Tuesday, July 8, 2014

yeah, we just sit around and talk about our periods


I want to move out of NYC. 
I should move to Nashville. 
If I move to Nashville I'll definitely have to get a car. 
OK, so start saving up for a car...I really need to stop buying lunches in Manhattan, I spend so much money on that shit!
I'll have to find an apartment. 
I hope it's easy to find apartments that take dogs down there. 
Oh fuck, I need to get a job. 
Go on Craigslist and find a job. 
Wait, you need to clean up your LinkedIn profile and then the jobs will come to you!!
No one gives a shit about you. 
OK, so job, apartment, car--I can do this!
God I fucking hate my life. 
Does my Metrocard expire today?  

^^^^^^ all this shit happened in my head along the 10 minute walk my dog and I took before work today. 

When I get PMS absolutely NOTHING makes any fucking sense. At all. It is not uncommon to find me stealing my clients wifi to watch Bruce Springsteen videos on my phone while eating peanut butter straight from the jar when I should be working. PMS Krissy makes so little sense that her idea of bringing lunch to work this morning apparently began and ended at "carry a jar of peanut butter around in your purse." Think I'm exaggerating? 

I'm pretty sure "crunch time" is exactly what God is thinking when he looks down and realizes that this is where 32 years worth of life decisions has lead me.

The thing about PMS and me is that at least I can kind of see it coming, most of the time. I used to just act like a completely insane asshole for an entire week, then realize two weeks later that it was totally hormonal and have to apologize to everyone in my life. Just because I'm aware of it doesn't make it any easier to deal with though. I have come up with a declaration of sorts to help guide me through this difficult time. 

1. I will not quit my job. My first impulse to rid myself of all the terrible feelings that happen this week is always to quit my job and move the fuck outta town. I get really REALLY excited to start my new life and my thoughts begin picketing around in my brain. 

WHAT DO WE WANT?! 
TO MOVE SOMEWHERE ELSE, I DON'T REALLY HAVE A PREFERENCE, AS LONG AS IT'S WARM! BUT NOT FLORIDA!

But I quickly lose steam upon realizing I'll have to call all of my utility companies to cancel my services. 

WHEN DO WE WANT IT?!
...AH FUCK IT, I'LL JUST GO TO WORK. 

2. I will not shave my head. I'm not sure why "make drastic change to appearance that you WILL immediately regret" is always the go-to move for women facing a hormonal hijacking and/or ending of relationships, but this always always always seems like the best fucking idea I've ever had in my entire life, every single time. I don't do it because I know I'll just end up looking like my brother, not that there's anything wrong with my brother, but I am really small and a not-penis-having woman, so I don't really see it working for me.

3. NO TEXTING. I will not, under any circumstances, text the guy I've been talking to in an attempt to have even a remotely personal conversation about feelings or emotions or anything beyond "how was your day?", because despite my best intentions, that text will end up going from the slightly insane "I just think we have a really great connection and I think you're beautiful and I'm willing to be vulnerable again if you think you might be willing to give this a chance and...(etc..)" to the criminally insane "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT, I'M NOT GONNA SUBJECT MYSELF TO YOUR FUCKING GAMES WHY DID YOU EVEN SAY HI TO ME IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE?!?!!!!" to the pathetic "I am so sorry dude, I am like, wicked PMSing right now, and I know you've only met me once and this probably seems kind of crazy but I'm not usually like this so just keep asking me questions that I can text you perfectly clever and witty responses to." Journal that shit or whatever you gotta do, but step away from the phone and just say no. 

It helps to know that I'm not (totally) insane, it's just my body being a dickface and trying to make me do things I will feel bad about in four short days. Having to operate in the world while having PMS is like that scene in A Nightmare on Elm Street where Nancy finally overcomes Freddy upon realizing that it's all a dream (even though it's totally not, because motherfuckers need sequels, duh!). But that's what it's like all week, constantly having to stand up to the little Freddy Krueger inside my vagina that wants to do terrible things to me and kill all my friends and my family and my dad is John Saxon, too. 

