I finally put my internet-searchum-skills to work

Read about "Cha Cha": The Newest Search Engine, With A Twist

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/86997/chachacom_the_newest_search_engine.html



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Insurance Companies Are A Present From Satan

First, I think it is important to note that I was employed by an insurer for over three years. I know that they are from satan.

Second, it is also important to note that most of my ire comes from medical insurance companies. They are truly a gift from Satan. Right now my fuc&ing current insurance company, who I pay COBRA payments to ($600 per month)is denying me insulin pump supplies.

Because the assholes lost my "certification of prior coverage". And have now stuck me on "pre-existing condition probationary coverage".

And the fuc&ers use such nebulous terms because they drink the blood of Satan, and the only real word in their medical insurance terminology is "No". They just learn all these other creative metaphors so that it sounds legal.

Fuc*ers.






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An Xmas Puppy

First of all: It was only in the past few years that someone told me that calling Christmas "Xmas" is demonic and devil-related. I don't know what the fu&k you're talking about. My recent statistics professor (one of those poor, really smart people who don't have a chin and wear glasses as thick as SUV tires) explained that the X in Greek stood for Christ. If you turn the X a little bit it looks like a cross, you see.

So if someone can please explain why "Xmas" is related to Satan, I'd really appreciate it.

Anyway, I'm obsessed with puppies. Z put this screensaver on his monitor - an itty bitty dachshund puppy with these sad, drippy eyes that need a kleenex. You just want to reach out with your OCD self and wipe away those eye-boogies.

I don't have much money right now - I've actually managed to drag out 3 months of household expenses into a good 6 month package - yay me. I've spent no more than $10 on Xmas presents for each person. Which has gone a long way, I want you to know. I bought my mom this kewpie crap on ebay, which she'll probably hide in some cardboard box because she has this monastic buddhist thing going on right now. I sewed clothes for Charky's puppy. I bought Dad this awesome book you need to check it out: "Sky Maul: Happy Crap You Can Buy From A Plane". It's based on that fracked up Sky Mall magazine you read on the airplane - you know, the one with all the MacGuyver crap. Here is the link because I've already got mine (http://www.amazon.com/SkyMaul-Happy-Crap-You-Plane/dp/0312357478/sr=8-1/qid=1166658866/ref=pd_bbs_1/105-0867295-4425202?ie=UTF8&s=books). And so on and so forth.

Z's been moaning about wanting this perfect little dog for more than a year. He describes it in great detail - it's almost like this dog is visiting his subconscious or something. It basically looks like a tiny miniature pinscher/rat terrier mix. But cuter.

So I thought I would check out animal shelters for puppies, since I'm now obsessed with this itty-bitty doxie on his monitor. I don't believe in purebreds, or buying animals from breeders. Just an opinion.

First, let me tell you that everyone wants a freaking puppy for xmas. Finding a puppy in an animal shelter is ridiculously hard.

Second, as a rabid almost-tree-hugging, yet fiscally conservative and hates the smell of pot-smoke pseudo hippie, it's my duty to give you two awesome links for animal shelters nationwide. You can stick in your query and they'll pull up matching animal shelter animals ( Like Dog/Terrier Mix/Male/Small/Puppy/30120).

- www.petfinder.com
- www.1-800-Save-A-Pet.com

I found a bunch of puppies that are way cute. I sent them to Z via email. He gets all commitment phobic on me, whining and bitching about how we don't need a dog, we aren't ready.

By the way, I have a total manic-depressive addictive theory on relationships and "being ready". This is for all you people out there waiting to get married until you're in your 40s. When you have money and are financially responsible and all that shit. YOU ARE NEVER READY BECAUSE LIFE IS MESSIER THAN THAT. If you're a halfway nice person you can get over the "not being ready" bit and stick it out for the long haul, unless your spouse lies / cheats/ steals/ commits a felony.

So I now have this freaking little puppy faces stuck in my head. I even dreamed about one last night. And I'm tired of spending $60 a week in gas driving back and forth to my parents house to walk their dog. I'm even contemplating dog-walking as a career path now, since I'm up to walking 2 hours a day and I like it. A la "In Her Shoes", one of the few chick books I liked.

Z changed his screensaver, by the way.

And now I'm puppy-less and a little ticked off. I feel it's his fault, and that I now need a dog more than he does. I'm ticked that he and I err on the side of caution now a days, whereas our family members and friends are embracing spontanaeity. Which is a lot of fun, by the way.

Remember, if you get your feelings hurt by my blog postings that is your fuc*ing problem.



