For FUCKS SAKE FEMALE! Some of us are trying to catch a wink or two.

Da angry black man has a gud tout. Why you not sleep?

Because I have thoughts. Lots and lots of thoughts. So much going on in my life right now, it’s kinda hard to keep it all straight AND make a ‘forty winks’ scenario happen.

So, like, tell us about it. Maybe you’ll sleep after a talkabout?

Eh. Ok, it’s worth a shot. So, first point. I’m kinda hurty. Yeah, great, not on crutches anymore. However, after three weeks with the leg all dangly instead of weight-beary, my calf muscles are SERIOUSLY underused and achy now. Damn Charlie Horse. So yeah, OWIE.

Howz about next time just letting the fucking crazy damn patient fall on their OWN ass?

Yeah. That’ll happen.

Anyway. The brain is sorting out some heavy convos I had earlier this week. One of which was with my ‘person’, Shannon. As usual, she didn’t let me evade any of the ‘hard’ questions, and got RIGHT to the heart of my bullshit. *sighs* I hate and love that she’s so damn perceptive about me. Then again, she says the same about ME, so we’re kinda even. Seems she thinks I have a low self-esteem. Eh. She’s got a point, I’m not much on the self praise when I’m not being all blustery and making people laugh…but I think I’m getting a TON better at not loathing most of my life thus far. That’s a plus, right? Besides, if I got TOO full of myself, there just wouldn’t be room for anyone else, and that would suck. I kinda really enjoy my ’someone else’ right now.

When you stop elud..evad…avoid the point? Is he your love or not?

Oh hell Yenta, what do I know of love? Sure, I’ve felt it, still do, for some of the men in my past…but is it the kind that makes me want to go all ‘be mine forever and ever’? Nah, never really got that emotion. Sad, really, when I was married for so many years… My Prince is my Prince, and for now, I’m REALLY REALLY happy with that. I mean, really. And safe. And comfortable. And yes, loved. So…I’m sticking with that for now…

Chicken.

Cluck.

The family is doing. Just doing. As my friend Evan puts it “whelmed”. Not overwhelmed, not underwhelmed, just, Whelmed. Pam has her days…Dad has HIS days now…and Mom’s so damn busy trying to hold her own brain in her skull that we’re all running around with our heads all up our own butts. Yeah, me having to work INSANELY weird hours right now isn’t helping. In two weeks when I finally get off this damn ‘light duty’ and resume my regularly scheduled insanity, I should be more helpful.

Helpful? Um, hello? Aren’t we doing that whole ‘party til we drop’ thing once you’re done with this crippy stuff? I have GOT to get my groove on.

Yeah…I’ll see what I can do. Speaking of grooves, I must be friggin magic. I mean, are there moonbeams and stardust shooting out of my nethers or something? The phone call I got today makes not one, but 5 former ‘friends’ of mine that are just jonesin for some more Cari-lovin. Jesus, I musta been SOME kinda whore… Or I’m just incapable of breaking things off firmly.

You finally figuring that shit out?

Oh stuff it Leroy! What I mean is that maybe Shannon has a point. If it weren’t for the ‘people pleasing’ gene firmly lodged between my bellybutton and my knees, I would be much more capable of saying ‘NO’. I cannot count the number of times I have placed myself in a situation where making the ‘yes or no’ decision is going to be required of me…and cannot seem to bring myself to actually say NO. Even when I want to. Even when it would be smart. I just can’t handle the whole ‘defending myself and my decisions’ thing…so I went along with much more than I should much more often than I should. NO, I don’t regret most of it…I learned a lot…but I do regret hurting my heart that way. I have equated sex with acceptance far too long and I’m kinda sick of it. Now the hard part is going to be telling (most of) the formers that they are, in fact, SOL when it comes to continuing the encounters. Some of them will still be friendly, and some of them…I’ll never talk to again. I can handle that.

Bubbie, dis is good decision. Now, why you not sleep if you make smart tought?

I don’t know. I have many ideas running around my brain for the book, and for blogs, and for just…angsty little bits of fun, that I can’t combobulate them all into a cohesive unit. Hence the rambling.

Then why don’t you take OUR tired little tushies to bed and sort it all out tomorrow? I mean, like, we have all the time in the world ya know?

That seems smart.

Carissa the Sleepy.

I forgive you, ____.
Every broken promise, every broken dream.
All the cruel lies, and even cruler insults.
The loss, the hurt, the degredation.
I forgive.

I forgive you, ____. 
All the times you called me a whore.
All the assumptions you made about me, my motives, my heart.
All the wishes you made I’d never been born.
All the dirty looks.
Forgiven.

I forgive you, ____.
For making your choice, and it wasn’t me.
All the lies.
For making me a dirty little secret.
For loving me incompletely.
I forgive you.

I forgive you, ________.
For leaving me so lonely.
All the words you said.
I forgive you.

I have to forgive you.
Not because YOU deserve it, but because I deserve it.
I cannot become
Bitter. Angry. Alone.
So I forgive you, all of you,
Because without you,
I would never learn.
I need to forgive you. To become the woman I am meant to be.
Me.

Consider this my answer. I joined Twitter. I’m under the name Carissa Simmons. Yeah, pretty simple, right? As I haven’t gotten the link to me up yet, you’ll have to search. Sorry. Will get it asap.

Should help all of you keep up with the world of Leroy, Muffy, and Yenta.

Join me on the Dark Side. We have cookies.

Enjoy!

But today was a good day. Pammie went with me to run some errands, and the whole time we were driving, she pointed out things she ‘knew’. For instance, a sign on the FoodLion window said “Green Grapes: $.99″. She said “Look Sissy! Green Beans for ninety nine dollars!? That’s a lot of monies!” I simply replied with “Yeah baby, that WOULD be a lot of money”. Driving to the Magistrate’s Office, we stopped to get a soda, and as I was running into the store, she said she wanted to stay in the car. I told her that was fine, but I would lock the doors and leave the AC on for her. I asked her if she knew how to unlock the door for me when I got back, and she got so confused between the door button and the window button, she started to cry. So I stopped her tears with a tickly spot, and showed her which button to push. I trusted that she would remember it long enough for me to make some change. She did, but the rest of the day, I kept a close eye on what she remembered.

She knew every building we passed, what it used to be, who we knew there, etc. She can’t remember what she ate for breakfast, but she knew that the Magistrate/DMV building used to be a library. She doesn’t remember my middle name, but she knew that the Rite Aid used to be an empty lot. She knows things of the distant past. A year or more, but not the short-term past. It troubles me. I know she’s moved to Stage Two Alzheimer’s…but it troubles me that it’s moving so quickly.

But today was a good day. She held my hand the whole time we were walking anywhere, and giggled over little things. An Happy Meal toy with stickers made her day, and she chattered nonstop to it in the car. *sighs* On one hand, I’m glad she finds ‘friends’ in inanimate things, as she will never be lonely…but on the other…I’m sad that her best friends are her babydolls and stuffed animals.

But today was a good day. She didn’t display any disturbed behaviour such as irrational anger, or self harming. So that makes today a good day. And any good day, I’ll cherish.

Carissa the Greatful

I watched “Wonder Woman”.

It woke up the Amazon. For those ignorant of the tale, a brief synopsys: Wonder Woman is Princess of the Amazons, sent to the world of man after a hundred year exile on a Utopian island to return a downed pilot and stop Ares (the God of war) from doing what gods of war do best. Havoc, Chaos, Death, Distruction…all the biggies. Naturally, she kicks serious Arian ass, and gets the guy. (voiced by Nathan Fillian. And can I just say? YUM!!) So watching this movie, albiet a cartoon, woke up MY inner Amazon. It didn’t help that not a scant ten minutes BEFORE watching said movie, I was talking to my BFF Shannon. Wait, that’s not accurate, Shannon is more than my BFF, she’s my person. If I grew a penis tomorrow, she’d be my wife.

Shannon had to give me a peptalk. I’ve been…rather upset and yet oddly detached from my ‘girl feelings’ as of late, and she had to hit me with a heavy dose of reality. *sighs* Seems I’m not going to get away with the “Gosh no, Everything is just fine” thing with her when she plays the “Best Friend” card. Damn her.

So here I go with the taking her advice thing…*another huge sigh* This means that I have to go make a phone call and talk about my feelings and ask hard questions and shit. Ew. Yet, in the ‘real world’ these things must be done in order to advance the growth of the Carissa.

Carissa the Pepped.

Interesting sho ain’t the word I’d be usin here, girlie.

Hm. Good point. Complex? Involved? Discombobulated? Are those better?

How bout fucked the fuck up? That ass shouldn’t have said those things and make you question your sanity and some shit.

Leroy! My God! Must you swear so?

When the shoe fits, I say take a fuckin walk.

Leroy, Yenta, chill. I’ll tell them about what he said. Get some second and thrid opinions. And the only time I question my sanity is when I’m talking to all of YOU.

Hey, like, we’re not to blame ya know. You can stop…which would suck…but…

Yeah, Muff, I get it. Anyway…

I had a rather interesting email the other day from a very very very OLD flame. Flame is as close to what we were that I can manage. To put it bluntly, we were friends with benefits, or so I thought. Evidently he had other opinions on the matter. He informed me that not only was I the root of all evil to him in his relationship endeavors since then, but that I had a serious problem with men.

You mean other than that whole ‘not knowing when a guy wants more than an easy lay’ thing?

Yeah. Other than that…

You see, this…I guess Ex would be a good term, told me that my problem with men, and the reason that I couldn’t keep one after the “I love you too” part; is that I’m entirely too easy to fall in love with.

I do not understand. Is dat not good ting?

He also informed me that I’m entirely too easy to fall OUT of love with. Hince the problem.

Bullshit. OBVIOUSLY this guy still has a thing for you, and no fucking way you’re THAT good a lay. No one’s that good. Musta been something else.

I don’t know Leroy. His theory has credence. I have heard “I love you” from so many lips now it’s becoming nothing but another lying phrase to me. It’s too easy to walk away after uttering it to me for most men.

Bubbie, you don’t really believe dat do you?

Yes Yenta, I almost do. Granted, I know what I feel, and that is that I don’t love lightly or say that phrase easily. It takes major WORK for me to trust like that. And I never uttered it to THIS guy. I thought we were just FwB, not IN a relationship. Apparently I hurt him, and that I am sorry for…but I don’t give too much credence to his statements now. It just made me think. And we all know how dangerous me thinking is.

Oh fuck that Female. You know you’re using that as a fucking excuse to shove men in your little boxes again.

Leroy, we’re NOT going to discuss the boxes. Ever. Again.

Hey, you the one who’s fucking it up, Female, not me. And you KNOW all men don’t fit in you boxes. So suck it the fuck up, lick your wounds, and forget the asshole who said that shit.

You has got to give the angry black man some thought Bubbie, he make sense. And dose boxes, dey not very flexible. You not easy to fall out of love wit. We love you Bubbie.

Thank you Yenta, and Muffy, and Leroy, but I think this is one area where your opinion…not all that credible. So, I’ll think on it some more. Maybe get a few opinions that AREN’T coming from inside my own head.

Yeah, and maybe you’ll quit thinking about idiots who didn’t know enough to speak up when they had you, and are trying to punish you now.

Muffy?! Wow. For a bubbleheadedtwit, you’re pretty insightful at times.

I do my best.

Carissa the Perplexed.

Girl got done DIRTY, and I place the blame squarely on the shoulders of her ExHusband, which is EXACTLY where it belongs. Take my word for it folks, he is not only the cause, the effect, and the end result, he’s also a Filthy liar and an asshat, and a fucking asshole. So I get to hate him. Completely. Totally. Without reservation. I have pleanty of reason. Just no reservation.

Which leads me to a thought.

