<editorsnote>Hi, I'm Jen Friel, and we here at TNTML examine the lives of nerds outside of the basements and into the social media, and dating world. We have over 75 peeps that write about their life in real time. (Real nerds, real time, real deal.) Sit back, relax, and enjoy some of the stories!!</editorsnote>
I'm now on the other side (pun not intended) of what was the most difficult five weeks of my life. This life experience brought up oddly a lot of shame. I admitted this to my best friend over the weekend and he laughed:
"Are you blaming yourself for their deaths?" he asked.
"No," I said, "I'm just really proud of myself that 35 year old Jen is laughing at the concept of feeling any shame toward this situation. 16 year old Jen wouldn't have known to recognize that but 35 year old Jen does!!"
Onto the post ...
I woke up the next morning with one holy hell of a hangover. Grief takes away my appetite and I didn't realize it until the next day but I only had three bites of food (which my gf Anneka made me eat) the entire day before.
My best friend slept on the couch, as I stumbled to the kitchen for some water or a hammer.
I opened up my gameboy refrigerator (which is actually a thing and I LOVE it) ...
... as I felt a hug from behind.
"I can't thank you enough for everything you did yesterday. One, I have no idea how we even got here, but also how you handled the understaffing of her event. She would have been devastated to see people waiting in that long of a line - and you took care of that for her when not a lot of people would. You really are one of the best people ever and now you're my only female best friend so you're welcome and congratulations on stepping up your game."
I laughed as we hugged. There was nothing more to do except try and figure out whatever this new life looks like.
We then went to get some desperately needed food in the form ramen and after came back to build a fort.
Not like an imaginative fort, like an actual fort inside the apartment.
We set it up and watch movies regularly inside of it. For some reason if I'm just sitting on the couch on a weekend not doing anything I feel lazy - but if I'm in a fort, it feels like an adventure!
The next day, my best friend woke up and went for a hike. "I need to be in nature," he said. Not wanting to go or do anything, I said great "you do you!" and walked back to the bedroom and turned on the TV. I knew my workload would be intense for the week so I had to rest up as much as possible (and my back hurt from spending an entire day in the fort).
Sometime after drifting in and out of consciousness, I heard a knock at the door - and not just any knock the intentional, specific, and deliberate knock of a police officer.
It must be a noise complaint or something stupid, I thought not answering the door. I have too much on my plate, I thought, let someone else handle it. I had barely been at this place I called home in weeks - so there was no value in anything I had to say.
Fifteen minutes or so went by before I heard a helicopter. I then looked outside and saw the police officer's car, and some sort of a news crew. Combined with the helicopter I knew that I could potentially be in danger - so I reluctantly opened the door as I grabbed my phone preparing to leave in a moment's notice if necessary.
Hi, I said sticking my head out of the door and stepping into the hallway.
Two officers were standing there setting up yellow crime scene tape. They put the tape down as one of the two officers approached.
"What's happening?" I shouted now FULLY FREAKED OUT and basically preparing to FLY THE FUCK OUT OF HERE USING MY RECENTLY ACQUIRED ANGEL WINGS IF NECESSARY.
"There has been a shooting," said the officer.
"Erica?" I asked, referencing my neighbor upstairs.
He then said no, as my brain flipped to my friend ... let's call him Batz - since that's what he called himself.
"Did something happen to Batz," I asked scared to know what his next word would be.
Expecting a yes or no answer, I was surprised when he asked, "what makes you think it was Batz?"
"He owns guns, I know he had them in his apartment and I've been worried about him lately."
"You were friends with him?"
"Yes," I said, good friends. "I was supposed to see him, and I kept avoiding his calls and texts. He just called me after he was released from jail."
"Did you know what he was in jail for?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I didn't need to ask him that."
<tangent> Let me give you a bit of back story on my friend. Not a lot of people knew this, but he was one of my first friends in the building. Batz was the biggest, scariest looking dude and instead of being afraid of him (like 99.9999% of people would) I saw the value in being friends with someone that big and scary and as a single female living alone - I took advantage of that.
Hours into our friendship he offered me his phone number and said "if you need anything ... and I mean anything ... at any hour ... at any whatever ... I want you to call and text me until I answer. Knowing how many whackadoodle noodles there are in LA, he made me feel safe and protected. Plus my dog LOVED him - they were super duper homies, and Buster was a great judge of character so while people found it strange I would befriend someone like him, I would just say "you don't see what I see."
Batz often had to change his phone number, but whenever he did, he made sure to call or text it to me. Hence why in the last post he starts of by saying "hey it's Batz." He took protecting me very seriously so he made sure I had his number at all times.
Whatever Batz did with his life outside of our friendship was his fate. As long as someone isn't a child molester, or abuser of someone smaller than them (physically or emotionally and whether you are an animal, child, woman, male, elderly or someone with a disability) - you have my respect. Your fate is your fate and you have to live with that, not me. Hence, Amor Fati. </tangent>
"Where were you on Friday night," the detective asked.
"I was at a celebration of life. My friend just died. Is Batz okay," I pressed harder?
"I can't tell you that," the officer said cold.
Now FULLY FREAKED OUT and PISSED OFF that the officer wasn't telling me what happened, I took action in my own hands and excused myself from the interview.
I walked past the officer and sat down on the stairwell texting this to the building manager ...
I read the text and immediately dropped to my knees sobbing.
The neighbors started to all come out of their units as well, and one of them put her arm around me.
"I had no idea you were friends," she said.
"He was my protector but I knew something was wrong - I kept avoiding him. I didn't know why, I just didn't think he would kill himself."
"He didn't," she said.
My tear filled eyes looked up as she said the next part, "he was murdered in his sleep inside his apartment."
Now, the word murder up until this point, hadn't really had a lot of meaning in my life. I'm an avid Unsolved Mysteries and CSI fan - but I've never known someone (to the best of my knowledge) that has been murdered.
You never think something like this will happen to you, until it does - and even then it's still just as confusing.
Another neighbor piped up, and said "well, he deserved it with the way he lived his life."
I took a half breath before immediately standing ground and defending my friend.
"Listen," I said in an I'm a REALLY ANGRY white girl right now and this is REALLY not the time to FUCK WITH ME voice ... "I KNOW you two had your differences (I'll tell you that story in a minute) but now is NOT the time to be speaking ill of the dead."
"He was a piece of shit," he said clearly not registering the anger.
I stood up on the stair and looked him in the eye (which was great positioning since he was so much bigger than me and in this moment I could actually look him directly in his eye).
Wanting to say more than this, I censored myself and simply said, "ENOUGH."
The ENOUGH was good ENOUGH for him to finally understand as I then went downstairs to find the building manager and begin to make an attempt at what was happening.
<tangent> In terms of the other neighbor and Batz, when I had first moved in, one night there was a homeless guy that was chasing women into the building. Someone had texted Batz that this was going on and he went downstairs to politely guide the man off the property.
Emphasis on "politely."
Now, I've only had to ask Batz for help once with a guy who was masturbating to Buster and I walking down the street. He had a blank vacancy in his eye so he might have thought his penis was a balloon he was trying to inflate for all I know. Either way, it spooked me enough to call him but I was smart enough to know not to see what he did - I was just happy feeling safe that it was done.
The other neighbor wasn't smart and watched what he did. Instead of being appreciative that our building was safer, he filmed the guy and called the cops on Batz for assaulting the guy. The charges ended up being dropped, and it was funny any time I would see this neighbor while I was chatting with Batz he would roll his eyes and go "that guy." It made me laugh - he really really hated that guy and I can't say I blame him. </tangent>
I then found the building manager who was talking to police. Over eight cop cars had shown up at that point quarantining and questioning as many places and people that they could.
