Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The Bloggess Said!
...That I could steal this :) And I did, because I approve of the sentiment whole-heartedly!
I Sure Do Hate to Beat a Dead Horse
...But ya DO haveta make sure its DEAD! ba-dum-bum (and no, TerminallyUniq does NOT condone any type of actual animal abuse ... if I need to print that, then you're an idiot). I'm pretty sure this is the last time I'll discuss John Mayer's filthy mouth until the next time he says something.
UPDATE (02.17.10 21:05): OOH!! I lied!!!! What can I do? HE's the one that can't shut up! Look at me; I don't even have to write my own stuff now; I just link to articles like this which bring all those sassy racist and sexist and plain old moronic statements together into a nifty post -- with photos!!
UPDATE (02.17.10 21:05): OOH!! I lied!!!! What can I do? HE's the one that can't shut up! Look at me; I don't even have to write my own stuff now; I just link to articles like this which bring all those sassy racist and sexist and plain old moronic statements together into a nifty post -- with photos!!
Loose Ends
Well, I seem to be wide awake tonight (perhaps because I spent the majority of the weekend sleeping??). So I figure this is the perfect time to tie up some loose ends from past posts. You know, I began writing about my religious faith (which will be an ongoing journey and examination, not wrapped up in one post), I shared the hope I had after meeting my new doctor and getting new medication, I began to rant at John Mayer (hope he didn't think I was finished with him!), and I posted a link for you all to read about the earthquake we had here (never saw that one coming).
Easiest -- The 'quake was about a 3.8 they decided, after first posting it as 4.3 (not sure how such issues get ironed out). I hear of exactly NO ONE who was injured or even incurred more than minor damage (apologies if you have such a story and I am unaware... no insensitivity intended). I guess we had an earthquake in Illinois a couple years ago, but it was too far away for us Chicagoans to feel. And my mom tells me there was a moderate one back when I was a baby. But I have never in my life personally experienced this phenomenon. Here in the midwest we fear "twisters" and rightly so! We, as a region, have suffered great devastation from tornados sweeping through here. But an earthquake!!
First off, thanks be to God that it was not another one like in Haiti. That one was -- needless to say it -- one too many for the poor people there. For any people to deal with, but so sad for the Haitians who have such limited (in many cases, NO) resources. We were lucky here; this 'quake was just enough to be interesting, something to gossip with each other about ("Did you feel it?" "What did you think it was?" etc). I was sleeping on my couch, having crashed out in front of the TV. Dorian was asleep in his cat house, directly at eye level across the room from me. I was tossing and turning and had woken up moments before. My cat was sleeping peacefully when all of a sudden there was this ... sound, and also the feeling ... of everything shaking. The closest experience I can relate is that of being underground when a train is going overhead on a bridge or something. I thought that it was my upstairs neighbor doing something -- I had no idea what, but he makes loud and unidentifiable noises all the time. But I also could tell this was not the activity of one human being, because there was such uniformity to the quaking. Every wall, the floor, and the ceiling were all shuddering equally in force. I think it lasted 15 seconds or so.
Dorian woke from his sleep with a start the very second it hit. My poor baby! I have never, in all of our car rides, moves to new places, vet visits, etc., EVER seen his eyes so huge and his ears pricked up so high! He did what he usually does when he is afraid, or thinks maybe he might need to be afraid, and looked directly into my face. This is such an endearing trait in my pet: like a child looking to the trusted parent for reassurance, he looks to me when something is loud or disturbing to him, when a new person enters our home, things like that. If I say (as I did during the earthquake), "That's alright, baby, that's okay. It's okay" (and repeat!), then he calms down. He trusts me! I think it's so beautiful. And so that is what I said to him, desperately trying to hide the fact that I actually did not know whether "it" was indeed "okay". It was startling and scary, but over so quickly. I might have felt frightened longer, or I might have gone upstairs and finally beat my neighbor to a pulp. But within moments, a few friends sent texts, everyone checking on everyone else, wondering whether they felt it, all of that stuff. Once I knew that all was well, and began to see on the TV news that reports were coming in of a minor earthquake, well, then it became just an interesting start to a day!
With the earthquake behind us then, I blogged about how John Mayer pissed me off. I have seen the media beat him down fairly sufficiently this past week, but still. The whole racial issue is just disgusting. I won't get over that crap from him. I just won't. But the thing that I haven't heard much talk about is how he spoke of former girlfriend Jessica Simpson. The whole way that he was so flippant and sarcastic, seeming to say that he had to get out of their relationship so that he could be mature. Ick. Talk about having no self knowledge at all. He spoke in the two interviews about his ex as though he was just loving the hot sex he had with her (we ladies always love it when you share details with the world, guys), but sigh ... alas ... he had to be a man and move on with his life. VOMIT. I'm not a huge Jessica Simpson fan or anything; I mean, she's okay, I've liked a few of her songs, and I think she comes off pretty ditzy and over-privileged. But this is just respect. I can't stand the way that Mr. Mayer talks about her. I can't stand the way a lot of the media talks about her (she is SO far from the hideous, gargantuan ogre that you would think, reading some of the press). I hope that she knows any man who actually loves her, as Mayer claims to, would speak kindly and respectfully about their relationship. Her ex-husband, Nick Lachey, does a great job of this.
So, John Mayer: You are an arrogant prick. I believe you are a racist, in some part of yourself that you need to examine. I don't buy the line that you just ran your mouth out of ignorance (well, there's that TOO). You have amazing musical talent, you're okay looking (a trait which is instantly elevated to HOTHOTHOT when you're a rock star), and you've been given amazing opportunities and blessings to use and enjoy during your time on this planet. It would do you well to go away, get therapy, get faith, get a real woman as a girlfriend (although ... good luck), get whatever you need to man up. If you can't do that, then you're just a one-trick pony. It's a good trick, but it's just a trick. Sad.
Okay, what else folks? Oh ... yes, I spoke rather harshly about my Catholic upbringing. Well, I have no other way to speak of it. But when I was about 23 years old, I stood at the deathbed of a beloved, absolutely-consumed-with-the-joy-of-Christ grandmother. And Something happened. I have tried many, many times to explain in words, to write, to share, to verbalize ... what happened to me there. My mother was able to understand, I think because the three of us (Grandma, Mom, and me) were all very close. But I have sort of given up on telling the story until such time as I feel "called" to do so. What I can tell you is that I was transformed that night. It was the year 2000. There was grief and loss to face when my grandma passed, of course. But I knew right away that she had given me Something, as though passing me a note before she left this world.
Grandma was an amazing woman in so many ways, tough and funny and generous and beautiful and smart ... and she was a living, breathing, walking, talking example of living one's faith. When Christians speak of joy and peace and non-judgment and living a life that mimics that of Christ, of embodying the true spirit of the Word ... well, we all know that it is rare to see and feel the presence of someone who really lives it. My grandma lived it, truly. She never feared. She ran boldly into life, she laughed, she shared, she loved. She honestly, genuinely believed in every fiber of her being in her God. And she showed me that if you can find that faith, if you can believe and know, you never have to fear or worry or wonder ... You never have to do anything but live and pray and give thanks. Oh, yes, MUCH easier said than done. But she had it down.
And that is how I began my journey into faith... (stay tuned)
Easiest -- The 'quake was about a 3.8 they decided, after first posting it as 4.3 (not sure how such issues get ironed out). I hear of exactly NO ONE who was injured or even incurred more than minor damage (apologies if you have such a story and I am unaware... no insensitivity intended). I guess we had an earthquake in Illinois a couple years ago, but it was too far away for us Chicagoans to feel. And my mom tells me there was a moderate one back when I was a baby. But I have never in my life personally experienced this phenomenon. Here in the midwest we fear "twisters" and rightly so! We, as a region, have suffered great devastation from tornados sweeping through here. But an earthquake!!
First off, thanks be to God that it was not another one like in Haiti. That one was -- needless to say it -- one too many for the poor people there. For any people to deal with, but so sad for the Haitians who have such limited (in many cases, NO) resources. We were lucky here; this 'quake was just enough to be interesting, something to gossip with each other about ("Did you feel it?" "What did you think it was?" etc). I was sleeping on my couch, having crashed out in front of the TV. Dorian was asleep in his cat house, directly at eye level across the room from me. I was tossing and turning and had woken up moments before. My cat was sleeping peacefully when all of a sudden there was this ... sound, and also the feeling ... of everything shaking. The closest experience I can relate is that of being underground when a train is going overhead on a bridge or something. I thought that it was my upstairs neighbor doing something -- I had no idea what, but he makes loud and unidentifiable noises all the time. But I also could tell this was not the activity of one human being, because there was such uniformity to the quaking. Every wall, the floor, and the ceiling were all shuddering equally in force. I think it lasted 15 seconds or so.
