willingly crazy

Bunny sick, humans crazy exhausted

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Sat, 17 Aug 2013 11:07:00 +0000

Sammy, our bunny, has been very sick. For two weeks, more or less, he hasn't really been eating. They've done loads of tests and can find nothing physically wrong with him. He's just not eating, and he's quite lethargic too. It's not the teeth. His bloodwork came back clear.

For the past week we've been force-feeding him every three hours (four hours during the night). Finn has done most of the work since she had Friday off and didn't just start a new job like I did.

That job isn't helping either by the way. The boss is the type that wants people not to have a personal life. He's also constantly implying people – i.e. me, among others – are "unstable". He has no respect for personal space. It's not a great place to work. I knew this in my gut when I accepted the job but we really need the money so I did anyway. Especially with the vet costs now.

Today at the vet's Sammy got some cortisol, and it tentatively looks like it might be doing some good. He accepted some parsley and a salad leaf, and I saw him munching on about five strands of hay. It's not enough. It's a pleasant surprise since I expected us to come home from the vet sans bunny today, but it's not enough. Nowhere near out of the woods.

Keep your fingers crossed, please, we can use some luck here.
And some energy because we are so so exhausted.
x

Listen to the voices - Eleanor Longden TED Talk & Mental Health

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Sat, 10 Aug 2013 08:10:00 +0000

I haven't been talking about mental health in a while. mostly because I haven't had any problems with that lately – or at least not the obvious ones but more about that further down. I understand now that my ADHD is not a mental health issue but a learning disability so that is why I can actually confidently say I haven't had any mental health problems lately. However, as some of my readers might remember, I did have my brush with depression and burn-out most probably caused by undiagnosed ADHD and years of overworking myself and not taking care of my needs.

I'm bringing the topic up again because I just watched this mindblowing TED Talk by Eleanor Longden, proving to me, once again, that it is imperative we talk about mental health. We need to destigmatise.
At one point she says that hearing voices is very much a 'sane reaction to insane circumstances', and I'm thinking that might be true for many mental health 'issues'; simply our bodies being smart enough to say, 'Hold on a second, we need to deal with this'.

I've begun to understand that my body has ways of communicating too. For instance, when I'm not happy about something I have physical reactions to those feelings. It's taken me a bit to figure out that this is the case, and I'm still learning the correspondences, but there are a couple of things I now have a better grasp of:

There's an obvious one. When I get really nervous about something (i.e. a job interview) I get the shits. Well sorry, that's just how it is. I've heard that a lot of people have that. You're nervous about an exam, a job interview or a performance, you end up spending some time on the loo, but as soon as you're on your way to The Scary Thing your body calms down.

But then there are the more finicky signs, the one's we don't learn about like we do about stage fright or 'nerves'.

Sometimes I get a lump in my throat, this intense feeling that I can't swallow. I used to think it was related to gastritis because that was when it first showed up. But now I know that it's simply a sign that an uncertain situation is stressing me out.
Like, knowing my financial situation is approaching panic mode. I got it when I was fired 4 weeks ago and it went away when I got hired last week. Uncertainty is a big trigger: The lump in my throat resurfaced for a day last week when it suddenly became uncertain what exactly my field of work would be at the new place. It was a highly chaotic situation and it was stressing me out. Sometimes it can be something as simple as not knowing what I have planned for the day that sets it off but most of the time I'm sweating the big stuff.

Sometimes this is what our bodies are trying to tell us, only less strikingly.
(c) 2011

When my stomach begins to burn it means I am stressing out about something that is not external but internal. A job situation I want to get out of because it is not right for me anymore. My own work load and/or the pressure I put on myself. An emotional situation that I haven't yet figured out how to solve.

I rarely get headaches so I haven't figured those out yet. But when my ear starts to ring or gets plugged it means I need to find some peace and quiet. To meditate. Breathe. To be by myself, to not do anything.

I have learned to read these signs and feelings. And, usually, by acknowledging them, by hearing what they are trying to communicate – a bit like Longden's voices –, by promising that I will deal with the root of the problem, these pains and aches go away. Unless I postpone treating the problem indefinitely. But they absolutely have a right to show up again because, apparently, I didn't get the message the first time.

I guess it's time to say, 'Thank you, body. You're a good one. You tell me what I need to hear, and I promise to listen.'

Vulnerability

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Fri, 14 Jun 2013 18:58:00 +0000

I need to take a page out of the vulnerability/shame book and say something I'm dreading to admit. But maybe admitting it, being this vulnerable, will change things.

I don't know when it happened but I've turned into an arrogant person. I've been looking down on people and it's been ruining a lot of things for me.

It's why I didn't make any friends in film school.
It's why I haven't made any friends where I work at the moment.
And it's probably why I have been hemorrhaging people over the past handful of years.

I realise most of my arrogance comes from a place of extreme self-doubt but that's no excuse.

If I've been an arrogant bastard to you, please, accept my absolutely heartfelt apology.
Maybe you can find it in you to give me another shot; to find out I'm really not that high-and-mighty person I've been coming across as.

And, please, know that I will be working on bettering my behaviour.
Thank you.

now the drugs don't work / they just make you worse (or do they?)

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Tue, 05 Mar 2013 19:34:00 +0000

Be warned, this is a long post and it get's a bit complicated about ADHD treatments and medications. I try to explain as best as I can and simply share my experience with the drugs.

Oh man, these past few weeks have put me through the wringer!
It's been 1.5 years since my ADHD diagnosis, a little less since I started medication.
Remember Charlie? You know, my elephant? He went away, thank fuck. But then the Strattera made me motion sick, like, all the time and I threw up into a public trashcan two days before Christmas. Goodbye Strattera, back to Ritalin - long acting this time, called Concerta. I take the tab in the morning and it releases amounts of MPH into my bloodstream throughout the day. Peachy.

Basically, since the beginning of 2012 my life has mostly been awesome thanks to Concerta. I thought I had it all figured out by now, would simply pop 18mg of Concerta every morning and go about my life. Until it started to be less effective. I didn't notice it at first but in retrospect it started to wane when I started working and leading a more active life, having longer days, in August/September 2012. Then the anxiety started. Then I noticed. Oh boy, did I notice, about 1-2 months ago.

I can't really tell because it snuck up. At first I thought: "Oh I'm just having some rebound issues in the evening" and I'd pop a booster Ritalin and be fine. Then it turned into a sort of constant reboundish feeling, then into a tenseness that I can only describe as ongoing anxiety. MPH can exacerbate anxiety but you see, I never had anxiety. Yes, I'm a worry wart but that's not anxiety - I don't usually grit my teeth, clench my jaw and contract what feels like ALL THE MUSCLES in my body ALL THE TIME.

This is how I feel inside recently. W00t! Anxiety!

This is how it makes me look on the outside.

When my full blown ADHD symptoms came back it became obvious that something wasn't working. I saw my doctor and tried a couple of things. Still am trying, in fact.

The major problem with ADHD is that it's such a volatile thing because they still haven't figured out the exact brain science behind it. There is no physical sign in the human brain for it but it's not just a psychological thing either because it has to do with dopamine levels. And dopamine is tricky. One medication will help one person but not another. Sometimes it stops working. Sometimes the body adjust and the dosage needs to be raised. Sometimes the body adjusts so much that the medication loses effect completely.

For some people stimulants (Amphetamine, Methylphenidate) work. Others can use non-stimulant medication (i.e. Strattera). Not all drugs are licensed in all countries. Canadians and Americans have more options. For instance in Europe Vyvanse (Lisdexamfetamine) still isn't available.

Exercise and diet have some form of impact on ADHD (medication) as well but it's an ongoing debate as to how much exactly. Some claim supplements can help - omega fatty acids, glutamine, vitamins (I've been taking high amounts of Omega-3 and Omega-6 for a while now). ADHD is generally poorly researched in adults because for a long time it was believed to cease in adulthood.

With all this going on it is no small wonder a lot of ADHDers opt to ditch the meds and to continue muddling through.

Experiment 1: The Med Holiday
I didn't take my meds for four days to reboot my system, basically. It went somewhat like this:

INT. COFFEE SHOP - DAY
Andie is sitting in a comfy chair, laptop open. Her friends has just left.

