Ocdbloggergirl's Blog: OCD, Life, and Other Misunderstandings

More Mental Malaise, Less Donald Trump

Because John Lennon Wants to Know (Part I) — December 27, 2012

Because John Lennon Wants to Know (Part I)

John Lennon
Enquiring Minds Want  to  know, you know -John Lennon (Photo credit: Pedro Netto)

So this is Christmas, and what have you done?

Well, Mr. Lennon, funny you should ask, because I’ll tell you if you have the time.  The world didn’t end and you’re still dead, so I reckon you got all the time in the world, right?  It really depends on what you mean by “done.”  “Done” like What I did for Christmas, or done in general?

Another year over and a new one’s just begun.

I know, right? Ho hum, seems like it should still be 2011 or something. It’s like I paused myself, yet the world went on without me.  How the hell did I turn 35? I’m the same age my mom was when she had me.  I suppose there’s still hope that somewhere out  there, there’s a neurotic alcoholic husband  for me too. I think I’d not be a good mom, so it’s probably a good thing my biological clock  isn’t a Timex. I can just take care of myself and my cats. Why would I want a pissing, crapping, crying kid who’d open my Barbie dolls’ boxes?  But I digress, what have I done? Nothing and everything! I have my own apartment, a first for me. I’m a late bloomer, you know. Well, more like I was weeded out of the garden, cast into a mulch pile, and re-rooted myself. But hey, I bloomed.

If my mom hadn’t died and my gay guy crush hadn’t gone rabid and threw me out, I’d still be living with someone now. I’d still depend on  that man’s approval just to get by.  I saw my gay guy crush as a gay guy god even as he grew mean. But oh, Mr. Lennon, if you ever saw him smile or heard him laugh, you’d see what I mean.  I thought he was my Soul Bro, but sadly, he became my Faux Bro.  I wanted to be with him until the day I died. Sigh, I guess I drank the grape kool-aid. Too bad I didn’t do much of his housework though or paid the back rent I owed.

Mr. Lennon, I know you’re all ‘money ain’t shit,’Kumbaya, and what not, but I’m still torn. I really didn’t pay about $200.00 in rent. I pawned my computer and gave them $80.00 and then I gave them $10.00, so if I really do owe them that money, it would be $110.00. But here’s where it all gets trickier than a truck stop hooker. I gave them money whenever asked. I took them out to dinner at about $70.00 for the three of us, gave them $65.00 to go out with when The Prick The Partner was upset about having skin cancer on his face (but they did give a lot back I think) and gave them $100.00 to fix the air conditioner in their van. The air conditioner wasn’t fixable though. But I got a lot of free meals and rides before I began having to pay for all my stuff, and cat food. And then it gets even more messed up. They wanted $100.00 a month after I moved out to pay for what they paid for: pot, food, etc.  And Faux Bro said if he factored in expenses going back to when I first moved in it would be double the amount, somewhere in the $2000.00 region. That part casts suspicion on the whole thing.  I must have been had somewhere in the equation, but they seemed so adamant that I owed them and that I was the advantage taker in the mix. Plus it seems that I broke everything I touched. It makes my brain hurt, and everyone says I don’t owe them jack.

I messed up:

A wine glass of sentimental value.

They say I broke a remote control (but I don’t recall it)

I made a couple of his keys on his laptop stick.

I lost and/or damaged a couple of books, one was damaged, plus I think a cat vomited on a couple others.

I tripped several times on the PlayStation 3 cords, causing the  part where the player connects the controller to short out. I replaced his PlayStation 2 when it stopped working.

I think he wanted to say I messed up the controllers on the Sega Genesis, but I think it was how they stored it.

I played a game on his IPod and it erased everything

An app I asked to  be installed on the PS3 erased all the game data.

I lost a set of keys.

Wow, no wonder they hate me. Good thing all I have to break is my own now. Jinxed people should be mandated to have their own apartments, where they can lock  themselves in and not be a nuisance, you know? I guess I’m still haunted by Gays of Christmas Past (Too bad Logo no longer airs gay-themed shows, because that would be a kick-ass name for a Christmas special). I wasn’t intending to talk this much on this, but…

My life is different now in a good way. I have a one bedroom apartment, a lot bigger than the rooms at the old complex. I’ve literally stuffed both closets in the living room and bedroom with all the random crap from my storage unit.  I’m about to get a hide-a-bed couch for the living room and that will be a vast improvement than the deflated airbed I’ve been chillaxin’ on since late September.A nice woman on Freecycle gave me a TV and random odds and ends that I truly appreciate. I could have more by now, but I can’t stand my social worker, so I avoid her at all costs. My decor is a mix of minimalist and très clutter. BUT WHO GIVES A FLYING F, because IT’S MINE! There’s nothing like living exactly as one wants, without fear of being verbally annihilated or thrown out. When I was with Soul Bro, I forgot how much I liked being alone. I wanted to be with him all the time until he just popped. There’s always going to be a part of me that wants to be with him, and a part of me who thinks it’s all my fault.

