Obsessed, and Trying to Tell

Date: 2011.12.17 | Category: Uncategorized | Response: 0

I have a problem.

Or forty.  But whatever.

I have this way of picking up interests and dropping them, being incredibly intolerant of boredom and routine, generally having shit focus, and not being able to commit.  Until I find something really interesting.  And it consumes me.

If I didn’t do so damn well in school, I’d have been put on Ritalin at some point, I’m sure.

Anyway, so, today I had the day off.  And the second Sherlock Holmes movie came out.  And I got a new book in the mail.  I should have had a merry ol’ time with fuckin’ Holmes and a fuckin’ book.

Instead I spent the day checking my email 52,000 times, editing things, looking up writing advice, and checking my email another 32, 546 times just in case I missed something.

Seriously.  That’s what I did.  I managed to tear myself away for half an hour to go to the post office.  And the whole time I wondered if someone had sent an important email while I was gone.

What’s going on now is that I’ve done the previously unthinkable: I wrote a fucking book.  And by a “book” I mean a “word document.”  And by “wrote” I mean I backed one out like a giant polished turd.

It’s a mess. It’s probably not publishable.  But it took a long, concerted effort.  It took commitment.  It took not giving up.  Holy fuck, it’s something I’ve pretty much never done.  It was a big fucking deal.

Until I decided to try to make it publishable.  So on to the next big fucking deal.  I’ve found some beta readers to test it out on.  To torture.  To hurt with my words. I’ve sent them pages.  And now? Now it’s a waiting game.

I’m horrible at waiting games.  Reload email, reload email, reload email, check the other email accounts, reload email.  Listen to Wolfmother while reloading email.

And here’s another thing I don’t usually do: admit that I’m trying to do something like this.  Granted, I’m still anonymous here (I hope), and nobody looks at this shit but spammers, but it’s still big for me.  I don’t like to say out loud when I’m thinking of doing something, or when I’m attempting to succeed at something.  Because I know, chances are, I’ll change my mind or I’ll fail, and then I’ll be ashamed.  It’s better to not raise people’s expectations in the first place.

Thing is, it’s getting to be that I don’t tell people anything anymore.  Not when something bad happens, not when something good happens, only when something weird or amusing happens that has no possible reflection on my person.  If you don’t tell people something, they don’t tell you shit either.  You’re stuck with small talk forever.  Which is meaningless.

This is all coming from this video I saw…I doubt I can fully embrace what this woman suggests right off the bat, being the most guarded fucking person I know.  But I can try to start, yeah?

Hi! I’m Mentally Unstable

Date: 2011.12.13 | Category: Uncategorized | Response: 0

I am really tired.  And yet stubbornly averse to sleeping.  Sleeping is for pussies.  Who can get their brains to shut up for five fucking minutes.

Sometimes when I try to sleep, I envision bad things happening and wondering how I would react.  Not “bad things” like “a chunk of plane falling out of the sky and knocking you in the head so hard you shit your own teeth with your dying excretion”; I mean things that might actually happen.  And I wonder how to react, so that I can sort of…practice.  Have a dry run.  Sort of like what I do when I know I’m going to be in a social situation–I prepare some practice lines and questions, so that I don’t end up blurting out something like “you look good, glowing, like you’re pregnant.  Oh God, not pregnant.  Just…shiny.  Like the sun.  …Sweet Jesus.  I’m so sorry.  I’m very sleep deprived.”

Yeah.

My brain also thinks about other things.  Like self-loathing.  There’s a lot of self-loathing.  It wonders often if I should go to a therapist.  Then it says, what the hell for.  You don’t have that kind of money, asshole.  You don’t want to talk to people about your stupid issues because it makes you even more ashamed of yourself for whining about your awesome life.  And if they give you drugs, you’ll probably be too afraid to take them.  So there is no fucking point.  Fuck off, self.

And there’s the frustration.  And the anxiety and the ennui and the guilt and the confusion.

Things keep me awake, is what I’m saying.

Sleep deprivation makes me more tired, and more volatile.  Makes me feel more like giving the fuck up every time I make a mistake at work or my mom calls and asks me why I hate her.  (I mean, she doesn’t say THAT, but it’s what she means.) (I don’t hate her.  I love her.  She doesn’t see it that way, though.)  I should just go crawl in a fucking hole.  Or join the army, where I don’t have to make my own damn decisions.

I black out when I run, though.  FAIL.

So today was One o’ Dem Days, again, and I kind of lost it in the car a little bit on the way home.  I was all “I’m horrible at everything, why do I try, what do I even do now, I have no idea what to do,” and five minutes later I got a grip and realized what I should do now.

Keep fucking trying.

I Got Nothin to Motherfuckin Say Motherfuckers

Date: 2011.12.07 | Category: Crap Bag, Ways in Which I Am Batshit Nuts | Response: 0

One of those days.  You go to that job you just got, and you forget that animals need things like food and water and space to move in that is not already occupied by a wall, and when your boss says “remember to do this” you say “okay” and then forget, and you just fuck shit up all day until finally you get to  leave.  Then you go home and find some nice e-rejections from things you applied to, and you ignore some people and piss some people off, and you accidentally step on a spider with your bare foot, and your mom calls you for the ninth time in the past two days to ask you about your life goals.

And at the end of the day you are covered in the metaphorical urine of shame, as though the shame lion has marked you as his own, and pissed all over your face.  You don’t want to be seen or heard, because people will smell it.  And they will know you got pissed on by a lion of emotion.

It feels bad.

I got nothin’ to motherfuckin’ say.  So I’mma force it.  Because I have nothing else to do.  That I can think of.

Whatever.