ANDIE (V.O.)

I want to get some work done like I usually do. Oh hai, looksie, there are people talking. What are they talking about? It sounds interesting. I'll just listen a bit. Oh wait, I wanted to work.

Andie opens her browser, mail client, twitter.

ANDIE (CONT.)

Oh look! Someone posted a video to twitter. Funny! Oh hai YouTube, you have more videos for me? Awesome! Oh people! Talking! Listen. Do I know her? She seems familiar. I could ask her if she's that girl I think she is. But what if that's weird? Also: I have work to do. She sounds like her too. I'll just ask her. Oh crap that was awkward. But at least now I know that I know her. Why does it help me to know that I know her? I think my pulse is really high. Is my pulse really high? I should get out of here, like, stat. Get home, calm down. Maybe going cold turkey is a bit crap.

After four days off of medication Andie has calmed down. All her ADHD symptoms are back but the anxiety is gone. She's also super sluggish and depressed and feels like she's not getting anything done. A lot of WoW is played during those days. All the food is eaten. Sleep is apparently overrated.

Experiment 2: Going Back on the Old Dosage - Monday

After successfully having rebooted my system I started back on the 18 mg of Concerta. This proves a useful method for most people so it was worth a try.

Monday and Tuesday went pretty well. Uneventful.

On Wednesday I had some rebound and took a Ritalin booster in the evening.

Thursday I was PMS-ing like hell which always means less effect of medication.

Friday my period came in the morning and major anxiety struck in the afternoon, I supplemented with a booster and calmed down somewhat. It had become obvious that 18mg wasn't going to do it. Which led to...

Experiment 3: Double the Dosage

(No, I didn't do this without my doctor's consent.)

On Saturday I took two Concerta tablets in the morning putting me on a 36 mg dose. Around mid morning all hell broke loose. If you follow me on twitter, you'll have noticed some of the shit that went down during that time. I was home alone and I had to talk to someone, no matter what came back because I was having all the fucking issues!

I was hyper alert but in a useless, tunnel kind of way. I felt like I was coddled in cotton balls and locked behind a big ass sheet of security glass. I was crying uncontrollably. My skin was crawling, my hands were sweaty, my muscles tense. It was horrific. It finally started wearing off around mid afternoon so I forced myself to go and meet my friends at the cinema in the evening like we had planned. And even though it scared me I took 5 mg of Ritalin to prevent a rebound effect coming off that massive dose of Concerta. It helped with the ADHD symptoms but my body was tense and hurting from the day's ordeal and still chock full of anxiety. I went to bed at 9 pm. Slept like a baby because I was so exhausted.

Experiment 4: New Order - Sunday

I took 5mg of Ritalin booster in the morning followed by 18mg of Concerta. Better than the fucking disaster the day before but not controlling my ADHD at all. The night brought on Insomnia like back in the day. I capitalise Insomnia because that's how it makes me feel. I'm on a first name basis with it so I think it's fitting. Unsurprisingly, I hadn't really missed my old fiend much in the past year but Insomnia doesn't care whether I want it. There it was, putting me smack in the middle of tired-but-not-being-able-to-fall-asleep territory, right next to waking-up-every-couple-of-hours-to-pee and gritting-my-teeth. When my alarm went off at 5:45 I got up in a daze and got ready for work, even hurrying to fix breakfast - only to discover that the idea of eating made me nauseous.

Experiment 5: Titrating

Even knackered as I was that Monday morning (= yesterday) I worked out that going from 18mg to 36mg, doctor-approved or not, was a seriously dumb move and that I'd need to titrate just like I did when I first started taking MPH. Enter my good old Ritalin:

6 a.m. - 3/4 of a tab in the morning putting me at about 7-8mg instead of the usual 5mg

8:39 a.m. - fearing rebound effect I took another 3/4 tab at work. As it turns out that was a bit too early (3-4 hours would've been preferable in retrospect). Within 20 minutes I felt like I assume people on Valium feel. I was so fucking slow it was comical! Sometimes people were already halfway past me when I finally managed a "Good Morning." Sometimes I couldn't manage to utter the words that I wanted to say. I stayed calm (haha!), figure it would wear off - and it did.

1:30 p.m. (I think) - I waited until I was certain the double effect had worn off until taking the next 3/4 tab and it worked fine. I went to see my doctor after work and worked out some plans with him (Yay! New Experiments! Sigh.)

6 p.m. - another 3/4 tab. slight comedown around 10 pm but compared to the past weeks it was NBD. As in actually warranting the acronym instead of spelling it out - that's how No Big Deal it was, surprisingly. And Insomnia didn't even show up at night. Aw bless, a good night's sleep!

Experiment 6: Mix and Match

Since apparently the higher dosage was working well for me - if titrated - we decided to put me on a combination of my 18mg Concerta and my Ritalin so I could raise the dosage carefully. Doc also prescribed me a different product, called Medikinet Retard, which releases MPH during the day like Concerta does but instead of a steady stream it releases in two doses set a couple of hours apart. The idea is that I try a couple of combinations

Concerta + Ritalin throughout the day
Concerta twice a day
Concerta in the morning / Medikinet Retard mid-day OR the other way around
Medikinet Retard twice daily / possibly double dosage or supplemented with Ritalin

Complicated much? Ya think? ;)

I tried the Concerta + Ritalin thing today and while I was on the same amount of MPH as I was with just the Ritalin yesterday I'm A BALL OF ANXIETY today. It's no fun. And it's not fucking relenting. So by now I assume that somehow, for some weird fucking inexplicable reason, it's the Concerta I'm not handling well anymore. It worked fine until a couple of months ago. Now not so much. It makes no sense. Not to me, not to science. But it seems to me that I'm just going to have to accept the illogical and go with it. I've decided to stay away from Concerta for now. I haven't bought the product again although I do have a prescription.

I did get the Medikinet Retard and I've ordered the same brand's equivalent to Ritalin, because the Ritalin has wheat and the Medikinet doesn't (and in my case that's what stands between me and a morning spent on the loo, having the shits). So tomorrow I'll give the Medikinet a try and pray to the whatever higher power there is that it fucking works and that it isn't going to give me anxiety.

For tonight there's not much that I can do except wait for my body to unclench and distract myself, like I did with this blog post, and hope for a halfway decent night of sleep. If you made it this far (THANK YOU FOR READING!) I think you deserve a good night's sleep as well. Or at least some music:

* For clarification:

Ritalin releases MPH (methylphenidate) instantly

Medikinet release MPH instantly like Ritalin (but it's wheat-free)

Concerta releases MPH over time

Medikinet Retard releases MPH over time though not in a constant stream like Concerta but in two major releases

the only not-gay-not-straight in the village

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Tue, 15 Jan 2013 13:20:00 +0000

"How to let guys know you're not a lesbian"

Nah.

"Bisexual flirting with guys"

No, I wasn't looking for the gay guy's guide to flirting with bisexual men.

The truth is I'm dumbing it down for Google because what I really mean to say is a tad complicated:

"How do I, as an unlabeled queer who for the sake of theory could be most accurately labeled as pansexual, let a man know that I am not in fact the lesbian he believes me to be?"

The problem is bisexual/pansexual invisibility. If you're not doing the binary thing people are still going to assume you are.

See, I've been flirting with my Starbucks barista.

Yeah, I know. Roll your eyes at me.

Do it now. Just get it out of the way.

You done? Okay then.

Let's establish that it's not just for-tips-flirting because:

a) tipping is still not common in Austrian Starbucks' (we're a stingy people, it seems) and

b) damn, other people have noticed what's going on. That's how obvious it is.

So anyway, heavy flirting, for a couple of weeks. Once I realise that I'm not just seeing things and that he's actually flirting I'm enjoying the heck out of it. Because it's been ages since men have flirted with me since I tend to fly both under the radar and under the gaydar. And I've gained a serious amount of confidence lately and it's working like a magic sexy-potion.

But one day during the winter holidays I come in with Finn who usually only frequents that store in the mornings and not during the day like me. During our usual chit-chat Flirty Barista tells me he didn't know that Finn and I knew each other and without thinking I answer with my usual "Oh, we're married." Cue his face falling. Oh crap, the poor guy seems to have been actually quite into me and I immediately wish I'd bitten my tongue.

