Kung Fu Hustle

Not very many movies actually impress me enough to want to go back and see the next day but MAN OH MAN Kung Fu Hustle is effin INCREDIBLE. Ok, the trailer looked far funnier and I didn't really expect the violence of some people being killed with freaking axes at the beginning...ok, I almost got up and walked out because I am A TOTAL WUSS and was afraid the rest of the movie was going to be full of hacking and slashing...but then it got to the kung fu and the slapstick and the awesome. This movie is awesome. I will totally buy it when it comes out.
(can't...get the pictures...to load....frustrating....pile...of hampster....crap...)

depressed?

It works.

another good link

Obi is Da Man

.....................................................dude.

I finished reading Revenge Of The Sith last night.

Dude.
I am speechless still. That was so wickedly awesome:
1) I don't want to hear any more shit from anybody about how the last two Star Wars movies sucked.
2) I am actually SCARED to see the movie.
3) I'm going to kick George Lucas in the NUTS for involving the Younglings. Dude. That was so unnesessary. You could have just ALLUDED to the fact. I'm totally gonna cover my eyes for that scene. Dude.
4) I might have to stand up and scream "Mon Motha I LOVE YOU! YOU ROCK!!!!" when she appears onscreen.
5) Your ass needs to go out and buy this book right NOW and read it. Oh, I know, you could wait till the movie comes out. But dude. Dude.
DUDE!

things that annoy me

1) people treating me as if I am stupid. Worse still is when THEY are actually stupid but are stupidly unaware of their own stupidity. My last boss was a classic example of this (see Crazyland blogs). The man was an autistic cokehead that insisted his employees do crazy stupid shit that made no sense, usually without actually explaining the stupid feat we were to perform- just expecting us to somehow intuit his insane agenda, and then would scream at us and berate us for OUR stupidity when we couldn't grasp what the fuck he was talking about. Autism+ cocaine + egomaniac= BAD.
My mom also frequently falls under this category when she tries to explain to me things that she knows nothing about. It's difficult for a child to realize they are smarter than their parent. I don't mean this in any sort of pitiful way, I'm just saying. Well, it might not be so difficult if the parent could accept it gracefully, but I'm 30 and she's still giving me the "I'll-talk-slowly-and-enunciate-so-you-can-maybe-understand-some-of-this-difficult-concept, ok?" bullshit. That crap was growing old when I was 14, and it's only pissed me off more over the years. I have comforted myself with the fact that she does have a lot of life experience that I do not, and the woman managed to raise me and my brother on her own so I don't talk back. Dear Lord, if I'm around her for longer than 5 minutes you can likely see the bite marks on my tongue.


2)unsolicited and unwanted advice. Now this one technically falls under number one. I have a friend who is constantly giving me these little speeches that make me want to throttle her. She comments on another blog that I have. She is the reason I am tempted to just not bother blogging there anymore. Or just straight up telling her to shut the fuck up. (I hear you asking, "Why gee Introspectre, it doesn't sound like she's much of a friend, huh?" and the answer is NO. I'm trying to see if the friendship can be salvaged, but I very seriously doubt it.) Yesterday I had a big lengthy blog about rape and a little side note about porn and she wrote back with this snotty little diatribe about the minor porn rant and how I should do this and that, blah blah blah.
I just bared my soul about being raped and she's not ackowledging that AT ALL and instead launches right in to telling me that I shouldn't allow my fiancee to HARM me further by looking at porn? Holy fucking insensitivity Batman!
(shakes head and sighs) So I wrote back and clarified, very politely, that my post was about RAPE not PORN and that I was just fine in my decisions about porn, thank you very much. (I will give you the blog update about that but I'm trying to stay on subject, something SOME people apparently do not comprehend.)
The thing that really irritates me about it is that she has one of the worst dysfunctional relationships I've ever witnessed. She lives in this screwy multiple reality that makes her frankly kind of creepy. Sometimes she's ok, and she's usually fairly honest with me. But when other people are around or she just can't deal, she switches to this "happy happy joy joy married life is a bed of roses" shit and adopts this creepy mannequin smile. My other friends have actually commented to me about it and asked what the fuck her deal is. I tell them Denial Is A Harsh Mistress. In reality, her marriage is wretched, and he's an abusive asshole that ought to be shot. But she'll tell people how she's never been happier and how they're so in love and life just keeps getting better all the time! and it's really gruesome to see her do it. I know how it is: she WANTS to believe it.
But to have someone in such a fucked up marriage try to give ME advice about how to have a healthy relationship is just W-R-O-N-G. Then add that to the fact that my whole post was a heart wreching account of being raped, to which she didn't bother to acknowledge at all...
~growls~


There's more but blogger already ate most of my first post so I'm not going any further, damn it. Another time.

