A Surprisingly Sane Blog

After a couple month of rocky depression slopes, almost two weeks of scrambling up the cliff to sanity without progress, a serious crash that left me broken everywhere except my smart mouth, and finally, a really badass birthday party, I landed safe and sound at Tucson International Airport this afternoon. Still sick as shit, but safe, and bearing two kids, a backpack, small diaper bag, purse, car seat, and a single suit case. My mom was waiting for us at the foot of the escalator, and the sparkle in her eyes when she saw her granddaughters made the 3-hour flight worth every second.

Although I was a little concerned that April might scream the entire trip, or that Julie would be afraid to use the airplane potty and piss all over the seat, my fears were unwarranted. Both girls were the model of perfection on that flight. I could have cried tears of relief when every adult around me commented on how well-behaved and adorable my kids were at the end of the ride if I hadn’t been wheezing so horribly to get air into my congested lungs. Have I ever told you how proud I am of my little stinkies? They’re not always picture-perfect on flights, but they really got it together on the day I needed it most.

I am in Tucson for a week, and I was excited to land in a very cloudy, rainy desert. I was even more excited to find that my family finished getting furniture for the guest room. I get to sleep all by myself on a brand new full-sized mattress, and that is going to be complete bliss. James is a wonderful, warm, sexy husband and all, but he’s a narcoleptic spaz when he sleeps most of the time.

My plans for the week are to visit a few friends, spend time with the family, and gain back the pounds I lost during the last few week’s stress-capade on Mexican food made by Real Mexicans, Praise the Lord. You haven’t had good Mexican food until you’ve eaten at the restaurants in southern Arizona.

Before any of that happens, though, I’m gonna curl up on my bed with my blanky and try to sleep without any dreams. I have been feeling mentally stable for three days straight, and I’m optimistic that I’m back on the right medication and dose.

Although, I think I might have to go to a Take-Care Clinic tomorrow. This illness is definitely not getting any better. *cough* *hack* *ugh*

Current Mood: Happy & Sickly

True to the fact that I *do* have a life outside of my computer, I threw a birthday party for James last night.

James’ birthday was actually last weekend, the day before Valentine’s Day, but we all know how horrible of a place I was in a week ago… so needless to say, the party happened yesterday instead. We invited a couple of neighbors from our super-awesome Seattle neighborhood and a chunk of our wonderful dancer friends, with whom we spend a lot of our social time these days. And I must say… HOLY CRAP! That was one hell of a badass party last night!

If I wasn’t crazy, I wouldn’t have woken up at like 8:30 this morning after staying up most the night dancing, enjoying a good glass of wine, and laughing so hard I thought my Will-Ferrell-induced-ab-pain would shatter my insides. But of course, I’ve got a couple loose screws in the mental department that we’re all very aware of, so I bounced right out of bed at a comical hour.

And I’m Sick (yes, with a capital ‘S’), I might add. Sicker than I’ve been in absolute ages. I have horrible cold, complete with a cough that sounds like my lungs are fighting to escape my body via my esophagus, and my voice belongs to a raspy-sounding old man. When I say “cough”, I mean more like a “hack”… one that was so freaking powerful that it actually made me PEE MYSELF a little bit ago, embarrassingly enough. I’d actually be rushing my ass to a hospital this morning for some antibiotics because I’m pretty worried it’s gonna end up as a really bad case of bronchitis, but I don’t want to deal with the emergency room bill. I know, stupid. But chances are, I’m probably not going to croak as a result of this illness, so I’ll just allow my immune system to do its job for the day.

BUT BACK TO THE PARTY.

By the time midnight hit, there was a full-blown dance party happenin’ on pretty much the entire bottom story of our house.  And when I say “party”, I’m talking great music, a little alcohol, and guys not afraid to dance with other guys. Gotta LOVE the west coast swing community… a lot of us like to practice the other gender’s role on the dance floor to better our dance and competition skills. Add a little booze and a set of devil horns from one of my Halloween costumes, and we’re talking a real party complete with tons of laughter and my two favorite adorable, geeky Asian boys dancing together to a very sexy song.

