If You're Happy And You Know It

I remember exactly where I was standing when I realized I didn’t want to live anymore. It was January of 2017 and I was working an event for Facebook, at an upscale hotel in Park City, Utah during the Sundance Film Festival. Festival attendees came to the event to preview short films on Oculus headsets and it was my job to walk them through the experience. I was in the middle of giving a demonstration to Tristan Wilds (Also known as Mack Wilds). He smelled like things I can't afford to buy and had teeth as white as pieces of Orbitz gum. 

Tristan "Mack" Wilds

To be more accurate, I didn’t exactly want to die; I just didn’t want to feel pain any longer. I lost track of time while Tristan was watching his short film, thinking about what it would be like to no longer be apart of this world. I was tired of feeling heartbroken, worthless, and like a burden to people close to me because of my immense sadness.

“You okay?” he asked in a surprisingly deep voice.

The film had ended and Tristan had taken off his headset without me realizing it.

“Oh yea I’m fine. Sorry, just spaced out for a second.”

“You must have done a lot of these today.” He looked genuinely concerned. “Get a drink after work, go to one of the parties. Have some fun!”

“Thanks,” I smiled as best I could.

It had been a while, but I was still sad over my break up with JC. I had also just found out that the guy I had been talking to for the past few months was married. Earlier that week a frenemy of mine told me some news about my ex that I had dated for 8 years. I didn’t think hearing about him would have effected me the way it did, but alas…

I excused myself from the event for a few minutes and retreated to the bathroom. I closed the stall door before sliding down the tiled wall, onto the floor in tears. I sat there crying for about 5 minutes. Then I washed my face, took a selfie and posted it to Instagram before going back out to finish my shift.I tried to act normal, but honestly I never thought I would feel okay again. I didn’t even remember what it felt like to be okay.

My post crying bathroom selfie

Something I’ve learned in the last few years, is that healing is not linear. You’ll be doing great one day, and another day you’ll see something that reminds you of your pain and it will knock the wind out of you. Almost like getting hit by a huge wave and being thrown off your surfboard. I’ve never been surfing because things that can eat me live in the ocean, but I assume that’s what happens when a big wave takes you out.

There were times when my grief literally made me crumple to the floor in pain or caused me to silently shake in tears on the couch. I actually remember not being able to get off the couch, I hadn’t taken a shower in days and I didn’t dare leave the house. My parents were really worried. My Stepdad cautiously asked me if my ex had ever hit me. My Mom offered to take me shopping and cook my favorite foods. They didn’t know what to do, and it hurt me even more to watch them, see me hurting.

But like a subsiding storm in the middle of the ocean, the waves of those painful times will become fewer and farther in between. The things that hurt me months ago, cause me to pause for mere seconds now. Eventually, the waves will become small ripples and I won’t think of them at all.

For me 2015 was like the eye of the storm. I didn’t realize how bad everything was in my life because I was in the middle of the chaos. 2016 is when all hell broke loose, and then I spent most of 2017 trying to reevaluate and rebuild my life. 2018 has been a great experience thus far.

An entire year had passed since I sat crying on the bathroom floor of a luxury hotel while celebrities drank expensive cocktails and watched films two floors above me. I went skiing for the first time and realized that I had fallen in love. Not with skiing, that was horrifically terrifying, but with life again (and maybe a guy too, but that’s a story for another day).

In February I got to work at the Eagle’s Superbowl after party. My job was not glamorous. I wasn’t a journalist, photographer, or fluffer, but instead I bussed tables. The party was self serve on fancy paper plates and all the drinks at the bar were free, so honestly I didn’t have to do much. A lot of the players and other guests didn’t feel like trekking over to the bar, so they’d ask me to do it for them, and give me huge tips.

Older gentleman with an Eagle's Jersey on: "Could you bring us 4 beers?”

Me: “Of course.” Runs to get 4 beers and brings them back. Guy hands me a $100 bill.

Me: You know these drinks are free right?”

