Friday, December 19, 2008

It's Getting Better All the Time

I slept well for the first time in weeks last night and magically I feel much better.  The Beatles said it well and I stole the words for my blog title.  It is funny how just 48 hours can effect a person.  I hope this lasts for a while.  I think it will.

I am not going to rush into posting the million things I have brewing tonight because I am very near sleep (two nights in a row!) and am aiming to do a nice job of posting when I do.  I might even proof read for grammatical errors before I click the publish button.  

These two pictures are exactly how I felt/feel:

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Pity, Party of One? Your Table is Ready.

Wow.  It has been a whole month and a half since I wrote anything here.  And this directly after stating I was going to aim for a once a week minimum.   I have a million and one catch-up items to post.  Cat stories, depression/sleep issues, food recipes, books, employment complaints, Sacramento joys, and all the rest.  


I am experiencing some serious withdrawal symptoms from Xanax,  which by the way is now my least favorite way to bring about sleep second only to concussive brain activity.  As I go through the chills, heart palpitations and general dysphoria I am also doing a bang-up job of avoiding functional actions and feeling terribly sorry for myself.  
So for now I am going to shut my pie-hole until I can come up with something that doesn't centrally address how hard it is to be me.  It may be a while again, but when I come back it will be with gongs a' banging and rhythm ribbons a' swirling.  Hoo-boy, I know you are excited!!

Monday, November 3, 2008

Runaway Bunny

When I was a little girl one of my absolute favorite books was The Runaway Bunny.  I adored the pictures and I think I identified with the little bunny character.  She (technically it is a he in the book, but in my mind it has always been a daughter sassing her mom) tells her mother over and over that she is going to leave and maybe never come back.  The mother says over and over that she will follow her little bunny and bring her back.  A classic story of a kid testing boundaries and identification of self versus unit.  It also comes with the assurance of intense love, dedication, and patience from the parental nurturer.  
I am not sure how this relates to how I am feeling lately, but the book won't leave my mind.  I suppose it hints at the urge we all have to be alone and adventurous in the world and yet know that somewhere, if we want to go back, there is a safe haven waiting for us.  A home.  

I just wrote a bunch of stuff and deleted it because it was too whiney, even for me.  

The gist of it came down to this:  When AM is out of town (which he is for campaign work) I increasingly realize how much I 1) depend on him, 2) don't particularly have close friends in Sacto, and 3) spend tooling around in my own head.  


These are not innately bad things, they just can morph into negativity if you let them.  It is possible that today I let them be bad for a few hours.  Okay, more like 20 hours, but let's not split hairs.  I am aiming to make tomorrow productive and hopeful.  One thing that certainly helps is that I am voting for Obama!  Bigtime excited.  Also, I will be voting no on 8 (the gay marriage ban in Cali) which is very important to me.  

Unrelated, my Halloween costume was a hit!  I had people coming up to me wanting to take pictures with "Uma Thurman" and one guy kept singing "Girl, you'll be a woman soon" to me.  I will post pictures soon.  I don't think I will ever tier of dressing up as something or someone I am not.  Especially if there is fake blood involved in the process.  


"I will become a bird and fly away from you."

"If you become a bird and fly away from me,” 

said his mother, “I will be a tree that you come home to."

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Meth-Heads and Sirens

Almost everyday I think about how convenient it is to live in a bustling downtown location.  Good food is all around, favorite dive bar is an easy walk and people watching is plentiful and entertaining.  It is only at night when the sleep I am urging to arrive flits at the edges of the bed and is scared away by the noises of a city that I review on the cons of urban living.  The freight trains come through town every hour or so and blast their horns at intersections.  I can usually block it out, but lately I seem to intuitively sense its nearness and wake up just in time (assuming I was ever asleep in the first place) to grit my teeth at the long whistles.  Last night no less than six emergency vehicles roared passed our house filling our bedroom with flashing lights and sirens on full blast.  Tonight I was treated to the serenading voices of a couple of crackies arguing about complete and utter nonsense.  They stumbled and skittered down the ally yelling obscenities only pausing so that one of them could hack up dinner, or a hairball.  Who knows.  