I want to note that these things annoy me because I am guilty of them. And because I generally think I am no longer guilty of them (I have my moments), I believe I have grown past these character flaws, and tend to be very impatient and judgemental of others who posess them. Double standard? Sure. Egotistical? Why not. Annoying still, none the less? You bet.

there ought to be a law about jackasses breeding....

I'm busy reading the Revenge of the Sith book, so all blogging is on hold until I know how Palpatine gets Anakin to join the Sith.
However, I have just witnessed such an incredible display of shitty parenting that I simply MUST vent somewhere.

Ok. (deep breath...a few more..... there we go....)
Every day all the kids off the bus. Sometimes some of the parents are held up at work or whatever and so the parents that are there will kindly hang around until all the parents get their kids. Things happen, you know. We all understand.
Today I'm hanging out with this little girl who I babysat a few times. Her parents were splitting up, there was discord, mom couldn't get to work cause she kicked the dad out and would I please get her on the bus? Sure, no problem. She has to bring her by at 6am...uh, well, ok, if it's only for a few days...OH she forgot to mention that the little girl is in AFTERNOON kindergarten which means I'll be watching her till 11:30 am....(rolling eyes) Ok, Ok, it's just for a few days....(paying would be nice for the 6 1/2 hours a day I'll be watching your daughter....oh yah and FEEDING her since you don't give her crap to eat....) But ok. The little girl is nice and it's not HER fault her parents are being assheads.
TODAY her parents don't show up at the busstop. It's a nice day and she and my son play hide and seek and simon says and the various kid games of youth. I keep looking up and expecting to see one of her parents come around the corner...
Finally an hour has passed. Unless these people are dead they have no excuse to not be here or send a family member or friend or SOMEBODY to check on their 5 year old who is, for all they know, sitting outside waiting to be kidnapped, right? They cannot see her from their apartment, let me clarify. So they have NO idea where she is.
We walk over to their place and they're home. They just...didn't bother to come get their daughter. Just thought it was ok that their 5 year old was wandering around by herself and an hour late coming home, what, worry? Aren't 5 year old girls perfectly capable of taking care of themselves?
I said goodbye to the little girl and said NOTHING to the mother. I'm usually very friendly with her so I'm hoping the ice daggers I sent her way were a hint. I knew if I even opened my mouth a full fledged rant would pour out and I had no desire to bitch her out in front of her child. That little girl has seen enough people fighting lately (the parents are trying to work things out...) and doesn't need the stress of her mom getting CUT DOWN by some other lady.
Fucking irresponsible TWAT.
Dammit people make me mad.

Public Service Announcement Of The Day

I know, I know.
You're welcome.

my total rockingness

Ahhh, let me formally announce that I am freakishly proud of myself. No Helmet Of Shame today, nosiree! Why? I have Worked Out.

"Aaawwww yahhhh, everybody was pretty jealous of me after THAT! I was gettin' a lotta attituuuude!"
Weird Al, Albuquerque

No, seriously. It's awesome. It could be the overwhelming endorphins flooding my system, it could be the total physical exhaustion, gee whiz I just don't know. But yesterday I was bitching that I'm constantly exhausted and then I went to Heritage (local shmocal health food store) and got some B12. I was thinking it was selenium but after a lengthy discussion with the guy up there I went for the B12 instead.

(All the foods I've been craving lately are also really high in B12 so it was a toss up between selenium and B12. Since you can O.D. on selenium, I figured B12 was a good choice to try first...)

And Great Googely Moogely! It worked. I haven't napped today. I actually WENT to go work out, and not only that, but I got on that eliptical bitch and went for a whole 20 minutes and 2000+ paces. Ok, then I tried to walk back to my apartment with rubber legs but dammit I did it.

Thank you oh kind makers of sublingual B12. I love you. I was really miserable being so tired all the time. Now I have hope. But if not, I have steak. Fuck all this being tired shit. I'm all about finding an alternative solution that doesn't involve me eating meat, but by God, if it's me or the animals....

One simply cannot exist in a Jabba-like state forever. One must do SOMETHING.

And something I have done.
Hurrah.

Riddikulus!

Oh my. Now this is just taking it way too far.
Indeed. Harry Potter evil. I think I will drop Buddhism and become a witch. Ugh.
The only evil Harry Potter has inflicted on my soul would be a wicked evil case of insomnia in an effort to read more, faster.
Phhhhthththththtbt!

Jealous of Cho?

Apparently I am not alone in my Harry Potter obsession. But some people just take it too far.

Well thank goodness. I just finished reading the 5th Harry Potter book and I was afraid it was going to end as badly as the 4th did, and if so I might go stark raving mad seeing as how the next book isn't due to come out till June.
Shut up Erica. Quit laughing.

ways to infuriate me

No matter what, billions of people have been deceived.