Men SUCK. Or maybe it’s just Husbands. Either way, right now, (for at least the next hour or so) you have a penis, don’t come near me. If I didn’t have wonderful examples of what a real man SHOULD be in the form of my Father, and my Prince, my Friends… I would write off the whole lot of you forever.

But then I’d be stuck with women…sighs. Great short term replacement, but…Women are insane. Insane yes, but at least we’re not low down dirty rats.

And I exterminate rats.

Screw me once, shame on you. Screw my BFF, Knife in your testicles.

–The Amazon.

June 25th, 2008 (Again, BARELY. It’s 0043, and I just HAD to get this out of my brain or Muffy wouldn’t SHUT UP)

Some tips and tricks for those interested in dating a woman like me. They’re not aimed at anyone in particular, but they are based on past and current experience. That’s the reason I’m using the words “I” and “you”. It’s just easier that way. I don’t like to speek for other women, but I’m pretty sure the grand majority of women, espically those who are similarly minded to me, are going to not only back me up on most of these points, but cheer me on! Granted, some of them, like my favorite flower, are pretty much “Carissa specific”. This idea came about when talking to some women out in the ‘pit’ at work, and one of them remarked ‘Why don’t we just post a list of what we want for our men? They’re so lost!’. So I had her tell me a few things she would put on it, and some other women chimed in, and I realized that it’s a damn good idea. Muffy’s been rolling it around her little corner of the brain since then, so here you go!

*I AM NOT PSYCHIC. You have something to tell me? Then just tell me. I’m a big girl now, and I’d appreciate some upfront honesty.

*I’m a sucker for dandelions. Pretty much any wildflower that you actually plucked from the earth with your own two hands just because you thought it would make me happy will do. Dandelions? Oh yeah, total heart-melter. You can actually FIX A FIGHT with a well-timed dandelion.

*It is going to take F-O-R-E-V-E-R to earn my trust. You break it, even once, and you’ll have to work even harder to get it again. If ever.

*I don’t say “I love you” lightly.

*It’s ok to tell me you think someone else is hot. It’s ok to stare. It’s even ok to say you’d like to sleep with them. But the next sentence outta your mouth had BETTER run along the lines of “But I’d rather come home to you, cuz I love you.” or “Even if I did fuck them, I’d want it to be an alternate reality because I love you.” See where I’m going with this?

*Just because I’m on a diet, doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu too. Trust me, sometimes, I look. But guess who I’m really thinking about during ‘quiet happy pillow time’? You.

*I really am THAT clueless sometimes. I didn’t know that guy was flirting, I thought he was being polite.

*When you compliment me, I try really really hard to belive you the first time. I do. Honest. I try. But some part of me is busy having that knee-jerk reaction that wonders if you’re just trying to make sure you can still get in my pants. Doesn’t mean you should stop with the compliments, because maybe not the 3rd time is a charm, but the 50th.

*When I’m staring at you, and smiling. Sometimes, I’m thinking about jumping you. Sometimes, I’m just thinking about the way you look when you’re sleepy. Learn the difference in the smiles.

*When I say “nothing” in response to a “What’s wrong?”, and we’re fighting…back away slowly, to a safe distance, and ask again. Keep asking. You may have to drag it out of me, because I don’t do ’share time’ well, but once you do, we’ll both feel better.

*Yeah, I CAN do just about everything in my life all by myself, but I WANT you in it. Be grateful.

*Touching me good. Do it a lot. Even when you’re NOT gonna get laid that day. I cannot stress this enough. I really really like touching.

*I have friends. Lots of ‘em. They touch me too. It’s a different kind of touching. Deal with this.

*Lie to me, even if you think it’s a good idea at the time, and you had better be prepared for a fight. A big one. One we may not recover from.

*When you are hurting, expect to be babied. It’s just what I do.

*Using my ears as a fight-deterrent is an unfair advantage and I call foul!

*I will NEVER like your ex. Any of them. I may say I do, I may even hang out with them, share a drink , hug them, and swap brownie recipes. Because I love you, and if you two are cool, then she and I are cool. The MINUTE that bitch makes you the slightest bit hurt/angry/upset again, she’s toast.

*You are expected to be a LITTLE bit jealous/posessive of me. Hold my hand or kiss me if you think a guy is flirting when we’re out in public. That’s ok. Tell me you don’t like it when men ogle me. When I tell a guy “I have a BF”, and he doesn’t back off, FEEL FREE to let loose your inner Gladiator. Just don’t beat someone up in a bar because they said hello. That’s taking it too far.

*I will snatch her bald and scratch her blind if a woman you have told “I have a girlfriend” doesn’t back off you. That is my right. You will smile, nod, and even clap and compliment my right hook if the case applies.

*I will gladly listen to you when you talk about sports, geek trivia, your day at work, just about ANY subject under the sun, because I love you, and I like to hear your voice. Don’t get angry if I ask questions. I just want to understand.

*My past is my past. I’m not ashamed, I won’t sugar-coat it, and I won’t lie about it. I also won’t offer up the information freely. If you really want to know, you’re going to have to ask direct questions and be very very prepared for the answers. You opened that can of worms, you have to deal with the wriggling.

*I’m going to assume you DON’T want me around unless you tell me you do. I won’t take your time for granted, and I expect you not to take mine. I have a job, a family, and friends to take care of too. Tell me when you want me around.

*I exercise because it feels good to me. You can enjoy the flexiblity, enjoy the body, even watch me do it if you want, but don’t even dream of mentioning my exercise routine to me if you notice me NOT doing it. It’s too close to calling me fat. I know it’s a stupid girl logic, but trust me, it will hurt me. I may even cry.

*If I am crying, the shit has hit the fan. You have two choices in this scenario. Fix it, or run. Up to you. 

*I am ALWAYS in your corner. I don’t care what I hear from who about anything concerning you. I am always going to check with YOU first before making any judgement, belive any statement, or even having any emotional response to anything I hear from anyone other than YOU.  I expect the same courtesy from you concerning me.

*If you tell me you need me, I don’t care what mountain I have to move, if I CAN be there, I will be.

*I am sometimes a bit crazy, but let’s face it, I kinda have to be. I chose you, didn’t I?

January 14th, 2009

*I am not an Etch a Sketch. I like to cuddle, I LOVE to be touched, and yes, PDA is my friend, but I expect you to do such no matter WHO is going to see you do it. This includes your friends and coworkers (family is a COMPLETELY different story) You cannot just pick me up and shake me and pretend I don’t exist when the ‘embarassment’ factor is high. If you’re embarassed to be with me, then DON’T BE WITH ME. You don’t deserve me anyway.

* There are times when tongue is inappropriate…my mother’s presence is a BIG clue.

* I am completely incapable of making a ‘first move’. Maybe that’s a stuipd girl thing, or maybe it’s a “Carissa is justifiably wary” thing. You’re going to have to speak up. 99% of the time, I’m thinking and feeling the same things, I just don’t have it in me to express them first.

*I do not expect to be on your mind ALL DAMN DAY. If you have a random thought of me, wonderful! Tell me about it later, and we can both grin like goobers because I probably thought of you that day too. Espically if it’s funny.

* I still don’t take compliments well.

* This is me with the happy in my own skin self. You like my skin too, then you get the wrinkles, stretch marks, bruises, and freckles right along with it. (for the dense ones: I’m happy with who I am, flaws and all. You’d better love my flaws too, or just don’t date me, k? Save some heartache)

* I adore the fact that men are men, and I have a secret affinity for big, rough, strong hands. (And even giant feet and toes with dry skin and serious need of a pedicure.) Because you’re a GUY, and that’s cool with me.

* You tear it off me, you bought it. I don’t expect you to give me money, cuz that makes it whory, but yeah, replacing the panties that you ripped off, would be nice.

*I promise to replace the sweater I stole, and the TShirt I ripped off you. Cuz fair is fair.

* DO NOT expect me to understand you the first time. I am a certifiable genius. 158 IQ. Doesn’t mean I get the ‘real world’ stuff. I really don’t understand that guy shrug/mumble/careaboutyou crap.

* I have a serious body image issue. I think I’m really about 3 inches shorter than I really am…so… This sometimes leads to bumped elbows, bruised knees and fingernail marks down your butt instead of your back…but hey, I’m a CNA, I can make it all better!

*Most of my friends are men. In fact, even some of my GIRL friends are close to men…you’re going ot hear me talk about a lot of guy names, and most of that is going to have the sentence, “And he’s a great kisser” in it too…doesn’t mean I’ve fucked everything that walks with a third leg and it doesn’t mean I have anything other than friendly feelings for them .Learn to ask if you want to know the details.

* Marylin Monroe said it best: “I’m selfish, impulsive, and hard to control, but if you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deseve me at my best.”

*FYI: My best, is DAMN worth handling my worst.

Reflecting? No Bubbie, you is dwelling. Tinking about a da things you cannot change. 

For once, Yenta, your radar is jammed.

I do not know dis “jam”. What you mean? What is “Jam”? 

Your intuative knowledge of how I feel and what’s going on in my brain is incorrect this time. I’m not dwelling, I’m reflecting. There is not emotional connotation to reflecting, just remembrance. Dwelling means I would be weepy, but I’m not.

Bout damn time you finished your crying, female.

Oh holy bejezzus! Where have you three BEEN? I finished my crying a long time ago. In fact, haven’t cried much at all this year. Normally Christmas season is a VERY weepy time for me. Notice any tears lately?

No…not many. 

There were enough to make me wanna shut your mouth the old fashioned way, but yeah, you been a little better this year. 

OMG.OMG.OMG. You are, like, totally different this year! I didn’t really pay attention before, but now that you mention it…

Exactly. This is me with the NOT dwelling, this is me with the happy. See?

Bubbie, I not want to make you unhappy, but what is different now? 

I don’t know Yenta. Maybe it’s just that this year, I’m able to remember the happy times a bit more. I have enough distance from the people and events of the past that…I don’t feel the pain as deeply.

Well fuck me sideways! You mean you’re done with all that bullshit finally and ready to boogie? 

I don’t know about BOOGIE, but yeah, I’m cutting out the bullshit. I can now be grateful that I had the chance to know Berne, who died on Christmas Eve 3 years ago. To be happy that I felt life grow inside of me, so I know what absolute love is like. To remember the love I felt from the men of my past, and remember the hurt.  I learned to appreciate the love more now, should it be in front of me again. Even Pammie, who last year I spent MOURNING when she is still HERE, is nothing but a source of joy now. I will loose her down the road, but I have her now, and I intend to spoil her rotten until the day comes that she…goes.

Dat cannot be all dat has changed Bubbie, dere must be someting else. You keep your tears back even from us here. Dat is new. 

Yeah, it is. But even you three aren’t privvy to  EVERY thought and feeling I have. I’ve had to learn to block you four out from some of my life. How else do you think I enjoy sex with men when Leroy is such a homophobe?

HEY! I am not. I just don’t like to see that shit. Ya know? I mean, I ain’t gay, but who the fuck cares if other people are? 

My mistake Leroy.

Ok, I get that you keep stuff from us, but like, how? 

Easy, I’ve been thinking more with the front of my brain, less with the back. Call it ‘following my impulses’. Instead of pushing the thoughts back to the subconscious, I’ve been processing them forebrain. You all live in the back, and the Amazon lives WAAAAAY back, so she’s been silent as well.

Yo! Amazon! You still livin’ woman? 

LEROY! That’s just not cool. Don’t wake her. I’m HAPPY. You three get that? I’m going to spend the day tomorrow watching Pammie open her gifts, and eating an early dinner with my family, and then working a few hours to make OTHER’S lives a bit more comfortable. It’s going to be a wonderful day, and for that I’m grateful.

Bubbie, I so proud of you. You make da good idea. Happy Christmas. Dat how you say it yes? 

Close enough Yenta.

Merry fucking Christmas female. And Yenta, you have a great haun…hank…chank…whatever. 