I have read stories about city-dwellers who visit the country or seaside and miss the rambunctious cacophony so much the relative quietness actually disrupts their sleep.  I have no concept of what that is like.  I have been thinking more and more of a very quiet vacation on the shore mostly because I crave the soft sounds that come with small vacation towns.  A car or two.  Wafting voices from a midnight stroll on the sand.  And the sea.  The sea. The sea.

A vacation is no where in the cards for me, but even just remembering the nights I have had in years past brings a bit of comfort.  I am fairly convinced there is nothing like falling asleep with the salt still clinging to your hair, your muscles tired from walking and jumping waves and the gentle throb of muscle memory convincing your tuckered out body that the waves are rocking you to sleep.  

Wistfully, I will reach for my earplugs and daydream about sandy locales until it turns into a visit from the sandman and real dreams come to take me away.  

Sunday, October 26, 2008


1.  I easily spend 2-3 hours on the internet every day.  I have favorite blogs to read, news to catch up on and the Daily Show is well, daily and must be watched.  I don't always get that much time as there are things such as work and errands and humans that take up plenty of the hours available to me, but generally I make up for it on the weekends when I lounge on the couch drinking Lact-aid and ruffling the cats fur absentmindedly.  This leads me to question why posting regularly on my own blog poses such a challenge?  Certainly I have frequent access to it (re: hours on web) and always an abundance of ideas to write about... I think it may be an energy level issue.  It takes more energy to post than I want to expend each day.  Hell, once a week is trying my endurance.  Anylazy, I am going to aim for posting more frequently.  Just little ditties about the trivial noise in my head.  Staying committed to it may sound relatively simple I suppose, but as a manic-depressive (emphasis on the depressive) commitment to any regular, dependable activity makes me quake in my boots.  

Thankfully the intense depression I was slogging against for the last 2-3 weeks (feels like months) has lifted and I am hoping I can enjoy a period of mid-ranging emotion.  With that comes the desire to engage in activities that I previously found entertaining.  And yes, I did steal that phrase from all the generic depression symptom quizzes out there (i.e. In the past month have you experienced any of the following?)  

2.  Halloween is coming up and I am going to have to rely on an oldy, but a a goody.  Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction, complete with syringe in chest and bloody nose.  Don't snort heroin kiddies!!  I would love to go more exciting and unique this year, but budgetary concerns (damn recession) limit my options to what I have already in my closet.  And yes, I have fake blood and a plastic dental syringe on hand.  Any good ex-theatre geek does.  Goddamn, I said goddamn!
3.  Cat Puke.  AM and I have found more cat puke in the last week in our house than ever before.  And as one of our cats has bulimia as far as I can tell, this frequency was really pushing it.  Turns out Elton John got into some chicken bones and ATE THEM ALL.  They were coming up for days.  He even yakked on AM's Playstation and controller.  Kiki Dee kept doing what she always does which is get separation anxiety from her food and scarf it down so quickly that she forgets to chew and promptly regurgitates it all up in front of her, wherever she is in the house.  Binge and purge surprises.  

4.  Fro-Yo.  Yogurt is the one dairy product I can eat without regretting later.  Something to do with the active-enzymes or some shit.  I don't really know why.  I do know that I am grateful, because what is a girl supposed to eat when she gets a wicked craving for chocolate ice-cream?  I know better than to eat ice-cream now.  I went through a brief denial phase, but bathroom trips don't lie.  Also, the whole trying to eat healthy, lose weight and feel better about myself program discourages chocolate sunday extravaganzas.  Enter fro-yo.  Specifically "Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie."  Holy-moley people, it is tasty.  And it is remarkably good for you.  5 spoonfuls and I am in dessert heaven mentally and with no discernible guilt hanging over me.  Huzzah!

5.  Our neighbor has been playing his acoustic guitar a fair amount today.  That would be just fine by me if he knew more than one song.  The one song on repeat (complete with waving tones, inconsistent beat and wrong notes)?  Wish you were here - Pink Floyd.  No, actually I don't wish you were here.  You know why?  I like you too much to submit you to this song that never ends.  

