24

It's October 6. I'm officially 24 years old, which if you think about it, how I've been able to keep myself alive all these years is really a big accomplishment in itself. Every time I use the bathroom for a shadoobie, I still have to repeat "front to back," to myself.

Since the last time I've blogged, I've accumulated three stalkers; a guy, a girl and a married woman, whom I think I'm dating. I don't know. We've gone out a couple of times, and we haven't had sex, which is what a lot of dating people do. She brings her son along sometimes, which is typical behavior between friends, but she always lies to her husband and tells him she's by herself whenever he calls when we're together. She married him only after two months of dating and after a two year relationship with a girl named Tina.

It's really confusing and complicated right now. Even more so, than usual. And I blame it all on my recent dramatic weight loss.

Over the course of three months, with extreme diet and exercise, I dropped seven pant sizes and two shirt sizes. I can now wear an XL in Boys. Thank God for little obese children everywhere! And with a hot new body, comes new responsibilities, like making sure you're extra nice to people, so you're not perceived as a beautiful, major asshole. Brad Pitt suffers from this very same dilemma. In general, I'm a nice guy, but I'm now finding I cannot be as sarcastic as I once used to be. I guess that means only fat, jolly people can have a sense of humor. And in exchange for my SOH, I've gained this whole new sense of confidence that has allowed me to do things I normally could never do.

Last month, I attended the D23 Expo in Anaheim, CA, a giant convention devoted to all things Disney. I got to see a 30-minute preview of Disney's newest movie, The Princess and the Frog, shake hands with a living, Disney legend, Richard Sherman (musical genius!) and actually talked to Disney Channel stars, as if they were normal, everyday folk. In previous experiences, whenever I found myself in the presence of celebrities, I've always managed to make a fool of myself. Like when I courtsied in front of Kathleen Turner and kept touching her thigh. But now? I was able to talk to these Disney Channel stars without sweating profusely or becoming tongue tied and act like they were actual, normal people. Normal people, with beautiful, clear skin and soft shiny hair that makes you want to pet them all day long and fee them sugar cubes and grapes.

On top of being able to speak to people without showering them with my saliva, I also find myself becoming more extroverted and experiencing new things, like supporting the spouse of a friend as he takes the stage to perform a rap song he co-wrote and produced or taking a religious pilgrimage for a saint named San Francisco Xavier which was both spiritually and physically benefiting.

The people I'm meeting and the things I'm doing do make me wonder about Milwaukee and why the hell I ever moved there in the first place. It's not as welcoming as Tucson is. Nothing good came from that move, unless you count a new found appreciation for the taste of beer? I'm still a vodka tonic guy all the way, but at least I know I can hang with any crowd that appreciates a good buzz. Except Trekies, of course. But that's because they're just weird.

you've got my number, call me

Two weeks ago, at work, I received a phone call. Like any other call a customer service representative might receive while working at a call center, the caller had questions concerning their Prepaid Wireless cellphone. Except, this caller was calling in from Tucson.

We talked for about an hour on the phone with questions concerning her text messaging, what high school we went to, different price plans, where we hang out on the weekends, how to add and delete features on the phone using our website, and what exactly would happen if I wrote down the number she was calling from.

According to FCC regulations, it is a federal offense to write down any information you may come across on a database. Anything, such as a name, an email, the entire credit card information of a customer, could possibly land you in prison, with a cell mate ironically named Smilez, with a "Z".

I didn't have the chance to decide if calling the disembodied voice would all be worth it, because after an hour of conversation, the line went dead. Mid-sentence. And that was it. That was the end. But I couldn't get her voice out of my head. Or her number. It was easy to remember, since I was already familiar with the area code and when sung to Tommy Tutone's 80's hit, well, it just sorta imprinted itself in my brain.

One of my friends thought it was all so wildly romantic, two people meeting, and falling in love, because of a simple phone call. She had just seen an old Dean Martin movie, called Bells Are Ringing, where a telephone answering service operator tries to improve the lives of her clients by passing along bits of information she hears from other clients, and ends up falling in love with one of the clients. But that's Hollywood. Nothing in real life ever ends up like it does in Hollywood. Especially 60's Hollywood, where people stop and dance and sing, mid-sentence to big band numbers.

Then, one night, as I was driving home from a friend's birthday party, John Tesh came on the radio. Normally, I don't take the advice of entertainment reporters turned inspirational radio show hosts who promote their instrumental albums on an hourly basis, but John did make a good point. He talked about why we do the random things we do and the questions he said we should ask ourselves, really made me think. So much so, I actually ran over a rabbit, but that's a whole other story for a much, much later time.