Dorian woke from his sleep with a start the very second it hit. My poor baby! I have never, in all of our car rides, moves to new places, vet visits, etc., EVER seen his eyes so huge and his ears pricked up so high! He did what he usually does when he is afraid, or thinks maybe he might need to be afraid, and looked directly into my face. This is such an endearing trait in my pet: like a child looking to the trusted parent for reassurance, he looks to me when something is loud or disturbing to him, when a new person enters our home, things like that. If I say (as I did during the earthquake), "That's alright, baby, that's okay. It's okay" (and repeat!), then he calms down. He trusts me! I think it's so beautiful. And so that is what I said to him, desperately trying to hide the fact that I actually did not know whether "it" was indeed "okay". It was startling and scary, but over so quickly. I might have felt frightened longer, or I might have gone upstairs and finally beat my neighbor to a pulp. But within moments, a few friends sent texts, everyone checking on everyone else, wondering whether they felt it, all of that stuff. Once I knew that all was well, and began to see on the TV news that reports were coming in of a minor earthquake, well, then it became just an interesting start to a day!
With the earthquake behind us then, I blogged about how John Mayer pissed me off. I have seen the media beat him down fairly sufficiently this past week, but still. The whole racial issue is just disgusting. I won't get over that crap from him. I just won't. But the thing that I haven't heard much talk about is how he spoke of former girlfriend Jessica Simpson. The whole way that he was so flippant and sarcastic, seeming to say that he had to get out of their relationship so that he could be mature. Ick. Talk about having no self knowledge at all. He spoke in the two interviews about his ex as though he was just loving the hot sex he had with her (we ladies always love it when you share details with the world, guys), but sigh ... alas ... he had to be a man and move on with his life. VOMIT. I'm not a huge Jessica Simpson fan or anything; I mean, she's okay, I've liked a few of her songs, and I think she comes off pretty ditzy and over-privileged. But this is just respect. I can't stand the way that Mr. Mayer talks about her. I can't stand the way a lot of the media talks about her (she is SO far from the hideous, gargantuan ogre that you would think, reading some of the press). I hope that she knows any man who actually loves her, as Mayer claims to, would speak kindly and respectfully about their relationship. Her ex-husband, Nick Lachey, does a great job of this.
So, John Mayer: You are an arrogant prick. I believe you are a racist, in some part of yourself that you need to examine. I don't buy the line that you just ran your mouth out of ignorance (well, there's that TOO). You have amazing musical talent, you're okay looking (a trait which is instantly elevated to HOTHOTHOT when you're a rock star), and you've been given amazing opportunities and blessings to use and enjoy during your time on this planet. It would do you well to go away, get therapy, get faith, get a real woman as a girlfriend (although ... good luck), get whatever you need to man up. If you can't do that, then you're just a one-trick pony. It's a good trick, but it's just a trick. Sad.
Okay, what else folks? Oh ... yes, I spoke rather harshly about my Catholic upbringing. Well, I have no other way to speak of it. But when I was about 23 years old, I stood at the deathbed of a beloved, absolutely-consumed-with-the-joy-of-Christ grandmother. And Something happened. I have tried many, many times to explain in words, to write, to share, to verbalize ... what happened to me there. My mother was able to understand, I think because the three of us (Grandma, Mom, and me) were all very close. But I have sort of given up on telling the story until such time as I feel "called" to do so. What I can tell you is that I was transformed that night. It was the year 2000. There was grief and loss to face when my grandma passed, of course. But I knew right away that she had given me Something, as though passing me a note before she left this world.
Grandma was an amazing woman in so many ways, tough and funny and generous and beautiful and smart ... and she was a living, breathing, walking, talking example of living one's faith. When Christians speak of joy and peace and non-judgment and living a life that mimics that of Christ, of embodying the true spirit of the Word ... well, we all know that it is rare to see and feel the presence of someone who really lives it. My grandma lived it, truly. She never feared. She ran boldly into life, she laughed, she shared, she loved. She honestly, genuinely believed in every fiber of her being in her God. And she showed me that if you can find that faith, if you can believe and know, you never have to fear or worry or wonder ... You never have to do anything but live and pray and give thanks. Oh, yes, MUCH easier said than done. But she had it down.
And that is how I began my journey into faith... (stay tuned)
Rehab: The New Spa?
Wow!! I'd say it has been a busy week for one and all of us! It seems that whether you are a celebrity entering rehab for pretend issues / ailments or you are a humble writer coming up in the blogging world like me, ya had a helluva week!
SO. Chynna Phillips. What shall we say? If you didn't hear, the former lead singer of girl pop trio Wilson-Phillips (and, I guess, current Christian musician ... I'm not familiar with her work) has checked into rehab to deal with "anxiety," per her rep. MmmmHmmm. .... ... PEOPLE!!! WTF? Why do celebrities persist in telling us they are rehabbing for things like "exhaustion" and "anxiety/depression" and recovery from physical ailments? It's gross. The reason I say so is that the whole sham makes a complete mockery of the real recovery process that so many regular folks embark upon courageously everyday. It makes a mockery, too, of disorders such as real anxiety and depression.
Drug treatment centers and other rehab facilities that serve those with eating disorders or any combination of addictive behaviors are serious businesses. They don't open their (very expensive) doors to you so you can have a place to flop down and recuperate because you are exhausted or stressed. That is called a hotel. If you are recovering from an illness or even a particularly taxing time in your life, there is an over-abundance of spas and retreat centers like that to serve your needs. Don't pretend that you're just tired and tell people you've gone to rehab to rest. It's disgusting to me. It's so difficult for everyday joes and janes to take that step and enter treatment, to continue living life while working a recovery program, to admit it, to deal with it, to own it. Celebrities piss me off (if you couldn't yet tell) when they play these games. They want us to know ALL about it when they are dating someone new or have a new cd/movie/reality show, etc., but when it comes to their real-life dilemmas, they feign perfection. People look up to them, and it would really be amazing if they could show that they are real.
I'm sincerely sorry that the Phillips have had the life they've had, and have to face ongoing pain and fallout from what their parents did. I'm sorry for anyone who buckles under the pressure of their past, anyone who gets sucked into the terrible darkness of addiction, no matter what started it. A great many of us have abuse or addiction or loss or incest or God-forbid more than one of these in our pasts. I want to see a day when there's no shame in admitting that you are seeing a therapist or a doctor or taking medication or even checking yourself in someplace, to DEAL with it. I guess for now, that's my word on that.
SO. Chynna Phillips. What shall we say? If you didn't hear, the former lead singer of girl pop trio Wilson-Phillips (and, I guess, current Christian musician ... I'm not familiar with her work) has checked into rehab to deal with "anxiety," per her rep. MmmmHmmm. .... ... PEOPLE!!! WTF? Why do celebrities persist in telling us they are rehabbing for things like "exhaustion" and "anxiety/depression" and recovery from physical ailments? It's gross. The reason I say so is that the whole sham makes a complete mockery of the real recovery process that so many regular folks embark upon courageously everyday. It makes a mockery, too, of disorders such as real anxiety and depression.
Drug treatment centers and other rehab facilities that serve those with eating disorders or any combination of addictive behaviors are serious businesses. They don't open their (very expensive) doors to you so you can have a place to flop down and recuperate because you are exhausted or stressed. That is called a hotel. If you are recovering from an illness or even a particularly taxing time in your life, there is an over-abundance of spas and retreat centers like that to serve your needs. Don't pretend that you're just tired and tell people you've gone to rehab to rest. It's disgusting to me. It's so difficult for everyday joes and janes to take that step and enter treatment, to continue living life while working a recovery program, to admit it, to deal with it, to own it. Celebrities piss me off (if you couldn't yet tell) when they play these games. They want us to know ALL about it when they are dating someone new or have a new cd/movie/reality show, etc., but when it comes to their real-life dilemmas, they feign perfection. People look up to them, and it would really be amazing if they could show that they are real.
I'm sincerely sorry that the Phillips have had the life they've had, and have to face ongoing pain and fallout from what their parents did. I'm sorry for anyone who buckles under the pressure of their past, anyone who gets sucked into the terrible darkness of addiction, no matter what started it. A great many of us have abuse or addiction or loss or incest or God-forbid more than one of these in our pasts. I want to see a day when there's no shame in admitting that you are seeing a therapist or a doctor or taking medication or even checking yourself in someplace, to DEAL with it. I guess for now, that's my word on that.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
The Elixir of Life...
Is most definitely laughter. I have always found that laughter -- good, genuine, uninhibited, belly laughter -- is one of the best medicines around. When I am with my funniest friends, my family (I'm blessed on Mom's side with some of the most innately funny people around!), or observing a favorite comedian/comedienne, and when I get to laughing so hard that my breathing actually changes, and tears start coming out of my eyes and making my nose run ... That feeling lasts beyond the moment. It changes things.
So I was excited to see that the Huffington Post is running an article about the 20 most influential black comedians in our country -- in honor of Black History Month. You can read the article and vote on your favorites and ones you think shouldn't have made the list. It's fun! I have to say that I had a blast seeing who they chose, and I agreed with at least 75% of the choices. Also, I guess it does have to be considered that saying one is "most influential" does not necessarily mean they are the funniest. I can see in people like Richard Pryor and Bill Cosby (not saying they aren't funniest) that their original ideas and creative risk-taking on stage laid the foundation for many, many other artists and acts that would come later. I didn't even see a stand-up routine by Richard Pryor until I was older than 30!!! And by that time, I had seen other comedians, ones who were famous during "my" generation ... and really believed that certain jokes, certain ways of telling a joke, etc., were their original material. But after I saw Richard Pryor, I know there has definitely been some style-bitin' goin on! Not to say that's a horrible thing; I mean, in the arts, people want the style and idea that they have come to know. If they love a guy like Pryor and they come to see some lesser-known artist, well, that lesser-known better tell jokes the "right" way at least ... and the right way would be sort of like Pryor.
Well, I went ahead and got interactive with it, because I loved all these guys and gals (only two made the list I think, only two females). I've been teased by friends at times when they ask the question, "And, um, do you like any comedians who are NOT black?" because all my favorites seem to be! I do like George Lopez and Lisa Lampanelli (sp?) and Lewis Black, to name a few. But they aren't my favorites, for whatever reason.
The scale for voting is 1 (lowest) to 10 (legendary). My choices were:
9's (consistently hilarious and creative but not quite legends in my mind): Chris Rock, Bernie Mac, Mo'nique
10's (truly legends and icons in their field): Richard Pryor, Wanda Sykes, Cedric the Entertainer
...Let me know if you do it and have your own ideas! I might have a different list, but I was going with just the 20 choices they gave in the article. Loved it! Oh, and I almost forgot to add my favorite of all the quotations attributed to the people in the article:
So I was excited to see that the Huffington Post is running an article about the 20 most influential black comedians in our country -- in honor of Black History Month. You can read the article and vote on your favorites and ones you think shouldn't have made the list. It's fun! I have to say that I had a blast seeing who they chose, and I agreed with at least 75% of the choices. Also, I guess it does have to be considered that saying one is "most influential" does not necessarily mean they are the funniest. I can see in people like Richard Pryor and Bill Cosby (not saying they aren't funniest) that their original ideas and creative risk-taking on stage laid the foundation for many, many other artists and acts that would come later. I didn't even see a stand-up routine by Richard Pryor until I was older than 30!!! And by that time, I had seen other comedians, ones who were famous during "my" generation ... and really believed that certain jokes, certain ways of telling a joke, etc., were their original material. But after I saw Richard Pryor, I know there has definitely been some style-bitin' goin on! Not to say that's a horrible thing; I mean, in the arts, people want the style and idea that they have come to know. If they love a guy like Pryor and they come to see some lesser-known artist, well, that lesser-known better tell jokes the "right" way at least ... and the right way would be sort of like Pryor.
Well, I went ahead and got interactive with it, because I loved all these guys and gals (only two made the list I think, only two females). I've been teased by friends at times when they ask the question, "And, um, do you like any comedians who are NOT black?" because all my favorites seem to be! I do like George Lopez and Lisa Lampanelli (sp?) and Lewis Black, to name a few. But they aren't my favorites, for whatever reason.
The scale for voting is 1 (lowest) to 10 (legendary). My choices were:
9's (consistently hilarious and creative but not quite legends in my mind): Chris Rock, Bernie Mac, Mo'nique
10's (truly legends and icons in their field): Richard Pryor, Wanda Sykes, Cedric the Entertainer
...Let me know if you do it and have your own ideas! I might have a different list, but I was going with just the 20 choices they gave in the article. Loved it! Oh, and I almost forgot to add my favorite of all the quotations attributed to the people in the article:
My mother wanted me to be a lawyer [but I told her] that I needed to choose my own destiny. I wanted to be an actor. So two weeks after I graduated college, I called my mom one day and asked to borrow $200. She said to me, "Why don't you act like you got $200? --Arsenio Hall
This is Me
If I promise only to write my own original thoughts and hilarious comedy for the next six months (or this weekend at least), will you please just humor me (no pun intended ... okay, pun intended) and check out the "conversation" below? One of my top bloggers has a Label/Tag category called "Stuff I Wish I Thought of First." If I had that one, I'd be placing it on this post, but that probably goes without saying! Anyway, today's post is a prime example of what I love (and what I believe her hundreds - possibly thousands? - of fans love too) about her: it is creative and beautiful in its simple humor and cleverness. Hope you like it the way that I do! Oh, and if you are at least a bit like me in that I love cats a lot, you will definitely like it. ("Victor" is the husband, and "me" is the Bloggess)
(All content rights reserved exclusively by TheBloggess and TheBloggess.com)
Victor: What the fuck are you are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be working?
me: I’m learning about neuroscience.
Victor: You’re looking at pictures of kittens.
me: I’M DOING BOTH, ASSHOLE.
Victor: I’m going to block the internet on your computer when you go to sleep tonight.
Conclusion: Victor is intimidated by my knowledge of science. I’m like Yentl when she had to become a cross-dresser to learn the Torah, except that I have to go hide in the bathroom and pretend to have food poisoning so that I can look at pictures of cats on my iphone without getting hassled. This is exactly why it sucks to be a girl.
(All content rights reserved exclusively by TheBloggess and TheBloggess.com)
Victor: What the fuck are you are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be working?
me: I’m learning about neuroscience.
Victor: You’re looking at pictures of kittens.
me: I’M DOING BOTH, ASSHOLE.
Victor: I’m going to block the internet on your computer when you go to sleep tonight.
Conclusion: Victor is intimidated by my knowledge of science. I’m like Yentl when she had to become a cross-dresser to learn the Torah, except that I have to go hide in the bathroom and pretend to have food poisoning so that I can look at pictures of cats on my iphone without getting hassled. This is exactly why it sucks to be a girl.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Dear John (Mayer)
I wrote this on Wednesday and put it into my "drafts" rather than posting it, because I thought I wanted to add something or check some facts or ... sheesh, I don't even recall! Anyway, as an update before I post it now, I was just watching Joy Behar's show, and a lady I don't know who is a guest was on there discussing this whole matter. I'm in total solidarity with any and all who feel John Mayer is making an ass of himself and has really said offensive things (as my post here will explain further); but this lady's little example was to say, "John Mayer didn't even add an 'A' at the end of the 'N' word when he used it, like Eminem would do." Oh, ha ha ha. If anyone can send me one example of one time when Eminem has ever used that word (with an 'a' or not), please, please send it to me. I implore you. Why bring him into this? He isn't a racist who compares his tiny little penis to a white supremacist ...
Okay! I am just fuming at this mother-##er. No, not the one below; the one named in this blog's title. I have a lot that I want to say about John Mayer, based upon my recent reading of Rolling Stone's article about him and excerpts I've read from an upcoming Playboy interview with him. But now is one of those times where I am too too. I am just too too. I mean, I say that I'm fuming, and I am... oh, I certainly am over things he has said and apparently truly believes. But I'm also just sort of bewildered and horrified.
The most egregious of Mayer's errors is the one that Shane Powers discusses pretty succinctly in his vlog below. The only part of it that I do not agree with is when he says that Mayer is "not racist" but only "stupid". Anyway, I will say more on what I think -- including the other offensive issue (and equally offensive in some ways, if you are a woman, or a human being with a scintilla of respect for those with whom you have shared intimacy), which is his comments on past girlfriend Jessica Simpson. Another time.
For now, I leave you with Shane. You might want to check out his blog. You might not. Sometimes I think he's funny and cool, and sometimes I wish he'd shut the eff up.
