Did I mention , I may be bleeding to death?

Pardon my french, but yesterday sucked ass! I could give you all of the messy details, however, I think reliving it all will only increase my blood pressure unnecessarily.

However, at my lowest moment I was one of those crazy people you see walking away from some sort of service counter yelling and cursing like a maniac. And you think to yourself " calm down, freaking out is not going to make it any better, get a hold of yourself" but yesterday there was no getting a hold of myself. I was furious. My anger lasted several hours and could only be subdued after I self sabotaged by eating a snickers bar and drinking a coke (no it was not a diet coke either.)

I am so tired of having one horrible experience after the next (which completely fucks up my day) because no one can do their damn jobs. Now, I know we are a generation of lazy slackers. I know technology has spoiled our ability for free thought as well as any sort of personal responsibility but seriously people, when your job affects people health, their money, or their education... please try and do it 80% right.

Needless to say I wasted like 3 hours in community college HELL trying to register for classes I guess I am not allowed to register for, simply because I have been accepted to USF. Guess you can't be a student at more than one place at one time. I need some cross student permission. I wish my USF adviser ( who will not meet me in person and only responds to every 5th email) had told me this when she suggested I take my requisites at HCC. Before I emailed all the professors and begged for special permission to get into classes, and brought that special permission to the dean for him to sign off on.

Also, I wish blood drawing nurses, would actually send off my blood on time, after they insist on coming on to my house on a Friday night because they HAVE to get the blood in the mail before Monday. Don't rush me around, send me into a state of panic that my blood is not clotting and I may be internally bleeding and then go party instead of sending off my blood by fed ex. Thanks to you , you lazy nurse, they refused to release my lab results to my doctor which means I have to get my blood drawn for the 3rd time, and take off work sometime after my dentist appt tomorrow morning, in order to get stuck with a giant needle. Sounds like a fun Friday doesn't it. ohh did I mention I MAY BE INTERNALLY BLEEDING??!??! God! FUCK you people.

So yea, yesterday I was not a happy camper. My stress level is high, my health is not doing well. I feel crappy. I am just hoping that this three day weekend coming up gives me some ammunition to keep going. I warned you that my next blog was going to be dramatic.

Would you expect anything less?

P.S Project Runway was my only saving grace last night... that and the .85 cents Iris loaned me to get the snickers bar yesterday. Thanks Iris.

Holla at your girl

warning : post has not been edited. read at your own risk

This past weekend was an exhausting and emotional weekend. As usual, I scheduled too many things into only two days. I started off on the right foot, however, by carefully planning out each hour. I spent most of my Friday night watching a strange movie by the name of Sleven and painting an owl for my friend's Nikki's 32nd birthday. Now let me try and explain to you my serious love hate relationship with painting. I love the act of painting. I love creating and learning. I love making things for my friends. However, I have no formal training or natural talent for painting. This means I am bound and limited in my abilities to create the vivid and intricate images I foresee as I apply my brushes to the canvas. It is frustrating to say the least. Still for some reason, I insist on giving people personalized paintings for each holiday. Friday night I painted as much as I could before passing out into a coma like state, subconsciously dreading the next day Saturday. Saturday was my CRAZY day. On Saturday I had to run a ton of errands, finish Nikki's present, get ready, drive half way across the state, watch a dance performance, visit friends in Orlando, and finally come back to Tampa and hit up two house parties.

As far as the dance performance, Neil and I had committed ourselves to drive 2.5 hours east with his parents in order to watch a dance performance, that our friend Smurti had choreographed and was presenting. Smurti is Asim's wife. Asim is the Rani's son. Now that leaves the question of who are the Rani's? Well, Neil's parents have been friends with an older couple called the Ranis for like thirty years or so. They are an adorable tiny couple in their late 70's early 80's. During their younger years, Mr. Rani had been a psychology professor and wife Mrs. Rani had been a librarian. They have one son named Asim who is the Indian version of Richard Dryfus. Asim is a doctor who specialized in infectious diseases. I met the Ranis pretty early in my and Neil's relationship. I met them at a time when I felt very discriminated against and persecuted by Neil's parents and the Indian community in general. From the moment I met the Ranis, they were extremely loving and warm to me. They made me feel that there was some value in me as a person during a time when I was feeling worthless and harshly judged. For this, as well as their sincerity, I will always hold a special place in my heart for them. Mr. Rani is a funny little man with wild white hair (almost Einstein like)who talks a lot, mostly in riddles. During every conversation, Mr. Rani takes you on a spiritual carpet ride. He is a wise old man with a kind spirit and a feisty nature. Mrs. Rani is a lovely little angel with violet colored eyes and a contagious smile. She limps and walks with a cane, but her disability is always overshadowed by her warmth which lights up the room when ever she walks into it. She likes to grab my hand while she stares into my eyes and compliments me. Finally there is Asim. Asim is short just like his parents. He is older than me(in his forties) and has pleasant features. Asim is talkative and outgoing similar to is parents. He also has a passion for movies a secret desire to make Hollywood blockbusters. My favorite thing about Asim is his laugh. It is hysterical, almost hyena like.