Pass the Eggnog and stand next to the mistletoe!

Merry Christmas everyone. Take my advice, find your slice of happy and run with it.

Carissa the Jolly

I wrote a similar ‘essay’ years ago for an assignment. Tonight, I had the good fortune to be reminded of all the reasons behind it. I decided to share an updated version with all of you, because to understand ME, you must understand the influences behind me. And for me to understand my true self, I had to get this out.

     I don’t believe in miracles. I do believe that rational science, logic, even math, can not explain. However, the concept that something miraculous may happen to my life is just beyond my scope of belief. I do believe in the unexplained. For instance, there is no rational explanation for Pammie.
     Pammie is my sister. She is also my Aunt. She is also…unexplainable. Upon her birth, my Grandmother was told to give up on her. To put her into a home for the mentally disabled. Thankfully, my Grandmother did not listen, and took her home instead. Despite every doctor telling her that Pammie wouldn’t live to see 21, this year will mark her 57th birthday. Pammie has defied so many odds in her life, that longevity holds no mystery to her. 
     Simple everyday tasks now hold mystery to her.  Although she was born with Down’s Syndrome, a trisomy of one of her chromosomes that severely stunted her mental acuity, that is not  what has defined her. Her heart has. Pammie has an amazing capacity for love. No matter the circumstance, Pammie has always managed to love unquestioningly throughout her life.
     When I was a child, Pammie came to live with my family after the death of her mother. My parents adopted her, even though she was an adult, and made her my sister. I was 3 at the time. Throughout my life, Pammie has been a constant source of frustration, amusement, and unfailing love to me. As a grade schooler, my other sister, Gwen, tried to ‘teach’ Pammie to read. As children, Gwen and I did not grasp the concept of mental disability, and didn’t understand that no matter the effort, Pammie would never have that ability. So after my mother explained to us, at the ages of 5 and 6, we decided that it was our job to read to Pammie. To share all the wonderful stories we were learning in books. This habit continues today.
     In High School, after a particularly grueling day battling budding actors and stubborn equations, I would often come home so downtrodden that it showed in my every expression. No matter how hard I faked it, and even concealed it from the rest of my family, Pammie always knew the truth. She would pat the cushions of the couch next to her, and say, “Sissy, do you need a hug? Come here an’ hug me.”, and I would. Somehow just the simple act of sitting next to her calmed the day down. Due to Pammie’s remarkable physiology, she has shortened stature, a flattened face, mongoloid eye-folds, and the worlds pointiest chin! Since I have been five foot ten inches tall since I was 13, her little body only reaches my sternum. When sitting, she barely reaches my neck. So to sit with her, reading a book to her, or even just watching TV, she rests her pointy little chin on my shoulder. Yes, it can hurt, but it’s a pain I welcome because it makes her so happy to snuggle in.
     Now the ravages of time are wrecking havoc with Pammie’s mind. As she ages, her brain is now being stolen from her by Alzheimer’s Disease. Tonight, when reading to her a story full of her favorite things, unicorns, family, and a happy ending, she became so distracted by staring at her own hand that the story mattered not to her. She asked me why her hands were so little, and mine so large. I had no easy answer for her, so I told her that was simply the way God made her. Pammie does not grasp the concept of a divine being ruling the universe, but she has been taught that God loves her, and made her perfect as she is.
     I happen to agree with THAT statement. Miracles? No. But I’m going to spend every chance I have with her, and I’m really going to miss this one when she is gone.

A simple picnic is laid out in front of me on blue checkered blanket. I’m in a meadow about forty feet in diameter bordered on the left side by a swift moving creek. To the right of the meadow is peaceful woodland, birds chirping, small mammals skittering through the underbrush. In front of me rises a cliff face that is the foot of a mountain so high I dare not look up for fear of making myself dizzy. Behind me, and I know this without turning around, is a scary forest. Blackened forms that vaguely resemble redwoods, but the branches reach all the way to the ground. Boulders block almost every trail forcing the footpaths to double and triple back. Anything living in this devastation is as twisted and ugly as the predominant form of vegetation. Holly bushes. Thousands of them crowd the undergrowth. They’re not green though. They’re a dark, sharp burgundy. Almost the same colour as a very dark red wine.

The true problem is that I am not angry at an entity outside myself, I am angry at my…self.

Tonight, during what should have been a happy moment, I had a flashback. (Think Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, without the singular event or ‘trauma’ that inflicts said disorder. More like years of psychological abuse.) It scared me so much that I actually thought I was going to piss myself, and I had to come home to spend yet another night awake and crying. The event that triggered the flashback was me falling. Or rather, someone unintentionally rolling me out of a bed, and I fell. (no, I’m not injured, thanks for asking) Just my ego and my self-worth are bruised.

You see, it’s been almost two years since EED (El ExDouchebag) has been out of my life, and yet I still fear. For just a few seconds tonight, I had no control of my own body weight, my center of gravity or my equilibrium. (a roller-coaster, bungee jumping, hell, even swings I LOVE, but being out of control in that weightless moment scares the shit out of me) The only thing holding me up was my rapid response of putting a leg on the floor. The EED knew I hated being lifted up, or falling, and he would often exploit that fear when I displeased him. Often lifting me up only to deliberately let me fall. Tonight, when I fell out of the bed, I flashed back to a particularly heinous night when I woke up because I was being kicked (literally) out of bed by the EED and landed on the floor. I had bruises and abrasions for over a week, he kicked me so hard, and I landed on a very unforgiving nightstand.

I know, in my rational brain, that one of my Boys didn’t MEAN to make me fall. He was just answering his phone…which happened to be more out of reach than he thought. I even knew while having the flashback that it wasn’t happening now and that I was safe. Yet…my stupid, fearful self couldn’t disengage from the prior events. And THAT makes me angry. I’m not angry at the EED for causing this…ugly little head trauma. I’m angry at myself for allowing it to happen. I’m sitting here now almost two years after the split with him, and I can still feel bile rising to the back of my throat, and my heart rate is over 130bpm. All because I’m still scared of him. I should be stronger than that. I’m still afraid to go to a movie theatre alone. I shouldn’t have to avoid Reese’s Peanut Butter cups like the plague because they smell like him. I shouldn’t refuse to play RummyKube with my family because I’m too busy thinking about all the times he told me I was stupid for not winning, or getting angry at me because I DID. I shouldn’t be afraid to tell someone “I love you” now, because HIS reply was often “Fuck off”. I shouldn’t jump, scared out of my wits when blond men with a crew cut and moustache walk by. I shouldn’t have to be afraid of him killing me, or hurting my family, like he always said he would, simply because I finally got the balls to divorce him. I shouldn’t scream at my mother “DON’T TELL ME HOW TO HANG MY PANTS!” because I’m thinking about how many hours of ‘instruction’ I received in how to do his laundry…and the days he would ignore me afterwards for doing it wrong. I should be STRONGER than the fear. My own reactions ANGER me.

It’s taken almost two years, some support group visits, and a LOAD of self examining to say I was a victim of abuse. It was rarely physical, and somehow, I feel…less worthy to say so because so many have suffered SO much more. I never had a broken bone, a single cut, never even a black eye caused by his hands. The thought that I was still so beaten down, so…worthless…angers me even more. I know I am a better person than he ever thought I could be. I know that even if I did fall tonight, completely on my ass, it would have been OK, because it wasn’t done on purpose or out of anger. I KNOW without a doubt that someday, I’ll eat a Reese’s and not even think about him. I’m just pissed off because that day isn’t today, and I can’t MAKE it be today.

Carissa the Enraged

However, I saw something so…far afield of importance, so full of idiocy, so…rampantly diversionary, that it made my head spin.

The lead story on not only the 11 o’clock news, but my Yahoo! home page, my AIM dashboard, and even my Embarq updater, was about the Obamas getting a dog.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!

I am fully in support of the President elect (sigh, it makes my brain hurt to say that) and his family getting a dog. Go for it. Get 20. It’s a big damn house and it’s not like YOU’RE going to be doing the pooper-scooper duty. However, does the lead story really have to be a debate over wither or not they get a rescue dog or one from a shop or breeder? There are even ‘Presidential Puppy Watch’ sites. There are petitions and letters being sent to him in DROVES to get a rescue, or this breed or that.

Are we THAT stupid as Americans that we have to ALL debate on this? Seriously?! It’s a DOG. I’m a dog lover, I love my dog. My home has had a dog in it since I was a child. I can’t imagine life without one…but if the President gets a dog…well…that’s not going to impact my life…AT ALL.

I would rather the news today have been about his economic policy, or lack thereof, or his cabinet choices, or hell, the price of tea in China because that can determine the price of tea for me here. ANYTHING but about the ‘potential First-Dog’.

*huge sigh* I probably shouldn’t expect any better of the ‘general public’. After all, people are sheep, they’re probably very concerned over who’s (potentially) nipping at the ankles of the flock…

For those who are first time visitors, you may be unfamiliar with how I represent Leroy, Muffy, and Yenta in written form. I simply change font representation. As referenced above, Leroy is bold, Muffy underlined, and Yenta italicized. They had some things to say, and wouldn’t be silenced without their due time. You see, it’s been quite a week, and a rant was due.
Quite a week? That’s one way of putting it. Another way would be to say you fucked up big, girlie.
Thanks Leroy, that’s putting it all rather bluntly.
You shudda punched the shit outta that bitch at work. That’s all I’m sayin. No one calls us racist and gets away with it.
For those in the viewing audience–a coworker called me racist this week because it’s rather obvious I have absolutely no liking for her. We have a professional, working relationship. We do not share gab sessions over coffee. Leroy is right, I could have hit her and chose not to. Damn conscious.
Fucking a-right girlie. Got all up in your grill and she’s still walkin straight. Back in the day you’d a set her teeth on the floor. What happened to you?
Hey! It’s not like she could just lay the girl out at work. They have, like, med stuff there. And rules. And wouldn’t C’rissa like, get in trouble?
The little bubble headed one is right. Dey havva rules against violence in da workplace. Bubbie did da right ting. She walk away. Bubbie make stupid girl at da hospital look even more stupid. Serve her right.
The bottom line is that I DID walk away, and I’m kinda proud of myself for doing so. Leroy has a point. Back in my younger days, I would have laid her OUT for even thinking such a thing about me. I was practically raised in two homes. One white, one black. For Pete’s sake, LEROY is a large black man, and he lives in my head!
Fo’ real girlie. And I ain’t too happy about that fact.
Well Leroy, you have the power to leave. Up to you. Simple shut down command and your ass is grass, so how about you quit your bellyaching?
I’m just sayin…
Yeah, you’re always ‘just saying’.
And I’m just saying that this was total…like…ugh! Still think you should of hit her.
Muffy, can we move on, please? A lot has happened this week, that was only a ‘low’ point. The HIGH point would be the good news about work!
Bout time someone recognized all that ass bustin you all been doin’.
Yes, my Bubbie work hard. She work with lot of people dat work hard. Dey all deserve a little show of support.
What we’re talking about is a raise. Almost all of us got one, *mine was wonderful!* because they’re performance based. My evaluation was evidently pretty darn wonderful…
And it should be! You work so hard, Bubbie. And it tru you didn’t punch dat girl.
Yeah, like how many asses can we WASH in a day? Ya know, I really hate those little pink bins now…so grody.
For the love of all things holy! Muffy! Must you degrade a simple bed bath? Even if all I do that day is help people feel a bit cleaner, I’ve done my job. It makes a difference.
The female has it nailed. Making those patients feel better IS important. Shit, we hold so many damn hands a day that I’m beginning to wonder what it’s like to NOT be attached to someone.
At least none of you are corporeal. Remember, YOU’RE NOT REAL. I am. Me. Carissa. At least the four of you can hide in your little corners when a patient curses me out for taking too long, or waking them up, or not knowing where the doctor is. Heaven forbid I can’t get them drugs fast enough. I can’t even HANDLE the drugs! I have to go grab a nurse.
But da nurses, dey all so nice.
Couple a asses there I wouldn’t mind tappin.
LEROY! That’s just…wrong. You don’t play in the company pool. And enough about tapping asses. That’s derogatroy.
I’m just…never mind.
That’s what I thought.
Um…C’rissa…the Amazon is shaking the bars again.
Shit.
Who’s she angry at this time?
I have no freaking clue. C’rissa?
Yes Muffy?
Who’s she angry at this time?
I don’t want to talk about it. She’s angry, but solidly secured in her cage. No worries.
Are you sure? Cuz like, she’s shaking those things HARD…
Muffy, Leroy, chill. She’s secure.
She better be. Another fucking female loose in here we do NOT need.
That’s it, all of you, off for the night. I gotta get some sleep, and you three…well…four, are NOT helping.
Shit female, where do you think we go when you sleep?!
Well, I’m kinda hoping that when I sleep, you sleep. You certainly don’t help with the dreamin’, that’s for sure.
Bubbie, we can not make da dream go away. You havva da…what you tell Angry Black man? Da shut up command.
Fuck all if I know what it is. Let’s just ALL go to bed now. Separate corners, all of you. G’dnight.

