okay. let’s see. it’s actually 5 till 10am. i’ve had something to eat (spicy japanese ramen) and am about to go grab my mug of green tea with honey. i’ve written out my bullet points and will now respond.
hrm… okay… the hat. in her profile pic she’s wearing this phenomenal top hat and i complimented her on it. she ducked the compliment saying it was an old halloween costume hat that she added stuff to. so? why would that make the hat less cool? that seems like it’d make it MORE cool. i have a couple hats like that. this phenomenal 1 that’s about 2 feet across and started out life as a wall decoration of all things! it had plastic fruit hotglued all over it. it was truly awful! but the hat itself was this great turn of the last century 2 foot across straw brim with a little beany cap head piece. i took a good 2 weeks to winkle the fruit off and pry off the glue, glued a bit of fish net across the top to repair a couple small tears and wove some ribbons in it. when i wear it, i generally hatpin a scarf or veil or shawl to it and it’s the best portable hands-free sunshade ever and is waterproof enough that it makes a great hands free umbrella as well. i almost NEVER buy stuff off the rack and leave it that way. haven’t for more than 30 since since i 1st went goth back in 1982. anyone can follow the cookie cutter people with their paperdoll cutout clothing. they’re so boring they colour coordinate their clothing to one another! (don’t give me that. i overheard far to many early morning discussions with my sister on 3 way call to 2 of her friends to do precisely that. ‘no! i’m wearing the teal sweater-dress, yellow leggings and white bow. you have to wear the black one with the yellow bow and teal leggings’ etc etc seriously messed up shit.) 1 of my fave things to do is on November 1st i head out to the local shops and throw down about 20 bucks on several shopping bags full of marked down for pennies on the dollar no one will want this for another year merchandise. most of my cool gothy tights and gloves have come from those day after Samhain shopping trips. that’s usually when i buy black lipstick and nail varnish as well. i make about 1/3 of clothes from scratch too. no one ever has anything i like and when they do, the idea of spending 150 bucks on something OFF THE RACK that i could just as well run into someone ELSE wearing at the next event i attend? i don’t fucking THINK so. my best stuff is either ‘pretty in pinked’ remember to make her prom dress, she cuts up 2 vintage dresses and combines them> i love doing that kind of thing) so yeah. i think your hat’s even cooler considering the origins.
however? i have NO fucking clue as to who or what linda perry might be. pop culture? pff not unless it happened 20 years ago or more. i stopped giving a shit about what the entertainment industry was doing when the remakes started outnumbering new films. these days i mostly watch documentary series on netflix or really old horror movies and musicals.
ah. right. she seemed postitively (HUH!? SP?!)aghast that my cat would offer to take my face off for using baby talk on her. Zap understands English just fine and even speaks a bit. has about a 50 word vocabulary. (and an accent. she can’t pronounce hard t’s! it’s the cleft lip!) and she’s quite willing to hold a conversation (good luck getting her to shut up most days actually.) it’s about like talking to anyone that doesn’t have a complete grasp of the language. except she tends to take offense REALLY easily if you act all condescending. and she sees baby talk as condescending. typical Zap exchange…?
Zap- mama? AMRI!!!! (amri also means mother)
me-oh shit. sorry. what’s up, sweety?
zap-i i want snacks now.
me- oh? well you HAVE been good today. what do we say when we ask for something?
zap-i want now please?
me-that works. gimme a sec.
and mind you anyone happening in here and hearing this would be able to understand hr as clearly as i’ve typed it. this amuses Zap. she’s not just limited to clearly stating what she wants, when and why. this kind iof thing happens a lot around here too.
friend-did that cat just wink at me?
me-maybe she’s flirting or agrees with what you said. (shrugs)
friend- what do i do?
me- what would you do if a person did it?
friend- do it back maybe? (i nod. they wink. Zap likes to respond to this sort of thing by sticking her tongue out at people. she can also blow kisses which took her quite a long time to work out how to purse her lips for the ‘mwah!’ noise LOL watching her practice when no one else was around kept me entertained for months.)
