Little Voices in My Head

Unfiltered

Carissa — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 16:53:31 +0000

I’m about to do something I don’t think I’ve ever done before.

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.

The Blot

Carissa — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 01:51:14 +0000

This weekend was phenomenally refreshing. I am so sore, I think my blisters have bruises, but it was worth it.

I spent the weekend communing with the deities at the Blot. For those of you not in the know, the Blot is a seasonal ritual of celebration and honor that my Boys began observing a few years ago. While I will not reveal the structure or details of the ceremony to you, as I feel that is sacred and not to be shared outside of those intrusted with it, I will say that no one faith is represented, ignored, scored, disrespected, or unheard of during a Blot. Even a faith such as mine, which has no name, was not only respected, but honoured by all gathered. I am most thankful for that.

On with the story! The Blot weekend began a BIT behind schedule. This was no big shock to me, as I have been conditioned from YEARS of preparation for trips with the EED to not expect to leave on time…for anything…ever. My Boys, (Ian and Robbie) and I were all going to drive to Greenville in Ian’s truck with the camping gear together at noon. They had told me to be prepared for camping, drinking, and a bit of unsavory weather. I, being the outstanding former Girl-Scout and former military child and wife that I am, came loaded for bear. Not only did I bring a poncho liner, med-kit, duct-tape, changes of socks and clothes, toilet paper, aloe wipes, a survival blanket, and my utility knife, but also brought my purse…just in case. When we were packing the truck, the boys THEN tell me that the campsite is over a MILE hike from where we will be parking and we have to carry in all the firewood we’re going to need, as we’re going to be in a no-cut zone. Wonderful. Time to re-evaluate the weight of my pack. No problem, I was married to the world’s most paranoid survivalist. If I absolutely have to, I can survive a night in the woods with my wits and my pocket knife. (and yes, before you ask, I HAVE done this. It wasn’t pretty, and I don’t wanna do it again, thankyouverymuch)

We meet with Henry and John in Greenville and caravan to the campgrounds. Along the way we had ‘borrowed’ a certain wheeled conveyance from a certain super shopping store that rhymes with hall-cart…yeah…to cart in the firewood. We load up the shopping cart, I mean, the wheeled conveyance, and set out on our hike to the site. One person pushing, one person guiding the front. We have to stop and switch pushers often, as the sheer weight of the wood is pushing the wheels into the now sodden trail (as it was steadily drizzling). Half a mile in, both Robbie and Henry get hyperthermic, their heart rates spike to over 150bpm, and I am forced to call a halt while they take a breather. So I continue to push the cart alone. Of the five of us, I am actually the most physically fit. Don’t mistake me, the boys all did their fair share, however, I suffered the least for it. We finally arrive at the site, and discover that yes, we are going to need to return to the vehicles and pick up another load of wood, for the temperature is steadily dropping and we’re going to burn through much more than anticipated. John, Henry and I set off for the return hike while Ian and Robbie set up camp.

An hour later, the Blot commences! The ceremony was absolutely beautiful and John, our leader, was inspired. Many rounds of Mead were consumed and honour given where deserved. As we burned the bonfire into the night, and fried up some steaks on the grill, (Henry is a master grill man, he may have become my new best friend. That man can cook!) the drinking continued in earnest. About 2am, I notice that not only am I NOT shivering, but that my lips, when viewed in the light of the moon in a hand mirror, are blue. Strange. I feel absolutely frozen, and yet, I am next to a fire, surrounded by 4 human furnaces, and still cannot get warm. Uh oh…hypothermia has reared it’s ugly little head and bitten me squarely on the ass. Time to get me into the tent and wrapped up in a blanket and Man-Sammich. Ian and Robbie are more than troopers going above and beyond the call of duty of friendship cuddling up next to me to keep me warm. The party still goes on though!

A few minutes later, a voice from across the tent inquires as to what he’s holding in his hand. It’s John. He says, “What is this? It’s so soft and wonderful feeling! But WHAT IS IT?!” and Henry, being the ever helpful guy he is, takes the object from him and says, “It’s a bra John.” Apparently one had fallen out of my bag, and John, in his drunken fumbling, and placed his hand upon it. Who knew that silk could make a man so happy? I think he slept with it.

