Listening to this. I found out recently that Dick Dale once said he wrote this song after someone challenged him to write a song using only one string or something like that. I hated Pulp Fiction (I know, I know…what oh what in the world could ever be wrong with me?) but this was a good song on the Tarantino Connection soundtrack type album I used to have and this was on it.
So what I’m thinking about right now is how good my kids’ lives have been up until this point. (Not that there’s anything happening right now, I just mean up to the present.) Their parents are super in love, I think we all do pretty well in the food department, we can afford the pets we have, the entertainment we have, the bills we need to pay in order to live, my medications that aren’t covered by insurance, gas, a car, a home; we worry about money from time to time and we’re constantly worried about money but honestly, I just think that’s the nature of money. Everyone worries about money. I think about the fact that at Madison’s age I was institutionalized for my 2nd suicide attempt and at Madison’s age my mom was my mom. Madison has her problem and issues that are totally valid, but the fact is that most of them my mom and I had on TOP of the other two things. Which I don’t think Madison understands. Madison is a really good kid with a lot of privilege/s. And obviously she understands that it’s in her best interest to maintain said privileges that she gets and that being a brat, or inattentive to her household duties (which I don’t think we’re that strict about except the kitchen because dirty kitchens are gross and we all partake in cleaning that daily), means privileges get taken away. Like cell phones. iPods. Facebook. Video games. The internet. Etc.
When I was her age and institutionalized, mostly the whole time I was there I was scared because this to me was “the most trouble you could possibly be in at this time”. And that feeling sucks. It scares me to this day to the point where I avoid certain specific scenarios to ensure I’m never in the most shit I could possibly be in. Being…examined is the 2nd worse feeling in the world. They made me do “art therapy” where this big red-headed guy named ART, I shit thee not, handed me a pad of paper and a pack of pencil crayons and asked me about my life. And then he’d say, “can you draw that for me please?” So I made shit up. I basically described the habits, or so-called habits of a 15 year old moody goth (even though I didn’t “look” anything or listen to goth music). I told them I liked to hang out in the graveyard by my house, which was just up the hill and they thought that was the strangest behaviour I had upon my release. “Be careful in the graveyard,” said the head psych lady whose name I forget but she had an accent as she hugged me goodbye. Well she said one other thing but I’m not going to say what that was publicly.
Listening to this.
So I also had this funny idea, because I’ve been thinking about family a lot in the last little while, and who my family is. (One of Madison’s friends has a really large family and we were talking about it & determined that we come from a medium-sized family.) So I have this cousin, named Scott, whom I completely adored my whole childhood. He was literally my favourite person. And then he became my most hated person. And now I’m just “forgive and release”. But anyway, the last I ever inquired about him, he was selling men’s cosmetics, which is apparently a whole thing. And I guess he was pretty good at it, which is no surprise because he was an amazing artist, and now he works for MAC cosmetics, which in the cosmetics world, as I understand it, is a pretty high up place to be. Apparently he has a daughter now but I have no idea how old. Anyway, when my grama dies, he’ll definitely be at the funeral and seeing him will be toooooootally awkward. Being there at all is going to be bad enough but dealing with him is going to make it a thousand times worse. Unless everything’s totally cool. Which is possible. I’m open to the possibility.
I also wonder where she’s going to be buried and what her tombstone is going to say and who her neighbours are going to be. I’ve been afraid to ask that though. Like, it’s totally none of my business. I’m just curious. I don’t know where my grampa is buried and I don’t know where Wes Baker is buried. I know the graveyard my great grama is in but I wouldn’t know how to get there or what it was called.
Anyway, this is just the kind of thing I think about as the day goes by…listening to this.
Actually now I’m listening to a remix of No Rain by Blind Melon done by Pumpkin. If you google it, his soundcloud or whatever that site is should come up. I like it, Blake doesn’t.
Here’s a pic of the bruising on the top of my foot. I have another awful red bruise sort of between my heel and ankle that I couldn’t take a picture of myself.
God my feet are weird.
“I always told the moms. I tell my mom when my brother is being a misogynistic douche. The true true sadness of my experience is that 100% of the times, the moms are on the side of their precious baby boys Because THEY are misogynistic douches.“
- Natalia Alfonso
And then Sad But True by Metallica came on and hahahaha it was just a random moment that I thought was funny.
If I found out Wes was sending dick pics and thus transmitting child pornography to ANYONE, it wouldn’t be what 5 things I should buy myself, it’s the 1 thing I should take away from him. If I found out my brother did it, honestly, I wouldn’t care because it’s his dick and he can do what he wants with it. If he thought that was a responsible move obviously we need to spend more time together so he gets to understand women. That said, I send Blake boob pics sometimes so there is okay times and place for that and obviously that would be a topic for discussion. Plus, I get naked online ALL THE TIME, or at least I used to, so it’s less of a big deal for me. My body’s out there, for better or for worse. Plus he’s my husband. I don’t think he belongs to some txt pics phone ring with other married guys who show off their wives’ racks or something stupid like that. He honestly probably deletes them. It would not surprise me in the slightest.
