Hola
a todos!
What
a roller coaster trip my life has been over the past few weeks! All of it pretty much good, but
damn! It’s a good thing I want to
be a professional writer or novelist someday, because a life like mine would be
wasted on anyone else.
First
off, I need to get a little “business” out of the way. As some of you may have noticed, I have
temporarily hidden ALL of my previous posts. I haven’t done it because anyone has asked me to, I
volunteered to do it, and while it pained me incredibly to do so, and it felt
like a chainsaw cutting through the flesh, bones, and sinew of my chest,
straight into my heart, I knew it was the right thing to do.
The
thing is, though I know a lot of my readers and “followers” are aware of who I really am, I have always chosen to write under a
pseudonym, to protect myself, to a certain degree, but more importantly, I did
it to protect others. It has never
been my intention to hurt anyone, but it has recently been brought to my
attention that I may have inadvertently done so. So until the sad, bored, lonely, or just straight up
pathetic certain bunch of people at the nuke plant where I used to work can
wake the fuck up and realize that maybe they would be better off focusing on
what is missing in their empty and sterile lives as opposed to focusing on
mine, and speculating about what might be happening in my life, and trying to
figure out who is who and what is what, my previous posts will remain hidden,
until I either decide to delete them altogether or else just heavily edit them.
I
have done this primarily for my ex-husband, Martychyst, who is for the most
part a good person. He is
re-married and has a kid, so why the hell he would care what I write about is
beyond me, but I suppose I have somewhat humiliated him in some ways, in some
of my posts, and while I know I’m kind of an asshole, I’m not actually that much of an asshole. He does not deserve to face the day knowing that some of his
co-workers have read about many of the reasons our marriage failed. The details of our falling out need not
even be mentioned at work, because as Marge and I have both written about
before, work is work, and I think it’s ridiculous when people think it is in
any way, shape, or form appropriate to bring my personal life to work and to
make it a point of conversation is not only unnecessary, it’s childish,
pathetic, and has nothing to do with the way I, or anyone else unnecessarily
affected by my posts can effectively do their job. Work should be solely about work, and one’s ability to
perform their work. Nothing
more. Nothing less. But, even though I have worked at the
nuke plant for a very long time, and know that, for the most part, it is
comprised of a bunch of miserable people, miserable in their lives or
marriages, with too much money and too much time on their hands (all of my
friends out there are the exceptions to this rule, of course, or else I
wouldn’t be friends with them), who would rather behave like gossiping
teenagers with less acne and more money in their bank accounts, the fact that I
may have caused some humiliation or embarrassment to my ex-husband is something
I have the capacity to feel bad about, and unlike so many people out there, who
aren’t intelligent enough to fill their lives with meaningful diversions and
instead choose to grasp at empty straws, I am capable of rising above the petty
gossip, and instead I would just like to make things “right”, even if that
means editing my posts.
As
the saying goes:
I
may mention people in my posts (all with pseudonyms, to protect their
identities as well as mine), but it is to better express events or ideas,
theories, hypotheses, etc. I am
not trying to gossip, I am trying to write about life, to wrap my head around
things, to get a firmer grasp on the things I think are important in life. I’m not trying to make people feel bad
about themselves, and the thought that I may have makes me sick inside. I wrote to vent, to inspire, to assist,
and for people going through similar situations to be able to sympathize or
relate. Marge and I write to help,
never to hurt or hinder. I never
wrote a thing to intentionally hurt anyone, and if I have, I am truly
apologetic and saddened.
The
thing I am not apologetic about, is that it now seems as if so many people who
have read my posts are not great minds, or even average minds. They are small minds, who would rather
speculate and gossip. I don’t feel
bad if, when these people read this post, if they are still reading my posts,
they feel bad about themselves for being so shallow and uninspired, because
they have nothing better to do than to gossip and ponder about the who’s in my
life, as opposed to the “how’s” and “why’s”. They don’t focus on the peaks and epiphanies, they dwell on
the valleys and the turmoil. These
people are the reason I have chosen not to procreate. Why create an awesome little tribe of freethinking, curious,
and inspired individuals when I know for a fact they would have to fight and
claw their way though a zombie crowd of sad little minds who have been raised
to care more about what other people are doing with their lives than be free
and uninhibited to think about ideas?
Lastly,
I have decided to hide my posts because of the Rapist, someone who also does
not deserve to be wounded by my words.
