Boobs, breasts, tits... fuck 'em. Or rather when it comes to them being on me, fuck no.
It seems like wanting to get rid of them is the only part of the transition process I consistantly want. They just don't make sense. Seriously, what purpose do two mounds of jiggly flesh and fat on my chest serve, other than being obnoxious. I'm lucky enough to be a B-cup on a good day (or maybe bad day?) and thats way more than I ever want to deal with.
Every once in a while I will find my self shirt-less in front of a mirror, and I find my breasts humorous at best. What the fuck? I see them as something that doesn't belong. What's wrong with this picture? I have boobs.
It seems like most other parts of being biologically female are tolerable though. I kinda have curvy hips? A hoodie will hide them. My voice is high? I can practice speaking in a lower octave. At least having scoliosis canceled out the hour glass figure.
I still cant seem to commit to wanting to go on Testosterone however. I want to be perceived as male though. I want it to be enough to wear mens clothes and have people call me Kyle. But T means therapy sessions, and going to court to change my name and gender marker, and comming out to aunts and uncles, and all of that is super intimidating.
I've gotten good at living a double life. I've figured out how to be between genders. It's within my comfort zone to be a masculine female, or androgenous, or genderqueer, or a no-op no-T trans man.
I still hate having boobs though.
1.23.2010
1.09.2010
My mother, myself, and alcohol...
3 and a half years ago, I had to call an ambulance for my mother. An hour ago, she asked for details about what had happened, and how she ended up in the hospital. It was a conversation I never expected to have, and wasn't sure about how to answer. And there was a major part of the story that she will never know.
My mother is Bi-polar. Let's start with that. When things are good, she takes depakote as prescribed to her, and for the most part, life is good. Not everything was good 3 1/2 years ago though. I was 21, almost 22, and hating that I still lived with her. We fought constantly, and I got kicked out of the house on a 3 week rotation. It was a regular thing. I would get home high and/or drunk between 3 and 4 in the morning too many days in a row. We would fight and she would say I needed to figure out a different living situation. I would couch surf with friends for a couple days till she called to apologise, saying she was sorry and wanted me to come back, and I would return. Life was good for the next couple weeks.
We were on week two of the cycle, (when I was about to get kicked out again) when I found her. I was on my way to check my e-mail (which meant going downstairs and passing her bedroom) before work when I noticed the TV was still on. I peeked into her room, and saw that she was on the floor out side the bathroom of the master suite. She was topless, but still wearing her pants, and shivering. I couldn't wake her up, and eventually called an ambulance for her.
In a perfect world, I called immediately, and everything works out ok. I, however, did not live in a perfect world. He had been fighting the past couple days. She had been forcing me to drink water every time she decided a situation was too stressful. I almost left her alone, almost pretended I had never found her unconscious, and almost went to work like everything was normal. I stood in the doorway, thinking about how much better my life could be if she didn't exist anymore, if I didn't have a bi-polar mother who decided not to take her meds anymore, and wondering what she might have left me in her will.
In my real world, I eventually called 911, and she was saved from slipping into a coma from a sodium deficiency that could have killed her. I sat in the waiting room long enough to hear that she had woken up and would be ok, and then went to a friends house to cry and get high. and then I tried to forget about it. I blocked out the fact that I had almost let my mother die.
And then tonight we drank wine together in the kitchen, and became way too honest. and she asked about that night, and I told her everything except how I almost left that day. everything but how I almost let her die because I thought it might make my life easier.
My mother is Bi-polar. Let's start with that. When things are good, she takes depakote as prescribed to her, and for the most part, life is good. Not everything was good 3 1/2 years ago though. I was 21, almost 22, and hating that I still lived with her. We fought constantly, and I got kicked out of the house on a 3 week rotation. It was a regular thing. I would get home high and/or drunk between 3 and 4 in the morning too many days in a row. We would fight and she would say I needed to figure out a different living situation. I would couch surf with friends for a couple days till she called to apologise, saying she was sorry and wanted me to come back, and I would return. Life was good for the next couple weeks.
We were on week two of the cycle, (when I was about to get kicked out again) when I found her. I was on my way to check my e-mail (which meant going downstairs and passing her bedroom) before work when I noticed the TV was still on. I peeked into her room, and saw that she was on the floor out side the bathroom of the master suite. She was topless, but still wearing her pants, and shivering. I couldn't wake her up, and eventually called an ambulance for her.
In a perfect world, I called immediately, and everything works out ok. I, however, did not live in a perfect world. He had been fighting the past couple days. She had been forcing me to drink water every time she decided a situation was too stressful. I almost left her alone, almost pretended I had never found her unconscious, and almost went to work like everything was normal. I stood in the doorway, thinking about how much better my life could be if she didn't exist anymore, if I didn't have a bi-polar mother who decided not to take her meds anymore, and wondering what she might have left me in her will.
In my real world, I eventually called 911, and she was saved from slipping into a coma from a sodium deficiency that could have killed her. I sat in the waiting room long enough to hear that she had woken up and would be ok, and then went to a friends house to cry and get high. and then I tried to forget about it. I blocked out the fact that I had almost let my mother die.
And then tonight we drank wine together in the kitchen, and became way too honest. and she asked about that night, and I told her everything except how I almost left that day. everything but how I almost let her die because I thought it might make my life easier.
11.10.2009
Creating my own Gender
I feel like everytime I update this blog, I have a new Identity. So I guess it should be no surprise that once again, it's changed. I guess in many ways I still identify as genderqueer, or neither-sexed, but I feel like I'm moving away from that and feeling more trans lately. It's definitly an evolving, complicated, and sometimes confusing process toward ultimately identifying as male.
I am Trans. I can say it out loud with out freaking out now. I'm also moving forward toward transitioning, while still struggling with staying who I actually am, and maintaining a queer identity. I bind my chest everyday now, have began to change my name and have asked people to call me Kyle and use male pronouns with me, and so far it's not nearly as scary as I thought. My friends have been amazing so far and have agreed to use my preferred name.
So now what? Research. Lots of research. I found an alternate method to transition without Testosterone injections that I'm interested in trying, called Natural Transitioning (NT) that seems like a good fit for me.
The main idea behind NT is that EVERYONE (females included!) produce testosterone, and there are ways to increase the amount produced through diet, exercise and suplements. I'ts basic body building.
Diet- Lots of foods will help to increase testosterone, so step one is to modify my diet to include lots of these foods. Garlic, green leafy vegetables, avocado, cabbage, white meat chicken and turkey, salt water fish, eggs, whole grains like oatmeal and quinoa. Also, the higher your body fat percentage is the more estrogen is produced, so I'm trying to eat as low fat as possible, and also trying to cut out refined sugars so no more soda, white bread, and white rice.
Weight training- As I mentioned earlier, higher body fat = increased estrogen production, so upping the cardio and adding in some more weight training excercises to build more muscle mass. Because men typically have broader shoulders and more squared torso's than women, gaining muscle in the upper arms, shoulders and chest, while also workig the ab muscles (especially sides... it that the obliques?) will give a more typical male appearance in terms of curves and body shape.
Supplements- This is the big one. So I've got the diet that focuses on testosterone increases foods and lowers body fat, I'm getting into a workout routine to work my upper body more, but that will only get me so far. Supplements are what really makes the big difference.
-ZMA- zinc, magnesium and b-6 in precise amounts that will work together to increase testosterone.
-Tribulus Terrestris- stimulates the anterior pituitary to produce LH (luteinizing hormone) which is responsible for "telling" your body to produce testosterone.
-DHEA- stimulate hair growth and deepens voice. Side effects can include increased temper and acne among other fun things, but so do the Testosterone injections that most trans guys use.
Fish oil- among other benefits, works as a mood stablilizer to help controll mood swings caused by increased Testoserone levels, and helps you focus your ADD.
Milk thistle- prevents and repairs liver damage, and is very important when taking supplements as many of them are processed in the liver.
So thats my plan. From what I have read, the results are not nearly as quick or "good" as injections, but I'm ok with that. I don't feel the need to completely pass all the time and be as masculine as possible in order to identify as male. I don't need to erase all traces of my female past to feel comfortable with myself and become who I feel I truly am. I feel like this process will be right for my queer identity, to make me appear even more androgenous than I am now, and for now thats enough.