(for the purpose of these doodles PMS Freddy Krueger will be played by Pennywise the Clown, because Pennywise just makes way crazier faces and it looks funnier)


PMS: Why, hey there Georgie...I see you're on the internet, why don't you come down here a while? There's all kind of internets down here...

ME: Oh well I don't know mister, it's pretty late and I'm already feeling a little crazy...


PMS: Aww, come on Georgie, don't you wanna look at his Facebook photos? I can show you how to look at all the likes. Don't you wanna know who the fuck all these girls are?!

ME: Let go, you're...hurting...meeee...

PMS: And then we can go look at their pages, and figure how their lives are better than yours! And maybe you can see if he liked any of their photos,OR MAYBE YOU'LL SEE A PHOTO OF HIM LOVING ONE OF THEM!!!!!!

ME: NO! No mister, I don't wanna!!

PMS: Oh come on Georgie, it's only 1:15, it's not that late. You know you're all wound up on brownie flavored ice cream anyway, just give it a little peek. After we can look into applying to volunteer programs overseas that you'll only be interested in after having learned that your friend from 6th grade is doing an internship in Japan. 

ME: Get away from me, you're evil I tell ya, evil!!!!


ahaha but how hilarious is this drawing of me "running" though? I look like I'm doing the deepest lunge ever. 

I need to get a real job. 

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

what do you see when you see me?


When I was younger I used to dress in a way that outwardly represented my interests; at first sight you could pretty easily determine what music I was into, what my friends were probably like, what brand of shitty 40's I was stealing from the gas station-you could look at any part of me and tell that I was into punk rock. Either that, or you could pretty easily determine that you really wanted to yell things like "Halloween's in October, FAG!" from the open window of your passing 1992 Ford Probe.



Even if these assumptions were based solely on whatever limited stereotypes you may have had, you were pretty easily able to label me something or another (just don't label me late for dinn-ahh fuck that doesn't work at all, fuck!) These days I don't dress that way so much. I actually paid for my clothes (look ma, no slight of hands!) and they fit me, my hair isn't blue or red or green or pink, even though that seems to be really in style now among even the lamest of lame-o's, from Bedford Avenue to Park Avenue. Maybe I do still write on my shirts with Sharpie but there aren't green, OxyContin time-release coating stains on the bottoms of said shirts anymore, and I always wonder what people think of me now that they're able to make their own assumptions. What do you see? What judgements do you make based on what little information I'm providing you with my nondescript indicators of character? Which compartment do you stuff me in when my face registers in your brain and all of the 10 billion life experiences that color your perception flood your frontal lobes and deem me (________)? Can you see anything? Does any part of me show any part of you some vaguely recognizable trait, jarring a memory once vivid, now buried? Are you really looking? Can you tell, as you enter the train car, within that second of shared eye contact, just before immediately shifting your gaze to an empty seat, can you tell as I sit here that I am so full of love and want and preciousness; that I'm a real human person that could sink my nails in my skin and tear open my chest slowly, over phone calls and coffee, let you in to stretch your legs a bit, knock a few things around, take all the parts you'd like to use up while I consume you and hurt you and even let you hurt me back? Can you see that I'm on fire?

Who do you think I am?

