7/30 Things: What is Your Dream Job and Why?

This is another one of those questions that is going to be really difficult for me to answer because I still, while standing on the wrong side of 30, have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. When I was a little girl my stock answer was, “a veterinarian!” ; but as an adult I can say that no, this is not for me. I love animals. I relate better to animals than I do people for the most part.  There is absolutely no way that I can see myself euthanizing animals on a daily basis – sick and elderly or not. My next thought was, “Maybe I should work in a zoo?”; but as an adult I have some real reservations about the ethics of zoos in general. So again, this is probably not something for me.

When I was a teenager I was certain that I was going to be a mortician. I had plans to go to Delgado University in New Orleans. I can remember riding up to the cemetery close to my house with a couple of my friends wearing my cutest skirt and my most professional shoes. I asked the mortician there for an internship and he suggested that I might come help him “hose down” tables and clean up biohazards. He was fucking weird. He was exactly like someone who spent too much time with dead people and inhaling formaldehyde should be. Also, he was wearing a plastic apron and was missing fingers. I left – quickly. No – this was not the job for me. I thought it sounded “cool” and I thought that it sounded like the kind of profession someone who was going to marry Peter Steele one day would be in. It turns out that I am neither cool nor am I the bride of the (late and wonderful) Mr. Steele, and thus I am also not a mortician.

My degree is Environmental Science – but what does that usually equate to in the real world? Supervisors at water treatment plants; low pay grade EPA workers; industrial environmental consultants…all things that sound INCREDIBLY boring and depressing. I want the degree to mean, “protects the environment and cares for animals”, but it is more like, “park ranger or eventual corporate sell-out.”

I have seen internships that I would love to do. There was one that was sitting in the jungle in South America (I forget exactly where, but I want to say Peru), and documenting the activities of amazon parrots. There was another one that was camping out in the wild in Africa (again, I cannot quite remember where) and protecting elephants from poachers. I would love to get a spot on that boat that sabotages the Japanese whalers. Alas, none of these things equate to a career that can sustain my family.

I guess my dream job is to be suddenly wealthy and to be able to devote all of my time to the causes that are important to me. I want to be able to devote time and my skills to things that matter to me and, if all else fails, throw an obscene amount of cash at the problem. I want my life to have meaning. I guess, at this point in my life, I am starting to think that it is too late to make a difference in anything. I wish I could start over. But, as they say, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”  My point is, if you are young and (god help you) reading this, get off of your ass and start working on your dreams now because time is more finite than you can comprehend. Time, death, and the general harshness of life are in pursuit of you, and they will never give up. Do everything you can now to be the person you want to be when you grow up because you are probably going to have to live with that person for a very long time. 

Random musing #1

I often write what I am calling "musings" for lack of a better term. I sit and write my thoughts in a somewhat flowery way without it being what I would call poetry. I have these little musings scribbled everywhere. For the sake of self-documentation, I am going to post them here. Be warned, they are typically even more maudlin than my actual "poetry."

Every morning I pass my reflection in the bathroom mirror and I purposely avert my gaze. I know what I look like. I know the monster that I'll see staring back at me. I know all I'll see reflected in that small, dirty piece of glass. Grey eyes like stormclouds, red veins like lightning in the whites of my eyes that hint towards not enough sleep and too many nightmares. Dark circles on puffy cheeks. A red eyelid caused by an infection that my body is too weak to fight off, even with medication.  Cracked lips and frown lines; big pores and that scar near my hairline. Chipped teeth and eyebrows that are long overdue.  There was once beauty here. There was once laughter and joy. For the briefest of time there was innocence.  There was once a glossy smirk and a playful wink here. There was once life here. 

Oye, if depression had a monologue, this would certainly be in it. 

General update!

Things have been pretty crazy over the past several weeks for me. I have wanted to write for quite some time but every time I sit down to do it I get distracted by the mountain of other things I need to do at that moment, which may or may not include Skyrim.

I have begun to go with my husband to his friend’s house once a week for what can only be described as ultimate nerdery. Table-top gaming FTW! I love my husband and I actually really like his friends, so I think that this is a good thing for me. I am thrilled that his best friend has been so accepting of me. I always assumed that he would meet me and be like “Dude; RUN!”, but so far he has not, so far as I can tell. I avoided meeting my husband’s friends for about nine years; mostly because I was terrified that they would not like me and I was ashamed of myself for the way that I look. Now that I have met them I don’t honestly think they care what I look like. I think that they are probably just glad that my husband is happy. I would actually like to get to know them all better, but I don’t want to seem too eager.

We were pre-myspace, but this was
essentially us. 

Speaking of friendships; I have been communicating sporadically with my childhood best friend. It is, in a way bittersweet. I love talking to her. When she and I were younger we were absolutely inseparable. She was my everything. When we were about 16 she and I had a severe falling out and I, stubbornly and stupidly, pushed her out of my life and locked the door. When I talk to her it is wonderful because I still love her so much and I have found that I love who she is, not just who she was when we were young. It also hurts because I think of all of the years that we were apart. I think about how nobody will ever understand me the way that she and I understand one another. I think about all of the wasted years that I was alone and longing for someone to really, really listen to me. I missed out on 15 years of that because of my pride. Now we are together again, but we are not. I can feel the distance between us, the literal and figurative distance, and I fucking hate it. I wish that I could fix it but all I can do is give it what I didn’t give it before – time and love.

Let’s see; what else… I am on month two of my six month pre-op diet before weight-loss surgery. I am not sure if I have written about it before on here, but yeah. Gastric sleeve surgery. It is a pretty big decision and not one that I came to lightly. My health, my self-confidence, and my quality of life are all going to improve tremendously from this. Can I die from it? Yeah. But hell, I could die taking a shower. I want to be able to really live. I want to be one of those people who hikes to Machu Picchu
or swims with dolphins. I want to run. I want to feel like no one is snickering at me because I’m fat when I go to the grocery store. I want to look in the mirror and not hate what I see to the point of wishing for death. Losing weight won’t cure all of that, but I feel assured that it will assist me on that road.

