Aug 12

Oh, Captain, My Captain

I’ve been torn about writing anything about the death of Robin Williams since I found out last night. Part of me feels silly for being so utterly sad because of the death of a man I never knew, and part of me feels like it is a bit bandwagon-y. Then I realized that is all bullshit. Our country is united in mourning of a man whose very presence on this earth made it better. These are genuine feels we can all share and feel together. We lost some one who made the world brighter, and I mourn him.

I love the Jabberwocky shirt.

What really rips me up, what makes me cry every single time I think of it, is that this brilliant man apparently took his own life because of the demons of depression. Our society is slowly growing to accept and break the stigma against mental health issues, but we still have a long way to go.

One of the very fundamental reasons I write this blog is to fight the silence and shame associated with having a mental illness. I’m doing it the only way I know how, by adding my voice and my face to the fight. I write this blog as candidly and openly as I can because I desperately hope one person will read something here and decide to add their name and their face to the struggle against the stigma. Maybe that one person will encourage another person until our voices and our faces are so loud no one will have to feel alone and ashamed again.

This bright, shining man filled with life, love, and kindness should not be remembered for his passing. We should remember him for everything he gave to us. I only hope and pray in my own Selina way his death can serve a greater good by bonding us together and giving us the courage to use our voices.

Thank you, Mr Robin Williams, for the humor and the heart you gave us during your 63 years here. You willl be missed.


Aug 09


My father is in the hospital again. This post isn’t about that, but yet it is.

My mom and I were sitting on some comfortable benches by the elevators at the hospital waiting for something, when this woman started punching the buttons angrily and yelling into her cellphone. She hung up her phone, and when she turned to us, we could see she had been crying hard. She paced for a second then said “I can’t do this anymore.” It was to no one in particular, but Mom and I went to her. She sobbed and angrily told us about booking a vacation, paying for it, then finding out her husband had cancer. The place she rented refused to give her any refund. I have a feeling it was the last straw at that moment. Her elevator dinged, and we didn’t see her again.

I felt the need to try to explain to Mom why I got up, even though she got up with thought, just like me. She then told me a story I had never heard before. My dad had his first heart attack when I was in seventh grade. I never got to see him in the hospital. I only got to talk to my mom briefly when she’d call at nights. I never thought what it was like for her.

She told me she was sitting in the cafeteria, terrified and alone. Her mate and best friend was sick and she didn’t have anyone. She told me she must have looked so sad and forlorn because a man sat down with her and said she needed to have faith things would would work out for the best either way. She needed to believe she would be okay no matter what happened, and all of her worrying was just hurting her. I never knew about this exchange, but it had to have helped Mom since twenty years later she still remembered him and the kindness.

Our society is a society of not getting involved if you see others in pain. We are taught not to intrude, or to fear being used or hurt. Bullshit. The day I held that girl after she was raped and vowed never to watch another human in pain without at least offering to help, I’ve tried my best to do right by her. I fail a lot. I’m awkward as hell. I can’t really read social cues. It doesn’t matter.  It is better to intrude awkwardly for a few second than to let another person be alone if you can help it.

Here’s the deal: our hearts are not filled with a limited amount of love. We don’t have to horde our love. Love is one of those things that the more you give, the more you get. You can love someone for the 4 minutes they need it sitting in a hospital cafeteria table, and you will be the richer for it.

Loving does open us open to pain. Pain sucks. The thing about pain: it gets better. The fear of pain is worse than the pain itself. So, risking yourself to make a connection with someone in need might lead to rejection. It might lead to some unscrupulous person telling you some bullcrap to try and get something from you. So the fuck what? When you risk, and you make a connection with someone, the reward is so much more worth the pain in spite of what the fear tells you.

Go out, smile at strangers, give compliments, spread some light. It is the best way we have to change the world.


Aug 05

The Good Really does Come with the Bad.

In a lot of ways this has been a rough year. Things seem to not want to go smoothly. Every single time something has gone wrong, someone in my life has popped up to do something freaking spectacular though.

Most of the complications have been things forcing me to learn to lean on my Viking. I’m not a ask for help sort of gal, and deep down I’m terrified of asking for too much and him leaving. This past year has taught me that he will give me anything he can as long as I respect and value him. It is so important for our relationship.

