Corrections

I meant to also give a shoutout to one of my oldest and dearest friends, Chrissy, yesterday. She sent me the aforementioned box of Thin Mints. Thank you, Bits. Like Junior Mints, Thin Mints are very refreshing!

I call Citibank fairly regularly to check my account balance. That automated voice is so nice. But what I fully expect her to say is:

"Your current and available checking balance is: Zero Dollars. The available credit in your checking plus account is: Six Dollars. You have no money. Ever. A homeless person is less broke than you are. Do you understand? Homeless. You should be wearing 1986 white sneakers three sizes too large without shoelaces and smell like a shit blister on the ass of Horatio Sanz after he was ass-raped by someone yelling "you're not funny, you fat fuck!" But instead you're living in an apartment that anyone else would rent for $2500 and going to McDonald's with a credit card. What part of no money don't you get, you 29-year-old loser? Yes, you have fantastic hair, great friends and family that love you but the rest of your life pretty much blows. Okay, sure, Christopher Durang emailed you back . . . but you're not Christopher Durang. And Christopher Durang went to an ivy league school and had classmates like Sigourney Weaver."

Hey Hackett: Greggk and Jen are moving to NYC next week. I'm hoping to move in with them. East Gratton Street reunion, ya heard? Of course, they don't know that yet . . .

Alec Baldwin is short

That's right. You heard it here folks. There I was, getting a lunchtime happy meal (due to the period. I think Morgan Spurlock would at least applaud the size, if nothing else) on 7th and 14th and as I headed back north, there he was. Clad in black. Smelled expensive and delicious. Greyish hair, gorgeous blue eyes, puffy face. Looked rather short but my perception of short and tall is skewed these days. I tried to take a pic with my cam phone but alas, he was too far away. He looked busy, handsome, important. Sigh. Wanted to get closer for a better whiff. Alas.

Oh a quick shoutout to Shanonie: I ate Thin Mints recently as I watched Terry Schivo's husband on the TV. I felt your absence intensely.

In other news, my father continues to be insane.

"Kad, how's your job?"

"Eh."

"That's what I thought. Have you been looking?"

"You know I've been looking."

"For three months, right?"

"Right."

"You're being too picky."

"No, I'm not."

"You're not trying hard enough."

"Dad, that's ridiculous."

"Well, clearly you're doing something wrong."

"I can't force people to call me, Dad."

"All I know is you're unhappy there. And if you're unhappy there, your work is probably suffering and you have to get out."

"Dad, we covered this three months ago. Why are you repeating yourself?"

"You. Have. To. Get. Out."

"Dad, what do you think I'm doing?"

"You're clearly not trying hard enough. You're in the best job market in the country."

(laughing with incredulity) "Dad, you're absolutely right. It is my fault that employers are not calling me. I can certainly force them to. I'm sure there aren't any other factors at play. Thanks."

"You make me feel lousy. This conversation is over. Goodbye."

"Okay. Bye!"

And even I was typing this, I realized: maybe my dad's memory is really going. He recently lectured me on relationships, the same lecture, twice. Now he's given me this lecture twice. But he's always been deaf, something Ness pointed out recently. It's like . . even if we're in agreement, we're still fighting. But I took my shrink's most recent advice of "don't expect your dad to be a loving, nurturing parent and thus he won't disappointing you." So, although I was a little shaken and pissed when I got off the phone with my dad, I managed to laugh it off and reinvest in myself and my goals.

I recently found myself revisiting the goals I hope to accomplish before marriage. These are:
1. get out of debt
2. stop living in an apt my father owns
3. get published a collection of my plays

Wow. Those are the big three. And the first two pretty much go hand in hand. If those are my big goals, then .. .shouldn't every single thing I do contribute to those ends?

Do I sell everything in my apartment and get a $550 share somewhere? In a way, going back to my early days in New York, when things were certainly simpler but I was a lot dumber. And if my relationship with my dad is going to be shitty no matter what, how can moving out of his place make it any worse, truly? I recognize that it will be an inconvenience to have two apartments on the market at the same time but maybe the same realtor can sell both. Maybe that's not really my problem.

Friends and comrades, please advise.

Wisdom from the silver fox

a wise man wrote this:

we've all had breakups, and i imagine whatever disruptive secondguessing they produce in regular people gets exponentially tweaked when marriage and fiances are involved. in the end it's all the same thing, which is good to remember . . .

no, i haven't had a breakup lately but i think "disruptive secondguessing" is a fantastic phrase. everyone has some sort of past experience that makes them a touch more sensitive in certain areas. for me, it's being taken for granted, my time, energy and heart not being valued. i'm sure there are others. i'd also like to point out that i may not fall under under the umbrella of "regular people" as i take each breakup incredibly seriously/personally. a failed relationship is due to some failing or inadequacy of my own, rather than "maybe you guys weren't compatible" or "maybe you were rebounding" or "maybe he was an immature idiot who crapped his pants in public" or whatever. you get the idea.

i think it's good to be wary of the way you were mistreated in the past or to be aware of the mistakes you made in the past to ensure that it doesn't happen again but one must never put that on the new love in your life. it does a great disservice both to you and to them and to yourselves. one guy once said to me "i really feel like you're not arguing with me."

and he was right.

