Archive from April, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 - Too Stupid To Live    21 Comments

The Friday Night Post that No One Will Read

I was going to put up a quick post saying TGIF, but then I found this picture on my phone (of myself ) that was so horrific that I had to rush off and do my hair and makeup before I could make a public statement.

 

But then I felt like a big ‘ole “painted lady” so I put my scarf back on and scrubbed my make-up off with a wet-wipe.

 

This ugly picture of me was taken on Monday. I can’t say its the worst picture ever taken of me (because I’ve produced some real barkers) but its pretty nasty.

On Monday The Dark Knight came home from work and I was clinging to the precipice of a big, jagged, mental-meltdown cliff.  I had to get out.

So I did.  I decided to go to La Cantera, which is a beautiful outdoor mall type place here in San Antonio.  Lets see if I can find some snapshots…..

Ok, here.

 

Nice, right?

I just wanted to go get a donut and sit on a bench and cram it into my face.  So I left the house. Without looking in the mirror.  I had puffy stress-tear-eyes.  I had no makeup on.  I was wearing cowboy boots and SHORTS!  What was I thinking?  Nothing. I was thinking no thoughts whatsoever.

But then I walked into Barnes and Nobles and Jenny Lawson was there doing a book reading.  It hadn’t started yet so I decided to stay. Needless to say, she had me in tears (the laughy kind) while reading a chapter from her book.  (I was sitting right behind her husband)

 

It really is a bummer that I looked like such a greasy toad because it was fun for me.  I needed fun. As The Dark Knight would say…

Afterwards I bought a cookie the size of my head and went out walking and cramming.

Heaven.  I’m just glad I didn’t run into anyone I know.

Ok, fine, I’ll show you the greasy toad picture but only after I’ve blurred it and made it dim to the point of irrecognizability.. .(spell-check says no…)

 

Apr 26, 2012 - Too Stupid To Live    23 Comments

How Twitter is Different for Me than it is for Ashton Kutcher

I like Facebook.  Facebook is like walking into a party full of people you know but haven’t seen for a while.  You can keep up with their lives.  Places they go. Foods they eat.  Moods they have.  Its…alright.

So I thought I’d give Twitter a stab.  I had no idea what it was but I thought, what the heck.  I told myself I’d give it one month.

Its kind of like Facebook, only its like walking into a party full of people you DON’T know.

 

And they are all shouting banal things.

Nobody is having a real conversation.  Nobody is listening.  Really, anyway.

Its just a bunch of random people spewing one-liners.

Stating the obvious.

Making embarrassing declarations.

Announcing whatever.

 

And then you get the people who punch in their every activity as if it were required by law.

 

Its a completely different situation for celebrities and their worshipers.

When Ashton Kutcher walks into the party, he has like 3 million people just waiting for him to say ……whatever it is he says….

 

And his every word sets twitterland aflame.

(Sorry I just couldn’t bring myself to spend ten minutes drawing an accurate picture of Ashton Kutcher…….)

So Ashton’s party and my party are two very different places.  I have to walk in and be all..

….which, considering I have a blog completely dedicated to myself, is still not something that I usually enjoy doing.

….unless I’m being sedated.  Then apparently I BRAG.  I had one of those procedures where they stick a camera down your throat and into your stomach.  You have to be conscious for it so they can tell you to swallow, but you sure don’t want to remember that nightmare. So they give you the amnesia drugs.  The last thing I remember was seeing a bunch of nurses staring at me while I was all…

So I guess twitter would totally be my cup of tea in that situation.

How pigs and monkeys and penguins solve our communication crises.

I have been funkadelic this year week.  Maybe its hormones or stress or maybe I’m just insane.

I wake up feeling all old and droopy and gaggy.

 

Some times I take the advice of Lynn’s mom and “Put some lipstick on. You’ll feel better.”

For days when that doesn’t work, I’ll also take a stab at the ‘ole hair-do.

But because I’m having to grow out the “boing-boing”, the scarf is back on in a matter of minutes.

And heaven forbid The Dark Knight is also in a funk….

(I don’t know why he’s thinking of himself)

But man do we have some overlapping moods.  And when we’re not happy, it trickles down to the midgets.

