A Wednesday Morning Shout-out With a Vengence

I was sick for the past two days, so getting out into the "real world" to go to work today was a hassle and a half in and of itself. I'm still not feeling well; I'm cranky; I have two people very dear to me that have been hit with terrible news, and I'm unable to really do anything for them other than just say "I love you and I'm so sorry this has happened to you"; and then for some reason the people I encountered today while in transit on the 35+ minutes it took to get to work just got under my skin.

So, here's a brief shout-out to all of these individuals I encountered this morning:

1) To the obnoxious woman on the L train who insisted on standing up and getting out of her seat while the train was still moving so she could be the first to get out, thereby tripping me and making me almost fall, I hope you get crabs. I hope they're really big crabs, too, like the kind you see at a seafood buffet, so that you can't hide the fact that you've got them, and have to walk around wearing a fucking diaper. Maybe you won't walk so fast for a while.

2) To the guy in the expensive suit who walked past me in the train station, banged into me, and totally almost dislocated my shoulder and didn't even say "excuse me," I have one colorful thought: I hope you get The Runs today. I hope that while you're giving a report on the financial status of blah blah blah or whatever it is that you think is so important to get to that you can't even shout a brief "sorry!" when you really HIT somebody, albeit inadvertently, I hope that suddenly your bowels let loose like a hurricane, and the nearest bathroom is way-too-far-away to make it. Good luck getting the suit cleaned.

3) To the guy that stuck a flyer in my face almost cutting my lip with the paper, I'd like to stick him in a trunk of a car and leave him there overnight with nothing to read but the paraphernalia that he's slapping in people's faces.

4) To the gorgeous young woman who walked past me at Union Square, who is obviously a model, with perfect bone structure, slim figure, porceline skin, who's about 25, with luxurious hair pulled back in a ponytail and still all these things with not a stitch of makeup, I'd like to say one thing: fuck you. You didn't do anything to me, but I was sick for two days and gained two pounds because I ate and didn't work out. So, just...fuck you, okay? Thanks.

5) To the guy in the farmer's market who was talking to two young teenage girls asking them what time it was, and whom I walked by and said loudly, "Run, girls, this guy is a pervert - he tried to pick up two teenagers like you here last week!" and they walked away from him quickly and he started shouting at me as I walked to work, blending in with the crowd, smiling, I appologize. You were obviously just asking for the time, but I really, really needed that.

Of All The Rotten Luck!!!

So I spent 4 months up in Santa Barbara County being a gnarly wildland firefighter and training to fight gnarly wildland fires. I got to go the Zaca Fire (which was freaking sweet), but that's about all I got to go to. We got BARELY any fire the entire fire season, so I couldn't take it anymore. The season was going to end in a month anyway, so I just asked my command for an early release date and headed home to catch the second 9 week session of classes. There was only a month left of season and we hadn't had a fire in 3 months, what could I possibly be missing?

So the DAY I come home, the Santa Ana winds pick up and TEN EXPLOSIVE WILDFIRES break out all over Southern California! OHMYGOD! THE DAY I LEAVE! One firefighter already got hurt and they're hurting for help up there, and my papers are already processed so I'm done until next season, I can't even go help if I want to! Now I just have to sit and watch on TV as my bros are out there working their asses off and saving the city of Malibu. I'm pissed and bummed that I can't be out there.

Besides, you know how much overtime and hazard pay I'm missing!

A Note On People (Landladies) Who Comment On Your Weight

I have recently, as many of you know, lost (give or take a lil') 37 pounds, thanks to Nutrisystem and a desire to not feel like my ass was a separate entity with its own planets orbiting around it. I'm on my way to a 40-pound goal. That would get me at 125. I will also receive a 40-pound teddy bear from Nutrisystem, which, let's face it - that's the real reason I lost the weight. The health issues and self confidence thing were just an offshoot. I wanted the teddy bears. (They give you one for every ten pounds you lose, like a chip in A.A. - so I have three little bears lined up on my shelf, in cool colors, all saying "Yo, biotch, when you gettin' 40-Spank to join us?"

