(Cole)
4/13/14:
Bonjour
à tous!
A
little over a year ago, Marge and I decided to start this blog. We did it for ourselves, as a way to
vent, heel, grow, and in the end, we really just wanted to help others who were
in similar situations, or at least make them laugh. We’ve laughed plenty over the past year, and sometimes we’ve
cried, but we always knew that we had each other, and an audience that has
spread to several countries, and for that, Marge and I are truly grateful.
It
is said that a lot of great authors tend to bring their stories around full
circle. They do it for many
reasons. Some do it to reiterate a
point, others to make an impact, and others because it just seems like a really
good way to tell a story. Well, if
my life was nothing more than just a really good, fictional story, I suppose I
would find my situation incredibly amusing and entertaining, but my reality is
not a work of fiction…
When
I first started this post I thought my life had gone around full circle and I
was in exactly the same place I was a year ago, which was jobless and without a
solid commitment with the Rapist, but then today I realized that I’m not in the
same place I was a year ago. I
guess I’m in a similar place, but I’ve learned a lot over the past year, and I
believe that I’m actually in a much better place. True, I still don’t technically have a regular, concrete
job, but I have just recently turned my resume into a temp agency, so someone
else can find a job for me, because for the life of me I certainly haven’t been
having any luck on my own.
(There’s one thing I had right a year ago; no one wants to hire a
trilingual, hazmat qualified forklift operator!) And the funny thing is, the day after I turned my resume in
and filled out the paperwork, I had the nice lady who helped me calling me up
and offering me a job. It’s only
temporary, but these days I’ll take anything I can get until I lock down
something solid, and I have to say, I think the temp thing sort of suits me to
a T.
Case
in point? I have been offered
fifteen dollars an hour for ten hours a day for roughly ten days to run around
and “shoo birds away”. I don’t
even wish I were kidding! That is
the exact job description. Now, it
isn’t that I don’t think I’m more than a little overqualified to run around
like a mad person, waving my arms in the air, screaming at birds, but fuck N
A! I’m not going to complain! So long as I can wear headphones while
doing it, it sounds like just about the most perfect thing for me right
now! I can even scream at the
birds in French and Spanish if I so choose. Finally, a job where I can put my language skills to use.
To
some of you reading this, you might find it more than a little demeaning, and I
might even agree with you, if things weren’t so dire, but let me break it down
for you. I waited until my brother
got married in New York to start seriously looking for solid, full time work,
because I didn’t want to lock in a job and then immediately ask for time
off. I felt that employers might
frown upon that. However, little
did I know just how hard it was to land a decent job these days! I mean, fuck, it’s been insane. All the other jobs I’ve had before
either just fell into my lap with ease or I even got recruited for them (and
no, I’m not exaggerating. People
have seen my drive, my passion, and have stolen me away from another job just
so they could have me as an employee, at the age of 17, no less! That’s how hard I work and how
seriously I take my jobs.) And I’m
not some punk kid either. Sure, I
have colored hair, tattoos, a facial piercing that some people of the older
generations might find unsavory, but the way I look has nothing to do with my
work ethic or dedication to a job.
It’s 2014. I thought these
stereotypes and rigid discriminations were a thing of the past. I mean, I've told potential employers
that I have no problem dying my hair back, removing my Monroe piercing, and
covering up my tattoos with long sleeved shirts if it was necessary, but I've
been trying to land a nice, although incredibly low paying job since March
first now and I'm just not finding anything at all, let alone something menial
and insultingly below my level of intelligence.
I
now feel “obligated” to provide an example. Well, when I was living in Spain, I thought it would be
really fun to work in a sex shop.