Another reason why I like this plan over T injections... Typically injections are once every 2-4 weeks. This means that you get a huge boost of testosterone into your system right when you get the shot, then it slowly drops over the next couple weeks to a low point and then next shot BAM! huge boost again. That kind of hormonal roller coaster can really mess with your mood. NT however is a very slow daily increase. Its consistant, steady resulting in fewer mood swings and dips in T levels.
I am Trans. I can say it out loud with out freaking out now. I'm also moving forward toward transitioning, while still struggling with staying who I actually am, and maintaining a queer identity. I bind my chest everyday now, have began to change my name and have asked people to call me Kyle and use male pronouns with me, and so far it's not nearly as scary as I thought. My friends have been amazing so far and have agreed to use my preferred name.
So now what? Research. Lots of research. I found an alternate method to transition without Testosterone injections that I'm interested in trying, called Natural Transitioning (NT) that seems like a good fit for me.
The main idea behind NT is that EVERYONE (females included!) produce testosterone, and there are ways to increase the amount produced through diet, exercise and suplements. I'ts basic body building.
Diet- Lots of foods will help to increase testosterone, so step one is to modify my diet to include lots of these foods. Garlic, green leafy vegetables, avocado, cabbage, white meat chicken and turkey, salt water fish, eggs, whole grains like oatmeal and quinoa. Also, the higher your body fat percentage is the more estrogen is produced, so I'm trying to eat as low fat as possible, and also trying to cut out refined sugars so no more soda, white bread, and white rice.
Weight training- As I mentioned earlier, higher body fat = increased estrogen production, so upping the cardio and adding in some more weight training excercises to build more muscle mass. Because men typically have broader shoulders and more squared torso's than women, gaining muscle in the upper arms, shoulders and chest, while also workig the ab muscles (especially sides... it that the obliques?) will give a more typical male appearance in terms of curves and body shape.
Supplements- This is the big one. So I've got the diet that focuses on testosterone increases foods and lowers body fat, I'm getting into a workout routine to work my upper body more, but that will only get me so far. Supplements are what really makes the big difference.
-ZMA- zinc, magnesium and b-6 in precise amounts that will work together to increase testosterone.
-Tribulus Terrestris- stimulates the anterior pituitary to produce LH (luteinizing hormone) which is responsible for "telling" your body to produce testosterone.
-DHEA- stimulate hair growth and deepens voice. Side effects can include increased temper and acne among other fun things, but so do the Testosterone injections that most trans guys use.
Fish oil- among other benefits, works as a mood stablilizer to help controll mood swings caused by increased Testoserone levels, and helps you focus your ADD.
Milk thistle- prevents and repairs liver damage, and is very important when taking supplements as many of them are processed in the liver.
So thats my plan. From what I have read, the results are not nearly as quick or "good" as injections, but I'm ok with that. I don't feel the need to completely pass all the time and be as masculine as possible in order to identify as male. I don't need to erase all traces of my female past to feel comfortable with myself and become who I feel I truly am. I feel like this process will be right for my queer identity, to make me appear even more androgenous than I am now, and for now thats enough.
Another reason why I like this plan over T injections... Typically injections are once every 2-4 weeks. This means that you get a huge boost of testosterone into your system right when you get the shot, then it slowly drops over the next couple weeks to a low point and then next shot BAM! huge boost again. That kind of hormonal roller coaster can really mess with your mood. NT however is a very slow daily increase. Its consistant, steady resulting in fewer mood swings and dips in T levels.
5.20.2009
quick clarification...
I feel like I need to clarify quicky that some of the stuff in my last couple posts has just been hypothetical thoughts, and a lot of random stream of consciousness stuff. Not exactly what I believe is actually currently the situation, although I'm enjoying what ever friends/dating whatever you want to call it is going on. This is kinda cryptic... sorry, most people should just ignore this. (i don't even know who reads this anyway)
On a completely different topic.... Bontrager tubes are currently at the top of my "things that suck" list. Was on my way home from work today, when I realized my back tire felt a little low, so I pull over to pump it up a little. So I have my little complact piece of shit pump, and I get it almost full, when all of a sudden the valve stem snaps in half. What the fuck??!?! Im not THAT strong. So im stuck about 6 miles from home, with a flat tire, and no other tube. Had a patch kit, but that was totally useless. So I start walking, called Dan to see if he could come pick me up, and start digging for money to get on the train. Had $1.30, train is $2.25. Fuck.
Hit Chicago Ave, and OMG! the currency exchange! The fact that I picked up my pay check today had completely slipped my mind till I saw it. Problem solved, cashed my check, and took the train home. Disaster averted.
On a completely different topic.... Bontrager tubes are currently at the top of my "things that suck" list. Was on my way home from work today, when I realized my back tire felt a little low, so I pull over to pump it up a little. So I have my little complact piece of shit pump, and I get it almost full, when all of a sudden the valve stem snaps in half. What the fuck??!?! Im not THAT strong. So im stuck about 6 miles from home, with a flat tire, and no other tube. Had a patch kit, but that was totally useless. So I start walking, called Dan to see if he could come pick me up, and start digging for money to get on the train. Had $1.30, train is $2.25. Fuck.
Hit Chicago Ave, and OMG! the currency exchange! The fact that I picked up my pay check today had completely slipped my mind till I saw it. Problem solved, cashed my check, and took the train home. Disaster averted.
5.19.2009
Some late night rambling
Lots of things going on right now. I'm done with school for the semester. My job is going well, and I'll probably be getting more money soon. I'm dating a super cute, awesome artist beer drinking girl, and I'm kinda nervous about our date tomorrow night. First official date maybe? I'm going to Vermont next week, I leave on Sunday afternoon. My birthday is next tuesday and I'm going to be 25.
On the surface, my life kinda rocks right now. I appear to have direction in my life. I guess I'm happy. Still kinda off though, and still lots of things that are wrong. Somehow I'm still wrong.
Lets start with Joanna. (What is it about the name Joanna..... na) Shes great. She's super cute, and kinda girly but a little punk too. Artist, works with kids. We talked about photography and she wants to teach me some stuff. Photography adventures! Yay! But at the same time, she is a lesbian, and she is attracted to me as a woman... not some gender fuck up of a tranny boi who cringes a little at his female pronouns, even though its not entirely wrong.
I dont know if calling it disphoria is correct, but its been fucking with me lately. Specifically how does my gender, or possibly lack of a gender fit in to having a girlfriend? What does that make me to her? Am I her girlfriend? Boyfriend? Boifriend? Parner? lover? And what do I even want to be? Ideally I would love to talk to her about it, and explain from the beginning that I am genderqueer but more to the male side so possibly transgendered as well. I want to be open to her about binding my chest, how I like to be referred to with male pronouns at times. But I'm afraid to start that conversation. The people who know have been my chosen family for years, who I always have tons of support from. With Andrew and Newton, I'm a guy, he, one of the dudes. But with Joanna, I'm a butch lesbian. We did meet origionally at Formerly Known As, the biggest queer and trans party in the city. I passed as a pre-t, pre-op transman and no one questioned it.
Maybe im overthinking this too much. She approached me while I was clearly binding and looked like a teenage boy, so maybe she knows, or guessed it, or doesn't give a fuck. I guess I'll just play it by ear and see where the conversation goes.
I'm rambling a lot here.... um. Going home next week. I'm excited about it, but a little freaked out too. It's always weird to go back to my moms house. I'ts like Im a guest there now, sleeping on the couch, while my mom gets all excited to spend time with me and go shopping, and actually cooks things that didn't come frozen. I havn't figured out how I'm going to deal with binding. Or possibly not deal with it. She has no idea about it, and I'm not sure I wan't to have that conversation right now. Although it would kind of be a continuation of a conversation from last year, when we sat in the hotel bar drinking jack and cokes after mikes wedding. The genderqueer thing breifly came up, but it was breif, and whiskey had been involved, so I don't really consider it comming out. At least not comming out as my current gender expression.
I'm hoping to make a new binder soon, probably tomorrow so depending on how that works out i'll probably bind when I'm home, but the ace bandage is too much of a hassle without having a bedroom.
This has gotten too long........ so goodnight.
On the surface, my life kinda rocks right now. I appear to have direction in my life. I guess I'm happy. Still kinda off though, and still lots of things that are wrong. Somehow I'm still wrong.
