Little Miss S Has the Best Gay Boyfriend EVER

Well, it’s Monday.

The Band would like me to find something happy about my Monday. Seeing as how I have nothing to be happy about, I very nearly just said “fuck it” and went back to bed. Thankfully, my wonderful gay boyfriend S came through with something to make me smile.

I first heard about April Smith and the Great Picture Show on NPR, but it was S who really got me to love her. We had many discussions and songs were shared, and when he went to see her (I’ve never seen her because she doesn’t come to Lamesville) he got me an autographed shirt. I wash this shirt so carefully, you guys, to make sure the Sharpie doesn’t wash out.

Apparently he went and saw her last week again and decided that I needed something to make me happy, even though he didn’t know I was upset. So what did he do?

Your argument is invalid.

New shirt! So cute. And it’s also signed. That’s not all. He also put in two See’s Candy pops, a sticker and a card because he is the best. I had to eat one of the pops right away because it was too delicious to pass up. Also, butterscotch.

I love S so very much. Without him I wouldn’t have even had a dose of happy today. He means the world to me and I love him to death. ❤

Little Miss S, Foodie Pen Pal for April

Last month, while reading Malia’s Self Professed Product Obsessed blog, I saw that she was a Foodie Pen Pal and got all excited. “I enjoy food,” I said to myself. “I also enjoy getting mail. Perhaps I shall look into this.” So I trotted on over to The Lean Green Bean and signed up.

The Lean Green Bean
Here are some details. Click on over if you want to sign up, but you have to be sure and get your info in by May 4th!
-On the 5th of every month, you will receive your penpal pairing via email. It will be your responsibility to contact your penpal and get their mailing address and any other information you might need like allergies or dietary restrictions.
-You will have until the 15th of the month to put your box of goodies in the mail. On the last day of the month, you will post about the goodies you received from your penpal! 
-The boxes are to be filled with fun foodie things, local food items or even homemade treats! The spending limit is $15. The box must also include something written. This can be anything from a note explaining what’s in the box, to a fun recipe…use your imagination!
Ohmygoodness this was so much fun! Mister E and I had an amazing time going around and picking out things for my pen pal. We also howled in unison at the cost of mailing the darn thing, but that’s the nature of the postal beast.
My pen pal was Staisha (isn’t that just the prettiest name?), who doesn’t have a blog yet, but is super-amazing. As soon as I saw it was from her, I ran home and started ripping at the tape.

So much delicious in one picture.

This was my haul. Isn’t it beautiful?

Snacks!

Maple walnuts, caramelized with flaxseeds and honey-glazed almonds with cranberries and sea salt. These are going to be perfect for when I’m running. Quick energy and yummy protein to boot!

Bars!

I used to eat these ALL THE TIME when I worked at the health food store. The almond coconut is my absolute favorite. ❤ These are going to be perfect for when I need MORE delicious protein. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Tiny! Yummy! Squeezy!

Holy amazeballs, Batman. Tiny packets of nut butter. I can’t decide if I want to put them on something or just squeeze them directly into my mouth. Odds are that I’m going to squeeze them onto apples but I can’t promise that. The most exciting thing about the one in the center is that it’s completely sodium free! The other two weigh in at a weeny 70mg, making them a savory snack without puffy consequences.

Best of all, everything she sent me was natural, low-sodium and heart healthy! Nuts! Coconut! Flaxseeds! I managed to wait until after I took pictures to rip into some of the flaxseed walnuts, but it was a close thing. I’m grateful to Staisha for sending me snacks that fit with my diet and won’t cause me to do my blowfish impression – there was nothing over 150mg sodium. I was super spoiled by my pen pal, as you can see, and I can’t wait to do it again next month.
Thank you, Staisha! I hope you got as spoiled as I did!

I don’t have the strength to be clever

I don’t feel like talking about it. I don’t feel like being open or honest. I don’t feel safe anymore. I feel ruined and wrong, violated and guilty. I don’t want to move. They’re out there, you know. So I’m staying in here. And I’m trying not to care. I don’t have words today. Maybe I won’t have words again. So here are some lyrics to a song that means a lot to me. Lyrics are Justin’s. Emphasis is mine.

A blackout in the room again
A busted lip and broken skin.
I wake up in the bathroom
And dare not bother asking
Why the mirror’s cracked and all I see
Are shards of glass inside of me.

There’s voices there to dare me,
My father’s here to scare me.
My mother sits beyond the door she’s
Curled up crying on the floor,
Look at what her son’s done.

When the weight of all the world’s gone wrong.
It’s gone wrong again.
Gone fucking wrong.
It’s gone wrong again.

Well liars they leave a guilty trail.
And let me tell you something people,
I’ve been lying for fucking years.
That must be why I’m standing in this space.
Disregarding that I’ve created these monsters
They’re on fucking both of my sides,
So I wipe the blood from both of their eyes.
From all four of their eyes.

And while I wait for wounds to heal
I see you by the window sill,
Your heart’s torn out
A plastic spoon
When honesty lit up that room
So I stole the pillowcase to clean
This mess I’ve made of someones dream.
Now you’ve seen what I’ve done,

When the weight of all the world’s gone wrong.
It’s gone wrong again
Gone fucking wrong
It’s gone all wrong again.

This room is old and wise
I fall onto the bed and wonder,
“How did I get here?”
The little boy who would argue with a tree
Just fucking thump his head
And he’ll turn back to normal.