Give unsolicited advice.

When a friend once asked me what he should do about the woman he was pseudo-dating at the time whom he thought he lost, I was at a loss of what to tell him. I was married at the time, so my opinion of relationships in general was…dismal, to say the least. But this wasn’t about me, it was about two people who were so lost, and hurt, and confused, that one of them solicited advice from me. Me. The only person whom knew not only the whole story, but how each party felt. I know this friend rather well…or I did…at the time. I knew what pain he was in, and what he felt/still feels for her. So when he asked my unfiltered advice, I took a deep breath, and asked him, “Why are you hurting?” He replied that he couldn’t imagine a full and happy life without her in it. That he wanted her in his life because she WAS the thing in his life that made him complete. I asked, “What does she feel?”. He replied that he wasn’t sure what she wanted, but that he wanted to give to her whatever it was. As I already knew what she wanted, and now knew what he wanted, I was able to advise him with honesty. I said three things. 1. “Pull your head out of your ass, and apologize. Then apologize again. Then when she says you don’t owe her an apology…apologize again.” (he was at fault in the situation, and was being a bit of a dick about it) 2. “Accept that she may not take you back. Deal with that pain right now, because you can’t let it get in your way.” (another fear of his –rejection.) 3. “Fight. Fight whatever is in your way. Including yourself.” (I love him dearly, but the dude was clueless about the effort required to keep a gal like her feeling appreciated) You see, he was at fault, but didn’t see it that way. *dude brain* I told him to apologize for the FEELINGS caused, not the event. He didn’t want to risk the pain of rejection, so I told him to accept that it may come, no matter what he did to prevent it. And this girl…kinda high maintenance…needed to see some serious effort on his part. (I understand that theoretically some women are like that. I don’t get it, but that’s just my own little dude brain talking.) I wish I could tell you everything worked out for my friend and his lady…but that would be filtered truth, and as the title suggests, this particular blog is anything but filtered. They did return to each other, for a short time, and were happy. However, she eventually got too weary of his game playing, and couldn’t put with it anymore. He made the choice to continue his asinine behaviour that drove her away in the first place. There was no rebirth.

So this past month, when NOT called upon for advice from a friend in a similar situation, I started thinking about this previous conversation. I also can’t help drawing parallels to my own life. I wish I could tell my girlfriend that she’ll be OK, and that yes, if she so chose, she could apply this situation to hers. Maybe show HER own assinine guy that little list, (as she is emotionally high maintenance herself) for him to know what it’s going to take to get his wife back. Should he choose to do so.

The story does have a semi happy ending. Both of the original players eventually found their happiness elsewhere. It’s not the same for either of them, and it’s not nearly as complete as it could have been. Although the guy and I are not friends any longer, (as his asinine behaviour got weary to me too) I do wish he had taken the advice to heart. I’m not saying I’m a guru and that everything would have been just swimmy if he had…but I wonder.

And I wonder what will become of my girlfriend and her guy in the similar situation now. I wonder constantly what will become of me and…mine. All three situations are similar, and all three- suck beyond the telling.

So maybe I’m poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. Maybe I’m thinking too hard about my own situation to see hers clearly. All I know is that I wish too much, and hope too much. For both of us. Yet, I know that last night was the best night of my week, possibly longer, and that feeling, can’t be wrong. So I’m going to take my own advice.

I’m sorry. I accept that it may never be the same again, but that’s not going to stop me from feeling what I feel, and fighting like hell that ‘not the same’ is Even Better.

Carissa the Weary.

Not to belittle my gender, and yes, I’m lumping myself squarely in there with the rest of them. Women can be absolutely INSANE. I’ve seen women do some of the most conniving, underhanded, shiesty, sneaky, downright cruel things to others all over some misguided notion of ‘love’ or (in most cases) blind lust. Most of them don’t even know they’re doing it. Some do it deliberately. For instance, I have a girlfriend who, when in a supposed “monogamous” relationship, found her lover in a certain compromising position with another gal pal, (I think the exact position is on page 178 of the Karma Sutra, for those who want to look it up) didn’t break up with her lover. She allowed him to remain in her life and in her bed, simply for the express purpose of punishing him later. She bided her time, waited for the moment he relaxed into the relationship again…then shredded his clothes, dumped them on the lawn, melted his CDs and DVDs in the garage with a propane torch, (actually made an impressive art peice) and repainted his car with bright green house paint. On one hand, I have to applaud her actions, but I seriously disrespect her timing. The moment for that kind of revenge was the moment of discovery, not a year later.

 A guy friend of mine is having issues with a girl who keeps jerking him back and forth over the ‘relationship’ coals. This guy is almost perfect boyfriend material. He’s honest, charming, treats her like gold, takes care of her, (and yes, he’s hot) not to mention he is emotionally open and ready for a committed relationship with her. Yet, she keeps raking him because she just can’t get it through her skull that he’s not going to put up with her back and forth emotional ping-pong forever. Then she wants to cry about it. Boo freakin hoo.

I myself, cannot take compliment graciously to save my freaking life. Yet heaven forbid my boys or my sweetie don’t notice I’ve lost another 10lbs. I simply MUST point it out and wait for them to tell me to go buy more clothes, because it makes me feel good. If they tell me I look pretty, I tell them the bullshit is getting deep, but them telling me to go buy pants that don’t fall off my ass makes me feel good. Totally crazy. And totally female.  

Have you ever looked at a gal pal and wondered, “Why don’t you just grow a pair, put on your big girl-panties, and get over it?!”. Well, they don’t, because women are prone to insanity. Hence the reason I applaud lesbians. Putting ONE woman in a relationship is trouble enough, mixing two in there? Now THAT’S certifiable. Or heroic. You decide.

Blush, mascara, concealer, powder
must apply them all so thickly
to hide the lines, the dark circles
of life
Put on the face to face the audience

Review the script
run the blocking, hit the marks in your mind
memorize the inflection of each word
get the tone and tenor-just so-
so that the crowd falls into the farce

Stitch the skirt, press the shirt
cinch the belt tight, contain the bulge
so the flaws don’t show
shove feet into shoes that leave no prints on the stage

Time to give the crowd
what they crave
Start the show again
Show them all of the you that they want to see
never never let them see
what’s behind the painted smile

Let them clap
collect the roses
bow to the “brava!”s and “bravisimo!”s

Alone in your dressing room
when the throngs have gone
may you strip bare and cry
mourn for the one you hide each day
as you give the world all they ask of you.

1. Where HAVE you been lately?Short answer?
Working and taking care of other…stuff. Between twelve hours at work, which means I’m outta the house for over fourteen a day when I work and other stuff, I haven’t had much comp time. Granted, I only sleep on average 4-5 a night, so that leaves me between four and five hours awake to burn, but I try to spend some time with my family, my boys, and my sweetie.

2. What’s up with the hair?
I cut it. See previous blog about donating it to Locks of Love. I also dyed it, because I fucking CAN. You like? Great. You don’t? Great. Bottom line is that I like it. So…there.

3. How are you handling life after divorce?
Most days I give it five outta four stars! Then there are the days that something will cause me to revert to previous head space, and I need to go hug someone who is safe to me. Those days are getting less frequent though. So, I’d have to say, I’m handling life after divorce just as swimmingly as I would any other life. As best I can.

4. Why are diamonds a girl’s best friend? *asked by Robbie*
I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never been fond of them much myself. They are cold, unappealing, colourless rocks to me. I’d rather have a nice emerald, onyx, garnet, pearl, or sapphire. Something with warmth. I think the expression of ‘girl’s best friend’ though, can be attributed to a woman’s desire to have some tangible representation of permanence in love. Hence the reason engagement and wedding bands are traditionally diamond adorned. Since diamonds cannot be destroyed except by another diamond, even by the ravages of time, they are quite symbolic. (the only way your marriage/relationship can be destroyed is by yet another one) Then again, that’s just my take on it, and it kinda makes women look a bit shallow. *shrug* I just don’t like them much. There go some more points off my ‘girl card’.

5. Why are men obsessed with boobs? *asked by Ian*
Why do I always get these questions? Ok, nearest I can tell, in my extensive and exhaustive research…*rolling eyes* men are obsessed with boobs simply because of the challenge involved in getting their hands on a pair. Men don’t have boobs. *some have manboobs, but that’s another blog* So getting their hands on a pair to play with, either temporarily or with the regular, is a challenge. It takes skill. Charm, wit, not a lack of planning, and considerable luck. Women, however sexually inclined, have their own pair. So playing with another set…not so much of a thrill.

6. Do monkeys have opposable thumbs? *asked by Rich*
Yes and no. I know, that’s a complicated answer. Let me expound. The opposable thumb is defined as “able to oppose, or turn back against the other fingers”. Now: Gorillas, Chimpanzees, and some lesser apes have this ability. *as do opossums, koalas, and the Giant Panda*, but alas, most true MONKEYS, do not. Some Old World Monkeys do…but they are largely extinct. And I only had to look up the Giant Panda part. Sweet!

7. Which LV is your favorite?
The Amazon is my favorite. Granted, Leroy, Muffy, Yenta; they all have their high points. All very helpful in certain situations, but word for word, I have to say that the Amazon has the most influence on me. I can feel her pacing in her cage at the end of a long day, just waiting for that one person or event to set me off enough to let her out to play. I can feel her sleeping soundly in her corner at the end of a good one, content to play another day. She’s ever present, and omniscient. The other LVs? They are pretty much in their own little worlds, only brought up when needed, but the Amazon is always there…waiting.

8. Which boob is bigger?
The left one. She says hi.

9. Most fucked up thing you ever saw? *asked by Mag*
My own reflection as I realized that I had to either get out, or die trying. My faced looked like a distortion of relief, shock, fear, and strangely…hope. The fucked up part is that no face should ever have to look like that. No one. It sickens me that I did.

10. Worst movie ever?
Rest Stop. It was SUPPOSED to be this great horror flick about a couple that stops at a rest stop on a road trip and slash and dash ensues…but no. It has a disjointed plot, and introduces a secondary plot that has NO basis in the ‘movie’ reality whatsoever, and it ends on a cliffhanger that left me…not angry, as cliffhangers tend to do…but glad. Glad that the movie was FINALLY fucking OVER.

11. Why do we park in the driveway and drive in the parkway? *the next few were asked by Eric. He’s curious like that.*
I have no idea. I actually have to fall back on my tried and true sarcasm bit here. I’m thinking it’s a severe bastardization of the English language.