 

Destroy Everything You Touch

Advertisements
A Day of The Life of Lisa, as Written by Guest Blogger Jane Austen — December 28, 2010

A Day of The Life of Lisa, as Written by Guest Blogger Jane Austen

 

This basically happened like I wrote it except I needed to change the dialogue to the jist of what was said. Anyway, enjoy!Gane Austen
Jane Austen, celebrated early 19th century author, now guest blogger.

 

 

 

 

 

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a lady who wishes to send off an item bartered on eBay must be in want of packaging tape. Ah, this lamentably was the state of affairs and such a deprivation could not be borne.

Our lady, a Rubenesque spinster of three-and-thirty years, suggested to her mother a scheme of going to the shop down the way post-haste, for it was a week until Christmas and the best of couriers could not always send the required article in time. Fearing the wrath of an angry gentleman who had placed his custom and faith upon her, the lady commenced in her carriage, her good lady mother as chaperone. The mother, sullen, melancholy, and hinting  her disapprobation at her, said, ” Make certain, daughter, that you buy something sweet for the time we feel peckish.”

Our lady fresh from her visit to the Family Dollar

 

The establishment frequented by all the ton of the neighbourhood and surrounding villages was called the Family Dollar and carried sundry  items for sale. This mainly consisted of treasures imported from the orient, a plethora of genuine plastics molded into dishes and playthings for children, plus toiletries designed to cover smallpox scars and other maladies of ladies in need of the refinery.

The lady’s mother had her filial daughter go inside without her guiding  hand, confident that she would find no disgrace within its doors. Nay, no disgrace indeed as our lady meandered the aisles of the store plucking up the tape, chocolate mint patties, and some sort of Christmas mint that once dissolved took on a consistency like gum. Looking at the cookies without her mother to advise which to procure, as her mother’s dark mood seemingly prevented her from issuing any hint of preference, she selected a large package of vanilla sandwich cookies with cream.

Taking these items to the cash register, our  lady was assailed by the sounds of the music peculiar to certain sects of religion. This genre, aptly titled “Christian Pop,” seldom reached the tender regions of her soul as the lyrics and music intended. Instead of invoking all the comforts of religion, she oft, when not spared , chose to dissect the lyrics of such songs as though they were written by lovestruck poets for their would-be paramours. This song, however, was in a somewhat different strain, invoking the Lord thus:

Jesus is just all right with me, Jesus is just all right…

La! But an older lady, finding such a ditty insufferable, called attention to the young man attending the till. “I say, boy, this music you play upon yonder radio device, is that your personal preference?”

“Nay, madame,” said the young man. “Rather ’tis the preference of the lady proprietors.”

“I see,” spoke the lady with consternation. “You should play something soothing.”

“Ah, the ladies grew weary of the station that plays the Christmas music for the entirety of the season.”

“But that’s what the customers wish to hear whilst shopping, and they should think of the customers!” punctuated that lady.

You’d think they were playing the unexpurgated works of Eminem to hear her speak. A pretty thing this, thought our lady as she rushed from the edifice. She could not help, aversion to such music notwithstanding, how unpleasant were the manners of that lady.

An example of a carriage

 

Later, our lady and her mother arrived at the post office, and once more the spinster was left to her own devices as her mother waited. Soon our lady was amid a bustle of humanity all converging in a final frantic bid to send parcels for arrival by Yuletide.

She was waited upon by a lady who could be surly to some, but never to the spinster. “Is there anything fragile, liquid, perishable , or potentially hazardous inside, Madame?”

“Well…” said our lady, thinking back to a most helpful posting upon the wall sometime ago listing items that were foolhardy to send via courier, “the ___ has batteries inside.”

“No, ’tis fine and proper. What sort of ___is it?”

A ___ from the 80s, Madame,” said our lady.

“Oh, those I do recollect and my child possessed one that___.”

