Hold the Glimmer

Posts Tagged ‘regret

May 30, 2012

 

It’s been over a month since my dreaded…day…of…(it’s still really difficult to talk about. There is no closure. I still don’t understand it. I still can’t wrap my head around the events. I’m constantly questioning every single day of employment, what I could have potentially done wrong, how I got here…all that wonderfully depressing shit((yes, it’s worse than a breakup)) and I’m having a REALLY DIFFICULT TIME figuring out what to do now that I have all this free time to not meticulously plan someone’s day to day life. I’ve spent the last nine years building a career, saying a big “fuck you” to higher education, and building one of the best resumes I’ve seen thus far from a 27 year old, so having actual time to do whatever the fuck I want is….weird. Did I mention horribly depressing? I did. Let’s just set that tone real quickly; this post will be a lot easier to understand once you realize I’m a prime candidate to take over the Zoloft rock’s job. 

____________________________________________________________

 Well.

… that was depressing.

Friends! Hi! How’s it going! Anyone out there still holding the glimmer? I sure as hell am!  The excerpt above was the absolute last thing I wrote dedicated to this blog before my tailspin of depression which turned in to the absolute best six (err…nine…) months of my life.  You see, life has been intense.  I know you’ve all held your breath waiting for me to update you on everything Tracy, but for a while there, I didn’t think I would make it out alive.  Maybe that was just my liver talking.  Maybe my liver still doesn’t know what I’m doing.  Maybe I hate my liver and my liver hates me.  Maybe… We move along.

I never realized how difficult it was not having a job.  (Before you read the following few paragraphs, please feel free to let out an audible groan.  I realize how little sorrow you feel for me over the next few words you read, but I promise they have a point.  Or maybe the don’t.  I don’t give a fuck.)  While I complained on a daily basis about sitting behind a desk,  I didn’t understand how difficult it was to have a conversation about not sitting behind a desk.  That desk became my identity.  You see, so many interactions are formed around that job.  It’s shocking how much self worth and value is established around a job- any kind of job- but just a job.  I didn’t know how to not talk about a job or, not having one.  Try going on a first date three weeks after losing your job.  Let me know how awesome it feels when you’re trying to build yourself up as this incredibly worthy, date-able specimen (trust me- it ends in a paid cab ride because you had four too many Manhattans.  Trust. Me.) Try having an interest in going to dinner or lunch with your friends and talking about their lives and their jobs and how much they are succeeding in life as you dive deeper in to an abyss of self doubt.  It was daunting and depressing and instead of not talking about not having a job, I did everything that a person without a job did.  (Get ready for the groans, kids…) 

After a few REALLY LONG WEEKS of being more miserable than I can even begin to explain, I physically forced myself to snap out of it, and realized I was granted an early summer vacation. Time was of the essence and I was going to use that wisely (kinda wisely…) I made plans with practically every person I knew and every person I didn’t know.  I inadvertently started a mission to thoroughly enjoy my life and whatever came of it.  This included, but was not limited to: concerts, days on the beach, drinks, concerts, Disneyland, lunches, concerts, really awkward/amazing online dates, more drinks, dinners, fuck I spent a lot of money on concerts. While my parents weren’t too fond of the idea, I planned a solo road trip to Salt Lake City to see some of my best friends and my favorite band, Passion Pit.  Apparently, the lead singer was going through some SEVERE inner turmoil as well and canceled the show (which may or may have not affected my already wavering depression issues), but I still packed up Winnie Cooper (that’s my ride, for any of the three readers who don’t know me…), and hit the open road.  My trip was beyond enlightening.  The Utah kids were Coachella friends that became family and I had a long week of whiskey and even more soul searching.  I’m not exactly sure when it hit; between three caramel macchiatos, an entire jumbo pack of fire breathing beef jerky and an exhausting 13 hour drive home, I was determined to completely change my life. And, I did.