Things that help me get through the day

KEXP.org
if you've never listened to this radio station (i'm listening to it now), you are truly missing out. you can listen to it on that there internet thingy. i asked our IT guy for speakers in which i could plug in headphones and they're tall, like the length of my calves and now i'm insulated in this little cocoon of new and delicious music, mostly indie rock with the occasional song from the 80s that I'd forgotten I missed.

Other things: iced coffee. Knowing that 6pm is there somewhere. Seinfeld: 6:30, 7:30 and 11pm.

oh, but here's another fun workplace annoyance:

(phone call)
"This is Katherine."

"Hi, can I speak to Alexis?"

"Who?"

"Alexis."

"I don't know who that is."

"She gave me this number."

"Oh, wait, maybe she's the temp in marketing. Do you know if she's temping at FN?"

"No idea."

"I'll transfer you. In the future, she's at 5369."

(2 phonecalls for Alexis later)

"This is Katherine."

"Yes, may I please speak to Alexis?"

(sigh)

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Rabbi Schultz."

"And where did you get this number?"

"Alexis gave it to me."

"You're one of several people who has called me for Alexis. Can you just tell me what number she gave you?"

The Rabbi repeats my number.

"Please update your records. Here's her number. 5369. I'll transfer you."

I then sent a hateful email to the temp, who apologized profusely. Apparently she was looking at a very old business card of the employee for whom she was temping which did indeed list my extension.

In the words of the Ness: WHORE!

A character study

Because you never know who is reading what where, it seemed like a good idea to delete this post. I've saved it elsewhere. Sigh.

A new MO, perhaps?

A wise man with a medical degree suggested the following to me wednesday morning:

the reason my dad continues to hurt me is not because of his poor behavior but because of a change that i need to make within myself.

if I let go of my ideal, the commonly held belief that a parent should be loving and responsive toward his children, then my dad's behavior simply won't bother me anymore.

feels like a very Buddhist notion, no? Something about how attachments to people and ideals only create suffering. Once we let go, suffering will cease. I'm hardly enlightened though and to somehow undo nearly 30 years of suffering with this man by seemingly letting him off the hook . . . ?

I'm reminded of a scene in The Prince of Tides. Nick Nolte's sons are playing with Nick Nolte's incredibly abusive father, who is now a mellow old man.

"They love you, Dad," says Nick Nolte.

The part that bugs me the most is the seeeming injustice. The idea that my dad will continue to get away with this kind of behavior. That he will continue to think that it's okay.

"Your father's behavior and what goes on in his head is not up to you. It's not your agenda. All you can do is heal yourself. As long as you continue to feel anger and resentment towards him, you are only hurting yourself."

You are hurting yourself.

I am hurting myself.

"But sometimes I just want to sever my relationship with him."

"You can't. Even if you never speak to him again, he will still be your father. You will still have a relationship with him."

Even ignoring someone is still giving them a response.

And so, if I were to embrace this philosophy, a lot of things could suddenly fall into place. If I choose to move out of the apartment or not . . it doesn't matter. If I go to Florida and I don't see him, it doesn't matter. In a way, it takes a shocking amount of pressure off of myself. Because, should the anger/resentment fade, so will the "I'll show him!" mentality.

So maybe ignoring him for a monthish was a good thing. It sent a signal without actually contributing further anger toward the fire.

craptastic.

It’s the inner battle as old as time: the fine line between being nice and standing your ground. Letting your feelings be known without being a bitch. Friday night I saw the chick who’d unknowingly hurt my feelings, invaded my territory. I met her husband, who’d driven from Boston to New York to surprise her. And the kicker of it is: I really like her. She glowed next to her husband. I don’t think she’s malicious or that she has any sneaky designs and I felt guilty. In my head, I revisited the email I’d sent her: Was I friendly enough? I had taken great pains to not sound accusatory. I’d tried to speak from the “I” . .I was hurt, I don’t have the same comfort levels as you, I was freaked out, I think you’re awesome so I hope you can understand . . .

My parents raised me to be polite. My dad raised me to be quiet. My acting teachers told me my jaw tension and lack of eye contact would prove problematic, the origins of both painfully obvious. For sadder scenes, I’d massage my jaw until I wept. For everything else, I’d stare into my partner’s pupils till my contact lenses clouded, then wrinkled awkwardly onto my eyes, rendering me legally blind in one if not both.

