cathartic diaries

Freed.om.

So, it has finally come, the day I have been waiting for my whole life. Okay maybe not my whole life, but ever since I began what I thought I wanted, what everyone and the world thinks you should be doing always and forever, having a “career.” I used to be the obsessed with her major student, the one to raise her hand 5 million times per class, the one who licks the professors anus cause it can only boost her grade to an A+++++. Ad lab, PR lab, every single fucking lab- I did- I ruled and I loved. I used to look up Ad agency’s for fun. Strawberry frog- oooo boutique indie agency, Lowe NY- mainstream yet urban- I knew them all. My dream: to be a copywriter- one to come up with Oscar winning slogans about Tide laundry detergent. You get the point right?

Since I studied Integrated Marketing Communications- getting a job in Marcom would be like Beyonce growing up to be….Beyoncé. I thought everything I had learned, my “vast” experience would make me perfect for the job. I only found out later that all my drive and passion drowned in my cherried La Rouche champagne I love so much. It is gone, vanished, non-existent. About 4 months after I started my job in a FOREX company- a crock of shit- I had zero motivation. Do I really care to promote someone else’s shit? Especially in a field I could throw up on. One year and a half later and I got what I’d wanted from the beginning- FREEDOM- freedom to start figuring my own life out, a proper time as opposed to deciding on a career when you’re 18- fuck America!

So I’m a writer, I’m a want to-be nutritionist (for girls wanting to los up to 30 lbs.) I’m a girlfriend, I’m a daughter, and I’m a sister. I’m definitely not an advertiser- an “Adman”- so not.

Off I am to months’ worth of figuring this out. I’ll let you know what I’ve come up with. :)

STOP ME

Sometimes I make stupid decisions. But what people don’t know is that while I’m making those stupid decisions I’m hoping someone will stop me, that someone will convince me I shouldn’t eat the whole cheese cake or finish the stale loaf of bread. Someone, STOP ME! 

So I do think I made pretty ok calls my whole life, going to a 50,000k a year private school when my mom can barely afford to buy me notebooks, saying I hate all Arabs in a classroom full of NYC liberalities- yea, great stuff. It’s easy to look back and say, “Why the fuck did my mom not stick a sock in my mouth when I yelped- ’ but ew public school’ ” Seriously, what was my problem- but moreover, what was hers? Why didn’t she stop me? “Amanda NO!” would have done the trick; I obviously would have listened when it came down to it. I wouldn’t  just go to a college she didn’t approve of, I wouldn’t have hiked to Ithaca NY with my luggage when she refused to take me- seriously mom, you could have just said NO! But as some guy once said, but later some other guy later said the opposite, “REGRET NOTHING!” Yeah, tell that to my student fucking loans. 

My dad says I should default on the loans- what a douche eh? I’m like, “Dad it’s a parent loan, it will fall on mom if I don’t pay.” OF course I meant this as a valid excuse for not being able to take his advice- he stayed mum. 

Yesterday this whole STOP ME thing came to life in such a retarded way. Since I now have insurance on my boo’s car, I feel the need to drive everywhere and “take the car.” Even a distance that is easily walked along to one iPod song.  For some reason, even though he needed to get to night school downtown, and I only needed to listen to one song and get to Pilates, I asked “to take the car.” : “no, I’ll drive you downtown to school, drive home, I’ll eat a yogurt, take the car to Pilates and come pick you up from school when you’re done.” I think I secretly hoped he’d say no- I don’t feel like driving downtown, I don’t know where I am there, it’s a GD Arab village. I also never find parking at Pilates, a foot away from my house- but he said, “OK.” so off I was, Wazing it back home from his school. downing that yogurt (con Granola- need that crunch) and out I was, wife-beater in toe- 40 minutes later and I’m in traffic, late for Pilates, and a foot away from my house. I’m screaming at my dashboard, turning the a.c on and off because I can’t decide if I’m hot, cold or effing raged. Inching along in traffic I finally get there except there’s no parking and its 8:30, thirty minutes late- The instructor calls me, she knows about the traffic, but they’ve managed to get there before me, MAYBE B/C THEIR BOYFRIENDS ALLOW THEM TO PARK ON THE CURB!!! Seriously, no permission. 

Dana, my Pilates lady, conspicuously hinted “so are you just going to turn back home or do you want us to wait for you for a few seconds?” OK, I won’t get there in seconds; I’m currently reversing out of a 3000 FT parking lot with no free space.  I’m agitated, I’m annoyed and I have 40 minutes to kill before I head back to the Arab village. I go home, I chain smoke and out I go again. I forget our car has a code on it and I try to start it- screech, OUCH, FUCK! Ok Amanda, calm down. Boo texts me that the professor has let them out- great, just what I need, my nerd waiting for me in the village, please don’t let anyone stomp on his glasses! I’m zooming down the street and waze keeps on refreshing because I’m not listening to it, my survivor instincts are kicking in- I need to get to him! Finally, last traffic light, police cars and megaphones- “NO ONE MOVE” I see baby with his green adidas shirt and metallic glasses waiting, outside, in the dark. We can’t move, the police won’t let us cross this intersection. Eventually, he walks towards me, gets in the car, and says “Do you want me to drive?”