Monthly Archives: September 2008

I took this picture with my cell phone.  Not bad, eh?  I like the multilayered look of the picture, the abstract concrete squares and the flowing columns of water and the patches of sun.

Hope you like it too!


Why do I stop writing stories so abruptly? I get into a story only to lose interest and put it aside to work on later. Only “later” is as elusive as a mythical unicorn and is as easy to catch as a handsome man with a fat checkbook– a man like that is almost as rare as a unicorn now that I think of it.

I don’t know why I give up. I certainly do not believe in surrendering. Maybe deep down, as I discover the characters, I’m afraid I will uncover something aboiut myself. Something unwholesome and unlovable. Something unpure.

I don’t want to let go and permit the story and the people that reside in my head out. (If that makes me sound crazy….welll….I guess I’m nuts and proud to be that way!) I am so resistant to most forms of intimacy, and writing is exceptionally intimate to me. Yet, if I don’t write, I am literally torn up inside. For me, it hurts to not write.

HOW do I let go and not worry about being judged? HOW do I share the most hidden parts of my thoughts with others? How do people let others past their most powerful walls to share love and life and their most delicate thoughts? How do people get over being scared and hurt?

If I listen to one part of my brain: Suck it up and get your ass out in real life. Another part wants to hide and critique what I look like and how I carry myself. (Mostly head down, chin pointed at chest while at work.) Yet another slice of my gray matter wants to eat and try to comfort myself with food.



When I was in Job Corps– a government run program designed to give the poor and disadvantaged youth trade and job skillz– the medical personnel gave me drugs to try to help my depression and general neurotic behavior. That’s what I get for confiding to people who work for the government, I suppose.

I moved into another room because if I had stayed there, the geology of her face would have been rearranged. I wasn’t the only one who she irritated. But Zoloft made me meaner than I normally am.

Prozac turned me into a sad sack, crying and wailing over the least little thing. I got a B on a paper, I cried. If I had to do a dorm chore I hated, I sulked and cried–well, when the student leaders weren’t around. I hated my weakness. I hated the mood drugs they put me on.

When they wanted to put me on Lithium, I balked. I didn’t want to take a chance on another drug–my body chemistry reacts to drugs in a weird way.

I just try to weather through the emotional storm, through the highs and the crashing lows. I just carry on because I have to. Life is always better than the alternative.

Boot to the ‘Nads

Last night, I lay in bed with my heart racing–didn’t get much sleep. My mind raced in time with my heart, thoughts whirled and tormented me. It’s safe to say last night riddled me with anxiety. (Either that, or I was having a heart attack.) I think I can pinpoint my anxiety….

My roommate’s mother had her purse stolen. IN HER OWN LIVING ROOM. AT NIGHT. Someone crept into her house while she was sleeping JUST to steal her purse. Oh, they also grabbed a CD Player from her car. They didn’t grab the practically new TV, they didn’t rummage through the house. Thank god she’s safe. At least whoever did that left her alone.

Saunya’s mother has very little in the way of income–she’s paying for a mortgage and utilities all by herself. She had no money or credit cards in her purse, and only a few checks. And going into her home, it’s obvious that she is poor, besides the TV. Who would be scummy enough to steal from a older woman who lives alone? Especially one who lives BENEATH the poverty line?

I’d like to give whoever did that a swift kick to the gonads….I am a firm supporter of the ‘nad kicker discipline system. It might prevent some of those nogoodniks from breeding.

Replay Buffet: 299 A.A.B


(Note: I feel too lazy to post but here is a short story previously published on my defunct blog. Enjoy.)299 A.A.B (After Ascension of Bush) or 2305 A.D

She unlocked her front door and stepped inside with her bag of groceries. It was one of those days Clare was glad to be home from work. Not that the day was particularly stressful, but Clare liked being home, and the security she felt being in her beloved home. It was all she had left after her husband died and her daughter left for college.

“Computer, turn on the lights for the living room and kitchen.” She added as a forethought. “Please.” Clare had grown up with good manners pounded into her head.

“As you wish, Mrs. Fredon, although you do not need to thank me.” The CPU that ran the minute and mundane details of the household had a soft dulcet tone, per her request. She was grateful to the government that had supplied household computers to every single registered resident. It helped make her life so easy.

The living room was suddenly lit with a warming glow that brought to life the coziness of the decor. Well decorated, it shone with the personal touches that showed off Clare’s interests. A picture of Jesus drew the eye – it was lovingly painted and lovely to gaze at. Clare wouldn’t allow any crucifixes or anything that portrayed the pain Jesus went through. She considered it disrespectful.