I haven’t washed my hair in a week and it’s still looking as intended. I put on a hat if we’re leaving the house though. People can’t handle my crazy.
Madison is visiting a friend in town today so it’s just me and Wes. He’s playing Minecraft or Little Big Planet or watching YouTube videos because that’s just what he does.
Here’s a pic I took of myself before I fucked up my ankle:
And bleached out my hair…
My roots were becoming unbearable.
So that’s why I haven’t washed my hair in a week. I bleached the shit out of it and now I need my hair’s natural oils to coat and protect the hair again. It just also happens to look better when I don’t brush it. Albeit very very crazy.
I have a headache for the first time in a long time. I think it’s from looking at screens more than sleeping, just eyestrain or whatnot. A smart person with the ability to do so would go have a nap but I’ve never claimed to be a smart person.
Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps by Cake just came on. I like Cake a LOT and I’m bummed that I’ve never had the chance to see them live. I’m afraid they’re going to stop performing before I’m able to make that happen. From what I’ve read online, they really only play California anymore. Guess I’m going to have to go to them…
Last night Blake and I were driving around the beach and we actually saw this guy in a pickup truck drive right over a couple of medians to get to the McDonald’s drive-thru. I was like, “holy shit is he really doing that?!” So funny. Only at the beach. *shakes head*
Uhhhhh…. A HARMONICA solo on Baba O’Riley?? I forget what the original instrument is but it’s not a fucking harmonica and I believe it’s something that requires a bow. That was terrible. *scrubs this from her mind*
Here’s a good quality sounding version of the song with the weirdo instrument solo that is absolutely not a harmonica. A HARMONICA. I cannot even.
This is better. Reset.
Sometimes it really sucks being stuck alone with your own thoughts for too long and not being able to talk to anyone over the age of 18 about ANYTHING. Sometimes it really sucks that Madison reads my blog because there is a certain period of my life that I can’t write about without her becoming curious about the people in it and that would be a very bad thing because these people all ended up being scumbags. And I don’t mean scumbags lightly? I mean habitual losers who will fuck over anyone who’s not kin and even that’s questionable and who are always scheming and scamming or feuding with someone. These people are con artists, slimy manipulative alcoholics and grossly mentally ill and unmedicated most of the time and just plain scheezy in every possible way…and I honestly doubt they’ve changed.
But they weren’t always that way.
When I was Madison’s age, I was still just getting to know Phil, my biological father, while juggling my affection and devotion to my step-father Ken, while…let’s just call it “dealing with my family”. When I was 14 or 15 I spent a few weeks in the summer with Phil and Lisa and my cousin Brynne and that’s when they had the carpet store. By the end of it, I was getting so mad that they wouldn’t let me go home. No one would take the time to take me back because it’s about 2 hours away from where I lived and they were sooooooooo busy. They took me to Dyer Memorial, which I hear is not being taken care of anymore which I think is a real shame, and Lisa attempted to teach me how to drive (we ended up in a ditch, having hit a phone booth on the WRONG side of the road; she was like, “no problem”, put “The Kicker” in 4-wd mode and got us out of the ditch haha). We went 4-wheeling one time which was pretty crazy and we stopped at a stream and fished for a while before heading back. We ate fiddleheads and leaks. But they were super health nuts who were super in shape etc and hard to be around ALL the time, so I wanted to go home I’ll say after 2 or 3 weeks and it was like, this big long drawn out production and inconvenience that I needed to go home.
But the thing was, when I wasn’t there, I was curious about him. I mean, that time I spent with him was the first time I’d ever spent any amount of time on “his turf” and as him being the “parent” EVER and it was weird. And he’s a GOOD person!
Anyway, blah blah blah.
Ho-lee-shit. There’s a fucking sinkhole near our house and chaos is ensuing as it widens! How big will it get? Who knows? I’ve e-mailed Blake about it, who would be on the wrong side of it right now. I sent him a message on AIM, if I don’t get a reply soon I’ll call him because he said he’d be leaving work at 4:30pm. It’s 4:26pm as I type this. There are other ways to get home without taking the 400, I’m sure, and I’m also sure he knows them, but who knows how they’re re-routing people closer to home. It’s not like he listens to the radio on his way home or anything so he may have no idea.
Madison is making me pancakes! Hooray for Madison!
*shudder* I just read an article on xoJane about whether or not you like long nails or short nails and I haaaaaaaaaate long nails. omfg do I hate them. I hate real ones, I hate fake ones, I even hate nail polish (on my own fingers, but toes are okay). I am terrified of ripping a nail off and I type for a living, it would drive me insane. The article was so specific that I was like, cringing so I’m not going to link it. Ew.
Oh hey, I just made a new page on my site for people wanting to advertise here. Check it out. :o)
I called Blake to tell him about the sinkhole so he can come home an alternate route. Where it is, he thought, was the 2nd closest exit to where he was so it was good I called him.
I love this song. It’s pretty much my entire attitude on life.
Here’s me right now:
Blake’s home, peace oot.