For Those Of You Keeping Score At Home

Because I know you just hang on the teetering scales of karmic retribution that passes for my life.

But just in case I haven't expressed this adequately, since I've been told repeatedly how bad I am at coummincating, here goes:

It's been a helluva few years. The last 18 months seems to have made it a personal mission to age me decades. And I still really haven't gotten a break.

Now, I know lots of people don't get breaks, that's life, right? You have to keep trudging forward. But by the 8lb 9 oz babby jebus, it can be vexatious.

Last May I made the difficult decision to quit the only steady employment I'd had. It was literally making me sick, physically. Anyways, after two weeks of unemployed bliss, wherein I decided to overhaul my room, I got a call about a loved one.

So June found me headed east. They reckoned he had cancer and was dropping dead soon. The truth turned out to be far more complicated and every bit as scary. I became one of a two-man primary care-taking team. We had help from Hospice (an amazing organization) and it still took everything we had.

While everyone did admirably, the emotional tolls exacted on the participants were difficult to deal with, for each person and for each other. I think maybe everybody might need a little therapy. Seriously. It was some stressful shite. Twere not dull times, is what I'm saying.

And there were additional lovelies along the way--another loved one has inoperable cancer. He is tucked away somewhere dying and I can't help him and I really don't want to talk about it much more than that.

Life continues. Money is ever so scarce. The future is uncertain. Everyone struggles. Donald Drumpf. It's bleak, is what I'm saying.

In mid winter we decided we had plateaued, and I headed back West. After three weeks our Charge took a serious dip and I got a call from a Hospice nurse telling me that he was dying in a room in th ER as we spake.

SO, flew back to family, lived in ICU with my Number 1 Patient for a few weeks of a coma, and then we slowly got him out of there, into PT, and off the drugs and through the condition that was making him nutsy fagin.

Fair to say, was an emotionally challenging Spring. Perhaps this is where I began to feel frayed.

Everything has leveled out to an acceptable state, and I returned West once again in June, almost an exact year after I'd first left.

I have little money. I have no income. I have no real networking. I'm working on a side/dream project and trying to make an honest effort at it because HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME and it's easy to play Prufrock but maybe I could make on stage as even a Guildenstern, if not Hamlet himself.

And it's fine if you don't understand any of that. Because here's what it means: I GOT STRESS. liekwhoa.

I visited some friends, but I haven't had a break. Bad news, real life, responsibility, have dogged me every step of the way. I can't relax. It's me--I think I need 30 days of intensive Netflix/Deserted Island therapy.

Whatever the case, including that I'm in some kind of PTSD meltdown or just a mid life crisis, I haven't gotten a break. The beat goes on. I'd like a nappy break. Can I tag out?

I'm exhausted. And I'm my primary resource. This corporate structure sucks.

I know you peeps out there are feeling it, too. John Irving called it weltzenhammer and said it was German for "world hurt."

Kinda like Sorrow.

Hide Yo Kids! Hide Yo Wife! It's Prions!

I keep telling you fewlz that teh prions is big bad news. You all laugh at me, but SCIENCE backs me up, once again.

Prions Steal Your Happiness, Fuck Up Your Life.

Seriously, prions are linked to depression.

WHY DO THE SCIENTISTS KEEP MAKING THEM?!?!?!?!?!?!?

MLA Citation
Publicase Comunicação Científica. "Sequestered prion protein takes the good mood away, suggests new hypothesis on depression." ScienceDaily. ScienceDaily, 13 August 2015. <www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2015/08/150813104308.htm>.

Journal Source 1
Danielle Beckman, Luis E. Santos, Tatiana A. Americo, Jose H. Ledo, Fernando G. de Mello, Rafael Linden. Prion Protein Modulates Monoaminergic Systems and Depressive-like Behavior in Mice. Journal of Biological Chemistry, 2015; 290 (33): 20488 DOI: 10.1074/jbc.M115.666156

It's The Apocalypse, Y'all

The History Channel is showing an Ancient Aliens program. The theme is aliens, Hitler, and the Third Reich.

It's finally happened. The History Channel has come full circle and gone full retard.

Ah Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha

Guess who got four notices in the mail today?

