Suicidal Snowflakes

Just because I have a short attention span doesn\’t mean I…

So sorry for sucking

Yeah, haven’t been doing what you could call “blogging” lately.  Been sick since I’ve been in LA.  Like… seriously.  First I had the Cold that Never Ends (yes it goes on and on my friends) Now I have some kind of stomach thing that is making me barfy all the time.

I just wanna be well!! WAA!!

And I want the weather to stay warm enough to break both legs and a wrist trying out my new rollerblades!


March 17, 2007 Posted by | Angst, Sick or/of sleep | Leave a comment

Have I mentioned how much I effing hate snow

Have I? I can’t remember–it’s been like twenty minutes.  Seriously.  It’s been snowing for like three days and I’m tired of wet cold feet. I’m tired of wet pants after I clean off the car, which I have to do every single time I stop somewhere.  Sick of wet socks. I’m sick of the whole bit of it, and I’m also sick of not being able to find boots without heels in my size.

And I’m grumpy and I’m miserable and I’m wet and I’m cold and the whole world should sod off. All of it.

And I haven’t been to the gym all week because I dont want to get cold and wet any m ore than I need to.  I hate everybody and everything and I hate winter.

January 26, 2007 Posted by | Angst | Leave a comment

Grammar spaz attack

Can I have one??

well, tough sh-t, this is my blog.

I kin talk ril informal like da next schlub.  I like to have an Arn whens I’z watch da Pixsburgh Stillers.  Me an’ my  posse likes ta have some cookie cake when we’z doin’ that.

That being said–I hate it when people who act like they’re better than me or smarter than me abuse the English language in a formal setting.  I go nuts when I see it in official communications. I even get nuts over it in official, formal oral communications.  It’s not ‘please talk to I or So and So,’ you rube.  It’s ‘please talk to Sandy or me.” The Me/I, he/him thing makes me nuts. But I found a new thing that made my head explode.  This is on an official webpage for something… It says “A RXYZ” What came after the R isn’t important.  You just need to know it’s an acronym.  And it said A R.  R actually starts with an ah sound, if you’re saying the leter name.

It also happens that the usage of a or an deepends upon what SOUND it makes, not what letter it is.  Like, if you’re from the UK and you’d say “herb” and pronounce the h, then you have “a herb garden.”  Around these parts, the h is silent so it would be “an herb garden,” even if you’re writing it and not saying it. This is fact.

Basically… i’m right, they’re wrong.  Oh yeah and i’m hardcore seepy.  spellink iz opshinal at this pooint

December 14, 2006 Posted by | Angst | Leave a comment

May I have a whine? Too bad, I’m taking it.

So I went to the grocery store and got some lunch.  A trifecta of pudding, if you will.  There was other stuff, too, but the pudding is the important part of this story.  There was tapioca, which is lovely, there was pumpkin. Yes, pumpkin pudding.  Well, it was more of a mousse, but pudding is pudding, man. I like pumpkin anything. Another story for another time.

I start in on the green stuff, thinking it’s pistaccio… the sh-t is mint-flavored pudding.  Do you know how gross that is?? I hate mint.  Not mint like the mint leaf, that’s ok.  Mint like…  candy canes.  I hate candy canes.  They remind me of Christmas.  And Christmas reminds me of my mother going insane. I don’t know why holidays make her more nuts-er than usual, they just do.  Candy canes especially remind me of all the (many) christmases when she woke us up screaming “Merry Christmas, mother f-ckers!” Sigh.  Holidays always involved lost sleep to mom’s insanity.  So yeah.  Pudding gave me flashbacks today.

Uh, what else?

The cats are weird.  Aggy thinks she’s a lot bigger than she is, still.  I think PK’s finally starting to wear her down, tho.  Aggy will let PK lick her face and clean her for varying periods of time before she tries to deal killing blows to PK’s stomach and PK is forced to bite her neck.  I’m reminded of how my siblings can’t get together without violence.  Full Contact Uno.  I’ll just leave that as it is.

I’m flying higher than a kite right now–when you don’t have any caffine, like, ever, a small dark roast (least amt of caffine thats not decaf) will send you bouncing off the walls and vibrating through the floor before you’re even half done.