Zap isn’t exactly a normal cat. 1st off she’s about the size of a small BEAGLE weighs about 25 pounds and is 1/2 wildcat 1/2 semi-domesticated feral housecat. she DOES have her claws. i will not declaw a cat. if you think otherwise i’ll warn you now do NOT tell me about it or comment on this blog about it. i will ban you here, block you via your email addy and then if you’re stupid enough to give something resembling a real name? i’ll find out where you live (appr.) and contact animal control in your area to deal with your ass because it’s cruel. get it? got it? good. and if you think i cannot or will not take the time to do that? you are SORELY mistaken. when i got her she was taken away from a psych-wad ex who was blowing pot smoke in the kitten’s face then threw her into walls to ‘punish’ her when she freaked out. nice. yeah. my cat now fucker. i even moved house so i could keep her because we weren’t allowed cats where i was living. she KNOWS i rescued her and she is fiercely protective. but i don’t treat her as a pet. she’s more of an adopted kid. when she surprised me by starting to talk ( i was working with trying to teach a cockatiel (fuck off spell check)to speak at the time. cat learned better than the bird did) the problem is, because of what my ex was doing to her (it wasn’t just the 1 time i caught him at it) she’s broken in the brain. epileptic. every now and then (tends to run about every 6 weeks or so) she has these moods. PMS or something ‘pussycat mental screwup’ ? and goes completely apeshit off the wall psycho. i call her the carpet panther when she does this and you damn near need a whip and a chair to deal with her. she can an will attack anyone or anything (including me. hell, i’m usually her focus when she snaps) she completely loses her ability to speak, goes completely feral (and shits and pisses everywhere oh joy <–place sarcasm there) and any attempt to deal with her as anything but a dangerous animal will land your ass in the emergency room. she’s not a normal cat. even when she’s in her good moods (like today) anyone using baby talk on her will be responded to with anything from a faceful of claws to her sitting up calling the person ‘poor dummy’ and walking away from them (you really haven’t been insulted till a 25 lb black and white cat tells you off in perfectly understandable english. me? she calls me loony tune but it comes out loony wune because of the t thing LOLOL)
ah. right. okay. i’m glad my basic personality tude and propensity for writing incessantly can be of help. honestly? i’d be doing it whether anyone would ever read it. i have over a 100 full notebooks on the shelf under my desk to prove the point. (Zap just walked over to me ‘out please, mama?’ me-it’s nippy out still, but if you want to go out there…’ ‘please?” ohalright. she lasted about 20 seconds. took me longer to type it than for her to decide she was cold and came back in. uh huh. kids never listen)
she’s right. if people shit all over you, you have 2 choices. stand up and kick their ass or buy a brown suit and hand out noseplugs wherever you go. when i was little i got kicked around, shit on, stepped on shoved in lockers… the works. when i’d come home crying? i’d get my ass kicked again for crying about it. made me mean. i don’t trust most people and i like most people less than i trust them. if i see someone getting kicked around, i wil leap in the middle of it and stop it. then i’ll read the bully the riot act and show them precisely what bullied kids can turn into (5’10” muscles on my muscles facefull of piercings bunch of tattoos and enough attitude for a whole gang of bikers. thing is? since i’m dying? i’m FEARLESS too. noting to lose and al that. insert appropos cliche here) but THEN, i’ll turn around and yell at the one that WAS being bullied for playing ‘perfect victim’ take a strip maul dojo martial arts self defense course or something for the Gods sakes. if you were any sadder, you should buy a tshirt with a target on it. if you play vicitim, the herd will treat you like one. what’s the alternative? tude, baby. you wear it like armor. i even go all wicked laugh and wild eyes if i’m about to get into a fight. they never know what to expect.
so. when the only other option is lay down and die or let them circle in and kill you? put up or shut up. i don’t need the world. it needs me. it needs all of us to keep doing the whole society thing. even those of us who have chosen to live on the fringes of it are still fulfilling a role by doing what we do. whether you chose to be a mouse that hides and runs at the 1st sign of trouble or stand up prepared to take down all comers? that’s up to you. no one can make you do anything you really don’t want to do. and don’t come back at me with the ‘what about assault victims’ blah blah blah..oh? really? (mind you, your reading the words of one who HAS been!!!! so i know what the fuck i’m talking about.) yup. your choice. i’ll use 1 of my own examples actually 2 to show you the difference.