12. What household item do you skimp on?
LMAO, what household item DON’T I skimp on? I live with my folks, so I don’t purchase many of the ‘household’ items. When I was doing that kind of thing, the one item I tended to put off until the last minute was paper towels. I never could understand the purchase of wasteful paper products when washing a real towel was just as easy and so much better for the environment. The EED loved the things though, so I did buy them. In bulk. But I tended to ‘forget’ them a lot…

13. What is your favorite flavor of Jell-O?
Ew. I hate Jell-O. If I ever contract some horrid stomach bug, and am put on a clear liquid diet at the hospital. (which means all I get to eat is broth, popsicles, and Jell-O), I’m going to be stuck with broth and popsicles. I know, I know, Jell-O is supposed to be SOOO tasty and comes in SOOO many flavors; I couldn’t possibly have tired them all, right? You’re wrong. I hate the texture, the smell, even the colour of all the flavors. It really is the mouth feel that gets to me though. I just can’t STAND the way it feels in my mouth. It’s slimy. If I don’t like it, it’s just not going in my mouth. End of story. However, I have been known to suck down a few Jell-O SHOTS. Something about putting liquor in the Jell-O changes the consistency. Then I only like the lemon-lime flavor. And I have to be very very careful about how many I consume. A drunk Carissa is not a good thing. Ask anyone who’s experienced it.

14. If you were trapped on a deserted island, which voice would you eat first?
Good one. I’d probably eat Muffy first. She annoys me the most, and would be the least useful. Shopping and boys are NOT two things I’m likely to encounter as ‘lifesaving’ skills necessary on a deserted island. Leroy has brute strength and lots of street smarts. Yenta has life experience, cooking skills, and is a Holocaust survivor, she can help out. The Amazon is an AMAZON. Those three are SO going to get me out alive. Muffy? Not so much. Bitch has gots to go. Girl Card not going to help much there.

15. Describe your perfect date.
Not really a question; but it intrigues me. Ok, I could just blow this one off, give a smarcastic answer like “has already happened” but…honesty is the policy here, so: the perfect date to me, would be a complete surprise. No planning on my part involved. I just want to be told: “Be ready at 5, wear something casual.” (or dressy if the plans call for it) Or, “Pack a bag for the night.” The “date” would pick me up, (or rather, I would pick HIM up, as I have this thing about driving) and we would go somewhere I had no idea we were going to be, do something I had no idea we were going to do, and just spend some time together. The events aren’t important, but the time is. Oh and there must be lots and lots of touching. J I’m all about the touching. Hand holding, his hand at the small of my back, in my hair, wherever. It’s even better when it’s in public, because it tells me he’s not afraid to show he’s with me. Now, if we’re talking ‘1^{st date’…then the touching isn’t as important, and actually, should be kept to a minimum. I do have SOME standards. But a date with my sweetie right now? Oh yeah, lots of touching is a must. I can’t help it, I crave the contact. It helps that I can’t seem to keep my hands off the man!}

^{Bonus/ last minute question!Do you regret your marrige?
To ask that assumes that I would ever regret something I learned from. From my marrige I learned that I am stronger than ANYONE (espically myself) ever thought I could be. I learned what I DON’T want in a relationship. I learned what it really takes to make a partnership work. I also learned that family and friends are more valuable than any treasure on the planet and not to take them for granted. That when push came to shove, I am capable of making the right choice. That I could survive the worst thing anyone could ever imagine. So no, I do NOT regret my marriage at all. It was the right decision for my life at that time. I won’t divilge all the details of that decision; as even 6 years later, those details could still hurt those I love, but suffice it to say, there are no regrets there. The only regrets I have in my life are hurting those that I love, and that’s something that I struggle with every day to make better. I can’t fix it all, but I can damn sure try.}

I invited My Boys, (Ian and Robbie) The Slappahoes,(Heather and Alex, and their hubbies, Chris and Josh, respectively) and of course, The Sweetie, out to Fisher’s Landing for an evening of drinking, s’mores, and one HUGE bonfire.

The evening did not go exactly as planned, but I do have to mention, that this is not exactly a bad thing. The evening was even better. We had all planned to meet at 8, but life got in the way, and all the players didn’t arrive until 9. Oh well, that gave those of us that were there at 8 a chance to wander around a bit and scope out some driftwood for the fire…and get started on the drinking. Ok, if I’m going to be honest about it, it gave ME a chance to get started on MY drinking. This will come back to play later in the story. At nine, THE BOYS finally arrive and the party gets into full swing.

Chris and Josh build the bonfire up with the quickness and we all make a round of toasts along the lines of “Ding Dong, the Douche Be Gone”.  Those of you who are easily grossed out by ‘romancey type’ stuff, skip down to the **. I have to share one toast with you. The sweetest thing I’ve ever heard came outta my Sweetie’s mouth that night. (Other than the “I love you” thing, DUH) He said “Here’s to the best revenge ever. He doesn’t have her anymore.” I nearly melted on the spot. Total puddle o’ happy sappy goo. Naturally, my immediate reaction was to drink heavily because I don’t do ‘emo’ time well, but, oh yeah, he got thanked later. Lots.

**End of ‘Skip Point’.  As the night progressed, I began dragging out all those little remainders of my ‘marriage’ that had been left in my house. Wedding/old photos, a copy of my marriage license, (can’t burn the original, dangnabbit) my old journal, and some other odds and ends. Needless to say, we all had a grand laugh at some of the stories behind the old photos, and destroying some of the odds and ends was…therapeutic to say the least.  

Then came the part of the party that I had to be told about the next day because I just don’t remember much of it. You see, I had been drinking these really great mixed drinks that The Boys had made. I don’t know what was in them, but let’s just say that they were a BIT stronger than I’m used to, and they made a ‘repeat appearance’, twice, on the ground at my feet during that time. Apparently I revealed quite a bit about my marriage that I wasn’t expecting to reveal! Thank god I had this party amongst friends I know and love and can trust with my very life. Trusting them with a few secrets is no big feat.

After waking up the next morning at the Sweetie’s pad, (and no, I did NOT drive. No one leaves a party I’m throwing without a Designated Driver. Drinking and driving is a big ball of stupid. There is no such thing as ‘hey, I only had a few, I’m good.’ One is too many.) my stomach decided to abandon ship AGAIN, and I promptly decided that I am cured. Freedom tastes a bit like ass, but ya know what? It also tastes a bit like heaven.

Yenta: Language, you ape! Yes, Bubbie is rid of dat horrible man for the legal ways, but she still haf to keep eyes in her back of head.

Muffy: OMG, I know, right? I nearly DIED when they called his name in court and all looked around for him like he was gonna show up and all! As if he could care LESS about the divorce? I mean COME ON! The douche couldn’t even be bothered to return a phone call, one of those summons thingies, certified letter, blah blah blah. Like he’s going to have driven his tushie all the way to NC just to raise a ruckus? SOOOO not.

True, but he always say he never let Bubbie divorce him, he just make wit da shoot. “Much less trouble to just kill you” he say. All da time he say dat. I tell you true I fear for Bubbie all morning till dat nice judge sign da papers.

I’d have liked to have seen his ass show up in court. Oh yeah, that bailiff with the big piece woulda made NICE work of his sorry ass. You can bet on it.

GUYS! Can I get a word in!

Sorry Bubbie. We just so happy for you.

Dayum, Female. We’z just kinda happy for your ass, ya feel me?

Yeah, I get that, but you’re confusing the rest of the world, they don’t have the update yet.

Sorry Sweetie! We’ll shut up. Kinda. Well, after what I just said anyway. And what I’m saying now….Yeah.

Thanks.

So as you readers have probably guessed, the divorce is final! As of 10am yesterday, I am free. It wasn’t easy, as I found out TWO minutes BEFORE I had to take the stand, that not only was I the only person in the damn court that day who’s divorce was going to be complicated, but I was also going to have to testify. Yeah, I had to take the stand and tell the nice Judge that yes, I have tried to, *REPEATEDLY* find his sorry ass and tell him that since he dropped the ball and didn’t file for divorce like he said he would, I was going to. Then the court got a nice laugh when I answered the question of, “To your knowledge, do you or *insert Ex ElDouchebag’s name here* have any physical or mental defects or disabilities?” with, “Well, I don’t know about HIM, but I don’t.” Hey, I swore on a BIBLE to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth to the best of my ability. That answer is the best I had. The Judge even chuckled a bit at that one. So ten minutes later, The Judge signed off on the divorce, and I walked out of the courtroom smiling. Shaking a bit, because yeah, I was terrified. Yenta had a point up there. EED always swore he’d kill me before he’d let me divorce him, but I was smiling. I went immediately to the Social Security office and got a new card with my now-legal maiden name back, then to the DMV and now have a shiny new licence! Today I went to work, *on my day off, no less!* and changed my name on all my paperwork THERE too. Not that I’m at all eager to have my maiden name back in full or anything…no…not me…not at all…

Last night, my boys and my sweetie, all indulged me with a couple of congratulatory shots, many hugs, and even more kudos. I’ll probably throw a ‘ding, dong, the douche is dead’ party later on next week, but last night, the pre-party was just perfect. Thanks guys. Right now, I’m taking my happy, and very very divorced tushie to bed where it belongs!

I remember.

Muffy had way too much free time, so I’m blaming her for most of it. Enjoy!

(look on the left side of the screen, scroll down to the “Pages” section. Locate the “Dating Carissa” link. Click on it. Gooooood Job!)

In other news. Some of you may remember a blog I posted a few days ago on my LV site titled “Mike Story Time”. *If you don’t know it, GO READ IT YOU FOOLS!* Just by happenstance, I actually had a very long conversation with Mike himself over AIM last night. It was thrilling to catch up with that crazy Mo’Fo’ again. It had been over 4 years since the last time I talked to him. How insane is that?! But we picked back up again like it had only been 4 minutes. I love having friends like that. Some people come into your life, and they just leave such and impression, that your soul remembers theirs no matter what. No matter how much time has passed, when you DO reunite, it’s like you just click again. I can count those friends of mine and run out of fingers, and I’m proud of that. I don’t think it has anything to do with who I am, I think it says a lot about you all. I’ve said it before, and I will continue to do so, I have the most amazing friends and family on the planet. I wouldn’t trade any of you for your weight in gold. (and have you SEEN the price of gold nowadays?!)

