Boy am I losing it

On my way out the door today I couldn't find my bag. It is a bright red backpack that does not hide well. I started thinking, "where could I have left it?" After all I was in my apartment. Did I leave it in the hall and close the door on ever finding it again? Is it under a blanket? No, that's a kitty hiding from the dust storm I'm creating trying to find this red leather bag. Oh crap, I'll have to get all new cards and pictures and phone and whatever I have found that I can't do without even for a few hours so I carry it with me wherever I go.

On my third round through every room in my apartment I am gaining in frustration, and then I feel something lightly worn on my back.

It is right at this moment my problem is solved, and I feel like a dork -- the reason I couldn't find the thing is I was already wearing it! All I can say is I'm glad I don't have to replace anything except a few blown brain cells.
Photo by Randy Boyd

I'm still standing... sort of

I am still alive. I have been lazy lately, not walking much, not Trikking much, not writing much. I'm going through one of those times where I am taking those two big steps backwards, awaiting the forward steps that will jut me back into the world I was inhabiting a few short months ago.

I have no real guesses as to what tips me off into my version of oblivion. But it happens when I can't move. Movement is the key. Ya gotta keep those endorphins flowing. I also have noticed that once I start ranting on this blog, then I start feeling better and then who knows, maybe the posts will be interesting... Here's hoping!

I bought my first hip-hop song

I have been a little nervous about rap and hip hop. This is not unprecedented. I was very afraid of punk then became a huge fan, so anything can happen.

The cherry popping song is from Flo Rida. Funny, it's based on a song from the 80's. It's called "Right round". I loved it before, and I'm loving it now. It's funny how music that stirs me becomes a sort of muse. I haven't posted here for some time and now look, a stray surge of inspiration. I am like a tween, listening to this song over and over again. I want to move, I am moving as I type actually.

Back in the early 80's I used to get up early just to listen to X, the Cars, the Pretenders, among others. I danced around the room back then. Music was better than coffee. It lit up my soul.

I feel that way right now. Maybe because it's juxtaposed against a reaction of depression from a medication I stopped recently. I just want to sleep. And I stopped this medication 3+ days ago.

So I keep playing this song over and over again to support me as I start my day. I'm reminded again of the power of music that sets the stages of our days and holds us up when we are slipping down.
Photo by Randy Boyd

Frankenstein in the dark

I feel like a failure. I have no words. Haven't for weeks. I have not been walking, Trikking, living, for a few weeks due to my pain level. I thought getting old was not for the weak of heart and now I am convinced of it. I love walking, Trikking, activity. I am afraid of taking time off and slipping back to the level that I was at in Sept. '08. I don't want to start over, and yet my pain level is at a 7-8, as soon as I stop. Maybe that's the answer, don't stop!

I must admit that I am afraid of the pain. It's like Frankenstein in the dark. It hides around corners and then jumps out at me when I stop moving. I've got to just face it head on. I have meds, a TENS unit and ice, the 20th century equivalent of torches, clubs and local villagers. I will fight the beast, and I will conquer!

Not only have I been inactive, but I also have been eating my frustrations away. I have gained weight. But I did, after all, stop smoking. So something incredible has happened during the last three months. But it's time to move on. I'm going Trikkin' today, yeah!

A different kind of layover

I have been sidelined from my Trikke for some time now. I am so frustrated with my right knee. It feels ok and then I get on my Trikke. Maybe my knee is not strong enough for the ride. Have I spent way too much time on my ass?

I enjoy walking and so I guess I'm back to walking. OK, I'm cross training... Or something like that. Yet, I want my Trikke (said like a child having a tantrum)!!!!! What do other athletes do when sidelined from their main sport, cry? Waaaahh........

Walking for me is like getting back to basics. I don't have to worry about hitting the sidewalk at a wrong angle or having to maneuver around pedestrians on said sidewalk. It's safer, no fear factor. I can't even remember back to when I have fallen while walking. Not for 1/2 century or so. (What the F...?! & YIKES!)

But walking is not as much fun as my beloved Trikke, Birdie. This would be a perfect place to go off on a tangent about how great the Trikke is but not now, I've got to get ready for a walk.

Here I am again

I am still breathing, my eyes are open and I am upright, well sitting, just not laying about. I have watched a lot of TV, movies and the inside of my eyelids. I have been out for a few weeks. Part injury, part illness, part bipolar.

I have missed Birdie, my Trikke, the most though. I have not been active for a few weeks and I have lost some of my strength. But that will come back quickly enough, right?

I don't feel very creative or like I have to convey something today, just wanted to have a post in November.

Dreaming of Cambering

It seems like all I have talked about, regarding my Trikke, is falling from it. Well that can happen with anything, from skates, to bikes, to new shoes. I haven't spent much time on why I risk injury in the first place. I think it started in High School...

I went to Huntington Beach High School, and my best friend went to Edison, on the other side of HB. We would meet at the pier after school every day and admire the surfers. Later, I would watch them ride their bikes like they rode a wave, curving and cutting back into the imaginary wave. An "S" shape that continued block after block. I learned to ride my bike like that and it was fun, leaning into the curve.

