Sometimes I look at my dog sleeping on her bed, and I think " this is not my dog."
Although she has been in my house since January and it is now March, I still do not have feelings of "this is mine." I feel like someone has just asked me to watch their dog for them for an undetermined amount of times. They also asked me to re name the dog, change it's food, pick a different vet for it. So in all aspects, the dog should feel like mine, but it does not.
I am not sure why. My dog at my mom's house that I have raised and loved up for 7years. That to me is my dog even though she still lives with my mom. The alien dog in my house that does weird obsessive things like lick the stove and hide in my book case. Can't possibly be my dog. It's the weirdness of getting a dog that for 6 entire years was someone else's dog, that has all of their neurotic tendencies that makes me feel like, nope not mine.
My dog which is now my Mom's dog, she acts like me, crazy, and eating a lot, and in need of constant affection and attention. I love that dog. This dog, I am trying to love. It is not working. That sounds mean, I know. I don't dislike her, I just don't have the I LOVE THIS DOG SO MUCH, feelings for her. Maybe they will come.I hope it's not like this when I have a baby. Seriously, how rough would that be. " I know you came out of my vagina and all but I did not see you come out, so how can I know your mine?" I would never actually do that. But just saying. It makes me worry I don't love things enough.
Friday, October 19, 2012
My arm pits hurt, i hate wind.
Work is very uncomfortable today. Not my actual work environment, but what I am wearing at work. My dress is pinching me in the arm pits It feels like I have two Miniature Pincher's under there just going to town at my pittage. This is really not conducive for success. I feel so much rage. Like I just want to swell my biceps and burst though the dress to make it stop. Every now and again I will shake violently in my chair tugging at my under arms trying to help reduce their stress. No pits should have to go through this.
Besides my pit induced rage, I hate wind. It was being an asshole yesterday, just like Kevin Bacon in that movie Hollow Man. He becomes invisible and taunts people and watches them go to the bathroom, and fights things. That's exactly what the wind was doing.Well, not really, but it kept trying to rip my umbrella from my hands. Wind is a little bitch. It can be everywhere all at once. Like a sinister blanket of evil. Just blowing everything in a 100 mile radius. It has no regard for human life, or posters, or empty trash cans. It's motto is destroy everything... I mean, if I went up to a violent criminal and just started blowing at his hand with my weak ass little mouth, these little tiny wuss breaths.He would laugh and I would probably be talking about how I got stabbed in an alley one time instead of how much I hate wind.
Besides my pit induced rage, I hate wind. It was being an asshole yesterday, just like Kevin Bacon in that movie Hollow Man. He becomes invisible and taunts people and watches them go to the bathroom, and fights things. That's exactly what the wind was doing.Well, not really, but it kept trying to rip my umbrella from my hands. Wind is a little bitch. It can be everywhere all at once. Like a sinister blanket of evil. Just blowing everything in a 100 mile radius. It has no regard for human life, or posters, or empty trash cans. It's motto is destroy everything... I mean, if I went up to a violent criminal and just started blowing at his hand with my weak ass little mouth, these little tiny wuss breaths.He would laugh and I would probably be talking about how I got stabbed in an alley one time instead of how much I hate wind.
Darn socks. See what I did there?
Hey now, I forgot I started this blog. I will probably forget again because that's what happens to me.
So, Mike's socks have been the bain of my existance lately. He hides them everywhere, under the coffee table, the computer desk, next to the couch, shoved behind the leather ottoman. They are like little dirty gifts of love left all over the house. The other day the dog was furiously pawing at something underneath the couch. I watched him for a few minutes thinking he saw a toy or hid something stupid like a used napkin. Being the nice dog owner I am, I got up and physically lifted up the couch for the dog. What was the thing he was trying to get you ask? A sock, naturally. Mr. dog grabs the sock in his mouth and prances off with it happily to my bed. Ew. Later when I was watching tv, he climbs up next to me and lovingly lays it on my chest , nice and close to my face, like a beautiful, thoughtful gift. Except it wasn't beautiful, it was wet, and it smelled, and was kind of crunchy. Thanks dog.
This is not the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last. Seeing as the socks are always on the floor, the dog thinks they put there for his and apparenlty my enjoyment. I have tried to explain the concept of hampers to Mike after showing him 37 pairs of chewed up, wet socks. He does not understand. I mean, why would he when he can just go buy new packs of socks? They are dispoasable right? No one wears socks more than once, guess that was my misocnception.
This goes far beyond socks though, pants lay in the same place from where he disrobed, shirts cover the chair in the bedroom, towels are meant for drying on the back of the computer chair. It is as if the entire house serves as his laundry basket. There are times though, that he makes the attempt at picking his clothes up but for whatever reason it always looks like he gets distracted half way through and just drops them on the floor in a pile. I am still not sure what causes this to happen. Like some force of nature stops him in his tracks and forces him to drop whatever he is about to do with his dirty clothes, unless of course it is to drop them on the floor. Never ceases to amaze me. What is ironic about this whole situation is that the man will not let me use mismatched hangers to hang my clothes in our closet. My hangers all have to be the same color, hanging in the same direction and need to look in his words "neat". Really Mike, really? Even now, if I have say, a hanger from something I bought at target in there he gets all "NO WIRE HANGERS!" I mean, he's not waking me up out of sound sleeps to re organize the closet but I can tell he wants to. " Why are these in here?" " what is this?" " get this out this is gross. Okay, mismatched hangers are a murderable offense but dirty socks and clothes strewn all over the house is adorable or something? Makes sense right?
So, Mike's socks have been the bain of my existance lately. He
This is not the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last. Seeing as the socks are always on the floor, the dog thinks they put there for his and apparenlty my enjoyment. I have tried to explain the concept of hampers to Mike after showing him 37 pairs of chewed up, wet socks. He does not understand. I mean, why would he when he can just go buy new packs of socks? They are dispoasable right? No one wears socks more than once, guess that was my misocnception.
Imagine this on draped sweetly on your face.
This goes far beyond socks though, pants lay in the same place from where he disrobed, shirts cover the chair in the bedroom, towels are meant for drying on the back of the computer chair. It is as if the entire house serves as his laundry basket. There are times though, that he makes the attempt at picking his clothes up but for whatever reason it always looks like he gets distracted half way through and just drops them on the floor in a pile. I am still not sure what causes this to happen. Like some force of nature stops him in his tracks and forces him to drop whatever he is about to do with his dirty clothes, unless of course it is to drop them on the floor. Never ceases to amaze me. What is ironic about this whole situation is that the man will not let me use mismatched hangers to hang my clothes in our closet. My hangers all have to be the same color, hanging in the same direction and need to look in his words "neat". Really Mike, really? Even now, if I have say, a hanger from something I bought at target in there he gets all "NO WIRE HANGERS!" I mean, he's not waking me up out of sound sleeps to re organize the closet but I can tell he wants to. " Why are these in here?" " what is this?" " get this out this is gross. Okay, mismatched hangers are a murderable offense but dirty socks and clothes strewn all over the house is adorable or something? Makes sense right?
Monday, January 24, 2011
Teeth: a trial of endurance and shame
Dentists are capable of much destruction. We all know this. Despite the scary instruments, I went to see one today after a 4 year hiatus. Apparently 4 years in dental world is a long fucking time, also teeth are pretty unforgiving. If you stop doing things like flossing, and using expensive mouthwash, they start to just dissolve and make you wish you were born a toothless freak.
My panic set in when I woke up this morning, I felt like a cat trapped in an oven. No way out. I could already smell the pain. After a few unsuccessful attempts at making excuses not to go, I schlepped myself onto the wonder that is public transit and went to meet my maker. I mean dentist.
I always feel an unbelievable amount of shame when I walk into a dental clinic. Like my mouth is filled with dead babies instead of teeth and that somehow this is all my fault and oh God why am I doing this. The hygienist is always the first person to have a look at the atrocity that is my mouth. She asks questions like " how long has it been since you have seen a Dr?" This is always the most shameful part for me. " Um. Like, 3 years maybe, I mean maybe less, probably not though" This always gets looks of disapproval and usually the exact moment where the judgement begins. The hygienist will then open a pack of silver poke-y stab-y instruments and the panic about being stabbed in the mouth completely over rides my fear of being harshly and unfairly judged. I cry silently inside.
After this ordeal subsides it is then time for the Dr. to come in. I always fear this part the most because I know that he is like " WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK" As soon as I open my mouth. Like, teeth are his business and looking at mine obviously makes him feel like I just took a shit inside of his heart because I let my teeth basically decompose and at one point almost kill me. That's another story all together. Anyway, the Dr. beings to call out things that sound like codes to set off a NASA shuttle. " Cr 24, TH 3, XTZ THERMO DEPOST TO THE RIGHT CANINE, RC 28" Pretty much he goes through all of my teeth calling things out. I know that is bad. The Dentist should never start at tooth number 1 and end at tooth 24 shaking his head. Always skipping a few numbers because those teeth are missing. I knew I was done at that point. Still, I tried to be a little optimistic. Maybe it was not as bad as I thought. Wrong was I, so so very wrong.
"We are looking at an estimated cost of $12,000" Trying to remain composed after hearing that I personally had to pay the $12,000 was difficult. I just wanted to say "well, we've done all we could, time to let them go" Dentists won't hear that though, they want to "save" everything.
So this is what my teeth have done to me after a long hard 28 years together. They never could understand the whole " live and let live" concept. No, since I was 5 years old those bad boys were busy starting some shit. Making themselves grow to large, cementing themselves to my gum's even when new teeth were coming in, impacting themselves, fucking re- impactig themselves. I was always told " your mouth it to small." As if this was something I could control. It is not my fault that God decided to make my mouth the same size as chihuahua's with a cleft lip. This meant I never had enough room for my teeth so lots of them had to just be ripped out. I clearly remember lots of dental trips, coming in a smiling happy child, leaving a bloody, slobbering crying mess. It never did get any better as I got older. It just turned from extractions to surgeries, from surgeries to infections, to more surgeries. Teeth do not forget they do not forgive they just turn into gnarled squares of imminent pain and torture. They will never let you rest until you give them what they want. Apparently what mine want is to see my bankrupt and anemic. So far teeth you win.
My panic set in when I woke up this morning, I felt like a cat trapped in an oven. No way out. I could already smell the pain. After a few unsuccessful attempts at making excuses not to go, I schlepped myself onto the wonder that is public transit and went to meet my maker. I mean dentist.
I always feel an unbelievable amount of shame when I walk into a dental clinic. Like my mouth is filled with dead babies instead of teeth and that somehow this is all my fault and oh God why am I doing this. The hygienist is always the first person to have a look at the atrocity that is my mouth. She asks questions like " how long has it been since you have seen a Dr?" This is always the most shameful part for me. " Um. Like, 3 years maybe, I mean maybe less, probably not though" This always gets looks of disapproval and usually the exact moment where the judgement begins. The hygienist will then open a pack of silver poke-y stab-y instruments and the panic about being stabbed in the mouth completely over rides my fear of being harshly and unfairly judged. I cry silently inside.
After this ordeal subsides it is then time for the Dr. to come in. I always fear this part the most because I know that he is like " WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK" As soon as I open my mouth. Like, teeth are his business and looking at mine obviously makes him feel like I just took a shit inside of his heart because I let my teeth basically decompose and at one point almost kill me. That's another story all together. Anyway, the Dr. beings to call out things that sound like codes to set off a NASA shuttle. " Cr 24, TH 3, XTZ THERMO DEPOST TO THE RIGHT CANINE, RC 28" Pretty much he goes through all of my teeth calling things out. I know that is bad. The Dentist should never start at tooth number 1 and end at tooth 24 shaking his head. Always skipping a few numbers because those teeth are missing. I knew I was done at that point. Still, I tried to be a little optimistic. Maybe it was not as bad as I thought. Wrong was I, so so very wrong.
"We are looking at an estimated cost of $12,000" Trying to remain composed after hearing that I personally had to pay the $12,000 was difficult. I just wanted to say "well, we've done all we could, time to let them go" Dentists won't hear that though, they want to "save" everything.
So this is what my teeth have done to me after a long hard 28 years together. They never could understand the whole " live and let live" concept. No, since I was 5 years old those bad boys were busy starting some shit. Making themselves grow to large, cementing themselves to my gum's even when new teeth were coming in, impacting themselves, fucking re- impactig themselves. I was always told " your mouth it to small." As if this was something I could control. It is not my fault that God decided to make my mouth the same size as chihuahua's with a cleft lip. This meant I never had enough room for my teeth so lots of them had to just be ripped out. I clearly remember lots of dental trips, coming in a smiling happy child, leaving a bloody, slobbering crying mess. It never did get any better as I got older. It just turned from extractions to surgeries, from surgeries to infections, to more surgeries. Teeth do not forget they do not forgive they just turn into gnarled squares of imminent pain and torture. They will never let you rest until you give them what they want. Apparently what mine want is to see my bankrupt and anemic. So far teeth you win.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Skip this if you want to laugh. If you feel like the opposite of laughter than please read on.
Thinking. I had far to much time on my hands this week and lots of it was done. I felt like I had a new strand of Ebola that has went undiscovered, but it turns out it was a Sinusitis that had decided to wreak havoc in my lungs as well. Oh how I love these little surprises. As if my body is a child who craves attention it's not getting so it then decides to act out and I have no choice but to give it it's desired attention. Even if it means going to the dreaded Dr. and filling up on antibiotics and steroids. It got it's attention though, and now seems to have calmed down some.. for now.
Back to this thinking problem though. I love the holidays, but they have such an undertone of sadness for me anymore that I can't quite shake off. I keep having these, sort of flashbacks about my Dad's dying. It's not a thought, or a memory, like something that I am actively choosing to participate in thinking about. It's more of just this sudden rush of way to much emotion for me to handle, and just parts and pieces of him dying, and of his funeral. It makes me visibly shaken. I feel like I can't even catch my breath sometimes. Almost like being smothered in way to many feelings that I have no idea how to even begin feeling, nor do I want to.
