Monthly Archives: March 2012

HI-Larry-US!

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I know I’ve said it a hundred times.. but I don’t want children. (spare me a lecture, I’m almost 40, I know I don’t want them) This may be an awesome shining example of why. Also, I love Louis CK. He makes me laugh and can pull me out of a funk faster than Xanax or Booze (though sometimes… kidding). To that end, I apologize in advance that this is a clip from the youtubes but will shamelessly plug that you can buy his newest vid for only $5 and download it right to your happy lil compy at home. I’ve seen it, and it is also funny.

But as I was saying… I don’t want to be a parent. Thanks Louie…

[youtube]http://youtu.be/s120QJv6Ikg[/youtube]

breathe, echoing the sound

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I just want for you to be here to sit beside me.

I wish for the anxiety to be gone so my chest to relax and the shaking to stop.

I want to be held so the tears will stop and I’ll know its okay. I want the shaking to stop and I want to know its okay.

Today is a blue day.

The lenses in my glasses are blue. Not a dark kind of midnight blue but kind of a prussian blue. Seeing the world this way is very frustrating because I don’t like these glasses. They feel like I can’t take them off and change them out for my pretty pink ones. They feel like I can’t breathe. They make the little things look big and the easy things look hard and they make everything feel personal. The blue glasses put me on the roller coaster that takes me on the vortex ride and I fucking hate the vortex ride. I don’t know who designed that shit but they didn’t know what they were doing.

I try to be quiet and wait for the calm to come.

I try not to think about what I’m not doing and the mess piling up and the arguments I’m picking for no reason and the tears that I can’t stop. I can’t.

What’s to say, what’s to ask, I’ve no answer to give and even I probably don’t even want to hear the reality. So I sit and sniffle and wipe dry my tears and think about all the reasons that brought me here to this blue day. The reasons that matter and the ones that don’t.

Today is a blue day.

I just want for you to be here to sit beside me.

I wish for the anxiety to be gone so my chest to relax and the shaking to stop.

I want to be held so the tears will stop and I’ll know its okay. I want the shaking to stop and I want to know its okay.

 

[youtube]http://youtu.be/KAUF7e1GVrc[/youtube]

this is not about you

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If you build it, they will come….
If you sit and stare at it, words will appear…

That should work right? Okay lack of words is not the problem, it’s too many swirling in my head and not really knowing how to string them together in some coherent way that someone other than myself may want to read. Then again, is that the point? Well, it seems it’s become the point and that may be my issue. I seem to have lost that abandon with which I used to approach my writing. Back then I would sit at some random place with some random beer and write (yes with a pen) the skeleton of what would become my next blog. I continued writing merrily when the pen gave way to the portability of a 15# brick of a laptop. During the brick era is when I found I had readers. I panicked a little (someone reads my shit???) but trudged on affording protection to the guilty, only because I myself wished to remain anonymous. And then all shit hit the fan. I found out family read my shit. Maybe not regularly, maybe not even often, but they did.

well fuck.
The words in my head ceased to allow themselves out through my fingers. And before you say at least had a journal… uh no, the words weren’t hap-nin there either.

well fuck.
Periodically I’d be inspired by something and sorta safe writing would happen. I’d even had a brief reprieve from the verbal constipation while I changed up all my psych meds and had no filter (not a chance bitches, don’t even think it… you shut your pie hole or I will cut you). And on occasion I can still tap into that filter-less freedom. But not often.

Do you realize that when you write a blog it is basically a journal to which you’ve given the world a key. Like it or not anyone… that’s EH-KNEE-ONE can stumble upon your shit or troll for your shit if they really want. Even the most careful person leaves behind crumbs that someone could follow (note you’ve never seen my face and I’ve never said anyone’s name. And no, my parents were not angry activists or suffering from a trauma leaving their tongues partially paralyzed causing them to think hey… sars is a good name for a girl.). So when you start venting about your sister-cousin and her giant goiter… if she can operate her nubbin, she can read your shit. And when you got pissed because you had to lance mama’s boil for the sixth time because she didn’t want the hawt young Dr. Thibodaux to see she’d put on “some weight”… If she can get uncle LeRoy to show her how to find “Dr. Oz on the computer thang”, she can read your shit. Thus I filter. Though I have no sister-cousin or Uncle LeRoy, I do have this ‘I’m not catholic’ “Catholic Guilt” that plagues me. It tells me if I write about my mom or sister or a friend in a not so glowing light, they will read it and be offended. (They probably just felt me type that and will know they have to check my blog) I could just be good ‘ol fashioned venting, but they’ll never know and think it’s something different. And since my anonymity is shot there – my family and friends know who I am… ugh.