Because I don't care about sports like that I didn't know the identity of the older gentleman. Later on my coworker told me he was a co-owner of the team.

Older man in Eagle's Jersey: “Yeah, they're free, but it’s a celebration, Enjoy the money!”

*Stuffs money in bra and walks away*

The party was set up like a football field. The endzones had tables and plush white couches. One side line had food, desserts and a candy station while the other side line was an open bar. In the middle, where the 50 yard line would be, was a dance floor and a stage. I got to watch Diplo DJ a set and Cardi B perform merely 3 feet in front of me.

I felt like I was back in college, but with men who had money, muscles and fashion sense. I watched an insanely giddy Zach Ertz passionately make out with his wife. They looked so happy together that you couldn't help but be happy for them. I danced with Malcolm Jenkins who had the dopest jewelry of anyone in the room. He wore an impeccably tailored maroon colored suit, with black patent leather loafers and I'm fairly certain that his cuff links alone probably cost more than my car. I participated in a soul train line with Bryan Braman and his friends. Everyone was in a good mood. 

Malcolm Jenkins 

It was crowded so I accidentally kept bumping into this really tall guy with big ole sexy arms. At one point he playfully grabbed me by the shoulders and said,

“Hey this is the 3rd time you’ve bumped into me.”

“Sorry, its crowded in here. And you have a big butt,” I added as an after thought.

He laughed and then turned around and poked his butt out. "Yea I guess it’s my fault then. I do a lot of squats."

This is the type of man I deserve to procreate with I thought to myself.  An athletic, juicy booty, Superbowl champion.

We kinda flirted throughout the night. He was super sweet and gentlemanly too but he never asked for my number. Before he left for the night with his friend Bryan, he made sure he had my attention and then smiled and waved goodbye to me.

Bryan Braman

If Cinderella had taken place in 2018, a time when more women are learning to shoot their shot, then this is what would have happened next:

I looked for that man everywhere on the internets y'all. I looked through the entire Eagles Roster of players but the photos weren't that great. I eventually found him on Instagram, BECAUSE OF THE SHOES HE HAD ON in one of his Instagram posts.They were the same ones he wore at the party. I’m not trying to put his business out in these streets, but if you’re interested in who he is, he ended up proposing to his long-term girlfriend the day after the Super Bowl. So that would explain why he didn’t ask for my number. Don’t cry for me guys. Its okay, because now I realize that guys are a dime a dozen. Even though they're not all NFL players, It’s literally raining men’s out here in these streets

At the end of the party, the servers were gifted with a ton of free Eagles Superbowl memorabilia. I got coozies, keychains, Eagles t-shirts, a 10lb bag of Eagles colored M&M’s with the Philadelphia Eagles logo on them, shot glasses and more.

It was a fun night that I’ll always remember, especially because one of the most attractive men I had ever talked to flirted with me, but I had no use for this stuff. I decided to keep a few things for myself and send the rest to my ex because the Eagles is his favorite team. I thought about not sending it at first, because it had been 2 years since I broke up with him and I didn’t want him to think I wanted to rekindle anything between us. My best friend said I should include a short note so he didn’t get the wrong idea. We settled on...

“Hey I worked at the Superbowl and they gave me this free stuff. I knew you’d like it. Take Care”

Meanwhile, I’m living my best life: Going on girl trips to Montreal, discovering my soul mate and being rescued by ski patrol off the side of mountain ranges. One night I’m at a bar in Brooklyn with an old friend/co-worker. We're sipping gluten free beverages and he and his wife tell me about a yoga retreat to Belize. I’m in the middle of telling them about my epic trip to New Zealand where I hitch-hiked with a perfect stranger, whose native tongue was not English. I excuse myself to the bathroom, hard cider runs right through me, and notice a text from a number I’ve never seen before.

It was the ex’s current girlfriend

I use the word text lightly, as what she sent me was more like the rough draft of her Memoir, entitled A Road map of my Insecurities and Other Short Stories.

