Memiors of a GAYsha
Five Weeks. Everytime I walked through the crystal clear double doors and into the ivory showroom, my heart rate would slowly increase. My pupils would dialate, adjusting to the bright glow of each counter, and i could feel the perspiration collect on my perfectly manicured brow.
I'll be the first to admit: I have had many jobs. I've worked every position you can think of. From mopping up vomit, to serving short stacks at the International House of Pancakes. I've served beer at Invesco Field, and worked as an Office Manager for the Largest Real Estate company, in the Denver Metro area.
Although some friends think of me unsteady or erratic, when it comes to working. Although i can understand why one would think that, what they don't know, are my views on work. When i walk down the street, more often than not i see angry people in suits, yelling about deadlines on their cell phones. People live these grey lives trapped in a 9-5 job, that can be done in their sleep. I am not like that.
I believe in trying to find that perfect fit. Something that fits my personality, exactly. First, I need a job with a firm managment spine. I've been at places where the managment had been lackluster, which led to many issues involving lack of leadership, and conflic tbetween co-workers. Second, I need to find a position where i can be myself. Tattoos, Piercings, Mohawk, Extensions, Make Up, the works. I need to be able to espress myself. Finally, i need a position where i can be creative. Either i'm dancing, talking, drawing, painting, designing layouts, color theory, writing, visual merchandising. If i get to use my brain, then i'll be succesfull.
I was incredibly intimidated. I had interviewed with three other people, already. As i blended, i could feel a drop of perspiration glide down my face, across my cheek. Confidance slipping, doubt filled my mind. I tried to focus. I smiled; uneasy. I had to do well. This was my dream job.
Two weeks later, i descended down the escalator. The cool breeze gently grazed my hair, playfully tossing it. As i walked to the counter, my wide grin was met by clapping and hugs from my new team. Loretta started listing things that i should know, letting me know the very strict ground rules. A firm backbone; just what i needed. Rose walked over to me and gave me a big hug. Wonderful co-workers; just what I wanted. As she secured my new necklace in place, a wave of accomplishment washed over me. My MAC pendant rested gently on my chest, bringing to life a sense of pride; something i had never felt before about a new position.
Seeing the cosmetics department smiling and welcoming me, almost brought a tear to my eye. I knew it. This is where i am supposed to be. This is home. I have to do well. I will learn everything i can. And I know I can succeed.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
You Want a Piece of Me?
The stench of liquor and vomit plagued his breath, like a toxin. He stumbled a bit; his threats as weak as his stomach for liquor. He immediately realized the mistake he made, when my response wasn't what he had expected.
"You fat fucking bitch! What the fuck Matty? You're such a looser! Everyone hates you, I hope you know."
I've grown up a sissy my entire life. People made fun of me; targeting my "gayness" and my weight. I pretty much grew up a social outcast, until i moved out of my parent's house at 15. Even then, when people picked fights with me, i was always the smaller, slower one; I cowered at the the mere threat of being hit.
But not anymore.
I turned to face the little man, that most recently used to call himself my roommate; my friend. I exhaled the smoke from my lungs in his face, leaned down to his level of 5'10", and simply said," Touch me. Touch me, and you will be gone."
The look on his face was priceless. It turned a delicious shade of purple. He started yelling about how fat I was, and what a waste of life I am. The satisfaction of knowing that i could have him thrown out of Tracks at ay given moment was just perfect. He knew it too. The way he was going on, and picking a fight with me for no reason, showed how desperate he was for attention.
I turned to a mutual friend of ours, Greg, and told him to get this little chihuahua out of my face, or i'd have him removed. Greg knew the seriousness of the situation, and he pulled the wasted Chad away from me, and thanked me for not throwing him out.
That thursday was the perfect night. I met a few guys, got to see a few friends, and finally had the upper hand on someone who had treated me so poorly in the past. However, as I was driving home and listening to my new favorite Brittany Spears song," You Want a Piece of Me," i couldn't get rid of the bittersweet taste from my mouth. Was it the aftertaste of the Red Bull i was slamming? Or was it something else?