I mean, shit, I’m only human.  And sure, I seem to fuck up more often than most.  Ma says it’s because I’m so fucking smart that I’m bored by the dullness of this prosaic life around me and therefore don’t pay attention to shit ever.  I think it’s cause I’m a dumbass, but Ma can think whatever makes her happy.  But she won’t, because she’s clinically depressed.

Ha!  Everyone loves a good clinical depression joke.

Some skank is on TV telling me about her shampoo.  I got news for you, slut: my hair is never going to look that good, and I’m offended by the insinuation that it can.  Go fuck a missile.

Look.  We all get into these “fuck the world” moods.  They’re there to save us from the “fuck myself” moods.  Sure, fucking the world includes fucking yourself, but at least some of the hatred is diffused.  Spread out.  Not so concentrated.  It feels a little more leveled out.  But it’s frowned upon.  Both of these are frowned upon.  Stop frowning upon me, assholes.  I realize I’m being irrational, I do, but I have no choice.

If I weren’t so soft, I would go punch someone.

No I wouldn’t.  I’m too tired.  I’m too pathetic to even contemplate punching someone in the event that I would be able to do so without getting the everloving shit beat out of my ass and spattered across the wall.

Speaking of beating the shit out of people, I just flipped the channel to A Christmas Story, right in on that part where Ralphie goes apeshit on Scott Farkus.  When his mom finds him, she picks him up and takes him home.

And that’s it.

Ah, the good ole days when kids could pummel each other’s faces into the ice with wanton abandon.  We should go back to that.  People might grow up with some goddamn self respect.

People should just fuckin’ attack each other on the street.  Mandatory Fight Club, cocksuckers.  Self respect.  Ballsy men.  Titsy women.  All of us proud shit-beaters.  More injuries, more soul.

Thus, I have reasoned my way to a solution for my self-loathing: random beatings of street folk.  Seems like a good place to stop.

Working Outdoors is Not Lovely At All

Date: 2011.12.04 | Category: My Scintillating Personal Life as a Semi-Vagrant Livestock-Farming Pseudo-Nun | Response: 0

Something very exciting and yet not exciting at all happened to me the other day.

I got a job. Yay!  Exciting!

It’s almost exactly the same job as the one before.  …Not exciting!  But good.

So I started work today.  Now, as you may or may not recall, my “work” is what you might call “agricultural” in that it’s “fucking outside.”  People have some romantic ideas of what it’s like to work outside: sun shining, birds chirping, watching the clouds roll by, breathing that fresh air.  Mmm.  Lovely.

No.  It’s not lovely.  I got news for you motherfuckers: we invented houses for a reason.  The weather?  It’s a hobo’s scrotum rubbed on a hooker’s taint and run through a gauntlet of pedophile spanks covered in vagina blood.  It’s a fucking motherfucker. It’s lovely for a maybe four or five weeks of the year, and the rest of the time it’s fucking hot or fucking cold or raining all the time and disgusting or it’s fucking cold AND raining AND disgusting or some other combination.  And there’s snow and ice and sometimes heat advisories and air so humid it’s barely got oxygen in it, and it makes everything a bazillion times harder than it should be.

So now, here we are, about to start our winter.  So we enter the “fucking cold and wet” era of non-loveliness.

I have this problem with cold weather.  In that I hate it.  Like a fat kid hates celery.

More than that, even.  Way more.  Maybe like a ninja hates the ronin who killed his family.  Like Beatrix Kiddo hates…you know, everybody.  And kills them.

Not only do I hate it, I am haunted by it.  It follows me.  It follows me INSIDE.

I spent maybe 11 hours outside today.  It was uncomfortably cold, but not freezing.  Nothing like what’s going to happen a month or two from now.

I went home.  I came inside.  I sat down.  And I started shivering.

It’s not cold in here.  It’s not terribly warm, but it’s definitely not cold.  I’m still wearing long underwear under my pants and three shirts and my coat.  I haven’t changed my clothes even though I’m disgusting because I do not want to expose my skin to the air.

It’s a funny phenomenon, that.  I get cold because the air outside makes me cold, but then it infects me.  It rapes my blood cells and makes little bastard icicle-blood babies, like a virus.  It makes me cold from the inside out.  It’s fake-cold, but it’s cold.  It sucks.  It’s not fair.  Getting under blankets and in heat won’t fix it, because your body is just making this shit up.  The only way to do it is a) wait several hours for it to subside or b) boil yourself.

Water as hot as you can stand to sit in, anyway.  Hot baths pretty much always work.  Unfortunately, I don’t have a bathtub.

So what to do?

Whine about it on my blog.  Hey spammers!  Look at me being “vital and sophisticated.”  Buttplug motherfucker rectal vomit.

Genuinely Unique Gift Ideas That Are Also Fucking Awesome

Date: 2011.11.22 | Category: Crap Bag, Guides and Other Helpery Information | Response: 0

Hello friends.  And by friends I mean spammers.  Hey spammers!  Get ready for another “useful article.” (Bee tee dubs, I cannot tell you how hilarious it is when you guys shoot me off one of those “useful and insightful article” comments, especially when you do it on posts like the nipple label.  I wish you would change up the script a little though.  Starting to get dull.)

So it’s that time.  That time when you must find the most glorious, wonderful, fantastic, insightful and loving gifts for all the people in your life, who want Who the Fuck Knows.  I mean, you know some things they like, but unfortunately you mainly know that because they already have them.  You definitely don’t want to be that person who’s all “hey, she once said she liked belugas, so I will get her a bunch of beluga-themed knickknacks and beluga-scented candles and beluga books and beluga movies and cakes made of beluga fat,” and nor do you want to be that person who gifts a basket of bath-themed liquids or ties or gift cards because WOW that’s boring.  But you also don’t want to give something stupid or something they don’t want, or something that will prompt them to go “do you KNOW me at all, I hope you kept the receipt, thanks a lot ASSHOLE.”