1st example. there was this group of cool girls 1 of which was usually nice o me when her friends weren’t around because we both liked horses (thing is my family had the money for lessons and hers didn’t but i was tryig to get a trail ride discount from my club membership so she could go out with a trail group and i could give her a few pointers. even had the trail riding guide on board with it since i was volunteering at the park on weekends for an excuse to get to learn more about the horses because i wanted a horse and knew i had a better chance at getting one if i knew as much as i possibly could about taking care of it. (did it work? yup. got my own horse when i was 13 anglo arab registered as a thorobred then immediately banned from the track because she had the arabian tude and didn’t like men so any time a male jockey, exercise rider or groom came anywhere near her, she attacked them. got her for only 600 too! gorgeous. dapple grey with a drizzled stripe down her face, 2 white feet, black points and a white tip on her ground length black tail. i called her Syndaiire Starre. they’d only give her to us that cheap if we let them tear up her papers so no one could try to breed her back to racing stock because she was considered dangerous. i love the weirdos, don’t i?) was coming out of gym class last class of the day and i’d waited till everyone was out of the locker room before i went in to clean up and change. at age11 i was already wearing an a cup bra and was catching enough hell for that under the shape of a shirt let alone letting people see it! and the cool girls came in and started picking on me. i talk funny. i act weird. i was too smart. and now i’m hiding something from my ‘friends’ (since when were any of those slags MY fucking friends? i didn’t have friends as a kid and NEVER felt the loss.) and the result was because i wouldn’t let them rip my shirt off and parade me through the school halls (i spit bit and kicked and shrieked like a banshee!) they beat me up and stuffed me in a locker. the gym coach (i’m going to make an exception to the don’t contact me people from my past. if that Gym teacher is still around? please. wyoming middle school would’ve been around 1981ish the gym teacher had some fairly impressive reconstructive sugury and i seem to recall a story about her being kicked in the face by a horse when she was a kid. though it also kind of looked like a cleft lip/pallette reconstruction. i owe her a thank you for what she told me after when she found me and an apology for dismissing the advice at the time, though i knew i was heading home to a worse beating than i’d just gotten. Bobby Jackie and Shannon? you fucking slags ever see me? run. i owe you about 20 minutes in the emergency room EACH.) the teacher found me and she told me sadly ‘why do you let them get to you like that? why do you let them do that? you are obviously not afraid to stand up for yourself. i heard you screaming all the way in the office. why didn’t you fight them?’ at the time, i glared at her. even then i wasn’t going to be stupid enough to say ‘ you just wouldn’t get it’ because there wasn’t a kid at the school that had anything nice to say about the poor woman who though she was a little alarming to LOOK at if you weren’t ready for it, was VERY nice and more patient with any of us than we deserved. i just shook my head ‘i didn’t hurt them so there’s still a chance that their next event i’ll get invited to and that means my life at home will be less miserable. (puhleez. you try being a burgeoning brainy kid when your parents were head cheerleader and captain of the football team ugh!) ‘ she gave up on me that day. i KNOW she did. i could see it in her eyes. but those damn girls never knew what we talked about so they kind of backed off a bit and started leveling new accusations. (for the record you dumb slags? yup. i’m bi. a dyke. i wouldn’t touch you if you held the cure to cancer either. and the teacher was engaged to a guy.)
now. let’s contrast that with just 3 years later.
i’d been taking various martial arts on the sly STRICTLY against parental permission. (i was already both too much of a tom boy and not athletic enough in the right ways and needed to go with more feminine sports. again. look at the time frame. early 80’s.. i was 14 for this one) i’d got in about 6 months stage fighting before they figured out the guy i was learning from was a full fledged fencing coach and euro style martial artist and made me quit, then i moved on to taking lessons on the sly with a friend (a fellow misfit like myself who’s mother appreciated her differences and encouraged her to celebrate them! good on you!) mind you i’d stepped up the weird by this point too. multicoloured hair goth clothes that sort of thing. there were all of like 5 of us ‘weirdos’ at school and we all hung out together at school, but then THEY’d get to hang out after school, but i wasn’t allowed to do so. why? because the parents had demanded to meet my friends suggesting i invite them over after school. i did. we were sitting around watching a video ‘surf nazis must die’ to be specific.. they came home, saw my friends were like me-gee go figure! and threw them out. niiiiice. and my family wonders why i hate them. my friends were honor roll, fuckers. your suggestions were all drunken idiots by age 14.) and again? it was family that let me down on this one too. the bully SOB was our COUSIN. he used to do nice things like sit behind me in class and threaten to hurt me, threaten to go kill my horse that kind of thing and he’d sit behind me and stab me in the back with a sharpened pencil and yank my hair out. you know. harmless stuff. (eyeroll) it wasn’t just Foresty either. it was him and all his jock buddies, but he was the ringleader.