I would gladly post pics of the moment, but I need both the photos from and the permission of a certain one of those cute Asian guys to show the world a bit of the man-on-man action happening in my living room last night. *hint hint*

And that takes us to the title of this blog. (Were you hoping I forgot? Ha ha, no way.)

The Man Bump. You know what I’m talking about, right? That peculiar bulge (usually slightly off to one side of the zipper) displayed on the front of every man’s body.

Usually, I forget that there’s a bump hanging out for the world to see, but it’s kind of hard to miss when you’re sprawled out on a couch with your head right at peen-veiwing level. Suddenly, the Man Bump is strikingly apparent and IMPOSSIBLE to miss. And damn it, I was feeling awfully distracted by the fact that every man in the room had one of these AND I COULDN’T STOP LOOKING.

I kept trying to take notice of something else… that lovely glass of wine, the fruit salad I was nibbling on, the adorable, furry dogs that had taken residence in my home for the evening… ANYTHING to stop noticing that HOLY FREAKING SHIT! EVERY SINGLE GUY IN MY HOUSE HAS A PENIS! All of them.

Usually, I don’t think about the fact that guys have dicks. I mean, yes, I know they all have one, but the only time I’m really focused on the twig ‘n berries is when I’m admiring a certain someone’s that I have full access to pretty much all the freaking time. But geez, it was suddenly impossible for me to NOT notice, considering I had a house full of Man Bumps staring me in the face RIGHT AT EYE LEVEL.

And this is the point where you’re supposed to be rolling your eyes and saying to yourself, “Yeah, Tamra, yes, all men have a penis and it’s no big deal,”… but see, this is where it suddenly was a big deal to me.

Because, ladies and gentlemen, last night while I was feeling rather disturbed by the fact that I COULDN’T STOP STARING AT THE MAN BUMP, I had a revelation. Suddenly, I was so glad that I don’t have a Man Bump of my own. Yes, I love the Man Bump on the opposite sex and all, but holy cow, I just CANNOT imagine having a penis that could totally betray me at any moment and show the world that I’m turned on (or not turned on) at some horribly embarrassing moment. I mean, I feel so vulnerable all the time, but having a Man Bump? That’s almost as bad as wearing a neon sign on your forehead that screams “Horny” or “Not Horny”.

And there it was last night, on every man in the room, looking back at me, and I realized that I really have to give men a bit more credit than I ever have before.

Somehow, they manage to appear tough and “manly” because of and despite the fact that they have this weird-looking THING hanging off the front of their bodies. I mean, if I had an appendage stuck to my body (other than my loose-lipped mouth) that had the ability to publicly humiliate me or impress the crap out of someone like men do, then I’d be flat-out screwed… and not in the good kind of way. So thank the Good Lord that I am, in fact, a full-breasted, non-penis-bearing woman.

I am so glad that I was born female.

And thank God that the lovely Man Bumps on my two favorite Asians didn’t suddenly appear any more impressive while I was watching them dance together last night.

Otherwise, I just may have some competition.

Current Mood: Playful

Recovering from an adverse effect to a psychotropic drug is like what I imagine coming down from a really bad drug trip would feel like.

For two days solid, my brain had a hangover from too much bad partying for a week straight. My neurons kept throwing up, missing the puke buckets, and shitting crazy talk out of my mouth.

Today, I saw a bit of sunlight again, and the haze caused by the Wellbutrin feels like it has pretty much cleared out of my mind. The upped dose of Prozac has kept me feeling the SAME way all day long, not jumping back and forth between sorta’ okay and freaking out. I’m exhausted, and my body and mind kind of hurt from being used as a dangerous drug’s ball for batting practice… but I’m alive. That’s what matters.

I know it’s the afternoon, but good morning, world. It’s nice to see you again.

For reasons that shall remain undisclosed, I would like to put an end to a few rumors I’ve heard about myself.

Myths About Tamra

1. She has lost her mind.
2. Tamra writes about EVERYTHING on her blog and then some!
3. She is nothing but a cold-hearted, sarcastic bitch.
4. Tamra writes for attention.
5. She’s a fucking liar, you can’t believe what you read.
6. Commenting on her blog just feeds the craziness and her exploding ego.
7. Tamra is a really bad mom. Someone should call CPS.
8. She really needs to be committed to a looney bin.
9. Tamra’s an idiot, a whore, and she’s going to hell.
10. I totally get exactly where she’s at and know what’s best for her even if I’ve never been in her situation.