In their minds, I hope.

This makes your task gargantuan and nigh impossible.  Christmas lists are always great for solving this “I don’t want to get shit I don’t want” issue, and that’s great, but for me Christmas isn’t quite as special when you already know exactly what’s in the boxes.  What the hell is the point of the boxes, if not to be mysterious?  If there’s no mystery then you’re just being wasteful.  That box was a TREE, man, and you KILLED it for the FAKE ILLUSION OF MYSTERY when there ISN’T any.

I don’t like to give things people are expecting.  I still feel the need to adhere to the standards already set forth, but if there is a choice between “something unexpected” and “something they have specifically asked for”….I will probably choose the former.  If at all possible, I will get both, so that there is a WHAT THE HELL IS THIS THING I AM SO SURPRISED BUT ALSO DISMAYED BY HOW STUPID IT IS oh you got me that thing I wanted also!  Yay thanks.

Anyway.  I come up with bazillions of these “unexpected” ideas and end up ditching most of them because they are things nobody I know would remotely want or like or find funny.  (I need to find more people as cool as me.  I mean, shit, when I can only think of ONE person in my life who would want a bag of raccoon penis bones and that person is myself, something is wrong.)  But it is a shame for them to go to waste.  In addition, it bothers me that when you google “unique gift ideas” you get a bunch of gift ideas that are not that unique.  Ooo, a reindeer that poops candy!  SO FUCKING UNIQUE.  ASS.

So I shall present you the viewers (read: spammers) with this Handy List of Really Truly Unique (and FANTASTIC) Gift Ideas.

Cheap as Fuck price range:

1) Jaw harp. ($5 or less + shipping)

Lovers of Snoopy, bluegrass, jug bands, and cheap instruments that require little effort but are slightly more upscale than kazoos alike will revel in the sonorous joy of these fine instruments.

2) Ninja throwing knives. ($5-15 + shipping)

Sometimes you need knives to throw at shit, but the knives in your kitchen are not aerodynamic at all and are not labeled as “ninja”.  Give your friends a solution to this common problem of everyday life.

3) Soap that is also a fucking sculpture.  ($7 + shipping)

Okay, yes, soap is boring, but let’s face it, you’re not going to be able to give your boss/coworker you barely know/grandpa any jaw harps or throwing knives without getting a really weird look.  So you’re going to have to get some generic shit.  But you can still take that generic shit and bring it.  I mean, look at that.  That is the most gorgeous fucking soap ever.  That soap is fucking art.

4) Disney villain playing cards. ($3-5 + shipping)

If Jafar’s come hither look does not win over your family, nothing will.

5) Raver gloves.  ($5-15 + shipping)

And this is really just the beginning of all the potential ravewear you can get for your mom/sister/grandma/employer.  You can get light up mouthpieces, necklaces, bracelets, glasses, headwear, socks, shoelaces, and bo staffs.  You can get it ALL.

Middling to Kinda Fancy price range:

1) A didgeridoo.  ($25-150)

Ever wanted to give that special someone a completely ridiculous musical instrument that only plays abstract notes and tones?  Now you do!  And if they don’t care for it, they can use it as a decorative accent/towel rack/giant toilet paper holder/bludgeon/rolling pin.  It’s very versatile!  AND multicultural!  You know people are all over that shit these days.

2) An actual bag of dicks. ($39 + shipping)

Thought I was just making those raccoon penis bones up, did you?  Okay, so the fleshy dick material has been removed, and raccoon dicks are less impressive than, say, bear dicks, but still, it’s a bag of dicks.  Side note: I personally think the entire Skulls Unlimited website is a gold mine of AWESOME gifts.  For me.  For dweebs.  But only the dweebs who are truly pure of heart.

3) Wolverine claw daggers. ($20-40 + shipping)

Say goodbye to your days of cutting up apples and steak and construction paper with your old stupid boring ass knives.  Cause now you’re going to do it like a fucking tiger.

4) Steampunk ear cuffs. ($16 + shipping)

Do you suspect your friend is steampunk-curious, but isn’t quite ready for the full top-hat welder-goggles turn-your-car-into-a-zeppelin-tank transformation just yet?  Help her (him?) take the plunge and go with summa these babies.

5)  Super awesome flash drive. ($20-100 + shipping)

If you go to Etsy and type in “usb” or “flash drive” you can find a whole range of super fun external memory devices, ranging from shitty to fancy as hell.  (Many of them are of the “steampunk” variety if you want to continue with the above theme.)  I’m sure you can find them outside of Etsy as well.  Soon you will become sad about how fucking boring your own flash drives are and buy some for yourself.

Expensive and Super Fancy price range:

1) Bebop’s severed head. ($500 + shipping)

Okay.  If the Ninja Turtles were a major part of your youth, this is AWESOME.  If not, IT’S STILL AWESOME.

2) A giant fucking feather mohawk headdress. ($300 + shipping)

If you tell me you wouldn’t buy this and go out to clubs and grocery stores and Walmart and college and work and office supply stores and wear it while having sex, you are LYING.

3) Antique lotus shoes.  (???-$800?  They’re mostly on eBay so who knows, but these suckers ain’t cheap)

Okay, these will only appeal to a very small demographic: dweebs of anthropology, Chinese history, body modification, or the history of fashion.  But for those dweebs, holy FUCK these things are cool.

See, “lotus” shoes are shoes that Chinese women wore for several hundred years during the imperial era.  They are tiny.  Freakishly tiny.  So tiny that in order to fit into these shoes, these women had their feet totally broken, deformed, bound, and rebroken several times at a very young age.  These are the shoes of the famous footbinding tradition, one of the weirdest cultural fashions and body modifications in history.