OK, probably not that last part (note to self, stop writing by 2am at absolute latest), but still, I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and obviously who I am isn't determined by the Operation Ivy t-shirt I may or may not be wearing, but you know what I mean; I've certainly judged people based on way less (yeah, way to look over your receipt, asshole.) Lately I've been making a concentrated effort to expand my meditation practice, and something I was reading led me to an exercise on judgement. It asked that I try looking at people just for what they are-just another person-without judging them based on what they look like, what they're wearing, how they walk so fucking slow in front of you and yeah, the subway stairs-probably not the most considerate place to TEACH YOUR FUCKING BABY HOW TO WALK! That being said, not judging people is absolutely fucking impossible. I tried being grateful. I tried "seeing myself in others". I tried not to think about the fact that you're wearing a leather cabbie hat like that guy from AC/DC, and how much AC/DC sucks, and how this guy I dated a long time ago used to listen to AC/DC, and how much he sucks. Just doesn't work. Some people are too stupid not to judge. I was going to write this big long (hilarious) tirade about the types of people I judge and why, but I realized I've already done that on this blog at least once, proving yet again what a big angry bitch I am. I will say this though, realizing how harshly I judge those around me made me realize how hard I am on myself. How can I allow myself to fuck up, and make mistakes, and laugh whole-heartedly, and wear velvet leggings when I'm judging those around me for doing those same exact things? I don't give myself a chance to truly experience life when the fear of being judged prevents me from trying anything other than what I already know. I've heard that when we judge others we're really just witnessing some embarrassing, uncomfortable part of ourselves reflected back. Do I detest loud, attention-seeking groups of drunk girls because I used to be loud, attention-seeking and drunk myself? Yup. Perhaps the happy couples I find myself hate-watching through a cloud of ill wishes merely represent what I, myself, someday hope to have? One hundie percentie, my friends. "Come at me Bro" shirt-guy? Eh, maybe some people are just tools, but see, you're finally getting it you fucking idiot! When we begin to try accepting others at face value, meaning when we make an honest attempt to allow other people to be other people, everyone just doing their best to be humans sharing time and space with other, just doing their best, humans, and dispel the story we've created about them then we become better people than them, and what do better people get to do? Really, really judge the living shit out of everyone, and be right this time! Huzzah!!! I've solved life!!!





Monday, June 9, 2014

WEWANTFOOTBALL (new skit!!)


BIG NEWS you guys! My ship has finally come in, I'M GETTING MARRIED!!!

I know what you're thinking, and yeah, I guess we haven't known each other for all that long, but that half a city block I could feel him staring at me left me with enough time to know for sure-he's most definitely "the one"  !!!!

I didn't get a very good look at him, as I was being super shy, and taking every desperate measure possible to avoid any and all eye contact, but he smelled pretty drunk, probably on account of being so nervous about asking me for my name five times, and then my hand in marriage, before finally sending me off with an affectionate "fuuuuuck you!" (what did you think I was gonna say, no?! You're so crazy, boo, this is so "us".)

Springtime in New York really can be so romantic.

swoon

This skit was written with all those loving men in mind that just want us to smile, girl! That just wanna know where we're going, girl! That just wanna know if we got a man, girl! But who would never fuck with our ugly asses 'cause they have a girlfriend too, they just wanna use our number as friends, GIRL!

Written by myself and Anna Halpern, and starring us, along with Jodi Carrothers (of Laughing Buddha Comedy), and Josh Carrothers (of Earworms). Shot by Ian Burnley (of the Staten Island...Burnleys...?)

Seriously though, you look good, what's your name?



and also, "tease nuts" is my favorite thing about this.


Sunday, May 25, 2014

Happy Anniversary

Last Monday, May 19, marked four--long, hard, insane, tear-filled, banging my head against the wall, cutting my own skin with a knife, expansive, loving, caring, laughter-filled, long, deep breaths, OH MY GOD THE UNIVERSE IS SO BIG, heartbreaking, painful, memory-laden, resentful, remorseful, esteem-building, accepting, comedy writing, friend making, trust-giving, trust-earning, the hard times hurt so fucking bad but those times I sit and smile alone, or even better, sit with friends who love and value me remind me how grateful I am to be alive and allowed to feel all the blessings and curses sentience has to offer--years free from the use of drugs and alcohol.

And all that shit up there (^^) kind of cycles over and over, all the fucking time.

Since I've been clean I've learned a few things, including (but not limited to):

1. I do not hate women, I was afraid of being rejected by them and so defensively surrounded myself with men, and acted like a major asshole to most women. That sucks.

2. When you tell people you don't drink they will still offer to buy you shots. Shots are just tiny drinks, people! No worries, just a weird thing.

3. I don't actually need heroin to survive! I will not "explode". What a novel idea!

4. Furthermore, I don't need to act on most of the impulses that drive me to sabotage myself and the potentially rewarding situations that spring up all around me; I don't have to call you when I know it's gonna make me feel worse, I don't "just have to fuck you right now" when I know it's gonna make me feel worse, I don't have to run away from my problems when I know they will still be there, leaving with me the unshakable knowledge that by ignoring them I will, indeed, feel worse. I can pause. (I mean, I still do act on those impulses sometimes, but sometimes I actually don't, and that's monumental progress for me)

5. Exercise feels good. At one point I weighed 87 pounds. I survived on one banana and a chocolate milk a day. I didn't get my period for 4-5 months at a time. I had open abscesses all over my body that wouldn't heal because my body couldn't support itself by regenerating new tissue. My body works today. I treat it well and it returns the favor. Thank you, body! I don't know how you didn't die all those times!

