Life · mental health

Life in the Time of COVID: A Timeline

7:30 a.m: Wakes up and makes oatmeal and tea for breakfast.

8:00 a.m: Makes a half-assed attempt to feel like a person. Puts on clean-ish clothing. Sorta does hair and makeup, in case I have any Zoom meetings.

8:30 a.m: Signs on to computer to check in with work. Notes that it’s going to be a long fucking day.

9:30 a.m: Has a cupcake for second breakfast. Is this a good or bad start to the day? Does it even matter?

10:00 a.m: Joins conference call. Pretends life is going swimmingly and that I am not ready to tear my hair out. Already thinking about what to have for lunch.

11:00 a.m: Prepares/heats up lunch. Does a mini photo shoot of lunch for Instagram. Spends 10 minutes editing photos to post on Instagram while eating.

11:30 a.m: Tries to get more work done. Cries in frustration because it’s only 11:30.

12:00 p.m: Takes a short walk outside to stretch legs. Contemplates running away but there is nowhere to fucking go.

12:30 p.m: Watches the cat stare out the window for 5 minutes. Cat eventually realizes I’m creeping on him and leaves.

12:35 p.m: Makes work phone calls. Explains for the umpteenth time how remote access works and how to download the Zoom app to multiple people.

1:15 p.m: Pounds head on wall.

1:30 p.m: Makes tea and a snack even though I’m not hungry.

3:30 p.m: Cat farts on the forms I brought home, signaling that it is time to give up on working for the day.

91011491_10105556657690665_7731684067652927488_n

4:00 p.m: Does a yoga video because it’s one of the few things keeping me sane.

5:00 p.m: Makes dinner.

6:00 p.m: Takes walk with Boyfriend around the neighborhood. Laments over the fact that there are a lot of dogs outside, but I can’t pet them because I need to stay away from their owners. Life is not fair. 😦

6:30 p.m: Tries to coax the rabbit in the yard to play with me. Rabbit runs away, so I give up and go inside to play Zelda.

8:00 p.m: Reminds Boyfriend for the 300th time that I’m bored. Eats more food.

8:30 p.m: Showers and gets ready for bed.

8:45 p.m: Reads and/or stares at phone in bed, wishing that sleep would just come already because I’m fucking bored and don’t want to be awake anymore.

*Tosses and turns all night*

 

That’s it in a nutshell. There’s been a lot of cooking/baking, video games, and frustration at our house. I imagine things aren’t terribly different for the rest of you. It’s a rough time for everyone in general, especially people who struggle with mental health issues, like depression and anxiety. I came across an article earlier that I found pretty helpful, so I’m going to link it here for anyone who might want to check it out.

What have you guys been doing to keep yourselves busy? Whatever it is, I hope you’re all safe and healthy. ❤

 