Lets start with Joanna. (What is it about the name Joanna..... na) Shes great. She's super cute, and kinda girly but a little punk too. Artist, works with kids. We talked about photography and she wants to teach me some stuff. Photography adventures! Yay! But at the same time, she is a lesbian, and she is attracted to me as a woman... not some gender fuck up of a tranny boi who cringes a little at his female pronouns, even though its not entirely wrong.
I dont know if calling it disphoria is correct, but its been fucking with me lately. Specifically how does my gender, or possibly lack of a gender fit in to having a girlfriend? What does that make me to her? Am I her girlfriend? Boyfriend? Boifriend? Parner? lover? And what do I even want to be? Ideally I would love to talk to her about it, and explain from the beginning that I am genderqueer but more to the male side so possibly transgendered as well. I want to be open to her about binding my chest, how I like to be referred to with male pronouns at times. But I'm afraid to start that conversation. The people who know have been my chosen family for years, who I always have tons of support from. With Andrew and Newton, I'm a guy, he, one of the dudes. But with Joanna, I'm a butch lesbian. We did meet origionally at Formerly Known As, the biggest queer and trans party in the city. I passed as a pre-t, pre-op transman and no one questioned it.
Maybe im overthinking this too much. She approached me while I was clearly binding and looked like a teenage boy, so maybe she knows, or guessed it, or doesn't give a fuck. I guess I'll just play it by ear and see where the conversation goes.
I'm rambling a lot here.... um. Going home next week. I'm excited about it, but a little freaked out too. It's always weird to go back to my moms house. I'ts like Im a guest there now, sleeping on the couch, while my mom gets all excited to spend time with me and go shopping, and actually cooks things that didn't come frozen. I havn't figured out how I'm going to deal with binding. Or possibly not deal with it. She has no idea about it, and I'm not sure I wan't to have that conversation right now. Although it would kind of be a continuation of a conversation from last year, when we sat in the hotel bar drinking jack and cokes after mikes wedding. The genderqueer thing breifly came up, but it was breif, and whiskey had been involved, so I don't really consider it comming out. At least not comming out as my current gender expression.
I'm hoping to make a new binder soon, probably tomorrow so depending on how that works out i'll probably bind when I'm home, but the ace bandage is too much of a hassle without having a bedroom.
This has gotten too long........ so goodnight.
5.13.2009
A little bit of gender rambling before work
So... I guess the blog is back and heading in a new direction of sorts. Still me and my story for the most part though.
I've come to the conclusion that for me, work is the most gender restricting, uncomfortable place in some ways. Despite being gender neutral in many ways, the uniforms completely enforce the binary of gender, and I feel like I'm being assigned the "correct" side to fit into. Basic work uniform- Black pants, white collared shirt, Black hat, black Apron. Thats cool. I can wear mens clothes to work and it's considered conforming to the uniform. That works for me. But he'res the kicker. Men wear ties. Everything about the dresscode is identicle except that Men wear ties, and women do not. So what does this mean for me? Most days a lot of quiet turmoil as I deal with being constantly percieved and referred to as female, and hearing the words her, and she, and miss, and sometimes sweetie or hun from the geriatric crew, all referring to me. I't gets pretty grating after 8 hours.
And I don't know what to do about it. Are they wrong to refer to me with female pronouns? Well, no... not totally wrong, but not right either. So.... He. HIm. Sir? Maybe that would be better. But would it be right? Not entirely, but again not totally wrong.
I gotta run to work. I'm sure I'll have more to post later.
I've come to the conclusion that for me, work is the most gender restricting, uncomfortable place in some ways. Despite being gender neutral in many ways, the uniforms completely enforce the binary of gender, and I feel like I'm being assigned the "correct" side to fit into. Basic work uniform- Black pants, white collared shirt, Black hat, black Apron. Thats cool. I can wear mens clothes to work and it's considered conforming to the uniform. That works for me. But he'res the kicker. Men wear ties. Everything about the dresscode is identicle except that Men wear ties, and women do not. So what does this mean for me? Most days a lot of quiet turmoil as I deal with being constantly percieved and referred to as female, and hearing the words her, and she, and miss, and sometimes sweetie or hun from the geriatric crew, all referring to me. I't gets pretty grating after 8 hours.
And I don't know what to do about it. Are they wrong to refer to me with female pronouns? Well, no... not totally wrong, but not right either. So.... He. HIm. Sir? Maybe that would be better. But would it be right? Not entirely, but again not totally wrong.
I gotta run to work. I'm sure I'll have more to post later.
5.08.2009
FKA and liking me
I had an awesome couple days recently, but it sucked at the same time. Work is work, it kinda sucks, but its good to be off unemployment, and actually having spending money beyond rent and ramen for almost 5 months. I can actually save money now, and paying tuition, and a biking vacation actually seems possible now.
This semester is almost over. My business plan has been turned in, even though we didn't manage to completely finish it. We had a lot of problems getting together to work on it around everyones class and work schedules. No surprise that it turned into a last minute cram session, complete with compatability issues between my laptop with open office, and the Vista computers at school (that we had to print through) with Microshit word. I have a take home final to finish by thursday, an in class exam on monday night, 2 finals on thursday, and a presentation on thursday, and I'm done. Plus working 30 hours a week. I don't expect to sleep much in the next week.
Finally onto the real topic of this post... FKA and liking me. I've randomly been thinking a lot in the past week about my gender and sexuality. In the past 6 years or so I've come out several times. I've changed my mind between Bisexual and a lesbian, and again to queer after dating an FTM transexual. I've questioned gender a lot too. I was raised steryotipically feminine, including ballet lessons, figure skating, and girl scouts. I dated guys because it was expected of me, and I didn't question it.
Thats all changed though. i finally acknowledged my attraction to women, I came out, I rejected the ideas of "how women are supposed to look and behave", and began to identify as queer, androgenous, and pansexual. So anyway, I've been thinking more about gender and shit, and after tonights amazing experience, I think I've found my self. at least for now.
I have bound my chest on occasion, treating it as a social experience, observing peoples reactions, and judging how I felt about it. I realized that it felt right to me, and that I feel the most comfortable in the grey area. A couple days ago I decided to bind full time, and for the past couple days I have honestly felt comfortable with myslef and my appearance.
Went out to FKA (Formerly Known As) at Big Chicks tonight, with my tits strapped down, and hair gelled up, and fit right in with the transmen, and all the self consious-ness I had felt going out before was gone. I got checked out by gay men and femme chicks, was told several times how cute girls thought I was. If it wasn't for work in the morning, I could have easily hooked up tonight. I did get a hot make out session with a super cute girl tonight though, so still a win.
Newton, Andrew and Tito were amazing tonight too. Also commenting on how I'm a cute boy, and randomly referring to me as he. Newton said that he noticed i seemed more comfortable tonight than he has seen me in a long time. I feel like I;m kinda rambling here, so I'll try to get to some kinda conclusion here...
I'm a biologically female, genderqueer boi. I'm stuck in the middle between male and female, without feeling like either is correct. I'm me.
This semester is almost over. My business plan has been turned in, even though we didn't manage to completely finish it. We had a lot of problems getting together to work on it around everyones class and work schedules. No surprise that it turned into a last minute cram session, complete with compatability issues between my laptop with open office, and the Vista computers at school (that we had to print through) with Microshit word. I have a take home final to finish by thursday, an in class exam on monday night, 2 finals on thursday, and a presentation on thursday, and I'm done. Plus working 30 hours a week. I don't expect to sleep much in the next week.
Finally onto the real topic of this post... FKA and liking me. I've randomly been thinking a lot in the past week about my gender and sexuality. In the past 6 years or so I've come out several times. I've changed my mind between Bisexual and a lesbian, and again to queer after dating an FTM transexual. I've questioned gender a lot too. I was raised steryotipically feminine, including ballet lessons, figure skating, and girl scouts. I dated guys because it was expected of me, and I didn't question it.
Thats all changed though. i finally acknowledged my attraction to women, I came out, I rejected the ideas of "how women are supposed to look and behave", and began to identify as queer, androgenous, and pansexual. So anyway, I've been thinking more about gender and shit, and after tonights amazing experience, I think I've found my self. at least for now.