Then there are other times, like when my dad very nearly died in May, Lynsie called me up while I was staying with him in the hospital to offer to bring me anything I needed. That phone call felt like love and helped me through a really, really fucking scary day.

This is the view from his hospital room at early early dawn.

This is the view from his hospital room at early early dawn.

Now, I’m having serious first world problems. My boyfriend bought me a cruise. I was raised poor white trash. Right now in my life, I’m still poor white trash because I made the decision to put all career or job things aside to help my parents. I don’t regret it; it just means I’m poor and always stressed the fuck out. This cruise is a big deal for so many reasons. I applied early enough to get a passport in time for the cruise.

I got a glamorous old Hollywood hat for the cruise.  I have always wanted one, even if my gigantic head made it look smaller.

I got a glamorous old Hollywood hat for the cruise. I have always wanted one, even if my gigantic head made it look smaller.

Turns out they did not like my birth certificate, and my application got put on hold until I got a new one.Oh,yeah, and they are holding on to the old one for a bit. So, I have no passport and no birth certificate (gimpy one or not), and I need a photo ID and a birth certificate just to board the ship. Who knows if I’d have been able to get off the ship at our destination stops.

They tell me this in an email Friday August 1st.

I leave on the 13th.

The Viking and I order a new long form birth certificate expedited on Friday. Sunday night I upload everything I need. I get the new birth certificate on this morning.  I run all the errands, and call the passport people to see if there is any way possible they can continue processing my passport application in time to go. I was informed I had two choices: 1) overnight mail the passport to the processing center and hope for the best (possibly leaving me with no birth certificate or passport AGAIN, or 2) drive to Dallas to continue the process there.

At least I was still going to be able to wear the prettiest dress I've ever owned. I'm fancy and shit.

At least I was still going to be able to wear the prettiest dress I’ve ever owned. I’m fancy and shit.

Since I posted my woes (and the Viking’s heroic save) on Facebook on Friday, my friend Donna has been really worried about me not getting a passport. Today, she called me to tell me she WAS driving me to Dallas, I WAS going to get my passport in time, and I WAS going to enjoy my cruise, getting off the ship at every stop and getting a passport stamp.

Donna has been one of those special people in my life who show up with a willingness to care, listen, and give whenever I needed her. Most of those times I didn’t even know I needed her until she showed up with an open heart. One of my major life goals is to be to at least one other person what she has been to me.


So, yes, this year has been rough, but it has also been a gift. I might be tired, cranky, and frazzled most days, but life keeps reminding me of how lucky I am.


Jul 23

Random Stuffs

I have a bunch of random stuffs from my brain. I’mma throw them out to you.

I think I'm funny

I think I’m funny

Tall Woman Win: I just changed a light bulb. All I had to do to reach it was put on shoes with tiny heels.

I now have a locking, fold-out hard make up case, a suitcase of my very own (it’s purple), and a passport on order. I’m fucking fancy bitches. The Viking lent me his spare fancy camera to practice using before the trip. Obviously I need it since I took photos of my make-up case and can’t get them off the camera because they are the wrong file type. WHY?!?!?! Still, fancy as shit.

I have angry PMS this month. I’m pretty sure it is giving me super strength. It’s definitely giving me super ranting powers. Also, I haven’t stabbed anyone… yet.

I always freak out in those two or three days right before my period that I might actually be pregnant. I think it is my brain setting me up to be happy about the hell that is to come

Taco Bell chips are made of lard and salt and deliciousness.

Also, their crunchy taco supremes are perfect.

One day a few months ago, My mom and I were talking while I was driving her somewhere, and mid sentence I stopped to point a squirrel and tell her how funny it looked. I ‘squirrelled’ like the dogs from Up in real life. I don’t have attention issues.

The world is being full of stupid: violent, dangerous stupid, and it needs to stop. World stop being stupid.

I had a lot more things, then I got distracted. I’ll leave you with this OCD soothing picture from the interwebz.

mmm soothed OCD.


