My Condolences to Pakistan

Ms. Bhutto, a leader in Pakistan. Came out of hiding this year to help her country. Murdered today.
The face of grief in Pakistan.

I would just like to extend my condolences concerning the killing of Ms. Bhutto today. I am not an afficianado of politics immediately inside Pakistan, as in - I don't know much about it. However, this area of the world is obviously a hotbed of important political activity.

A nuclear bomb to India is the least of what I'm talking about. They are right next to Afganistan and the United States desperately needs them, and would really prefer them without unrest, to be stable.

But they have their own problems to think about.

I truly think of Martin Luther King when I think of Ms. Bhutto. She had a different fight but she put her person on the line many times, was imprisoned in her home just this year for SPEAKING, that's right TALKING (I don't think Americans can imagine). She came back to her country to be subjected to that.

Today, she was speaking and was shot in either the neck or head, then a suicide bomber let loose, killing her and 20 other people. I guess nobody was taking chances.

I don't know who to email, I don't know what guestbook to sign but I want to say that this little American blogger is sorry, to Pakistan and it's inhabitants, for your loss of a very significant Pakistani leader today.

It is a blessing that she tried to make her country a better place. Although her fight is sadly over, it seems inherently obvious that she is now in a better place.

Thank you, Ms. Bhutto for although your efforts here on Earth did not seem to be appreciated, I believe in Heaven, all is made right.
Sincerely,
Jungletart

It Boggles the Imagination

So I’m checking out my counter for the blog, as I’m often want to do and I find some jack ass, pardon the Franche, who typed into Google “Can Abilify get you high?”

Honey, you are on the wrong blog. I’m bipolar. Everything gets ME high.

It would never occur to me to type in, or go LOOKING for items that bring upon highness, because you should talk to my Husband – we don’t want no more of that.

So this is a clear case of normies, with no life, let’s be specific because plenty have lives, bless them, coming to my blog wondering if this shit is crushable and can be inhaled. Or whatever you do to get high off a mood stabilizing drug – YOU IDIOTS!!!

You have nothing better to do than type that in? Were your 15-year-old friends snickering in the background, telling you how cool you are? (Can’t ya just tell that to yourself (I AM COOL!!) and save us all a lot of tax payer money for your rahab/jail stay in the, probable, not so distant future???)

Oh, I know, you’re a mother of seven, and somehow thinking of ripping off a pharmacy for some aBILify and wanted to check first before taking the wrong things. It’s just to help the overwhelming tiredness, the fact that NO one must understand (snarf), and the frigidness.

Why don’t the two of you hug each other and stop taking drugs that don’t belong to you. And get your sorry ass off my page.

Next.

Check out Elvis's page!

http://www.elvispuggyandpals.com/

What you weren't expecting a pug?!

Tart's Original thought for today (that means citing me as it is MY quote), inspired by Elvis the Pug's online page:

Old dogs are like decrepit people, but cuter. In many cases,
waaay cuter. And the best part of all is they never complain, never say
anything, and seem to appreciate the little things you do for them like you
wouldn’t believe.

I suggest getting plenty of animals, rescue a few older
ones, and cut off all ties to any people you know over 50. You’ll be too busy to
listen to their bitching eventually anyway, and I never saw a dog that wasn’t
worth it!

Good News Folks

Turns out there is good stuff out there, just like I state on my other blog.

But I say that so sarcastically, as it seems so difficult for the majority of whatever to accept that there are even minor amounts of joy out there, thaaat I'll post some At-least-I-had-a-happy-Christmas and others do-have-happy-lives, here (after all, fake drama is not necessary in many people's lives. Most have real drama and real happiness). Hunh.:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/26/us/25cnd-death.html?_r=1&8au&emc=au&oref=slogin

Executions Decline Elsewhere, but Texas Holds Steady

That's a special for Mark LofTI’s, whom I'm sure wouldn't mind seeing a nasty lawyer given the juice. It must happen sometime, what with Texas electrocuting 60% more than the rest of the country. Proudly, of course, and why not?!

Isn't that great? Oh, check the other blog for the Real Happy Stuff. As if I'd waste it here.:)

Merry Christmas - My 450th Post!!!! How Special!! I couldn't have planned it better.:)

I heard the Bells on Christmas Day

I heard the bells on Christmas Day,
their old familiar carols play;

and wild and sweet the words repeat,
of Peace on Earth, Good Will to men.

I thought, as now this day had come,
the belfries of all Christendom

had rung so long the unbroken song
of Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men

And in despair, I bowed my head,
"There is no peace on Earth," I said,

"For hate is strong and mocks the song
of Peace on Earth, Good Will to men."

Then pealed the bells more load and deep,
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep,

the wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
Peace on Earth, Good Will to men."

Words by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

After his son was severely wounded in the Civil War, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote this poem. It was later joined with an 1872 melody composed by Englishman John Baptiste Calkin.
from http://www.bhg.com/

My version is Adapted & Music by John Marks. I played it on my clarinet today. Still sounding good, after all these years.;)

Oh, I Am Too

It's baaaaaaaaack!

Yes, I have enough Christmas spirit to enjoy things.

Maybe its my new drug regimen (Abilify, less Seroquel, less Depakote, same for the rest) but I am self-possessed again, not just plain old possessed.

Alright, bring on that Christmas happiness! We have a little tree and today found more stuff to put on it. I can't wait to position the candy canes! That is some important sh-t!

Went to the one and only Christmas party that we're gonna hit, last night. They not only didn't ask the agonizing question if we've got kids, they HAD kids all Over the place and may I say they were cute enough that I could see wanting one.

I don't know if it was them or me, but them kids was real sweet, good enough to - have one myself.

And shrimp. Big ones. Lots of 'em. That makes a good party in my book.

Oh and in my ever-expanding desire to try stuff - I had my first entire cup of Rum & Coke. At age 36. Yeah, life is goood. Mostly.

