I’m not a religious man, by any means. I refuse to believe that there’s someone watching down on the world, choosing whether ot not we’re going to have a good day or a shitty one. But, this weekend may’ve pushed me a little closer to believing.
You know how you leave money in your pocket, forget about it, and then get excited a month later when you find a dollar? Well, I was packing up my apartment on Monday afternoon, when I found a little bit of money underneath some papers on my desk. And by, a little bit of money, I obviously mean $2,000… cash. Don’t ask where it came from. I don’t wanna talk about my shady past as a heroin dealer. Just know that this fortunate discovery is all a part of your imaginary God’s master plan.
Some six or seven hours later, around eleven o’clock at night, I’m sitting in the far room of my empty apartment, watching TV and getting ready to pass out for a long day of work on Tuesday. I’m about to brush my teeth when I hear a knock at the door. I ignore it, thinking it was probably just a random sound from the parking lot outside of the window. Another knock. Who the hell could this be?
As I looked through the peep hole, I could only make out the shape of what looked like a person. That’s about it. It may have something to do with the dark hallway or the fact that the peep holes at this apartment complex are gross. Whatever. There was someone outside. I waited another 10 seconds until the figure knocked again. This time, I could tell it was a girl. I opened the door, and in front of me stood a woman who looked exactly like Mary Jane, from Half Baked. She looked fairly wholesome, wearing a sundress and smiling the entire time she looked at me. After a minute of confused staring, this is the conversation that ensued:
Me: Umm… Hey?
[A few more moments of awkward staring. She smiles, and then takes a step forward, as if she’s about to enter my apartment.]
Me: [Smiling, still confused.] Do I know you?
Her: [Smiling back, as if she knows something I don’t.] You called the agency, right?
Her: You’re Chris?
Me: [Finally realizing what’s going on.] Ohhh… Oh. NoNoNo. No.
Her: You sure?
Me: Um. Yea…
She turned away, dejected, and walked toward the elevator, waving goodbye with that same smile on her face. A hooker just been delivered to my doorstep. Who does that even happen to?
I just stood there and thought about how strange the day had been. In a total of 8 hours, I found $2000 cash, and was accidentally visited by a call girl. If I were single, that would’ve been a perfect storm of events.
I may not believe in God, but clearly he was testing me.
So, if you clicked that little black 365 icon in the top left corner before this weekend, odds are you were left staring at a blank page.
365 is a project I’m doing, where I take a photo every single day, then look back in a year and wonder where the hell my life went. Sometimes the photo will be of me. Sometimes it won’t. Hell, it might wind up being a picture of you. But, whatever it may be, there will be a new picture for each day.
If you check and don’t see a new picture up, trust that it’ll be up within a day or two. Sometimes, I just won’t have time to post them right away. Besides, if you’re that hard up for my photos, you might wanna take a long, hard look at the choices you’ve made in life, thus far.
Anyway, enjoy the photos and, as always, feel free to leave feedback in the form of a comment, email or note attached to a rock thrown through my bedroom window.
(Ed. note: The photos will also be posted on my Flickr account, with some choice selections posted to Facebook. Not all of my friends read this site, so I’m trying to make it easy for everyone to find.)
Do you remember growing up?
We spend years toiling through school, work and relationships, and at some point, while our time is occupied with all that other nonsense, we grow up. We just never really notice it until after the fact, when we’re sitting around with our friends, drinking a beer with actual flavor out of something that isn’t made of aluminum.
It still seems like yesterday that I was living at home, working a part-time job and slacking off more than I probably should have. I remember a time when my bank statement read $281.12 and the only problem I saw with that, was how I was going to be able to afford a keg for the next party. My mom still cooked all of my meals, washed my clothes and handled most of my finances. I was taking classes at a community college, but not actually attending said classes. I was the type of kid I would totally look down upon today.
Sometimes I think about those days and wonder when it all changed. I still haven’t figured that one out.
Right now, I’m sitting in an empty apartment. All of my belongings are packed away in boxes of various sizes, forming an organized mess in my living room. By Saturday, it’ll all be loaded onto a UHaul and schlepped 25 miles southwest to my new apartment. The apartment I’ll be sharing with my girlfriend. The apartment I’ll be setting up by myself. The apartment that shows the most obvious signs that I’ve grown up.
