Tuesday, March 30, 2010

This post may be offensive to dumb people, minorities, anyone with a working knowledge of English grammar, the MPAA, and people who speak Spanish

I feel like I am being stalked by...an idea? The idea that what you say can bite you in your ass so hard you'll cry for your mama.

See, the other day, I was listening to the radio (yes! The plain old radio! They still make that!) and it was discussing some wording on the census form. I filled out my census papers pretty quickly, and I was a little disappointed to see that all that hype and YOU MUST FILL THIS OUT OR WE WILL SEND ANGRY BEAVERS TO DESTROY YOU was just because they wanted to know that 2 white people live in my house, and we own the house. Let down, much? Anyway, I didn't pay attention to the other blanks. But apparently one of the blanks for ethnicity lists black/negro/african-american. And ya'll? Apparently the people who would check that box are PISSED. To tell the truth, I get why they are in one way (negro? really?) on the other hand, isn't that the Spanish word for black? And don't Spanish speaking people also fill out these forms? Couldn't you be black and only speak Spanish and live in America? But the only way that works is if there is a Spanish translation for all the boxes, and while I didn't pay a whole lot of attention, I did not notice any "blanca" option for the white people. I get that not all black people are offended by it, but I can see where it might be a little thoughtless to put it on the forms.

Then, I was listening to the radio AGAIN ( I do that) and some guy calls in to ask the hosts how in the world they put up with all the ignorant dumb dummies who call in. Because the hosts of the show are originally from somewhere like Ohio or something, and apparently there are no dumb people in other states, they all live here. And we're in the South, so we're used to being called dumb. If you look at test scores and whatnot, its even true. BUT. The guy says he is from New Jersey. We are a little oversensitive on the issue of being considered dumb. Its a little bit like bitching about your mama, and then beating the crap out of anyone who isn't your family who dares to agree with you. And wasn't there just a REALLY, REALLY popular show illustrating the various types of dumbasses that can be caught in the wild in New Jersey? So, long story not even a little bit shorter, the guy goes on to plug his band. The band promptly fires him, because holy shit are people pissed about this guy calling us dumb.

And then I get home and my husband is watching This Film is Not Yet Rated. Which you should also watch. Its interesting. On the one hand, I think we need a more European attitude about certain things in movies. For instance, nipples? Not a big deal in Europe because they don't make them a big deal. I think that we should be able to use our common sense to determine if a movie might have content we might find offensive (also, I know some fundamentalist Christians who are offended by Disney movies, so I'm not sure the ratings really matter that much anyway). I think it was a good idea when it was intended to let people know that there might be language they would prefer not to hear, or something they'd prefer not to see, without actually making any judgments on that content. But what happens is, they can keep the general public from seeing a movie with the ratings and they can make the director change scenes in order to get a rating they can show to general audiences. Which is at least flirting with censorship, if not out and out tongue kissing it. Plus, I'm pretty sure that I can use deductive reasoning for the most part. If Quentin Tarentino's name is on a film, its going to be violent. John Waters makes films with sexual content I might not want to explain to my 6 year old. Guy Richie films use cuss words (oh noes!). Anyway, the whole thing is trying so hard not to offend people that its offending people and maybe even violating their Constitutional rights.

So I'm pretty sure the universe is telling me to try not to put my foot in my mouth, and also that getting angry about every little thing someone says is a HUGE waste of energy, and also that getting offended too easily leads to the MPAA. Or something like that.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Grass Is Always Greener

I haven't had an anxiety attack in almost 2 months. This is WONDERFUL in many, many ways, but I don't want to talk about those ways, because that is not what we do here. I want to talk about the things that suck about having anxiety somewhat under control. Because that's the way I am, apparently. (LOOK! I'm LEARNING things about myself! Who would have thought I only find the bad things interesting?)

Firstly, my house is slowly being taken over by...The Stuff. The Stuff is the collective entity of individual items that begin accumulating on the bar between the kitchen and den, then sneakily annex the dining room table, and then the desk, and then the coffee table and then whatever flat surface that is not the floor. When I am at peak OCD this does not happen because the world will end. I am a ninja, ambushing and removing The Stuff before it can even begin to think about that attack on the buffet where we keep the fruit. When I am not an anxiety riddled mass of quivering frayed nerve endings, The Stuff takes over. Its not that we have that much stuff. Its just that my husband doesn't like to put things away. Wherever he is standing is where things belong, which is how we end up with three pairs of pants hanging over the back of the desk chair, 18 pairs of socks under the coffee table, and shirts on the couch. And when I'm, you know, NORMAL, this isn't a priority. If I don't update within the next week please come check to see if The Stuff has assimilated us.

