A Surprisingly Sane Blog

I know Kate Moss is supposed to be strikingly gorgeous and some kind of incredible supermodel and shit…

But I just cannot and never have seen the appeal. When I see her in magazines and billboard ads, the following comes to mind:

• she should be paying royalties to photoshop
• wonky eyes! WONKY EYES! (and wonky eyes can certainly be attractive on many people and they have never bothered me, but hers kind of do… probably because they get more wonky the more drugs she’s sniffed!)
• interesting possibility: a friend of mine many years ago was dating a big-time dealer who claimed she bought cocaine from him. Personally, I don’t know how valid that is, but wow, small world, I guess?
• WONKY EYES!
• Holy crap, she looks amazing in that ad with 5 pounds of makeup and photoshop in her pocket!
• No makeup shots: Total Plain Jane. Not a bad thing… but it also proves the power of makeup. Hey! No wonder I love makeup!
• Damn, girl looks rough.
• I’d think she looks pretty in that photo, but the black liner just emphasizes the glazed-over wonky eyes.
• You know, I dare say that if she wasn’t a supermodel, people probably wouldn’t look twice seeing her on the street.
• Overall: Round face, nice cheekbones, very photogenic. Thank God for photoshop. At least she does have a lovely smile.
• She was kind of a homely kid. I feel a little bad saying that. But makeup does wonders.
• TOO SKINNY! Cover that emaciated chest please!
• WONKY EYES!
• Really, why on earth is someone that rich from posing for pictures when really, they’re just not all that appealing? We live in a weird world.
• OMG, she has a cute little girl! I hope she has a ton of stretchmarks from being pregnant and we just never see them thanks to PHOTOSHOP.

Current Mood: Alarmed

1. Ugh, the time I felt like I *had* to tell my mom I was having sex. I was a sophomore in college, and I’d waited quite a bit longer than everyone else I knew to lose my V-card. My mom, a hard-core-wait-’till-you’re-married advocate (despite being a total hypocrite in that realm, naturally) was treating me like shit because I was dating this (older) guy that she hated. It was all she could talk about, and so finally, I admitted it had happened. What I didn’t tell her or anyone else at the time was that it hadn’t been consensual with this guy, and I was so ashamed that I just couldn’t even admit it to myself or anyone else. I never should have told her. I spent the next few years putting up her making me feel like like a dirty slut, leaving printed-up information about HIV and other STDS, and making off-color cracks about how tainted and dirty I was. Every time I think of that, I just wish to God I hadn’t said a damn word about it. I needed support for the trauma I’d dealt with, not someone damning me to hell over a mistake.
2. The morning I moved to Seattle, my dad broke down and cried when he said goodbye. Up until that point, I thought he was incapable of tears, and I was horribly shaken by his pain. If I’d known just how badly it was going to affect him, would I have dealt with moving here differently? Would I have second-guessed it? Was the move really worth the pain I was going to inflict on so many people, even though it was a better choice for us?
3. I made this demo-tape at a news broadcast station during my internship in college. I’d written this clever story, did the shoot outside onsite, and even had the clothing, hair, and makeup to play the part. Upon seeing it, I knew that I was never going to pursue a career in Journalism. I sounded like a young, immature girl, my long hair looked ridiculous, and my expressions were unconfident. Staring at my face on screen, I realized how much I hated the way I looked and sounded in this unnatural role, and there was not a chance in hell that I was marketable as a reporter. I turned away from that screen, the internship, finished my degree since I was on the last year of it, and enrolled in a post-bacclaurate program before that semester was over. I’d spent years pursuing this degree that I was unsure about from the get-go, and all it got me was this crappy demo-tape that proved to me that once again, I’d made a poor decision.
4. During my days at ballroom studios, I was hired to go on a cruise. The man who asked if I’d be his dance teacher for the trip was a kind old gentleman in his mid-80s. Had I known that I’d be trapped on a ship playing the role of escort (minus the sex- thank the Lord) for the 3-day cruise, I would have sprinted off a cliff to avoid it. It was, without a doubt, the most uncomfortable weekend of my life while I quickly learned that my role was to get as done up as possible, dress like a gold-digger, and spend the weekend on this old man’s arm while he spent money on me, held my hand, and kissed my cheek. I felt sick as the people around me glanced in my direction with smirks and I felt like my personal space was completely compromised. When I talked to my boss about the situation, I was basically told to suck it up, enjoy it, and go with it- that’s why I was hired, after all.
5. And are you ready for a good one? I saved the best for last… I once had a guy I was sort of seeing (yes, just sort-of seeing… shut up… it was a short-lived phase) ask, “How do I measure up?” when he pulled out his (dinky) peen in front of me for the first time. Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph… how do I answer something like that? You wanna know what I told him? I cared about him, so I very cooly rep(lied)… “Well, uh, I’ve seen bigger, and I’ve seen smaller (I’ve changed a few diapers in my time), so you fall somewhere in the middle. And besides, why worry about that, anyway? From what I hear it’s not the size, but how you use it that matters.” Was that so freaking incredibly kind and gracious of me, or what? (Bows and accepts Oscar). Looking back, I probably should have told him the truth… I just hope he doesn’t have a lifetime of thinking he’s hot shit and doesn’t have to work his ass off to please a woman in bed because I didn’t have the heart to be honest. Oh well. Happily, his little dick will never be my problem. Bah ha ha ha! And to be honest, I’m not sure what makes me cringe more… the fact that I saw his teeny wiener, or the fact that I lied by omission about its size.