Life · mental health

Self-Care and the Art of Forgetting How to Breathe

bd65c4c68e7b0cd1de865d5f9a09e297

Earlier this week I got a much needed massage after work. While I was there I thought about something I wrote last year when I was working on short stories for a self-care book idea I’d been throwing around. I have no idea if that idea will ever go anywhere (probably not), but I felt like sharing my story about massages with you anyway. (It’s a little lengthy, so I apologize if you were looking for a quick post.) Enjoy.

~~~

I got my first massage when I was 25-26 years old. It’s somewhat absurd that I even waited that long, given that at that point I had spent a good 10 years whining about the neck and shoulder knots that I suffered from frequently. Prior to that I had been a little weirded out by the whole concept. Laying on a table with a stranger touching your naked body sounded more like something you’d see on Pornhub, not something that I would voluntarily pay money for. (I mean, porn is free nowadays. Why would I pay for it?) I finally changed my mind when one of my massage therapist friends, who I imagine was tired of listening to me bitch about my shoulders constantly, told me to man up and just do it already.

And that’s how my career as a porn star began.

Not really. It was, however, a life-changing moment for me. It had opened up a whole new world of pain-relief and relaxation that I had never experienced before. I walked out of my first massage feeling like I was swimming in a bowl of warm Jell-O. There wasn’t a single tense muscle in my body. Why had nobody told me how amazing massages were?! (Oh, yeah, they did. I was just too busy creating pornographic scenarios in my head to listen.)

Since that day I’ve gotten one or two massages a month. It’s a tad expensive, but the effects it has had on both my physical and mental health have made been totally worth it.

Despite how much I enjoy massages now, I can’t lie to you and pretend that it’s not still a little bit awkward at times. If you’re as socially inept as I am, receiving any kind of service from a stranger is going to be at least mildly uncomfortable. I am one of those people who will literally pay an extra ten dollars to have food delivered to their house so that they don’t have to go to a restaurant and interact with the people there. This solution does present its own set of problems. Like the fact that I have to answer the door and talk to the delivery person. I never know what I’m supposed to be doing when they show up. Should I be ready, waiting at the door when they arrive? Should I just open the door before they even knock or is that creepy? Should I be in some other part of the house, pretending that I actually have better things to do than stand around and wait for my food for an hour? And let’s not forget what I’m wearing. Am I supposed to change and put on a normal-looking outfit or is it okay to be in an adult onesie, completely unzipped in the front with my bra hanging out? I mean, delivery drivers are probably used to seeing all kinds of stuff when they show up at people’s houses. Would they even notice if I was half naked with bunny-clad feet?

I always envision myself acting completely normal in situations like this: There’s a knock on the door. From somewhere down the hall I casually yell “Just a minute!” because it’s Friday night and I am actually doing something other than stalk the pizza guy through the window. Perhaps I have a cute outfit on and am in the process of getting ready for a date. Or perhaps I have my glasses on and a pencil tucked behind my ear, indicating that I’ve been working on the next great novel. I answer the door with a smile and say something like “Oh, that was fast!” Then we exchange money and make brief small talk about the weather or our plans for the weekend, before I calmly shut the door and go about eating my dinner.

That’s how I always expect things to go. That’s how it probably plays out for normal people.

For me, this is what actually happens: There’s a knock on the door. Having been pacing back and forth, staring out the window for the past hour, I already know the delivery person has arrived. At the first sight of their car I quickly duck behind the nearest piece of furniture so that they can’t see me looking out the window. Once they knock I panic a little, wondering if they saw me act like a spaz through the curtains. I try to casually yell “I’m coming!” but it comes out much higher-pitched than intended, because apparently I’ve turned into a twelve year old boy going through puberty. I open the door just a crack because I don’t want the animals to escape. I don’t open the door far enough though and end up tripping over myself in the process of trying to get onto the porch. Meanwhile, the dog senses that someone has arrived with either food or the intention to kill us (possibly both), so he gets in the window and barks his head off like a small fluffy asshole. The pizza guy mumbles something at me that I can’t hear because the dog is so loud, so I just stare at him blankly. He repeats himself, this time a little louder and more slowly, because obviously I don’t understand English that well. We exchange money and he hands over the food, which is the perfect cue for me to try to make the situation even more awkward for both of us. I try to say something clever, but it comes out in one long mumbled string of words. Howaboutjsjfjhrummphummmsausage. Heh. He then realizes that I am completely unbalanced and possibly contagious, so he says good night and runs away from the porch as quickly as possible. I then attempt to squeeze back inside the door with as much grace as possible. This proves to be difficult, however, as the dog is still in a frenzy and trying to run past my feet and because I now have a pizza box in one hand. At that point, I abandon all hope of resembling anything close to normal and hope I just gave the guy a good enough tip that he doesn’t black list my house.

