Warning: Expect foul language. I often blog when sleep deprived, and even when I'm not sleep deprived I cuss.
Warning the second: TMI often occurs. Read at your own risk. Feel free to laugh at my expense (I know I do!).
Warning the third: I suppose I should just put a general Trigger Warning here. I talk about mental illness (Anxiety, panic disorder, depression, social shit), abuse (rarely), and my fucked up relationship with food. And...other things. Actually, just consider this a general warning: If you might be triggered by things, you probably should read no further.

Friday, May 25, 2012

On being "Other"

I don't know how to start this post. It's just kind of percolating in my brain, the product of a number of conversations. My intercultural communications teacher asked us how we relate to "the other" and my reply is, was, and mostly likely always will be "I AM the other!" with a laugh and a wink. I had a conversation with my faculty advisor (who is Korean), and it came up that I felt that "white" people (and I'll cover that a little later on) don't generally like me. She asked me why and I told her that I thought it was because I hadn't been raised to think of myself as white. She then laughingly brought up the fact that I'm just "the Other" and we had quite a nice (and for us, short) conversation.
See, my dad always stressed Native pride. He taught me history, and that being First Nations was an honour. It's not that he dismissed our other heritage, far from it. He was very proud of his French Canadian and Welsh heritage (but flatly refuses to acknowledge that we might have a smattering of Irish somewhere back there *rolls eyes*). But I can remember him telling me that he wanted his children to have the immigrant mentality, and so...frankly I grew up feeling more comfortable with non-white people, particularly if they were first-gen immigrants. So as my communications teacher puts it, I never learned to perform my whiteness.
However..I am incredibly pale. I can tan, but I have a deathly fear of skin cancer, and, frankly, my ivory complexion is very becoming. I also have a fear of turning into my aunt, who, while she is a very dear lady, looks like she was molded from leather. I don't think I would mind tanning and being darker, if I didn't have her in the back of my head. I also don't want to turn into my mother who, while she has nice skin and is very lovely, is a sun ADDICT. I swear, that's the only word for it. I understand that she likes being tan and that she loves the sun, but there are times that she...well, she doesn't look like that scary Jersey mom, but she...yeah, overdoes it. In my own way I suppose I'm overdoing it as well, with my paleness and unwillingness to worship the sun. I'm just contrary like that.
Still, even if I were darker I think I would still get the "stupid white girl at the pow wow" looks, because while I was taught Native pride I never grew up on a reservation. I've never met my "cousins" (to whatever degree) down in Oklahoma. I am proud of my heritage, and it's a part of my identity...but as a cultural identity I've never learned to "perform" that one in an obvious manner.
So what do I mean by "white" people? I don't just mean people of Caucasian descent, because that would be silly. I mean WASPs primarily. White Anglo-Saxon Protestant(s). I don't perform my whiteness properly, I don't perform my Christian beliefs to their specifications, and...I'm the other. It's not just WASPs, I encounter difficulties amongst the various subcultures I am a member of because of my Christian identity. People who meet me in passing, or in a professional environment, generally like me a lot. They find the identity I perform in those situations "charming". But that "charm" only lasts until the realization sets in that I'm not liberal enough (though how the fuck that works I don't know), not conservative enough or just not bat shit crazy enough (which is saying something!). Most of my friends are Caucasian, but while they might click that box on the census form, that's not their primary identity. Their primary identity might be pagan, libertarian, anarchist or gnostic, but it's very rarely ethnicity. They also tend to be a LOT more aware of "white" privilege. All of these things mean that in my mind, they are not "white" people. If your primary identity involves your whiteness, and you can't recognize your white privilege, then you're white. Otherwise you're just Caucasian.
Yes, I realize that this is arbitrary, but, frankly, we ARE talking about a subjective opinion from MY crazed little mind so deal with it.
Oh, and sometimes "white" people like me too much and I don't know how to get rid of them. It's usually the crazy-in-a-bad-way ones *sigh*
BUT....being the "other" and not performing my whiteness "properly" means that I get to interact with people from a wide variety of cultures in a completely unique way. And that, oh reader who may exist only in my own mind, is worth the hassle of always being the other!

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Because that's just how I roll....