These stupid little books make me insane. They always have, they always will. I can honestly say I've never seen anything so blatantly asinine and morally repugnant.

adventures in crazy town (aka my head)

mllllargh....
I'm tired. I'm tired like, all the time lately.
Ok. I think it might be the vegetarian diet, 'cause this same thing happened to me last time I did it. And that pisses me off, because some people can be vegetarians and have no problem with it at all. Me? I could drink a pot of coffee and pass out asleep. I am EXHAUSTED and it seems I feel this way constantly lately. A major reason for me not blogging much, other than being really really busy doing other stuff.

It may be just that I am exhausted still from the last few weeks, but I'm thinking that's not it. Maybe. (squints) But I don't think so.

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I got back from Detroit last weekend. I went with my friend Erica. I was dreading that trip, the plane, the drive, the visiting my family (ok, my mom and dad, not the rest of them). I used to enjoy planes. I don't know what happened, but I have definitely enjoyed them less the older I got. Maybe it was leaving the I'm-A-Freakin-Super-Hero-Can't-Hurt-Me delusions of youth? That's my guess. Maybe 9-11. I don't know. I'm going with the former, not the latter. However, I did notice some freaky looking people waiting for our plane and I didn't want to fly into DC for any reason (but did anyway) and was glad that my plane was small and therefore carried less gas and was therefore a less tempting item to use as a flying bomb, you see? Although all of these things occurred to me, I didn't dwell on them and maybe discredited their impact on my psyche. I don't know.
I DO know that I had a monstrous panic attack in the airport. That sucked. I thought I was fine, got on the first plane...a lot of turbulence, but that's never bothered me before. I had to keep looking out the window, though, because looking inside the plane at the stationary everything while being thrown and bounced around was making me tres ill. But I was fine.
In DC we had a 3 hour layover. Ok... we go to some restaurant and I order a Mudslide with Kaulua. I'm thinking that ought to cover whatever squeamishness I have for the next flight. All is well. We eat, we talk. Finally we get up and start walking towards the gate. That was when I noticed all was indeed NOT well, because Erica is walking too fast and I can't keep up. That is to say, I can't keep up without noticing the ground beneath me is swaying and blurring in a rather alarming way. I walk slower and this lessens the nauseating movement of the floor. I'm not trashed or anything, I'm wearing heels and doing just fine carrying all my luggage and whatnot. If only the FLOOR would quit moving...
We get to our gate and sit down, and I'm getting more nauseas by the second. I think about how embarrassing it would be to puke BEFORE I even get on the plane, and that's not helping. I call my mom, bad plan there. Like she's ever been comforting? What the hell? But I tell her we are on time and all is well, and hang up. I call Mr. Wonderful, thinking that the sound of his voice will be comforting and I will feel better. OOOOH NOOOOOOO. As soon as I hear him I want to puke. I can hear this little girl voice in my head wanting me to start babbling hysterically, "I want to come home, I don't want to get on any more planes, I'm not going you can't make me!" But I do not allow it, instead I manage to choke out something about how I feel sick and the sound of his voice is making me want to puke and I have to hang up.
Yah. Nice huh?
By this time Erica has fallen asleep on the set of chairs next to me and I am glad. Having panic attacks suck, but since I hadn't recognized it as a panic attack I was just simply panicking and didn't want to try to explain myself while I couldn't even figure myself out. I leaned my head back and started crying. I figured it was ok, people in the vicinity would just think I was sad to leave or something, and that was better than puking in front of them. MUCH better. Maybe they had some little story line in their heads about how I my lover was going off to war or some such thing. You know, some great love story. Not just some freak-o girl who is 30 years old and scared of a little airplane and might just puke in the waiting area. Not so romantic, no.
Somehow crying releases the tension and I feel better. I drag my bag to the bathroom and brush my teeth, fix my makeup and feel a lot better. I call Mr. Wonderful back and tell him I feel better. He says, "Aw baby, you just had a panic attack, huh?" and the lightbulb goes off over my head. Well, DUH. Why is it I can't ever figure that out when it's happening? (rolls eyes) I'm thinking I'm having a freaking heart attack or a premonition that my plane is going to crash and these could be my last moments alive, perhaps I should run screaming through the airport now? Away, away away from the plane? Hmmm?

Anyway, onto the next plane I go, totally disgusted and horrified by "security". They announce our plane is running late and will we all please hand over our boarding passes now? I think this lady is smoking crack and Erica just outright refuses till the last second. But most people walk up and hand them over, keeping their little stubs but just hover around in a big crowd. A big crowd anyone could walk up and get in, hellllooooo? And the chick doesn't even bother to check them AGAIN when we board!?!?! WHAT THE FUCK? I mean, THIS is our new improved security? You have GOT to be shittin' me! Nobody checked as we got on the plane either, and as there were a few empty seats, well anybody could have gotten a free flight from DC to Detroit that day.
Fuckin A.

