Big, busty, beautiful

So as of late I have been having a battle of the flubber. But then again I think everyone in the 20 something and plus is having that issue. I have always had this problem because no matter what I’ve never felt comfortable in my own body. In adolescence we imagine ourselves at our peak of perfection but let’s be honest here. We had zits, hair in weird places, our body changing with parental units to uncomfortable to mention what the hell is going on.  In High School I had a never ending war with a pair of tweezers and bras. I was kind on my own with this one. My much educated mother told me, here, this one will do.  I just put it on unable to process what I thought to be giant globs of fat sprouting from my chest.

In high school I was either “too fat,” “too thin,” “too loud,” “too rebellious” or really ‘too’ anything. It took me many a year afterward to realize that all those “too ____” is every self-conscience person projecting their fears on too me and using me as their personal flogging pole. But half way through the high school I really just stopped giving a shit because I really had bigger fish to fry. As I got older, the fish got bigger. Until I hit about 25 then, weird shit started happening. I lost my give a shit button and became once again over self-conscience, gawky, hyper wigged out teen. Like some sort of mid-life crisis before I even hit my mid-life period.

No matter what size my chest is people are still going to find a way to be jealous of it. Not because they are somehow magical but because they have problems with their bodies. Not only that but they are most likely projecting those anxieties on to me. As they do with everyone around them. And as I discovered working with consistently self-conscience red head it WASN’T just with me. She was unhappy and spiteful to everyone around her. Even though it affected me at the time; I am beyond giving a shit. FAR beyond.

But today, I was doing my makeup. I was feeling sleepy even with my extra strength cup of coffee and some nice fresh bread drizzled with honey as I was watching the sunrise slowly creep over yonder sky line. My eye brows were perfect; I had covered a small break out on my chin and blended it to perfection. I took another sip of my coffee and choose my color palette for my eyes which a nice light, work friendly, mocha riche with a hint of shine. Some power to set and little lit of blush to bring some color into my face. I dawned a wee bit of bronzer to accentuate my eyes. Time total? Under 15 minutes. In school it took me three times as long and nothing on my face was perfect.  

Now, I’ve gained a weight and a nearly triplicate of bust. Seriously there are some days where I think that all of it went to my boobs but that’s besides the point. My body has changed and I’m choosing now to get weirded out now about it? I’ve decided that it’s bullshit. The only vision of myself I should have to worry about is how I feel about myself. I looked in the mirror today and saw I was beautiful. AS for the weight, as long I can I do all the same things I could when I weighed less like jumping, dancing, running, long walks and boxing; why does it matter what weight I am?

Obscurity

Hello Sportsfans!

Mind you, as I wrote this I choked on my own breath. Now how intelligent does that sound? You know I’m your favorite armchair scholar. I use the term scholar instead of intellectual because it would be amuse that I was building on something that already existed. I am, however, seeking out new knowledge or what I otherwise noted today as useless chunks of knowledge crammed into my brain hole.  

I actually enjoy the idea of bringing something weird or obscure into a conversation. I mean look at it this way, Yesterday I learned that one of those freakish things that you pray to god doesn’t exist; does in fact exist. What could this possibly be? The goliath bird eating spider. A spider, that doesn’t need a web, or jumping powers. It sneaks up on birds and to make matters worse, they have acid spit and tiny hairs that can cut your eyes and lips. If the average human being eats approximately 8 spiders per life time this fucking spider would be the WORST and LAST thing you choked on before you died from tiny hair lacerations.

The worst thing is that this isn’t the worst icky thing that I have learned about. Actually, there are officially 6 things I wish I didn’t know where out there. Wanna know what they are? Simple Cracked.com baby. Here’s the link http://www.cracked.com/article_16054_6-endangered-species-that-arent-endangered-enough.html. If that’s not enough, try watching things like “River Monsters” and you come to the realization that all those freaking cat fish that you thought where just goofy looking, bottom feeding fishies; think again. Those things are in the same family as things that will literally eat you from the inside out to weird that will just eat half of you with its sand paper lips.

No joke here people. I used to feel bad for those cat fish. I used to call them the short bused kids of the fresh water but not anymore. Now I’m looking at aquarium fish like they going to take out a tiny knife out of their fishie pockets and cut their iddy bitty fish chest and mouth, “Come at me bro. I fucking dare you.” Laughable if you were at a supercenter like Wal-Mart or something. But what if you were alone? And it just stared at you and wouldn’t stop. I’ll let your nightmares do the rest.

