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Monthly Archives: September 2015

McCluring it up! and Other Songs

22 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by dionysuspsyche in Uncategorized

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Tags

dumbing, Fall Illness, sick, the Simpsons, Troy McClure

Hi Readers!

Saying that makes me feel like Mr. Rogers, which is funny because I have a sweater like his and also change my shoes when I get to work.

It’s Autumn, and that means that everyone everywhere is getting what my friend Audrey referred to as Sexy Viral Victim for Halloween on her selfie today. I told her we had the same costume, and we should trade in for something better. Then I stood in line to try and trade, but they weren’t taking returns on that costume. They told me all sales on that costume were final. I explained that it was bought for me by one of my friends who got it from her boyfriend (it’s a very popular costume this year). They said that it’s rare the costume is genuinely sought out and that most people just get stuck with it when someone leaves it at their house then they fall into it by accident. The lady at the returns counter did NOT look amused when she told me this either, probably because I was wearing the costume at the time.

Anyway, so I’ve got the state of mind on that is dumb me being dumber, because sickness. Which sounds a LOT like Troy McClure. If you don’t know who that is, watch this!

*

Evidence of Sick Brain Syndrome 

  1. Made pumpkin pie yesterday, and put in two cans of pumpkin instead of two cups. When confronted with this mistake, I wrote on directions “c=cups, not cans,” even though I didn’t make that mistake for anything else. How could I? Nothing else came in a can.
  2. Sister’s birthday is today. When husband asked if I wanted to sing with him, I said, “Sure! What are we singing?” and an awkward pause took place, at which point I said, “Oh…you wanted to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ huh?” Answer: That is exactly what he wanted to sing. He wasn’t really taking requests. Although, the next time someone sings this to me, I’ll be like, “Thanks, that’s great. Now the song I requested was…”
  3. Looked around the area where I sit for the remote. Husband pointed out both remotes we own were sitting on the table in front of me.
  4. Probably countless of other things yet to be discovered or that people were too nice to point out to me.

On the BRIGHT side, I got 92 out of 99 on ” ’90’s Movie Quiz by Picture Frame.” I did fail to notice what my husband (who got a lower score, I’d like to add, but not by much) pointed out which is that a lot of the movies on the quiz didn’t take place in the 90’s.

*I don’t own the above clip. I found it on Youtube.

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Blog Much to Jump Start Your Motivation! A How-not-to Guide

15 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by dionysuspsyche in Copyright 2015

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Tags

band-aid, charm, couch, dog, free write, Home, poncho, sofa, sofa ensemble

It’s strangely comforting how that page loading “beep beep boop” that pops up for a new post is. Y’all feel that, right?

I rescued a poncho that is 1. decidedly uncool, and 2. likely too small after ignoring washing instructions (Jerry Seinfeld approves, I am sure), and it’s become part of my sofa ensemble.* The dog loves it so much that when her blankets were somehow removed from said island of cushions (Husband must have done this, because it implies cleaning), the poncho remained to quell her fears of all covers abandoning her. She becomes indignant if I try to remove it, but isn’t completely convinced that she likes it. You know, like your friend from junior high/elementary school that Cosmo once informed me is called a Band-aid.

My pooch pal thinks it’s a blanket, so insists on being underneath it even when I am wearing it, but BECAUSE it is a poncho and not a real blanket, she gets annoyed, because once she’s under it, it doesn’t completely coat her body throughout so she has to manipulate it more than ever to get comfortable. Additionally, the texture leaves something to be desired and is nowhere near as soft as her preferred choices.

Also, she licks her butt underneath it so sometimes I lift it and a noxious scent greets me. So far, it’s just a passing smell and has not become part of the poncho’s anti-charm–maybe just charm…we are talking about a poncho that I called part of my Sofa Ensemble after all. Two negatives make a positive? At least in math.

Yet she hates clothes, so this is the closest she gets to some kind of lame fashion show.

Okay, it didn’t work. I thought blogging would somehow push the reset button on being productive today. I’m going to have to re-start this party myself, manually.

BYE.

*Sofa Ensemble: You might know them as sweats, but they’re more inclusive than that. The “wear it until it reeks then consider washing it, wear it one more time, and then burn instead of cleaning” outfit that shouldn’t be used to leave the house, but might happen if you’re sleepy enough and running errands before you’ve had coffee. If you blinked in response of this statement instead of some kind of chuckle/nod combination, we’re likely never going to meet again and are sure-fire enemies. Huzzah!

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Thunder, Encouragement, et al

11 Friday Sep 2015

Posted by dionysuspsyche in Uncategorized

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thunder

Borrowing this for the post. It’s around. I don’t take credit for it, but apparently I need to use it. Looks pretty cool.

A beautiful, random blogger nominated me for the Encouraging Thunder Award. I’ve been awake for over 2 hours, and it’s only just now 6am. I don’t completely understand the rules, but let’s just go with what I think I know!

I started blogging, because I was lonely and wanted to be able to update my friends, family, and strangers about the humorous moments in my day and distract myself from pain and illness that never leave my body. Thanks to you readers and the gift of technology, I have been able to do that.

And now I’m going to have a second bowl of cereal and go back to bed.

