A Surprisingly Sane Blog

Humankind sickens and disgusts me.

What the fuck is wrong with a group of people who horribly and painfully mutilate a perfectly beautiful and completely innocent human body? Do yourself a favor and never google female circumcision. Or Chinese foot binding. Or holocaust.

It’s one thing to make the decision to make minor changes to a body by choice- piercings, tattoos, cutting one’s hair and changing its color, but it’s a whole other kind of sick, twisting mindfuck to actually slice parts of a child’s most sensitive body parts off while they scream in agony. There’s a reason shit like that is being fought against. What on EARTH is wrong with cultures who continue to practice that kind of horrific abuse?

There was a student at one of the schools I worked at who was believed to have been subjected to female circumcision before moving to America. That poor kid was so messed up in the head it was devastating to watch. She refused to learn, laughed at bizarre things and couldn’t drop the hysterical behavior, and was an all-around trouble maker all while staring at things in space that only she could see. She knew too much for her young age, and there is no way she will ever live a normal life.

The stupidity of the human race is unfathomable. Today, I am disgusted.

I really need to stay away from googling awful topics.

Current Mood: Angry

Maybe it was the lack of acne, but I doubt it.

I’m gonna give you a peek into my personal life today instead of the regular commentary regarding useless illnesses and lame struggles I deal with like I usually do. Aside from my girls and camping trips, I generally don’t blog about the current events I’m involved in because I try to keep a certain level of respect for the unsuspecting people involved in the real-life story. Most of them don’t know they could end up in the fiery depths of my inflammatory blog if they’re not careful, so I do them a favor and leave out those parts of my online life.

That’s why if you think one of my blog posts are about you, you’re probably just seeing yourself in it. However, if you’re seeing yourself in THIS blog post… yes, it’s probably you.

Burn. Here it goes.

I left town the day after my birthday to go hang out in Phoenix for the weekend. My mom and sister drove up from Tucson to meet me, and I spent the rest of the time at a good-sized West Coast Swing convention held there. I’ve been to competitions regularly since 2004, and I know most of the hundreds of people in any given event’s ballroom.

For everyone who doesn’t recognize who the hell I am unless I’m attached to the arm of the long-ponytailed husband of mine, fuck you. There is nothing more hurtful than having a minimum of eight people (those were just the counted ones by a friend of mine) stare at you and ask you who the hell you are when they’ve known you for several years. And when I say my name and add “James’ wife,” the recognition and phony “Oh my god! How ARE you! You look so different! You cut your hair!” that comes pouring out of your mouth does nothing but piss me off. Thanks for reminding me just how fucking unforgettable I really am. I cut my hair months before moving to Seattle, and I’ve spent the last two years in the dance world with short hair. It’s not the hair. And it’s not the clothes. I’m wearing the same damn black slacks from Express- in the same size- that I have been for the last seven years. It didn’t get a boob job, dye my hair pink, or get a brow lift. Side-swept bangs does not massively alter one’s appearance.

Do I just have one of those unforgettable faces? Am I dull and boring looking?

I had a lesson with a coach and when I asked which parts of my dancing I should be focusing to expand upon, he said, “You’re really beautiful. And you have curves- that’s sexy. Use them.” Good god. That made me feel warm in fuzzy for sure, but how the hell can I be this curvalicious beauty and so damn forgettable at the same time?

I’m usually with James when I’m out. He’s noticeable. A tall, outgoing half-Asain with a huge smile and a long ponytail is hard to miss in a room. Even a dark one. Me? I must get lost in the damn wall on the outskirts, even when I’m out dancing and competing in the higher divisions.

I make a point to remember everyone. Their names. How to spell them. I remember the conversations I’ve had and notice when they’ve changed their dress style or hair. I can ask how their mother in the nursing home is doing, and I remember their son’s age and school year. I can see past a damn makeup or hairstyle change and remember the face in front of me.

I wish I could make a point to forget everyone just as they’ve done for me. The fact that I’m that insignificant compared to my husband pisses me off like no fucking other. The world of plastic acquaintances leaves me with an understanding of EXACTLY why I’m generally disgusted with humanity and their selfish little worlds.

Forget you.

Current Mood: Angry

I am so freaking sick to death of people who do everything they can to disagree, cause drama, or just flat out act rude regardless of what the situation is or the question asked.

Seriously. Get over yourself. The world does not revolve around you. You can whine and piss and moan about something, but the fact is, unless you’re actively trying to fix the things that suck ass or are at least somewhat likable, no one really cares. All it does is make folks around you roll their eyes and feel irritated before moving on and remembering you as a that jerk or whiner the next time your face pops up. People care about you if you’re a generally likable person. You are not a likable person if you act like a fucking dipshit constantly.

Now, go to the zoo and let monkeys throw their poop at you. I might start liking you a little more.