I came back to LA knowing fully well that summer was on its tail end and I would be diving off the deep end into my first semester of school in over nine years.  I was an absolute nervous wreck at the idea of even walking in to a class room (Where would I sit?  Would I be the oldest in the classroom? What if I saw people I knew? What if my clumsy ass fell while walking in to the classroom and everyone laughed at me and I would forever be known as that old girl who fell in slow motion on the first day of classes? What would I wear?), let alone the fact that I had to crash every single class…. (BIG shout out to Los Angeles Community College District registration dept.  Really appreciate that registration date where all classes were filled four weeks prior to my registration date. That was super tight of you. Even more props for the financial aid I couldn’t get because of my 2011 income. GREAT, supportive start to my new scholastic me, really.)

Oddly enough, all of the fear and anxiety was completely unwarranted.  My first day of school was…absolutely incredible. I felt completely in my element and inspired to put every effort in to achieving the one regret I’ve held on to thus far in life- not getting my degree.  

Super fast forward to today, because Lord knows I’ve been doing a phenomenal job with staying accountable with my blog dreams: I managed a 3.0 in my first semester of school, stayed out of as much trouble as possible over winter break (not really, but that’s a whole different blog post..), lost about 30lbs, and found myself a suuuuper sweet boyfriend.  

WHAAAATTTTT?!?!

And that’s where I’m ending this post. A few doubts, a few questions, and a whole lotta suspense.

Love you guys xoxo 

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It’s been a rough one, glimmies.  I’m sure all three of you were well aware of our absence (please just let me believe you were at least.. I need SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN right now….), but SHIT has gone DOWN in the last month and I haven’t had enough time to formulate words in to a post.  Let me rephrase that- I’ve had MORE THAN ENOUGH TIME to write a post because I am officially unemployed.

 
yep.
 
Dream company? see yuh.
 
How did this all happen?  Well, I’m still in a haze of “unclear”, followed by shock, and the inevitable depression.  I wish I could write a series of events leading up to my “departure”, but I genuinely have no idea how it happened.  I was never warned, I was never counseled, hell I was being praised on a daily basis.  I guess not being “the right fit” in a group of 40+ year old scorned women, means I’m not ready to dedicate my life to being…a 40yr old..scorned woman?  Maybe my boss didn’t like exclamation points after my “Thanks” for the 20 Lakers tickets, handful of Clippers games, soccer games, concerts, or other notable events.  Maybe the board meeting I single-handedly prepared for 4 people (that turned into 12…the day of the meeting…at the penthouse of the Ritz…) wasn’t up to par, but the grateful emails from all attendee’s seemed to validate a good job?  Maybe he wasn’t happy that I was on vacation in the desert, sitting in my car, on the phone with the travel agency for over 30 minutes, scheduling same day flights and hotel accommodations to Texas and then a quick day stop in New York? Maybe I just wasn’t good at creating an entirely new filing system on my second week, purging an entire 4 foot cabinet of unnecessary files, and filing 6 years worth of stuff his last assistant “forgot” to do. Maybe learning their expense reporting program on my own and presenting him with an expense report for a months worths of receipts ( ON MY EIGHTH DAY) that i took it upon myself to track down from various hotels and restaurants across the country because his last assistant “forgot to do one and couldn’t find the receipts”….wasn’t good enough for him?
 
Who. knows. 
 
All I can remember is an HR rep walking in to his office at 4:15, his door opening at 4:30, and a calm “Hey Tracy, can you step inside my office for a minute” from ex-bossman, followed by “you were an incredible employee and we hope you can find another position within the company, but….” Then some blah, blah, blah, and ex-bossman interrupting HR rep with “I’m really sorry, but I’m late for a meeting.”  He stood up and walked out.  I didn’t get a hand shake.  I didn’t get a thank you.  I didn’t get an “I’m sorry.”  Just like that, it was done.  The HR rep asked for my badge, my parking pass, and told me I wasn’t allowed to touch my computer “for security reasons” and to grab whatever I could off of my desk.  She handed me a parking validation to get out of my lot.  And then, I left.  Just like that.  No tears, until I turned the corner on my last walk to my parking structure, where I started bawling uncontrollably and sprinting to my car.  To make matters even more comically worse, the validation I was given was expired.  I COULDNT EVEN EXIT THE GODDAMN PARKING LOT.  I drove around feverishly, trying to find a parking attendant, who then told me I would need my original parking pass to exit.  I tried to stay calm, but instead yelled “I JUST FUCKING LOST MY JOB AND I WANT TO GET OUT OF THIS FUCKING PARKING LOT.  THIS IS ALL THEY GAVE ME.  OPEN THE GATE BEFORE I DRIVE THROUGH IT.” And she did.  And I drove home, crying uncontrollably, calling my mom, calling my friends, yelling at drivers at the top of my lungs with the windows down, being THAT GIRL on the afternoon commute home.
 