so. 1 morning right before lunch, i’m sitting in geometry class, my eyes glazing over (anyone who had Gary Schearing at Kings Mills high in the early 80’s will get this) eyes glazing over as i tried to figure out what his drunken shambling speach impedimented ass was talking about (‘hewwo cwath. today weah going tah dithcuth the pahwahpahtieth of dah pupandickawah wine!’ excuse me?! i hope someone in administration finally bought a strong enough set of steel balls to fire the sot.) and the familiar yanking and stabbing began. lovely. i just sat there in silence and took it. my (former) friend Donna watched, eyes getting bigger and bigger and i was tirn between trying to figure out what the hell she was freaking out about and trying to sort out enough garbled information to make sure i at least had the homework assignment right when the bell or lunch went off and i was yanked backwards almost onto Foresty’s desk, then let go immediately and felt a sharp pain at the back of my scalp. burning and something warm and damp on the back of my head. Donna screamed and he threw something over my shoulder onto my desk and he and his friends ran off, looking more than a little freaked out for a second, but laughing again by the time they reached the hall. ‘Mic! It’s your HAIR! that’s your rat tail braid! it’s the whole thing! YOU”RE BLEEDING!!!!” (i haven’t answered to my 1st name in years except on legal paperwork. 1st name is Micky. EVERYONE calls me Leopara-my middle name or Parah for short. even when i was still stuck using my 1st name i loathed it. dad’s name was Donald. think about it. Gods, i loathe those people) and i snapped. 2 years of being taught even in dribs and drabs how to defend myself finally kicked in or something. to his credit, Mr. Schearing guy might have been a bomb as a teacher and a shitty sexist human being, but when he saw i was legitimately hurt, he lurched out from behind his desk and headed toward me, then hesitated and went for the intercom. i poured my books into Donna’s arms and looked back at him and snarled ‘bastard is MINE.’ and tore out the classroom door which was a straight shot about 500 yards (i think they tore down that old school or its something else now) from the math block to the cafeteria/gym extracurricular wing (band room art room that sort of thing) on a weird slope (the hallways was actually a fairly steep graded hill at the end by the cafe) and i could see his dark sleek head bobbing along laughing nearly head and shoulders above everyone else around him. i turned into a guided missile. there’s NO other way to explain it. Donna said later it didn’t look like my feet were even touching the floor. i just flew at him. (oh! i should point out i was a REALLY late bloomer height wise so at 14 i was barely over 5’4″ and this kid was well over 6′ and a football player no less!) what *I* actually recall is every thudding footstep as i caught up to him, then i did a springing leap that launched me at least 5′ straight up and hit him between the shoulder blades with my braced elbow (yup an old wrestling move. isn’t that a suplex or something? LOL), knocking him flat on his stomach, landed standing over him and flipped him over giving him a real good look at my spiked armband right in his face and threw the braid down on his chest. ‘since you WANTED it so much, i think you should HAVE it since you went to all the trouble. it’ll look GREAT on ya. but you ever and i mean EVER fucking touch me me again and i’ll kill YOU. not your pets. no pencils to tear up your clothes so you get in trouble. no. i. Will. Fucking. KILL. you. and say goodbye to your pretty boy status, creep.’ and gave him hat has come to be known as a Leopara Facial. fingernails x formation across the face. did i get in trouble? …..sort of. 2 days suspension, but he was suspended for 2 weeks. they HAD to give me something, but they KNEW what had really been going on because i think they pinned Schearing about it.
so. that’s the difference. and you don’t HAVE to FIGHT physically. run to a group of adults or cops or even a store clerk and scream your fool head off till someone listens. complicity gives the bullies permission.
and what’s our illnesses, but the ULTIMATE bully? if we don’t fight, we’re saying ‘oh go ahead, rip my hair out stuff me in a locker, see if i care. i’ll let you do worse next time. just call me Terry Tarmac your little pavement pal. feel free to walk all over me. not me. not anymore. not since i was about 12 and started learning to fight back.
