Darren Endymion's Blog, page 6

Getting Out of Oz

Note: This was originally written on Thursday, but since I have had no wi-fi since then, I decided to post it today.

 

“The sooner you get out of Oz altogether, the safer you’ll sleep, my dear.”

“Oh, I’d give anything to get out of Oz altogether.”

— The Wizard of Oz

 

I am writing this on the plane to my new home, though I will post it later. Even this reality, this fact, this flight hasn’t been able to crack my veneer of calm and unaffectedness, has not been able to disturb the smooth waters of my tranquility. I know that I am stressed — my body is showing it in the ways it normally does. I’m breaking out, I have no appetite (which only happens when I have severe stress), and I either can’t sleep or sleep like Nosferatu. It’s a time of extremes.

Yet I don’t feel any of it inside. Not yet. I think the cocoon of calm will shred and burn when I get to my new home and settle in. I won’t have anything to do! I won’t have to pack, I won’t have to run around to make sure my work laptop has all the appropriate programs, I won’t have to schedule anything, I won’t have two weeks of dinner dates to plan and attend, I won’t have to coddle the ex, I won’t have to look for a job, I won’t have to do anything. My schedule is empty. And that void, that chance to relax will be my undoing, I think.

My last night there I managed to see my best friends and hang out with them. It was sad, but it didn’t really hit me. This morning my ex acted like a goddamned fool — part of which was because I caught him creeping out at 3am and stealing our roommate’s truck to do…nobody knows. Hoping out older roommate wasn’t sick again (heart condition), I tried to make sure they were both okay, then told my ex I’d be glad to not have to worry about him anymore, then wished him happiness and luck. He never responded. This morning, he walked to the bathroom, refused to acknowledge me, slammed the bathroom door shut, and locked it. I cussed him out lightly, threw away some stuff I needed to, and then loaded the truck to go to the airport. I tapped on the door and said, “Well, goodbye anyway. Good luck.” I suspect he’s embarrassed, chagrined, and irritated at being caught. I also know he loves me and is trying to push me away so he doesn’t hurt. It won’t work. I’m FAR too awesome. *cackle!*

Anyway, I don’t have to deal with it ever again, nor will I have to deal with the work drama, the incessantly barking dogs, the 8 months of summer, the distractions, the pain, the forced lack of a social life, or the general unhappiness with my situation.

I’m literally on my way to a new life, and even if it hasn’t hit me mentally yet, I know I’m better off.

 

“This used to be a Funhouse, but now it’s full of evil clowns…I’ll find a new place, burn this fucker down.”

— P!nk, Funhouse

Declarations of Lunacy

My last full day in the state is this Thursday. You’d expect the social calendar to fill up a bit, but it has been a little crazy. All the emotional outbursts are expected — I will miss my friends and they will miss me. It’s sad and nice that there is so much love in my life.

What I did not want and frankly is making my last days here both irritating and awkward are certain…declarations.

An old friend I have known for years has recently had a tumultuous divorce. He and I dated for something like 35 minutes and it quickly became apparent that we not only have little in common, but that any extended time spent together would end in a murder conviction for the one remaining. He tried to kiss me one night recently when we were drinking, but I had to push him away and tell him no. When I told him that I was moving, he acted like I had just pulled the carpet out from under him and then hit him with it. Today at work I got 5 texts where he told me that he wants to hang out with me, but alone and away from our other friends. He said that he feels differently for me than the others do. The last text was the bomb. “I love you and have for years!” Well, shit.

I tried to convince myself that I took that in a way that wasn’t intended, but he confirmed it later. The problem is that not one single molecule of me feels the same way about him, and I feel absolutely no attraction to him.

Then my ex. Ugh. There’s a saga in and of itself. He has been trying to push me away for a while. No biggie. One of the perks of leaving here is that I won’t have to deal with him anymore.

