Yes, I AM ALIVE!

Hey guys! Sorry about my absence, but due to recent illness, job change and personal issues, I have had no choice but to take a hiatus from this space.  If I did not email you a tracking number for an IG purchase yesterday or this morning, that means it will ship tomorrow morning, and you will receive your tracking number then.  If you live in Canada, I gots all your weird customs paperwork, in case something goes wonky.  

I am lucky enough to be going through a re-design right now, so the things to come are going to kick some serious ass.  Thank you for always being supportive and patient.  Trust me, it will be worth it.

 

Currently Coveting: Savage Seeds

I have found my Mecca, and it is Savage Seeds. 

I have been rather depressed lately, due to the fact that I am experiencing a little bit of what I am calling, "The First Month Blues", where I feel completely alone and inadequate in a new city.  I did not express to anyone how my new job was going, because to be perfectly honest, it was a struggle.  I just did not feel like I belonged there at all.  Many servers will tell you that you are, "either cut out for fine dining, or not." 

Well, guess who isn't?  Me.  I'm going to leave it at that, because I need my job.  I decided I had to find something else to supplement my income, so I started trolling the old Craigslist like a champ.  Okay, let it be known: THERE ARE NO JOBS IN LONG BEACH.  Unless you are qualified to be the city comptroller, or a sheet metal installer...good luck.  

So I clicked on Orange County, because, let's face it, this whole mish-mash of LA sub-entities are all 

different things to different people, like...the border between Santa Ana and Costa Mesa starts...where exactly?  The first posting I saw was for my old job, where I worked about sheesh, five years ago?  It was within the same chain, just in an OC location.  I almost had a heart attack.  I trained their GM, and he kicks ass.  I could not dial the phone fast enough.  Today I brave the bus ride I know will become my life, and I don't care...I have a lot of looming to do.  Tonight, I will sign the papers that make me a part of a place I love, and people I have missed.  Wish me luck.  

The Asphalt Crew

Welcome to my lovely home.

One thing that blogging has taught me is that I am not "cool."  I mean, I already knew this to an extent, but man this place will put you on "The Asphalt Crew" faster than you can say "outfit post."  What's The Asphalt Crew, you ask?  Oh please, let me tell you.

The Asphalt Crew was so named due to the area of my high school, where certain kids hung out, and this area happened to be in front of the library, covered in...you guessed it, asphalt.  My high school cost something ridiculous like three million dollars to build (in 1994, that was a lot of money, kids) and we had a million places to chill and enjoy breaks.  These guys wanted the coldest, most sunless area available.  They also coveted the giant asphalt step, which formed a semi-circle around their camp.

They had no real "leader" but if I am going to say they were guided by a young gentleman named "Dave" who fancied doing random accents during class, and was known to wear a cape.  I think his dad was the Mayor.  I don't know, I just know his dad looked MORTIFIED every time he had to see Dave in our theater productions, and his exit always seemed rather...quick. 

Dave was a real chick magnet for the Asphalt Ladies, which seemed to be in a smaller population than the guys.  Go figure.  I remember one of his conquests was a very unique Jewish girl, who was wrought with guilt over her parents being displeased with dating outside her religion.  The only reason I know this was I was subject to her incessant wailing during fifth period English.  I guess Dave had the nerve to ask if her family ever put up a Christmas tree, "just for the season."  Yeah, you're toast Dave.  Or should I say matzoh?

Between Dramatic Dave, Matzoh Madness and a whole other cast of characters (literally), we who enjoyed the comforts of the quad were constantly entertained.  There was the time "Tad" decided to twist his body into the shape of a pretzel, and walk around during the middle of a rally held in the amphitheater.  The rally was to keep us drug-free.  I'm pretty sure he did about ten whippets before the assembly.  He was carted off like a war protester, surrounded by applause.

I had a lot more interaction with these folks than most.  Being borderline "Asphalt" myself, (my humor and sarcasm barely allowed my presence amongst the semi-popular crowd) I was sneaking off to the library a lot, to check out fiction.  They were always in my theater or drama workshops, annoying our teacher.  I could not make up the fact that one time I heard it announced by "Angela", a very clingy and over-sharing student, "My mom gets all the blackheads out of my ears using these,"  a la, Ralph Wigam.  She was holding a wad of bobby pins we needed for wigs.  I almost threw up.   

