking about.  They are talking about invoking Goddesses and feeding off each other’s energy.

Oh, I think they are talking about putting on a play. 

Wait, no.  The facility they want to have this “play” at needs to have beds and couches for people to crash on.

Okay, I give up.  They are talking too softly now.  They meet here at Cheshire coffee on Sunday nights if anyone is interested in finding out what they’re talking about.

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