Monday, October 20, 2008

Attire of the Night

I just crawled out of bed to refill my water glass and caught a glance at myself in the bathroom mirror.  I stood mouth slack and head slightly tilted in confusion.  did a 3 year dress me?   I have miss-matched socks on to insure the copious amount of lotion I slathered on my feet earlier continues it moisturizing enterprise.  I also have a wife beater and a scarf on.  that it is.  

Now, I am not trying to encourage inappropriate images, but I found the sheer ridiculousness of this situation warranted sharing.  Does this happen to anyone else?  I feel certain it must.  

The Essential Piffle

It has been much too long between postings and for that I am sorry.  As similar to the time before, I have an overabundance of items/opinions/pictures/questions to present.  It is going to run the gamete.  

1.  High Art v Low Art:  I am a bit of a snob when it comes to the realm of the aesthetic.  I have used words like "derivative" and "insipid" about the things I don't like and "expansive" and "primal" as compliments.  I came across the question of what qualifies as High Art and what as Low Art when I saw the following pictures:

GASP! "delicate, joyful, subtle"

And this one!

"Bold, whimsical, a saucy take on a oft seen staunch print"
I say, High Art.  Done before, to be sure, but approached with a lightness of spirit and the exacting touch of reverence to the well respected wall prints.  Bravo.

And then we come to this:
Kendra Wilkenson as a painted lady for a playboy party.  Swaroski crystals and a vapid stare.  
And we simply cannot overlook the bold political statement these triplets are making in this year that each vote will matter.  

So, is there a line about naked body painting?  I've done it (in a private manner.  Very memorable sheets, even more memorable shower.  Paint can get up into some PLACES.  Too much, huh?)  When is it artsy-fartsy, when is it lurid, when is it all in good fun (i.e. naked bikers at the solstice festival)?  I don't know.  I just know I display my patriotism and my goodies in a much different manner.

2. The following picture I simply adore.  Yes, it places all it bets on me being a sentimental, forever romantic who has watched "love actually" well over 10 times.  Ding, ding, ding!!! we Have a winer!  Just look and try not to say a mental "aww"  Nothing like infatuation to get a heart a pounding.
3.  Starting Therapy again!  Don't worry I am not going to spill all my details here, but I did want to give myself a pat on the back in a semi-public way.  This blog was initially going to follow my experience from diagnosis to meds, to therapy and life-changes.  I of course got distracted by pretty pictures and other blogs that address the issues of mental health with greater finesse, research based opinions and dedication to those sharing the experience with them.  I prefer the flighty route that stops off in Munich for a couple of beers before taversing into Venice, dabbling in Freudian theory splitting off with Jung for a quick trip east to consider the true ramifications of the collective unconscious and settling back into my shrink's well appointed office to analyze just why I am so Pop-Eye like (I yam watta I yam).  For a moment of seriousness, I will be working through some very heavy stuff and the way I look at it is if I can heal over some things and share that experience with some who are in the midst of a similar struggle than I know no other greatness I can achieve.  So to start:  Family stuff?  Check!  History of cutting? Check!  Rape? Check!  
That should keep us busy for a few years, I figure.  Good thing my coverage allows me as many visits to see my shrink as I want in a calendar year.  That Bi-Polar diagnosis is good for something!

4.  I am painting again.  If I like what I do I will post shoddily taken photos of them here.  

5.  AM and I are going to form a band.  Between the two of us we can come up with million song titles and band names, but I want your input.   The basic theme is all genres all the time.  especially the campy ones and ones we can make fun of.  I want a tuba as our baseline.  My suggestion to be called "the Pretend-Doors" and only sing the Pretenders and the Doors songs hit the creative wall as we what to branch all over the place.  I still want to pursue that project, but at a later date.  I swear if someone steal this idea from me I will find them, cut open their chest cavity, break open their ribcage with my bare hands, reach in and box their lungs until they suffocate, drowning in their own blood.  I ain't playin!11!! 