That was the first thing I thought when I saw my friend StanLe on his new Trikke. That and rollerskating, the other thing I loved doing as a kid.

One of the things I thought of incessantly while on the couch last week was getting back to Trikkin'. The longer I stayed on the couch, the more I would have to work to get back to where I was 5 minutes before the fall. Still, every little bruise, scab or sore muscle made me feel stronger and younger and more athletic than I had for years, 20+ years. So let's just face it, having fun is dangerous... And it's worth the risk!!
photo by Randy Boyd

Tripped over my Trikke again

I have been out Trikking lately and ignoring my blogging duties. But there was an incident Saturday afternoon and now I am out of commission for a few days. So, hello.

StanLe and I were going up Ocean Blvd and the sidewalk was uneven. My tire got stuck against that inch or so wall where the slabs do not meet. I was curving from the left to the right. The Trikke stopped curving, I didn't.

My second trip to the cement was slow and drawn out, not like the blackout of my first fall. I saw a woman in a car at the curb. She was smoking a cigarette. The car door was open. It was an old car. Boom, my knees hit, then my wrists, then my head, Boom.

I rolled over onto my back. I was screaming for my knee this time, not my nose. I heard a woman's voice say "I've done that a thousand times." Then she asked "are you ok?"

Thankfully I was. There was no blood this time. I was so glad to have heard her say she had fallen like that a few times. And StanLe confirming. As StanLe reminded me, "You're an athlete now, it's a sports injury -- ice and elevate." I've been on the couch ever since.

Am I taking this too far? No one said "be careful" to me that day.

photo by Randy Boyd

Birdie and Me

My new best friend, "Birdie" just got back from a ride recently. It was 5-6 miles round trip. It was a blast! Birdie is just so much fun to play with.

She takes me places I wouldn't normally go. I see things I wouldn't normally see. I move quickly through people, places and things. And she almost never complains.

Birdie is my new Trikke. The learning curve on this baby is short. After a few short trials, I am blazing trails I would never have blazed. And I am traveling much farther than the 1/2 block I was traveling last month. Much Farther! Sometimes I just go. It doesn't matter where, cuz Birdie is such fun. I don't even care if it's windy out there -- we've got to carve!!

Under the curse of "be careful!!"

My mother use to plague me with "be careful, dear" throughout my exploratory years. I got a pair of skates, which came with a "be careful, dear." And so I was. I was so afraid of skinning my knee that I couldn't skate backwards. This comes up a lot now because of "Birdie" my new Trikke. After my trip over the handlebars on my first outing, I still get a little nervous.

I was going out to carve the other day and two of my neighbors said, as I was walking through the lobby, "be careful!" I was spooked. I had decided if I got one more warning that I would turn around and at the foot of the TV, pull the covers over my head.

Well, nothing happened that day. I did think of my cousin Theresa. We never really met, I was a few months old and she was 5. Our families were together visiting our grandparents and Theresa rode her bike into the street, was hit by a car, flew 50 feet and broke her neck. She died in the street that day.

I grew up under the shadow of a dead girl. "Be careful, dear" was a real warning, based in muscle memory. It was an admonistration, a mantra to remind me of what might happen in one fast moment. It was a name put on a curse. "If you do something even a little unsafe you might be wiped off the face of the world. Sit still"

I've decided to shut my mother's voice up! I won't sit still anymore. Carve Diem is the new mantra!
photo by Randy Boyd

Fast Woman

Megan Fox makes me want to jump into the dyke end of the pool. She makes me wonder about dicks and twats and what sexuality is really all about. So what is it all about dare I ask? When I am surrounded by lesbians I start questioning my sexuality. When I'm around interesting men I have no questions, (interesting is the important word here). Is it like my friend StanLe says, are we just sexual, not straight or bi or gay?

I like the thought of being sexual, not putting a label on it. Don't we have enough labels as it is? I have been surprised by men who identify with being gay saying they consider themselves bisexual really, they just mostly dated men. Is there such a thing as straight-curious?

Why is it that when society freely explores its sexuality the elders think it's the fall of civilization? And if my straight friends read this, will they become uncomfortable being alone with me? No need to be unless you look like Megan Fox.

So, I have no answers, only questions, at this point. What a good way to see if anyone is reading this blog!

Happy Birthday to ME

Well today's the day I turn 53. Yikes! Lately I've been feeling 35. I think we all have a physical age and a mental age, you know the age we are inside our head. The age that dictates how we dress or act. So I'm 35, it's a good age, not too old or young for that matter.

I was very successful at 35. I had nice clothes, nice car, nice address. That was a long time ago. Back then I think I was mentally 73. I had nice things but the inside of my head was all messed up. I was steering towards a head-on crash with myself. I don't like to remember the old days. I just want the number.

So today I reclaim 35 for myself, and I will work hard at keeping the years at bay. That means eating well, exercising like the devil's on my ass, playing with friends and sleeping long. Oh, and taking my meds.

So happy birthday to me!
Photo by Randy Boyd

I got my Trikke!!!

Well, the day finally came and I got my Trikke!

I feel about seven years old again. Everyone I have eye contact with feels the same way. I am so visible on this toy. And I don't care.

