Buy your own at mattpeppler.com.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Shake zula, the mic rula...
This was the autograph I got from my little brother from Dana Snyder, voice of Master Shake, Granny Cuyler, and countless other animated characters. (Well actually you can count them, they're on IMDB, but I'm not gonna.) Also, a private idol of mine, if the gig takes off and I can actually do something to pursue making money in such a field, he will be the one I install an altar to worship at and sacrifice goats to.
I have just one rule for cons... find ONE thing, and buy that, and get out. I did, very artsy (and illegal) fan posters for Friday the 13th (for my older brother), Creature From the Black Lagoon (for my younger brother), and Return of the Living Dead (for me OMG IT'S SO AWESOME). Pics to come later. The con vendor room was just as lame as I was expecting... most Lexington comic conventions have been so, but my brother wanted to check out the lower floor, so I told him I'd be out in the car waiting. And then he brings me this. Turns out the upper vendors were the cheap seats, the real action was downstairs. And now I'm very glad I have this rule, because I would have spent my non-existing inheritance on Godzilla dolls.
But of course I had to go meet Master Shake.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Doctor, doctor
Doctor appointment for Wednesday. Get back on a water pill and see about getting the anti-dep stuff going again. If I can get my dental insurance taken care of today I'll even get that done before the move.
Comic con in Lexington today. I thought of asking my little brother to spring for Guiseppe's, the fancy Italian restaurant I used to do commercials for, but I remember now he's got a huge bunch of taxes this year to pay, so maybe I should keep my mouth shut. If everything goes well, I will treat him before I leave the state.
I had an idea for a post about some videos I watched this morning about love, relationships, and other topics, but I really should try to get some more sleep. Also a hottie from Winchester's been flirting with me. Hmmm.
Comic con in Lexington today. I thought of asking my little brother to spring for Guiseppe's, the fancy Italian restaurant I used to do commercials for, but I remember now he's got a huge bunch of taxes this year to pay, so maybe I should keep my mouth shut. If everything goes well, I will treat him before I leave the state.
I had an idea for a post about some videos I watched this morning about love, relationships, and other topics, but I really should try to get some more sleep. Also a hottie from Winchester's been flirting with me. Hmmm.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
On my knees
The recent damage to my left knee, where I nearly executed a perfect triple Salchow after an ice storm left a sheet of frictionless death glass on my driveway, has reached the healing point where it is like a crack addict looking to suck a dick for a rock, "rock" in this case being me scratching the wound like a dog chewing at his stitches.
"Yo man, just scratch me a little, I'll suck yo diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick," it screams at me (in what I might add is a completely racist voice). "Suck yo dick for some scratch, muthah-fucker, come on." While I tried not only to point out that scratching it would leave it susceptible to scarring, but also the physical impossibilities and impracticalities of my knee sucking my or anybody else's diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick, I've begun scratching it. I figure it will be a while before anybody sees it again anyway, since I don't intend to get into another relationship soon, so I don't have to worry about anybody clutching their Jesus-pearls and flinging bottles of holy water at me.
Not much else going on right now. The snow is gone and is probably not coming back, so I'm just hovering again waiting on the inevitable.
"Yo man, just scratch me a little, I'll suck yo diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick," it screams at me (in what I might add is a completely racist voice). "Suck yo dick for some scratch, muthah-fucker, come on." While I tried not only to point out that scratching it would leave it susceptible to scarring, but also the physical impossibilities and impracticalities of my knee sucking my or anybody else's diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick, I've begun scratching it. I figure it will be a while before anybody sees it again anyway, since I don't intend to get into another relationship soon, so I don't have to worry about anybody clutching their Jesus-pearls and flinging bottles of holy water at me.
Not much else going on right now. The snow is gone and is probably not coming back, so I'm just hovering again waiting on the inevitable.
Baby
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ACADEMY AWARD WINNER PATRICIA ARQUETTE performing mouth-to-mouth CPR on a baby that was just recovered from a sinking car by James Van Der Beek after it had been stolen by hackers who used hijacked baby monitors to spy on it and who outsourced the theft to a drug mule who hid narcotics inside her breast implants on
the
first
episode
of a CSI spin-off titled CSI: Cyber.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Turing Machines
++Edit 030915 12:17 am-- spoiler alert for The Imitation Game. Sorry about that.+++
And that, reader(s), is exactly why I need to be on anti-depressants again. And trust me, this little emo outburst is not even close to what it used to be like. The day Ex left me... well, I do not even remember what happened that day. Perhaps I drank, but I don't think I did. I remember watching him through the keyhole until he disappeared. Going to the window multiple times, hoping his car would return and he would give me another chance. But deep down I knew it wasn't going to happen, because I recognized how he walked away as I closed the door. I'd seen that same gait in Dallas, before he disappeared the first time from my life.
The purpose of this blog has been to give me a venue to air my thoughts openly without the ridicule that comes from Facebook and other sites, but still, after the Crazyjournal fiasco, where I also operated sans-meds, I've taken liberties of mentioning almost nobody by name, and only a few by pseudonym. Writing out my thoughts and feelings and events in my life lets me capture them in amber, before the rot of memory tampers with them, confusing them with other memories and twisting new fictions, like memories are wont to do with everybody. Capture the butterfly, pierce it and pin it down, preserve it in a pristine condition, then come back in a few days or weeks and look over your morbid sanctuary and wonder what the hell you were doing and thinking.
I couldn't even see a doctor to get back onto Zoloft until I had insurance, I could not get insurance until February of this year, I could not get in as a new patient before the February blizzards started, so finally, I should be able to see a doctor, re-up or adjust my blood pressure meds, and get going again on some type of anti-depressant, which I will be on for the rest of my life.
I wonder what my reaction would have been if Ex had approached me, in his roundabout way, if I'd stayed on those drugs. Perhaps I would have just ignored his "views" on my profiles, which I tried to do at first... the Growlr views were not the first time he looked at mine. My little brother tells me I'm like that, or used to be in the past, if somebody screwed me over I would have just cast them out of my life, fuck them and they can go to hell, and all that. I agree I used to be like that, before I fell in love for the first time with X. And the second time and third, with Ex.
I just watched The Imitation Game in my bedroom, while the cat played with my feet beneath the covers. It was interesting and heartbreaking and I hated it and loved it. I loved it because it is a story about science (even though it is about "maths" and not stuff like Theory of Everything) where science wins, as opposed to modern day, where science and reason are losing out to religious zealotry. There is a tender and gay love story that is almost as heartbreaking as Valerie from V For Vendetta, but it is broken up as the movie rotates between three of Alan Turing's life periods. I hate it because it is heartbreaking in the worst way, in that it hits all the bad stuff in all of Turing's life at the same point in the film, to suddenly open the window and expose this curious man who broke the Enigma code and helped save an estimated 14 million people's lives, and show you precisely why he was an absolute twat to everybody. An absolute sledgehammer to the feels.
Benedict Cumberbatch was nominated for an Academy Award for his portrayal of the tortured mathematician, but honestly until the movie rounds the turn to the third act, he was simply playing a more demure version of Sherlock Holmes. Where Holmes would be verbose and rude, Turing would be timid but dispassionate. But in each character you can see the tick-tick-ticking of a mind that never stops. Perhaps he could have done with some Zoloft himself, rather than chemical castration that Turing eventually succumbed to. It certainly helps my mind from racing with thoughts, and I'm no genius. I wonder what it could do to help a true genius organize his or her thoughts rather than have them all shotgunned out at once like a video game, only to scatter to the breeze before they could be gathered and examined.
The ending had me on the ropes because there is no sense of building dread for the finale. It is non-stop punches to the gut. Turing solves the Enigma, helps win the war, but then you find out that his young love died on holiday from bovine tuberculosis, which makes the fact that he named the code-cracking machine after his love all the more bittersweet, and the revelation that he would endure hormone therapy rather than chance giving up his one symbol of unrequited love, the machine that he named after Christopher, the only real love he had in his life, is heart-rending. Would you do that? How many of us would?
It ends with noting his suicide a year after the treatments began, and that his machine would eventually lead to what we now call computers. Every interaction we have nowadays, be it social, economic, political, whatever, can be traced to this one man and the love that was denied him.
Admittedly, it takes plenty of liberties with the truth (Turing was never accused of treason), but the sentiment of the injustice is remarkably pure in those closing moments.
I only got on anti-depressants because I thought I could win back the love of Ex if I got better. Hint: they don't work immediately, or very well at first, and it takes a while to find the right dosage. By the time I found mine, Ex had moved on to another partner. And for many months afterwards, I was not well.
Eventually as I moved onto Zoloft (from an initial prescription for Citalopram), and found some peace. It was not easy. Deep down I knew that I had to stay on them, or I would obsess about Ex more than I already did. Eventually the obsession ebbed, and I thought getting off of them was possible.
Guess I should have rethought that.
I've gone through every emotion since he left. Rage, sadness, longing, jealousy. The worst has been betrayal. The thought that I never meant that much to him to begin with. It stands to reason that if I did, he'd have said something wouldn't he? Why would he let me think the things my brain throws at me, thinking he is just a user of emotions, rooting for his relationships to fail, and that he was as bad as I was... he is okay with me thinking that? I find it hard to believe he's that kind of person.