I have bound my chest on occasion, treating it as a social experience, observing peoples reactions, and judging how I felt about it. I realized that it felt right to me, and that I feel the most comfortable in the grey area. A couple days ago I decided to bind full time, and for the past couple days I have honestly felt comfortable with myslef and my appearance.
Went out to FKA (Formerly Known As) at Big Chicks tonight, with my tits strapped down, and hair gelled up, and fit right in with the transmen, and all the self consious-ness I had felt going out before was gone. I got checked out by gay men and femme chicks, was told several times how cute girls thought I was. If it wasn't for work in the morning, I could have easily hooked up tonight. I did get a hot make out session with a super cute girl tonight though, so still a win.
Newton, Andrew and Tito were amazing tonight too. Also commenting on how I'm a cute boy, and randomly referring to me as he. Newton said that he noticed i seemed more comfortable tonight than he has seen me in a long time. I feel like I;m kinda rambling here, so I'll try to get to some kinda conclusion here...
I'm a biologically female, genderqueer boi. I'm stuck in the middle between male and female, without feeling like either is correct. I'm me.
3.18.2009
I suck at life aparently
I think i take the internet way too seriously. Its fucked up. I was all motivated to work on my website, have a theme in mind, started making some images, and it sucks. What the fuck am I thinking.
I finally have something good going for me, a really good opportunity to get an internship designing a website that could lead to a real job, and I feel like I'm already fucking it all up. My work is all over the place. I have no real style to it at all.
Makes sense that someone would think its too cartoony, and that I wouldn't be taken seriously.
Majorly epic massive failure.
I finally have something good going for me, a really good opportunity to get an internship designing a website that could lead to a real job, and I feel like I'm already fucking it all up. My work is all over the place. I have no real style to it at all.
Makes sense that someone would think its too cartoony, and that I wouldn't be taken seriously.
Majorly epic massive failure.
3.07.2009
Nightcrawler
There's something about walking home in the middle of the night thats oddly peaceful. Chicago beween 2 and 4 AM is like an entirely different place. People and busses are scarce, shops are closed up, and everything is quiet. Is almost shocking to encounter another person.
Last night, as I half stumbled up Pulaski Rd, in search of the blue line el, I was embarking on a new adventure when the night should have been ending. I had said goodnight to all the metal punks, and the crusties, and the goons as I slammed back a last PBR tall boy, my ears still ringing from Disrobe and Caustic Christ. I was craving a burrito.
As I walked, I grew more and more hungry. I imagined that every lit store front and neon sign was a taqueria, and each time was disappointed by a closed auto parts shop, or tattoo shop, and eventually a place called "Best Burrito", which was also closed. I eventually found the El stop at Irving Park, about 2 miles from Metal Shaker where I had started. I also found a Shell/ subway/ Dunkin donuts mega gas station, and gave up on my burrito craving for a bag of Doritos and some M&M's.
2:10 am, and I'm getting on the blue line with the sleeping homeless. I'm trying to drop the feeling of invading someones bedroom as I listen to Rancid on my iPod and eat my Dorito's. We pull into Western, and the 3rd leg of my adventure is ready to begin. I find my way down the stairs, through the turnstile, and out of the station to the bus stop, just in time to see the bus pulling away.
2:25 am, and there won't be another bus for about 30 min. Rancid ends, and I switch to the Ting-Tings to pass the time. I sit at North and Western, fighting to stay awake as I watch the people and traffic go by. I start to wonder why I had decided not to ride my bike tonight. I try not to think about how I could have been home already.
I finally get on the bus just before 3am. I get off at Cermak, and begin walking again. 1 mile to go. 1 mile till bed. 10 more minutes of walking, and my early morning public transportation adventure is over, at least till next weekend.
Last night, as I half stumbled up Pulaski Rd, in search of the blue line el, I was embarking on a new adventure when the night should have been ending. I had said goodnight to all the metal punks, and the crusties, and the goons as I slammed back a last PBR tall boy, my ears still ringing from Disrobe and Caustic Christ. I was craving a burrito.
As I walked, I grew more and more hungry. I imagined that every lit store front and neon sign was a taqueria, and each time was disappointed by a closed auto parts shop, or tattoo shop, and eventually a place called "Best Burrito", which was also closed. I eventually found the El stop at Irving Park, about 2 miles from Metal Shaker where I had started. I also found a Shell/ subway/ Dunkin donuts mega gas station, and gave up on my burrito craving for a bag of Doritos and some M&M's.
2:10 am, and I'm getting on the blue line with the sleeping homeless. I'm trying to drop the feeling of invading someones bedroom as I listen to Rancid on my iPod and eat my Dorito's. We pull into Western, and the 3rd leg of my adventure is ready to begin. I find my way down the stairs, through the turnstile, and out of the station to the bus stop, just in time to see the bus pulling away.
2:25 am, and there won't be another bus for about 30 min. Rancid ends, and I switch to the Ting-Tings to pass the time. I sit at North and Western, fighting to stay awake as I watch the people and traffic go by. I start to wonder why I had decided not to ride my bike tonight. I try not to think about how I could have been home already.
I finally get on the bus just before 3am. I get off at Cermak, and begin walking again. 1 mile to go. 1 mile till bed. 10 more minutes of walking, and my early morning public transportation adventure is over, at least till next weekend.
2.15.2009
Wallflower blossoming
Sam wants to change the world. First though, she needs to figure out how. Because changing the world is a big goal, and there are too many things that need to be fixed. She's young, aggressive, and slowly taking over my world.
I started the night leaning against the wall, clutching my beer. Watching the scene unfold.
"Are you ok? You look positively pissed off right now."
That was Leah. Playing the roll of hostess, making it her duty to see that everyone was having a good time..
"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." I assured her, "just don't know anyone here."
"Ok, well, come dance with us."
"I will eventually", I said, holding up my beer.
The truth is, I'm really a wallflower. I stand back, observe, let people come to me. And usually it works. Eventually someone will come and break through my imaginary wall, and drag me away from the safety zone I've created, and pull me out into the world again. That's were Sam comes in.
Eventually the DJ put on a good song, and I slowly made my way onto the dance floor. Suddenly Sam is standing in front of me, asking if I want to dance. I'm not sure at first. I was barely comfortable away from the wall, when human interaction, in the form of a cute girl who's practically falling on me, is invading my comfort bubble. Wasn't that what I came for though?
I say yes, and its awkward. Shes moving against me to her own rhythm, and I struggle to find her beat. All too soon, another question comes out of her mouth. "Do you want to make out?"
"No" I say, too quickly.
She's clearly drunk, and I'm only half way through my first beer. I don't want to take advantage of her. She's ok with it though, and says to let her know when I'm ready.
We keep dancing and attempt to talk over the music.
"So what's your story?" She asks, and I'm not entirely sure what she means.
I have too many to tell, and most of them would scare a lot of people away. I'm silent, thinking about what to share. That I'm unemployed and can barely afford rent and food, let alone a social life? My borderline personality disorder and how many times I've tried to kill myslef? The long list of drugs and addiction, and self mutilation? That I've lived in 3 states in the past 5 years and have started over each time?
"What do you want to know about?" I finally ask.
"Well, are you gay? Genderqueer? Whats your story?" she asks again.
The question makes sense now, and for a second I see myself as the rest of the world probably does. She can't quite figure me out, and doesn't want to assume wrong.
I don't think she realizes how compicated that question really is though. She has no idea how many times I've tried to figure it out for my self with out comming up with a real answer.
"Genderqueer, I guess. Kinda whatever." It's not really an answer, because I don't know the answer. How do you explain being female, with an androgenous apearance, with a non gender specific orientation when it comes to sexual attraction, while at the same time purposly blurring the line between genders? It can turn a seemingly simple question into a long intense conversation.
Flash forward three drinks, and I'm sitting in a chair in the corner. I'm balancing a drink in one hand, running my fingers through Sam's hair as she grinds against my thigh between kisses. I'm having one of those "Is this really my life?" moments. She had been persistant, waiting for me to finish each drink and asking if I was ready yet. Eventually I caved. I drank myself to her level, while she kept telling me how cute I was, and the feeling that I would be taking advantage faded.
