Mantramine

I Always Sucked at Word Problems

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 12:40:00 +0000

If I went to bed at 11pm but it was really 10pm and I woke up at "new" 5:30am which was really "old" 4am while driving south at 25km for 3.5 hours (I hope you Americans are keeping up with my difficult math and high tech units of measurement,) how much sleep did I really get, how long did I travel to get here, and what time is it for really?

Please and thank you.

A Gaping Maw

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 14:43:00 +0000

I woke up the other morning and sleepily stepped into my shower only to be introduced to it's gaping maw. Suddenly... it had come to life. I'm sure, on many levels, it was already teeming with life that, until now, I just couldn't see. The tiles in my shower, thanks to the previous owners, are an eclectic mix of cracked and put back together with cement (not grout) mess. Obviously, my (fuchsia, no less) bathroom has been one of the last on our reno list.

So, really, it shouldn't have been a surprise when I stepped in that morning to see the soap dish/handle half ripped from the wall, exposing what I can only describe as s Gollum like, saliva stretching, drooling, dirty, filthy, gaping maw half hanging from the wall, as if was on the precipice of speaking a great wisdom before it died and went to the other side of darkness.

I'm still trying to figure out what it wanted to say. I'm sure it was going to say something reminiscent of what my green pool once said. It's a mocking of sorts, of this I am sure.

It is yet another thing left undone - one I am willing to look at for awhile given that I lack the resource known as time. I find a certain solace in the deep acceptance of my shower's gaping maw of death, I am one with its passing and feel no pressure to respond when showering in it's corpse.

In fact, it's a daily meditation in acceptance every time I step in.

...and, yeah, that's totally a picture of me in the shower. I took it just for you.

Just For Today

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 14:31:00 +0000

I have to go to work today, and I find this incredibly lame. It's an all day meeting/info session on the Labour Market which translates as shit I don't need to know. These people don't know me well enough in meetings. Shooting dirty looks under my breath to people who ask too many stupid and elongating questions, burning holes in the back of their heads. That, or going on the nod, completely unable to fake interest. In our monthly (and much shorter) team meetings, I now take the minutes - this is the only thing that keeps me awake.

Today should be a barrel of laughter as I try my hardest not to roll my eyes to the back of head with the bitter (and totally spiritual) resentment of being inside all day while the precious sun shines outside. Also, if I find it slightly difficult to keep my eyes open during the important task of long drives... well, you can just imagine what's going to happen today. With no oncoming traffic to worry about, it will be sweet sudden dreams (ones that will, no doubt, make me do that thing where you wake up with a gasp and then everyone looks at you) for me, with intermittent "are you still talking" looks to my lovely co-workers.

I'm going to take my place at the 'back of the class' as usual, slink my body to half sitting/half laying position, and make like my old, disgruntled student self - reliving my old chippy and arrogant student self should make it all worth while...

and win me super brownie points with the boss, too.

As always, I aim to please.

You-all have fun out there, and think of me while your basking in the glory of whatever it is you do today.

When All at Once

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 13:40:00 +0000

I had a jam packed weekend, it was my daughter's sixteenth birthday and we went out of town to celebrate. On Monday, I ran all over town meeting up with this person and that person, and my timing was impeccable, I got to see everyone I would have wanted to see, even fit lunch my dad D.

Then it was the slow race home where I tried so hard to keep my ever so dry eyes from shutting, stuffing jelly doughnuts in my face to lure me awake. Not good, I know. But push on, push on.

I got home to my dirty and neglected house, my three year old niece back from a weekend with her Gramma "I'm hungry..." No way, really? Her tummy was sore (awe). Apparently, it needed cake.

Light the candles, sing a small family happy birthday, then, when that's done, go out side for a smoke. Inhale, inhale, inhale the relaxation of my (mandatory outside) indulgence in my filthy habit- what I refer to as "mommy's five minutes peace."

Wake up the next morning and start to feel my heart threatening to break under the pressure. Back to work. Make the lunch with non existent groceries, look at the piling dishes (shake head, there's nothing that can be done now).

