I’m a Jinius

If a guy is named Peter then he will be hot.

I am coming to terms with the fact that I am legitimately crazy. Or “cray-cray” as my friend Meredith likes to say.

Yesterday I was having a mild nervous breakdown. I wasn’t sure who to call or even what to say. All they would hear on my end is WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. I ended up emailing with Vid who managed to quell my anxiety momentarily but then I left work early because I needed to walk. So I walked and walked and cried and cried.

It is funny when you catch a reflection of yourself crying and you realize “Wow, I am an unattractive crier.”

And so I continued walking, trying to coach myself through this, “keep it together, keep it together, this will just pass.”

But what if this is something you say to yourself everyday and it never passes?

Or if you tell yourself, “it’s okay, I’m just pmsing” but then is it possible to be pms-ing the entire year???

I’m thinking of taking anti anxiety medicine. I always found the term “anti anxiety” hilarious because it’s as if you’re saying I am against anxiety!

So yeah I wanna be against anxiety–a formidable foe of mine for many years. And it seems I know more and more people who take anti anxiety meds. A valium here. A xanax there.

When I was younger, I had anxiety about things beyond my control like nuclear war fare (which I have now transferred into learning about non proliferation) and now I have anxiety about stupid shit. Shit that normal people can easily tackle but for me it seems like an insurmountable task.

Which explains why I’ve been waking up at 2 a.m., unable to fall back asleep. Why I have digestion issues. Why I puke when I’m nervous. Why I can’t eat indian food before hanging out with a guy. And why I’ve been drinking like a Vietnam War Vet. Actually, scratch that, I don’t drink because I have anxiety. I drink because I like beer!

Like the other week when I thought I was going to be at the same party with some dude i dated I had a mini panic attack and needed Vidya to hold my hand through it and calm me down. This is simple shit that I should be able to handle but I just…can’t. Stuff that people say “Why do you care? What’s the big deal?” But I do care. And to me it is a big deal. And I don’t know how to make the anxiety less palpable.

So I’m trying to take steps to remove myself from situations that would make me feel bad. I signed off of facebook because i didnt need constant reminders that so and so was having a party and i wasn’t invited. (Another benign thing that wouldn’t behoove most people but keeps me up at night).

I don’t know. What’s your take on anti anxiety meds? I used to scoff at mental health issues. That depression and anxiety were just products of having too much time on your hands. But there’s only so much yoga and chai tea you can do before you realize, hmmm, maybe I’m a little more unhinged than I thought.

I guess to be a legit writer you gotta have mental health issues. Sylvia Plath. Anne Sexton. Then again, Sylvia Plath stuck her head in an oven and Anne Sexton committed suicide.

I’m perfectly fine with being a fourth tier blogger.

Anyway, the past couple of posts have been really personal. I promise next week there will be stories of smoochies and making fun of the morbidly obese.

But just wanted to thank you guys for the emails and comments. Seriously, it’s like a therapy session. Hopefully not like that therapy group in jerry maguire.

Ilana sent me this CNN piece about the therapeutic benefits of blogging. Everyone should have a blog yo. It’s cheaper than therapy and prescription drugs.

Ticaaal.

So I figured out one of the reasons I was stressed out about my brother’s visit and I think it’s because I’m kind of resentful of his girlfriend. I won’t be his number two girl anymore (after my moms) and that made me a little sad. He even told me that she reminded him of me which is weird–is she a bitch, too? Anyway, I’m excited that they’re coming. I went to trader joes last night and bought all these snacks that I figured college freshmen would like. i had to avoid the stinky cheese and prosciutto and just stocked up on chips and cookies. I guess these snacks are more for me than my bro. Ha.

Um, so we all know that i have a high tolerance for reality television and that i have a propensity for becoming addicted to certain tv shows (LOST, 30 Rock, Yo Gabba Gabba) and my current addictions are The Paper (MTV’s reality show about a high school newspaper. So cute!) and Bravo’s Work Out.

I love The Paper because I had always wished that my highschool had a school paper but the administration wouldn’t fund a newspaper club because we were a performing arts school and kids already had so much on their plate. So in my junior year i started my own underground paper and called it The Earthworm (get it?) and lassoed my friends into writing columns. I used my lunch money to make all the copies.

The Earthworm lasted one issue. But it was a darn good issue!

And then last night I was watching Work Out and I’m embarrassed to admit this, dear readers, but I cried.

So in this episode Jackie (the owner of Sky Lab Gym) has a heart to heart with one of the female trainers Erica (who has a history of bulimia) and says ” I noticed that you’ve been eating alot more…like practically 20,000 calories a day and you don’t look like you’re gaining any weight, in fact, you look like you’ve lost weight…”

Then Erica reassures her that she’s not throwing up and that things are fine although in life there’s always one thing that’s not perfect and Jackie asks her to explain and Erica says, “Well, I don’t know, I guess there’s the whole dating thing…maybe that’s why I’m eating so much” and then she starts crying and then, oh dear jesus, I START CRYING.