They were also in pretty much EVERY FUCKING PLAY, even if they had NO PART.  I would get irritated that when they didn't get cast, they wanted to be backstage, you know, "just to help out."  They wore all black on these nights, even though none of them were on sets, backstage or lighting.  It was almost like they expected one of us to go down, and if they were wearing just the correctly angled style of beret and black turtleneck, we would run to them like our savior.

I don't need to tell you that never happened.  

So, fast forward to now, where I basically am seeing this whole Asphalt Crew as a metaphor for my own life.  I recently decided to re-design my blog, and nothing has left me feeling more like a stranger in a strange land.  Originally I asked a "big-blogger" to do it, because I liked her work.  I can't get the "big blogger" to look at my blog, or even follow me on IG.  So how are they going to glean any kind of idea what the blog is about, let alone what I represent.  I mean, I know I don't represent much more than being a crass bitch but...I know I wont blow half my paycheck on someone who only emails me to ask about paying, but has no interest in getting to know me.  Like a loser, I even asked them to follow me on IG.  I tried to friend request them. Nope, too busy getting free clothes and then complaining that you have too many.

Other "big bloggers" have blown me off countless times, even when I just leave a comment on their blog, or send them a friendly email to say I am a fan.  I know these people are busy but it seems they can make time to respond and acknowledge other "big bloggers."  The best is when you buy something from them and they tell you they are "swamped" and it takes nine months.  LOVE THAT.  If someone was giving me free clothes, shoes, bags, used gerbil cages...shit I would be grateful for ANYTHING.  I might be "swamped" putting it all away, but puh-lease. 

I don't get it.  Maybe it's karma for all the hours spent staring at "Angela" picking her nose.

Do I need to blog about nail art?  Is it important for you to see the inside of my make-up bag?  Should I do an outfit post everyday?  Do you want me to review some concealer I got for free, but that you will never be able to afford?  Do you want me to show you how to make a peanut butter muffin with a mini-pumpkin pie inside?  Do you want to learn to make a felted cover for your iPad?  If you do, I can recommend a blog for you, TRUST ME.

I am proud to be a part of The Asphalt Crew of the blog world.  I don't want to be like anybody else.  I have found a designer that actually cares about ME.  Hell, we're even friends!  

I am now going to do ten whippets and then twist myself into a pretzel shape and roll around Downtown.  See ya there!  I'll be the one putting my fist through all the chalkboard art.    

 

 
 

Q and A

1. What's the first thing you do when you get up?

My three furry babies make sure I don't sleep in, they need to pee, STAT!  I am usually wearing an outfit that could be confused for a cheap Halloween costume, screaming at my dogs not to tangle me into a broken leg, all while attempting to be a "good citizen" and pick up "gifts" left by my dogs.  Most of said "gifts" smell like Chernobyl. 

2. What is the 3rd picture on your phone? Share it! 

This is from a party at Brittany's house.  This picture changes lives.

3. What TV show are you most excited about returning this Fall?

GIRLS (okay I know that's not coming until January, but I care about nothing else), OF COURSE American Horror Story, Mad Men, Grimm...

4. What is something really popular that you secretly (or not so secretly) loathe?

Breaking Bad.  I just don't get it, I'm sorry.  I feel like saying that means I am going to be killed.  I also loathe nail art, maxi dresses and wedge sneakers.

5. Do you have any pets? Tell us about them! Bonus points for pictures.

YAY, THREE DOGS AND ONE CAT!

Chivo was my first resuce pup, found abandoned in a dumpster behind an AM/PM.  I think he is a chihuahua/poodle mix.  I saved him and his brother (whom I adopted out), and nursed him back to health.  He was literally at death's door.  He is absolutely THE BEST DOG EVER.  He is a healing spirit, and he can read me like a book.  We think he is about four years old.

Piddle is another rescue, saved when she was tossed from a moving vehicle, while zipped inside a duffel bag.  She is needless to say, skidish, and barks at EVERYTHING.  She is definitely a dachshund/chihuahua mix.  She is also four years old.  She doesn't like most people or most things.   However, her two favorites activities include sleeping and eating.  She is the only small dog I know who hates baths, but loves swimming in a pool.