Okay! I am just fuming at this mother-##er. No, not the one below; the one named in this blog's title. I have a lot that I want to say about John Mayer, based upon my recent reading of Rolling Stone's article about him and excerpts I've read from an upcoming Playboy interview with him. But now is one of those times where I am too too. I am just too too. I mean, I say that I'm fuming, and I am... oh, I certainly am over things he has said and apparently truly believes. But I'm also just sort of bewildered and horrified.
The most egregious of Mayer's errors is the one that Shane Powers discusses pretty succinctly in his vlog below. The only part of it that I do not agree with is when he says that Mayer is "not racist" but only "stupid". Anyway, I will say more on what I think -- including the other offensive issue (and equally offensive in some ways, if you are a woman, or a human being with a scintilla of respect for those with whom you have shared intimacy), which is his comments on past girlfriend Jessica Simpson. Another time.
For now, I leave you with Shane. You might want to check out his blog. You might not. Sometimes I think he's funny and cool, and sometimes I wish he'd shut the eff up.
I Am Peeing With Laughter
I have linked to this blog before, and today I just loved it; it also helped that I read it at a moment when I just needed a great and ridiculous story before hitting the lights and going to sleep. The Bloggess is extremely close to everything that I aim to be as a writer and blogger and cracker-upper of my friends and anyone else who's around!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
F T W !!!
Okay, LOOK! All you crazy, corner-cutting, paranoid, panic-stricken, freaked-out Industries, Corporations, Organizations, Companies, Websites, Manufacturers, Advertisers, Conglomerates, CEOs, Other-Executives-With-Bright-Money-Grubbing-Schemes-Making-Ideas, et. al.:
All I want to do is play Super-Farkle on Facebook (I'm talkin' the Facebook which existed ten days ago before the "layout" was "upgraded"), post un-modest quantities of digital photography featuring my pet cat on my blog and other social networking communities, watch TV commercials and Justin Bieber videos on YouTube without having to download FlashPlayer v.9.5.0.x.B.2 every hour-and-a-half, and be able to burn music that I purchased with my own money onto a disc which will later play on anything called a "CD Player" or "CD-Rom" or similar!!!!!
... Also, I don't want to purchase a "blanket" if I made the mistake of buying my airline tickets on a flight where it costs $16.50 to obtain said item only to find out it's made out of something not-vaguely-resembling a garbage bag with Nerf padding inside. And if I do happen to find myself on such an unfortunate aircraft, wrapped in plastic, puh-leeze don't let me look out the window TWICE on TWO SEPARATE journeys like that one guy only to see your "staff" playing monkey-in-the-middle with my brand new guitar. Also, I'd like a snack. Or at least a drink of water. Included in the price of thegarbage bag blanket.
...Oh, um, and I just really, really don't want to DIE while pitching aimlessly forward at 190 m.p.h. in my little foreign sedan while both feet press for dear life on a flacid brake pedal (per manufacturer's instructions given to me on morning talk shows all this week) and the gas pedal thuds to the floor with a demonic weight, in defiance of known natural law; but if that is my fate, I DO want to have my eyes open at that last moment and NOT have them closed due to my chronic sneeze-and-wheeze condition (it started when I moved in to the house with the new Chinese dry-wall), which might be Cancer but I'm not too sure because I have what's called a "Limited Health BENEFIT Plan" which doesn't cover visits to any doctors practicing in the continental United States.
So, if you guys could take care of that, it would be cool. I mean, not that you aren't already working on all of these improvements and innovations, I'm sure! Matter of fact, doesn't anybody ever give you, like, annual bonuses or government ... like, bailouts or something like that to help youfix all your crap do all your hard work?
All I want to do is play Super-Farkle on Facebook (I'm talkin' the Facebook which existed ten days ago before the "layout" was "upgraded"), post un-modest quantities of digital photography featuring my pet cat on my blog and other social networking communities, watch TV commercials and Justin Bieber videos on YouTube without having to download FlashPlayer v.9.5.0.x.B.2 every hour-and-a-half, and be able to burn music that I purchased with my own money onto a disc which will later play on anything called a "CD Player" or "CD-Rom" or similar!!!!!
... Also, I don't want to purchase a "blanket" if I made the mistake of buying my airline tickets on a flight where it costs $16.50 to obtain said item only to find out it's made out of something not-vaguely-resembling a garbage bag with Nerf padding inside. And if I do happen to find myself on such an unfortunate aircraft, wrapped in plastic, puh-leeze don't let me look out the window TWICE on TWO SEPARATE journeys like that one guy only to see your "staff" playing monkey-in-the-middle with my brand new guitar. Also, I'd like a snack. Or at least a drink of water. Included in the price of the
...Oh, um, and I just really, really don't want to DIE while pitching aimlessly forward at 190 m.p.h. in my little foreign sedan while both feet press for dear life on a flacid brake pedal (per manufacturer's instructions given to me on morning talk shows all this week) and the gas pedal thuds to the floor with a demonic weight, in defiance of known natural law; but if that is my fate, I DO want to have my eyes open at that last moment and NOT have them closed due to my chronic sneeze-and-wheeze condition (it started when I moved in to the house with the new Chinese dry-wall), which might be Cancer but I'm not too sure because I have what's called a "Limited Health BENEFIT Plan" which doesn't cover visits to any doctors practicing in the continental United States.
So, if you guys could take care of that, it would be cool. I mean, not that you aren't already working on all of these improvements and innovations, I'm sure! Matter of fact, doesn't anybody ever give you, like, annual bonuses or government ... like, bailouts or something like that to help you
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
An Unlikely Ally ...
...and yet, if the, um, cowboy boot fits, then, I'm'a wear it! And yes, it would appear that sometimes I do hold on a bit to a grudge, that I am somewhat unable to let sleeping dogs lie ... and all of that. Ahh..I'm punchy, didn't sleep well last night, but I'm still in a good mood, and so it makes for a silly situation in my mental state...
ANYWAY. My unlikely ally -- because I do not like her music and just plain don't think I have anything in common with her (except pretty soon my WEIGHT and her daughter's, if I don't find something that can be done about mine ... and I'm sorry if that sounds catty or mean; it's really more of a desperate and self-deprecating cry of lamentation about a personal situation that grows ever-more-out-of-control in my life ... but, as always, I digress...)-- is Naomi Judd in this situation. And since I've now shown myself to be an insecure, shallow, catty, insouciant little girl, all before 9 o'clock in the morning, I'll just let this link speak for itself; and if you've been following along with the suggested reading, you'll get what I'm sayin'
Peace everyone. Please take me with a grain of salt. Or pepper. Or sugar. Whatever you like best.
Doctor-Tweets and Evil Nuns
...There were a few other things about which I wanted to write recently, but they didn't really fit in with my last post... Randomness follows...
For one, I mentioned recently, in speaking of my (needless) fear of the impending doctor appointment, that the new doctor had been Twittering about odd things. Well, as you know, I recently dumped my Twitter account, but before I did, I checked out his latest stuff, and it was back to normal. Normal for him is posting information about headache studies, supplements that are helpful for headaches, um, just everything you ever wanted to know about headaches in general. But on that one weird day, he was sort of going off, as much as you can do so on Twitter. He spent like 5 posts (as you might or might not know, Twitter allows only 140 characters per post) saying stuff about how "those" with borderline personality disorders or other mild (and therefore, often mis-diagnosed or undetected) personality conditions can "wreak havoc" on a medical office. He went on to "Tweet" that these people are often treated with a rapid succession of anti-depressants "with predictably poor results." I just thought it was strange. For one thing, it was the only posting I'd ever seen from him that had any sort of personal emotion to it. I mean, it wasn't much, but he seemed to be complaining, like maybe someone (patient? staff member? FORMER DOCTOR????) with such a disorder had recently "wreaked havoc" on HIS medical office. He ended this little mini-rant with "to be continued," but as far as I know it never was, in fact, continued. Oh well. He was good to me when I met him today, so I don't care about anything else, quite frankly. :)
SO that was that. I'm over it. I just want to be done with the worry! I did it to myself in a way, as I wrote in my last post, but I also have been through so much that I give myself a little leeway to be anxious about such things. I have never been a drug-seeker, for all my faults, never gone to a doctor will fake intentions or things like that ... and when a person is suffering genuine pain and doesn't know what to do and is begging for help, guidance, treatment ... You just need to be humane, need to have "people skills" in addition to that medical degree. I'm so thankful (again, again, can't say it enough!) that I have found this clinic and this doctor.