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Being a nice person

I'm on this solitary path right now. Not having a working phone first made me lonely. After a while, it seemed essential. You see, I'm in the midst of my third or fourth mid-life crisis. Yes, I know that I'm only 26, and it's a little too early. However, I sure did grow up awfully fast so I feel this is only a natural progression.

Discovering that you are nuts is a big stone to swallow. I dated a bipolar man 7 or 8 years ago, and I remember feeling at the time that this guy was loony and I'm surely not like that. I always thought I just suffered from hereditary, periodic episodes of depression. As I became a parent, and suffered from an awful marriage, I began to realize that my own highs really did exist.

You see, I am superwoman. Sometimes. My lovely Charleston-living friend used to call me She-Ra. And that really described me when I'm on a high. Operating at super-speeds makes me feel competent. Efficient. Smarter and higher functioning than most. And yes, people notice and comment upon it.

But they also comment upon my lows. My old pirate boss used to tell me he could tell when I didn't feel well. I didn't talk much, and would sit pretty quietly all day. Mostly trying to focus, even though my mind was contemplating darkness.

It wasn't until I was locked in the loony bin that I realized I've been self-medicating my entire life. Last night, after Z and I discussed hiding the morphine bottle from me, I explained that only when I'm on a deep low do I want to throw myself into drugs. Booze. Cocaine. Opium. Heroin. Morphine. Methadone. Whatever. I'm desperately craving a numbness here, you see. Numb from the anguish and the sadness that accompanies my lows. A kind of safe, warm bubble that will protect me from those creeping dark suicidal thoughts that make me want to throw myself off a bridge.

The shrink(s) have put me on a "mood stabilizer" - a pretty high dose. They're slowly taking me off traditional antidepressants, after we discussed how they make my highs and lows more severe.

For the first time, I feel like I'm beginning to function normally. I wake up and get dressed. I'm working out six days a week, and eating like a normal person. I still don't sleep without help, but I'm not oversleeping during a rough patch - the old 16 or 18 hour "naps". And I'm contemplating how to put my life together in a way that makes me happy and meets my desires for love, ambition, and friendship.

I do have a new phone, by the way. I haven't been able to put many phone numbers in it. Basically I need to have an operating phone all the time to check voicemails from recruiters. I just don't have time to retrace my steps, take my phone apart, stick my SIM chip in Z's phone, and write down all of my address book.

So if I haven't called, this should partly explain why.

A. I need to be alone in order to pull myself out of the mess I'm in.
B. I didn't have a working phone.
C. I probably don't have your number.

Now on the subject of hurting people's feelings:

One day the shrinko man and I discussed what thoughts race through my head when I'm depressed. I explained that in my mind, I'm re-enacting the worst experiences of my life. He asked for more detail, and I told him that my "scenes" were usually when I had hurt someone's feelings.

I do it a lot. I don't know if that is normal, but it's definitely one of my character flaws. There are usually several ways in which this occurs.

1. I open my mouth and discover that evil things come out. As a child my doctors thought I had Asberger's Syndrome ( a form of autism ) because I didn't understand what was appropriate to say and what wasn't. Inability to function socially on a normal level. I don't know if that is true, but I certainly do know that when I say something awful, I don't mean it to be perceived that way. My ex-boyfriend/best friend CF was really good at talking me through what I was feeling when I said creepy things. He usually pointed out that the thoughts behind those words were illogical and creepy on their own. So I would quit talking. I'm doing a little bit of that now.

2. As a selfish human being I hide a lot. I don't know how to ask for emotional support. I read something recently about how it is our responsibility as a friend to contact our friends when they are in a low spot. When we don't hear from them. Well I'm in a low spot but I'm only semi-interested in talking to others. Mostly because I don't want to talk about the low spot I'm in. Stupid, huh?

I'm actually a lot better about it. I've done a pretty shitty job of maintaining some friendships, because I disappear. Poof. Gone. Don't see her or hear from her for a couple of years.
------
Basically I hurt someone recently for all of the reasons above, and I'm terribly sorry. If I blog about you please don't be hurt by it. Most of the crap I write here isn't reality, it's just an explanation of the television-like facets of my life. I only describe people close to me who are like cartoon characters themselves. You are a truly unique individual if I felt the need to ruminate on your character.

Z doesn't read my blog anymore, he says it hurts his feelings. I constantly tell him that I don't mean to do so. He says he understands, that this is my vent. I agree somewhat, but I do think it's important to explain that this blog has only touched upon the most extreme events, people, or places. Much of this doesn't document the little boring stuff that makes up a life. The stupid details that nobody really wants to hear, because it's already pissing them off as their head rambles through it.

