Three years. It has been almost 3 years since my mema's passing and also the last time I wrote something I cared to post. Looking on this blog, I see that I have several drafts over the years that got saved and never published. Probably didn't think any of it was interesting enough for anyone to want to read. So if you're reading this, know that I feel proud of myself. Not only did I write, something that I used to do quite often, but I finished a complete text and even went as far as to publish it in the good ol' blog.
This piece was mainly prompt by a conversation that I had with my manager the other night. "Does no one really know anything about me other than I bartend?" Genuine confusion. As if anyone that I surround myself with now days grew up with me or have even seen me display any other kind of interest. I think it's mainly due to the fact most anyone I see anymore is either at work or at the bar. No one comes over for dinner like people used to. No one sees the eccentric safety net of my walls nor do they smell the comfort of my kitchen. Not only do I never have anyone to ask me who painted all the canvas on my walls but it's not like I put out any videos or short stories like I used to either. No one to ask how I learned to do all those things.
So maybe it's fair I'm looked at as just a bartender because I don't offer up evidence that there is anything else worth being seen.
Without further ado, here is my introduction long overdue.
When no one is around, I like to clean. Maybe I'll get on my phone and chat up a friend I miss or haven't caught up with or maybe I'll blare some dubstep or house music, but I like to organize my clutter. I'm messy, not dirty. Random placings of work clothes or bags when I get home don't bother me but it would seem once a week my brain will switch and I'll find a place for the shoes that never seem to leave the front door or the backpacks I claim as diaper bags that get left on the counters or coffee table.
Coffee. I love coffee. It's not necessarily my need-to-drink-to-wake-up beverage more than my beginning-of-work-day beverage. The pot I put on in the late afternoon even when I know I'm not going to drink it but I really wanted to smell it. The grounds I take straight from the pot and use as a scrub in the shower to wake up my dead skin and caffeinate my depressed face, making it feel so smooth and smelling like Happy.
Of all the things I love the most, books go hand in hand with coffee. When my tot started walking and getting into things, the one thing that could make me irate was chewing on the corners of the books nicely placed in their shelves. Are they alphabetized? Descending by size? Colourized this time or maybe the shelves are by subject matter? Depends on the month and my mood that you'll see the bookshelves change their placement and only one time did I go by the Dewy Decimal System and never again because there was no feng shui appeal to it. The best subject matter are the stories that don't end quite right. There is a resolution but it's not always a happy ending. I like reading about tragedy of individuals that claw their way out. Not success. Just realistic struggle.
Along with reading, writing has been there too. College sparked the most of it, trying to post at least once a week or couple weeks and always having stories to tell because my life has always been entertaining to say the least. When the ball got rolling and StumbleUpon was starting to get popular, I entered many of my writings on the site and next thing I knew I had 11,000 readers and for some reason the 2nd largest group of readers in a country was from Russia next to the U.S. The older I got the less I wrote and I found I didn't want to write my fun stories. I wanted to write the sad ones. The last two submissions are for people I loved who passed. One of natural causes and the other murdered.
I've been to three schools for formal education which resulted in 3 degrees and 2 certifications but all it means is that I loved learning. I'm not disappointed that I haven't necessarily done anything as active for my career with most of these things but later I also learned I didn't need the education background for anything that I wanted to do. Still not disappointed. A main philosophy I love living by is "Live life with no regrets." I think I do a pretty good job of that and am okay with the lessons I've learned. For the curious though, the career paths I could have taken with each of these was a coroner, a glorified accountant, a CNA, and a film editor. Two of which I successfully took on as a job or a hobby but my life isn't over and maybe that's why I'm not disappointed.
The longest job I had was three years and it was working at a care center. Elderly. I've had a love for old people for as long as I could remember. Their stories are always better than mine and listening to the hard lessons has prevented me from making my own hard lessons. It goes back to not wanting to regret. I don't want to lay on my death bed wishing I had said something to someone or wishing I had tried something different. Not only do most elderly have the lessons they learned, but I believe are also like sponges and are good at listening. In the generations before us, if they could not relate, they didn't change the subject. They listened more. The bitter old bastards you know are the ones that never absorbed the world around them. I truly believe that.
I'm not military but It's always the first question I get asked when someone finds out just how many states I've lived in or how many times I've moved. Maybe it was moving at such a young age 2,000 miles across the United States that I found comfort in knowing that you can always restart your life and the more you do it, the easier it is. But also. The more you do it the harder it is to find people to bear your soul to. I've had more jobs than years I am old and when I applied for dispatcher and had to put every address I'd lived in the 5 previous years did I realize that on paper I really do look like a transient. Bartending, I get asked all the time where I am from and most every time it results in me shaking my head, "Everywhere, baby. I'm a gypsy." No one really questions that once it's said. It usually follows up with a, Oh cool, or my favourite, Where is the best place you've ever lived?
I say it's my favourite question, but within my answer lies great disdain and why I had to leave there is something I am never honest about.
The beauty of the countries that I've travelled to and the simplicity of other countries that I've read about makes me almost embarrassed to call myself an American. I don't enjoy our foundation nor people's general beliefs and touchiness but Be the change you want to see! has made me stick it out this long and maybe change some perspectives around me like a ripple in the water.
I used to sell art for money. Now I just have an abundance of my canvases and paints and yarn and varnishes and finishes and pencils and endless sketchbooks and unfinished paintings in a room I call my Art Room that just sits there until the next time a fire lights my ass and I feel like I can complete something great. My latest project has been picture frames and it really does make me happy how cool they've all turned out.