When I think about him, I smile, because I know whenever we got
together, we very rarely spoke of other people, but of random, interesting
things. Things like the
differences between languages, random California traffic laws, places we would
like to travel, novels we have read or movies we have seen, our families, our
aspirations, our goals and desires, and even about the news. Did we speak about other people? At times, yes, but never in a negative
way, and mostly, when we spoke of others, it was in order to develop feelings,
as a way to grasp what he and I wanted together, and in order to figure out
what he and I wanted with each
other. We did not “talk shit” on
people. We inspired each other and
made each other laugh. And just
like with Martychyst, the Rapist does not deserve the petty ponderings and
awkward morning meeting with people at work who may speculate or wonder if he
is the one I am seeing or not. I
mean, Jesus fucking Christ, people!
Get a fucking life! And if
your life is so sad the only way you can emotionally “get it up” is to gossip
about others, then maybe you need a serious vacation, or else a divorce,
because I can’t remember the last time my life was so boring and mundane that I
thought meddling in others’ lives was an appropriate substitute to actually
living my own…
So,
to those of you who read my posts to meddle and gossip, why don’t you stop
reading for a moment, walk into your bathroom, look at yourself in the mirror
for five minutes, and try to figure out what it is that you dislike about
yourself or your life so much that you prefer to cause turmoil for others as
opposed to spending your free time bettering yourself? Have you given up on your dreams? Do you not have any healthy hobbies
aside from gossiping? Have you
stopped having sex with your husband or has your wife stopped having sex with
you? Maybe you need to hit the gym
more and shed a few pounds?
Exercise is healthy, and releases endorphins. The same goes with sex. Do yourself a favor, pick one of those dreams you gave up
on, and just start working toward it again, and then go fuck your significant
other. You will feel infinitely
better about yourself once you do, I promise!
My
former bosses and dear friends say that I should just re-post ALL of my former
posts that I’ve hidden. They told
me that people are lame, and if they don’t like what they are reading, guess
what? They should just stop reading it!
In a way, I agree with them.
Not really my problem if people want to judge me, is it? Haters going to hate! And
I don’t really care if people hate on me.
I think it’s kind of funny, because I’m living life with a big smile on
my face and they wear their sour grimaces. Their pettiness makes me happy, and happiness is a
choice. I am happy because I
choose to be happy. Why would I
choose to be otherwise? So I could
be like the haters? No thank
you. But I told them, it’s what I
call the Howard Stern phenomenon.
The theory goes, that when Howard Stern first came out with his radio
show, even the people who hated him and his work still listened to him, in
fact, it is believed that of all his listeners, the haters boosted his ratings
more than his supporters. It’s
just like the people who watch those stupid Kardashian shows, or those shows
about the douche bags from the Jersey Shore. People may hate them, but they still watch. It’s why people crane their necks and
slow down to a snail’s pace on the freeway to gawk at the jaws of life ripping
apart the roof of a car to peel out the helpless victim inside who is probably
bleeding to death or else burning alive.
It a sick sort of morbid curiosity, and sadly, I think it’s just human
nature.
It
has been said that what people hate most in others is what they hate most in
themselves. So are the people who
are hating me for what I write actually just hating themselves, but it feels
better to hate me than to realize that they don’t actually, truly hate me, they
hate the reflection of themselves that they see mirrored in me?
As
I said, none of this really bothers me, the fact that people are hating on
me. I think it’s funny. Their hate fuels my happiness. Their hate is like gasoline, but I am
the match, and I sure do love playing with fire, in fact, I get off on it. So bring it on, haters! Nothing could please me more.
And
speaking of haters, and of writing, I have been seriously considering pulling
up and dusting off the cobwebs of the novel I wrote about MY side of the story
of why my access was pulled. It
needs a few kinks worked out, a little tweaking and editing, but once she’s
done, she’ll be a beauty! If
people really love obsessing over the things and people they hate, I can only
imagine that the novel I have written about the Sedouche and the nuke plant
will be picked up and widely read by so many people at that plant, which will
be like a double whammy added bonus for me: Make Sedouche’s life more miserable than it already is, and
sell a shit ton of novels. Of
course I’ll claim it’s “fictional”, in order to not get sued, or else just
change a lot of names, and we all know, I have no trouble coming up with pseudonyms…
As
for the Rapist and I, things are going great, and back to normal. Maybe even better than normal. In some ways, I think I actually needed
the break more than he did, to finally see where my head was really at. It has made me appreciate him
more. It has made it more obvious
to me how much we really do care for and love each other. I still feel like he has a trick up his
sleeve, and a good one, but I won’t press the issue, because if it’s true, and
he wants to surprise me with something awesome, I wouldn’t want to ruin the
surprise, or piss him off by pressing the issue. Suffice to say we are back together, and I am happier than
ever. I really missed his presence
in my life, no matter how big of a pain in the ass he can be. He is a good man. I think he’s a keeper. I hope he feels the same about me,
because summer is approaching, and he knows how much I would enjoy spending a
very large portion of it with him, especially if a kiddy pool can somehow be
incorporated into the mix! A kiddy
pool with a snorkel duct taped to my face to double as a beer bong/safety
feature so I don’t fall asleep in the kiddy pool and drown!
So
now that “business” is out of the way, I would like to touch on another kind of
business. The business of work. In
order to not keep you on pins and needles, I will just say that I MAY have
found the holy grail of a job, but only if I can manage to finagle some things
and get my way. Otherwise, the job
is shit.
Where
to begin? Well, after the bird
hazing at the solar plant in California Valley, the contract was not renewed,
so I did landscaping for about a week.
It was ok, but the weather was hot, and the work was pretty boring. I understand that a lot of people find their
work boring, but I am not one of those people, in fact, I can make just about
anything fun! That’s just the sort
of personality I have, but after helping my friends and former bosses flip a
house, landscaping seemed really lame in comparison. I wasn’t learning anything, it didn’t challenge me, and I
couldn’t even use any of the awesome new tools I have accumulated and have
grown to love so much. So, in the
end, even though the owner of the business wanted to bring me on full time, I
had to decline. I was polite about
it, and he said he understood. I
still felt bad though. I don’t like
letting people down. I don’t so
much mind pissing people off, but feeling like I let people down really makes
me feel down myself. Luckily, the
guy was super cool and totally understood. I told him I thought he and his crew were really awesome,
but that I would rather eat my own feces than continue to do landscaping. He laughed, and we parted on good
terms.
After
that, I was asked to do some dishwashing at a local winery that also has a nice
restaurant attached. The job
sounded ghetto, but at least it would get me out of the scorching heat, and it
was a paycheck, so I somewhat reluctantly agreed. I kicked ass at it (as if it was hard. Pshhhh.) and the staff took to me right
away. They asked me to come
back. I was ok with returning, but
it was far from my dream job, until I started conversing with the chefs the
following night. As it turns out,
they are all somewhat famous chefs, who have worked in some of the finest
restaurants, not just in the U.S. but all over the world. One of the chefs even worked at the
French Laundry, a restaurant I would sell a kidney to eat at, and I actually
own their cook book, have read it cover to cover, and have cooked a few of
their recipes. To make matters
even more enticing, all the chefs there have received their chef certifications
at Le Cordon Bleu, the very school that I had been willing to shell out well
over sixty thousand Euros to attend, in Paris, a few years back, but decided,
to spend the money on a home office I had instead, when my ex-husband and I were
still together.
The
more I spoke with the chefs, the more I realized I was dealing with culinary
fucking royalty! These people are
the best of the best. The crème de la crème
of
any chef in any country. I was
starting to think that maybe sticking around might benefit me in some way, but
only if I broke it down for them, and I didn’t waste any time. In addition to that, once I found out
that the corporation I was temping for, with these chefs with talents I could
only dream of attaining and working with, also provides benefits, dental, and a
401K, in addition to a pay raise if/when I was brought on permanent, I knew I
needed to express my desires.
I told them that, while I had no problem
putting in a little time doing the dish washing thing, I would only do it if
they would eventually allow me to start helping out in the kitchen. Anywhere from peeling potatoes to
plating was fine with me, so long as they knew that I was above dish washing,
and I wanted to LEARN! They were
right on board, and told me they would teach me anything from making stocks to
cakes, and everything in-between.
They told me it was a good thing I hadn’t wasted my money going to Le
Cordon Bleu, because they would teach me everything I would ever need to know,
and in addition to that, not only have I already acquired several recipes,
straight from Le Cordon Bleu recipe library, I’ve already started helping out
in the kitchen doing more than just washing dishes! In a little over a week, I went from dishwasher to “kitchen
help”, helping with prep, and on Friday May 16th, I even got to help
with one of the dishes they were preparing!