I wasn't thinking, okay! Because we are married so why would I say anything else!? And because I don't see my marriage as something that should or could keep me from flirting. But from that moment on he treated me - and Finn - differently. Wouldn't even look at me or her. Extremely awkward, super awkward.

First we thought he'd gotten shy because, well, he had been flirting with someone else's wife! But then, about a week later - in a weirdly late and ill-timed epiphany at the bus stop - I more of less exclaimed for the whole street to hear: "Oh my god! He thinks I'm GAY!"

You could call us a bit thick but to our defense this is simply a reality that we both have been living with for quite a while: One of us is most definitely not a lesbian. To us this is "normal". And although I continuously have to come out as not-straight-but-not-gay I tend to forget about how people see me with my wife and immediately assume things about my sexuality. So I can't really blame Flirty Barista for assuming so as well. He probably feels really dumb about flirting with that lesbian who probably wasn't even flirting back at him.

But I can blame society, sort of. Like I said, I come out to most people twice. The innocuous "my wife...." is easy. I have that casual conversational mention down pat. Or mostly. But then people assume. Just yesterday one of my coworkers asked me "So how long have you been a lesbian" and was stumped into silence by my unfiltered response of "I'm not". But people don't usually ask these questions thus providing me with an opportunity to explain. And I still have no fucking clue how to go about those cases. (Not coming out at all is no option for me because I believe that if I want society to see me and others like me I'm going to have to be visible.)

How do you let someone know that just because you're not straight it doesn't mean you're a lesbian either? I mean, I honestly doubt it would lead to more because I haven't had dude-sex in a decade and dunno yet how I feel about getting back on that proverbial horse. Proverbial! I said proverbial, so get your mind out of the gutter!

But I do want Flirty Barista to continue being flirty because it's lovely and I enjoy it and we're obviously a bit into each other. So why not? Now how on earth do you let someone know that it's okay a) because I am not actually a lesbian so he didn't get that wrong and b) that Finn won't rip is head off for flirting with her wife?

I can't be the only pansexual woman with that problem, right?

Please, say it ain't so.

Tumblr-Reblog: The Jodie Foster Thing

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Mon, 14 Jan 2013 11:49:00 +0000

I blogged on tumblr about my thoughts on the Jodie Foster Thing that happened at the Golden Globes last night.

I've generally started using tumblr more and more lately so if you want to follow me or my grumpy girl films account in addition to my blog here I encourage you to mouse on over there :)

Push a little harder, dig a little deeper

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 22:29:00 +0000

Here on willinglycrazy I tend to write about that dark place that I go to sometimes but that is not the only place that's hidden inside of me. There's another one, an island of madness that scares me way more and I'd like to share it with you:

I'm secretly an Energizer Bunny.

Like the pink advertising icon of my 90ies childhood I just don't know when to stop. In fact, I'm not sure I can stop. I have this really practical thing going and it's that I Just. Keep. Going.

It's like a superpower that is it's own fucking kryptonite.

It's, simply put, massively stupid.

For instance, I ran myself ragged today. Well, I started it last week by working almost 30 hours while still getting almost all of my other stuff done. (Bearing in mind that I have ADHD and it takes me about twice as much energy to do everything than "normal" people.) But today really took the cake...

I got up at 5:40 am, convinced I wouldn't even make it to the tram stop.

But I did. Somehow I made it there. I always do.

And I went to work.

I worked out.

Stood like a sardine in a tram, laden with two heavy bags.

I stopped by the grocery store, added another two bags and schlepped myself home on foot.

I was wiped.

But once home I didn't sit down. Instead I prepared everything for Claire's and my Christmas Presents Cookout. I started the dishwasher, did laundry, cleaned a shower gel spill in my sports bag and, finally, made soup.

Had barely sat down with my soup when C. arrived and we stood in the kitchen for about 4 hours making things, stirring huge pans with sugary stuff, doing dishes, emptying the dishwasher, saving the kitchen from "explosions" of red wine jelly.

At that point I was beyond exhausted. But did I sit down when she left around 10 p.m.? Of course not. I cleaned up the kitchen, put everything away, started the dishwasher again, hung up the laundry, even swiped the fucking floor. I started some proper food for myself and had a shower.

While in the shower I was seriously considering to forgo the squeegee on the shower stall door but in the end I did it anyway. Because I knew I just had to push a little harder and dig a little deeper.

Why? The? Fuck?

Why can't I just let it go?

The only thing that adequately describes how I feel in these situations is Ani DiFranco singing "...dig deeper, dig deeper this time..." in her song Fuel.

Because so far that's proven to be right. Whenever I've not been able to go on I've dug the fuck deeper. And it always works.

The thing is, it doesn't work. I only delude myself into thinking it does and then I end up with a ridiculous hypersensitivity to sound and some major dizziness.

I need to stop.

Let stuff go.

Relax.

And because I learn from my mistakes I am going to get some stuff off my schedule now. Digging a little deeper into relaxation instead of the brink of exhaustion.

Fallout

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Mon, 19 Nov 2012 06:11:00 +0000

I guess I have to add a trigger warning to this, as much as it saddens me.

I don't know where to start. I'm still reeling. I'm still sick but now my eyes also burn because I've only slept about 4 hours because my wife almost ended what I've (we've?) been fighting for for 7.5 years. And while I understand her confusion in every other part or her life and why she had to reevaluate our relationship as well, almost by default really, I don't really know where to put all that pain right now. Ultimately, she chose to be with me again but while I'm happy and relieved my heart is still reeling from it. Fallout.

Because last night put me back in a place I never thought I'd find myself in again. Faced with the heartbreak it remembered my body reacted the only way it knew from experience. It shut down. Panic attack. I expected that 10 years older also meant 10 years wiser but in the end it was like no time had passed. Panic attack. Shut down. And I did the only thing I knew would get me out of it. I caused physical pain. I didn't want to be that 19-old girl, mindlessly banging her head against the wall again. I knew that's a bad place I didn't want to go to again. So I caused controlled pain. Fingernails are enough. Nails digging into my skin. Concentrate on that. Breathe again. I've never considered myself a self-harmer because I never actually cut, I rarely used pain at all. But seeing someone else's reaction to what I did... maybe it is. Maybe I am. It doesn't really matter. Not in that moment. I could breathe again. It doesn't really matter. It's not my deep dark pit. That is something else. And I still need to face that one today in therapy since the triggers will not let me ignore it anymore. But that is this afternoon. For now I'm still reeling from last night.

Living life to the fullest shouldn't mean I get to not feel safe anymore. So I'm waiting for that to come back at some point, hopefully.

Wanted: Dead Role Models

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 14:57:00 +0000

I seem to be in the habit of misplacing my role models. Most notably Ani DiFranco and most recently Amanda Fucking Palmer.

I used to love Ani. I started listening to her when I first questioned my sexuality (of course!) and found a home in her music. She gave me someone to identify with in a dichotomized world of gay and straight that let me fall through the cracks. She introduced me to feminism. She made me see and hear and understand. Let me make an

attempt at poetry

i will forever be grateful for your presents in the past.
you gave us fierce feminism,
queer visibility,
you gave me visibility
by never deigning an answer to the dumbest of all questions
- "in or out?"
you simply didn't give a fuck,
taught me I didn't have to either
and my first timid steps into bravery will forever be indebted to you
most of all.

but then one day i looked up from learning to be strong and you were gone
on closer inspection i found your out had disappeared into a seeming in
and no one asked you to clarify
because a man
and birth
does not make you any less part of us, damnit.
some women felt betrayed like some always do
but you hadn't lost me
i would never revoke your membership
in the little plastic castles that you single-handedly built for us

so when you said
"feminism isn't about equality, it's about reprieve"
i was impressed at first by your mellowness
tried for years to decipher the message.
but I should have known
that when you take a breath what you really do
is relax
and let go.

