Dinner with Friends Part 5: Darian and the Power of Being You

I really need to get back into the process of writing. I could give my self an out via a myriad of excuses (work, obligations, antidepressants) but the truth is I'm just not exercising that muscle at the moment. Got off the mat man, get off the mat!

A few weeks ago, I decided to invite my friend Darian for dinner. He's among my newest friends within my inner circle, therefore wanted to try a recipe I've never tried before.

I met Darian about a year ago at Emily's going away party. Truth be told, I had ulterior motives to get to know him, as I found his younger sister to be quite striking. As it became clear that she wasn't interested, Darian's amiability shone through an we kind of glomed onto each other. He works for a company that makes LEGO models of military equipment and vehicles - a profession that sounds downright bonkers now that I put it down in writing. Then again between Reese being a professional Origami teacher and me being a fake scientist at a roller rink, being a military LEGO manager seemed like a perfect continuation into the absurd.

Your sisters hot, there I said it!

For dinner we had baked chicken with a honey pomegranate sauce with chopped cashews, wild rice and a kale salad. We went upstairs and started to watch Dirty Rotten Scoundrels but ended up talking for a long time about history and philosophy. After that, we fell into a YouTube hole which culminated into me introducing him to Michael Reeves - a YouTube personality that creates ridiculous contraptions that serve no purpose other than to solve problems badly. I had him hooked by the time we stumbled into his most popular upload: A Roomba that screams when it bumps into stuff.

A few weeks after the dinner I was in a bad way. I went to support my friend Shirley who was part of a charity comedy show at a local brewery. It was a crowded room which usually makes me uncomfortable but I was cognitive enough avoid bunching into crowds or isolating myself as to become self-conscious. I sat next to Shirley during the showcase and we talked a bit before then about her latest relationship drama.

The anxiety didn't really kick in until after the show. Shirley had a new friend in her midst who had a weird energy I wasn't mentally prepared for. Then show runner came up to me after all was done and told me the non-profit I've been helping with had a charity showcase up on the 15th of this month. I've been neglecting to advertise or formulate a set for it which really had my mind going sideways.

Not reading this on me, Shirley invited me to a mic and I sheepishly accepted when I should have just biked home. I ended up leaving the mic early after girl Casey arrived and before the mic had even started. Before then I had been rocking back and forth in my bar stool and hiding myself in my coat. I biked home; the combination of severe social anxiety and crisp cold air had my skin breaking out into hives by the time I got home. Shirley texted to see if I was okay. I wasn't.

Not wanting to worry her and having already talked to Maisie about my previous mini-episode, I called Darian. I try to stagger my spiral-calls so I don't overwhelm my friends you see. Darian was wise enough to act as a sounding board; largely listening and being supportive. He too had experienced anxiety in the past. He over came it by being a phenom on the guitar and just growing to be comfortable with himself.

That same sentiment was repeated by Shirley the next day when things got oh so much worse. I spoke to my ex over the phone partially to catch up, partially to gloat about my latest accomplishments, speak at length about how much better I'm doing without her and telegraph profusely how over her I am. After talking about the marathon, my various (and let's be honest, marginal) social and comedy successes, she dropped a bomb on me - she's engaged. That in combination with Raquel cancelling on a visit to Chicago from Michigan had my mind in a severe spiral so intense that I had to leave work early.

Shirley met me at my place and comforted me before she had to go in for work. "You have to love yourself first before you can accept love from someone else," a point she hammered in by having me watch Daniel Sloss: Jigsaw on Netflix. I'm not sure if I internalized the overall message to Jigsaw completely, but it did nudge me back into a clearer mindset. My therapist joked later that week that Shirley got me to understand what she had been trying to tell me for months.

I don't know. Is it possible to truly be comfortable in your own skin? To love yourself unconditionally? Aly and Darian seem to be two of the most well-adjusted people I know yet we've come to a point in our friendships where I've peeked into their insecurities. I suppose part of growth is deciding which aspects of yourself you can't change therefore need to accept, and things you can change for the sake of a more positive self-image.

For example, I am self-conscious about my height but try as I might, I can never be taller. So I just need to learn to accept that. But being a better listener - that's a skill set I can learn and have the desire and grit to do so. Things get sticky when it comes to being comfortable in social situations however. Should I carefully plan my social interactions to avoid anxiety? Should I continue treating it like a phobia and hammer away at long-term behavioral therapy? Should I find a new healthier crutch to wade through that mess - something that isn't alcohol? Should I forfeit large social groups altogether?

I've worked on myself consistently over the last year and a half and my social anxiety remains the largest obstacle to becoming someone I can accept being. Where I go from here is anyone's guess.