Then I remember the last time he liked a picture of mine on Instagram. Silly, how such a thing can mean so much. It was the picture I took as I was still losing weight, in my "the Angels have the phone-box" t-shirt. I took it December 1st, just days after his birthday. It didn't add up why he liked that photo if he was mad at me at the time, as he told my brother that he was.
So, maybe he never did really like me. Maybe this great love I thought I had was just a Turing machine, something I simply built on my own time but never figured out the correct cipher for. Maybe it was me all along. Maybe I was the failure, not at all him. That's why Turing's breakdown at the end of the movie resonates so much, because I know my only other choice to get better is to let go of the straw-man I've built. He probably never existed, except in my head. Even admitting I will never hear from him again anyway is difficult... Turing had at least that much. He knew Christopher was gone. The Machine was all he had left.
I will be going to the doctor in about ten days, assuming we don't get hit with more blizzards. Zoloft is preferable to chemical castration, but sometimes it amounts to the same thing anyway.
And that, reader(s), is exactly why I need to be on anti-depressants again. And trust me, this little emo outburst is not even close to what it used to be like. The day Ex left me... well, I do not even remember what happened that day. Perhaps I drank, but I don't think I did. I remember watching him through the keyhole until he disappeared. Going to the window multiple times, hoping his car would return and he would give me another chance. But deep down I knew it wasn't going to happen, because I recognized how he walked away as I closed the door. I'd seen that same gait in Dallas, before he disappeared the first time from my life.
The purpose of this blog has been to give me a venue to air my thoughts openly without the ridicule that comes from Facebook and other sites, but still, after the Crazyjournal fiasco, where I also operated sans-meds, I've taken liberties of mentioning almost nobody by name, and only a few by pseudonym. Writing out my thoughts and feelings and events in my life lets me capture them in amber, before the rot of memory tampers with them, confusing them with other memories and twisting new fictions, like memories are wont to do with everybody. Capture the butterfly, pierce it and pin it down, preserve it in a pristine condition, then come back in a few days or weeks and look over your morbid sanctuary and wonder what the hell you were doing and thinking.
I couldn't even see a doctor to get back onto Zoloft until I had insurance, I could not get insurance until February of this year, I could not get in as a new patient before the February blizzards started, so finally, I should be able to see a doctor, re-up or adjust my blood pressure meds, and get going again on some type of anti-depressant, which I will be on for the rest of my life.
I wonder what my reaction would have been if Ex had approached me, in his roundabout way, if I'd stayed on those drugs. Perhaps I would have just ignored his "views" on my profiles, which I tried to do at first... the Growlr views were not the first time he looked at mine. My little brother tells me I'm like that, or used to be in the past, if somebody screwed me over I would have just cast them out of my life, fuck them and they can go to hell, and all that. I agree I used to be like that, before I fell in love for the first time with X. And the second time and third, with Ex.
I just watched The Imitation Game in my bedroom, while the cat played with my feet beneath the covers. It was interesting and heartbreaking and I hated it and loved it. I loved it because it is a story about science (even though it is about "maths" and not stuff like Theory of Everything) where science wins, as opposed to modern day, where science and reason are losing out to religious zealotry. There is a tender and gay love story that is almost as heartbreaking as Valerie from V For Vendetta, but it is broken up as the movie rotates between three of Alan Turing's life periods. I hate it because it is heartbreaking in the worst way, in that it hits all the bad stuff in all of Turing's life at the same point in the film, to suddenly open the window and expose this curious man who broke the Enigma code and helped save an estimated 14 million people's lives, and show you precisely why he was an absolute twat to everybody. An absolute sledgehammer to the feels.
Benedict Cumberbatch was nominated for an Academy Award for his portrayal of the tortured mathematician, but honestly until the movie rounds the turn to the third act, he was simply playing a more demure version of Sherlock Holmes. Where Holmes would be verbose and rude, Turing would be timid but dispassionate. But in each character you can see the tick-tick-ticking of a mind that never stops. Perhaps he could have done with some Zoloft himself, rather than chemical castration that Turing eventually succumbed to. It certainly helps my mind from racing with thoughts, and I'm no genius. I wonder what it could do to help a true genius organize his or her thoughts rather than have them all shotgunned out at once like a video game, only to scatter to the breeze before they could be gathered and examined.
The ending had me on the ropes because there is no sense of building dread for the finale. It is non-stop punches to the gut. Turing solves the Enigma, helps win the war, but then you find out that his young love died on holiday from bovine tuberculosis, which makes the fact that he named the code-cracking machine after his love all the more bittersweet, and the revelation that he would endure hormone therapy rather than chance giving up his one symbol of unrequited love, the machine that he named after Christopher, the only real love he had in his life, is heart-rending. Would you do that? How many of us would?
It ends with noting his suicide a year after the treatments began, and that his machine would eventually lead to what we now call computers. Every interaction we have nowadays, be it social, economic, political, whatever, can be traced to this one man and the love that was denied him.
Admittedly, it takes plenty of liberties with the truth (Turing was never accused of treason), but the sentiment of the injustice is remarkably pure in those closing moments.
+++++++
I only got on anti-depressants because I thought I could win back the love of Ex if I got better. Hint: they don't work immediately, or very well at first, and it takes a while to find the right dosage. By the time I found mine, Ex had moved on to another partner. And for many months afterwards, I was not well.
Eventually as I moved onto Zoloft (from an initial prescription for Citalopram), and found some peace. It was not easy. Deep down I knew that I had to stay on them, or I would obsess about Ex more than I already did. Eventually the obsession ebbed, and I thought getting off of them was possible.
Guess I should have rethought that.
I've gone through every emotion since he left. Rage, sadness, longing, jealousy. The worst has been betrayal. The thought that I never meant that much to him to begin with. It stands to reason that if I did, he'd have said something wouldn't he? Why would he let me think the things my brain throws at me, thinking he is just a user of emotions, rooting for his relationships to fail, and that he was as bad as I was... he is okay with me thinking that? I find it hard to believe he's that kind of person.
Then I remember the last time he liked a picture of mine on Instagram. Silly, how such a thing can mean so much. It was the picture I took as I was still losing weight, in my "the Angels have the phone-box" t-shirt. I took it December 1st, just days after his birthday. It didn't add up why he liked that photo if he was mad at me at the time, as he told my brother that he was.
So, maybe he never did really like me. Maybe this great love I thought I had was just a Turing machine, something I simply built on my own time but never figured out the correct cipher for. Maybe it was me all along. Maybe I was the failure, not at all him. That's why Turing's breakdown at the end of the movie resonates so much, because I know my only other choice to get better is to let go of the straw-man I've built. He probably never existed, except in my head. Even admitting I will never hear from him again anyway is difficult... Turing had at least that much. He knew Christopher was gone. The Machine was all he had left.
I will be going to the doctor in about ten days, assuming we don't get hit with more blizzards. Zoloft is preferable to chemical castration, but sometimes it amounts to the same thing anyway.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Injury
I want to blame not going out last night on my knee, but it was just one of many factors.
There was a bear get-together in town. Even my little brother thought it would be a good idea to go to it, since I've been kind of a shut-in lately. I didn't get to town until 10, though, and I noticed the first problem almost immediately... no street parking. I forgot, the snow hadn't quite melted yet.
This actually could have been easily taken care of at the library, which lets you park for free after-hours in their garage, but I went past the bar first and... ugh. Too many people, already. No thanks. I mean, yes all that AND falling into my knee in the snow and ice and basically tearing up my knee, but honestly when the crowd gets to a certain stage for me, it becomes "critical mass" and I have to leave or have a meltdown, as it were. So I just went to the bookstore and then went home, where my brother cooked me an awesome steak. A huge t-bone, that will probably haunt me in a few hours. Yeesh. But delicious.
I've never been the most graceful person, so slipping and ripping up my knee was not a big deal to me. Some of the ice that had melted had re-frozen into a slippery sheet. My older brother tried to help me up, but my pain was so great that I had difficulty explaining that I needed to get up by myself because I was on a giant slippery ice sheet and basically his help would doom both of us.
The aftermath looked like I had a fight with one of those machines from "Will It Blend?" and lost spectacularly. But after the leg thing and having my gall bladder taken out, it didn't faze me. It was just blood, and indeed, after cleaning the mess away, it was not as bad as it looked.
It did look bad enough that I doubt any action would have taken place if I disrobed with the lights on, though, so I passed up on the bear run.
Apartment hunting now... if I'm lucky the rain will have melted enough snow to make it up to my brother's house today.
There was a bear get-together in town. Even my little brother thought it would be a good idea to go to it, since I've been kind of a shut-in lately. I didn't get to town until 10, though, and I noticed the first problem almost immediately... no street parking. I forgot, the snow hadn't quite melted yet.
This actually could have been easily taken care of at the library, which lets you park for free after-hours in their garage, but I went past the bar first and... ugh. Too many people, already. No thanks. I mean, yes all that AND falling into my knee in the snow and ice and basically tearing up my knee, but honestly when the crowd gets to a certain stage for me, it becomes "critical mass" and I have to leave or have a meltdown, as it were. So I just went to the bookstore and then went home, where my brother cooked me an awesome steak. A huge t-bone, that will probably haunt me in a few hours. Yeesh. But delicious.