After making out against the wall, in the middle of the dance floor, in line for the bathroom, against another wall, and finally the wobbly folding chair, I needed a cigarette. The one habit that's still around. I't seems insane that blow, popping pills and making myself bleed would be the easy ones to quit, especially considering my past as a Varsity Athlete in 3 sports. We found a bench on the fire escape, and tangled together for warmth while we talked.
That was when she said she want's to change the world. We talked about school, and how she finds it hot that I'm a geek. And we talked about fucking guys, and how sometimes its easier, till you wake up sober and just want to get the fuck out and pretend it never happened. She imagines a world where everyone is gay, and theres no guessing game in deciding if you can hit on a cute girl on the train. We agreed that people need to relax, and let everyone else be, and that being queer shouldn't be a big deal anymore. She stopped being the agressive drunk girl that I found intimidating, and I started to fall for her.
We decided at that point that It was time to go home, separately. I said I had to pee, then I would wait for a cab with her before walking to the bus, and we would get phone numbers while we waited.
I was standing in line, talking to a boy in a dress, when Leah showed up again. She said she had seen me with Sam, and that it was good to know. I smiled, and she stepped closer.
"It's good to know..." she said again, looking up at me, taunting almost.
And I kissed her. It was better with Leah, softer. I think I had wanted to kiss her all night, and she had been mixing strong drinks for me, but Sam had gotten to me first. "I'll see you on the dance floor" she said, walking away.
I decided to stay at that point, figuring I could see Sam to a Cab and go back to the party. Sam was gone though. And Leah was making out with someone else. I couldn't be upset though, since it was the same someone else it had been the whole time I was with Sam.
That was when the cops showed up. The party came to a halt as the under 21 crowd grabbed coats and ran for the back door. I hung back, waiting to see if the party was really over. I watched, hoping they would leave and the party would pick up again. It wasn't the case this time though.
I grabbed my coat, walked past the mess of cops out the door (lying on my way past when I was asked if they charged a cover) and looked for Sam again. She was really gone.
Once again I was the wallflower, walking home alone, wishing things had ended differently.
I started the night leaning against the wall, clutching my beer. Watching the scene unfold.
"Are you ok? You look positively pissed off right now."
That was Leah. Playing the roll of hostess, making it her duty to see that everyone was having a good time..
"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." I assured her, "just don't know anyone here."
"Ok, well, come dance with us."
"I will eventually", I said, holding up my beer.
The truth is, I'm really a wallflower. I stand back, observe, let people come to me. And usually it works. Eventually someone will come and break through my imaginary wall, and drag me away from the safety zone I've created, and pull me out into the world again. That's were Sam comes in.
Eventually the DJ put on a good song, and I slowly made my way onto the dance floor. Suddenly Sam is standing in front of me, asking if I want to dance. I'm not sure at first. I was barely comfortable away from the wall, when human interaction, in the form of a cute girl who's practically falling on me, is invading my comfort bubble. Wasn't that what I came for though?
I say yes, and its awkward. Shes moving against me to her own rhythm, and I struggle to find her beat. All too soon, another question comes out of her mouth. "Do you want to make out?"
"No" I say, too quickly.
She's clearly drunk, and I'm only half way through my first beer. I don't want to take advantage of her. She's ok with it though, and says to let her know when I'm ready.
We keep dancing and attempt to talk over the music.
"So what's your story?" She asks, and I'm not entirely sure what she means.
I have too many to tell, and most of them would scare a lot of people away. I'm silent, thinking about what to share. That I'm unemployed and can barely afford rent and food, let alone a social life? My borderline personality disorder and how many times I've tried to kill myslef? The long list of drugs and addiction, and self mutilation? That I've lived in 3 states in the past 5 years and have started over each time?
"What do you want to know about?" I finally ask.
"Well, are you gay? Genderqueer? Whats your story?" she asks again.
The question makes sense now, and for a second I see myself as the rest of the world probably does. She can't quite figure me out, and doesn't want to assume wrong.
I don't think she realizes how compicated that question really is though. She has no idea how many times I've tried to figure it out for my self with out comming up with a real answer.
"Genderqueer, I guess. Kinda whatever." It's not really an answer, because I don't know the answer. How do you explain being female, with an androgenous apearance, with a non gender specific orientation when it comes to sexual attraction, while at the same time purposly blurring the line between genders? It can turn a seemingly simple question into a long intense conversation.
Flash forward three drinks, and I'm sitting in a chair in the corner. I'm balancing a drink in one hand, running my fingers through Sam's hair as she grinds against my thigh between kisses. I'm having one of those "Is this really my life?" moments. She had been persistant, waiting for me to finish each drink and asking if I was ready yet. Eventually I caved. I drank myself to her level, while she kept telling me how cute I was, and the feeling that I would be taking advantage faded.
After making out against the wall, in the middle of the dance floor, in line for the bathroom, against another wall, and finally the wobbly folding chair, I needed a cigarette. The one habit that's still around. I't seems insane that blow, popping pills and making myself bleed would be the easy ones to quit, especially considering my past as a Varsity Athlete in 3 sports. We found a bench on the fire escape, and tangled together for warmth while we talked.
That was when she said she want's to change the world. We talked about school, and how she finds it hot that I'm a geek. And we talked about fucking guys, and how sometimes its easier, till you wake up sober and just want to get the fuck out and pretend it never happened. She imagines a world where everyone is gay, and theres no guessing game in deciding if you can hit on a cute girl on the train. We agreed that people need to relax, and let everyone else be, and that being queer shouldn't be a big deal anymore. She stopped being the agressive drunk girl that I found intimidating, and I started to fall for her.
We decided at that point that It was time to go home, separately. I said I had to pee, then I would wait for a cab with her before walking to the bus, and we would get phone numbers while we waited.
I was standing in line, talking to a boy in a dress, when Leah showed up again. She said she had seen me with Sam, and that it was good to know. I smiled, and she stepped closer.
"It's good to know..." she said again, looking up at me, taunting almost.
And I kissed her. It was better with Leah, softer. I think I had wanted to kiss her all night, and she had been mixing strong drinks for me, but Sam had gotten to me first. "I'll see you on the dance floor" she said, walking away.
I decided to stay at that point, figuring I could see Sam to a Cab and go back to the party. Sam was gone though. And Leah was making out with someone else. I couldn't be upset though, since it was the same someone else it had been the whole time I was with Sam.
That was when the cops showed up. The party came to a halt as the under 21 crowd grabbed coats and ran for the back door. I hung back, waiting to see if the party was really over. I watched, hoping they would leave and the party would pick up again. It wasn't the case this time though.
I grabbed my coat, walked past the mess of cops out the door (lying on my way past when I was asked if they charged a cover) and looked for Sam again. She was really gone.
Once again I was the wallflower, walking home alone, wishing things had ended differently.
1.07.2009
another year, more failure
So it's 2009. I've been in Chicago for 2 years now, and I'm starting over again. It seems like every time I think I have found the lowest point in my life, the ground sinks again. And every time it gets a little harder to climb back out.
I lost my job in the middle of November, just before Thanksgiving, and I'm still unemployed. I guess I should consider myself lucky in some ways, because things are changing for the better, but it doesn't really feel that way. I'm going back to school, and my mom is covering my tuition, but having better job opportunities in the future doesn't fix the now. I'm getting unemployment benefits, but being able to pay rent doesn't keep me fed or pay for books. I have a roof over my head and a warm bed to sleep in, but having the basics for survival doesn't make life feel worthwhile.
So I'm struggling everyday to make it through. Once again, I'm living on a diet of Ramen, bread and peanut butter and feeling guilty for spending more than $15 a week on food. Somehow cigarettes are a more important expense. And most importantly I'm trying to find a job. Not an easy task when getting out of bed is the hardest part of the day. It seems easier to just hide under the blankets all day than to go out into the world and be rejected again and again.
Soon some of that will change though. I will have school to get me out of bed, at least it will 3 days a week. And a job will happen. It has to. Unemployment benefits only last for so long.
I lost my job in the middle of November, just before Thanksgiving, and I'm still unemployed. I guess I should consider myself lucky in some ways, because things are changing for the better, but it doesn't really feel that way. I'm going back to school, and my mom is covering my tuition, but having better job opportunities in the future doesn't fix the now. I'm getting unemployment benefits, but being able to pay rent doesn't keep me fed or pay for books. I have a roof over my head and a warm bed to sleep in, but having the basics for survival doesn't make life feel worthwhile.