Race Day

It was a crisp, windy morning on the day of the race. By the time I got to Grant Park, the elite runners had already heard the starting gun and were halfway to Lincoln Park before I even had a chance to use a porta-potty. Pam met me in the early morning light. I was able to give her all my belongings including an extra change of clothes, snacks, water and a pill box full of ibuprofen, of which I've already consumed three. The guards at the entrance let Pam into the runner area (I suspect they thought we were an interracial couple and looked at us like we were endangered pandas in need of extra time). We said our final goodbyes and I asked Pam to deliver my stuff to my parents if/when they decide to wake up and show up in their designated support area.

Line to the bathroom was very long!

I was nervous. The candid photos taken of the event showed a hunched over man in a white sweater with a mortified face feigning pain. Aly sent a text with her photo. She was a few meters ahead and had a similar look on her face only with a little more confidence and excitement. It also helped that everyone from family to friends to regular mic comedians were sending me messages telling me "good luck."

If there was a starting pistol or a air horn, I didn't hear it. The crowd started shuffling towards the starting gate then shuffled past it without much fanfare or difference in pace. I was adjusting my headphones and trying to find the best song to get me in the mood for the longest run of my friggin' life all while dodging people going at a slower pace. I found a good tune: Creep with a T-Shirt by Portugal the Man. And with that, I started my first marathon ever.

I saw my sister and her family before mile 2; the first friendly faces on my trek. I hadn't broken into a sweat yet so I was able to wave and give a big 'ol smile before cresting over State Street and towards the downtown bridge. I skipped the first water station fearing hyponatremia and decided to hit only every other station so I wouldn't become too full of fluids. For snacks however, all bets were off and I ate my first stroop waffle before downtown was in the rear view.

The first leg of the marathon stretched northward all the way to Wrigleyville before plummeting back down a parallel street. Every once in a while, I looked to my left and saw people running in between buildings in the opposite direction. I kept a slow, steady pace through the first 10 miles, stopping only once to adjust my headphones. I was running on pure adrenaline and wanted to gun it like Brigid Kosgei did earlier that day. Of course that would have probably led directly to my death so I thought better of it.

Pshhh, walk in the park!

As I rounded the corner onto Broadway I glanced at the mile marker that had a big red 8 on it. 8?! That was just 8 back there?! What helped though, was seeing the same signs from earlier in the race; "Boss Women Run Marathons," "Run Forrest Run," "Worst Parade Ever!" This meant the same people were shuttling back and forth on CTA and were making an effort to support whoever was also keeping my pace.

My favorite poster was one that said "Keep Running or I'll Drop This Sign!" and it was being carried by a guy who looked like his pants and underwear were down below his knees - Boystown amirite? The energy around Broadway and Clark was elating. Passing Belmont there were stages on each side with rival drag queen groups belting out motivational ballads. The streets were filled with cheering crowds reminding me that no matter how much my feet hurt, the entire city had my back today.

As I went down Sedgwick things started to look very familiar. One of my favorite mics, the Greenlight takes place on Sundays at a local watering hole a few feet from the turn. That's when I saw Maisie yelling and screaming in support. She never told me she'd be looking out for me but there she was being a kid sister with a heart of gold. Immediately when I saw her, I got a bit of a boost and was able to breeze through North Wells with relative ease; despite the fact that is was an unbroken 2 mile drag.

Near the end of Wells I regrouped with my sister and her family. I saw them before they saw me and I yelled at my brother-in-law to grab their attention. She skipped over to the crowd line and gave me a big hug. It was just before the thirteenth mile which I noted as being just shy of halfway. I could feel the sweat cooling on my back every time I stopped or stumbled past the shadow of a building. I just kept going, if for no other reason than I didn't want to become a flesh flavored Popsicle. Along that frigid stint I started thinking about all the things that led me to this point - the point which I need not remind you was the furthest I've run. I never made my 20 mile long run.

I started thinking about the weight loss, the awkward social interactions and late night comedic bombs, my ex and all the negative emotions that surround her. My guilt and anguish of what was lost when I left Arizona. Then something happened. I looked up at the Willis Tower and was reminded of the events of the nights before. The Friday night mic I hosted was one of the better ones we've done. What's more, I went karaoke-ing with friends including Raquel who had come to town to see one of her favorite bands. The fact that I was running a marathon the weekend of, was just a happy coincidence. Life was good.

I like snuggles.

I also snickered to myself over what transpired on Saturday night. Raquel and her gorgeous friend - let's call her Brie, had spent the night at my place and I graciously offered the bed while I took the couch. Feeling the freezing cold of a stately but old Chicago apartment in the fall, Brie suggested after the concert that we all huddle together in my bed half-naked in a cuddle puddle - a wholesome activity undermined by the phrase in the same way if you were to call a hotdog a dong sandwich. Nothing explicit happened but the sensation of being held by two attractive women in the comfort of my own bedroom was so relaxing and nice. Thinking of that - memories of my ex all but disappeared.

