Y so hard?
Friday, 13 December 2013
Saturday, 7 December 2013
Thursday, 5 December 2013
Ten Things I've Learned From Working In Retail
Working in a shoe department isn't what I'd call my dream job, or calling. Hell, I don't think a life in retail is the type of occupation that anyone dreams about having, but, it's a learning opportunity. If you pay attention and listen, every job isn't just a source of income and another notch on the bedpost of your resume, but also provides an environment where you can learn a lot about yourself and pick up transferable job skills in general as well. Here are some of the more important things I've learned or had further cemented in my mind since working in retail:
1) People will assume you're stupid - get used to it.
While it's much easier to say "get used to it" than it is to actually put it into practice, it's sadly something myself and co-workers deal with far too often, and it helps make your job easier if you develop a tough skin to customers' negative assumptions about you. I've been asked, well, not even asked more so just been told by customers that I haven't gone to school. They'll look at you, sympathetically, with big puppy dog eyes, brimming with misplaced pity and say something like, "so, you didn't go to school, did you?". Fuck you. Fuck you so much. I'm going to purposefully bring out shoes three sizes too small and put them in a box that says they are your size so that you put them on, walk around in them, and hurt your toes. Don't fuck with me. I hold the fate of your feet in my hands. I own you. Not really... but... I like pretending that I have more power than I actually do. But seriously... I will fuck up your feet. I did go to post-secondary, for five years. I have a PhD in kicking your ass, with Honours, so, watch yourself 64 year-old lady. You have an artificial hip, I could totally take you.
2) People don't want you to touch their feet.
This one I was actually thrilled to learn. Back in the day employees at shoe stores were required to put all shoes on and take all shoes off the customers' feet. When I first got the job I thought great, I'm going to be a minimum wage Al Bundy, sentenced to touch crabby women's feet forever. This is my own personal hell. But, to my surprise, I have only measured one guy's foot since my employment. People usually know their foot size, so they don't ask you to check for them, and thank god for that. I have never liked feet and especially after this job, I think people with feet fetishes are some of the fucking strangest people in all existence. All the visually appealing and fun body parts you could have an obsession with and you chose feet? Seriously?
3) Speaking of feet the fancy looking foot measuring device I'm sure you've seen before is called a Brannock Device.
The more you know. When that question comes up now in Trivial Pursuit, you'll rock it. You're welcome.
4) Finding a pair of shoes that are comfortable enough to work in for 8.5 hours is horribly difficult.
5) People assume back rooms contain a magical Narnia world that constantly rains down all the shoes they want you to find for them.
Let me explain back rooms to you... they are a mess. Just like with kitchens and bathrooms at home, as much as you clean them, they are always dirty, because they are in constant use. I'm not saying this as a dig at the back room people at my work, it's just honestly impossible to keep everything in order back there. There's always something that couldn't get finished from last shift going on during your current shift, where most likely, you're not going to be able to get through everything on your to-do list either, so, you're always a little behind. You need like, a human with octopus arms on steroids to get that job done, it's that crazy. At my work specifically we have three separate back rooms; one for ladies footwear and booties (boots that go up to the ankle) and three brands of long fashion boots, just to fuck with you, one room for all other long fashion boots and one back room for men's shoes. When you disappear behind the corner to check if you have something in another size or colour for a customer however, they assume everything you're looking for is in one place, and I can't blame them for that assumption. I probably would have assumed the same thing, but now I know better when it comes to shoe departments. I don't mind them assuming everything is in one room so much as I mind that when one person shoves five shoes at me, wanting these three in one size and the remaining two in another and I go to check for them, if I'm gone for more than two minutes, when I come back I almost always get this response; "Oh, there you are! I thought you went off for a coffee or something. Where did you disappear to?" To which my internal response is this:
Where was I? Oh, I'm sorry Ma'am, I must have been busy going to the back room over there, at the other end of the store to get the two pairs of boots you wanted then coming back over here to find the other three pairs of shoes, of which, there's no pictures of the shoes on the boxes, so I have to read all the codes in order to match them and had to go up ladders to get two of them off the shelf. Was I inconveniencing you? Cutting into your shopping time? We both know you're not going to buy any of these shoes anyway and that your feet are too fat for the red pumps and your calves are too wide to fit either pair of boots I brought out, meaning I will just have to put all these boxes away later, which will be fun for me. I love dealing with all your bullshit for $10.25/hr. It fills me with such joy.
6) Every department store loves to start playing conclusively Christmas music early into November, and it will drive you fucking insane.
