Free Hugs Time!

May 20, 2012

CopyRight Bouncer Bear

CopyRight Bouncer Bear, best listen.

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Another sneak peak of my search term hits. Today thus far, I’ve gotten:

hulk the avengers 2012 2
putas.perras 2
hulk 2012 1
borderline hulk 1
the avengers hulk’s hairy chest 1
putas perras 1
hearing loss and psychiatric drugs

Yesterday I got two for “Hulk’s hairy chest”. More Hulk hairy chest searchers? Really? What the fuck? You pervs! I’m getting a wee tired of these Avengers searchers.

Oh and Mr. CopyRight bear doesn’t know what he’s talking about half the time. He’s lived in the confines of my room most of his life. It’s only recently that he’s been released into the wilderness of blogland. So he made a mistake. His HORNS are NOT plastic. They are soft, squishy even: 60% nylon and 40% polyester. (His insides are 100% cotton!)

The bear also seems to have caught on strongly to the thick southern accent I tend to have when alone in my room.

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A Good List, Round Two

April 9, 2012

Numero 15: It’s a good thing I like mariachi music because I still have those songs from the polished turd dancing all around my head, a swirly fanfare looping and looping with all the other Paz and not so Paz monologues.

“Que vivan los novios, que viva el amor”

UMPRAPAPAPA!

BOOM BOOM CHUCKCH CHUCKCH! BOOM BOOM CHUCKCH CHUCKCHPARRURRURRUR! UMPA-RAPAPAP! UMPAPAP! PAP! Enter voilin solo–DEED-A-REED-DEED–and another trumpet roll. PARURRURRUR! BRAPAPAP!

And…

PAP! PAP!

“But why’d you have to leave like this? Are you at peace now? Please tell me you are. Yeah, you’re at peace. You’ve gotta be…Yeah, you better be you little prick… god…I miss you so much…damn you… you know I love you right? I love you so much…”

“Will I be able to finish it? Oh I can’t now, it’s been so long. She’ll never refer me to her friend for work now. Gaaah, gotta find work. Fuckin’ papers. Wonder if I should call Mansie about this, she did text me last week…”

“I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am…”

“Just ignore. Just ignore that she does that and you better go eat now.”

“Alright, just focus. Why isn’t this opening!? Stupid editing programs and their fuckin’ glitches! Reconnect media, reconnect media! No! I don’t want to send an error message to Adobe. Why won’t you–Bargarghargh!”

“Que vivan los novios, que viva el amor, que viva el amor–” 

UMPRAPAPAPA! BOOM BOOM CHUCKCH CHUCKCHBOOM BOOM CHUCKCH CHUCKCHPARRURRURRUR! UMPA-RAPAPAP! UMPAPAP! PAP!” BOOM CHUCKUCHUCK! PARURRURRUR! BRAPAPAP!

“Que vivan los novios, que viva el amor, que viva el amor–” 

Numero 16: I’m not even going to try and describe what the pretty little demon’s monologues are like or how they yell over that fanfare above. But I will say that they’re somewhat hushed these last few day. So that’s why they’re number sixteen.

Numero 17: My arm is still pretty frail, still in a thermoplast splint but I’m able to type with two hands again: Tap-tap-tap tapity-tap tap tap! “Que vivan los novios, que viv–” 

Once that twisty, mangled bone is completely healed, I’ll regain strength and be able to doodle and pick up the ukelele again, the one L gave me nearly three years ago. Maybe I’ll join a mariachi band, you know, convince the band that a uke honed by a chick in a wheelchair would be fitting.

Numero 18: Living in Houston is like living in a stinky armpit. Spring lasts three weeks max and it’s hell’s heat from then on out. The salty and tangy smell from the Gulf of Mexico washes in along with its oppressive humidity. The humidity hits you like a sweaty wrestler clothes-lining you. As you slam onto the floor, his moist, ruffled pit cups you breathless.

Houston is being promoted as a “cultural” city. Ha! We do have a great mixture of ethnicities and people and cultures–we’re a melting pot–much like NYC (not at all), but cultural city it is not. And it is far from being urban.

If I were in charge of the city’s public relations, I’d make an ad campaign that reads: “Houston! Come on over and feel the South Texas heat! It’s like having a sweaty wrestler’s armpit stuck on your face or a breathy old waitress with halitosis leaning over too close to your nose! You’re only an hour away from Galveston beaches, where much of the oil has yet to settle!”

But (read: BUT) these short lived glory days of southern spring have been so pretty that they’re helping me with my mindfulness. I’ve tried my best to focus on the warmth of the sun; the green of the grass; the cool evening air that seeps in after the sky’s showers fall; the smell of the dew; the odor of skin, that burning smell it gets when it’s seen the sun too long; the heat, the suffocating heat, the itchiness from the mosquito bites, and the soft fur of Little Luna, soft like a rabbit.