Guess what those notices said about Medi-Cal approval?

Guess how many different $ amounts they cited as my income?

1. Me!

2. I am totally approved for Medi-Cal! Four separate times!

3. Three different income amounts! There were two in each envelope, and they all contradicted each other!

That's right, after a cold hearted refusal of services post approval of services, we have a late game reversal of the reversal!

Not only do I qualify for coverage again, I qualify under three different income amounts. I QUALIFY FOR MEDI-CAL THREE SEPARATE WAYS (SO HARD, SO BAD, AND WICKED HARD).

How did they get these amounts? Who fucking knows? I'm pretty confident that no matter what, this still isn't going to work out for me.

Hilarious. Tragic and ultimately foreboding about humanity's chances for long term survival, but hilarious.

Schrödinger's Health Coverage.

Keeping It Real In The LBC

Prepare for randomness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

House/cat sitting for some friends in a ridiculous house in a ridiculous location. I am one house back from what is technically a public, but essentially a private, beach. I am unsure about my commas in that preceding sentence.

This place is stupid. Will update with pix later. My guest bedroom has an ocean view. So does the side porch. Unreal.

~~~

It's not always about money. Only mostly. Individual taste rules all. This is an awesome  house, but I wouldn't have purchased it. For the $$$, I would have liked something altogether different. But then again, I've owned approx 0 homes to date. Maybe a house like this is something you grow into?

~~~

As I have a place to myself, I am naturally not taking care of any business and am instead marathoning stuff on Netflix. Oh, Netflix, the destroyer of all good intentions.

Watching some episodic television and I come across That Actor With The Glasgow Smile. He's playing a Scot in this one. Scottish mobster. Surprise. You know the guy? I'm gonna bet his name is Tommy something. And I'm going to bet he's Irish. Let's find out together, shall we?

Survey says: Tommy Flanagan!

This guy has done a shit ton of work. You may remember him best from Sin City, Gladiator, or a little movie called Braveheart.

Everybody remembers this scene. Primae Noctis--worst wedding gift ever.

Now brace yourselves, because I know everybody relies on Braveheart for its stunning historical accuracy, but jus primae noctis might not ever have been an actual practice.

This just in: if a white guy is telling the story, remember there's a reason it's called history.

And apparently I don't know shit (today is just full of bombshells). Msr. Flanagan was born in Glasgow, it seems. See, I thought he was Irish because his Scottish accent was so good.

Too good. I could understand him. This led me to believe it was put on, rather than natural. Perhaps it is just his Scottish-American accent. Did you know he's on Sons of Anarchy? I didn't till just now.

~~~~

Long Hair Tip #17:

If you are housesitting and wearing something just horrible because it's laundry day and ALL your necessary garments are in the wash because Hey-Noone-Will-Knock and then somebody DOES KNOCK. . .

. . . you can drape your hair over your shoulders to hide your sketchy wardrobe as well as camoflauging the fact that you have no support garments on. Which is good, because it turns out there is a construction worker convention in the courtyard.

Just saying.

~~~~

I had lots more stuff to say, but I have fallen down a hole. It started with finding that Craig Ferguson reaction gif up there.

So this is Craig's last season on The Late, Late Show. Boo. Hiss. We are losing a national treasure. (No really, he's ours. He got his citizenship and everything).

How can anyone not love Craig Ferguson? He's gorgeous and silly and All That Is Light And Good In This World. He's just a few rungs below babby kittehs. He's that amazing.

Classy.

After you've watched craigyferg for a while, you can kinda tell what voice he's using just by his facial expressions.

And the dancing. My god, the dancing.

Who's at the door? Secretariat!?!?!

I could write a whole sonnet about these damn puppets.

What's not to love.

No, seriously, what? He is adorable. I'm totally getting lost in this image search.

Then it happened.

OKAY THAT IS FRIGGING IT I HAVE HAD IT WITH THE INTERNETS WHAT THE SAM HILL IS HAPPENING HERE HOLY CRAP CRAIGYFERG IS QUOTING..

..ACK...

HE'S QUOTING...

..KAFF...WHEEZE....

HE'S PULLING A MR. PILKINGTON!!!