(ps writing this is totally NOT THERAPEUTIC, DUKE.)
 
I’m so embarrassed.  I’m also pretty sure that’s the reason I’ve failed to inform MANY of my friends and family.  I just……ugh…I felt so important. I felt like the coolest kid in class being able to call friends on a whim to join me at the game that night, or for a concert, or whatever AWESOME thing was given to me for that night or weekend.  I know that friendships are more than some REALLY AWESOME GAMES, but to be able to give that to somebody?  Fuck man…it was just so damn cool.  I felt like a rock star.  Every. Night. Of. The. Week.
 
and then it all just… disappears.  Do you realize how difficult that is?  
 
Fortunately for me, I have the absolute most incredible support system in the world.  My meltdown lasted all of 22 hours, followed by the best soul-searching dinner of my life with Duke (granted, we were knee-deep in Tennessee honey (ie: whiskey…keep up kids..))  Duke, being one of the wisest in my arsenal of friends, reminded me that not only do I now have the opportunity to do whatever the fuck I want, but I can also go back to school and finally get my degree.
 
So, that’s what I’m going to do.  I’m going to pursue my dream of writing (without three hundred run-on sentences. ((HA or triple parenthesis! (((LIES.))) Who knows, this whole blog may take a new form of Community-esque amazement? I can’t even begin to imagine my new daily character encounters! Maybe it wont? All I know is that I’m holding the glimmer, as strongly as I can.

Step in to My Office…

…Goodnight Tracy
 
Welp.  The day of reckoning is upon us. In a mere 24 hours, I will be with Jesus.

Hahahahahahahahaahahah.

 Right. 

That guy wouldn’t pick me out of the “Who’s Going To Heaven” lineup even if it was between me and Charles Manson (Wow.  Shit. Just. Got. Real.)  I mean hell, I’m heading to Vegas this weekend solely to be with the sinners and celebrate our rise to power as all the good kids get dragged away.

-tangent-

Can we talk about how this is actually supposed to happen?  How do two hundred MILLION people miraculously disappear?  Do they all die a plague like death over a span of ninety minutes, getting bit by rats and popping boils?  Does one know they are chosen as they start self suffocating at 6pm (eastern folks, eastern.  That means 3pm pacific.  We good?)  Will chainsaws magically appear in the kitchen of a “chosen one” for their significant other to saw them in to bite sized Jesus baggage? What if all two hundred MILLION are dragged up to the clouds at the same time, while Joan Osborne’s “One of Us” screams through God’s loudspeakers?  I just…I need to know how this is physically happening.

-And, we’re back!

As Duke posted earlier, there will always be regrets.  Every person in my life knows I either hate them or love them (ya, start thinking about that one now..), so I have no regret in not including them in my list below (this is after all MY list.  Shouldn’t I have the final say who and what makes it on?). 

 

  • I never got to quit my job

(“OOOHHHHHHH! BIG regret you pansy ass!”- everyone who just read the first bullet point.)

Ya. I get it.  I’m wasting a spot on the elitist of lists. Seems like the most trivial of regrets to waste on such a noble scroll, but I’ve dreamed of that day for the last two years.  Remember when the “I quit” video of a hot chick with note cards spelling out the reasons she is quitting her job went viral?  All my coworkers gasped, my mom emailed me WHILE watching, begging me not to watch as she was afraid I would follow suit but in a less tasteful manner (she knows me so well..), and my newsfeed on Facebook was aflutter with commentary and reposting.   Personally, tears dropped with every single turn of a card as I was overcome with emotion.  She was so…thoughtful.  So…brave.  She was everything I ever wanted in a two week notice.  Granted, a week later, turns out awesome chick was just a fake (thanks again for crushing the dream that some people really do have balls in this world).  She still inspired me; and in a few days, I will 100% regret not shitting on my bosses desk, grabbing his hidden stash of 18yr scotch, throwing up the deuces, and screaming “fuck you corporate” as I exit the building.

