Tuesday, November 5, 2013

I Dreamt of Kevin Smith

Get your damn heads out of the gutter!  NO!  Not THAT kind of dream.  Although realistic enough, there was negative sex with the "Fat Man", as he so calls himself. 

Into the warped mind of "Loose", and View Askew Productions via my limbic system (dream center of the brain).

View Askew Productions had moved into an abandoned hospital and it's four floors were bustling with people ready to please the Mastermind behind such hits as "Clerks" "Dogma" and "Chasing Amy" (just to name a few).  I was hired on as a PA (production assistant) and was working with a girl named Mhairi.  No, not MIRI from his other movie, but Mhairi.  We were called onto the SMODcast set to answer a few questions about our favorite Batman, movie, etc.  (If you have never heard a SMODcast, then you MUST tune in for the brilliance of each one!) 

Mr. Smith calls me over, "  Loose, you know how close you were to being fired today?"  "Um, no sir?  I really was?  I did everything you asked, I was professional, what did I do wrong?"  He replied, "That's just it, you did everything professionally, you have to loosen up, Loose!  Don't be so fucking uptight."  I noticed he enjoyed calling me by my last name.  Loose.  He giggled every damn time he said my name.  The high mother fucker.  Ha. 

"As your punishment, Loose, you must go to every office and leave every person with just one telephone.  George Lucas has been trying to reach me for the last hour and couldn't get through because the fucks are tying up the phones with personal phone calls!"  Yay for me.  Trudge through every damn office on four floors and gather phones with a fucking wheelbarrow that Smith handed me.  I can't even handle a wheelbarrow in real life, how the fuck did I master one in my dream so easily?

I start collecting phones.  People start getting pissed.  I hit the office of one Walt Flanagan and he's got three damn phones on his desk.  I told Walt I was there to take 2 of his phones per Kevin's orders.  He yelled at me, " What the fuck?  I am a big shot here!  I can have as many phones as I want!  I am an adult!"  "Excuse me, Mr. Adult Walt, could you pick up your Batman skateboard? I nearly broke my neck walking up to your desk.  Give me your fucking phones and let me do my damn job, Mr. Adult."  Phones handed over, on to Mr. Brian Johnson whose response was less hostile.  "Yeah, sure, go ahead, take 'em.  I hate talking on the fucking things".   Typical Johnson. 

As I moved on to the tech department with my load of phones, I was relieved.  Nearly done, whew!
I did NOT expect what I saw.

Rows of desks with laptops on each.  It was like a giant school room for nerds.  Wait, it was a room for nerds, because each mouse was a roller ball mouse and they were decorated.  I saw Darth Vader, Batman, Spiderman, Ewoks, Jay and Silent Bob, a Pig, a Cat and many other assorted computer mouse (mice?) ... whatever... being rolled across the floor in races.  After removing the telephones, I began confiscating the mouse (mice?) ...whatever.... and nerd did hit the fan!  I told them this was bullshit and with my arms full of Vaders and Pigs, I headed of to find Smith.  Fearing I was going to have to drag my ass around the entire old hospital, I found him on my floor, doing a Q&A for employees on the next project.  He saw me coming.  "What the fuck are those?"  "They are from the tech department sir, they were having races with them."   He half-laughed.  "You have got to be fucking kidd...no... this sounds like a bunch of fucking geeks with time on their hands.  Hey, Loose? " 
"Yeah, boss?"
With a mischievous look in his eye, "Are you loose now, Loose?"
"Yeah, boss, I'm Loose."

Monday, August 26, 2013

Aw, crap. I'm human.

  My kids are enough... My kids are enough... My kids are eno... Oh hello!  Yes, it's been a while, hasn't it.

I'm sorry, I took a mental health hiatus.  Nah, sorry.  I'm still crazy.  I just needed time to myself and time to adjust to a "different" me.  A me that is coming to terms with certain, shall we call them realities, and how to deal. 

A me that is nearly 2 years cancer free.