I wanna bring every stuffy I have to school says the niece.

No. and the almost fight was on. I couldn't handle a three alarm temper tantrum, please god, if you're there, I know I don't believe in you, but could you help me out on this one?

Magically, and by counting to three, the crisis was averted. Apparently, the law that is me has started to sink into her understanding. By two, she threw down all but one stuffy - but my heart continued to swell and beat hard.

I thought, Sweet Jesus, this could be it. I'm gonna have a jammer. Lightening is going to strike heart and I'm going to drop to the floor. It's what happens when all at once, life becomes too much.

Pack the kids in the car, apologize for the lack of lunch, run back into the house three or four different times because I forgot something. Drive.

Frantically unpack the kids from the car, because I just can't get rid of them fast enough. Run back to the car and drive the teenager, that must change the radio station every two seconds to find the perfect song, to school. My body twitched with every station change, every blaring commercial, every high pitched ballad to teenage angst. Get out I say (quietly in myself) as we reach her school, "love you..."

With the last child gone, I pull out Ms. (or Mr.) KD Lang. Slowly and with shaking hands, I insert the CD. I forward it to song # 13 and proceed to drive... fall on my knees and cry my ever love'n eyes out all. the. way. to work.

My life is good, but behind the scenes the foundation is filled with a depth of things unknown. As a woman, I am free floating with no idea where I will land, and the surface of my life swirls like a wind that constantly threatens to blow, and I almost broke under the weight of all things.

When life all at once becomes to much - it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.

Thank you KD, and most of all, thank you Mr. Cohen

Just close your eyes and listen to this woman touch the bottom of your soul.

Pick Me! Pick Me!

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 15:09:00 +0000

I think I was nine when I first saw the Dayglo Abortions, my introduction to Punk. It was at the community center in our dirty-side-of-the-tracks neighbourhood. My friend and I had been walking through the field earlier that day while they were setting up - and being that I had been raised with bands, I had no problem walking up and asking who was playing? What was going on?

I remember this hardcore, pretty looking lady told us they were doing a show there that night. She smiled and said that we could come on down later.... Okay! thought I.

We snuck out later that night to check out this band, because, they had invited us, right?

We cruised down the street that hot summer night - gangly, dusty little poor kids - and imagine my surprise when we got close and heard the stream of music coming from those doors. It certainly wasn't the country/rockabilly that I was used to.

We went around to the open back door, it was around 1979, and there was a vicious sea of raw humans throwing themselves at the stage and each other, it was the most exciting horror - ever.

We both stared from the door in dumbstruck awe, and then I saw that nice hardcore lady again, sitting at the band table, smiling with a nurturing glint in her eye. She waved us in.

If I could have moved, she would have seen my head shake u-uh, no fucking way. I looked back at the stage and the lead singer was spitting, no, not spitting - gobbing on the crowd and they were spitting back. I looked back at the lady and she smiled again.

I looked back to the stage and my nine year old self watched who I would later come to know as Jesus Bonehead, the drummer, take his pants off and proceed to drum naked. Sure, I had seen peni before, but not like this.

We slunk ourselves against the wall, towards the safety of that nice lady, who seemed happy enough to shelter us just a bit, and we watched and tried to look like this was no big thing. we cool.

I remember looking around that crowd that night and wondering, who the hell are these people? Where did they come from and where do they sleep? and, How can I be one?

All of my life, I have lived on the extreme outside boundary of punk. They thrill and scare the hell out me. I love their unique way of living completely outside of themselves, I've wished I could join them. However, even years later, as a teenager hanging out at the aging Dayglo's house, partying, my then boyfriend was close friends (read: sold them their pot) with them, and I knew I didn't fit in.

Too reserved, too soft and pretty, too responsible. Fuck. What a drag.

I couldn't let go; also, I admired them too much and was afraid of rejection. The chicks that hung out were so... tough and shit. I wasn't like that. In fact, you were more likely to see me with my back against the wall while some black haired girl slunk herself around my boyfriend to whisper something in his ear while looking at me and smiling with her eyes (bitch. Not that I'm still holding a grudge or anything (slut)).

