You’re beautiful and I love you. I believe in you and I know you’re going to accomplish amazing things. You have to believe in yourself always and reach deep inside for that nugget of hope when times are dark and threatening. I will always stand by you, no matter what.
So -
I promised myself that I would blog of vlog regularly, but I feel like I’ve taken too much upon myself! Mildly overwhelmed. Anyway - So, I’m starting week 3 of my new job and so far it’s not painful. Granted, I got lucky this month and I PRAY TO THE ANTHONY GODS that my luck continues.
I’ve met amazing people and I’ve made sure to see them frequently. Saturday being one of those days. Those magical days that you’ll remember forever. You know, since….I….decided to smack my skull on a low ceiling and fall down stone stairs. Yup. Surprising? Not really.
Yes. The bar is called “PLAN B”. Pretty much the only reason we went. That, and they had darts. Ben and I played against some Korean men (AND WON BEER WOO). That’s right, we’re classy. After that epic moment I balanced my Karma by falling down the stairs. Yup. Still mildly in pain, but whatever.
You’re welcome.
Welcome back to Korea, Anthony.
Howdy, all - it’s been awhile since I really decided to update this monstrosity, but I tol myself that I would at least keep a semi-regular blog while in Korea for year two.
Things to mention about year two:
Teaching at PAGODA now. Which means: I am teaching adults! How exciting, you may think. While it IS exciting, it’s also mildly intimidating and terrifying! But, again, also exciting. It’s a little much, but I’ll get the hang of it!
I’m planning a wedding. I’m getting married!!! How insane! :) I’m so incredibly happy and lucky. I’m so madly in love with my stinky cheese man (don’t ask).
I’m going to do a boat-load of traveling around (In and outside of Korea) so expect more pictures. Also, I’m going to take more pictures in general because I feel like I was so out of touch with my creative side during year one. I need to make up for that!
<3
It’s honestly laughable that you honestly believe that you’re better than everyone else.
Your passive-aggressive tactics won’t work here and your guilt trips fall on deaf ears.
You’re not the most important person in the world and I don’t revolve around you.
You’re not my world, that position has already been taken.
Your selfish nature has been shown to me and I’m not going to overlook it anymore.
There’s the door, get out.
“Tired of hypocrites, twisted like licorice.” Cute and to the point. :)
I’m pretty amazing. I think the world should be aware of this fact.
Hi.
I really REALLY enjoyed writing this :)
Eleanor
by Anthony Comella
After only two months, Helen decided to become an exotic dancer. I understood that two months was a long period of time to go without a job, but honestly – no one would pay to see Helen strutting around in lingerie, her rolls out for the world to see, jiggling faster than she could walk in five inch heels. The thought itself made my insides turn worse than the smell of the microwave that needed a wash desperately. I only assumed it was from the milk that we spilled, and neglected to clean, inside the appliance. As roommates we were irresponsibly matched up.
Graduating with a degree in film studies wasn’t opening many doors for me either, but I figured I’d save flashing my body for cash for when I was homeless and hungry. For now, I had other options and I was sure there was something out there for even a little hipster film geek like myself. Well, I mean, one could hope. Right?
I did all I could to rid myself of the image I created of Helen slowly rubbing her naked body up and down the pole, and told her I’d be home relatively early as I collected my things. She snorted and rolled her eyes reminding me that I’d probably be too busy fucking my boyfriend until we both passed out from exhaustion to remember to come home and to not be surprised if the alarm was set if I did manage to drag my skinny ass home sometime later that night.
I managed a “goodbye”.
When I got to my boyfriend’s apartment I paused before knocking. The soft sound of Henry crying could be heard from the hallway and I immediately felt my heart break into thousands of little pieces. While I’ve had my share of crying, Henry never once in the three years of dating shed a single tear in front of me. I always thought it was beyond him to cry, but now I was questioning my first judgment. Unlocking the door with the key he had given me after only five months of dating I saw myself inside quietly, locking the door behind me.
“Henry?” I called out, setting my things down by the door and shrugging out of my coat. The fall chill still clung to me and I couldn’t help but wonder what was causing the unusual cold front. New England fall was supposed to be cool, not frigid.
Henry’s apartment was unusually cluttered, which was surprising because for the duration of our time together he had always been very uptight, if not adorably so, about everything having it’s place.
I found Henry lying in his bed with the shades drawn, he snorted back a bit of snot and sat up quickly when he saw me walk in. I could feel the concern all over my face and Henry must have noticed because he forced a smile, which quickly broke, tears flowing without any sign of ceasing.
“Sweetheart?” I walked over to him slowly and collected him into a protective hug. He rested his head against my chest and began to sob and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. “What happened?”
“She’s gone.” He choked out, sobbing harder now. My eyes widened and I needed no other explanation.
Eleanor was the oldest woman, I assumed, living in Birchwood Apartments. She was a force to be reckoned with. She took shit from nobody and lived alone for ten years after her husband passed, even though her children begged her to move in with one of them. She was proud and independent and I loved her instantly because of it. Henry introduced us when he gave me the key and I felt as if I was meeting his mother rather than some woman who happened to live across the hall. She was tough but I gave it back without hesitation.
“He’s a delicate little thing, isn’t he?” I heard her tell Henry while I volunteered to pour us glassed of homemade sangria Eleanor had made in honor of meeting me.
“That he is.” Henry laughed.
“Be good to this one,” She threatened. “I like him.”
Somehow I couldn’t help but smile while listening to her words. It felt really important to gain her approval, more important so than his own parents, but Henry barely spoke to them, having been on his own since seventeen and only hearing from them on his birthday for five minutes over the phone.