About a year after Neil and I started dating, the Rani's son Asim met a woman on E-harmony. All I knew about her was that she was a dancer and a math teacher from Brooklyn. I was nervous before I met her. I was positive that she was going to be another cold, uptight and disapproving Indian woman casting the normal " how dare you date our men" stares in my direction. She was the opposite of what I expected. The first thing that struck me about Smurti was how beautiful she was, the next thing that stood out was her warm, genuine, strong, and quirky personality. Smurti and I related to each other right away. She was straight forward and open minded. She was passionate and opinionated. She was overly affectionate with her fiancée as well as her mother in law. She not only got my sarcastic sense of humor, she shot it right back at me with all with a devilish smile and a twinkle in her eye. She portrayed all of these qualities with natural poise and grace that only a dancer with an old soul could accomplish. She was the perfect addition to the Rani family which I had already come to adore.

While Smurti was in Brooklyn, she had formed a dance company called Patel Works, which fuses together traditional Indian dance with modern dance in order to raise money for underprivileged children. When she got married and moved down to Orlando she found a dance company to join and pitched an idea she had about a piece called the Cosmic Dance. Essentially it is story of Vishnu and his spiritual awakening. Saturday was the premier. To add drama to the story, poor Mrs. Rani had fallen a few weeks earlier and broken her hip. Apparently she was in pretty bad shape and unable to get out of bed. Therefore we had scheduled a stop on the way home to visit Mrs. Rani.

I woke up early on Saturday and raced around in order to get things done before we had to meet Neil’s parents at 1:00pm. I ran to the drug store and got a card for Mrs. Rani, I mailed out Melissa’s Bridal shower invites at the post office, I got coffee from Starbucks and picked up a dozen roses to give Smurti after the performance. Then I raced home in order to try and finish Nikki’s painting as well as get ready. I barely finished before we had to head to Neil’s parents house. Upon arriving at his parents’ house, the four of us had to pile into the car for the long 2.5 hour drive in front of us. Of course I get car sick. So I had to request to sit in the front. I knew that Neil’s mother was thinking “Leave it to the evil white woman to be spoiled and high maintenance, and consign us to the back seat”, however she acted graceful enough about it. I have to admit I was not syked about the whole thing. The last thing I wanted to do was spend my Saturday trapped in a long car ride with Neil’s parents. However, other than the hurricane bands of rain we were forced to drive through, the drive itself was pretty chill and went by faster than I expected. Neil even held my hand for bits of the drive, while his mother sat in the back seat watching every single move we made.

By the time we actually got to the little theater the dance performance was at, I was excited. We had to drive through a cute little town to get to it which was filled with little antique shops. The theater itself was a little smaller than expected but tastefully restored and decorated. We were handed a playbill and found seats in the center of the theater. The playbill explained the whole dance and also had a dedication to Mrs. Rani, since she was unable to make the show due to her injury. In the dedication Smurti referred to Mrs. Rani as her “mother in love” instead of mother in law. I have to admit for a second I was jealous. It must be nice to feel that close to your in-laws. A few minutes later Smurti appeared on stage and explained that this was going to be a lifelong work and what we were about to watch was only the rough draft. Then she had an older Indian gentleman come on stage and lead the audience in three Ohms.

Finally the performance started. I wish there were words to describe how much the dance simultaneously moved, thrilled, entertained and excited me all at the same time. But you just have to see it for yourself. The whole time the musicians were on the stage, playing tablas and chanting. They created the most beautiful Indian music for the back drop. There were several dances which all intertwined together to tell one story. There were about seven dancers, altogether. They ranged in age from a sixty year old woman to a nineteen year old girl. All of them were women except for one man, a beautiful bald African American man who played the lead role- Vishnu. The women were all different nationalities and body types. Slim, heavy, tall, short, you name it. The costumes were superb, the lighting was perfect. And the dance, the dance was just amazing. At times it almost brought me to tears. I could not take my eyes from the stage for even a second. The dancers were so enthralled in what they were doing, the dance was so intense that after it ended I felt somehow spiritually awakened, almost enlightened. The audience of course gave a standing ovation. After the show I managed to find Asim and give him the flowers, he seemed overwhelmed as well. Then the four of us ( me Neil, and his parents) crammed back into the car and drove an hour east to the Rani’s house.

One the ride there, I thought about what Smurti had created. She had choreographed the whole performance completely by herself. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how she could put all of those beautiful dances moves together herself. It seems more like magic than anything else.

We finally arrived at the Rani’s. They rent a big, nice house on a lake in the center or Orlando. Mr and Mrs. Rani live there along with Asim , Smurti and Smurti’s two fat cats. Mr. Rani greeted us right away, dressed in white flowing clothes. His hair looked tamer than usual. He was full of smiles. It was good to see him. He led us into the room where Mrs. Rani was resting. She was lying in a giant hospital bed, crumpled on her side. She looked like a wilted flower. It was only upon seeing her that the severity of the situation hit me. I immediately had to hold back tears as I looked at her sweet face. At first, she looked disoriented and confused, however she smiled when she realized who we were and grabbed for our hands as she greeted us hello. She quickly told us the story of how she fell and how extremely painful the whole ordeal had been. She spoke partly in English and partly in Gujarati. I read her the cards we had brought her and settled in by her side. Everyone chatted about the incident and as time went on, Mrs. Rani seemed to perk up with us just being there. Smurti and Asim stopped home to visit for a while before running to an Indian restaurant close by for a post party meal with the rest of the dance cast. A nephew of Mrs. Rani’s dropped by with his pregnant wife, to visit for a while.