(Still haven't had a Margarita. It's like I've put it up there as a end-all-be-all of life. Nah. As if. I just want to try one.:)

These big-a-s flowers are for my Aunt, who doesn't even know my blog exists.

I am worried about her as she is very sick and just had to leave the hospital, not because she is well, but because the insurance ran out.

She is so sweet, such a good hard-working person. With scoliosis and emphysema.

She took steroids for years for her asthma -which could not possibly have been made better by a lifetime of smoking - and those steroids can soften your bones adding to her twisted back.

At least I understand they made things bad, now, near the end.

It keeps being pounded into me that we must all go. I am just Never ready for it. It is unconscionably sad.

More on Abilify - and it's graphic, oh my! (warning)

It wants to poop, but It can'ts.

A week and more ago, I gave birth to 3-5 pound terds once a day. It was as horrible as you can imagine without anesthesia, but at least I had something to be proud of when it was all over. For 5 seconds.

But now, the predicted verklemptness concerning the Abilify has come true. No more, at all.

I have a remedy that few know about, I found out about when I had to go to the ER over this problem a decade or more ago.

I don't share because it's a bulimic/anorexic's dream and I don't want to further those illnesses. Seriously. But I'm so glad I've got something akin to a grenade for my simple and abhorrent needs.:)

Something to consider about Abilify, because nobody's gonna tell you true quite like I just did, I am pretty sure.

Mentally, I guess I feel better. Hmmm, come to think of it, I haven't had a suicidal thought in a week. But its Christmas time, and I have worked so hard to get some spirit. But people do off themselves this time of year.

I think I am more even.

Oh, and that Abilify pill - it's a tiny one. Smaller than my Lunesta. Both seem to pack enough punch to get their respective jobs done.

Because 'Carters' Rock & lead to even better things!

I'm not saying it's my name (it is not) but please follow my interesting line of thought as 'The Carters' lead to such fascinating women!


Helen Bonham Carter. Besides being a little cutie that worked really hard on her latest movie, while suffering the travails of pregnancy, she sports a hairstyle that resembles my own in the morning. And that makes me feel good about myself.:)


Again, a Carter in sepia tones, making me feel good about my hair & probably my baking skills.

If you're talkin' Carters, you would be amiss to not mention those famous singing Carters who are icons of country music. I believe the Carter on the end is Ms. Maybelle Carter, mother of June Carter.

June Carter was destined to marry Johnny Cash and have a son who made a movie about their lives.

And that brings us to Reese Witherspoon, who played Ms. June Carter in that wonderful movie, 'Walk the Line,' annnnd got an Oscar for it.

So you see, in the end a 'Carter' led to a 'Witherspoon,' who had an 'Oscar.'

That would be your complex brain exercise for Today.

(The World needs people who think like me, and you know it.:)

Who could not love their 'Esteban' guitar?

Simulated complete joy. This is an unauthorized kitty on a non-Esteban guitar. The Esteban guitar is even prettier.

My Esteban guitar that I bought for myself off HSN came. (Merry Christmas to me.)

If I never call HSN and do one of those 'on air' things where people gush about the object, well I mean to. This is a great deal, a fantastic deal for the money. For $200.00 you get all this below!:

The guitar itself is beautiful - I got the 'sangria' colored (maroon) with yellow rosas - Wow! This is not a steel string guitar, it is a classical/Spanish guitar and is already strung with acrylic strings and comes with a second set.

The case is hard, the inside is velvety (I loved that). Unbelievably, 'The Rosas' is both acoustic AND electric and comes with this adorable little amp.

Best of all, are 10 DVDs (which unfortunately weren't playing right on my computer. I'll have to use the DVD player) of Esteban teaching you how to play. Don't get me wrong, I think Esteban is - a little cheesy - and I have not heard of most of the songs he's supposed to teach me.

But let me assure all, every one of my bass teachers in high school (yes, I played bass guitar as well as clarinet - and I still have Rock 'n Roll dreams!) were disgusting flakes that always said at some point, 'Hey, you could be in my band,' (shouldn't the next word be, 'Baby?':) and I think you can guess what kind of response they thought that would illicit. Silly, silly stupid men.

So, I'm glad to finally have a teacher that I don't have to meet, one that I can play over and over, and one that neither of us will have to pay a late fee (I've had some laaazy teachers.) you get the picture.

The only thing is, I haven't started yet, so we'll see how that goes.

Nope.

There will be no Christmas. Not for me, anyway.

First I want to express my appreciation, because there have actually been people that tried to help, that went above and beyond. (Thank you, Mysti:)

Well anyway, I have just had it. It seems very strange to me that I feel very numb about a number of messed up family issues, and my personal body just breaking down.

I've said before that Christmas seems to be nothing but pressure, something I don't enjoy at all. And frankly, whether they meant to or not, (and I'm pretty sure not) my family has let me dooowwwwn.

There are some things that I've been working on a while and I want to send them out. But my Christmas spirit is shot, I am sick in so many ways, and I'm just not going to be responsible for 'it' (Christmas) anymore.

I usually make one item per year, as I am so slow and for some reason it takes me sooo long to crochet. I am a fringe away from being done on a special scarf, and I figure the person who's getting it will be happy whenever it gets there.

And so forth for the pictures I finally had made a loving Aunt.

I paid a butt-load to have 35 Hallmark imprinted, and more to make those magnets to go inside.

But I admit I am pissed, and beside myself, that at no point has Husband lifted a finger to figure out how to make labels or to do anything about his big ass family and sending these cards to them.

I get sick of being his unpaid, but extremely professional, secretary that is expected to take care of such things. Despite the fact that I mentioned it to him a while back. To write their addresses. Or make labels.

You gotta understand. I ended up going to the doctor yesterday, because the night before I must have been suffering from what can only be called a fever. The day before I got worked on by the dentist and that evening I started the Abilify.

I'm on the edge of my period. It's so 'funny' I've told countless 'professionals' that I have self-diagnosed myself with PMDD, and they just look at me. Again, isn't there a test for this?

