miss me?

It’s been 10 days, 23 hours and 55 minutes since I’ve done an entry. 🙂 (I just love time stamping!)

Depression is a sickness.

For the better part of this period, I had been living in a fugue state of depression. it’s cycle reared it’s ugly head once again as i was struggling to keep from falling apart. many things always seemingly contribute to my depression. whether it will be a slight weight gain, change in diet, love life status, or anything else in between. Saturday the 15th, justin, michael and i had gone driving down route 1, and frolicked among the beaches towards Santa Cruz. that night, distraught over not having met my friends in time to go to the bar, i came home and hurriedly took a shower and got dressed. when one of my favorite skirts started feeling tight, i pouted and ripped my clothes off, put on sweats which threw me into a state of depression. justin was perplexed, his answer was “wear something else”, but if your a girl, and like me have a ton of clothes, one item not fitting is enough to make you go batty.
sunday afternoon, i suddenly felt immensely better.

the onslaught of my period makes my depression go away, for the most part. i have found correlations between pms and my depression, and when i was on the pill, i was able to pinpoint exactly when the depression was coming and how to best prepare myself.

but it’s exasperating, at best, to always be in this constant state of flux. i hate dealing with it, and i hate feeling so damn helpless. when a piece of clothing throws you off your rocker, it’s serious.
some would say it was time for me to do something about it, and i do agree. what that something is i can’t quite figure out. seeing a therapist for the most part isn’t logical: i find them to be more voyeurs than helpful. i don’t feel comfortable seeing someone on such a regular basis, when i feel that my depression can fluctuate so much.

ovaries for sale

Friday night, i went out with sasha, matt, deidere, and M to a bar in the mission called zeigeist. we lolled around outside drinking snake bites (half full sail and half apple cider), ragging on co-workers, all whilst i read the sf bay guardian (which has become this leftist rag over the years).

what intrigued me was the fact that in the personal ads in the back of the paper, it seems that ovary eggs are a profitable business now. with baby boomers, and those fucking yuppies wanting to have kids, but finding that they can’t. ads placed asking healthy women to call, and these same said women would be paid up to (if not beyond) $5000! i was aghast and greatly intrigued at the same time. my devious little mind started to think of all the cool things i could do with 5000 bucks: i could pay off my loans, i could pay my car payment for a year, i could finally get to Europe!! the idea’s were just bouncing around in my head.

but i knew, deep down in my heart, that i wouldn’t be selected. and the reasons were fairly obvious to me:
i smoke.
i have heart problems.
diabetes runs rapid in my family.
i’m not in the most excellent health condition.
i’ve done drugs in the past.

and i’m sure, if i sat here i could probably list everything wrong with me, so my little dream of selling one of my oh-so-plentiful eggs went down the tubes as reality smacked me in the face.
actually i lit a cigarette, and realized with the hostility in this town about smokers, one blood test and they would wave my ass away with a ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ deal.
sigh.
hey, i figure, if i’m not going to be having kids (gawd forbid!), then someone should take advantage of my surplus eggs. I mean, yes, the thought of having babies has appealed to me in the past, and sometimes I do get a hunger to bear little rugrats, but, I’m not in the position to take care of anyone other than myself at the moment.
as i said to justin this evening, while riding down the escalator in macy’s: i’m 26 years old, i only make $30k a year, and i haven’t even graduated from college yet! I can barely take care of myself at the moment, and another person would just be more of a burden then anything.

let the boys be boys!

my entry into the slam! contest is finally up. I’ve received fairly good response from my friends about the story I wrote, and even positive feedback from strangers about the meaning of the title in reference to the piece itself. those people i know, think my story kicks ass, and I should win. But I just chided them for the fact that they know me, and they aren’t overly objective about the whole deal. But it’s nice to be loved. 🙂