I CANNOT EVEN WITH THIS HOW THE EFF DID THIS HAPPEN HOLY CRAP WE ARE AT DEFCON 1 STALKER ALERT I DONT UNDERSTAND ITS LIKE HE'S INSIDE MY BRAAAAAAAAAIN

yeah, okay.

that's pretty much it.

i quit, internet. 

you win.

It's Moments Like These That Make Me Question The Reality of My Own Morality.

Because I can't decide if this is either the Worst Job Offer Ever or the Best Job Offer Ever:

Extras in Pop Music Video*

$50/day - male, female, all ethnicity and height/weight, 20s to 70s, model type, ordinary type, most shocking appearance, tattoo/piercing look etc...Must have an outgoing personality, provocative and MUST BE OK with kissing scenes! Kissing same and/or opposite sex.

 I mean, I think my confusion can only be interpretated a couple of ways:

1. Maybe I'm being delusional and imagining only pretty people there when the reality is stank breaf, cold sores, and Attack!Tongues.
2. Maybe I'm being delusional and they would never let in gross people, poor hygeine, etc, and that I'd be lucky if they picked me.
3. Maybe I need to get back into therapy to deal with these freakish esteem issues.
4. Maybe I need to get back into therapy because for a moment there I thought the freakish esteem issues were the problem. Obviously, the problem is that I have this problem in the first place. And publicly share it.

 EDIT:

Option 5. I totally need to go back to therapy because I just re-read the ad, saw the "provocative" requirement, and thought, "Oh, I guess I wouldn't make it into this shoot." Then I thought about what a fucked up thought that was. Then I realized I needed to stop typing.

EDIT II: I promise, Mom, it's not a porno.

(EW*): Always, No, Sometimes Think It's Me, But You Know When It's A Dream

I think a no, I mean a yes, but it's all wrong
That is I think I disagree

This song popped in my head and this train of thought left the station before it could be derailed by the later day's events.

Strawberry Fields. As a child I disliked the circular lyrics, the inexplicably monotonous sing-song of the chorus, the wildly vacillating lyrical tempo--I didn't sound right and easy and kind like some of their other songs.

As I grew, my love for the Beatles in their 907 Glorious Forms grew as well. Strawberry Fields seemed like another not-so-secret drug ode. (In my arrogant youth I also dismissed Chicago's 25 or 6 to 4 as pandering. Oh, the assured omnipotence of youth!) I heard there was a plaque somewhere, Times Square? Whatever.

But the lyrics had wormed their way into my personal soundtrack. I owned not only solo John Lennon albums, I owned Julian Lennon albums.  (PS, Julian, it's none of my business, but I can't help but feel that your dad was kind of a tool. I'm glad it didn't stop you from going into music. There's a darkness in the air that seems to guide me.)

And from Papa Lennon, I was grooving to tasty treats like,
 
No one I think is in my tree, I mean it must be high or low
That is you can't you know tune in but it's all right

But it wasn't until today that chanced to look up Strawberry Fields lyrics and stumble across an annotated version. 

I didn't know it was about Lennon's child hood. I didn't know it was about the ineffable sadness of knowing how profoundly different you are from the other kids. I didn't know that the title shared its name with a park Lennon frequented as a youth. I didn't know John Lennon was scared to sing it, as he considered it one of his most personal songs.

To quote Lennon himself:

I was different all my life. The second verse goes, ‘No one I think is in my tree.’ Well, I was too shy and self-doubting. Nobody seems to be as hip as me is what I was saying. Therefore, I must be crazy or a genius — ‘I mean it must be high or low,’ the next line. There was something wrong with me, I thought, because I seemed to see things other people didn’t see

I fully recognized that quote could be interpreted in a grandiose, arrogant way. It certainly seems to lean that way, no? But that's not how I took it. I took it as that terrible and constant feeling that you can't talk about the things you think with your peers--you scare them. You can't use logic or science in this debate, it makes your friends cry. You are different and you know it and if you're lucky some well meaning adult doesn't take a special interest in you because we all know how well that's gonna go, outcome irrelevant. 