However helpful the computer was, it couldn’t put the food away. Clare sighed, thinking of her husband and how he’d make her laugh as she did her business in the kitchen. She knew she’d never remarry even if she could…marriage was only for those who could reproduce. It was in the Neo-Constitution, after all. Read the rest of this entry

Moody Blues

I’ve been in a bleh sort of mood this past weekend. Nothing made me happy and I was happy with nothing I did. I get restless and grouchy and all sorts of moody. Creatively, any how. I could barely play WoW—that’s how apathetic I felt this weekend. And that’s how you know I’m feeling ill or not quite right.

What did I do? Don’t worry. I got my big butt out of the house. I actually went out and enjoyed the weekend, (viva life!) got lost in a corn maze, getting the Punisher video game (I LOVE shooting pixelized baddies), and just unwinding. It’s so nice to DO things, to have some money to blow, instead of using it all on bills.

Still, I could not shake the “I dislike everything I do” funk that I was in. I was listless, hopeless and all I wanted to do was become one with the couch.

Maybe it was my psyche’s way of telling me to take it easy.

A Message To Parents:

Leave my violent, “godless” television programs alone. Stop protesting adult shows and start monitoring what your little monsters blessings are intaking into their cerebral cortexes. Really, stop letting the TV be your babysitter. Kids DO pick up a lot from the boob tube, and not much of it is good. That doesn’t mean you should take my shows away from me, though. It means you should block certain programs from your TV. It’s called being responsible.
So I like to see blood splatter analysts moonlight as killers (or is that the other way around?) or see rogue LA cops dispense justice THEIR way. (Usually harsh justice. Woo hoo!) I like those shows because they are controversial and thought provoking. They have interesting character studies and good plots also. The fake sex is a plus too. Hey, it’s not real.
(The shows are Dexter and The Shield, if anyone is curious.)

Not every thing on earth HAS to be kid friendly. If I were forced to watch family oriented television if I wanted anything to watch at all….I’d probably cancel my cable subscription. Honestly. Kid shows make me want to retch…then dive into a pool of rancid pudding.



Essay # 1 on Being Fat: Being Fat in the Movies

~OR~ Reason number 23,909 Why I’m Not Married.
(I’m too darn opinionated!)
Ahhhh. An industry where “perfection” rules, giving our society a shining example of what people should look like if they want to be accepted, loved and adored. We see examples of cosmetically appealing bodies and we compare what we have to what the “beautiful” ones have to offer–and we come up short.

No wonder so many overweight people feel isolated and sub-human. Thanks, society, for helping us feel slug-like and grotesque in our own skins.
Even normal people have image problems, fed to them by beauty/fitness magazines, billboard advertisements with Shiny Happy People smiling down upon the ordinary (and therefore not as worthwhile) people as they rush to their 9 to 5 job. Men with receding hairlines are pushed to purchase all sorts of hair restorative products. Women are pushed toward make-up and diet products, anything that promotes attractiveness and availablity to the opposite sex. Cause attracting a mate is so important. [Insert rolling eyes here.]
The overweight populace is the last bastion for cruel jokesters everywhere. Need a uneducated slob for a movie? Cast a fat guy. Need comedic relief? Cast a fattie and make them a living joke.
Here’s some factoids about fat people: (according to movies)

  • The only way a fat lady can get a man is to ambush and sit on him.
  • Fat people can be readily laughed at because their emotions are protected by a layer of blubber.
  • An obese man can be the life of a party if you get him liquored up.
  • Plump ladies are only entitled to ugly, trollish men.

C’mon. You know you’ve seen those tired old scenarios played out in movies.

I’m rather tired of it.
I’m also rather tired of my big frame. Yeah, I’m 250 lbs and wear a size 26—and have big boobs that try to smother me while I sleep. Thank goodness for them, though, they help balance out my body, giving me a bit of curve. That’s a picture of me down there. See? Morbid obesity can be cute!

I know it’s not healthy to be that “substantial”. But neither is it healthy to force your body into a certain mold. Honestly, most women should be about a size ten. Trying to determine a weight can be tricky; it all depends on genetics and other complicated subjects I’m not qualified to discuss.

I think it’s better to find a weight that is both healthy and live-in-able.  Find good health, not some number on a scale.

Good Luck!  And if anyone tells you to be a certain weight, kick ’em in the nads.

Simpson Sunday: Moaning Lisa

Season 1, Episode 6

Synopsis: While at school, Lisa gets in trouble for not participating in dodge ball. Why? She is sad. She spends the episode, pondering the meaning of life and suffering. She makes a friend of Bleeding Gums Murphy, a “jazzman”.

My thoughts: Lisa is obviously sensitive and intelligent. Her sadness is brought on by feeling lost and alone. She needed only to be listened to and to have someone affirm that it is ok to feel sad. At the end, she’s smiling again because her mother told her that she isn’t alone and her family will support her.

Dont blow a gasket.

Don't blow a gasket.

Take note of that people. It is OK to feel sad, mad, or any other combo of emotions that are available.

Favorite Quote:  The blues isn’t about feeling better. It’s about making other people feel WORSE, and making a few bucks while you’re at it.

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