6. I look to control my partners because I actually seek the love and comfort my mother wasn't capable of providing me when I was a child and needed it most. Heavy shit. Sorry ex-boyfriends.

7. People can be forgiving. I can be forgiving too. I am learning. Sorry ex-boyfriends.

8. I am one sensitive motherfucker. Please handle with care. I'll try my best to do the same.

9. Thank fucking god for my friends.

10. THANK FUCKING GOD FOR MY FRIENDS. I could not do this alone. I've tried, and it feels like shit, and doesn't even work. (i love you so much)

Of all the things I've learned over these years, the one thing that probably keeps me open to continuing this way of life was something I actually just realized today. The past two days have been an emotional cluster-fuck, up and down and blahblahblah over and over and fucking over, and as soon as I realize I'm right here, right now, in this place, right here IN THIS MOMENT I think about how bad I'll be feeling when this moment is over, at which point the moment is over, and back to breath one (practice, folks-I'm practicing.) But I was feeling all fucked up to begin with, then had to take the bus uptown, which I quickly abandoned as of course I was seconds away from peeing my pants mere minutes after having just peed in an actual toilet, find bathroom, now running late so have to take the 6. Uptown. AT RUSH HOUR, and of course get wedged between two "I have no real control or power over any other area of my life and so will exert my force in the form of spreading my legs into the widest V possible, taking up well over the amount of area anyone could ever need to sit comfortably" guys, then weaved in and out and around 10 million people to get to my last client of the day, at which point I WAS READY TO PUNCH ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING FUCKERS ON THE STREET RIGHT IN THEIR STUPID FUCKING FACES. Basically, the whole thing sucked balls. And I know I've mentioned this before but not like "balls" balls (sex is fun!)--I mean, it would be like if you had to somehow suck on other balls, or basketballs! Yes, it sucked basketballs-way too big to fit in any mouth, and probably really rough on the tongue with those rubber grip dots or whatever the fuck they're called. Grippies? Are they grippies? Whatever.


My brain felt overwhelmed and I found myself searching, like how a drug addict searches for that one thing that will make this feeling stop, that will quiet the loud voice in my head, and take all this pain and discomfort away. In that moment I realized I don't have anything that works like that anymore, there's nothing in my life that will provide me with enough instant gratification to be worth the terrible feeling I'll be left with when it's over, in addition to the feelings that drove me to it in the first place. Drugs aren't an option for me anymore. Sex would feel good but I'm not really a "just have sex with anyone" type person (no judgements, believe me, I so wish I could just have sex with someone and not begin to fall in love with them almost immediately). I don't have a partner that I can selfishly and unfairly demand to "fix me" right now. I can't "retail therapy" my way out of stuff because I'm already making financial amends so I don't have any money to blow, and no business in their right mind will give my irresponsible ass a credit card so I can't even regret something later or anything. I'm not gonna hurt myself. I don't want to hurt anyone else. It's kind of crazy but I actually have an inkling of insight today that reminds me that every time I turn to one of these things, every time I use drugs or a man or anger to cover up whatever uncomfortable shit I'm feeling, I WILL FEEL SO MUCH WORSE. Maybe not immediately, but that shit will be felt one way or another, and dealing with unresolved feelings 1, 2, 25 years after the fact, is so so so so so much more painful than just riding out the pain for a few days/weeks/months. Unless I keep running, but you know something, I'm pretty fucking tired of running. My knees and my heart and my brain and that tiny child-voice inside me that yearns to be comforted and loved are all exhausted and they need a fucking break.

Right now I am hurting. I am experiencing profound inner change and that shit is painful. My insides feel empty and my skin feels like an exposed nerve. BUT THAT SHIT WILL PASS. That shit WILL pass. I feel the feelings right now, and I hate the way they feel for a while, but they will not last forever, and I will feel better feelings slowly, and eventually feel like a human person again.