Boxer was a "donation" from my friend Desi, who could not keep her, due to her sister's infant.  Boxer is my constant companion.  He never leaves my side, he bursts in on me in the bathroom, and cries like a baby when I leave for five minutes.

Katniss is my beautiful princess of destruction.  She found by a friend in a parking lot, as a kitten.  I attempted to "foster" her, but she is the most AMAZING animal I have ever met.  She will swat you and cuddle you, simultaneously.  She is smart as a whip, and she is a lover.  Her spirit and heart are amazing.

6. If you could put together one outfit that represents you perfectly, what would it be?

Cotton dress with a novelty print, vintage eyeglasses, flats, one of my silly brooches, and a purse big enough to hold all my yarn!  Bonus if I can have a rad bike with a basket!

7. What is your favorite adult beverage?

I am a beer girl, if you can't tell by my lovely belly.  I am absolutely devoted to Lost Coast's Tangerine Wheat.  Oh sweet lord.  However, I am also a sucker for a really good margarita.

8. What is your favorite guilty pleasure?

Three way tie between gLee, Billy Joel and Sister Wives.

9. What are 3 positive words to describe you?

intelligent, weird and sarcastic

10. What is your favorite Friday afternoon/evening activity?

I would love to be able to loom all afternoon while watching trash TV and shopping online.  Ideally, John would be either off work or home early, and we would get gussied up and hit the Art District to grub down.  Then we wrap our evening up with a few episodes of Fallon, and if John's lucky I'm not asleep by ten.  Poor guy.

11. A day in the life: What does you typical day look like?

Walking dogs, writing, working and waiting. 

12. If you could live anywhere else in the world, where would it be?

San Francisco, or as she's properly known, The City.

13. You've got a whole day to yourself...what will you do?

Attempt to sleep in, get my hairs and nails did, go vintage shopping on 4th and probably eat a lot of cheese pizza.  Then I would consume an Oreo shake for dinner.  Or two.  I would also try to squeeze in all the BBC America I could while John was away.  Although I have hooked him on Downton Abbey (YES!).

14. Dream job?

"Being a published writer. Working for a non-profit. Or working to rehabilitate abused dogs."  Okay, that was Catherine's answer.  Honestly, add Trent Reznor, Deap Vally or Jack White's personal assistant to the list and we are identical.  That's why I love her. 

15. Least favorite chore?

FLOORS. 

16. When do you most feel like a rock star?

When I am watching a television show and some obscure musician is in the backing band, and I say, "Isn't that the keyboardist from such and such band?"  And I am right.  One hundred percent of the time.  It doesn't matter the genre or time period either.  I pissed John off so much the other day, when I called out the former lead singer of The Muffs as being the new bassist for the Pixies. He literally screamed, "I hate you!" (after he Googled it, of course) and left the room.

17. What is something you are currently trying to improve within yourself?

 I know this sounds strange, but I want to care LESS.  I am constantly worried about EVERYTHING, and if I could just get that under control, I think that would be awesome.  I would also like to improve my photography skills, and really become a bad-ass at it.

I'd love to hear your answers, I feel like (as usual) mine have a lot to do with food and shopping.

 

Downtown, Everything's Waiting For You

First of all, I want to thank Amanda from Salvaged Strawberry for literally saving my life yesterday.  This entire post is dedicated to her, as well as my mermaid sister Megan, who blogs at The Nautical Owl.  If it had not been for the two of them, yesterday may have gone very differently.  

I decided to venture downtown and take some shots with an older camera, one that I have found among a treasure trove of old Polaroids, 8mms and even ANCIENT instant cameras I have no idea how to operate.  

It's a sweet relic, somewhere between a "point-and-shoot" and a true DSLR.  I just wanted to capture the beautiful subtleties of my new neighborhood, in a new way.  Turns out, the pictures look ALMOST as good as a DSLR.  Bloggin' on a budget, folks!  

As I mentioned before, all electrical boxes are painted by independent artists, all here in the East Art District.  This one might be my favorite.

OH HELL TO THE YEAH.