They’re a relic, an anthropological orgasm made of cloth.

4) Neon Undercar LED lights. ($250 + shipping + somebody to tell you how the fuck to put them on)

Get your significant other the ULTIMATE in completely unnecessary ill nasty car accessories and light up the motherfucking pavement underneath your Yaris.

5) Mechanical bull.  (Several thousand dollars. BUT WORTH IT)

I’ll just say this.  If some guy ever wanted to marry me, I would want one of these instead of a ring.  If I ever got a house, this is the first (and probably for a while, the only) thing I would put in it.  These things are GREAT.

Honorable mention: Xbox 360 + Kinect.

This is an honorable mention  because it is in no way unique and I promised you unique.  However, I have to include it because as far as I can tell there are only three good reasons NOT to get someone an Xbox Kinect: a) they already have one; b) you cannot afford one; or c) they are too physically disabled to use one.

I may or may not include more installments as they occur to me.  If you are lucky, I may continue this for DAYS.

If not, I’ll give up because I’m lazy.

Either way, holidays are comin’, bitches.

The Fuck Do I Do Will All These Motherfuckin Beanie Babies

Date: 2011.11.22 | Category: My Scintillating Personal Life as a Semi-Vagrant Livestock-Farming Pseudo-Nun | Response: 0

I’m currently trying to Get Rid of Shit.  I have trouble fitting it all in one room, and yes, it is one room and it is not a very big room but after going through the hell of trying to clean out my parents’ house I’ve decided that if you can’t fit your shit in a room then you have far too much shit.

This, of course, from someone who has three entire pieces of furniture and no place of her own to live in and has never had a kitchen but whatever.  You get what I’m saying, right?  The books, the knickknacks, the photo albums full of shit photos, the clothes that don’t fit/are ruined/you will never wear “but have sentimental value”, the random shit scattered everywhere, the various leftovers from phases you went through at the speed of light–boxing paraphernalia, language books, archery equipment, a shitty violin, and yes, Beanie Babies.

Oh the Beanie Babies.  Yes, I was in fifth or sixth grade when they hit, and didn’t pay much attention to them until I found out THEY COULD BE WORTH MONEY.

And now I have like forty of them.  Forty damn bags of beans that you can’t even give to your dog to play with because your dog will rip them open in five seconds, make a mess, eat the bean-innards and get horribly sick.  Forty useless sacks of sinister treacly cuteness that have been shoved under my bed in a congealing tumor for over a decade.  And they are worth less than nothing.  And it feels WASTEFUL to just toss them out but FUCK…how do you get RID of these fucking things??   They’re like acne…which in my case has been around since fifth grade and never goes away.  Except they’re adorable.

Adorable little fuckers.  Fucking Beanie Babies.

So I’ve been trying to come up with things to do with them.  Let’s be honest, yard sales and eBay aren’t going to get rid of them, not least because I’m not going to actually put forth the effort to fuckin’ get them out there, but also because what crazy fucking idiot would PAY for these dingleberries.  They are dingleberries stuck to your ass that WILL NOT LET GO.  Not even homeless people would want these things.  You can’t eat them or burn them or use them for warmth or sell them or smoke them or snort them or drink them or use them as weapons.  They are incredibly, impeccably useless.

So, after significant mental agony, these are are the solutions I have come up with.

1) Send them to celebrities, companies, anyone whose address I can get who I won’t feel guilty about dumping them on, in a box with no return address

2) Leave them in a box on the steps of the capitol building with a sign that says THIS IS WHAT YOU GUYS ARE.  (Of course I would then have to expound on how useless they are because I’m not sure if Congresspeople fully understand the metaphor)

3) Stuff them in a pillowcase and use them as a pillow

4) Use each in turn as a dildo–stuff them up the fartbox and toss ‘em like condoms when done

5) Cut them open, toss the beans away, and sell the skins as condoms

6) Cut them open, toss the beans away, fill them with candy and pelt them at children/give them away on Halloween/give them as presents to people I don’t like

7) Use them to transport cocaine

8 ) Withdraw all my money from the bank and use the Beanie Babies as my money guardians instead

9) Put a knife inside one of them and carry it around in my purse

10) Fill them with explosives and blow them up

11) Use them as toilet paper

12) Write obscenities all over them and make Ironic Art ™

13) Toss them in one of those Planet Aid “charity” boxes (They’re YOUR PROBLEM NOW, FAKE CHARITY)

14) Tea cozies?  I don’t even know what the fuck a tea cozy is, to be honest with you

15) Halloween decorations: make adorable nooses and hang them, mini torture tables to disembowel them on, cut off their heads and put them on spikes

16) Give them to OWS protesters so they have a nonviolent weapon to throw at police

17) Hat?

18) Tie to balloons and let the stratosphere relocate them

19) iPod case?

20) Give the hell up and throw them in the garbage

I haven’t decided yet, so if anybody has ANY suggestions, I am still open for decision-making.  I like being all green and recycley as much as the next person, but my God, this is the Unsolvable Riddle of Appropriate Disposal.  It really is.  Help me.

What I Wish Extroverts Would Get About Introverts

Date: 2011.11.21 | Category: Philosophy and Extro-Spection | Response: 0

So the holidays are coming up.  This means I get to spend more time with Mom.  Mom and I have a weird relationship that is made weird by several different things, but I will only get into one at the moment.

Mom is an extrovert.  I am an introvert.  She therefore thinks there is something horribly wrong with me and/or I hate her.