How you are irritated the toaster always burns the bread. How you hate cleaning the toilet. How you take the same route to work everyday so you don't have to pay attention to driving. How that first sip of liquor tastes like a spiritual experience and a coming home to Jesus. How the paper-towel refiller in the restroom makes the mistake of filling it too full, not understanding that it will waste paper towels.

I'm bored by these trivialities, and I try not to pay too much attention to them. I'm determined that I am not going to die thinking about the pork loin in my oven. Or the grout I didn't scrub.

Please don't be offended. I love all of my family, and I sure hope you'll put up with me. If I'm not very good at calling, understand that I'm either in a rut and don't want to talk or I don't have your phone number. If I don't send emails, understand that I'm either in a rut or I don't have your address.

I'm sorry for my faults. I hope you'll love me anyway.



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I am the walrus....

Sometimes I find it a little vapid to quote song lyrics. However, I'm currently working on "My life: The Soundtrack". As a purely creative endeavour, it's perfectly acceptable to use really great, symbolic background music while my life unfolds.

And here is the song for today - The Beatles
"I am the Walrus"

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly.
I'm crying.

Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob.

Mister City Policeman sitting
Pretty little policemen in a row.
See how they fly like Lucy in the Sky, see how they run.
I'm crying, I'm crying.
I'm crying, I'm crying.

Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog's eye.
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess,
Boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob.

Sitting in an English garden waiting for the sun.
If the sun don't come, you get a tan
From standing in the English rain.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob.

Expert textpert choking smokers,
Don't you thing the joker laughs at you?
See how they smile like pigs in a sty,
See how they snied.
I'm crying.

Semolina pilchard, climbing up the Eiffel Tower.
Elementary penguin singing Hari Krishna.
Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob.
Goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob g'goo.



--------------------------------------------------------
So now you've got an idea of the background soundtrack clip, let's discuss the scene.

Snewo is in the midst of a rather lovely psychological disturbance.
Wakes up grumpy, takes her happy pills immediately. Makes a yummy cup of hazelnut coffee and lands in the computer chair. Investigates pooches, because she really wants to get Z a puppy for Christmas. Several breaks taken in this puppy research as she is also baking heath bar cookies.

One minute, she's exhausted and naps. The next minute, she's off running for hours and chasing the 78 lb. black dog from hell. Snewo comes home, with Charky in tow. Snewo tired again. Bathes for the third time that day. Then, in another minute, Snewo makes a remarkably succinct/lucid grocery list and becomes determined to get really ambitious - take the California King Ralph Lauren denim comforter to the laundromat while she shops at the next-door dollar store.

20 minutes of Snewo screaming at Charky to get her shit together, lugging the phone, my grocery list, my blackberry, my ligher and cigarettes, and that freaking humongous denim comforter to the car.

Drive. Semi-moment of peace has hit, as we meander down Mission Road behind some idiot in a Chevelle driving 30 mph.

Get to the gas station (finally) and pay at the pump. Realize that my local cheapo gas station just charged me $2.21 a gallon - regular. OOOWWWWTTCHHH.

CLimb back in the car, proceed to look for my laundry money that Z left me - I had a twenty underneath my blackberry. Discover Charky took it, and proceed to scream at her in the gas station parking lot. She proceeds to kiss almighty MOMMA's ass thenceforth.

Drop $4 in the wash, push the comforter in, feeling like a weakling. Go next door to the dollar store, and buy my remarkably lucid list:

Light Bulbs *
Hanging Nails *
Febreze*
Christmas wrap
yucky dollar store candies for my gingerbread house *
Postcard sized frame*

Pay, leave to go make sure no one has messed with my comforter. Charky and I watch it, transfixed by the swirling blue stripes on the underside...practically hypnotized, here. Drooling and the whole bit. Felt dizzy for a good couple of minutes.

Throw the comforter into the "SUPER" dryer (it's about as big as my bathroom in there) pop an indecent amount of money in, and take charky to Subway with me. I'm craving a veggie sub hardcore. I tell Charky to pray that nobody takes my comforter.

Get subs, go back to laundromat, get comforter.

Get home, eat, feel worn out. Started feeling antsy so I folded 8 large baskets of clothes that I've been putting off. And put my pretty new hot-pink Isaac Mizrahi sheet on my bed. WHOOOPPPEEEE! You have no idea how sexy my little black mousie cat looks on those hot pink sheets. It's like Kitty porn.

