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