So what else? Oh, well, I wanted to speak about my faith, not that anyone asked or anything :) It's just been on my mind. I suppose I'm like many people in that when times are extremely bad or extremely good, I really think even more (because I'm an over-thinker at all times, to be sure) about the meaning of things, who or what is in charge, how is that proverbial wheel in the sky kept turning (ode to Journey and the book of Ezekiel, take your pick, I like 'em both).
So what do I believe? I feel, more and more lately, that I need, that I want, to sort this out. Well, I was raised Catholic. That had a large impact on my life, especially when I was being forced to go to church until the age of 18 (house rules in my family), and that impact was mainly negative. The single, and most terrifying and damaging thing that took place -- although it was by no means the only one -- was in 4th grade Catechism class, where we had an absolutely ancient nun for a teacher. (Quick note for the uninitiated: on Sundays, we were supposed to attend Catechism, we called it "C.C.D." and I don't remember what that stood for, if we attended public school during the week; those who attended Catholic school didn't have to do this.) So this nun was at least 197 years old, and she was nasty. I mean it. She was mean, she had no teacher's training that was relevant to children our age from our background (if she had any teacher's training at all; it certainly wasn't a requirement). She regularly yelled insults at kids who didn't have their books or supplies or whatever; I remember it was kids who had to shuffle from parent to parent on weekends, things like that. ...You know, kids whose parents might have been going through their own crap and didn't think to send the student to CCD with his pencil or his workbook or whatever. A lot of the kids were poor; that's why we didn't attend the private Catholic school in the first place. She couldn't care less who we were though. She was merciless and joyless and loveless. She didn't want to be there with us, teaching us the beauty and meaning of the Catholic religion, the love and joy and meaning that could be ours if we lived accordingly ... Oh, is that not what teaching children their faith is about? I could be mistaken. Anyway, I don't know where she wanted to be. She was ugly inside and out, that bitch. Mmm-hmm, I said it. I called that nun a bitch.
Well, the thing she did that destroyed me personally was this. One bright young Sunday in my life ... she somehow got onto the subject of SIN. That was not mentioned in-depth in the 4th grade reading books, I assure you. But of course, she probably didn't even read those books. And, if you know anything at all about Catholicism, you know that SIN -- determining what is a sin, and what kind of sin it is, which sins send you to hell, which might be forgiven and which cannot ever be forgiven, etc., this is a big chunk of what it's all about. So Sister Imelda (yep, her real name, I don't give a damn) starts in about sin. And then she goes there. She starts telling us about sexual thoughts and feelings and (gasp) actions. She explains to the aghast/bored/giggling/variously-occupied-with-anything-but-listening-to-her 8 and 9 yr olds that while we might just be interested in looking at each other, it's a SIN to think about things like touching private parts: someone else's OR our OWN!!! Yes, kids, touching others' private parts is a sin, ok? And furthermore, touching your OWN private parts is also a sin. Got it? Good. ... NOW, lest you get the wrong idea, don't even think that you can get away with thinking about touching anybody's private parts! Why? It's a SIN!!!!!!! And it isn't a "venial" sin (that's the kind that God can forgive if only you go and confess it to your local priest). Nope, it's not that kind at all. Rather, touching body parts, yours or others' and also thinking about touching body parts ... these are mortal sins, children!!!!! They separate you from God, and you go to HELL!
With God as my witness, she said it to us. She said these exact things, and my traumatized, sensitive, precocious 9-year-old self remembers it like it was yesterday ... NO... Like it was earlier today. I don't remember a lot about what the other kids did or how they reacted or whether they were even listening. I do recall one particularly mischievious boy laughing and making snide comments. How many times I have wished for that sense of humor, sense of caprice, personality ... whatever it was that allowed him to laugh rather than fall to pieces the way I did. Because that shit was no fuckin' joke for me. I died that day. I was never, ever the same.
I am not going to make this about my sexuality and when and how much I knew and all that (not right now anyway). But at that age, I was aware of cute boys, was aware that one day, I would do that stuff that makes babies with them, and was vaguely aware of my own body parts (you know, those ones). And so, while some kids might have been at different stages with their knowledge and development at that age, that's where I was. And because of this, because I had noticed and thought about, and been curious about, myself and other kids and cute boys and all of that ... well, I had just been informed that God was angry and that I had committed a sin which was going to send me to hell when I died one day. I was nine. It was already over. I had ruined my life. And my afterlife. OH. MY. GOD!
The fallout was tragic and long-lasting. I guess, since I'm writing about it at great length and feeling angry yet again here and now, it's still resonating with me even today, these TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER!!!! I remember that day, we went to my grandma's after church for donuts, per family tradition. I don't know how I must have behaved, but I was a child of an alcoholic and already well-trained to behave as though nothing was wrong when everything was. I guess that's how I made it through that day and many after it. I never spoke of what was on my mind. I never spoke to my parents about what I had done, my terrible thoughts, my sins, the fact that I was a terrible demon in God's eyes and would not join them in Heaven when I died. I kept it inside my little mind, my little heart. THAT. BITCH. I was a little girl. I didn't understand. Well, obviously. Let me just say, as my adult self today, that if someone ever did something like this to a child of mine (which I don't currently have any of), and really, even if there was a way for me to travel back there and protect THAT child, ME, via time machine or something ... I would beat this lady physically, I think. I really believe that. Wanna talk about sin, bitch? I'll show you some mortal effin sin up in here.
And no, that wouldn't make me right. And it wouldn't teach the old cow anything. And yes, it is my belief that the God I NOW believe in would be unhappy I did that. But I think my rage and the years that went by before I knew better or felt better about that incident would just ... that's what would happen, that's what I would do. I'd have to sit down and talk with the Big Man Upstairs about it after. Good thing there are no time machines anywhere around here.
Okay, so I wanted to write about my faith. And that was my first introduction to "faith." But it isn't faith as I know it now. I think for tonight I have written enough, if anyone is even still reading. The wonderful and beautiful thing is that today as a grown woman, I have had amazing experiences, I have learned and seen and sensed true divinity in ways that defy my explanation sometimes. From these, I draw my spirituality. From these, I set out upon my journey to know my God. I do believe in Him. I do believe we can do things to separate ourselves from him, as we can do things that draw us nearer to Him. Oh, and I'm using "Him" as the pronoun to describe a God I know, but I do not actually believe there is a human-type gender that embodies the divine. It's just the usual literary device, so I stick with it. I'm okay with using "Him." To say "It," for example, does not respect the personal presence that I have known and experienced at times. So next time I write about faith, let me write about these things... These things which are good and (I believe) true and beautiful. Because, that was a horrible day in my childhood, and I think, a horrible thing for a human being to do to a child. And let me also just say, that while I still do not wish to re-join the Catholic faith, I do not tell this story as a means of describing all nuns or all Catholics or any of that. Don't even go there with hate comments about all that. I know that the woman described above was one of a kind. And her evil was her own ugly thing.
For one, I mentioned recently, in speaking of my (needless) fear of the impending doctor appointment, that the new doctor had been Twittering about odd things. Well, as you know, I recently dumped my Twitter account, but before I did, I checked out his latest stuff, and it was back to normal. Normal for him is posting information about headache studies, supplements that are helpful for headaches, um, just everything you ever wanted to know about headaches in general. But on that one weird day, he was sort of going off, as much as you can do so on Twitter. He spent like 5 posts (as you might or might not know, Twitter allows only 140 characters per post) saying stuff about how "those" with borderline personality disorders or other mild (and therefore, often mis-diagnosed or undetected) personality conditions can "wreak havoc" on a medical office. He went on to "Tweet" that these people are often treated with a rapid succession of anti-depressants "with predictably poor results." I just thought it was strange. For one thing, it was the only posting I'd ever seen from him that had any sort of personal emotion to it. I mean, it wasn't much, but he seemed to be complaining, like maybe someone (patient? staff member? FORMER DOCTOR????) with such a disorder had recently "wreaked havoc" on HIS medical office. He ended this little mini-rant with "to be continued," but as far as I know it never was, in fact, continued. Oh well. He was good to me when I met him today, so I don't care about anything else, quite frankly. :)
SO that was that. I'm over it. I just want to be done with the worry! I did it to myself in a way, as I wrote in my last post, but I also have been through so much that I give myself a little leeway to be anxious about such things. I have never been a drug-seeker, for all my faults, never gone to a doctor will fake intentions or things like that ... and when a person is suffering genuine pain and doesn't know what to do and is begging for help, guidance, treatment ... You just need to be humane, need to have "people skills" in addition to that medical degree. I'm so thankful (again, again, can't say it enough!) that I have found this clinic and this doctor.