Also, its much harder for me to organize my thoughts. With anxiety and OCD in full bloom, my brain operates on the level of a flow chart. It is very organized and structured. Okay, 80% of my thoughts are freak outs over nothing, but whatever, my thoughts are totally coherent and organized. When I feel like a normal person, I cannot organize my thoughts AT ALL. I just wrote three separate posts and deleted them because a post starting out about that guy yelling "Show us your tits," when I was running the other day ended with something about dog farts, and I didn't really get to the point of the story. If there was even a point in the first place (I think the point might have been A. What tits? B. Who does that? and C. Something about my friend who got some awesome boobs for herself and why I always thought I wanted to do the same but don't really because they cut off your nipples, and DUDE. Pass on that. I get that they put them back on and all, but still. Some things were just not meant to be removed from your body. Nipples are IMPORTANT. You do not mess with your nipples. Its not like they are your appendix or one of your kidneys or something. You NEED them. At least, I need them). And the dog farts? Well, they stink. And the dog is always incredibly surprised by her own farts. Which never fails to crack me up, but I think that story's been told. The farts and the rednecks in the truck probably have several things in common, but none of which were used to connect the story. Because my brain has changed from rigid computer like machine to grassy meadow with butterflies and clouds and ooooh, look, something sparkly (it might be a sparklepire! Which I find hilarious. Speaking of which, I think those books are a crime against vampire literature everywhere and if I were a vampire I would totally sue for defamation of character). I think you can see my point.

Thirdly, my will to work has been completely removed because without anxiety over getting fired, and then not having a paycheck and having to go through unemployment and worse, telling people I'm unemployed, much of my desire to do a good job goes right out the window. I would be perfectly content to be a housewife, really, and right now I'd be a really crappy housewife because of my first complaint, re: The Stuff.

Also, when I'm OCD things like running everyday and eating a very regulated diet and going to bed at the exact same time every night and the like, are easy. Because of the structure and all that. But then, those very things are things that help me control OCD and be less anxious. The less anxious and OCD I am, the more likely I am to get lazy about the food and sleeping and working out. Which puts me right back where I started.

Aren't vicious cycles FUN?

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Evil. Now in convenient liquid form!

Oh my God. What is up with this "cool burst" cough syrup crap?

It may be the most awful thing I have ever, I mean EVER, put into my mouth. This statement is coming from the girl who once drank raw moonshine on a dare.

So you take a drink of this "cool burst" stuff, and first you think, "Eh. What's the big deal about the -h'ohmmigod- what, what is that? That's weird. At least it is just in my mou-dear holy lord its in my throat. Am I breathing? That- that burns a lo---gnnng. Uh. Yuh. Hooooo...."

The unintelligible part is the part when you start to feel the cool bursting in your chest. Which is exactly as disturbing as it sounds. And then it DOESN'T GO AWAY. There is a weird, cold feeling in your chest. Which should never be cold unless you are dead, I am pretty sure that is a scientific fact. I know the cold is actually in my digestive system, but it frightens me that I can feel it in my entire chest cavity, because it might be because this unholy concoction just melted through my esophagus and is pouring out into my chest. At least, that's what it feels like.

What the hell was Tylenol thinking? This is unnatural. And I mean that in the way that means it is a sin against all that is good and right in the world.


Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Just Pondering

I saw someone all decked out in Ed Hardy (Hardee? I don't know) today. I have sort of a love/hate thing with old Ed. On the one hand, I think his clothes are ugly, over priced crap. On the other hand, I can now recognize a douchebag in under 5 seconds. Also, you have to respect the guy's thinking. Produce crap, put a large price tag on it, watch people fall all over themselves to be the first one to wear the most expensive of the crap. I have to admit its a little bit genius.

I myself am not a label girl. I refuse to buy anything with a brand name plastered all over it. I recognize the short term marketing genius inherent in it, I just prefer not to pay somebody a lot of money so I can advertise for them. Think about it, for a short period of time a company can get you to pay for the privilege of promoting their goods. Because at first its the rich and attractive that want to wear your clothes. And of course, at least most of us when we are teenagers want to be rich and attractive. So we emulate. Then the poorest and least attractive are wearing it, and of course no one wants to be poor and unattractive. At least not in our teens.

I don't know if I've ever seen anyone do this as well as Ed Hardee or Hardy or Har-whateverthefuck. Although I do recall plastering myself in head to toe Tommy Hilfiger when that hit Arkansas about 14 years ago. And I sincerely thought then everyone would think I was rich and suddenly I wouldn't be a too skinny nerd with a Beatles haircut, braces, glasses, and bad skin. I'd be Winona Rider or Kate Moss or something. (SPOILER: I did not become Winona Rider or Kate Moss).