Calling a random stranger from a database wasn't worth it. It simply wasn't. Even if it meant a lifetime of happiness. But using the internet to my advantage, isn't calling. At the suggestion of one of my friend's, I checked the Missed Connections link on Craigslist.com. If my lost caller was thinking about me as much as I was thinking about her, then there was the possibility they may have posted a link. And there was. And I sent an email. And I got a reply. But now...? Okay, sure, I can muster up the courage of an army, like the guys in Full Metal Jacket, but a blind date? Fuhgeddaboudit!

losin' it

The best thing about my training class for my new job is the candy. The worst thing about my training class for my new job is the candy. It's as if the company has a deal with Willy Wonka to provide the employees sugary delights to keep them awake and full of faux energy. As a candy lover, it was awesome to come to class, see a giant bowl of candy in front of me and know I could have my pick of the brightly colored, sweet tasting, piece of pure sugar and food coloring. But then I stopped.

After snacking on candy for a week, my jeans literally felt tight. Somehow, in one night, the sugar had finally formed in my body, and resulting in unwanted enlargement. I had to do something. I had to give up candy. And I did. Cold turkey. For one week. And the weird thing? It actually worked. I actually lost weight by giving up something I loved. By the end of next week, my jeans felt a little loose, as they should have been in the first place. I decided to see how much more I could lose by giving up other stuff I love. Bread.

You never realize how much bread is a part of your life, until you start dreaming about it and having semi-wet dreams about the Philsbury Dough Boy and Sara Lee getting it on in a bakery. And after one week, I literally dropped two pant sizes. Which was enough to inspire my friend Sarina to get back in the scheme of being healthy.

In Tucson, west of downtown, there is a small hill, known as Tumamoc Hill. It's been called the "Acropolis of Tucson" and is home to the infamous and long-standing, Desert Laboratory, along with the ancient civilization, the Hohokums. The paved road that leads the scientists up to the top of the hill is beloved by hikers and weight watchers alike because of the long, steep trails that work out the entire bottom half of your body. At one point, to get to the top, you actually have to do lunges! And when Sarina recommended hiking the hill, I immediately signed up.

Then, Sarina recommended a workout class she was taking, called Zumba, a combination of latin and hip hop dancing that works out every muscle in your body. To those who take the class every week? You are certifiably insane. The class was mostly filled with women, and being the only guy there, I thought I could hang. I was wrong. I almost passed out. I drank over a gallon of water that day, and yet, the color disappeared from my face and I could feel the Asian slaw I had for lunch rising in my throat. I had two choices. I could puke my entire guts out and force myself to believe my body was just riding itself of the toxins or I could save face and throw up like an anorexic Hollywood starlet in the bathroom. The only problem was, my legs were wobbly, and I looked like the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz, right after Dorothy took him off his post and forced him to walk for miles.

Somehow, I made it to an empty recruiters desk, laying on the floor next to a trash bin, trying to catch my breath while holding my vomit in. And somehow, the faux hawk I was rocking that day, managed to keep its shape and style, so if perchance I did pass out, I would look like a hot lifeless body, rather than an ugly lifeless body. Thank you Axe hair product. As I laid on the floor, waiting for the color and my breath to return to my body, I started thinking, was it all worth it? Is it really worth exercising this much? The answer is yes.

When I saw my best friend Madelaine, the other day, the very first thing she asked me, was, if I was doing drugs. It was one of the nicest compliments I had received in a very long time. Of course, I hadn't been, but to think that the past three weeks actually paid off was good. So...even though I'm exhausted, even though my thighs and legs are hard and sore, even though I haven't had a good cheeseburger in forever, I think I'm gonna continue on with the whole eating better and feeling better thing for a while and see where it leads me. Hopefully, it's something as good as a big bowl of candy.

maybe, just maybe

I just got my first paycheck. Maybe I'll stay. For a little while, at least.

workin' nine to forever

Since moving to Wisconsin and back, major life-changing moments have occured. We have a new president, gay people can get married in Iowa now, your mom probably started Twittering, the world went ape-shit over a Scottish woman with a nice voice and overgrown eyebrows, and that reality show on TLC with all the kids? The one with the sextuplets? As of Monday, it's now, Jon Minus Kate Plus Eight.

But if wondering how the drama of a "regular, ordinary family" would unfold, hasn't kept my mind off the fact that I still needed a job, then the daily bills and the constant phone calls from credit card representatives have.

Luckily, I found a job. One of those, florescent-lit, creaky computer chair-sitting, mysterious weird cabbage and feet smelling corner, call center jobs. It was easy to find and even easier to get, since apparently, they'll hire anyone. The guy I sat next to while I waited for an interview, told me he was so hungover he felt like "throwing up chunks." The guy currently sits next to me in my training class.

The training isn't so bad. The trainer, on the other hand? He hates socializing, hates any other kind of music than Led Zepplin, enjoys dressing up as a warrior and having battles with other Dundgeon and Dragon nerds, drinks 3 pots of coffee a day, smokes 2 packs a day and eats a pound of bacon every Sunday. He's 44 years old, but looks like he's in his mid-60s. If there was ever a need for a poster child of how not to live life, he would be the perfect candidate.