After however long, the building manager was finally free and I asked, "what the fuck happened?"
"Batz was murdered," she said in a loving but still fearful way. "Someone or multiple people came into the building during the night and shot him five times. They put two pillows over his body as they did it. Did you hear anything?"
She then gave me the specific time as my heart sank. I have a visual memory of numbers, and I know I woke up at that time. I was in the beginning stages of my hangover, so I got up to use the bathroom. I had Unsolved Mysteries on the TV at the time (since Robert Stack's voice puts me to sleep in .25 seconds). With where I was in the building, there's no way I wouldn't have heard it, I just more likely than not assumed it was from the TV.
I don't know what's worse in this moment, I thought, knowing that I heard the gunshots that killed my friend, or not realizing that it was actual gunshots that I heard.
I sat in the lobby for what felt like a year. I didn't feel safe enough to go back into the apartment alone. I had called my best friend frantically after I had spoken to the police, but realized he was also grieving his best friend. It felt selfish to ask him to come back, but I didn't know what else to do. Without a dog or Batz's protection, I didn't feel safe. I sure as shit couldn't drive anywhere and I also wasn't sure if we were technically allowed to leave since this was considered an active crime scene.
"Why wouldn't they tell me he died," I asked the manager.
"Because you're a suspect," she said. "You're a suspect, I'm a suspect, everyone in this building is a suspect until they find out what happened."
I've been called a lot of things in life, but "murder suspect" was DEFINITELY a first.
THIS ISN'T ME?!! I THOUGHT!! THIS DOESN'T BELONG TO ME ... YET THIS IS HAPPENING ... AND I HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT.
I didn't know anything could be more traumatic than testifying in court. I've had to do it three times in my life. Once was for stalking on the criminal side, the second time was for the civil case and the third was when I got hit in the head with a brick. I thought that experience was the most traumatic because you not only have to publicly share what occurred, you are then cross examined on your experiences. In the criminal case for the brick, I was asked by the public defender "how I knew I got hit in the head with a brick." I cried as I said, "because I have four staples in my head."
Being interviewed in a murder investigation was FAR worse than testifying in court. In the TV version of my life story (which is actually ABOUT TO GO INTO PRODUCTION!!! - more on that once I get over this whole "murder thing"), the character jumps up excited to finally live out the "I MAY BE ABLE TO HELP SOLVE A MYSTERY!!!"
In the real life version of my life, I was ABSOLUTELY terrified, angry, sad, and wanted nothing to do with ANY sort of an investigation. If I had a choice to be interviewed, I would have said no. The fact of the matter is, I didn't have a choice and I wanted to help my friend. It was the final act of kindness I could show to someone who spent so many years protecting me and I wish I could say the shoe was on the other foot and this act would protect him. The reality is though, he couldn't even protect himself.
FUCK this is hard to write out ... next part is where I actually got interviewed. I do not do not do not want to write this, but obviously holding it in isn't helpful either. Thanks for reading, nerds!! <3
I've recently discovered Stoicism (and I'm very excited about it). I spent the last year consistently feeling blindsided. (See this last post.) Less than two months into this year, I have felt "front sided?"
Is that a thing? If not I'm making it one - because I can't find another way to describe it.
The fundamental principle in Stoicism is "amor fati" meaning to love fate. I'll explain more later in terms of what that means, but the bottom line is that the obstacles that are in front of you aren't in the way, they ARE the way. It says, that you can't grow in a place of comfort (which I fully agree with).
This year, I lost my best friend/ soulmate Buster Brown on my other best friend's birthday. Then, my other best friend lost his best friend/ soulmate three weeks to the day after. We were there when it happened (which is what she would have wanted), as we went in for a routine visit and didn't realize that they were in the process of pulling the plug. Less than 15 hours after her celebration of life, my friend and neighbor was brutally murdered in his sleep (in our mutual home).
It's easy for me to be angry at everything right now. It's easy for me to withdraw. It's easy for me to cry myself to sleep. What wasn't easy was PUBLICLY crying (particularly in front of someone I consider adjacent to "idol" territory).
This picture was taken about 15 minutes before I turned into a crying baby sea lion in front of not only the entire theater but in front of Katie Couric and Will.I.Am.
It's what happened, and I love my fate for it. I'm not someone who backs down from challenges or places of uncomfort. I do the opposite, I let it motivate me ...
I can't think of a more appropriate song to write to.
Maestro ...
On January 2, 2020 I lost my best friend and furrever soul mate Buster Brown Friel. On the last day of his life, he was visited and FaceTimed with those he loved. He ate chocolate for the first and last time (because what was it going to do ... kill him?).
He went to the dog park for a final stretch and a solid pee session on a tree, and he rode in the car (one of his favorite things to do) all while being sung WE ARE FAMILY in an off-key as he was carried into the vet's office.
I've never had to put down an animal before, but I KNEW when I got Buster that our love was different. There was NO WAY he was ever going to go without me being there.
Buster and I were peas and carrots ...
This is the cover art for our 90s acoustic alternative album.
He was peanut butter (which he also loved) and I was his jelly ...
We had adventure after adventure ... and dance party after dance party.
It was like Buster's life burned at both ends of the candle. He loved SO unconditionally and SO hard that his body eventually gave out on him. You can read his obituary here(which I've never written an obituary for a dog but if you met and knew Buster, you would understand).
Once I started to tell people the unfortunate news, everyone said the same thing "when is the memorial?" I've also never thrown a memorial for a dog but after a stream of flowers, and even groceries I recognized the impact he had on people's lives and it would be cruel to not let them say a final good bye.
THERE IS EVEN A STAR NAMED AFTER HIM (courtesy of his auntie Lindsay) - A STAR HAS BEEN NAMED AFTER THIS DOG.
The memorial was held a week later (on a Sunday) and six and a half hours later, I found myself STILL with a crowd STILL wanting to celebrate Buster.
I have never experienced a loss of love like I did with Buster. I texted my neighbors the day after I had to physically be picked up off the floor shouting "I NEED YOU!!! COME BACK!! I NEED YOU!!!!!!!"
Wow that made me tear up even thinking of that ...
I didn't want them thinking that I was in danger (in a physical sense), in the emotional sense? That was to TBD.
Fortunately, they're all really cool and one of them even sent this text ...
... followed by more flowers and groceries.
Buster was my protector, therapist, best friend, furrever soulmate, and while I know we are supposed to "smile because it happened" and not "cry because it's over" - I wasn't capable of doing that.
Getting out of bed some days was really hard and instead of punishing myself for that, I did the reverse - I congratulated myself. Congratulated myself on getting the sleep I needed. Congratulated myself for putting pants on. Congratulated myself for going outside. Congratulated myself for working out. Congratulated myself for feeling my feelings with whatever that meant and congratulated myself for respecting myself in the process.
In the past, I compartmentalized things only to "get through them" and then three to six months later (or even years later when I was younger), I would have a breakdown. I mentally put my pain inside boxes and allowed them to stack up and stack up until one day they would fall over.
I couldn't change how I was going to grieve. All I could do was love the love that I had and experienced and use that as yet another opportunity to see how far I have come away from my emotional unavailability.
My best friend had not only never had a dog before, but also had never (like myself) put one to sleep. I wouldn't have gotten through this without him, and while I was upset it happened on his birthday, I also like to think Buster had a hand in that. The three of us were the "Three Amigos" and now furrever we can honor both of them on the same day.