Then begin wrapping presents because my gift closet is so full it won't close. Discover I have to insert my mother's present - an antique Kewpie postcard circa 1925- in the frame, but the postcard itself needs some kind of backing to make it centered. Started a 30 min. project mounting the postcard on a piece of cream-colored cardstock, and affixing the antique postcard to the cardstock using ribbons. Ribbons run in each corner, 4 altogether and WHALLAA. Kewpie postcard centered in frame, mounted on cream cardstock, with four very pretty sage green ribbons.

Wrap more presents, but kick myself because I don't have the wrapping I want. I've been to the cheesiest places known to man, and I can't find the goofiness my grannie goose always wrapped with. Alvin and the CHipmunks. The Muppets.

So I wrapped three presents with this one acceptable wrap I have - it's blue with snowmen all over it. I hate snowmen, by the way. I'm throwing a little black humor into my christmases, dammit.

The other side of the snowmen wrap says HO all over the place in blue. Different fonted HOs, Different sized Hos. Ain't working for me. Every time I see it I'm disturbed.

SO I found the red spray paint, and graffittied all over the damn HO paper. It's very avant garde, "RENT" style xmas decor. I love it.

I finally got sleepy and realized I needed to go clean up my messes. If I leave them Z will get all worried that I'm in a hypermanic phase and try to bang me to sleep. Am I the only girl out here who doesn't pass out after sex? Every time he tries that shit when I'm on a roll like this one, I end up staying up until 4 or 5 because I can't come down. Those feel-good hormones released in sex only make me want to go go go - you're happy, aren't you?

Thank god I didn't try to make the gingerbread house tonight.

Thank god I took 2 benadryl and 2 ambien. I'm finally a little tired.

I am the walrus oo coo chi cooo...........



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Drive yourself out of the funk - be grateful in your POS auto

I generally get along well with men, because I understand that your car is an extension of your personality, and indicates a good bit about who you are.

Wow. That statement really illustrates how keyed in I am to the hologram ( Carlos Castaneda) or the Matrix (those damned Coen (?)brothers). Whatever.

So the car thing is just a metaphor for how I'm feeling right now. I drove past this couple this morning driving a baby-poop brown '80 Chevy something-or-another and I felt better. I drove one of those once - very temporarily - when my husband broke my car and my parents refused to sell me the Mercedes.

Yes, my auto today is a Ford, and I hate that. Yes, it's a gas guzzler, and I hate that too. I'm at mile # 218,736. I don't have a tape player, much less a CD player in it. One of the backseats is piled with my laptop bag, my purse, my sweatshirt, a bunch of notebooks, and anything Charky has hidden. It smells like smoke, and 3 of the seatbelts don't work.

But it's mine, and paid off. The insurance is ridiculously low (Thank you, John Oxendine!), and it gets me where I'm going at a higher level than little economy cars. The tires have better tread than Z's pimp car, so I don't worry so much about sliding on ice, or hydroplaning at 70 mph like I did in my accident (see blog archive, August 2005).

I took the 5 strengths test, part of my Positive-Psychology Practitioner's advice. And my 5th strength, to my surprise, was gratitude.

I certainly feel like an ungrateful bitch. My mother always told me that. And it seems that many of my actions in the past towards those I love indicated that I wasn't grateful to have them around.

But I do feel grateful quite a bit. I'll give some examples - more for my therapeudic benefit than yours - and I'll tell you where I am.

- I heard from a friend of mine who I must have blogged about a long time ago. I had been looking for him, I suppose. This myspace thing does suck, it makes real blogging look so serious. But everyone I've ever located seems to be there. Anyway, it was a nice surprise to hear from him, and he looks well. Good tidings.

- I'm a little crafty lately. I'm about at the point where I'm going to start selling this crap on ebay. I am really hesitant to start behaving like that horrible tea-pot collecting lady with 18 cats who has crocheted doilies all over her kitchen, but whatever. Hippie art, I call it. I'll post pictures when I convince Z to find my camera-battery cord.

- I finally figured out how to place a call on the f@ckberry, so I can call people again. Now just to add my phone book from the razr.

- Day 8 on the starvation diet, and I'm doing ok. Craving a Taco Bell bean burrito hardcore.

- Sold my soul to the devil yesterday and shopped at Walmart. I know, spank my hand. I rationalize that it's okay to shop at Walmart when you're poor and jobless. Anyway, my other reason for avoiding Walmart is that it's so un-chic. Oh, yeah, and they joined forces with the anti-contraceptive christians in cartersville, and NO LONGER SELL CONDOMS THERE. F%CKERS.

So I went to the new Walmart south of Pumpkinvine Creek, and gee whiz. That place is like the ritz. It's ALMOST as pretty as the new SuperTarget. What a pleasant experience....