“Ah,  indeed! I mark those, though many a year has passed betwixt then and now.”

“Please tell your mother Merry Christmas from me,” said the lady post office attendant.

Our lady counted out the change from a purse and thought uncharitably, Nay, not I, not now as my mother has declared she hates Christmas,  which makes me hold the  hold the holiday with similar malevolence, The spinster, acting like a hussy, could maintain a strong petulance at times, a nasty flaw to her being a genteel lady.

She was so immersed in thought that our lady almost forgot to return appropriate holiday greetings herself. “Thank you, I shall tell her…Oh dear! And Merry Christmas to you, Madame. I fear that my mind is a soupcon addled today.”

It is perhaps diverting to look at our spinster and note that despite a peculiar air hinting at wishing to sink  into the floor beneath her rather than look another in the eye, she twice or thrice was complimented on her exceeding good manners in the past. It seems that some ladies and gentleman are taciturn when services were rendered inside the office. This compliment pleased our spinster in no uncertain terms.

The end of the day’s activities was nigh, but alas, the mother had lost her reading spectacles a couple of days previous and there seemed no way of finding the lost article. Despite her mother’s seasonal surliness, her most dutiful daughter did not wish to see that grand dame deprived of such creature comforts. Our lady bade the carriage to go to the shop where excellently crafted spectacles could be had, The Dollar General. As her good lady mother sought a perfect pair to match the strength of her weakened eyes, our lady perused the aisles, passing a gentleman in the stationary and place where books grace store shelves the final time.

Soon a young lady from that more southern clime came before them with a brood of children. The young lady spoke in the rapid tongue impossible to learn  in finishing school book or by her dear teacher originally from Philadelphia town. Suddenly the gentleman in the aisle with her growled in a low voice, “Speak English goddamnit.”

What a fine gentleman! our lady thought as she disembarked for home. Mayhap he is a lord or an earl. Such command that can even instruct mothers and innocent babes the correct dispensation of the queen’s English. No doubt a man of the best of stock whose kind manners condescended to make foreigners feel so at home in ours, the most welcoming of lands. Such a portly stature and the pungent scent of smoke from the best of cigarettes. La!  This is the sort of man I should wish to marry!

This delicate nicety, indispensable among genteel ladies when greeting potential suitors, is called "The Bird"

 



Three Christmas Poems: Depressing, Controversial, and Semi-Festive — December 17, 2010

Three Christmas Poems: Depressing, Controversial, and Semi-Festive

 

Hi everyone,

Combining http://magpietales.blogspot.com and http://thursdaypoetsrallypoetry.wordpress.com/ this week. The first poem is right depressing, so if you’re already in a depressed mode you might wish to skip it because it’s pretty dark. The second poem deals with the so-called “War on Christmas,” and I don’t mean to be sacrilegious. The third is my favorite poem, a slice of that tasty ghetto/trailer park-style pie some of y’all seem to like…Anywho, enjoy and comment, trash it, or ask questions about it as you may.

 

A Very Depressing Christmas Poem: Nola Leigh’s Christmas

Mary and Jesus


Nola Leigh, age 43, virtuous virginity.

It is Christmas Eve and she is alone,

She can’t bear to go home.

The Madonna in Sorrow
Madonna in Sorrow Image via Wikipedia

All of her relatives are dead,

So she goes to the church instead.

Open door but no one here,

She looks to the window and sits at the rear,

Thin stain glass, the virgin and her baby as before in the past.

Mary is benevolent, Jesus is sad in his innocence, looking even then for divine penitence.

Nola Leigh, 43, virtuous virginity.

Mother Mary, where were you 40 years ago,

When Nola Leigh needed you so?

Sweet Jesus, did you not see your young servant in desperate need?

While you were in the glass, Nola Leigh just had no chance.

But that’s all in the past.

Nola Leigh, 43, virtuous virginity.

 




A Very Controversial Christmas  Poem: Merry Holidays, Jesus!

 

Is it just me or is the whole "War on Christmas" thing stupid on either side?

 

Dear Jesus,

I think you should know, some of your Father’s creations are a little slow.

Or is it me who’s a bit dense? I’m not sure, but all this to me makes little sense.

It all has to do with a little word called ‘Christmas.’

Apparently there is a war on the word. Have you in heaven heard?

Being a mortal, this I can’t understand,

Did you actually make the demand

to nick-pick on a word not even invented when you walked this earth?

When you were old enough to say it, did you cry out “Merry Christmas!”in Aramaic?