"I can see now why people are so upset when an animal passes," he said deep in his own mourning. Buster was such a loud person in a fur coat, that with his larger than life presence being gone was not only emotional but also physical.
Part of the ways I dealt with the grief was to update anything "routine" in my apartment. You eat on plates every day (or at least I do) so if I get new plates (which I did) it will feel different.
Buster liked to sit outside on his favorite bench ...
This was taken the day before he passed. You can see how thin he is but we were able to watch the sunset together one final time.
That is now gone, and replaced with cushions and new lights.
I can't control that he is gone, but I can change things in my environment to make his absence less noticeable.
Less than three weeks after Buster had passed, my best friend got a call from the family of his best friend saying that his best friend was in ICU.
<tangent> The three of us were supposed to all go to Burning Man together last year. Right before we were set to leave she sent this text ...
</tangent>
Much like with what happened to Buster her body was suddenly and aggressively decaying. We had seen her just a few weeks prior and personality wise she was 100% there, but her body had gotten so thin as she was fighting this terrible, terrible disease.
"We need to go see her," I said. "We don't have to go together but we both need to see her."
Our schedules happened to sync up that week and on Thursday we drove over for a visit.
We had just disinfected ourselves as we reached over for the mask to place on our mouth before walking in.
"Don't bother," said her son.
My eyes darted knowing what that meant ...
... as the rest of my body walked in with a smile on my face.
"SO GOOD TO SEE YOU!" we said approaching her.
With a breath barely above a whisper she said "everyone out. These are my two best friends and I need to talk to them."
In 35 years on this planet, I have never actually seen anyone kick their own family out of a "death bed" situation, but knowing her, it was fitting.
<tangent> My best friend's best friend called me her best friend because of the mutual respect and adoration we have/ had for each other. I take labels seriously, and while those were her words the reality is that I was grandfathered in the last 18 months of her life. </tangent>
She then offered us $10,000 as a finders fee to buy her a house in Malibu. "Something on the beach you know what I like," she declared still in a breath barely above a whisper.
<tangent> I'm going to be respectful of what happened that day, but let me just tell you how cool this woman was for a minute ... she was homies with seated Presidents, multiple billionares (and I don't know if a trillionaire is a thing for a person yet but if it was I'm sure they also wanted to date her/ be a part of her gravitational pull). She had members of royalty at her beckon call (and garnered persistent proposals from them) and considered indigenous elders in the jungle among her best friends. You couldn't write her life and if you tried it was unlike anything or anyone you have ever seen. She was magical, possessed her own gravity, and was a beautiful, beautiful beacon of light and majesty. Respect with her was earned and once you were in you were "in" and that was some VERY interesting company to be "in." </tangent>
Once we stepped back out in the hall, the family told us that she couldn't survive without the machine she was on and that they were going to make her as comfortable as possible.
The words barely escaped the family member's mouth before I involuntarily broke down in tears. It wasn't JUST that this was happening, it was that WE WERE HERE WHILE IT WAS HAPPENING.
Again, she wouldn't have wanted it any other way, but it didn't make the process of going through it any easier.
Respectfully, I'll keep the rest of the details of the evening to myself.
The drive back home was brutally silent. There were no words. There was nothing to say. Within three weeks to the day of each other we were two best friends who also lost their best friends.
Opening the door to my apartment, I got down on my knees and began sobbing yet again.
Why did it have to happen this way? I shouted. It would have been easier if the roles were reversed because I would have gotten through this with Buster. I don't know what to do!!! I shouted out of anger, frustration, and the pain of the loss of not one but two great loves.
The next day, the family got together to go to the Self Realization Fellowship lake shrine in Malibu. It was one of her favorite spots, and the idea was to give our respects to her on the property.
"Let's bring flowers" my best friend said on the ride over. "There's a lake there, and we can all throw the flowers into the lake."
We then purchased two dozen white lotus-esque flowers as we hiked the very basic but pretty trail.
It's a beautiful property, but definitely has a creepy "cultie" vibe.
I didn't expect to see Xenu, but I wasn't sure if I'd find Joseph's golden plates either. Clearly nothing in life makes sense right now, so as per usual, I might as well go along with it.
We all individually paid our respects in the chapel, and then gathered on the dock by the lake. Workers came out and then handed the kids little baggies to feed the massive koi fish and ducks.
This made me really happy because I used to feed ducks as a kid, and in this moment, I got to relive a really happy moment in life and escape whatever new fucked up reality I was currently experiencing.
Once everyone gathered, we took the tops of the lotus flowers off and placed them one by one in the water. There was enough for everyone to go around and it left quite the beautiful display when completed.
Once done, I walked off the dock choosing to sit down on the benches by the car to catch my breath (which had felt constricted after all the grieving).
"Alright Friel," I said to myself. "You have two choices in this scenario. You can allow yourself to collapse with grief (which you have every right to do), or you can say WOW! that felt great getting to hang out with ducks again."
It doesn't change the grief, it won't take away the pain, but during this painful time it was something I could focus my attention on.
"Focus on the ducks, Friel. Focus on the ducks." I said to myself over and over and over almost in a trans.
Some ducking time later, a man approached the group, shouting "WHERE IS YOUR LEADER?!"
HOLY SHIT, MAYBE WE DID FIND JOSEPH'S GOLDEN PLATES - I thought laughing to myself amused that anyone would even ask that.
I leaned in closer so I could hear better.
"Who told you you could put flowers in the lake?" he asked with fierce demand and command.
My friend (who apparently was the most "leader-looking" person) said, "are you telling us we can't put flowers in a lake?"
"YES! NO ONE CAN TOUCH THE LAKE," he shouted.
My brain immediately defaulted to logistics and thought, these are real flowers and those are real trees around this lake. What happens should a leaf just HAPPEN to fall in the lake? Would they yell at the tree for its natural shed and throw a shit fit like the one I'm seeing right now?
"Listen," my friend said. "We didn't know." He may or may not have said sorry, and since we were leaving any way - we didn't really care.
The personal assistant of our friend then approached wondering what was going on.
"We can't put flowers in the lake," the friend said.
"How did we get to this conclusion," he said with a side of sass?
"This guy came over and yelled at us."
"SOMEONE YELLED AT YOU" he shouted now just as loudly as the "take me to your leader" man.
"OH HELL NOOOOOOOO," he said with the extra OOOOOOOOOOOOs. "I'm going to find him. I'm immediately in my anger stage of grief and have NO problem being the "angry black person" in this scenario.
(He literally is a black man and in this moment he also happened to be really really angry.)
Wanting a front row seat to whatever was happening next ... I followed closely enough to read the body language but far enough away to avoid striking distance.
I then watched the assistant take an aggressive stance in front of Mr. "Take me to your leader."
I saw a hand raise, not in a fist, but in a "talk to the hand" style fashion.
Mr. "Take me to your leader" immediately about faced as I stepped closer asking what happened.
The assistant turned around and smiled going, "oh nothing honey. I'm an angry black man - you white people want nothing to do with me."
I then burst into well needed laughter thinking "WHO ALMOST GETS INTO A FIGHT AT A SELF REALIZATION CENTER?!" This group, that's who!
I smiled knowing how proud our friend would be - we aren't the types to back down from any kind of bullshit bullying.
We then all went for dinner and in the days after began grieving in our own ways. My best friend took action by being there as much as he could for the family (considering he is considered family), and I helped the best I could by designing her memorial program and explaining any web related needs.
The best friend of my best friend lived on the opposite end of town that I do. Instead of wanting to sit in hellish traffic, I would often stay at a place I consider home on that side of town to get done whatever needed to get done more efficiently. After all, the silence in my own apartment was brutal enough. At least being there I could be around people more which helped keep me out of my head.