I've lived my entire life with the fear-based understanding that "this will last forever." When things were great the voice in my head sounded like "it's gonna be like this forever!!! You're gonna be 22 forever!!! The OxyContin and red wine cocktails will last foreverrrrrr!!!!!!" and when things were shitty it was always "oh my god, it's gonna be like this foreverrrrrr!!!!!! You're fucked. Your life is fucked. You should kill yourself."

I never believed the one thing that is absolutely certain in this life:

change is inevitable. Whether or not I choose to fight it or surrender to it is up to me. Things change if I just let them, and in reality they still will even if I don't, but it hurts a lot less if I stop trying to control it, and just hold on until the days get better again.

Because they will. For real dude, they will. And knowing that is the only thing that keeps me from returning to a life of being broke and dope sick and smoking pieces of carpet because I think there may be crack on it and hopeless and suicidal and self-hating and praying for an early death.

My life is so different from what it once was, and I'm so indescribably grateful for that.

Happy Anniversary, guurl. (me) I luuuh you.




Monday, May 12, 2014

i've probably said it before, but i'm (for real) giving up

Tonight (this was written last Tuesday) I got dumped. Aaaaagain! Maybe not "officially" dumped as we weren't "officially" girlfriend/boyfriend, but when you're making a pies for a dude, and reminding one another that you're thinking about and missing each other when they're not around...aaaaaand maybe on more than one occasion putting said dude's dick in and out of your mouth over and over really fast, something is up, I don't care how desensitized and over-sexualized we are what with these damned kids doing the Snapchats on their whoo-sie-what's-its! But yeah, this shit sucks (<--- understatement of the year, I'm fucking miserable over here, ask my roommate.) 

This is the third guy in a row to give me the ol' heave ho, and I'll tell you-doesn't get any easier, not at all like riding a bike. As much as I want to be mad about it and call this dude an asshole, the truth is he was a really sweet guy who was super cute and aghhhhh GOD I'm never gonna find anyone, EVERRRR (flails around dramatically.) 


The problem with me is that I'm a sick, sick fuck who's type is apparently "emotionally unavailable." Unavailable men are kind of like trying to make guacamole with under-ripe avocados; they look like normal avocados, but they're just gonna end up breaking your chips, MANG. I'm not sure how I keep attracting these avocados, I feel like my chips do a LOT of work on themselves and they're pretty decent chips! They're funny and kind of cute most days, and they understand they can't just keep using avocados to make themselves feel better and they really did practice new behaviors this time but seriously, fuck, I'm just really fucking hungry right now AND I REALLY DON'T WANT TO GO BACK TO SETTLING FOR SOME OFF-BRAND DORITOS.


it's copyrighted, don't even THINK about it!
The thing about the unavailable ones is not only can you not tell just by looking, but more often than not you're getting a shit ton of way mixed signals. They hold your face in their hands and stroke your hair while they kiss you and they tell you your beautiful and they tell you you're beautiful AND THEY TELL YOU YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL, right when you need to hear it the most, and then they end up leaving, just as you're starting to believe they might mean it. Somewhere inside this whole time, as you're learning to trust and let go and try all over again, some part of them remains unattached, because I guess it just makes sense that it's easier to jump when you don't have that far to fall. It must make life SO EASY, it must be so easy, to experience moments, just for a moment, with other human people and just leave when it's over and be done. And not appreciate every little thing. And not look forward to every little thing. And not feel every single, awful little thing. If I could learn to do that I would in a second. Unfortunately for me, I go all in way too easily. I trust and I try and I want to feel everything, and give everything, and take everything too; and I make mistakes and you see me cry and now the energy inside me that once felt electric now feels nuclear and I feel like the most fragile little flower on Earth. 

It seems it would be so easy just to be the other guy.