Well, shut my mouth wide open: I just made a profoundly emotional connection to John Lennon--somebody I would never consider to have anything in common with me. I'd like to believe I'm like a lot of clever, witty, talented people, but it never occurred to me to be able to relate to Lennon.

So I told you all that just in case it has any bearing on what followed, which followed so very quickly I had no choice but to consider it a Result.

********************************************

It gets harder than it should be. Even though it's probably you making it hard in the first place, you just can't get away from it.

In my objective assessments, I feel like a sponge. In my self pitying moments, I consider myself a sin-eater.

It's just People: there's so many of them and they are all bleeding emotion in every direction and their thoughts are so loud and their sadness and anger is even louder. So many people, so many stories.

And you can't respond to all that. They'd cart you away in the next available straight jacket. Sometimes I wonder if insanity is just the absence of the ability to control all the input. Besides being institutionalized for trying to communicate with Everything All At Once, you also wouldn't then be able to accomplish anything your needed to do. Ever again.

So you fake it. You chant litanies in your head that become magical wards against interloping thoughts. You fall into a meditation and don't let it touch you. You put on armor and remind yourself to keep breathing.

Unfortunately, and perhaps what drives me here today, is the realization that you can put on your armor and shield yourself from Humanity, but you're still going to Witness it. You're Marked. All the defense systems in the world can't save you, there will be a chink here and there and all the back-burnered pain of Humanity will come surging in. 

Maybe it will dissipate in the wisps of uncomfortable dreams you don't remember, but that leave you feeling unrested. Could take the form of one too many beers and subsequent hangover pain that mutes the thoughts, but also serves the urge for penitent self-flagellation. You find a way to distract yourself, you choose a different poison.

But it's killing you all the same. The pills to stop the pain are just as harmful as the pain itself. Slow poisons, bad risks, self loathing, rage--whichever or all, you're going down.

*EW = Experimental Writing

I Swear I'm Adopted

My family is just so, Wow, sometimes.

I just tripled checked all my mail messages. When I sent out a notice about my lost phone and requesting deets, the majority of ppl did not reply.

What's ironic is that not a single one of my immediate relatives in this town replied.

What's even more ironic is that I exchanged over 10 emails with my moo on the subject, she didn't respond, AND the only reason I have the their home number is because it's part of her signature.

Hmm. What could it mean?

Nooooooooooooo!

I accidentally bought 1% chocolate milk*.

GROSS!

Now I have to go back to the store. That's two times in two days. (at least it's not LA, though, which means I can get the errand run in under an hour and without a parking nightmare)

My first world problems are overwhelming!!!

*Seriously, thought, why the hell would anyone by pre-mixed chocolate milk? It is always funky and never as good as adding syrup. I mean, you can buy regular milk, have it, and then use the syrup whenever you want. Two birds, one stone. And that way you can control the chocolicity of your beverage.

And After That Brief Nap I Awoke To A Car Insurance Cancellation Notice

Ha.

Hahahaha.

I have no one to blame but myself. I was paying insurance in 6 month chunks back when I had a little money saved up. My brain obviously has not registered the switchover and I sailed right past an email reminder.

Well, I mean, marked the email reminder for payment when I had some money. Foolish, so foolish.

Of course, they did try to call me. With an automated caller. At the phone number that doesn't have a phone right now.

Hahaha. I C WUT U DID THAR universe. So droll.

All hail satan and credit cards--i am reinstated with a few clicks.

This has just been the cherry topping to my steaming shit sundae of today. And now it's too late to go bowling.

Including myself.

If my life had a face, I would punch it.

This concludes our broadcast for today. Jeezy creezy.

Shepherd of Judeah, Give Me Strength

So, lost my phone. Had a line on a free one, but it is not supported by my current carrier, EvilAssholeShitLords-Verizon, or the new service I want to pick up.

*sigh*

So I just bought a used phone, but it will take over a week to get here. Then I have some kind of nonsense to go through in order to switch my number over. Which shouldn't be a problem. But given my track record. . . .

Anyhoo, in case you didn't hear it somewhere else, I am incommunicado de telefono for a while now. Whoops.

This is inconvenient. So very inconvenient.

Well, at least it wasn't my wallet.

Freedom, Oh Freedom, That's Just Some People Talking

No one listens.