I get it that you needed a break
you fought long and hard and mostly alone
but did you have to figuratively bury our cause under a pile of dishes?
are you still "willing to fight"?
you could have told us it's time to take over
and we would have, willingly, and sent you into retirement with a grand ol' celebration
but you went quietly, you went quiet
and now reprieve has become retreat.
when you do raise a voice these days it doesn't sound familiar anymore
and I've lost yet another role model
not to patriarchy
but to the comfort of your own home.

Amanda Palmer impressed me with her abandon at everything she did. Her fight to make her music hers. To defy the system. Her struggle to make her own place in a world that belongs not to the weird but to the mainstreamed. Her music was intense. Sometimes it broke my heart, sometimes it put it back together. And it all just became one awesome nerdgasm when she married one of my favourite writers, Neil Gaiman.

While I came late to Ani I was an early adopter when it came to Amanda and equally I thought I'd stick around forever. Then she began to irk me, only slightly at first, during her kickstarter campaign. Her plugging on twitter became a bit too incessant for me (I know a lot of people would disagree with me so keep in mind that this is just my opinion based on my feelings). She was retweeting all the tweets of people saying they had contributed to her campaign and I don't like my stream getting cluttered, especially not by such non-information.
While I was glad for her that her campaign was so successful I didn't like how she handled it. When she surpassed her goal by miles I so badly wanted her to pay it forward by giving to smaller campaigns. To at least stop plugging hers and give some of her traction to others. (As someone who has run a mostly failed indiegogo campaign I know how hard it is for someone with much less traction. And yes, I can admit to being a bit bitter about it, sure.)
So I unfollowed her during the campaign. I refollowed after a while, thinking it would've gotten better after the kickstarter campaign was done. Ended up unfollowing again. Just couldn't relate to her tweets anymore. Back then I was still convinced I didn't have to like what she tweeted to like her music. I had funded the kickstarter right at the beginning and while I considered downgrading my bid during the campaign I didn't.

One day the album arrived in my mailbox. I tried to get excited and put it on right away. The sad truth is, I didn't make it all the way through and I haven't tried again since. In fact, when she played Vienna last night I didn't go. We sold our tickets. Didn't even much mind the monetary loss.
I used to be so grateful that Amanda always played Vienna. I'd brave the impossibly unwitty Austrian audience, get over my slight anxiety of crowds, take an extra dose of my ADHD meds I could concentrate and drag myself out of the house so I'd get to see her play. It makes me sad that this isn't the case anymore. Even her decision to play the last three stops of her tour while she was actually too sick to sing angers me a tad. Yes, cancelled concerts are a huge disappointment to fans. But while others apparently don't seem to mind this, I wouldn't go to a concert where the person I want to listen to has no voice. I'm not paying 30 Euros (60 since it's two of us) to hear and uninspired crowd do karaoke. And while I can imagine the reasoning that she didn't want to disappoint her fans by canceling I do take offense in not canceling a concert when you can't give it your all because you're sick. Because that way people who are not up for a half-assed karaoke concert can actually get their money back from the organiser. The impression I got was that AFP now considers herself "larger than life" - as in the crowds should at least be happy they get to see her on stage.

But the thing is, I came for your music, your voice - both literally and figuratively - and I can't hear it now.

There's others. Tori Amos, for instance. I wasn't a Tori fan to begin with but by falling in love with someone who says Tori's music saved her life I obviously investigated. I didn't connect with every song, some I still haven't even listened to, some I've listened to but I still don't understand, some have touched me deeply and grown into favourites of mine. And suddenly I had a closer look at one of her concerts here in Vienna and saw that she had work done. Tori Amos - who once spoke out about the importance of being yourself - not aging with grace! Apparently, she had decided that to her being herself meant not looking like herself anymore. I didn't know how to wrap my head about it. I could sense Finn's disappointment. I still love Tori's music today. But occasionally, when I see a photograph of her, my feminist heart will shudder a bit.

There are people like Neil Gaiman and John Irving whose writing I've always liked but they're not role models to me. Aaron Sorkin is a writing genius but he also has some issues when it comes to writing female characters so no.

It feels like I'm a child with a handful of balloons trailing behind me and one by one they tug free of my grasp. At first I don't notice because I'm having fun and the others make up for the pull of one balloon lost but then I turn around and most of them have flown and blown away. Life has at least been kind enough to tie one single balloon to my wrist - like a parent that knows its kid will let go and then have a tantrum. It's my first balloon and it sticks around because it's tied to me. All the other ones I picked up on the way, sometimes so many that they could almost lift me off the ground. But no one's been smart enough to tie them down. So again and again I find myself empty handed with no role models to hold on to, with nothing giving me the impression that I could fly. Except that one that is Joss Whedon, my brightly shining star of a role model. Extraordinary storyteller, excellent writer, feminist.

How odd is it that the best feminist I know of is a man?

I figure if I want to avoid disappointment I'm going to have to find role models in people who are already dead, because people change and people evolve and I get that and support that. But I'm also holding on to that last balloon like crazy.

an attempt at poetry by andie katschthaler is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

I can't exactly make a movie with my social security!

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Sun, 28 Oct 2012 13:22:00 +0000

I'm exasperated. Living in Austria has always been a drag for me but it's become worse since I've acknowledged that I want to, need to, be a filmmaker. There are many reasons why it took me so long to want to start a career in the film industry and many of them have to do with my own fears, obviously, but one major reason was that the country I live in has no film industry.

Sure, when an Austrian wins an Academy Awards Austrians are oh so proud, but when you look behind the scenes you can see that there's virtually no funding, no film culture as such, no proper film education. (Yes, there is some funding, but it's ridiculous compared to other countries.)

The Austrians looooove what they call "sophisticated art". They throw money at classical music, opera, theatre, the fine arts, even hard-to understand experimental video projects. Yes, we have a pretty decent system when it comes to healthcare, social security etc. But when it comes to narrative film we're a fucking third world country.

And I'm stuck here.
And it pisses me the fuck off.

I'm beginning to ask myself what the fuck I'm writing for if I can't shoot? Or at least can't shoot with high enough production values to qualify on the competitive international market.

Lack of filmmaking education leads to a lack in manpower. That lack in quantity makes quality even harder to find. People don't work for free so you need the money, money that you're only given if you've already made a name for yourself.

Someone once asked Austrian directors how they would call a documentary about Austrian filmmakers. They said "Victory despite Despair" and "You Don't Have a Chance but Take It".

I'm trying to take that non-chance, I really am, but I'm grasping at straws right now.

Maybe it's because via the Live-A-Thon I've been confronted with the relative ease (I'm not saying it's easy, just comparing L.A. to Vienna) of filmmaking in other countries. Maybe it'll wear off. Maybe I'll have a better week then and not feel this mixture of envy and despair. Maybe next week...

P.S. This is me venting. So if this is where you want to explain to me how awesome the Austrian film industry is - probably not the right time to do it, mkay?

Strange Bedfellows or How I learned to love the Interwebs even more

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Wed, 24 Oct 2012 15:09:00 +0000

Because, oh boy, do I love the interwebs right now.

Basically, I just spent as much of the past three days as humanly possible hooked into a live webcast - the wonderful Making of CMD live-a-thon. I watched live as a bunch of people I'd never met watched geeky TV shows and movies and played tabletop RPGs in order to motivate people to back their Indiegogo campaign. Soon I logged into the chat to take part in the conversation. And at one point I even turned on my own camera and left it on while having dinner, brushing my teeth and even took the laptop to bed with me.

I never thought I'd do that. Like, ever.

To grasp the _full_ extent of what happened you need to know the following three things about me:

I never even opened Chatroulette. Not once. Just wasn't tempted. (I didn't watch KillCam Live either.)
I'm naturally wary of masses of people since I firmly believe that being in a throng of people rapidly lowers each subject's IQ in a fast-spreading virus of dumbness. I'm convinced a large enough congregation of people will eventually try to trample me like a herd of snow-blind mammoths. Granted, they can't do that as well on the internet as in real life but the trolls sure try anyway. Hence the wariness.
I tend to avoid the front side of cameras. And by "tend to avoid" I obviously mean "religiously flee from".

Yet...

I went online to watch people do mundane things.
I participated in a huge chatroom.
I turned my camera on and didn't give a flying fuck about how my hair looked or what I was wearing.

