Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

Risk Pitch, long version

I spent a good portion of my early twenties in a haze of undiagnosed depression and severe anxiety. It wasn’t new to me. I’d felt the same way throughout middle school and high school. (And I guess elementary school, too, because I recall my 5th grade teacher calling me a “worry wart.”) Nevertheless, the fact remained that I was not at all well, but I had lived with anxiety and a bone-deep sense of melancholy for so long that it felt normal. It seemed normal to me to regularly spend 5 hours on my couch, in my crummy apartment where I lived alone, compulsively reading while the light failed. It felt normal to me to be so acutely uncomfortable around other people that I never had close friends. And while I knew it wasn’t normal, it didn’t surprise me to wake up every morning disappointed that I wasn’t dead.

Still, there were some perks to being a severely depressed young woman. For one, sensitive male-types found it endearingly romantic. So, I got a lot of ass. Which didn’t really fix things, of course. But fuck it. Orgasms are nice! Secondly, I wrote a lot back then. Not stories or poems, I’d tried the poem thing in high school and the results were, well, painfully bad. They were just, I dunno, little vignettes? Little metaphors for how sad I was. (So fucking profound, am I right? Heh.) Anyway, some of them weren’t bad. Even now I’m not embarrassed by them. But I can’t tap into that ability any more. Writing used to be a pressure valve, a way to siphon off some of the pain. . . and I’m not in pain anymore.

The final perk of my incessant depression was the fact that good moments felt sooo fucking good. It is as if my subconscious knew that I wasn’t going to feel anything nice again for a long, long time and so blew all my happy juice on the simplest of things. Like, “Oooooh, a pretty flower! Life is so amazing!” Or, “Oh, you talked to someone about the weather? Connecting with people is great!” Or, “Hey! Your bedroom ceiling is leaking.  It’s soooo beautiful!!” Yeah, that’s right folks. I thought it was beautiful that my bedroom ceiling was leaking. The reason? The rainwater was pouring down the wall so heavily that it looked like a river meandering across the surface of the old, peeling paint. I pressed my fingers against the wall, and the water was cool to the touch, and the light was glinting off of the trickles making it sparkle, and the appearance of a river in my apartment was such a surprise, such a distraction from the day to day effort of not killing myself that it felt like a present. And I was, if briefly, full of joy. And there are times when I miss that sense of profundity.

Now that I am medicated, and I am doing great by the way (never been better, actually), I don’t wake up disappointed that I woke up. I don’t suffer debilitating existential crises about the inevitable heat death of the universe every other evening. Basically, my unhappiness, when I am unhappy, is directly proportional to the unhappy things in my life. But, even though I don’t wish for death anymore, I can’t help but feel that the part of me that wanted to die. . . did. Because the part of me that reveled in my leaking roof, instead of just being pissed that I lived in such a shitty fucking apartment (which I did), is gone now.

And sometimes I miss her.

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Carl Sagan is my spirit animal

So, this one time, my friends and I decide to take some powdered “mescaline.” In retrospect, this probably wasn’t mescaline. We ended up calling it the “research chemical,” and man oh man, I lost my mind! I am not sure why I reacted so powerfully to it while my friends didn’t. I mean, they were definitely high, but I was in deep space in comparison. Honestly, most of it is a blur. (I can only assume chemically-induced insanity does that to a person.) So, I only remember bits and pieces, but some of those pieces were really profound. 