I've told everyone I'm on funky meds, that I'm short tempered, that I'm having a hard time keeping a lid on it.

No one acknowledges, gives credit.

They pride themselves on how careful they are with you, what eggshells they walk on. They have no idea of how much of your life you have spent not saying anything, because you are considered devastating.

No one treats you like you are devastating until they feel guilty.

They don't tread with caution. They don't give credence to your statements. Is it because you are not yelling? Is it because you try to maintain politeness even when being provoked?

And when you do react, when you step away, take a breath, make an emotional statement - it is a set up. You are over reacting by reacting at all.

No one allows you to be angry.

Even if you aren't just angry. Even if you're hurt. Even if your expression of anger is to leave quietly, asking nothing of anyone, apologizing for your state.

Because any reaction equals anger? Because your anger is so terrible it's unfair to visit it on anyone? Because you aren't the only one in this state?

And then your reward comes. It's not just the reward for this moment of adult behavior and repression of homicidal rage. It's the reward for being the wailing wall, being the sin eater. It's your reward for listening, acknowledging being cautious, holding in the modes of expression that would upset others.

And your reward is that you now get to facilitate communciation with the very people you don't want to speak to. You comfort the people that yelled at you, attacked you, caused you discomfort.

That is your lot in ife. This is what you get for being transparent, for trying to share information, for reaching out, for listening.

And on the day wherein they were once again bestowed with the ability to NGAF, there was much mellow.

And of course, everything's fine. Because you make i tthat way.

My relationship with Life:

I'm the Universe.

Getting real sick of your shit, Cosmos. Sit and spin.

Same Shit, Different Day, Huh Rabbit?

Creeping into bed at 3:3X a.m. on New Year's Day? Free
Being awoken by an unprovoked, 5 minute canine cacophony 4.5 hours later? Priceless

Hey 2014, more of the same, eh? Good to know. Going to commit seppuku now. With a spork.

Medicine Isn't Science

I thought that for a long time. But medicine is, at best, an art and at worst, blowhard negligence.

If anything untoward should happen to me, or if I should untowardly happen to anything else, I have a request:

Please sue the fucking shit out of every doctor who has "treated" me in the past 8 years. Find the most vicious lawyer you can and sue, sue, sue until they are run out of business. Some of them are nice people, but they are all a part of the machine erroneously labeled "healthcare." As cogs in that machine, most only serve to perpetuate the nasty cycle: under/overprescribed, assuming most women with any complaint are "just depressed," encouraging a culture of scalpel jockeys instead of preventative care, and most unforgivable of all, not listening to their patients.

I'm not stupid, not about this anyway. I'm not lying. I have been trying for so long, so hard, to follow all the rules to be "healthy." And you know what following the doctor's suggestions has gotten me? One organ down, persistent pain, internal scarring, and in the worst shape, physically and mentally, that I've ever been in my life.

First, do no harm: yeah, right. Harm seems to be all those fucks are capable of dishing out. Harm, indifference, deluded conviction, and gross negligence.

Sue them. Smear them on the web. Go on cheap trashy talk shows. Render them finally responsible for their actions.

I'm not kidding.

You Stop To Wonder But You Never Know

How did I screw up my life so thoroughly?

Definitely hitting a slight bump on the NFG Tour.

It's funny how one thing tips over and causes an avalanche and you realize you are in Deep Shit. When stuff like this happens it makes me believe that shit was fucked up before and I was just too stupid to notice.

So yesterday I received a letter from my bank, with whom I have two credit cards.

In this letter, dated March 4th, they informed me that my credit had been reassessed and due to this my APR would now be 17.99%, effective May.

Please note: I received this letter August 11th. There was a small note attached saying they had tried to mail it before but the item was returned.

I moved into my new place on April 1st, with forwarding service left at my old place (all 5 miles away). I got the addresses changed on all my accounts over the next 2 months.

So, I go check my account, bewildered and still figuring everything out. My "amount due" came in at about 1.5 times the normal amount. There are suddenly these "payment counseling" options next to my accounts.

I can't even express how fucked up this is without descending into a Black Rage.