Anyway.  Good Ideas?  Please share.  As in comment.  

6. The Yellow Submarine
Does too much need to be said?  I think not.  It is in the top 5.  I don't own it and I wonder how this atrocity has gone on without recourse for so long...  

7.  We end with two things that have no real bearing on anything at all.  I just like them and find myself surprise.  I never really got into the owl upswing in the last kitschy brew-ha-ha.  But this little blue guy settled his feathers ever-so fussily and said absolutely nothing.  I liked him immediately.  I had the feeling if I invited him over to tea he would never leave, never talk and just follow me around the house from room to room.  I would share my sandwiches with him and one day he would alight to my shoulder and let out the softest of cooing.  

Also these bar stools:  they are delightful and I need a lot of delightful in my life right now.

More tomorrow.  maybe even an over-arching theme will be present!  I know you are excited!!

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Autumnal Shade of Change

Sacramento had its first rain last Friday.  When I saw a real, big, splash-worthy raindrop I literally gasped (sounded like "EepWoop!) and the cats looked at me weird.  The trees are still mostly green and today we are back up to 86 degrees, but for a day or two, I was blissfully pulling out my sweaters and thinking about the boots I will have to buy this year to replace my falling apart ones from last year.  Oh darn.  I am thinking something along these lines:

and my favorite:

The big, daunting, I-keep-thinking-about-it-but-not-actually-doing-anything-yet project is the cleaning overhaul our place needs.  We live in a world of clutter and I cannot stand it much longer.  I want things to have places to be organized and surfaces that are not spilling over with unopened mail (eh-hem, AM!!), beauty products haphazardly strewn about (okay, that is all me) and just random shit that seems to appear from nowhere. 

I re-arranged the furniture in the bedrooms not too long ago and so the potential to make them look great is there, but it requires upkeep and neither AM or I are very good at that.  I believe we can do it though.  I am determined.  

The downstairs remains the most important area to address.  I am tired of our sad looking furniture, faded and cat-scratched beyond repair.  The dingy rugs and carpet that suck the life-force out of rooms doesn't help either.  SO!  I am declaring WAR on the house and am going to make it cozy and clean and organized for the next season.  Starting today.  

Today I am going to attack the book shelves.  Reorganize, dust and straighten.  

Crap, this is a boring post.  
Here, look at something funny:

And Something Pretty:

Monday, September 29, 2008

Customer Service

On a quick, positive note:
 I spent some time today catching up on necessary, but bothersome phone calls.  One such call was to a health provider to get the names and contact info for a referral.  I dread these calls. Invariably, it takes 15 minutes to get a human on the line, they breathe heavily into their headset and creep me out and are completely disinterested in actually serving the customer. And why should they be any different.  The people they deal with are demanding, impatient and the pay cannot be that great.  Recorded for quality control my ass.  
However, the gal that answered (in less than 5 minutes!) was cheerful, sweet and truly helpful. It was a rare treat and I am considering calling back just to chat with her about celebrity gossip and share recipes.  Okay, so that would be creepy, but maybe to speak to the manager and let them know they have a gem on their hands.   

1000 Words +

There is a car alarm that has been going off for 20 minutes, all my clients cancelled last minute today, and I have a headache.  Also, I think Kiki Dee has asthma.  What am I trying to say? Gonna opt for pictures this time.

This about sums it up.  


Links in order:  #1, #2, #3, and #4 is unknown.  Too bad, because I totally want a poster or T-shirt.  

Friday, September 26, 2008

Insta-Pundit (just add tiresome prez debate)

In the minutes leading up to the debate I got butterflies, the living room seemed to shrink and my laptop screen glowed with the colors of the flag.  Bang a gong, it is on!!!!  I lOVe AMeRICA!!1!eleventy!!!

And let me tell you, Barack was looking good.  He seemed a little nervous at first, but he found his flow... and then lost it.  Found it again and stayed on point most of the way through.  He connected with the viewer, made eloquent points as well as simple statements of position.  

