Feb 02

Cut a Bitch

I know I was once again a terrible blogger last month. I did the stupid thing everyone on anti-depressants does on occasion and decided I was well enough without them. Yeah. It worked out super well.

Some people can only take medicine for a brief period in their lives and, when circumstances change, come off of them. I’m guessing those people are not me. I wasn’t taking them really religiously before that even. It explains a lot. I know, not bright, mea culpa. So back on them I go.

Then I got hit by the stomach flu. The stomach freaking flu. I hate it more than anything. I am such a wuss about it, too. So, at least this week I had a good excuse.

Side rant: it drives me crazy when people say things like “I just don’t believe you should take a pill to fix everything,” or “Some people just don’t know how to cope.” Seriously, bitch? My brain is fucking broken. It isn’t like I’m kinda bummed that I didn’t get a date to the prom. The chemicals in my brain are WHACK. Saying that to someone with chronic depression is like saying, “if you weren’t such a weakling your cells wouldn’t have went a nutso and went all cancerous.”

And you know what? It isn’t about just coping. When I don’t take my pills I do go mental. I do get deep depressions and stuff, and I would make it through it. I have a higher quality of life on medication. I’m not a different person; I’m myself. I’m my happy, bright, vivacious, creative self that I love so much. I look at some of these people who pride themselves on being so strong for “handling” their depression and feel sorrow for them. Being miserable isn’t “handling” something; it’s avoiding something. It is denying themselves a potential happiness for the sake of being tough. See the paragraph above.

People puff themselves up in judgement and spout off something about people before the modern era not having depression issues or having Prozac. I have to blink at them for a few seconds so I don’t shake the shit out of them. Life was misery before the modern era for most people. Even people who weren’t worrying about starving or freezing to death had messed up miserable lives. And saying because they didn’t use anti-depressants (which they did, by the way, through out history with varying degrees of success) is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. So, I shouldn’t take antibiotics or, you know, bathe regularly because they didn’t in the olden times?

-.-

 

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Jan 24

Odds and Ends

I think this is a donkey, but let's pretend it's an ass.

I think this is a donkey, but let’s pretend it’s an ass.

Okay, I’m tired and not feeling much writery.
It’s why I missed both Saturday and Tuesday. (In my defense, I had a blog started then the Viking told me South Park had already covered the topic, and I found I couldn’t complete it.)

I am still not feeling very writer-y, but I have too much guilt to not post today, so you guys are getting a really bunch of random shit floating around in my head. You can thank my guilt later.

I hate romantic comedies and books with heavy romantic story lines. I love young adult fantasy, but they ALWAYS have a stupid love story/triangle. It nearly ruined The Hunger Games for me. I used to secretly fear that it was because I was bitter at the utter failure of my love life and my quiet conviction that true love was real, but it was just never going to happen for me. I was bitter and therefore hated happy romantic couples. Yeah, no.

I am with a wonderful man who brings more wonderful to my life than I ever imagined the world could hold for me, but I still freaking hate romances. I particularly hate teen romance story lines. I think it is because I hated being a teenager. Maybe I only like young adult fantasy about young adults in post-apocalyptic world or in completely made up worlds. Or maybe just certain books. I don’t know. I hate romances.

I feel bad writing bad things about any books which have been published and are popular. It is something I haven’t done, and, honestly, people have different tastes. Not everyone is nerd sexy like me.

So, I have been getting myself worked up about things lately. I will be thinking and get all pissed off, normally about feminist-y stuff. I get a full head of steam worked up then realize I had just made myself mad for no real reason, and then I would get too lazy to write anything about it.

 

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Jan 17

The Wal-Mart Mythos

My Wal-mart face

My Wal-mart face

I’ve begun to realize that people outside of the south and central parts of the U.S don’t understand many things about us. One of those things is our relationship with the Wal-Mart.

I spent the first nine years of my life in Louisiana. When you needed groceries you went to Piggly-Wiggly, Alberston’s, or Winn-Dixie, but for everything else, you went to the Wal-Mart. Everybody went to Wal-Mart. It was a part of life like school. I guess it was my childhood death and taxes.

When we moved to Oklahoma, it was the same way. Everyone goes to the Wal-Mart. I live in this strange town with marked social and economic statuses. In Chickasha, Oklahoma what side of town you live on matters. (Well, for most people it does.) Grown ass adults group off into cliques, and everyone looks down at everyone else. The meth heads look down on the soccer moms just as much as the soccer moms look down on me for not wearing make up to the flipping store. (I have a bra on, what the hell else do you want from me?) But, one way everyone is equal is that we all end up at the Wal-Mart.