Grieving, its broken down into time lines, and steps. It has stages and precipices you are supposed to hit. Grief is supposed to be put neatly into a box. The same for everyone. Widows should take precisely two years to overcome their heartbreak, children 1-2 years, etc. What the "experts" on grieving do not tell you is how you are supposed to reach these goals. They all say, as so many people do that " time heals" and " just give it time it gets better" but I find the more time that passes, the more difficult it becomes. The whole " acceptance" part is when your grieving is supposed to stop. I don't believe that to be true. I have for all intensive purposes " accepted " that my dad has died but it still does not deter me from thinking about the so many " if only's and "what if's" that stew in the back of my brain. I am unable to turn them off, I can't help but feel like I am going to feel the loss of him everytime something good happens, something bad happens.
I was never much a fan of God, so I can't find comfort in the thought that he is in Heaven, or that I will see him again or any of those cliche things people tell you to comfort you, and themselves. I can't help but dwell on the fact that he will not be there when I or my sister get married, when my sister graduates from College this year, when I have a baby, I did not get to tell him about the new job I got, or what I ate for dinner last night. He never got to see me move out on my own or my new house.And those are things that I just can't seem to let go of.
We had a tumultous relationship but I loved him, and he loved me,. After he died I felt so completely vulnerable to everything. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't turn out lights anymore. I was 28 and became afraid of the dark ( still am 28 and still am afraid of the dark.) I never realized how protected I felt with him around, how I felt like he was indestructable and that made me feel a little less..destructable I guess. It also left me with this sinking feeling of responsibility. Before he died he told me over and over to" take care of your mother." I feel like I sort of suck at that, because I don't really know what to do for her. I try but, I'm not sure if it's enough sometimes. She breaks my heart sometimes just by seeing how broken her own heart is.
So, I don't know if I am over the "first year hurdle' yet. It's been 1 year and 5 months. I can't believe it. It still seems like it happened just yesterday some days. I still cry when I talk about him, I still can't look at pictures of him for too long. It just feels like I'm nursing a wound that will never quite heal right. Basically, I feel like I grieved wrong. Or am grieving wrong, sometimes I wonder if I grieved at all I don't know really what it's supposed to feel like. I worry constantly about losing my Mom, and my sister. I tried to put it out of my mind that the people I love so much are actually mortal and so not have some secret long life elixer. I wish they did, and losing my Dad made that all the more real to me.
While I do not like to think about this to often. I can't help it. When I see things I want to buy him for Christmas, when I hear jokes I know he would like... it hurts still. I don't think after another 6 months goes by and I hit the 2 year mark in this whole grieving process that it's going to feel any different really. So much for time lines I guess. I was never very good with deadlines anyway.
It's nice to just pretend he is on an extended vacation, somewhere he always wanted to. Reality, is way overrated to me. I hope in a few more years that I can talk about him without feeling my chest tighten up. Everyone says "it gets easier" that "it's still to new for me" but when is it ever easy losing anyone, anything? Losing is hard to accept, and it's impossible to understand the one question that keeps arising. "Why?" I guess there is no answer really, other than the "all things happen for a reason" which in my opinion simplifies things way to much, like Einstein said; " Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler." I completely agree.
It feels a little less complicated getting this out on proverbial paper though.
Back to this thinking problem though. I love the holidays, but they have such an undertone of sadness for me anymore that I can't quite shake off. I keep having these, sort of flashbacks about my Dad's dying. It's not a thought, or a memory, like something that I am actively choosing to participate in thinking about. It's more of just this sudden rush of way to much emotion for me to handle, and just parts and pieces of him dying, and of his funeral. It makes me visibly shaken. I feel like I can't even catch my breath sometimes. Almost like being smothered in way to many feelings that I have no idea how to even begin feeling, nor do I want to.
Grieving, its broken down into time lines, and steps. It has stages and precipices you are supposed to hit. Grief is supposed to be put neatly into a box. The same for everyone. Widows should take precisely two years to overcome their heartbreak, children 1-2 years, etc. What the "experts" on grieving do not tell you is how you are supposed to reach these goals. They all say, as so many people do that " time heals" and " just give it time it gets better" but I find the more time that passes, the more difficult it becomes. The whole " acceptance" part is when your grieving is supposed to stop. I don't believe that to be true. I have for all intensive purposes " accepted " that my dad has died but it still does not deter me from thinking about the so many " if only's and "what if's" that stew in the back of my brain. I am unable to turn them off, I can't help but feel like I am going to feel the loss of him everytime something good happens, something bad happens.
I was never much a fan of God, so I can't find comfort in the thought that he is in Heaven, or that I will see him again or any of those cliche things people tell you to comfort you, and themselves. I can't help but dwell on the fact that he will not be there when I or my sister get married, when my sister graduates from College this year, when I have a baby, I did not get to tell him about the new job I got, or what I ate for dinner last night. He never got to see me move out on my own or my new house.And those are things that I just can't seem to let go of.
We had a tumultous relationship but I loved him, and he loved me,. After he died I felt so completely vulnerable to everything. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't turn out lights anymore. I was 28 and became afraid of the dark ( still am 28 and still am afraid of the dark.) I never realized how protected I felt with him around, how I felt like he was indestructable and that made me feel a little less..destructable I guess. It also left me with this sinking feeling of responsibility. Before he died he told me over and over to" take care of your mother." I feel like I sort of suck at that, because I don't really know what to do for her. I try but, I'm not sure if it's enough sometimes. She breaks my heart sometimes just by seeing how broken her own heart is.
So, I don't know if I am over the "first year hurdle' yet. It's been 1 year and 5 months. I can't believe it. It still seems like it happened just yesterday some days. I still cry when I talk about him, I still can't look at pictures of him for too long. It just feels like I'm nursing a wound that will never quite heal right. Basically, I feel like I grieved wrong. Or am grieving wrong, sometimes I wonder if I grieved at all I don't know really what it's supposed to feel like. I worry constantly about losing my Mom, and my sister. I tried to put it out of my mind that the people I love so much are actually mortal and so not have some secret long life elixer. I wish they did, and losing my Dad made that all the more real to me.
While I do not like to think about this to often. I can't help it. When I see things I want to buy him for Christmas, when I hear jokes I know he would like... it hurts still. I don't think after another 6 months goes by and I hit the 2 year mark in this whole grieving process that it's going to feel any different really. So much for time lines I guess. I was never very good with deadlines anyway.
It's nice to just pretend he is on an extended vacation, somewhere he always wanted to. Reality, is way overrated to me. I hope in a few more years that I can talk about him without feeling my chest tighten up. Everyone says "it gets easier" that "it's still to new for me" but when is it ever easy losing anyone, anything? Losing is hard to accept, and it's impossible to understand the one question that keeps arising. "Why?" I guess there is no answer really, other than the "all things happen for a reason" which in my opinion simplifies things way to much, like Einstein said; " Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler." I completely agree.
It feels a little less complicated getting this out on proverbial paper though.
Friday, November 19, 2010
I know what it sounds like when a Grizzly Bear murders a Unicorn.
Broken turtle tank filters are unreasonably loud. I feel like a grizzly bear is in the other room and it is murdering a unicorn... Loudly. Ay Dios Mio! My hearing is pretty sub par, so I can imagine what this sounds like to the normal human ear. Probably like cars crashing into Veliceraptors that are attacking wild boars that are covered in steel. Horrible.
Since I have to listen to the sounds of grizzly bears and unicorns murdering each other, I am drinking to numb the pain. Nothing that a little Vodka can't right. Seriously, nothing it is even good for sterilization purposes. Plus the living room is about as warm as a cold naked night in Siberia. So, alcohol help to insulate my insides and raise my body temperature back to at least 94 degrees. Bottoms up.
Also everyone toady was all " wow you look like you just died and came back then died again" " Holy crap is that your face! I mean, sorry feel better" ' Fuck get it away get it away." This was slightly alarming seeing as usually people are like " you are so prettifull and it hurts my eyes in a good way" and " It looks like Jesus hugged you out of your mothers room". So to hear that I am looking kinda fug today, something is wrong. And I will drink so that I don't have to notice that I've apparently become uglier over night.
Maybe tomorrow I will be a little less disfigured looking and can go out into the real world and socialize with others. I am in no mood to be judged upon my physical appearance today. But that's kind of to bad because, I was judged earlier. Damn.
Since I have to listen to the sounds of grizzly bears and unicorns murdering each other, I am drinking to numb the pain. Nothing that a little Vodka can't right. Seriously, nothing it is even good for sterilization purposes. Plus the living room is about as warm as a cold naked night in Siberia. So, alcohol help to insulate my insides and raise my body temperature back to at least 94 degrees. Bottoms up.
Also everyone toady was all " wow you look like you just died and came back then died again" " Holy crap is that your face! I mean, sorry feel better" ' Fuck get it away get it away." This was slightly alarming seeing as usually people are like " you are so prettifull and it hurts my eyes in a good way" and " It looks like Jesus hugged you out of your mothers room". So to hear that I am looking kinda fug today, something is wrong. And I will drink so that I don't have to notice that I've apparently become uglier over night.
Maybe tomorrow I will be a little less disfigured looking and can go out into the real world and socialize with others. I am in no mood to be judged upon my physical appearance today. But that's kind of to bad because, I was judged earlier. Damn.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Credit and how it mocks me.
I found out today that Macy's closed out my credit card. The whole event was rather unceremonious, considering how distraught I am over it. I only forgot to may the bill, what, 3 times. I mean, it's not that serious really. I remembered to pay the bill today. Is that not what counts? Today? I am trying to come to terms with why they would just close out my account without ever alerting me to this violent disruption of my credit usage? Having a credit card made me feel like a real person, like I mattered. Now I just feel like a paper cut out person with no eyes and a big drawn on X for a mouth. Why did they do this to me?
I feel a human jello jiggler. All wiggly, and sad because who the fuck wants a jello jiggler Not Macy's , thats for sure. So, I contact a representative online and I inquire as to why my account has been closed. She never really gave me an answer but said if I call this 800 number, after I pay the bill they might be gracious enough to re open my account. Or they could taunt me and just take my money and set my card on fire and tell me what a bad creditless person I am. No one will ever love me, my mother will shun me, stray dogs will bite me for my insolence.What a horrid shamefull existence I will lead.
I feel a human jello jiggler. All wiggly, and sad because who the fuck wants a jello jiggler Not Macy's , thats for sure. So, I contact a representative online and I inquire as to why my account has been closed. She never really gave me an answer but said if I call this 800 number, after I pay the bill they might be gracious enough to re open my account. Or they could taunt me and just take my money and set my card on fire and tell me what a bad creditless person I am. No one will ever love me, my mother will shun me, stray dogs will bite me for my insolence.What a horrid shamefull existence I will lead.
Relationships and how they are definitely not like a Hippo fighting a Pirate. But sometimes they are.
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about dating... Who I dated, why I dated, what kind of psychosis was I under to date some of these people... I promise this post will make you feel better about yourself.
Now, let me take you back to a time when I thought I was in love, and everything smelled like ness cafe and hope. It was a grand time and the whole world felt right. Except for that it wasn't, and that ness cafe smell was really the scent of my dreams and soul being shoved into a garbage disposal and then doused in lye and draino. It hurt. A lot. My dream guy ( or so I thought) was tall, dark, and handsome, so obviously something had to be wrong, right? He was a republican, Catholic, and had a slight speech impetiment. It was as if one of the many God's people speak of, came down and hand crafted him just to my specifications. At first things were perfect. Every day was like walking though fields of flowers and having angels gently glide their wings over my face. Then one day the angels died and all the flowers turned into pieces of dried up dog shit and my tall, dark, handsome man turned out to be a sexual deviant with homosexual tendencies.
Threesomes, foursomes, 36somes, he wanted it all and more. He wanted to fuck bus loads of people .I did not know what to do. Why was this happening? I could not grow 36 vaginas for him, even if I had wanted to. Tall, dark, and handsome went on wild sex rampages, like a hippo in a watering hole. He trampled everything that I had ever known about love, and trust, and my idea of what "crazy" sex. I was no match for him, and he knew it. Tall, dark, and crazy he became. He wanted dicks, and lots of them. I would never have a dick and definitely would not have lots of them, so needless to say this took me out of the running for his future wife/husband.
One day, tall, dark, crazy said to me after we made dinner, that he no longer wanted to date me because I could not drive a car. I was as puzzled hearing this as you probably are reading it. I said " I can change, I can learn how to drive." He said " no, no you can't and you did not like to go to the Dr's when you were 5 years old because you thought Dr's were scary." Yes I did hate Dr's and I still do, because they do scary shit like inject you with attenuated virus's and say things like " this might hurt a little", and then it hurts a lot. I did not realize though, that being afraid of the Dr. was grounds for dismissal. That it made me less than human and undesierable by even a crazy person. I tried to understand this, I could not. I was also faulted on being depressed because my Dad had just died, apparenlty I was supposed to have a more robotic reaction and shed no tears. Everything about me was wrong, but yet.... I sensed something was not quite right with these allegations.
Here I am, a forgiving person, taking tall, dark,and crazy back after he has a suckathon on more than one occassion putting me at risk for all sorts of lovely std's. I forgave this albeit being horrified by it, but because I did not know how to drive and did not welcome surgery and lumbar punctures... there was something wrong... with me? We went bowling that night after he told me I was a horrible unlovable person. I paid, as I did for everything ( this was another one of my many flaws) because he has no job and then I never saw him again. I guess thats how the gays do it, you break up after a night out on the town. or in this case a bowling alley in New Jersey.
There is a lot I can say about this experience but mostly it comes down to simply "live and learn." And, I learned that when the guy your dating tells you he wants to try anal.... with a guy. It's time to dash those dreams of becoming a Mrs. Tall, Dark, and Crazy.
