July 4th, 2015

Happy 4th of July!  While I normally relish this cherished American holiday, I have to say the entire day was torturous. The only barbecue to which I found myself invited, was the slender-fingered Eric’s.  Of course, he served nothing but ribs and pulled pork sandwiches, which after being subjected to the Easter hog, was absolutely repulsive to me.  Moreover, I couldn’t drink away my lack of invitation to Ohranj’s cottage for the weekend, because I was obligated to attend my mother’s opening night, which, it must be noted was one of the most dreadful plays, I have ever had the displeasure of sitting through.

Imagine, if you will, everything that you hate about theatre nestled into one play, you will have fully realized exactly my mother’s play. First and foremost, the acting was absolutely painful to watch. I felt no clear emotion coming from anyone, save the one man my mother was so quick to judge as being melodramatic. At least I could tell what he was trying to portray. Everyone else was just a wash of emotion, hoping that something would translate. Secondly, the dialogue was horrifying. I swear they let anyone call proclaim “playwright” these days!

What I found to be most confounding was not that the play was long boring, had unrealistic dialogue, or that the storyline was muddied with anticlimactic minutia, but that someone actually thought that this would be an interesting play to produce! How could anyone have ever read this piece of garbage and decided that it was going to give their theatre a reputation of anything other than substandard? Am I the only one that understands in order to put anything on stage it must be at the very least something that people are going to want to see?

Lastly, and this a point of extreme importance, the play was three hours long and there was no way to excuse oneself to the bathroom without walking across the stage.   I was forced to crawl through the stadium like seating and through a lovemaking scene to relieve my bladder as the only other option was to sit through the hideous play with soaked pants.  When I went to the bathroom a second time, I heard someone groan at me as if I had a choice.

Afterwards, my mother asked us to accompany her to the opening party at the bar next door. I did my best to be polite but had almost nothing left in my gas tank, certainly not the kind of strength that was needed to feign delight and genuine marvel. I did the best I could to express to my mother that she was wonderful and then I disappeared before I could be pulled aside by anyone else involved in the production looking for praise and attention.

I guess I must simply come to grips with the fact that I’m living in a world that consists of mostly idiotic, mundane, complacent drones and that only a very select few can call themselves genius. This must be the frustration that overachievers call the anger of unfulfillment.



July 3rd, 2015

My mother’s play opens tomorrow night. I’m completely out of my head over the outcome. I’m certain that a bad review will throw her into a tailspin of crash landing proportions.  I see no other possible outcome. She is insisting that Maxine, my father, and I all be in attendance. Just how I wanted to spend my Friday night; squirming in the overpriced, long-winded mire and muck known as modern day Chicago theatre.

The only bright spot to the day was that I finally got paid for a month’s worth of work at the Schuller’s thus relieving me from having to grovel for money from my parents like a dog looking for affection.

July 2nd, 2015

Today I discovered a bag of frozen peanut butter cups in the Schuller’s freezer. I couldn’t help myself but tear through 4 cups before I had even realized what I had done. I took the wrappers and quickly stuffed them under he and his wife’s mattress. I figured at the very least, one would assume the other had some kind of eating disorder and would be too petrified to ask the other about it.

July 1st, 2015

Devastated by yesterday’s announcement, I walked around with Foster in a complete zombie-like trance. To top things off, Mr. Schuller asked if I would please start washing Foster’s empty bottles. And just when I thought that I couldn’t sink into a further depression, I am being asked to perform more menial servant-like duties.

June 30th, 2015

Today they announced the 30 under 30 in Chicago. Alas, I wasn’t included this year. It seems as though my life couldn’t get any worse. It’s not that I thought I should have been included, Expresso is only a fledgling company at this point, but rather, I was simply miffed that I wasn’t included.  Won’t I ever be recognized for my hard work and achievements?

I had no choice to turn to the healing and mood enhancing pleasures of scratching as my form of solace.

June 29th, 2015

I woke up with the deepest of pains in my arms and ankle.  I called the Schuller’s and told them that there was no possible way for me to make it into work. They seemed somewhat distressed, however, I quickly reminded Mr. Schuller that with the school year in recess, he should and could have no problem watching his own child for the duration of the day.

I used the day for muscle relaxation and an opportunity to have another sales meeting with Lester. I could not have been happier with the results. Lester has sold another 30 units. Our sales are really picking up! The only thing that marred the day, other than the debilitating pain in my arms and leg, was that Lester complained, yet again, that he needed a higher wage. I insisted that he weather the storm.

June 28th, 2015

Foster fell asleep in my arms today, forcing me to have to try to sell Expresso stickers with only one hand. Yet again, I have been foiled from achieving success for the day.  If I didn’t know better, I would think this child was purposely trying to keep me at his side for his own selfish purposes.  It is abundantly clear to me that he is neglected from receiving the proper love and warmth.

After about an hour of holding him, I felt secure enough to rest him gently in his stroller without waking his devilish soul.   I used the opportunity to walk back to the bookstore to return my copy of “How To Select Your Perfect Mate”.  I confess, I had put off the humiliating task for a couple days as I was desperately afraid that I would be caught placing the book back on the shelf and then mercilessly questioned.

I hated myself for taking the book, however, I couldn’t stand the embarrassment of buying it.  Never in my wildest dreams did I  imagine that I would be seeking out advice on finding the right man rather than living a life filled with love and happiness.  I thought for certain, by now Ohranj and I would be married and our love and admiration for one another would be the envy of every one of our friends and co-workers.  Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because it hits me like a bolt of lightning that I am still single.  Even after ten months, it’s surreal that I am without a husband.

Once I arrived at the bookstore, I headed to the furthest corner, dropped the book on the floor, and then scurried out as quickly as possible.  I didn’t even wait for the automatic handicap doors to open.  I flung the doors opens and shimmied Foster’s stroller through the gap as quickly as I could and kept running despite a jarring blow to my ankle.