The title has nothing to do with this post. That's just something i accidently said today because i can't swear at my jobs - little ears, you know. I was going to say the monkey's uncle thing but uncle came out first so i just rolled with it.
This post is about periods. Not the dots at the end of many sentences, the kind ladies have. You know, where they bleed and get dumb up in their brain buckets and say stupid shit about uncles. Anyway, this goddamn bullshit has been going on for precisely 2/3 of my life. I should be used to it - a motherfuckin' pro, right? Wrong. I still think tampons should click when they're in right. Here's something men may not understand (as if any read past the first sentence of this paragraph): When a woman has unwittingly failed to properly position that chapstick-sized tube of dry cotton inside her bits and, say, has a coughing or sneezing fit or something, it feels like your twat's getting ripped in half. It's world-blackening, head spinning torture. ~2056 days of perioding, which is roughly in the neighborhood of 8224 insertions, assuming one switches it up with pads as i do, and at least once a month i have to experience that gut wrenching agony. ADD A FUCKING CLICKER! A man has walked on the moon for cryin' in the mud, but no one has bothered to create a smart tampon.
Well i quit. Life. The Universe. Everything. I'm out. If anyone asked what happened, tell 'em i coughed for a while, kicked a puppy, and fucked off forever.
Later, boners.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Monday, January 6, 2014
Thought for the New Year
So many people talking about bullies right now. Bullying is a huge problem. Really, duh. Sure was for me. I totally got the shit end of that stick for about the first 13 years of my life from everyone bigger than me. And, let me tell ya, that was everyone.
A bully is someone too scared to come at you alone. They may be the only one throwing rocks, punching bodies, calling names, or posting humiliating crap online BUT THEY ARE NOT ALONE. They are aided by each of us who doesn't scream until the rocks are dropped or hands are stilled or utterances are silenced or the passive and/or aggressive posts are ceased. If those cowards had no silent backing they would stop. Some of them don't even know they're being bullies simply because no one has ever taken the time to challenge them. No one has been brave enough to call "bullshit". I call bullshit right now. I seriously can't take any more. You don't want to see me angry
A bully is someone too scared to come at you alone. They may be the only one throwing rocks, punching bodies, calling names, or posting humiliating crap online BUT THEY ARE NOT ALONE. They are aided by each of us who doesn't scream until the rocks are dropped or hands are stilled or utterances are silenced or the passive and/or aggressive posts are ceased. If those cowards had no silent backing they would stop. Some of them don't even know they're being bullies simply because no one has ever taken the time to challenge them. No one has been brave enough to call "bullshit". I call bullshit right now. I seriously can't take any more. You don't want to see me angry
Friday, December 27, 2013
The Creatures Shall Not Defeat Me
I live in a big house. Well, I live on the first floor of a big house. 2 bedrooms, lots of closets, living room AND dining room, plus 2 porches. I also have a garage and a big backyard. I am very lucky. However, I am also an artist, so that means there is never enough room for all my shit. Perhaps if I lived alone...alas, I live with Cousin Roommate who is also an artist. We have a lot of shit.
I have tried many arrangements in order to allow us both enough space in this incredible shrinking apartment. First we confined all the art stuff to the dining room. The hoard laughed at our efforts as it spilled into first the living room, then the kitchen, and finally my bedroom. After that I decided that since A) Cousin Roommate is sort of a recluse and B) I haven't been having many indoor parties lately, we should each have our own room for arting in. I took the former living room and Cousin Roommate expanded into the entire dining room. Also, at that time, several of our friends joined us in an adventure wherein we rented a huge studio space downtown to try and get the ball rolling on something (something some of us lost sight of, or never had, or whatever - that's another topic).
With the duel studio rooms going on, the hoard grew much more slowly and I was actually able to move, art, and breath in my space. However, recently, the downtown studio space became a thing of the past. Suddenly the hoard was back, with teeth. My "studio room" looked like 6 episodes of "Hoarders: Buried Alive" all smooshed into one colourfully lit area. Even breathing became hard.