It's pretty embarrassing to admit, but I only dated this guy for a month. I realize this makes me sound like some insane lady-from-Fatal Attraction-type person, but just stop being such a judgemental dick and realize that my feelings are the most important feelings in the history of feelings. I'm learning the hard way though that when you don't allow yourself to grieve your last relationship because you're too hellbent on being pissed the fuck off about how it ended, that all that shit will come back to be felt in due time. And if I may just be gentle on myself for a moment, it doesn't matter how long you tried; when you give your heart, or even just a small piece of it away to someone, and that person isn't gentle enough or ready enough to take what you’re willing to give, that little bit can still break, no mater how small the piece, or how short the amount of time. Sadness is a heavy weight-grief and longing, regret, and that tiny sliver of hope you get when you notice you have a new message only to realize it's not him, again, all pile atop one another, and we pull it all around as we keep showing up for our work and our friends and our art and ourselves. 

Sometimes the weight gets so much I think I can feel every nerve. But then I'm like, that's impossible, if you could feel every nerve you would be dead of going crazy from feeling all your nerves, or some scientific shit.

So for right now my bed feels a little too big, and I probably won't stop to take as many photos of the flowers in bloom. I know this feeling won't last forever, as nothing possibly could, and until then I'll be in my room listening to the same songs that got me through this when I was 16, and ever since.








Monday, April 28, 2014

it must be so easy...


SO I WROTE THIS LONG-ASS POST AND WAS FINALLY FAIRLY HAPPY WITH IT AND SOMEHOW LOST IT AND I'M NOT DOING IT AGAIN. IT WAS ABOUT HOW I SEE MYSELF COMPARED TO WHAT I ACTUALLY LOOK LIKE. BUT I SAVED THE DOODLES, SO YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT. FUCKING STUPID BLOG.

My entire life I've looked at everyone around me and assumed that it must be so easy to be them, simply because they don't look like me.








Monday, April 14, 2014

fuck writing

I apologize for not meeting my self-imposed Monday deadline last week, and for almost missing it again this week but seriously I'M NOT GONNA REARRANGE MY ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE FOR YOU, just stop!!! And by "rearrange my entire fucking life" I of course mean stop watching HboGo for four straight hours a night.

As much as I would love to say that I was working on other pieces or on vacation or neatly arranging huge stacks of money into several slightly smaller stacks of money (or even just busy doing anything for that matter) the truth is I was just in one of my ruts. Which was actually the entire point of setting a deadline for myself, to just write something, anything, no matter how shitty or lazy or uninspired I may be feeling. To put it in simple terms, for you simple folk, and because I just really love using WordPaint, this is what my creative process looks like.


So, moderate to severe social anxiety dips into hopelessness/worthlessness/feelings of inadequacy, finally peaking at delusions of grandeur, quickly dipping to even lower than the previous low; repeat. And the entire time I'm noticing everything, wondering how many pairs of shoes that guy sitting across from me had to try on before he finally decided on the ones he's wearing, and creating scenarios that allow me to offer effortlessly witty retorts to people who will be endlessly impressed by me and are definitely checking me out as I walk away but in a hot way, not in like a street harassment-creeper way.

Being this way kind of sucks.

While I'm glad I have writing to tap into creatively, I think sometimes (all the time) the expectations I place upon myself are so much harsher and more demanding and impossible to meet than anything anyone else might be expecting of me. Because in reality I don't think many people expect much, it's just this thing happens, and I think it's just human nature, but still, this thing happens where people seem to like what I have to say, and sometimes they say nice things to and about me, and I JUST WANT MORE!!!!! I become this insatiable mosquito, except like a literary mosquito, and I just want more and more and please just like me I WILL SAY ANYTHING TO MAKE YOU LAUGH. Which then makes me question who I'm writing for, why I write, whether or not I'm a real writer, whether or not I should go back on my meds, and I bet Ray Bradbury wouldn't give a fuck about some Twitter followers, etc...

So when I can't find these things I want to say, or even worse, I have TEN MILLION BILLION things going through my fucking head all day but I just can't figure out how to turn them into words that make sense on paper, I feel empty in my stomach, and violent in my chest, like

I'm going to fucking explode. 

But I just sit still in my bedroom, with a pencil and paper and a computer and I stare and I stare and I stare, and I'm embarrassed that I even try.

But I still try. Because that's what we do.

And then I watch this and I cry and feel better.