Is anybody else hungry now? I feel like I need to order a pizza.

Can you see why having to spend an entire hour in the presence of a stranger could be a little bit of an issue for me? (We haven’t even gotten to the part about being naked yet.) I can’t even interact with a delivery person for thirty whole seconds without going into full moron mode.

The good part about massages is that you aren’t expected to talk. You’re allowed to talk, but if you prefer to lay there in total silence the entire time then that’s fine, also. It’s supposed to be your hour to relax and unwind and it’s probably a lot easier to do that by not talking the entire time. This works out in my favor, given that chit chat is obviously not one of my specialties. Howaboutjsjfjhrummphummmsausage. Heh.

My comfort level with a massage therapist depends on how well I know the person. If I am receiving services (That sounds dirty, doesn’t it? I swear that was unintentional.) from someone that I have met previously I am going to be more relaxed and less self-conscious about the whole thing. If you’re lucky, like my friend Christy, who is a massage therapist and services me regularly (Okay, that one was intentional.), then I will be comfortable enough to show up, get naked on the table, and proudly announce that I haven’t shaved in a month and am starting to look like Sasquatch. Poor Christy. Why she even lets me schedule appointments with her anymore is a wonder.

Now, on the occasions that Christy or my other preferred therapist is unavailable, I am willing to see someone new. This is where things can get a little weird. There are very few places you show up, are told to take all your clothes off, and try to relax. At least when you go to the gynecologist, or some other medical appointment, they know how uncomfortable you are and try to make the whole thing go as quickly as possible. It’s probably super uncomfortable and embarrassing for them, also, so it makes sense. When you show up for a massage, however, it’s a completely different kind of atmosphere. There’s dim lights, soothing music, and the pleasant smells of aromatherapy. (At least, I assume they are supposed to be pleasant. Personally, I think it just makes you smell like a hippie.) There are table warmers and soft, comfy blankets. It’s easy to see why most people are instantly relaxed in that kind of environment.

As you’ve probably noticed, I am not like most people.

Having anxiety means that I have a very difficult time relaxing. Even when I am actively engaging in a calming activity, my brain never shuts off. Nobody’s brain ever really shuts off (except those people who think that “raw water” is a thing), but you know what I mean. Most people can quiet their brains and stop thinking about important things when they need to. They can just enjoy the moment they’re in and experience what’s happening around them. I hate those people. I am jealous as fuck of those people. For me, turning my brain off means that I am slightly less fixated on the one hundred potential things that could go wrong at that given moment or in my life, in general. I can’t even turn my brain off at night when I’m supposed to be asleep, which is why I frequently have insomnia. (If you’ve never stayed up all night worrying about whether or not fleas were going to form a small battalion and take over your bedroom you’ve never really lived, my friends.)

Compound my anxiety with my general self-consciousness, it’s virtually impossible for me to just relax around strangers. I make a valiant effort when I am on the massage table. I know that I’m not going to get much benefit from the whole thing If I am tensed up and feeling stressed out the entire time. Even still, there’s no way I can just lay there and put my brain on “Do Not Disturb” mode. (It would be really handy if this was an option though, no? Dear smart people, make this happen in the future.) Instead, I oscillate between forcing myself to relax and being hyper aware of myself.

Here are some examples of the things that pop into my head while I’m getting a massage:

Therapist: “Just take deep breaths and relax.”

Me: Am I breathing deeply enough? Did they say that because they know Im not taking deep breaths? Okay, try to focus on your breathing. Just breath in and out, very slowly. *Takes a few deep breaths* Who the hell needs to be told to breathe? Me. Thats who. I cant even be good at BREATHING. What is wrong with me? Okay, stop. Just freaking breathe and stop worrying about it. *Takes a few more breaths* Am I breathing too loudly? Am I supposed to be breathing through my nose or through my mouth? Oh shit, has my mouth been open this whole time? What if I fucking drool on the table? Thatd be so embarrassing. I wonder how many other people have drooled on this table before.

*Therapist pulls blanket down to massage my lower back*

