Ah, the miracle of modern medicine

First of all, happy belated birthday to me. As of September 3, i am the privileged 24 year old product of our modern world. I don't get into my own birthday too much. I only marvel that no matter how old i get, i still maintain the immature sense of humor of a 12 year old (poo jokes will never die) and the cynicism of a crotchety 80-something year old (humans are selfish assholes and our world is doomed). I never feel my proper age.

My birthday brought me many things. A haircut, a sewing machine and classes to learn how to use it, a baskin robbins ice cream cake (personal favorite), a surprise sister-in-law (congrats to my brother, Max), and the distinct feeling that my anti-depressants are finally starting to work. As birthdays go, it was a pretty good one.

Since i am starting to feel better, i think it would be really fun for all the kids out there in blogland if i posted a previously unreleased blog that was written pre-crazy pills. Now to be honest, i was self-medicating at the time which enabled me to hash out some of my negative feelings from a more distant, objective point of view. This is important to know because what i wrote is a little bit erratic and not particularly well written or punctuated.

So here she goes:

"it's a strange thing in a way that i am even making an effort with a blog. really, i tend to have a strong dislike for the whole writing process. First of all, all of my ideas are a lot more interesting inside the confines of my own mind. Once i vomit them up into written form, they become....dumb. Embarrassingly so. and then i feel compelled to sit there with the garbage i wrote, and try to improve upon it. a sow's ear into a silk purse kind of idiocy. and turning a sow's ear into a plain old purse takes long enough, let alone trying to make it actual silk. so i settle for a simple sow ear purse, which is what i deliver. but the point is, it takes an extremely long time for me to create even that mediocre piece of crap, and so i find writing endlessly frustrating and generally unrewarding. and here i am writing, so i don't even know what that means or says about me.

anyway, i feel this blog has a clear enough disclaimer as its title, so if anyone feels like they are wasting their time reading this mind-rot, it is his or her own fault. i wash my hands of the responsibility that someone is wasting their oh-so precious minutes as a living human hearing my insignificant thoughts. that's all there is to say there, i think......i feel moderately better.

things have been more difficult for me than usual. i am unhappy more deeply and more often than in the most recent years, kind of going back to the way it was when i was a wee miserable highschool kid. and i hate seeing this written out because it makes me feel more disgusted with myself. i mean, honestly, what do i have to be sad about? nothing. my life in the scope of all human life, could not get much better. i probably can't even come close to comprehending the sort of suffering of people in war torn, poverty, and/or famine stricken places. so there's a whole lot of the self-loathing thing for being miserable when i have no right to be.

So now i am going to being seeing two therapists at once...a psychologist for "therapy" and a psychiatrist to assess if i should go back to taking medicine. and these people charge an obscene amount of money. i told my husband that i feel worse instead of better when a therapist personally tells me how much i am being charged, just to make a more bearable experience out of having to listen to me whine and cry for an hour. it's just fucked up. and really, i don't think therapy will help me because my thoughts are such a convoluted mess (i should know, i have the best vantage point) and i always run into contradictions or various disappointing conclusions when i try to untangle it. and it irritates me when other people try to untangle it for me, because they always come to the same parts that i have already discovered and worked through, and it takes time to explain this to them, and inevitably they get lost in the mess too, and then we all hit a wall and nothing is fixed. really, i find visits to the mind doctor to be a bit of a time and money waster. i don't know that i can really "work through" my issues. i just don't. my perceptions and approach to life, however clinically "skewed" or "wrong" they may or may not be, are not really going to change. i know that medication will make me less inclined to feel hopeless in my negative worldview and therefore allow me to function better in this life. i may actually enjoy the pleasures of life more than i do now, laugh a little more (i can always laugh), but i get the sense that i will always have a an innate inclination towards melancholy, and every experience, no matter how outwardly enjoyable, will continue to be fringed with the weighty knowledge that the moment of "happiness" will soon pass and give way to anxiety, disappointment, numbness, depression, anger, frustration, exhaustion, and la dee da. sometimes it seems that moments of happiness and pleasure exist only to distract us and give us reprieve from all that is cruel and sordid about life. this view is probably indicative of an unhealthy mind, but to me, it seems so obviously clear. i suppose most people do not see things this way, but instead: "life is beautiful." maybe i have felt this way before, but i can't remember. the medication is supposed to help with this. at this point, i will sell out myself and what i feel is an honest (though unhealthy) world view, for some medicated relief. initially dead against going back on anti-depressants, the last month has made me rather desperate for a break from the steady march of lows i've been experiencing. at least on medication, i will be a more bearable person for others to be around. i don't like being a drag or a strain on my family and friends; that just makes everything worse. for everyone's sake, probably including my own, it's back to pharmaceutics."