Again, I was the minority in a house full of Indians. During all of the madness, Mrs. Rani took my hand and said that while she drifting in and out of consciousness after her surgery, there were several times she woke up calling for me and Neil. This really almost made me cry. I re-assured her, that I had been thinking about her as well and she said she knew that already. She said she could feel when I was thinking about her, because she was thinking about me at the exact same moment. This is why I love Mrs. Rani so much. Even in her darkest hour, she is full of love. After everyone else left, Mr. Rani cornered the four of us into some theological conversation about enlightenment and accidents, with Mrs. Rani giggling in the background the whole time. She always giggles none stop when Mr. Rani gets on a role. Finally it was getting late and we had to say our goodbyes. I left with a heavy sadness in my heart, after seeing Mrs. Rani so hurt and beat down. The ride home was a lot quieter than the ride there.

Near the end of the ride though, Neil’s mother shared with us a story of how one of Mrs. Rani’s nephews had married a white woman. The white woman had really seemed to embrace Indian culture even to the point of becoming a yoga instructor. However, ten years into their marriage, the white woman decided to leave and divorce her Indian husband for no reason what so ever, other than the fact that she did not want to be married. Apparently the Indian man was destroyed, and went into a deep depression for a long time, to the point where he was unable to even work. This gave me an opportunity to ask if Neil’s parents if they were concerned that would happen to Neil. They admitted that it was one of their biggest fears with Neil dating a non-Indian woman. This was a huge breakthrough. Never had they directly addressed to me their issues with Neil dating me. I tried to console them as best as I could. I tried to explain that I would never intentionally hurt their son and that I loved Neil on a higher level than just a boyfriend. I tried to explain that I loved and respected him as a person first and that nothing could change that. I don’t know if it made them feel any better, but at least it opened the doorway to communication.

After we dropped off Neil’s parents, we raced back to our house, changed clothes and ran to Nikki’s birthday party. It was already in full swing when we got there. I found Nikki (full swing in the middle of a heated political debate) and made her open her owl painting as well as an owl necklace I had made for her. She was thrilled. I don’t think I have ever seen her so excited about a gift. She loved the owl painting and hung it up immediately. Most of the party was outside by a little fire Nikki had going. Some boys played horseshoe in the yard while Bauhaus blared in the background. I grabbed a chair and chatted up some friends. Neil stayed in the kitchen, ate some food, drank the beers he had bought and cornered another guy with nerd talk about the new Iphone. I had, of course, worn an extremely revealing dress, which sort of showcased my breasts. A few hours into the party, Neil was wasted drunk.

Now I personally love drunk Neil, as does everyone else. Drunk Neil is outgoing, funny, perverted and drunk Neil loves to dance. At some point in the night, drunken Neil gave my best friend Jenn a lap dance. At around 1:00 am I decided to drag dunk Neil to another party that my friend Becca was having around the corner. When we got to the party it was dwindling down, however drunk Neil and my exposed breasts made quite the impression. One of my other drunk friends name Lisa, decided she was in love with my breasts and refused to keep her hands off of them. Neil decided to document this with his Iphone camera. Neil also decided to hump the wee game in Becca’s living room and embark on other funny/perverted shenanigans. I was informed that Drunk Neil was invited back anytime before we left the party, which was about an hour later. We went back to Nikki’s and hung out for another half an hour before going home at about 3:00am, where as Neil and I both realized that we were getting sick. Yucky!

Sunday was really a day of recovery/ reflection. Between nursing a sore throat (which turned out to be strep) and sleeping, I managed to really get my house in order and reflect on my life. Of course I came to same conclusion I always come to. I concluded that I need more balance in my life. That I need to focus on what is important and always balance those things, so that I never get over whelmed and so that nothing ever gets neglected. I need to balance my physical health, my career, my education, my relationships, my social life, my mental health, and my spirituality. I need to stay focused and calm. I need to learn to go with the flow more. It is always easy to identify this, but much more difficult to put it into practice. Hopefully my therapist will help. I like Dr. Greengrass. His parents were holocaust survivors and his daughter is a rabbi. I have hope in him. I have hope in a lot of things. I have hope in my future. This is why I am not even going to talk about my platelet scare in this blog. Nope. This blog is all about positive revelations and happiness. You will have to wait for the next blog in order to find out about the negative scary stuff. But such is life..

Therapy, PMS and Christina Applegate's hooters

So, as I feared I have not had any time to blog recently. Nor do I really have much to say. Well actually, I do have a good number of complaints to make. But it is hard to pinpoint if they are real complaints or if PMS has completely consumed all of my rational thought? Speaking of PMS, please allow me to take this opportunity to apologize to anyone who I may have possibly offended or hurt in anyway this past week.

I have my second appt tonight with my new therapist. His name is Dr. Greenhouse. Sometimes I accidentally call him Dr. Greengrass. He never corrects me, which makes me worry. I am not really sure why I am in therapy or what I am hoping to get out of it. I do have a vague notion. I know I have some trauma issues which I have not worked through yet. I also know I have some personal things about myself which I can never seem to get a firm grip on that I would like some help with.

I sort of treat my therapists like I treat many of my potential suitors. I give them a few appointments/dates prove to me that they a) get me and b) that they have something to bring to the table. If they fail to impress me after one or two times. I drop em like a bad habit. This is probably something I should tell my therapist. Maybe he could help me understand my tendency to bail on relationships when they no longer thrill me (other than the fact that my Venus is in Gemini.