My internal alarm goes off at 630am, of all times. and will not be silenced. Fortunately, it was my turn for fire-watch anyway, and I had a roaring headache. One should not imbibe Mead on an empty stomach. Now it was Robbie’s turn for some Hypothermia fun. Wrapping himself up in a fleece sleeping-bag like a giant fuzzy condom seemed like a good idea at the time. We did not think about the immobility factor. So I kindly helped him smoke a cigarette, drink some water, and sit down on the bench near the fire. I should also mention that Robbie had spent the night topless because his shirt had become SOAKED by the constant drizzle, and was useless while sleeping in the Human Sammich. So I loaned him my Winnie-the-Pooh Sweatshirt to wear until we purchased him a new one on the way out of town.

As we packed up camp, all of us feeling much warmer as the sun came up, if not hung over, we discovered that the cart was MUCH lighter without all that firewood to convey. It still took us over an hour to trek to the cars. We were all exhausted. Unbeknownst to me, the Blot tradition does not end when the camping does. There is breakfast. At Golden Corral. Oh yeah, buffet style dining when hung over? Can it get any better than that?! I’d say not. I do have to mention that we DID take the cart back to it’s proper home. We’re not thieves…well, at least not today.

All in all, I’d say I left the Blot with happy memories, a clear mental attitude for the first time in a long time, and yeah, a small bout with hypothermia…but if you can’t take a bit of the risk, it’s just not worth the experience. And the Blot is worth it. The fellowship is worth it. Hail!

Carissa the Elated.

Not Sorry

Carissa — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 05:40:33 +0000

Terribly sorry I haven’t written in awhile…ok, that’s complete bull. I’m not sorry. I simply haven’t had anything of my usual emotional vehemence to say.

I DID write a rather lengthy blog last week, and fully intended to post it. However, after I had edited it for the fourth time and it was STILL too mean, nasty, and dry, to post publicly *in my opinion*, I decided silence was golden. Tonight, that opinion has changed.

I’m not posting that original blog, but rather, the reason for the change of opinion. I decided to just roll with my mood today after reading through some message archives I had stored on my lappy between my bestest gal-pal Shannon and I. In it, the comment of “You know how I roll. Fuck with me? Shame on you. Fuck with my friends? Knife in your liver.” was made by me to her, and I realized that: 1. Yes. Yes, I am capable of extreme emotion when the situation warrants it, and 2. I haven’t felt anything akin to an extreme emotion in awhile when it pertains to me and my life, only that of those peripherally involved therein.

Ponderous.

I still feel emotions. I haven’t become a drone. I still love, laugh, smile, frown, etc. But when confronted with an extreme situation lately, I have reacted with an almost computational logic that defies my norm. Even the Little Voices have toned themselves down to a rather dull and almost aching roar rather than their usual constant siren wails. Until something upsets the applecart of my family or friends or a patient of mine, or even a stranger whom I see as being wronged in some manner. THEN I am capable of emotional swings that would make a manic-depressive man’s head spin. Heaven forbid someone make the mistake of upsetting my Pammie. Can you say “momma grizzly bear”? Yet, I cannot seem to muster up the emotional energy to feel anything resembling “Umph” for myself.

Perhaps the reason for this blank slate is that I’m just too busy caring about and for others to give two wits. There is nothing I’d like more than to just curl into a little ball and wail for my own problems, yet the tears just won’t come. The nightmares do, and my poor sweetie probably deserves a medal for putting up with more than his fair share of those, but even in the dark the thing that scares me the most is that I just don’t care enough to take care. Someone I love hurt me deeply, and I don’t care enough to do anything about it. Someone I trusted betrayed me, and I don’t have the energy to confront the lie. Someone I respected dishonoured me, and I can’t summon the ‘umph’ to react. I just don’t have it in me.

Carissa the Numb.