Current Mood: Angry

Unreliable- adj. not reliable; not to be relied or depended upon; irresponsible, undependable, untrustworthy

(source: dictionary.com)

I absolutely beyond sick of and frustrated with unreliability. One might say I am “seething” or even “irate” as a result of dealing with so much irresponsible bullshit and that I’m ready to march into the Seattle Stupid Headquarters and announce the Epidemic of Unreliability. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES AND TAKE COVER!

It’s a serious illness inflicting babysitters, friends, professionals and family alike. And it’s growing at a monumental speed.

I don’t get it. If there’s one reason my middle-class, Catholic family could ever be famous or acknowledged for, it would be their reliability and responsibility. If they commit to be there, or take care of something, THEY ALWAYS DO. And guess what? I’m the same damn way. Very rarely do I have to break a commitment, and when I do, it is never a means of selfish behavior. If I do back out, it’s because my kid is barfing and James isn’t home to take care of her, or because the babysitter just simply never showed up, the moron. (Though side note… it appears as though we did finally find a good babysitter, and that just rocks- it only took two freaking years.)

It doesn’t take much. All it takes is brushing off the selfish “I’d rather do this…” or not committing in the first place. This world is far to full of people who think of nothing but themselves and forget how their choice to flake out on someone may affect and stress the shit out of the other person.

I’ve decided to become part of this epidemic. YUP! Starting now, I’m going to go out of my way to be the flake that everyone is for me. When a babysitter shows up who frequently cancels, I’m going to go out and then tell them I don’t have any money to pay them when I get back before sending them on their merry way empty-handed! When a friend who likes to cancel on me last second regularly asks me to meet them for lunch, I’ll send ‘em a text 30 minutes after they’ve been waiting and apologize, but hey, I’m too tired to meet up today. And if someone books me for a job who maybe flaked out on me a time or two, I’ll return the favor last second leaving them scrambling the way they’ve left me before.

How does that sound?

And why the FUCK am I the only person I know with kids and STILL MANAGE to be the only consistently responsible, reliable one outside of my family?

Today, I fucking hate people and all their selfish bullshit. Pardon me while smoke billows out of my ears.

Current Mood: Alarmed & Angry

Last week my therapist told me I need to find a way to allow my self to feel angry and actually express it.

“What would your anger look like? Could you dance your anger?” I believe I shot Dr. T a dark look of disgust at that point. ”How would you paint your anger? Or would you run your anger? How would you express it?”

I nodded, “Oh, I write my anger sometimes. And I piss everyone the fuck off when I do, so I’ve learned that it’s not a safe outlet.”

“If you were to express your anger, what would it look like?”

I thought for a second before answering, “Well there’s this person that I really hate, and I’d love to bash their head in with a baseball bat. Over and over again. Would that be a good way to express my anger?”

I don’t think my therapist was expecting that, because he sat up sharply  in his high-backed chair with his eyebrows raised and kind of chuckled. I was feeling pretty on edge and almost asked him if he had a bat available, but my better internal half decided against it.

I get angry. A lot. But I have never been able to safely express it. Showing anger as a child usually left me ridiculed, screamed at, or left me in timeout while harsh words were exchanged amongst adults about my horrible behavior. Turning away and secretly bursting on the inside is my coping mechanism of choice, but what happens when the floodgates grow weary of their burden and burst? Well, in my lovely bipolar brain, something literally snaps and I do something that is usually horribly self-destructive.

Right now, I hate people and the shit they do. I hate slimy, sleazy guys who take advantage of vulnerable girls during horrible times of their lives then dare to act like a wounded pussycat every time they see their prey in the room even ages later. I hate people who hurt everyone they can get their fingers on just to make some kind of selfish statement. I hate the fact that getting into school again in a city with more colleges than I have fingers and toes is confusing and a seemingly impossible task. I hate the fucker who shot a few people and killed a 19-year-old girl in my neighborhood last week. I hate the sickening characters who harmed children in that movie “Slumdog Millionaire” that I watched a few nights ago. I hate that I felt so much anger trying to get my daughter to eat some of her fucking pancake last night at IHOP that I had images of forcefully shoving it down her throat.

I hate that I have no means of actually expressing this anger because I never learned how, and it scares me just how forceful this boiling lava inside of me really is. I have scars on every one of my knuckles from years of beating punching bags when I was angry, but I never walked away satisfied that I’d spent my anger on those WaveMasters. It was still there.

And I hate that, more than anything, I feel so angry sometimes that I feel something inside screaming in agony to let me get my hands on a baseball bat and beat someone who has hurt me or someone I love into a bloody (but still breathing) pulp of dirty, broken bones.

But instead, I’ll do what I do best and just go plant my miniature roses into a new pot while the kids play in their sandbox, then make lunch and read with them. And hopefully they’ll never knowing that their mom is screaming on the inside.

Current Mood: Angry