It Ain't Truth If It Doesn't Hurt

Eating Dry Frosted Flakes...

On the way to the office today I drove past at least three Smith's, 19 convenience stores, and a Wild Oats but I was so lazy that I could not bother to turn into any of them...I was comfortable in my car that smelled sort of like something under the hood was on fire...and since I was already used to that aroma that should have probably been mildly alarming but only caused a very momentary pause...I figured I should just keep going. So that's how I find myself writing a blog...eating dry Frosted Flakes directly from the box.  These are those moments when I really miss Simon's Delivers. Even though my former co-worker Iweda (yes...she's black)....threatened to take away my ghetto pass for ordering my groceries on-line and having them delivered...I rarely found myself in the heart rending circumstance in which I now find myself. Milkless with one hand in caressing Tony the Tiger's face and the other reaching out towards the gas station a block away.

But back to Simon's Delivers. Iweda really flipped when I told her that I ordered my Thanksgiving dinner groceries and got real excited when I saw a section on the website called "greens." I thought I was going to be able to get my collards and mustards right there and dropped off at my door the night before...of course...when I opened the link it was all spinach, kale, Swiss chard (what the hell is a chard?). They didn't have any damn hamhocks either. Since I'm probably the only person of color that used the website, I really shouldn't have been surprised. But I was. I was. But you can't take the Northside outta anybody. The ghetto pass is mine forever. Iweda still calls me bourgetto...combination of bourgeoise and ghetto. She's clever that one.

I really should be at home preparing for the CDC quarantine that I just know is coming. But as Jeremy so insightfully peeped out yesterday...I'm in a mild depression and whenever you want to know my mental state...all you have to do is look at my bedroom/living space.  Right now looking at my house you'd think I was Bi-Polar with Major Depression and Borderline Personality Disorder (no offense to anyone with any of these very serious mental health diagnoses...some of my best friends have borderline personalities and are manic/depressive...black too). I'm much happier right here with my bottle of red Powderade and my dry toasted sugared wheat by-product. Although...I almost pitched a major bitch-fit yesterday when I ran into the Shamrock to get my beloved blue Powerade...only to find that it was not there at our usual rendevouz spot. So I went for hooker red instead. It works in a pinch.

If I'd been a little more prepared...and brave enough to stick my bare flesh into the clothes pile around my bed...I would have brought one of the movies I purchased the other day at a discount retail chain that shall remain nameless but represents every consumer evil imaginable...but the upside is that I got Coming To America for $5.50. I LOVE that movie. It's one of the all time most quotable movies ever...right after the Color Purple and followed by Drop Dead Gorgeous (which I watched last night...I just downloaded my membership application for the Lutheran Sisterhood Gun Club...Go Muskies!). I also bought Rent which came bound with a free copy of Center Stage...why not? I'm going to wait to watch Rent until I'm in a little more upbeat state of mind. If I watched it today you might hear about my on the news...done myself in with one of my three CD soundtrack versions of the movie and broadway show (really...don't call 911...I'm not a danger to myself...I can contract for my safety...peachy).  I did have a random synapse burst at the movies just before making my DVD purchases...there was a hot guy working the snack bar...and he looked Latino...so Spanish was out..thenI thought to myself that I wish Gigi spoke French...and voila...as if Gerard Depardieu and I were mentally in sync...I rattled off...regardez-vous le garcon ici! I know that's more or less the right way to say...hey...look at that guy over there. I thought the only thing I recalled from fours years of French was how to count, some random curse words, and the phrase Je mange le glace (I eat ice cream). Score one for Madame Rogers!

C'est bon. Not much more to say today. Until tomorrow...old resevoirs.

My House Is About To Be Condemed...

OK. So my house isn't really about to be condemed...but if any of my various parents/step-parents/parent figures stepped into my house right now...any one of them would beat my behind like the my Mom caught me peeing in the sandbox at the playground across the street from our house. Man...I think there are still splinters from that wooden spoon in my behind. Toothpick anyone?

I don't know how my house gets in the state that it always manages to get in. Really...right before I left for holiday break...I cleaned house like a Jew during Passover. The toilet bowl was sparkling...looked so nice I almost drank out of it...floors mopped...dishes done...clothes hung up...mail sorted...and now it looks like Hurricane Katrina made a guest appearance.  It's so bad right now that the clothes in my living have seceded from the clothes in my bedrooom and threatening a civil war if their independence isn't recognized. The dishes are holding an environmental summitt, and I think they just issued a document suggesting that perhaps global warming is completely my fault...and my toilet bowl...well...lets just say I've Sno Bowled every day for a week...and I'm still not sure that the brown stuff on the sides of the bowl isn't the ebola virus.