Riding Along

Carissa — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 18:18:04 +0000

“Fake it ’till you make it!”This was said to me this morning by one of my many well-meaning family members, and it infurriated me. More on that in a moment.

I understand the expression. Hell, when I was performing, improving, and dancing on a daily basis, faking it was a way of life. Didn’t know what line was comming next? Make one up within the context of the scene. Couldn’t think of the next logical progression in an improv? State a yes answer, roll with it, and move on. Body just not doing what you demand of it that day at the barre? Pretend it is, and STRETCH. Faking emotions and feelings became second…no…first nature. After spending so much of my life immersed in that world, I found that all I ended up doing was the faking. I suppose if I thought about it hard enough, I might find the origins of a few of the LVs there…

What infurriated me so much about hearing it this morning, was that what this family member was refrencing was putting on the ‘happy’ face. Faking being contented with a situation when in reality, I am anything but. I want nothing more than to rail, and scream and raise holy hell concerning said prediciment; yet social constraints, moral obligations, and yes, even my own conflicting feelings keep me from doing so. However, I do feel that I am allowed to NOT be happy once in a while. I am allowed to lean on those who are safe to me, and be weak, and girlie, and not be in a good mood. Even ‘the life of the party’ has to call a cab and go home at some point.

Carissa the Passenger

Beet Red

Carissa — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 17:08:47 +0000

I am so humbled I could crawl. So dumbfounded I could drool at a moment’s notice. So…ego boosted I may explode! Let me backtrack.

I was in Food Lion innocently purchasing some bread and cream horns for my fam the other day, standing at the check out line, and something weird happened. The woman immediately preceding me in said process was laughing her ass off at something. I have no idea what was so funny, but she was having a grand old time. I got a little chuckle watching her enjoy what was obviously a moment of hilarity to her, and as she walked away, I asked the checkout gal what was so funny. The checkout gal stated that she had no idea, the lady had walked up there laughing that hard. So I said, “Maybe one of the ‘Little Voices in Her Head’ said something hilarious and she chose not to share with the rest of us in the ‘outside’ world?”. The checkout gal laughed, but the guy standing BEHIND me snapped his fingers, pointed at me, and said, “Did you just say ‘Little Voices?’ Are you Carissa?” (actually, he pronounced it car-eye-sah, but I didn’t correct him) I kinda backed up, and said “Yeeaaahh…” He gave me this ‘hey, not a stalker!’ look, and continued. “I thought I recognized you from your website picture. I read your blogs. Well, actually, my ex-girlfriend got me on them. She like, went to high-school a couple years ahead of you or something, but I’m still reading them because you’re funny. I don’t think Leroy would like me much.”

I was flabbergasted. That means that not only did he see my MySpace page *where the pictures are* but followed the cross links to LittleVoices. Dayum. I thought only my friends and the occasional web clicker wasting time did that. I mean, sure, I get email from randoms, but I never thought I’d actually meet someone out IRL that visited on the regular. Talk about humbling. I’ve never dealt with public recognition well though. When I was in my younger days, I was a performer. After performances, I would often have quite a few hours of smiling and thank-youing to do with people, or would get approached in school, out in town, etc; and I was NEVER any good at it. Obviously, as this encounter has taught me, I have not improved in this skill with time…

I’m pretty sure I thanked him profusely for reading…and blushed a lot…but I didn’t get his NAME! GAH! I’m such a goober! What kind of crap-ass blogger with a ‘fan’ am I? I can’t even THANK the guy here in bloggy form properly because I didn’t get his name. I am SOO sorry nice-fan-guy-in-Food Lion (or NFGIFL). Please, send me an email, or comment, tell me your name, and I promise to not only thank you properly, but laud your name for being my first ever blog based public fan encounter. *and I’m still blushing profusely*