don’t hate me because i’m beautiful

lately i’ve been feeling awfully icky about myself. i’ve gained about 15lbs, which i really don’t need to gain, and i haven’t done much with myself in terms of dolling up. my standard attire (as seen from the picture i took recently), that my idea of getting ready pretty much means blow drying my hair! when the gang and i went out Friday, it meant that i actually got to put on make up for the first time in a few months, and feel pretty about myself. sasha lamented about how i don’t wear makeup to the office. i said “why should i? who the hell am i going to impress at fucking work?” so on Friday while getting ready to go to work, i had to dump a lot of make-up that i owned because it was old and worthless, and sort out what i won’t wear because it’s cheap and doesn’t work/stick/look good. which left me with my usual: powder/mascara/lip liner that has seen better days. i vowed to myself that i would purchase new stuff over the weekend, and so on the times i’m heading out to do whatever, i can feel like a girl again. nothing is more exhilarating then buying new lip liner. 😉
so justin and i trot off to the mall, and after buying this detangler he drools over, i asked the counter chick if they did walk ins? and if they did, specifically color treatments? she replied in the affirmative, and brought out this short, badly done haired older woman who asked me how long my hair was. i took the clip out of my hair, and let it drop to my shoulders. it was still wet from my shower a few hours previously, and the rich scent of my shampoo lingered for a moment. she fondled a few strands and told me my hair was too thin, and badly damaged, and she couldn’t do anything about it. I was like look mrs troll, i’ve done everything to my hair, and it’s healthy and strong as hell. you simply have no idea what your talking about. she said that she refused to work on it, and sent me over to a competing salon with a: “those girls will do anything.” statement.
i flipped my hair back up, and marched out with justin. i grumbled about the wench, and justin placated my fears by telling me an old wives tale: “never have your hair done by someone who has bad hair.” simple, yet truthful, i acknowledged this as the woman who waited on us looked like a troll, and her hair was a mess! thinning, badly needing of a touch up of color, and badly arranged on her head. hrmph. The irony of this is that the place was called ‘Lisa’s Beauty Supply’.
the receptionist at Heidi’s took us in, and 3 1/2 hours (and $125 dollars poorer), I walked out as a glorious redhead, and my hair healthy, bouncy and a few inches shorter. The woman who did my hair was the store manager, so I got in good with the right person. We argued a bit about shades: having dark brown hair, any reddish color ends up as auburn, which is fine, but I wanted to be REALLY RED. She says that red fades, and no matter what I do, it will go back to being auburn anyway. I pointed out a picture of a model with this orange-red hair, and declared “THIS IS WHAT I WANT!” She shook her head slowly, and told me that with the condition of my hair (did I mention a few months back, determined to get rid of the wave i had in my hair, i gave myself a straightening perm?), with bad coloring jobs, and not being cut in over 6 months, I was more or less asking for trouble. We compromised with that after this treatment, if i wanted it to be that particular color (which would mean bleaching my hair white, and then adding color), she would do it no questions asked. I sulked and agreed, and am pretty happy with the results. The almost blue-black color I dumped on my head last summer is almost completely cut out. the frizzies that perm i gave myself is gone, and my hair feels good again, not icky like it had been these last few weeks. while i’m happy i took the plunge, my checking account is mocking me for the expenditure. but i look at it this way: i may be broke, but you do only live once!

justin and i walked out of the mall, both a bit poorer (i splurged on my definicils mascara by lancome, and port lip liner from clinque. throw in two bars of nautica soap for my brother, and it had been an expensive day), but i was feeling slightly better about myself.
we sat in my car for about 20 minutes before we left, talking about my plunge, and i said: “you know justin, it’s always amazing to me how when i’m feeling icky about myself i either eat, or if i decide not to eat, i spend money i don’t have to spend’. he nodded in agreement and started talking about my obsession with clothes, shoes, bags and do-dads. the money i could be saving for a trip to Europe, or to do whatever, i was blowing the minute i got it. my bills were being paid, but it was a shuffle of monies at the time it’s occurring. and i’m tired of that. we agreed that since i inherited a tennis racket from cathleen, and justin bought one today, that instead of eating or shopping, i was going to play tennis. and goddamn it, it will kill me to exercise, but i won’t look like this any longer.