I cannot art in those conditions. When I cannot art, I became restless, then angry, then depressed. Also, it's winter now and I have to fight against punching the stupid out of people harder than the rest of the year as it is. Something had to be done.
So I have moved into the one room in the basement that doesn't necessarily scream NIGHTMARE. All the other rooms are pretty terrifying. There is even a Murder Shower.
I used to have a "lab" down there when I first moved into this place with my former roommate. But a series of very soggy events led to everything I had worked on being ruined. I cleaned the room out but before I got my shit situated, I decided to let the place be used by some very cool people who were running a pirate radio station because fuck the FCC. The room has been abandoned for a very long time (ever since my paranoid landlord thought the antenna on the chimney was a bomb) so I'm back, baby.
Now here I am in a conundrum. You see, the spiders and other disgusting critters in the basement don't understand that I pay the fucking rent. They've been squatting on my dime so long that they are understandably pissed at me now that I am making them leave the only place that isn't a dank hell hole. But fuck 'em, right? They can have the whole rest of the cavernous, dark basement. I'm not going into the Murder Shower, even on a dare, so it's yours, assholes. Oh, that's not enough space for you relatively small monsters? How 'bout the haunted coal room where the light from 4 LED flashlights cannot penetrate? You'd thrive in there, you beasts. But, no. They keep coming back to my area. And now they've called in reinforcements.
It's my fault. The other day I got tired of nicely explaining to these stupid spiders that they could go over there or over there or even over there and I wouldn't tear down their webs or shoo them with paper or anything at all. Plus, they eat silverfish, I think, so I don't even kill spiders that have bodies smaller than my thumbnail as a rule. One spider, bigger than the ones I had tried reasoning with a million times, startled me. I noticed it out of the corner of my eye coming straight for my face - i'm assuming it wanted to get in through my eye to my brain so it could take control of my body and make me leave. At the time, I was working with my heat gun so I did the most logical and instinctual thing, which was burn it with a 700degree blast. Not nice, I know. And when I was 19 I caught the curtains on fire at my apartment killing another spider using a lighter and hair spray. I should have learned my lesson because this time the consequences were much more serious than flaming draperies. . .
The spiders have let bats in the basement. I'm not joking. Or a bat, anyway. There is no other explanation for that bat's arrival mere minutes after the spider's death. The survivors rallied in support and called on the creature of the night to frighten me. What they don't know is A) bats are one of my spirit animals and B) I've been inoculated against rabies. Bring it on, shit bags!
Actually, it scared the shit out of me. I've even been having dreams where I'm trying to give one of my friends an artichoke and I notice that there are flies on it but the flies are actually little tiny baby bats. So I don't give her the artichoke which makes me sad because, for some reason, in my dreams she really likes artichokes.
They've invaded my studio and they've invaded my dreams, but they shall not defeat me.
I have tried many arrangements in order to allow us both enough space in this incredible shrinking apartment. First we confined all the art stuff to the dining room. The hoard laughed at our efforts as it spilled into first the living room, then the kitchen, and finally my bedroom. After that I decided that since A) Cousin Roommate is sort of a recluse and B) I haven't been having many indoor parties lately, we should each have our own room for arting in. I took the former living room and Cousin Roommate expanded into the entire dining room. Also, at that time, several of our friends joined us in an adventure wherein we rented a huge studio space downtown to try and get the ball rolling on something (something some of us lost sight of, or never had, or whatever - that's another topic).
With the duel studio rooms going on, the hoard grew much more slowly and I was actually able to move, art, and breath in my space. However, recently, the downtown studio space became a thing of the past. Suddenly the hoard was back, with teeth. My "studio room" looked like 6 episodes of "Hoarders: Buried Alive" all smooshed into one colourfully lit area. Even breathing became hard.
I cannot art in those conditions. When I cannot art, I became restless, then angry, then depressed. Also, it's winter now and I have to fight against punching the stupid out of people harder than the rest of the year as it is. Something had to be done.
