Re-Programming

"I'm NOT Josie Grossie anymore!"

~Drew Barrymore, Never Been Kissed

I was very proud of myself today because I not only attempted to push myself a little bit harder at the gym, especially by starting an exercise program a friend made for me, but I also came to terms with certain realities. Although I do enjoy my gym, I would be lying if I said it didn't provide me with some anxiety over the fact that a lot of people I went to school with go there, and I was anything but popular. I keep holding onto that kid in high school who was bullied, picked on, and made to feel completely worthless and undeserving... I wanna fight for this kid. As I was listening to my Sylvia Browne "Meditations" audio book on my iPod, a woman stopped me on the track just to say hello, and remind me that she worked for the dentist office I used to go to when I head insurance. This woman is the nicest person in the whole wide world, but please don't ask me her name... her name is not important. What is important is the fact that she made me realize that although yes, I get stink-eye from some former classmates, ninety percent of the time I am greeted by nice people in there... people that want to say hello... people that didn't know that high school kid. I also made the realization that maybe its me--maybe I am projecting that negativity into the atmosphere when I go there. I need to re-program my brain because I will never be that vulnerable kid you got to bully... 

Larry Ott broke my heart

This review is long-over due, and since I lent the book to a friend, I will be going off of memory! First and foremost, I am happy that this was the first book for the new year of book club, and its because of such selections that I was able to delve into a very moving, thought-provoking, and utterly enjoyable piece. I would have never chosen this novel, and that's one of the major pluses of being in a book club because you become exposed to works you wouldn't normally read. 

Throughout the entire work, I just wanted to reach through the pages, and give Larry Ott the biggest and warmest embrace I could offer because my heart broke for him every second. I was never popular in school, and so I could truly empathize with loneliness and ostracism this character faced. He was never well-known for being anything, but the strange kid who was obsessed with horror novels, as well as the by-product of a mother who never really spoke out, and knew her place, and a father who was loud, opinionated, and enjoyed the sauce a little too much. Enter Silas "32" Jones, a young, black man who becomes Larry's only friend, and is hiding out with his mother in a shack on the Ott family farm. Then, there's the girl next door who is basically a walking, talking time bomb, and after brief encounters with Larry, she and he go out on what is supposed to be the best night of Larry's life, and a proud moment for his parents--taking a girl to a drive-in movie. The night doesn't go as planned because the girl had ulterior motives, and was seeing Silas the whole time, unbeknownst to Larry, and everyone else in town. When the girl turns up missing, Larry, and his family become the subject of speculation in that small, Mississippi town, and although it can never be proven, Larry is labeled as a "murderer." 

Silas, his best friend, who turns out to be his half-brother, could have turned all this around if he came forward, and revealed the relationship. A part of me understands the trepidation to do so, seeing as it was a mixed couple, and racial tensions were very high in the seventy's, but no one ever said the right thing was easy. The sad reality is the Ott family become frozen in time after the accusation, and are never again the same. Their local automotive business slowly diminishes, but Larry carries on... finding his only comfort in the mundane routine he has created, as well as his beloved books by authors such as Stephen King. 

One of my favorite moments was when Silas, who is now a local policemen, has to get a rattlesnake out of a mailbox, which really made Mississippi feel like a character in its own right... the lavish descriptions really made the reader feel like they were a part of this world. The poor economy, and the giant that is Wal-Mart all are mentioned, and that makes me respect Mr. Franklin because in spite of his success, he really understands the basic slice of life. Another favorite scene of mine was when Larry received the Halloween mask from his horror magazine, and the thrill he got just wearing it, scaring people in the church during the haunted house festivities. The moment when he leaves, and sees the girl next door, and Silas talking with their friends, could have been the turning point for Larry. Perhaps if they had included him, his life would've been different. 

All and all, an amazing and enjoyable read that is anything but boring, especially since it kept me up 'til 4am to finish it!

3/100

Putting a name with a face

"This is what must be left after everything that can die is dead and everything that can be lost is gone."

~Geneen Roth, Women Food and God 

I tried several times throughout the week to sit down and write, but the words were just not there. This week has been an interesting one to say the least... one of those weeks where you would like to pretend maybe it didn't even happen, and that's what some of my family members have chosen to do. To not "deal." To "sweep it under the rug." To go on smiling even though its a lie. I wish I could pretend, but I think part of not "dealing" is why I have the issues I have... fear has always been a friend of mine. I can't take the lies anymore. Granted, I am not proud of my actions--exploding, trying to break telephones, kicking in doors, foot-flipping heavy chairs (ouch), but how else can you react when they all sit around and act like everything is okay. The details: the who, the what, the why, the where, the how... they are not important. What is important is the basic fact that I don't understand how someone can say the worst, horrible, mean, malicious things, and then, the next day just go on like it never happened, but more importantly... what happened to ALL of those feelings? There was a reason you said them, and so I can't imagine that they all just dissipated in thin air in less than twenty-four hours? And the truth of it all is this... there feelings... they are okay to have. Acknowledgement, attention, etc. I can really live without it, and I'd rather have someone not speak to me, then force themselves to out of whatever obligation they feel. The old I-didn't-have-my-anti-depressant card was thrown up in the air, and I gather that's where I'll find the truth as well... 