I don’t know if this is a gendered thing but I, along with alot of women, am an emotional eater. When things in my life are fine, I’m very disciplined, I eat in moderation, I work out regularly. But when I’m stressed out I tend to obsess over everything i eat to the point that I write every single calorie down and freak out if i go over.

And it’s sad but this obsessive behavior is usually aligned with feeling unhappy in my dating life. And I think what really triggered it was last year when I tried to re-connect with this guy who absolutely wanted nothing to do with me and it killed me that I couldn’t control the situation and that I couldn’t make someone want to be friends with me. So I transferred these control issues through eating. Or not. I subsisted on coffee and laughing cow cheese (all of this was done in private, of course, and to this day I can’t look at laughing cow cheese without feeling sick). I think you stop eating because you literally just want to disappear. Anyway, things got better. I eventually confided in a friend, in the bathroom of a karaoke bar of all places, and wasn’t going to let this guy be the reason I wanted to disappear.

Aaaaaand now I don’t know how a benign post about cheesy reality tv shows turned into a missive on eating behavior.

I’ve given you too much information. I will have to kill you now.

ed note: This post was originally titled half empty but I changed it because i think,ultimately, i am an optimistic person. And that is the energy id like to project.

ive been really lazy and not capitalizing letters yo.

Ugh, wordpress makes it so difficult to embed codes.

Click here for the full spring playlist.

Maybe I’ll still keep this blog and combine all three blog ideas. It will be I’m a Jinius…ON STEROIDS!!!

Or I’m a Jinius…ON CRACK!!!! That seems to be more my personality.

When I found out that my deleted blogger url became a porn site, I sent a frantic email to a friend who just started working at Google and asked if she knew how I could get in touch with Blogger’s support team because I didn’t want my blog name to be associated with women who enjoy posing spread eagled.

I would’ve been happy with just a 1-800 number but my friend went above and beyond and managed to get a hold of an engineer at Blogger and have the “inappropriate content” deleted.

Talk about google efficiency.

Special thanks to my friend for having the embarrassing task of asking her new co-workers how her non-Jinius friend can remove porn from her old site. That must have been a fun email chain.

I owe her big time and she is a true Jinius!

Note to self: Do not ever delete your blog or you will have spammers snatch that up and show shots of snatches!

My high school theater teacher said the movie Grease promulgates a bad message to girls because it tells them they need to slut it up in order to land a guy. I should interject here and say that Grease is probably one of my favorite musicals of all time (along with Miss Saigon and A Chorus Line).

And Sandy is my favorite character because she embodies the dichotomy of the virgin/whore. And I don’t think the movie is endorsing female promiscuity. If anything, John Travolta’s character Danny Zuko still had the hots for Sandy while she was all virginal and pure looking but was too chicken to admit that he liked her. Who can forget that scene when Danny joins the track team to impress Sandy but ends up falling on his ass?

But it’s the final scene when Sandy shows up in the skin tight black outfit and heels that he goes ga ga for her. Sure it helps that Sandy finally lets her hair down and flaunts her assets. But it’s also because she stops being uptight and displays her confidence.

Either way, we can take some cues from Sandy and the movie Grease to ensure that we milk the last days of summer for some summer lovin. I’ve had to tweak some suggestions here and make them more age appropriate since we’re no longer in high school. (Please don’t tell me that you’re still in high school.)

1. If you’re a prude like Sandy and would like to instigate some summer loving I suggest you buy a skin tight dress. The shorter the better. American Apparel has some great ones that are inexpensive.

2. Next, find yourself a Danny Zuko. He’s the original emo boy. I mean, c’mon, he wore tight jeans and sang and danced around a car. I suggest Nurse Bettie since it has that whole 50s theme going on. Or even Rue B with their live jazz shows and classic martini drinks.

3. Instead of prom, you can go to 205 bar to get your dance on. It’s dark, dingy, and small so you can dance intimately with a stranger and then neck with him downstairs. Not that I have any knowledge of this!

4. You can re-enact the carnival scene and go to Coney Island.

5. If all else fails, go to a bar that serves killer margaritas. Nothing ensures summer smoochies like tequila! Surprisingly, Spice Market makes some luscious margaritas. I also like Esperanto, La Palapa, and Cafe Juliette in Williamsburg.

6.I like to keep the summer lovin’ at bars for now. It’s part of the good girl/bad girl thing I guess. Plus, I haven’t cleaned my room in ages.

Here’s to a summer of smoochies! We don’t have much time left so hurry up! Let me know how you do!

So I decided to bite the bullet and hire a trainer. I need to get this lobster roll ass back into shape before parading around in a bikini…which evidently will be happening on Friday since I’m going away this weekend…can I get Jessica Alba’s ass in 4 days?

My trainer is awesome and makes me hold twenty pound weights in each arm even though the heaviest thing I’m used to carrying is a pint of Hoegarden. When I implore him to stop and allow me a twenty minute rest period, he laughs in my face and tells me “you’re alot stronger than you think you are.” Such cruelty!

