Coffee, Tea, Me...Catastrophe

I'm fairly certain that the people of South America could turn a profit on my urine. It is so overly saturated with caffeine, be it from coffee or tea, that the bathroom smells like Starbucks before I flush. I am beginning to think I'm unbalanced. Or highly dosed. Sometimes I stay in bed for eight hours and get no rest, other times I pass out in my car for an hour and come to ready for a marathon. I feel like I keep the schedule of a high powered lawyer, or a cop, or a stripper. But since I don't have a star trek phone glued to my ear, or get to carry a gun, or sequined bikini, no one gets how tiring it can be and out of whack I am. I keep catching flak for staying in bed all day, but it's not like I sleep for the whole time. It's hard to sleep during the day, and not just because of the noise level. Which is a big factor. But it's also the fact that it's hard to reprogram your bodies natural sleep order, especially when I've been following that for twenty some years. So now I'm sorta dependent on drinks and pills. Nothing alcoholic and nothing illegal. I promise. If I did either one of those, that'd really push me over the edge. You know what keeps happening to me, people keep "shushing" me. Which is bullshit. I keep getting poked in the ribs, metaphorically, by the guys and I keep biting back, metaphorically(for now at least), but then someone steps in and tries to diffuse me. Either a girlfriend, or another housemate or the pup. That keeps pissing me off even more. Sooner or later the people around me are going to learn that if I am truly angry, it gets loud. It get's loud and I prove my points. And I make people listen. It's not about always being right, but I never really make a fuss, so when I do I know I'm right. Plus it's about making people know where I'm coming from. I repeat myself far too often. No one hears it when I speak. Which, in some way, is my fault. I blend easily. I tend to wash dishes when trying to make a point. Or clean a table when stating my case. Or I just say the whole thing in my head and offer to make a pot of coffee. So, I'm guessing, people remember the action I'm doing instead of what I'm saying. Now I'm at the point in my life where, when I speak, I want attentive ears. I want focus. I want a Batman voice instead of a Robin whisper. But since everyone already perceives me as a dish washing whisper, I'm going to have to make some changes. I'm trying to not lean towards physical violence, but that keeps coming to the front of my mind. The top of the list. The control of my knuckles. Honestly, I don't have time to keep finding ways to quietly deal with my frustrations. I should be spending time on other things. Like doing my taxes. Studying my PT workbook. Working out to build muscle, and not just doing wild cardio routines to drain the bad juju out of me. Or writing. I would love to be in a mood to write. Besides writing on here. This is only pseudo writing. And mostly I use this as a vehicle to drive away my frustrations. Crashing them into the five people who read this damn thing. You know, once upon a time this was a lot more Carrie Bradshaw and a lot less Terry Bradshaw. Back in the day it was romance, and wit and cleverness. Now it's just a play by play of daily badness and stats of my complaints. I use to write everyday. Novels. Plays. TV pilots. Short stories. Songs. The closest thing I do nowadays is making a song up in my head about how men should be more like my teddy bear. Yes, I have resorted to sleeping with a teddy bear again. I'm not that proud. But it helps me get to the REM cycle. And he's wearing a bow tie so you know he's cute and classy. And loves to cuddle, and listens to me when I talk. Are you seeing why the song was created now? And the fact that I'm one tea cozy away from being a crazy cat lady. Honestly, the day I start wearing turtlenecks I expect someone to do me the favor and shoot me. It is kinda bitchin song though. I might put it up if I ever get around to finishing it. You see, it's tricky when I write songs, because I have no musical talent. So I kinda just make up different words to my favorite pop songs. I'm strange. But I kind of have to do whatever keeps me from making or starting a catastrophe. For example, tonight there is like one or two or several parties where my friends and housemates are going tonight. But I don't feel like going out at all. Nor do I have money. Nor do I have energy. Nor would it be a wise choice, my Sunday night to Tuesday morning routine is deadly. Literally. You can read about it, just scroll down. Go ahead, I'll wait.

I know right! Friggin crazy. I have to do better this week, but I still haven't managed to get the textbook. Nor came up with a way of paying for it. And rent is due. Ouch, I feel a stomache coming on. How come it says I spelled stomache wrong? Oh, it didn't again. What the hell? Has my education skills declined so greatly that I can't spell at a fifth grade level? Oh dear. I need to work out. Then I need to do something smart. I'm not reading the news though. Last time I did that I found out a killer whale killed it's trainer...for the THIRD time. Are you kidding me?! That bitch should have been ground into whale bits after it killed the first one. Seriously! That's the world for you, killer killer whales. Can't even take a vacation to Sea World no more. It's all just catastrophe. Everywhere.

