Behind the Face Paint

Woke up feeling not quite myself, today.  Recent events have popped up and has been making me feel... Well, feeling a little strange.

A gal reached out to me on Facebook.  She'd come across some of my posts, checked out my profile and became enamoured with me.  We've been chatting on Facebook Messenger for a few days and we've been getting along nice.  She pays me all sorts of compliments, saying things that, quite honestly, I've never heard from anyone in my entire life.  Even past romantic trysts, never garnered me the compliments that I've been receiving the past couple of days.  I don't know how to react to it all, quite frankly. 🤔

It took me back to high school.  Grade nine science class.  I recall a girl, Sabrina was her name, who began slipping me notes that told me 'she liked me'.  This completely threw me off.  Up to this point, I'd always been bullied and made fun of, but now this exquisite young girl was telling me that I was valid in a way, telling me she 'liked me'.  It was a new feeling that overwhelmed me and I didn't act on it and as quickly as she'd entered my life, she slipped through my fingers.

Sabrina was a highly intelligent young girl, a part of the gifted program, if I'm not mistaken.  By the twelfth grade, I believe she'd become a fashion model, too.  What if I'd acted upon that initial compliment, I often wondered.  Would I have been a happier adolescent?  Probably not.  She'd have been smart enough to see through my facade to see the true Jeff and would have dumped my pathetic ass in a broken heart beat. 💔

I was probably as unaware then as I am now, that I suffered from some sort of undiagnosed depression.  I've always felt, on some level, that I didn't deserve happiness or friendship.  Hell, I think I sort of still feel that way.  I have all kinds of friends around me, but in the end, I always feel sad and lonely.  I think this may be why I feel connected to clowns, to a degree.  Many clowns hide behind their make up.  A mask that they put on to fool people into thinking they're happy, when really their hearts are filled with sorrow.  I don't wear grease paint and powders, but I've managed to fool everyone into thinking that I'm happy or...  Or an asshole.  People tend to either like me or hate me.  There rarely seems to be a middle ground.

This girl, or woman I should say, who I met through Facebook, claims to see the real me.  We've answered each others questions and she claims to see the real me.  Is it possible, I wonder?  Can a person see inside another persons psyche just through texts and DMs?  I know that through such means, a person doesn't need to hide who they are, as they do in a face-to-face scenario.  I've always thought this to be the truth.  However, it's only been a few days.  A few hours of text exchanges.  We've barely scratched the surface of getting to know one another.  It's all so confusing to me.

As I've said, I'm not used to anyone giving me compliments.  Even my parents, when I was growing up, never expressed any positive affirmations or love, for that matter, towards me.  I was always viewed as that bastard who ruined their lives.  Or at least, that's how I was made to feel.

I recently saw a post on Facebook that someone shared that said, and I'm paraphrasing, that you should treat everyone with compassion because you don't know what they might be going through.  Maybe they've just had a family member die.  Or they lost their job.  Or they're going through something that no one knows about.  I identified with that as I seem to continually ride a rollercoaster that fluctuates between happy highs and detrimental lows.

There's a song by the Insane Clown Posse called "Behind The Paint".  It basically explains how they were shunned and ignored by classmates and girls when they were in high school, but the moment they became famous, everyone wanted on them, like white on rice.  By the songs end, they reveal that they've always been that same person, but the paint hid that from the public.  This is kinda how I feel.  Throughout the years, I've been able to hide the shy unworthy kid from my peers, but when I shut my front door, I'm that same uncertain kid that I was in high school.

I have friends, but secretly, I don't know how I acquired them, nor do I understand why they stick with me or if I'm even worthy or deserving of having them.

I'm going to continue conversing with this woman on the Facebook Messenger, for the time being.  Who knows where it will lead.  Likely nowhere.  She lives in sunny southern California and I'm essentially stuck here in the Bridge City.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go hug my cat, because I feel like I'm going to cry. 😔

 

Crimes & Mysteries

For years, I've seen these cruisers blazing about the city.  They look like police cars and I guess they are, but their only concern is related to the CN Rail and the tracks.  So, for all this time, all these years, I've always wanted to ask, but never knew where to direct my queries: Just WHAT do these people police?

