08 5 / 2014

Something happens to you when you watch someone die. Something changes inside and I imagine it’s different for everyone. Me? I freaked the fuck out. Where there had once been fleeting, sometimes hilarious fears about the world around me and the many ways in which I could maim, emotionally hurt or otherwise dismember myself, there was now very real, very frightening and convincing panic that my world was going to end in an awful way.

Let’s play the blame game! *clap clap! clap!* She’s 5’4”! She’s kinda great! But she can’t see it, cuz she’s constantly blaming herself for everything bad that has ever happened in her life.

*clap clap!*

Here’s something I didn’t know: guilt and remorse are close cousins. Really close. They sleep in bunk beds at family reunions and they like to make life really shitty for anyone around. I was already familiar with guilt, having spent a life trying to figure out how to please a very unstable parent. I started to see that same behavior in myself and that made the remorse kick in the door to say hey.

"If only…"

If only I’d been raised by him. If only I’d been more athletic. If only I could have been funnier, then I would have had a shot. If only I’d gone to college. If only, if only, send Glennis right over.

Fucking life.

And I started to get really sick of it; life. I started to feel like living like this, feeling this frustrated, upset, confused, angry and lost, for the rest of my life was just going to be too much. When do I get a break? When can I stop trying so hard? When do I get to be myself?

Hey lady, you lady? Cursin’ at your life

I’ve been to Georgia and California, but I’ve never been to me. I’ve never been to Paris. I’ve never seen the fireflies on the Mae Klong river in Thailand. I’ve never owned an island. I’ve never become the face of change for Alzheimer’s disease. I’ve never had children and I never will. I can’t. I’m too afraid. I’m afraid of it all because I don’t know who I am.

I know this is all over the place, and it’s probably not going to make sense to anyone at this point, but I need to write. I need to write and be heard in order to break myself out of this prison I’ve been in. A prison where I am bad and everything I do, worthless. And I know saying these words is going to shock a few people. Probably the people who know me best. Because I don’t tell anyone what’s going on deep down in the depths. The depths that have been collecting my shame and guilt and storing my anger since I was eight. 

I’m working through it. I’m in a better place now. I still have to remind myself every day to think about #1. Not in the way that I used to: constant reminders of my lack of self worth, reminders that I was hated by everyone, gentle nudges in the direction of disappearing all together, but in a healthy way. A way that starts, “What do I need right now and how can I make that happen?” It’s putting my devotion to the happiness of others onto myself, and it’s hard as hell.

What I’ve realized is it’s not about what I need in the moment, but what I need overall. In the moment I need coffee or alcohol or weed or all of the fries, but usually just alcohol. Alcohol kills the mobs in my brain and makes for a nice evening out, sometimes followed by shitting and/or puking my brains out, always by crying.

Overall what I needed was a complete overhaul. Body, mind, soul; life. A purge, a cleanse, a ghost bust, whatever you want to call it.

I’d clean out my house first. Years of collected shit I’d lug from one apartment to the next because I’d need it some day. I never needed it and now it’s gone.

Then, my body. From cigarettes, caffeine, alcohol, and finally, most processed foods. (Going on month five/I still treat myself.)

I exercise every day. I’m sticking to it (Day 32), and I’m feeling happier and seeing the benefits. Endorphins!

Finally, Grand Central Station; my brain. The one benefiting from the endorphins, finally, at long last. Also the one organ I’ve thought about every day since he died. Since I watched him from the sidelines as he lived an extraordinary life, only to see him shrivel into nothing in front of my eyes. Since then, my brain is everything. It’s the most powerful tool on the planet and I’m ashamed at how I’ve ignored it for all these years. My brain is messed up. My thinking is backward and my memories are hidden. The discipline required to stay healthy has given me the confidence to retrain my brain and to recognize the shitty negative thinking so I can squash it.

I’m writing this because I have to get it out. I can’t sit on my couch day in and day out, getting stoned, staring at the TV because I can’t face the fact that life isn’t perfect and what happened was really fucking unfair. I need to write, I need to feel proud of what I’ve done, and I need to move more of this junk out of my brain so I can get back to what I really love. And I know I’m not the only one who has felt so low, I’m writing this for you, too, friend. Hang in there.