So...yeah. This past week has been kind of stressful. I had to compose two melodies for Music 101 and had a week in which to do it. However, I also had a presentation and paper due for two of my other classes. So I worked really hard on those for that whole week...Only to find that they weren't due 'til NEXT week. Also, frustration with Youtube, fair usage rules, and an inability to contact copyright holders to see if I could host a video on Youtube for the purposes of a freakin' school assignment. Seriously, you're going to protest against me using THIRTY SECONDS of shows that have (at the minimum) over 16 hours of footage? Seriously?!
So, I had only finished the first four bars of (combined) 16 bars of music assigned, when I got to school and found out that I had to do it in pen and in a different clef (well, at least the first one). Before that I had forgotten to take my meds. So I was working really hard on this music, and remembered I had to title it...I thought "FML" was an extremely funny and appropriate title...until the teacher first misread it ("FMC?" "No, it's an L"), then didn't understand ("What's FML mean?" <class breaks into giggles>), and then had it explained to her by one of my classmates ("It means... F my life." sympathetic look from the teacher "Oh, sweetie").
*pops collar* Yeah, that's just how I roll. Hey, I only made one mistake in the music, so there's that.

Monday, May 21, 2012


My brain said splode. So I decided to work on something else, and my brain said splode again. So *THEN* I decided to find better pictures for the paper dolls for my final project and my brain said "Bitch, did I not just tell you 'splode' two fucking times?!"
So yeah, life can be interesting when your brain hates you. It cooperated very well through the stress of revamping a presentation in only a few days. I was very proud of myself. But when I was done, I still had other homework to do. My brain disagreed. So now I've got a number of things all up in the air, waiting to get done. Meanwhile my mind is quivering like jelly and asking me why I thought going to school was a good fucking idea. I know school is a good idea, and that it's the best thing for me in the long run, but my brain and mind just can't handle it right now. I find myself bribing it "We're in the home stretch! Just under three weeks to go! C'mon brain, do your best, if you do we can get A's and I'll let you veg all summer! I'll let you mainline kdrama! I'll...I'll...I'll." But all that crazysauce can recognize is that I'm stressed out now. It doesn't care about tomorrow, or next week, or (God forbid) next month when it shall be free. It doesn't care that weekend after next we are getting a treat in the form of an SCA event in the company of international students. Crazysauce can only comprehend the idea of right now. And right now I want to cry from the stress of it all. It's very circular. If I could just get the stuff done that I need to get done I wouldn't be all stressed, but I can't because crazysauce won't let me because I'm stressed. Thus we get the vicious cycle of mental illness. Yay. Do you detect a hint of sarcasm? Good.
Fighting!...after a nap maybe *sigh*

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Thoughts on Marriage

My mind will randomly find a subject and then circle around, up, over and through it for as long as it feels like. Sometimes it's mere minutes, sometimes it's days. I was thinking about a few things vaguely, inspired by how incredibly aggravated I was by my stepstepgrandfather. I also randomly found out my grandfather is a staunch Democrat, which surprised me in a happy way. My grandfather and I have spent many years butting our heads, but I don't think there's a doubt in either of our minds that there is a lot of love between us. I may baffle him, but I know he loves me. He may not always know how to show it, and I may not always know how to respond, but so much love is there.
So why is the title of this post on marriage? Because my grandparents are coming up on their 58th wedding anniversary in a few months... Because I'm divorced, fellow divorcees seem to think that I'm going to be as disillusioned about the institution as they are. I'm not. I don't know if marriage is for me, I mean, with the whole Gray-A thing and all, but I'm never going to rule it out. I've seen it be successful. My grandparents were high school sweethearts, and though they've had their problems (my grandma can be a bitch and my grandpa has a temper (which I inherited!)), they still love each other. They still share the same bed. They still make each other happy.
My parents are divorced, but the second time around they got it right. My mom and step dad couldn't be more different, and I know he gets on her nerves at times, but...There is real love and affection there. My father and stepmother were made for each other. In each case, my parents found spouses that just fit. Together my parents were...miserable and awful. They should never have married. I'm kinda glad they did, or I wouldn't exist! But the fact remains that they were a bad match. Their second marriages are happier, healthier and model what I wanted (and didn't get) in marriage.
Maybe someday I'll get married again. To a man? Woman? Androgyne? Who knows? Who cares? If I can ever find that person, the person who complements my weirdness and can tolerate it as well...I don't really care what their gender is. All I'll care about is if the love is there, as well as the dedication needed to make a relationship work. Hopefully, if that day ever rolls around, I'll be allowed to marry them.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