This episode made me really confront myself because after the detonation, I sped off in my jeep, and found myself in a Wal-Mart parking lot, putting on an Academy Award Winning Performance of tears... The scariest thing is the thoughts that permeated from my being--I truly thought it was the end of the road. I sat in my car, and contemplated on whether buying a box cutter, or Subway. I chose the five dollar foot long, but the point is that darkness was there... and I didn't necessarily want to die, I just wanted the pain to. I didn't want to live in this world of constantly being kicked out, which is the first thing I always ask whenever there's a fight, as if I am auditioning to be a twenty-eight-year-old orphan. Perhaps I incurred a little P.T.S.D. from everything that happened prior. Then, I shot over to the Riverwinds parking lot, and watched the fog roll off the water with a few other cars. I gazed at the tide, and thought of driving my jeep into the water... so that I am no longer the burden, or the problem, or the person you can just kick out of your life... but then I thought any actions like that would just give the people that did wrong by me satisfaction, and that was the last thing I was offering. And instead of doing what I would always do, which was run away to some relatives for the week... I went home; I apologized for my behavior, but I did speak my peace. I am tired of running, and no one is ever gonna do that to me again. 

The week went on, and somehow, someway, I lost three and half pounds. I started reading Geneen Roth's "Women Food and God," and as I go deeper, I see a lot of myself in this book. It keeps talking about the obsession, the compulsion to eat even when your not full. What are we hungry for? The book did help bring a sense of balance that I just didn't feel last week. Its not just about the physical, its also about the spiritual, as well as the mental. 

A friend request on Facebook triggered a memory... the boy was thin, blonde, and beautiful, and I remembered him offering me a pencil in math class, as we had all just started at the local community college. I remembered looking at that boy and thinking what a loser I am--that I'll never be thin, blonde, or beautiful like him... that I'd be lucky if anybody wanted me. I was eighteen mind you, and the wounds of high school were still fresh. A part of that shame is never really gone... a part of that feeling of being unworthy may never go away, and its scary. 

Earlier in the week, the news feeds were all abuzz over a former classmate that had passed... a year older, and I knew the name, but couldn't picture the face. Rumors of an overdose... so sad... and like the boy above he was thin, blonde, and beautiful, and now he's gone... What was his story? Twenty-nine, so young... it breaks my heart, and its my own ignorance because even still, in the back of my mind, I always think those people don't have problems. I also started to think about the people that are not strong enough to go on... Do they deserve to be ostracized, or judged... This life thing it gets hard, and it doesn't come with a user manual. Nobody is anybody to judge, especially the ones that don't make it... we've all got a vice, just some of us pay the price... 

the B-I-G picture

(III) In my meditation, I realized that my journey is only my journey... I discovered what I had suspected all along, a gossip ring of sorts. I know my friends mean well, but I am where I am supposed to be. I am an addict, and I want to live... and if fourteen bucks a week  is the price for that then so be it. Everyone is focused on what I haven't lost on the scale, but look at what I've gained in just a few short weeks. I actually feel good about myself, and this time I feel more confident... I can actually see my future self. 

(II) 

"The past is like a handful of dust, it filters through your fingers disappearing little by little. I wish, for one day, I could go back. In another life, I would do things differently."

~Katy Perry, The One That Got Away Trailer (Stevie Nicks)

I love the first line... and I used to always think this way, but what I've come to realize is that I would not want to change anything because its all brought me to this place... for better or for worse... I think for the better. 

(I) I think I'm a little bit manic-depressive because yesterday I had a serious case of the giggles... everything was funny to me, which was weird since I had felt so low the past two days. And although I am the writer of my own material, I still have no clue why these three things were sooo funny: Throw Mama From the Trailer! Food Stamp Fist Pump!! The Doctor Shop Shuffle!!! When you have neighbors who are junkies, and lie and get every damn thing for free what can you do, but laugh? 

N.S.V.

"I still sometimes feel like a loser-kid in high school."