Anyways, I was thinking that, maybe, now that most of them my age have matured and grown up a bit, but still hold the same ideals and infected way of living, maybe now we could be friends? I'm in the market for some creative and interesting friends that know how to have a good time, and...

I think I'm ready now.

I mean, I'll still be me, I'm not gonna sprout a hawk or nothin', let's not be foolish - just friends.

The Bitch... is Back

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 15:29:00 +0000

and I feel a little sick in my guts. But, I mean, cooommmeeee onnnnn, it was just a matter of time, wasn't it? If you want excuses (which you should because I have a need to give them), I would tell you that: having my niece come live with me has driven me to drink (read: yes, you know it... smoke).

My life was busy before, and it is now ruled by a three year old and coupled with balancing the needs of my own kids, full time work, and school. Muther fucker.

Also, clearrrrrly, I needed to start the process of getting nicotine back into my system to prepare myself for the long awaited "healthy" e-cigarette. I gotta be true to me.

So, how do I feel? Guilty? Yes.

This is one of the burdens of smoking for me - the guilt that I am killing myself on the installment plan, so not g.o.d.ly.

However, the guilt is an old feeling, an old process that existed in an older model of my thinking.

This morning, I went outside with my coffee and thoroughly enjoyed my first morning smoke in over a year. I always loved this time with my friend, the bitch, and as I gazed at my mountain view, sipped my coffee, dragged my smoke (and coughed and swallowed involuntarily in response to the punch in the lung - sexy, right?), I thought ahhh, yes, I totally know what I am doing.

New Mantra

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 21:58:00 +0000

With depth and light, I survive.

From those that know not what they do,
I let go and let god.
From those touched with ignorance and bliss
I unwind with grace.

With depth and light, I survive.

Enigma

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 07:15:00 +0000

I make love to my body inside in the center of my mind, letting all things drop away. I move my soul around like pushing water, mixing truth and the right of my heart.

I live every moment naked honest.

Who am I?

Make Me Feel Better

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 20:43:00 +0000

I was going to do it all. I was going to be EVERYTHING and more... but, apparently, I cannot. ?

Just hours (like, 24 of them) before I would be boarding a hour and half long ferry trip to take me to a sculpting workshop that I have been so excited to take - I called uncle. Fuck it.

I am not even halfway finished this weeks homework that was due this morning at ten, and I still had every intention of making it through the thick of Olympic mayhem tomorrow in downtown Vancouver... I still wish that I could.

I still keep hearing this voice that says... do it. Who cares that you'll be making 2 ferry trips and four buses in one day. YOU CAN DO IT. It's only until April. Everything is only until April. Could I not stack and teeter a gazillion things until then? Am I not woman?

I started this post resolved to the idea that I would not go, and now - well... ?

I'm sure I could do it.

No. No, I can't.

Damn it.

Dear "Fitness" Gym,

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 02:57:00 +0000

I abhor you.

You make me feel like a purple headed alien with five tongues and three breasts.

I've never done a whole lotta time in any gym (in case that wasn't obvious already), and when I have, I've always felt that I was some weird de-flowered little hippy chick trying to make her way through the city of the buff and the beautiful.

Tonight, realizing I lacked any sort of real exercise in my life and that this was not conducive to having a swimsuit model body (with abs and an ass your could bounce quarters off of) this summer, I went to the gym.

There was about three other people in the gym (one of them the friend I went with) and I.swear.to. god they were staring at me, waiting for the spectacle that would be me mating with one of those machines.

For comfort and safety sake, I tried the fancy elliptical machine first. I (sort of) have one at home (it's broken at one speed and is currently sitting in my back yard). I figured I would, at least, be one with this machine - however, the big difference was, its buttons worked. I was supposed to hit some numbers...? and maybe the "ok" button? But, to be honest, I panicked and just hit random buttons, and then I started 'walking,' but it was quickly like running... and I couldn't really keep up with the machine. Tension? Where was the tension to make this thing slower? Like a rabbit on speed, I tried to keep up.

