And that’s why I’m here, to bring horror to the masses.

Unfortunately, I may disappoint a bit. There’s so much to discuss, but I find my head more divided than anything these days. I’ll break this down with a generic overview:

I’ve left two jobs since we’ve last chatted and moved onto greener pastures. I have a legit copywriting job, and I’m the editor of a newspaper (frightening, perhaps).

I’m becoming more and more entwined with the community, which is great, since my goal is to ultimately do something positive for children, women in distress and shelter animals. Children and I tend to get along famously, as I’d rather spend my days sipping Juicy Juice, watching SpongeBob Squarepants and running around the house pants-less.

Children are awesome. They’re honesty, their integrity, and their ability to be happy with life’s simplest pleasures. I’ve had a glass of wine, so if this post goes sappy, blame the silly juice. While we’re on this topic, let’s get this out of the way…

My thoughts on children, as of September 2011:

So here’s the thing.

Most of you who know me, know how I feel about giving birth as I did a wholllle portion of my stand up comedy act on it and I’m not particularly shy about saying the following: I’d love kids, I just don’t want to birth them.

Previously, I’ve said the following things have to happen prior to me agreeing to have kids:

1. Caging children must become legal, so like a dog, if I get frustrated with little Yikes Jr. I can cage it until it learns not to pee in the house.

2. Men must be able to have uterine transplants. Seriously, they should be able to have children already…it’s 2011.

3. They would have to be able to put me to sleep, take the baby out, perform liposuction and wake me up when everything is over, with my tang tang intact.

4. The only alternative to three, would be having your egg removed, mixed with your partners, it’s put into a pod that you check on and feed…kind of like, sea monkey’s…and eventually, the baby grows and wakes up at nine months cuter than hell and ready for you. Kind of like…iRobot meets Identity Report…meets the Pilsbury Dough Boy ( he rises in time…in time…ON HIS OWN).

It’s a wonder I’m not married with kids yet, no?

Well…here’s the thing. Most of that nonsense above, while completely ignorant, stems from me assuming the right person will make me feel differently. My mother, who is probably gagging as she reads this, insists that as we get older…there is an instinct that rises.

So what’s been happening? There are children…everywhere. Seriously, criminally adorable children. Slowly but surely, I don’t feel like that anymore. I find myself looking at these families, envious that someone has made them feel like blowing their pelvis and tang tang region out was totally worth it.

Crap.

Furthermore, people from high school…from college…from my LIFE are having children at such a rapid rate it’s bananas. Some of them, I don’t even know they’re pregnant, then today I see TWO of them have, “Little Isaac turns one month today!” whaaaaa….t?

I’m 26. I’m in no way, shape, or form behind on the times. I’ve never been married, because I want to do it right…one time, and forever. Optimistic? Sure sure sure. Not in a rush ( absolutely no man believes this).

So many things in my head, that everything is sort of just…vomiting itself onto the page faster than my brain can process. With that said, I’m going to break things up into a several part series over the next few days.

So what about the prospects you ask? Stay tuned for tomorrow’s….”Welcome To The Menagerie-Part II-Prospects”

(AKA what you really stick around to read)

In the past year I’ve met a ton of dudes. Not in a whorish way or anything like that, I’ve just met people. Plus, I’d take quality over quantity all day errr day. Like most other women, I have a way of dealing with men I’m not interested in. What I’m referring to is the usual go to method of letting the guy know you’re not interested, and he must cease and desist.

First, I look away and pretend as though I’m looking for someone else, and it’s very important not to break focus. If the person in question still doesn’t get it, I take it to phase two. At this point, my cell phone is drawn and I’m texting…anyone. That’s right. Absolutely anyone I can guarantee will text back and I can feign and giggle and some interest. Is it a hot Chris Evans look alike, or my mom? You may never know!

At this point, if you’re meeting the same men I have, they are either NOT convinced you’re not into it, OR…they’re determined to MAKE you interested. Either way, this fail boat continues to sail on ahead thus prompting more monotonous, strained conversation typically ending in a “what’s your phone number” scenario. This is where it’s time to make a judgment call…real number? I’m a firm believer in karma, and don’t’ really like to piss her off if I can swing it. Most of the time, unless you seem wildly unstable or have pestered me into oblivion…you get my real number.

Occasions where you may not get my number:

1. You have foul body odor or breath.

2. YoU TyPe Or SpK LyK DiS

3. You’re clearly not mentally 100%

4. I can just tell there’s no point as there are no redeeming qualities and I’m resisting the urge to punch myself in the face just to create a diversion. This guy must have struck one or more of this abbreviated pet peeves…but I still must have feared karma, or was just a bit touched by an angel when this happened…

[2 days ago]

Stranger: Hey

Me: Who is this?

Stranger: Bryce

Me: ….?

Stranger[AKA Bryce]: Sry, …?

Stranger: Hw are u?

Me: how do I know you?

Stranger: Who iz this?

Me: who are you looking for?

Stranger: Julia?

Me: Nope, sorry. I’m afraid you have the wrong number. This is Allyson.

Stranger: Def dnt know ne Allysons. I like dat spelling.

Me: Thank you.

[Then it occurred to me there was this 34 year old personal trainer about 8 months ago I wasn’t wild for and this could be him?]

Me: Hey Bryce, you’re not a personal trainer, are you?

Stranger: Nop. Sry. Mnger of industrial co.

Me: Done any online dating? I’m trying to think how I’d know you.

Stranger: uh oh, online dating? Are you cute?

Me: Are YOU cute? Of course I’m cute. I’m also biased.

Stranger: u sound cute. I’m a skinny white guy.

At this point I realized this was going to a silly place. I have no interest in starting a text fest with someone I’ve never met and have no interest in meeting. So, I put the silent treatment in motion. Shortly after…

Stranger: you must like only black guys

Stranger: where u go?

Stranger: ok well I wuz just kiddin so nevermind then.

Stranger: I took a pic. You going to send one, or what?

With the silent treatment clearly not working as planned, I responded…

Me: I’m walking into the gym. I’m not Julia, I apologize for the confusion, but please stop.

[Silence until about 9pm]

Stranger: So you all sweaty now? Need a personal trainer to come and work you out?

KNEW IT! A while ago when I met Bryce, I gave him a false name…Julia. BUT, I must’ve felt bad enough, or was not paying attention enough to realize I gave him my REAL phone number. FAIL. Ladies, best lesson ever…if you’re going to give a fake name, it might be a good idea to give a fake number too, so it doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass several months later!

The same gripe I have with movies that depict a brand of love that is harder to find than “unobtainium,” I share with our educators. From the moment I could recite the alphabet, teachers [and of course my mother] have been pumping me up with the notion I can be whatever I want. FURTHERMORE, not only can I be whatever I want, but NOTHING and NO ONE can stand in my way. Doesn’t that sound fancy? It seemed relatively simple, right? Go to school to the highest level and it pays off.

Well…here’s a newsflash kiddies…LIES…ALL LIES! [Said like Frau Firbissinau from Austin Powers]

On the jealousy aspect, here’s how I was feeling…my time at FSU was amazing. Period. In the beginning, I couldn’t envision myself being happy in a place like Tallahassee. BUT, after that, I met some of the greatest people and some of my closest friends whom I’ll remain close with hopefully forever [making me extremely happy]. Also, looking at the about to be grads, I just thought…wow…I’d like to feel THAT optimistic about ANYTHING these days. Their faces were glowing, their excitement was palpable and I just thought…damn you…damn you all…

After sulking momentarily, I collected myself when I realized that reality was about to bitch slap them…and hard. Life’s not as rosy as it’s necessarily always painted. Shit gets REAL. Wait until you are searching for a job and can’t find one. Then, after 600 resumes via Monster, Craigslist, CareerBuilder, LinkedIn, Smoke Signals, and Willsellmysoulforajob.com you get a hit. You’re amped. Like…super, ultra, mega, fucking AMPED. “THIS IS MY TIME!” you confidently reassure yourself in the mirror, while shaking with that “just graduated undergrad” smell of fear and joy emanating from you. In your head, this job is locked up. YOU GOT THIS. And, why not? You’re smart, fearless [stupid?], and ready to work to prove you’re here and you mean business.