I've never been the most graceful person, so slipping and ripping up my knee was not a big deal to me. Some of the ice that had melted had re-frozen into a slippery sheet. My older brother tried to help me up, but my pain was so great that I had difficulty explaining that I needed to get up by myself because I was on a giant slippery ice sheet and basically his help would doom both of us.
The aftermath looked like I had a fight with one of those machines from "Will It Blend?" and lost spectacularly. But after the leg thing and having my gall bladder taken out, it didn't faze me. It was just blood, and indeed, after cleaning the mess away, it was not as bad as it looked.
It did look bad enough that I doubt any action would have taken place if I disrobed with the lights on, though, so I passed up on the bear run.
Apartment hunting now... if I'm lucky the rain will have melted enough snow to make it up to my brother's house today.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
waiting
i'm so tired of waiting and snow i'm not even going to punctuate this correctly. normally when I see others doing the same thing i think about how lazy or dumb they must be, usually both, and i laugh a little inside at them. now i'm feeling the same about myself, lazy and dumb.
today, when today gets here, i'll be going to lexington and having dinner with an old work mate and tell them whats going on. mainly because i want to make them shit their pants. the thing is, with kentucky winning in the ncaa, they want me to freelance and they think because i'm unemployed right now that i'll trip over myself to do it for them. well no because first, unemployment is paying me more than they would, and also fuck them that's why. you can pay a guy in LA what you were paying me to slap music under a VO and that's what you wanted? could have told me that from the start, i could have done my job remotely, every argument you made about me needing to be in studio was your narcissism and ego and need to strut about the place like the cock of the walk. go swim so more in your tiny pond, big fish. you got your money's worth. also i fucked a guy in my studio one night, right where i'd keep the krispy kremes you loved munching on, so think on that.
hard to believe that it's still going to be a month before anything happens. at least the snow is letting up. i guess this weekend is some big bear event in lexington, i guess i'll go to it. maybe that bootblack guy will be there. if I hadn't been dating Ex at the time i might have hooked up with him that one night. my bad, i won't be such a prude this time.
wish i had boots for him to polish, i think he gets off on that. oh well.
today, when today gets here, i'll be going to lexington and having dinner with an old work mate and tell them whats going on. mainly because i want to make them shit their pants. the thing is, with kentucky winning in the ncaa, they want me to freelance and they think because i'm unemployed right now that i'll trip over myself to do it for them. well no because first, unemployment is paying me more than they would, and also fuck them that's why. you can pay a guy in LA what you were paying me to slap music under a VO and that's what you wanted? could have told me that from the start, i could have done my job remotely, every argument you made about me needing to be in studio was your narcissism and ego and need to strut about the place like the cock of the walk. go swim so more in your tiny pond, big fish. you got your money's worth. also i fucked a guy in my studio one night, right where i'd keep the krispy kremes you loved munching on, so think on that.
hard to believe that it's still going to be a month before anything happens. at least the snow is letting up. i guess this weekend is some big bear event in lexington, i guess i'll go to it. maybe that bootblack guy will be there. if I hadn't been dating Ex at the time i might have hooked up with him that one night. my bad, i won't be such a prude this time.
wish i had boots for him to polish, i think he gets off on that. oh well.
Friday, February 20, 2015
BAM
I posted recently about how we all, unfortunately, savor vengeance, when it is just. The first person I was contacted about a job prospect for recently posted the same job again. Apparently the guy he hired instead of me was a druggie and did not last long.
If cards had fallen differently, I'd reapply... but nah.
Back to snow.
"You don't live in Dayton anymore...?"
...was the line. "Aw, we never got the chance to get together."
Uh, yeah, we did. Both times I was treated to no-shows. And then silence on communications when I did ask what happened, NICELY ASKED, because I needed a reason to go out anyway, but still...
"Any chance you'll be up this way again?"
I told him the truth; yes, to get my stuff out of storage to send to my next living space, but not a return to live in Dayton for any reason.
"Well, lemme know, maybe we can finally get together :-P"
I said, I'll let you know when I know more. And I will. But I don't really expect that we'll be meeting up.
Back to the snow.
Uh, yeah, we did. Both times I was treated to no-shows. And then silence on communications when I did ask what happened, NICELY ASKED, because I needed a reason to go out anyway, but still...
"Any chance you'll be up this way again?"
I told him the truth; yes, to get my stuff out of storage to send to my next living space, but not a return to live in Dayton for any reason.
"Well, lemme know, maybe we can finally get together :-P"
I said, I'll let you know when I know more. And I will. But I don't really expect that we'll be meeting up.
Back to the snow.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Fuck this
I usually don't whine about the weather. There are plenty of other things to complain about. But before I get to those other things, FUCK THIS WEATHER.
And also fuck some medical staff. I have been trying to get health insurance since being let go last year, and didn't get it until January 3rd or so, which meant it wouldn't kick in until February 2nd, which was two days away from the end of my drugs running out.
Mind you, these are not controlled substances, just blood pressure drugs. I went to the clinic first, because I wasn't going to be able to get to see the doctor I wanted to see. So because my blood pressure was sky-high (as I said it would be as I was stressed out) I got lectured that they couldn't just give me meds willy-nilly because they weren't working anymore, seemingly. I countered that I didn't want a full prescription, just enough to get through to my actual doctor's appointment, and was lectured again that it would be irresponsible of them to do that...
...so, what? I couldn't get in to the doctor I wanted to see immediately after my insurance began, and they wouldn't take me before it began, or even to register to see him, so would it be MORE responsible to just let my prescriptions lapse and then go into my doctor's appointment two weeks later with stroke-level blood pressure because I was on NO drugs?
What, was I trying to SCAM them outta some of them sweet, sweet blood pressure drugs, that make me half-impotent most of the time? HOW SWEET to only be able to get half an erection, can we please keep it going? Or maybe I was just jonesing for more of the seizure medicine that makes my pee smell like two-day old burnt coffee? THAT SMELLS SO GREAT COMING OUT OF MY COCK.
How does half this dumbass county's kids get access to goddamn Oxycontin as easy as aspirin and I can't get fucking blood pressure meds??? WTF!
Calm.
The governor has issued an emergency declaration since most of the state is snowbound, and pharmacists can fill 30-days worth of non-controlled prescriptions without doctor's permissions. So now I just have to make it to Kroger tomorrow.
FUCK THIS WEATHER.
And also fuck some medical staff. I have been trying to get health insurance since being let go last year, and didn't get it until January 3rd or so, which meant it wouldn't kick in until February 2nd, which was two days away from the end of my drugs running out.
Mind you, these are not controlled substances, just blood pressure drugs. I went to the clinic first, because I wasn't going to be able to get to see the doctor I wanted to see. So because my blood pressure was sky-high (as I said it would be as I was stressed out) I got lectured that they couldn't just give me meds willy-nilly because they weren't working anymore, seemingly. I countered that I didn't want a full prescription, just enough to get through to my actual doctor's appointment, and was lectured again that it would be irresponsible of them to do that...
...so, what? I couldn't get in to the doctor I wanted to see immediately after my insurance began, and they wouldn't take me before it began, or even to register to see him, so would it be MORE responsible to just let my prescriptions lapse and then go into my doctor's appointment two weeks later with stroke-level blood pressure because I was on NO drugs?
What, was I trying to SCAM them outta some of them sweet, sweet blood pressure drugs, that make me half-impotent most of the time? HOW SWEET to only be able to get half an erection, can we please keep it going? Or maybe I was just jonesing for more of the seizure medicine that makes my pee smell like two-day old burnt coffee? THAT SMELLS SO GREAT COMING OUT OF MY COCK.
How does half this dumbass county's kids get access to goddamn Oxycontin as easy as aspirin and I can't get fucking blood pressure meds??? WTF!
Calm.
The governor has issued an emergency declaration since most of the state is snowbound, and pharmacists can fill 30-days worth of non-controlled prescriptions without doctor's permissions. So now I just have to make it to Kroger tomorrow.
FUCK THIS WEATHER.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Not an option
I guess it's just normal to be fascinated by anybody's failure, unless it's your own, of course.
Look at reality television--built on finding out, each week, who will fail. Who will not advance to be the next top chef, model, weight loser, etc. I'd like to think that people usually watch to find out if their favorites win, but I've been to the watching parties, and that's not what's going on.
At their core, most people want justice served, on a silver platter, tied up with a big red bow if that's not too much trouble, there's a dear, thank you so much. No, we won't eat it now, just put it on the table so we can just pick at it and slice it apart, and find all the faults and make fun of it to its face.
When you see somebody being a cunt to others, and getting away with it, the universe screams at you to root for vengeance.
But it's not just TV. Most people in this life would gladly flaunt what they have and you don't, because they want to feel better about themselves. Possessions, relationships, wealth, creative ability... they want you to know how great they are and aren't you jealous? And if you say you're not jealous, they dismiss it. Of course you're jealous, they claim, scrabbling at their possessions and whatnot and holding them close to themselves, because you would steal it if you thought you could get away with it. And there's a hint of truth to that.
I'd like to hold my head up high and claim that I'm nothing like this, but I can't. When I watch Intervention, the episodes I look forward to are the ones where people fail in their recovery, or "where are they now" eps where the crack addict is back on the street, blowing guys for money. I don't know why, but those are far more satisfying to watch. Perhaps I do not believe that I can maintain sobriety, or deal with depression the rest of my life? Perhaps seeing failure in others helps stave off the belief that it'll happen to me again? Or maybe I'm just an asshole.