Do you spend time between listening to prayers despairing, perhaps even swearing, that ‘Xmas’ does not bear your last name?

Or are you in on the joke that the Greeks often use the ‘X’ as the abbreviation of Christ?

Is it really a vice to say “Happy Holidays!” a couple of times a year?

Or do you say, “Your inclusiveness should fry with you in the lake of hell?”

Is it bad for me to say “Merry Christmas” too?

Truthfully, Jesus, I’m all in a stew,

so I guess I’ll leave it up to you.

War on Christmas

 

 

A Semi-Festive Christmas Poem: Our Christmas Tree

 

 

Charlie Brown Christmas Tree

 

 

Oh Christmas tree, lovely Christmas tree!

Chopped down in a forest of plastic at a Chinese factory.

That year, 1987, was the first year your blessed bough  hung before us,

Joy to the World and the rest of the chorus.

That first year, do you recall?

We broke your stand and had to nail you to the wall,

tied with festive utilitarian string,

A live tree stand for a metal trunk is an interesting thing.

We Wish You a Merry Christmas and colored lights

Trying to put you up is liable to yoke a fight.

Complicated, lopsided, daring you to fall,

Well, we said, at least you’re tall.

Jingle Bells, dust, and left over tree icing,

Damn I wish it were spring and gifts weren’t so high in the pricing.

But I love your ornaments, indeed I do,

Even if you look like you were decorated by monkeys in the zoo.

Martha Stewart would cry if she saw this tree where ‘Taste’ goes to die,

But two ornaments per limb here means pleasures double,

Memories good and bad, triumph over trouble.

Gold garland and silver star, thoughts happy  do not  tacky mar.

 

 

Merry. Christmas.

 

 

HASTYWORDS

Turning Tears & Laughter into Words

The Boeskool

Jesus, Politics, and Bathroom Humor...

Skinny and Single

Single and Over 40 and Not Suicidal About It

Robert Scoble's Augment Your Life

Helping get ready for the 2020's: when self-driving cars, AI, cryptocurrencies, digital assistants, and XR (Augmented Reality AR / VR) will disrupt us.

Blues Legend

Blues Legend Film

The Charlottesville 29

If there were just 29 restaurants in Charlottesville, what would be the ideal 29?

A Buick in the Land of Lexus

fresh hell trumps stale heaven

The Prince Blog

Idle Hands Are The Devil's Playthings.

emma reads

books + nefarious plots

Step Into The Nightmare

... because a problem shared is your problem now

lynz real cooking

lynz real life

William Chasterson

Examination of the makeup of the human ego and its predictable results.

Elliesofia

In my mind's eye ...

All Mouth, No Spoons

The life and times of a married, foul-mouthed borderline twenty-something. Like my disorder, posts will always vary!

thesixfootbonsai

A Soul Lost in the Land of the Rising Sun

promisesunshine

Just another WordPress.com site

Read at Midnight

where words light up the night

Bipolar Bandit

If you want to know more about bipolar disorder, other mental illnesses and/or mental health advocacy, you are in the right place.

Perfect Isn't Easy

Life Is A Daily Struggle For Perfection

Ted's Adventures in WiFi

Life, reality, and the pursuit of fun

The Macabre Author

Scaring the world, one story at a time.

My Daily Struggles

I am going to make my way in this blog on a metaphorical bridge of thoughts and perceptions from day to day to try to connect the known with the yet unknown. My bridge is like a single plank which will require the supplement of others.

Words and Notion

Words Whipping up Whimsical Waves of Notion

Rational Thinking Web

Live A Life You Will Remember

Blogging Astrid

A Dutch Woman Blogs in English

Knowing the Narcissist

Read and understand all about narcissists from the best source possible. A narcissist himself.

Autistic Alex

Blogging about neurodiversity, psychology and autism research.

busy mockingbird

a messy collection of art projects, crafts, and various random things...

deconstructingdoctor.com

a peek behind the curtain

SERENDIPITY

Searching for intelligent life on earth

MuslimGirl.net

Just another WordPress.com site

THE LONDON PRESS

"Information is the negotiator's greatest weapon"....get informed..

Logical Quotes

Logical and Inspirational Quotes

Ethan Michael Carter

Live More Than You Exist ®

polysyllabic profundities

Random thoughts with sporadically profound meaning

Dances With Fat

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness are Not Size Dependent

Spencer Photos

Smile. Shoot. Print!

%d bloggers like this: