The Great Depression

And we're not talking about the Grand Canyon either. America may have its credit crisis, but that's not the topic of my post.

With the fact that a number of my friends know of this blog and the fact that I do have about 10 to 20 people visiting this blog everyday, I've begun to censor myself. I've even made an effort to cheer myself up, to not blog about the things that upset me. But you know what? I'm entitled to days when I'm feeling shitty. Heck, I'm entitled to feeling shitty. I suppose it is my fault that I don't develop my friendships enough that I can just talk about my upset feelings at length with other people and just let my words evaporate into the air, which is why I turn to my blog to release it all. And to be honest, I cannot be arsed to go look for another blog to keep things a secret anymore.

So if you aren't happy about what I have to say, I'm sorry. If you read this and realize it's you I'm complaining about, please understand that it's not public humiliation I'm after, or I would have put your name, photo and everything up. It's really just the lack of courage on my side to bring it all up face to face. I guess because I don't know how to, and because I'm afraid of what the reaction might be. In this way, I get it all out, you know what I'm feeling, and you can take some time to go figure out how you want to respond. Or not. We can always just pretend nothing happened and go on as normal. Whatever works.

Let's begin with the most recent. I was blamed for an accident, where I was supposedly talking and distracted the driver. I don't even know how to continue with this paragraph. But I walked away feeling numb. I guess it would be normal to feel indignant about being blamed, but the other party was so angry and so upset that I couldn't help but feel guilty about it. It reminded me a little of the days when I was still a child and my dad would be angry with me over something or another and would give me long long lectures in which he made me feel worthless with his disappointed scowls, and I'm just standing there with the tears streaking down my face and completely bewildered about what exactly I did wrong.

I applied for a job but haven't heard any news although it has been about a week. To be honest, I'm not sure I want the job either. To be honest, at the moment, I just want to coop myself at home and veg out, since everything I touch seems to turn into shit anyway. Even if I get the job, they'd most likely fire me after my first quarter there since I don't have a big network of people to sell to and I don't know anybody worth knowing and I'd just have to pay them the bond back.

Which would have been nicely covered by this little part-time job I was working at, except instead of five days, they only used me for three and a half. And of course, they only let me know at the very end of day three they wouldn't be using me anymore, and I had to ask them pointedly about it to get a nonchalant head-shake. Fuck you, stupid zhap zheng bitch. Would it have been that difficult to just open your mouth and say, "Thank you for your hard work, but we won't need you here tomorrow."?

This, after three days of standing in four-inch heels, not having dinner, not being able to sit much, and having to make small talk with bloody irritating rich people who look at you like you're a particularly amusing animal. Of having to deal with indecisive, disorganized organizers. Of having to put up with unfair treatment just because I'm not six feet tall and weigh 40 kilos. Of not knowing whether my pay is even coming to me at all.

And then, the kicker, getting a call at 4pm on day four and being told to go back to work for half a day.

It was, in essence, like my party girl job. And just like those times, it wasn't easy having the income disparity rubbed in my face. Just like that time when I went to Elton's ex-boss' house for his funeral mass and had to leave after that to sell beer at some seedy pub. The rich don't respect people unless they too, are rich. And I was forcibly reminded that I wasn't one of them, then and now. It's not a nice feeling when people talk over your head. When they speak of people and things they have in common and you are not privy to. When they speak in a language you barely understand, although they are more than capable of speaking English.

I remember once, after I'd stopped working as a party girl, we went to a pub and there was a girl there selling shots. I chatted with her and helped her out by getting the group I was with to buy a shot each from her. While we weren't rich, we weren't poor either, and we were doing shots and spending quite a bit on drinks anyway. One of the women in the group kept giving the girl dirty looks and telling her then fiancé to get the girl to go away. I didn't understand her hostility; she parties a lot, so encountering these shot girls must be pretty normal. She couldn't possibly have been threatened by this skinny young girl with badly fitting boots. I mean, she used to be a model. So why?

More importantly, did she feel that way towards me, since I too, used to be in those boots? It's not fun working in a job where you get snubbed by those you work for and shunned by your peers. So what if the money is good if you have no one to go out with? It's easy to say that you envy me for the easy money since all I supposedly do is just stand around, look good and talk to people. I guess it would work out fine if I were stupid enough and shallow enough that I don't even realize that I'm nothing more than an entertaining creature, like a pet dog that does tricks. What a pity I'm blessed with not enough looks and too much pride. Life would be much easier if I were some bimbo with a pretty face and big tits and no qualms about being together with a guy for his money.

I recently found out that a friend had a birthday party, but I wasn't invited. It was pretty disturbing that a while back, his girlfriend had a birthday party, but I wasn't invited, even though I'd met them earlier that day. I figured I wasn't as close to her, so I suppose it sort of made sense. But he chose not to include me in his. I guess since most of our mutual friends are no longer in the country, that might be why. But it still hurts, because I never fail to ask him to attend mine. Perhaps I'm disapproved of by someone in his life. Perhaps he's afraid I'd criticize his friends. I don't know. I'm not sure I want to know. Actions speak louder than words and it feels shitty that someone you thought was your good friend would leave you out of his big day. It doesn't really make it easier to see all the photos of the happy shiny people.

But I guess we grow up, pair up and go our separate ways. I just figured that at the very least, someone could have told me if I'd fucked it up, if I'd done something wrong to destroy the friendship. But instead I'm just left aside and forgotten while they go on traipsing on their merry way, chronicling their life without me in a gallery of photos. Overdramatic? Yeah. I'm just in a shit place right now and it hurts to look at happy people.

What else, what else? I think that's about it for now, my litany of things that make me sad. Stop whining, woman. Move on. Well, now I can, now that I've let it out. I don't make me sad. You make me sad.