The older I get, the less patience I have, as though swallowing my words for so long left me incapable of not spitting out thoughts the moment they take shape in my gut.

This past month has been extremely difficult, maintaining a steady level of happiness near-impossible. Yet I’ve drank less and worked out more than I have in a couple of years and I’m still on the happy pills so I don’t know what’s going on. Ideally, I’d like to not be on the happy pills anymore. I don’t know that they’re doing their job. I think they’re still keeping the crazy from coming out, for the most part and for that they’re indispensable. But why can’t I have the wherewithal within me to keep the crazy at bay? Do I? Maybe I should start going to monthly therapy sessions again.

I think I’d be happy with something even less than happiness, as long as it wasn’t this. I’ve fought with a general sense of unease for so long: my apartment, my crickety joints, my finances, my relationship with my dad, my continuous anger towards Fat Daly and Julie . . that sense of how dare you that permeates my existence, my job versus whatever career for which I’m truly destined, you know, the one that uses the skills God gave me.

For years I’ve felt about to hatch but when will that day come?

I keep this postcard near my monitor at home. It’s white typeface on black. It reads:

BE YOURSELF.
THERE IS SOMETHING THAT YOU
CAN DO BETTER THAN ANY OTHER.
LISTEN TO THE INWARD VOICE
AND BRAVELY OBEY THAT.

I keep another one near my monitor at work, the same idea:

NEVER LET THE ODDS
KEEP YOU FROM DOING
WHAT YOU KNOW IN YOUR HEART
YOU’RE MEANT TO DO.

These cards stare at me. And somewhere inside I feel my heart breaking. Each thing I do seems to bring me closer to something of some substance, I believe. Quitting temping was probably a good idea, temporarily got my dad off my back (Christ, why should that even be a consideration for an adult?) and gave Gabe and I the space we should’ve had when we broke up four years ago. At my current job I use my brain mostly for organizational purposes and a dash of creativity. In reality, I dream of having playwright Christopher Durang as my mentor. We meet for coffee once a week. He’s older, kind and unpretentious. He looks at my scripts, gives me feedback. Over time I find out his life story, how he became a writer who gets paid for his work. I’ve received some sort of grant and don’t have to work in an office where I sludge away for little money, thanks or recognition.

I don’t know how people do it. Become adults. Although I don’t wish to repeat childhood, I think it was probably better, in some ways, than this. College. I’d do college again. Yes. But knowing what I know now.

open life, insert shitbasket

so it's been a rough monthish for yours truly. perhaps the most comedic element of all is that i can't go into it. well, parts of it i can. there's the part about my dad ceasing to talk to me. there's the part about someone i really like unknowingly hurting my feelings. hopefully she and i can see eye to eye. in my gut, i think it'll be fine. although sometimes when you mean well, things can sometimes still go poorly but if you truly come from a place of kindness and handle things like a grown-up, i like to believe things work out. and no, if you're reading this, you're not the person in question. and no, if you're a guy, you're not the person in question. thanks and god bless.

my sister and i have a joke. when we start acting irrational, we tell ourselves "Ron has entered the building." i know i have some of his worst faults and it scares the crap out of me. but whereas he often holds things in until some petty thing makes him explode out of nowhere, i think i sort of throw my upsettedness at people and hope they'll help me out with it. i often feel like steve carrell's character in Anchorman: "LOUD NOISES!"

http://image3.excite.co.jp/jp/cinema/photos/Reps/989967/MCDANTH/MCDANTH_EC047_T.JPG
i talked to at least three people last night while sobbing my face off. i had a run-in with one of my managers at the subway and he was a total prick to me. but, as he's a total prick to me in the office as well, i suppose he's consistent, if nothing else.

but moodiness, enlarged boobies also come with captain bloodsnatch and his arrival brings the sigh of relief and the feeling of "oh, that" ... sort of that feeling of insanity that hits you when you're tripping and you remind yourself the gentle waves of the ceiling and the walls are all in your head and it's strangely fascinating. thus do i look at myself.

been trying to think about what to give up for lent. will it be the occasional smoke? the only true vice i have at this point is coffee. this month i've had 4 glasses of wine and about 3 beers. THIS MONTH. That's barely a given tuesday most times of my life.

and it's official. yesterday was my "try on the pants you used to wear all the time before you developed beer thighs" day. and, dare i say it, there is now only one, one of six pairs of pants that i can't zip up. i was able to successfully button and zip the other five pairs. will i be wearing any of them to work this month? prolly not. but how nice to have a goal. april fools day i will have another report. for now, i am six pounds lighter and certainly healthier/stronger.