"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." -T.S. Eliot

"I can't sit around having coffee. I have all these appointments, and a lot of my friends sit around having coffee talking about the jobs they didn't get." -Eva Marie Saint

Tuck and Roll

So the hummus and cheese and spinach meal was delicious. It got me through the next six hours, but then I passed out during my lunch break at work. Then I drove home, somehow, and slept for thirteen hours. Thirteen hours! By the time I woke up, I had to be at work in two hours. It's so messed up. Literally, I just feel messed up. My spine feels like its crooked, my shoulders ache, my head is slightly foggy at all times, and my stomach is never content. And it keeps craving doughnuts. And Nicotine. Right now I'm the last person who'd ever be voted Most Likely To Become A Personal Trainer, I look more and more like the rock and roll reject friend. Worn out leather coats and torn up hoodies. Dark circles under their eyes. Constantly on edge. Once upon a time I was a gymnast....I had a farm in Africa. That's the tone I say it with when I tell myself that in my head, over and over and over again. I use to command a floor routine, and be fairly competent on the uneven bars. I could shimmy of ropes and poles that went from the floor to the ceiling of the practice warehouse. The floor exercises were my best, that's what I was most talented at. I always think that, had I continued, I could have achieved some sort of professional or award winning level or status. But I stopped, because gymnastics is gay. Or that's what the majority of everyone thought. And I wasn't about to throw fuel on that name-calling-life-wrecking fire. I tried to start back up in high school, but that plan fell apart. So now my plan is, once I'm a certified PT, find a gym that has a gymnastics area and get back into it. I'm still young enough to be able to teach myself, but old enough to know not to push myself too hard. I just want my flexibility back. I still have most of it. But I want it all. I can still do the splits, but I want to be able to do them up against the wall. I want my foot behind my head. I want my spine to do as I tell it. I can still do some flips and shit like that. I actually would practice those at the second college I went to. I would go to the track at like eight or nine at night, when everyone was doing homework or having social lives, and I would practice doing back flips and back handsprings. Yep, college was really beneficial to me. Ha! It just furthered my ability to tuck and roll. Literally and figuratively. College is/was/forever will be an exercise in hitting the ground running. Tucking and rolling, to make sure you don't break your neck. Dealing with problems A through D while anticipating problems D through Z. I left the floor mat for my dorm floor. Walked away from the uneven bars to deal with uneven odds. Quit the hand rings to hang myself out to dry. Jumped off the balance beam to walk on other fine lines. College was just another exercise for me. And I was always good at exercises. That is, when not being a 3rd shift zombie. I miss being a cardio monster. My love of running, dancing, and cardio in general is the only thing that has kept me fit and svelte my entire life. Not having the energy, or time, to throw on Madonna's Confessions album and sweat it all out makes me sad. Nowadays the only thing I'm sweating over is having no money but many bills, no man but serious urges to cuddle, big to do list and tiny free time. Life keeps bending me over backwards, knocking my around and pushing and pulling me in opposite directions. Good thing I've got so much practice at tucking and rolling.

ps- Looking for a good picture to go with this was depressing. I thought it might be fun, but no. Just a reminder of what I could look like. I need to work out.

"Let no one think that flexibility and a predisposition to compromise is a sign of weakness or a sell-out." -P. Kagame