On a more personal note: I got called a whore the other day. Not by anyone who matters, mind you. True, it was by someone who has actually slept with me, so it is kinda ironic.(wouldn’t that make him a ‘whore fucker’?) LOL He wasn’t joking. Now, I can take a joke, I can even call myself such, as I think any woman who takes dinner and a movie as payment for ’services’ is kind of a whore without the cash, but he was TRYING to insult me. I think laughing in his interweb face was kinda mean and catty of me, but I digress. He called me such because I won’t sleep with him again NOW. (This was 7 years ago that I did in the first place) Not my best moment in history, I’ll admit, but dude, when did NOT fucking someone earn you whore status? I mean, the US dollar is worth LESS than the Japanese Yen, A porn star is governor of a state, phat means cool, which is hot, and saying ‘no’ makes you a whore? I’m so confused!! So after promptly pointing out the error in that logic, I deleted his little tushie from my contact list and proceeded to move on with my night. But the convo DID get me thinking…

What does define whore status? Is it a state of mind, or a lack thereof? To me, it’s the lack. When you remove the choice from the scenario, and are sleeping with someone JUST to be sleeping with someone, that’s whory. When you’re making a choice to have sex because you want to have sex WITH that person, by all means, to each their own. It’s a fine line, but it makes a huge difference. At least, it does to me. *as Leroy is cheering me on, and Yenta is mentally smacking me for even using the word ‘whore’ so many times*

Carissa the Befuddled ]]> http://www.outcastmultimedia.com/littlevoices/2008/06/16/spawn-mike-and-the-lvs/feed/ 2 http://www.outcastmultimedia.com/littlevoices/2008/06/06/mike-story-time/ http://www.outcastmultimedia.com/littlevoices/2008/06/06/mike-story-time/#comments Fri, 06 Jun 2008 13:01:22 +0000 Carissa http://www.outcastmultimedia.com/littlevoices/2008/06/06/mike-story-time/ I was going through some old documents of mine on a REALLY old PC hardrive, and stumbeled across this gem of a conversation I had with Mike. Mike is a friend from my ECU days. Mike is an awesome dude, and this convo took place late one night over AIM when I couldn’t sleep and Mike was kind enough to indulge me with a bit of a story. The people mentioned do exist, but their personality traits are completely exaggerated. The misspelling of my name is deliberate and a pun on the way my old roommate used to say it when she was drunk. She tended to drop syllables here and there. *rolling eyes* Enjoy!
firefingers10: Sup hommie?
Unshun2001: Hey, girl
firefingers10: How you livin?
Unshun2001: What you up to?
firefingers10: I’m bored as hell.
Unshun2001:I’m livin’ aight for now
firefingers10: LOL
firefingers10: I need to be asleep, but I’m not.
firefingers10: Tell me a bedtime story?
Unshun2001: What kind of a story are you up for?
firefingers10: A good one with a happy ending.
Unshun2001: ONCE UPON A TIME
Unshun2001: There was a special planet where it was nice and sunny year-round
Unshun2001: people were nice to each other, and drinks were always on the house
firefingers10: OOo this is going to be good, I can tell.
Unshun2001:This place was called Goodland, and all of its inhabitants were Goody products
Unshun2001: like combs and other randomness
Unshun2001: And they were happy in their plastic existence
firefingers10: oooo plastic@!
Unshun2001: but one day….
Unshun2001: they noticed that the part of their race that was chipping its teeth and losing its caps was not being replenished
Unshun2001: Not to mention, drinks weren’t free anymore
Unshun2001: the Goodies had no idea what was going on, so they called a town meeting
Unshun2001:Chief Masta “G” decided that it would be necessary to investigate further
Unshun2001: two of the bravest Goodies were selected to travel to planet Earth to see what was going wrong with Goody production
firefingers10: ooooo hope it turns out alright!
Unshun2001: these two…
Unshun2001: none other than Fred Bowen and Cap
firefingers10: Fred and Cap!
firefingers10: Heroes!~!!!!
Unshun2001:Fred Bowen with an amazing gumby-like power to flail every which way and confuse people with his slow, drawn-out rhetoric
Unshun2001:Cap, with the ability to blend in with weasils and scare the living shit out of people
Unshun2001: and sometimes, do both… at the same time!!!!
firefingers10: wow….
Unshun2001: They hopped aboard their plastic craft and headed off
Unshun2001: Years later, they were unfrozen
Unshun2001:they pulled a time freeze biatch like Sigourney Weaver did in Alien
firefingers10: I love that movie!
firefingers10: Wow!
Unshun2001: Only the most special person ever could thaw them out…
Unshun2001:Car’ssA
Unshun2001: So she went with her assistant, Jesus Brian
firefingers10: Awwww!~ I’m in the story!
firefingers10: Fluffy!
Unshun2001:Since she had the powers of Burger King at her disposal, she decided that the tradtional thaw wasn’t happening
Unshun2001: and instead… deep fried and microwaved those pieces
firefingers10: Wow.
firefingers10: c’rissA rocks.
Unshun2001:The Goodies told Car’ssA of the troubles on their planet, and suddenly she realized why her goldie locks that kept her warm in winter had been extra Bob-Marleyish
Unshun2001: NO NEW COMBS…
Unshun2001: Well, that wasn’t about to happen
Unshun2001:nosireeBOB!!!
firefingers10: no way!
Unshun2001: Jesus Brian agreed, because, well, that’s usually what he does
firefingers10: Good sidekick.
Unshun2001: They darted straight for the Goody factories
Unshun2001: Landing at the most sophisticated, they immediately began questioning the Harlem residents
firefingers10: ooo natives!~
Unshun2001: They began explaining that they had been running the rich white man’s America for years and years without respect or raises
Unshun2001: so they just decided to go postal
firefingers10: oooo tension mounting!
Unshun2001: Fred Bowen got them all around him on a carpet, kind of like in Death to Smoochy, to tell them a helpful story
Unshun2001: He began in citing Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance
Unshun2001:his tale was long, arduous, and full of big words and dirtay south attitude
firefingers10: ooooo story time with Fred!
Unshun2001: he explained that it was wrong that these atrocities had occurred
Unshun2001:but that once upon a time, Car’ssA wouldn’t date him, and so… life doesn’t always work out the way you want it to
firefingers10: awww….
Unshun2001: The Harlem peeps didn’t really get it on the first time around
Unshun2001: then Fred decided to entertain them
Unshun2001: He told them a story of a time when he worked with Front Porch Productions and all of them gathered weekly in an attempt to create an awesome show
firefingers10: oooo he’s showing iniciative!
Unshun2001:about high school proms, virgin sluts, omniscient black guys, and all that shiat
Unshun2001: and how he was going to write the script based on all the others’ ideas
Unshun2001: but in the shadows of the room, Cap was growing weary
Unshun2001: and he was thinking it was time to unleash the fury and straight up bust some aspirin
firefingers10: asprin!
Unshun2001: So he went straight psycho on the mothers and made them take his advanced acting classes
firefingers10: ooooo the nemisis of all students!
Unshun2001:Several months later, the Harlemites knew the meaning of pain
Unshun2001: and they knew that life wasn’t fair, and that not all people were there to help them out
Unshun2001: their hearts grew three times that day
Unshun2001: though I don’t know why.
firefingers10: wow, growing body parts!
Unshun2001: So they figured out that someone would always be there to do that job, but if it made them miserable, then they needed to find a new job
Unshun2001: so maybe all the problems of the world weren’t fixed, but it was a start
Unshun2001: maybe the white man will taste boot one day
Unshun2001: but we don’t know
Unshun2001: and in fact, the Goodies don’t mind much
firefingers10: Ooo what happened to the Goodies home world?
Unshun2001:because the drinks were never free again on Goodyland again
Unshun2001: but they got something a lot better than free drinks
firefingers10: ooo ooo ooo what?
Unshun2001: production went up 40%
Unshun2001:and on top of that, they got to take Car’ssA back home with them, and that is the most joyous thing of all
Unshun2001: as a matter of fact, they all agree, it’s better than sex.
firefingers10: LOL I love this story!
Unshun2001: And I suppose you’re wondering what happened to Fred Bowen….
firefingers10: Did he ever get over not dating Car’ssA?
Unshun2001: Well, just as they were about to return home, Fred decided that maybe he didn’t fit in… he was still bitter
Unshun2001: he thought that maybe he needed a new home altogether
Unshun2001:but he never did find out where Gumby lived
firefingers10: Gumbe eloped with pokey, DUH.
Unshun2001:but… he was sitting on the shore one day, reminiscing, thinking about shizznit, meditating, daydreaming, and stuff like that
Unshun2001: and all of a sudden, King Triton came out of the water and turned him into a Mermaid
Unshun2001: and wouldn’t you know
Unshun2001:that lucky muthafucka got to chill out UNDA THE SEA for the rest of his days, and it was beautiful
firefingers10: awww…fins!
Unshun2001: and, oh yeah…
Unshun2001: he got to hit on Ariel
Unshun2001: WHO WOULDN’T WANT A PIECE OF THAT
firefingers10: That’s one tasty fishy bitch. I must agree.
Unshun2001: So all in all, everything worked out, and everyone lived fairly happily
firefingers10: That rocks.
firefingers10: Nice story!
firefingers10: You soooo should write that shit down.
firefingers10: I’m going to have to save this convo.

I was there.

Many congrats are due to all involved in making Singularity such a huge success! If you weren’t there, you just don’t matter. It was THAT huge. This event may go down in the annals of history as one of those ‘I remember where I was when’ moments akin to knowing where you were when Indy first donned his fedora, when Heston dammed those dirty apes, when the bank was first lit afire. This was the moment when Earl Newton not only debuted Episode 4 of Stranger Things, “The Latchkeepers”, but also when he CLIFFHANGERED us between acts two and three only to shock us all with the news that… Wait.

I was having the hardest time trying to figure out who was going to take the lead in recounting the events of that night; Carissa the fan, Carissa the former director, or Carissa the groupie-blogger. The three aspects of my personality all had different views of the people/events involved. For example: the fan in me was majorly impressed with some of the actors and crew on set, the director in me was itching to make changes in blocking and give notes (sorry, Earl!), and the groupie blogger thought their behavior was funny as hell (make-up artists are great people). Keep in mind; all three of these reactions happened in my head simultaneously. Do you see my problem now? So I decided to write this blog from all three perspectives, blending them as I see fit, and giving the different views as needed. Sorry to disappoint those of you who are reading for ST spoilers, you won’t get any here. I’m too much a professional theatre girl for that. You shall get nothing from me, (even upon threat of torture), that Earl does not want you to get! For the most up-to-date info on Episode 4 of Stranger Things, visit www.strangerthings.tv 

The Arrival: I was only on the set as arm candy to Podcasting’s Rich Sigfrit, (hereto after referred to as ‘the BF’, it’s easier to type), and as an extra pair of hands for clean up after the shoot finished that night. I know this. I accepted my role on the drive out to the set. *Two and a half hours later…* So I’m going to check my ego, and admit that I have been out of the business of theater and film for quite awhile now and I could be REALLY wrong about some of my first impressions. (Keep in mind: my opinion is my opinion and in no way reflects the opinion of the masses. Disclaimer over.) Then again, the director in me has always had great instincts about cast and crew; so I don’t think I’m wrong when I say that my first impression of the ST set was total organized anarchy. In a good way. First thing I see on the set is Earl, gesturing emphatically with his hands for applause in sign language because he is pleased with an actor’s performance. Earl is not deaf, but used to be an interpreter. Earl cuts the scene, walks over exchanges quick hellos with the BF and I, and then he’s off to continue filming. The BF begins introducing me around, while recording isn’t happening, and catching up with the people he knows on the set. Meanwhile: I’m getting lots of: “who is this and why is she here?” looks. Not in a snobby way, which surprised me, but in a questioning way. I can understand that. The BF and I arrived late, and while the BF was recognized, and welcomed heartily, I was so very obviously out of place it screamed ‘Anomaly! Anomaly! Shuuuuuuun!’ Yet I wasn’t shunned. There were some probing questions, which is to be expected around actors. You can’t know if you don’t ask. *rolling eyes, oh how cocky! LOL* And one who immediately ceased speaking to me once finding out that I was nothing but ‘the help’ and ‘a girlfriend’, but on the flip-side of that coin: Some of the crew and the cast was so welcoming and polite I almost reconsidered my decision to get out of the business. I kid you not. While we were on set, the temperature dropped about 20 degrees. I was barefoot (my shoes were REALLY loud and I didn’t want to interfere with audio) and had the sleeves of my button-down shirt rolled up past my elbows because 40 degree nights in NC feel GOOD to me. I can’t count the number of people who asked if I was cold, offered me a jacket, and just generally inquired as to my mental health. That surprised me. It was very sweet. (And yes, the BF did the gentlemanly thing and offered me his coat too, but I was comfy. Deal with my weirdness.) 

The Process: In between bull sessions with the Make-up artist, several of the actors, and the set crew: I did what the groupie-blogger in me does best: I observed. Watching the filming was an exercise in control for the director in me. I wanted to crow when the actors did a great job, and smack them for petty squabbles. Earl’s directing style is similar to what mine used to be, so I didn’t have to actually FIGHT those urges much, as once I had them, Earl was saying it better than I ever could, and fixing problems in more creative ways than I had thought of. I was rather impressed with both his ability to listen to his crew and value their opinions, and still keep his “Director” hat on. It’s a fine line to walk, and he did it well. It may seem as if I’m stroking his ego a bit, and granted, he is a friend, but I respect him as a director. That takes a lot to get from me. Those of you who knew me in that aspect can nod and smile now.  

