Warning: The following post is not recommended for pansies with weak stomachs.
Friends and family and blog followers are by now, never shocked with any of my body misfires. It's most often TMI, but I really do enjoy sharing these little tidbits with people. I should feel sorry for the recipients of my pictures and details, but I don't. I relish their reaction. Yes, I document everything with pictures. It often takes a few pictures if it's at an awkward angle, so sometimes people get more than one. LUCKY!
One recipient described a picture as looking like an "alien fetus". We'll not get into what that image was.
Another, more recent picture was described as "AMAZING!!!". (Is this starting to feel like a movie review to you? It should.) Do you want to know what picture was described as amazing? A green pimple. Yes, friends, a green one. You can try googling it, I did. And find no information. Maybe I should be worried. But it's too late for that because I popped it. I had to clean up the blood spatter from the wall with wet paper towel. Are you grossed out yet? I hope so. I'm so lucky to have such supportive friends who enjoy receiving pictures of these anomalies.
I told my dad the other day that he's really lucky that my mom lets me send her pictures and tell her stories about my body misfires, because otherwise he'd be scarred. There's no such thing as "TMI" for my family. They get to hear all my gory details. Hmm.. maybe that's why nobody skypes with me anymore...
From swollen masses of bone, to penis shaped bruises, to alien fetuses, to green pimples, my body is not a wonderland, but an enigma. I'm ok with that, because it's not like John Mayer's ever going to tell ME that it's a wonderland, and enigmas are much more interesting.
I feel the need to add that I was going to add a picture to this post, but couldn't. First I googled "body misfire", then "body enigma" and nothing interesting came up. Then I googled weird body. DO NOT EVER DO THAT. Unless you want to be scarred. It got worst as I scrolled down. So now I can't add a picture. I just can't.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Not Quite Dead Yet..
Is anybody still there? No? Ah well, I deserve it! I didn't mean to abandon my blog, it just... happened. I went from being busy, to having the stomach flu (Norwalk... AGAIN!) to having zero creative energy. Excuses, excuses, I know. I hate me. I'm working on a stellar piece about why men can't win, but in the mean time... ok, so I haven't started writing it, but it's in my head. Anyway, in the meantime, here's a poem I found on my old hard drive. I wrote it 4 years ago. I used to write a lot, and this one found its way onto my computer! I like this one. It's called "My Dreams Betray Me" and I could have a hundred different pieces with the same title.
Now.. to get cracking on this piece.. Who wants to climb into my head and write it out?
My dreams betray me with visions of you
I want to be her, that girl that you look at
To feel your eyes on me, cover me completely
Denial will keep my feelings at bay
It’s not that hard when I refuse to get hurt
A hard shell has formed
To keep you away
To keep me in
To mask the weakness that grows inside
Too embarrassed to let it show
I hate the girl who cries at night
I hate the one who abandoned me when she needed to stay
Where did I go?
 |
| This is a picture I took 4 years ago. I know. Blonde. |
Now.. to get cracking on this piece.. Who wants to climb into my head and write it out?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Childhood "Dreams"
I look around me, where am I? I recognize this place, that swing, those trees. I realize that I'm in the park by my house, but where is everybody? I see the jungle gym, the monkey bars, the swings, and finally the trees that border the park, my park.
I can feel something before I can see it. A vibration in the ground that almost knocks me off my feet. It reminds me of when someone jumps too close to me on the trampoline. I feel an uneasiness in my stomach, and out of the corner of my eye, a large shape appears.
It must be my imagination, it has to be. There is no way in hell that a dinosaur the size of half the park is coming my way. But no, the earth shaking tells me that it's not an illusion, it's a stegosaurus.
I slowly back away, then try to run, but as with all dreams, my feet feel like they're stuck in cement. Suddenly I'm far away from my house, but I have to warn my family. I try screaming at people nearby, "RUN!", but nobody hears me. They wouldn't believe me anyway. My heart pounds. I know there will be more. It will be too late.
Another, more massive dinosaur looms into view, a brontosaurus. He's moving slowly, but he's not happy. He has a baby with him, and he's protective. I try to run the other way. Danger is close. I can feel it in my bones.
My house is steps away, and I slam the door, my heart thumping in my chest, as a velociraptor bangs against the door. He can't get in. But I know what comes next. It always does. I hold my breath and look for a place to hide where he can't see me. His eye, bright and yellow and glaring, is staring at me suddenly from the floor to ceiling window in our entrance. I scramble to another room, the living room, but the tyrannosaurus takes a couple steps and sees me through the bay windows. It's too late to hide anywhere here, he's going to crash into my house at any moment.
For a split second I feel he might not be looking at me, and I bolt up the carpeted winding staircase and lunge into my room. By now he's realized that I'm gone from the living room, and I have seconds to hide behind my bed. At my bedroom window, I realize, he sees me. My foot. He can smell me now. I should have hid in my closet, there are no windows there. Do I have time? I'm frozen to the spot, unable to breathe for fear that it will break his still and that will be it. I can't even cry, I can't utter a sound, I can't call out, I'm stuck here.