  • I never got to eat a Big Mac

(please call the Un-American police as I have committed a crime….and then see sentiments from bullet point above and apply here as necessary)

I’ve never been a big fan of hamburgers.  As a child, I can remember inhaling hot dogs (literally, not figuratively) at family functions and BBQ’s, while Dad yelled that his burger wasn’t bleeding anymore and he could never eat such tainted meat.  Years later, I would come to find that my hot dog eating abilities would turn in to an obsession with seeing how many Dodger Dogs I could stuff in my purse and sneak out of the “All You Can Eat” section at Dodger Stadium (The record still stands at 22.  This is not a joke).  On the rare occasion my mom allowed her Mercedes to be seen in a drive-thru, I always ordered some form of chicken (yes, form.  I saw the other viral video of an unnamed restaurant mass producing their “nuggets”.  While the unfinished product would induce projectile vomiting from most, I immediately got in my car and drove to the nearest…rhymes with Shmick-Fonalds.  The same thing happened after watching “Super Size Me”.  I’m a marketing and advertiser’s dream.)  Regardless, I’ve heard wonderful things of this sandwich, special sauce and all, and do truly regret never being able to experience the joy that is Big Mac.

  • I never met Howard Stern

Oh, Howard, my hero.  I listen to you daily, religiously even. Your words, your reasoning, your undying devotion to becoming the king of all media have kept me on the edge of my seat during countless morning commutes and road trips. I know there are a multitude of reasons why we never crossed paths.  Mainly, I’m not an actress, porn star, author, tranny, athlete, comedian, game show host, willing to get naked on air or film (for free), but also because I live in Los Angeles.  I ponder what I would actually do standing face to face with my hero, but ultimately know I would stutter for words, pee my pants, and turn around in to a full paced sprint, hoping at the very least that the encounter makes it on his show.

  • I never really released my road rage

Maybe it’s just me (truer words have never been spoken), but every single time I get behind the wheel, it seems every horrible driver was notified via press release to get on the road and find me.  I’ve had my fair share of verbal confrontations (just because the window is up, doesn’t mean you can’t read my FUCK YOU lips).  I may be slightly overzealous with the only sign language I know as you cut me off at my exit on the freeway, but I’ve never stopped the car, stepped out of my vehicle and verbally… (or physically. I’ve been in one physical fight thus far in my life.  It started with ketchup and ended with me waking up in a police station with a fat lip, black eye, and no memory of how I got there. Baller.)… berated the asshole who almost made me spill my coffee.

Of all things I regret, I must admit that not focusing on my writing would top the list.  The poor regret didn’t even get a bullet point….(or a complete sentence…ugh)

So wherever you end up on Saturday, be it Hell, Heaven, or rehab, just know that life is one big regret. You either live or exist; but we all die.  Billy Joel and I can agree on one thing: “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.  The sinners are much more fun…”

Maybe I’m off my hinges, but it seems like our generation is really into this concept of “no regrets.”  It’s a nice idea – covering up the fact that certain events in your life have left you emotionally and physically scarred by insisting they made you the person you are today, and that you’re happy with who that person is.  It’s good to lie to other people about your internal satisfaction, for the same reason the Joker took a knife to his mouth – because a smile tells the world everything is okay.  But let’s cut the shit, because the clock is ticking and there’s a heck of a lot we missed out on.  We missed our big chance to ask Susie Peppercorn to the 8th grade formal.  We wish we had been more trusting of the nice guy who promised us candy in his van around the corner (Jolly Ranchers would have been worth the risk, in retrospect).  We should have thought of a game plan instead of letting the words flow out of our mouth like syrup mixed with desperation when we talked to that pretty blond at the bar last Friday.  I’m just being straight up – the magic book has scientifically proven that the world is ending in a few days.  So we can either get busy living, or get busy wishing we had lived more.  Since I still can’t bring myself to believe in magic – I’m going to pour myself a drink, and get busy regretting all the stuff I didn’t do with this life…

