I work 50-60 hours a week.
I work seven days a week.
After doing this for almost six months, it's time to face the fact...
that my coping mechanisms are shot to hell.
I've tried the one where I tell myself, "Don't worry, it's not forever!" (Used up.)
I've done that one where I remind myself, "You're lucky to have two jobs, some people don't even have one!" (Depleted.)
I've tried the one where I put on most positive attitude and go out to attack the day. (Nope.)
I've even done the one where I tell myself, "Hey, think of all the character you're building!" (FUCK THAT.)
So my current one is the one where I put on a big fake smile during the day and cry over a six-pack of Coronas at night. As coping mechanisms go, I am aware that it's probably the one that's going to turn out to be the most short-lived and least effective.
So, Internet, if you have any ideas of a coping mechanism that I haven't yet tried, I'm open to ideas. (And if you're going to tell me that other people have it worse and I'm just being whiny and immature, I already know that. So you can just stick it up your ass.)
1. I trimmed my own bangs this morning. It looks like I did it with a weed whacker, but as long as I keep moving usually nobody notices how crooked and uneven they are.
2. I wore my new black skirt to work. The one I got at Banana Republic.
3.It is Sergio's and my one year anniversary today. How did we celebrate? I worked past10, and he is home sick with a cold. Go us.
4. I wore electric blue eyeliner today, just to see if anyone would notice. They didn't.
5. I had an awesome dream last night. I dreamed that I somehow finagled an invitation into the Playboy Mansion. Basically, I made it onto some list of "Hottest Women In This City" because I happened to be in a small Swedish town where the population was like 14, so I won by default. First I remember walking into a room where all the bunnies hang out, and it was decorated with mirrors and fur and pictures of Johnny Depp. Then I remember that all the contestants (they were both men and women) had to stand in a line onstage in front of Hef and rehearse the questions we were each going to ask him at the gala that was going to happen. All the other contestants (especially the women) were dressed pretty much the same - black pants or jeans and a stylish top. I however was dressed in white pants and a lime green jacket, so I already stood out. I had a question in mind, but a girl ahead of me in line said it first, so I had to quickly come up with a different one. When my turn arrived, I asked, "What is a question that you wish someone would ask you but no one ever does?" (This, by the way, is in real life the first question I would ask any celebrity.) Everyone around me made noises of awe or jealousy, and some even applauded at my awesome and thought-provoking question.
After that I walked in on a group sitting at the bottom of the staircase of the house in Nebraska I grew up in. Hef was surrounded by all the men from the group, giving them "manly" advice. As soon as I realized what was going on, I apologized and backed away, but Hef said, "No, you can stay, it's cool."
After they were done Hef stood up and offered me his arm. I thought he wanted me to take it, but instead it turned out he wanted me to hand him the two jackets I was holding (including the lime green one). As he was walking away with them, I thought, "What is he doing with them?... Should I ask him?... Am I getting them back?... Do I need to figure out something else to wear tomorrow?..."
There was more to this dream, but I'm sure you didn't really care to begin with, so I'm going to leave it at that, go to bed, and have some more wacky dreams. (Maybe some other time I'll tell you about the Robert Downey Jr. one. Why do I always dream about celebrities?)
Good night, Internet!
Have you ever misheard or misinterpreted what someone said, and gave a completely inappropriate response? And then, after finding out what they really said, you gave the correct one?
Here's what happened at work last week.
What I thought my coworker said: "Amanda, you're not having a baby, right?"
Me: "No... why?"
What my coworker reallysaid: "Amanda, you know I'm having a baby, right?"
Me: "No... why?"
Then she started laughing and said, "You mean, why am I having a baby?" Then I turned beet red and stammered something intelligent like, "Oh, uh, I thought - it sounded like - I misheard. Um, congratulations!" I then tried to diffuse the awkward moment by asking her all those questions you're supposed to ask - is this your first, what are you having, etc. Fortunately future moms are only too happy to discuss all the details, so all in all I think it turned out okay.
My life is filled with moments like these, by the way.
