There’s nothing I own that is appropriate for negative temperatures. If I dug deep into my closet I could find a pair of long underwear. But then what? Put them on under my suit pants? I’d get to work where the temperature is a 72. Then I’d be hot for the day.
Plus, I’m only outside for between five and twenty minutes depending on how fast the train and bus arrive. Yes, I ride both the train and the bus. I own a car but I’m too cheap to put the miles on it. I live close to the train and my work is near the station.
When I climb the train platform I have to wait only three minutes before one arrives. The train is never full and I stand against an interior window. The backpack which houses my dog is removed and placed between my legs. I pull out my phone and start thinking of things to tweet.
Today the train took five minutes to appear. Then it zoomed past. This is bad for three reasons. One, the obvious temperature discomfort. I’m exposed outside on an elevated platform with no heater. Two, the train not stopping means that something is wrong. It’s skipping stops to fix whatever goof-up happened earlier. Third, when the next train does stop it’s going to be jam-packed.
While waiting for the train I stared directly into the sun to feel a bit of warmth on my face. I’m sure I looked like a weirdo. Next time you’re in that kind of weather, try it. It works.
The next train stopped. Jam-packed. Normally this doesn’t bother me. I can be squished and I don’t freak out. But I have a backpack with a dog inside. This means I have to hold the backpack down near my legs for about thirty minutes. I’m not exactly crushing the weights these days – this is no easy task. Also, I have to be constantly thinking of the dog’s safety to make sure some jerk doesn’t knee her in the skull.
The train ride was uncomfortable but without incident.
After emerging from the station I looked for a bus parked outside. Once in a blue moon there’s no bus and it might take five or ten minutes before one arrives. Today, blue moon. When I looked down the street there was no bus in sight. I’d have to walk.
Distance to work from bus stop – one mile.
The sidewalks were barely plowed and there was slush everywhere. I couldn’t move as fast as I wanted and kept slipping. Every time I passed another bus stop I looked back – no bus.
I was halfway to work and crossing a bridge when I remembered I was carrying a dog. Meepers never makes a sound and I had forgotten she was back there. I felt terror. The backpack has a mesh covering around most of it. This allows the dog to breath. Also, it allows cold air to come in. I had dressed her in three layers of clothes, but I was nervous. What if she had frozen to death? I was too afraid to take off the backpack and look so I tried to walk faster. I didn’t know how long a seven pound Chihuahua could survive in that weather. I whispered a foxhole prayer and started to cry.
A few minutes later I arrived at the office doorstep and turned the key. Stepping inside I felt heat. I ran to my office, tore off the backpack and opened the zipper. The dog jumped out as usual and went to her bed under my desk.
After the euphoria of her being alive wore down I was saddled with a tough reality. I had placed my dog in danger.
Guilt and shame flooded my core. I tried to start the morning but couldn’t shake the weight of those feelings. A coworker snapped me to reality with a meeting we had scheduled. I buried the feelings.
I’m not sure I’ve yet forgiven myself for this mistake. I will, but I need to sit with it a for a while longer.
photo credit: ChaoticMind75 via photopin cc
]]>The site had been lagging and it was time for an upgrade. Not that anybody formally complained but I noticed the speed issue and it bothered me. The transition was almost hiccup-free. Somehow a few comments slipped through the cracks. I apologize to those readers.
We’re back to business as usual at ThoughtsFromParis. Now, let’s start this post out proper.
Today was one of those days where I didn’t move around much.
Let’s assess today’s productivity. Hmm… searching for something that I engaged in that furthered my evolution as a human being.
- Ate Four Entenmann’s Donuts – No, no pride here. There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts even closer to where I live but since I was in the grocery, those ended up in my cart. By the way, that chocolate one is nearly inedible. Candy wax lips taste better.
- Passed Out For Three Hours After Eating Entenmann’s Donuts – I must not be getting enough sleep during the week. I think I need around nine hours a night and I’ve averaging under seven. Researchers say there’s no such thing as “make up” sleep, but a three hour nap suggests that otherwise. Either that or I’m suffering from crippling depression. That can’t be the case though, as I think way too highly of myself.