This past weekend was pretty tame. I mostly organized my house, sent my mother off to south Florida, ate delicious Indian food, lost at bowling, and picked out some ugly curtains to match the ugly paint color in my office.

Next week is me and Neil's four year anniverary . I just realized this a few days ago. It totally snuck up on me. It feels so surreal to think that we have been together that long. Although some days it feels like we have been together for centuries. But seriously, where has the time went?

Before Neil, I had totally given up on the idea of a happy and functioning relationship. And although we have our problems and our rough days, Neil has taught me a new way to love. A more selfless way. With him, I have learned how to care about someone else's happiness as much as, if not more than, my own happiness. Sometimes that is a painful lesson to learn. So no matter what happens between us in the future, I will always be grateful to Niel for that. For our anniverary I would like us to either go to dinner mystery theater or a twilight dinner cruise around downtown on a cute little yacht. It's so hard to choose. Cheesy entertainment or cheesy romance.

Yesterday at the height of my PMS I crawled into bed after work and started to moan. Neil joined me there. He was very tender with me and held me tight until a sweet calmness started to wash away my hurt. Then he made me laugh and giggle with our normal after work silliness until I had completely forgotten my crappy day and all my unhappiness has disappeared. Now that's a keeper!

I can't believe it is only hump day. This week is ticking by with the slowness of a snail. The pounding headache I've had all day does not help. And I am tired of waking up and not being able to see anything for 20-30 mins.

At least I have an interesting weekend to look forward to. Indian dance, Henry Dean shenanigans, and lots of parties..

On a side note, I was sadly surprised to hear that Christina Applegate had a double mastectomy recently. I read an article about it with quotes from her and I was super inspired by attitude. She admitted she had days when she felt sorry for herself, but she also said you had to be brave with the card your dealt. She is going to re-constructive surgery after her breasts are removed was quoted as saying she is looking forward to the fact that when she's older, she will have the best looking/perkiest breast in the nursing home. That's my girl Christina.

meow!

Help me decide what to be when I grow up please.

I am one of those people that still have no idea what they want to be when they grow up. I mean, I know what I WANT to be when I grow up. I want to be a rich and famous movie director. Heck, I would settle for making a decent living and directing documentaries. But I am not so sure I want to waste a bunch of money of a film degree.

About five years ago, I decided I had to at least get my ass in some sort of college. So I picked community college. At least in community college, I could bide my time in selecting a major. Well, slowly I worked my way to an AA and graduated from community college (ohh HCC how I miss you). As I entered university, I was forced to pick a major, so I picked what I was best at. I ended up in a communications major of course (please note, communications is very different than mass communications). Well in my first semester of my new degree I discovered two things. One, USF sucks ASS and Two, communications degrees are like psychology degrees but without any hope of ever making any money (not that you make that much money in psychology, but hey SOMETHING is better than NOTHING). Ohh, and I also discovered that most communication majors are assholes.

Since deciding I must pick another major, I have found myself in the same panic as I did my junior year of high school, when I went to the library and checked out every book they had on choosing a career. One of the problems is that everything sounds good. But nothing sounds GREAT. I have flirted with almost anything you can imagine. But none of them make me feel very passionate. If they do make me feel passionate, they come with a laundry list of reasons why they would be a bad decision. No money, hard to break into, too much schooling. There is always something that ruins me committing to a definite path.

Poor Neil, he is so supportive and patient with every new idea I have (which honestly changes weekly) but I think he is as out of answers as I am. Last month, I was sure I was going to be a radiation therapist. However, that requires me to basically not work at all for two years which is just unrealistic. I could do something creative, like interior design or fashion design, but I need something that guarantees medical benefits. I could get into broadcasting, which I would be fantastic at, but can I really live off $25,000 for the rest of my life? And do I really need a degree for it? All answers point to no.

So I have a new idea this week, which I am pretty excited about. I think I am going to get a degree in education and become a teacher. It has always been my fall back option. Mostly because of the “those who can do and those who can’t teach “saying but more so because teachers are so underpaid and under appreciated. But I have weighed the pros and cons and it just seems like the best idea. You make okay money. It isn’t great, but it is livable compared the crap money broadcasters make. You get so many days off. Do you know what I could do with a whole two months off in the summer, two weeks in the winter and a week off in spring break? The benefits rock! The degree won’t cost me an arm or a leg. I can do it in about two years. And finally, I think it may actually be slightly fulfilling.

Who knows, maybe this is just another passing whim, but I am actually making an appt with an adviser of the educational department at USF to see all what it would entail. I am pretty sure I would like to focus on 4th-6th grade. I am super curious of everyone’s feedback on what they think of this idea. So, far I have gotten extremely good responses but the more feedback, the better. My sister Amanda is a teacher. Just think of how proud my mother would be if both of her daughters became teachers. Actually I think she would cry with disappointment. But that is a whole other blog.

Missing pretzels, nerdy hip hop and x-rated fun

Last night my boyfriend Neil and I went to a hip hop show at the Orpheum. We went because Neil’s friend from "back in the day" was performing. Neil apparently knows this guy from the “old BBS days.” If you weren’t a nerd in the 80’s and 90’s and don’t know what BBSs were, let me try and fill you in. BBSs were old bulletin boards where people posted ideas, created graphics out of old dose symbols and corresponded with each other. Essentially they were the precursors of chat rooms.

