Trip Hoppin’

For the past few days, I’ve begun to leak more fluids out of my nose than all other orifices combined. A never ending supply of mucus has begun a round the clock production schedule in the ol’ factory, and here I am too weak and clogged up to picket it’s business.

Being sick always gives me this feeling of imprisonment. When I’m sick, it’s like I’ve never known anything else BUT being sick. The feeling of ‘healthy’ is more of a fairy tale than actual truth. And besides, who can concentrate on healthy when you’ve got to concentrate on not sneezing green stuff on a woman looking for a sweater and a nice pair of jeans.

Yup. In my journey to the top of the retail ladder, I’m still going to work. The only thing that gets me through the work shift is knowing that I can sleep once I get home. I was talking to Nicole about this earlier today, when she pointed out a very interesting coincidence.

This week I began taking the miracle drug. The liquid emerald syrup of the gods. Nyquil. Knowing how addictive my personality is, I’m worried I’ll become totally dependent upon it to get to sleep tonight. All I can see is me shaking in a corner, butt naked except for some boxers, shivering and wide eyed while dozens of empty Nyquil bottles lie around me like dead flies. With my tolerance for the stuff increasing by the day, it will take me a whole case of the drug to put me under for 8 hours.

Next thing you know, I’ll be robbing CVS’s and Walgreens across the New England seaboard, taking control of all their Vick’s products. Soon thereafter, my tastes will grow from the gateway drug of Nyquil and I’ll begin Robotripping. It will only be when I see on the news how an unfortunate soul lost their lives to the dangerous, underground crime world of cough syrups that I’ll truly begin to see the error of my ways.

Anywho, the Nyquil has been working wonders. In more ways than one. Nicole pointed out to me that since I’ve started my Nyquil regiment, I’ve been getting tons of interviews. Five companies within the past two days have contacted me, all wanting to sit down and meet. Maybe my overdosing of Nyquil is causing me to hallucinate these conversations, imagining up these people and places and possible career opportunities. Who knows. But since I started using the drug, my professional life has begun to take shape.

There is one negative side, though. While I am receiving job interviews and the like as a result of Nyquil [and it's a fact, don't debate it], I’ve been having crazy, mind tripping dreams. Two nights ago, I dreamt a lens fell out of my glasses. I had bent down to pick it up when a very large woman starting yelling at me that it was her lens. No, I told her, it is obviously mine, as I am wearing glasses SANS one lens, whereas you have no glasses at all.

I ignored her yelling and walked away. Hours later in the dream, there was a knock on my door, and there was the large woman, holding a gun to my face and demanding the safe return of her lens. I slammed the door shut, locked it and dived into the closet as she opened fire at the door. I don’t remember anything else except that she made it into the apartment and was looking for me.

Last night, I woke up long enough to yell out WHAT THE FUCK?! then immediately passed out.

I’ll keep up the Nyquil regime for a few more nights, just to see if maybe I end up getting some sort of dream job interview. But I don’t know how many more midnight hallucinations I can take.

To tell you the truth, I might not be able to kick the habit at all. I’m starting to dig the sauce.

I’m Man Enough To Admit It

I’ve been through a lot in my life.

I’ve endured the pains of being uprooted at the tender age of 8 to a brand new town because of the death of a grandfather.

I’ve suffered teasing and bullying throughout elementary and middle school, all because of the ‘New Kid’ syndrome.

I’ve witnessed my parent’s divorce, a none too pleasant or easy going process, and lasted through the resulting fall out.

And scattered throughout all of that, I’ve lost friends, felt pain, experienced depression and still stood my ground. Because of all of this, and more, I see myself as a strong willed, independent person with the strength to survive throughout anything. It’s all the harsh, painful negative moments in our lives that build our character. It strengthens us so that we can survive whatever is next in line to try to bring us down. So I know that from all these sad moments in my life, I am gaining a never ending amount of internal fortitude from which I can protect and foster myself.

Despite all of this, why is it that a one minute video can nearly shatter all the defenses I’ve set up for myself, making me fear September 21st more and more each day? And at the same time, make me feel as though a part of my soul would wither and die if I didn’t participate? Because watching Izzie curl up into the neck of dead Denny while being carried away by her ex-boyfriend right after seeing Sandra Oh rush to Isaiah Washington’s side while playing my new favorite Fray song is just more than I can emotionally handle.

Hello. My name is John. And Grey’s Anatomy makes me crumble into a weeping ball of jelly.

Where Thursdays go to feel better my ass.

My Subconscious Life Is So Much More Exciting Than The Conscious One

Last night, I had two bizarre dreams, and for the life of me can’t figure out either.

*Dream #1: I’m in a professional dance troupe. The kind that maybe Bravo may make a reality show out of, only because I distinctly remember there being four personalities within the troupe. Marv Albert. Woody Allen. Woody Allen’s Child Daughter Bride. And Stalin. The rest of the troupe were just supporting characters. The biggest part of any of the dances was when the giant Chinese dragon swooped in from stage right, roaring and dancing and swirling a long, green and red tail.

I got to be the dragon [finally...Woody Allen's Child Daughter Bride kept fighting with Marv Albert over who got the job] when I realized I totally fucked up the whole performance because I forgot to put on the second half of the costume, so Stalin came running on stage with the ass part of the dragon, and I was made a fool.

*Dream #2: I’m part of some sort of Scooby Doo Mystery caper event. Only it’s a lot more violent and there isn’t the fear of beastiality on behalf of a stoner and great dane. There was a blonde woman who was running around, committing all types of bad things, what I cannot tell you. When we finally caught her, we tried to take off her mask, and discovered that she was part snake underneath, rather than the opposite usually happening on Scooby Doo, where the sea monster is, SURPRISE, Mr. Jenkins.

Once we beat up the snake woman [which, in hindsight I don't think was entirely needed. I actually think she was handcuffed quite willingly], we shoved her inside a huge potato bag and covered her head.

Then she bit me.

Following all decency standards and societal expectations of the bitten, we decided to eat her. Through the potato bag.

Frankly, dreams about semi incestuous lovers, sexual predators and ruthless dictators dancing followed by me eating a snake woman hardly seems to be something not to worry about. Any more thought about the meaning of these dreams on my part will most assuredly result in the explosion of my head, pre-empted only by steam bursting from my ears like a kettle while my face turns all sorts of red.

Evidence That I Really Need My Own Digital Camera

Because taking pictures at the Apple Store isn’t gonna cut it forever.

Comic Book Carla and I

Holy Carla and IJust I

Pop Cultured Carla, Vince and I

Visit my Flickr account to see more. I update it just about every time I menstruate.

Easily Consumed With Little Tiny Things

I was supposed to catch the 9:41 train to work this morning, just so I wouldn’t be rushing once I was in Boston. Unfortunately, because of my stellar prioritizing skills, I spent about 15 minutes watching, re-watching and continuously absorbing this song. Over. And over. And over again.

I hope you enjoy the song as much as I do. It’ll have to last you for the next two days, because I’m going to take a little blogging vacation to recharge my creative juices.

AKA I don’t feel like writing and I feel even less like trying to make up bullshit in order to fulfill my 5 day a week quota. Enjoy the rest of the week and weekend!

Questions And Concerns I Have That I Need To Ask You, Internet

And I need them answered, too.

*I love Ellen. I think she’s a great interviewer. She’s funny, clever, smart, asks good questions and is just overall a blast to watch. I honestly can’t get enough of her. I even enjoy watching her dance. However, I noticed something this morning. After she made her rounds of the audience and came back to the stage, she had with her like, 4 purses. She just put them on the chair. Do people care their belongings were stolen by Ellen? Do they get them back? What’s the purpose of Ellen mugging her audience?

*My friend Kristen and I got into a big debate that hasn’t been settled yet, and I promised her I would ask the Internet for an answer. Crunchy or creamy peanut butter?

*I have one pimple on my cheek that refuses to go away. It won’t leave. I can’t pop it. It’s beginning to order things from Ikea, not to mention it keeps the TV on till way late at night. What’s the best, non-prescription way to kill this tenant?

*Why do I come up with these lame ideas just so I have something to post?

*Who is your daddy, and what does he do?

I May Want To Curb My Competitiveness Before Rearing Children

Carla’s two cousins, Gabby [6] and Danny [3] are visiting from Ohio this week. I’ve known both of them for a really long time, seeing as how whenever the family visits, I’m more or less a staple attraction.