Granted, I do have some fucking issues, but being an introvert is not one of them.  At least, it shouldn’t be.  It causes some trouble at work and with people who in general do not understand The Differences Amongst Us All, and then there’s my entire extended family who think bad things about me, but I personally don’t see it as a fundamental failing.  However, I understand why it’s seen as abnormal.  There are a lot of introverts, but statistically we are a minority, and therefore most people can’t empathize on a firsthand basis.

The brains of introverts and extroverts work differently.  Who knows if we were born that way–just like every other neuro-image, who can tell if the thoughts cause the chemicals or the chemicals cause the thoughts–but however it happened, thoughts and stimuli get processed differently in our brains.  It’s not something we choose to do, this is just how it is.  Believe me, it would be so much fucking easier if I could just babble like a fucking freight train and enjoy social gatherings like “normal” people, but it’s like asking me to become a Mormon.  I don’t believe in the magic of Joseph Smith and I believe myself fundamentally incapable of ever doing so.

Other people exhaust me.  I like them, I want to talk to them and listen and do fun things like play Guitar Hero and watch every Muppet movie ever made, but then I get tired and I need to go be alone because I’m mentally and emotionally depleted.  If I am forced to stick around I will likely turn into a petulant bitch.

Also, I don’t want to talk about everything.  I like keeping things to myself sometimes.  I can’t stand to talk about shit that nobody cares about and/or isn’t adequately funny, and it bores me to death when people babble about the weather for no damn reason.  I won’t say anything if I don’t have anything to say, and that is a reflection on my own stupid brain being stupid or my own privacy needs.

I don’t want to be alone all the time, but I need to be alone for more time than I’m with people.  If people don’t leave me alone, I feel drained, exhausted, frustrated, annoyed, caged, trapped.   If people leave me alone for way too long, I get seriously bored of myself.  I don’t even like myself that much.  I’m just sort of stuck with me.  “Way too long” here is weeks, not hours.  I could be stuck in an empty box for 24 hours and be totally fine with it, and even revel in the fact that I can now sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart” at the top of my fucking lungs because nobody is around for me to annoy.

HERE IS THE IMPORTANT THING TO NOTE:  None of any of the above has anything to do with you, the extrovert.  If I’m not talking to you, it’s because I just don’t want to talk in general.  Parties are more like “stepping into a giant swarm of bees” than “fun” for me and that is why I’m not coming, not because I don’t want to see you.  If I avoid your presence or conversation, it’s not about you, I’ve just already had way too much social interaction for one day and I need to go cloister myself like a damn pope council.  If I’m sitting there in silence, it doesn’t need to be awkward.  We don’t need to fill the air.  The air is fine how it is.

If I were autistic and you set off a fire alarm next to my ear and I went ballistic, you would be understanding and say “that autistic person simply had way too much stimulation going on”.  If I punched you in the damn face for setting of the fire alarm you would say “oh, that person is autistic, it was really stupid and insensitive of me to set off a fucking fire alarm in her face.”  You wouldn’t take it personally.

(Interesting note: there is a theory that introversion is on the non-pathological end of the autism spectrum, and that ‘the autism spectrum’ itself is just the extreme end of a BIGGER spectrum of general stimuli processing/sociability and shit like that, and maybe at the really far end of THAT spectrum is narcissism or wild impulsivity or something.  It’s like autistic Inception.)

That is what is happening here, except on a much less dramatic level.  I’m not going to go ballistic,  but my actions might be interpreted as bitchy or aloof when in fact I’m just tired.  Imagine you’re horrible at math and I make you do trigonometry for two hours.  Would you then feel like doing your taxes?  Maybe you would do them because you have to, but you’d want to shoot yourself in the vagina because you’re so irritated.  It’s not math’s fault you’re irritated; your brain has just been taxed to its reasonable limit.

Of course, that might be a bad example.  Introverts are not necessarily horrible at socializing (I certainly can be, but that’s probably another issue entirely), and nor do they dislike it…it’s just…taxing.

Some introverts are shy.  Other introverts are not.  Some introverts are bitches.  Most are not.  Some introverts genuinely don’t like you, but chances are, most of them do.  Introversion itself is not the problem.  And it really sucks that people like my mom treat it as such and constantly try to “fix” it.

This is the fastest way to make an introvert pissed off at you.  Trying to force them to talk, or to reveal private thoughts, or to drag them to bars because you insist there is something wrong with them when they don’t want to go, or getting angry and taking offense when they insist they need to be alone; this is like if you were a deeply passionate wine connoisseur and I went around slapping wine glasses out of your hand yelling that alcohol is bad.  This is like if you were gay and I continually tried setting you up with members of the opposite sex and hit you with a bunch of diatribes about how being gay is bad.  This is like if you were a dinosaur and I told you a meteor was coming and you better fucking stop being so goddamn exothermic and grow some goddamn fur.

Like.  I…I can’t.

“Be more talkative!  Be sociable!”  Fine, tell you what, you stop being white and I’ll stop being introverted.  Sound good?  Great.

Anyway.  In sum:  introversion is about the introvert.  It’s not about you.  It’s not an insult.  It’s not a choice or an attitude.  It’s what is.  And you’re probably driving us fuckin’ nuts.

PS.  To the people in my life who have accepted that I can’t be on all the time and need my space:  Thank you.  You have no idea how much I love you for that.

Why I Don’t Vote

Date: 2011.11.18 | Category: Philosophy and Extro-Spection, Ways in Which I Am Batshit Nuts | Response: 0

I got into a political dialogue with a friend the other day.  I tried to avoid it, but this friend is actually employed by groups involved with politics and whatnot, so I figured it was only fair to talk about politics after we finished discussing the anthropological backdrop of Toddlers and Tiaras.  I got totally reamed for not voting.  And this is what I would have said, if I were articulate enough to say things other than ‘well! cock butt!’ 