High Five First Day

Oh what good impressions I make. Seriously, I could give lessons in bad impressions. Although, today was not entirely due to my awkwardness and unwillingness to trust new people. Today was mostly due to the fact that I haven't slept since Friday night. Yeh, that's what's up, me. I've been up and awake and not really getting to lay down or rest, I has been a busy boy. So when this morning arrived, all cranky and snow-mageddon like, I had no choice but to Botwin my way through it. It was helpful, I actually watched the "Thirty Best Clips of Nancy and Andy" to keep me awake during my first several hour long interval. I think I'm confusing and/or not making sense. Truth be told I'm coming down off of a energy pill high. I'll explain. So working third shift has been pretty cool actually, much to my surprise. It's been hard on me, obviously, but it's been taking a toll on the relationship I have with my boys and bitch. The five guys I live with and the puppy. Oh, and the Brillo pad, but he hasn't been around. Anyways, I never see them and I don't get to go out with them and I have no patience or energy to put up with their minor flaws that once got swept under the rug just like all the other chores I did around the house, so things have been strained. To say the very least. But, while sitting in training this afternoon, I thought about it long and hard and high and considered I should make nice and let them do them. I don't need to concern or stress myself with their bad behaviors, hell, I'm the youngest out of the house; I'm the last one who should be taking roll call and dishing out chores. So I took time and talked to everyone in the house today, and I worked out, mostly to get the drugs out of my system. Now I feel human again, very tired and very human. Also, I feel terribly, terribly, out of shape. Due in part to my first day of certification training to become a PT, I thought I had me in line, nope. My BMI is a little off, my circumferences aren't what they should be, I didn't do the most crunches out of my group, I wasn't able to show off how flexible I am because I was bloated with over 14 gallons of coffee. Yeh, I was like the oldest Botwin son that hasn't been on the show yet, it was messed up. I was spacey and jittery and talked with my eyes half closed. The only reason I survived was because it was my only option. There was no way I was passing out at the gym, in front of complete strangers, most of which were highly attractive males. Highly, high. Just like my thought processes were. I was too out of it, to even make a mental rundown list of all the boys in my class. It would have been depressing anyways, it was all so high school. In a lot of ways, life is just one long continuation of high school, we just learn to deal with it better. We learn what to expect and how to cope. For instance, first day of training, I didn't have the book we were supposed to purchase offline. I didn't know we would be working out, so I wore skinny jeans and my ass kicking boots. I didn't realize we were actually going to sit through a lecture, so I didn't even have a pen! And I think at one point I accidentally winked at the instructor, who is cute and seemingly single, which is never a good way to start off. I was trying to stay awake, right, and then he noticed my head bobbing and my eyes closing, so then I tried to play it off like a wink. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. Botwin. Botwin! I need to learn to control my facial expressions. I think I physically cringed when some of the boys in my group high fived each other and used the word "bro"...high school gymsical?! Anyone? No....ok, you'll get it later. I need to eat food, I haven't had a good meal since my dad took me out for dinner on Friday night. Which was even tastier because it was a delightful evening filled with good talks. Majority of which was me bitching about my managers and housemates bad romances, but it was still awesome. I'm thinking collard greens, red chili hummus and big chunks of cheese. Hell yeh, that's what's up. That, and the fact that the hottie in the white hoodie kept staring at my all through out class. Can't tell if its interest or intent to kill. High school behavior can kiss my slightly over BMI'd ass. Where's my hummus....

"The chief reason for going to school is to get the impression fixed for life that there is a book side for everything." -R. Frost

"I've had a particularly challenging last 24 hours, but in the drive-through at Popeye's, I found myself saying, "Family Combo, please!", and it was a moment of clarity." -N. Botwin

Marion And The Sun Rise...

Just like the rest of the world, except for me. The sun comes up and I lay me down to sleep. It's been nearly two weeks since I became a third shift zombie. Truth be told, I kind of love it. I don't miss the people at work that much. I don't miss the tasks of daytime shifts. I don't miss the customers, that's for damn sure. I don't miss the bullshit conversations, I don't miss the ass kissing. Third shift kind of gives a constant sense of urgency and direction. You have limited amount of energy and effort to put out, so you make sure you're every move counts for something. And I was right to assume it was going to be a nightly work out. I am continually thankful that I was training and getting in shape for this, I knew being at the top of my game would be essential. I haven't been as close as I have become with my fellow 3-S zombie since I don't know when. I had been friends with this manager before hand, but all we do is talk to each other, for the whole eight hours. And since you're exhausted you say anything and everything, you tell about your childhood and your hopes and your fears and all the stupid shit your housemates did that day. The song that is stuck in your head. The terrible things that happen in high school. The fun that happened in Florida. The movies you both need to watch. I like being a zombie. The downsides are that I don't run errands...ever. I haven't made it to the grocery store since, like, January. I haven't window shopped, I haven't left the house, except to go to work. I sleep, I eat, I drive. I did spend the most relaxing and wonderful weekend getaway at my friends house this past weekend. She kidnapped and kept me there all three days, it was heavenly. Cooked breakfasts and fun stories. It was precisely what I needed. I loved it. I didn't want to come back. But I wasn't at the house that long before once again resuming my nighttime work excursions. This weekend I have a dinner with my father to look forward to, and I'm sure I'll get around to buying groceries. Maybe. Maybe not. I will listen to Marion Cotillard on the Nine soundtrack another one hundred times though. That is certain. I can sing along to half the songs in the movie, and yet, I still haven't seen it. I had made plans to, but that looks like it won't happen. Solace is fleeting. Anyways. As I face my computer typing this, the morning sun begins to spill through my window. I should really try to sleep, rest. I have my iPod and blindfold ready and waiting, to block out the noise and colors of the daytime. But my brain is full, full of so much. Much to much to want to think about. I suppose I am still young enough to where I could be surprised by human behavior, but I am not. I've been knocked around too much to raise my eyebrows in surprise, now I just raise them as I curse in Italian and make motions with my hands. Oh solace, you magnificent bastard. Arriving and dropping like the sun, but out of reach and too hot to hold onto. Just leaving burns as memories and shadows as reminders. Ok, I'm beginning to emanate Robert Frost, I need to lay down. Try to regroup, recover, revenge.

ps-after having found this picture, I'm totally cool with Marion playing Catwoman. I wasn't really in support of it, but now I deem it acceptable. Let it be done.