Basically this is what has been encompassing my brain the past week or so. Wondering why people do things, and why they say words, and what those words mean, and how can I make people stop saying words I don't like. If a hippo and a pirate got into a fight who would win? Then I went back to thinking about why would I date a guy who I clearly could tell was in love with himself ( and other guys), not me.Why do I have to have such gut wrenching insecurities about why someone would possibly like me, Why about a lot of stuff I guess. why why why. why. And the answer I came to was, dunno. People just do weird things,
I guess you either choose to be stuck in the past or you choose to move forward. My coordination is to bad to walk backward. Anyway, my head feels a little less jumbly now. Apologies though if I made your brain all soupy with this long ass diatribe about relationships and deer pee.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
A course in disaster preparedness: How to die with dignity.
Disaster Preparedness. That is what my day today revolved around. Red Cross came and gave my department a course in how to prepare for a disaster. This is not the kind of thing someone as paranoid and overly alert like me needed to attend.
Floods. This was our first order of attention. What do you do when there is flooding? Run like hell, climb up on high stuff, get in a boat made out of wood and scotch tape, what! what! I don't know!. Answer: You prepare for the flood before it happens. Oh.Now that is how you mother fucking do it.*fist pump*
I was unaware until today that Pennsylvania is the number one state for flooding issues. This alarmed me, because I have no idea what to do in case of a flood emergency other than try not to get wet. I disregard all of the warnings and watches on the news about potential flooding. Mostly because I disregard moss things that make me uncomfortable and that I can do nothing about. Flood preparedness seemed like an impossible task and something that would never happen to me. I know better now.
The first thing you should do to prepare for an imminent watery disaster is to have a kit ready. Your kit can consist of anything you want. Granola bars, cans of creamed corn, band-aids, marbles, the first season of Gilmore Girls. Whatever you feel like will get you safely through the flood. After you have assembled your kit you must next discuss a plan of action with your family members. If you do not have family members than disregard this step. If you do happen to have more than just yourself to look out for than you need to get everyone together for a group huddle. Talk about what do if the matriarch or patriarch of the family dies. Which one of the children will become the absolute leader? Everyone knows a group must have a leader with absolute power. Once this is established you must then appoint either another child, or family pet to be second in command. After these vital steps are completed you can move onto step three successfully.
Building a boat. What could be more important than making your own boat to row yourself to safety? Nothing, tha'ts what. Hammer some pieces of wood together, along with some plastic bags and pieces of furniture. tape up any holes, and voila! you have your boat. If you do not have room in your kit to store the hammer or any other kinds of tool, don't worry about it just toss them in the trash. DVD's and candy are much more important. After all, you cant eat a hammer. You must next pick a designated place to hide from the flood. Higher ground is a good idea. Make someone who is stronger than you pull your boat up a hill. Once you have achieved high ground status get into your boat and wait out the flood. It does not matter if where you are is flooded or not, so long as you are in the boat. This is all about being prepared. Most importantly, make sure to keep your kit dry, no one wants to eat soggy granola. Consider yourself a survivor. Good job.
Our next opponent up to battle is Fire:
Flooding is the pussy of disasters compared to fire. Fire will burn you, and burning hurts. So basically fire will hurt you. Be careful. There is no kit that will save you from a fire, because fire has the ability to burn up your kit. It also has no regard for humans or animals, or electronics. You should be visibly scared at this point because pretty much, fire has no soul and no conscience. It will torch a baby and not care. Your favorite pair of jeans. Torched. Your new stainless steel kitchen appliances. Torched. It mocks your attempts at safety. It blocks all exits out of your home and wants to seal you in what is now a smoky cavern of death and dishonor. Fire does not care. There is nothing you can do to protect yourself against it except install a few little baby smoke alarms. Maybe, not putting cigarettes out on the rug, and also turning off the stove also can count as prevention methods. Other than that, you are at fires mercy. May I suggest sleeping with one eye open. Maybe both eyes open. That way you can get a head start if you see or hear fire coming. In that case you have three seconds to jump out of a window or run in circles screaming " why me, why" Either way, the choice to survive is in your hands. Fire will probably win though so don't knock yourself to hard if you die.
Blizzards:
If you live on the east coast then you know that blizzards pose a constant threat to your survival from December to April. A blizzard starts off innocently, even pretty. Everyone loves snow flakes. Everyone does not love however, snow flakes accompanied by gale force wind that scratch the skin off of your face like a love starved Freddy Kreuger. As the blizzard gathers force it starts to turn what was beautiful, angel scented snow flakes into stellar plated ninja stars shredding your skin and blinding you if you one of those weaklings who succumbed to your lazy ass eyes and started wearing glasses.
This is a storm that could give a shit about ruining your weekend plans to go to pizza hut, or if you'r pregnant and going to give birth at any minute so you need to make sure the road you take to the hospital that is 25 miles away is clear because your baby is probably breached and you can't do a home delivery. Blizzards are actually opportunists and wait for these moments specifically before they let loose their white wintry bowels all over everything in their path. I have never witnessed any natural disaster with such disregard for peoples well being. This bitch just lets loose. After covering your steps, and front yard, and compact car in 40 inches of snow, you have to go shovel it out. It just keeps saying "fuck you." Shoveling can cause cardiac arrest if you are unhealthy and generally spend 17 out of the 24 hours we have in a day in a sitting position, this is most Americans, so beware. It's like the snow is trying to make up for the fact that it looks so non threatening and it has to give itself at least 1 bad ass property. There is nothing you can really do to prepare for a blizzard. You can try to go to the super market to buy some extra food so you do not have to resort to canibalisim while trapped in your house for 3 days. You need really superior survival instincts and a low moral fiber. You will have to fight your way through the market like a Ninja on PCP, stealing frozen turkey's and loaves of bread. TONS of loaves of bread, and milk, so much milk. Because, all you will crave when stuck in your house for 3-4 days is DAIRY! Make sure you get out your war paints so if you do attempt to go to the food store everyone there will know what clan you are from. Families have mistaken each other for members of a different clan and stabbed them to death with safety scissors for trying to "steal" food from their carts. God Speed to you you undertake this endeavor.
Disasters are unavoidable. I think that trying to prepare for them is bullshit. You can't prepare for mother fucking nature. She wont let you. Her whole shtick revolves around the element of surprise. Because with this, she can scare the shit out of you leaving you helpless, possibly naked, and alone with no candy. I will be in the nearest corner shuddering in fear from now on. Unprepared, and constantly worried.
Floods. This was our first order of attention. What do you do when there is flooding? Run like hell, climb up on high stuff, get in a boat made out of wood and scotch tape, what! what! I don't know!. Answer: You prepare for the flood before it happens. Oh.Now that is how you mother fucking do it.*fist pump*
I was unaware until today that Pennsylvania is the number one state for flooding issues. This alarmed me, because I have no idea what to do in case of a flood emergency other than try not to get wet. I disregard all of the warnings and watches on the news about potential flooding. Mostly because I disregard moss things that make me uncomfortable and that I can do nothing about. Flood preparedness seemed like an impossible task and something that would never happen to me. I know better now.
The first thing you should do to prepare for an imminent watery disaster is to have a kit ready. Your kit can consist of anything you want. Granola bars, cans of creamed corn, band-aids, marbles, the first season of Gilmore Girls. Whatever you feel like will get you safely through the flood. After you have assembled your kit you must next discuss a plan of action with your family members. If you do not have family members than disregard this step. If you do happen to have more than just yourself to look out for than you need to get everyone together for a group huddle. Talk about what do if the matriarch or patriarch of the family dies. Which one of the children will become the absolute leader? Everyone knows a group must have a leader with absolute power. Once this is established you must then appoint either another child, or family pet to be second in command. After these vital steps are completed you can move onto step three successfully.
Building a boat. What could be more important than making your own boat to row yourself to safety? Nothing, tha'ts what. Hammer some pieces of wood together, along with some plastic bags and pieces of furniture. tape up any holes, and voila! you have your boat. If you do not have room in your kit to store the hammer or any other kinds of tool, don't worry about it just toss them in the trash. DVD's and candy are much more important. After all, you cant eat a hammer. You must next pick a designated place to hide from the flood. Higher ground is a good idea. Make someone who is stronger than you pull your boat up a hill. Once you have achieved high ground status get into your boat and wait out the flood. It does not matter if where you are is flooded or not, so long as you are in the boat. This is all about being prepared. Most importantly, make sure to keep your kit dry, no one wants to eat soggy granola. Consider yourself a survivor. Good job.
Our next opponent up to battle is Fire:
Flooding is the pussy of disasters compared to fire. Fire will burn you, and burning hurts. So basically fire will hurt you. Be careful. There is no kit that will save you from a fire, because fire has the ability to burn up your kit. It also has no regard for humans or animals, or electronics. You should be visibly scared at this point because pretty much, fire has no soul and no conscience. It will torch a baby and not care. Your favorite pair of jeans. Torched. Your new stainless steel kitchen appliances. Torched. It mocks your attempts at safety. It blocks all exits out of your home and wants to seal you in what is now a smoky cavern of death and dishonor. Fire does not care. There is nothing you can do to protect yourself against it except install a few little baby smoke alarms. Maybe, not putting cigarettes out on the rug, and also turning off the stove also can count as prevention methods. Other than that, you are at fires mercy. May I suggest sleeping with one eye open. Maybe both eyes open. That way you can get a head start if you see or hear fire coming. In that case you have three seconds to jump out of a window or run in circles screaming " why me, why" Either way, the choice to survive is in your hands. Fire will probably win though so don't knock yourself to hard if you die.
Blizzards:
If you live on the east coast then you know that blizzards pose a constant threat to your survival from December to April. A blizzard starts off innocently, even pretty. Everyone loves snow flakes. Everyone does not love however, snow flakes accompanied by gale force wind that scratch the skin off of your face like a love starved Freddy Kreuger. As the blizzard gathers force it starts to turn what was beautiful, angel scented snow flakes into stellar plated ninja stars shredding your skin and blinding you if you one of those weaklings who succumbed to your lazy ass eyes and started wearing glasses.
This is a storm that could give a shit about ruining your weekend plans to go to pizza hut, or if you'r pregnant and going to give birth at any minute so you need to make sure the road you take to the hospital that is 25 miles away is clear because your baby is probably breached and you can't do a home delivery. Blizzards are actually opportunists and wait for these moments specifically before they let loose their white wintry bowels all over everything in their path. I have never witnessed any natural disaster with such disregard for peoples well being. This bitch just lets loose. After covering your steps, and front yard, and compact car in 40 inches of snow, you have to go shovel it out. It just keeps saying "fuck you." Shoveling can cause cardiac arrest if you are unhealthy and generally spend 17 out of the 24 hours we have in a day in a sitting position, this is most Americans, so beware. It's like the snow is trying to make up for the fact that it looks so non threatening and it has to give itself at least 1 bad ass property. There is nothing you can really do to prepare for a blizzard. You can try to go to the super market to buy some extra food so you do not have to resort to canibalisim while trapped in your house for 3 days. You need really superior survival instincts and a low moral fiber. You will have to fight your way through the market like a Ninja on PCP, stealing frozen turkey's and loaves of bread. TONS of loaves of bread, and milk, so much milk. Because, all you will crave when stuck in your house for 3-4 days is DAIRY! Make sure you get out your war paints so if you do attempt to go to the food store everyone there will know what clan you are from. Families have mistaken each other for members of a different clan and stabbed them to death with safety scissors for trying to "steal" food from their carts. God Speed to you you undertake this endeavor.
Disasters are unavoidable. I think that trying to prepare for them is bullshit. You can't prepare for mother fucking nature. She wont let you. Her whole shtick revolves around the element of surprise. Because with this, she can scare the shit out of you leaving you helpless, possibly naked, and alone with no candy. I will be in the nearest corner shuddering in fear from now on. Unprepared, and constantly worried.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Top 5 things I am afraid of that number 1 thing being EVERYTHING.
I really hate hearing sounds.Especially when I am alone. This morning there was a thump-y sound coming from the front room. It sounded like a psychotic animal getting ready to break down my walls and scream " OH YEAH" like the Kool-Aid man, but instead of the "heres a nice refreshing beverage for you, please excuse the pieces of plaster...really tends to be unavoidable when you burst through walls kind of oh yeah. It would be " OH YEAH! TIME FOR ME TO FEAST ON THE BLOOD OF NON VIRGINS AND PEOPLE WITH PERIODONTAL ISSUES HATS OFF MOTHER FUCKERS! " Shit, thats got me written all over it.
It only takes one small out of the ordinary sound for my mind to go on the fritz and make my imagination center start working over time.It starts pumping out scenario after scenario of sadistic ways that evil things will kill me. I really have a problem with stuff I can't see. Like spirits, and ghosts, and demons. My dad informed that it was possible for anyone to become possessed. This did not help that he said this to me while we were watching the Excorcist. From that moment on I was so serious about never summoning demons or dabs, or captain Howdy,or evil dolls that kill you in your sleep, dead celebrities, dead anyone, talking to much about dead people to the point in which they think you are trying to summon them so they just appear and start torturing you because they think thats what you want. I really try hard not to ever do any of that. Except this one time last summer after my Dad passed away. I was like" well maybe I can like contact him via some sort of spirit passage way". Even though he was like " NEVER CONTACT ME VIA SPIRIT PASSAGE WAYS COURTNEY". I have pretty terrible listening skills though.
I read up on contacting the dead online.There, I saw something that said you could think you were contacting a loved one but really it was a spirit who was a good faker and would be pretending to be my dad. I would be lulled into a false sense of security and be all " Hey Dad, how are things, I miss you tons, sometimes I sleep with my shirt up and my belly buttons exposed because I get bored, is this weird?" Meanwhile the spirit/demon is gathering information on you and just waiting for the right time when you are at your most vulnerable. Since spirits enter you via the navel, it just learned valuable information and is waiting for me to go night night. Then when I am good and comfortable, it burrows through my navel like a demonic bullweval wreaking havoc and creating a general environment of chaos. Not Good.