Right now I am on the cusp of returning to some sort of life, but nothing to show for it, and nobody to share it with. The people I cared about once routinely ignore me, even on facebook where it's easy enough to "like" a post, as if to say, "Yes, I remember that you're still alive," but they never do it. The people who have been most important to me have abandoned me, and would not return, it seems, to piss on me if I was on fire. Most of this was my fault, but not all of it. I seem to pick bad matches when choosing relationships.
John Watson, at one point in BBC's Sherlock, asks what he did to deserve everybody in his life to be sociopaths, and it's pointed out to him that he made the choice... he chose his fiance to wed, his psycho roommate for a best friend. He didn't consciously know of their darker selves. Or did he just not want to admit that?
I gave up hiding what I was a while back, even if I didn't do much to change it. I suffer from depression, although "suffer" seems a small word to describe what it does to me. I have a tendency to drink too much if allowed, which I am doing a good job of controlling once again nowadays, after a big stumble off the path when Ex made a half-hearted attempt at some kind of reconciliation, although I doubt his sincerity now. But during the interview I limited any drinking I did to beers, and only with the potential boss. Even going out to the bars, I only had ginger ale, and though I was obviously fresh meat on the market, I did not fall victim to the sharks circling me.
I just wonder whether the success I seem to be about to achieve will really happen, or will I fall back on the old ways and be the contestant sent home in disgrace. I like to believe that I will flourish.
I believed once before, though, and the story did not end in my favor.
Look at reality television--built on finding out, each week, who will fail. Who will not advance to be the next top chef, model, weight loser, etc. I'd like to think that people usually watch to find out if their favorites win, but I've been to the watching parties, and that's not what's going on.
At their core, most people want justice served, on a silver platter, tied up with a big red bow if that's not too much trouble, there's a dear, thank you so much. No, we won't eat it now, just put it on the table so we can just pick at it and slice it apart, and find all the faults and make fun of it to its face.
When you see somebody being a cunt to others, and getting away with it, the universe screams at you to root for vengeance.
But it's not just TV. Most people in this life would gladly flaunt what they have and you don't, because they want to feel better about themselves. Possessions, relationships, wealth, creative ability... they want you to know how great they are and aren't you jealous? And if you say you're not jealous, they dismiss it. Of course you're jealous, they claim, scrabbling at their possessions and whatnot and holding them close to themselves, because you would steal it if you thought you could get away with it. And there's a hint of truth to that.
I'd like to hold my head up high and claim that I'm nothing like this, but I can't. When I watch Intervention, the episodes I look forward to are the ones where people fail in their recovery, or "where are they now" eps where the crack addict is back on the street, blowing guys for money. I don't know why, but those are far more satisfying to watch. Perhaps I do not believe that I can maintain sobriety, or deal with depression the rest of my life? Perhaps seeing failure in others helps stave off the belief that it'll happen to me again? Or maybe I'm just an asshole.
Right now I am on the cusp of returning to some sort of life, but nothing to show for it, and nobody to share it with. The people I cared about once routinely ignore me, even on facebook where it's easy enough to "like" a post, as if to say, "Yes, I remember that you're still alive," but they never do it. The people who have been most important to me have abandoned me, and would not return, it seems, to piss on me if I was on fire. Most of this was my fault, but not all of it. I seem to pick bad matches when choosing relationships.
John Watson, at one point in BBC's Sherlock, asks what he did to deserve everybody in his life to be sociopaths, and it's pointed out to him that he made the choice... he chose his fiance to wed, his psycho roommate for a best friend. He didn't consciously know of their darker selves. Or did he just not want to admit that?
I gave up hiding what I was a while back, even if I didn't do much to change it. I suffer from depression, although "suffer" seems a small word to describe what it does to me. I have a tendency to drink too much if allowed, which I am doing a good job of controlling once again nowadays, after a big stumble off the path when Ex made a half-hearted attempt at some kind of reconciliation, although I doubt his sincerity now. But during the interview I limited any drinking I did to beers, and only with the potential boss. Even going out to the bars, I only had ginger ale, and though I was obviously fresh meat on the market, I did not fall victim to the sharks circling me.
I just wonder whether the success I seem to be about to achieve will really happen, or will I fall back on the old ways and be the contestant sent home in disgrace. I like to believe that I will flourish.
I believed once before, though, and the story did not end in my favor.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Matthew 7:5 & Intervention failure
Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.
A really idiotic right-wing talk show host made fun of Obama for trying, unsuccessfully, to quote this bible verse; he got "beam" wrong, which he mistakenly used the word "log," as opposed to what most other translations use, which is "plank." The intention was the same, a piece of wood.
The host then went on about "mote" thinking the President meant "moat," which is a water-filled ditch circling a dwelling, saying, shouldn't it also be a piece of wood? It makes no sense! Completely missing, of course, that Obama got that part of the verse right and the previous part wrong.
The bible is fraught with contradictions, but I found this one particularly ironic, given how pious the host acts. It's like Tea-Baggers who demand drug tests for people on welfare, despite all the evidence that says this is a waste of money, since poor people can't afford drugs, flagrantly spending their gummint monies on frivolous things like food and rent. Sometimes oxygen is wasted on these people.
++++++++++++++++++++
I have a small tolerance for hypocrisy, mostly because I despise it when I find myself practicing it, because it seems I never get away with it, yet everybody else seems to enjoy it with abandon. Out of everything I count as my sins, my hypocrisy is one I've definitely paid for, so when I see it in others I want them to pay.
But honestly, you can only do that if you have a conscience. Many don't. The technical term for this used to be "sociopathy," i.e. having no empathy, but I'm sure they've reclassified it and renamed it something so that sociopaths don't feel so bad about being assholes.
I will not find out if my new life begins before the end of the month. It is another countdown I have to endure... the Waiting Game is important to get to the best position in life, and I've been impatient too many times, wanting the good things to happen to me when I didn't really believe I deserved them. Now I do, but I can't rush it.
Eh, I had a lot to say about stuff, but it'll have to wait. I am dog tired. And now sleep.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
I would walk 500 miles...
...although we know that's never going to happen, not in one day. But apparently, if my math is correct, I can walk ten miles a day when I need to, which I did do from Tuesday at noon to Thursday at noon.
The truth is that I didn't get everything done that I wanted to. I did, however, pick up the new issue of Saga, plus the second issue of Marvel's Star Wars (which is surprisingly good, having art by John Cassady certainly helps), and a few various others, at the comic book store voted "best in [this city] but honestly wouldn't even qualify for best in Kentucky, and spent a few minutes in their bathroom, which they share with a lingerie shop, in a building that the Victorian houses in Boston would have deemed "futuristic" but had only enough room for a contortionist from Cirque de la Soliel to be able to wipe his ass in.
I don't really think I walked twenty miles, because I'm converting from my cell's pedometer apps, which are not known for pinpoint accuracy, because they measure steps and are not too great at it. Plus, since they measure steps, and I know my gait is shorter than most other people, the conversion process can't be accurate. But fifteen miles in two days? I can believe that.
++++++
The city is one I could see myself living in, the job is one I know I would excel at, the boss already likes me from prior dealings and if not for the whiff of saltwater blowing in from the bay, which I did not know was probably the smell of fish because it smelt to me like farts (perhaps, then, fish farts), I could find no fault with living there.
In two weeks, says the boss, he'll be able to make the offer. In six, I should be there, working in their new facilities. By May, I will be in my apartment.
Life is going to be good again, soon.
The truth is that I didn't get everything done that I wanted to. I did, however, pick up the new issue of Saga, plus the second issue of Marvel's Star Wars (which is surprisingly good, having art by John Cassady certainly helps), and a few various others, at the comic book store voted "best in [this city] but honestly wouldn't even qualify for best in Kentucky, and spent a few minutes in their bathroom, which they share with a lingerie shop, in a building that the Victorian houses in Boston would have deemed "futuristic" but had only enough room for a contortionist from Cirque de la Soliel to be able to wipe his ass in.
I don't really think I walked twenty miles, because I'm converting from my cell's pedometer apps, which are not known for pinpoint accuracy, because they measure steps and are not too great at it. Plus, since they measure steps, and I know my gait is shorter than most other people, the conversion process can't be accurate. But fifteen miles in two days? I can believe that.
++++++
The city is one I could see myself living in, the job is one I know I would excel at, the boss already likes me from prior dealings and if not for the whiff of saltwater blowing in from the bay, which I did not know was probably the smell of fish because it smelt to me like farts (perhaps, then, fish farts), I could find no fault with living there.
In two weeks, says the boss, he'll be able to make the offer. In six, I should be there, working in their new facilities. By May, I will be in my apartment.
Life is going to be good again, soon.
Friday, February 6, 2015
I can make you Hurt
Everything on me is sore and I have a huge blister on my left big toe filled with blood and I think I got the job.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Hey Nigel, this is "The End!" - Dynapink
Well. Time to pack a couple of dress outfits that aren't too dressy yet also aren't so nerdy and geeky that I get knocked out of the running. It is going to be an early night. And an early morning.
And I just got contacted for the same job at a competitor in the same city. Weird.