society is so fucked. for instance, in a mag i read some months back (cosmo, vogue, one of those glossy mind wasters), they did a poll of average American men about women’s shapes, and it all came back they want someone with meat on their bones, not a kate moss! so why the fuck are vendors, clothes manufactors and others always putting size 2 models in the fucking ads?

i was reading in cosmo today, letting the color seep through my brain, this story written by an emmy-award winning comic writer who could no longer wear a size 4 anymore.
i cringed.
i have NEVER gotten down to single digit sizing, even when i was younger. it seemed i went from jr’s in the kids department at sears to a size 11 in my jordaches when i hit puberty. even at my thinnest, i couldn’t wear anything lower then an 11, and that was on a good day!
i just don’t fucking get it.
to me, it is not about sizing anyway, it’s about how i feel. the weight i lost last summer, i’ve gained half back, and i still need to lose X on top of that. uck uck uck.
clothing for me has always been an issue, so it’s not necessarily a weight problem. i’ve always been busty, and shirts never seemingly fit right. because i have a long inseam (32inches, average is 29), my pants are always too damn short. i have to wear mens jeans for my hips and legs, and scout around for good shirts to fit my bosoms.
and justin wonders why i obsess about clothes!
okay, that is a poor excuse, but fuck, i’m determined that i either balloon up and shop at lane bryant or i get my ass in shape.
What’s even worse, is that there is a store in the mall we go to, that sells the funky off-beat clothing i like in ‘plus’ sizes (what an oxymoron). the problem with this is that their version of 3x is a size nine! i bought a 3x skirt from there, and it fit my roommate, who is a 9/11, better than it fit me. go fucking figure that one out. and it wasn’t a mis-tagged skirt, majority of their clothes are like that.
speaking of which, if you look at the lane bryants website, do not tell me that woman is a size 14! Because if she is, i’m freaking miss America.
I’m feeling a bit hostile this morning, so excuse me.

the crooked spine

in any endevour i will do to earn some cash, i found this cool thing via amazon’s web site.
basically what it is, is that you sign up free of charge as an ‘associate’, and link back to amazon. for every sale that they get, referred from your website, you earn a percentage (as high as 15%) on the purchase. kick ass!
since i’ve been html’ing my books and cd’s for a year now, and basically thought it was a waste of time, except for those who were actually interested in that crap, this basically allows me to open up a ‘store’ and have the readers browse my selections i have. if they like anything i have, they can go to amazon’s site, via the handy links i provide, and boom! they buy something, and i’ve got sales! the advantage for me is that i currently have close to 300 books and 200 cd’s. The cd’s are already html’d, but the books i’m working on now. actually the cd’s need to be linked back to amazon, but anyway, what a cool idea!
justin named our store the crooked spine, so please visit and let me some words on what you think this is cool or not! and remember, tell amazon we sent ya!

what would you do

when i went to deposit my check today, i was fumbling around attempting to stick the envelope in the deposit slot, when it wouldn’t take. i looked up at the screen and saw that the atm had already accepted ‘something’ and said thank you for my deposit. i got my statement, and sure enough, shows my new balance with my alleged deposit, however, i was still holding the cash in my hand.
i did another transaction, and was able to slide the envelope on through, and when i got my statement, it showed my ‘first’ deposit, and my actual real deposit, giving me double what i ‘actually’ had.
i show this to justin, and bitch about the machines fuck up. and then another bright idea hit me: what would i do if the bank DIDN’T correct this mistake?
i thought about it, and eventually my sleazy ass decided that i would keep the money. justin said he would report the problem to the bank to have it fixed. I was aghast! this boy has morals! Justin further his comment about how he was walking down market st. the other day, saw a dollar bill lying on the ground. even though he didn’t have any money on him, justin walked right on by. a few blocks later, a beggar asked him for dollar. justin pointed down the street and told him where the dollar was.
okay, he’s honest, and maybe i would probably report the problem if the bank doesn’t catch it, but my head is still spinning with the thoughts of the extra money: woohoo! so i ask you, what would YOU do?
would you:
report it
spend it
do nothing

I’ll keep the poll up for a few weeks and report results.
ms. slim over and out.