The wall outside Hamburger Mary's.  Some of my favorite queens have actually signed this thing!

Oh yes, there will be cocktails!

My current obsession with succulents has taken over my mind.

I imagine my BFF Autumn would DIE over this building.

Good way to sell a car: chalkboard paint as signage!

I love walking around downtown, it's just hard for me...because I have a tendency to get lost.  Also, random strangers will peek their heads out of buildings and look at you like you work for TMZ.  "I'm taking a picture of a plant, lady!  CHILL!"

I took a bunch of cute shots, and I will share more with you tomorrow.  I have a giveaway planned for this week...I am just waiting for the merchandise to be forwarded to my new address.  Here's a hint: it helps you get drunk.  I figure, that's all you need to know.

 

 

 

C'mon, Get Happy!

So, last week was a crack-up, to say the least.  I have been called every name in the book, harassed via Internet and telephone, as well as informed that I need mental help.  I was also told not to call other women cunts.  Watch this: "Cunts, cunts, cunts, cunts, cunts!"  Did an angel lose it's wings?  Can I call parrots cunts, or will they be offended?  What about narwhals, what's the rule on that?  Okay, yeah, I am going to call whomever, whatever I want, especially when they act like one.  It's called free-speech, and it occurs...you guessed it, ON MY BLOG.   

Just an average week for me, really.  Three hundred people email me to tell me they enjoy reading the blog, and some CUNTS make it their mission to tear me down.  Your criticism of me means NOTHING.  I can and will continue to write and expose people for what they really are.  Part of my "pieces of wisdom" I was given by these geniuses (oh, and there were many) was that I "get help, and get happy."  I guess you only read the parts of the blog you think are about you.  Some things never change, oh wait but you said that already... 

I have blogged many times about my struggles with mental health, as well as my drug addiction.  You didn't seem to be interested in me getting out of rehab to give me a phone call (not as important as a resume, I totally get it), but suddenly, when I write something that makes you look like the self-absorbed idiot you are, you want my number, and now you want to call?  Three guesses as to who gave it to you, and the first two don't count.  Probably the same person you used to make fun of behind her back, openly mock her state of being self-absorbed, and would not let borrow your clothes because she made them smell.  Did you mention that to her when you asked for my number?  Didn't think so.

Anyway, I have given this drama (which actually to me, is HILARIOUS) enough of my good time.  You want to see me happy?  I am BEYOND HAPPY.  I have rid myself of all my toxic, self-involved relationships, I am engaged to be married this year, and I just got a house.  I have a new job that is ridiculously lucrative, and I have a super secret project just beginning in November (stemming from stories just like these) that because of legalities, I cannot mention until it's inception.  It rhymes with "rook lubrication."

I decided to make a list of the things/people/events that make me happy, continue to make me happy, and will come to make me happier, in the very near future.  I think a "psycho" would probably not be able to articulate these things in photo collages, but perhaps crayon drawings.  Let me know if anyone prefers those. 

Getting married...barn style!

Learning to crochet...slowly.

Being a fan and friend of these amazing girls, oh yeah and helping them start a blog!

My friends.  Just a few, but some say I have none.  I tend to disagree.

My support system...continued.

Surrounded by hot dudes. Constantly.

Getting Ed to read my tweets (and favorite them), giveaways from the blog, the best TV show ever (except for it's location.)

Photography.  Why didn't I take it in High School?

Shit, I just realized I am so fucking happy, I might burst.  And it all started as soon as I stopped giving a fuck about what anyone else thinks.  Thanks for the mental health advice, I didn't know you were a doctor on top of being a bitch!  I need "professional help?"  You should know better than anyone, you've needed it the most. 

PS:  This is all the time I am going to further waste on this garbage, so for those of you readers ready to get back to our good times, I'm so stoked to announce a giveaway tomorrow...just to say thank you.

 



 

No, I Win

You may have noticed all your lovely comments have been deleted from my blog.  Due to some comments yesterday, I had to remove the Google Plus comment capability from my blog, so I could now have the power to moderate comments.  If you follow me on Facebook, you probably know why.