So I have moved into the one room in the basement that doesn't necessarily scream NIGHTMARE. All the other rooms are pretty terrifying. There is even a Murder Shower.
I used to have a "lab" down there when I first moved into this place with my former roommate. But a series of very soggy events led to everything I had worked on being ruined. I cleaned the room out but before I got my shit situated, I decided to let the place be used by some very cool people who were running a pirate radio station because fuck the FCC. The room has been abandoned for a very long time (ever since my paranoid landlord thought the antenna on the chimney was a bomb) so I'm back, baby.
Now here I am in a conundrum. You see, the spiders and other disgusting critters in the basement don't understand that I pay the fucking rent. They've been squatting on my dime so long that they are understandably pissed at me now that I am making them leave the only place that isn't a dank hell hole. But fuck 'em, right? They can have the whole rest of the cavernous, dark basement. I'm not going into the Murder Shower, even on a dare, so it's yours, assholes. Oh, that's not enough space for you relatively small monsters? How 'bout the haunted coal room where the light from 4 LED flashlights cannot penetrate? You'd thrive in there, you beasts. But, no. They keep coming back to my area. And now they've called in reinforcements.
It's my fault. The other day I got tired of nicely explaining to these stupid spiders that they could go over there or over there or even over there and I wouldn't tear down their webs or shoo them with paper or anything at all. Plus, they eat silverfish, I think, so I don't even kill spiders that have bodies smaller than my thumbnail as a rule. One spider, bigger than the ones I had tried reasoning with a million times, startled me. I noticed it out of the corner of my eye coming straight for my face - i'm assuming it wanted to get in through my eye to my brain so it could take control of my body and make me leave. At the time, I was working with my heat gun so I did the most logical and instinctual thing, which was burn it with a 700degree blast. Not nice, I know. And when I was 19 I caught the curtains on fire at my apartment killing another spider using a lighter and hair spray. I should have learned my lesson because this time the consequences were much more serious than flaming draperies. . .
The spiders have let bats in the basement. I'm not joking. Or a bat, anyway. There is no other explanation for that bat's arrival mere minutes after the spider's death. The survivors rallied in support and called on the creature of the night to frighten me. What they don't know is A) bats are one of my spirit animals and B) I've been inoculated against rabies. Bring it on, shit bags!
Actually, it scared the shit out of me. I've even been having dreams where I'm trying to give one of my friends an artichoke and I notice that there are flies on it but the flies are actually little tiny baby bats. So I don't give her the artichoke which makes me sad because, for some reason, in my dreams she really likes artichokes.
They've invaded my studio and they've invaded my dreams, but they shall not defeat me.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Come on! Really?!
I can't be the only one. Is it wrong of me to disengage after watching 12 of 13 episodes of a show because the offspring of two brown-eyed people had a blue-eyed kid? I mean, if you're going to do that, i'm going to need photographs of the grandparents showing at least 1 with blue eyes. It bugs me. Whatever. It's totally irresponsible, though, when two blue-eyed peeps have brown-eyed kid. How much of the budget would get eaten up by conacts? Really? No one would spring for Daniel Radcliff to wear green contacts? That's not the thing that set me off, but it' a good point. Anyway. That's the kind of thing that makes me throw remotes. I'm just saying - people know science, bro. Gaaal!
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Fine. Fuck it. Yeah, add it to the list.
So maybe i have some tendency to hoard. Or maybe i'm lazy-feeling a majority of the time when i'm at home. Possibly both. Anyway, the time has come for me to do something about it. Recognition is the first step.
I am a hoarder. A hoarder with anxiety, prone to depression, and with a history of panic attacks, who has had one minor psychotic break. Awesome. And single. Can you believe that?
I know there shouldn't be 11 dirty dishes that i can see from here in my bedroom. Honestly though, 4 of those things are cutlery so it's not that bad. Oh shit! I didn't count cups - add five. Twelve....so not that big a deal. Yeah, 15 is my limit anyway. It's fine.
