Bad Week

Orlando (and the world) is having a bad week.

Friday, a man shot and killed Christina Grimmie, a former competitor on The Voice, and a YouTuber. As far as I can tell from the news articles, the police still have no idea why the killer opened fire on Grimmie while she was signing autographs or why he then shot and killed himself.

A man gunned down 49 people in an Orlando gay club called Pulse early Sunday morning. That evening, my gay friend and I went out to a concert (She Wants Revenge had a 10 year anniversary tour for their first album). We talked about it on the way there. He had cried a number of times that day, and who could blame him for that? We still managed to go out and have a good time. They were patting people down at the door. That hasn’t happened to me in a long time, but it did help me feel safer. It’s the biggest mass shooting in the United States. It will be a thing to be remembered, but I’m not sure that it will change anything. The motive seems to have been that the shooter was a radical religious person, and gay people offended him.

Tuesday night, in spite of posted signs telling visitors NOT TO SWIM in a man-made lagoon on a Disney Resort, some parents let their 2 year old wade into about a foot of water, and a gator came up and snagged him. His body was recovered Wednesday afternoon. The gator seems to have drown him, but had no interest in eating him… like many gator and shark attacks. (People taste weird.) I grew up in Florida. Any body of water could harbor gators, snakes, or both… sometimes even something worse. Signs are posted for a reason. They’re still trying to identify if they’ve caught the gator that dragged the kid away. I imagine they’re looking to kill it… as humans tend to do to animals that attack or kill one of our own… it’s not a stance I agree with.

The gator incident comes in the wake of the recent gorilla incident at the Cincinnati Zoo at the end of May. A 3 year old slipped into the gorilla enclosure, fell 10 feet, then got dragged off by a silver-back gorilla named Harambe. The zoo keepers acted quickly and Harambe was shot dead. Many were in an uproar over the death of the gorilla, and I agree with them, but they forget that there is a hierarchy of life… At the end of the day, a 3 year old human boy’s life is still worth more to society than a rare gorilla. A petition seeking justice for Harambe was started and gained over 500,000 signatures as of today. The petition calls for legal action against the boy’s parents, as their negligence resulted in the murder of a rare and endangered animal. The Cincinnati Zoo states they would make the same decision if they had to do it all over again.

Also… it’s looking like the presidential election is going to be down to Clinton vs Trump…. and I’m not really into either of those options. I’m not really into Bernie, either, but of the three I’d take him over the other two. Remember when we used to laugh people like him out of government offices? No? Me either… America is insane.

Nothing particularly new or interesting in my life… just general terror at the state of the world. So…

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And… I’m Out

SHIT THAT CROSSES THE LINE:
Not taking shit I say seriously.
Withholding important information.

Last night I went to a movie with SupaNerd. The last entry toyed with the idea that I wasn’t sure that I liked him, so much as I wanted to like him. That thought hadn’t left my mind, but he asked and I like having plans. So we went to see Zootopia. I actually saw it yesterday morning with mothership, but it’s a really good movie. It’s a really good movie about discrimination, and equality, and I was really impressed with the whole thing. I hadn’t heard any reviews, and no one I knew was excited to see it, so I was just going because I like having breakfast with the mothership and watching a movie. Anyways, SupaNerd didn’t get off work till 8, so by the time he swung by to pick me up we had limited viewing options. Fortunately it’s a good movie.

Now, I know that I have a lot of pet peeves. Too many: I’ll throw it out there that I have too many pet peeves, but if I tell you that I have pet peeve that’s not a playful invitation to irritate me until I want to bash your teeth out with a brick. In fact, I would not recommend that. I have been known to enact physical violence on people that poke at a pet peeve. I don’t have a good tolerance for it.