I never found a sex shop to try and work in when I was living there, but
it has always just seemed like a pretty kick ass job to me. Selling porn and dildos all day? Are you kidding me? Fuck yes! Not to mention the store discount! How stoked would the Rapist be if I came home from work one
day with a couple of porno flicks, lube, bondage tape, and a smile? Can you say “jackpot?” Anyway, it never worked out for me in
Spain, but the local sex shop, Diamond Adult World, here in rockin’ Atascadero,
Ca, has had a “help wanted” sign up in their window for over two months
now. I went in and applied. The manager loved me! He said he liked my energy, my
attitude, my smile. He said he
would call me the next day to set up an interview with the district
manager. I was so excited! The schedule was from 3:45 PM to
midnight. Nothing could have been
more perfect! I had two choices,
with such a delicious schedule. I
could either sleep in until past noon if I so desired, or else still do the
construction thing during the day and then work my night shift at the sex shop
to save up extra money to get back on my feet again. I was totally thrilled, and could not wait to be hired!
The
next day, I wanted to be persistent, show my eagerness and willingness to work
there, and come across as the very best person for the job. I had needed to take care of a few
things at the house I had been working on with my former bosses from the power
plant, so as soon as I got off, I called in to Diamond Adult World to let the
manager know that I was done with my other work and could be ready to come in
as soon as the district manager was ready to see me. However, as apposed to getting the positive, excited, upbeat
guy from the day before, I was met with cold indifference. It was the same guy who had interviewed
me less than 24 hours before, but that day he could not have sounded less
excited to hear from me. He
informed me that if he needed me for a second interview he would let me know,
and he hung up the phone. That’s
right. Apparently, I’m not even
good enough to work in a store that has jerk off booths. I was devastated, and I just couldn’t
understand. Is it me, or the
economy? Are there really several
people willing to knock down the door of a sex shop, as eager as I to work
somewhere where one just might need to mop up biohazards from people who still
have not understood that you can now get free porn via the internet from the
safety of your own home?
That’s
not even the worst of it. The shop
still has a “help
wanted” sign up in their window, and I have been back! I have spoken to the fat, hideous,
child molester looking motherfucker of a manager several times to ask if they
are still looking for an employee and if I could please just have the second
interview. But no. The second interview has not been
granted to me. Let me tell you,
nothing makes you feel worse about yourself than knowing that for some random
reason, despite all your world experience, work experience, and vast knowledge
of several items that you have purchased and experimented with from the very
shop where you want to work, than knowing that you are not even qualified to
mop up human ejaculate fluid from a jerk off booth. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why running around and
screaming French at birds to shoo them away seems like the holy grail of jobs
to me, at the moment.
UPDATE:
The
bird shooing thing turned out to be waaaaaay different from what I
expected. I thought I would be
running around a bog or a marsh or something, with reeds growing around it and
Lilly Pads, frogs, and multiple birds.
Instead, it was a glorified puddle, a brine pond at a solar plant out in
windy, blazing hot California Valley, and there were days when I wouldn’t see
more than two birds. The truth of
the matter was, nobody but the biologists gave a shit about the birds, but the
plant had to pretend to care, so I was given a laminated sheet of what kind of
birds to look out for and then another sheet of paper to take notes on. It was really boring, but ten hours a
day, plus drive time, plus overtime made it worth it. The best part of the day was driving in and driving out and
getting to know the workers who are out there full time, to try and see if
maybe I could get out there full time myself, because though it was far from nuke plant pay, it was the best pay I had been offered since the nuke plant, and my
financial situation was more than desperate.
As
of 4/28/14, the bird shooing gig has come to an end, but I managed to make an
impression on the boss, and the people at the temp. agency said the crew really
liked me. One day, the temp.
agency sent too many people.
Instead of only two of us, four of us showed up. The boss asked us if anyone would be
willing to fill sandbags all day instead of staring at an almost entirely
evaporated brine pond, praying for a bird to show up for a bit of
amusement. I, the only girl, mind
you, was the first one to pipe in and say that I would. The boss just sort of looked at me, to
size me up, and said “all day?” I
said “yeah all day! I’m stronger
than I look!” He looked around at
the dudes. One of them, a college
student, decided he wasn’t into it and just straight went home. One burly, middle-aged Irish dude with
neck, arm, hand, and finger tats said that he would fill sand bags, but not all
day, because he had a bad back, but he was there to “work”! Pshhhhhhh. What a cheese dick!