A me that is not taking shit off of anyone, any longer.

A me that is...............   lonely.

I admit it, okay?  I've been telling myself for the longest time that my kids are enough and I don't need a man.  That is true, my kids ARE enough and I DON'T need a man. 

I just really want one

I honestly didn't even think of a relationship up until now.  There was no room in my life for anyone that wasn't family or female.  I was sick, I was getting well, I was depressed, I was getting well.  See the pattern?  Who had time for a relationship?  Not me!  For the last 5, yes dammit, you heard that right, for the last 5 years I have been a work in progress. 

I was carrying my beautiful daughter, giving her life, battling cancer and recovering from it's aftermath.

It wasn't until a conversation with a friend that I realized I had a hole in my life.  I didn't want that hole, I certainly don't need that hole and it just wasn't welcome.

I was lying to myself.

I do miss the human touch.  I miss knowing you are loved and loving back.  5 years of celibacy really clears your damn head.  It's makes you put everything into perspective.  You learn what is truly important and what is fluff.

I will never need that man.  I will want him.  I feel sorry for those woman who feel they are incomplete with out a partner attached to their hip.  I've never felt more a woman than I do at this moment, messy hair, sweats and all! 

Now to sit back and be choosy.  I've earned that right.  I'm old enough now that I know what I want and I won't settle for less than that.  I CAN be alone.  I CAN live forever without a partner and be fine.

I just don't wanna.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

My Mirrors are Broken!

Hi, let me introduce myself.  This is me... well... it WAS me, pre-baby and pre-cancer in 2008.
Me, July 2008

Kinda cute huh?  Maybe even attractive in some one's eyes.  Yes, I was thin, younger and confident.  I felt I could rule the world!!

BOOM!  Pregnancy.  Oh the bundle of joys and how they trash our bodies for months!  Unless, of course, you are some wealthy wench that can afford personal trainers and expensive diet plans.  After bearing so many children, it took 2 years to get back to my near pre-pregnancy weight.  I still had 10 lbs to go when the unthinkable happened.  CANCER

It totally changed my appearance and not for the good.  The steroids they pushed through my port every chemo packed on the pounds, not to mention the fact that I was so exhausted that I could barely prod myself to get out of bed with the exception of peeing.  Yes, TMI for some, candid to others.  I put all my weight back on that I had lost and then some!  I lost my hair, and I gained chemo-teeth. 

 Wig-wearing me and my BFF Jill, 2011

Chemo-teeth, you ask?  Well, a lovely side effect is the rotting of your teeth, but only some are affected.  It doesn't matter how well you take care of your teeth, some will just have the misfortune of them rotting.  I once had a lovely smile, and I can smile no longer.  I will show rotting teeth that I could not help and can not afford to change thanks to my insurance plan.  Not being able to laugh heartily or smile at a cute guy hurts far worse than losing my hair ever did. 

2 years and a cancer-free body later, here I am now...
Me, post cancer, March 2013

I am still over-weight, hating my outward appearance and trying to make the best of it.  My smile is different, my hair is growing and my eyes now require glasses (another side effect of chemo).  Yet, because of my looks, I am vain enough to regret ever getting treatment.  I'm sorry if that is a slap in the face to all those people that lost loved ones to this dreaded disease.  I'm not intending it to be at all. I am merely baring my soul, my tortured, once pretty soul for all to understand.  Not being able to be "me" anymore has changed me so dramatically, that I don't even know myself anymore.  I like to pretend my mirrors are broken, but it's not so, I am the one that is broken.  I have let myself fall into the trap of beauty that society has shoved down my throat since I was a little girl, dreaming of being a gorgeous princess. 

Society, you suck ass!  You force all women into believing we have to be a Barbie doll to be anything.  I swallowed that hook, line and sinker!  I don't know how to release myself from that rod and reel.  The deeper I attempt to swim away from what all consider beautiful, the more I drown in my own sorrow of ineptitude. 