In other news, my dog Addy (aka Khalessi ) resembles, in almost every way, a pot-bellied pig. She sounds like one, as well.
I will be updating with a real posting soon. Thanks for reading!

6/30 Things What is the Hardest Thing You Have Ever Experienced?

This is a really tough one for me. I have been putting off writing this post for a number of reasons; one being that I am not sure what the “hardest” thing I have ever experienced is. The language of this is tricky; and yes, I know I am overthinking things here. If it were worded “What is the hardest thing you have ever done?” it would have taken on an entirely different meaning.  I suppose the death of loved ones is the hardest thing that I have experienced. Death is certainly something that you experience rather than do (unless you are a murderer, I suppose), so I am going to go with that.

One of my favorite lines from a movie is, “Childhood's over the moment you know you're going to die” (The Crow, 1994). I can’t remember exactly how old I was when my grandma Ruby died, but I was pretty young. I still lived at home with my parents so I couldn’t have been more than eight or nine.  My mom pulled me into her bedroom, sat me down, and told me that Grandma Ruby had died. She was very serious and I knew my dad was really sad, but I didn’t really know what it meant. Would I see her again? Did she go away? I remember asking if she was gone like Bambi’s mom – that was my best comparison. Mom said yes and I nodded, but it didn’t really sink in. I eventually pieced together that I wouldn’t be going to the big get- togethers at her house anymore, which made me sad. I was afraid that I wouldn’t see my Aunt Carla or my cousin Isaac (whom I considered my best friend) anymore. I always had the feeling that my grandma Ruby didn’t really like me or want me around so I can’t say that I was close to her. That feeling was probably manufactured by me because, from what I understand, she didn’t have the most outgoing personality. Anyway, I suppose that was my first experience with death, though it was far from the hardest.

A year or so later, maybe less, my grandfather (on the other side) died. He had been sick for a really long time. He had lung cancer which eventually spread all over his body. I remember being in his house and seeing him shuffle into the bathroom, retching. He was in his pajama bottoms and his shirt was off. I remember that I could see every single bone of his spine and that it scared me. I loved my papow very much – he was a great man. A war vet, a free-mason, and a carpenter who dedicated his later life to building toys for children who wouldn’t have gifts for Christmas otherwise; he was one of those “pillar of the community” types of men.  I sat by his bedside at the hospital quietly coloring in a colorbook – that is the last memory I have of him. He wasn’t awake, he was very peaceful; and I was making a picture for him to see when he woke up. I don’t think that he ever did.  He died right before Christmas. My mom and I had braved going out to the mall a few nights before he died to get him some gifts. I had picked out a red sleeping shirt with Snoopy on it for him. On Christmas Eve night I sat in front of the tree and carefully opened his gift for him, as my mom suggested. My family watched tearfully as I held up the joyfully wrapped night shirt, which everyone decide that I would keep. I slept in that huge shirt for years. When my papow died I understood. Watching my grandmother cry; seeing my grandfather’s body decay for years as it was ravaged by cancer – I saw what death was. One of my cousins and I stood in the funeral parlor days later and touched my grandfather’s hand; it was so cold. I have touched the hands of the deceased at other funerals and they all feel the same because they all are the same: shells artificially filled with life, or with chemicals to give the brief semblance of life. I’m still not sure if death or the chemicals give the skin that cold plastic feeling; either way it’s haunting. I remember someone telling me…or maybe reading somewhere that dead sin feels like cordwood; but I have no idea what cordwood feels like so I can’t compare the two. 

A yellow-throated warbler - similar to the one
mentioned in this post
Credit

I once caused the death of a bird I was trying to help; it was fairly horrific to me. I was interning at a hospital that rehabilitated sick or injured wild birds; it was an exciting place to be and I loved it more than I can express. One day I was hand-feeding a warbler (a small songbird) and it died in the palm of my hand. He was small and agile and I had a hard time catching him, even in his cage with a net. I gently held him in my hands and carefully opened his beak with a pair of tweezers. I put the piece of worm into his mouth and carefully pushed it down with the tip of the tweezers just as I had been shown. I reached for another piece of food and felt the bird start to violently tremble in my hand. I quickly opened my hand and called for one of the other girls who worked there to help, but the bird was gasping; looking at me with large, accusing eyes. I tried massaging its throat thinking that it was perhaps choking, but its eyes slowly closed and the gasping ceased. I saw the moment of acceptance; you wouldn’t think that was possible in a bird, but I swear to you it is.  It was so fast and so…final. The nurse took it from me and looked it over. She smiled at me reassuringly and told me that it wasn’t my fault. The bird had been weak and these things just happen. Eventually she told me that I had essentially scared the bird to death – that it kind of had a heart attack. Apparently this was not too uncommon in warblers that they tried to help, but for me it was devastating. I never handfed another warbler, even when asked. 

Credit

For the sake of not making this post a book all its own I won’t detail every death of someone I loved; though there have been more that were perhaps more significant because I was much older when they occurred. I will instead close in saying that death will likely be the most difficult or the hardest thing, that anyone ever deals with. I realize that as I get older I will have to say goodbye to more and more of the people that I once cared so much for and that eventually the ones that are left will have to say goodbye to me. I am not unique in this point. One thing that we all have in common is loss. If sorting out death in your mind and finding a degree of acceptance is not the hardest thing you have ever experienced, you have never experienced the hopeless descent of someone you love. As Jim said, “Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.”