The girlfriend is in grad school right now, and doesn’t have much time for anything other than books and papers. What does that mean for me? It means I’ll be getting to the new apartment first and making sure everything is set up (internet, cable, etc., etc.) before she gets there, in order to make her transition as simple as possible. Can’t have a grad school student trying to work without internet. I’ve also put in for a schedule change at work, so that I can be home early enough to cook and clean and do whatever other household chore needs to be done, because she won’t have time to do any of it herself.
This isn’t like me at all. I used to be a selfish person who valued his personal time more than anything in the world. Someone who was perfectly content letting other people help him get by. Now, I’m willingly–and excitedly–accepting the responsibility that comes with adulthood. It’s a little scary, to tell you the truth.
Clearly, I’ve grown up. I just don’t know when it happened.
Enjoy the weekend.
Filed under: Announcements
In case you were having trouble figuring out the best way to stalk me, I’ve now made it even easier.
If you look at the top left of the page, you’ll see a set of icons. They’re cute, I know. Made ’em myself. Whatever. Point is, each one will take you to a different page of mine. For those who don’t live on the computer, like I do, the icons, in order, are for Twitter, Flickr, my upcoming Tumblr project and Facebook. Click away and see where they take you.
As for the Tumblr project, it’s set to start sometime in the next week. The extended weekend coming up seems like the perfect opportunity. So yea, keep a look out.
(And if any of the icons don’t work, please email me so I can get it fixed. Thanks.)
If you’re ever bored and looking for some quality reading, might I suggest to you the Craigslist Casual Encounters section? It may seem a bit creepy, but once you get past the idea that some people are willing to cast aside all dignity, it really is the most unintentionally funny thing you’ll read on the internet. Like this one, for instance:
sexiest – w4m
Are you seeking to find a down to earth woman to screw regularly NSA? I will entertain you like no other all I ask is that you assist me with my phone bill and be DDF. Looks are not important. XOXOXOXO
Well, what are you waiting for? Her Verizon bill isn’t gonna pay itself.
For some reason, I’ve never been a fan of strip clubs. Sure, it’s the one place you can drunkenly grope a stranger and not wind up with a busted nose, but in general, they seem to reek of depression and despair. And that’s just the impression I get from the clientele. Melons, Holly & the Infinite Sadness will be a running feature where I attempt to adequately explain my disdain for the “gentlemen’s club,” by regaling you with horrifying tales and personal anecdotes from my single days. Feel free to send your stories along, as well. One can never read enough stupid stripper stories. Hope you enjoy.
I was 19 and working for an organization that organized and chaperoned events for high school teenagers. Knowing some of the other employees for well over 5 years, I was invited to one of the chaperon’s bachelor parties. It was your typical night of debauchery, complete with strippers in a hotel room, alcohol in a limo and strippers and alcohol at a gentlemen’s club. Okay, fine, two or three gentlemen’s clubs.
We arrive at the first club and are quickly turned away because one of the party members is under 21.Fuck. That’s me.
No big deal, though. There was another club 20 minutes away, and really, that just meant more time to get sloshed in the limo.
When we arrive at the door, the bouncer tells me that I can come in, but I need to wear a t-shirt that states that I’m under 21 years of age. I look at him, he looks back at me and we both conveniently forget that entire conversation.
Three drinks and thirty minutes go by, when one of the scantily-clad beer-fetchers saunters over to our loud, obnoxious table, knowing full well, a drunken bachelor party is a gold mine for a cocktail waitress like her. Just before she asks us what we’d like, she glances toward the far end of the table, makes eye contact with one of the older gentleman in our group, turns around and runs away as fast as possible with tears streaming down her beet-red face.
Turns out, just a few years earlier, she was a high school teenager in the organization… while he was running the program. She was mortified. Eventually, she dried her eyes and came back to speak with him, but we could tell she wasn’t right.
If we were nice guys, we would’ve left the club and gone somewhere else. Somewhere that we didn’t know anyone and couldn’t cause permanent psychological damage. But, this particular club had a shower, so uhh, she was gonna have to suck it up.
I suppose it could have been a chance encounter, but if that first club lets me in, it never even happens. We never go to the second club, I never see what a stripper looks like dancing in a shower and a waitress never winds up spending her early-20’s in and out of therapy.
Funny how that butterfly effect works, huh?