 

Even when you believe that you are somehow in the realm of safety, for example: you’re safe from a poisonous snake because you chopped its head off.  BUZZZ wrong. Apparently they have heat centers by the sides of their head that will automatically trigger the very dead snake head to bite at the heat source. AKA you. And yes the poison is still there. So what is scarier than zombies? Zombie snakes that a fraction of their original size.

 Now where is this article you ask?  BAM: http://www.cracked.com/article_19774_6-terrifying-creatures-that-keep-going-after-theyre-dead_p2.html there you go.

 

As I read up on weird, obscure pieces of knowledge I find myself wondering; who the hell is doing weird researches? Right now, I’m reading about things that still continue to live even though they are dead thus the zombie snake. For instance, one segment is about frogs still kicking after their dead with isn’t freaky as much as it is electric impulses and limbs acting upon its accord. But here I am staring at recently de-brained frog. My reaction to that is like most things on the internet. 1^st reaction: “Ew.” 2^nd reaction: “Why the hell would they do that?” 3^rd: “Oh, I get it. Still, EW.”

Now before people start wigging out over the concept of animal cruelty (which I would be all for especially in this case) are two points. First off the frog goes on with his little froggy life as if it isn’t technically dead. Secondly, a 19^th century neurologist discovered this and as far as I’m concerned I’m grouping these people in with the grave robbing creeper of centuries past. You know, that archaic time when science still under the terminology of “art.” So the reasoning behind this I suppose I can understand. The video on youtube, however, is an active demonstration of not only flat cruelty but one of those things you hear about but don’t do.    

It comes to reason that maybe I shouldn’t be reading this stuff whatsoever due to my growing paranoia. Like assassinated Russian Billionaires who might be dead proof that ex KGB members are out there lurking pretending that communist Russia is dead. When it is not and it could be butt loads of crazy shit coming our way. Hello, anyone read the news about the EU? One word: Cyprus. I try to think back to a safer time when I could walk freely and play in the streets without fear. Good, old Toronto. My point is, that I think no matter what the particular obscurity (case in point people in Toronto think it’s weirdo that I live in Iowa and vice versa) we are all obscure in one way or another.

 

Happy nightmares

 

 

Dusty files

This is a blog that I was wanting to write about a week and a half ago and never got around to it. But I think it’s something that needs to talked about in one context or another. I was working an archiving job in story city for a company that shall not be named.  But it was basically shoving crap into boxes, preferably in alphabetical order.  But there was this sections of lose papers, doctor’s notes and termination files. It seemed like an impossible task but even more so, an impossible task not to look. These pieces of seemingly discarded papers were reminisces of the lives of others so coldly shoved an area not to be seen by the light of day ever again. I was just a hired hand but still I felt some remorse and pity about these lives I held in my hands. 

In some cases I saw their faces, their accomplishments and eventually their downfalls.  In some sense maybe I shouldn’t have looked but when it’s on the front of the file and I’m combing through things with a fine tooth comb it was hard not to memorize the details. These essentially were people being people and trying to live normal lives. In some cases I could even see the paper trail of people attempting to sabotage their co workers and so on. 

Then there was the dreaded “Temp” file. I felt my stomach sink the second I had to file those termination files. There was some that were there for a very short time and those I can understand for the simple fact that some people just don’t work out and are let go as a result or they quit. Shit happens. However there were ones that had been there for over a year and maybe a few more. But they never got further than that. Just a temp and then a simple “assignment ended” to sum up the precious time in their lives that they may have staked on having a job there. Or maybe being offered a job there. 

That’s when a sickening realization came over me, I too was/am a file.  My assignment was ended because I was sabotaged by several people and a part of great conspiracy as a whole. In theory I should have seen it coming as my gut for told but I decided to allow paperwork and clerks verify the information rather than just doing it myself. I’m supposed to be smarter than that or at least I assumed I was savvy and could deal with it. But I assume that is the price for throwing a few rocks while sitting a glass tower. 

What was the most shattering was the fact that these archives seemed so discarded, so lost and without purpose.  Was I the same? Right now sitting in some dusty drawer sits a forgotten file of my exploits in every place I have ever worked. Some I would be proud of such as my time at Hy-Vee. Or others such as 3m, not so much. So much fighting others in the workplace and all I want is that chunk of Zen in my brain, work an honest day’s work and go about my life as normal. Or as normal as it gets. But much like these people who I’d file away safely never to be looked upon again, I just want a chance to thrive but fate and I have somewhat differing ideas on “thriving.” Let’s just say I’m coasting on surviving. 