Beers cans? Strew about a bedroom? Ridiculous. Well i'm rollin' 12 deep. I go for a solid 18 before that's a thing. It's fine.
My roughly 80 square feet bedroom has precisely 6 square feet of clear floor area? So? At its cleanest it only has 30 square feet. Why do i need five times as much space? What am i, the Queen of Sheba? It's fine.
And the rest of the place? It's full, yeah. There aren't like tunnels or shifting mounds of stuff (except two places where it's supposed to be like that). I'm certain there are no dead cats buried anywhere. Mainly because i won't let the evil monsters in my home. I mean, gross. Anyway, i live with Cousin Roommate who is also an artist and artists need stuff, man. And since it's not all mine to control, why bother controlling any thing? Even myself. . .
...
I think we've made a break through here today.
...
Yeah, whatever.
I am a hoarder. A hoarder with anxiety, prone to depression, and with a history of panic attacks, who has had one minor psychotic break. Awesome. And single. Can you believe that?
I know there shouldn't be 11 dirty dishes that i can see from here in my bedroom. Honestly though, 4 of those things are cutlery so it's not that bad. Oh shit! I didn't count cups - add five. Twelve....so not that big a deal. Yeah, 15 is my limit anyway. It's fine.
Beers cans? Strew about a bedroom? Ridiculous. Well i'm rollin' 12 deep. I go for a solid 18 before that's a thing. It's fine.
My roughly 80 square feet bedroom has precisely 6 square feet of clear floor area? So? At its cleanest it only has 30 square feet. Why do i need five times as much space? What am i, the Queen of Sheba? It's fine.
And the rest of the place? It's full, yeah. There aren't like tunnels or shifting mounds of stuff (except two places where it's supposed to be like that). I'm certain there are no dead cats buried anywhere. Mainly because i won't let the evil monsters in my home. I mean, gross. Anyway, i live with Cousin Roommate who is also an artist and artists need stuff, man. And since it's not all mine to control, why bother controlling any thing? Even myself. . .
...
I think we've made a break through here today.
...
Yeah, whatever.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Oh how soon my words bite me in the ass
I have this friend, let's call her Nellie. I give Nel a lot of shit about how she longs for this one dude but never really goes for it. She's all, "What if he doesn't like me?" And i'm all, "Yeah, so what? At least you'd know. You can still fantasize about him either way - you don't need mutual consent for that. It's always better to know than not to know." I said those words at about 8 o'clock last night. That was approximately one hour after the dude i pine over and who was supposed to come out with us last night sends us texts saying he couldn't come to the bar because he lost his ID but maybe when his best friend (dude-wife more like) gets to town we can meet up somewhere else. We'll call this guy Carl due to his unnatural affinity toward sweatpants. Anyway, Carl keeps sending texts saying he's waiting for his butt-buddy, Ass Bag, but now it's late, we're back from watching the band i wanted to see and i'm itching to see Carl so i take matters into my own hands and text Ass Bag, who happens to also be my cousin, to get his ETA. Here's where shit gets nuts.
You see, this whole time, Nel has kept saying that Carl is probably lying and he and Ass Bag are probably playing with each other's joysticks in front of the PS4 and talking about how lazy and stupid they both are and how they're a match made in heaven. Cuddling and passing pipes and whatever. "No, no," i say, "that's crazy. I know they're in love with each other and Carl hasn't been the same since Ass Bag got married, but if Carl said his ID is lost, then it's lost. It's such a stupid thing to lie about. If he didn't want to hang he'd say so. Maybe they can come over here for a fire pit sit when Ass Bag shows up or he could swing by and pick us up on the way. Carl's pretty gross and immature, but he's a good guy. I've never heard him tell a lie in the nearly ten years i've known him. We'll hang out tonight 'cause he wants it."
I totally defended him all chivarously and believed that A) his license was lost and B) that my dipshit cousin wasn't there yet because he hardly ever shows up anywhere before one in the morning. So i text Ass Bag. Here's how it went:
Me: When the hell are you getting to town?!