~Lady Gaga, The Monster Ball Live at Madison Square Garden

Throughout the duration of this entire week, I felt totally unbalanced, and by that I mean the mental, physical, and spiritual were not in alignment. My anxiety was high due to the party, but I felt "it" creeping back in. By "it" I mean the depression, which really makes no sense at all. I truly have nothing to be depressed about, but its bizarre because the moment I feel really good, I think I have it beaten. Don Henley said, "The wolf is always at the door," and its so true. The worst part about this week was the fact that I lied to everyone. I didn't lose any weight this week, in fact, I gained .8, but I've been telling everyone that's what I lost. I am so ashamed, and frustrated because I honest to God did NOT cheat... I wrote everything down... I pointed correctly... and I worked really hard to get the seventy-one points per day in... I did what the Leader told me last week, and didn't really do to much fruit, so I would eat other stuff to get the points in. I used regular blue cheese dressing, but I pointed it. I took pepperoni bread, and rainbow cookies to a friend's house, and just drank coffee... I went to Wendy's, got a salad, and again pointed everything. I even went back to the gym this week... and still, I gained. Aside from the weigh-in, I do feel good about myself, I don't feel so bloated, and disgusting, but I just can't face my other friends who are doing the program... I am  beyond embarrassed because they are all having these wonderful scale victories... eight pounds, five pounds, two pounds... and I feel like they are looking at me like what am I doing wrong... or he's probably lying, and cheating... but the truth is I am not... I wish I was, but no. Last night was the first night I treated myself, and had cheese steak pizza... a slice and a half, and I was good. My aunt said that maybe my metabolism isn't working as fast as everyone else's because of being laid up with the foot, which is a possibility. I keep trying to wrap my head around it, but the truth is... I can't. Everyone's body is like a snowflake... different, original, and unique. Today I am moving forward, and looking at last week as an N.S.V. a.k.a. Non-Scale Victory. This is my journey, and I think I want to start only sharing things here because this is the place for my thoughts... free of judgement and speculation.

Sober

"Three months and I'm still sober

Picked all my weeds but kept the flowers"

~Kelly Clarkson, Sober

You may not think it, but the disease of addiction stretches far beyond the realms of alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs... Food, in and of itself, is also an addiction. Its been my addiction, and I've been thinking a lot about it... about my body... about the unconscious decisions I made towards a slow, paralyzing death. Death may not be immediate, but it is eminent. Too much of a thing, and so forth... but the food, the alcohol, the whatever-your-outlet-is is the symptom behind the behavior. What are you eating on top of? Drinking on top of?? A lot of people that are setting out on their New Year's Resolution journey probably don't stop, and think about these issues, which is why they continue to re-gain the weight... over and over again. As a repeat offender, I can honestly recognize this as RELAPSE. 

In spite of having a pretty good weekend, I can admit there were a few moments leading up to weigh-in where I felt ravenous... I could've just kept eating. I think it was due to anxiety over the first weigh-in, as well as the fact that my grandmother was going to a party hosted by my parents... that sat on my mind, and really bogged me down. I also noticed on Friday night, whilst at a friend's house for dinner... who cooked healthy, Weight Watcher recipes, as we drank our Coors Light beer, I wanted to pick at food more, as opposed to the gin I had the Friday prior, which made me not hungry. Anyway, Saturday came, gram went to the party, and instead of getting upset, depressed, eating, and spending the next month in bed, I went on my Facebook, found my mother's page, and sent her the most honest private message I could muster. People keep asking if she replied, and the truth of it all is this... I don't need her to reply because I don't care what she has to say. I called her out on the lies, and not for nothing, I know she doesn't have the guts to respond because she knows I know her--I see through her... and that always made me the most dangerous enemy. The Oedipus behind the message was inspired by an invite I received, via an aunt, two hours prior... My feelings are this, if you wanted me there, then you would've called me yourself. Also, if my father missed me so much, then he could've been a man, and came up to me on Thanksgiving Eve because we were both at the same bar that night. The saddest fact in this whole story is my parents never really grew up... yes, they have jobs, houses, etc. but they never fully matured. They live in their rear view, and attempt to justify their actions using past instances... I have no time for this. 

Another thing that is really irritating me, but I may just be behaving like a bitch is everyone constantly talking about FOOD! Several of my friends, and family members are doing W.W. right now, so its one e-mail after another about what they ate. Its a little annoying... and then, hearing some of them say they can't have this or that... My one friend has sworn off beef because it supposedly makes them sick, but I think its there obsessive compulsive nature, as well as fear of gaining an ounce. And I say this knowing full-well I irritate the shit out of people at times, but damn... when did life become this O.C.D.-recipe-swap-meet... 

On a positive note, book club went extremely well, and I am very happy to see everyone again... it felt like old times, and we laughed and laughed and laughed some more... and that's the stuff of life! Book club was the second time last week where I felt like I was back "home." Tomorrow, is week two, and I feel a little less anxious about the weigh-in. I started back to the gym, but just light to moderate stuff because I don't ever want to fracture my foot again.

I'm gonna make it...

I was going to the bathroom this morning, having just finished Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin, and I looked over at my iPod dock/clock radio, which read 11:08 AM, and this overwhelming thought just came through me... I'm gonna make it... At first I heard it, then I said it, and then I couldn't stop saying it. My life kinda flashed before my eyes... I could see a lot of my experiences clearly, and how I will make my own way--I always thought I had to do what everyone did to "make it," but no! I'm gonna make it!!

Authenticity

"When you don't show up as who you are, people fall in love with who you're not. Then, when they find out who you are that's when they leave. Don't allow people to fall in love with who you're not. Show up fully present all the time."