I am NOT asking for pity, nor for the "beauty is on the inside" BS that will undoubtedly be heard as a response.  I am asking you to raise your children differently!  Show your sons and daughters how unhealthy those size zero models really look!

 I was bulimic for a time in my life and that is a dark secret that has only been shared with very few people.  I had an anorexic best friend, and I was the opposite. It's like we were in a "who can get skinnier" competition.  STUPIDITY!  I weighed in at 85 lbs at the age of 21, being 5'4"... totally unhealthy!   Eating disorders are so very dangerous and it's just another pressure from society AND men that we girls/women MUST BE PERFECT!  It's not true and don't let anybody tell you any different.

I wish I could take my own advice.  However, once I was bitten by the "vain bug", I will be forever infected.  The infestation will NOT pass down to my children.  They see me hide daily behind hats and glasses, not smiling and avoiding people. 

Hopefully, my daughters will realize just how gorgeous they are, no matter their size, teeth, hair or whatever!  I know I am not sending a positive message by acting the way I do about my looks, but maybe it will have the reverse effect and they will accept themselves, willingly, for who they are and not what they appear to be. 


Words hurt.  They cut deep.  I know I'm fat and I don't need you to point out how "thin" I used to be, or how "cute" I was.  I know that.  Why do you think I am in such a dark place right now?  If I didn't suffer from COPD and lose breath with every step, I WOULD exercise to lose the weight, but it won't change my teeth, now will it? 

Remember, bullies come in every age and at every stage of life.  I think I am my own biggest bully.

My mirror will forever be broken, just like me. 

Hats off to you, society, you win this round.

Friday, March 8, 2013

I Can't Write!

  It's official.  I can't write.  No, I don't mean I am a bad writer (although, I'm pretty sure I am), I only mean I have nothing left inside of me.  I've never claimed to be a professional, just an amateur whose only outlet for pain has always been pen to paper; or fingers to keyboard.

I go to bed at night with a billion topics, no, not literally, and come the next morning, I can't remember anything that was swirling around in my little brain.  Yes, I have thought of keeping a tablet handy, but when I am falling asleep, I really don't want to jump awake to write crap down.  Call me crazy, but in that threshold between half-asleep/half-awake, I'd rather drift off. 

Once the sun rises and a new day begins, I am empty.  The toddler is now in daycare, so I have tons of free time to write at leisure, but the gas tank is on fumes.  It's not writer's block, for I am no writer.  Am I pain-free?  No, that can't possibly be it, for I face the same issues that I have faced since my teen years, just new ones added.  Have I lost the ability to draw on that pain?  Possibly.  It's more likely that I am maturing (ick) and don't feel the need to share my every thought any longer. 

I have noticed a very big difference in my personality.  I have withdrawn; from people, from places, from everything on this big blue ball.  The social butterfly has reverted into her cocoon.  It's happier here.  I don't get let down by people.  I don't have to trust anyone.  I don't have to rely on false comfort.  I have built my world and it is just fine by me.  The more I hide, the more my energy returns, the better I feel.  I keep a very tight circle of friends that I communicate with often, and trust them with my life.  Others have fallen by the wayside, others (once I was declared cancer-free) felt no need to be in my life.  I am glad that my illness gave you purpose.  I gave me a purpose too, it allowed me to rip out the weeds from the roses in my life. 

There is a whole other group of people that give me more than imagined, but yet, I hide from them as well.  You would think that unicorns could stick together, but alas, I am drifting to another part of the rainbow.  No, you WON'T get this reference unless you are a unicorn as well.  I think my horn snapped off and now I'm just a regular horse.

This is not a pity-post.  Don't even go there.  It appears I was able to write about NOT being able to write.  Oh, the irony. 

One day I hope to join you in your world once more.  For now, I gladly embrace my gilded cage.  I am untouchable.  I am healing.  I am being me.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Watch Your Mouth!

  Did I move to Europe?  I must have missed that.  Oh wait, you weren't asking for a cigarette, you were calling some person a fag.  Unless we are in Europe, that is an unacceptable word!  Don't let me hear you say that around me!

