Cut the Shit

When Fantasy Becomes Reality What’s your fantasy? Is it winning the lottery? Is it giving an acceptance speech for a Grammy? Is it having sex with a woman who has 34 Triple Z breasts? Everyone has fantasies and very rarely do we share them with the people close to us. In most instances, our fantasies are personal and private and represent a part of our personality that we aren’t completely comfortable with. So what happens when you have the opportunity to realize one of your fantasies? And what happens if the fear of accomplishing this goal is almost too much to bear? I am very lucky to have an open-minded and understanding core group of friends that enable me to do what I need to do for myself. As these friends know, I have always had a problem with some major sexual hang-ups. It’s nothing too outrageous, but it’s enough to cause me to hold back in most intimate situations, even with my own boyfriend. And considering that we’ve been together for over five years and I’m still a virgin, I’d say that my hang-ups go pretty deep. Through some work with my therapist and through the conversations and encouragement that I received from my friends, I was able to conquer one of my biggest dreams yesterday. I was so scared to actually go forward with the moment that it wasn’t until 5 minutes before the experience that I actually made the decision to follow through on my plan. And if it wasn’t for the calls I made to Angie and Kelly before the big moment, I would have turned on my heels and rode the subway home. But I didn’t. I stuck it out. I took a risk. And it paid off in the end. It paid off in ways that I never thought were possible. The trick to this, however, is that when fantasy becomes reality, most of the luster is removed from the situation. You always hear that, right? Don’t realize your fantasy because it will no longer hold the same affect as it once did. And this couldn’t be any truer. Fantasy is better left in the mind, but without exploration, how would you ever really know that? I guess it comes down to the fact that there are risk takers in the world and there are those that sit on the sidelines too afraid to step out of their shell. For once I am proud to have stepped away from my dark corner and into the excitement and wonderment that life has to hold. More important than having my fantasy hold true to theory, I learned that being alive and real is more exciting than any outlandish dream one could imagine.

Therapy of my Love Today was the third session I’ve had with my therapist. All day long I’d been dreading the appointment, but as soon as it was over, I honestly felt so much better about myself. Sophie (the therapist) has this way of encouraging me to open up about my inner most thoughts without making me feel uncomfortable. I actually said to her today “The thing I like most about our sessions is that I never feel as though you’re judging me on the things I’ve told you”. It may sound weird for a therapist to be judgmental, but the two I’ve had in the past have been exactly that, whether it was spoken or not. Over the last month, I’ve been wrestling with a very huge decision I’ve needed to make. Unfortunately, it’s incredibly personal, so I can’t get into it as much as I would like to in here. However, I can say that the decision has been something that’s been on my mind for years and only as of late have I had the courage and motivation to go for what I want. An opportunity has opened up for me and although it comes with a slew of risks, I think that if I can be brave enough to confront it, I will be incredibly happy with the outcome. This issue is so personal to me that I’ve only told my absolute closest friends about it. I haven’t even told Paul because I just don’t think he will understand. My friends have been incredibly supportive of the situation I’m in and have offered up some very helpful advice. Kelly, in particular. I’ve needed one person to express all of my doubts and fears to and she has been the clear and obvious choice. Without her in my corner, I don’t know that I would have the balls to do what I want to do. I know this is all very vague and I hate that I can’t divulge more information. But too many people that I know read this journal and it would embarrass me beyond belief to get into it any further. All I can say is that tomorrow will be one of the most exciting and terrifying days I’ve had in awhile. And it’s about fucking time. This “get up, go to work, go home, eat dinner, go to bed routine” is beating me down worse than the depression. One of the biggest and most surprising areas I’m exploring in therapy is my sexual identity. I didn’t think I had as many problems and “hang-ups” with sex as I really do. I’ve always said “This is just who I am and how I handle myself in sexual situations”, but I’ve never really tried to explore it and understand why I conduct myself the way that I do. Sophie is really helping me to identify the problems I encounter when I’m intimate and she’s encouraging me to figure out the causes on my own. In fact, she has such wisdom and insight that I’m always left shocked that she discovered something about me that I never knew existed. It’s quite a remarkable feeling when it happens. It’s almost as though there’s this box inside of my head and Sophie has the keys to unlocking it. Shouldn’t I have had the keys all along? I feel really good right now. I am proud of the work I did in therapy today and I’m proud of the decisions that I’ve made as a result of my sessions. While it’s not easy to get my ass to her office every week, the benefits that I reap are certainly worth the trip. For the first time in a long time, I’m discovering and figuring out who I am and why I need the things that I need. And most importantly, I’m accepting the choices I make as the right ones, regardless of what anyone else thinks. It is I who has to live my life. Why does it seem as though I had forgotten that?