If you're still awake after that shamelessly self-indulgent diatribe, Congratulations!

Ugh, i knew when i was writing that crap that i would live to regret it. I was right, as usual. And my punishment is humiliate myself further by allowing other people to read it.

I think we've all learned a valuable lesson here today, boys and girls. Keep popping those pills!

Uncalled for?

The other day i called an old man a fucker. In my defense, i've had a difficult couple of months, i am on a new kind of crazy pills, and besides, i think he deserved it.

Ethan and i were walking to our local grocery/deli when out of the corner of my eye i saw this fat old schlub, who was stopped at a red light, dump something out of his car window and into the street. I froze. Suddenly i was filled with an uncharacteristic rage. This was a kind of rage that i was unable to shove back down and let fester slowly. Nope. There was no keeping my cool with this one. I approached the car and said something along the lines of "what the hell are doing? Did you just litter?" Then i stooped over, picked up his garbage (which was a paper bag, plastic bag, and a couple sets of chopsticks....evidently, el gordo just had some takeout Chinese), crumpled them up, and tossed them through his open window and onto his bloated gut, adding "take this back."

And this asshole's response was "what? It's an empty bag." I probably replied to this, but i honestly don't remember most of what i said to him. I was on psycho-bitch autopilot.

So next, the guy started to slowly stick his trash back out his window again, but hesitantly, repeating "it's an empty bag" as if he's trying to reason with me, as if i'm the one one who doesn't get it. Clearly, this man doesn't grasp the mind-blowingly complex concept of litter. Either way, i must have said something or given him a look because he pulled his garbage back into his car with a shrug, but not without somewhat accidentally allowing the plastic bag to fall at my feet. Seething quietly, i once again picked up the bag, balled it up, threw it at him, and growled "you don't litter." Then as i turned to go, i called him a fucker.

Ethan was quietly waiting for me on the sidewalk and we continued on our way.

A Farewell to MySpace Blog (in really bad pseudo iambic pentameter)

Oh, MySpace blog, please don't take this to heart,
But today i'm moving my written word
To a newer, shinier homepage at
http://lexxicon6.blogspot.com/

The professional layout of blogspot
Offsets my inane drivel so nicely,
And i'd be remiss if i didn't say,
Photobucket's a big pain in the ass.

Honestly, Google is taking over,
And i really don't mind being its bitch.
'Cause Google treats me pretty decent-like
And it doesn't slap me around too much.

And so it's time for us to part ways now,
But i will uphold my promise to you,
Not to take blogging seriously but
To make mockery of the blogosphere.

Ironic Signage...There is nothing better!

A few weeks ago I stumbled upon this little gem of a gas station in Bronx. The highly debatable slogan for this gas station, which was emblazoned on every pump and sign, could not be ignored. As I pulled out my camera and snapped away giddily, the owner of this fine establishment sauntered out of his convenience store to investigate my activities. Smiling stupidly, i chattered on about how i found the gas station's sign wonderfully ironic given the world's current oil and environmental situation, pointing out the beautiful juxtaposition of the enthusiastic slogan above the appalling gas prices. The gentleman, whose English was perhaps a little rusty, looked confused and slightly hurt and asked "You do not like my sign?" Evidently, the man was very proud of his choice of slogan, and i certainly did not want to be the one to give him doubts about his decision. I assured him that i very much enjoyed his sign, gave his gas station a great deal of praise, and reiterated what i found humorous about his gas station slogan. To this, the man shrugged and simply remarked, "Prices will work out." But he seemed pleased with my explanation (especially after i shamelessly threw in a few more words of admiration), because he asked if i would take a picture of him next to his gas pump.