It is a very hard workout, getting going. It's a lot of upper body strength, which I have none of and yet always wanted for survival in the urban wilds. After two days I'm already going 1/2 block then I just loose steam and momentum. But that 1/2 block is kick-ass fun!

I definitely forget that I am 52+ when I am maneuvering this thing. I look at it like my fountain of youth. I can't wait to be going around the block, or grocery shopping or to my doctor's appointments with this thing. I can't wait to be just cambering along the ocean bike trail at sunset. All these things are in my grasp. The possibilities run through my bulging fingers from the pool of my hand. Or something like that. I didn't mean to get all deep and shit. I just couldn't help myself.

So back to my Trikke. I wonder what her name should be. She is a matte blue, I think very unusual and understated like me (well that's what I suspect anyway). Maybe The Terror of Upper Pine, Age slayer, Fat Buster, Dream Catcher or even just Zoey. I'll figure it out eventually. Updates to come...
photo by Randy Boyd

Revisiting "Cougar"

A few posts back I was adamant about not being labeled a cougar. I thought it a pejorative term and quite unflattering as well. And so I guess as a cougar might eat almost any live meat, I must eat my words. Let me explain...

I was riding on the shuttle, the smaller version of a bus in my town. It travels along Ocean Blvd. and connects two beach cities. There are usually some very delicious young men on this bus. True to form, a young blond 25-ish man, with pouty lips and gorgeous cheekbones, got on the bus. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I wanted to bite those lovely lips. I caught a stray thought -- "I could rip him UUUPPPPP!!!!!!!!! "

Uh-oh, Cougar! Now I understand why that term came about, and if the shoe fits, I will wear it.

So, I eat my words, and who knows what else, 'cuz a cougar's gotta consume!

Grannies with Herpes

I know they're out there. I'm almost-granny-aged and I've got them. Who knew they spread like sparks in a Santa Ana wind. Estimates were said to be 30% infected in the 1980's. We thought they spread from small fiery opal blisters. But no -- anytime, anywhere.

They don't spread on toilet seats. Can't get 'em in a pool. You don't need a passport to get them, just be out of condoms. It only takes once. And once they come, they stay like an unwanted friend on the couch.

Wow, how many little herpes soldiers did I disperse during my herky jerky sexual nights, when all it took was someone interested in hearing a poem I wrote. And of course some Stoli. All I can say is "sorry, guys."

So how many grandpas out there have the sores? I will never be able to look an older man in the eyes again...

Here we go again

Today I saw a woman pushing a cart full of bags. Her face was sunburned and lined. Her eyes were bloodshot and teary. Her nose was bright red. She had to be about 53 but she looked 68.

I realized she looks how I feel inside when I am on my down cycle. As I stated before bipolar II is sneaky just like the fog. It is a fog that creeps not only into my heart, but into my muscles as well.

Just when I was walking daily, it crippled me into submission. I just tripped. One day on the couch turns into five. My body just aches and there is no reason. I feel sickly. I sleep all day and am awake all night. I usually see both the sun rise and set during the same day.

Calls from friends go unanswered. I start contemplating the meaning of life. Again. I chain smoke cigarettes and I hate each one progressively more than the last. Why...Do...I...Do...This???

And the sugar I eat! Cookies, brownies, cakes, candy, candy, candy. I am diabetic, but I don't think about that while I'm eating.


"Just get out there, Jeri"
coach shouts. "Just do it!"

And I know, now I know, that all I have to do is to pull myself off the couch and take a walk. I don't even care if it's just a block that I walk. "Just get out there," coach Jeri shouts. "Just do it." And so I do. Finally, grudgingly.

I haven't walked for about 8 days now, but I am walking quickly. I am still strong. My pace becomes powerful. I keep going. Each block under my heels makes me feel stronger. I can do this. I can still do 26 blocks without any trouble! My body is still there for me.

I feel like shit because I eat shit (figuratively). If my body is my machine, then I perform as well as the meals I miss, or the ones I over-indulge during. Don't get me wrong, I love feeling on top of the world. And that is how I feel when all pistons are firing correctly. And I'm eating greens, blues, reds and yellows.

So the cycle continues. I'm climbing back up, I'm feeling better, I'm making phone calls. This time I was down eight days. I find overall my good days do outnumber the bad. I guess life for me is like riding out a storm, once the rain stops and the wind slows, I get my bearings, I no longer walk against the wind, and that always lasts longer than the storms.

Trying a Trikke

Tuesday was a magical day. StanLe and I went to South Bay Trikke so that I could try a Trikke and talk to Andy, at South Bay Trikke (SouthBayTrikke.com), about the details of the impending purchase. I got lessons on how to ride because one can't just hop on and maneuver "cambering". It must be taught. I also got to ride an easier motorized trikke which automatically corrects leg movements.

It was a blast! I was surfing through time and space, like a land surfer! I was gliding and rocking back and forth. I felt muscles I had long ago retired. But who cared? I couldn't stop. And this instrument was secure with two foot pedals and handle bars with hand brakes. I was getting praise on how quickly I was learning so I stepped it up.