In my opinion if it's not December it's too early for Christmas music. Working where I work, music-wise, is like being trapped in a club where the DJ is your ex, still bitter from your non-mutual breakup, set on making you suffer a mental breakdown by seeing how many repeated playings of "Santa Baby" you can endure. For me the answer is not many. I caught myself humming "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" in the back room the other day and wanted to cut out my own tongue.
The only time I've enjoyed the music I've been subjected to at work was during a Gala event the store was having where they hired an actual DJ. I was enjoying the music selection until he played the song "Cha Cha Slide" by DJ Casper and I made myself sad by remembering all the words and the dance to that song and realized that I haven't danced to it/heard it since it was played at my freaking prom, back in 2007. Fuck I'm old. Here's the song for those who haven't had the pleasure of getting groovy to it:
7) Customers assume all our computers are the futuristic ones Ironman has access to.
It's an old computer, OK? I know you all love to assume my job is fucking easy and a parrot wearing a fez could easily do it, but it's an old system and there's a surprising amount to it. A lot of the sales we have to price override ourselves because they don't come up. Things like paying off a credit card by cheque, checking to see if another one of our stores has an item for you, checking to see if you can order the item in store, processing a return, processing an exchange, all take several keystrokes and separate steps. So would you give me a god damn second?
8) Never phone a store's shoe department to see if they have a shoe you want.
We will almost never pick up the phone unless it's a manager. We just don't have the time to help you. Priority is given to customers who are there. Also, don't be that JACKASS who comes in, asks if we have a shoe in your size/colour, we check, tell you we unfortunately don't but we offer to do a search to see if one of our other store locations have it for you, print off a convenient list for you of all the phone numbers of the other stores and how many of the shoes you want that they have in stock, and then you ask us to call a store for you. Buddy... do you not see the line of people I have at my cash, waiting to be checked out, do a return, or see if we have a shoe they want? Your iPhone is right in your hand. I can see it. Call. Your. Fucking. Self. I hate you. Go away.
9) After hearing my voice on a PA system when needing to page different Managers and departments, I've come to the conclusion that I hate my voice.
10) No, you can't just take a shoehorn sir. Frankly, I'm tired of you asking me. You have to buy them... they cost like 4 bucks.
1) People will assume you're stupid - get used to it.
While it's much easier to say "get used to it" than it is to actually put it into practice, it's sadly something myself and co-workers deal with far too often, and it helps make your job easier if you develop a tough skin to customers' negative assumptions about you. I've been asked, well, not even asked more so just been told by customers that I haven't gone to school. They'll look at you, sympathetically, with big puppy dog eyes, brimming with misplaced pity and say something like, "so, you didn't go to school, did you?". Fuck you. Fuck you so much. I'm going to purposefully bring out shoes three sizes too small and put them in a box that says they are your size so that you put them on, walk around in them, and hurt your toes. Don't fuck with me. I hold the fate of your feet in my hands. I own you. Not really... but... I like pretending that I have more power than I actually do. But seriously... I will fuck up your feet. I did go to post-secondary, for five years. I have a PhD in kicking your ass, with Honours, so, watch yourself 64 year-old lady. You have an artificial hip, I could totally take you.
This one I was actually thrilled to learn. Back in the day employees at shoe stores were required to put all shoes on and take all shoes off the customers' feet. When I first got the job I thought great, I'm going to be a minimum wage Al Bundy, sentenced to touch crabby women's feet forever. This is my own personal hell. But, to my surprise, I have only measured one guy's foot since my employment. People usually know their foot size, so they don't ask you to check for them, and thank god for that. I have never liked feet and especially after this job, I think people with feet fetishes are some of the fucking strangest people in all existence. All the visually appealing and fun body parts you could have an obsession with and you chose feet? Seriously?
The more you know. When that question comes up now in Trivial Pursuit, you'll rock it. You're welcome.
My funds were getting low due to a year and a half of unemployment before landing this shoe department gig that when I was told I'd need black shoes for work to suit the almost all black dress code I went over to Payless and got myself some super cheap AirWalks. We're not allowed running shoes of any kind, our footwear has to be a bit dressier than that, so I got the AirWalks that are basically just black fabric going across your foot with a plastic white bottom with minimal tread. They look just like these, very similar to Toms shoes.