The job interview goes insanely well and you saunter out of there trying not to make it look like a victory dance. You nailed it! You nailed it SO HARD that no one else will want to even try, because that job’s going to be walking funny for WEEKS. BOOYAH! Good for you! Now, you wait…. and wait…and wait….

Waiting has to be the cruelest game ever. As time goes on, the waiting game has this funny way of chipping away at your confidence. I’m not sure what that’s about, but it gets serious. Where you started out thinking you basically took that job interview to a fancy dinner and made passionate, sweet love to it, you start thinking…uh oh…what did I do, what did I say? I shouldn’t have worn perfume, he was coughing…he was probably allergic. Maybe I was twitching; I do that when I get nervous. No eye contact? TOO MUCH EYE CONTACT? SWEATY ARMPITS? BLARRRRGH! Pretty soon you turn into a ball of insecurity, left alone to dwell within your own broken psyche. You whimper… “b…b…but…I’m qualified.” When the company has finally broken your spirits, that’s when they call you with the big news…you’re wanted. “IN YOUR FACE!” you scream…to yourself. “TOLLLLLLLDJA!”

The job process is like playing with a yo-yo. At some points it’s high and you’re enjoying yourself. Other points, it swings gracefully between confident and holy shit where did this go wrong. THEN…it stops. We’re about at the stopping point, where they tell you how much you’re worth. You take the job, because you need it and if you need to work yourself to the top, than by GEORGE you’ll DO IT! Enjoy this moment, for it’s the last moment you will ever feel that level of drive…ever…again.

The job starts out fine. You make peace with the fact you’re working for peanuts, because you have no loans to deal with and are planning to go back to school to get a Master’s degree because that’s where the BIG opportunities are…for “those” people with BIG degrees. You muddle through and eventually leave that job, after being convinced that “you’ll see how many doors open for you and how many people value higher education and the power of knowledge and blah, blah, blah, blahhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” Your last thought at that job is… “Whatever…I don’t need you guys. And you’re silly, because I’m going to be a Master and THEN you’ll want me and I’ll be like…no chance yo.”

Advance to “GO” and collect a small piece of optimism.

Enter Graduate School. It’s nothing like your Undergraduate experience and wonder WTF you just signed up for. You don’t write a single paper past two pages for two years, and then on your last semester you write what’s called a thesis, A.K.A “jokes on you, bitch” paper. A nearly 100 page paper on something you care nothing about, but if you don’t keep your margins tight, your grammar perfect and don’t bleed your heart and soul into this rigidly formatted silly paper…you are, for all intents and purposes….le fucked.

Then, HUZZAH! You wait to hear if you passed! And wait…and wait…and…

YAY! You passed! You’re out of Graduate School and are a Master [of one thing or another] and now, that notion of “anything is possible” is being drilled into your brain. Yet, this time…it feels right. YOU CAN do anything. YOU ARE READY to take on this World and make a difference [throw a fist in the air, jump, and smile as I’m doing right now. Seriously…it makes it more authentic]!

And then…3 months later, no job…this happens…

Stranger: Knock, Knock

Optimistic Me: Whaddup! Who’s there?

Stranger: Reality!

Optimistic Me: Oh heeeey reality, I’m ready for you. You’re supposed to be awesome, and cookies, and ponies, and flowers.

Stranger: Eh…I don’t know about all that, but I did bring you a complimentary “I can learn to cut myself” kit. Yay? Also, my friend the economy is here to kick you square in your lady balls [if you’re a dude, clearly sub that for regular man balls].

Me: *gulp*

At six months, you’re disgruntled, frustrated, sad, angry, disappointed and it’s getting worse. This was supposed to be the answer, but you’re pretty convinced that the stripper off your highway exit with the superman tattoo on her face is bringing in more dough than you are. You repeat the process from Undergrad and start feverishly searching Craigslist, Monster, CareerBuilder, LinkedIN, Facebook, Smoke Signals, Willsellyoumysoleormaybemyfirstbornforajob.com and still nothing comes from it. Luckily, you had a job while in school who thought it’d be a good idea to start paying you full time.  While the job makes you think that hot fire pokers in your eye would be a calming relief from the day to day, you’re grateful and you keep it. Sure, it’s not what you envisioned yourself doing.

Sure, it’s not what you want to be doing. BUT complacency sets in. Lots of other people don’t have jobs and can’t seem to find one. You’re lucky, you understand.

FACT: The economy blows.

FICTION: It’s “getting better.”

FACT: Job peeps are looking for the most experienced person whom they can pay the least and work the hardest.

FICTION: This is a wildly exciting notion to you.

FACT: You start using the term “FML” more than a 12 year old girl with back acne who bought a strapless dress for the dance.

FICTION: You’re thrilled that your brother, who just graduated with a Bachelors Degree, is making $40,000

FACT: He’s selling designer dogs, so the jokes on him.

And then once again…SHIT GETS REAL! At this point, you’ve given up. You’ve become another corporate yuppie; exactly what you didn’t want, but you’re making SOME kind of money. Then…you realize…you have loans to pay back, a cable bill, rent, FPL, and bill, after bill, after bill…AFTER BILL.

One last FACT…none of those people above take “hugs” as collateral or payment.

Everyone wants a piece of you and not in a good way. They want money from you that doesn’t exist. You panic…but you can do nothing except burry your once perfect credit. And life is grand.

My point [it was in here, I swear]…is that I’m sick and tired of people fluffing up reality. Men wonder why women are insane and want prince charming? Simple. It’s a combination of Disney’s fault, and society allowing us to believe there is some level of perfection roaming around who will do whatever it takes to get us and keep us. If you’re perfection and you’re out there, show yourself…because I’m pretty sure you’re a mythical unicorn [meant to be told in legends, but never held nor seen]. MORE TO THE POINT…our educators and parents need to be real with us. They need to say, you’re going to get out of school and struggle. It won’t be fun, it won’t be cute, but eventually something will crack and you’ll be fine. Stop painting this picture that education is “the way,” or that it will solve all economic problems [meaning you’ll be paid oodles of money when again, there’s really not that much to be had]. Honesty can go a long way…and I should have ended this better, but honestly, I don’t care! HOW DO YA LIKE ME NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!?

Part of my job is overseeing a group of men, whom I became very fond of. I’d come to work everyday as a white, Jew from South Florida and would leave a street speaking, Jamaican woman straight off the island miiiii youuuuut. They were super entertaining, and when one of them was fired I was slightly devastated. From there, about a week later another one quit. A lot of people came to interview for the job/s but only a few stuck out to the remaining three of us…one in particular…Donny.

Now clearly his name isn’t Donny, but that became one of the nicknames he was given over the short time he spent here. When he came in for the interview, Donny appeared to be jumpy…jittery…etc. In the beginning we sort of thought, oh wow…he’s friendly.

During his interview he called over the boss and said “Come see how great I did.” When David came over, he just sort of looked at the mangled Photoshopped image of a camera. After an awkward few seconds, Donny blurts out, “Not bad for my first time, right? RIGHT?” Something about him was off.

Donny stood about 5’6,” a bit heavy and appeared very greasy and weirdly unkempt. He’d wear polo shirts and slacks and could still appear that way. His hair was bowl cut, and he wore thin rimmed glasses. When up close while training him, you could see that he bit his nails down to nubs and then bit the skin. But the thing that I saw over anything else was the all black sneakers. They made me think of the non slip shoes I wore while working at The Olive Garden. All of this doesn’t matter; I just want to paint you a picture.