 Heh, right. A few highlights:
 I start looking at my friends and realizing that they are really an amalgam of all the important people in my life. Rather than thinking this is super weird, I realize that that there is a perfectly logical explanation for this- we are immortal beings that created the universe to give us something to do! We get bored, so periodically, we create worlds in which to live. The problem is, sometimes we forget that we are actually immortal beings! This can be fun for the others, because that means they can start mucking about with our world, making it so miserable that finally we call uncle. This is why I end up laughing about horrible things like cancer and war- I couldn’t believe what assholes my friends were for putting those horrible things in my universe.
 I keep complaining about being in the desert and being soooooooo thirsty, so my friends keep trying to give me glasses of water, which I keep not drinking. No, I take these glasses of water and empty them over my shoulder onto the floor.
 Apparently, I keep chirping the word “skillet.” My friends are confounded. (And, the next morning, so was I. Why “skillet”??)
  Finally, the story of the subject line. (My favorite part, of course.) There comes a point where I am just completely and utterly lost in my head. I don’t know where I am, who I am, and I don’t remember that I ever knew anything different. (I am pretty sure this is referred to as “ego death.”) My friends at this point are kind of freaking out because I have been acting so strange all night, and their anxiety is rubbing off on me. (More like leaking into my pores at this point, but, y’know.) I start having this flashes of horrible things, like the world ending and bombs going off outside. Things get really dark. But then I hear a voice. A soothing voice. A wise voice. It is like a cool rag on my fevered brow, as these things go. Finally, it occurs to me that this is the one and only Carl Sagan, and he is here to talk me down. He keeps talking about how everything is connected, that life is a web, and everything is so, so chill. Heh. I don’t know how long I listen to Carl, but I assume that I drift to sleep on the sound of his voice, because the next thing I know it is morning and it is time for me to go home.
  My friends didn’t tell me until a week or so later, but they thought that I was lost forever. They didn’t know if I would ever come back from deep space. But they didn’t know what I knew.
  They didn’t know that Carl Sagan is my spirit animal.

Nostalgic about Nostalgia, an inner monologue

My brain: “Hey, remember when you used to remember when?”

Me: “Uh, you mean when I was miserable and I couldn’t stop thinking about the time when I was just melancholy?”

My brain: “Yup!”

Me: “Yeah, I remember those feels. It has certainly been a while since I felt those feels. . .”

(Interlude of reminiscence.)

Me: “Wait. Are you fucking kidding me? Do you have me being nostalgic about NOSTALGIA??”

My brain: “Tee hee.”

Me: “Asshole.”

Everyday Sexism

I’ve been reading this blog called everdaysexism.com for a few weeks now. Reading it is like smoking crack while beating yourself in the head with a ball-peen hammer. It makes me feel angry, ashamed, and physically ill.

But it is also like exercise- it makes me feel empowered.

It is an amazing project, and I highly recommend that EVERYONE EVER read it. Some of you will assume that the things written about never really happen/ only happen in odd cases. I assure you, though, that every single woman has experienced some sort of sexism in the course of their life. While some cases are decidedly more severe than others, such as rape, all sexism is degrading and dismissive of women. It has only been recently that I have come to acknowledge institutionalized sexism. It IS a part of our culture, and it is detrimental to society in general (not just women).

As a culture, we need to be better at recognizing sexism, and we need to be better at policing it. I am slowly getting there, and everydaysexism.com is a wonderful tool at recognizing this sort of thing. So, check it out. It will do you good.

So, in the vein of un-acknowledged sexism I wrote the following list. I am attempting to be humorous, but I am completely serious. I’ve gotten into arguments with male friends about the appropriateness of hitting on women who are completely uninterested in being hit on. They ask “Well, am I never supposed to speak to women again, then? HUH?”

No, that is not what I am saying at all (and your straw man argument makes you sound like a fool).

What I AM saying is that there is a time and a place to talk to women, and that is WHEN THEY WANT TO TALK TO YOU. Unless you are unable to read body language (Yes, I know these people exist), then you should be able to tell when someone wants to be left alone. If you choose not to, it is your fault if the reaction is negative. Deal with it. I don’t care the woman is out in public/ wearing a skirt/ LOOKIN’ WAY HAWT, unless she has made it obvious that she wants to interact with you, then leave her the hell alone!

This is the 21st century, dudes, we can be out SIMPLY BECAUSE WE WANT TO BE. Just like you! I mean, think about it. I am sure you wouldn’t enjoy having some stranger sidle up to you and tell you that you sure look good in those pants. As men and women are conscious beings, we don’t appreciate being “appreciated” solely as sexual objects.

