Category Archives: Uncategorized

The filmmaking side of things

Here is a short clip from the documentary which I am ever so slowly creating, The Fell Clutch of Circumstance. Progress has all but stopped for now making me wonder where this is going. I appreciate every person I have come to know under these strange and unfortunate circumstances. The following are conversations with women about men who held on until they didn’t.

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It’s been a while

I haven’t been active on this blog for over a year now and in that time I have begun a rather interesting endeavor; making a full length documentary about suicide loss The Fell Clutch of Circumstance.

As I have been blogging about this process (which is entirely new to me) I keep having the urge to write about my own issues which may not be suitable for the documentary blog…therefore I am back here writing again. I don’t know what exactly made me lose my writing momentum, perhaps it was my increasingly unstable moods mixed with lack of sleep, perhaps it was my complete and total preoccupation with the little love of my life that is my Son or perhaps I had simply grown tired of my droning wordy self spread out on the screen like a bloated cow getting a pap smear.

Whatever it was, I don’t give a fuck because my momentum is up and I have been click clicking late into the night (mania much?). I will be posting here as well as at the aforementioned blog The Fell Clutch of Circumstance.

It’s good to be back.

 

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Mascara, the cure for Insomnia

Things get creaky, the walls when I walk, the floor when I fall. A slow screech lingers in my head, invading the quiet, the dark. Sleepless nights, wandering around my house. Get up, piss, get some water, repeat 10 more fucking times until finally its morning and I can add some more pointless activities to this ridiculous routine. The heavy-headed dizziness of sleep deprivation overcomes me, becomes me. An hour of pilates awakens my limbs, filling my lungs with oxygen. Am I awake yet? Can you awaken when you never really go to sleep? A shower washes away the residue of the previous 24 hours of existence. Am I awake yet? Not really, no need to be. I will live forever in this halfway world between reality, dreams and unsleep. I paint a portrait of myself, intricately filling in every crevice and pore, sweep of eyebrow and curl of lash, smearing of red, the illusion of a mouth, an eye, a girl, a woman, a whore and a clown. Now I am here, I have arrived.

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Filed under Fashionably Unreasonable, Feels like Sunday, I am Pregnant, Uncategorized

The attentive fetus and Howard Stern

At six months pregnant the little guy has become familiar with noises like our dogs barking and my constant vacuuming, but he is also familiar with voices he hears often; mine of course, his Father’s and the most important voice of all, that of Howard Stern. I listen to the King all day, every day; as I sit at the computer, as I clean the house and as I commute on the bus, making a spectacle of myself, laughing like a lunatic.

I have been listening to the Howard Stern Show every single day for almost twenty years. Howard, Robin, Fred, Gary, Benjy, Sal, Richard, Beetlejuice, Wendy the retard, Jeff the drunk….they are all a part of my family. I mourned the death of Hank the Dwarf as if he were my own drunken misfit Brother. During the Artie years I felt especially entangled emotionally in the show, addiction spiraling out of control in a disaster of lies and chaos. Artie was one of the funniest motherfuckers ever and I hope with all my heart that he somehow finds some solace in his life.

The show and everyone who has ever been a part of it have all been such an important part of my life, the building of my personality and my sense of humor. I honestly don’t know what I will do with myself when the dreaded day comes when Howard retires. I hope he sticks it out for a few more years so the kid can get a good start in life with the King as his mentor.

I know what people think about Howard, people who have never actually listened to the show for any period of time, people who have opinions simply to have them with no actual foundation on which to base them on. Luckily, I don’t give a fuck about other people’s opinions about Howard Stern, the same way I don’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinion about anything, especially those pertaining to my life.

I wonder if when the kid is born he will look around and think, “Ok, so that’s the loud cackling laughing lady and that’s the big guy with all the stupid voices. Where the fuck is the other guy? The deep voiced neurotic guy who yells at Ba-Ba-Booey and gives such great ass wiping advice?”

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Filed under Alcoholism and other Assholes, I am Pregnant, Uncategorized

Versatile Blogger Award (first and last award accepted)

So, I have been nominated for a Versatile Blogger award

by Karen of a life less scripted

Thank you!

Now, I spread the word and the rules:

  •  Thank the person who gave you this award.
  •  Include a link to their blog.
  •  Next, select 15 blogs/bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly.
  •  Nominate those 15 bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award
  •  Finally, tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself.

7 things about me

I hate washing my hair

I threw my pet rat at the wall after she bit my arm pit

I beat up a boy in the second grade

I hugged the boy and cried after I beat him up

Watching television feels like a chore

Doing laundry feels rewarding

I love my dogs more than I love most people

Blogs I have nominated:

Diary of Amy Rigby 

Melancholianation

Sick Poetics

blue milk

Unexpected Things While Expecting

My Start in Sobriety

disenchantED

cautiouscatastrophy

I realize that’s not 15 but these are the only blogs I have really read so far, I prefer to spend my time writing instead of reading and I really lose patience trying to read things on the computer. I prefer books, smelly old books.

Ok, so that was that, much appreciated.

I probably will not accept any award things after this because this really felt like homework.