In the beginning we thought he was just overly excited and happy to be working, which is totally understandable (again…economy blows). It turns out…we were wrong. The day we found out that Donny would be working with us, we were pretty shocked. He didn’t know Photoshop (which we use all day long) and he just seemed a bit touched. “I think he’s just a real gung ho type of guy,” David said. The thing is, regardless of what David thought of Donny…he wouldn’t have to really interact with him. I knew it’d be me sitting and training him and was not entirely sure what to be prepared for. The last guy I trained, Ernesto, was a dream. Smart, picked things up quickly and was just really here to learn how to do his job successfully.

Donny, Day #1

In early, around 8am and touching EVERYTHING. “Oh wow, you guys keep your own coffee in here, huh? Is it for everyone? Can I have some?” “Yeah go for it,” I reply. “Oh wow, a fridge. I’m going to buy some fancy creamer to stick in there and keep it there for the times when I want to have coffee here.”

“Come on over Donny, why don’t you watch what I’m doing, take some notes and then I’ll have you practice, ok? Any questions just stop me.”

Those were the words that buried me. Anything I did, he knew how to do it better. Anything I recommended he do within our SmartSKU system…I’d get an “OH RIGHT. I know that.”

“Let’s do some Photoshop. You know what you’re doing in there, right? Has David shown you anything also?”

“No I already told David I have no experience in Photoshop. But I’m not worried. I’m a fast learner…plus, we barely use Photoshop anyway.”

“If by barely you mean all day, everyday…then yes…barely.”

“Well whatever. David knows. HEH, I’m not worried.” I spent a solid 8.5 hours with Donny that day, with no break. My breaks consisted of showing him where the smoking area was, the restroom and then telling him (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD) to go on break.

I told the other guys that he claims he’s picking it up; he’s arrogant and barely taking notes and has been arguing with me and being fidgety all day. They tell me not to worry about it, that tomorrow we’ll see just what he’s retained (he’s a self proclaimed super genius).

Donny, Day #2

I was a bit late that morning and came in to work to find Donny sitting in my chair. After asking him to move, he pulls a chair up so close I can smell his morning cigarette. He was relatively “friendly” so many people in the company knew of him. Let me explain, in the small headquarters I work at…if people know your name so quickly it’s rarely a good thing.

“What’s up with Obla-di?” someone asks.

“Obla-di?” I reply.

“The new dude. Looks like Corky…the retarded guy from that show.”

“I think it’s before my time,” I reply.

Everyone he spoke to he irritated. The graphic artists, the buyers, and our own boss. By the end of day 2, I had passed him off to Ernesto for at least a brief hour so I didn’t go Mel Gibson on everyone.

To indicate how irritating people found him, let me tell you these things that he did and what happened within that first week:

· We have Marlins poker chips in our office, and each of us had taken out a serious bet on what day he was going to get fired. Losers had to buy winner/s breakfast.

· He made this sound when he wasn’t retaining something, i.e. staring a computer screen and would twist his head sideways like a dog and go… “HEH?” But it was whiny, high pitched and made our skin crawl.

· On that Thursday he tried to get sassy with me, and the guys had been relatively inactive in coming to my aid. Finally, Alex had enough and started yelling at him… “You better not talk to her like that. She knows what she’s doing man, you NEED to be listening.” Ernesto chimed in with, “Yeah she’s the Master. She taught me, let her teach you.” For whatever reason it was always a who has a bigger who-ha…and let me tell you…mine is huge.

That Friday I received my promotion and moved back to my old desk that is clear across the room from the guys. I told them NOT to send Donny my way, punishable by death. I even had David, our big boss tell him the same thing AND…I EVEN said… “The guys know what they’re doing, so if you need something, feel free and they’ll help.”

I thought moving across the room would make it better, but his second week here was worse than the first. He hadn’t learned hardly anything, was making a ton of mistakes and creating triple work for all involved. On top of that, after I moved, he came over to me MORE. He had a habit of putting his hand on the back of my chair and leaning his boobs on my back. More than twice I had to ask him to back off. The guys started sending him over on purpose, and the second he’d hit my desk they would crack up. Ernesto would say, “Momma bear, your baby bear needs you,” etc.

The last weird habit he showcased the second week was listening to death metal at obscene volumes and ONLY singing along when the word die, death, or dead came along. He was the type of person you keep close, because you could tell he was one taco short of a combination.

As the guys generally hated him as well, they took every opportunity to mess with him. Despite being told explicitly to NOT do something that is very damaging to our SmartSKU system, he opened a new SKU without any information or image. The buyer for TV’s came in and tore him a new one, publicly…it was very embarrassing and I actually felt bad for him at that moment. From there, our system breaks pretty constantly, but he didn’t know that. Shortly after the debacle with the buyer, his system stopped working.

Uhm…guys…my system…it’s not working.”

“Uh oh” Ernesto said.

“What do you mean uh-oh??” Donny replied.

“Well usually, right before they fire you…they shut down your system,” Alex chimed in.

“What? They do? But…oh God…OH GOD…I’m being fired? I’m sorry, I know I’ve been a pain in the ass but it was one mistake! Holy shit!”

“Yeah and when you get fired though, it’s really nice…they have two strippers come escort you out of the building,” Alex replied.

“Wha…NO. No you guys are messing with me!”

“No not at all,” Ernesto vouched.

They did this to him for about 20 minutes until he was sweating and damn near tears. I took vacation that next Friday and while I was gone, the guys texted me to tell me Baby Bear had been fired, which didn’t come as a great shock. While I did feel a little badly for the guy,  his arrogance stopped me from feeling full on sorry for him. I just hope I’m never as hated, as Donny,AKA Baby Bear, AKA Obla-di, is still being talked about over a month and a half later!   Yikes!

Turned out he was actually quite smart, genuine and all around appeared to be a nice guy. I didn’t want to sound like a jerk, but I had to ask…why on earth are you single? You’re a firefighter, you have perfect teeth and eyes I’d love to jump into. Help me understand! He went on to compliment me before saying that he just usually meets “trash,” which is why he’s always hesitant to meet people in bars.

He went on to say he rarely drinks, watches TV, etc and is also not an overly obnoxious health nut.  John seemed relatively perfect…which always means, there’s a catch! We spent five hours at a Starbucks, with a constant flow of conversation. It might have been the first time I’d felt a genuine connection with anyone in a long…long…LONG time. There was a guy who sat down quite some time after we’d been there, and he was an older guy who set up a laptop, mouse pad and some intricate looking mouse for “people who are serious about doing computer work.” He was sitting on Johns side, and periodically, I’d see John’s eyes wander over to the screen. He’d laugh, look back and mouth “oh..my…GOD” to me. Eventually the dude next to us went inside and I asked, “What’s so funny??”

He replies, “The guy next to us is playing a World Of Warcraft!” I laugh, and he looks at me and gets very serious…

“Hey, this isn’t you dad, is it?”

“What? NO that’s not my Dad.”

“I’m just saying, that would be super clever. Like he was here to make sure I was a good dude, and make sure his little girl is ok.”

“I can assure you…that’s not my Dad.”

“Ok…” And he lets it go. Temporarily.

“He’s really looking at me funny…” he says.

The guy can’t hear him because he’s wearing industrial sized headphones.

“John honestly…I can’t make you believe it’s not my dad if you think it is.”

“No no no…you’re right. He’s probably not.”

The conversation went on, and as the night was coming to a partial close/relocation as Starbucks was closed for over 2 hours now and it was only us…and this guy. I decided that since John had already picked up on my humor, and we were sort of already in the “easy part” of the date, I’d mess with him…because that’s the mature, caring individual I am.

“Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yes, it’s best…it’s 12:30 and the only other person here is this guy.”

“Don’t worry, I’d protect you.”

“Oh that won’t be necessary,” I reply as we stand up.

“Have a good night kids,” the guy says, indicating he’s probably been able to hear us the WHOLE time.

“GOODNIGHT DAD!” I look back and yell. The guy was momentarily confused, John thought he was about to die, and I had a good laugh. The way I see it…everyone won!

