Jeff Lewis is crazy good

On the TV show, Flipping Out, Jeff Lewis is a houseflipper extraordinaire. He's very good at managing to turn homes from meh to marvelous in order to sell them and make a tidy profit. The show is a fun, vicarious look at someone in the beautiful world known as the interior design industry.

But, there's also a lot of ugliness that goes on and most of it is attributed to Lewis himself. He comes across as egomaniacal, a selfish bastard, a pain in the ass to work for, a ridiculous perfectionist, and not very personable (probably due to a case of a non-diagnosed form Asberger's Syndrome).

And that's what makes it fun to watch.

True, he might ham it up for the cameras, but there you have to give credit to someone who doesn't care about being ugly (figuretively) in front of millions of people, ready for them to judge every action the person does. Who can do that and not care about the outcome? Apparently, him.

And, for that, I think he's crazy good.

Dressed in black

My clothing collection is filled with a series of classics. Most of the pieces are black, with a bit of blue, grey, white and cream mixed in. It’s seasonless and I can wear it year round.

When I was going out with Crazy, I was told I needed to wear more colour. So, I did. A change would do me good. A lot more green and orange was worn on my body.

It took me some time to adjust. Whenever I wore something different, I got called out on the sartorial selection because everyone knew the clothes weren't mine (and not my style).

Now, that's no longer the case. My classics are back in play and I no longer have to feel like I’m in costume because of someone else. It’s back to black.

And, who the fuck wants to dress up in a colour resembling pea soup?

Crusty and yellow

When I wake up in the morning, I see there are several breakouts on my face. As much as I want to scream out loud and curse the gods, I squeeze them and put some cream on them so they’ll dry out and/or shrink.

I go about my day and then realize it’s garbage day tomorrow. Shit. I have to prep the trash and the recycling and put it outside. When this is done, I take it to the curb and arrange it in such a way that the bag doesn’t roll into the street and gets hit by oncoming traffic.

While I’m doing this I run into one of my neighbours. I don’t particularly care for them since I hardly ever see them. We say a couple of words and she looks at me strangely. I could tell her to go fuck herself, but refrain from doing so.

I go back inside and head to the washroom to wash my hands. The tap is turned on and I run my hands underneath the water. When I look up I see there are spots on my face. Several of them. It’s the zit cream I put on.

What I didn’t realize when I used this particular product is that it dries on your skin instead of being absorbed. Also, it turns crusty and yellow. Lovely.

Normal like me

On more than one occasion, I’ve had friends tell me the same thing: “We’re the only two normal people left in the world.”

The reason why they’d say such a thing is because they know I’m a level-headed, conscientious and considerate person and they believe their thinking (at that particular moment in time) is just as rational.

Ideally, they want to find some comfort in the fact there is someone else who thinks the way they do about a certain situation. But they’re not always rational. Sometimes they’re neurotic, a little unhinged, even a touch crazy. Yet, they still think I’m the one other normal person in the world... beside them, of course.

What's offputting is that I’m the one common denominator. Just me. And, that scares me a lot. The reasoning isn't because they want to be associated with me, it’s because they want to be associated with me because that makes them think they’re normal. I don't want that responsibility, especially if I do something that isn't considered "normal" to them.

A house of cards built on a concrete foundation can be unshaky because concrete can crack when under extreme pressure.

What’s happening to you?

When going out with someone, you inevitably do things that you’re not accustomed to. Sometimes they’re banal (i.e. go to a club on a Wednesday), while other times they’re not (i.e. going to a club every Wednesday).

During my relationship with Crazy, I did some things I didn’t mind doing because I never really had the opportunity to do them before (because I didn’t want to do them alone) and I was doing them with someone I loved (which also helps).

As these things were going on, a friend texts me and asks what’s happening to me. I never did these things before, so why am I doing them now? I ask myself. My response is why wouldn’t I? I wasn't "losing myself" but discovering whether or not I liked them.

Now that Crazy is out of the picture, I do things for me. In the past few months I have accomplished things I never would've before - starting a company, becoming an executive editor, sitting front row at fashion week, being recognized at swanky parties - and it feels good to know I did them while being true to myself.

Shopping for clothes in the children's section

I don’t like shopping for clothes. I find it a hassle. But every once in a while, I stalk the racks of H&M to see what they have that’s new for the season. From what I’m told, they receive stock almost daily, so a trek to the store is almost a weekly trip.

As I peruse the clothes, I notice a few things and try them on. Most of them aren’t what I’m looking for (Do I need another shirt?), so I take them back. The other issue I have is even though they size their clothing smaller than the usual chains, it’s difficult to find the right size (this is due to my typical summer weight-loss).

That’s when I discovered the children’s section.

There are many pluses to this: the clothes are cheaper; the clothes don’t have additional taxes; and the clothes fit me.

The negatives include: you can’t find everything you want; sometimes the clothes are a little juvenile; and you have to shop in the kids section without having to look like a pedophile.

So what happens? I end up loading up on basics, trying them on, discovering that I can’t fit into slim jeans made for 12-year-old boys (but I can fit into the ones made for 14 year olds), and then not buying anything because I really don’t need another shirt.

It’s just another day of shopping for clothes for me.

Taking time to smell the pollution

Because of my schedule, I hardly have any time to smell the roses. It’s difficult to fit it in my calendar. That’s the reason why I hardly get to do anything that involves relaxation.

So, it comes as a surprise to me when I have a day to do nothing. Since it’s me, I have to do something instead of sitting at home all day, looking at the walls (CC-40, Benjamin Moore).

Off I go and make my way to Liberty Village in the western part of the city. It’s secluded, yet is still located off a main street. I make my way around the area, take a few pictures, do a little shoplifting, and have a seat on a restaurant’s patio.

I order a latte made with whole milk and not skim, flip through the pages of the newspaper and occasionally look at the sky, trying to remember the day. It’s beautiful, and it’s something I haven’t been able to take part in for almost two years. I haven’t been living life, but life has been living me.

I take a deep breath and exhale. Of course, because I’m in the middle of the city, I’m not taking time to smell the roses, but the pollution. I cough. Pollution or roses, either way, I’ll take whatever I can get.