So I filter.
well fuck.
At this moment I have a head full of things ready to tumble out but I filter. BUTT… (that was a big butt for those still playing) I have things to say. Things I want, need to say.

I have touched on having a behavioral health disorder (the preferred term around here – I honestly don’t give a fuck what you call it, as long as after you find out you still call me friend) that has been “classified” Bipolar II (and even then, that is a label more for insurance than me). Basically (the super dumb version) is depression with periods of “hypomania” or not quite mania. For me this is linked to anxiety. (yay!) This is a tough topic to broach sometimes as there are those that don’t understand because its all “psycho-babble mumbo jumbo”. And when writing, I don’t preface with: ‘Warning this blog contains bipolar content or mom look away, I’m talkin’ about being fucking nutter right now!’ However, it gets across in a roundabout way sorta. Because I filter the fuck out of things when I am cycling instead of embracing the moment and letting my filter go. According to my besties, I am my funniest, do my best writing when I am anxious. Lots of jokes get made about being bipolar – I make jokes about being a Gemini and bipolar, but the reality is I got off easy because mania is a bitch. I will cut my tangent short here and save it for a depressed day.

Basically what I’m saying is my filter is clogged and I don’t want to pressure wash it. As Zimm said, I’d have to wring it out because you can’t stick that shit in the dryer it won’t fit anymore! So, I’m just gonna leave it at the curb. Let the er Engineers take it with them along with all the other waste. Filter-less writing is better writing.

Sometimes it’s just like that… you have to apologize in advance to the people you love because your intent is not to hurt their feelings. But you just need to say what you need to say, even though you have made clear before “if you don’t like it, don’t read my shit”. This time – it’s a pointed warning. So here it is, and you may never see it again:

 

~posted from my tablet thingy~

[youtube]http://youtu.be/TLjrD-oXkhA[/youtube]

 

Ich Liebe Diche Auch

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*sniffle*

*wipes nose with Kleenex (with lotion, duh)*

Since being put in the Assassin’s cross hairs it’s been a challenge to catch my breath. His many kindnesses have had me swooning (not to fear Mrs., just in ways that mean my ego needs to have a pin or two taken to it at strategic places). He hath bestowed upon me an Academy Liebster Award! In keeping with his format I offer the following blommit (thanks to whoever said that, I’ve stolen it and I love it, yay!) rather than the lengthy acceptance speech which I had been penning. It brought to light the many causes near and dear and of course thanked the magic baby, whom I have no idea why I was thanking but that’s what one does when accepting awards right? And hell If I’m gonna thank him I may as well thank the evil torcheress from the chamber of doom-wax… but neither of them shall be thanked.  Just you Assassin of all things socially inept, thwarter of skanks from continents away, protector of lady bloggesses and their right to bash on whomever they choose and desire to beat ex-abusers to a bloody pulp with whatever means feels right at the time! Killer of baby seals! (okay maybe not that last one but you know how you get going sometimes…) All the while being a loving husband and rockin, fire-breathin father, not to mention an amazing chef… all wrapped in a 6 foot 8 inch tall package of hot man. Sounds fantastic to me.

So I shall crumple my speech, throw it at those less fortunate and go “off the cuff”. Settle in, this may take a few. First and foremost, thank you Mrs Assassin, for encouraging your husband in his passion and being understanding of the time and boobalicious photo browsing it requires. Having a partner who realizes that writing, a true calling to write, is not a fad but part of our being, is the best gift this universe can bestow. You fucking rule Mrs.

