What I Learned: September 25

This week: I break a personal record at the bar, strategize ways to make things on the internet work and meet The Game.


So I’ve been going back and forth all morning with Waffle about things to do when I get out of work. See, I work weekends while Waffle gets every other weekend off. I am forced to ask this question: Where was I when these kinds of schedules were being handed out?

With my luck I was probably working.

I any case I also have plans with someone else because, let’s face it, I have that kind of luck where things go exactly the way I think they will.

In short: Waffle winds up canceling on me but I wind up connecting with someone else to wind up at a bar.

Not to sound like an animal but I wind up at the same bar where last week, I had the the most awkward experience with the most braindead bartender because I believe in the place and I tend to have a good time with decent people. So naturally after a few hours:

I get home before midnight, gurgling and trying to not text anyone out of context. I think I watched the new episode of Doctor Who but to be honest, I’m not a fan of perpetually pissed off throbbing forehead vein having Peter Capaldi.

Sorry fam.

I would’ve been better if Clara was actually a Time Lord or even a Doctor or at least Michelle Gomez’ Master was given more scenery to chew. I’ve lost faith in Moffat as a showrunner and I just keep thinking “Why couldn’t they just lock in Natalia Tena for this role? Why’d it have to be a crusty ass white male? Why’d we forget about Danny Pink? When is Clara going to declare her love for the girl she was hanging with before The Doctor? Why am I sober?” You know, real questions.

Anyways. I knock out.


Round two of text talk with Waffle…which starts at 7:30 in the morning.


Again, like a loser, I answer and feel the stirrings of hope in the shitty little thing I call a heart and indulge in the conversation because for some reason, liquor fueled sleep is always the best sleep I have.

The thing that sucks about that is when you’re sluggish from a good night out, you feel it all moving around your body. I actually get winded moving around to get up and I immediately start saying, “I’m quitting for real. It’s done.” I also push myself more to work out and make sure my fat ass can outrun a chainsaw wielding maniac but I’m always so tired.

Backtrack: It’s not the booze’s fault, it’s my fault that I can’t just time manage things.

I get to work super early and prepare for what I know will happen: Everything is going to fall to the last second because I have plans (which I never have) and of course the universe likes to keep testing me.

We have slightly serious debate about whether what a woman wears directly impacts her odds of being raped and I have to remember that I’m still a 31 year old world weary female and these are two guys who’ve never had to double check anywhere they’ve been for anything in their lives. Ah, to be part of the patriarchy.

It doesn’t bother me so much as make me sad that the American culture, the patriarchal nature of living in the world, limits and taints the way men view women to the point where they’re simply just things to look at or touch when they want to. We tell girls not to expose their shoulders in the summer because hormonal stupid boys won’t be able to not focus on the lessons; we tell them they’re valuable based on what they wear and that a boy’s education is way more valuable than a woman’s right to comfort. It’s a little infuriating. I’m putting away the soap box.

On the low I’ve been planning to meet Waffle for a movie day and wind up, because of course the universe works like this, having to sprint from work to the theater. Along the way I ask myself why the hell am I even bothering considering the way things have been between us lately; me with my still inexplicable optimism Waffle being Waffle, stressed and angry. I race to the theater in record time and see The Scorch Trials.

gotta get in shape, dystopia is gonna suck

The movie is pretty good (didn’t even read the books and I’m a jerk about that kind of thing) and I do my best to stay out of Waffle’s wrath because basically the road to the movies was paved in my being cursed out, called an asshole and being made to feel like shit because of fucking Mercury in retrograde.



Wheels up into work where I build a portion of a set, put a mic on The Game and try my damnedest to not let the anxiety get to me while planning a few things that need to be done for what sounds like the most taxing day ever on Wednesday.

I shovel less than delicious italian food into my face after a super breakneck speed day and wind up with an awkward case of angry tummy.

When I get home, I start watching wrestling because I’m an adult and Waffle texts me with some of the most heartbreakingly why would you even talk about that messages and I wind up staring at the ceiling trying to understand how long one can stay numb. Basically, do we not go to a concert because of feelings? I could care less but it’s the fact that I spent the money, I want to go and you need a break.