Next lesson was circles and figure eights, which is a safety movement in case someone steps in front of the Trikke. I was committed to a circle and out stepped a car bumper. I panicked and cranked the handle bars in the opposite direction which made the trikke stop. It didn't stop me. I flew over the handle bars. Next moment... face hitting asphalt. Luckily my nose was there to stop my fall. It was also lucky that Andy is a fireman and knows what to do in an emergency -- keep me calm and apply ice.

I couldn't think, it hurt so much. I felt the blood and tears flowing down my face. All I could hear was "breathe Jeri, breathe." The ice felt good against my nose. And StanLe's strong hands on my shoulders kept me from flying off into hysteria. I didn't cry, I knew it would hurt too much.

I had to "get back on that horse" that bucked me off if I ever wanted to land surf again. So after about 30 minutes I got on the motorized version and rode safely up and down the street until the fear dissipated.

Special thanks to Andy and StanLe, they got me through a nightmare

experience. Even though I have bruises, I am once again dreaming about cambering.

My swolen eye... and fat nose

I'm a procrastinator

I have 5 days of dirty dishes in the sink. I keep putting off washing the dishes and now I have no clean spoons or forks or well, knives either. It is at this point that the dishes are piled about two feet high and it's starting to smell of old garbage. I'm noticing small fruit flies. I'm no good on my own.

I have a helper, Angelica, who is on vacation. So, it's up to me. When I do dishes, my back screams for me to sit on my ass. I do have a "condition" that makes my back so vocal, it has something to do with arthritis and fibromyalgia. So Angelica comes almost daily, to help me take are of my details.

I'm also a person who doesn't pay all her bills on payday. I shoot them out a bill a day. I like to think it's so I can hold on to the money for a few more days. It's still spent way before mid-month anyway, I don't know who I'm fooling. I also put off doctor's appointments, blood draws or physical therapy.

Am I sloppy or disorganized? I don't think so. I just know I would rather do things tomorrow, because tomorrow's a better day.

I acted all ghetto today

I passed a neighbor on the street, Tony. He taught some of us in the building about paper mache. He was a too talkative man with past glories that he was still reviving, so I lost interest. But before I did, after every class, he'd bum a cig from me.

So as I stated earlier, I passed him on the street today and he was smoking and I was wanting. So I asked for one. He looked at me like a two-headed pile piece of crap that fell from the sky. And he kept walking. That was when I shape-shifted into ghetto, and shouted at his back, "well, you've bummed them from me before!" It slipped out like a step on a banana peel.

He probably didn't even hear me with his ear buds inserted. But there were innocent bystanders present. I caused unwanted drama. I was visible and I don't like that.

Pussy Love

I have a little gardian angel that I call Daisy, although she has plenty of nicknames. Anyway, she is a ghost kitty. She only comes out if I'm alone or maybe if someone is here for several hours. I knew and loved her mother, Magic.

Magic was an alley cat who was very successful. She was a prolific kitten producer. She ran her neighborhood on the mean streets in urban Long Beach where I volunteered for PAWS/LA (more later). And she had her final batch of kittens in our office. So I sort of helped Magic raise her last batch.

I handled those kittens every single day, getting them used to people so they would not be feral. They developed like polaroids before my sight. I promised Magic these kittens would be safe.

When they were just weeks old they would climb all over my shoes, batting at each other like little king kongs on the empire state building of my Nikes. Daisy only approached if I was on the floor with my toes pointed skyward. They were doing things kittens do, jumping on top of each other or crouching with wiggly butts before a chase would begin. Ahh, the wistful, baby days. They were such precious little cargoes of purr and soft fur. Little souls, or gardian angels I like to think, vulnerable to so many bad hands, screeching tires and parasites.

I found homes for them, all except the shyest, smallest one, Daisy. When all the kittens were adopted I took her home, she was just too shy. I felt the need to protect her from well, nouns.

Almost 2 years later, she spends her time divided between the closet and the bathroom, sleeping on top of my clothes hamper. Her best friend, Willa, keeps her company on the toilet seat. I know this because I find them together upon most of my visits there. I hate to displace a sleepy kitty, but nature calls.

As soon as I pet my little angel, she purrs and squirms and cranks her tail to the side -- mating position #1 -- she has a deep-throated purr I can hear across the room. This squat reminds me of her mother, that lusty, slutty mother of 9+ litters of kittens.

The whole time I knew Magic (4 1/2 years) she was either showing or delivering or nursing kittens. And she was about 2 years old at that time. When we finally shut her baby making machinery down she was pregnant again. Later, she was secretly adopted by a caring transgendered lady with a yard, thank you, Irene. I hear she runs that neighborhood too. So Magic, know your last baby is protected and safe and I promise to keep her that way.

Ready, set, GO

I know, why don't I live the life of an artist, constantly creating or ruminating over my next embryo of an idea? Yeah, my rent is paid and I have free time. I'm inspired, so do I really have to be miserable to birth art? Only future posts will display those results.

I'm getting organized. I now have an eraser board, with which to organize my thoughts.

That reminds me, FIRST blog recommendation -- read a very compelling blog at: RandyBoydsBlocks.com -- (I know -- shameless)

And in a few weeks my trikke will come from the birthday fairy.
I'll organize photo shoots around LB with StanLe (aforementioned), then create visionary shots with photodraw, then write something. Try not to be trite. And -- click -- publish post.