I was fifteen before I truly understood there were places in our fine country that did not have Wal-Marts, and it blew my mind. I could not comprehend the concept of functioning without one. I am only still able to barely grasp the concept. Where do these people shop? But, but, but, it’s Wal-Mart, you have to go.

I know some people think Wal-Mart is evil, and I’m not saying they are wrong. I am pretty neutral on the ‘giant soul sucking corporation’ thing. I just know, most places around here, you have Wal-Mart or you have nothing.

This is why I write about the Wal-Mart so much. Just so you know.

 

 

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Jan 15

And Then Some

Cosplay canine style

Cosplay canine style

“One must wonder how one milks a soy.”

I think that every time I make coffee with my soy milk. You would think the joke would get old, but no, I still enjoy it.

I finally went to the doctor to Friday. The physicians assistant was very polite, smart, kind, and she looked twelve. She gave me some antibiotics after telling me viruses don’t last three weeks.  I think it was payback for me telling her I had the Black Death. I’m a writer. I’m allowed some license with reality. Well, okay, I’m me, and we all know I have a fascinating relationship with reality.

Speaking of feeling old, my circus freak was trying to find more babysitters on Facebook. I thought about offering. I realized I would be babysitting the child of a child I used to babysit. I felt so damn old. Also, it feels kind of Inception-y. I’m pretty sure it would be like dividing by zero.

My butt is like a small river in Alaska. When the weather gets cold and stays that way, my butt freezes. I call it ‘Popsicle butt.’ (I have it on good authority that googling that phrase leads to heartbreak. Don’t do it kids.) Well, my butt has officially frozen over and won’t thaw until sometime in Spring. I only share this because I KNOW I can’t be the only one who has this problem. I know it. We need to make a support group.

On that note…

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Jan 10

Keeping It Real

I’ve been sick since a little after Christmas. I know, I know, I’m Typhoid Mary. We’ve covered this already.

I will get to feeling better with plenty of rest, but once I do, I find myself having to do something big and strenuous. (I have no regrets about getting sick because I went out on NYE with the Viking. He was worth being sick for.) I would probably get better quicker if I had antibiotics, but no medical insurance. You pick up what I’m putting down?

Anyway, I have been good about resting so when I had a few errands to run earlier today it was no big deal. They were simple, easy errands. You see where this is going, right?

I started getting a bit frustrated when CVS told me they would take two hours to fill my mom’s prescription, but I tried being zen about it. I didn’t jump out of my car and start kicking the car in the drive-thru (the only case where thru is acceptable over through) next to me when the old dood start pointing at me and yelled at me with an angry face. I went through the shorter lane since I was just dropping off. Old dood did not approve. I did not get in a fight with old dood.

Believe it or not I was trying really hard not to be a douche bag.

Next errand: Braum’s for groceries. Halfway through the parking lot, my underoos try to make an escape, and I’m wearing a skirt. (I am never buying that type of underwear again. They have been nothing but trouble.) I have to make the split second decision to try and pull them up, let them fall all the way down and walk away like nothing happened, or walk strange to keep them up with my legs. I walk strange.

So, I’m in the store trying very hard not to lose my knickers. This takes a lot of effort, but I am still trying very hard not to be a douche bag. The woman in front of me at the check out asks where something is, and then leaves her basket to grab a few more things. There is a line behind me, but I’m trying really hard not to be a douche bag so I ask if it was my turn. I didn’t know the protocol. The cashier looked at his line and started ringing me up.

When we were half way done the woman in front of me came back and started giving me the stink eye. The woman behind me offered to let her go first and they made some comments about her being there first. I really wanted to yell,” I asked, okay? I’m not trying to be rude, and MY PANTIES ARE ESCAPING DOWN MY LEGS. STOP JUDGING ME.”

I didn’t though.

The rest of the trip was calamitous but not worth mentioning.

I go back out two hours later. I need stamps and drugs. That’s it. In theory, CVS has them both. (Oh, yeah, the highlight of my day is I see my friend Jennifer. I digress.) I wait ten minutes in the back pharmacy counter and find out I can’t buy stamps back there and I can’t pay for the prescription up front.

By this time, I feel like hell. My chest and sinuses feel like they have been scraped and filled with lava. I’m tired, and nothing has gone like it should.

I almost started crying in CVS. I don’t know if that seems as pathetic to you guys, but I felt pathetic having to repeat “I will not cry in CVS” over and over in my head.

The awesome thing, though, is that the entire time I’m going through this, including my crying fit when I get home, I knew it was funny as hell in a twisted way.  I couldn’t wait to get home to tell you guys about it.

You know you’ve had an awesome day when you come in from he grocery store with your panties on one of the bags and you had work really hard not to cry in the drug store.