"How do I slow this thing down?" I asked my friend beside me. "It's, like, running away from me..."

She looked over at me a little perplexed and said, "Umm, just slow down?"

Like, with my body did she mean? But, it was like a bike in first gear going down hill. My limbs flailed to keep up and body barely followed. Slow down?

I tried to make it look like I knew what I was doing, I tried to play it cool....

After a time, I said "Whew, that's probably good for now, I gotta go snowboarding tomorrow, I don't wanna over do it. How long was that do you think?"

She looked over, "Four Minutes?"

Oh, good then.

Succumbed

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 15:28:00 +0000

Mind bending - that is what my daily life has become. All at once, ambition surmounts production. or so it would seem.

As I write this, I see, in my peripheral, the sleeve of my cozy housecoat; it is a fine mixture of soft fleece and Golden Retriever fur. Suddenly, I long for a someone to come into my home with the biggest masking tape lint roller and eradicate it and me of every single shedded blonde fluff - make me clean again, please?

And as I sit here, supposedly doing my homework, I look around and take stock of the state of my affairs and promptly pull a blanket over my head. I have succumbed.

Clothes on the bathroom floor - panties run a muck, lame small town newspapers litter the floor, shoes times a billion lay in wait - ready to trip you. Dishes, oh my god - the dishes, tighten under the grip of dried oatmeal...

and I think, "I am stuck here until April." I must succumb. There is no way my house is going to stay clean... I.must.let.it.g- g- g- go. I must live in the mountain of clean and dirty laundry. I must forget that I have a dresser, it is now a table my bedroom TV sits on. I must forget I have a vacuum. I must forget that I have hardwood floors, not a blonde shag carpet. I must forget.

I have truly taken on too much. Shit.

You Need To

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 14:34:00 +0000

"shut the fuck up" - is what I wanted to say.

My three year old niece has come to live with me for a time (perhaps 3-6 months), and we all know or remember how sweet and endearing three is, right? It's a bit of an understatement when I say, she hasn't been given the best structure in her home (like she cries every time she hears the word "no"), but she's a good kid over all. When I first picked her up and we drove in the car, she said "You need to turn it lowwwder..." about the music.

Awe, that's cute - for about three days. Two weeks into her being here and I come to find there is a lot of stuff that I apparently "need to" do.

It's been seven years since I last raised a three year old, and it came as a bit of a shock how mature a ten year old is to a three year old. Who knew. Suddenly, I was forced to back in time to when I had to teach a free spirit.... boundaries - my boundaries.

Let me tell you, ugh.

First things first, when I had come to the final straw of being told what I needed to do for the three year old (princess, like her mama), I turned to her and said, "Okay! Know what? You..." and I heard the words about to come out of my mouth before I spoke them and it didn't make sense.... "You need to stop... telling me ....what I need to do" ?

Damn it. The three year old had me boxed into corner. I was using her own logic against me. How was I going to teach her not to say that if it was, apparently, what big people told little people ALL the time.

You need to pick up your toys. You need to go to bed. You need to eat lunch. You need to, you need to, you need to...

Umm?

So, here I am again, reasoning with a young mind, and it all comes rushing back to me: creative direction. Also, I need to reinforce my inside boundaries, kids smell fear and weakness.

I couldn't say "I want you to stop telling me what I need to do" all nicey nicey. No, the kid would have me over her knee.

I couldn't yell and be pissed off that a three year old was bossing me around. I couldn't send her to her room for communicating poorly (or could I?).

Suddenly, I hated the way "you need to" sounded. I wanted something different, but what?

I bent down to her eye level and searched for all the kindness and understanding in my soul and said "Mara, don't tell me what I need to do. You are not allowed to, okay?"

She's three, it has to be simple and direct. No bullshit. And you know what, it's the fucking truth. I explained to her like I would explain how one apple plus one apple equals two apples. No judgment. Clean. Respectful. It's just the way it is.

You know what she said, "Okay, Auntie Mantra."