Lastly, the fourth guy, said that he would fill sand bags, so off he
went to be able to work with the rest of the crew and I got stuck with cheese
dick, all because I didn’t have a penis.
But
as the seventh day in a row came around, I was pretty sure that the boss had
gotten positive reviews about me, as I was the only one who always showed up on
time, and mostly early, didn’t complain, and was eager to do whatever I could
to help out. I could also tell
that a couple of the guys were impressed that I could not only lift and throw a
sandbag chest high, I could also carry two at a time, one in each hand, and on
my last day, one of the crew members told me that the boss had said “the chick
is the only good one out of the whole bunch”. Score! Sadly,
however, the communication was terrible between the temp. agency and the
company I was contracting for, and every day I went in, I never knew if I was
supposed to be there or not because nobody ever told me anything! I would ask questions all the time
concerning my schedule but I would never get a solid answer, so every morning,
my four AM wake up was nothing short of a gamble, but I woke up and made the
drive anyway. The paycheck made it
worth it.
Sunday,
April 27th, in a last effort to make sure I made a positive and
memorable impression, I made one extra breakfast burrito for whomever I was to
hitch a ride in with to California Valley from Creston. Although my boss told me to come in
Monday, I had also heard that since one of the main guys had gotten fired on
Thursday the bird shooing services might no longer be required, but I set my
alarm for four AM anyway, borrowed a fire retardant shirt from Marge (so that I
might be able to work in the field, just in case the bird gig really was over),
packed my lunchbox with the extra breakfast burrito in it, and made the drive
out to Creston, a little earlier than usual, so I could snag a minute alone
with the boss. As it turned out, I
was right. The bird thing was
over. He apologized that the temp.
agency hadn’t told me on Friday and that I made the drive for nothing. I told him I understood, made sure he
knew I was wearing an FR shirt, and asked him whom I would have rode in with
because I made an extra breakfast burrito. He sheepishly looked at me, smiled, and said he would take
the breakfast burrito off my hands.
We laughed, I gave it to him, and then he told me he was bidding another
big job and that if I wrote my number down, he would call me if he got the
contract. I wrote my number down,
bid the crew farewell, drove home, and passed out for two hours with my
puppy. So, my job situation is
still up in the air, but least I am working, even if I don’t have anything
permanent. But hey, the week I was
working I felt so happy and good about myself. I haven’t felt like that in a really long time. It was a great experience, and I look
forward to making many more at other random, sporadic jobs.
As
for my love life, well, that’s another story entirely…
You
may recall from my last post that the Rapist and I had a little bit of a fight
on Monday, March 31st.
I apologized via text, voicemail, and even a long and very sincere
email, but he never called, texted, or emailed back. Thinking that he just needed some space, I didn’t try to
contact him for a week, but when April 8th rolled around, what would
have been our two-year anniversary of seeing each other, I sent him a happy
anniversary text. I knew he was at
work, and I didn’t expect to hear from him, but a couple of hours later, I
received this: “I’m not trying to
be a dick. I just need a
break. 2 years ago today was
awesome and I don’t regret it.” My
heart stopped.
I
haven’t been back to his house for a sleepover since. I didn’t know what to say or how to react, so I didn’t. I knew my emotions were too volatile,
and I didn’t want to say something I would later regret, and I knew I couldn’t
bully him into still loving me and wanting to be with me, so I just didn’t say
anything. In my mind, taking a
break was just him easing into breaking up with me. He didn’t say it outright, but that was what I assumed he
would eventually get to. I was
devastated. At the time, it was no
job and no Rapist, back to where things were for me a year ago (full circle). I could not have felt worse about
myself, and to deal with the stress, I started smoking again.
I
went back and forth between sad and angry. I couldn’t sleep at night, and when I did I had
nightmares. My anxiety was off the
charts again and I would spend the first hour or two of my mornings dry
heaving, or else puking up bile. I
had no appetite, and didn’t eat for three days straight. Marge encouraged me to unlock my
profile on Plenty of Fish, to get back in the game, because I needed a
distraction. I tried, but my heart
wasn’t in it. I just wasn’t
interested, so I have hidden my profile yet again. I hope I never reactivate it. A part of me wanted to ask for my things back, so I could
know once and for all that we were done, but the other part of me was scared to
ask for my things back, because if he brought them to me, things would really
be over. I wasn’t ready for us to
be over, I just wanted to know what was going on between us. He never explained anything to me, he
just said he needed a break. Did
that mean he was dating other people, or he just needed to be alone for a
while? I knew if I started seeing
someone else, he would never forgive me, but the ambiguity of the situation was
killing me, so I picked up my old friend American Spirit and it was just like
riding a bike.
We
are now speaking again, but things are really weird between us. I get the feeling he’s hiding something
from me. I’m not under the
impression that he is doing something bad, or stringing me along and dating
other people, but something is definitely off. I’ve asked him to just break up with me and give me my
things so I can move on and he just says that he doesn’t want to. He says that he loves me and still
wants to be in my life and that he isn’t seeing anyone else, but why hasn’t he
invited me back over to his place for a sleepover? A week and a half or so ago he came over to see me. He brought me a six pack of one of my
favorite beers from Firestone and we drank beer, hung out and laughed. We had sex too, I mean, of course we
had sex! I wouldn’t have been able
to refrain even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. If you’ve been reading my posts for a while you’ll know the
effect he has on me, as soon as he starts touching me, kissing me, or even just
looking at me a certain way.
We
went outside and sat on the back porch.
It was like we had never been apart. We joked around, kissed and laughed. I could tell how much he missed
me. Then I took him over to the
house I had been working on with my bosses. He hadn’t seen the finished product, and I told him I
wouldn’t have the key for too much longer, because the house was already in escrow. We talked about the things I would
change if it were my house, and he thought the house looked really good and he
loved my ideas. I had been working
on that house for close to a year, so he knows how much it means to me. I was happy that he wanted to see how
it turned out after all the work I had put into it.
When
he came to see me that day, I had asked him to bring my things back for me,
which he didn’t. I had his
borrowed clothing and my favorite of his coffee cups that I always borrowed for
my ride back from his house washed and ready to go for him, and I had even
folded some origami lotus flowers and put them in a cup, which he thought was
cute and really thoughtful. When I
tried to give his things to him as he was leaving, he told me that I didn’t
need to give them back, and that I should keep them. I told him there was no point, as since I had washed all of
his clothes before returning them, they no longer smelled like him. He insisted. I refused, but then last minute I decided to keep the shirt
he had worn over that day and threw one of his clean, washed shirts at his
face. We both laughed. He likes my feisty streak. I liked having a shirt that smelled
like him again, to sleep in. He
suggested I might at least want to keep the coffee cup, but I told him it made
me too sad to drink out of it.
We
text now on a fairly regular basis, but I haven’t seen him since he came to see
the house. I suppose he may have
tried to call while I was working in California Valley, because I don’t get
cell reception there, but there was never a text or a voicemail message from
him when I took my phone off of airplane mode. He insists that he’s still my “boyfriend”, he refuses to
give me my shit back, which isn’t even cool shit that he would want (running
shoes and cooking pots and utensils), we’ll go an entire week at a time without
even seeing each other, texting, or talking, but technically we’re still
together and he’s not seeing anyone else?
Yeah, something is definitely going on, I’m just not sure what. But I’m trying with all my might to
stay positive, because as my former female boss from the nuke plant says “maybe he’s planning
a surprise for you.” It’s the only
shred of hope I have to hold onto.