 

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Jan 08

In Defense of Feminism

I’ve never hidden the fact I’m a feminist. Well, okay, it took me awhile to come into my own and accept it. I had spent most of my life eschewing the label. I think this is fairly common for women my age, because we got indoctrinated with this strange discomfort with the idea of being a feminist.

I don’t know where I learned it, but somehow I had picked up the idea that a feminist was something other than female. They were some angry, raging, screaming horde wanting to rip me away from my eyeshadow and hair dye and make me hate men. All of which was very odd considering I never considered myself particularly feminine. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I spent much of my teens and early twenties looking down at things I considered “too feminine.” I actually would sneer with derision at the idea of high heels and lip gloss. Somehow those pathetic creatures who cared about fashion and beauty were contemptible or weak. So, I was left not wanting to be a manly feminist but judging femininity.

It is not that unusual.

Now I know it wasn’t lip gloss I hated but gender training. I hated the idea women were supposed to be weak, and anything too feminine was ultimately inferior. I hated who I thought the world wanted me to be. I didn’t understand that, so I hated the idea of women. It is a strange, messed up, self-loathing Stockholm syndrome.

As I got older, I began to understand. I got wise enough to look at the society sending me the messages instead of the messages themselves. Now, I know I hate gender training.

I’m going to piss off some of my fellow feminists here, but I believe women are different than men. Penises and vaginas mean more than just one of us can pee standing up without the very real possibility of gross wet socks. I think denying those differences is as dangerous as pretending there isn’t gender training. Instead of fighting the existence of the differences, we need to fight perception of those differences.

We need to stop this bullshit belief that anything inherently female is weak or wrong.

If you don’t believe these beliefs exist, just think for a second about the words for weakness men hurl at each. A lot of them are references to female genitalia, feminist characteristics, or things indicating being penetrated during sex. (Your being such a woman. Stop being a pussy. Are you just going to take it up the ass?)

That is gender training. It affects us in insidious ways. It hurts us all.

Men are just as hurt by gender training as we are. Yes, they benefit from the patriarchy, no one denies that, but they are rigidly cast into roles, just like us. If you doubt me, listen to men talk about their “man card.”

So here is my defense of feminism: I don’t want to take away your eyeshadow. I don’t want you to feel bad for being a stay at home mom. I don’t want you to feel bad for being a working mom. I don’t want to make you feel bad for have a plethora of sexual partners or having very few. I certainly don’t want you to hate men. Wax, shave, powder, dye, dress up anything that makes you feel happy. What I want, as a feminist, is to build a society where both genders can make choices for themselves without pressure from society.

I want you to be you without feeling it is wrong because of some bullshit standard you didn’t make.

I want you to be happy.

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Jan 05

Strange Disconnect

One side

And this too

I have this strange disconnect between different parts of my life right now. It is like moods swings but more involved.on steroids, involving whole chunks of my personality.

Parts of my life I love. The people in my life are wonderful. I’m in love with a wonderful man that most of my friends think is a figment of my imagination. (I might get Tina to sign an affidavit attesting to the fact she has met him.) I have incredible friends who have seen me through a whole lot. I am so thankful.

Sometimes I am so happy I think I will burst.

Sometimes I am so cranky I can barely stand to be in my own head.

Part of it is that asshole enough. He keeps rearing his ugly head. I’ve written about him before. I don’t feel smart enough, talented enough, dedicated enough, good enough… I just need to accept that I will have these struggles for the rest of my life. I can’t keep trying to do more or be more in hopes of being enough, because it will never happen.

Part of it is fear. I’m like everyone else on Earth. My heart is filled with fear. Some of it is tangible things like birds. Most of it is self- defeating crap. I fear never achieving anything. (Which is super awesome, considering my fear of never achieving anything paralyzes me sometimes, so I don’t do anything.) I look at everything I feel like I need to do or be better at and it crushes me. It turns into this cold sticky mix of fucked up overwhelmed and fear, and I can’t move. I can’t move right now. I want to call out for help, but it is only me who can unstick me. I am the only one who can start moving.

Something I’m working on is focusing on what I do right instead of what I do wrong; a switch in focus if you will.

It is a lot of bullshit to retrain your brain through.

So, I need to make plans and goals. I need to forgive myself when I don’t live up to my goals and plans. I need to remind myself that not achieving perfection isn’t failure, but stopping trying to move forward is.

I also need to accept that I will be slogging through this bullshit for the rest of my life. I could be upset about it, or I can try and learn coping skills.

Now the biggest question: how does one learn to be kind to oneself?

