February 24, 2014

Let your backbone slide…

Canada won gold in both men’s and women’s hockey and curling. Our tagline for these Olympics was #WeAreWinter and while all the other events were important, it’s those two that are at the heart of Canadian sport. We finished 3rd in the Olympics overall, which is cool by me!

I wore my Team Canada jersey for every game…

…and yesterday, when we won the men’s gold medal hockey game I did something that I sorta think is pretty brave. It’s one of those things that only I’ll think is brave (and Blake), probably, but I’m going to write about it anyway as insignificant as it may be.

Yesterday after the game, I wanted to go to Liquid Chrome, which is the local head shop, because I needed to get Purple Power (glass cleaner for bongs/pipes etc) and screens (you put in the bottom of the bowl of your bong/pipe so your weed doesn’t get sucked through the hole) and we keep forgetting to do it. Also, since my birthday is on Saturday (send me money for Florida since I took the week off unpaid! :oP), I wanted to see if they had any novelty rolling papers with birthday cakes or candles or cupcakes on them. I also, since we’d just won gold, wanted to see if they had any Canadian flag papers because I’ve seen those on TV before. Then I decided, after going to the website of one of the bigger flavoured paper manufacturers which was a brand I knew Liquid Chrome carried, that I wanted a few other different types of papers, depending on how much they were. I made a list and we decided to go.

Halfway there I started freaking about two things:

1. We would be getting there half an hour after they opened and I didn’t want to be their first customer. Blake assured me we wouldn’t be and that they’ll be happy to see us because they want our money.

2. I was still wearing my jersey and that made me stick out like a sore thumb, a target. A target, I figured, for positive stuff since we’d just won gold and everyone would be out celebrating (you’d think), but even that’s embarrassing so I kinda wanted to die at the idea of getting out of the car. Blake again told me it would be okay.

On the way there I took half an olanzapine and when we were almost to Liquid Chrome, I put 3 Ativans under my tongue and then Blake parked like, RIGHT in front of Liquid Chrome. We had to sit there and wait for a little while for my Ativans to dissolve and for Blake to talk me down. See, the thing with Liquid Chrome is that, despite it being one of the coolest places in Barrie and despite the fact that I know I have every right to be there, it’s an intimidating place because it’s a “boy store”. Whenever I go in there I’m always the only girl and it’s sometimes a really uncomfortable experience because it feels like the (all male) staff don’t want to be dealing with me. I just typed “but that could be me COMPLETELY projecting” but then I remembered that yesterday I came home with a complimentary calendar featuring scantily clad women featuring some of Liquid Chrome’s most interesting pieces. It’s a dudebro store. That is a calendar for dudebros.

Anyway…we go in and just as I’m going through the front door I freak and turn around to go back out, running into Blake’s chest because I was still wearing my “safety goggles” (star-shaped, glitter sunglasses) and didn’t have my glasses. I slipped off the safety goggles and went into the store. The guy behind the counter, where all the stuff I needed was, was helping someone else so I just looked around at all the pipes while trying to summon courage to talk to the guy and while Blake ran my safety goggles to the car and bring back my glasses because I wouldn’t be able to read the paper boxes behind the counter without them. Blake came back and I handed him the list and said that he needed to do the talking because I just couldn’t. I explained to him the order of importance of each type of rolling paper and then the Purple Power and screens and we waited in line behind this guy who was big enough that I couldn’t even see who was working behind the counter. A couple of other guys milled about the first floor, not sure about the second and third floors.