The Reason I Bat for the Breeders

Carissa — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 16:16:58 +0000

I’ve always said that I would have made a crappy lesbian. I applaud women who are, for they are better women than me. Let’s face it, attraction to women just makes sense. We’re pretty. We (to make a gross generalization) smell nice. We’re great to cuddle with, and to top it off, we have the boobs, and therefore, the power. Not only can we conquer nations, we can rebuild them with a smile. Men? Not so much. Men have the tendency to lean towards that funk smell. (yeah, man funk can be sexy, it’s full of pheromones and stuff, but not so pleasant most days) They’re great to cuddle with when you’re cold cuz hey, human furnaces. But what use is that in August? They do have that certain appendage that makes life worth livin’. *WINK* However, men, for all their faults, have one thing up on women that keeps me batting for the hetro team. Men (another gross generalization commin’ your way) for the most part, are not big balls o’ crazy.

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.

The Greatest Person I’ve Ever Known

Carissa — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 14:50:41 +0000

I’ve spent the last two days off work, at home, taking care of Pammie. I’ve really enjoyed the time with her, yet my heart is breaking. Pammie is dying. God, even typing that sentence makes me weep. I suppose I shouldn’t focus on that. She has Alzheimer’s. It’s been called the silent killer. It’s a slow, malicious, thief that robs families of their loved ones a few simple things at a time. The cruelest part is that Pammie’s case is so much more complicated because of who she was born to be. She was already afflicted with enough pain in her life. She was born with Down’s Syndrome. That always made her unique, wholly her own blessed angel. Sweet, pure, yet…simple. She’s never had the ability to retain a lot of information. So now, the information being stolen from her seems doubly heinous. Watching her forget what happened yesterday, or that tomorrow will eventually come, shatters my heart. Having to remove the knobs from the stove so she can’t play with the burners, or put extra locks on the doors so she can’t wander off makes me want to sit down and bawl for what we’ve lost with her. This is a woman who, when I was a child, used to cook me hot dogs and macaroni and cheese, and take me to school each morning. Who dried my tears when I fell off my bicycle, taught me how to use a latch-hook to make a rug, always found that last elusive word in the find-a-word puzzle books. Now Pammie cries for reasons known only to her, can’t match the colours in a paint by number, and circles the same letters over and over in her puzzle books. It’s the little things you miss.

Yesterday, Pammie forgot my name. She remembered it within minutes, but that’s not the point. That’s part of the disease, having to search for a word before finding it. I cried in my room for half an hour.

The hardest part for me is that I have years of experience working with Alzheimer’s and Dementia patients. I know what’s coming down the pipe for Pammie. I have the training, the knowledge of the pathology of the disease to dissect all the symptoms down to their basest elements. Break it down clinically and analytically. I am the most qualified person of my family to help Pammie with everything that is in store for her, and for us. It is not a medal I ever wanted to pin to my chest.

The Show

Carissa — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 17:43:26 +0000

The Show

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.

The Latest Q and A!

Carissa — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 04:17:35 +0000

Here it is. Those of you who asked, but didn’t want credit for your q, I respect your privacy, and thank you for taking the time to text, call, email, and ask in person your questions. Those of you who asked and didn’t wish to remain annonymous, thank you double for having some stones. *clapping* The first three were asked by several people, so no one got credit. Enjoy. Oh, and there is a bonus, last minute submission at the end. You’re welcome.

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.}

Balance

Carissa — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 03:34:39 +0000

I used to be in gymnastics. Bettcha didn’t know that about me, huh? Granted, I was 5, and my mom only enrolled me in the class so I wouldn’t be SOOOO damn shy anymore, but I digress. The bottom line is, I WAS at one time, a budding gymnast. My favorite apparatus was the balance beam. Something about walking across that little plank of wood wrapped in cotton and rawhide just thrilled me. The precision and concentration it took to just walk without falling off the damn thing appealed to me. When I finally did a cartwheel on one, I nearly lost my ever-loving, 5 year old mind! (which might explain a few things about me) Balance in almost all its’ forms has appealed to me ever sense.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not naturally graceful or anything. I can still walk across a balance beam with more ease than the ‘average’ folk, and I have a grace that belies my size. I thank the daily yoga for that. For instance, in a crowded, 2 bed per room, hospital room, *and I do mean CROWDED* I can take two sets of vitals, pick up the trash, empty a Foley bag, and avoid the visitors all by twisting and contorting in ways that make patients’ heads spin, but I’m no Grace Kelly. I still trip over air sometimes when walking across flat, uncluttered, paved parking lots. (ow)