The #geekify webcast simply drew me in and, in fact, I find myself missing it/them terribly today.

So what exactly happened there? Sure, yes, the CMD team knows how to be entertaining so I was watching entertainment if you boil it down to that. But what I think really did a number on me and quite a lot of other viewers was the insta-family effect of it all. That inherent feeling of belonging. Not just with the team but also with the other chatters. Us geeks, we seem to flock together much faster than other birds of a feather. I've witnessed it a couple of times now, the way geeks form friendships and it's amazing. Magnets have nothing on us once we sniff out another geek we find likeable. National Geographic would be fascinated would they deign to study our species.

Obviously, the familiarity brings a certain danger with it, namely of getting lulled into believing that America, April & al. are "totes our BFFs now" but I'm convinced none of us are delusional enough to think that. What I do believe though is that foundations have been laid for some genuine relationships that will surpass the length of the live-a-thon.
For instance, I do not doubt for a second that the CMD team will stay in touch with the more avid of the chatters (one of whom even stayed awake for a whole 65 hours to support the project!). Some chatters are now following each other on twitter, are connecting on facebook or other social networks.

So yeah, I totally went online and possibly made new friends.
Some people may think that's weird. Non-geeks might write it off as "fake online friendships" but that's the thing with people who embrace the interwebs in all it's glory (and with all its troll-infestiation too): We truly, genuinely open up to each other there just as much as we would "in real life". We - literally - turn the camera on and show our faces. It takes an incredible amount of trust and faith but the reward is great as well.
In many cases the groundwork for proper friendships has been laid - how much or how far only time will tell, obviously but the thing is we connected just like people might connect while going out dancing or to the pub. And just like them some of us will become friends, acquaintances or simply a faded memory of "remember that epic three day live-a-thon we participated in".

And no one gets to say it is "not real" just because it is not physically tangible. In fact, I propose we get rid of the judgmental dichotomy of "online" and "real life", let's just make do without, okay? Because the #geekify live-a-thon was real just like your Friday night at the pub or your volleyball match or your rubber band convention was. America Young and April Wade brought us together, acknowledged our presence and conversed with us and I will be eternally grateful for this amazing thing I got to be a part of.

The interwebs, it's "real life" too.

Learning to Breathe

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Mon, 24 Sep 2012 09:42:00 +0000

"Snapped" is finished.
I made a movie.
My first film, my first tangible outpour of creativity is d o n e.
Something that started as an formless idea in my head is now a real thing. It can be burned onto a DVD and shown to an audience. I put it all out there. We put it all out there.

It seems a little insane at times that now that I have created something tangible I'm turning my attention to something wispy and unreal again. Something that's just in my head. It's not just something formless though but also something that I get to form. It's something that wants to be molded and pushed and pounded on like a piece of dough while it slowly, slowly turns into something real as well.
It's a process the prospect of which exhilarates and scares me at the same time. And it's also something that'll have to wait. Because I have to take a deep breath. Because I need to learn to enjoy the lull.

I don't know if that's the ADHD but slowing down always meant stopping to me. Once I got off the carousel there was no chance in hell I was going to get on it again while it spun. And it always kept spinning. So I simply never stopped spinning with it.
I'm a master at procrastination because it means slowing down without stopping but it's not actually the same thing. It doesn't have the same benefits because there's always something looming. The carousel keeps turning. And to keep with the imagery: I need to get off the carousel or I'm going to hurl. (Sorry.)

Lesson 1: What does (or doesn't) relaxing mean
After last weeks therapy session I think I now know where I went wrong. I kept equating "relaxing" with "doing nothing" and that is something I am completely incapable of doing. How odd that I never noticed that it's an oxymoron but figured it was some higher form of common man's meditation I simply had not mastered yet. So I came to the conclusion that I can't actually do nothing and I don't have to.

Relaxing ≠ doing nothing

Lesson 2: Eat your damn cake

I understood something important last week (again, therapy FTW!): I made something. I baked a gods-damned frakkin' cake and it's a fantastic, lovely, yummy cake and maybe there's even a cup of coffee standing next to it.

And what was I going to do? I was going to start baking some damn donuts next and not even try the cake! Who knows what I was keeping it for because we all know it's going to spoil at some point. And the coffee's going to get cold. No use letting it stand there. So I better enjoy it while it lasts.

Relaxing = enjoying

Enjoying the fact that I made a movie. Resting on those fucking laurels for at least a couple of moments. Doing other things in the amusement park. The carousel is not going away.

Lesson 3: Ignore the people on the carousel

It seems minor but this is actually vital because it's the one I struggle with most. It's the thing that keeps yanking me out of the happy place. When I see what other people are doing, creating, achieving - thank you very much, interwebs - I immediately run to the carousel and try to clamber on so I don't get left behind.

"I have stuff to say too," I yell at the people currently on the carousel, "I have things to create! I can be amazing!" There's no way I can catch up again, I think frantically as I hang on to the carousel with tired arms.

I need to finally understand that the carousel will eventually stop and there will be an opportune moment for getting on again instead of falling on my face while I try to grasp the spinning platform. It's funny because I know this in my head but not in my heart. I know that the carousel will let me get on again and that getting off does not mean getting off it forever but the thing is I don't believe it. I need to trust because having one foot on and one foot off the carousel is not relaxing at all.

Relaxing ≠ stopping

Relaxing = taking a break

I'm looking to prove to myself that this is true. It's a simple empirical thing: I'm going to stay off the damn carousel and enjoy myself. And when the carousel stops I will get back on it, refreshed.

Not if, but when it stops.

And then I will have proven that it works exactly like this and need not worry anymore.

----- Do you have issues with relaxing as well? Weigh in in the comments while you listen to this:

growing up in relationships

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Fri, 31 Aug 2012 11:38:00 +0000

"In marriage it’s not an agreement to do life with the person they are on your wedding day, it’s a decision to marry who they are then, who they are now and who they will be."*

I read a lot of blogs, I do. And sometimes I stumble over those "life changing blogposts", the ones that deal with something big and thoughtful and massively educational. Like Beth's blog about depression more than a year ago (I hope the link works, I am sitting behind the world's stupidest firewall so I can't check it). Those blog posts are fantastic. Huge. Sometimes life-changing.

And then even more rarely there will be an inconspicous looking blogpost, something very "every day" or "by the way" and I'll be expecting nothing in particular, yet it turns out that it makes those lovely little specks of observations that have have an impact on me nonetheless. Not because they teach me something or are a huge revelation but because they come so close to my own truths and feelings. I smile, I nod, I relate. And those blog posts, as inconspicuous as they may seem, make plunging through the mountain of unreadness that is my feedreader so worth the while.

I've been reading Not Without Salt for a short while only but I always enjoy her "dating my husband" posts - not that Finn and I ever manage to properly do that but it makes me happy that some couples manage to. I like those posts.

This time however something really caught me eye:

"We were so young when we married. Wise enough to choose to spend the rest of our lives together but yet too young to know who we were. While that route may not be for everyone I am so glad that Gabe and I have grown up together."*

I particularly noticed this because it seems very similar to my own relationship. We met young and came to love each other rather quickly and steadfastedly. But let's be honest, we had no idea who the other person would become later on because we had no idea how each of us ourselves would turn out. But the willingness to give each other room to grow and figure out how to grow up together has gotten us through some pretty shitty stuff.

I don't really know many couples like us. Most that get together young eventually break up, those that have been together for as long as we are, are quite a bit older than us. It's simply nice to read blog posts that I can relate to, a blog post that embraces the changes in a relationship so eloquently.

origin of quotes: Not Without Salt

it likes to be called Master

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Sun, 19 Aug 2012 23:17:00 +0000

Well, "Master_with_TC" to be exact. See, it needs to have TC - a timecode - because it's going out to our composer today if I can convince dropbox to cooperate. Wohooo!

What's left besides music is some more sound tweaking/SFX and color correction.

And
that's
it.

I can barely believe it!