I tragically can not warn past Danielle that she is a fucking dumbass for making this decision, but if I could, I absolutely would slap myself. Don't underestimate the physical toll being on your feet for 8.5 hrs has on a body, especially when working in a shoes department. Over half my time at work is spent crouching or on my knees or on my tip toes when looking for shoes in the back rooms, going up and down ladders, running, speed walking, just constantly go go go. These shoes are some of the most comfortable shoes you will ever wear.... if you're planning on walking short distances or just hanging out with friends, but they are the flattest shoes in all existence. No heel = absolutely zero back support plus a thin canvas cloth covering = no foot protection for when you drop something on your feet... which of course happened to me as both life and gravity hates me. "So then just buy a pair of new black shoes that are affordable and still match the dress code Danielle", you might say, and that's what I did.... but breaking in the shoes caused my pinky toes to blister... so now I have a conundrum. Until I can break in my new pairs of work shoes enough on weekends that they don't hurt me at work any more, before every shift I have a painful decision to make; should I wear my AirWalks that are soft on my toes and aren't causing a rubbing agitation on my pinkies but give me no back support so that I feel like Rob Ford sat on me when I get home, or, wear the newer shoes with back support but are stiff and cause my pinkies to blister and feet to bleed? Decisions decisions.
Let me explain back rooms to you... they are a mess. Just like with kitchens and bathrooms at home, as much as you clean them, they are always dirty, because they are in constant use. I'm not saying this as a dig at the back room people at my work, it's just honestly impossible to keep everything in order back there. There's always something that couldn't get finished from last shift going on during your current shift, where most likely, you're not going to be able to get through everything on your to-do list either, so, you're always a little behind. You need like, a human with octopus arms on steroids to get that job done, it's that crazy. At my work specifically we have three separate back rooms; one for ladies footwear and booties (boots that go up to the ankle) and three brands of long fashion boots, just to fuck with you, one room for all other long fashion boots and one back room for men's shoes. When you disappear behind the corner to check if you have something in another size or colour for a customer however, they assume everything you're looking for is in one place, and I can't blame them for that assumption. I probably would have assumed the same thing, but now I know better when it comes to shoe departments. I don't mind them assuming everything is in one room so much as I mind that when one person shoves five shoes at me, wanting these three in one size and the remaining two in another and I go to check for them, if I'm gone for more than two minutes, when I come back I almost always get this response; "Oh, there you are! I thought you went off for a coffee or something. Where did you disappear to?" To which my internal response is this:
Where was I? Oh, I'm sorry Ma'am, I must have been busy going to the back room over there, at the other end of the store to get the two pairs of boots you wanted then coming back over here to find the other three pairs of shoes, of which, there's no pictures of the shoes on the boxes, so I have to read all the codes in order to match them and had to go up ladders to get two of them off the shelf. Was I inconveniencing you? Cutting into your shopping time? We both know you're not going to buy any of these shoes anyway and that your feet are too fat for the red pumps and your calves are too wide to fit either pair of boots I brought out, meaning I will just have to put all these boxes away later, which will be fun for me. I love dealing with all your bullshit for $10.25/hr. It fills me with such joy.
In my opinion if it's not December it's too early for Christmas music. Working where I work, music-wise, is like being trapped in a club where the DJ is your ex, still bitter from your non-mutual breakup, set on making you suffer a mental breakdown by seeing how many repeated playings of "Santa Baby" you can endure. For me the answer is not many. I caught myself humming "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" in the back room the other day and wanted to cut out my own tongue.
The only time I've enjoyed the music I've been subjected to at work was during a Gala event the store was having where they hired an actual DJ. I was enjoying the music selection until he played the song "Cha Cha Slide" by DJ Casper and I made myself sad by remembering all the words and the dance to that song and realized that I haven't danced to it/heard it since it was played at my freaking prom, back in 2007. Fuck I'm old. Here's the song for those who haven't had the pleasure of getting groovy to it:
7) Customers assume all our computers are the futuristic ones Ironman has access to.
It's an old computer, OK? I know you all love to assume my job is fucking easy and a parrot wearing a fez could easily do it, but it's an old system and there's a surprising amount to it. A lot of the sales we have to price override ourselves because they don't come up. Things like paying off a credit card by cheque, checking to see if another one of our stores has an item for you, checking to see if you can order the item in store, processing a return, processing an exchange, all take several keystrokes and separate steps. So would you give me a god damn second?
We will almost never pick up the phone unless it's a manager. We just don't have the time to help you. Priority is given to customers who are there. Also, don't be that JACKASS who comes in, asks if we have a shoe in your size/colour, we check, tell you we unfortunately don't but we offer to do a search to see if one of our other store locations have it for you, print off a convenient list for you of all the phone numbers of the other stores and how many of the shoes you want that they have in stock, and then you ask us to call a store for you. Buddy... do you not see the line of people I have at my cash, waiting to be checked out, do a return, or see if we have a shoe they want? Your iPhone is right in your hand. I can see it. Call. Your. Fucking. Self. I hate you. Go away.