After another dip into downtown the race took us all to the West Loop passing Malcolm X College and the Whitney Young School. Pam said she'd be cheering from the sidelines along with a group from her school who were there to support another teacher. I never caught her but she assured me through text that my stuff had been dropped off to my parents. I was stumbling through the UIC area when a phone call interrupted my playlist. 

"Hello?" 
"You're making great time!" 

It was my mother. Not sure what possessed her to call me at that moment but every runner within earshot was tickled pink by the fact that my mom had called me in the middle of a marathon. "Mom, I have to control my breathing." "Okay, okay, where did you say you wanted to go afterwards though?" "Mom! I'm kinda busy." "Okay, text us later. We have your bag." "Okay cool, bye!"

Youch!!!

I tried to follow the advice of a sign I saw that said, "Find a Cute Bum and Follow It," but I'm embarrassed to say by mile 19 I was running on fumes. The sweat caking itself to my shirt had sabotaged the bandaids on my nipples. They just peeled away and drowned leaving me bunching my shirt like I was snapping suspenders like a Hispanic Steve Urkel. I went to the nearest medical tent and tried to reapply new bandaids but they simply flecked off within a minute like discount refrigerator magnets. I'd have to finish the race looking like I was clenching pearls.

By the time we got to Pilsen, the crowd was handing out bananas cut into thirds. I grabbed every piece of fruit offered as my body's moved me forward. At that point it felt like I was falling and my legs were just trying to keep up with the inertia of my torso. I was at my nadir. I walked and limped through the streets I was most familiar with - 18th, Blue Island, Halsted. All of it was a blur of lively mariachi music and sticky asphalt which had been stained by an ocean of Gatorade. I was still clutching my shirt when I saw the big red 20 in the distance. I hated that 20...I knew there was 6.2 left. Fml.

A funny, unexpected and weirdly inspiring moment came in the form of an out of shape white guy who sauntered a few paces ahead of me. A woman waiting on the sidelines extended her arm with half a banana, her eyes inviting him to snatch it from her hand. About four seconds before the two would meet, a man held out a Modelo right behind her. Naturally our runner went with the Modelo, shrugged his shoulders, laughed to himself and kept going. I found that moment almost too precious to bare. It was a candid moment of comedic bliss that was so perfect and so innately human that I felt joy just being near it. By that point the wall as it were, was starting to crack.

But the wall wasn't going away just yet - I still had Chinatown to contend with. By the time, I passed the entrance gate, my arms and legs were so heavy that I just let my nipples chafe. I wasn't running fast enough to turn them into lit firecrackers anyway. It was at this point better trained athletes started to maneuver past me. The 5:30 pacers which had been behind me the entire time, came coursing through the field which added to my disappointment in the moment. My hope to make it under 5 hours was completely gone.

I crossed the bridge along the Dan Ryan which served as one of the few elevated points in the race. My muscles and bones creaked as I made my way across into Bronzeville. When I rounded that corner, a man held a sign that said, "At This Point It's Just a 5K," the greatest framing device and motivation I got thus far. "I've done 5K's before," I said to myself. This will be nothing! My pace quickened.

Mile 25. My parents were waiting for me along with the rest of the Team Latinos cheering section. They had been driven all weekend by the Clancy's, long suffering family friends who lived in the northern suburbs and were arguably more excited to see me run than mom and pop. Bob Clancy even held a sign in support which I found out later was made by the Latinos group. I stopped for a moment.

"Did Pam give you my bag?" 
"Yeah." 
"I need ibuprofen." 
"Well, we don't have that." 
"It's in the bag." 
"The bag is in the car." 
"Oh, well I guess I'll just die then."

And with that I limped forward turning around for an instant to ask if anyone will be there with a blanket at the finish line.

South Loop. The sun had disappeared leaving a sky of grey clouds. A gust of wind flooded the narrow avenue between the buildings coaxing me to audibly say, "Really Chicago?" Then there was a sign, a beautiful, beautiful sign that said 1 Mile Left. I will swear to my dying day they nudged the mile markers forward a little each hour just to force slow runners to do a little more than needed. But like a flag in the distance on a Par 4, this beautiful little sign gave me the biggest boost of confidence. I mean, they changed the measurements just to make it sound easier! If there was a Mile 26 marker I didn't see it - just a Mile mark that swallowed up that last .2 and by God I was going to finish strong.

I bolted as quickly as my stiff, tired legs could muster. The sound that played in my ears was one of my favorite instrumental tracks of all time - There Once Was a Hushpuppy from the Beast of the Southern Wild soundtrack. Imagine if the Chariots of Fire theme and the Rocky theme had a baby and forced it to take up the trumpet and you'll maybe approach the epic-ness of There Once Was a Hushpuppy. It was a perfect selection as the city was ready to give me a hero's welcome and were screaming frantically. Tears ran down my cheek which didn't go unnoticed by strangers who uniformly gave me praise.