So what else? Oh, well, I wanted to speak about my faith, not that anyone asked or anything :) It's just been on my mind. I suppose I'm like many people in that when times are extremely bad or extremely good, I really think even more (because I'm an over-thinker at all times, to be sure) about the meaning of things, who or what is in charge, how is that proverbial wheel in the sky kept turning (ode to Journey and the book of Ezekiel, take your pick, I like 'em both).
So what do I believe? I feel, more and more lately, that I need, that I want, to sort this out. Well, I was raised Catholic. That had a large impact on my life, especially when I was being forced to go to church until the age of 18 (house rules in my family), and that impact was mainly negative. The single, and most terrifying and damaging thing that took place -- although it was by no means the only one -- was in 4th grade Catechism class, where we had an absolutely ancient nun for a teacher. (Quick note for the uninitiated: on Sundays, we were supposed to attend Catechism, we called it "C.C.D." and I don't remember what that stood for, if we attended public school during the week; those who attended Catholic school didn't have to do this.) So this nun was at least 197 years old, and she was nasty. I mean it. She was mean, she had no teacher's training that was relevant to children our age from our background (if she had any teacher's training at all; it certainly wasn't a requirement). She regularly yelled insults at kids who didn't have their books or supplies or whatever; I remember it was kids who had to shuffle from parent to parent on weekends, things like that. ...You know, kids whose parents might have been going through their own crap and didn't think to send the student to CCD with his pencil or his workbook or whatever. A lot of the kids were poor; that's why we didn't attend the private Catholic school in the first place. She couldn't care less who we were though. She was merciless and joyless and loveless. She didn't want to be there with us, teaching us the beauty and meaning of the Catholic religion, the love and joy and meaning that could be ours if we lived accordingly ... Oh, is that not what teaching children their faith is about? I could be mistaken. Anyway, I don't know where she wanted to be. She was ugly inside and out, that bitch. Mmm-hmm, I said it. I called that nun a bitch.
Well, the thing she did that destroyed me personally was this. One bright young Sunday in my life ... she somehow got onto the subject of SIN. That was not mentioned in-depth in the 4th grade reading books, I assure you. But of course, she probably didn't even read those books. And, if you know anything at all about Catholicism, you know that SIN -- determining what is a sin, and what kind of sin it is, which sins send you to hell, which might be forgiven and which cannot ever be forgiven, etc., this is a big chunk of what it's all about. So Sister Imelda (yep, her real name, I don't give a damn) starts in about sin. And then she goes there. She starts telling us about sexual thoughts and feelings and (gasp) actions. She explains to the aghast/bored/giggling/variously-occupied-with-anything-but-listening-to-her 8 and 9 yr olds that while we might just be interested in looking at each other, it's a SIN to think about things like touching private parts: someone else's OR our OWN!!! Yes, kids, touching others' private parts is a sin, ok? And furthermore, touching your OWN private parts is also a sin. Got it? Good. ... NOW, lest you get the wrong idea, don't even think that you can get away with thinking about touching anybody's private parts! Why? It's a SIN!!!!!!! And it isn't a "venial" sin (that's the kind that God can forgive if only you go and confess it to your local priest). Nope, it's not that kind at all. Rather, touching body parts, yours or others' and also thinking about touching body parts ... these are mortal sins, children!!!!! They separate you from God, and you go to HELL!
With God as my witness, she said it to us. She said these exact things, and my traumatized, sensitive, precocious 9-year-old self remembers it like it was yesterday ... NO... Like it was earlier today. I don't remember a lot about what the other kids did or how they reacted or whether they were even listening. I do recall one particularly mischievious boy laughing and making snide comments. How many times I have wished for that sense of humor, sense of caprice, personality ... whatever it was that allowed him to laugh rather than fall to pieces the way I did. Because that shit was no fuckin' joke for me. I died that day. I was never, ever the same.
I am not going to make this about my sexuality and when and how much I knew and all that (not right now anyway). But at that age, I was aware of cute boys, was aware that one day, I would do that stuff that makes babies with them, and was vaguely aware of my own body parts (you know, those ones). And so, while some kids might have been at different stages with their knowledge and development at that age, that's where I was. And because of this, because I had noticed and thought about, and been curious about, myself and other kids and cute boys and all of that ... well, I had just been informed that God was angry and that I had committed a sin which was going to send me to hell when I died one day. I was nine. It was already over. I had ruined my life. And my afterlife. OH. MY. GOD!
The fallout was tragic and long-lasting. I guess, since I'm writing about it at great length and feeling angry yet again here and now, it's still resonating with me even today, these TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER!!!! I remember that day, we went to my grandma's after church for donuts, per family tradition. I don't know how I must have behaved, but I was a child of an alcoholic and already well-trained to behave as though nothing was wrong when everything was. I guess that's how I made it through that day and many after it. I never spoke of what was on my mind. I never spoke to my parents about what I had done, my terrible thoughts, my sins, the fact that I was a terrible demon in God's eyes and would not join them in Heaven when I died. I kept it inside my little mind, my little heart. THAT. BITCH. I was a little girl. I didn't understand. Well, obviously. Let me just say, as my adult self today, that if someone ever did something like this to a child of mine (which I don't currently have any of), and really, even if there was a way for me to travel back there and protect THAT child, ME, via time machine or something ... I would beat this lady physically, I think. I really believe that. Wanna talk about sin, bitch? I'll show you some mortal effin sin up in here.
And no, that wouldn't make me right. And it wouldn't teach the old cow anything. And yes, it is my belief that the God I NOW believe in would be unhappy I did that. But I think my rage and the years that went by before I knew better or felt better about that incident would just ... that's what would happen, that's what I would do. I'd have to sit down and talk with the Big Man Upstairs about it after. Good thing there are no time machines anywhere around here.
Okay, so I wanted to write about my faith. And that was my first introduction to "faith." But it isn't faith as I know it now. I think for tonight I have written enough, if anyone is even still reading. The wonderful and beautiful thing is that today as a grown woman, I have had amazing experiences, I have learned and seen and sensed true divinity in ways that defy my explanation sometimes. From these, I draw my spirituality. From these, I set out upon my journey to know my God. I do believe in Him. I do believe we can do things to separate ourselves from him, as we can do things that draw us nearer to Him. Oh, and I'm using "Him" as the pronoun to describe a God I know, but I do not actually believe there is a human-type gender that embodies the divine. It's just the usual literary device, so I stick with it. I'm okay with using "Him." To say "It," for example, does not respect the personal presence that I have known and experienced at times. So next time I write about faith, let me write about these things... These things which are good and (I believe) true and beautiful. Because, that was a horrible day in my childhood, and I think, a horrible thing for a human being to do to a child. And let me also just say, that while I still do not wish to re-join the Catholic faith, I do not tell this story as a means of describing all nuns or all Catholics or any of that. Don't even go there with hate comments about all that. I know that the woman described above was one of a kind. And her evil was her own ugly thing.
Monday, February 08, 2010
THANKSGIVING IN FEBRUARY
Well, this post has started out as a lot of different things tonight, but right now Blogger has really thoroughly ticked me off. Has anyone else had problems just, simply posting their blog posts????? I have been using the "new" post editor, or whatever they call it, but the past 2-3 days ... it just won't load. Who knows? Maybe it's my computer or browser or God knows what.
The important thing is that today I am so thankful (yes, post editor thingy's aside!). As I learned exactly one month ago, and as I have mentioned countless times since, I lost my amazing headache doctor. Lost ... as in, I have no idea where he went, and it does not look as though anyone is going to be telling me anytime soon. He's gone, he's "no longer practicing," as the receptionist at the headache clinic stated it to me on the telephone. And when I saw his boss today, the main headache expert, my new doctor by default ... well, he made it clear that we would not be discussing my old doctor. I had many of my own health concerns as usual, and concerns (to use a wild understatement) about meeting a new doctor ... so I just followed his lead and didn't bring up the odd situation. But I mean, under what circumstances is a doctor there one day, seeing me, setting another appointment with me, filling prescriptions over the phone for me ... and within four days, within the same week, gone? He was a new doctor, as in ... his medical license was brand new as of 09/09 (yes, I looked it up of course ... no blemishes on it so far!) ... but he is listed as co-author of studies with his boss as far back as 1999 ... so obviously they have had a professional relationship for many years. And now he is gone, and the office acts as though he never existed there. Something BAD must have gone down, that's all I can assume.