I’m trying really hard to not get too
excited. I don’t want to count my
eggs before I poach them, but if things go well for me, and this actually works
out, I would probably be the happiest girl in the world! Things are back to “normal” with the
Rapist again, I’m on the cusp of acquiring this spectacular job that totally and
completely inspires me, where I could learn something new every day, where I
could get paid to pursue a passion that I was willing to shell out thousands
upon thousands of Euros for, but instead would get paid to learn the things I
would have gladly paid for to learn.
In addition to that, having my own medical again, and dental, would mean
that I wouldn’t have to humiliate myself and ask the Rapist if eventually I
could cobra off of his health insurance, something I would hate to do, but now
I would have my own! Not only
would I be able to take care of myself in a normal, healthy way again, I would
once again be doing something that I loved, something that made me look forward
to coming into work every day again, like I used to, as apposed to dreading
it!
Now, when my alarm goes off, I don’t want to
hit snooze. I jump out of
bed! Which is yet another perk of
this job. My typical hours are
from three PM until the last customer leaves and we’re done cleaning up and
re-stocking for the next morning, which gets me home usually before midnight,
sometimes even earlier. It is the
perfect schedule for me. I come
home elated and inspired, and eager to write. I can come home, pour myself a glass of wine, and sit down
to my computer to bang out a few pages.
Hmmmmmmmm. Chef/writer Cole
has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?
And all night at work it’s “would you like to try this
venison? How about this cookie, or
this freshly baked roll (which basically tasted like eating an orgasm), or how
about this andouille sausage Madeleine, or this molten chocolate cake, or this
wine, or that wine, or would you like to make yourself another espresso or have
another Pelligrino?” It’s fucking
heaven! One of the chefs told me,
“Cole, if you want me to stop feeding you, just tell me.” I laughed my ass off! I’m a human garbage disposal, thrilled
to allow anything they can concoct to savor in my mouth. How about some more of that passion
fruit marshmallow, or some of that fried pork cheek that tastes like pancetta only
ten times better?! And that
doesn’t even include the gourmet staff meal they provide every day, which we
all eat together, family style, and the tasty little samples they send me home
with at the end of the night, sometimes even accompanied by a half bottle of
delicious and quite expensive and coveted wine. If I get my way, I will have landed my absolute dream job,
and without having to bleed myself to afford to go to a cooking school in Paris
that I have wanted to attend for years!
It’s funny the way things just work out
sometimes. When I unfairly had my
unescorted access pulled from the nuke plant for five years, I was in the worst
place I had ever been in in my entire life. I struggled, thought my life was shit, wanted to drink
myself into a coma. But look where
I am now? Sometimes I think maybe
things do happen for a reason.
Maybe if things didn’t happen the way they did, the Rapist and I never
would have gotten together in a real way.
Maybe I would have been maimed at the nuke plant and would now be in a
wheel chair, or wearing prosthetic legs.
The thing is, we can never really know what the universe has in store
for us, but today, for the first time in a long time, I can look back on the
bad things I have been through, and I have the capacity to be grateful for the
strife, the pitfalls, the fretting, and the sorrow, because maybe I needed to
go through all of that to get to where I am today. And today, the possibilities seem absolutely delicious and
intoxicating!
So bring on the decadence, the epicurean
hedonism! Bring on the
adventures and the excitement, because no matter how many shitty moments I’ve
had the past year and a half or so, right now, I could not be happier. And the thing I like the most about it,
is that it isn’t because I’m gossiping about other people, or getting off on
the misery of others, or talking shit.
I’m happy because I continue to pursue my dreams. I’m happy because I love myself and
because I love the things I’m doing for myself. I’m happy because even though I have struggled, I’ve lived a
pretty stellar life, and I’m still only thirty. I’m happy because I am and always have been a fighter. I’m happy that, because I didn’t give
up on life, or my dreams, and that my dreams might just be coming true, and my
life is at a new high. It’s never
too late to pursue your dreams. If
you truly love yourself, you will never thrive on or focus on what is going on
in the lives of others. If you
truly love yourself, it’s because you believe in yourself, and know you are awesome,
no matter what anyone else thinks.
So do me a favor, readers, followers,
haters. Just let all your
pathetic, narrow minded bullshit go, and love yourself, because if you can’t
love yourself, why should anyone else love you?