Rio, Domestic Abuse & Children from the Dominican Republic Last Saturday afternoon, I opened up my front door to find an adorable little puppy barking his head off. My stomach basically shot through my throat and onto the floor. Of course I always wanted for Paul and me to get a puppy, but having one just randomly show up was more than I could handle. I immediately jumped on the phone with Paul and found out that the Pomeranian/Chihuahua mix named “Rio” was ours for a month or so. Turns out we’re dog sitting! Within an hour, Rio and I became fast friends. Each day since then he has been attached at my hip; so much so that I can’t take a dump without him sitting at my feet. He is the most well behaved dog I’ve ever met. He is completely house-trained and doesn’t bark or whine or anything. All he wants is to be loved and all I want is to love him. For some reason Rio won’t enter our kitchen because of the tiles on the floor. He’s fine in every other room, but something about the tiles freaks him out. Anywhiz, the other night, Paul picked him up gently and placed him on the kitchen floor. He was fine for a second, but when he realized where he was, he bolted from the kitchen and ran straight to me. He stood up on his hind legs and wrapped his front paws around my leg and shivered in fear. It was the cutest, most human thing I’ve ever seen a dog do. When I tried to take a step towards the kitchen, he CLUTCHED my leg and cried his eyes out. It was the last time Rio was ever forced to do anything he didn’t want to do. As you can tell, I’m fucking loving this dog. In other news, I had lunch with my friend Ari the other day. As always, lunch with her is one of the biggest highlights of my week. We have great conversation and most times I’m away from work for at least 2 hours, only to return drunk off my ass. It’s quite an enjoyable experience that I get to look forward to every week. Anyway, we were gossiping and catching up on our personal business when she told me a story that infuriated me so deeply that I just had to post about it. Turns out that Ari went out with her ex the other day for a casual beer. As most of us do, Ari is trying to maintain a friendship with her past boyfriend. So they’re hanging out and the night ends up going a lot longer than was expected. Long story short, when Ari made an attempt to leave the bar, this ex proceeded to throw a temper tantrum, embarrassing him and her in the process. He then went so far as to shove (although mildly) a table in her direction. Then when Ari had enough of his antics, she left the bar and walked to the bus. He proceeded to follow her, grab her arm, and tell her to stay. Ari, being the strong and independent girl that she is, pulled her arm away and got on the bus. While Ari was irritated with her ex for the way he handled himself, I was absolutely infuriated. Under NO circumstances should a guy ever intimidate (or in this case, attempt to intimidate) or physically cross the line with any girl at any time. I know that Ari can handle herself and I don’t think she felt scared of him or what he could do. However, as one of her closest friends, I am extremely protective of her and the idea that she even had to put up with this bullshit makes me want to bus it down to his apartment and knock his fucking teeth in. It’s been two days since Ari told me the story and I’m even angrier now than I was before. Why do men think that it’s a good idea to place any sort of aggressive hold on a woman? There is obviously a time and place for everything as both Ari and I agree that being thrown on the bed and fucked is not only hot, it’s necessary. But if you tell a guy to back off or that you are frustrated with the way he’s handling (his alcohol) himself, then you should be able to trust in the fact that said dickhead will fuck off. Not grab you numerous times telling you to stay and work it out. If it was to be “worked out” this situation wouldn’t have happened to begin with. Ari is allowed to see and do whatever she likes. But if I hear another story about this jerk-off treating her in any way but wonderful, I swear to God, he will get a reckoning like he’s never had. DOUCHE. BAG. Other than that, nothing much going on here. I went on a field trip yesterday with my friend Angie’s 2nd grade class. It was one of the coolest and most exhausting experiences I’ve had in a while. The kids adore her and she runs her classroom with a lot of love and professionalism. To impress me even more, she teaches in Spanish. She even has a few kids in her class that speak no English at all. I felt like I was on another planet the whole day. I think my favorite part of the outing was when we were walking back from the playground at the end of the day. The kids started singing 50 Cents Candy Shop. Um, they’re 8 years old. And don’t speak English. But they sure know the words to this Gangsta anthem. I’m so proud of my friend Angie and the work that she does. While I feel like the work I do does little to change the world, she’s actually doing that one child at a time. Awesome. Totally awesome. Did someone say that tomorrow was Friday? FUCKING FINALLY!

Fucking Friday! Have a great weekend everyone! I will try my best to do the same. See you next week with more tales of shit cutting. Until then, wipe good. You don't want poopski to get all over your fingers. PEACE!

