January, 2015

Jan 1st, 2015

Finally it’s 2015!

As usual, I have made a list of New Year’s resolutions.

1.  I will do everything in my power to ensure that next year, at this time, I have a quality significant other.  My heart is rooting for Ohranj, but I will keep an open heart and mind in case another wickedly handsome, intelligent, loving, caring, and supportive man comes along.  However, due to the fact that I am now suffering from disfigurement, I truly doubt that I have a shot with anyone other than Ohranj.

2.  I will stop at nothing to make Expresso a reality.

3.  I will become a masterful archer.

4.  I will not, under any circumstances scratch my skin, unless I have a genuine itch.

Upon completion of my list, I went into my bedroom and buried the back scratcher I secretly bought while holiday shopping into the dark annals of my closet.  I then went to CVS and bought a lovely, sentimental holiday card for Ohranj.  I realize that I am an iota late but honestly, I felt it was best he experience the Christmas holiday without me.  As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder and that is exponentially true around the holidays.

I arrived back home and put together an elegantly wrapped package for Ohranj, which included both the card and my prototype Expresso stickers which I started to work on last week.  I went through the whole package of mailing labels before I was somewhat contented with the design and artistry.  There was only so much I could do with Sharpies and Avery mailing labels. However, I admit, I felt euphoric when I completed the labels.  I can’t even imagine how drunk with pleasure I will feel when, instead of handwritten stickers, I have thrilling, digitally printed adhesives.

I joyfully photographed the very first Expresso stickers with the highest quality setting on my camera.  I want this day to remain a  treasured, vivid memory for all time.   When Expresso opens it’s first office, I will first and foremost, transform this picture into a significantly sized poster for all to view.  Using a high amount of pixels will ensure that not even the smallest amount of clarity is lost.


Jan 2nd, 2015

I woke up early and prepared to call in sick to work.  Even though I am entitled to an unscheduled day of leisure to mend, I knew that Patrick in HR would have serious reservations as to whether or not I was truly ill.   Because of this, I tactfully planned an artfully executed phone call.  First, I called in 30 minutes past my usual wake-up time.  I feigned a morning shower and whimpered that I tried everything possible in order to muster the strength needed to trek to the office.  Secondly, I was extremely specific about the lump in my throat as any kind of uncertainly in the description of my ailment was certain to raise Patrick’s suspicions.   I mentioned that I was suffering from a two-inch mass, directly below my chin, that contained a vertical, centrally located indentation, that almost caused the protrusion to look as though it contained two separate hemispheres. Lastly, I assured Patrick that I would be seeking medical attention and would be in contact with the results as soon as I knew anything.  I was quick to add that even though it could be cancer, he should pray that it is something as benign as a thyroid nodule.

I admit, I disguised my voice as to that of a woman suffering from the sorest of throats.  I assumed that Patrick would have no clear understanding that just because my ailment resides in my neck area, it does not necessarily include a scratchy throat.

I feel liberated, now that I have vacation, sick, and personal days back in my queue.  Losing control over my weekdays was truly like looking into an abyss of family emergencies, intolerable illnesses, and severe bouts of self-loathing all spent behind a desk of never ending visitors and phone calls.  I swear, these last few months had me on the brink of a mental breakdown.  I can’t imagine the number of panic attacks I would have had today, had I been required to go to work with this hideous lump.


Jan 3rd, 2015

I finally made it to the CVS minute clinic for a thorough examination of my neck and the clod nurse practitioner said there was absolutely nothing wrong with my Adam’s apple.   She openly admitted that she failed to identify any kind of unusual swelling, puffiness, or protuberance, yet was unafraid to diagnose me as healthy.  I cannot for the life of me understand how it is that she had any confidence to give me a clean bill of health, when she couldn’t even recognize a tumor the size of Texas.   I asked her for a note expressing that I had visited and then huffed out of her office.

Th only positive that came out of my visit was that on my way out, I stopped for an orange juice and was rewarded with a $5.50 extra value bucks coupon.

I can hardly believe that I have to wait until Monday to visit a real M.D. for an educated diagnosis of my laryngeal prominence.  I had no choice but to dig out my back scratcher, troll Ohranj’s movements on Facebook, and examine my throat with an eagle’s eye.  I did call Ethan Baker, revealing to him that I was still unable to visit without a clear diagnosis of my health, but the call lasted, at most, one minute.  Then it was back to my uncontrollable worry.