Nope.

There would be if 13-15 year-old boys got the malady, since they are apparently so prone to violence.

Maybe parents would stop buying 'killem' games, and make those kids play Monopoly or football for once.

Or they would have to sit there with a pad on, hoping it didn't slip anywhere funny. Yeah, can you tell I've been there?

A healthy game of 'Risk' that goes on for days beats D&D, and teaching kids chess makes them good, non-violent thinkers. I never heard of anyone that liked chess shooting anyone. They're too busy being brilliant in other areas of life.

Enough about everyone else, I'm telling the world that there will be no Christmas at Tart's house. We still don't have a tree (so I say fk it), we still haven't send, mailed, anything, and I say unless it's my people (who of course, Husband wouldn't even know to deal with) it's not my problem.

The joy is gone. Making me wonder if you have to be a little kid, or have kids, to enjoy it all?

I don't know how to convert the Excel file into labels. I am not typing all those names in. Just because. I guess I want a raise.

Because I am a damn time-bomb waiting to explode. Don't worry, I'll implode on my tiny family and you'll never hear about it.

Because I'm that good.

First Night of Abilify & My High Threshhold For Pain

As a public service, I may discuss how things are going now that Abilify is in my life.

Luckily, at the moment there's not much to say about it, as I took my first pill 20 minutes ago.

I must admit, I felt very melodramatic checking out the bottle and feeling every inch a medicated fuck-up.

On a slightly higher note, I now have the perfect excuse to get out of the slated New Year's contact with the in-laws, not that I needed one.

If I was going to use one, I was going to say the Pug is sick and can't go on the drive, so Mommy is staying with her.

And by the way, Christmas, and the term 'family,' is what you make it and whatever they're using for criteria can be crammed up their butt. End quote.

You see, I'm waiting for the 'Abilify anxiety' to kick in, and you wouldn't want me at a fufu gathering with anxiety, trust me.

Plus, my PMDD (that's my period of hateful porportions for the unknowing) is soon to kick in. I have self-diagnosed myself with the PMDD, the day I saw it on a pill commercial. I was like, "YEAH!, I HAVE THAT!"
End of story.

So I go to the dentist today to get cavities filled. I've gone 15 years without a dentist visit AND without a single cavity.

But I admit my hygiene has suffered this year, what with my grief over Dad's death, and wouldn't you know it, I grew a little decay.

The absolutely amazing thing that I must report to one and all is that when it was all over and I was checking out, the nosy receptionist and office manager expressed their shock that I had my procedure done without anesthesia!

They said every man that came in, to have done what I did, went under.

They heralded my high threshold for pain and said I get the 'Brave' award today.:)

I already knew my emotional threshold for pain is unbelievable, I've had it tested harder than NASA tested astronauts in the '50's (They just don't make 'Apollo 13's anymore, no?)

I've come to understand that there are just about the same amount of people who really know what I'm talking about.

But NOW! This is a clear indication, a veritable Start to the Countdown, as if I was worried, that I could carry and squirt out a kid with the best of them.

I joked to Husband, maybe 9 of 'em (kids), and not even notice!

In other words, I AM the shit! My dentist confirmed it.

I feel, oh and lots emotionally and the occasional whopper physically, but it doesn't occur to me to whine, complain about it because its just a part of my life.

I know there are plenty out there who do the same even if it's physical (you see the joke, as so many people refuse to acknowledge emotional pain). Kudos to you!

This rant is provided because I'm tired of anyone EVER suggesting I'm weak. I admit I seize on the rare occasion the truth is made known.

Thanks nosy office workers who read people's records (a Federal offense, I hear). You made my day!:)

Can't Sleep

It's 4 a.m. and I don't want to be awake.

Was watching 'Corinna, Corinna' (a great movie) and left it, in attempt to find some Tylenol P.M.

I never found it.

It's difficult because Husband was awake, slightly, a little while ago but went back fast asleep. It's irritating and frustrating to be left to scrouge extra Lunestas, and sit here typing crap.

I have always found it a disturbing 'side effect' of the illness that if I'm not drugged, I'm not going to sleep.

I'm thinking about getting another pug, a black one. This is more likely to happen than me getting pregnant any time soon and having a human baby. My furbabies have it made, I treat them well.

Pugs AND drugs, Pugs AND drugs: to get me thru.

Update: Out of pure boredom I finally hit the 'Next Blog' button for the first time.

There is a lot of crap out there!

A lot of people who have no clue, and don't care for that matter, how to make a coherent sentence, or that it wouldn't kill them to put a picture up.

Then there's the sex sites (I must have come across 3 out of 10 or so hits - um Blogger you disappoint me), which confuse me because they're all women and I think they're looking for women, but I'm not sure.

Then there's the site which looked to be in English, but was the typical bitch that I often mention that's REALLY into her kids. Had a post about her friend who quote "treats her dog like family" end quote - as though that were odd, crazy, or nuts.

I vow that when/if I have children I will continue to share my patience with my animals, who indeed have brought me great joy.

I already have to be patient in ways that defy understanding, just to get through the day, and just to keep from killing myself.

Not understanding why a normie who thinks she's the shit for getting up early every morning AND potty training a kid doesn't have the inner capacity to truly 'get it.' Every year more and more Americans are spending butt-loads of moulah on their pets and a SIGNIFicant portion of people say they're family without blinking an eye.

I believe that the 2 million or so non-diagnosed bipolars are gonna find out the truth, hopefully soon, which will right there make significant gains in out numbering the normies.

And I believe that all the bitchy 'mommies' that in fact would have NOTHING to do if they hadn't gotten pregnant in most cases at too young an age, will be drowned out by sense and sensibility, or simply go the 'Mommy Chat Room in Hell' which is still, conveniently located in Hell, after their nagging asses, thankfully, finally die.