I got it in my head yesterday, as I had a lot of extra time to entertain myself, what these guys do.  I related it to the movie, The Adventures of Ford Fairlane, where Andrew Dice Clay played the titular character, Ford Fairlane, who was a "Rock & Roll Detective" who investigated a lot of music related crimes and mysteries.  I equated his duties to that of the CN Rail Police.  They too, investigate train crimes and mysteries.  I don't know if that's true, but for the sake of this posting, that's what I'm sticking with.  At least until someone spoils my fun with facts and this won't be funny anymore.

What kind of crimes and mysteries could possibly be going on in this day and age?  Graffiti seems to be at the top of the list, but as anyone has noticed, while being stuck at a CN railway crossing for twenty minutes or more, the crackdown on railcar graffiti doesn't seem to be working.  As far as the eye can see, it's one unreadable piece of "artwork" after another.  I find it's a real struggle trying to decipher what the hell the messages say that are emblazoned upon each passing car.  If the CN police can't stop the culprits, they should at least make this shit readable.

Other than bad graffiti, what other crimes or mysteries are there to occupy the time of these cops?  I don't think people are still committing train robberies, are they?  Riding up on horseback, sticking some dynamite on the door of an armoured railcar and blasting it to hell, while their cohorts are holding the train engineer at gunpoint.  There's no gold or government money being transferred via train, anymore, is there?  This isn't the 1800s, though given recent news, the frame of mind seems to resemble that of the nineteenth century.

What, exactly, what these men and women of the CN Rail Police do, will remain a mystery.  To me, anyway.  I'm sure whatever it is they do, is important to them and I'm sure that it makes interaction with CN trains more safe.  I don't know.  Does it really matter?

Break A Leg

As a child, my dream was to grow up to be an actor.  Not a movie star, but a working actor.  As a troubled youth, I'd find solace in watching movies and TV.  It was my escape from the horrors I'd face at home and as a result, I hoped to, one day, be allowed to permanently escape into the world of pretend by becoming interesting characters.

Alas, as I revealed my hopes and dreams to those around me, it was told unto me, that I'd never be able to do that, as I lacked the skill or the talent to do so.  Resist those words of negativity all I wanted, eventually the negativity will break down those barriers of resistance and belief sets in.  Look at me now.  Today, I still have my face pressed up to the proverbial glass window, peering in at what might have been, rather than what is.

"Break A Leg" is an idiom used by amateur and professional theater folk. It's a term affectionately used to wish someone luck.  Wishing someone ill will, tricks the trickster gods into granting the opposite and as a result, good things will happen.  Superstitious?  Perhaps, but given what's happened throughout my life, I can't deny the logic.

This past winter, I was unemployed.  Like previous winters, ever since I slipped on that patch of ice, that fateful evening in March of 2018.  So for the past few years, I've been employed at a job that was seasonal, so I'd be laid off in the winter.  Perfect for a guy who has some form of PTSD, when it comes to icy surfaces.  That company I worked for, went bankrupt, last year and I had to scramble to find another job.  As luck would have it, the job I had, sucked and they let me go after about a month and a half and I'd, by then, accrued enough hours to go on E.I. for the winter.  Come spring, though, I had some trouble finding work.

Every interview I'd set up, I'd get excited and post to Facebook that I was about to embark on this interview and there'd be a slough of friends and well-wishers sending love and 'good luck'.  Then as well as I'd do in those interviews, I wouldn't get the job.  This happened a lot.  A LOT!!  I have one friend, bless her, who would always send a loving message of "Good luck!  I believe in you."  As grateful as I am to have a friend who cares that much for my well-being, I feel that sentiment was the biggest curse of them all.  Whatever Gods overheard those thoughts of positivity, sought to quickly shit on my parade and prevent me from any sort of success.