Gotta clean my desk–tour is coming through here monday.  Might decorate for Christmas while I’m at it 😉 squee and weee and YAAY! And I bought christmas lights so I can decorate my tree and it’ll be happy and pretty and not at all like Christmas with my mum.


December 2, 2006 Posted by | Angst, Holiday | Leave a comment

So here it is…

I’m 27 years old today.  Last year of my “mid twenties.”  I’ll have to call them late twenties next year.  Wow.  I’m almost out of my twenties.  Sounds so odd when you say twenties repeatedly… sounds weird, like something you want to escape, like your teens.  But what’s the alternative?  Your thirties? That’s still not a whole lot right there.  Not like my life’s…over or anything the minute I hit thirty.  But I’m having one of those times where I wonder where the time went, what I did with my life and why I wandered so aimlessly for so long.  Maybe I’ll get a doctorate next.  Maybe I’ll end up at another job like my current job, but just in another field.  Maybe I can actually get fiction published.  Of course, that would require getting off my ass and submitting sh-t, which I won’t do because I’m a fraidy cat.  I guess what I want for my twenty seventh birthday is some balls. I have a feeling all I’m going to get is a crappy gift card from my dad (if he remembers and gets me anything at all, that is–there’s a whole turgid story about how he’s spent my birthday the last few years–I thought I’d been blocking it rather well, but apparently not), and Doctor Who series 1 from my husband.  Mom may try getting me something lame, it’s not her fault, she just can’t shop for anyone, bless her little heart.  Sadly guts and medication for social anxiety disorder are not on the menu for the birthday this year.

November 19, 2006 Posted by | Angst, Thoughts | 2 Comments

Angst of teenage proportions

1) Been raining here since, like, forever.  Seriously.  Tired of the rain. Of course, I should be happy.  If it’s raining, then it’s not snowing.  I hate snow even more than I hate rain.

2) James quit his job today.  OK, so that’s actually a good thing, for him.  But it makes me sad because I’m still working my job.

3) Still can’t eat anything with texture.  Did I tell the world about this yet? So I totally had this “cellery incident” on monday, ended up gaging for two hours before I managed to ralph it up.  Neon green puke–yum.  Now everything’s all irritated and stuff and I can’t eat anything more difficult than pudding, which is sad because there’s a lot of cheese in the world that needs to be eaten.

4) Still don’t have my new mac.  Sad story involving three business days and a bunch of other yadda yadda yaddas.  It’s only bumming when my current mac decides to have epaleptic fits.  It’s up to like once a day now, so I have a feeling I may need to put it in a coma soon to save it’s life.

5) The bathroom at work smells funny.  There’s a glade plug-in jacked into the wall that’s shooting out the smell of gingerbread every five minutes (which is disturbing… the last thing *I* want is the place where I deficate to smell like cold afternoons spent baking with my grandma as a child)… but the spray air freshener is a spring flower mix.  It’s freaking my nose out and giving me complexes.

…And that’s all for now, I guess. Enjoy the pictures, kids.

November 17, 2006 Posted by | Angst | Leave a comment


26 is too young to have former lives.

Sometimes I stare at the grey walls and the grey carpets and grey cubicles in my office, and I feel so very… insignificant and ordinary.  I forget that I’ve done cool stuff in my life.  Here’s a reminder to hopefully cheer me up (or depress me into committing suicide–either’s OK):

-Started doing professional theater (for which I was paid-much to the chagrin of one of my high school teachers who thought I should be doing it for free.  Yeah, like I’m going to be that altruistic and turn down money ‘oh no, I’m just doing this for the experience.’)

-Was accepted to a good and renowned conservatory.

-Was in a cathedral choir in two major cities.  

-Lived in Chicago from 17-20 all by my widdle wonesome and had big-city adventures. Again, all by my widdle wonesome.   

-Started college when I was 17

– Graduated college when I was 20

-Did an ass-load of shows in two different major cities, including an opera in Chicago.  Shit, I’ve done Peter Pan in TWO cities in the same year. And I got freakin’ paid for most of them. I didn’t suck nearly as badly as I thought I did, I guess.  I just stopped doing theater when my sister got sick, and just never refound the thrill, the time or the desire.  Writing is a solitary sport, which is great when you have crippling social anxiety disorder.  