That being said, when SupaNerd first tried to touch my curly hair, I told him I don’t play that. I also let him know that I smacked a bitch at work for touching my hair. It’s a thing. I like space. Stay the fuck away from my face and/or hair. I was nice about it. I didn’t snap at him. I didn’t swat his hand away. I didn’t punch him in the throat. I later decided that I should have prolly punched him in the throat, cuz all he did was proceed to poke at my face and hair. I hate that shit. I hate it so much…

I kind of hate people touching me at all. For whatever reason, he feels the need to do it constantly. My mom says my dad was like that, too. Just had to touch her ALL THE TIME. Why? Why can’t you just be a human being over there in your own human being bubble? There’s a time and place, motherfucker. You don’t need to touch me all the time. Since he was a such a fuckwad about my face and hair pet peeve, I allowed him to touch my thigh, instead. I still didn’t like it. I still hated it. I still wanted to beat his face in with something hard and sandpapery. Still, it was better than him trying to fuck with my face.

Another pet peeve is being OVERLY cheap. You wanna use a coupon on our date? Great. Whip that shit out. What else you got a coupon for? You wanna argue with a waitress about the DOLLAR that it costs to sub out french fries for sweet potato fries? Too cheap. He managed to con her into sending out a refill on my coke cray-early so he could have a free coke, since he was ordering water. Really? REALLY? 

Now, if he was cray broke and counting every penny, I could understand being cheap, but I still think it’s some rude ass shit to argue with a powerless waitress about the price of Coca-Cola and fries… Thing is, though, he’s not broke. He’s got a really good job. We discussed this previously because he eats shrimp and scallops all the damn time. I can’t afford shrimp and scallops on the daily, but he can. Can he afford that because he’s arguing with waitresses over a dollar? No. I don’t think so. It’s unnecessarily cheap, and it’s motherfucking rude. That waitress didn’t make the prices. I wanted to curl up and die… 

So, then we were watching previews. There’s this movie coming out called Storks. Looks cute, but makes me cringe cuz it’s about babies. Out of nowhere, SupaNerd says: “That’s how I’m going to teach Johnny about where babies come from.” Who’s Johnny? I, too, was curious. Nephew? I know his sister has a kid. Little brother? Cousin, perhaps?

NOPE. HE HAS A KID.

Now, don’t misread me. I don’t mind people with kids. I’ve dated a number of guys that had kids. I love other people’s kids. I could totally be a step-mom. What pissed me off is that it’s been too fucking long to have not mentioned this previously. His defense was simply that he forgot to mention it. Whoops.

Fuck that noise.

If you can forget to mention that you have procreated… what else have you neglected to tell me? Are you married? Are you married to like seven different people across the US who all have the same story of you leaving your wife and six children behind? Are you a felon? Do you have the Herp? Are you a Russian sleeper cell sent here by Vladimir Putin to recruit me? Are you the leader of a new cult and you need me to be the creepy serial-killery enforcer at your side? Do you sacrifice infants to the dark lord under a blood moon to gain the knowledge of the universe and the powers of night?

This kid is like new, too. New enough to need a talk about where babies come from. Like… A, when does he ever see little Johnny? Is that REALLY why he goes back to Wichita every other week? 2, Why does the mother have full custody? It’s not the 80s anymore… a father can get full custody, especially if the mother is as cray as he’d have me believe she is. D, HOW DO YOU FUCKING FORGET TO MENTION THAT YOU HAVE OFFSPRING?! That’s a big thing.

Also, he tried to fucking talk to me during the movie… at a fucking theater.
I was so irritated that the sound of his laughter made me want to kill him.

It was all just the topping on the bad ju-ju cake.
I can’t trust him. I can’t tolerate his touchy-feely habit. I already felt like he was clingy and needy. He’s cheap to the point of rudeness. He makes gross noises when he eats, breathes, or generally exists. (Mucus problem? Idk.) He talks during movies. I’d rather have been on a play-date with a 6 year old. It was so bad.

So… I thought about it, and ghosting him wasn’t on the table, because I was in too deep. My friend in California agreed. My friend in Australia said I should just use the kid as a card to play, since a normal person might call it off because they “want to take that journey with someone for the first time.” Which is gross…

I didn’t wanna lie… so I ghosted him, and I don’t give a fuck.