First I’d like to say that I realize that there are ladies that would be annoyed if their boyfriend’s ex, sent them something in the mail and perhaps I should have asked if it were okay to send him the limited edition Superbowl Memorabilia of a team that probably won't win again for 50 years. I could understand if this ex was constantly being disrespectful to your relationship or wanted to get back with your boyfriend. If this is not the case, I think you should discuss this issue with your boyfriend. If it bothers you that someone (who doesn't want him/he doesn't want either) sent him something, you should also really ask yourself why.

Because I’m not going to be messy and include screen shots, her message basically said "don’t text, call, email, initiate contact through social media, send gifts or presents to my boyfriend because we love each other and are going to be together forever". I'm sure it said a lot of other things but I only got through the prologue. If she is out there reading this, I’m coming to her as a woman, and I want her to sincerely know that I didn’t read the entire message. I did however, cycle through a few reactions.

Okay she is crazy...

As I sat on the toilet I thought to myself, “Well this is the least thankful, 'Thank You' note I’ve ever received.”

Lemme tell ya’ll the difference 10 years can make. 2008 TK would have been petty and defensive as fuck let this girl have it.

Ten year's ago I was in my early 20's so I was still a bit wild. My friends at the time literally called themselves Gangsta Ass Bitches and homegirl would have caught a backhand like Serena Williams (ironically my Gangsta Ass Bitch friends and I played tennis at least twice a week and were very good, but I'm referring to physical violence).  I also would have given her reason’s why I didn’t want that man and pointed out that I had put him back on the shelf with the other emotionally immature & multiple personality having Gemini (read: evil) men for her to choose from.

On my list, I would have included:

1. Like DJ Khaled, he won’t go down on you.
2. He will also expect you to do the emotional labor of fixing all his problems while showing little to no appreciation or acknowledgement for your hard work, examples include but are not limited to:
        a. Cooking him dinner after you’ve worked a 70hr week and he had the day off
        b. Canceling plans with friends, or entire work trips to do things with/for him instead
        c. Locating a carton of blueberries in the refrigerator after you’ve told him they were on the top shelf behind the almond milk and next to the block of cheddar cheese upwards of 3 times and then having to go retrieve said blueberries your cot damn self

The old TK would have followed up by chastising her for sending me the most ungrateful Thank You note I had ever received and reminding her of the reasons she should definitely be thanking me.

3. The only reason you are together is because I broke up with him and decided to let that 

4. Bish, I sent a 10lb bag of M&M’s, why you complaining? You mad because I'm killing you with kindness?

I also would have warned her to be careful...

5. In 4 or 5 years, when he takes off his dating invisibility cloak and starts to unveil the dementor that he really is, your relationship may have you feeling like a prisoner of Azkaban

Without even meeting her in person, I saw my past insecure and hurting self in her annoyingly wordy text message. There were times when I felt like I had to overcompensate or basically scream that I LOVED HIM from the rooftops to prove my worth and loyalty to him. Like that time his Mom told us she wasn't coming to our apartment and he blamed me for it. This long ass text message filled with all the reasons they are going to make it as a couple, felt very familiar to me. It's easy for me to respect their wishes never contact him again because I'm happy with how much I've grown since then and I refuse to do kind things for people who don't deserve them. I felt how Harriet Tubman must have felt when she encountered slaves she had to kill, “If only this woman realized she was a slave, I could have saved her too.”

2018 TK understands that people are complicated. Hurt people hurt people and insecurities cause you to act out. When you’ve worked on yourself (*cough* therapy and introspection) and you realize the psychology behind why people do the things they do, you can’t even be mad at them.

So instead of the actions listed above, 2018 TK told her to have a good life and not to text me again. To which she replied,

“Oh I’m having a good life, stop bothering us.”

As I emerged from the bathroom to finish having a good night with my friends, I thought to myself, "Sounds like you're having a good life sis. Now if you’re happy and you know it clap your hands."