The Players: The grand majority of the people on set were way too busy to really engage with. Those that I did get to spend some time talking with, while gathered around the food service table, (if you’re looking for someone to talk to on-set, no matter how big or small the production: Find the food.) were rather awesome people. Conversation ranged from job experience *both in the business and out* to weight loss, to child care and the best way to build a wallet out of duck tape. *guess which one I had the most input on?* However, I was most impressed with watching a certain actor replay one scene over and over again. Unfortunately, he had to give his lines many times that night, as the scene that was being shot had several angles and actors in it, and this poor Cherub never wavered in intensity. He delivered time and time again without complaint. I call him Cherub because he really does resemble a stereotypical cherub on a greeting card. He kept up his character through take after take and I didn’t see Earl have to remind him about his emotional commitment to the role or his fervor once. Not to mention I didn’t see him complain about being cold, the long shoot, being on his feet for so long, nada. I can see some of you starting to ponder why I’m so impressed with Cherub. This behavior seems like nothing more than a professional actor doing his job on the set, right? Oh, did I not mention that this actor happens to be a scant 14 years old? I’ve worked with ADULTS; nay, supposed ‘professionals’ who didn’t have that kind of chops. And I made sure to tell him so that night. Kudos, Cherub. 

The Aftermath: Wrapping up the shoot was more exhaustive and actually, almost more fun than the shoot itself. It reminded me of ‘Strike Day’ back in my theater days. (Memory from Catsnow playing as background music in my head) All those years of playing Tetris really comes in handy when trying to get loads of equipment into ONE large van. The crew, the BF, Earl, and other random ‘hands’ really pulled it off in less time than I imagined though. I think we all did a spectacular job. We won’t talk about the MASSIVE bruise on my shin from the set of lights my dumb-butt self rammed into though. No. We won’t mention that at all… The best part of the whole experience was getting to spend some time just talking and laughing with the BF and Earl at a local late night diner over a plate of hash browns, and finding out that sleeping two people to a hotel ‘twin’ bed is an adventure in creative sleep-yoga! All in all, it was an exhaustive 36 hour trip, but it was worth it. I haven’t decided to get back into the business, as my reasons for getting out of it still stand; but it’s nice to be around it every once in awhile. Thanks again to the cast and crew of Stranger Things, I had a wonderful time and am really looking forward to seeing the final product!

Now, I know some of you are jumping up in indignation over my spelling of Duck with a ‘k’ rather than a ‘t’. However, duck tape, at its’ conception, was spelled with a k and I intend to stick to that spelling no matter WHAT it is now more conventionally used for, thank you VERY much. You can tape your duct work all you want with it, I shall continue to let my tape quack.

Those of you who have met me and my gaggle of voices (and aren’t you just BLESSED?!) know that I have a love; nay, an obsession, with all things Duck Tape. In High School, I sported a rather stylish DT wallet. The bottom of my purse today? It’s lined with with DT. I keep a roll of it around the gear shift of my car JUST in case I’m in a wreck. I know the DT will save my life. (I’ve even pregamed the best way to make an emergency life-vest in the event of a water landing) I Do NOT travel without it. If they ever ban DT from air travel, I’m going to have to go into debt to see my relatives in Nevada because I’m going to be driving out there to visit. My entire theatre department in High School would not have existed without the dozens of rolls of DT we sacrificed to the prop gods. The running gag in my family is, “It’s not broken, Carissa just hasn’t put DT on it yet!”. For Mother’s Day last year, I made my mother a lovely bouquet of DT miniature roses. How cute is that?! Do you get what I’m trying to say here? Me and DT: The love is real, and it’s deep.

You see, the brilliance of DT lies in it’s trifecta of engineering. The adhesive blends perfectly with it’s fibrous middle layer which flows so smoothly to that shiny, distinctive outer shell that just screams, “This is DT people! Don’t even TRY to dismantle me! I am stuck F-O-R-E-V-E-R!” I know what some of you are saying in your little pea-brained heads. “But Carissa, I hate the way it looks! DT is so ugly!” Shame on you! DT steel grey happens to be the most beautiful colour in the world, but for those of you namby pamby naysayers, guess what? DT comes in a WIDE variety of colours. The above mentioned roses? Yeah, I made those in BRIGHT red, with green stems and leaves. DT comes in every colour of the rainbow now and even in clear and other metallics. There are competitions at some High Schools to see who can make the coolest prom dress/tux combo out of DT. So I don’t want to hear that whiny excuse!

So what’s my point? Well, today I happened to be talking to a gentleman here on the ‘inter-web’ who *brace yourselves* said he *sniffle* hated Duck Tape. He said he didn’t understand the appeal of what he called “basically just really strong Scotch tape”. I nearly had a heart attack. I actually had to check my pulse. How dare he compare my beloved DT with *I shudder to put the two in the same SENTENCE* Scotch tape! So this is for you, DT downer inter-web guy, take your wanna-be tape and stuff it. I’m taking my DT and going to go save the Space Program, and quite possibly, the world!!

Writing at 3am is always the best time. Almost no one dares bug you. However, the telemarketer from Pakistan who called me in the middle of this opus whom I yelled at in French, um…sorry dude, you didn’t deserve to be called the son of a **** ******* *****. That was just Leroy talking. He gets moody. On with the show!

The Eyes Have It

I’ve seen a hurricane
blow fierce and passionate
only to die a sudden death
as the eye passes over
a calm
so still
pins don’t seem to drop
at all
but pause
midair
waiting
as if dead
the ferryman not paid to carry them
Then the winds pick up again suddenly with hate filled fury so strong no mortal dare stand in their wake

I’ve seen the sun warm frost laden fields
of clover
coaxing blooms to
unfurl
only to burn them to ash
by noon
with her zealous rays

I swam the span of a lake
once
so clear
I could see the log-littered bottom
fifty meters below my toes
yet when I plunged just ten feet down
a current took me so swift
it stole the breath from my lungs
and felt as if it would
wrench
my soul
from my heart

I knew a man so handsome
enchanted frogs gave up the kissing game on sight
He knew his lines
delivered them well
and kept up the façade
yet when the scenery crumbled
and the costumes and makeup
washed away
the monster
appeared in his place
at center stage
and blow by bloody blow
he decimated the princess
without conscious thought

Yet I’ve seen the weak
rise
to help those thought strong.
I’ve seen the meek
shout
to defend the helpless.
I’ve witnessed the arrogant
cowed
by the most humble.

The squall, the sun, the lake, the man;
they are wilds
that cannot be tamed.

The weak, the meek, the humble…

My hope.

In the past 18months, I have lost over 100 pounds. Yep. For those of you keeping track, that’s 20 more pounds than an Olsen Twin. That’s almost a BackStreet Boy. That’s two, *count ‘em* TWO large bags of dog food, ten bags of kitty litter, or almost 80 pairs of Jimmy Choos. (I have shoes on the brain lately. I’m blaming Muffy, she’s having shopping cravings) I was talking to a new friend just yesterday about some of the coolest things I’ve noticed now that I’ve got this ‘new’ body. Some of them, like fitting into old clothing from college, are obvious, but some are so obscure that most of you ‘average’ or ’skinny’ people would never even think of them. So I decided to list them. You may consider some of it bragging, and you may consider some of it so mundane that you’ll be bored to tears, but I’m happy about it, and if you don’t like it, in the words of Leroy “Kiss my glistening bald black butt while you’re back there!”

Some of the best things about being 100 lbs lighter

• Being able to walk across a crowded room without hurting people.

• Using a regular blood pressure cuff at the doctor’s office.

• Ordering a dessert at a restaurant without getting ‘the look’ from your waiter/waitress/other patrons.

• Buying regular width shoes.

• Seat belts in cars don’t lock if you adjust your arms.

• Someone assumed I played sports in High-School. ME?! Sports? WHA?

• Not worrying about breaking plastic lawn furniture.

• Taking a flight of stairs simply because the elevator was too darn slow, and the stairs were actually faster.

• Sitting in a booth with my boyfriend, and we both had elbow room to spare. (not that we used it, but it was there if we wanted it, and that’s the point. LOL)

• Hugging my friends and feeling their arms actually go AROUND me for the first time.

• Hearing someone call me “the pretty, tall one, in the corner” when describing me to someone who hadn’t met me.

• Doing a split for the first time in 10 years.

• Adjusting my bra straps DOWN a size in the back.

• Arguing with my girlpal over who the wolf-whistle was aimed at. And losing because it was aimed at me.

• Learning to accept compliments that aren’t false.

• Being able to look at catalogs and have the option of ordering from one because the sizes include ME now.

• Swimsuits no longer cause panic attacks.

• I don’t fear starting a fire if wearing corduroy pants.

• My hands are the only things that wave when I say hello and goodbye.

• I can wear my boyfriend’s jacket, and zip it up, and be warm.

• Only ONE chin to powder when applying makeup.

Some of you won’t understand half of those things, and some of you are smiling and nodding because you understand EXACTLY what I’m saying. Those of you who are in the SAME boat I was 18 months ago, and hating it, email me. I won’t recommend a weight loss plan for you, because I firmly believe that no person is going to lose weight until THEY are ready to do it. Nothing I say is going to change that, and what I did to lose weight isn’t going to work the same way for any other person on this planet. (because I can’t really pinpoint exactly WHAT the hell I did anyway) But I will be here for you. I will listen. I will slap the mess outta those people that ‘mean well’ when they give you all that ‘advice’… *groan*

And for those of you hating me at this moment: nyeh nyeh nyeh nyeh nyeh. Kiss my bald, shiny, white, skinny butt while you’re back there, if you can catch it. I’m going for a hike. I have the energy now.

“Catch ya later”—unless I’m talking to a trout, this makes NO sense.

“I can dig it”—again, unless you are actually HOLDING A SHOVEL, this makes no sense.

“Word, yo”–what word, and why is it half of a yo-yo?

“I hear you”—of course you heard me. Last time I checked, you weren’t deaf, and I was talking. Duh.

“I like her and all, but I don’t think…”—ok, you either like the person, or you don’t. If you’re going to make a bitchy comment, tell them. I don’t want to be responsible for the fall out if I’m talking to that person, they ask me what you said, and I have to lie. I suck at it, and I refuse to do it anymore.

“Ok, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but…”—If you’re not supposed to tell me, DON”T EFFING TELL ME. See previous statement about how much I SUCK at lying! Don’t get me wrong, I can keep a secret until the day I die, but I can’t just lie to someone I care about. I will be foreced to tell them “I know, but I can’t tell you a damn thing about it”.

“It’s not you, it’s me”—this statement has never been said with a straight face. Man up, *or woman up*, admit you don’t want to be with someone, and expect them to be an adult about it and move on.

“Get off my back!”—Um, I’m 5′10″ tall. Unless you are much much MUCH larger, there is no way in hell I was EVER on your back. The sheer physics of that are improbable.

“I love *insert name or pronoun here*, but I’m not IN love with them”—ok, this one KINDA makes sense, if we’re talking about a puppy. If you’re talking about a PERSON, you either love them, and want to be with them, or you don’t. There are different types of love, yes. I don’t love mom the same way I love a man, *cuz that’s just sick* but I don’t lie about it either. I either love you, or I don’t. End of story.

“That’s such a girl/guy thing”–when did activities/movies/books/whatever suddenly get a gender? I didn’t think that in the year 2007 things would still be divided by sex. I’m not going all femminazi on ya, I think it works just as cruelly on the guys. *if you like the movie Beaches, and happen to have a penis, who CARES?*

“Sorry, I’m just…”–RELAX people. Appologies are unnecessary at the begining of a statement. If you have a good reason for your behavior, great. Tell me, and we’ll all hug and get over it. If you don’t, I’ll tell you you’re being an ass, and we’ll all hug and get over it.