Her memorial happened about two weeks after her death. It was attended by celebrities, billionaires, rockstars, spiritual gurus, and many people I'm lucky enough to now call friends. The event was documented by a photographer who shoots for Vogue, because obvi you hire a photographer from Vogue for an event like this.
The reception began shortly after the ceremony was over. I wore wings to her memorial because she called me her "angel" (although again technically her best friend was her angel, but again, being grandfathered in at the last minute meant I wore that label out of pride and respect for both mine and their love). At the reception people kept commenting how beautiful I looked and how interesting the wings were.
"Only for her!" I would say with a laugh and an attempt to keep it together as best as I could.
Which I wasn't very good at doing ...
This is me crying hysterically not being able to process what is happening while falling into the arms of a literal rockstar who is now holding me and the program I designed for our friend in his hands.
I then waited in an ungodly line for the restroom, and en route back, I offered to get myself and my best friend a drink. Our lost love was the consummate host so she would want us to celebrate her.
En route, I then stood in yet another ungodly line for a drink and quickly discovered there was only one bartender. I took a handful of steps back to figure out exactly what needed to happen.
"I'm literally going to have to do this myself," I said out loud and loudly enough that my girlfriend Anneka also heard.
"Are we about to take this line down?" she asked.
... I said while getting behind the bar.
I've never bartended before, but considering it was just beer and wine, I knew I could handle it. I politely asked the actual bartender if he could help with glasses so we can help him expedite.
THANK YOU! he said not at all offended, just appreciative that people help had arrived.
Everyone at the event had suddenly lost a friend. The last thing our friend would want to see is a series of empty glasses.
Within moments, the line was completely cleared, as person after person commented on how badass it was to not only take action but organize an assembly line (which was what was required to get the job done).
"Acts of service is my love language" I admitted to my friend. "It's selfish actually, but I'm technically doing this for myself."
She smiled as she went over to get me some food. "You also need to eat, and you also lost your friend." Compartmentalizing my feelings only for this moment, I thanked her as I quickly ate and got back to work.
Hours later, the official ceremony ended, and the after party began.
We all piled into an SUV to head back to the host's house.
As we were pulling away, the passenger in the front seat got a text saying we had to come back. We did and as we pulled in, the funeral director passed a document through the front window. I looked down and it read "DEATH CERTIFICATE."
I've never actually seen one in person before, and as she signed and folded it up, my best friend broke down. "It's all so real now," he said coming out of the coma of shock.
I had no idea what to say, but much like the angel persona I had adopted that day, I just placed my arms around him like wings and let him cry.
We arrived back at the house sometime later. One by one, the children of my friend came up to thank me for getting everyone properly smashed at the reception.
"That was really cool what you did," said her son. "I hope you know that you're family now and you're stuck with us."
I smiled and thanked him, but I was lucky enough to have already felt that way.
I kept an eye on my best friend but also took a moment for myself. I literally just bartended a celebration of life; I was not only emotionally exhausted but also physically exhausted.
Sometime past a point of polite partying, I asked my best friend if he was ready to go. Considering he was already passed out in the downstairs meditation room - I took that as a sign of yes.
I then called us an uber, and headed back to the place I call home.
Before the memorial, I had sent my good friend and neighbor of said home a text telling him how funny it was that as a group "we almost got into a fight at a self realization/ actualization center."
WHO DOES THAT HAPPEN TO!!!?! It's still so so good ...
I then sent him a picture of us all. Hey, for a bunch of grieving people we still manage to look pretty effing sexy...
This was one of the last text messages I have from my neighbor and good friend. 15 hours after the memorial, he himself was dead. He was murdered execution style in his bed inside the apartment building of the place I call home. (I didn't know "murder could have a style" but that's the best way I can explain it.) I was there when it happened, and 36 hours after he was shot, I shot out of bed from a knock on the door from some people who wanted to talk to me.
Shit. I thought, I definitely didn't see this one coming.
Wow that took a lot out of me, but also felt really good to write out. I don't understand this life experience. It has been the worst five weeks of my life and up next is part two. Thanks for reading nerds!! xx
This has been without a doubt, one of the most emotional years of my life. I've experienced the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, and I haven't been writing about it. Good or bad, my eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing.
I think I'm ready to talk about it now, and I present to you my best effort.
Maestro ...
My life for as very unconventional as it may seem to everyone else, is actually fairly predictable to me. People operate on a "predictability index" in my head, and as someone who naturally processes patterns and information at lightning speed - I can easily recognize when a duck is a duck. I'd never yell at a duck for not being a giraffe when what I'm presented with is a duck. I rarely if ever need to raise my voice at someone (if I even get into an argument) because that predictably index allows me to understand things their perspective, all while I can articulately explain my perspective. (Or as articulate as I can ... no one is perfect.)
This year though, I've been consistently blindsided with situations and people both personally and professionally.
It started at this exact time last year when my good friend's body was found. I happened to be there when she was discovered and even was the one to call 911. Well, technically speaking, a mover called 911 but I handed him my phone not knowing it hadn't been done - I was in hysterics and could barely breathe let alone speak.
My body made sounds that day that I didn't know it could. There is a very specific pitch of a "gut wrenching cry." I know it from my own voice that day and the 30 plus people I personally called to tell them what happened. A year later, and I can't unhear it - it's a new form of deafening that plays on an unwanted repeat and shuffle over and over in my head.
Had I not seen her body be wheeled out of the building, I wouldn't have believed it myself. I could have at that moment gone into her apartment and seen her lifeless body, but considering how affected I have been by the sounds, I am glad that I didn't.
My friend was a celebrity and her death made international headlines. Going through your own pain is bad enough, having everyone under the sun also read it and reach out was unbearable. People made comments in the media that were not approved by the family. I was the only person they trusted with media training so I planted a news story that still ranks number one for her name (even now).
I had to ask the family (and quite frankly the myriad of friends that came out of the woodwork who actually knew more) for complete and full disclosure. I needed to know what substances she was on, so if for example, it came back that she had pain killers in her system, I could protect her integrity by planting a line about an old back injury. If it came back as any illegal substances - that would be on her.
I may "see" people, but I'm proud to say I don't judge them.
The story ran. I guided the actual family media representative (who had no clue what he was doing) on the call, and I'm quoted as the "anonymous friend" who gathered up enough of the details to plant what I thought was needed.
With the piece live, the media had all they needed from the family. Immediately, cockroaches came out of the woodwork who were talking to any friend or family member about "book deals, and movie rights." Everyone wanted their piece of her newly resurfaced fame and I was disgusted by it ... but not at all surprised by it.
I focused on the job that I knew needed to get done and not only wrote her obituary but also designed the memorial flyer. It was the final act of kindness I could show to a friend who needed it, but I chose to leave the monkeys to their own circus and quietly ignored the memorial (or any of the events after). Minus the surprise memorial because WHO THE FUCK SURPRISES SOMEONE WITH A MEMORIAL? (I'm really not kidding - click the pink link to read the story.)
Through the conversations I had with people after she died, I questioned how much of my good friend that I ever knew. The person that I knew laughed at all my stories about recreational drug use but never wanted any part of it. She barely drank - and now its suspected she died of some sort of overdose?
Still needing my own closure, I called and kept in touch with the coroner on her case (who is a great fucking human - not at all expected). He spent over 30 minutes on the phone with me explaining all of the pressure he is feeling because she's classified as "high profile" and how confused he was over her case. I had explained to him that I was there that day and was a close friend. He trusted my voice enough to then tell me what he was seeing.
