And thus endeth the challenge....
Today is the end of my 30 Day Challenge. It has been an interesting road. Thanks to everyone who has read, commented, linked to and otherwise encouraged me during this experiment. I encourage you to do the same (or a shorter version) because a) it makes you write every day, b) it makes you examine your life in a completely different way, and c) your life is more interesting than you think. My favorite blogs have always been the ones that detail past or current stories from people's own lives. I will continue writing whatever random memories come to me, just not every day....
This final story reveals me at my most pathetic. Plus if future employers read this, they probably won't hire me:
When I worked at the Scrap Bar I was just a young puddle of insecurity. I partied a lot, met rock stars, and generally had a good time, but was often relegated to the role of funny friend amongst my set of gorgeous rocker chick supermodel friends. This led to some disastrous decisions on my part, since the minute any guy paid attention to me, logic and self-esteem went out the window to be replaced by stupidity and desperation for acceptance.
Enter Nick. Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, tattoos, in a band, charming, boyish, flirty. The other elements of his lifestyle included heroin addiction, lack of job, lack of money, and lack of a place to live. I chose to see these aspects as signs of his rebellious nature. Nick loved to spend nights at my house, mainly because he was homeless. I chose to see this as his undying love for me. Plus he was in a band! What more could I want?
Things were going swimmingly until his ex-girlfriend came back to town. She was the love of his life and they had one of those tempestuous and tortured relationships that are horrendous to live through but from a distance seem romantic and passionate. I was horribly jealous. Predictably, Nick stopped turning up on my doorstep soon after. I never had really thought Nick was my boyfriend, but I still felt betrayed. I dreamed of the many ways I would make him jealous and he would realize what a horrible mistake he had made. And inevitably, one day, I walked into the bar and there he was. No girlfirend in sight. I planned to tell him what a jerk he was, but as soon as I got up to him he kissed me and asked if I wanted to get high. Within the drug culture, getting high is an excuse to bond with people around you. So I immediately trashed any version of self respect that I had floating around and said yes. I envisioned doing some drugs, going into a corner of the bar, making out, going home and confessing our undying love for one another.
Instead of hanging out, Nick led me out to the street and into a cab which quickly took us to the very sketchy corner that was 9th Street and Avenue A where he flagged down a go between -- a young, early 20s at most, Hispanic dude who led us to an apartment complex somewhere between Avenues C and D. And suddenly I was in a crack house.
Nick went off into a corner to make a buy and I was left surrounded by a bunch of emaciated men and women with pockmarked skin and rotting teeth (the beautiful hallmarks of serious drug addiction). Nick quickly returned with a pipe and it was passed around the group. When it was offered to me, I had no desire to take it but then noticed the ten sets of eyes peering at me. So...I ended up smoking crack. To impress a dude.
After it was all over, Nick and I crashed at my house. The crash from this drug is terrible. You are wired and exhausted at the same time, making it impossible to sleep. The next day I woke up and was horrified at what I had done. That was the beginning of the end....I rarely saw Nick after that. The last time I did he was on the corner of St. Marks and 2nd handing out flyers for a hair salon. Can you say winner? I completely debased myself for a guy whose last name I can't even remember now.
Ah, young love.
This final story reveals me at my most pathetic. Plus if future employers read this, they probably won't hire me:
When I worked at the Scrap Bar I was just a young puddle of insecurity. I partied a lot, met rock stars, and generally had a good time, but was often relegated to the role of funny friend amongst my set of gorgeous rocker chick supermodel friends. This led to some disastrous decisions on my part, since the minute any guy paid attention to me, logic and self-esteem went out the window to be replaced by stupidity and desperation for acceptance.
Enter Nick. Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, tattoos, in a band, charming, boyish, flirty. The other elements of his lifestyle included heroin addiction, lack of job, lack of money, and lack of a place to live. I chose to see these aspects as signs of his rebellious nature. Nick loved to spend nights at my house, mainly because he was homeless. I chose to see this as his undying love for me. Plus he was in a band! What more could I want?
Things were going swimmingly until his ex-girlfriend came back to town. She was the love of his life and they had one of those tempestuous and tortured relationships that are horrendous to live through but from a distance seem romantic and passionate. I was horribly jealous. Predictably, Nick stopped turning up on my doorstep soon after. I never had really thought Nick was my boyfriend, but I still felt betrayed. I dreamed of the many ways I would make him jealous and he would realize what a horrible mistake he had made. And inevitably, one day, I walked into the bar and there he was. No girlfirend in sight. I planned to tell him what a jerk he was, but as soon as I got up to him he kissed me and asked if I wanted to get high. Within the drug culture, getting high is an excuse to bond with people around you. So I immediately trashed any version of self respect that I had floating around and said yes. I envisioned doing some drugs, going into a corner of the bar, making out, going home and confessing our undying love for one another.
Instead of hanging out, Nick led me out to the street and into a cab which quickly took us to the very sketchy corner that was 9th Street and Avenue A where he flagged down a go between -- a young, early 20s at most, Hispanic dude who led us to an apartment complex somewhere between Avenues C and D. And suddenly I was in a crack house.
Nick went off into a corner to make a buy and I was left surrounded by a bunch of emaciated men and women with pockmarked skin and rotting teeth (the beautiful hallmarks of serious drug addiction). Nick quickly returned with a pipe and it was passed around the group. When it was offered to me, I had no desire to take it but then noticed the ten sets of eyes peering at me. So...I ended up smoking crack. To impress a dude.
After it was all over, Nick and I crashed at my house. The crash from this drug is terrible. You are wired and exhausted at the same time, making it impossible to sleep. The next day I woke up and was horrified at what I had done. That was the beginning of the end....I rarely saw Nick after that. The last time I did he was on the corner of St. Marks and 2nd handing out flyers for a hair salon. Can you say winner? I completely debased myself for a guy whose last name I can't even remember now.
Ah, young love.
posted by Rachael Mason at 12:00 PM
2 Comments:
What a great project this was! I'm going to miss it. Write a book, seriously.
Holy wow! I must say that if you want to put a comedic spin on these things, you can add something about hitting a crack pipe being a clarifying moment in your relationship.
Excellent work though. Fucking brilliant actually.
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