After reading mysti's blog and poem about thankfulness, I left a short response as I don't want to preach on someone else's blog or correct someone else's people who leave responses. And this is really my thoughts, not a reflection on anybody.

I feel uncomfortable saying preachy things in blogland, as I pretty much leave out those aspects of me and don't seem to go there much on here.

But I am interested in things that bring me closer to peace, especially as I age, and when I consider that my psychotic experiences and hospitalizations did go strongly in spiritual places for me, as in both of them I was broken down to a near subhuman level and I clutched strongly on the mainstay of life as I see it: prayer. Sometimes pure begging prayer, other times times constant prayers of guidance of what to do, sometimes about even the simplest of things as my mind was constantly churning to come back when for all practical purposes I pretty much looked, acted, and felt like a retard.

When you are all alone in that quiet room, terrified to death, who are you going to call? And as you recover both emotionally, mentally and physically, you establish speaking to the Lord even more. It is not all about pills. Love and support from my family and without ever naming it, support on our wondrous, loving, and guiding Heavenly Father got me through.

I just want to say, a thankful heart IS key, and humility is willing to be low, and both make you such an easier vessel, or piece of clay, for Him to work with. It's like you are waiting, listening, you are safe yet you are opening yourself up for the 'more' that He has for you. I don't ever want to hear that holding on to these kind of kindness are not helpful, in fact I am not convinced of the 'helpfulness' to anyone in not understanding that being made 'low', and more loving, makes it possible to be brought high.

It's in the Bible. (Think Forrest Gump)

Just Beautiful

Delicate Arch, Moab, Utah



Bryce Canyon, Utah



If you get a chance today, check out www.msn.com and see the video of Bindi paying tribute to her Dad. It is moving for many reasons, for the poise and articulateness of this young lady (I thought she was 8, but can't be more than 10), to seeing Terri crying behind sunglasses holding Bob. I don't know what anybody else said, but as far as I am concerned, Bindi said it all.

Hang In There!

Just feeling a little down, even after my time in the hammock (Hey, sounds like fun, eh, Gals?!) so it was time to post my pep-talk hamster.

I read voraciously as usual my People magazine for this week, and found the story of the Austrian girl, abducted at 10 that was literally kept in some jack*ss's basement until she escaped at 18. They said that she was remarkably poised for her interviews by all those hip Austrian magazines, but that was probably because she had been the center of attention for 8 years and it was natural and did not feel strange for her. I don't want to focus on some story that reminds me of Buffalo Bill but I can relate to some things about her.

She has to stay in a hospital for the moment while those clinical types try to pick her brain (umm...guess they haven't heard of outpatient therapy there yet, or they are continuing to treat her like a science project cause she'll let them) and she says gets along really well with the anorexics and suicidal types and she assumes that is because of her big ol' ability to be empathetic. It wouldn't be because she's been through an intense, psychiatrically disturbing experience, would it? Cause Lord knows, you wouldn't want to admit to that, even if it was staring you in the face, hunh, now??

I too have been stuck in the middle of those anorexics and suicidal types, along with schizophrenics and actual criminals and found myself getting along with almost all like it was one big lovely psychotic tea party. So I guess I relate. And amongst her other dreams, she'd like to write a book. I'm still stuck on the marketing aspects for my book, and thoughts on non-fiction content (which will blow most people's minds away, and I don't appreciate that anyone but the sickest fringe of our society would really want to read it) or to present in a fiction content, but she's got marketing and content down, I can tell you that.

I guess. She's just sold her story for free.

Hmmm....so I guess I've got something on her after all.

Well, anyway, I'm like the over eater that eats around the main thing she really wants and then finally gives in to it. In this case, the real thing that bothered me was visiting G'ma. It's a drive to get there, I brought the dog and her clean laundry and its just a draining horrible experience. It doesn't help that she leaves in the middle of hanging out with her, just backs up the wheelchair and goes down the hall. If it was anybody else, you'd ask them, "What the h*ll?" but you wouldn't get an answer in this case.