9) After hearing my voice on a PA system when needing to page different Managers and departments, I've come to the conclusion that I hate my voice.
10) No, you can't just take a shoehorn sir. Frankly, I'm tired of you asking me. You have to buy them... they cost like 4 bucks.
Sunday, 27 October 2013
The Bold Creative Types
I have a few friends who are creative in different ways similar to myself but who really own the fact that they're a "creative type" and I'm constantly jealous of their bravery. Normally, I'm bold enough of a person to not really care if someone I cross paths with isn't a fan of me, but, admitting to others that you're one of those Arts-degree-holding, museum-loving, I write/sketch/paint/do stand-up comedy in my spare time type of individuals takes balls. Normally such a proclamation ends with a room of people staring at you like you're a chain pot-smoking, lazy, naked bongo playing hippie lacking any self-direction... so, basically, they look at you like you're Matthew McConaughey. Nobody wants to be seen as Matthew McConaughey (except him, perhaps).
I try to give myself credit for the things I have done, the chances I have taken, because there's a lot of them. I've always been the type of girl who told boys when I liked them, I was in plays in High School, on the Improv team in University, auditioned to get into Ryerson's Acting program, I have a YouTube channel and I dance like an idiot and don't care who sees. All of these traits have really helped me enjoy my life thus far, but I wish I sort of owned who I was even more. One of my creative friends recently printed off a bunch of his short stories into a self-made book, set up a card table at the University we both attended and attempted to sell them. While I don't normally care what people think of me or if people approve of me, that right there is something I can not ever see myself doing. You sit there at your table, and people pass by, seeing you as the vulnerable raw nerve that you are, a "struggling artist" and it's easy for them to make snap judgements about you which are often wrong. You're lazy, didn't go to school, anyone can write (a laughable claim), and that really starts to get to me. Make judgements about me or don't like me? Fine. Make judgements about what I do, my interests, and what I potentially want to dedicate my life to? That hurts. If you see me as less legitimate than someone in a suit and tie because I'm fairly certain a desk job lifestyle isn't for me it's not my issue, it's yours, but, in the moment, I lose my perspective and wonder what's wrong with me. I need outward gratification for my decisions and the direction of my life more than I should, more than I want to.
Shane Koyczan is one of those people who owns what he does, owns that he's a writer/poet/spoken artist to such a level that it makes me feel like I can't write at all in comparison. The topics he writes about always hit such a humane cord and his words are always so polished and well-spoken that it gives me shivers. I've already listened to this particular piece three times today and it reminds me to be bolder, own who I am more, and get out there. As Shane himself says, "... failure was never nearly as important as the fact that we tried".
Personal fav lines: "Six feet above the underground where we will all one day rest. So remember every instance before death. Every first kiss, first dance, near miss, last chance, yes, no, maybe so."
"Let us live like we meant it. Let us burn like we mean it. Because this world doesn't give a shit if we end in a train wreck or a car crash. If our story ends with a dot or a dash. If we were dust or ash."
Trust me... watch it.
I try to give myself credit for the things I have done, the chances I have taken, because there's a lot of them. I've always been the type of girl who told boys when I liked them, I was in plays in High School, on the Improv team in University, auditioned to get into Ryerson's Acting program, I have a YouTube channel and I dance like an idiot and don't care who sees. All of these traits have really helped me enjoy my life thus far, but I wish I sort of owned who I was even more. One of my creative friends recently printed off a bunch of his short stories into a self-made book, set up a card table at the University we both attended and attempted to sell them. While I don't normally care what people think of me or if people approve of me, that right there is something I can not ever see myself doing. You sit there at your table, and people pass by, seeing you as the vulnerable raw nerve that you are, a "struggling artist" and it's easy for them to make snap judgements about you which are often wrong. You're lazy, didn't go to school, anyone can write (a laughable claim), and that really starts to get to me. Make judgements about me or don't like me? Fine. Make judgements about what I do, my interests, and what I potentially want to dedicate my life to? That hurts. If you see me as less legitimate than someone in a suit and tie because I'm fairly certain a desk job lifestyle isn't for me it's not my issue, it's yours, but, in the moment, I lose my perspective and wonder what's wrong with me. I need outward gratification for my decisions and the direction of my life more than I should, more than I want to.
Shane Koyczan is one of those people who owns what he does, owns that he's a writer/poet/spoken artist to such a level that it makes me feel like I can't write at all in comparison. The topics he writes about always hit such a humane cord and his words are always so polished and well-spoken that it gives me shivers. I've already listened to this particular piece three times today and it reminds me to be bolder, own who I am more, and get out there. As Shane himself says, "... failure was never nearly as important as the fact that we tried".