Think I am being bitchy? Fine.

Are you wondering “then when the hell IS it okay for me to compliment a woman, you feminazi??”

Well, here are some tips, then:

  1. If you don’t know her/ are a perfect stranger- DON’T BOTHER HER.
  2. If you are going to comment on her body – KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.
  3. Is it dark out/ getting dark- DON’T BOTHER HER (this is super creepy!)
  4. Are you in a car while she is walking- STFU! (Even if we know you, we will probably just assume you are some jack-off and ignore you.)
  5. If she isn’t making eye contact with you/ has headphones on/ is reading a book- LEAVE HER BE!

(I am sure there are plenty of others, but I think it is about time for me to get off my soap box.)

I know, I know.  It is hard for men to approach women. The deck is kinda stacked in our court here, but this is one of a handful of ways it is, so deal with it! There is a time and a place to compliment women, and in any situation I mentioned above, it is unwelcome. And being unwelcome, we have every right to be rude or dismissive to you, because contrary to popular belief, a pretty young woman does not exist for the pleasure of strange men, and she does not automatically appreciate being objectified by them.

We don’t owe you anything,

we didn’t ask for your attention,

and frankly,

WE DON’T CARE what you have to say to us.

*insert ironical emoticon here*

Some things I have learned in a quarter decade.

I will never be exactly the person I want to be.

It’s the process that is most important.

I am unable to accurately assess myself.

People are imperfect, immature, selfish, manipulative, short-sighted, and self-destructive.

You can accept that and love them anyway.

Everyone has had at least one REALLY FUCKED UP thing happen to them.

Always keep this in mind.

Dialogue breeds understanding.

Understanding breeds empathy.

You can never have too much empathy.

Compassion is much more difficult than pity.

Everyone can benefit from therapy.

Forgiving someone is more for your benefit than theirs.

Patience is good for you.

So is exercise.

So is a healthy dose of humility.

Being guilty because you made a mistake is not the same as learning from it.

Sometimes the worst that can happen is really the best (even if you don’t realize it just then).

The world is both beautiful and terrifying.

So are people.

Relationships are fluid.

Jealousy and possessiveness are detrimental to all relationships.

Cherish what you have while you have it, and let it go when it is over.

Shakespeare had it right.

Take responsibility for yourself and your actions.

Tactful honesty is incredibly difficult, but a worthwhile endeavor.

Don’t be afraid of constructive criticism.

Say “no” when you feel like it.

Not everyone has to like you.

I am terrible at taking my own advice.

Expect respect from everyone and don’t accept otherwise.

Expect the same of yourself towards others.

People are more important than profits.

In a perfect world everyone would have equal access to (and affordable): food, shelter, healthcare and education.

This is not a perfect world.

We are fucked.

Despite that, swimming naked is delightful!

Mind-altering substances teach you something about yourself.

Laughing is the best thing ever!

(Aside from orgasms.)

If you doubt me you should probably take care of that next chance you get.

People are not equal (not in ability), but we are equal in worth.

Everyone is deserving of love.

Your folks have cooler stories than you, quite possibly because you don’t expect them to.

Moderation is key.

But sometimes excess is exciting!

Don’t take yourself too seriously.

We are not outside of the ecosystem, even though we like to pretend this is so.

We are destroying this planet because of this.

Society and culture are constructions.

Therefore so are gender roles, ideas of worth, concepts of proper etiquette, morals, etc.

If you don’t like the ones offered, construct your own.

The patriarchy is real.

The multiverse may be as well.

Science is awesome!

So is music.

Art is pretty cool, too.

So is sex, but be smart about it!

Intimacy is not the same thing as sex, though there is often a correlation.

Making friends with a skittish critter is one of the most satisfying experiences ever.

Don’t be a dumbass about it, but every chance you get do something you are afraid of!

I am so very thankful I grew up without religion.

As long as you are not an asshole I don’t care what color/s, gender/s, sexual orientation (or lack thereof) you are.