A couple weeks ago I met Dan. We started talking on the phone and texting nearly every day and although I wasn’t really prepared for it to go anywhere, it was obvious that he wasn’t going anywhere without a fight…which I kind of liked, as it’s been a while since anyone of substance has come along. He is educated, driven, seemed pretty compassionate and genuine, etc. It probably didn’t hurt his case that he has a beautiful upper body and pearly white teeth…just sayin’. After talking to him for a few days, the comments started getting a bit weird…er.

I understand that people are marrying early and we are feeling a bit of societal pressure at 25, like we’re lepers for not settling down by this point. BUT, I’m never one to just meet someone and say any of the following things:

1. “So, are you going to be my baby?”

2. “I just need you in my life, and I know that…without a doubt.”

3.“I just think you’re a good influence in my life, and you’d be positive to have around.”

Those all seem like very sweet, endearing things for people who’ve been dating a little more than not at all. How can you possibly know that those things will be true without a bit more investigation? Maybe I’m a 350lb lagoon creature. MAYBE, I’m serial killer who loves to kill afflicted men. OR…MAYBE…I’m a code five clinger, who loves to snort coke and boot black tar heroin. Just sayin’…It’s off putting to hear things like that right off the bat. Maybe the only exception I can see possible is if you’ve known each other for quite some time and then upon getting together you say those things in the beginning…less weird.

I should also mention, Dan knows about the blog. Most people say, “Oh man, please don’t ever put me on there!!” and become insanely paranoid. But Dan said, “I don’t care if you put me on there,” which was a mistake. Although to begin with, I really had no intention. I’ve only spared one man I’ve dated from this blog, and it’s because that story is so inappropriate and embarrassing for him, I couldn’t write it in good conscience. We have some history and I thought it’d be way more messed up to disclose then to not. But as for Dan…no history…and no reason to not share one of the most disrespectful situations I’ve ever been in and been stupid enough to not get up and leave.

Dan and I were going on a date, to go see The A-Team. I understand that the movies are kind of a stupid, particularly when you’re still getting to know one another. But I chose them for that reason. I felt pressured to meet him, because he wanted to meet up so badly. After a day at work from 8-5 where people constantly talk your ears off, why would you want to go and have someone talk your ears off for another few hours? Look, I’m sure if I was “really” interested, it wouldn’t matter. I’d welcome the chatter, getting to know each other and enjoying a flirtatious twitter of the eyes back and forth. Dan wanted to go bowling, go for dinner, go somewhere. “Movies are fine,” I tell him. “I’m bad at bowling, I’ve just had dinner and I’m a horrible bowler.” On the way there, I start getting this bad feeling. What’s funny is my friends will tell you that I’m rarely off base with these deep feelings. They usually manifest themselves through soreness deep in my gut, saying, “hey….hey dumbass…this? This right here…? This is going to end HORRIBLY.”

Clearly, I don’t listen, pulling into the theatre fifteen minutes before it starts. I can see Dan from the car, although he can’t see me. He’s pacing a bit and seems frustrated, but when he sees me flashes a big smile. We hug and he tells me he’s bought the tickets. “He’s not so bad,” I think to myself as we walk towards the theatre. As we enter, he turns back and says “Goodnight Sophie.” Ehm…? Wherever Sophie is, she’s clearly not responding. “GOODNIGHT SOPHIE,” he says louder and sort of pauses for effect. I look over to see this girl hanging out on the pillar. She seems less than enthralled that he’s speaking to her and has a mild look of discontent and panic. He starts to explain, “Oh she was waiting on her boyfriend and I was waiting on you, so we kept each other company since it’s a bit sketchy out here.”

We go inside…time to pick the seats… I like to sit near the bar so I can put my feet up and there are no big heads obstructing my view. He doesn’t argue and just asks that we sit in the middle, where these two girls have their feet on the seats. “Don’t worry, they won’t have them there for long,” he replies. I sit down immediately; hoping there’ll be no confrontation…the movie hasn’t even started. “Hey ladies,” he starts. “Now don’t go kicking our chairs during this movie, ya hear me?” The ladies are giggling. They think he’s joking. “Oh don’t worry,” one replies. “I think I broke my toe before we came in here.” “Oh really?” he says, and starts rummaging around in his wallet. He hands them his medical sales card and they coo.  Right when I think we’re in the safe zone, I hear him start telling them… “We’re on a date. So please…don’t kick the chair.”

He sits down and says to me… “Did you knock a couple back before you came?” “I’m sorry…what?” I’m staring at him blankly, like…did you really just ask that? “Did you have a couple drinks? I mean hell, that’s what I would do…” (He’s unable to drink).

“No, I didn’t…why, does it seem like I have?” From there things got really ridiculous and if I sat here and did a full detailed recount, you’d be here for ten pages, guaranteed. I’ll highlight.

“Don’t take anything I say or do seriously tonight, ok?”- Famous last words, said by Dan. You know that point in the bad situation when you’re like… “uh oh.” While externally I said, “Ehm…okay…?” Internally I was saying, “HOLY SHIT, WAY TO STEP IN A PILE OF MOLTON CRAZY. GREAT JOB!”

It appears the main fact of the matter is, I never learn. Ever. Body language is important on a date. If my legs are crossed away from you, if my arms are folded, my hands are on my purse and I’m intently watching the movie, I have just given you the universal signs of “don’t touch me.” Had I of left my hand out for you to grab, placed my purse in the seat next to you, crossed my legs towards you and leaned over a bit…that means “GO.” The other way means “NO.”

Dan had evidently never heard of that general rule of thumb. I’m sure that the A-Team would’ve been a great movie, but I really didn’t get to spend a lot of time watching it, as I was more concerned that every time Bradley Cooper and Jessica Biel kissed, I’d be attacked. I started dreading the love scenes. Every tacky move that could’ve been made was done. He picked up his cell phone, texted, talked to strangers, was loud and wanted to have a conversation throughout the movie AND THE BEST MOVE in the history of tacky moves: “The Quest for Boobtown.”

The 2 part quest:

1. He removes his watch methodically, then drops it down my shirt before attempting to FISH IT OUT.

2. He keeps trying to hold my hand but stretches his arm across me so I have to continuously keep moving his hand so he doesn’t rest it on my chest.

At one point he actually tried to lay his head on my chest….when I kept moving his hands and head, he finally turns to me and says, “ why are you so uptight?!”

“I’m not uptight,” I reply calmly, a little shaken up from the shock of his actions. I really can’t remember a time I’ve been more disrespected publicly, and although you say to yourself, “If something like that ever happened to me, I’d punch him in the face,” it changes when it happens to you and you’re in the moment. I thought that had answered the question sufficiently, but then right at a climactic point in the movie he turns to me and raises his voice… “OH LET ME GUESS…YOU’VE BEEN HURT BEFORE, RIGHT? AND NOOOOOOOOOW…I’M PAYING THE PRICE?”

I had nothing to say, mainly because how do you answer that…mid movie, with now the entire theatre no longer paying attention to the movie they’ve paid for, but rather your conversation with a crazy person. At that moment, you can feel the sympathy radiating, hear the women going “poor girl,” and I can feel my jaw clenching, fists tightening and tears trying to fight their way forward. “I’LL TAKE THAT AS A GIANT YES.” I had enough, but refused to get angry as we’re still in public, and I’m still a lady of some sort.

“Take it however you want to.”

“SO…YES,” still screaming through the climactic moments of A-Team.

“Think whatever you want.”

After that, it was as if he had never snapped. He returned to trying to caress my hand, tell me how into me he was, etc. “I’m going to go get a soda, want anything?” “No.” He leaves and I text my mom and a friend of mine. I text: “awful. Crazy, crazy, crazy. Just went for a diet coke, hope he doesn’t come back.” But he did. With a large diet coke and large popcorn, both of which he finished then proceeded “release” the popcorn and soda back…out both ends. It felt like a cosmic joke…this kid couldn’t be serious? But he was.

Finally the movie ends and he walks me to my car, which I cannot get into fast enough. Before I even get home he’s called twice and left three texts.  We never spoke after that, and in truth, it happened about three weeks ago, it just seriously rocked me so much that it took me a minute to get to a point where I could write it down.