Now I could have spent today in rubber gloves up to my elbows, a hazmat suit, and some stylish yellow galoshes and counterattacked...but instead I've been hiding out in my office...afraid to return home during daylight...since I've got a much better chance of sneaking into my bedroom without having to deal with border patrol at the newly declared Republic of the Gap in my living room. Pretty soon the Minute Men are going to be showing up at my doorstep at night trying to keep me out of my own house!

I did get some very important things done today...like...I wrote my step-dad...felt bad...the man is sittin' in jail...and I haven't written since December. Got a "where'd ya go?" letter in the mail yesterday. I read some minutes that I'd had on my desk for a decade. I made a dent in my email from last week. And I took a shower. I'm particularly proud of the shower. At least I'm clean. But there comes a time in every man's life when he must break out the swifer, leave the wife and kids behind, and do his duty for God and sanitation. Today is that day. I only hope that the guerrilla dust bunnies are willing to negotiate.

Nothing Profound...

I'm having a day where I really wish I had something profound to say...but I really don't. I'm feeling slightly depressed and a little overwhelmed. I'm also feeling as if I've gotten a way...a little bit...from the original purpose of this blog. In the beginning I started this blog as a way to externalize my experiences...as a way to be able to go back and look at what I am thinking and feeling outside of myself. Somewhere along the way I feel as if I've fallen, a little bit, into the trap that I've always laid for myself. As this blog has grown in popularity and more people have started reading it...I have found myself focusing more on the entertainment aspect of my writing than on focusing on my personal experiences and being completely honest with where I am at in this moment. Now I haven't made anything up a la Million Little Pieces or whatever the hell that book is called...this recovering addict has enough life experiences that I don't need to make up shit...hell...I'm surprised my life hasn't been made into an HBO Special Series...imagine the ratings people. This is Daytime Emmy quality stuff I'm putting out right here.

But really...I've been doing some self censoring...like today...I started to write a blog that told ya'll straight up that I'm depressed, overwhelmed, and I want to crawl back into my bed and sleep until the second coming. Then I erased what I'd written so far and started to write something funny and caustic (imagine that!). Then I said...fcuk it (you know...like the t-shirts)...and decided  I'd just go ahead and write whatever came into my little medicated brain. Someone once told me that my mind is a bad neighborhood where I should never go by myself...that might be true...but I've got a can of mace and the club...and I'm going for a scenic tour. I'm afraid I might get car jacked.

Leo...my friend, mentor, former sponsor once said that we all go through slumps in nuestra vidas locas. And that when the slumps come we just need to ride them out. They are natural. They don't last forever. And motivation will come along again. I know he's right but that comes up against my unnatural desire to always be on...to always be producing...to always be growing...learning...changing...being...acheiving...when I really need to sit the hell down and just let what is going on in my head/heart/soul go ahead and do its thing. Life is going to do life...whether I like how its playing out or not. Truthfully...other than my disasterous financial state...I'm doing allright. Money makes me worry like a Russian in a marketplace...but that ain't nothing new. Plus with folks like Josh and Jeremy to lecture me on my lack of financial responsibility...I'm sure that I'll get it one of these days. Plus...in the desert yesterday I was listening to two of those fundie Christian financial advice programs...they were scary...but man...the fundies are funna be rich ya'll...I'm just saying.

This weekend I am going to spend pretty much by myself. I am going to see lots of movies. I am going to clean my house...from top to bottom...even if I have to plug in a hose, put plastic over the tv and dvd player, and just let loose.  I thought about going on a hike this weekend...but that would involved getting in my car and driving to the mountains...although that's only 20 minutes away...the thought of being in my car for more than 8 minutes and 30 seconds is enough to make me think about pulling a Thelma and Louise.

The world is a changin' all the time. And no matter how much I'd like it to just let me go on about my business, watching movies, and disappearing into my futon...I doubt that's in the cards for me. I'll get out of this funk...and I know enough about my mental health to know that if lasts longer than a couple of weeks its off to the psychiatrist for me...nothing like an increase in your psych meds to help you over a hump. I started this blog because the truth of my reality is that sometimes things aren't happy...perfect...hunkey dorey....and sometimes they are...part of my challenge is letting my truth out into the world...even when it hurts. I think today Little Me is going to have to have another outing into the blog. Maybe after lunch. No one expects you to face your past on an empty stomach. Thanks for reading.

Exactly One Million Apologies

To my one and only Twin...Miss Amanda Timpson...for actually sleeping through her entire visit to Las Vegas...I will make it up to you...how about I come to LA for a visit? Before June 1st? How does that sound? Forgive me? Pretty please?