I’ll fucking sell them if anything.

Perhaps kindness needs to be beaten out of me.

The concert in question: Tove Lo


I think I have a breakfast fueled by peanut butter and bagels.

I buy candy for everyone because I actually live in a van and want everyone to be my friend. Trying to fill it up with puppies and kittens is a serious chore…buuuuut.

It’s a lot.

I plan for tomorrow because its’ going to be one of those days where everyone wants to give up and murder everyone else like it’s the only way to survive. I’ve noticed that I’m making inroads but the confidence is still 100000000000% in the trash. Means nothing.

I leave late.


First shoot: This dude from Shark Tank who basically makes me feel like I should reevaluate how I pitch EVERYTHING. Which is good because he’s super nice and Canadian and that’s basically a weakness.

I get a text invite to a New York Liberty game and full discloser, I haven’t been going or had any interest in attending. SO. I wind up saying yes.

Second Shoot: Jaleel White. Urkle. I mean. If we’re talking bout 90s nostalgia being over the top…it’s this shoot. He’s nice. doesn’t want to talk about Urkle at all and honestly I’m glad I didn’t wear my retro shirt (I have no retro shirt with his face on it, I’m not a savage) honestly? he’s awesome and I’m glad he’s a genuine good dude. He’s also directed HELLA tv shows so that means he’s basically working and making things happen.

Third shoot: I have to do something else. that’s at 6. I shoot it and hope for the stars.

the game is at 7. I leave at 7:00

I arrive to MSG at 7:05.

I have long legs and determination.

I watch the first two quarters and get into my seat with my dudes with two minutes left in the second. Halftime is weird because its like the brand is struggling to find it’s niche and also we’re lacking direction as a whole. I basically stare off and wonder what could’ve been…and low key struggle to not text Waffle who’s still MIA from me.

y u no answer my text

After the stunning win, we get pizza and I race uptown to my brother’s house where a gallon of honey jack whisky is waiting for me.

I make a few snaps that I don’t send because I’m not that ripped and at 2am I send one text to waffle, figuring she’s at work and will appreciate it.

I’m wrong.

I get no answer.

I think tap out at 2:15 after tipping over in a seat from a 18 hour day. I don’t know. I might’ve done a full 24 hour day and not even know it.


Sleeping into the double digits is a strange luxury. I wake up at 10:30 and giggle at my godmother interacting with the TV and yelling about the pope. Honestly. It’s hilarious.

I spend the day chilling with my brother, watching the most random fucking anime ever and then some south park episodes that make us marvel at how good these guys are.

I get a text from whatshername and basically explain Wonder Woman Wednesday which results in a dinner invite I just can’t take.


My brother laughs at it all and we just sit in his room until my ass goes numb in the folding chair I’ve been using the whole time.

I feel terrible because again, I feel like an absentee parent. He’s a good man (yikes!) and I don’t know how to fix that. I have so many things to fix and I’ve only one shabby ass toolkit. I don’t know how to do it all, if I should and what’s priority. Honestly, I feel wasted all over again.

I leave at 6:30 and wind up tackling some home projects, finishing my imported Irish whisky (Tullamore Dew) in my Loot Crate sent mug and prepare for my ‘cousin’ who’s landed a ‘dream job’ to come over and muck up my terrible black hole of an apartment.

I watch Tove Lo live videos just so i don’t feel like I’m wasting my money and time in trying to get Waffle to reconsider the whole, ‘this is going to be awkward because of stupid fucking reasons’ I want to sell the tickets but low key I want to see this show…I’ve been on for awhile I should go…I bought them though because Waffle likes Tove Lo and I’m a sucking up and sad.


It’s 5 am and I’m a car going to Pennsylvania.

By 11:30 I’m a WalMart buying more toys, two bluray movies, a pocket coloring book and another suck up toy for Waffle.

By 2 we’re back in the car on the road and I’m still working on work emails.

By 4 we’re in a cracker barrel shoveling food down our throats.

When we get home it’s a little past 7, it’s dark and I’m coloring.

No word from Waffle but tomorrow, I’ll be in SoleXChange hopefully making another internet banger.


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