Well, they don't really say that, that's just in my mind. Or do they? But that's a whole other blog for another day...

So anyway, I digress. Back to my ball-busting landlady who has less social tact and grace than a water buffalo at a Sotheby's auction.

I had just come back today from going to Strand, where I sold a good 60 or so books, and Brad helped me schlep the damn things in a big suitcase and two bags. I made $70. Not bad...actually I'm totally stoked. If you take away the pain in the ass it is to haul it there and then deal with the OBNOXIOUS, RUDE, CONCEITED-FOR-NO-REASON-BECAUSE-THEY'RE-BOOK-WHORES-LIKE-ME fuckers that work there, it really is a cool thing. Except when they casually toss a 1st edition of (fill in the blank) that you know has some value aside and say "We have no resale use for this. We're not taking it." And then some other lackey fuck is like "but if you don't want to take it home with you, we'll keep it." - yeah, asshole, sure you will. You can at least put it on your $1 rack.

But, again, I digress.

So, I come home, greet the critters, and my landlady calls me upstairs to see the two turtles that she got for her daughter, V. Some of you have been to my home and have met this woman and her daughter...and know that this lady is a piece of work. She amazes me. Part of me truly cannot stand her...and another part of me really likes her. I guess its like that nursery rhyme - ...When she was good, she was very, very good; but when she was bad, she was horrid!. Yeah, I think she's really out of her mind because she thinks we're friends - and I have thought so too, in the past, and then she's turned around and raised my rent $100 with two weeks notice to start paying it. And since I don't have a lease, I'm basically getting ass-fucked without lube and I have to take it with a smile - and she knows it. Then, after pocketing my money, while I'm rubbing my ass from the anal rape (and no reach around, even) she'll invite me up to dinner and drinks with her and the family. Wow.

Okay, I swear I'm getting to the point of the story. So...I get home and A. calls me upstairs and I'm looking at the turtles, who are cute, actually, and I'm thinking (for about .02 miliseconds) about what it would be like to get turtles, and then Anna starts grilling me about my weight. Please note that her accent is a thick Polish, her English is really bad unless she's talking about money; and she always mispronounces my name, although I've lived here over four years.

A. : So, Dianna, you have lost all this weight - how much are you now?
Me: About 128...Hey, nice turtle!
A.: So, you want to lose how much more?
Me: About 3 pounds to my goal - but if I lose a couple more, it'll be a bonus.
A.: That's all? You don't want to lose more?
Me: Excuse me?
A.: Don't you think you should get down to at least 120?
Me: Well, yeah, that would be cool, but I'm not going to force it...
A.: How much did you weight when you were 18?
Me: Well, I've gotten down to 112 before, but...
A.: That would be a good weight for you.
Me: Hm. We'll see
A.: 128...That's what I am right now. You weigh what I weigh.
Me: Really...interesting...Wow! Cool turtle!


Then she wanted to make plans to start going with me to the gym, because she needs to get exercising. Perhaps we can...and I can have her do the bench press...and just add about 100 pounds on there when she's not looking...and when she needs a spotter to help save her, I'll just walk away and pretend I don't hear the muffled pleas as she starts to pass out from lack of oxygen. I told her I would get her a guest pass so she can go, but that I go late at night (which is often true), hoping she would say "aw, no way..."

Let me make myself very clear: many of you know that I get enough shit from a certain family member about my weight, and have for my whole life. But this person is even saying kind things about how I look now, and when I say that my goal is 125, with maybe a little bit more, say, 120 as a BONUS. But not something I'll push towards with the tenacity of Joan-of-fucking-Arc. Even THIS family member is like "Yeah, totally, 120-125. Sounds great, but you look wonderful." (even though she was pushing the 112 thing for a while a few months ago).

However, I am certainly not going to stand around and put up with a Polish ex-flight attendant who is losing her fucking teeth, raising a spoiled brat, whose husband can't even stand her, telling me that "I really should lose much more" as if I look fat. What? I think it just burns her ass that I was once a big fat bastard and now I'm actually her weight and look healthier and trimmer than her - so she has to give me shit. I admit I have to hit the gym and exercise some more than I have been doing...I need to tone up. But if it wasn't for the fact that this nutjob has access to the Red Button as to whether or not I need to deal with moving any time soon or not keeps me from planting a verbal size 8 shoe up her ass.