30 Things

Poetry Post #4: The Wilds

I never really stepped out of my witchy phase that began when I was a young teenager. I wont go into detail, but there have been known to be women of special power in my lineage, if you believe in that sort of thing. In my younger years I spent a lot of time in cemeteries. My grandmother took me to visit my grandfathers grave at least once a week. I would give her privacy while she visited and wander aimlessly through the sea of gravestones. My love for cemeteries and their divine stillness was trumped once I discovered the magic of the woods. Even on the edge of the woods things feel *different*; more alive, perhaps? We once found an abandoned cemetery in the woods (in the middle of the city); that was pretty amazing! But I digress...

The woods are best alone, at night, and during autumn; in my opinion at least. A full moon is a definite plus. Imagine the crunch of dead leaves on a path; the smell of pine and dirt and all of the good natural things; and the mournful cry of a wolf or a coyote on the wind. Darkness and shadows all around, but the darkness is comforting; the moon your silent guide through crisp, spiced winds. I miss that about where I am from. The woods are different here. Here the dirt that I so love is mixed with sand and the wind smells of salt and sometimes sulfur. My hope is that one day I will be able to live in a place where I can wander my woods once again. Until then I have this poem that I wrote years ago; I hope you enjoy it.

Into the wilds

Howl with all of your might

Dismiss your sorrows

Forget your plight

Come run with me

Beneath the tainted moon

Taste the blood and magic

Feel the blissful swoon

Deep inside our hearts

We all hold a secret or two

Feast upon my love

Laying forgotten in dawn's dew

I never pledge forever

For eternity does not exist

But I pledge to you tonight

Just give the blade a twist

Begin the chase of our lives

Through the ancient wood

Show me your power here tonight

Or don your executioner hood

Love is far too elementary

To describe the things we feel

Primal screams and feral sighs

Always follow a kill

O Captain! My Captain! The world will miss you (Robin Williams)

The world lost Robin Williams yesterday. Celebrities die all of the time and I am rarely emotionally affected by their deaths; but this one has hit a nerve for me. This one will be one of the ones that my brain puts an asterisk by to help me remember when it occurred and what I was doing when I found out. I can name a ton of movies that he did that I loved; Dead Poet’s Society nearing the top of my favorites list. I loved watching his stand up; he had so much energy and intelligence that it was sometimes mental aerobics to watch him on stage. In his movies he came across as genuine. He produced a believable range of emotions that seems to be rare for comedy actors. His life inspired me; his work inspired me. I can’t pretend to know a lot about his personal life. As I may have mentioned before, I do try to stay away from the tabloids. I am sure that every detail of his life that TMZ and their ilk can get their grubby fingers around will be dragged out onto magazine covers and online newsfeeds for weeks to come, but I will not read it; he deserves that amount of respect in the least. What I do know is that his death, or rather what seems to be the nature of his death, has left me confused and a little hopeless.

I apologize for being narcissistic enough to make this man’s death about me in any way; but hey, it is my blog journal thing and I guess that’s what I do. Robin Williams was successful; I mean crazy successful. He was recognizable all over the world. He had all of the material possessions and things he could have possibly needed. He achieved a level of success and fame that most people will never know. He had the resources to treat any ailment that he had; and yet… and yet he took his own life. I will never know the level of success that he achieved no matter how much I try – most people will not. So, I keep asking myself, if there was no hope for him; if he could not find a way through the thick and enveloping grey cloud that is depression, what fucking sliver of a hope do I have? I think, all of the time, about suicide. I don’t know what a normal amount to think about death is, but I would be willing to guess that I am a mile or so past normal. With all of his resources, all of his money; his fame, his success…he could not beat one of the same diseases that I have in my fun little cocktail of mental illness. I think that depression can claim you. Like, no matter how hard you fight it, eventually it will claim you – that is the way I feel right now. Robin William’s death leaves me feeling bitter, afraid, but most of all just damned sad. “O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done.” Find peace, wherever you are, Mr. Williams. 

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

                         But O heart! heart! heart!

                            O the bleeding drops of red,

                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

                         Here Captain! dear father!

                            This arm beneath your head!

                               It is some dream that on the deck,

                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

                            But I with mournful tread,

                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

                                                             

                                                               - Whitman

Oh, Hey Anna Paquin...

Can I just say that I love Anna Paquin? Thanx. I love Anna Paquin.

For some reason I have always kind of adored her. She played my favorite X-Man (Rogue) in the earlier X-Man movies. I loved her slightly non-traditional beauty. Don’t get me wrong; she is obviously gorgeous, but she also has what some people would call flaws. Namely she has her front-teeth gap that she has refused to alter; I think that’s perfect! She has a sweetness about her that allows her to do well as Sookie Stackhouse in True Blood. She fakes her Northern Louisiana (where I am from; and where True Blood takes place) pretty damned well for a Canadian gal! So, as far as actresses go, she has been on my “favorites” list for quite a while, now. I didn’t realize that I love Anna Paquin until a couple of days ago however.

Also, I love her hair now. 

I have tried not to follow TMZish “news”. I try to ignore the personal lives of celebrities as much as possible, though I must admit with some shame that I get pulled in to the occasional
tabloid at the grocery store or random celebrity trash post on Jezebel (I am currently following the Bieber/Legolas battle with some glee). I had no idea that Anna was bisexual until a couple of days ago when I read about her tweets and her awkward interview with Larry King (of all people).  I knew she was married to the ridiculously hot Stephen Moyer (“Vampire Biiiiill” from True Blood) and made an assumption based on my own life about her sexual preference. See, I am bisexual, but I am monogamously married to a man. Yes, I just “came out” on my blog; and yes, I am fairly sure no one will read it since no one reads my blog. I guess that I decided that being bi didn’t “count” since I have taken myself out of the market of dating people of any gender by being monogamous. I was never out as anything but a straight girl except to girls I was involved with, so I guess I decided to disregard my bisexuality since it wasn’t a real factor anymore. But, you know what? It is. It matters to me. On my journey of finding self-love and self-acceptance every aspect of who I am matters and is worthy of acceptance by myself and by those who would be my friends and family. Anna helped me realize, in 140 characters or less, that who I am in love with does not cancel out who I am.