Eventually the guy behind the counter says to Blake, “have you been helped?” and Blake said no, so he ended his conversation with the big guy and we were next. I was glad to see it was the guy who owns the place. I don’t know his name but every time I’ve been in there and dealt with him, he’s been great. But then again, he owns the place so it’s different and still, every time, Blake has to get the ball rolling. That’s on me though, not the Liquid Chrome guy. So Blake asks how much all the papers are and the guy tells him, then he says, “the next thing we need are rolling papers with something birthday-related on them…” and the guy finds said item and puts it on the counter. They’re king-sized and the rolling machine I use is regular so I’ll have to cut them but they’re exactly what I wanted and I said exactly that to both of them. Then Blake asks for the ones with the Canadian flag on them and the guy sorta smirks and says, as he’s reaching for the top shelf, “we have these called O Cannabis…” and he shows us and they were awesome so I said, “sold!” and then from that point forward it was pretty much me who did the rest of the talking. We did just ultimately hand him the list to find papers because it’s easier but we talked throughout the experience and it was just chit chat and everything was fine. I walked out of there proud of myself for not only NOT just walking out, but staying there and not just participating in the interaction but basically leading it for the purposes we were there for. So yay me. :o) It’s not a huge thing, like I said, but it sort of is for me.

And that is my story.

PS. I also got maple syrup flavoured papers with maple leaves on them haha

October 15, 2013

Scar tissue, blood blister…

This morning as I was shaving my pits, as some girls are wont to do, because of the razor I use (Venus something er other that has its own shaving cream built in), I was reminded of something that happened when I was 12…

…when I was 12, we lived in a REALLY small town, called Greenbank, that I think was literally something like 400-500 people. There are only 5 features to Greenbank, that I can think of: a school that goes to grade 6, a pretty nice park, a church, a general store that also acts as the post office and a bakery/chicken coop (that makes amazing garlic cheese bread) that actually sells their own product, not like, an industrial type of thing.  This is all to say that if you lived in Greenbank when you were 12, there was nothing to really do but watch TV, but even that sucked because we were far enough into the boonies that we couldn’t get cable.

So, when I was 12, like the rest of the girls in town, I joined the church choir.

Yes. Me.

But lemme also say that when I say I “joined”, that meant I performed with the choir at our school, but I never sang at church by my own choice.

Anyway, one day I was in the upstairs bathroom brushing my teeth and I spied my dad’s razor sitting on the edge of the sink. Curious, I tried shaving a little bit of my arm hair. Then I felt the newly hairless skin and it was really smooth and suddenly I understood why some women shave their legs; I decided I wanted to shave my legs too.

So, on the floor of our bathroom, I proceeded to do so. DRY. It hurt a little. I bled just a little. But overall I thought it went okay.

I put my dad’s razor back (I highly doubt I rinsed it off) and went to bed. And I experienced freshly shaven legs and nice sheets for the first time in my life and I thought man, shaving your legs is AWESOME, then I went to bed.

The next morning I woke up, got out of bed, threw on t-shirt and a pair of shorts (I highly doubt I ate breakfast) and walked to school.  In June. Where every morning I would come to school a sweaty mess because it was the end of the school year and it was already getting really hot.

The day was totally normal, like any other. We played baseball in gym but because I had asthma I didn’t have to participate so I sat in the grass behind the fencing (cage?) and kept count with J. Fletcher who was in trouble so he wasn’t allowed to play but really wanted to.

And that’s when the itching started. Absent-mindedly,  I began to scratch my legs a little bit, just every now and then. But that only made it itchier and now red bumps were appearing but it was soooooo itchy so I scratched. And kept on scratching until gym class was over.

On the way home from school, the sweat running down my legs because it was 3:30pm and it was hotter than it was in the morning, began to sting the little red bumps. It suuuuuuuuucked.

But I had to go to choir after school, so I did, begrudgingly.

Choir practice was some girls standing and some girls sitting on the step below them with their legs together, bent and to the same side as everyone else. I was a sitter.

I was in agony and during one slow part of choir when the adults were trying to work something out amongst themselves, I had to scratch so I looked around to see if anyone was looking and someone was. This girl whose name I can’t even remember was staring at me which freaked me right out so I looked away and that’s when she whispered to me, “hey! do you shave your legs?” completely bewildered and sort of in awe because none of the other girls had shaven legs.

NO.” I half sneered, half hissed because by now it was clear that I had somehow done it wrong. I stuck my nose up in the air and turned away from her.

It’s funny the little things you remember throughout your day like that. I wish the Venus whatever it’s called with the built in shaving gunk that I use was there for my 12 year old self.