For some reason, my mind is taking a walk through the cringe-worthy moments of my recent years today. But as much as these memories catch my attention from time to time, I think all the therapy I’ve been taking over the last two years has been truly helpful. Yes, I shudder to think of some of these, but it’s more like a minor “eek” than something that sticks with me to agonize over for hours. And at least that last one makes me laugh out loud more than anything!

Current Mood: Mischievous

1. I never wanted a boy, just girls. The reason? Baby peen freaks me out. They get boners!
2. I have a busted, swollen foot. I just keep wrapping it and dancing on it because I have 2 performances and a bunch of lessons to teach this week. The doctor is probably going to take a baseball bat to it just to keep me off the damn thing once I give up and make an appointment.
3. Sometimes I really want another kid. Not a baby, just a kid, but the baby comes first so I just deal with that fact. Then I remember the painful natural childbirth, postpartum nightmare, breastfeeding, the Prozac, the crisis center, and the fact that my stellar long-term memory is a dark void from that era of my life as I struggled to fight that knife at my wrist more than once. And then I remember that James had his balls snipped last year, and I sigh with relief that I don’t even have to worry about fighting any urge to procreate.
4. My garden gnome has a Facebook profile. It chats with my sister and bro-in-law’s gnome as well as my parents’ gnome. We’re all a little weird.
5. Though my dog is certainly fluffy and cute, poor Lucy really is quite fug. She has this underbite that juts out for days, and it never ceases to attract comments from every visitor in our home.
6. I totally believe that feet and dick size go hand-in-hand in most cases. Go ahead and tell me if I’m way off because I’ll totally believe you. I’m kind of gullible. Plus, I don’t have tons of experience to argue it. But let me say this: from what I’ve seen, it’s true.
7. I have a heart of gold. With all my sailor talk and quick sarcastic wit, you’d think I’m a total bitch. But if someone needs help or a shoulder to cry on, I’m there in an instant. But this heart of gold has gotten me into al kinds of trouble more than once.
8. Two words: Shower Sex. It’s the quickest, easiest way to get it on during the day in this house. Thank you, Dora the Explorer. I’m wondering when the kids are going to figure it out, then I remembered I didn’t realize until I was an adult that my parents showering together probably wasn’t just to conserve water.
9. I have turned into a true girly-girl: I have been LOVING playing with makeup.
10. I paint my girls’ nails whatever colors they want. Currently, Julie’s are bright turquoise with black crackle over the top. April’s are sparkly blue. I also let them pick out their own clothes and fix their hair however they want. Even when it’s a little crazy.
11. I vowed a long time ago to never be the “frumpy mom”. Thus far, I have remained chaste to that promise.
12. I have the olfactory senses of a dog. If you’ve just had sex, use cocaine, or shampoo with Pantene, I can smell it on you if you’re close enough for me to touch. That also means that if you haven’t showered or washed your clothes, I’m holding my breath as discreetly as possible for a reason. And no, I’m not going to turn you in, though I might flash you a dirty look if that’s not your girlfriend’s perfume I smell and she’s standing right next to you.