Anna elaborated on her statement in her interview with Larry King, and I found that every word of what she said rang true for me. Here is an excerpt from the interview with King, from Advocate.com:

King: "Are you a non-practicing bisexual?"
Paquin: "Well, I am married to my husband and we are happily monogamously married."
King: "But you were bisexual?"
Paquin: "Well, I don’t think it’s a past-tense thing."
Larry King: "No?"
Paquin: "No. Are you still straight if you are with somebody — if you were to break up with them or if they were to die, it doesn’t prevent your sexuality from existing. It doesn’t really work like that."

I think that when people find out someone is bisexual or pansexual and monogamous they assume that the person feels like they are missing out on something. Like, since I am married to a man I am “missing out” on a relationship with a woman. Well, yes and no. Mostly no. I love my husband; I am satisfied with him and I am “happily monogamous”. I don’t feel like I am missing out on anything. I love who I love; it just so happens that I love a man. If I had fallen in love with and married a woman it would not magically turn me into a lesbian. When a straight woman marries a man she doesn’t mourn the loss of having sex with other men. Well… in a healthy, happy relationship she doesn’t.

Is all of this TMI? Probably. It’s not like I am going to win over any friends or family this way. Indeed, knowing my family I will probably lose a few from my social media circles – but you know what? I am okay with that – no actually I am glad for it. I would rather not have bigots and hypocrites in my life. I have long been afraid of what people think of me, but I am at the stage in my life that I am beginning to really not care anymore – and it feels great. I feel so validated, Anna; thanks.

Poetry Post #3 Divine Tragedy

I have a tendency to write short poems with the intention of revisiting them later, but never doing so. This poem is actually two short poems that were written around the same time and about the same stupid boy. I am not even going to get into the specifics of whom or what these poems were about, but suffice it to say that it is typical love triangle bullshit.  A “he loves her, but she loves him” situation that I think most people experience at least once in their young adult or teen lives before they figure out that they would be lucky to find one person who was willing to put up with their drama for any long-term time frame.

When you are young love seems different than it does when you are older; at least it did for me. Love was all about excitement and what a good friend of mine has called “grand gestures”. For me, love needed to be mystical and in all ways perfect. Love needed to always be exciting; it needed to hold a balance between familiarity and mystery. Love needed to face great tribulation and conquer it and then… well, I guess then it was supposed to be “happily ever-after”. It makes sense that I would hold love to these standards considering most of what I knew about romantic love was absorbed through movies, television, and books; a point I am fairly sure that I have made before.  I tried to follow the rom-com formula (please see the video at the bottom of the post for a funny and succinct summary of this formula) for love – meet an attractive guy, have a fun and quirky romance followed by some kind of drama, recover or reunite from said drama, and then… well, that’s the problem isn't it? Where do you go from happily ever-after? What is happily ever-after? How long does it exist? Why did it seem so boring? The tasty bit, to me, was always the courtship; I am willing to bet that there are many people who feel (or felt) the same way. It is a relief to have matured emotionally; I wonder what love will look like in another 15 years or so. Enjoy!

Divine Tragedy

My heart belongs to you

Who would never accept

Me the way that I am

But emotions run hot

When you feel all alone

Even with someone at your side

Sleeping, hugging a pillow

Wishing it were you

Dreaming you were he

Pretending that I am her

I guess we all want to be

Somewhere else

At the end of the day

But will you forget me?

And all that we could have been?

All that we were

And can’t be

And shouldn’t do

Because it can’t be right

And you give me up so easily

Divine tragedy

Our hearts meld naturally

And you've taken all of me

The destiny

That cruelly smites you and me

Will one day set me free

So that we may be

Together eternally

One day, you’ll see.

5/30 What are the five things that make you the most happy right now?

Well, my intention was to post another piece of poetry up today, but upon looking through all of the ones that I have access to I just cannot decide on one. They all seem to be really depressing, and right now I need something that will make me smile. So, I think that the subject of today’s 30 Things post is perfect. I am often in a losing battle with negativity and depression, and one of the best ways to turn the tide of that battle is to remember what I have to be thankful for and what makes me smile.

1.My sweet husband

"Truuuue Looooooove"

I am lucky enough to have found a really sweet guy who cares about and loves me for who I am. Our relationship is not perfect by any means. We fight and bicker about stupid shit pretty often, but we always say that we are sorry. We never go to bed angry. Through all of the hell that we have faced the past few years we can still look at one another and honestly say, “I love you”.  No, my husband is not the type of guy that brings me flowers every day or writes me long, poetic love letters (anymore); but he is always happy to see me when he comes home from work. After a decade we still want to spend every single day together; we still hold hands every day; and we still kiss each other good night. My mental illnesses are enough to drive anyone away; in fact I intentionally drive people away - nearly everyone that I have ever loved…but not my husband. No matter how much I cry and scream and beg him to just let me go, to move on to someone who will make him happy and fulfill him, he just patiently waits for me to calm down and hugs me. He never leaves – that alone is a miracle. He, my husband, makes me very happy right now.

2.My animal friends

My gorgeous Shao

I recently lost one of my pups. I plan on making a memorial post to her at some point; right now it stings a little too much. I do still have quite a few critters that make me smile on a daily basis. I have my husky Shao who has been my buddy for about 15 years. She is old and a little grumpy, but still sweet and funny. She, in the way that huskies do, talks to me. She howls and “wooooos” at me when she needs something or just wants attention. She whimpers and howls when I come home; even if I am only gone for 10 minutes. There is truly nothing like a cold wet nose and a wagging tail greeting you when you come home.