I passed the final corner completely ignoring Maisie who had organized a cheering section with a loose cadre of strangers just shy of the finish line. I ignored everything - the forming migraine, the nipples, the halo of lights that dizzied my eyes, the cheering which had melted into a quiet drone. Everything was silent except the song and my own exhausted breath. Even the voices in my head had stilled. There was no frantic worrying whining or self-defeating snark ping-ponging in my anxious brain in that moment. If there was a voice it was faint but certain.

"You will never doubt yourself ever again."

I crossed the finish line with a 5:40 time, tired, tearful and joyous. I wish I could tell you in that moment my mind was on a different plane of existence but when I crossed and hobbled over to grab my medal I said to myself, louder than I should of, "I want a damn cookie!" My parents and the Clancy's agreed to drive me to Sweet Mandy B's bakery for a victory cookie and cupcake. Maisie tagged along. Pam, Reese and my sister stopped by the bench I was propping myself up on to pay their respects. As did Maisie's parents via phone. When my dad approached to finally give me the ibuprofen he asked how many I'd like. "How many would kill me? One less than that." He then gave me one of his Vicodin.


Aly for her efforts beat me by thirty minutes which is truly as inspiring as it is annoying. Naw, she trained hard and trained well for the event unlike me who over did it then took extended breaks. I always knew she was a boss b***h but now she has the proof in the form of a medal, flowers, and an aluminum blanket that makes us all look like skinny little baked potatoes in pictures.

After cookies, I climbed up the three floors to my room and collapsed into my bed without a shower. Later that evening I got calls from Shirley and guy Casey as well as texts from more friends and roommates congratulating me for a job well done. I was too distracted by the smell of my own filth to pay much attention but I do remember thanking them. I took a shower then scuttled back to bed. I had the best sleep of my life knowing that in the city of big shoulders, I could finally walk tall.

5 More Days

Ah! Why did I decide to make a countdown the theme for this week?! Just looking at the title fills me with anxiety! Just thinking about running 26.2 miles makes me winded yet here I go attempting the near impossible.

In fairness I've been training all year though if I was honest with myself, I haven't been training as hard as I should with extended breaks on Thanksgiving (because of food poisoning) and in early August (due to injury). Even while training I never really pushed myself as far as I could go so a ten mile run is about all I can comfortably do. adding 16.2 more to that, I'll be dead by the end, that's if I reach the end.

My friend Aly is keeping herself motivated (she also doubts her discipline but she actually made it to 20 miles). In order to stay motivated she's dedicated each mile to someone or something that's near and dear to her heart which I thought was a neat idea. She claims it's not just a display of gratitude but a welcome distraction as your body in slowly shutting down mile by mile.

When I was in Americorp, we had a similar thing where we wrote down who or what we're dedicating our service year to. I dedicated my City Year jacket to ten or so teachers that inspired me to become a better life-long learner and as lame as that sounds, it actually helped ground me. So inspired by Aly and my time trying to "make better happen," I'm going to do basically the exact same thing. But unlike Aly I'm going to explain myself because I need to write...something...

Mile 1 - Latinos Progresando
I mean, makes sense to put the non-profit I'm raising money for at the top. LP helps provide support for immigrant families in the greater Chicago area through legal services, scholarships, cultural events and education. I was immediately drawn to the work they do both as a Latino and as a person who has seen up close what immigrants have to go through in a foreign land.

Mile 2 - My Mom
My mom indulges my various passions and hair-brained ideas in the only way a mother could. My parents will be there for the Marathon waiting by the Pilsen stop to cheer me on and then waiting at the finish line to put a blanket around me and get me to a hospital.

Mile 3 -Maisie
As I've mentioned before, my friends are crucial to me. Maisie has been a little sister to me for the past seven years and in that time I've seen her grow into a kind and wonderful human being. Her laugh fills the room and her ability to down an entire fifth of vodka with little more than a shrug fills me with envy.

Mile 4 - Guy Casey
While I've only known him for a year or so, Guy Casey has been crucial in my struggle to understand my depression and anxiety. He's a strong-willed, incredibly talented and giving person and I really hope out of all the comics I know, he's one who makes it.

Mile 5 - My brother Pedro
Pedro is my closest brother in age and emotionally as he's the only one I remember really living with (we also lived together briefly in college). He's a good-hearted person with a wonderful wife and two darling kids. He's had more challenges than myself including a minor health scare this past week but he's never stopped staying positive which I admire.

Mile 6 - City Year and Americorp
I spent only a year doing the hardest job I've ever had yet that year made quite an impact on me. I've made life-long friends in that time and still appreciate the organization for what it did for me and what it tried to do for the city I love so much.

Mile 7 - Reese
Speaking of life-long friends I made in Americorp - Reese. More than most they helped me truly develop a sense of self after my breakup and had the patience to stick with me when I was in my nadir.