D&D

I don't make any pretenses about my nerdiness. I have nothing to hide. If classifications of dweebie people exist, i suppose i would fall into the "academic nerd" category (poindexter, perhaps?), although i do dabble a little in anime, superhero, and comic book geekdom and have been known to enjoy really dorky RPG video games.

That being said, i have had, until recently, little understanding of what probably are the most mysterious and reclusive of all nerds in the nerd kingdom - the Gamer Nerds. I am not talking about your standard Final Fantasy-playing video game junkie. I speak of the true original gamer, one who plays tabletop games (usually socially, but not always) - games such as 'Magic: The Gathering' and 'Dungeons & Dragons.'

I began my hesitant journey into the gaming world when Ethan (I will unfairly blame him for all of my new dweeb-ass interests from now on) brought home some Magic cards he borrowed from a friend who is pretty into this kind of thing. I hadn't seen anyone play Magic since i was in 5th grade. I recall that being a big year for Magic and Pogs - all the boys in my class would play these games at recess. What losers. Of course, i only say that because i was never asked to play. Guess we know who the saddest little loser of all is. Sigh.

Anyway, Ethan taught me how to play Magic a little. It can be kind of fun, but there are a lot of rules and it's relatively complicated. I am not so sure my attention span is cut out for Magic: The Gathering.

Having received a small taste of the gaming world, i felt prepared to dive right into the depths of the Gaming abyss - the ultimate social hangout for the world's most hopelessly socially awkward people - a Dungeons & Dragons meetup. Ethan took me. He had been to his first D&D meetup a few weeks prior. His description of the people there had fulfilled my expectations, but i had to see for myself. I knew that as nerdy as i profess myself to be, this would be a whole different level of nerd - maybe these people would somehow know i wasn't one of them. Maybe they would find my presence offensive. This was a thrilling thought. Was there such a thing as a hornet's nest of Gamer Nerds? I had to find out.

The short answer is no.

Not surprisingly, there is nothing remotely threatening about Gamer Nerds, not even when there are a lot of them on their own turf. In fact, i would say Gamer Nerds are probably the gentlest and warm-hearted of all the nerds in all of the Nerd Kingdom.

The D&D meetup was appropriately held in a basement - the basement of a gaming store in the middle of Manhattan. It's called Neutral Ground, if anyone's more than a little curious. The room contained 7 or 8 large tables and several people that bore various stereotypical traits akin to those of the comic book guy (Jeff Albertson) from the Simpsons. Greasy rat tail hairstyles, shamelessy dorky gamer shirts, rampant obesity, and scraggily facial hair - in one way or another, most of these people were utterly true to their stereotype. And it was glorious.

Everyone was exceedingly friendly and nice. When i shyly admitted that i had never played before and had no understanding of the game, i was kindly reassured by the other players at my table that they would help me out. And they really did. No one made me feel like a pain in the ass, and i found it very easy to become involved in the game, even though i didn't grasp all the subtle rules.

From what i could discern, Dungeons & Dragons is essentially a board game in which one person (the Dungeon Master) narrates a story (often prefabricated stories are used) while everyone else is some sort of Tolkien-esque character with various specific skills. The characters all work together to complete some sort of quest outlined by the Dungeon Master's story. Yes, it is extremely geeky. There is a reason people make fun of it.

Usually, everyone gets to design their own character, but when i played, our Dungeon Master assigned us premade characters. Mine was a female Level 1 Eladrin Wizard (whatever the hell that means), called Althaea Gildleaf. The image i have included above is my piece for the boardgame, the artistic representation of Ms. Gildleaf. Our Dungeon Master let us keep our character pieces. What a decent fellow.

The game itself was rather enjoyable in many ways. Some of the players got really into their characters, occasionally inserting some cheesy elf or dwarf jokes during our little quest, which was fine because everyone seemed happy to get carried away by the spirit of the game and all the geek humor it entailed. The players took strategy and problem solving pretty seriously, and i was surprised at the amount of spontaneous creativity that was required. It was also interesting how easily everyone worked together to achieve certain goals throughout the game. Due to the fact that every character had unique skills, each player at some point made a significant contribution to the completion of the quest. Say what you will about the huge dweeb factor of D&D, it was nevertheless quite entertaining.