Tuesday, I officially become a professional driver.  A bus operator for the City of Saskatoon.  It's a job that I've wanted for many many years.  So much that I almost faced charges of Grand Theft in my pursuit.  At the time, they gave me a choice, resign from my job or face prison.  The choice was a simple one. 😂

I'd had job interviews in the past for civic transit, but failed to get the position.  I can't recall if anyone wished me good luck on that interview, but suffice it to say, probably.  So this time around, when I got the call, I never spoke a word.  Nothing, not to anyone.  Not even my mom.  I wanted this shit more than anything and by keeping my mouth shut and not receiving all the words of positivity and luck, I managed to lock down the position.  Next came five weeks of classroom lessons and practical driving and now, come Monday morning, I'm about to be unleashed on the world.  I hope that I don't jinx myself by releasing this blog a day early and have some kind-hearted soul, inadvertently f*cking me over and having me crash into a pole or a f*cking school.

I had a dream last night or maybe it was early this morning.  Doesn't matter.  In the dream, I set out on my first day of driving alone.  I was given the articulating bus, like the photo seen here.  In training I drove it and loved it.  In the dream, my affection was short lived.  For some reason, while stopped at a traffic light, the bus malfunctioned and the bus began pulling back in reverse.  The transmission was in drive, but the mechanisms had failed and the bus was now pulling in the opposite direction.  I quickly put the emergency brakes on, but to no avail.  The pulling power was stronger than the brakes and screeching tires were being dragged backward, up the street, against oncoming traffic.  All I could do was to attempt to steer the bus and avoid catastrophic collisions with one hand and scream into the phone calling for supervisors to help me out of this jam.  Oddly, the supervisors weren't the competent folks I've been interacting with for the past few weeks, but Kev Dogg (Kevin Schiele from TVs "Bitchin' Rides")

I can't remember what happened next, but suffice it to say that the articulating bus came to rest on a patch of grass, off the road and professionals were on their way to investigate and tow the vehicle back to the garage for further investigation and repair.

In the dream, I was shitting bricks, fearing I'd lose my job after one single day, but Kevin, Kev Dogg, assured me that my job was safe and that I'd reacted properly and in a safe manner.  I hope this dream was one of luck.

When I was a kid, growing up on a farm just west of the city, we had horseshoes hanging over the doorways into the barn.  You always hang a horseshoe with the tangs facing up.  This is to contain the luck, rather than allowing the luck to spill out, if hung upside down.  If I ever move back to an acreage or am in a position to hang another horseshoe, I'd like to recreate this practice.  

I don't necessarily believe in luck.  I've been lucky in life, not in love, but in life in general.  As bad as shit gets, I've always known I'd bounce back.  I don't know if you'd call it lucky or just fate.  I know that when I won that $1000 on that scratch ticket, a couple years ago, the vendor who sold me the ticket, was rude and never uttered anything to me.  I know that when I buy tickets and I'm greeted with a smile and a wish of good luck, I never win.  All circumstantial and coincidental, but I don't believe in coincidence, either.  Only cause and effect.

So when you see me out and about, don't wish me "good luck", because chances are, you're pushing me one step closer to the grave.  Instead, tell me to "break a leg".  I'll know what you mean and that maybe, you actually read my blog.  For which I thank you. 🙂

Ten For Ten

Stupid people should not be allowed to live.  A bit extreme, you say?  Hear me out.

I heard on the radio, today, how thirty thousand people signed a petition to get bread companies to sell ten buns in a package, rather than twelve.  This way they'll have an even proportion of buns to wieners and none shall ever go to waste. 

First of all, where the f*ck are these people buying their hot dogs, that they're only getting ten in a pack?  I've been buying hot dogs for, what seems like, generations and I've always gotten a full dozen, twelve, hot dogs to a package.  Not ten. Twelve!!  Twelve meaty morsels of what can only be assumed is edible meat.  I've never once, in all my years, stumbled across a package of hot dogs that only contained ten.  Anyone that is doing that, must be stupid and shouldn't be allowed to function on their own.  Clearly there's something wrong with them in the head!!