But it was worse before kids.  Anytime we were having simultaneous funks, we’d just have to work it out. You know, with communication.  All I want to do is sit on the porch in a ski-mask.

The Dark Knight wants to go do things.

When we lived in Africa it was particularly hard because we were VERY isolated.  I’d be in a deep dark place and he’d be all “We’re going on an excursion through the southside of HELL!” (Or the beach or whatever!)

When we first moved into the wine country we were surrounded by mountains and vineyards.  It was torture. I know.

I had a hard time with the transition. He drug me out of the house because I was funky and he was funky.

 

 

We found a large hilly vineyard and he started driving up their private road.

 

That made me funky AND terrified.

…. we drove to the top of the hill and the sun was setting.  It really was beautiful.

The Dark Knight suggested I get out of the car and stand on the roof for a better photo.  I think he was probably using me as a decoy to see if there were snipers.

So, I got out and stood on the roof of the ‘ole Merc.

And then. Suddenly. Inexplicably. Un…recover…ably…..

He started driving again.

And heaven knows I can hardly balance on a basic, stationary surface.

And because he heard my Sasquatch feet pounding around on the top of the car he screeched to a halt.

 

And I could not control my limbs.

And I gallumped down the front of the car like a freaking antelope.

And to this day we’re all shocked that I landed on my feet.

And as I was recovering, The Dark Knight and I looked at each other to figure out what on God’s green earth just happened.

And we simultaneously knew it was completely the other person’s fault.

I got back in the car with my panties in a wad. The Dark Knight was fairly waddy himself.

All I can say is thank goodness for random critters in Africa!

They saved us from many stupid conversations.

Not something I would ever say.

 

 

You can always dodge a bullet when there is a cute animal around.

Something I said more than once while living there.....

 

Why aren’t there better critters here?

This post is rated R for…Really bad.

Read no further if you don’t want to know.

I won’t even give you a hint.

Just turn away now.

For the rest of you, I’m not normally one to share something this personal but I’m hoping that in sharing this, others out there will be able to cope with their issues better.

Better than me.

I have regular reoccurring  nightmares.  I’ve had them for almost 16 years now.  They get worse when I’m under a lot of stress, but otherwise, I have about one a week.

There was a trigger. A single moment in time that wouldn’t have changed my life forever had I not consumed 3 cokes on the way through El Paso.

We were driving through the vast nothingness just this side of the Texas-Mexico border.

Van Horn, Texas was the only thing for MILES.

We had no choice.

I had to go.

 

There was a scary, You-Don’t-Have-A-Choice-So-We-Don’t-Even-Try gas station on the outskirts of this tiny …town?

I went in to inquire about a bathroom.

Why couldn’t I have decided then and there to go squat in some bushes like any other Southerner?

Really, I was asking for it. I walked right into the trap.

Upon entering that room, a sight met my eyes that has altered me as a human being.

It was so bad that I can’t even finish drawing it.

There were piles and piles and piles of poop in every corner. Up against every wall.  Every. Where.

The toilet had apparently ceased working years ago and the already-full bowl had not deterred other poopers from filling it up even more.  The poop stacked up above the toilet seat.  How does that even happen?  Someone would have had to suspend themselves from the ceiling to accomplish that disgusting feat.

I left.

And I was moderately disturbed the entire way back.

But I had no idea the paranoia that was etching itself into my psyche.

The dreams started soon after that.

Not just the normal dreams where you are sitting on a toilet in some inappropriate place.  Like the science lab at school.  Or the mall.

 

Those dreams where you can tell that everyone is “disappointed” in your lack of judgement.

No, there is a whole new layer to my toilet nightmares.

Poops.

And not mine.

 

I’m always in somebody else’s bathroom.  Or in public. And people are waiting to get in.

It starts when I flush the toilet.

The water wont go down.

The mystery poop starts rising.

And before I know it, turds are flying everywhere.

 

In every dream I’m trying to figure out how to get them back in the toilet.  Because heaven knows I’m not taking the blame for all that fecal matter.  Its disgusting.

I cry.

And in the back of my mind I think, Why does this ALWAYS happen to me.

And then I wake up, doing a wimper-cry-protest.

When will it end for me?  When will I escape this curse?

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