~Iyanla Vanzant, Oprah's Lifeclass

The words authenticity, and authentic-self keep popping up in my head. Last night, just when I started to feel my ib profin pm's kicking in, and taking me to the place I fight--sleep--I was suddenly awakened! After thirty hand-written pages, I realized the novel had to change... there are certain places I need to go to heal with all my mommy issues, etc. I need to tell the most authentic, fictionalized story that I can. I frantically texted my best friend last night who was probably sleeping, but would definitely understand... 

I keep remembering this one instance where I really realized that people would like me for just being myself. It was the very first book club meeting I had ever attended, and it was at that particular person's home. Before I walked in, I turned to my friend who had talked me into joining, and said, "How should I act?" My best friend turned to me, and said, "Just be yourself!" You know sometimes you walk into certain situations, meeting new people, and you feel like you need to be all prim, and proper, which is totally contradictory to who I am... but I'll never forget that moment. Just be yourself... and now, in future situations, some of my friends get nervous because they never know what I am gonna say, or how I will react to meeting new people. But I must confess, each time I am my authentic-self, it seems like people relax more, and become who they truly are... nine times out of ten, I bring people out of their shells, and they really enjoy me being me... 

Always be your authentic-self~

Nothing Left To Lose

"I'm gonna make it... you know why? Because I have nothing left to lose."

~Lady Gaga, Marry The Night

I keep imagining myself, as I always have, being interviewed about my book... I think of all my idols, and how they were nothing, but their dream. I've heard so many talk about their "authentic self," and that is the road to success... I know I have a long road ahead of me, and I will have to return to the working world. If I said I were unafraid, I'd be lying. I'm terrified, but these debts need to be paid... I'm just scared that I am going to return to light speed, and abandon this dream I carry everyday with me in my pocket. But in the end, this dream thing is all I got... I don't want a husband... I don't want children... I'm an artist... I want my freedom... I want to go places that not just anyone can reach... 

I blasted "Edge of Glory" before the weigh-in tonight, my first on this new, but familiar journey. My anxiety has been really bad because I've been stressing about the number... What if I don't lose? What if I lose too much? All those questions, and more have been racing through my mind. I was happy with the two-point-six weight loss... I don't want to lose it too fast, and this time around, I want to do it all right... from the eating to the work-out. I want my body to change because I need it to be strong to carry me through my dream. The leader tonight said, "Welcome home," and I felt like I was, but home doesn't necessarily have to be a place. For me, home is my future dream... I'm twenty-eight... I've been bogged down by bullshit for too long... My foots feeling better, so I decided to save myself the hundred bucks for Dr. Feelgood to tell me I'm just fine... I haven't really been able to sleep because of stressing about the weight, as well as the possibility of Gram going to a party on Saturday, hosted by my "parents" for my dying uncle's fiftieth. Gram had to call her sister to call her daughter to get the invite. I told Gram she was opening Pandora's Box, and she had no clue what I meant. At first, she thought I was calling her a "whore." I finally explained the analogy, but I know it fell on deaf ears. Whatever she decides, I can't stand in the way of her relationship with anyone... not even her daughter... not even her daughter who was so horrible to her, got the ten thousand bucks to start her business, and forgot all the people that were there (me included), and that's why I have to live in my dream because its the only thing I got, and the only thing I can depend on. 

I am gonna make it because I have nothing left to lose... 

M.M.M.I.

"Dreams are today's answers to tomorrow's questions."

~Edgar Cayce

Whenever you join any kind of weight loss program, the first question they ask you is... Why do you eat? Boredom, depression, happiness, and the list of answers goes on... For me, I definitely eat for all the reasons I just listed, and some. I keep re-reading my previous entries, and seeing that I mention my mother a lot, then I was going through old poems to put on the Poetry page, and I came across this: 

Gaze upon my visage with daggers of resent; 

the bi-product of half your life was not time well spent

My Effigy, the chain 

burn... burn... burn... 

19, so frail

42, so frail 

3's a crowd

4's a fuck over

I think I was nineteen when I wrote that so this piece is from '02 or '03... so basically, I got Marshall-Mathers-Mommy-Issues, and I think I was eating because I was hungry for her love. It does break my heart, especially having so many amazing friends who are older women with children, and I see how much they love their kids... they are all different people, from all walks of life, but at the end of the day, they would fight tooth and nail, sacrifice everything for their kids. They would never choose anyone over their kids, not even their husbands! I sit back, watch, and admire them... But I always wonder why? Why am I not worthy of this? My mom gave me up so that I could have a better life because she was in a very unstable living situation, and I never held that against her... she was always in my life, always attended just about every event, and if she couldn't be there, she made it up to me somehow. She was always good to me in that sense. Then, I come to now... and am just perplexed. 