All in all, i was thoroughly satisfied by my little excursion into the Gamer world. I feel like i have better insight into the social life of the Gamer Nerd. D&D meetups truly are a place for misfits, but the beauty is that they welcome anyone from any walk of life. I have a newfound appreciation for these people who are seemingly non-judgmental and are quick to accept anyone, even my critical ass.

What’s mine is yours

One of the many enjoyable aspects of living in NYC is the fact that you can dispose of any unwanted item, large or small, by simply placing it on the sidewalk in front of your apartment building, and it will rarely go to waste. Usually, the sidewalk is where the garbage goes to get picked up by sanitation, but the sidewalk is also a fantastic place to donate perfectly decent but nevertheless unwanted goods to any lucky person that happens to walk by. Anything from furniture to electronics ends up on the sidewalk, and more often than not, these items get snatched up by someone else. It's like a very efficient recycling program. For example, a few years ago my husband Ethan dragged home an old elementary school desk, which was left on the sidewalk. It has since served as our coffee table. An excellent find.

We too have offered up many items to the sidewalk shoppers. Mostly, these items included bulky furniture which we were unable to drag up the steps of our walk-up apartment when we moved to LIC. The speed at which these pieces disappeared was incredible - especially so for this huge bed frame that Ethan had once constructed out of two-by-fours and plywood. We left it to die on the sidewalk, and within a couple of hours, it had magically disappeared. This sort of thing never would have happened in the suburbs of Ohio.

There is a downside to all of this wildly free, anonymous commerce. Bedbugs. From what i understand, bedbugs are a bit of a problem in larger cities where people live in such close proximity to one another and are willing to take other people's potentially infested furniture off the sidewalk and bring it into their own, as yet uninfested apartments. Thoughtful people try to follow a protocol in these situations. I have often walked past furniture on the sidewalk that bore large signs warning potential takers that the furniture contained bedbugs. Usually, however, people offer very little information on the background of their donated items. Simple guidelines do exist that can help one determine how risky a sidewalk treasure may be. The obvious red flag is if the object of interest is lying in or adjacent to bags of actual garbage. If this is the case, it is fair to assume that the one who dumped the item there knows that there is something very undesirable about the item in question, and it is best to give the abandoner of that item the benefit of the doubt. Conversely, if the item is deliberately placed at a considerable distance from a pile of garbage, it is the donater's way of saying "this is a decent item and is, to the best of my knowledge, devoid of anything particularly foul." Still, it's taker beware.

My most recent donation to the land of free-sidewalk-goods was a perfect candidate for streetside abandonment. It was a wedding gift. It was something that, due to my Catholic upbringing (and guilt), i could not bring myself to actually throw away, even though i am not religious and i find items such as this to be completely...well, undesirable. What was this item? Well, it was...it was...why is it so hard to write this?.....it was .... a crucifix attached to a plaque with images of, um, our lord & savior and his uh, mom. And they were those images where they look sad. Oh god.

So i didn't want this thing. Assuming there is a hell, i know i'm going to it, but man, this thing was horrible to behold. i had to get rid of it. But i just couldn't throw it away. So what did i do? i put it in a box, wrote "free jesus" on the lid, and put it on the sidewalk propped up against a tree.

And a few hours later, it was gone.

Snapped Off!

Glad that's over.

Consider the Urban Stalactite

Everyday when i commute to work, and i stand on the subway platform at the 5th Ave./Bryant Park station waiting for an uptown B or D train, i cannot help but stare at this urban stalactite:



It doesn't matter what i'm thinking about, if i am listening to music or reading a book, when i reach the part of the platform where i habitually stand and wait for the train, my eyeballs subconsciously drift upward and fix upon this grotesquely beautiful formation. The thing is, now i can't avoid looking at it. I have to look at it. It's become compulsive. Why? Why?