Get It Right:

1. Tamra has never had her mind to begin with. It was actually eaten by sharp-toothed aliens as she was being pooped out of her mama’s vagina back in the ancient year of 1981.
2. Oh no, she doesn’t just write about absolutely everything; she actually has DEFINED the word “everything”, pushed it to its limits, slaughtered it, and posted its remains on her blog.
3. Cold-hearted and sarcastic don’t even come close to reality. That Tamra girl is the epitome of all things cruel and mean. I heard she even has the words “Don’t fuck with me” tattooed on the WHITES OF HER EYES, courtesy of that one inmate she roomed with while doing her time for conquering that colony of ducks living on that island that one time and using their down to create a line of sleeping bags to MAKE HERSELF WEALTHY. The ducks actually survived.
4. Tamra doesn’t just write for attention. She writes so that you will feel compelled to start a special online and in-department-store fund called “Save our Tamra”. Proceeds may be sent directly to my address. Inquire within.
5. She has never told the truth in her life. You can’t believe a word she says. Those guys in white coats are after her… if she tells the truth, SHE’S GONNA BE SILENCED.
6. Are you kidding? Tamra is so freaking amazing and great that her ego actually grows all by itself. Commenting on her blog isn’t just feeding the craziness, it’s actually making her fat WITH CRAZY. Please, for the love of gawd, stop commenting before Will Ferrell starts sucking the fat right out of her thighs with a straw.
7. The kids in Tamra’s household actually eat raw fish and drink rum and cokes for breakfast. They live in the attic, never see the light of day, and are currently being raised by werewolves. Someday, their mama plans to marry them off to bloodsucking vampires. Now how’s THAT for mom of the year?
8. Actually, throwing her ass into a looney bin probably isn’t a good idea for the docs and other patients. Someone just needs to gag, bind, and throw her ass overboard before she summons those aliens to eat everyone else’s minds. RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!
9. Number 9 above is true.
10. Actually, if you know what’s going on with her, you should just take it upon yourself to diagnose her, start your own blog discussing her mental state, and come up with a plan involving everyone who’s willing to listen on HOW TO STOP THE INSANITY FROM SPREADING.

Okay, Now The Reality

1. Crazy is the person who needs help but never gets it. I am not one of those people. I am actually extremely careful regarding my mental health because I love the people around me and want to be healthy for them. I witnessed some horrific mental breakdowns and debilitating illnesses by people who refused to get help while growing up. They were probably the ones who were truly out of their minds, and I made the choice to never be like them. While I fully admit that dealing with depression and other mental illnesses is really damn hard and feels impossible at times, I fight it, get the help I need, and continue to move forward. Someone who has lost their mind has lost the will to make that effort.
2. Actually, there is very little that goes on in my life that I write about regularly in my blog. I probably only touch on about 15% of what’s actually going on. Much of my life is focused on my marriage, kids, family, friends, dance, my students, etc. Because all of these things involve other people, I respect their privacy and choose not to write about them. Did you know I dog-sat for a friend who was out of town this weekend, or that one of my students made semi-finals at a national competition last weekend, that my husband has had to go through therapy for depression himself, that we went to a couple’s counseling session yesterday morning, or that James and I are working on a West Coast Swing choreography that we’re planning on dancing in the US Open competition this year? Did you know that I’ve been working on planning a really beautiful bridal shower for my sister, or that I’m going to be in Tucson with the girls visiting my family all next week? Did you know that a friend I’ve never met made me a beautiful coffee-cup sleeve and I got it in the mail this week? Did you know I have a super close friend named Sam that is currently going to grad school in Texas, and I miss her like crazy every single day? Did you know that I enjoy going on simply platonic dates with a male friend, and I met him at a downtown Ramen Noodle house last night just so we could talk? No, probably not. All these things involve the privacy of others, and as a result, I keep those sorts of things away from the public eye unless it either barely touches on the details, or they give me permission to write about it. I am not omitting 85% of my life as a result of dishonesty, I just have boundaries that involve other people that I respect. But, I AM an open book. If you ask, I’ll tell you. I may just not want to put it on my blog if it’s involving others because, again, I DO respect their privacy.
3. Yes, sarcasm is my specialty. I have a VERY smart mouth on me. However, those who know me in “real life” know that I am also an extremely loving, open-minded, caring person with a very big heart. I make mistakes all the time. I do and say stupid things. However, I am never afraid to apologize, and when I do, it’s sincere. Being mean to people eats away at me and breaks my heart. And people being mean in response… that kills me. I’m not one to hold a grudge. I forgive, learn, and move forward… and I sure as hell wish others had the decency to do the same more often.
4. I started my blog as part of my therapy, long before I had any clue that people were reading it. I came out and said all the things that I would normally be afraid to talk about because they were taboo, or because no one else talked about that sort of thing. I was angry that I felt like no one warned me about the realities of motherhood, and I couldn’t understand why I was THE ONLY ONE who was struggling. I couldn’t understand why people never told me what was going to happen to my vagina as a result of giving birth, or why they hid all the stretchmarks on their belly as if they’re something to be ashamed of. In the midst of all this, I attracted a very loyal following of readers who began commenting and sending me emails thanking me for sharing my story because they had gone through something similar and it was nice to know they weren’t alone. It made me feel good to know that #1) my fears that I was the only mom on earth that felt that way were completely unwarranted, and #2) my tough-love honesty about my own experiences was actually helping a lot of other women who were hurting as much as or more than me. I was actually EXTREMELY embarrassed when I realized other people were reading about my depression and ruined hoo-haw, and I actually blocked all my entries for awhile… but then I realized that I wasn’t helping anyone by doing that, not even myself, so I decided to continue pouring my heart out to the internet world. It’s not easy. It NEVER is. Talking about the intimate details of my horrible depression and body image issues puts me in the most vulnerable position imaginable, complete with harsh criticism and a lot of skewed shit-talking by people who don’t approve of my vulgar mouth. But you know what? At the end of the day, the number of people who support me in my continued fight, the large amounts of readers saying “thank you”, and the laughs I get out of men and women all over the world far surpass the few “haters”. And that makes it all worth it. Do I want acceptance and love from people? Do I want someone to tell me to keep chugging along, you can do it, you’re worth it? ABSOLUTELY! It’s part of the perks of putting my most humiliating truths out there for everyone to love, hate, make fun of, or relate to.
5. I have no reason to lie. Ask anyone who knows me “in real life” if I’m a dishonest person. Yeah, I’ll lay it all out there. I will admit to my own faults and call others out on their own. It’s just the way I am. Brutally honest. It’s not always a pretty thing, and I know it. Sometimes it hurts. When it does and someone tells me, I feel bad, apologize, and hope that we can both move forward. As far as what I write on my blog, while I will give the facts as reality calls them about my own life and/or situations, I always make a point to either make a generalization or an obvious exaggeration if its involving a negative aspect of another person. Yes, I will talk about something that annoys me on my blog. I will also use quotes from emails that I get from people, or use pieces of a conversation that I have or overhear… HOWEVER, even when I do that, I will use those bits and pieces to create a blog that generalizes the situation to involve more than one example. If I’m going to write an entry bashing one particular person, that’s going to me MYSELF, not someone else. If I write about someone acting a particular way or doing a specific thing, or talk about a quote that I got in an email, I do NOT make it targeted towards that single person. It will also not necessarily be within the exact context with which it was originally written. For me, it’s getting across my point about a stereotype, not pointing fingers at an individual. Take that as you will, but I believe that everyone that may cross my blog’s wake deserves a certain amount of anonymity. If you consider that a “lie”, then that’s your own choice. Again, ask anyone who REALLY knows me how much of a liar I really am.