Sir Ash (for short)

Sir Ash Fang Brandybuck-Took the Mousebane, High Lord of Second Breakfast, Magistrate of Brunch is my tubby, cuddly kitty. He is shaped in a way that looks very much like he swallowed a football. His fur is silky and ashen grey and he actually allows me to pet his big belly. Sir Ash chose us. He was a stray that I often saw roaming my neighborhood in Louisiana. One day I called to him and he enthusiastically ran to me and allowed me to pick him up. As someone who is not a huge fan of cats, this one is amazing. We also have a kitty named Falcore who is a bit of an ass, but I love him anyway. We adopted him earlier this year from the Humane Society.

I also have a pair of lovebirds that my husband got me on Valentine’s Day several years ago. They are a bonded pair; one yellow and one green. For months I waited excitedly for one of them to lay eggs. They made a nest and they were certainly, uhm….”loving” to one another. Sadly, after getting a DNA test, I learned that they would not be able to procreate because they are both males. I wondered if I should separate them. I bought an extra cage and did so and they just watched one another and tried to get to one another constantly. So, love won and they are now my alternative lifestyle lovebirds – and I am totally cool with that!

3.My sense of humor

One of the interesting things about life, particularly for people who have significant amounts of trauma, is how
it can strip your personality. I am aware of how much I have changed over the years. When I was a teenager I was pretty outgoing. As I mentioned before, I surrounded myself with friends and went to a lot of parties. As an adult I am reclusive as hell. I am in the slow, crawling part of recovery in which I am trying to reestablish who I am and reclaim the good parts of who I was (there was definitely some bad and destructive along with the good). Through all of bullshit I retained my sense of humor, and I am pretty damned proud of that. I can laugh at myself pretty easily. I can recognize the irony and the improbability of the situations that I have found myself in and find humor in them. I hope that, as I grow older, my laugh lines will stand in contrast to my frown lines. I hope that I will continue to be able to make people smile and laugh at my silly (and occasionally absurd) sense of humor.

4.The beautiful place I live

Every once in a while I have to really stop and take in that I am truly living in a paradise. I wake up to the
sound of Quaker parrots (this is considered a bad thing to native Floridians, but a great thing to me). There are palm trees and old Spanish architecture everywhere. When I ride across one of the bay bridges I can look down to see a pod of dolphins (or a few shark fins!), and watch the pelicans glide along beside the car, close enough to reach out and touch, before they crash into the bay below on their hunt. There are so many beaches here that one can typically find a spot away from the tourists to watch the waves ebb and flow. I love sitting in the sand and letting the waves gently wash over my legs, especially at night. The chill and salt of the sea air; the way the water roars when the waves break make me believe that Lord Poseidon could drag me to oblivion in the vast nothingness that is the ocean in the dark, and that I would be glad to go. There are tropical flowers that grow in my alleyway that smell like the bottled summer scents one finds at bath stores in strip malls. Everything is sweating, growing, and moving here. This is a good reminder to myself that I need to get out and see more – this place deserves to be seen.

Credit

5.The anticipation of good things to come

My future doctor...right? Riiiight?

I know that things are changing for me, and that makes me VERY happy. I lived in extreme poverty for so long that I sometimes feel like I am dreaming now that we have a steady source of income. In the next couple of weeks I will be able to see a doctor. I know for most people that is not a big deal, but for me it is huge. I have not seen a doctor outside of an emergency room setting since 2003. 2003…..that’s eleven years, ya’ll. No one should have to go that long without medical care. I am sick; very sick, but I know that I will be getting medical help soon. It is such a relief to know that I will be able to go to the hospital if I am sick. Oh! AND I will be able to see a dentist and an optometrist! I will be able to get the basic shit that everyone in a rich country like America should have access to - astounding. Once my health begins to improve I hope that I will begin to be able to piece myself back together and move out of the deep, oppressive depression that has swallowed my life the past several years. There is a whole world out there and I want to see as much of it as possible. 

30 Things

Nerd Rant #3 – Bioware Love

So, this is going to be my first *really* topical post. This is basically an overall review of the two major Bioware RPG series – Mass Effect and Dragon Age. I really have Dragon Age fever right now and am really excited about the new chapter of the series: Inquisitor, which is going to be released in October. With that said, if you care neither about video games or rpgs you probably want to skip this one – just giving fair warning before I fully geek out!


I got my very first video game system when I was about seven; a good ol’ regular Nintendo in which I played Super Mario Brother, Zelda, and little more. My brother always had the top of the line video games and video game systems so I would often sneak off to his room when he was not home (this was before I moved to my grandmothers permanently) and play his games. I liked video games then, as I liked games that I played on the Super Nintendo and the N64 in later years. But, I never found a game that *really* hooked me for hours on end until I rented Dragon Age: Origins from Game Fly several years ago for my Xbox 360. I have since played this game through at least 10 times from start to finish, and in fact I just finished a play-through about ten minutes before I began writing this blog post.

So, why all of the love for this particular game? I have (sadly) thought about this a lot. Now, the reason that this post is titled “Bioware Love” and not “Dragon Age Love” is that all of the following points can be said about the Mass Effect game series, except the game’s setting. In Mass Effect the overall setting is one of science fiction, while I would label Dragon Age as a fantasy setting.

That Beiber hair tho....
(From ME3)

Character customization

I have come to hate the type of game that gives you a character that is pre-created (which is most games). When you can customize the way your character looks (even a little) you can put more of yourself into the character and relate to it more easily than you would if it was a basic, cookie-cutter character. You see this type of customizations in RPGs, which is apparently the type of game that I like to play. In earlier years, I loved the Final Fantasy games; the storytelling was typically pretty great. What it lacked, to me, was the ability to really put myself in the role of the lead character. In these games you are the predefined character that the creaters designed, which (to me) is fairly boring.