~huge sigh~

Not helping my fears any, nope.

But the flight attendant is this super cute younger guy and he smiles indulgently at me and Erica when we board. Aw yah. Nothing like some flirting to distract a girl from her problems. But when he starts talking I realize he is gay, gay gay gay as could be and I am confused for a minute. What was that goofy little smile about? Have I mentioned I have NO gaydar? Yah. And then it hits me: with my short hair and Erica's short hair (and many tattoos) maybe he thinks we're lesbians? Oh man. I have GOT to grow my hair back out. And he wasn't the only one! We got this look quite a few times over the next two days and finally Erica starts laughing at one of the toll roads and says, "You know what? I think that guy thought we were lesbians!" I mention how a few other people have given us that same look and she laughs. She says, "You're my fem lover!" I feel slightly better. At least I get to be the fem, you know?
~sigh~

Stupid short hair. I keep telling people I look like a guy with short hair and everyone disagrees. Ok. I don't look like a guy. The hips and ass I possess are pretty convincing, I agree. But apparently I look like a lesbian.

Hmmph.


I kept looking at my engagement ring and feeling better. Like, maybe people will figure it out right? Or maybe they'll just think I'm waiting for the legislation to pass so I can marry my lesbian lover. Ever patient, I wait!

ha.


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Back to the vegetarian thing. So I went searching online for information this morning and came across a great little tool for me. It's from Eat 4 Your Blood Type and it lists different food and what blood type they're good for, but also some nutritional content of them, which was what I was using it for. I went through the list and clicked on all the stuff I've been craving and discovered they all have one thing in common- a high selenium content. I look up the symptoms for a selenium deficiency and I find: (ta da!) exhaustion. (pats self on back) Damn I'm good. A few others had a high B12 count and that's a common problem for vegetarians too. Leads to anemia. Which will also cause exhaustion.
Actually, I'm sitting here reading one of my medical books and finding that a lack of selenium is common in....wait for it....wait for it....panic attacks! Hey, whaddya know? Shocking. The reason I even thought of it is that I'm sitting here feeling dizzy just typing. Great, huh? How I love anxiety disorders. Let me count the ways.

My point of all this was that I have had a constant craving for shrimp. Shrimp shrimp shrimp, mmm mmmm. When I looked shrimp up, surprise surprise, they are crazy high in selenium. Hmmm.

You know, at moments like this I am really glad I am smart and know how to research things. Otherwise I'm sure I would end up at a doctors office and they would prescribe drugs (not that I wouldn't LOOOOOVE some Xanax, sigh) and I would not fix the problem, only medicate it and I would still be tired but just not feel freaked out about it at least. I am, to be quite honest, really fucking freaked out about it. Feeling like you could pass out is NOT a happy feeling, folks. Not at all. Kind of scary. And then you freak out about that and your blood pressure goes up and you get more light headed. AWESOME! What could be better, I ask you?

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Damn it.

I try to blog about having a panic attack and what happens? I give myself another one. (Granted, much less hideous...) Brilliant. Just brilliant.

So much to say, so much to do...I keep having these moments of blogging shame where I realize I have not given my blog any love and I should wear the Helmet of Blog Shame...I have not abandoned the blog...just...busy...doing...stuff....
Such a lame blog.
I shall now don my helmet.

someone asks the Bigger Question

The day the child realizes that all adults are imperfect he becomes an adolescent; the day he forgives them, he becomes an adult; the day he forgives himself, he becomes wise.

