Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Thursday, September 30, 2004

Krispy yet Kremey.

Quite a few, very wise, struggling and learned people inspired this post.
I generally believe that most labels are harmful.
On this note, the ONLY label I currently allow for my self is "mom."
Every other label that may be assigned to me is flowing, movable, changeable and temporary.
Labels make us think everyone with that "label" is alike.
When a person is labeled "xxxx" it conjures up a certain image. An individual with whatever label is a still undeniably a person (energy/soul) with unique dreams, goals and needs, just as we all are.

If you look at someone and you see him or her as "fat human, mentally ill person, home wrecker, Mormon" and this list goes on and on, you are essentially negating every other aspect of that person's life AND not seeing past their temporary human state.
I do not see Jo's son as Schizoid. I see him as a young man, a Father and a human with an incredibly difficult diagnosis and future ahead of him (in his temporary human condition).
I do not see a friend of mine as a "home wrecker" I see her as a Mother, a desperate, confused young woman, who is looking for any out for her and her children of her abusive situation (her temporary human condition).
I do not see my stepbrother as Autistic. I see him as a pure, emotionally absent soul on his current journey. He (and his temporary condition) is a teacher and the lesson is ours.
I believe that ones soul, ones eternal energy is infinite. This is just the current temporary state.
I do not see my best friend as a Mormon. I see her as a new mother, a struggling wife, and a struggling psychologist (her temporary human label.) Wait, hold everything, I do label her as a dingy blond because Damn it fits. ;o)
This temporary state may suck some serious donkey ass sometimes, but in my thinking, how can you appreciate (major metaphor ahead) Krispy Kremes, unless you have had liver and onions?
Also please, pretty please with a fucking cherry on top...Please understand that I in no way shape or form mean to trivialize or diminish or grasp the current human struggles that YOU are facing. Above all, please understand that.
I don't believe in re-incarnation because I don't like that word (I can do that, this is my blog). I do believe in "life after death" or more personally I believe that the energy that is me will carry on with those that I love into the next realm.
I don't believe in heaven or hell other than they can be the situations that we place ourselves in, in this biological form.
Now I'm going to get controversial (imagine that).
I believe that the serial mass murderizer (current temporary label) is an energy that is learning a lesson and serving a purpose. Possibly even a negative energy, although I haven't completley wrapped my brain around that concept yet.
How can we as (temporary but very real) humans appreciate life, or the lives around us, if we aren't aware of the many sick, sad, demented and biologically permanent ways that it can end? I for damn sure don't like what he is doing in his (temporary human condition) and lock him up already because I above all am a MOTHER and I swear you don't want to fuck with me on that. BUT, he has taught me a lesson to guard what I love and cherish.
This is the wrap up. Yes we have to judge people and place them in categories and regulate the effect they have on our (temporary biological) lives.
This is just something to ponder while you read the back of your captain crunch cereal box in the morning.
For future cereal box, or bowel movement inducing reading please see:http://ms-chievous.blogspot.com/2004/07/im-in-love-with-another-man.html





Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Mental Malaise

It’s a difficult thing sometimes to have Insomniacal tendencies, but it is what I am used to. I’m sure “insomniacal” is a word. Fight me.
It’s very common for me not to be able to go to sleep until 3 or 4 am (Pacific Standard Time ;o). This is when I get most of my reading done (and sometimes chatting).
I’m what you call a “slow sleeper”. It is very difficult for me to shut my brain off. It screams at me all hours of the night. I’ve tried to defrag and delete unnecessary files, and 6.2 gazillion other home remedies, to no avail. I’m just a night person. So I’m used this schedule.
I have to be up at 7 for school. Notta problem.
Last night I felt tired at 10:30, so what did I do? I went to bed, and what happened? I went to sleep. This was WITHOUT any chemical assistance, very odd indeed.

I fed the big yellow bus monster it’s morning meal, let the canines relieve their bladders and went back to bed? I slept until my cell woke me up at 11 am. WTF?

WHO IS THIS PERSON?

If I’m going to start sleeping at night, I will need to request more hours in the day.
Please observe the earth moving out from under me.
There is a gulf fixed between those who can sleep and those who cannot. It is one of the greatest divisions of the human race. -Iris Murdoch-
OK, so does this mean I have to join the human race?!?
I don't even have the right shoes!
Yes that is panic edging into my voice.

