Best of Times, Bizarro of Times

Welcome to Bizarro World.

Everything here is the exact opposite of what it was six months ago.

We live in The South. We consider exotic places like Chicago to be full of things like "Yankees." We have to talk with a funny accent if we want to get people to be nice to us or give us information (an essential job function). We are completely surrounded by people who use the words "white" and "Christian" an unnecessary and distracting amount.

We drive. A car. A new one. There is no such thing as a subway, and buses are few, far between, and freaky. We have to make car payments, have car insurance, and fill up the tank once in awhile... unless you're me, and you forget to do that and drive until the light comes on when you're in BFE Tennessee and are forced to coast through the Smoky Mountains on sweat and a Hail Mary.

We live downtown, next to a skyscraper, in a loft (not some old pre-war shack waiting to die, the blemish on an otherwise gorgeous tree-lined street in Lincoln Park). We have the outrageous rent to prove it. And we live with a dude (well, for the most part anyway). There are no pug puppies, no kindergarten teacher projects to help out with, no platinum blonde hair in the shower drain, and no wedding magazines.

We don't have a boyfriend, and we don't feel out of place for it -- we thank our lucky stars we're not tied down to some broke cowboy playin' guitar on the corner. Most days. We have friends though, of all ages and professions and interests -- but we're all out here trying to make it in whatever the hell we love doing so much that we moved to Bizarro World in the first place.

We don't go out to dinner though, not ever, not even once. We actually can't afford it. And for that matter we don't shop either. And we don't give a shit. Because we've lived in fucking Peru and we're over it.  And because if you're going to pay out the ass for a gorgeous brand-new kitchen, you might as well use it. Unless you're my new roomate, and the only food you consume is protein shakes.

Here, we go to work at 11 pm, and we leave at 8 am. We go to sleep at 3 in the afternoon.

We work ... NOT downtown. We drive, as fast as we can through stoplights that turn to yellow blinkers at night for your own safety, past hookers and other friendly people that would love to take that car off your hands, to get there.

Benefits. Well, we don't have one of those new-fangled machines in our breakroom that requires only a little plastic cup to brew one cup of fresh coffee flavored to your choice. No sirree. Our microwave, and I'm dead serious, is pre-1981.  We don't have "offices" or "windows." We share a computer with two other people who alternate shifts throughout the day. We joined forces with the millions of Americans who are not offered healthcare. We don't make enough to pay our bills, let alone contribute to a damn 401(k), so we waitress and pick up extra shifts and give up sleep and social lives to keep our heads above water. If we don't go to work, we don't get paid. (For anyone that knew me six months ago... I had enough PAID days off in 2006 that I could have NOT gone to work for an entire month.) If we are breaking a fever, we break a fever, and we don't bitch about it because we're actually a lot more concerned with breaking a story.

And on that subject of work, we feel like we make a difference. We use our brain, we use our degree, we use our talent to do something that makes us feel rewarded, tapped into the world, and useful. We listen to police scanners all night.. waiting... eight hours of suicides, women getting beat up, Waffle Houses being robbed, and high-pitched scared screaming when an officer is down. We don't order office supplies. We write. For pennies, yes, but still we WRITE. (And run the teleprompter, and run scripts to a director on the second floor 17 times in 3 hours, and answer to the name Julie from men wearing more makeup than us). We tell people, in 25 seconds or less, about their world. We make it easy for them to understand -- but we don't dumb it down too much, and we don't make it too nice. We do things that we will be proud to tell our children about. Or at least we try to. And it's not glamorous -- but it is lights, cameras, and action, and I'll be damned if it doesn't even feel like work.

We've come to terms with the fact that we identify ourselves by our jobs more than most people, because we couldn't sleep at night if we spent our one life selling german plumbing supplies. We've accepted that we might never stop wanting to do things that our friends think are quirky. We still want to travel when we should be working, dance in the street when we should be jogging on the sidewalk, volunteer when we need to be making money, kickbox when we should be sleeping, go to church when we should be hungover, watch The Take Home Chef when we should be doing ANYTHING else. We think that this whole thing is MFEO whenever we hear country music coming out of speakers in the ground while we walk to the gym. *This might be a form of Big Brother's prozac, but it works, because we feel at peace with ourselves. We are confident in our place in the world.  Bizarro World. We belong here. Like maybe it's better than it was 6 months ago. We feel like it's easier to live this way, because in reality, we're a bit Bizarro ourselves. Like a lot.

Welcome to Bizarro World.

Everything here is the exact opposite of what it was six months ago.