P.S. I think it's purdy. Again. Finally! :)

Don Quixote

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Sat, 18 Aug 2012 23:18:00 +0000

I'm changing.
Into sits in the dark when everyone has gone to bed.
Into cries in the shower.
Into stares at a spot on the wall.
Into retreat.
Into that fist of pain in my chest
and if I roll up and curl into a ball I will be just that,
a tangle of wordlessness and uselessness and helplessness
and fossilized love.

coming out of the dark in between projects

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Tue, 17 Jul 2012 12:05:00 +0000

Behold, she speaks!
So much has happened. Three steps forward, half a step back - of sorts.

I've temporarily finished my first film. I say temporarily because there's still so much that needs to be fixed. That's what I think and say in good moments. In bad moments I simply yell: "IT IS ALL CRAP THROW IT AWAY KILL IT KILL IT!"

It's not crap. I know that. I know because I know and because people keep telling me - so I've got my ass covered double. I got pretty fantastic feedback when it showed at a prelim screening in film school. The biggest problem is crappy sound and since I can't fix that (I suck at audio) it seems unsurmountable to me at times. Things I can't fix by myself make me uneasy. Can you say "control freak"?

But it'll be fine. (Hello, new mantra!)My producer gals have promised to find me someone who can fix the sound. Incidentally, if you know any sound engineers in or around Vienna who'll work for eternal gratitude and a heartfelt handshake - let me know, please.
I want to reshoot one scene but it's a small one and shouldn't be too big a problem.
And I'm in talks with someone awesome to do the music for the film.
So if all that works out I'll be happy. Maybe not utterly content - I don't actually know if my little fucked up perfectionist brain is capable of that - but happy in my heart.

All problems aside, there's really nothing that compares to showing your film - finished or not - for the first time. It's like being torn between looking at your own baby and watching other people look at it. Then there's the applause. I did ALL THE BLUSHING! I think we humans are somehow wired to well up with pride when people clap for us. Our hearts are applause-fillable.

I got good feedback too. Good as in helpful in regard to mistakes I need to fix. But also good as in people love and get the story which is a load off my mind. It's like someone handed me a certificate that says: Woman, you can tell a good fucking story. I have a strong story. And that's what's important. Lack of story can't be fixed. Almost anything else can. So now I'm waiting to get help with fixing it and finishing the cut until September.

Right now, the waiting entails taking some fucking time off to recuperate. Predictably, I fell into the big fat post-film hole. I felt depressed and sad and mostly meh. My body told me it needed a break but my brain was in high form telling me I didn't deserve a break because, really, what had I done? It's not like I had a final product yet! I had to develop gastritis to get the hint that my brain sometimes really doesn't know what the hell it's talking about.

So I went to the doctor. Got meds. Got the advice to relax. Decided that I had gotten lax on all my relaxing techniques and purposefully took some time off. I've been working out more, I started doing yoga again. I've been eating better. I try to leave the house every day even if it's just to get some groceries so I don't become a shut-in again. I read. I play WoW. I listen to music. I lose time on the intarwebs. I watch True Blood and am mind-boggled by the lack of togetherness in this season. (Really, that show is all over the place at the moment...) I relax by rewatching Everwood. Nothing - nothing! - relaxes me like Everwood except maybe Gilmore Girls. They're my happy place TV.

It helps that the heat has relented a bit and the weather right now is fitting my liking and skin tone a lot better. Cloudy skies and rain and wind and cups of tea always make me want to write, to create. This is part of relaxing as well: Getting into writing again which I missed a lot during production and post. Turning my focus to other projects even if the first one isn't finished right now. I can't be tethered to an undone thing if I can't do anything about it right this moment.

I still occasionally worry about it. Just like I worry about the fact that I'm not earning any money and should probably find a day job - but then that fills me with panic and I go back to relaxing. I'll probably try to get a mini job at a local Starbucks eventually, if only to fulfill the cliché of the filmmaker properly. It seems like something I could handle and maybe even enjoy.

Sometimes I worry that I will never make anything again or nothing good. And if I do that my films will never be heard/seen, I never acknowledged, never successful, never able to earn a living. Maybe I'm lazy? Why do I feel so empty? Maybe I'm just imagining that I'm creative and an artist... The worry, it settles into an underlying panic that has to be actively combated in order to make it retreat and give you back your confidence.

What I can do is pick the next story out of the hat and get to work on that. Then let other people help me make it happen. Get the directing high. Apply the lessons learned. Finish it. Let my heart be filled with applause. Then let go and pick the next one.

And for when I'm between projects I'll simply have to learn to relax. Work out, eat well, see friends, do other things I love.

We went to see the amazing Alanis Morissette in concert last week and that really got me out of the funk. I finally properly connected to her music. This song is my sorely needed reminder to just get my head out of my ass already:

I did some research and read what other people have written about the dreadful in-between-projects-phase and it's definitely different for everyone but it made me feel less alone. For those interested here are two blogs I read about that: "The between-projects zone" & "Artists between projects"

beautiful things

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Mon, 04 Jun 2012 10:28:00 +0000

Strawberries in June, local ones, oddly formed but deliciously sweet, brought by a friend
the Instant Family feeling you get when your film crew gets back together for an afternoon
bbq-ing, eating, laughing with friends old and new
new friends who you can foodie-talk with
"telepathic" understandings with people you haven't even known for that long
losing your voice at the end of the evening and realising you're perfectly content to just listen because the people you're with are good and interesting company

before the storm

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Fri, 11 May 2012 16:12:00 +0000

The birds are chirping in the early evening warmth, the sounds from the city streets are oddly muted. I'm alone in the flat, I have nice music on and am sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee. The bunnies are contentedly munching on hay.

It's an eerie calm-before-the-storm-feeling.

In an hour Finn will come home and my second producer will show up and so will my brand new assistant director. And we will hold our production meeting and get some last minute stuff done because tomorrow is our first shoot day.

In one hour this place will be loud and crazy and wonderful and exciting. But for now it's just me and a cup of coffee and a long-overdue blog post. For now it's a peaceful quietness in my heart, with traces of nervousness infused.

Tomorrow I start shooting my very first film. Tomorrow.
Today I get to have coffee and music on the couch. If only for one hour.

Easter used to be my favourite

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 19:29:00 +0000

I wish you could see me
growing back together
picking up the pieces.

Because when you left
I was already coming apart at the seams
and the last you saw of me
was my unraveling
And you worried, I think.
Because you saw you
happening all over again
in me.

I wish you could see
how I pick up my pieces
and find some of you in some of them.
And learn to love us both a little better.

© The Grumpy Girl, 2012.

It's been two years, and Easter is still not the same. I used to love Easter. Fantastic timing, dad, really. I miss you.

"The deification of imbecility"

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Sat, 10 Mar 2012 10:59:00 +0000

This is old but a friend of mine just posted it on facebook and it's no less relevant because of its age. It goes well with my last post about the media and beauty, and Craig Ferguson is being brilliant.

I give you: "Why everything sucks" or as I like to dub it "the deification of imbecility":

Feminism Starter Kit - Not just for Women's Day

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Fri, 09 Mar 2012 10:10:00 +0000

Last week I got to witness first hand how badly the media is fucking young women up these days, and it’s been brewing and blubbering away in my mind for a week now. What better day to write about it than International Women’s Day? Well, the day after that. Because these issues are relevant every day, not just once a year.

I was talking to a young woman, a healthy, good looking, 25 year old gal who has a university degree, a job, and is currently doing some further education as well.

“Shit, I really shouldn’t have eaten that junk food”, she said out of the blue, “I’m on a diet. I really shouldn’t have eaten that. But I was having a bad day and I wanted it. But I really really shouldn’t have. I’m on a diet. I need to lose weight.”

Turns out she wanted to lose a certain amount of weight until her birthday in summer. Because she wanted to give her birthday a positive spin.

Sorry, what?

She explained how she's really loved her birthdays but over the years she’s begun to dread them more and more and now she’s really dreading turning 26 so she wanted to at least make her 26th birthday the one where she reached her weight loss goal.

Dreading her 26th birthday? Why on earth...?

Her: I don’t want to get older. I don’t feel like 26. I don’t want to get wrinkles.

Me (laughing): I like wrinkles. And scars, they…

Her (appaled): Oh no, I hate scars!