Labels:

Monday, September 27, 2004

Cottage cheese.

This is what happens when you try to do things yourself.
~Sorry that picture was just too damn big~
Yup, you either end up looking like an ass, or showing too much ass.

Nothing more than feelings.

I have to let someone know how much one of her posts affected me.
"The common denominator in your life is you...and in every relationship, situation, or circumstance is you....If that dynamic that you're operating is NOT getting you what you want....don't look to the other people to change or to the situations to alter...look within to alter your approach." - E.M.
I�m getting what I want. I'm comfortable in my spiritual skin, are you?
The difference between hardcore Zealous Dogmatics and myself is, I have very strong opinions. I even have unwavering beliefs, but I recognize that I wasn�t supplied the brainpower to comprehend everything. I believe what I believe but I admit that they are just my �beliefs� and not facts.
My anti-theist agnostic and very much decided mind remains open.
OK back up a little. I�m going to share the final straw. Take note that I am biased. I never believed. I just did the expected thing in Utard and played the game as well as I could up to the point where it started to make me soul sick.
One of my older sisters served her mission in Buenos Aires Argentina. When it was close to the time for her to come home she started to plan her �homecoming�. She asked me in a letter (because despite all Mormon doctrinal attempts, me and my siblings have always remained very close) to play �Canon in D by Pachebel� on the piano for her homecoming.
Of course if this is asked of me from my sister after her loss of 18 months of her life, of COURSE!! No question.
I put my unnamed anxieties (at that stage of my life) aside and hastily got to work on mastering the piece of music.
I did, I performed it. It was beautiful, and I say this comfortably, being that I am normally the queen of self-depreciation. I did it honestly and purely for her.
I was treated like 2-day-old dog shit.
I was told that me and my �illegitimate� (don�t make me expound on that fucked up word) child "blackened this sacred place�.
I didn�t leave because of the people. I never bought the horseshit fucked up Aesop�s fable they were trying to pander, but the people did make it a hell of a lot easier to not look back.
OK back on task. In my own warped way, I would be a little sad (possibly a little happy) if one of my dogmatic Mormon relatives didn�t have their beliefs to fall back on. It works for them.
Just like my theories and beliefs don�t work for them.
The issue of the harm a religion can and does do should be another post and possibly my life story.
I guess what I am trying to say is I�m fine with whatever �you� decide to cling to. If it works for you then that is good enough for me�and believe me, I have wrestled with the issue of not respecting my Mormon friends and relatives for years (because how stupid and brain-dead and weak would one have to be to buy that?).
We are essentially all on the same pubescent boat.
So sit on your fence. Enjoy that post up your ass. Praise your Allah. Drink the Kool-aid with Mr. Jones. Chant to the ceiling. Drink your five bloody Mary�s if it makes you feel better (oh wait, that's five hail Mary's right?). Whatever works for you. But if you knock on my door.......game on.
OK, OK�I know I�m rambling but its fucking 1:45 am here on the left coast, what do you expect? ;o)

Saturday, September 25, 2004

Please join me in my daily constitutional.

Walk up my three steps. Trip over the toys on my sidewalk. Don't even fucking knock on my door because that is SO against the rules. Anyway, walk inside, get attacked by two dogs. Please be patient while Moses sniffs your crotch, and Petunia bites your ankles. Notice the pure, blissful chaos happening. Yum. One 12 year old completely controlled by raging hormones"oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my freaking gosh!". One ten year old, MOOOOOooooom, Petunia shit on my homework, and it HURTS when I itch it!! ( I dunno, maybe try not itching it?)
5 year old twins, one with a cape thinking that he can climb the entertainment center and fly from it onto the sofa, and the other one with a mitt thinking that he can catch him. Yes!! Life is good!
Man: In the kitchen lifts up shirt to see what reaction it elicits from woman.
Woman: Thinks to herself "Game on" and stops mopping the floor and lifts up her shirt.
Man: Wonders if this was a fluke, and tries it again this time with "shakage" and finger licking and wet nippleage rubbing.
Woman: Lifts shirt and commences the "shakage" with finger licking and wet nippelage rubbing.
Man: Is completely naked in 1.2 seconds.
Woman: Has to hold onto the wall, because all strength has left her legs and she must surrender to horse laughing, loss of vision and urine leakage.
Welcome to my world.
Come on over anytime, life is good here.