This is probably the most honest I've been publicly in a while. In recent years I've been called "emotionally unavailable" but I don't see how that's true. I think I'm just like everyone else. My public face, and my face around friends; it just so happens that my two faces are very different from each other and the difference is very obvious once you know it's there.
Until next time. I'll try not to be another 3 years.
This piece was mainly prompt by a conversation that I had with my manager the other night. "Does no one really know anything about me other than I bartend?" Genuine confusion. As if anyone that I surround myself with now days grew up with me or have even seen me display any other kind of interest. I think it's mainly due to the fact most anyone I see anymore is either at work or at the bar. No one comes over for dinner like people used to. No one sees the eccentric safety net of my walls nor do they smell the comfort of my kitchen. Not only do I never have anyone to ask me who painted all the canvas on my walls but it's not like I put out any videos or short stories like I used to either. No one to ask how I learned to do all those things.
So maybe it's fair I'm looked at as just a bartender because I don't offer up evidence that there is anything else worth being seen.
Without further ado, here is my introduction long overdue.
When no one is around, I like to clean. Maybe I'll get on my phone and chat up a friend I miss or haven't caught up with or maybe I'll blare some dubstep or house music, but I like to organize my clutter. I'm messy, not dirty. Random placings of work clothes or bags when I get home don't bother me but it would seem once a week my brain will switch and I'll find a place for the shoes that never seem to leave the front door or the backpacks I claim as diaper bags that get left on the counters or coffee table.
Coffee. I love coffee. It's not necessarily my need-to-drink-to-wake-up beverage more than my beginning-of-work-day beverage. The pot I put on in the late afternoon even when I know I'm not going to drink it but I really wanted to smell it. The grounds I take straight from the pot and use as a scrub in the shower to wake up my dead skin and caffeinate my depressed face, making it feel so smooth and smelling like Happy.
Of all the things I love the most, books go hand in hand with coffee. When my tot started walking and getting into things, the one thing that could make me irate was chewing on the corners of the books nicely placed in their shelves. Are they alphabetized? Descending by size? Colourized this time or maybe the shelves are by subject matter? Depends on the month and my mood that you'll see the bookshelves change their placement and only one time did I go by the Dewy Decimal System and never again because there was no feng shui appeal to it. The best subject matter are the stories that don't end quite right. There is a resolution but it's not always a happy ending. I like reading about tragedy of individuals that claw their way out. Not success. Just realistic struggle.
Along with reading, writing has been there too. College sparked the most of it, trying to post at least once a week or couple weeks and always having stories to tell because my life has always been entertaining to say the least. When the ball got rolling and StumbleUpon was starting to get popular, I entered many of my writings on the site and next thing I knew I had 11,000 readers and for some reason the 2nd largest group of readers in a country was from Russia next to the U.S. The older I got the less I wrote and I found I didn't want to write my fun stories. I wanted to write the sad ones. The last two submissions are for people I loved who passed. One of natural causes and the other murdered.
I've been to three schools for formal education which resulted in 3 degrees and 2 certifications but all it means is that I loved learning. I'm not disappointed that I haven't necessarily done anything as active for my career with most of these things but later I also learned I didn't need the education background for anything that I wanted to do. Still not disappointed. A main philosophy I love living by is "Live life with no regrets." I think I do a pretty good job of that and am okay with the lessons I've learned. For the curious though, the career paths I could have taken with each of these was a coroner, a glorified accountant, a CNA, and a film editor. Two of which I successfully took on as a job or a hobby but my life isn't over and maybe that's why I'm not disappointed.
The longest job I had was three years and it was working at a care center. Elderly. I've had a love for old people for as long as I could remember. Their stories are always better than mine and listening to the hard lessons has prevented me from making my own hard lessons. It goes back to not wanting to regret. I don't want to lay on my death bed wishing I had said something to someone or wishing I had tried something different. Not only do most elderly have the lessons they learned, but I believe are also like sponges and are good at listening. In the generations before us, if they could not relate, they didn't change the subject. They listened more. The bitter old bastards you know are the ones that never absorbed the world around them. I truly believe that.
I'm not military but It's always the first question I get asked when someone finds out just how many states I've lived in or how many times I've moved. Maybe it was moving at such a young age 2,000 miles across the United States that I found comfort in knowing that you can always restart your life and the more you do it, the easier it is. But also. The more you do it the harder it is to find people to bear your soul to. I've had more jobs than years I am old and when I applied for dispatcher and had to put every address I'd lived in the 5 previous years did I realize that on paper I really do look like a transient. Bartending, I get asked all the time where I am from and most every time it results in me shaking my head, "Everywhere, baby. I'm a gypsy." No one really questions that once it's said. It usually follows up with a, Oh cool, or my favourite, Where is the best place you've ever lived?
I say it's my favourite question, but within my answer lies great disdain and why I had to leave there is something I am never honest about.
The beauty of the countries that I've travelled to and the simplicity of other countries that I've read about makes me almost embarrassed to call myself an American. I don't enjoy our foundation nor people's general beliefs and touchiness but Be the change you want to see! has made me stick it out this long and maybe change some perspectives around me like a ripple in the water.
I used to sell art for money. Now I just have an abundance of my canvases and paints and yarn and varnishes and finishes and pencils and endless sketchbooks and unfinished paintings in a room I call my Art Room that just sits there until the next time a fire lights my ass and I feel like I can complete something great. My latest project has been picture frames and it really does make me happy how cool they've all turned out.
This is probably the most honest I've been publicly in a while. In recent years I've been called "emotionally unavailable" but I don't see how that's true. I think I'm just like everyone else. My public face, and my face around friends; it just so happens that my two faces are very different from each other and the difference is very obvious once you know it's there.
Until next time. I'll try not to be another 3 years.