The following is not an excuse.  It’s just an explanation, an iteration of how I feel regarding politics.  I’m not saying I’m right, or that this a good thing; this is just how things are for me.

So occasionally I lose my fucking mind and decide to pay attention to politics.

And then I feel it.  That vague mixture of horror, doom, disappointment, shock, outrage, and, more than anything, profound befoulment.

Oh yes.  Paying attention to world affairs makes me feel dirty.  More dirty than masturbating.  More dirty than looking at dicks on the internet.  As a sidebar, I don’t actually masturbate to dicks on the internet.  Seventy points to Hufflepuff for whoever can guess what I do in fact use as a backdrop to my masturbatory vagaries.

(It might be a trick question.  Do I even masturbate?  Do I have sex organs?  I’ve certainly never seen them.  It’s a MYSTERY.)

Anyway.  So.  Politics.  Dirty, sordid, horrible, full of stupid narcissistic fucking twats.  It makes me sad.  I’m not picking sides here, particularly; all of it makes me sad.  I have no right to comment though, cause I don’t vote.

Not voting is supposed to be like, I dunno, kicking disabled children or something.  The democratic process, people say, means nothing, if people don’t vote.

Thing is, it already means so little to so many of us.

My aunt at some point in one of our family gatherings was saying some shit about shit and I heard the words “Did you know our country isn’t actually a democracy?” and thank God I have the instinct to shut the fuck up unless I’m put on the spot, because my instinct was very definitely “well NO SHIT, go to eighth grade civics class much, JESUS.”

(I’m a bitch, by the way.) (But I don’t actually say these things.  When I was younger I was a smartass and pissed everyone off, and now I just nod and say “wow, really, I didn’t know that” and people get less angry but they think I’m pretty damn stupid.)  (Still makes me a bitch.)

It’s barely even a representative democracy.  It’s SORT of a republic, I guess.  In theory.

Really it’s a bunch of shitty people supported by various moneyed shitty people who are not most of the population thrown together in a fancy building taking shits from their mouths.  And I don’t want to pretend that I’m a part of it.  Because it makes me feel gross and useless.  At least if I don’t vote, it’s then my CHOICE to be futile and useless and completely insignificant, and I don’t feel tainted.  More tainted than I would feel if I rubbed bacon grease and mouse brains on my taint and rubbed my taint on a hobo’s taint on a disco taintbus.

I couldn’t resist.

(TAINT)

Now, you’re thinking, I should be out there with the Occupiers, changing the conversation and bringing conversation to the conversation.  But I fucking hate hippies.  Hippies piss me the hell off.  I bitched about stoners before and all the same shit applies to hippies.  You want peace and understanding, but you can’t be considerate or empathetic enough to not shit on people and blow skunkweed in their face, and anyone who disagrees with you is an evil shithead bastard dumbass and you can…shit on them.  Freely.  Or whatever.

ANYWAY.  I’m over it.

And you know what, demonstrations are great and all, but it’s not part of the political process.

It isn’t.  It isn’t how we elect people.  Maybe it SHOULD be.  I mean, hell, there would be no greater advocate for a ridiculous Highland-Games-meets-cyborg-warfare-meets-full-contact-jousting-meets-Jeopardy-meets-bear-wrestling sort of contest between presidential and congressional hopefuls to choose our leaders than me, but it’s not how the process works.

But at the same time…the process doesn’t work at all.  That’s a big part of the problem.

I don’t have a solution.  Because being informed is depressing and I have enough problems trying to live my stupid insignificant life without highlighting my stupid insignificance by attempting to “matter” in a broken system that doesn’t give a shit about its people’s welfare.

I need someone or something to make me feel like, even if my vote mattered statistically, there might be a hope of said person I voted for to actually engage in public service, meaning serving the public.  So far: nobody.  Nothing.  I look around every so often for a reason to believe in politics and get rammed up the ass with a bunch of douche-dildos douching me with barfed-up hot sauce.

Yes.  That is what listening to political rhetoric is.

I’m disillusioned, is my point.  And, frankly, the state of the world is hard enough to ignore without having to pay attention to the sad mess of politics.  I sometimes struggle to find good things to be happy about, and it takes a sort of singular myopia for me to get there.  I’d rather be more happy than knowledgeable, and I’d rather be more content than malcontent.  There’s always a give and take there–you can’t run around being a stupid optimist all the time, but you can’t always be a cynic either.  Some of us have to cultivate an imbalance in that scale, because we are already imbalanced in our heads.

That’s where I am.  I choose what to be informed and concerned about, what to get involved in, and I give to appropriate charities when I can; otherwise I ignore all the shit and go watch Pixar movies.  I think I make more of a difference this way, and I’m happier in the process.  Is it good for politics?

Frankly, I don’t give a shit.

How to Be Unemployed: With Caffeine (When You Have No Caffeine Tolerance)

Date: 2011.11.16 | Category: My Scintillating Personal Life as a Semi-Vagrant Livestock-Farming Pseudo-Nun, Ways in Which I Am Batshit Nuts | Response: 0

2.30 AM: Wake up.  Lie awake and hate self.

3.30 AM: Go back to sleep.

5.10 AM: Have to pee

5.12 AM: I should just break all the motherfucking mirrors I CAN’T LOOK AT THEM ANYMORE

5.30 AM: Go back to sleep

6.00 AM: Wake up

6.05 AM: Have to pee

6.15 AM: You know what I like? Little Debbie

6.16 AM: And pooping

6.30 AM: Go back to sleep

7.00 AM: Wake up and actually get up because you’re sick of waking up

7.10 AM: Turn on computer

7.15 AM: Look for jobs

8.25 AM: Apply to three jobs you have no interest in

9.30 AM: Begin to succumb to insanity

10: 30 AM: Begin shaking with anxiety

10:35 AM: Consider brushing teeth and showering

10:36 AM: Decide that today is going to be DIFFERENT…cause you’re going to have some caffeine