So this is an apology to my real readers and friends, the ones who support me everyday and send me sweet things like you will read below, because sadly, due to one person's immature behavior, we have lost all the positive, loving comments y'all have left.  When I spoke about this, I was flooded with emails:

"Hey lady! I just wanted to let you know that you're such an inspiration to me and others to be more outspoken and independent! You're so creative and kind!...Anyway, you're wonderful and you shouldn't quit blogging because of some nasty people that are obviously unhappy...BOOM! Head up you're awesome❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️"

"I'm a huge fan of your blog. I just read your last post and I'm really disappointed that people can be such fucking assholes. Your blog is one of, if not my absolute favorite blog to read, you make me laugh so hard and I'm often disappointed when you don't post everyday! I really like hearing about your new place, your job, funny moments from your past and little facts about you, like not being into having kids and liking morrissey better than the smiths! Me too! Well, I won't keep you, but I just wanted to let you know that I love your blog as I'm sure plenty of people do, and I don't care about what a bunch of tools think or have to say. You rule! Keep your head up girl!"

"Blogging is hard and there are SO MANY haters. She's just pissed because now more people know what an idiot she is. I'm glad you decided not to quit."

So if winning is having a great reader base (oh and by the way, thank you for the millions of pageviews...every time you look at my blog it just makes me more money!!! YES!!!) having  awesome REAL friends, (of which we have NO MUTUAL ones so, nice try) and a great job that has nothing to do with being a pretentious hipster snob (checking your Instagram really only shows pictures of you looking beat up, with lots of really mature memes, so congrats on that success...if that's what you're calling it) yeah, I am pretty sure you're not "winning".  Nice try Charlie Sheen.  All those names you called me only apply to yourself.  How could I be obsessed with someone's life when I don't give a fuck if they live or die?  You're the psycho, tell "our friends" whatever the fuck you want.  No, I win.  

This is the Last Song I Will Ever Sing, No, I've Changed My Mind Again

Downtown LB Arts District

You know, a bus and some plants.  We got 'em.

 

Almost all of the electrical boxes in LB are painted by independent artists.  I hope to photograph them all.

Note to self: great background for outfit shoot, but must find way to move huge dumpsters.

They love bikes in LB.  I can't wait to get a new one!

Hell yeah, buddy.

 

The "Cooper Arms", right across the street from my new job.

Today was going to be my last post, indefinitely.  Then Catherine emailed me this morning and it made my whole day.  

"I just caught up on your blog posts and I can't believe how much trouble you are having getting health care! It makes me so sad how insurance is there to help people when they are sick, but they won't cover people who are sick! Makes no sense, and it breaks my heart that you are having so much trouble. I hope you can start getting all the help you need my darling."

Thanks, boo.  It's stuff like this that keeps me going. 

I had been thinking over the past few weeks, after being harassed by bloggers who either felt the need to tell me, "you're not fat enough to be a fatshion blogger, so get out of our community, and stop pretending to be one of us..." or, my favorite: "your blog just isn't COOL, you don't do any giveaways, and you never do any DIYs, and you don't have any kids, so it's kinda boring."  So, I'm not fat enough for the body-positive community (which I thought was ALL ABOUT ACCEPTANCE AND NOT JUDGEMENT), and I'm not "cool" enough for the cool blogs...because I don't want to do a DIY on tye-dye underpants, and I don't have cute kids to dress up in arrow print leggings, so I'm obsolete? What the fuck am I supposed to do?  People are taking time out of their day to tell me this?  These are real emails people.

My favorite is being snubbed on Facebook.  As soon as I post my opinion on something, which I am entitled to do, twenty snarly bitches have to message me and explain why the "language I am using is wrong" or how I am "not a feminist" or just completely snub me.  I get it.  You won your "contest" and now you don't need me to vote for you anymore.  I don't live in the Midwest, THANK GOD.  I never will, I don't want to.  Have fun being cold and icy, probably like your genitals.  Oh and by the way, I LOVE BLURRED LINES.  I CAN'T PLAY THAT SONG ENOUGH, IN FACT I AM GOING TO GET THE LYRICS AS A TATTOO, CHOLO STYLE.