We live in The South. We consider exotic places like Chicago to be full of things like "Yankees." We have to talk with a funny accent if we want to get people to be nice to us or give us information (an essential job function). We are completely surrounded by people who use the words "white" and "Christian" an unnecessary and distracting amount.

We drive. A car. A new one. There is no such thing as a subway, and buses are few, far between, and freaky. We have to make car payments, have car insurance, and fill up the tank once in awhile... unless you're me, and you forget to do that and drive until the light comes on when you're in BFE Tennessee and are forced to coast through the Smoky Mountains on sweat and a Hail Mary.

We live downtown, next to a skyscraper, in a loft (not some old pre-war shack waiting to die, the blemish on an otherwise gorgeous tree-lined street in Lincoln Park). We have the outrageous rent to prove it. And we live with a dude (well, for the most part anyway). There are no pug puppies, no kindergarten teacher projects to help out with, no platinum blonde hair in the shower drain, and no wedding magazines.

We don't have a boyfriend, and we don't feel out of place for it -- we thank our lucky stars we're not tied down to some broke cowboy playin' guitar on the corner. Most days. We have friends though, of all ages and professions and interests -- but we're all out here trying to make it in whatever the hell we love doing so much that we moved to Bizarro World in the first place.

We don't go out to dinner though, not ever, not even once. We actually can't afford it. And for that matter we don't shop either. And we don't give a shit. Because we've lived in fucking Peru and we're over it.  And because if you're going to pay out the ass for a gorgeous brand-new kitchen, you might as well use it. Unless you're my new roomate, and the only food you consume is protein shakes.

Here, we go to work at 11 pm, and we leave at 8 am. We go to sleep at 3 in the afternoon.

We work ... NOT downtown. We drive, as fast as we can through stoplights that turn to yellow blinkers at night for your own safety, past hookers and other friendly people that would love to take that car off your hands, to get there.

Benefits. Well, we don't have one of those new-fangled machines in our breakroom that requires only a little plastic cup to brew one cup of fresh coffee flavored to your choice. No sirree. Our microwave, and I'm dead serious, is pre-1981.  We don't have "offices" or "windows." We share a computer with two other people who alternate shifts throughout the day. We joined forces with the millions of Americans who are not offered healthcare. We don't make enough to pay our bills, let alone contribute to a damn 401(k), so we waitress and pick up extra shifts and give up sleep and social lives to keep our heads above water. If we don't go to work, we don't get paid. (For anyone that knew me six months ago... I had enough PAID days off in 2006 that I could have NOT gone to work for an entire month.) If we are breaking a fever, we break a fever, and we don't bitch about it because we're actually a lot more concerned with breaking a story.

And on that subject of work, we feel like we make a difference. We use our brain, we use our degree, we use our talent to do something that makes us feel rewarded, tapped into the world, and useful. We listen to police scanners all night.. waiting... eight hours of suicides, women getting beat up, Waffle Houses being robbed, and high-pitched scared screaming when an officer is down. We don't order office supplies. We write. For pennies, yes, but still we WRITE. (And run the teleprompter, and run scripts to a director on the second floor 17 times in 3 hours, and answer to the name Julie from men wearing more makeup than us). We tell people, in 25 seconds or less, about their world. We make it easy for them to understand -- but we don't dumb it down too much, and we don't make it too nice. We do things that we will be proud to tell our children about. Or at least we try to. And it's not glamorous -- but it is lights, cameras, and action, and I'll be damned if it doesn't even feel like work.

We've come to terms with the fact that we identify ourselves by our jobs more than most people, because we couldn't sleep at night if we spent our one life selling german plumbing supplies. We've accepted that we might never stop wanting to do things that our friends think are quirky. We still want to travel when we should be working, dance in the street when we should be jogging on the sidewalk, volunteer when we need to be making money, kickbox when we should be sleeping, go to church when we should be hungover, watch The Take Home Chef when we should be doing ANYTHING else. We think that this whole thing is MFEO whenever we hear country music coming out of speakers in the ground while we walk to the gym. *This might be a form of Big Brother's prozac, but it works, because we feel at peace with ourselves. We are confident in our place in the world.  Bizarro World. We belong here. Like maybe it's better than it was 6 months ago. We feel like it's easier to live this way, because in reality, we're a bit Bizarro ourselves. Like a lot.

Comments

[Lara]

Wow Jaime,
You are still amazing! I want to send you some pictures, but misplaced your email, email me lararay1@hotmail.com and give me your new number.
love ya hot stuff,
Lara