Neil’s friend, who I only met as Funky 49, performs “nerd rap”.

Now, I had no idea what to expect by that, so I dressed as “hip hop” as I could after getting home from work, and hoped for the best as Neil and I headed to Y-Bor for the show. For any of you who don’t know what Y-bor is, think commercialized yet smaller French-Quarter New Orleans, if hipsters and yuppies had invaded and ruined it. That is Y-Bor in a nutshell. It was raining out when Neil and I arrived at the show, so I was dropped off in front, while Neil parked the car.

As I had mentioned, the show was being held in a little bar called “The Orpheum”, which is a small hipster bar know for its music venue as well as its notorious “sink or swim” nights. “Sink or Swim” is usually held on a Saturday night. A night of “sink or swim” usually consists of dressing up in your hottest hipster clothes, paying one fixed price (like $8.00) and drinking as many well drinks (or cheap beers) as you can in one night for free. It is always hot as hell (too many people packed in a small place while you dance your ass off) and it always ends with the act of making out with someone you either A) just met or B) will regret tomorrow. The evening usually also ends with some young emo boys -in tight pants- getting into a fist fight with each other, or me puking in front of the club.

Needless to say, I have not been to “Sink or Swim” in like four years but I do have some interesting memories there. In my younger days I befriended most of the staff who worked there. Most of the time, I got in for free and never got carded (I was old enough of course) but it was a way of saying welcome. Last night when I walked into the Orpheum it was like an old flashback. My old friends were all still working their old positions at the door and behind the bar. I was greeted with hugs and got to forgo the whole carding experience. I played chit chat for a while and caught up on everyone’s life.

It was only after I greeted everyone, that I got a chance to survey the crowd. And what a crowd it was! The age group had to range from teenagers all the way to forty year old men. Also, the mix ranged in stereotypes. The majority was your typical southern “ghetto” crowd, along with a bunch of white kid B-Boy wannabees mixed in, a handful of preppy girls all dressed in Forever 21 clothes and finally the “nerdy crowd”. I still had no idea what to expect from the music but the crowd itself could have kept me entertained for hours alone.

Neil’s friend (who was dressed like a raver from 1995, including wide leg pants and 3D viewing glasses) greeted us right away and told us that he wasn’t going on till 8:00pm. That left us almost and hour and half to find some dinner. Thank god. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to face this all on an empty stomach. Neil and I had debated getting some black bean pizza from the bar across the street, but instead decided to grab a bite at Tampa Bay Brewing Company. Tampa Bay Brewing Company is a brewery/restaurant a few blocks down from the Orpheum that has a ton of pesco-ovotarian options. Not to mention, I was DYING for their pretzel appetizer, which I have only recently discovered.

I had barely eaten all day in order to have enough weight watcher points for those delicious treats. Of course when I ordered the pretzels, the waitress informed me that “It was the only thing they were out of" and threw in an airheaded- he he- laugh to boot. I had to stop myself from throwing the menu across the room and screaming at the top of my lungs “FUCK YOU BLONDIE, I have been starving myself ALL DAY LONG for these little fuckers and you have the nerve to be out of them? You have to the count of 10 to find some, cook them to perfection and bring them to me, or else I will really lose it!” But instead I frowned a little and ordered the calamari appetizer. All in all, dinner was pretty good, other than the pretzel debacle. I ate the honey smeared salmon and Neil had a GIANT spinach, mushroom and goat cheese calzone. We also shared some yummy beer. It was almost like a real date ( which are hard to re-create one you live together)

After dinner, we went back to the Orpheum and watched the next act which came on right before Neil’s friend's performance. I personally found the performer(whose name unfortunately, I did not catch, none of the performers really introduced themselves) to be somewhat interesting and painful to watch, all at the same time.

As he performed, I tried to think of how I could describe him and the best that I could come up with was, that he was a preppier, schizophrenic, post apocalyptic Eminem. He looked just like Eminem, except he had a thin blond beard. He sounded a lot like Eminem, except he didn’t flow as smoothly and his lyrics were weaker. His songs were conspiracy theory based and anti –religious. He had one song dedicated to wanting to be a serial killer. As he rapped, he either shifted his weight from side to side in an uncomfortable wild eyed, meth-like swagger or did a weird dance which incorporated choreographed boy band dance moves from the waste down with a mosh pit head banging thing. It was weird. I felt somewhat compelled by his obvious devotion to “his music”, a little embarrassed for him and slightly entertained all the same time. His small crowd of devotees looked like they belonged at a Korn concert. They certainly seemed to adore him. One girl in particular- an extremely thin girl who was sort of pretty in a white trash sort of way- threw her hands up in the air the whole performance and sang along to every lyric ( I assumed she was his pseudo girlfriend, however, that was never verified). I clapped at the end of his performance, partly because he deserved it, and partly because I was glad that it was over.

The next act was Neil’s friend Funky 49. He took the stage with another rapper (who looked older and either Mexican or Hawaiian and burst into a wild performance. I must say they were pretty good. Their beats were a little generic, but they flowed really well and had a rock star energy about them. Funky 49 hopped around the stage while his partner in crime looked tough and stuck his tongue out (Gene Simmons style) for almost every single picture. I didn’t get the whole “nerd” part at first, it wasn't until I realized what they were singing about that it clicked into place. Even though they performed like your average rap group , it was their lyrics which made them "nerdy". One song which was about role playing games was actually pretty good I liked the descriptive lyrics. And the next song went something like this (you’ve got dial up, I’ve got broadband).