So, they reveiwed my history, which would show that I've been unemployed for quite sometime, but have never missed payments and usually pay Over the amount due. Sooooooo.... the logical thing is to assess a person's state, and if they are in financial distress then charge them more???!!

I've seen this before. It happened to my parents, twice. People who don't pay are written off and people who pay are hounded and penalized. This is what happened with the Houston oil market crash and to a lesser severity but wider area during the recent housing bubble.

I don't even want to get into how the bank failed to contact me about this thing that I'm legally supposed to have the choice of rejecting (cancelling the cards and paying off the debt at the original rate).

I keep opening up to the Universe and trying to foster positivity, and the Universe responds in pretty much the same way these days.

Whatever. The world continues to piss on my dreams and hopes. It's not even newsworthy. Will update when I replace my self pity with no F's being G'd.

whywhywhywhy?

hvjcjfchxuyf.jhv.m

True Evil Never Sleeps

Well, there has to be some explanation for waking up at 2 am. It's especially vexing since I'm on so many sleepy time meds right now.

I have passed out sitting up, trying to watch the same movie with Handy J two times now. (Black Sunday, if anyone cares. Don't ask me what happens. Apparently I just snore right through it.)

Joined a gym for a month. Just to see if I can make myself go. Had the obligatory training and "assessment" with a gym dude. He was very nice. I must be really aggravating for personal trainers to talk to because I already know just about everything they have to say.

I know about; weightlifting to increase your resting/basal metabolic rate; rotation of muscle exercises to allow for recovery and gains; working the large muscle groups hard to get quick gains; circuit and cross training to make weightlifting aerobic; blahblah spotmecakes.

He tried really hard to sell me on a personal trainer. And I think I could really benefit from it, if for no other reason than I will show up if I'm obligated to meet someone. (So much easier to ditch a workout if it's just you. At home. Hiding under covers. Watching Netflix.)

Trainers are also good because you don't have to think and plan your workouts. So it's less mental energy. And less dread. Each workout is a surprise, which helps with motivation.

And even though the rates are hella low, it's still too much money. The gym requires you to book a 28 or 52 week increment. And if you want a trainer for 3 times a week, it really adds up. Thousands of dollars.

Sigh.You know, I wasn't even thinking about getting a trainer till he did his whole little song and dance. This is a completely fabricated conundrum.

I can probably find a strength training program online that incorporates muscle confusion and such.

I'm also gearing up to go at it with my Endo Doc again. I think I need to try some dessicated "natural" hormone instead of levo (Synthroid). Doctors have been trained to hate and distrust dessicated hormone. The big argument is that it isn't properly regulated, so you can never be sure of the potency from dose to dose.

And if you've had cancer, they get real twitchy about changing up your meds. There's always that spectre of looming relapse on the horizon, and no doctor wants to be responsible for 'reactivating' you cancer.

Sigh.

I won't bore you with the long history of thyroid meds, but here's an interesting article about natural thyroid and a controlled study.  I believe the article author to be biased, but that doesn't change the science part.

Did I mention the personal trainer took me through a brief workout? That nearly killed me?

3 sets of walking lunges (no weight, knee tap--ugh)
3 sets of squats (no weight)
40 sit ups on incline bench with medicine ball passes
2 sets of overhead press 40lbs
1 set of overhead press with decreasing weight but constant motion (this actually nauseated me. by the time you get down to 10lbs your arms are shaking and you can barely do a rep. i have to investigate this method)

My legs were like jello afterwards. I had trouble going down stairs. I think my quads and glutes are mad at me. Which is fine, because those fuckers haven't acted right in years, so there.

I applied for 13 jobs in one day. I have so far received on rejection notice. It's nice that they took the time to acknowledge my application. But it's very frustrating to not know why I'm being rejected. I was crazy qualified for the position.

Sigh.

Ooo.....I just leaned back and noticed those incline situps worked my transverse abdominus. Yay!

I'm gonna give the acupuncture/herbalist a second shot today. See what they suggest. They have some mojo going on about having a "damp heat" or "dry cold"---but from what I can see, the diets are basically hardcore clean eating. Elimination of processed foods, refined sugar. Eating lots of whole foods. No dairy.