Anyway, other than that, I'm having a great day.
:)

Morning Comfort Apex: IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU!

I should be at Actorfest right now. I should be prowling the Hammerstein ballroom armed with a stack of 8x10s, promoting the shit out of myself and rising another level in my career.

At this moment, I should be actively bettering myself. At this moment I am still in bed.

I have a theory that on days when you absolutely need to get up early, your bed will adjust itself to be more comfortable. It's true! Even if you've been tossing and turning all night, the moment you NEED to be awake your bed will turn on the charm, whisper sweet nothings, and seduce you into decadent repose. On the day of that big audition, don't expect to spring to life with the verve and pep of a manga heroine. At 5:00 in the morning a futon covered in egg crate can feel like a fluffy cloud and a discount bed set from Conway can feel like Jesus himself spooning you. What chance do you have?

I call this phenomenon "Morning Comfort Apex" (MCA).

There are many ways to combat MCA. I find that setting my alarm to the Spanish radio station on a very high volume is highly effective. It wakes up not only me, but also my roommate, her cat, the birds on the fire escape, our neighbors, our landlady, our building, all of Sunnyside, the surrounding burroughs, parts of Staten Island, and NASA astronauts. Yet sometimes, even with the aid of the loudest, most incomprehensable Spanish popular music, the MCA is strong. In the end it's you versus MCA. There can be only one. You can either fight or surrender.

Today, I surrendered.

MCA + chilly autumn morning ÷ Saturday = snowball's chance in hell. MCA made me her bitch, and I loved it.

I struggle with MCA almost on a daily basis. There is no medication, no support groups to aid me. I must fight the beast alone. I must fight until one day MCA lays at my feet: broken, bleeding, begging for mercy. On that day I will look down at my vanqished enemy as it appeals to my good heart and better sense of self. On that day I will consider my enemy's pitiable case, and then I will kick it. And laugh.

May you be as successful in your fights with MCA. Namaste.

Mothers Who Won't Let It Die

I'd like to thank Billy for inviting me on here...I need a place to vent. I mean, where do you start - when then only way you get your 81-year-old homophobic mother to stop rehashing one of your ex boyfriends as a possible future love interest (since there is nobody knocking at your door, currently) is to tell her that he's gay? I don't even really think he is, but I had to say something to get her to stop idolizing him. She's so homophobic that if I said he liked to go to the ballet occasionally she would raise an eyebrow.

Actually, I didn't tell her that he's gay, I said he's bisexual.

Well, actually, I didn't first say that. I first said he liked to have things shoved up his butt.

Here's how the conversation progressed:

Me: "Mom, look, I told you the next time you bring him up I'm going to hang up on you."

Mom: "I don't know what you're getting so upset about. I'm just saying that he was one of the best boyfriends you ever had and you complaining that you're all depressed and lonely..."

Me: "Mom, I don't want to hear this -"

Mom: "And I think he is still single after all this time..."

Me: "Mom - I'm going to hang up -"

Mom: "It's just that I care about you and - "

Me: "HE LIKED TO HAVE THINGS SHOVED UP HIS ASS WHEN WE WOULD HAVE SEX, OKAY??? HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT HIM NOW?"

Mom: Silence.

Me: "Mom?"

Mom: "NOOOOOO. Are you serious???"

Me: "Yes."

Mom: "What kinds of things?"

Me: "I'm not telling you. This conversation is over."

Mom: "Just tell me - what kinds of things?"

Me: "Mom, he was bisexual, okay?"

Mom: "NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

Me: (trying not to laugh) "YESSSSS!!!!!"

Mom: "He couldn't be!"

Me: "Yes! He was! He fantasized about men all the time!"

Mom: "That doesn't prove anything..."


It took like another fifteen minutes to get off the phone, because she really thought I was going to sit there and tell her what kinds of things this guy liked me to shove up his ass. In reality, this guy was as much of a homophobe as she is, and it was all I could do to not laugh right out loud...but boy did I howl when I got off the phone.