Personal fav lines: "Six feet above the underground where we will all one day rest. So remember every instance before death. Every first kiss, first dance, near miss, last chance, yes, no, maybe so."
"Let us live like we meant it. Let us burn like we mean it. Because this world doesn't give a shit if we end in a train wreck or a car crash. If our story ends with a dot or a dash. If we were dust or ash."
Trust me... watch it.
Sunday, 13 October 2013
Friday, 11 October 2013
I'm So Proud of You I Could Throw Up
Have you ever experienced that horribly complicated feeling when you're super proud of someone close to you's accomplishments, yet, at the same time, their new-found successes just serve to make you feel shitty about your current lack of impressiveness? Well, I do, and it sucks.
It especially sucks if the timing couldn't be any worse. Just like how the doorbell always seems to ring incessantly when you just sat down to take a shit and then realized that you're out of toilet paper halfway through and family and/or guests are over, so you can't just do the bunched-up-pants-at-the-ankles shuffle of shame or the half naked walk to your toilet paper stash... calls from loved ones to excitedly tell you their most recent triumphs and tales of awesomeness similarly always seem to come right when you're contemplating eating that questionable expired yogurt in your fridge because that's become a thrill in your life. Look at you, you dangerous risk-taker. Your life is so fast-paced. "No, don't do that!", others might say, "It's risky! You might get sick!". "Life is risky!" you'll reply boldly with a look of steely conviction as you guzzle down the strawberry banana treat which is long past its prime. "It's delicious and I regret nothing".
Today I wasn't contemplating eating questionable yogurt, but, I've been very down on myself and feeling unimpressive for a number of months. Today I told myself to nut up. I got up early and had a nice breakfast. I had a nice, long, hot shower, which, as always, if you're down, makes you feel part of the land of the living again. I made a "To Do" list and told myself I would actually complete everything on it this time, no exceptions. I was sketching out my rough draft of an essay for a writing contest a company is having where I could potentially win a job with them for a year. I was feeling good about having bathed and having eaten a healthy well-balanced meal when I received the call of significance. Don't get me wrong, the person in question, my boyfriend, very much deserves their success and I couldn't be happier for him. He's worked hard to get where he currently is and I chatted with him for about twenty minutes about all the variations of awesome he is and how sunshine-y and great everything is looking for him... and yet... I hang up the phone and my stomach feels like I just swallowed a bag of flour. It's crazy to think about how much a short phone call can make you look at things differently. I glanced down at my chicken scratch notes of an essay on my desk, the same ones that just moments before made me feel pride and happiness that I was being productive with something, and now they enraged me; felt pathetic. Like I was chasing after something that is a long shot to begin with and feebishly trying to climb Mount Everest in flip flops.
Hallmark greeting cards should really capitalize on this particular situation, this horrible mishmash of emotions. "Congratulations!" the card would say on the outside in colourful pretty script and then on the inside, "I hate you, you happy fuck face".
I know it's unhealthy to make social comparisons too frequently between yourself and peers, but I'm a flawed human being and it's one of my unhealthy habits. I think I'm allowed one as I don't smoke or anything, but, this habit of mine still causes a sort of cancer to spread throughout my mind. It's hard to not reflect on yourself and your own efforts and hard work throughout the years while you congratulate someone else and tell them they deserve the fruit of their labours (because they do), but, so do you. Where the heck is your golden ticket to the chocolate factory? Did it get lost in the mail? Is it even coming?
I'm already dreading Christmas. Christmas and Thanksgiving are the fucking worst days of the year for people in not the best stages of their life. Thanksgiving isn't a problem for me as I have a small family and we don't all get together for Turkey Day, but on Jesus's birthday we do. Standing next to someone who has a lot of interesting answers to the question, "So, how have things been for you? What's new?" when you don't yourself really hurts the ego. I rather stand next to a super model and have a whole room verbally compare our attractiveness levels loudly and harshly than stand next to someone who has a life worth bragging about. It's like a newbie stand up comedian who's going on stage for the first time, palms almost too sweaty to hold the microphone in their grasp, being told to follow up Louie CK... it's not likely to go well for the newbie. "Then my boyfriend told me he got an Internship at one of Ottawa's biggest and best Museums and I said back to him, "That's great! If you need me I'll be over here in my sweat pants eating cookie dough from the tube listening to Enya songs on a continuous loop and crying." *Silence from the crowd* "Is this thing on?"