Current Mood: Cool

I’ve been a member of different social networking websites for a few years now, and there have been trends of people I see- the good, the bad, and the ugly. And while I’ve seen an article on this recently, it was far too PC. Time for some real shit by Surprisingly Sane.

1. The Faker- You know, that pregnant woman who’s actually man or a total liar that causes as much drama and bullshit as humanly possible just to fuck with the other pregnant mama’s hormonal hearts.
2. The Stander-Upper- the person on the board who didn’t get the memo that the Faker has a penis, gets pissed at everyone for dissing the Faker, and deletes people on Facebook who didn’t believe The Faker. Later, they try to laugh it off like it was pregnancy-brain or something. But they never apologize to everyone for being a brat to those who were right.
3. The Religious Freak- Not a person who practices it, but the one who has to God Bless everyone in every post and pardon every complaint with a God Willing, and seems to forget that the Bible clearly states that God gave man Free Will. The Religious Freak frequently forgets God granted them a brain to use and just allows anything and everything happen to them because that’s what God’s choosing for them. Additionally, the Religious Freak is usually the most unaccepting, close-minded person on the board. Very Jesus-like of them, no?
4. The Perfect One- Oh yes, you’ve run into them. That’s the person on the message board who mistakes themselves with God. Their Word is the Final Word on any issue, and they will talk to death any comment that disagrees with them. When their Perfection is questioned, they pretend to graciously accept it from the Stupid Lesser Person and smile kindly kindly to their face while telling everyone in the background that the person who just disagreed is racist or prejudice or uneducated or mentally unsound.
5. The Self-Righteous Bitch- Similar to The Perfect One. However, the Self-Righteous Bitch is like the mom who does everything one way because that’s the only way to raise a kid. And if there’s a questions about it, it turns into a “I’ve raised 60 of them, and don’t you dare question the way I do it BECAUSE IT WORKS FOR EVERYONE… PERIOD”. Also known as the “One Size Fits All” person.
6. The Freaker-Outer- The person who panics over every tiny thing, makes a huge deal out of something as simple as tying a shoe, and is paranoid that they’re gonna fuck up for life if they make that move at work, feed their kid that food, wear the wrong kind of baby-wearing-contraption, or wipe their ass a different way.
7. The Bipolar Nut- Not to be confused with an actual bipolar person (that’s coming). The Bipolar Nut is that person who posts new statuses and updates constantly that are either “I love so-and-so and live is bliss” or “I’m giving up, life and love aren’t worth living for”. Their world is either incredible, or its crumbling, and it changes constantly. No middle ground.
8. The Crazy- That’s the kind of psycho person who does or says crazy shit, isn’t afraid to share not-so-kosher details, and may/may not have an actual crazy-person disorder. Can be great for a laugh, but you never know if they’re being serious when they threaten to bash someone’s windows in or hang themselves.
9. The Obsesso- The person who never gives “X” a break. Most of their posts revolve around “X”, and people being the scenes usually start talking about how sick of “X” they are. Luckily, usually “X” passes… but then along comes strolling “Y”.
10. The Mom- Yes, the person in the group who constantly tries to mediate. The Mom usually ends up talking down to everyone when they start getting a little snippy at one another, though usually she/he has quite a bit of drama to add to the board as well.
11. The Drama Queen- Ah, the person on the board who throws a bone that she/he knows everyone will go rabid over. The Drama Queen loves drama, instigates it, feeds it, and it doesn’t usually bother them when they go to sleep at night. The rest of us, well, it bothers.
12. The Exhibitionist- Not afraid to tell it like it is, baring sexy or gory details, and has a knack for offending the Religious folk, the Moms, the Freaker-Outers, etc. Honesty is both a blessing and a curse for this sort, and they’re usually a bit on the emotional side.
13. The Baby- You know, the one who gets their heart broken every time someone doesn’t agree with them. They usually go running off to a group of mommies who are willing to pat their back and given ‘em a pep talk. Also commonly the ones to chime in and hide behind The Mom or the Self-Righteous Bitch or the The Perfect One.