That movie was gay?  Really?  How could an inanimate object be happy and joyful?  Again, I apologize, forgive me for being so stupid that I did not understand you were calling some "thing" a homosexual.  Interesting.

 Knock off  the offensive remarks, or I will find some nasty soap for your mouth.

Your friend is retarded?  Wow.  I am so proud that your friend is in high school, on the debate team and is an honor roll student.  Wait, what?  I see, they aren't really retarded, it's a figure of speech.  Do you know how horrible that "figure of speech" is?  It's such an ugly word, if you find them to be an idiot at any given point, use that one instead.  Better yet, how about cutting out all name-calling all together.  Wishful thinking....

Moron, jerk, dummy, stupid, retard, fag, queer, gay... these all seem to be mainstream words for the teens of today.  It's comparable to we, the 80s kids, saying "gross me out" or "gag me with a spoon"!  It's completely normal in their little world to use this language as it is to use "the" or "and". 


and more YUCK.

I keep trying and trying to remind my children how hurtful these words can be, starting from when they were very young.  It has become a habit thanks to the other teens speaking this way.  Having parents that just don't give a rat's ass or are bigoted assholes are the problem.  I'm not sure which it is, I just know that if you have not trained your children that these are just as bad (no, worse) than cursing you are totally doing your child a disservice as a parent.

You should also be covered in honey, red ants devouring your hateful body.

I'm not the judge or jury though, so I shall retain my evil fantasy while I listen to your teens speak the nastiness. 

I am probably pouring honey on your teens in my mind, just so you know.  I know I mentally pour it on mine as I hear these words spew forth from the lips God and I created. 

Don't worry, I won't harm a kid, my images are mine and mine alone.  They won't be acted upon.  It's all just wishful thinking.

Just like the wishful thinking I do on a daily basis that these words are erased from our vocabulary, or only used in proper context.

Here ya go, kiddos!  A proper sentence:  Isn't it queer that I should be so gay on such a cloudy day? 

The other words should just be erased. Period.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

The Accidental Addict

  I don't even know where to begin on this one.  It's a story I've never told, a story I am ashamed of and a story that several will recognize as close to their own. 


They are a blessing and a curse all rolled up into one tiny little tablet.  They rush through our veins like the evil little demons they are, easing the intense pain we are feeling, all the while whispering to our brains, "You need us, you need us!"

My first addiction to pills was in 2006 after a very serious car accident that nearly cost me my life.  Hats off to the lady who had been drinking, rushing to pick up her child from the bus stop and smashing into the driver's side of my SUV.  RIGHT NEAR MY CHILDREN!  BITCH!  They heard the loud "SMACK" and the crumpling of metal.  They ran out to see the commotion, as is normal
thanks to the "nosy gene" in my family, and saw their momma, in the ditch.  I had flipped in the air. My kids got to see the lovely sight of their mother covered in blood once I was pulled out.  Imagine how frightening it was for their tender ages of 9 (the twins) and 10.  Three broken vertebrae, a very strained neck, a cracked skull, broken sternum and several broken ribs were my injuries.  I count myself very lucky.  I SHOULD have died considering how the windshield WOULD have jabbed me in the neck (or severed my head) if my seat belt had not "miraculously" released. 

The point of this story was to give some background on WHY I needed months of painkillers.  I couldn't lay on my back, I could not lay on my side.  I was uncomfortable no matter what position I attempted to lie in, EVEN ON PAINKILLERS!  I even "turtled" myself one day when no one was home.  What is turtling, you ask?  Ok, turtling may not be a word, but it's MY word, so leave it alone.  Turtles get stuck on their backs and struggle to turn upright, and that was me.  I was in so much pain on the couch, I decided to "lay on something hard" as had been suggested by a friend.  BAD FUCKING ADVICE, DUDE!  I proceeded to lay on the floor, 3 hours before anyone was due home and I WAS STUCK!  I couldn't roll to my left, I couldn't roll to my right, thanks to all the broken bones and sitting straight up?  No go!  Those broken bones in my chest would not allow me to move, dammit!  Bad idea to drink coffee that day, I had to piss like a race-horse by the time I was saved by my friend. 