When I told him that I got an apartment, he responded with, “What…why?!”. The movers came this weekend and when my ex saw my empty room, he just stared, looking like someone had sucker punched him. Now, he’s all warm and wants to hang out tomorrow and needs to talk to me and has asked me if I think he can ever fall in love (via text, this last. What the fuck, people?!). That he won’t let me go without making up. That he loves me. That he’s still in love with me and was trying to distance himself from me and it’s him, not me.

Between the two of them, I’m mentally exhausted. I want to be kind and delicate (and thankfully neither of them knows about this blog), I want to address their feelings with candor and gentle honesty. However, to steal a line, I also want to kick them in the nuts so hard that they get lodged in their fucking nostrils.

Why now, when I have three days left in the state? Why did they take it for granted that I would always be here and it was therefore acceptable to stay quiet? What if I felt the same way (I don’t) and we could have been having these wonderful lives together (we couldn’t) and would be happier than we’ve ever been (though they say murder can be cathartic, I’m not about to live like I’m part of the Manson Family). If they knew I don’t feel that way, is this a way of dumping it on me so they feel better? I care about these people, but why now?

To make matters lighter, my best friend with whom I am moving said this: First one, now the other…I don’t know if I can live with a sex magnet. *cackle* I might have to stay here and take my chances with the Crazy Chicken Lady.

To which I responded: To know me is to love me. Don’t try to resist, bitch. Hahaha.

Now, if only I could meet a hot, sane, smart guy and use my siren song to reel his sexy ass in.

Insomnia, the Lecherous Orc, and Packing

Both before and after my death-nap on Tuesday I haven’t been sleeping much — I have been too busy packing and obsessing about everything I still need to do.

On Saturday night my ex, who still is living here, brought over an old friend of his, who I’ve never met. He seemed like a nice guy, but he was — to me, anyway — rather unattractive. I described him to someone and it apparently sounded like I was describing an orc from Lord of the Rings.

I assumed they were together based on the way he was looking at my ex, like some lost puppy who had just found his master. It was actually pretty cute. However, my ex was either not into him or more into me, because he ignored the gazes and ran to his room to show me that awful footage of that poor French vaulter who annihilated his leg. Then he insisted that I drink some of the wine he got.

The last time my ex had a friend over, things were more awkward with us, and he proceeded to make things even more awkward by, uh, bragging about my junk and then telling me about it. I have a feeling that the same sort of thing happened this time.

They went out and I was up packing, fretting, and despairing until like 3am when they came back, drunker than Bacchus himself on a bender. I heard a light tap on my door and answered it, fully expecting my drunken ex to make things awkward again. Instead, it was the orc, wearing only a shirt and boxer briefs. Unfortunately, he was very happy about something, judging from a certain protrusion. He said that my ex was drunk and wouldn’t get into bed and was kind of being belligerent. He asked if I would come get him into bed.

I did, but my ex was in his boxer briefs curled up, having clearly just gotten in bed. I asked him a few questions and he asked me to move so he could puke. Into a mesh trashcan. With only a paper Trader Joe’s bag for lining. He’s not really much smarter when he’s sober, but he was profoundly drunk. The orc started rubbing my back and thanking me for coming in there. I shrugged him off, and part of me started thinking that he wanted a threesome with my ex and me. Never. Gonna. Happen. However, any attempted touching or fornication with my ex would have been rape, that’s how drunk he was. He puked again, I shrugged off the lecherous orc again, then again, and got the hell out of there after admonishing my ex to drink water and sleep on his side.

Since then, things have continued to be awkward, with my ex checking me out like a starving, feral beast would leer at a piece of bleeding meat…yet he is keeping his distance. The packing is hell. I hate packing. I have a few things left to do, and I need to do it tomorrow, because the movers are coming the day after. Next time, I swear I’m paying someone to pack for me too. At least on Saturday I will be able to sleep again. No worries. Just sleep.

Maybe next time I’ll also hire a bodyguard to guard my door from orcs, lechery, and wayward, conflicted ex-boyfriends.