I’ll stop at 13. Seems like a good number.

So what kind are you/would you be if you were on a message board? Can you admit it? We all have a bit of annoying attached to our online persona, but can you own it?

I think I’m a mix, depending on what’s going on. I definitely have played The Crazy (duh), and certainly The Exhibitionist, but I also admit, ashamedly, that I have been The Mom before. Hopefully, though, most of the time I’d just a good source of entertainment and support. Or so I’d like to think.

Current Mood: Cool

This weekend I did not do any of the following awful things that I cannot pretend have not happened in the past:

1. Panic that people who did not like me were whispering behind my back while smiling to my face.
2. Refuse to watch my husband compete.
3. Make snide remarks about my husband’s insanely good luck in comparison to my own shit luck.
4. Get trashed.
5. Leave the ballroom and never go back after competing.
6. Purposefully skip awards.
7. Panic before a competition because I think I look fat or my hair and makeup doesn’t look perfect.
8. Wake up feeling like there was no way I could ever get up and face the dance convention.
9. Feel like I am spiraling out of control.
10. Tear myself apart and look for any and all confirmation that I am, in fact, a terrible dancer and will never be a good one.
11. Tell my husband I want a divorce because I am sick of living in his shadow.
12. Struggle to talk to people and hold conversations because the chaos around me is overwhelming me.
13. Have a panic attack.
14. Refuse to eat.
15. Swear up and down that James is more interested in the other women on the dance floor than me.
16. Look at the trophy/award in my hand (even a first place) and roll my eyes because I know I didn’t really deserve it.
17. Spend the next month recovering from the mental trauma and turmoil from attending the competition.

This weekend, I did the following:

1. Stayed out of drama that had the potential to suck me in.
2. Arranged “girl time” so I could sit down with a group of lovely Seattle ladies and socialize in a healthy way.
3. Got disqualified from one competition and took it gracefully and truly was amused by my error rather than upset.
4. Competed and felt great about my accomplishments.
5. Received dozens of compliments and actually heard them when words like, “beautiful” and “incredible” and “mesmerizing” were used to describe my dancing.
6. Sat in the front row, cheered like crazy, and stood up while clapping when James danced invitational for the first time.
7. Was proud of my husband for his great performances.
8. Totally rocked my cute competition clothes and smiled while doing my hair and makeup.
9. Told James when I felt an anxiety attack sneaking up on me and worked through it rather than allowing it to overtake me.
10. Kept the drinking under control and minimal.
11. Stayed completely sober for my spotlight competition.
12. Had some killer sexy late-night dances with James in the wee hours of the morning.
13. Did a great job balancing taking care of the kids, including them in on the excitement, and making sure they felt safe and happy and secure.
14. Was totally excited to get out there and dance and wasn’t focused on winning.
15. Proudly accepted my star-shaped trophy, no “buts”.
16. Avoided the death-spiral, paranoia, and toxic bipolar energy that hits me at the end of every convention.
17. Cuddled up with my husband before bed.

I never thought I’d see the day where I could go to a competition without triggering a serious bipolar episode or psychotic breakdown, but there it was. I enjoyed the whole thing and walked away feeling healthy and exhausted because I actually had a great time, and I had no desire to kick James to the curb with a backpack of clothes and clean manties. Yes, manties. As in, man+panties.

And this is the moment where I thank the makers of Lithium. All buttload of grams I take a day. And therapy. All the thousands of dollars I spend on therapy. But hey, without it, this weekend never would have happened.

It’s so nice to be able to live a “normal” life in my bipolar world. Well, as “normal” as I get, anyway.

Current Mood: Cool & Happy