The Gap Year: A Retrospective Look at a Year in Mediocrity

Let me paint you a quick picture: a young, fresh-faced gay male graduates from the University of Illinois with the future in front of him and no limitations in sight. Sure, he had suffered a bit of rejection, but nothing was going to keep him down. The enthusiasm and optimism surrounding him is palpable.

This person is me nine months ago, and he is an IDIOT.

The life undergraduate is a surreal experience soaked in sexual innuendo and alcohol. You graduate with a false sense of superiority, thinking that the world is your oyster. Little do you know that oyster is just waiting to clamp shut on your tiny little torso at any moment.  Damn you oyster for tempting me with your stylish pearls.

Luckily, the skills you gain throughout your college career are extremely useful. FALSE. I’m sorry, but knowing how to hook up with three people in the same evening, control your black outs as to appear not blacked out, and dominate at drinking games will not be useful in your adult life. Well, at least not your professional adult life. I’m sorry I party?

So, seeing as I entered the real world without legitimate skills I ultimately screwed myself into a gap year: a year during which you work for the man at minimum wage. I could no longer work at my retail job with the sense of superiority I once had. I couldn’t say to people, “Oh, this is just my side gig while I finish up school. Look how self important and better than this I am.” I was officially a retail gay and turning more into a stereotype than I ever cared to be.

Seeing as I was working for a pittance, I also had to take a second job as a hotel heiress, meaning I work the night audit every other weekend at a hotel. Do not ask me why I thought it was a good idea to work on the weekends overnight. This is a terrible idea. Like the worst ever. Under no circumstance should this be done or even considered.

Now, this wouldn’t be too terrible, except for the hours of BOTH of my jobs (which scarily almost turned into careers) are awful. I work in retail from 5am ‘til 2pm every weekday and then at the hotel from 11pm ‘til 7 am on weekends. I basically have just kissed my Circadian rhythm goodbye. I miss it, and I treat it as “the one that got away.” On the weekends, I sometimes forget what time it is appropriate to brush my teeth and wash my face. Thank goodness that this has only increased my rugged good looks and charm…

Now, if the gap year teaches you anything, it’s how much your life can blow. During the holiday season, I worked sixty + hour weeks. I did not see my friends or family, and I basically worked or slept through every holiday (both official and drinking) of this past calendar year.  And don't worry, this menial labor isn't too demeaning when you graduated cum laude from a top school with a degree in molecular and cellular biology.

Throw in an ill fated relationship with the craigslist killer and some auto troubles, you have me riding my bicycle to work every morning at 5am with a little bit of emotional damage (cue Damaged by Danity Kane). That gap year can really kick you when you are down my friends.

But don’t worry, this story has a happy ending. I have just recently been accepted to graduate school. The gap year has an end in sight, a light at the end of the tunnel.  The most satisfying part of this will definitely be leaving both of my jobs, especially since we are coming on the busy season in the hotel. Ultimate gratification for real.

This guy is going back to college a little older and a lot wiser.

Robin Hood and His Merry Men: A Sequel

The Lifeguard and I were alone. The night appeared to be eventful but over.

I have a feeling that this is how people who haven't experienced a tornado before must react:

"O man, I'm safe. That storm ruined my life, but it's finally over. I will never have to go through anything like that again. O wait, I AM IN THE EYE OF THE STORM!! We are just halfway done with this beast." *PANIC*

I was in my own personal tornado (soaking in a false sense of security), and things were about to get worse.

Remember how we had received a ride home earlier in the evening? Remember how I scampered off with two homosexuals leaving the driver alone and helpless? Well, you should, because the Driver will become a key player in the second half of this story.

Let me just start by saying that the details on this part of the evening are slightly...muddled.

I remember being outside of my apartment wearing pajama pants and a cardigan (I decided to forgo a bottom layer for unknown reasons). The Driver seemed to emerge from the All Hallow's Eve mist ominously surrounding my apartment. Now, I must have had a conversation directing him to my location. This has been mentally misplaced on my part.

I invited him into my apartment. I thought that having another person there would ease the awkward situation previously created by Uncle Sam and the Lifeguard. We all took our places on the couch. The Lifeguard was seated in the center with the Driver and I on opposite sides of him.