I am going to follow in the footsteps of a blogger I admire, Autumn, of Gypsybee, and just post WHAT I WANT, WHEN I WANT, always making sure it's something of quality and substance.  That's why yesterday I didn't worry about what outfit I was wearing, or bringing my tri-pod with me, or setting my timer.  I just got back to taking pretty pictures of my new home, and I loved it.  I started getting a bunch of new ideas for my "new" blog and it's design, excited to share them with a future designer.

That's a whole other story.
 
I was shocked to find that someone whom I respect an admire, whom I was willing to pay BIG BUCKS to re-design my blog would not follow me on IG, friend me on Facebook, or has even read my blog.  They sure remember to email me about the money though, and to make sure I am going to pay them and when.  

I understand people are busy, but how are you going to glean a design or an aesthetic for a personal blog, and a personal style, without ever having READ OR SEEN THE FUCKING THING.  It takes all of four minutes to peruse a blog.  It could be a blog about collecting trolls, for all this person knows.  In fact, that sounds like a great blog.  I think I will have some kids to make this blog "interesting", eat a box of Krispy Kremes for all meals in order to "bulk-up" so I can legitimately blog about being "plus-size", and start collecting Treasure Trolls, because it's "cool."

    

Let's Just All Sit Around and Cry About Top Gun

 

Let's face it, I had a MULTITUDE of scary roommates in college.  The ones I chose, for the most part, (Sophia, Lauren...thank you for both being hilarious and slightly normal) were great.  However, one roommate I chose turned out to be, well...interesting to say the least.  

Like most of my fellow students, her parents were filthy rich.  Actually, her step-dad was filthy rich.  Her biological father passed away tragically when she was just a baby, so when her mom re-married she decided a software engineer might be an upgrade from a drunken, abusive military man.  This choice benefited her already existing three children, as they moved up from the slums to a new house that didn't have an address, it just had a NAME.

In no way am I making light of the loss of a parent, or the painful troubles it can bring emotionally.  I lost someone very close to me, someone I looked at as a parental figure, so I know what it's like.  It's the worst feeling in the world, so let me make that disclaimer before you all call me a bitch.

This girl needed therapy and lots of it.  She refused counseling.  Her schooling was entirely paid for, yet, she would not go.  She would rather drive her new car to Taco Bell and eat, even though we had a meal program that was built-in to our tuition.  MARRIOTT MADE OUR FOOD FOR GOD'S SAKE.  It's not like the cafeteria from Orange is the New Black, okay?  We had a waffle bar and burgers to order.  Yeah, let's go to Taco Bell.

If we weren't ditching class to eat garbage, I was drug along to watch her spend money.  We lived dangerously close to Santa Monica, so Third Street Promenade's Urban Outfitters saw a lot of us.  Well, they saw a lot of me browsing, and her buying.  She would tear through that plaza, doing some serious damage.  I saved my money for important things, like drugs.  I have no idea how she got so much spending cash.  She did not pay her car insurance, car payment or rent.  Yes, and this was not the first girl at Pepperdine I lived with who had the same hook-up.  In my next life, I will be Princess of Monaco. 

She never understood the concept of me (or anyone) working.  I got her a job at the flower shop where I worked, and I'm pretty sure my boss almost killed me.  They way he looked at her pick up plants made me double over with laughter.  He was appalled by her laziness, and this kid was raised in Malibu, surrounded by laziness.  After he determined she could not even use a broom properly, she never returned.  She got a job at a pet shop, holding kittens.  I did not realize that was a job, but I am still trolling Craigslist to find it locally.

I made the mistake of introducing her to a friend from high-school.  They dated, they got down, they broke up.  It was all my fault.  I let him stay at our place one night (when she was out of town, months after they had broken up) and she had a conniption because she said she could "smell him on the pillows".  Um, okay.  Does that mean you can smell my farts, too?

Then, she proceeded to partake in her favorite activity, which was to watch Top Gun.  Over, and over and over.  Then she would take turns crying in the bathroom, the hallway, her bed and perhaps her car, for all I know.  My friends would call randomly, and as soon as I saw that VHS coming out of it's sleeve, I would tell them it was a "Code TG" and that I'd be crashing on their couch for an extended amount of time.  The one time I tried to help her and talk about it, she almost punched me in the face from under her comforter. 