+++++++++++++
Teeth: brushed to maximumness, again tomorrow morning.
Toothbrush and travel size toothpaste and mouthwash: purchased.
Ear hair: shaven.
Nose hair: ick, shaven.
Facial hair: to be groomed tomorrow morning.
Hopefully my brother can stop by tonight and help dress me.
And I just got contacted for the same job at a competitor in the same city. Weird.
+++++++++++++
Teeth: brushed to maximumness, again tomorrow morning.
Toothbrush and travel size toothpaste and mouthwash: purchased.
Ear hair: shaven.
Nose hair: ick, shaven.
Facial hair: to be groomed tomorrow morning.
Hopefully my brother can stop by tonight and help dress me.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Saga
Well, it looks like I know one place I have to visit during my trip, one that I was going to avoid because if I get the job, it'll be tight for the first year as I get used to my surroundings, and that's... I have to visit a comic book shop. Saga returns on Wednesday.
It is kind of a convenient excuse, but I do have to get Saga on release day, and I'm supposed to be scoping the sights anyway, so I might as well. Honestly though, other than Saga and maybe more Tales of the Beanworld, there aren't a lot of new comics coming out that I care about.
Both DC and Marvel are rebooting everything, and frankly it sucks the life and enthusiasm out of me to just think about following that shit. Disrespectful for fans, too. "Hey thanks for investing a good portion of your life and money in our product, EVERYTHING YOU LOVED IS GONE." Well fuck you too, guys.
I've given most of my old comics to my little cousin, and he thinks I'm the shit now. I haven't the heart to tell him I'm not all that. I think there'll be one more box to give him if I get the job... after this if I'm curious about any new comics, I'll just get them from the torrents.
Except for Saga and TOTB of course. Have to get those on release day.
It is kind of a convenient excuse, but I do have to get Saga on release day, and I'm supposed to be scoping the sights anyway, so I might as well. Honestly though, other than Saga and maybe more Tales of the Beanworld, there aren't a lot of new comics coming out that I care about.
Both DC and Marvel are rebooting everything, and frankly it sucks the life and enthusiasm out of me to just think about following that shit. Disrespectful for fans, too. "Hey thanks for investing a good portion of your life and money in our product, EVERYTHING YOU LOVED IS GONE." Well fuck you too, guys.
I've given most of my old comics to my little cousin, and he thinks I'm the shit now. I haven't the heart to tell him I'm not all that. I think there'll be one more box to give him if I get the job... after this if I'm curious about any new comics, I'll just get them from the torrents.
Except for Saga and TOTB of course. Have to get those on release day.
The Meaning of Life
Well, that escalated quickly.
Look at the comments on anywhere this video is being posted, and you'll see why I don't believe in a god. For a people who claim to be following a loving god, and practicing a religion based on love and requiring you leave the ultimate judgment up to their creator, Christians are surprisingly quick to toss you in the pits of hell to burn for all eternity, despite "hell" not really existing in the bible.
I get the idea that, given a chance, some Christians would gladly burn you alive themselves, as Jephthah did to his daughter for the terrible sin of being the first person to greet him after defeating the Ammonites. Really, Dad? That's some tough love. And it's not something I want to be party to.
This seems to sum up how I feel about organized religion.
I have a desire to write about a dream I had, involving Ex... several dreams, in fact. In the past few days, as I've gotten closer to my trip, they've been escalating, in both volume and emotional intensity. It is early morning, however, and I am still looking at apartments and figuring where to visit on my trip. I can focus on the other stuff later.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Blistex - Stroke follies
Well. My first blister from extended walking came along, and since I ignored it, popped in my sock. Lovely.
++++++++++++++++++++
Here's what frightens you when you've had a stroke, and with any luck, will scare you into healthier habits:
Speaking of which, if somebody is having a seizure, here's what you do:
Actually most seizures don't really require an emergency room trip, but if you're not familiar with what can happen, you'll probably call an ambulance. Luckily we have Obamacare now, and it's less likely that your call will bankrupt the victim. THANKS OBAMA.
++++++++++++++++++++
Here's what frightens you when you've had a stroke, and with any luck, will scare you into healthier habits:
- Fear of dying alone. The thought of waking up partially paralyzed or having one one night and not having your phone handy to call for help is almost paralyzing in itself.
- Grand Mal seizures. Strokes are almost always accompanied by grand mals, which was something I wish my family, who is riddled with a history of strokes in the first place, would have told me before I had mine. They are a work of hell, and if you have one just hope you black out first, which happens half the time. Because being conscious during one sucks and is frightening beyond what you can imagine. It is the closest you can get to believing you're going to die without actually being in danger of dying.
- Incontinence. I don't know if I peed or pooped myself with my first stroke/seizure, I imagine that in the very least if it was the latter I would have seen evidence of it later, but it's pretty common. After researching strokes and seizures, I recognized what was going on when I saw a plump young lady lying in the floor of a gas station convenience store. As I finished pumping gas, I noticed the commotion at the entrance and recognized that there was a medical emergency going on inside... employees who would normally be at the cash register were standing in the doorway watching for the ambulance to signal them inside. Inside, a woman lay motionless, and had peed herself, and I knew what had happened. So knowing this, you tend to always "go" when even the slightest indication is made, because you don't want the embarrassment if you have a seizure.
Speaking of which, if somebody is having a seizure, here's what you do:
- Ignore conventional wisdom and do not try to stick a belt in their mouth, unless you have a hankering to have one of your fingers bitten off, which there's more of a chance of happening since the jaw will likely contract with the fury of an unfed and angry drug dealer's pit bull who's had to put up with Michael Vick's bullshit for too long. More people lose fingers this way than lose bits of tongue, plus, the tongue is the most resilient scar-free part of the body... even if you give yourself a nasty bite (and I have) as long as you let it heal naturally it will be back to normal. Within reason, I mean.
- Get the victim to lie down on their side, probably their LEFT side. This lessens the chance of injury to the tongue as the tongue will naturally slide back as the convulsions increase, and the jaw can clamp down without damage.
- Move any furniture that might hurt the victim of the seizure from his or her immediate vincinity. This is how most seizures cause injuries, so it's pretty important.
- Don't make incontinence jokes until after the victim is released from the emergency room. For fuck's sake.
Actually most seizures don't really require an emergency room trip, but if you're not familiar with what can happen, you'll probably call an ambulance. Luckily we have Obamacare now, and it's less likely that your call will bankrupt the victim. THANKS OBAMA.
Curl Up & Dye
When I said the amount of work you have to put in to grow a beard and not look like a dying homeless person was kinda girly, I was only slightly joking at the time. Then I saw this article.
Top o'the mornin' to ya...
I. Just. Can't. Even.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Intense
Yes, I am stressing. The interview is next week. I will hang for a bit, have dinner, explore the place. My feet and back are still loudly protesting my sudden interest in getting them back into some semblance of "in shape" but they are going to have to live with it. I expect to be taking lots of public transit anyway. Mapping out the places I've been told to/want to visit.
So of course I got a goddamn pimple. /faceplant
No processed sugars for the next week... if all comes to fruition, I'll celebrate my new life with a package of frozen Reese's Cups Mini's and an Archer marathon.
Just missing one thong. I'm used to that, I guess. +++edit: just missing one THING... thank you, Freud+++
Fingers tightly crossed.
So of course I got a goddamn pimple. /faceplant
No processed sugars for the next week... if all comes to fruition, I'll celebrate my new life with a package of frozen Reese's Cups Mini's and an Archer marathon.
Just missing one thong. I'm used to that, I guess. +++edit: just missing one THING... thank you, Freud+++
Fingers tightly crossed.
Monday, January 26, 2015
You are worth the weight
Ugh. Everything on me hurts right now. Well I guess not everything. Back and legs though.
The place that I'll probably find out if I'm going to next will require me to do walking, a lot. In fact, if work doesn't assign me a parking spot, I'd probably wind up getting an apartment close-to and selling my car. With Uber and Lyft and Zipcar, there's not always a reason to own one, in certain circumstances.
I am so certain that I am this close (forefinger and thumb apart by an inch) to landing this job for so many reasons that I am afraid to mention even one of them. The thing that could trip me up is my impatience. I love almost all of my family, but honestly, living at home has been as much a test as it is for, I think, most people. If I'd done the smart thing when moving last time, i.e. get a one bedroom, 600 sqft apt, I could have stayed in that apartment while looking for work. Admittedly, it would have sucked balls and I would have been absolutely poor, but I would have remained sane.
So I don't want to give the impression that I'm charging full steam into this job opportunity... I'm not. The unexpected can happen, and assets can be frozen, and the well laid plans of mice and men can get thrown into the air like a Monopoly board when your cousin once again gets Park Place. Not that that's ever happened to me.
But I have been scoping apartments. None of the ones I've looked at would be available if a job offer is made, but they give me an idea of the area.
But, most of the ones I could reasonably afford and start rebuilding what life I have left mean losing my car, using mass transit, and walking. Unfortunately, I've gained back just enough weight to hurt my back, legs and feet when I walk for long amounts of time (meaning: any). So I've started going to the park to walk the track and see how well I can do, and hopefully lose some of the weight that living at home has piled onto me.
Two miles so far, before retreating to the car for my water bottle and to listen to Coast to Coast AM. That's far better than I used to do in Wal-Mart, when we'd do all our shopping at once, and I almost felt crippled upon leaving. But I really want to get it going faster.