I mean, this is what I'm dealing with. I have to go to this extreme to get her off my back. I wonder if anyone else has a mother who is THIS much of a pain in the ass.

Happy to be here, folks, happy to be here.

Good Morning!: My Morning Commute

Or is it afternoon now? Nah, it's still A.M. on the clock.

I hope everyone is having a great day - I spent the morning wrestling with an obese, hairy woman on the L train as we fought for a place to stand without killing fellow commuters. Her part of the mass genocide would have been due to any sudden movement of her rear decapitating anyone sitting nearby; mine would have been simple commuter rage, starting with her. Don't get me wrong - it was only about six months ago that I was Jabba-the-Hutt-Esque in size myself, so I'm not dissing on fat people...just fat people that burn my ass.

There was somebody with really bad B.O. standing next to me. That really pissed me off...I mean, if I take the trouble to make sure that I don't smell like ass before I leave the house so I don't accidently cause domino-effect vomiting on the train or anywhere else I happen to wander, I simply ask that others do the same - especially if I'm stuck with about 100 of the bastards in a tin can moving at five miles an hour through an underground passage covered by a huge river. And this is coming from a claustrophobe. You make the call as to how much of a horror show this potentially has for me.

I was finally able to get through and grab hold of a handle bar, but the guy sitting (well, underneath me...that sounds so naughty) was reading a book. I tried to not bump into him too much, but as I may have mentioned, the train was FUCKING PACKED, and so his book kept hitting me in the crotch. He had the audacity to look annoyed that I was keeping him from reading. This guy was practically having a live sex show with me on the train without my consent - with a Tom Clancy novel, for chrissake, not even a James Joyce, Thomas Pynchon, or Stephen King - and he was pissed? I bet I have bruises. Fucker.

So...I arrived at work...and was greeted on my computer by awesome jpgs by my pal Carl - a.k.a. Loer Velocity...that made me snort my coffee (what was left that I hadn't spilled on the fucking train) and cackle.

Hope you all had as good a morning as me!!!

:)

Topamax Update: I'm Not A Drooling Retard Yet

Howdy. Due to the number of folks that seem to hit this site because of a previous post or two that I made concerning my troubles with Benign Positional Vertigo last year and then being prescribed Topamax (lots and lots of Topamax and Vertigo google search words, apparently, bringing folks to Ornery Woman like flies to sugar), I thought I'd give y'all an update on how Ol' Billychic was doing.

Fine, thanks.

Originally, I was wary because Topamax is normally prescribed for folks suffering from epilepsy. However, in low doses, it is given for migraines - which is what the doctors thought was part of my problem: that I had vestibular migraines that were adding to the BPV. 25 mg of Topamax at night was suggested to keep the nasties away.

My concern, however, was that it would make me...stupid - which is what so many sites were warning me about. I had read that it would make me duller than a bag of rocks and decrease my word association skills - or, basically, instead of saying "Hi, Roger!" I would say "Hi, Chair!" because my brain had been morphed and I had become retarded overnight.



This is not the case. I have been taking this stuff for about 8 or 9 months now, and it has made no negative noticeable difference - well, except for the fact that I have an insatiable urge to call people strange names, but they are always people I don't like, and the names are usually things like syphyllitic cunt and fucktard, so this is probably not indicative of any neurological change due to the drug...more just that I'm an ornery bitch with a potty mouth. (wink)

My BPV is about 90% gone (it's always there a little tiny bit...some days more than others) and the migraines are mostly gone. I have noticed that if I go for several days without taking the Topamax, the chances of having a migraine, as well as a heightened experience of vertigo increase exponentially almost.

The one big drawback is that this shit is expensive, yo. Even with my prima-dima healthcare plan, the prescription costs me, AFTER my insurance has taken care of their share, about $40 a month. Not a lot compared to what some folks pay for their meds, I'm lucky; but a lot more than I thought I would have to shell out.

So there you have it, to all those interested: the topamax seems to work for me and I'm not a drooling idiot. Or, at least, not any more than I already was.