I feel like the house is about to be broken apart, it shakes with such violence and the noise is deafening. He calls out, that high pitch cry. This is it. I close my eyes, and then someone calls my name.
**
Words of advice: Don't ever let your kids see Jurassic Park. This nightmare (along with one where it's a giant) haunted me for years. YEARS. Sure, I'm a pansy and I hate scary movies, but if your kid has any type of imagination, do not let them watch it. I actually still watch Jurassic Park when it comes on, it's sick, I know, but I can't help it. That scene with the velociraptors still scares the piss out of me. Now, aliens, that's another story. I could write a book on how many hours I lay frozen in my bed, deathly afraid that there were aliens in my bedroom in the shadows. I would have killed for a simple boogey man.
I wrote this as the second writing prompt from Studio 30 Plus, the first was on Concrete. They're amazing, and I am in love with these writing prompts that get my creative juices flowing. Even if this one will probably result innightmares night terrors.
Interesting how I call myself a strugglesaurus. Noting to talk to my therapist about this.
I can feel something before I can see it. A vibration in the ground that almost knocks me off my feet. It reminds me of when someone jumps too close to me on the trampoline. I feel an uneasiness in my stomach, and out of the corner of my eye, a large shape appears.
It must be my imagination, it has to be. There is no way in hell that a dinosaur the size of half the park is coming my way. But no, the earth shaking tells me that it's not an illusion, it's a stegosaurus.
I slowly back away, then try to run, but as with all dreams, my feet feel like they're stuck in cement. Suddenly I'm far away from my house, but I have to warn my family. I try screaming at people nearby, "RUN!", but nobody hears me. They wouldn't believe me anyway. My heart pounds. I know there will be more. It will be too late.
Another, more massive dinosaur looms into view, a brontosaurus. He's moving slowly, but he's not happy. He has a baby with him, and he's protective. I try to run the other way. Danger is close. I can feel it in my bones.
My house is steps away, and I slam the door, my heart thumping in my chest, as a velociraptor bangs against the door. He can't get in. But I know what comes next. It always does. I hold my breath and look for a place to hide where he can't see me. His eye, bright and yellow and glaring, is staring at me suddenly from the floor to ceiling window in our entrance. I scramble to another room, the living room, but the tyrannosaurus takes a couple steps and sees me through the bay windows. It's too late to hide anywhere here, he's going to crash into my house at any moment.
For a split second I feel he might not be looking at me, and I bolt up the carpeted winding staircase and lunge into my room. By now he's realized that I'm gone from the living room, and I have seconds to hide behind my bed. At my bedroom window, I realize, he sees me. My foot. He can smell me now. I should have hid in my closet, there are no windows there. Do I have time? I'm frozen to the spot, unable to breathe for fear that it will break his still and that will be it. I can't even cry, I can't utter a sound, I can't call out, I'm stuck here.
I feel like the house is about to be broken apart, it shakes with such violence and the noise is deafening. He calls out, that high pitch cry. This is it. I close my eyes, and then someone calls my name.
**
Words of advice: Don't ever let your kids see Jurassic Park. This nightmare (along with one where it's a giant) haunted me for years. YEARS. Sure, I'm a pansy and I hate scary movies, but if your kid has any type of imagination, do not let them watch it. I actually still watch Jurassic Park when it comes on, it's sick, I know, but I can't help it. That scene with the velociraptors still scares the piss out of me. Now, aliens, that's another story. I could write a book on how many hours I lay frozen in my bed, deathly afraid that there were aliens in my bedroom in the shadows. I would have killed for a simple boogey man.
I wrote this as the second writing prompt from Studio 30 Plus, the first was on Concrete. They're amazing, and I am in love with these writing prompts that get my creative juices flowing. Even if this one will probably result in
Interesting how I call myself a strugglesaurus. Noting to talk to my therapist about this.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Meme is pronounced "meeeem"
Sooo, this is going to be the most awkward video you will ever watch. Ever. It's a meme. You will see.
Anyway, Kristine at Wait in the Van (she makes me laugh a lot, and sometimes cry) did this meme. An accent meme.
The scene opens in my little cabin apartment. If the first thing you see isn't the wood (oak) paneling, then it will be the second. And then you will notice the glare from my glasses, which I thought I was able to avoid, but apparently not.
Here are the Q's
Anywho, the video is already too long for what it is so I'll stop talking.. errr... writing.
Oh god... enjoy.
Yayy my first vlog.... oh wait. No, it's totally embarrassing. Is it too late to do another take??
Anyway, Kristine at Wait in the Van (she makes me laugh a lot, and sometimes cry) did this meme. An accent meme.