Inclusiveness

This could, perhaps, be a subheading beneath “Character Customization”, but it is more than that. Bioware games (at least the two franchises that I am raving about) do not cast women as helpless bystanders. Women are multifaceted and capable of being leaders and warriors just as often (if not more commonly than) the typical female videogame tropes. While Bioware games do occasionally acknowledge sexism, it is not an

ongoing experience for your female character. Also, I love that Bioware understands that not all of its player are straight males. If you want your character to be a female warrior elf (this applies to Origins, not the human-only DA2, sadly) who happens to be a lesbian, that’s cool; DA has you covered. In the case of LBG in the games it is treated with normality in Mass Effect, and normalcy with limited hints at in-world bigotry in the Dragon Age series. Perhaps the best part of the way Bioware addresses LBG(excluding Trans here because, as far as I can remember, transsexualism is not touched upon in these games) in their games is by not making you define your character as such. Life is never black and white and some things, especially sexuality, can be difficult to define.

Custom tone/dialect

In DA: Origins your character really does not have a voice, but you have several text dialogue options that are typically quite varied. Snarky comments, sincerity, anger are all expressible. You are able to look at the

Isabela...always keepin' it
classy. 

situation and gauge how you would want your character to respond. Would your character be angry about a thief trying to steal his/her coin purse, or would your character be amused by it? In DA2 and in (I believe) all of the Mass Effect games you are able to hear your character’s response to the current conversation or situation. I am apt to have a smart-ass character that is often sarcastic and maybe a little obnoxious, but it is fun to see the different reactions NPC’s have to your character’s personality. In DA2 you do not have text dialogue options, but “tone” options. The more you choose a specific tone, the more your character’s personality is shaped by it. After playing through my typical “sarcastic/obnoxious” personality I tried out a virtuous personality for an additional play-through; many aspects of the story were quite different!

Medieval Fantasy World

I am a sucker for this type of setting – and Dragon Age really sets this tone right away in the title of the game

– “Dragon Age.” If you are the brand of nerd that I am – you love dragons, knights in shining armor, and the fantasy setting – Dragon Age would be a great choice for you. If you are a sci-fi nerd – a “spacer”, you may want to start with Mass Effect. In both games the world (or in Mass Effect the universe?) really feels HUGE. In DA Origins you are confined to the country of Fereldan, but you are aware of the vast world of Thedas. Indeed, many of your companions are from other parts of the world and their stories of home connect you to the larger world. DA2 feels a bit more confining as you are, for the most part, in one city throughout the game. DA2 had several missteps, but it is still a great RPG that is far more engaging than the typical. From what I have seen and read about Inquisitor, the world will be HUGE. I have read that just one map in Inquisitor will be larger than all of the maps combined in the other games.

Connectivity

Everything is connected in these games. The Mass Effect series follows the same character throughout three games and everything that you do is remembered from game to game. If you pissed someone off in the original ME you will likely run into them in ME2 or ME3 and they will not have forgotten.  Big events carry over and that is great, but for me it is the small details; the more obscure decisions that you may have made coming back to haunt you or reward you later in the series. Even though the stories follow different people (The Hero of Fereldan and the Champion of Kirkwall) in the Dragon Age series, they are still connected. You are able to import your character from Origins (and its dowloadable content) to DA2 and there are many “throwback” moments throughout DA2 that are affected by what your character did in Origins.

Non-linear storyline

I love the option of doing things in the order you feel is best. One of the things that always annoyed me about other RPGs is that your path is laid out for you; you are just going through the predetermined motions. I will admit that Dragon Age is not as open world, or even as vast as Skyrim. You cannot wander seamlessly from area to area in DA as you can in Skyrim, but it looks like that is changing in Inquisition. I am really excited to see what the developers have come up with!

Replayability

Because you have so many options in gameplay that effect the world and how other characters interact with you, both DA and ME series have huge replayability. For example, in DA Origins, after choosing your

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character’s gender you choose his or her race – dwarf, elf, or human. Each race has a couple of background and class choices. If you were to choose human you would have the option of being a “circle mage” or a noble fighter or thief. As a dwarf you could be a noble or a criminal thief or fighter. The beginning of the game and many of the key events throughout the game change based on these choices.  A poverty stricken city-dwelling elf experiences things in his storyline that a human character does not, and the reverse is true as well. Finding out how all of these stories tied into the main plot kept me happy with this game for a really long time.

Oh… and Alistair

One of the really unique things about these games is the romance aspect. In Skyrim you can marry an NPC. They call you “dear” and make a neverending pot of stew for you. They watch your adopted children. This is

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3
Credit

really about the extent of your relationship with your significant other. In DA and ME the relationship development is part of the story. You get to know your NPCs as friends and as romantic interests. The other NPC’s notice your blossoming relationship and (often) comment on it. I discovered all of this for the first time with the NPC Alistair in DA Origins. Alistair is funny, sweet, and a very close companion for the entirety of Origins. He does things like tell your character how beautiful she is and bring her flowers. He is so sugary sweet that it is almost too much. There is a *huge* Alistair fanbase; primarily made up of (sad, lonely) female gamers. In both series the romance options are varied and interesting for both genders, with the exception of the first Mass Effect in which male characters have two female love interest choices and female characters have one male and one female option.

Well, that’s it! Thanks for “listening” to me geek out. Are you a fan of these game series? Let me know what your favorite aspects of them are. Also, if you have a comparable series you can suggest let me know! I am always looking for a good RPG.

