One Year Later: Anniversary of Grandma’s Move


Thanks to Timehop, I can now tell you exactly what I was tweeting about last year. Actually, I can tell you exactly what I was tweeting about as far back as six years ago…


… but that’s not really the point. The point is, I posted that one about the screaming fit on Facebook and friend Becky asked if there was going to be a one year update, which sounded like a better idea for a blog than what I had, which was nothing. So…

One year ago, my grandma moved to Wisconsin. The day before, my mom had a screaming fit, and Ben and I hid in the yard, then left early because we’re not the kind of people that do well with screaming fits. I wrote about it here, if you want to read more about the day in question.

Since then, I talk to Grandma on the phone about twice a month. She says that she has nothing going on, and the last time I told her about my work, she expressed concern for my ability to cope, so we don’t talk about work right now. And since I don’t really do anything but work, we don’t seem to have much to say. Unless someone else in my family does something stupid, then we have hours to bitch about how dumb they are. So our relationship hasn’t changed much.

I miss her horribly. I’m glad she moved away from LA before I did because I think if she was still living there, I might not have left. When I call her, she says she’s unhappy in Wisconsin, but that’s hard to take seriously, because she was unhappy every day she lived in LA, so I can’t tell if this is a new level of unhappiness, or if she’s basically normal.

Uncle says that she’s happier there, and she might be. It seems like she’s definitely doing more stuff, if that’s any indication. I do have a feeling that the earnestness of the mid-west is not her style. I don’t think she’s met anybody who appreciates her acerbic wit, which is a shame.

About 5 months after the screaming fit, my mom called me to apologize for it. Well, mostly to apologize that I was bothered by it, not for doing it. Which is basically my entire issue with her boiled down to one non-apology. She practically said “I’m sorry you’re such a little bitch.” As far as I could tell, she felt completely justified in screaming at the movers, who had nothing to do with anything, because she’d decided to disappear for most of the morning, and while she was gone, my uncle had done something to wrong her. Then she felt like I should just understand and not be affected by it because she wasn’t mad at me (this time.) Alcoholic logic, at it’s finest.

Since then, she texts me things. Mostly passive aggressive statements that I took a lot of time trying to respond to perfectly at first, but now I just ignore them if they’re shitty enough and/or don’t have a question in them. There was a big drama that sent fallout all the way to my grandma and my cousin when she asked permission to read my blog, and then I ignored the question. I tried to reply in a way that wouldn’t make more drama, realized that was impossible, so just didn’t answer. I guess if she’s reading my blog she’ll see this. But whatever.

The thing is, I don’t care if she reads my blog or not. I wouldn’t change a single word on this entire site. I’ve taken down two posts in the history of this blog: The first because it was a mean rant I wrote when I was angry, and the second because Less Than Three Press blacklisted me from reviewing their pornos because I curse, so I took down the only review I ever did for them. Neither of those are about her.

My dad knows about the blog, as far as I know he doesn’t read it. It came up that I have a blog, he asked for the URL, I gave it to him, and then I warned him that I speak very frankly about sex. He made an ick face, and as far as I know, that was the end of his curiosity about my blogging life. Ben’s mom has told me that she skips the sex parts. Ben’s mom’s friends have said that they love the sex parts. That’s cool. That’s why they’re there. That’s how you read your kid’s blog without being weird about it. Take what you like and leave the rest.

Not my mom, she had to send this really strained series of texts, first saying she’s read the blog, then claiming she didn’t even know how to get the blog, then asking if she could read what I said about her as a form of punishment for being a bad mom, then when I didn’t answer her, I heard from at least two family members that she’d gone to them with the drama. I don’t write this shit to punish my mother. I write it because when I do write about her, I get messages from people who went through the same thing saying that reading about me makes them feel less alone. I write about her because it helps me sort it all out in my head. Anything I say about her has nothing to do with her. Which is the problem.

A lot of her passive aggressive texts are about looking for me to absolve her, or validate her. Same old shit, really. I spent years absolving and validating her. I’m done. That’s all she wants, and that’s one of the many things I no longer have to give. We appear to be at an impasse.

So, I guess that’s the synopsis for the last year. You guys all know I moved to Oregon, and that I’m building my freelance business. That’s what 90% of my life is about these days. I know the blog has suffered for it, but I also think I’ve written some of my best commentary in the times when I do pull my head out of my ass enough to look around at what’s going on.

I miss my grandma, but she seems to be doing relatively fine out in Wisconsin. I’m glad she’s healthy because we are in no position to fund a visit, and it sounds like she’s having trouble coordinating any travel outside the state herself. One of the reasons I’m working like a daemon is to be able to afford to visit her in the near future. Neither of us is really very good on the phone. I’ve learned to be better in recent years, but she is really bad at it.