When they do an autopsy (he explained), they first check your vitals. Does this person have a heart, two lungs, brain - etc? Then they go over the condition of each of the vitals - any clots, bursts - etc? She had everything she needed and was deemed to be in "good health."
Step three is testing for substances. What drugs were in her system? There were bottles found around her body, but nothing was registering as an "overdose." Part of my own grieving process was researching the drugs people had told me she was rumored to have taken. There was one in particular that is undetectable in an autopsy. Obviously, I'm not going to say what it is - but I mentioned this to the doctor and he thanked me profusely running more tests.
I called back yet another handful of weeks later - and it was yet again inconclusive. Out of my own options, I realized I had to let it go.
I'm never going to know what happened to my friend, but that the search results about her death protected her integrity and as much as that messed with me that I was the one who planted it - I'm proud the story stuck and (hopefully) she can rest in peace.
My friend was the first of three deaths who were all intimate in less than 30 days. I'm sure as shit not going into all of it, but then a few months later, a colleague of mine that I was working for also unexpectedly passed away. I found out the news of his passing and while still shocked but in good enough condition to drive, I walked out of the office and discovered that my car had been towed.
The bright side of that death was that the colleague whose name I said before my own most mornings was not at all who he presented to be and was pretty much an epic douchebag.
Remember that whole "predictability index with people thing?" Yeah, I'm questioning my own accuracy too.
Thankfully as the year went on the body count decreased.
Then, right before Burning Man this past August, I received a text at 4:07pm from a close friend. She went to the doctor before the Burn to make sure she was healthy (as she was coming with us) and to her surprise her results were not good.
<tangent> If you are lucky enough to not know what that means, it is not good. It is actually better to have two different forms of cancer independently (for example breast cancer and bone cancer) than have your cancer metastasize to the bone. </tangent>
In shock I called the other person who's name she mentioned on the text (who is my favorite person on this planet and someone that I love with a part of my heart I didn't even know I had access to).
"Hello?" they said bright and chipper. "You're on speakerphone."
Without needing to look at my phone, I quickly realized that our mutual friend thought she had sent a group text but actually just sent a text to me.
Being an accidental pro now at giving people horrible news, I said, "if you are driving I am going to need you to safely pull over." They could tell in my voice it was bad and considering they were also there when my good friend passed - they knew I meant business.
The calling part never got easier. Even after the sheer volume of calls I had placed the day my friend's body was found - it hurt equally as bad (if not worse) telling someone I love so deeply that their friend has cancer that has metastasized to the bone.
I can't remember if they even made a single sound, but I asked where they were right now and that I was going to grab a car to meet them.
No, they said still processing the words I said. "We're in front of a restaurant right now. I'm just going to park, go in and process what you just said."
Sometime at the restaurant they called our friend (technically their friend long before mine) and an hour later we were in a lyft en route to meet her. (I have a hard stop rule in these situations that no one drives - it's not safe.)
Not knowing what to say, I focused on the "H"s.
"Hi, (or hello)," and then going into a hug (or some sort of person-holding-situation).
<tangent> There are (at least) four different types of people in these situations.
You have your delusional cheerleader types ... the "you're going to be just fine!" Ra-ra-shish-boom-ba!
You have your religious/ spiritual types ... "[insert holy name here] has a plan for all of us, and this is your challenge. With prayer and faith YOU WILL GET THROUGH THIS!!!!
You have your "this isn't about you it's actually about me" types who process by saying things like "when so and so in my life had this, they got through it!"
Rarely have these types personally experienced anything close to what the person is going through - they're more like "trauma adjacent" and want to make everything about themselves.
Speaking of it all being about me, what's my type?
I'm the kind of person who in the moment looks at what needs to get done and shuts the fuck up about doing whatever is required. </tangent>
I can't control the cancer, or even the different personality types I was subjected to, but I can help with the dishes or check in with the kids asking them questions, or starting a game just so the adults could actually have the conversations they needed to have.
My only goal that evening was to make sure that my friend whom I love more than anything could have the conversation they needed and or wanted to have with our mutual friend.
Moments later, the Matriarch (of a family I had never met) shouted that Shabbat dinner was about to start. Our mutual friend didn't want to move from the couch, so I quickly offered to bring them both dishes knowing that this would be their chance to speak privately.
The table was set in the formal dining room (which should have been my first clue), and as I grabbed two of the plates the Matriarch stopped and asked "what I was doing?"
The whole house (eight or so people strong) were now all seated. "Please take a seat."
I glanced up and in my direct eyeline I saw them both whispering and hugging one another.
I didn't know in this moment that the "everything about me type" could also be the "religious and spiritual type."
I had never seen this family before or heard of them. I'm only about a year or so into our friendship, but my friend? They are considered family. It seemed strange to me that if I had plans with my friend WHO JUST FOUND OUT SHE HAS TERMINAL CANCER - I might want to celebrate the dinner at home and then bring some left overs afterward?
Who celebrates a god in front of someone who JUST FOUND OUT they might be meeting said god a little faster than the rest of us? How tacky is that?!
And if you are going to do it - why not PICK A QUIETER DINING AREA!! She set the formal dining table! I'm from Connecticut. You don't fuck around with formal dining. She had SO MANY OPTIONS!! You have the breakfast nook, the kitchen, the patio, even the back patio ACTUALLY HAD ITS OWN FORMAL DINING AREA!! Why here?! THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU!!!
Again, people process things in their own way, so instead of judging (which I was doing pretty sternly with my eyes in that moment) ....
... I then focused back on my personality type and shut the fuck up choosing to get my head back in the game.
Who is going to say the blessing? the Matriarch asked.
The children at the table collectively slid down their chairs out of embarrassment.
My friend's son, and his brother's girlfriend were in shock and not capable of blessing themselves let alone a prayer in a language they may or may not have known.
My eyes darted back over to my two friends - who were still talking. Wanting to get them food, I did the opposite of shutting the fuck up, and I actually opened up my mouth.
"I can say the prayer," I said with my hand raised.
I'm a shiksa (meaning a non Jewish girl) so I technically speaking don't know the full prayer, but I did work at a Jewish day care and day camp and before each meal we said the blessing for the kids. Possessing a memory of steel, I still remember it 17 years later.
I start singing the blessing, "Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha'olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav, v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat."
I emphasized all the lower throat tones in the prayer to distract the fact that I didn't actually know what I was doing. The dinner was moving in some sort of a direction and that was all that mattered.
The prayer I learned deviated at that point (for the smaller children to understand), but fortunately, because I had befriended the kids earlier, they finished it for me out of excitement to be "just like their new friend."
With the prayer finally finished, we then began eating - I knew not to cross the Matriarch by leaving the formal dining table before everyone was done. Again, not that I had anything for or against this woman, I was just happy the people I actually did care about were in my direct eyeline and should they want food, I would happily, and also sadistically, leave the table to get it for them.
My friend's son and his brother's girlfriend both thanked and hugged me in the kitchen after. The two of them I knew well enough to be accepted and their eyes told me how thankful they were in that moment.
Focused on my own goal, I walked back into the living room with two plates. Our mutual friend had already passed out. I didn't ask if they had the conversation they "needed to," because who knows what that even means in that life moment. I just made sure my friend was fed, dishes were as clean as they were going to be, and that was all I could do.
You can't exactly Irish good bye (my favorite thing to do) in a situation like this, so sometime later and after a very long winded good bye - we finally made it back outside where we called the car.
Standing on the sidewalk, I feel not one but two of the little ones COMPLETELY blindside me from behind with big bear hugs.