- Ate Two Batches of Popcorn – This also occurred in the morning before passing out but after the donuts. In reflecting, I’m seeing that may have been overindulgent in carbohydrates. Why popcorn at 10am sounded like the right call, I don’t know. It’s as if I’m a pregnant woman with these cravings. And I wear protection so I’m pretty sure that’s not it.
- Responded to Blog Comments – Ah, my first win of the day! I made this commitment on Jan 1 and I don’t think I’ve missed yet. I’m usually a few days behind, but I get to everything. Engaging with readers is satisfying and I dig reading comments. Especially the ones that say how great I am. Those, in particular, are appreciated.
- Made Lunch for Tomorrow – Another victory. I cooked up chicken with teriyaki and vegetables. This means that I will not be running over to Walgreen’s at noon looking for a special on beef jerky. I ate so much beef jerky last week that the woman behind the counter made a comment on the fourth consecutive day. I’m now the “beef jerky” guy to her. That’s not how I want to leave my mark.
The strangest thing is that I don’t have shame about my overall activity/inactivity. I’m not exactly proud, but it’s not making me feel like poop. Leaving behind shame has been an interesting process. I still didn’t have a great day, per se, but I’m not beating myself up like before.
This reality of not being productive and also not-ashamed is new. Well, it comes after four years of weekly therapy and a shit-ton of personal work I do on the side. But, the heavy lifting is paying off. I can just have a “didn’t do dick day.” Nice alliteration.
Just remembered – I didn’t get around to cleaning the cat box or taking down my Christmas tree. Oh, and forgot to shower.
Hmm – maybe bringing back a little shame wouldn’t be so bad.
photo credit: erlyrizrjr via photopin cc
]]>This is quite an accomplishment for a man that could eat whatever he wanted up until two years ago. Hell, five years ago I was at 175. I’m just shy of 6’3″ and should clock in between 190-200lbs. That’s ideal for me.
Actually, your scale weight doesn’t matter. Well, not really. I’m surprised more isn’t made about this. Your weight is a combination of muscle and fat. From everything I’ve read all what’s most important is the ratio is between the two. The lower the body fat percentage the better. This way you could be bigger (more muscular and heavier), and still be healthy.
The problem with dieting and not building muscle at the same time is simple – depending on your body type, you could be burning lean muscle by dieting, and the fat remains in the body.
Okay, that’s all I know about the body. I’ll leave you to do your own research. Dr. Oz probably has a whole article on this shizz.
Today was the kick in the butt I needed. I hadn’t weighed myself in months. Out of sight, out of mind. Sure, I still ate a full pizza afterwards, but I’m now getting ready to make the shift. I figure I’m eating five hundred calories more than I should be every day. Also, I’m not moving around much.
My girlfriend bought me a FitBit for Christmas and it tracks your steps. I set my first goal at 10k steps – it took four days. I was so proud I told her and she said, “You’re supposed to walk 10k steps every day!” Oops.
It’s funny – I used to have shame about my weight. If I clocked in over 200lbs, I would get mad at myself yelling inward about the poor food choices I had made. Today was different. I acknowledged that I am overweight. Hell, I’m at my fattest. But I had no judgement about it.
To be able to see myself as I am without judgement (at least with weight) is a major step forward for me. Of course I have four years of therapy, too. We sort of work on this stuff. But to be this large and not ashamed is mind-boggling. I’m confused by my own non-self-meanness.
My fear up until recent was that if I wasn’t hard on myself and didn’t constantly demand better, I would lose motivation and not reach my true potential. I don’t think that is true anymore. It’s a shame strategy and it doesn’t compel me to change. It’s paralyzing.
Now that the shame is gone fear is coming up – if I’m not hard on myself won’t I be less inclined to make the proper changes toward healthy living? Won’t I become complacent and get even fatter? The truth is I don’t know.