Highs and Lows Last night I met up with my friends Kelly and Angie for some happy hour drinks in one of our favorite little watering holes in Union Square. The place is called Revival and it’s just about the best. There is a garden-type area in the back that allows smoking, so we found ourselves a comfortable spot and spent two hours catching up and remembering why we love each other and this city that we live in. I was so happy for those two hours. It was like this high that I didn’t want to end. I even said to the girls as we were leaving that “I would do anything to spend the whole night together, just us”. Around 8pm I took a cab home and my night became boring and uneventful after that. Eventually Paul got home and wasn’t too into my drunk personality, so we sat in silence for a while and then went to bed. Today I had my first therapy appointment with a new psychiatrist. I am happy with the woman that was assigned to me, but the first session (as it usually is) was kind of difficult and uncomfortable. I found that she had good answers to all of my questions and she definitely spoke to me with a non-judgmental, open-minded attitude. The only times I felt awkward was when both of us would sit there in silence, transitioning into a new topic. When the 45 minutes were up, I put on my jacket and walked back out into the city. For some reason, I felt so sad deep down. Most of the stuff my therapist and I spoke about revolved around Paul, but I wasn’t left with a feeling of satisfaction. Instead, I felt as though I had dredged up some painful memories and then had to reshelf them immediately in order to re-enter my daily routine. Therapy is not easy and while I’m proud of myself for taking this first step, I’m feeling a little bogged down by the overwhelming commitment of it. Now it’s almost 3pm and I have half of my day left. Part of me wants to get drunk tonight and mask the feelings of sadness that seem to have taken over, but part of me wants to ride this out and see if I can pull myself from the slump by my own volition. I just feel weird right now. Do I cry? Do I laugh? Do I have a personality at all? I want to feel normal. I want to stop beating myself up over the most inconsequential shit. As I discussed with my therapist today, I don’t need to feel happy every day. I just need to feel content. Why is it so easy for some people to accomplish this and so hard for others? I’m really working towards improving myself now and more than ever I need to experience the fruits of my labor.

When No One is Around… I pick my nose like a beastmaster. I’ll find the most amazing nugget of disgustingness and then I’ll inspect it for a while before rolling it into a ball and throwing it into the garbage can. I used to just throw it on the floor until Paul told me that when we walk around in bare feet we squish boogers in between our toes. That was enough to make me hurl and also throw them in the garbage can. I laugh out loud and scream at the television. Literally. If you were spying on me and listening at my front door, you would think that I was having a party. Yet the party is only me. And some call it a party of the pity kind. However, that doesn’t stop me from admonishing (loudly) all of the idiots on reality television or the never ending guffaws that only people like Sarah Silverman or Michael Ian Black can elicit from me. I’ll dance as gayly as I can. Whether it be Janet, Junior Senior, or (occasionally) Britney Spears, no one can shake their gay ass any more flamboyantly or hilariously than I can. Then when I’m done, I’ll go all out and skip back to my seat on the couch. Hey, as long as no one is there to see my flame out, it technically didn’t happen. I pretend like I’m a whore. I’ll jerk off and rather than quietly go about my business, I moan and groan and act like I’m getting fucked upside down. The whole process makes the orgasm ten times more intense and I’ve been known to lose my breath. Again, if you were spying at my door, you would think that the party I was having turned into a full blown orgy. And it’s just me, pretending that I’m an experienced, non-virgin, slut. I cry at movies, but then turn the camera on myself. I’ll begin by getting a little choked up and then I’ll allow the tears to fill my eyes. Before I lose the emotion, I’ll jump out of bed, run over to the mirror, and act out the same scene, with the same lines, and watch how my face looks as I do it. I’m telling you, I’ve given some of the best performances of my life standing in front of my bedroom mirror. I will play “Spades”, “Hearts”, and “Euchre” online for hours at a time. I’m talking HOURS. I’ve been known to sit at my computer for a 7 hour stretch, only leaving to fill my glass of wine and to use the bathroom. If the game is getting really heavy and I can’t bear to be away for more than 30 seconds, I will take an empty bottle and piss right in it. No need to interrupt game play. I take very deep breaths and exhale as loud as I can. It feels so good to do that. It also feels good to hold your breath while you cum, so I do that too. I never wear clothes. I cook in the nude (how dangerous!), eat in the nude (how nasty!), shower in the nude (how weird!) and basically walk around and do whatever I need to do in the apartment – nude. Who am I showing off for? Obviously no one if you’ve seen my body lately. I tend to feel lonelier than I used to.

Mr. Lonely

The building I live in consists of NYU students enjoying their “early 20’s” college experience. When Friday night rolls around, you best be dolled up in your best goods and ready for a night out on the town. And when you walk out of your apartment door and into the elevator, God forbid you should happen to run into a 28 year old guy doing his laundry on said Friday night. This is my home, my life, the thought process, and the dorm that I never escaped after college.