I immediately started laughing and smiled not knowing in this moment I needed my own "little personal-holding-situation."
My friends and I went to Burning Man as planned. It was really hard not only missing our friend but knowing her fate was (at least for now) very different than ours.
By day five of the Burn outside of the orgy dome (more on that later BUT ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED) ...
Our mutual friend asked me why I was still so far in my head.
If an orgy where you got head can't bring you out of your head - nothing will!!
"You not only seem so far in your head, you actually seem like sparkly and your energy is all over the place."
I sat down in my 3D boob apron (this is an actual thing, I'll have pictures in a moment) and said, "I've never been more confused by a year. It's been event after event and trauma after trauma. It swings from incredible professional accomplishments - to painful depths of sadness. My life is ALWAYS eventful, but not like this. I can't stop feeling this sense of loss and grief, but I'm wondering who I'm even grieving for? The dead are already dead. The dying? Well aren't we all? Is all of this a distraction from my professional accomplishments?
Before they could answer, a super hot Domme walked up asking if I was ready to get shocked with a cattle prod. We give you a free souvenir shot glass if you do.
I then took a moment, and thought back to what my friend just said.
"You not only seem so far in your head, you actually seem like sparkly - like your energy is all over the place."
<tangent> I'm sadistic, (meaning I take pleasure in seeing other people in pain) - I'm not a masochist (meaning deriving pleasure from the pain myself). And for clarification purposes, I'm technically a sadistic healer (meaning I only like to see healthy people in pain - never someone who actually is in pain being administered more pain). I like to help those in need, not hurt. </tangent>
I'll do it, I said as I walked over to the Domme. "You had me at free souvenir shot glass," I said jokingly but also serious that I do collect souvenir cups from all of my adventures and use them as juice/ water glasses.
I wanted to get out of my head and into my body. If five days at Burning Man hadn't helped, maybe being cattle prodded would.
My friend asked if they could take video.
"Hell no," I said not knowing what my reaction would be (and knowing that the internet and icloud are forever). "But, you can take as many pictures as you want." They happen to have a speedy capture finger.
Here were the results:
This is Her explaining what is about to happen ...
This is me mentally preparing ...
This is Her mentally preparing ...
This is me getting shocked ...
This is me in my body for the first time in however long ...
This is me thanking her ...
This is her thanking me ...
This is me going back into my head (but only for a moment) explaining the shock was like the most intense pinch I have ever felt. It sent a chill through my body, but in a good way.
These were our shadows walking out of the camp as my friend said "you are the only person I have ever known who gets out of their head and into their body via being voluntarily electrocuted by a cattle prod."
"I respected the Domme," I said. "I could be friends with her and my fake boobs look awesome right now!!" (A sentence I never thought I would say.)
The rest of the Burn is a story for another day, but shortly after I got home, I found out that two more friends were given their own terminal sentences.
Feeling myself slip back into a depression, I took action and did the one thing I haven't done in over a decade ... I actually went to therapy.
My friend has a doctor on the west side who said doesn't do the, "how did that make you feel" style questioning. She's whip smart and super logical.
I never needed to be on those drugs, and fortunately I had the balls to say no and fuck you.
<tangent> Working for LiveVideo back in 2007 and starting this website in 2009 saved my life. One, because of my love of tech but two, because it allowed me to express myself so freely and honestly.
A few months back, I sat in the home of a Hollywood showrunner (a household name you all know), in my captain's hat, and shorteralls with my swimsuit under - I told him the origin story of Talk Nerdy To Me (he was interested in hearing the formerly owned Jerry Bruckheimer TV pitch over a family BBQ of all things).
I was 30 or so minutes in when he said, "you have an original voice."
I beamed with pride as he took a beat.
"That must be really hard for you."
My eyes immediately welled up with tears, I struggled but successfully held them back.
"When you have an original voice you have to work twice as hard as everyone else because what you're doing is something most people haven't even thought of yet. You not only have to execute your vision but explain it as you go and that must be terribly lonely and isolating."
He said it with tremendous respect, and his truth based on my reality was gutting. I hadn't ever had someone put my life experience so succinctly and directly in my face like that before.
I thanked him for his time, as I stood up with my laptop. He said, "I'm really looking forward to reading your script." </tangent>
Moments into minute five of therapy, I unexpectedly began breaking down. Physically sobbing, I said, "this year has been so hard, I admitted, but also so amazing! It's like my brain can't focus on which perspective and lens to look out of. Health wise, I've even had shingles (the old people's disease) twice this year due to stress both good and bad."
Let's start with the good, she said.
I rang in the new year with the man who landed on the moon ...
... who doesn't know that I know where a piece of his jewelry is. He gifted it to a good friend of his (a good enough friend to get a piece of jewelry THAT WENT TO THE MOON) and his good friend happens to be the grandfather of my good friend. I'm RIGHT NOW in the process of getting them both in the same room so my friend can give it back to him - Buzz Aldrin doesn't know this yet, but soon he will.
I'm also pretty proud that when I see him again, I get to say the sentence, "yes we met at New Years, I was Cleopatra!" It wasn't a costume party, I just took the black and gold theme literally.
In March, I heard a Presidential candidate speak in a room full of only about 20 people.
That night I also met a member of the royal family and we took a picture together. When she posted it on her Instagram, I got cut out of it. I saw it and laughed so hard to my parents saying, "how many people can say they've been cut out of a photo with a Presidential Candidate and a member of royalty?!" THAT IS SO COOL!!!
This is the uncut original photo ...
This is what she posted ...
See that TINY TINY spec of black fur with the red arrow pointing to it??? ...
Hey, growing out your bangs is a tough thing to do!! I can't say I blame her!!
FYI, this is not a political endorsement of any kind. I assimilate with cultures quickly and took the pin as a souvenir. I'm saving that story for another day. :)
JBE's exact words were "script is good, comedy is hard ..." and then he gave me an action item to which I am currently executing.
In September, I got to meet my fashion idol Betsey Johnson.
I actually started sobbing when I told her how much her fashion allowed me to be "more of myself" and if it weren't for her and Punky Brewster, I don't know where I'd be.
This is me SOBBING while taking a selfie (she asked if I wanted one - I could barely answer with the word yes without sobbing harder)...
I don't do the "pretty girl cry" I ugly girl cry ...
All of that is a story for another day ... moving on ...
Also in September, I won two awards at the Female Founder In Tech event held in Vegas ...
I came in second place overall (with a company cash prize) and won the People's Choice Award. I later presented on the main stage and stepped away from the podium just so the audience could see my sparkly shoes.
And this October, I walked into a really shitty dive bar in downtown LA and accidentally crashed a Harry Potter pub crawl.
The bartender asked, "are you always this well dressed? Or are you part of the group."
Without skipping a beat, I said "I am always this well dressed. I did this for myself - but clearly this is where I'm meant to be."
I tried lining up the graffiti on the mirror to give me whiskers. It kinda worked.
Then, on day ONE of working a new gig, I was asked to help two people who won the highest honor a human being can receive. I can't tell you what it is, and I'll take to the grave the work that I did, but it was the COOLEST thing I have EVER done professionally.
I had no idea anything could be cooler than saying "Jerry Bruckheimer bought my life rights (twice)" until I did this.
The hour was quickly up, and while it felt great to get all of that off my chest, I was still left with frustration over my feelings. Obviously one session wasn't going to cut it, but fortunately, I had plans with the Modern Day Shaman later that evening so I asked his advice as well.
We sat down at a cleaner dive bar than the one downtown, and I told him I had just come back from therapy.