Secondly, WHY wouldn't these thirty thousand individuals not sign a petition for the company who makes only ten dogs per pack, urging them to sell twelve?  Wouldn't that make more sense?  You know damn well that the bread company, who is more than happy to oblige the customers, according to the news story broadcasted on the radio, because they can sell less product, but charge the exact same price as they would a package of twelve.

Nobody ever looks at the big picture.  They jump to conclusions, shoot from the hip and make shit happen without ever really considering the consequences.  Make less not more?  What the f*ck is wrong with people? 

There was a restaurant in town here that sold large heaping portions to their diners.  A friend of mine told me this, but on his last visit, the portions were cut down by more than half, but the prices remained the same.  He spoke to the restaurant owner, who happened to be a good friend of his and the owner told him that many of his regulars complained about the portions being too large and they felt that food was being wasted.  To make his regular customers happy, they slashed the portions.  Now everyone is happier for it.

What the f*ck?  Why didn't they just take the leftovers home?  That's what I do, literally all the time.  If I can't finish it, take it home and enjoy it later or tomorrow.  Anyone who complains about that, needs a swift kick in the ass!!

I swear.  If I buy a package of a dozen hot dogs, but only get ten buns in the bag, I'm likely to murder someone.  I know violence doesn't solve anything, but God damn it!!  Stupid people should not be allowed to live!!  They're already what's wrong with this world.  How much more of their bullshit are we going to allow?  I mean..., seriously?!

Brain Washed

I've been having a lot of strange dreams as of late.  Maybe it's the stress of a new job and trying to impress the higher ups that I can perform my duties the way they intend them to be or maybe it's the overall exhaustion I've been experiencing in the last few weeks.  I can't say for sure, but the dream I had in the wee hours of the morning, today, unlocked a memory that was otherwise forgotten because of the TBI that I had a few years ago.

Many many years ago, and we're talking decades, now, I had a job with a local company called GM Marketing.  It's a company that is long since gone and, probably, for good reason.  On the surface, it was an advertising company that sold $20 discount cards for different businesses.  We did cards for Petro-Canada, Wendy's, Subway, Blockbuster Video (when that was still a thing) and even did a campaign for the Saskatchewan Roughriders.  The discount card was usually $20, $21.40 with tax and offered savings upwards of $200 to $500, if used to completion.  They were a great savings, if you were prone to eating out a lot or renting movies or taking in a ballgame or two.  "Use it just once," we say as part of our pitch, "And you'll already earn your money back."

We'd go door-to-door, ringing doorbells and pitching people our schtick.  Some would take us up on it, some wouldn't.  Some would even get violent, as opposed to simply passing on our offer. 

It was all good fun, on the surface, but looking back now, it was actually a cult or cult-like experience.  From the initial meeting for your job interview, the con was in.  They'd greet you with a series of smoke and mirrors and it wasn't until you were neck deep in the shit, that you realized that you were f*cked.

Initially, you'd meet the owner/manager of the company, in this case, Wade.  Wade was a gregarious twenty-something year old man with an expensive suit, a gold ring and necklace and a flashy red sports car, like the one pictured here, parked by the front door of the business.  He'd tell you that YOU, TOO could be a success at an early age.  That you could be driving an expensive sports car, too. He'd give you all the bells and whistles and to a vulnerable young person, they believe that bullshit.  I believed that bullshit.

Once in their clutches, they'd have morning meetings to build up your self esteem.  Tell stories about Pandora's Box and other tales that were designed to make you more successful.  They'd tell you shit like, people who worked 9-to-5, 40-hour a week jobs, were just sheep.  They were following the herd and putting in the motions to make little or no money, while we were going to make up to $200 per day, and get paid daily as opposed to every two weeks.  Blah, blah, blah, lots of money, lots of opportunity, lots of blah, blah, blah.  And I believed that bullshit.  When my parents would tell me to quit, I was convinced that they didn't know what the f*ck they were talking about, because they were the mindless sheep that I was told about at work.