Mile 8 - My brother Douglas
Next in age is my brother Douglas who never fails to laugh at my jokes. He's a funny guy in his own right and he's also the only brother I know to have struggled with depression. He's got a wife and two children.

Mile 9 -  Aly
The person who I harangued into this and will likely beat me to the finish line by two hours. She's the angel on my shoulders and has been since I came to Chicago.

Mile 10 - Shirley
If Aly is the angel on my shoulders, Shirley is my well-meaning but snarky devil. She's always quick with an insult but still has a good heart and a lot of comedic talent. She's also one of my newest friends so let's see if she'll last.

Mile 11 - My sister Tanya
Tanya, her three children and her husband will be in attendance during the Marathon. Not sure if it's for support or strictly for mockery but there it is. Tanya also had mental health issues in the past so it's good we have that in common.

Mile 12 - My Work Crew
My co-workers keep me motivated to do my best. They've been supportive of my goal to do the Marathon since the beginning and they've been patient with me as I've struggled with my issues.

Mile 13 - My Dad
Only makes sense to put my father around my limit.

Mile 14 - Steve
My buddy Steve is the only one that stuck it out past the improv classes I took last year. He's a fun-loving, extroverted maniac but I love him anyway. He also has a daughter who is a delight but has been going through health crisis after health crisis. I partially dedicate this mile to her as well.

Mile 15 - Jan
Jan has been my friend since freshman year of college and e still talk off and on. Her generosity of spirit has always been something I admire and I enjoy the way she carries authority as a teacher in a benevolent way.

Mile 16 - Clark
One of my movie theater friends who's been around for a minute. We bonded over old films and theater and he has since moved to New York to pursuit his dreams. I've always admired his talent and his positivity in the face of adversity. He's another one I'm sure will make it if for no other reason than he's never really doubted himself.

Mile 17 - Yorick and Brad
Two friends I've known since high school and arguably the oldest friends I have. Both have kids now and have drifted slightly but life always has a way of bringing them back into the fore. Yorick last visited me a couple of months ago for the Pokemon Go Fest that was happening in Grant Park. As for Brad, I was a groomsmen in his wedding.

Mile 18 - My brother Jason
The next in the long line of siblings (I'm the youngest), Jason has two kids and a wife who have been supportive for the last few years despite me not seeing much of them. Jason's one of the funniest people I know and after me and Pedro, had the toughest time with my father.

Mile 19 - Emily
Emily was one of my improv buddies from last year who has since moved out to Connecticut. She still calls me though which is always a surprise and a pleasure. She's a truly kind person who more than anyone else I know isn't afraid to be herself. She's also among the most open people I know.

Mile 20 - Pam
Pam has volunteered/promised to mock me on the day of the race with treats and drinks. Many say by mile 20, people start to drop out like flies so by this point, I will need her motivation.

Mile 21 - Raquel
Another friend I've known for years, she will be in Chicago for the weekend of the Marathon but will be leaving just after it begins. She's here to see a concert with a friend so it was a happy coincidence she'll likely be one of the last people I'll talk to before croaking.

Mile 22 - Girl Casey
Casey recently had a two person sketch show at Second City and the results were stupendous! She's hilarious and one of the best co-hosts a person could ask for.

Mile 23 - Jim
Another friend from college who has since moved on and has a wife and kid. He's a gifted writer and fun to be around in his own understated way.

Mile 24 - My brother Kevin
The eldest of my brothers and arguably the one who "did it right" with 2.5 kids, a wife, two cars and nice house. He has my pity.

Mile 25 - Immigrants and refugees everywhere
I consider myself an immigrant despite the fact that I became an American citizen immediately after birth (I was born overseas). I truly feel for those who's desire it is to have a better, more stable life but can't because of red tape and unwarranted cruelty.

Mile 26 - Those with depression and anxiety
It is only this year that I have realized the true gravity of these mental disorders and have had to deal with the fallout. To those who are not strong enough in the moment to struggle through their lives, know that there is always someone out there to help alleviate some of that discomfort.

.2 Miles - The city of Chicago
This is home.

7 Days

I'm officially a week away from the Chicago Marathon and I am beyond worried. The farthest I have run at one time was 13 miles or a little less than half of a marathon. Those 13 miles, combined with a biking trip through Columbus, Indiana had my foot out of commission for 3 weeks. I have not been training as hard as I could/should so when the 13th rolls around I will be all kinds of screwed. I will be in the last corral which means that there is a more than 0% chance I'll be the last to cross the finish line. More than likely however, I won't even finish.

That said, I'm giving it my best. I will be buying a new pair of running shoes with orthopedics so I won't be hobbling on worn down soles. I'll probably also splurge on a King's Spa massage to loosen up and relax my muscles ahead of the race.