I read up on contacting the dead online.There, I saw something that said you could think you were contacting a loved one but really it was a spirit who was a good faker and would be pretending to be my dad. I would be lulled into a false sense of security and be all " Hey Dad, how are things, I miss you tons, sometimes I sleep with my shirt up and my belly buttons exposed because I get bored, is this weird?" Meanwhile the spirit/demon is gathering information on you and just waiting for the right time when you are at your most vulnerable. Since spirits enter you via the navel, it just learned valuable information and is waiting for me to go night night. Then when I am good and comfortable, it burrows through my navel like a demonic bullweval wreaking havoc and creating a general environment of chaos. Not Good.
This really has been an issue for me since childhood. I was always very afraid of the things I could not see and I was really afraid of the Devil. It did not help that I went to Catholic School where they just loved to talk about how bad and scary the devil was and how if you did't eat all of your vegetables or if you took off your socks and threw them behind the couch instead of in the hamper he would steal your soul and throw you into a river full of boiling lava. He would also chase you with pitch forks for fun and maim puppies in front of you to make you cry. I wanted no parts of this at all. Everyone always commented on how good I was when I was little. It was not because I liked being "good" it was because I was afraid if I did anything wrong I would be sent to hell. Theres motivation for you.
So, pretty much I was haunted by Devil'sh imagery as I'm sure you were already saying to yourself. " Oh I bet she is haunted by devilish images constantly". Well, you are right I was/ am. For many years I had to sleep with ALL the lights on. I am talking, television, radio, night light, ceiling fan light, book light. I was seriously not fucking around with the dark. If I tried to be brave and turn out the lights, I would then see shadows of claws and "666" on my wall. That meant the Devil was in my room and he was coming for me and I was going to die and this was it here he comes. I never got much sleep. Vigilance is a constant. If I had a scratch on me that I failed to notice right away, I would assume them devil was scratching me in my sleep. I am very serious I thought he was scratching me. In my sleep. Yeah, I probably should have been in therapy at an early age. So this was my life, sleeping in a room bathed in un-natural light, scanning for demons, and wearing long sleeved pajamas in the summer to protect myself from devil scratches. Yep, just your normal average child.
It worsened rather than just being some silly " oh remember your Lucifer is scratching me phase". "So glad you are over that". Fraid not Mom. I constantly thought there were demon-y devil- y things everywhere. I seriously fucking believed this. My parents did nothing to dissuade this thinking either. My mom would come in my room when I was at school and write things in the dust on my mirror. One day she wrote " I see you". It was subtle, and it must have taken me a few days to notice it but when I did I flipped my shit. I read it a few times, I though, no this cant be happening. He cant be trying to communicate through my mirror? " Is this really real? " I was stunned and horrified I ran screaming to my parents " MOMDAD THE DEVIL IS WRITING THINGS TO ME OH MY GOD WHY IS THIS HAPPENING, AM I GOING TO BE SET ON FIRE?" My parents found this to be hilarious, and even when my Mom explained to me that this was not really the Devil that it was just her being all evil and funny. I still did not believe them. I figured the Devil had now possessed my Mom and was just trying to trick me into thinking I was safe. There was no where to turn.
I started locking my bedroom door which really displeased my parental units. My Mom was all " Jesus Christ, no, don't do that, what if there is a fire and you need to get out and no one can get to you because the door is locked , Courtney, listen to me, LISTEN no more locking the door" My retort " OH MY GOD MOM, SERIOUSLY? ARE YOU REALLY ASKING ME TO LEAVE THE DOOR UNLOCKED SO THAT I CAN BE POSSESSED! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME, DO YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF I DON'T LOCK THE DOOR... DAMNATION MOTHER. THATS WHAT WILL HAPPEN AND I WILL BE SCRATCHED UP IN MY SLEEP BY A WILD DEMON DEVIL CAT. THANKS A LOT I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME."
My mom thought I was out of my mind mostly. Really I was just overly anxious and scared a lot form being bought up in a chaotic unstable environment. ( I later found this out in therapy) so, really this was almost sort of normal. almost. As I got older,I moved onto being afraid of more sophisticated things like Serial Killers. Yep, I went balls out on this fear. I had my little OCD self running around the house like an ADD meth addict checking doors, and locking them, then unlocking , then locking again just to make sure the lock worked. Then if I was not satisfied I would have my Mom lock the door from the inside while I went outside to see if I could get in.. I never could, and my Mom was like " why was I blessed witch such a retarded child" then after checking the windows, and back door one more time. I went to bed.
It did not stop there though, I completely disregarded my Mom's orders not to shut and lock my door. I barricaded myself in my room. My thoughts were, the more things I had against my door the less likely a serial killer would be able to get into my room and rip out my organs with a grappling hook. Made sense to me. I locked it, and I would push blankets in front of it, towels, my night stand sometimes my dresser. Whatever I could move with out making to much noise as to alert my parents that I was doing something weird. This sort of helped calm me down but not really. I tried to talk my Dad into sleeping on the couch a lot, that way he could hear if anyone or anything was trying to get in. Sometimes this worked, but mostly he slept in his bed like a normal person. I would finally pass out and then it would happen. I would wake up at 3 am and have to pee. I tried so hard not to have to but I had not yet reached the stage where I found it acceptable to urinate in my bed because it was safer than braving the hallway and going to the bathroom. I was close though. I would first crawl to the end of the bed, put my ear to the door and listen. I did this for a few minutes because I am sure Serial Killers are to smart to be loud, so I had to be extra vigilant on this part. Then I would use one eye to peer out of the crack of my door jam and try to see if anything was out there. It did not look like it, but it was dark, so I could never be 100% about this. I waited until I was almost peeing my pants then I slowly opened my door and crept down the hallway then made a mad dash for the bathroom.
Once I got to the bathroom safely, I had to repeat the process. I listened, I tried to see if anything was coming, I sometimes passed out on the bathroom floor from listening for to long. Made yet another mad dash to my bedroom which would have to be re searched for potential life ending things. If it looked safe, I could then go back to sleep. If it did not look safe I would run back down the hallway of doom into my parents room and sleep on their floor. Better to die as a group then all alone. This goes on even now. Except my hallway is a lot smaller and I no longer live at home.I can't really run I just sort of fall into the bathroom really quickly. There is no lock on the bathroom door so if I ever hear anything unusual I hold onto the doorknob really tightly just in case anything should try to come in and attack me. Good to know I gained some sense of reality as I've grown older.
Yep pretty much, it's really exciting living in a state of constant and total fear. Almost like a fun house, except not fun, so sorry that was a bad analogy.
I started locking my bedroom door which really displeased my parental units. My Mom was all " Jesus Christ, no, don't do that, what if there is a fire and you need to get out and no one can get to you because the door is locked , Courtney, listen to me, LISTEN no more locking the door" My retort " OH MY GOD MOM, SERIOUSLY? ARE YOU REALLY ASKING ME TO LEAVE THE DOOR UNLOCKED SO THAT I CAN BE POSSESSED! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME, DO YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF I DON'T LOCK THE DOOR... DAMNATION MOTHER. THATS WHAT WILL HAPPEN AND I WILL BE SCRATCHED UP IN MY SLEEP BY A WILD DEMON DEVIL CAT. THANKS A LOT I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME."
My mom thought I was out of my mind mostly. Really I was just overly anxious and scared a lot form being bought up in a chaotic unstable environment. ( I later found this out in therapy) so, really this was almost sort of normal. almost. As I got older,I moved onto being afraid of more sophisticated things like Serial Killers. Yep, I went balls out on this fear. I had my little OCD self running around the house like an ADD meth addict checking doors, and locking them, then unlocking , then locking again just to make sure the lock worked. Then if I was not satisfied I would have my Mom lock the door from the inside while I went outside to see if I could get in.. I never could, and my Mom was like " why was I blessed witch such a retarded child" then after checking the windows, and back door one more time. I went to bed.
It did not stop there though, I completely disregarded my Mom's orders not to shut and lock my door. I barricaded myself in my room. My thoughts were, the more things I had against my door the less likely a serial killer would be able to get into my room and rip out my organs with a grappling hook. Made sense to me. I locked it, and I would push blankets in front of it, towels, my night stand sometimes my dresser. Whatever I could move with out making to much noise as to alert my parents that I was doing something weird. This sort of helped calm me down but not really. I tried to talk my Dad into sleeping on the couch a lot, that way he could hear if anyone or anything was trying to get in. Sometimes this worked, but mostly he slept in his bed like a normal person. I would finally pass out and then it would happen. I would wake up at 3 am and have to pee. I tried so hard not to have to but I had not yet reached the stage where I found it acceptable to urinate in my bed because it was safer than braving the hallway and going to the bathroom. I was close though. I would first crawl to the end of the bed, put my ear to the door and listen. I did this for a few minutes because I am sure Serial Killers are to smart to be loud, so I had to be extra vigilant on this part. Then I would use one eye to peer out of the crack of my door jam and try to see if anything was out there. It did not look like it, but it was dark, so I could never be 100% about this. I waited until I was almost peeing my pants then I slowly opened my door and crept down the hallway then made a mad dash for the bathroom.
Once I got to the bathroom safely, I had to repeat the process. I listened, I tried to see if anything was coming, I sometimes passed out on the bathroom floor from listening for to long. Made yet another mad dash to my bedroom which would have to be re searched for potential life ending things. If it looked safe, I could then go back to sleep. If it did not look safe I would run back down the hallway of doom into my parents room and sleep on their floor. Better to die as a group then all alone. This goes on even now. Except my hallway is a lot smaller and I no longer live at home.I can't really run I just sort of fall into the bathroom really quickly. There is no lock on the bathroom door so if I ever hear anything unusual I hold onto the doorknob really tightly just in case anything should try to come in and attack me. Good to know I gained some sense of reality as I've grown older.
Yep pretty much, it's really exciting living in a state of constant and total fear. Almost like a fun house, except not fun, so sorry that was a bad analogy.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
More butter please, and would you be so kind as to apply it directly to my ass.
While I want my ass to be smaller, I do not feel like competing against my myself in what will become a mental triathlon.
I need to get myself all "juiced" up if you will, on weird shit like " man, if I stop eating Mike and Ike's for dinner my fingers will be just as skinny as Ashlee Simpson's and I will look SO thin when I use my phone!
I start doing different, weird " healthy" things to my diet, like no more ice cream on top of my pudding covered sugar fried waffles. I become a czar of nutrition. An absolute Nazi about caloric intake, carbohydrate mandates are passed, and sugar stimulus plan get set into action. Obviously, Fat free EVERYTHING. NO FAT EVER NOT AT ALL NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO LOOK AT BUTTER.
I then do a mental intake on myself and start doing some " real" work. I will ask myself, " do you really want to go through all this just to make your ass look a little less like bag of potatoes and a little more like a a loaf of bread"? The answer will be, " More. Butter. Please."
Guess that means I am not ready to commit to a life of no sugar or deep fried butter sticks. No more tortillas dipped in butter wrapped in bacon covered in lard. Sigh, what is life even worth living at that point.What reason would I have to wake up in the morning if I knew everything I had to eat came out the ground, and had vitamins. No life at all. I know.
I tried the whole " holistic" nutrition thing. This woman I talked to every two weeks on the phone charged me $200.00 a month just to tell me vegetables are good for me and to not eat an entire pie in one sitting. Because entire pies are bad. Yep, you read that right $200.00. Sometimes we talked about "feelings" and how I felt when I ate something that was red, or blue. She would ask me questions like " When you eat a brown thing, do you feel connected to the Earth?" I found it very difficult to answer these kinds of things without laughing. I tried really hard to convince myself that I had made the right choice to go holistic and to talk about how the colors of foods and rainbows and dream catchers made me feel inside. I tried, but I failed.
There is no reason for someone like me who has issues with inappropriate laughter to be consulting with someone who says things like " Have you ever heard the wolf cry at the Blue Full moon., or ask the grinning Bobcat, why he grins?" It was just never going to work out. I could not take what she said to heart because my bullshit senses were in tune. I knew something was not right when she became overly concerned that if I feel "flighty" I should eat potatoes or squash because they would make me feel grounded. When I feel flighty, or stressed I want a fucking pop tart bitch. Not a spaghetti squash with no salt, butter, or taste. Come off it.
It was a weird time in my life to say the least. I spent so much money on fresh produce, and was basically at the grocery store every Goddamn day buying greens, and yellow looking plant things that were supposedly good for you. Some of the things I was instructed to eat I could not even pronounce, yet I had to "trust the program" and " listen to my body". Listening to my body was bad, my body says things like " this needs BBQ sauce, maybe you should have deep fried this bacon. have you considered putting icing on that pancake? I know me. I generally shy away from things that are good or healthy and tend to run full speed toward the path of self destruction and devastation . I like that path, I am familiar with it.
Needless to say, this program did not last, I gained weigh, lost money, and felt like a complete failure at the end of it. Well, I kind of quit it without really ever giving her notice because I did not want to outwardly admit that I was unable to commit to this lifestyle of good choices and red poop from eating to many raw beets. I just stopped going, as I do many things because I cant think of a good enough reason to continue but also can't justify a good enough reason to say "I quit."
This brings me back to the whole wanting to lose weight thing now. I will eventually start losing weight again. I will also inevitably stop losing weight again because my need for self sabotage outweighs my need to achieve. Many therapists have said this to me. I think they might just be onto something. I
Basically, the only thing I learned from eating healthy was that I prefer pudding to yogurt and will take soda over water any day. I spend lots of hundreds of dollars to be instructed to "buy more Kale." I could have thought of that myself. So, pretty much I bet that I am a success story on that lady's wall of fame. Under my "before" picture I'm quite sure it reads "Fatter than before."
I need to get myself all "juiced" up if you will, on weird shit like " man, if I stop eating Mike and Ike's for dinner my fingers will be just as skinny as Ashlee Simpson's and I will look SO thin when I use my phone!
I start doing different, weird " healthy" things to my diet, like no more ice cream on top of my pudding covered sugar fried waffles. I become a czar of nutrition. An absolute Nazi about caloric intake, carbohydrate mandates are passed, and sugar stimulus plan get set into action. Obviously, Fat free EVERYTHING. NO FAT EVER NOT AT ALL NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO LOOK AT BUTTER.