But wait, there’s more… About two weeks ago I get a friend request from a girl name Sandy. For some reason, I accept her friendship thinking I must know her from somewhere.  Something about her looks weirdly familiar, but I’m not sure I’m not crazy. I let it go and figure if nothing else, she’ll just be one of the other Facebook friends that I have that I don’t “know.” A week ago, I signed on to Facebook and my chat popped up immediately…it was Sandy.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey, do I know you?”

“Can I ask you something, and can we keep it just between you and I?”

“Of course,” I reply, thinking…I don’t really know you, so what does it matter? And, you didn’t really answer my question, which would actually be telling of how the rest of the conversation would go.

“How do you know Dan Smith? From CL?”

“What’s CL?”

“Craigslist,” she replied and my face automatically went into a highly grossed up, perplexed contortion.

“Um no, not from…Craigslist,” I reply trying to suppress the disgust seeping up from my tummy and into my throat.

“GREAT,” she says. “That tells me that he’s really out there trying to look for something/someone else.”

And so we spoke about Dan for about 30 minutes. She asked what happened and what my experience was. I tell her bits and pieces, but am still withholding because I’m not sure how she knew to find me on Facebook. Apparently, she met him off of “CL,” and then proceeded to have a plethora of strange experiences with him. He stood her up, she said she toyed with his emotions but eventually felt bad and met up with him. They went back to “his” house and he tried to get her to do stuff but she said she “doesn’t do THAT because it’s trashy.”

She said that it was time to consider not speaking to him, to which I reply he’s been blocked on my end for a while and that in my opinion, he’s not a hundred percent there and she should stop communication. While we’re talking, something occurred to me…the same thing I mentioned above…how on EARTH did she figure out who I was and how did she know how to get a hold of me? While she continues to talk to me, I decide to go to his Facebook page and see if they’re friends. Something just started to feel weird…I know, imagine that.

Turns out they’re not even Facebook friends. Which leads me to believe he clearly told her to contact me and ask why I’d not responded. ANOTHER thing occurs me…she looks EXACTLY like the girl that was at the movies that night, standing on the pillar (SOPHIE…remember?). Turns out, the crazy just keeps getting crazier. By the time I went to ask her how she knew to find me and confront her to see whether or not that was her that night…she disappeared off Facebook entirely.

SCARY, CRAZY and yet…typical.

Balls of Trouble: So before my team and I moved over to a new section of our building, we were under the watchful guide of (someone we’ll call) John. About four months ago, John decided to go sky diving and was in a really atrocious accident. While he was gone, we received a new overseer (we’ll call) David. After about three months of being on bed rest, John returned to work to find that things had changed quite substantially. Ordinarily, you may say… “Well of course things changed while he was recovering! It was four months!” John is another really interesting character, whom I could dedicate a whole blog to. But basically…he’s very knowledgeable about what my team and I do, and we found he that became the lesser of two evils over time. David is a smart guy, don’t get me wrong, however…he really doesn’t know what he’s doing when it comes to my team and I. So what’s happened now that John is back, is a tension filled ninja mind game of epic proportions…a sort of proverbial “300” of power struggles ( where I suppose David would be Gerard Butler protecting his small crew, and we’re the hunch back that betrays him and prefers Egypt/John…or whatever).

At this point, it’s a matter of one thinks this and one thinks that and we wind up getting the brunt of most of the situation. Manuel put it a little less eloquently, when he revealed his genius metaphor for what is going on. “Bruh. I’m sayin’…If David is the left thigh, and John is the right thigh, we’re right in the middle, getting jiggled around…ya feel me?” That’s one of Manuel’s trademarked sayings… “ya feel me?” Oftentimes you can hear Alan (another co-worker) screaming… “No! No one “feels ya!!” So after saying this, everyone’s jaw hits the floor as Manuel turns back to his music. After a while of digesting what happened, he turns around and says… “You know what? No homo!”

“Bock Bock, Chicken Chicken…”: So as I said, many people now work in the same room as we do. One of them really hates the new distractions that are created by the incessant laughter generated from the four gentlemen I work with. She’s complained openly before, but always has a tendency to be at the fridge (directly next to Manuel) when something breaks out. Manuel is terrified of her, but manages to always say something outlandish right as she’s walking up.  When Manuel is listening to his music, he oftentimes forgets that others can hear him. The following are accounts of what’s happened when Danielle has been at the fridge: While getting super into a song, you can softly hear Manuel singing… “Bend over, bend over, bend over…” Right as he is mid “over” he turns to his right, to find Danielle two feet from him…appalled. The second time this happened, he was talking to the other guys with his back to the fridge. “I got chicks coming in tonight bruh. Two. TWO chic-” Before he could spit out the remainder of his sentence, they guys were laughing and he turns to find Danielle standing behind him. He snaps his head back forward and starts saying… “CHICKENS. I’ve got two…chickens. YES, chickens. Chickens.” Sorry, we didn’t catch that…chickens?

Something Stinks:

A few weeks ago, Manuel was working out on his super awesome weights in his garage ( that he uses to get those rippling biceps he loves to pose shirtless in his Facebook pictures and show off) when he realized that something stinks. Later, he and his cousin found the cause of the problem: a dead possum. He asked his cousin to get some bleach and a garbage bag, along with a pair of gloves and help him clean it up…to which she refused. So, they were in a standoff for about a week until his cousin came to him, begging for him to clean it up because the baby ( the three year old that was slapping him in his sleep) cannot stand the smell. His reply? “So what? The baby doesn’t like the smell?? Either you clean it up or I’m going to cut the baby’s head off!!” Clearly, after being at the garage door and hearing this…it’s safe to say the three year old won’t be slapping him in his sleep anymore! (Frankly, I’d slap him harder). Eventually he cleaned it up, and in her true fashion, the three year old does continue to torment him. Three year old- 5, Mannuel-1.

Office Antics:

When it comes to what he says in the office, it’s always astounding. Again, as I’ve mentioned in the last blog, I can’t defend what he says or really explain where it comes from. He’s a twisted guy… and a bit “touched”…but that’s why we love him.

In regards to phone sex: “I don’t’ get it. Putting your meat on the phone doesn’t make it phone SEX.”

In regards to him cross dressing (we were making fun, he doesn’t really do it…but he wears really tight pants and small Baby Gap shirts): “That’s why I go to Wannado City dressed as Diana Ross…to entertain children!”

After we told him his computer had a NTD (Network Transmitted Disease) because it stopped working: “Shut up! That’s why you’re infected with General Arby’s!” Us: “You mean Genital Herpes?!?”

On music:

(TLC- Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls) “I don’t get it. Why chase waterfalls? I mean, how stupid is that bruh? Where are they going that you’d have to chase them. Whateva. You know right eye? From Destiny’s child?”

Yikes.

(When trying to sing Bob Marley’s, “Turn the Lights Down Low”) “Turn your windowssss low.”

Double Yikes.

(Tupac V. Biggie Smalls)

So the most annoying thing can happen in the office when Manuel and his other Jamaican counterpart get together. Some ask why I come home from work speaking with a Jamaican twang. I bet you’ve never met a white, Jamaican, Jew before…have you? I know…I’m rare. I’m learning through osmosis, as Manuel’s counterpart not only works as a graphic designer, but as a recording artist as well. Interesting, right? This rapper…we’ll call…Pluto…works directly next to me, pumping dance hall songs, making sounds that are sometimes unrecognizable but not any less annoying and just generally being LOUD. If he’s being quiet, you can tell he’s in a bad mood.

ANYWAY!

Manuel’s computer contracted (what we call) a NTD…Network Transmitted Disease. Basically, it broke down and he had to work in the office space next to Pluto. All day they were talking with the, “you no know what you fi meh be talkin bout my youuuuuuut.” Oh you don’t understand it? Fancy that. Finally, after three hours of hearing nonsense through my headphones I asked what the argument was about. Our entire office was involved and beginning them to stop the madness.