  • I didn’t get to escape from prison.  Why would I want to go to prison?  Come on, didn’t you ever watch OZ?  It’s awesome.  Rick Fox was on it.  And yes, I realize one has to be arrested, tried, and convicted before such a possibility can arise – and I certainly have no regret in failing to participate in these endeavors (although in all honestly, I’ve come closer than I’d like to admit).  I just always wanted to start a riot in the mess hall to create a diversion, dig through a concrete wall with a rock hammer, crawl through grinding turbines of power generators, sneak up on guards and stealthily break their necks with my bare hands, climb on the roof of a compound with flood lights searching as the helicopter flies in through darkness just in time for me to grab its dangling ladder, and pull myself to safety with machine gun bullets whizzing past my head.  It might be the claustrophobia caused by my crackerjack box of a cubicle that has me jonesing for an epic jailbreak, or perhaps I’ve seen Shawshank Redemption one too many times.  But for once, I would have liked to be the one who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side…
  • I regret not building that kick ass fort every kid dreams of.  I’m talking about a fort built of pillows and plywood, forged out of blankets and brawn.  Three stories of no-girls-allowed-big-boys-only fortliness, with a secret stash of playboys under a loose floorboard, a system of string-and-tin-can telephones connecting all the other forts in the neighborhood, trip wires surrounding the premises to warn us of approaching adults, a bar, pool table, jacuzzi, fly maids, a butler, a tricked out stage setup with automated light shows, huge plasma television, a kitchen with a chef, stripper p…  What?  Too much?  Hey, ask any guy – we all wanted one (as kids, and still today as adults), and if you were one of the lucky few who actually had it – I hope Jesus condemns you first.  You don’t deserve heaven, because you’ve already been there.    
  • I wish I had performed stand-up.  I think of comedians as class clowns who were never forced to grow up and get real jobs like the rest of us.  They live the dream, drunkenly offending and badgering their audience while occasionally sharing a gem or two about life – kind of like what we do here at HTG, but on stage… for money.  I’m not trying to say I’d be particularly good at it, because in truth I stumble over my words when struggling to make awkward conversation with the cashier at Vons (she’s only known me 20 years).  I guess for starters (is it late for starters?) I wish I had the nerve and comedic prowess to do it, but that’s neither here nor there.  It would have validated my existence on this Earth to be one of the few people to ever command a microphone and make people laugh, on purpose. 
  • I really wanted to hold a public office.  Even the city councilman from Bumfuck, AR gets his own parking spot and his name immortalized in some registry log for having voted to remove the stop light next to Art’s Barbershop on 6th Street.  It’s history, man, and I wanted to be a part of it – even a small one.  Getting elected to a public office validates your existence because lesser beings agree you’re more qualified to lead than they are (seriously, that’s what you’re saying by voting instead of running – if you think you can do better, you should).  Anyway, just like comedy, I’m not saying I’d be any good at it – but there’s just something appealing about wearing a power suit, and accepting briefcases full of money and free weekends in Laughlin as payment for allowing untreated waste from the local power plant to be rerouted through the city’s drinking water facility.  
  • I never got published!  I know it’s a pipe dream, but all I ever wanted was for someone to stumble across my facebook page, read my status and say, “give that man a book deal!”  I guess Shit Duke Says wasn’t as big a draw as I’d hoped.  And cocktail napkin musings aren’t taken too seriously, regardless of how nicely they’re bound together when shipped to Random House.  So, instead, I’ve kept my day job – sneaking over to our blog whenever nobody is looking (like right now, for instance) to put together wild gibberish with the intention of entertaining my fellow working men and women – who want, just as much as I, to creep out the window of reality and puff on the magical dragon of procrastination.  The intention was always to use this as a stepping stone – a practice ground to develop my skill (or lack, thereof) until it was worthy of sharing on a professional level; at which time I could execute my blogger-in-crime’s method of quitting with a bang, and move on with my rockstar writer lifestyle…  

But, that’s all in the past.  Like a spiteful bitch mother who blames her children for the loss of her dancer’s figure, I have nothing left but regrets and broken dreams.  “And now, the end is near, and so I face, the final curtain…”  Here’s hoping they read books in Hell.  Say goodnight Tracy.

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