Just kidding. I'm not waiting because I don't care. He is not my man, and not my problem anymore. Emotionally intelligent people do things for others without expecting anything in return, but a small part of the 2008 TK that still resides in my psyche wanted to send her my paypal link for wasting my time on a Friday night. 

Don't Call it V-Day

I really don't like the term "V-Day". It sounds like:

1. Everyone pretend to be a lesbian day!
2. Let's go to the gynecologist day!
3. Angry militant vaginas marching in solidarity to stage a hostile take over.

So for the one day of winter that I feel obligated to shave both my legs, (I'll shave 1 leg for a boyfriend and none for a husband...It's cold outside!) Happy Valentine's Day!

I hope you’re spending this day with the one you love and if you’re one of those people who detest February the 14^th, at least do something that you love. Try not to be disgusted with all the red and pink décor and heart shaped balloons you have to push through to find the register at CVS. Just buy your Redbull in peace, knowing that tomorrow everything will be a mix of glittery gold and shamrock green for St. Patrick’s day. Yep, I already coped my Shamrock shake™from McDonald's!

I definitely had a little trouble deciding on what to write about for this hallmark holiday. Through my blog I’m desperately trying to impress you with my witty anecdotes and my uncanny storytelling ability but as far as the holiday of love goes I’ve got no good stories to tell.

No one has ever taken me on a romantic hot air balloon ride, showered me with diamonds or a proposed to me via jumbo-tron at a basketball game. The best I’ve gotten gift wise were some homemade chocolate covered strawberries. 

Two years in a row. 

From the same guy. 

You may be thinking, “Aww how sweet, he cooked for you,” and at first I thought the same thing. But after giving me the same high calorie, semi healthy treat for a second time, he could have at least paired it with an Ikea flute of moscato (yeah, I’m classy) and used Godiva chocolate instead of the supermarket brand chocolate chips.

Honestly I haven’t had a Valentine’s day that has been memorable. Le sigh. But don’t cry for me. I haven't had any horrible ones either. This year I would like to dedicate Valentine's day 2013 to my faithful love: Chicago.

I moved to Chicago from Charlotte, NC 4 years ago after watching the movie What Women Want. You know the movie where Mel Gibson is a womanizer that has some freaky Friday shit happen and he can hear what women are thinking. The movie is based in Chicago and makes the city look really glamourous. I desperately wanted to move out of the south, the west coast was too far away and since I  was born in New York/have family there NYC was a no go. 

After saving up some cash, securing a freelance gig and finding an apartment online I made the move! More accurately after moving back home with my parents and wanting to poison them everyday, I became frugal and determined to live on my own again.

I heart Chicago even in the winter because of population control. Its so cold here that my family won't come visit me for 5 months out of the year. I can't say that I like when it's -356° outside and I fear my eyeballs freezing/falling out or encountering a cold blast of soul-reaping air on the way to the train. The good part about the cold however, is that I have time to stay inside and learn how to bake things. Additionally in the spring/fall when it rains nobody carries umbrellas because the wind turns them inside out so obviously I've saved tons on not having to buy umbrellas over the past 4 years. 

Chicago also has street festivals every day of the summer from the Armenian knife throwing competition to Polish Sausage fest. There's also a strong warm breeze in the summer that will either blow throw you into oncoming traffic or blow your skirt up. You live, you learn, you start wearing biker shorts under skirts. And during the summer everyone knows they have a limited amount of time to enjoy the weather so they all flock to Lake Michigan to hang out at "the beach" half naked.

My friend Tosh (Left) and I at a street festival this summer

I love Chicago because its the perfect blend of southern hospitality, big city charm and bad accents. It's amazing how every neighborhood has a different personality. Where I live in Rogers Park, you've got everything from college students, a large Jewish population, lots of Hispanics, middle class white families and fresh off the boat Indians. Plus Tina Fey used to live here and take the same train that I take! Thats how I know i'm going to be famous one day.