Pluto: “This fool tryin to say that Tupac is still alive and he better then Biggie Smalls.”

Manuel: “He raps backwards. But…Tupac is a true poet, you feel me?”

Pluto: “No my yout! I’m a rapper and a poet.”

So they’re arguing over whether rap is a form of poetry, and how poetic both these rappers are. Alan, my co-worker mentioned above, gets wind of this and is instantly riled up. So now, while this debate between Manuel and Pluto is happening, Alan and I are engaged in a whole new piece of debate. Here’s where we stand on this…

Alan: “If rappers are poets, then Maya Angelou is one gangsta ass bitch!”

I agree that some rappers are poets…Common, Mos Def, Erykah Badu…but not Biggie Smalls, not Tupac Shakur, not the Ying Yang Twins…nothing that involves anything referring to:

1. Bitches, Ho’s, or Bitch-Ass-Ho’s

2. Getting shot, shooting people

3. Dealing/Selling/Trapping/ Drugs

4. Bling Blaaaaaang

5. How rough and tough you are when you’re really not from the streets and happened to be a PRISON GUARD prior to your badass rap career ( Rick Ross, I’m talking to YOU)!

6.  Any of the combination above makes it exponentially worse!

Alan and I were laughing, thinking about Edgar Allan Poe, or Carl Sandburg writing these words: “The world is one tough ass mofo. Bitches be crazy, tryin’ to get to my paper flow ya hear me?”

THAT…was the holy grail of yikes!

Thanks for tuning in to this installment of…The Manuel Files. More to come, I’m sure!

For all intensive purposes, I’m that “dude.” Except I didn’t start at 175 and end at 350… just to be clear for those who don’t ever see me in person. Either way, it’s time to get fit now that school is over and I have a bit more time to focus on “me.” SO I returned to Vinny, who is busy kicking my ass three times a week for the past month.  His gym is tiny, with a vitamin shop in front, a hallway leading to several cardio torture devices and then the open area full of machines and free weights.  For the past few weeks I’ve been coming in, there’s been a lady running on the treadmill who appears as if she’s been running for HOURS, drenched completely head to toe. Normally I’d applaud this determination, and express a twinge of jealousy for anyone with the patience and stamina. However, this situation is different… When I know I’m going to be working out for a prolonged amount of time, I ensure that the following things are in place: deodorant, socks, deodorant, comfy sneaks, deodorant, large refillable water bottle and the most important…DEODORANT. There’s no secret…you sweat at the gym, and if you’re like this woman, you sweat oodles and oodles. I have an overly sensitive nose…so it’s amplified for me perhaps more so than others. But I never, ever, want to be the “smelly kid” in the gym.

It wasn’t acceptable in elementary/middle and high school…and it’s damn sure not acceptable now. Vinny has his store set up as an organic haven, so the first time I was on the treadmill next to this woman, I assumed her smell stemmed from the fact she must be a purist who doesn’t believe in all the chemicals in deodorant or something of that nature (even though they make a natural one…not sure if she got the memo). It’s one of those situations where you don’t want to stare as beads of sweat turn into buckets as the drop onto the treadmill track.  Note that I said don’t WANT to…more like…HAVE to. My mind starts working a million miles a minute…is she a dirty individual? No, she just must sweat a lot. Does her whole family sweat like this? Has she tried hyper hydrosis treatment? Has she been on the treadmill for hours and hours? CAN SHE NOT SMELL THE WRETCHED SCENT EMINATING FROM HER GENERAL DIRECTION? Does she think it’s me? This isn’t even the most important part. As I’m worried about being smelly, I take a great concern in making sure I make good food choices prior to getting in there. For example, it seems like a poor choice to consume an entire BAG of green giant frozen BROCCOLI for lunch. We’re adults here…and as the book says, everyone poops and so is the same for flatulence. As I’m doing squats, I’m watching the lady on the treadmill in the mirror. Sweat is literally billowing out of her…and she just seems so unfazed. It’s truly amazing.  Squat number 75 and I start smelling something new. Less like body odor, more like rotting dirty diaper. It’s not close enough to me to think the trainer did it and clearly I know that I didn’t do it…there’s no choice. It’s my smelly little friend on the treadmill. At that exact moment, I watch her do a deep lunge on the treadmill and suddenly, a new waft of gross. I have what I like to call a “stank face” expression that says, “I saw you, and are you serious?” I’ve lost all concentration and wind up falling. The thud from my fall must have startled smell-a-lotolous because the next thing I know, I hear the sound of speed…like she was running to catch herself and then…THUD….AND THEN… “pfffffffff…”

The loudest, sickest thing I’ve ever heard. YIKES lady….I give it a big yikes…and I switched my workout time for Wednesdays to avoid her from now on!

Nightmare: Friday, 11pm-4am (Yes, I was asleep by 11 on a Friday…)

Scene 1:

There is a luxurious property, surrounded by lush greenery. It’s a new house and I’m carrying a present, so that must have been I was there for that type of occasion…when I get inside, my friend Maria is there as are a bunch of my girlfriends. We’re all holding exquisite handbags…which doesn’t seem important at the moment, but it will. Whatever the event is, I seem to be asking for someone by name. However, when I ask, the name is jumbled as if it’s being “BLEEPED” out. As I’m looking for the guest, I stop near the stairs to find a tall, thin, blond girl wearing mustard men’s yellow chords, men’s t-shirt and belt, and bright orange new balances. She’s glancing upwards to the stairs and seems impatient. Curious to see what she’s so into, I look up the stairs to find my ex-boyfriend walking down the stairs with a laundry basket, and as he walks, the guest named “BLEEP” put her hand on my arm and whispered, “ don’t worry about it…it’s just a phase.” I turned to her but she was gone and my ex and the blond girl walked through me and out the front door. He was in a cut off white sleeve shirt and AND1 basketball shorts which…was bizarre. More bizarre, is the girl, the guest of honor, “BLEEP” as we’ve been calling her, turns to me and says… “My brother loves you, but thought you were pulling away so he pulled away first because he didn’t know what to do.”

All of a sudden, across the room, my friend Maria screams “Allyson…come get your handbag. COME GET IT RIGHT NOW…NOW…” The next thing that happened was a bunch of men with guns stormed this house and demanded we turn our bags over to them. I grabbed the purse, and ran out an open window…we were on the first floor, don’t panic.

Scene 2:

After the guns and scary men, I awoke briefly. This was the next scene…after falling asleep again…

Same house, but I find myself engulfed in that lush greenery I spoke of earlier, hiding from something I did not yet understand. My friend Maria is still there…next to me… “When I say run, you run…and I’ll see you inside.” As she darted across the lawn to try to make it inside to the house, I could watch vampires pick at her one after another…I ran after her feeling terrified…then I woke up. (And no, I’ve never seen Twilight, so it’s not because of that!)

Scene 3:

By this point I’ve been disturbed twice, I’m sweating like a 500lb man in a donut shop, and my dog is staring at me like I’ve been talking or screaming in my sleep, which seems highly plausible.

This time, I decided if I went back into nightmare mode, I’m taking control. Sure enough, I fell back into that same position I started in while in “Scene 2.” I heard myself say, “I just want to go home,” and then started my way across the lawn while zombies and vampires were picking people off…but as I get closer it appears that it’s mainly a joke. They come up to you and pretend, because now I was at a resort…and that’s how they welcome you. This buff Latin vampire comes up to me and I put my hand up saying, “Please don’t bite me. I’ve had enough for one day.”  He turns to me and says, “don’t worry…I never saw you…” then turns around and winks at me before fleeing off in the distance. I walk through the flood of people like I cannot be harmed…because I’ve figured out it’s a game, a façade, and now it can no longer harm me. I walk up to my apartment, which is directly next to the resort. In this nightmare, I live over a resort bar.