... so we had some quality family time. Dad, Emily, Sergio, and I all went out for dinner and drinks. This will be another short post,but I will be back again soon with all the general hilarity I know you have all come to expect. (I'm kidding, but in that way where at the same time I kind of wish it was true. Like when a really awkward guy wants to date a female friend but he's too chicken to ask her out for real, so he just makes lots of awkward jokes about if the two of them hypothetically dated. I guess the moral of this story is... Internet, will you date me?)
I have lots of dreams, and they are often graphic and vivid. I dream about the same things over and over.
I dream that I'm back in high school or college again, because the first time I graduated didn't count and I have to do it over. I dream that all my teeth are breaking and crumbling inside my mouth and falling out. I dream that I'm flying and trying to get to the sky, but there's always one more roof above me.
But there's one dream I don't have anymore: the naked dream. The one where you're doing something important, like giving a speech or performing on a stage, and you look down and realize you're completely naked.
I don't have that dream anymore because I conquered it.
The last time I dreamed I was naked, I was working in a factory of sorts. There were tons of people milling around, mostly men. I suddenly realized I was naked and everyone could see me. But instead of being ashamed and trying to find things to cover myself, I just went about my usual business like nothing was up. I talked to my coworkers like nothing was out of the ordinary, and dared them to look down instead of up. Inside my head, I was thinking, "Yeah, I'm naked... so what? We all know it's there, there's no need to be weird about it." I even felt a little cocky, like, "Hey everyone, look at me! I'm naked, and proud of what I've got! Don't I look good?" At no point in my dream did anyone try to arrest me for public indecency, or even say, "Uh, you should probably put some clothes on."
I am sure that the naked dream is a metaphor for self-acceptance. No one wants the whole world to see them for what they really are, faults and everything, but the sooner we learn that our faults are part of the package that comes with being human, the more freedom we have with ourselves, and consequently, the rest of the world. My naked dream was about allowing myself to be exactly who I am, and telling the world, "Deal with it!"
Now if only I could apply that lesson to my waking life...
Q: What has two thumbs and doesn't give a crap about football?
A: *points to self* Amanda Fucking Baker.
The good news is that I had to work today, so I "missed" the Super Bowl. (I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob.) The bad news is that 70% of my Facebook friends are Packer fans, so every time I logged in I had to read about it.
This is starting off very negative, so let me clarify. I don't hate sports. I nothing sports. They add absolutely nothing useful or joyful to my life. At best, they don't have any effect on me; at worst, they turn everyone around me into a horde of obnoxious buffoons.
I have heard that people enjoy them because they give a group of otherwise diverse people a sense of camaraderie. It makes them feel like they belong to a group that is working to achieve a common goal. Well, that's fine. But a group of people working towards a common goal is one thing, and a group of people sitting on their asses in front of TV shouting at another group of people to accomplish it for them is another. It's like that thing they say all the time: When the Packers win, it's "We won!" When they lose: "Packers lost."
They tell me I don't get it, and they're right. I don't. I don't understand how anyone could be too depressed to go to work the day after a lost match. My mind reels in bewilderment: It's just a gaaaaaaaame.
I admit I probably have a chip on my shoulder about the whole concept of athletes. When I was in school, during gym class I was That Kid. You know the one. The one who is always picked last for every team.* The one who is still huffing and puffing to finish the mile while everyone else is getting their coats and backpacks. The one who causes her volleyball teammates to groan and cringe every time she flinches from the ball. Well, who could blame me? That ball was totally planning on killing me.
Everyone knows that school is full of humiliating experiences, and that was mine: having all my weakest skills on display in front of the whole class.
So, long story short: I find sports to be irritating and insufferable because of shameful experiences of being whacked upside the head with volleyballs in middle school. As always, Internet, thanks for listening. I always feel cathartic after my innermost feelings are slurped into the anonymous blank void of cyberspace.
* Allowing children to pick their classmates for their teams in order from best to worst is an inhumane practice that should be banned from schools, along with that thing that teachers do where you ask a question and they call on another student to answer it to prove to you that you're dumber than your classmates. Seriously, I've never known a teacher who doesn't get some kind of sadistic glee out of watching children suffer. I think they feed on child shame like vampires feed on blood.