30 Things 4/30: List 10 things you would tell your 16 year-old self, if you could.

I think that most people have the desire to travel back in time and right wrongs, or correct bad decisions that they have made. As a species we learn from our mistakes and, if you are like me, you have learned a copious amount of things over your years. I have learned some hard lessons that I would not change, but I can think of many situations that I clearly could have used some guidance in. The truth is, I probably had all of the guidance that I needed from my parents and my grandmother but like most teenagers I thought that I was smarter than they were. I thought that they could not possibly have a clue about what I was experiencing and that they were babes in the woods when I came to the way the world
really works. This brings me to my first message that I would send to myself:

1.Your parents are not idiots – listen to them. 

Fun fact: my Mamow watched
this show with me. 

My grandmother was part of the “Greatest Generation”, and my mom was a Flower Child who experienced pain and difficulty the exact same way as I did. My dad is the toughest, most loyal man that I have ever known. They were a fountain of knowledge that was always willing, always eager to give advice and I was indifferent to the lessons I could have learned from them. Many of the financial and personal problems that I developed in my 20’s could have been avoided if I would have simply listened.

2.You are worthy of love.

Something that I will expand on at some point in my writing is my really terrible first marriage to a completely poisonous and abusive man. I married the first man that asked me, not because I loved him or was remotely attracted to him, but because I thought that no one else would have me. I thought that I had better settle for what I could find and the results of it were so damaging that even after ten years of being away from him I have still not fully recovered. I struggle daily with self-worth and self- love (or at the very least self-tolerance) and have for my entire life. Although I probably would not listen, I would love for 16 year old me to know that she is worth much more than she assumes. 

3. Slow down.

Like many people my age I was in a hurry to grow up and be an adult. I was, in my own mind, an adult. I did adult things like have sex and drink so, in my mind, I had it figured out. All I needed was a job (and a car) which would not have been a bad thing at that time; but I was not ready to actually work for my money at that point. I was happy getting a small allowance from my parents each week and stealing whatever I thought I needed otherwise. I didn’t want to be a teenaged girl; I wanted to skip straight to being a working member of society. 

4. Stop pretending that you are dumb.

I did this A LOT in school as well as with my friends. I think it started in elementary school – I became aware of what it was to be a nerd and I knew that I did not want to be that. I was chubby and there seemed to be nothing that I could do about that. I had an eating disorder by the age of 12 and exercised (sometimes militantly) to no real success, so I knew that I would be the fat kid no matter what. I decided that there was no way that I would be a nerd on top of that (just FYI – I was a nerd anyway. I think being a fat kid typically buys you a ticket into that group). Anyway, in 5th grade my class had to take what they called the LEAP test – it was a standardized test that you had to pass to get into middle school. I aced it – I mean I got a 100% (which was unusually good). My teacher, though well-meaning, touted my success to the class and from that moment I learned what it was to be “a smart kid”. The other kids began to (in my mind) judge me and dislike me because of my “smarts”, which is a ridiculous thought. I was socially awkward and a little different from other kids long before 5th grade for reasons that were of no fault of my own; but in my mind people didn't like me because I scored high on that test. I worked diligently over the next five years to prove that I wasn't very smart. I failed tests and entire classes on purpose so that people wouldn't think that I was smart before finally just dropping out after failing the 11th grade. I immediately tested for my GED after dropping out and scored within the 98th percentile of the state of Louisiana (which probably isn't saying much). I clearly remember the instructor who returned my score to me looking at the score sheet, then looking at me with confusion and asking “Why in the world did you drop out of school?”. I often wonder what my life would be like now had I applied myself and gone on to college young instead of waiting until my 30’s. 

5. You are not the sum of your pain. 

An idea that I struggle with even now is that all of the bad things that have happened to me do not define me. Rather, they will only define me if I allow them to. I need to learn that people that I meet don’t need to know what I have been through in order to like me. There is no positive social status that is attached to victim-hood except pity, which is not really a positive at all. I suppose that I thought if people pitied me they would allow me my eccentricities without judging me – this is both untrue and misguided. In the grand scheme of things I am my eccentricities – they are what sets me apart from other people – and I have no business looking for forgiveness for them.  They are not something to be overlooked or explained away – they are just me. As long as I keep defining myself as a victim to other people I will be known as a victim, and I am more than that. 

6. You will never be the Manic Pixie Dream Girl – so stop trying.

Manic Pixie Dream Girl (MPDG) is a fairly young term that is somewhat new to me, but sums up the person that I wanted to be during my teen-aged years succinctly. I wanted to be “unique” and bubbly; I wanted to be different and fun. Mostly, I wanted boys to love me and pursue me, as they are oft to do when there is a MPDG in a group. Although MPDG is a term used to describe an entertainment trope, art often imitates life and I can honestly say that I knew (or at least knew of) several MPDGs that traveled in and out of my social circles. I sooo badly wanted to be that girl. I, from time to time, took on some of the 90’s MPDG uniform – eclectic hippie-ish clothing, a little too much glittery eye shadow, and brightly dyed hair. I practiced giggling (no, for real). I made a point to mimic the MPDGs that I knew – I observed them “in the wild” – so to speak. It never felt authentic to me, though. I am not sure if that is 100% about me, or if it because the MPDGs that I knew were pretending as well. No; no matter how much sparkly makeup I owned or how many pairs of fairy wings I bought I still tended to default to pseudo-goth, or the nerdy girl, or maybe the metal chick.

As an aside on this, I realize that people (including myself) cannot truly be summed up by blanket terms like MPDG or goth. I cannot think of anyone who is as shallow and uninteresting as the persona or persona type that they project. These are labels that we create to help ourselves neatly sum people up. Also, if you are interested in reading more about the MPDG trope I suggest Jezebel and this great essay in which the author refers top this trope as the "Amazing Girl". 