Now pack your fucking bags because it’s time to go to ME.

05 3 / 2014

Kelsey DeMeire, a self proclaimed “Freelance Journalist & Blogger” took to the internet yesterday to share her opinion of our show “50 Shades! The Musical” with a scathing review entitled, “50 Shades the Musical is bleak & humorless”. Forthwith, I shall commence in reviewing her review.

While poorly written and extremely confusing, this scathing “review” did manage to do a few things well. For starters, it posted live to the internet for the world to see; bravo! You know how to work a computer! I also enjoyed the ways in which you insulted our entire cast at once saying our acting was “corny” and that we were “understandingly unattractive”. I wish there were more brave souls like you to stand up for what you believe in: perfect 10s in the theatre! Talent be damned! Beat it, uggos! For a second I considered bashing your grasp of the English language and poor sentence structure in my review of your review, but thought better since I’m no laureate, and I don’t often take to judging someone for something I’m not able to do myself.

I will say, however, that I was a bit concerned with the way in which it seems you’ve connected to the 50 Shades material. Do you think it’s real? You called yourself a “religious reader” of the book…I’m still unsure if you yourself are religious, or if you just read the book every night in the tub as the sun sets? It’s also a bit disconcerting that you were unable to decipher which character was which in our tiny, 8-person cast! Were you dropped on your head a lot as a child? (Again, I only say that because I was.) Either way, you know Christian isn’t coming for you no matter how hard you read, right? You know he’s not real? Just checking.

I’m also SO sorry, dear Kelsey, that we couldn’t be the live sex show you wanted to see. You mentioned the only characters with shades of grey were the two scantily-clad dancers. Might I recommend Tijuana? Just get in your car and drive south; if you hit the water you’re doing it right.

Overall, I give this review a 3 out of 10 scars: low scores for writing and comprehension, but points for actor bashing and true props for taking the time to create something instead of sitting around on Twitter RT-ing shiny baubles to your 24 followers. That being said, Kelsey, in my eyes you’ll always be a zero.

Read the review: http://www.digmagonline.com/1865/events/50-shades-the-musical-is-bleak/

Follow Kelsey on Twitter @DeMeiresDose

03 1 / 2014

It’s basically my fantasy come true. As if my own flesh and blood desires were turned into reality. BUT WHEN I ASK YOU WHEN??? #mailinglistPoseidon Undersea Resorts

12 12 / 2013

Boy do I feel stupid! (That’s a lie, I never feel stupid because I’m very, very smart.)

What I mean is, dear Glesbians, I spent years and years—five to be exact—shoving pills containing god knows what in my face, and thousands of dollars in the hands of the pharmaceutical companies—the worst kind of company—when all this time I could have cured myself.

"No thanks, big Pharma; I’ve Marie Curied myself."

*ZING*

I honestly didn’t think it would happen this quickly, but since my post on Monday I have cut out alcohol, caffeine, fast food (I am trying to eat foods with limited ingredients and NO high fructose corn syrup), and have been exercising (kind of) and I am happy to report that last night I slept through the night without a pill like a BIG BITCH.

Here’s the hilarious part: thanks to my pal Vince, who discovered this gem on John Tesh’s Facebook—sage advice being doled out daily on his FB and Twitter, people—I may have discovered the key to curing my RLS once and for all: tonic water.

Say, say, say, what? That’s right, tonic water. It occurred to me, after sleeping well through the night post-consumption, that I used to love gin & tonics. In fact, I drank them all the time with an ex and only stopped drinking them because they reminded me of him. 

I SAID HOT DAMN!!!

I still have a few pills left as a security blanket. The anxiety surrounding needing a good night of sleep can make the legs worse, I think, but YAY! I am on the right track and have them, should I need them.

The worst part of any of this, while I do love my hooch, was giving up caffeine. I had a solid caffeine withdrawal headache for two days straight. I also want to add that I started to beat myself up over how easy this was and how I should have done this years ago, but then I considered that I might not have been able to do this years ago. Only now is it this important to me to get off those pills and clean my body. So I stopped beating myself up and instead enjoyed a nice, hot cup of Sanka, which is just like coffee if you have no taste buds.

Life!