I don't know what my point was here. Oh yeah. I was grateful to have such a pleasant Walmart experience.

- I'm utterly grateful that Caridee was picked as America's Next Top Model, because that Melrose bitch strikes a violent cord in me. I found it a bit perturbing that she is from San Francisco, and reminds me of every other snotty beatch I knew there.

- I'm grateful that avocados are on sale. Nothing can bring you out of a funk like a little avocado. They are so happy looking, aren't they?

So I'm okay and hanging in here. I'm making gingerbread, and planning clothes for Charky's puppy (her Xmas present). My kitty is on my lap, and actually acting sane today. I have a beautiful heirloom tomato - almost purple - that I'm fixing to cut up and dip in balsamic. My hazelnut coffee rocks, and I dug up some cinnamon incense from the xmas box. I have a bunch of twinkly lights from Z's momma, and I'm going to start stringing. Charky is in the Xmas parade tonight, and I'm prepping for that. Our xmas party, complete with all-night poker, is next week and I'm excited.

It's all good. Hope you all are equally okay.

By the way, back to the auto thing - Let me know what y'all think about the car cliches. Do old people really drive PT Cruisers? What does a Beemer convertible say about a man? Why do women Beemer drivers all wear sunglasses? Will a minivan ever be chic? Why do all men driving Jeeps seem gay? Are all female VW bug drivers gay?



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Egad

I'm not going to comment on the news, because I really haven't read or seen any news in over a month.

I'm not going to comment on any websites, because I haven't surfed the web in over a month.

I'm at a personal low, so I'm going to talk about that. If you aren't in the mood to hear it, piss off.

I've been unemployed for almost 2 months now. My shrink wants me to go see him every week, so I've been doing that. I've been trying to skip school as much as possible, so I've been semi-doing that. I've been working on wedding invitations, so I've been to the craft store three times.

It's too cold to walk, so I drive to Charky's school every day to pick her up (3 blocks,mind you. What a petro consumer I am).

Z has been receiving checks from the Gwinnett County Probation Office - the uninsured driver who hit him 3 1/2 years ago is finally paying his restitution to the victims. Z is owed $75K (or $3 million from the civil suit), so we've been really grateful that the now 22 year old kid is paying his debt. So when Z receives checks in the mail, he goes with me to the bank to deposit them.

But other than that, I don't leave the house. I'm miserable 90% of the time... kind of a crying, blue mess. My phone hasn't worked properly in over a month so I don't really get to talk to anyone. I just got a new phone - a blackberry - but I can't figure out how to make it work.

I'm scared. I can't seem to keep my composure as a functional human being while at home. I'm really unsure how I'm supposed to do it as a working adult - the breadwinner of this household. I can't even envision a real job now...every time I read job postings, complete with all of the work responsibilities, I get overwhelmed. I can't imagine having to concentrate that long on anything, particularly things that don't interest me personally. Because that is what a job is, right?

So I'm kind of lost, and don't know what to do with myself. I went back on the liquid starvation diet a few days ago after my endocrinologist made me cry. I hoped that eating better would help me emotionally. I've been doing yoga every day, with the same hopes.

But I'm just not seeing any dang results. I catch myself staring at the christmas tree...kind of fading out, looking at the lights. For what seems like hours. I wonder if I'm insane.

Shrink man says I'm supposed to think myself logically out of my depression. Remember that it's just a mood - it won't last. Remember that these are just temporary life circumstances - they won't last either. Sure doesn't feel that way, but those constant mantras do help.

My mind is so unstill - that stupid monkey mind - that I can't meditate, either. I try to get to that quiet place where the only thing I see is fuzzy gray, and the only thing I hear is my calm breath. And then the thoughts start smoldering on the surface...creeping into my quiet. What a failure I feel like. How I hastily took a chance, and because I was so desperate to get out of my old job, I accepted one that I knew wasn't right. How my money will run out soon, and other than waiting tables or working in a restaurant, I don't know what to do. How my daughter feels my angst, and is behaving accordingly...lying all the time. How unhappy my ex-husband makes me feel...he hasn't held a real job in nearly 3 years, and I haven't received child support in almost 18 months.

Sorry to vent. I have a blog reader who apparently checks up on me... I once posted to her blog, trying to tell her I worried about the desperate tone of her own blog postings. I feel guilty falling into such a depressed hole - it almost felt like she expected me to be riding on higher sails, since I pulled such a condescending tone with her. I don't want to not meet expectations. I'm the bubbly, bouncing one, right?

Where am I? Where am I going?



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