10:45 AM: Have to pee

11:00 AM: Caffeinated trembling

11:15 AM: TEAR APART A FUCKING CEREAL BOX

11:20 AM:DRAW A BEAR FUCKING A TURTLE

11: 25 AM: THROW SHIT ON THE GROUND

11:30 AM: LOOK FOR JOBS FIND A DREAM CAUSE MAN WE CAN DO THIS

11: 40 AM: Uncontrollable shaking and hysterical laughing slash weeping

12:00 PM: Decide to stop job search entirely when fresh-written cover letter says “AAAHH THERE ARE TERMITES IN MY VENTRICLES HIRE ME MOTHERFUCKER OR I WILL BOMB YOUR SEPTIC TANKS BIIITCH COCK AAHHH”

12:01 PM: OMG SISTER ACT IS HILARIOUS

12:15 PM: CAN’T SIT DOWN SPRINT AROUND HOUSE

12:17 PM: OW OW DAMMIT THIS HOUSE HAS TOO MANY SHARP CORNERS

12: 20 PM: PARKOUR IN LIVING ROOM

12:21 PM: Oh…oh…God…is my nose broken…holy shit…that couch is…unstable

12: 25 PM: PARKOUR IN BATHROOM

12: 26 PM: Foot went in toilet.  Must stop parkour

12: 30 PM: Okay.  Calm.  Tired.  Calm down now.  Tired.

12: 49 PM: MaaaaCAAVITY Macavity there’s no one like Macavity for HEEE’S a fiend in feline shape a monster…of DEPRAAVITY

12:54 PM: Is there anything fun on the internet yet?  No?  FUCK THE INTERNET.  Email?  Responses to job applications?  Phone messages?  No?  WELL FUCK EVERYBODY

1:00 PM: Collapse in heap of self-loathing

1:12 PM:  TAKE A SPACE RIDE WITH THE COOWBOOY BABAY WAI YI YI YIPPEE YI YAY YIPPEE YI YO YIPPEE YI YAAAHHAAY

1:30 PM: Lie on floor quivering in existential agony

1:35 PM: Somersaults until I feel like barfing/run into something hard with my face

2:00 PM: 30 Rock is on SOMEWHERE it HAS to be AAUUGGHH WHERE IS IT

2:30 PM: I’MMA DO THE DISHES

2:35 PM: Break a dish

2:36 PM: I’M HORRIBLE AT EVERYTHING WHY DO I EVEN TRY AUUGHAA TERRMIITES

2:40 PM: I wonder what common household substances have psychadelic effects when ingested.  WIKIPEDIA QUEST

3:00 PM: Totally lost in Wikipedia; now somehow looking up Ted Bundy because frankly I don’t know enough about serial killers

3:50 PM: I NEED TO BUY CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

4:50 PM:EVERYONE IS SO HARD TO SHOP FOR AAARGHH FUCK IT RAVEWEAR FOR EVERYONE

5:00 PM: You can’t get ravewear for your mom.  Or uncle or former boss or pretty much anybody now that I think about it

5:10 PM: I will ingest more caffeine until ravewear seems like a GREAT idea

5:30 PM: I WANT THAT WEREWOLF MASK.

6:00 PM: SPRINT AROUND HOUSE

6:03 PM: Oh.  I forgot the house had corners

6:20 PM: OMG.  I HAVE NEVER SEEN OR READ ANY PART OF ANY OF THE TWILIGHT FRANCHISE. AAAAHHHHH

6:30 PM: WHY CAN’T I RENT TWILIGHT ON DEMAND FUCK I MEAN FUCK WHAT THE FUCK

6:32 PM: I can buy it though.  I can’t buy it.  Do I really want to buy Twilight?  Do I want to be the sort of person that has Twilight in their movie library so that if I die people will look at it and be like the fuck is Twilight doing her–

6:33 PM: MUST WATCH TWILIGHT RIGHT NOW MY GOD I’M LIKE IN CULTURAL OUTER SPACE OUT HERE JUST BUY IT FOR FUCK’S SAKE WAAAAAAA

6:34 PM: If I wasn’t so fucked up right now I would make so much fun of you

6:34:04 PM: AAAHHH TWWIIIILIIIGHHHTTTAAHHH

6:35 PM: Uncontrollable shaking and hysterical laughing and staring at computer screen waiting for download bar to move

6:36 PM: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA DOOWNLOOADD FUCK FUCK BAAUHH

6:37 PM: Dance to Super Bass until nauseous

6:38 PM: Self loathing

6:40 PM: AMANDA BYNES IS HILARIOUS

6:41 PM: Self loathing

6:42 PM: SPRAY PAM ON FACE AND SPRINKLE WITH CINNAMON NOW YOU HAVE A CINNAMON FACE

6:43 PM: EAT A BOWL OF COOL WHIP

6:43:05 PM: YES JUST COOL WHIP

6:50 PM: Make fun of children on ad for children’s charity

6:51 PM: Laugh at death until I pee

6:56 PM: D’ya think Harry Potter masturbates?  I bet he does.  Him and Ron and Hermione and Draco and Snape all masturbate.  Statistically, I mean, almost everyone in Hogwart’s probably masturbates, because most people do.  Including Dumbledore.  Is there a magical way of masturbation, though?  I mean, do they have to do things in the old-fashioned ways, like touching and sex and dildos, or is there a magical orgasm charm that gives you instant happy times?  That would be the BEST if one of them just set one of those things off in the middle of one of those damn banquets and an entire house had orgasms all at once…..