Numero 19: I’m drinking tea instead of coffee. In fact I didn’t have coffee at all yesterday.

Numero 20: I drank a bottle of Heineken yesterday. It was during a barb’q one of my dad’s photographer friends had for Easter–this one isn’t the same one that gave me the turd; this one’s wacky, a bit of a drinker, tweaked-out and has cool younger friends who look up to my dad and tell the dirtiest jokes without being too chauvinistic about it (and these are all Colombian men in their late thirties or older fellas, people, rare thing to see them not being complete chauvinists).

Anyway, this wacked-out photographer friend always seems to want to get me drunk.

“Come on! So you’re not drinking anymore? Ever?”

“No, but right now I’m not.” I know that drinking in the current state I’m in will only lead to disaster. I don’t want a relapse of any kind.

“Are you worried that you’ll have another accident? You’re not going to have another accident” His girlfriend gives him a firm look. “What? She told me about it herself.”

I’d had a near near-death experience due to my drinking a couple of years ago and I didn’t recall telling him about it. I made some excuse about alcohol and my bone density being low and how alcohol isn’t good when you’re trying to build up bone density, which is true.

About an hour later though, I gave in and asked for a beer. I ended up having half of my mom’s beer too.

So what’s the good in this? Well, when I was asked if I wanted another, I firmly replied,”No thank you.”

And that was that.

Numero 21: In the past month, my brother and I have hung out more than we have in years! This evening, I helped him out with another wedding video–nope not getting paid for this one–but, he gave me a copy of a good CD, Florence and the Machine.

Numero 22: I seem to have a fan! A fan from Australia. I’ve been getting lots (by my marks) of views from down under (heehee) and I’m pretty sure it’s just one person.

Show yourself and I’ll reward you times three!

Numero 23: I started writing this post yesterday but got back too down and tired to finish, so instead I put it off and finally added things to my Shenanigans.

Numero 24: Last night was terrible, but I don’t feel quite as hopeless tonight, a little more hopeful even.

G’night. I’m out.

I feel like I’m on the upside of down, seeing the world like a bonobo dangling hands down from a tree or like these wonderfully colored white folks full of soul. (They’re playing Ella Fitzgerld, “When I Get Low, I Get High.”) I’m a huge fan of them, especially Fiona. I’d marry her even though I don’t believe in marriage  (shhh. Keep it on the DL).

At any rate, ahem, the last four days I’ve been a mix and mash. I’m chatty, I’m full of energy, but it’s all anxious energy. Does that mean I’m a little mixed up? I don’t know. It’s the changing of seasons. Put it how you like. My body has come alive but with a vengeance, a vengeance called mad irritability.

And speaking of bodies coming alive, it’s Good Friday! There’s something about Jesus dying and resurrecting to give us eternal life and the chance to avoid eternal damnation. It makes me want to make a list! So I figured in lieux of all of these sad worldly and personal affairs, I’d write me a “Good List”. A good list is something I just came up with.

It’s pretty good. Hear me out…

I was supposed to do a “hope box” for therapy four weeks ago but never got it done. You know the habitual procrastination and then tragedy struck again or I struck it. Besides, a good list is better.

I like making lists and I know I’ve said this before but I really do. Something about making lists–about having certain thoughts cascading on paper or screen–makes me feel momentarily at ease; it’s become more of a compulsion. I also find making lists helps me clear my jumbled head a little. I like making skinny, stout lists and fat, drawn out lists. When I was in school, especially my first batch-full of semesters, I made a hell of a lot of snappy lists:

“GET STARTED ON RESEARCH PAPER!” then
“GET STARTED ON OUTLINE FOR RESEARCH PAPER” then
“FIRST TWO PAGES OF RESEARCH PAPER!” then
“GET STARTED ON RESEARCH PAPER, FOR REAL THIS TIME!” then
“RESEARCH PAPER DUE TOMORROW!” then
“GET RESEARCH PAPER DONE! LAST DAY!” then
“GET RESEARCH PAPER DONE BY EXTENSION DUE DATE! FINISH IT”

I found those were never helpful, only a cause of more anxiety. Nowadays, I make very specific detailed lists, still a cause of anxiety. But I’m no longer in school and don’t have a steady job or the like so I am able to break things down much easier. There’s even this exercise I learned from a time management tutorial called a “mind clearing session” in which you also make lists. It’s good stuff, but more on that later.

I digress. I’m having three, four, five conversations going off in my head right about now while one voice is singing and looping a mariachi song and a sixth conversation comes in to argue. My instinct in all of this mental chaos is to pace, more like rolling around the house aimlessly stopping in the kitchen or in my room to ask “what was I gonna get from here?”