Anyway, I thought it was cute/funny so I thought I’d share.

Posted at 12:09 pm in: Beauty , Childhood , Fall , Feminism , Life , Misc. , the 90's , Women
September 5, 2013

How Not To Be Terrible When Talking About Rape


Posted at 1:40 pm in: Current Events , Fall , Feminism , Internet , Sex , Summer , Women
April 8, 2013

Onto Post Three…The GWC!

A few months ago, I read this article by Molly Crabapple about being a nude model for photographers and about the existence of the “GWC”, which stands for “Guy With Camera”. Here’s the article.

There’s this GWC on my Facebook friends list who drives me absolutely insane. He considers himself a professional photographer but has had no formal training and only takes photos of “hot” women. I don’t necessarily think you need to have gone to school for photography to be a professional photographer but if you don’t have any formal training then you have to compensate for that with talent and knowledge, neither of which this guy has shown to have. What he does have though, is access to fucking Lightroom and his overuse of  the adjustment brush and iris enhance features of the program is absolutely criminal. He makes all of his models look plastic, like Barbies; he erases all of their features, making their noses blend into their cheeks and all of his photos are super obviously over-processed. In fact, I would put money on the fact that I’m pretty sure I know the exact book he learned Lightroom from. This one. I know this because I have it too and that’s how I know Lightroom but his technique is so obviously from that book that every time I see one of his pictures I just shake my damn head. A magician should never reveal his tricks, y’know?

But the thing that really chaps my ass is his ARROGANCE. Arrogance is probably my least favourite human trait, especially when there’s no basis for it. If – for example – Sid Crosby wants to be arrogant because he’s really good at hockey, that would be okay-ish because he IS really good at hockey. I still wouldn’t fuck him because I find arrogance a complete turn off, but I wouldn’t be as repulsed by it as I would be if he WASN’T good at hockey. See the distinction?

This GWC on my friends list is so fucking arrogant and his pictures are so goddamn offensive that I’ve had to hide him completely from my newsfeed. Normally I’d defriend someone who bugged me this much but there are reasons at play as to why I can’t in this case.

This GWC even OFFERED to shoot me, like he was doing me a favour and I should be honoured that he thought I’d be a good subject or hot enough to bother with. I politely declined while thinking, “not in this lifetime” because I could only imagine what he would do to my image once he got it in Lightroom and he would totally expect me to post the pictures on my site, link him, and be forever GRATEFUL that he was so generous with his time and talent.


I think that as a photographer, you have to make your subjects trust you with their images, that the outtakes will never see the light of day and that they will look like them, or a better version of them, in the final product and I would never trust this guy with my image in a million years. I don’t want to be made into a plastic robotic woman-like creature. Like, if it were something intentional, like photoshopped Barbie-ish leg and arm joints to really look like a doll, that would be okay, that’s a statement, that’s saying something. But this GWC doesn’t have those kinds of photoshop skills; this GWC just knows how to overuse Lightroom to make people look plastic. And obviously so. And he probably thinks his pictures are on par with fashion magazines or makeup ads. They’re not.

Anyway, the guy frustrates me to no end because he gives the rest of us AMATEUR photographers – which he is whether he likes it or not – a bad name. So please, don’t be a GWC. Be a goddamn photographer.

March 23, 2013

God. Preach It Sister.

So you’re tired of hearing about “rape culture”?

Read it. Understand it. Prevent it.

This should also be posted:

The Shortest PSA On How To Handle Drunk Girls Passed Out On Your Couch — EVER

That is all…for now.

Posted at 8:48 am in: Current Events , Feminism , Sex , social networking , Spring , SRS BSNS , videos , Women
March 9, 2013

Under Your Skin

This is a grama update. Skip it if you want, I’ll understand.

My mom e-mailed me on Thursday morning but I’ve got like, fucking mono or something and I’ve been sleeping a LOT so I didn’t actually read the e-mails until Friday morning.