Throughout my year of running, I have been developing a music playlist on Spotify. Because nothing is really worth it unless you're developing a soundtrack for it. 8 Hours and 53 Minutes worth of tunes that get me moving and grooving. If you're interested here's the link:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3IQCsb6JkCGQM0Pfs1IjzQ?si=1D1uu0nrR5KOjmF1Jjijlg

 

 

Here are some of the highlights:
1. Burn the House Down by AJR
2. Happy by C2C
3. Steady, As She Goes by The Raconteurs
4. Runnin' Down a Dream by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
5. High Enough by K. Flay
6. I'll Make a Man Out of You from the Mulan Soundtrack
7. Roma Fade by Andrew Bird
8. Tornado by Wintergarten
9. Doped Up Dollies On a One Way Ticket to Ride by Big D and the Kid's Table
10. Drive It Like You Stole It from the Sing Street Soundtrack
11. Tears Into Wine by Billy Talent
12. Wicked Ones by Dorothy
13.  Worse Than Death by The Anti-Queens
14. A Better Son/Daughter by Rilo Kiley

That's all I got for now. Gotta keep runnin'...

Dinner with Friends Part 4: Clowning with Casey

The week started out on a light note. Dare I say, my newest foray into the performative arts opened up a brand new avenue of myself I am anxious to discover - or rather rediscover. I took a clowning class; as in big, red nose, oversized pants and prop comedy - the whole shabang. I schlepped on up to Evanston and every Monday for thirteen weeks I will be learning via doing all things goofy yet secretly terrifying.

Okay perhaps not. What the class actually appears to be is an excuse to let out your inner child which is objectively something I need to do. Being a clown means being creative, empathetic and vulnerable, all things I think I can express well, but have yet to exhibit them in an out-sized, exaggerated way. I signed up for the class largely because I want to offer something slightly different than my counterparts in relation to standup. As much as I love the pursuit, standup can come across as mean-spirited to the audience - especially if a comedian is still working on things.

On the way home, I caught the train with two others from the class and naturally stuck up a conversation. Both had taken acting classes of some kind before; it seems I'm the only standup in the group (or so I think).

The rest of the week progressed more or less how it was supposed to. Work is dead at the moment which would make it an ideal time to workshop jokes but alas I am just getting back to fighting strength on that end. This past Thursday I stopped by one of my usual haunts but before then I biked on over to the Laugh Factory to watch two friends go up. It was $20 but well worth it if it meant seeing good comedy. Shirley was, of course schmoozing after the show. I was uncomfortable and unable to capitalize on the opportunity which is a loss. Instead of staying there and internalizing the feelings of inadequacy, I instead left right away and went to the mic I meant to go to.

I went first (as I arrived super early). I waited for a couple of sets before ducking out and taking the train home with my bike in tow. The set I did was touch and go but overall I'm proud considering I've been out of the scene for a minute.

I had a night to cook for my friend and co-host Guy Casey (pseudonym so given because my other co-host has the same first name and different gender identity). Casey is one of those rare people who exemplifies funny in nearly every way. His writing, his appearance but especially his delivery is spectacular. He has the cadence of a disinterested Valley girl but lumbers around like a live-action Eeyore.

For dinner I made pineapple rice with tofu. Unfortunately I over did it on the spices especially black pepper and hot pepper resulting in a very flavorful but spicy and grainy experience. Casey was kind enough to eat what he could and didn't complain but I was disappointed.

During dinner we watched Chris Gethard's Career Suicide which was a thoroughly entertaining personal one-man-show. Casey and I have been facing similar difficulties though Casey has the wisdom of years living with depression. He thought the HBO special might be of help and he was right. The thematic juxtaposition between Gethard's old therapist and new therapist was something that struck a chord with me personally. My current therapist was kind enough to check up on me when I was in Indiana and made an effort to contact me a year ago when I lost my healthcare. The Gethard special helped me realize how much of a kind person she is regardless of her quirks.

As of this writing the Chicago Marathon is thirteen days away. The half marathon was yesterday and I caught a little bit of it while I was at a mic. The realization that it's coming is sending chills down my spine. I'll do my best though at this point I doubt I'll be able to finish. If this entire ordeal has taught me anything its that I'm going to have to find something else that's physical to occupy my time because running suuuuucks!

Dinner with Friends Part 3: Flower and Reese

My job had me gallivanting back through Indiana; ironic since I was there only two weeks ago for vacation. Had I been smart about it, I could have gone somewhere else for vacation then spent a few days off in Indiana but then that just would have meant less money in my pocket. Plus it was Indianapolis which...meh.

Flower, my friend in Bloomington, came on up to see me again only this time I had to take about an hour of the day to do work stuff before a full day the next morning. A little bit about Flower: I first met her via OkCupid. We went on one date, which I thought went well but she dropped the, "let's just be friends line." Always looking to make new connections I agreed and to my great surprise and joy she didn't use that line as a ploy to back away slowly and never see me again. She genuinely found me interesting and I likewise wanted to get to know her. Why? Well...

