Chi Town Blues

This is a photo of my friend Ian and I while we were in Chicago.

I absolutely loved this city and if you get a chance to go, dine at The Purple Pig. The restaurant is awesome and it’s even cooler if you’re from RI because, the head chef went to JWU and worked at Alforno in Providence!

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Who cares.

People do not give a fuck about you.
That is a fact.

This may be bitterness surfacing due to the looming hell that is Valentines day, or that this month should have been my four year anniversary with my ex, or the string of expletives someone I felt close to recently threw at me, but it does not change the fact that no one gives a shit.

Every Saturday I have a cup of tea at my local Starbucks before going into my second shift at the coffee shop I work at.  Yes you read that correctly.

Anyway, there is this moldy man who I see every week and he is a definite weirdo.
I have tried on numerous times to make small talk with him and every time I am shut down faster than a restaurant run by rats.

Anyway, whenever I get up to pee I usually take my laptop and purse with me to prevent it from being stolen. One day, I unintentionally left my laptop on the table next to this guy and I realized it as I was halfway to the restroom, but I did not go back for it.  It is not so much that I trust the guy as I got the vibe he did give enough fucks to try and steal it.

This Saturday a guy comes over to me with his coffee and says, “Hey are you going to be here for a few?” In actuality I was planning on leaving but, he was cute and I have been miserable so I said I would be around. So, he hands me his coffee and asks me if I would mind watching it for about ten minutes. I am amused by the question so I reply, “sure!” and he thanks me and walks out of the coffee shop.

In hindsight I could have spit in the coffee, dropped some GHB or  PCP in it, but I didn’t; and it is not because I am a good person. I forwent poisoning my new friend simply because I did not care enough to actually do so. Hurting someone, even a stranger, takes effort which requires a certain amount of caring. If I yell at a friend the anger is a force of caring, born from my love of that person or the passion behind an issue. Even when someone steals, they steal for themselves because they care about their self.

Anyway, the guy comes back after a few minutes and says, “Oh my gosh, thank you so much for watching my coffee!” and then he says, “May I offer you a pen for your troubles?”
A pen. The man paid me in writing utensils for watching his beverage, which he left with a complete stranger.
But, I am gracious so I accepted one and told him what a uniquely helpful gesture it was.
As I was packing up to leave he thanks me, for the eighth time. To which I  replied, “Oh, really it was no problem! I mean you haven’t drank out of it yet so I could have roofied you, but I can guarantee no one else did!”
He was not amused, (Seriously? The man paid me in pens and I am the weirdo?) but I didn’t really care what he thought so, I laughed at my own joke and walked out of the shop.

In short, you can always rely on the world’s apathy.

The drivel.

To be honest I have been in a funk for a while now.
I started this blog in a funk.
This blog is a funk, or the record of one.

It could be a simple chemical imbalance induced from all the smoking and drinking I do. Usually I only smoke at night, when I drink, but lately I have been indulging during the sunlight and I am not proud.

In other news my horoscopes have been weirdly accurate.

Companionless Consuming

I am going to try real hard to keep writing on this thing.

Every Saturday I work 5:30am until 8pm.  That is a long fucking day in case you cannot do simple math.

I’ve been doing this for almost a year now and it took me several months to not take the common parting wish, “Have a nice weekend!” as a personal slap in the face. I do get a three hour break in between my two shifts where I usually eat lunch at a local sushi restaurant, alone.  At first I think the waitstaff felt bad for me, but eventually they got use to it.

I eat out alone a lot.

I am a full time student, a full time worker, a tutor, and an intern. I do not have time to call a friend up for lunch and given that I do not cook, my alternative to eating out alone is to starve.
I very rarely feel odd about my habit. I usually find it relaxing in fact, but today as my lovely waitress sat me in my usual area, there was a male, about my age, sitting directly to my left who was also eating alone.

I felt odd for a few reasons:
      1. Eating alone, at separate tables just seamed peculiar and I almost asked if he wanted to join me. It was like seeing two puzzle pieces sitting near each other and just leaving them there. The compulsive part of my personality just does not allow that.
      2. We kept making awkward eye contact, where we both wanted to say something nice, or witty, but then decided to just stuff our faces in heavy silence.
   
I sort of felt bad for him for a moment until I remembered that I was doing the same thing and that both of us were being scrutinized by the couple out to eat in sweatpants.

I thought to myself and firmly decided that on any given day I would rather eat alone than dine out with someone wearing sweatpants.

The Millionth

I’ve started blogs a million times. I always start them and never finish them, but I suppose that was implied.

This is going to be a blog about me.
I was born in the year 1991 in Rhode Island.
I am a small girl in a small state who, until recently, found her life boring.

I go to Community College, although I did not start here.
I live in Providence, in one of the ghetto-est neighborhoods; the boarder of Olenyville and Silverlake. It depends on who you ask as to which town I actually reside in.

I drink a little too much on occasion and smoke cigarettes when it is dark outside.
I have two cats and I rent an apartment with my mother Bethy.
I have a friend named Kate who I run around with quite frequently. We are currently trying to set up a blog for local writers to showcase their works.  It’s in it’s fetal stages, I’m sure I’ll tell you more about it later.
*Want to submit? Email at AKfourohone@gmail.com
         Photos, writing, paintings, when you’ll be performing somewhere… we want your art!

I work at a coffee shop which will remain nameless for now, I help run my college newspaper and I am an intern for a local magazine.

**Looking for a freelancer in the Rhode Island area? Contact me! Shameless self promotion, but that’s the only way to get ahead in this shit world.

I cannot say my life is bad, even if it hasn’t turned out the way I pictured. I turned 22 the other day andI really thought that I would be in a different place by now. Grad school, still living in NYC, working as a paralegal. I am literally non of those things.
I write and work in writing/publishing. I attend CCRI (LAST SEMESTER) and I live back in my home state.
Kate asked me the other day if five-year-old me met myself now, would she be proud?
No, five-year-old me would be seriously disappointed that we are bad at math and did not end up being an astronaut. And if we are being really technical five year old me would not have the learning capacity (according to Howard Gardner) to really grasp the idea of life at 22.
We were at a bar (Trinity Brewhouse) when she brought this up and I took out my phone to see what five-year-old me’s brain capacity would be. I’m that girl…

Sometimes 22 year old me is not proud, but then I just say fuck it.
Sometimes that is just what you have to do, say fuck it, fuck you, fuck them, fuck it ALL and then move on.