And did I say I had free time? Are you ready to dance with me?
Photo by Randy Boyd

It's only gross if you're ugly

As written is previous posts, I kinda want sex. But there's a problem, anyone who would be attracted to this old, obese woman is probably a troll. As I age I find my options are quite limited. Without going back and retreading a former rant I'll leave it at that.

So what does a horny soul do with so few options? After all I can pick and choose in my dreams. But what about those moments when I can't control my dreams or I have to be conscious? Do I collect images of men and get my vibrator out and just shake myself into oblivion?

I remember a movie I saw in the 80's called "chatterbox" about a woman's vajajay that was quite vocal and got the young woman into all sorts of trouble. Poor retch. But I can relate. It's getting vocal down there.

It was so much safer to stay in a self imposed celibacy, not thinking or feeling about the carnal joy ride. And yet, I feel so much more alive. And relating to men in a "what might happen" sort of way is fun.

And yet I can't see myself doing the two headed dance until I loose about 100 pounds. Boy, talk about extended foreplay.

Cougar? No thanks

I hate this term, "cougar." It sounds like a woman who is over the hill who preys on the young. A woman squeezed into a too tight dress with lipstick on her teeth. Even the images that come to mind are of predatory women who hit and run, being so lonely that all they can get or hope to achieve is a one night stand. After all, most men will "tap that" with anything that has a pulse.

So the tables have turned. Women have come a long way, now we can be the aggressors. This is a good thing, don't get me wrong. But labeling us as "cougars" is just another way men get a grip on a powerful woman. And put her down.

This is such a pejorative term, "cougar". It just seems like these women are chasing their lost youth. And maybe that's the point. After all men preyed upon us when we had tight skin. Didn't we think they were chasing their lost years? Why can't a woman do the same?

I would love to consume a youthful, beautiful body just like the next person. I just don't want to be labeled a "cougar" while doing it.

P.S. Listen to Melanie Fiona's single "Give it to me right"!

Intellectually Crushing

I have a crush on a young man who is old enough to be my son. He works in a place I frequent, sorry no clues other than this. He is not cute, but I think he is. He is small and has crooked teeth. He always looks like he just woke up, kind of disheveled, and he looks down a lot. Is he a shoegazer?

I was watching a Bette Davis movie last night and one of her lines was "there is something exquisite about wanting something you will never have". That is how I feel about this boy/man.

I like thinking about him, like what does he read -- if he does read -- or if he likes art, or if he's a good kisser. I think he probably isn't because he's too young to have much experience with "the ladies". But you never know these things until it's too late.

So the other day I was at his place of employment and he was assisting another customer, and when he saw me I noticed he quickly smiled as he turned around, not smiling at me, but smiling because I was there. It was a little smile, one that would have been missed, yet it wasn't. When it was my turn he held my gaze for a longer than normal time. Were we flirting?

I was looking and thinking this when I realized he was just very stoned. So who knows, but it's exquisite just wanting.

Carve Diem

This is my friend, StanLe, on his Trikke.

I just wanted to share an experience I had last night with my friend, Sharon. She again asked me what my 5 year plan would be and I had an Oprah moment (you know that "ah-haaa" thing).

Once again, I couldn't come up with anything like a career plan or whatever, but I got very passionate about one topic. I could feel my face lighting up when I blurted, "I can only see that I feel like the luckiest person on the planet. I have free time to do what I want, and I want to get a trikke and just ride it all over Long Beach, spending days just exploring the beach areas, and getting slimmer at the same time."

And that was enough. I didn't feel like I had to try to change the world or create a new cancer cure or write the great American novel or become a millionaire. I saw myself just BEING. I've got to wonder if this is a human thing, this having to make a mark on the world, or if it's just my thing. But I can let it go and just be alive.

And I have this guilt that because I am being sponsored by my social security fund, that I must feel sick to warrant it. Or appear sick, whatever that looks like. But the way I understand it, Bipolar illness is a tricky, sloppy beast. Best to keep us medicated and calm. Please don't misunderstand, my drug regimen is sacred, I would never stop taking my meds, even when I feel good. That's why I feel good.

And getting a Trikke will make me feel really good!

Dork of the day

Just recently I got my first ipod. I had to learn how to operate it, load songs and create a library in itunes. Technology has such a learning curve.

I now use it wherever I go, on the bus, walking, anytime I want to communicate to anyone, "please don't talk to me."

So it was that I came home yesterday after listening to my music rather loudly, ya know, like music is meant to be listened to. After taking the earbuds out of my ears I noticed that my right ear was muffled and felt blocked. I thought that it was due to the loud volume I had just been enjoying. Or maybe, well never mind. I was thinking I would have to go to the doctor to have my ear checked.

I sat down to watch the news. Still not able to get that ear problem off my mind. I started to take off my earrings when my finger brushed against something sticking out of my ear, the padding from the ear bud, you know that white plastic that surrounds the metal speaker. I removed it and, problem solved.

And now you know why this is entitled "Dork of the Day".