She's the Free-gan I talked about months ago i.e. my first joke that landed 90% of the time. I'm still indebted to her for that and I never cease to remind her to her chagrin. She's great to tease because she acts outlandishly and sometimes playfully like Maisie used to do when we were both younger and less mature. After making some crack about Flower's dog, she tried to throw me off the bed in the hotel I was staying at. She hung out for a bit watching the Comedy Central Roast of Alec Baldwin which she actually quite enjoyed.

Before then however I took her to a buffet on my company's dime (don't tell anyone). Ideally I would have liked to have cooked for her but I only had a day in Indy and her dietary restrictions rely heavily on garbage food. So we went to Golden Corral!

My relationship with Golden Corral is no doubt a common experience for all the secret eighty-year olds hiding in the body of thirty-somethings that live across the country. If I'm not in the mood to cook or in the mood to choke up my arteries via KFC gravy, I'm craving Golden Corral. No because the food is of good quality; nine times out of ten its just below the line of average. No, you go to Golden Corral to experiment with different flavors and get a taste of what, for example, a plate of collared greens taste like next to serving of spaghetti with tomato sauce. There are billions of different combinations you can try, and if you find something you like, you can always make a better version of it at home.

Flower had a mean helping of carbs: mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, corn on the cob, Spanish rice, pizza, a dinner roll and, to mix it up some fish. I had a plate of spaghetti, a dinner roll, spiced ham and a vegetable medley. For my second serving I went for the friend chicken rice with carrots and green beans. For dessert I had a slice of blueberry pie topped with a serving of banana pudding.

We spoke briefly about what she's been doing for the past week and a half while I was gone - still works at a library, still happy with the connections she's been making in Bloomington. Every time I see her, I try to convince her to come back to Chicago but she seems to hate it just as strongly as I love it. Guess she was right to not want to continue anything romantic.

Flower remains an enigma in many cases. In-between visits she called me saying something went wrong between her and her boyfriend which might constitute assault. I immediately wanted to go down to Bloomington and kick the guys ass but at the same time I wasn't sure what the might was all about. I pushed the subject both over the phone and in person but she deflected. Was this a close-fisted jab to the face in anger? An accidental elbow to the face in the throws of passion? I'm assuming it's closer to the latter. She doesn't seem to be the type of person who'd protect and abuser but you can never be too sure. I will respect her desire to keep me out of it but I'm keeping tabs for sure. If she ever introduces me to the guy I will not be conciliatory, at least not until I get further context.

When I got back from Indy, I nearly forgot I had invited my friend Reese for dinner. Luckily I had plenty of leftovers from Shirley's dinner and I was actually kind of curious to see if Shirley was just being nice. So when I got off the bus at the Station, I ran home and heated up the dirty rice, sausage, roue and beans. I'm not too proud of it as I kinda wanted to make dinner, dinner but it's not like I didn't tell Reese they were in for leftovers.

A few months ago, Reese told me they'd been experiencing gender dysphoria and are going through the process of gender transitioning. As of today, they go by they/them pronouns and have gotten to the point of taking estrogen with the long-term goal of transitioning. I am so proud of them for taking that crucial first step. While I sometimes feel uncomfortable in my own skin, I would absolutely lose my goddamn mind if I woke up one morning as a gender I didn't comport with. An entire life like that? Forgetaboutit. What's more Reese has a very strong support network which consists of their gender non-conforming partner, plenty of friends (myself included) and a family that seems universally on board for now.

Reese's process has me thinking a lot about gender and what it truly is and means. From what I read there's like, three axis's on the exhausting 3D model that is gender and sexuality which have to do with your biological bits, how you identify and who you're attracted to. That combined with how you socialize and how you express your sexuality is all part of what makes you, you.

I'll need to read more about all of it so please don't take what I'm saying here as anything other than conjecture. I'm constantly inspired by Reese. I see them as a model of person I hope to become; confident in themselves and what they want, unencumbered by needless expectations and bolstered by an inner life that keeps them happy, joyful and wise.

We sat and watched Broadcast News and afterward had a lengthy conversation about the characters and their choices. I missed doing that with fellow moviegoers and critics. To be able to talk at length about a great story and what it means to you or society at large is just an amazing thing to have. It's also nice to share something like a favorite movie with a friend and have them be receptive to it. Reese loved the movie and identified strongly with Jane played by Holly Hunter. I've always appreciated Albert Brook's performance though conceded that within a modern context he's not exactly a good guy.

I'm on day three of antidepressants which means nothing as it takes about a month for them to have any effect. So far though, hanging with friends and cooking for them (or at least preparing meals) has definitely been a big help. For a few hours a week, I get to look outside of myself and try to focus and be present. I'm still working on being a better listener but I suppose just like any other skill, it comes with practice and patience.

