GIRL WITH COVID: quarantini

so i currently have covid. apparently, its the gift that keeps on giving, as ive graciously given covid to all my roommates (theyll thank me for the following months of immunity after this all passes).

covid – miserable? yes.

quarantine – lonely? yes.

reason why i got covid – worth it? yes.

ive (tried) to be the type of person who “doesnt shit where they eat,” my mind automatically painting neutral situations as either black or white, categorizing people as good or bad – defined boundaries, a fine line between two polar opposites (minding my own fucking business in hopes of you minding yours too).

but the happenings tell a different story.

“dont shit where you eat,” they say.

yet im the girl who hooked up with her roommate and best friend, all wrapped into one.

he said he wouldnt date me – and i said “ok.” he said to hook up with other guys, as if i should prove that im non-committal to him – and i said “ok.” vulnerability refuses to unravel, and feelings are left unspoken. and all i can say is, “ok” – for the fear of knowing, the fear of fear itself.

at some point, the walls come caving in, crumpling like paper mache; the line is blurred, and theres no escape from the undeniable reality – the chemistry being the most obvious, rejection a coping mechanism for the both of us. he said he wouldnt date me – well today, hes still my roommate but hes also officially been my boyfriend since then.

i guess with risk there comes reward (or vice versa?). i won the lottery with who i chose to be with. no awkward introductions, or act of approval from the friends whos opinions i value so much – they already know you and i do too (the perks of dating someone in your close-knit friend group).

so how my relationship started – i shat where i ate, and in return, i received a boyfriend, one whos reserved in his emotions at times, but shows his love in actions, checking on me to make sure im okay (because we all know i love attention).

and sometimes i wonder how we got to this place – a place of comfort, safety, and trust. i wonder where time has gone, as we continue to live in this streamline modern historic home with our two roommates (another couple), this place weve called home for almost two years. i wonder where time is going, what to expect as naturally, i always picture the worst case scenario.

and then i wonder if ive changed, if im still that self-sabotaging, manipulative bitch that the ghosts of my past claim i am (was?). i wonder if i just continue hurting person after person (why does everyone like playing the victim?), half-assed promises thrown out the window and words piercing like glass shards. i wonder whether the calm in you can balance the anger in me. i wonder if you deserve a category of “be better” that i cant offer.

and i wonder what life would be like if i were with someone who didnt let me blast “sincerely, kentrell” on drives together, the songs we skip when listening to the album by ourselves the same as one another, as if our brains communicate telepathically (“sad boy never happy again,” our little inside joke). i wonder what life would be like if i werent with someone as patient as ive needed, someone who makes me coffee each morning, someone who force feeds me gatorade as im slurring, plastered and shitfaced, to soothe my morning hangover (or hold my hair as i puke and holding my cup of ice cubes for me, if all else fails).

am i worthy? thats yet to be determined.

“dont shit where you eat,” i say.

i say that to my boyfriend whos ever-present eagerness to meet new people shines through as he started befriending his coworkers, seeing them on a more personal level i wasnt able to relate to.

i judged him even, for befriending his coworkers, looking down on them from my trash throne. maybe i was angry (jealous even) – to want something you dont have, to have people you can actually be honest with at work instead of pasting on a fake mask. maybe my competitive side always needs to be the center of attention, my ego tended to and nurtured.

work and personal life – two separate matters and two separate worlds, the overlap of the venn diagram blank for all the emotional, private aspects that shouldnt cross over into the professional realm.

it took one week – a business trip in vegas, a few days without the comfort of my roommates, boyfriend, home. one week – a slowly changing perspective, stories told over copious amounts of alcohol, a line thats losing its definition, fading gradually.

it took me almost three years to realize – i dont hate my coworkers. even the ones i thought i disliked, and im still trying to understand – their unspoken traumas, their loneliness in this large world and billions of souls.

it took me three years to realize that the people around me are more similar to me than i would have ever assumed on a surface-level. the self-described “geriatric man whos bedtime is 10 pm sharp” coworker (shes closer to my age by the way) recognizes the anxiety and the darkness too, and were both still learning how to deal with it.

and tales told over a bottle of “demon slayer” sake at the bougie japanese fusion restaurant we were treated out to, secrets unravel – psychic readings that have your future written out in stone, the edibles experience at some live action new york event with vanishing faces, people disappearing as the light strobes, (really trippy i hear), the golf tournament after popping some shrooms chocolate. not work appropriate conversation, id think, but those taboo talks speak deeper than the exterior “professional” shell we put on. its real.

so anyways, i guess that makes me the hypocrite, queen of mixing emotions into every situation, a chaotic worldwind. center of attention, self-declared queen of who belongs and who needs to get the fuck out – its all been needs, not wants, and sometimes were cornered in our mind, forced to pick a side before the whole story is revealed.

if theres any takeaway, i judge too soon. i expect the worst out of people most of all, as not all intentions are as pure as they may seem initially. im trying to not see everyone as evil.

but overall im grateful – to get to know my colleagues and work relationships for what they are, who they are on the other side, without the fake “happy colleague” mask or business casual attire – just some drinks, slots, and clubbing in a funny but fascinating “professional development” stance. worth it, even if i got covid as a result.

it would have been sad not to see that side – who we are underneath the mask.