I guess I had already been inside and settled, but for some reason I was walking back up the stairs at night (this is what it cuts to) and the Latin vampire is outside my apartment where a group of other “actors” are hanging out. We talk, we hang out, and he invites me to the bar down stairs that is riddled with the circular lifesaver rafts, netting and the usual cliché dive bar accoutrements. Although he’s not working anymore, he’s still wearing vampire teeth and no shirt. The shirt I was okay with, because he was built like a God but the teeth…? Okay, still kind of hot. When I get there, Maria is there…drunk…but very excited to see me. “Dude, isn’t this GREAT? How much fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu- then she fell off her stool and the thud jolted me out of the dream.”

Scene 4:

This is the grand finale, that ACTUALLY looks place between 4-6am. This time I’m back in the original house. In this instance, my friend from high school’s mom had moved into this new house. Beautiful kitchen and pool and there was a ton of people there to celebrate including “BLEEP.” This wasn’t necessarily scary, just weird. I haven’t spoken to the girl from high school in a bit. She moved away and turned into exactly what she didn’t want to turn into. We’ve spoken a handful of times, but she’s hurtful and I want no part of her selfishness. However, I love her family. So it makes sense that her family is in a new house and that I’d be there celebrating. As for “BLEEP,” if that’s meant to represent my ex’s sister…clearly, we’re not speaking either. Considering her role in everything and how she allegedly felt about me versus how I believe she truly felt, it felt weird to be friendly with her which is why her face and name were “blurred and bleeped” out.

I woke up at 6am and couldn’t really believe the rollercoaster I’d been on. What did it all mean? Although I wasn’t sure, it messed my day up! I could see the chiseled body of the Latin vampire, smell the dive bar at the resort, hear the men breaking into the house, feel “BLEEP” placing her arm on mine, the heartbreak of being treated as though I never mattered, and taste the remnant of Pineapple from the  Bahama Mama’s I shared with Maria.

Most of the time, I’m a large believer in the idea that your dreams act out what you cannot. With that being said, here’s the abridged version of how I broke it down…

I’m at a strange place in my life. Where many had this feeling of instability after college, I went straight to graduate school so I never had to wonder “what am I going to do next?” Also, I have a flair for the dramatics…making me feel like right now, everyone is getting awesome jobs, they have great boyfriends/fiancés/husbands and they are buying their apartment/condo/house (clearly not the case). I’m lucky, because I’ve got great friends…but they have been missing in action recently as well. SO…I think that a bit of this, such as the gathering with my friends for the party in the beginning is the sadness of having less time with them. It’s like I’m trying to break into this house because I’m trying to break into my field….break into my life and who I’ll be post college. It’s all scary! And the resort? Because I need a vacation…obvi.

Phew…it’s over…PSYCH!(AKA): And Then There Was Sunday Evening

I’m really hoping this is normal, or else I’m just all kinds of throwing myself out there…but I often dream about ex’s. Some ex’s are from as early as middle school, all the way up through this past one and everyone in between. Actually, I had a dream (not a nightmare surprisingly) where my high school boyfriend and I had a peaceful interaction (See the addendum about me not letting things go and hating people for eternity. Then see the footnote where I stop hating you for eternity if you apologize, or it’s been over 8 years). Mostly all the dreams revolving around my ex, or the ex prior to that are relatively violent, hurtful, or upsetting to me (despite the fact I should be able to say, HEY dumb dumb…it’s a d-r-e-a-m-m-a-r-e! I needed a name for when it’s not really a nightmare or a dream…it’s a combo!).

Sunday was shocking, because although I had reached a point of Zen with my ex, he has recently violated that Zen. It’s like every time I think he can’t be a bigger jerk, he’s so competitive he feels the need to prove me wrong. As of now, it’s been about 9 months since we were together. You have read a portion of my shenanigans and I’d like to highlight…portion. If I were sitting at home crying, or using my friends who used to be friends with him to get to him…wouldn’t I have tried to do so by now? That may sound confusing, so let me explain BRIEFLY and ever so VAGUELY… (not?)

While I was with my ex, he made a friend…who happened to share a ton of similar interests and if we’re speaking candidly here…was really his only TRUE friend (when it comes to going and doing things in the similar areas of interests). His friend, who happened to be super nice, happened to introduce me to his girlfriend…and we got along instantly. While I was still with my ex, we didn’t hang out a lot with them because they were either traveling or we were busy, etc. After things ended, I wasn’t sure what would happen…mainly because I didn’t know them well enough to judge how they’d feel.

They were amazing…neither one treated me any differently, both very welcoming and warm. While my friend (we’ll call her Sally) was very open with me about when my ex would be there, John (her boyfriend, the friend to my ex) never told my ex I was there. Sally never wanted me to feel like she was keeping secrets, and I never did. He was not a topic of conversation like he’d like to believe…I won’t go through the entire fallout, but essentially…Sally told John that if he cared about my ex, he’d be honest and just tell him that I am “around.” At this point, I’d be down there quite a bit and we had a few close calls where my ex and I wound up at the same place.

When my ex found out, he freaked out, insinuating that I was down there using them to get to him. I’m sure he said a lot of other mean things, but as it was John did not want me to know that my ex had called him and told him that he could not have a friendship with him as long as Sally and I remainded  friends. I felt responsible for ending their friendship but Sally and John were both incredible, John saying, “If that’s how he is, that’s unfortunate.” I was shocked and touched by their words, even offering to back off so that John could have his friend back. In true fashion for my ex, he un-friended John on Facebook when he did not get what he wanted.

Shortly after, we all became pretty good friends. As it turns out, they are two of my closest friends, whom I truly cherish and feel grateful to have in my life. I’ve never met more genuine people who are nice and caring, for the sake of being nice and caring. They were with me when I ran into him at my old favorite bar…when John turned to me and said, “We’re so glad to be here with you…I told Sally that before we got here.” It was the two of them who had a huge part in not telling me that although I thought my ex had left, he came back into the bar and stayed all night. My friend Amber said, “ We wanted him to understand that he does not affect your evening. You were having such a good time thinking he was gone…why spoil that?”

Cut to after that incident. Although my ex has a huge problem ever admitting he is wrong, it appeared that John’s friendship meant enough to contact him after New Years. He wanted to hang out, leaving a nice message up until the ending… “I’d love to see you, but…only if you guys aren’t hanging out with Ally.” I figured whatever…now knowing he was there the whole night and I paraded by him at the end, I’m sure he was angrier than ever that I appeared to be happy. I could understand that one. John let it go saying, “I’m sorry you feel like that.”

A few months have gone by, and it’s been relatively ex free. I’ve seen him in his car twice while in the area, but no contact with John (because he’d rather sit through a Musical showcase than contact me). I had a job interview in Coral Gables the other day, and went to lunch with my friend Sally at a place that my ex had found and shared with John. As we get there, she says…guess who contacted John last night? It was the same message: hope all is well, miss hanging out, lets hang out…if you’re not hanging out with Ally. At this point…I have to say that I don’t get it. What is the BFD (big f’ing deal)? It’s been 9 months…if I was using them, wouldn’t I encourage a relationship between the two of them? Wouldn’t I try to just show up while they were hanging out? I’d like you to build a bridge…a really large one that’s able to carry the size of your larger than life ego…and then, I’d like you to GROW UP and GET OVER IT. It’s like I’ve done something terribly wrong to him or his family, or he just found out I shoot up puppies with Heroin in their eyeballs, then make them cook me supper before I take them out to the field and shoot them. WTF!

Sally and I went to the Bubble Tea place that I really like going to but haven’t felt comfortable going to alone, as it’s really close to where my ex works. Sally makes fun of me because it’s like I have a radar for this kid…I always know when I’m going to run into him and I’ve never been off on my predictions. That day felt odd, because I had that weird feeling but so far everything had been smooth sailing. Also, it was almost 3pm, so I figured he’d not be out at lunch because of the time and not leaving work yet…so we were clear. After leaving the place, I was relieved that we’d almost passed his office when from afar…I see the Red Dragon (what I used to call his car) staring at me… “Sally…that’s him…” She started laughing and was like, “he just stared in here hardcore…probably trying to figure out who you were with and if it was really you.”