The scene opens in my little cabin apartment. If the first thing you see isn't the wood (oak) paneling, then it will be the second. And then you will notice the glare from my glasses, which I thought I was able to avoid, but apparently not.
Here are the Q's
- Your name and/or username
- Where you’re from
- The following words: Aunt, Roof, Route, Wash, Oil, Theater, Iron, Salmon, Caramel, Fire, Water, Sure, Data, Ruin, Crayon, Toilet, New Orleans, Pecan, Both, Again, Probably, Spitting Image, Alabama, Lawyer, Coupon, Mayonnaise, Syrup, Pajamas, Caught, Orange, Coffee, Direction, Naturally, Aluminum, Herbs.
- What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house? [on the night before Halloween?]
- What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?
- What do you call gym shoes?
- What do you say to address a group of people?
- What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?
- What do you call your grandparents?
- What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?
- What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?
- What is the thing you change the TV channel with?
Anywho, the video is already too long for what it is so I'll stop talking.. errr... writing.
Oh god... enjoy.
Yayy my first vlog.... oh wait. No, it's totally embarrassing. Is it too late to do another take??
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Etched in Concrete
I often look down when I'm walking. At first, it was because I didn't want to catch others' eyes, and sometimes it was to avoid stepping in something that would probably ruin my shoes, and my day. But then I really started to look down. I started to see things etched or buried in the sidewalks. Testimonies of love, dates, messages written in permanence.
Someone once stood where I stand now, hunched over, writing R + L, then slowly scraping the perfect heart around those letters. Was it day time? Was their lover with them? Did they have to avoid getting caught by the construction workers? Did they run off together afterward, giggling; did they realize that someone like me would be looking down on it years later? I wonder if R + L are still together. Maybe they still walk by this very etching, hand in hand. I hope they didn't forget. They captured a moment in time, after the cement had started to dry, but before it completely solidified, where R really did love L.
I see a key amongst rocks embedded in the cement on 82nd and Broadway in Manhattan. I stop and stare and bend down. That key could have just as likely been layers further down and not visible, hiding. But it is here for me to see. Someone may have lost that key. What did it open? Did it keep any secrets? Was it the only one, momentarily keeping its prisoners captive, safe, locked away? How long has this key been here for, how many people have stepped over it unknowingly? Looking at the stones in the cement surrounding it, it has been here for quite some time. Cement has changed over the years, it is now white and opaque, or black. I imagine that this here section of cement is decades old. This key has seen a lot; many shops have come and gone, fashions have changed, cars have evolved and are maybe a bit quieter than when that key first ended up there.
1959. Fifty two years ago, the cement had a lot more character. I know this because where I live, the cement is dated. For whatever official purpose it serves, to me it tells a story. From the slabs dated 1959 to 2009, they become gradually less interesting, flawed, beautiful. The story begins to fade, each year the cracks between the slabs get further and further apart. Will kids soon forget the rhyme we grew up with? It plays over and over in my head: "Don't step on a crack, or you'll break your mother's back". I never stepped on the cracks.
As these sidewalks slowly get ripped up and replaced with new, cleaner looking cement, stories are erased, declarations of love are forgotten, hidden jewels become lost forever.
Someone once stood where I stand now, hunched over, writing R + L, then slowly scraping the perfect heart around those letters. Was it day time? Was their lover with them? Did they have to avoid getting caught by the construction workers? Did they run off together afterward, giggling; did they realize that someone like me would be looking down on it years later? I wonder if R + L are still together. Maybe they still walk by this very etching, hand in hand. I hope they didn't forget. They captured a moment in time, after the cement had started to dry, but before it completely solidified, where R really did love L.
I see a key amongst rocks embedded in the cement on 82nd and Broadway in Manhattan. I stop and stare and bend down. That key could have just as likely been layers further down and not visible, hiding. But it is here for me to see. Someone may have lost that key. What did it open? Did it keep any secrets? Was it the only one, momentarily keeping its prisoners captive, safe, locked away? How long has this key been here for, how many people have stepped over it unknowingly? Looking at the stones in the cement surrounding it, it has been here for quite some time. Cement has changed over the years, it is now white and opaque, or black. I imagine that this here section of cement is decades old. This key has seen a lot; many shops have come and gone, fashions have changed, cars have evolved and are maybe a bit quieter than when that key first ended up there.
1959. Fifty two years ago, the cement had a lot more character. I know this because where I live, the cement is dated. For whatever official purpose it serves, to me it tells a story. From the slabs dated 1959 to 2009, they become gradually less interesting, flawed, beautiful. The story begins to fade, each year the cracks between the slabs get further and further apart. Will kids soon forget the rhyme we grew up with? It plays over and over in my head: "Don't step on a crack, or you'll break your mother's back". I never stepped on the cracks.
As these sidewalks slowly get ripped up and replaced with new, cleaner looking cement, stories are erased, declarations of love are forgotten, hidden jewels become lost forever.
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