uhmmm switching gears slightly. (let me grab a soda and roll a cigarette. but i think you see why i hedged about answering properly for a week or so. everything you were talking about was SO valid, i thought it deserved a proper response. i don’t do things 1/2-ass.) kay…
her last comment was after that awful experience with Dr. Herr. a very sweet wish that i sleep well and be out of pain for a little while. (busts of laughing till tears pour down my face.) not laughing AT you, just laughing in your general direction. RSD doesn’t work like that.you mention rheumetoid (sp?) arthritis AND Lupus (damn woman you got the short end of the fucking stick too didn’t you?) now i’ve known people with both. the pain levels are more like the arthritis. now lupus SUCKS and i seem to recall there was a (i THINK)judy blume book about a girl that had it. she befriends a guy at the hospital who reminds her to watch as many sunrises as she can ‘the sun came up golden today’. she ends up in remission and he ends up dead. he didn’t have lupus though it was a form of cancer i think, possibly lukemia(SP?!) ) it was from her young adult collection (like she did the stuff everyone knows her for ‘are you there, god, it’s me Margaret’ and the male version ‘then again maybe i won’t’ and those related titles, then she moved on and started writing books about people in their later teens dealing with harsher topics. she also did a bunch of purely adult novels…..uhm…. yeah. they’re all good, but they ALL scanned like she should have taken some of her advice from her earlier books into adulthood topics because every single one of her adult characters are basket cases!)
with Lupus they’ve got at least a partial handle on what causes it and how they can contain the symptoms at least so you can lead a relatively ‘normal’ life. some days when you seem/feel perfectly fine, then a day later you’re bedridden for a week. (please feel free to correct me and/or expand on the observations and answer in the comments section with a really good precise description of it. people need to KNOW this shit, honey.) but arthritis is more random. you can be fine 1 moment, then the barometric pressure changes and you’re going to be spending the rest of the day curled up in a little ball trying to move as little as possible. yes? no? again. feel free to correct me or expand on the concept in the comments section. this also goes out to other sufferers of this or related conditions. and if you need to send any of my posts on to someone to try to explain some aspect of any of this kind of thing to someone? i’m okay with that, but i just ask that you tell me in the comments section that you’ve done so ESPECIALLY if it’s got some of my art as the photo for the post!!! O.o )
with RSD it’s all layers. whatever damage it does it KEEPS. even on the really good days (that come fewer and more far between with alarming consistency!) aren’t good days at all. my pain levels even on a good day tend to run at 6-8 and that is WITH the pain meds. mind you, they have me on Perc 7.5s 3 times a day (though i manage to juggle it around so i get at least 5 4 pill days a month. those’ll knock the pain levels more down into the 6 range (i’m doing 4 pill days all this week. sunday through thursday) mornings are the worst. the ol’ pain chart don’t even CUT it at that point. i’ve freaked people out that run into me before the 1st pain meds of the day kicked in and i’ll just be sitting here taking to them and have tears pouring down my face. i always feel bad about that. i have to explain to them there’s nothing they can do at ALL except either ignore it, or wait about 1 hour after they hear me start moving around so the pain meds can do something resembling helping (or more likely) i’m able to hit a meditative state and get a leash on my outward reactions to it. it’s layers. like your view of the world sans pain you have clear vision, then as it starts affecting you, someone put a sheet of coloured film over your eyes so all you see is pale pink. then the next day, someone adds another sheet of film darkening it and so on and so on till you cannot see through the layers of film anymore and all you see is the red from the layered film…. except of course it’s your body not your eyes and instead of seeing it’s feeling as in physical sensation and you’ll be a little closer to the mark.
sleep? (sigh) about 1ce a week, i might get a solid 6 hours out of sheer exhaustion. most of the time EVEN on 4 pill days and EVEN on sleeping pill nights (i try not to take them every night, but it’s already to the point that without the Ambian? sleep is NOT happening. period. end of story!) i might if i’m lucky get 2-3 hours solid and i emphasize IF I AM VERY LUCKY (though again it’s more exhausted passing out than sleeping) and if the tiniest unexpected noise happens? i’m up. for the rest of the night. and i cannot nap. that’ll throw off my circadian. i have to make myself stay up then till at LEAST 930pm and then it starts all over. on pill days that means tea at 930 sharpish. bedtimestory, sleeptytime or chamomile are the 3 go-to’s for sleep with a 6 count drizzle of honey. if i’m having a sleeping pill that night, i take it at 945, smoke 1 MAYBE 2 more cigarettes while i drink my tea and choose whatever background noise i’m going to meditate with (for use in guided dreamwalking/astral that kind of thing). another reason i have to be careful with the sleeping pills? i have to maintain absolute calm between the time i take it and the time i go to lay down or adrenalin will burn through the sleeping pill and i’ll be up for the night because i will NOT allow myself to take more than 1 sleeping pill in a 24 hour period.
oh. the photo? last year. the light’s bad so you can’t tell, but it’s actualy dark blue and purple and the only hair i HAVE there is the ovoid at the top of my head…. and i could SIT ON IT that’s how long it was!
so. hope that covers it. if not or if it’s generated any further questions? don’t hesitate to ask.