I died as I lived: with an Xbox controller in my hand.

I did my tours Friday and Saturday night, and worked a street fair for most of Sunday, but other than that, this has been my whole weekend in a single picture:


I have no regrets.

Oh, and I saw the season premiers of both Gotham and The Blacklist. Loved both. Need more. Glad to see Donal Logue on a show where he isn’t the only character I like.


Two Fights a Night

After attending the last ever free Last Thursdays (starting in 2015, vendors will have to apply and pay a fee in order to participate in the previously ad-hock street fair), I met Ben, friend Kyle, and friend Colleen back in Southeast for some tacos, just in time to get the driving around the block looking for parking perspective of an epic fight in front of the very taco joint I intended on attending. According to Ben, Kyle, and Colleen, who were already inside, the events were as follows:

Packet of drunk possible bachelor partiers shows up at the restaurant and takes a seat outside. They’re all wearing suits, and various shades of trashed from slightly irrational all the way to sloppy angry mess. They order drinks and tacos, and immediately begin to fight each other. One has a briefcase, which he begins to hit the others with. Someone dislodges the case, it goes flying into the street at least once, and at least once all however many of them could be seen in the middle of Morrison on the ground, wrestling each other for control of the case. Apparently the group’s only weapon.

At some point, the briefcase guy, once again in possession of his club, threw the case across the table straight into the face of another guy, who then collapsed to the sidewalk, taking the table, drinks, and food with him in the process.

This is when I drove by for the second time, and saw two yelling women chasing the partiers away, the largest of whom was at least a foot taller than either of them. Incidentally, the giant was also the briefcase wielder, which I felt was unfair.

After this I parked, and walked past them while they were debating on whether they should go back, and how serious the cashier was when she threatened to call the police on them. Then someone hit someone else with a briefcase.

Several times, individual members of the party came back to the taco place and stared at the doors. I’m not sure why.

After that, Kyle went home to sleep, and Ben, Colleen, and I walked a few blocks to get some dessert, where we met our second fight of the night.

An awkward looking guy in a tracksuit was shout-talking at a very pretty girl several tables over from him. From what I could tell, he’d just established that she was going to the same college he’d graduated from, and then he gathered up the not inconsiderable pile of crap at his table, and moved himself and it over to her table. A few minutes after that, she walked purposefully out of the shop. Embarrassed, he moved his stuff back over to his original table.

He went on shout-talking to different patrons, either to say goodbye, or to introduce himself. He randomly asked a new patron where he was from, and just as randomly told the man he was born up the street.

Then one of the staff asked him to leave. Apparently, the woman he’d struck out with called the shop and told them he’d made her feel unsafe. He’d gone over to her table uninvited, and propositioned her. When she told him that she had a boyfriend, he told her that didn’t matter, and asked her to go somewhere with him, presumably to have sex.

He denied the advance, then said he hadn’t done anything wrong by trying to have a friendly conversation. The piano player tactfully hammered out a crashing distraction from what was obviously a painful conversation for at least one person involved. He insisted on paying his tab, and afterwards, stood in the middle of the dining room arguing his case in hushed tones with a very confident, no-nonsense staff person who repeated in no uncertain terms what he did, that he needed to leave, and that he was not allowed to come back.

Later we learned that he was a regular who frequently engaged people in awkward conversations, and that his behavior had been considered distracting by some staff people, while others felt that it was their duty to be welcoming to an atypical personality, although the line was clearly crossed when he propositioned a woman uninvited, and failed to take the initial brush-off.


Someone finally paid me. So I got a manicure


It’s nearly 3am, and I’m finally ready to stop working and go to sleep.

I’ve been working at a fever pitch from the minute I wake up until I fall into bed at night. It’s not healthy, but when I’m worried, that’s all I know to do: work like crazy and hope some of that turns into peace of mind.
As an adult, I can finally admit that my favorite book is not 1984, like I told people in college. It’s Animal Farm, and not for the biting social commentary, or the fact that it seems to be more and more relevant with every passing year, but because I relate to that damn horse so much. I am unable to see any solution other than harder work for longer hours.

And when it kills me, it will make just as much of an impact on the world as that horse’s death made on the farm. Because instead of navigating the complicated reality of actual social interaction, I work. The fact that I’m not making any money in exchange for all this work is one of the only ways I can actually tell that it’s not healthy activity. And I even doubt that out of the time.

I tell myself I’m working for a future. But doesn’t every workaholic? But if I’m not going to work, honestly, what would I do? I am having a very hard time figuring out whether this is noble or stupid.