I have three weeks before I vacation with the girlfriend in Nicaragua. As a representative of the United States, it’s my duty to look svelte and chiseled to the natives. To accomplish this feat will take about six months. Maybe I’ll just crash diet up until the trip and drink water with lemon for lunch. Sure I’ll be woozy and pass out constantly at work, but at least I’ll look undernourished and emaciated. You know, the American beauty ideal!
I’ll warn you right now. You may not like the tone of this post. You may think I”m talking down or being condescending. I promise you, that’s not it at all. I’m just wanting to help people understand what having a mental illness is about. I hope it helps, at least, to make me seem a little more human, a little less scary, and that you’ll be willing to give me a chance.
That said I just want you to know that I am not-
-a bitch
-a sympathy whore
-taking out things on you
-feeling sorry for myself
I suffer from, and live with DEPRESSION. Depression is-
-a chemical imbalance in one’s brain
-an actual medical condition
-for the most part treatable
-a major life complication and pain in my fat ass.
Depression is NOT-
-‘all in my head’
-‘something I can ‘snap out of’
-a cry for attention
Everyone’s depression is different. I’ve lived with mine since I was fifteen, which means in October I’ll have dealth with this for thirty-five years.( I’m thinking of baking it a cake) Sometimes, mine is combined with anxiety, which makes getting things done that involve leaving the house during the course of a day, for lack of a better word, interesting, BUT-
-I can tell you the number of tiles in my living room ceiling (about 110)
-I call tell you the number of steps from the couch to the bathroom (45)
-I basically know the results of most lie detector and DNA tests before Maury tells me. (It’s a gift)
When the depression is bad, it’s like a living thing, a black cloud over my head, an elephant sitting on my chest, a noose around my neck.
It makes me grumpy. It makes me snap and scream and swear at the people I love the most in this world. It makes me think no one loves me. It’s pushed some people away permanently, and that breaks my heart. It makes me believe that I’m worthless, that no one loves me, that I’ll never be anything worthwhile.
HOWEVER-
There is a good side. Of course this good side happens when I diligent about my self care, when I see my therapist regularly, and when, I allow myself to believe that better living through chemistry, in other words, taking the prescribed meds, and taking them as prescribed can help.
Then, depression is a motivator. As a writer I suppose I can describe it as a protagonist to my antagonist, a rival, a challenge. It’s a reminder of what I no longer want to be, how I no longer want to act. It fuels my writing. It gives me an outlet for my stories and poems.
And, when I have I good day, or I can look back and recognize that I’m no longer doing something that used to hurt me or make things worse, it’s a marker for how far I’ve come.
In all likelihood, I’ll always have this. Then again, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be exactly who I am
-a writer
-a loyal and sympathetic friend
-an excellent listener
-a strong,( and according to some people), brave, intelligent woman with a lot to offer the world
And that would be a shame. So, in a strange way, I’m grateful for my depression. Most days, anyway.
My blog certainly isn’t the most hilarious on the web (well, nobody tells a story about seeing my dad’s penis like me), but it’s decently funny. Sure I use too many adverbs, but, you know what? I goddamn well like adverbs. It’s me and since I don’t know how to write with better grammatical sense, I let it slide. A big-deal professor recently told me I write well. So there, inner critic D.J.!
Sometimes I get squishy and talk about feelings and other non-funny topics. Once I even mentioned I cry during Extreme Home Makeover.
Who pays the taxes on those houses? I’m assuming the family previously living with toxic mold in the baby’s crib-room isn’t going to be able to shell out 15k annually for an new eight bedroom, six bath palatial mansion Ty and co. raised in three days.
So, while I’m not topping the charts of Google for anything boast-worthy these days, I’m having a hell of a lot of fun.
Just yesterday I launched a new videocast with my pal Karen called oSex. It stands for “Opposite Sex” and we provide love and relationship advice to readers. I also have my weekly interview series Bloggers are Weird where I talk to other writers and they read their crap live. I published a book last month of my best material that people actually bought. I crossed 50k Twitter followers two weeks back.
While this may sound like bragging, I assure you it isn’t. I am surprised to witness all of that has happened. The magician who pulls a rabbit out of his hat and is entertained as much as the audience. That’s me.