The "emotional stress" of school proved to be to much for her.  She needed to be off-campus to be able to "think and be in my own space."  Cool, no more fucking Top Gun.  Now I can move off campus too, and finally smoke pot without her breathing down my neck to blow it in some stupid tube filled with dryer sheets. 

The kicker for me was the fact that she once got angry with me because I told a mutual friend I was tired of letting her use my meal points at the cafeteria.  She had moved off-campus, she was rich, and the last time I saw her she was smoking heroin in her new living room, in her brand new apartment, in the heart of Venice Beach.  Get your own meal points.  

This argument of meal points was so important that she decided not to speak to me during the entirety of an Elliott Smith show at the Wiltern in Los Angeles.  We didn't know it at the time, but this was just after Figure Eight was released, and this was one of his last, BIG shows with a full band.  He played an acoustic set at the end, and during some of our FAVORITE songs we had loved for years, she would not even look at me.  Real mature.  I'm sure you can imagine the ride home.

She finally had enough of me when I would not write her resume for her.  I was working full time, she was "working" for some crazy Scientology art house in LA, and (big surprise) hated her job, and wanted my help finding a new one.  Since I was balancing crazy hours at work and a drug addiction, I told her it would have to be some other time.  She never called me again and has never answered any message I have sent her on FB.  

I notice now she lives in New York City, of course in Brooklyn (shocker) and still seems to enjoy taking pictures of herself in various emo filters and re-telling the story about how she made out with Norman Reedus.  That was ten years ago.  I don't think he remembers you. 

Oh yeah, and D said having sex with you was like sleeping with a dead grandma.  Maybe that's why he broke up with you?

Financing Depression

 Yesterday was weird.  I had applied for medical insurance several months ago, and was declined because of my "obesity, anxiety and depression."  I was honest on my application, I told them exactly what I weighed at my last weigh in (which occurred in the comfort of an entirely full room of patients in a very shady clinic) where the number was ingrained into my psyche for months to come.  I wasn't shocked by the number, but actually proud of how well I wore it.  So there.

I also was one-hundred percent honest when filling out their survey.  I told them I had a history of anxiety and depression, and that I take such and such for it and so on.  It was awesome to be told that these are "pre-existing conditions" and therefore, I could not be insured.  I could not believe it.  Here I was, willing to pay out of pocket for insurance, and I could not even qualify for it?  I appealed.

During the chaos of all this moving, I completely forgot about this process, and was tuned into full freak out moving mode.  Yesterday I realized I was running extremely low and the clinic that I use is miles away, in Corona.  I had finally been accepted for the health insurance apparently weeks before, but at this point I needed the money more than I needed the insurance.  I figured, I'll just stop by the clinic on a visit home.  Yeah, I'm not going home anytime soon.

If you have anxiety you will understand that no matter how hard you try to avoid a "trigger" it comes full-force at you, and how you deal with it is basically dependent on how well-equipped you are either emotionally or pharmaceutical wise.  With being alone all the time, knowing absolutely NO ONE and  the fear of starting an entirely new job, I am a wreck.  I only turned into a further wreck when I realized I was going to be without meds in a matter of days.  I was triggered, and about to lose it.

I called my clinic.  They were about as helpful as a monkey on speed.  They could not recommend any clinics, they were willing to fax my records over, but not to call a prescription into a local pharmacy for me.  They could not have gotten me off the phone quickly enough, probably realizing I am no longer another one of their cash cows, so why should they help me?  I'm so glad I signed up for the "Anxiety Program" with them, which now seems like a total joke.

I started looking around locally, but realizing that I have no idea where I am, and the fact that this is an actual CITY with a POPULOUS, there are probably nine million people in line for low-cost mental health care, and it would take week and tons of paperwork in order to even be seen.  Now I am REALLY freaking out.  I make a few random appointments with odd places off the internet, but basically I knew explaining to John how I need lots of money for a doctor's visit would not go over well at this point.

I became so frustrated and angry, I had no idea what to do.  All I am trying to do is take my medicine so I do not kill myself or anyone else.  All I want is to not have to pay eighty dollars just to be seen, and then one hundred on top of that for medicine that I need.  I'm not trying to score Oxy-contin, or steal someone's welfare check, I just need some damn medical care.