Also, I feel ashamed and guilty to have these feelings because I had a very great life... my grandparents were beyond good to me, and you would've never known they didn't give birth to me the way they treated me. I was their son, and their grandson. The running joke with my peeps is "Everybody LOVES Steven," but its so true, then I feel guilty for wasting so much of my life grieving for her, especially the last year... I was eating on top of my feelings because it was too hard to face them, and its still hard to face them now. Feelings... whoa, whoa, whoa... Feelings... I also think to myself--so many people out there have it a million times worse, and I have no right to bitch. Count your blessings, but we don't always do that when we are lost in our own great depression... 

My life's pretty much an open book, but I reveal what pages I think will help people, and today, I feel like I really helped myself. The fact that I re-joined Weight Watchers tells me the one, and most important thing... that I MATTER, and that I care about myself enough to take care of myself...   and this is my mantra for the New Year. Its not about weight loss, its about living--the addictions always gonna be there, til the day I die, but it will not be the reason I die. I want to live... I am going to live because I have finally chosen life! 

Catching Fire, or 1984: New Millennium Edition!

"We had to save you because you're the mockingjay, Katniss" (Collins 386).

~Suzanne Collins, Catching Fire

Whenever I purchase a book that is a part of a series, I am always a little hesitant because I feel like after awhile the characters become convoluted, and predictable... so I bought The Hunger Games solo, in spite of the fact that I knew it had siblings, in an effort to save money that way if I didn't like it, I would only be out eight bucks, as opposed to thirty. Don't ask me how, but on Thanksgiving Eve, I fractured my foot, and was laid up for several weeks, and with only so many re-runs of Everybody Loves Raymond one human being could possibly stand, I scraped the dust off the ole Hunger Games, and gave it a go. Within the first couple of pages, I was glued to this book, and regardless if it is considered YA, I enjoyed these characters with the same reverence, as I had the ones from The Twilight Saga. I will even go as far to say that Suzanne Collins is a far more superior writer! (Sorry Steph) There was never a moment that I didn't feel a part of this story--I was Katniss; my heart broke, as hers did when she had to leave her mother, sister, and Gale... and my heart broke even more when we lost Rue. I could see the firey fashion pieces Cinna created, and I even thought that Peeta would not survive. Whenever I would read a sentence out loud, I would do it an English accent because that's how I hear Katniss in my head. Throughout the whole book, I never once had a moment where I saw something coming, and so I wondered if lightning could strike twice with Catching Fire, and attributing the conclusion to the reason I couldn't sleep last night, I'd say, yes! This is our generations 1984 without a doubt, and I would put it against Orwell any day. 

For all the slackers out there who have no clue what I'm talking about, The Hunger Games takes place in the distant future, in Panem, which is what remains of what we know as North America. Originally consisting of thirteen districts, the government destroyed the last, due to rebellious uprisings, and now only twelve remain. In order to keep the good people of Panem in check, the government created the Hunger Games--two tributes, a boy, and a girl, ages twelve to eighteen are picked in a lottery from each district to be trained, and compete in a televised, battle to the death, with only one victor allowed to remain. When sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen's younger sister, Prim, is selected, Katniss takes her place. As Katniss prepares for the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games, she reveals herself to us... from her best friend, Gale, to her mother, who has not been the same since their father passed. The most unlikely relationship we see blossom is the one between her, and Peeta Mellark, who was the male specimen chosen from Katniss' District Twelve. In order to survive the games, the two create this star-crossed lover theme that the viewers devour; thus, creating a problem for the Capitol, and President Snow, especially when Katniss openly defies them, and forces them to allow two victors to live. 

Catching Fire is the aftermath of that Hunger Games, and we find Katniss and Peeta's sub-par living conditions greatly upgraded. Poverty and starvation will not be the death of them, their families, or friends, and they even go as far as they can to stretch the wealth amongst the other less fortunates that inhabit the district. I love how Collins crafts the web of relationships, for example, Katniss and her mother are now on better terms, but estrangement has set in between Katniss, Gale, and Peeta, and what I like is its not your typical love triangle. Nothing about this book feels typical, besides its totalitarian-1984ness. Listening to Katniss be grateful for bread, and other delicacies that are so accessible to me just puts a cold in my soul--then, when she and Peeta are in the Capitol during the tour, and the prep team tells them to drink a liquid that would induce vomiting, and allowing them to continue to engorge themselves just killed me. The greedy, consumerist of the Capitol live the high life, whilst the good denizens stretched throughout the districts die of starvation... does this sound like our grand United States? People do go hungry in our country, and we have an over abundance of food. Ridiculous. My favorite scene is the locket Peeta gives Katniss at the end, and I was near tears when Cinna got attacked. The action in the games was even more amazing--I loved the island, and spinning clock motif. I actually walked away liking Finnick.

This book, and its predecessor is simply amazing... pick it up, check it out--I wish they made the kids in school read them.  

2/100

Carrie Fisher's a SHOCKAHOLIC, literally...

"My emotional difficulties were exacerbated during the period following the death of my friend, Greg Stevens, whose name almost never appeared in print without the identifying phrase 'gay Republican political operative.' So why break tradition here? My gay republican politically operative friend had only recently died... sleeping next to me (though not, technically, with me--see 'gay') from a combination of  OxyContin use and sleep apnea" (Fisher, 11). 