Exhaustion, Elation, and Elevation

Have you ever been wound up so tight that you weren’t even aware of it?  I’m talking about a tension which, when released, exhausts you almost more than your body can handle.

Today I received tremendously good news. I was doing a bunch of things, really setting up for the rest of the day when my supervisor sent me an IM telling me that we needed to go meet with our manager, his boss. When we got in there, our manager completely faked me out. He talked up the difficulties of working from home, and certainly from another state. Then he said, “But we have decided to extend the offer for you to work from home.” I said, “Seriously?! Wow. I didn’t think it would even get past my supervisor!” My manager looked at me, grinned, and said, “You know…if you’re interested.”

We set all the stuff up, I had to sign into the loaner laptop that I will be using until they can get me my official work at home kit. They have to get me a virtual pin number and set up my internet at my new home (they pay for the work connection, but we have to use our own for home internet and cable).

It had to go all the way up to our vice president for approval. Not only that, there’s a possibility that our team will be given to another department, so it had to be cleared with them as well (though I’m not allowed to tell anyone on my team that. The pig launching business is very secretive, apparently). It cleared with everyone, much to my surprise.

So, I thanked out director and then sent a thank you e-mail to our vice president. Our director can take a thank you and turn it into a compliment, which she did, telling me that if I had been a mediocre employee things might have been different. The VP said that it was mutually beneficial and said that I earned it. What was amazing about that is that she is on PTO. I got her out of office response, yet she still took the time to respond to my e-mail. I’m certain that she was responding to vital stuff while on PTO, but I thought that was particularly nice.

We had a team meeting with a scientist (alas, Prince Scientist is long gone, but the scientist they sent to us knew him). When the scientist was done with her presentation, my supervisor walked in and told me that I had the floor. I wasn’t going to be dramatic about it, but I thought, “When am I going to have another opportunity?”

I said, “My last day here will be on the 18th.” There were gasps and exclamations and an appropriate amount of shock. I cackled and told them that I would still be keeping my job, but working from Oregon. They asked a bunch of questions which I answered. As I had discussed with my supervisor and director, I emphasized how many approvals I had to go through to get this taken care of. I’ve had a range of reactions from sadness to happiness for me to jealousy (the latter of which is from the woman who counts herself as my friend, who gave me a ride when my leg was all messed up, and who was passive aggressive with me for so long that she irrevocably damaged our friendship).

I came home and passed out for 4.5 hours. I was exhausted.

Sprinting Toward the End

Today was a big day in a very eventful week.

On Monday I told my roommate about my moving. He took it rather well, expressing regret at my leaving. My friend told her roommate (an old, dear friend of mine) who did not take it well. In fact, she dramatically made it all about her in an illogical response to two friends leaving. I get the sadness but not her affected martyrdom and sincerely hope that she gets over her need to be the center of attention with our move.

Yesterday I bought my one way ticket and called my new home to make sure everything was in order. It was. I haggled with the moving company and paid the deposit. I packed a little and ensured that everything is in order.

Today I handed in my resignation at work…sort of. See, I would be happy to keep my job if I was away from all the drama and stupidity of my team. They perpetuate the drama and the hatred. Being away from them and the arbitrary rules there would make the job bearable again. Hell, I might even enjoy it again.

I took my supervisor into a room and told him that I would be leaving in two weeks. I told him that I would be fine keeping my job if I could work from home in another state, fully expecting him to say that wasn’t a possibility at this time. Instead, he said that it was possible, but there was a materials problem, but then found a way around it. He said we might be able to do it, but that it would have to go all the way up the chain.

My supervisor talked to the manager. Our manager accepted the thought and they talked to our director. Our director thought it was a good idea but said that it needed to go up to HER boss, our junior vice president. It’s never been done, simply because of the distance and it could set a precedent that they might have to repeat.

However, a job I was happy to leave just yesterday (though I would definitely miss the paycheck), I may get to take to a place where the cost of living is ridiculously low and I want to be. So…here’s hoping!