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lock the door

Unavailable now that I am conscious,

so very fucking conscious.

More present in my dreams, more accountable.

The inconsistencies of waking life,

make sense when I lock my door.

Behind the wall, underground and burrowed deep

into the wet earth, I tunnel through and around myself.

Becoming a man, a child, a mutant worm digesting itself,

copulation becomes disintegration, multiplying the existence of nothing.

 

 

 

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Filed under Feels like Sunday, I dreamed..., Uncategorized

inside out and spread on toast

Sometimes, I forget whose life I am living,

I get lost in the walls.

I scream inside myself, the silence much too loud,

the nothing that surrounds me much too confining.

Clothing too restricting, I strip naked, to no avail,

it must be my skin pulled tight, and I can’t get rid of that now can I?

Crawl into a hot bath, a dead cow, a crowded bus, my own swollen vagina.

Hide inside me, I heard it’s safe in there.

Open me up, spread me wide,

a donation box for your unwanted household goods.

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Filed under Feels like Sunday, I am Pregnant, Uncategorized

Swamp foot and crotch rot

My rotting, stinking feet.

Why did I wear these tight ass heels on a hot day, especially when I knew I had a OB/GYN appointment. These feet are not going anywhere near those metal stirrups. It’s bad enough she has to look at swollen pregnancy pussy all day and now here I am with my disgusting swamp foot.

I just walked over a mile up and down hills in these well-worn heels. Or did I waddle? Fuck, my feet are definitely growing, these shoes did not used to feel like this.

Ughh…I can’t even button up my Sam Kinison jacket anymore.

Damn blisters are on the verge of exploding with each hesitant step. At least it’s a distraction from the pain shooting down my back, exploding in my left ass cheek and trickling its way down my leg like electrified goose bumps.

Red faced and sweaty I arrive. I have a seat, waiting, my favorite pass time. Cartoons? Why? This is the prenatal waiting room. Fetuses don’t care what is on the television. Can we wait a few more months before I am forced to watch this shit?

The Doctor will see you now. Waddling on blistered feet, click clack echoing down the hallway.

Piss in this, gladly. Step on the scale, fuck all of you. Ok, I’ll do it but don’t even hint at the number, no comment whatsoever or I will freak the fuck out, seriously. A good purge is only as far away as the nearest toilet.

Get undressed and put on this gown. I disrobe, keeping my eyes carefully averted. Take a peek, fuck. My skin always look greenish pink in hospital lighting, a mottled mess. Paper robe ripping in all the wrong places, thighs sticking to cold table, crinkle…squish.

I sit naked with my shoes on. Sexy? Far fucking from it. The Doctor comes in, fresh and radiant. I lay back and scoot my butt down to the end of the table…more?…scoot scoot, ok good. Feet up in the metal stirrups. Would you be more comfortable with your shoes off? No, I’m fine. Liar.

At least I am confident that I don’t have crotch rot. I once walked into a Gyno appointment and literally walked right back out after smelling the disgusting yeasty deep-sea rotten stench emanating from the table they expected me to spread my legs on. I felt diseased just from smelling that room. Gynecologists are brave motherfuckers.

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Filed under Fashionably Unreasonable, Uncategorized

That bitch Rosacea

Today, the hideous beast escaped again and shit all over my face.

Rosacea, you evil fucking bitch.

I am hiding behind mounds of concealer, foundation, powder and mascara.

Can you see me?

I am all I see,

everywhere I look there is a reflection of the face I am trying to run away from.

I spend hours trying to hide the evidence, applying, reapplying, erasing, filling every pore to capacity, I am never satisfied. The lines not right, unevenly placed, ill defined.

And now what? What is it for?

I am hiding, no one will see me today.

 

 

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Rainy day orgasm

A rainy day makes life worth living, that alone. Everything makes sense when seen through clouded glass. The world seems to be a safer opponent, like catching a stranger in the shower with soap in their eyes, the threat of conflict diminished substantially. I feel like a child let loose, inhibitions and reservations washed away along with my eyebrows. I walk a little taller when I am soaked to my panties in cold rainwater. I splash in muddy puddles in my 4 inch heels and laugh at people clutching umbrellas rushing for cover. A rainy day feels right, like my insides are on display for everyone to see except that they are all too busy trying to stay dry to notice. I am inside out, I am a 10 foot smile, I am a screaming orgasm, I am a baby on fire, I am flying above you with the rain clouds and you have no idea because when was the last time you looked straight up into the rain?

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Peaches

He wanders down the aisle of canned goods, fingers lighting on yellow cling peaches, on sale 69 cents. I remember these in the summertime, in a blue bowl with whipped cream. She made it fresh, light and creamy. His hand falls to his side, fingers searching not for a can but for something real, something alive and warm. A heavy set woman reaches in front of him, rudely grabbing a can from the shelf with a grunt that meant either “excuse me” or “get the fuck out of my way old man”. The encounter is but a flash of movement before him, it means little else. There isn’t much that grabs his attention today, certainly not the rude shoppers or baskets weaving around him in fits of impatient thrusting. He simply stares at the canned goods, unsure of how to proceed. She would know what to do, she would know what to do.

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