I then do a mental intake on myself and start doing some " real" work. I will ask myself, " do you really want to go through all this just to make your ass look a little less like bag of potatoes and a little more like a a loaf of bread"? The answer will be, " More. Butter. Please."
Guess that means I am not ready to commit to a life of no sugar or deep fried butter sticks. No more tortillas dipped in butter wrapped in bacon covered in lard. Sigh, what is life even worth living at that point.What reason would I have to wake up in the morning if I knew everything I had to eat came out the ground, and had vitamins. No life at all. I know.
I tried the whole " holistic" nutrition thing. This woman I talked to every two weeks on the phone charged me $200.00 a month just to tell me vegetables are good for me and to not eat an entire pie in one sitting. Because entire pies are bad. Yep, you read that right $200.00. Sometimes we talked about "feelings" and how I felt when I ate something that was red, or blue. She would ask me questions like " When you eat a brown thing, do you feel connected to the Earth?" I found it very difficult to answer these kinds of things without laughing. I tried really hard to convince myself that I had made the right choice to go holistic and to talk about how the colors of foods and rainbows and dream catchers made me feel inside. I tried, but I failed.
There is no reason for someone like me who has issues with inappropriate laughter to be consulting with someone who says things like " Have you ever heard the wolf cry at the Blue Full moon., or ask the grinning Bobcat, why he grins?" It was just never going to work out. I could not take what she said to heart because my bullshit senses were in tune. I knew something was not right when she became overly concerned that if I feel "flighty" I should eat potatoes or squash because they would make me feel grounded. When I feel flighty, or stressed I want a fucking pop tart bitch. Not a spaghetti squash with no salt, butter, or taste. Come off it.
It was a weird time in my life to say the least. I spent so much money on fresh produce, and was basically at the grocery store every Goddamn day buying greens, and yellow looking plant things that were supposedly good for you. Some of the things I was instructed to eat I could not even pronounce, yet I had to "trust the program" and " listen to my body". Listening to my body was bad, my body says things like " this needs BBQ sauce, maybe you should have deep fried this bacon. have you considered putting icing on that pancake? I know me. I generally shy away from things that are good or healthy and tend to run full speed toward the path of self destruction and devastation . I like that path, I am familiar with it.
Needless to say, this program did not last, I gained weigh, lost money, and felt like a complete failure at the end of it. Well, I kind of quit it without really ever giving her notice because I did not want to outwardly admit that I was unable to commit to this lifestyle of good choices and red poop from eating to many raw beets. I just stopped going, as I do many things because I cant think of a good enough reason to continue but also can't justify a good enough reason to say "I quit."
This brings me back to the whole wanting to lose weight thing now. I will eventually start losing weight again. I will also inevitably stop losing weight again because my need for self sabotage outweighs my need to achieve. Many therapists have said this to me. I think they might just be onto something. I
Basically, the only thing I learned from eating healthy was that I prefer pudding to yogurt and will take soda over water any day. I spend lots of hundreds of dollars to be instructed to "buy more Kale." I could have thought of that myself. So, pretty much I bet that I am a success story on that lady's wall of fame. Under my "before" picture I'm quite sure it reads "
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Ever been on a boat filled with spider monkeys and glue?
Ever feel like turning into a big knife? Like your whole body would become a big ass blade of sheer terror and it would just wield so much power that everyone would stay the fuck away from you. I have? In fact, I feel like that now.
I wish people understood that when you break up, it means just that, you are broken. As in no longer together equaling one whole part. Meaning two separate parts that no longer need the other half they are separated from to function as a whole. Basically, stay the fuck away from the other part that you are no longer attached to. Why is this so hard to understand?
Its like very basic geometry. I was never very good at geometry other than, " this round thing is a circle, this square thing is a square, this long square thing is a rectangle and this pointy one is a triangle". That's all I got out of it. I do know however, that when you cut a square in half, or a circle, or a triangle it then becomes two separate things and that means it is broken. Broken up if you will. It really is not that hard, it's not like calculus or advanced physics. There are no unsolvable equations and weird unidentifiable symbols. No, its fucking simple like, 1 parts coke 2 parts rum simple. SO EASY! Being that it is so easy, I do not understand why Mike's ex cant comprehend it. She does after all have an Ivy League education. She should at least be good in basic geometry.
Thing is, she's not. And this is why I need to cut her with something like a paring knife from Ikea. Because, she feels as though it is perfectly acceptable to over step her boundaries and try to stick her triangle on to Mikes square. NO. NOT HAPPENING. This disturbs me, do not e-mail and reference When Harry met Sally. Do not try to lure him into your web of filth and disgusting hair. Back it up son.
My best comparison is this: It makes me feel like I am in the ocean and Mike is the raft I am floating on. The raft is the thing that makes me happy and keeps me safe from all the sting-y bite-y things waiting to get me in the big bad deadly Ocean . I float along happily until the raft starts to be rocked by big annoying curly waves. I have to hold onto the raft and simultaneously fight off all the sting-y things with my oar and then kick all the bite-y things with my legs and this takes so much effort and makes me so mad that I can't just enjoy the mother fucking sunshine on my raft.ALL I WANT TO DO IS FLOAT MOTHER FUCKS.!!!! NO, the big curly freak waves want to rock the shit out of my raft and try to throw me into the ocean to drown and die and get attacked by stingy-stab machines of death. Stupid waves are trying to suck my raft into their ugliness and turn it into a yacht that floats the Philadelphia Phillies around. I manage to secure my raft to a rock though, because I am resourceful and a survivor so the wave can go fuck itself. I love the raft, I am keeping the raft. Fuck off.
I have lost a lot of stuff lately, mostly that stuff is people Pretty much I hate feeling like people are trying to take things away for me, I should be entitled to have a few things that make me happy, so I hold on pretty tightly. Like a little spider monkey with glue on it's paws. So, that's pretty much what this situation has come down to. Oceans filled with rafts filled with Spider Monkeys who were playing with glue. Makes sense now doesn't it?
I wish people understood that when you break up, it means just that, you are broken. As in no longer together equaling one whole part. Meaning two separate parts that no longer need the other half they are separated from to function as a whole. Basically, stay the fuck away from the other part that you are no longer attached to. Why is this so hard to understand?
Its like very basic geometry. I was never very good at geometry other than, " this round thing is a circle, this square thing is a square, this long square thing is a rectangle and this pointy one is a triangle". That's all I got out of it. I do know however, that when you cut a square in half, or a circle, or a triangle it then becomes two separate things and that means it is broken. Broken up if you will. It really is not that hard, it's not like calculus or advanced physics. There are no unsolvable equations and weird unidentifiable symbols. No, its fucking simple like, 1 parts coke 2 parts rum simple. SO EASY! Being that it is so easy, I do not understand why Mike's ex cant comprehend it. She does after all have an Ivy League education. She should at least be good in basic geometry.
Thing is, she's not. And this is why I need to cut her with something like a paring knife from Ikea. Because, she feels as though it is perfectly acceptable to over step her boundaries and try to stick her triangle on to Mikes square. NO. NOT HAPPENING. This disturbs me, do not e-mail and reference When Harry met Sally. Do not try to lure him into your web of filth and disgusting hair. Back it up son.
My best comparison is this: It makes me feel like I am in the ocean and Mike is the raft I am floating on. The raft is the thing that makes me happy and keeps me safe from all the sting-y bite-y things waiting to get me in the big bad deadly Ocean . I float along happily until the raft starts to be rocked by big annoying curly waves. I have to hold onto the raft and simultaneously fight off all the sting-y things with my oar and then kick all the bite-y things with my legs and this takes so much effort and makes me so mad that I can't just enjoy the mother fucking sunshine on my raft.ALL I WANT TO DO IS FLOAT MOTHER FUCKS.!!!! NO, the big curly freak waves want to rock the shit out of my raft and try to throw me into the ocean to drown and die and get attacked by stingy-stab machines of death. Stupid waves are trying to suck my raft into their ugliness and turn it into a yacht that floats the Philadelphia Phillies around. I manage to secure my raft to a rock though, because I am resourceful and a survivor so the wave can go fuck itself. I love the raft, I am keeping the raft. Fuck off.
I have lost a lot of stuff lately, mostly that stuff is people Pretty much I hate feeling like people are trying to take things away for me, I should be entitled to have a few things that make me happy, so I hold on pretty tightly. Like a little spider monkey with glue on it's paws. So, that's pretty much what this situation has come down to. Oceans filled with rafts filled with Spider Monkeys who were playing with glue. Makes sense now doesn't it?
Monday, September 27, 2010
why living in an amusement park and owning a cotton candy machine basically is like being in Heaven and Disney world all at once.
Within the next two weeks I expect to totally break my pancreas and become Diabetic.
Mike and I bought $120.00 in candy. Bulk size. Now and laters, whoppers, 5 lbs of watermelon Sour Patch kids 3 pounds of Bavarian cream in a tube. It's what I imagine Caligula's kitchen would have looked like. Decadent yet accessible. As you can see, we are both very pre-occupied with healthy eating. We also both know a lot about "limitations"
Fuck it, I love candy. I would shank a baby for some skittles.I am not even ashamed of that. If I ever win the lottery, or some money at a Casino, first thing I am purchasing is a Cotton Candy machine. Think about it, I would be able to stick my entire face into the whirl pool of spinning sugar and just inhale mouthfuls of it. It would be the ultimate act of gluttony. I would sell my TV and buy a deep fryer, I would set all of this up in my front yard and it would be like a year round carnival that only Mike and were invited to. If we were feeling generous and giving we would maybe give some of the funnel cake we could not eat to the neighborhood children. Not for free though, first rule of business ethics " Charge for everything, even if it says it's free, charge anyway" No one ever ran a successful business by giving shit away. Thats called charity, and charity wont buy us a 60' flat screen TV with a Bose surround sound. Plus, paying for things makes people feel important and worthy. Like they are contributing to society by purchasing carnival food out of someones front yard. It also makes them feel a little less poor because " hey we can afford this!". Basically we will be like two GREAT,MAGICAL samaratins. Doing good, and fighting hunger one cotton candy at a time.
Something tells me this might be the best idea I have ever had. If I could, I would live in an amusement park. It would have to be empty though, except for the workers. I would need people there to maintain vigilance about ride safety and park cleanliness. I said I wanted to live in an amusement park, not die an unnecessary death in one. So, pretty much I would choose to live in Busch Gardens because I have never been there and it looks like the epitome of awesome. It's like if the Boardwalk and Richard Simmons had a baby, that baby would be Bush Gardens. Shiny and so much fun it makes your brain misfire electrons which run into some neutrons that then leak down into your spinal column causing you to be momentarily paralyzed with extreme excitement and a little fear. That is exactly how it is like.
Now, entrance into my amusement park home would be by invitation only. I would not want filthy people taking up space and making me have to wait in line to go on the Tilt-OWhirl, because everyone knows waiting in line for the Tilt-O-Whirl is just about the most devastating thing you can ever have to do. It just really tortures your soul to see other people in front of you who are not nearly as big of fans as you are of spinning in circles that make you feel like you are going to throw up that deep fried snickers bar and Mountain Dew you just ate. No these people are pigs. They are just trying to hold you back from realizing your dream of the "spin puke" puking in a full 360 degree spin. These people want to ruin your life. They will not be allowed into your park.
I have thought about it a lot, and really it just makes so much more sense than living in a regular boring house with boring things and only 1 bathroom. Why do that? Why when instead of only have one stupid toilet you could have 37 of them and urinals! If I wanted to be a bad ass and pee standing up, I totally could! Also why be, woken up by a boring, ordinary alarm clock, I could be woken up by the sounds of splashing and having freezing cold water drenching me from going full speed down a log flume! Not only does it wake me up it also serves as a shower. Thats two things in one! My clock at home can only do ONE THING! I really do not see why I am even still living in a house. Because my house does not have a log flume, or the Musik Express, and when I am bored and want to spin in circles I have to do it manually and use my legs, and I can never spin fast enough so I get frustrated and disenchanted with life because why the FUCK cant I spin FAST! DAMNIT ALL I WANT TO DO IS SPIN AND HAVE SOME FUN, ALL I WANT TO DO IS HAVE SOME FUN UNTIL THE SUN COMES UP OVER SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD!
It makes me so angry that I start screaming Sheryl Crow lyrics in a Bobcat Goldthwait voice. Except it has a hint of a Cookie Monster undertone to it. That is some serous ass anger. * It's really fun to sing that last part up top in the Bobcat Cookie monster voice, you should try it*. Anyway, all this anger at not being able to achieve my desired G Force has only reiterated to me even more that I need to make this dream a reality. It will be mine.. Oh yes. It will be mine.
If it is not mine, I guess I will have to suck it up and live in my boring house that is to small to fit even one stupid roller coaster. I mean, really, how is it even adequate at all if my house can not even accommodate even one little baby sized thrill ride? Why even have a house? It's so unfair to be confined to such a small unmanageable, unimaginative space. Sigh, life is hard.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
How becoming an alcoholic could change my life for the better.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I took up drinking full time. Probably pretty awesome is my guess. Every day I would down 2 six packs of Smirnoff Ice and a bottle of Friday's Bahama Mama mix. Pretty much I can't see how this lifestyle would not work out to my advantage, I mean, who doesn't love a successful closet alcoholic? No one, thats who.
I imagine it to be something like this; I wake up in the morning a little shaky. I can't tell if it's from dehydration or Delirium tremors. This would be kind of exciting, I would be in a constant state of surprise not knowing if I was going to be able to get out of bed or not. Awesome right? I would probably then stumble into the bathroom, vomit up some cheese fries I ate at the bar the night before. I would be partying hard and eating a lot of greasy bar foods. This daily vomiting would be really helpful to my figure though and help me stay in shape. Everyone knows obesity kills. See, the alcoholism is working for me.
