November 1st, 2015

2013, cyd, new

If I follow my genes and ever have to have my left breast removed . . . . .

I now own both complete seasons of "Black Sails". It's a Starz Original, I think. It's about pirates. Almost reluctant pirates. About them that were pirates, that want to just be left alone to live their lives, free of British intervention. It isn't hard to relate. There's a girl on it. A gurl/boi/gurl. She wears the customary skirts, but still seems boyish, mannish. And I love her hat. I have to find out her character's name. She's one of the few of the female cast members who isn't a whore. Not that that is a bad thing. The whores are varied and entertaining and one in particular is brilliant. But there's a lot of them. Oh, I can't wait to watch it.

My internet is out, which is always nice. We're giving in and getting a new modem. Taking this one out and shooting it. Maybe I will take a hammer to it while Doc films it. If I can get Doc to film it. He's still . . . Ood. Quiet, brooding, cryptic. He's just not holding his brain in his hand like a proper Ood.

Why does SNL consistently force their actors of color to play such negatively stereotypical roles, and why do the actors do it? All the time, I am embarrassed for these people. We get the middle class white trope every so often, but for every "woke" skit we get about People of Color, it seems we get three weeks of stereo types of the worst sort playing out by comedians clinging to their one big chance. It's fucking sick.

*Steps down off soap box*

A group of trick or treaters brought me a dog tonight. I handed it off to Ritchie. He can get it scanned for a microchip tomorrow morning first thing, and house the dog until the owner is found. Cool. Because Chewy and the cats were REALLY pissed off having a small white fluff ball in the back yard.

I got my boots today! So I got dressed. Tights, Big tshirt, arm-warmers, boots, boxer briefs, all black. Doc thought I was dressed up for Halloween and some vague member of some random superhero group. Nope, I told him, I was just dressed. He stopped talking to me after that.

I'm not quite why my clothing choices are distressing him so much. He's never really cared. Well, he's spoken up about the trashy t-shirts, and did tell me I looked too goth when I got dressed to go to my dead sister's memorial tree. But those have really been the only times. Now it seems to be a symptom of something bigger. What does he care? No one sees me, anyway. Blech.

I'm going to be thinking seriously about giving up all but two cups of coffee a day. I got my pirate shirt today and it looks like a maternity shirt on me. This has got to stop. My 36's are too tight. Nope. Not going back to 38. And it's the coffee and all of the sugar I put in it. I have to stop. It's pretty simple. I take a medication that speeds up my metabolism and squishes my appetite, so I know that this whole belly/muffin top thing is the coffee/sugar/milk all day shit. Time to let it go. I don't need this particular addiction. I will give up regular coffee and get a french press and switch to home ground espresso. Two shots a day. Period. Then water water water. Some electrolyte juice, but it has sugar in it, so not too much. I should have this weight off by January, februrary at the latest. I can have doc get me one of those step up thingies and do that while I listen to music and pretend I'm dancing.

And if Doc is right, over the spring, I will get my front teeth replaced before any other work is done on my mouth. So by summer, I will be thin and have a decent smile and be ready for my public debut. When, where, why, how, or what, I have no idea, but I will be ready.

I want to get a tattoo of "Starry Night" somewhere on my body. My back (epic), my shoulder (subtle), as a sleeve (coverage), etc.

If I follow my genes and ever have to have my left breast removed, I'm having VanGough's Self-Portrait tattooed where my breast was, over my heart.
2013, cyd, new

You could tell by the wings. The wings always gave it away.

Okay. My computer's clock didn't turn back. Whatever. My phone will update around 9am tomorrow. I have no set plans.

There is no talking. There is maybe some small talk. We both hate small talk. I don't know who is tormenting who. We're all nervous around each other. He, because I am hormone bomb. I because he freaks me the fuck out when he acts like this. Get me a bottle of Midol and let go, dude. I haven't done anything angry, or raised my voice, or been argumentative. I've agreed with everything he has said, I have oft repeated my wrongness when it has happened. I've been very good. Good meds. Latuda, man. Even if you're bipolar and not full-on psychotic like me, try it. It may make a difference, and if it does, wowzers, does it. You will feel yourgoodself again very quickly. Just be ready to get some shit done.

I have about 40 LPs left right now that I know are to be upcycled. That's from 250. That's how much inventory is stacked up in my room. I really hadn't decorated, so there was plenty of room to separate items into categories and such. And at least a dozen of those LPs are spoken for. I need them on various book shelves. Because, for the first time. ever, in our lives, we will have more book shelf space than we will books. Not by much, and much of it will be weird negative space of the expensive and really fucking heavy black shelf out in the garage waiting to be dragged in here by us. Its shelves are . . . odd. I'll take a picture once we get it in here and I get it attached to the wall. It will accommodate many paperback novels, and I have many.

I used to buy so many books from the used book store across the street, they used to give me paperbacks and magazines in bags full. I miss that place so much. I think it's the only thing I miss from PA. And by the time I get dragged screaming back there, it will be gone. PFFFFHHHTTTTT.

Today was a haze. I took a full dose of Seroquel at an odd hour, as I am about to do now, and slept the day away. I woke up to a full bag of tobacco, so it was a win for me. Halloween was weird. People were skipping ours, and Richie's house (our next door neighbor). And they went all out decorating, they always do. Tomorrow I will post pictures of their prowess with Halloween decorations. We thought that was curious, we noticed a lot more helicopter parents, too, from outside the neighborhood. A lot of dolled-up fairy princesses were driven in from local gated communities that don't participate in such socialist expressions of neighborliness. You could tell by the wings. The wings always gave it away.