This all started because a woman at a party told me her dream was to quit being a partner at a prestigious law firm and become an archaeologist. When I saw her eyes light up as she explained that she was more passionate about Italian ruins than anything else I knew I had to do something with my creativity. So I tried my hand at writing.
Since then things have unfolded. I make a little bit of money each month from the site. No, nothing has gone viral. No major accolades or awards. But I get to be myself. Another website pays me to write for them every other week. I’m on the board of a non-profit site devoted to raising awareness of mental health issues. I get a few nice emails every week from readers.
All of this exists today as a result of me exploring passion.
And yes, I still have massive issues in my life. I fall in love with women who don’t want me. I give my self-esteem away because I can’t give it to myself. I need constant validation that I’m okay from people in my life. Just last night I hurt a great friendship by acting inappropriately. I have challenges and often not the resources to cope. I’m unfixed.
Life ebbs and flows whether I want it to or not. I can’t do much in the way of controlling circumstances. It’s the greatest joke played on me – that I have influence. I really don’t. But what I can do is put my head down and keep going. Pick up the keyboard, sit down, and get to work. Tell the truth. Be funny. Share what’s hard.
Thank you for reading, commenting, sharing, and supporting. While I struggle nothing helps me like a funny or thoughtful sentence from you.
And just to prove to you I haven’t lost the previously earned #1 spot on Google for “funny blogs” I’ll be relaying tomorrow a story where I insulted a sex worker by accident and she shamed the shit out of me. It’s pretty great.
]]>Normally my intros go a few minutes tops. Just for the shit of it I decided to try some longform improv to see if anything interesting came out. The result was thirteen minutes of nested stories that layered on top of each other. By the end I had closed all the loops, but it didn’t really work. I was trying to be like Marc Maron, but, hey, I’m not.
One thing that came out that I would like to explore further is this idea of knowing where you’re a little crazy. I was in a boutique where there was a chocolate tasting yesterday, and the people who ran the joint sort of pissed me off. Here’s why…
They offered me some of their chocolate toppings sauce. I ate the mofo. It was good. Whatever. It’s chocolate. You can’t really screw it up unless you go too bitter or too milky. I asked if they had some caramel and they squirted some on a tasting spoon. It tasted very strong and had a butterscotch vibe. I bet most people would have thought it was butterscotch in a blind taste test.
Because I’m not a dick I didn’t just yell out, “Hey your caramel tastes like butterscotch!” even though every fiber of my being knew this to be true. Why didn’t I? Because I reflected a moment and thought, “The owner might get offended because his intention was probably not to make the caramel taste like butterscotch.
I said instead:
This is delicious caramel! It feels like it has a tinge of butterscotch, am I right?
No – we have butterscotch.
Oh.
–fin–
And I walked away feeling like I just insulted the chocolatier. Here’s why I was a little annoyed. First, he knows it tastes like butterscotch. But instead of acknowledging what is true he decided to negate said truth. In essence he felt a little insecure and his ego was threatened. He threw it back on me.
This is the part of human nature I don’t understand. Recognize where you’re all screwed up, people, and own it! If you’re like my ex-wife and over-season chicken, don’t get all pissed off when I mention that it’s over-seasoned. It’s not a personal attack. It’s an objective fact.
We love to protect subjectivity like it’s a valuable resource. But many things that we claim our “our opinions” are really just distorted views of truth. If you like salty chicken that 99% of the population would spit out, your subjectivity is null and void. Plus, your taste sucks.
My friend Karen turns all her dollar bills the same way. She also has forty cans of cat food neatly stacked with all the labels facing out. This is the behavior of a borderline obsessive. Yes, she already knows this. You can goof on her and she doesn’t take it personally. It’s her crazy.
If you like the temperature a little warmer in the house then the rest of the family don’t shame them when they complain it’s too hot. Say this instead. “I know it’s hot and I’m a total weirdo but I need it hot so go screw off.” Acknowledge your nuttiness. Don’t pretend 79 ° is normal. It ain’t. You have horrible circulation and probably need progesterone.
I have no idea if progesterone is even a thing, but I feel like it is.