I can't tell express how much I can't stand that mentality. Want to hear more? Wrote 500 other posts about it.:)

A Really Nice Guy

A Really Rich Guy.

A Very Inspirational Guy.

The source of Will Smith's phenomenol success, obvious in both his professional life and personal (from what I can see) is that he works his ass off. His co-stars say so, and when he went on the Actor's Guild with James Lipton and was asked the famous question: What turns you on? Will replied: "Seeing someone work really hard, at anything." Conversely, his turnoff is: "Laziness."

I know I'm not good enough for him.

But it sure is a thrill to watch him do his thing on the silver screen. And to know such a person even exists (self-actualization, it's a beautiful thing).

To top it off, he's box-office gold. For Real.

The measure of a movie by Hollywood standards is how much money it makes on the first weekend and does that amount cover the cost of making said movie.

If Will's in the movie, opening weekend will break the previous records and he naturally will rake the dollars for the studio & all involved.

'I Am Legend' just opened to the tune of approx. 76 million dollars. For the first weekend.

I am interested to see how Sweeney Todd does, because it feels destined to be a classic. The myth it's based on was started in the 1700's and the tale has been told maaany times on the stage.

In this movie version it is recreated with Tim Burton's very singular, albeit weird vision, using close-ups and his macabre mind (and penchant for fake blood) - hey, we know what to expect with him - is sure to have produced something sensational, and reviewers, etc. have pretty much said so.

Did I mention my beloved Johnny Depp sings? Tim Burton, nominated for Best Director, Helena Bonham Carter nommed for Best Actress, Johnny Depp: Best Actor, The Entire Shebang: Best Movie - I feel a deserved, well-anticipated sweep at the Oscars this year.

For Mark

www.postpalace.com

This post is my promised present for Mark, Lord of the Idiots @ http://pakulakmadness.blogspot.com/ who has returned to 'blog world,' after settling a very painful, almost decade-long, and well fought for, dispute.

Good for you, Mark, for taking care of yourself and not backing down.

The Tart appreciates those kind of true canastas.

May your Christmas season, and all Jungletart reader's season, Be Bright, Merry & all that you hope for.
Love,
Tart

Filthy, Oozing, Busting Capillaries MAD

I am just filthy, filthy, raging angry.

I have only slightly begun to calm down from it.

Yep, ‘tis the season to destroy a few family relationships.

It’s such a long story.

Husband & I go see my In Laws, his parents, Aaaaall year long. It’s a five hour drive to and from. We do this once a month, despite the fact that Husband is no longer in the Reserves and doesn’t have to go.

We went to Thanksgiving.

MIL has a severe mental issue about her daughter. For all practical purposes, she has forgotten about giving birth to three boys before the Golden Child.

It is manifested in many ways. At Thanksgiving she forgot to even mention we were there, but somehow discussed, to the minute, the hours long stay of Golden Child, while calling her mother. Her mother asked about us though, and we were fleetingly mention: Oh yeah, they’re here.

So, I tired of the whole shebang. I decided Christmas will be for Husband and me for a shocking, once in a lifetime, change this year.

So, it seems MIL’s most precious, one and only Daughter decided to stay home as well.

And that I think must have been the breaking point, for MIL, anyway.

Suddenly, I receive an email that In Laws are flying to her mother’s this year. Just for 3 three days. ‘Because Christmas is for families.’

I let that one slide, sort of. Husband refused to see the ire in it, the god damn Guilt Trip herein. Said they could do that if they wanted to.

Then, the killer, breaking moment for me. We received the In Law ‘Christmas card’ today.

No where in it does it say ‘Merry Christmas.’

Instead, it is a repeat of the email, this time short and handwritten. Clearly stating that since no one came to them for Christmas they would be buying plane tickets and flying out to see the family.

I would like to state for the record, that we have gone to them once a month, every month, for years. We went to Thanksgiving. Why is this being directed toward us in any way?

I have decided to return their ‘Card’ and have written a scathing letter. Really, really scathing: that means Truthful.

I explained that we are not going to ONE function - Christmas. And that frankly, this has
nothing to do with us.

Send it to ‘Golden Child,’ because we don’t
want it.

Oh, and ‘Merry Christmas’ to you.

Tart's on Abilify!!

That's right camper's, I went to the pdoc as I mentioned I would this a.m.I told him to write me a prn.

In my world, that means give me something for the pain, Doc, Valium is preferable.

Is that just so retro, or something? I don't hear about anyone on that anymore.

The last time it got mentioned in my life is when the sister-in-law's cat died (right in front of my eyes. It was freaky.) which had been thrusted on me since Precious's fiance was allergic (and of course, I was the only one to get upset at the beast's death, and hysterically so - bitches) and I lost it.

Mummy in Law heard me, told me to get a hold of myself (it's only a cat, after all - direct quote) and take a Valium or two. She was serious. (Further proof she's not on my planet. Cat's are people, geez.)

As if I've got the direct line to the black market for those special purchases.

Must be what they did in the 1950's. They certainly self-medicated somehow. What was in those evening cocktail's? Cause I WANT some!!!! (Oh and Shock: I have now taken to drinking. This from a sweet Mormon girl who never walked into Alcohol & Beverage control until last month. Yes, moving up in the world. I've still never had a Margarita, but I'm working on it.)

Nowadays I think I could get on the floor and beg, but for some reason the County pdoc apparently doesn't give 'quickie' drugs.

No, I must give till it hurts - meaning my money to the pharmaceutical companies, my health to shit nobody know if it works, and be a god damn guinea pig once again.

I'm agitated, I'm full of rage, I'm an ocean deep puddle of depressive goo: I am the picture of 'mixed state.'

And now I'm sitting with the pamphlet of the annoyingly skinny woman standing in a meadow, asking 'Bipolar Disorder? Moving Forward With ABILIFY,' sitting in front of me.

So, to my pdoc's credit, he discussed the side effects with me (after 12 years I've trained him so well).

My big one was constipation, as I already have a problem with that so bad that it looks like after Abilify, I may never shit again.