Jan 4th, 2015

Today, I visited Ethan Baker, despite having no answers on what is ailing my Adam’s apple.  Inflicting further illness on Ethan is the last thing that I would want, however, he sounded desperate for a visit.  The poor thing has been laid up in the hospital since November and while I believe he had many family visitors at Christmas, he is quite alone.  He has explained many times that his closest friends are all in Afghanistan and he longs for companionship.   I agreed, but only on the condition that his doctor provided clearance.  I would be less than truthful if I didn’t admit that it had crossed my mind that I may finally get a reliable diagnosis on the hideous growth under my chin.

When I arrived at the hospital, I immediately ran to the nurses station and requested a quick conference with Ethan’s doctor.  After careful examination, both the doctor and nurse agreed that they could see no lump or unusual protuberance in my throat.  I was floored that I got the same response as I got at the Minute Clinic.

I turned into Ethan’s room and pressed him for his thoughts.  He told me, “It’s the same size it always is.”

Have I been obtuse to this deformity for months now?  For years?  How long have I been living with this disgusting mannish mound in my throat and why did it take until now for me to notice? To what other absolutely frightening part of my being am I blithely unaware?


Jan 5th, 2015

Panic struck around 5 A.M.  My mind was swirling with anxiety and self-doubt.   I sprung to my book shelves, whipped out my old photo albums and paid special attention to the size of my larynx in each and every picture.  Because I have always been meticulous in documenting my photographs, I was able to pinpoint the exact time in which my Adam’s apple catapulted to obscenity.   It was during my sophomore year of high school.  There is was, clear as day, sticking out like a mountaintop.  As I thumbed through the years, I noticed its undeniable presence plaguing almost all my photographs, while I naively smiled.  Furthermore, after introspection, I had no choice but to logically jump to the conclusion that my abnormally large voice box must be producing an unusually deep, masculine voice.  Yet another fact that has eluded my attention up until now.

After two hours of rifling through pictures, I showered and got ready for work.  Upon arriving at the office, I immediately turned on the phone system’s weekday auto-attendant and sat in silence.  I needed a good uninterrupted hour or two, to focus on self-realization and actualization.  I thought it best to call the one person I knew that could give me an honest, unbiased evaluation, my father.

Don Cutter, a theatre professor at DePaul University has for years, given my mother scathing criticisms over her performances and in preparation for her auditions.  One of the sorest days in the Cutter household was when my father muttered the words, “I can’t imagine your play is any better than your scene work.”  My mother, in a rage, shredded every image in her wedding album, trashed the bed she and my father shared, and moved back into her mother’s house.  She vowed never to forgive my father.  However, when the reviews of her performance hit the newsstands, she realized my father’s critique, though cold, was dead-on and she should have pressed him for further clarification.   She moved back in before the terrible play closed, about 2 weeks later.

If I am to be the CEO of one of the most influential companies in the world, I must be aware of all my shortcomings.  I rang my father and asked for his earnest and honest opinion on my quirks and nuances.

Without as much as a breathe, he blurted, as if he had been carefully considering his answer for months, “You get crazy when you are PMS-y.  You’re very angry.  You say, “you know what I mean”, when no one could possibly know what you mean, and you fart in your sleep.  Is that enough?”

I pursed my lips and gently hung up the phone without so much as a good-bye.


Jan 6th, 2015

My indoor archery lessons started tonight.  I arrived at the field house with my head and stomach swirling.  I was nervous about meeting a new coach and quite anxious to observe the other archer’s the level of skill.  Never before had I been so terrified of my own proficiency.  When I started my arching sojourn, I was nothing more than a novice entrepreneur looking to busy myself with the arts and crafts of a leader.  But now, I am truly a budding CEO.  I have created the first Expresso prototypes, scheduled my last day of employment at my current company, and am knee-deep in color psychology and interpretation in order that the design of my corporate headquarters be inspiring and invigorating for my employees.  I admit, I often find myself terrified of my abilities and limitations and fear that a failure in any aspect of success, whether it be effective office management or arching, will soil my net worth.

But after meeting Teagan, the instructor, inner strength flooded my body and soul.   His authoritative demeanor was soothing.  As I pulled back my bow, he reminded me that I was a warrior in training and that my target was not just a wooden base loaded with straw and colorful markings.  The bullseye was my mortal enemy and in order to survive, I must strike with a confidence that rivaled Ares.  I never arched with such purpose or clarity.  All I had to do was imagine my father’s head in front of my target and release.

Mark my words, Don Cutter shall regret the day he tore into the spiritual part of my being.


Jan 7th, 2015

I woke up this morning with a pain in my neck and back, so debilitating, that I was tempted to crawl to the hospital, rip out the morphine drip that has been lodged into Ethan Baker’s arm for the last month and a half, and plunge it into my own veins.  I had forgotten how taxing archery can can be on even the strongest of bodies.  I barely had the strength to lift my arm high enough to reach for the useless Advil, which was inconveniently mounted on the top shelf of my medicine cabinet.   I fear the only amnesty I may have from this intense misery is death.