BUT. That definitely isn't why I'm grateful and counting my blessings today. I am, perhaps, a pessimist (perhaps, ha!) ... but dammit, I hold that title against all my best efforts!! I really try to learn to work against that proclivity or whatever it is. I mean, if nature (and we can be certain, nurture) has caused me to be a pessimist, a depressive -- or at least given to bouts of melancholy -- then, dammit, I am going to learn to work against nature and nurture as well!
So here's the story. Ever since I found out my doctor was gone, I have been alternately hysterical and fighting hysteria while effecting a facade of calm. Well, as this date, today, approached, it seemed more and more rapidly with every hour of every day, I became unable to keep up the facade. Shit, I was terrified of the new doctor. Does that sound ridiculous? Well, for those who don't know me well, a brief history: I suffer a severe and somewhat uncommon (in its severity) migraine disorder. I am currently not working, receiving disabilty, because of the terrible physical, emotional, professional (and on and on, etc., etc.) effects of this disorder on my life. Yes, many people, especially women, suffer migraines. People have them from a few times a year to every single day. I had become an every-single-day girl. And before that happened to me, I could not even imagine the far-reaching effects that everyday migraine would have on me. I mean, sure, it's obvious that it's painful, disturbing, exhausting, stressful... all that, right? But when it went on and on and on, and no one could help me, and there were all these medications, all these times of hope and then disappointment and side effects and constant strain on my body, constant vomiting and sleeping and lying in dark rooms and PAIN, PAIN, PAIN ... well, everything else just crashed around me, from my career aspirations to my education to my interpersonal relationships. Well, I said I'd be brief. That's the short story!
So here we are today. I met my new doctor today. As I mentioned, he's the big kahuna, the old doc's boss. He runs the headache clinic, and actually, he is THE headache authority in my state. He is quite renowned nationally as well. The reason I feared him is the reason I have come to fear all doctors. There have been too damn many of them, and there are just too many who don't get it. From emergency rooms the Chicago-land over, to internal medicine doctors ill-equipped to handle my condition, to neurologists who became increasingly frustrated when they could not help me despite considering themselves pretty damn good with headaches ... doctors have treated me poorly, accused me of being a drug-seeker, a faker, a hypochondriac, etc. Ugh, I can't even think of them anymore, they're all dead to me now.
When I finally, after a decade of suffering, landed at this headache clinic, I was terrified as usual, but I quickly learned that my new doctor was awesome! Amazing! And today I learned that his boss (as any rational person might have assumed) was the one who most likely passed those traits on. Because my NOW-new doctor (after all of this) is WONDERFUL!!!!!!!
Yes, he is even MORE awesome than the one who is gone. He knows more, he's more professional, he's nice, he's understanding, he listened, oh! I could go on and on! The main thing is, I did not need to have worried a bit, not for a second. Geez. I'm a pessimist, I fear catastrophe in everything, but also ... I have experienced terrible things in my journey to find treatment for my condition.
And now! Now! Well, beginning last July, actually ... I have found this clinic, and they are different there! They GET it. They do not think that someone who comes to them in severe daily pain, with headaches that cause them to vomit until their stomach aches, on a daily basis at times ... they do not accuse me of "seeking painkillers," they do not act suspicious of what I'm reporting as symptoms, they UNDERSTAND. They know other people who have suffered like I have!!!! I DON'T EVEN KNOW ANYONE WHO HAS WHAT I HAVE!!!!
I am so thankful. Although not a dogmatic, organized-ly religious person, I am spiritual, and I have a deep faith in things (I shall describe at a later time). Many people in my family and among my loved ones prayed for me and sent positivity my way in whatever manner they chose, leading up to this appointment today. I prayed hard and did whatever positive visualization I could muster, even when it seemed my fear and anxiety was so much more powerful. I believe in these things. I believe they led me here and will continue to shine upon my path. And that is why, no matter where I've been, I am grateful for where I AM, today.
The important thing is that today I am so thankful (yes, post editor thingy's aside!). As I learned exactly one month ago, and as I have mentioned countless times since, I lost my amazing headache doctor. Lost ... as in, I have no idea where he went, and it does not look as though anyone is going to be telling me anytime soon. He's gone, he's "no longer practicing," as the receptionist at the headache clinic stated it to me on the telephone. And when I saw his boss today, the main headache expert, my new doctor by default ... well, he made it clear that we would not be discussing my old doctor. I had many of my own health concerns as usual, and concerns (to use a wild understatement) about meeting a new doctor ... so I just followed his lead and didn't bring up the odd situation. But I mean, under what circumstances is a doctor there one day, seeing me, setting another appointment with me, filling prescriptions over the phone for me ... and within four days, within the same week, gone? He was a new doctor, as in ... his medical license was brand new as of 09/09 (yes, I looked it up of course ... no blemishes on it so far!) ... but he is listed as co-author of studies with his boss as far back as 1999 ... so obviously they have had a professional relationship for many years. And now he is gone, and the office acts as though he never existed there. Something BAD must have gone down, that's all I can assume.
BUT. That definitely isn't why I'm grateful and counting my blessings today. I am, perhaps, a pessimist (perhaps, ha!) ... but dammit, I hold that title against all my best efforts!! I really try to learn to work against that proclivity or whatever it is. I mean, if nature (and we can be certain, nurture) has caused me to be a pessimist, a depressive -- or at least given to bouts of melancholy -- then, dammit, I am going to learn to work against nature and nurture as well!
So here's the story. Ever since I found out my doctor was gone, I have been alternately hysterical and fighting hysteria while effecting a facade of calm. Well, as this date, today, approached, it seemed more and more rapidly with every hour of every day, I became unable to keep up the facade. Shit, I was terrified of the new doctor. Does that sound ridiculous? Well, for those who don't know me well, a brief history: I suffer a severe and somewhat uncommon (in its severity) migraine disorder. I am currently not working, receiving disabilty, because of the terrible physical, emotional, professional (and on and on, etc., etc.) effects of this disorder on my life. Yes, many people, especially women, suffer migraines. People have them from a few times a year to every single day. I had become an every-single-day girl. And before that happened to me, I could not even imagine the far-reaching effects that everyday migraine would have on me. I mean, sure, it's obvious that it's painful, disturbing, exhausting, stressful... all that, right? But when it went on and on and on, and no one could help me, and there were all these medications, all these times of hope and then disappointment and side effects and constant strain on my body, constant vomiting and sleeping and lying in dark rooms and PAIN, PAIN, PAIN ... well, everything else just crashed around me, from my career aspirations to my education to my interpersonal relationships. Well, I said I'd be brief. That's the short story!
So here we are today. I met my new doctor today. As I mentioned, he's the big kahuna, the old doc's boss. He runs the headache clinic, and actually, he is THE headache authority in my state. He is quite renowned nationally as well. The reason I feared him is the reason I have come to fear all doctors. There have been too damn many of them, and there are just too many who don't get it. From emergency rooms the Chicago-land over, to internal medicine doctors ill-equipped to handle my condition, to neurologists who became increasingly frustrated when they could not help me despite considering themselves pretty damn good with headaches ... doctors have treated me poorly, accused me of being a drug-seeker, a faker, a hypochondriac, etc. Ugh, I can't even think of them anymore, they're all dead to me now.
When I finally, after a decade of suffering, landed at this headache clinic, I was terrified as usual, but I quickly learned that my new doctor was awesome! Amazing! And today I learned that his boss (as any rational person might have assumed) was the one who most likely passed those traits on. Because my NOW-new doctor (after all of this) is WONDERFUL!!!!!!!
Yes, he is even MORE awesome than the one who is gone. He knows more, he's more professional, he's nice, he's understanding, he listened, oh! I could go on and on! The main thing is, I did not need to have worried a bit, not for a second. Geez. I'm a pessimist, I fear catastrophe in everything, but also ... I have experienced terrible things in my journey to find treatment for my condition.
And now! Now! Well, beginning last July, actually ... I have found this clinic, and they are different there! They GET it. They do not think that someone who comes to them in severe daily pain, with headaches that cause them to vomit until their stomach aches, on a daily basis at times ... they do not accuse me of "seeking painkillers," they do not act suspicious of what I'm reporting as symptoms, they UNDERSTAND. They know other people who have suffered like I have!!!! I DON'T EVEN KNOW ANYONE WHO HAS WHAT I HAVE!!!!