I asked her how sick radiation would make my grama and my mom said she wasn’t sure. She said that radiation causes “extreme fatigue” and that it kills the good cells along with the bad and that’s why people feel like crap while they’re undergoing therapy so that was fact #1. I asked when my grama will start losing her hair and my mom said she wasn’t sure about that either. I asked if it would be rude to bring my grama a nice, black, crocheted hat that I got when my hair was falling out but never wore because it never really suited me and my mom said that would be a nice idea but the problem is, Madison wore it and left it on the floor because she’s a jerk so it got dog hair on it and when I washed it, I put it in the dryer and it messed it up, so so much for that. :o/

My grama’s house doesn’t have a main floor bathroom and she’s not completely mobile so she can’t stay there. The solution was to move her into an apartment in town, so I asked my mom for the address for there and she gave it to me.

The next e-mail was a lot harder to digest because it was just really fucking sad.

My mom and my Aunt Sandra’s husband, John, got my grama moved into the apartment while my Aunt Betty, my grama’s sister, took my grama to Newmarket to see a new oncologist. That’s when they were informed that the cancer had metastasized further into her liver and I know that that’s bad news and my mom hasn’t told me an exact timeframe yet but this new bit of information will likely mean that her life expectancy is a lot shorter than it had been previously based on the information they had at the time.

That’s not what bothered me about the e-mail though. What bothered me about the e-mail was that my grama was scared to go into the apartment, her new home. She and my Aunt Betty sat in the car and waited for the movers to leave and then they waited a little while longer before my grama got her bravery up and made it into her new home. My mom and John had gotten most of the chaos organized, sheets on the bed, towels in the bathroom, the good china out.

My grama’s cousin Sharron showed up with a crock pot full of chili, buns and dessert so they all ate and it was really good that she came. I was relieved when my mom wrote that she had come and sort of helped to diffuse the situation. But still, once everyone left, my grama would be alone in a new place for the first time since Feb. 12th, but more than that, she’d lived in her old house for like, 45+ years and now she’s in this apartment…I just can’t even imagine what that feels like, to be so displaced and facing imminent death.

I’ve had a card sitting on my desk of my “Brown Bee Girl”, which I think is my best painting, and I’d been waiting to find the perfect thing to write in it but I’ve been at a loss. So instead of sending that (well, I probably still will), I sent her a bouquet of flowers with the message “BE BRAVE.” Because I think that’s all you can really say in this situation, or at least that’s all I could think of to say in this situation…this is the bouquet I sent:

I told the flower shop that it would be okay to substitute things if they couldn’t get it exactly right but if there AREN’T sunflowers in it I’m going to be really pissed off, so mom, if you’re reading this and you see it, let me know if there weren’t any. Stouffville Florist is usually pretty good in my experience, but I just have visions of them using black-eyed Susans or something like that instead of sunflowers and that would just piss me off. Sunflowers are kinda my thing

Anyway, it was just really hard to read that e-mail; reading that my furniture delivering, warrior woman grama was scared of something, scared to go into her new home, it just tears me right the fuck up. I can barely even write this post because I’m completely heartbroken.

And I don’t really know what else to say.

My mom just e-mailed me a few minutes ago to tell me that my grama’s property finally sold and the price was pretty sad. I know what it was appraised at and what they got was a fraction of what it should have been but as I’ve explained before, a really really long time ago, my grama’s property backs onto an old dump site, like a garbage dump, and it was never sealed properly so this stuff called “leachate” is leaking onto my grama’s property and that really devalued it. But I guess everyone’s relieved that it’s sold so I guess that’s good. So this is where I grew up. Look at it while you can. The fact that it’s not “ours” anymore hurts my heart because my grama’s property has always been a really special place for me but I guess change is inevitable, right?

So that’s what’s happening right now and no, I am not okay.

March 8, 2013


I had planned to see this opening week.  Looks like I’ll be downloading this instead of paying 3D prices for a family of 4.