Second real thing that bothered me was issues regarding the clean-up of my Dad's room. Mom took him back home and stayed to clean. If the world was interested and gave prizes for such things, my Dad's room could win him the 'Biggest Hoard and Sh*thole on The Planet' award. I've admitted to Bipolar, I've outed my Dad on here, so it should be no shock that one of us exhibits that weird sometimes rare quality of keeping everything that you have every received in the mail, every book, etc. If you think you've seen bad, think again: no place to sit, no place to be, everything covered with layers of something, in short, it is just unbelievable.

So my Mom takes this on, probably thinking this is his last chance to have someone help him to get it together. And the sad part, she is right. Not one person from the church he apparently must only sporadically attend, not even his landlord who is also his cousin (this does not surprise me as she has proven useless in emergencies in the past), no one in his Writer's Club, a sport and get together he loves, NONE, NO ONE nada is helping. I put the call out, emailing Dad's 'friend' (galpal? 80 year old luv snuggly?) and asked for help. I'm really disallusioned and thinking, well, this is the kind of time that you really find out what people are made of.

They are telling me that I will have to be the one to visit next year, as he can't handle the stress of traveling, going up the stairs, shaving, you name it. That's going to be really difficult since I want nothing to do with the three or so people that pretend to care about my Dad.

All of this is an aside, a mere vacuous passing of Earthly b*tchment compared to the hard stuff I've already gone through. This is just the whining. For all you bipolars out there, you keep on keeping the faith, this hangin' on is for you.

The Brains Behind the Operation...

Right before this pic was taken, a Pug was showing this Akita how its done.

A Dedication to a Life of Passion and Life well-lived: To Steve Irwin

  

  

  

  




  

  

  


How on this Earth could I call myself a JungleTart if I did not give tribute to one of the most passionate animal lovers and conservationists of our time? I would have liked these pictures to be side by side, but I have limited html skills and didn't know how to do it. But I think if you click on a pic it will get larger.

I was and am deeply saddened at the loss of Steve Irwin when I heard from my Mom today. Shocked, really. For those who don't appreciate his style of unabashed adoration of animals, well wanh for you. Many thought he was not intelligent, since he acted like a 5 year old all the time. He was in fact quite intelligent, was a champion of wild life and their preservation, bought land in several countries to act as national reserves, ran his zoo, taped shows to inspire passion in others - not to bitch or dictate at them, had a loving and wonderful family, and was bigger than life to a lot of people, even his family.

What happened to him on Monday was not only a freak accident but was a measure of the fact that he was sorely out of his element. According to some sources, his producer/friend said that if death was ever going to occur it was going to be in the ocean, a place that he is out of his element, and is hard to control, things go wrong. We all know that he could handle himself on land.

He was filming a snorkle dive with a sting ray and swam upon it accidentally, scaring the stingray who probably felt boxed in by Steve in back of it and a cameraman in front of it. It raised its stinger and it went into Steve's heart either killing him with the direct poison causing a heart attack or a rip to the aorta, a quick bleed. It is said that it was taped, including him pulling out the stinger himself, and that the tape was handed to authorities. I don't need to see this tape, but I have the feeling the disgusting aspects of the media can't wait to play it for everyone. I hope Terri gets a hold of it and puts it in a safe.

I, yes me the Tart, have 'swum' with stingrays. It was in the Caymen Islands during our family cruise and it was a wonderful experience. I was afraid to get in the water, but by the end I even kissed one. The water was blue blue coming up to our necks and the sand pure white. It's a tourist attraction that tons of people come to every year. There have been few deaths in the whole world from stingrays, I believe 3 since 1945. While I couldn't help thinking he must have 'done' something to his, the footage shows that he did nothing of the kind. It was a freak accident.

Yeah, yeah, to all the doubters, I can think of their main statement: Well, if he just wouldn't be in the water doing those things he would have been okay.

That is precisely why it is such a terrible loss. If he was afraid and never tried or worked so hard to push a worthy cause and life into our face, we never would have known him. We never would have been touched by him. It wouldn't be such a loss to lose someone that didn't seem in some ways larger than life.