Wade mostly stayed in his office, rarely coming out to mingle with the workers who were lining his pockets with cash, but once in awhile, Wade would grace us with his presence and he'd joke and toss out a few bucks here and there to show his "appreciation", but it was all just a ruse.  A way to show-off a big wad of cash that "we could also have some day".

We were expected to be in the office by 7:30am, every morning.  Out of the office by eight and in the field long before 9am, knocking on doors and pitching our wares.  We would have to work the entire day, until about 7:30pm or 8 o'clock, then return to cash out our daily earnings.  Then, instead of being paid daily, like we were told, we were encouraged to "bank" our money, with the office, rather than keep it all to ourselves.  The money would be safe in their "bank", and you could get it whenever you wanted it, although when you'd attempt to get your money, they'd put up a helluva fight to give it up.  Not to mention, that the money you left in "the bank" never earned any f*cking interest.

They convinced us that our parents and society were mindless drones forced to work 40-hour work weeks, but in reality, it was us, working many more hours per day, six days a week.  Our families worked for a paycheck every two weeks and received the full amount earned, while we, the mindless brain-washed drones, easily worked roughly sixty hours per week, sometimes not earning anything more than a few bucks per day.  If you were working in the city, it was one thing, but if you were working out of town, that $7 that you earned that day, had to go towards paying for your hotel room, food and gas.  It shows how f*cking brain-washed we were, to accept these terms.

My breaking point was having a car accident.  The car I was driving, was rear ended on a road trip to Regina.  The drive home, I had to sit sideways in my seat, because I had severe whiplash and my head was stuck looking to the right.  I saw a doctor who recommended that I take some time off to heal, but when I went to the office to request the time off, they threatened to fire me, instead.  I beat them to the punch, telling them to "GO F*CK YOURSELVES, THEN!!"

I was in pain, but truthfully, I never felt better in my life.  I'd go on to get one of those mindless 40-hour a week jobs and when I received my first check, I kissed it and wanted to frame it.

I can't recall what the dream was, that I had this morning, regarding this terrible chapter of my life, but it reminded me of how good I have it now.  Things could have been a f*ck of a lot worse.

It's All About Perception

A few weeks ago, I made a comment on Facebook, stating my beliefs in the (then) hottest court trial in the world, the Amber Heard / Johnny Depp Defamation Court Case.  I never blatantly chose a side.  I only stated that I believed Amber Heard.  Well, you'd think that I had murdered a puppy on a live stream, given all the f*cking hate that was directed my way.  Seems the world only sees things in black and white, not shades of grey.

People claimed that Heard was "acting" on the witness stand and that her facts were getting jumbled, but given the fact that she's trying to recount occasions where she felt threatened or abused, all the while, the man who (allegedly) victimized her, is shooting dirty hateful looks her way, is going to rattle even the strongest of wills.

I'm familiar with abuse.  Both physical and mental and though I'm not a psychologist or anything alike, I think I can recognize it.  Many people are lucky enough to never have experienced an abusive partner or parent and good for them.  They're among the lucky ones, but I grew up in an alcoholic family, my dad, more specifically and life as a kid was not all rainbows and sunshine.  I can recall on many occasions when I stepped off the school bus and saw that he was home.  Then it was a crap shoot.  Either he'd be sober or drunk and if he were the latter, f*cking watch out!!

The abuse wasn't always physical, though I do have some scars to prove otherwise.  Sometimes, I think the physical abuse would have been preferred. Scars heal, but mental wounds seldom do.  I'm not claiming that Johnny Depp was a monster, beating his spouse about, but sometimes, the mental anguished thrust upon a partner is overwhelming.  Leaves scars that people and loved ones never get to see.  And again, I'm not claiming Depp to be a monster, but maybe he could be mean sometimes.

I've always called it, "The Jekyll & Hyde Syndrome".  My dad, when sober, was the greatest man on Earth.  He was happy, jovial, always ready for a laugh and generous, like no other.  Sometimes people would take advantage of his kindness, but when he got the drink in him.  Sucked back a few brewski's or a 26oz bottle of whisky, ho-ly f*ck, the monster would come out and you'd not wanna be around the man.  I feel terrible revealing this factoid about the man, considering in his final few years, he was sober and attending a few A.A. Meetings and he was the sweetest man you'd ever be lucky enough to cross paths with.