I decided that the film Donnie Darko would be a good viewing choice. I have since realized that Donnie Darko is not a good film and that I mostly enjoy Jake Gyllenhaal brooding in all that is 80's adolescence.

Well, the film obviously was not that entertaining, because the next time I looked over to my left, I saw some serious fellatio action underneath a blanket.

WHAT. THE. HELL?

I think this the point at which I called my friend Amy. The whole recording is muffled except for two words, "madame" and "brothel".

I had apparently opened a whore house in my small apartment, pimping out the Lifeguard to any gay male who happened to stumble in. I COULD NOT handle the situation, especially once Uncle Sam had reappeared to call on his shower buddy.

I believe the night ended in an emotional plea on my part to have the Lifeguard think about his boyfriend (who was sick in bed, most likely dying). It went over really well, as soon afterward the Lifeguard and Uncle Sam merrily pranced to another location.

I woke up the next morning lacking both my phone and a sense of faith in the homosexual way of life.

Happy Halloween?

The following porno names have been attributed to the above evening:
Robin Hood and His Merry Men
All Hallow's Beej
Uncle Sam Wants You
Gaywatch

P.s.  I think we can all agree that the most disturbing part of this evening is that I did not get any action. AT ALL.

Blog Inappropriate?

So, I have realized that an unsightly number of people in my life read my blog. Therefore, I have began to censor myself somewhat needlessly. That ends here with the following tale of scandalous sexuality and delightful "this could only happen to me" awkwardness.

The story begins on October 30th, 2009. It was unusually warm October. I remember because I was debating on whether to even wear shorts underneath my Robin Hood frock or to just go for tights alone. After the realization that if I even raised my arms the slightest bit I would be fully exposed to the general public, I wore the shorts.

To give a general picture of my costume, I wore a jaunty hat (that always seemed to fall to the side of my head in a playful, fun way that made me super approachable), a green frock with black plastic detailing on the sleeves and bottom, black basketball shorts, bright green (and mostly transparent) tights, and tie up leg warmers with similar detailing as the frock. My costume also included a rapier that I used to both stab unsuspecting passersby and take beer shots out of its base.

Actual conversation I had with someone that night:

Me: "Are you sad? You look kinda sad."
Girl: "No, I'm fine."
Me: "Are you sure? Because if you were sad, you could take shots out of the base of my sword with me."
Girl: "I am sad. Please let me see your sword." (JUST REALIZED THE DOUBLE ENTENDRE!!!)

Anyhow, these details are just adding to the imagery of the evening. You know I'm quite the story weaver.

So, that night is when I ran into a once potential hookup with whom nothing had come to fruition. I saw him at the party I was attending, walked up, and said, " You look like someone I know, but he moved to California. So, it couldn't be you."

His response: "Marty, you are an idiot. It is me."

We had a small discussion about his current boyfriend (who he was visiting) that was completely irrelevant to my life. Therefore, I zoned out the majority of the conversation and entertained myself by speaking in a British accent and swordplay.

End scene. (Not really end of the scene. Other events of that night include crashing a party with a pumpkin I had just met and losing my cellular device in a random's car.) However, move on to the next night, October 31st, 2009.

I am without cell phone, still hungover from the previous evening. I had lost the basin aspect of my sword, which would mean no more glamorous and attention/popularity gaining beer shots.Also, a cold front had moved in. I should have known my night would go awry by these foreshadowing components.

My friend Amy ventures to my apartment dressed as Robin from Batman and Robin. We were actually an unexpected couples costume that most people did not begin to understand. I was Robin Hood, and she was Robin, which effectively made us Robin and Robin. Great Couples costume or the greatest?

As we begin the festivities for the evening, I receive a facebook chat from the gentleman of the previous evening. He shall be referred to as Lifeguard for the remainder of the story (These names have been chosen based on costume. This is just a precaution for when my blog blows up even more, and I get that book deal. Nbd.) He chatted me wanting to know my whereabouts and plans for this fine All Hallow's Eve. He told me that his boyfriend had taken ill, and therefore, he was without plans for the night. I invited him out. LITTLE DID I KNOW. LITTLE DID I KNOW.