Over the next two and a half years Eleanor and I bonded closer and I found Henry and myself sitting in her living room more often than his. She always had a story to tell about someone who had gotten in her way that day, and she always had some new alcoholic concoction for us to try. With her it was hit or miss, but always strong. I was first introduced to Everclear Punch through Eleanor and I’m convinced she drank more than I did and while I spent a good hour vomiting in the toilet she spent the hour laughing at me then making sure I drank plenty of water before she sent me off to Henry’s apartment to “sleep it off”.
Recently I had noticed that Eleanor had started to slow down. Nearing her 87th birthday it was a surprise that she kept going the way she did for this long. Some nights she would send Henry and I off before seven, while turning us away other nights, apologizing and insisting if she only got a few more hours of sleep she’d be fine the following day and would make it up to us. Her passing shouldn’t have been such a surprise, but it was.
Her wake was modest. The room was full of wild Orchids, her favorite flower, and the casket was closed. When I walked up with Henry, his hand tightly squeezing mine, we knelt down together to say our silent goodbyes.
-Anthony
I’ve told myself many times that I should blog. Correction: I should blog REGULARLY. As in NOT once every few months. Maybe a few times a week, or *gasp* once a day. However, I’m easily overwhelmed and being in Korea for the first year was *very* overwhelming. I mean, go figure - brand new apartment (actually, first ever apartment), new boyfriend, new job, new COUNTRY….yeah, I can kinda see where I’d get a tad overwhelmed. Go figure.
So, here we go again. What do I ideally want to come of this? I want to start writing again. I mean, I’ve been writing here and there, but I really want to work on something. Work on it and finish it. No more of these *writes a few pages, saves, never opens again* deals. I want to work on something and actually plow through it. I mean, I’ve been told many times that I should be writing a novel length piece and that I *CAN* do it, but again….*STRESS* *STRESS* *EXPLODE*.
No more excuses, though. I’m ready to just make time for myself, because honestly if I don’t do it who’s going to? No one, that’s who.
Things to expect:
1. Blog posts that probably won’t be *too* exciting.
2. Snip-its of projects I’m working on.
3. Pictures, because who doesn’t love random pictures?
4. Random shit.
And to prove that I’m NOT busting your balls, here’s what I’m currently working on (and will probably end up being a short piece thrown into a book of shorts):
—————————————————————————————————-
I uncharacteristically found myself at Paul’s bar at midnight, sipping a Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboy (because payday hadn’t come and gone just yet) while listening to my roommate, Betty, spill her guts about another guy she was itching to make hers, if only for a little while. Being at Paul’s wasn’t so much uncharacteristic of me, but being there at midnight on a Wednesday was. I had rules when it came to Paul’s – never there before 11pm, never alone (even if it was my bar), and never on a weeknight. However, there was an exception to every rule and tonight was one of them.
“He’s beautiful.” Betty let beautiful hang on her lips a little longer than necessary, smiled a toothy smile that would make a nun swear, and took a large swig of her black and tan. I shuddered. Another one of my rules: no Guinness.
“I’m sure.” I straightened up on my barstool and waved over the bartender, Mitch, a well built hipster straight out of a PacSun ad. His tight camo-green tee stretched over his defined chest and he had just the right amount of five-o’clock shadow to make any hipster girl’s toes curl. He even had the stupid knit cap to pull his whole look together. “They’re always beautiful, and sweet, and understanding, but then once you get them in bed they spend the next three weeks texting you while you complain to me that they’re too needy.”
“Another PBR, Elle?” The bartender asked, smiling at me. One would think being on a first name basis with your bartender is cause for an intervention, but when one can usually only afford a few PBRs I don’t think there’s room to play the alcoholic card.
“Sure,” I nodded. I forced a polite smile back, but only for a moment. Betty had been on my case about Mitch ever since we started coming. She was dead sure that he had a thing for me and I wasn’t about to accidentally flirt back with him.
“Black and tan, Betty?”
“Most definitely. I’m not on a budget like some people.” She smirked. I rolled my eyes.
As soon as Mitch walked off with our orders Betty pounced on the subject before I could even brace myself.
“He wants you so bad it’s disgusting, Elle.”
“Right.”
“Keep denying it all you want, but if you don’t want him I’d love to take him for a spin.” Betty watched ravenously as Mitch bent over to move a keg. I had to admit, he did look good in his skinny jeans. “Hah!”
I jumped. “What, you psycho?”
“You were totally checking him out.”
Drat.
“Whatever, Betty.”
“Just admit it. You dig Mitch.”
Betty downed the rest of her drink and right on cue Mitch returned with new ones. I quickly finished off my tallboy, handed it over to Mitch who flashed another winning smile, and cracked open the new can and began drinking right away.
“Thirsty?” Mitch asked.
“I’ll say.” Betty winked and I felt as if I was going to throw up.
An hour later I found myself leaving the bar, alone since Betty’s latest victim showed up and they were on their way to his apartment to “party”, with a migrane the size of the state of Rhode Island. It came on around the time Betty started not-so-subtly trying to get Mitch and I to leave together and I knew that was my cue to vacate the premises.
Now, it had nothing to do with me not wanting to get some, because when I say I haven’t gotten any in a great while I’m not exaggerating. It’s just one of my rules of dating and sex: never fall for anyone younger, never to much older, don’t lower your standards and never under any circumstance fuck the man who serves your drinks. I had more to lose than gain, I decided, and that is why I needed to be far, far away from the entire situation. So, I bailed. Ran away, if you will. Running away wasn’t even far from the truth because once I was outside I proceeded to sprint towards my Pontiac sunfire, hop in the front seat, rev the engine and jetted out of the parking lot, almost colliding with a few drunkards in the process. Always graceful.