So I'm struggling everyday to make it through. Once again, I'm living on a diet of Ramen, bread and peanut butter and feeling guilty for spending more than $15 a week on food. Somehow cigarettes are a more important expense. And most importantly I'm trying to find a job. Not an easy task when getting out of bed is the hardest part of the day. It seems easier to just hide under the blankets all day than to go out into the world and be rejected again and again.
Soon some of that will change though. I will have school to get me out of bed, at least it will 3 days a week. And a job will happen. It has to. Unemployment benefits only last for so long.
12.24.2007
So its almost Christmas, which means its super close to New Years, and that means Ive been in Chicago for a year now. It seems crazy, because I honestly didn't think i would make it this long. A year ago this week I was going through all my shit, packing the essentials, and saying goodbye to everyone. I was also freaking out. A lot. I guess that was a good thing though, I was about to get on a bus to travel 1,000 miles, to go to a city I had never been too and have no job and no place to live. You already know about that though.
But I still wonder what I have really accomplished though. What did I actually do in the last year?
Lets be really cliche here, and make a randomly ordered top ten list. Isn't that what your supposed to do at the end of the year?
1. Drank a lot. To the point where I often didn't remember major parts of the night and how I ended up certain places (Todd's couch? huh? Todd doesn't remember either). There were also lots of days where I was too hung over to function before 9 pm the next day.
2. Did lots of drugs. Lets list them... Weed, Coke, muscle relaxers, Xanax, percocet, DXM. If theres anything else I dont remember (see item 1).
3. Had a bunch of one night stands, and a couple repeat fuck buddies. I dont think I want to admit to the number, we'll just say its more than 8. Some how I'm still friends with most of them.
3a. Been in conversations with 2 or more people at the same time that I had previously fucked with out it being awkward. It was a little wierd, but somehow not awkward.
4. Got in 2 somewhat major accidents on my bike. The first time I was drunk, hit a curb, flipped over the handle bars, and landed face-first on the sidewalk. My front tooth is still broken. The second time I hit a truck going through an intersection and spent about 4 hours in the ER. I went to a party that night and drank lots of beer and did a bunch of coke.
5. Lived in 2 different apartments, with different people in each one. I won't write about that though, cause I already have.
6. Had 3 different jobs. So maybe it looks bad on a resume, but I was moving up to a better position and making more money each time. I lied a little to get the current one. Actually maybe lied is the wrong word. I exagerrated about my past work experience and was offered and accepted a position I wasnt really qualified for. luckily I work with people who didn't really care and are willing to help me out and teach me stuff. Thats how you get a job as a cook without culinary school.
7. Went to lots of shows in basements and met tons of awesome people. I guess I went to being a wanna-be punk to a real punk. I totally have an in at all the shows, know people in lots of bands, and apparently im cool enough for people to share there beer and drugs with me. Maybe its time to learn how to play guitar for real, instead of just a couple chords, and be IN a band... maybe.
8. Spent 90-100 hours on Greyhound busses. Its over 30 hours to get from VT to Chicago. I did it 3 times this year. The first time moving here, then going back to VT and back to visit family in August. I learned that Xanax is the key to sanity on trips like that. I had some in August and completely zoned out most of the time.
9. Got mugged. That totally sucked. It was February, and I was walking home from a bar. I could see my apartment building when this guy comes down the sidewalk walking toward me. All of a sudden he has me against a fence and is reaching into my pockets and managed to take off with my wallet and cell phone. I sat in the snow and cried for a minute.
10. Went to Gary Indiana to buy weed and got harrased by a gang. I was with a couple other people, and we had gone to a gas station with a couple kids who lived in Gary. These guys come up to the car while were waiting for the girl, and are peeking in asking who we are before telling us to get the fuck out cause shit was about to go down. We got the fuck out. I never went back.
So maybe some people would look at that list an call me a fuck up, and say that I'm wasting my life. I don't think so though. I'll admit to having a couple regrets, but nothing I think too hard about or get depressed about (except for when I'm lying in bed at 6pm still feeling like shit between vomiting from the night before).
I didn't try to kill myself this year. I can't say that about the past couple. I guess that means things are getting better.
But I still wonder what I have really accomplished though. What did I actually do in the last year?
Lets be really cliche here, and make a randomly ordered top ten list. Isn't that what your supposed to do at the end of the year?
1. Drank a lot. To the point where I often didn't remember major parts of the night and how I ended up certain places (Todd's couch? huh? Todd doesn't remember either). There were also lots of days where I was too hung over to function before 9 pm the next day.
2. Did lots of drugs. Lets list them... Weed, Coke, muscle relaxers, Xanax, percocet, DXM. If theres anything else I dont remember (see item 1).
3. Had a bunch of one night stands, and a couple repeat fuck buddies. I dont think I want to admit to the number, we'll just say its more than 8. Some how I'm still friends with most of them.
3a. Been in conversations with 2 or more people at the same time that I had previously fucked with out it being awkward. It was a little wierd, but somehow not awkward.
4. Got in 2 somewhat major accidents on my bike. The first time I was drunk, hit a curb, flipped over the handle bars, and landed face-first on the sidewalk. My front tooth is still broken. The second time I hit a truck going through an intersection and spent about 4 hours in the ER. I went to a party that night and drank lots of beer and did a bunch of coke.
5. Lived in 2 different apartments, with different people in each one. I won't write about that though, cause I already have.
6. Had 3 different jobs. So maybe it looks bad on a resume, but I was moving up to a better position and making more money each time. I lied a little to get the current one. Actually maybe lied is the wrong word. I exagerrated about my past work experience and was offered and accepted a position I wasnt really qualified for. luckily I work with people who didn't really care and are willing to help me out and teach me stuff. Thats how you get a job as a cook without culinary school.
7. Went to lots of shows in basements and met tons of awesome people. I guess I went to being a wanna-be punk to a real punk. I totally have an in at all the shows, know people in lots of bands, and apparently im cool enough for people to share there beer and drugs with me. Maybe its time to learn how to play guitar for real, instead of just a couple chords, and be IN a band... maybe.
8. Spent 90-100 hours on Greyhound busses. Its over 30 hours to get from VT to Chicago. I did it 3 times this year. The first time moving here, then going back to VT and back to visit family in August. I learned that Xanax is the key to sanity on trips like that. I had some in August and completely zoned out most of the time.
9. Got mugged. That totally sucked. It was February, and I was walking home from a bar. I could see my apartment building when this guy comes down the sidewalk walking toward me. All of a sudden he has me against a fence and is reaching into my pockets and managed to take off with my wallet and cell phone. I sat in the snow and cried for a minute.
10. Went to Gary Indiana to buy weed and got harrased by a gang. I was with a couple other people, and we had gone to a gas station with a couple kids who lived in Gary. These guys come up to the car while were waiting for the girl, and are peeking in asking who we are before telling us to get the fuck out cause shit was about to go down. We got the fuck out. I never went back.
So maybe some people would look at that list an call me a fuck up, and say that I'm wasting my life. I don't think so though. I'll admit to having a couple regrets, but nothing I think too hard about or get depressed about (except for when I'm lying in bed at 6pm still feeling like shit between vomiting from the night before).
I didn't try to kill myself this year. I can't say that about the past couple. I guess that means things are getting better.
12.08.2007
Huevos Rancheros y Horchata Por Favor
I shouldnt be allowed to drink whisky anymore. It leads to bad ideas and forgetting big parts of the night. Or maybe it was the three long island Ice tea's that lead to the forgetting things, or maybe the weed I smoked.... but anyway, the point is, I dont remember HUGE chunks of last Friday night. Here's what I think happened though..
The first part is pretty clear, actually I remember it perfectly. I got out of work at 10:30, and found Alex sitting on a bench in the mall outside the store. At first I thought he was waiting for me to walk to the bus, cause we take the same one home and the closest stop is about 6 blocks away. It turned out he was waiting for a couple other people to finish closing to get a ride to Skylark. I asked If I might be able to get a ride too, cause my plans involved being a loser and going home to do nothing, and he thought there would be. So we squeeze into Sarah's car with Edith and another kid whos name I dont remember, and go to the bar.