Fast forward to the bar. We run into a past hook up of mine Uncle Sam, who apparently had been hitting on the Lifeguard basically in front his boyfriend the entire night. The lifeguard's only request was that I keep them separated for the majority of the evening. Now, believe me when I say that the minute this request was made the Lifeguard immediately began flirtatious behavior with Uncle Sam.

Brown out starts now.

Open on me in a car with Uncle Sam, the Lifeguard, and three other gentlemen who shall remain nameless at the moment. I at this point in my college career had begun yelling the word "afterhours" at the end of every bar night. This would result in many a random entering my apartment and partaking in the festivities. This was the cast of the afterhours for this evening: two thirty year old gay men (one of whom is my friend), the driver of the vehicle, US, and LG (abbreviated for ease).

In a twist of fate, the car broke down at a busy intersection on campus. I jaunted away from the vehicle yelling something about having to meet my friend Amy. Only two of the five men followed me: Uncle Sam and the Lifeguard. Now, at this point, I begin to realize that something may be happening between these two. My drunken haze had distracted me from the obvious flirtation between them, but it was coming to the forefront more and more. Enter Amy who had come to gather her belongings. All she told me is that I was mouthing the words "Help me" to her as she left.

The flirting hit its peak when the Lifeguard asked if he could use my shower. Not thinking about the consequences of someone entering the shower, I obliged.

What's the worst that could happen? Just think about your answer to this question...

Okay. So, you have probably deduced that Uncle Sam moments asked me if it was okay for him to get into the shower as well.

US: "So, would you mind if I got into the shower too?
Me: "Wait...WHAT?"
US: "I'm going to get into the shower."
Me: "What. Is. Happening?"

I was literally just standing in the bathroom staring at the motions behind the shower curtain. I could not look away. It was like a really graphic accident or a terrible pornography. O wait, THIS IS JUST MY LIFE.

The Lifeguard kept yelling for me to get into the shower despite protests from Uncle Sam. At first I resisted, but then I realized what I needed to do.

After some drunk reasoning as follows:

1) The Lifeguard wants me in the shower
2) Uncle Sam does not want me in the shower
3) I do not want to be in the shower
4) Due to these two volatile reactions to me being in the shower, if I enter the shower this situation will diffuse itself.
5) I am sloppy enough to think that #4 actually makes sense.

I crossed the threshold and entered the no man's land (which ironically was filled with men) of the shower. My only weapon being insane amounts of awkwardness. Luckily, it was the only thing I needed. Within one minute, the situation had been resolved. Uncle Sam left immediately afterward, and the Lifeguard and I were left on our own for me to awkwardly remind him of his boyfriend. Did you forget that he had a boyfriend? BECAUSE I SURE DIDN'T.

Inebriated Marty - 1
America - 0

Well, doesn't that seem like a tidy little ending. It gets so much worse...

To be continued...

Nightmares

As a child, I always seemed to have really exciting nightmares in which fantastical creatures would attack me and I would try (and fail) to escape. I remember explicitly the content of the majority of these nightmares, and for a while, I was convinced of the fact that I had night terrors. I actually just wanted to have night terrors, because to be honest, it sounds awesome.

"O no, I don't just have nightmares. I have night terrors. I thrash uncontrollably in my sleep, and I wake up screaming. Jealous?"

Although, at this point in my life, I am absolutely sure that not a single person  would be jealous of night terrors.

Anyway, as of late, my brain has decided to play some tricks on my dream sequence. Instead of having awesome nightmares of wax figurines coming to life in a museum of death or falling into a grave, I am now having what I will refer to as mundane nightmares.

A mundane nightmare is when something arbitrary happens in a dream that really would not matter in your waking hours. However, in this dream, your life shuts down when this event occurs. I am the only person that I know that has this strange nightmare.

My latest nightmare consisted of me running out of checks. Now, in real life, running out of checks absolutely does not matter. In the least. Like this is absolutely the farthest you can get from a big deal. But for some reason in my dream, I was freaking out.

I WENT CRAZY.