You teach people how to treat you.

Weird Science

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 05:54:00 +0000

I feel a little broken - like a broken record, broken heart-ish, broken brain. Everything is really good-ish but it also feels like there is a avalanche right behind me that is catching up. I think I can still run faster though.

I'm in a odd mood, it must be the full moon. I feel angry and sore, falling just short of walking down the street naked and screaming fuck you to no one in particular - cathartic, no?

Friday night aint what it used to be.

Nicotine Juice (Insert Drool Here)

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 15:59:00 +0000

I had a dream I was smoking last night, only they were plastic cigarettes, like those wax tube candies that had sugar water in them, maybe you remember those things? Anyways, this dream comes from a mixture of me dying to smoke a real cigarette again (it's been a year and half since I quit- can you believe it?) and the invention of the (wait for it)... !*e-cigarette*!.

Who ever invented this little beauty, I love you - unconditionally. I've yet to get my hands on one of these, and I make a plan every weekend to find a real cigarette and smoke it, but I'm not worried because soon - I will smoke liquid nicotine and not worry about cancer. No more nails in my coffin. I will e-smoke. If technology was a man, possibly going by the name Jean-Luc, I would do him, right here, right now. My clothes would drop off and I would say "give me your e-penis."

The way it works is simple. Each electronic cigarette or "e-cig" has a battery, an atomizer, and a cartridge filled with a liquid nicotine solution. Upon inhalation, a device is switched on which sends a signal to a heating element inside of the unit, called an "Atomizer". The e-cig atomizer heats up quickly and vaporizes the liquid nicotine solution into a vapor that replicates the look and feel of smoke" (taken from the Vaporking website).

Oh Emm Gee. It's like cooking nicotine crack, right? But, healthy crack, right? I am elated.

Sure, there are some nay sayers to this, the greatest invention since sliced bread. There are those that would suggest that inhaling propylene glycol via an atomized "fine aerosol" is bad (what?). To that, I respond simply with the ever intelligent "whatever" and "gimmie gimmie."

I love the language they use on the Vaporking site to sell their product (hello? you had me at "e-cig"). It's like when the Snuggie explained just how complicated regular blankets are (and to think, all this time I've been burdened by the old blanket).

The E-cigarette is also self sufficient, so this means you do not need any lighters, matches, or ashtrays - all which add up rather expensive over a period of time.

Like I needed the attraction of saving all those pennies on all those lighters and matches I never bought and always managed to lift off my peers (thanks, btw), and all those ashtrays I never used. Silly Vaporking, just send me the goods. Now.

My cigarette addiction is alive and kicking. I have rationalized smoking the ever complicated and costly real cigarette (because, damit, my life is complicate and I need it) today because soon...sigh... I will have a new friend. I can even buy my new friend in pink with purple LED.

My god e-cig, will you never stop giving?

I'll even leave you guys with this (because I'm sure I haven't put enough links in this post already)

He's kinda cute, right? Even with his big "air quotes." I'll even over look that he's smoking menthol (because everyone knows that is not really smoking. pft.)

Winter

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 14:11:00 +0000

The wind is absolutely howling outside, joined by pounding rain. I am so glad that it is winter wind and not fall. As beautiful as fall is - I hate it right now. I hate the thought of coming into winter but am eternally grateful for being in winter right now.

Stopped and dead, except for wind and rain. Everything is stopped and dead.

I can do stopped and dead right now. I can't do full of life.

I can do protect yourself from the elements. I can't do embrace the world.

I want to do shut up and pull a touque over my eyes and ears. I want to hide in winter and make everyone else shut up too. Pack your mouths with snow.

Edible Loser

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 21:32:00 +0000

Manifesting is hard work. Staying positive is also difficult. I always remember that one part in that stupid Secret movie where someone says... (and I'm paraphrasing, of course) don't give up on your manifestations, because...

and then they show this wee little seedling just about to burst through the dirt - but then you stopped manifesting, so it shriveled up, right then and there, and died before it ever got to emerge - all because you lost hope. Way. to. fuckin. go.