I
jokingly sent him a text on Saturday night. It said: “Can
you bring me a button up FR shirt for me to borrow tomorrow, ‘boyfriend?’” If he wants to act like we’re still
seriously boyfriend and girlfriend, then I’m going to talk to him like a
boyfriend, and a boyfriend should have no problem doing me a random favor,
should I feel inclined to ask.
This sparked a back and forth text conversation that went well into
Sunday night and half of Monday.
At first, it was me asking him to bring me the FR shirt, AND my things
that he still has. His response
was “fuck you I don’t want to” to my things, and “I’ll get you the FR shirt if
you need it”. I no longer needed
it, because Marge had loaned me one of hers, but on Sunday morning I awoke with
a wicked bad sore throat. I had
remembered that I had left a bottle of 101 proof Wild Turkey at his house, when
he was sick and I was nursing him well again with homemade chicken noodle soup
with Sriracha and hot toddies spiked with Wild Turkey. I asked him Sunday morning to bring me
my bottle because I was under the weather. He said he would, but another day, because he was busy. I told him to fuck off and bring my
shit because we were done. His
response? “Fuck you! No we are not!!!”
I
don’t know what is going on, but I’m not an idiot, and my instincts tell me
something is up. I know he still
wants to be together, because he won’t bring me my fucking things that I’ve
been asking for for close to a month now.
I also don’t think that he’s seeing other people. He’s not going out on Friday or
Saturday nights, he always responds to my texts and answers the phone if/when I
call, and I’m just not getting that vibe.
I can tell he’s horny as fuck, not getting laid, and that he really
misses me, because that last time we fucked he had to pull out several times to
keep from cumming before he made me cum, and after two years of fucking, that
rarely happens, especially after only a couple of minutes, so I don’t think
he’s getting laid elsewhere. I
just don’t understand what the fuck is going on!
Finally,
I felt like I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I texted him that I had the weird feeling that he was hiding something
from me. I said that I was trying
not to be suspicious, but that something definitely seemed off about him. He texted back “I promise you that I am
not hiding anything.” I felt
better for all of two seconds, then all of the sudden I got hit with the
depressing notion that if he is telling the truth, and he doesn’t have some
sort of secret to conceal, whether good or bad, then the only reason it has
been almost a month since we’ve had our last sleepover is because he just
doesn’t want to have sleepovers with me anymore.
I
am a big fan of trusting my instincts.
They are more often than not, spot on! And while my instincts do tell me that something is up with
him, they do not tell me that
what he is up to is something malicious.
Do I think he is keeping something from me? Yes. Do I think
that is why our communication has mostly gone to crap? Yes. He is trying to conceal something, but I’m not getting bad
vibes. In fact, I think he is
keeping me at a distance because he’s afraid if he talks to me too much, or
spends too much time with me, he’ll spill the beans. Maybe that is just me diluting myself and hoping for the
best, but in this case, I really don’t think so. I can only hope my instincts are correct.
So
in a way, haven’t I come full circle again, only to find myself in exactly the
same place I was a year ago? Yes
and no. I suppose it depends on
how you look at things. The glass
can be half full, half empty, or just right. It’s all a matter of perspective. I may still be semi jobless and semi in an ambiguous place
with the Rapist, but a lot of ground has been covered in a year, and I can most
definitely say that I’ve learned a lot.
I’m in a better place emotionally, I’ve grown and become stronger as an
individual. I still might not know
exactly where my life is headed, but for now, at least I can say that I am
doing my best to enjoy the ride, and I think this ride is headed in the right
direction. Now, the only thing I
can really hope for is that I am not wrong when it comes to my instincts about
the Rapist, because if I am wrong, and he really doesn’t have some sort of
awesome secret/surprise up his sleeve, I’m going to have to break up with him,
because in my opinion, nothing else could excuse this sort of behavior…