Okay, I just demonstrated my crazy. In order to make a joke about progesterone I decided not to Google it to verify if it’s a real drug. I also have clipped my toenails directly onto the floor not to pick them up until weeks later when I accidentally step on them. I know this is untoward behavior. If you call me a disgusting blob, you are not incorrect.
See? Own your shit!
photo credit: Lee Gonzalez Photography via photopin cc
]]>Sure, there are moments when my condo resembles a dishelved hobo riding the rails, but mostly it’s close to tidy. Note I said “tidy” and not “clean.” I never dust and rarely sweep. If I’m having someone over I run the Swiffer. It’s not really supposed to double as a vacuum, but, hey, close enough.
My mom has thoroughly shamed me over the years since the divorce by saying, “If you bring a woman back to this mess she will run screaming.” And, to be fair, she’s got a point. Nobody wants to date a slob. Well, I guess other slobs are cool with it. Let’s put it this way – I don’t want to date a slob.
I’ve become masterful as keeping the place tidy. At first glance it will appear as if I steer a pretty tight ship (I don’t think that’s the correct expression, matey). Upon further examination you will discover that the baseboards in the kitchen are splattered with marinara sauce, there is tiny chihuahua hair all over the pillows, and the underside of the top toilet seat in the master bath has a small pee stain.
I should write a whole essay on how a physicist would have a hard time explaining this phenomena. Pee should not be there. I can’t explain it. But it is.
My mom however sees through this charade and simply walks in and goes, “I can smell the cat box! Gross!”
I finally broke down and ordered a housekeeping package. I vowed this time to only use a reputable service as the last person I hired via Craigslist stole a bunch of my shit. I found a Groupon for half-off and placed the order. They called me a day later to schedule and upsold me on the deep clean package. It was like $100 more but, hey, I’m pretty sure mold is not supposed to be growing on the ice cubes in the freezer. I needed the full monty.
The woman who came to the apartment lumbered up the stairs with her supplies. She was in her early forties and overweight. I always feel bad when delivery people come visit and have to hike up four flights. It’s hard enough when I do it every day. She had to take a few rests and now that I think about it, I probably should have offered to carry up the mop. It didn’t occur to me.
She was very sweet and got to work. Since I had the bad experience with the thief I decided to stick around. Now, I only have 1250 square feet. It’s not like I was just going to hang out in the west study while she dusted up the portiere. So I took a nap, read, and watched some television.
Cut to five hours later – she was STILL cleaning. I hadn’t had a woman stick around that long in my condo since my sister who came to spend the night on a business trip last April.
After each room the cleaning lady would come up to me and say, “Mr. Paris, can you come check my work?” Now, I never check even my own work, much less somebody else’s. But she insisted. And each time I would give it a two-second glance and say, “Looks perfect.”
Then, without exception she would get excited and say the exact same thing.
“That’s cool beans!”
I haven’t heard that expression since I was a lame white kid in central Illinois saying that during my junior year of high school. Bowling on a Friday night since I didn’t have a date? That’s cool beans!
Each time she said those words I would LIL – laugh in loud. I should have recorded it. She did such a good job I’m going to have her back in a month or so and we’ll get that voice on tape. She didn’t just say it, she exuded those beans. First, it was funny that she was so excited to get my approval. I always feel a little shame that I should be cleaning the place myself. Then, those words. Cool beans. It’s just a perfect expression of joy that nobody says anymore.
The weird thing about that phrase is that if you actually ate cool beans, you’d be disappointed. Hot beans trump cold beans.
Oh, to get back to the beginning on why my mom was wrong. Since I’ve started dating a number of women have made their way into the condo. For dessert or a drink or to meet the dog. So, I’ve had to keep it tidy. It’s not clean. Well, now it is. But it never really was before. And nobody has run screaming.
I’m at that stage of a new exercise and nutrition cycle where the food deficit plus the hard running is almost to difficult to maintain in my body or mind. But it’s time. Even though I biked my ass off this year I ate whatever the hell I wanted. I haven’t moved much since the cold set in. So now I’m in the process of breaking sine bad habits.