Friday, September 24, 2004

Shoes are not Canoes.

This post IS NOT work safe. It is also not safe for children. This isn't going to be pretty. I don't even recommend reading it. I'll probably end up deleting this because it is just too painful.
~Sigh~
OK here goes.
I have a friend, a co-worker even, that I really liked and respected. That all fell apart Wednesday night. Some serious lines were crossed. I just don't have the same respect for him that I did. I can barely look at him now.
He.....
Kee-rist, OK, I'm just going to spill it, lay it all out on the table, I know I may lose some of your collective respect I may or may not have had after this post.
He... Oh shit, He...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
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..
.
He has bad sunglasses.
No you don't understand, really really bad sunglasses. I'm not fucking kidding here. The kind that they wore in 1990 that wrap around your face? Mirror lenses, with flames on the side. Like, VanillaIce bad.
Why I ask you, WHY? OH the PAIN! My eyes, it burns us! Is that even legal?
I could barely even type that out. I now have sweaty tongue.
I performed a "bad sunglass' intervention", also known as "BSI". I did everything I could to help him come to the "light side".
He asked.......he begged me to relieve him of them once he understood the errors of his ways. Maybe I should have. I'll probably have guilt over this for awhile, but I couldn't take them, not even to cure him of his affliction. I just couldn't bring myself to even touch them.
Then he did something so horrible and un-called for and really there isn't any excuse for it, he asked me to give them to my daughter!! WTF? It's all fine and good until you want to drag innocent children into your sickness!?
Ryan, please seek help.
I'm such a humanitarian.


Thursday, September 23, 2004

You, minion, are too saucy.

Gone fishin'

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Jo.

Admiralty Head Lighthouse at Fort Casey.
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Thursday, September 16, 2004

Yum! Yak Butter!!

I take great pride in my "sicking my daughter out" skills.
She is becoming quite schooled in the art also. In my line of work though, I have great opportunities to obtain amazing sicking out fodder. Therefore I am still the Yoda Mamma Master.
Do you have a specific word that just sounds horrible to your ears? Like someone scraping their fingers on a chalkboard sound? Mine growing up was “luckily” ~shudder~. My best friends word was skillet. Hehe, I worked that word into damn near every sentence (she is now a Psychologist, I’m not sure if it was for her, or because of me).
Anyhoo, my daughter’s fingernails on the chalk board word is…nipple…. just say it really slow, and you’ll know what she’s talking about. Nih pull.
I was sent home from work tonight sick. I really need to learn how to fake fevers because it gets ones ass kicked out the door quite efficiently.
All the more opportunity to spend quality time with those I love. BruuHaaHaaa. >:o)
Hey daughter, did you know that when ladies get old that they get hair in weird places? (Raised eyebrow response) Yes, so I was in the whirlpool room with an old lady tonight and believe it or not, she had hairy nih pulls. (Dry heave) and not just that, she was in the tub you know, and so she had moist hairy nih pulls(laughing, dry heaving and trying to give me a dirty look all at the same time), and then because bath time serves a purpose you know, next we had to wash her moist crevices, of which most were hairy (bowing to the Yoda Momma and retreating from the room).
Tomorrows topic is toenail fungus.
I always say, I’m not saving for college, I’m saving for therapy.
Amen.

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

Alex, I'll take "Things Only I Know" for $200"

With promptings of the spirit.....OK the spirit of kicking my daughters hiney if she complains one more time about how bad life sucks, I'm going to do as our fathers did and tell a little story. (not about a man named Jeb)
I'm going to recount one random day of my life growing up in Utard as a Mormon. Keep in mind that I just turned 30. This wasn't that long ago..shut up no it wasn't.

