OCD Crazees

When I get stuck in the obsessively checking email-blogger-facebook repeatedly for communication, I know it's time to step off and do something else! My fiction writing persona is almost done with a new story for submission to an anthology but couldn't write with the contractor here today. So off I go to beg leftovers from my son the college student. Summer breaks suck for college. In the spring and fall college students get a week, but in the summer it's only a day, and that's only if Fourth of July falls on a weekday!

I also need to register to take my NCLEX. So time to quit fucking around already!

What is most challenging about blogging?

The writing prompts are found here. I'm not allowed to be a participating member any more but I use them anyway occasionally.

What I find most difficult about blogging is the fact that I'm too honest about what I really am. I create new personas and try not to be quite so straight forward in the hopes that I'll attract an audience, but it never works. The real me always comes out. And that's never good.

I'll never be one of these people that has a hundred followers.

Hell, I'd be shocked if I ever had ten.

So the most challenging thing about blogging is the discovery that I'll never be good at it, or anything else. 

And that I'm stupid enough to keep doing it anyway.

Surrounded by Hot Gay Men!

And proud of it!

There was a queer-y (please, don't hurt me!) at Pam's House Blend about what readers' first experience in a gay bar was like. I hope no-one found it offensive that I, a straight woman, answered the question. But I have such fond memories that I really wanted to share them.

I at one time actually had a social life and had several gay male friends. The first time I went to a gay bar with one of these friends, I found it so refreshing and great fun. The guys all knew I was an ally and I didn't have any boozed-up louts hitting on me and grabbing my ass. Straight dudes could learn a thing or two from gay guys about how to treat women. One thing that was amusing was because there were so few women in the place, and it was packed, the guys were also using the ladies' room. I accidentally walked into a stall on a couple of guys and immediately said "oh, I beg your pardon!" 

"Don't worry about it, Honey," one of them said. "But let me give you fair warning. Do NOT sit on the seats. You know why?"

"Because guys are pigs!" his partner chimed in.

The bathroom was rather a mess but I have never felt more at home. It distressed me to find out that the parking lot tended to be a target for gay bashers. These fun-loving guys were just looking for a good time among friends. They should never have had to endure that.

I've never been to a lesbian bar. I wouldn't mind going except I tend to become uncomfortable being hit on by people of either sex. I'm very shy and don't tend to handle it well. I end up looking awkward. I didn't have to worry about that at the gay guys' bar!

The Different Expressions of Gender

Photo found at Genderfork

Joanne wrote a post about being a woman who also enjoys dressing like a man. This brought some things to mind that I would like to share, as if you all didn't already think I was quite odd enough!

Although I am a straight woman in that I am attracted to men, I've always thought of myself as a "fabulous gay man trapped in the body of a frumpy straight woman." I feel like I really get gay men. Not all gay men engage in drag, of course, but I love drag queens. In this sense I've always felt that I was a little bit "queer" in spite of being straight. It isn't a sexual turn-on for me, it's just that I don't "think" like a woman except with the belief that being a mother is the most important thing in my life. 

Notice that I said in MY life. I do not believe that a woman is only a "real woman" if she's a mother. Far from it. I think it's sad if someone feels forced into becoming a parent by their family and by society. Not everyone wants kids.

I don't mind being female, but I've been called a dyke more than once because I am not a "girly girl." I don't like going shopping for the latest fashions, I want something comfortable. I don't want to be a man in the sense that I want a gender change. I'm actually fine with being a gay man in a straight woman's body! I know that most people won't get that, but I think you do. I also love that you were so honest about who you are. Cheers!

You'll Pry My Intellectual Brilliance from my Cold, Dead Brain!

I guess that there are people who argue that persons with bipolar disorder tend to be more intelligent than other people. I've actually never heard that argument. What I've heard is that there are a disproportionate number of people who would be ranked as intelligent who have bipolar disorder. I have also heard that bipolar disorder and creativity tend to be linked. Apparently creative pursuits access the same areas of the brain that are affected by bipolar disorder, so this would make a fair bit of sense.

I read an article which postulates that people with bipolar disorder are actually less intelligent than people who do not have bipolar disorder because we are cognitively impaired. And on this, I must disagree. I must also point out that while I disagree, I'm not ripping on the author because she wasn't being an asshole, she was simply pointing out her belief that there was no correlation between bipolar disorder and high intelligence. She herself lives with the disease.