So, don't lose sight of that dream. Don't base your life today on it, but don't lose sight of its truth inside of you. HOLD THE VISION.

Resist licking self pity like it's the last of the peanut butter in the jar. I struggle with this one (no way, really?).

I think that, for the most part, the difference between people who have achieved their goals and the ones that haven't could well be that the ones that did - tried and tried again in the face of "no."

It's tough getting bitch slapped around by reality and coming back for more, again and again. But, looking around this great big world where nobody seems to be offering yoursospecial handouts, I guess I'll keep doing it.

I would like to be allowed at least five minutes of whatta loser thoughts before the little seedling thing dies though, okay?

And, if I die having only ever held the vision, then that's okay too. Whatever.

This is my Tattoo

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 23:10:00 +0000

Colored red stained on my skin
rubbing naked frustration
into my temple
watching you watch me
flicking and fucking with desire
forgetting
forget
turning my back
looking for you
forever on my goddamn skin

Pee in my Cornflakes (and then some)

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 03:53:00 +0000

Sometimes, I rather like it when someone pisses in my cornflakes. I like it when I can look at a picture of you, or you, and think... yeah, fuck off.

I walk around my pompidity like a prancing pink salmon swimming down stream - smoking a cigarette because I can.

I wish I could harness this feeling for longer periods of time. There is something attractive about being a bit of a bitch (to people who deserve it (you know who you are even if I don't) ) and not caring what people think, it's very freeing.

So, and without further ado, to those of you who know they deserve a little spiritually healthy finger of a certain length, this ones for you. hugs, xx's, and a happy fucking new year.

Now, having said that, I am going to leave and go do unmentionable and lewd things to my brains, and I'm going to do it until I'm fucking exhausted.

ps: if you're reading this and realize it's not you that needs the spiritual finger but know someone that does... feel free to hit the Facebook button and pass it on. Call it constructive criticism, they'll understand. It could be, like, your new year's resolution to help all your friends by passive aggressively telling them to fuck off - in my bitchy state, I would enjoy that.

Happy Again. Help Me

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 16:50:00 +0000

I thought it best to wonder why I was having visions of putting a vodka bottle to my lips and just drinking until it was gone. just going blind - rather unlike me, really.

Then visions of turning my car into the telephone pole as I'm driving along - just to put me out of my silent misplaced misery, the one I seem to gloss over as intermittent.

Vodka and car crashes somehow seem to be hiding behind a mild manner and smile. A small time bomb pulls at my attention.

Only, it's okay... because this is me we are talking about. I never lose my cool. It's just that human quality scratching at the insides of my head.

It's just a natural phase.

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 20:51:00 +0000

I'm always searching for that most honest spot in my body and some days I think I've found it. Then, the next day, I look back and everything that looked right yesterday looks like someone else' clothes today.

I'm having a hard time feeling right in my skin. I'm probably trying too hard. I think I would like to go invisible - stealth like.

If I were to honest to god manifest what I want in my life, it would sound something like closing my eyes real tight and:

there would be a lot of laughter. There would and will be honest to god success in creative aspects of my life...: there would and will be clay, words, paint, and pictures. I could and will let go of those other ties that bind.

There would and will always be a gentle, warm wind at my back - like kissing.

I would and will never regret what I say . I would and will never regret who and why I am.

One Love

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 15:31:00 +0000

Letting go and getting lost in the quiet between the triangle of mind and heart. Slowing down the beats per minute and watching every moment with clarity and a natural smile. Hearing pins drop in a noisy metropolis...

the ability to control how you respond to your environment and how your environment responds to you.

the ability to walk with the deepest knowing that you are one.

This is what I wish for me and all of you.

A Debbie for Mantra?

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 16:48:00 +0000

I need help. A whole lot of help. I need Debbie. Debbie Travis.

Debbie Travis? You were in my dream last night, I was on the phone with you, Debbie Travis, and telling you all about how our house was almost done - but, that we lacked, well... Debbie Travis to get the job done right.