Hmm, so everything should be looking up for the Dems right?  I am terrified it may not be the case.  Did McCain's bulldog (minus the lipstick?  wait, huh?) tactics, refusal to look at or direct comments to Obama come across as strong?  McCain's creepy grins never fail to give me the heebie-jeebies, but do American's still want a down-home, jolly neighbor or have we figured out facades are just that.  False fronts. Full-disclosure: when Obama playfully smiled in surprise at the outright inaccuracies John let loose, I got a little fluttery.  I guess I am not that much different than any other person.  If you have a good set of choppers, an effusive style and foreign policy that approaches issues on a regional level rather than state-by-state you will get me going.  

Shit, I am no good at this pundit crap.  I just really want Obama to win.  So badly.  I am increasingly scared that McCain will edge out with his one or two lines and increased press for those.  

Also, I really dislike Cindy McCain.  The vibe I get is straight up unpleasant.  I would not trust her.  I don't trust her husband and I cannot bear the idea of loosing more time and international reputation to shoddy leadership.  

I am all fired up about America, but the debate was lack luster.  Jim Lehrer let them avoid direct answers, get off-point and nit-pick piddling details while never addressing HUGE international issues.  Like AIDS/HIV, and, you know, the southern hemisphere.  

Monday, September 22, 2008

If This Is Wrong, Then I Don't Know What is Right

"As Thornton Wilder's Our Town reminded us, small-town people think a lot about the universe (as opposed to city people, who think only about each other)."

 -- John Updike, Odd Jobs: Essays and Criticism 

Old John is a bit of a bastard in much of his writing as far as I can tell.  He makes both women and men weak, slutty, distant, obsessed, lonely and often cruel.  Not the most hopeful author.  However, he engages the reader through brutal characterizations which I believe hint at certain truths in each of us.  We may not like how it sounds or looks on paper, but there it is.  

In this quote he gets it square on.  No one so succinctly captures the essence of Our Town as well as shines some insight into current societal roles and focus.  Well Done.

This May Be My Life Calling

I am actually being serious on this one.  The link is not to a shoe store or a pretty picture.  It is the advance degree I want to get at the school I want to go to.  I am trying to get up the gumption to start the grad school process for real.  There is the whole "logistics" aspect of it that remains to be determined, but one thing at a time.

If you are a nerd like me read about this program and try to tell me it is not a natural fit for my interests and mentality.  

Tuesday, September 16, 2008


Nearly all the people I spend time with in Sacto are anywhere from 2-30 years older than me.  I am almost always the "baby" in the group.  So when a few people asked how old I was turning this 15th, I would shuffle my feet and whisper "27" knowing that the response would unequivocally be "oh, you're so young!  You're practically a baby!"  

When a 40-something woman calls you young, you do not argue.  Basic rule.  And I have been following it diligently as the subject has come up.  Here's the thing, I am, for the first time actually feeling the number.  27 loomed up before me and I tried my best to pshaw it into the background.   But it dug in and insisted on staying.  This is the first year that my joking assertion that if you act like you are anywhere from 4-22, then your real age is affectively lowered by this perceived and displayed youth.  And I am still consistently getting carded, given the occasional comment on a well maintained face, and yes, young men still catcall me from their cars.  The stupid surface shit we all fall so hard for.  The stuff that doesn't last and shouldn't count.  It might be best if I just enjoy it while it lasts.  I do worry though and I have no idea what is going to happen when the gal at Trader Joe's doesn't request my ID when I buy $5 wine and stinky cheese.  

I am feeling old.  At least older than ever before, and by a measurable amount.  What I notice is that I don't want to be old.  Why?  What changed from last year?  I have not been able to put my finger on what is bothering me so much.  Perhaps it is the number itself.  27 seems awfully close to 30.  And 30... isn't that when you are really a grown-up?  Aren't I supposed to have more figured out by then?  Shitness, I have a lot of work to do in the next 3 years.  Either that or I need to act like a child in increasing amounts of time to shift my "real age."