I entered the office a complete mess, unable to properly style my hair, put on make-up, or choose proper attire.  Unfortunately a power wardrobe consists of many sheath dresses, i.e, up-the-back zippers.  Even with the assistance of a wire hanger, fully closing my dress was nothing more than a dream.  I was forced to wear an over-sized sweatshirt as it was the only thing I could slide on my body with minimal movement of my arms.

Luckily, the slender-fingered Eric took mercy on me and brought me hot soup for lunch, twice slathered a muscle analgesic on my shoulders, and even gave me a ride home after work.  His niceties would have been treasured moments, if not for his scrawny, fleshless fingers.

Once at home, I lounged the best I could with a heating pad nestled underneath my neck and back.   I held my phone as loosely as possible and took close-up pictures of my Adam’s apple for examination, until my mind meandered to the subject of Ohranj.  I wondered what he was doing while pining for his sweet touch and caress.  I decided to private message him to inquire if he had received the gift package I sent.  As of 10 P.M., I had not heard back, thus forcing me to again toss and turn over my father’s thoughtless, heartless, remarks regarding my personality.


Jan 8th, 2015

After several nights of soul-searching, I have concluded that my father’s critique was a harsh joke played by an aloof man with a callous sense of humor.  I can say for certain that I am not an angry person; an angry person would have at minimum, retaliated against his remarks.  Nor do I ever, ever, lay or cut fart while sleeping.  The very thought that my father would even have knowledge of my nocturnal behavior is farcical, having always slept at home with my door tightly closed.

I am sickened that I lost even a minute of sleep over our ludicrous conversation.

I still have not heard from Ohranj, but with a little sleuthing was able to ascertain that he has in fact, received my Christmas card and Expresso stickers.  I’m absolutely dying for him to finally post his selfie!


Jan 9th, 2015

Today, I received the best news possible.   Ethan Baker, the strong and mighty soldier who has been laid up for the last month and a half will finally be heading home from the hospital.  Even though his future in the military is still unclear, he shared with me a happiness and enthusiasm that I have not witnessed since his injury.

While I do share in his excitement, I do worry about him in the outside world.  The psychological impact one may suffer when struck by a moving car is not to be underestimated.  I fear he may never again be able to take a leisurely stroll without the worry of death, disfigurement, or mutilation.


Jan 10th, 2015

The morning proved quite busy.  I hurriedly prepared for Ethan Baker’s release from the hospital.  I trudged through the snow to the Jewel grocery store, as I wanted to ensure that I had plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables.  When Ethan visits me, and I suspect he will be a regular guest, I want to have the most nourishing food to help heal his mending body.

After visiting the Jewel, I made my way over to the CVS.  I packed my basket with vitamins and minerals, bacitracin pain-relieving and cleansing spray,  topical steroid cream, gauze, and medical tape.  I never thought I would say this, but my disgusting, self-mutilating scratching tick may prove beneficial:  I am well versed on nursing skin abrasions I will possibly be the most apt at tending to Ethan’s epidermal wounds.

While there, I also purchased two tubes of coconut and honey lip balm.  I see no harm in making certain that my lips are kissably soft.  Thanks to the extra value bucks coupon I received last week, the soothing glosses were practically free.

At the hospital, I first visited the children’s wing.  I vehemently reminded the youngsters that in a blink of an eye, they too would be free from their injury and disease.  I only wish that I had Expresso business cards to hand out to the sickly adolescents.  When I first visited the children’s wing, I made a solemn oath to all that they would have employment waiting for them at Expresso, once they reached adulthood and I wanted to make certain all were able to contact me.  Instead I had to repeat “Expresso” over and over, until the children were able to recite my company name back to me, without hesitation.

Ethan was packed and ready for wheeling once I arrived to his room.  I took a quick snapshot of him and his father as they rolled out of the quarters in which Ethan spent the last month and a half.  Once they exited, I did a quick scan.  It would be extremely easy to forget one of the many books, cards, or other trinkets that Ethan stored in his makeshift home and without a doubt, any left-behinds would be forever lost to the pockets of an unscrupulous staffer.


Jan 11th, 2015

I invited Ethan Baker over to my apartment for a most special dinner tonight.  I insisted that as his dear friend, it was not only my duty, but also pleasure to make certain that he was properly provided the necessary food and care for health.  As feared, he was hesitant to venture out of his house, into the same traffic that practically drove him to the grave.  I was understanding, but gently reminded him that the fruits and vegetables in my refrigerator would not last longer than two or three days.