And though this job offers great medical and dental benefits with an even greater discount on Verizon Wireless phone service, I don't see myself hanging around here too long. The people are nice and friendly and a job indoors is always better than one outdoors, but it seems as if I'll be working with people who don't want to amount to anything.

Two people in my class, who've already had previous call center experience have said, they regret leaving their call center, because working in a call center is the best job ever and there's no need to work anywhere else. They've even given up going to school, because working at a call center "pays great and doesn't require a degree." There are even some employees who've stuck around for more than five years, earning an average of $12 an hour and have no plans to move on up. Mediocrity suits them fine.

They say birds of a feather, flock together, and if that's true, I have to get out as soon as I can. Leaving an actual paying job isn't smart, especially in this economy, so, the question that comes to mind is...when?

i'm not a celebrity, get me out of here

The other week, I asked my brother if I could borrow his car to drive to a birthday party. His response?

"You're THE LAST person on earth, I would let drive my car."

The last? As if. That means the woman who pushes her shopping cart with the talking stuffed animals downtown has priority of driving my brothers car before me! I had to get back at my brother. I had to get my hands on something I knew he would want, so that I too, could say, "you're the last person on earth I would give this to."

The Ed Hardy Fashion Show was coming up at Pearl Nightclub, and I asked my friend Madelaine if she could ask her club promoter friend, Randy, to put my name on the VIP list. It was the perfect thing to hold over my brother's head.

The problem was, Madelaine left to sunny Mexico for a wedding before, I could get all the deets and I had no way of knowing if whether or not my name was on the VIP list. Until Saturday morning when I received an email at Facebook from an unknown Facebook-er, telling me, in so many words, if I was interested in attending the Ed Hardy Fashion Show as one of the regular people models. Madelaine did come through for me! Although I would have much preferred to just have my name on the guest list, being asked to be a model was absolutely perfect.

I called Madelaine's friend Benni and met him at the Ed Hardy store on University. It was a mad house. There was a stretch, white Hummer limosuine blasting music as a red carpet was unrolled inside the store. It was a casting call for the Ed Hardy Fashion Show. I was not going to audition to be a model. I explained to Benni, I just wanted to go to the party. He explained, he thought I had "a look" and that I was already in the show, but they needed more people than me, hence the reason for the casting call. Then he asked, if I could walk down the red carpet and show people how it was done.

I'm not a model, nor do I think I could ever pass as one. I don't strut when I walk. At least, I don't think I do. But I knew, if I was going to model Ed Hardy, I'd have to act confident and despite how much I was shaking and how fast my heart was beating, I somehow managed to walk the length of the store, front and back, ending with a spin and pose, before feeling the bile rise in my throat. Next to eating in that Asian restaurant in L.A.'s 'fashion district', this was the scariest thing I've ever done in my life!

As I was being fitted for my outfit, I overheard one of the girl models bragging about how she knew she would win a spot, over her two friends because, she was "the beautiful one out of the group." With beautiful friends like that, who needs ugly enemies? Or something like that. It was sad, that this regular person model would rather be in the limelight, then with her friends. I didn't want to be like that. I would much rather be hanging out with my friends, having fun and checking out the clothes I could only wish to wear on a daily basis.

So, I called Madelaine's friend Benni and told him, something came up and I could no longer fulfill my duties as a model. That's when I learned, Benni wasn't Madelaine's friend. He was, in fact, a complete and total stranger, who was searching random people on Facebook asking them if they were interested in modeling for the Ed Hardy show, in the hopes of trying to find a date. In fact, the 'email' he sent, was a friend request, but I was too excited to actually notice. He was in no way involved in the casting decision, being a promoter for a local gym, which was sponsoring the Ed Hardy fashion show.

Which means...I made the cut, by myself. Me! I did it. I walked down a red carpet by myself. And the worst part is...I gave it up! I gave it up. And I just found out, I probably could have kept my outfit or at least part of it...this is so not the way to start off a new chapter.

home sweet home

After a goodbye dinner on the patio of La Pearla with my new Milwaukee friends, I picked up Mike Lightyear Sr.'s Jaguar, packed it with all my knick knack patty whacks and by dawn's early light, I was off on Route 66. 

My first stop was in Chicago, IL, where I picked up my road trip buddy, Michelle. It was also where the Mother Road began. Cyrus Avery initiated Route 66 as a way to expand his oil business and by 1926, people began to travel west, in search of hopes, dreams, and the start of a new life. 

Our first stop was in Chenoa, IL where we ate at a small mom and pop diner and then headed out to the small town of Divernon, just outside of Springfield. It was so weird to see such a small town exist. I really thought they were the creation of Hollywood folklore. 

But, no. The library had about three thousand books total and the only "electronic store" in town featured a washer and dryer in the display window. 