And the second reason was — during the years that I spent running Walt Disney Studios — I learned about how hard it was to find a fairy tale with a good strong male protagonist. You’ve got your Sleeping Beauties, your Cinderellas and your Alices. But a fairy tale with a male protagonist is very hard to come by. But with the origin story of the Wizard of Oz, here was a fairy tale story with a natural male protagonist. Which is why I knew that this was an idea for a movie that was genuinely worth pursuing.

Joe Roth, producer of Oz the Great and Powerful

Posted at 11:05 pm in: Feminism , Money , Movies , Women
November 6, 2012

Happy Election Day To My American Comrades!

Posted at 10:31 am in: Current Events , Fall , Feminism , Politics , USA , Women
October 24, 2012

Blip.fm Pisses Me Off. Also Halloween.

So I’m on Blip.fm, as are a lot of my friends such as Ronny and Alex, whose taste in music I respect. I also have something like 150 followers, which is pretty cool, but what pisses me off is that when I search for songs on Blip, I get all these FUCKING videos of live performances and covers by lame people and never the official video even though I know for a fact it’s on YouTube which is where Blip pulls from. And forget actual MP3s, you can never find those. So wtf? I think Blip is a good platform but its search algorithms are fucked up or something and it pisses me right off because I can never find what I’m looking for. And it’s extra obnoxious when I know for a fucking FACT that the official video is on YouTube and when I search for the exact title of the video on YouTube on Blip, it doesn’t come up. GRRRRRRRR.


So today is Wednesday (duh), which means there is only 2 days left for me to get my shit together in preparation for Friday. Friday is going to be busy and I hate busy days. I am a firm believer in the fact that you cannot do more than 2 stressful things in one day and on Friday I have 3 stressful things.

1. Dentist appointment. I broke a tooth Monday night eating ketchup chips, which SUCKS, because I’m pretty sure they’re going to have to do a root canal and that takes an hour and a half. They’re just looking at it on Friday to come up with a plan of attack so that means probably next week will be the root canal. JOY. (Our insurance doesn’t cover laughing gas, how fucking dumb is that? $100 out of pocket for that. Send PayPal to Sunny@SunnyCrittenden.com! Just kidding. Sort of.)

2. Shrink appointment. Need to talk to her about a change in meds. I think I need to take 2 loxapine at night to get to sleep at a decent time because 1 doesn’t seem to cut it. I’ve been getting phantom anxiety for the last 3 weeks and I think it has to do with all the construction happening on front of our house. I know that sounds ridiculous but I’m a fragile flower man, and that shit is grating on my nerves something fierce. I’ve been taking 2 clonazepam (klonopin) in the afternoons, especially on days I have work meetings, when I’m only supposed to be maybe taking 1 during the day if needed and one at night before bed. I have to tell her I’m terrified of my caseworker. Speaking of him, Blake called him yesterday but as far as I know he hasn’t called back. Yikes. I also think I need to borrow a lightbox because S.A.D. is kicking my ass. I have all these things written down so I won’t forget when I get there. I also think maybe I need to be either put on a higher dose of gabapentin/welbutrin or a new anti-depressant altogether. I refuse to take anything where weight gain could be a remote possibility. Been there, done that, took almost dying and being on a fucking feeding tube to lose the weight. I also think maybe I should talk to her about getting a therapist. I almost died and I have this total disconnect to it. Everyone keeps telling me how I’m some kind of miracle, how I shouldn’t be here etc etc etc and I’m like, “yeah man, wanna see my scar?” I’m so detached from it and people keep telling me that’s not normal. I just want to move on, it happened, it’s in the past, I barely experienced it because I was in a medically induced coma so I don’t know how people expect me to be in regards to it. My mom and Blake and my kids? They experienced it. I just see it as, I was really sick and now I’m not. I’m off all the drugs related to my illness (aside from pancreatic enzymes and the cholesterol meds) and my period has come back so I’m a-okay right? What’s there to process? But people keep telling me that I’m repressing  or something, that I shouldn’t be this detached from it. That maybe I’m still in shock. But I don’t think so.