Me: Wow, this feels amazing. Im basically laying here topless. I wonder if he/shes picturing me naked. Im glad they cant actually see anything, even though Im technically naked right now. Oh my god, is my vagina hanging out?! Im freaking naked in front of this person and Im probably exposing my vagina. *Panics* Okay, seriously, stop it. The blanket is draped over your bottom half. How would your vagina be hanging out? Youre being ridiculous. Just focus on your breathing. Fuck, have I not been breathing again? How do I keep forgetting to breathe? *Takes a few deep breaths* I wonder if theyre going to touch my butt. The last guy touched my butt without any warning. I mean, I guess its okay because hes supposed to do that, but still, it would be nice to at least warn someone before you go touching their ass. I wonder I anybody has ever farted while getting a massage before. That would be so embarrassing. *Represses the urge to giggle* Mmmm, this is nice…”

*Therapist moves blankets so they can access my legs*

Me: Is my vagina hanging out?! How do I check? Should I say something? If I was exposed they would be nice enough to readjust the blankets and cover me up, right? Stop it, Kiersten. Your vagina isnt hanging out. Relax, damn it. *Takes a few deep breaths* I really hope I remembered to shave this morning. What if I did, but I missed a big spot? Theyre probably going to tell the other therapists that I dont even know how to shave my legs properly. Ugh.

Therapist: “Okay, you can flip over now.”

Me: They didnt even touch my butt. *Repositions self under blanket* Now what am I supposed to do? Should I keep my eyes closed? Otherwise its going to look like Im staring at them. Yeah, thats it, Ill keep my eyes closed. *Opens eyes to see what therapist is doing* Oh shit, they saw me. Do they think Im being creepy? Should I say something or just keep quiet? Just close your eyes and breathe again. *Takes a deep breath* But seriously, how do I know if Im breathing right? Why dont they go over this with you in the beginning? Oh my god, did I just fart?

Therapist: “Okay, our time is up for today. I’ll meet you out in the hall once you get dressed.”

Me: “Thank you.” *Checks to see if vagina is hanging out*

By the time the whole thing is over my muscles feel fantastic and I have no choice but to feel relaxed, as my brain is so exhausted from playing ping pong with itself that it eventually goes numb. I put my clothing on, thinking about how great I feel, and wander over to the mirror hanging on the wall. That’s when I discover that I am as much of a mess on the outside as I am in my head. My hair is typically in a bun directly on the side of my head, there’s black makeup smudged all over my eyes, and I’m so greasy from all the oil the therapist has used that my skin is actually shiny. (Not to mention that I smell like a hippie.) At that point, I walk out of the room to meet my therapist and casually ask “So, was it a good for you as it was for me?”

Fortunately, most of the paranoia I experience during my massage sessions are unjustified. Pretty much everything that I am worrying about has never actually happened to me. There was, however, one particular incident that had me wishing I could crawl under the table and light myself on fire.

I stopped by the massage studio after a particularly exhausting Monday at work. The therapist was someone I hadn’t been to before and he was really good. So good that I actually let myself decompress and just enjoy the massage, rather than lay there overthinking about whether or not I was breathing. (For the record, I don’t take very deep breaths. My anxiety makes my breathing somewhat shallow most of the time. This may or may not be why therapists are always reminding me to breathe. They’re probably paranoid that I’ll pass out or die on their table and that wouldn’t be very good for business, would it?) I was proud of myself. I was being less weird than usual that day. The therapist and I even chatted a little bit at the beginning of the session. Maybe I could act like a sane personal after all!

That’s when I touched his crotch and ruined everything.

To clarify, I didn’t intentionally grab his crotch. It just ended up in my hand. I don’t go around touching other guys’ genitals at random, even if I find them attractive. This was completely by accident.

I had been laying facedown on the table while the guy worked on my neck. He went to reposition himself from the side of the table to the top of it, near my head, and that’s when I got a handful. At the exact same moment I lifted my arm to move my hair out of my face. The movement was intercepted by the therapist’s junk, which came directly into the path of my hand.

For a few seconds I wondered whether or not I had actually made contact. “Maybe I just brushed his leg,” I pretended. But alas, I couldn’t even lie to myself to make it less embarrassing. I most definitely touched his crotch. It was like an unseen force had guided his penis directly into my palm so that for the rest of all eternity I could look back on that moment and be forever humbled. (“You got a promotion at work? That’s great news. But hey, remember when you accidentally felt up your massage therapist? Haha. You suck.”) Well played, universe. Well played.

My heart rate spiked as I silently panicked over what I should do. Should I apologize? Should I assure him that I was not trying to sexually assault him? Should I make a joke to lighten the mood? I couldn’t have thought of a joke even if I had tried. The universe was already laughing its ass off at me. I was clearly the joke here.