Willa, a great lady

I found Willa in a pet store that I frequent. No one wanted her, she was too old at 5-6 months old. People like their kittens a few weeks old, not months. I couldn't get her out of my mind and I couldn't stand the thought of her in that cage day after day. So after a month I took her home. She is the silliest cat I have ever cohabited with. And one of the most beautiful.

She is always ready to play and instigates lots of trouble with my 12 year old, Jake, who just wants to have his belly rubbed. Daisy takes up a lot of her energy, tracking, crouched with her butt wiggling, getting ready for the pounce. Daisy is a tough kitty, she can take it and give it back as well. They are great mates.

Willa sits on the arm of the couch next to me while I watch TV. She only recently started to like being petted, she had to get used to it. And the strangest thing; I hardly ever hear her purr. Sometimes I have to have my hand on her neck to feel the vibration of it, but sound? No, not really. But that's ok, she's not perfect and neither am I.

Who's this?

Did you know this woman is walking the streets of Long Beach?Is she wanted? Respected? Does her point of view matter to anyone but herself? Read on and decide for yourself...

As a wise friend once said "I don't see images that reflect me out there, so I create them for myself."

So here we go!

waking up?

I have been celibate for close to 10 years now. I just haven't thought about sex for that long. I think it's the antidepressant and other psych meds that I take. I've been dead from the waist down for so long that I'm surprised I can walk.
Lately I've noticed some stirrings, some attractive men, men who I wish I was 20 years younger to attract. This is distressing because any of the men who might be attracted to me are men I would never be with. They are grey or fat or disturbed. There are no intellectual grounds where we might meet.
A few years ago I had a "friend" who wanted me. He was in his late 60's and in a wheelchair. He tried to kiss me and when I pulled away he basically said there must be something wrong with me. Y-e-a-h, you were not sexually attractive.
So, the stirrings arrived like an Xmas gift in January. Followed by disturbing dreams where what I want is possible. I am in my mid-20's and beautiful again. I can have anyone and there they are. The man I passed on the street that I thought lovely. Or the guy I wanted to do nasty things to because of the look on his face. He looked like he'd like it rough. Then the sun rises, and I'm back in my 50's body, obese and with no gut-wrenching options. Could it be that my psyche is attempting a comeback?
In dealing with men in my 20-30's, I seduced them. I took the power and had sex with them, then tossed them before they tossed me. I wasn't going to sit around and hope the phone would ring. And yet, I still waited for the phone to ring. And it didn't, because I didn't play the game the way men wanted it done. I was the mouse, turning the tables on the cat. It got me a lot of exciting sexual conquests, but that's all it was, just conquests -- no trophy, no forever after.
A friend from high school that I recently reunited with was surprised I never married, she asked "how do you do that, not get married? I don't understand," and I guess that is how. Taking the power away from the man, who needs to choose, who needs to decide "I want her forever." Or in today's standards, a few years.
And so, I stand alone. I am in charge of my fate, it is not intertwined with some other person's ideals of what wife and mother look like. I never did a man's laundry, never cleaned the house for him. I was not going to be some man's servant, taking his menu for dinner. I will not end up like my mother, thank you.
I never compromised. And this is where I failed. Now the options have dried up and I'm like that man in the wheelchair, and only thinking sex is for the attractive. But sex is sloppy and ugly, we are primitive, grunting, beasts, not thinking about producing an heir but getting our nut. I don't want to be that vulnerable, I don't want to be dependant upon anyone else, even for pleasure. I don't want to be that undignified. But I kinda want sex.

Once again a layover

I had a layover in reality recently. The realities of bipolar-II. I was very depressed for a few weeks, all I wanted to do was sleep, and that I did. For weeks, I stayed up until 5 am, then slept all day. I was not interested in getting on the computer, blogging, journaling or ebay shopping. My friend finally said he was tired of trying to pull me up. He is a good friend, he was not being cruel.

At the time it felt like cruelty because I wasn't ready to resume life. It really scared me, thinking he would leave me behind in the new millennium. But he said the magic words "you are acting like a victim" and it all seemed clear. Was I depressed or feeling sorry for myself, and is there a difference to the outside world?
There is no one who understands depression like those who suffer from it. It always looks like I'm feeling sorry for myself, when I just don't care, I'm not interested, or I'm just so sad I don't want to be poked.
I know everybody gets depressed, but having straight up depression is a beast amongst itself. To all of you who have a friend or relative who suffers from clinical depression, please remember we are not just acting like victims, we can't just snap out of it, and it looks ugly and without strength. It just hurts.
When I'm in depressed mode I feel physically sick as well. Not flu sick, just a brown cloud that hangs about eye level. I can't see through it, around it or under it. I forget there is anything else. I remember feeling well and don't know how to get back, or if I ever will get back. It's dark there. The sentence is not qualified in time. And I've been there for a year at a time. The meds that are my lifeline sometimes stop being effective. It took me 10 years to get the right diagnosis and medication. That fear will never go away. Being back there, I don't know how you spend the time in that jail cell.
This brings me to another point. I want my blog to reflect truth and reality for my disability. Up to this point I have tried to be funny and cute, but I'm making it real from now on. Maybe it will look funny, like I'm bitching or like I'm living a sloppy life. Life is gritty, and I want to capture that. That is my goal.