Hopefully by this time next month, everything will be in place and I won't have to be secretive about everything. But now, Downton Abbey, to see how much of a bitch the Dowager is being this week. ROWR!
The place that I'll probably find out if I'm going to next will require me to do walking, a lot. In fact, if work doesn't assign me a parking spot, I'd probably wind up getting an apartment close-to and selling my car. With Uber and Lyft and Zipcar, there's not always a reason to own one, in certain circumstances.
I am so certain that I am this close (forefinger and thumb apart by an inch) to landing this job for so many reasons that I am afraid to mention even one of them. The thing that could trip me up is my impatience. I love almost all of my family, but honestly, living at home has been as much a test as it is for, I think, most people. If I'd done the smart thing when moving last time, i.e. get a one bedroom, 600 sqft apt, I could have stayed in that apartment while looking for work. Admittedly, it would have sucked balls and I would have been absolutely poor, but I would have remained sane.
So I don't want to give the impression that I'm charging full steam into this job opportunity... I'm not. The unexpected can happen, and assets can be frozen, and the well laid plans of mice and men can get thrown into the air like a Monopoly board when your cousin once again gets Park Place. Not that that's ever happened to me.
But I have been scoping apartments. None of the ones I've looked at would be available if a job offer is made, but they give me an idea of the area.
But, most of the ones I could reasonably afford and start rebuilding what life I have left mean losing my car, using mass transit, and walking. Unfortunately, I've gained back just enough weight to hurt my back, legs and feet when I walk for long amounts of time (meaning: any). So I've started going to the park to walk the track and see how well I can do, and hopefully lose some of the weight that living at home has piled onto me.
Two miles so far, before retreating to the car for my water bottle and to listen to Coast to Coast AM. That's far better than I used to do in Wal-Mart, when we'd do all our shopping at once, and I almost felt crippled upon leaving. But I really want to get it going faster.
Hopefully by this time next month, everything will be in place and I won't have to be secretive about everything. But now, Downton Abbey, to see how much of a bitch the Dowager is being this week. ROWR!
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Rise of the Lumbersexual
I hate that term. Anyway...
I'm really not getting beard culture, which seems all the rage these days.
I also don't get foot fetishists, or water sports. Or Russel T. Davies' insistence that all relationships be multi-racial... I mean, ALL of them, Russ? It'd be great if that was the world we lived in, but I don't see it. Perhaps I've been sheltered all my life.
I'd like to say that what gets under my skin about beard culture is that I don't think people who can't grow a beard should do it, or rather, you should grow it to the length that it looks good on you. I can grow a beard, but if I don't trim it, I look horrifyingly like a homeless person, and not the kind you would gladly give money to, but the kind you shoot glances at on the subway any time they cough for fear of catching the ebola.
I found this out when I had the leg trauma and had to spend a few weeks in the hospital. I'd already, at that point, let my beard grow out too far, and was overdue an appointment with Tam. By the time I got out and got done with treatment, I actually couldn't recognize myself in the mirror. Which is not to say that some guys didn't find that attractive, because I did seem to get hit on a little more than usual when I went out, but almost always by guys I had no interest at all in being with for any reason.
I know part of my dislike of monstrous beards is because it seems, at least to me, that it only became acceptable to have a huge unkempt one after the Duck Dynasty show blew up, and that's kind of insulting. Last thing I'd want to do is resemble one of those clods.
But I know that it mostly has to do with the same reason I don't generally like long hair on my head either. It seems like a lot of work. Keeping clean and in the shower and all, never mind that I wouldn't even be able to have Frosted Flakes anymore. And frankly, the people I know who put a lot of work into their hair are all girls.
So I guess my conclusion, therefore, must be that big giant fuzzy beards seem feminine to me, which, I'm assuming, is the opposite reason of why they are being grown in the first place. This will not score me a lot of points making new friends, but oh well.
I also strangely wonder if the guys who actually did have the beards before it became hip are regretting keeping them or tripping out in some new blissful version of reality. I dunno, how did emo kids feel when Hot Topic started popping up in malls?
I'm really not getting beard culture, which seems all the rage these days.
I also don't get foot fetishists, or water sports. Or Russel T. Davies' insistence that all relationships be multi-racial... I mean, ALL of them, Russ? It'd be great if that was the world we lived in, but I don't see it. Perhaps I've been sheltered all my life.
I'd like to say that what gets under my skin about beard culture is that I don't think people who can't grow a beard should do it, or rather, you should grow it to the length that it looks good on you. I can grow a beard, but if I don't trim it, I look horrifyingly like a homeless person, and not the kind you would gladly give money to, but the kind you shoot glances at on the subway any time they cough for fear of catching the ebola.
I found this out when I had the leg trauma and had to spend a few weeks in the hospital. I'd already, at that point, let my beard grow out too far, and was overdue an appointment with Tam. By the time I got out and got done with treatment, I actually couldn't recognize myself in the mirror. Which is not to say that some guys didn't find that attractive, because I did seem to get hit on a little more than usual when I went out, but almost always by guys I had no interest at all in being with for any reason.
I know part of my dislike of monstrous beards is because it seems, at least to me, that it only became acceptable to have a huge unkempt one after the Duck Dynasty show blew up, and that's kind of insulting. Last thing I'd want to do is resemble one of those clods.
But I know that it mostly has to do with the same reason I don't generally like long hair on my head either. It seems like a lot of work. Keeping clean and in the shower and all, never mind that I wouldn't even be able to have Frosted Flakes anymore. And frankly, the people I know who put a lot of work into their hair are all girls.
So I guess my conclusion, therefore, must be that big giant fuzzy beards seem feminine to me, which, I'm assuming, is the opposite reason of why they are being grown in the first place. This will not score me a lot of points making new friends, but oh well.
I also strangely wonder if the guys who actually did have the beards before it became hip are regretting keeping them or tripping out in some new blissful version of reality. I dunno, how did emo kids feel when Hot Topic started popping up in malls?
Friday, January 23, 2015
Ain't No Thang
Literally just a few weeks after discovering them, Katzenjammer releases their third album. Here's my new favorite track from their first, live.
Boom... Scared Stiff achieved
Wow, that was awesome. I approached level nine of the Stiff-O-Meter and told the XB1 to record, where the DVR will save the previous fifteen seconds and the next fifteen following your command. After a few more loops I hit two jackpots in a row, filling the Stiff-O-Meter, when Elvira said, "Uh oh," and the video pinball game lost all power.
WHAT.
Of course it was a ruse. Five seconds later, the machine goes absolutely bugnuts psycho, and four-ball Monster Multi-Ball begins. EVERY jackpot is lit and it's insane. I wound up halfway to starting the Stiff-O-Meter back up after multi ended, finishing at 43 million, just 4 mil from first place.
Of course, since they didn't actually put a way to exit out of the game or a save function or autosave, that progress was erased when I fired it up just now. But damn. I've beaten a very old addiction, and I have the game footage to prove it.
++++++++++++++
Although I'm pretty sure a job offer will follow in two weeks, I noticed a couple of jobs opening up in one of my dream cities, San Diego. I might as well apply, because I know how things can fall apart at the last minute, but also I need to keep my unemployment benefits running until my new paycheck starts, knock on wood. They're for the same company, one is a production position and one is a social media position. Whut? Okay.
Would really rather have the other job.
WHAT.
Of course it was a ruse. Five seconds later, the machine goes absolutely bugnuts psycho, and four-ball Monster Multi-Ball begins. EVERY jackpot is lit and it's insane. I wound up halfway to starting the Stiff-O-Meter back up after multi ended, finishing at 43 million, just 4 mil from first place.
Of course, since they didn't actually put a way to exit out of the game or a save function or autosave, that progress was erased when I fired it up just now. But damn. I've beaten a very old addiction, and I have the game footage to prove it.
++++++++++++++
Although I'm pretty sure a job offer will follow in two weeks, I noticed a couple of jobs opening up in one of my dream cities, San Diego. I might as well apply, because I know how things can fall apart at the last minute, but also I need to keep my unemployment benefits running until my new paycheck starts, knock on wood. They're for the same company, one is a production position and one is a social media position. Whut? Okay.
Would really rather have the other job.
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Scared Stiff
In my spare time, while I wait for the cog to turn, I have been playing pinball.
Video pinball, of course.
This is a pinball game I first encountered in Portland, and haven't seen since. I was a total addict to it. I never filled my Stiff-o-Meter completely... once getting to level 9 and just barely missing the last jackpot. Which I did again, last night.
Well, I've been monitoring stations all night and I guess it's okay to take a break now and try again. If all goes right in the next few weeks, I won't have time to visit Elvira again for a while... and by the time I do have the time, Arkham Knight will be out, which is just about the only game this year that I know about coming out this year. Then it's off to Lexington for a doctor's visit and some kinda lunch with my brother.
+++edit 01/22/15 7:20 am+++
Make that three times. Level nine, and the ball went into the crate, but the timer must have just expired. Sigh. I love this game. It will be my Pac-Man Championship Edition for a while longer.
Video pinball, of course.
This is a pinball game I first encountered in Portland, and haven't seen since. I was a total addict to it. I never filled my Stiff-o-Meter completely... once getting to level 9 and just barely missing the last jackpot. Which I did again, last night.
