Saturday, May 18, 2013

Deleted Scenes

These are some unfinished blog posts. Enjoy.


It's been in the back of my mind for a long time and I keep putting it off.

Time to take some time for myself with the Rejuvenique mask. This mask, which has been available for some time and endorsed by the wonderful Linda Evans is available at for the low price of $39.99. Not to drop any Christmas hints.

Yellow Wallpaper

I would never paint a wall yellow because it makes babies go crazy. Also because of the story "The Yellow Wallpaper" where the woman goes crazy or whatever- I can't remember. I need no help in that area.

I've lived in my apartment for four or five years. I can't remember how long I've lived here. During that time the white walls have accumulated a yellow patina created by Camel Light cigarette smoke. I've thought about painting several times. I would love to paint a bold orange or some shade of blue. If I move out my lease dictates that I paint it all back to white. I don't feel like I'll want to paint when it comes time to move. So I sit with the ugly smoke stained walls. Apathetic.

I was walking home today trying to understand where things went wrong. Never a good idea. My brain goes in a loop. The dime store therapist in my head tries to figure it out and I argue with him and then I get confused, scared and mad.

Jeremys Pot Den

I really wish I could smoke pot. I am relaxing- listening to some trippy mash ups of Madonna songs from her latest tour. And I think a big fat doobie would really be great right now. Just light it up on the porch and enjoy the Sunday.

The first time I smoked pot was with my good friends Lara and Rebecca. Names have been changed in case they are planning on running for president, not a bad idea as these two ladies could rock some serious pantsuit. We were at a very sexy and sexually ambiguous (clearly straight) gentleman's house for some sort of post high school, pre community college hot tub party.

Sarah Lunesta

She wakes up and finds herself on the kitchen floor in front of her paper shredder. She has apparently been shredding in her sleep. Thin ribbons once magazines, unopened envelopes, recipe cards, insurance papers overflow in the shredder basket. The red ERROR light on the top of the shredder blinks in surrender.

Thanks to the side effects of the seemingly unlimited supply of sleeping pills from her doctor, Sarah has woken up before in these strange still lifes. Woman in Bed, Empty Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream Container. Woman in Bathtub with Shampoo in Hair, Briefcase, Tostitos.  Woman on Couch, Sound of Music DVD Menu, Coke Zero, Jolly Rancher Wrappers.

This scene in front of the shredder is not a surprise, more of an annoyance. She gets up unsteadily and makes her way from the kitchen, to the hall and back to her bed. Climbing under her comforter, her foot wrestles with a crinkly plastic bag. A closer look at her sheets reveals a constellation of half melted chocolate chips. No thought of cleaning this up or changing the sheets because there is no energy.

Sarah was originally prescribed these pills after her boyfriend left her and she had a miscarriage. Or was it a miscarriage.

The Winter My Brain Exploded

On the bus, headed to work. All the windows were caked with salt making the bus a claustrophobic eggshell. Myself and the other passengers were the yolk. I don't remember now why, but I am compelled to crack open this shell, to get off this bus. A woman commented on my swift departure. I find some shelter and call into work.

Then I call in the next day, and the next day and so on. Anxiety and depression comes over me like an avalanche. I work with my therapist and psychiatrist to find a way out. The avalanche continues to come over me. I become afraid to drive, afraid to leave my apartment, afraid to be in my apartment. I go to my parents for a change of scenery and it does not help. I come home and it does not help.

The root causes of the depression and anxiety are there. This didn't just come out of nowhere. I had been worried about money for months. Student loans and bills had been mounting and I was able to make some arrangements. I was able to juggle and spin plates for awhile. But at some point I was not able to. My body told me that as I lay on the floor in my parents spare room rocking and talking to myself like a crazy person. I had gone crazy. It was official.

I am able to write this with the help of an anti-anxiety drug that is addictive and that I am very nervous about being on.


I am drinking baking soda dissolved in water because I have terrible acid reflux and I don't seem to have any Prilosec. I've looked in my carpet for a stray pill but I seem to have vacuumed them all up.

Yesterday, I had my blood drawn to see where my testosterone levels are. I have been taking a gel form of testosterone for six months now. I was having hot flashes, then aching bones. After researching it all myself I discovered that I had low testosterone. After my last test the gel wasn't working so they doubled it. We'll see how things go.

I was disturbed to hear that over six hundred Starbucks stores are closing.

Saturday, May 04, 2013

Angry lesbians next door who don't say hello

I'm on the porch, smoking my cigs. Here they come with their bad attitudes and their bags full of empty boxes of organic Trader Joe's bullshit and I don't know what else. What do lesbians throw away? I guess they're just like the rest of us, I don't know.

But what gets me is they never smile or say hello- whether they are throwing away garbage or putting on their bike helmets and heading out for the day. They won't even make eye contact. And where are they off to anyway? Some lesbian drum circle? I halfheartedly apologize for my stereotyping and well, homophobia. But just give me a smile lady. We're in this together.

There is another portly lesbian a door away who drives down the alley and always stops her convertible to say "Hey, enjoying the weather, man?" So much so that I'm like- hey back off. But it's still nice to be noticed. Not these lesbians.

I may be in the depths of depression, I may have just crapped my pants, I may be wearing two different shoes and contemplating the end of days but I will always say "Hello."

I don't want to be their friends, and I certainly don't want to come over and eat their food. But I would like them to wipe those frowns off their faces and make an effort. And this may be asking too much- but I would also like them to jazz up their outfits a little. A little product in the hair. A skirt once in awhile wouldn't kill them.

I bet they're lawyers or some shit. Social services. Those are the worst.

I had a lesbian therapist that drove me into the mental hospital. Well, ok she said "If you feel you need to be hospitalized- you should go."What kind of bullshit is that? Can't we dance the dance of clinical depression? The patient therapist waltz. "Downward Spiral," the new dance craze sponsored by Lexapro!

This is a horribly misogynistic, homphobic rant that is inexcusable. But I'm serious about the skirt.