Photo by Randy Boyd

Hello again

Well I am not taking this blog very seriously, it's been weeks since the last post. It has been a whirlwind of stimulus money and ebay packages. My head is still swimming from all the stuff my stimulus money bought for me. Thank you Mr. President!
It's the simple things in life, a couple hundred dollars, ebay and a postal person. What they add up to is magical. It's so sad that it is over. I've stimulated the economy like a good American. Now it's back to strangling pennies.
Money is a strange thing. It is paper that represents so much energy, sweat and tears. It offers comfort and joy. The lack of this energy brings hopelessness and poverty, hunger and fear. Wow, just a simple piece of paper.
But, it's not the paper I want, it's the energy that it brings with it. This intangible is spiritual in nature, isn't it? Can there be a way to subvert this energy, to twist it's flow towards me? If I figure it out I'll let you know -- for a small fee!

Wow it's been a month

I have not posted in a month and all I can say is that I have been sick, tired and sleeping crazy hours. I will fall asleep watching a movie in the afternoon and then not wake up until early evening. I think maybe I'm just tired, but I haven't been exercising as much, so what have I got to be tired about? Oh yeah, I'm old.

I'm Old

The other day I was watching a movie and was shocked at the volume my TV was set at. It was the beginning of the movie when the music is swirling to its crescendo and I was rushing to the volume control.
I remembered every parent, aunt and grandparent who took me to a movie as a child, complained about the volume in the theatre. Every concert that I went to with an older person, there was a complaint about the music being too loud. As a teen, I was always told to "turn the music down".
And now, here I am, complaining about the volume being too loud. It was then that I realized, if I complain about the volume at a movie theatre or in my home -- I might be OLD.

Abundance, prosperity and perspective

The other day I was devastated because I bounced a check. It would cost me $33 for a stupid mistake. I was waiting for a refund to be credited and didn't expect it to take 10 days to get to my account. Then I hit a wrong button on ebay and whoops, I'm overdrawn! But I guess that's why checks bounce, because of stupid mistakes.
All I could think about was that stupid $33, and is it worth a day to be miserable, for $33? No it is not.
It is then that I shifted my perspective. I started looking at all that I get for free, (my health care, my monthly SSDI check) all that is available for free (the beach, the pets, the sunshine). And I am bitching about $33!!
It's like being present at a feast and only focusing on a strawberry that was a bit soft. Or, like listening to the rain outside and getting cranky that the heater is too loud to hear better. It's like being a little brat because I didn't get more when I am already getting more that a lot of folks.
I think this was an "ah-ha" moment.
Later that day, the refund hit my account, that check that bounced will not bounce again, and Yes, I will be more careful in the future to not play "jeopardy" with any of my bank accounts again.
And so it is...

Why I haven't written

I have a friend who has AIDS. He is like a brother to me, he's one of my best friends. Last week he had the flu. He was afraid he would die, which was in the realm of possibility. His temp for a week was over 100 degrees. And all I could do is walk his dog, Boomer. It is one of those things that pet lovers with AIDS must have, a friend to take care of the dog while they're busy trying not to die.
It truly was a helpless situation, but I helped, I walked the dog. I also let him cry. I didn't offer platitudes about how fine he would be next week, or offer this as a learning experience. I was just there.
I was concerned last week for my friend, yet the reality of this situation did not hit me until yesterday when he was able to take the dog walking chores back. He could have died. This strong gay man, with legs like iron, with muscle-ly arms and flat stomach. Maybe that is why he didn't die, this time.
The "AIDS monster" as he calls it, reared its ugly head and was defeated this time. Maybe we should demote AIDS to non-capitalization status, such as "aids", although it is still a BIG monster. But today, the monster has been slain! Here's to you, LIFE!

"I use to be..."

I have recently noticed my senior friends repeating these words over and over again, "I use to be..." followed by one of these identifiers; a lawyer's assistant, a swinging single or beautiful.
I showed Sharon (the swinger) a photograph of me at my 30th birthday party. It's my favorite photo of myself, one which I have pasted in the back of my mind as to how I still look today.
Yes, I am the one who use to be beautiful. Back then I thought of beauty as an accessory I wore on occasions like work or a date. It was something I didn't give much value to, because I had it, and because I valued intellect more.
Well, today I value beauty more, maybe because I have the intellect. Is this another instance of the grass being always greener over there?
Oh, and by the way, Sharon has a photo where she looked really beautiful too.

I love eBay

I can hardly go onto eBay without purchasing something. I can get fresh vegetable bags, 14kt rings and water filters cheaper than WalMart. Everything I buy I check out eBay first. Snuff bottles from china, art deco rings from England or a candy thermometer. And most of these things are under $5.
The next part is more fun. The purchases start arriving. One yesterday, another tomorrow, it's like presents falling from the sky, or from the USPS. I really like getting packages in the mail. I even forget what I ordered and then WOW, another package.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention the shipping and handling charges. They can bring my 14kt gold ring from $.01 to $10 in an instant. But this like everything must be in balance. I still think that my 14kt gold ring is worth the $10 I bought it for.
Just be warned...