Aiden Nowlan

grandma

I just got back from a trip to Detroit. I flew up to pick up the car we're buying from my grandparents and drive it back down.
First and foremost- I saw my grandparents. A few months ago I didn't know if I'd ever see my grandma again, at least alive. She was hovering on the brink, but managed to pull through.
She and my grandpa are nearly 90 and he's had a stroke and isn't quite the same, and she's just coming out of major surgery, a very serious cancer scare (they're still not convinced it's all gone, despite the doctors saying it is) and her liver failing and very nearly killing her. So they have moved out of the home of 60+ years and into a retirement community. One of those that they have their own apartment and everything but they can go to a meal in the dining room and there's a gym and maid service and all. I kind of thought my grandma would be eating it up, having somebody do all this shit for her, but instead she's pretty depressed.
One, she had to give up smoking. Ouch. Two, she had to give up drinking. (insert dramatic music) THIS is what is causing her so much agony, methinks. The woman is, how does one say this politely, a lush? A whiskey drinking lush? Yes, well. She's a wild woman, my grandma. Until this year, she has gone to Reno every year for a few weeks with all her girlfriends, and they drink like fish and gamble. A little slice of heaven for my grandma.
Now she's all clean and sober and living in a building she shares with other humans. She doesn't really care for other humans all that much. That is to say, she is a judgemental opinionated razor tongued old lady, but at least the whiskey isn't loosening up her tongue the way it used to, Lord no. But the "crazies" are bugging the crap out of her.
So in typical Me style, I gave her some good ideas. Opened her up to a whole new world. She was complaining that living in this new apartment complex wasn't any better than being dead. I laughed, morbidly and she informed me she wasn't kidding. I softly said, "Yah grandma, I know." And then we sat down. I said, "You know, you haven't lived in an apartment before. You don't even realize the wealth of oppurtunities that are here before you." She looked at me skepticaly. I said, "I know these people drive you nuts," and she nodded emphatically. I continued, "Grandma, you live on the THIRD FLOOR! Do you know what kind of trouble you can cause up here?" She raised her eyebrows and waited. "All you need is a slingshot and some water balloons! You can start aiming at people on the sidewalk!" She gaped at me for a second and I said, "Hell, you can get a water gun and you wouldn't even have to remove the screen! Just shoot right through the screen and get em!" She started snorting and said, "SOme of these assholes wouldn't even know what happened, they're all (spins one finger next to her head signifying they're nuts)" and laughs. I said, "EVEN BETTER! You can meet em down by the elevator and ask them how they got all wet." She said, "They'd probably just think it was raining" and I said, "Man, I can see it now! You'll be running back in here every little while telling Grandpa 'You won't believe what I just did!'" In the meantime, my grandpa is growing silently alarmed over in his chair. Probably trying to figure out the statistical possibilities of his 86 year old wife causing untold havoc at their new residence...
She's laughing and tears are forming in her eyes. She says, "I miss you, Jo." I soften and say, "I miss you too Grandma..." And vow to send her a slingshot and water gun ASAP. Maybe some of those tiny travel bottles of whiskey. She'd probably cry with happiness at it.
Of course, I don't know how she'd get away with drinking it. God knows my mom would rip her a new one to know she got ahold of some whiskey. She'd be incredibly pissed to know I sent it to her!
Why? Why would I enable an alcoholic, knowing how much I despise alcoholism?
The woman is 86 years old, for Gods sake. She nearly died a few months ago. She's had to give up her home and everything, and move to some place with a bunch of crazies running around (she's referring to the Alheimers and dementias that live there, of course). At 86 years old, I seriously fucking doubt my tolerance for such things would be very high. Or...exist at all, really.
Shit. I'm gonna send her some gum that dyes your tongue blue, too. Tell her to leave it on the buffet table downstairs.
Somebody will bite. Oh yah.

no they didn't

Yes they did.

pondering become a vegetarian?

Need another reason?

bummer

Mother nature can be so cruel.

tell em cowgirl

Sometimes horryfying, sometimes hilarious, the confessions of others are almost always interesting.

Please note: I am not Catholic. Also, I find it very odd that people would use a web page for a confessional.
Very very odd.

some people will be Hailing Mary for a long long time

Sometimes horryfying, sometimes hilarious, the confessions of others are almost always interesting.

Please note: I am not Catholic. Also, I find it very odd that people would use a web page for a confessional.
Very very odd.

Am I crazy? Or is this a cow trying to suckle Paris Hiltons tit?

let's see, where was I.......

Ok, now it's the Cramps. Fitting eh?

Hopefully I can start knocking out some of the bajillion things circling my brain like airborne vultures screeching the Macarena.
Seriously, it gets really noisy in here if I don't write. It ain't pretty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of noise, our neighborhood seems to be on rotation the last two days. I don't know what the air base actually calls it, but some days jets scream over our house, other days I can barely see them off in the distance. Meaning, some days I think I'm a blundering jackass for living where we do, but other days I think my home is the greatest place EVER. Depends how quiet it is.

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I've been on a quest to make new friends for the last year or so. I've made quite a few. Strange thing about friends- they come with baggage. I have discovered the ones I enjoy the most have the least amount of it. You know, the drama. Blech.
When I was younger most of my friends were high maintenance screwballs who NEEDED, NEEDED, always needed me or something or help or money or....
Whatever. It ate up a lot of my time. But I was willing, because I didn't value my time nor did I value myself. So all these needy people made me feel, well, needed.

(I am in no way so delusional to think that I was not one of the needy screwballs. Oh. I was. Indeed.)