This guy stood me up once. Then ignored me for a month. Then acts like a  freaking needy child AND FORGETS TO TELL ME HE HAS A CHILD. Is it shitty to ghost people? Yes. It’s shitty and total fuckery. And I regret nothing.

I don’t have time for the “but why”  and all the attempts to justify everything they did wrong. Even if you don’t answer their questions, they try to justify everything… and then they might get mad. He might secretly be a psycho. He’s got a shitty “I’m always right” attitude anyways. You should hear the shit he says about his sister just because she’s a single mother. So then a bitch starts to think… would he get more angry if I ignore him or if I tell him it’s over. What if he shows up to my house in an angry fit? These are the things a woman has to consider. Fortunately, I have four dogs and I say creepy serial-killery shit all the time, so he’s naturally a bit wary, but I wouldn’t write him off. He could still snap.

So… that’s the end. I’m out.

I deleted my dating profiles. I’m okay alone. I like being alone. I have honestly missed not having to text people. Yeah, I’d like someone to do stuff with, but I still hold out hope that one of these days I’ll meet someone when I’m out doing the stuff I like to do, and we can build off that…

Mean Kids

I don’t want kids.
If anyone comments that I’ll feel different when I meet the right man and settle down, A, I’d like to remind you that I’m an aromantic asexual, 2, no one asked for your comments, and D, shut up, because saying shit like that to impressionable minds ruins generations of kids that think they’re fucked up for not feeling what people told them they would be feeling. JUST LET ME FEEL WHAT I FEEL.

Anyways, I read an article on some website about reasons Millennials aren’t having kids.
Apparently, I’m not the only one… Reasons for this include:

  • Student loans making financial stability impossible
  • Passing along crazy
  • World already feeling overpopulated
  • Fertility issues
  • Pregnancy being shitty, in general (if not potentially dangerous)
  • Fear of not parenting correctly
  • Lack of maternal instinct
  • The world being seriously fucked up
  • Careers being more important than starting a family
  • Wanting to have a lifestyle that a kid doesn’t fit into, like being a nomad
  • Just not wanting them

I fall into the “mental illness” camp, amongst others.

At this point, whatever is wrong with me, I sure don’t want to pass on to kids. Being a kid was shitty, and being a fucked up kid was hard. More importantly, though, I don’t want to be a mentally ill person raising a kid. I don’t think we mentally ill people really do kids justice when it comes to parenting. People are already just doing the best they can on that front, as it is. When you throw mental illness in there… Things get tricky, and very quickly it can get very unhealthy.

My dad is bipolar. I didn’t grow up with him, but all my shrinks have agreed that I prolly get most of my mental illness from him. My mom has clinical depression. I didn’t used think that her depression effected me much, but I’m beginning to think otherwise.

When I was in high school, I went through puberty, as ya do, but I also started being volatile, self destructive, having mood swings outside the scope of PMS and normal teen girl feelings, and it was the start of my love story with suicide. It was terrible. Long before that, though, I can remember things being wrong.

Growing up, I was adorable. We were broke, but my mom found the best dresses and shit, and made sure I looked great, and that I was happy. I never knew we were poor till way later… like maybe late middle school, early high school. I would say that means she did quite well with me. I was a well-balanced little nerd child with high grades and not a foul thought floating around in my head.

Middle school was hard on me. I’d swapped out of private school to public school when we moved the previous year, so I’d lost all my friends, the curriculum was literally so easy that I didn’t understand it for like a month, and I just wasn’t really fitting in that well. I liked my after-school care, because the adults were cool (the kids weren’t terribly fond of me), but middle school is the end of when you can put kids in after-school care… So, I felt quite alone.

I learned to be a latch-key kid, take the bus home to an empty house and lock all the doors… never answer the phone till it goes through to voicemail and mom says it’s her… But I still had problems. The overwhelming problem was that a lot of people wanted to pick on me. I WAS a little fat girl with no fashion sense and overdeveloped social skills that kids didn’t get…. so… I guess I was asking for it. It got really bad, though. I’d come home and cry a lot. One day a kid hurled a rock bigger than my fist at my head. It hit me on the back of the skull, knocked me down… there was blood. I went home and cried. I did not go home and tell my mother anything about it.