I mean, just as an example…when I was 14 and pretty brutally raped by a stranger behind the bleachers at a park in the town I grew up in I was obviously distressed afterward. I didn’t go to the police and I only told my Aunt Heather, who I had been staying with at the time, about it. Afterward I made a doctor’s appointment myself and had the necessary tests done to make sure I wasn’t pregnant or full of STDs (neither, thank god, I was tested for HIV for a year & a half after the fact). My doctor was the only person in the world who knew what happened. And why I’m telling you this is because I was completely detached from the event. I still am. I talk about it in a clinical way and I did even then. After the man left me laying in the dirt – but not before kicking me and telling me to get up and spitting on me when I wouldn’t move – I waited for him to leave and then I got up, dusted myself off, wiped his fluids from between my legs with my ripped panties which I then threw in a nearby garbage can after I pulled my shorts back up and walked back to my Aunt’s apartment. I cried of course, but only for about the 10 minutes it took me to walk from the park back to her apartment. When I got back to her apartment, there was a note saying that she was at the coffee shop, so I took a bath and cleaned myself up (the man had almost broken my nose and I had blood beneath it, this was also the loss of my virginity and there was blood all down my upper thighs), then I went BACK to the park to look for my Aunt’s fucking dog which I was walking in the park at 3am to begin with. I was more distressed that my Aunt would be mad at me for losing her dog (a rottweiler, what a good protector eh? didn’t come running while I was screaming) than at what had happened to me.

I just figured, even at 14, that the cops would never do anything since I didn’t know who the man was and it was dark so I could barely tell you what he looked like aside from the size of him. He was obviously drunk (this was during Strawberry Festival when the town sets up a “beer garden” in the parking lot beside the park – last call is 2am, you do the math) and because it was Strawberry Festival, it could have been anyone. Calling the cops would just get me in trouble for being at the park at 3am to begin with and my parents would blame my Aunt for it and I wouldn’t be able to go to her house anymore. And at that time, she was pretty much my lifeline, the closest thing to a mother I had. And what would calling the cops accomplish anyway? Nothing but trouble. So I clinically decided that I had to put on my big girl panties and accept that this bad thing had happened, that it was over now, that I had to make sure I was still healthy and – and this may sound so so so stupid but keep in mind I was 14 – I figured, regarding my virginity, “well, I guess that’s out of the way”. Sex was no longer a mystery.

Maybe it’s because I was molested when I was a little kid. Repeatedly. Or maybe it’s because I was basically homeless at the time and a lot of bad things had already happened and that this was just “one more thing” I should have seen coming, I dunno. I mean, keep in ind that a year later I would be legally emancipated from my parents and living on my own, I was, at that age, an adult for all intents and purposes.

Anyway, my point is that I never suffered the usual things victims of brutal rape suffer after the fact. There was no PTSD. No residual after effects. (I did think it was my fault though for being out at 3am and vulnerable, I asked for it, and I would think that until about 2 years ago when I saw this spoken word piece by Staceyann Chin. Here’s the pertinent part, but you should watch the whole piece because it’s awesome. She’s awesome. Anyway, it being my fault was just a fact I accepted. Not something I felt bad about.) When I later told my two best friends what had happened to me, because they were both bragging about their boyfriends and how they would lose their virginities before me because I didn’t have a boyfriend and I got fed up at the novelty of virginity since I had lost mine so willy nilly and against my will, mine didn’t have “value”, why should theirs? They both called me a liar. They based this on the fact that I didn’t cry when I told them the story. They said I made it up. I didn’t act like a rape victim, therefore I couldn’t have been one. I bet they think I’m lying about it to this day for that very reason and they wouldn’t be the only people to think this of me because I don’t “act like a rape victim”.

But I just think this is how I deal with traumatic events. My life has been so fucked up and disjointed that I just expect bad things to happen because they always do. Getting sick and almost dying is just “one more thing”, just as being raped (that time) was. If I got bent out of shape over every bad thing that ever happened to me, I probably wouldn’t have survived as long as I have. My life is downhill and full of moguls. Always has been, probably always will be. I accepted this fact – and it is a fact – at a very young age. Probably about the time I learned that my older cousin, whom I was in love with, wasn’t touching me in my secret places because he loved me back and we couldn’t be alone together anymore.