TEN POINTS FOR HUFFLEPUFF

I feel like Hufflepuff could be a euphemism for vagina.  Slytherin too.  And Ravenclaw.  Griffindor is more cock-like.  A strong, mighty, leonine dick

7:00 PM: Why is my computer flashing at me?  Download complete?  What downlo OH MY GOD IT’S TWILIGHT I’M SO EXCITED FOR NO FUCKING REASON

7:02 PM: I’m sure it’s a total coincidence that I just got nauseous

7:10 PM: Why does this girl constantly look sick

7:15 PM: The FUCK is wrong with this kid

7:20 PM:  AHAHAAHAHAAHAHHAH DID HE JUST JIZZ HIS PANTS

7:25 PM: HAHAHAAHHA THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY THIS MOVIE IS THE FUNNIEST THING

7:35 PM: AHAHAAHAH These are the most AWKWARD people EVER the FUCK is wrong with them they constantly look they’re going to BARF or PASS OUT or SHIT THEIR PANTS

7:40 PM: HAHAHHAHAHA

7:50 PM: Oh…seriously.  Really.  The fuck.

7:55 PM: Stop staring at each other.  It’s boring

8:00 PM: More staring.  Staring staring

8:30 PM: I’M SO BORED

8:40 PM: YAY THINGS ARE HAPPENING

8:45 PM: HAHAHAHAHAH THIS MOVIE IS HILARIOUS

8:50 PM: DRAMADRAMADRAMA TOTALLY RIVETED

9:10 PM: Wow I totally thought everyone was exaggerating when they were making fun of this girl being pathetic and not doing anything but wow she really is pretty goddamn pathetic…and still looks like she’s going to throw up

9:15 PM: I MUST SEE THE SECOND ONE IMMEDIATELY OH MY GOD

9:25 PM: Ew God I need to brush my teeth and pee HEY I’M NOT SHAKING ANYMORE

9:30 PM: I almost miss the shaking

9:35 PM: EW A MIRROR BARF GAWD EW I should BREAK that motherfucker

How to Be Unemployed

Date: 2011.11.14 | Category: My Scintillating Personal Life as a Semi-Vagrant Livestock-Farming Pseudo-Nun, Ways in Which I Am Batshit Nuts | Response: 0

2.30 AM: Wake up.  Lie awake thinking about what a useless sack of stupid meat you are.  General self-loathing

3.30 AM: Go back to sleep.

4.30 AM: Wake up.  Reflect on what a stupid name “Buckbeak” is for a hippogriff.  Note that if you had a hippogriff you would name him Chainsaw Shark.  Or Napalm Claws.  Or Exploding Fire Talons.  Or Flesh-Eating Torpedo Face.  Or Magic Flying Fish Forest.  Or Goose.

4.45 AM: “It’s leviOHsa, not leviosAAHHH”

4.50 AM: I haven’t even seen either of the last two movies.  MY GOD WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE

5.00 AM: “Every now and then I fall apaart! And I need you now tonight! And I need you mooorre than ever”

5.10 AM: Have to pee

5.12 AM: Mirrors are depressing

5.30 AM: Go back to sleep

6.00 AM: Wake up

6.05 AM: Have to pee

6.15 AM: You know what I like? Jane Eyre

6.16 AM: And pooping

6.30 AM: Go back to sleep

7.00 AM: Wake up and actually get up because you’re sick of waking up

7.10 AM: Turn on computer

7.15 AM: Youtube.  Funny pictures.  Email.  Facebook.  Nobody has done anything new since you went to bed last night.  Internet is boring

7.25 AM: Look for jobs

8.25 AM: Find something you might apply for, agonize over revamping resume and writing cover letter to its specifications, and then wimp out

9.00 AM: Look for jobs

9.30 AM: Begin to succumb to insanity

10: 30 AM: Begin shaking with anxiety and frustration.  Get up, take breaths, pace around room, slap self a bunch, decide to stop looking for jobs before you have panic attack

10:35 AM: Consider brushing teeth and showering

10:36 AM: Decide mouthwash and washing face is enough.  It’s not like you’re fuckin’ GOING anywhere today

10:45 AM: Have to pee

11:00 AM: Eat cake for breakfast

11:15 AM: Peel skin off of bottom of foot

11:40 AM: Watch Project Runway

12:30 PM: Get sick of Project Runway and throw remote on the floor

12:35 PM: Throw self on the floor

12:36 PM: Planking in the kitchen

12:40 PM: Planking in the bathroom

12:43 PM: Ew what the fuck is under the back of the toilet

12:44 PM: Should I clean that

12:45 PM: ….No

12:50 PM: Stick hand down pants

1:00 PM: Eat the rest of the cake

1:30 PM: Look for jobs

2:30 PM: Eyes are no longer capable of focusing

2:40 PM: Start shaking again

3:00 PM: Go lie down.  Maybe something interesting has happened on the internet

3:30 PM: Nothing interesting has happened on the internet.  Go to a different room and lie down

3:40 PM: Watch Golden Girls

4:50 PM: Youtube

5:30 PM: Roll around on the floor groaning in existential agony for exercise

6:00 PM: Buy more cake

6: 15 PM: Deepest point of self-loathing

6:45 PM: How to Train Your Dragon is on

7:00 PM: Insanely jealous of everyone in this movie

7:15 PM: Check email to see if anyone has responded to job applications and find nothing.  Self-loathing transmogrifies into numbness

7:45 PM: Quiet despair

7:50 PM: Have to pee

8:00 PM: Bones is on

9:00 PM: Eyes don’t work anymore

9:30 PM: Go to sleep

11:30 PM: Wake up because the dog is barking.  More self-loathing.

12:00 AM: Back to sleep until next scheduled self-loathing