Since I grew up believing that I was retarded due to being somewhat dyslexic, I refuse to have anybody take away from me the fact that I learned that I could pass the test to get into Mensa, much to my surprise. I opted not to join because I did not want to come off as an intellectual snob. I don't care for snobbery of any kind. 

I would argue that intelligence (IQ) and cognitive impairment are two different things. There are extremely intelligent people whose learning disabilities make it difficult for them to express their intellectual gifts to the world. I am not saying I am particularly gifted in any area because my thoughts do tend to be scattered and my attention span is terrible. I have OCD as well as bipolar disorder. I have often been accused of being a "space cadet." I have to write everything down, otherwise I'll forget to do it.

Nonetheless, I'm not letting anyone tell me I'm not intelligent. I spent too many years hating myself and believing myself to be stupid to allow that to happen.

What Kind of Pizza Are You?

You Are Cheese Pizza

Traditional and comforting. You focus on living a quality life. You're not easily impressed with novelty. Yet, you easily impress others.

What's Your Pizza Personality?

Blogthings: Cheaper Than a Therapist

Pantscarpet

I couldn't find a picture of pantscarpet. But here is a picture of a college student demonstrating his balanced diet.

This is a response to a startlingly serious article on Cracked by John Cheese about how life does get better after high school if only for the fact that at least you have the freedom to give things a shot.

Here is my response:

I like you, John. The pantscarpet thing made me laugh because that is exactly what I see when I go over to my son's apartment. Pantscarpet and pizza boxes. I'm his ride to the community college because taking the bus in this area pretty much sucks balls, and it gives us a chance to talk. I'm still trying to get out of squalor myself, and I'm nearly 50. He's smarter than I was, though, and not as impaired by mental illness (literally) as I was for so many years. I think he'll be better off. No, I'm not one of those minority mentally ill people that make the news with their Charlie Sheen or worse behavior. I'm one of the majority of mentally ill people: the ones who struggle in silence with their disease and are marginalized. Help is not readily available and most of it is unaffordable. But yes, at least I am away from high school and the cliques and other bullshit. I made my first suicide attempt in high school. Wow--that was all serious and a rant! But that's the kind of response you can expect to sagelike wisdom from the magic pimp bus (I like that too!)

Here is an extension of that response:

I am nearly 50 years old and the shit from high school still affects me. Some of the memories are as fresh and raw as they were yesterday. I really wish I could afford counseling because I need to lay these fucking zombies to rest and get on with my life. Just like in high school, I still don't fit in and every now and then I find myself still pathetically trying (like with those writing prompts) even though it is not possible. I don't know if I'll ever stop being pathetic that way but I can at least try not to make an ass out of myself. I need to realize that I will never be pretty or popular and that it's time to stop thinking that either of those things really hold any importance. I'd still like to win the fucking lottery, though. Because rich? That's something I could handle! And now if you will excuse me I will have my awesome breakfast of Lance Captain's Wafers. Because that is the kind of shit I've been eating for the past couple of weeks--it was all I could afford. I shit you not.

If I had known that life after high school at almost 50 years old would involve this for breakfast, lunch, and dinner unless I could mooch food off other people instead of the ultra cool life of a rock star, actress, or famous writer, I would have jumped feet first into a wood chipper while pushing my head in with a plunger. Because that, my friends, quite simply sucks unwashed ass.

Nonetheless, trite though it sounds, I treasure the times taking my son to the community college. I enjoy seeing him progress and pursue his dreams. I know he has learned from my mistakes. If he succeeds, somehow it will all be worth it in the end. 

If I could rub a magic lamp and get one of those wish-granting assholes to come out, the first thing that I would wish for is for my son to have a happy, prosperous, long, healthy life. The next would be for me to be able to believe in myself. I was going to have the third be for hope, but if I believed in myself that would be rolled into the package, I think. So the third would probably be for people to realize what a kick ass writer I was before I died--none of this frustrating posthumous crap like H.P. Lovecraft got saddled with. He lived on canned beans and cheap cuts of meat while scraping out a meager living mostly as an editor, not for the great stories he wrote. 

Hell, it's no wonder HPL died young, and it's some wonder that he didn't ask to be buried with his ass sticking out of the ground so everyone could kiss it. If I had to subsist on canned beans and the butcher's cheap castoff cuts, I'd probably be kind of bitter. Then again I'm a bit more of an asshole than Lovecraft was, though we both share the suicide ideation and the tendency to write about doomy shit. 

Luckily for the world I won't be buried with my ass sticking out of the ground either. When all is said and done, I've requested that this old hulk be cremated. But I could request a big middle finger on my memorial stone. We shall see!