So I don’t think it’s abnormal at all for me to have come out of being THAT sick and meeting my mortality up close and personal-like to have just gotten over it and moved on. It’s just “one more thing” that’s happened in a really eventful life. If anything, the way I see things right now is that the Universe – that’s with a capital “U” – owes me a peaceful life from here on out. And that’s what I fully expect. I mean, I almost died, I had 15 months of pure and utter sickness hell, I lost my job, my hair fell out, I got down to 98 lbs, I had to have the world’s most painful surgery, what the fuck else could happen to me? The only thing I can think of is a car accident where I’m disfigured or made handicapped in some way, so I’m somewhat expecting that, but I’ve also been to Hug Nation enough times to start believing in pronoia, the psychological philosophy that the Universe is conspiring in your favour. Positive thinking brings positive results, right?

Boy did I stray off topic. What do you think? Do you think I’m processing being sick/almost dying in a healthy way or do you think my disconnect is abnormal and I need a therapist?

3. On Friday at the MacLaren Art Centre where Alex and I are taking our photography class, they’re having a “Halloween Coffee House” where you pay $2 admission and there is: local youth entertainment (our photography teacher’s son’s band is playing), a costume contest, interactive art activities, food and coffee and our photography teacher said we should come because there will be lots of people there who won’t mind their pictures being taken. Wes will get a chance to test out his ninja costume and maybe Madison can go as a beauty queen with her sparkly grad dress and Fall Fair Ambassador sash. I’m just gonna wear normal clothes and my marabou horns. Dunno what Blake might do. Probably nothing. Alex said if we go then she’ll come too. She’ll probably be Harry Potter again since she has the costume. This counts as a stressful thing because it’s a stressful thing that will require copious amounts of Ativan. In fact I needed two Ativan just to write this paragraph.

So that’s my Friday. And because I’m mentally ill, it will take from now until then (and pharmaceuticals) to prepare for it.

Speaking of pharmaceuticals, I started taking ALPHA  BRAIN on Tuesday, which is a nootropic. A side effect of my psych meds is that I have the memory of a goldfish. Blake and I can have entire conversations that I won’t remember the next day and this leads to constant conflict because I know/think people take advantage of my bad memory by saying they told me things when they really didn’t. Madison definitely takes advantage of it. I have suspicions that other people have/do too. ALPHA BRAIN is supposed to help with that. It’s expensive though. $35 + shipping per bottle for 30 pills and you’re supposed to take 1 or 2 a day. I’m starting with 1 because I just bought the one bottle to try. If it works, I’ll gladly pay for it, but I don’t know if 30 days is enough time for it to work. I’m not sure how the stuff works, like if it needs to build up in your system or what.  Anyway, this memory problem really really bothers me so I hope the stuff works as advertised.  I’m also going to talk to my shrink about an actual, proven pharmaceutical solution, like maybe an amphetamine of some sort like Adderal or something. I’m on several habit forming drugs and I take them responsibly so I don’t think I would abuse speed. My only concern with that is a side effect is possible psychosis even at therapeutic doses, but I just read all about amphetamines on Wikipedia and they would help my concentration, which I need, they could help improve my memory, which I desperately need, they would help my performance at work at 4am, which I could really use and overall my life is so grey right now and blah and boring that maybe amphetamines would help me create again. Anyway, it’s worth exploring.

And that’s what I’ve got in me for today. Now I’m going to go eat ketchup chips for breakfast and read Sookie Stackhouse.

October 23, 2012

How to Love a Goddess

I haven’t actually attended a Hug Nation in a while because I just haven’t been able to, but I always watch the archives and thought this one was particularly good. Everything John says in this video are things Blake understands and values and has since before I even knew him. That’s just one of the many reasons why I married him in the first place and why our marriage continues to be so successful. (Although I kinda think the whole “goddess” label is pretty cheesy. Ignore that part.)

Posted at 1:49 pm in: Blake , Feminism , internet celebrities , videos , Women , youtube

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