Exactly a year ago, I was 45 pounds lighter than I am today. I was 6'4", and 155 pounds. You could literally see my chest bones and ribs. Many of my friends and family expressed alarm in my small waistline, and thin arms.
Today, it's been rumored that I'm known as the "big lovable sweetheart of Tracks." All of the other floor staff, are slim, and cut. Strong, tight bodies, and arms like rock. I however, do not fit that body type. And I'm okay with that. It seems though, that that makes me a fat ass, or looser.
That's just it: nothing is ever good enough for other people. Some people are going to love you for one thing, and other people are going to love you for another. The point being, you can't please everyone. If you spend your life worrying what other people are going to say and think about you, you're going to live a long life of worry and doubt... and that's not a lifestyle that i'm going to live.
If finding a comfortable in between makes me a cow and a looser, then so be it. All i know is that i'm not going to be obsessing over my weight, and shoving my finger down my throat to get that temporary comfort, like Chad. I feel good about myself and my body, and i'm not two pounds.
So let them say what they will. They can project their insecurities onto people who truly are free from such typical one's. It just shows the true colors of their character. Just remember that: you're not fooling anybody.
Matty B.
The stench of liquor and vomit plagued his breath, like a toxin. He stumbled a bit; his threats as weak as his stomach for liquor. He immediately realized the mistake he made, when my response wasn't what he had expected.
"You fat fucking bitch! What the fuck Matty? You're such a looser! Everyone hates you, I hope you know."
I've grown up a sissy my entire life. People made fun of me; targeting my "gayness" and my weight. I pretty much grew up a social outcast, until i moved out of my parent's house at 15. Even then, when people picked fights with me, i was always the smaller, slower one; I cowered at the the mere threat of being hit.
But not anymore.
I turned to face the little man, that most recently used to call himself my roommate; my friend. I exhaled the smoke from my lungs in his face, leaned down to his level of 5'10", and simply said," Touch me. Touch me, and you will be gone."
The look on his face was priceless. It turned a delicious shade of purple. He started yelling about how fat I was, and what a waste of life I am. The satisfaction of knowing that i could have him thrown out of Tracks at ay given moment was just perfect. He knew it too. The way he was going on, and picking a fight with me for no reason, showed how desperate he was for attention.
I turned to a mutual friend of ours, Greg, and told him to get this little chihuahua out of my face, or i'd have him removed. Greg knew the seriousness of the situation, and he pulled the wasted Chad away from me, and thanked me for not throwing him out.
That thursday was the perfect night. I met a few guys, got to see a few friends, and finally had the upper hand on someone who had treated me so poorly in the past. However, as I was driving home and listening to my new favorite Brittany Spears song," You Want a Piece of Me," i couldn't get rid of the bittersweet taste from my mouth. Was it the aftertaste of the Red Bull i was slamming? Or was it something else?
Exactly a year ago, I was 45 pounds lighter than I am today. I was 6'4", and 155 pounds. You could literally see my chest bones and ribs. Many of my friends and family expressed alarm in my small waistline, and thin arms.
Today, it's been rumored that I'm known as the "big lovable sweetheart of Tracks." All of the other floor staff, are slim, and cut. Strong, tight bodies, and arms like rock. I however, do not fit that body type. And I'm okay with that. It seems though, that that makes me a fat ass, or looser.
That's just it: nothing is ever good enough for other people. Some people are going to love you for one thing, and other people are going to love you for another. The point being, you can't please everyone. If you spend your life worrying what other people are going to say and think about you, you're going to live a long life of worry and doubt... and that's not a lifestyle that i'm going to live.
If finding a comfortable in between makes me a cow and a looser, then so be it. All i know is that i'm not going to be obsessing over my weight, and shoving my finger down my throat to get that temporary comfort, like Chad. I feel good about myself and my body, and i'm not two pounds.
So let them say what they will. They can project their insecurities onto people who truly are free from such typical one's. It just shows the true colors of their character. Just remember that: you're not fooling anybody.
Matty B.
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