Now I have a much better idea of my self worth and not only value my time, but find it extremely precious. And so, I've been finding that long winded boring conversations from friends drain me. When someone calls to complain about the same thing they've been complaining about for weeks, months, years...well, it's hard not to scream, "WHO CARES? YOU OBVIOUSLY DON'T! OR YOU WOULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING ABOUT IT! ARGH!"
One friend is just a self absorbed whiner. Calls just to hear himself talk about himself, I'm pretty sure. I've pondered just setting the phone down and walking away to see if I could come back later and he'd still be talking. I actually had a friend like that years ago. Once my boyfriend came in and asked why the phone was in the freezer. I said I just stuck it there cause I was bored, opened the freezer, said, "Uh huh" and she was still talking. No shit.
Another one is mired so deeply in denial about her life that it's almost like talking to a cyborg or something- some kind of automaton that pretends to live life but has almost no ability to live and experience life with any authentic emotion...other than rage, which as soon as it bubbles up will be promptly stuffed back down where all the unpleasant emotions (and reality) go. So I'm noticing that talking to her is kind of creepy sometimes, and it's freaking me out.
Another one is a mess. Just a mess. So much so that I don't know if being friends with her is even possible, unless our friendship is going to mostly consist of her telling me about her latest debacle and me shouting, "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT? GET A SHRINK! GET A SHRINK! GET A FUCKING SHRINK!" I don't know. That doesn't sound like a good time to me. I just can't see me being excited to answer the phone and it be her, you know?

We all want friends who make us happy and joyful, to feel loved and appreciated, but in a good way with healthy boundaries. I have come to realize that my friendship should NOT be contingent upon my ability to pretend her life is a basket of roses when it's a bucket of crap, nor turn a blind eye to the dysfunction of another, nor waste hours murmuring affirmitively while another spouts off about the things he thinks he knows (but is cluelessly mistaken) about. My job as a friend is not to enable the mistakes of others.

What is my job? (ponders for a while....sets that one on the back burner for now)

At any rate, I am unsure still how to deal with these issues. Honesty is always the best policy, but so is gentle diplomacy. Telling my friend her life is a ridiculous sham and I'm sick of even observing it is you know, kind of harsh.

I'll figure it out eventually.

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I've been losing weight again. Very nice. I'm such a compulsive little over eater. It seems to me that any mood at all can be made better with food. Any mood at all. Except depression over being fat, that one doesn't work....hmmm. So Mr. Wonderful and I have been getting up at 5:30 each morning, stretching, and he goes running while I work out on one of those weird exercise balls. Bizarre, but it works like a champ. I've also been trying to distract myself from food by naps and baths and reading, oooh boy. I have the first 3 Harry Potter books to thank for at least 5-10 pounds. I couldn't tell you how much weight I've lost so far since we don't own a scale, but I can tell you that when I walk around naked my ass doesn't keep moving once I've stopped. THAT I know. Mr. Wonderful came up with Gelatinass as a perfect description. No, he most certainly didn't call me that, I'd have seriously damaged him. But while trying to come up with an adjective of fat ass texture, he came up with that one and I decided it was perfect. Gelatinass.
Indeed. I no longer have Gelatinass (patent pending), but I haven't lost that "hey-look-someone-stuffed-mashed-potatoes-in-my-pantyhose, no-wait-that's-just-my-fat-ass." I definetly still got that going on. Crappy thing about losing weight- takes a while for the skin to catch on and shrink down to the new proportion.

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My new website is going on swimmingly, sort of. There are people in it, not a lot. I want more people in it. More yappity opinionated bitches need to get in there and start talking about sex. That would be great. By bitches of course I mean righteously awesome women. No real bitches, thanks. Save the drama for your mama, I want no part of it. And if you call me on the phone so help me I will stuff the phone in the freezer.
But the rest of you, bring it on. Support your lovely Introspectre. Know that your chattery support will help me create my dream job: to sit at home all day and talk about sex. Ok, psychology, too. You know how I am. I can't resist. But if I can get some more people in there now then eventually I can start charging memberships fees. You know, for all the people who aren't You, You Who Are Signing Up Right Now. (cough) Send the link to your mom, I don't care. The sooner y'all get in there and start yapping, the sooner I can start charging other people (a very nominal fee) to use the site. Do it for me. Plus you get the added bonus of discussing all your dirty little sundries in a forum of anonymity. How awesome is that? Seriously!

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I've been giving some thought to making this blog no longer anonymous. I mean, a lot of you know who I am. But a lot don't. Like, my mom. Who I bitch about a lot. And who I wouldn't want reading about how I think she's a blundering dunderhead, even though I believe that to be the truth. Just because I can barely tolerate more than 10 minutes of her company doesn't mean I want to HURT her. She's a nincompoop, but she's still my mom.

Of course, I could just start cussing more in here. Even if she did stumble upon it she would be insulted by my salty sailor talk and not bother reading more than a few sentences.

Shitty fuck fuck. Crappity whore bitches. Ass! Damn! Hell!

There we go. That ought to do it.