7. Cherish your true friends.

This image is supposed to be
here ironically, I swear! ;)

I had, what I would consider, a pretty large amount of people around me at all times when I was a teenager, especially for an introvert. I had maybe a dozen of what I would call actual friends and dozens more friendly acquaintances. It was strange for me because growing up I had exactly one friend. I met her one day (around age 6, I think) while playing alone in my grandmother’s back yard. She lived behind us and was out hanging up laundry. She and I became inseparable for many years. It was around this age (16) that I shoved her out of my life completely. It was a horrible thing to do and I have lived to regret it. In fact, over the years I have shoved nearly all of the people who have meant to most to me away. Some friendships have deteriorated over time in an organic way, but for the most part they ended in some destructive way because of me and my issues. I have tried, over the years, to mend these relationships but have found that they never really recover fully. I was truly lucky to have many true friends back then, but was equipped with too many destructive tendencies and not enough restraint to hold onto them. 

8. Don’t worry; you’ll make it to 30.

I was *sure* at that age that I would be dead before I reached 30. I had led a fast and hard lifestyle. I was an alcoholic with liver damage at 14, I smoked my first cigarette when I was about 10, began consuming illegal drugs regularly at around 14 – on the path I was on life was sure to be short. But, one of the side effects of living all of this at such a young age for me was that I grew out of it quickly. In fact, by the time I was 18 I rarely drank and typically passed on drugs. I have trouble relaxing and having a drink now, and I think it is because I *always* drank to get completely trashed when I was younger. To me, there was no point in having a glass of wine or a beer or two – I wanted to DRINK. Anyway, for a while I lived my life in a way that assumed I would die young, which made me really unproductive during times that should have been me preparing for the future (joining the military, going to college, etc.). 

9. Pursue your passions fervently. 

Marrying Peter Steele was
NOT a bad goal. 

I have had so many things in my life that I have been passionate about. At 16 I had plans for myself, though those plans changed pretty regularly. I wanted to be a Marine (for some reason) one week, and the next I wanted to move to NYC and be an artist. I thought about running away to Seattle and being a musician/poet, or going to LA and being an actress. I wanted to write novels, be a tattoo artist, learn to be a swing dancer, and be a veterinarian. I wanted to marry Peter Steele and learn to play guitar – be a makeup artist or a mortician. To 16 year old me I would say, “Yes, do all of that.” I found myself never believing in myself and, as a result, selling myself short on everything. I settled for a mediocre life early on when I could have done more – been more. I will always regret not doing more. 

10. Actual love exists, and it is out there waiting for you. 

This is my husband and I, with more adipose
tissue and fewer little people. 

This is probably just an extension of #2, but I felt that it deserved its own distinction. When I was 16 I dated a man in his late thirties. I thought that I was truly in love, and in my own way I am sure that I was. He was many things that I thought I wanted. He had long hair, tattoos, piercings, and pretty eyes. He bought me Jack Daniels and told me I was pretty – these things, above all else, made me happy back then. I was getting positive attention from a man who I thought loved me. I had no idea that love was something that could be so complex. Respect, honesty, and loyalty were foreign things in romantic relationships for me. I had a short string of shitty relationships and a long list of one-sided crushes, but had never experienced love. I was in such a hurry for it! My mom gave me wind-up music box when I was about 14 that played “Someday My Prince Will Come” (ala Judy Garland) and it switched something “on” in me. She would often say that one day my “knight in shining armor” would come and sweep me away. As unhelpful as those types of platitudes are for a young girl to hear, I understand now what she was trying to get across to me, which brings me back to point #1. 

Thanks for reading, or if it was tl/dr thanks for skimming, at least! =) Take it away, Ms. Garland...

30 Things

Poetry Post #2 Hello Again

Phyllis Siegel and Connie Kopelov, 2011
Credit and story

Often, when I see a particularly powerful image or series of images I skip over the context and try to make up my own truth about what is going on in the image, or who the people are. I do this in my day to day life, as well – make up little biographies of people I see walking into Target or sitting at their table in Starbucks. 

Over the past several years I have seen MANY beautiful photos of gay and lesbian couples – young and old – tearfully saying their vows as marriage equally has slowly conquered state after state. I always cheer a little and sometimes shed tears of joy when I see these heartwarming photos. The ones that really clench me are not the attractive young couples, as happy as I am for them. No, the real tear-jerkers are the couples that have loved each other for decades despite social taboos and hateful prejudices. It is in this frame of mind that I wrote the following poem/song – looking over pictures of blissful couples, finally able to publicly declare their love after so many years. I hope you enjoy – and for those in states that have yet to realize marriage equality, stand strong – your time will come.

Hello Again(2011)

Hello again, it's me

It's so good to see your face

And how I've longed for your embrace

I'd hoped we'd meet again

So that I could call you friend

And leave the pain behind

So speak what's on your mind



Hello again, it's me

I'm so thankful for your call

I put your picture on my wall

How are the kids today?

And did they go outside to play?

Can we meet for coffee soon?

I'd love to play for you this tune.



La-la, la-la

La-la, la-la



Hello again, it's me

Let's reminisce in days of old

Now that the nights are growing cold

Do you know how I treasure this?

They say ignorance is bliss

But sometimes I wonder if

You know how my heart twists



La-la, la-la

La-la, la-la



Hello again, it's me

Thanks for meeting me again

I think it's time I confessed my sin

Oh, how I've loved you from afar

Baby, climb into my car

And let's drive away from here

Without a glimpse of the rear-view mirror



La-la, la-la

La-la, la-la



Hello again, it's me

Let's make our promise here

Where every soul we know will hear

And bear silent witness to

All the love I have for you

Or let me kiss you now

So your lips don't make a sound



La-la, la-la

La-la, la-la



Hello again, it's me

I'm at your bedside today

And no doctors taking me away

Just close your eyes, my dear

Death is nothing you have to fear

Just listen to me sigh

And never say goodbye



La-la, la-la

La-la, la-la



La-la, la-la

La-la, la-la

Lyon and Del Martin, 2008
Credit and Story