Neither do I care about your educational or criminal history, how financially well-endowed you are, or how well you dress as long as you are one cool cat.

I do, however, prefer those who are laid-back, open-minded, and liberal.

I will probably judge you a bit on your ability to string a sentence together.

Sorry about that.

Still, I imagine you will do the same.

I forgive you for it.

*wry grin*

-Namaste

When inside jokes get dirty

I made a comment about contemplating writing a dirty story for funsies.

Quoting a friend:

“Just, you know, think of fat, unattractive men as you write. They’ll be sitting there reading, wearing those sweatpants they haven’t bothered to wash for several weeks. They might spill a bit of nacho cheese on them when they get excited by your story, and they won’t even bother to clean it off. Yeah… focus on that visualization.”

Ok!

My query for two sexy lady’s names came up *drumrolls* Gertrude and Bertha.

Ok!

May my father forgive me.

_____________________________________

Bertha and Gertrude have been friends since high school. They lost some time together when Bertha went off to college and Gertrude was struggling with her failing marriage. Now though, they spend all of their time with one another, living in the same small house. People think they are lesbians, Bertha and Gertrude. They go walking hand in hand down the street, Bertha hobbling a little from the car accident that sent her to the infirmary instead of to her commencement. She still receives a stipend due to her injury from the insurance company. Sometimes she complains to Gertrude that she was really going somewhere, she could have been someone. Gertrude will pat her hand and nod. Weren’t they all at some point?

The neighborhood people don’t mind that Bertha and Gertrude are lesbians, or so they believe. The two women are just so handsome walking together, or sitting knee to knee on the porch sipping coffee and chatting. They like to imagine the two women together, who, while certainly no longer young, are still reasonably attractive. Bertha is the larger of the two, her injury making it difficult for her to exercise. So these neighbors, they like to imagine her on the bottom, her bum leg up on a pillow while Gertrude busies herself between Bertha’s thighs. Gertrude is tall and on the gaunt side, like some women will get when they get older, with high pointed breasts. The neighbors like to titter about how poor Bertha probably complains when they poke her during sex.

George is the only neighbor who doesn’t join in on the gossip. He doesn’t join in because he knows that they aren’t lesbians, that and he doesn’t go out much these days. He knows they aren’t lesbians because through the privet he can see into their home, into their bedrooms. They never sleep in the same bed, they never kiss or exchange more than a sisterly hug. No, they are spinsters through and through. He doesn’t mind this though. He likes to know they like men, that he could possess them if he really wanted. When they undress at night he sits by the window in the darkness and pulls his soiled sweatpants away from his considerable stomach and touches himself. He imagines doing the things to them that he reads about in the dirty books he orders. He loves those books all full of sucking, licking, spanking, fucking, all the best verbs. He likes to imagine the writers, one in particular a Lydia something-rather, imagining him rubbing himself off in the darkness, all folds of flesh and nacho cheese stains. He thinks about the women across the hedge, the writers behind the screen, his own grotesque body. . .

and he comes.

10 reasons why I’m not bearing children (an attempt at humor)

It’s not unusual to encounter a certain amount of incredulity when it becomes known that I’ve no desire to produce children.  I guess since I’m a woman people assume I’m destined to be a mother. I take offense to that.  Just because I have a uterus doesn’t mean I have to use it.  Think about it.  Just because you have that self-improvement book doesn’t mean you’re ever going to read it.  It’s just going to sit there gathering dust.  Just like my ovaries.

I’ve encountered a number of responses to this little tidbit of info: sadness, horror, even disgust.  People want to know what is wrong with me.  “You don’t want any babies??  I don’t understand!  You are a woman aren’t you? ALL women love babies!”  Well, it’s not without some consideration that I’ve come to my decision, breeders.  Below are ten damn good reasons why:
1) I can barely take care of myself!

While I’ve gotten better, I still believe that a bowl of cereal constitutes a satisfactory dinner and pickle juice an acceptable beverage.  The only things living in my apartment are: mold, mice (occasionally), and myself.  I can’t even keep plants alive, unless you count the potatoes that have started growing in my cupboard.  I think dogs are too much work and (even if I could have one) I’d barely be able to afford a cat.  A baby is out of the question.

2) I like a lot of time alone.

My favorite pastime is locking the door and getting lost in a book.  (Aside from masturbation of course, but that’s a given, really.) You can’t tell a baby you need a night off to “decompress.”  They can’t even understand speech,  let alone my weird neuroses.  I don’t even understand my weird neuroses.

3) I find pregnancy disgusting.

Most peple look at a pregnant mother and think “Aww, the joy of motherhood!”  I think “Ahh! You’ve got a parasite living in your abdomen!”  Seriously.  Fetuses have to trick the mother’s immune system into not destroying them as a foreign body.  Mothers, that kicking is something living inside of you.  Living INSIDE of you for fuck’s sake!  Why doesn’t that freak you out?  I’d be horrified if something in my guts started doing calisthenics.  *queasy*

4) I think babies are gross.

Most people think babies are little bundles of sunshine, the fruit of the miracle of life.  I, on the other hand, find them horrifying squidgy little larval creatures not even capable of holding up their own heads.  *shudders*  They are squealing waste machines.  I don’t care how cute you think they look in their jumpers.

5) Genetics!

I’ve never quite understood why people think so highly of their genetic makeup that they feel it necessary to pass it on.  I mean, I know it’s like, a biological imperative and all, but geeze.  If dude has male-pattern baldness and chick has a predisposition to cancer, that’s a shitty hand to deal your child!  Personally I’ve got heart disease, anxiety problems, and chronic depression running through my veins.  I’d prefer to keep those goodies to myself, greedy me.

6) There are TONS of children already!

How about all those kiddos who have already been produced, huh?  Adoption is the way to go!  The little rugrats need stability, love and affection. You need to feel as if your life has purpose (and a convenient excuse if they turn out fucked up- not MY genetics!)  It’s the logical decision, unless you want to eat them.  Just a modest proposal, people.

7) The state of the environment.

We produce an absolutely reckless amount of waste!  We regularly pollute our environment with not only un-biodegradble plastics, but poison.  Fucking POISON!  And I’m not even talking about radioactive waste!  Our fresh water supplies are dwindling while our ice caps are melting.  I can’t imagine leaving this planet to someone else.  It’d be like giving someone a present after you’d played with it, broken it to little bits, lit it on fire, and pissed on it to put the flames out.  It’s just rude is what it is.

8)  Money!

Everyone loves money.  You know who on average has less?  That’s right- parents!  I don’t care about your several thousand dollar tax return.  No, without children I might actually be able to retire before my hips give out unlike you schmucks who will be taking out a second mortgage to put your kid through college.  No, I’ll be on a beach somewhere while you are trying to figure out how to get spit-up out of your carpet.

9) My body.  My sexy, sexy body.

No, I’m not really that full of myself.  I AM vain, though.  I admit it.  I’ve already enough stretch marks, thank you very much.  I don’t want some tiny shyster gumming up the works.  And I want all my organs where they belong, damn it. I don’ t think it’s too much to ask.

10) SEVEN BILLION PEOPLE.

Seriously.  Seven billion!  I heard it on NPR so it must be true.  Twenty five years ago that number was four point nine billion.  That means since I was born we’ve added over two billion humans to this planet!  That is insane!  It’s reckless! How long until our already over-worked land stops producing?  Before breathable air and fresh water are worth warring over?  Already a disgusting amount of people die from starvation, thirst, exposure.  I’m not adding another life to this planet knowing this.   Doing so would be pure unadulterated selfishness.

So! To recap:

Be selfish!  Don’t have kids.  You’ll have more money and be sexy, sexy, sexy.

Also

Don’t be a dick!  Don’t have kids.  You’ll only fuck them up anyway.

Hearts,

Sierra