AB: Who said i was commin to town
Me: Carl. Is he a liar?
AB: No i made him think that last night maybe but i hav shit to do tomorro
Me: Ok. Well you made him ditch me tonight so thanks.
AB: Glad i could help i guess
Me: You broke his heart. Trust me. You're a monster.
AB: I love me
I stopped texting him then and sent a text to Carl. This is what i sent:
Ass Bag is not coming to town. You've been duped. We're chillin' at my house if you wanna hang.
And THEN my phone rings. It's Ass Bag. I answer, ready to really chew his ass out for ruining my life and destroying all my chances at happiness, "Whaddaya want, dick weed?" But wait. . . what are those garbled voices? . . has he ass dialed me? Why, yes, yes he has. And who's that i hear and background laughing and shrieking like Ned Flanders seeing purple drapes? Carl. Mother. Fucking. Carl.
Yep. So i keep on listening for a few minutes while Carl and his cousin, Derp, and my cousin the ass bag read my texts to each other and laugh like retarded hyenas. Nel keeps trying to get me to hang up and call back but i'm like, "Fuck no. I'd rather know than not know." So she calls Carl and when it starts ringing my phone gets quiet for a sec and then i hear, "Omigod! It's Nellie!" And they all bust out laughing again and he shushes them and answers. I can hear him on my phone and our stupid cousins trying to keep their shit together. Nel straight told him Ass Bag had butt dialed me but i hear Ass Bag getting the word from Carl and he whispers, "Dude! I'm looking at my phone. There's no call!" So Carl proceeds to tell Nel that Ass Bag is not there and he thought he was coming to town and he really did lose his ID and he really wants to hang out and he is in no way a liar. She keeps saying, "The jig is up! I can hear you on two phones right now!"
He wasn't getting it. Totally drunk and probably stoned. Anyway, after their three minute conversation ends with him still insisting he's being nothing but completely honest, Ass Bag's phone is still broadcasting. Then Ass Bag says, "Oh shit, you guys!" And the line goes dead.
He did that on purpose. That Ass Bag was letting me know because it's better to know than not to know. So now i know. At least they all got a good laugh.
You see, this whole time, Nel has kept saying that Carl is probably lying and he and Ass Bag are probably playing with each other's joysticks in front of the PS4 and talking about how lazy and stupid they both are and how they're a match made in heaven. Cuddling and passing pipes and whatever. "No, no," i say, "that's crazy. I know they're in love with each other and Carl hasn't been the same since Ass Bag got married, but if Carl said his ID is lost, then it's lost. It's such a stupid thing to lie about. If he didn't want to hang he'd say so. Maybe they can come over here for a fire pit sit when Ass Bag shows up or he could swing by and pick us up on the way. Carl's pretty gross and immature, but he's a good guy. I've never heard him tell a lie in the nearly ten years i've known him. We'll hang out tonight 'cause he wants it."
I totally defended him all chivarously and believed that A) his license was lost and B) that my dipshit cousin wasn't there yet because he hardly ever shows up anywhere before one in the morning. So i text Ass Bag. Here's how it went:
Me: When the hell are you getting to town?!
AB: Who said i was commin to town
Me: Carl. Is he a liar?
AB: No i made him think that last night maybe but i hav shit to do tomorro
Me: Ok. Well you made him ditch me tonight so thanks.
AB: Glad i could help i guess
Me: You broke his heart. Trust me. You're a monster.
AB: I love me
I stopped texting him then and sent a text to Carl. This is what i sent:
Ass Bag is not coming to town. You've been duped. We're chillin' at my house if you wanna hang.
And THEN my phone rings. It's Ass Bag. I answer, ready to really chew his ass out for ruining my life and destroying all my chances at happiness, "Whaddaya want, dick weed?" But wait. . . what are those garbled voices? . . has he ass dialed me? Why, yes, yes he has. And who's that i hear and background laughing and shrieking like Ned Flanders seeing purple drapes? Carl. Mother. Fucking. Carl.