"How was it?" he asked knowing my history with doctors.
"I don't know how to feel," I admitted in defeat. "This year has been the highest of highs and at the same time the lowest of lows. I'm actually trying to brainwash myself by listening to words of affirmation playlist at night. I don't know what else to do!! I feel SO sad over everything that has happened this year ... but then, I look at ALL THE GOOD THAT HAPPENED with guilt and I don't know why!!
"It's a one word answer," he said.
"You know the word."
He paused as I placed however many guesses.
"It's what is written on your wrist."
Oh, I said turning my hand over (as if I could have forgotten what was written there).
"What you're feeling is all this love for your friends and family. Love isn't perfect, love comes in all forms and asks different things for us at different times. Whether you realize it or not, you're in love, and to love sometimes means to lose."
"It just seems so unfair, and I know that logically I can't control any of this - but it doesn't mean it hurts any less."
"Yes, but you're feeling what you're feeling and going through it. Remember the stone cold person who came into my office almost a decade ago with emotional unavailability?"
"I know I'm not that same person anymore."
"I know you're not either because I couldn't be friends with that person, but now you're one of my favorite people ever."
I laughed as I cried receiving yet another release that I didn't know I needed.
This time, the release felt really good.
Not like being electrocuted with a cattle prod kinda good - but the kinda good that's natural and doesn't require grounding a current before applying.
Thanks for letting me get this off my chest. I promise to stop ugly girl crying now - kinda.
I'm so proud of my costume this past weekend that I had to share. I went to the Vegan Prom hosted by my very dear friend @smasherbrown(hosted at Pollution Studios).
I'm wearing a feathered piece (found on Amazon & faux of course - although I didn't realize that even feathers can be vegan), with red glitter lipstick (found on Instagram) that matched my Dorothy red sequined shoes (Dorothy is my actual middle name).
I even got to see my friends before prom (as my GF Carlee was having her bday party not far from where the event was being held). As someone who never took prom pictures with my friends, I was excited after all these years to have the life experience.
Onto the actual post.
Maestro ...
Last year, on Bumble, I got hit up by a guy whose opening message read "your life is being turned into a TV show? My life has already been turned into a movie."
Remember, I lead my digital marketing efforts with the fact that Jerry Bruckheimer bought my life rights (twice AND IT SOLD)!
Convinced he was kidding, I responded back with a gif similar to this ...
"Have you seen [insert movie title here]?"
Oh shit, I thought, he's not actually kidding knowing that the movie he mentioned was actually based on a true story.
Statistically speaking, I averaged 434 (unique) messages a week on dating apps (Tinder and Bumble), and there is a one in 217 chance I'd actually go out on a date with someone.
As someone who doesn't serial date anymore, I (at the time) only allocated two nights a week for dates ... and never two in one weekend.
One date during the week, and one on the weekend ... sometimes with the same person ... mostly not.
I then responded with my number (as in phone number and not dating average), and he politely texted before saying he would call later that day.
Ladies, that's one of the best ways to filter guys, btw. I do not EVER accept a date over text, and if a guy can't pick up the phone to call you BEFORE THE FIRST DATE, is he really worth your time?
We exchanged a series of calls and texts back and forth. He gave me his full name for googling (which I appreciated but had already figured out and had already cross referenced said name in social to discover our mutual friends.)
54 friends - most of whom are people I am IRL friends with.
Later that Saturday, we met up early for dinner and if we liked each other afterwards, the plan was to head over to the KCRW opening ceremony for their new campus.
I then got in the LYFT and updated him on my appearance while sending over my ETA.
I was wrong, it's actually spelled lasik, but either way ... I was then dropped off at the pier and fought my way through the sea of tourists (knowing that the restaurants on the pier are at the end).
A showers worth of a solid Purell pour later, (and sometime around the time I should have been arriving) ...
I looked down and noticed a text.
His text in the address included the word "pier" so I assumed it was on the Santa Monica Pier.
Had I just entered in the restaurant name, I would have arrived no problem.
Much like everything in my dating life...
... apparently even my arrival would be dramatic (knowing that I had to painstakingly walk ALL THE WAY BACK UP THE PIER facing the crowd YET AGAIN).
Not taking any more chances, I then entered the restaurant into google maps ...
... and never one to half ass my mistakes, I put on my big girl pants as I worked my way back through the crowd.
True to my word, I arrived about 10 minutes later.
My glasses were fogged up (from the heat), and my makeup was runny, but fuck it- I said.
I'm enough of a pro to know shit happens in life, it's not about the actual shit, but rather how quickly you recover from said shit.
I wiped the sweat off my glasses and from under my eyes as I entered the (thankfully air conditioned) restaurant.
"Your date is outside," said the hostess.
Oh fuck, I immediately thought remembering he JUST texted that to me.
Enjoy it while it lasts, I thought temporarily cooling off as best as I could.
I approached the table with confidence.
You made it, he said excited as we embraced ...
... making my already warm body even warmer.
I politely excused myself to use the restroom where I quickly ran cool water on my wrists (a simple trick if you want to cool your body down quickly).
I re- approached the table at a more appropriate body temperature.
I then took a sip of my rose (which thankfully was also cold), as we began the "getting to know you" portion of the date.
I opened with hard core questions ...
He opened with the most common question I get asked, "are you going to write about this date?"
<tangent> This is a two fold question; I've learned in my old age that it's less about the "actual writing of the date" (should that even occur) and more about their own exposure.
Understandably, people don't ever want to look bad and dating is a very vulnerable thing.
24 year old Jen who started this website didn't fully grasp that.
34 year old Jen TOTALLY does (or technically 33 year old Jen at the time of the date).
At this age, 9/10 that's what guys mean when they say that to me.
At 24? They. All. Wanted. To. Be. Written. About.
I wasn't aware enough to understand when it was happening, but it was a passive aggressive way of saying "please please please write about me."
I vividly remember sitting at bars not knowing that I was recognized by someone, and they would either spill a drink or do something aggressively stupid just because they knew about this website.
It was a mutual exchange the more that I look at it. Like a dog, they got to pee on a post (if I fell for it), and for me? I got the content.
FYI, 34 year old Jen is a lot happier than 24 year old Jen. </tangent>
"I don't serial date anymore," I admitted. "What I've done on my blog is a collection of nearly a decade of documented adventures - I couldn't be that same person if I tried."
"If I ask you to not document this date, will you do that?"
Not expecting the next part of the date to occur (more on that in a minute), I assured him I wouldn't.
This is the part where I wasn't true to my word.
After a great dinner, we half walked/ half Lyfted our way to the event.
I like to walk while I think, and his conversation really got me thinking.
As a notorious sapiosexual, I don't give a flying toss what you look like, I look for someone who can keep me on my toes (which is why dating has been so hard).
From my perspective he was doing this.
We arrived at the event which had a line that spanned at least a block.
Knowing this would give us more time to talk, I was excited.
He then mentioned something about an obscure town back east, to which the guy in front of us overheard.
"Are you from [insert obscure back east town here]?" he asked interjecting.
"Yes," my date said.
"ME TOO!" he said excited introducing himself.
With the line moving at a glacial pace, I was willing to make it a "no person left behind" in the category of stimulation.
"I'm Jen," I say outstretching my hand as my date introduced himself as well.
I'm ... let's call him Jiminy Cricket.
Now, when someone with the name Jiminy Cricket introduces themselves as Jiminy Cricket - you remember it. This person's first name was very memorable and without even knowing his last name, I realized I recognized him.
Super excited I said "I KNOW YOU! IT'S ME JEN FRIEL!"
Without a breath or interruption, I asked about how his dog was?!