So, that’s all I could think of off the top of my head, because the day is young, feel free to comment with your own “Most overused, incorrect expression”. And please, don’t give me that “You’ve said that to me before!” bullshit. I know I’m guilty of saying some of these things. I acknowledge that I may even say them again. So get off my back! *see what I did there?LOL*

Carissa

For one day, every year
I am completely unreachable
in every sense of the word.

You can’t call me,
text me
Email me
or fax me.
Don’t try to visit my home,
or find me in any of my usual haunts.
I don’t wish to be found.

364 days a year
I am a completely, honestly, wonderfully, understandable,
open book.
If I can,
in any way possible,
be there for you, help you, talk to you, spend time with you, bend, twist, and mould my life for you,
I will.  
But not THIS day.

This is MY day.
My day to grieve
to howl
to cry
to laugh
to lie
to stare
to snort
to create
to skip
to jump
to play
to wallow
if I so choose
because it is my day.

I will gladly and freely give all of you
every iota of me that I have to give
364 days a year
because that is just who I am.

But this day,
I won’t.
I won’t tell you where I’m going.
I won’t tell you where I have been.
I will lie to your face if you dare to ask me.

I do promise to be safe.
But I won’t promise to be stagnant.
And I take my day alone.

One day. Just one, solitary day.
In a giant year,
is not too much to ask.
Call me selfish if you must.
Call me secretive.
Just don’t attempt to call me at all that day.
You’ll only get a dial tone.

Behind the door,
lies all that is me.
All my secrets.
All my worries.
All my lies, fears, dreams.

This door is my salvation!
It holds at bay
the petty thoughts
of jealousy and anger.
The raging hormones
of lust and greed.
The rampant desire
for revenge.

This door is my damnation!
It holds back
my never ending quest
to succeed at something…anything.
My yearning hope
for a tomorrow brighter than today.
My ferverent wish
to love like hurt doesn’t wait.

Behind that door
that solid oak, locked tight,
immoveable, impenetrable door,
is the scared me.
The wild me.
The brave me.
The me holding the axe, poised to strike.
Ready to tear the damn door apart.

As my family and friends will bemoaningly tell you, (should you care to ask) I have some…quirks, in my personality that make life with me…interesting. *yeah, we’ll go with interesting…yeah…* One of those little quirks is a strong propensity to telling the brutal truth. About everything. All the time. I just can’t help myself. Those little white lies people tell to make you feel better about yourself? Nope, can’t do it.
This has, at times, gotten me in some VERY hot water, but it has also saved my ass on occasion. Some friends and family think this quirk is awesome, and some think it’s my worst fault. Those that love it, love it because I can help them out. Want to know how your ass REALLY looks in those jeans? Ask Carissa. Got a ‘delicate’ problem, but need to know the honest solution? Ask Carissa. Absolutely need to know wither or not you’re just being a whiny git and need to get over it? OH for the love of all things HOLY, ASK CARISSA! Because I will tell you. I won’t be mean about it, I won’t condescend to you, and I will NEVER tell another living soul about it if you don’t want me to, but I will also, never never lie to you.
This also extends to myself. I refuse to ever lie to myself, about anything.
So when I tell you what I’m about to relate next, please understand that I am not being modest, self-depreciating, fishing for compliments, or even setting myself up for a joke. *for once, I’m NOT going for a gag* I’m just being as honest with myself as I would be with any of you. So here goes.

I’m not physically beautiful. I know this. I accepted it years ago, and actually, I’m really glad I’m not. It takes a load of pressure off of me, and has allowed me to develop my personality and character rather than my hair flipping technique. Honestly, pick 20 random women my age off the street, put them in a room with me, and have 100 random men rank us in order of appearance. NO way in hell I’m going to be in the top 5 on any of those men’s lists. Now, ask those same women to list their character traits, personality quirks, hobbies, interests, intelligence, etc. on a piece of paper, and have those same men pick who they want to date? OH, I am SOOO in the top five of that list. Every time. Maybe even the top ONE on several of them. I’m just that damn cool to date. Just ask my boyfriend.
That is why I’m so comfortable meeting men online, or through other friends.Because in those forums, my personality matters most. My brain power. Not the power of my boobs. *which are awesome as well, but hey, it’s not like I had any control over that*
A 6 year old called me pretty. Out of the frigging blue. It really got me thinking. It wasn’t just the 6yr old, because he was just one of many anomalous comments and events about my looks lately. Not one, but TWO men asked me out IRL. Then, just today at work, I got a phone call from an old friend, who just HAD to tell me about another friend of his who happened to see pictures of me online and wanted to know if I would be available for a date. And why I didn’t divorce “El Douche-bag” sooner and marry HIM! *I’m thinking that last bit was an exaggerated joke, but still, this is me with the shock* I’m busy looking around for the Candid Camera crew. This is SO not my life.
Granted, I’ve lost over 70 pounds in the last 9 months, but I’ve been much skinnier than this before, and have not had this kind of response from men. So I’m really confused. My mom posed the theory that maybe men, and the random 6 year old, are just picking up on how happy I am. I think this could be true. I mean, if Confidence is sexy, maybe Happy is pretty? Whatever is causing it, I like it, and I think I’m going to just roll with it. But if you see me look like a monkey doing a math problem after talking to a guy, just do me a favor, and slap me upside the head and tell me it’s going to be ok, there are no cameras. Breathe Carissa, BREATHE.
I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to take the word of a 6year old any day, because they are the most honest people on the planet. I’m pretty dammit, and I’m rocking it!

The assignment was to write an updated take on one of Chaucer’s tales. I chose the viewpoint of a heroin addict, as it was something I had a…unique perspective on at the time. (Breathe, Mom. BREATHE!) I dressed in some ratty jeans, combat boots, an old jacket of my dad’s that I rolled in the mud, rubbed lard in my shoulder-length hair, and applied some really nasty track marks to my arms with some very improvised make-up. I went all out on the make-up on my face too. Sunken cheeks and eyes, pale skin, the WORKS. I scared the bejesus out of my first three teachers. (Did I mention I wore this costume all day, and that this class wasn’t until my last period of the day? *evil evil grin*)

My friends from that class have since asked what happened to that piece of work, and I was rummaging in my theatre trunk the other day, and whaddya know, I kept it. Thank god one of my little voices is a tad bit obsessive compulsive. 

Addiction 

I’m not the kind of person you’d expect
to have arms filled with tracks.
My hair, once full and envied
now flat and dirty
My body aches, my head pounds
I see the pretty, pretty sounds!

My parents? Gone when I was 10.
Me a baby chickie, no mother hen.
Pain in my heart, pain in my head,
I’d do anything to keep the pain dead.

DON’T MESS WITH MY STASH!
Man…I need some cash…
Sell you a shiny trinket for some cash!
I just need enough cash, make my flow last.

Cuz you gotta keep that high going
keep it going strong.
That high always fades before too long.
Gotta get more gotta get more gotta get more
Don’t touch me! I ain’t your whore!

So what man, if my eyes are dull?
So what if they’ve sunken into my skull?
Who cares that I’m pale?

Maybe, maybe I’ll find an apple core in that garbage over there.
Yeah, the sugar keeps the Dragon in longer.
And the Dragon, he keeps away the hunger.

See, kids like me, we were “custody of the state”
Ya ask me, they were too little, too late.
See, the Dragon Keeper had done seen my Momma, and me.
He said, “I’ll ease your pain, for a fee. Give me your locket. That shiny bobble.
And I’ll show you love only my Dragon can give you.”
After that, using was nothing but that same old thing.

I started buying. Then mixing. Then selling on my own.
I sell to everyone. Don’t know who I’ll sell to next.
Pimps, whores, teachers, cabbies, preachers, doctors.
Hell, one day, a man who works for the MAYOR of our town,
says the Mayor have a great big frown.
So I sold him a big fat Dragon,
Keep him company.

Look at me, got the Mayor’s money.
Where will I go next?
Shit, who knows?
But for sure, you can find me and my Dragon,

Ridin’ the flow.

Carissa and the Gang

Rats: More Than Your Average Pest

            As a carnivorous human, I feel I know the taste and texture of animal meat well. I know when I’m eating cow, chicken, duck, pork, venison, and even rabbit. Yet, I feel that a serious aspect of meat is being ignored from the human diet; one that could solve vermin population problems and cure hunger in underdeveloped regions.

            Rats in New York and other such cities, as well as like vermin of the sort, have been known to reach sizes as large as 15 lbs. or more. Given that these creatures are so disproportionately large, they are likely to have larger amounts of edible flesh. Why not take advantage of their size and availability to feed our growing homeless and overpopulated ranks? ‘The most widely cited example of point in time estimate is the approximately 500,000 to 600,000 homeless found in shelters, eating in soup kitchens, or congregating in the streets during one week in 1988’. (Burt and Cohen, 1989) The homeless could catch their own rats, and the public at large can buy them from reputable dealers. Rats can be sold as delicacies when properly prepared. Everyone would benefit.

            Naturally, there are some sanitation issues involved. Rats are not the cleanest creatures around, yet if properly cleaned and cooked, they are edible.  The currently underpaid, under appreciated, shelter workers can be retrained in rat-to-food preparation. These workers, who already have the drive and determination to help the homeless and starving, as seen by their willingness to continue to work even though they are pitifully funded and paid even less, are the most likely candidates to handle the rats for sanitation purposes.

            Rat meat will not only supply the homeless with food, but can also be a delightful delicacy for the privileged, when properly prepared. Due to a live rat’s scavenger tendencies, their flesh may be contaminated with various low-level toxins. These are eradicated when the rat is properly and thoroughly cleaned and cooked, yet much like the delicacy fu-gu, for those who can afford to live on the edge, the rat can be eaten raw, adding an element of danger and suspense to the meal. The best way I’ve seen rat prepared, is to serve it well done with a nicely flavored honey mustard sauce over rice. Rice is also a cheap and abundant food staple and it compliments the gamish texture of the rat rather well. Rat may eventually replace standard, “cuter” animals such as duck, venison, rabbit, quail, and others. This will undoubtedly please animal rights activists, as rats are often not seen as true animals, but as vermin to be exterminated. Why not use the rats for a logical purpose rather than dispose of the carcasses by dumping them in a river, burning, or burying them? (All of which will pollute the medium in which they are dumped)

            In short, the solution to our homeless problem is not educating them so they have an employable skill, not to build more shelters, but to use our already available resources. Rats, and already employed shelter workers are ripe for the exploiting in our major cities, and are not being properly taken advantage of. I would like to conclude that I would not gain personally from this endeavor, as I am not an exterminator, and have no desire to be so. This solution would not advance my life’s work in any way. All it may do for me, is rid my basement of a valuable, yet pesky, piece of meat.

Now that the obligatory warning portion of our evening is over, on with the show! I wasn’t kidding when I told you that the voices in my head live here. You’ll be meeting them later. This site is devoted to all the people who ask me things like: “Where can we find more of your work?”, “Why don’t you post more of your essays?”, and “Hey, what happened to that thing you posted a year ago, about the thing, with the thing?” Your answers will be up soon. Right now, we’ll just call this site “UNDER CONSTRUCTION”. If that frustrates you too much, you can visit my My-Space page, at www.myspace.com/carissaldavis and read some old blogs, take a gander at some pictures, leave me a prodding comment, blah blah blah. I do promise that in the coming days I will be posting a gaggle of new humorist poems, essays, scripts, and pics for your amusement. All 100% Carissa originals. *or at least, originals of the little voices in my head, so I get to take credit! Woo hoo!*

As always, your comments and feedback are welcome. Until next time,

Carissa and the Gang.