~Carrie Fisher, Shockaholic 

And so, Ms. Fisher takes us down the rabbit hole once more... starting with loosing custody of her daughter, Billie, due to a relapse using her gay republican political operative dead best friend's drug of choice, OxyContin. Then, Carrie goes onto explain her shocktastic new form of treatment, ECT (electroconvulsive therapy), which helps her when being "plagued by feelings of uncertainty and despair" (Fisher 4). Formerly known as shock treatment, the now less-evasive procedure involves being put to sleep for a few short moments, and after having slept off the electric current surging through your head, you wake up, and it feels as if somebody pressed the "mute button muffling the noise of [your] shrieking feelings," (Fisher 20). The piece Carrie's on, taking serious subject matter, such as addiction, depression, etc., and then, spinning it into a light-hearted, amusing tale of an iconic actress, who is telling these stories, not just for our benefit and entertainment, but her own as well, due to the side effect of memory loss associated with ECT. In her little, black book of who's who in Hollywood, Ms. Fisher drops names like Ted Kennedy, Elizabeth Taylor, and Michael Jackson, as if they are the paperboy next door, or that strange cat lady, with no husband, or cat food, but a lot of cats! Speaking of strange, and people who like cats, well I think it was the musical, but any who--Carrie Fisher made Hollywood history spending what would be his last... a very special Michael Jackson Christmas, but I am not sure if they got to film it at Chuck E Cheese, like Michael had originally hoped. I really did enjoy Carrie putting a celebrity-spin on Michael's obsession with children, which is that kids couldn't  be corrupted by the magnitude of fame he radiated. Now, adults that's another ten million dollar story! The most endearing aspect of this memoir is Fisher's reconnection with her estranged father, Eddie, before he passed away. "To parent my parent was the pathway to [our] relationship," (Fisher 156). Overall, Shockaholic is a fun, bathroom of a read, a nice follow-up to her previous memoir, Wishful Drinking, and not a bad way to start the new year!

1/100

Revelations & Revulsions, or did he stick his finger in a light socket to get his hair THAT high?

Science tell us that the prefrontal lobes of the brain, which influence all of the big, "life stuff" decision making doesn't fully develop until the age of twenty-five... these ideas fall into the categories of What do I want to do with the rest of my life? or how ironic is Alanis Morisette's "Ironic?" and just how many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a Tootsie Pop? as well as how important it is to NOT pay your credit cards on time because you are in fact, stimulating the economy! How you ask? Well, those eight hundred number people are not hounding your balls for a minimum payment of $19.95 out of the goodness of their hearts!! Ha!!! And isn't it ironic, even though the world may never know, don't ya think?! 

What science doesn't tell us is that the perfectly flawed human being is a beautiful, fuck-up of a disasterpiece waiting in the wings. I don't know anybody that doesn't have some sort of twisted branch in their dysfunctional family tree, and if they say they don't, then they're a fucking lair, or a unicorn because dysfunction comes nestled sweetly in the human package, right next to the taint. But just because we are all walking, talking fuck-ups, doesn't give us a license to feel sorry for ourselves, and gain fifty pounds... but sadly, yes, done and done. Ooh and how the mighty have fallen... again and again and again and... you get the picture. I've fallen so much that when they bury me its gonna be face-side down just to give my ass a break. I've fallen so much I could've auditioned for that Life Alert commercial, you know the one, "I've fallen, and I can't get up!" I used to laugh at that commercial for hours, and I would even re-enact it in the grocery store! Every slap I got in the face for doing that in the produce aisle was worth it!! Oh, and play the bad childhood card with somebody else!!! If those Oprah-Madonna-Sally Struther's oprhans can still smile, and you know their life has been one bag of shit after another lit on fire infront of their tent, then suck it up buttercup... and be careful if you do have any buttercups or peanut buttercups because I did say SALLY STRUTHERS. She will gnaw your arm off just to lick the wrapper of that Taco Bell burrito that's been stinking up the back of your car for the past six months.

As I had mentioned previously, I was disowned, discontinued, discounted, exiled, extorted, excommunicated, etc., and as talented of an asshole that I am sadly, I did not act alone. There's always a catalyst in the grand scheme of the gripping cliffhanger season finale that is life, and when you live in a small town, your bound to run into that catalyst... a lot. Awkward. And of course, here I am, lil ole Fluff, re-joining Weight Watchers, trying to get my shit together, so naturally my dieter drink of choice was a gin and seltzer with lime--scandal! One of my many darling girlfriends a.k.a. Fag Hags, affectionately reminded me that "when ya gin, ya sin," to which I cleverly rebuttled, "but beer just made me queer...errr, and it did nothing for my waist line." Fifty pounds, hullo! I had heard some drinking horror stories about gin, including that it keeps you drunk for at least three days, which explains why Saturday didn't suck, but this was a Friday, and I was two in and feeling a bit hit in the ass, and not in that good-anal-beads-before-Sunday-breakfast kinda hit either... Well, naturally, a fag and her hags is bound to pull out their library cards in the middle of the bar, and read the room. P.S.--a lot of grenades were ready to go off at any second. After feeling like we were in the middle of an Iraqi mine field, in walks the Catalyst... well, part of the catalyst... the catalyst is actually a Trilogy of Terror, but yeah in walks part two.