The diversified crowd of nerds and preppy Forever 21 girls went pretty wild over the act. The energy was slightly contagious as Funky jumped into the audience and high fived his loyal patrons. I thought they sounded somewhat like Cypress Hill minus the psychedelic flavor, while Neil heard a definite Beastie Boys influence. Half way through their set, my friend and music critic Julie G, showed up. I wasn’t sure how she was going to react to them, but she smiled a lot and shook her ass a little, so I think she enjoyed them. Their act ended abruptly after they ran out of music.

I was ready to go home after their act, but I wanted to spend some time with Julie and Neil was drinking, so I found a spot of the floor and sat down for a while. My back was hurting and my dinner was not digesting properly. I felt like an old person who had forced myself to stay out too late. Everywhere I looked, past memories reminded me of the younger version of myself who had spent so much time at the same bar years ago. In fact, the bartender had looked dumbfounded when I ordered just water. As the next act set up, the crowd changed to a younger “urban” group. I personally enjoyed this because I had spent another portion of my youth going to the most dangerous dirty booty-shaking bars around town. I was convinced for a few years that I was “gansta.” In fact, I was in all girl gang called the BBGs. However, that is a story for a different time.

The white nerdy kids vacated pretty quickly as the younger, more "urban" kids crowded in. The whole atmosphere of the bar seem to change around then . It suddenly seemed to come more alive and had a new pulse of excitement. Julie and I chatted for a while as Neil waited for the street fighter arcade game to become available. He also congratulated Funky 49 on a great show as he relived and relayed his old make-out days at the Orpheum to Mr. Funky(one of Neil’s claims to fame is that fact that he made out with 3 or more girls in once night).

I heard the next act come on shortly before Neil gained access to the arcade game and I suggested that Julie play him, so that I could make my way to the stage and watch the next performance. The next guy was called something “king” and reminded me of a re-incarnated version of Biggie Smalls. I thought that he was really fantastic, in a commercial “gangster” rap sort of way. He did incorporate some “dirty south” beats and styles that you can only hear west of the Mississippi. He also did a shout out to his baby’s momma (a very large and beautiful pregnant white girl with a ton of make up on and clothes that were way too tight for her). She danced the whole time and lovingly starred back at her “Big Papa” enchanted by his music. The crowd dug him as well.

His set seemed way too short and was almost over by the time I made my way back to the arcade game where I had left Julie and Neil to duel. I played one game of Street Fighter (or whatever fighting game it was) and came very close to beating Neil by simultaneously pushing every button I could, and opening a can of whoop-ass on his character. Sadly, I lost to Neil by a hair. After my fighting game ended and Biggie exited the stage, it was clear that it was finally time to go home! I said my goodbyes to Julie and took the keys from Neil. It was just starting to rain as we left the Y-Bor parking lot. Neil was tipsy and charming on the long drive home. I do enjoy him when he’s had more than three beers. That is when his true weirdo side reveals itself.

The rest of the night is x-rated and probably not suitable for persons under the age of twenty one to read, so I will refrain from providing the details. Needless to say it was a memorable night indeed.

Ugly furniture, eastern philosphy and queers

It’s hump day. One day closer to the weekend. I hate to be so cliché in the regards that I am always living for the weekend, but darn if it isn’t the truth. I count the moments till I have two whole days of freedom to myself. I fantasize about sleeping in and lounging around all day, although that rarely happens.

So this past weekend I helped my mother move all of her stuff into storage. My mother has decided to move back down to south Florida ( whoo hoo, freedom). She has moved back and forth between south Florida and Tampa four times in the past two years. She is not allowed to move anymore. The last timed she moved back to Tampa, she said she moved back to help me when I got diagnosed with MS. It turns out that was lie; she moved back because she had too many memories associated with her recent divorce from my crack head Guatemalan stepfather Juan Carols. He was he her seventh husband. Two moves ago, she had a heart attack on my birthday. So Sunday when I showed up to help her move, I was less than thrilled. And boy, was it a nightmare. My mother decided to micromanage the whole thing and made everyone helping want to pull their hair out. Luckily, I had four tough guys with me who volunteered to help (okay so I paid them). And for the most part, they were pretty patient with her, aside from quietly coming up to me and pleading with me to make her sit down and shut up. Which I tried to do, repeatedly, but alas; I was only greeted with stares of death from her accompanied with demands that we move the same box for the third time.

My mother also gave me two pieces of furniture. Well, first she tried to sell them after I said I wanted them, but when she got no responses from Craig’s list, she generously gave them to me, with a reminder of how much she could have gotten for them had she decided to sell them (just in case she needs to manipulate me with that guilt later in the future.) One piece is a big breakfront that belonged to my grandmother. I have always wanted it. It used to be beautiful. It was bright yellow and very grand, with tiny flowers painted on it. My mother however, ruined it when she got it. She painted in a dark black and had a tacky mirror put in the back. It is now very 90’s modern and ugly. But I still wanted it. She also gave me her dinning room table which is a light wood with four black clothed chairs. Again, it was not really my taste at all, but it was free and I needed a dining room table. Unfortunately, this abundance of new furniture disrupted the whole Zen of my household. I had to get rid of my trusty futon (that in itself is a whole other story) and move everything else around. I painted my office (which I have been meaning to do since I moved in) and took doors of their hinges in order to cram in large pieces of furniture. The whole thing was a large undertaking.