But instead I’ll write down all the things I need to finish and break them down into very itty bitty chunks so I don’t get overwhelmed.

To edit a wedding video, I don’t just list say the songs, the tracks, and the approximate due date, I list every major step in a separate chunk and I only worry about one chunk at a time. “Create folders and set all capture scratch settings” then “transcribe or capture video” and so on. Even in this way, I tend to get stuck when I’m low or on the high side of low (which is 99% of the time) but I’m able to accomplish more if I just set myself to do one thing at a time. One thing at a time woman! I’m on speed, figuratively speaking. I’m just trying to survive one day at a time, one second at a time.

My “good list” is this:

I’ll write down some good things I can think of that happened this week and all the things I set out to do and actually managed to do, even if they’re incomplete (I’ll count them if I at least got started). As far as the “bad” things, and there are many (my mind tends to focus on those), I’ll list them if (read: IF) I find one good thing in them.

Taking the good from the bad in no particular order all stream of  conscious like and shit, etc, etc.

Numero 1: I’m currently polishing a turd. In fact, as soon as I’m done with this blog post and as soon as my bro’s wedding transfers I’m going to turn to the turd at hand.

In the last three days I’ve worked hard on this wedding turd. One of my dad’s wannabe photographer friends did this wedding and gave it to me to fix. Basically, I’m fixing the messed up sound, or in more technical terms, I’m repairing clipped audio. This guy’s wife does the video while he shoots and does occasional DJing. The thing is, she doesn’t know how to work the camera and she accidentally set the audio out of automatic mode and well, you got the rest. I’ve had this video for two weeks now, so it’s good I finally got started.

I’m finishing up the mariachi singing at the reception. But a turd is a turd is a turd (I’m going all Gertrude Stein on you and once again abusing the power of parenthesis). Oh well, this will be a turd that went from hella profuse, “god almighty is that a rotting corpse?” putrid stank, to “beuggh. what is that?” stank.

Numero 2: This is actually part of one but I felt I should start a new number. I’m actually getting paid for polishing this turd, not much but something.

Numero 3: I’ve been doing a moodchart again so I can give it to this new psychiatrist I started with in December. I have an appointment with her next Thursday and I feel there’s too much to even begin discussing in such a short time. I never end up saying what I want and I usually get drawn into something the doc says and forget what I wanted to say in the first place.

She’s only seen me twice since the December intake. I could never get how an accurate assessment of my past/current mental health has been if they only see me for fifteen minutes–twenty minutes at most–every two to three months at a time.

I’m being proactive and plan to slap this mood chart on her lap. The chart is dated from January on up to today. I had to go back and retrace my general moods for most of January and some of February, but I think I did a good job of that.

Numero 4: Sertraline has killed my sex drive (not that I have any great avenues to clear that one out at the moment anyway), but I actually felt a little sexy yesterday. And yes girls in wheelchairs can feel sexy.

Numero 5: I’ve been losing a lot of weight. I wasn’t overweight to begin with. Two pounds in the last three/four weeks. That may not seem like a lot to you but considering I’m only three feet tall and weigh a total of 45 lb–that’s roughly 19 kilos–a hell of a lot. In retrospect, that may not be such a good thing since the loss was a result of my downward spiral. My appetite declined along with my mind (usually I overeat when I’m down not the other way around). BUT the lighter feel has probably contributed to my sexiness.

Numero 6: My brother bought me a haircut. My hair is in a cute chin-length bop now. That definitely contributes to the sexiness as oppose to the mullet that was starting to grow after the super short cut I got sometime at the end of last summer.

Numero 7: I had more series of intense crying bouts but I’ve managed to recover quicker from them this week.

Numero 8: The chest pains eventually subsided today and also my heart didn’t explode or implode though it felt it would.

Numero 9: I actually managed to persuade myself to blog by making this silly list.

Numero 10: I did not punch a baby, break a window or smash a glass, but I found my aviator sunglasses which hide my tears while making me look fashionable.

Numero 11: On Wednesday, I saw the therapist and the immigration lawyers at the University. A two for one! Booya!

Numero 12: I went with my dad to apply for some benefit stuff. I can’t receive any because of legalities and he was denied because of legalities, so that just means we’re both going to have to work harder at launching his new website or starve. I have not started on it but discussions began rolling again this week.

Numero 13: I’ve had a lot of hip pain but I’m doing my stretches and have kept up with my exercises more or less.

Numero 14: I’ve been practicing a lot of mindfulness, especially the diaphragmatic breathing.

More good lists to come, I hope.

Happy Good Friday yall!

Jesus not God

I stole this from a FB page

(You’ll have to forgive my blasphemous and heathen ways and my overuse of parenthesis. Jesus did, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t. 😉 He told me so himself; he also told me this is not a very good image and likeness of him and that he was indeed not as fair )