I’m currently on the subway racking my brain to bring the funny. I can’t hardly stand much less find the energy to entertain you.
But let’s try anyway.
The last time I went to the grocery store I vowed to pick up one item that is embarrassing and not feel shame about it. I wasn’t sure what it was going to be. I figured I would surprise myself. In the past if I was picking something like four bags of SunChips (one for each flavor) I would quickly put them in my cart and spread them out so that at a cursory glance it didn’t look like I’m mega carb loading on crap.
But the SunChips weren’t on sale. None of the chips were. That’s the bummer in Chicago. Food is never on sale.
That time, however, candy was on special.
First I love how there’s such a thing as “Theatre Candy” – these are the boxes of stuff like Mike & Ike’s, Milk Duds, and Sugar Babies. First, I had a subscription to a high end theatre here. Whip out a box of Reeces Pieces during the first act of a Mamet play and it’ll sound like you’re a new ager playing a rain stick. Everyone around you will be thinking, “Well, I never!” and all that other high class “Screw you!” language. The actors will even fire a look in your direction. Then you have to pretend it wasn’t you but the dude that came in jeans one row in front.
I know the grocery store really means “Movie Candy” but it doesn’t sound as debonair.
Movie candy was 10/$10. That’s a deal, people.
So I chose the worst movie candy of them all. A candy guaranteed to offend and delight equally. I estimate 70% of this world would choose to not have this candy even in the same room as other candy.
Yes, I’m talking about Good & Plenty. I don’t understand why everyone hates these delicious candy treats. There is no middle ground. You either despise them or love them. And despite candy we can all agree sucks (Whoppers, Mounds bars, Popcorn Jelly Bellies) nothing is more heated than a Good & Plenty argument. They’re the brussel sprout of candy.
Well, even though I love them I’m normally ashamed to put them in my basket (I legitimately hide them under the spinach), tonight I walked proud. I put them on the top with an air about me that were to suggest, “No, I’m not going to the opera tonight. I’m heading home to make dinner and this is my dessert. Yes, Good & Plentys are my dessert!”
While this is a relative small victory for my self-esteem, it did have an affect on my mood. I was all bummed out at the beginning of this post. Now I’m ready to take on the world, one white and pink candy at a time.
This post was remarkably silly.
This is something I am just learning. The past three years has been a journey into the feelings I avoided over my life. Since I had associated tough feelings (anger, fear, sadness) with shame, I ran fast and away each time any of them surfaced. I thought if I felt any of those it must have been my fault and I didn’t do something “right.” And sometimes, of course, that’s true. But 90% of the time it’s just natural pain we all experienced as children. Therefore, shame resulted.
Okay, are you sufficiently bummed? I forgot this is a humor blog. Blow out your hanky and let’s continue.
Oh, and stop carrying around a hanky. That’s nasty.
As I was exploring all of this with my therapist this morning I looked over at my dog. We were talking about the idea of self-soothing and I looked at the doctor as if she were speaking Greek.
By the way, that’s a weird expression. I don’t find Greek people puzzling and their language isn’t that crazy. I could get around Greece just fine. I feel like most of it is just pointing to landmarks and ordering things with feta. I don’t there’s that much to it.
She asked if I had an object from my childhood that I used to self-soothe. I’m sure I did back then but I came up blank. We tried to find one in my past but nothing was working. Finally I looked over at my dog who was passed out in her backpack. I realized she soothes me. I get to see her all day long every day, which is incredibly fortunate. Today she also accompanied me to the DMV to get a replacement license. Tonight she’s going to another meeting. I swear I’m not a dog weirdo. It’s just on the way home.
This is about the shortest post I’ve ever written but there isn’t that much to be said. In order to fully experience my emotions that are difficult I’m going to have to learn how to soothe a little more effectively. And while overeating pizza is fun it’s probably not the most emotionally healthy way to deal with pain.