Me: …but they show what a person has experienced. As do wrinkles.

Her: Okay, so then why are all these 40 year old men going for 20 year old women who have no wrinkles and those perfect bodies?

Me: …

What?

Yes. I was standing across from a 25 year old woman who is concerned about having to look like a 20 year old because everyone knows that's what men want - 20 year old perky breasted wrinkle free girls.

I was flabbergasted. I went home thinking about what I had just heard, wondering, grasping for understanding. I was truly upset. Because, while I've always been surrounded by women who are, like me, masters at humorous self-deprecation, never would any of us string their words together to form sentences like “I have to be wrinkle-free and perky-breasted and look like a 20 year old in order to attract a man”.

I knew the media is fucking up women’s feelings of self-worth, but it had never hit me in the face like in that one conversation.

The problem is that while these young women are singing along to anthems like Pink’s “Fucking Perfect” they're also leafing through those cursed women’s magazines that tell them the exact opposite. They’re telling them how they have to look ever younger, thinner, sexier, more feminine, more pleasing. To men. Or to triumph over other women.

These days I can’t even open those damn magazines without getting hives. They’re going all pseudo-feminist, telling heartwarming stories about female celebrities being "so so strong" and self-confident and oh-so-can-you. And then you turn the page and find a gigantic article about how to look good for your high school reunion. Oh no, sorry, not “good” but rather “15 years younger” – because apparently that is what counts. The accompanying images even go so far as to insinuate bitch-fighting (see "triumph over other women").

And women who read these magazines (and there are a lot of them, women and magazines), they eat all that up, and somehow they manage not to choke on the contradictions those glossy pages feed them. And then we find ourselves in conversations with 25 year old women who quite obviously know they're not supposed to feel like this but who are still worried about not finding a man who will love them with all their wrinkles and scars and love handles.

It truly hurts my heart because where do you start with that? How do you tell them that what they're reading is bullshit and that they really are going to be okay? That what makes them beautiful is within them?

Not only does it make me sad, I’m also fucking pissed. That's the reason I'm having a really hard time being eloquent right now. I’m angry that magazines and fashion are making women feel bad about themselves. I’m angry that women buy into it. I’m angry that feminism is still a swear word to many. I’m angry that we’re living in a time when not only the Rush Limbaughs of this world will call a woman a slut, but even women are calling other women sluts.

Are you a woman and don't consider yourself a feminist? You've never gotten the feeling that you're disadvantaged at all because of your gender? Well, neither did I once.
(btw: If you're a man you can be a feminist too, some fine examples of men are.)

Here's a little feminism starter kit I assembled. It's all easily digestible and you don't have to have a thing for academics - I myself am not the science type either - to get it. All this is only a tiny piece of feminism but it should give you a good start into the matter. It did for me.

1. You don't think you are treated as less equal in the workplace? You think you are paid the same as men? Go watch Rachel Maddow’s interview with Lily Ledbetter who fought admirably for her rights. And read this if you still think you're equal.

2. You call your girlfriends "biatch" and "slut" and "ho"? Don't. This 13-year old girl explains why slut-shaming is not okay. Bonus: I dare you to listen to Rush Limbaugh and not gag. (Nevermind that he doesn't get how birth control works.)

3. Watch the videos on Feminist Frequency about pop culture and gender. Watch all of them because they're excellent! But if you're pressed for time go for the ones about TV tropes because Anita's explanations will make you look more closely at the messages the media is feeding you.

4. And now look at the effects said media messages have on girls and women.

This really is just a starter. But let's not just be feminist and all about women's rights once a year on International Women's Day, okay? Let's do this every single day so that one day we don't have to fight anymore. Go to Miss Representation to get involved. It's a fantastic movement and I can't wait until I can finally see the movie too.

the upside of sick

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Thu, 08 Mar 2012 12:14:00 +0000

Being home sick means I get to catch up on my huge pile of want-to-see movies, and flesh out in my head the kind of films I want to make and don't want to make. And whether shite or brilliant, I do always learn something about filmmaking, if only how not to do it.

I tend to give rom coms a chance because there is a handful of movies from that category that has surprised me very pleasantly. But this time I wasn't lucky with the rom coms. One I had to shut down after 15 excruciating minutes (I'm not even going to tell you what it was it's that embarrassingly dumb). But that happens and you have to cut your losses and turn them off before your brain shrivels up. And the other one, The Decoy Bride, I probably would have turned off had it not been for Kelly Macdonald who is always a pleasure to watch. But the writing was not up to par, neither was the directing, and, sadly, David Tennant who I usually love apparently phoned it in that day.

But I've been quite lucky in my other picks this past week. I've not picked a single fantasy or sci fi movie, I guess because I usually watch those with Finn Porter. Instead I went straight for those lovely slightly-indie-but-with-a-reasonably-known-cast films that she rarely goes for.

I watched the Four-Faced Liar (very indie), One Day (a lot more Hollywood), Last Night, and Like Crazy. The only one veering from the theme I inadvertently had going on there was The Descendants, which was oddly also the movie I least liked. I'd sum it up as Alexander Payne doing the same thing he did years ago in About Schmidt, with different actors and in a different landscape. Otherwise his imagery remains completely unchanged which I see as a lack of development. Sure, it's great to have a trademark as an artist but you'd want to develop your style further, no?

But the other films have all touched me in some way, in ways pertaining to relationships. The Four-Faced Liar and Last Night both deal with betrayal and lies - but in completely different way. One is loud and crazy and funny in between the drama while the other has a quiet intensity that I found riveting.

Like Crazy has a bit of both; it's quirky and odd in this indie kind of way that everyone finds adorable (think Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist), but can also be quiet and intense and in those quiet moments excelling in music choice and cinematography. One Day is maybe a bit heavy on the drama but its very distinct style of telling the story makes up for that from a learning perspective, and I'd be lying if I said the romance didn't get to me.

I find myself drawn to these perceptive, grown-up films that deal with grown up relationships and their issues, and don't claim to have the answers; Movies that end with an intake of breath instead of an exhale. When I say I don't particularly like happy endings in movies I don't mean I like bad endings. Life generally come with neither, not that distinctly in any way. I like to be kept guessing, because that's what's inspiring.

I regard it as such a privilege when I get to watch a film that really speaks to something inside of me and especially Last Night and Like Crazy have done exactly that. Three hours very well spent, and I am grateful for that.

Now, what next? I'm almost scared I could break this lucky streak of movie choices.

Fish... meet water

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Wed, 29 Feb 2012 16:00:00 +0000

You never forget your first time.

I'm talking about directing. What did you think I was talking about? This is a respectable blog. Well, most of the time at least.

Strangely though those two firsts have some commonalities:

1. It's hella scary before you do it.
2. At first you're all insecure and timid.
3. Once you have a basic grasp of how it works though you begin to notice how much fun it is.
4. And as soon as you've done it once you'll want to do it again and again and again.

While one has happened for me quite a while ago the other experience has been a more recent one. Last Saturday I had a ten hour directing workshop scheduled at film school. I was wary, at best, of spending ten hours on my feet when I currently get exhausted by about two hours of running errands. I also had no idea whether the teacher was going to be any kind of good or all kinds of bad. But I packed my energy rations (coffee, water and nuts, never leave the house without nuts, and some chocolate) and an extra dose of Ritalin in case my Concerta wore off to fast. I printed out the scene I was going to work on and hopped on a curiously empty Saturday bus on a lovely spring day.

Boy was I wrong to be apprehensive! The teacher turned out to be fantastic, running us trough the basics of directing, giving immensely helpful feedback, and he even has a sense of humour (sadly, that's not always a given). Otherwise he pushed us into the deep end - the best thing he could do.

About two hours after arriving I was already in the middle of DP-ing for one of my colleagues, sketching storyboards on a whiteboard and discussing the benefits of purposely jumping over the axis. Then, before lunch break, I set the lighting for another colleague's scene and watched from the side as they took their first tries at directing.