You dieters out there know the drill.

Anyhoo, I will be consulting with them today. Maybe they can stick some needles in me and shock my brains out. Hee.

Pointless post is pointless.

Were I Rich. . .

I would buy a plane ticket and fly out to watch Star Trek: Into Darkness with them on opening day. We had so much fun at the last one. It seems wrong to see the movie without them.

I would organize a last minute reception and pull out all the stops for tink and Panda's wedding. Everyone would get everything they wanted and nobody would have to worry.

Not that money solves everything. But I'd like to be faced with some scenarios in my life wherein I had so much money that at least that wouldn't be the problem. One can dream.

And no matter what, weddings are stressful. Or perhaps I should say the planning is stressful. As with any other project, something(s) inevitably goes awry, someone(s) invariably fail to provide a promised favor, and, of course, family. (In the case of office project management, replace family with coworkers/staff). Even if you love them, they are going to pose some issue, at some point.

Flames. Flames on the side of my face. Burning.

Staying up here NorCal for a while, trying to help on aforementioned wedding. I don't feel like I do much, but I have driven around and been moral support on some shopping trips. The mall in San Jose/Santa Clara is whack, man. I think a casino architect designed it, because once you get in you can't find your way back out.

Being that it's me, Tink, and Panda, there is a certain amount of inherent silliness in a large percentage of our activities. Recent subjects that have reduced the group to tears (with no regard for any kind of sense):

• cats with rockets in their asses (cat ass rockets)
• lou diamond phillips' unfortunate marriage woes and resume
• Good Day, Mr. Kubrick. Because: what? why?
• Haaaaaandbaaaaag? It's still funny.
• Monty Python in general, but here's an excerpt:

Unfortunately, due to last minute housing accommodations, I can no longer have a +1. Apologies to my disappointed potential dates.

Some are taking it better than others. In their own way.

I guess somebody else has to get married so I can make it up to these poor boys.

On the upside, I will be reunited with my wife, JDog. She's coming out for the wedding next week. Since our vows under the Wooster's wedding arch, I guess we are sort of automatically each others +1. It's not your traditional marriage. But there is photographic proof.

Which you will never see.

Did I mention I tried a Zumba class the other day? How did it go? They haven't made a gif with that much Pain, Fail, Stroke, and Wheeze to properly express the experience. I almost passed out. I was near to hurling once or twice.

 The instructor was all like........

 

So I gave it a shot. . . 

 

The spirit was semi-willing, but the flesh was oh so weak. . .

I have never in my life been so close to walking out of a workout. I think it scarred me for life.

That's enough for now. It has taken me hours to write this blahg post. So much effort for me, so little return for you. It's like I'm Corporate America or the Healthcare Industry.

I Just Can't With This.

Because a piece of one of my teeth just broke off. Seriously. I don't even know what to say. This is literally one of my recurring nightmares come true.

Guess I get to call some docs tomorrow and haggle over whether any of my meds are causing this. (HINT: they are probably ALL causing this)

I am so freaked out that I have passed freaked out and come back to numb.

Dafuq, universe. Was this really necessary? I can't even with this. Seriously. I can't.

And I Don't Have A Soul To Save. Yes, And I Sin Every Single Day.

I went to bed at 10:30 last night and woke up at 1:30 am this morning. I've been up since.

whygawdwhy

Thanks be for Netflix and all 478 seasons of MI-5.

Not getting enough sleep feels suspiciously like a hangover, which is really unfair if you think about it. At least with a proper hangover you can point to the source and say: Yes, it was that second whole bottle of tequila that did me in!

But a non-sleep hangover you just go: Why do I feel as if I'd been drowned in whiskey and hung out to molder?

Now I have to go and drown in the beauty that is Richard Armitage a bit more. It is really ridiculous how handsome and appealing he is. Seriously. He may actually be a legitimate health threat of some kind. Causes brain disorder that leads to swooning, staring at screens too long, and sighing way too much.

Has anybody out there ever been haunted by the smell of maple syrup, with no syrup on hand causing the fragrance? Sometimes I think I'm going crazy.

All the other times I know I'm already there.

I cannot get over this man's nose. Damn sexy beast.