Well, I've been monitoring stations all night and I guess it's okay to take a break now and try again. If all goes right in the next few weeks, I won't have time to visit Elvira again for a while... and by the time I do have the time, Arkham Knight will be out, which is just about the only game this year that I know about coming out this year. Then it's off to Lexington for a doctor's visit and some kinda lunch with my brother.
+++edit 01/22/15 7:20 am+++
Make that three times. Level nine, and the ball went into the crate, but the timer must have just expired. Sigh. I love this game. It will be my Pac-Man Championship Edition for a while longer.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Dumpsville, population: you.
Today I dumped a whole bunch of people from my Facebook.
The impetus was a simple one: A friend, whom I've barely ever talked to but remains popular among the crowd I used to orbit, used to run a website. Somehow he attracted the attention of a stalker (I take it the website was some kind of hotness-rating website for bears and the now-stalker didn't rate), who is now occasionally (every five years or so) finding this friend online and posting nasty messages at him.
The friend posted this interaction to FB for all his buddies to see, I'm assuming so they could ridicule said stalker*, which they did. At first, I wanted to point out that this person obviously has mental issues, and suggest that maybe he could have been helped rather than gossiped about behind his back, that he probably has dealt with rejection all his life and probably dealt with a lot more, and he probably doesn't even realize he'd been such an asshole, and who were these people to judge him without even getting his side of the story...
...the list of what was going through my head went on. And on. So I just looked at everybody who liked the post, which included THE GUY'S FACEBOOK NAME**, and everybody who commented on it, and unfriended them.
I guess what led me to do this was a mix of two reasons:
Crazyjournal was how I tried to deal with rage and emotions that I couldn't control without getting on anti-depressants, which was something I was very scared of doing. In fact, all through that journal I noted +++through the whole thing (added 01/16/14)+++ that I didn't understand why I had written those things, that I felt crazy because I couldn't control my own thoughts, and yet when Stalker Dan downloaded the whole thing and sent and posted it to them, more than one read the entire thing and never bothered to suggest I get medicated and into counseling before I did serious damage to myself.
Couldn't be bothered... I had said something about them! I didn't hold them up on a pedestal! Oh boo hoo!
Yeah, I wanted to call these friends out on their hypocrisy, but then I remembered that a lot of them didn't even notice I'd had a stroke, so fuck them.***
And yeah, Dan, feel free to distribute this, too. I don't want friends who openly ridicule the sick. I did enough of that myself, and don't need it in my life again. And yes, I see the glaring hypocrisy in my own actions... believe me, they won't even notice I'm gone.
*This is a gross assumption on my part, and I apologize for it. I don't actually believe my FB friend was posting about it to ridicule the guy, but probably, much like this blog, trying to vent some steam in what he believed to be a safe environment. What the reaction from his followers entailed was not his intention, probably.
**This is honestly what set me off. He didn't need to reveal the guy's name. Pixelate it or something. I'm familiar with being in a similar, if different, state as this guy might have been, and his condition isn't going to get better with ridicule.
***I dropped everybody who commented and liked it regardless of whether they made fun of the guy or not. I didn't want to feel like I was giving favoritism to people I really cared about. Nobody was dropped from any other social media, just my facebook, which is boring anyway, at least until I secure a new job. Then out come the titties.
The impetus was a simple one: A friend, whom I've barely ever talked to but remains popular among the crowd I used to orbit, used to run a website. Somehow he attracted the attention of a stalker (I take it the website was some kind of hotness-rating website for bears and the now-stalker didn't rate), who is now occasionally (every five years or so) finding this friend online and posting nasty messages at him.
The friend posted this interaction to FB for all his buddies to see, I'm assuming so they could ridicule said stalker*, which they did. At first, I wanted to point out that this person obviously has mental issues, and suggest that maybe he could have been helped rather than gossiped about behind his back, that he probably has dealt with rejection all his life and probably dealt with a lot more, and he probably doesn't even realize he'd been such an asshole, and who were these people to judge him without even getting his side of the story...
...the list of what was going through my head went on. And on. So I just looked at everybody who liked the post, which included THE GUY'S FACEBOOK NAME**, and everybody who commented on it, and unfriended them.
I guess what led me to do this was a mix of two reasons:
- THE INCLUSION OF THE GUY'S NAME when ridiculing his obvious mental problems (which did elicit the expected "Oh let's ransack his FB and call him a loser" post, of course...) and...
- A lot of these people didn't bat an eye in throwing a tantrum when my own stalker forwarded my Crazyjournal to them.
Crazyjournal was how I tried to deal with rage and emotions that I couldn't control without getting on anti-depressants, which was something I was very scared of doing. In fact, all through that journal I noted +++through the whole thing (added 01/16/14)+++ that I didn't understand why I had written those things, that I felt crazy because I couldn't control my own thoughts, and yet when Stalker Dan downloaded the whole thing and sent and posted it to them, more than one read the entire thing and never bothered to suggest I get medicated and into counseling before I did serious damage to myself.
Couldn't be bothered... I had said something about them! I didn't hold them up on a pedestal! Oh boo hoo!
Yeah, I wanted to call these friends out on their hypocrisy, but then I remembered that a lot of them didn't even notice I'd had a stroke, so fuck them.***
And yeah, Dan, feel free to distribute this, too. I don't want friends who openly ridicule the sick. I did enough of that myself, and don't need it in my life again. And yes, I see the glaring hypocrisy in my own actions... believe me, they won't even notice I'm gone.
+++EDITS 01/16/14+++
*This is a gross assumption on my part, and I apologize for it. I don't actually believe my FB friend was posting about it to ridicule the guy, but probably, much like this blog, trying to vent some steam in what he believed to be a safe environment. What the reaction from his followers entailed was not his intention, probably.
**This is honestly what set me off. He didn't need to reveal the guy's name. Pixelate it or something. I'm familiar with being in a similar, if different, state as this guy might have been, and his condition isn't going to get better with ridicule.
***I dropped everybody who commented and liked it regardless of whether they made fun of the guy or not. I didn't want to feel like I was giving favoritism to people I really cared about. Nobody was dropped from any other social media, just my facebook, which is boring anyway, at least until I secure a new job. Then out come the titties.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
But of course
...and as soon as the place I really want to work at makes movement to hire, three others contact me on the same day.
 |
| Oh for fuck's sake... |
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Hysterical historical hypocrisy
I have one extremely weak spot in my soul while endeavoring to become a better person. It makes giving up drinking seem unnaturally easy. Hell, it makes giving up Italian food seem unnaturally easy (something I'm also trying to do, but in moderation). And that's trying to let go of wanting to see people who flagrantly flaunt their hypocrisy to the world brought down a peg.
Admittedly, it's a bit of a sociopathic streak in me. That in itself is hypocrisy, so who am I to judge? But...
It's like coming across the personal ad of somebody you've known, at some point in life, and they actually say, "Don't judge me on what I've done in the past," which is actually just them saying "I don't want to take responsibility for the shit I've done and if you hold it against me, well then, YOU are the asshole." Of course people will judge you for what you've done in the past. That's what "judgment" is about, dumbass. It's what you do in the present and future that will balance those scales and sway them to thinking that, hey, maybe you're no longer a cheating pervert with a secret rape fetish, or a closet sociopath yourself, or even just an obnoxious and self-centered asshole.
I usually see this in, I hate to say it, Christians. "You should not judge me until you've walked a mile in MY shoes" is an easy thing to tell people when the heels you wear are so high that you get regular nosebleeds and ear-pops, and for some reason, whether they've been saved all their lives, or just born again at some point, this is something I regularly hear from Christians. Either that, or the ever-popular "you just don't like what I say 'cuz you can't handle the TRUTH!" As if they are some drag version of Odin All-Father, acting on information from his spies Huginn and Muninn (crows, ick), and they just KNOW the truth and they will snatch that weave up off your head...
Yes. It feels like that. Like an out of control reality show.
Hypocrisy, though, in particular, gets me, because I am as guilty of it as anybody. The only difference I can claim between me and others regarding it is that I've been regularly admitting to mine for a while now. "Yep, I did that. Wish I hadn't now. I see my errors and apologize and will try not to do it again in the future." (Of course I'm not so bland when I admit it, and probably could take some pointers in brevity.)
Guess what, you never get forgiven. So I guess if I seem harsh now, it is because when I see a double standard, when I see somebody hiding behind the invincible shield of Christianity to disguise their hypocrisy, because first amendment and free-dumb of religion and YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO JUDGE ME, I guess I just really get frustrated that these kind of people aren't called to task.
If you display this kind of behavior, if you support this kind of behavior, you're part of the problem. Hiding behind religion doesn't make you a better person, and latching onto somebody who does it doesn't absolve your sins. I've admitted my sins, and I'm working on becoming better, and most importantly, I am becoming better, but especially with the big changes probably coming, I have to. If I'm not forgiven for those sins, after trying to make honest amends, that says a lot more about the people I've sinned against than the sins themselves.
Admittedly, it's a bit of a sociopathic streak in me. That in itself is hypocrisy, so who am I to judge? But...