We stopped in St. Louis, MO for the night, saw the arch, walked down Laclede's Landing 

and before heading out the next morning, we ate at Eat-Rite, an institution of Route 66. 

The small diner only has 15 stools and if you ever get the chance to stop on in, it's well worth the wait. They cook with real old-fashioned butter. Cholesterol be damned!

Traveling down the old and winding route, Michelle and I saw the landmark Chains of Rocks Bridge, which once linked Illinois to Missouri, crossing the Mississippi River,

Jellystone Park, home of Yogi Bear,

and the Blue Whale Amusement Park. 

Built as an anniversary gift, the whale has two slides and the fin doubles as a high board to dive off of. It was the ultimate stop in Catoosa, OK during the 50's and 60's for families, while traveling west. 

Past Oklahoma City, we stopped at the Route 66 Museum in Clinton, OK and then the Sandhills Curiosity Shop,
where Michelle and I met Harley and Annabelle, two energetic, outgoing and inspirational old hippies, who met in 1986 and together they've run the curiosity shop in the small town of Erick, OK.

The entire shop is filled with antiques and Route 66 memorabilia from yesteryear, but not a single thing is for sale.
They live, solely based on the kindness of strangers from all around the world, who donate money to them, so they can continue living and entertaining people with their "redneck shtick". 

The two "Mediocre Music Makers" have even been the inspiration for Disney ImaginEARS,
who are planning on designing a Cars theme land in Disney's California Adventure Park, using their shop as part of the queue. 

After making lifelong friends with the happy hippie couple, Michelle and I drove past The Leaning Tower of Texas

and the World's Largest Cross,

before staying the night in Tuccumcari, NM, a tiny six mile town that hasn't changed much since the golden days of Route 66. The Sahara Motel,

La Cita Taco Shop

and even the Blue Swallow Motel,

which inspired the Cozy Cone Motel in Cars, are still around. The owner, Bill, a retired electrician from Las Vegas

took over the motel when he saw it slowly fading away and restored it to it's original neon glory. 

We stopped for lunch at the El Rancho Hotel in Gallup, NM,

once the hideaway for famous stars

who stayed while filming classic western movies.

Mid-afternoon, we arrived in Flagstaff, AZ to the Hotel Monte Vista,

enjoying a cocktail in the hotel lounge.

Scenes from the classic black and white film, Casablanca were actually filmed in the lounge and as Michelle and I sipped vodka martini's we couldn't help but say, "Play it again, Sam..."

Through picturesque Sedona

and metropolis Phoenix,

we made it to Tucson a little past midnight and right on Mother's Day. It was the absolute perfect present. The return of a prodigal son and a prodigal daughter, what mother wouldn't be estatic? 

Two days later, Michelle and I were back on the road,

re-visiting new old friends and seeing other sites we missed along the way including the world famous, Cadillac Ranch,

The Big Texan Restaurant

and Ted Drewes Frozen Custard.

Being on the road, I learned a few things about myself. I learned how to get a hotel room without using my ID or credit card (trust me, it can be done!) change a tire (first and last time!)

and I learned the warning signs for a tornado watch. That was a major one. Not being from tornado country, Michelle and I had no idea we were driving through a tornado warning, until the freeway looked like an above ground roaring river and people actually started to park under the overheads.

That was scary. But obviously, we made it out okay, or else I wouldn't be back home typing this blog post. 

The great thing about being back home is that everyone and everything I left behind was waiting for me with open arms. Absolutely nothing has changed. The bad thing about being back home? Absolutely nothing has changed. It's like I never left.

There's a saying in French, je prévois de vous promener à pied sans but sans un plan, which means to walk around aimlessly without a plan, and I might be doing that for a while, to clear my head and let everything I've seen and done soak in, before starting the next chapter in my life. It's kinda nice not knowing my next move. And it's also nice to know, no matter how far away I may roam, I'll always be welcomed back home.

the end of schlemiel, schlemazel, hasenfeffer incorporated

They say an era is defined as a significant period of time. And whether or not my time in Milwaukee was significant, it's definitely the end of an era. I've decided to cut my losses and move back to Tucson.

I held out for as long as I could to continue my stay in the mid-west, but I guess, it just wasn't meant to be. Technically, I could stay for about another month and a half, but do I really want to stay around for more rejection? What am I, a masochist? 

I could be stubborn, because I know firsthand, that sometimes being stubborn does pay off in the end. But I also know that being too stubborn can blind sight you and make you lose sight of your original goals. 

I'm really gonna miss this place. It was the first time I ever got to live on my own. I learned how to cook, thanks to the wonderful hosts on the Food Network who kept me company those long days I spent emailing my resume. I learned that the word, "budget" actually does exist and that it's not just some crazy thing, people made up when explaining why they buy shoes at the supermarket. And most of all, I learned just how hard out here it is fo' a pimp.