The other side of the expiration date.

I sometimes live on the other side of the expiration date. This means that sometimes food, and aspirin and vitamins have recently expired but I am still taking them because I cannot afford throwing them away yet. I even have cat food from an organization that helps supply me with food for my little pretty ones, that is expired. I would worry but they give this food to hundreds of clients and there are no problems.
Of course, I would never drink milk that is expired or any other "fresh" food source. But canned goods or maybe even frozen goods -- past expiration... canned veggies -- past expiration... canned fruit -- past expiration... unopened ketchup -- well, you get it...
I wouldn't suggest this for those of you who can afford to keep their cupboards up to date, but with this economy I think I will continue pushing past the expiration date for a few more months.

It is true that when you get older things get past your radar. I just got done fighting a charge from Acai berry supplement. I canceled the trial and they still charged me $78! That is almost 10% of my monthly income! I must say that I was freaked out (does this date me?). Well they were charging $78 a month to receive the supplements and they dropped it down to $18!!!! WOW, talk about what the market will bear!
I really had to get that off my mind. I am pleased with the $18 cost because I like the acai berry by capsule. Along with my ionized water and colon cleanse I am feeling more energetic, and lighter I might add.
Well today there is no moral I have learned, but I did learn something about bargaining!
I'm going off to the dispensary as soon as my account is credited, and I will be checking on that hourly!

advantages of getting old

Although there are a few advantages of getting old, the one that stands out for me is the fact that old people get the best drugs. It's unfortunate that we need the drugs in the first place. And yet I am happy about medical marijuana (MM). If ever one was looking for that silver lining... Anyway, after reading some posts about buying the old fashioned way -- on the street -- I am grateful (no, not blessed, a subject for a later post). I am grateful to always have access to the best I can afford.
I must add that MM helps a great deal with my fibromyalgia pain. I take a lot less Norco when I have access to MM. It's always best to go green!

Getting old with computer issues

I have not posted for a few days because I have had major computer issues. I still cannot find out how to get volume, (which is why I undertook this project to begin with). So in trying to fix that issue, a friend and I wiped out the computer and started over again from scratch. It solved a few problems, but still no volume. We should have checked out his speakers first, he brought them over for that reason. But we didn't, we smoked some sativa first. Talk about making a small problem more challenging. Yet it ended up being the best thing we could have done. It only took about eight hours to reinstalling all my programs and favorites. I now understand the computer a bit more and have pushed back dementia for a few more months.
That's the way I look at things from the other side of 50 years old.

Getting old

I think I have one foot in youth and one foot in elderly, so I am noticing the changes of being old creeping up on me. I am constantly surprised by the things I am no longer able to do quickly and comfortably. For instance, technology. I am baffled by the information highway known as the world wide web. I am constantly fumbling my way through opening folders, transferring files, trying to get volume on my "computing machine".

I used to be able to routinely do those above mentioned tasks. I never had to use the "help" option over and over again. I cannot remember the easiest file transfers and such.

And yet this is a good thing. As long as I'm struggling and learning about file transfers and such, my brain is being exercised away from dementia when I enter my 70-80s.

So even though it's frustrating now, in the long run, it will help me stay with one foot in youth.

Happy Valentine's Day

I rue the day that VD day was conceptulized. That's a big word I need to spell check later. Anyway, I can count on one hand the VD days I've spent with a significant other. This "holiday" has almost always been meaningless to me. Or it's a jumping off point to that downward spiral known as "the grass is always greener". I'm sure later, when I go downstairs to the game room (in my apartment building) to play Texas Train with my fat old lady friends, they will all say "Happy Valentine's day" to me.

Why older people don't want to get off the couch

During the last few years I've noticed that my limbs are getting stiffer. I cannot manipulate my body like I did when I was in my forties. I used to leap off the bus, but now I hold on to the rail and slowly lower myself to the street. Note-If you ride the bus, you know that the curb is usually many inches from the back door. I personally like to debus from the back like the sign suggests (am I still trying to be a good girl?). Plus, I sit towards the middle of the bus so as not to get evicted from my seat for seniors and wheelchairs. Advanced planning is your friend when frequenting the transit system.
Back to the subject at hand. This aforementioned stiffness is why older people don't like to get up from the couch.

Getting old

Have you ever wondered why old people always have hard candy on them? Well, let me tell you that many of the meds that we take make our mouths dry and our tongues like leather. So aside from drinking a lot of water, and having to get our butts off the sofa to go to the bathroom, or scoping out all the public restrooms along a day's adventures, we suck on candy! Next post: why we don't like to get our butts off the sofa...

Feb. 12

Hello my friends,
Today has started off well, drank two cups of coffee and smoked two cigarettes and 4 butts, too lazy to go to the bodega for another pack just yet. Damn these ciggies, everyone I smoke I hate more than the last one, and yet... there are no clouds today. Temp is in the 70s, and it is February. I could go to the beach today if I wanted. I have much gratitude for my life. My meds are good and except for the fibromyalgia I am good. What I am trying to say is that my life is good. I have time, I live in a tourist town, and I have options. I just don't have any spending cash.