I found that I had come to the last check in my checkbook, and my dream self COULD NOT HANDLE IT. I just didn't understand how I could let this happen.

My dream thought processes:

"O, look I'm at the last check in my checkbook. Wait, what? I don't have anymore checks. How am I supposed to pay my bills and my rent? I'm going to have to order more checks. That's going to take two weeks for them to be delivered. Wait, in two weeks, these bills will be past due. (Normal brain patterns stop here.) If I don't pay my bills on time, I AM GOING TO DIE. I will be thrown on the streets and I will die of starvation. I AM HOMELESS AND HUNGRY.

THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT COULD EVER HAPPEN!"

I am absolutely sure that I was thrashing in my sleep, terrified of my checkless life. What would I ever do?

Well, to say the least, I woke up in a cold sweat. I'm pretty sure I was actually panting in exacerbation. The dream seemed so real. And embarrassingly enough, I ran to check that I still had checks.

I still have half a book of checks. I win this time dream Marty.

Other mundane nightmare topics include a shirt not being ironed for work, your room being dirty, bad cellular phone reception, etc. The thought processes are exactly the same, with the ending realization that this minor problem will cause your imminent death.

Sweet dreams? Also, how fitting that I am writing about nightmares that actually leave me sleepless in Oakbrook Terrace. I think so.

Tweet. Tweeeeeeeet.

Sleepless in Oakbrook Terrace has officially breached other social media in the form of Twitter. Now you can get minor updates in the time between posts. So far Twitter has proven to be a rousing success. #obscureblog. I'm going to be famous by the end of this year if it actually kills me. I mean, postmortem blog posts could be as big as deceased Tupac's last five albums.

Also, I will be posting from now on once a week to give you something to look forward to on your bland Sunday morning.

The Year of Martifest Destiny

So after some fateful occurrences of this new year, I am making this the year of Marty. It's all about me this year, which means that others need to step aside and stop stealing my shine. I still have some swagger from my college years that I'm going to use to my full advantage. Basically, don't rain (unless it's dollars) on my parade. If it is dollars, please make it rain.

So I am coining a new phrase: Martifest Destiny (which could coincidentally also be my drag name).


A brief history lesson

Manifest Destiny - The notion that God's divine power called the United States to expand from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean.

Much like the above concept, I'm pretty sure God's divinity is working in my favor in 2011. I mean it's been bumpy so far, but I have some good karma my way. My blog much like a war on either Mexico or Native American populations will sweep the nation from coast to coast. Hopefully, with less bloodshed, but I will not make any promises. And that my friends is the notion of Martifest Destini.

I'm pretty sure that this will be taught in history classes around the globe in about fifty to one hundred years. People will wonder where the fabulous name came from, as by this time Manifest Destiny will have been forgotten. Also forgotten will be the writer's block that I have had for virtually a month.

Welcome to my year. I'm funnier than ever. Deal with it.




 

Sickness: A Survival Guide

Place: Lincoln Park

Operation: The Apartment

Things you should know before venturing out with medical school students*:

1) These individuals are interesting studies. They obviously have experience with drinking, but have seemingly forgotten how to consume alcohol of any sort.

2) Binge drinking is mandatory.

3) The old adage quality over quantity holds true for nights out but not for liquors consumed.

4) At least one person will vomit at the pregame.

5) Another will vomit at the bar.

6) You will hear the phrase, "I'm so drunk" at least five times (most likely from the individual who appears the least drunk).

7) And finally, you will definitely hear about alcohol dehydrogenase or antidiuretic hormone. As well as the subject of their last test.

8) You are the most sober. Accept it now.

*Upon review most of these points have similarities to both high school and college drinking. Duly noted.

Basically, the true comedy in this night arises at the bar. I being a casual observer of those around me happen to notice a girl who is scantily clad in a cutout dress. 

The cutouts were in the following places: Breasts, stomach, arms, and back. If your imagination can wrap around the concept of nudity you basically have the dress correctly categorized.

Well, I thought it would be funny to ask this young woman for a proper dance. At first, I questioned myself (My pulse was racing and my palms were sweaty. I have never been that nervous to approach a girl. Eeek.), but then I thought, "What the heck? I have this whole female interact thing in the bag." Little did I know, little did I know.