Anyway (ponders renaming blog "shitty shitty fuck fuck", thinks it has a nice ring to it, then combines literal meaning of shitty and fuck and realizes that is NOT a good plan at all, no siree) I wonder about the anonymity of my blog. I wonder if it is a way for me to feel ashamed of who I am, and enable that shame. If I won't own my words, does that mean I am afraid to be who I am? Maybe it does on some level.

Perhaps owning my own blog would make me a better integrated human. Perhaps I would feel pride at no longer hiding behind some pictureless nameless screen.

But how would I be able to bitch about shit anymore?

Shitty shitty fuck fuck!

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I had a crazy dream last week, about being in some building with my son and seeing 5 tornados all spinning towards us. I ran and got us into a closet and tried to cover him with my body as best as I could. He was terrified and I was terrified, but I knew it was my job as his mother to be calm. And so I was telling him to relax and do some deep breathing with me, while my mind was spinning trying to figure out how to make my childs last moments of life somehow more meaningful.

Something no one should ever have to ponder. Not in real life, not in a dream, yech. I was upset the whole day. When he woke up I snuggled him and cried onto his head, without him noticing. That dream left me feeling fragile.

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My friend that strips has been making mad cash at the club she's working at. Turns out the state of Virginia doesn't let you take off much clothes. Maybe it's just Virginia Beach? I don't know. I don't really care, actually. But it's great for her because she keeps on the equivalent of a bathing suit at all time, and doesn't do lap dances or anything. Then a few days ago she called me up squealing talking about how she made $1,200 in one night. And she sent me this:

boys_are_stupid

She says she just can't get over how dumb guys are, that they pay her so much money to dance around in clothes, and how they act like they're in love with her. It's so ridiculous, she says. But they come up there night after night and one guy routinely throws down at least $400 A NIGHT to watch her wiggle around. When I asked her what the hell he does to have so much money to throw at her she shrugs and says, "He's a coke dealer." Oh, says I. Well then.

It's hard to not be dazzled by her glamour girl world, and by the mad mad mad cash she makes. But then she tells me stories about how all the girls hate her and brawl with each other over shit, how drunks are constantly messing with her car in the parking lot, how she recognizes men from the club while she's out to lunch, and the very delicate balance one must tread to flirt with the big money spenders to keep them coming back, but have excuses as to why you won't go out with them. You want them coming back, they're paying off your new car, you know? But if they ask you out too many times and you turn them down they're going to switch their monetary affections to another girl. How do a lot of the girls deal with it? Why, they go out with the guys, of course. Let the rich dudes take them on crazy shopping sprees. Sleep with them? (shrug) Do you think they would admit it? I mean, how long is one guy going to dish out cash without ever getting his dick wet? Come on. But what do I know? I'm just sitting in my cozy little house with my non-mad cash and feeling a-fuckin-ok about my life. I try to understand but I really can't. It is beyond me. So far, anyway.
But my friend won't sleep with them or even go shopping with them. Cause she's awesome like that. She does like their money. And they like to give it to her. What a win win situation.

Actually, while I was blogging this she calls to tell me she made $1,400 last night and how some girl at the club was giving her shit. The girl is being a catty snotty bitch and keeps going on and on about how much money she made, and giving my friend crappy looks. So my friend sits down next to her and is all, "Yes, let's count our money shall we? 100, 200, 300, 40, 500, 600, 700, 800, 900, 1000, 1100, 1200, 1300, 1400..." to be greeted by utter silence from the other girl. I started laughing. I said, "Well, sounds like you put her in her place, all right..." and she said, "I don't ever tell anyone how much I make! I'm not like that! But it just made me so MAD! Why is she looking at me like that? What the fuck is her problem? I don't want to be a bitch! But now I'm a bitch! Hey! Tell your friends!"
At which point I cracked up. She's so funny.
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Oh yeah. Most all of my hair is gone. Oops.

I tried to cut it myself. Sometimes I am struck down by these fits, these delusions of grandeur. Then I suddenly came to, standing in front of the mirror with a pile of my own hair in the sink and the scissors hovering dangerously over my head. I said, "Hey! You don't know how to cut hair! What the fuck are you doing?" but it was too late. The damage had been done.
So I sucked up what was left of my pride Tuesday morning and went to a nice salon. I asked her if there was anything, ANYTHING she could do with my hair that would make it, I don't know, not suck? She said, "When did this happen?" and I blurted out, "Yesterday! I did it! I did it to myself! I was having delusions of professional hairstylist-ism! I don't know what happened! HELP ME!!!"
Oh, she helped me all right. Helped me finish cutting it all off. I now have what could only be described as a combination between a super short pixie cut and a buzzcut.
(peeks head out of grocery bag with eye holes cut out)
To say that I am taking this well would be...well, a lie. A bald faced lie, if you will. I mean, it will grow out, yah. But there's only a few months where I will be walking around with little to no hair. You want to try a challenge to your sense of femininity? Cut all your freaking hair off. Bye bye.