5am, everybody UP! You had to be fully dressed to walk downstairs. Scripture study was first, usually a half an hour, sitting up straight, if you got caught droopy lidded you were the next to read. Then breakfast then outside chores. Chores could be anything from splitting wood (I'm not fucking kidding) to loading up hay on the fourwheeler and driving out to the fields to feed the horses and cows. I especially remember how fun this was in the dead of winter when your boogers would literally freeze. (I'm not fucking kidding) Yes Dad, we should be thankful we at least had fourwheelers.
Then it was back in the house to shower, shave, defy gravity with your bangs and apply the aquanet helmet (I'm not fucking kidding) and get oneself off to school . Once or twice a week there was also the special treat of early morning seminary, or "firesides" although I never did see the damn fire.
In highschool and junior high in Utah you also got the wonderful opportunity (forced) to take seminary during school hours and actually got an elective credit for it.
~Dear ol' AF high, yes we will love you till we die, our banner bright with red and white....~OK somebody stop me.
After school, Chores came first. Then dinner with the obligatory 5 monotonous minutes of chanting to the ceiling before anyone could eat. I would often start gnawing on my own arm by the time my Dad would say "we say this in thenameofcheeseandrice, Amen."
After dinner it was Family home evening, home teachers, family council, or a mutual activity like how to make a heirloom jewelry box out of an egg crate (I'm not fucking kidding).
If your number was up, it was the FOREVER TO BE FEARED, called into the office for a guidance session with Dad.
That gave me sweaty tongue just typing it.
Often times I never even got the chance to do my homework because I was too dog damn tired and had been given 6.2 gazillion chores (once again gazillion is a word). I grew up on a small farm and the chores were endless. Homework was meant to be done on the bus on the way to school.
I hated Saturdays. Send me to school already. I remember one time in Kindergarten I got sat in the corner because my teacher told me I was a liar. I told her that we were not allowed to watch cartoons. EVERY child gets to watch Saturday morning cartoons right?
Sundays were the worst. It wasn't just the dresses and the 3 torturous hours of Testerbating until someone had a Morgasm either.
The older I got, the more after church Sundays I spent in the Bishops office. It made my parents feel better, and I think the Bishop got off on hearing all of my escapades.
The only TV programs allowed on Sundays were Lawrence Welk and Football, because you know, football brings you closer to Jesus?
Summers were the absolute worst. I refuse to even think about summers. You know it's pretty bad if you had to use Piano lessons as an escape.
Alas there were good times. I think my Dad in his own screwed up way was doing the best he knew how. My "mother" was and is just fucked.
But honestly the majority of my memories are happy. I talk to my Dad every Sunday in-between Lawrence Welk and Football. ;o) He turned 59 on Sunday. I really do love him. One outta two? Half empty half full? Nah, half water half oxygen is what I say.
Amen.

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Ego Syntonic.

I have my very own Neurosis. If you're nice, I'll let you pet it.
"Whenever she is in conflict with the world, the neurotic tends to automatically think that it is her fault. "
"A significant portion of our lot of existential pain through out life is the anguish of continually and accurately discerning what we are responsible for and what we are not responsible for."
It is my fault that the world is going to shit because I ate some chicken last night, or it's my fault that no one is posting at the fruit stand because my avatar is too whatever. I read this and laugh, I know it's not true but I still feel that way.
Next.
I can’t so much as step one toenail out of my door if even so much as a nose hair is out of place. I’m not kidding. If my panties and bra don’t match, then Dog forbid me ever even considering leaving the house?!? Chipped toe nail polish, fugget a bou't it. Not even an option. I mean get fucking REAL!? What would the ambulance drivers think when I crash and die and the bra and panties don't match? Unacceptable. It is of no consequence that no one besides me sees the panties. I know and so does Dog.
This is one of the un-realistic requirements I place upon myself. Myself!! I’m not appeasing anyone but my own little neurotic self with my antics. No one gives a rat turd about the chipped polish but me.
Just take the pill already you say?
I personally prefer socially absent neurotic obsessive chick to socially present flaccid robot girl. No you don't get to vote on it.
Which brings up another point. If one went to the ER with your leg chopped off, they would say "holy Batman!! This person is in pain!! Bring out the Opiates!! Poor poor chopped off leg person!!"
If one went to the ER with extreme mental pain, you would be shoved in a locked and padded room with a camera, avoided, snickered at, put off until the very last and labeled.
Physical pain is OK. Mental pain is not. Do we really wonder why there are so many alcoholics and junkies in the world?
This is oozing with caustic sarcasm but still true.
Vee Oh Oh Dee Eeh dubbleyou man, I made it to page 132, chapter 6 and Mr. Peck started to talk about some dude called "God"? I will try to sustain my intestinal fortitudes enough to carry on. No really, I've completely enjoyed his perspective and will just have to trust that he won't get too squishy on the God thing.
Amen.


Sunday, September 12, 2004

You don't really expect me to title this do you? I mean it really just speaks for itself? If you really feel cheated out of a title, make up your own

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Friday, September 10, 2004

Don't read this.