I mourn him. I think there must be some fantastic stuff going on in heaven now, that they got a passionate one like him back. I don't know what heaven is like, the afterlife, but a chap like him cannot help but make it better place - look at what he did in such little time in a hole called Earth. God bless you Steve, God bless you Terri and your babies, lets keep up the good work so we can tell Stev-o all about it when we see him again!

Two or Three Rants and a PMS pill

Well I'm hot off MSN site and so I have to share the 'Breaking News.' Mr. Cruise has apologized to Brooke Shields. See, I am a fair reporter am I not?

Damn right he apologized. I'd say a year and half late, wouldn't you. However, Mr. Cruise still holds on to his f'd up beliefs. I will not be satisfied until the manic little bastard apologizes publicly for denying the existence of mental illness. If it doesn't exist, what am I tortured by - a vitamin defiency? Idiot. Done, I will say no more.

So, Tart is PMS'ing big time. It does not make it any better than I strongly suspect that that is what is wrong with me, because it is evil just the same. HONestly, isn't it enough that I suffer from emotional disturbance on a daily basis, must I be struck additionally with a monthly scourge? I expect perks when I am given difficulties. Bipolar, yes, with the caveat that I am intellingent (essentially an additional scourge), can write, and got lucky to hook up with good family. Now, where's my frickin' perks for the additional hate that the period reaks upon me?

I just snapped today. It happened early, and I left everyone to fend for themselves for breakfast and everything else for the rest of the day. I guess the perks today for being a PMS Bitch is that I went to a big mall on a Labor Day weekend, (parking in BumF*k and NOT killing anyone :) and bought a new wine colored leather purse (simple, for daily stuff) and matching leather wallet. I also got to talk with my helpful salesperson (UR grate Monique!) who was 9 months pregnant and had a manager come up to us and have the nerve to say, Yes, Monique is a wonderful salesperson, but we wish she could be around more. After which there was an uncomfortable silence. Only later did I think that I *should* have said (watch out) 'Well, I am sure that Monique could work for you a little more often if she wasn't carrying practically full term little human being inside her tired belly and still trying to work for some dickhead that looks like he couldn't even hold a watermelon in his skinny arms for ten minutes.' The minion. I think that would have rocked if I had thought of that at the appropriate time. The customer is always right.

Then I went to a movie. By myself. I think that may have been a first time for me, at least as far as I can remember (two days ago is my limit). I went to see 'Talledaga Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby' an innocuous, funny little film, which is exactly what I was in the mood for.

What I was NOT in the mood for was being subjected to the two trailers of Evil, Possesion and whatever crap that normies-who've-had-no-psychotic experiences-and-thereby-get-off-on-this-crap go to see and being played while *I* came to see something happy/silly/or blissfully stupid. It really makes me angry. Play it for the people who came to see a horror movie. Would you believe they are bringing the Freddie Crueger crap back, as a re-release? I was forced to watch one of these by a 'boyfriend' who thought if a girl was scared she'd need comforting and maybe he could feel her up. How about that crap revisiting when you are sitting alone in the 'quiet room' of your local county or state mental hospital, with no conception of reality and ability to divide your dreams from supposed reality? Yeah, dreams about not going to bed or else you'll be sliced up is not what this Bipolor chick ever needed, 'kay? Darling, where is my award for putting up with this shit?

How can I ever stop being angry? There is just so much. There is no justice in this world, that is abundantly clear. I cannot allow myself to think of the wrongs that have been committed because there is no where to go with that. It just further makes me feel like a freak. Somehow that leads to suicidal thoughts. Boggles the mind, doesn't it? Anger to suicide? I try to be very still at its worst - fear not, blogger friends, I'm not doing it. I stay on so that I can continue to bitch and occasionally remember how much *I* rock for NEVER GIVING UP.

Anyhow, on a lighter note, does anyone know the address of what media mogul I can write to to complain about Satanic trailers being played before my sweet little dumbass family movie and disturbing my delicate sensibilities. And don't think I won't do it either.