This cultural melting pot makes for some great restaurants which of course leads to weight gain. 

I also feel pressure to frequent all of these ethnic eateries because if I didn't someone might call me a racist. I've got a samosa spot, a matzoh ball soup shop and a enchilada stand that has the best horchata. I like the mixed ethnicity of the area, but truthfully there are some ugly people in Rogers Park. I'm probably one of the  prettiest  people in my neighborhood. 

If you want to find the cuties you gotta go to Lakeview, West town or Ravenswood and if you're a retired homosexual you'll want to put down roots in Andersonville. Generally speaking you have your rich hipsters in Wicker Park, true hipsters in Logan Square, buppies in Hyde Park and Blacks/Hispanics on the Southside and Westside. 

Even though I lived in a big city in the South, I never could have imagined how segregated Chicago would be. On the Northside (mostly in Lincoln Park) I often get looks like, Are you lost? Or if I'm eating at an open air pub with some friends, How nice, I'm glad someone is feeding that poor black girl. Of course when I work on the Westside or Southside everyone is so helpful and accepting of me. By accepting I mean I get hollered at by Mexicans. 

Despite this I still love Chi-Town. Sometimes I want to set it on fire when I get an unavoidable parking ticket. Oh today it's raining, you can't park here. Enjoy this $150 ticket. When I recently got a parking ticket for $10 in another city I was like, damn, give me two more. I can actually afford these! 

Anyway, I know I’m going to see tons of Valentine’s inspired twitter and instagram posts today and that’s okay because it’s only one day of saccharin social sharing. I don’t mind the occasional kissy face pictures and photos of fancy food from your date night. But I honestly want to gag every time I see a FaceBook couple make status updates to each other like,

Her: “My husband cleared the snow off the car this morning. Love you babe XOXOXOXOXO.”

Him: “I love you   T       H         I         S    much sugar foot.”

Can’t you send a text message? I mean I guess I would be impressed if SNOWmageddon had just dumped 15ft of snow on your Cavalier and your dude blow torched the snow off your whip and heated up the seats in the process. Otherwise your over share just makes me want to throw snowballs at you. Heart shaped ones of course.

  

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TMI

*Just a word of caution, this post is a little racy*
A couple of nights ago I was in Uptown, a Chicago neighborhood with reasonable rents, a few good restaurants and nice people if you stay away from the Lawrence red line stop. While there I met up with some friends at Bar on Buena. Actually “friends” is probably a strong word. I should say that that I met up with a group people that I occasionally work with and don’t hate enough to not go out with. After a few drinks the conversation turned to relationships.

There are certain topics of discussion that are either fair game or off limits depending on if it’s a gang of guys, a harem of girls or co-ed frat party. Honestly I don’t know what guys talk about when they get together. Perhaps it's Beyonce, interior decorating and 401K's or if it's a group of straight guys I would assume it's a combination of sports, SNL and T and A? I'm pretty sure both gay and straight guys talk about Men's Health magazine.

Usually when I’m hanging out with my girl friends we talk about guys (who we’re doing, who we want to be doing, who we did) or bitches we hate. Most often though we talk about random everyday stuff, like recipes, skin care and in my case how long it took me to conquer the last level of Super Mario Galaxy 2. Let me tell you, that shit is hard. Those Japanese game developers deserve a Nobel Peace prize for their imagination and engineering. Who else could have thought up two mushroom eating Italian brothers with connections to royalty (Princess Peach) whose best friend is a dinosaur? Unless I had some mushrooms too, not this girl. 

Anyway, I know some ladies like to be the center of attention and I get it, I want to be noticed too. But there is a line that you’re not supposed to cross if both ladies and gents are present. I’m not even talking about openly discussing cramping, breast tenderness and discharge. That’s common sense.  But I cannot stand when I’m in a mixed group of men and woman and a chick just has to mention how much she loves to give blow jobs. What kind of childhood did you have?

Really, I think I've heard it all. From statements like “I always swallow because semen tastes so good” Was your mom a bad cook? 

To “It’s cold in here and my nipples are so hard right now, does anybody have any lotion?” Did your parents only let you watch TV shows on Cinemax? 

The women will sit there looking disgusted while the guys are like, “Is that so?”

What I want to know is, "Who are you trying to impress?" Skank.

Obviously not the women at the table because we are all horrified that you would say something like that. Maybe you’re trying to entice a guy or flirt with someone’s boyfriend? I’m not sure how guys feel when girls say things like, “I never need lube because I’m always so moist and ready to go,” but I am really hoping some guy will read this and give me some insight. In my mind:

A decent guy would respond like this

A not so decent guy might respond like this 

Maybe I'm an old fashioned prude. If guys do dig us talking about our lady parts, the next time we go out I’ll mention that my pores are sooooo small whenever I get out of the shower. Not enough?

But you should know, the girls in the group will all hate you forever, probably talk about you behind your back and make sure not to invite you out to things if their boyfriends are going to be around. You will probably marry some guy that fell in love with you when you told him the color of your areolas on the first date and you’re going to end up with no bridesmaids and you deserve it. 

I’m not trying to tell people how to live, I’m just saying don’t be that girl. 

F*** My Life!

"Why do bad things happen to me?" is a question we’ve all asked ourselves at some point. Early this morning when I realized that I had left my wallet at a bar last night, I asked myself the same thing.

Losing a wallet is always a pain in the A, however this time it was an extremely unfortunate experience. I had closed out my bank account earlier that day and didn’t have time to put the money (2 month’s rent) in my new bank account. My friend Lil and I went out a sports bar to watch my Alma Mater NC State whoop our rival’s (UNC) roody poo behinds in basketball and I ended up leaving my wallet there.

Not only did it have crisp $100 bills folded tightly into my cute “lunch money” change purse, it also contained my library card, ID, Starbucks and Lush gift cards that I had gotten for my birthday and my company credit card inside.

Feeling crappier than a porta potty at a chili cookoff, I asked one of my Jesus freak* friends why does it seem like bad things always happen to good people. Her response was, “The biblical answer is that there aren’t any “good” people in the world. The Bible makes it pretty clear that all of us are tainted by sin.”

It’s all fine and dandy if we’re going with the argument that empirically nobody is “good”, but there are definitely some mischievous mother f-er’s out there and I’m not one of them. I don't deserve this mess. On a scale of 1 (Heaven sent angel) to 10 (Satan and Rosemary’s demon baby spawn) I’ve got to be at least a 3 or 4. That’s accounting for things like stealing gum as a child, cheating on my chemistry homework in high school and tricking my younger brother into pouring Sweet-N-Low straight into his mouth by telling him its better than regular sugar because it’s in a pretty pink packet. Sucker.

I feel like everything will be going fine and then BOOM goes the dynamite. All at once I'm hit with unfavorable circumstances and left standing there asking myself WHY ME?! A few of the many unfortunate events I’ve recently lived through include:

• On a business trip to Los Angeles I swipe my debit card and it’s declined. Call up the bank and they tell me my card has been compromised and thus canceled. Had to borrow money from my co-worker for the trip.
• In the middle of an audition for a gig my bra strap popped and my boob came bouncing out of my dress. Well hello to you Mr. Interviewer!
• Someone backed into the front of my car, bending the grill on my Passat and making the chrome plated VW ornament fall off and then they took it! Either that or some hoodlums just plain stole the emblem off of my car by hitting the grill with a hammer, perhaps as a part of gang initiation or in hopes to create a killer Halloween costume.

                         

• In Louisville, KY on Black Friday some thieves stole my passport and company credit card. I was outta cash and had to do all kind of inhumane things to get through security at the airport just to fly back home. A few days later my boss calls and asks if I can go on a last minute all expense paid work trip to Canada. YES, I am talking about the land of maple flavored cookies, ice hockey and poutine, otherwise known as America Jr. Couldn't go, had no passport. 
• For an entire week in Greenville, NC my phone had no cell phone reception. I had negative bars! Went to T-mobile and they couldn't help me. They told me I needed to buy a new phone and a mansion in Idaho too. Then early in the morning on the way to the airport my rental car broke down right next to a tobacco field. Had no reception and couldn't phone for help. After waiting 2 hours, highway patrol found me, called a tow truck that took another hour to come tow the car and then yet another hour to drive me to the airport. Missed my plane and the airline charged me $150 to reschedule the flight. Bitches

When it comes down to it you can’t allow yourself to wallow in your understandable sadness. I know this is easier said than done and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be upset about whatever misfortune you've encountered, but realize that you can’t change the past. Stop reliving the moment in your head ad nauseum saying, “if only I hadn’t…” because it’s already too late. Instead think about what you do have and count your blessings. I mean literally write that shit down!

   1.  I’m alive! Yeah things go wrong, and seemingly all at once but I still woke up today and hopefully I’ll wake up tomorrow. That means I have another chance to fix anything that I fucked up yesterday.

     2.   I have all of my teeth – May not seem like a big deal but I’ve seen more than a few snaggle toothed people walking around lately and I’m glad I have all 32 of my pearly whites.

   3.   I have a clean, warm apartment - It’s the middle of winter and I’m pretty sure I read on EveryBlock that they found a bum frozen into a block of ice in my Chicago neighborhood. It may not be a mansion in Idaho but I have a comfy place to lay my head with cable, video games, Netflix and Hulu Plus! I’m living the good life (even if I don’t have HBO and have to stream True Blood from the internet).

   4.   I have friends and family that love and care about me or at least pretend to for our mutual benefit.  

Also important, if you don’t believe in luck, don’t expect to get lucky. To be honest, even though I think I have abnormally bad luck at times, a lot of good things have happened to me too. When my janky rental car broke down next to that tobacco field and I missed my plane, Avis gave me a $100 gift certificate towards a car rental and a free Megabus trip. And guess what?! Some rich trust fund Lincoln Park kid turned in my wallet at the bar with all of the contents still inside! They probably looked at my two months rent and thought, this chump change, I can't even buy a round of drinks and line of coke for my friends with this.

I know people who are always hemming and hawing like Mr. Ed over how nothing good ever happens to them. Maybe it’s because you don’t think anything good should happen to you and you end up making your life an unlucky, uneventful reality. It’s kinda like the lotto; you’ve gotta be in it, to win it.

*Jesus Freak – for my purposes, a positive term of endearment for people who have given themselves to God. They are B-A-N-A-N-A-S about the Lord and spreading his word, they attend church regularly and often read and/or quote the Bible. You may currently see them sporting WWJD bracelets. Like in 2013!

Part II - Deux Degrees of Separation

When we left off with Part I of Deux  Degrees of Separation, Phil had just texted me photos of himself looking crazy as ever and proud of it too. Let me tell you, his weird phone call followed by the unbelievably unsexy photos left me feeling a mix of emotions and plagued with some questions.

1. Disbelief

- This guy can not be serious. Did he really think I would find these pics attractive? Out of all the photos in the world that he probably could have sent he chose these?

2. Fear

- How did he get my number because I sure as hell didn’t give it to him. Did he get it from Facebook? (Checked Facebook and my number is not listed on there). Is it written on a bathroom stall of club in downtown Chicago? (Unlikely since I don’t frequent those places or hang out with people that do).

3. Anger

- Who the FUCK gave this guy my number?!

4. Relief

- At least I didn’t get any dick photos. Those are the worse.

For about a week straight Phil would call and text me like mad.  It was surely my fault for even entertaining him on that first phone call to begin with. I knew not to answer his number and I could block his text messages (avoiding possible dick texts) but then he started to call from other people’s numbers. As I mentioned in Part I, I always answer a call, even from numbers I don’t know because it could be a gig. Imagine my surprise/disgust/annoyance when it would be Phil. Eventually I took the chance that if it was a gig that really wanted me, they would leave a message or send an email. Otherwise they wouldn’t’ get a return call.

I guess I was dealing with a master of phone tag because Phil graduated from random phone numbers to the dreaded UNKNOWN phone number. If you didn’t know before, just know from my experience that whoever it is on the other end of an unknown phone call, it’s probably someone you don’t want to talk to.  Most likely it’s a bill collector, the IRS or a company offering you a free cruise if you just sit and listen to their hour-long timeshare presentation. However there is the small chance that it could be an emergency or even the Publisher’s Clearing House calling to tell you that you’ve won a hefty sum of money. I mean they don’t just make those commercials up. They are real! So you HAVE to pick up the phone just in case, and oh shit. It’s Phil again.

I consider myself a nice person and I didn’t want to lead this guy on but some people just don’t get it even after you’ve avoided talking to them for weeks. Lil suggested that I tell him I was seeing someone (which is the truth) and that it would be disrespectful for me to continue talking to him. Phil took this bit of information surprisingly well. He told me, “You’re a 4 star lady, of course you have a man. Why wouldn’t you? I get it but we could still harmlessly meet up for coffee.” 

No. Thanks.

I don’t know what it is, but if you tell a guy you have a boyfriend, it only makes them want you more. 

I’m not being conceited, it's a proven a law of the universe. Pretty girls know what I’m talking about.

Eventually the phone calls did cease and I was a better person for it too.  I could answer my phone without fear of having to chat with the phone stalker Phil had become over the previous weeks.

Well imagine my surprise when I get up one morning and see a Google Chat message from Lil saying to CALL HER IMMEDIATELY. The previous night I had asked her to go with me to a fashion show I was invited to by a mutual friend (proof right there that I’m a warehouse event party kind a girl, not a downtown Chicago club scene type of girl). She couldn’t go because she had a date. Lil has never been one to kiss-n-tell, so she just gave me some superficial details.

She met this guy while she was coming out of the supermarket the other day. He seemed really excited to see her at first and approached her like an old friend.

“Hey! How are you?!” Supermarket guy said happily.

“Umm, fine?” Lil said.

They went out for coffee and he told her all about where he was from, what he did for a living and that he lived in the same neighborhood.  Lil said after she got home that evening something just seemed off about the whole encounter. And then he started repeatedly text messaging and calling her for the next week.  Lil isn’t into clingy guys (who is?) so the whole thing rubbed her the wrong way.

Then something Supermarket guy had said during their outing sparked her memory. She picked up her phone and thumbed through the text messages that I had sent her a month prior. There it was, Phil’s unattractive photos, looking gangly and wild haired as ever. He had even mentioned being Creole on their date!

It’s winter in Chicago, so when they met for the first time in person, he had on a heavy coat and a hat that covered up that crazy hair of his. He wasn’t the man of her dreams looks wise, but he was nice and chatty, so why not get a drink together? After all if someone offers, most likely they’re paying ^_~

In the end, Lil decided that they wouldn’t meet up again. He was way too clingy, texting and calling her all the damn time. The weird thing is that he never once mentioned that he knew her, or at least thought he knew her. He never said, hey I have a picture of you in my phone that you sent me a month ago from a different phone number when you called yourself TK. Why aren’t you calling yourself that anymore? How many phone numbers do you have?

Maybe its normal to have multiple phone numbers since he called me from at least 3 different area codes. Maybe he was that hard up for love and/or companionship that he didn’t bother to ask questions or maybe he just didn’t care. Again not trying to sound like, “one of those girls we all hate” but all of my friends are Pretty good looking. I don’t hang out with ugly bitches so it goes without saying that Lil is a looker. He had hit the hot girl jackpot! Moral of the story is: return to using a landline and make sure the number is an unlisted one.