I also managed to pick the scariest most god-awful color in which to paint my office. On the tiny slot of paper in the glaring home depot light, it looked more like a neutral terracotta, but on the wall, it looks like an obnoxious, putrid pink (have I ever mentioned that I hate pink walls?) Aren’t I too old to be picking out bad paint colors? So now I am trying my hardest to do everything I can to distract my eyes from the walls and learn to love my new (over crowded) office. Also, my dining room now looks like my mother. It has very little reflection of me in it. It screams tacky, average, grown up furniture. But don’t you worry your pretty little head, I have plans of course. I want to stencil flowers back onto the breakfront. I want to refinish the wood dining room table another color and maybe recover the chairs with a purple fabric I that bought a while ago. Or even get some new chairs. But meanwhile it feels a little weird and strange when I walk in the front door.

The past few nights I have been rushing home and making small attempts to re-settle my house. I have hung things back on the wall, and moved odd pieces into the shed. Finally, last night I finally got things semi-manageable. Most pieces are in their new and (hopefully) final spots. The tools are all put away. Wall switch covers are back on. Finally, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Let me tell you, it is so annoying being a Cancer. I am a homebody by heart, always at odds with my social nature. When my house is in chaos, nothing else can be addressed. I don’t answer my phone. I don’t reply to emails. I drop off the face of the earth, not able to return until there is balance restored in the household.

Last night, I broke the aforementioned rule and invited my neighbor from down the street over for a glass of wine. I don’t know her all that well. She lives with Brian. My close friend/ landlord. Her name is Amy. I have always found Amy to be pleasant enough but never really connected anything we had in common until I realized that she loves animals almost in not as much as I do. That sealed the deal. So, Amy came over for some wine (neither of us finished our glass) and we chatted for what turned into three hours. I must say, I really enjoyed myself. I forgot how lovely it is to sit around and have girl talk one and one. I felt like I did in grade school when you made a new friend and invited them over for a slumber party. I found myself sharing my all philosophies in life and rattling on about my studies and beliefs rooted in eastern religion. I quoted the Dali Lama and my views on re-incarnation. I did her astrological chart, which was dead on (Ms Capricorn sun, Pisces moon and Virgo rising). I was tempted to read her tarot cards but decided I was not ready to know that much about her just yet.

Aside from more girl time I also realized that I need some more gay men in my life. I have known this for some time, but no fabulous new gay men have wondered by my path recently (well other than cute, young Kyle…my film class partner in crime) I have always been a flame dame (or fag hag if you wish). I mean, I am not the type to fall in love with gay men or anything self destructive like that, I just sincerely enjoy their company. Maybe it stems from the majority amount of gay men in my family who influenced me growing up. In my twenties I had tons of gay men in my life, but over the years they have all died or moved away. And now I find a large hole in my life where their presence used to be. I still have a handful of amazing gay friends of course. But alas, our lives always lead us in different directions. So here I am advertising my need for some new gay friends. If you know any good ones, please send them in my direction. I might even be willing to pay a small finders fee..

P.S I am pretty sure I won yesterday's blitz contest for my division. Ahhhh yeahhhhh!

Blitzing, fashion and pet ownership complaints

It’s blitz day at work. I am not thrilled. In case you need clarification, blitz day is a day when the whole company contacts as many customers as possible and competes to see who can make the most contacts. The winner gets $200.00. I have won blitz day the past two months. The reason I have won is because I pound the phones from the moment I get in, till the moment I leave. Then I get home and fall into bed. It leaves me drained and exhausted. Today I have little to no motivation to blitz, other than the $200.00 prize of course.

So instead of pounding the phones I am updating this blog, which I already seem to be addicted to. Kudos to me. Now that I have this darn blog, I am afraid I will also need a new camera. I want to incorporate one or two pictures (or maybe 20) into my entries so that you, as the reader, have at least a small visual. I think visuals are important. My camera broke about a month ago. The problem is, I want a fancy camera and fancy cameras are expensive. I want one with zoom and fancy lenses. I want to feel professional and arty as I set up my shot and capture the perfect photograph. Needless to say if I want a fancy camera, I should stop writing and start blitzing.

I would have updated this blog last night; however I was too busy breaking my weight watchers diet for the day by stuffing my face with lasagna and slow church mint chocolate chip ice cream. Which, I followed promptly by lying in bed and watching the last two episodes of Californication. I think I was rewarding myself for actually sticking to the diet the week before and losing 2.5 lbs. I know it makes no sense. To work that hard to lose a few pounds and then celebrate by trying to gain in back in one night. Apparently, all of the woman who will read this blog can relate, because my slim co-worker informed me yesterday that “everyone in the world has tried weight watchers at least once, because who doesn’t want to lose a few lbs.” She was also the one who then tried to wrestle the snickers bar out of my hand after I sneaked it out of the vending machine (thanks for trying Iris). Oppps did I forget to mention that snickers bar? Anyway I am back on the weight watchers train today and I have only consumed three points as of yet (I get a whole 21 points a day)

Now for those of you who don’t know me, I have been battling a stubborn twenty pounds for the last couple years. Before that I was at least eighty pounds overweight, but I stopped eating meat and adopted a healthier lifestyle and bam… sixty pounds melted right off. However, I have a lingering twenty pounds that refuses to leave. Now as far as the way I physically look, I am okay with the twenty extra pounds. The nice thing about entering my thirties is that I am actually starting to accept and like myself along with my body. I don’t mind the extra weight around the middle as much or the little flab here or there. Although I have noticed something called “saddlebags” forming, which I have never noticed before (yikes). But at the end of the night when I look in the mirror, I smile back at what I see.

