When I was in third grade my parents took me to a sketchy, subterranean pet store off the food court in Hillcrest mall with no windows and a single, incongruous neon sign bearing some nondescript name like BJ’s Pet Emporium where I would be allowed to procure my first pet, a hamster.
Shittiest blog post ever. I went to the gym today and now everything hurts. I did a solid 30 minutes on the stair stepper mostly at the top of my cardio zone which is like, 168, and then tried to push it to the aerobic zone or whatever the f the other zone is at like 173 for a few minutes which of course made me want to vomit almost instaneously and then I had heart cramps even after I cranked that bitch back down because I’m scared of falling off the stair stepper.
And I did some machines and shit. I don’t know. I never feel like I look any different. I have good form. I read stuff about like, macros and I don’t feel like I eat a whole lot, but there’s also f all I like to eat. I like Nandos. I like Panera. I like Diet Coke, weird juice, cheese, just like, pieces of cheese, protein bars, the full fat chocolate Muscle Milk, all baked goods, that’s about it. I can’t alter my diet to eat 3 meals of liver and steamed asparagus a day, I will die.
On top of that my intestines have always been fucked, and I’ve never found out if I have any food allergies, or found any answer beyond “that’s not right” since this healthcare system is stupid. So I could be fat because of that too.
I’m not fat. I’m just frustrated. I feel like I have two modes in my life: in a complete rut, going insane at the unchanginess of things, wondering if they will ever change, terrified that they will not, feeling completely agenciless OR going batshit insane, parlalyzed with fear that things are moving too fast and I have no control over them and everything is complete chaos. Sometimes these feelings are all encompassing, and other times I feel them at the same time towards different parts of my life. Now is one of those times.
I’m mad that I have love handles and a pudgy stomach despite being skinny as fuck generally and eating well at what not. I’m more mad that I have no idea how to change this situation, which could be complicated by a health issue I also can’t get a hold of.
Everything is in chaos because it’s been that way for months, my grandparents house being sold, a medical emergency in the family, people moving here, spending weekends in other places or with other people in my house which I am no longer used to, shit breaking and then having endless people coming in trying to fix it. Trying to figure out whether I’m going to keep taking music lessons when it’s expensive and the administrative side of the business is kind of incompetent and so it’s constant stress just to get their money too them. Blah, not big things. But I don’t have a hearty emotional constitution.
I took an Ambien 2 hours ago and I’m still totally coherent. Riding the wave of wanting things to change and wanting things to stop changing all at the same time.
I had more to say, or something different to say, I can’t even remember. I’m going to go attempt to hydrate and then watch Mr. Robot or something because why not at this point.
Oh and I will add, just because I just remembered it, today was actually a pretty good day. There has been some sort of Pokemon migration and I caught a bunch of Meowths and Haunters/Gastlys and Cubones which were never around before. Ate a decent pretzel bread sandwich with my sister post-gym as we watched some fail videos of cute animals and children. Listened to the new WOR while stuffing Halloween bags and drinking a whiskey/ginger I made out of my good Jack danie’s reserve out of an insulated skippy cup for practicality. I don’t usually drink hard liquor but I treated myself. Decent episode of Project Runway tonight. If I had gotten more singing in, I would have zero complaints.
So a few weeks ago, I went to my music lesson, walked around for a bit and caught Pokemon, got some Nando’s, went home to watch Big Brother, my usual Summer routine.
When I got back home, it started pissing rain. I mean an absolute downpour, a muggy-ass August-in-Maryland thunderstorm. As is custom, there is a meteorological shitfit for several hours until the rain cries itself dry and all returns to normalcy. I have lived through many aqueous seasonal offerings of the glorious mid Atlanitic, but I have never done so in a post Pokemon Go world. Normally, there is a sketchy window where everyone waits on baited breath, attempting to determine whether it is safe to go outside, but this is apparently no longer the case. Within seconds of the rain stopping, my street is full and all the neighborhood poke stops are lit up with lures. It was simultaneously pathetic and admirable. This digital overlay on the real world was laying bare the true, otherwise invisible motivations of my neighbors.