-Dated an Australian medical student who once sent me flowers at work.  (Mostly this just falls into the cool and exotic category–I’m feeling depressed about not having traveled as much as I’d have liked to, living 2 blocks from the house I grew up in, and not having the prospect of time off for a vacation or $$ for traveling any time soon)

-Once met Ray Liota and Gillian Anderson (same day!)… wasn’t brave enough to talk to them, though a friend did pinch Anderson’s discarded water bottle and created a weird gay shrine to her in his living room.  Creepy, yet cool. 

-Got a full time job when I was 21 with a retirement fund and everything! (yes, my retirement fund has been collecting $$ since I was 21–both cool AND depressing)

-Went to NY with a good friend and saw like 6 shows in two and a half days.  Also went to Hershey with said friend and saw shows in Pgh with her too… not only was she NOT shy (I’m too shy to talk to ANYONE)… but she was friends with like half the cast of every show we went to see.  I went backstage and in the dressing rooms after a Broadway show once, and I just kind of stood there, letting her gab away.  I was just kind of dying inside the whole time.  That’s the same way I feel whenever I’m at comicon and my husband’s gushing like a fanboy, and I’m praying… don’t notice me, don’t mention me… oh shit, you mentioned me… Oh crap, now they expect me to do more than wave… NO idea why I’m dysfunctional like this.  I don’t like talking to people I don’t know in general, even to just ask for directions, but it’s even worse when it’s someone who’s work I know and admire. 

-Met a guy on the internet, on Sept. 11, 2001, whom I later married (and despite being clueless, he is cute and adorable and loveable and the greatest guy in the world). 

-I’m a classically trained soprano.  So myeahh. of course, I have no time with my unfortunate work schedule and school to actually do any shows or join any good local choirs, so it’s kind of like the solitary sport of writing, but with singing for me right now… especially since I stopped taking voice lessons since my voice teacher passed away.  I hope to remedy that later this month.

-I’ve written two novels from beginning to end (thank you, nanowrimo!).  I’m sure neither are very good, and neither have been published, but I FINISHED. I wrote “The End” and meant it! Most people spend their lives thinking about writing a novel or wanting to, and I actually did it.  I should pat myself on the shoulder.  

-Was accepted to a good graduate school (this is where it starts to get dry and boring, even to me) 

-Considered a Mac “specialist” at my job.  Entitles me to no special privileges, but it’s sweet that they hand that stuff to me.  

-Have managed to survive all of undergrad, six years at my current job and half of undergrad with unchecked severe depression and undiagnosed ADD.  Life’s better with the ADD in check and the depression was doing better until a few weeks ago.  Probably time for a meds check, I guess.  But seriously, I could have been a wastoid… someone with potential who never got her shit together.  My life didn’t turn out how I hoped, but I managed to schlep through fairly OK.  I have a real job, and I didn’t have a shotgun wedding.  So many of my friends didn’t go to college because of getting pregnant, or because of not wanting to, and now they’re working in fast food and/or getting divorced.  I might not be doing actual fulfilling things with the writing or the singing, but at least I have the HOPE of that stuff going somewhere some day.  Hard to do that with two kids and a minimum wage job.  Hurray for me for keeping my shit together long enough to get a degree!

-Have been published.  Once.  It’s not much, but it’s something, I think.  It must count for something.  

-Had 6,000 hits on a story I wrote which was online in the course of 3 weeks.  Not bad for a spaz lacking the self esteem to submit stuff to publishers.

-People whom I don’t know, and often whose blogs I don’t read in a reciprocal fashion tune in regularly to my blog.  I speak into the void and people listen! Apparently in space, they CAN hear you scream.  

-I’m still a huge spazoid, but I’m far less socially inept than I was in high school.  I can even “blend in,” even though I don’t think I’ll ever be socially…adequate.  I’m quite a snazzy dresser, I’ve been told I accessorize well, and I am quite adept at the art of disguising myself as an adult.