Here’s the thing. My mom was a great mom. She still is. The thing about my mother, though, is that she’s great at making me feel like my own problems don’t matter. When I was a kid I was hyper-aware that my mom was very busy and very depressed. She went back to work two weeks after I was born, and even when she ended up unemployed she found work to go out and do (selling our stuff on the side of the road in a shit town in Florida). She’s worked everyday of her life to try and give me a great life. Not once have I ever intentionally taken that for granted.

So when I had problems in middle school with shitty boys trying to break my skull open, I went home and cried it out before she got home. When I entered high school started thinking about how much I hate myself, I went home and cried it out before she got home. When I made bad choices and wanted to tell someone about it, I went home and cried it out before she got home. When I felt like I was going crazy and couldn’t control what I was thinking or feeling, I went home and cried it out before she got home. When I thought about killing myself, I went home and stared at my method of choice for hours, and then put it away before she got home.

I didn’t manage to hide everything. She was aware of my failing grades from not going to class. She was aware that I would binge eat. She was aware that I didn’t ask to go hang out with my friends much, which is apparently abnormal. She watched as I spend more and more time plugged into the computer. She was the one that bought me all my goth wear. She was often who took the brunt of my anger when I flew into a rage that I couldn’t explain.

I guess she was just too busy to put all those pieces together.

I told her about the rock incident recently, in passing, and she asked why I didn’t tell her, then. I couldn’t tell her that it was because I didn’t feel like I could tell her most things. My problems haven’t been something I wanted to bother her with for a long time. I like to say that made me independent. I think it’s really made me distant to people.

In high school, when I was slowly losing my mind, I remember us getting in a fight one day, and her telling me that I say terrible things to her. I still don’t think I did. I mean, I knew what my friends said to their parents and I wouldn’t dream of ever saying shit like that to my mother. In retrospect, I think it was the bad mix of a volatile bipolar (amongst other things) teenage girl and a clinically depressed woman. I would yell or be upset and she would take everything to heart. Every word engraved on her fragile psyche, forever.

I’m better now… in the sense that I’m trained to act relatively normal, and then go home and blow up or shut down or whatever in the privacy of my own home, where no one can hear me scream but the dogs. I still go home and cry a lot. I also sometimes go home and drink, or smoke, or take a percocet, or maybe all three if I’m feeling particularly like life is meaningless. I have gotten better about going home and eating, though… so… improvement.

Yesterday I caught myself self-harming. Back in the day I was cutter. Being so pale, as I am, you can’t see most of the scars, though. I’ve since learned that things like that make people aware… so I took a can of air duster, held it upside down, and sprayed it at my arm. I’ve done it before. It hurts, because the fluids inside are cold to keep the air compressed. It’s a biting kind of pain that it comparable to putting your hand on a hot stove. You lurch away from the immediate feeling, but it lingers… spiking now and then. So long as you don’t do it too long, there’s no lasting evidence you did anything. Your skin will get a little red… if you do it often you might get some blistering… Two weeks ago I did it WAY too long and I developed first stages of frostbite. Even now, the skin that took the most damage is just a little scaly. You can’t really see it anymore, but I can feel it when I run my fingers over the spot.

I guess until yesterday I didn’t think of this game as self harm, to be honest. I’ve always like the cold from canned air. I used to play with it all the time. It’s only in the past few years I’ve taken it farther than I used to… pushing my cold limits.

I think I’d be a mostly great mom, just like mine was… but with these habits of mine… with these mood swings and necessity to decompress once a day in a blaze of emotional turmoil… I can’t subject a kid to that. It’s bad enough I subject the dogs to that…

Related/Unrelated: Got the new Ghost Town album today! Here’s a song off of it that’s kinda related to this entry.