I saunter over gallantly looking pretty good if I may say so myself. I ask the girl, "Hey, do you want to dance with this?" making an obviously exaggerated dance maneuver. 

At first, I cannot hear her reply so I ask her to repeat herself. 

She slowly lifts her finger to my face, and says a simple two syllable word: "Sickness."

WHAT. THE. HELL?

I have no idea how to react to this scenario. Is there a protocol? So I just say, "I mean, well, if you, ah, change your mind, ah, I'll be over there."

So suave.

After this brilliant interaction, she proceeds to have a photoshoot with her Snooki-esque friend in the mirror at the entry way to the bar.

Men literally could not get further away from the spectacle...Ultimate embarrassment commences.

And that is how I got rejected by the anti-siren of Lincoln Park.

Reasons I Should Have Terminal Brain Damage

Reason One: my sister's jealousy

When I was three or younger (it's hard to say exactly), my dad was walking and asked if I would enjoy a piggyback ride. Little did I know that my sister would erupt in a fit of absolute jealousy. Like molten lava, at first just bubbling at the surface, and then blasting forth from the pits of hell, finally covering a small ancient Roman village in volcanic ash, she leaped from the ground fueled by envy of my happiness. She knocked me off of my father's back with her razor sharp finger nails (much like a velociraptor). A playful afternoon turned to tragedy as I tumbled toward the ground. Joy turned to terror. The end was near. I fell from my father's back into the pavement of the sidewalk head first. A mark/crack in the sidewalk still resides where the event occurred. (I'll show it to you if you ask.) To say the least, I now lack a substantial amount of memories from my childhood due to this series of unfortunate events.

Meet my sister!
Image from: http://www.rareresource.com/pho_velociraptor.htm

Reason Two: my over-enthusiasm toward volunteerism

In the third grade, our teacher asked if anyone would enjoy helping to carry ice cream in from her trunk. For some reason, the combination of volunteering and ice cream drove me to insanity. I had to help. I don't know why, but I JUST HAD TO. I wasn't even one of the first round picks. I didn't care, I just wanted to get that ice cream into the building. To think of it, I'm not even sure the ice cream was for us. O well, anyway, the teacher eventually realized my undying desire to aid in the ice cream moving process, and she casually asked if I would like to help. I immediately jumped from my seat in a fit of joy. FINALLY, IT WAS MY TIME TO SHINE like the brilliant sun that shone over our heads that fine morning.

How sad for me that I would not even get the chance to handle these ice cream treats. As I RAN toward the door, a "loose" tile caught me off guard. (There is absolutely no way that there was a loose tile in the flooring. This is the lie I continually told so as to make the situation less embarrassing. I mean, I had just nearly fallen out of my seat raising my hand to volunteer. But whatever.) I tripped. This may be hard to believe since now I am the king of poise and grace that you know me as. But it happened. I tripped, and then I slid across the floor into a door jam at a high enough speed as to split my head open. As my parents drove me to the hospital, my only regret was that I didn't get any ice cream.

Reason Three: my jealousy toward my sister

The summer after the above "incident" had occurred. My sister and I decided to play a "quick" game of monopoly. This spiraled out of control until it was eleven pm and both of us hated each other. We really just wanted the game to end. Isn't that the way monopoly works? It starts out fun, teaching us about capitalism and property management, then degrades into an epic battle. No one can win, especially when the game involves only two people. The end never comes.

Well, as I was eight years old, I little body could not handle the eleven pm hour that we had come to. BUT I HAD TO WIN. Therefore, when my sister managed to thwart me multiple times in a row, I went crazy. I jumped from the floor onto her back much like she had done years earlier (foreshadowing much?) Lucky for her, she was not three years old and defenseless, because she threw me from her back into a coffee table, splitting my head on the exact opposite side from just months before. My dad was furious as he drove me to the hospital, but hey dad, it was just for the love of the game.

The coffee table still resides in my eldest sisters house. I hope my niece and nephew will be able to escape my fate.

I'm back in 2011. With vengeance.