I grew up with part two, and always knew that they had... well, let's just say "potential," but part two was notoriously straight, and a straight up "W." Part two wasn't dealt the best hand when it came to parents, role models, fashion, etc., but needlesstosay, we co-existed somewhat peaceably. The bio-mom, which is actually part one of the tril, adopted him... thus, a new competition was born--the non-biological sibling surrogate. CP2 put several bee's in my bonnet, but the one that put the icing on the cake was when he called me the "F" word... no, not FAT! I could've prolly lived with that, but nooo much worse. He called me the most acceptable, discriminatory word in our American-English language... yes, FAGGOT. I know its just a word, and a bundle of sticks, but this was the last straw... Mommy would have to choose me, right? I mean, I was horribly offended. Sadly, it wasn't, no, and no. We had a brief encounter on Thanksgiving Eve, in which he wished me a happy one, and I obliged. What do you do in that moment? By then, the depressive, bed-ridden, feel-sorry-for-myself episode that had been on repeat for months was winding down. I did a lot of reading, and even several forgiveness exercises. Reason eventually creeps in, and you realize that holding onto hating someone eventually becomes a detriment to yourself, your health, etc. and those cocksuckers that raw dogged you, and did you dirty are sleeping at night, care fuck free. So somewhere between here and there, I let it go because I knew I could never fly again with too much holding me down.

A pregnancy rumor prompted CP2 to enter my circle, and what happened next can only be described as a lost episode from The Twilight Zone... Twilight literally because CP2, who we once affectionately dubbed Squidward, was now rocking this strange Jersey Shore floppy faux hawk, but decked out in complete Edward Cullen pea coat fierceness. CP2 had become Squedward... and he molested me like I was Sponge Bobella. After hugging me, kissing me, and reading brail from my nipples because apparently all straight guys luv grabbing and twisting other guys nips... PO-TEN-TIAL. Anyway, although he was probably a bit hit in the ass himself, he said what I wanted to hear... "I apologize..." and then, he went through the whole speal of why, and how we grew up with each other. The irony of it all, Alanis, is that after Thanksgiving Eve, I did that thing we all do when we are lying in bed... yes, playing with myself, but not right away... No, I replayed that night over and over again in my head, only I imagined myself walking back up to him and saying that all I ever wanted was a "sorry" that's it. So, I get that, an invitation to Thursday dinner, and I think I blacked out after that. See, what everyone doesn't understand is that CP2/Squedward never, ever, ever apologized, and I had always assumed he just felt the world owed him something because of the shittastic hand he was dealt. Who knew? I do remember saying to him that did you ever think it was me too... I did a very adult thing, and owned the fact that I was jealous of CP1 choosing him over me, or anybody for that matter.

So kids, the moral of today's story is... much like your mullets, and "Member's Only" jackets, you gotta let that shit go... not for them, but for you, and sometimes, maybe the people that burnt you will offer an apology... its probably as rare as said unicorn mentioned earlier, but possible. Also, if your holding a grudge, re-assess the situation because you too maybe partially to blame, and remember, people can only love you as much as they can and we can't expect anymore then they are prepared to offer, or have within themselves.

Now, prance...

The Life & Times of a Twenty-Eight-Year-Old Self-Proclaimed Lost Boy, or did 2011 really suck?

"You may say I lost everything... and I did what any[one] would do--

I did it all over again."

-Gaga, "Marry The Night"

Socrates said, the "unexamined life is not worth living," but it has been my experience, and the experience of those that I know to disregard such mirrors. The self-portrait we've designed is nothing more than an image we've come to loathe because it is only partially based upon truth, and the lie of it all has become much more believable. Truth. Lies. Reflections. Are we what we perceive ourselves to be, and how many episodes of Family Guy can one be force-fed due to crappy cable wiring before they all start to run the same? During this interim of being a part of the new ten percent club, the now defacto, non-working class elite, all of these "life stuff" questions started popping up, and although I am somewhat grateful for the hidden blessings this time has brought, I'd rather be working somewhere... something... besides someone's nerves! That's including my own!! 