Usually, I have a hard time because it’s stupid, I just don’t want it to be.

Why the Fuck Can’t You Get Embed Codes on YouTube Mobile?

I tried to embed this video “I’m A Guy”: because it has Keith and the Girl people in it, and I love them, even though I haven’t heard the show lately because I am a wreck and I can’t concentrate on anything but work for more than an hour every day.

I’m too fucking tired for anything.

Does YouTube not realize that I am a social media professional?* I even tried to navigate to regular YouTube on my browser and I couldn’t do it.

Whatever. YouTube. Eat dicks.

*I’m being facetious. The italics are meant to represent facetiousness.

Lego for Grown Ups

Turns out, setting up AV equipment is really fun! I wasn’t allowed to have Legos as a child, but I have a feeling this is kind of what it felt like to play with them. Creating temporary worlds for specific purposes that will soon be torn down in order to make room for more of the same.

My fingertips kind of hurt, which is why this is a short blog, but I’m going back tomorrow to help some more, because I honestly had a great time crawling around on the floor with gaffers tape, and helping to put up screens and run cables and stuff.

This seems to be a theme in my life, where I’ll do something that I think is out of desperation, but it turns out to be kind of awesome in it’s own way. I used to really fear change, and I can still be uptight about unexpected challenges, but it’s gotten to the point where I kind of look forward to wacky side trips. It keeps things interesting.

My Blacklist Begins

Ben and I have found a new obsession: The Blacklist.

We tried to watch it when it first came out and I hated everything about it. James Spader was creepy without being interesting, the main girl was stone-faced and melancholy. Also, she kept touching that damn scar on her wrist, and I can tell you as someone with a pretty hardcore scar on her wrist, that shit is not okay. Scar tissue heals back weird, it’s never pleasant to touch it. The best you can hope for with a big scar like that is complete numbness, but that’s still a totally strange sensation. So, every time she petted that damn scar, I would get the ice cold willies just from watching it.

But, everybody said it got better, and it did. I recommend. I am enthralled, and Spader went from being one of my least favorite characters to being my most favorite character.

On the home front, I am owed an entire months expenses by various people and I am really trying not to go absolutely ape-shit over the fact that my savings is empty and there’s $37 in my checking. My car payment was due last week, as were several loan payments, student and otherwise, and I don’t have a red cent to pay them with, a fact that will be sure to earn me a nice pile of late fees.

If you happen to work with contractors, and you are reading this, FUCKING PAY THEM ON TIME. No one is in a position to be able to wait a month or more to get the money they earned. Least of all small-time freelancers like myself.

Tomorrow I’m waking up at the ass crack of dawn to go set up AV equipment for extra cash just so my balance doesn’t go into the negative while I try and figure out how long I’m going to have to play the game of the check’s in the mail before I go on a killing spree.

2nd Day in a Row

Oh my God. I didn’t blog last night either.

I’m so overwhelmed with finding work, working, and worrying about work that I completely forgot to blog for the second day in a row, making this the fourth time in blog history.

It’s already 2pm and I haven’t eaten breakfast yet. I seem to have turned off my alarm at some point, so woke up at 10:30 instead of my scheduled 8 after going to bed at 2. I’m kind of a wreck.

I don’t have anything else to say. Except that I should probably go eat something.

Didn’t Blog Last Night

I was so tired last night that I fell asleep without blogging. That’s only happened twice before by my count. A sure sign that I am completely overwhelmed.

Today is going to be a fucker of a day. It officially starts across town at 10 am, and officially ends at 11 pm, also across town, but in a different direction. I get to come home at least once during this whole thing, thank God, but I am going to be wrecked.

To be honest, I kind of like it. I spend so much time literally making work (as opposed to the more figurative making work of my cubicle life) that it’s nice to just have work to do. I don’t have to cold call or pitch, or propose these tasks. I already did that, and now I actually get to do them! Hooray!

I had other things I wanted to say, but now I have aprox. 15 mins to eat yogurt, apply makeup, and then leave.

Oh, I remembered. WordPress 4 fucked up all my shit, so if something seems weird, it’s because WordPress broke my site in the strangest possible ways.

Found my middle school journal…

get me out of here please help me get me out of here
c. 1998

I was a creepy kid.

There was also page after page of really horrible poetry on my depression, as well as a trove of short stories about teenagers who don’t want to be corporate drones, and corporate drones who die regretting their choices. One lady gets ejected from her Land Rover on the 405 and has her head crushed by oncoming traffic while she laughs hysterically about her wasted life.

How I ever wondered why didn’t do well in an office environment.