I did nothing. I was too mortified to even say anything, so I just laid there for the remainder of the session (which, thankfully, was only another ten minutes) and tried to will myself out of existence. The therapist never said anything either. He went about his job and pretended that nothing ever happened, which I suppose is a sign if professionalism. Or perhaps he was also as mortified as I was. Who knows.

I got dressed and left that place as quickly as possible, but not before leaving my digits with the lady at the front desk. I didn’t want to make him feel cheap after that tender moment we had shared together. Believe it or not, he never called.

Since I’ve started getting massages I’ve learned a few things:

  1. For starters, massage really is a good form of self-care. This won’t be the case for every single person, but for me it’s been beneficial. Despite my awkwardness and my tendency to be slightly paranoid while I’m on the table, it has been great for my overall well-being. My depression and anxiety can make me feel pretty shitty, both physically and mentally. Even on my good days, my body is pretty tense, which causes a lot of knots in my neck and shoulders. This tends to cause headaches. I can’t speak for everyone, but I find it difficult to go about my day and try to maintain a positive attitude when I’m in pain. Massage has been a great way to help me alleviate some of that pain and make me feel a little better overall. I’m not going to call it a cure for anything, but it’s a nice way to unwind and make my body feel good.
  2. I suck at relaxing. I’m not even good at relaxing when I am actively trying to relax.
  3. Apparently, I also suck at breathing.
  4. Under no circumstances is it ever okay to grab a random stranger’s crotch.
  5. Lastly, and possibly most importantly, you should always check to make sure that your vagina isn’t hanging out.
Life · mental health

Wtf Am I Supposed to Wear? (And Other Things That Keep Me Up at Night)

44c4a1469925fa9d842e2ce89c1ae3c1

Perhaps it’s due to all the excess stress at work recently, but I’ve been having difficulty sleeping, despite the fact that I’ve been crawling into bed by 9:00 every evening. Early this morning, at the wee hours of 4:30, I was wide awake again. I gave up a few hours later, once Merlin decided that those lumps underneath the covers (aka my feet) were deadly enemies that must be destroyed. Truthfully, I was somewhat grateful for the excuse to get out of bed, having exhausted my mind with a major issue that has been haunting me lately…

What the fuck am I supposed to wear now that I’m 30?

You can roll your eyes at me if you want (I know I probably would if I was reading this), but this is a legit concern that has been bothering me lately, along with a few other key 30-something related issues. Remember last year, when I was panicking and having a major existential crisis over turning thirty? I look back at it and chuckle a little bit, because it really was no big deal. I’m still me, chugging along, trying to figure out who I am and what the hell I’m doing with my life. (I’m beginning to suspect that I will continue to feel that way on and off throughout my life and that it has nothing to do with my age.) Nothing major happened. Well, except one thing. Despite the fact that my eating habits have remained the same and I exercise regularly, I’ve noticed some small, but noticeable changes in my body. My metabolism has slowed and I’ve gained a few pounds. Only a few pounds. No big deal, right? But that’s where you’re wrong. Considering my 20 year battle with body image and eating issues, I didn’t handle this particularly well at first. I admit that I almost relapsed, due to that stupid little voice in the back of my brain that likes to troll me and tell me that my weight and appearance are important and are tied to my worth as a human being. Fortunately, I’ve had some time to adjust to my new 30-year old body and was able to pull myself off the edge of another downward spiral. Phew.

But, there’s still one problem.

I’ve noticed recently that some of my clothing is a little snugger that it used to be. It makes sense, as much as I want to rebel against it. As someone who detests shopping for clothing, I’ve put off fixing my wardrobe for as long as possible. I’ve reached a point, however, where I’ve grown tired of trying to squeeze my slightly larger hips and ass into jeans that were skintight to begin with, so I’ve had to begin shopping for new clothes. *Cue second crisis*

During a recent excursion to Hell, I mean, the mall, I all but had a complete mental meltdown. There really is no better place for it, after all, with all those bright lights and hundreds of staring, obnoxious sales people. (Just picture it: Me lying on the floor of the mall, sobbing and pulling her hair out as a kiosk saleslady runs over and attempts to spray me with free perfume samples.) Even my failed attempts to shop online have led to the same frustrating, confusing conclusion that I don’t know how I’m supposed to dress anymore.