All those years of tip-toeing around and being on the receiving end of threats, beatings and just plain mental hockey, I doubt anyone around me would have ever suspected.  It's all about perception.  If people haven't the experience with something, chances are, they're not going to recognize it.

I don't think Johnny Depp is a bad guy.  I like him.  He's a fantastic actor and seems pretty cool in interviews, but when laced with alcohol and drugs, who the f*ck knows what he's like?  It may be the Jekyll & Hyde Syndrome, all over again.

I only watched one episode of some show on CNN that recounted the days events.  It showed video of Depp, speaking calmly, but I sensed some ominous tone to his voice, all the while, he's slamming cupboard doors and swearing and throwing shit about.  Never laid a hand on Amber in that video, but the overtones of his actions were obvious.  I outweigh Depp by about 40lbs and tower a couple of inches over the guy, but I'd be intimidated if the guy was behaving this way around me.

There's a guy in my class, right now.  He's from what he claims is 'The Eastern Bloc', but the Russian accent is a dead give away.  He's always rude to me and snaps at me constantly.  I've confronted him once on it, addressing it respectively, but it fell on deaf ears.  He continues to be rude and I take great offense to his attitude toward me.  I mentioned it to my instructor, who laughed it off and claims to not notice it.  His perception doesn't matter, only mine, in this situation.  Maybe the fella doesn't even realize that he's being a dick to me.  Maybe in his culture, this is the way they treat others.  I used to work with a fellow from the Ukraine and he'd treat me like complete dogshit, until he needed a favour or a ride home.  Same thing.

Maybe there's that guy in your office or workplace who tells off colour jokes.  He does it to be funny, never thinking that he's making others uncomfortable, but all it takes is one person to perceive the humour as aggressive or offensive, to make in inappropriate.

I had an instructor, years ago, in a Parts Management class.  She refused to call a grease nipple, grease nipple.  Apparently, nipple was offensive to her and she preferred the term 'grease zerk'.  I never knew it as a zerk and in the years since, when I call them zerks, nobody knows what the f*ck I'm talking about.  Whatever, I'm off topic.

The fact that Amber Heard was ruled against, that her mental status was not taken into consideration and that all her claims of mental and physical abuse was denied, is offensive.  Yes, she's a celebrity, but so what?  She's a human being, first and foremost.  I believe her.  I sympathize with her.  And I'm ashamed to be a man, in some sense, because she was victimized all over again.  Having to recount moments where she felt she was a victim of abuse, only to be shunned and abused further by the populous.  I just hope she can bounce back from this.

On Facebook, all I said was: As a person who was abused mentally and physically, I believe Amber Heard.  That's all I said and I received about 80 negative comments that were nasty.  Just plain nasty and rude and abusive.  I'd click on some of the profiles of those ripping into me and I couldn't believe some of the quotes on their profile.  "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."  Or "I keep an open mind and listen to all opinions because they matter."   Bullshit, like that.  Ever single person contradicted themselves and wrote some of the most hateful shit I've read on social media in ages. Why do they call it 'social media' when it's the most anti-social concept in history? 🤔

I've never considered myself an overly nice person.  I can act appropriately when I need to, but life has beaten the shit out of me and I'm not always the nicest guy.  There'll be people, friends and acquaintances who'll claim this statement false, but like the make-up of a clown, I've learned to hide the pain and the strife.  Much like growing up, nobody knew what horrors were happening at home, until that one fateful day that I showed up to school with two black eyes and a broken nose.  Should've seen the people kissing my ass that day.

As stated a paragraph ago, I'm not the nicest fella, but I don't believe that I suffer from Jekyll & Hyde Syndrome, either.  I'm nice until I feel pressured to not be so nice.  A character flaw, perhaps, or maybe it's a result of a troubled childhood.  Don't know.  Don't care.  It's just something I work on daily, just like I try to keep my childhood demons at bay.