I remember when I was that age and I remember what I thought when I saw anyone doing their laundry on a Friday night. “What a tool! How sad! Do you not have friends? Do anything BUT your laundry on a Friday night.” Yet my boyfriend came home around 7pm tonight and we proceeded to do just that; have a Friday night that was in no way exciting or cool. Or well…anything.

My friend Rita was supposed to come this weekend and although I was down with the change in plans, I also believed that I would find something to do to compensate. My friend Angie stopped by. Paul came home and tolerated me for a couple of hours. And then the cheese stood alone. At 11:30pm on a Friday night.

This isn’t my life. This isn’t me. This isn’t what I want to be doing right now.

I’ve recently fallen madly in love with a song by Akon called Mr. Lonely. It’s a mix of an old Bobby Vinton song from ’64 combined with new lyrics and mainstream hip hop hotness. (total alliteration – I almost feel horny) To me it’s the hottest song I’ve heard all year and I always get super excited when a song strikes me so deeply. See Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day.

It could be that I played the song so many times tonight that I feel like “Mr. Lonely” myself. Or it could be that I’m bored with me and what I’m about.

I’m in the midst of a transition right now. And rather than the transition guiding me, I am guiding the transition. I’ve never been in that position before and I fear that my apathy has finally caught up with me.

I shouldn’t BE sitting here alone on a Friday night. A friend of mine invited me out tonight and I didn’t go. Why? Because apathy rules me and I have yet to stop wallowing in my superficial rut and make a change. I have yet to grab hold of my destiny and go for the ride. I plan boring because boring is safe. My life has never been safe so why am I allowing it to be that way now?

I write this now because I want to look back on the way I felt at this moment. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and attribute this thought process to alcohol or depression or loneliness.

I want to believe in the reality of this and I want to believe in the possibility and accomplishment of the change.

Night Vomit: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb I woke up on Monday morning and felt very odd. I smoked a cigarette, showered, and got dressed for work hoping that it would dissipate. By the time I was half-way through my second cigarette the panic started to set in. I quickly glanced at the door and the jaws of anxiety opened up and swallowed me whole. I called work and told them that I had a stomach ache and then I got back in bed, not emerging until 4pm. Yesterday when I got to work, everyone was like “How’s your stomach? Are you okay? Will you possibly survive the day?” I didn’t feel comfortable telling them that I stayed home due to my constant bout with depression, so I went along with the sick stomach theory. “Oh man, I’m so nauseous; I don’t even know why I came in today.” When lunch time rolled around, all I wanted was two greasy slices of pizza, but since “my stomach was bothering me so much” I had to sip on seltzer water and nibble on crackers instead. The crackers actually tasted pretty good, but by the time 5pm came my stomach was growling with an angry hunger. After work I went over to Ari’s to hang out for a bit. 6pm turned into 7pm and 7pm turned into 10pm and then the double bottle of wine that I brought over was gone – mostly consumed by my drunk ass. Ari walked me to a cab and I threw myself into it. Although I was completely in the can, I felt strangely alert and decided to make a few phone calls to my friends. I left some messages and then ended up on the phone with my friend, Angie. We talked for a few minutes as I sped over the FDR in a cab. The driver was swaying back and forth and all of a sudden I felt chills running up and down my spine. “Angie, I have to go right now.” “Why? Are you okay?” “I’ll call you back”. I quickly hung up the phone and sat in the cab, taking very slow and purposeful breaths. The driver veered off the highway and entered the side streets of downtown Manhattan. “Sir, can you pull the cab over, I think I’m going to be sick”. “What? What did you say?” “Pull the cab over, I’m going to throw up!” “What do you mean? Were you drinking?” “Pull the cab over right now or I’m going to throw up all over your backseat!!!!” With that the driver pulled up to the corner and I jumped out. Within seconds, vomit spewed from my mouth and covered the ground. I held on to the cab with one hand and let loose. Over and over, I puked onto the sidewalk. After a few deep breaths, I got back in the cab and sat down. “I’m very sorry about that, but I didn’t want to get sick in your cab.” “No problem at all, I’m just glad you told me you were going to puke.” He continued to drive me home. I sat in the backseat humiliated. I called Angie and explained what happened. She immediately wanted to come down to my apartment to make sure I was ok. “I’m fine. I just need to drink a glass of water and eat something. I’ll be ok.” “Ok, but if you need me, just let me know.” I hung up the phone, took the elevator up to my apartment and marveled at the fact that only 12 hours ago I was dealing with a “fake stomach ache”. Karma. It’s a bitch.