Like most kids, Gabby and Danny tend to exacerbate most of the stories they tell. After playing a game of hide and go seek [Danny was under the table, but ran out as soon as I finished counting to 20. I think he misunderstood. Gabby locked herself in the bathroom. When I knocked, she was washing her hands. I hided AND went to the bathroom. She was proud.], we went into the kitchen to have a cookie. Both kids were talking about how fast they were, and how quick they can run, jump and cause stress in their mother’s life.

Gabby: I’m so quick! SO quick. I once caught a grasshopper this big with TWO fingers! [she holds up her hands to show how big the grasshopper was]

Danny: Oh yeah?! I caughta bug THIS BIG! [he stretches his arms out as wide as possible]

Me: I once killed a man.

Life Lesson #62

One should never leave college for the sole reason that having several washers and dryers in one’s basement makes the chore of laundry that much easier and more efficient. A singular washer and dryer is about as useful as using a toothbrush to wipe your ass.

I Really Want To Go Back To School

Like a persistent ailment that always seems to pop up when you least expect it, I find myself stewing in a small depression brought about by virtually nothing at all. For the past few months, I’ve gotten whiffs of sadness, only to have them float away by the end of the day. The smell is lasting longer, this time.

Last night, I finally finished the book I’ve been reading, Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides [author of The Virgin Suicides]. I first read the book back during my spring semester of junior year. Like so many other articles, excerpts and books I’ve read at school, I never invested my whole into this novel. When you have 5 or 6 classes, all of which want you to read the equivalent of the Bible and the back of a box of Fruit Loops, you tend to push things together in order to get them done.

So I re-read Middlesex. And not in the let’s just get this done way, either. As I put down the book after reading it’s closing paragraphs, the first thought I had was then slaughtered by the second. I thought of how great the conversation was going to be with my classmates regarding this book. What did they pick up that I hadn’t? What metaphors caught their eyes? How did they see the ending versus how I did?

Then it hit me. I will never have one of those class discussions again. The class I read this book in was, by far and away, one of the best courses I’ve ever taken in college. Politics of Genes and Horomones, taught by professor Mary Elizabeth Strunk. Going to that class was never a chore, and we always ended up exceeding our time frame by several frantic comments and observations.

Having suffered the blow of not getting another opinion on what is possibly the newest American epic [seriously...I'm trying to hint to you all that maybe you should go to the store and buy this], I went downstairs and tooled around online. That’s when the second blow hit.

One of my co-RAs from last year was online. She let me know that today is the day she moves back to Syracuse for RA training. I was floored. RA training already?!

Despite my last experiences with being an RA, I still have a tender place in my heart for it. The job consumed 3 years of my life. It’s hard not to have some decent memories when I look back. So when I hear its time for people to go back to school and resume training, its like some nostalgic arrow has gone straight through my chest.

Preparing bulletin boards. Making door decorations. Planning out floor programs. This all leads to the eventual beginning of classes, extra-curriculars, campus events and the like. So, for four years I’ve gotten myself psyched up around this time. And in the fifth year, for the first time, I have to settle myself down.

When You Have Nothing Else To Blog About…

Thanks to a particularly long work day today, I was given a whole 30 minute break to do with as I wished. Oh the glory. Oh, the pure ecstasy.

So I took my Sbarro’s pizza outside to sit by the entrance to the Charles River. Yesterday was one of the nicest days Boston has had in weeks. For as long as I can remember, it has either been raining and storming or humid enough for me to sweat enough water to brew some coffee. Yesterday, though? The best summer day in a long time.

I sat down at one of the various tables surrounding the little inlet of the Charles River and enjoyed the day. I called a few people [and made extra time for those that sent me a homemade birthday gift!], munched on some pizza, and enjoyed the break from retail I so very much deserved.

As I was sitting there, I paid attention to a lot of things. Children running down the water ways. Squirrels running up trunks and across wires. Little birds finding small bits of break and bouncing around the food court benches without a care in the world. I’m telling you, it was one of the most serene moments I’ve experienced in my otherwise hectic and run-around life.

As I walked back inside, though, there was one worry that all the sudden popped into my head and refused to leave. Like a belligerently drunk relative, I couldn’t get it to leave me alone.

I have never seen a squirrel take a shit. Nor, for that matter, have I ever seen squirrel shit.

I am perplexed. I am annoyed. And my soul will suffer the agonies of a thousand hells until I can figure out why this problem is existent.

Help would be very much appreciated. Because I’m not kidding. I’m bothered by the lack of squirrel crap there is in my life.