Sometimes I like it. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I see a cute chick with bad ass hair. I've always openly admired those girls, the ones who hack off their hair with nary a concern for their self image. The women who are so self assured they don't even bite off their nails while riding the waves of "I look like a man" anxiety. Shit, they've never even seen that sea. Pshhhht.

So I'm walking around with my head up trying to fake everyone out and act like one of those girls. Yah, I got no hair, what up? I'm a smooth sexy bitch now! Look at my bad ass self! You know you want some! Mmmmm mmmmmmm, hot stuff coming through, fellas make way!

Hopefully I can trick myself into believing it.

I'm so tired lately. I know, you wanted to listen to me whine. Shut up. My blog! Your passive readership of my blog requires that you listen to my every utterance! OBEY ME!
Where was I? Oh yes, tired. I've had some weird bug that makes my head feel like it's being crushed and everything aches. Funny thing about pain, when it doesn't go away for awhile the ability to tolerate it becomes almost nonexistant.
So I'm sitting here stretching, working out and blaring Social Distortion. Seems to be the only thing working so far. A nap sounds good but everything aches; how can I sleep? A pile of narcotics sounds dandy after the last 4 or 5 days of this. Shooo, it's probably been 2 days and I'm delirious.

Man, I had big blogging plans today. I seriously have a LIST of stuff I want to write about sitting next to me. But I sat down and everything aches and WAAAAAAA! I can't even sit here it hurts too much.

Back to trying to stretch out this uncomfortable shell.

did you know?

No? Me neither.

I am not a Mormon

How much do I love Faye? Enough to take this test, with simply SHOCKING results.

So you took the "what kind of Mormon are you" quiz and found out you're not Mormon...exciting.

~giggles~
Do they have a Buddhist one?

magical super powers! form of...engagement ring!

(for those of you not paying attention, Mr. Wonderful proposed March 25th)
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Let's discuss the ring now, shall we? It's been a few weeks, I think I've calmed down enough to not freak out completely every time I look at it.
The night he proposed I couldn't even look at it. I tried. I told him it's sparkling brilliance was stabbing shards of glittery sparkles into my brain. I mean, seriously. You throw this thing under a light and KABLAM, it's mind numbing. Wow.
After a day or two I started peeking at it.
You see, I've never owned a diamond, not any diamond, not ever. Growing up poor you do not have diamonds. Never dating wealthy doting men or having sugar daddys or having a job making buttloads of cash means you likely will not own a diamond, either. And so, at thirty years old, I own my very own diamond for the first time.
I never understood the allure of diamonds and all that crap about diamonds being a girls best friend. What a load of materialistic crap, methinks.
Then I got one.
(*coughs*)
This thing is a DOOZY. I think the fact that it is an engagement ring makes it all the more magical, of course.
The crazy thing about it is it makes me feel so fucking SPECIAL. Is it because it's an engagement ring? Well, duh. But would a tiny diamondless engagement ring have quite the same mind numbing sparkly impact? Ok, I wouldn't know, since I've never had one before. So that point is mute.
Here's the thing: I stare into this sparkling glittering faceted rock of brilliance and am totally captivated. I am dumbfounded that anyone loves me that much. I mean, I know I'm lovable but THAT lovable? Whoa. Hard to fathom.
And so it's causing me to rethink myself, in a very nice way. And Mr. WOnderful keeps pointing out, "You deserve it, baby. That and so much more..." and I choke up and stare up at him all misty eyed.
Diamonds. They have some magical qualities. Who knew?




(black and white is just so darn classy)



(blurry but you can kind of see the side detail...)

May I say, I LOVE THIS RING.
(And Mr. Wonderful but you knew that.)

now this site officially has giant boobs

While trying to figure out who in the world Pandora Peaks is, I came across a webiste of giant breasted women. No, not large, GIANT. Apparently Pandora Peaks is known for her size 44-H breasts. Certainly that's as large as humanly possible, but no, no my friends. According to this website, Chelsea Charms has the largest breasts. Her measurements are, so she herself says, 153XXX-23-34.
Totally fake, don't be ridiculous.
And because I simply CANNOT resist the urge to blow your mind with pictures, here ya go:




I gotta say, it took awhile to find two pictures that had enough fabric to cover those things.

What do I think about all that? Can you say Wacko-Jacko? What is with people? What happens inside the brain to make people do such things (it's called body dysmorphia, the same thing that caused me to hack off most of my hair this weekend)?
I mean, those aren't breasts, those are a disability! Even a liability! A holycrapability!
Man. People never cease to amaze me.