“dont shit where you eat,” they say.

but sometimes honesty can come as a relief – youre not alone. and people see you for who you truly are, and maybe thats ok.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITHOUT MONAT: the almost-quarantine-hobby that never was (and never will be)

it seems like everyone has discovered some new hobby or hidden talent this pandemic, whether it be baking bread from scratch, trying their hand at quarantine art, or figuring out how to become the next houseplant whisperer.

there was a day and a half where i thought i might have found my quarantine hobby: monat. for those who have never heard of monat, it’s a company that sells “beauty and wellness products,” primarily hair and skincare (and apparently now supplements). in short, it’s been said that its an MLM (i don’t know very much about multilevel marketing, but i do know it’s often compared to a pyramid scheme, also known as a scam).

by participating in the market partner program, you advertise their products by posting hundreds of stories a day of you “catching up with your team/bossbabes” or dripping holy rejuveniqe oil on your scalp to display to the world that yes, you do indeed use the shit you sell.

it’s incessant, and it’s annoying. and i have too much pride to be annoying.

when this guy i met at a club in castro district four years ago reached out to me on instagram asking me to take part in “his hair and skincare business,” i blinked dollar signs and imagined a new life where i could drop $25K on Rodeo Drive without thinking about it. he has never reached out to me before and the memories of that intoxicated night were hazy at best.

the promises of all-expenses-paid vacations seemed too good to be true. in this stagnant, pandemic-ridden world, we all need something to look forward to these days, even if it was all in my imagination.

rookie mistake number 1: there is no such thing as free shit — no free money, no free vacations, no free cadillac (why the FUCK would i want to drive a cadillac anyway? gimme a mclaren, so i can tear up the roads like youngboy).

rookie mistake number 2: it’s important to know what the business is. maybe it’d be helpful to know whether he owns it himself or if it’s part of a larger corporation or maybe it’s an MLM, pyramid-scheme type bullshit. Ask for the name next time, because fleur, you are a dumbass. i fucked up — i didn’t ask him for the name of the company. my bad for thinking it was HIS business that he started in his basement, laboring over the perfect formula for all natural haircare.

i’m gullible so i agreed. thinking back, why would he want me to be a part of his “company”? Remember, i’m a nobody. i haven’t really had an online presence except for the occasional instagram post. I AM A NOBODY.

next thing i know, i was cornered in an awkward zoom call between him and this other girl who tried so fucking hard to sell the “community” aspect of becoming monat market partner.

it felt more like a formal job interview, with them asking me why i think i’m qualified, what my work ethic looks like and how much i can commit to this company. they wanted to see if i can post constantly, multiple times a day to show everyone how much i love monat.

i can fake an interview — it’s easy. just show how eager you are, how on top of your shit you are even if you’re nothing close to what you come off as. i’d say that in a moment of ego, i wanted to ace the interview, so i sold myself as someone who’d be willing to adopt monat as my religion, to live and breathe monat. they sucked up every word i said.

i purchased the $300 hair and skincare starter kit under my new “mentor.” it was an impulse and i definitely regretted it.

rookie mistake number 3: DO YOUR RESEARCH. maybe you’d discover the multiple lawsuits against the company and thousands of 1-star reviews claiming the product causes balding. maybe if you did your research, your boyfriend wouldn’t have to introduce you to the term “monat huns,” or have to explain to you the new “friends” you met over zoom will actually become your next cult leaders.

these monat people are quick when it comes to shipping out packages but not when it comes to answering customer service questions. and of course, that would trigger a spiral — i had send so many emails ranging from formal to completely unhinged, called multiple times only to be put on hold for fucking hours. and when they did answer (finally), i demanded that my order be cancelled and that i’m refunded ASAP in a rambling, clusterfucky fashion, i’m pretty sure it was more trouble dealing with me than just giving me the damn refund.

lesson learned: in times of urgency, it’s okay to be unhinged. well, obviously don’t be a karen and don’t lash out at store employees (those in the service industries are human beans too). but for trivial shit like shampoo, it might be the key to getting what you want. for the record, i have no regrets and this whole chaotic mess can kiss my ass.

i got my refund (otherwise i’d have a conniption). so in the grand scheme of things, it’s ok, they’re ok, whatever. i still don’t have a hobby though. i’m still working on that.