Oi Vey

 

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Jan 03

What We Think Other People Want

They had a hell of a hang over yesterday. PARTY HARD FOR LIFE

They had a hell of a hang over yesterday. PARTY HARD FOR LIFE

Here is the it of it: most of us care about what people think of us. We try to be what we think those who we care about want us to be. Even people who have accepted their social awkwardness, like me, still care about what those we love think of us even if we have long given up on fitting in.

This is particularly true if for writers and artists. (I have a hard time calling what I do art. It sounds so pretentious. I’ve written maybe three things that neared art. Ugh, I might as well call myself a word smythe.) We put our work out there, hoping for some reaction, and watched tensely as we see what happens.

Some people will try to tell you that a true artist doesn’t care what the world thinks of their art. This is straight up bullshit. Writers and artists are trying to communicate something, evoke something, to the world. We work with a purpose. If people don’t feel something, aren’t entertained, or react in someway to a work, then the artist failed. The trick is deciding what your purpose is and gauging the reaction of your audience.

The balancing act writers and artists face is making sure they connect with their audience and losing their footing and failing completely into what they think people will like. In that way, it is a lot like high school.

I keep making about writing, but this true about everything in life. I’ve spent my life tailoring parts of my personality to fit the situation I’m in. We have to do this. I couldn’t go into work and swear at the top of my lungs. I’m not going to get around conservatives and discuss my massive feminist leanings, and I will avoid talking politics at all costs.

But, here is the problem with that, we can drown in making ourselves acceptable. We can’t tailor ourselves for those we love. We have to be kind and appreciative. We should be loving and accepting. We can’t try to change our core selves for those we love. We can’t change who we are.

I have this problem with blogging, too. I will notice certain things I write do better than other things, and I will change how I write to try and produce more of those things.  After a while I lose some of my voice. Or, I will not write about something I think or feel because I feel like I have written about it too much, or no one will find it interesting. In the end, I stop finding myself interesting.

It turns out being yourself is an ongoing, never ending process.

So, I’m not going to worry about writing about writing , happiness, genuineness, or being a nutjob too much. This is what I am, and you guys have proven over and over again that I can trust you with who I really am.

 

 

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Jan 01

Oh, Hi There 2013

I know I’m supposed to write a blog about things I plan to do better this new year. I know what I need to better. It is the same stuff as ever, but resolving to change that never works, so I’m changing shit up.

So here is my New Year’s resolution: Grab on to all of the happiness in my life and make it through the bad.

Simple. I want to be happy.

2013 will be about what I can do to make my life and the lives of those I love better. I want to spread some happy.

I want to be a bottle of puppy smiles and unicorn farts. (Unicorn farts are universally known to be the happiest things on earth.)

In 2012, I learned the beauty of being simply, beautifully content and happy. I know what it is to have joy so deep that it almost hurts. I know what is to love so much it is scary and the power of telling that fear to fuck off.

In 2012, I learned I’m not growing into something else and I have a final form. I stopped worrying about rushing into that form. The point is the becoming. If you focus too much on the end point you end up missing some really great shit on the way.

In 2012, I finally learned to stop hating myself for all the things that are wrong with me. I can now forgive myself and be a bit kinder to me.

So 2013, more of the same.

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Dec 27

Things I Do and Do Not Want to Talk About:

Do: I’m getting a Kindle. It is the very smallest, least model, but I’m still stoked. I know y’all don’t care, but this could signal another jump into modern technology. Who knows, someday I might even get a smartphone.

Do: I have a date for New Year’s Eve for the first time in ever. If something happens and we have to cancel, I’m going to be very pissed at something.

Do: At least this weather will kill some of the bugs off. One can hope anyway.

Do: The movie Billy Elliot always hits me right in the feels.

Do: A Feast for Crows is much better on an e-reader since you don’t have to hassle with a massive book.

Do: My Christmas present for the Viking is AWESOME. Tina very graciously took pictures of my hard work. I’m totally posting the pictures once I get them and, you know, I actually give the present to him.

Look at this sweet face

Look at this sweet face

Don’t: How much I’ve written lately. I’m a loser.

Don’t: How much I’ve slept in the past two days. I’m pretending my body is going into standby mode to auto-repair.

Don’t: Gun Control. Every time I talk to someone about this, on either side, I’m somehow wrong because I’m a moderate. No one is really listening, but everyone is reacting. Oi Vey.

Don’t: I refuse to speak to anyone who has bad things to say about The Hobbit. Any opinion other that it was freaking bad ass is wrong. Thorin Oakenshield makes Aragorn look like a pansy ass.  The Hobbit has all of the badassery of Lord of the Rings without all the stupid humans and elves. Dwarfs are win. Any other opinion is wrong. Except maybe the movie needs Eowyn. That is an acceptable opinion.

Don’t: Stop judging me for wanting to wear my slippers everywhere. It’s cold and I hate real shoes.

 

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