Jul 08

Go Go Feminist LazorBeems *PewPewPew*

Watch this interview with The Princeton Mom:

This woman is all kinds of crazy. The things that changed in me when I finally embraced my inner rabid feminist are the very things my Viking loves about me. This idea that I won’t treat him with respect because I want to help the world “get” (understand and recognize) rape culture and micro-aggression is bullshit. He respects my passion and is proud that I want to change the world and I return that same respect and pride for his intelligence and passions.

Furthermore, just because I want him to care about my day, my life, and treat me with respect does not mean that I don’t care about him or am dismissive of him.

As for the get married in college and ‘you won’t find a man after your mid thirties’, fuck that noise. I can’t imagine how bad of a choice I would have made at 22. I’m very glad I was such a mess and found mine at 30. Some people find their mate at 19 and are truly happy, some are meant to wait longer, like me. Some people stay single and LOVE it. Or, and this is the biggest shocker, some people find MANY loves.

I do sometimes get the *tap tap tap,* I’m ready, let’s get married already before my eggs dry up and my uterus Shawshanks it out of my body, but that is because I have the right one for me. I would rather be alone than be with the wrong man ever again. After being with some really wrongs ones and one very very right one, I will never place myself worth on my relationship status again.

I recognize I was very lucky to find my Viking. Also, yes, much of my future happiness will involve him. That is one of the strengths and drawbacks of pair bonding. If I want our pair bond to work, I have to learn to compromise, and I lose some autonomy. I gain a partner. I gain someone who wants all the best for me, like I do him. I gain someone to fight through the bad crap with and enjoy the good stuff with. The necessary loss of autonomy is worth it for what I get in exchange.

If he weren’t so right for me, then it wouldn’t be. If I allow myself to be treated poorly because I’m afraid of finding a replacement husband (what the fuck are they? cars?) then I have strayed too far from the original purpose of pair bonding.

*foams at the mouth*


Jul 06

Mmkay? Mmkay!

So, I wasn’t really going to write about this, but seriously, my entire life has been janked by it so, yeah I kinda have to.


My dad got very, very ill last month, including a nasty infection. It scared the shit out of me. We got home, and I was so busy being caretaker that I never processed it. Before all of this happened, I was having a lot of panic attacks, especially in my sleep. Now, they are happening less and less, night has been an unmitigated hell for me. Oh, yeah, also, for the first nine days of being home, I had to give my dad an antibiotic infusion. I had to set an alarm an hour before said infusion to pull the antibiotic out of the refrigerator. Including the three syringes, one having to be given slowly over a five minute time frame, getting bubbles out of the syringes, clean up, the process took about 30 minutes. I never slept.

Also, when I’m under stress, my body retains water, especially in my ankles. My edema was so bad I was only able to wear flip-flops, and my feet and ankles would change color when I flexed and relaxed them because of all the pressure on my skin. I also had a couple of gouges and scratches on my ankle that turned a huge patch of my ankle bright red.

So, this weekend I finally get some time with my Viking. I only got to see him for a few hours in June when he came to the hospital to see me.  I spent from Thursday night until tonight there.Thursday night I woke up twice with terrible panic attacks. I also woke up approximately forty times to go pee. My body feels safe and relaxed at his house with him and sheds all that water.

Friday, we went to his Tina’s house for a 4th of July cook out. He lives in Mustang, Oklahoma. Mustang, Oklahoma loves their fucking fireworks. Now, I realize I was probably having a low to mid level panic attack, then I just felt like I understood why animals hide in closets and shit. At one point I felt taking my cue from a cat and scrambling under the Viking’s truck.

I had tried to rationalize this by telling myself I lived most of my life in a town that did not allow civilian fireworks. I’m pretty sure it is the ONLY law my town really enforces (along with yard upkeep codes, stupid dick crystals.) (Also, I really need to google dick crystals.) BUT, my friend, my very first friend when I moved here actually, is dating the Viking’s Tina, and she was all normal and ‘oooohing’ and ‘awwwing’ and taking pictures. I decided to rationalize my buckets ‘o crazy by telling myself fireworks are meant to be symbolic of war, and it is TOTALLY not silly to be freaked out by explosions and flaming chemicals. I personally think it says something about my survival instincts.)