<tangent> His dog went missing sometime back, and he posted about it throughout social media. We are friends on FB and because I am a MASSIVE animal lover, Facebook kept showing it in my newsfeed ... I religiously followed along with his journey. </tangent>
"I WAS SO HAPPY TO HEAR THAT SHE WAS EVENTUALLY FOUND AND YOU GUYS WERE REUNITED."
What happened next completely caught me off guard.
"Talk Nerdy To Me, Lover," he said with a tone registering somewhere between disdain and disgust.
... I thought.
"I've waited six years to confront you."
Recognizing my luck up until this point, and the fact that this guy seems AWESOME ... meant that life would OF COURSE introduce a surprise third act (not in my favor).
Buckle up Buttercup, I thought as I quickly glanced over at my date.
"You wrote about me six years ago. You made me seem like SUCH A CREEP! You kissed me back! How was that creepy if you were into it too?"
The timing of this conversation was less than stellar considering my date had JUST ASKED ME NOT TO WRITE ABOUT HIM, let alone the fact that dudes don't want to hear about other guys you've made out with (reluctantly or otherwise)ON THE FIRST DATE.
I stood my ground as I said "I stand behind everything that I've ever written."
"BUT YOU MADE ME SEEM LIKE SUCH A SLEAZE!"
From my recollection he was being sleazy, but not in a "hey let me get you a drink so I can roofie you" - there was a playful innocence in our exchange. He just is who he is and is very open and loving - I was just surprised and caught off guard by how forward he was then and now.
"I'm sorry my post made you feel that way," I said not apologizing for what I knew to be my version of the truth, but with empathy that this person has held onto a single blog post for SIX YEARS.
I wasn't sure if I've ever elicited that kind of response from someone before.
We then parted at a somewhat satisfied state.
Jiminy Cricket left satisfied that he had a release six years in the making.
Just not the one he wanted on that particular evening ...
I left, well as I stated, impressed.
My date?
I won't put into words what he was feeling, but he didn't immediately walk away so I had that going for me.
My date had already messaged before I could hit send ...
We never did go out again, but that felt more like timing than anything else. I had to travel for work the following week, and when I came back he was already gone on his own work trip.
Ladies of LA, if a guy says his life has been made into a movie, not only should you believe him, but go out with him!
What a great person!
I had such a wonderful evening, and even in a situation that most people would have frowned upon ... he didn't.
That's what real men do - and he's one of them.
Oh, and his movie? I actually watched 29 minutes and 30 seconds of it this weekend (which is what actually inspired this post).
It wasn't for me, but I admire and respect the TREMENDOUSLY hard work it is to get your idea on any size screen.
This post is part of series based on the book LifeScale (non-affiliated link).
As I said in the intro post, my buddy Brian Solis wrote a book about how to live a more creative, productive and happy life. As someone who wants to be creative, productive, and happy - I actually read it and now I'm implementing the steps! Yay self care!!
It's creepy how well this song goes with this post ...
I've heard first hand from friends that their companies use psychologists to "enhance the user experience and engagement," but I can't say it ever upset me - I believe that it is up to me to hold my own self accountable.
A year and some change ago, I caught myself "zoning out" in front of the TV and endlessly scrolling for hours on end on FB- yet received no "satisfaction" behind it.
This frustrated me because I receive satisfaction in reading (which I now claimed I didn't have any time to do).
Before I upgraded to my iPhone XS (which includes screen time tracking - more on that in a minute), I found myself spending up to three hours each evening just scrolling.
I personally don't experience FOMO, but to me, reading a digital comment, or sitting on FB messenger pings the part of my brain that meant I was being "social" for the evening - even though I wasn't getting the same satisfaction as actually having a conversation with someone or (equally enjoyable) spending time alone.
I was double dipping my digital and IRL life - and it wasn't working.
Wanting to up my personal satisfaction index ...
I deleted FB (and Messenger) from my phone.
It was one of the best decisions I have ever made.
Now, I quickly check Instagram in the morning and at night, but look at my screen time stats ...
Mind you, I've been working all day, but making that ONE CHANGE dramatically improved my not only overall satisfaction (which to me is quiet time), but also gave me time to do the things I actually WANTED to do WHICH MAKES ME FEEL ACCOMPLISHED ... ACCOMPLISHMENT LEADS TO BEING ABLE TO ZONE OUT ... WHICH WAS ALL I WAS AFTER IN THE FIRST PLACE!!
I don't know.
<page 26>: "Addictiveness is maximized when the rate of reward is most variable," says Former Google engineer Tristan Harris."
Software designers have incorporated this trick into all sorts of their products.
When you open your favorite app, check your email, and endlessly scroll or swipe, you're subconsciously trying to "win" something. But ask yourself, what exactly are you trying to win?
Another psychological hijack is social reciprocity. If someone pays you a compliment, for example, you feel the need to return the compliment. This can play out in your digital life as well. If you send an email, it's discourteous if the recipient doesn't reply right away. If you follow someone online, it's disrespectful (and even hurtful) if they don't follow back. </page>
<page 28>: This is why networks, for example, notify you when someone tags you in a post or lets you know when someone "read" your message. Or, when you send a message, you can see the wavering dots when someone is replying to you. And in some apps, you can see how long it's been since you've interacted with someone. You feel anticipation and pressure to stay engaged, to respond, to check back, to interact.
We use AI and neuroscience to increase your usage ... make apps more persuasive ... it's not an accident. It's a conscious design decision. We're designing minds. </page>
I get it ... I get it ... we're designed to become addicted and to split our attention, but what do we actually do about it? How can we improve?
With one, the awareness that there is a problem, two, the action and accountability to actually make a change, and three, acting with intention.
<page 31>: Experts recommend spending 25 minutes to two hours working on a project at a time. If you're spending less than 25 minutes on an important or challenging task, then you're killing concentration and deflating your ability to warm up your brain before you quit. Your brain typically takes 23 minutes and 15 seconds to return to work following a distraction.
Every time you shift, you shift your attention, from one thing to another, the brain has to engage a neurochemical switch, that uses up nutrients in the brain to accomplish that. So if you're attempting to multitask ... doing four or five things at once, because the brain doesn't work that way. Instead, you're rapidly shifting from one thing to the next. Depleting neural resources as you go. And, we have a limited supply of that stuff. </page>
Earlier this year, I found myself jumping from tasks to tasks (without giving any project my full attention and intention).
Yes, it was in part to the depression I was chemically feeling, but I also developed the awareness that I was using multi-tasking as an escape.
I used it as a way to self punish and self perpetuate this misery I decided I wanted to wallow in.
<page 40>: Distractions are largely welcome because they can temporarily save us from contending with the challenge of a difficult task ... loneliness, fear, self-doubt, self-loathing and security.
All of our technological distractions have made that easier for us to because they are designed to seem so useful and nurturing. What could be wrong with sharing our photos with friends? News alerts might inform us of something we really need to know. </page>
<page 44>: Every day when you wake up with a new, intentional mindset and resolve to change your trajectory toward a more positive vision and more productive behavior, you are, by default, beginning your day just as you did yesterday and the day before that. You are caught in a legacy trap, a routine of current behaviors and beliefs that govern your day and life ahead. You can never move forward without a conscious effort. </page>
My action item this week is to start keeping a notepad by my bed and every morning write down what my intention is for that day.
I normally spend mornings reading through stories on Apple News, or entertainment related websites. I want to change that to hold my own self accountable for what my day will be and bring, not spending the first beat of my morning reading other people's stories.
Monday, March 2, 2020 at 2:17PM