I am so thankful. Although not a dogmatic, organized-ly religious person, I am spiritual, and I have a deep faith in things (I shall describe at a later time). Many people in my family and among my loved ones prayed for me and sent positivity my way in whatever manner they chose, leading up to this appointment today. I prayed hard and did whatever positive visualization I could muster, even when it seemed my fear and anxiety was so much more powerful. I believe in these things. I believe they led me here and will continue to shine upon my path. And that is why, no matter where I've been, I am grateful for where I AM, today.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
The Wrath of the Stevie Nicks Fans
Today I quit Twitter for good. I thought about quitting the blog and Facebook too. Well, not Facebook. All my friends are there, and we have friendly and fun conversations just about all of the time. And that's wonderful, because right now, I just seem to need a lot of support. Lots of laughter. Lots of conversation about pop culture, music, daily life, whatever. Human contact is good. My life has been so unpredictable and different than ever before. Sometimes I hardly see or speak to anyone for days.
So, I think it's because of my life changes and upheaval that I have been a lot more sensitive than usual. I know that my Miley-Cyrus-esque Twit-Quit was dramatic; I also know that the "old" me, the "real" me, whichever I might call her ... would not have done it that way. At least, I don't think she would have. I think she would have fought back and laughed it off and just not even worried about it. But I did worry about it... well, I got all sensitive about it and allowed it to make me feel even worse about myself, which I did not believe was very much of a possibility at this point.
ALL THAT I FREAKING SAID on my stupid Twitter account was that I didn't think Stevie Nicks did a good performance on Sunday night's Grammy Awards show. I didn't think it was fair that Taylor Swift was being ripped all over (in another attempt which I believe is all-too-common these days, wherein we as a culture, looove to build these young kids up and up into mega-celebrities and then just rip them to shreds for any mis-step) by critics and bloggers for a performance of a song that wasn't even hers. The performance of "Rhiannon" sounded ... not bad exactly. But it wasn't a wonderful vocal achievement. But I heard a solid - if not extraordinary - voice out of Taylor, while Ms. Nicks was singing in the same voice I used to wake up with after smoking and drinking at the bars in those good old days. I'm just saying. No one has to agree with me, I couldn't care less one way or another. Just wanted to put my two cents in, because, well, that's what you do on Twitter. You talk about shit. Stuff that's on your mind. Your opinion.
That was days ago. Tonight I logged on briefly, mainly to see what my new headache doctor had posted recently (he had a strange flurry of strange Tweets recently, but I suppose that's a whole other post). Well, @doclarry (not his exact real name) hadn't posted anything, but I noticed that I had been written to by strangers. That really NEVER happens to me on Twitter. It's very rare and usually only if I have asked one of them a direct question. I have found that the Twitter-verse is more for hipsters and Hollywood people. No one else really matters or makes waves I guess. But my humble little opinion about Stevie Nicks voice made waves. They told me that I was a "cunt," a "jealous bitch who looks like a half-dead Liza Minelli" in my Twitter profile picture, and also that I was just envious of Ms. Nicks' stellar career.
Um... I am not jealous of Stevie Nicks. I can already sing like that if I smoke a couple packs a day. I'm not jealous of either of those singers, and in fact, I admire both of them and both of their careers. That's all I'm even going to say about that. Sheesh. I still stand by my opinion of the performance. Even the best of the best can EFF up sometimes. Not sure how that makes ME a c-word.
I am freaking out about Monday, speaking of seeing people. Ugh. It's time for another headache doctor appointment. For the past 6 blissful months, I have been free, mercifully free, of the doctor-anxiety that I have had for so long. It's always something with many of these guys. They're either arrogant pricks even if they do know their stuff, or they're well-meaning but don't know the world of headaches, or they are mistrustful jerks who treat everyone as a drug-seeker unless and until they have suffered without needed medication sufficiently to prove themselves otherwise. It's a nightmare in general, but my most recent doctor has been such a God-send. Well, I think I mentioned here that about a month ago, I was informed that he was just gone. Gone, poof, "no longer practicing," they told me. It has all been very hushed-up and peculiar. So on Monday, another new doctor for me. The only good thing about this time is that I won't be a complete stranger to him, as he is the head doc in the clinic and was over-seeing my former doctor (who was new to the practice). He has been refilling medications for me during the past month, no questions asked, no bitching that he needs to see me first or that he doesn't agree with whatever treatment I'm currently on, etc, like I've had to deal with in the past. He is the expert, after all, the head guy, like I said. So maybe it will be a blessing that my treatment is now in his hands. I am praying and hope you will too, if you are so inclined.
**On a completely un-related but BRIGHT note, I am already learning all the notes and music for my brand new guitar (I've never played before, but always wanted to!), and my fingers are getting sore and beginning to callous beautifully, he he! I'm a happy rocker!
So, I think it's because of my life changes and upheaval that I have been a lot more sensitive than usual. I know that my Miley-Cyrus-esque Twit-Quit was dramatic; I also know that the "old" me, the "real" me, whichever I might call her ... would not have done it that way. At least, I don't think she would have. I think she would have fought back and laughed it off and just not even worried about it. But I did worry about it... well, I got all sensitive about it and allowed it to make me feel even worse about myself, which I did not believe was very much of a possibility at this point.
ALL THAT I FREAKING SAID on my stupid Twitter account was that I didn't think Stevie Nicks did a good performance on Sunday night's Grammy Awards show. I didn't think it was fair that Taylor Swift was being ripped all over (in another attempt which I believe is all-too-common these days, wherein we as a culture, looove to build these young kids up and up into mega-celebrities and then just rip them to shreds for any mis-step) by critics and bloggers for a performance of a song that wasn't even hers. The performance of "Rhiannon" sounded ... not bad exactly. But it wasn't a wonderful vocal achievement. But I heard a solid - if not extraordinary - voice out of Taylor, while Ms. Nicks was singing in the same voice I used to wake up with after smoking and drinking at the bars in those good old days. I'm just saying. No one has to agree with me, I couldn't care less one way or another. Just wanted to put my two cents in, because, well, that's what you do on Twitter. You talk about shit. Stuff that's on your mind. Your opinion.
That was days ago. Tonight I logged on briefly, mainly to see what my new headache doctor had posted recently (he had a strange flurry of strange Tweets recently, but I suppose that's a whole other post). Well, @doclarry (not his exact real name) hadn't posted anything, but I noticed that I had been written to by strangers. That really NEVER happens to me on Twitter. It's very rare and usually only if I have asked one of them a direct question. I have found that the Twitter-verse is more for hipsters and Hollywood people. No one else really matters or makes waves I guess. But my humble little opinion about Stevie Nicks voice made waves. They told me that I was a "cunt," a "jealous bitch who looks like a half-dead Liza Minelli" in my Twitter profile picture, and also that I was just envious of Ms. Nicks' stellar career.
Um... I am not jealous of Stevie Nicks. I can already sing like that if I smoke a couple packs a day. I'm not jealous of either of those singers, and in fact, I admire both of them and both of their careers. That's all I'm even going to say about that. Sheesh. I still stand by my opinion of the performance. Even the best of the best can EFF up sometimes. Not sure how that makes ME a c-word.
I am freaking out about Monday, speaking of seeing people. Ugh. It's time for another headache doctor appointment. For the past 6 blissful months, I have been free, mercifully free, of the doctor-anxiety that I have had for so long. It's always something with many of these guys. They're either arrogant pricks even if they do know their stuff, or they're well-meaning but don't know the world of headaches, or they are mistrustful jerks who treat everyone as a drug-seeker unless and until they have suffered without needed medication sufficiently to prove themselves otherwise. It's a nightmare in general, but my most recent doctor has been such a God-send. Well, I think I mentioned here that about a month ago, I was informed that he was just gone. Gone, poof, "no longer practicing," they told me. It has all been very hushed-up and peculiar. So on Monday, another new doctor for me. The only good thing about this time is that I won't be a complete stranger to him, as he is the head doc in the clinic and was over-seeing my former doctor (who was new to the practice). He has been refilling medications for me during the past month, no questions asked, no bitching that he needs to see me first or that he doesn't agree with whatever treatment I'm currently on, etc, like I've had to deal with in the past. He is the expert, after all, the head guy, like I said. So maybe it will be a blessing that my treatment is now in his hands. I am praying and hope you will too, if you are so inclined.
**On a completely un-related but BRIGHT note, I am already learning all the notes and music for my brand new guitar (I've never played before, but always wanted to!), and my fingers are getting sore and beginning to callous beautifully, he he! I'm a happy rocker!
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