Dogs are NOT allowed on !leather sofas!
Then Petunia came along. She was SO skinny and sickly that I didn't even know if she would make it night to night when I got her.
Petunia was allowed on !leather sofas! because that just happened to be where my ass was perched at the time, and she really needed to be my lap dog for the first few months I had her.
Moses was still not allowed. OK, OK shut-up already, I'm not open for criticism. Petunia is 9.5lbs and doesn't shed and Moses is 72lbs and I have to swiffer obsessively. Big fucking difference folks.
So last night, (maybe it was 2am, maybe it wasn't) I get home from going out with Radiology, phlebotomy, DNS, nursing, staffing a PA and one doctor, and there is my sweet little Hairy ass (Moses) laying on his back......drooling.......sound asleep.......on .....my......!!LEATHER SOFA!!
I kissed his furry mug. I covered him with a little blanky.
Apparently, dogs ARE allowed on !leather sofas!

Dinner tonight, in my never ending emotional struggle with sustenance, was blackened Salmon (holy fucking orgasmic yummy) and broccoli. If you ask nice enough I will consider giving you the recipe (pronounced Ree Sipe).

I am determined. I had a moment. I have great inspirations. I think I will be attending PA school at the You Dub.
With my sonic ear 1000 I heard rumblings of an author name M. Scott Peck M.D.. I picked up a book of his at the library the other day. "Denial of the soul."
This book combined with an amazing conversation with a PA friend of mine, has motivated my anti-social, nerdy and pathetic ass.

Today was the "mothers" birthday. I didn't call. I feel a smidge guilty.
What the hell? I told you not to read this?
PPPppppppppp Ciao.




Wednesday, September 08, 2004

Groucho Jack


Please pardon the donkey ass sucking quality of my Camera, but you get the point. Heheh, wait.... NO ONE could possibly get the point of this besides me.
If I had a nickle for everytime someone called me strange. I would have....ummm......crap......well.......a shitload of nickles.

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

One oven to another.

ache of the core fails
often in the vacant drain
pressure constrained valve

Monday, September 06, 2004

Fat bottomed Beauties.

You say black. I say white. You say bark. I say bite. You say shark. I say hey man, Jaws was never my scene and I don't like Star Wars. (Sorry I disagree with you on this Freddy.) You say Rolls. I say Royce.
You say God. Give me a choice? You say Lord. I say christ, I don't believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman. All I wanna do is Bicycle, bicycle, bicycle.

I crawled outside of my lonesome box tonight and visited the local red neck hang out A.K.A, Walmart (puke). If any of you have viewed the DVD "Larry the cable guy" and laughed at it, you have essentially laughed at my pain.
The checker-out (literally) dude was probably in his 40's and felt the need to comment on the Pink Panther logo on my chest.
Dude, if you feel like checking out the damaged titties just do so.
Don't try to make small, pink panther, talk because I will call you on it, like I just did.
That's right, don't mess with the self appointed social hermit, because I have nothing to lose.
Why can't I just buy my fucking pop tarts and Corona in peace? Or to speak your language, why can't I just git-r-dun?
I swear to "whatever" that if I ever venture into another Hell/Wal-mart I will don sweat pants (holy vomit, there ought to be a law against sweat pants and Lycra) a "baby on board" T-shirt, a truckers hat and black out few teeth just to quiet the beasts.
I wish I could accurately describe the (mentally ill) feeling I get when someone leers at me.
It makes me feel like they have taken a physical "chunk", "piece" out of me.
Can't explain that. Don't even understand it myself. Not open for criticism.
I've had too much time off of work due to my damaged milk jug, and I am milking it. ROTFLMAO.
I'm 47 in blog years as of this post.



Saturday, September 04, 2004

No comment


Friday, September 03, 2004

Serenity

Moses, you are 72lbs, why are you hiding under my bed? You don't even really fit?
I personally thought that the pop rocks were a good idea. I mean C'mon, you can't blame me for wanting to share my pop rocks?
I promise I'll only do the masking tape thing on your paws one more time, I just want to get it on video for posterity.
OK fine, I won't blame my farts on you any more.
GEEZ, OK no more bows on your ears either.
Corona Light, I'll share my Corona light? With lime?
Wussy, maybe I shouldn't have had your balls cut off.
Screw you then, have you seen Petunia?