I can’t but to wonder about all those people. Each and every one of them gone their separate ways. Although some left under good circumstances and others not so much but if one things keeps me up at night it’s the ideas that everyone I have known, knew or will know is just some insignificant set of papers floating among a dusty file. An identity without a face or their story just a rendition of an HR bible of their lives doomed to exist in the in between world.  Or maybe that is where we are all stuck, in HR in between world where faces, facts and truths about a person’s life are nothing but dust and crumpled specs of ink.

Living and breathing in an undead world:

Hey there sports fans! 

Sorry I haven’t been around but apart from finishing my archiving assignment and transitioning to a new one, I have caught a case of the Space Flu.  I spent my birthday not being able to budge and vomiting more than Linda Blair during casting week. I haven’t strayed from my apartment very far because not only does this flu come with vomit but dizzy spells! Oh yes, dizzy spells.  But despite that I had to go out and pick up what looked to be half of a meth lab. I’m pretty sure if I had gotten any of the stuff with Sufophedine in it I wouldn’t have been allowed to leave the store. But that involved talking to people, infecting people or worse; people infecting me with a worse case of the flu.

I hooked myself up with Ny-quil and ended up tripping balls off of it going in weird mental circles about elephants. I kept seeing elephant shaped things in every movie I was watching. And for the record it wasn’t as if I was watching Jumanji or anything like that. I was watching the “From Dusk Til Dawn” trilogy and some “Hellraiser” and by God I saw fucking elephants. This led me to believe that Ernest Hemmingway was setting some sort of sleeper agent propaganda about abortions into films or some other cryptic weirdness like that. I kinda wished I would have written it down. 

 To catch you non lit folks up on that jab,(spoiler alert) he wrote a short story called “Hills like white elephants” and the subtext is about him taking his girlfriend to the “doctor” to get an abortion. It doesn’t help that I have a white elephant figurine made white marble in my kitchen. Or that I got into a staring contest with it. Somehow, I thought if I made pancakes it would make everything okay.  That only led to a longer staring contest in which I figured that I was too sick to be cooking and I turned off the stove. Fucking elephants.

My ex who had delivered me supplies earlier remarked that I tend to get a little on the Hunter S. Thompson side when I’m isolated and sick. So maybe that helps me understand the Ny-quil weirdness.  My fever didn’t break until today. Longest fever ever. But there is some good news; the job I really wanted came free! And they want to interview me for it. Yay! But God help me I better be over this before Friday or else it might look like I have a severe drinking problem. 

  

Actually as I write this I still feel a wee bit off my rocker. I blame it on nasal pressure which is going to put me back on the couch with dizziness and vomiting to keep me company.  But I am still holding on to this positive ju ju, something great is going to happen! I know but first… I need to feel well enough to get up off the couch.

The end of the deadly 27:

My birthday is coming on Sunday and I intend on celebrating it with a single cupcake, a single candle and a single glass of wine. As soon as I blow out that candle it will be the end of my 27^th year and therefore my last year of sullied innocence. Everyone I have known who has reached their 27^th year has gone insane or reached a peak of madness. I had so feared my 27^th year that I had become a shut in and refused to celebrate any holiday. What is the point when you spend the majority of your time alone?  But in the same fact I cherish my solitude.  

 I had long since wanted to publish my novel or at least be picked up. But the fact of the matter is that since my life has been shattered to pieces. In my mind I had spent most of the last two years staring at the scattered pieces wondering why. I kept shoving those thoughts somewhere underneath the sodden pile of “just for now” thoughts. But it wasn’t just for now, was it? It had spanned over two years and was I going to let it leak over another two or better yet the last decade of my life. 

Yet it is within this 27^th year that the horrors of the broken parts of my life have come to light and without anyone to blame I secretly turn into myself and search of the reasons behind my ruinous failure. Failure of the wife I should have been, friends I could have saved, the family I miss so much but can’t step out of my shell to even say so. But for the future some of these things I can remedy. Mostly, I can start by keeping up with my deadline of May to get my novel published. Well my first novel published.  The one thing that makes me happiest in the whole world is writing because with all the things that have been ripped from me, my mind is still mine. My thoughts still my own. 

I have come to the end of my age of innocence but with the loss of innocence come the occurrence of wisdom. Age comes wisdom but in this new found sense of guidance that I can help someone who was once like me.  I can help them to know that they are not alone and they can have a life full of love. Each seed of pain can grow into a vibrant but they need light to comfort them.  But as of March 10^th between the hours of 5-6 am, I am changing my life. 

My writing, my healing and my love will be the first things in my life. It is time to sweep up those tattered pieces and put them to rest in the graveyard of my mind better known as my mental archive.  But most importantly, I hope that those ghosts stay dead.