The Prophetic Toe

When I was in the state I hope to move to, on my last full day there I walked to a Thai place nearby. While walking over the threshold, I did something I hadn’t done in some time — I tripped. I hit my right foot on the doorpost, did a painful bandy-legged dance, kicked my right foot into the ground painfully, stumbled to the counter, and rested there, trying to laugh it off.

Returning to my hotel room, I ate and eventually took a shower, where I noticed the damage I had done to my right foot. The nail on my big toe had bent back just above the center and there was a small line of blood under the bend mark. The middle toe, though, was bad. The blackness started on the left side of the toe about one fourth of the way up the nail. The nail itself was almost solid black/red. As I looked at it in horror, wondering if there was a blister underneath and how the hell I would get to it if there was, my mind quieted.

I’ve had this happen before, many times, but mostly in my youth. My adult brain is too cluttered with lists of things to do, mundane inanities, cynicism, not trusting my intuition, and other adult nonsense. It was an intuitive leap. I picture it like jogging through a forest when you emerge into a serene clearing. The birds are silent, the sounds of the forest are on mute, the sun is streaming down, and the only thing you can hear is a gentle wind. Then even that stops. In the center of that utter calmness, something speaks to you, and its voice and confidence are incontrovertible.

I had a moment like that in my hotel bathroom. The voice in my head — which is truthfully the voice of my own intuition — told me, “You will be living here by the time that toenail grows out.” There was no arguing with that voice. I wasn’t sure that I totally believed it, but I filed it away for future reference.

Early this past week, my friend managed to pull me out of my funk and I made a list of all the viable apartments I could find, then put them in order according to their location, amenities, and nearness to the center of the city. On Thursday we picked the first on the list and my friend called.

I applied for a two bedroom/two bath town house style but had a few questions. I talked to a guy there, who sounded gay, but in a cute way. He was all business at first, but then it seemed like he softened up. It was like talking to a girlfriend or someone with whom there was mutual interest.

After I got home from grocery shopping and hastily put away my groceries, I sat down to fill the last form out…and the guy called me. We talked and I said I was just getting home and was getting all the information to him. He called at 4:42. I sent the information right over. By 5:52 I had an approval in my inbox. Yes. THAT fast.

Over the weekend, I signed the lease, set up the utilities, and today I sent off the cashier’s check. To lock in a lower rent, we had to set my move in date as Wednesday, August 3rd. Yes, by Wednesday I could be in my own apartment. It’s all so overwhelming.

So, it’s all coming to an end. My toe was prophetic.

That Was a Day Off?!

I took the day off work today. I woke up late, summoned Uber, and sprinted off to my doctor’s appointment. The news I got wasn’t necessarily bad, it was just okay. I’m fine, as I usually am. I was in there for all of 20 minutes and was on my way.

When I got back, my ex, who is essentially a permanent houseguest, even after all the blow ups and nonsense, was the only one here. When I jumped into the shower earlier I walked out to the bathroom wearing boxer briefs and a tank top. I got checked right out. Like obviously looking at my junk and all that. He knew I was coming back and when, yet when I came in, he was wearing these short, short almost basketball shorts without underwear. Not that I haven’t seen it many times before, but I did get an eyeful. He stayed in them for a bit, walking around, doing laundry, then changed when our roommate was about to show up. In the words of my eloquent friend, “Is he trying to get a fuck in before you go?” After that, he avoided me noticeably.

Then I scuttled off to my dental cleaning. The hygienist was amazing and we were done shortly. Unfortunately, I had chipped a tooth — ironically while flossing — and had to have that fixed. I also had a loose filling in another tooth, so I decided to get all that fixed. This is the dentist who worked on me last time. For some reason, I couldn’t get numb. I needed to be injected 4-5 times. He then made a snide remark about some patients being easier to work on than others. It was SO painful and stress inducing that I didn’t go back for a long time. This time, I got numb right away, he didn’t try to upsell me to something I don’t need, and he was great.

