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. 

 

http://youtu.be/Qw3Z8Oa7E3Y

 

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 16^th, 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?