It was fucking packed in there. I got a beer, the worst PBR ever (I know what your thinking, PBR always sucks so why am i complaining about it, but it was seriously way worse than normal, and I kinda like PBR when its good). We found Joe who was already drunk, his roommate bought me another beer, then Edith comes by with her Long Island. She told me they were only $5 and super strong, so Im like, fuck that beer before liquour bullshit, Im drinking Long Islands the rest of the night. And I had three of them. Eventually Todd showed up from who the fuck knows where, and the bar closed, and I left with Joe and his roommate, I dont remember his name so we'll call him Bob. Joe and Bob live a couple blocks from me so I asked them to make sure I was with them when they left so I could walk home with them. I we start walking down Cermak, when Todd catches up asking if were going to the party. Bob goes home, but Joe and I are like Sure, why not?
So we find this girl Courtney's place and go to her party. As soon as I got into the Kitchen some other co-worker hands me a bottle of whisky and I take a shot. This is where things start getting jumpy. I think I took two more, and so did Todd. Then we go to the back where people are sitting around a dining room table smoking weed. I took a couple hits and said "hi" to the adorable Dominique.
And then Im outside, standing on the sidewalk with Joe and Todd. And Courtney is standing on the steps in the doorway asking Joe why he punched some kid.
"Your bigger than him Joe, What the fuck? He's just a kid, your a grown man, why'd you have to hit him like that?"
I found out later that it was all because Joe wanted a beer from the kid.
Jump to some Mexican restraunt in Pilsen, where Im sitting across from Todd, Ordering Huevos Rancheros and a Horchata. I briefly remembering eating them, and Todd telling me that he went to Culinary School at Kendall College.
I dont remember leaving, or walking anywhere, but Im at Todds apartment. He's showing me his broken bike frame, and two bikes, and we smoke another bowl while I pet his cats before I go to sleep on his couch and pass out.
I wake up around 1pm the next day, and decide to just go home cause I feel all awkward because I dont remember how I ended up there. He gets up, helps me find my hoodie (in the opposite corner from the rest of my stuff?) and asked me if I know where I am.
"Ummm, no." I say, slightly embarrased.
I was at 18th and Ashland, and walked home in the snow trying to fill in the blank parts from the night, and deciding that Whisky and weed probably dont go well together.
The first part is pretty clear, actually I remember it perfectly. I got out of work at 10:30, and found Alex sitting on a bench in the mall outside the store. At first I thought he was waiting for me to walk to the bus, cause we take the same one home and the closest stop is about 6 blocks away. It turned out he was waiting for a couple other people to finish closing to get a ride to Skylark. I asked If I might be able to get a ride too, cause my plans involved being a loser and going home to do nothing, and he thought there would be. So we squeeze into Sarah's car with Edith and another kid whos name I dont remember, and go to the bar.
It was fucking packed in there. I got a beer, the worst PBR ever (I know what your thinking, PBR always sucks so why am i complaining about it, but it was seriously way worse than normal, and I kinda like PBR when its good). We found Joe who was already drunk, his roommate bought me another beer, then Edith comes by with her Long Island. She told me they were only $5 and super strong, so Im like, fuck that beer before liquour bullshit, Im drinking Long Islands the rest of the night. And I had three of them. Eventually Todd showed up from who the fuck knows where, and the bar closed, and I left with Joe and his roommate, I dont remember his name so we'll call him Bob. Joe and Bob live a couple blocks from me so I asked them to make sure I was with them when they left so I could walk home with them. I we start walking down Cermak, when Todd catches up asking if were going to the party. Bob goes home, but Joe and I are like Sure, why not?
So we find this girl Courtney's place and go to her party. As soon as I got into the Kitchen some other co-worker hands me a bottle of whisky and I take a shot. This is where things start getting jumpy. I think I took two more, and so did Todd. Then we go to the back where people are sitting around a dining room table smoking weed. I took a couple hits and said "hi" to the adorable Dominique.
And then Im outside, standing on the sidewalk with Joe and Todd. And Courtney is standing on the steps in the doorway asking Joe why he punched some kid.
"Your bigger than him Joe, What the fuck? He's just a kid, your a grown man, why'd you have to hit him like that?"
I found out later that it was all because Joe wanted a beer from the kid.
Jump to some Mexican restraunt in Pilsen, where Im sitting across from Todd, Ordering Huevos Rancheros and a Horchata. I briefly remembering eating them, and Todd telling me that he went to Culinary School at Kendall College.
I dont remember leaving, or walking anywhere, but Im at Todds apartment. He's showing me his broken bike frame, and two bikes, and we smoke another bowl while I pet his cats before I go to sleep on his couch and pass out.
I wake up around 1pm the next day, and decide to just go home cause I feel all awkward because I dont remember how I ended up there. He gets up, helps me find my hoodie (in the opposite corner from the rest of my stuff?) and asked me if I know where I am.
"Ummm, no." I say, slightly embarrased.
I was at 18th and Ashland, and walked home in the snow trying to fill in the blank parts from the night, and deciding that Whisky and weed probably dont go well together.
11.24.2007
Time Stops Existing
I think a lot of people would hate living in my apartment. It's in the middle of a basement, walled off with a little "Kitchen" in the corner, a bathroom, and an akwardly shaped area for my bed and clothes and shit. I guess it's kinda odd that the refridgerator is at the foot of my hard as fuck futon. So maybe some people would have a problem with the low ceiling, exposed beams, and the giant radiator pipe (aka, "Heater") you have to duck under.
I love it down there. Theres no windows, no outside sun and weather telling day or night, no differentiation from noon and midnight. It's like there is no time, like it just stops existing, and sometimes I feel like I also stop existing. Sometimes not existing is the best feeling in the world, like when Ive just gotten home home work where Ive spent the day dealing with a bunch of pain in the ass bitches, i mean customers, then taken a crowded bus to a crowded train. Sitting on my bed with music playing, where there's no tv or radio or internet, No billboards and newspapers, noone looking at me, staring or judging or slamming through me to get off the bus. There's just the music I chose to play. When im bored and a little depressed however, all that detachment will just drive me down.
This is getting a little intense, Changing the subject.
It was just thanksgiving, my first holiday alone out here. I didn't really care though, thanksgiving kinda stopped meaning anything in my family a few years ago. Last year I stayed up in Vermont when my mom and brother went down to my aunts in CT, because it felt like it would mean a little more to spend the day with my friends. I went to my dad and Catherines for a little while, talked and had some wine. Its always a little weird for me to go there. It was kinda always my dads house, cause he grew up in it, but I always thought of it as more of my grandma's. She had lived there alone for 15 years, and it was always where we had Thanksgiving and Christmas when it still mattered in my family.
Joey and Robs was where it mattered. Where Paul, and Nate and Blake and I all contributed to dinner, and we smoked a ton of the best weed in the state, and drank several bottles of wine. Bana came after his forced-family dinner, and we spent the last night together playing video games and talking. Blake left a couple weeks later, moving to Oregon, Paul was leaving for Louisville just after Christmas. I got on the bus for Chicago 2 days after Paul, and then Nate a few days after me. My new family was splitting up and spreading across the country. Thanksgiving with my friends was a big deal.
This year I went to Nate and Aaron's. We ate leftover Aaron's mom had sent him home with, smoked some weed, drank beer, and just hung out, remembering how different last year was.
11.19.2007
23rd and Spaulding
23rd and Spaulding had a pretty good rotation of inhabitants while we lived there. Of course it started out with me and Nate. Chicago began with me and Nate, he arrived on another bus days after I did, being thrown into the city exhausted with his life on his back. We found our first place together, after an unbelievable 48 hour apartment search.
It was January and we didn't have heat or hot water for about 2 weeks. Beds? Air mattresses from KMart. Food? peanut butter and ramen noodles. It was kinda miserable, but we made it home. I found a job first, at a fucking jimmy Johns. Nate soon found one at Dunkin' Donuts.
After a long cold winter, Chris joined the family. Somehow he became our problem after his old roommates kicked him out, and we quickly figured out why. He had no job, no motivation to find a job, and a long list of fuck buddy's who for some unknown reason would pay his way everywhere, so he ate better than us.
Joe moved in soon after Chris. He was Nate's daddy bear boyfriend, who quickly became everyones "Dad". And he hated Chris, because Chris was using us all. He finally gave the kid a much needed ultimatum. Get a job and show us proof (in the form of a pay check and some cash in MY hand) or leave. He lied, made up a bullshit job, screwed me over cause I was counting on $100 from him toward rent, and got the boot.