Quick sidenote, I did have fun Friday, even though most of it was an anxious mess, and two things happened that made it special for me. First, I think the Viking realized I was having issues and tried to take care of me by telling me when to cover my ears and letting me squeeze the shit out of his thumb. Honestly the man deserves a damn medal for how he dealt with me this weekend, actually, since my dad went into the hospital. Second thing, the Viking and I set up his Tina and my friend. I need to give her a nickname. Anyway, His Tina had her giggling so hard she was almost snorting. She was so happy with him. That was the thing that finally helped me relax enough to have a good time. I still smile when I think about it. Also Friday night, I did not have panic attacks, just seriously emotionally painful dreams.

Saturday, I napped. It was glorious. I took two friggin’ naps, and I felt better than I had in ages. My leg looked noticeably healed. I took the second nap in the living room where The Viking was doing homework. He tried to talk me into moving into the bedroom or something, but my sleepy brain told him that I wanted to be in the same room with him. I felt good when his family came over to visit and had a genuinely good time. I realized I really liked them. I think the bonding really began when the Viking’s little brother’s girlfriend and I tried to blow up a creepy ass statue but failed miserably. His mom finally won and took the statue home.

After they left Saturday night, we played video games. We were having a good time. I went to the bathroom and came out crying. I, once again felt batshit insane, but he didn’t even blink at the development. He’s my safe place. He’s the place I can stop holding everything in and feel all the fear (sheer fucking terror) I had been pushing down since the middle of June. The nightmares and panic attacks are all because of all the stress and emotions I throttle to survive. So, when he walked into the room and found me crying again, he didn’t bat an eye again. He sat down beside me and listened. He took care of me in his own way, like he always does, by reassuring me of my ability to handle it.

I needed to stop feeling stupid for all the emotion I felt. I just needed to allow myself to feel them when I was safe there with him. He can handle any crazy I throw at him. I also have to realize it is going to take me some time to get through all of the gunk in my brain, and it is okay.

Also, I have my lovely ankles back.

P.S I googled dick crystals. Never do that.



Jul 02

So Much Miss

First, the stay when Tina helped me do all the awesome upgrades to the look of the site, we also did a pin-up shoot. I had a blast and felt so sexy. We learned that her wienie dog is SERIOUSLY freaked out by me blowing bubbles.  Unfortunately, there was only one out of the group Tina liked enough to put her name on, but she did send me others she thought were beautiful, but maybe not Facebook stuff. I’m going to show them off because, no matter what, I had an amazing time with the shoot, talking about the shoot, and just feeling our creative energy.

I took the first one because I’m a huge ball of goof:

Mirror mirror on the wall

That is EXTREME duck face.

The second one is the one Facebook got to see. It is yet another example of Tina’s skill

I'm pretty cute

I’m pretty cute


I’ll put up two more that haven’t really been seen. I don’t think Tina is disappointed I think there is just too much boob for her purposes.  My boobs are just there. Sometimes they devour things.

Look at me trying to look thoughtful and sexy at the same time. It doesn't happen like that.

Look at me trying to look thoughtful and sexy at the same time. It doesn’t happen like that.


Last one I promise:

I was writing boobs over and over again.

I was writing boobs over and over again.


Forgive me my self indulgence of posting pictures of myself. It isn’t ego. When we do shoots like this, they feel like play. I feel like I am inhabiting someone else and playing a sneaky trick. Right now I need some play.


Mostly, I’m exhausted. I love my father, but he is a lot of work right now. I almost cried in the shower today. I did go to the Super Wal-Mart and did not even come close to crying in the parking lot. We know I’m bad stressed out when I cry in the super Wal-Mart parking lot.  I keep telling myself  all I have to do is make it until the weekend, and I get my Viking again. I miss him. I miss him so much.

It’s been too long, and that is mainly my family’s doing. I miss him so much that when I think about him, my right hand will search him out a bit. I know that sounds stupid, but I don’t care. I need to kiss him and have him touch my hair so all the stress, bullshit, and fear from this last time with my father in the hospital can slowly uncoil and flow out. I have to keep so much tightly bound. I just know he is my safe place. Once I reach his hand, I’ll be all okay.


Time for attempts at sleep.


Jun 18

And so My ANkles are HUGE.

Dude, I’m not even correcting the capitalization errors in my title. I could pretend I’m rebelling against the tyranny of standardization or capitalization practices.