It's like coming across the personal ad of somebody you've known, at some point in life, and they actually say, "Don't judge me on what I've done in the past," which is actually just them saying "I don't want to take responsibility for the shit I've done and if you hold it against me, well then, YOU are the asshole." Of course people will judge you for what you've done in the past. That's what "judgment" is about, dumbass. It's what you do in the present and future that will balance those scales and sway them to thinking that, hey, maybe you're no longer a cheating pervert with a secret rape fetish, or a closet sociopath yourself, or even just an obnoxious and self-centered asshole.
I usually see this in, I hate to say it, Christians. "You should not judge me until you've walked a mile in MY shoes" is an easy thing to tell people when the heels you wear are so high that you get regular nosebleeds and ear-pops, and for some reason, whether they've been saved all their lives, or just born again at some point, this is something I regularly hear from Christians. Either that, or the ever-popular "you just don't like what I say 'cuz you can't handle the TRUTH!" As if they are some drag version of Odin All-Father, acting on information from his spies Huginn and Muninn (crows, ick), and they just KNOW the truth and they will snatch that weave up off your head...
Yes. It feels like that. Like an out of control reality show.
Hypocrisy, though, in particular, gets me, because I am as guilty of it as anybody. The only difference I can claim between me and others regarding it is that I've been regularly admitting to mine for a while now. "Yep, I did that. Wish I hadn't now. I see my errors and apologize and will try not to do it again in the future." (Of course I'm not so bland when I admit it, and probably could take some pointers in brevity.)
Guess what, you never get forgiven. So I guess if I seem harsh now, it is because when I see a double standard, when I see somebody hiding behind the invincible shield of Christianity to disguise their hypocrisy, because first amendment and free-dumb of religion and YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO JUDGE ME, I guess I just really get frustrated that these kind of people aren't called to task.
If you display this kind of behavior, if you support this kind of behavior, you're part of the problem. Hiding behind religion doesn't make you a better person, and latching onto somebody who does it doesn't absolve your sins. I've admitted my sins, and I'm working on becoming better, and most importantly, I am becoming better, but especially with the big changes probably coming, I have to. If I'm not forgiven for those sins, after trying to make honest amends, that says a lot more about the people I've sinned against than the sins themselves.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Very Superstitious.
I am normally not at all superstitious. But lately some movies, some comic books, some Instagram accounts, 30 Rock and Steve Earle have convinced me that one of the places that's pursuing me is going to come through soon.
I still think it's a coincidence, all of these occurrences in the same city, but hey... there are those who say me landing this job would be a one in a million chance.
There are others* that say "one in a million" chances happen nine times out of ten.
I think this is actually going to happen. I'm still crossing fingers until then though.
*Terry Pratchett, for example.
I still think it's a coincidence, all of these occurrences in the same city, but hey... there are those who say me landing this job would be a one in a million chance.
There are others* that say "one in a million" chances happen nine times out of ten.
I think this is actually going to happen. I'm still crossing fingers until then though.
*Terry Pratchett, for example.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Heard in Armitage III just now: "..the terrorist puppet bombings..."
Maybe they were thinking of Team America, World Police? Fuck yeah!
Another line:
"It's a pretty place, if you ignore the smell from all the bombs!"
Geez, watching this/posting these lines will probably get me a visit from Homeland Security.
Another line:
"It's a pretty place, if you ignore the smell from all the bombs!"
Geez, watching this/posting these lines will probably get me a visit from Homeland Security.
Saturday, December 27, 2014
The music Pandora wants me to check out from my Dresden Dolls channel
Florence + The Machine - Drumming Song (done, plus others)
Regina Spektor, pretty much all of her
Kate Nash - Made of Bricks album
Puppini Sisters (done, long time ago)
Emma Wallace (no)
Lily Allen (what)
Vermillion Lies - The Astronomer
lots of White Stripes (done)
Katzenjammer (done done done)
Really wants me to get into Lily Allen for some reason
lots of Fiona Apple (not opposed)
Shannon Wurst (who? Sixteen Tons cover)
Dirt Daubers
They really want me to smooch on Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Rasputina (Bad Moon Rising cover+)
Kate Nash again
Regina Spektor, pretty much all of her
Kate Nash - Made of Bricks album
Puppini Sisters (done, long time ago)
Emma Wallace (no)
Lily Allen (what)
Vermillion Lies - The Astronomer
lots of White Stripes (done)
Katzenjammer (done done done)
Really wants me to get into Lily Allen for some reason
lots of Fiona Apple (not opposed)
Shannon Wurst (who? Sixteen Tons cover)
Dirt Daubers
They really want me to smooch on Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Rasputina (Bad Moon Rising cover+)
Kate Nash again
Thursday, December 25, 2014
The Last Christmas
Okay, I take it back. Keeping a bottle handy is maybe not a great idea. Not after tonight's Dr. Who Christmas special. If I had a chance, or something to mix it with (I guess technically I had Ale-8 but the very thought of violating an Ale-8 with vodka makes me nauseous), I'd probably be drinking right now after that God awful show.
That, and other reasons. For one, for the first time in months, I got a pimple.
That, and other reasons. For one, for the first time in months, I got a pimple.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Demon Kitty Rag
While I (and a majority of actual the medical field, from what I read) still maintain that there's a distinct difference between being a drunk and an alcoholic, this article sums up both problems pretty well. In fact, it described what used to be me to a T until it only mentioned physical addiction, and not psychological. Six myths about addicts and alcoholics:
- Myth #1: We’re permanently damaged goods
- Myth #2: We can’t get better until we hit “rock bottom”
- Myth #3: We want to live this way
- Myth #4: We’re lazy and dumb
- Myth #5: If we had any willpower, we’d just quit taking drugs
- Myth #6: Punishment is the best way to cure addiction
#2 and 3 are especially stupid things people believe, #5 is the one that hurts the most, still.
If willpower or the love of family could cure addiction, most of us would be healthy and happy. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy.
I just did the math again, and including mid-December 2013 to now, I've spent a total of nine months pretty much sober, aside from being contacted by the Ex, which makes me sad. Still, I'm a better person sober, and without somebody who enables such behavior when it's convenient to their lifestyle.
To raise my spirits, here is my current song. Katzenjammer's Demon Kitty Rag.
To raise my spirits, here is my current song. Katzenjammer's Demon Kitty Rag.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
In Soviet Russia, blog writes YOU
Don't know why but the statistics say my blog has a sudden influx of Ukraine readers. Just in case Homeland Security wonders, I had nothing to do with that. Plus, guys, this is a big homo writing, so if reading about a big homo's road to sobriety and new life appeals to you so much, please turn me into a cult favorite like Pussy Riot. I'd love to be on Stephen Colbert's new show.
Top Five
Every once in a while, I have to see something like Chris Rock's Top Five to be reminded that, as much as life can suck right now, it can suck a lot more. You can have friends who only pay lip service to your needs unless your needs clash with their wants. People who only remember you when you're successful. You can chase after the wrong love and never find the right one. And, the worst, you can be an addict.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Cranberry celebration salad is bookmarked in Chrome
Here we are again, at the edge of a precipice, wondering what comes next.
Some people have no problem with failure. No problem with turning their back on the past. I've never understood just giving up on somebody. Even when I get all my proverbial ducks lined up and quacking, I always know they're there, shitting on the lawn. (If you've never dealt with ducks, yeah, they shit a lot. Everywhere.)
Some people have no problem with failure. No problem with turning their back on the past. I've never understood just giving up on somebody. Even when I get all my proverbial ducks lined up and quacking, I always know they're there, shitting on the lawn. (If you've never dealt with ducks, yeah, they shit a lot. Everywhere.)
Monday, December 8, 2014
The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ
Well, struck a nerve I guess.
I don't have many friends who read this blog, or at least don't know of many who do, but apparently my point was missed in my last post. This is easy to mistake, since I am an atheist and do not believe in a higher power. I would say that I am agnostic, but that would mean that if presented with any kind of proof that a God existed, I'd change my mind. I'm pretty sure no evidence will come forth, though, and besides, the basic tenant of Christianity is faith, and to quote Douglas Adams paraphrasing God, "Proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing."
I don't have many friends who read this blog, or at least don't know of many who do, but apparently my point was missed in my last post. This is easy to mistake, since I am an atheist and do not believe in a higher power. I would say that I am agnostic, but that would mean that if presented with any kind of proof that a God existed, I'd change my mind. I'm pretty sure no evidence will come forth, though, and besides, the basic tenant of Christianity is faith, and to quote Douglas Adams paraphrasing God, "Proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing."
Friday, December 5, 2014
You're my addiction
A few years ago I got into a discussion with a friend... kind of a friend... about addiction and the horrible costs that come with it. I mentioned the recent studies about binge drinkers being different from alcoholics. Got a very pious attitude from him about it, too, which was kind of new.
I've always thought that alcoholics should be pitied because they really can't help it. They get nervous without their sauce. Their bodies go through withdrawal, which can be hell, or so I've read. Drunks can go long periods without drinking, and according to the recent studies most of them do, because unlike alcoholics, they don't have a physical addiction. If anything it's more psychological.
I've always thought that alcoholics should be pitied because they really can't help it. They get nervous without their sauce. Their bodies go through withdrawal, which can be hell, or so I've read. Drunks can go long periods without drinking, and according to the recent studies most of them do, because unlike alcoholics, they don't have a physical addiction. If anything it's more psychological.
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