"But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep" -R. Frost

Clair de Lune

Solace. I understand why James searched and risked his life for it. It is the perfect thing. It is so rare. Pain evolves to show you how dearly you miss it. It means something different to everyone, but the power of it is incomparable. Solace was the muse for classical maestros. Solace was the inspiration to the masters. Solace is motivation. Solace is a deep breath for the heart. It appears, by my findings, that solace is fleeting. Which makes it difficult for my heart to breathe. I worry about suffocation of the heart. Is there such a thing?

"People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone." -A. Hepburn

Hitchcock Wins

So there's this song, from the Nine Soundtrack, that is sung by Fergie; and I am absolutely in infatuated with it. It's called, are you ready for this, Be Italian. It is the most charming, lyrical and brilliant thing I've listened to since Come On A My House. It's fantastic. And I'm usually not even a fan of Fergie or her work. But this is a whole new side of her, she should stick with this side. So far today, I've been super productive. Went into work, and stayed an hour late. Also picked up an extra shift on Thursday. So that makes me feel better. I've got bills to pay, which are more extensive then usual because of mistakes and discrepancies. I have no groceries at the moment. Which means I'm scavenging and eating oat meal and left over pasta. I cracked open some Moscato too, just to balance the mood out. Hours at work give me productive feelings, and then I came home and worked out. Not the usual abs and cardio power routine, I actually lifted weights today and bench pressed. I don't think I've done that since Bush was on his first term. I liked it, a lot. The right music, the right mind set, and it's nearly as good as a calorie killing remix. This whole week is devoted to arm work outs to prep for project one. Don't want those contractors thinking retail is all light work and no muscle. Now, with said wine in hand, I'm determined to sort through some of the boxes that contain papers, workings, drawings, writings and homework since about middle school. But that seems a bit much, and I know that The Birds and Rear Window are both TiVoed and waiting for me. Wine and Hitchcock sounds much nicer. Who knows. I can do both. I must own up and say that part of my productivity juice is courtesy of a Grande Caramel Macchiato from La Bux. I know, I can't afford it. But twas free! I have my ways. And they were all legal too. So I doubly enjoyed it. Which made me doubly energized, but now that is wearing off. Courtesy of the Moscato. I feel like Alice. Drink one to grow, and one to shrink. Hahaha. Oh Alice. I'm saying it right now, if the new movie version sucks, Imabepisssed! I do trust Tim Burton though, it's Mister Depp I despise. Alright, enough words. My arms are becoming sore and I want to cuddle on the couch. Hitchcock it is.

p.s. Nicole Kidman totally would've been a Hitchcock blonde.

"Blondes make the best victims. They're like virgin snow that shows up the bloody footprints." -A. Hitchcock

Vampire Conduct

In one week, almost to the minute, I begin my third shift adventure. I'm hesitant, naturally, but hopeful that it will bring better muscle tone and look great on my job resume. Plus I'm curious to know what it will be like to be a night owl. A night walker. A creature of the night. I'm waiting for the day when I end my shift and walk outside to see the sun rising. That will be a sight to see, a sensation to experience. I also feel like this will be a friend filtering several months. I've informed practically everyone of what is going to take place, and I'm interested to see which of my friends stick around, which ones leave me to the night, and which ones remember me when May rolls around. Plus I have to find out which ones endure my inevitable cranky moods, I'm sure I'll be quick to bite and draw blood. The good ones will endure, and the superficial ones will drop like corpses. It'll be like thinning the herd. Can you tell I'm very carnal today? I watched Big Cat Diary, a show about my favorite animals on Animal Planet, which is always a pleasure. And then I YouTubed some Buffy clips, just for shits and giggles. So I'm very bite marks and jugular veins today. I meant to see that Ethan Hawke movie about vampires that came out earlier this month, but never got around to it. Can't believe that it's already February, that seems so fast. I despise February, fake holidays and harsh weather. I still think it's lame that no one credits Buffy for truly bringing about the vampire craze that our culture is currently in. She started it. She did it the best. All these Twilights and Moonlights and Spotlights owe it all to her. She made vampires en vogue. And Spike made them sexy. I always took after Buffy when it came to making my priorities, putting friends and family before homework and social responsibilities. Fighting the good fight and leaving math tests to everyone else. Apparently I'm rubbing off on the boys. One of my housemates literally just sprinted out of the house and sped off down the street like a seventies action movie. Apparently someone needs his help. Chances are he's blowing off homework, and he might not even make it to all his classes tomorrow. But friends, and family, come first. We help each other because it's what we do. Another reason why I'm so bent on getting bigger muscles and being healthier. Since I wasn't technically born with or imbued with "Slayer strength", I kinda have to make my own. Excuse me while I do some push ups....