I think we all tell ourselves the yellow brick roads we're merrily skipping down are leading to sparkling Emerald Cities, as, well, the alternative is depressing and enough to make you want to eat more expired yogurt. It's a lot easier going down your winding roads though when you feel you have others to link arms with while you skip. Dorothy had the Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion, and, well, I'm not really sure who I have left to travel with. Sure, I have friends, people I can vent to on occasion, and I'm very thankful for that, but, sometimes it feels nicer to talk to people with the same issues as yours whom you feel you can relate to and more and more peers of mine are starting to enter their Cities of success while I'm still stuck back in the twister in Kansas.
It all reminds me of one of my favourite movie quotes, a conversation between Alice and the Cheshire Cat in "Alice in Wonderland".
Alice: "I was just wondering if you could help me find my way."
Cheshire Cat: "Well, that depends on where you want to go."
Alice: "Oh, it really doesn't matter, as long as...."
Cheshire Cat: "Then it really doesn't matter which way you go."
Maybe that fictional Acid trip Cat is right. It doesn't matter which way I go.
Excuse me, I'm off to eat some magic cakes, drink some magic potions and have an adventure.
It especially sucks if the timing couldn't be any worse. Just like how the doorbell always seems to ring incessantly when you just sat down to take a shit and then realized that you're out of toilet paper halfway through and family and/or guests are over, so you can't just do the bunched-up-pants-at-the-ankles shuffle of shame or the half naked walk to your toilet paper stash... calls from loved ones to excitedly tell you their most recent triumphs and tales of awesomeness similarly always seem to come right when you're contemplating eating that questionable expired yogurt in your fridge because that's become a thrill in your life. Look at you, you dangerous risk-taker. Your life is so fast-paced. "No, don't do that!", others might say, "It's risky! You might get sick!". "Life is risky!" you'll reply boldly with a look of steely conviction as you guzzle down the strawberry banana treat which is long past its prime. "It's delicious and I regret nothing".
Today I wasn't contemplating eating questionable yogurt, but, I've been very down on myself and feeling unimpressive for a number of months. Today I told myself to nut up. I got up early and had a nice breakfast. I had a nice, long, hot shower, which, as always, if you're down, makes you feel part of the land of the living again. I made a "To Do" list and told myself I would actually complete everything on it this time, no exceptions. I was sketching out my rough draft of an essay for a writing contest a company is having where I could potentially win a job with them for a year. I was feeling good about having bathed and having eaten a healthy well-balanced meal when I received the call of significance. Don't get me wrong, the person in question, my boyfriend, very much deserves their success and I couldn't be happier for him. He's worked hard to get where he currently is and I chatted with him for about twenty minutes about all the variations of awesome he is and how sunshine-y and great everything is looking for him... and yet... I hang up the phone and my stomach feels like I just swallowed a bag of flour. It's crazy to think about how much a short phone call can make you look at things differently. I glanced down at my chicken scratch notes of an essay on my desk, the same ones that just moments before made me feel pride and happiness that I was being productive with something, and now they enraged me; felt pathetic. Like I was chasing after something that is a long shot to begin with and feebishly trying to climb Mount Everest in flip flops.
Hallmark greeting cards should really capitalize on this particular situation, this horrible mishmash of emotions. "Congratulations!" the card would say on the outside in colourful pretty script and then on the inside, "I hate you, you happy fuck face".
I know it's unhealthy to make social comparisons too frequently between yourself and peers, but I'm a flawed human being and it's one of my unhealthy habits. I think I'm allowed one as I don't smoke or anything, but, this habit of mine still causes a sort of cancer to spread throughout my mind. It's hard to not reflect on yourself and your own efforts and hard work throughout the years while you congratulate someone else and tell them they deserve the fruit of their labours (because they do), but, so do you. Where the heck is your golden ticket to the chocolate factory? Did it get lost in the mail? Is it even coming?
I'm already dreading Christmas. Christmas and Thanksgiving are the fucking worst days of the year for people in not the best stages of their life. Thanksgiving isn't a problem for me as I have a small family and we don't all get together for Turkey Day, but on Jesus's birthday we do. Standing next to someone who has a lot of interesting answers to the question, "So, how have things been for you? What's new?" when you don't yourself really hurts the ego. I rather stand next to a super model and have a whole room verbally compare our attractiveness levels loudly and harshly than stand next to someone who has a life worth bragging about. It's like a newbie stand up comedian who's going on stage for the first time, palms almost too sweaty to hold the microphone in their grasp, being told to follow up Louie CK... it's not likely to go well for the newbie. "Then my boyfriend told me he got an Internship at one of Ottawa's biggest and best Museums and I said back to him, "That's great! If you need me I'll be over here in my sweat pants eating cookie dough from the tube listening to Enya songs on a continuous loop and crying." *Silence from the crowd* "Is this thing on?"