The next day I had another weird feeling…where I felt like maybe I was the one who needed to grow up and contact him, talk it out to a point where it’s not weird if we accidentally run into one another. I have a long line of defense before I contact him which prevented me from doing that when serious feelings were still involved. Frankly, if he can find it in him to come back to John, if he wanted to speak with me he’d figure out how to do that as well. Sally said, “I’m glad you called me first. He wrote to John again and said that he wants to hang out, he doesn’t care if we’re friends he just doesn’t want to run into you…”

So I’ve had this bad taste in my mouth for a week. As he continues to act like I’ve scorned him or I had flipped his world upside down. What’s happened in the past nine months has been huge…and I’m thankful for the opportunities to grow that have presented themselves. However, as I started to say two-three pages ago…most of my dreammares involving him are not pleasant.

Back to: Phew…it’s over…PSYCH!(AKA): And Then There Was Sunday Evening

Ok! Sorry about that but you needed a back story to get to the two second story I’m about to describe now…Sunday night was more pleasant than normal. The dreammare involved him following me around. Running into him at every possible moment and at one point, feeling incredibly irritated and (I think) pushing him before finally falling to the ground…We started laughing and he asked to date me for a drink. I said no. A drink leads to conversation, conversation to a kiss…etc…no. He continued to follow me around for what seemed like weeks in my dreammare. It ended with him at my apartment, spending time with my dog, and a kiss and tumble on the bed that felt so real I was beyond disturbed when I woke up…

In short (HA! Yeah right…my blog, my terms), I’ve written before about the power of music, but the power of dreams is a whole different beast. It’s that same feeling of transportation, to another time, a better or worse feeling, confronting things you may not wish to do when awake, etc.

Well, good news…we have a little bit of everything. I started writing a blog about the last three dates I went on, hoping to lump them together and then became dissatisfied with the stories. As I learned in undergrad from one of my favorite writing teachers when discussing the problem with budding writers: “The main issue is that everyone thinks they have something interesting to say. If it’s not interesting, don’t f’ing write it down.”

Thanks Steve.

So I decided to let the viewer…s…vote. And here is what I decided you guys wanted to read about FIRST!

The Manuel Files:

In a previous post, I’ve talked about my touched co-workers…who provides us endless hours of entertainment. You may remember him from the famed blog, “Dialing out for love,” where he made the awesome decision to call Live Links and have a fling with a girl who turned out to resemble Precious. We love Manuel, because he just rattles off the most insane stories and says the most interesting stuff… So, as an update from the last time he was discussed, I present you with his most recent work.

Hungry?:

Recently, they moved my team and I over into a different room that we now share with about 10 people. To celebrate the move, our boss treated us to Publix subs. As the sheet was going around the room taking everyone’s orders, Manuel walked it over to me. I’m looking at the list to see what everyone else is ordering to see if I get any ideas about what I might want and then I see it…

Manuel’s Order: Foot long buffalo chicken sandwich, lettuce, tomato, hollapinos.

I walked over to where he and the other four guys sit and just held the paper up in sheer disbelief, my mouth open and head cocked to the side as if to suggest… “Really?!”

He looked at me confused. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Hollapinos?”

“Yeah I like them.”

“How do you spell it?”

He looked down at the sheet and began laughing. The other guys immediately took interest… “What’d he do??”

“He spelled Jalapeno h-o-l-l-a-p-i-n-o!” The room erupted in laughter as we tried to decide the last time we saw a gangster pepper…but next time we do, we’ll “holla.”

Manuel is also famous for sayings such as, “Eat a hotdog and die slow,” as well as our favorite… “Detachable meat.” Although he’s known for this sort of stuff around the office, we found this next incident to be uniquely disturbing and entertaining simultaneously.

In our office, Blue Bell ice cream oftentimes makes deals within our advertising department allowing us to enjoy free samples. This time, they brought in about 7 gallons of ice cream, to which Manuel has been enjoying every single day since it go here. As he dug into a freshly opened pineapple yogurt, through our headphones on blast, we hear him announce… “WOW. This is like a warm nipple on a summer day.”

We don’t understand it. We can’t explain it. BUT…we laughed until we cried. The next day as he was scooping the hardened ice cream, he cried out, “Damn! This is hurting my ankle!” We’re pretty sure he meant his wrist…but we never know with him.

More Office Antics:

Just today, when I was thinking that we hadn’t heard or seen anything idiotic out of Manuel for quite some time, he broke his non-idiotic streak.

“Guys. I was in the water yo, and I swear…what’s that fish? A jelly fish? It stung me.”

I figured there was nothing else in that conversation for me to hear, as it seemed to be getting boring, so I walked back to my desk. Next thing I know, the guys are laughing and signaling me over to their desks.

It was to show the picture Manuel had drawn of what he had been stung by…which looked like a giant sperm. Not surprising at all, the guys looked at him and said… “So this is what you were stung by?”

“Yes!”

“HE WAS STUNG BY SEAMAN!” (Laughter, laughter, laughter)

“That’s what I SAID bro!”

It took Manuel a little bit to understand what had just happened…regardless…hilarious.

The last office story stems from the fact that we’re always making fun of Manuel and telling him he’s gay. Mainly because (as the last blog about him says) he’s infamous for making statements like, “If you don’t shut up, I’ll lick your neck bro!” We know he says things just for the attention sometimes, but then there are times we’re like…either you weren’t thinking about this prior to you saying it, or you just don’t think!

Two of the guys came in from the weekend and were talking about how they saw Coraline, Tim Burton’s animated kids movie that’s been out for a bit. While they were discussing it, Manuel stopped them and said… “Wait, what? I’m going to be riding whose core, on whose line?”

Stories From The Outside:

These last two stories from the Manuel Files, deals primarily with his personality out of work. And, we voted on some of the best stories he’s provided and these two made the cut!

To understand this first story, you need to know the following…Manuel lives with his 76 year old grandfather, who has a girlfriend 20 years his junior and is for all intensive purposes…getting more than Manuel and it’s not a secret. Also, he lives with his cousin and her daughter who takes great pleasure in torturing Manuel.

Who stole my favorite hats?

The other day Manuel came in looking pretty frustrated. When asked why the long face, he told us he had gotten into an argument with his grandfather over some stolen condoms. Apparently, Manuel had borrowed two and his grandfather was pissed, demanding the two condoms back…with interest. Three condoms had to be replaced in order to stop the fight and needless to say, the issue was eventually…wrapped up.

Who’s afraid of the big bad…ghosts?

Manuel is a really hard sleeper, but his cousins daughter, who is 3…is not. She is afraid of the dark, and so is Manuel. A few nights in a row, Manuel was feeling a draft in his room in the middle of the night and would wake up with a sore face. He couldn’t understand what was happening and why his face would sting for prolonged periods of time and just chocked it up to him imagining things. One night, when he wasn’t really sleeping so well, he woke up in the middle of the night to find his three year old cousin, nose to nose with him. She whispered, “Max…psst….pssssssssssssst.” Manuel (whose family calls him Max) opened his eyes and just as he could fix his eyes on his baby cousin, she slapped him in the face, giggled and ran out.

For weeks he was coming into work telling us, “I think I’ve got ghosts.” And he’d been sleeping on the couch in the living room. Now that he knew his baby cousin was behind this…he had to pay her back. He stayed up until she entered the room, waiting for her to reach up and slap him. As she raised her hand, he grabbed her, tied her up with a bed sheet and locked her in a dark room. Sometimes a three year old must be taught…not to get tied up on silly games! Three year old baby cousin-3, Manuel-1.

On a side and final note, she was also there when he decided that it would be a good thing to kill an ant with a BB gun. It should shock absolutely no one that he in fact…missed the ant, and shot his foot.

There’s no telling how large these Manuel Files can grow…but I have a feeling, this is not the last we’ve heard from him.