The Glories of family

I will not punch my elders. I will not punch my elders. I will not punch my motherfucking elders in their patronizing, know-nothing fucking faces. My step-step-grandfather thought it would be appropriate to interject into a conversation about education that my brother and I were having a comment to the effect that I had wasted my education. Excuse me? Where the fuck do you get off? Mr. Sanctimonious, Ignorant and Ill-informed Super-White Republican. I mean, you don't get much whiter than Swedish-American (Unless it's Norse-American). Who the fuck are you to tell me anything? I can respect that you are a member of the Greatest Generation, but that says nothing for you as an individual. You didn't pursue higher education, and, up until I ended my marriage and pursued education full time, you didn't think I'd wasted a damn thing by going straight into the workforce. I can't say anything to your fucking face because it's a family gathering and I'm supposed to respect my elders. And I will treat you with respect you self-righteous asshole, but this is the last fucking straw. You may never know it, but today you just lost the last shred of respect I had for you. Finito. That's all she wrote. I will be polite to you til the day you die, but that's it. And after you die? No, I will not be one of those nice people who eulogizes you. I will straight up say what an insensitive and ignorant asshole you are. My family may be able to stop me from saying it now, but I will mock your ignorance and idiocy forevermore. I don't care if it's not classy. I don't care if it's not nice. I'm sick to fucking death of being nice, courteous and respectful to people who don't deserve it. You, sir, are a bigot and a fool, and I will do all in my power to avoid becoming you.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Happy days!

So, as of yesterday I am free! Judge signed off on the dissolution papers, and in a few business days I'll be able to start the name change process. I'm so excited! It's kind of weird, because I'm not who I was when I last had that name, but... I feel kind of like I'm reclaiming my identity. Like...I don't know, it's like I'm officially and legally myself, independent of all others and their baggage. It's really invigorating. The ex showed up to court with his baby mama (by the way, as a note to the world in general, it's not exactly the height of classiness to cuddle with your new squeeze when you're in court to divorce the old one. Just sayin'.) so that could have been awkward. However, I had a terrible time finding parking, so I entered the building after them. Yay silver linings! Went up, did all that needed doing, the judge gave us the slips telling us how to get our paperwork and BAM free!
I have to admit, at first I was really uncomfortable. There were a lot of people in the courtroom. I mean, it wasn't full or anything, but there were marginally more people than my brain was comfortable with. I was even sitting on the bench at the very back of the room, right against the wall, and I still felt my back tensing up. I managed to stay calm and confident on my walk up to the judge, but I am not ashamed to admit that I booked out of there. I didn't run, but it was an extremely brisk walk!
I'd put makeup on and was wearing nice clothes. When I got home I changed my pants and shoes (they were just a little too warm) and headed out to meet my conversation buddy. Everybody kept complimenting me! The gal who works in the International Student office, my convo partner, her friend...It was great! I might need to start putting a little more effort into my appearance ;). Honestly though, most mornings it's all I can do to make sure my coat's on right side up. There's only so much caffeine can do!
So that was nice :). Then last night I went to a solo night for the jazz choir. It was super fun. There are some astounding voices in that group! I felt really bad for one guy, he flubbed "Fever" and then psyched himself out so he kept flubbing it. He had corny intros for his songs. I ended up chatting with him after, he's a nice kid. I told him that I thought it took a lot of courage just to get up and sing by himself in front of people, so he was already ahead of the game! It was a nice chat...He looked awfully familiar, I think he might be in my music class...I am so horrible with names! My gramma might go with me to the next jazz choir thing, maybe my grandpa too. I hope so anyways. My grandparents and I might have our issues, but they helped instill my love of music deep within my soul. Jazz, in particular, is what my grandpa introduced me to.
I am tired, but happy. On top of everything else, I finally solved a problem that had been keeping me from moving forward on a final project for one of my classes!
I'm not just Fighting! I am Winning! ;)