Now, you've gotten the background and are understanding the pain, let's talk about the addiction.  It was 3 months of physical therapy and drugs.  3 months of constant painkillers is more than enough time to become addicted.  My naive little ass didn't realize this, until my doctor felt I was well enough to be off of them.  I was fine with it.  I felt so much better, little aches here and there but nothing I couldn't handle with some ibuprofen. 

Me:  Hello, doc?  Something is wrong with me.  I am shaking, having cold sweats and my ass is exploding diarrhea like crazy. 

Doc:  How long have you been off of your pills now?

Me:  3 days!

Doc:  Come in for some more, we have to wean you off of them, you've developed an addiction. 



So, I was weaned off and no more withdrawal symptoms.  The End.


Fast forward to 2011, when I was having a marvelous time kicking the ass of cancer.

Hello, Dilaudid! 

Yes, my new best friend.  While in Moffitt, after having my chest split and ribs spread like an easy prom queen's legs, I needed it. I needed it so very badly they even gave me my own pump with a happy little button to push as I saw fit.  I now had a scar that ran from the top of my sternum to well below it and it fucking hurt.  PUSH PUSH PUSH

Nope, I didn't get an addiction from 5 days in the hospital.  It was the months after.  I was prescribed opiates for pain relief and once it was radiation time they added 12 hour, long acting Morphine to my list of meds.  I can honestly report to you that I took my pills AS DIRECTED.  I never took more than needed ( I am highly sensitive to the high it gives you and I don't like it) so I always took less than prescribed.  If I was told one pill every 4-6 hours, I took 1/2 every 4-6 hours.  I kept on my regimen as they were radiating the spot they had just sliced and diced!


They joys of trying to stay alive.

Please excuse all the cursing.  I know I offend a great many of you, but drug addiction offends me, so deal with it.

After a beautiful 5 months of painkillers, I went off cold turkey.  Again, my naive little self never once said, "Hmmm, but my other doctor weaned me off of them, why not again?" 

2 days later I was dying, I just knew it.  My legs  hurt so horribly, every inch of my body ached, but my legs were intense!  I wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating and my ass decided to expel all the contents of my bowels yet again.  I complained to my 20 year old and he laughed and said, "Mom, you are going through withdrawal!"


This doc was of a different sort and didn't believe in "weaning".  So there I was, dying a little every day for a week.  Vomiting, sweating, shaking, and wanting my legs to be amputated. 


Hurrah for me, I beat it, alone.  I never intended to be addicted.  It's been one year since I've taken painkillers for anything, except for my little friend, ibuprofen. 

Accidental Addiction.

I would bet you the world I am NOT the only one this happened to and I worry that some never conquered those little shitheads. 

I see the why they can take over your life, it's understandable.  They take away your pain and give you this gushy feeling, numbing you and making you happy.  Thank God this one time for Panic Disorder.  Too much of that euphoric feeling would send me into panic mode, so I never was able to over indulge in them.  What would my life be like now if not for that?  I shudder to think.  I don't want to think. 

I want the drug problem in the world cleaned up, for you, for me and for our children!  Opiates are far too easy to obtain and that's frightening.  There are people that genuinely need them for pain control, then there are the assholes that deplete the inventory at the pharmacy, for their own selfish needs, denying those genuine people.  It pisses me off and I mean REALLY pisses me off. 

Know an addict?  GET THEM HELP, NOW!  Yes, it is your responsibility.  You know them, help them.  Imagine if we started taking responsibility for all that was wrong in this world, we could clean it right up, together, as a community. 

Look up the nearest treatment center or AA/NA meetings near you.

www.gutsthebook.com to give to those addicts in hopes they will see the light, be inspired and realize they too, through laughter and tears, can recover.

Anything is possible, just believe!