So why am I on weight watchers? Well, aside from the obvious health reason, the real reason I yearn to be twenty pounds lighter is…(drum roll please)….. Fashion! That’s right it all comes down to fashion, plain, simple and probably a little shallow. But hey, I promised brutal honesty right? I want to actually go into a store, see a dress I like in a size 8 or even 6, try it on, have it fit like a glove and buy it. I am tired of looking through the rack of clothes praying for a size 12. I WANT MORE FASHION OPTIONS DAMNIT!!!! So there it is… the truth. Needless to say I will complain about my points and weight watchers quite a bit in this blog.

However, please don’t fret for I will also complain about a plethora (ß yeah, I use that word a lot) of other things which are a lot more important, and probably a lot more interesting. But not today, today is all about blitzing, fashion and my desperation to stay with in my allotted weight watcher points. Wish me luck.

Ohh and for the love of Pete, please spay and neuter your pets. I am tired of seeing beautiful dead dogs and cats on the side of the road. And please stop abandoning them just because you’re selfish and they no longer meet your lifestyle needs. When you adopt an animal, remember that you are agreeing to take care of it for the rest of its life. I have yet another animal I am trying to help find a home for. People never cease to amaze me.

Okay, back to blitzing.

Why start a blog?

Humm, that is the question isn't it? Maybe I just want to be cool like everyone else. That way when I meet someone new and I want to impress them , I can say "check out my blog" and throw out a URL. Or maybe I just need a place to vent all my crazy , annoying little thoughts other than myspace (especially since most of my friends including my boyfriend never read my full blogs) and I figure if I have my own personal blog space I can post whatever I want without any censorship.

Maybe I have delusions of grandeur and I think that people everywhere are dying to read my insightful and sarcastic observations on life and I think a blog of my own will propel me into stardom. Or maybe I need something to do other than reading the gossip page or trolling on myspace to pass the long hours at my boring desk job. ( just kidding co-workers).

Choose whichever reason appeals to you most. I like to make my readers happy or at least semi comfortable. But let's move forward.

So now that I have this fancy blog whatever will I do with it? Complain? Rant? Rave?
I guess I am not really sure. I'd like to make all sorts of promises about making my blog interesting and fun to read, but all that stuff is so subjective. I guess the only promise I can make is that my blog will be an honest reflection of all that I encompass. The good , the bad and the ugly. It will be a mixture of pessimisms and optimisms , as well as a plethora of self depicting antidotes.

Now on to the next topic
How did I choose my blog name?
Well it was a tricky process. If you don't already know, I have Multiple Sclerosis which (at this point in time) affects mainly my vision . Essentially I am loosing it ( my vision that is, well bits and pieces of my mind as well, but I digress) and so I wanted to encompass blindness into the name of the blog. Then I remembered about a condition I had read about where people tend to loose their sight during moments of severe agitation. Well it all sort of fell into place after that. I mean after all I am hysterical - in the sense that I am quite funny as well as possibly insane.
So there you have it.

And finally maybe I should introduce myself in case any of you wander across this blog and don't really know me ( delusions of grandeur again).

• I am 31 years old.
• I was diagnosed with MS 2.5 years ago and am I in a phase III trial for a chemotherapy type drug called Campath.
• My sun is in Cancer with a Leo moon and an Aquarius rising ( yes I believe in that stuff)
• I am a considered a left wing , tree hugging, non meat eating hippy freak by most of my co-workers. ( I am a bit left wing and will openly discuss politics, I do only eat fish and eggs - no meat, I have hugged a tree before and sometimes I wear flowing skirts- however I find that label unfitting)
• I live my my first generation Indian boyfriend( a computer programmer) which has caused a great scandal in the Indian community to which his mother still has hope that her baby boy will escape the white devil and find a "nice Indian girl"
  
• I was raised by my beautiful and crazy Italian single mother ( my father died before I was born) who pretty much left me to raise myself (which I think I did a pretty good job of doing if I do say so myself). She drives me crazy and is a constant source of my rants. I have two half sisters, one I am whom I am close to the other one whom I did not know about till I was 22 years old.
  
• I was once married to a clown. He was not a clown when we met and his becoming a clown was a large source of why we divorced. ( I have never liked clowns) His clown name was Sparkles. To this day clowns are a sore subject with me.
  
• Although I have dreams of being a film director, I pay the bills by selling engineering software instead. Which means I talk to cooky engineers all day , who generally end up stalking me and sending me weird emails. They are not a source of my rants but do provide some much needed humor throughout my boring day. However, if anyone out there is on the lookout for a brilliant director, please hire me and pay me lot's of money.
  
• I have always been a square peg in a world of round holes.
  

Well ,that covers the very basics. I hope this blog doesn't become like all of my other one hit wonder hobbies and I actually use and update it. I also hope that you don't mind misspellings , grammatical errors and typos, as I tend to make a lot of mistakes that I am usually too lazy to correct.

Let the games begin.