But no, that's not the worst of it. It appears that they actually admit that restlessness can be an issue. This means, anxiety in real terms, says the pdoc. He says it should last for a week (that means a month in real terms, says Tart).

Holy crap, like I need restlessness and anxiety, on top of my rage & depression, right smack on Christmas. Or on New Year's, when we agreed to go see the damn in-laws.

Why Abilify? Because it's not 'supposed' to make you fat.

Why is that an issue? Because my triglycerides are 3X what they are supposed to be. Triglycerides are a direct indication of how much you exercise.

Then there's cholesterol: one of mine are bad, I take a pill every night for that.

The weight causes high blood pressure. I take a pill for that in the a.m.

I take 18+ pills a day.

I deserve my pills, I've earned my insurance. I married my insurance almost 3 years ago, but I've been courting it (him) since 1992. I also spent time (6 months, should anyone forget) in a state mental hospital, (close to Hell on earth) presumably because at that time I did NOT have a lot of insurance.

I deserve my man and I deserve the fact that he does wonderful things for me, such as keep me company as I have no other friends, so I won't hear any shit about someone/anyone's jealousy over my good god damn fortune.

I have paid for it all, in such pain that you can find someone else to judge, not me, wanh-wanh.

Alrighty, maybe I'll keep the public updated on my ABILIFY. I plan to buy stocks in all the major drug manufacturers because they are a sure thing. They never Not make billions in stock every year.

That way, my retirement will be built on the backs of the suffering, just the way it was meant to be.

Gives New Meaning to the phrase "All Legs"

Lakshmi with Mom, Poonami, & family before surgery, age 2.

Lakshmi was named for an Indian goddess for a reason.

Probably because her extra limbs look like the gods/goddesses that Indians are fond of worshipping.

She was born with 2 sets of arms and 2 sets of legs, a result of her parasitic twin stopping growth during gestation.

The local circus offered to buy her (why couldn't they buy the screaming kid I had to sit next to while trying to eat lunch?) but her parents decided surgical intervention was better.

And that seems to be going well.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21652326/

http://abcnews.go.com/Health/story?id=3831220&page=1

I am so bored!

The Black Crowes, the early days (OB-viously, because they still had (3rd fr. left) Jeff Cease (a-hole!) - oooh, for that matter (1st)Mark Ford (beloved but problematic druggie!) (2nd from left) Chris, you can eat, sleep, whatever at my house any day! I'm STILL so IN LOVE with him! s-wooon:)

God, it just sux when:

1) I'm having heated, hating times with myself these days. I can't explain how everything has gone to hell in a hand-basket, and I've realized that one of the utter conondrums of this illness is that sometimes you just gotta say: I can't explain it.

For once, experiencing these overwhelming feelings comes first before trying to be so damn introspective and figure out how to describe, explain, or hide/be more perfect in a nice way all for some (mostly undeserving) one else.

I gotta do what I gotta do, for me, because none of 'y'all' live with me, my therapist is useless (despite the many chances I've given her to be of some worth) and if my pdoc doesn't flat out give me a prn of some kind when I see him Monday, I may just check myself into that ridiculous pretense of a mental hospital, now behind our regular hospital.

(I'm thinking valium, but apparently they don't 'do' that anymore. They also don't 'do' Ativan anymore, which they utterly refused to give me when I was back in the hospital in '05. I was told it is as addictive as 'cocaine.' I took Ativan every single night for nearly 6 months in 1994-95, but they absolutely would not give it to me recently.)

I've come to throwing things. Husband hasn't discovered the several boxes I have thrown to and fro in my dining room and kitchen this morning. When my cat knocked down an enormous stack of stuff I printed in my office, I have not bothered to pick it up. I'd drop a match on this tinderbox, but I like my bed and having a place to sleep.

If you want a taste of bipolar, check out my 'Molly perfect' crap over on the other blog just days ago. http://jungletartsgoodstuff.blogspot.com/ Point is, the slide between emotions happens much quicker than most would imagine, and I know you all can imagine a lot. The swinging pendulum of joy & hate is but a simple and expected occurance with the ol bipolaroo.

I don't know how anybody else's bipolar, or life, is, but I have way to much passion in mine. What they need is a 'passion-o-meter' just like a blood-pressure cuff - pump that baby up, they would find that mine is Off the Charts and I need immediate long term coma-like medicating.

I feel too damn much. If we could just find a job that harnesses that I would be a billionaire. This is not about feeling sorry for myself or any of that crap. I'm saying 5 words that should be the mantra at the top of my blog, it ought to just be my entire blog: I feel too much. To the point that it hurts.

Sadly, I know people too 'emotive stupid' to even grasp that, how many times have I told you about them? The fact that they get minor problems in their life is not enough - I just want to shake them, maybe a slap or hit or too. The knowledge of their very existence adds too much to my hell.

**

It's crap, this Christmas spirit thing. Mostly it is pressure, pressure, pressure - and that's just in picking out gifts for people. We're poor and my husband has caviar taste. I like nice things, I like for our relatives to receive nice things but we have one income (I don't count my SSDI, as nobody else does here either) and honey, he's not an engineer (to his father's great chagrin).

We have not decorated, not one iota. No lights, not even a Christmas tree. It's not that I wouldn't like to love the season again (hello, first Christmas w/out Dad!) I'm just sad/mad, greiving, hating life and that doesn't stop just because it's Christmas! We haven't bothered - we're unconscioubly lazy, and I'm feeling no pain about not putting all that stuff up.

I was broken out of my hermit-like existence yesterday, to find my neighbors from across the street standing on my porch, asking me if I had seen anything, because someone stole their enormous snow globe thing right out of their yard. !

These people have shown the most 'spirit' in our neighborhood, in terms of really lighting up their house, having several nice ornaments in the yard and now some bastard stole one of them. (Thank God I haven't bothered to put anything in my yard!)