Yep. So i keep on listening for a few minutes while Carl and his cousin, Derp, and my cousin the ass bag read my texts to each other and laugh like retarded hyenas. Nel keeps trying to get me to hang up and call back but i'm like, "Fuck no. I'd rather know than not know." So she calls Carl and when it starts ringing my phone gets quiet for a sec and then i hear, "Omigod! It's Nellie!" And they all bust out laughing again and he shushes them and answers. I can hear him on my phone and our stupid cousins trying to keep their shit together. Nel straight told him Ass Bag had butt dialed me but i hear Ass Bag getting the word from Carl and he whispers, "Dude! I'm looking at my phone. There's no call!" So Carl proceeds to tell Nel that Ass Bag is not there and he thought he was coming to town and he really did lose his ID and he really wants to hang out and he is in no way a liar. She keeps saying, "The jig is up! I can hear you on two phones right now!"
He wasn't getting it. Totally drunk and probably stoned. Anyway, after their three minute conversation ends with him still insisting he's being nothing but completely honest, Ass Bag's phone is still broadcasting. Then Ass Bag says, "Oh shit, you guys!" And the line goes dead.
TV is causing me an existential crisis
Warning: I'm going to talk about plot lines from Season 2 of Sons of Anarchy so if you plan on watching it, this could piss you off. But i don't care.
So a couple friends of mine got me hooked on Sons of Anarchy. I dug on the beards mostly even though the show has a level of violence that i'm not comfortable with. I like watching Good fight Evil so i just fast forward through things that hurt my soul. Also, the women in the show are strong which is awesome. Correction, the LEAD women on the show are strong; the rest are mainly depicted as pieces of ass or all together insignificant.
Last night i watched the episode where Gemma is gang raped by a group of masked dudes (probably the Aryans). I skipped the graphic shit and moved on to the next episode. I am so disgusted, not only by the fact that everyone goes along with her wish to keep it a secret, but by how Gemma actually says that this only happened because the other club wanted to send a message. Like she's taking one for the team and it's fucking noble or something. I had to stop watching after that because i felt like burning the world to ashes. This whole idea that raping one person to hurt another is a thing FUCKING PISSES ME OFF! Raping a someone for any reason is about the worse thing anyone could ever do and no matter how much it hurts the people who love the victim to know what happened, it will NEVER hurt as much as it does to the person who lived through it. And it never helps anyone to keep silent. Never.
So now i'm stuck. I have a pretty good idea that venegence will be served, but in what form? Retaliation rape? I'm so not down with that. I'll probably continue watching against my own better judgement but be warned, writers, i can find where you live. I won't rape you or your loved ones or your dog, but i am a fan of watching shit burn.
So a couple friends of mine got me hooked on Sons of Anarchy. I dug on the beards mostly even though the show has a level of violence that i'm not comfortable with. I like watching Good fight Evil so i just fast forward through things that hurt my soul. Also, the women in the show are strong which is awesome. Correction, the LEAD women on the show are strong; the rest are mainly depicted as pieces of ass or all together insignificant.
Last night i watched the episode where Gemma is gang raped by a group of masked dudes (probably the Aryans). I skipped the graphic shit and moved on to the next episode. I am so disgusted, not only by the fact that everyone goes along with her wish to keep it a secret, but by how Gemma actually says that this only happened because the other club wanted to send a message. Like she's taking one for the team and it's fucking noble or something. I had to stop watching after that because i felt like burning the world to ashes. This whole idea that raping one person to hurt another is a thing FUCKING PISSES ME OFF! Raping a someone for any reason is about the worse thing anyone could ever do and no matter how much it hurts the people who love the victim to know what happened, it will NEVER hurt as much as it does to the person who lived through it. And it never helps anyone to keep silent. Never.
So now i'm stuck. I have a pretty good idea that venegence will be served, but in what form? Retaliation rape? I'm so not down with that. I'll probably continue watching against my own better judgement but be warned, writers, i can find where you live. I won't rape you or your loved ones or your dog, but i am a fan of watching shit burn.
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