I enjoy cave formations and i like to think about how something can evolve so painfully slowly out of deceptively simple drops of water. I wonder what is the mineral composition of this urban stalactite versus natural stalactites. I wonder how long it will take the formation to grow long enough that it will be snapped off by the subway train that passes only a few inches directly below it. I wonder what is the disgusting crap that appears to be oozing out of the pipe to which the stalactite is attached.

These and other stalactite-related musings pass through my brain as i stand there and stare upwards at this thing which is both revolting and lovely all at the same time, until my train arrives and takes me to work.

Giving Blood

Today i gave blood. I love giving blood. It's awesome. And i don't think i really care if that sounds freakish. Sure, they stick you with needles and drain you of your precious, self-produced, life-giving cocktail, but i still find the whole process kind of....fun?

In the past when i've given blood, it's been at school blood drives thoughout high school and college. Today i went to an actual established blood donation center. It was located, weirdly enough, in the middle of the Port Authority bus terminal. I wonder how many people are waiting around for their bus to Boston or Secaucus, spot the NY Blood Center amid the various eateries and snack bars, and think "hey, I've got some time to kill..."

There is apparently a perk to donating in a fixed blood donation center. The big cushy recliners. If you give blood at say, a school blood drive, you have to sit in an ordinary poolside rubber lawnchair. These pale in comparison to the big, comfy, bed-esque recliners that adjust electronically up and down. Being the sort of person that gets excited about dumb little things, i was pretty jazzed about these luxurious seats. According to one of the nurses, i had blood-platelet donors to thank for these upgrades. Donating platelets can take up to 1.5 hours, necessitating a more comfortable chair.

One of the great little things about giving blood is that every time you donate, you have to get a mini physical exam. Totally free. You get to know your blood pressure, temperature, pulse, and hemoglobin count (for what that one's worth). As far as i'm concerned, who needs to pay for a wellness exam at a doctor's office? I've got some normal vitals, and i'm good to go.

Almost every time i give blood, i nearly pass out. I've never actually fully lost consciousness. Generally, i start to feel short of breath and i get dizzy, my heart rate increases and i feel myself getting pale(er), tingly, clammy, and then suddenly my vision starts to go, at about the same time that my hearing cuts out. Nurses are quick to spot a potential fainter, and i'm one of those. I always know i'm looking pasty when a nurse asks me if i feel all right while simultaneously elevating my legs and lowering my head. The coolest part of the whole experience is the vision loss. It's just like those old school tv sets. Everything starts to go black around the edges and then slowly closes in on the center until there is nothing. Losing consciousness in this way is extremely unpleasant but also wildly fascinating. Although my body is in a state of panic and some systems are working overtime while other parts are shutting down, my mind is rather calm and i feel somewhat detached from the experience, quietly observing this or that strange sensation. It's pretty neat.

For some reason, this time, i did not almost pass out. Maybe it was the Jamba Juice i had just prior to donating, which perhaps raised my blood sugar enough to fortify me against loss of consciousness. Who knows. I was a little disappointed though.

After giving blood, you are then offered juices and snacks. And i cannot think of a time when i gave blood that they did not have Lorna Doone shortbread cookies. And i kind of love these cookies. I don't believe i have ever had Lorna Doone's apart from blood donating, but every time i give blood and i am faced with a variety of free and limitless snacking options, i always go for these delicate, buttery little squares of sweet, crispy deliciousness.

Nothing hits the spot after being jabbed with needles and being sapped of your life essence like Lorna Doone shortbreads.

When i left the blood donation center and stumbled out of the Port Authorty and onto the sidewalk, i noticed i was experiencing post-blood- giving euphoria. That is to say, i felt strangely giddy. I needed to ride out this wave of ecstacy in a place that was full of activity. So i wandered up and over to the nearest point of interest, Times Square, (dumb idea in retrospect) but it seems even my blood-loss induced elation could not make the utter obnoxiousness of Times Square and its hordes of gawking tourists bearable. And my euphoric state wore off quickly and gave way to an urgent desire to find some place soft and warm in which to curl up and take a nap. So i left the throngs of people and hyperactive commercialism and jumped on the 7 train back home to LIC, where i indulged in a very lovely little sleep.