Immediately I would reach for a drink as soon as I was done puking up the lining of my large intestine. No one ever said being an alcoholic was sexy. Obviously being the organized and prepared person I am, my night table would be turned into a mini bar. I would have tons of tiny "pick me ups" lined up according to what gave me the quickest buzz. The bottom cabinet would house a decent variety of wines and Swedish Vodkas. Just because I am a drunk does not mean I no longer have a discriminating palate. There would also be two Waterford crystal tulip goblets to drink my finest Merlot from. I would stay on the classy side of drunk.
Once enough alcohol had saturated my blood. I would then get ready to go to work. I would never ever be stressed out about going to my job again. Drunk people don't give a fuck. That's how I imagine I would be. After getting dressed, and pulling what appeared to be some leaves, and hunks of dried blood out of my hair, from my previous nights antics. I would be ready to take on the day! Work might notice that I maybe had a drinking problem. They would be sympathetic due to the current recession we are in. My boss would ever so delicately decline my presence at meetings, request that I have my own private office due to mid afternoon "naps." Also, I would be given only menial tasks to do like lick envelopes and drink coffee. They would totally be supportive and give me virtually no responsibility at all! TOTALLY FUCKING AWESOME!
It would just get better, I would get promotions for " trying", my family would see that I was struggling with day to day activities like bathing and cleaning up after myself so they would hire me a housekeeper/ nurses aid. They would make sure I did not aspirate vomit into my lungs when I passed out, and would also be able to administer local anesthetic for the stitches I would need, because I would fall down a lot. They would also keep the house in mint mother fucking condition, because it will be of even more importance to keep things in order when I'm drunk. Trying to navigate through piles of filth looking for something that will seem at the time of the utmost importance, something like a Ziplock bag filled with rocks, will be impossible when I have double vision and a gut full of Absolute and generic cola. Like the saying goes cleanliness is Godliness. That will be even more true for me.
Let's not even start on how bad ass it is going to be when my family see's I stopped paying my bills. They see me as helpless, like a kitten who only has one eye and three legs. I try , but I can only do so much with the hand I was dealt. Like the Little Engine that could. Only I can't. Naturally they take over my finances and make sure to deposit enough money into my bank account so that I can buy things like food, and clothes. What they won't know is that I'm buying liquor and taquitos from 7-11. Life is so fucking sweet! I mean who does not dream of a life where they can do nothing all day except drink and eat knock off Mexican food. If you answered no one, you win! So basically becoming an alcoholic is like, the best decision I will ever have made for myself. It will be a win win for me either way I go. Even if none of the above things happened and I lost my house, job, respect, and was left to live on the streets destitute and had to hold up a sign I made that said " Will warj fer MONEAY" (Note: I will have made this while drinking heavily) People will feel bad that I am illiterate and smell, and give me money .I still win! Impressive huh? Because in both of these scenarios I have managed to avoid ANY responsibilities whatsoever. Fool proof plan, I bet you wish you would have though of it.
I imagine it to be something like this; I wake up in the morning a little shaky. I can't tell if it's from dehydration or Delirium tremors. This would be kind of exciting, I would be in a constant state of surprise not knowing if I was going to be able to get out of bed or not. Awesome right? I would probably then stumble into the bathroom, vomit up some cheese fries I ate at the bar the night before. I would be partying hard and eating a lot of greasy bar foods. This daily vomiting would be really helpful to my figure though and help me stay in shape. Everyone knows obesity kills. See, the alcoholism is working for me.
Immediately I would reach for a drink as soon as I was done puking up the lining of my large intestine. No one ever said being an alcoholic was sexy. Obviously being the organized and prepared person I am, my night table would be turned into a mini bar. I would have tons of tiny "pick me ups" lined up according to what gave me the quickest buzz. The bottom cabinet would house a decent variety of wines and Swedish Vodkas. Just because I am a drunk does not mean I no longer have a discriminating palate. There would also be two Waterford crystal tulip goblets to drink my finest Merlot from. I would stay on the classy side of drunk.
Once enough alcohol had saturated my blood. I would then get ready to go to work. I would never ever be stressed out about going to my job again. Drunk people don't give a fuck. That's how I imagine I would be. After getting dressed, and pulling what appeared to be some leaves, and hunks of dried blood out of my hair, from my previous nights antics. I would be ready to take on the day! Work might notice that I maybe had a drinking problem. They would be sympathetic due to the current recession we are in. My boss would ever so delicately decline my presence at meetings, request that I have my own private office due to mid afternoon "naps." Also, I would be given only menial tasks to do like lick envelopes and drink coffee. They would totally be supportive and give me virtually no responsibility at all! TOTALLY FUCKING AWESOME!
It would just get better, I would get promotions for " trying", my family would see that I was struggling with day to day activities like bathing and cleaning up after myself so they would hire me a housekeeper/ nurses aid. They would make sure I did not aspirate vomit into my lungs when I passed out, and would also be able to administer local anesthetic for the stitches I would need, because I would fall down a lot. They would also keep the house in mint mother fucking condition, because it will be of even more importance to keep things in order when I'm drunk. Trying to navigate through piles of filth looking for something that will seem at the time of the utmost importance, something like a Ziplock bag filled with rocks, will be impossible when I have double vision and a gut full of Absolute and generic cola. Like the saying goes cleanliness is Godliness. That will be even more true for me.
Let's not even start on how bad ass it is going to be when my family see's I stopped paying my bills. They see me as helpless, like a kitten who only has one eye and three legs. I try , but I can only do so much with the hand I was dealt. Like the Little Engine that could. Only I can't. Naturally they take over my finances and make sure to deposit enough money into my bank account so that I can buy things like food, and clothes. What they won't know is that I'm buying liquor and taquitos from 7-11. Life is so fucking sweet! I mean who does not dream of a life where they can do nothing all day except drink and eat knock off Mexican food. If you answered no one, you win! So basically becoming an alcoholic is like, the best decision I will ever have made for myself. It will be a win win for me either way I go. Even if none of the above things happened and I lost my house, job, respect, and was left to live on the streets destitute and had to hold up a sign I made that said " Will warj fer MONEAY" (Note: I will have made this while drinking heavily) People will feel bad that I am illiterate and smell, and give me money .I still win! Impressive huh? Because in both of these scenarios I have managed to avoid ANY responsibilities whatsoever. Fool proof plan, I bet you wish you would have though of it.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
How my boyfriend came back from the dead!
I have an extreme fear of people I love dying. This and home invasions. I don't know when this started, or why my mind decided to become completely obsessed with them. But it goes through periods of not sleeping because of worrying about one or both of these happening simultaneously.
Last night, Mike came home from work really late. I feel asleep close to 1:00 am. Despite my valiant efforts at trying to outlast my bodies need to rest. When you sleep, you are vulnerable. So rape-ishly vulnerable. Like a genetically engineered pocket sized lamb. There is no defending yourself. I woke up at 2:15, I look around and sense something is missing. That something is Michael. I immediately go to the bathroom. Not because I thought he was in there, but because I really had to pee. I come back to bed and slowly feel the adrenalin starting to surge through my veins. It dawns on me."OH MY GOD HE IS NO LONGER ALIVE! I WILL HAVE TO CALL HIS DAD AND TELL HIM HE IS NOT HOME BECAUSE HE IS DEAD AND THEN I WILL HAVE TO STAY IN THIS HOUSE ALL ALONE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE KILLING MICE AND BEING TORMENTED BY SPIDERS. HOME INVADERS WILL BREAK IN EVERY NIGHT AND HIDE IN MY CLOSET AND UNDER THE BED STABBING ME WITH THINGS THAT ARE SHARP BUT NOT DEADLY. I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN, I WILL NEVER GET MARRIED, AND I WILL HAVE TO PAY ALLI THE BILLS BY MYSELF . FUCKUCKFUCK.
I tried to remain calm, despite my adrenal medulla working twenty-six times faster than is called for. I could not calm down, I tried to tell myself " he is probably alive, I bet he is on the bus." My adrenalin soaked brain however was all " FAT CHANCE! HE IS DEAD. HE IS AS OF THIS MOMENT, EVEN DEADER THAN HE WAS 20 SECONDS AGO." My mind was not able to tolerate its own torment so I did what I usually do in situations I cant handle. I pretend it is not happening.I tried to fool myself into thinking I could sleep, however the cocktail of "flight or flight" chemicals my body was drenching every cell membrane in, would most definitely not let this happen. I laid there for all of 30 seconds when my magical thinking set in and I though if I looked out the window long enough I could summon him to appear alive and not mauled by a Serial Killer.
I did this, I thought it worked because a cab drove down my street and I thought " oh this must be him, thank God for me looking out this window which now I associate with having magical properties. It was not him. I slipped back into panic mode. My adrenalin induced high subsided a little and I was able to lay my head down. I couldn't shut my eyes, I think my pupils were still too dilated to be able to close. I decided if he was not home by 3:00 that this meant he was absolutely in the first stages of rigor mortis somewhere in an alley in Kensington. It was now 2:30, my hopes of ever eating "nacho eggs", ( a new recipe I had concocted while in the shower one morning) with Mike would never come to fruition. 2:35, the bedroom door bursts open. My first thought is, HOME FUCKING INVASION ITS HAPPENING! The only plan I have for this scenario if I am alone is to jump out of a window. It does not matter what floor I am on. I would rather die of a heart attack free falling to my death than at the hands of a murder-y burglar rapist.Then I see him, like a shining beacon of alive-ness. HE'S NOT DEAD!
I wanted so badly to run up and attack Mike with breath shortening hugs. I resisted though, because I wanted him to think I was calmly, and peacefully sleeping. I feigned sleepiness and instead said " hey, your home late". He was like "yeah". Then he turned out the light and got into bed. I then had to hug him. I imagine this was something like the Apostles felt when Jesus came back and was all " hey whats up, sorry I couldn't call the reception in that cave you guys stuck me in was really crappy, and man was it dark.' All of the Apostles cheered because, JESUS CHRIST, that dead guy just came back to life!. That is how I felt when Michael walked through the door. He was all " lets go to sleep now" He did not realize I had just been through the five stages of grieving in the past half hour and the multiple chemical cocktails my brain churned out were still coursing through me. I kept hugging him and shut my eyes, got a solid two hours of sleep. I was pretty pumped when I woke up the next in the morning. Not because I felt rejuvenated, but because Mike was still alive! and I was not hacked to death in my sleep. I WIN!
I really should tell him not to let me read, or even look at the news because it just fuels my insane fear of us both being stabbed up then shot then raped a little while we are sleeping. I just cant handle it.
Monday, September 20, 2010
what never to do when you are in a relationship:The six steps to ruining your chance at happiness.
"Here is a list I am compiling of things you generally want to avoid doing while dating someone. I think you will find it to be thorough and detailed.
1) Talking to you'r ex is like sticking your hand in a bee hive. Fucking dangerous.
If you want a sure fire way to piss off your current significant other and make them doubt that they love you. TALK TO YOUR EX!! A LOT! There is not a surer way to guarantee that your current lady or guy will develop an inferiority complex so devastating ,that the only way they will be able to calm themselves down is by eating their own hair.
2) Keeping all of the little things, like photos, postcards, Christmas stockings, emails, conversations you had over the internet. You know, the important things. This a big no no. It says " I care, but not about you"
This is a great way to show the person you are currently in a relationship with that you are completely obsessed... with your ex! They will appreciate that you are holding onto your past so dearly. They probably will just tell you "Fuck this, me and my life. Go back to him/her because I am tired of you trying to get me to wear the skin suit you made out of your ex girlfriend." You obviously are unable to shed the leftover "skin" of your last relationship and it is smothering this current one like saran wrap over a Koalas face. Please, go ahead and be with the person who ripped out your heart cut it open and filled it with liquid nails. Then decided to pawn it to get some extra cash for Wawa's Hoagie fest. Yes, you would be doing us both a favor by doing this.
3) Calling your significant other by your ex's name. This probably will clue them in that you don't give a fuck and clearly are not even thinking of them while humping the shit out of them every night in bed. Bad move. Don't do it.
If you really want to let the cat out of the bag that your feelings are for someone else other than the person you are sleeping with. Call them by another name! You will be so surprised how offended and murder-y the person becomes. They may even resort to violence. What a fast solution to ending a relationship you don't even want to be in! Nothing says " I never loved you" like a Protection From Abuse order.
4) Becoming overly excited about anything your ex says or does. This means having an abnormal expression of emotions at little things like finding out they cut their fingernails to "sporty" length , became Pre- Diabetic, whining about their current state of unhappiness, or hearing through the grapevine they started using a new brand of razor.THAT MOTHER FUCKER!
This can be tricky. You need to really flip the fuck out for this to work. Pull out some of your molars, then set something on fire, Roll around on the floor moaning a lot and muttering about how you used to be the only one who could talk *ex* into switching razor brands. How are you going to go on living knowing that your judgment no longer impacts their life? How will you ever wake up in the morning knowing that they no longer need you to tell them what brand of toilet paper to purchase? This will most definitely signal to the person you are with that you are not really interested in them and would much rather bitch and whine about why your ex stopped using your face as the background on their desktop than spend time with them.
5) Cheating. This is always bad and generally makes the person you are with really angry. Basically if you do this you are fucked. I'm sure both figuratively and literally.Of course if you do this it means you do not give a fuck about being fucked, so to hell with it. Why even bother wearing pants when on public transportation at this point. It just hinders the process really. You could be so much more effective in your cheating if you just stopped wearing clothes all together. Why waste time?
Being cheated on sucks. It sucks more than the Flowbee. This is an absolute way to say " Fuck you" " I never loved you, I will never love you, in fact I hope I gave you herpes and the clap because that is how little I love you" It also says " You are a little dumb because I was able to bone someone else behind your back". This is not cool at all. Pretty much, this just sucks balls. It is mean and only shitty bitch assholes do it. This is yet, another perfect way to say " I don't want to date you anymore.