That, and the fact that my cat escaped for 2 seconds which I freaked out over, and he dutifully went back in. It took me pretty much the whole day to get over all of it.

I didn't realize I was a 'hermit' until I asked Husband (he's like the only human that comes into my moseleum here) and he confirmed it sheepishly.

I might as well be Islamic (cause they keep their women indoors & jobless - which is pretty much my life. Maybe I can get points for both my Christian and Islamic side?) Except that I like driving myself. The dress code would be handy, as I don't wash my hair for daaays (hello, get a scarf collection & a couple of potato sacks and I'm set!!).

Oh, and recently I sincerely thought about stop eating pork products. Not because of religious reasons, I just really like pigs. They're so cute! (Hello! Babe in the City! Charlotte's Web! The County Fair!) They seem like good mothers, just laying there while 15 adorable piglets suckle off them.

I'm not into hating Jewish people though, and you're kidding yourself if you think Islamics don't. Hate. Haven't God's people been through enough?

I have ordered some beautiful cards from Hallmark and for the first time ever I'm having each imprinted, which I can't get over how neat or fufu that seems to me. Then I ordered my magnets - surprise, surprise, surprise: they've got my cat on them, and pithy saying, just so people understand that he is representing us this year.

That's because Husband & I never had a decent picture of us taken this year, except when we entered an amusement park, and bought the image of our fat selves on a key chain. A little hard to download to these sites for the magnets.

My cat is the prettiest one of us, and all the relatives know our dog because we drive 15 hours so we can bring her when we go see them. It's time they meet Fangface.

Plus, neither Husband or I felt like gussying up (in my case taking a shower) to snap a quickie on the digital camera. So Husband thinks my choice of cat magnet is cool. Damn right it is.

2) reason why life sux:

When the 3-4 I check up on every day don't write anything new for a month. Don't get mad that I mentioned it. After all, I'm a hermit and have no concept of jobs, schedules, other people's stress and their inability to realize this lack of writing is adding to my boredness even more, or apparently how much of a crime that is. So Get on it!

24 Months in Jail: Michael Vick_Couldn't happen to a nicer guy

Title says it all, but I guess this proves that a federal judge finds Vick as repulsive and deserving of More than the penalty asked for by the prosecuter as Tart does, as I have said all along.

As for the NAACP, I think you backed the wrong horse, hunh? Not only is it reprehensible to murder dogs, make plenty of money off it and call it a business, I think the more important point, if they ever were trying to make one 'that Vick had made the mistake of killing dogs,' is that he made the mistake of killing 50 or more, as I'm pretty sure they had to euthanize his pits.

If he killed 50 or more human beings we couldn't electrocute him enough. And Vick enjoys a good electrocution.

This has nothing to do with race or football.

I couldn't care about either. I'm just glad Justice finally reared her head in Virginia. She oughtta come aroun' more often.

To Ward Off Negativity

Just So You Understand

I'd like to update my post below.

First of all, I still feel every bit of harsh about the situation.

This person was a pathetic coward. He lacked skills, to be sure, and I'm not talking about dancing or drawing ligers. A decent normie should take some blame, because they should have taken the time to discuss life, his life with him.

But most of all, a 19-year-old who pulls a gun is a gunboy, even a gunchild, but stop giving the copycats something to look forward to being called, a gunman, hah.

The note said, 'I am going to crack.' As noted below, you have to have experienced life, been old enough for the wet spots to dry behind your ears, or for that matter have your balls drop down in order to claim this phrase. The young gentleman had no clue. Sorry to all the pre-pubescents, the young with issues. Guns bad, no touch guns. Let alone take 'it' out on pure strangers. *&*(&&(!

I cracked at the tender age of 16, but I am apparently more intelligent than most and I kept it to myself and my family, so that I could write a book about it in my late 30's or 40's. Key components: I did the brave work to help fix myself, much more than anyone could ever expect. That's a big: Take note.

Again, 'people' like this are a sorry excuse. We need to stop giving them excuses and the normies that enable them. For every shooter, bomber, or whatever way people find to be destructive to others (I'm all for them taking themselves out quietly, if its anywhere a choice between that or other people) there's a devil put aside. Unless your Angel Earl got there at the last second. After all, it's God's job to judge.

After considerable thought about the things I put on this blog, specifically my boundlessly angry entries, I realized that I am representing my morality, my judgement, my thoughts. Maybe its because I don't see me, my thoughts or I represented on MSN or Yahoo and I never see my fellow bloggers (in truth, about 3 people I check up on a lot) ever say things like I do, I now feel the need to acknowledge that yeah, it may not be for everybody. It may not be for everybody to connect with my anger, connect with my fantasy judgements, and admonitions about what must be done about anything and everything. That's okay. I know it takes a certain something to admit this. Oh, and I'm not sorry, not one bit. Just so you understand.

Dragging the Good Name of the Mentally Ill into another God d_mn shooting: SICK of IT!!

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/06/us/06omaha.html?pagewanted=2&_r=1&th&adxnnl=1&emc=th&adxnnlx=1196971806-XDuQz5H3NX4DRuK7m3SbOw

If you would like to do your best to keep out of the 'war zone' that is today's public places: malls, your workplace, etc., you apparently have to stay home, work online, buy your gifts online, only answering your front door equipped with more protection and firepower afforded Iraqi soldiers. Get yourself a bullet-proof vest (this should be my next thing to get), pepper spray (I got it), a tazor gun (I got one), or a baseball bat (we're still wondering if wood or metal is better. I'm leaning towards wood. I like a good cr-ack sound.).

All this, because I accept the paramenters of of a person having been in a state mental hospital and therefore not getting the good firepower. Besides being stripped of dignity, many, many times, I've been stripped of my stupid 2nd Amendment rights, and I'm over it. There are no guns, including shotguns, no A-K 47's, semi-automatics, or anything would shoot a little 'ol deer, squirrel, or person, in my life because I accept reality.