He is making me keep a food log of all my meals. I’m meeting with him after work today but I’m not sure if I should show him my food diary. He might scream. Or call the people over at AA.

Friday
Lunch- PBJ sandwich
Dinner-whole wheat pasta with chickpeas, half a bottle of rose
After dinner-some lemon vodka cocktail, makers mark on ice, two pear vodkas with soda, two brooklyn weiss beers, a kamikaze shot, a lemon drop shot, a budweisser
After drinks-come home and finish leftovers of pasta…approximately two bowls

Saturday
Lunch-blood mary, cheeseburger with fries dipped (drenched) in ketchup and mayo, donut hole
Dinner- bowl of pasta w/chickpeas

Sunday
Breakfast-bowl of pasta
Lunch/Dinner- Ssam (an Asian style burrito) with pork, rice, and veggies
Drinks-A Brooklyn lager, three 16 oz Paulaners, a pint of Arcadia wheat beer, three pint size hoegardens, two stellas, a glass of whiskey

Monday
Lunch-a bowl of miso ramen with slices of pork
Snack- a chocolate/peanut butter/and banana shake from Shake Shack
Dinner-Mac and Cheese

I believe there are two kinds of people in this world: those who are crazy when they are sober and those who are crazy when they are drunk. I belong to the latter category. Or both.

As I have (frequently) mentioned before, bad things happen when I drink on an empty stomach. I pass out at bars. I get escorted out of bars. I pick fights with strangers. I make out with people I probably shouldn’t. You know, things I like to do for fun. But sometimes my idea of fun (craziness) is not everyone’s idea of fun (sitting around and having meaningful conversation).

Friday was no exception. If they had an Olympics for belligerent behavior then I would be your Flo-Jo.

I started the evening at Yuca with Sabbie and her French friends (who I love! You know who you are!) Yuca has this amazing happy hour deal where you can get margaritas and mojitos for $5 until 8 p.m. So I had two margaritas and two mojitos all before 8 p.m. By the way, tequila and rum with sugar is a murderous combination. All the sugar in the mojito just augments your intoxicated state. I can’t wait to have more.

We then jaunted off to Mercury Lounge to see our friend’s band Blip Blip Bleep (or as the Asians say Brip Brip Breep). At this point I was exiting Soberville and entering the neighborhood of Obnoxious which is on the corner of Plastered and Obliterated. I joked to the lead singer that I was going to start booing him off the stage. I really know how to give people a vote of confidence before they perform.

But they were awesome. Sabbie said, “They are awesome!” Of course, the marathon of mojito drinking may have also contributed to this state of euphoria.

After the show ended we went to a Japanese restaurant where I have no recollection of its location or its food. I think I spent the entire time smoking cigarrettes outside and yelling at my friend Prom Date about last week’s wedding. I’m not really sure what I was yelling about. I usually can’t control the volume of my voice after, you know, ten drinks.

Evidently I was being overly obnoxious to Prom Date. I’m not sure why but sometimes my humor gets me into trouble. Like that time I gave a play by play of my bowel movements to Prom Date’s then girlfriend and she pilloried me for talking about bathroom behavior. But this time I was being overly harsh. Love ya like a sista!

The rest of the evening is like a scene out of 28 Days Later and I am the blood thirsty zombie ready to bite your head off and drink more booze. At one point I am convinced that someone has stolen my credit card only to find it in the bottom of my purse.

On Saturday I wake up in the same clothes I wore the night before. I try to recall if I did or said anything embarrassing on Friday. After a couple of seconds I slap my forehead and groan in embarrassment. It is really a wonder that I have friends.

I talk to Sabbie on the phone that day and lament the fact that I can’t control my obnoxious behavior. She says, “I thought you were hilarious!” Um, yeah, that’s because you had just as many mojitos as me.

I spend the whole day on the couch, watching Paula Deen’s Family Vacation special on the Food Network and wishing I were a member of her jovial, sober tribe. Then I watch The Holiday and Amelie and spend my Saturday night crying and convincing myself that I will, in fact, die alone. Then I pass out.

On Sunday I wake up bright and early and go to the gym. Then I meet Prom Date for brunch at Balthazar. I swore that I would never meet him for a meal again because when we eat we are like pigs to a trough. His argument is that it’s not that we eat bad stuff, “we just eat too much of everything.”

For brunch we share a dozen oysters, sour cream and hazelnut waffles, nicoise salad and fries. That’s not soooo bad….riiiiight?

Then we decide to do some shopping but before we set off on our expedition we stop in Broome Street bar for a shot of tequila (me) and whiskey (him). Prom Date alleges that shopping is more fun when you are slightly drunk. I fully endorse this conjecture.

So, all in all, I suppose the weekend wasn’t a total disaster. I still have (most of) my friends and (some of) my health. Maybe I won’t die alone. Afterall, you know what they say: Those who care don’t matter and those who matter don’t care…to a certain extent.

And if you do offend them, you can always assuage them with oysters.