Right now as I’m writing this the dog is peacefully snoring under my desk. She’s making little noises in her sleep that suggest she’s dreaming about chasing something exciting. I watch her drop into a trance each night after she goes to the bathroom where she puts a stuffed bear in her mouth and her tail wags like crazy for about ten minutes. She is self-soothing. Not sure from what as the little shit has the best life possible.
But for now, until I get more mental tools that will help me self-soothe I will use my dog. Her breath does not soothe me, however, now that I’m thinking about it. She needs a dental.
Tomorrow I will bring more of the funny. Since I haven’t said it in awhile, thanks for reading. You ladies and men are important to me – well, the cool ones. You lame-o’s can go soak your heads.
I am sad about this. I actually had two offers that I both turned down. One was from friends who, ever year, go to this huge gala in Chicago. The week prior I had decided against it. I get dressed up each day for work – it’s enough. Ha. Sorry to laugh at my own moronic logic, but that’s actually how I thought about it. Also, it’s pretty expensive for someone who doesn’t drink. So, no to that one.
The other option was something that came up unexpectedly. Even though every fiber of my logic said to attend, I just couldn’t. Ladies and gentlemen (don’t you hate when writers or speakers throw that stupid phrase out there?), I simply chickened out.
Here’s what and why.
I hired someone last week whose fiance runs a bar. Actually, they now run two bars. This second one is brand new and they’re doing this big event for New Year’s Eve. In Chicago you’re hard-pressed to find a bar event that’s under $100. It’s just the normal cost of all-you-can-drink and eat stuff. I didn’t mind shelling out that money ten years ago when I was a boozebag. It was well-priced.
Her event at the new bar was only $50 for the whole night, including drinks. That’s a steal. So, even though I wouldn’t win on the spirits, I would stack as many Tostino Pizza Rolls as would fit on a mini paper plate. Now, she’s five month’s pregnant and I think she was going to run around selling shots all night. Which is a funny sight you’d have to admit. The point is, it’s not like we’re best pals (I’ve met her twice) nor will she have time to wax poetic to me. She’s going to be running around throwing Schnapps down throats.
Other than her I wouldn’t have known anyone else.
Now, in any other setting, I’m good. Invite me to a party where I don’t know anyone and I’ll go. I’ll make up a story about I how I used to bang the cousin of the host’s best friend’s sister. I basically interview people all day so I am constantly meeting new faces and talking. I’m good with people.
But the idea of going to a bar on New Year’s Eve where there would be nobody that I knew and walking around seemed odd. How do I explain that I just decided to go and spend $50 to hang out with nobody – no friends, etc. It’s sad, right? Also, imagine I came up to your table of single girls and introduced myself. How long before someone goes, “Where are you friends?” How do I respond? “Oh, I’m a loner. I roam at night in the shadows. No one can tie me down!” You’d think that was weird, yes? Yes. Yes you would.
Now, that’s the story I sold myself and, as a result, I didn’t go.
The TRUTH is that I could have attended and made it work. I would have gone, met people and simply said, “I didn’t have anything to do tonight – I know the owner and just thought I’d swing by. I’m D.J.” I’ve even extend my hand to shake, people! I’m good in public!
But I was afraid of doing it for some reason. I think it’s a control thing. I’d rather stay home where I can fully control my evening (albeit a lonely, sad evening) then go out and not have anyone to talk to. That was my big fear. Standing at the edge of the bar with nothing to do. But I could have always left had that happened.
I was beating myself up about this pretty good last night when I finally just said, “Well, I chickened out. It happens. I don’t need to shame myself. Maybe I’m just not at a place where I can do that on my own. Or maybe I needed someone to kick me in the butt. Either way I’m going to enjoy this time with myself. Next time I’m going to set up some event in advance so this doesn’t happen.”
Now, I’d love to say that I felt 100% better after that but I didn’t. But I felt 50% better. And that was a start.
I’m going to focus as much as I can on this self-judgment which never helps get me what I want. I hope all of you have a great start to 2013. Let’s all hit the gym tomorrow and stave off chocolates. Or, in my case lose 10 lbs before Saturday for the blog conference I’m attending in Las Vegas. I can do this. I know I can. Pray for me.
photo credit: George M. Groutas via photopin cc