Then, a random number from Pennsylvania called me.  I was like, uh...because I have family in PA I thought I should answer it in case it was some sort of Polish emergency.  Nope.  It was the private health insurance company calling to remind me about blah blah blah...then I had another panic attack.  Wait a second, I never paid for this coverage, so why do they keep calling me?  Did they take money out of my account???  I started to further freak out.  I had to speak to a person.

Whoever you are, Cindy, thank you.  When I told her I needed to cancel the coverage because I could not afford it, she started to actually talk to me like a person.  She asked me why.  I told her I needed my meds and would probably end up in an ER somewhere, like a degenerate, beginning for pills.  She talked to me about the insurance available with my company, which I told her was pretty awful, but maybe just easier than all this.  Then she started talking some more.  Cindy was a person.  A person who talks in an awesome, life-saving code.  She said, "Are you sure you want to cancel it NOW?  You are covered until the end of the month, so you could go to the doctor and get those meds you need and if you decide to change companies then, you can just call us and cancel, because if you cancel it now..."  Oh Cindy, I never even thought of that.

So yesterday I bucked the system.  I went to the doctor, paid a forty dollar co-pay and twenty dollars for my medications.  That would have been the cost of one of my meds alone through the clinic.  I felt like a criminal, because everyone was so kind to me, and I was just there to use them as a means to an ends.  I do not like doing that kind of thing.  

When I started to think about it however,  I could not decide if what I was doing was really wrong.  Of course I do not intend on paying for the insurance, shit---I would if I could, especially after the kind way I was treated yesterday.  People were asking me questions, my doctor was kind, and my nurse was sweet as sugar.  I felt like an asshole, just sitting there, when this nice woman was genuinely interested in the fact that I get my period twice a month.  Yeah, I'd like to get that looked at.

However, what choices do I have?  Insurance companies do not recognize domestic partnerships so John cannot put me on his insurance.  I don't make enough money right now to pay for privatized insurance, but I will in a few months.  Then, I will have to re-apply.  In the mean time, I'm stuck going to shady clinics who basically sell prescriptions and don't care about my needs psychologically.  Now, I live in a metropolis filled with people in the same predicament, and will have to either wait ten hours to be seen in some sort of back alley scenario, or end up owing MORE money by going to the emergency room.  

Not to mention the way you are treated at these places.  Most of these "doctors" basically provide drug-seekers with what they need, but are very careful about admitting that is what they do.  They have meds on hand for sale, and they are CHEAP.  However, I needed REAL help and more than just a pacifying Xanax now and then.  I was prescribed Wellbutrin.  I think that was because I could remember taking it in college, not because that's what this guy recommended.  He asked me what I wanted to take.  Well honestly Mister, I'd love to take...nevermind.  

I was specifically told not to try to pick up my prescriptions from CVS or Walgreens, as they will no longer service anyone who goes to the clinic.  I found that odd.  Instead, I was told to go to Wal-Mart or a larger pharmacy.  Hmmmmm, okay.  It's just Wellbutrin, not Methadone for god's sake.

So now I feel like a loser, not only because I took advantage of the system (I feel kind of bad, okay?) but because I felt like I had no other option.  Every "clinic" I called cost a mint and required an appointment, various forms of proof of income and residency, as well as my waiting months to be seen.  If I had all the money and time in the world I would just call up Dr. Johnny McFancypants and have him make a house call.

I graduated with my degree in Political Science from Pepperdine.  I stopped caring about politics as a whole, as soon as I walked across that stage.  All I could think of is how much I hated everyone there, and how Tia and Tamera Mowry were in my graduating class, and they literally brought paparazzi with them.  

I cannot explain to you what Obamacare is, what is going to happen with health care, or how we are all going to deal with it in the future.  All I know is, why isn't there a safe place for people like myself, who need health care but are not in a position to afford it, but are not considered "low-income" enough for assistance?  Must we be reduced to these shady clinics, or paying out the nose, just to be well?  

I'm going to start my own health plan where the members have ID cards with pictures of Morrissey on them, you can eat donuts while you wait, and watch Golden Girls in the lobby, all day, no repeat episodes.  I'll even play the one with Mario Lopez because it has been known to cure cancer.