I'm gonna miss the people that I met here. All but one. And I'm gonna miss not being able to spend the summer with them and attend all the great festivals Milwaukee is home to during the summer. But, I am excited about going home. As coincidence would have it, Mike Lightyear Sr., the grandfather of Blu, who took a liking to me during my brief unemployment in Milwaukee , asked me if I would be willing to drive his gold Jaguar back to Tucson, pick up his white Cadillac and drive it back to Milwaukee. All expenses paid. I already had my plane ticket and was in the middle of trying to decide how I would get my stuff back home, when Mike called. It was like a prayer answered. I've always wanted to take a trip along Route 66, ever since The Cheetah Girls sang about it in the cult classic, Cars. I, of course, jest. I've actually wanted to cruise 'the mother road' ever since I read about it in "The Grapes of Wrath," my sophomore year and now I have the chance. 

Some may say, I'm just giving up and that I should hold in there just a little bit longer, but, no. It's time for me to move on. I don't know yet how living in Milwaukee will impact my life altogether, but I do know I wouldn't change it for the world.

*If you wanna keep track of my route back to Tucson, follow me on Twitter now or on Facebook!

david strikes back

I did something kinda bad. Okay, really, horribly, terribly bad. And the surprising thing about it? I really don't have any remorse. Has Milwaukee changed me that much? And if so, has it been for the worse?

As most of you already know, I've been busy for the past month, filling out applications and sending my resume to everywhere I could think of. And during that time, I've been thinking a lot about Blu and how she totally screwed up my situation in Milwaukee for petty reason. I personally believe Blu didn't like the fact that her brother told her, that two people from Tucson would help her open her store and she didnt have a say in it, either way. And since she had to accept it, since her brother was providing the financial funds for her store, she did. That is, until after all the major "before" work had been completed and I filled out the proper paperwork, canceling my unemployment, she decided to have me and Gwen fired. Fortunately, she only half succeeded, because my roommate Gwen didnt get fired, even though Blu claimed she was lazy, rude, and incompetent. 

It wasn't fair that Blu went on living like this, as an evil, vindictive, lying, manipulative and spiteful person. Trying to make the lives of innocent people, difficult. Originally, Gwen was to be the manager of the store, but Blu had other plans. She made her best friend Annette, a hippie with no retail or management experience, the manager, putting her above Gwen. And since Blu and Annette have absolutely no idea what they're doing, they put all the blame on Gwen and stress her out more than she should be. It's just not right. 

And Gwen, could quit. In fact, she's even come home from work, saying she's had enough, but then, what good would it do us, if we were both out of a job? Already, I felt like Pam, from The Office...no good if we both felt like her.

Blu had to be taught a lesson, the lesson being, you do not mess around with me, my family or my friends. And if taught well, a lesson can impact the way a person continues with the way they live their life. So, I took matters into my own hands. 

I dressed the part of a business person who had a layover in Milwauke, went to the historic Hilton Hotel in downtown and rented a suite. Once in the room, I opened up my Mac and began to write a "Dear Guest, thank you for staying with us..." letter, only the guests name would be that of Blu's husband. The room provided me with stationary and an envelope, which made it look more official and since I've been a welcomed guest in many a hotel, I knew exactly what to stay. I even included a paragraph about a free night's stay, just so long as he brought in the letter and the included reference number. 

I checked out of the room within two hours, claiming the airport had called me with a standby ticket and didn't have to pay a single cent. Still, my plan called for a hotel receipt, which I made sure I had in my hand before I left. With the letter and receipt in tow, I awaited for the perfect moment to set off my plan. According to Blu's husband's Facebook account, he'd be out of town for the weekend, "goin' to see some buds," so with a few photo shop skills, I changed the date on the hotel receipt to make it look like he never left and knowing that he and Blu lived a couple blocks away, I casually left the receipt inside the doggie door...okay, I think I've said enough.

Work has never been better for Gwen. Blu has had other things to deal with, and apparently, the store has been more productive. None of the employees are stressed, people are coming in more because "the mean lady who is off-putting" is no longer around and there has been a noticeable increase in sales. 

Despite those facts, I know a lot of comments will be negative. And though there may be a few that don't agree with how I did things, I did it because I wanted to prove that I am not a force to mess with. Especially, when it comes to my well-being or my friends. I guess you could say, I'm not someone that you want as an enemy. Before coming to Milwaukee, I never would have thought of doing something like this. This city sure has changed me...

grey gardens

Normally, I don't like to blog short posts, only because I write as much as I talk in real life. But I have to make a little rave.

Tonight, on HBO, Grey Gardens, a movie based on the lives that inspired the Maysles Brothers' classic documentary, will finally premiere! If you've a fan of the documentary, this seems to me, to be a really nice companion piece. I saw it when I was in grade school, and my mom rented it from the library, thinking it was "The Secret Garden," and I've been a fan ever since. Total cult classic. Maybe the clothing choices is a little out there, but I love the overall eccentric-ness of it all.

The movie tells the story of "Big Edie" Beale and her daughter "Little Edie," who were relatives of Jackie O, and made interesting and devastating choices in life, forging a unique bond while living in a ramshackle East Hampton mansion.

It stars Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore. Yes, that Drew Barrymore. She’s ridiculously adorable. You want to hate her, but you JUST CAN’T. She did crazy child star RIGHT. And from the previews, her acting talents prove she was born from Hollywood royalty.

It premieres tonight and probably for the rest of spring, and I hope you all get the chance to see it!

an easter carol

Last year, I spent Easter at the Vatican. This year? Well, it sure ain't the Vatican. And that's just how life is. One moment, you're in Italy, eating a Margherita pizza in the Piazza della Signoria and the next, you're eating tuna out of a can, waiting by your computer to see if you're emailed resume was accepted. Or, if you're a celebrity, one moment you're marrying an A-List television star with matching hair highlights, the next you're at the Oscars, sitting front row with your new love and your ex-wife is on stage as a presenter.

But since I'm not a celebrity and just a regular person, I've been doing the former for the past few weeks, looking for a job. And for some reason, that's when I started thinking about church. It had been forever since I've gone to church. Before, I went almost every Sunday to church with my family, but ever since I've moved here...Sunday seems to just pass on by. I think it's a living on your own type of thing. With no parents around, you forget about doing the little things, like going to church, eating your vegetables, making sure the hooker your paid for leaves after the first hour, so she doesn't charge for the hours she sleeps over.

Not being of the Catholic faith, I didnt wan't to go to the cathedral across my apartment. The bells ring too early and when it's noon, it rings for a full two minutes, which makes it that much harder to sleep in. No, I wanted to find a place that was charming and quaint, and had at least a handful of well-dressed, fashionable people. That's when I saw it. St. Paul's Episcopal Church. It was a beautiful sanctuary made out of red Lake Superior sandstone with tall angel statues greeting you at the front entrance along with detailed, original Tiffany's stained glass windows. And a lady, wearing a rabbit coat, walked into the small garden where the church office was located so I knew I would spend Easter there.

On the way to St.Paul's, I realized I didn't have any money for the offering. I never carry cash, since it always gets wrinkled and crinkled in my pocket and I never seem to have enough when I approach the cashier. And unless the church had an ATM, I was gonna have to do that awkward oh-darn-what-pocket-did-I-put-my-wallet-in, dance. So, in a short, succinct prayer, I told God that whatever money I found on the ground, on the way to church, I would put that in the offering, thinking I would find a couple of coins, at the very least. I didn't. But on the way back from church, I found $10 bucks laying on the street.

I took it as a sign. Maybe my luck was changing. Maybe, if I kept my promise to God about giving any money I found on the street to the church, things would start to change. At this point, I was desperate to believe in any signs that came my way and so I knew I had to go back.to St. Paul's. And I did. I was hoping to catch someone during the church's half-hour long, noon prayer and meditation service, but when I got to St. Paul's, they were closed. The double wooden doors wouln't budge. I spent half an hour walking around the building, trying to find some way in, when I saw a FedEx delivery guy leaving the church office. The door closed, before I could reach it and so, I buzzed the front bell to be let in. But nothing. Then, a black girl with a bad weave came limping up the pathway on crutches, and I knew, surely, they wouldn't turn us away from a church. If only we had a scarecrow and a tin man to accompany us...

But we didn't and still, no one came to the front door. We rang and rang the buzzer and knocked on the door, but nothing. I even stuck my hand through the mail slot, hoping I could push open the door. But that didn't work. The black crippled girl with a bad weave, eventually left and I went around the back to see if I could find anyone else. And this time I did.

It was security. They were called by the secretary, who saw me put my hand through the mail slot, and thought I was trying to commit a B & E - breaking and entering. Apparently, it's custom for a church to be closed the Monday after Easter Sunday and since the church has a daycare and Pre-K and Kindergarten class, the secretary became worried. I admit, sticking my hand through the mail slot wasn't the best idea, but I was just trying to find a way to give the $10 bucks to the church offering. The secretary and security personal found my story of telling God I would put whatever money I found on the street a little weird and a little odd, even after I showed them the mud-stained, crinkled dollar. But it was the honest-to-God truth!

Walking home, I wondered what went wrong. I mean, the $10 had to be a sign. Nobody finds $10 on the street, out of the blue. Especially after promising to give it to God. I felt depressed all over again. I tried to do something with good intentions and it totally backfired. I don't know what went wrong. But as soon as I turned my computer on, I got an email for an interview for a front desk position, this Friday! No good deed, goes unpunished. If only my black cripple friend with the bad weave were here to say, "God bless us, everyone..."

hope

It's been almost three weeks since I got that un-fateful call, that told me my services for the store, the store I had changed my entire life for, were no longer needed. And since that time, I've been searching relentlessly for a job. I'm not ready to move back to Tucson. I know, the easiest and probably most obvious answer, would be to call my parents and let them know that I have been fired and that I don't have the slightest idea of what I'm doing.

But a part of me doesn't want to.

Part of me, wants to hold out and wait for as long as I can. To see how far I can go, all on my own. You know, before I have to call mommy and daddy.

I want to take care of myself. I want to be able to live on my own. To make my own rules. To live my own life.

But it's been hard when no one responds to your applications or your resume. You start to lose faith. You start to lose hope. You start to wonder if you are indeed doing the right thing or if you're just being foolish and stubborn. And with the one month of being unemployed in a city far away from home fast approaching, that's what I've been wondering.

Should I give myself a deadline? Something along the lines of, if I can't find a job by a certain time, I should give up? I mean, it wouldn't be fair to my roommate Gwen if I just stuck around the apartment, rent free. Already, she's spent quite a lot this month. Her truck needed an overhaul, she cracked a tooth in half from eating day-old popcorn and found out she has two cavities and needs a filling. Her idiot-dog chewed her entire comforter and bed sheets to shreds and if that wasn't bad enough, the idiot-dog ate something out of the trash and threw up all over the living room, which got real deep into the carpet.

So as Gwen continues to live her lavish lifestyle, I find myself in a situation only Zack and Miri could understand. But I could never bring myself to do a porno. Of course, easier said then done, right? I was thinking this to myself as I walked the streets of downtown to fill out an application for a front desk position at the Hyatt Hotel. And right there, on the corner of Van Buren St. and Ogden Ave. at the bus stop, was a quote imprinted at the top of the awning:

"Never give up, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn."
--Harriet Beecher Stowe

It was just the kind of a sign, only fate could have put before me. And it was just the kind of hope I needed. Wish me luck...

great and wonderful things

So, I'm back on the job hunt. I never thought I'd be back here, humbling myself to be worthy to the unworthy of Milwaukee. But I am. I so wanted to be here so much, I'm swallowing all my pride and applying for jobs I would have never given a second thought. Cafeteria worker at a nursing home. Custodian technician at a daycare center. Wal-Mart. All of which, are very respectable ways of earning money, but it's not the way I ever saw myself earning money.

When I was in the third grade, my teacher Ms. Cloud, gave us an assignment to write a one page essay, in cursive, what we wanted to be when we grew up and why. Greg Scotts said he wanted to be a garbage man because they make a lot of money. Kylie Byrd said she wanted to own a jewelry store, like her mother, that way she could make a lot of money and wear all the gold jewelry she wanted to. I wrote that I wanted to be an archeologist. Just like Indiana Jones. It wasn't the thrill of finding ancient Biblical artifacts that enticed me. It was the sense of adventure.

When it comes to jobs, I'm not attracted to the amount of money it offers (although it does help!). I'm more interested in the work and whether or not I'll enjoy doing it on a day to day basis. Because if I don't enjoy what I'm doing, then it'll show in my work and then obviously, nobody's happy.

But I guess this is all part of living in your twenties; taking on meaningless, mediocre jobs just to get by and help you survive until you get to your thirties. At least, that's what it seems so far. I don't want to be in my thirties and find myself in this same stressful situation. It's not fun.

A week before I was born, my mother and father went to an old fashioned fire and brimstone revival. You know, one of those repent your sins or burn in a lake of fire type things. And during the pastor's sermon, he stopped mid-verse and made his way down to where my parents sat. He told them, God compelled his spirit to let them know that the baby inside my mom would do great and wonderful things and that the baby would be a boy and that his name would be David. This shocked my mom and dad, who hadn't the slightest idea what the sex of their unborn baby was.

They had already decided to name me Michael if I was a boy or Diamond if I was a girl (According to my mom, Diamond is listed in the Bible as the daughter of some big legacy family. And though that may be true, let's face it...it would have left my future career possibilites limited, if you know what I mean), but listened to the young pastor and, well, that's how I got my name.

Now if I can only figure out what great and wonderful thing I'm supposed to be doing. That's what's been heavy on my mind for the past week. That and wondering whether or not my current unemployment fits into that plan. I still haven't told my family that I got fired, only because, I still don't know what to say. Right before I got that un-fateful phone call, I was just telling my family over Google Video Chat, that I was excited about the opening of the store and finally working again. Guess I spoke too soon.

And it's humiliating having to admit defeat, yet again, because it does make me wonder, what exactly am I doing wrong, that people just don't want me working for them? If I could pinpoint the problem and learn from it, I could move on and get onto my great and wonderful future, instead of being stuck in despair and hopelessness.

fired!

So...I've been fired. Yeah. Not even joking. We've had to delay the opening of the store for a while (it just opened today, finally!) because my boss is majorly stupid. So I haven't really been working this entire time. I've just been collecting my unemployment. Which I was okay with. You know? I knew it wasn't gonna be forever so I was fine with it. And I was making some hours at the store, but I wasn't going to cash them in until after we opened, because I still wanted to collect my unemployment.

This past Sunday, however, after getting my first paycheck on Friday, after signing all the paperwork, my boss, Blu, calls her brother, Mike Lightyear, the guy that recommended me for the job, and tells him I am neither energetic or outgoing and not a good fit for the store. I'm not even joking. Me! Not energetic! Or outgoing! THE FUCK?!?!

When I heard that, I wanted to shit myself. I am so outgoing. I have energy for days. Anymore and I would be on crack, you know? And the reason Mike wanted to tell me, instead of Blu, was because he felt it was his responsibility since he had recommended me for the job. So, he said, I would no longer work there and that I had to improve on my energy for my next job if I "ever want to make it in this economy."

I don't buy it all. I am energetic. Fuck, I'm the best employee there is, or rather, was, at that store! I know labels, I know clothes and styles, I'm the only one who knows how to fully work the registers...I have years of retail experience. More so than Blu, who couldn't tell the difference between fake Louis Vuitton and real leather. So, if anything, I was fired for being too competent. But it doesn't matter anymore. The thing that does matter? I'm seriously fucked over.

And soon, Gwen will be too. After talking to Mike, I told Gwen everything and she was immediately in shock. Nothing Mike told me was true. And it scared her, because Mike gave Gwen the same type of talk. Apparently, Blu told Mike Gwen was never on time, she always left without saying anything and was basically a miserable excuse as a manger. Again, not true. I know Gwen has been busting her ass for the store and I've seen firsthand, the stress it has given her, so for Blu to call and say it's pathetic is so aggravating. It won't be long before we're sharing the same boat.

I'm all the way across the country away from my family, away from everything and everyone I know and I'm jobless. I don't know how I'm gonna pay rent, how I'm gonna eat or, well, basically survive. I don't know what to do. I've been looking on Craigslist and Monster.com for jobs, but I haven't heard back. And it sucks even more because I don't have a car. My mode of transportation in Tucson, because the job I was supposed to have is only two blocks away from my apartment, so there was no need for a car. But now? Fuck...

So, I don't know what to do right now. I'm just really scared and I don't know what to tell my family. I was just talking to them on Sunday telling them we were opening on Thursday and I was excited and now everything is just...gone. Just, gone.

mid-west, my way

The other week, I had time off and since my good friend Hadassah was on Spring Break, we decided to meet up in Chicago. And it was one of the best times I have ever had in a very long time.

I took the Megabus from Milwaukee to Chicago, which is this bus people in the Mid-West take to get from cornfield to city. It's like a regular bus, except the Mexicans and Black people try to sell you bootleg DVD's. Which isn't so bad, especially since I really haven't had time to go see Coraline.

We stayed at The Avenue Hotel, off of Magnificent Mile, which is a really beautiful avenue with great shopping and amazing restaurants like The Ralph Lauren Bar & Grill Restaurant, which is designed to look like a classic English library.We actually spent the first night sleeping in the hotel room. The pillows were so soft and the beds were so inviting, a quick catnap turned into an all night snooze fest. So much for painting the town red.

But we awoke the next morning, refreshed and rejuvinated and set out to explore the city. We ate at the world famous Lou Mitchell's, visited the Shedd Aquarium, rode the Red Line to Chinatown and pub crawled in Wrigleyville. And before we knew it, the weekend was over and it was time for Hadassah to visit Milwaukee, my new home.

Showning my new home and the way I live was very exciting for me. I got to show and share with my friend where I shopped for food, how I spent my evenings, and basically how I lived my new life. I've never been able to do that before, mostly because I've always lived in the same city. I felt like such a grown up, like a citizen of the world. And since Gwen knew Hadassah from back home, it was like having a small Tucson reunion in our small apartment. And it was made even better when Hadassah cooked us an authentic Mexican dinner, a la Tucson style. God, how much I miss food cooked with real butter.

Gwen and I decided to spend Hadassah's last night in the Mid-West in Chicago for St. Patrick's, more specifically, Wrigleyville. So, we met up with Gwen's cousin Gabriella and her boyfriend John. We started off at Harry Caray's Tavern

and ended up at Houndstooth Bar, making sure to hit every bar and pub on the way for Irish Car Bombs. By mid-afternoon, we were so wasted and so gone and so was my iPhone. Gwen lost her cell phone too and her jacket and by the looks of things, I doubt either one of us will ever see those things again. I also ended up with the strangest bruises I don't remember getting, which led to painful swelling and a cankle. Gross.Yet? I wouldn't change any part of my weekend for anything!