Tuesday, May 8, 2012


So I'm a volunteer conversation partner for the International Students department, and have become friends with the girl I talk with. She gave me the sweetest birthday card (with a pig on the front because that's my Chinese zodiac symbol) and her little cell phone doll! The doll fits easily in my hand and is currently attached to my cell phone. She's dressed in a ruffly red dress, because red is a good luck colour in China. :D :D I bought myself a geektastic present, but currently this present is ranking up there as the all time sweetest gift I've ever been given. Yay warm fuzzies!
She said she gave me the doll so I wouldn't forget her, which is just extra warm fuzzies :). I haven't figured out anything equally as awesome for her, and I want to! Making friends like her...this is one of the reasons I want to travel the world. She's not so subtly hinted that after I get my Bachelor's I should teach English in China, which would be really super cool. So far in the future! She also thinks I have a good ear for Chinese, of course, for all I know I could be repeating cuss words when she's having me say something lol.
I don't know, I'm just feeling very happy and content right now, so I'm treasuring this moment. Moments like these get me through the bad ones, which makes them doubly wonderful. I take them out and roll them around in my mind when the crazysauce is too strong, and they give me strength. They also make me feel more capable, because if other people believe in me...maybe I really do have what it takes to accomplish my goals. I need this determination, because I'm behind in my school work and have that math placement test to deal with. But if others believe in me, then I can believe in me that much easier. Disappointing others is hard, so it gives me that much more motivation to succeed.
Fighting! Now and forever :)

Monday, May 7, 2012


So I was checking the weather reports today to see if it might be warm enough to wear shorts or capris (it's on the line, so I went with jeans). Looking at the city my college is at "69% Humidity", looking at the city closest to my small town "74% humidity". Being who I am, I of course decided to check the town I'm planning on moving to next year "7% humidity".... O.O It's been so long since I've lived in a low humidity place that my mind kind of boggles at this. It also does a happy dance, because humidity is the second biggest thing that effects my fibro.
I still have another year to get through though, and I need to work REALLY hard at school if I'm going to get my grades where they need to be to get into the linguistics program. I still haven't taken the math placement test because, well, MATH. Math and I have a mutually antagonistic relationship. We should probably see about mediation or something, because I doubt it's healthy for either one of us.
All kidding aside, I need to buckle down and study for the math...while finishing all my english projects...and communications projects...and daily assignments...and keeping up in music...and... *sigh*

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Searching questions

I love my father, but I sometimes don't particularly like him. He has this nasty little habit of assigning the worst of motivations to my words and actions. Is it even worth it to keep the respect of someone who is so disrespectful of me? Why am I staying closeted for someone who seems to think I'm a horrible human being? Seriously.
When I was a kid I walked places, but we lived not too far from the freeway, so ,out of concern, my mom got me some pepper spray. It ended up in my bags somehow when I went to visit my dad. My little brother got into my bag and sprayed himself in the face. I was a gibbering wreck. I was convinced I had blinded my little brother for life, and ended up sobbing in a corner while my parents ran around frantically. My dad found me and angrily asked me to do something. I managed to sob out that it was in my bag, trying to say it was my fault. He interrupted me to tell me to stop being so selfish, this was not the time to get upset about my brother getting into my things. Because I'm a horrible person, right? My brother (who couldn't have been more than 3 at the time) had just sprayed himself in the eyes with a noxious substance and the only reason that I, his big sister, could possibly have been crying was because I'm a bitch and he got into my stuff.
Nothing has changed since then. I ask my father a question about anything "alternative" and he lashes out at me. I try to ask him about how the Word might view intersexuality, and he lashes out at me. There's no way I'm TRANsexual (not the question I asked), because I was a girly girl growing up! For anything I asked, he assumed the worst. I never asked him about anything that concerned me personally (like homosexuality) because I already knew his opinion. I would straight up tell him why I was asking the question "I just met a transgender person, what does the Bible say about it?" "I was watching tv when I saw something about intersexuality. Would the Biblical perspective be different for that?" and so on. Always, always, he would lash out at me for thinking I might be...what I had no thought of being.
My dad's really tall, and he recently built himself a fancy chair. It's ergonomic or something, and kind of funny looking. He said it was strong enough to withstand earthquakes, so I asked if it would survive the ceiling falling on it. Har Har Hardy har har. He said he'd hide under it if there was an earthquake. I immediately asked if it was big enough. Because he's over SIX FEET TALL, and it is both a valid and funny question. Apparently he's all butthurt, because the only conceivable thing I could have been referring to is his weight. SIGH. At this point my BMI is probably higher than his, I have no room to point fingers. The only time I've made comments about his weight is when I've asked him if he LOST any. The only things I tease him about are his baldness and his nose (which I inherited!). I used to tease him about his lips, until I figured out that it legitimately bothered him. So I STOPPED. Because I don't want to hurt my dad.
It seems such a silly thing for me to get all fed up with and upset over, but you know...I'm just really tired of being treated like a bad person, with no valid reasons behind it. Oh, wait, when I was six I said something mean and made my stepmom cry. I don't even remember what it was, or the incident itself. I've just been told about it. Because a six year old having to deal with the fact that her world has shattered and remade itself into foreign images would only say something mean because she's a horrible person. Good fucking grief. I'm so close to outing myself so we can just get it over with and he can be satisfied in knowing that (in his oh-so-humble opinion) I'm headed straight to Hell. I won't do it, because it's stupid to do it over something so, I'll wait for something big to blow a gasket over. ;) Also because I don't know how much of what I'm feeling is legit, and how much of it is crazysauce trying to fuck me over.