Body changes aside, I’m not the same person that I was in my twenties. I’m successful at my job and work in a professional office setting. I don’t go out as much as I used to anymore. When we do go out we hang out as more relaxed, casual places, rather than loud, stuffy bars and clubs. I actually care about being comfortable now. Suddenly, all the tight, short dresses and high heels in my closet feel completely out of place in my life. When I’m not at work, I typically wear jeans or yoga pants with something comfortable on top. I wear flat boots and converse sneakers. I’ve started wearing my glasses all the time. But what am I supposed to wear to work? What about when I’m going out? My jeans, nerdy t-shirts, and cardigans are fine for when I’m hanging out at the bookstore or coffee shop, but what about the rest of the time? I’ve been struggling for years to figure out how I’m supposed to dress in the semi-professional/business casual environment at work that still allows me to express who I am. But, honestly, I’m not even sure what I’m trying to express anymore. Places like Ann Taylor and Banana Republic are too old for me. Forever 21 is too young. So where am I supposed to buy my clothes? Why is there no store for people like me? They can call it “Leggings & Lace” or “Mid-Life Moxie.” “Wine and WTF is On My Shirt?” Even if they had these stores, I still probably wouldn’t know how to dress myself, considering I’ve never been particularly good at these things.

Not long ago I got brave and added purple streaks to my hair. It’s on the underside and there are few of them. You can hardly even see them unless my hair is up and there is good lighting. Still, I know they’re there and I like them. I like my slightly funky, rebellious hair, even if nobody else realizes it exists. (Especially Boyfriend, who is colorblind.) Is it okay for me to have purple-streaked hair now that I’m thirty? I don’t know. Do my nerdy tees and converse sneakers make me look like I’m trying to be younger than I am? Again, I don’t know. How do I figure out the balance between being comfortable, but still looking professional enough for work? I DON’T KNOW. All I know is that I have a closet full of clothing meant for my 20-something year old self that don’t feel like “me” anymore.

I’m going shopping again this afternoon. Wish me luck.

 

Books · Life

Kiersten’s Guide to Hurricane Survival

tenor

Saturday:

Step 1: Yell “Fuck!” because you woke up and the power is out.

Step 2: Stare out the window for a while and comment on what’s happening outside.

Step 3: Take a walk around the neighborhood, because it’s just a little water and everyone is being a pansy.

Step 4: Cook lunch on the grill. (You can keep your pre-packaged junk and milk sandwiches.)

Step 5: Read, while intermittently staring out the window.

Step 6: Rejoice because the power is back on!

Step 7: Drive to bookstore, because you’re going stir crazy.

Step 8: Drink coffee, read books, and enjoy having at least one part of your normal routine stay the same.

Step 9: Bake a cake, because you still have power and this might be your only chance.

Step 10: Go to bed and hope the power is still on tomorrow morning.

Sunday:

Step 1: Wake up. Power is still on (yay), so you make coffee.

Step 2: Decide you’re tired of sitting around the house, so you brave the rain and drive to your favorite coffee shop.

Step 3: Drink allll the caffeine while you work on your book.

Step 4: Drive home, super caffeinated and ready to get shit done.

Step 5: Get mad at everyone because they won’t stop talking about the weather and you’re over it.

Step 6: Stand in your yard and yell “Hurricane schmurricane!” while getting pummeled with rain.

Step 7: Read some more.

 

 

Books · Favorites

Top 5 Tuesday: Books That Made Me Laugh

It’s Monday…I mean, it’s Tuesday! (Anyone else keep forgetting what day it is because of the long weekend?) This week’s Top 5 Tuesday (not Monday) theme is Books That Made Me Laugh. For those who are unfamiliar with Top 5 Tues., it’s a weekly meme hosted by Shanah at Bionic Bookworm. Check out her blog for the list of upcoming topics, or just because her blog is pretty cool.

Top 5 Books That Made Me Laugh 

  • Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson
  • Let’s Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson
  • Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
  • The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion
  • Hounded by Kevin Hearne

What’s your favorite funny book? Are any of these on your list? 

Life

Things We Will NOT Be Discussing

Hello, good folk of the interwebs. I hope you are all doing most excellent on this day that we call Thursday.

I’ve been wracking my brains for 2 days now trying to come up with an interesting topic for a blog post, but no no avail. I lamented over my lack of inspiration on Twitter where The Tattooed Book Geek suggested I write a post about my lack of inspiration for post.

giphy

Now, that’s just complete nonsense. How do you write about lack of inspiration with no inspiration to fuel your lack of? No, no. We won’t be discussing that today. Instead, we will be discussing some topics that I will not be discussing in this post.

My Cat’s Butt – We will not be discussing the fact that Merlin, my sweet kitty baby, has a very strange butt hole. There’s this excess piece of skin attached to his butt that looks string-like. The first time I saw it I was alarmed because it appeared that the cat had attempted to poop out a string and it got stuck there. (No, I don’t go around staring at cat’s anuses regularly. It’s pretty hard not to look at the cat’s butt, however, when he is constantly displaying it in front of my face. Perhaps he is proud of his strange butt and that’s why he chooses to show it to me.) I won’t bring it up though because I realize that your cat’s anus is a very strange topic to discuss on the internet.