Now why is that what I see?
Don’t bother trusting
Don’t bother waiting
Don’t bother changing things that won’t give into changing
Just let me go away.
I’m packed
Whenever
I’m down
Whenever.

(Weight of the World, Blue October)

What would we do without you?

Little Miss S and the Photo Finish

When I was a teenager, The Dad didn’t want me to have a job while I was in school. I’m not entirely sure when I would have had time, anyway, between keeping my grades up, six hours of band practice a day and writing hundreds of pages of terrible fanfiction while I dated a series of nice guys (including Mister E) in between dating one horrible one.

As soon as I graduated, all bets were off and I immediately got a job within walking distance of my mother’s house so I could earn a little cash to line my pockets during my first semester in college. The job in question was in the photo lab at the pharmacy where my mother did all her prescription filling.

Photo labs are an interesting place to work. Back then, cameras still used film and people bought CDs so we were always busy. It also helped that we were situated right between the university and a high school, both of which are known for their photo-happy populations. It was a part time job, but I often stayed late to help process film and close the lab. This meant I got to shred all the photos that people didn’t want, which in turn meant that I got to see some hilarious photo mishaps and amassed a pretty decent collection of photos of celebrities and strippers.

Stuff like this = perfectly acceptable.

Shredding duty wasn’t the only time I got to see hilarity, though. You see, unless they were showing penetration, masturbation or stuff suggesting kiddie porn happening in the photos we developed them. I never saw anything worth calling the cops over, but I did advise a few people that there were mail-away services in the back of adult magazines for their type of art photos.

One particular day, I was working with a lady I’ll call Aretha because she looked just like a version of the singer who was constantly caught in a state of disapproval. I liked her because she always had what she called “church stories,” which was her way of telling me the gossip that went around her congregation. Pregnancies, affairs, terrible pie, Aretha knew all and told all without holding back.

She wore this look a LOT.

I developed a roll of film just before lunch that consisted of an entire roll of pictures of a very pretty young black lady in various states of undress, most of which involved hot pink lingerie. Aretha took one look and shook her head, proclaiming that to be one of the girls from her church. I could tell she was excited about spreading this tidbit around the ladies, but first she wanted to confirm that it was indeed the harlot in question. So she looked at the envelope and discovered that the person who had dropped off the film was none other than her pastor himself.

I actually skipped lunch in favor of hiding behind the photo developing machine so I could watch the fun when the pastor showed up to claim his order. I wish camera phones had been a thing back then because I would have snapped about eight hundred pictures of the look on his face when Aretha stepped up to the register, presented him with his envelope, said “uh-huh” and asked how he wanted to pay for his pictures. I had a feeling the pastor was going to be paying for those pictures for a long, long time once Aretha got back within reach of a telephone.

Uh-oh.

Remember, kids, always develop potentially embarrassing photos at home or in another county. Or just take video and slap it up on Youtube. Make you famous.

Little Miss Sleeplessness

That’s not necessarily true, you know. I sleep. Just not very much. And at weird times. It’s all part of being bipolar, or so the doctors and the voices keep telling me.

People with bipolar disorder do best on a schedule, just like people with autism. Keep us knowing what we’re supposed to be doing and when we’re supposed to be doing it and there’s less chance we’ll spaz out on you, that’s the idea. Luckily I don’t spaz out as often as I used to, but many days it’s a near miss. Only problem is that I haven’t had many jobs that allow me to have a regular schedule. My shifts are usually irregular times, different days and with difficult people. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that my first breakdown happened at work.

GP tells me the best thing is to get [x] hours of sleep every night and wake up at the same time every morning. Shrink tells me I should take advantage of weekends to let my body do as it pleases with its sleep cycle. At my old job we got assessed points if we were more than five minutes early or late (gather too many in a quarter and you get fired) so I had a tendency to panic and wake up every hour to make sure I wasn’t oversleeping. Unfortunately, it also meant I slept about three hours some nights.

I’ve tried taking things for it in the past. Actually it doesn’t matter if it’s Ambien or Seroquel, I do some wacky shit when I’m on antipsychotics or sleeping pills. Once there was a pan of cinnamon rolls on my kitchen island in Chicago. There were nine rolls when I went to bed. When I woke up there were three. The thing that made me the maddest about the whole thing is that I didn’t even get to taste them.

I love you, Ambien Walrus.

Super-happy about my current job schedule because it really helps with the sleep problems. I do best at night, so I can write and go to bed when I’m finished without worrying about how much sleep I’m getting. Then I’m able to wake up when my body’s ready – it actually ends up being about the same time each day when left to my own cycle – let my body gradually get used to being awake and get to work feeling good and non-stressed.

As an added bonus, I get to see Mister E more often! Used to be I would leave before he got home, then when I got home he was asleep and I saw him for maybe fifteen minutes while he ran out the door. Or before I drove him to work, depending on whether or not I needed the car. Now I get to see him in the morning and even eat breakfast together after having an actual sleep! There are other compensations to seeing him more often as well. Things that require five cats being unceremoniously shoved out of the bedroom.

This much happy.

Ahem. Anyhow, every day is getting better now. My old schedule was “go to work fucking early on a few hours of sleep, come home exhausted and depressed, take a nap, write for thirty minutes, watch SVU, internet, try to sleep.” Repeat. Currently the schedule is “wake up, eat with Mister E, write for two hours, go jogging, go to work, come home, internet/watch SVU, make dinner with Mister E, write for several more hours, sleep.”

It is clear to see which is the healthier of the two options. Also? Happy dance.