It's all I want for Christmas, I swear (well Debbie Travis and that raven pendent/charm by Thomas Sabo).

On my dream phone that was right beside my bed, I told you about the tiles in the bathroom shower and you just understood my pain so well. The grout is gone to shit and some parts can't even be re-grouted (I could see you nodding in understanding through my dream scope vision. You.get. me. Debbie Travis, and I dig that about you).

I also told you about downstairs and how it just needs that extra bit of help.

The kitchen. oh yeah... you shook your head and I hung mine in a small bit o' shame. It's awful, I know. But, what can I do Debbie Travis? I'm at my wits end. I need you.

In my dream you agreed. You even gave it emergency priority - all I had to do was get you my info and you were going to be here to FIX MY HOUSE pronto.

I welled and wept tears of joy... Debbie Travis was coming to my house - at last. Yes?

No.

I woke up. No phone beside my bed to have spoken to Debbie with. Debbie dream scope vision all but disconnected... I sat up disorientated and a little desperate to return, but it was too late.

So it is that I write to you, Debbie Travis, with the unbridled enthusiasm and cockeyed optimism of a sleepy girl holding on to a dream, hoping that you will hear my plea - Debbie Travis. Please.

You.complete.me.

As I know Christmas is a busy time for all, I will patiently (because I do patient so well) await your response. I look forward to the time when we can be together (I'll make you cookies and everything. I promise). I can picture us both, our hair flowing back as we laugh and laugh like the very best friends we will be.

Thank you, Debbie Travis.

Debbie Travis, Debbie Travis, Debbie Travis, there's no place like home, Debbie Travis.

Hate'n Stuff

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 02:41:00 +0000

It's certainly on my mind, but how to be spiritual about it?

I guess, it's just always so shocking when you come across pure hate - even if it was one of those 'drunkbooking' accidents that the person "didn't mean" the next day, or maybe they did - who knows.

I think that, over all, I liked running into that hate. It's shocking that someone could dislike me so much that they would want me to hurt like that. However, it was also a good reminder that there are people who've got cough due to cold in their soul so bad it hurts to watch, and that... not all people can be trusted, especially when they have no control of their sick: hate fevers blowing their minds, projectile word vomit all over the floor.

It could be that whoever anonymously hated me via Facebook reads this blog - I have no idea - but I have been trying to think of what I wanted to say to them if they did. I don't think I would say "I forgive you" because that would just be rubbing my holier your sick and I'm not than thou self in their face. Besides, do I forgive them? I dunno.... what they said was dirty, nasty, and mean.

I will say this though, I don't hold it against them. I know they're sick, not because I'm better than them, but because I've been there. I've hated with the purest of hate and tried my best to spit it out on things and people lesser than me.

The only difference between me and whoever wrote those words (that I wont repeat) is that I made it out. I made my peace. I fought my god. I did whatever it was I did. I swallowed my pride so much my throat hurt.

For some reason, I feel slightly glad that whoever wrote those words wrote them. Mostly because it's good to know where you stand... even if you don't know who with.

I'm gonna leave all their nastiness in the middle of the cyber highway and let the next car run over it. I don't imagine it will do anyone any good to throw it back in their face...

although, that would have been a lot of fun, too.

Take That...

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 04:31:00 +0000

homework.

I'm going to assume the position. I'm gonna sprawl like a right side wrong starfish, lay like a stranded, over-stuffed snowsuit victim, with incredibly stand up straight boobies, on my couch. Watching Seinfeld and MASH episodes.

My brain will, henceforth, be on vacation. Mush. Leaving just enough behind to blog occasionally and bore you all with my mind numbing dysFUNction. If you're lucky, I'll successfully invite MY crazy family over for some Christmas cheer. Is it wrong to invite family over just so that I may be provided with blogger fodder? Who cares, right? As long as it results in an interesting read.

Yeah, so...I've been a very busy girl with school and work, and I don't know what I am going to do with my un-busy time now that this semester is over. Sure, there's Christmas to get ready for, but will it be enough stress? How will I maintain this svelte figure if I'm not pounding back 100 proof stress?