Dinner with Friends Part 2: Shirley You Jest

I'm glad to say this past week brought me and the light at the end of the tunnel closer to each other than ever before. I attended a meeting with a psychiatrist for the first time ever and I have officially joined the throngs of Americans who now rely on antidepressants to get them through the day. Is there reason to believe that stunning reality is in-part the result of a corrupt and cruel political and economic system that places undue burden on the majority of the populace to secure basic needs? Naw, it's more likely its the midichlorians in our systems or whatever-the-hell Scientologists believe.

Skepticism aside, I'm genuinely feeling positive about the future. I wouldn't go so far as to say I've been reentering my work and hobbies with a renewed sense of relish, but with a little more help, I'm sure I'll be revolving in the right direction by the New Year.

Which is just as well; when I thanked my friend Shirley for simply being there for me she told me, "Once you're up, I'm sure you'll have the strength to help a friend who's down." I do want that very much...well preferably I would like everyone I know to be happy but as that is not possible, I would like to be as supportive as I can.

Shirley, my closest comedian confidant, was the next friend I invited to dinner because I knew she'd be a challenge. Her and girl Casey are my biggest gets given the later is a vegan and the former is the pickiest eater I've ever met. So it was a huge surprise Shirley said yes immediately and without much followup. When she arrived she wondered allowed why people hadn't arrived and I had to explain to her it was just her. This in turn started the evening with an awkward air, resembling a comedy of errors. After I explained what my intentions were (a thank you, a form of fun and a form of therapy) she laughed off the situation.

Depiction of how I must have looked at that moment...

Since Shirley is a Louisiana transplant and picky beyond comprehension, I went through great pains to make sure the food was both to her liking and customizable. Dirty Cajun rice in a dark roue without baked beans, and sausage (on the side). Veggies were present but infused into the meal as to be nearly invisible. I also made pork cracklings braised in red wine assuming they'd be just for me but she took one to be a good sport. "I often starve myself before attending dinner at someones place so I'm too hungry to care what they're feeding me."

She charged through the meal like the best of them. I'm not sure if it was genuine or her southern manners but she commented it was the first time she's eaten everything on her plate in a long time. It was true, her plate was completely clean by the end of the meal. My reaction would have been described as bashful if it wasn't accompanied by hands raised to the sky as if I'd scored a goddamn touchdown.

After dinner and decent conversation, we watched part of A Fish Called Wanda before it was time to go to the mic - she almost pasted out on my bed again. I could tell she came over less out of desire and more out of loyalty, though I do truly enjoy her company no matter what condition she's in. I often worry about her and her mental state. She has amazing talent and an uncommon drive but a level of impatience that gets to be too self-critical. She's reached a threshold at this moment comedy-wise and often acts like a fly buzzing about a hot window just looking for a way to continue to the next level. "Patience is a virtue I do not possess," she has said to me more than once. "Well get some," I sometimes respond. She then follows it up with something instantly hilarious that makes me wonder how she comes up with it.

On the way to the mic, our conversation ebbed into familiar territory  - to that of a raw talent I shall now refer to as Duke. Duke indescribably absurd stage persona is one of minor legend within the scene at the moment. He's young - very young, but his ability to coax uncontrollable laughter from even the most jaded people is so distinct that it gets comedians twice his age to scoff in jealousy. I myself would be jealous if I also wasn't sure his stage persona was real. He doesn't have a buffer between who he is on stage and who he really is. He's just Duke; a refreshingly sweet, lovably doofy walking piece of human scaffolding. He's Dostoyevsky's The Idiot only living in a world much more corrosive. Shirley and I both agreed on the car ride up, he needs protection.

I iz comedian!

While I want to know him and get close enough to him to be his friend, Shirley's vibrancy has already made that a reality for her. It's a double-edged sword. Men orbit her like a sun and often get burned to cinders as a result. I myself have been lightly singed; her personality can be so intoxicating even if you're taken or in my case AD (After Dating). Yeah, I broke down and asked Shirley out, she said no and after a day tending to my wounded ego, I got over it. If I've learned anything from a long term 8-year relationship, it's no woman is worth excessive grief. Ultimately romance is just another, slightly richer flavor of friendship. I'm cool with that.

And what I get from this specific friendship is honestly invaluable. Professionally, she's a workhorse and an unabashed ladder climber which potentially helps me once I get the chops to actually bring the funny. She also has an astuteness about comedy which makes her a fun writing partner. What I give in-turn (or at least what I think I give her) is a slightly different road - that of a writer. The more I do standup the more I'm aware my writing would be better suited to TV, books, magazines and blog posts. She'll open doors for me, I'll open doors for her.

Aside from professional help though, she also has a genuinely big heart and a sincere desire to create an inclusive joy de vivre which is what I really admire.