maybe the haircare products work wonders, but i’m good with not finding out for myself. i refuse to sell shit that i won’t even try. i refuse to lose my hair as i already stress-pull as is. i won’t lie to my friends and risk losing them if they end up going bald from putting toxic shit in their hair (although, i wouldn’t mind selling the shampoo to someone i dislike for the fun of watching them lose their hair).

i refuse to be a parasite. i don’t want to be that annoying friend that pointlessly posts everyday and shows off a product i don’t want association with.

most importantly, if i were to be in a cult, i’d never be the follower.

i’d be the leader, bitch.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH BLOG: an introduction (take 2)

*** TRIGGER WARNING: self-harm, ed, substances ***

if i missed any, LMK

ok, so here’s take two on introducing myself. clearly i don’t know how to do this *blogging thing* without the angst and the self-pity. trust me, i’m trying. the last time i did this was on tumblr (circa 2011-2014) under the names featherlightobsession and porcelain-dollfaces where my life revolved around wanting to lose weight and punishing myself for binging and being a “fat, ugly failure” by marking my wrists and legs with thin, red tiger stripes.

later on, i primarily wrote at the airport high off edibles when thoughts were too loud to ignore, urgency resulting in chicken scratch, sloppily scribbled in sharpie on the glossy magazine pages. i had lamented over lack of love, both for myself and others for me. it was like tumblr but only private.

my tumblr wasn’t all negative though. before featherlightobsession was shut down, i actually prided myself in creating that safe space i had always desired. i put my suffering on display, confessions and all, and the community responded.

i gave people advice (i probably wasn’t remotely qualified at 16/17, but who’s judging?) and let people rant anonymously about their deepest, darkest secrets. i talked people i followed out of suicide. thinking back, that might have been the only time in my life i’ve ever felt like i had a purpose.

a lot has changed since then — i’ve since clawed my way out of college with my glittering new degree, started dating my best friend/roommate, maintained a solid group of friends, and stopped hating myself for my shortcomings (kind of).

i’ve tripped off pulque in mexico city while getting served free tequila shots, courtesy of the stranger stuck in a k-hole at the club. i’ve dressed up in pink bob wigs with a friend after guiltlessly catfishing a guy on tinder to observe him getting stood up by “morgy” at yogurtland — “morgy” was there, he just didn’t realize. i’ve befriended my erratic, drug-dealing neighbor, essentially taking the role as his sidekick (no, i didn’t deal but i was just always there for some reason or another) until i decided i don’t wanna do this anymore.

i have stories now (and none of them revolve around dieting or self-harm, although a few do contain some negative energies and unfavorable characters). maybe i’m just looking for some validation, that i have a little more to offer than what i’ve given myself credit for. maybe i’m just scared of forgetting the past, one that i’ve been both proud of and ashamed of, and penning the memories down might be the only way to ensure that the stories are worthy of being remembered (even if i’m the only person who ever looks at this page).

it’d be an overstatement to say that i’m happy. but i’d say that comparatively, i’m ok these days — just ok, but that’s the best i could ask for.

in a society ridden with injustice and unrest and death at the moment, i’m just trying to work with what i have and not drown in the anxiety of it all.

Who’s even truly happy these days?

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH BLOG: an introduction

i don’t know why i’m doing this. call it my quarter-life crisis, an episode of identity confusion — whatever. all that truly matters is that i’m here, getting off my lazy, unmotivated ass and doing something for once. i’m not good at these intro posts because i never know what to say.

then again, i’m a nobody. if a tree fell in a forest and no one was there to bear witness, would it make a sound? if a nobody speaks, would anyone even listen?

for the time being, you don’t need to know my real name but you can call me fleur. i’m 25, LA born and raised, a little bitter and a lot of angry for reasons unknown, and kind of a living contradiction.

i’m a little narcissistic but still insecure; stubborn but also sometimes a pushover; trustworthy but a little bit of a liar; reckless and spontaneous but a creature of habit. i’m the gray area and how the emotions range depends on the day, time of day, the person, my opinion regarding said person. it’s all in the environmental details really, the fine-tooth-comb type of specifics that matter.

they say to not let my environment control me, but that’s always easier said than done. so here’s to finding a safe space (or rather, creating my own) — a place where the bottled emotions can freely explode, a place where i can learn not to take things too personally, a place to escape to not feel alone. or maybe being a highly sensitive and emotional human being is just who i am, always an orchid child at heart, unable to deal with rejection or stress for fear any challenge might obliterate me completely.

welcome to the pity party of a confused, aimless nobody. if anything, i hope this helps me find my voice again (and maybe my mind too). maybe this could help someone out there realize they’re not alone in feeling the emotional rollercoaster as i do.

misery loves company.

GFY, fleur