Nate's other boyfriend, Arron came in Chris's place, and Joe broke it off and moved back to the burbs. There was so much drama last summer. I stopped trying to keep it all straight (not that there was ANYthing straight about that place) because the lines between who was fucking who had basically become a giant knot. Throw in the hookups I would bring home, and the amount of fucking (and drinking, and snorting, and smoking...) that went on in that apartment was mind boggling.
A lot of growing up went on in that place too, especially on my part. I was 22 and moving out of my moms house. There was always food, I didn't pay rent, I didn't have any responsibilities. I suddenly found myself sleeping on an air mattress, in an apartment with no furniture, trying to figure out how I was going to eat for the next 5 days till a paycheck with the $8 and change in my worn out pocket.
Joe asked me once why I did it, why I moved to Chicago with nothing and put myself in this situation. "Because I had to get out of there." I told him.
Because I was fighting with my mom everyday, and getting kicked out of her house every other week. She would tell me I needed to get my shit together or find another place to live, So I would take off for a few days. I'd throw some clothes in my bag, and take off in my car. Usually I would smoke some weed, hang at a friends house for a while and find a couch (or floor) to crash on, or sleep in my car. After a couple of days I would go back home, usually for clothes or because I knew my mom was working and it was safe to hang low for a few hours. Most of the time I would go home in the middle of the night and go back to my bed eventually, and in the morning mom would be all apologetic and tell me I could stay. I knew it would only happen so many times though, and eventually I would be kicked out for real.
And I had no responsibility or motivation. I was a 22 year old college drop out, living rent free at my moms, and working at a grocery store. I was going to punk shows, and smoking weed on rooftops, popping pills to go to the club and getting wasted every night. It was the fucking good life, and I had to get out while I could. Because the weed and the muscle relaxers, and the percs and vicodin was coming way too easily, and I was feeling too little, and I was forgetting how to be sober.
Maybe I was running away, maybe I was saving myself, I dont really know. I got out though, and It's something different now, but I haven't figured out yet if its any better. Theres still shows, and walking down the street drinking Jack from the bottle with a joint in the other hand, and theres blow, and E. But im on my own now. If I fuck it up its all on me, cause there's no one else to save me here.
It was January and we didn't have heat or hot water for about 2 weeks. Beds? Air mattresses from KMart. Food? peanut butter and ramen noodles. It was kinda miserable, but we made it home. I found a job first, at a fucking jimmy Johns. Nate soon found one at Dunkin' Donuts.
After a long cold winter, Chris joined the family. Somehow he became our problem after his old roommates kicked him out, and we quickly figured out why. He had no job, no motivation to find a job, and a long list of fuck buddy's who for some unknown reason would pay his way everywhere, so he ate better than us.
Joe moved in soon after Chris. He was Nate's daddy bear boyfriend, who quickly became everyones "Dad". And he hated Chris, because Chris was using us all. He finally gave the kid a much needed ultimatum. Get a job and show us proof (in the form of a pay check and some cash in MY hand) or leave. He lied, made up a bullshit job, screwed me over cause I was counting on $100 from him toward rent, and got the boot.
Nate's other boyfriend, Arron came in Chris's place, and Joe broke it off and moved back to the burbs. There was so much drama last summer. I stopped trying to keep it all straight (not that there was ANYthing straight about that place) because the lines between who was fucking who had basically become a giant knot. Throw in the hookups I would bring home, and the amount of fucking (and drinking, and snorting, and smoking...) that went on in that apartment was mind boggling.
A lot of growing up went on in that place too, especially on my part. I was 22 and moving out of my moms house. There was always food, I didn't pay rent, I didn't have any responsibilities. I suddenly found myself sleeping on an air mattress, in an apartment with no furniture, trying to figure out how I was going to eat for the next 5 days till a paycheck with the $8 and change in my worn out pocket.
Joe asked me once why I did it, why I moved to Chicago with nothing and put myself in this situation. "Because I had to get out of there." I told him.
Because I was fighting with my mom everyday, and getting kicked out of her house every other week. She would tell me I needed to get my shit together or find another place to live, So I would take off for a few days. I'd throw some clothes in my bag, and take off in my car. Usually I would smoke some weed, hang at a friends house for a while and find a couch (or floor) to crash on, or sleep in my car. After a couple of days I would go back home, usually for clothes or because I knew my mom was working and it was safe to hang low for a few hours. Most of the time I would go home in the middle of the night and go back to my bed eventually, and in the morning mom would be all apologetic and tell me I could stay. I knew it would only happen so many times though, and eventually I would be kicked out for real.
And I had no responsibility or motivation. I was a 22 year old college drop out, living rent free at my moms, and working at a grocery store. I was going to punk shows, and smoking weed on rooftops, popping pills to go to the club and getting wasted every night. It was the fucking good life, and I had to get out while I could. Because the weed and the muscle relaxers, and the percs and vicodin was coming way too easily, and I was feeling too little, and I was forgetting how to be sober.
Maybe I was running away, maybe I was saving myself, I dont really know. I got out though, and It's something different now, but I haven't figured out yet if its any better. Theres still shows, and walking down the street drinking Jack from the bottle with a joint in the other hand, and theres blow, and E. But im on my own now. If I fuck it up its all on me, cause there's no one else to save me here.
11.13.2007
Is this for real?/
Ever had one of those days where you think about your life, and all the expectations you had and wonder, "Did I ever imagine that this would be my life?". I think that everyday.
Flash back to a year ago: Im living in Vermont, with my mom with all these big plans to move to Chicago. I didn't really know what that meant though. I was going to move, and live there. I would find an apartment and a job and everything would just happen. I didn't want to make plans. I figured plans can go wrong, and then your really fucked.
Jump ahead to January 3, 2007. Im at the Greyhound station in Chicago, completely weighed down with bags (my life) with an address in my hand. The hostel downtown where I had a bed booked for the first 4 nights. Suddenly I was home, and didn't have a place to sleep after those days, and life was suddenly way to real.
OK, back to now. Its November 13th, 2007 and I'm sitting in the corner of my art studio. Its my second living space in Chicago, and the closest to living alone I've ever been. The studio upstairs I share with a painter and an actor. I have my computer where I do graphic design work, and sometimes other random art projects. The basement is mine. I have a walled off area with a private bathroom and kitchenette that has become home. Sometimes I don't believe that I actually live here. Its the kind of space I'd always wanted, but never thought would happen.
My life isn't perfect, but im making it. I still have to work full time to pay the bills, and I have a lot of debt to pay off, but its ok. Somehow everything works out, even when I have to eat for a week on $10. I guess thats my life now. Working a shitty job, hanging out in the studio, eating what I can afford instead of what I want, and Partying. Partying past the last band, till the weed and PBR runs out, and then passing out till it's time to do it all again.
Flash back to a year ago: Im living in Vermont, with my mom with all these big plans to move to Chicago. I didn't really know what that meant though. I was going to move, and live there. I would find an apartment and a job and everything would just happen. I didn't want to make plans. I figured plans can go wrong, and then your really fucked.
Jump ahead to January 3, 2007. Im at the Greyhound station in Chicago, completely weighed down with bags (my life) with an address in my hand. The hostel downtown where I had a bed booked for the first 4 nights. Suddenly I was home, and didn't have a place to sleep after those days, and life was suddenly way to real.
OK, back to now. Its November 13th, 2007 and I'm sitting in the corner of my art studio. Its my second living space in Chicago, and the closest to living alone I've ever been. The studio upstairs I share with a painter and an actor. I have my computer where I do graphic design work, and sometimes other random art projects. The basement is mine. I have a walled off area with a private bathroom and kitchenette that has become home. Sometimes I don't believe that I actually live here. Its the kind of space I'd always wanted, but never thought would happen.
My life isn't perfect, but im making it. I still have to work full time to pay the bills, and I have a lot of debt to pay off, but its ok. Somehow everything works out, even when I have to eat for a week on $10. I guess thats my life now. Working a shitty job, hanging out in the studio, eating what I can afford instead of what I want, and Partying. Partying past the last band, till the weed and PBR runs out, and then passing out till it's time to do it all again.
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