I nominate:

  • My buddy Joe the Revelator
  • Wisewomantraining
  • Matt and his Cats
  • The Good Vader
  • John Pavlovitz
  • Inquisitive Loon

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You are what you eat, and I am garbage (language and dramatic flare warning)

03 Thursday Sep 2015

Posted by dionysuspsyche in Copyright 2015

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Tags

dessert, diet, fail, failure, garbage, healthy, stomach, weak

via pinterest via someecards

via pinterest via someecards

Look through your robot friends and behold me, the weak, pathetic human caught in the mist of your interweb. Commence the judging.

I have spent the last month in a complete state of ruin. My body has decided to go rogue and do whatever the fuck it wants whenever the fuck it wants to. Which, to be fair, it has always done. But now it’s like Uma Thurman from Kill Bill. There’s fucking BUSINESS to be had. It’s on road to kill. Phasers set to decimation.

Yesterday, I told my doctor the foods I was cutting out. He approved. Then he suggested I cut out coffee.

You want me to what? 

“Coffee,” he said, “It’s acidic. It has to go.”

“What about black tea?” I asked, once I’d regained the ability to move my lips and make sounds.

“Nah, I’ve seen people with stomach problems who drink TONS of black tea.”

But…what am I supposed to do in the mornings?

My doctor then advised to replace coffee with water, sitting with exercise, exercise with MORE exercise, not sleeping with sleeping, and depression with rainbows.

He ended our discussion with, “You have to believe you’re going to get better.”

Dude, you just told me to cut out all the foods I love. I’m guessing you’re saving the sex, internet, and tv abstinence talk for our next appointment. Gotta give me something to look forward to in my next pep talk.

The past few days/week, I have been attempting to curb my diet. Eat certain foods, avoid others. There was a way, a path, a plan. Currency was offered. Goods and services were exchanged.

via iwastesomuchtime.com

via iwastesomuchtime.com

That plan has all gone to shit thanks to a grocery store employee.

I’ll admit, I’m partially responsible. I went to the store today, barely cognizant of the day or time since I’ve become increasing apathetic towards food and have stopped eating meals. I’ve been depressed about my state of affairs, and because of that, I’ve basically eaten nothing worthwhile even though my husband and myself have gone to the store every honking day since Saturday.

Today, I had one purpose: find edible, dietary approved cookies. I asked an employee, and he led me to about 7 products upon request. In line I noticed, alas, the cupcakes had dairy and had to be returned. The cookies, however, still looked fine.

Once I’d returned to my modest castle, I began putting away the items that I’d bought–too many on account of going to the store hungry (banana chips, self? Really?). I beamed widely at my prize, my cookies, my–

What the fuck is that? No, what the fuck is that?

That is dairy.

So I made a smoothie. A sandwich. Rice. Broccoli. Fake cheese on a fake casserole. I consumed these things. But my body refused to give in.

“Noooooo!” it howled into the wind, collapsing into sobs. “We wanted the cookies!”

“There’s dairy,” I stomped, adamantly. “You cannot have this thing.”

“But we waaaaaaaants!” the stomach wailed in an Oscar performance imitation of Golum from Lord of the Rings refusing to enjoy any single piece of food I put in front of it.

I even tried to appease it with alcohol. Come on, now. Remember alcohol? You used to like alcohol. 

This is more like it, the body responds. I think we can make it. I mean, we’ve been to the store like every day since forever. We’re not going back tonight to return the imposter dessert whose figure we were assured was innocent tonight are we? 

No, I agreed, we’re not. It’s one day. You can survive.

Despite desiring sleep, I restlessly resisted the dance of dreams and continued to flit away my time until…

Until I walked to the kitchen, opened the cupboard.

What are you doing?

Walked to the couch where I parked my ass, my weapon in hand.

You know *exactly* what I’m doing.

Opened the package, and released the poison into my foodhole.

Cookie after malicious cookie was stuffed into my mouth as I barely bothering to chew or breath, and when I did, I made disgusting gnashing noises. These cookies fall apart with the consistency they’re SUPPOSED to, I thought bitterly, and (you know him as Newman from Seinfeld) Wayne Knight’s character, Dennis, from Jurassic Park flashed into my brain as it always does when I chow down on junk food. Golum and Dennis had a love child, and it’s this moi. I am that ugly end result.

Dear immune system, forgive me for I have sinned.

Upon eating half the bag, I went to the kitchen to find some REAL food. I pulled out the hard boiled eggs I made yesterday morning.

Frozen. They’re on the top shelf of the fridge, and they’re rock solid. That…that sounds about right. My luck would include frozen eggs.

Winding down now that the demon has asserted its power over me. Foodgasms were had, shame was reassessed. I came to report to my blog, not only to vow to do better next time, but to show the other people in the world that you’re not alone. I too ate that thing I shouldn’t have.

My goals for tomorrow include boiling eggs (new eggs, not the disgusting rocks that now occupy the garbage can), eating them instead of accidentally freezing them, going to the store on a FULL stomach, and getting the dietary recommended cookies. And not tearing into them like some kind of helpless tazmanian devil, which shouldn’t be a problem since I’m sure they don’t have the same constrained taste module.

Good night, World. Wish me luck tomorrow.

via evilmilk.com

via evilmilk.com

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