Balancing my body isn’t much of an issue for me. In fact, right now in my life, my body is more in balance than it has ever been. My weight is down, my ‘healthy’ blood levels are up, my hormones are level. So why, why on this spinning rock of a planet I call home, can’t I get my MIND to balance?! Of my forty mental tracks, there are at least 33 different emotions all running at the same damn time. Is it any wonder that I can’t keep a headache away for very long? It’s not like one track will be UBERhappy and the other UBERsad. That would balance out to a level mood. Oh no. It can’t be THAT simple in my head. The tracks all gotta pick emotions like; regret, guilt, excitement, lust, anger, love, compassion, sympathy, pain, sorrow, wonder and lots and lots of empathy. They just don’t all fit together in a symmetrical form. It doesn’t balance.

So I’m thinking I might need to clear a few out. See if I can’t find some sort of peace. Who wants to take a few of these for me? I could really use the help.

‘Ding Dong the Douche is Gone’ Party Recap

Carissa — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 03:25:08 +0000

After divorcing the worst spouse…EVER, the only thing the LVs and I could fathom to do to celebrate was, naturally, (everyone say it together now!) Paaaaaarrrrrrr-Tay! Of course, we all disagreed as to what KIND of party to throw. Leroy was in favor of beer, strippers, and lots of violence on the TV. Muffy wanted something more ‘no guys allowed, slumber party with the gals’, and Yenta, well…she was voting for a nice, civilized observance of the day. Something like a nice meal with candles, wine, and lots of chocolate. So I split the difference.

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.

It’s Over.

Carissa — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 04:34:42 +0000

Leroy: Finally. After 5 fucking years, 6 fucking months, and 23 damn days, and 10 long-ass hours, The Female got rid of the Douchebag! I could dance a fucking jig, I really could man. Not that I was counting or anything, but SHEEEIT, it’s been a long time commin’.

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!

Forgetfull Me.

Carissa — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 01:09:53 +0000

I Forget
For the first moments
in the morning
I forget.

I forget the tasks of the day ahead,
and the trials of the day I’ve left behind.

I forget my failures
and my downfalls.

Those first rays of sunshine
are so sweet, so pure
I can look at them without regret
Because I forget.

I forget that I’m broken.

Just a shell.

I forget the disorders that plague me.
And that I will never…be normal.

I forget.

I forget in those first moments of waking
So hold me tight during the night
My darling
Love me
through the rest of the day
Because after those precious, fleeting moments,

I remember.

Ooo, Muffy had WAY too much free time…

Carissa — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 05:43:18 +0000

So, I updated the “Dating Carissa” (for those crazy enough to attempt it) page. I was almost tempted to put up the newest addition as a general post, as it’s more of a ‘dating tips’ in general blog, but some of them are “Carissa” specific, so on the page it went!

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!)

Spawn, Mike, and the LVs

Carissa — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 01:52:38 +0000

Let us begin by having a moment of bubbles for the dearly departed Spawn of Fish. (bubble) Yes, I killed another one. I just can’t seem to keep a Beta alive. I cleaned out Spawn’s tank Sunday, and evidently, that was the WRONG thing to do, as a few hours later, he was ‘walking with the humans’. I just couldn’t bring myself to flush him. I made my neighbour, Chris, do it. He, being the nice guy that he is, kindly obliged. Farewell Spawn. I have taken pity on your brethren and vowed to own no more. It’s insane that you give me a human, a reptile, a mammal of any sort to care for, and I’ll not only keep them alive, but they shall be happy, healthy, and *without a doubt* loved. Trust me with a fish? LMAO, not if you don’t want to fertilize the Craven County waste treatment landscaping.

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

Mike Story Time

Carissa — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 13:01:22 +0000

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.