  1. A we all know I’m a big fan of standard capitalization usage. Well, I’m a big fan of a lot of the standard practices in English grammar. I fuck them up all the time and my knowledge of the vast world barely scratches the knowledge, but I do care. When I forget how much I care, the internet reminds me. Except verbing, the use of a noun as a verb. I trucking love verbing. Love it.
  2. I am so fucking tired I forgot my second point. That might have been my second point, I don’t know.

The father person has been in the hospital since Thursday. Today is… Wednesday,  I think, but yeah since last Thursday. Today, hope started to come back to me so I came home for some rest.

Okay, really, I just lied to you. My sister came in this morning and told me to go home and get rest. She used her mom/ boss lady tone on me. I can only argue with that for so long (approximately 15 seconds unless it is something I am really passionate, then 45 seconds) and came home. She was right, I needed brains sleeps. I am feeling a lot more hope though, so that part is true. Also, my sister and brother-in-law are amazing. They are super human. I will never be able to thank them enough.

This is the character I play in the game Wild Star. I hope to play her tonight.

This is the character I play in the game Wild Star. I hope to play her tonight.

So, anyway, my body has the most awesome stress coping (I say coping as a question, because this shit doesn’t help cope, and I know it wouldn’t help in a survival situation.) My ankles and feet swell. One time I told the Viking’s best friend they are like puffer fish expanding themselves to scare off predators. They got fucking huge. People say cankles (I hate that word for so many reason.) I think I had thinkles. I don’t understand it. My body does weird shit. STAHP.


So, leaving you with a story of why the Viking truly is my one true love. Thursday night at the hospital the put a catheter in my dad. I became obsessively annoyed at how the liquids will chill in the tube and not drain to the bag. At one point, I bitched to myself that the Ancient Romans had figure out hydrodynamics for vast aqueducts, what the hell is this about.

Friday, the doctor who was filling in for the doctor filling in for my dad’s real doctor, came into my dad’s room dropped a bunch of scary ass numbers on me, told me there was no infection (there was, by the way, fucking science is win), gave me no answers or even hints at answers and swooped out.  I sat in the dark and wept in fear and confusion. She did the worst thing she could do to me. She give me contextually useless information but she was wasn’t willing to answer questions about, stripped me of any course of action, and didn’t give me anything I could hold on to to at least look up. I had to make decisions about what to tell the rest of my family, and I was lost. Our nurse Sam, who is now forever held in a special place in my heart, came in and talked to me honestly, and kindly. He gave me hope and facts.

If someone tells me to go kill a dragon with a butter knife, and I can google what parts of a dragon are vulnerable to a butter knife, I’ll be okay. Not having a course of action or any way of finding a path, I lose my shit.

Anyway, back to the Viking, I was still scared and needed my mate. The Viking came to the hospital later that night. He was wonderful in general. At one point, we where in the hospital room and I was obsessively messing with the damn tubing, and he furrowed his brows at it, He said, “The Roman’s figured that shit out for their aqueducts, what is their problem?”

Yep. He is my one true love.


Jun 03

This Is a Thing and the World is More Awesome for It

Why hasn’t this happened before, and how did I not know right when it did? I’m pretty sure it should have sent out waves in the web of cute things my world exists in.



Jun 03


When I was little I might have been a *little* stubborn. Shocker right? My mom caught a lot of flack for not making me do things or letting me do things like dress myself terribly. My mom is a smart lady and knew to pick her battles. Peas were just not a battle worth having, so she taught me to say ‘no thank you’ and left it.

When I was about six, my sister and I went to stay with my aunt. My aunt didn’t understand the whole picking your battles thing and served me peas.

frozen peas

These fuckers right here

I said ‘no, thank you, I don’t like peas’ very politely like my mom taught me. This was not acceptable. At about 6pm, my aunt told me, like adult people do, I couldn’t get up from the table until I had eaten my peas.

At about midnight, my aunt snatched the plate from out in front of me, threw out the peas, and yelled at me in pure frustration as she made my pallet on the floor.

I have stayed that stubborn. It isn’t malicious or even to be a trouble maker. It is just who I am. My aunt learned my mom’s lesson about picking battles. Also, to this day, frozen peas only exist as fantastic ice packs for injuries.