I would never go to a gun show and I don't like it when Husband looks at (may I say bitty) guns online and talks about getting one. I've said no 1,000 times, and Therapist is concerned. Stop it, 'Dude that married me.' I know what's right. Why do you got to be like all these losers that somehow got a gun, or facilitated the aquisition of one by one who should not, right under the nose of a normie. What the hell is wrong, truly, with All of you?

Have you heard of the latest numnut, jerk, waste of human flesh to just go a-shooting in a mall after his life takes a pathetic turn, kills 8, and kills himself???? Worst of all, you know the next thing is delving into his 'mentally ill' history, since he was depressed.

Do you have to ruin mental health, and problematic but hard-working lives, FOR EVERYONE?? That to me is the worst, you fucked up understanding for the rest of us, put the movement, if nothing but a movement in my mind, every damn time this happens. There's a devil set aside for you Mr. Hawkins.

I guess I struggle with my Christianity when we get yet another story like this. I’m starting to think people who automatically want to organize prayer groups and don’t feel overwhelmed with anger are just robot units sent here to annoy.

This does nothing but anger me. Here I am ‘taking on’ a load of stuff that is Not My Problem. I feel beholden to say something for my own sake to get it out and for all the people that either don’t or can’t feel – that’s a biggie – and because anything else from me would be lies – and I think God ‘hates’ a liar, either to themselves or other’s, more than an angry, truthful bitch. Thank you.

The shooting in Omaha, the deadliest in their history, angers me most when I think of the shooter. Ahem, for you and every loser ‘thinking’ about doing this in the future – my bipolar opinion:

You are weak. If you are going to plead depression, breaking up with your girlfriend, losing your pathetic-ass job, or just that you’re some confused mentally ill whelp – well, in This case you made one of the stupidest mistake if you wanted to say it was SAD - you committed murder too early in the season, idiot!

Seasonal Affective Disorder has not even BEGUN to strike, so that’s no excuse in this case – you’re just plain pathetic. Wait til January, with the rest of us, when we are going insane with a lack of Vitamin D and sunshine. You numnut. Here’s a ‘b’ for the bitch who likes it spelled her way.

If you’re going to murder people, why don’t you wait a little later in your life to accrue a proper ‘history of mental illness.’ Once again, 19-year-olds haven’t lived long enough for a history of anything. Unless they live in the inner city and have been accruing misdemeanors since age 14. Regardless, hold on till you’re 40. If things haven’t got better, you’ve got more money for more firepower and I can hate you even more after you’ve killed even more and then taken the easy way out, killing yourself.

(&*(^(&%^&%*!!!!! You won’t find any sympathy about this jerkoff from ‘Tart. It’s a disgrace to the mentally ill anywhere when someone pulls murders in the name of their depression.

Newsflash: Whether it’s a normie’s fault for not stopping them, a normie’s fault for pushing them over the edge in some way, in the end it’s the mentally ill person’s name all over the newspapers/internet. It's the mentally ill jackoff's nombre in some dork-list of similar numnuts in a (hopefully soon to be) misplaced history book.

The fact that they are ‘mentally ill’ is NEVER lost on the media or people everywhere, even if you just walked into a clinic once.

So if you didn’t look like you should be committed, take some responsibility for your god damn life. As a person who has been committed TWICE (Me), true by a loving family who didn’t want to, I think we can swap champion-esque, ‘I controlled myself’ stories just as easily as this pathetic bullshit.

What is a 'citizen journalist?'

That is the true journalism industry name for a blogger.

The name blogger came about by putting web log together. One who writes on a web log. As often happens when busy people get going on things, blogger became the hashed together version.

No, I'm not reading this from a dictionary, therefore this is Tart explaining to all you Googler's (what a new word that one is) and you better cite me.

I am a citizen journalist and I didn't know my full respectful name until today. I've been blogging my life, my feelings, my thoughts, all in my own writing for almost two years now. I even put up pretty pictures and save the most joyous things for the other blog I created!

I love doing this even though I am not paid, it takes time away from my life, and the majority of people who come here stay for less than a second, from what I understand.

That's okay, because this blog is my thing of beauty, created for me, giving me a place to express, like no other. Even my therapist said she thinks its good for me.:)

Maybe there IS only one place left for 'Good News'

http://extra.msn.com/goodnews.aspx

Maybe I'm just being me, but this page/link that was touted as 'Good News' on the MSN front page is...Not. Maybe my expectation for 'Something Happy' is too high. A guy who's wedding ring kept his finger from getting shot off, while having lead still wedged in his middle finger and neck does NOT hit me as Good Fucking News.

Jesus Christ.

Nicole Richie, Joel Madden Shower 100 Moms with Baby Gifts (story via People.com)

http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20164093,00.html

As some of you remember, I have been accused of being (sometimes very) harsh about Nicole Richie. I'm proud to say that pregnancy, impending motherhood, a much talked about impending entrance into married life, and a desire to set things straight with family and the world(?) seem to have matured Ms. Richie greatly and I admit, in nice ways, in the last few months.

I feel somehow proud and good, myself, that Nicole and baby daddy Joel Madden showered 100 Los Angeles Health Clinic moms with $200,000 of gifts this weekend. These shocked moms received the same things that Nicole will be using for her soon-to-be newborn, which has probably got to be special if you're a Nicole fan. Let alone that this was truly a gesture in giving to the poor and needy.

Yes, this could all be a publicity stunt, meant to get all of us to forget some of Nicole's problems (the same previous unniceties that I've mentioned before), but it was such a nice stunt, backed up with perhaps one or two previous things that the couple mention on their new joint website.

Joel & Nicole seem to be a very nice united front, and say that their families are very close to each other (I assume that means emotionally, as well as living 'near' to each other) and that they helped with this endeavor.

The two have established the richiemaddenfoundation.com, which, in a way, is dedicated to their baby that is yet waiting to be born in January. Nice.

They say they have been putting this together, or thinking about it, since learning of the pregnancy. Sweet.