Later in the day, I scoured the internet to find any kind of evidence that Ohranj used my Expresso stickers.  My search came up empty.  It was then that I realized that I neglected to include a Starbucks gift card in my care package! Surely Ohranj had not posted his first selfie because he was miffed that he had to buy his own coffee!  I was humiliated at my error.  I ran to the nearest Starbucks, got a $25 gift card, and promptly sent it to Ohranj with a note of apology as well as detailed instructions on how to use the Expresso stickers.


Jan 12th, 2015

I received another visit from the Chicago Police today.  I sincerely wish that they would stop calling on me at my place of employment, however I understand that there is a certain caution they must take in order to protect my safety.  After all, Arthur may very well have some underling staking out my apartment or tapping my phone lines.  I have explained in great detail that I know nothing further than what I have already confessed, yet, still they continue to check and double check my story.  I’m slightly disquieted that the officers may be methodically examining whether I might be a good candidate to perform in an undercover operation.  Such as it is, I’m extremely trustworthy and can be quite cunning.

I jumped on social media to find out if Ohranj received my Starbucks gift card, carelessly forgetting that yesterday was Sunday and mail pick up would not register my card in their queue until today.


Jan 13th, 2015

$3062.56!  That is the amount I currently owe Mary Kay Cosmetics for my advance purchases!  I’m in outright tangles!  How am I ever going to be able to square this debt?  I immediately called my sales director sobbing.  She assured me that if I tried with just a little more gusto, I could easily convert my inventory into cash.  But I have right-minded reservations.  I’m on the brink of opening my own company and I simply do not have the cycles to sequester my time with frankly, a provisional business.  I do not know what to do or where to turn.  How I wish I had never dreamed of living a life where I helped every woman live up to her full beauty potential!

I can’t help but think, had I not been so mentally bruised, battered, and baked before archery, I could have possibly shone as one of the best and brightest pupils.  Instead, I displayed a complete mockery of both the sport of archery and myself as a bowman.


Jan 14th, 2015

I’m absolutely horrified!  The hideous Christy Calm has been the first to post an Expresso!  I am absolutely livid with Ohranj over this betrayal in trust.  I don’t even know where to start, dear blog, I am just so full of rancor, contempt, disillusionment, heartache, and sorrow.  It is truly unfair that one should have to suffer all these feelings at once.  Even now, as I type, my fingertips quiver with the vigor of a polygraph hooked up to Richard Nixon.

It all started after I logged into my Facebook page and encountered Christy’s smug, lopsided smile, next to my darling sticker.  I let out a blood-curdling scream, which was followed by frenzied breathing and intense facial scratching.  When my co-workers ran to my desk, filled with fear about my well-being, I was practically lifeless.  I swear, had there been cyanide poison within my reach, I would have drunk the toxin with pleasure.

Slumped in my chair and unable to articulate words, I could only point to the devastating picture of Christy, her eyes piercing through my heart, with a dear message that read, “I think therefore I am LOVED BY OHRANJ!  I wished my tears were filled with tar, in order that a blackness as dark as pitch, would cloud my vision for the rest of my days and enable me to imagine a world where the first ever Expresso was posted by Ohranj with a message of “I think therefore I’m in love with Iris.”

I threw on my stylish winter coat and started to head out the door.  I had absolutely no choice, but to return home in order to drink copious amounts of liquor. This is most anguish I have ever felt.  Nothing, absolutely nothing is sacred to Christy.  No doubt, she even bought her coffee with the gift card that I purchased for Ohranj.

All I could do once I arrived home was sit in front of my computer and wait for my Expresso idea to spread like an opiate in the bloodstream with Christy’s detestable face.


Jan 15th, 2015

The devastation of yesterday’s events has left me only a shell of a human.  I tried with all my power and might to find a reason to live but have come up empty-handed.  I have  confined to the trash all of my color research, cleared from my computer’s cache all of the wholesale sticker websites in which I have visited, and expelled from my mind all things Expresso.   A loathesome picture of a hideous person is all that is left of what was once an idea of great beauty.

I tried to make Ethan Baker a nutritious dinner, but could only muster the amount of strength and energy it took to take a short walk to my freezer, pull out a frozen entree, and deliver it to his house, unthawed.


Jan 16th, 2015

I took the bus over to my parents house after work today, seeking comfort from the harsh reality in which I’m currently living.  My mother had some kind of insignificant audition for which she was preparing, hence keeping her from mending my broken spirits even in the slightest amount.  I had no choice but to turn to my father for comfort.  I was apprehensive, but desperate.  I hoped against hope he would offer words of encouragement and sympathy, despite not having a compassionate bone in his body.

I thoroughly explained to him how Christy and Ohranj had violated me and my company.  Their betrayal had me struggling over whether or not I should even continue down my road to success. I confessed that I secretly hoped that one day, Expresso would be included in the Smithsonian and a pop-culture icon.  I couldn’t bear the thought that, when the quintessential American museum came calling, I would have to share with them the very first Expresso picture, which would be the detestable Christy.   I was absolutely torn on whether or not I should move forward.   Turning my back on Expresso now would jeopardize my future; moving forward would immortalize a classless hog.

After a careful roll of his eyes, he pondered whether or not I was correctly focused.  He suggested that, instead of concentrating on the end of Expresso or the hurt I was feeling, I should ask myself, with complete honestly, whether or not the first person to post an Expresso was truly important.  He suggested that I take some time to think long and hard about my life and the obstacles in which I have already had to overcome.  He further pressed me to think about the curve balls that life could throw my way and recommended that I compare those with my current situation.  “Only then”, he said, “can I decide if this is a true emergency.”

I took the bus back home and thought long and hard about my life.  Upon arriving back home, I deduced, that, in fact, yes, this is a true emergency and yes, situation is dire.


Jan 17th, 2015

It seemed almost impossible to get out of bed this morning.  If not for Tamar’s insistence that I join her for a flick, I doubt I would have done anything with the day.  Tamar and I have a made a great promise, a life long pact, in which we must see all Oscar nominated films prior to the commencement of the wonderful award show.  Then, we make our own predictions and join each other for informed, lively commentary on Oscar night.

We decided to view a showing of an Oscar nominated film,  “Birdman”.   I left the movie with serious concerns over Emma Stone’s weight.  There was a time while watching,  in which I felt extreme hunger pains just looking at her frame.   Further, at some point, I became spellbound, imagining a harsh, accented-man standing over her with a whip, closely monitoring her daily caloric intake and workout regimen.  Before I knew it, over fifteen minutes of celluloid passed through the lens of the projector, leaving me somewhat befuddled in the story.  Is she suffering off the screen?  Should I write her a brief, yet compassionate note?


Jan 18th, 2015

I spent most of the day trying to get used to the idea of being nothing more than a receptionist and Mary Kay beauty consultant for the rest of my life.  I decided to slowly walk to the library in order to check out The Communist Manifesto and Das Kapital, as it appears as though I will be a laborer rather than part of the upper echelon as I had once hoped and dreamed.


Jan 19th, 2015

Another Monday.  I spent the morning on the train thinking about what it is that I’m going to do with the rest of my life.  I simply cannot surmise an existence in which I’m nothing more than a common denizen wandering the internet in search of new and creative ways to get people to buy more make-up, all the while sitting at a desk where I instruct visitors and guests on how to arrive at a lavatory so that they may free themselves from the muck that was produced from the previous night’s Chinese take-out.

I admit dear blog, that there was a point that I thought I should simply check myself into one of those designer rehab clinics intended to cure affluent individuals from their prescription addictions.  At least there, I could enjoy warm weather, long walks on beaches, and psychological treatment, all the while seeking out a suitable mate in which to spend the rest of my days.

While, I do not want to dwell on the situation, I must admit, I have brought my scratching habit to a whole other level.  I believe that CVS must think that I am a reseller of topical steroid cream as I have bought the ointment by over eight imperial gallons.


Jan 20th, 2015

I must find a way to stop perpetually yearning to go back to a time when Expresso was pure!  My constant craving is causing me to be a world class nuisance.  Just today, I almost killed Teagan, my archery instructor with a rogue arrow.  I was absolutely horrified!  It all started when the air horn which alarms the archers to put down their bows sounded.  The horn only goes off for one reason: Someone has entered the target zone.  Not two seconds after the alarm had warbled, without thinking, I loaded my bow, looked at my target, and let my arrow fly right into the very place in which Teagan stood.  I had no excuse as to why I had just unleashed unabashed fury into the target zone, so I did the first thing that came to my mind and feigned a seizure.

I violently convulsed on the floor, until I could hear the commotion surrounding me turning from “Iris, you foolish clod” to “Oh my God, something is wrong with Iris!”   After gaining a clear understanding that my health issue was overshadowing my blunder, I suddenly stopped my shaking and opened my eyes.  With a light trembling in my hands, I felt my forehead and asked very quietly, ‘What happened?”  I lied on the floor, until Teagen hovered over me and then I gently asked him to hold me, in order that he could feel the shiver that I conjured throughout my whole body.  At some point, I whimpered for a ride home, in which Teagan obliged.  I was as frail and fragile as possible.

After I returned home, I manically looked up seizures and what may cause them on the internet in order that when I return to arch next Tuesday, I can give the entire class an accurate and detailed report on the state of my health.


Jan 21st, 2015

Maxine called me tonight irate and screaming.  I could barely make out anything she was saying, other than her insistence to know where I was.  I told her that I did not respond to obnoxious, juvenile peremptory requests especially when dictated by a loathsome scourge that was four years my junior.  I then callously hung up the phone so that I could relax with the bowl of popcorn that I had just made for dinner.

It didn’t dawn on me, until 10 P.M.,  that it was my mother’s birthday.  I immediately texted Maxine inquiring as to why it was that she either didn’t remind me earlier in the day or call me repeatedly after our short call.  She immediately texted me back, spewing lies, intent that she had told me it was my mother’s birthday dinner.  I had no choice but to insist that my mother, father, and Maxine all stop over at my place for a nightcap.

I dashed around the house, looking for anything to make the place look festive.  Finding only toilet paper, I did the best I could to stream the rolls along my curtains, lamp shades and chandelier, without tearing it at the perforations.  Before I knew it, they were all at the house, ready to celebrate, giving me absolutely no time to hide my Mary Kay cosmetics, which I had intended on selling back to Mary Kay.

My mother and Maxine partied until the break of dawn.  I dread finding out how many of the cosmetics they have opened for their own personal tester party tomorrow morning.


Jan 22nd, 2015

As expected, my mother and Maxine tested enough make-up to fully decorate the faces of entire cast of Cats for two months or more.  I looked around my living area, helpless, knowing full well that I had no possible avenues of recouping the money.  First of all, Maxine had absolutely no money in which to purchase the cosmetics.  Secondly, if I brought up pricing with my mother, she would easily trump my complaint with feeble and petulant whining about forgetting her birthday.  I had no choice but to accept defeat.  This time.


Jan 23rd, 2015

As if things couldn’t get any worse!  Truly, I cannot imagine how heinous a life must get before one is allowed to go mad.  When I arrived home from the office, my mother and Maxine ambushed me with the following news:  I would be housing my sister until she could get her finances in order!  I was completely flabbergasted!

While I was gone to work for the day, Maxine and my mother had a little heart to heart, in which Maxine informed my mother that she was desperate for money.  After her former landlord, to which she is still obligated to pay rent threatened to evict her last month, she came to a resolution in her mind to pay her old landlord half a month’s payment and her new landlord the same.  Now, instead of being in deep with one tenancy, she is in over her head with two.  Maxine’s logic completely befuddles me!

My mother, apparently on the phone throughout the day with both landlords, was able to relieve Maxine from her obligations as of February 28th, in both tenancies.  However, the stipulation with her former landlord was that she must immediately pay all rent due through February 28th, and with the latter, that she must vacate the premises before the end of the weekend as well as pay the total amount of rent due.  I swear the saga with Maxine never ends!

I jumped to call my father when my mother grabbed the phone from my hands.  She insisted that my father must not know that my mother was fronting Maxine for the debt nor that she was on the verge of being evicted.  I slowly put the phone down, but not before my mother and I exchanged a look of understanding and agreement that the price for my secrecy was not available without charge.


Jan 24th, 2015

I spent the day labeling all of my groceries, hair products, and clothes, lest Maxine try to abscond or claim ownership on my belongings.  I used sticky notes on my groceries and hair jellies and creams, but my clothes took a bit more time to label as I used safety pins.  I didn’t want to spoil any of my delicate frocks with a snagged thread or unsightly little holes, so I needed to attach my name tags to zippers and interior tags.  I still must try to figure out a way to separate our dishes.  I absolutely refuse to allow her access to unlimited plates, cups, pots, and pans.  If she is given the opportunity,  I guarantee her soiled dishes will pile up higher than her debt, leaving me the vile task of washing her spit-soaked serving platters and flatware.

I put all my money, credit cards, and Mark Kay cosmetics into a locked piece of luggage and then hid it under my bed.


Jan 25th, 2015

My mother arrived at my house at 8 A.M. this morning.  She brought with her three cups of coffee from Starbucks, adding serious insult to injury.  I wanted to slam the door in her face, however she was able to wedge her toes between the door and jamb before I could bring my entrance to complete closure.

She was jovial.  In my opinion, too jovial,  as if her brilliant mood was going to make me feel any better about the violation she orchestrated against my home and privacy. She insisted her cherry disposition was due to having both of her girls living under the same roof, providing us a wonderful opportunity to become best friends.  However, I suspect she must have taken some sort of mood stimulant.  She was even able to snicker after I told her to “put a sock in it.”

We sat in my living room sipping our coffee for about 5 minutes before Maxine called to advise us that the movers were on their way to my house.  Yes, as ludicrious as it sounds, my mother provided Maxine a way to move with luxury and ease.  Does she even understand how delicate I feel in this situation and that every smile, helping hand, and provision of lavish moving assistance drives me closer and closer to the brink?

I can’t imagine it’s going to take more than a week before I reach my breaking point.


Jan 26th, 2015

I decided to treat myself to an over-sized slice of Hawaiian pizza for lunch today.  I truly believe that there is no finer a delicacy than Canadian bacon and pineapple on a perfectly crusted pizza and there is a wonderful little pizza stand, Luigi’s, three blocks from my office.  I waited in line for close to ten minutes to receive my slice, only to find I had no form of payment once I reached the cashier.  I had forgotten that I hid all my credit cards under my bed, away from Maxine’s grubby paws.

I was truly humiliated.  I can’t imagine ever going back to Luigi’s and I thirst for their Hawaiian slices.


Jan 27th, 2015

Maxine needlessly woke me up 3 times last night.  Once to ask for my address for Chinese delivery, once to ask how to use the remote control for the television, and finally, to ask for more bedding as she couldn’t find hers and she was freezing.  I told her that if she woke me up one more time, I would not think twice about throwing her out into the street to fend for herself.

Her antics left me so tired and weak that arching was impossible.  I wrote a very pleasant email to Teagan describing my fatigue.  He replied with a heartfelt apology and further inquired with great concern about my overall health due to the fact that I feigned a seizure during last week’s class.  Armed with knowledge of seizures since last week’s epileptic fit forgery,  I was quick to respond.  I explained that my joints and muscles were still quite sore and while my initial EEG showed some abnormality in my left temporal lobe, my neurologist was generally unconcerned.

I also mentioned that my short term-memory was suffering and that if I had inadvertently missed a date or special event in which he invited me, I would have most likely forgotten.  I feel it is always savvy to encourage people that I am receptive to polite, formal, and friendly requests to go somewhere or do something.

Once I arrived home, I realized that I made a grave mistake not attending class.  My home has been taken over by a lazy, slovenly, good-for-nothing twit.


Jan 28th, 2015

I invited Ethan Baker over to my house for a delicious and nutritious dinner tonight and he happily accepted.  I spent most of the day menu planning in order that I provide to him the most nourishing and healing of meals.  After an extended and frankly, useless call to Johns Hopkins hospital in order to get the best qualified advice on what I should prepare for my cherished friend, I finally settled on preparing chicken and whole-grain rice.  I hadn’t a clue whether or not this meal would be helpful to his well-being, so I decided that I would fortify his meal by serving the protein and fiber with a multivitamin.

I rushed from work to the grocery store and then to my house in order that I start cooking.  When I arrived home, Maxine was lying on her inflatable mattress.  It didn’t look like she left her lair all day, save to take the time to haphazardly sling her skivvies and pizza boxes throughout my living area.  I screamed at her to clean up her mess.  She responded with a roll of her eyes, although she begrudgingly rounded up her belongings and hid them in my hope chest.   If not for the fact that Ethan Baker is most likely clamoring for my affection, I would have properly cancelled the dinner as I’m sure that Maxine has brought many unsavory bacteria and fungi in with her belongings.

Ethan arrived at 7 P.M. sharp.  He looked confident and laid back.  He wore a pair of hip, yet sophisticated dark navy jeans and a soft, lavender v-neck sweater.  His boots, albeit, I little on the informal side were forgiven as there was snow on the ground.  I imagine he is very delicate and worried about improper traction.  I couldn’t agree more.  I would be absolutely mortified if he further mangled his already distressed body just because he felt he had to appeal to my superior fashion sense with a pair of leather loafers.  I gave him a very European hug and kiss on the cheek when he arrived.  I’m not sure if it was my imagination, but I believe he held me longer than a simple embrace between friends.  His touch gave me shivers through my body as I walked to my kitchen to check on the chicken.

Maxine, of course, quickly introduced herself and invited Ethan into the living room, where I’m sure she bored him to tears.  I did the best I could to save Ethan from her intolerable conversation, but I admit that I found myself unable to focus on the food and keep Ethan entertained from all the way across my apartment.

When dinner was served, Ethan and I had a very lovely time despite Maxine.  We laughed and carried on, just like we had been life-long companions.   There was even a magical moment where we completed each others sentence.  I had been extolling the healing properties of herbal teas, when I mentioned that the tea we were drinking had, in my opinion, too much…And that’s when we both blurted out in unison, “Cinnamon!”  It was one of the most exciting and intoxicating moments of my life.

The dinner must have done a world of good for Ethan as he lingered until the early A.M. hours.  Could the romance that I dreamed would happen between the two of us finally be blooming?  I feel asleep with visions of the life we could share as each others heart’s desires.


Jan 29th, 2015

I have been walking on air all day, dreaming about the romance blossoming between Ethan Baker and me.  I had a silly little day dream, that was so vivid, I nearly missed my train stop on my way home from work.   I imagined us, hand and hand, while walking down Michigan Avenue in the summertime.  We were both stylishly dressed.  I, in a wonderful monochromatic, shantung, boat neck dress, he, perfectly groomed, in lightweight chinos and a tailored beige jacket.   Ethan stopped me in front of Tiffany’s, and peered into the window at the diamond rings.

“Let’s go in and buy one for you.”  he whispered.

Then, Ethan caught a glimpse of his facial scars in the sun-soaked window.  He turned to me with tears in his eyes.  He couldn’t believe that a woman like me was able to see through the deep trauma to his face and love him anyway.  His sentiment moved me.

I proclaimed, “Ethan, you must know how attracted I am to your scars.  Truly, your face is thrilling.  You are my lion and I your lioness.”

To this, he pulled my deep into his arms and kissed me.  Our embrace, so tight, yet tender lasted for minutes while the world kept spinning around us.  I was dizzy with lust.

It wasn’t until the train’s loudspeaker announced the doors would be closing that I was awakened out of my reverie.  I made a dash and was able to just make it through the exit.

To think, Maxine could have ruined all of this with her unpalatable behavior the previous night.  She refused to retreat to my bedroom to give Ethan and I privacy, invited herself to our food, talked incessantly about Chinese good luck charms and lip balm ingredients, all the while with food spilling out of her mouth.  If she had ruined my chances, I would have never forgiven her!


Jan 30th, 2015

I was shocked and horrified when I returned home from work today and found Maxine and Ethan Baker sitting on her filthy inflatable mattress watching television!  Judging by the empty Coke cans and Snickers wrappers strewn around the bed, it appeared as though he had been there for hours!  All I could do was stand in my entryway, politely smile, and then announce that I needed the two to keep it down for the next couple hours as I would be preparing for a date with a distinguished gentleman.  I then ran to my bedroom and prepared a barrage of written questions to ask Maxine after Ethan left.

1.  How did she get his number?

2. How long had he been at my apartment?

3. Has she forgotten that she already has a boyfriend?

4. Did she kiss him and if so what other lewd acts did they perform on or with each other?

5. What were her plans for moving out?

While writing my interrogation, Maxine and Ethan slithered out of the apartment like snakes in the grass.  I waited (in vain) for hours for Maxine to return.

My mother thought I was crazy for labeling all my belongings and hiding my credit cards and money, but clearly, anything, even a dear friend, that Maxine sees as mine, she immediately confiscates and claims as her own!


Jan 31st, 2015

Maxine didn’t arrive back at the apartment until 10 A.M. this morning.   She knocked on my bedroom door, peeked in and then offered me one of the vanilla lattes in her hands.  My emotions were disheveled and raging, but I asked her to sit.  I absolutely could not banish her from my bedroom until she divulged every lurid detail of her night with Ethan Baker.

Maxine dove into her story with preposterous detail after preposterous detail.  I had to painfully listen to how Ethan told her that he never met anyone as amazing as her and that for the first time since his mother died has he truly felt happy.  Has he forgotten about all the times we shared at the hospital when he was laid up?  Or when we watched A Christmas Story with my hand on his arm?  What did he expect?  Fireworks and joviality while he was high on Demerol and OxyContin?  Also, what’s so amazing about sharing soup?

But truly, the most devastating detail was that they shared each others love in the form of sex last night.  I had an absolutely vomitous feeling in my stomach.  I tried not to imagine how wonderful that must have been, but Maxine couldn’t stop using words such as tender, strong, and sensual.

I had a small shred of hope that Ethan would come sprinting over to my apartment, imploring me to forgive his grave mistake; the cogitation that Ethan wanted so badly for last night to be shared with me, that when he heard that I had a date with a distinguished gentleman, he went mad with jealousy.  But all feeling of expectation and desire were dashed when Maxine confessed that Ethan was currently in our living room.  When she finished changing her clothes, they were going to set off to the Art Institute to look at the armor.




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