-Despite how lame my life was in high school and college, I have actual friends now who arn’t even backstabbing bitches.  It’s exciting.  Of course, my solution to the whole “evil backstabbing bitch” thing was to just have all male friends.  Except for my one friend who’s a lawyer and actually likes to read my stuff.  I guess, in general, I’m amazed that I’m likeable to anyone, much less people who aren’t the lowest common denominator (read: unwashed masses). 

-I have better grammar and writing skills than most of the lawyers  she deals with.

-I can hang drywall, drop ceilings and cabinets and build a deck.

-I can paint and do crafts without a “pattern” and could be considered, in some circles, at least an adequate artist

-I’m a much better speller now than I was in high school.

-I survived 2 years of living at the YMCA.  I’m sure it’d be fodder for writing stories if I hadn’t managed to so effectively block that entire period of my life.  

-I have highlighted my own hair and have lived to tell the tale.

… *sigh*

…Stuff that all sounds great at cocktail parties, but, really…just isn’t all that impressive to me.  Everything just feels so bla and dead and hopeless.  I guess that’s one reason why I need to go back to the dr’s and do something about the meds, or something.  I need the Stepford wife pill.  Something to turn me into the type of automaton they’re looking for at work (though I’m sure they wouldn’t mind an Auton either).  

I feel like all my best years are behind me, the years when I could have taken any one of those paths and ended up in a cooler place, and now I’m stuck on a path that will keep me a ‘suit.’ The whole ‘suit’ thing to me just conjures this sterile unchanging, unthinking, unmoving landscape in my eyes.  Like I’m destined to walk in a void for all time… sensory deprivation until I die.  

I feel very pessimistic.  Pessimistic and Calvinistic.  And I mean… pessimistic even for a Calvinist. Which is upsetting.  I feel like… why bother doing ANYTHING.  We all just end up dead and rotting, whether we’re a king or a pauper or an ax murderer or nice person.  Sure, there’s all that afterlife stuff, which I do believe in, and I may play the part of a heathen, but I do still worry about behaving myself and treating others (even my waste of human flesh father) in a Christian manner…but for some reason I can’t see that right now.  I look at how tired I am every Sunday, and I can’t fathom dragging myself to church where I may or may not have my brain stabbed out by subtext or my head exploded by the music or what actually goes on there. 

I should be able to suck it up and deal, but it’s just too emotionally wearing–because I DO care.  It’s supposed to be a refuge, not ‘lets see how much emotional torment I can tolerate for the next 65 minutes’ when it starts in the church parking lot, the actual decor is visually assaulting, then you listen to/watch people and it’s just… you need duct tape.

You need duct tape to wrap around your head to keep all the pieces where you can find them after your head explodes.  And I don’t even have the energy to do more than know intellectually that I should feel guilty for not going to church on Sundays. I just can’t bring myself to deal with people.  What’s worse than actually having to deal with people in the real world is dealing with them at church.  It makes it a thousand times more stabby in the brain-y.

I am also just SO exhausted, trying to fit in all the things I’m “supposed” to be fitting in.  EVERYTHING happens at a weird or inconvenient or down right impossible time.  I’d have to take a vacation day to go to confession. But I can’t even take vacation days for actual vacation (haven’t had a “real” break from work in almost a year) because I need to use them for school due to some circumstances outside of my control.  Tired of driving hither and thither. Tired of getting up early, tired of waking up early and being unable to sleep when I can sleep in… Tired of not doing the stuff I’m supposed to be doing for my health as perfectly as I’d like, or the doctor would like.  But I’m just not made out of money, and I just don’t have unlimited time.

Crawling into my hobbies and hiding there is about the only thing that’s keeping me alive right now.  My favorite place in the world is sandwiched between the blankets of my bed with the comfy mattress topper… warm and safe.  Only time I feel really at ease any more. Wish I could deal with “reality,” but at the same time… do I really wanna?  Reality is so… stark and cold and awake and unfortunate.  

Basically this is the sad manifesto of someone who’s overworked, burnt-out and sleep deprived.  I guess it’s ‘progress’ that I can at least intellectualize the feeling and not just slit my wrists  outright. 

Oh yeah, and I’m really tired of being in the middle of my parents’ problems and divorce.  Mom’s crazy and she makes me nuts, but my dad… lets put it this way… God’s purpose on this earth may possibly only be the following:

Warning to others

CO2 generator (plants like co2, otherwise he’d be a total waste of oxygen)

Eventual fertilizer.

I hate talking to him.  My mom’s deranged, and she’s painful to talk to sometimes.  Dad’s painful to talk to ALL the time.  Total self-absorbed narcissist with possible psychopathic tendencies. I’m not asking him to put his kids first, but just  being on an even keel with him and his own needs would be nice. Emotionally and materially.

My husband wants me to write something “more personal” this year and a little less scifi-horrory.  Like (blek) literature-y I guess.  I think I may kill myself if I have to actually think about some of the stuff I’ve worked so hard to burry under denial, better memories and tangled Christmas lights.

Oh yeah, and my cat never came home.

Ok, so the list thing didn’t work out so good.  I hope there’s some kind of purgative benefit to writing all this crap down at least.  


September 29, 2006 Posted by | Angst, Thoughts | Leave a comment


Maybe I’d feel better about life, and how much life suck if I dyed it, highlighted it and got a decent cut.   Like that’ll somehow make everything stop sucking vastly and a lot.

September 29, 2006 Posted by | Angst | Leave a comment


Just having a terribly frustrating day.  First the dentist (oh ho ho… how I could go on about the dentist) irritates me. I get there 15 min early, and they let me sit there for an hour and a half because their front office staff are incompetent.  My dentist is on maternaty leave, so I  had someone else, who was nice and competent and stuff and actually did a good job on the filling (my dentist just kinda shoves the stuff in there, without any care as to how it looks or feels and little to no care about your bite actually lining up again when she’s done)…

Of course since I waited an hour and a half because they forgot about me, I was 45 min late to work.  Which really IS the end of the world.   And I STILL need to get my really painful wisdom teeth out. And of COURSE the office they do it at is on the other end of the universe. Why? because that’s my luck lately.

Then my husband’s all bummed because I didn’t know he didn’t have a “real” class tonight, so he was done at like 4 and not 8:30.  Waiting till midnight after an 8:30 class is different than waiting from 4pm on. So I try to get my mom to pick him up. Told him this was the plan and everything. Then I can’t get hold of him for an hour, even tho he’s online.  This is why I F*CKING HATE VIDEO GAMES, DAMMIT! My mom’s illegally parked and can’t find him, and so I start messaging and messaging, and finally decide to try sending a file or something to just get his attention, hoping maybe it’ll make something blink or something… I FINALLY get hold of him just as she’s giving up and going to the car… I feel bad, I know she’s tired, and she doesn’t have to do me favors and she’s busy and bla bla bla.  I’m just so frustrated with life.  NOTHING works. Nothing works out, it feels like everything I do is doomed to failure.

I just hate reality right now.

September 28, 2006 Posted by | Angst | Leave a comment

There are no words.

Yeah, I have NO words for this. I’m sure there’re plenty of adjectives and such, but DUDE. Ok. I guess I should just preface this little tale by saying I’m glad my husband doesn’t bother to read my blog any more. Because I can tell the internet how freakin’ stupid he is. Ok. I take my shirt off. I ask him to take my bra off. He does, then he’s like ‘get out of the way!’ cuz, y’know, Pokemon cartoons’re really important. And I said ok, I’m going to go upstairs and get nekkid. he’s like yeah, right, whatever. I keep trying to persuade him (half nekkid, even) that he should come upstairs. So I go upstairs,I dink around. finally I go down to get my water bottle, wearing the silk robe that doesn’t hide all that much, and I once again tell him he really should come upstairs. I get the yeah, whatever bit, and I tell him… dude, we have to be up in like 5 hrs. Yeah… whatever. Cuz, y’know, he’s watching Transformers and PLAYING Pokemon. GRR ARG.

I am really annoyed (among other things) at the moment. Pokey-people (as I call them) and Robots that turn into cars are more important. I mean, really?? I thought guys were supposed to think about ‘it’ like… one in every three thoughts?? If one thought was transformers and one thought was pokemon… why wasn’t I one of those thoughts?? And if I was… why didn’ the freakin’ NOTICE.


Dear internet, boys are dumb.

Ps. I need to go find some chocolate.

September 28, 2006 Posted by | Angst, Unwashed Masses | 3 Comments