And now you (don’t cower in the corner over there… you’re a foot and a half above the chair anyhow!) Get your ass over here for some lovin’. Mr. Assassin… or Kevin if I may, Ich liebe dich auch. Du nahmst meine Herausforderung und bestanden. Andere konnte es nicht. Sie sind die besten. (that’s right bitches… Deutsch. ha! and Shane, if its wrong – sue the interwebs*) But really, how could I not!!! Even if you hadn’t offered to make me eggs bennie, thus winning my heart for all time…You gave me 35 songs… with videos. Shit Son! I only asked for songs… Not videos. It was brilliant and challenged me to look up music I hadn’t heard for a long time and some of it never. It was nothing short of awesome. But even that is not why I stick around and read your blog. You are funny as shit, but not always gufaw funny, you are witty, intelligent, challenging to my brain. You give me pause to think about things from a perspective I may not have, and I like that. Plus you are fucking tall and well I loves me some tall lean man, especially one that loves music and cooking.  But not to fear Mrs., I have my own tall lean man (serious… 6’7″, loves music and cooks… its like bizaro blog) on my side of the planet so she and I can get together and dish about tall men and all the awesome that you are. Thank you for the support, love and leaving a cute little heart on my twitter feed. How decidedly un-punk rock of you.

Now that all the squishy shit is over, on to the liebing and award bestowing…

When I first started writing it really was just for myself. I had one reader (my best friend) and that was fine. Then it turned out that there was this “feed” thing people who were familiar with the interwebs used and I really had more like one-hundred readers. Holy shit-balls, who knew!!! so on and on and here I am 6 or 7 years of wirting. You know I still don’t have all that many readers (I don’t have N.F *wink* to tweet me and give me global recognition. But I digress as this is not about me. Back when I had no readers I was shocked one day to get a comment from someone I didn’t know. It was mind boggling! And now I’m feeling global love and getting a chance to say thanks to people who I enjoy the hell out of that you (my bloggity fam) may not know.

1. Why not start with the serious shit right?? When I stumbled on this ol’dog (whoever gave her that moniker should be put down, she’s fucking gorgeous!!! and um not old) with her sexy ta-ta’s, I couldn’t help but read. Too young to live through the shit she has, but fortunate to be surrounded by family, friends and a world wide network of people who genuinely wish her hope, love and healing. With all the cards she’s been dealt, she has a very funny take on her situation and whether you are down or not go see what’s up at Old Dog New Tits and you’ll be glad you did.

2. Several years ago I was trolling through images and one caught my eye. No I did not pirate it, but I did find out where it was from and where I could see more. And more I did. He doesn’t know I lieb him and it’s not stalkerish, but I’ve followed Mike’s journey from Utah and a tiny little paper to his new place in Berlin. Go check out whatever Π is up today. Then troll through the backlog. Several hours later you’ll be amazed and the clock will be well past where you thought it should be.

3. I love women. No I am neither lesbian, nor bi-sexual (get your mind out of the porn) but I think women are amazing. Strong, resiliant, tender, ferocious, frail, perplexing and extraordinary. For all these reasons and more, I love Brooke Farmer. I love her brash wit and bitter tears. I love her honesty about her struggles with life, love, and everything in between. I love her heart.

4. Sometimes a good story can be all you need to get cozy on a cold day. Sometimes you are sucked in by someones respectful tale of age and dignity where another author may leave none. Sometimes they aren’t stories but tales of true life adventure or non-adventure. When I read Siren Voices I sometimes laugh at the humour (see got British for ya there) or cry for the humanity shown by people just doing their jobs. Sometimes I can’t read because my eyes hurt and my heart and soul hurt too. But I go back always to listen to Siren Voices. I try to think of what Spence may sound like telling his stories. (thanks to his yule blog I now hear Kevin and well that’s as close as I’ll likely get). But I also try to hear their voices, those of the others that he comes to meet each day. And that is probably the point.

5. Last and certainly not least or he would have been first is Steve. Oh Steve.. You have aptly named your blog but I love, love, love reading it. It is my pleasure and I savor it for the times I need to laugh or cringe – I’m not sure which. Some of your photographs make me wonder but then again, they could only come From the Mind of a Madman.

There you have it… Now I’m tired from all the squishing….

*(I love you too. You took my challenge and passed. Others could not. You are the best.)

~posted from my tablet thingy~