I've looked at their site and their companion site www.babycenter.com and I'm pretty impressed. Not only as a consistent lover of baby education, myself, I am now a considerer of the lifestyle for me, myself & Husband, and found the information alone on http://www.babycenter.com/ to be very interesting. Oh! And you can buy baby stuff there too!

The two lovebirds seem to perform their acts of kindness coinciding with what is going on in their own life, meaning I don't know if they'll still be handing out toys when Nicole's in a totally different stage with her own tyke, but they really seem sincere.

And that's a profoundly different thought than the ones I had earlier this year about Nicole and I'm not afraid to report a change in my feelings, especially when she's done something to 'wow' me. Nice job Nicole & Joel! Thank you for making Christmas more real for one bipolar blogger, giving me a celebrity turn-around moment. I wonder if I should have put this on my 'Good Stuff' page? Maybe if you keep it up.:)

Not complain unduly, but has anybody else noticed what a beast it's become to format on the Blogger page these days? This and a couple of my last posts have had horrible formatting problems, especially in spacing between paragraphs. It's a 'whut the' moment./Discuss

'A Chastened Imus Returns to Radio'

Here's the link from a NYT's article.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/03/business/media/03cnd-imus.html?_r=1&8au&emc=au&oref=slogin

Now that he's adding two black comedians, promising to chat about race relations while 'never saying anything to compromise the promise made to the Rutger's 'young ladies,' (a definite difference next to the description of them that got him trouble last time!!) he's got the all clear.

Excuse me, while I clear my delicate palate after those retching sounds just exuded that I had to turn the mic off for.

What IS it that I hate about I-mus so much? He is a hypocrite, plain and simple. I'm sure he explained to the money-makers that made him and themselves so much off his 'humor' that he didn't mean to piss the black people off so bad and They know that he just pushes the envelope everday because teenage boys getting ready for high school need a friend so They can sell crap to them. EIGHT MONTHS and he's reinstated.

Do you know what my most favorite movie of all time is? I had the joy of watching it again this weekend with Husband. I love it so much that it's impossible to control my parroting factoring, my repeat before they say it of what's said. Ready, kids??

Gooooood Morning, Vietnam!

This role was Robin Williams true calling. That was HIM, and he is utterly hilarious and true as Adrienne Cronoaur (sp) brought from Crete to do a radio show in Vietnam 1965.

Yes, he gets kicked off the radio at one point, for telling the truth! in a 'conflict' where the censors must be listened to.

You rent the movie. You do the research on Imus. Somebody's a dirty, media-owned slut and someone's got morals. One is funny, the other wouldn't know funny if a (wacka-wacka) horn wuz shoved up his butt. You be the judge.

Working, My Way

Off the Beaten Path, Great Britain, Webshots

I have done an amazing thing. I have finished my resume and submitted it to the employer that I have been watching daily. I just kept checking them to see if they're still asking for people. I stopped trying to 'perfect' my resume and took the plunge.

Employment now has to be on my terms. After 20 years of working for someone else, I have said, "No more foolishness and forget the stress, TY." I'm the best boss for my needs, because I don't want to ever be in the situation again where I feel the strange and stressful obligation to keep my 'bipolar secret' from everyone around me.

I've learned the hard way that there are still people who 'can't handle the truth,' so I dutifully make it easier on everyone, because I can't stand the embarassment. In work situations, I would much rather not trust ANYone and run myself into the ground trying not to tell.

That's one reason its so hard to have a job for more than a couple of years, if I'm lucky - nobody can uphold such standards, and be perfect at their job too, which of course, I always was. I'll succumb to working, but it will be at home.

I have a two year gap since my last employment. I don't care because after taking an entire year of training for medical transcription, fully expecting to work at home, I was told I must perform 2 years of work outside of the home, preferably in a hospital.

This wasn't mentioned before taking classes, that I know of. No, I got into this deal, so I could work at home and for all I know, I was lied to. Nothing new. And nothing new that I stuck to my guns and said, 'At home, or nothing at all. Period.'

I was told I 'couldn't' work for the one lady who came our class to recruit, because she didn't believe that anyone located where I am would drive daily to her location. Funny, I drove that route daily for my newspaper job! So I said the hell to her, back at cha!

Never doubt my resolution about this work at home thing. Never doubt that I was going to work again, when it was 'my time.' Look, I've forgotten everything transcription, I'll be starting over, and that ought to 'scare' me, make me get my tapes out and go at it, but I'll get there when I get there.

Social Security is letting us make about $1,000 a month now. I only need about $500 a month to fill the black hole that our last 'renter' made by leaving. I don't have to kill myself over this, I don't have to spend a penny in gas, and I can perform my job in my Spongebob flannel pajama drawers. If this works out, I'll surely let everyone know.

I'm not a drooling, clueless individual, as we all well know. I do deserve the best in life, I do deserve to get over my hangups - in fact, I deserve the good life.

Just so you know, I am always in the back of my mind, thinking about 'my' alpaca ranch. I've gone to a seminar, learned about taxes and veterinary needs, I've been researching, I save every pamphlet I get - because some day I might be designing my own, I want to see the competition.

So, I look at land, which is astronomical around here, and truly is a pipe dream - at this time. But the saddest thing I recall was an ex-friend seeing me look at land and say, "Why do you get your hopes up? Why do you even look?"

Because daring to dream has never been a problem for me. Because Dennis Hopper and Ameriprise really hit a nerve by saying, 'Don't give up on dreams, even when you're geezing,' and they are so right. Refusing to give yourself something to look forward to isn't healthy.

When you stop dreaming, and tell others to quit too, that just makes you pathetic and you better stop. I might curl up in the embryonic position occasionally, but I'm not dead yet.

Underneath the surface, something is always bubbling. When everything aligns just right, there are moments to grab onto. You won't find a normie thankful for 'silly' things, like just once something working out right (miracle!), but you'll find I will. Oh yes, I will.