Cake – I also probably shouldn’t mention the double chocolate hazelnut cake with Kahlua ganache that I made last night because then you will all be drooling on yourselves and that would be embarrassing for all of us. Seriously, control yourselves, people.

Nude Art Modeling – We will also not be discussing the fact that I was a nude figure model earlier this week. An artist friend of mine had been looking for male and female volunteers to sit for a few sketches for an art project he’s working on. It was actually a real cool experience and not nearly as embarrassing as you’d imagine. (Then again, I do burlesque and wear pasties in front of people periodically, so maybe I’ve just built up an immunity.) No, we won’t be talking about that though because that would be highly indecent of me.

giphy1

Crazy Ladies + Tiny Rodents  – I also can’t mention the crazy lady I encountered in the lobby of my office building last week. She was screaming her head off and causing a huge scene because a wee tiny mousey snuck into the lobby. I looked at her and said “Stop it, you’re scaring him.” She not only proceeded to act like the poor mouse was going to eat her face, but she also glared at me like she wanted to eat my face. It would be rude to talk about such an amusing encounter, given the mouse in question is currently not available as a witness.

I guess I better put my thinking cap back on…

Life · mental health

I Think I Found My Spirit Animal

I’m starting to wonder if I should start some kind of meetup group for insomniacs. We can all meet at 2:00 a.m., drink coffee, and laugh maniacally over stupid things because we’re so sleep deprived that everything is funny. The only problem I foresee with this plan is that there aren’t that many coffee shops open at 2:00 a.m. There really should be. When are people more in need of coffee than in the middle of the night when they should be asleep? (Note to self: Open a 24/7 bookstore and coffee shop someday when you’re rich.) 

While I was lying in bed last night, playing on my phone I came across a comic that made me laugh.

zzkd0l4dfxgy

The dog is behaving exactly how I behave in most social situations. There’s the intention to remain calm and not panic.  Maybe even act normal. *gasp* But, despite all intentions, as soon as there are people (particularly ones I am not familiar with) present, my brain turns into a mushy puddle inside my skull. That’s when I start barking and throwing myself at the window. I mean…actually, that was exactly what I meant.

 

Life

Adventures of a One-Armed Pole Dancer

image7

Remember those health concerns I mentioned over the weekend? I just wanted to check in and give a brief update on how all of that is going.

According to WebMD I need my arm amputated and have cancer. Everyone told me that I’m overreacting, but clearly they’re lying because the internet is never wrong.

This morning I paid a visit to the orthopedic doctor to find out what’s been going on with my shoulder. About 2-3 months ago I injured it while pole dancing. I didn’t fall or even do anything particularly dangerous. I was coming down off the pole into a handstand-like position and all of a sudden my left shoulder and arm locked up. Ever since then my shoulder has felt a little off. The past two weeks I’ve been experiencing pain and numbness throughout my shoulder/arm, so I finally caved and went to the doctor.

After taking some x-rays and attempting to pull my arm from my socket a few times, the doctor concluded that I have tendonitis bursitis. He didn’t agree with me that my arm needs amputated, but, then again, the man didn’t even have a stethoscope. I am beginning to question whether or not he’s even a real doctor. His suggestion is that I take anti-inflammatory medicine for a little while and go to physical therapy. I guess I can try this for a few weeks before I get Boyfriend’s hacksaw out of the shed.

I have an appointment for an ultrasound coming up soon for a different health concern. I don’t know the exact date of the appointment yet, but don’t worry. Someone called me from the doctor’s office today to tell me that someone from the doctor’s office will be calling me. (Yes, you did read that correctly.) I’m definitely going to sleep a little easier tonight.

P.S. Adventures of a One-Armed Pole Dancer would be a great title for my memoir, no?

Books

‘Tis the Season 

I’ve never been  one for holiday-themed literature. I don’t mind books where a particular holiday is incorporated into the overall story, but I don’t do stories that are solely based on Christmas, Valentine’s Day, etc. I find books like this a bit too cheesy or lacking in substance. And, to be honest, I really don’t like Christmas enough that I would want to read an entire novel about it. Be that as it may, I cannot deny the amazing-ness that comes with the covers of some holiday-themed novels. I’ve seen quite a few of this popping up online and in stores lately, and I just can’t help but giggle each time.

Allow me to share some of my favorites with you:

img_9700

(Is it weird to admit that I kind of want the zombie Christmas carol book?)

 

I can’t decide which one is the best. What do you guys think?