The differences in style are completely fascinating. Everyone has a different way of easing into the job, of talking to the actors, the crew. I was learning a lot just by watching. Suddenly it was my turn. I jumped right in, assembled my crew, briefed the actors, and there I was, doing a first read-through already, then setting up the scene, blocking, sketching floor plans, figuring out the best camera angles with my DP. Shooting. Tweaking. Shooting another take. Working with the actors. Giving my DP the chance to get a focus change just right considering the limited amount of time we had for our practice shoots. Shooting another angle. Another take. Saying "Action" (although I prefer the more friendly "Aaaand go") and "Cut". Thank you, you were wonderful. Great camerawork. Everyone take a break. I got great feedback from the teacher, the actors, the crew.

And all of it - ALL OF IT! - felt so fucking right. Much like, fish... meet water.
Felt like I was meant to do this. Never supposed to do anything else. Like every other job I'd ever had was just a youthful indiscretion before getting hitched to this wonderful thing called directing. I fell in love, fast and hard.

I suppose this isn't surprising. Because me and directing, we were set up ages ago. After all, I grew up watching my father direct. He started out as a theatre actor, then became an editor at the Austrian Broadcasting company. He started directing for TV even before I was born. I suspect he did some work on documentaries early on but I mostly watched him direct television broadcasts of operas, concerts, theater productions, ballets etc., both recordings and live broadcasts. My mother was his assistant director a lot of the time then became a director herself. When I was older I even worked with them as a floor manager.

Sure, it's a bit weird working with your parents (though it didn't even take me that long to hammer it into their heads that it was definitely not okay to call me by my embarrassing childhood nickname on set) but I learned so much from listening to my dad's voice transmitting through my headset. The way he maneuvered the giant and intricate system of cameramen/women, sound mixers, lighting technicians, cable pullers etc. through live broadcasts has given me a certain instinct for directing. He was always respectful, never without a sense of humor, knew that everyone on set was indispensable and took care to treat them as such.

He knew how to talk to people, knew when to be strict, when to be diplomatic. Ironically, his communication sucked big time in familial settings but while working he knew what he was doing. He felt safe, I assume, like he had a spot in the world that fit him just right. I'm lucky to have seen him work, and while I wasn't aware of it at the moment, soaking up all that I could learn from him.

I was way to scared during my first directing stint last Saturday but I think if I had been viewing myself from the outside instead of, well, being wide-eyed and in the moment, I would've been able to spot a lot of my dad's directing style in my work. I choose to believe that had he seen me in that moment (and maybe he has, I'm agnostic after all) he would've been proud of his director daughter. I'm finally proud of myself as well.

Here's to my dad who unwittingly taught me a lot while I unwittingly learned from him. You would've loved seeing me do this, dad, I just know :)
I love you.

How I didn't become a professional bassoonist

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 23:31:00 +0000

Someone in my ADHD forum brought up the topic of ADHD and intelligence and/or doing well in school. My answer got pretty drawn out so I thought I might want to say some things about it here too. Because it is true, smart kids with ADHD fall under the radar of psychologists, teachers, parents. In my experience, a lot of us only get diagnosed much later in life, once we have reached the limits of our coping mechanisms.

I too did really well in school - albeit not socially - and graduated with honours from a school for gifted children. I never had to study for languages, and even in my weak subjects - that would be anything math or science or, well, boring (hello, geography!) - I got by with as little studying as possible and I got by pretty fine.

I played the piano first, then the bassoon. My teachers were tearing at their hair because there was this really talented girl who yet consistently resisted improvement by practice. I hated practicing. I just wanted to play. I'd show up at my teacher's house, grudgingly admitting the lack of practice I'd gotten in during the week past. So we'd just play for fun, duets, because he was a pretty awesome teacher who chose not to berate me for my lack of commitment. But he'd ring his hands in despair every single time because I played well and "imagine how well you'd play if you'd practice," he said. Eventually, the prospect of practicing six hours daily was what made me veer of the professional path - that and it would've meant giving up a lot of other things I loved, like writing. Unfortunately, I stopped playing the bassoon pretty much entirely once I quit school. Everything else had become so much to handle.

In retrospect I realise that graduating was a shock for me, because after school there was no system keeping me in place anymore. I spent two years in regular university, sleeping in, going out, studying whatever caught my fancy. I had a hard time concentrating during lectures and got the most miserable marks of my life. Hell, I cheated on exams I never would've dreamt of cheating on. It's not that I wasn't interested. I just couldn't concentrate either in class or on studying at home. Plus, a lot of university things come in the form of aural input which is simply a disaster for me. Does. Not. Stick.

I switched to a University of Applied Sciences which had more structure, and that eventually got me through to my diploma (a "Magister", which is comparable to something between a BA and and MA) in 4.5 years. Again, horrific marks! And quite a bit of... well... I'm not proud of it.

My therapist told me that in an ironic way my considerably high intelligence completely fucked with my chances of getting diagnosed with ADHD. And I tend to agree, I probably still wouldn't have cracked if my dad hadn't died. I'd still be muddling along at the edge of burn-out and depression, feeling like a failure most days of the week but always scraping by somehow. Usually by the skin of my teeth.

It's not that intelligent people don't have ADHD, it's just that no one notices with us. Under the radar, through the cracks. What teachers, parents, psychologists see is that these people "could do so much better" at anything they do "if they only tried harder". No one has an inkling - least of all the affected themselves - that they're already trying pretty fucking hard, harder than anyone else. It's exhausting and it leads nothing but complete and utter exhaustion, the one that makes you feel like an empty husk.

The funny thing is, had I gotten my diagnosis earlier, maybe when I was still in school, I'd probably be a musician now, sitting in an orchestra with my bassoon, blending in with the crowd. Or maybe I would've been a soloist. Either way I'm sort of happy I'm not. I'm quite content with where the drama of remaining undiagnosed has led me; to writing and telling stories. It didn't cut music out of my life, but going with music might have kept me from writing. And if I pick my bassoon up today I can still play it. I'd just have to practice a bit.

extreme headdesking, courtesy of stupid doctors everywhere

noreply@blogger.com (thegrumpygirl) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 15:21:00 +0000

URRRRRGH! It is MADDENING how many doctors don't have a clue about ADHD. But what is making me even angrier is how much bullshit they talk just so they don't have to admit they don't have a clue!

Take, for instance, my eye specialist: She found out by chance that my field of vision is impaired. I told her that my eye hurts and that I'm feeling nauseous a lot and that I have taken Strattera for my ADHD.

"Your what?" she says.

"My Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder," I say, patiently. (I know the drill by now)

"Ah! Yes yes yes," she says quickly.

I frown inwardly but let her go on.

She tells me to get my prolactin levels checked because of the field of vision thing but fails to write me a referral to the lab. Instead she tells me to go to my gyno so she can write the referral. Whut? Ah well, I'll just get my referral elsewhere then.

A week later I call her to tell her that my prolactin got checked and is fine.

She says, "Great! Great! I'd like you to see a neurologist."

Sure, sounds good to me.

So I went to pick up the referral and right now, at home, I was about to make the call to the neurologist and I wasn't quite certain whether I was reading it correctly (it is partly handwritten). Wouldn't have know what to make the appointment FOR so I called the eye specialist's practice and asked what she wanted the neurologist to check, because I couldn't read it. Her assistant/boyfriend picked up:

Me: "Excuse me, I can't read the referral. What is it for exactly?

Answer: "Well, what you said you wanted.

"Me: "Huh?"

Answer: "Well, it says Antihyperactive Therapy. It's what you said you're doing.

Me: *multiple headdesks*

Well, turns out I was reading correctly I just didn't WANT to be reading that. She has NO IDEA so she just cobbles a couple of words together that don't even make sense in the SLIGHTEST! GNAAAAAH!

To be honest, I'm still sort of wondering whether this ominous "hyperactive therapy" is what I am DOING, SHOULD BE DOING or whether it is something they are supposed to be CHECKING FOR. Coincidentally, if you google that it doesn't bring up jack shit.

___________________________________

If you are a doctor and reading this and you don't have a clue about ADHD and your patient mentions they have it, follow these steps:

1. Say: "I'm sorry, I don't know much about that."

2. Say: "But let me read up on it and I'll get back to you."

3. Educate yourself.

4. Help your patient.

Under no circumstances are you to just PRETEND that you know what ADHD is and then randomly stick some words together.