6) Never quote Ol' Dirty bastard in an argument. Some people just cant handle his brutal words and will take them as you being threatening and unnecessarily aggressive. For instance if you were to say "First things first, man / You're fuckin' with the worst / I'll be stickin' pins in your head like a fuckin' nurse ". This could be taken as you meaning to cause this person bodily harm. They may get scared and try to " come at you" like a bitch. You could try to diffuse the situation by quoting Michael Phelps. "I always thought, it would be neat to make the Olympic team. " This would most likely put your partner into a general state of confusion. Especially if you have never expressed interest at being an Olympic Athlete, or at sports in general. Take this time to run away to safety. Go to Diary queen. Buy a blizzard. Problems solved.
This move can only be used by the very cunning. It is also advised that quoting Ol' Dirty Bastard is only done by those who are physically fit. You might need to run away after saying something like "I kill all the government microchips in my body; I'm that paranoid nigga, at ya party; I kill all my enemies at birth; SHUT THE FUCK UP, bitch " You might need to exit the room after saying this though.
Basically if you complete steps 1-6 you are guaranteed to kill any relationship in less time than it takes for you to microwave a burrito. Choose wisely.
1) Talking to you'r ex is like sticking your hand in a bee hive. Fucking dangerous.
If you want a sure fire way to piss off your current significant other and make them doubt that they love you. TALK TO YOUR EX!! A LOT! There is not a surer way to guarantee that your current lady or guy will develop an inferiority complex so devastating ,that the only way they will be able to calm themselves down is by eating their own hair.
2) Keeping all of the little things, like photos, postcards, Christmas stockings, emails, conversations you had over the internet. You know, the important things. This a big no no. It says " I care, but not about you"
This is a great way to show the person you are currently in a relationship with that you are completely obsessed... with your ex! They will appreciate that you are holding onto your past so dearly. They probably will just tell you "Fuck this, me and my life. Go back to him/her because I am tired of you trying to get me to wear the skin suit you made out of your ex girlfriend." You obviously are unable to shed the leftover "skin" of your last relationship and it is smothering this current one like saran wrap over a Koalas face. Please, go ahead and be with the person who ripped out your heart cut it open and filled it with liquid nails. Then decided to pawn it to get some extra cash for Wawa's Hoagie fest. Yes, you would be doing us both a favor by doing this.
3) Calling your significant other by your ex's name. This probably will clue them in that you don't give a fuck and clearly are not even thinking of them while humping the shit out of them every night in bed. Bad move. Don't do it.
If you really want to let the cat out of the bag that your feelings are for someone else other than the person you are sleeping with. Call them by another name! You will be so surprised how offended and murder-y the person becomes. They may even resort to violence. What a fast solution to ending a relationship you don't even want to be in! Nothing says " I never loved you" like a Protection From Abuse order.
4) Becoming overly excited about anything your ex says or does. This means having an abnormal expression of emotions at little things like finding out they cut their fingernails to "sporty" length , became Pre- Diabetic, whining about their current state of unhappiness, or hearing through the grapevine they started using a new brand of razor.THAT MOTHER FUCKER!
This can be tricky. You need to really flip the fuck out for this to work. Pull out some of your molars, then set something on fire, Roll around on the floor moaning a lot and muttering about how you used to be the only one who could talk *ex* into switching razor brands. How are you going to go on living knowing that your judgment no longer impacts their life? How will you ever wake up in the morning knowing that they no longer need you to tell them what brand of toilet paper to purchase? This will most definitely signal to the person you are with that you are not really interested in them and would much rather bitch and whine about why your ex stopped using your face as the background on their desktop than spend time with them.
5) Cheating. This is always bad and generally makes the person you are with really angry. Basically if you do this you are fucked. I'm sure both figuratively and literally.Of course if you do this it means you do not give a fuck about being fucked, so to hell with it. Why even bother wearing pants when on public transportation at this point. It just hinders the process really. You could be so much more effective in your cheating if you just stopped wearing clothes all together. Why waste time?
Being cheated on sucks. It sucks more than the Flowbee. This is an absolute way to say " Fuck you" " I never loved you, I will never love you, in fact I hope I gave you herpes and the clap because that is how little I love you" It also says " You are a little dumb because I was able to bone someone else behind your back". This is not cool at all. Pretty much, this just sucks balls. It is mean and only shitty bitch assholes do it. This is yet, another perfect way to say " I don't want to date you anymore.
6) Never quote Ol' Dirty bastard in an argument. Some people just cant handle his brutal words and will take them as you being threatening and unnecessarily aggressive. For instance if you were to say "First things first, man / You're fuckin' with the worst / I'll be stickin' pins in your head like a fuckin' nurse ". This could be taken as you meaning to cause this person bodily harm. They may get scared and try to " come at you" like a bitch. You could try to diffuse the situation by quoting Michael Phelps. "I always thought, it would be neat to make the Olympic team. " This would most likely put your partner into a general state of confusion. Especially if you have never expressed interest at being an Olympic Athlete, or at sports in general. Take this time to run away to safety. Go to Diary queen. Buy a blizzard. Problems solved.
This move can only be used by the very cunning. It is also advised that quoting Ol' Dirty Bastard is only done by those who are physically fit. You might need to run away after saying something like "I kill all the government microchips in my body; I'm that paranoid nigga, at ya party; I kill all my enemies at birth; SHUT THE FUCK UP, bitch " You might need to exit the room after saying this though.
Basically if you complete steps 1-6 you are guaranteed to kill any relationship in less time than it takes for you to microwave a burrito. Choose wisely.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Laundromat:: a story of survival
Not having a washer and dryer in my house is maybe the mot ineffective thing ever. I could buy them but my basement harbors far to many spiders. I blocked access to it with a huge plant and a bookshelf. There is no need to go down there at all, ever. This means I cant have a washer. Dryer maybe, but it would have to go in the living room which would really throw of the aesthetics of the room. However, after spending the last three hours of my life at the laundromat, I would be willing to sacrifice aesthetics.
I decided to go to the new laundromat that is conveniently closer to my house. I figured I would save money on cab fare and maybe it turn out to be a more pleasurable experience than I have at my usual laundromat. As it turned out, nothing was ever less pleasurable than this experience. Upon entering the place where I would lose three hours of my life, I see children, lots of children. Normally this does not bother me but they were running, and screaming. Loudly, it sounded like a fleet of firetrucks, ambulances, and police cars all blaring their sirens in unison. If you can imagine what that sounds like, you probably just shuddered violently.
Nevertheless, I had just paid $9.00 to be dropped off at what was apparently a portal to Lucifer's wash n fold. I might as well just commence with my laundering. I see that most of the tables and chairs are occupied and that the washers are most definitely more expensive than my other laundromat. I begin to slowly lose faith in humanity. After selecting a "super giant size" washer, I spot an empty table and dash for it. I feel slightly better having procured my own booth. This was much better, now I could read my book in peace and wait for my wash to be done.... or so I thought. A man comes over to my table, he looks like the type of man you would try to avoid having sit next to anywhere ever. He says " Is it okay if I share this spot with you?" My brain was saying NO! NO! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WOMAN SAY NO! But what came out of my mouth was a weak, defeated " sure." I try to avoid making eye contact and continue reading my book but I can feel his eyes set dead on me. I look up to see his goofy, big toothed grin smiling at me. I try to be polite, even though everything in me says not to and I smile back.
This would be the biggest mistake I have ever made. He receives my smile as in invitation to talk. " So, what are you reading?" I sort of mumble " a bookaboutlaos" and show him the cover. He is all " I never read that, I have 7,000 books at home and I read the entire Harry Potter series 10 times." I guess that was my cue to be impressed but instead I just said " that's nice" and continued to try to read. He did not care. " So have you ever seen the movie 10,000 BC? I sigh. "no." " He kept going. " I heard it was so good, I haven't seen it yet though, but I want to". I just smile, and then hold my book closer to my face so he cant make eye contact with me, I thought this maybe would get the point across that I did not want to talk to him. It didn't.
Just when his questions had finally subsided my nostrils detected something unusual. It was like a combination between burnt licorice and mold. It was HIM. Jesus, if his mouth was not going his stench was hugging me. I could not get away. There was no where else to sit. I checked. This was more horrible than having my hands stapled to Kangaroos face. If he could at least be quiet maybe, just maybe I could get through this.
He could not. " Your laundry isn't done yet is it?" obviously genius I am still sitting here. " No, but it's almost done?" " Young lady, YOUNG LADY" I had no choice but to answer him at that point." "What?" "Did you ever see this movie, it's good." referring to some movie with Mark Walburg in it. " No I have not" I was willing the dryer to dry faster at this point. He was now leaning with his entire body all the way across the table into my personal zone. This was not okay. I felt dirty and frightened. I did not know where to go. Finally the dryer was done. I began throwing the clothes into the cart at a meth addicts speed. I just could not get away form him fast enough. Unluckily enough for me, the only free folding table was the one right next to where he was sitting.
"Can I squeeze by you young lady". This means I have to move my cart, shut my dryer door and halt my getting the hell out of here process. "Sure" why, he had to make me do this rather to go around the other side of the table which was clear of any obstacles, I do not know. He went to pick up a sock. " Really, all of that for a sock that the woman to which it belonged to knew it had dropped and was about to pick it up. Not on his watch. He was going to pick up that mother fucking sock. He then needed to re squeeze by me. " Still not done huh" ' Nope" as I stand there folding. Really sir, why so many questions. " Now I can put my feet up on on the bench, it would be nice if I had a pillow here too" " I need a stool like this at my house but I am to cheap to buy one" WHAT THE FUCK! leave me the Jesus Christ hell alone. I did not respond to this, I just kept folding in my adrenaline induced haze. HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! Was all I kept thinking. He then asked me if I needed helped folding. NO bitch no. I said " I am good , thanks." Mold man just kept watching me daring me to drop a sock. He was ready to spring into action.
I finished folding all of my clothes and then promptly moved to another table. Naturally by the tine I was ready to leave all of the other tables in the laundromat were then free. I felt him staring into my soul as I moved to a table free of his existence.
My cab finally arrived and I hauled ass out of there. I had SURVIVED.
And that, was my experience at the laundromat.
I decided to go to the new laundromat that is conveniently closer to my house. I figured I would save money on cab fare and maybe it turn out to be a more pleasurable experience than I have at my usual laundromat. As it turned out, nothing was ever less pleasurable than this experience. Upon entering the place where I would lose three hours of my life, I see children, lots of children. Normally this does not bother me but they were running, and screaming. Loudly, it sounded like a fleet of firetrucks, ambulances, and police cars all blaring their sirens in unison. If you can imagine what that sounds like, you probably just shuddered violently.
Nevertheless, I had just paid $9.00 to be dropped off at what was apparently a portal to Lucifer's wash n fold. I might as well just commence with my laundering. I see that most of the tables and chairs are occupied and that the washers are most definitely more expensive than my other laundromat. I begin to slowly lose faith in humanity. After selecting a "super giant size" washer, I spot an empty table and dash for it. I feel slightly better having procured my own booth. This was much better, now I could read my book in peace and wait for my wash to be done.... or so I thought. A man comes over to my table, he looks like the type of man you would try to avoid having sit next to anywhere ever. He says " Is it okay if I share this spot with you?" My brain was saying NO! NO! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WOMAN SAY NO! But what came out of my mouth was a weak, defeated " sure." I try to avoid making eye contact and continue reading my book but I can feel his eyes set dead on me. I look up to see his goofy, big toothed grin smiling at me. I try to be polite, even though everything in me says not to and I smile back.
This would be the biggest mistake I have ever made. He receives my smile as in invitation to talk. " So, what are you reading?" I sort of mumble " a bookaboutlaos" and show him the cover. He is all " I never read that, I have 7,000 books at home and I read the entire Harry Potter series 10 times." I guess that was my cue to be impressed but instead I just said " that's nice" and continued to try to read. He did not care. " So have you ever seen the movie 10,000 BC? I sigh. "no." " He kept going. " I heard it was so good, I haven't seen it yet though, but I want to". I just smile, and then hold my book closer to my face so he cant make eye contact with me, I thought this maybe would get the point across that I did not want to talk to him. It didn't.
Just when his questions had finally subsided my nostrils detected something unusual. It was like a combination between burnt licorice and mold. It was HIM. Jesus, if his mouth was not going his stench was hugging me. I could not get away. There was no where else to sit. I checked. This was more horrible than having my hands stapled to Kangaroos face. If he could at least be quiet maybe, just maybe I could get through this.
He could not. " Your laundry isn't done yet is it?" obviously genius I am still sitting here. " No, but it's almost done?" " Young lady, YOUNG LADY" I had no choice but to answer him at that point." "What?" "Did you ever see this movie, it's good." referring to some movie with Mark Walburg in it. " No I have not" I was willing the dryer to dry faster at this point. He was now leaning with his entire body all the way across the table into my personal zone. This was not okay. I felt dirty and frightened. I did not know where to go. Finally the dryer was done. I began throwing the clothes into the cart at a meth addicts speed. I just could not get away form him fast enough. Unluckily enough for me, the only free folding table was the one right next to where he was sitting.
"Can I squeeze by you young lady". This means I have to move my cart, shut my dryer door and halt my getting the hell out of here process. "Sure" why, he had to make me do this rather to go around the other side of the table which was clear of any obstacles, I do not know. He went to pick up a sock. " Really, all of that for a sock that the woman to which it belonged to knew it had dropped and was about to pick it up. Not on his watch. He was going to pick up that mother fucking sock. He then needed to re squeeze by me. " Still not done huh" ' Nope" as I stand there folding. Really sir, why so many questions. " Now I can put my feet up on on the bench, it would be nice if I had a pillow here too" " I need a stool like this at my house but I am to cheap to buy one" WHAT THE FUCK! leave me the Jesus Christ hell alone. I did not respond to this, I just kept folding in my adrenaline induced haze. HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! Was all I kept thinking. He then asked me if I needed helped folding. NO bitch no. I said " I am good , thanks." Mold man just kept watching me daring me to drop a sock. He was ready to spring into action.
