Marmota monax

Why do we have to be plagued by our useless primitive instincts and biology? I speak today, of course, of that intense autumn urge to become the biggest fatty you can be to get through a cold, lean winter.

I observe the groundhogs/woodchucks/ground squirrels/marmots/whistle pigs with a ridiculously envious eye.

Their endless days of feasting and growing extra curvaceous are never met with feelings of guilt over being, well, undesirably fat. They're supposed to be fat to survive what is to them a time of famine. If you're a comfortably living American, any sudden autumnal gravitation to foods which are extremely heavy and fattening seems a wasteful effort on the part of some distantly past version of ourselves.

I feel that the distantly past version of myself, we'll call it my inner groundhog, has a particularly loud voice. The moment i take notice of any tree with turning leaves or how the air takes on that crisp, threat-of-chill scent and feel, a sudden switch is flipped in the appetite control center of my brain. I must go find something to eat....and it must be bad for me....buttery, greasy, rich, dense, filling.....and the more often i find and eat foods with some of these descriptors, the better. Following this, i should find a nice soft, warm place to curl up and sleep.

It doesn't help my situation that the distantly past version of myself really likes sugary sweet num nums all the year around as well.

Fortunately for me, i know my inner groundhog is the father of lies. I know i will not die of starvation if i don't become a fatty in time for winter. I know it's untrue that sweet things should always be eaten when found because they are a rare treat in nature. Yes, armed with this knowledge, i have avoided being Jerry Springer show contestant obese, which would surely happen if i listened to my internal fuzzy friend.

It's a little sad to think that human progress has separated me from my inner groundhog. I don't need it anymore; in fact i would be better off without it now. A typical modern human, i shamefully spit on Nature's well intentioned gifts - an annoyingly persistent monthly period, unsightly body hair, wide, curvaceous birthin' hips which most fashion designers refuse to accommodate, and of course, the groundhog. I appreciate the gesture, Nature, but most of your contributions are outdated. Come back after modern society has been wiped out by a nuclear apocalypse and then we'll put those gifts to good use.

I digress.

To one degree or another, we all succumb to our inner groundhogs' cries at the onset of autumn. Menus often transform in the Fall, reflecting the rich, hearty, filling, heavy comfort foods that the inner groundhog demands. Case in point: Thanksgiving dinner.

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy comfort food as much as the next guy. It's not entirely the groundhog's fault that i indulge here and there. And to be honest, the life of a groundhog seems rather peaceful and idyllic: grazing all day, fattening up, sleeping through the nasty winter, always doing exactly what Nature intended. For now, i must be at odds with my inner groundhog, but...perhaps in a future life?

Until then, i must go hit the gym.

Pussy Dolor

The chief culprit, Shasti, below



Right. So, i am super delighted that my two fat house cats are loving the extra apartment space since we recently moved to Philly, and it's really great that they are finally exercising their chubster bodies, but J.F. Christ, man, why do they feel the need to go thundering around from one end of the apartment to the other between the hours of 3:00 and 5:00 every god damn morning? It is like the fucking Cat Grand Prix. It is damn noisy. They do 180 degree turns mid-sprint which involve sticking their claws into the wood floors and whirling around, scraping and raking across the floor the whole while, and then they accelerate by cartoonishly scrabbling in place until their claws gain traction, allowing them to noisily tear off once again. Occasionally they enjoy bouncing off the bed and/or my body for good measure.

And this latest development in my cats' nocturnal behavior is adding to an already extant list of feline-related late night racket. My beloved cat Shasti is inclined to knock objects off of tabletops and to caterwaul in the dead of night. You know those old Looney Tunes where a cat is singing on a fence and someone throws a boot at it to shut it up? Shasti is that cat. She meows extremely loudly at the top of her voice which, unfortunately, is surprisingly loud for an animal her size. Even more disconcerting is the fact that her screams are not unlike that of a wailing demon baby and they can take on the sound of english words, most notably, "hello," or more like "herrrooooo???" It is pretty awful. I mean, shit, if i wanted to wake up at ungodly hours of the morning, i would have given birth to a humanoid or taken a job at a bread bakery.

Shut the bedroom door, you suggest? Oh, you fool. Shasti hates a closed door. She will scrape and claw and moan at that door until you open it. Totally not an option. For now i am going to employ a slightly propped open bedroom door technique, which will hopefully slow the momentum of the charging little beasts. As for Shasti's caterwauling, i am fairly certain this behavior is triggored by toy mice and other items that she thinks she has "killed" and therefore must announce as a trophy. You see, house cats are simple creatures who are slaves to their often useless, vestigial instincts. One must dumb oneself down and imagine a life of acting on the meaningless whims of primitive instincts in order to get inside the "mind" of a cat. My solution for Shasti is to remove her "kill" from the premises.

Incidentally, my husband has just informed me that the BBC reported this morning on studies which reveal that certain cat vocalizations are similar in frequency to that of a human baby's. Fucking fantastic. My cats are lucky they are cute and that i am a vegetarian.

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.