The even better part was this one group that refused to move. They sat there all night pumping lures into a PokeStop. It was a beautiful night, but they just sat there in their running car from 8pm-3am. I know this because I didn’t sleep until they left. It was just too damn fascinating. Every time those pink hearts collapsed into the PokeStop, I thought, they’ve finally had their fill. but NO seconds later it would rise from the dead.
Eventually I just grabbed my chilli chocolate cookie from Nando’s, put on a documentary on Sick Nick Mondo, and luxuriated. 3AM. They sat in a parked car for 7 hours. I heard no voices, so it could have been one person, and I also never heard a car door, so that person could have been peeing in an empty Gatorade bottle in their car for all I know. I never have to be ashamed again.
Best part? When I looked out the window at 10AM or so the next morning THEY WERE BACK and in the light of day I could see THEY DROVE A BMW. A NEW BMW. NOT SOME 1990S I-TECHNICALLY-DRIVE-A-BMW, BMW. Rich people. Sitting in a parked car.
I’m just going to write everything backwards because my life is a fucking mess anyway. This all happened prior to my last post, so mid-August, but I think I just learned WordPress uses the time stamp of when the draft was written, not when the post was published, so who the hell knows when it will say this was posted.
My cousins came down from Toronto for a wedding, not a wedding on “my” side, although I’m sure I would have loved to attend because they’re Guyanese and everything I’ve heard indicates the Guyanese party game is on point.
They were nice enough to bring a bunch of my grandfather’s tools, and my grandma’s cooking books, mementos basically as a bunch of my family went to clean out their house and get it ready for sale. My grandpa’s tools was more of a practical thing, he amassed quite the collection and we have some belt sanding to do. As I suspected, I have no idea how the fuck anyone in my immediate family is going to physically handle this belt sander, my grandpa was not a large man, but apparently he did not fuck around. My grandma’s cookbooks are amazing. We got a reproduction copy of one last year when we thought they’d all been lost, with this amazing (in theory) recipe for canning moose. There are some real gems in there. Some because of their super 70s or super Newfoundland content, others for incredibly geographically specific or WTF value like one on indigenous plants.
The best part was they brought the coffee table from Nanny & Poppy’s living room, a true “mid-century” splayed leg, two level, press board lacquered in fake wood kind of thing, that when flipped over reveals a bulls-eye someone had drawn on the underside for use as target practice.
We went downtown to see my Mom’s friend who was staying at this amazing hotel called The Donovan. It had the most futuristic shower that I did not use. We brought her a Welcome 2 Amurica bag that was filled with Old Bay seasoned cheese balls and American flag beer cozies. When the ungodly torrents of rain stopped, we wandered around and went to a bar/restaurant called The Drafting Table that had duck grilled cheeses and “poutine” with sausage gravy that did not taste as bad as it looked but was still not fucking poutine.
We walked around U Street at night, God, U Street is the shit now. I remember going to see The Blood Brothers at The Black Cat in high school, and our friend’s Dad dropped us off and stayed in the area the entire time because we were not allowed to walk around there alone. Now they have a Room & Board. What a 180. When we went to see Chris Hardwick at 9:30 Club, I couldn’t even figure out where I was. All these contemporary faux loft-y condos? That cool Satellite (?) bar on the back? WTF! I’d live there. If I was going to live in D.C. that would be at the top of my list. I’m not naive enough to think with all this “gentrification” there isn’t some seriously racist and classist politics at bay, but superficially, damn does it ever seem fun down there.
We went back to the hotel and on the way back we stopped at a liquor store that had individual glasses of Moet in the window. They said they were “display only.” What kind of cold hearted bastard does this to someone? Shame! Shame! Shame!
I got a Sapporo tall can instead. What? I don’t know. I’m not really okay with drinking in front of my family. It was good though. This is going to sound like the ultimate Dad thing, but it was the real sturdy metal can (redundant?) Very satisfying. I can only fine the little normal cans around here.
Proceded to stay up until 2AM talking to my Mom and sister while her friend slept. We are great guests. My Mom snored so fucking loud I did not sleep the entire night on my air mattress, that was rapidly deflating. It was one of those bed height air mattresses, so when it started sagging, the differential between my head & feet and ass-zone was multiple feet. I slept in a v-shape. By morning my head area had also sagged, so my body was at a maybe 35-degree angle, with my feet in the air and my head on the ground, in the saddest, vinyl clammiest, sleep deprived, nauseaus, dizzy, weird hotel specific damp coldest version of Where Is My Mind! available. Then I drank a room temperature Red Bull. Great decision making!
Walked around some more, went to some weird empty bar that was called… World of Beer? I don’t know how old people constantly get tricked by dive bars that serve food, but this was one of those instances. Like, you know how some bars are BARS and they just happen to have food for LEGAL/EXTRA INCOME REASONS and you don’t go to these bars for food specifically because it’s a BAR and also because you put a Steigl banner in the window it doesn’t make you INTERNATIONAL. YES YOU KNOW THIS BECAUSE EVERYONE KNOWS THIS. Yeah, this was not computing. My Mom’s looking at THE BAR MENU IN THE WINDOW ‘this doesn’t sound very international’ IT’S NOT INTERNATIONAL THEY JUST HAVE A BUNCH OF BEER SIGNS IN THE WINDOW BECAUSE IT’S A BAR. Our campus bar was literally draped in flags. They had irish car bombs and spicy sweet potato fries. That was as “international” as it got.
It actually wasn’t bad, but it was 1. cavernous 2. very dark (already covered by cavernous?) 3. incredibly, incredibly, awkwardly empty.
They had the best root beer float ever though. They used Dominion root beer, but the ice cream is going to plague me until the end of time. I know they weren’t handchurning their ice cream in the kitchen that passed of a chicken nugget as a “chicken fritter,” so it had to be store bought, but where!?
I will say this, as we were leaving, I got struck with horrible diarrhea that I will blame on the duck grilled cheese but was probably just my own ecosystem turning on me violently. The fact this place was empty put me about 40000km from another human as I contemplated how God seriously fucking hates me and Jesus Christ I was just trying to welcome our oldest family friend into the neighborhood and all I got was the worst sleep of my life and no individual cup of Moet and fuck why did I eat a duck grilled cheese at a restaurant I had never been to and FUCK THIS IS WHY I CAN’T TAKE RISKS AND I LIVE A SHELTERED SAD LIFE THAT IS LACKING IN SO MANY RESPECTS BECAUSE I CAN’T EVEN EAT A DUCK GRILLED CHEESE WITHOUT NEARLY SHITTING MY PANTS AND FUCK IT I’M GOING TO SEE IF THERE ARE ANY POKEMON IN HERE.
There were. Not only that, the cave reception was so bad the GPS kept hurling my avatar across D.C. as I racked up spins from a thousand random PokeStops.
I will accept this as divine intervention.
We saw my Mom’s friends new place and it is amaaaazing and her realtor randomly also went to U of T and I continued to not shit myself which I will also accept as divine intervention.
Watched 5 full seasons of Shameless
- This is not entirely my fault. We got Showtime as part of a one month free trial, which is how I got roughly four and a half seasons deep. A portion of the trial ticked by while we were in Ottawa, otherwise I am certain one month of free cable would have sufficed. But once you’re over two thirds of the way through the series, might as well go all the way. So I employed the one month Roku free trial and will be six seasons strong in a couple days.
- I am in love with Lip, not currently, but at least initially. Rebellious genius with a dry sense of humor who dresses alternately like a teddy boy and a young yacht owner? Yes please. Every character has sucked since season three, but I’m no quitter.