On a completely separate note, I think all would be well if I lived here:

Big windows, big bookshelves and sea green accent furnishings.  All it needs is a pyrenees puppy dog asleep at my feet and jazz guitar wafting from somewhere in the house...

Thursday, September 11, 2008

How Anna Learned (again) That She Has No Impulse Control

This is what went down.  I have been eating very healthy lately and am generally trying to take good care of my body.  With me back in the car driving from client to client I tend to forget to bring healthy snacks/lunches, but so for I have only eaten at a restaurant once.  I am very proud of this.  The urge for something greasy, deep-fried, or dipped in chocolate came over me today though.  Instead of hightailing it to the nearest Carl's Jr, I pulled out my cliff bar and dried fruit bits and noshed on that.  And it was super tasty.  Crisis averted, right?  HA!  of course not.
I get home from work today and AM talks about the delightful cheeseburger with grilled onions he had for lunch.  My stomach started yelling at my brain "bring me low-grade beef with fries!!" rather loudly and after two hours of trying to reason with my belly, I totally broke down.  I dropped AM off at the Torch Club for his Thursday gig and sure enough hightailed it to.... McD's.  I know, I know!  I am just as ashamed to know me as you are.  

I do the drive through, because if you are going to be lazy and fat and gross, you have to go all the way.  I roll up to the pick-up window with my stomach singing joyful little ditties about the magic of hydrochloric acid and who knows what else.  The lady hands me a bag of food and a large coke.  

Me: Oh, I ordered a medium coke.  This looks like a large.
Big Lady w/ Crazy Blue Eye Shadow: Thas what your order says.
Me: Are you sure?  Maybe this is someone else's...
BLw/CBES: You had the double cheeseburgers, right?
Me: Yes (technically I only ordered one, but I felt correcting this lady on her grammar at 8:15pm on a Thursday night was ill-advised)
BLw/CBES: Well then this is yours.  Just take it, kay?
Me: Roger that.
BLw/CBES: What you say?
Me: Nothing.
BLw/CBES: okay, well have a good day.
Me: Night. It's nighttime.  (shit, I am such a prick) Thanks! 

I drive away, berating myself for being such a snob and, as we all do, blindly reach into the bag of grease to retrieve a fry.  The bag feels really full.... Come to think of it, it was pretty heavy when she handed it to me.  All I ordered was a double cheeseburger, a medium size fries a small choco shake and a medium coke.  I come to a stop at a red light and peer into the bag.  Holy shit 'n spin!  There is a large fries and Three (count them 1, 2, 3) double cheeseburgers.  Clearly this was not my order, or someone in the control room of the McD beast punched some pretty wrong buttons.  I am nearly home at this point and I realize I have absolutely no intention of going back and notifying BLw/CBES that my order was all jacked up in my favor.  

I settle in with the cats to eat and leave grease stains on the book I am reading ('The Origins of the Second World War in Asia and the Pacific' if you were wondering).  Now is when I advise you to avert your eyes if you have a weak stomach.  Here is how it tallied up 20 minutes later: I ate all the fries, drank all the shake, 75% of the coke and consumed 2 1/2 double cheeseburgers in one sitting.  Holy Gluttony Batman!!  It was like I couldn't stop!  

Now my stomach is whimpering in defeat and I am staring down at my food-baby belly, scared that some Mc-alien creature may pop out at any minute and start tap-dancing on my coffee table.  

Monday, September 8, 2008

Muscle Fasciculation

Which is the fancy medical term for irritating, repeated, useless muscle twitches.  Which is what my left lower eyelid has been doing for two days straight.  

A little googling and it confirms that it is happening for no real reason other than stress or anxiety in my life.  Here's my question:  when is any person, anywhere not experiencing some kind of unpleasant stress?  Do you ever have a day that is anxiety free?  If the answer is yes, I am no longer your friend.  I am sorry, but we can't relate and I will feel guilty about my constant complaining and that will cause me more stress and eye spasms.  Bad all around.

And, if you were wondering, no, wine is not a curative in this situation.  I tried, but to no avail.  

I think I am going to start a trend and make nervous tics the new must have fall accessory.  Who's with me?!