When I got back, I was exhausted. I slept for two hours and then woke up. It was so weird. I was groggy for about an hour, I didn’t feel well, I thought that I was going to fall asleep again right away, and I could not concentrate.

Despite that, and with the coaching of a friend, I filled out an application for another apartment and am currently hoping. And hoping some more.

I took the day off for this? Aren’t days off supposed to be relaxing?!

My Feet are Ready for Kicking. And Walking.

On Friday I got a call from Pam, the woman at the leasing office saying we had been denied again. This is the same woman who “lost” our first paperwork and who has been an asshole the entire way through this process. They claimed job and rental credit were the issues. Clearly, they hadn’t run the information or read anything. Again.

I had my friend and potential roommate call the leasing office. Pam threw all the same excuses at her for us being denied, even though we had jumped through those hoops and set them ablaze. My friend put her foot right in Pam’s ass, who stuttered and spluttered and did not deal with the confrontation well.

I got home and planted my foot right in her ass as well. In the end she said she would send it off again and I asked her who she is sending it to. She said her higher ups. I asked for that number and her superior’s name. She refused to give it to me. I said, “You don’t have a boss?” It went on. She spluttered, stammered, and fled the phone as though Freddy Krueger was on the other end licking at her soul.

I called my old leasing office to see if there was anything I needed to attend to. That manager was happy to hear from me, invited me down to see her, and insisted that I see a vacant apartment, despite my protestations that I could never pay the rent without digging into savings. She said that was fine. We spent some time together, chatted, she showed me the apartment, we ran into some old neighbors, I saw her deal with an escalated issue in a firm yet compassionate and knowledgeable manner, and she earned my respect all over again.

I also picked her brain about rental issues and what happens and all that. At the end of it, we came to several conclusions:

First, this new apartment’s rules are draconian.

Second, with my credit score (742), job and savings history (over $25k), and rental history (one small smudge in 8 years), anyone should rent to me in a heartbeat.

Third, Pam seems shady, and there is likely something else going on. Racism, homophobia, elitism leading her to hate everyone from California, something.

Fourth, in these situations, the background checker has a list of things they look for based on what the owners recommend. They have no real power. If someone is rejected for, say, one late payment in all the history of renting, then the manager sends a recommendation to the owner to raise the deposit for like $100 simply to appease the process. This would almost invariably be accepted for such minor matters.

Fifth — and the most important — if this appeal goes through, is this really the type of environment we want to live in? Do we want to deal with Pam’s salty bullshit for a year or longer? No.

So, we are searching again. None of the other apartments’ criteria are as draconian. Pam called me today while I was napping. I will call her back tomorrow and then write one of several reviews. Review sites won’t help us, but they can help others not bother with this property. And by opening our search, my friend and I are swimming in possibilities. Our real task is to prioritize them. Hard life. So, Pam and her bullshit have made us kick her right in the ass and walk.

And bigger, better things are to come.

Rental Application: A Saga of Incompetence

I so very much wanted to come here tonight and talk about how the apartment in Oregon had approved everything and my friend and I were good to move across states. Unfortunately, the screening company they use has the attention span of a tennis ball and is about as thorough as a crow with ADHD trapped in a jewelry shop.

We got a call that told us we were denied for the apartment.

I asked them why and they gave me several reasons — all but one of which were utterly invalid. Aside from that, it was clear that they did not look at the information we sent and did not do the slightest bit of research.

The screening company denied us because:

— There was a credit issue for one of us.

*This is the valid one…and was rectified (with proof!) in less than 24 hours.

*However, my credit score is less than 10 points from 750. This was utterly ignored.

— Our jobs are not in Oregon.

*My friend’s two jobs are work at home. She included a letter that stated this. Additionally, the most amateurish search on Google would have told them this fact.

*Mine is not in the state, but I included a bank savings statement, indicating that I had enough money to pay rent there without a job for about a year and a half. Their application indicates that this is more than acceptable. The leasing office did not mention this at all, and in fact seemed surprised when I mentioned that I had included this statement.