I finished folding all of my clothes and then promptly moved to another table. Naturally by the tine I was ready to leave all of the other tables in the laundromat were then free. I felt him staring into my soul as I moved to a table free of his existence.
My cab finally arrived and I hauled ass out of there. I had SURVIVED.
And that, was my experience at the laundromat.
Friday, September 17, 2010
SHUT UP BEAR.
Remember when the blue M&M's came out. Everyone was all " Oh wow! they are blue, they taste like awesomeness and children's smiles". I do. And it was a wonderful time in my life. This is of no real importance I was just eating m&m's and got very excited
I was really impressed with this mans interpersonal skills. It was obvious he had worked in human resources before and was very good at negotiating. Most of all, Steve was able to simply gain control of the situation by just screaming. There was a black bear chilling on some grass and Steve was all ' GETOUTBEARGETOUTTAHEREBEAR" Like that. The bear, being a bear was all "GROWWWWWWWL" and Steve being Steve was like " SHUT UP!". That made the bear recognize who he was dealing with and go run to another patch of grass somewhere else. I was imfuckingpressed.
Tonight I am going to bake Mike a cake. I want to make him a chocolate bear cake. Why a bear cake you say? Because, last night we got to watch The Bear Whisperer, and it was a very intense mind altering reality show.! Although I think they should consider revising the name of the show to The Authoritative Bear Speaker. The whisperer, Steve Searless ( awesome last name, conveniently rhymes with fearless, which you have to be when working with bears) is much less a whisperer and much more an authoritative talker. He would at times, just,speak to the bears, like he was talking a future suicide victim off of a buildings edge. Calm and soothing. Bears however, don't give a fuck about calm and soothing, so he had to resort to his corporal punishment voice. There was a bear peacefully eating bird seed ( he referred to bird seed as the "crack cocaine" for bears) and he is all " BEAR, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!! "YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE EATING CRACK SEEDS IN PEOPLES BACK YARDS'. 'GET OUT BEAR GETOUGETOUTGETOUT'.The bear not being of the English speaking variety chose to stay and eat his crack seeds. Steve was rather indignant about the whole thing and decided rather than to talk rationally and come to a compromise with the bear, to pepper spray it in the face instead. This worked, and the bear ran away because no one likes getting pepper sprayed in the face, not even wild bears with face ripping off capabilities.
I was really impressed with this mans interpersonal skills. It was obvious he had worked in human resources before and was very good at negotiating. Most of all, Steve was able to simply gain control of the situation by just screaming. There was a black bear chilling on some grass and Steve was all ' GETOUTBEARGETOUTTAHEREBEAR" Like that. The bear, being a bear was all "GROWWWWWWWL" and Steve being Steve was like " SHUT UP!". That made the bear recognize who he was dealing with and go run to another patch of grass somewhere else. I was imfuckingpressed.
I wish I harbored the ability to scream things that were fucking with me, or not even, just thing that were bigger than me, into submission. "YO ELEPHANT, GO SIT THE FUCK DOWN BEFORE I WRECK YOUR LIFE" The elephant would be so afraid of having it's life wrecked it would immediately sit down and stop being scary. I would perform that same tactic on my creepy neighbor who likes to stalk my windows to see if I am maybe running around the house in the nude. " FUCKING OLD MAN, STOP CREEPING UP IN MY WINDOWS LIKE YOU KNOW ME, SHUT UP AND STOP SEEING WITH YOUR EYES BEFORE I SET YOUR LIFE ON FIRE." I have never told anyone I would set their life on fire before, I am not entirely sure how that works. I do imagine though, it being a very satisfying and useful method for controlling others.
Basically, this show changed my life. I now have a massive amount of respect for people who are able to control and confront wild animals using cherry bombs and their big scary voices. I will be brushing up on my bear scaring skills.
Basically, this show changed my life. I now have a massive amount of respect for people who are able to control and confront wild animals using cherry bombs and their big scary voices. I will be brushing up on my bear scaring skills.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Mountain Dew: a story of epic importance.
Mountain Dew should stop fucking with it's formulas. The "throwback" is such for a reason, because no one likes it. My taste buds can not acclimate to this "real" sugar bullshit. Give me back my high fructose corn syrup please. Michael and I bought two entire cases of throwback shit dew and I cant drink it because it tastes like rusty nails and hopelessness. I know high fructose corn syrup is bad for you because they have commercials trying to promote how good it is for you. That means it generally causes cancer. Maybe they have a partnership with the Cancer causing people. Maybe the Cancer peoples numbers are down or something. They are all " start using real sugar so people will realize high fructose corn syrup is better. People cant live without it even though it causes tumors the size of Hulk Hogans Biceps". So then Mountain Dew is all, ok whatever you say we will make our once delicious chemically soft drink with REAL sugar, just stop pressuring us." Now everyone realizes how great high fructose corn syrup is and they are all "this is so worth maybe getting cancer one day." " Fuck real sugar, I never want to be without my corn syrup." I mean it worked on me, other people have to feel this way too.
I love the shit out of chemicals. I tried to do the whole organic thing but I was just not buying it. Why try to outrun time by being super healthy and not ingesting pesticides. You cant even see pesticides so I mean, whose to say they are even on my non organic Granny smith apple. No one that's who. I am going to die anyway, I might die later this afternoon, who knows. Eating organically is not going to save me from getting hit by a car or mauled by a starving deer. I'm sorry it's just not. Organic food is also not going to stop a serial killer from breaking into my home and raping and murdering me for fun. He would not break in see a bag of organic oranges on my table and be all 'shit, she eats organically I better get out of here, organic eaters have super powerful strength. I am just a little baby serial killer with a knifegun combo. I cant possibly overpower her." That would never happen, if anything it would probably piss the serial killer off more because he HATES organic everything and would then murder me twice for bringing back painful childhood memories of not having fucking waffles in the freezer one time when he was 5.
See basically it comes down to; organic bad. Chemicals good.
I love the shit out of chemicals. I tried to do the whole organic thing but I was just not buying it. Why try to outrun time by being super healthy and not ingesting pesticides. You cant even see pesticides so I mean, whose to say they are even on my non organic Granny smith apple. No one that's who. I am going to die anyway, I might die later this afternoon, who knows. Eating organically is not going to save me from getting hit by a car or mauled by a starving deer. I'm sorry it's just not. Organic food is also not going to stop a serial killer from breaking into my home and raping and murdering me for fun. He would not break in see a bag of organic oranges on my table and be all 'shit, she eats organically I better get out of here, organic eaters have super powerful strength. I am just a little baby serial killer with a knifegun combo. I cant possibly overpower her." That would never happen, if anything it would probably piss the serial killer off more because he HATES organic everything and would then murder me twice for bringing back painful childhood memories of not having fucking waffles in the freezer one time when he was 5.
See basically it comes down to; organic bad. Chemicals good.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
I hate mice. I hope they all die. in fact I cant wait to kill them with lots of snacks that are secretly POISON.
There is a mouse running around my bedroom that is the size of the fucking Mouse King in the Nutcracker. Mike left a half eaten cookie on our nightstand and the fuzzy little fuck was all 'NOM NOM TIME". It sat there mocking me as I clapped loudly and boisterously at it. I then started yelling at it stuff like " GET DOWN RIGHT NOW DO YOU HEAR ME MOUSE?, I SAID GET DOWNNN!" My serious tone of voice was used, it still didn't care. Instead, it ducked down behind one of my books and was probably twittering to its filthy friends to come on up because there's good eats and a fucking real live comedian.
There is a serious mouse infestation happening and I am unable, and ill prepared to handle it. They took over the kitchen first. Shitting all over the microwave and counter tops like their feces was spun of pure gold and I would be delighted if not honored to find it. I was not. They ripped up bag upon bag of oriental flavored Ramen noodles. Bars of granola were destroyed, egg noodles, my sense of self preservation. It is making me insane and extremely paranoid. I feel like a Schizophrenic on PCP. Every noise I hear I am jumping up and banging on tables and walls to scare the "mice". I read that you can smell them, a musty, oily homeless kind of smell. Now every time I breath in I am all " THEY ARE HERE I SMELL THEM!" I am pretty sure Mike thinks I have lost what little sanity I have manged to retain over the years. This shit is intense though. You have no idea how fierce they are. Little flea ridden hantavirus infested warriors. Nothing seems to deter them, they see their family members squealing for help on glue traps with pieces of potato chip hanging out of their mouths, their black little eyes saying " Don't go down my path...it 's not worth it". Yet they march on determined to make my house their breeding ground.
Last night I lulled myself into a false sense of security. My bed I though, was a "safe zone". I was wrong. I heard it under the bed scratching trying to find a way onto my pillow top mattress so it could dominate the situation and gain control of the bedroom. I was not happy. All I wanted to do was watch a fucking Michael Cera movie and I could not pay attention because I had to keep stopping to jump up and down on the bed to "scare" the mouse. I must have looked like I used crack as a motivational substance. That way I had TONS of energy to fluff out the feathers in the mattress pad for hours on end. I was not ok. Nothing about last night was OK. Every time I drifted off to sleep I would hear its dirt bag feet skittering across my floor just, daring me to close my eyes. Because when I did... there would be blood. Oh yes, there would be blood. Mice bite, I have been bitten by them, they also harbor a long long list of both pulmonary and digestive diseases. I do not really need that in my life right now because my health insurance does not kick in until October. And even if I did have it now, it would not matter because when something serious is wrong I refuse to acknowledge it and wont go to the Dr. My coping skills apparently can only handle little things like burning toast, or forgetting to turn the lights out. Anything above that level of stress my brain shuts down and goes into "safe mode". Safe Mode has very limited functions. Those functions being breathing and going to the bathroom. This is no good seeing as I have a job and responsibilities to attend to.
Mike had to work a double shift last night and did not come home until 1 am. I was forced to deal with the mouse all alone. I was not ready. I was however, really ready not to be ready. My night consisted of me sitting on the bed surrounded in pillows for protective purposes, randomly jumping on the bed and yelling things like " AH AH AH AH AH BAHHHHHH" to make sure that they knew I meant business. By the time Mike came home I was exhausted and angry. Angry at him for leaving me alone all night with the mice and angry at the mice for being born. I was also angry with the house for being so shitty and old and having so many fuck face cracks that it allows everything to get into our home. Instead of being a personal haven and a place of comfort it makes me unusually nervous, jittery, anxiety ridden, and stab-y when I am here. Especially when alone.
Tomorrow is Judgment day. We are going to the Home Depot to purchase as least $200.00 in mouse murdering materials. I am very anti hurting animals but at this point, I want all the traps we buy to hurt as much as possible.That way when the other mice see their friends dying they will think twice before invading my Ramen noodle stash and go inhabit someone the fuck else's house. NOT HERE MOTHER FUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!! BRING IT!
There is a serious mouse infestation happening and I am unable, and ill prepared to handle it. They took over the kitchen first. Shitting all over the microwave and counter tops like their feces was spun of pure gold and I would be delighted if not honored to find it. I was not. They ripped up bag upon bag of oriental flavored Ramen noodles. Bars of granola were destroyed, egg noodles, my sense of self preservation. It is making me insane and extremely paranoid. I feel like a Schizophrenic on PCP. Every noise I hear I am jumping up and banging on tables and walls to scare the "mice". I read that you can smell them, a musty, oily homeless kind of smell. Now every time I breath in I am all " THEY ARE HERE I SMELL THEM!" I am pretty sure Mike thinks I have lost what little sanity I have manged to retain over the years. This shit is intense though. You have no idea how fierce they are. Little flea ridden hantavirus infested warriors. Nothing seems to deter them, they see their family members squealing for help on glue traps with pieces of potato chip hanging out of their mouths, their black little eyes saying " Don't go down my path...it 's not worth it". Yet they march on determined to make my house their breeding ground.
Last night I lulled myself into a false sense of security. My bed I though, was a "safe zone". I was wrong. I heard it under the bed scratching trying to find a way onto my pillow top mattress so it could dominate the situation and gain control of the bedroom. I was not happy. All I wanted to do was watch a fucking Michael Cera movie and I could not pay attention because I had to keep stopping to jump up and down on the bed to "scare" the mouse. I must have looked like I used crack as a motivational substance. That way I had TONS of energy to fluff out the feathers in the mattress pad for hours on end. I was not ok. Nothing about last night was OK. Every time I drifted off to sleep I would hear its dirt bag feet skittering across my floor just, daring me to close my eyes. Because when I did... there would be blood. Oh yes, there would be blood. Mice bite, I have been bitten by them, they also harbor a long long list of both pulmonary and digestive diseases. I do not really need that in my life right now because my health insurance does not kick in until October. And even if I did have it now, it would not matter because when something serious is wrong I refuse to acknowledge it and wont go to the Dr. My coping skills apparently can only handle little things like burning toast, or forgetting to turn the lights out. Anything above that level of stress my brain shuts down and goes into "safe mode". Safe Mode has very limited functions. Those functions being breathing and going to the bathroom. This is no good seeing as I have a job and responsibilities to attend to.
Mike had to work a double shift last night and did not come home until 1 am. I was forced to deal with the mouse all alone. I was not ready. I was however, really ready not to be ready. My night consisted of me sitting on the bed surrounded in pillows for protective purposes, randomly jumping on the bed and yelling things like " AH AH AH AH AH BAHHHHHH" to make sure that they knew I meant business. By the time Mike came home I was exhausted and angry. Angry at him for leaving me alone all night with the mice and angry at the mice for being born. I was also angry with the house for being so shitty and old and having so many fuck face cracks that it allows everything to get into our home. Instead of being a personal haven and a place of comfort it makes me unusually nervous, jittery, anxiety ridden, and stab-y when I am here. Especially when alone.
Tomorrow is Judgment day. We are going to the Home Depot to purchase as least $200.00 in mouse murdering materials. I am very anti hurting animals but at this point, I want all the traps we buy to hurt as much as possible.That way when the other mice see their friends dying they will think twice before invading my Ramen noodle stash and go inhabit someone the fuck else's house. NOT HERE MOTHER FUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!! BRING IT!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)