Perhaps someone out there might have a suggestion as to what I might do to tighten death's vice grip on my brain?

For now though, I'm kinda looking forward to being mesmerized by my new boyfriend, the TV, sitting here with Turtles hanging half out of my mouth and a spittle snail trail down my cheek. Did I mention the incredibly stand up straight boobies? It's important that I do.

Who knows, maybe I'll take some of you up on those ~~stupid~~ friendly Facebook Farmville invites...

or not.

I'm Coming Michael...

mantramine@gmail.com (Mantramine) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 14:59:00 +0000

I just have to claw my way over a few other women.

I've never been into Michael Buble before, so I thought it a little odd that I wanted so much to race out and buy his most recent album.

Watching him on the TV here and there, pumping his new album and the single "Haven't Met You Yet," I saw his very cocky, funny side, his little all grown up mama's boy kind of persona and 'something' in me said... hmm. Yes, I think I like that.

As well, I really do like his new song, it's catchy. Although, there is a line or two that I sing along with that always kinda makes me go from big singing in my car by myself smile to... ummm, what was that he just said? sort of confusion. However, I always quickly wipe the wonder from my mind and resume singing the grand finale with Mr. Buble.

I think it's funny how my mind just pretends that 'that line' never really happened, he didn't just say that, pft, he wouldn't say that... would he?

Sure he would, he did! He said:

And I Know Someday That It'll All Turn Out
You'll Make Me Work So We Can Work To Work It Out

I bolded it in case your codie(pendent) goggles were fogged up, too.

Yes, I will make Michael work so that 'we' can work to work it out. I WILL FIX YOU MICHAEL BUBLE and we will live in bliss eternal...

but then he pushes it and says:

And I Promise You Kid That I'll Give So Much More Than I Get
I Just Haven't Met You Yet

And I think... that sounds like a pretty good and big promise. I think, though, that I may have heard that before.

So, I guess, while I work to make him work so that we can work it out (god, that sounds like a lot of work), he'll give so much more than he gets...

I'm confused now. How can he give more than he gets if I am doing all the work to make him work to give me more than he gets?

Therein lies the illusion of love. And it works.

I hear this song and, aside from that teeny tiny part of me that mumbles over those key lines of the song, I jump up and down, clapping my hands together, singing ya! Michael....

you just haven't met ME yet... but I'm here. HERE I am!!! You'll let me fix you and then make me feel pretty because I fixed you....

but wait. Who the hell are all these other woman? These women crawling and clawing over each other with such fervor to be Micheal's cute little codie girlie? Why do we elbow each other in the eye socket just so we can get the chance to lay at the feet of our codie king? Don't these middle aged house wives know who I am? Ladies, please... (insert devil voice) get the hell out of my way!

All this time, I thought I wasn't a codependent. I thought I grew up, I thought I fixed that about me. But no... not so fast. Every time a new codie anthem comes out... I swear to god I'm the first one standing up, with my hand held fast and strong over my heart, tears of joy and sadness spilling ever so quietly (read: martyr) out from my bursting (with pure I can fix you love) eyes.

A true loyalist.

Thank you. I know... I'm fantastic.

But don't just take my word for it, see it for yourself:

So trusting in the lure of the codependent these people are that they have actually placed the scene of the video in a GROCERY STORE wherein poor Michael is seen buying... sigh... frozen dinners. Say it isn't so?

Until, of course, he sees across the frozen food section the gorgeous ~~codependent~~ blonde who's "love is going to change [him]." Uh huh. And please, don't miss the Oscar award winning 'woo woo' eyes she gives him as he professes his love and promises of work he has for her (which, I guess, in this economy, isn't so bad. Maybe).

But, what's with the riding the love bed down the grocery isle (as well as this video in it's entirety)? You know, if it weren't for this involuntary swooning to the codie anthem, I might be slightly embarrassed to be Canadian with him.

Wait, let me think about it...yes, I am totally embarrassed to be Canadian with you, Michael (but will still totally give you a second chance, obviously).