— They couldn’t verify my recent living situation…because I didn’t include it.

*My current rooming situation is volatile and I was told by the manager that I needed only to provide 2 years of rental history, and definitely not the most current ones — we have an e-mail proving we were told this. I provided 8 years with an actual apartment complex. This was ignored because I purposefully did not provide a number for the most recent one. I caved and gave them the number. Just get us in already.

Everything has been addressed, called out, brought attention to, and rectified. There is literally no fucking reason for them to deny us now. The apartment company’s screening company is making the actual apartment place look like a bunch of chumps.

Please note that the vetting company lost everything, the whole packet of papers, application, and check the first time. This is our second packet which is now on its second go through. There is literally NO reason for them to deny us now, and I think the managers themselves are sick of the process. I think that the screening company will end up getting a letter or two about the experience, as will the main apartment company. The latter needs to know how incompetent the former is…after we get our approval, that is. The people at the apartment complex have been kind, funny, accommodating, and happily answered every single stupid question we have. And then some. They are NOT the problem.

I hope to have better news next week. Wish us luck, because our current living situations are absolute bullshit, as is this process. And yes, we are looking elsewhere. Just in case.

Movie Illusions Shattered: Cujo

Sometimes you just shouldn’t read the trivia sections on IMDB.

I’m currently reading The Howling (which continues to be very, very different from the movie). One thing I do almost all the time I can is read or listen to a book and then watch the movie. I’m only about 30% done with the book and have been having a difficult time fending off the urge to watch the movie. Eventually I realized that I could get my Dee Wallace fix by watching Cujo.

I’ve read the book, which is very good and very similar to the movie save for the ending. Pretty much anyone with a soul prefers the movie ending, including Stephen King himself. In Cujo, Dee Wallace and cute little Danny Pintauro are amazing actors. Dee’s exhausted yelling at poor little Danny and the way she reacts to him in every frame is so realistic. From the little shakes to holding him to crying when he does, the woman plays a terrified mother in an incredibly realistic way.

Danny Pintauro though, for his age, was phenomenal. Hell, for any age. He was terrified and annoying and had seizures and wailed and cried like a child would in that situation. Unless they violated every single child protection law in existence and actually tortured the child, he deserved at least a Golden Globe or a Tony or a Little League trophy. Something. In the behind the scenes feature on the Blu-ray, Dee Wallace says that she has been fortunate to work with all sorts of wonderful child actors in her career, but little Danny Pintauro in that role was the most amazing. The director himself said that Danny wasn’t acting the role, he was being the role.

So why the shattered illusion? I read this: The dogs featured in the film would often have their tails tied down to their legs because the dogs would be enjoying themselves so much that they would wag their tails during filming.

It goes on to tell that they missed this little trick once when Cujo was about to attack, and the dog was wagging his tail “enthusiastically”.

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. When Cujo attacks the white trash hoarding neighbor, his cute little tail is just wagging! And watch every time they show the dog’s tail. It doesn’t move, but you can see it trying to. He goes to attack the car? Tail tied underneath him. He just wanted to play, damn it! He’s attacking Dee Wallace? Bound and trying to wag. His ears are back sometimes like he’s trying to play. When he attacks Dee Wallace when she finally gets the bat, watch his hind quarters in the back. You can’t see the actual tail, but his hind quarters are wiggling back and forth…because he’s wagging his tail in happiness. He legitimately wanted to play with Dee Wallace. How did they get the dog to attack the Pinto? Played with him and put one of his toys in the car.

Cujo was legitimately just trying to play.

I sincerely hope that I can learn to ignore this, because it gives the movie a whole different spin. I like the movie quite a bit and the book just as much (maybe a teeny, tiny, little bit less because of that damned ending). It’s effective and tragic.

The real Cujo was just spending time with some new friends and repeatedly licking off the egg and sugar concoction they used for rabies foam. It makes Cujo a giant, affectionate puppy unless you willfully ignore it. I hope I can.