I think we all tell ourselves the yellow brick roads we're merrily skipping down are leading to sparkling Emerald Cities, as, well, the alternative is depressing and enough to make you want to eat more expired yogurt. It's a lot easier going down your winding roads though when you feel you have others to link arms with while you skip. Dorothy had the Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion, and, well, I'm not really sure who I have left to travel with. Sure, I have friends, people I can vent to on occasion, and I'm very thankful for that, but, sometimes it feels nicer to talk to people with the same issues as yours whom you feel you can relate to and more and more peers of mine are starting to enter their Cities of success while I'm still stuck back in the twister in Kansas.
It all reminds me of one of my favourite movie quotes, a conversation between Alice and the Cheshire Cat in "Alice in Wonderland".
Alice: "I was just wondering if you could help me find my way."
Cheshire Cat: "Well, that depends on where you want to go."
Alice: "Oh, it really doesn't matter, as long as...."
Cheshire Cat: "Then it really doesn't matter which way you go."
Maybe that fictional Acid trip Cat is right. It doesn't matter which way I go.
Excuse me, I'm off to eat some magic cakes, drink some magic potions and have an adventure.
Monday, 30 September 2013
This quote relates way too much to my life for the last two years.
"I know I should be thrilled right now. I'm young-ish, and I'm healthy... also "ish". I'm alive. I'm a living, breathing thing, and it's really... it's overwhelming how lucky I am. But yet every night I go to bed, and I have this gnawing feeling, like what I've got is not enough. And every morning I get up thinking the feeling will be gone, but, it's not. Does that make me a selfish fucking ungrateful douche bag?"
--Larry Bloom from "Orange Is the New Black"
"I know I should be thrilled right now. I'm young-ish, and I'm healthy... also "ish". I'm alive. I'm a living, breathing thing, and it's really... it's overwhelming how lucky I am. But yet every night I go to bed, and I have this gnawing feeling, like what I've got is not enough. And every morning I get up thinking the feeling will be gone, but, it's not. Does that make me a selfish fucking ungrateful douche bag?"
--Larry Bloom from "Orange Is the New Black"
Wednesday, 26 June 2013
Dieting
Every time.
Somebody Photoshop me.. like in real life. That would be just dandy.
Everrrryyy time I look at myself in the mirror and say to myself "I'm going to loose *insert an overzealous amount of weight here*" my brain says to myself:
Being the cynic I am, I accept defeat before it's happened:
And any attempts at working out make me feel like this:
Then my friends are all like:
And between that and seeing 50 instagramed pictures of people's salads on facebook #with #hashtags #for #every #fucking #ingredient, I loose my sanity a little:
But then I start hitting my stride suddenly. I no longer crave pop or beer or sweets. No amount of
chocolate or cookies or high fructose corn syrup can tempt me! My pants fit better and I don't sweat after walking more than 10 minutes any more!
Then it's some stupid person's birthday or something and I feel socially forced to ingest sugar in some capacity and I return to my normal state:
And eventually... this just becomes my response again to dieting, until 5 months later, where I decide it would be a good idea again, and I repeat this whole ungodly process.
Somebody Photoshop me.. like in real life. That would be just dandy.
Saturday, 6 April 2013
Tuesday, 2 April 2013
Pinch Me
Tried to sleep tonight but just tossed and turned. Too much on my mind.
Was cleaning through my computer and came across something short I wrote about two years ago.
I had recently graduated from University and was working away at College with an increasingly
unsettling feeling growing inside me that it just wasn't working out. It was a very confusing time in
my life, but present me looks back at past me and laughs at her. My life is currently so much
more confusing than when I was still in school. Perspective is a stone-cold bitch.
Part of me hated that when I read this, I could still relate to all of it and felt it accurately described how I feel in terms of my life and existence. Maybe I haven't grown or changed at all since December 15th, 2011 at 7:38 PM when I felt inspired to create this, and that does not sit well with me. Then again, it makes the present version of me, flailing around and taking seven giant steps backwards whenever I successfully take one shaky one forward feel less alone, like a shadow version of myself is sitting beside me saying "I know that feel bro". Anyways, here's what I wrote:
"Everybody's betting on my number but me. Crowd cheering, wagers made, everything on the line. Young muscles aged by chasing fluffy things down holes. Just run after the rabbit. Keep running. This track goes in circles. Only one more lap. Too much sacrificed to stop. Don't wonder what it's like to walk. They walk, and they choose to watch me run. It's not entertainment, it's jealously, and I'm jealous of them too. Run past the rosebush, no time to stop. Only one more lap. Legs numb, brain numb. Sprint to the head of the pack. The rabbit's fake. I think I always knew that, but I still feel cheated. Foolishly scampering after something I was never meant to catch. Only one more lap I'm told, but I've been lied to before. Just run after the rabbit. Keep running."
I still feel that many comparisons can be made between young adult life and a circular dog track. I still feel that the rabbit I've been chasing is fake, and I still feel cheated. I don't know whether I need to keep running or whether it's better for me to sit my ass down, unlace my shoes and scream at the top of my lungs "fuckkk this shit!" and find my own track to run on. Figuring out who you are is a lonely business and I'm really hating it. I feel deeply alone unless I'm around friends. I saw a friend earlier on in the week and when I got home and closed the door my stomach twisted up and my heart started to race a little. I didn't want to be left alone with myself again. I don't find myself as nice of company as I used to.
It all reminds me of this classic song which has always had a special place inside of my heart:
"Pinch me, pinch me, cuz I'm still asleep"
Was cleaning through my computer and came across something short I wrote about two years ago.
I had recently graduated from University and was working away at College with an increasingly
unsettling feeling growing inside me that it just wasn't working out. It was a very confusing time in
my life, but present me looks back at past me and laughs at her. My life is currently so much
more confusing than when I was still in school. Perspective is a stone-cold bitch.
Part of me hated that when I read this, I could still relate to all of it and felt it accurately described how I feel in terms of my life and existence. Maybe I haven't grown or changed at all since December 15th, 2011 at 7:38 PM when I felt inspired to create this, and that does not sit well with me. Then again, it makes the present version of me, flailing around and taking seven giant steps backwards whenever I successfully take one shaky one forward feel less alone, like a shadow version of myself is sitting beside me saying "I know that feel bro". Anyways, here's what I wrote:
"Everybody's betting on my number but me. Crowd cheering, wagers made, everything on the line. Young muscles aged by chasing fluffy things down holes. Just run after the rabbit. Keep running. This track goes in circles. Only one more lap. Too much sacrificed to stop. Don't wonder what it's like to walk. They walk, and they choose to watch me run. It's not entertainment, it's jealously, and I'm jealous of them too. Run past the rosebush, no time to stop. Only one more lap. Legs numb, brain numb. Sprint to the head of the pack. The rabbit's fake. I think I always knew that, but I still feel cheated. Foolishly scampering after something I was never meant to catch. Only one more lap I'm told, but I've been lied to before. Just run after the rabbit. Keep running."
I still feel that many comparisons can be made between young adult life and a circular dog track. I still feel that the rabbit I've been chasing is fake, and I still feel cheated. I don't know whether I need to keep running or whether it's better for me to sit my ass down, unlace my shoes and scream at the top of my lungs "fuckkk this shit!" and find my own track to run on. Figuring out who you are is a lonely business and I'm really hating it. I feel deeply alone unless I'm around friends. I saw a friend earlier on in the week and when I got home and closed the door my stomach twisted up and my heart started to race a little. I didn't want to be left alone with myself again. I don't find myself as nice of company as I used to.
It all reminds me of this classic song which has always had a special place inside of my heart:
"Pinch me, pinch me, cuz I'm still asleep"
Sunday, 10 March 2013
Man Man
Stumbled upon this song today and it's been forever since I've posted anything on my blog
so I figured I would.
Forget romantic comedies or romance novels.... male songwriters give women impossibly
high standards for what they idealistically want from men. Or maybe it's just me.
"I hate your subtle beauty
The way your doe eyes slow dance me
And beat like a million humming birds
When I draw closer
Most of all I hate the way that I miss your sight
More than a blind man would miss his own eyes"
Jesus. Forget chocolate and flowers. These men are on to something.
I think every woman would love to be special enough to be the muse for a song.
so I figured I would.
Forget romantic comedies or romance novels.... male songwriters give women impossibly
high standards for what they idealistically want from men. Or maybe it's just me.
"I hate your subtle beauty
The way your doe eyes slow dance me
And beat like a million humming birds
When I draw closer
Most of all I hate the way that I miss your sight
More than a blind man would miss his own eyes"
Jesus. Forget chocolate and flowers. These men are on to something.
I think every woman would love to be special enough to be the muse for a song.
Tuesday, 15 January 2013
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