Friday, May 4, 2012


I don't think I can fully express how completely aggravating, condescending and plain ol' stupid it is to tell someone with a mental illness that people can just "think" themselves out of depression. Yes, if you are merely sad, you can sometimes cheer yourself up. I know this, I've observed it. Hell, I've DONE it. But there's a huge fucking difference between sadness and Major fucking Depressive Disorder, aka REAL depression. The person in question KNOWS I am mentally ill and what those illnesses are. Why? Because I'm completely open about the fact that I have them, and if people want to know details I'm more than willing to share. Why am I so open about it? Because I am sick to death of the way people perceive mental illness, and the fact that as an "invisible" disability it's not really taken seriously. People always say I don't "look" like I have a mental illness. What the hell am I supposed to look like? Maybe if they meet enough people who are not ashamed to admit that they have a chemical imbalance in their brain, maybe then they'll realize that mental illness is not something you can SEE. Yes, sometimes you can see symptoms of mental illness, but that is far different than actually seeing someone's illness.
I spent the last seven years of my life with someone who could not understand why I didn't just "get over it" because it was all in my head. Someone who would get frustrated and mock me for having panic attacks. Why? Because there was no "reason" for them, and they (and I) were stupid. So maybe I'm a little sensitive on the issue. That said...
If you know someone who has a mental illness and has the astounding courage to share that fact with you...DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT tell them to "just get over it", or that it's "mind over matter", or that if they'll just get a better attitude they won't have these problems anymore. Why shouldn't you say things like that? BECAUSE THEY ARE SHITTY THINGS TO SAY. If you broke your leg would you appreciate it if someone laughed at you for having to use crutches, because they twisted their ankle once and didn't need any crutches you wuss? No, you wouldn't. Why? Because there's a huge difference between twisting your ankle and breaking your leg. Just like there is a HUGE difference between you being an angsty teen with a bad attitude who changed your behaviour, and me having a chemical imbalance in my brain that is beyond my control.
FUCK, people, it's not rocket science. Why is this so hard to understand? Seriously. It is beyond my comprehension how people can continually say shit like this when they know better. Does everybody know better? No. But...if you know someone for years, whether friends, lovers or family, and observe their mental illness...and have explained to you what is wrong and why it's happening...and you persist in shitastic comments and attitudes, such as the ones I wrote about above...It is beyond my comprehension how you could be such a shitty person.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Fun times....

So, yeah, I've been sick for the last five days. What a wonderful birthday present body! Thank you! I had a good birthday in spite of it, because CHEESECAKE. I love my mother because she understands how very much I love cheesecake of any variety, but particularly when it is topped with gooey strawberry goodness.
We also were without phone or internet for two of the days I was sick, which means I missed a deadline for an assignment. The good thing about being sick was that I was too loopy to have a panic attack, and I don't really have retroactive panic attacks, so yay! I am going to print the assignment up at school tomorrow and hand it in to the teacher anyways. I may not get full marks on it, but I need to show her that I'm doing the work...even though I didn't really because I've been sick for almost a week. I mean...I have all the sources, but I'm supposed to write up an annotated bibliography and hadn't actually done the writing before I got sick. Lesson learned...except probably not because I know myself and my mother really should have given me the middle name of "Procrastination" instead of "Marie". Procrastination would have been more accurate.
Fortunately, this last internet outage and the looooong wait for repair finally convinced my mom to switch companies. Yay!!!!!!!!! For the first time in twenty something years, brace yourselves, my mom is going to have tv! Well, probably. She's going back and forth on it, but I think she's going to go ahead and do it, because she's sick of the stuff that my stepdad keeps picking to watch and cable would give her more options. Though considering the completely depressing movie they're watching right now about a little boy who starves to death in a hidden cupboard when his parents were taken away by the Nazis...I don't know that she has much room to point fingers. Well, okay, it *is* better fodder than K-9000, I have to admit.
So now I have to go work on the schoolwork I've been too loopy to work on for the last few days. Yay thousands of words to go!!