As we've only gently begun to tread upon the dawn of 2012, the proposed End-Times because we haven't heard that ONE before... Remember Y2K people? The computers weren't gonna be computerized for the new mill, and there would be no electricity anywhere, and the idiots that bought into this jazz ran to the store making retailers of bottled water, canned goods, and duct tape immensely wealthy that year... But now we've become so advanced, and so civilized that we're not giving into any of that bullshit, until Hollywood makes a movie about it... and casts John Cusack in the lead... John-FUCKIN'-Cusack... John-Say Anything...-FUCKIN'-Cusack, and I haven't even seen that movie, or this one, but its John-FUCKIN'-Cusack people! Come to think of it, I like his sister, Joan, way better!! Anyway, the point I am trying to make is... be careful who you cast in a big-budget-Hollywood-production-number-starring-John-FUCKIN'-Cusack, and take a little time to enjoy The View... passed Whoopi's braids!!! I guess what I'm trying to get at is did 2011 really suck that bad to the point where we had to get the goddamned Mayans involved, shit out a brand new, 3-D Apocalypse, and give ourselves only one more year to get our shit together? 

It must've because in a few, short hours, I am going to be re-joining Weight Watchers, step on that iron-cladded cell of a scale, and face the music. Not to mention write bad checks towards a healthier lifestyle I can't even afford, but screw it. Until that deal-a-meal-dolla-divyin'-dyke Suze Orman comes a-knockin'... I'm going J-Hud fierceness on that poor, little, old Southwood Shopping Center. I was very successful with W.W., as we called it, a few years back, losing approximately a hundred pounds. A quiet, gentle observer might say I let myself go, and if anybody finds them could you please tell 'em to friend me on Facebook. In adopting the nickname "Fluffy," courtesy of an overweight-crayon-red-hair-closet-case who shall remain nameless because I went to church on Christmas Eve, and am trying to be peaceful... I've done more then just  "fluffed up." I've fluffed in, out, and everywhere else back fat can be obnoxious. My hope is that when I reach a "desireable" weight, which is just a bold-face-fuck-lie, that my new title will just be "Fluffer." For all the porn-enthusiast following, you know what I mean, and I hope that just gave you a semi! All fat jokes aside, I thought the only part of the journey was the physical aspect, and had no idea that the weight was just a symptom for what was really ailing me albeit "life stuff." 

The truth is that I reached a point where I just felt "stuck" in my life, like that anonymous pubic hair, which somehow cloggs up the drain in your sink, but no one has any clue how it got there. Stinky, smelly, sweaty, sticky... I was that pubic hair! I was working a job that I loved, but knew wasn't my future; I worked with the kids who not only rode the short bus, but rocked that motherfucker... literally! And I loved my kids, even the little bitch who stuck her fingers in her post-menstrual puss, and clawed the shit outta my face, causing a finger or three to enter my mouth, which I dramatically gargled with Hydrogen Peroxide and irony. That's definitely an "if I wasn't Gay then" moment! Its never the work... its the workers, and factor in the fact that my love-hate-hate-love-hate-hate relationship with my biological mother was more unpredictable then the current state of our fair economy, I had sub-consciously released an all-access invitation to every member of the opposite sex to fill the role, the void, the prescription bottle, etc. I had a couple doozies, but the worst is always the last, and needlesstosay, if the wannabe-Mother-thinks-she-knows-best, and you disagree... your basically fucked, and for me, I was back to square-one. I totally recreated the biological experience with the surrogate. Compound the fact that she was my boss, which totally blurred lines Norman Bates wouldn't even dare cross, and that Queen was crazy with a "K," as well as the fact that I had been with the company straight outta high school, well not straight but you know... So here I am, stuck in my little, Peter Pan microcosm where everyone watches you grow up, but some still think of you as that little, seventeen-year-old who didn't even begin to know the alphabet of life let alone the meaning of it... so naturally, I imploded, but the "fluffy" stuff would take a good year or so! 

On top of losing my job, I lost my mind, which I don't think was ever really there to begin with, but the big suck was yet to part its lips, and make those loud suctiony-suck sounds. Porn-enthusiasts, I hope the semi just went to three-fourths! For those of you that do not know my life story, its none of your fucking business, and I have yet to sell the rights to Lifetime, who will undoubtedly cast Patty Duke in the lead, and not John-FUCKIN'-Cusack. Regardless, I was disowned by my biological mother, and kicked out of what I thought at the time was paradise... a beautiful, circle bricked rancher with a swimming pool, and my own separate living quarters at the other end of the house, only to find myself reconnecting with the woman that was always my mother... no, not Madonna! I said mother, not goddess. I am referring to my beautiful, loud-mouthed, seventy-one-years-young grandmother... the coolest senior citizen on the entire planet, who will hug and kiss you, as fast as she'll cuss and slap you! And just as Gaga said, I did it all over again... returning to The Community, a.k.a. trailer park, but if you ask my Gram its a "Mobile Home Community goddamn you..." that gave birth to me. Just as a side note, and I hope Lifetime won't mind me divulging this teeny factoid, my maternal grandparents raised me, and although my grandfather is no longer with us, I can always dust his box of ashes off, which are under the bed I sleep in, and holla at him!

Did 2011 suck? I'll get back to you in 2013, in the meantime I am finally embracing my true passion... no, not being a 2012 Dutch Rudder Gold Medalist! Writing!!