"I'm sorry, I forgot to bring my bags!"
- My pat response: "It's okay, we have plenty!"
- What I really think: "Don't apologize to me, I really don't give a crap."
"I only came in for one thing, and I ended up getting all of this!"
- My pat response: "Doesn't that always seem to happen?"
- What I really think: "B.S. You just don't want to seem like an oinker."
"My son/daughter wants to help you by handing you things in the cart!"
- My pat response: " What a good helper! Want some stickers?"
- What I really think: "Maybe these stickers will distract them and they'll get out of my way so I can work."
"I thought it would be much busier than this!"
- My pat response: "It was about ten minutes ago, you came in at the right time!"
- What I really think: "You should have seen it when each aisle was filled with a solid mass of human flesh."
"Do you work here?"
- My pat response: "Yes, what can I help you with?"
- What I really think: "No, I just wear this uniform as a fashion statement and go into random stores to stock their shelves for fun. YES, YOU IMBECILE, I WORK HERE."
"Oh, I don't want my receipt."
- My pat answer: "Okay, I'll just toss it then."
- What I really think: "I don't want it either! Quit leaving me with your trash!"
*whew* I feel better. Thanks for listening, Internet, to the disgruntled ramblings of yet another cog in the service industry.
Disclaimer #1: This will only make sense if you've ever played The Sims 2.
Disclaimer #2: I know, I KNOW, that The Sims 2 is sooooo 2004. Well, I like it better than The Sims 3 for many reasons (at least one being that it doesn't freeze up this computer). Anyway, while playing with characters from the neighborhood Pleasantview, the following drama unfolded. It was too entertaining not to share.
1. Dina hooked up with Don Lothario and got knocked up with his child.
2. Nina burned herself to death while cooking because the kitchen didn't have a fire alarm.
3. Dina, while pregnant, is so distressed over the death of her sister that she marries the elderly Mortimer Goth to feel better. Since one of Dina's aspirations is "Marry a Rich Sim," she is over Nina in no time flat.
4. Dina moves into the Goth home. Turns out, Mortimer's adult daughter Cassandra is engaged to Dina's baby daddy, Don.
5. Dina gives birth to a son, Nina the Second.
6. Cassandra gets knocked up by Don and they have a shotgun wedding. Cassandra can't go on the honeymoon because she is too pregnant, so Don goes by himself while his new wife stays home. While he is gone, Cassandra gives birth to a daughter named Donette.
7. Dina has a second child with Mortimer named Montgomery. Dina, Mortimer, Cassandra, Don, Dina's two children and Cassandra and Don's daughter live together happily, and no one seems to know or mind that Dina's first child was fathered by her stepson-in-law.
8. Mortimer dies from old age. While the rest of the household is initially distressed, everyone is pretty much over it the next day after they gain a mechanical skill point or learn how to make cereal.
9. Dina witnesses Cassandra flirting with Don, and suddenly has issue with the fact that they are married. She launches herself at Cassandra and the two fight in a giant cloud with the occasional foot or fist poking out.
10. In a fit of chivalry, Don launches himself at Dina; see #9.
11. All the adults in the house now hate each other, but they still feed and bathe each others' babies. Children appear to be communal property in this household; it doesn't matter who gave birth to it, only that it needs a bottle from the fridge. It is acceptable, however, to put a baby down on the floor and leave it there for several hours until it needs to be fed again.
So tonight was a really off night. In spite of my most valiant efforts, the best idea I could come up with was:
An apple that eats you instead of you eating it.
(This sketchbook is not off to a good start.)
*Edit* Apparently you cannot add cut tags once an entry has been posted. So for the sake of not cluttering up your window with ginormous jpegs, I have simply deleted the second half of this entry. If it turns out you can add cut tags after an entry has been posted and I was just doing it wrong, I am open to advice.
Please stop putting your scissors down in a weird place and telling yourself, "I'll remember where these are later." You never remember. You fail at remembering.
Also, stop blowing enormous bubbles with bubble gum and letting them pop all over your face. You always get gum stuck on your upper lip.