09 12 / 2013

A little beauty update for those interested:

Because of my father passing earlier this year I was unable to take my nail licensing test with the CA board. I’m happy to say I’ve resubmitted, and that, once licensed, I’ll be with the lovely women over at The Atwater Parlour for my booth rental—I literally can’t wait, and I thank them for their patience!
I love my little home salon, but I know people prefer a salon environment.

Second: I have wavered back and forth between whether or not to offer gels and acrylics and I’ve decided that, yes, I will offer both. I will still stress natural, healthy nails and try to persuade clients to go natural, but I’ve realized this is what the people want so who am I to deny? I’ll be taking the necessary precautions to protect myself (I’ll set to making a cute face mask to avoid the dangerous acrylic dust) and my clients (air purifier).

Lastly: I am still planning on attending cosmetology school I’m just not sure when. Let’s get the aforementioned in order first and the jam on the tresses.

And now you’re up to date. Book nails with me in my cute home salon by emailing glennisnails@gmail.com, and stay tuned for updates on the booth rental.

09 12 / 2013

I have Restless Leg Syndrome. It used to wreak havoc on my life until I took a sleep study and figured shit out. I was prescribed Mirapex and have been taking it since 2008. 

Sleep Study Chic

Mirapex works! I sleep for the most part. The medication gives me crazy dreams, which I become very invested in, but the sleep is better than without the pills. Only, I hate taking pills. I don’t take any other medication, and I try to avoid pills whenever possible; there’s already enough dangerous shit going into my/our bodies every day. And once I eventually decide to have children I won’t be able to take the pills anyway, which is not worrisome at all!

So I’ve decided to ween myself and g-au natural.

The chemicals aren’t the reason to quit: I’m also spending an average of $160 a month on the medication. I’m currently uninsured, and the generic brand, which doesn’t work for me, caused the brand name to sky rocket in cost. What a system.

What I’ll have to do to get off these pills will require a complete overhaul of my current habits.

1. No caffeine

Sometimes I dream about that first cup of coffee. About getting up at the crack of dawn to Keurig my first cup, or feeding my Starbucks addiction. I love the taste, I love the smell, I love the routine; I love everything about coffee. This is going to blow eskimos.

2. Exercise

I’m pretty good about exercising, but now I’ll need to at least do a long walk every day. NBD

3. Eat well

I love food. I will pretty much eat anything (save the disgusting “meat” Yoshinoya serves with their beef bowl what the h is that stuff, guys) and because we’re on a budget, I’ll eat whatever is available. HOT POCKETS. This is a good, necessary change because I have the eating habits of a monster.

4. Other

Wearing socks to bed, taking a warm bath before, meditation, yoga; all easy enough to implement.

Basically, this is something that will affect my life positively overall. All I have to do is DO it, which is not something I’m great at. So wish me luck, folks…this ain’t no popped pill.

AMENDED: ALSO NO ALCOHOL KILL ME NOW

27 11 / 2013

flavorpill:

latimes:

yahoonewsphotos:

Past and present: balloons of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade
A storm bearing down on the East Coast with a messy mix of snow, rain and wind is threatening to ground giant balloon versions of Snoopy and SpongeBob SquarePants in the annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

The iconic characters that soar between the Manhattan skyscrapers every year may not lift off Thursday if sustained winds exceed 23 mph and gusts exceed 34 mph, according to city rules enacted after fierce winds in 1997 caused a Cat in the Hat balloon to topple a light pole and seriously injure a woman spectator. (AP)

(Archive photos via Getty Images)

See more images of the parade and our other slideshows on Yahoo News!

It turns out some old balloons were kind of terrifying.

Those throwback balloons are actually horrifying.

27 11 / 2013

captainpepperoni:

*burns eyes off* *maintains pristine eyebrow game*

captainpepperoni:

*burns eyes off* *maintains pristine eyebrow game*

(Source: mrgolightly, via pizza)

14 10 / 2013

thechanelmuse:

Phylicia Rashad and Debbie Allen by Moneta Sleet, Jr.

(via divasneedlovetoo)

14 10 / 2013

brandybarber:

clambistro:

slutintheory:

Guys With Fancy Lady Hair

I can’t get enough of these!

I just threw out a bunch of torn-out magazine pages of potential updos for my wedding. Wish I’d had this handy pocket guide to take with me to my stylist.