6. Comments on my blog are awesome. I love when they turn into a conversation amongst readers, and hearing other perspectives has been incredibly helpful to me at times. Remember, my blog is part of my therapy… a very positive part of my life where I can vent my fears, sadness, frustrations, anger. Hearing that I am not alone and that people are rooting for me is helpful. If that’s an “ego-booster”, then so be it… but it’s not egging me on to write MORE horrifically graphic shit on my blog. I’d do that one way or another. Don’t believe me? Look back at when my blog didn’t get any comments, and you’ll see I was just as willing to say the unspeakable, if not more so because I didn’t know others were ever going to actually see it.
7. I’m actually a damn good mom, if I do say so myself, and I get frequent positive feedback from other parents and adults about my parenting skills. I’m not perfect AT ALL, but I try very, very hard to make sure my depression affects my darlings as little as possible. My kids are happy, healthy, well-behaved, and as smart as little boogers can get. On the days that I’m having a really rough time because of depression or medication changes, I make sure that James is either there to help, or I seek help from someone/where else so that my girls can still have a positive, healthy day.
8. Since the very beginning of my therapy, James and I have been well aware of warning signs regarding suicidal thoughts and other dangerous signs that happen as a result of mental illness and the treatment I have had to endure. There have been two real times where I knew hospitalization may have been necessary. One of those times, I willingly went to a mental health crisis center for an evaluation. The other time was a couple mornings ago when I had an adverse effect to the Wellbutrin, and James notified my doctor immediately. If the symptoms hadn’t lessened over the course of the day, I was ready to go to the hospital for another evaluation. We are NEVER far from a doctor’s care who is well aware of my mental health situation, and I am not so irrational or over-the-top crazy that I don’t know when I’m in a spot bad enough that may require further treatment. So far, I have not gotten to that point, despite what I have heard some talk about and tell me. Rest assured, I have been getting help for a solid year now, and I don’t plan on stopping at any point. Anyone who has gone through treatment for depression knows that the yo-yo effect from medication that is not right for your body is just part of it. You are warned that it may happen, the drug prescriptions always advise you to be aware, and it’s just something you know you may have to go through. I may not always talk about the help that I’m getting, but it’s not omitting facts on purpose. It just happens to be something that I don’t feel is necessary to talk about. If you’re ever concerned, ask me. I’ll make a point to tell you what’s going on.
9. Tamra’s an idiot, a whore, and she’s going to hell… Okay, yeah, maybe. Well, the middle one’s definitely not true because I’ve never engaged in any kind of prostitution, nor have I been with many partners sexually. But hell, if you have a different definition of whore, I just may fall into it. Whatever.  The other two… yeah, I’m sure some think I’m an idiot, and according to some religions, I certainly belong in hell. Not gonna fight either of those. I’ll let God be the true judge.
10. Trust me (and others who have dealt with any kind of mental illness such as major depression or any of those other oh-shit-I-think-I’m-going-crazy illnesses can fully understand what I mean when I saw this), unless you have personally experienced postpartum depression, anxiety, OCD, paranoia, psychosis, etc… you CANNOT understand what it’s like. If you’ve watched someone go through it but haven’t been through it yourself, you STILL DO NOT know what it’s like. Depression and other mental illnesses are extremely easy to judge. It’s very simple to look at it from a distance and think you may know what is best for that person or think you know how they’re feeling and what they need to do in order to “get better”, but you don’t. Opinions are fine, but unless you’ve been there, done that, and truly understand, don’t dare for a second think you really have any clue. Empathy is never a bad thing, but trying to diagnose or “fix” the person in question isn’t your job unless you are a trained mental health professional working with that person. People discussing mental illnesses like they actually “know” what they’re talking about when they really don’t is one of the major contributors to mental illnesses having such a bad reputation. Really? It’s like cancer or losing a limb. I haven’t experienced either of those. I can empathize with the horrible pain that a person going through that is dealing with, but I can never fully understand unless I got through it myself.

Now, if there’s something that I haven’t answered that you’d like to know, ask me. I’m not afraid to give you the full, honest truth. It may be in a private email if it’s involving other people, but I will NOT withhold the facts.

(While balancing with one foot on top of that freaking half-ball-thing, the other leg stretched out in front of me, and both hands out for balance.)

Will Ferrell: You know, you can stop curling your fingers. There’s nothing for you to grab onto. (laughs)

Me: (gritting my teeth) Shut up

(More laughter from Will Ferrell)

Me: Trust me, you do NOT want to meet my roundhouse punch.

Will Ferrell: Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been punched by a female.

Me: (Sweating and gasping while still trying to balance on that damn torture-device) Yeah? Well, it’d probably the the last.

Will Ferrell is trying to kill me, and he’s really asking for a good kick in the groin while he’s at it.