Then, later today, I saw some goth kid. And I was thinking how COMMITTED goth kids are. I mean, decked out in all black, heavy materials, heavy makeup, everything, no matter the temperature or the humidity. I mostly look at them and feel hot and claustrophobic. And I wonder if that kid is so different from the label wearers. A lot of goth kids pay just as much money to look different like all the other goth kids.

So then I got to wondering if anyone is really any different than anyone else. Are we unique snowflakes, or are we all really the same deep down?

I don't know, and now I'm all self-concious, because I don't really have an answer. Also, I'm pretty sure 15 other people have written about this better than me. Just consider it loose head change and go with it, 'kay?

Friday, March 12, 2010

Dr. The Great Carnac

I have been very busy dying of the bubonic plague, or maybe the consumption, or some other awful, sweaty, choke-y death that's been extinct for at least a century.

That's why I started going to the doctor who never diagnoses me with anything, just prescribes a bunch of stuff and waits to see what will work. Okay, since he doesn't do any testing I might have to go back 3 times, and maybe he is making himself and the pharmaceutical company rich when he could probably save me about $100 by running a couple of simple tests. But at least this way I don't have to tell anyone I have whooping cough, and then have them say, "You can still get that? I didn't think people could get whooping cough anymore," like happened that one time I had whooping cough about three years ago.

This isn't whooping cough, but its not fun either. Except for the drugs. I've been watching Law and Order in a cough syrup daze for days. Law and Order is the perfect sick day show, because you doze and the episodes all run together, and it doesn't even really matter. Anyway, this is some kind of "kiddie illness," as my doctor tells me (through his amazing diagnostic process of...charging me $30 to test his psychic intuition) because of course it is. It makes perfect sense that since I don't have kids and I'm never around kids I should come up with an infection most likely to be passed around on the playgroud.

I'm back at work today, and this post should tell you what a bad idea that is. I have no idea what I just said.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Miracle Shoe Update: Is it a miracle if they turn me into a freak?

I debated taking a picture of my butt BEFORE I began wearing the bionic shoes, and then I was going to take update pictures every week. That way we all could have judged the true powers of the shoes together. This would have been helpful because 1) its very hard to look at your own butt...I'll wait if you want to try it...2) I could have gotten truthful opinions because everyone knows the internet loves to tell you the truth and 3) this site would probably get a lot more hits if I plastered it with pictures of my ass.

On the other hand, the internet REALLY LOVES to tell you the truth, and I'm not sure my ego is up to it and this site would be covered with pictures of my ass. You really can't ever take that back. So I didn't do it.

However, in case you're curious: I can't tell that my behind is any different after about a week of wearing these. My thighs look a little smaller, but that might just be because from the knee down my legs now look like I'm on steroids. My calves are getting totally juiced, and they aren't sharing with any of the other muscles. Its freaking me out a little. Pretty soon my jeans won't fit from the knee down, even the boot cut ones. And I'll have to be on Maury Pauvich (sp?) as one of the poor, poor freaks that makes him a million bucks. And he'll probably give me some prize that's supposed to be awesome, but really is kind of lame and I'll be all exploited and shit. Plus, I'll never be able to wear pants again, and I'll have to wear skirts all the time and that will totally show off my freak calves.

Or maybe its just water retention.

I'll let you know.

ETA: The left calf is bigger than the right one. I'm pretty sure that's new...on the other hand, its winter. I haven't actually seen my legs in months.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Black Magic

A Target in the dead center of a landlocked state manages to have a flock of seagulls in the parking lot, but they cannot manage to have a pair of navy tights. Or clothing in a size larger than 0 and smaller than 24.

And I still managed to leave with $50.00 worth of stuff I never knew I wanted. Its like magic. Black magic.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Probably I Shouldn't Be Allowed to Procreate

We watched The Stand last night. Or at least, 7 hours of The Stand. Anyway, there's a character who appears to be magic and evil. And I'm trying to work out if he's magic and evil because of some weird mutation from the flu or whatever. And the following conversation took place.

He: Did you not see that part about an hour ago where he said "Here's a hint: 'Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name.'"?

Me: Yeah, and I know its from a song, but I don't really get what that's supposed to tell me. Is it the Rolling Stones?

He: Yes...(here, imagine that face the teacher used to make when s/he was trying to get you to come up with a correct answer yourself. Eyebrows lifted, eyes wide, the slow head nod).

Me: Shit. Its Sympathy for the Devil, isn't it? But how should I know that means he's the devil or whatever?


He: Are...are you being serious?

Me: What? I can never understand the Stones. They don't speak English, like, ever. They speak burned out druggie.

He: I want a divorce.

Me: What?

He: Go listen to it. Go listen to it right now.

Yeah. I know every word to Sympathy for the Devil. All of them. And I still never knew that it was actually about the devil.

I'm going to let that speak for itself.